#arab reader

Her face was covered with a scarf, her eyes being the only visible feature on her face. She was beautiful, sculpted by the ancient Gods of Egypt, an ancient history major had told her back in London. All she had thought was ‘fucking flirt’ as he then asked for her number a few minutes later.

Though he wasn’t lying.

She truly was beautiful. Her skin was glowy as if it was made from the material of the sun, eyes brown like the dirt our first ancestors walked on, hair long and wavy like the oceans explored by travelers and her cheekbones as sharp as a samurai’s blade.

Let’s just say, someone had made a poem about her and it’s been imbedded in her mind due to the amount of times she’s read it.

“Excuse me.” A man had appeared behind her. She turned swiftly, her eyes gaining his attention immediately.

Her breath hitched. Should she take off the scarf? Reveal herself to this foreigner? “Yes?” She asks the man in front of her.

He was stunned. Her eyes were angled like a foxes, the colour soothingly ‘boring’ but so very familiar. “I—uh—the camels, how much for a ride?”

“For you? Maybe too much.” She turns back around watching her older cousin feed the largest camel. Y/n didn’t know whether to walk off, far enough that this guy doesn’t figure out who she is. “Oi! Ali!” She yells after her cousin, “Give me that camel.” She takes the reins and guides it back to the man and his group.

“Did you change your mind?” The guy jokes with her, “Or you figured out who i am?”

At this remark she takes the scarf off, “Still so full of yourself, huh? Things never change do they, Lando?”

A guy behind Lando laughs, “Fucking hell, Y/n!” Max Fewtrell gives her a hug, “Haven’t seen you in 7 years.” He says after releasing her, “This is where you’ve been?”

“Yeah, I suppose.” She turns to Lando, “So, want to have a ride?”

After two hours out in the heat the group had finally all had a turn riding the large mammal. She was thirsty, forgetting her water bottle back with her quad bike.

“Max, give me some.” She urges the curly head boy to hand the water bottle to her.

“Nah, i’m thirsty.” He takes a big swig out of the bottle, “Sod off will you.” Max says as her hand is left hanging, no water bottle in sight.

She kicks sand on his shoes, “Little bitch.” She mutters as she walks away and grabs the reigns of two camels, “Yallah, everyone follow me.”

They walk five minutes to the vendor and she puts the camels back in their stalls. Lando’s group swarms the fruit and drink stand by the exit hoping for a sip of water.

“You look different.” Lando said to y/n. “You look good—but, different.” He took in the sight in front of him.

“Just say i look like a piece of shit.” She responds to him.

“But—you don’t?”

“I know, i was just trying to see if you’d be a little shit and say how awful i look right now.” Y/n jokes. Nostalgia ran through her body, a small smile coming to her lips.

A water bottle appeared in her vision, Lando holding it out to her, “Drink, Habibi.”

Taking it with a laugh, “Gag. Don’t ever say that to me again.”

“You used to like it.” He bites with a large grin on his face.

“That was when you used to say sensually. Now it just seems weird.” She shrugs as she walks off toward the fruit stand, plucking a watermelon slice from behind the vendors back. “Amo, this is good!” (Amo-uncle)

“Little shit.” He grimaced. She continued to eat and snatched another one that he had just chopped, “You owe me enough money, stop stealing from your poor old Amo.”

Lando had leaned against the structure protecting y/n’s uncle from the hot sun, “So, want to watch me race?” He asked her as he accepted a slice of watermelon for her uncle, “Shukran.” He thanked him.

“Wow, okay Arab king.” She joked, earning a laugh not only from Lando but her uncle. “I can’t, I’m busy.”

“Liar.” Her uncle bit toward her, “She’s not busy, she just says she is.” His Arab accent was strong.

Lando laughed at this exchange between the two family members, “Is that a yes, habibi?”

With a roll of her eyes and slight smile, “Yes okay, but you’ve got to promise me the best seats, yeah? And! You need to stop calling me habibi.”

