#tw:homophobia

[from-the-clouds]

tw: homophobia under the cut

came out as bi to my parents and they told me they were 'worried for my soul' and would 'never be able to accept that part of my life' chat does it get better cause ive legit never been so heartbroken in my life

[atevanfool]

Expanding Chapter 7 - Brave

| Rating: T | Words: 3,177 | CW: Mild use of homophobic language. Non graphic mentions of animal killing/death | | On Ao3 |

| Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | | Chapter 6 |

Branson

The first week after his arrest, Branson spends moping around the house. Evan spends a lot of time helping him find somewhere to fill his community service hours. It’s tougher than it seems since Branson doesn’t have his license and needs to be able to get there by bus in case both men are working or otherwise occupied. At seventeen, fostered or not, and hardened criminal or not, he’s still expected to show some responsibility.

They’ve not found anything after the first weekend, but by Wednesday of the next week, they’ve located a struggling animal shelter that’s in desperate need of volunteers since they’re unable to pay for regular staff. Branson doesn’t want to admit it, but he’s kind of excited about it. Ever since he was a kid he’s loved animals of every kind. Of course he was expected to not show his softness towards them.

The first time he brought an injured kitten home, he’d tried to stow it away in his room so he could nurse it back to health. The next day he’d excitedly rushed home from school so he could hang out with the small white cat with various shades of brown spots to find his uncle sitting at the kitchen table with the kitten's limp, lifeless body sitting at the edge of it. Its neck was twisted at an unusual angle and his uncle had sternly warned him to never bring an animal into his house again. It wasn’t his house. Branson had been just ten years old. And he never looked at an injured animal again for fear of what might happen.

That aside, two weekends have gone by now with Branson having worked four eight hour shifts already, knocking out almost all of his hours in less than a month. They’d tried to convince him that it was unnecessary to give up his weekends, that he’s a kid and should be out doing kid things, but he told them that he literally had nothing more he’d rather do than hang out with the animals. And it was true. Plus, being there meant not having to see Evan and Tommy’s faces, remembering their disappointment at his arrest every single time. Nothing’s ever cut him quite so deep.

Shaking away the melancholic thoughts, he hops out of Evan’s jeep with a mumbled, quiet goodbye. Evan will be on a forty-eight hour shift starting at noon today, so Branson won’t see him for a couple of days unless they swing by the firehouse. Evan gives him a two fingered salute before pulling out from the curb and navigating away from the school’s heavy morning traffic. Hitching his backpack up onto his shoulders, both of them for possibly the first time since he was in second grade, he pushes his way into the school.

The halls are crowded as students hurry to put their things into lockers before class starts - the first bell will ring in less than ten minutes. Branson finds his own locker and shoves a few textbooks inside. Ever since that Friday night he’s been trying to do better, worried that he’s going down the same path as his family. So his textbooks come home with him every night - he heads straight home after school now, even if Tommy and Evan weren’t making sure of it - and he’s actually paying attention in class. He’d gotten a B on his last English test, his absolute worst subject, and he nearly cried. He’s been skating by with C’s and D’s for as long as he can remember. After class, the teacher had approached him and congratulated him, telling just how proud he was to see Branson becoming more invested in his education. To his horror, Branson had blushed and scuffed his toe against the ground as he thanked Mr. Harrison. The teacher cuffed him lightly on the shoulder, giving him a squeeze and a soft smile telling him to, “keep up the good work.” Praise has never felt so good.

Then there was his history teacher, Mrs. Milton, who had been shocked speechless when he’d raised his hand in class and had not only willingly participated, but gotten the answer correct. Her glasses comically slipped down her nose and she’d had to readjust them before continuing. She’d attempted to hide the tiny little smile on her lips as she turned back to the board but Branson had seen it.

Do these adults actually care about what I do? He’s asked himself that question more times than he can count in the last three weeks. Before now, he’s always assumed that the teachers were just being nice because they had to be. You know how you play nice with someone because you’re going to be spending eight plus hours a day with them, five days a week, and you don’t want the negativity of an antagonistic relationship to ruin your day every day? Yeah. Branson convinces himself that that’s how they all feel. Yet so many adults seem determined to prove him wrong, including his teachers.

