#and the demonization happened ONLY because she's arab

[ultfreakme]

11k notes and this entire thing is filled with misinformation after misinformation. Headcanon Bruce to be whatever you want but leave Clark and Kon out of this because Clark was NOT a bad dad, hell Kon and Clark don't even have a precise father-son relationship. Their relationship is difficult to categorize on purpose because Kon can be like a brother or a cousin as well. Clark did not take the existence of Kon well at the START. But he accepts him and respects the kid very quickly.

Kon's name being a slur was a N52 thing with Kara, and it's been made obsolete and retconned. Here is how Kon-El really came to be:

Lex is not a good father or anything to Kon either. In Rebirth, Kon didn't technically exist in their universe yet but Clark was great about Kon:

(Action Comics 1022)

Clark really wants to help Kon, he is upset he doesn't remember him when everyone else does. CLARK CARES! He cares a lot even if the initial reaction to the news about how Kon came to be freaked him out. Which is understandable, because he did not consent to any of this but he accepted and guess where Kon is now? Guess who he hangs out with now? Superfam.

People act like Clark being a bad caretaker/sibling figure for Kon is canon when it is entirely fanon. Clark is a flawed parental figure, he is flawed with Jon too, but he tries his best and grows. Fuck everyone saying Clark Kent is worse than Bruce "I have given 5 Robins issues about themselves" Wayne as a guardian. I am DONE.

clark, discussing what to do about kon with bruce: you know what this means right?

bruce, nodding: yeah, you owe luthor a buttload of child support

clark: what - i - no??

bruce: i mean, it sucks that he baby trapped you but you don’t want to be a deadbeat

clark: he did not - i am not his father, luthor stole my DNA and put that [pointing at kon] into a tube

bruce: i want you to take one good look on how damian came to be

clark: … oh my rao… i am dead beat aren’t i?

[la7ma-mafrooma]

I wanted to share something personal because I don't think a lot of you understand the influence of the West and its atrocities on an Arab child's upbringing. English is not my first language; I learnt it initially due to my interest in the language and Western cultures. However, seeing the true face of the West motivated me to continue learning the language to dismantle the false image of Arabs and Muslims which was portrayed by the West. I also talk about how this impacted my standing with the Palestinian cause. Bear with me as this post is long and a little messy, but I need to try and give everyone a clear and full image as much as I can.

I grew up consuming Western media due to my fascination with the English language. However I noticed the lack of Muslim and Arab representation.

When I started seeing representation later on, it was mostly Arabs and Muslims being depicted as 'terrorists' and 'barbarics'.

When a Muslim woman is depicted, she is depicted as 'oppressed' and in need of 'saving'.

I was on social media starting from a very young age. Seeing people online describe my people as 'terrorists' was not only scary, but also confusing. Why am I as an Arab Muslim child -who's living a normal childhood as everyone else- being labelled as a 'terrorist' by the West? Why are people claiming all Arab and Muslim children are trained to use guns by ISIS or/and Hamas? I remember asking my parents as a kid "Is this a real gun with the police officer?" Because I only saw weapons in movies.

I asked questions such as "Why do they think Arabs = Muslims?" The lack of acknowledgment of Christian and Jewish Arabs and non-Arab Muslims confused me.

Why were Muslim women always 'oppressed' in these movies and TV shows I saw? This is not as common as they make it seem. Why are they using the struggle of some Muslim women to demonize an entire religion? Why are they pretending to be saviours when they're actually contributing to further oppression of Muslim women? Why are they weaponizing the awful struggle of some Muslim women against the vast majority of Muslim women? (White feminism is not saving us. It's actually a form of oppression of Muslim women)

Misrepresentation bothered me and made me angry and disappointed. I couldn't finish watching a movie or an episode of a TV show if I saw any mentions of Muslims or/and Arabs, because I knew what would happen next.

When it comes to the Palestinian cause, every Arab grew up watching endless footage of Palestinians being brutally murdered LIVE. Everything and all the footage all of you are surprised to see during this genocide, were a part of our upbringing.

When I was a kid I stumbled upon a newspaper in the house with a headline about a Palestinian father who returned to his house and found all his children shot. And I remember the image very well. The father was holding a prayer mat with people holding him as he broke down on his knees. His dead children were on the floor next to each other. Seeing this image of children my age murdered by the Israeli occupation shocked me. I remember my parents having to hide the newspaper from me because of the impact this image had on me.

I had to start reading into politics at a young age, and I realized that everything that Western media was trying to portray about the West being 'civilized' was a lie. How can you be civilized if you're a murderer or/and contribute to the murder of the innocent?

When I learnt about the history of imperialism, colonialism, slavery,...etc. growing up, I recognized the pattern that colonialists use and I saw that the colonizers of yesterday, are the same as today, except Western media is doing a great job covering for them nowadays, and a lot of people only started noticing that recently.

The West seemed fascinating to me as a child, but after seeing the horrendous false images that're being portrayed of my people in the West, all of my fascination turned into anger and motivation to fight against it.

The real terrorists in the world are not the brown and bearded men, veiled women, or the innocent children. The real terrorists are the ones who set the stage for the murder of innocent people, the exploitation of their resources, using propaganda and painting an image of the innocent that cannot be more false and racist, and the fascists that put on a 'civilized' mask.

I will forever stand with my Palestinian brothers and sisters. I will forever defend my Arab and Muslim brothers and sisters, and I won't give room to any misrepresentation. Enough is enough.

Edit: I wanted to add that growing up, I was scared of telling people about where I'm from, my religion, and what language I speak due to the microaggression and discrimination I was subjected to. Not to mention the amount of times I saw on the news Arabs or/and Muslims getting killed in Western countries (aka hate crimes).

[edenfenixblogs]

For the record, the man accused in the shooting of the three Palestinian men was NOT JEWISH.

Please do not allow this terrible event to contribute to antisemitism or retaliatory Islamophobic violence.

James J. Eaton, the accused, is a white Christian man whose mother thought he was decorating a Christmas tree she gave him at the time of the shooting.

Many of us—Jews/Muslims/Israelis/Palestinians/Arabs—have been BEGGING those who claim to be our allies to dispense with violence and violent rhetoric against all of our communities precisely because we all know that these kinds of things happen as a result.

When I say that the rhetoric and tone you use online and the dogwhistles you espouse thoughtlessly can get people killed, this is what I’m talking about.

We all know that you want to be on the “right” side of history. But you have to want peace for all MORE than you want the self righteously fulfilling feeling of being right. This is not a game. People in your country are dying because people who claim to want to help are hurting everyone instead.

The only sides in this conflict are peace vs war, love vs hate. We must all be united in our desire for peace, not by our (self-proclaimed)“righteous” fury.

If you are demonizing Israel and Israelis and Jews or Muslims and Arabs and Palestinians, you are not only on the wrong side. You are not even on a side that can possibly be right.

Your personal political identity is irrelevant. Being a leftist/liberal/progressive doesn’t mean you’re immune to being hateful and Islamophobic and antisemitic. Being right wing/conservative doesn’t meant you are, either.

So, once again, I’m BEGGING YOU ALL: please tone down your rhetoric. Learn what dog whistles affect all parties in this conflict and then stop using them. Elevate the voices of people working for peace, not victory. And spend more time learning from those more familiar with the conflict than you do from those speaking most loudly about it.

And for the love of G-d. Please learn to interrogate a source for credibility before sharing it.

[dancingastralwitch]

A Palestinian man is asked in an interview by a white woman if he condemns Hamas while his people are being slaughtered in the open, and HE is the one condemned when he yells that it's injustice to insulate that his people deserve to be murdered, because "Hamas chose this."

A black woman is attacked first in a fight and SHE is the bad guy when she strikes back, she is the one whose face is plastered all over social media to be condemned and shamed for "aggression."

Two sisters are appropriately reacting to their oppressors by ripping off posters promoting their propaganda, and THEY are shamed and attacked for their lack of politeness when their people are being killed for existing.

An American democrat watches her colleagues cheer on genocide and ethical cleansing, the murder of children and the rape of women and the slaughter of families, and SHE is the one censored for speaking out in defense of them, despite her grief of losing family members.

Zionists are not condemned for enjoying the thought of children being killed, for calling Palestinians "animals" or saying Gaza should be "turned into a parking lot", Israeli doctors can get away with demanding that Palestinians, HUMAN BEINGS, should be murdered, that their only remaining hospital should be crushed.

They are not condemned for saying they wanted nuclear weapons unleashed on Gaza, they are not condemned for the imprisonment and torture of children, for desecrating dead Palestinians' corpses and mauling their bodies, for mocking Muslim Palestinians by rubbing their bullets against pig's skin before shooting them, for bombing Palestinian churches, for bombing universities, for shutting electricity from Gaza, cutting Palestinians from food and water, not letting them access to aid, for bombing CANCER hospitals and CHILDRENS HOSPITALS, for turning the sky of Gaza RED from explosions, for killing enough students that the entire school year was canceled, for annihilating families, for attacking Jewish people in Jerusalem, for cutting dead fetuses off dead mothers, for STEALING THEIR SKIN AND ORGANS and using them for their benefit, for forcing CHILDREN to hold a press conference to say that hey, they want to live.

Insinuating that this is about religion is the basis of Zionism. 60 members of Hamas were killed, and 10,500 civilians killed, 4000 of which are children. Over 800 bloodlines erased. Israel says they aim for "damage, not accuracy." Implying this is about Hamas is lies.

When white people in power tell you from their air-conditioned studios this is Israel defending itself, refuse to let Palestinian journalists explain things happening from their point of view, watch those journalists lose their entire families for speaking about what's happening to them, demonize Arabs who rage about injustice, ask Palestinians grieving if they condemn Hamas, know this is propaganda.

You shouldn't need them to tell you they're parroting lies to you. Their lies kill people. Their lies destroy people. Their apologies are insincere and their "sympathy" is limited only to those who look like them. It is unjust. It is cruel.

If I was were to narrate to you every atrocity Israel commited that I am aware of, I would never stop typing.

[starwarsmum]

Day 10 is First Kiss Fails ☺️

@maribat-calendar-events

Damian had been six when he was brought to Paris by his mother whilst she went on a mission. He was excited because it was the first time she had allowed him to leave Nanda Parbat and he was determined to be as useful as possible so that she would do it again.

It was a sunny morning and he had hardly slept on the plane, so when Talia told him to wait at a nearby park, he protested. She reprimanded him sharply and he was left sulking on a park bench for over an hour. When she finally returned, she ignored all of his questions about what had happened and where they would be going next.

Whilst she was absent, she had obviously acquired accommodations because she took him to a grand hotel and put him immediately to bed. In spite of his protests, he was asleep before long and he woke late in the afternoon to an empty room.

