#radfems and terfs don’t even fucking look at this post

[sambuchito]

Seeing how men go trough life passively not aware how much the patriarchy benefits them and being coddled well into adulthood and not being able to complain lest you be considered a bitter cunt who’s making it up makes me insane actually

#seeing even pretty progressive men not challenge this narrative makes me wanna kill someone #I’m envious of male being considered the default and women be perceived as difficult or dramatic like ik sorry I don’t like rape jokes #and don’t even get me started on the work aspect. guys will not put effort and still be considered along women who excell. bro kys! :) #radfems and terfs don’t even fucking look at this post #mine

[pillarsalt]

hi um

I was? transmasc but recently I’ve been seeing a lot of really misogynistic sexist transphobic stuff from trans community and it’s just been totally accepted, even by other transmascs. It’s been going on for a while but recently there was a murder of a nonbinary afab person and yet the whole trans community here has been silent, instead screaming about a transfem user being banned or something? This isn’t the first time an afab trans persons suffering has been dismissed, but now right after this awful death, i see transfems making posts about how transmascs talking about their oppression are terfs.

I didn’t want to think about it but all i could think about was that it was weird how despite everyone claiming trans men have all this privilege, trans women always come first…they get the most representation, they get the fame the admiration and the opportunities, their voices are always the loudest and their problems always always come first no matter what.

But despite popular belief trans men’s issues aren’t actually less significant, in some cases we suffer far more than trans women especially in regard to sexual violence. Yet we are silenced. We are frequently left poor, we are discriminated against for our sex we are discriminated against for being trans we are discriminated against for being perceived as lesbians. Yet we are made to be silent?

Why are our voices less important than trans women’s?

And all I could think about was that this is how females are treated in every other area.

I don’t know what else to say… I tried so hard not to reach that conclusion because I don’t want to be transmysogynist but I kept coming back to it and I couldn’t find an argument against it. This is how females are treated. This is what male privilege look like. And if trans women have male privilege, then why the fuck am I sitting here letting them talk over me?

I just feel really really angry. Your a blog who I liked your art but I blocked you when I discovered you were a radfem, but I sort of had you in the back of my mind for some reason and now I feel lost and confused, and I don’t think I want to be part of the trans community anymore.

Hey anon, firstly I really appreciate your willingness to have an open discussion with me. This must be weighing on you pretty heavily.

Secondly, holy shit, you're right. While the entire website is treating this user's ban as a national travesty, I haven't seen a single person talking about Nex's murder despite how much they claim to care about trans people. That's really fucking low, and this situation does very much encapsulate the state of misogyny within the trans community.

And you're right, this IS how females are treated in every other area. Throughout history, the suffering and injustice women face is minimized, laughed at, ignored, and when we want to talk about it, we're shut down and told we're making people uncomfortable and our pain isn't that bad. And here we are again, with a female person's death outweighed by a male person's inconvenience.

The denial of sex-based oppression that permeates trans spaces is a blatant lie that can only be held together if nobody is allowed to acknowledge it, and those who do are punished. If the trans community truly stood behind what they say, discussion would be encouraged! The foundation of their movement would be backed up with facts and replicable science! But instead, they'll call you a bigot for pointing out systems of oppression you can see with your own eyes. Because if you do, transwomen's position as Most Oppressed, and therefore the final authority on what's right and wrong, collapses. You are correct when you say that it seems like transwomen always come first; I don't remember who said it first, but just look at magazine covers featuring trans people -- the transwomen are fully clothed CEOs, athletes, movie stars, but transmen mostly get on magazine covers for... being pregnant and half naked. Misogyny is built into every society on earth, and individuals simply calling themselves something else doesn't change that. And when you give male people free reign to be as misogynistic as they want without consequence, they'll grab that opportunity and hold on like their lives depend on it. The way they weaponize transmen's sex against them is indistinguishable from what 'cis' men do to 'cis' women, but if you ever speak out about it, somehow YOU'RE the one hurting THEM. They do not want transmascs to find solidarity with other female people, because then they would have to face the reality of their own place in a patriarchal world, and face the fact that there are experiences exclusive to female people and that we have the right to speak about it. I mean you see shit like this and the motives become completely transparent:

I do find it funny how hard the trans community and their allies work to prevent anyone from hearing what radfems have to say in case they "corrupt" you with mere words. A lot of the time, it's simply listening to transwomen themselves that sparks the feeling of "something's not right here" in your brain. That's what happened with me too. I'll tell you that most of us also used to be proponents of trans activism, many formerly identifying as trans too. You are seeing through manipulation, and I know it's quite shocking to realize. Even when I first started having doubts about trans rhetoric, I thought "well everyone else agrees about this, so I need to shut up and be nice about it even if I don't agree." It's an unpleasant place to be in. The cognitive dissonance is exhausting though, and it becomes impossible to ignore.

The mistreatment of transmasc people in the trans community by transfems is brutal, and It's hard to watch from the outside because I just want to say "Hey, you know you don't have to take this shit, right?" And you really don't. You are not at all a bad person for recognizing the frankly absurd amount of misogyny in the trans community. Feeling lost and confused is shitty, but it's normal for this situation. The best thing you can do is keep observing, keep reading, form your own opinions, and never let anyone tell you to shut up. Above all, prioritize yourself and your mental wellbeing. If you need to remove yourself from gender-related spaces and discussion for a while, that's totally alright. Just know you're not evil or a bigot for not blindly agreeing with everything the trans community has told you. Your opinions and experiences are worthwhile too.

#also i'm glad you like my art :) thank you #ask

[venus-haze]

Pretty Tied Up (Otis Driftwood x Reader)

Summary: Or, the perils of working at Red Hot Pussy Liquors.

Note: Female reader, but no other descriptors are used. This takes place between House of 1000 Corpses and The Devil’s Rejects. Based on the Guns N' Roses song. Do not interact if you’re under 18, terf or radfem, or post thinspo/ED content.

Word count: 1.8k

Warnings: Dead Dove: Do Not Eat. Armed robbery and implied kidnapping. Sexually explicit content that involves extremely dubious consent and sadism, gags, bondage, groping, and gunplay. Otis is pretty much his own warning. Do not interact if you’re under 18.

Having regulars at a liquor store was a double-edged sword. You got to know some customers well enough to like them, but over time you’d notice they looked increasingly worse for wear as they came up to the checkout with their usual purchases. The exception, of course, were the Fireflys, who you always found unsettling, despite Baby’s attempts to seem affable. 

“My brother likes you,” she said one day, leaning against the counter as you rang up three bottles of vodka and two six-packs of beer.

“RJ?” you asked, glancing at her brother standing a few feet behind her.

RJ was always nice enough. Didn’t say much. Tall. Burly. Strong. Ruggedly handsome. You’d be open to going out with him.

She laughed in her usual high-pitch that always toed the line of being spine-chilling. “No silly! I’m talkin’ ‘bout Otis.”

You stared at her blankly. “Who’s Otis?”

“You know, long hair, blue eyes, scruffy ol’ beard. He came in here the other night. You must’ve made one hell of an impression. He won’t shut up about ya.”

Oh yeah. Him. Bought a bottle of whiskey and a stack of hardcore BDSM porno magazines. ‘You ever look at this stuff?’ he’d asked, eyeing you as you put a magazine with a nude, distressed-looking woman suspended by intricate ropes on the cover into a brown paper bag. When you first started working there, you could hardly stomach the sight of the rougher fare. As time went on, you found yourself hesitantly intrigued. ‘Gotta have something to do besides go to church on Sundays,’ you replied, earning a wicked grin from him. 

“That’s nice,” you said.

She snickered. “My brother’s not nice.”

“Is this everything?” you asked, hoping to move the interaction along.

“Hey RJ, you gettin’ anything else?” Baby asked over her shoulder.

He shook his head, approaching to pick up the crate you put the bottles in.

Baby handed you a wad of cash. She almost always overpaid, letting you keep the change, which was most of the reason you humored her antics in the first place. “Thanks darlin’! See ya real soon!” she said, wiggling her eyebrows, keen to something you were yet to be aware of.

Two nights later you were working the store alone. Your coworker Billy didn’t even have the decency to call and let you know he wasn’t coming in–or quit. He just didn’t show up at 9:30 when he was supposed to, and your phone call to his house was met with a busy dial tone. Asshole.

It’d been a slow night anyway, but you would have appreciated the heads up, or at least another body in the place when the front door was kicked open.

“This is a robbery! Don’t fucking move or I’ll shoot!”

Despite the bandana covering the bottom half of his face, you knew who it was right away. Long, graying hair and piercing blue eyes that were burned into your memory from his last visit to the liquor store.

You lifted your hands in the air. Your manager had told you on your first day that there was always a possibility of this happening. Better to just let them take whatever cash and booze they wanted and report it to the police once they left. ‘Don’t go playin’ hero. We got insurance.’

“Keep those hands up,” Otis said, slowly approaching the counter. “I’m gonna walk back there, and you’re gonna open the register for me.”

You nodded, eyes glued to him as he slithered around the counter like a snake, gun steadily pointed at you. 

“Go on,” he said.

With a trembling hand, you opened the register, the cash-filled drawer popping open for him. He pressed the gun to your temple, instructing you to put the cash in one of the brown paper bags by your side. You tried not to glance at him too much while you stuffed the paper bag with the money, finally pushing it toward him and sticking your hands up again.