“Yo, Branson.” A familiar voice says. Turning his head he sees Smith slowly loping towards him. He’s got khaki shorts on and Branson’s eyes are drawn downward towards a slow blinking red light. Attached to a small black box wrapped around Smith’s ankle. A monitor. He’s got an ankle monitor on. Branson hasn’t seen him since the incident and since Smith never really uses his phone, they haven’t spoken either. When close enough, Smith holds out his hand for their shake and says, “Been a while my guy. What’s popping? I see you admiring my new accessory.” He shakes his foot like it’s something to be impressed by. Entranced, Branson can’t seem to find the energy to play the handshake game. His mouth is dry and he’s gone silent, unable to find words. “Dude, cat got your tongue or something?”

“Um. No. Sorry. What?” Branson blinks out of the daze and rubs the back of his neck, ignoring the outstretched hand. Something in him rebels at the idea of it right now. It feels wrong somehow. Like it’s a betrayal to Evan and Tommy. Realizing that Branson isn’t going to take it, Smith stuffs his hand deep into his pockets and shrugs, a lazy grin still on his lips, his demeanor overall laid back. Opening his mouth to say something, anything, the minute warning bells rings and saves him from having to say something to someone who should be his friend. Someone he should be excited to see after weeks of radio silence. But all he feels is relief.

“Guess we’ll have to catch up later. See ya. Meet under the bleachers at lunch?” Smith’s got one foot turned towards his first class, looking over his shoulder.

Swallowing hard Branson exhales, in a rush, “I think I’m going to just… stay in the courtyard today.” Finally this draws a reaction from Smith. His brow furrows and his lips turn down at the corners. “C’mon man, don’t give me that look. I’m just not feeling the bleachers, okay? I’ll catch you later.” Branson finds the willpower to hold his fist out for a bump at least which Smith returns slowly, his expression calculating.

“Sure.” The word is spoken with a less than inviting tone, and Branson represses a shiver. Smith has never spoken to him like that before. They’ve been thick as thieves since his second day at this school. The changes around him are making Branson wonder if maybe he should’ve been a little bit more picky about those he brought into his inner circle. “See ya around. Branson.”

Without another word spared between them, they part ways.

Classes drag by, Smith’s attitude on his mind. In the nearly four years they’ve been friends, Branson can’t remember a time when Smith had given him such a cold shoulder. Why? All he’d said was that he didn’t want to go out to the bleachers today. Or ever again if he was being honest. Was it so bad to want to stay inside the school? Then there’s the ankle monitor. Branson’s been around those too often in his life to feel comfortable seeing one on someone he thinks of a friend. A friend who’s only been eighteen for about two months. Despite how he acts, Smith Patterson is an extremely intelligent guy, he’s an absolute whiz when it comes to technology, so it’s baffling to see him attempting to throw his life away for the sake of some fun.

Fourth period bell rings and it’s time for lunch, finally. Shaking his head of wayward thoughts about his friend, he grabs his bag and darts out of the classroom, desperate to get to the courtyard so he can hopefully find an isolated corner where everyone will just leave him the fuck alone. As he’s about to round the corner to the doors that lead out towards the football field, he hears familiar voices. He pauses when someone says his name, a clear sneer in their voice. “Look at Branson getting all high and mighty. Thinks that since he got off easy we’re not good enough for him anymore. Which of the faggots dicks do you think he had to suck for them to bail him out?” Smith.

Another voice. “You think it was just one? I bet you anything it was both. He doesn’t even look at me in the hall anymore.” That was Easton.

“C’mon guys, that’s going too far.” Nikki.

“Too far? Nik, you shoulda seen the look he gave me this morning. He fucking acted like I was the shit on his shoe. Then when I told him to meet us outside for lunch he was like, ‘I’d rather be a good boy and stay in the courtyard’.” Smith again.

Branson’s chest tightens and he feels rage bubbling up in his chest. No, not for himself. But for Evan and Tommy. Sure, he’s said some nasty shit about them but that was before he knew them. Not that that makes it any better but he knows now. He knows how selfless these men are, regardless of who they have in their beds. And it pisses him off that Smith would joke about them asking for sexual favors of any kind.

Nikki scoffs. “Maybe he just doesn’t feel like eating with us, Smith, ever think about that? Unlike you, he’s actually a good kid and he deserves better. Maybe he’s finally learning that he can be more than some addicts lackey.”