His stomach rumbled and he cursed: his mother had not left any food in the room and he was unsure when she would return. Ultimately, he decided that she had not stated that he was to remain in the room, so he was able to go and find something to eat.

He was in the lobby of the hotel when a shriek made him duck into a defensive crouch. It was awful and reminded him of the wails he would hear in the depths of the League base. Perhaps this was not really a hotel, but an elaborate ruse to practice his ability to escape enemy containment.

He was proven wrong a moment later when he located the source of the tortured sounds - a small blonde child was stamping her feet and demanding something from a taller man. The taller man was very broad and wore a black blazer with a red-white-and-blue sash across his chest, and was gesturing appeasingly at the demon child.

He followed the finger of the shrieker when she pointed somewhere behind her and he saw a small Asian child standing in front of a dark skinned boy. The Asian child immediately captured his attention because she was glaring fiercely at the blonde and had her hands on her hips. He wished he understood French a moment later when the girl started speaking rapidly, and her voice sounded like a bell that was being shaken raucously - a beautiful sound, but harsh in that moment.

Several moments later, the tall man was shouting for someone else, and another Asian, a woman this time and presumably the younger one's caretaker, was summoned. The woman looked angry when the man said something haughtily and snapped back at him almost as ferociously as the child.

Abruptly, the woman gently took hold of the two children that were standing close together and stalked out of the building, shouting something he wished he could comprehend as she exited. He paused only for a moment before following the trio cautiously.

Outside, a delivery van was waiting for instructions, a man far broader and taller than the one inside waiting for the woman. He looked crestfallen as she spoke, and then angry and offended when she reached the end of her tale. He picked up the children, embracing them gently before saying something to each of them.

When the van doors opened, Damian caught the smell of something hot and delicious and he took an involuntary step forward. The small Asian child's head turned instinctively towards him and she scanned him with narrowed eyes. After a moment she smiled, said something to the larger caretaker and grabbed something from the back of the van.

Damian tensed as she approached him, the dark skinned boy trailing behind her, but he made no move to defend himself - yet. She spoke in rapid French and he felt his face contort a little in confusion. He spoke back to her in Arabic, trying to make it plain that he had no idea what she was saying, at which point the dark skinned boy perked up.

“Wait, sorry dude, can you talk a little more slowly?” The boy said in slow Arabic, and Damian stared at him for a moment. Hesitantly, he repeated what he had said in a slower fashion, deciding it was better to use simple terms whilst he spoke. The boy smiled in thanks and translated it into French for the girl. She said something back, her face brightening before she held out what was in her hands.

“What is this?” Damian said, not wanting to take anything without knowing what it was. She said something that sounded like ‘was-o’ and smiled at him. The boy translated again, saying that it was a French pastry, a really good one because his friend's parents made the best pastries in Paris. Hesitating only a moment more, he took the pastry with a small ‘thank you’.

“Marinette,” the girl said, pointing at herself to make sure he understood that she was giving him her name. This time, his hesitation was less than half a second and he was rewarded by another bright smile before she pointed at the boy and said, “Nino.”

His stomach growled again and he took a tentative bite of the warm flaky thing in his hand. Immediately, he wanted another one as it melted in his mouth. Swallowing greedily, he took a larger bite which made the girl grin proudly and say something excitedly. She ran back to the van and her caretakers, gesturing back to Damian and speaking rapid French.

“She's asking her parents if she can have some more food for you,” the boy, Nino, said, chuckling. “Nettie likes helping people. She's my first friend here in Paris, and her parents are really nice too. Chloé, the other girl, was calling me names so Nettie told her off.”

Finally, Marinette returned from the van with a box full of baked goods and cut fruit. She beamed when he accepted it, chattering happily in French and he was growing increasingly frustrated that he didn’t understand her. He turned to Nino begrudgingly, an eyebrow raised while he waited.

“She said she's glad you liked it,” Nino said, another chuckle bubbling out of him. “She also wants to know how long you're in Paris for, because you can play with us if you want.”

“I am unsure,” Damian said, looking down at the box instead of either of the others. Nino translated and Damian could almost feel the disappointment of Marinette. He glanced up at her but she was grabbing a pen from one of her pockets before writing something on the box he was holding. “What is this?”

Nino squinted at the box for a second before listening to Marinette explain something and nodding. “It's her address, so you can find us if you're here for longer. We usually meet there in the mornings to play, but her Maman and Papa can tell you where to find us.”

“Thank you,” Damian said, mouth a little dry and a lump in his throat. He had no reference for this interaction, no other children in Nanda Parbat were this casual with him, if they were even allowed near him. He glanced back at the hotel before saying regretfully, “I should go back to my room, my mother may be looking for me.”

After Nino translated, Marinette pouted, apparently upset to lose her new friend but stepped closer to him. He tried not to tense too much but his experience was screaming at him that it was a trap. As her face approached his he jerked away from her, flushing a bright red. She paused, cocking her head and said something in a hurt tone.

Nino soothed her, speaking softly and Damian swore that he was going to learn as many languages as possible - starting with French. He hated not knowing what was being said, hated that he was relying on this strange boy to translate everything for the equally bizarre - but lovely - girl.

“She was just trying to give you a French farewell, une bise,” Nino said at last, demonstrating with Marinette. “I told her that it's not something everyone does, and,” he paused as she said something softly, staring at her feet, “she's sorry if she made you uncomfortable.”

“Tt, it is fine,” Damian said, the redness in his cheeks abating as his heartbeat returned to normal. “I shall leave now, but if I am still here tomorrow morning, I will come to this address to…play.”

After that, Marinette's parents called both children back and Damian watched them all leave in the van. He felt a mix of relief that the interaction was concluded and a strange melancholy at their departure. Once they were out of sight - never turn your back on potential enemies - he made his way back up to the room his mother had secured for them.

He was hopeful that he would see Marinette and Nino the next day, sure that he could learn more about blending into the world with them. His mother had them go home in the dead of night, her business concluded.

Part 2

[accessible-tumbling]

Video description: The Quora site is displayed and the narrator, who has a British accent and is speaking quickly and excitedly, opens by reading from it: "My MacBook Air weighs 2.3 pounds. If I download more files on it, will it make it heavier?

"This is Quora," he continues. "A place where once grand intellectual questions would be mused over. But if you recall, 2 years ago we sadly bid farewell to our friend, Yahoo Answers, a place where those sorts of questions didn't happen, and in that time it seems many Yahoo users have made Quora their new home.

"Do chimpanzees get pregnant? Does anyone live on the sun? How high do planes fly when landing? What percentage of people are going to die? Do lesbians get periods?"

(A response to that question is read in a gruff tone:) "Oh, come on! Where the hell are you getting that question?"

"You are sleeping with your partner and suddenly realize that he/she is a ghost. What would you do? Are there werewolves in Texas? Why does the sausage have two ends? What happens to the time it takes to actually time travel into the past/future? Which hole does an actress push out a baby in a birth sense?"

(Another answer is read:) "She doesn't. She acts."

"I heard that in the Middle Ages, nobles used to wipe their butts with ducklings. Is that right?"

(Response, gruffly:) "No!"

"Is it true that pregnant women should not sleep during a lunar or solar eclipse as it may cause harm to the unborn?"

(Response:) "No. That's the dumbest thing I ever heard."

"Can I sue Germany for putting my grandfather in prison for 7 years in the second world war?"

(Response:) "No, no, no, no, no!"

"Can you think of a sentence that contains the words 'book' and 'crabs'?"

(Response:) "Well, yes, I can."

"Why does the 'bros' abbreviation for 'brothers' end in 's' instead of 'th'?"

(Response:) "Because that would spell 'broth'."

"Do rich people get embarrassed that their servants know what their stuff in the toilet looks like?"

(Response:) "This is a very weird question."

"What happens when we wash vessel and use it with water in which a lizard was dead? Is it poisonous? What can we do?"

(Response:) "Uhh..."

"Why does the United States promote homosexuality and not consider what happened in the petrified village of Pompeii?"

(Response:) "Wha…?"

"How can I have sex with Asia?"

(Response:) "Pretty sure you mean an Asian girl."

"Is Israel on the world map? Are the Irish really from Ireland? My son speaks Arabic. (in a panicked, shouting tone:) What do I do? Does India have airports?"

(Response:) "Putin came to India in 2014 swimming in the ocean. I have a photo to prove." (A flash of a picture of Putin swimming can be seen briefly at this point in the video.)

"Where do animals live? Why are things? What is my date of birth? Do you know a microscope? Real mathematicians (in all caps): I have 5 live cows and then I multiply them by 0. How then do you come and tell me that I end up with 0? Where did the 5 go? Which is larger: 0 or 2+7? Math math what is angle?

(Narrator comment: "I do believe this Quora user was intending to ask 'what are the names of the most powerful angels?' but…) What are the names of moist powerful angles? I'm an atheist who believes in God. What should I do? Why do atheists watch fiction movies? During airplane turbulence, how do atheists keep calm?"

(Narrator comment: "This question I could only find an old link for, even Quora went nowhere, not even, that is way too stupid:) How do atheists know what foods are 'sweet' versus 'sour' or 'bitter'?

"I am 11 and stand at 5 foot 2. Am I obese? Do celebrities fart? What's the meaning of a single white egg left at my door? (narrator's comment: that is weird.)

"My mom slapped her own bum in front of me what does that mean? Is this correct, 'similarvgbhujkljhgtyhujk'? Why is Zelda so 'thicc' in Breath of the Wild? Do demons always say 'I am a demon' when they are introduced? Is it possible to balance your entire body on your penis?"

(Response:) " Yes, but I'm scared of heights."

"I saw the cop the gay eating a raw bird in my backyard. What should I do?" (Narrator comment: "I became a bit obsessed with this question, it's so indecipherable and googled it for clues to find apparently there was much debate on the site about whether this was a weird autocorrect from 'cat'. Which word was supposed to be cat?")

"Can deaf people laugh out loud? Can deaf people do surfing? How do def people know what facial expressions look like and how they're used outside of American Sign Language (ASL)? If so, how do they learn about them if there's no way to see someone else make that face?" (Narrator comment: "I mean, I don't think there's any intelligent questions actually left on this site, is there? Who's asking 'Can music cause candle to light?' Obviously, no!")

"Do people still eat mashed potatoes? (Yes!) Can semen travel up your foot? (No,, it cannot.) Is the word 'stay asleep' alwasy spelled 'J'? (I don't even know what that means.) Do lobsters pee from their faces? (Uh, ugh, are you mad? Obviously no!)"

(Response:) "Yes, as others have pointed out, many crustaceans have two different types of excretory organs, both near the head. Usually only one is used, depending on the age of the animal. Lobsters and crabs, etc, use their urine smell like cats, to mark territory, warn rivals, etc." (Uh..oh.)"

The screen goes white and the scene transitions to footage of the narrator walking up to a door. He places an egg on the mat, then runs away.

