#if it weren't for the 'living in the 1800s' thing he would listen to Will Wood | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

an-idiot-in-fandoms · 8 months

Text

CAN WE TALK ABOUT THE WAY WE TALK ABOUT THE MEMBERS OF MCR???

A-FUCKING-TTENTION. I WOULD LIKE TO ADDRESS SOMETHING.

as my followers may know i am a giant mcr stan. i love their music. i think most of the band are good people. however, something came to my attention.

i haven't made it a secret that i am NOT a fan of Lindsey Way, Gerard's wife, who is a racist, pedophile apologist. learning about her being a giant piece of shit made me very sad to acknowledge that if Gerard is willing to not only marry her, but use the reunion tour as also an opportunity to uncancel his dear precious wife or some bullshit, then he's not obviously the sharpest tool in the shed when it comes to race and racism in general. the fact that they even endorsed and was a fan of MSI, a "shock humour" band, which used slurs to get attention (which is fucking pathetic by the way), says a lot already. perhaps it speaks to the rock scene's general tolerance for racism at the time in the 2000s, but it wasn't the 1800s. Jimmy Urine was still a white man using the n-word at full volume, and profiting off of it during his concerts and releasing his music.

and maybe shut the fuck up if you're going to call me a "snowflake" about it, because chances are you're white, and you have no fucking clue how dangerous this rhetoric can be towards POC, who have to put up with the normalisation of slur use that the band encourages. i am a POC, and i find the fact that he used that language for money and fame absolutely disgusting. the whole band is disgusting. they can rot in hell.

anyway.

i came across a blog, not going to say which one, but one where it called out Lindsey Way. i was like "ok cool someone else who can use critical thinking in this fandom and doesn't just blindly support Gerard even though he's still definitely not the goddamn messiah". so i go on a scroll through their blog. they were a big fan of Frank, and i respect that, Frank deserves all of his flowers and more.

and then it got weird.

i came across posts where they speculated on the dynamic of the band. and a lot of things were spoken about, where they talked about Gerard being manipulative towards Frank, and how Frank didn't like going on the American leg of the tour during the reunion, and how, basically, they weren't friends, and how Gerard wasn't a good person.

the point is - there was A LOT of speculation. it made me upset to be reading it because i felt as though i'd been punched in the face, reading all this stuff about a guy i look up to partially. i sort of fell into a rabbit hole scrolling through their tumblr, getting more depressed, feeding into the logic that i could never truly feel happy about liking mcr again, reading about all of these theories, and---

hold the phone.

did you read that?

THEORIES.

it occurred to me that these were THEORIES. and the way they were demonising certain people, such as putting down Ray in certain posts to make way for Frank, made me realise that there's a problem with this fandom and how people like to assume what happens with the band members' personal life, and how they interact with each other. people like to speculate in this fandom. like, a lot.

i'll assume it's partially due to how most of the band don't shed a lot of light on their personal lives, only really Frank and Mikey are active on social media, usually showing appreciation for their families/or Frank's countless side-projects (which are all great btw, go listen to Parachutes again). so a lot of the fandom turn to speculation, to come up with these theories that "oh there's in-fighting", or "Gerard is secretly an evil genius who manipulates the whole band".

these are real people. Gerard isn't a saint, despite what some people may believe (cough, girlgerard, cough), but what we don't have to do is start making up bullshit about them being a certain way with no evidence. it's all speculation. and it's demeaning, not only to Frank and Gerard, who've probably had enough with the rumours about them over the years, but for Mikey and Ray as well.

these people aren't your friends. they're not some mystical beings shrouded in darkness that you have to find everything out about either. they are people in a band.

going too deep into speculation robs them of their autonomy. it makes everyone in the fandom look like creeps as well. it's horrible to see, and it takes away the real importance of critical thinking.

you can think critically about Gerard for marrying and excusing a racist woman, because there is EVIDENCE of her being racist. there is EVIDENCE of her being a pedophile apologist. that brings up questions about his own views on race, and how much he's willing to excuse, if he could love someone who willingly takes part in racism.

you can't do the same for Frank and Gerard's relationship. we know JACKSHIT about that. they have never said anything negative pertaining to each other in interviews, whatever "beef" people have made up between them is entirely manufactured by the fandom's overactive imagination. it's like a dead-dove fanfic on AO3 for fuck's sake, where Gerard is tagged as an asshole.

i'm aware it is only a small proportion of people who do this. but the extent to which they do it is honestly shocking. so i got pissed off.

we don't need to know everything about what happens with the band members. Frank has LS Dunes. Mikey has his family. who the fuck knows what Ray and Gerard are doing.

(now, no one's complaining about the lack of Ray on social media, but when people see a picture of Gerard's hand they flip out and beg for a face reveal - but no one's ready for that convo...)

point is: let them be. work with what you get. there's no need to make up things to make it all interesting, to create conflict - you've got that with the heavily problematic connection to MSI. evidence is key. you do not need to analyse these people like they're fictional characters.

because they are PEOPLE. and people are neither completely good or bad, they are usually in the grey area.

#mcr #my chemical romance #gerard way #frank iero #ray toro #mikey way #fandom bullshit #mcr return #lindsey way #lynz way #no way lynz way #fuck msi

52 notes · View notes

tinydumpsterfire · 1 year

Text

Alastor hated stupid idiotic people. People who dragged him to parties when he just wanted to stay home and read a book. People who were going to be stabbed in their sleep. To say that Alastor was not a party person would be a huge understatement. The twenty-year-old liked parties that didn't have loud music and had wine. But, according to the miscreants that had dragged him out of his apartment those weren't real parties.

So, here Alastor stood in the corner of a house he didn't recognize trying to ignore the aggressive flirting of drunk college girls. The music had to be some techno rendition of a pop song. And while Alastor knew that on some level it must be good, as almost everyone dancing knew the words, he thought it was trash.

Alastor was more a connoisseur of older music. Anything from the early 1800's to the rowdy 50's was a great hit in his books. Though Alastor was also a huge fan of Broadway hits.

His mama was a great influence on his music taste as well as other things. She raised a fine gentleman and anyone who took a look at Alastor would agree. A tall striking figure, strong scar covered muscles bulging out of his buttoned up shirt. Most swooned.

Though by now the carmel skinned man was glaring at anyone who even breathed in his direction.

"Hey loser you still sulking?"

Husker, or just Husk, was a short athletic man with a major drinking problem. Having meet in in their college library while Alastor was studying and Husker had been past out drunk leaning on a bookshelf.

Not that Alastor cared at all about this "problem". Husk was different than any of the other nobody's that Alastor interacted with all day and honestly was a fresh new start.

Instantly he was enamored with the aerodynamics major. And the two had been friends ever sense.

"I'm not sulking. I'm just quietly waiting until Charlie has stopped paying attention to me enough to make a break for it... I have a stream tomorrow"

Husk laughed at his friends antics. Of course he's more interested in his twitch stream than interacting with real people.

"Your really something huh? Yeah, I hear you this party sucks ass anyways."