“Excuse me?” Oh, Branson does not like that tone. Not at all. “Nikki, stop acting like you know what you’re talking about. You’re just as fucked as we are so get off the fucking high horse and stay down here where you belong.” Nikki’s snort of indignation is the last straw. Branson can handle being talked shit about; it’s been happening literally all of his life, but Nikki doesn’t deserve it. Sure, she gets into shit, but she’s trying. She may be average in academics but she’s kind, and generous, and beautiful, and she doesn’t deserve someone, a man no less, talking down to her like she’s nothing.

“Smith, shut the fuck up.” Branson steps out from behind the corner, seething. “Leave her alone.”

“Oh, has his majesty decided to join us? Finished cock sucking so you could join us lowly servants for some grub? Who’d you get off first? The big one looks like he’d fill your mouth up nice and good. Did he hold your head down while you sucked him?” Smith’s glower turns on him immediately. “Or maybe it was the light haired faggot. He probably talked to you nice and sweet until you swallowed down his jizz.”

“You don’t have any idea what you’re talking about.” His gorge rises higher. “Are you seriously mad that I got bailed out? Why? It was literally my first offense.”

Smith steps into his space and jabs a finger at his chest. “No. I’m mad because now you’re acting all high and mighty, like you’re somehow better than us. You’re acting like you forgot that you’re one of us. That you’re just a foster kid that kept getting kicked out because he didn’t know how to sit down and shut up. Then, the moment two queers show up and show you the smallest bit of kindness, which I know you have to be doing favors for, you grow fucking angel wings and a halo.” He jabs Branson hard enough that he stumbles back a step. “Now you come swooping in like some knight in shining armor. Like Nikki needs protection from someone who’s secretly getting fucked in the ass.”

“Smith.” Nikki’s tone is sharp as daggers and she steps forward, grabbing him by the arm. “That’s enough.” To his and her shock, and Branson’s horror, Smith shakes her off and shoves her back with his elbow, making her fall flat on her ass, Easton doing nothing to either help her up or stop the fall. Her naturally round green eyes grow rounder and mist over with unshed tears. Oh ho ho. That is it. Branson’s has had enough and damn the consequences.

Grabbing Smith by the front of his shirt, Branson pulls his fist back and lets the rage out. The first punch lands square in his face, his nose crunching as blood begins to trickle down over his lower lip. The second one lands in Smith’s stomach, knocking the wind out of him. The world around him is silent as he lets all his pent up rage out. He’s never been so thoroughly pissed off in his life.

Nikki’s on her knees now, reaching for him. He sees her mouth move but hears no sound. Easton stands nearby with his mouth agape, shitty flip phone in hand; probably taking a shit quality video to upload to the net later. Branson doesn’t. Fucking. Care. Each thought is punctuated by another fist somewhere on Smith’s body. Shocked, it takes awhile for Smith to react but once he does, the two of them are grappling at each other, pulling at each other’s clothes as they claw at the other's skin.

Sound comes back and Branson hears the way Smith is screaming insults at him. It ranges from his intelligence to who he fucks. Then it morphs into insulting Evan and Tommy, who he’s only met once in passing when Branson first moved in. Once Smith found out they were gay, he made a point of not going near them because he didn’t want to ‘catch the queer.’ Whatever the fuck that means.

“You’re such a piece of shit, Smith.” Branson snarls, pulling hard at his former best friend's oily, unkempt hair. “Maybe I just realized that smoking weed and partying isn’t worth it. Unlike you, I don’t want to end up like my parents.” Evan and Tommy are giving me a chance at a better life. “I’m better than that. I know I am.”

“Like fuck you are!” Smith yells back, attempting to bite Branson in the forearm that’s wrapped around his neck. Branson has him in a headlock, foot knocked between Smith’s so he can’t shove him off balance. “You’re just a piece of lowbrow trash like the rest of us and you know it. Just like that bitch.” He attempts to nod at Nikki. So much for Branson thinking this turd has a crush on her. No one that likes someone as more than friends talks about them like Smith is talking about her.

“Don’t. Call. Her. That.” Using his knee, Branson knocks out Smith’s from the back and gets him onto the ground, face down, knee pressed into Smith’s middle back. Smith flails wildly and Branson barely holds on. He’s not small, but Smith is huge. “You’re a shit friend, you know that?”