End video description.

[liquid-luck-00]

Red Binding 4

Maribat March Day 4: Siren

@maribat-calendar-events @maribatserver

First *** Previous *** Next

~~~~~~~~~~

In the end, Marinette was accompanied by Guardian Shun���itsu and their protégé, a girl roughly her age. She had trained with the two of them for almost three weeks before they had to leave. Apparently they used to do this trip on horseback, but not anymore. Now they would climb down the mountain to a village at the base, where they would board a train. That is until they reach a stop that an agent would escort them the rest of the way.

So yes she did have to carry a pitcher of water, in a sense.

This ritual would apparently work best and easiest of both the ladybug and black cat were alive and were doing it simultaneously. Each of them would be at their counterpart, creation at the pits of Lazarus while destruction at the pool of Ambrosia. But this was only her so it would be harder and it would take more time.

She stared out of the window of the car they were currently in. A Shadow had showed up at the station and led them to the car. She just watched the forest thin and thicken as they wound up the mountain. They stopped at a small village, similar to the one at home. Where they started to ascend the rest of the way.

Marinette didn’t know what she expected, but it wasn’t this.

The base was similar to a that of the temple, only for the fact that they were built and carved into the giant mountains that oversaw the valley. But the similarities ended there. Where the temple spired through the mountains organically, this seemed to be carved from the face of the mountain itself.

"Hello, and welcome to Nanda Parbat." A woman stood in front of the gates. "Which one of you is the Ladybug?"

Her eyes passed over them, seemingly bored, but she knows better. This woman was analyzing them, their weaknesses, their strengths, and most importantly judging if they would be a liability.

"I am the Guardian Yùnqì." She stepped forward, her words slightly accented, but clear in Arabic. She paid attention to where they were and she figured that would be the language best used in this region.

It seemed to surprise the woman, but it really shouldn’t. The Order was just as well kept and as expansive as the League, if all her research was correct.

"Very well, the Demon’s Head is waiting for an audience with you."

She turned and the gates behind her opened to a large courtyard. As the woman walked they did as well, keeping fifteen paces behind her in case of any possible attacks. None such happened but something was off.

Something told her there was more here than they originally thought.

Do you feel that Tikki?

Yes, but it might be nothing. The kwamii was unsure, yet continued. But maybe…

What is the maybe?

It could just be nothing. Tikki seemed to try and dismiss the idea, but Mari knows that feeling. And if her life has taught her anything, it’s to trust that feeling.

It’s not nothing, and you know it, so what could this be. She put her foot down. They had continued to walk further into the base, it wasn’t until the next threshold that Tikki responded.

Plagg’s wielder is here. The goddess sighed, her constant presence sending a shock of annoyance through her mind.

And what about Plagg? Can you tell?

Maybe? But that might just be the Well of Destruction. Tikki sighed.

Well it’s a start. She responded back, as their little party came to a stop in front of ornate metal doors.

"The two of you will hold back as the Ladybug enters."

"We all enter or else we shall leave." Guardian Shun’itsu challenged the woman, who thankfully didn’t call their bluff. Because yes they could leave, but if they did and the Well of destruction continued being used unchecked, devastation would truly follow.

So they all entered together Marinette took the point while Guardian Shun’itsu flanked her on the right, and her protégé (Ryuko) was on her left. The woman continued in front of them. When she stopped a couple of meters away from a throne, she dropped to one knee. A man in emerald green and pitch black armor sat on what was clearly a throne of sorts. The man waved a hand and the woman stood before taking her place behind him on his right.

"So you are the latest child of creation." The man’s voice was odd. It was accented by a language she has heard before, but also is sure she hasn’t. There was no emotion in his voice , while his eyes swept over her, judging and analyzing her very being.

"I am." She stood straight, and watched him in turn.

Neither of them broke the eye contact, as by this point it was a battle of wills.

"Very well." He nodded ever so slightly, raising a hand and three people stepped into the room. "No harm will come to you so long as you are accompanied by one of my officers."

One of the shadows stood right behind her and it sent chills down her spine. She wanted to shift and fidget to get rid of the feeling, but she knows that wouldn’t be a good idea. In fact it would probably be considered a show of weakness that she doesn’t want to show.

"You will be shown to your rooms and know your itinerary here for the next two weeks." He spoke with such distain, that she did not wanna be here anymore. Granted she didn’t actually want to come because she was going to be surrounded by assassins, now she really doesn’t wanna be here. But she spoke up, because she is the highest ranking of the three.

"If that is your command, we shall abide by them, but you, too shall learn that we have our own itinerary. We must follow as well."

"Guardian Yùnqì, This would be best discussed after we have settled in."

"That is very true Guardian Shun’itsu." She slightly turned her cheek, so she could see Lord Doreiku, yet ensure that the man sitting in front, wouldn’t think she was ignoring him. She turned back to fully face him. "I shall write up our daily proceedings, as well as the rights that need to be accomplished during the ritual. So that both your men and yourself may know what to expect. As I do not want to make a mockery of our alliance, as I also do not wish to anger you unnecessarily."

Her head was high. Her voice was calm, and she noticed the man started to scowl ever so slightly. She got under his skin, and all she could think of was good, there was an understanding neither one wanted the other here, but they needed one another.

And she wasn’t foolish enough to allow herself nor her two companions to be caught in the crossfire, if he wanted a fight.

The three of them bowed shallowly, turned to follow the three shadows, and went on their way quietly. She was showed her room smaller than the one she has at the temple, but it would be fine for what they needed it for.

Quietly she made sure to search the room, fully, because they knew they were coming, they knew which ones to set them in, she wouldn’t have been surprised if they had but the rooms were bugged, so she didn’t do anything until she knew she was secure.

She started putting up wards around the room, that way no one can enter without her permission, and no one can hear into it.

Tikki had just flown out, and made herself comfortably a bed in the back of her robes. Marinette opened the door, and as she did, the ninja appeared.

"This is the itinerary, if you would be so kind as to deliver it to the demons head." She smiled and tilted her head slightly, that portrayed an innocence which her stature provided. The ninja, because that’s the only way she can describe them from now on, because calling them assassins would put her to far on edge, took the letters, bowed and left.

Mari acted as if she was going to close the door, but in reality, it was still open. She’s assuming that the doors probably have a mechanism or alarm set into them whenever they are opened or closed, to make sure they are where they are meant to be. She slipped out of the room and leaving the door slightly ajar, that it looked closed, she crept down the halls.

Mari what are you doing? She felt Tikki’s small weight, disappear, and her voice hissed through her mind.

You know what, and so do I. If the Holder, the Black cat is here, if Plagg is here, he might be suffering.

You don’t know that Marinette. Tikki’s voice was small, but hopefulness swam through it.

And we don’t know otherwise.

She followed at the pull she felt until Mari reached another door. She was about to raise her hand and knock when it’s swung open.

A boy, slightly older than her, with pitch, black hair and turquoise eyes opened up to her. She doesn’t know what to say, and it seems like he didn’t either. They stood like that for a moment, before something slipped out of the boys hair.

"Get inside." A nasally voice huffed behind her shoving her into the room.

"Plagg what are you doing?" The boy hissed at the Kwamii in front of them now.

"If you two were caught like that, what do you think would happen kitten?"

The boys stayed silent, but this solidified what he was. He was the guardian of the black cat.

"I’m sorry let me introduce myself." The ease in which she switched to English, as Plagg and the boy was just speaking it.

"I am the Guardian Yùnqì, my name is Marinette'.' At that moment Tikki reappeared in this dimension, floated for a moment beside her before sitting on her shoulder. "And this is Tikki, the Kwamii of Creation."

"Hi there, Sugar Cube!" Plagg flew up to Tikki who was still on her shoulder.

"Stinky Sock." She grumbled, but Marinette heard the fondness in her voice all the same.

"Name is Plagg Kwamii of Destruction." The small black cat like creature floated up and gave his head a bow to her. "And this is my kitten."

He flew back to the boy and landed in his hair.

"Why are you here?" Was the first thing the boy ever said to her, as he was glaring at her the entire time.

"Because I have to do a stupid ritual, I can’t sit still, and stay somewhere I’m supposed to be, there’s more here than just the wells of destruction, I didn’t know that the miraculous of the black cat was active." Sarcasm rung through her voice, and it felt as if she hadn’t used it in so long.

She leaned back against the door, finally dropping the act of perfect guardian that she needed to uphold.

"You’re just a kid."

"And so are you." She shot back at him. "Who still hasn’t given me their name."

"Jason."

"It’s nice to meet you, Jason." She lifted her hand and it seemed like he might’ve taken it, if a siren didn’t start blasting.

"Shit."

Next

~~~~~~~~~~

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Taglist: @shizukiryuu

[sardonic-sprite]

Part 4 of Dad!Tim AU!

(Thanks for reminding me Q /gen)

(Tw for... idk general shitty stone-age misogyny?)

Part 1

They've had Eira for a month now, and honestly... Bruce was wondering when this would happen

He's very glad that Jason's at home with Tim tonight, because otherwise God only knows what would have happened, but there'd have been a lot more blood, Bruce is sure

Instead it's just him and Damian at the very edge of the city limits when a woman, bleeding and disheveled and bruised, nearly past recognition, sprints close, slows to a stagger, and collapses on her knees before them, one hand reaching out to fist in each of their cloaks as she gasps for breath

But Bruce could never not know those green eyes. The ones his smallest son shares with his

"MOTHER!"

"Talia! What the hell-"

But he doesn't wonder for long. And again, he really should have known it would happen by now

A group of assassins steps out of the shadows, weapons raised and still wet with Talia's blood. She drags herself up, beside Bruce, in front of Damian, and raises her own sword, but Bruce steps in the middle, finding that ice-cold place of fury that he's struggled for half a year now to keep hidden from his children because of how ugly it is

"Stay out of my city," he snarls. He reminds them of the piss-poor but completely binding treaty, that the league is forbidden to cross the city limits

"Except to redress grievances, Detective."

"You wanna talk about *grievances?*"

But the assassin just smirks. He starts pontificating about children and fathers and PROPERTY like its still the damn stone age. Then he starts pushing the idea of claiming ownership, as pointed as his weapon, and says, "The boy Lord Ra's is willing to grant you. But you are now harboring two stolen possessions of the Demon's Head, and he wants his property back."

Talia spits out a string of Arabic, all words Bruce has heard, but never in so... creative an order. Behind them both, Damian stifles something that might be either a sob or a giggle. Or a choking on air.

