#Islamic beards

[secular-jew]

My GF must be a lesbian.

[princess-earthquake-the-third]

Me🤝Falin dunmeshi

Getting an exorcism when we were young because we were "weird" and thinking it was just a fun little game

[daaft-prick-69]

[sapphire-theseainequator]

I am an ex muslim, but man, I feel bad for any arab men who is just existing. Labeled as terrorist by the right wing, labeled as rapist by the left wing.

One arab guy can't even satirize or criticize the society he lived in without some angry wahabbi mobs wanting him dead or westerners talking shit about his ethnicity and want him dead.

Like, for real, east asians in the US will make jokes about how their parents abused them and made movies about "forgiving their abusers" then still seen light heartedly and doesn't have white people yelling "Oh, asians people shouldn't have kids!", but arab guy will make a satirized video about weirdly obssessive his culture with gender roles, then people will goes "Wow! He really wants to abuse women!" Or "This is why arab men should be erased from this world and how they want to rape people,"

[uma1ra]

QUESTION:

Do barbers get sin for shaving or trimming beard because this prohibited to do

ANSWER:

Yes, they are sinful.

(Answered by Assim al-Hakeem)

The Sunnah of the Messenger of Allah (peace and blessings of Allah be upon him) indicates that it is obligatory to let the beard grow and that it is haram to shave it or cut it .

The Prophet (peace and blessings of Allah be upon him) said: “Cut the moustache and let the beard grow; be different from the unbelievers.” (al-Bukhari, al-Libas, 5442; Muslim, al-Taharah, 382)

[quranindex]

Discover Quran Verses about #Beard @ https://quranindex.info/search/beard [20:94] #Quran #Islam

[grecoromanyaoi]

i talk a lot abt how caraclla is the most jewish looking emperor but can we discuss how lucius verus is actually the most muslim looking emperor

top 10 hottest roman emperors go!

i actually think most of them r kinda fugly but obv the hottest ones r caracalla, hadrian, marcus aurelius, septimius severus, n i actually think lucius verus is soooo overlooked in the hottest emperors competition he was kind of a hottie

[khabeer-arabize]

This brother has all three of the weapons needed for conquest:

1. A full beard, groomed according to the rules of the Sunnah, a symbol of submission to Islamic aesthetics and proof of unyielding faith ☪️

2. A hard body, which takes advantage of superior Arab genetics 💚

3. A secret sword, capable of conquering all of Europe 💦

Be like him. Conform. Submit. 💚

[hero-israel]

#4 sounds like white people at the end of slavery… “we didn’t want to end it because what if there’s retaliation? There have already been slave riots. Imagine what would happen if we gave them freedom or if we became the minority?” It’s not speculative it actually happened the fears had basis. That’s what number four sounds like. It also feels like you only care about one view point like you expect me to believe y’all are perfect victims that did one thing in retaliation?

#4 sounds like that to you because you are an American who thinks the whole world is America and all history must be the same as yours. So you should start by asking yourself what it is in your cultural upbringing, and what in the media you consume, that has you automatically believing the worst possible claims against Jews, to the point of seeing it as understandable for us to be mass murdered.

Jews did not - and do not - want to live in an Arab or Muslim majority society not because of any issues related to "slave uprisings" you are teleporting into this discussion, but rather because Jews had already been brutally oppressed, persecuted, and genocided by Arabs and Muslims for 1,000+ years before Israel or political Zionism were ever invented. Mohammed himself got his hands dirty with this, wiping out the Jews of Yathrib and renaming the gore-drenched rubble into something called "Medina." No less a source than Maimonides wrote in 1172 "God has entangled us with this people, the nation of Ishmael, who treat us so prejudicially and who legislate our harm and hatred…. No nation has ever arisen more harmful than they, nor has anyone done more to humiliate us, degrade us, and consolidate hatred against us... We bear the inhumane burden of their humiliation, lies and absurdities, being as the prophet said, ‘like a deaf man who does not hear or a dumb man who does not open his mouth’.... Our sages disciplined us to bear Ishmael’s lies and absurdities, listening in silence, and we have trained ourselves, old and young, to endure their humiliation, as Isaiah said, ‘I have given my back to the smiters, and my cheek to the beard pullers.’”

Because there is a long history of this, there is much you can read about it, if you care.

