#if I get more support on patreon then I’d absolutely commission someone to build a site

[ask-spiderpool]

why don’t you make this storyline into your own website??

What, like I’m some kind of superhero who knows anything about web-design?

[midshipmank]

i wanted LWJ with a motorcycle & somehow ended up with this librarian!LWJ & art student!WWX au

LWJ is a librarian at a public library 

WWX met LWJ when he returned some books 3 months late

LWJ looked at him all judgy like “these are 3 months late,” & WWX promptly became obsessed 

WWX is now a much more responsible library user, mostly because he’s there all the time

but listen he’s not great at focusing in the library, that’s why he doesn’t even use the one on campus. so now he’s his usual amount of restless + distracted by LWJ

trying to figure out how to make a move 

meanwhile LWJ is just like “do not throw crumpled pieces of paper through the air”

some of those crumpled pieces of paper are failed sketches of LWJ

one day WWX stays all the way to closing because LWJ PRETTY OKAY? also he has an art theory paper due pls don’t talk to him about it

so anyway he’s there when the library is closing & LWJ is like “leave”

so he goes :((( but he’s so late LWJ practically follows him out 

which 

is when WWX discovers that that pretty white & blue motorcycle that’s always parked out front?

that’s Lan Wangji’s 

he absolutely loses his mind

all of his friends know about his ridiculous librarian crush by now & they all make fun of him for it

but anyway, the poor boy has it bad

he’s like “A-Cheng, you don’t understand, he could step on me & i’d thank him. actually i think i need him to step on me.” 

JC is like “i did Not want to know that”

meanwhile WWX is bemoaning the fact that he ever became a responsible library user

“how am i supposed to interact with him. i can’t return books late anymore bc i’m always there! what would my excuse be? & he’s already explained how to use their database to me 3 times, i can’t keep looking this dumb” 

JYL is very gently like “maybe just ask him out?” 

“but he doesn’t like me! i committed library crimes! i have to get him to like me first!”

then WWX sees a flyer in the lobby asking for volunteers. there’s gonna be an event in the kids section! for some special reading day! who tf knows, WWX doesn’t care, the point is, he’s good with kids. that would probably be appealing to LWJ. right? right? WWX really doesn’t know. LWJ is so hard to read. on the one hand, he’s the most tight-laced & responsible person WWX has ever met. on the other, he has a very sexy motorcycle. WWX doesn’t know what to do with that

but okay he has a plan

he calls up WQ & goes “can i borrow A-Yuan”

he already babysits A-Yuan every week, so it’s not that weird right?

WQ is like “i stg WWX if you are going to use A-Yuan to attract hot guys like in that movie with the people who love dogs....”

& WWX is like “i would never use A-Yuan like a dog! WQ do you even know me!” 

he gets A-Yuan, barely

anyway, he gets to the library ready to read to a bunch of kids & gets side-eyed by a lot of parents, but he still has fun!!

LWJ is, unfortunately, not the librarian supervising the event, but he is reshelving when WWX is off reading duty & A-Yuan gets the zoomies

ie, zooms right into LWJ’s legs

LWJ is, surprisingly, good with kids. WWX may need to marry him. he somehow manages not to make a complete fool of himself after this revelation

in fact, after this interaction, WWX thinks he may actually have scored some points with LWJ. he’s elated

he’s building all these elaborate future schemes in his head when suddenly he gets a call from Auntie Yu

she wants to know why his grade in his art theory class has plummeted. 

oh right. that class. that class that’s taught by that professor who hates him & that he honestly can’t understand a word of & honestly he hates art theory, he’s good at art, why does he have to take theory too? 

Auntie Yu lets him know in no uncertain terms that if he doesn’t improve his grades by the end of the semester, she will stop supporting him—it’s bad enough that they let him go to art school after he flunked out of his business degree anyway 

so—fuck. fuck. 

WWX throws himself into the redo paper he manages to beg off LQR. he has 3 days & he’s gonna make them count 

the first day goes well, if by well you mean that he raids the art section of the library & works himself until closing & tries desperately not to look like he’s dying in front of LWJ

day 2 goes........similarly, except he falls asleep at his desk & doesn’t wake up until LWJ tells him the library is closing, which? wtf? LWJ usually wakes him up when he falls asleep in the library. WWX has been asleep for hours. 

& also he looks like a wreck, which is not cute

he flees from the library only to find that the bus is going..... going......... gone

fuck. he doesn’t have a car. 

he’s staring down the road after the bus, trying to figure out which friend with a car is available for him to call when he hears someone say “Wei Ying?” behind him

it’s Lan Zhan.

how mortifying. 

he tries to laugh off his situation, but LWJ gets this set expression on his face & says, “i will give you a ride home” 

& WWX is like kinda definitely freaking out because this was not how his first ride on LWJ’s sexy motorcycle was supposed to go. WWX had a plan. he was supposed to be flirtatious & ask LWJ about his bike & then LWJ would offer to give WWX a ride & they’d go all around the scenic parts of the city & when they stopped WWX would be all flustered & breathless & he’d wobble getting off the bike & maybe fall into LWJ & maybe—

okay so his plan was more like a daydream, but at the very least, he wasn’t supposed to look like he’d spent the last 48hrs out of the sun, drinking unhealthy amounts of shitty coffee, wearing a ratty hoodie & art-grimed jeans. like, they’re not even grimey in a cute way

but LWJ is insistent & WWX is weak, so somehow he ends up on the back of the bike wearing LWJ’s helmet with LWJ telling him to hold on tight

he’s half-convinced he’s fallen asleep on the bus stop bench & is dreaming the whole thing

but soon enough, it’s over & they’re stopped outside of WWX’s shitty student accommodations

he gets off & is trying to awkwardly thank LWJ when LWJ says, “you’ve seemed upset these past 2 days”

“ahaha, yeah, i’m just writing a paper”

“for an art theory class?”

WWX is like ????? but then he remembers that LWJ knows what books he checks out 

“yeah. it’s a redo actually. professor Lan hates me.” he forces a laugh. why did he say that. being hated by a professor is not cute, especially not to sexy librarian LWJ. 

“my uncle has high expectations,” LWJ says. 

WWX brain short circuits. 

“your uncle???” shit shit shit Lan Qiren is LWJ’s uncle! LWJ’s uncle hates him! he has no chance now! 

“mn.” 

WWX wants to die

LWJ looks considering, then says, “it is my day off tomorrow. if you would like, i can help you with the paper.”

WWX is already the least cute, most pathetic version of himself he’s ever been in his life. he says yes. 

so they meet up at the library the next day & WWX apologizes profusely for making LWJ come into work when it’s his day off. he promises LWJ endless free coffee from the coffeeshop he works at (even if he has to pay for it himself—he doesn’t tell LWJ that part). 

LWJ is way too nice to him & also manages to explain this school of art theory in a way that?? sort of?? makes sense?? though not in a way that makes WWX like it. but LWJ seems neutral about it, so at least he’s not trying to get WWX to agree with it. 

but anyway, WWX manages to pull a passable paper together & in the process LWJ reveals that he’s noticed WWX sketching in the library a lot more than WWX realized, and that he likes WWX’s art. 

WWX is lightheaded

he stares at LWJ for a while & LWJ looks at him & says, “Wei Ying. you should be typing.” 

