#we have to stop telling people it's their moral duty to argue with bigots because some of you are terrible at it

[elftwink]

one of the most infuriating things that happens in discussions about trans people is like, when a transphobe talks about how its just SOOOO easy to access gender affirming care, it's so easy to get on hrt or get referred for surgery etc... some of you dense motherfuckers respond to this by saying "no!!! it's not easy!!!! its so hard!!!" & listen. i KNOW that it IS HARD for many of us. and in many places it's getting harder. but tell me this: isn't the goal, eventually, to make it easy? not just easier than right now, but genuinely easy for a transgender person to access the care they need on whatever timeline they want, no matter how fast or slow? so if you spend all your time right now combating transphobia by insisting that transition is difficult and taxing and traumatizing, what are you going to do if and when it's none of those things? if there is no endless suffering and million hoops?

when someone says "it's too easy to transition" in order to justify their own transphobia, and you say "no it's not", you're also saying "if it were, your feelings would be justified". which is already kind of a terrible implication without taking into consideration that what most of these people mean by "too easy" is "possible". they mean that you can transition and they don't want you to. point blank. when you say it's difficult, they think "good. it should be harder". it will never be difficult enough to not be easy to them.

i am literally so sick & tired of all of us throwing each other under the bus in order to advocate for a future that is fucking miserable and awful. when someone tells you their nightmare scenario is transgender people being happy, you should not be responding to that by reassuring them that actually, transgender people are miserable and always have been and always will. when someone complains about how easy transition is you should say "good". we are never getting out of this fucking crab bucket if we're not only pulling each other down but also telling other people that pushing us back in would be fine if we were a little closer to the top.

#good idea generator #one thing i vividly remember is like. back when i read discourse blogs for fun (never do this btw this did irreparable damage to my psyche) #i saw an argument between a t*rf who had detransitioned and a trans person #where she was complaining it was too easy for her to transition and he was accusing her of lying about her transition #because he was like 'its not that easy. it cannot be that easy it never is you're lying' #but the thing was she and i had had nearly identical transitions like very similar timelines #the only thing she had that i didnt was parental support from the outset (my parents are cool btw we have long since worked it out. im js) #and it was infuriating to me that the person on my side who was arguing for my community was essentially saying #that i should have had it harder. that it wasnt possible for it to be like that #especially considering i dont think my transition was 'easy'!! certainly 'easier' than some people #but like 'easy' is so subjective and in this context mostly reliant on your own feelings and experiences #and i was not having a very easy time when starting my transition i would say #also her argument was bad in other ways made me furious that he resorted to accusing her of lying #like great now she'll run back to her t*rf friends and theyll all talk about how we live in an echo chamber #we have to stop telling people it's their moral duty to argue with bigots because some of you are terrible at it

[the-hilda-librarians-wife]

Sketchbook Week Day 4 - Dreaming of Bumping Into You (Chapter 1)

Summary: When Johanna is woken up in the middle of the night by a strange phone call, she knows she has to ask Kaisa what is happening. She just doesn’t know which is more concerning; whether it’s the words being said or the way her best friend sounds while she’s delivering them

Notes: Written for @sketchbookweek Day 4 - Secrets

Cw: mentions of drug/alcohol use. Nobody actually uses either, they’re just fucking stupid

Listen, with the amount of songs I make sketchbook edits to in my head, I have no idea why I decided to write fanfic inspired by Why’d You Only Call Me When You’re High, but when the inspiration strikes you can’t argue with it yk

Read it on ao3

“Arch sorceress Pilqvist is a disloyal, unreasonable woman. It is beyond me how she has reached such a high standing inside our order when her skull is so thick I hardly think hurling a crystal ball at it would even hurt!”

Kaisa took a deep breath. The very woman who was being slandered right in front of her had taught her that filling your lungs with air was the best thing you could do when you wanted to lash out. Not that it made the anger go away, not at all. But at least it made it so one couldn't get any impulsive words out, at least not until after one big exhale. After which you could always inhale again and stop yourself from getting cursed, punched, fired, or in her current case, probably all at once.

“Tell me again how you think insulting my mentor is going to make me help you, Ingrid.”

Her voice had been calm. Slow. The appropriate tone for a library, which, even though her boss seemed to have forgotten, they were inside at the moment. Yet the witch immediately looked angry, the red that had been steadily rising on her neck reaching her sharp cheekbones.

“You must!” She shot, glaring at how Kaisa kept her demeanour purposefully disinterested, eyelids heavy and shoulders slumped over the library cart she was walking around with for reshelving purposes. Ingrid didn’t quite like how the librarian made her follow around while she did her duty either, but that was their bad for only hiring one person for that entire building. “Matilda is the only witch who ever managed to create a spell like that with so little side effects. With the amount of trolls walking around town these days, we need it more than ever! Witchkind’s safety is at stake!”

The librarian rolled her eyes, though she didn’t think the other witch saw it. Recent… changes brought to the town by Frida and her friends had made it increasingly easy to tell apart the bigoted ones amongst them all. No matter how little interest trolls seemed to have on witchcraft and its practitioners, there were still some witches who insisted that just because their magics didn’t mix, that they shouldn’t coexist.

Which was just as bullshit as it sounded.

The Committee had called upon Tildy one day, and she’d even showed up much to everyone’s surprise. They’d explained their worries, which meant that five minutes in it wasn’t a meeting anymore, but a sass session for the older woman to make them realise how stupid they sounded. They didn’t, of course, which only meant Tildy refused to give them her prized protection spell and they didn’t give up on their quest to secure it. Leaving Kaisa in her current position.

“It’s her spell.” Kaisa said as she parked her cart between two shelves and began looking for the correct place for an eighteenth century poetry book. Her opinions on the matter were exactly like her former master’s, of course. She hadn’t witnessed Hilda show off her shifting powers like a party trick when she dined at her house just to turn around and say that trolls were dangerous. But if Tildy hadn’t come through to them, great at turning people to her side as she was, then Kaisa wasn’t going to be the one to make them see the other side of things. Besides, she was tired. The last thing she wanted was to begin a moral argument in the final leg of her already tiring work day.

There was also the issue that she didn’t actually know that spell, but hey, she didn’t need to admit that to the people that employed her, did she?

“I’m not going to spill it if she didn’t want you to have it. I’m sorry, but you’ll have to look somewhere else.” She finished, not sorry in the least but trying to keep some semblance of politeness.

Ingrid twisted her lips like she’d tasted something sour. The truth, probably. Or her own stupidity. She ran a hand through her short blonde hair to make it fall back into place.

“Hm. Lineage secret, is it?”

Nah. It was a protection spell. Tildy would probably give it to anyone who asked her nicely, if they didn’t want it for idiotic and prejudiced reasons. She’d likely made Kaisa learn it at some point, but gods knew she’d long since forgotten it.

“Yes.” She lied. “Of the utmost secrecy.”

Ingrid hummed again, and Kaisa thought she got a chill in her spine when she did so. It got draughty in the library during that time of the day, she supposed. “I see.” She said in a whisper. “I suppose I’ll just have to find it… someplace else.”

The other woman walked away, all of Kaisa’s discomfort disappearing alongside her. She breathed a sigh of relief at no longer having Ingrid’s analysing stare locked on her face like it had been for the entire conversation, finally free to listen to her songs as she worked.

For some reason, though, she still felt eyes on her all the while until she finished for the day. No matter how many times she looked behind herself, she still saw nothing, so she figured it must be the lingering unease at having been so close to one of the Committee’s most unpleasant witches (she and her sister were almost tied in Kaisa’s listing, but Abigail still took the crown for that whole Void business). Kaisa let the music blast through her headphones, getting lost in it as an antidote for those moments of stress and whispering along to the lyrics.