“Alright, now turn around.”

“Wh-What?”

“I ain’t got all night.”

You glanced at the door. No way you could make a run for it, but maybe someone would walk in and be able to do something.

He followed your gaze and let out a cruel scoff. “Ain’t nobody coming through that door who can save you. I’m the closest thing to salvation you’ll ever get. Now turn the fuck around.”

With a shaky breath, you did as you were told, freezing when you felt the barrel of the gun press against the back of your head. His free hand grabbed your ass through your jeans, his strong grip almost painful as he squeezed each cheek. “Wonder how much it’d take to make you bruise?” he mumbled, almost to himself. He squeezed again, harder this time, as if he were trying to dig his fingers into your flesh. “Too much work when I can just cut into ya.”

“Don’t hurt me,” you pleaded, though hearing your own voice, you weren’t quite sure how convinced you were that you didn’t want him to do his worst. Knowing what you did about the Firefly clan, the rumblings around Ruggsville about the strange family–it would be pretty damn bad.

“C’mon now, mama. You led me to believe you liked it rough,” he said, voice gravelly and low as he slipped his hand between your legs from behind, rubbing the rough denim material and your cotton panties against your pussy, the friction hitting your clit in just the right spot for you to let out a shameful moan. Your hand flew to your mouth, the other clenched in a fist as you tried not to give him the reaction he wanted. Didn’t want to prove him right. Show him how curious you were. You didn’t even have it in you to fight back, not when you were on the edge, so achingly close until suddenly you weren’t anymore.

You nearly whined when he pulled his hand away, horrified at yourself, your reaction to his groping you. He grabbed each of your arms, roughly pulling them behind your back and tying your wrists together with something itchy and uncomfortable that dug painfully into your skin as you fruitlessly tried to free yourself from the secure knot he made. What the fuck did he use? Your eyes widened at the carpet burn-like sensation that’d begun to sting your skin. The roll of twine beneath the register. You used to secure some customers’ more sensitive purchases sometimes. 

Fingers and cloth forced their way into your mouth until you were gagged with the bandana Otis had pulled off of his face. He turned you around, looking you over with a slow, satisfactory nod. “I was having trouble getting over this mental block in my art. Started drivin’ me crazy. Y’know, they showed this nature documentary about a group ‘a lions a while back. How they protect and provide for their families, stalk their prey and go in for the kill–do you ever think about how we’re the only species where killing is taboo? For the rest of the animal kingdom, it’s just nature, part of the circle of life. There was a scene where the lion saw a gazelle from way across the savannah, and it was like nothing else existed except for its prey. It couldn’t rest until it tore that damn thing apart. That’s how I felt when I saw you.”

You shook your head frantically, your pleas of mercy muffled by your gag. Fat tears blurred your vision until he morphed into something monstrous, straight out of a nightmare you couldn’t wake up from. 

“I ain’t gonna kill ya,” he said, roughly petting your head, “not yet anyway, that’d be a waste when I’ve barely even started.” He gave you a mean grin as he grabbed a hold of your hair by the roots. “I got a lot planned for you. Those magazines gave me a lot of ideas too.”

He lowered the gun, dragging it between your breasts and further down your abdomen until he reached the waistband of your jeans. Using his other hand, he unbuttoned and unzipped them with alarming ease, pulling them down until they fell to your ankles. Your breath hitched as he pressed the barrel of the gun against your cunt, the thin fabric of your panties the only thing stopping him from being able to slide it inside of you. 

Still, the cool metal sent a shiver through you as he rubbed it against your clit, black spots creeping into your peripheral as you hyperventilated through his sadistic experiment. He was hard. That much you knew, but what frightened you, perhaps most of all, was how wet you had become since he tied you up. Your skin still screamed against the rough twine that’d been cutting into your flesh, soon to draw blood as you kept struggling.

Your hips jerked, pressing the gun barrel closer to your pussy that was eager to betray you and clench around it if he just pushed past your panties and shoved it up there. You didn’t want him to do that, not in your right mind. But no one in your situation could be considered in their right mind, could they?

“Don’t fight it,” he encouraged gruffly, blue eyes piercing through you as he watched your knees threaten to give out as you neared orgasm. “Give the devil his due, mama.”

Your hands curled into fists, nails threatening to break through the skin of your palm. Then he did it. Slipped the barrel of the gun past your soaked cotton panties. Your brain short-circuited in a rush of terror and thrill at the sensation. You came, eyelids fluttering shut, a guttural moan tearing from your throat and pushing through your gag. Your limbs felt like ghosts, incorporeal parts of you that could only offer a vague sense of feeling compared to the sensation that overwhelmed your body, pleasure and adrenaline coursing through your veins all the same.

Gun be damned, you collapsed against the checkout counter, unable to support yourself any longer. Your chest heaved, unable to catch your breath with the now saliva-soaked bandana still shoved halfway down your throat. An astounded whine escaped your lips when he brought the gun up to his nose and sniffed. “This is it, mama. This is the devil’s salvation.”

He wasn’t making any damn sense, or your brain was too fuzzy to comprehend what he was saying. All you knew about the devil was from the Bible and that stupid Dr. Satan story people regurgitated like spoiled food. If Otis was the devil, you’d believe it, though.

The sound of a car door slamming shut made your eyes widen, and you glanced over your shoulder, your muffled screams of either help or warning to however was approaching.

“Sorry about this, darlin’. We’ll have a lot more fun later,” he said, hitting you across the face with the gun, sending you to the brink of consciousness. 

The bell on the door faintly jingled, and the last thing you remember seeing was a large, familiar figure walking towards you.

“C’mon and help me get ‘er in the car,” Otis said just as you passed out. "Don't forget the cash."

#otis driftwood x reader #otis driftwood #house of 1000 corpses #the devil's rejects #3 from hell #slasher x reader #slasher community #slasher fandom #otis driftwood fanfic #otis driftwood imagine #slasher fanfic

[lostloveletters]

Leave a Tender Moment Alone (John Brady x OFC)

Summary: Private Kate Woodward and Lieutenant John Brady are reluctant to wear their hearts on their sleeves, but they're each starting to wonder if maybe they should.

Word count: 1k

Note: Meet Woody! Title comes from the Billy Joel song. For a little bit of context, this takes place before Damn Yankees, but you don't need to read that to understand what's going on in this fic. Do not interact if you’re under 18, terf or radfem, or post thinspo/ED content.

Warnings: Light period-typical misogyny. Inevitable historical and technical inaccuracies.

Private Kate Woodward had a child clinging to her leg, another hanging onto her back, both attached to her like little monkeys. 

The village kids were always in the mechanics’ orbit. Woody wanted to be a good role model for them, even if she didn’t quite know what that looked like. She wasn’t exactly keen to admit it to anyone except Holly, but offering her expertise as a mechanic to the WAC wasn’t entirely out of love for country.

After years of wandering aimlessly up and down the West Coast, she woke up one morning and realized she didn’t like her friends (if she could even call them that), working almost exclusively on stolen cars because she couldn’t hold down a legitimate mechanic job, and especially not the type of person she’d become. So she signed up, expecting to be working on jeeps or trucks, but instead found herself applying her knowledge to planes. 

Her first commanding officer, Lieutenant Deanna Seberg from Glendale, designated her Woody to differentiate her from the dozen or so Catherines and Kathleens who used Kate as a nickname.

She liked being Woody. Woody was tough and competent yet approachable, likable, even. She tried to be good. Helpful but not too imposing. Kept her cursing to a minimum. Checked her temper. Had to. She was part of something bigger than herself, bigger than any of them could have ever conceived of. Finally found a way out through it. She couldn’t afford to fuck it up.

While the handful of other mechanic girls had gotten their experience through family garages or the odd trade school, they accepted her claim that hers came from messing around with friends’ cars. She was good at what she did. No need to push it. 

Thankfully, Kenny had their backs, the young Arkansan drawling that where he came from, women weren’t afraid of getting their hands dirty to get the job done by the end of the day, whatever it may be. If that also involved entertaining English laborers’ kids, fascinated by Americans and their planes, she’d try her damnedest.

“Miss Woody!” Billy shouted, making a running start toward her. 

“Wait!” she yelled. “I can’t—“

Just before impact, which would have surely sent her directly to the ground with three children in tow, Billy was scooped up in Lieutenant John Brady’s arms. 

“You could take off with that speed, buddy,” he said, flying the boy around for a moment before setting him on his feet and ruffling his hair.

Woody smiled as the other two children climbed off of her. “You saved the day, Lieutenant.”

“Miss Woody, now you’ve got to give the hero a kiss!” Sarah, the young girl who’d been hanging off her back exclaimed with a flourish of her hands. “That’s what happens in the stories.”

Brady shook his head. “Miss Woody doesn’t have to—“

Woody gave him a quick peck on the cheek, their small audience of Billy, Sammy, and Sarah giggling and cheering in delight. “Why don’t you kids go make some trouble for Mr. Kenny?”

The children ran off, arms spread out wide as they imitated planes themselves. God, had she ever been that carefree as a kid?

Brady cleared his throat. “I came by to see how the fort’s doing.”

“And just in time. That would’ve been a hell of a tumble if it weren’t for you,” she said.

“You’re great with those kids.”