This is why Bruce is glad Jason is at home

What Bruce wants to say - shout - is that Talia is a WOMAN and Eira is a BABY and they are HUMAN PEOPLE not CATTLE and HOW DARE RA'S--

What he says, moving his hand behind his back to signal Damian to turn on his comm, maximum reciever volume, is that Ra's is not in fact the nearest male relative of woman or child

Talia's nearest man? Its Bruce. Yeah. Do they wanna see the marriage license? Talia smirks next to him, because they've had that thing ready for this exact situation for YEARS

He feels shitty claiming "ownership" but he knows Ra's is the shitty one and Talia knows what Bruce really means.

Damian makes another very odd noise.

Anyway, Eira? Did Ra's forget that Tim is her fucking FATHER? They've got birth records RIGHT NOW stating that she belongs to HIM, proving her legal existence and citizenship and EVERYTHING.

The assassins hesitate. Bruce knows they're searching. He prays. Talia's hand finds his and squeezes. The marriage record is there, one hundred percent legal, witnessed, valid, only kept secret because thats what had suited them for so long.

The birth certificate... all those other documents...

Its clear the assassin is suspicious, but Bruce thanks God for Barbara’s speed, because the assassin can't tell him the records aren't there. Can't even prove they were dashed together by one woman in the space of five minutes

"As you can see," Bruce says, grin downright feral, "They are both within my protection. Come one step closer to my family and it will be Ra's who violates the treaty

And I *will not hesitate* to call the entire Justice League to war."

The assassin scowls.

But they all melt away, conceding defeat.

When they're gone, Talia sways and nearly collapses again, but Bruce and Damian catch her and call for the car

They go home

Part 5

[ggomos-maribat]

Secrets, Thrice Divulged

Part 4 of Heirs Apparent | AO3

Masterlist

Words in bold italics are spoken in Arabic. CW: mild blood, violence, vehicle accident

Danny didn't believe in luck.

He'd grown up in the League, where he had been waltzing with death, where he had close calls and near-misses. Where he was taught that one slip-up, one gap in his skills made him doubt he was going to be alive in the next morning. He didn't entertain the idea of luck, not when he found his passion in astrophysics. Things didn't happen by mere luck; there was only probability and chance. Even in his transition into a halfa, he knew it wasn't completely random, not when his family had an entire ghost portal situated in their basement.

But if luck truly did exist, he knew he had the worst one.

"I can't believe they left us here, in a different city, just because they caught a strong ecto-signature in Gotham city in the middle of the night!" His older sister's voice of complaint pulled him out of his thoughts.

Danny only smiled wryly as he watched her scowl at the two bus tickets they had to purchase themselves. Origin: Atlantic city. Destination: Gotham. What could they expect from their parents except last-minute ghost-hunting trips?

"And it's not like there are tons of ghosts in Gotham---" Jazz stopped to look at him. "Are there a lot?"

"Considering that it's a breeding ground of death, emotions and obsessions, plus it's the home of one of the oldest ghosts out there, I'd say yeah," he replied, aimlessly noting the growing gray color of the sky. He recalled the rare times he was in Gotham; in terms of ectoplasm rancidity, it was just second after Amity Park.

"Still! They left one text! Didn't bother to wake us up or wait until morning." Jazz hiked her bag up her shoulders. People started to crowd around the bus in hopes of getting a decent seat. They followed along the back slowly.

Danny gave her a comforting squeeze on the shoulder. "Don't worry, it's a direct trip to Gotham. As soon as we get there, we'll find Mom and Dad, take a tour, and meet one of the Rogues or something."

Jazz said nothing but offered a weak smile, an attempt to assure him that she was trying to look at the positive side.

He looked around the area. Not a lot of buses seemed to be stopping by Gotham, so their ride seemed packed with passengers. The station was filled with the chatter of the crowd, and the air buzzed with a certain chill that made his core thrum.

Core . . . thrumming?

Danny whipped around the second he felt goosebumps trickling down his neck. His eyes met blue ones that mirrored his but he let his own gaze pass over her to avoid prolonged eye contact.

What is she doing here? Four thousand miles away from Paris? A quick discreet glance told him that she was with her friends.

His fingers twitched inside his hoodie pockets. A million questions flooded his head, but he knew he couldn't move or say anything.

Because around all these people, they weren't supposed to know each other. They were supposed to be strangers.

Before he could rearrange his thoughts, his attention zeroed in on familiar voices to his side, plus the large stocky figures brushing past him in the line.

"Take the B-mobile for a ride, he said. It'll be fun, he said."

"Okay, for the record, it was Jay who told us to take it out of Gotham---"

"Wow, selling me out right away, Dickie? Who was driving and crashed the car again? It wasn't me."

"Fools, I repeatedly said that this was a horrible idea." A huff. "I will make sure to tell Father that I had no part in this."

"One word out of you, Demon Spawn, and we're leaving you here."

Danny's mind blanked out again. His subconscious wasn't as clear-cut as his Ghost Sense, but he knew it was warning him of danger. All three of them somehow boarding one bus screamed capital D-A-N-G-E-R to him and he wanted to run, tell his siblings that this was asking for trouble.

He stepped one foot up the bus platform, holding onto the handle. What should I do? Should I turn back now? Catch the next bus? Send a signal to Akhi and Amira? Is there an assassin on the bus? His eyes darted over to the pair of tickets Jazz held. No . . . I can't do that to Jazz without a proper explanation. Not when she bought the tickets with her own money. That's not fair.

"Danny?" Jazz gazed up at him.

He swallowed, climbing up the bus. "Yeah, sorry. Just spaced out for a sec."

When they took their seats right behind the driver, he pulled up his hood to mask a part of his face. Tucker had once pointed out his resemblance to Damian Wayne but it had only been a passing comment that Jazz never heard. He didn't need her or the Wayne brothers noticing that during the bus ride.

He made a quick sweep as he noticed Marinette enter the vehicle, with a blonde boy holding her by the hand. Two of their friends followed behind with one prattling rapidly in French. Damian and his brothers were seated an aisle away from himself and Jazz, while the Parisian group took their seats at the middle of the bus.

No suspicious entities, living or otherwise, were in sight.

Danny clenched his fist inside his pocket. Both Damian and Marinette should know that the three of them were in the same ride. He figured they were trying to lay low and act normal while remaining vigilant for potential threats. Like he was.

He let himself recline on his seat as the engine revved to life and the doors folded closed.

He could only hope for the best.

---

Marinette followed behind Adrien as they walked to their bus seats, with Chloe and Alix trailing behind them. The blonde girl hadn't stopped cursing a certain classmate to hell since they found themselves stranded in Atlantic city. 

"That witch! How dare she pull off something like this?" Chloe spat out. "And Bustier! How will she take responsibility in case something happens to us? Huh?" 

Alix wrestled her down to her seat before she could alarm the other passengers. Meanwhile, Marinette tried to soothe the stirring feeling in her chest. Ever since she saw her two brothers in the station, her attention had been divided. 

"Chloe, save that energy for later when we arrive in Gotham," Adrien said calmly. "We're fine, we're not in danger, and we got our tickets. Then we'll make sure our class will face the consequences." 

He squeezed Marinette's hand as he said the words. She smiled softly in return. 

Chloe folded her arms with a defiant huff, turning her head towards the window. Alix only side-eyed her, settling on the sear beside her as a silent promise to the other two that she'll keep Chloe at bay. 

Adrien motioned to the seats in front of them. "After you, my Lady." 

"Sorry—um," she cleared her throat. "Can you take the window seat instead?" 

In case an emergency happens, a voice inside her uttered, in case I need to jump into action immediately. 

She shook her head slightly. No, Mari, don't think like that. Nothing is going to happen. 

Thankfully, Adrien let her sit near the aisle without question. He undoubtedly sensed her uneasiness but was opting to talk about it later. 

"Comfy?" He squeezed her hand again. 

Marinette scrunched her nose. The barely-cushioned seats and torn leather barely matched up to the luxury bus their class probably rode earlier that morning. Nonetheless, she didn't want to complain. 

No, I'm worried. "Yeah, comfy," she mumbled. 

Adrien hummed—bless him, he was still the sunshine he was even in the worst situations—and unzipped his bag to bring out snacks. "I bought these while you were lining up for the tickets. Eat up, princess." 

Marinette's lips parted at the gesture. Princess. It had taken her a while to warm up to the nickname since it hit too close to home. But she grew to love the endearment. 'Amira' to her brothers and mother, 'princess' to her love. 

With a small 'thank you' she accepted a packet of biscuits from him while he passed a couple snacks to Alix and Chloe. The biscuits placated her rumbling hunger but not her paranoia. Her gaze strayed towards the seats in front of them, spotting Damian's head lowered, seemingly occupied with his phone. Straight ahead of her, Danyal was buried in his hoodie, perhaps to draw less attention to himself.

No matter how badly she wanted to talk to them, she resisted the idea. If it really was a coincidence that they ended up in the same bus, she'd be exposing the three of them in more danger if she tried to communicated with either.

"Okay, I'll bite," Adrien whispered beside her, "What are you thinking about?"

She forced herself to look at the stretch of road becoming a blur as the bus sped. "Paris. I shouldn't have agreed to go on this trip . . ."

"You know Luka and Gami have it covered, right?"

"I know but," she let out an exhausted sigh, "I haven't been this far from home for this long, you know?"

His thumb traced the back of her hand. "What about that time an akuma trapped us in a pocket dimension for three days?"

She laughed. "You know that doesn't count."

"Does too." A teasing smile graced his lips which faltered when she yawned. "Hey, you can rest your head on my shoulder if you want to sleep. The ride will take a while."

Marinette rubbed her eyes. "I'll live, don't worry. I overslept this morning, remember?"

She was about to grab her water bottle when the bus suddenly lurched to the side. Her head snapped up to witness two things happen at the same time: the bus driver had slumped, unconscious, and Damian jumped to catch the man; and at the same second, Danyal himself slid to the front to steer the wheel himself.

Shouts and sounds of surprise echoed around her, but Marinette could only focus on her brothers. The bus was moving erratically, which meant that there was something wrong with the controls. She watched Danyal struggle to keep the vehicle in its lane, knuckles whitening and jaw clenched tightly. Damian was checking for the driver's pulse; his mouth was moving but she couldn't hear him over the commotion.

She had moved to the edge of the seat without her notice and the bus lurched again, this time throwing her forwards.

"—brakes! Step on the brakes!"

"I can't! It's not working!"

"Was it tampered with? Where's the emergency brakes?!"

Marinette caught her breath as she composed herself. Around her, passengers had been knocked from their seats, clinging to whatever they could get their hands on. She barely registered Adrien trying to reach for her arm—

"Shit!"

A loud screech rang out as the bus tilted, skidding through the road at an angle only to be stopped by the rails on the side of a cliff. A high-pitched scream sounded as she saw a toddler slipping from his mother's grasp, falling through the unhinged doors, leaving him to dangle at the edge.

The bus teetered a little.

Marinette released her breath, freezing in her position. She saw one of the Wayne brothers shuffle towards the child when he was stopped by Damian.