“Deal, Hayati.”

A/N: wanted something short and messy.

REQUESTS ARE OPEN

Honestly he worships Arab people in history for creating kohl.

Abuses the SHIT out of it you already know.

He somehow makes a bisht look more flattering than a damn compression shirt with armor.

ALSO rocks a keffiyeh.

This guy he’s somehow a bit too fluent in Arabic the minute you teach him.

He’s already a big fan of Al Namrood (if you haven’t heard them go listen to it NOW it’s Arabic metal).

I don’t know how he makes the phonetics sound SO good.

Not the biggest fan of Eid just cause it’s a religious holiday, but if you celebrate it it’s redefined with you.

He will ALSO go all out that day and look so hot doing it.

Guy tried mensaf one time and he’s TOO hooked.

Orders it every time now.

I can’t tell if he’d like or hate Karak.

OUD COLLECTER IF THEY WERENT SO DAMN EXPENSIVE. FUCK.

It becomes his signature smell if you get him some velvet and oud together.

Probably plays with the smoke that comes out of bukhoor #projecting.

He makes a thobe look like.

SO handsome.

He’s in love with the phonetics of Arabic cause duh they’re so beautiful.

Sex with Keigo was always amazing, extraordinary even. You were lucky that you landed a partner as dutifully devoted to you and your pleasure as Keigo. Instead of giving yourself to some selfish prick whose love was dependent on how well you sucked their dick and how readily you were to spread your legs, you freely let Keigo’s soft touch, warm smiles, and protectiveness melt your heart. 

He often spent nights in between your thighs without so much as taking off his work pants, without expecting anything in return. His lips and fingers worked orgasm after orgasm from you. Your hands gently intertwine with his as he drags his thick cock against your sensitive walls, whispering murmurs of praise, light teasing, and - most importantly - consent checks. Keigo mentioned more than once that your enthusiastic consent made his dick dripping wet with precum. 

All of these facts did not aid the cognitive dissonance in your mind though  as he mercilessly pounded into you, his breath hitching every time he bottomed out; it was so rough it hurt, body haphazardly molded into whatever shape he pleased. The breeding season always heightened his sex drive. He needed this. What kind of partner would you be if you put your own needs in front of his own? 

So you did your best to take the ruthless pounding. Tears dripped down your cheeks. The taste of blood filling your senses as you bite your lip. 

“F-fuck, such a good slut for me, hm?” He rasps. “Gonna fuck you ‘til you’re pregnant.”

Deep breath. 

You could do this

Another deep breath.

You could do this.

And…

You…really can’t do this. 

“K-kei s-stop, ‘s too much …” your voice was too weak and breathy for your liking. “H-hawks”

Keigo’s hips jutted to a stop, half of himself inside you, eyebrows furrowed in concern. Earlier in your relationship, both of you decided on his hero name as a safe word. There was a strict detachment between Keigo’s hero work and normal life, so much so that he detested being called Hawks in your shared home. 

It took another moment for him to understand what happened, the lust fogging his mind pattering away. “Shit, baby…” he slowly pulled the rest of himself out of your spent hole, your body flinching. “Songbird, are you okay?”

As much as you tried to speak, your tongue was like lead, throat filled with cotton. Your sobs sounded more akin to choked babbles. The tears dripping down your face was more than enough though to clue Keigo in. 

“M’sorry” You managed. “S-so sorry, I-i know ‘s your rut but-“

Keigo cut you off with a gentle kiss, his feathers swiftly taking over all your senses as he rolled you into his warm arms. “You did so good for me, love. You don’t need to be sorry. Doesn’t matter if I’m in rut or not,” he pressed another light kiss on the crown of your forehead, “your safety and happiness is top priority.” 

