#And surprise surprise the people comfortable using these slurs are also openly bigoted in other ways

[trying-to-jew]

Some of y’all are way too fucking comfortable calling your enemies slurs and reblogging posts where other people use slurs.

Anyway if you think that calling people the r-slur is okay get the fuck out.

[only-one-dnp]

Safe Space

Rating: Teen | Warnings: mild homophobia/slurs

Summary: Having Phil in the same house as his parents constantly feels like two completely different worlds are colliding in the weirdest ways- and one of them doesn't even know about it. But nothing makes Dan feel worse than having Phil hear some of the things his parents say when they think it's okay.

| read on AO3 |

Dan can’t stop the tension that fills his body when he hears the front door slams shut.

He hates it. He hates that his dad coming home makes his stomach twist so sharply he almost feels nauseous. He hates that he finds himself glancing over at Phil and silently praying to whatever God there may be that his dad doesn’t say something.

And he especially hates that he could never fully articulate any of it to Phil, at least not without admitting how his dad feels about certain subjects.

How his dad would feel about them.

He straightens up a little too quickly, barely missing knocking his head on the cupboard he’d been going through, and holds up some biscuits. He can here his dad loudly complaining about the laziness and stupidity of some guy at work.

“Custard Creams,” Dan says, his voice sounding distant to his own ears, and Phil looks up from the two cups of tea he’s making to glance at him. “Custard Creams are good tea biscuits, right?”

“They’ll do,” says Phil, but he smiles and Dan can hear the jokiness in his voice. It lessens the tension just a bit.

He returns the smile as Phil carefully puts the kettle back down, and then reaches over and takes one of the cups of tea. “I’m not letting you carry both of these. I like my floors un-tea-stained, thanks,” he jabs, elbowing the other boy softly.

“Hey!” Phil whines, even as he moves out of Dan’s way. “Tea stains are- they’re vintage, they’re stylish, I’ll have you know.”

“Oh, sure,” scoffs Dan, leading the way towards the stairs. He’s just about to step onto the first step, just about to decide that everything actually turned out okay after all, when a line from his parents conversation seems to pierce through the air.

“He’s a ponce, I’ll bet you anything,” his dad huffs, and Dan feels something in him go very cold. “Tell you what, though- if I get lucky, he’ll probably end up with bum cancer before the year’s up, save me some trouble.”

And then his mum is responding with some vague platitudes, and it takes Dan almost a second too long to remember that he’s holding a cup filled with hot liquid.

He steadies it before more than a drop hits the floor, and slowly forces out a breath.

There’s a million and one things going through his brain as the comment settles in, but the primary one is- Phil.

Does he turn around? Will that bring attention to it? Does he pretend he didn’t hear it, or that it didn’t happen? Maybe Phil never noticed-

But that’s dumb, because even if Phil didn’t notice the comment, he sure as hell would’ve noticed Dan’s reaction. And Phil isn’t like Dan- Phil is comfortable, he’s open, he’s out and accepted and he wouldn’t be used to hearing that stuff, so it would be harder for him, more of a shock to the system.

Dan turns around an apology already on his lips, but to his surprise, Phil looks more concerned than distressed by it. The apology seems to die out.

Phil offers him a small, comforting smile. “We should head up stairs,” he suggests, his tone gentle, and Dan knows what he’s actually saying- we should get away from here.

He nods without saying anything, and has to use actual effort not to run loudly up the stairs for fear of alerting his parents to the fact something is wrong. He makes sure to go as slowly and casually as he can into his bedroom, where he puts down the cup and biscuits only a little too hard.

He hears Phil quietly closing the door behind them, probably following his lead, and something in his chest aches painfully.

“I’m sorry,” he says, the words tumbling out of his mouth as he turned around. “I’m sorry about that, it’s not- it’s just-“

He cuts himself off. It’s not anything. It’s dick-ish. And unfair.

“It’s okay,” says Phil, in a tone that would almost have Dan believing him if he didn’t know for sure that it wasn’t. “Some people… are like that.”