"Don't." Damian glared. "Don't or else we'll fall."

The hand was retracted. Marinette's pulse sped up as she heard the mother's whimpering sobs. Damian was still supporting the unconscious driver. Danyal had the dysfunctional breaks pressed to the floor as he desperately kept the bus in its balance.

Without thinking she spoke out loud in clear English. "I'll go."

Adrien gasped sharply. Chloe hissed her name. Her brothers turned to stare at her, along with some other passengers at the front.

"I'll go get him," she repeated in a louder tone. "I'm light enough—I think. I should be able to get him."

A soft sniff pulled her attention back to the dangling child. She was met with no disagreement (except from her friends), so she slowly began to make her way to the front, careful not to disrupt the bus. Marinette knew her actions were watched by piercing eyes and bated breaths but her instincts ignored the distractions.

The bus creaked and shook again the moment she stepped near the front doors. With one hand, she gripped the handle while the other reached for the little boy.

Marinette clenched her jaw. I can't reach him. She braved another step closer, making the bus tilt a little again. The boy's fingers were starting to slip. She took a deep breath. I have to get down there.

In one swift move, she swung herself down to hang from the bus, catching the boy at the waist before he fell. She lifted him back to the vehicle and he ran towards his mother, sobbing. 

The passengers screamed as the floor shifted again. Now it was Marinette who was at the edge of her death and we she looked down, the fall did seem unforgiving.

She bit her lip.

Any longer they stayed there, the rails were going to break.

Her head snapped up, meeting her brothers' eyes. "Drive," she commanded. "Steer the bus back to the road."

Danyal was first to speak up,, his hands tightening on the wheel. "No . . ."

---

Danyal's response was faint, but was clearly heard by Jasmine behind them and Damian's brothers, who were now staring holes to the back of his head. 

He knew it was uncharacteristic of him to jump to help in that emergency—it was more of Grayson's thing. But he'd seen Danyal rush to the wheel and he had felt himself jump into the action at the same time. 

He looked at Marinette, feeling utterly helpless as he saw her hanging. Yet her eyes told a different story, passing on a message that said 'trust me', like she'd always silently say during their missions together.

And Danyal seemingly got the hint.

Damian watched as his brother floored the accelerator this time, directing the wheel to the far left to swerve them out of the edge of the cliff. Marinette had flipped with the perfect timing, propping herself back on the bus as the doors closed. The wheels were still moving erratically, but he could tell that Danyal had better control this time.

The bus jerked from side to side this time, rattling every passenger on board. Finally—finally—Damian saw the lever for the emergency brakes at the bottom of the dashboard. He leapt, pulled on it, and sent the bus skidding before it slid to a halt.

Damian released a breath he didn't know he was holding.

---

With the Wayne boys' help, the bus passengers immediately filed out the beat-up vehicle. Damian himself had help from Jason carrying the unconscious driver over to the side of the road while Dick and Tim checked the civilians for injuries. 

If Jason kept burning his gaze into Damian, he pretended not to notice. Dick joined them not long after to help look over the driver. 

The eldest Wayne put two fingertips at the man's neck. "Poison?" 

"Possibly," Damian replied, "but no warning signs before the trip began." 

"If he was poisoned during the ride, we would've noticed that," Jason said. 

Damian looked back at the bus. Obviously, the accident was deliberate, one targeting him and his siblings if he could take his best guess. But knowing the League, the incident could only be the beginning. He forced himself to be more aware, observing each detail in his surroundings. They could be anywhere. 

As his eyes scanned the people around, he caught sight of the mother of the child earlier, profusely thanking Marinette. In another spot, Jasmine was talking to Danyal, perhaps scolding him for the rash action while tapping through her phone to find another way to get to Gotham.

"What was that?" Jason's voice cut through his thoughts. 

He raised an eyebrow. "What was what?" 

"You know what." 

His brothers' curious eyes told him of every unspoken question. Why'd you jump into danger like that? Who was that boy you looked like? 

Why did it seem like you knew him and that girl? 

"I do not know what you're talking about, Todd," he lied. 

"Damian, is there something you need to tell us?" asked Dick. 

Damian's jaw tensed. Can they not tell that I cannot talk about it at the moment?  "There is nothing," he answered brusquely before walking towards the bus. 

"Where are you going?" Dick called out to him. Damian saw no need to reply, picking up his pace towards the vehicle. 

If it were the League that was after them, it was most likely the opposite faction. Talia's way of communicating was more discreet if she wanted to bring them back to base. So it was safer to assume that they were dealing with hostiles. He stepped into the bus, first inspecting the driver's side.

As he expected, the brakes had been tampered with, along with the other controls. Movement caught his periphery and he turned to see both Danyal and Marinette checking on the perimeter as well. He was about to join them when he heard a click and felt something cool pressed against the side of his head. 

 From the reflections on the windows, he could see his siblings in the same predicament, cornered by assassins. He made a quick check. Civilians were still in the area and they couldn't make the scuffle too loud. Not to mention, his brothers were probably headed that way. 

But the three of them didn't need seclusion. They could make it swift and clean. On the right timing, Damian swung at the arm holding the gun as the others did the same. He quickly disarmed the man and kicked him out of the bus, immediately going for the other attackers. He didn't need to look to know that his siblings were retaliating in sync—with Marinette wielding her pocket knife and Danyal reusing the same gun he took. 

Damian steadied his breaths as he spotted more assassins come their way. Where did they all come from? Slowly but surely, the three backed up against each other. As Damian blocked an incoming punch, he swiped the spare knife his sister offered behind him while she jabbed her own knife into an attacker's shoulder. He tsked, knowing their goal was to tire them out rather than actually harm them. If they didn't finish up on time, there was trouble waiting. 

And his siblings knew that. 

"We can't stay here for long," he whispered. 

"No shit, Sherlock." Danyal leapt and kicked another assassin. "Should I overshadow them?" 

"You know you can't," Marinette hissed, propelling another to pin down another. 

"Stop!" 

Damian whipped around at the harsh Arabic tone and they all halted. Approaching them slowly were their companions held hostage by one assassin each. His brothers were held at gunpoint while the others—Jasmine and Marinette's friends—had knives pressed to their throats. Simultaneous clicks echoed around. 

He couldn't meet their eyes. 

He shouldn't have gone on that bus.

"Let them go." Danyal's jaw clenched, looking at his adoptive sister. 

"Drop your weapons," the same assassin ordered. "Hands where we can see them." 

Slowly, Damian set his knife on the ground and raised his arms. Danyal dropped his gun and kicked it away. A livid Marinette threw down her blade. 

"Now let them go," Danyal repeated calmly in their mother tongue. "Release them and you can take us." 

"Quiet!" 

"You only want us—" 

"I said quiet!" 

A gunshot sounded. 

"Akhi!"  "Danny!" 

A second later, Danyal was clutching his side where the bullet grazed him. Jasmine was trembling with unshed tears as the knife lightly swiped her skin when she tried to move. Marinette, on the other hand, looked just about ready go pounce. 

Damian stilled.  

He hadn't seen Danyal bleed in years. 

He hadn't seen Danyal bleed in years. 

Of course he would let the bullet hit him. He couldn't turn intangible in front of their enemies. 

"All of you will follow us," the assassin commanded. "Make one move and we kill one by one."  

Dread gurgled at the pit of Damian's stomach. He could only guess where they were being taken to. He hated nothing else but having his hands tied in that situation. If their friends and family weren't held captive, the three of them would've obliterated the group in minutes. 

Marinette moved towards Danyal and the gun raised again. She leveled the assassins with a glare rivalling that of Bruce's, spitting out, "Where is your respect to the amira and amir? He needs medical attention." 

If not for their predicament, Damian would've laughed at how their captors shivered involuntarily. These assassins who belong to the other faction are not new, he pondered, they know us as the heirs. 

He could only watch as Marinette tore a piece of cloth from her jacket and wrapped it snugly around their brother's wound. It was a practiced action, almost reminiscent of their childhood days. Danyal muttered a soft thanks, squeezing her hand after she finished up. 

Damian only had a few seconds to glance at his brothers' reactions before the hostages were blindfolded, roughly led by the assassins. 

Somehow, only the faces of hurt and betrayal were seared into his mind. 

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[aylivaa]

ᝰ ACHT : SIBLING TIME m.list • next chap

Saturday began with bright sunshine, and Mira decided to spend the day with her little brother Elias.

The two had left the house right after breakfast and had spent the whole day in the shopping center, tried delicious food, bought new clothes for Elias and then finally went to a playground to end the day.

Once Elias was finally completely exhausted, the two decided to buy ice cream and go back home before it got completely dark.

So the two now walked across the yard together with ice cream in their hand and talked about the day. Elias liked to spend time with his sister, because then he never had to be afraid that he would talk too much or become too exhausting, as it sometimes was with his parents.

Elias swallowed the last piece of his croissant and jumped excitedly into the air when he noticed that he had defeated his sister at the "ice cream competition" as always, and she made him think again this time that he had won because he could eat quickly, and not because she deliberately ate slowly and half of her ice had already melted and stuck to her hands.

With her free hand, Mira reached into her pocket and searched for the house key when the two suddenly heard a loud group of boys behind them and both turned around at the same time.

It was the same children from the other day that Mira had seen when she went for a walk, and also this evening they had met again to play football.

"Sami, Lucas, you both choose teams!" shouted a little boy with a Morocco jersey and played with the ball in his hand. Two other boys stepped out of the crowd and looked around briefly before they started voting for their team members.

Mira didn't know why Elias really wanted to watch the two, but she wondered if he might want to play with them, but didn't dare to ask.

When the two teams were elected, the boy named Sami realized that there were not enough players in his team and was just starting to complain when Mira suddenly had the idea of interfering in her little brother.

He was a little younger than the others, but he would certainly be able to adapt, he was also a big football fan and played in a children's team in Herne before their parents had to cancel club membership.

"Hey, boys!" she shouted and laughed when she saw the frightened face of her brother. She pushed him a little forward and then ran to the group before pushing Elias a little forward again so that he also stood in a circle between the boys.

"I happened to hear that you need another player," she said and looked Sami directly in the face, who looked at her a little shyly and then nodded. "Here, my little brother Elias would like to play with you."

Elias looked surprised, but she could see the discreet smile that formed on his lips, and the other boys agreed and took him, he thanked her laughing and ran with them to the small sand square.

Mira smiled contentedly and looked around for a free bench where she could sit and keep an eye on Elias, and when she had actually found a nice bench, she let herself fall exhausted and decided to watch the first season of Demon Slayer again in the meantime.

It was the only series that she downloads over and over again from Netflix so that she could watch the series on the way when she was bored.

She was just at the point where Tanjiro said goodbye to his family to go into the forest when she suddenly felt the presence of another person behind her and heard a deep voice a moment later.