WWX gets the paper done by 5pm somehow. somehow! he sends it off to LQR with a groan of relief. he’s so tired his bones are aching, but he looks over at LWJ, art theory & citation king, who of course always looks perfect & beautiful, & goes, “i could kiss you.” 

instead of “i don’t know how i’m ever going to thank you for this,” which is what he thought he was gonna say

LWJ’s eyes widen slightly & his ears go red. WWX wants to smack himself in the face. he wants to eat his words. he wants to crawl into a cramped dark place like a disgusting little mole & never see the sun again.

then LWJ says, “have dinner with me first.” 

WWX gapes at him. LWJ looks back, ears still red but eyes steady. 

“okay,” WWX squeaks. 

they go to dinner. WWX still feels like trash, but they end up having a rousing discussion about art & WWX learns all about when LWJ studied art history in undergrad & how he actually doesn’t like the kind of theory his uncle teaches (“but you’re too good to ever tell him that,” WWX teases. “....most of the time.” WWX laughs in delight.) 

LWJ reveals that he brought an extra helmet today, in case WWX needed a ride again. WWX is embarrassed & pleased & wants to marry LWJ again. feeling foolish, he leans into LWJ flirtatiously & suggests they go for a ride—just for the view. LWJ looks at him so long his knees turn to jelly. then LWJ says, “mn.” 

they make out on some scenic ridge somewhere

the end! 

other things about this au:

WWX does digital painting mostly, his ideal job is illustration/comics; he has a instagram/patreon he uses for art commissions (some of which are pornographic—LWJ catches him sketching in the library one day, early in this tableau. it does not go well.) 

his instagram/patreon is mostly anonymous. it’s not that he minds people knowing he draws explicit stuff sometimes, it’s that he doesn’t want Auntie Yu to find out 

he draws LWJ a lot

not explicitly

(at least not until he’s got a life model and LWJ’s consent)

he’s not at the library 24/7. he has a coffeeshop job, classes, studio time for non-digital art, A-Yuan, and friends. but he’s at the library a lot.

this is undergrad for WWX, but he’s non-trad. he flunked out of a soul-sucking business degree in his first go at undergrad & was on pretty shaky ground with the Jiang family for a while. then he sold some of his art & Auntie Yu said they would support him through art school if it was the only thing he was good at. kinda stung, but at least he doesn’t have to pay tuition.

he’s desperate to prove he can make it as an artist

when anyone asks LWJ about his bike, he says he got it because it allows him to weave around traffic. yes, there’s more to it than that, but no he won’t go into it. (this entire au formed because i found out WYB rides motorcycles professionally & went, “wow that’s hot.” we have no thoughts here.) 

WWX did not have to try to make LWJ like him. LWJ liked him. & while WWX might not have gotten his ideal first bike ride, you better believe LWJ got his. he daydreams about scooping WWX onto his bike & riding off into the sunset

[fishfingersandjellybabies]

Legacies - dad!jason au

Characters: Dick Grayson, Damian Wayne, Jason Todd, Barbara Gordon Pairings: jaydick Summary: Dick was Batman now, and as a certain someone always said - Batman always needs a Robin. A/N: After All’s Fair by a few months/a year and before Worst Nightmare. Also ignore the a/n on Worst Nightmare/edit it to be talking about being Bruce’s Robin, not Dick’s. Damian is 13 in this. Can’t believe I haven’t updated this au in OVER a year, so if you only read this series from me, reminder I now have a Patreon and Ko-Fi if you like my work and would like to support me further or get stories written for you/commissions! I’d be forever grateful!

Other things for Nevolition’s Dad!Jason AU

~~

“…This is weird.” Jason’s voice cracked through the communicator. It was a slow night, thankfully, and the two had been talking via comm. link for about an hour.

“What is?” Dick asked, shifting slightly to rearrange the cape across his shoulders.

“This.” Jason reiterated. Laughed breathily. “I’m sitting here flirting with the fucking Batman.”

Dick laughed too. Leaned back and stared up at the moon through the cloudy skies. “Don’t freak out too much when you remember you’re married to the Batman too.”

“Oh my god, I’m married to the fucking Batman.” Jason mimicked with fake shock. Dick kicked his feet against the brick of the building in glee. The cape, this legacy, was heavy. Too heavy, sometimes. But Jason sitting up and talking to him about mundane things like soups and shoestrings made it lighter. Made it bearable.

Dick let out a deep sigh. Listened as Jason plopped another folded shirt of their clean laundry into the basket.

“…Any word from Tim tonight?” Jason asked softly.

“Of course not. He still isn’t speaking to me.” Dick mumbled. He heard voices below him and leaned forward, making sure his cowl ears didn’t cast a shadow. It was a couple leaving a nearby bar. “Still thinks Bruce is alive, and I don’t think he’ll speak to me until I agree with him.”

“Kind of hard to agree with an idea that’s absolutely nuts.” Jason huffed. “It’s just his grief, Dick. Don’t take it personally.”

“I’m trying not to.” Dick promised. “At this point, I just want to know he’s okay.”

“Mentally or physically? Because you know my opinion on the former.”

“Both.” Dick stressed. “I mean, if he thinks Bruce is still alive then obviously he needs help mentally. But if he’s out there trying to fight criminals on his own, I’m afraid what could happen if he’s ever outnumbered.”

“Well, what’d Babs say?” Jason asked. “She know where he is?”

“Says he’s still in Gotham.” Dick murmured, swinging his legs wildly in front of him, in a kind of stretch. “Says he’s going by the name Red Robin now too.”

“Why? He didn’t want to be your Robin?” Jason asked. The dryer dinged in the background, and he heard Jason shift to go get the new load. “That’s kind of surprising, honestly.”

“I told him to his face that his theory about Bruce wasn’t real, and he needed to find a new way to cope. Probably not in the nicest way either.” Dick mumbled guiltily. “So of course he wants nothing to do with me.”

“Still…Robin has become a lot more independent to Batman in recent years.” Jason thought out loud. “Working with Batman isn’t exactly a necessary part of the job anymore.”

“That’s just what Babs said, not that she or Steph have talked to him about it.” He heard the dryer door slam. “Sorry for taking a patrol on laundry night. I know you hate that.”

“Eh, I hate it less these days.” Dick could practically see Jason shrug. “You’ve got a lot more important things on your plate right now then making sure Damian’s clean underwear is folded correctly.”

Dick snorted. ���Well hopefully he’s making up for my absence.”

Jason paused. Then: “What do you mean?”

“I mean I hope he’s sitting there helping you, not sitting in his room on the computer.”

Another hesitation, then a chuckle. “Dick, did you forget he’s spending the night at Colin’s tonight?”

Dick frowned. “No he’s not.”

“Yes he is. That’s what he told me this morning.”

Dick’s gut began to churn. “I asked him what he was doing tonight before I left for the manor. He said nothing, because Colin’s out of town.”

Jason remained silent.

“Jason, is Damian not home?”

“Let me call him.” Jason said hurriedly. Dick checked the projection in his mask, making sure he didn’t miss a text from his son. A moment later, Jason exhaled nervously. “…It went straight to voicemail.”

“Don’t panic, Jay. Let me call Oracle.” He pushed the switch on the side of his cowl. “Babs?”

“Yes, Man Wonder?”

“Do you have a read on Damian? He appears to have tried to pull a fast one on Jay and I.”

“Ah, the joy of teenage rebellion. Just like all three of his dads.” Barbara hummed. She too seemed to switch communicator channels. “Batgirl, Black Bat and all other Bat-related friends and foes. Be on the lookout for a certain thirteen-year-old that we all know and love very dearly. He’s apparently lied to his dads and is gonna be in some deep shi-”

“Hang on, hang on.” A new voice drawled boredly across the line. “Don’t panic, I’m almost there.”

