u/hafsah_meow

I seek refuge in Allah AlRa’uf AlRahman from the accursed satan,

In the Name of Allah AlRahman AlRaheem.

Assalamu ‘aleykum wa rahmatullahi wa barakatu,

I have a question, is there such a thing as a milk male stepfather?

Like, if a woman proceeds to breastfeed a child without having her own husband at the time, and later on gets married after having breastfed would said man be considered a (milk) stepfather or… just (milk) father?

I imagine if a milk father (a man who was wedded to the breastfeeding woman at the time) got married to another woman said woman would be considered a milk stepmother, but idk how it works for women.

Let’s say a woman has one husband during the time of her breastfeeding, and then ends up with a different husband later on. Would said man simply be considered a stepfather or just father?

And as proper, assalamu ‘aleykum wa rahmatullahi wa barakatu.

I seek refuge in Allah AlRa’uf AlRahman from the accursed satan,

In the Name of Allah AlRahman AlRaheem.

Assalamu ‘aleykum wa rahmatullahi wa barakatu,

As the title reads, I’m a sucker for a love/marriage relationship between two warriors whom are both shy and embarrassed and in love.

Even better if the female warrior saving the MW’s life is why the MW is in love with her! (I like girls saving men’s lives, especially if it is their first literal encounter).

And as proper, assalamu ‘aleykum wa rahmatullahi wa barakatu.

I seek refuge in Allah from the accursed satan,

In the Name of Allah AlRahman AlRaheem.

Assalamu ‘aleykum wa rahmatullahi wa barakatu,

One of my (new) favourite romance marriage tropes is that of a male warrior who is absolutely proud and confident, powerful, fearless and brave, brilliant and tactical and strategical and yet… is an absolute mess when it comes to the opposite gender.

Like… bro’s a complete shy, brainless, shocked, bumbling red mess when it comes to women. He can’t breathe the same air as them lol.

And the woman is just like… a girlboss fr.

Like, she’s so confident, blunt/straightforward, feminine (gardens, make up [without long and painted nails], dresses, takes care of her hair, everything), courageous and strong, modest and dignified, compassionate, smart and understanding of her desires and is assertive and initiative. (Like… imagine her gifting the guy gifts and being gentle with him and everything!! Ahh!!);

Like, ok, LISTEN to me, the guy falls in love…

And then what? Imagine the guy going out of his way to demand others to get HER to purpose so that he can say “yes” as he’s too shy and embarrassed to purpose himself only for that when she actually purposes he is WAY TOO SHY to even utter the word “yes” or even just nod. (What, with his dad having to say that he is pleased with the marriage).

Like, it’s genuinely hilarious for a guy to be an absolute ICON in the battlefield but be absolutely speechless and red in the bedroom.

(Also, this frankly could have been tagged “Crack Treated Seriously” “Comedy”, “Fluff”, “Trope(s)” , etc)

And as proper, assalamu ‘aleykum wa rahmatullahi wa barakatu.

[TW: child abuse, cannibalistic ideation, etc]

She hits him. Again, he made a mistake.

She’s been training him relentlessly the past few weeks.

Drilling in him silence, determination, resilience and obedience.

She’s teaching him, as of right now, how to fight. (Yuji is salivating at her blood and bones, he doesn’t know why.)

Cold and ruthless. She used to at least be humorous and sardonic before.

Ever since the Welds came, she had become entirely serious and strict, he wishes to know why, when he tries to get closer, she hisses and tells him he’s too young.

Young.

Yuji wonders how it would be like to be 70. To be 80. To be 90. 100. Must be filled with so much wisdom, knowledge and experience. He, curious little him, always felt envious.

Yuji coughs blood. Ugh.

His mother just seems irritated, “Yuji!”

“Why are you never paying attention?!”

I am. There’s just a lot on my mind.

He doesn’t say that though. “Whenever I do, you get mad at me for asking too many questions.”

She scowls, as if he had just asked such a stupid, stupid, annoying question.

*“*Of course I do, ask what benefits you, and do not focus on insignificant details and matters.”

Huh. What benefits me? And what doesn’t? Okay mama. Sounds like interesting life advice.

He nods. “Okay, mama.”

She hisses, almost like a snake.
“Stop calling me mama! You stupid child. You’re not a child anymore, you got it? So stop behaving like one.” Her voice was final, decisive and unwavering.

Yuji would say her words were contradictory. But okay.

Yuji loves staring at his mama.

Yuji just licks his lips. It’s covered with blood. Delicious.

“Meow.”

She sighs, again, she does. This is getting really repetitive.

Hi mum.

Hi son.

She hugs him with tears in her eyes, bitting her lips. He didn’t know she was capable of sadness or crying. Huh. I guess you learn something new everyday.

“Mum, I love you.” She bites his lower arm as an “I love you too”.

“Thanks, mum.”

Today, was the day, in which his mama informed him of what he, Allah subhanahu wa ta’ala forbid, was to become.

And he now learned he’s going to have to wear eye lenses for the rest of his time. Sounds cool!

Yuji was always a curious kid, he drew a lot, stared at things for a really long time, and asked a lot of questions.

