#tim dares him not to commit crime for four weeks

[huilian]

stop confusing my name, dad!

AO3

Characters: Bruce Wayne, Tim Drake, Damian Wayne, Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Stephanie Brown, Cassandra Cain, Barbara Gordon

Summary: 

Bruce has too many children, or, 5 times Bruce calls his children by the wrong name.

A/N: this is inspired by this post by @in-fearful-day-in-raging-night​. Please check them out! They post quality batfam things! The first four have dialogue stolen (with permission) directly from the post, and the last one is mine. I wanted to add one time Bruce got called the wrong name, but couldn't figure out how to do it properly, so... sorry?

***

It’s a quiet morning at the Manor. Too quiet, with two of his children currently on attendance. Admittedly they’re all here because they crashed after a truly exhausting patrol, but Bruce has trained his children well. They are never too tired to wreck havoc inside his home. 

Bruce walks towards the kitchen silently. If his children are quiet, he can be quiet too. He has to catch them before they catch him, or the consequences (for him) will be even worse. 

No one in the kitchen. At least, no one Bruce, with his extensive training, can detect. He walks in gingerly, still scanning the room for hostiles, namely, his children. If they are not in the kitchen, then they are somewhere else. He has to stay vigilant.

Yesterday night was truly an exhausting patrol. Why are his children like this? 

A crash. Somewhere on the second floor. 

Bruce runs towards it. He knows, logically, that it is most likely his children doing what passes as fun between them, but he can’t shake the nagging feeling inside him. What if it’s not his children? What if someone has come to hurt them? Bruce runs. 

He stops dead in his tracks, however, when he sees Damian. Who is standing in front of Tim’s door, frantically trying to break it down, while dripping wet. Bruce distantly notices an upturned bucket some feet away from his youngest son, but he’s much more interested in the fact that his youngest son is breaking his other son’s door. That is made of solid wood. 

He’s going to break himself. Bruce, with no other thought besides stopping Damian, says, “Dick, stop that! Wait, no.” Why is he calling Dick? It’s clearly Damian in front of him. So he tries again. “Jason,” no, that’s not right either, “no, Tim, ugh, Cass, I mean Damian! Stop that!” 

Damian, who thankfully stops his assault on Tim’s door, glares up at him. “Father! How dare you confuse me with Drake!” 

Bruce opens his mouth to scold Damian, because breaking down his siblings’ door is not acceptable behaviour, but then Tim’s door opens, revealing the boy himself. “Damian, he literally called everyone’s name, and that’s what you focus on?” 

“He called me by your name! It’s a disgrace I will not stand on!” 

“He went through everyone’s name! And I’m not a disgrace!” 

“Ha! You admit you are a disgrace!” 

“I literally just said I’m not a disgrace, you little brat. Are you even listening?” 

Bruce sighs. Tim and Damian arguing is basically an everyday occurrence by now, but the headache it inflicts upon Bruce never stops. Why are his children like this? 

“Enough!” Bruce shouts. “Damian, breaking down your siblings’ door is not acceptable. Jason, stop pranking your little brother,” because Bruce knows enough by now to be sure that the bucket was Tim’s doing. 

Silence. Normally a Tim and Damian argument can’t be solved by just a simple admonishment, but Bruce is going to take what miracles the universe decides to give him. Bruce turns to go. He needs coffee, because yesterday night was truly an exhausting patrol, and he has work to do today. 

That is, until Tim shrieks, “Jason?” 

Oh no. 

“You’re calling me Jason?” Tim scoffs. “Unbelievable.” 

“Tim, Tim, wait, I’m sorry,” Bruce stammers, but Tim scoffs again. 

“Jason. I’m done with this. Come on, Damian, let’s leave Bruce to his inability to remember his own children’s name,” Tim says. Then, he adds, low enough to pretend that he doesn’t want Bruce to hear, but just loud enough so that Bruce can hear it perfectly well, “Batman, my ass. Can’t even remember his children’s name.” 

“For once, I agree with you, Drake.” For someone who is spitting mad at being called Tim just a few minutes ago, Damian follows Tim easily enough. 