Dick blinked, and even Barbara seemed stunned into a momentary silence. Damian had a communicator, just like Jason did. One to call Dick, and Dick only. Not the open line. “…Damian, almost where?”

There was a thud behind him, and Dick immediately fell into attack mode. Pulled batarangs from his belt as he flipped backwards and twisted into a fighting stance.

And his weapons immediately slipped from his fingers, clattering to the rooftop.

Because it wasn’t an enemy. Oh no. At this moment, he’d have preferred an enemy. He’d prefer the Joker over who was standing in front of him.

Robin.

Damian dressed as Robin.

“No.” Was the first word out of Dick’s mouth, even as he took in the costume. It wasn’t thrown together, wasn’t a fake. He could see Alfred’s careful craftsmanship in the stitching of the red tunic, the thick green gloves. “Absolutely not.”

Damian grinned anyway, holding his bright yellow cape out and giving a single spin to show it off. “Cool, huh?”

“Opposite of cool.” Dick found himself already floating into the Batman voice. “Dames, we talked about this.”

Damian frowned. “No, you and Baba talked about this. I listened.” He crossed his arms. “Reluctantly.”

Dick bit his lip. “Babs. Get Penny-One on the line. Ask him why he allowed-”

“Alfred didn’t allow anything. He just made the uniform when we asked.” Damian cut off.

Dick tilted his head. “We?”

“Tim.” Damian said simply. “He and I talked about it. He helped me with the design. He passed the legacy of Robin on to me.”

Dick’s stomach dropped. This…explained a lot. Maybe. Explained the Red Robin part, at least. Maybe the radio silent part, and why Damian had an open line communicator too.

Damian seemed to see the confusion on Dick’s features. Uncrossed his arms and placed his hands on his hips. “I’d brought the idea up to him before, when you were thinking about taking over for…for Father.” He paused, seemed to swallow a lump in his throat. “And then you two fought, and he said he was leaving town. I asked him who was going to watch your back, and he stopped. He said he didn’t want to do it, that he couldn’t. Not with how things were right now. And I reminded him of what he always said.”

“And what did he always say?” Dick asked, hearing the bitterness in his own voice.

“That Batman needs a Robin.” Damian said firmly. “And in my opinion, that doesn’t change, even if the guy wearing the cowl does.”

“But not you.” Dick countered. His communicator beeped, reminding him of Jason on the other line. And great – that was going to go just swell. Hey honey, found our kid! Turns out he wants to fight crime! “Robin was never supposed to be you.”

“That’s what Tim said. And I asked him who else was going to do it?” Damian grinned again, overly pleased with himself. “He still wasn’t going for it exactly, so…”

“So?”

“So I told him if he didn’t help, I’d just go out on my own anyway.” Damian tilted his chin up. “He said that’d happen over his dead body, so he helped me design the suit and new weapons and everything, to make sure I was safe.”

“Well thank god for that.” Dick mumbled.

“And when it was all ready to go, he…he said he was proud of me. That there was no one else he’d rather take the title after him.” Damian’s cheeks seemed to redden a little bit at the memory of the praise. “He even went out with me the first few times so he knew I was ready.”

“You’ve gone on patrol already?!” Dick fumbled. He heard someone snort in amusement on the line. “Oh my…when? How many times?”

“Last month.” Damian countered. “Remember all those late nights at the Gotham Library with Nell for that project?”

“Oh my…” Dick sputtered, turning away. “Oh my freaking god…”

“Still got that husband on line two, Bats.” Barbara almost sang in his ear.

“So much for World’s Greatest Detective, eh, Didi?” Damian hummed with a laugh. “Don’t worry, I can pick up the slack on that.”

“You little…” Dick sighed, moving to run his hand through his hair, and remembering too late that he couldn’t. “Your baba’s going to kill me.”

“He’ll understand.” Damian tried, moving forward. “I’m…Didi, I’m not doing this to go against you or anything. I’m doing this to help. To help people, to protect the city you and Father love so much and…and to make sure you come home safe.”

Dick looked down at him.

“I won’t let the Court of Owls happen again, Didi. I won’t.” Damian whispered. “I won’t let someone hurt Stephie again, or Tim, or anyone else.”

Dick’s heart melted a little at that. And hurt, too. Goddamn, their son was so kind. So smart. So perfect.

He sighed, and reached out to reel Damian in, wrapping his arms tightly around his shoulders. Closed his eyes to hold back the tears, remembering when Bruce would hug him too, when they were Batman and Robin. And now, here, this…

“We’ll…have to talk to Baba about this. He’ll take a lot of convincing.” Damian looked up at him, smile threatening to crack his face in two. “Not that I’m saying yes, either, but…I understand.”

“…I’d have pointed out the hypocrisy of you saying no, if you didn’t.” Damian admitted.

“I have no doubt.” Dick laughed. “Again, I’m not saying yes, but…I suppose you can stay with me for tonight’s patrol.”

Impossibly, Damian’s grin got wider.

“A-hem.” Barbara reminded. “Husband – and dad – still on line two.”

Dick groaned as Damian stepped away from him with an awkward grin. Jason really was going to kill him.

He hit the button to switch frequencies. “Jay-”

“I swear to fuck, Dick, if someone’s already linked him to your Batman, I’m going to-”

“He’s with me!” Dick cut off, cringing in the immediate silence that followed. “He’s, uh, with me. On…this…rooftop.”

“…Why.” Jason demanded, though Dick already knew he was putting the pieces together. “Why is he on a rooftop with you.”

“Because…” Dick started. He stopped there, though, because how do you explain it? Even to someone who formerly wore the colors? “Well…apparently…he, uh…he approached Tim a little while ago and…I guess we raised him too well, so…”

“No. Absolutely not.” Jason all but screamed. “Tell him his little ass is not going to be Robin and he is fucking grounded until further notice.”

“Now, Jason-”

“Nope.” Jason countered. “Drag his ass home, right now. Or else you’re grounded too, you Bat fuck.”

If he was going to try and plead any more of his or Damian’s case, he didn’t get the chance before Jason disconnected the line. He sighed, dropping his head back.

“What’d he say?” Damian asked nervously. Dick was almost surprised he didn’t try to eavesdrop on the call.

“Exactly what I’m sure you’d think he’d say.” Dick droned. He looked back down at his boy. “He wants me to bring you home, stat.”

Damian pursed his lips and crossed his arms once more.

“But…” Damian perked. “He clearly needs some time to cool down.” Dick smiled. “Probably will take him a few hours.” In the moment of silence, as luck would have it: “And I think I hear sirens a few streets over.”

Damian slowly smiled as Oracle patched the police scanner into both their communicators.

“You ready, Robin?” Dick whispered. And even for all his fear and hesitancy about this partnership, he felt his chest fill with pride.

“I was born ready, Batman.” Damian promised.

“Last one there has to wash the Batmobile.” Dick teased. Damian laughed.

Batman and Robin jumped into the night – together again for the first time.

[monstersandmaw]

Male minotaur x female reader (sfw fluff)

Edit which I’m including in all my works after plagiarism and theft has taken place: I do not give my consent for my works to be used, copied, published, or posted anywhere. They are copyrighted and belong to me.

Here’s the second of my recent Patreon-only commissions! They asked for a female reader with PTSD and a big monster who understands, and discussed the nature of the condition with me in detail in the chat. The story isn’t focused on that, but the reader suffers an episode in a busy marketplace, and meets the minotaur because of it. Their relationship develops from there. 