Some very random examples:

The "badge of shame" was invented in medieval Baghdad, only later migrating to Europe

Life for Jews in Yemen: The Jews of Yemen were treated as pariah, third-class citizens who needed to be perennially reminded of their submission to the ruling faith…The Jews were considered to be impure, and therefore forbidden to touch a Muslim or a Muslim’s food. They were obliged to humble themselves before a Muslim, to walk on his left side, and to greet him first. They were forbidden to raise their voices in front of a Muslim. They could not build their houses higher than the Muslims’ or ride a camel or horse, and when riding on a mule or donkey, they had to sit sideways. Upon entering a Muslim quarter, a Jew had to take off his footgear and walk barefoot. No Jewish man was permitted to wear a turban or carry the Jambiyyah (dagger), which was worn universally by the free tribesmen of Yemen. If attacked with stones or fist by Islamic youth, a Jew was not allowed to defend himself. Further, the Jews were forced to wear sidelocks or peots. The wearing of such long and dangling peots “was originally a source of great shame for the Yemenites. It was decreed by the imams to distinguish the Jews from the Muslims”. More degrading and insulting decrees to the Jews were the Atarot (Headgear) and Latrine Decrees. The former was a seventeenth-century decree forbidding the Jews to wear a headcovering or turbans. The Latrine Decree was a nineteenth-century edict in which the Jews were forced to clean out public toilets and remove animal dung and carcasses from the streets. Another discriminatory edict was the Orphan Decree which gave the Zaydis the right to convert to Islam any child under the age of thirteen whose father is dead. Further, evidence by a Jew against a Muslim was invalid and a “Jew was forbidden to pass a Muslim to his right, and whoever did so, even unwittingly, could be beaten without trial; the Jews were forbidden to make their purchases before the Muslims had completed theirs; a Jew entering the house of an Arab or the office of an official was only allowed to sit down in the place where the shoes were removed” . Tudor Parfitt summarizes some of these laws in the following: [the Jews] were required not to insult Islam, never strike a Muslim, or to impede him in his path. They were not to assist each other in any activity against a Muslim…They were not to build new places of worship or repair existing one…They were not to pray too noisily or hold public religious processions. They were not to wink. They were not to proselytize. They were not to bear arms. They were required to dress in a distinctive fashion in order not to be mistaken for a member of the Muslim occupying forces. In other words dhimmis had all the times to behave themselves in an unostentatious and unthreatening manner, one appropriate to a defeated and humbled subject people. They were to avoid the slightest show of triumphalism and they were forbidden any activity that could lead to proselytization. Yemenite Jews were “excluded as it almost always…from affairs of state, and from the great institutions of the country”

1941 Farhud pogrom (Iraq)

1929 Hebron Massacre ("They cut off hands, they cut off fingers, they held heads over a stove, they gouged out eyes. A rabbi stood immobile, commending the souls of his Jews to God – they scalped him. They made off with his brains. On Mrs. Sokolov’s lap, one after the other, they sat six students from the yeshiva and, with her still alive, slit their throats. They mutilated the men. They shoved thirteen-year-old girls, mothers, and grandmothers into the blood and raped them in unison....")

1921 Jaffa Riots

1920 Nebi Musa Riots

1910 Shiraz Blood Libel (Iran) ("In the middle of the 19th century, J. J. Benjamin wrote about the life of Persian Jews: "…they are obliged to live in a separate part of town…; for they are considered as unclean creatures… Under the pretext of their being unclean, they are treated with the greatest severity and should they enter a street, inhabited by Mussulmans, they are pelted by the boys and mobs with stones and dirt… For the same reason, they are prohibited to go out when it rains; for it is said the rain would wash dirt off them, which would sully the feet of the Mussulmans… If a Jew is recognized as such in the streets, he is subjected to the greatest insults. The passers-by spit in his face, and sometimes beat him… unmercifully… If a Jew enters a shop for anything, he is forbidden to inspect the goods… Should his hand incautiously touch the goods, he must take them at any price the seller chooses to ask for them... Sometimes the Iranians intrude into the dwellings of the Jews and take possession of whatever please them. Should the owner make the least opposition in defense of his property, he incurs the danger of atoning for it with his life... If... a Jew shows himself in the street during the three days of the Katel (the start of Muharram)…, he is sure to be murdered")

1840 Damascus Blood Libel (Syria)

1839 Allahdad Pogrom (Iran)

1834 Hebron Massacre

1834 Looting of Safed

1700 Jerusalem oppression / apartheid: ("Muslims are very hostile to Jews and inflict upon them vexations in the streets of the city… the common folk persecute the Jews, for we are forbidden to defend ourselves against the Turks or the Arabs. If an Arab strikes a Jew, he (the Jew) must appease him but dare not rebuke him, for fear that he may be struck even harder, which they (the Arabs) do without the slightest scruple...")