Oh no, oh no. Those two working together is going to be unstoppable. Bruce shudders to think about what they are going to do to him. 

(He got locked out of the kitchen. And then his room. And then his car. Basically every door he tried to open today is locked. Even the entrance to the Cave is locked, and he made it. Why are his children like this?) 

It’s always good whenever all his children are in Gotham, patrolling with him. Provided they are not there because of a massive Arkham breakout or an apocalypse that needed all hands on deck. It’s always good whenever all Bruce’s children are patrolling Gotham with him because they all decided to visit. 

(He knows it’s the overbearing parent in him, but he likes all of them patrolling Gotham with him because if they are on patrol with him, they are not getting into any trouble he can’t help them out of. Ideally they would not be getting into any trouble at all, but Bruce knows his children. That hope had sailed long ago.) 

Since they are all here tonight, Bruce decides to do one of his semi-regular sweeps of the illegal bars. There are a lot of them tonight-almost all of them, really, except for Black Bat who has her own mission tonight-so Bruce is hoping that this time the message will stick longer. 

He left this at the very end of the patrol, when the bars are at their most crowded, so that it would hit even more people. Robin is already with him, of course, and he registers the rest of his children gathering next to him. 

It’s not that complicated of a bust, so he feels comfortable just giving instructions on the go. “The patrons are not committing any serious crime, not yet, but they are planning to do so. We’ll stop the planning, but no use of force unless absolutely necessary.” He waits for confirmation from all of them, already pulling his mental map of the bar. “Nightwing, take the left entrance.” Wait. That’s not what Bruce meant. That’s not what Bruce meant at all. “No wait, Robin, no, Black Bat, Red Hood, Batgirl, whoever you are,” Bruce points at Tim, then clicks his fingers a few times. It doesn’t make that much noise, especially with the gauntlets on, but the gesture itself helped. “Red Robin!” Finally! His children change their names far too many times, Bruce swears. “Take the left.” 

He’s greeted with silence from his children. Then Tim (Red Robin, Bruce’s mind helpfully supplied) said, “Wow, B, thanks for that.”

The statement from Tim seems to unlock the rest of his children’s mouth, because everyone starts talking all at once. 

“Black Bat’s not even on this mission!”

“Wait, so-”

“I swear he does this all the time!”

“-who’s taking the left?” 

Bruce decides to focus on the actually relevant question (thank you, Dick), and growls out, “Red Robin is taking the left. Nightwing will come with me and Robin through the front entrance. Batgirl, stay on the back entrance and handle any runners. Hood, take the right.” 

Everyone seemed to be paying attention, for which Bruce is grateful for, but then, because his children will never let anything go, Jason said, “Are you sure it’s me who’s taking the right and not Robin?” 

Stephanie looks like she also wants to add something, but Bruce cuts her out before that. “Yes. Now positions, everyone.” 

They move, but it’s only because his children (and Bruce notes this with not a small sense of pride himself) are professionals. Bruce is sure that he will pay for this, with interest, but that can wait until after they finished this bust. 

It’s just him and Dick, tonight. Robin has a test tomorrow, and Bruce knows that Damian is going to ace the test, patrol or no, but the rule has always been and will always be no patrol before a test, so Damian is staying in. The rest of his brood (Bruce has a brood now. He would have laughed had you tell him that a few years ago.) have their own cases, and so Bruce is patrolling with Dick. 

It reminds him of days long passed. 

“Robin, fall back and we’ll rendezvous at the docks,” Bruce says to his comms. Dick is a few blocks away, having split with Bruce to check in with someone he saved a couple weeks ago. It’s a quiet night, at any rate, and Bruce just wants to sweep the docks once and go back home. 

There’s no answer from the comms. Bruce is starting to panic, because Dick knows better than to not answer his comms. He starts to move towards Dick’s location, while trying to hail Dick again, when Dick, finally, blessedly, answers, “Do you mean me?” 

Bruce is so relieved to hear Dick’s voice that the meaning of his words doesn’t register to him for a minute. Why wouldn’t Dick think Bruce meant him? “Yes, of course I mean you,” Bruce says. 