Their arguing draws unwanted attention. Easton slips into the crowd so he’s not implicated but Nikki is still sitting there on her knees. Tears track down her cheeks and she’s sniffling. Hot rage boils from his stomach as he looks at her and he grabs Smith’s hair once more, ready to smash his face into the cold concrete of the hallway but there’s suddenly large, meaty, fingers wrapped around his wrist and they’re pulling him back even as he kicks and screams obscenities at someone he’s been through so much with. Someone he never wants to even look at again.

“Rodriguez!” Branson’s spitting like a feral cat, hissing and growling as an unfamiliar arm wraps around his waist to hold him place. “Branson Rodriguez quit it, or I’m putting you in cuffs.” The school’s security guard. A large, friendly faced older black man that’s nearing retirement age, close shaved head peppered with white fluff the only indicator he was aging, but could put any kid in their place in an instant. The fight leaves him and he deflates, sucking in harsh, ragged breaths as he glares poison at Smith who’s being held back by who Branson thinks is one of the gym teachers. His face is bloody, and purple, and his nose is definitely broken, and Branson feels a sick sense of satisfaction at that.

Another teacher is kneeling by Nikki to check on her. Her tears seem to have dried up but her eyes are beyond puffy and a little bit of mucus dribbles to her upper lip. She’s talking in hushed tones to the older woman, likely giving her version of the story. Good. Hopefully she’ll implicate Smith. He doesn’t deserve her defending him. Anyone that puts hands on a woman deserves the worst fate.

Officer Anderson’s grip loosens and Branson stands on his own two feet, wiping at his own bleeding nose, wincing when he pulls his arm back and sees the streak of red on the sleeve of the brand new sweatshirt Tommy gave him just last week because he’d noticed the one Branson was always wearing is worn out. Fuck. He isn’t scared about Tommy being angry anymore, oh no, that fear was dispelled after he’d been arrested. No, he’s now terrified of seeing the disappointment and worry in that rugged face. What could possibly be worse than seeing a man that saves people realizing that his teenage foster is raising his fists against others?

“You two, with me. Now.” Officer Anderson takes him by the bicep and he allows himself to be guided away, scowling at Smith - who the officer has in his other hand. Anderson marches them to the principals office where they’re deposited in the waiting room on opposite ends of the visitors bench. “Now, you give Mrs. Eve here any trouble and you’ll be speaking directly with me, do you hear?” He raises a bushy eyebrow and puts his hands on his wide hips.

“Yes sir.” Branson mutters quietly, hanging his head. Smith snorts and doesn’t reply.

“Good. The principal will be with you in a moment.”

With that, Branson is left to await his fate, heart in his stomach knowing he’ll have to see that look again, and knowing how much he’s just fucked up. Again.

[aheavenofhell]

I think “Crowley makes up excuses as to why this Good Thing he does is actually Bad” is a fun trope in fanfic but I also think it’s OOC for Crowley to disguise doing the Right Thing as doing a Kind of Bad Thing. For as much as he gripes when Aziraphale says he does something kind or good, he never actually denies it. He will deflect, or insist it isn’t his actual nature (not responsible for my acts, I’m not nice, etc) but he won’t disagree with the consensus that what he did probably was, more or less, good—or at least Right.

While I like the idea of him lying to Hell about stuff to get out of punishments, I really dislike when people headcanon him as villainizing things like Pride and Feminism in order to participate in them (Crowley going to pride because being gay is a sin!) (like be so fr) Bigotry is an ill-fitting jacket regardless of the material, and I don’t think it’s fair to characterize him that way, even as a “way to get in” type of deal. Frankly, if you say something is a sin but feel differently about it inside, it doesn’t really matter. You did the same damage regardless.

[todays-a-good-day-to-be-tired]

Vent under cut... TW: mental abuse, language,Disorder mention, other possibly triggering things

People may say, "why don't you love going to your dads?"... Its not that simple, you have to do a few things to stable a healthy child father relationship... 1. you first need trust, your ruined that for me. 2. You need boundaries, you didn't give me that... 3. You need to be there, if your child thinks they have a disorder like ADHD,or depression, you might want to go get them a doctor to find that out, not just say that they don't have it and their overreaching... You make me think that everything I love is needed to be avoided or its " satanic" so thanks dad and step mom for ruining my mental state, and self esteem you "manipulating, rasist, homophobic, mentally abusive, guilty tripping, controlling SHITHEADS!!!