With that they stood in a comfortable silence. Husk taking an occasional sip from his cup.

"My mom sent me a new batch of brownies she mad..."

Both man looked at each other.

"You know what fuck this shit! I want brownies! Is it the double chocolate or the macadamia nut ones?"

Husk's ramblings caused Alastor to laugh. His friends stomach was always a great scapegoat to get out of social situations. Especially when Husk new his mom dropped off cookies every other day, and wasn't low on them in any capacity.

After a couple of brownies and two horror movies later Husk retreated into his room. Being roommates was definitely something of a new development.

Husk had absolutely refused. But when push came to shove living with Alastor was better then having to move back in with his father. Which was a whole story in itself.

Alastor, after cleaning up the living room, also retreated into his bedroom. Which while being where he slept had also become his place of work after University.

Alastor a medical degree and had even started interning at a mortuary when he learned he loved to entertain. After one post graduation crisis, Alastor learned about Twitch.

And in the beginning the streams were just modest little things that he did for fun. But what Alastor did not expect was the amount of people who enjoyed the chats about serial killers and corpses he had worked on in the past. Soon he had gained a cult following!

Today Alastor wanted to play Friday the 13th with his online friends. As everyone loved seeing how manic the man could get when taunting his friends, hunting them as Jason Vorgehes.

"Hello! Fellow listeners!"

The chat sped fast all full of subscribers who waited 10 whole minutes for Alastor to pop on screen.

Alastors stream had a nicy cozy vibes. Brown and gold trim on the borders with cute little demon deers who would pop up every so often to display donations and new subs.

Alastors room had a soft red glow from the LEDs on the walls. Upon the desk was all of Alastors work gear, and a fan favorite, which included an old radio style microphone. Behind the dest last a black gamer chair with dear headband sitting on top. Curtesy of a fan.

"Ah, Thank you Bluntzøø69 for the 10 month sub! It's been a while since you've watched old friend. I hope the husband and teens are doing well!"

After reading and thanking the other donators, Alastor set up the game and joined the discord call with all his friends.

"ALASTOR!! Hi! Say hi to Alastor chat!"

"Hello to you to Charlie"

Charlie was an old friend. Both going to the same private school from elementary to high school. Charlie because her parents could afford it, and Alastor because he was on a scholarship.

While not having much in common the two became friends from being outcast. Being a bubbly nerdy girl and a darker skinned mixed boy definitely had made them an oddity in the sea of preppy white girls and boys.

By middle school Alastor had finally been diagnosed with Autism. And Charlie had been the only one to stand up for him when the bulling had gotten worse. So all in all Charlie was one if those good ones, though extremely annoying.

"I'm here too nerds, don't go sweet talking my girl Al."

Vaggie was definitely another reluctant friend. On both partys ends, but the punk girl was Charlie girlfriend. And honestly Vaggie and Alastor having similar interests had made it easier.

"I would never my dear, you know no being on earth could take his cold dead heart" Both girls laughed at Alastor's antics.

"Well today I have wonderful news! I get to torture you and our fellow streamers in Friday the 13th!"

"Why don't we playing not scary this time?" While horror games didn't scare Charlie, she would rather play something else.

Alastor readjusted his headphones. While it would be a big deal to change the game for this stream it caused the man a-lot of stress. He had already picked and planned the game, he had played a spooky playlist to get chat ready.

Alastor knew that it really wasn't a big deal. But his brain just wouldn't allow the change.

"How about you ladies play what you would like? I could just join a random lobby for today?"

"Oh Alastor! I'm so sorry it's okay we can play." Charlie had panicked realizing the internal struggle she said accidentally caused her friend.

"Oh don't worry, all is well. I must go out of my comfort zone at some point."

with hesitant goodbyes in his leaving Alastor exited the discord call. Asking chat if a random party game would be of interest. Although the streamer was reluctant if chat though it was a good idea he had to atleast try.

0 notes

morimakesfanart · 3 years

Text

Sindria's Prophet #08

[1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [AO3]

** TW/suicide of family member implied (it is marked ahead with ((text)) so you know what to skip) ~POV shift Mori~ In my old life I had spent 4 or so years as a historical reenactor for the mid 1700's through early 1800's on my weekends. My group mainly acted as pirates/privateers and sang sea shanties. We had done performances on different ships, but every time we were invited onto a period ship I couldn't make it, so I was geeking out when I saw the ship we'd be taking to Sindria. I prayed it didn't show on my face. Sure it was exciting for an other world's nerd like me to get to see a ship like this in use, but to everyone else it was a normal ship. The ship had two masts -both square rigged with a fore and aft sail at the back for better steering. Considering the reputation for the waters around Sindria I expected a bigger three mast ship for strength, but who was I to judge?

With only two masts, this ship probably only needed a crew of about nine people to allow for different shifts. It didn't look like it had room for many passengers. No doubt, Sinbad didn't expect to be bringing four extra people back with him. I was in full on research mode by the time I got on the ship, and I tired my best to not stand out or get in the way. Getting to look up at the rigging from on the deck was an experience. After everyone was settled I'd definitely make a point to look around more. I might even take one of the scrolls out and try drawing the deck of the ship since I never got around to drawing that gorgeous room in the hotel. I considered myself lucky that no one tried to talk to me until the rooms were being divided out -I had been hyperfixating so I might not have even noticed if they did.

Studying the ship could only boost me for so long. About 15 minutes before we left the port I could no longer ignore that my head was throbbing from exhaustion. This headache was undeniably becoming a migraine if it wasn't one already. I decided that sleep was the next thing on my agenda. Luckily, I made that decision around the same time the rooms were being divided out. I had figured I'd end up in the same room as Alibaba, Aladdin and Morgiana, but Alibaba was put in the same room as Ja'far and Masrur. Everyone put their bags down, and headed back on deck except me. I sat on my bed with my head in my hands as I started to let myself fully calm down. In the quiet it hit me just how much I had been using working on the scrolls as a way to avoid thinking about my guilt and lost home. I'd have to find time when no one else was in the room to work through these feelings. There was no way I could keep it bottled up until we reached Sindria. "Excuse me, Miss Mori?" Aladdin had re-entered the room and closed the door. We might not have been formally introduced but he was told who I was. "What is it?" I lifted my head to look at him, and tried to keep my expression positive. I felt the waves rising. A Magi was talking to a Prophet in private; something was bound to happen. The walls of the ship creaked, and I heard steps and the floor boards creak in the hallway. The wave got a little bigger. Silence hung in the air as the boy just stood there. Instead of trying to guess what he wanted I waited. His hands tightened around his staff. Aladdin looked nervous as he confronted me. "I know you say you've read Fate, but I don't think Fate is something written in stone. It's something that everyone makes together. It can always change." The hallway floor creaked behind the Magi again. The wave was getting bigger. Someone was definitely listening in, and there was only one King that was a chronic eavesdropper.