Here’s 3700 or so words - I hope you enjoy! Meet Axel! This story also features a cameo from my gorgeous centaur boy, Iskandar from my very first orc boy story with Khuruz!

___

“Oh, it’s going to be one of those days,” you hissed as you sat up in bed, sunlight streaming through the curtains, birdsong filling the air from the garden outside, and that lung-clogging anxiety promptly settling into every muscle in your body for no discernible reason whatsoever. Some days were just like this, and as you swallowed down the bile and tried to calm your racing heart, you swung your feet out of bed and sat there with your eyes closed, trying to steady the world and your pounding heartbeat at the same time.

To make matters worse, you knee full well that there was no food in the pantry. Perhaps some dried meat, and possibly a sack of flour, but other than that, it was bare. It had been a few days since you’d even been out of the house other than for work, but unless you wanted to starve, you were going to have to beat this thing today, and venture into the bustling marketplace.

After three rounds of procrastination and one very thorough clean of the whole house, you finally stepped outside, and inhaled deeply. In fact, the weather wasn’t so bad, and the scent of jasmine filled the crisp autumnal air from a garden nearby as you stood on the doorstep, basket over your arm, breathing somewhat more rapidly than was perhaps ideal.

The rumble of the marketplace seeped out into the narrow side streets, their looming houses seeming to close in overhead as you made your way there, grinding your teeth and flinching at even the slightest sounds. A housewife opened her shutters and shook out a cloth into the street and you jumped, turning with eyes wide before you managed to get a hold of yourself.

“Stop it,” you growled under your breath. “Just… stop it. You’re safe now. All that is past you. Just focus on getting food.” Truly, you felt awful. The events that had left you like this were years in the past now, but still you limped on, mind so ragged some days you could barely remember your own name. Of course, there were other days when you were absolutely fine.

Moving from the cool shadows of the three-storey, brick-built merchants’ houses that lined the wide market square, each one with colourful window boxes and red-tiled roofs, you made your way into the heart of the market. You made it to two stalls, picking up a box of eggs, and two loaves of bread, before any hint of your earlier episode showed itself. Your creeping hyper-vigilance had you looking about until you must have looked more than suspicious, but you forced yourself on until you had bought almost everything on your list. You had just congratulated yourself on surviving what was ordinarily a huge challenge, when you heard the rattle of a cart up ahead. Your chin snapped up instinctively, seeking out the source of the noise, but you relaxed marginally when you saw what it was.

Someone was laughing not far away from you at a stall selling fresh pastries and cakes. You glanced over your shoulder and saw a truly massive minotaur leaning on a tall walking staff, chatting to the owner of the stall. He had a thick black coat with little grey tufts at the ends of his large ears, huge horns that curved forwards a little before tilting up to the blue sky above, and his modesty was just about covered by a simple, loose tunic of dark greenish grey cotton. His hooves and fetlocks were caked in drying mud, and you assumed he’d come in from outside the city for the market, and wondered if perhaps he’d brought produce with him to sell. He carried no bags or baskets, just a belt pouch around his waist, and the stout walking stick.

A second later, the crash and clatter of crates hitting the cobbles sent a spike of adrenaline and blind terror through you. You half turned around, knowing it was just the cart of empty boxes that had been upended somehow, but the shaking and the ringing in your ears descended on you a moment later and you forgot everything, even how to breathe. Time stopped and stretched on forever in front of you in an endless corridor as you stood there, hardly seeing the stones of the market square before your wide eyes. It had been like this for years now; any sudden, loud noises, and you were gone.

A colossal shadow slid across you, draining the warmth of the sun and setting your clammy skin prickling. “Hey,” a kind, deep voice rumbled. The figure made no move to touch you, but when he knelt in front of you, you began to be able to focus a little better on the words he was saying. “Hey, you’re alright. Can you hear me?”

You focused on the glittering nose ring, suddenly unable to look away. He smiled then, and you nodded in answer to his question.

“Great, you’re doing great. Listen, I’d like you to do something for me. Catch…?” he said, standing up again and shielding you from the chaos of the clear up behind him with the sheer width and height of his body. He held out a bright green apple and tossed it gently at you.

You caught it on instinct and stared at it.

“Good,” he chuckled. “Now, toss it back.”

You did, and he kept throwing it back to you, asking you after a few more throws to count them aloud.

He watched you sliding gently out of your shock, and he held onto it after thirty or so catches. “You doing better now?” he asked.

You nodded. “Thank you,” you croaked, feeling shaky. “How…?”

He smiled again, such a warm and open gesture that lit up his dark, glimmering eyes and he leaned once again on his staff. “You want the apple?” You shook your head, and he bit into it. “I used to be in the army,” he said simply. “I have ‘bad days’ and ‘oh shit’ moments too, and doing something mundane like that helps to refocus my mind sometimes. I figured I’d give it a go with you too, not that I claim to know what works best for you, of course.”

You had to smile. “Thank you,” you said, trying to draw in a steady breath. “What’s your name?”

“Axel,” he grinned. “You want to get out of here?”

“Please,” you nodded. Normally you’d never have gone with a complete stranger, but perhaps it was your lingering shock or the trembling in your fingers that craved the safety of his kind face and a broad back.

“Fancy a drink? There’s a great place down by the river, and I’m parched. They do the most amazing fresh lemonade you’ve ever tasted, I promise.”

You accepted, and he led you away through the marketplace to the south towards the wide, glimmering river that flowed through the trading town with its stone walls and high castle at the far end. It was a beautiful city, and since coming here you’d had fewer episodes, despite the bustling streets and noise. Though, on reflection, it was probably because of the life and vibrancy of the place that you were doing better. The stillness and silence was all very well for sporadic moments of calm, but it could quickly overwhelm you and leave you crushed and panicky.

You discovered that Axel made an excellent shield, vigilant enough of approaching figures to step easily between you and them and create a clear path for you, but not so on edge that you felt nervous. His massive presence was a steadying support as well; he was just so calm and friendly. He spoke a little about the weather, and you asked him if he’d come from far that day.

He glanced down at you, eyebrow raised. “How’d you know I’m not a city slicker like you?” he chortled.

You smiled back up at him, cricking your neck slightly to get a good look at his strong-boned face. His ears waggled playfully and you had to laugh. “You’re all spattered with mud,” you said, flicking your gaze down to his huge hooves.

His tail swished and he laughed his deep, rich laugh again. “No fooling you. Yes, I live just outside the city walls. It rained pretty heavily last night, and the roads were a mess this morning.”

“What do you do for a living?” you asked. “I’m assuming you’re out now,” you added, referring to his military service.

He nodded. “Yup. I’m a woodcutter these days, working with a few of the others over on Jenson’s farm.” He stretched and rolled his muscular shoulders, the fabric of his sleeveless tunic shifting slightly to indicate a toned chest beneath, and he added, “It’s hard work, but it’s nice, you know? To be doing something physical…”

You hummed in soft agreement, and he nodded at a cafe sign just up ahead.

“That’s it,” he said. “Willa’s a good friend of mine,” he added as he held the door open.

The interior was bathed in late autumn sunlight, streaming through huge windows at the back of the building, and beyond you could see a terrace that overlooked the river. It was stunning. A tiefling sat sipping elegantly from a delicate china teacup, and a gnoll was lounging in a far corner on a very comfortable looking sofa, a book under his nose, and some adorable glasses sliding down his muzzle towards his nose.