She smiled. “Thanks. I try to be the kind of adult I wish I had around when I was their age, you know?”

“That’s good of you.”

“C’mon, I’ll show you what we’ve done so far.”

He stuck close to her as they made their way around the damaged plane, Woody taking care to let him know exactly what had been fixed so far and where they were having a bit of trouble. Shuffled a little closer to her when she pointed at one of the engines.

He smelled nice, a reprieve from the mix of fuel, motor oil, and sweat. Not to mention the occasional whiff of cow manure drifting through the air on a strong breeze. For a moment, she envisioned her arms around him, burying her face in the crook of his neck while something soft and slow filled the room. Wondered how he’d hold her.

Shit. Stop daydreaming.

She glanced at him every so often. His expression didn’t change much. Brows furrowed, handsome face etched with concern as he scrutinized the state of his plane.

“Really, I’ve seen worse,” she said.

He scoffed. “That’s reassuring.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I don’t need you to tell me that.”

Certainly wasn’t the first plane he crash-landed, but as soon as the words left his mouth, he could practically hear his mother’s voice, ‘John Brady, I did not raise you to speak to young ladies that way.’ Except he’d hardly consider Woody a young lady. She was a mechanic with a mouth when she got a few beers in her. More rough-and-tumble than any of the girls he grew up with.

Everyone seemed to like her, though. Hell, he sure did. Hambone already made a stupid comment about how he should ‘ask Woody to kiss it better’ when his fort, so comically named Brady’s Crash Wagon, went up in smoke. Probably why it smarted to feel like she pitied him or something.

Smarted worse to see the way her lips pressed in a thin line. Kept her gaze anywhere but him.

“Kenny told me you stay out here late working on it. Thank you,” he said, a stubborn substitution for an apology. “I appreciate that.”

“You’re welcome.”

Silence. 

Wasn’t sure what else he could say, and she was doing everything but telling him to buzz off. 

“Well, I’ll let you get back to it, Woody.”

She nodded. “See you around, sir.”

He tried not to kick himself too much as he walked off, not entirely sure where he was going.  

“Hey Lieutenant!” Woody shouted when there was a few yards of distance between them.

He stopped in his tracks, turning around to look at her. “What is it?”

“You got something—“ She gestured to her own cheek.

He wiped the spot on his cheek where she had kissed him and fought back a smile at the grease smudged on his fingertips.

#john brady x oc #john brady x ofc #masters of the air #masters of the air x oc #john brady #masters of the air x ofc #mota x oc #mota #mota x ofc #mota fanfic #hbo war fanfic #hbo war #ch: woody #let's hear it for emotional constipation and mutual pining

[radfemfyodor]

regarding your post about keeping your feminism a secret:

im dating a TIF. we started dating before she transitioned (six months before and about a month and a half since) and there’s been a huge change in her personality. she knows i’m anti porn, pro misandry, etc. but she’s suddenly gotten wayyy more openly misogynistic and started calling every woman she disagrees with a bitch? i told her i genuinely despise that word but she refuses to stop saying it. i looked at her twitter and she even called a female conservative politician a ‘hole.’ i hate this politician as well but a HOLE ??? that’s fucking vile.

her transition kind of came out of the blue as well especially because she makes no attempt to ‘look masculine’ and still wears makeup and skirts. she only started talking about her dysphoria after she transitioned (she came out on her instagram story with they/he pronouns so i found out at the same time everyone else did) and it just seems totally out of left field.

i’m very much a radfem. i’m very open about my ‘more easily acceptable’ feminist opinions like abortion rights and sapphic rights, but i have to keep my more radical opinions to myself irl. a lot of my friends are TIMs and TIFs but i just can’t bring myself to see them as anything other than their birth genders. i use their preferred pronouns, but i have to consciously make an effort not to slip up. i used to identify as non-binary and later ftm for about six years as well, but detransitioned before i went through any major surgeries when i was eighteen.

i hate how so many of my friends don’t see prostitution, autogynephilia, cosmetic surgery, etc. as problems because they’re ‘women’s decisions.’ i hate how i can’t say anything about my negative experiences with being groomed as a child under the guise of ‘sex work’ or my experience with detransitioning without the fear of being labeled a terf. it’s like they don’t even see the ‘radical feminist’ part and just see radfems as conservatives.

i don’t want to break up with my girlfriend, but it feels like she’s just hating other women to feel more like a man at this point. my former connection with her is not worth ditching my feminism for.

Hello, thank you for sharing your story!

I’m sorry to hear that your girlfriend has been acting so misogynistic… Sadly many trans men are becoming misogynistic to “pass” as a men. These women think that hating on other women will make them a man, which is extremely sad. They hurt themselves and other women.

I hate “Choice Feminism” with a burning passion. “Choice Feminists” are in reality people who don’t care about women’s liberation, they pretend that they do. Calling yourself a feminist, yet seeing nothing wrong with, for example, prostitution makes absolutely no sense - how do these people think that they’re helping women while supporting one of the biggest forms of oppression?

Don’t even let me get started on how Sex Work most of the time is not a choice. And even if made by choice, it (very) often still traumatizes Sex Workers.

TRAs are close minded which results in them believing that RadFems are same as Conservatives. Practically there is NOTHING similar about RadFems and Conservatives. Yes, technically Conservatives are Gender Critical too, but Conservatives still uphold stereotypes about women and men - woman has to be warm, caring, be submissive for her husband, take care of her children and do housework. Meanwhile RadFems are against what Conservatives think about women.

Stay healthy and safe! 💕 I hope you will be able to be more open about your beliefs! 💖

[swampgallows]

33.3333 • Pisces • Bi Ace 

Do not send me spoilers or datamined content, even if it’s speculation. If it’s not live on retail, it’s a spoiler. If you’re not sure, don’t send it. 

Tags and other info under the cut.

• I do not follow anyone under 21 years old. 

• I block liberally and often:

NSFW blogs/content and empty blogs

aphobia/exclusionists

should go without saying, but terfs and radfems are blocked on sight. get over your victim complex

COVID minimizing, anti-mask/vax, and other general ableism

"proship"/shipping discourse blogs [erotica featuring children and/or incest is wrong. if you feel i need to specify or elaborate, then you are exactly the kind of person i block.]

My mantra is “follow me for all of me”, so expect posts about rave culture and personal entries alongside ‘fandom’/Warcraft content. 

Possible blacklist tags:

dentistry

csa tw [child sexual assault/abuse]

sex negative [i made this tag YEARS before i knew it was some kind of fucked up movement i am NOT anti-sex i just reblog stuff making fun of horny on main people]

shadow people

body horror

scopophobia [staring/direct eye contact]

flashing

loud

Please do not hesitate to reach out if you would like a trigger tagged, especially if we’re mutuals. It’s no trouble!

WoW tags of interest:

yamyell — Garrosh meta/shitposting [masterpost here]

contemporary urban warcraft AU — what it sounds like

metacraft — other WoW meta

I tend to tag posts featuring major characters with their full names (e.g. “jaina proudmoore” rather than “jaina”)

Other tags of interest:

holla fame [popular posts]

best of [personal fave posts]

absolute best ever

feelgood

sappy shit

legit shit [misc aesthetic] *, **

rave shit [content] *

rave fuel [visuals] *

rave as fuck [aesthetic] *

this is how i dance at raves *

it’s called fashion, look it up

beauty and the beast [monster x human]

inspiration

tomhet [landscapes]

recipes

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kittums

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skellies **

teeth **

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* may contain images that could cause eye strain, flashing lights/images

** may contain body horror or other blacklist tags

==

This post is a mobile-friendly mirror of my about page.

#about #pinned

[charmanderxerneas]

God i just got reminded of this while looking something up so here’s a hot take:

You are evil if you don’t support everyone under the lgbt umbrella. And I’m talking about: You are evil if you’re an exclusionist.

If you hate aro/ace people, if you hate he/him lesbians, if you think that pan or bi people are wrong or assume bi people are transphobic, if you hate funky trans people who have weird identities or neoprouns, if you hate people who have reclaimed slurs and call themselves queer or fag or tranny or dyke, if you think queer people who openly engage in kink are gross, if you dislike gender non conforming people, literally just anything: You are a fucking evil fed, and a nasty horrible person.

All you’re doing is creating division in a community. You are actively helping every conservative who wants us dead. They’re going to see that you’re big enough of an idiot to believe that people in your own community are expressing themselves “wrong”, and use that as justification to be like “yeah those queer people are wrong and gross and they should have no rights or deserve to die.” and if they can find a way to come after the “weird” disliked queers, they arent going to stop there. They’re going to come after you too, you moron. Because they think we’re all disgusting.

There’s no right way to be queer. Even if you don’t understand the identity at all, that doesn’t give you any right to dictate how someone else feels about themselves and their body and their sexuality. It’s not “homophobic” or “transphobic” for someone to identify in a way that is different from the preconceived notions you have about queer people. its not fucking lesbophobic for someone to identify as a bi lesbian, they are clearly just trying to find labels they feel fit them and if it doesnt match what you think a lesbian is: so fucking what! They aren’t fucking harming anyone. We are all the same in the sense that we deviate from what cishet people consider “normal”. (Though this can also apply to cishet people who just dont conform to what people think of as cis or het, for example I’ve seen some cis people use differing pronouns even if they identify as cis: pronouns don’t necessarily equate to gender, and they can do what they want! They arent taking anything away from queer people, in fact theyre only helping to normalize when people want to use different pronouns)

Radfems/Terfs are also evil, do not fucking touch this post. Same goes for pedos (i refuse to call you maps or proshippers, you’re just a pedophile and that does not make you queer.)