Too many questions, in fact.

“Monsters” AKA Beluas, Pelmatoes and Therions make up 0.001% of humanity.

“Yuji, I……… I……” the words are on her tongue, but not lips. She’s too much of a tsundere to openly say them.

“Love you?” She bites her lips, and nods.

“I love you too, mama!” He rushed to hug her, he just pats him.

His mama’s cooking was always really bad, if nothing else, if he leaves, he has escaped from eating burnt, disgusting food! Alhamdulilah.

[TW: incest, homosexual acts, smut, p3d0philia, etc]

I seek refuge in Allah AlRa’uf AlRahman from the accursed satan,

In the Name of Allah AlRahman AlRaheem.

Assalamu ‘aleykum wa rahmatullahi wa barakatu,

As the title reads, please get away from r/AO3 (and the actual AO3 as well).

It’s >!FULL!< of shameless homosexuality, shameless and proud incest, pedophilia, shameless smut, etc

Genuinely, it is so so easy to find a smut story on there, including sexualising teenagers.

I could not warn you against it enough, get away from it.

And as proper, assalamu ‘aleykum wa rahmatullahi wa barakatu.

[TW: child abuse, child soldiers, “kidnapping” in a way, abandonment and betrayal, etc]

Ramona is groaning, giving birth to her baby boy.

Now he’s born, and she knows he’s different.

The others don’t sense it, but she can tell — she’s always been an observant person — he’s a Therion.

And in this world, Therions, Beluas and Pelmatoes exist. They were humans who quite weren’t.

They could see and interact with Jinns easier than normal humans ever could have, but they weren’t actual Jinns. They weren’t.

Therions were monstrous, strong, fast, and inherently sadistic. She always couldn’t help but pity them, they suffered from mental illnesses. And everyone else was too afraid and disgusted of them and thought of them as innately cruel to help them, they always just got more and more dehumanised and demonised by people. It’s a self-fulfilling prophecy!

Therions had black eyes, it made them look soulless.

Pelmatoes were weaponised and idealised, everyone wanted to use them and be their “friend”. They often got stripped of their childhood into becoming soldiers and heroes early on. Pelmatoes could run without making a single noise or footprint — they, poor them, had better hearing sense as well — being able to hear from a million kilometres. Their ears always suffered heavily whenever someone screamed.
Pelmatoes suffered from apathy.

Pelmatoes had purple hair, it made them look majestic.

Beluas were the most “normal” and “boring”, they had long tongues and deadly teeth, their nails were actually claws (and grew excruciatingly fast whenever Beluas tried to cut and shorten them).
They suffered from always being hungry, and hurting themselves and others too easily with their nails and teeth. Causing them to never physically play with others.

Beluas had their long claws, sharp teeth and long tongue to know who they are.

She feels validated, and irritated, when he starts sucking blood from her hand.

She sighs. This, Allah subhanahu wa ta’ala forbid, is going to be one annoying kid.

She had wanted a girl. To play with, to laugh and gossip and chatter and drink tea.

But she got a boy, which means, in shaa’ Allah, a protector and provider.

Welp, a blessing is a blessing no matter the sex. Or the hybridism.

People back then, and now, suspect that Therions, Pelmatoes and Beluas were born from Jinns and humans. There is no proof to suspect they are, they very clearly aren’t.

What they are, are a strange kind of human.

She takes her hand away from him, and slaps his hand away from her.

She’s going to need to put lenses on him before the little guy gets murdered. Ugh. This is going to be a headache.

The baby, alhamdulilah alhamdulilah, does not cry. Alhamdulilah. (She doesn’t know what she would have done if he did.)

His father, the rat and manipulator, had been with her for one day, then immediately divorced and abandoned her after he had enjoyed her.

He didn’t even provide for her during her ‘Iddah period and pregnancy either, she prays he dies a painful and miserable death soon and rots in hell.

The only reason she didn’t abort this kid was because she didn’t have an Islamically justified reason to do so.

Oh well, hello my new brat.

Hello, Yuji Carnifex.

Yuji falls asleep on her, after staring at her like she’s the most interesting thing for several minutes, 😑.

(Only a week after this, her ex-husband had died, slowly, from a car crash.)

__________________________________________________________________________

Yuji is two, and he keeps staring at birds.

She decides to kill a bird for him, fed him its blood and meat, just so that he might stop crying and annoying her. (Her yelling at him only causes him to cry more, she wishes yelling would succeed for once. Only hitting and slapping does the job.)

She knows that, Islamically speaking, she is a* *horrible parent, she has never once kissed him as of now — and she yells at him, and slaps him, a lot. And he’s still just a baby, although an annoying and careless one.

She sighs, and holds him in her lap.

(She’s shy to say she feels ashamed at how bad of a parent she is, but she can’t help it.)

__________________________________________________________________________________________

Yuji is four now, and he’s always causing her heart attacks and headaches.

“Don’t call me mummy.” “mummy!” She rolls her eyes.

This kid’s legs are embarrassingly faster than her, she really needs to get into running and sports in order to keep up with this little felon.

She had never been prepared for parenting, but, she’d be cursed if she ever let this kid die.