Behind the bar was a waif-like faun, chatting quietly with a human and dwarf, all of whom wore the dark green aprons emblazoned with the logo of the cafe. When the faun saw Axel, her pretty, freckled face lit up, and her large ears swivelled forwards as she scampered around the side of the bar and barrelled straight at him. She barely came up to his waist, but she threw her skinny arms around him and hugged him tight.

Something cold lanced through your chest at the sight of their closeness. Perhaps you’d been foolish to hope that he wouldn’t have anyone in his life, but there was no mistaking the affection between these two. And then he pulled back and ruffled her hair in a way that would have irritated at least any partner you could imagine. “Hey there,” he laughed. “How are you?”

“It’s been ages!” she practically squeaked. “Gods, Ax, you are even bigger than you were last time, I swear it!” Then her hazel eyes landed on you and widened in surprise. “Oh,” she added. “Hi…”

“Hi,” you murmured, trying to conjure up a smile.

He introduced you by name and added, “This is Willa. I served with her brother.”

“Oh.” Oh.

“Saved Rudi’s life too,” she smiled. “Anyway, what can I get you both?”

“I was told the lemonade is good here,” you said, trying to lighten your mood and succeeding now that you knew they weren’t together. It felt stupid and selfish. You’d only just met him for goodness’ sake.

As if he sensed your shift in mood, he cocked his head to one side. “Ok?” he asked softly while Willa poured two big glasses of lemonade for you.

You nodded. “Where d’you want to sit?”

“I don’t mind being outside, but it might be a bit chilly for you,” he shrugged a shoulder, his shaggy coat rippling. “I’ll get these,” he added, laying a small handful of coppers down on the counter with a smile at Willa.

“Let’s see how cold it is?” you asked, and you moved through the tables until you reached the double doors at the back of the cafe. He held one open for you and you drank in the freshness of the river air, the breeze that swept down from the Red Mountains upstream, and sighed most of the lingering tension away. “Yeah, outside is good,” you said.

You set the drinks down and he pulled out a chair, squeezing himself into his own with only a little difficulty. He caught you looking and barked laugh. “I’ve got stuck in chairs before, you know?” he said. “And it really isn’t funny…” Such light danced in his eyes that you suddenly couldn't stop the wave of giggles that bubbled up from your chest.

“I’m so sorry,” you said, still grinning.

He only smiled back at you and sipped his lemonade. “If it makes you laugh like that, I don’t mind.”

You chatted for ages while the river rushed by below the stone wall, and it was only as it started to get cold that you realised how long you’d been there. He’d told you almost everything, from adventures with his brothers as a young calf to the sights he’d seen in the army - he was very open about his experiences, though he didn’t dwell on anything difficult or unpleasant - and all the while you sat there with your hands clasped lightly, leaning your weight on your elbows on the table, drinking in his deep baritone and glittering, playful eyes.

As you shivered, however, he scowled and raised his eyes to the sky, his ears darting back in surprise. “Gods,” he swore. “Look how late it’s getting! You must be freezing!” and he reached his hands instinctively to cover your own with his. His palms were smooth and warm and leathery, and as they landed over yours, engulfing them, a thrill shot through your whole body. Ordinarily, a stranger’s touch would have felt nine kinds of nasty, but there was nothing but gentle kindness in his eyes, and you began to ache for the closeness you had come to miss. You turned your hands over and held his fingers in yours.

“I am cold,” you admitted, “But I’ve had the best time today.”

“Me too,” he grinned, nose ring flashing in the sinking sunlight. “Let me walk you home though before I have to find a fire drake to come and thaw you out.”

With another laugh, you rose, and he ushered you politely ahead of him. His large shadow loomed behind you, but again it felt like a shield not a menace, and you basked in the safety of his strength.

You agreed to meet up in a few days’ time at the clearing where he worked, and when you parted at the door of your house, he asked if he could give you a hug. You nodded, and he drew you briefly close to him. You inhaled the scent of him, warm, musky, and comforting, and sighed.

“Thanks for today,” you said as you pulled back afterwards. “I really needed that, and… not just in the market place.”

“Me too,” he said again. “It’s been a long time since I’ve met someone I can just… feel this easy around, you know?”

“Yeah,” you rasped.

“Well, I’ll see you in a few days then,” he grinned, walking away and waving over his shoulder. “Be sure to wear your warm boots - the roads are muddy, you know?”

You snorted, gaze dropping to his colossal hooves, and nodded.

“And dress warmly too…” he said, glancing at the sky. “Don’t want you catching a cold.”

“Don’t worry,” you smiled, and he shook his head.

“I’m sorry. I’ll see you, alright?”

And as he disappeared round the corner, you sensed a deep calm settling into you, beginning in your chest and radiating out through every vein and artery. You’d not felt the like in years.

Three days later, and it was another glorious autumn day. You’d finished work early and headed back to change, and were on the road out of the town well before the sun began to set. Over one arm you carried your basket, but this time it was full of goodies for a picnic supper, and the fizzing in your gut was nothing to do with that nebulous fear that always seemed to be hovering in the background, waiting. This time it was true, undiluted excitement that had your heart skipping along in a merry rhythm.

The steady chorus of axes hitting trees reached your ears as you climbed up the slope towards the copse perhaps a mile or so out of town. A huge piebald centaur with long black and white hair was chatting and laughing with a cervitaur at the edge of the camp, and they looked up as you approached. Your fear of talking to strangers suddenly rushed in to replace the fluttering excitement, and you felt like shrinking back into yourself and running, but the weight of the basket on your arm reminded you why you were here. You could do this.

“Hi,” you croaked. “I’m… I’m looking for Axel?”

“Oh,” the cervitaur smiled. “Sure. You want me to get him for you? He’s just over there…” The toffee-coloured coat of his cervine hind quarters was dusted with specks of wood dust and shavings, and as he pranced away, his little white tail bobbed merrily. The centaur smiled down at you, but didn't offer any conversation, which was fine by you.

About a minute later, the cervitaur reappeared, and behind him was the familiar bulk of the dark-coated minotaur. He looked tired, but the moment he saw you, he grinned and tossed his head, tail swishing. He wore no shirt, only a leather covering from waist to mid-thigh, and he looked magnificent. His chest was a pale, silvery grey, and he exuded the kind of physical strength that made you want to lie down beside him and burrow up against him while he held you in his big arms.

“Thanks, Mikken,” he murmured gently to the cervitaur as you offered your own thanks to him as well. He turned back to you and said, “I would hug you, but I’m all sweaty and gross. Hey -” he added, snuffing the air and staring at the basket. “You brought food?”

“Thought you might be thirsty and hungry after work…” you mumbled shyly.

“She’s a keeper, Ax,” Mikken tossed over his shoulder as he took the centaur’s hand and the pair of them headed off down the hill towards the neighbouring farm.

Axel scratched the back of his head and you watched as his ears flattened themselves in shyness. “Huh,” he huffed self-consciously. “Sorry about that. I may have been talking about you quite a lot today. I was… excited to see you again…I guess. I’m sorry.”

“It’s ok,” you laughed. “I’m flattered, I guess.”

“You want to eat here?” he asked. “Or you could come back to mine? I only live in a little cottage just over the hill that way…” he said. “It’s not much, but it might be warmer than sitting on the ground here…”

You swallowed. There had been so much change lately, but this felt good and right, even if it was a little intimidating.

He must have seen the thought processes on your face because he added swiftly, “No pressure, of course…”

Taking a deep breath, you smiled up at him and looped your arm through his. “I’d love to,” you said, and he puffed a relieved sigh and laughed.

“Give me that,” he said, taking the basket from your other hand and leading you back down the hill towards his house.