[ghostwritingnightmares]

If I Asked You To Stay Would You

Summary:  Alright, let me start with this. This fic is completely self-indulgent and based on some of the experiences I had been in the pride parade this year. It talks about pride protestors, asshole conservatives, homophobia, panic attack, and disassociation. I try to not be super explicit but give it the details that it deserves. Also this is my first time writing a polyamorous relationship... I’m still learning.

So here we go. Reader is in a Polyamorous relationship with Emily Prentiss and Tara Lewis. Tara Lewis is depicted as non-binary in this fic because that is what they live rent-free in my mind as. (If I ever mess up the pronouns please let me know. I briefly read through it but I am not going to claim I fixed all my mistakes.) Reader's partners take her to pride with them and while they are distracted she is confronted by protestors. Both Emily and Tara do their best to help their partner navigate through the subsequent panic attack.

Bingo Prompt: If I Asked You To Stay Would You?  For @sweetprentiss​‘ Emily Prentiss Bingo

Warnings: Protests, Homophobia, Panic Attacks, Disassociation, Asshole Conservatives, General Crowd Anxiety

Characters: Emily Prentiss, Tara Lewis, Reader. Mentions of: Penelope Garica, Spencer Reid

Relationship: Temily x Reader

Word Count: 2413 (I gave you a shortie for my last fic. This one be long for all my own self-indulgent purposes).

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You were decked out in as much pride gear as you could stand as you stood in the street waiting for the parade to start. Your best friend Penelope had wanted to make sure that you were part of the crowd for your first time. You had been reluctant to go knowing that it meant large crowds and lots of people staring. It would mean your sexuality and your relationship were coming to the forefront of people’s minds. Not that you weren’t proud you were gay and in a loving polyamorous relationship. It was just nerve-wracking knowing that so many strange people would be able to see the most private part of your life and be able to do whatever they wanted with that information.

You had seen all of the protests that had gone on in years past as you laid curled up on your couch and the thought of one of those happening now terrified you. But after a year of spending time with your amazing partner and girlfriend, you wanted to be able to experience what the hype was about. However, as you stood pacing from foot to foot waiting for the parade to start you began to wonder how long this day would last. Emily grabbed your hand as you looked around you for the tenth time and placed a gentle kiss on your lips.

“You are looking around more than Tara and I do at a crime scene. You sure that you are okay being here?” Emily asked trying to read your face underneath your sunglasses, “We can leave and just celebrate pride cuddled in our bed.”

You shook your head not wanting to spoil any of the fun, “I want to be here Em. This is Tara’s first time walking with their theater group. Pen has been bugging them to do it for years. I want to be a part of this.”

“Good because I got you a flag!” Tara said bonding over to you.

They extended a black, red, and blue flag with a large golden Pi symbol out towards you. It was the polyamorous flag that you had been wanting for months now. You smiled taking the gift from your partner in your hands. You had never thought in your entire life that you would be in this loving relationship. Let alone one with two beautiful, handsome, badass FBI agents. So as Emily offered to place it around you like a cape you couldn’t help but smile and lean in to kiss each of the amazing humans for a moment. When the flag was finally secured Tara insisted on a photo. Penelope immediately accepted the offer to be camera woman and snapped a photo of Em and Tara placing a kiss on either one of your cheeks.

When the mini photo soot was done Tara, Em, and Pen all got called away by Spencer who was in a different lane of the parade. Emily promised they would be right back and the three rushed off to see their friend. As they stepped away you were immediately confronted by a man shoving a bible in your face.

“You are a sinner you know that! Kissing one woman is a crime. But two?? You are going to rot for your sins,” He spewed causing his spit to hit your arm.

“One of my partners is non-binary,” You tried to explain taking a step away from the man, “So I believe you are already mistaken in your logic.”

“Can’t make up her mind I see? Just like she can’t make her mind about you. Keeping you around like a piece of meat to have when her other sinner gets boring. You are nothing you little girl. Nothing to them.”

You couldn’t even respond any more as you slunk further into the alley behind you. You knew that he was merely a horrible bitter person but all those words he said were things you had thought before. As his friends began to swarm around him they attempted to corner you in. Just as your back hit the wall of a building two drag queens stepped in front of you holding up their flag headpieces to shield you from the men. They tried to drown out the hateful words by talking to you but you merely nodded and pressed yourself further into the wall.