"His whole family is attacked and eaten by demons and his sister becomes a demon, and he has to become a warrior so that he can take revenge for his family," said the boy behind here, and a second later she watched, scared as Zayne sat down on the bench next to her and threw his legs relaxed over each other.

He was wearing black sweatpants and a T-shirt with a saying in Arabic. He had hidden his curly hair under a black cap.

She tried to cover her surprise by going into his statement.

"You can't spoil me, I've already finished Demon Slayer," she replied and smiled. In contrast to the last encounter, where she had run home, she was prepared this time. She had rehearsed an answer to all his possible questions so that she wouldn't panic if he happened to see her in the yard.

"Really?" Zayne asked and leaned forward. She nodded again and pointed to her cell phone. "I just keep downloading the episodes so that I can watch them when I'm outside. All other series or anime bore me after a while."

"I didn’t expect that."

"What? Why?"

"I don't know, you look more like the type to watch romantic animes."

"Yes," Mira laughed. "I like to watch that too. Why not watch both."

He also laughed now and she felt how her muscles in her face began to hurt. Today was really a very nice day, and she had laughed so much again after a long time.

"Yes, of course, everyone has their own taste," he answered and leaned back again. Mira finished her food and looked at him from time to time, but Zayne also seemed to enjoy the silence and just looked at the sky.

"So," began Zayne, when it became very quiet again between the two and no one knew what to say. "What are you doing here?"

Mira smiled. She had prepared so well for this question that she could simply lie without hesitation. "We are here to visit my aunt."

"Ah, okay. I was confused to see you here."

"Yep." Silence. "And what are you doing here?" she asked, as if she didn't already know the answer.

"I live here," he said, without hesitating for a second. Mira immediately felt guilty. He had directly admitted that he lives here, and neither in his voice nor in his face were any signs of shame. He was not ashamed to live here, for him this was quite normal, and she distorted her entire identity to hide her place of residence.

Actually, she should be ashamed.

"How do you like life here?" she asked carefully and turned so that she no longer had such neck pain because she had to turn to him all the time. Zayne thought for a moment, then he sat up straight and also turned to her.

"It's actually possible," he finally said, nodding as if his words described exactly what he was thinking. "I think outsiders have a strange picture of such places of residence, but I've gotten used to it. I've been living here all my life."

"And were there moments where you would have preferred to live somewhere else?" she said. "I don't know if I could live here," she lied shamelessly.

"Well," another break. "I think that everyone would rather live differently, but there are also nice aspects of life here. Everyone knows everyone, and we are always there for each other."

"That's definitely nice."

"Yes," he said. "Every place has its advantages and disadvantages."

Mira nodded.

Before even Mira realized, she spent more than two hours on this bench and talked to Zayne about various animes that the two had watched, they talked about school and the courses and Zayne told her about his experiences with teachers in the lower school.

He was more pleasant than she would have thought, and she also noticed that he was a completely different person outside of school. He was awake, active and talked to her for a long time, instead of sitting quietly all the time and drinking one energy drink after another.

Both had lost track of the time and Mira looked at her phone in shock when her mother called her shortly after midnight and asked her to come upstairs. Elias also seemed to slowly be very tired, which is why she decided that it was probably time to go upstairs.

She said goodbye to Zayne and checked if everything was in her pocket before she got up and knocked off the dirt of the bench from her white dress. Elias extended his hand and rubbed his free one over his tired eyes before he wiped the sweat from his forehead.

"Elif," Zayne shouted when the two were already in front of the door and had ringed the bell.

Mira turned around with a questioning look and brushed her hair out of her face.

"So let me know when you come to visit your aunt again and you get bored. I live right here, I'll come down again if I'm at home."

» 🤍 «

— 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐆𝐈𝐍𝐆 : @dxmoness @reneezsq @lxdymoon0357 @yoghurtsan

[papirouge]

As a christian with friends in palestine right now, I’m fuming that the deranged demonic scrotes of hamas literally ruined all the public support palestine had in a matter of moments. Parading dead naked women around, spitting on their bodies and calling for war. Meanwhile back in palestine the few remaining christians are going to be double attacked and forgotten. Christians had a hard time already since hamas is a radical muslim group funded by Iran to create scrote paradise in the ways of islam. And they were supported by most muslims. Now electricity will be cut, water cut off, this is a nightmare.

- basing support of the Palestinian struggle depending on the action of a terrorist group was already a bad idea🫠 those "I'm a leftist Jewish who always defended Palestine but I don't have a crumb of compassion left for Palestinian today" posts belong to that category. It's interesting how they will expect support from people because "they are not their [Zionist far right racial supremacist] government".... and then turn around and remove their alleged support of the Palestinians over the actions of...Hamas (who seemingly didn't get democratically elected since years). I mean, which one is it?

- I'm genuinely confused at people discovering what.....war is. Raped women, dead bodies paraded around, torture.... Do you think such barbaric behavior are exclusive to the Hamas? Do you think that some war are immune to this barbary? Hamas is just stupid enough to do it in the open (war on image). US troops were caught torturing and taking pics of prisoner at Abu Grahib (but at least those photos weren't supposed to be passed around for the whole world to see...) how any of what's happening different? Because it's a (dead) woman? Because the killers are Arab/Muslim? all the people who are bringing up this story really need to ask themselves why *this* story picked up their indignation but other war crimes didn't. Why they either turned a blind eye or openly support(ed) wars where the same thing did happen... or is that because there was no camera to film so to them it doesn't happen? One cannot live with such cognitive dissonance for that long. There's no "clean" war. War turns ANYONE into animals.. not only brown skin Muslims.

The same flock of hypocrites who supported war in Ukraine are now clutching their pearls at insurrectional violence... As if "some" wars didn't have civilians casualties, women or children raped, dead bodies brutalized... And they are calling for "Israel to defend itself" as if the very same thing they accuse Hamas of doing won't be done by Tsahal (but not before a camera, which apparently makes a difference somehow)....

One thing about me is that I've always been consistent with my stance about violence. I've been called delusional for calling Christians to not engage with weapons/guns self defense, or for saying that WWII allies were demonic for wiping out the German city of Dresden just because Germany was the "bad guy". Some week ago I made a post calling out people defending the atomic bomb on Japanese civilians because they were the "bad guys"....

There's no "good guy" in war, and anyone calling for war (or ✨self defense✨) is already morally corrupt. Souls are precious. God doesn't want us to waste any away playing satan's playbook.

- the support of Christian Palestinian was already pretty nonexistent anyway, but it's definitely going to get worse. I can't help but roll my eyes at Israelis mad at Westerners defending Palestinians that it's easy for us to make shitty posts out of the comfort of our house without having a leg in this conflict" and she was ironically right because yeah, that's precisely BECAUSE we have this comfort we can speak for those who can't. We don't have only 3 hours of electricity a day. We have free wifi, the coverage, the time. Palestinians -that Israelis can't accuse of not having a leg in this conflict- actually ASK us to be a "sounding board" for their cause... Such post is an admission of failure. It's just some good ol' gaslighting because they know they're losing more and more support from the world.

I think I'm the onlt Christian on Tumblr consistently talking about the fate of Palestinians/Arab Christians and how they're always forgotten by Western Christians. But I don't. Christian Palestinian are stuck between both Muslim and Jewish religious supremacist, and while Western Christians will rightfully call out Muslim fanatism, they will never have the courage to speak up against Zionism. And I'm so angry for that.

If anyone has money, please donate to Friends of the Holy Land, a Palestinian Christian charity 🙏🏾

I've been following and occasionally donating to them and they're legit. I also recommend subscribing to their newsletter which provide information about their initiatives 🤍✝️🩵

[seven-eleven-slushie]

Hey man, im sorry that post hurt your feelings. It's understandable to feel upset when you're on the receiving end of discrimination, I know white ppl are esp sensitive to it bc you aren't used to it. But that's also just the thing- like, you can be prejudiced against white people, but white people only benefit from the systemic oppression of racism. You will never experience racism. White is not a marginalized identity. So no, people hating on margo getting with miles (a rhetorical relationship thats not even a central part of the movie. It's weird that people feel so attacked by her to write callous posts for shipping them) is Not comparable to people disliking the actual relationship between gwen n miles. Also, snowbunny can mean white woman who fetishizes black men, and can Also mean white women who simply date black men. Regardless of whether she respects him. Sure its not a nice word, neither is bleach demon, but neither of those are slurs. Or bigotry. So suggest such is to be ignorant of the difference between bigotry and prejudice.

Thanks for taking the time to write all this and being nice. I apologize for the mistakes in the post. First i want to say that i'm not a white american (i'm all over the place genetics-wise, but mainly arab and blakan). Also, i absolutely understand that hating on Margo for being shipped with Miles is wrong and i agree. I was just mentioning the specific post that i think the anon is mentioning, which was just analyzing why Flowerbyte was very unlikely to happen, but i do think that specific post could have had nicer wording, now that i think about it. Regarding the use of 'snowbunny', i only knew the first meaning, so thanks for letting me know. I also didn't realize 'bigotry' wasn't the appropriate word to use in this situation, as i don't live in an english speaking country and it's not a word i have to use in context very often. I'll edit my post to make it more correct. I hope this all didn't sound too much like a Youtuber apology because that's not really my intention.

[kipskiptrip]

It's kind of insane how a rich, white woman would gain this much of a following to veil blatant racism in the name of feminism.

The amount of people who would mask bigotry (ex., this shitshow, TERF bullshit, etc.) as a wave of giving women power fail to understand women's existence beyond the Eurocentric, normative comprehension.

This type of argument of attacking other groups in sake of "feminism" is so often used against minorities, particularly BIPOC, queer, and disabled women. I have never seen something so vile as to demonizing a Hispanic creator for expressing his life, particularly his sex life and worth (which, might I add, he has a right to sing about whatever he wants, but we'll get more onto that later), becoming more popular than an ethnically white multi-centimillionaire. (Continued under cut)

It doesn't matter what parasocial safe spaces she may have provided for you, Taylor Swift is a white, cishet woman. By cutting off a group of people for simply being hispanic, doesn't matter what this person could have done, you are 100% the asshole, and shame on you.

Would you have cut off disabled people if the artist was disabled? Trans? How about if this artist was a gay man, and only sang about how rich and gay he is? Would you have prevented your friends from talking to anyone who is Black, Indigenous, Arab, Jewish, if the artist was any of those? The amount of demonization ethnic minorities get for simply not "meeting the norm" and restricting themselves to the appropriate Christian Eurocentric topic is immense, and quite frankly one of the reasons we have bigotry rampant here in the first place. (Tying BIPOC to being dangerous and evil, Queer people to being sex offenders, disabled people to freakshows who can't take care of themselves, etc.)

