#with themselves

[carolinequinnx]

no one gets fatter faster than someone in love

[mybeautifulchristianjourney]

It is a poor sermon that gives no offense; that neither makes the hearer displeased with himself nor with the preacher.

George Whitefield

[mahistrado-blog]

ايه اللي جابك و بتشكي لمين عذابك | sana, gen, 1.5k

a bit of healing for my girl, post-imagine (we weren’t living in a racist, misogynist freak show). sana goes home.

title from enta tani by haifa wehbe.

Sana stands outside, halfway down the steps to the river. Halfway means that people are less likely to stop and look at her for too long, and she stares intently at her phone, switching between the walking and bus tab where she’s mapping her path home. The walk from SYNG to her flat is 40 minutes. The bus is 24 minutes, and there’s two transfers.

She slides her eyes up to the sky, where the sun is hanging halfway to setting. On her left, someone passes by with white blonde hair and light skin and a biting laugh and she jumps, flinches so deep that the girl looks back over her shoulder at Sana, eyes lingering on her turban, the way the black of her eyeliner has smudged around her eyes. Sana bristles, narrows her eyes, squares her shoulders, remembers who she is. The girl turns around quickly, curling her fingers around white forearm of the man she’s with. Sana thinks that they could pass as siblings, same round blue eyes and light, light hair. She wonders, without heat, how people who get sunburnt after 5 minutes of exposure came to burn and pillage the whole world.

She watches them retreat, and the fall of her hair across her shoulders calls the image of Noora and Yousef back into her mind, sharp. She casts her gaze down, looks at the black of her fingernails framed by the brown of her flesh, pressed against the edges of her phone case, and wills the angerhurtsadness to bubble down again, kettle simmering instead of boiling over.

She forgets how long the walk home is. When she unlocks her phone, the app has erased her query, and she types it in again. The walk from SYNG to her flat is 40 minutes. The bus is 24 minutes, and there’s two transfers. She stares at the screen, sees white blonde hair, blue eyes, light brown skin, the soft curl of black hair against bitten down fingernails, blinks, sees the path to her flat outlined in blue dots, and she starts off in a direction, away.

*

It takes 50 minutes to get home, and two minutes struggling with her keys, and one minute outside with her back pressed up against the front door, chin tucked to chest. Sana opens the door and holds it as she slips off her shoes, closing it as quietly as she can behind her. The house is dark and quiet, and after a moment, she understands that she’s alone.

Sana retreats to her room without turning on any lights, closes the door behind herself with a soft click. She strips her blazer off onto the chair already covered in clothes, and her fingers come up to touch at the pins holding her scarf in place. Her eyes rest on her image in the mirror above the dresser. The dark of her room and the ugliness of the day paints her memories in broad discolored smudges, recalling where she stood pinning her scarf a few hours prior, anticipation curling low and warm in her stomach as she texted with Elias and the girls.

When she catches sight of her reflection, the feeling grabs her from the inside. It’s waving at someone you’ve met a few times and they don’t remember you, it’s your mouth not fitting around a word in the right way and your friends laughing good-naturedly and correcting you because you’ve only ever read it and your immigrant parents don’t know what it means, it’s the feeling when you’re on a bus in the city that you were born in and people stare at you and communicate mostly in aggressive hand gestures, like you can’t understand, like you’d never understand.

It’s your best friend, rolling her eyes at the call to prayer, and disrespecting your brother and religion and trust; it’s the way this brown skin threatens from the outside simply by nature of existing; it’s having the audacity to live life fully, sweetly, painfully, from all edges and curves, while muslim.

It’s humiliation, feverish and awful under her whole skin, and it’s a wretched sort of loneliness: the kind that isn’t based in a place or a situation or a people, but instead in a life, in splitting roots among two lands, in countries and families torn across borders and nationality. It bruises under her eyes and in the softness of her stomach, vulnerable, bare and trusting that her roots were finally taking this time.

She presses her fingers to the edge where her hair and hijab meet the curve of her ear, meets her own eyes in the mirror, tries to find the darkness there that everyone seems to be seeing. She looks the same as always, edges carved with powders and eyeliner, and the soft round of her face painted in a warm palette of browns.

Sana thinks that she is beautiful, sometimes more beautiful than her white friends. Today was one of those days. Still one of those days, she corrects herself, gently thumbing away the blackness under her eyes where the liner has gone awry. She loves the fullness of her lips and the angles of her eyes, the way her dark lashes frame her eyes without mascara.

Sana blinks, watches the movement as long as she can before the world goes black and comes back again. Her room is a wash of blues led through the window as dusk sets in. She looks out the window, and presses the lock button on her phone to check the time but the screen stays black.

She glances up into the mirror again, sees her browns washed out with blues, remembers her face washed out in purples, hiding behind a bathroom door. Thinks fuck that, and turns away – not from her reflection but from this light that is making her seem like so much less than she is.

She flicks on the light and goes to wash.

*

Sana removes her nail polish methodologically, the sharp astringent of the acetone cutting the sweet scent of the reed diffuser. She unpins her scarf and sets it aside, pushes her sleeves up past her elbows.