"I agree," I said bluntly. I wanted Sinbad to hear my answer. Ten years ago, he came to the conclusion that Fate was something already written as a way to cope with his guilt and trauma, and he thought he was 'the chosen one' for being able to read ahead through the waves, but he was wrong on both accounts. "You do?” Aladdin was surprised. It must sound weird coming from someone who read Fate. "I've read more than one Fate for this world, so I know there is no one true path." The manga, anime and OVAs were a little different after all. "And if Fate couldn't be changed then I couldn't be here." I turned so I was sitting facing him. "You see, I wasn't in any of the Fate I read. I wasn't even in this world until five days ago." The magi took a few steps towards me with wide eyes. Aladdin had felt very alone for not being from this world -now he would know he wasn't the only one. It wasn't a reveal that caused problems on its own when Aladdin explained in the original so I didn't see an issue in letting Sinbad overhear about me either- I had already implied as much the previous day. I felt the need to elaborated. "Everything I do changes the Fate I read because I wasn't here. For example, only one of the Fates I read showed the conversation where you all found out about the Kou Fleet. Remember how I yelled at Alibaba? If I didn't convince him to leave then King Sinbad would have knocked him out, and Alibaba would be kept asleep with medicine for this whole trip. Since I was there this time, I was able to change that." "Oh!" He brightened up a bit. "I much prefer things this way." "I agree. Like this it will be much easier for him to heal." I looked down at my intertwined hands. "I have no idea how this will change the Fate I read though." Aladdin hummed a question mark, but he didn't say or ask anything directly. I answered the obvious question to my words, "I can't read a Fate that I'm a part of, so now that I'm here I can't read how my actions are changing Fate. Eventually, the Fate I did read will become useless, and I have no idea if I'm changing it for the better." It was only as I said it that I remembered that Sinbad was listening. I had basically just told him that my usefulness as his Prophet would have a definite expiration date. All I had wanted was to let Aladdin know that he might not be able to rely on me for everything. I definitely wasn't thinking clearly. Aladdin cut into my thoughts. "Is that why the Rukh are so active around you? Because you weren't originally a part of the Flow of Fate?" "Probably." I didn't know what else to say. I knew I had to be making distinctive waves in the Rukh just by being here, let alone with all of my changes. "Miss Mori, where are you from?" I hummed in amusement at that. "I'm from much farther away than you or your parents-if you can believe it." I was from the same world as the person who wrote the original Fate of this world. There was no way I could tell anyone that. He was shocked again. It was written all over his face that he was questioning if I was really from a dimension farther away than Alma Torran. Aladdin gripped the flute that he always wore. "Then... Are you the person he didn't recognize?" "He?" Which 'he' -oh. I lowered my voice. "Ugo?" I put one finger over my lips and looked at the door. Sinbad has to remain ignorant about the Sacred Palace; he's too self-absorbed. Aladdin looked confused at my change in volume. He followed my gaze to the door and back then nodded. He didn't look all that surprised that I knew about Ugo. I kept my voice low. "Aladdin, let's talk more about this some other time. The walls have ears on such a small ship. And I'm exhausted." "Okay. Rest well, Miss Mori." Aladdin spoke at normal volume. I heard a scramble in the hallway, the magi left, and I put my glasses in the top of my bag for safe keeping. I could hear Aladdin through the wall. "Oh! Mr. Sinbad, Mr. Ja'far, did you want to check on Miss Mori too?” "Uh, yes. How is she doing?” Was King Sinbad's response. I could hear the nerves he was trying to

cover up. "Real smooth there, Sin." I mumbled as I finally drifted into unconsciousness. --- I was a young man of 20 some years. I had started a family. We didn't have enough money for food. I ended up taking a risky job because I knew it would pay better. ... No. I'm a six year old girl? I don't remember if I had parents, but I remember going to visit this old dog every day. ... If life was hard, and I had nothing to loose then there was no reason not to bet everything I had on one last round. How could I return to my family without money? The last time I saw my son he was three. Would he even remember me? ... Ya know, when you grow up with someone and everyone else can see your chemistry you'd think it would be obvious that we'd marry when we grew up, but she met someone else. ... I knew things were bad, but I never even considered that my neighbor was stealing from me when I was at work. Bastard stabbed me with my own kitchen knife when I caught him. --- I wasn't myself in my dreams. Every time I woke I had to ground myself and remember where and when I was. Rereading the scrolls I had made helped. Just how many Rukh had merged with me, and why? I had no connections to any of those spirits while they were alive. Was it just because ghosts like me? I wrote down every dream I had; their lives might have been over, but they were a part of me now. I was too exhausted to go on deck, and I could feel that there were still more lives inside of me that I had to get aquatinted with. When I wasn't sleeping, I was working on scrolls again since I at least had enough energy to write and draw. My breathing was getting difficult, and I was struggling with temperature regulation. I wasn't okay enough to tell if it was my body struggling with the changes in my magoi, like when Sinbad took in all the Rukh after the Fall of First Sindria, or if I was just sick. After making sure I could still use magoi manipulation I decided that it was probably the later. I mainly left that room for food, and I waited until almost everyone was done before going. I avoided talking to others too. If I was sick I needed to minimize my contact with others. Alibaba seemed to be in a similar state to me. We both found that staying near each other when around the others made them less likely to approach us with the depressing cloud that hung over us.

Those that did see me could obviously tell I was unwell. From their words it seemed like they were assuming I was just mourning -they were only half wrong. It gave me an easy excuse to leave, so I never corrected them. I did feel bad for worrying everyone. The whole situation sucked. I wanted to cry. I had been in lock down back home because of Covid-19 for 8 months as an at risk person (it's still Oct 2020 in this story). I was literally in a fantasy anime world now. I wasn't given a better immune system, but my boobs didn't need a bra anymore??? WTF?? If the current arbiter of Fate was me writing fanfiction, then they had a lot of explaining to do. ... Who was I kidding? I knew why I would write something like this. I wanted to see more stories about people like me -someone with my disabilities and life experiences- get to be someone "valued" even if they couldn't be on the front lines. My migraine wouldn't go away, and it wasn't the only part of me in pain. I think I got palpitations a few times -breathing was even worse during those episodes. If I hadn't had health problems growing up I probably would have been panicking. I knew it was stupid to not tell anyone what was going on with me. But would anyone even be able help me on a ship? Telling them would just make them worry more than they already were. Aladdin and Morgiana could tell something more was wrong with me; I couldn't fully hide from them while sleeping in the same room. They must have let the others know since they gave me some pain killers at some point. It tasted awful. I'm honestly not sure how affective it was, but it did knock me out. ((Skip to the next paragraph to avoid the trigger)) At least I was left alone most of the time. I had no choice but to sit with my thoughts about Balbadd. I grew up mourning. The blood on my hands might not be the same as losing most of my loved ones back home, but it was damn similar to when I was in high school thinking "if only one of us had answered the phone that day." The Balbadd revolt would have been much worse if I wasn't there. And even if I had said something sooner there was little that could be done to actually stop Al Thamen when they had their hands so deep in that country. Even with Sinbad there to sway Fate, Al Thamen would still find a way to spill blood. Even if I told Alibaba days in advance and he tried to talk to Cassim about it, Cassim wanted nothing to do with Sinbad, so any help that came from him would be refused. Cassim was twisted around Issnan's fingers and out for blood. I did the best I could. My actions did save some people. I'd have to take solace in that. --- I woke up to something wrapped around me, almost like I was tied down. I couldn't move my legs. I gave up trying to untangle my skirt and covers from me, and just pulled the skirt out from under the cloth belt -kicking the whole mass off like a cocoon. I had put my underwear on underneath and I still had the tunic on so I wasn't left totally uncovered. Star light shown in from the window. I had slept through another day. I couldn't remember my dream. Maybe I had finally returned to having my own dreams. The other beds in the room were occupied. My head was still swimming. I felt trapped. I needed something. I heard the waves outside, and felt the waves of Fate washing over me. Their sounds called to me. Back home I had used the sounds of waves to meditate and stim regularly. I had been hearing them all this time, but I wanted to see them. I didn't bother to slip on my flip-flops as I made my way to the door, didn't even think about grabbing my glasses until I was already on deck. It had been so dark below that I couldn't see anyway, and didn't realize I wasn't wearing them. The wave of Fate I had been following lead me farther into the space. When I hit it's end, the adrenaline that had got me that far died out. The night air hit my legs and I shivered. It was colder than it was at night in Balbadd. I thought we were heading south. Did I still have a fever? The cold reminded me that I really should have put on

