.
This is maybe the funniest (worst) radfem post I've come across in a while. It was a comment about cis women getting hysterectomies.
Do y'all know how many feminists have been fighting to be allowed to get hysterectomies without a) birthing (often multiple) children or b) a husband's permission? Including many people who have extremely painful and/or dangerous uterus-related conditions, like PCOS or menorrhagia? So many doctors HATE giving hysterectomies specifically because "you really should have kids first".
Also, cis men don't need to "remove their ballsack" to avoid having kids. They get vasectomies. An incredibly simple, routine procedure.
People who are getting hysterectomies are often doing so for reasons not solely related to pregnancy - if it were just about fertility, getting your tubes tied would suffice if you were averse to other forms of birth control. My mum did that after my sister was born, and then went back in for a hysterectomy a few years later because her periods were agonising. My aunty also had a hysto several years back, because not only were her periods agonising, but they would cause flare ups in some of her other conditions.
I just... how are you calling yourself a feminist while advocating for LESS bodily autonomy for women? How can you act like women are being stupid or reckless in their choice to get a hysto and not see the indescribable misogyny you're utilising?
"It's never [cis] men who remove an organ just because they don't want it" yeah, I wonder if that's because they don't have an organ that causes agonising blood loss on a monthly basis? Like... nobody's out here getting kidneys removed for fun. It's a very specific organ only being removed for very specific, personal reasons.
It's my body, not yours. Hands the fuck off.
*This post is authored by a trans person. If you're agreeing with me about this topic while being against trans healthcare, consider that your whole ideology is built in opposition to bodily autonomy for people outside your ideals of gender. Sit with that information.*
15K notes
·
View notes
Power Play (Soldier Boy x Reader)
Summary: So, you lost focus and had a consensual workplace relationship. It happens all the time. Maybe not quite like this.
Note: Female reader, but no other descriptors are used. Crazy ass 80s Vought debauchery. I might be a little rusty, but it was fun getting back into writing readerfics after two months🖤 Do not interact if you’re under 18, terf or radfem, or post thinspo/ED content.
Word count: 1.5k
Warnings: Power imbalance, cheating (Soldier Boy’s with Crimson Countess). Mentions of drug use. Soldier Boy is his own warning. Sexually explicit content involving elements of forced intox, semi-public sex, breeding kink.
You were dizzy. With Vought’s investor gala rapidly approaching, you spent the better part of your day camped out in your office, flipping back and forth through your rolodex to call and confirm catering, entertainment—you still couldn’t believe the board of directors actually approved Duran Duran’s booking fee—and transportation, off the top of your head. You already told Stan Edgar you were taking the following week off, which he had no qualms about—so long as the gala went off without a hitch.
You nearly jumped out of your skin when you were interrupted by a knock at your office door, which you’d left open in an effort to be available in the lead up to the event.
“Don’t tell me Edgar’s got you working tonight,” Soldier Boy said, walking in when he saw he had your attention.
“The most important night of the year is less than a week away and I still have a to-do list as long as your dick, so, yeah.”
He huffed out a laugh. “Must be pretty busy then.”
“How about you? Where’s Countess?” you asked.
Soldier Boy probably would have sought you out even if Crimson Countess were around, but from what you’d been hearing through Vought’s extensive grapevine, they were in yet another rough patch. Though, it seemed to you like their relationship was one long, extremely rough patch with some calm once in a blue moon. You weren’t afraid to admit to yourself that you ate up the gossip of their relationship like candy, especially when the other members of Payback—including Countess herself—would rant to Edgar about it. Since your office was right next to his, and most supes had little to no sense of subtlety, you could hear just about everything.
“She’s at one of those wildlife charity things, pandas or some bullshit.” He rolled his eyes. “Bitched at me because I wouldn’t go. She won’t be back until Friday.”
“Soldier Boy, I can’t just—“
“Sure you can. I mean, I’m technically your boss too, aren’t I?” he asked. “So, I say there’s no harm in taking a ten, fifteen minute break. Relieve some stress.”
You sighed. It had been a while since you actually got up from your desk. “Alright. Fifteen minutes, tops.”
He grinned. “Now we’re talking. You keep that minibar stocked?”
“Pick your poison.”
“Whiskey?”
“Sure.”
At least, you were pretty sure. The minibar in your office served as a nice gesture for the variety of people who’d come into your office for meetings related to all of the aspects of event planning you were in charge of. Over the past few weeks, though, you’d been reaching for bottles of whatever you could find to relieve the stress. Powdered your nose every so often, but tried not to make that a habit—not that you blamed your coworkers who did. Working at Vought was brutal and demanding, but hell, who else got to work with superheroes? Especially handsome, smarmy assholes who knew just how to fuck the lingering thoughts of any deadline or event planning out of your mind if you played your cards right.