”The mirror’s image tells me it’s home time…”

…......

A couple years before, when Hilda (whose name she did not know at the time, of course, but a blue haired girl is hard to miss even at such a large library) began showing up to ask for books and advice, so did her mother. It took them an embarrassingly long time to realise that Kaisa was the librarian who Hilda always talked about and that Johanna was the mother the girl mentioned when they were together, but once they did, it took the two women no time to bond over their fondness for the girl and her group of friends, over their routines, their tastes and struggles. After Johanna had made her promise to never again give her daughter any dangerous magical devices, that was.

They had become, at the very least, friends. And Kaisa thought that with no small amount of weight to that statement, because she really couldn’t remember the last time she’d been so sure she could call someone that. But there was a line, you see. Most friendships didn’t have that line, that boundary just within eyesight that they were sure that once it was crossed, it would no longer be a platonic friendship but a romance. Most friendships didn’t have it, because when friends trusted that that’s what they were, and that was how they would be free to express the extent of their love to its fullest, then all you can see, all around you, is that friendship, as far as you can reach.

Not them, though. Both of them were very aware of that border, well aware that their love for one another was extremely capable of taking another shape, one that would actually let them breathe freely and satiate the longing inside them.

There was a line. They were aware of the line. And they kept tip-toeing on it and jumping back each time. Scared of what would happen if they crossed it. Scared of what the other would think.

Personally, Kaisa would love to rip the blasted line out of the ground and use it as something more interesting. An aisle for one of them to walk towards the other on, for example. She’d had quite enough of catching herself sighing yearningly at the window on sunny days and squealing when her phone pinged with a message from her. And that was to say nothing of the embarrassing (-ly frequent) daydreams. She felt she’d had quite enough of pining being a woman almost in her thirties.

The thing was, taking the first step wasn’t something Kaisa was willing to do. Not right now, at least. Johanna might only be a couple of years older than her, but she felt like the woman was aeons ahead of her. She was mature and well resolved, independent and capable of taking care of herself, her daughter, and however many magical creatures there currently were in her house. How could Kaisa, in all sincerity, offer herself up for a woman like that in her current state, knowing she’d end up as nothing more than another source of trouble for her?

No. Kaisa was willing to wait. She rather thought Johanna was too, judging by how that line kept being played with. They’d get to crossing it, well and properly. But first, she wanted to get a little closer to being the person she thought Johanna deserved. A little braver. A little more put together. A little less worried about what people who didn’t give a single damn about her well being thought of her. And she was making progress, she really was. But until then, that uneasy friendship would be more than enough. She’d take it and be grateful it was even being offered, making sure to show her appreciation for Johanna’s presence in her life every single day.

Which was why when the woman showed up at the library that morning, wringing her hands together in anxiety and with a frown between her eyebrows, Kaisa immediately dropped what she’d been doing to go talk to her.

“Hey, Anna, good morning.” She greeted in a soft tone of voice, making her startle slightly upon noticing Kaisa’s presence. The librarian had approached her from behind, but even so she thought the behaviour was slightly off. She was never this jumpy, was she? “Everything alright?”

There were a couple of moments when Kaisa genuinely wondered if she was talking to the wrong person. Maybe there was some bizarrely accurate Johanna lookalike in town now and she just hadn’t been aware. The point was, a full twenty seconds must have passed in which Johanna said and did nothing other than stare at Kaisa with that same frown she’d walked in with.

“Johanna?”

“Yes, I’m fine.” She answered at last, but her voice didn’t sound at all certain. “I’m… it’s alright. Thank you for asking. But what about you?”

Kaisa quirked an eyebrow. As soon as Johanna had been broken out of her unexpected stupor, she’d begun leading them to the library’s break room, where the workers could go should they need some water, coffee, or just to sit down and not to interact with people for a bit. So essentially Kaisa’s personal personal winding down and chugging coffee corner. They’d been there many times before, chatting until after the library’s closing hours about anything at all. However, when Kaisa was about to sit down on one of the ancient armchairs, she turned back to see that Johanna was still standing by the doorway, looking at her feet and shifting her weight between them.

“Is it okay if we stay out here?”

Her lifted eyebrow melted into a frown as Kaisa walked out of the break room again.

“Well, sure we can, but what’s going on?”

“Nothing.” Johanna said, too quickly. “We’re okay, I promise. I just popped by to ask you if you were fine.”

Kaisa’s heart did a flip inside her chest. Which was very uncomfortable, considering a structure tied to so many vases wasn’t supposed to be moving around much at all. The words sounded reassuring, but they hit her as anything but. When she saw Johanna walk in like that, she’d assumed something had happened and that she could help, even if only by listening to her. Now the thought at the forefront of her mind was that she’d messed up somehow. Because she hadn’t even considered that they might not be fine, but now she sure as hell was doing it.

“What, me? Sure I am.” She closed the break room door behind herself, figuring that if the idea of going in there made Johanna uncomfortable she should eliminate the possibility altogether. “I mean, I am normal. I woke up at the normal time and came to my normal job that I do every day. Little pissed that I just had to ask a group of teenagers to be quiet, but that’s it. I’m not sure I understand your question.”

Johanna still wouldn’t look at her, which was off putting. Kaisa was the one who liked to look away when they talked, only because it made it easier for her to concentrate on the conversation, but she could always feel Johanna’s eyes on her. This time, Kaisa actively tried to catch her gaze, wondering if looking at her eyes would give her any explanations to the way she was acting, but without success.

The woman cleared her throat. “It’s just… last night, when you called me. You sounded a little… out of it. And I wanted to check that you were fine and safe.”

Kaisa blinked. Stared at her. Continued staring at her until Johanna finally looked at her face and saw her own confusion reflected back. She looked a little embarrassed, a light pink colour painting her cheeks and the bridge of her nose.

“I didn’t call you.”

“What?”

“Johanna, I didn’t call you. As far as I’m concerned, the last time we talked was when we went to the bake shop two days ago. When was this call?”

Now, the librarian wasn’t trying to gaslight her. She didn’t think Johanna was crazy, much less a liar. But neither was Kaisa an amnesiac, so she’d probably remember calling the woman she was head over heels for; there had to be a logical explanation for this.

“Roughly at three in the morning, I think.” Johanna answered, looking uncertain in the face of Kaisa’s conviction even though she sounded actually sure of the time she was informing. Kaisa snorted.

“Well, I have no idea who that was, but I can assure you you’re not looking at them.”

“But it was your voice.”

“Anna, I go to sleep at nine thirty and wake up at six. I do that religiously, because otherwise I become a massive bitch come morning.”

“Well-” Johanna looked like she was getting uncomfortable in a different way now, being put in the spot like that. Kaisa softened. She’d assumed that assuring her that she wasn’t responsible for whatever that was would make the situation easier on her. But come think of it, being phoned by a stranger that could pass as one of your closest friends couldn’t be too soothing either. “I thought you might not remember because, well, you sounded-”

Kaisa nodded for her to go on once she looked insecure about whether she should finish that sentence. Johanna did so with a whisper.

“Affected?”

Johanna looked at her expectantly, making Kaisa feel bad that she could offer her nothing other than even more confusion. She’d need to make herself more clear if she wanted anything out of the witch.

“Sorry, affected by…?”