my shorts or something before coming out here. The tunic just barely covered me. My vision was going grey scale. This was bad. Really bad. I recognized this feeling. I was about to pass out from not being able to breathe right. I used to have fainting spells as a kid because of my weak raspatory system and needed to carry smelling salts for a few years. The last time it happened was about five years ago -I had been really sick. My head was throbbing; my heart was pounding. Guess I was sicker than I thought. I needed to focus on breathing and getting to the ground. I stumbled to the bowsprit (the pole that sticks out the front of the ship) as support. I needed to get to the ground safely before I collapsed. I'd gotten a concussion once because I didn't get down before the black out hit. A wave crashed into me from behind. If I hadn't been putting all my weight on that wooden shaft I would have been pushed over even though it wasn't a physical wave. What in the world was behind me that would cause such a wave? I removed one arm to look back as my knees started to give out. There was definitely someone there. Their color balance didn't match anything I could remember, but they were really familiar. Without my glasses I couldn't really tell anything -especially since everything was becoming different shades of black. And I already had bad night vision. The light was fading. Shapes were getting harder to discern. Even though I was breathing deeper I hadn't managed to counter the fainting spell. I was going down. I definitely fell, but it didn't feel like I fell for long enough to hit the ground. The feeling across my back was really familiar. Someone had caught me.

Sometimes I was able to stay conscious when I fainted. It was kinda like ending up in sleep paralysis but with a -20 to all sensory inputs. Seemed like this was one of those times. I couldn't hear what they were saying or see them. It was like my head was deep under water. There was a pressure on my forehead. Were they checking my temperature? When someone faints you're supposed to lay them on the ground and position them so they can breath easier. This person didn't take first aid classes or forgot or something because I was being lifted upwards instead of laid down. It was really warm and comfy though. I liked this feeling. What was it? Safe? Was that it? I hadn't felt actually safe in a long time. I certainly didn't feel safe in that house back home even after everything was over. Maybe it was the feeling of warmth and safety. Maybe it was the way the waves were moving. Maybe it was the numbness that comes with blacking out. But whatever it was had stopped the pain. With the pain gone I calmed the rest of the way. I felt my spine straighten out onto a soft surface. The warmth faded even though something was now covering my legs. I was in a bed. The cold was back without a source of warmth to leech from. I definitely had a fever if I was this cold. Damnit. I grew up with all sorts of chronic health conditions and have always gotten sick easily. Even though I was now in an anime world, I was still me. Was I going to die in this world from some common illness that was already cured back home? We might not have had a lot of money back home but I was lucky enough to get a job with usable health insurance that let me work from home during a pandemic. I could at least get medicine every time I got a normal illness. I was finally able to afford to get and keep an inhaler. Not that any of that was of use to me now. My motor functions were returning. I rolled to the side and curled into the fetal position. I had lost everything. No home. No friends or family. Who would want to look after a stranger with nothing to give back? I was doing what I could to seem worthy of the main cast, but how long would that last? The story would reach its end in five years. What would I do after that? What was the point of all of the savings I had managed to make back home if I was going to be Isekaied? I had been the main bread winner and now my family couldn't even use my savings because I hadn't left a body behind as proof that I had died. All of the thoughts and feelings I was still running from were flooding through me. I couldn't even distract myself with writing scrolls or anything. This was probably for the best. Pushing things away for much longer would be unhealthy. And if I couldn't let myself feel miserable when I was sick and alone, then when could I? I let the tears fall. I hadn't been a loud crier since I was a kid, so I was caught off guard when I could hear my own sobs. I didn't have it in me to hide any more. The bed I was on creaked but I hadn't moved. There was a new weight on the mattress.

I wasn't alone.

The concept that someone was checking on me hurt harder. I didn't grow up in a healthy environment, so now feel immense guilt when someone shows me genuine kindness. But I am also aware and recovered enough to know I deserve kindness, so the guilt always paired with an equal amount or more of relief. I felt a hand stroke my hair. They wanted to comfort me. And I wanted comfort. The waves washing over me encouraged me seek out more. I used what little strength I had to pull myself against them. Having undeniable proof that I wasn't alone and that someone cares was overwhelming. The relief made me cry harder. I'd have to thank them later. But for the time being I'd pour out as much emotion as they'd let me.

#sindria's prophet #magi prophet fanfic #king sinbad #magi sinbad #sinbad magi #sinbad x oc #sinbadxoc

33 notes · View notes

etlunainmorte · 4 years

Text

✒ P.S. I Love You ✒

***

"... I mean, it could be anywhere! Does it have a specific - ?"

"Wait!"

Nico held out a hand to stop Avery from talking. The Artisan looked at the woman and gestured for her to stay put for a while. Her companion nodded and braced herself as she hid behind one of the Grecian statues.

As she made her way towards the library, blatantly ignoring Christopher Lancaster's intimidating portrait, she heard the sound once more. It sounded like someone was sobbing,...

Nico followed the voice, the feeling of dread clawing its way to her heart. She turned around a corner, her radio held up, one finger ready to push the emergency button that would summon Nero's awful singing should something come out of the shadows and attack her.

However, no monster showed itself to her. Instead, she saw a girl sitting on the far right corner of the hall, her arms hugging her knees, her shoulders trembling with every sob she let out.

But, there was something strange about her, and that's her choice of clothes,...

... which looked like it was plucked off the late 1800s.

Nico made her way towards the girl without dropping her guard and knelt beside her, still trying to record every sound she could.

"Yo, you okay?" The Artisan carefully asked the girl, who looked up and finally revealed her face. "What are ya doin' here?"

"I can't come home." The girl simply answered.

"Oh. Where do ya live?"

To this, the girl pointed to the direction of a certain house across Avery's.