A couple of moments later you could hear Em’s voice ring throughout the alleyway and the street. She was screaming you weren’t sure exactly what but you could tell she was pissed. As the loud noises continued Tara slipped past the drag queens taking you into their arms. You wrapped yourself closely to them trying your best not to let the flood of tears hidden behind your sunglasses find their escape. 

“Your partner is sure showing those protestors who is the boss here,” One of the drag queens joked.

Tara smiled and nodded, “She knows how to defend us well. Thank you for taking care of my sweet girl.”

“Anything for you darling,” The other one nodded, “We protect our own here.”

-----------------------------------------

The rest of the parade went off without a hitch as Emily and Tara stayed by your side. They held your hands the entire time and for a moment you forgot all about what that awful man had said to you. You were loved by two of the most important people in your world and that is all that mattered. But as you got behind the secured gates of the event you could still see his sign glaring at you. The more you saw it the further you slunk into your shell. Laughing when appropriate and smiling when looked at yet the feeling inside your stomach was empty. This went on for hours until the group decided it was time to leave.

“If I asked you to stay would you?” Emily said gently holding your hand, “Tara can drive Penelope home, and then you can just stay here with me till they get back.”

You shook your head no placing a gentle kiss on her cheek, “I need to go Em. It will help clear my head.”

Emily wanted to protest but she knew there was no way she was going to change your mind. She simply gave your hand another squeeze before she watched you walk towards Penelope. Pen could tell that you were a little off today but she chucked it up to your hatred of large crowds. However, Em knew that it was more than just the people that were clouding up your mind. She was worried for you. 

“You have to let them go babe. You know when she gets this way pushing her to do what we want only makes it worse,” Tara said wrapping her arms around her wife.

“But what we want her to do always helps her out in the long run!” 

Tara laughed kissing Em’s temple, “But we have to let her find that out in her own time and own way. So let’s head home and when she needs us she will call us.”

Emily groaned but still took Tara’s outstretched hand. She didn’t like waiting for you to figure things out on your own. She wanted to be the one to lead you along the way and make sure no one ever laid a hand on her precious girlfriend. Emily guessed in that sense she had failed you today. Sure the protestors didn’t get close enough to touch you physically. But they had shattered your hopeful outlook and their words had closed you off within your shell. She should have picked up on the warning signs sooner. Stayed with you no matter what. She should have just known better. 

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You had successfully dropped Penelope off at her home without much of an incident. She had talked most of the way trying to get your mind of everything that was going on. It had helped for a while and you could almost feel the sadness start to peel away from you. However, on your drive home to your shared apartment, a song came on your playlist that sent you back to square one. This song always made you cry when it came on and you had promised yourself you would take it off but you never remembered. Every time you went to do it something distracted you and the thought slipped away. 

Now as the sad melody spilled through the speaker every thread you had been trying to hold together completely unraveled. You hunched over your steering wheel waiting for the light to turn green tears cascading down your face. Your breath came in short gasps threatening to stop altogether. As you turned the car your fingers began to rapidly tap the steering wheel. You tried desperately for a couple of moments to keep going determined that you could make it home. Yet the tears kept coming and you could almost feel your throat beginning to close sealing the opportunity to talk yourself through it. You knew what would come next your tapping would come to a stop and then you wouldn’t be able to move anymore. You would be frozen in fear and stuck there until someone drew you back into the real world.

So you pulled into an office building complex finding the nearest parking spot. You were working against a ticking clock and you had to reach out to your partners before it expired. In a group chat Emily had affectionately titled My Loves you typed the only text that you could get out: SOS. Not okay. Parked. 

You watched as the blue line inched across the screen and then sent. The moment it did your fingers gave out and the phone clattered to the floor. You pulled your knees to your chest and buried your head inside them. Waiting for the next step in your anxiety attack; the shaking.

---------------------------------

Emily’s phone had been set on full volume ever since you had climbed in your car. She was constantly checking your location to make sure nothing had happened. Tara would never admit it but they had checked themselves once or twice when Emily wasn’t looking. Emily and Tara had just completely undressed from pride and into their comfy around-the-house clothes when the text pinged on their phones. Without a second thought, Tara grabbed their car keys and rushed for the door. Emily followed closely behind shoving the spare key to your car in her pocket and then hopped into the passenger seat.