“Well-” Johanna rubbed her neck, looking around them, and the ceiling, down again. Everywhere but at Kaisa. “I don’t know. Alcohol. Drugs. Something like that. Not that I’m judging!” She put her hands in front of herself immediately, and if she took the chance to really take in Kaisa’s face she’d see how that possibility was even weirder to her than it was to Johanna. “But I was just worried about how you might be. So. Yeah.”

Kaisa wanted to be helpful. She really did. But Johanna had just asked someone whose ideas of reckless behaviour ranged from waking up the dead to skipping dinner to eat jorts, and nowhere in that spectrum was partying hard and using any sort of substance. It was hard to even take her worry over her seriously, which was a shame, since under any other circumstances Kaisa would have been over the moon with such a treatment.

“Johanna. Look at me.” She did. “Under what circumstances can you imagine me getting high at three a.m.?”

It was her right arm instead of her neck that she rubbed in anxiety this time. “Well, none, but-”

They stared at each other, Johanna with an anxious look and Kaisa with a compassionate one. Eventually, she sighed.

“You’re right. It must have been a dream.” Her shoulders slumped. “Oh, gosh, this is so embarrassing. I’m sorry, Kaisa.”

Her friend laughed, glad that apparently there wasn’t even a problem to be solved. Maybe now they could have their coffee and some regular chatting.

“Don’t stress about it. I should be flattered you’re dreaming about me.”

Kaisa walked back into the break room, heading straight to the coffee machine to brew a new batch. In doing so, she failed to notice how Johanna still lingered by the doorframe, watching her for any signs of untruthfulness or discomfort.

Through gritted teeth, the woman whispered to her own ears only. “You have no idea…”

…......

Kaisa got deja vu often. She supposed it was a mix of her brain loving to make associations and the fact that all witches had some future telling abilities, even if hers were quite weak, so she supposed there were some things in her life that she had seen before, even if at the back of her mind, a simple suggestion made by that more magical part of her consciousness.

That particular image, however, she was very sure she had seen before, and when, and where. It had been at that same place, at the same time, the very day before.

This morning, however, when Johanna spotted her, she clutched her purse strap closer to herself, making Kaisa halt her approach. She only ever did that when she was scared.

Was she scared of… Kaisa?

The thought hit her like a knife between her shoulder blades, but she still put on a smile for her. She didn’t get any closer, though. It was best to let Johanna approach her.

She didn’t. She stood there, two metres away like she was talking to a stranger. The knife twisted inside her.

“It happened again.” She said, sounding surer than she had the day before. “I was awake. I checked. Nothing happened when I pinched myself and my fingers and clocks looked normal. I wrote a note saying it was real and it was still there when I woke up this morning.”

Kaisa sighed. “Anna, I don’t know what to tell you. I didn’t call you. I certainly didn’t get drunk, or high. It must have been a prank of some sort.”

Johanna’s mouth twisted, like she was trying to bite something back. “Yes. It must have been.”

The witch dared to take a step forward; only one, though, because Johanna immediately tensed. Someone else might not have noticed it, but Kaisa couldn’t not.

“Are you… angry at me, Anna?”

Her voice was harsher than Kaisa had ever heard it before when she answered. “No. Why would I be angry at you for something you didn’t do?”

“I have no idea, but you sure as hell sound like it right now.”

“Why do you look tired?” Johanna snapped, shoulders squared back though the displeasure at acting like that was written clearly on her face. Kaisa gaped.

“Because I am borderline anaemic and wake up every day at six, maybe? You can’t really be mad at me right now, Anna. I know it must be weird to be prank called in the middle of the night and everything, not to mention whatever the hell they’re telling you to get you this worked up, but I didn’t do anything!”

Her stare grew harder, those brown eyes suddenly reminding her solid mountains, peaks so high one couldn’t ever hope to reach. But then moisture began to gather at the corners, and Johanna looked down quickly. Just not quickly enough for Kaisa to not have seen it.

“You never do, do you?” She whispered and walked quickly out of the library, leaving a befuddled librarian behind herself.

…......

One of the things Johanna missed the most about living out in the wilderness was the quiet. Since they’d moved to Trolberg, she’d hardly ever managed to have a single night’s sleep that was as peaceful as when the only sounds that could be heard during the night were of the owls and cicadas, the forest’s own little lullaby for its only two human inhabitants to hear. It wasn’t like Trolberg was some big metropolis where they were subjected to the noise of traffic jams and drunken yelling in the early hours of the morning, of course. But it wasn’t the same. There was always an odd motorcycle, or the footsteps of their upstairs neighbour, the sound of a television when someone in their building turned to it after having trouble sleeping.

And, for the past two nights, there had been the blasted ringing of their landline.

The first time, she’d found it beyond weird. Nobody ever called them at that time of the day (well, night). But the phone would have kept ringing had she not picked up, and she didn’t want it to disturb Hilda. So Johanna had dragged herself out of bed, mumbling and rubbing at her eyes, and walked to the kitchen to simply tell whoever was at the other side of the line that they had the wrong number and hang up.

It didn’t go like that, however. Because as soon as her ear was on the speaker, a voice she knew slurred her name.

“Kaisa?!” She’d whispered with urgency, figuring from the time of the call and from her clearly subdued voice that something was wrong. “What’s the matter?”

She hadn’t answered for a couple of seconds, but Johanna knew she was still there. She could hear her breathing.

“I’m in love with you.” Kaisa sighed eventually, in a dreamy voice. “That’s the matter.”

Since the whole point of picking that call at all was not waking Hilda up, Johanna had to make a lot of effort to be silent when she choked on air at that statement. Her face heated up immediately and she gripped the phone’s handle, looking around herself to make sure there was no one near and listening. As if that would help. If either Tontu or Alfur really wanted to listen in, there would really be nothing she’d be able to do about it.

That was not how she’d imagined this conversation going.

“What?” She whispered into the microphone. “Kaisa, that’s lovely-” She mentally slapped herself. What kind of reaction to ‘I’m in love with you’ was that? Kaisa deserved better. But then, Johanna had also thought she deserved at least a face to face confession, though she should probably consider herself lucky to be getting one at all. “- but why are you telling me this right now?”

“I can’t tell you this.” Kaisa continued, which Johanna hardly thought could be considered an answer to her question. Her voice was distant, the cadence unlike it had been in any of the times they’d been together previously. Still, Johanna knew it to be her voice. She’d recognize it anywhere. “I can’t tell you that I want you close at all times. I can’t tell you that you’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever met. I can’t even tell you I want to know everything about you. Because I’m not… not ready. You deserve someone better than me, and I’m not ready.”

Her tone wasn’t emotional. For all that she was saying, she didn’t sound like she was making a confession, but like she was listing facts. Johanna was sure her face must be completely red at that point, her heart picking up a speed she wasn’t entirely sure was healthy. She still had just enough reason to be able to tell that none of that sounded normal.

“Kaisa, love, tell me what’s going on.” She urged. They’d hung out not a full 48 hours before. Kaisa had been acting normally around her and showing no signs of wanting to confess an avalanche of deeply buried feelings. Something had to have happened.

“I know it’s selfish of me, but I want to be with you anyway.” Another string of words that sounded like they barely had any thought given to them as they were pushed out of Kaisa’s mouth. It wasn’t an answer. The witch had probably not even heard her. “I want to wake up with you and cook with you and come home to you at the end of the day-”

Oh, gods.

“I want to be someone you can call yours-”

Kaisa was high, wasn’t she?

“Kaisa, where are you?” Johanna attempted once more, even though the confessions didn’t stop coming from the other end of the line. “Do you need to be picked up? Are you safe? Are you home?”