Nope, not on her watch.

__________________________________________________________________________

Yuji is still four, and the guards have come to take him.

Huh? Oh.

Ramona hisses, she doesn’t want her son to go away, she doesn’t want her son to die, she doesn’t trust the Welds with taking care of him.

But she has no choice.

“Yuji, Yuji, YUJI!”

“Huh?! Yes, mummy?”

She grabs Yuji, and whispers (hisses) into his ear. “Yuji, listen to me CAREFULLY, more carefully and desperately than you ever did! No matter what they try to force you to do, don’t lose your morals. Okay, little one?”

Yuji is phased by all of this, he’s never heard his mother this desperate and careful. He nods. (He forgets later on. Years past.)

Ramona leaves him, puts on a nice fake and proper smile, and goes to the door.

“Assalamu ‘aleykum wa rahmatullahi wa barakatu, what do you wish for, O Welds? What may I do for you?”

“You have a boy.” Yes, she does. A Therion, as well, which she has succeeded in keeping that fact secret for so long. (Her stomach falls when she realises what that means for her secret)

She’s sweating, too, oh this is horrible. Allah subhanahu wa ta’ala help us.

The main guy narrows his eye, “please give him to us, we do not wish for violence and orphaning a new one.” She’s shaking, she tries so hard to make it unobvious that she is. (She’s pretty sure they noticed anyway)

She puts herself together, and says, “can I have him for some more time, please? I beg you, may Allah subhanahu wa ta’ala reward you.”

The main guy blinks, and narrows his eye “you have 4 weeks. 4 weeks then, and we’ll have him.”

She nods, 4 weeks, 4 weeks is good. Alhamdulilah alhamdulilah.

After they had left, without realising or noticing it, she hugs Yuji tight towards her chest.

“Mummy?” He’s confused, but after realising that she isn’t going to reply, he chooses to enjoy the hug and smile as well.

Subhan Allah wa bihamdih, subhan Allah Al’theem,

Subhan Allah wa bihamdih, subhan Allah Al’theem,

Subhan Allah wa bihamdih, subhan Allah Al’theem.

I seek refuge in Allah Al-Rahman Al-Ra’uf from the accursed satan,

In the Name of Allah Al-Rahman Al-Raheem.

Assalamu ‘aleykum wa rahmatullahi wa barakatu,

Alhamdulilah, alhamdulilah alhamdulilah.

Ya’ll, I feel SO blessed (say Allahumma barik pls) and happy alhamdulilah alhamdulilah alhamdulilah!

Genuinely, being a moderator has brought me so much pride, happiness, responsibility and joy alhamdulilah alhamdulilah alhamdulilah!

For anyone subscribed to this subreddit, thank you. May Allah subhanahu wa ta’ala bless you.

Also, yeah, pls say Allahumma barik ya’ll!

And as proper, assalamu ‘aleykum wa rahmatullahi wa barakatu!

I seek refuge in Allah AlRahman AlRafeeq from the accursed satan,

In the Name of Allah AlRahman AlRaheem.

Allahumma salli ‘ala sayyidna Muhammad wa ‘ala ‘ali Muhammad wa sahbah wa barakah wa salam

Allahumma salli ‘ala sayyidna Muhammad wa ‘ala ‘ali Muhammad wa sahbah wa barakah wa salam

Allahumma salli ‘ala sayyidna Muhammad wa ‘ala ‘ali Muhammad wa sahbah wa barakah wa salam salamun katheeran tayyibun mubarakun fih.

Assalamu ‘aleykum wa rahmatullahi wa barakatu,

I… have an idea of misochero, that I don’t think I’m in shaa’ Allah going to include in my The Wondrous People’s series, however would love to include it in other series’s (and see it included by other series’s as well).

Before I start, I want to begin that misochero is very much different from kanonikotitaphobia and misokanonikotita (although it is still similar to them in some ways).

I’ve already written comments about what kanonikotitaphobia and misokanonikotita are, so let’s begin with what misochero is.

Fun facts about misochero and misocheroists: misochero is the abhorring and aversion to happiness.

Not normalcy, happiness and cheerfulness.

Misocheroists don’t feel discomfort and discomfit from normalcy and happiness — they feel anger towards it.

This is a mental condition that can only be gained, not born with.

Why Do Misocheroists Hate Happiness?

Misocheroists are people whom went through complicated, deep and difficult stuff [they tend to be victims, however can also be oppressors who now regret their past doings] who feel angry towards happiness, cheerfulness and brightness due to it feeling like someone is being happy and cheerful during a funeral.

Misocheroists can be very kind and charitable individuals, however dislike seeing happiness as a “How Can/Dare You?!” They tend to feel sadness, emptiness, depression, etc and again see someone being happy in general as alike to someone being happy and celebratory during a funeral due to how aware misocheroists are of people’s miseries and how dark the world can be.

To them, everyday is alike a funeral, they feel outrage at someone’s happiness due to the fact that some other person is likely suffering deeply (r@p3, murder, torture, abuse, etc) so to them, happiness is selfish and uncaring/apathetic.