“But they shouldn’t be,” says Dan, and his voice is quieter than he would like, but he can’t change it. “It’s not fair- I’m sorry that you had to hear that. You don’t deserve to hear that.”

“Neither do you,” says Phil, his tone still even and light. “Nobody does. But it happens.”

“That’s a dumb excuse and you know it,” huffs Dan, irritation flaring in his chest, but he steps closer to Phil in spite of it. Or maybe because of it.

“These things take time-“

“To learn not to be an asshole?”

“To adjust to different world views-“

“You can’t just excuse this stuff because you want to be nice, letting jackasses be bigots never made the world any better,” Dan snaps, before immediately regretting it, but Phil looks unphased.

“I’m not excusing it,” he says, his tone still infuriatingly okay. “I told you, you don’t deserve that. But I’m not upset about it, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“I’m- I’m-“ Dan lets out a frustrated breath. “Of course that’s what I’m worried about,” he says, and his irritation leaks out into his tone. “I don’t want you to have to deal with that, ever, especially not in my house-“

“I don’t mind,” says Phil, and then he catches Dan’s hands. The contact seems to ground him, separating him from his slew of angered thoughts. “I mean, it sucks to hear that stuff, yeah. But it’s kind of outweighed by getting to see you-“

“You’re a cheesy bastard,” grumbles Dan.

“Anyway, I’m more concerned about you. You have to deal with this all the time.”

Dan wants to deny it, but he can’t. He tightens his grip instinctively. “I…” he falters, the words seeming to get stuck in his throat. It makes him feel agitated, unstable, and he finds himself mentally reaching out, grasping towards the angry thoughts- “I want you to feel accepted in my house, like I do in yours,” he begins, but then Phil shakes his head, cutting him off.

“How do you feel?” He prompts gently, tugging Dan just a big closer. “I want to talk about you with all this. How do you feel?”

Dan hesitates again. “I feel- I-“ he tenses up, and then, as if controlled by some force outside himself-

He shoves Phil backwards into the door, hard enough for the other boy to make a startled sound, and then their lips are together and Dan kisses him with everything he has. It’s angry, hard, aggressive- desperate- every part of Dan wants Phil like it wants air, his hands curling into Phil’s chest like claws, their bodies pressing together like they could merge into one, hearts beating almost in unison, and Phil is kissing him back, rough and messy, Phil’s hands are in his hair, Phil entire being is pressing back against him, and they’re both being too harsh to be skilled, but it feels better than any practiced kiss could possibly be feel-

And then Phil pulls away, chest heaving, and he has to repeat himself several times before Dan can fully register that he’s speaking.

“Dan.”

Dan leans towards him, instinctively, but Phil’s hands tighten around his head, holding him back, and the older boy gives the tiniest shake of his head. It does nothing to dampen the smugness Dan feels looking at how dazed and rough Phil looks, knowing he did that. “What?” He asks finally, and his voice is lower than usual.

Phil swallows. “Not that I don’t… also want…” He clears his throat gently, and his cheeks tinge just a little bit red. “We should talk. About what happened. Properly, I mean.”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” says Dan, and it’s more honest than he thought he’d be, and he rests his head on Phil’s shoulder, tucking his nose into the crook of Phil’s neck. He can feel the older boy’s breath hitch, which gives him a nice sense of satisfaction, but unfortunately Phil’s inherent stubbornness has yet to give up.

“We still should, though. At least a bit.”

“I don’t know what you want me to say.” Dan’s voice is just a little muffled by Phil’s skin, and it makes him feel better than it should. Everything about Phil makes him feel better than it should.

“Can I ask questions, then?” Phil asks, and his fingers start tracing shapes down Dan’s bare arm.

There’s a long beat before Dan responds. “Okay,” he says, softy.

“How long has he been saying stuff like that… openly?”

“My whole life. He’s usually very open and accepting about most things. Just not… this.”

“Has he ever considered… you?” Phil asks, and Dan can tell he’s deliberately trying to avoid using the word in his house, and that alone makes him feel almost as bad as the entire concept does.