Nothing. Well, not nothing. A lot, really, but only a lot of sappy feelings that had nothing to do with Kaisa’s current state at all.

It must have gone on for half an hour. Johanna didn’t know how to make her stop, and figured that at least she knew Kaisa was fine as long as she was speaking to her on her phone. There was of course also the fact that she’d waited for so long to hear those things that she was too selfish to hang up now, even if these were far from the circumstances she would have preferred. After she’d seemed to run out of things to say, Kaisa asked in just as distant of a voice.

“What do you think?”

Johanna took a deep breath. She’d sat down on the floor at some point, the landline’s cable extended to allow her to do so.

“I think you need to rest, my dear.” She uttered softly, still worried. “We can talk about it when you’re better.”

The line went silent. Kaisa had hung up.

Johanna still sat there, cradling the phone’s handle and looking straight ahead with an unfocused case for a few more minutes. She had no idea how to process what had just happened. Kaisa had just said everything Johanna could have asked for in her most self centred fantasies, and more. But she didn’t feel ecstatic like she should. She felt hollow. Because of the context, she felt foolish, even. That night, she’d gone to bed and her only thought had been ‘what now?’

But then she’d showed up at the library, and Kaisa had acted exactly as she would have any other day. Like nothing had happened. Like she hadn’t gotten high as a kite and declared her undying love in the dead of night. And she’d been so sure of it too, without any signs of any unusual activities the night before, even. Johanna had let herself be convinced it was only a dream. That would have made sense, right? Only in dreams did people’s crushes confess to them like they were writing a love letter. In Johanna’s case, only in dreams did people confess to her at all. She should have known better.

Except it had happened again the night after that. Johanna had made sure to check everything that could give away that she was dreaming, but everything around her looked perfectly… real. Except for Kaisa. Her voice drifting from the phone, saying how much she craved to have her near, couldn’t possibly belong to reality. And yet, it did.

Not that any of it had helped matters when she’d come to talk to Kaisa about it. Depending on what substance she’d been on, it would have made sense for her to forget what had happened. That wasn’t the issue here; had it all been handled differently, Johanna should have been happy to wait for as long as the witch needed for her to actually admit her feelings. But all she’d been met with was vehement denial. Maybe she was ashamed, but going so far as to imply that Johanna was wrong, or lying? Implying that it could be a random prankster had her at the end of her rope. As if Johanna could ever mistake Kaisa’s voice for anyone else’s. At that point it was as entangled in her mind as the sounds of the forest or of her pencil on sheets of paper.

All of that only allowed her to arrive at one conclusion. That it was deliberate.

For the third night straight, Johanna forced her legs to take her to the kitchen. Her head hurt; it had been difficult to fall asleep again after the calls, leaving her exhausted physically as well as emotionally. She hoped it would be something different this time. That maybe Kaisa had come to her senses and would admit that she was drunk, or high, or just plain sorry.

She hoped for anything other than what she got.

“I’ve fallen for you harder than I thought I could. I didn’t know I could like someone this much.”

Johanna groaned. Groaned. Because somehow her biggest dream had turned into a nightmare in the matter of three days. Was loving her such an embarrassing thing that it could only be mentioned in the dead of night? No, that wouldn’t make sense. Kaisa would at least act coy if that was the case, give her the slightest indication that she did mean what she’d said or that she even remembered what she’d said. For her to sound like that, to say all that, and to vehemently deny it only left Johanna with one conclusion.

For two nights, she’d withstood that. It had to be some sort of joke, and a cruel one at that. To force her to hear everything she wanted, only to see that it changed nothing come daylight. It was torture. And it was clever. Clever because it hit exactly where it hurt, because it would drive Johanna insane while leaving Kaisa safe in her bubble of plausible deniability. All that was left to assume was that Kaisa had actually found out that Johanna had feelings for her and was using it to make fun of her. Maybe she wouldn’t do it when she had full control of herself, but apparently whatever she was using to make her sound like that made the allure of the prank too sweet for her. And then, come morning, she must remember it and deny ever using anything at all, either because she knew what she was capable of under the influence or because she was well aware of the game she was playing and wanted to continue at it.

It was a joke, and Johanna was at the butt of it. She had to remind herself of this. Because otherwise, she’d never have been able to finally, on that third night, hang up on Kaisa while she uttered the most lovely words Johanna had ever heard.

…......

Everything had changed since the last time they’d talked. Johanna didn’t invite her out anymore. She didn’t stop by the library to see her ‘just because’. She didn’t go anywhere Kaisa frequented at all, at least not while she was there. She didn’t even answer her texts or pick up her phone. And the worst part was, Kaisa didn’t even know what she’d done. She knew she needn’t worry for the other woman, since the trio was at the library often and that gave Kaisa a chance to ask Hilda about her mother. Given that the girl had taken to glaring at her before saying Johanna was fine, thank you very much, she was left to believe she must have screwed up somehow, even if she couldn’t figure it out.

She’d resisted all of two weeks under these circumstances before she’d caved. Her mind screamed at her that she was being stupid all the while her feet were taking her to the apartment complex where she’d spent so many enjoyable evenings drinking tea and giggling over nothing, but she ignored it. Johanna should be the one to reach out to her and tell her what she’d done to deserve being ghosted like that, should look at her in the eyes and tell her how Kaisa could be better for her. But she hadn’t done so, and Kaisa couldn’t take it anymore. She wanted her best friend. And if that meant swallowing her fear and her pride, well. She’d been the one to screw up in the first place, hadn’t she?

Probably.

At least she’d resisted the urge to buy flowers before heading there. The art of toeing the blasted line lied at the mixed messages peppered in every gesture that could be interpreted as romantic, and she rather didn’t think there’d be anything mixed or up to interpretation about giving another woman a bouquet of white roses.

Kaisa knocked on her door, knowing that the woman must be home since it was still early enough for her to have interrupted her self-imposed work hours. She’d managed to sneak away from the library earlier than usual precisely for that reason, even if Johanna didn’t go out much either way. Her voice came from the other side, a soft ‘coming!’ muffled by the wall between them. When the door was opened. Johanna was wearing a carefully crafted serene expression. Which melted away immediately at the sight of Kaisa.

To the witch’s absolute horror, Johanna stepped away from her.

“Oh.” She breathed, her voice guarded. “It’s you.”

What the hell is that supposed to mean?, she wanted to scream. Instead, she frowned and nodded. “Yes. Hi, Anna.”

“What do you want?” Johanna snapped, crossing her arms. She didn’t sound or look pissed, though, only sad and even scared as she looked at Kaisa’s feet rather than her face. And tired. Very tired.

So was Kaisa, if she was honest. She hadn’t woken up feeling truly rested in weeks.

“Well-” Kaisa struggled for something to say. Johanna had always been the more well spoken between the two of them. She’d truly thought that she’d arrive here and only have to listen to her explain what was going on. Having to actually voice anything hadn’t been part of her plan. “Isn’t it obvious?”

The woman’s face snapped to her at that, anger in her eyes. Kaisa had never seen her like this. But then, she supposed, she’d never hurt the woman before either.

“If you’re going to tell me the same thing as the last times, just give up.” She stated, making sure her shoulders were set back, voice a lot less unwavering than she would have liked. “I’m not going to let you treat me like this.”

Kaisa gaped at her. “Wait.” She lifted a hand, suddenly feeling anger rise up in her own chest. “This is still about the prank calls you’ve been getting?”