[redley-of-many-noodles]

Content Warning: Transphobia, Radical Feminism, etc.

Please do not interact with any of the tags mentioned here, or their sibling tags that fall within the same community. Just add them to your filter. It’ll be better for your mental health.

So, I just fell down an unfortunate rabbit hole.

Found a blog using Sylveon (the Pokémon) to represent anti-LGBTQ ideals. (Because the “For You” page thought I needed variety, I guess.) The logic was so fucked that I didn’t even understand it was meant as hate at first. I looked at their blog to try and understand, and quickly did. Started blocking them and the people who had interacted with them. A lot of pro-Israel stuff in their orbit too, unsurprisingly.

Then I noticed some of the tags. “Terfblr.” “Proud radfem.”

A TERF is a Trans-Exclusionary Radical Feminist, for anyone who doesn’t know what the acronym means.

It confused me that people used these tags. Why would someone want to make exclusion a part of their identity? Why would anyone call themselves a radical feminist? Definitions 2-4 on Dictionary.com explicitly describe the word as being used in regards to extreme beliefs:

Not “extreme” like LGBTQIA+ people wanting to have basic human rights and self-determination, but “extreme” like Trump’s views on the place of blacks and immigrants in society. “Extreme” like toxic masculine views on where women belong. “Extreme” like the feminists who indiscriminately hate men. “Extreme” like Nazi Germany’s views on the place of the ‘lesser races’ in society.

Those are the kind of “extreme” views that the word ‘radical’ describes. Not the “extreme” of Palestinians wanting Israel to stop committing genocide against them. Not the “extreme” of black Americans that took measures to defend themselves from police brutality like the Black Panther Party. Not the “extreme” of the USSR’s satellite states wanting their autonomy.

It makes me think they’re of the mindset that they’re being called “extremists” as an attack on feminism and not that they’re being called extremists because the beliefs they propagate are actively harmful and inherently hateful in nature.

There were tons of posts like this I found. Where transgender people were being demonized as men seeking to prey on women — largely ignoring that transmascs even existed (probably seen as “traitors” or some other bs logic). Demonizing them as people trying to use self identification as a means to invade safe spaces. And they always referred to us exclusively as “transsexual” from what I saw. Because ‘my gender is not your costume,’ and everybody seemed to be firmly rooted in a gender-binary mindset. That our identity was irrevocably determined by the circumstances of our birth. I even saw one post saying how disgusted they were by drag, because it was “a man’s mockery of a woman’s image.”

They called us monsters. For existing. For trying to be happy. For occasionally finding happiness.

They made it out as though transgenders could only be happy at the expense of the safety of women and children.

I don’t have a “point” to make with this. I just… wanted to express this.

This hate.

Because I have discovered what it feels like to truly hate someone, having seen what these disgusting humans consider “progressive.”

I hate it.

I hate you.

I hate that I understand this feeling now.

TERFs, for teaching me hate, I will never forgive you.

I will never forgive how I have been warped by you.

How you have twisted me.

I HATE YOU.

And I’m getting off this hellsite for the day, for my own good.

Goodbye.

#enbyphobia #transphobia #radical feminists dni #terfs dni #homophobia #cw: homophobia #tw: homophobia #cw: transphobia #tw: transphobia #cw: enbyphobia #tw: enbyphobia #cw: hate #tw: hate #interact if you fucking dare #i hate you #i hate you with the fury of a thousand suns #i hate you with the stillness of a thousand miles of void #i hate you with the certainty of death #i hate you with the persistence of life #i hate you with all of hell’s fire #i hate you with all of antarctica’s ice #i hate you with the loudness of a hundred baying hounds #i hate you with the quiet politeness of a serial killer #i hate you with every word i can imagine #and i especially hate that you have the power to make me like you #i wish you an instant and painless death

[sammygender]

long post below be warned

i dislike the way in some feminist circles—and in this particular instance, this means a Guardian review of Barbie, so it’s not even a feminist circle, but i see it a lot while hate-stalking radfems and i hear it a lot in conversation—every little fucked up psychological trait people do, if the person talking about it is a woman, is attributed to womanhood. ‘i am a woman and to exist as a woman is horrific under the patriarchy (true!) and therefore i do this messed-up thing (insert statement).’ and when starting to think about this i said this: i do not know if my dislike of this phenomenon is because it’s true, and it makes me feel weird to think about it because i am a trans man, or because it’s not true, and it feels weird that people attribute human things to Women things (or woman-socialised, non-cis-men, anything that woke people use as a buzzword when they mean ‘woman and anyone i see as a woman’) and act like non cis men have some unique capacity for empathy that cis men/men (differing people will have their own opinions on trans men, and obviously the terfs just think it’s afabs, but i’ll go at this from a perspective where i ignore them) don’t have.

or, rather, i said: i’m sure it is true, for some people, that womanhood has been so traumatising for them that they developed defence mechanisms, but i would argue that is a result of trauma that happens to be gendered and not a thing every woman does & not a thing only women do. & i don’t know if i’m being weird and picky and potentially antagonistic in not LOVING this phenomenon, or whether i’m simply aware of gender essentialism. bc it’s not nice to police how people talk about their oppression. but it also just… feels overly simplified.

FOR EXAMPLE. some of this is because i am a trans man, and it’s horrible to think that my intense, cyclical self-awareness of ‘so i’m doing this, but i KNOW i’m doing this, so it’s okay that i’m doing this!’ is because i was raised as a woman. and that starts to feel like it could be true, because i do have experience of being a girl within me, and who am i to say that this complex, a result of constantly feeling Annoying and like the only way to break that cycle of being Annoying is to be Aware of being annoying because somehow that makes it better, ISN’T because of that? when you actually think about it, though, this feels… silly. how in any way is this an experience unique to women? maybe that they are taught to police themselves and their looks and their everything - true. maybe that leads to that experience of needing to be too self aware. and i see how someone could recognise this trait within them and go This must be because i’m a woman but. it’s like very much a trait i can see in men just as much, just as often, and i think we need to hesitate before ascribing experiences precisely to genders and gender roles we inhabit. first time i ever saw this feeling of irony-piled self-awareness properly expressed was in fucking homestuck, the striders, at one point bo burnham’s 2021 special inside articulated it well. when i read homestuck as a transmasculine 13 year old it felt vaguely like a ‘guy experience’, mostly because i wanted it to be. now i often see this voiced as ‘girl-coded’, something every woman experiences, often paired with poems about making sure you’re always aware of how you’re perceived. but it’s the same damn thing, maybe slightly occasionally different, but same thing. gendered socialisation fucks you up, yeah. women get it worse because they’re oppressed, yeah, but the whole concept of gender enforced into a child is traumatic.

anyway one day ill write an essay on this. & fandom reception. stuff like ‘eldest daughter syndrome’, traits that are seen as inherently gendered but just Aren’t always. it’s always a simplified take.

this goes both ways BTW i’m talking about the problem in feminism bc i am a feminist. but it happens everywhere. one of the most glaringly annoying examples is the idea that ‘men can’t express emotions’. like yes, that is true (to an extent) that men are seen often as weak if they cry! it is ALSO true that, historically, women have been legitimately locked in insane asylums for having feelings and wants more complicated than serve husband and make food for child. it is also true that if a woman shows emotion in front of a man, very often she gets easily dismissed as insane or hysterical. arguably this problem is worse for women because women are like actually oppressed.

and it’s interesting because this leads us to a conclusion - that just you can say ‘i repress my emotions because i’m a man and have been punished for expressing them, in a uniquely gendered way’, you can say ‘i repress my emotions because i’m a woman and i have been punished for expressing them, in a uniquely gendered way’. to go with my previous example - you can say ‘i’m ironically self-aware because i’m a guy and not meant to feel emotions genuinely’. true, this is a thing men are taught because they’re men. you can say ‘i’m ironically self-aware because as a woman i’ve always been mocked for being genuine.’ true, this is a thing that happens to women because they’re women.

anyway. until we get past just designating things and experiences as ONLY for certain genders, we will never get free of gendered oppression/misogyny bc it’s innate to this obsession with gender as 2 binary polar opposites. there’s commonalities, yes, but nothing unique about female or male ‘socialisation’ and you don’t necessarily have more in common with someone the same gender as you just as you don’t necessarily have more in common with someone the same race or the same age - you have SOMETHING in common, but not everything. & it’s weird to presume you do

#feminism #oliver talks #incomplete thoughts

[knightingael]

@wizard-on-wizard-action

I’m responding to you here for convenience - took me a minute, with finals, but in response to your more recent comments on this post:

Personally, I usually say "TRAs" instead of "transpeople" because there is a big distinction between the two and I'm not conflating you under one problematic heading that way (as you might conflate all radfems as TERFs). Most of the transmen and nonbinary females that I'm friends with IRL don't have the same opinions standardized in TRA culture. TRAs are a specific subset of transpeople (mostly transwomen), who have defined TRA in ways that the average transperson likely wouldn't.