Misocheroists generally don’t like beautifying themselves (or their houses), and are frustrated and annoyed by those who do so due to the fact that a lot of the money that was spent on beautification could have been spent on a homeless and poor person, so they see beautification as selfishness.

Thus, misocheroists are aversed by (unnatural) beauty of peoples and places.

Due to that, misocheroists tend to (astighfurallah! Astighfurallah!) wear simple clothing, something likewise of what Athenian Greeks wore. (The more religious misocheroists would likely wear more than that, but again simple and cheap clothing is what they do)

Misocheroists tend to be very sympathetic, selfless, self-sacrificing, understanding, helpful, etc to other people’s issues.

Misocheroists don’t celebrate, and tend to be in a constant state of work and helping.

Non-Misocheroists tend to be annoyed and frustrated by them and how “depressive, angry and hopeless” they are, and would often use the example of the Prophet (SAW) who smiled often and how smiling is encouraged in Islam to combat them.

And, as clearly, misocheroists don’t smile, and if they do, they didn’t realise they were smiling. (Due to their abhorrence towards happiness, celebration, etc)

And as proper, assalamu ‘aleykum wa rahmatullahi wa barakatu.

[TW: cannibalistic thoughts, a child committing cannibalism, mental health issues, etc]

Victorine knows she is ill. That she has kanonikotitaphobia. That she’s a killer, and a lover.

She ended the person whom she loved. Just so that she doesn’t struggle with these abhorrent feelings, so that she can be normal and uncaring. She was satisfied like that.

She knows. She knows. She knows.

But no one else does, and that’s the way she likes it to be.

The girl she nurtured believes she is strange. She too, would call her daughter strange.

But her daughter’s right. And she isn’t.

She gets goosebumps whenever her bedmate touches her. Kisses her. (She’s gotten really good at masking, and he doesn’t know what to fetch for alhamdulilah alhamdulilah alhamdulilah.)

She feels violated when he does, but this is marriage after all. And she’s never been one to be in marriage.

She ran away when she was 16. She’s proud ashamed to say she ate human flesh when she was 3. (She needed to do that to survive.)

She’s starting to smile more naturally, honestly, towards her consort. (She doesn’t know how to feel about that.)

She maybe, probably, definitely, needs psychological help. She’s not about to confess to her past to achieve that. No, certainly not.

She finds human flesh appetising, and normal food disgusting. She can only wonder what that must say about her.

She only prays to Allah for help and guidance away from her deceiving thought.

I seek refuge in Allah AlHayy AlQayyum from the accursed satan,

In the Name of Allah AlRahman AlRaheem.

Assalamu ‘aleykum wa rahmatullahi wa barakatu,

All good is from Allah subhanahu wa ta’ala, and all evil and mistake is from me and satan.

I believe AlTazaj Bakery is a flawed restaurant — its food used to be better than what it is now.

Now, homemade food tastes better and cleaner than it.

I rate it 5/1.8.

You should not eat from it anymore.

I had, myself, ordered it and been disappointed in both its sweets and its food. (The sweets tasted better than the fatayer and the pizza)

And as proper, assalamu ‘aleykum wa rahmatullahi wa barakatu.

[possible TW: hospitalisation, brain damage, etc]

It’s been a week after the wedding.

Victorine would internally say her husband — whom is alive and not dead and DEFINITELY not a cannibal — is creepy.

Hendrick has taken a quick liking and fondness of Nono, playing with her and spoiling her all the time, Victorine suspects Nono has become more fond of and attached to him than she is to her.

How odd are they.

She’s brushing her teeth with black toothpaste.

“Oh how blessed is this toothbrush! How I wish I could have been it, so that I may kiss your teeth!” Hendrick dramatically says and falls into his beloved’s arms.

“mhm.😑” she’s surrounded by normal people.

He’s become so quickly attached. It’s only been a week.

Nono joins in, how unfortunate, “woah! Are you making another child! Does that mean I can become a big sistah!!” “YES!” “I love you papa!”

“Love you too dear!”

Victorine highly suspects pregnancy. Oh well.

__________________________________________________________________________

Layla eats toasted bread, she doesn’t know why Felicity likes to stare at her so much.

What Felicity is doing is far stranger than hers. (She’s standing using her arms and hands instead of legs and feet).

“What?” “Oh, it’s nothing. I just like looking at your beautiful eyes!” “They aren’t beautiful.” They literally look the exact same as hers.

“To me, they are.” “Then, you should say Allahumma barik then.”

“Allahumma barik!”

Growing up with an identical twin sister who has misokanonikotitism is… something.

They’re identical twin sisters, so their bond is great, but she has misokanonikotita, so she has destroyed so much of their life.

Layla says she has forgiven, but she still remembers how she almost died, how her head was destroyed and how she had to stay in the hospital for months.
(She feels bad for thinking about it still.)

She KNOWS Felicity loves her — snd she loves her too, but she’d be lying not to say that having a sibling with misokanonikotita isn’t tiresome and annoying.

“Here, I’ve got this for you.” Oh… now she feels more bad and ashamed.

Felicity has just gotten her her favourite thing, ever, and today is neither a special day nor did Layla request it.

“Thanks Fel.”