No matter how strongly Kaisa felt she was the one who should be offended here, Johanna’s furrowed brows and pursed lips told her very clearly how affronted she was that Kaisa would have the gall to react the way she did.

“Stop it. I won’t hear you out if you’re only going to lie either. You should be going.”

“Yes, I really should, shouldn’t I?” Kaisa snapped, surprising both of them with the fire in her voice. She truly wasn’t able to help it in the face of Johanna’s coldness. For her friend - and calling her that now felt like a mockery to what they had - to toss her away like that without even hearing her out, she could only have been looking for a reason to fight with her. Just waiting for an excuse to get rid of the witch. Well, Kaisa wasn’t about to get in her way.

She turned her back to her and walked back the way she came with all the certainty she didn’t feel, letting the hurt drive her away. She’d thought Johanna was the better one between the two of them. She thought that she’d at least have been given a reason, an explanation, or a proper conversation instead of just being accused over nothing for the woman to justify throwing their friendship away to herself. Didn’t matter, though. Not anymore.

The sound of her shoes on the building’s staircase was loud as she stomped away. Loud enough to drown out the sound of Johanna’s sniffles.

…......

The phone rang, like it always did, at three in the morning. The headache that had been her companion for many days now screamed at the sound. Johanna was already awake, of course. Her body had developed some sort of pavlovian response and she now always woke up exactly at 2:55 a.m., anxious about her daughter being startled out of her slumber by the ringing.

She got up from the couch wearily, and picked it up. After a couple of seconds of looking at it, she actually brought it to her ears. After the third time, she’d taken to leaving it on the counter for about half an hour, before placing it back onto the hook. It wasn’t like Kaisa was ever interested in what she had to say, anyway, so it didn’t really matter, and Johanna was afraid she’d ring again if she just hung up on her. But she’d actually showed up that afternoon. Hadn’t acknowledged what she’d been doing, sure, hadn’t apologised or offered a semblance of an explanation. She’d even yelled at her, considering the standard low volume that her voice usually had. But maybe that meant she was willing to rethink, willing to maybe take a step back and undo this mess. Maybe she’d come to her senses at last, maybe she’d stopped using whatever had been making her act like that.

With foolish hope, Johanna dared to listen to her voice one last time.

“Hi, Johanna.” Said the dreamy, far away voice. So not sober, then. “I love you. Every time you smile at me I feel like I’m flying-”

She wanted to scream. Nothing had changed. Nothing would change. And Johanna was exhausted, from this dance, from this heartbreak, from not knowing when was the last time she had slept peacefully without being woken up by this blatant and cruel ridicule.

She listened. Johanna actually was pathetic enough to listen to twenty more minutes of Kaisa saying exactly how she felt every time they were together, because she wasn’t sure she’d ever hear that voice again. And when she could finally bring herself to, she put the phone handle on the kitchen counter, and opened one of the kitchen drawers.

The scissors were exactly where she always left them. They were only ever used to open up food packages, but that didn’t matter. They managed to cut the landline’s cable just fine.

…......

It had been a long time coming. Truly, what had led her to believe a woman as lovely as Johanna would want to give her the time of the day? Maybe she’d enjoyed it for a couple of months. She might have only been doing it to be charitable, making an awkward loner like Kaisa feel like she had someone to rely on. But it hadn’t lasted, because how could it? Kaisa was who she was, and nobody could stand her for long. Eventually, people realised they couldn’t change her. They realised she was too annoying, too boring, too offputting to stand. And if Johanna had chosen that way to break them off, did she really have the right to be angry? She’d probably been giving her signs she didn’t want Kaisa nearby for ages, but Kaisa never took a hint, did she?

It made sense, now. Johanna didn’t blush when Kaisa complimented her because she liked it. It was because she made her uncomfortable. Her eyes didn’t widen when Kaisa asked her out because she was pleased. She’d merely been caught without an excuse to refuse. She didn’t tease Kaisa about her quirks because she found them charming. They were either attempts at getting her to change her habits or straight up jabs, hidden behind sweet words and a honeyed voice.

There was no line. There had never been a line. Kaisa was just delusional and pushing for something she’d never have. Kaisa was unlovable. She knew she was unlovable, and had accepted that a long time ago. It was her own fault for letting gentle touches and soft spoken affirmations convince her otherwise, her own fault for being so utterly incapable of making alright decisions, her own fault for only ever having bad ideas.

Gods, she was drained.

#Being a Gomens and ofmd fan means I am now traumatized by gays who are in different stages of noticing and dealing with their feelings #and refusing to talk about it. #Angst day in sketchbook week means I get to get it out of my system <3 #sketchbookweek #sketchbook ship #sketchbook ship hilda #sketchbook ship fanfic #kaisa hilda fanfic #johanna hilda fanfic #cw: drugs #cw: alcohol #my fic #fic: dobiy

[eldunea]

hear me out: lotor sincline as muggle studies professor and head of slytherin house.

would happen probably in his late 20s/early 30s after he designs the sincline mech and gets the wizarding space program up and running. at that point he’d probably hand off official control of his project to his mother honerva (though he’d still have some influence over it) and start focusing some of his energy on his decolonization project where he wants to bring back POC customs of wizards and muggles living side-by-side. to achieve this end. his aim as muggle studies professor is to get students used to the idea that wizards and muggles can and should coexist peacefully.

he has four main focuses in teaching his course: customs, history, philosophy and science. he tends to focus more on the last three than the first because those are more within his realm of knowledge. he also has more of an international focus rather than simply a european one when talking about history, philosophy and science--he could go on forever about how indigenous mesoamericans domesticated and bred 3,000 varieties of plants, or about the intricacies of lao tzu’s tao te ching, or about the hidden role of claudette colvin in america’s civil rights movement. and if there’s one thing that he nerds out about more than pre-contact histories of his parents’ peoples, it’s muggle jewish inventors. 

he has a special unit that he teaches to third years about 20th century atrocities and totalitarianism. he spends literally the entire second semester of third year talking about why dictatorships form, the tactics of corrupt leadership in controlling peoples’ lives, and how it’s every citizen’s duty to prevent this shit from happening again. he drives the message home by doing a comparative study of the rise of voldemort and the rise of hitler, and talking about how muggles’ racial biases toward POC have always influenced how wizards felt as well. one of the underlying themes of this unit is that wizards are more influenced by currents of muggle society than many would want to admit, and that’s why muggle studies is important.

one of his biggest messages as a professor other than the fact that wizards and muggles can live peacefully with each other is that muggles are the real wizards. literally when he starts class with third years he starts off with “wizards are fucking useless, i have the stats to prove it, we’ve technologically stagnated since the 1900s and we have the lowest proportion of inventors and scientists of any people in the world. muggles discovered the inner workings of nature through the likes of newton and einstein and hawking, and meanwhile in our corner we have bartholomew briggleby still pooping in the backyard and vanishing it like a dog because he’s never heard of a toilet.” he is vociferous about the notion that wizards are technologically lazy and complacent and it is imperative that the next generation starts being more like him and going out and inventing.

his domesticated foxes kugel and brisket have free run of the hogwarts grounds and all the students love them. occasionally a third fox--lotor himself--shows up with them. students, not knowing that it’s one of their teachers, have affectionately named it “blintzes.”

he’d also teach alchemy to the 6th and 7th years if there’s sufficient interest. the workload in the years where he has to do that is hellish but he pulls it off.

and some separate headcanons about lotor as head of slytherin house because HO BOY he’s about to start a revolution up in this bitch

he’s the first POC head of slytherin as well as its first jewish head. he goes to the chamber of secrets and takes a picture of himself leaning against the giant head of his house’s founder and writes a giant magical blogging post about how slytherin was antisemitic, how he said “jewish blood is just as dirty as muggle blood,” how he wanted to use the basilisk to purge the school of jewish students as well as muggle-born ones and how lotor literally became head of slytherin house out of PURE SPITE. he just.