She folds her hands across her stomach and makes niyaat, closing her eyes and nudging the rest of her thoughts gently aside. She washes her hands, her face, her arms. She focuses on the feeling of the water sliding down her skin, imagines the heaviness in her heart as passenger as she lets the water drip from her body to the basin. Imagines her mind full of light, bismillah.

She smoothes her hands over her hair from her hairline down, drags up behind her ears and gently along the inner edges.

Ash‐hadu anlaa ilaaha illAllah, wa ash‐hadu anna Muhammadan rasululah.

The world goes very quiet as she reenters her room. She wraps her widest scarf around her head and over her shoulders and folds her sleeves back down. When she closes her eyes, she feels the hot burn of embarrassment and anger return as she turns inward, images of white faces turning towards her, talking about her behind hands, her own missteps over the last month all flash unbidden behind her eyelids, and she shakes her head, blinks her eyes open again.

Her own words return to her: in spite of all the chaos. She calls herself back, gently, lovingly. She holds herself around the middle, and rubs soothing circles with her thumbs into the soft fabric of her shirt. Return to what really matters.

Here is the truth: she is angry because their pity is not welcome here. She loves her edges, the parts of her that defend her right to live as full of a life as these boring white women, the parts of her that are stubborn and hard and paranoid, all the parts of her that bite back. She bites back for the next woman in a hijab on the bus, for her mamma, for the girls deciding whether or not to cover.

She loves herself, all of herself, is what they don’t understand. She loves her faith, and her grace, and the generosity of her spirit that allows her to stretch so far into both of her worlds, to try and make them work together; her resilience, patience, and her depthless capacity for love and loyalty, mash’Allah.

She straightens, empties the fire in her stomach onto the floor in a deep exhale, lets her inhale flood her heart with the love she has for herself, borne from the love her god has for her, bright and cleansing. 

She raises her hands and begins to pray.  

note: i am not muslim! a lot of the feelings in this piece were drawn from my own experience as a child in a family of immigrants and as a woman of color, but i know that while we all have some shared experiences, being a muslim woman of color is a very particular one and i want to make space for that. please let me know if i should make edits to anything and will gladly receive that criticism. xo

[pixiedust-poppers]

can you do an infodump about one of your jatnlp au’s or headcannons? Make it one of the dark ones!!

IM SOOO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG FOR ME TO INFODUMP ABOUT I had an idea VERY MUCH typed out and i showed a friend and then they said some criticism back for a scene that made me stall and realize i need to work it out more and the more I thought this I realized it was dark but.... not entirely unhinged (and you asked for dark so. I will bring the unhinged factor to my aus) so I bring you one that is a bit shorter dark and unhinged.

To note: This takes place in alternative version of cdbazemore98's Jake and Tori Stories series but focused more on Izzy and she is SO mentally ill and has been for such a long time. So, the credit for the main series goes to her. (Please. DO NOT go after her)

note 2- This takes place in J&TS4 a week or so after chapter 25: Spouse betrayal and to give a short gist of the emotional side of this . Jake was overtaken by lust and forced himself (for a kiss) on Ally (an oc of the author) with her husband and his rival Blake (also an oc of the author) there and Izzy watched to whole thing go but didn't reveal herself until Blake and Ally left. She rightfully slapped him and when he revealed why he did what he did (he saw her mother in her; Tori (as is Victoria Vega)) and she screamed "oh so your still in love with tori?" and then proceed to dig into abt him probably wanting to fuck her (she is in her sixties) and her daughters and when Jake couldn't get a word in + very upset at these conclusions she came to he raises his fist at her and threatens to knock her out if she doesn't shut up. Both he and she are shocked at this, and when he tries to explain himself 5 secs later, she is not having it, so she leaves and tells him that her and their youngest daughter won't be at home when he gets there and that he is dead to her.

There is some ongoing mystery plot in the story itself but for this alternative time-line that doesn't matter, and you're going to see why💀

SO once again DISCLAIMER: I do not Own Jake and Tori stories series. I do not own Ally, Blake, Troy, Maia and Kari they belong to cdbazemore98. DO NOT harass or go after the author.

CW: suicidal ideation, suicide, OOC FOR SURE.

--

Isabella Green was a miserable woman; she has been for a loooong time and her week just got even worse. A few days after Jake forced himself onto ally and she leaves him to stay at tori's with their youngest daughter Hikari (kari for short). Tori being mostly team Jake although she "hears her out" for her side of things she talks to izzy in a way that makes it clear to her that she's moreso going to believe Jake's side of the story. She never liked her anyway, but she continues to stay because free rent is free rent.

The more kari whines about wanting to see her father and be kissed goodnight by him instead of her, she begins to reflect. "Does anyone really give a shit about her?" "How did her life turn out like this?" "Why didn't she do the deed sooner?", she's been unhappy for a looooooooooong while in her life, even from the age of 11. Depression and low self-esteem have had this girl in a chokehold for a long time, the choke is less or more depending on the day but it's always in the back of her mind. She thought that staying and marrying jake would help that; it does! ...depending on the day. She thought having children would make her happier; It does! though it was unconditional when they were younger... and sure she wasn't always the best mother, but she has noticed that Jake can do wrong in their eyes meanwhile, she isolated from immediately the moment she fucks up.