Wait. There's only one house across the street! And that's -

Nico furrowed her eyebrows as the girl spoke once more.

"I,... can't come home. I,... can't." She sobbed. "He trapped all of us here."

Trapped? Here?! "How many of you are in here?"

"There are s - six of us h - h ere."

Six?! Nico thought as she sighed and placed a hand on the girl's shoulder, which felt really cold. "No worries. We're gonna bust ya outta here. What's yer name?"

The girl sniffed as she wiped her tears with the sleeve of her shirt. "D - daniella."

"Okay, Daniella. We're gonna help ya. But, ya have to help us first. Tell me who keeps you here." Nico urged as she went on recording their conversation. "Who is he?"

"Him."

"Sorry?"

"Him. Him."

"Umm, who is he? Who - ?"

"Him. Him. Him! Him! Him!"

Daniella went on saying the same word over and over again like a broken record until Nico couldn't take it anymore. She stood up and drew back from the girl, who was still screaming. And the moment she looked to her right to the window, she saw the house,...

... the house that Daniella was pointing at.

The house she used to live at,..

And when she looked back at Daniella, she saw -

"Hey, wanna see me do a trick?"

***

XIV

***

The gentle old woman gingerly made her way towards the door when she heard the sound of her equally old doorbell ringing once more.

"A moment, please! Ah! Rheumatism,..." She mumbled under her breath and stretched. Then, after that, she opened the door and saw two gentlemen waiting for her outside. The first one, she hasn't seen before. But, the other one,...

"Good evening." V greeted politely as his eyes automatically latched onto her soft, green ones.

"Yes, what can I do for you, gentlemen?" Her eyes wandered at the thing V was holding. A small wooden, antique box.

"We would like to ask you something very,... important."

The old woman's kind features contorted as her eyebrows furrowed and her wrinkles creased even more with her growing confusion. "Oh. If you're looking for - "

"We're not looking for someone." Roman cut her off, albeit politely. He felt his arms going numb from carrying the phonograph for too long, and he felt his feet getting colder and colder as the minutes where they were outside in the harsh weather passed.

"Oh! I see. Well - " the old woman began but, something made her stop abruptly.

That old wooden box. That antique phonograph,...

It,... can't be,...

IMPOSSIBLE!

"If you do not mind us prying," V went on with his inquiry. "... we would very much appreciate it if you would allow us to make some,... inquiries,... regarding - "

"Forgive me, gentlemen. I do not accept solicitations of any kind."

"Solicitations?!" Roman began but he was immediately cut off.

"Thank you so much for your time. Good evening."

And with those words, she closed, no, slammed, the door on their faces.

The poor old woman clutched tightly at her chest as she leaned against the door. Her hands positively trembling, her eyes starting to burn, she never expected that this day would come. She has buried that past along with some distasteful memories when he died. And now that she was reminded of it once again, the memories, along with his pained, old face, started going down on her like a landslide.

She whimpered, covering her eyes with her cold and clammy palms as that familiar sense of dread and melancholy took over her body.

"I implore you. We need to talk." She heard V on the other side of the door. Now that the painful memories were back, she realized that V's face looked very much familiar as much as she wanted to deny it.

That face,...

It’s the same as his.

"Please, go away!" She cried, unable to suppress her feelings any longer. "I can't help you! Please! Leave me alone!"

"Listen," V spoke a few moments after her initial outburst. " ... we are aware that you know something of great importance to us."

"I know nothing! I know nothing!"

"Our friend was hurt." V went on. "And soon, people will perish if we do not take action. Innocent lives will be lost if you do not help us. So, please,..."

V and Roman waited for at least another minute, and yet, she would not open the door. It's as if she didn't want to listen to them or see their faces, at all.

And this only made the poet more convinced that she knew something deeper, and probably darker, than what he initially thought.

As he was about to knock once more, he was surprised to see the door finally being opened by the woman. And when they saw her tear - stained face and her conflicted expression, they could not help but feel guilty.

"Come in." The woman simply said as she finally invited the two men in.

A few moments later, as they sat on the sofa in the living room, the woman placed some things on the table, which were some old, yellowed notes, an album, and a small box. And as she sat across them on another sofa, she tried to relax herself by slowly letting out the pent up tension within her in the form of a long and deep sigh.

"Now, I see no reason why I should remain silent about this for a bit longer. I know what you came for, and to tell you honestly, I dread for the coming of this day. But, now I know that I have no other choice but to face this." She gravely told them, her emerald eyes still glistening with the tears she just shed. "And I do not want any lives lost because of my cowardice."

"You are not a coward." The poet told her as Roman agreed with a nod. "You chose to help us, and I' am thankful for that."

"Very well, then. I do not know if the information I have could help you but, I do hope that you will get enlightened of some things regarding the Lancaster household."

At the sound of the surname, the two men, most especially Roman, sat in attention, fully prepared to receive whatever information they would get from the woman.

The woman cleared her throat, and she finally began.

"If you should know the truth about the matriarch, Lady (Y/N) (L/N), then, yes: she did die in the year 1899. But, not of childbirth, or a fire, or anything else. She died due to unspeakable acts of torture performed by that lunatic doctor, Christopher Lancaster. A few from the clan knew this truth because the doctor, himself, tried to bury it with falsehoods."

"How do you know such things, if we may ask?" V questioned but, deep down, he could sense the answer, all along.

To this, the woman gave them a strange look, followed by a guilty smile and a shook of the head. She went on with her story.

"My mother was taken in by her best friend when she was only two months old. She raised her as her own, fed her, and provided only the best for her. And because of the woman who raised her, she grew up as the most wonderful woman I have ever known.

"And how did she lose her parents? Her mother died due to inhumane mental illness treatment complications, while her father died at a ripe old age, a lonely and miserable man. Their names were,...

"(Y/N) (L/N) and Victor Blake."

A tense and dreadful silence settled on the occupants of the otherwise warm and inviting home as Victor and (Y/N)'s grandchild opened the old album and showed it to the men. And surely enough, they saw the carefully compiled photographs of the couple, together with their closest friends, Daniella and the loyal maidservant in particular. They looked really happy in the photographs, with smiles on their faces and mirth on their eyes.

It's as if the photographs contained their bliss and showed the happiest days of their lives away from their troubles.

However, happy or troubled, the lover's grandchild and her photographs only raised even more questions than answers.

"Avery is not aware of this." Roman uttered as he took a closer look at the photographs. "You are related to her, and she didn't know this! Why didn't you tell her anything?"

"It was never my own choice to share the truth." The grandchild answered. "Miss Avery Edwards is the grandchild of my eldest sister, who was the only one who claimed territory of the (L/N) mansion. Or was it called the Lancaster mansion now? I can't really tell."

"Would you kindly tell us why?" V carefully asked her, letting Roman browse through the old photos for a while.

"Of course. As you may have very well guessed, my mother doesn't want anything to do with the history of the mansion, and the mansion, itself. Or rather, it was the wish of the woman who raised her - Lady Daniella Carrizales. And I would not have known about all of this unspeakable tragedy if it weren't for my, should I say, constant meddling regarding the things that my mother and Lady Daniella were hiding for such a long time.