“this isn’t your house anymore. it belongs to the people who live in it. it belongs to the ambition of the muggle-born who wants to show he’s just as good as any pureblood, or the romani child who wants to be the first in her family to graduate hogwarts. the cunning of the abuse survivor who has done everything in their power to survive. the leadership that young indigenous activists show when we fight to save the planet from the point of no return. the fraternity found in solidarity between jews, christians and muslims. I REFUSE to let hogwarts be a place where one house remains a bastion for prejudiced slander and hate, because if one house isn’t safe for the marginalized, the whole school isn’t safe either.”

half of his house hates him for that. if it’s not the conservative snob students calling for his removal, it’s their parents who most likely silently supported the death eaters while voldemort’s campaign was raging. but many of them learn very quickly not to mess with him for a reason stated below.

with all this feel-good talk, he seems more of a gryffindor or a hufflepuff. but to those students who break the rules or who try to make his life hell on the basis of his identity, he has steady reminders of how much of a slytherin he actually is. students who try to undermine him or others in sneaky ways are surprised to learn that he’s twice the filthy piece of shit that they all hope to be; no matter how clever they think they are he’s at least ten steps ahead, and it drives the lesson home when he manages to beat them at their own games. he sends the students off to detention with a smirk on his face, telling them “you can’t outfox a fox.” most of the time he takes absolutely no shit from troublemakers and isn’t afraid to teach them lessons the hard way. but if someone is looking to go after a known bully or something along those lines…he might look the other way.

he’s also damn good at keeping people in his house from going down the wrong path. he’s seen both sides of the coin--having been abused by white supremacists all his life and then experimenting with dark magic to get back at his abusers--so he knows real trouble when he sees it and he always puts a stop to it. 

this is where his persuasion comes in: he knows those kids won’t listen if he appeals to conventional morality, because he sure as hell didn’t listen either. so he appeals to their value systems instead. like if he catches someone with a hand of glory stealing stuff from other students who wants to be a master thief, he won’t blather on about why stealing is wrong, he’ll say “wow, i didn’t know your biggest dream in life was to be a petty felon. you’re a slytherin. where’s your ambition? don’t you want to be more than that?” or if someone wants to hurt someone via dark magic to achieve their ends, he’s like “well that’s not very clever of you. aren’t you smart enough to think of another way to get what you want?” of course, he always makes sure to walk them through the ethics of it later, but he knows he has to appeal to their self-interest, their ego and their childish still-developing emotions in order to hook them in. basically it takes a bastard to know a bastard and lotor is a supreme bastard so he can get inside their heads like nobody else.

one of the things he often has to do as a result of keeping kids out of trouble is confronting blood supremacist and otherwise bigoted parents when he talks their kids out of following their values. it’s fucking exhausting for him having to deal with their bullshit on a yearly basis but every time this happens he tells his students, “arguing is the jewish national sport. i was born for this” and goes right in.

if the parents get real bad, whether through hammering in bigoted ideologies or other forms of child abuse, lotor will straight up invite them to stay in hogwarts year-round. some of the nastier parents have straight up refused to let their kids go to hogwarts anymore and opt to send them to durmstrang, so this is their only option if they want to continue their education in a school that like, doesn’t teach the dark arts. he sometimes lives in the slytherin common room during the summer to keep an eye on the kids that stay there because they can’t go back home in one way or another and he’s more of a parent to them than some of their parents ever were.

#headcanon. || HARRY POTTER AU

[akiameokami]

The 1st Transition

(This is a fictional narrative that I felt like writing. NOT cute or fluffy, yet at least. There are at least 5 transitions. @extremelykawaiizombie per request, im posting it :P​) It all started the first day of my last year in high school, but that's for a different time. What? Did you think I was going to open my narrative with a  flash back? Come on guys. Be real.

No, this story starts out with me telling you about my first boyfriend in college. We broke up, turns out he was a cishest, bigoted, schmuck.  His name is David.   The First Transition: David Pacheco

They say that the hardest part of college is all the new surroundings, but this change was a Godsend for me. I'd just started my first semester at a college that for legal matters, I wont name. I was there studying for my associates in engineering. Of course, before I could start the learning I had to go to orientation. This is how I met David.

For this recap, I'm going to change the tempo so it's a bit easier to read. I was awkwardly 20 minutes late to the orientation. I couldn't find the flipping building. Thankfully the registration lady was still outside at the table with all the name tags. I cringed internally as I got a good look at her, she screamed old fashioned. "Hello there young man!" She calls to me as I rush over to her, trying to straighten my clothes so I don't look like a slob. "If I can get your name, I will get you a name tag and give you your dorm address!" She says in an overly polite voice that makes me sick. "My name is Adam but you probably have me listed as Ashley Monroe." I say in an equally forced polite tone. The ladies smile instantly drops as she assess what she is seeing. "Alright then, young lady, your dorm is..." She stops with a look of confusion.  "My dorm is what?" I ask in a rushed and probably rude way. I am in a hurry here. "Your dorm is listed as D dorm, but that is a males dorm." She says quietly. I grab the nametag and a sharpie and proceed to write down Adam in big blocky letters. "That's because I'm a flipping dude." I say as I scribble down Dorm D on my hand. "What room is it?" She roles her eyes at me and turns the list so I can see. I scribble down "Room 69" on my hand before returning her sharpie and rushing into the orientation hall.

As I walk into the room I notice that they have the areas split up into buildings, so all the students in A building are together (which is a bunch of hot girls btw) and so on so forth down the line. Of course the group for D dorm is in the middle of the room, and everyone looks at me awkwardly when I have to part the seas to get there. The first thing that I notice as I get a good look at my group is that these are mostly sporty guys. I look at some of the name tags and happen to find one that says "Resident Advisor" and its standing in front of me.   "Adam Monroe?" A stern, deep voice asks me. My eyes tear away from the name tag and glide up this mans neck, past his (chiseled) chin and to his face. He isn't happy. "Yes?" I manage to spit out. He raises an eyebrow at me and marks something on his clipboard. "You're late. If you are ever late for dorm duties I will write you up. Of course, the rest of the group has already covered this. Follow me and I'll introduce you to your "Moral Aid" who will get you caught up." He says as he turns and walks away from me. I can't help but catch sarcasm in his voice when he says Moral Aid. I briefly remember reading about those on the website... They were basically a buddy system for new students. You get roomed with a student who has already been here for at least a year and you are their responsibility. Sounded like a pain to me. "Adam, Meet David." The RA says as he steps aside, clearing my line of sight so that I can see the beautiful beast that stands before me. His light brown skin and slightly spikey hair made me think of that one detective on CSI Miami. More than his face, I find his frame to be impressive. I am guessing he is here on a soccer scholarship because his slender frame looks like he'd be good for going the distance to me.

"Adam." The RA says, clearly annoyed. "Sorry, my bad. Hi, I'm Adam" I say, just barely disguising my voice. David extends a hand out to me with a smile. "Don't worry about it, Adam. My name is David Pacheco. You can call me David or Pache, please no Dave. I will be your Moral guardian, I am here to help you experience all college has to offer." He finishes with a wink. I love the slight edge he has in his voice and can't help but laugh at him. The RA glares at the both of us but moves on to someone else.