It wasn’t far, and on the way he pointed out the various farm buildings visible in the distance. “Mikken and Skandi live over there,” he said as you neared a burbling brook that trickled down a gully in the hillside and into a wooded valley below. “They grow wheat and apples there mostly, but they’ve got some geese and sheep too. I helped them put in a new paddock last spring for the lambs. It’s turned into a bit of a centaur sanctuary too lately. They’ve got two more just moved in.”

“Oh?”

“Mmm,” he said, “They were kept as little more than carriage horses in the capital,” he said darkly. “But Skandi took them under his wing - so to speak. They’re nice lads. And there’s a bunch of half-feral orcs who work there, but they’re a great bunch really.”

“Sounds like it’s a nice community,” you commented, taking his hand as he simply waded through the freezing water of the stream and helped you balance as you walked over the rickety little plank that stretched across it. He steadied you as you hopped down off the end of it, and you squeezed his knuckly fingers in fleeting thanks.

Up ahead, the cedar tiles of a wooden cabin came into view, with a metal chimney poking out of one side, and a number of window boxes displaying late autumn flowers. A bench sat outside the front of the house, sheltered under the large eaves, and at the back a few chickens scratched determinedly in the dust of a little wicker pen.

A dog began to bark, but when Axel bellowed a welcoming call to it, you saw the appropriately huge dog hurtling around the corner of the house, paws scrabbling on the loose surface of the yard, and it made its way at break-neck speed towards the pair of you, big triangle ears flapping wildly, tongue lolling.

“Hey buddy!” he laughed, getting down on one knee to fuss the dog. “How was your day? Who’s a good boy?” The dog leapt and whined, trying to lick Axel’s muzzle and wagging his tail so hard you thought he might just wiggle it right off. “Now, I need you on your best behaviour,” he said to the dog. It was the size of a small pony, and had any number of breeds mixed into its heritage. Black fur, white tummy, little tan dots above its eyes, and one white sock on its hind paw were the most distinctive features, and as Axel asked him to sit, he sank onto his haunches, his tail still trying to wag. “Meet Scrap,” Axel smiled up at you.

“Scrap?” you asked, snorting a laugh as you extended your hand and the dog licked it, whining again in excitement. “He’s hardly what you’d call a scrap… He’s huge!”

“He was just a tiny little scrap when I found him,” he chuckled, levering himself back upright with a grunt. “Come on, let’s get inside.” He picked up a stick from the side of the path and hurled it a good hundred yards, sending the dog flying away in a cloud of dust and yips of excitement.

“You have a habit of picking up strays then, I take it?” you asked him pointedly as you approached the beautiful little cottage.

He glanced down at you and smiled. “No, only the really special ones.”

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The next Patreon commission will be a colossal 9000+ word Fae Prince of the Night Court story, and will be up to view on my Pixies and Goblins tier on early release (as this and the last commission were too) shortly! There’s also a ‘wiki style’ Fae Realm lore post available on my Patreon so you can see the structure of the twelve courts etc.!

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| Masterlist | Patreon | Ko-fi | Writing Commissions |

[zucca101]

Response: The 2nd

I again ask of my viewers and followers NOT to attempt to seek this person out or cause them any inconvenience. This is my thing to tackle and had they not blocked me, I would be able to respond within the confines, but I felt it was neccesary to allow this debate to be in the public forum.

It's funny how you still try to worm your way out of having to accept that maybe, just maybe, you fucked up. Democrats aren't even fucking leftists, and never were; historically they were the more conservative party all around, over the course of the 1930s to the 1960s the parties' relative positions switched around, today they're liberals. Every other country in the world considers liberalism a right-wing ideology, at best a centrist one for a reason (hint: it has something to do with being vehemently pro-capitalist)

Incorrect. That is a pernicious and commonly held myth that does not hold up to scrutiny.

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Also, Sargon, left of center? Reads-the-headlines-and-nothing-else-of-the-articles-he-cites Sargon? Constantly complains about The Left™ like you do and constantly apes the same rhetoric coming from the far right Sargon? That Sargon? Yeah, no.

He is on the Left. He’s become disenfranchised with the Social Justice angle it’s adopted and the Islamophilia as well. And God only knows, there’s enough I disagree with him on to fill a book, but someone who actively challenged him and pored over his vids, found one thing Sargon got incorrect, and it was something he had already retracted.

I don’t agree with him on everything. But I trust him due to his intellectual integrity. Same with Teal Deer, same with the others I watch.

"And I CHALLENGE YOU to show me where I said that women should not have access to healthcare. Or even hinted at it." That's not even what I said, and you damn well know it. My implication was that you're in favor of restricting healthcare access to the poor, which guess what, if you're going to be in favor of repealing shit that makes healthcare more accessible to them, basic logic would dictate that's going to happen. You manage to go off on an entire tirade about abortion when what I was addressing was the supposed line of thought behind it.

Fair to say, but that’s not what I’m in favor of either. The Affordable Healthcare Act was like a shiny used car sold by a constantly smiling, charming salesman. It ran fine for the first stretch, but broke down after you got around the bend. Libertarian that I am, I believe such an act was foolish because it was nothing more than a scam by the insurance companies lining up to get all the business they could ever ask for because signing up for healthcare became COMPULSORY. Which is bullshit.

Also? I hate to be the one to give you the newsflash, but jobs aren't going to save society. We already work far more than we need to to keep things going, or even to afford a high living standard - most jobs that currently exist do because either it's marginally cheaper to severely underpay people for them rather than to automatize them, or otherwise only exist as an artifact of capitalism itself - many different corporations that require management, marketing that simply wouldn't exist under literally any other economic system.

I’d love to see citation for that which doesn’t reek of Socialist claptrap. Automation is progressing, to be sure, but progress is progress, right? That doesn’t mean there isn’t work to be had if you either look for it or try to find it outside of your comfort zones. I had to work at a Wal-Mart of all places, but I swallowed my pride and I did it. Didn’t enjoy it, but I did my job.

Between this and the ongoing trend towards atuomatization? Those jobs are going to disappear, and there aren't going to be new ones in sufficient numbers to avoid giant swathes of people in permanent unemployment. That's not me doomspeaking, that's a logical consequence of what's going on today.

It tickles me something fierce that you don’t actually address the automation. You think SOCIALISM would fix that? By making things so shitty that automation isn’t an option, perhaps. No, Socialism would cram everyone into a job and regardless of whether they want it or not, they MUST do that job.

By the way, speaking from years of first hand and second hand experience here: unemployed people don't actually sit on their asses all day, contrary to what you've been led to believe by people who have a vested interest in keeping everyone working for scraps.

Speaking from second hand experience myself, I’ve had friends and friends of friends who NEVER got real jobs and instead collected food stamps they bartered for room and board. I’ve known people who have chosen to panhandle and beg on the street rather than go to a job. (And to be fair, that’s non-taxable income…) So I’m afraid anecdotal evidence from either of us is not enough to conclusively prove this one.

Therefor…

http://www.epi.org/publication/missing-workers/

http://www.pewresearch.org/fact-tank/2017/03/07/employment-vs-unemployment-different-stories-from-the-jobs-numbers/

Jobs aren't the only way to contribute to society, most artists do work that can't support itself under capitalism (and that logically the artist themselves wouldn't be able to keep themselves fed on without at the very least some sort of social safety net), and if we only kept going with that art that proves to be profitable enough to support someone, thereby only appealing to the lowest common denominator?