"That fateful night, my grandmother's loyal servant escaped Lancaster's clutches and went to Lady Daniella to tell her the news of the doctor's crimes to her best friend. At first, she refused, as she was too afraid to stand against the infamous doctor. But, she had no other choice. She, then, rushed towards Victor Blake's American residence near Red Grave to ask him for help.

"It really seemed like a mistake, for the English poet had already settled down with the American woman who he was married with after his and my grandmother's separation." The old woman cleared her throat, feeling very uncomfortable with the tale she was sharing. She sighed, and went on. "You see, by the time my grandmother and Lancaster were married, Victor Blake burned all of the letters and photographs that reminded him of his old lover. The little notes, the scribbles, everything. He really loathed her for her decision to marry Lancaster.

"But, Lady Daniella would not be swayed despite this. Something made him change his mind. And when he finally went back to the mansion to see her, she was,..."

The old woman stopped talking. She bowed her head, her chest heaving due to the heavy breaths she's taking as if she's hyperventilating.

"Are you alright?" Roman worriedly asked her.

The woman held up a hand and nodded, successfully making them know that she's fine and doesn't need help.

"I' am perfectly fine, thank you." She breathed a few moments later. "When Victor finally saw her, he decided to take her out of the house away from Lancaster. You see, she's still alive by then, however, she has become a different person entirely. Gone was the woman he fell in love with. Reduced to a skeletal, malnourished, wounded, violated, and tortured state, it seemed as though her soul was taken out of her. Taken by the evil man who manipulated his way into her life.

"He and Lady Daniella were about to take her when Lancaster intervened. There was a fight between Victor Blake and Christopher Lancaster, the ugly fight that resulted into the English poet's permanent disability as the bones on his legs were broken. Still, Victor prevailed, using his metal cane to gravely injure him.

"A trial was held after that gruesome event, and Victor willingly went to prison for harming the doctor. But, he didn't stay long. The authorities have abruptly released him, following the unearthing of really disturbing things regarding Christopher Lancaster."

To this, the old woman opened the box, revealing its contents, which were mostly newspaper clippings and some old documents which looked worn and ripped in many places due to age and rough handling. She continued as the men studied the contents of the box.

"With Lady Daniella and the loyal servant's testimonies, the court has proven that Lancaster manipulated many people in the past, both in position and not, in order to gain his license as a doctor and a metaphysician. His chambers and offices were investigated and ransacked, and they have found a huge amount of evidence of his cruelty and torture, which also pointed to the murder of another servant by the name of Roselle Velez, the (L/N) household's former master, and the son of the gardener who served that house for a very long time. Lancaster was stripped off his license and his credibility and was sent to prison with a life sentence. Lady Daniella took my mother and brought her to this house to raise her as her own, and cut her ties with Victor Blake. She denied for a very long time to have known the poet out of spite until right before her very own death when she finally revealed the secret to my mother."

The blonde maid named Roselle. That little boy,...

They were all,...

"What happened to Blake after the incident?" V asked her.

"As I've told you, he died at a ripe old age a lonely and miserable man. The day my mother finally told me and my sister the truth about their relationship, I went out and sought him on my own. I found him there, in his old English residence. And when I introduced myself to him, he just,... cried and,..."

The old woman sighed once more as she wiped the tears that unwillingly escaped her tired eyes.

"This poor and lonely crippled man, who, then, could only move with a wheelchair, welcomed me into his own home. He was a really kind person who never hid any secret from me. He told me everything that Lady Daniella refused to tell my mother when she was still alive. Victor gave these to me.”

The woman picked up the yellowed notes and gave them to V, who looked at them and realized they were old letters from Lady Daniella, herself.

And the notes didn't sound friendly, at all.

January 13, 1900

Please, I beg you. Leave me alone. I do not want anything to do with you anymore. I do not want the truth and your ugly secrets taint the growth of (Y/N)'s daughter. I want to raise her without knowing what happened in the past. I want her to grow up away from you.

May 11, 1900

For the last time, I implore you. Leave America. Go back to England. You have a family of your own. Leave me and the child alone. In exchange, I will make sure that she gets the best things in life that you would not be able to give and provide as a father. I will give her my own name. I will make sure that she grows up healthy and unaware of everything. I will give her the life you once promised to my dearly departed best friend. The one promise you were never able to fulfill.

June 12, 1900

Farewell, Victor Blake. And I promise you this: it would be like you have never existed.

"These letters," V began as he looked back at the poet's grandchild. " ... Victor,... tried to get your mother back?"

"Indeed. He told me he wanted to raise her and give her the life she once promised to (Y/N). But, as you can see, Lady Daniella refused. Victor admitted to burning and discarding all of (Y/N)'s mementos in the past but, he regretted it later. Lady Daniella, on the other hand, hid everything, including those documents and the old photographs. She may have refused Victor his very own child, but she refused to burn the last remnants of her best friend's happiest memories on earth. She showed them to my mother before she died.

"And those letters you have in your hand? They were the only things left that reminded Victor of his relationship with (Y/N) and the child born out of their love. That was,... all he had,..."

The woman wiped her tears once more and went on.

"So, I made it a point to bring these photographs the next time I visited England. I showed them to him, and for the very first time, he looked really happy and emotional. He refused to let go of these photographs. He told me everything that happened between him and his beloved (Y/N), of those little letters passed in the middle of the night, of the times they played music together, of those times when they read poetry together, of that one time she confessed, of that very first night he shared with her. He told me all of those with tears, and he told me that he regretted every foolish decision he has made in his miserable life, of leaving her, of hurting her, of marrying another just to forget her.

"He had his marriage to the American woman annulled just to take his beloved under his wing. He took her to England. Despite his own disability, he took care of her, fed her, bathed her. He did everything he can to make up for his own mistakes. But, due to her own disability due to a lot of complications and trauma, she was never able to reciprocate. She died in his arms a month later in the year of 1899. He became even more depressed and crippled with pain and regret and guilt. He slowly lost the ability to walk, and he lost his fame as a writer due to the Lancaster scandal that was forever linked to him. He died without even seeing his daughter in person."

V and Roman watched with difficulty as the old woman wept for her grandfather, and V actually felt sorry for the poet. He may have hated him for what he's done, but he realized that all his life, Victor did everything he can to make up for his mistakes.

But, he knew that the poet was too late.

And now, despite finally knowing everything about (Y/N) and Victor, the single, and most important, piece of the puzzle was still missing.

"But, that wasn't the only information you came for, is that right?" The woman told them. "You came to know about something sinister in that house, didn't you?"

V only nodded, and to this, the old woman continued.

"The evidence of Lancaster's crimes weren't the only things that the authorities found that day. Apparently, there was evidence of Demon worship in his chambers, of a particular evil entity he prayed on for success as a doctor. Lancaster never denied any of this. He even left a conspicuous message before dying. Something like, one more soul. He wrote it in his own blood before committing suicide.