I also don't identify as a TERF - I include transmen in my feminism. Always have, always will. Abortion is as much your fight as mine, and it'd be crazy to act otherwise. Radical feminism is about discrimination on the basis of having a female body - which is sexual discrimination, the primary concern of radical feminism. Transmen who are discovered to have a female body aren't saved from sexism on the basis of gender identity, and transwomen who are known to have a male body aren't subject to the same discrimination that female people are. I know that in part because I'm in a STEM program with more transwomen than ciswomen.

Now, could a transwoman who "passes" experience misplaced sexism? Yes, in much the same way that my siblings who don't pass as white experience misplaced racism. But that doesn't mean that my caucasian siblings belong in support groups and networks for POC. And in the same sense, white-passing POC like my last girlfriend DO belong in those spaces and conversations, because discrimination isn't something that's just tied to what you look like but how society categorizes your exposed reality. Experiencing oppression on the basis of being trans isn't the same as oppression on the basis of sex. Those are distinct and unique experiences. Radical feminists focus on sex-based oppression, for which reason we include transmen but not transwomen.

Radical feminism isn't built around hating transpeople - it's built around addressing and fighting that sex-based oppression. Maybe the above seems problematic to transpeople, but our focus on sex-motivated hate predates the modern trans movement. It was never about hating you, it's about identifying why and how males hate females, which necessitates that we identify the binary sex hierarchy society constructed out of our rigidly bimodal sexual reality. It's not semantics; it's reality shaping people's treatment of each other. You can argue that sex is a social construct all day - but in the end, it hasn't been deconstructed and continues to shape the oppressive structures of our society, which needs to be identified in our language and theory so those issues can be addressed.

I'm not sure what I've said to make you think that I hate transpeople. I've been sexually harassed by transwomen, but I wouldn't even go so far as to say that I hate transwomen broadly. I respect people's pronouns unless they give me reason to think that they have evil intentions. I often engage with trans friends on these topics IRL, and we bond over our shared experiences. What you don't seem to understand is that my original post refers to a specific subset of transpeople that I'm criticizing. The ones who identify sexual boundaries as a core community issue (the cotton ceiling, referring to lesbians' underwear, which is rapey as fuck). The LGBT community HAS had issues in the past with predatory behavior that needed to be checked (NAMBLA was once endorsed by our major organizations). This is once again just internal policing - lesbians are speaking up to criticize a section of the broader community that is engaging in harmful behavior. That shouldn't be taboo just because conservatives force rhetoric on us - that's the same mentality that makes the Vatican cover up pedophilic scandals. We can't be so afraid of proving them right that we prove them right, y'know? Corruption exists everywhere, and what matters is how we address it.

A movement that won't allow internal criticism is a dangerous one. The current mentality of "block any and all TERFs/TEHMs" is especially concerning. It's vital for the broader community that we engage with each other. In fact, it was desire for that kind of discourse that drove me to radfem spaces in the first place. As a younger gnc woman, I gravitated towards trans spaces first - but I quickly found that any and all conversations about issues important to lesbian feminists were immediately shut down. At one point IRL, I was harassed by a transwoman who followed a pattern of behavior that exactly mirrored the "strawman" that so-called TERFs touted, and when I talked about it online, I was branded problematic (for my victimhood!). That signaled to me that maybe those internal criticisms were warranted to an extent, and I had to pursue those conversations here instead of trans-dominated spaces because of excessive policing. If you go back to my first post on this account, you'll see that I identify it as my motive. And the more I read, the more I realized that radical feminism had been dramatically misrepresented by every TRA I'd ever talked to online.

You've been lied to, y'know - the movement at large doesn't hate you or any other transpeople. We're just raising concerns that TRA-dominated spaces online refuse to listen to.

#responses #radical feminist motives

[sambuchito]

I’m envious of the anonymity men have in their work like you could be an artist or architect or photographer or web developer or engineer and in most cases your work will always speak for itself rather than being tied directly to your appearance, no need for shaving or spend hours putting make up but if you’re a woman you are your appearance and then your profession. You’re an artist and also a woman? No, you are a female artist, an entirely different thing lol They won’t ever let you forget you are a woman first and foremost

#radfems and terfs don’t even fucking look at this post #also I know POCs don’t get this privilege and this is is also included in my point. you are subjected to a higher standard than the rest #work in service? oh you need to spend your time in make up and shaving and let’s be honest if you’re fat forget about working front house #you work from home and don’t need to show face? I will treat you better if I think you’re a man LOL! #mine #feminism

[justanotherfanartist]

yooo it’s the Intro post!

: my name? dennis parking lot. denny for short. I also more commonly go by Will

: use whatever pronouns you’re comfortable with or you think suit me! she/they/he are good but if you look at me and see a xe/xir by all means try it out, I’ll tell ya if it bothers me

: my space dork account is @astroexobiology : basically an rvb blog at this point ngl

: interact with me more than twice and you’re an honorary mutual. sorry not sorry chum

: I have only one consistent tag and it’s #blueys-parking-space. everything else is, well. good luck in there, soldier🫡

dni below

homophobes transphobes aphobes queerphobes etc ableist racist antisemetic terfs maps/pedos/proshippers any kind of alt-right anything

Harry Potter Fans blocked on sight- identifying as TERF, radfem, or not, if you’re aware of what’s happening and you’re still actively supporting it you’re still part of the problem and I just don’t wanna deal with you being term gatekeepy as in bisexual only means cisgender men and women, only lesbians can be butch, etc etc etc. queer culture is diverse and supportive and it always has been, as long as you’re not infringing upon other types of identity and culture by the use of your term (like if you’re white, you’re not a stud, you’re a butch) and be respectful in your definition of your label and let other people have their own. if you say you’re asexual but you still engage in sex and feel some kind of attraction but there’s something there that’s still not allosexual fuck it be asexual! you’re not hurting anybody! if it changes later that’s cool! all terms have spectrums and there’s a reason for that, no label will ever be perfect- if we tried to draw hard lines for the term bisexual we’d exclude people who are bisexual no matter how we define it. which is why personal definitions on a case-by-case basis are good, because everyone who wants one can use them suitably. and please don’t assume you have the right to label anyone because you can ‘see that they’re not using the right word for what they are’. if who you think is just an effeminate gay man is saying they’re a trans woman then they are a trans woman. you do not know them better then yourself. and if their identity changes, even if it becomes what you thought, you still have no right to enforce your idea because it was ‘correct’. Radfems and TeRfS do that. They label trans men as confused gay women instead, they label trans women predatory and dangerous men with a fetish, they assume their ‘view’ of someone determines who they actually are and that is not okay. No matter have obvious or provable you think your take on someone is, don’t label who they are. Thats not for you to decide.

[venus-haze]

Watch It Bring You To Your Knees (Baby Firefly x Reader)

Summary: You should've never told your boyfriend to pick up the hitchhiker on the side of the road...right?

Note: Female reader, but no other descriptors are used. Happy Femslash February y’all! Anyway, don’t interact if you’re under 18, terf or radfem, or post thinspo/ED content.

Word count: 1.2k

Warnings: DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT. Kidnapping. Sexually explicit content that involves extremely dubious consent, elements of petplay, sadism, degradation, spanking, oral sex (f. receiving), boot riding. Do not interact if you’re under 18.

Baby Firefly was the most obnoxious, irritating, nasty bitch you’d ever had the displeasure of running into in your life. To make the situation you found yourself in worse, you were the one who told your boyfriend to pick up the hitchhiking woman, even though he wanted to keep driving. You supposed you were better off with her than with Otis, though. Your boyfriend’s anguished screams from down the hall put every horror movie you ever watched to shame. Baby wasn’t shy about using a knife, you had plenty of cuts of varying depth to show for it, but your last stupid burst of courage had yet to rear its ugly head as she gleefully snapped a dog collar around your neck.

“Okay, now sit!” she ordered.

You were silent, sending the meanest glare you could muster to her. As if it’d make a difference.

“C’mon, be a good puppy and sit!”

“Fuck you.” You spat in her face.

Your cheek stung with the force she used to backhand you, taking advantage of your moment of disorientation to press her knife against your throat. 

“I should cut your fucking tongue out for that,” she hissed, her nose touching yours. “But you did tell your dumbass boyfriend to pick me up.” She regarded you silently for a moment. “You still gotta pay.”

She hauled you up by your collar, choking you in the process. You fruitlessly clawed at her hand, but she didn’t release you until you were bent over her lap in front of her vanity, chest burning as she grabbed your ass cheeks. 

“I think ten is good to start, don’t you?”

“Ten?” you breathed hoarsely.

“Nah, you’re right, twenty-five’s more like it.”

Your eyes widened.

She grinned, slapping her hand against your ass. She did so again, harder, causing you to gasp in pain. “Hey dummy, it don’t count if you don’t count,” she taunted, spanking you again. “So count.”

“One.”

“There ya go!” 

At ten, she claimed her hand was sore, and you thought you were getting off easy. Except she grabbed a hairbrush from her vanity, each spank with that stinging even worse than her hand. You could barely choke out the number when it snapped in half against your welted asscheek at twenty-one.

You knew better by then to expect her to give you a break. She simply shrugged, throwing the broken hair brush aside and going back to spanking you with her hand. By the time you reached twenty-five, hot tears rolled down your face, both in pain and embarrassment at how wet you’d gotten. Each time you squirmed in her lap, you could feel your wetness slicking up your inner thighs.