“B,” Dick’s voice sounds exasperated, even through the comms, “it’s been well over a decade since I’ve been Robin. There’s been four other Robins since me.” 

Oh. Bruce mentally rewinds the conversation, only to shamefully realize that a, he did call Dick Robin, b, Robin, the actual Robin, is currently inside his room, and c, Dick is right. “Sorry, Nightwing.” 

Bruce hears Dick sighs. “What should I do with you, B?” 

“Next thing you know, he’ll be calling me Batgirl.” Oracle. “There’s a mugging two streets over, Batman. You might want to check it out with Robin.” 

“Hey! Don’t lump me in with him, O! I know better than that!” 

“It’s your fault. You’re the one who made him start taking in kids left and right,” Barbara says. “Go high, Nightwing.” 

“You know I’ll always go high, Oracle.”

Bruce is content with letting the two of them banter as he takes down the mugger. He knows these two. They can run their mouth off, but they’ll still do their job perfectly. And besides, it is nice to hear Barbara’s voice. That just makes it feel more like the old days. 

Bruce keeps his mouth shut though, partly because he’s still reeling from calling Dick Robin, and partly because he cannot trust himself to not call Barbara Batgirl. Like he said, tonight reminds him of the old days. 

He finishes neutralizing the mugger at the same time as Nightwing emerges in his point of view. He checks the bindings one more time, then looks up. 

“O, tell me something,” Nigthwing has a huge grin on his face, “you keep recordings of our comms, right?” 

Oh no. Dick wouldn’t. Barbara wouldn’t. 

“Of course, Nightwing. Is there something in particular you need?” 

Then again, it’s Dick and Barbara. Robin and Batgirl. They would. They absolutely would. 

“Can I get a recording of tonight’s conversation?” Dick looks Bruce right in the eyes as he says this. “I need to share it with my siblings.” 

“It would be my pleasure,” Barbara says. Even Bruce can hear the smile in her voice, and he knows Dick would hear it even more. He can’t win against the two of them. He hasn’t been able to for years now. “Should I send it to Batgirl as well?” 

“Oh, please do,” Dick says. “I can’t wait to see their reaction.” 

Bruce sighs. Not so much like the old days, after all. At least back then, they didn’t have anyone to share his embarrassing moments with. 

“Red Robin, what’s your position?” They’ve been trailing this particular shipment for a few weeks now, and Bruce wants to close this case as soon as possible. 

“Uh… I’m standing next to you?” Tim says. Damn it. He’s doing it again. 

“... Red Hood, what’s your position?” He can’t be blamed that his children choose very similar sounding code names. Even he can’t remember everything. 

Of course, Jason would beg to differ. “Fuck you, B, if you can’t even tell us apart, I’m not telling you jackshit.” 

Bruce sighs. “Hood, please, let’s just finish this now and have the pissing contest later. We need to stop the shipment from getting to the streets.” 

“Fine, but only because I don’t want to let the drugs get on the streets. We will have the pissing contest later, mark my words.” 

Bruce starts to feel relief, but it’s apparently too soon, because Tim (dear, dear Tim) says, “What about me? Stop forgetting my name, B.” 

“Um, little bird, he forgot my name, not yours.” 

“He substituted my name for yours! That means he forgot my name too!” 

“Boys,” Bruce feels very strongly the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose, but forces it down because he’s wearing the cowl, “please stop arguing. Let’s, let’s just finish this. Please,” he whispered the last word, unsure whether it’s a plea or a prayer. 

Tim looks at him, and Bruce has the feeling that Jason, from his own perch, is also looking down at him. Tim nods, and then eerily, both he and Jason say, “Fine,” at the same time. 

Bruce knows that this is not over, not even close, but he’s so relieved that they agreed to shelf this for now. So he says again, making sure he says the right name, “Red Hood, what’s your position?” 

“Up the second rig, Batman,” Jason answers. There’s still an underlying sense of Jason being pissed off, but at least he’s answering Bruce’s questions now. 

“Noted. I’ll drop down on the sellers, and Red Hood, you’ll be coming with me,” Bruce recites the plan. He waits for the confirmation, but it doesn’t come. 