1679 Mawza Exile (Yemen)

1660 Destruction of Safed

1500s Iran: ("After the ascension of Shah ‘Abbas II the Jews of Isfahan faced a lot of persecution. Most communities were forced to convert to Islam. Furthermore those who refused to convert would have most of their inheritance taken away as the inheritance laws at the time allowed for those who converted to Shia Islam to inherit the property of non-Muslim family members. Some communities did not convert and were thus forced to wear a special badge to show that they were Jewish. The maltreatment of the Jews weakened their community ties and influence throughout the region. By 1889 there were only around four hundred Jewish families left in Isfahan and most very poor.... by the middle 20th century 80% of the Jews of Isfahan lived on the verge of poverty.")

There's so much more I really don't know where to start or where to end. Afghanistan revoked all Jewish citizenship in 1933. Turkey banned all Jewish names and held massive antisemitic pogroms in 1934. Iraq banned Hebrew schools and Hebrew names in 1936, pogroms throughout Libya 1945, Syria fired all Jewish government employees 1946. Tripoli pogrom 1785. Algiers 1805. Cairo 1844. Istanbul 1870. Safed 1517 and 1799. Jerusalem 1665 and 1720. Granada Massacre 1066. Fez Massacre 1033. How many Wiki links do you want, how many textbooks?

This is an old, old conflict, and the Americanized "colonizer / slave plantation" frame is off-topic.

[tamamita]

given the islamic rules regarding hygiene how often do you have to clean yourself?

Besides the minor ablutions and regular showers, I can't count because we got so many holidays and commemorative days in which it's recommended to take a major ritual bath. I have to groom my beard, add perfume, trim my pits and all that stuff.

I have never heard of a Muslim ever being unhygienic.... it's pretty much a lifestyle, HAHA

[fafnir19]

Refugee's Welcome

Rashid slouched against the peeling wall of the refugee home, his shiny tracksuit clinging to his skin. He fiddled with his phone, scrolling through messages from his family back in the Middle East. Each ding from the device felt like a reminder of the life he was building on the backs of the generous European welfare system. He decided to go for a walk and trudged along the cracked pavement, the soles of his brand new sneakers slapping against the ground with a dull thud. He glanced around the neighborhood, a hodgepodge of well-maintained buildings and meticulously maintained gardens tended by eager hands. The air was thick with the scent of fresh food and the distant hum of traffic, a reminder of the life outside his small refugee home.

He pushed back the bitterness that welled in his throat. Here he was, in Europe, surrounded by riches, yet he felt like a ghost haunting a world meant for someone else. This place, with its cold efficiency, was supposed to be a sanctuary, but to him, it felt like a cage. In fact, he was just an imposter, pretending to be a refugee, but in reality he was just eager to take advantage of the welfare system. “Stupid place,” he muttered, casting an envious glance at a group of teenagers laughing as they tossed a football back and forth. Their carefree joy was a dagger to his heart. He didn’t belong here, and his greed for what they had only deepened his resentment.

He had grown tired of the monotony—waiting for welfare checks, sending money back home, and plotting how to bring his family to this land of plenty. It was all so predictable, like a clock ticking away the minutes of his life. He craved change, but not the kind that required effort or adaptation. No, he wanted to exploit this system without remorse, just as he had been doing since his arrival. He looked up at the buildings that towered around him, their elegance a sharp contrast to the crumbling structures of his homeland. “Why should they have it all?” he grumbled under his breath, jealousy pooling in his stomach. “I will bring my family here. They deserve this life.” The idea of his parents and siblings living off European welfare while spreading the “truth faith” of Islam filled him with a sense of purpose.

As he turned a corner, something gleamed in the dirt, catching his eye. He bent down, brushing away the grime to reveal a golden coin. It shone brightly, almost taunting him. **Wow, this might go for a good price!** he thought, his heart racing at the thought of his usual dealer, Muzaffar. “Hey! That’s mine!” a high-pitched voice squeaked. Rashid spun around, his heart racing. Before him stood a gnome, no taller than his knee, with a wild beard and a pointed hat that seemed to flop with every movement.