“Anytime lil sis.” She’s, surprisingly, the older one — if only by 11 minutes.

Layla hates how Fel keeps reminding her of her being the younger one.

“Okay, big sis.” She mutters, as she rolls her eyes.

“Hi girls!” Nono waves and smiles as she sees them.

“Assalamu ‘aleykum wa rahmatullahi wa barakatu,” Felicity says.

“Wa ‘aleykum assalam wa rahmatullahi wa barakatu!” Nono replies.

“Greetings,” Layla greets. Felicity just can’t take her seriously and laughs.

How annoying. Despite this, Layla still smiles. (She doesn’t notice she is)

“Sooo, what’s up for today?” “We’re going to start fighting dragons!” “Really?!” “Yes! Really!”

“No! We’re not, if we did, mum and dad would die out of panic! You know how tired you make them feel all the time!”

“Oh, sorry.” Felicity bites her lips and lowers her head in shame. Layla had hit a low point. (She’d argue otherwise)

If being siblings with a misokanonkotitist is so bad, one can only imagine the worry, panic, tiresome and anxiety it causes a parent.

Layla was 8. She kept hearing her mother frantically cry and gasp and choke.

“She had a heart attack.” The doctor tells her, she shouldn’t be learning about things that could cause someone to die at such an age.

Her mother was hospitalised for far longer than she ever was. The worry and panic took a better hold of her.

In truth, Layla would always ask to see and interact with her mama more often, she would get rejected.

“Dad? Will mum ever get okay once more?” “In shaa’ Allah, she will, dear. She will, just don’t think about her so much, okay?” “Ok, papa, I trust you.”

I seek refuge in Allah AlHayy AlQayyum from the accursed Satan,

In the Name of Allah, The Most Beneficent, The Most Merciful.

Peace be upon you, and Allah’s ***rahmah*** and blessings.

One of (definitely not my favourite tropes however) my favourite tropes, is just a woman proposing marriage to a man.

Like how our Mother Khadijah (AS) proposed marriage to our Gracious Prophet (SAW).

In fact, there’s a Hadith of a woman (RA) proposing and while Allah’s Messenger (SAW) gently and implicitly rejected her, he (SAW) arranged marriage for her to another guy (RA).

Also, AbdulHayy on Quranic insights believes that prophet Moses’ (Peace Be Upon Him) wife actually implicitly requested to be married to Moses (Peace Be Upon Him)!

Honestly? I like how much of a reverse in tropes it is — women both IRL and in Media are just expected to wait to be proposed to, instead of proposing themselves, it feels like a sweet relief for it to be the opposite way around.

It’s a trope that is simple, sweet, refreshing and fun!

What’s one of your favourite tropes? Whether it be a simple, complicated, endearing, or heartbreaking, etc trope.

And as proper, peace be upon you and Allah’s ***rahmah*** and blessings.

EDIT: I just remembered another example — of how our mother Maymunah (RA) also proposed marriage to our Prophet (SAW).

“Assalamu ‘aleykum wa rahmatullahi wa barakatu!” Nono shouts as she enters home after being in school.

Victorine blinks. She’s cutting cucumbers.

“Wa ‘aleykum assalam wa rahmatullahi wa barakatu.”

“Mum! Mum! You won’t believe what happened today!”

“Sure I will in shaa’ Allah.”

“Nu’ uh” “just go on already.”

“Well, today, some girl — who’s been looking at me quite a lot in class for some weeks — has finally came up to me and asked to be friends!” Victorine just rolls her eyes. “And?”

“She’s so cute and beautiful may Allah subhanahu wa ta’ala bless her! She’s black African!” “Cool,” and Nono would say it feels so weird! Hearing her mama say something like that. “what was it about her personality that interested you?”

“Well, she’s smart! And nice! And caring! And preeeeeeetttyyyyy!! Like, the MOST beautiful girl I’ve ever seen!!! May Allah subhanahu wa ta’ala bless her a million times over and increase her physical and spiritual beauty!”

“Well dear, would you not just clean the windows for your breastfeeder’s sake?”

Nono just grins, a big, wide and obedient grin. “Of course mama!”

Nono swiftly takes a towel, and proceeds to wipe over the windows of her new home.

Again, and again, and again.

Until she is sweating, groaning and complaining of how tired she is “ugh! Please, mum, give me a break! Pleaasee <3” “I will not permit you to not do such a thing.” “But-“ “no lunch until finished.” And Victorine nods in approval.

“You have done well, you may now go eat.”

Nono looks at her work now properly, and she honestly feels proud and happy of how clean and shiny it is.

She smiles.

“Thanks mum!”

[TW: gangrape, murder-suicide, family loss, etc]

Hendrick had been raised by his milk family for as long as he could remember.

His milk-mother was his biological mother’s half-twin. Which made them pretty close when they were young. When they were young.

As they got older, got married and had kids of their own, and changed more and more as people… they stopped keeping so much contact — they didn’t fully cut contact with each other, but their relationship just became… quiet. Most of the time.

His mother was heavily abused by his father, causing her — in a moment of rage and insanity— to kill him and then herself. (His grandmother was raped by a gang into having his mothers, his grandma still loved them however and protected them and was one badass woman and grandmother. He surely deeply loves her.)