“I thought I’m coming with you?” Why is Tim sounding so confused?

Damn. Damn. Bruce swears. 

“You messed up our name again, didn’t you? Fuck you, B.” 

Bruce swears again. This is going to be a long night. 

“Batgirl, three men your way,” Bruce says. 

“My way? Are you sure, Batman? I’m inside the vents?” Stephanie says. 

This is getting ridiculous. Why does he keep mixing up his children’s name? He doesn’t even have that many of them. “Black Bat, three men your way.”

Cass looks back at him and gives him a smile that promises pain to everyone that dares to come her way. He knows he doesn’t need to give out warnings to Cass, but he still worries. He watches as Cass delivers perfect takedowns one after the other. It calms him, to know that Cass is much, much better than he is. 

The sense of calm doesn’t last though, because his comms hiss alive again. “Did you just forget that I’m Batgirl?” 

Bruce sighs. “No.” That’s the truth, too. He just mixes up the names sometimes. More than once, he wishes that his children aren’t passing down names and taking new ones every other year. It’s getting harder and harder to keep everything straight in his head. 

“Wait, is this the thing Red keeps telling me about? You mixing everyone’s names up?” Stephanie sounds absolutely gleeful. 

“No, Robin. Focus on the mission, please.” 

Cass, who had casually taken down every thug in the area, walks over calmly to Bruce, and says, “You just called her Robin.” 

Bruce freezes. Oh no. Now Stephanie’s never going to let this go. 

“Did you just call me Robin?” There it is. 

“Sorry, Batgirl.” 

“Oh my god, I can’t believe it! Batman, mixing up people’s names! O sent me that recording of you calling Wing Robin, but I thought that’s that! I can’t believe it!” 

“He mixes up Red Robin and Red Hood all the time,” Cass says. 

“You didn’t! B! No wonder Red keeps bitching about it to me!” 

“Are you in the command room yet, Batgirl?” Bruce swallows down his embarrassment. Focus on the mission. Focus on the mission. 

“Yeah, I’m copying their data as we speak, B-man. How many times have you mixed up the Reds?” 

Bruce considers lying, but then, Cass is right there. She would bust him right away. 

“Three,” he grits out. 

“Four,” Cass says. 

“Three. The time with Condiment King doesn’t count.” 

“Condiment King? Oh this conversation is gold. Please tell me the story, BB.” 

Bruce closes his eyes. For the umpeteenth time, he asks himself, why are his children like this? 

#dc #bruce wayne #tim drake #damian wayne #jason todd #dick grayson #stephanie brown #cassandra cain #barbara gordon #fic #lian writes

[jasontoddiefor]

Summary: In all honesty, Hal should have seen it coming. Wally and Dick had already been there when they had started dating. Or: Hal contemplates family in the Wayne-Allen-Jordan household on a chaotic morning.

AN: Bc @amaztim and I have a new OT3 and there are only 2 fanfics so far so I had to fix it.

Hal woke up to screaming. He turned around again in the king-sized bed and pressed his pillow over his head. He was too old to be woken up by fighting children. Or maybe Dick and Wally just hadn’t been quite the terrifying chaotic mess that was Damian and Helen.

After hearing yet another shout on one of Hal’s rare free days damn it, Hal finally got up. Bruce and Barry were nowhere to be seen, but that was nothing new. Barry was stuck on monitor duty and Bruce had traveled to France on Monday, chasing after a lead.

Hal should have taken the offer and gone with him, but no. Someone had to look after the children since everybody was coming over for the weekend. Hal stumbled out of bed with the grace of a hero who had suffered way too many injuries. On his way over to the door, he grabbed a shirt and put it on. It was a little big on him – one of Bruce’s then. He rubbed his eyes and for a split second he contemplated just letting Damian and Helen murder each other for another ten more minutes of sleep.

Then the second was over and Hal threw open the door. Helen and Damian came to a halt right in front of it, both looking appropriately caught.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

Damian and Helen shared a look before switching to equally grave expressions.