“What did you say?” Rashid challenged, his hand instinctively reaching for the knife tucked into his waistband. “I said it’s mine!” the gnome shouted, glaring up at him, defiance in his beady eyes. “I’ve been tracking that coin for ages!” “Yeah?” Rashid sneered, brandishing the knife. “You want it back? Come and take it.” The gnome held up a surprisingly steady hand. “Hold on, hold on! There’s no need for violence.” He looked at Rashid, sizing him up. “I can offer you something better.” “Like what?” Rashid scoffed, his grip on the knife tightening. “Three wishes,” the gnome declared, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “In exchange for that lovely coin.” Rashid hesitated, curiosity piqued. “Three wishes? What’s the catch?” The gnome grinned, revealing a set of crooked teeth. “No catch,” the gnome replied, shrugging. “But you’ll need to sign this EU-standard form regarding the chance-/risk-profile of wishes.” He produced a thick stack of papers that looked entirely out of place in the outdoors. Rashid furrowed his brow, flipping through the pages. “What the hell? It’s twenty pages long! I’m not reading all this!” Rashid protested, as he tried to hide that he was barely able to read. The gnome chuckled again, its laughter echoing in the quiet street, “After all, we are in Europe and not in your primitive Stone Age country. Everything has to be in proper order!” Rashid’s irritation was boiling over and he grumbled, “I don’t have time for this!” but the thought of wealth and power urged him on.

 “Twenty pages? And only the first quarter of the first page is about chances? This is ridiculous!” The gnome chuckled, “Just sign, and we can get on with it.” Grumbling, Rashid took the pen, his mind racing. “Fine. But if this is a scam—” “Not a scam! Just formalities,” the gnome interrupted, his tone cheerful. Rashid signed his name with a flourish and shoved the papers back. “Now, what do you wish for?” The gnome’s eyes gleamed with anticipation.

Rashid’s heart pounded. This was it—the moment he’d been waiting for. “I wish to be handsome, intelligent, and rich!”

The gnome's laughter filled the air, a mischievous cackle that made Rashid's skin prickle. "Oh, the classics! Very well, young man. Watch and learn." As the gnome waved his tiny hand, Rashid felt a tingling sensation course through his body. It started at his fingertips, sending a shiver up his arms, and then it engulfed his entire being. The change was instantaneous and profound.

He felt a cool blow on his face, and his hand flew up to touch his chin, only to find it smooth and bare. His coarse Islamic beard, the symbol of his manhood and faith, had vanished. The tracksuit he had worn, a testament to his perceived street credibility, transformed into a crisp, white button-down shirt and tailored pants, fitting him perfectly. The clothes felt foreign yet comfortable, as if he had always belonged in them.

"Ah, the transformation begins!" The gnome's voice echoed in his mind, as if reading his thoughts. "But it's not just about the looks, my dear Rashid. It's the mind, the very essence of who you are, that is about to evolve."

A tickling sensation in his brain made Rashid giggle, and then a rush of knowledge flooded his thoughts. Images flashed before his eyes—a boy riding a bike, the wind in his hair; a swimmer slicing through the water with graceful strokes; and a skater gliding effortlessly on ice. He knew how to do all these things, as if he had been practicing them for years. "Recycle, reduce, reuse," a voice whispered in his head. He understood the importance of the environment, the need to protect and preserve. "Whoa, I know how to swim!" he exclaimed, his voice filled with wonder. The gnome, seemingly pleased with the spectacle, nodded.

Suddenly, a sharp pain pierced through Rashid’s skull. “Ugh!” Rashid grunted, clutching his temples. “Knowledge!” the gnome sang, his eyes glinting mischievously. “It’s a powerful gift.” Rashid staggered back, his mind reeling. Images and concepts flooded in—equality of the sexes, environmental protection, the intricacies of Western philosophy. “What is this?” he gasped, tumbling to the ground as he wrestled with the torrent of newfound thoughts. But the gnome only watched, its arms crossed, amused and exclaimed, “Knowledge is flooding in!” Rashid clutched his head as the sharp pain radiated through him. “Ah! Stop!” he shouted, but it was too late. Due to his now sharper intellect new concepts twisted through his mind, unraveling the tightly wound beliefs he had held dear. “Islam… it’s just a superstition.” He staggered back against the wall, clutching his head. “No! This can’t be!” “Why not?” the gnome taunted. “It’s the truth. Islam is just superstition, a crutch for the weak, a tool for leaders to control the masses!” Rashid’s breath quickened. “No, that can’t be true! My faith—” “Is a façade!” the gnome interrupted, crossing his arms. “You’re just a pawn in a game you didn’t even realize you were playing. And now, look at you! You’re a pitiful weakling, only feeling strong among your ‘brothers’ with a knife in hand.” The realization hit him like a cold wave. “I was so blind! All this time, I thought I was superior! It’s… it’s all nonsense. My faith was a crutch, a way to feel superior without the means to truly be so.” A bitter laugh escaped his lips. “Honor? What a joke! I thought I was strong, but I was just hiding behind a knife.” “Precisely, you were strong only in delusion!” the gnome exclaimed, clapping his hands. Rashid’s laughter bubbled up, a mix of disbelief and relief. “I was pathetic!” he exclaimed, the weight of his previous identity lifting. “I can’t believe I thought that way,” Rashid stated, his voice filled with disbelief. “I wanted to bring my family here… to spread my beliefs. But they’re as lost as I was.”