His half-aunt had heard about the incident, and had rushed to his mother’s house and took him.

She grieves his biological mother a lot. She regrets not having spent more time with her. (She regrets not having helped her when she needed it the most). It’s okay, he makes sure to treat his milk-mother well for her (his bio and milk mothers’) sake.

He likes to ask questions about his biological mother, and she loves to talk facts about how she was.

“Oh, you know, when me and Arabella were young, we used to toy and play with each other near a firewood, we used to often dye each other’s hair and hair styles.

I remember when we giggled over something so stupid. It was so stupid.” She cry-laughs over it. 9 year old him just nods. He makes sure to stand up and kiss his mother and tell her “I love you”. She always replies back.

It’s a habit of his to kiss his mother’s forehead before ever going out, to tell her “I love you” daily.

Alhamdulilah, his hands are rough, dusty and tired.

He had just finished cleaning the basement, that of which his dearest milk-mother had wished of him.

And he, stupid him, is grinning a goofy, shy and excited smile.

Victorine had proposed marriage to him a week ago, he could have sworn no one would ever be interested in him!

“Hendrick, I would like to wed you.” “Huh? Wait, what?” He couldn’t believe his ears. It has to be a mistake. “I would like to wed you. That’s what I had spoken.” “Oh, wait? Really?” He’s face was burning red with shyness and shock. She had gritted her teeth — he had made a mistake, but before he could voice out his apology— “do I have to repeat myself more?” “No! Not at all, sorry.” He tries to look down, but his eyes constantly hover towards her. “When?” “When you finish your work.” “Oh! Okay!”

Victorine had been so direct — way more purposeful and intentional in her words than he is.

It’s a memory that keeps getting replayed in his head, every so often, every night before sleep. He praises Allah subhanahu wa ta’ala for it constantly.

his milk-brother noticed — how couldn’t he? Everyone noticed. — his smiles and kept being suspicious of him. (Hendrick just wonders how come he hadn’t already confronted him and asked him)

Phone is ringing. Oh yeah, he promised Rosamel to go out today.

“Yikes. Stupid me.”

“Assalamu ‘aleykum wa rahmatullahi wa barakatu, hello? Rosamel?”

“BRO! Where are you?! Where have you been?! It’s been 30 minutes already!” Rosamel doesn’t like to wait. Hendrick knows that.

“Calm down, Mel, I just forgot and lost track of time. No need to worry, dearest friend.”

“Yeah, okay, just come down sooner.”

Hendrick finishes his clothing, and prepares to go with his friend.

But before he does, there is just someone really important that he needs to talk with.

Hendrick kisses his mother on the forehead and hugs her.

“Assalamu ‘aleykum wa rahmatullahi wa barakatu, O my dearest mother! I’m going out, do you need anything or is it just fine?”

His mum smiles, and laughs, “just go out and enjoy yourself, honey.”

He doesn’t forget to kiss his mother once more before going out.

__________________________________________________________________________

Victorine sighs.

Nono is playing with her phone.

“Nono, dear, I am marrying Hendrick for you.”

“Huh? Why?” “It’s because he’s calm, humble, religious, child-loving, fatherly, mature and understanding. And he is an orphan who only has milk-family instead of biological.”

Victorine turns to face Nono. “Look, I know I’m not a good parent. You don’t have to pretend that I am,” she lowers her gaze and head towards the floor, “I don’t know how good parenting looks like in the first place.”

“Woah, so you proposed to him for me to have a good papa?! Thanks mum! Alhamdulilah alhamdulilah alhamdulilah.”

Nono, as always, rushes to hug and kiss her mother. She’s just surprised at the fact that Victorine doesn’t move away like always.

“Mwah!” “Enough, enough, such sweetness would kill me.” Victorine gently and slowly pushes Nono away.

“Awwww, but you don’t really mean that mum!” “And you don’t really mean half the things you say half the time.”

“Aww, but mum!” And Victorine just sighs. She’s gotten too fond of this creature for her liking.

I seek refuge in Allah AlHayy AlQayyum from the accursed Satan,

In the Name of Allah, The Most Beneficent, The Most Merciful.

Peace be upon you, and Allah’s rahmah and blessings.

One of (definitely not my favourite tropes however) my favourite tropes, is just a woman proposing to a man.

Like how our Mother Khadijah (AS) proposed to our Gracious Prophet (SAW).

Honestly? I like how much of a reverse in tropes it is — women both IRL and in Media are just expected to wait to be proposed to, instead of proposing themselves, it feels like a sweet relief for it to be the opposite way around.

It’s a trope that is simple, sweet, refreshing and fun!

What’s one of your favourite tropes? Whether it be a simple, complicated, endearing, or heartbreaking, etc trope.

And as proper, peace be upon you and Allah’s rahmah and blessings.

Assalamu ‘aleykum wa rahmatullahi wa barakatu,

One of my favourite parts — if not the favourite part — about the seerah is the moment before Hamzah’s (RA) conversion — the part in which he asks Allah subhanahu wa ta’ala to guide him if Islam is true or to die if it isn’t.