“I wanted to do good for you” you mumbled. “You always take care of me…just wanted to do the same…”

“And you did, songbird.” He titled your chin so he can gaze into you directly. His eyes were always sharp like daggers, but when you stared at him all you saw was his adoration. “I promise it’s not even a big deal. I don’t want you thinking that just because it’s breeding season that I can do whatever I want to you.” 

Keigo’s thumb worked to wipe away the remnants of your tears, cooing praise until the saturation made you giggle. Gentle kisses were frequently exchanged. He failed to mention how this time of the year made him extra doteful. 

1. He would absolutely terrified of your mom and aunts.

You would warn him about them before you brought him home for the first time but nothing could prepare him for awaited him. The moment you stepped foot inside, your mom and aunt were upon him, touching, poking, grabbing, everything. They were all over him as he looked at you with wide eyes that begged to help him. You tried but your mom hit your hand with a sharp “khalas” as she leads him into the kitchen. Your dad is useless and backs away with his hands up when you look to him for help.

“Mami, bi sharafak. Give him some breathing room,” you gently demand as to not turn her attention to you.

Bucky’s gentle smile and even kinder eyes warrant even more commotion from the herd of women around him. They finally let him go after thoroughly interrogating him about everything under the sun and he instantly finds you. Wrapping his arm around you and pressing a kiss to your hair, he whispers to you that you’re not allowed to ever leave him alone with them again. When you ask him why, all he mumbles is something along the lines of “some many questions and the touching.”

“Food?” You ask as a peace offering and he happily accepts it.

2. Whenever he’s around you, he literally doesn’t stop complimenting you.

Maybe it’s your perfume, maybe it’s the way you style your hair, or maybe it’s your outfit that day. No matter what, he is ALWAYS complimenting you.

You have about 40 bottles of perfume but there are few that he loves more and will ask if you can wear them more often. At first, he would just casually mention that he liked how you smelled that day but the longer you’re together, the more obvious he is about it. He goes from asking if you can wear the gold one to straight up picking your perfume out for the day. It’s become a little routine at this point; when you’re getting dressed, he’ll pick something out and help you put it on. You’re perfectly capable of doing it yourself but it’s an excuse to have him close and to feel his hands on you. His favorite and the one he picks the most is the one that your mom got you as a graduation gift. You asked him one day why he liked it so much and he told you that it was what you wore the day you two met. That and it smells like “oranges and summer.”

Bucky is OBSESSED with your hair, maybe more than your perfume collection. It’s usually blown out and styled so he can’t touch it but it’s all over when you leave it natural. Of course he’s a gentleman and will ask if it’s okay to play with it before fully twisting his hand into your curls. They’re almost like a fidget toy for him; he’ll toy with a curl when you’re cuddling on the couch. If you’re in public, he’s gently massaging the base of your neck and playing with the little ringlets that live there. If you need to wash it, he’s right there with all of your products in hand. If you need to put it up, he’s already behind you and gathering your hair for you.

3. If you’re Muslim, he would try so hard to understand your religion.

I genuinely don’t believe that Bucky knows anything about Islam prior to meeting you. It’s possible he met a few Muslims in the 30s and 40s since he lived in Brooklyn but he knows nothing about Islam.

To put it mildly, America is a very interesting place when it comes to the Middle East and Islam and a lot of the information he gets at first is contradictory. When he learns that you’re Arab and also Muslim, he tries to do as much research as he can but ends up getting pissed off and stops. He’s not frustrated due to a lack of understanding, he’s livid that new sources are allowed to say whatever they want and no one stops it.

The following convo is just one example of when this happens:

Aside from wanting to never use the internet again, he’d take the time to sit down and talk to you about your different holidays so when they come around so that he understands what’s going on. He’d buy an English translation of the Qur'an so he can read with you. You’ve offered to read yours in English but he’s adamant that he wants his own. It’s adorable really.