“We’re fighting for the honor of killing Jason,” Damian explained nonchalantly like he wasn’t holding his training sword to Helen’s neck.

“He committed a serious crime,” Helen added, her glowing nerf-gun construct still aimed at Damian’s forehead.

Hal could still use his ring, go pick up Barry and get into a jet and visit Bruce. Eat some crêpes under the Eiffel tower while Bruce took down his arms dealer. It would be just like those summer months when Wally and Dick, who were the only kids running around the manor back then, went to San Francisco to work with their fellow Teen Titans.

Peace .

Yeah, Hal missed it.

“And what did Jason do?”

“He-“

“HeyguysIfoundthepaintgunsyouaskedfor- oh, fuck.”

Bart came to a stop just a few doors down the hallway, his arms full with paint guns and his shirt basically covered in acrylics. He looked at Damian and Helen, then to Hal and then back to the kids.

“Morning, Hal. I think I’mjustgonnagonowbye.”

“Oh, no!” Hal shouted back. “Don’t you dare run off, Bartholomew! How are you involved in this? And aren’t you supposed to be picking up Tim?”

Hal ignored Damian and Helen snickering at him using the speedster’s full name in favor of acting very intimidating and authoritative while still being dressed in his PJs with deep bags under his eyes.

Bart grinned sheepishly. “I already picked him up. I left him downstairs with Duke and Kyle. He sort of fell asleep on me on our way back home.”

“Kyle’s here?”

Bart shrugged. “He said something about dropping off an artifact, but Jason’s making pancakes for breakfast so he stayed.”

Hal pinched the bridge of his nose and exhaled. How did the saying go again? Kids are the future? Someone obviously forgot to attach the ‘because they’ll run you into an early grave’. France. Watchtower monitor duty.

“And if Jason’s making breakfast, why aren’t the three of you downstairs eating?”

“Because Jason threw us out of the kitchen,” Helen said. “We were interrupting his ‘workflow’ so he banned us! Uncle Hal, do you see now what terrible offense he has committed?”

Beside her, Damian nodded and once again raised his sword. “The evil has to be defeated.”

Hal had calmed down considerably since he had first become Earth’s Green Lantern. He didn’t rush into battle anymore, he had seen too many of his friends and comrades die. He had been dead, and been dealt an even worse fate for a while, and he had lowered both his lovers and his children into the ground at least once. No, Hal didn’t rush into war anymore and he carefully picked his battle nowadays.

This one he wasn’t going to fight.

“No maiming each other anymore,” Hal said and watched as three faces lit up with identical expressions of delight. “The house is off-limits for everything concerning paint, or you’re answering to Alfred. Outside of the manor, Gotham, Central and Coast are fair game, but not on patrol. Got it?”

“Got it!” They replied and rushed off in the opposite direction, jumping hopefully not straight into a loophole Hal had forgotten to cover. Either way, they were not Hal’s problem anymore. If they made a mess now, that weight would be on their shoulders, and they only had themselves to blame if Alfred’s cold disapproval would make them do chores until they turned eighteen.

Hal checked his watch. It was almost twelve. Jason had come to the manor late, and if he was making breakfast for everybody, he certainly wouldn’t be done yet. Hal made his way downstairs to the kitchen, passing the living room while he was at it.

Duke was playing a game on his Switch while Cassandra and Kyle were talking animatedly about whatever drawing Kyle was showing her.

And Tim was lying on the ground, his head resting on Titus’s body.

“Please tell me he decided to sleep there,” Hal said, already knowing the answer.

“Uuh,” Duke decidedly did not look up from his console while Cass just raised a brow.

When had they all become so sassy? Hal recalled their first weeks at the manor as if they had been just yesterday. Both of them had been so unsure and careful with everybody.

“Just put your brother on a sofa at least if nobody feels responsible for getting him in his room.”

Cass smiled at him and gave him a thumbs-up, but didn’t move from her spot. Right, why had he even bothered asking?

Next time, he’d let Barry and Bruce handle the weekend meet-ups. Hal had done the single-parent thing for a year, and it hadn’t been any fun having to be strong for so many grieving children. The least his partners could do was cover the family weekends until they actually died of old age.