"So on a serious note, How bad did Sergeant Ra grill you for being late?" David asks as he leans down to whisper to me. I raise an eyebrow at him to show him I am thoroughly confused. He chuckles slightly and tilts his head towards the Resident Advisor. "Get it, Ra, R. A. It's kind of a running joke among the senior students." He says in that "I made a bad joke" tone of voice. I just smile at him like I think its funny. I don't.

That was it. That was how I met David Pacheco. It was very intimidating at first, especially since I was right about thinking I was placed in the sports building. Turns out D dorm was the closest building to the different sports fields and the pool so that was where they traditionally put people on sports scholarships. To this day I still have no idea how I got there.

Doesn't seem like David's story is over? That's cause its not. I just wanted to make sure we were on the same page. David and I were roommates and we continued to hang out as he showed me the ropes of the school, he never questioned why I always fought to have bathroom time alone or things like that. He just thought I was insecure. Naturally, we became friends. Until we weren't. That's how it always works though, isn't it?

4 months into my first year of college, one of the swim team members threw a pool party. While I was there (only because David made me go) a drunk David pushed me into the water. I couldn't swim at the time and he had to rescue me. During the rescue he felt my chest and knew I was biologically a female for now.

After that, him and I argued a little bit but the most surprising thing was that he asked if I liked him. At the time I liked him very much so I said yes and we started dating. He said he thought he could be gay if it was for me. He was the first person to make me feel valid. He was my first everything. I was his first secret.

It later came to be that he didn't tell anyone about our relationship and when someone found out and questioned him about it, he called the whole thing ridiculous and said he wasn't gay. When they showed him some pictures that someone had snapped of him and I in the locker room, he outted me. Saying that even though we were dating he wasn't gay because I wasn't a real boy. That's what hurt the most.

After that, I was repeatedly sexually harassed until I left the school. 

This was the First Transition.  

#The life of a Trans Boy #The 1st Transition #Fiction #creative writing #writing #lgbt #trans #boy #trans boy #sad #slightly real

[rightsidenews]

Islam, Replacement Migration & White Genocide

Ash Sharp Editor

On The Tragedy of Neoliberalism.

I do not like Islam very much. This is a dangerous thing to write these days. I do not believe that whatever benefits Islam brings outweigh the costs. I do not like that the West cannot reconcile that it too, does not like Islam very much- and pretends that it actually does, against all reason.

It is also not popular to mention that Europeans are by any measure, being slowly replaced in their own countries. Whether you wish to call it a genocide, a great replacement, or merely the natural cultural enrichment of multiculturalism, doesn't really matter now. Hard left activists openly demand the extermination of White people. This is not satire. These people want you dead.

Islam also wants you dead, or subjugated.

Our leaders bleat on about a religion of peace and diversity, all the while our newspapers avoid reporting that the Quilliam Foundation found that 84% of the perpetrators of gang rape in the United Kingdom are Pakistani.

Some of these men quite blatantly tell us that their reasoning was that they chose their white, teenage victims- who number in the many thousands- because they are white. Little white slags, they say.The British Police did nothing for many years and despite being in full awareness of these most heinous crimes. Why did the police ignore the rape of children? Because they were afraid of being called racist if they did their sworn duty and arrested these racist gangs of rapists.

This spineless mentality is now infecting most Western countries.

A failed improvised bomb attack at New York’s Port Authority Station earlier this month was yet another opportunity for a multitude of New Yorkers to prove their fabled fortitude. Ah, he didn’t stop us from going about our daily lives, this is New York. Fools!

“You got to live your life,” she said. “You got to work. You can’t stay locked up in your house all the time.” — Port Authority Bombing Witness

Yes, but what does your life mean? What is your life worth to your political masters? What is it worth to you?

The bomber, from Bangladesh, cited that the United States had recognized Jerusalem as the capital of Israel as his motive for trying to assassinate civilians. Blue check verified Twitterati instantly took to the internet to stand in solidarity with Muslims. As we all know thanks to a decade or more of indoctrination, blowing your own testicles off while trying to murder people going to work is nothing to do with Islam.

Ah, that dastardly devil Donald J. Trump. Always at the root of everything when you look hard enough, like a Scooby-Doo Villain camped out at the old haunted White House amusement arcade.

The newspapers reported that the bomber is actually from Brooklyn. They lied.He is not from Brooklyn. He is a Muslim from Bangladesh who hates Jews.

This issue surely transcends the petty bourgeois squeals of racism that emanate from the wealthy left, who never seem to live in the areas enriched by diversity. The conflict with Islam, this centuries-old clash of civilizations- it will outlive us all.

Ignore people who say, “well, since Sept.11, it’s actually not Muslims, the far right, etc. They are liars.”

It will outlive us all because whether we like it or not, the dreaded Alt-Right has got at least one thing absolutely right. People of European descent are slowly but surely being replaced.

As we are replaced by migrants from the Islamic World, we might find ourselves asking the question; 'Why?' Why must we be replaced? Why don’t I recognize my country anymore? Why does the crescent moon of Islam rise where the Cross of Jesus stood? Where is our church? Where are our leaders? Why does the Pope lie and capitulate?

What did we do that was so wrong that we must die?

Fortunately, the advocates of unending immigration have the answers for us- Liberal elitists are here to save the day.

Colonialism

Communists and groups calling themselves ‘Stand Up To Racism’ (actually just Neo-Marxist activists) will tell you it is because of our colonial past. We must pay for the sins of our evil ancestors- but nobody says to the Turkish;

“Hey, Turk- your grandfather drove the Armenians into the desert. That is genocide. Hey Turk, the Ottoman Empire was an imperialist, conquering power for six hundred years. You must pay for those sins.”

The argument that people should make reparations for colonialism is only applied when the colonialists were White, or Jewish. That Israel today is accused of being imperialist and genocidal is nothing short of a disgrace to anyone who says it- and I have said it myself when I still thought in Neo-Marxist ways, a foot soldier of ideologies I refused to denounce. How sick it is to be a well-meaning leftist.

Motivated more by Stalin than Hitler, the Anti-Semitism is present nonetheless.

Duty

It is the responsibility of the West to allow all people to enter our nations and become citizens because we are liberal and everyone is equal. To question this means you are a racist. Other countries are poorer than us, so we must allow their peoples to benefit from our wealth. We should share with them. We should give in to them.

Why? With all due respect to the peoples of the world, why should the West, which has ascended through great hardship, merely hand others our spoils? If you are to respond like this, you will be called selfish. It is selfish to want to maintain your culture, it is selfish not to want to pay for others to live and contribute nothing.

It is not selfish to go to another country and demand they look after you, even though you are not a refugee. Even though you are in a multitude, even though you harbour terrorists among you, even though you are unable to comprehend that women are free people. Even though you find yourself having a sexual emergency and thus raping a child, or a mother, or a teenager, or an activist who works for your interests. Even when you murder her. Even when you lie about your age to gain sympathy and leniency from a nation that is altruistic to a fault.

That is not selfish. No, it is the Westerners who are the selfish ones. It is their duty to accept you all into their lands. To complain is racist.

Culture

Cultural enrichment has become a meme. Every time another truck of peace murders our children we joke with gallows humour about how we are culturally enriched. Proponents will argue that we have such great cuisine now. How dare you oppose unending, ceaseless, brutal, civilisation destroying migration.

Wrong.

You ate a curry last night so you cannot complain.