Damian’s Arabic was better than yours. Every time he said something to you that you understood, a satisfied trill shot through your chest. Ameli, he called you this time. My hope. Damian had a handful of various pet names for you that he cycled through, many of them in Arabic. 

“The shelter proposal’s been fully approved,” he informed you, “so I’m expecting the distribution of funds to begin in the next few weeks.”

“Oh that’s great!” Setting up properly funded, city-wide animal care facilities was one of the first things Damian ever brought up to the WE board. “You've been working at that for years.” The microwave beeped and you silenced it quickly, pulling out the container of leftovers you’d been heating up. You opened the second container and covered it with the same paper towel before placing it in the microwave.  The timer was set once more for 90 seconds. Before the food was done heating up, Damian returned to the kitchen, work clothes traded for a compression shirt and shorts. He owned half a dozen of the exact same black compression shirts. They functioned most often as his first underlayer on patrol. 

“Here, Dames.” You held the first container out to him, a vegan pasta dish he made earlier in the week. It was still steaming.  

“Thank you, beloved.” Damian took the container and sat down at the table, eyes scanning something on his laptop. If you had to guess, it was probably the drugs case the entire family had been working on recently. The two of you had hosted Dick the other day, up from Blüdhaven following the same case. He’d stayed in Damian’s room while the two of you crashed in yours. Dick was at the manor now, but he’d promised to stop by before he went back home. Some part of you figured it was at least partially motivated by the fact that you were inevitably going to be taking home leftovers tomorrow. Dick had tried some before and loved it. He probably wanted some. You didn’t blame him; you already planned to be hoarding your favorites for yourself. (And Damian. But mostly for you. Your family wasn’t vegetarian.)

The microwave beeped again. You pulled the second container out before grabbing forks and making your way over to the table. Your dinner was mostly the same as Damian’s, but with chicken added into the dish. The two of you didn’t always store leftovers that way, but sometimes it was easier to create two separate servings if you expected to be eating at different times. Damian scribbled a note down on the pad of paper next to him and closed the laptop. 

“We’re finally raiding the first warehouse tonight,” he offered, accepting the fork you held out to him. The paper and pen were pushed to the side before Damian started eating. 

“Oh yeah?” You asked around a bite of food. “So that stakeout paid off then?” 

“It did. But Dick and Timothy are following other leads tonight so this won’t be the end. But it should be a good start.” 

“Good,” you agreed. “I’ll be glad when the operation’s dismantled. You wake me up if you need me when you get home, okay?” 

Damian nodded. 

You weren’t sure you actually believed he would wake you, but you knew Babs would even if he tried to convince her not to. Sometimes you thought being friends with Oracle was the only way you stayed somewhat sane while dating a bat. She sent you injury reports. Alfred’s injury reports, not the lame ones Damian, his father, and his siblings wrote in an effort to not get yelled at by their friends or S/Os. 

Dinner didn’t take long. You loaded the dishes into the dishwasher as Damian collected his duffel bag for patrol. 

“Love you.” Damian pressed a quick kiss to your lips and another to your temple before ducking out the window. 

“I love you too. See you tomorrow.” 

There wasn’t secret bunker in your apartment. There was a significant amount of both weaponry and uniform equipment and outside direct access to transportation to one. You watched Damian’s bike disappear behind a false wall before turning back inside. It may not be Gotham-saving, but you, too, had stuff to do. 

The microwave clock declared it just after ten pm by the time you’d completed the handful of household chores you wanted done—the ones you expected to have time for until you got home late. You deliberated for a moment before grabbing two braids of cheese and a bowl that your dad had given you for that express purpose. You’d leave the other two out and string them in the morning. Leaving the cheese out all day had done its job. When cold, it would snap too easily when you tried to string it, and take much longer to do. 

The speaker that lived in the kitchen turned on with a swooshing noise and an acknowledgement that it was connected to your phone via bluetooth. It was a little late for anything too upbeat, but you found a good playlist after only a minute or so of looking through them. You tied back any loose hair, washed your hands, and grabbed a small paring knife from a drawer before sitting down at the table. The knife, sharp as it was, cut through the plastic packaging with ease. 