"The authorities may have abandoned his case after his death but, I pressed on and did my own research regarding Lancaster's Demon worship after my grandfather's death. And I have found something truly terrifying."

She took one last thing from the box and showed it to both V and Roman. It was a booklet written in a different language, and when V opened it, he saw that it contained disturbing images of a ritualistic sacrifice that could, apparently, grant the Summoner everlasting fame and fortune.

And from the macabre illustration, alone, V saw that the sacrifice required seven innocent souls, emotionally tormented and brutally tortured as a way to prepare them for the Demon who would grant the wishes. The person would, then, keep the trapped souls in a container, as clearly stated by the art.

Roselle, that little boy,...

(Y/N), herself,...

"Bedlam." The old woman pronounced. "It is the name of the Demon that Lancaster worshipped. One of the three Demons who served under a higher evil entity called Mundus. Pandemonium of Destruction, Maelstrom of Calamity, and Bedlam of Insanity. Lancaster was able to sacrifice two souls using the servant called Roselle and the gardener's son. He died without having to complete the ritual."

"But, you said he wrote one more soul." Roman interjected. "Does that mean that he was able to sacrifice more before his death other than those two?"

"No. He was able to take one more." V interrupted as he finally opened the phonograph, letting them hear Lancaster's awful voice as he performed the inhumane mental illness treatment on (Y/N).

"My,... God!" The woman breathed, eyes wide with disbelief at the disturbing sounds coming from the phonograph.

Before things could get really traumatizing, V turned off the antique device and proceeded with his own investigation. "Lancaster tormented (Y/N) through means of this torturous treatment. She may not have died instantly back then, but I think he was able to get her soul. Roselle died of torture, I know this for certain,... for I have seen it. Other than that," V paused, his heart racing due to the fact that the missing pieces were finally being put together in place. He could finally solve the mystery and end Lancaster's torture. " ... I have seen this boy several times during my stay in the mansion. I have no clue as to his death, but I know for a fact that he's one of those souls. Nico was able to escape the clutches of death but, if she didn't, she would've been the fourth soul."

"Dios Mio,..." Roman exclaimed as he put a hand against his forehead.

V exhaled and went on, looking at the woman straight in the eye. "Victor Blake's disability was caused by Lancaster, himself, am I correct?"

"Yes."

"If I may ask, how did Lady Daniella die?"

The old woman's eyebrows shot up to her hairline as realization finally kicked in. "I remember she mentioned she's having nightmares and evening frights before her death. I think she actually went to see a Psychiatrist regarding this but, it didn't help. I think it's what actually made her reveal the secrets to my mother. It's because she thought she's guilty, and this guilt and regret would go away if she revealed the truth."

V nodded, then braced himself.

He knew who the sixth soul was! He knew!

"May I ask,... the name of the loyal servant who stayed with (Y/N)?"

"Oh, that girl. Her name was - "

But, she was interrupted as Roman's phone suddenly began ringing. The man held up one finger as he took his phone out from his pocket and answered the call.

"Sweetheart, how are - ?"

"Very funny, Roman!" V heard Avery's voice from the phone.

And then, all of a sudden, he felt shivers run up and down his spine.

"Are you alright, sweetheart?"

"What is this surprise, hmm?"

"Surprise? What surprise?"

"Huh? You just called me and told me to come back home because you have a surprise for me! There's no one here! Where are you right now? Are you with someone else?"

V snatched the phone from Roman's hand. Deciding to talk to Avery, himself, he said, "Miss Avery, it's me."

"V? Where are you right now? This is not funny! It's too dark in here! It's - "

"Listen, if you can get out of that house, then do not hesitate to do so now. We'll get back immediately and - "

"You are too late, Victor Blake."

V almost dropped the phone as he heard the unmistakable voice of Christopher Lancaster on the other end. And this made Roman go into full panic mode. He snatched the phone from V and started screaming at it.

"YOU, MONSTER! DON'T YOU PUT A SINGLE FINGER ON HER, OR I'LL - !"

"You cannot win against me. Now, if you want her back, I suggest you come over here and play. We have a score to settle, remember? Or have you forgotten about your dear, old friend? Come here, and let us end this. Is that clear, Victor?"

And with that cold and subtle warning that seemed to come straight from the grave, the phone died.

***

✒ A special thanks to @harlot-of-oblivion for teaching me the language of the flowers. ✒

✒ @la-vita , @micaelagua , @v-vic , @birdgirl69 , and @beyond-the-mirror . ✒

***

Little Phineas had no idea what he got himself into that day when he saw Lady (Y/N)'s fiancé and Roselle doing something,... strange,... in one of the guest rooms. The door happened to be slightly ajar, and being the curious little thing that he was, he took a peek,...

... and saw Lord Lancaster on top of Roselle. He was not wearing pants while she was totally naked. They looked like their bodies were connected as they seemingly trembled like they were trying to shake the bed, or something.

He was so confused, and despite this, he didn't tell anyone what he saw.

Then, one day, Lord Lancaster approached him with a smile on his face.

"Good boy. Little precious boy. Come over here." The older man beckoned as he kneeled before him. "Do you want a treat for being such a good boy?"

Well, what child would refused that?

With a smile on his face, he excitedly went towards the room that the doctor told him to get his treats,...

And then, darkness.

When he opened his eyes once more, he saw strange people in the house, particularly that man who looked like the poet Victor Blake. His clothes looked strange, and he has some strange dark markings on his skin.

"How can I be of service to you?" The man asked him.

***

✒✒✒

***

#devil may cry 5 #vitale sparda #p.s. i love you #v x reader #v x you #chapter 14 #the lover's grandchild

32 notes · View notes

wheelygoodteddys · 5 years

Text

I don't want to do this!:

I absolutely hate writing about religious discrimination!

Frankly, I wish that I wasn't putting fingers to keyboard about any discrimination.

I also desperately don't want the focus to be on discrimination against everything Islamic and Muslim.

However, sadly, it's the most venomous hated that I have ever encountered, second only to racism against the black human beings of our world.

All my life I must have lived under a rock, maybe I live under a rock now, yet the vileness and outright lies that come out of those obsessed with hating all Islam and Muslims, plus anyone who stands up and says this is wrong, is obscene.

I am disgusted in the way these people respond.

I have had differing opinions with both Muslim men are women yet been addressed with respect and politeness. They are peaceful and not intimidating in any way.

Speak to a person who is anti Muslim, they refuse to listen to anything that may contradict what they want to believe, they will call you a liar and slander you. They intimidate and bully, call you names, question your mental stability, stalk your FB and target your children. The insults and illogical reasoning is unbelievable.

I am horrified that there are people like this in the world!

More horrifying still is for once I can see the appeal in hating the West.

Imagine a young Muslim man, born here, and rather then allowing him to explain what his religion means to him, to try and teach people, that hate everything about him, that he deserves to be not discriminated against, he gets told what his religion is, he is called a murder, a terrorist, a paedophile, a Mysoginist, etc. His sister is spoken to about her husband beating her, being oppressed, asked if she still has her clitorus, threatened with physical abuse, has her hijab torn off, threatened with rape, told she is a bad mother because she sells her baby girls to be raped by old men.