“No,” he says, too fast, and then he huffs softly and feels Phil shiver beneath him. “Never to my face,” he says, and his voice is quieter this time.

Phil makes a soft humming sound. “I don’t think he would say that stuff if he had,” he says, and Dan doesn’t bother disagreeing. A few seconds pass before Phil speaks again. “It pisses you off that he says that stuff.”

It’s not a question. “Yes,” Dan says anyway.

“Does it… always piss you off?” Phil asks, and this time he sounds more curious. “Only… you kept pushing your anger onto… me being here. Does that make it worse?”

The idea of Phil making anything worse makes Dan straighten up out of surprise, but he can’t deny it. Not fully, at least.

“I’m used to it,” he says, honestly. “The more I learn to… be okay with this, the worse it is to hear him say that stuff. But having you here… it makes me feel-“ he pauses, struggling to find the right words, and Phil gives him a moment. “Ashamed,” he says finally, even though that still doesn’t feel like the right word- but it’s close. “I don’t want you to hear that stuff. I don’t want you to be around it.”

They stay in silence for just long enough for Dan to think he’s said too much, when Phil lets out a long breath. “I get that,” he says, gently. “There’s certain things… I want to protect you from. But it’s not realistic. Not… long-term.”

Dan doesn’t know whether he should be more thrilled about Phil trying to protect him or the suggestion of a ‘long-term’, but he forces himself to focus on the conversation anyway. This is the time to stay in the moment.

“You’re the one place on earth where all of this doesn’t exist anymore,” he says, as honest and open as he can, and Phil grins at him, his face lighting up.

“Good,” he says gently, finally letting his fingers lie still. “I want to do that for you. I want to… be that for you.”

“You are.”

There’s a few seconds of silence, but this time they’re both drinking it in, too busy existing to speak.

Finally, Phil sighs gently. “Is this what you want to do?” He asks curiously, raising his eyebrow. “Stand here awkwardly against the wall while our tea gets cold?”

Dan knows Phil is suggesting they sit down on the bed, finally get round to those movies they were about to watch. He also doesn’t care, and there’s a flair of confidence building up in him.

“I want,” he begins slowly, his voice dropping lower again as he locks eyes with Phil, “to be with you right now. Just you. No house. No family. No dickheads.”

“I am a pretty amazing person, but I don’t actually have the power to make a whole house disappear,” says Phil, and Dan can’t tell if his dedication to being sly and making Dan spell things out was more frustrating or endearing in that very moment.

He choses endearing, for his own sanity, and leans back into Phil, so their chests touch. “I want to lock the door, pretend no one else exists, and just be with you- openly.”

Phil’s mock-innocent façade slips into a grin, and Dan hears the lock click softly before the other boy’s hands come up to cup his face. “That, I think I can manage,” he says, before pulling Dan towards him-

Their mouths collided messily, a blur of heat and movement and sparks where their bare skin occasionally touched as they tugged awkwardly at each other’s clothes-

And this time Dan breaks it, just briefly, letting Phil slide down to start pressing kisses to his shoulders. “But quietly,” Dan says, already breathless. “Openly, but… quietly. Obviously.”

“Obviously,” agrees Phil, voice muffled, and a second later he pulls his own t-shirt over his head and tosses it aside.

Dan tooks advantage of his brief distraction to press their lips together again.

Together. However quiet or subtle they were… they were still doing this. And he didn’t feel a single ounce of shame, whatever his father might be saying downstairs.

He didn’t need to.

He tries to think- think back to the stuff he’s read online, about depression and anxious feelings and dealing with all the bad stuff in life. There’s a word- two words- that always comes to mind when he thinks of Phil.

Safe space.

[heartfeltfangirl]

a white-hot pride for you to see

this is technically written because of the pride flash fest by @phandomficfests, but I wrote way over limit and I am late for it, because I was busy proposing to my girlfriend on the weekend :) but I wanted to post it anyway.