He handed you a shot glass. “What should we toast to?”
“To taking next week off.”
“Yeah? What’ve you got planned?”
You threw back your shot. “Nothing.”
“That’s no fun. How does a few days in Miami sound?”
You nearly scoffed. Of course he could make something like that happen on such short notice. For forty years running he was America’s superhero and Vought’s cash cow. After a night of schmoozing at the investor gala, he could very well clear out his schedule and fuck off for a week of sun, sand, and sex, too.
“I might need some convincing.”
“Then make yourself comfortable,” he said, walking back to the minibar to pour another shot for each of you. Almost comical, he’d have to drink the whole bottle and then some to feel the same way you did after two shots.
You glanced at the open door. “Someone might see.”
“Are you gonna make me repeat myself?”
Sparing the door one more glance, you worked at unbuttoning your blouse, tossing it aside. You shimmied out of your skirt and let it fall to the floor.
“Heels stay on,” he said, his back to you. “Everything else off. Everything.”
With a hesitant huff, you unhooked your bra and pulled off your panties, throwing them in his direction when he turned around with the shot glasses. You made yourself comfortable on top of your desk, pushing some of your belongings aside to accommodate you.
He whistled lowly as you quickly finished off the second shot he gave you. “Look at you sitting pretty for me.” His green eyes burned a hole through you, though your gaze was fixed on the prominent bulge in his pants. He brought his shot glass to your lips. “Drink up, sweetheart.”
And you did, forcing the alcohol down as your vision blurred with tears at the unrelenting burning in the back of your throat. Felt some whiskey dripping from the corners of your mouth when you drained the shot glass. He collected the excess from your lips with his thumb, sucking it clean as he kept his eyes locked with yours.
“See how much fun we have together?” he asked, leaning over you until you laid back on top of your desk. “Could do that all next week.”
He kissed you, hard and mean like you needed him to. Perfect teeth that caught your bottom lip between them for a moment before releasing. Whiskey on his tongue that went to your head even though you knew he could hardly feel it. Rough hands feeling up your breasts, giving your nipples a harsh tug that made you moan in his mouth.
“You’re soaked,” he said, his voice husky as he rubbed his fingers between your slick folds with tantalizingly slow strokes. “If you wanted it, all you had to do was ask.”
“Fuck,” you whispered.
“What was that?”
You groaned in frustration. “Just fuck me already.”
“Don’t have to tell me twice.”
His mouth was on yours again, nearly distracting you from the sound of a zipper, the your gut clenching in anticipation as he pulled his cock from his pants.
It’d been a while since you had to brace yourself to take him, but you were wet, and maybe a little more than tipsy, so your body gave little resistance when he slid his cock inside you. Though, if Soldier Boy were anything, it was a guy who took what he wanted anyway, giving you hardly a second to get used to the feeling of how his cock stretched your pussy before he was pounding into you with harsh, unforgiving thrusts that made you grip the edge of your desk.
Sometimes you forgot how strong he was. Hell, so did he, and there was little else you could do but lay there and take what he gave you. In all honesty, it was nice letting someone else take charge after having to hold it together all day. Let him fuck the stress out of you and replace it with all the aches and bruises that came with having sex with the strongest man on earth.
“Harder,” you forced out, pushing that damn rolodex onto the floor.
“I go any harder, I’m gonna break you in half, and I don’t wanna do that until I’ve got you locked away in a hotel room for a week.”
“What are you gonna do to me?”
“Whatever the fuck I want. Not like I don’t already.”
You moaned. “Soldier Boy—”
“I’m not pulling out, so you better be on the pill or say your damn prayers,” he growled, his hot breath kissing your skin. You were on the pill, but nevertheless your hips bucked at his words, pussy clenching around his cock. “Oh shit, you want that, don’t you?”
“Yes—oh my god!” you cried out, muscles cramping as your orgasm pulsed through you, pleasure stealing your breath, choking you gently enough to leave you dizzy. “Yesyesyes—fuck!” Your heart was beating so fast you thought it was going to explode in your chest, especially as he kept mercilessly pounding into you, chasing his own release.
He soon came with a groan, his cock twitching inside you as he bottomed out, practically knocking the wind out of you with a particularly hard thrust.
You felt empty and sticky when he pulled out, and you didn’t want to think about the poor soul who was gonna be cleaning the mess you and him left behind the following morning, because you sure as hell weren’t in any shape to clean up the cum that was leaking out of you and onto the floor.