She doesn't have many friends, she hates the way she looks, any time she tries to do anything that will make her happy, everyone is suddenly a critic. what's the point of being here anymore if she can't be happy? She knows she can't convince Jake to go to couple therapy, everyone will tell her to get over it and what's the goddamn point??? Her kids will probably be smitten to just be with her dad, Jake can find a wife he actually wants to fuck and she can be happy in death.

So after kissing Kari goodnight, she answers Jake nightly call for once. Goes to the bathroom and basically trauma-dumps and chews him out, then after he gets his "I love you my fair maiden please" She traumatizes him for life by shooting herself in the head while he's on call.

Now because she married him, and bore his children, she does get into this Super pirate heaven. Homegirl is vibing, she LOVES it. Got her nice lil tiny home set up and everything and now she can start getting into hobbies she genuinely enjoys without anyone's judgement and she is safe

Meanwhile on earth, they're um ehhhh… Tori and the other's don't really give a shit, they're sad for Jake's sake(Cubby is genuinely sad though). Troy is more devastated than Maia over her death considering he was a momma's boy, Kari is traumatized as she was the first to find her mother's body and Jake is in Tatters, because he knows fucked up majorly to point where he actually doesn't date (he does the occasional prostitute) again despite others recommending he does, but he doessss get into drinking abit more, but he does like his job so.. not really.

Months pass and things have calm down, Jake obviously isn't over his wife's death so he's just semi-misrable and desires to see her again but then skylar so kindly reminds him "Hey what if u use super pirate powers? you can use those to see her like you did with me and maybe bring her back!" Eureka moment there. So he tries, but to no avail she doesn't want to connect with him. After complaining back and forth to the Og Super pirate spirit is like "Ok lemme talk to her... I'm sure we can come up with something." He goes to talk to her and she's like "No i don't want to see them, I doubt they give a real shit" and then trauma dump to him too and tells it about all the things she wished to have done with Jake and her life if not for the twins and having to settle down so early in their 20s. it's like "wow... hmmm you suffered alot.. I think i might have a deal for you." and she was like "??? I'm not a super pirate though?" And he's like "You wish for a new life and your husband wishes for a life with you in it, I can help with both." And he tells her of the plan if she agrees which is, for them to "start over" and take her back to the night where the twins are conceived but she can put a stop to that happening, and with changing that turning point in her life to possibly never or a later date, she can hopefully get the adult life that she truly wants. And while she personally wants it to be younger, she thinks about and realizes she can still do what she wants since she'll still be young with all of the amenities she’s grown accustomed to and agrees. And so with this Izzy is responsible, for the unbirth of her children, de-aging basically everyone and significantly pushing back time. She wakes back up again, as 19-20 year old izzy who is a nervous very uncomfortable wreck because Jake is about to walk in and they're going to have the sex they agreed to do earlier in the week (it was consensually dw) and this time instead of going along with said sex, she works up the courage in her to say no and actually explain to Jake why she isn't interested in sex as whole. She didn’t do so the first time mostly out of fear that it would significantly hurt their relationship or that Jake would leave her or that Jake would just snap and force himself on her, she was scared. And with this no twins are created so you have now a whole new sandbox of conversations that should be haved and therapy to fuck about with.

[thedawgsblog]

YEA KARMA CAN BE A REAL BITCH

YEA KARMA CAN BE A REAL BITCH

YEA KARMA CAN BE A REAL BITCH DONATE TO DAWGS BLOGNOTICE NO ADVERTISING IF YOU LIKE WHAT YOU SEE PLEASE DONATE TO HELP DAWGS BLOG$5.00

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[hyacinthk]

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5 / Part 6 

This one is Comfort 

Comfort:

Comfort is greyromantic and greysexual and is genderfluid using they/her/he pronouns. They have vitiligo, meaning that she has parts of skin where melanin is not present. He’s 5′1″ with a visual age of about 17. Their abilities include:  Knowing what makes people uncomfortable, being able to invoke the feeling of being in a person’s happy place, defusing tension very well, keeping people comfortable (which can go too far), and giving the absolute best most legendary hugs. Comfort is a very kind person in general. No matter who you are or what you believe you honestly have to love her. They’re often around Pain and Health, as the three of them end up in a polyamorous relationship. Comfort is often someone who the others would go to to feel better. Because of this he often puts aside her own feelings lying to herself about how she feels. Like, when they are feeling horrible they’ll put it aside saying “No I’m perfectly fine..” causing the others to worry about him. Plus because they are comfort she can get too comfortable with other people, causing him to say things that can cross lines for that person. But overall they can be a complete ray of sunshine that everyone loves.   

[pod-kozom]

may you be happy, may you be safe, may you be healthy, may you be at peace.