As they drove Tara’s guilt began to rise and they gripped their hands around the steering wheel. Emily gently placed her hand on their thigh, “Y/N is going to be fine babe.”

“No! She isn’t. She is probably halfway through a panic attack and you know how bad it gets. We should have gone with her. I shouldn’t have tried to stop you. This whole thing has gone horribly wrong.”

“Tara, my love,” Em soothed, “You were right when you told me earlier that we couldn’t stop her. Y/N is strong-willed and stubborn. That is why we both love her so much. She did the best she could and now she needs our help. We can do this.”

Tara nodded and then pointed towards your parked car. As they pulled up next to it they peered inside the window looking at your ball-shaped form. Tara suppressed their tears as they turned off the car, “We are past the shaking but we still might be able to coax them out of it. Did you bring the spare key?”

Emily nodded unlocking the door and then slipping into the passenger seat. Tara opened the driver’s side door slowly and posted themselves into the open space. Emily began calling out to you repeating your name, nicknames, who was in the car, anything to try and get you to hear what was going on. It took about five minutes but finally, you heard her voice and you gently lifted your head up. 

“There is our beautiful sweetheart. Remember Tara is in the doorway behind you so don’t get alarmed. It’s just us,” Emily consoled, “Can I touch you?”

You went to speak but no words came out. You so desperately wanted to speak but there was nothing you could do. You couldn’t even move your head to shake yes or no. Your eyes grew with fear as you continued to look at your girlfriend.

“It’s okay Y/N, don’t try to force it. Just do one long blink for no and two for yes.”

You responded with two long blinks and Em gently placed her hand against your back Tara doing the same. It took a couple of minutes but you finally warmed up to their touch and your limbs began to unravel. When you finally could move Tara leaned down and gently took you into their arms. Em opened the back door of their car and letting Tara slide both of you inside. Once you both were settled Tara placed a gentle kiss on your forehead. You laid your head on their chest and fluttered your eyes closed. 

When you got home Tara lifted you into the bedroom and laid you gently down onto the covers. You watched as Em and Tara moved to grab anything and everything that you may need. All of your pride gear was taken off, your comfort show turned on the TV, and a weighted blanket placed on top of you. Once you were more adjusted Emily and Tara curled against you placing kisses on your forehead and cheeks.

Finally, you were able to speak again but your voice came out barely above a whisper, “Are you mad at me?”

“Oh baby,” Emily said hugging you close, “Why would we be mad at you?”

“Because I had a panic attack and should have just let you take care of me,” You said twiddling your fingers together.

Tara placed their hand in yours stopping the anxious movements, “Darling, of course not. You did your best and when you needed our help you did the appropriate thing and got us to help. That is what matters.”

“I promise Y/N, Tara and I love you more than anything in this entire world. Nothing will ever change that.”

Your partners placed a gentle kiss on the top of your head at the same time as you nodded. A couple of moments passed before you were able to drift off to sleep your head placed on Emily’s chest and your hand entangled in Tara’s.

[wickedwitchofthewhothehellcares]

For the “not all censorship is bad” and anti-ao3 peeps, please read these screenshots about what sanitizing of the internet looks like. It always, always starts with “the undesirables,” and if you’re lucky or living in a good country that probably isn’t you right now. But there’s always fundamentalism and extremism behind these attempts, and eventually they will target you.

In this case, BTS (a Korean boyband) and their fans are being targeted by homophobic, sexist, religious extremists who want to sanitize the internet.

And government officials in one noteable case.

Several of the Bangladeshi fans (female) have been physically harassed and attacked in the past few days, by men, for their choice in music, because apparently BTS is “promoting homosexuality and atheism.”

After a cyber group with the mission to “clean cyberspace” began a targeted campaign to delete fan accounts. And publically admitted it.

Weird how those things feed into each other, huh? Strange how assholes feel emboldened by assholes- no matter the geographical location. Strange how “cleaning the internet” becomes targeting the gays and the non-believers before targeting women… Strange how people who have been around longer than you keep warning that this is the way things go.

Look, I get it, I really was exposed to things I shouldn’t have been. Both online and in real life. And I can see how those things messed me up. It took years of therapy but I can see it now.

But I’m not going to act like reading nsfw fan fiction on the internet was worse for me than reading mature books or finding my brother’s (physical) porn stash. Did it mess me up? Sure.