You moved the empty plastic off to the side and unraveled a twist, cutting each end so that you had two thick pieces a little under a foot long. The second braid was left whole for now. Once you got started, it would be harder to find pieces yet to be strung under the stringy parts already finished. So you’d break apart the larger pieces as you finished the ones before. 

Your music kept you company over the next hour and a half. The huge pieces were pulled apart into larger pieces then into medium pieces then into smaller pieces before finally being teased apart into the stringy texture that gave the cheese its colloquial name. It was just before midnight when you graded your efforts adequate. You poked one final time through the two braids worth of cheese and pulled apart any of the pieces you thought were just a little too big before calling it a day. 

The bowl was full, and you covered it in plastic wrap before putting it in the fridge. In the morning, when you did the remaining two, you’d have to start a new bowl. There was no sense in leaving already strung cheese out on the counter. You washed the knife and tossed the plastic wrappers in the trash before sending a goodnight text off to Damian. 

Goodnight, حبيبي, it read. Then, Be safe. There was no response. You didn’t expect there to be; he’d see it when he could, and you’d see him in the morning. 

Your bed was occupied by just you when you woke up which meant one of three things. Either Damian had gotten back too late that he would have woken you up by joining you, he’d gotten injured and knew he’d fail to hide it, or he needed a little bit of solitude. There was no injury report from Barbara when you checked your phone, but the little marker under your text to Damian from last night said that he hadn’t seen it until after three am, which meant it was probably four at the earliest by the time Damian had gotten to bed. You missed the warmth of waking up to him with you even as you appreciated his decision. It was only eight am now. You would have no doubt woken him up with your alarm. He desperately needed sleep, even if only a couple hours more. 

The remaining braids of cheese were in the same spot you left them on the counter last night. You moved them and a second bowl to the table, then grabbed yourself a bagel for breakfast. Your friends from New York disagreed, but you’d tried both and New Jersey bagels were far superior. 

It was half past nine by the time you finished scraping the hummus from your blender into various containers. One larger container would go with you and Damian to your grandfather’s house. The other one was staying in your fridge. Between the two of you, it wouldn’t last very long. You didn’t make hummus very often despite the fact that you both enjoyed it. What you could boast, though, is that you’d converted Damian to your family’s way of making it. Critiquing supermarket-available hummus became a shared habit. 

The completed bowl of string cheese fit perfectly in the fridge on top of the larger container of hummus. Most of the blender parts went in the dishwasher, and you set the cycle to rinse so that the hummus wouldn’t dry and congeal onto the plastic. The blender blade stayed on the side of the sink, already rinsed off. You’d wash it later. First, you had to finish the cheese. You opened your playlist from last night and hit play, bluetooth off this time. If it was loud, it would wake Damian. 

Damian’s bedroom door opened near silently when you were nearly done with the third braid. You took a momentary break to nudge the tea kettle on by pressing the button with your elbow before returning to your seat at the kitchen table. The bathroom door shut then opened again a few minutes later. His footsteps, quiet even in his home, meant that you didn’t notice him heading into the kitchen until he was already there. After months of living together and months before that where you might as well have been, your partner appearing silently beside you didn’t startle you anymore. 

You never got tired of seeing Damian without his guard up. It was an image only you and his family got to see: a Damian squinting in the morning light, hair a mess of waves that dried pressed against a pillow. The sight of him dressed in nightwing pajama pants and an old college t-shirt was yours, now. 

“Morning, my dear,” you greeted him. Small strands of stiff cheese stuck to your fingers. You picked them off and dropped them in the bowl before getting up to give your partner a hug, wrists bent awkwardly so that you wouldn’t touch his shirt with your hands. 