Why? Well, it’s due to Hamzah (RA) feeling embarrassed.

I just love how even people back then felt embarrassment and saw embarrassment as being “Fate Worse Than Death” even back then lol.

It also makes me fond of Hamzah (RA) in general and makes him more relatable to me tbh.

And as proper, assalamu ‘aleykum wa rahmatullahi wa barakatu.

[TW: cannibalism of a child’s corpse, killing, sadism, child abuse]

She’s falling. And drowning. And falling further.

The cold, freezing, endeathing, comforting water lulls her into sleep.

There’s water everywhere — around her and in her. In her hair, head and skull, around her lips and in her nose and mouth.

Her clothes are covered with water.

She swears she’s going to die, there’s just so, so much water around her. She smiles and closes her eyes.

It’s just so peaceful, more water in her lungs that crushes her body.

Iron enters her mouth — she spits it out quickly, paternal aunt and paternal uncle taught her well. She is grateful.

She gets on land, and she proceeds to bite a child’s corpse.

Their blood and meat are delicious. She thinks.

She opens her mouth wide and bites a big and hard bite, iron and blood filled in her mouth.

Should I continue? It’s really delicious. I haven’t eaten something like that in a while.

No, I shouldn’t. I need it to survive later on.

She drags its corpse to a tree’s shade, and pokes its eyes and ears.

Victorine laughs to blood. She does. She really, really does.

She wakes up disgustingly sweaty. Her face is red and she bites her tongue. (she loved that dream.)

“I seek the forgiveness of Allah The Greatest, the One Who is no deity beside Him, alHayy alQayyum, and I repent to Him.” (She says this more often than she’d prefer.)

Her house is not on fire, her bed is not filled with spikes, and her hands aren’t covered with blood.

She goes to the mirror and opens her mouth, it’s perfectly healthy with not a single tooth missing.

Her mouth doesn’t taste like iron.

She turns around, expecting to see swords, knives, guns and weapons. She sees a bed, a phone, a I love you sticker her killer daughter put on her wall.

“Oh. I’m flinching and shivering.” She needs to stop doing that more often.

“Alhamdulilah alhamdulilah alhamdulilah” she bites her tongue at its insincerity. She knows she has a lot to be appreciative of.

Her dethroner daughter asks about her family and past life.

“My male biological maker and female biological maker weren’t around after I turned 4.” “Huh? Why? Were they dead?” “Hmph, no, they just preferred I’d grow up and be a good citizen sooner, so I was raised by my paternal uncle and aunt.” “Who’s they?” “And that’s not your business to know.”

Her daughter, whom has most definitely never committed murder, theft, arson, or ever have been a sadist or masochist, asks more questions than should be allowed for her tongue to not get cut.

She’s 39, and she was 16 when she left.

The human, living corpse and bones residing with her says she’s a muscular, tall female. She’s 7 foot tall.

She grits her teeth and sighs when she doesn’t find daggers in her room as they should be.

“I seek refuge in Allah from the accursed Satan!

She remembers having another one of these dreams following someone, attempting to kill them, grinning and having the time of her life and laughing at their misery. She wishes it lasted longer.

“I just wish my mother would stop yelling at me and stop banging stuff whilst I’m sleeping.” Her daughter thinks she hadn’t heard that. She heard that, and she couldn’t eat anything for the rest of the day.

SubhanAllah! Why can’t she just be NORMAL?! Like everyone else is.

Why does she have to be the one haunted by these thoughts and memories?

She sighs and closes her eyes in exasperation.

It’s a Friday today, which means her daughter is downstairs spending her time sending salutations and blessings upon Allah’s Messenger (SAW). As she should.

“Allahumma salli ‘ala sayyidna Muhammad wa ‘ala ‘ali Muhammad wa sahabah wa barakah wa salam.”

Salutations, remembrance of Allah subhanahu wa ta’ala and Qur’an always bring peace to her mind, she should probably put on Qur’an on her phone more often.

“Allahumma salli ‘ala sayyidna Muhammad wa ‘ala ‘ali Muhammad wa sahabah wa barakah wa salam salaman katheeran tayyibun mubarakan feh.”

“Allahumma salli ‘ala Muhammad wa ‘ala ‘ali Muhammad wa sahabah kamma sallati ‘ala Ibrahim wa ‘ala ‘ali Ibrahim innaka Hameedun Majid.

Allahumma barik ‘ali Muhammad wa ‘ala ‘ali Muhammad wa sahabah kamma barakta ‘ala Ibrahim wa ‘ala ‘ali Ibrahim innaka Hammedun Majid.”

__________________________________________________________________________

“Rosamel! Are you listening to me Rosamel?” Hendrick’s both concerned, frustrated and irritated with his friend. He doesn’t pay attention to what he says often.

“No.”

“Why?” “Not interested. Just don’t care.”

His irritation turns more so into concern, and Hendrick quickly moves to try to hug Rosamel — Rosamel hugs him before Hendrick does.

“Thank you. For the hug.”

Hendrick smiles. “It’s no problem!” He’s still concerned and worried for Rosamel’s sake.