Rating: T (only for themes of homophobia)

Summary: There's different sorts of prides: quiet and personal, loud and happy - and there's the angry one, that makes you want to fight those who are the reason your life is so hard sometimes. // On the airplane aisle across from Phil is a homophobe who doesn't like him watching Queer Eye. So what if he has a little fun with this?

Wordcount: 1.5 k 

[Read on AO3]

Phil's angry, and it surprises him.

He's not an angry person, usually. Not towards other people at least. He might yell at the TV when he loses a game, sure, and he knows he can be a nuisance if he gets hungry. But when it comes to the people around him, he is usually understanding and patient to the point where Dan often steps in and snarks at someone on his behalf.

And yet, right now - right now he's feeling a tenseness in his chest that makes him want to bite something, or grab Dan's hand hard, or tilt his laptop further towards the guy with the disapproving quirk of his eyebrows that reminds him too much of some of the relatives that ask him about whether he'll marry a nice girl soon each time they see him.

Because Phil's on a plane, watching Queer Eye, and the guy on the other side of the aisle is definitely a homophobe.

It started out subtle enough. A few glances too many in his direction ("Dan, is my hair weird or something?" - "No, why?" - "That guy keeps looking weirdly at me" - "Maybe he's just into you"). Then several annoyed huffs whenever the flamboyant and feminine Jonathan was on screen ("I think it's something else to be honest"). Until, just now, at one of the guys smacking the current contestant on the ass, the dude with the weird moustache that Phil already violently hates muttered a slur under his breath that had Phil ball his hands into fists.

Dan's been shooting him questioning glances for a while already. He's leaning over now and pushes Phil's headphone off his ear.

"What's up with you?" he whispers.

Phil swallows. He debates not telling Dan for a moment, because he knows how mad it'll make him if he hears about this. Dan is prone to feel impulsive when he's angry and Phil doesn't know what'll happen and he definitely doesn't want the British gossip newspapers tomorrow to be full of the news of the two gay YouTubers who are actually gay together and caused a public scene in an airplane by insulting someone who's probably a Very Important Person.

"Phil?" Dan hits pause. "Are you okay?"

His eyes are now tinged with hidden concern and that's all Phil needs to decide to tell him (as if not telling him something had ever been a viable option).

"This guy is homophobic," he murmurs into Dan's headphone free ear, "he keeps looking weirdly at us and I heard him say... something bad just now. Don't look!"

Dan's head swivels around instantly and Phil watches him glare at mustache guy. He nudges him.

"Don't let him see you."

"Too late," Dan says, way too loud for Phil's liking, "we just had some very intense eye contact."

It's intended to make Phil laugh, he knows, but he can't - not right now, when he has to work so hard to keep the white hot ball of anger in his chest under control. He swallows against all that he wants to say, or scream even perhaps. It's people like that - people that are visibly against others just for who they are, that make life so hard for people like him and Dan and so many in their fan base as well.

Phil's always known his love to be right and pure. Deep down, he's always known that. And yet he's had to endure glances and assumptions, had to hide because he feared for his income, has to work against years of half-lies and omitted truths just to talk about Thor being hot. Has to not hold his boyfriend's hand even though he really wants to, all because of bigoted dickheads who sit an aisle across a stranger and insult them for a show they're watching with openly gay men.

"I hate this," he whispers.

Dan looks at him; really looks at him.

"I know."

It's pride month, even. There've been rainbows and flags of all kinds and good shows all throughout June. There have been fans at their shows holding pride flags that they signed, always with a mixture of anxiety and love. There's been their Sims series with its gayer content by the episode, and the innuendos in the shows and the pictures they post of each other and so much tentative happiness and freedom in learning how to be themselves again. There's been pride, in every step they take and every time a queer kid stands in front of them and tells them timidly or stubbornly or proudly that it means something, that they came out or found friends or themselves in the community around them both. Despite the fact that they've made no statement, their life has been tinged in a sort of pride that's often quiet and just theirs, and sometimes public and bold.