“صباح النور” Damian murmured, his arms heavy around your shoulders. Good morning. “What are you doing?” He asked as you let go. 

“Remember how I had to pick up cheese from my grandfather’s house the other day?” Damian nodded. “I’m stringing that. I wanted to get it done last night but I got home a little late. So I’m finishing it now.” 

You retreated back to your spot at the table, finishing the last of the third braid. Black caraway seeds were scattered around the table and you brushed them into your hand before returning them to the bowl. “The kettle should be done pretty soon. And your mug is on the counter.” 

Damian didn’t say anything until he sat down beside you, cup of tea in hand. 

“You’re stringing the cheese?”

“Yeah, it’s the thing I’ve been assigned to bring to the family events. I’ve been doing the stringing part since I was a kid but since I started living on my own I’d string it at home and bring it with me. And this year I’ve been upgraded to making hummus, too. I made a double batch so there’s a separate container for just us in the fridge.” 

“You went to a family birthday party months ago and didn’t bring it then,” Damian pointed out. 

“Yeah, if my aunts and uncles host the event,” you explained, “their family is technically supposed to string it. I mean, a lot of the time I’ll get there and they’ll ask me to do it anyway, but it’s not officially my job. And I don’t have to pick it up if it’s not my job. This is the first full family event that we’ve lived together for, I think.” You thought for a moment. “Wait, no, there was thanksgiving. But you were at the manor then.” 

Damian watched as you opened the fourth braid. The plastic wrapping joined the one from earlier. 

“I’ve just got this one left.” You cut both ends and pulled one of them apart. “Do you want to help? You’ve just got to wash your hands first.” 

Damian detoured to the sink before sitting in the chair beside yours.

“How does it work?” 

“You just kinda pull it apart and then keep stringing until it gets to be really thin.” You demonstrated quickly, stringing a small section of the larger piece you were holding until it resembled a pile of embroidery floss. 

“Like this, just for the whole thing. But it will snap if you try to brute force pull it instead of string it.” You handed him one of the larger pieces. “Here, you try this one.” 

Damian’s face of concentration sent a burst of warmth through your chest. He was following your instructions to perfection, entirely focused. It took effort not to burst into a full grin. You watched him for a moment before continuing on. Two songs went by on your playlist before Damian said anything. 

“This takes ages.”

You laughed. 

“Yeah, it does. Which is why I spent nearly two hours at it last night and we’re still doing it now. I’ve gotten so much faster at it, though. I can do two braids in less than an hour and a half. It used to take me an hour each. But it’s faster only if it’s warm. If I have to string it right out of the fridge, it’s harder to do.” You smirked. “And it tastes worse.”

Damian quirked a disbelieving eyebrow. 

“I doubt that.”

“It’s true. Ask my family members when you meet them later.” 

“I will not.”

A laugh burst out involuntarily. 

“Yeah, maybe having a debate with my family about food isn’t a great idea. They’d scare you off.”

“No they wouldn’t,” Damian argued, eyes lowered. “I have fought the League and the worst of Gotham—“

“And it’s still okay to be nervous meeting my family. But you know I don’t actually care what they think right?”

“Tt.” Damian stopped stringing to look at you. “They’re your family.” 

“Yeah, and so are you.” Your shoulder nudged his, hands still hovering over the half-finished bowl of cheese. “And I know for a fact that you know me better than most of them.” Damian scoffed a laugh. 

“I know more about you than your estranged cousins? What a great achievement,” he deadpanned. You rolled your eyes at him, returning to the piece you’d neglected. 

“You’re the first significant other in a long time,” you revealed after a moment. “My family is big, in a different way than yours, and they scare people off. So if a cousin brings someone to a holiday celebration, it means we’re serious about the person we’re bringing. All of my cousins-in-law are the people my cousins brought to gatherings like this.” In your peripheral vision, Damian stiffened. You kept stringing, anxiety twisting in your chest. 