As the searing pain in his head gradually faded, he became aware of the subtle changes taking place. His nose, once a prominent feature, seemed to shrink, reshaping itself into a more delicate structure. The rearrangement of his facial features continued, smoothing out the rough edges of his former self. "Ah, the wonders of magic," he whispered, his voice now carrying a hint of refinement. Rashid's attention turned to his hair, which had been as dark as a skunk's. But now, it shimmered with golden strands, transforming him into a vision of Nordic beauty.

The cologne he had doused himself in to mask his natural stink was no longer necessary. He inhaled deeply, bewildered by the subtle scent of fresh lemons that replaced the heavy musk of sandalwood he used to drown himself in. “What is this? I smell... clean?” His body odor had transformed, leaving behind a subtle, refreshing lemon fragrance. "Piano lessons, perhaps? Or maybe I should join a field hockey team," he mused, his thoughts filled with newfound interests and hobbies. The possibilities seemed endless, and Rashid felt a surge of excitement. Just as his thoughts began to wander, the world around him shifted. The drab walls of the refugee home were gone, replaced by an elegant mansion with tall columns and a lush garden. He stood there, in the heart of the city's most prestigious neighborhood, and marveled at his new surroundings. "Rashid no more," he declared, his voice echoing in the quiet street. "I am Rasmus, reborn and ready to conquer this new world." Rasmus, now fully immersed in his transformation, felt a surge of confidence and ambition.

His eyes, now a vivid shade of blue, scanned the mansion, taking in every detail. But amidst the excitement, a flicker of doubt creased his newly formed brow. *What of my family?* he wondered.

He recalled their lives in self-inflicted filth and revolving around the mosque, the strict adherence to primitive and cruel customs —days spent in idle chatter, evenings in crowded rooms, and a future with no prospects.

*They wouldn't fit in here. Not with their backward ways.* Their lack of education and skills weighed on his mind. He pictured their limited knowledge, their dependence on a language he now found crude, their inability to even swim, their unwillingness to adapt and their sole focus on survival and procreation. "What kind of life is that?" he muttered under his breath. "They're like animals, breeding without thought."

Suddenly the gnome's voice sliced the silence and breaking his train of thought , "Now, what is your final wish?" Rasmus turned, his bright blue eyes narrowing in confusion. "I thought I already had three wishes?" The gnome chuckled, its laughter like a tinkling of bells. "Welcome to Europe! It's a self-commitment with the consumer counsel society. You see, they believe that the first wishes might not always turn out as expected, and so, a fourth wish is granted to rectify any potential mistakes." Rasmus listened intently, his curiosity piqued. "Or, it could be an additional wish," the gnome continued, its eyes twinkling mischievously. "Perhaps you'd like to bring your family here, give them a taste of this life?"

Just then, a gust of wind blew a colorful flyer into Rasmus' path. He bent down to pick it up, his curiosity piqued. It was an advertisement from the local animal protection society, seeking donations for a noble cause. "Vets on Vacation—traveling to Greece to neuter street cats and dogs, ending their suffering" the flyer reads. The image of a stray cat and her litter tugged at his heartstrings, but it was the message that struck a chord. "Uncontrolled propagation leads to suffering," he read aloud.

The words resonated with him, and he thought of his family. Their lives, so different from his own now, seemed to mirror the plight of these animals. *They are like these animals, breeding without purpose, living off the system,* he thought bitterly. A rush of memories flooded his mind—his parents, siblings, aunts, uncles, and cousins, all dependent on his welfare money, trapped in a cycle of poverty and ignorance. "They sent me here to live off the generosity of others," he whispered, his voice laced with bitterness. "They are content with their ignorance, their lack of ambition." In that moment, Rasmus made his decision. "No," he whispered, his voice filled with determination. "They don't deserve to be here. They don't deserve this life." The gnome's eyes narrowed, sensing the change in Rasmus' demeanor. "And what is your wish, Rasmus?" Rasmus straightened his back, his blue eyes now cold and resolute. "I wish..." Rasmus began, his voice steady despite the turmoil within. "I wish for my family to be neutered. To end their suffering and the burden they impose on society."