The closer Hal got to the kitchen, the louder did the music in the hallway get. Today Jason had decided on classical tunes apparently, or as classic as Jason got. Hal wasn’t even sure where Jason found so many classic instrument covers of current songs, and he’d rather face Parallax than even suggest to Jason that he was recording his own violin plays, but fact was that Barry had found the corresponding scores in Jason’s bag once.

Jason was flipping another pancake when Hal entered the kitchen. The room was neat and orderly still, except for the side of the table Wally and Dick were sitting at. That part of the table was covered in Nutella, sprinkles, gummy worms, chocolate sauce, and fruits.

“Mo’nin’,” Dick greeted, his mouth stuffed with a pancake. Next to him, Wally only raised his hand and didn’t even stop inhaling his share.

“Good morning, boys,” Hal returned and sat down opposite from the duo.

“Slept well, old man?” Jason asked and put a plate with warm an delicious breakfast in front of him.

“I thought Bruce was the old man.”

Jason waved Hal’s comment off and took another gulp from his cup of coffee. “You’re all old, but only you are here this morning. You got any plans for today?”

Hal sneaked a look at the two oldest and, yes, Wally and Dick looked equally mischievously. Fourteen or twenty-four, was there really any difference with them?

“I’m not teaming up with you against the kiddos for Cluedo.”

“Why not?” Wally asked. “This week’s price is deciding the Thanksgiving dinner. Hal, please. We need to win. I need that turkey and Damian will do his best to stop it.”

Hal bit off another piece of his pancake. Out of all of them, minus Alfred of course, Jason could cook the best. If Jason willingly made anything for you, you accepted without hesitance, which was precisely why Hal stole another pancake before he replied.

“I know, which is why Barry, Bruce, and I are working against the rest of you. We’re not eating candied apples for dessert again or tofu turkey or any other monstrosity you kids come up with every year. This year it’s adults against the rest of you. May the better team win.”

Silence followed Hal’s statement before the kitchen’s other three occupants began to complain loudly. Hal could only grin. Okay, yes, this was better than the Watchtower or France.

“Jason! Come out and face us, you coward!”

Even if it came with the possibility of a hospital visit.

#hal jordan #bruce wayne #barry allen #dc #dc comics #batfam #flash family #what is their ship tag #flashbatlantern #batflashlantern #idk #fanfic #I LOVE MY DUMBASS OT3 OKAY

[eovinmygod]

From www.newstatesman.com By Mehdi Hasan

As a Muslim, I struggle with the idea of homosexuality – but I oppose homophobia

I've made homophobic remarks in the past, writes Mehdi Hasan, but now I’ve grown up — and reconciled my Islamic beliefs with my attitude to gay rights.

’Tis the season of apologies – specifically, grovelling apologies by some of our finest academic brains for homophobic remarks they’ve made in public. The Cambridge University theologian Dr Tim Winter, one of the UK’s leading Islamic scholars, apologised on 2 May after footage emerged showing him calling homosexuality the “ultimate inversion” and an “inexplicable aberration”. “The YouTube clip is at least 15 years old, and does not in any way represent my present views . . . we all have our youthful enthusiasms, and we all move on.”

The Harvard historian Professor Niall Ferguson apologised “unreservedly” on 4 May for “stupid” and “insensitive” comments in which he claimed that the economist John Maynard Keynes hadn’t cared about “the long run” because he was gay and had no intention of having any children.

Dare I add my non-academic, non-intellectual voice to the mix? I want to issue my own apology. Because I’ve made some pretty inappropriate comments in the past, too.

You may or may not be surprised to learn that, as a teenager, I was one of those wannabe-macho kids who crudely deployed “gay” as a mark of abuse; you will probably be shocked to discover that shamefully, even in my twenties, I was still making the odd disparaging remark about homosexuality.

It’s now 2013 and I’m 33 years old. My own “youthful enthusiasm” is thankfully, if belatedly, behind me.