“I should have told you that earlier, I’m sorry, I don’t even know if you’re fine with that implica-” 

Damian’s hand reached out to still yours. 

“حياتي,” he said, head dipping down to meet your eyes. “That’s okay with me.” 

“High-ah-tee,” you sounded out, repeating it back to him. “What’s that one?” 

Damian pressed a kiss to your lips. On instinct, your hands moved to cup his chin. Drying strands of the string cheese in between your fingers had you pulling back. 

“العمى,” now I have to wash my hands again. And you should wash your face, Dames.” 

“Be right back,” he said, moving quickly to the bathroom. You watched him go before turning to wash your hands. Damian hadn’t returned by the time you’d finished, so you moved back to the table, resuming working on the strand you’d left behind.

“You didn’t tell me what it means,” you reminded him as he sat back down next to you. “Hayati, that is.” 

“حياتي,” he said slowly, “means ‘my life.’” 

A smile split your face. “Yeah?” 

“Mhm.” 

“Hey,” you began. Damian turned to you, mid stringing his own piece of cheese. “I love you.” 

Your partner’s lips quirked up into a grin. He pressed his forehead to yours for just a moment before turning back to the cheese. “I love you too.” 

“Now,” you mock-admonished, “if we don’t get this done in the next 45 minutes, we will be leaving late.  And my grandfather hates it when the cheese is late.” 

Damian huffed a laugh, following your lead as you returned the majority of your attention to the bowl in front of you. 

“Maybe we’ll beat your father there.” 

You barked out a laugh. 

“Oh, my grandfather would find that hilarious.” 

Damian’s smirk was visible even as you reached for another piece of string cheese. 

“A first impression that will be remembered, then.” 

“If we’re on time with the cheese and hummus? And your stringing skills are already pretty good? I think my grandfather will just never let you go.” 

so during the prologue where grim sets fire everywhere you're just screaming " ESTAKHFAR ALLAH- A3OUS BELLAHI MIN AL SHAITAN EL RAGEEM "

scarabia students looking at you; 👁️👄👁️👂

10/10 homies with the scarabia no i don't take criticism. you basically live there and not even jamil minds bcs you can help him make what you'd consider arab foods.

WAIT-

so, jamil overblots. and you suddenly say; " ESTANA YA HABIBI ANA MAHTAG/MAHTAGA AROUH ASALY " AND HE'S JUST LIKE " IGHT I WON'T ATTACK YOU UNTIL UR DONE " I'M-

you call azul " ابو مخدرات " because he always acts like a drug dealer. when he wanted to make a deal about taking ramshackle, lemme say he got the good old arab household ass-whoopin' and not even the tweels were spared from your wrath as you beat them with the shoe. anyways, azul probably decided to make a mini mosque ( masjid ) because STONKS- 🏃‍♀️

savanclaw respected you due to being very scary when angered. they will never forget the day jack came back from the fight all battered and bruised, mumbling apologies like a prayer even though you were nowhere in sight. you are the only person who can make leona actually wake up. he just didn't wanna get his ass beat 🤩. helping ruggie has become a normal thing, and he actually appreciates it since you know a lot of hacks to finish quicker!

once a bitch from heartslabyul was messing with you and pulled off your hijab 🙄 ( if you wear one ) and riddle was LIVID. with deuce throwing his blazer on your head to cover up since the student still had the scarf ( which was snatched away by trey ), and cater and ace guarding you so nobody could see you as you walked off, riddle started scolding them very aggressively with the infamous collar on the student. 😼💅

pomefiore has become your personal designer team 😩✨. they'll help you pick out the perfect outfits, make sure nothing goes against religion, comfy, and practical for when you need to pray. don't be surprised if your hijab ( if you wear one ) has some gems on the bottom. they won't hesitate to go overboard if you don't mind it.

idia is slightly curious on what it's like, but he's pretty informed since he's probably seen some arab characters in his games. ortho is probably the most informed on this topic, but he still has his fir share of questions!