The gnome erupted into a fit of laughter, the sound echoing through the air. “Very well!” In the blink of an eye, his relatives, one by one, undergoing a transformation. Rasmus could almost hear the cries of his parents, his siblings, his uncles and cousins, all the way from the other side of the world. The process was swift and efficient, and when it was over, Rasmus felt a sense of relief. "Consider it done," the gnome's voice echoed in his mind. "Your family's legacy will not burden the world any longer."

His family, his entire lineage, would no longer burden Europe with their presence. *Their Arabic heritage ends here,* Rasmus thought, his heart pounding with determination. *Only my new superior Northern genes and the Western way of life will prevail.*

Rasmus took a deep breath, his chest swelling with newfound determination. "But this is not enough," he whispered, his eyes narrowing. "I must ensure that others like them do not infest this great continent. These deceitful 'refugees' must be stopped from ruining Europe's harmony." He straightened his preppy attire, the crisp fabric of his shirt reflecting his resolve. "I, Rasmus, will dedicate my life to preserving the purity of this land. No more shall we be plagued by those who abuse our generosity. I shall find a way to protect Europe from the influx of these imposters."

He would use his newfound intelligence and resources to ensure that only the worthy would be granted entry, and that his new home would thrive, untainted by the ills of the past. With a nod of gratitude to the gnome, who had now disappeared, Rasmus set off, his stride confident and purposeful. He had a new life, a new identity, and a mission to fulfill. The old Rashid was gone, and Rasmus, the beacon of conservative European values, was ready to take on the world. "I will make a difference," he vowed, his voice carrying on the wind. "And I will ensure that my new home remains the beacon of civilization it was meant to be."

As he walked towards his mansion, a faint laughter, like wind chimes in the distance, followed him. It was the gnome, amused by the turn of events, but also proud of the man Rasmus had become. Rasmus didn't look back, for he had a new life to embrace and a society to protect from the very deceit he had once embodied.

[feministfang]

The audacity of Muslim women idolising taliban and taking pictures with them when they banned the whole existence of Afghan women. Called out the entire world’s hypocrisy for staying silent on p@lestine but won’t mind being the hypocrites themselves when it comes to women suffering in islamic countries. You can’t cry "islamophobia" each time someone proves you wrong when you’re busy doing your jihad work in west ‘my religion is the most feministic religion please convert to islam’. Ask the women who are actually living in islamic countries how much of a feminist religion islam is. You can’t be sitting in west with your privileged lives giving positive opinions on islam while Afghan women are wishing each day they weren’t born as women. You’re not free there because islam gave you that right, you’re free because of western culture that you ungrateful women love to shit on. I won’t mind if y’all get deported back to your countries. In fact, you seem to love Taliban a lot. Why don’t you move to Afghanistan and marry these bearded terrorists?? Y’all love your traditional islamic culture. I believe you won’t mind stuck in homes, wearing burqas/tents 24/7, cooking and cleaning for the m@les in your families. Please go to Afghanistan and switch places with Afghan women who deserve to live in west because they do care about their liberation and education. I swear if i see another one of you brainded muzzies barking "but what about p@lestine???" "what about gaza???" "boycott this!! boycott that!!" I am gonna send you the bill of my first starbucks order! I’m glad your muslim br0thers are getting bombed! This is what you get for advocating for the oppression of women in islamic countries. Karma!

[ancestraldemons]

Islamic beard

[octuscle]

Hello Chronivac? so im looking for a bit of help. Growing up in eastern europe i was always told to stay away from arab dudes, always told theyre brutish unwashed hairy layabouts and i shoud not try to be friends with them. Well fuck that, i want to be exactly like that and be one with all those arab brothers ive missed out on Would this be possible?

Well, let's turn back time. Even as a child, you ignored your mother's advice. You always went secretly to your Arab school friends. You were fascinated by the bearded fathers. Their hairy breasts. You didn't know any of that from your family. And you thought it was great that everything was always full of children. You had no brothers or sisters. Only a cousin. Here with the Turkish, Syrian and Moroccan guest workers, everyone had six brothers and 20 cousins. You built shacks and smoked in secret. And you learned how to steal cigarettes.