And…. And you think COMMUNISM or SOCIALISM will let you art the way you want to? At least in Capitalism, an artist can make money for their work! Hell, the internet and Patreon has made it easier than ever for someone to make a living with their art or at least supplement their living. I know HUNDREDS of artists who balance art for its own sake, art for income and a normal job. And they’re not unique in that sense. Art enriches a culture, absolutely, but when it’s dependent on the government… then why would one go BACK to a normal job if they can make a period blood painting, throw it on the wall and demand money from the government? Art should be independent of governmental meddling.

And if you ask Joe Average if he would rather be COMPELLED by the government to pay forty bucks every month to contribute to art or fill his car’s gas tank, buy a few bags of groceries for his family or get used shoes at the Thrift Store, what do you think he’d do?

Art flourishes when free of meddling.

You’re an artist, yes? Suppose you got a check from the government for creating art… but suppose your art did not hold up to some arbitrary definition? It’s taxpayer money after all. So you would have to create art… but only as the government sees fit. Which is no different than making art by commission… except for the fact that under capitalism, you can create art as work, you can create art after working hours, you can create art just to make someone smile. You aren’t beholden.

I can tell you right away this world would be an immensely darker place for it, and all that precious inflation art would vanish overnight.

Heh, the one I had in mind at the top of my list when mentioning those hundreds of artists is a very prominent one. He works a daily job, he makes money with his art, and he makes art for its own sake.

Take a look at this picture…

https://zucca-xerfantes.deviantart.com/art/Berlin-Wall-piece-from-Reagan-Library-612126840

Riddle me this…

The side you see if colorful and full of art and vibrant colors and the other side is matte gray, untouched.

Take a WILD guess which side was the Commies’…

In addition to that, it's beyond unethical to force people who can't work to beg for scraps from charities that both A) impose their will on them (like the Salvation Army), and B) even if all perfectly good natured, wouldn't collectively have the resources to support everyone anyway, especially not when it's entirely within the state's means to give those people a decent standard of living.

Uh, I think I already said that I’m not against government assistance for those who are literally unable to work.

As for your examples, the Salvation Army’s policy is NOT to deny service to trans or homosexual people. A same sex couple can be permitted, but as separate individuals. I don’t hold to that part, but hey, their house, their rules, and they’re not turning them away outright. Now while it’s true that SOME SA people refuse service, that is not the organization’s policy. And considering they saved the life of an IRL trans friend of mine, I am STRONGLY disinclined to believe smear stories.

As for the second, See first paragraph in this section.

"Constantly pretend to…. universally bad…? WHAT….?" You know damn well what I was talking about. The constant "oh, Muslims throw gay people off of buildings all the time! You should be thankful!" takes? The kind of bullshit that you spout to propagate hate against them in the name of "protecting us" when you subsequently turn around and support people like Mike Pence who wishes we'd all vanish, one way or another? I see you, and your cutesy "but I have black friends" argument doesn't fucking work here.

If you can prove me wrong about how Islam as a whole feels about homosexual people and transsexual people, then I will apologize right now. Imams view the murder of homosexuals as A MERCY for fuck’s sake. That is some kind of bona fide evil. Yet for some reason, your fluffy Social Justice Totem Pole places a Death Cult’s feelings above YOUR RIGHT TO *LIVE* SO JUST EXCUSE THE SHIT OUT OF ME FOR CALLING IT OUT.

And supporting Mike Pence….??? I couldn’t give less of a crap about him if I tried. The dude is an advocate of conversion therapy, which does not work. Case closed. Frankly I think Trump picked him for the same reason Obama picked Biden. Assassination prevention! ‘You might kill me, but SERIOUSLY, look at THIS guy… you want HIM instead?’

Jokes aside, I don’t agree with Pence. If, God forbid, he became president, I’d support the office but if he started making life harder for the gay people for no reason, then I’d be fundamentally opposed.

Again, you know this, but damned if you’ll permit that to get in the way of a good strawman whoopin’, eh?

And I find it ASTONISHING that you lie to yourself that Pence is the one to be feared when there is nothing he can legally do to hurt you, but the Death Cult wants you to actually die and are SANCTIONED in such acts.

Pulse Nightclub ring a bell? Fifty innocent people murdered by a guy whose religion told him that his only salvation for his sins was to become a martyr.

By the way, you also don't get to decide who's actually trans and who isn't. Trans people detransition or don't bother transitioning for any number of reasons. Doesn't mean the person underneath isn't transgender, most of the time it's just because society is so fucking harsh against us that they decide living in the wrong body and being seen the wrong way by others is less painful than the outright hostility we can expect on a daily basis.

I’m speaking real here… I cannot possibly understand what it’s like to be Trans. I cannot appreciate the struggles that a trans person is forced to go through. A friend of mine lost her wife and her children because she transitioned. And she’s one of the most gentle and decent souls I’ve ever known.

But she is a real Transsexual. Not some idiot child enamored by the idea of being Transsexual. Not some teen who wants to piss off their parents, or some snowflake who wants to be that much more special. What they do is an INSULT to the Trans people who struggle with it. Who, as you have pointed out, have a ton of shit they have to put up with without their struggles being trivialized..

I’m not of the notion that Trans people have it easy because PC culture has elevated them above others (Except for the fanatical Death Cult that wants to kill them) or anything like that.

I disagree with that notion which is held by a large number of YouTube personalities I watch regularly.

However… in the same way I have nothing but contempt for idiotic children and childish adults who pretend to have Multiple Personality Disorder because they think it’s some kind of fun game where The Doctor and Loki play around in their head, I can’t stand the same kind of idiot children who think they can switch their gender like a toggle and to be SUPER SPECIAL AWESOME have a fantasy word to describe their nonexistent gender.

But oh no, I’M the scientific illiterate. >_>

As for "you don't have the right not to fuck a trans person" (lol), literally nobody is actually saying that - those takes are about dismissing the idea of having sex with someone who's trans out of hand, not saying no if the opportunity were to actually come up.

…

Honest question, you haven’t heard of Riley Dennis, have you? Very prominent Trans YouTuber who has numerous videos now shaming straight people for not wanting to get into a sexual relationship with a trans person.

Riley is of the mind that straight people don’t have a right to refuse, lest they be bigots. >_>

And if you think that’s an absurd thing to say, then bless you. We’re in agreement.

And if it were just Riley, that’d be one thing, but here on Tumblr and on Twitter, there are posts saying much the same, but not in the weasely, round-about way Riley did.

Do I think that’s the majority opinion? No.

But it is not a case of ‘Literally no on believes that’.

And if Christians have to be lumped in with wretches like the KKK and Westboro, well then... what’s good for the goose ought to suffice for the gander, hm?

As for where you're anti-science? Ho boy, where do I begin. Those hot anti-climate change takes of yours are a good start, dismissing everything that happens in that regard as "just the weather" when sea level rise, melting ice in the polar areas as a result of it, and year after year of hottest yearly average temperatures have not only been happening for at least the past century, but have also been accelerating more recently. I'd know, I literally live in one of the places directly affected by this. Most of this country is below sea level, we keep having to build up our dams and dunes even higher to avoid flooding the damn place like what happened back in 1953. To dismiss all that as "the weather" is beyond foolish.

I never said Climate Change isn’t real.

Nor have those I’ve reblogged.

The notion of manmade Global Warming is what is contested.

See, there was a smart way to go about spreading the message and a stupid way to go about it.

The stupid way was to let hypocritical hacks like Al Gore dominate the stage.

The smart way would’ve been to appeal to everyone’s common need to save money and how many green tech save water, electricity and gas bills.