diasomnia are very much interested in your culture, but i feel like since lilia has lived for so long has probably met some people like you. some students are envious of when it's ramadan ( which by the way, ramadan mubarak to those who are fasting! i, myself, am ). why you may ask? because you don't have to eat lilia's food 😃✋

speaking of which, some students of the scarabia dorm will join you on fasting. i personally believe that kalim would have a big feast when it's iftar and maybe go over-the-top when it's sohoor. this leads to extra food :')

when you'd stop visiting mostro lounge unless it was during more later times, the octotrio were confused until you told them that you just didn't wanna see so much food while you were fasting. when they realized what ramadan was, guess what they did? MENU TIME-

riddle was sad you didn't attend any unbirthday parties 😔 but deuce, who had remembered what you said the day before, told him why. when our other 4 heartslabyul residents understood, trey was really the only one to do something i guess?? i mean, cater took more pics with you, but trey took the time to make some traditional sweets from back where you came from 🥺

you visited savanaclaw a lot, too, since you slept most of the day ( after school hours were done, obviously. ). this resulted in more naps together with leona. not that he minded, really.

I feel like some members of pomefiore would also join in fasting! not only would their patience increase ( i've always been told that ramadan helps increase your patience due to having to wait till iftar comes. ), but they'd also lose a few pounds ( LEMME TELL YOU HOW ✨S K I N N Y✨ I AM AFTER RAMADAN IM- )!

idia is ✨concerned✨ sometimes since he's highkey worried about your health, but when you tell him it won't affect you negatively, he'll tone it down. ortho has become your personal alarm clock! he'll always be there to tell you exactly when you can start eating.

when it's eid, scarabia throws a huge party! even our darling boys from other dorms will participate. expect to be wearing only the finest outfit thanks to pomefiore. 🧎

She generally finds Arab features very beautiful, the lashes and skin tone and eye shape and nose shape, she finds it naturally very charming.

She wouldn’t have a habit of dating too many Arab men though despite that, since a lot of them are very hypocritical and judgementally about the whole “woman’s clothing modesty” spiel and do not test her with that shit let her live her life.

Thank GOD you’re breaking stereotypes (whether you’re a guy, girl or nonbinary)

Save me white girl with Spanish heritage… white girl with Spanish heritage save me…

She picks up on languages FAST.

She types out a full message in Arabic one day and you’re like “ANGEL?”

Loves being called “hayati” or “rouh5i”.

Kinda finds the nonsensical-ness of Arabic phrases hilarious cause who wouldn’t.

Oh my god oh my god one day she wears a mukhawar and you genuinely pass out.

IMAGINE HER IN ONE UGHHHHH I’m gonna faint fuck she’d be beyond pretty.

Looks angelic in those golden headpieces haha get it get it.

LOVES the smell of oud literally wears that shit all the time.

Big fan of bukhoor too.

One day you come home to the smell of it everywhere and like a wave of nostalgia just hits you.

Again I know it’s a religious thing but if you celebrate it, whether you’re religious or not, her eid outfits will always be like mind blowing.

I NEED YOU GUYS TO SEE MY VISION.

Mukhawar Angel oh my god I can’t stop thinking about it.

It’s like actually insane she’d be so beautiful in it I’m gonna die.

And those Moroccan kaftan FUCKING KILL ME.

DUDE ANGEL IN THOSE PRETTY MOROCCAN KAFTAN DRESSES OHNMY GOD.

Mehr for her better be in the billions pal…kidding kidding.

She worships Nancy Ajram yeah yeah stereotypical whatever.

Listen she likes stereotypical pop music.

Does anyone remember that Humood guy the one that made اضحك or is it just me.

Angel in Arab dresses bro.

I can’t stress this enough go look Moroccan Kaftas up if you’re not Arab and just tell me angel would not blow people away with it on.