When you turned 16, you all went to the gym together. The others were all already in puberty. You were always the smallest. And the only one who didn't have hair on his balls yet. When the others started shaving their balls, you just went along with it. Although that was not necessary. But you wanted to be like your brothers.

Fuck, bruh! Today you have hair on your balls that you shave. But other than that, you are instantly recognizable when you smoke shisha together. Even if you dye your hair black and copy your brothers' hairstyles, even if you work out harder than everyone else, even if you lie on the tanning bed three times a week: You just don't have a beard. And even if most of your brothers shave the hair on their chest: You have no body hair. And when you jerk off in the shower after your workout, you're the only one whose dick is uncut.

You speak perfect Arabic and pretty good Turkish by now. Your parents are only happy that you have not converted to Islam. You still follow most of the rules of the Koran. Because you have the desire to fully belong to your brothers.

Most people on the street might consider you to be one of them…. Unfortunately, for your brothers, you are still an infidel. Don't say that your parents didn't warn you.

[yourimagines]

can you write more about islam makhachevmaybe nfsw maybe softwhatever you want

I’ll go with fluff today, enjoy ☺️

Mornings with you

*English is not my first language I apologise

*Triggers: Fluff

Y/N POV

Mornings with Islam were always the same, his alarm goes off at 5, he gets up, goes for a run and comes back at 7 to take a quick shower before joining me for breakfast and so was today as well.

I woke up from his alarm, that he quickly turned off before getting out of bed. He was quiet as he walked around the bedroom, gathering his clothes to get ready for his morning run. I was still sleepy, trying not to get fully awake as he sat down on my side of the bed. “Go back to sleep, I’ll be back in two hours.” He gently whispered as he placed a soft kiss on my forehead before getting back up. I nodded at him and closed my eyes as he walked out of our bedroom, slowly drifting away into a dreamless sleep.

“How was your run?” I asked him as he walked up to me as I was making breakfast for us. “Good, did you sleep well?” His hands slowly moved around my hips, gently squeezing them as he placed a kiss on my shoulder. “I slept well.” I answered as a small giggle escaped from me as his beard tickled my neck. “Sorry, my beautiful wife.” He pulled me by my hips closer to his chest and wrapped his arms around me, locking me in his embrace. “What are your plans for today?” I asked as I gently touched his arms, tracing them softly. “Nothing, I have a day off today.” He was smiling against my shoulder as he softly placed a few kisses on them. “Really? Do you maybe want to go out shopping with me?” A soft hum and a few more kisses were enough for me to smile. “Thank you.” I gently squeezed his hands and tried to continue to make our breakfast. “Always for my beautiful wife.” He whispered against the back of my head as he slowly released me from his embrace.

Islam POV

I took a seat as she was finishing up our breakfast. “I actually need some socks.” I said as I was admiring her, she always looked so soft and beautiful. “We’ll get you some new socks.” She turned around and placed two plates down on the table. “Looks good.” She smiled and sat down as well. “Thank you.” A small blush was on her face as she shyly looked away from me. “3 years of marriage and you’re still so shy around me.” I found it adorable. “Oh please stop it.” She playfully nudged my arm and giggled. “I like it, so don’t worry.” I grabbed her hand and placed a soft kiss on it. “I love you.” She whispered softly. “I love you.” I whispered softly back at her. We both were smiling like idiots as we continue to eat our breakfast together, she was rambling about the things she needed from the store as I was listening very carefully to her, adoring her secretly.

[warningsine]

For the early punks, many of them white British blokes, their music was about declaring themselves outside the larger society. The Sex Pistols dreamed of “anarchy for the U.K.” The Clash howled for “a riot of my own.” To be punk was to give offense, to make one’s self unpalatable, to choose to stand apart.

But what is punk when your society has already made you an outsider? This is the musical question that the raucous, cheeky comedy “We Are Lady Parts,” returning Thursday for its second season on Peacock, seeks to answer.

The first season, back in 2021, introduced Lady Parts, a punk band of Muslim women in London: Saira (Sarah Kameela Impey), the caustic lead singer; Ayesha (Juliette Motamed), the fearsome drummer; and Bisma (Faith Omole), the earth-motherly bassist. Together with their manager, Momtaz (Lucie Shorthouse), a savvy Malcolm McLaren in a niqab, they recruit a reluctant lead guitarist, Amina (Anjana Vasan).

Amina is no one’s idea of a rock star, least of all her own. She is an introverted microbiologist who worships Don McLean, with a severe case of stage fright that causes her to heave her guts while performing — and not in a defiant, Iggy Pop way. (Vasan gives Amina an engaging nerd-hero energy, similar to Quinta Brunson in “Abbott Elementary.”)