And now... now this feels like a different sort of pride. It feels like the activism Phil's only been able to support with donations for the most part, anonymous but grateful. It feels like people marching together for a cause and like standing up for others who are just like them or maybe a little bit different, others who get scuffed upon like the both of them are now.

"We can put on something else," Dan offers, already reaching for the laptop and exiting fullscreen, but Phil stops him.

"No," he says, "I want to watch Queer Eye with you."

He knows he talks louder than he has before and he knows his fingers shake a bit for it, but he continues anyway.

'Let me just... put on subtitles. You know. Just... um." Just so it's even clearer what we're watching, he thinks, just so that maybe even the message of the show gets across, just so that this guy really knows what's going on.

Is it out of spite, perhaps? Phil doesn't know, he just wants to show this queerness and the pride he feels in it all around and especially to moustache guy.

Dan twinkles back at him, curious.

"Okay," he says with laughter in his voice. "That's- ... okay. Let's do that."

Phil's not done yet. This feels good, this feels like doing something. It's terrifying, but it's also fulfilling in a way he's not really felt before.

"Did you water our plants at home," is the first thing on his mind, despite knowing fully well that he did it himself.

Just roll with it, he tells Dan with his eyes, please. Dan shakes his head almost imperceptibly and grins, but luckily he's quick to adjust and indulges Phil whenever he can.

"I think that was you. I sweeped the bedroom, remember?"

Phil risks a glance over to moustache dude, just to see they're definitely being listened to with a scowl on his face. Somehow, this time it fills him with glee.

'Oh right babe," he says, and it's a risk, but they're in business class and it doesn't matter if they're heard, not really, and it just feels too good. Still, Dan's eyes widen just a fraction before his face gets that determined look Phil both dreads and loves. Right now, it thrills him in the best way.

Dan leans closer into his space.

"Should have washed the sheets though, after- you know," he says, lowly but still loud enough for the people nearest to them.

Phil feels himself blush, but he also hears a gasp coming from his right and looks over at the guy, whose expression looks nothing short of disgusted.

Phil loves this. He turns to Dan.

"Keep it down," he shushes him, "and let's just watch Queer Eye. I'm gonna go home with Karamo if you keep embarrassing me. He's well fit, you know."

Dan giggles and leans into Phil shortly. He smiles at him a smile that tells a story of the same sort of recklessness and accomplishment and pride that fills Phil up inside. Phil touches his hand to Dan's knee for a moment.

Thank you, that means, for getting me. Perhaps it also means I love you.

Dan let's his own hand brush over Phil's before he presses play again. The episode continue. [That's the gay lifestyle] the subtiles caption Tan's words, and Phil pushes his laptop a bit to the side. Perhaps moustache guy does want to watch it with them. Dan giggles next to him.

Phil's pride is quiet and settled and hidden most of the time. But today it's a rainbow above his head, a light for those less comfortable than him and something that blinds all the homophobes with its brightness. It's new to him, but he wants to keep a bit of this. He loves Dan and if he has to annoy stupid guys with that so they don't get to make him feel bad - well, then he'll maybe just enjoy it.

[nicolekidmanwigfactory]

“I never had to come out as fat.

When you grow up overweight, everyone notices — not just your classmates, who are too young to have mastered the art of tact, but also friends' parents and teachers. I knew I was fat because people told me I was fat, either directly (a slap to the stomach and an unkind word) or in subtler ways (having a teacher rifle through my lunch box and comment on the contents). I felt shame over my size long before I had any concept of my sexuality, and years after coming out as gay, I still feel anxious identifying as fat.

As an openly gay writer, one of the questions I'm asked most often is, "Were you bullied growing up?" And the answer is yes, but it's never the answer they're looking for. In many ways I was lucky to have come of age in a liberal enclave where my sexuality was accepted if not embraced. Oh, sure, I've had the word "faggot" hurled at me — and the sad truth is, I'd be shocked if a gay man hadn't — but it was always secondary. The real source of my bullying was the extra weight I've carried since childhood. I can count on one hand the number of times I've been called a "faggot" to my face, but I couldn't tell you how often someone has made a dig about my weight.