And no matter what they say to try and explain their actual beliefs the abuse flows. And this is from their own countrymen.

Mate, I would want them all gone too! Be honest, who wouldn't!?

Yet if they report abuse or complain about their treatment they are accused of wanting to change things. "They come here and try to change everything", is the cry from the haters!

1) There is NO law that insists that ALL women wear a Burqa in Saudi Arabia: Hijab is only compulsory for Muslim women. Anything else is a choice for those in a practicing Muslim family.

2) Women are not allowed to get an education in Saudi Arabia: I urge you to look up any TV broadcast from local Saudi Arabia telecasts. Women, in hijab, reading the news. This suggests an education. However, both men and women are encouraged to gain knowledge in Islam.

3) WTF does Saudi Arabia have to do with every other Muslim world wide, especially in Australia?

4) FGM (female genital mutilation) is an Islamic practice: Far from it! The Islamic religion urges that both men and women enjoy sex and that a man sexually pleases his wife. FGM is a tribal practice. However, MGM (male genital mutilation) has and still is widely practiced in Australia.

5) There is NO "no go" zones in Australia!: This urban myth was started by a female, Canadian Islamphobe. It was said to be proved when the police removed her from Lakemba for disturbing the peace. The police weren't working for the Muslims to enforce their "no go" zones! How ridiculous. Others tell totally unbelievable stories about women walking there and being spat on for not wearing hijab. Firstly, not all Muslimah wear hijab, even in Lakemba. Also there are numerous non-Muslims that go to these fabled areas to eat, visit, shop, do business, etc. This rumor is absolutely ludicrous!

6) Muslim women are oppressed, even here in Australia!: It is naive that there is no abusive people in any religion or walk of life, however, Muslimah are not oppressed as perf the usual course. Quiet the opposite! Historically, and as it is today, Muslimah have the freedom to do and be whatever they want, just like Muslim men. There is no distinction between what male and females can do. In fact, men are encouraged to wash their own clothes, cook and do housework. Also the Qur'an makes it very clear that the mother is the head of the household.

7) It is always claimed that Muslims want to change things: Yet, the question, "what have they actually changed?", goes unanswered. Muslims are required to live by the laws of the land, and as such, really don't want to change anything but the way they are treated. Especially how the women are treated. Our hero Islamphobes always target women and children because Muslimah are more recognizable.

8) Why are these people so threatened by the hijab or niqab?: For fuck sake it's a piece of material! It's not what's on a woman's head that oppresses her. However, who are those that want to oppress Muslimah? Muslim men or the Islamphobe? I say without hesitation, the Islamphobe! They don't ask a Muslim women how she feels, they don't ask what she may want to wear. They rarely comprehend the meaning of the hijab to a woman but rather try to twist it into some sexually perverse. They proclaim that Muslim women shouldn't wear a head covering. As Australia is a free country, with a freedom of religion and freedom of lawful individually, the real oppression and discrimination, is telling Muslim women what to wear.

9) Telling Muslim women what they are: The idea that, to Islamphobes, Muslim women are stupid and therefore, don't know that they are oppressed, would have to be the most Mysoginist slap in the face ever! All I can say is, "at least Muslim men know a woman's worth is awesome".

10) Muslim men marry girl babies of 5 to 6 years old and Muslim mothers allow it: Firstly, American is the place booming in child brides at the moment. With some states having no minimum age for marriage and also no divorce for women. Compared to Malaysian Clerics, years ago, raising the age of concent to 18. Also contrary to European/western/Christian culture, women have been granted divorce since the 700s in Islam.

11) Women wear the Burqa in Australia: This is actually one of those urban myths, started by Pauline Hanson. To see a Burqa in Australia would be very unusual. Most Australian Muslimah are from cultures that don't don the Burqa. The Burqa is an Afghan tradition and is very rare in Australia. Then why fight "ban the Burqa"? In one word, principle! It is against a woman's basic rights to tell her how much she can or can't wear, within the laws of public decency. There is also a security argument, as a Burqa is rarely worn that argument is rather moot.

12) Muslim men have lots of wives and children and just live on welfare: This is so silly that it's laughable. Once again, it is rare for Muslim men to have more than one wife these days as it is financially impractical. Also most Muslim men prefer one wife. In Australia, on average, the Muslim family consists of 2 children. With all this being said, usually Muslim men and women are educated and professional people. If not they strive to own businesses. The stupid welfare claims are unfounded and actually go against most Muslim traditions and cultures that have a hard work ethic.

13) They come here are get more welfare than Australians with no waiting period: This information can be researched on government websites. There is a waiting time for new Australians, Muslim or otherwise, which often means charitable families that sponsor them and take them in during this time. When they do receive any benefit, before getting on their feet, it is no more or less than anyone else.

14) They receive a thousand dollar iPhone and designer clothes as soon as they arrive: Is this one even worth answering? I just shake my head in disbelief!

15) Muslims have been Australians for generations: It amazes me how many people actually believe that no Muslim is Australian born. The history of the Islamic people in Australia predates white colonization. Islamic men from Indonesia travelled down and through Australia. There was intermarriage with the Indigenous peoples and even revertion to Islam by some. A more constant move to Australia, by those of the Islamic faith, started in the 1800's.

16) All Muslims are the same because they read from the same book: this is like saying that all Christian denominations are the same because they read from the same book. Most know that this is not the case.

There are many different varieties of Muslim. Yes they have the Qur'an yet addition books vary between the sects.

There are 72 different sects, numerous sects within the main sects, different traditions, different cultures, different regions, different regions, different countries and different families.

As for the Qur'an: there is the subject context, further context, overall context, historical context and spiritual context. Then all the different ways it is interpreted. Also interpretation can be manipulated and cherry picked to suit an agenda or bias. This can be said of the Bible also.

Where interpretation is important is in the understanding of Arabic. To translate a language as complex as Arabic into simple English leaves the meaning truly lacking.

For example: Islam is a very sexually moral religion. Men and women are not meant to sexulise each other, There is no unsupervised dating and dressing is modest. However, it is commonly thought the men will receive a bus load of virgins to have an orgy with in paradise. However, "virgin" more correctly translates to "pure". This is a "spiritual" context and "heavenly beings/angels is probably a better translation into English.

17) Muslims want to kill all Jews and Muslims. The Qur'an tells them to kill all Christians: Unfortunately people are so off the mark on this one. Islam actually says that Muslims cannot destroy a place of worship nor hurt religious "ministers". The Qur'an refers to Christians and Jews as the "people of the book". In fact, the only other women a Muslim man is permitted to marry is either a Christian or a Jew. The wives of these two religions are also not expect to revert as they are seen as sisters to Islam. Christian and Jewish men and women are thought of as brothers and sisters to Muslims.

There is a long list of urban myth, propaganda, rumors and out right lies that are used as ammunition against Islam and Muslims.

The arrogance of the Islamphobe is to tell a Muslim what their faith is! With no other religion would a person, outside that faith, verse another in their religion.

131 notes · View notes