Over the six-episode season, Amina finds that Lady Parts gives her a way of defining herself rather than being defined, whether by the conservative suitors who tell her “Music is haram” or by her free-spirited mother (Shobu Kapoor), who wishes Amina would wait to seek a husband.

The root conflicts of “We Are Lady Parts” are familiar rock-band woes — having no money, having no gigs, being judged by family and by hipsters. This is where making the series about Muslim women rockers accomplishes more than representational box-ticking: It makes an old story new and nuanced.

For Amina and the rest of the band, rebellion is complicated. It means being Muslim women musicians, with equal stress on both adjectives. (The name Lady Parts itself feels like an answer to the anatomical name of the Pistols.) It means owning their sexuality and spirituality, seizing the right to define what being Muslim means to them and affirming their Muslim identity, as reflected in their sly, effectively catchy songs (co-written by the show’s creator, Nida Manzoor).

“Voldemort Under My Headscarf” embraces the traditional garb as a badass statement as defiant as any ’70s punk’s safety pin. (“I’m sorry if I scare you/ I scare myself too.”) “Bashir With the Good Beard” addresses a certain kind of haughty, elusive boyfriend. (“Are my clothes too tight?/ Do I laugh too much?”)

The series has some resonance with the recently ended “Reservation Dogs,” though its sense of humor is more rowdy and brash. It, too, is a story about young people asserting their individuality while affirming their community rather than rejecting it. The first season’s climax, in fact, involves the band being mischaracterized by an article profile that labels them “Bad Girls of Islam.”

Season 2 finds Lady Parts in the flush of minor success. (The show also shows signs of having hit the big time, attracting guest stars including Malala Yousafzai.)

The band has finished a camper-van tour of England and is planning an album. Their fan base now includes not just Muslim kids, but Muslim kids’ parents, as well as middle-aged white people, whose cringey praise recalls the garden party guests from “Get Out.” Amina has mastered her stage fright and — with occasional wobbles — is embracing her confident “villain era.”

The show’s sophomore outing is as brassy as the first, but adds layers of theme and character. Early on, the band discovers it has competition in a younger Muslim band, Second Wife. (“That’s good,” Ayesha grudgingly acknowledges of the name.) Rather than set up a battle of the bands, “We Are Lady Parts” puts a twist on the “There can only be one” mentality that pits underrepresented artists against each other.

As the band progresses, and Amina grows into her romantic confidence, the season plays with the way a kind of fetishizing adoration can be as toxic as rejection, both artistically and personally. Being stared at because of your head scarf, in post-Brexit Britain, is alienating, but so is being asked to keep your head scarf on to protect your Muslim-punk brand.

Over six episodes, the season fleshes out its supporting characters, wrestling with who they are and what they want to say. Bisma, who is married and has an adolescent daughter, starts to feel typecast as the group’s maternal figure. (“I am Mommy Spice. I am Wholesome, Boring Spice.”) Ayesha is dating a woman but is reluctant to come out to her parents, which makes her worry that she’s letting down her gay fans. Saira, the most old-school-punk of the group, itches to branch out from “funny Muslim songs” and write more pointedly political material, but that risks hurting the band commercially.

It’s hard not to see this last story as a meta-comment, intentional or not, on what the series itself can get away with saying, on a major media platform, with these characters. There is reference, for instance, to Saira wanting to speak out on how Muslims are being persecuted around the world, but less reference to any specific conflict, be it in Gaza or elsewhere.

One striking scene makes this sense of invisible boundaries literal, as Saira struggles to put her politics into song form. She runs through a verse: “It’s like death and the maiden / Dancing with my corporation / I won’t mention the w—” The what? The world? The war? We never hear. Her mouth is pixelated as she tries to finish the line, over and over; she strains and screams but the word won’t come out. Whether “Lady Parts” chooses not to complete her lyric or can’t, the image of asphyxiating silence is potent. (The episode closes with a song by the Palestinian singer Rasha Nahas.)

Of course, getting silenced by the industry is another perennial tale of rock ’n’ roll, among other vocations. As in Season 1’s getting-the-band-together arc, the challenges of making it are superficially familiar from other music stories: What is selling out? How do you distinguish growth from compromise? Can you make it big without abandoning any of your mates?

But the execution and the details are captivatingly specific. What works about “We Are Lady Parts” is what works about great punk. You can still fashion something new out of the same old three chords. You just need a distinctive voice.