But nope…. Shaming was WAY more fun and satisfying. And now it’s become politicized.

I’m a wildlife conservationist of a sensible variety. Sharks, whales, rhinos and cheetahs are being driven over a cliff and it needs to stop.

And there are more than a few Conservatives on the same boat. Michael Savage, radio host, for instance.

But stereotyping and shaming is SO MUCH MORE SATISFYING TO THE BASE URGE OF APPEASING ONE’S INNER RIGHTEOUS INDIGNATION.

ISN’T IT?

"Capitalism gives everyone the same shot at living" is an even more ridiculous take if I ever saw one. Yes, I'm sure my disabled, mixed and poor ass has the exact same chances as Reginald who can simply ask daddy for money to start up any business he likes, or hell - just live off of that, put it all in stocks, hire some people to make sure his investments don't go to waste and be set for life! He doesn't even need to work! At all! No rich person does!

Step away from the Marxist teacher, amigo. They are NOT your friend…

You’re full of shit.

I’ll out and say it right here.

You are so full of shit on this one that your eyes are turning brown.

You’re just barfing up the same politics of envy nonsense that every single frakking Socialist hack barfs up.

“I can’t work because there’s some rich guy out there who has more stuff than I do!!!! HARUMPH!!!!!!!!” Do you hear yourself...?

Does the nature of your disability preclude you from doing ANY work? If so, then that is a case wherein you should be lent aid.

But if you have your hands… you can work. If you have your legs, you can work. If you have your eyes, you can work. If you have your wits, you can work. If you can’t find work, look harder. Or make your own. That’s what I did. I was destitute only seven years ago. And I’ve built myself up. And that was all done with clinical depression weighing me down like lead.

Self-determination? Ah yes, being forced to slave away at a minimum wage job because you simply can't get hired elsewhere for the rest of your life, or starving. That's self-determination in the same sense that having the choice between following orders and maybe be allowed to live, or don't and be killed when someone holds a gun to your head is. Venezuela, or any other socialist country in the world is/has been hardly perfect, but you know what's not helping?

YOU DO NOT HAVE TO WORK AT A MINIMUM WAGE JOB FOR THE REST OF YOUR LIFE.

Sorry, sorry… you’re like the fiftieth person whose thrown that at me and it gets cringier every time I hear it… I apologize.

But seriously, if you think that min wage is for life, you’ve not made very good decisions.

You start at the bottom and work your way up. Just because you spend a few years flipping burgers doesn’t mean you’re stuck there!

Fuck… you can apprentice with a plumber and be making SIX FIGURES in FIVE YEARS!

I kid thee not!

Fascist protestors literally burning supplies that are already hard to get by. Action taken by the US to undermine pretty much any socialist country that has ever existed. As for more internal problems? Guess what, those can be improved upon. It's an economic system, not a religion.

Can be? Doubt it, but maybe.

Will be? No.

And as for being an economic system and not a religion…

That’s a mighty tall claim, considering the fact that Socialism tends to butt out religion and replace it with itself. Take China for example. All their rich culture, their ancient heritage, their majestic architecture, their thousands of years of history and artifacts…. FUCKING RUINED BY A LITTLE SHIT WITH HIS LITTLE RED BOOK.

The very basic premise you utterly fail to process here is that this shit is subject to constant rethinking and revision, something made impossible when some strongman figure decides to take power, no matter what side of the political spectrum they're on - that said, the right loves those far, far more than anyone left of center will, as a matter of basic principles that define either side.

Which is one of the fundamental flaws in Socialism and Communism. You can’t build off of that when the foundation is garbage. And how many MOUNTAINS OF CORPSES do you wish to produce before we ‘Get Socialism right’?

Thanks, but Capitalism has existed LONG before Socialism.

Otem from the Mountain People went to Trajk of the Plains People because the Plains People make masterful spears. He traded a basket, which the Mountain People make better than anyone, including the Plains People, for a spear. Both people are wealthier as a result.

And that also leads us to why I consider right-wingers universally shitty people: plainly speaking, they simply are.

And you call ME the bigot…?

It's at best ignorant, at worst astonishingly hypocritical as can be to act like you care about the poor, only to deliberately make their lives harder using the political apparatus in place.

You know that is not the motivation of capitalists. And if that’s what you think, then you are simply incorrect.

You can't say you care about groups of people, then vote for those who are all too happy to take their rights away.

I DO care and I disagree with the ban. While I find it iffy to put people who deal with what Trans people do into severely high-stress situations, if they believe they can hack it, I believe they have a right to stand proudly beside the other defenders of the country.

Actions speak louder than words, and actions that affect an entire country weigh far more heavily than those taken on an individual basis - giving money to individual homeless people simply doesn't counterbalance supporting the people who make sure they can't sleep anywhere by putting spikes out in public places.

Spikes out? It’s the LABOR PARTY in the UK who want to fine homeless people a thousand pounds for sleeping in public.

See my above points for further rebuttal. I’m not repeating myself.

Don't bother acting like I'm saying all this out of ignorance either - I've been there myself. I've had a right-wing phase, I only need to look back at my own past actions to see the hypocrisy that lies underneath.

I’m not going to say that everyone one the Right are Saints. You know that’s not my position. I also don’t think everyone on the Left are foolish. Fuck, I don’t even think the majority of them are bad people at all! I think they’re people whose hearts are generally in the right place, but feel rather than think. But you are, inversely, able to forgive EVERY sin of the Left while, and I quote, labeling every right-winger as universally bad people.

That is some FRIGHTENING SHIT right there, amigo. That you can de-humanize EVERYONE on the opposite political spectrum because you’re so high on your own moral superiority that you’ve willfully blinded yourself.

And while ignorance itself is forgivable, you've repeatedly shown not to care in the slightest for anything that would lead you to reconsider your ideas, nor do you have any interest in actually putting your money where your mouth is on the grander scale with just about anything you mentioned in your post.

HAH… if you only knew…

So yeah. Come back to me when you've learned to genuinely care about other people beyond those in your direct personal sphere.

So you’re moving the goalposts, huh?

I contested that I’m not the evil strawman you have created and now you’re saying ‘Well, you may care about the people around you, BUT WHAT ABOUT EVERYBODY ELSE?!’

Friendo… I can’t care about everybody else. Everybody else are adults, or will be someday. Then everybody else can care about everybody else. They’re my neighbors and I genuinely wish them well. I’ll help a stranger’s reasonable request just for the asking. But I am not Atlas. I cannot take on all the problems of the world. I can voice my opinion on how they should be dealt with, to be sure. Because I have that freedom.

I care for my country and fellow citizens, and I will vote according to how I believe they can best be helped. But it is *not* my responsibility to solve all of their problems for them.

Even if I could, I would not. Because it’s our problems and our struggles that make us grow.

The butterfly cannot fly if it doesn’t struggle its way out of the cocoon. A well meaning person may peel the cocoon away, but that dooms the butterfly to a flightless life.

Buddha said that life is a struggle. And he wasn’t wrong there.

But while we can help our friends, our neighbors and even strangers, that does not mean that it’s relative across the board.

Poverty in the West is a child asking his father why he’s crying as he weeps over a stack of bills on the table. Poverty in the third world is emaciated children with rice-bloated bellies.

Both are heartbreaking, but both are unique to their places of origin and therefore are not comparable.

You can lie to yourself all day about who I am, what my motivations are and what my heart is like.

But if you found out who I am, what I’m like, how I behave, then you may be willing to face down your other prejudice against an entire group of people you have frighteningly labeled as universally evil.