What happened? Well, for a start, I grew up. Bigotry and demonisation of difference are usually the hallmark of immature and childish minds. But, if I’m honest, something else happened, too: I acquired a more nuanced understanding of my Islamic faith, a better appreciation of its morals, values and capacity for tolerance.

Before we go any further, a bit of background – I was attacked heavily a few weeks ago by some of my co-religionists for suggesting in these pages that too many Muslims in this country have a “Jewish problem” and that we blithely “ignore the rampant anti-Semitism in our own backyard”.

I hope I won’t provoke the same shrieks of outrage and denial when I say that many Muslims also have a problem, if not with homosexuals, then with homosexuality. In fact, a 2009 poll by Gallup found that British Muslims have zero tolerance towards homosexuality. “None of the 500 British Muslims interviewed believed that homosexual acts were morally acceptable,” the Guardian reported in May that year.

Some more background. Orthodox Islam, like orthodox interpretations of the other Abrahamic faiths, views homosexuality as sinful and usually defines marriage as only ever a heterosexual union.

This isn’t to say that there is no debate on the subject. In April, the Washington Post profiled Daayiee Abdullah, who is believed to be the only publicly gay imam in the west. “[I]f you have any same-sex marriages,” the Post quotes him as saying, “I’m available.” Meanwhile, the gay Muslim scholar Scott Siraj al-Haqq Kugle, who teaches Islamic studies at Emory University in the United States, says that notions such as “gay” or “lesbian” are not mentioned in the Quran. He blames Islam’s hostility towards homosexuality on a misreading of the texts by ultra-conservative mullahs.

And, in his 2011 book Reading the Quran, the British Muslim intellectual and writer Ziauddin Sardar argues that “there is abso­lutely no evidence that the Prophet punished anyone for homosexuality”. Sardar says “the demonisation of homosexuality in Muslim history is based largely on fabricated traditions and the unreconstituted prejudice harboured by most Muslim societies”. He highlights verse 31 of chapter 24 of the Quran, in which “we come across ‘men who have no sexual desire’ who can witness the ‘charms’ of women”. I must add here that Abdullah, Kugle and Sardar are in a tiny minority, as are the members of gay Muslim groups such as Imaan. Most mainstream Muslim scholars – even self-identified progressives and moderates such as Imam Hamza Yusuf in the United States and Professor Tariq Ramadan in the UK – consider homosexuality to be a grave sin. The Quran, after all, explicitly condemns the people of Lot for “approach[ing] males” (26:165) and for “lust[ing] on men in preference to women” (7:81), and describes marriage as an institution that is gender-based and procreative.

What about me? Where do I stand on this? For years I’ve been reluctant to answer questions on the subject. I was afraid of the “homophobe” tag. I didn’t want my gay friends and colleagues to look at me with horror, suspicion or disdain.

So let me be clear: yes, I’m a progressive who supports a secular society in which you don’t impose your faith on others – and in which the government, no matter how big or small, must always stay out of the bedroom. But I am also (to Richard Dawkins’s continuing disappointment) a believing Muslim. And, as a result, I really do struggle with this issue of homosexuality. As a supporter of secularism, I am willing to accept same-sex weddings in a state-sanctioned register office, on grounds of equity. As a believer in Islam, however, I insist that no mosque be forced to hold one against its wishes.

If you’re gay, that doesn’t mean I want to discriminate against you, belittle or bully you, abuse or offend you. Not at all. I don’t want to go back to the dark days of criminalisation and the imprisonment of gay men and women; of Section 28 and legalised discrimination. I’m disgusted by the violent repression and persecution of gay people across the Muslim-majority world.

I cringe as I watch footage of the buffoonish Mahmoud Ahmadinejad claiming: “In Iran, we don’t have homosexuals . . . we do not have this phenomenon.” I feel sick to my stomach when I read accounts of how, in the late 1990s, the Taliban in Afghanistan buried gay men alive and then toppled brick walls on top of them.