It is preposterous to think that we are unable to follow a recipe to produce food from other countries- coming to think about it, do not Neo-Marxists accuse people of cultural appropriation for doing just that? All the more reason to enliven ones’ taste buds with exotic foods, then. No, this line of reasoning makes no sense- not only this, it reveals the asinine and frankly racist belief prevalent among many that the only thing the immigrant can do is make food for us. It should not even be an argument, but here we are, discussing whether we should accept off-duty soldiers being beheaded in the street because the perpetrator comes from Nigeria, and the Nigerian migrants bring whatever food they eat in Nigeria for us to enjoy.

Don’t complain about migration. We have an international food fair.

Multiculturalism is just better.

We live in a Multiculture. This means there is no British culture. As Lauren Southern discovered, all it takes to be British is a British passport. However, it is not so that we can go to China and become Chinese. That’s ridiculous. We are told that we have always been nations of immigrants, but that is also a lie.

So prevalent is this narrative that despite not having any major immigration for nearly 900 years between 1066 and 1945, most Britons believe we are a nation of immigrants. Of course we are! Angles, Jutes, Saxons, Norse, Norman, and so on. So pervasive is the idea of an immigrant nation that the most recent article I found in the mainstream media refuting this lie is over ten years old.

The idea that a multicultural society is better than one dominated by a single culture would have merit if there was give-and-take between the cultures. Now, the leftists out there will bleat 'Ah ha! colonialism!' And I will say, no. We’ve covered colonialism. If you only care about an issue when white people do it- you are a racist bigot. In a multiculture, we have seen only that the host nation must give up parts of its culture to accommodate the interlopers. The cultures that move in have to give up nothing. We host nations will provide housing, money, education- protection. All for free.

What are we given in return? What benefit? Over 17 years, migration to the UK from outside the European Union cost the nation over £120 billion. The report that showed these statistics was effectively buried by the British Government; statistics produced in the subsequent years have been massaged to the point of irrelevancy and illegibility, to protect the only thing that matters- the narrative.

If there’s no financial benefit, no cultural benefit, no ethical or moral compulsion, and by any metric immigration from outside the West has simply made our lives worse: What argument is left?

We are getting old.

Now we come to the bones. We all know that we live in so-called ageing societies. We are told it every day, that we are getting older; so we need migrants.

“Ha ha ha ha all the whites are dead. Except this one. We keep him alive for the virtue points.”

This is a lie, brought about by an addiction to Neoliberal Capitalism. Let me explain.

Neoclassical economics -which is the underlying theory of Neoliberalism- essentially requires permanent growth. This is why we are in a Boom/Bust economy; capitalism is imperfect, and the imperfections in the economic system lead to catastrophic failures every now and then. Capitalism is still the best system we have- I contend however that Neoliberalism has outlived its purpose.

During the banking crisis of 2008, the banking cartels demanded money from nation states to pay for their mistakes. The nations, being funded by the taxes of the people, paid the ransom. That is a fundamentally socialist act. Neoliberalism was subverted to cover up the failure of neoliberalism. Under truly capitalist methods, the banks should have been allowed to fall. Yes, it would have caused chaos. Yes, it would have been hard. But we would have been freed from this sick mentality of permanent, unending expansion.

Neoliberalism cannot comprehend resources. It deals only with manpower and end product. This means that in order to deal with the demographic effects of capitalism, which are long life and low birthrate, it needs immigration. Without population growth, there will not be enough taxation raised to provide the state pensions.

The world’s governments know that the plebians will accept many things. We will not accept the disrespect of our parents, as Theresa May has found to her cost. There would be a revolution if people were taxed and worked like churls their whole lives, and then receive nothing but a raised middle finger from the tax man when it comes time for us to retire.

To avoid this eventuality, our leaders have gambled that huge migration is a better bet than fixing the system. It is better. For them. Not for you. Not for me. For them.

All that replacement migration does is kick the problem of elderly care down the line for a few years while importing the enriching qualities of the third world. The present political class cares about nothing but retaining power, right now. Not good governance or the future of the nation. Replacement migration is barely even an understood policy- it happens because these imbeciles are too dense to consider the ramifications.

But this also is not enough of an answer; if it were solely about replacing our elderly, the richer European nations could have encouraged migration from poorer ones. Spain. Greece. Poland. Italy. All of southern and central Europe suffered in the aftermath of the banking cartel’s thievery, in the form of huge youth unemployment. These people were left to rot on the workless streets of Valencia, Athens, Warsaw. The richer nations of Europe did not even think to encourage their immigration.

We could make starting families easier, through governmental policy. Most people in the West want to have children, despite being assaulted with propaganda that we are committing a planet-destroying evil if we do.

Appeals to morality from the most unethical scum of the planet. Hilarious.

Because here is a startling fact. You need money to migrate. You cannot emigrate from the ghetto while you earn a ghetto wage. So where are all these migrants coming from, and how? Money talks. Always. So the kids of Portugal did not come to London. The young Greeks did not go to Berlin.

Instead, we imported Islam.

Either our leaders did not know the consequences, or they did not care. In any case, replacement migration to prop up neoliberal capitalism is a band-aid. It can only be temporary, as the migrants, if they work and contribute, will be entitled to be cared for in their old age, just like any other citizen. So what happens then? We will need even more migrants. Every year the Germans become less German. Every year the French are less French. Every year the Britons wither. Every year the Swedes are dying out.

What number will be the tipping point for your country?

The only conclusion is that there is some other ideological reason at play, or we are being led by the most ignorant buffoons imaginable. Either we need to stop having babies to save the planet, or we need more people to support the ageing society. It cannot be both.

It is a Neo-Marxist tactic to destroy us to claim that this is so.

The betrayal of our culture by our elected leaders is why the West is lost. We can find it again. We can change the path we are on, but none of us can do it alone. It is time that we take responsibility for our future and our own minds. It is time for you to learn about what your culture is and what is happening to it. What is being done to it.

And when you see what is happening, and what is being done, will you not feel sick? Will you not feel betrayed? If you think that what is being done to Paris, to London, to New York, to Barcelona; if you think that is enriching, then we are enemies. I do not wish to live in a world where my children are slaves. I will not accept that we Europeans are worthless people who are somehow inferior to other races, and it doesn’t matter if we become extinct.

Coming soon to a city near you.

Do you see how the Alt-Right grows? It’s because people who are centrists will not engage this problem. The evidence for this to be true is insurmountable. If you want to fight the Nazis in your closet and under your bed, you have to accept that these people are not incorrect on this topic- at least in the assessment of the situation. What can you say otherwise? I await any liberal writer to prove me wrong on any of these points- to date, all I am shown are lies. No one can disprove this analysis.

I really wish someone would. I would sleep better. I would feel better about the future for our children. I wish there were some easy answers, that for whatever reason I had simply strayed down an intellectual dead end and become what the left already call me; a bigot, an Islamophobe. Still, for all the name calling, nobody can answer my question.

How are we to avoid the future certainty that we, as a civilization, are going to experience sectarian violence that will make Northern Ireland look like a street party celebrating a Royal Wedding? What kind of action we must take, I do not know. That is for all of us to decide- though time is short and getting shorter.

Slowly with time the past slips away But deep in our souls their memory stays Weapons of guilt won't conquer our minds Just strengthen our will to defy

The ignorant void ever opening wide But we keep their names and spirits alive Arrows of fear won't pierce our minds Just strengthen our will to defy ~ Rudyard Kipling

Greater bloodshed is inevitable unless we act. To save ourselves, we must Make The West Great Again.

http://bit.ly/2loKMWN

#RSN #Islam #Replacement Migration & White Genocide #Ash Sharp