She scratched her nails against your raw skin, giggling when you whimpered in pain. Her hand drifted between your thighs, her fingers prodding at your wet pussy. “I guess that wasn’t much of a punishment, was it? Feels like you liked it a lot.” She slipped two fingers inside you, pumping them in and out at a frustratingly slow pace. You moaned, rutting against her hand to try to get more friction. She hummed, curling her fingers inside you. Your pussy clenched around her fingers. Fuck, you were close, you were so fucking–“I think you still need to show me how sorry you are for bein’ so rude.”

A whine caught in your throat when she pulled her hand away, instead grabbing you by the collar and pushing you onto your knees in front of her. She shimmed out of her panties, throwing them aside and opening her legs. You looked from her pussy to her face, eyes wide in disbelief. She couldn’t really expect you to–

“Don’t go all prude on me. If you’re gonna run your mouth, you’re gonna put it to good use,” she said, before cruelly adding, “Just pretend you’re kissin’ your little boyfriend.”

With a shaky breath, you leaned in, too slowly for Baby’s liking, because she gripped the back of your head and pushed your face against her pussy. Your nose brushed her clit as you tentatively licked between her folds. You didn’t want to make her feel good, she didn’t deserve it, even if she was hot, but she’d do a hell of a lot worse than spank your ass raw if you didn’t do what you were told this time 

You tried thinking about what you liked when your boyfriend actually went down on you, what you wanted him to do when he did. You dragged your tongue up her pussy until you reached her clit, giving it a few flicks before closing your lips around it, the lewd sound of you sucking her wet cut mixed with her moans, sending a rush of pleasure down your spine.

You reached between your legs, rubbing your clit, sloppily moaning against Baby’s pussy. She was practically riding your face at that point, though she got wise to her suddenly doing most of the heavy lifting. “Uh-uh, this is the only way you’re gonna cum,” she sneered, shoving her dirty cowboy boot between your legs. “C’mon, hump it like a good little bitch.”

With a shaky breath, you rubbed yourself against it, finding your rhythm more quickly than you cared to admit. Your calves ached the harder you grinded against Baby’s boot, but pleasure curled its tendrils through your abdomen, beckoning you closer to release. 

“Tell me my boot feels better than any dick you’ve let in your cunt.” When you moved away from her pussy to speak, she grabbed you by the hair. “Use your fingers, stupid, don’t leave me hangin’.” You nodded, fingering her in the absence of your mouth. She moaned, “Now say it.”

“Your boot–” She flexed her foot, pushing it against your pussy, the pressure hitting your clit at just the right spot to make your hips jerk. “Fuck–your boot feels better than any dick I’ve let in my cunt.”

“Now say, ‘Thank you for letting me your slut, Baby.’”

You didn’t even hesitate. “Thank you for letting me be your slut, Baby.”

She moaned, rolling her hips against your hand. Her fingers dug into the back of your head, pushing your face against her pussy again. You didn’t need to be told that time, your tongue lapping her up while rubbing circles against her clit. Static filled your brain as you tried to focus on Baby’s pleasure and your own, the two seeming to converge as she came on your tongue with a high-pitched whine, soaking your face. At the same time, her boot rubbed harder against your aching cunt, sending you over the edge as you clung to her leg, your wet face pressed against her thigh as you hopelessly rode out your orgasm on her boot. 

You couldn’t find it in you to be embarrassed, not when you were seeing stars and she was probably the last person you were ever gonna see anyway. Fuck, if she was gonna kill you, at least you got the best orgasm of your life first.

“Will you two keep it the fuck down?” Otis shouted through the door, shattering the salacious haze you’d gotten lost in.

“Mind your fucking business!” Baby yelled back, grabbing the nearest object from her vanity and throwing it at the wall. “Perv!” Though she shouted that with a smile.

When she pulled her boot out from under you, she snickered as she kicked her foot around, watching how your juices glistened against the leather. “You liked that a lot, huh?” A grin spread across her face. “I’m gonna have to keep you around a while.”

#baby firefly x reader #house of 1000 corpses #the devil's rejects #baby firefly #slasher x reader #slasher fandom #slasher community #slasher fanfic #it's kind of sick how quickly i wrote this but i support women's rights and women's wrongs so

[lostloveletters]

And I Lay Right Down in My Favorite Place (Bill "Hoosier" Smith x Reader)

Summary:  The Australian heat has nothing on how you feel when you finally get Hoosier to yourself.

Note: Female reader, but no descriptors are used. Title comes from the song I Wanna Be Your Dog. This is based on the fictionalized characters in the miniseries and not the real individuals. Do not interact if you’re under 18, terf or radfem, or post thinspo/ED content.

Word count: 3.2k

Warnings: Light period-typical misogyny. Obviously some historical inaccuracies. Sexually explicit content including oral sex (f. receiving) and some femdom elements. Do not interact if you’re under 18.

Your shadow cast abnormally long over Hoosier, his eyes scrunched shut as he slept in the rapidly setting Australian sun, curled up on his cot like a cat on a windowsill. If he had actually moved from that spot in the past few days, you would have felt bad waking him up. Except he hadn’t unless absolutely necessary, and so you attempted to disguise your selfish request as simple altruism.

“Hoosier, c’mon, we’re in Melbourne—civilization! You can’t just sleep through it. At least spend one night out so you don’t regret it.” He was unresponsive. “Please, for me?”

He snickered. “Even if I wanted to—which I don’t—I don’t have a pass.”

“I swiped an extra one. Look, everyone else ran off with some girl, and I have no one to go to bars with me tonight,” you said, stretching the truth a bit. Chuckler promised he’d look out for you in whatever little local dives you ended up in. For the most part, he had, but after a few drinks, he’d get distracted by a local girl, and you’d have to fend off equally drunk suitors without him as reliable backup.

“Fuck, alright,” he grumbled, pushing himself up from his cot, blanket still wrapped securely around his shoulders.

You shoved the dubiously acquired pass into his hand. “I just need to change, and—”

“Change?”

He stood up, the two of you staring each other down in an unspoken stand-off, waiting to see who would fold first.

“I bought a dress.”

“Don’t take too long or I’m going back to sleep.”

You ran to your cot, grabbing a paper shopping bag you’d shoved beneath it. A local boutique’s logo printed on the front, announcing your purchase of a flowing wrap dress that you couldn’t take your eyes off of in the shop. It didn’t take much convincing for you to buy it, and the unwavering confidence you felt while trying it on in the dressing room made a swift return when you ran into one of the locker rooms in the cricket stadium, changing in one of the stalls.

The plunging neckline had especially caught your attention, far from the conservative attire you’d usually wear as a Marine—though there had been strong opinions among some of the men toward your wearing pants, until Hoosier had asked them how the hell you were supposed to trek through the dense jungles in a skirt, which promptly shut most of them up. 

Still, you bought the dress knowing full well it was an impractical, expensive purchase that wouldn’t make it out of Australia with you. The slip that you wore beneath it was a buttery soft satin that you never wanted to take off, nothing short of heavenly against your skin. You didn’t have much in the way of makeup or perfume, so you’d chosen a dress and some heels that could do most of the heavy lifting for you.

Your name echoed through the empty locker room, Hoosier calling out for you as his boots smacked against the tile floor. “Hey, you in here?”

“In the stall!” you shouted back.

The tap ran along with the sound of water splashing. “You sure there’s no one else around to go with you?”

“Leckie’s playing house with some girl from the trolley the other night, Sid’s with his girl Gwen, Chuckler’s god knows where, and Runner’s got a date with the shop assistant at the boutique I bought this from, so no,” you said, securely tying the wrap dress in place. “Look, if it’s that much of a bother, you can stay.” You shuffled out of the stall, your uniform folded and shoved in the shopping bag the dress had been in. 

Hoosier whistled lowly when he saw you, quickly shaking his head. “Not while you’re wearing that.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Means you’re showing about as much tit as the girls in those magazines.”

You straightened your back, giving yourself a once-over in the mirror above the sink. “That’s why I bought it.”

“It’s sure as hell working on me.”

“Really?” you asked, raising an eyebrow as you turned to him.

He folded his arms over his chest. “What made you think it wouldn’t?”

“You’ve seen me covered in mud and blood—I think I’ve even thrown up on you before.”

He grinned. “Gives you character.”

“So I spent my hard-earned money on this new dress for nothing?”

“Not for nothing. I wouldn't mind seeing how it looks coming off you.”

“Maybe somewhere nicer than a locker room?” you proposed.

“Now you’re gonna make me spend my hard-earned money just because you wanna fuck somewhere fancy?”

“I wanna fuck somewhere with a real bed, and privacy.”

“Sounds like you already have a place in mind.”

“I might," you said, taking his hand in your free one and leading him out of the cricket stadium.

Running down the streets of Melbourne with Hoosier sent a rush through you. Your dress flowing in the cool night breeze, the hem flirting around your thighs, each gust of wind threatening to give a peak of what lay beneath to passersby. For the first time in months, you felt like a woman, anticipation building in your gut as Hoosier kept his hand firmly around yours, bringing you closer to the night you’d been hoping for. The fact that it’d be with him was icing on the cake. Even though you were no longer relentlessly hounded for your answer of which member of H Company you would fuck if you absolutely had to—from day one, you’d pick Hoosier.