You put your hands on your chest, trying to catch your breath as he stood over you. The guy hardly broke a sweat, and you felt like you just ran the New York City Marathon. Super stamina. God fucking bless America.
“Hey,” he said, waving his hand in front of your face. “You good?”
“Sure,” you managed to answer. “Except now I don’t know how I’m gonna walk out of here, let alone get home later.”
“The ride up to the 99th is quicker. And if you need more convincing about Miami—“
You pursed your lips, considering the work you still had left to do before you could reasonably call it a night. But you were tired, and admittedly drunk, and Soldier Boy was already hard again. “I might.”
360 notes
·
View notes
I would never defend them - at least not the ones who actually harass people - but I do wonder if there's some antis out there who genuinely come from good intentions.
Super serious and genuinely shameful confession: I'm an ex-radfem. I went into those circles in the first place bc I liked some of Dworkin's works. And while I obviously do not recommend anyone ever get into radical feminism, I will say this: If haven’t been down that very specific rabbit hole of ideology yourself - especially in online settings - you cannot even begin to imagine how fucking INSANELY pervasive the ideas are. Even if you've been a victim of radfem hate, if you haven't been a radfem yourself, I'm truly inclined to think you have no idea what those spaces are actually like. Sorta like how if you've been a victim of fundie hate, that is awful and it fucking sucks, but if you haven't been raised fundie yourself, you really don't know what it's like to be IN those circles, just a VICTIM of those circles.
I hate to throw around words like “hivemind” or “groupthink” but it is that. I went into radfem spaces thinking that I was above believing certain things that they believed but I clearly wasnt, it is so fucking toxic and that’s why i’ll never believe that “TIRF” (trans inclusionary radfem - something I tried and failed to be) can be a real thing. And then these same people have the audacity to call trans rights a cult, but you know, it's whatever.
Obviously terfs are more serious in the "real world" than antis are, but there are some parallels in the way that both groups feel about kink/porn discourse. (No, I'm not saying that antis "believe TERF ideology" or anything, but I do think in the specific context of sex stuff, there ARE alot of parallels.)
I am not defending radfems either, but I will say that I got into it because I was genuinely worried about things such as: PH and how they just steal content from sex workers, the abuse going on in the sex work industry, the phenomenon of young girls who are waiting to turn 18 so they can start an OF account, romance novels that were not marketed as dark but should've been considering they straight up romanticized abuse and rape.
I really do think that most antis are of a similar mindset -- people, typically young traumatized people (not trying to pull the neurodivergent minor card, it's just that statistically speaking, that label CAN describe most antis) who are truly worried that, like, idk, some young girl is gonna watch Twilight or read Reylo fic and think that an overly possessive bf is #goals. Again, I'm NOT trying to defend this ideology or line of thinking at all, I'm just saying that i DO think most of them really don't realize the harm that they're doing, and actually think they're doing good.
I actually kinda feel bad for them, but like my earlier comparisons, I feel bad for them in the same way I feel bad for fundies or evangelicals. I feel bad that they hold such an awful ideology while thinking they're doing good things, but I stop feeling bad once they start ACTUALLY hurting people and I'll always feel worse for the people who they harass and harm.
And like I'd never want to be a radfem again and I hate that I was one once but, between myself and your ~10k (ballpark estimate lol) followers, I think that my time spend in that belief system gave me some really good insight to cult mindsets, which was something I didn't understand before or have much sympathy towards, and I've emerged with a lot of empathy for people who ARE stuck in bad ideologies. I could've been born into a hate group. I could've been preyed on by alt-right people and sucked in that way. Instead, it was reading radblr during quarantine that got me. Before I fell into it, I just mindlessly hated everyone in that group, and now I just feel sorry for them (still without justifying any of their actions).
It's honestly a really, really, complicated thing to try to grapple with. Anyone, yes including you reading this, can be brainwashed into hate. The second you think you're too good for that, you've lost.
This was more of a vent than a discourse ask. I guess my tl;dr is: I hate antis, terfs, fundamentalists, etc, as much as the next guy, but I also recognize that some of those people truly truly do think they're on the right side of history, and some of those people have been sucked into an ideology they never would've believed otherwise if not for xyz factors. While hate groups will never deserve pity, there are some vulnerable people in hate groups who for some reason believe they're doing good, and I wish I could help all of those people.
--
Yeah, I assume many antis are perfectly sincere in their desire to protect people. They're just wrong about what will work.
76 notes
·
View notes