You are restricting your friends from speaking to their Hispanic friends in the name of a music artist coming into power is the most disgusting thing I have heard in a while, and a prime example of how a group can be easily ostracized in favor of another. Favoring white women over Hispanic men, what about Hispanic women? What about your friends' friends who are Hispanic women who listen to TS as well? Are they supposed to be kicked out of a community for their culture? Their ethnicity? Again, prime example of Eurocentrism and how easily groups can be ostracized in the name of another. White feminism veils racism over female rights, while failing to accept women of other backgrounds other than the typical WASP one.

What is the root of your disgust for the other artist in the first place anyway? You can dislike him, sure, but by throwing away and spoiling his following for only singing about sex, meanwhile TS also sings about sex, claiming it in a name of feminism? Sexual expression and freedom has always been a matter of feminism! Flappers are a prime example of this (won't be explaining why, go search it up! It's interesting and one of my favorite parts of AP U.S. History)

You want to know where else a group of people were put down for being overly-sexual? The queer community we are both in!!! The same queer community your favorite artist claims to help you find.

The reason why transphobia and homophobia is so rampant today is because people tied being queer automatically to being dangerous and over-sexual, meanwhile sexual expression is a huge part of our history, and still holds up a great amount of our community. By admitting sexual expression as vile and unorthodox, you can target a singular group of people known for such. This happened to us, and it happens to Hispanics as well.

I have a feeling I know exactly which artist you're talking about (even if I don't, I'm still going to use him as an example), and while I also don't favor him, I can tell you how he mixes and sings also ties into his culture. He sings in Spanish because he isn't ashamed of doing so. He incorporates bachata into his work because that's part of his history and culture. And while I'm not a fan, I appreciate how he is taking his culture (and mine too) and putting it out there without shame!

Putting him down and other Hispanics too (which also, depending where you're from, you have different cultures and beliefs, so you're generalizing an entire, extremely diverse population to one culture) for singing about such is stripping Hispanics of their culture and their right to be in the music industry and express themselves. And btw, Taylor Swift is still #1 Artist on Spotify! While he and Miley Cyrus are #1 Album and #1 Song respectively, Taylor is still Top Artist! (Source at the bottom)

All-in-all, you are targeting a group of people for something they have no responsibility for, and letting racism slide as a means to expand (white) women's rights. I hope you can change your view on how you see how your actions ultimately reflect that, and build a safer world for people to exist and express themselves in.

https://www.wecb.fm/taylor-swift-bad-bunny-and-miley-cyrus-at-the-top-on-spotify/#:~:text=As%20of%202023%2C%20Taylor%20Swift,1%20album%20and%20song%2C%20respectively.

was I the asshole for telling my followers to sabotage a hispanic artist?

(13 <– to find this)

this happened awhile back but I'm remorseful and I want to know if I was the asshole or if I'm just overthinking.

I (24NB) had a pretty big TS fan account on twitter (I said "had" bc I'm no longer active). her music saved me from suicidal ideation, helped me get rid of my anxiety, and overall it was always very comforting to me. her music accepted me for being non-binary when most of my irl friends didn't. I felt like I belonged.

in recent years a certain hispanic artist started to get famous and well known and tbh I don't know how or why, all he sings about is his dating life, his sex life, how much money he has... unlike TS who crafts feminist masterpieces. this guys music wasn't my cup of tea and I realized he already had more views than her on youtube and he was the number one artist on spotify for a few years so um. I was honestly VERY angry that taylor's hard work was gonna go to waste again because of a man. so long story short I told my followers to sabotage this hispanic artist and also encouraged them to stay away from/talk less to their hispanic friends for awhile. as far as I know most of them agreed with me.

my wake up call was being accused of being a set up account (a set up is an account made by someone who is not from a fandom pretending to be in order to make said fandom look bad) after that post of mine was shared on reddit even though they censored the @. since that day I stopped being active on that account, tbh because I was ashamed of myself. I feel like an asshole but my closest friends from within the fandom constantly tell me a real fan is not ashamed to show love and support and that what I did was genius. so the worst part is despite being remorseful I still somehow feel like I'm failing her and the fandom.

was I the asshole?

What are these acronyms?

[ruminationofthepast]

I don’t know what the hell happened to Inga Leonova. I feel very sad that she doubled down on crazy posts on Facebook.

What she doesn’t realize is that she is playing into what Putin, Jinping, Erdogan, Hamas, and Netanyahu all want. These dictators all want the Global Diasporas of Muslims, Jews, Palestinian Christians, Arabs and Allies all turned against each other.

We minorities need to unite more than ever.

The division over Israel-Palestine needs to end ASAP. Also the divisions will help get Drumpf re-elected president of the USA (or DeSantis elected president of the USA). We need to stop these divisions and get our fucking shit together before it’s too fucking late.

Islamophobia, Antisemitism and Anti-Palestinian Racism are all sides of the same Demon King that wants to wipe us out.

Also the firing of actors, directors, etc who call for a ceasefire is ridiculous. It will only make Antisemitism and Islamophobia WORST! Divide and conquer tactic is working against all of us since we have fallen prey to the oppression Olympics…

Fuck oppression Olympics!

Note: Inga Leonova is not at all responsible for the firing of folks who call for a ceasefire. I shared that fact because we are all interconnected.

[starlightervarda]

So, now that I’ve processed THAT POST and the insanity behind it that made me spend the last week having panic attacks, followed by flashing back to all the traumatic shit I dealt with in the last 10 or so years thanks to people with similar mentalities to the puritanical, power-hungry demons on this site. Except that was in real life, and I can’t handle this crap anymore.

This year, I finally reached the breaking point to the extent that my family had to stop pretending I’m not damaged. I still can’t go to therapy, but I am taking anti-anxiety/depressants now. One of the things that elevated my already-high stress level was The Old Guard fandom and the toxic environment that killed the one joy I had last year.

What was that? Seeing a movie with an un-stereotyped, irreligious, artistic queer North African man who looks like a male version of me. Seeing him in a loving relationship with a fellow Mediterranean, like so many of the couples I grew up around, parents of ethnically mixed friends I had. I came into the TOG fandom, excited, immediately making posts of facts, translations, seeking out other MENA/Mediterranean people to connect with, because fuck has it been lonely.

And I did. Very briefly. Before shit went to hell because of Hélène and her circle of tyrannical friends.

I still can’t believe they were allowed to get away with this.

I went out of my way to write ridiculously detailed posts on MENA culture, history, language and religion, answer so many questions, with links and details that could only come from someone who grew up with this stuff and spoke Arabic. And I had people questioning my validity??? Talking shit about me, bullying me, or even trying to discredit me because I *gasp* stated a fact that upset their racist headcanons.

Meanwhile, a very Americanized Rich White French Woman, was allowed to get away with constantly changing her ethnicity, religion, economic status, skin tone, family history, make up insane contradicting stories of suffering, and claiming oppression points from so many unrelated demographics. Not just that, she got to peddle racist bullshit as fact, frame the Amazigh of Morocco as if they’re Native Americans, all the way down to the claims that her grandfather was a ‘shaman’, when that couldn’t be farther from the truth. That, and applying Black American stereotypes, experiences, and issues to MENA people, especially to herself.

And use the ‘I’m insert minority’ excuse to get away with being an unrepentant monster. 

I smelled a rat ages ago, but any time I expressed it to someone they didn’t believe me, and then when I saw what happened to my friend after he DM’d her as a ‘fellow Moroccan’, the horrific shit that was mobilized against him that chased him off the site, I knew I couldn’t handle what would happen to me if I tried to question her bullshit. The stress this fandom gave me was much more than what I had managed to stomach all these years and I had reached a breaking point.

So, I left. I let them have my only representation in exchange for my sanity. I canceled all my remaining Joe-centric/culture posts and fic ideas for TOG and told myself to never let myself forget that I’m not welcome anywhere.

Oh, and these tweets?

They’re about me and nizarnizarblr, who was run off the site. I’m ‘an anti-arab fanatic’ for saying North Africans aren’t Arabs and that our dialects can be barely intelligible to actual Arabs. And he was a ‘rabid nationalist’ for saying the same things as me. We made large educational posts about OUR part of the world, OUR cultures, OUR experiences and that wasn’t approved by the Western Liberals of Tumblr dot com.

She fucking slandered us on a site known for mass-bullying campaigns and suicide-baiting people, called us these inflammatory terms because we actually knew what we were talking about. She used hot-button political terms to stoke mindless hatred against us, the people she was racefaking as.

This RICH WHITE WESTERN WOMAN hated that there were actual North Africans in the space she wanted to rule over, who could ‘threaten’ her position as the authority and token, and that us contradicting her could get her exposed, so she fucking weaponized her following.

DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW DANGEROUS THIS IS? DO I NEED TO EXPLAIN TO YOU HOW RACIST THIS IS? SHE COULD HAVE RUINED OUR LIVES!

The thing that had briefly brought me joy, encouraged me to write two enormous fics after a period of writer’s block, now makes me sick. The one space I should have belonged in could have killed me.

I, someone that actually shares Joe’s background and has been told I look like a female version of him, got suspicion, disrespect, hostility and chased out of the fandom along with fuck knows how many other Brown/Muslim people under the command of the embodiment of privilege and her cronies, that loved getting the platform to abuse others because they used her words as gospel.

Where are they now? The Anglo/North Euro women that appointed themselves the authority on how to write a MENA man, who tried to tell actual MENA/Muslim people in the fandom how he should be portrayed to the extent of organizing smear campaigns against us when we defied their authority? Why are they all suddenly so quiet when you couldn’t pay them to shut them up?

There was no way you could be friends with someone like Hélène, in groupchats with her for months, and praising her to high heaven for giving you ‘sources’ and ‘sensitivity reads’ and not know what kind of person she was. Considering they all were just as vicious and racist, xenophobic and antisemitic, they must have agreed. That’s why they defended her, went around DM’ing people to delete their reblogs of the exposé. It’s not that they didn’t believe the overwhelming amount of evidence, it’s that they were panicking about losing the pedestal she afforded them.

I ASK AGAIN: Why were they so horrible to actual MENA/Mediterranean/Muslim people yet had their head completely up her arse when she claimed to be ALL THREE. What made her so special? Why did she get sanctified while everyone actually part of those demographics was demonized?

They knew. The whole time they knew.  This was all done to give her and her chosen few complete control of a fanbase, where their word was law and any deviation got you witch-hunted out.

Now that their golden goose of consequence-free tyranny had been scratched, they’ve switched to trying to deflect from the point of that post -- that she’s a sickeningly horrible person -- and are making it about the dumbest fandom shit imaginable.

This isn’t about that fucking half-baked movie. This about all the shit she’s done over the years and continued doing within the community that was built around it. Helene and her shithead friends, used her race-faking and lying about every part of her identity and background, and a fictional MENA man as their carte blanche to abuse others, when they HAD NO RIGHT OR SAY IN THE MATTER.