He really hadn’t been exaggerating about the dress, because when the two of you ran into Chuckler smoking outside of a bar, at least three whiskeys into his nightcap, he didn’t even recognize you. Instead, he shot a wink your way and congratulated Hoosier for ‘getting some.’ He had shouted something else your way when you and Hoosier were halfway up the street, nearing the hotel you’d seen on your shopping trip.

A tall, swanky building with valets outside, you tried not to gawk at the giant chandelier in the lobby, surely worth more than you’d make in your lifetime. You and Hoosier caught some odd glances from the people milling about, but some went out of their way to thank him. You bristled at the perceived slight until you remembered what you were wearing, your uniform hidden in the shopping bag in your hand.

A well-put together man stood behind the front desk, not bothering to pay either of you any mind until Hoosier cleared his throat.

“Good evening, sir. I’d like to book a room for one night for, uh, Lewis Juergens and guest.” 

You nudged Hoosier with your elbow.

The manager looked you and Hoosier over with his lips pursed, as if he were resisting the urge to sneer. “We don’t tend to allow unmarried couples to share a room.”

You put on a charming smile and the best imitation of an Australian accent you could muster. “Just married. We’re honeymooning while we can. Gotta keep this one in line before I hand him back to the Marines.”

“I see,” he said, neither fully convinced by your story nor concerned enough to argue. “Mr. and Mrs. Lewis Juergens for one night, then?”

“That’s right,” Hoosier said. “Honey, why don’t you wait up for me?”

You kissed him, perhaps a bit more passionately than was acceptable in such an upscale establishment, but the desire in his eyes when you pulled away to wander over to the elevator was worth it.

He grinned as he walked over to you less than a minute later, holding up the room key. “Wait ‘til Chuckler finds out he’s married.”

“To a nice Australian girl to boot,” you said, pushing the elevator button.

“Nice girls don’t kiss like that.”

“Oops.”

When the doors opened, Hoosier told the operator to bring you to the seventh floor. You caught a glimpse of the room number engraved on the key’s tag. As soon as the doors opened, you rushed down the ornate hallway in search of the room. He seemed to take his sweet time walking over, amused by the scowl on your face.

"You know, I think I might've forgotten something downstairs—"

"Hoosier, I swear to god."

He snickered as he unlocked the door, ushering you inside.

You pushed Hoosier against the door when he locked it behind him, kissing him with a ferocity that shocked him for a moment before he came to his senses. The kiss was overtaken by the desperate clashing of teeth and tongue, a long repressed primal urge rearing its ugly head as you pressed yourself against him. Before that night, you’d considered the situation you found yourself in little more than a foolish yet pleasant fantasy, doubting he wanted you as much as you wanted him. His vulgar quips toward you had blended with the others you’d gotten used to, learned to take in stride. They were all talk, anyway. The way his hands kneaded your ass through the flimsy material of your dress proved otherwise.

“How much did you spend on this?” he asked, voice husky with desire.

You threw the shopping bag aside, paying no mind to how it fell over on its side. “You don’t wanna know.”

“Five bucks?”

“Higher.”

“Ten?”

“Higher.”

“Shit, I better make this worth your while, then.”

“You will,” you said, catching his bottom lip between your teeth, tugging on it ever so slightly.

Your hand half-wrapped around his neck, you pressed your thumb against the base of his throat while you sucked and bit on a patch of skin just beneath his collarbone. No one would notice unless they really looked for it, like you would over the next few days, your eyes inevitably drifting to where you staked your claim on him. 

He leaned against the door, breathing heavily while you left your mark on his skin, slightly tanned by days in the relentless tropical sun. Your hand drifted up to caress his cheek, your thumb brushing his lower lip. He took the digit in his mouth, and you gasped when he began sucking on it. 

“You’ve got everyone else fooled, you know that?” you murmured, softly kissing the corner of his lips. “Sleeping all day like you’re above it all, when you’re a bigger slut than the rest of them.” You palmed him through his pants, his hard cock straining against the fabric, earning a muffled moan from him. 

When he reached for your hips, you pulled your thumb from his mouth and grabbed his wrists just as quickly, pinning them on either side of him.

“If you want me, you gotta work for it.”

He groaned. “Jesus, you’re mean.”

“I know, but I think you like that,” you said. “Do you like that?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he answered without hesitation.

You released his wrists from your grasp, kicking off your heels as you walked back to sit on the edge of the bed. “Then show me how much you want me.”

He sank to his knees before you without hesitation. He would have looked almost pious if his hands were clasped together instead of pulling your panties and stockings down to your ankles, his tongue darting out from between his lips as you spread your legs. He’d seen you before, though, not this intimately, but close enough. Privacy was a scarce resource, and so modesty packed its bags along with it. You’d conquered shame on those islands, perhaps the first woman to do so. Maybe that could be included in Lady Marines’ recruiting materials—put the church out of business, be naked and unashamed.

With a frustrated groan, you pulled off the wrap dress, hearing it tear as you were too impatient to untie it properly. The soft, patterned fabric pooled around Hoosier’s knees. He pushed your slip up around your hips, his calloused fingers drifting down between your opened legs. His rough touch electrified you, your legs seizing a bit when he started rubbing your clit with the pads of his fingers, watching intently as your face contorted in pleasure.

His hands gripped your thighs as he ducked his head between your legs, slowly dragging his tongue up your leaking slit until his lips reached your clit, sucking it while he slipped his fingers inside you. Leaning back on the bed, comforter balled up in your hands, your arms strained to support you as he ate you out, lust clouding your reason, your climax just achingly out of reach, like he was doing it on purpose.

“Don’t fucking stop,” you ordered through gritted teeth, your hand buried in his hair, keeping his face pressed against your pussy. His teeth grazed your clit, and your pussy clenched around his fingers when he flicked his tongue against the sensitive bundle of nerves. Your back arched, pleasure cracking down your spine like a whip as you came with a moan that echoed in your ears. “Hoosier—Bill—oh my god—” His tongue lapped up your wetness as you rode out your orgasm on his face.

He moved back from between your legs, hair unkempt and face flushed, his mouth and chin glistening in the low light.

“I wish I had a camera,” you sighed, affectionately running your fingers through his messy hair. “You look perfect.”

“Yeah?” he asked, almost dazed.

You nodded. “Like a wet dream.”

He moved to wipe his mouth with the back of his hand, but you grabbed his wrist before he could.

“Don’t,” you said, a little harsher than you intended. “I wanna see how I taste.”

When he stood up, you took his face in your hands, kissing him deeply, taking in the taste of yourself on his tongue, his lips. The sensation sent an irrational, possessive urge through you, greedy for more of him, as much as he’d give you—and only you. 

“You got a condom?” you asked breathlessly against his mouth.

“If I don’t, I’m gonna kill somebody,” he grumbled, searching his pockets for one. 

Salvation in his front shirt pocket, he held one up triumphantly. 

With shaky hands, you unbuttoned his shirt, frustrated by how much he was wearing compared to you—for once. Usually you were the one overdressed, sneaking glances of envy and admiration whenever he was shirtless. He had never caught you, or at least he never let on that he had. You reveled at finally having your hands on him the way you wanted, the way that’d make you curl your hands into fists, digging your broken fingernails into your palms to distract from how frustratingly out of reach he was on those islands.

Your slip came off over your head much easier than the dress, and soon a pile of discarded clothes was kicked to the wayside as he joined you on the bed. 

You stroked his cock, his hips jerking at your touch. 

“It’s been a while,” he offered as an explanation for how his body reacted. As if he needed to, as if you weren’t on the verge of pouncing on him at that very moment.

“I don’t care. I want you inside me, Hoosier. I wanna feel you when you come.”

He groaned, chewing on his bottom lip. “Oh fuck.”

You kissed him, practically swallowing the groan that emerged from his throat when he plunged his cock inside you, your cunt clenching around him as he filled you. 

He pressed his forehead against yours, his gaze locked on your eyes as you struggled to keep them open with each thrust in your pliant pussy, taking him deeper with each stroke. 

“Fuck—I’m close,” he barely managed to force out, his cock twitching as he neared orgasm.

“I got you, baby,” you whispered, your lips soft against the shell of his ear as his thrusts slowed and became erratic as he bottomed out inside you. 

He gave you a sloppy kiss, taking a few moments to catch his breath before pulling out of you. “Fuck,” he murmured, mostly to himself.

You curled up beneath the covers as he got up to discard the used condom.

“Jesus Christ, they’re gonna think someone tried to decapitate me,” he said from the bathroom.

“Sorry!”

“Don’t be. Maybe I can claim some rare jungle illness and get a few extra days off.”

You scoffed, smiling when he got into bed next to you, pulling you against him. “Yeah, you and every other Marine running around Melbourne.”

“Hotel room was a good call,” he said softly, nuzzling his nose against the crown of your head. “Fuck, I’m gonna be dreaming about this on the next shithole island they dump us on.” He was quiet for a moment. “Never thought that’d get me going, you bossing me around and all.”

“Something about you brought that out,” you said. “I don’t know, I feel like I’d go crazy if another woman touched you.”

“I’ll make sure to warn ‘em.”

You barked out a laugh, hiding your face in the crook of his neck before resting your head on his shoulder. “How about you? Most guys think eating out is degrading.”

“Because they’re fucking idiots.”