[TW:child abuse, child soldiers, family loss, fire accidents]

Nono would say that ever since she came to live (and before that, as well, but that’s beside the point!) with Victorine, she was the weirdest person she ever knew.

Nono would point out that she was also super duper weird, but would insist that Victorine was weirder and in a more different and strange way than hers.

Victorine was vicious and attentive to even impossibly insignificant things, disturbed by the most mundane of things while calmed and relaxed by the most psychotic, unhinged and disturbing of things.

Victorine could watch anal vore (don’t search it!), cannibalism + autocannibalism, murder and stabbing a hundred times after the person’s already died out of pure unhingedness and sadism, watch necrophilic actions being done to that of a baby of all people, a mother stabbing and torturing her own baby in cold blood, and other kinds of body mutilation during when the person is dead or alive.
And do so all with a calm, unphased face?!

And yet still! She shivers when watching a cat being pet and it meowing and relaxing to it’s owner’s touch, feels uncomfortable seeing firewood on fire with heartwarming, delicious hot coca, when seeing people love others, and she looks attentive and focused and… annoyed? A very bit bit annoyed, when she sees the house is in fact NOT on fire!

Whenever Victorine looked at her, Nono would say she felt like she was being interrogated, thoroughly analysed with eyes that felt like it was paying attention to Every Single Thing she did or did not do.

It took a while to get “used” to… she still gets goosebumps every now and then, but she can ignore the feeling and the eyes most of the time. Most of the time.

Victorine was a Quntian, whom from Nono had heard were perfectionist child-soldiers. Heavy on child-soldiering unfortunately.

Nono would say that she is not a historian or someone who keeps track of how countries operate, so she does not truly know what goes on in Quntian lands. And her mama never tells her what either. 😢

Victorine is Nono’s milk-mama, although she was nonexistent during her actual childhood life, with Victorine apparently having found Nono in a river somehow and took care of her until Nono’s biological family found her, then, until Nono became 14, Nono did not interact with her anyway whatsoever after.

When Nono became 14, she lost her entire family in a fire accident, had brain damage in her own right and her eye sight wasn’t great.

By the will of Allah subhanahu wa ta’ala, Victorine met Nono and sheltered her in her new home alhamdulilah alhamdulilah alhamdulilah.

Nono’s now 15, and Victorine struggles with eating disorders whilst somehow cooking the most amazingly delicious food.

Alarm bell ringing

Hmph, annoying 😑** **

Nono gets up, moves from her bed slowly — tiredly and with sleepiness still aching her head and back, to stop it and keep it silent so to afford her peace and quiet.

Her eyes move and she notices the clock.

The dhur adhan has already finished. It’s prayer time.

Nono moves to the restroom shaking sleepiness and makes wudu quickly, and then hastens to pray.

Allahu akbar

Bismallah arRahman arRaheem (1)

Alhamdulilah rabb al’Alimeen (2)

ArRahman arRaheem (3)

Mailk alyawm addin (4)

Iyyaki na’badou wa iyyaki nast’een (5)

Ihadni assrit almoustaqeem (6)

Srit ilthi in’mata ‘alihum gheer almaghdhoub ‘aleehn wa lai ath-thaleen (7)

Aameen

As she’s heading to ruku’, she says allahu akbar and goes to bow and humble herself before Allah subhanahu wa ta’ala

Subhana rabbi al’theem

Subhana rabbi al’theem

Subhana rabbi al’theem

Sam’ia Allahu laman hamadah, rabbani wa laka alhamd hamdan katheeran tayyiban mubarakan fih

Allahu akbar

After she finishes praying Salah

Nono proceeds to take off her ‘abayah, and goes to eat.

“Assalamu ‘aleykum wa rahmatullahi wa barakatu, hiii mama!” Nono shouted with happiness towards Victorine as she notices Victorine flinching.

“Wa ‘aleykum assalamu wa rahmatullahi wa barakatu” Victorine voiced as she proceeded to put the food for Nono.

Yummy

“Jazak Allah khairyun, mama! your food was really good and delicious!”

Nono tries to avoid paying attention to how Victorine eats, slowly — and barely —, but she does. She doesn’t eat for most of the time she’s sitting with her whilst she is eating.

“All praise is for Allah, the one who fed me this food and provided it for me without any strength or power on my part.”

Nono goes to kiss her on the cheek as a thanks, Victorine moves away from her before she could.

Ouch. But okay! 🥲

“I love you my dearest, sweetest, kindest, most beautiful mama!”

Victorine doesn’t reply. She never does.

“Mum, is it true that you proposed to Hedrick? How come? I didn’t know you had any interest in him?” She tries not to show it, but she feels hurt at how she wasn’t told by her own mum this.

Victorine hisses and frowns. Nono expected this.

Okay, here it comes now.

“Nono, would you just SHUT UP already! It’s not any of your business, why do you talk so much? Does your tongue ever run out of things to say?!”

“Yep, sorry mum, I know I know.” She misses her old mum. In fact, she misses her entire family and old life — Meleoumah, Danoubah…

There’s no point thinking about them anymore.

Victorine doesn’t talk with her for the rest of the day. She can’t say she’s surprised.