This woman didn’t just spend years lying about being poor to con people out of money, spouting tankie shit, being a genocide denier, a 9/11 truther, cycling through ethnicities, religions, backgrounds, pretending to be like 2 different types of Jewish while being antisemitic, spreading wrong cultural shit she Googled wrong as fact, a racist and a race-faker, who brown-faced and seemed to be bordering on digital blackface as well, I know I’m forgetting a bunch of other shit because HOLY FUCK!

This woman went about everything with a baffling amount of confidence, while I and so many others never disclosed our backgrounds, until this fanbase demanded it, out of the need to feel safe from racial abuse. Yet, she was basically pretending to be me and got popular off it.

She called Marwan Kenzari a slur that makes me sick, that is not a word that comes up randomly, especially the way she used it. It has to be something you say regularly, without hesitation, for it to be the first thing that comes to mind. Also, that image of him? The one that stirred up that hideous response from her? In it he looks like my dad, moustache, brown jacket, cropped hair and all. So, kosomik ya Helene.

The fact that her URL is ‘lgbtmazight’ when she isn’t anything of the sort is sickening. She couldn’t be arsed to check where Marrakech is or what color it was for her racefaking tall tales, or check that there tens of millions of Amazigh people in Morocco alone, or even understand that there are no literal translations, so NO ONE is using tbarkallah as a fucking mic-drop.

Seriously, she put no effort into this and everyone believed her.

And there are people defending her. How evil do you have to be to think there’s nothing wrong with any of this? Stop fucking making it about two fictional characters and think about the REAL PEOPLE THIS HAS AFFECTED!

I hope everyone that tagged her as or used her as a source deletes her posts off their blog, I hope no one recommends her wrong and racist posts as info, I hope anyone who claims she was their ‘sensitivity reader’ removes her name, I hope no one believes any of the shit she said or has their view of MENA people and culture shaped by her.

It’s the least you could do.

[marauderundercover]

Taking Chances Chapter Five: Paris Revealed (Stories/Memories)

Prev

AO3

Marinette flinches back as the room erupts in shouting. The younger boy, who was definitely younger than her and yet almost (if not definitely) taller than her, was fiercely glaring while he screamed at Mr. Wayne in….was that Arabic? The man that walked in with him was waving around the knife in his hand while Dick yelled at Mr. Wayne, his face filled with confusion instead of fury. Glancing around for a way out, Marinette makes eye contact with Alfred who nods behind him. Sneaking away from the group of angry men, Marinette follows Alfred into the kitchen and instantly feels at home. And much calmer.

“I’m sorry.” She mumbles, breathing deeply to avoid spiraling again. Alfred simply hands her a cookie before turning around and putting water in a kettle.

“There is no need to apologize, Miss Marinette. It seems Master Bruce has forgotten all sense today and is instead insistent on acting like a fool. It was wrong of him to announce you like that, without preparing you or the boys beforehand. I do hope that his atrocious display of proper manners doesn’t make you want to leave.” Alfred says, and Marinette’s eyebrows shoot upwards. Was he? Was Alfred actually blaming this situation on Mr. Wayne? Was it Mr. Wayne’s fault? Did he not actually hate her? Did he just make a mistake?

“I- what?” Marinette says, unsure of herself.

“You, my dear, are not at fault. Your father didn’t tell any of his sons that you were coming to the manor today, or that you existed in general. And judging by your face, you weren’t prepared for the boys to be here either.” Alfred clarifies.

“Oh. No, I wasn’t. Mr. Wayne just said that he wanted to get to know me, and he knew I wanted to get to know him. I- my birth mother passed away. But my Maman knew her, so I can find out from her how I’m similar to Bridgette. But neither of my parents knew Mr. Wayne, and I just wanted to know if I was like him, I guess. I didn’t even know who he was until two days ago.” Marinette admits.

“As in you found out Bruce Wayne was your birth father two days ago or-” Alfred trails off, waiting for her to clarify.

“Oh no. I found out the name of my birth father awhile ago. It’s just- I really don’t pay attention to celebrities. The only ones I really know are designers. So I didn’t put two and two together, and I didn’t even know about Bruce Wayne and Wayne Enterprises until a few days ago. My friend Adrien made me google him and that’s when I found out about...the boys.” She says, stopping herself from saying her brothers as she was still unsure if Mr. Wayne actually wanted her like he wanted the others.

“Well I’m certain that things will start to calm down shortly. In the meantime, would you care for some tea?” Alfred asks, holding up the kettle. Marinette nods gratefully, trying hard to stop her inner spiral from drowning her.

---

“What do you mean daughter?” Damian snarls, finally switching to English. Bruce blinks at the boy before sighing.

“I mean, you have a biological sister.” He says, tired and wishing he had been able to convince Marinette to go somewhere else. Not that he didn’t want her to meet her siblings. But it definitely wasn’t the laid back first meeting that he wanted.

“You mean half-sister.” Damian spits out, crossing his arms and sticking his nose into the air.

“Shut up, Demon Spawn. She’s our sister, get over it. Where’d the kid come from? Her mom drop her off?” Jason asks, obviously trying to actually understand the situation.

“No. I first met her at the Museum and had my suspicions. She’s in Gotham on a class trip, and before you ask, yes. We had a DNA test done and yes, I am her father.” Bruce says, frowning when he sees Dick’s hurt expression morph into one of excitement.

“Wait, wait, wait! Was she the girl who was sassing the Joker?” He asks quietly, practically buzzing with excitement. When Bruce nods, Dick cheers and runs from the room. Okay then.

“Wait, she met the Joker?” Jason asks, his expression turning dark. Bruce watches his son’s face morph into one of disgust when he puts it together. “She’s the French kid he had at gunpoint, isn’t she?”

“Yes. Which is one of the reasons why we both thought the manor would be a more appropriate meeting place rather than somewhere public.” Bruce says, sighing as Damian once again starts screaming. This was not what he had planned.

---

After just a few minutes with Alfred, Marinette already felt calmer. Calm enough to giggle at another story about something that one of the boys- one of her brothers- did. Calm enough to let her guard down. And mess up.

“If you wanna see something ridiculous, you should look up the 26th time Monsieur Ramier was akumatized into Monsieur Pigeon. He made all the buildings turn into bird cages and all the food turned into bird seed. Luckily it didn’t last long, but seeing the Mayor of Paris stuck inside a giant bird cage was kind of hilarious.” Marinette rambles, giggling at the memory. It was definitely a needed akuma, situated right between two super destructive akumas. Monsieur Pigeon was, while a nuisance, always a breath of fresh air. His akumatized form was brought on by his fierce protectiveness of the pigeons, which luckily never led to death for civilians.

“Pardon me, Miss Marinette, but could I ask what you mean by ‘akumatized’?” Alfred asks, his posture suddenly stiff. Marinette’s eyes widen as she realizes what she just did. She told someone outside of Paris about the situation happening in Paris. Well crap. Normal Parisians didn’t know about the media block that she had set up with the help of the Mayor and Max. But after her calls to the Justice League were ignored, and she realized how disastrous it would be for a member of the League to be akumatized, the media block was the best choice. Time to act clueless.

“Akumatized, as in, a person is possessed by an akuma? Surely you’ve heard of it. It’s been happening in Paris for almost two years.” She says, hoping he doesn’t ask to see any evidence. This isn’t good, this is awful, this-

“And what is an akuma?” Alfred asks. Okay, this isn’t too bad.

“It’s an evil butterfly sent out by the villain, Hawkmoth.” Marinette says, giving out more information than she’s really comfortable with. Okay, time to change the subject, no more questions about heroes or villains or-

“Marinette!” A new voice calls, sliding into the kitchen, almost immediately falling over.

“Master Dick, have you forgotten about your ban on the kitchen?” Alfred asks, his lips quirking up in amusement.

“Awww, Alfred, I just wanted to talk to Marinette. I feel bad for all of us overwhelming her back there.” Dick says with a pout that somehow doesn’t look ridiculous on him. Despite obviously being at least ten years older than her.

“Don’t feel bad. It was just...a lot all at once.” Marinette says with a small smile.

“So I have to ask, are you the one who sassed the Joker at the Museum the other day?” He asks, a wide grin on his face as he sits on one of the stools. Marinette’s eyes widen and she blinks. How?

“Oh, uh, yeah, I guess. It wasn’t a big deal though. He thought I was a Wayne- well, I guess he figured it out before I did- but I think he just wanted to scare my class.” She says, waving her hand to brush off the topic. She really didn’t want to talk about the Joker. Because she was sure it would turn into-

“I apologize for asking, but have you been caught up in the villain attacks in Paris before?” Alfred asks, Marinette instantly panicking. Sure, she’d been caught up in almost every single akuma battle as Ladybug. But there were a few on record where she was targeted as Marinette, and even a few battles that she assisted as Marinette. And then there was Kwami Buster…

“Well, a few. But basically everyone in Paris has dealt with it at some point. That’s just what happens when there’s an attack so often, you know? And my school seems to be a hotspot but that makes sense because teenagers are full of negative emotions and-” Marinette cuts off her rambling, cursing herself on the inside. Great job, Mari. Now they’re going to be worried or they’re going to think you’re a freak or-

“What do you mean negative emotions? Why would that matter?” Dick asks, his previous cheerful smile replaced with a look that clearly meant business.

“That’s how the villain chooses his targets. Negative emotion. If someone is having a bad enough day, he can take control of them and give them powers and basically destroy the city trying to get to Ladybug and Chat Noir, who are our heroes. I only know what’s been posted on official sites like the Ladyblog or miraculousparis.org.” Marinette says, smiling apologetically and hoping that this conversation can be over.

“Have you ever been akumatized?” Dick asks, tension suddenly filling the room.

“No, thankfully. I’ve found ways to manage my negative emotions so that they can’t take me over. I don’t blame anyone who has been akumatized, it’s hard not to be. But, I also don’t think I’d be able to forgive myself if I was akumatized.” Because then her family would be a target. Because Hawkmoth would know her identity. And if Hawkmoth’s insistence on her being akumatized was anything to go on, she’d be a devastating akuma. And if Ladybug wasn’t fighting in the battle….would the cure even work?

“That is a lot of pressure, Miss Marinette.” Alfred says softly after a moment of tense silence. Marinette grins brightly.

“I can handle it, don’t worry!” She says, hoping no one can tell how hard it actually is. How hard it is constantly being strong. Never truly feeling a negative emotion.

---

Bruce winces at the faux cheerfulness in his daughter’s voice. He had only found out about the Paris situation a few days ago, but he was determined to fix it. Find a solution. Do something to help the city and by extension, his daughter. She’d be going back there soon. Back to a city that was being held hostage by an emotional terrorist. Bruce would fix this. He had to.

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