“I won’t argue with that.”

The two of you talked well into the night before falling asleep, only to be awoken at ten in the morning by a phone call from the front desk, informing you that if you didn’t check out within the hour, you’d be charged extra.

“Can we put it on Chuckler’s tab?” Hoosier grumbled, reluctantly getting out of bed.

“I wish,” you said, hastily freshening up in the bathroom.

“What’re you gonna do with that dress?” he asked. “Can’t take it with you.”

You shrugged, glancing at the torn, wrinkled garment. “I guess I’ll just leave it here.”

And you did, leaving it behind as you slipped out of the hotel room first. Wearing your uniform, far less comfortable than what you’d been wearing the day before, would inevitably draw unwanted attention to you and Hoosier if you left together, especially if you were seen by any number of fellow Marines who were prone to running their mouths. That, or the same haughty manager could have been behind the front desk again.

By the time Hoosier caught up with you at the cricket stadium, Chuckler was already there, sitting on your cot with you as he told you all about his escapades the night before. His attention quickly shifted to Hoosier.

“Hey, who was that cute broad you were with the other night? The one in the slinky dress?” Chuckler asked as he pulled on his boots. “Was she any good?”

Hoosier glanced at you, a smile tugging on his lips. “She was a real nympho. Tore off her dress and everything.” Your eyes widened when he held up a scrap of fabric clearly ripped from your now discarded dress. Chuckler grabbed for it, but Hoosier kept it just out of reach. “Woulda thought she was in heat or something”

You kicked his boot. 

He snickered. 

Chuckler didn’t notice the silent exchange, instead huffing out, “Man, I gotta get me a girl like that.”

“Gonna have to look somewhere else,” Hoosier said, eyes on you as he pocketed the torn piece of your dress. “This one’s mine.”

#'im gonna be normal on this blog' so basically that was a lie #bill hoosier smith x reader #hoosier smith x reader #hoosier x reader #the pacific x reader #the pacific #hoosier smith #the pacific fanfic #hbo war

[hamletisintown]

Re: this post

Okay so. Fictional characters and gender. I am probably going to center most of this on myself because obviously there's nothing i know better than my own experience, plus I am writing this in big part because I am trying to make sense of it so. Hopefully some people will be able to relate to this or take something from it still.

The first instance I can remember of actually, clearly taking a character's gender into account to decide whether I liked them or not was when I was somewhere between 12 and 15 (I have a pretty bad chronological memory, sorry), I was reading Code:Breaker and suddenly this character appeared and I was immediately smitten by their looks.

(i nearly forgot to include a pic qsdfghj i’m so useless)

I remember thinking "Please be a guy please be a guy". Thankfully he was and I loved him very much for it. Obviously the main reason, I think, why that mattered to me, was because he looked SO androgynous. It would have been boring for him to be a girl, in my mind, because girls looking boyish is not as widespread and gender role breaking as a guy looking girly. But that was not the only reason. An androgynous, goth-punk, cool-looking assassin girl would have been pretty out there too, but that didn't interest me at all. It mattered that he was a boy who looked like a girl, but I wouldn't have cared about a girl who looked like a boy nearly as much.

Looking back on it now, it makes perfect sense to me. "Boy who looks like a girl" is definitely a look i wish i could pull off, and "girl who looks like a boy" is nice too but not as nice to me (plus i can do it if i try, so it's not as exciting), and i don't WANT to be a girl.

I've always loved androgynous-looking characters. In fact, I remember, as a young teen, I created an character who was supposed to embody the purest kind of beauty, and made them a perfectly androgynous-looking character. I had absolutely no thoughts or knowledge of gender in my empty little brain at the time, it just felt natural to me, obviously the most beautiful kind of appearance I could think about was an androgynous one. So, of course, I was very into ikemen. I would see any beautiful, elegant, pretty boy or man in a manga and immediately be like "yeah yeah yeah".

Today, I am still very into androgynous characters, but I have also discovered the incredible appeal of characters whose gender is ambiguous not so much because of their appearance, but because they're hiding said appearance (looking at you, Bloodhound Apex Legends). Nothing sexier than a masked character amirite.

Alternatively, I fucking love monsters. And I want to open a tiny bit of discussion on monsterfuckers because like. What is it with monsters, man??? So many queer people love monsters, and there's so many layers to it. I love monsters because I understand them, as a queer person, I understand being seen as horrible and unnatural and feared and hated by people for who I am. I love monsters because, as an aro/ace, unnatural and unlikely, or even impossible, partners are so much more attractive. I love monsters because they're so gender. Who doesn't want to be a fucked up guy with big claws and teeth and eyes that shine in the night? Many people, apparently, I don't fucking get it. If you love monsters pease tell me about it. There's just so much to monsters as characters. (That's probably also many reasons why I love villains so much btw)

I forgot where I was going with this. I think my main point here is that I've always been drawn to androgynous or gender ambiguous characters, and that's one of the main things that made me realize that, oh, maybe I'm trans. Oh wait maybe I'm non-binary! I remember thinking "haha maybe the reason I like so little female characters is because i'm trans! Haha just kidding I'm not trans, it's just the internalized misogyny. Right." Which is why it angers me so much to see people (and especially TERFs and radfems) immediately and always equate "not liking female characters" with just "internalized misogyny" because, for me, it was actually the thing that made me realise I was trans.

Now the interesting thing is, after eralizing that, it still took me a long time to realize I didn't just like androgynous characters, I also liked male characters. A lot. And for a long time I struggled with my nb indentity, and I still do, but I'm starting to realize I do relate a lot to male characters and stories focused around male charas and mlm romance.

I remember reading an excellent article, and I would have linked it! But! I can't find it! I'm so sad, if anyone recognizes the description and has the link to it, I'd be forever grateful, I wanted to read it again...). From memory, it was written by a trans (possibly non-binary, i can't recall) person explaining that they had always related more to romances between men, to the way affection between men was portrayed. And like. I had never thought of this before but. Yes actually gender is not just the way you present yourself and the way people perceive you, it can also be about the way you act and the way you interact with other people. In the same way that certain clothes and haircuts are gendered in our society, certain gestures, certain ways of interacting with other people are also gendered. Idk if I'm making sense, I don't want to risk generalizing and falling into gender stereotypes too much, and also i'm still trying to understand it myself but. I think it matters a lot to me, unconsciously, the way characters interact with their significant other. Maybe more, even, than the actual gender of the people involved in the relationship.

I prefer male characters and mlm most of the time, and obviously i also really love non-binary characters of all sorts (but if you asked me to choose b/w a more female-presenting enby and a more male-presenting enby, I'd probably prefer the latter most of the time) but i have also been heavily drawn to female characters and hetero couples, and i'm starting to see a trend in those. Honestly, I was going to try and cite some examples but the moment I started thinking I immediately forgot all about characters I like. You know the feeling. I've been sitting on this post for days so I'm just gonna post it, and maybe i'll come back later to add onto this.

Hopefully this isn't going in too many directions at once. I could probably have tried to refine this more but I didn't have the mental strength to actually treat this like a proper essay and I just wanted to get it out into the world so. Here you go.

(If anyone, trans or otherwise, wants to share their own experience, don’t hesitate to directly answer by reblogging or anything! I would love to see other people’s feelings about this!)

#personal #long post #rambling

[radkindoffeminist]

The only time I mentioned radfems in my message was the fact that they continually ignored my abuse at the hands of cis women (which you are literally doing rn) and said nothing else about radfems, weird how when I mentioned a cis woman rping me you immediately assumed it was a radfem. Hm.

Can someone point me out what this is in reference to? I have zero recollection of someone telling me that they were abused by a woman and me going ‘yeah, obviously that woman was a radfem’.

EDIT: I think I understand what happened here. Assuming that it was in reference to this post:

I assume that what you thought I was saying what you were lying about being assaulted by radfems in order to make the radfems look bad by portraying them as rapists and abusers. While I can sort of understand why you interpreted my post like that (even if I think it’s a bit of a fucking reach that you saw me say radfems and assumed that I was talking about your rapist and not the fact that your ask is literally about how radfems react to shit) that’s not what I was trying to say.

What I was implying by you saying that you were making radfems look bad was two things: firstly, that the point of your message was literally that radfems ignore that women can assault and rape people because we spend all our time focusing on HRT and shit. In other words, the literal point of your ask was you wanting to make radfems look bad because they supposedly ignore rape and assault committed by women. Secondly, that your entire anon message was basically a trap designed to make me say shit which aligned with what your views on TERFs are so you can justify continuing to hate them as we get shit like this a lot (and I guess it worked given the number of anon messages I have received about how I refuse to believe assaults that ‘go against my world view’ happen because I don’t trust that every single anon who messages is always telling the truth.) I’ve been around radblr long enough to see the tactics that many TRAs use: asking us leading questions to push us in a certain direction or get a specific answer; sending us messages in order to make us feel guilty about our actions and forcing us to defend ourself to your (probably fake) sob stories; obsessing over one response or a comment we made (regardless of context) and ignoring everything else that we have to say on that matter; twisting and manipulating what we say in order to prove that we believe certain things/are pushing a certain agenda. Like, you’re literally stalking my blog to continue to make me look and feel bad and manipulating what I say. You’re not special; you’re a classic TRA who’s come to prove to themselves that the radfems really are evil and your hate is justified.