#terf malarkey

[earlgraytay]

I don't want to put hardcore nasty terf bullshit on my blog but my gods

@fierceawakening, you are the most patient person on the planet for how you can sit down and explain these things, at length, to people who refuse to listen to anything

[earlgraytay]

I'd like to add something, because ... honestly I had a parasocial relationship with JKR when I was a kid, and I don't know how many people know this.

JKR is a survivor of intimate partner abuse. She's discussed it publically, it's the reason she was a single mom for a while, it's something that's significantly shaped the way she sees the world. And a lot of cishet women who've been through IPV, uh, it significantly fucks with their ability to trust men.

Imagine this hypothetical for a moment: you're a very public figure trying to survive tangling with a large, aggressive, opinionated fanbase. Some of your fans start asking you pointed political questions about an issue you're not 100% sold on. (If you're the average tumblr user, think about, like... if people were asking you really pointed questions about otherkin, or people who believe they're married to a fictional character on the astral plane.)

A lot of these people are in a group that your brain parses as NOT SAFE. You get nervous when they message you. Maybe you even get triggered. You remember all the worst things in your life, if someone in the NOT SAFE group gets even a little angry at you.

You want to be kind, but a lot of the people you trust about politics are taking a really strong stance about it in a hateful way. So you, publically, waffle a little. Maybe you're not sure what you believe, maybe you are sure but you don't want to be publically unwelcoming to people who care about your work. Who knows at this point.

....And then people who are NOT SAFE start sending you images of a gun being pointed at you, incredibly nasty personal attacks, and death threats*. You didn't even publically say anything hateful. But because you did not 100% agree and take the strongest possible stance, they've decided you must hate them, and they start taking it out on you, because you are an easier target than some Republican congressman or Tory PM.

....Under those circumstances, what the fuck would you do? Would you really start catering to people like that? Or would you decide, "fuck 'em, I'm going to go along with what the people who I already trust are saying even if it's hateful bullshit?"

Like, JKR is wrong, obviously. I'm trans, and I feel horribly betrayed by the way that she's acting. But honestly, like, the only thing I'm surprised about is that she tried to not be a dick about it for a couple years before going mask-off TERF. People treated her like shit about it for a really long time.

*(this is a tiny, tiny minority of the trans harry potter fanbase. I'm not saying that Trans People are doing this. I'm saying that this is a thing that regularly happens because a tiny minority of any group of people are shitheads.)

Lost followers after reblogging that whole thing about JKR being radicalized over the years, and that disturbs me.

Like if you think saying that people can be radicalized and manipulated into hate is somehow justifying it, yikes. And if you think that people are somehow just good or evil and that you are not at risk of buying into propaganda, have I got some very red flag news about that!

Idk if its because I am an older Millennial maybe (most who unfollowed were younger) but I watched a ton of that generation slide from one of the most progressive to the far right before my every eyes. Hell, my dad fought alongside his black friends in the Detroit race riots and now he watches Fox News 24/7 and talks about the border wall. Yet still claims he could never be racist because of how he used to be. He doesn’t even realize what he has become.

JKR isn’t a deluded old woman or innately evil, but in fact THE prime example of how well-meaning ignorance and privilege can be weaponized and encouraged down a pipeline, until it turns into a force of hate, and should be a cautionary tale about why educating and being open about these issues are necessary. Because there are those out there who will use those divisions and ignorance to their own ends. And just digging in our heels and saying “that could never be me!” is the very thing that puts you more at risk. I’ve lost so many loved ones down that pipeline and it is more slippery than most realize.

Stay alert, stay compassionate, stay humble, and make sure you move through life guided by reason rather than reaction. I love y’all and don’t want to see your passion twisted to get used against the world.

[lostloveletters]

You Can’t Start a Fire Without a Spark (Ron Speirs x Reader)

Summary: Night falls in Bavaria to victorious revelry, and at the goading of your friends, the lust you've been kindling in secret suddenly burns hot and wild to the touch.

Note: Female reader, but no other descriptors are used besides the slightest bit of backstory. Inspired by several Bruce Springsteen songs. This is based on the fictional portrayals in the HBO miniseries and not the real individuals. (Also, hi I’m Battie! This is my first Band of Brothers fic despite being a fan of the miniseries since 2016. Let me know what you think🖤) Do not interact if you’re under 18, are a terf or radfem, or post thinspo/ED content.

Word count: 3.6k

Warnings: Inherent power imbalance. Explicit content involving vaginal fingering and unprotected sex.

You weren’t sure how six of you managed to squeeze into a booth together in the Bavarian bar, elbow-to-elbow as you drank beer and shouted over each other. Sitting squished against Talbert, who was squished against Malarkey, one of your legs wasn’t even in the booth. On the other side of the table, Babe, Perconte, and Luz were in the same situation.

Victory in Europe had just been declared. The celebratory feeling filled your lungs with each breath despite the cloud of cigarette smoke that hung over the bar. With the war in Japan still raging on, the likelihood of those without enough points having to endure another drop remained up in the air. One night of fun wouldn’t hurt anybody. No one could say you hadn’t earned it.

Glancing around at your friends, the guys you lived and would’ve died for—even after the war ended, if you were being honest with yourself. You couldn’t imagine being closer with anyone else. Growing up without much of a family, passed around homes of distant relatives and near strangers until you had enough and ventured out on your own as a teen, you’d never had such strong connections before. The only reason you were even allowed to work so closely with Easy Company, was the absence of any next-of-kin, no one to cause a fuss if something went wrong while you were overseas. You were non-combat detail, of course, typing and running errands as needed, but more often than was likely ideal, you found yourself somewhere on the line with the medic training you’d gotten. 