Nor is this an issue only in the Middle East and south Asia. In March, a Muslim caller to a radio station in New York stunned the host after suggesting, live on air, that gay Americans should be beheaded in line with “sharia law”. Here in the UK, in February, Muslim MPs who voted in favour of the same-sex marriage bill – such as the shadow justice secretary, Sadiq Khan – faced death threats and accusations of apostasy from a handful of Muslim extremists. And last year, a homophobic campaign launched by puffed-up Islamist gangs in east London featured ludicrous and offensive stickers declaring the area a “gay-free zone”.

I know it might be hard to believe, but Islam is not a religion of violence, hate or intolerance – despite the best efforts of a minority of reactionaries and radicals to argue (and behave) otherwise. Out of the 114 chapters of the Quran, 113 begin by introducing the God of Islam as a God of mercy and compassion. The Prophet Muhammad himself is referred to as “a mercy for all creation”. This mercy applies to everyone, whether heterosexual or homosexual. As Tariq Ramadan has put it: “I may disagree with what you are doing because it’s not in accordance with my belief but I respect who are you are.” He rightly notes that this is “a question of respect and mutual understanding”.

I should also point out here that most British Muslims oppose the persecution of homosexuals. A 2011 poll for the think tank Demos found that fewer than one in four British Muslims disagreed with the statement “I am proud of how Britain treats gay people”.

There is much to be proud of, but still much to be done. Homophobic bullying is rife in our schools. Nine out of ten gay or lesbian teenagers report being bullied at school over their sexual orientation. LGBT teens are two to three times more likely to commit suicide than their heterosexual peers.

Despite the recent slight fall in “sexual orientation hate crimes”, in 2012 there were still 4,252 such crimes in England and Wales, four out of every five of which involved “violence against the person”. In March, for instance, a man was jailed for killing a gay teenager by setting him on fire; the killer scrawled homophobic insults across 18-year-old Steven Simpson’s face, forearm and stomach.

Regular readers will know that I spend much of my time speaking out against Islamophobic bigotry: from the crude stereotyping of Muslims in the media and discrimi­nation against Muslims in the workplace to attacks on Muslim homes, businesses and places of worship.

The truth is that Islamophobia and homophobia have much in common: they are both, in the words of the (gay) journalist Patrick Strudwick, “at least partly fuelled by fear. Fear of the unknown . . .” Muslims and gay people alike are victims of this fear – especially when it translates into hate speech or physical attacks. We need to stand side by side against the bigots and hate-mongers, whether of the Islamist or the far-right variety, rather than turn on one another or allow ourselves to be pitted against each other, “Muslims v gays”.

We must avoid stereotyping and demonising each other at all costs. “The biggest question we have as a society,” says a Muslim MP who prefers to remain anonymous, “is how we accommodate difference.”

Remember also that negative attitudes to homosexuality are not the exclusive preserve of Muslims. In 2010, the British Social Attitudes survey showed that 36 per cent of the public regarded same-sex relations as “always” or “mostly wrong”.

A Muslim MP who voted in favour of the same-sex marriage bill tells me that most of the letters of protest that they received in response were from evangelical Christians, not Muslims. And, of course, it wasn’t a Muslim who took the life of poor Steven Simpson.

Yet ultimately I didn’t set out to write this piece to try to bridge the gap between Islam and homosexuality. I am not a theo­logian. Nor am I writing this in response to the ongoing parliamentary debate about the pros and cons of same-sex marriage. I am not a politician.

I am writing this because I want to live in a society in which all minorities – Jews, Muslims, gay people and others – are protected from violence and abuse, from demonisation and discrimination. And because I want to apologise for any hurt or offence that I may have caused to my gay brothers and lesbian sisters.

And yes, whatever our differences – straight or gay, religious or atheist, male or female – we are all brothers and sisters. As the great Muslim leader of the 7th century and son-in-law of the Prophet Muhammad, Ali ibn Abi Talib, once declared: “Remember that people are of two kinds; they are either your brothers in religion or your brothers in mankind.”

Mehdi Hasan is a contributing writer for the New Statesman and the political director of the Huffington Post UK, where this article is crossposted

Mehdi Hasan is a contributing writer for the New Statesman and the co-author of Ed: The Milibands and the Making of a Labour Leader. He was the New Statesman's senior editor (politics) from 2009-12.

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