Did it mess me up more than food scarcity, undiagnosed learning and developmental disorders, rampant homophobia, corrective rape, and other forms of abuse and systemic oppression? No.

Have I lived though “purification” phases both IRL and online? Yes.

A lot of Millennials had to read Harry Potter under the covers, in secret, because of the “real sorcery” and “inherent danger of magic.” Or at least I think that’s what the moral brigade said to our parents before our books were torn from our hands and we were forbidden from entering our favorite world.

No one in my school was allowed to watch Pokémon because… demons? I think?? Either way, it was terrible and teaching us something horrific and we would soon all be worshipping the devil or whatever the moral police convinced our parents of.

Also, my mom had to read Lord of the Rings in secret because… “magic.” Keep in mind this censorship was done by the Apartheid government. Weird how they didn’t want a story about the difference even the smallest, most unassuming of all mythical creatures could make in the vanquishing of an oppressive overlord… and how people who may have cultural differences should work together… But! I’m sure it was the magic. Really./s

So yes, I can admit that unfettered internet access is bad for children. Porn? Bad for children. I don’t think anyone is saying that that’s okay.

But this is what internet censorship looks like. Homophobia. Sexism. Real life people fearing for their real life safety.

We’re not being facetious about censorship because we’ve experienced it.

And hey, maybe if I had been allowed to read Harry Potter and watch Pokémon I wouldn’t have been smuggling Dean Koontz and Stephen King novels out of the library instead. Maybe I wouldn’t have moved online, desperate for the fan fiction which would allow me to spend time in my favourite world and come across the age-inappropriate stuff (which, to be fair, was hard to tag back in the day).

Maybe I wouldn’t have read some truly terrible gay porn which definitely was not a good representation of gay relationships.

Maybe I wouldn’t have realized that… maybe gay people existed? And could have coffee-shop meet cutes and steamy sex? And sometimes women could do that too? Maybe I wasn’t… completely broken?

Yes, this was back in the day when searching “gay” on your library’s computer would be met with all the red flags and a disapproving librarian who would probably tell your parents. But the words “slash” and “lemon”? Well, that was just me looking up things for my homework! Nothing weird here.

And before you say “That wasn’t my experience!” This was South Africa. In the 00s. Hell, even now, in the 20s. There was no other computer access, and I only got that much access because I was on a scholarship to a very fancy school. The other kids who grew up in my area didn’t have that privilege.

Was this a fucked up way to learn and explore my sexuality? Of course. I don’t want that to be how my kids do it. But do I think those loop holes are better than nothing for kids in similar situations? Yes. Do those situations still exist in my country? Yes.

So yes, I can admit to the harm consuming age-inappropriate content did to me and still be anti-censorship, because they are not mutually exclusive.

I’m pro-age appropriate content. I’m definitely pro-tagging.

But I’ll never be pro-censorship because it’s never *actually* about the children.

[moonlitgraffiti]

@askaceattorney

I believe you wanted proof that you were discriminatory? This is not what an LBGTQ ally does. It's no different than heterosexual romance. It's not hard.

I can understand not leaning into shipping, it helps keep close to canon. But this was an OC. With Aura Blackquill, who is as close to a canonical wlw that we have ever gotten. It is not a stretch whatsoever to presume her to be interested in women. It i s, however, a stretch to say this isn't discrimination. Why is same sex attraction a "divisive" topic here and opposite sex flirtation is not? Why is it not divisive to pretend to be Simon Blackquill's child when we know nothing about his canonical sexuality? Why is it not divisive to imply Narumayo and portray Pearl wanting them to be together, despite the controversy of the ship? You're running out of excuses.

@askaacallout (If you don't want to be tagged, let me know and I will remove you immediately)

[fawnscottage]

Tw/Cw: f slur, a terf, transphobia, hate.

Guess who just got their first hate comment in their inbox :)

Just a little reminder if I haven't made it clear enough, get TF off my blog if you're a terf and transphobic in any way, shape, or form you're not welcome here. My trans siblings are valid and always have been and always will be.

I want my blog to be a save place not only for me but for others as well, so if you're going to be a transphobic, homophobic, racist piece of shit then I don't want you here.

For those confused the person that sent this is a terf and called me the f slur and a misogynist for reblogging this post right here -

I'm not going to tolerate this kind of hate on my blog which I use as a coping mechanism for my mental health.

Screw Off .