Outside of anonymous internet comments, the gay slurs have stopped almost entirely. Remarks about my weight, however, are a depressing constant.

I share this not for sympathy but for context. It's an answer to the people who seem surprised when I explain that no, I was never really bullied for being gay, but instead got made fun of for being fat on a daily basis. They are open-minded progressives, and I appreciate their fixation on the way LGBT people are treated; obviously, I share their concern. But the treatment of overweight people is, for the most part, lost on them. And that's largely because so many of my allies and fellow gay men championing equality — compassionate, forward-thinking individuals — are the same people delicately suggesting I lose some weight.

What it comes down to is good intentions. Call someone a gay slur and you're homophobic. Use a racial slur and you're a racist. But when you wonder out loud why I can't just lose some weight, you're looking out for me. At least, that's the perception. The hurtful degradation becomes socially sanctioned, because being fat is considered to be innately wrong. The common understanding is that fatness is unhealthy and unnatural and always the fat person's fault, despite the fact that science does not agree with these assessments. And suddenly, otherwise good people — those who are proud to not have a bigoted bone in their bodies — feel no shame in condemning us fatties. It's not bigotry if we deserve it.

Being fat is never easy, but in the spirit of National Coming Out Week, I'm offering this potentially controversial perspective: As hard as it is to be gay, being fat and gay makes everything so much worse.

I was once told that coming out as a gay man was like being welcomed into the best club in the world. It was maybe an overstatement, but I understand the sentiment: When you first come out, you're automatically granted inclusion — if not by friends and family, then by the gay community as a whole. They get it. They get you. And they're eager to let you know that you're not alone, and that you have a seat at the table. Unless, of course, you're also fat, in which case, no, you can't sit with us.

Certainly this isn't true of all gay men: I'm speaking in generalities based on what I have experienced. There are, of course, gay men who don't obsess over their weight or the weight of potential sexual partners. There are also those for whom going to the gym is not an activity to build one's days around. But the stereotype of the gay obsession with body image and a six-pack is not unfounded. There is a widely held understanding that being gay means maintaining a certain standard of physical beauty, with very little room for deviation from the norm.

I can't speak for all gay men, but I can tell you what I have faced as an overweight gay man. I can tell you that when I lost 15 pounds due to depression, a well-meaning older gay man told me I had done the right thing, because my only other option would have been to gain weight and become a bear. I can tell you that one person I tried to date helpfully offered, "You could be really attractive if you lost some weight." And I can tell you that I deleted Grindr after one night when a stranger messaged me to let me know that if I shed a few pounds I "might actually be cute."

It would be comforting to dismiss these as isolated incidents, but based on conversations with other gay men like me, I don't think they're all that unusual. The truth is, the gay community isn't interested in embracing overweight people because we're a blemish on the image of perfection. And much in the same way progressives as a whole can get away with ignoring anti-fat bigotry, gay men never bother examining the way they treat their overweight brothers. Ignore us or relegate us to the butt of hackneyed jokes: We just don't matter. It doesn't get better for us.

From the beginning, the "It Gets Better" campaign has been fairly criticized for its limited scope: Yes, it does get better, provided you're an attractive, able-bodied white cisman. I want to be clear — it has gotten better for me since I came out. I don't for a minute regret being an openly gay man, and I consider my life now to be a drastic improvement over life in the closet. At the same time, I can't help but grimace at the "it gets better" trope for the way it glosses over so many problems within the gay community. Just because it gets marginally better doesn't mean it ever gets good enough.

The internalized shame I feel about my weight is largely a credit to society, where all fat people are treated like second-class citizens. But adulthood should be about repairing those wounds and learning to love myself as I am. Instead, I'm surrounded by people who, despite having faced the same oppression I have as gay men, largely refuse to embrace me at my current size. The end result is that I've been out for nearly a decade, and I still feel like an outcast within the gay community. I wish I had faith in that getting better any time soon.”