You hadn’t been at Toccoa with them, only meeting most of the guys just before D-Day. After Operation Market Garden’s failure in Holland, they came around to you upon the return to Aldbourne, least surprising of whom was Talbert, ever so kindly taking you under his wing when he was recovering from being accidentally stabbed by Smith. The two of you became close friends, and though you heard of his exploits with women in just about every city the company passed through, he seemed hellbent on being your wingman, trying to set you up with at least half a dozen members of Easy to little success. 

With the taste of sweet victory and bold German beer on everyone’s lips, declarations of what and who everyone would ideally do to celebrate poured from your friends with little prompting. Knowing you well enough at that point, Tab took the opportunity to get you in on the conversation, the light mood and buzz in your system leaving you more loose-lipped than usual.

“Alright, our company’s eligible bachelorette,” Tab said, conspiratorial mirth in his voice. “Fraternization rules to the dust, which of Easy’s officers would you do your celebrating with?”

Your lips twitched, failing to suppress your smile as your drinking buddies awaited your answer. “Speirs.”

Finishing off the rest of your beer, you stifled your amusement at the clamor that ensued. Undoubtedly the least expected answer, part of Tab’s failure to secure a date for you among his comrades was your infatuation with the legendary captain—closely guarded, until you had a beer or two in you, apparently. 

“Speirs?” Babe repeated incredulously.

“No way,” Malarkey said, shaking his head. “No fucking way.”

“They need to get you to one of those headshrinkers,” Perconte said.

“Hold on a minute,” Tab said with an amused smile, trying to reign in the chaos. “Let’s hear her out.”

“You wanna know why?” you asked.

Ever since Speirs stuck with Easy Company after Bastogne, you worked closely with him as you did the other officers, taking notes and keeping memos for them. Speirs often requisitioned you to type up reports for him, finding it easier to dictate what he wanted written to you than typing them himself. Sometimes you found his attention drifting off when it was a more mundane report, his words trailing away while he looked at you, typically slouched on a chair or couch at the end of a long day. You would let yourself take him in, hoping the perceptive man wouldn’t notice the way your eyes trailed up his long, outstretched legs to his disheveled hair. 

He provided the most attention to battlefield exploits, and at times you couldn’t keep up with how fast he was speaking or would find yourself a bit startled by some of the gruesome details he relayed. You’d heard the rumors about him. Everyone had. But a disgustingly repressed part of you that’d emerged at some point during the war was secretly thrilled by them, almost hoping they were true. 

“Well, you owe us that much,” Luz said.

“I owe you all jack and shit.”

“What if I buy you another drink?”

“I think I’m gonna need another one after hearing this,” Babe muttered.

“Let’s see, why would I sleep with Captain Speirs,” you said, playfully tapping your chin in faux thought. “For starters, he’s fine as hell, which should be reason enough. I like that he’s a no-nonsense kinda guy. He has this intensity that I think is really sexy.”

The cacophony of bewilderment and objection that filled the booth met its slow death when the occupant of the booth behind yours got up. You weren’t sure whether to laugh or cry when you saw it was Speirs.

He made his way out of the pub, your light mood with him. 

“Oh my god,” you groaned. “Do you think he heard?”

“No way he didn’t,” Malarkey said.

“Fuck, I need to do something before I get demoted or transferred or something.”

Tab grinned. “Well, if you’re not walking straight tomorrow, we’ll know you did something.”

“Shut up, jerk!” you hissed. “I’m in this mess because of you.”

He gave you a mocking salute.

You flipped him off as you got up from the table, running after your CO who more than likely overheard you expressing to your buddies that you’d enthusiastically have sex with him. Of course it happened the one time you actually joined in on their vulgarity.

Unlike his silent stride, your boots pounded against the pavement, announcing your approach to him.

He turned around abruptly, and you nearly fell over your own feet as you stopped in your tracks. 

His intense gaze on you felt like being at the end of his rifle’s sight. “Are you drunk, Y/L/N?”

“No—no, sir.”

“Good. I could use your help with a report.”

You stared at him blankly. A report. At ten o’clock at night. “Of course, sir. Anything you need.”

The corners of his lips upturned for a split second. “I’m sure.” Fuck. He’d definitely heard you.

The two of you started off down the street, toward a more residential area wherein officers had requisitioned houses for the US Army’s use for the foreseeable future. Almost dreamily picturesque, tree branches waved at you in the cool night breeze, the surrounding mountains illuminated by the bright fullness of the moon. From the soft glow of street lamps lighting your way, something you’d previously taken for granted, you tried not to stare at him. In the warm glow of that balmy summer evening, however, he looked almost too good to be true. Hair slightly unkempt, the whisper of stubble along his jaw and cheeks, surely his face would feel like heaven between your thighs. 

Soldiers in all states of drunkenness ambled up and down either side of the street, hollering and singing in carefree celebration. Speirs placed a hand on the small of your back, guiding you past a group of men who could hardly walk straight. One of them walked right into you, his head nearly colliding with yours.

“Fuck,” the young soldier grumbled under his breath, shooting you a dirty look for being in his way.

Speirs wrapped his arm around your waist, pulling you aside to stand in front of you. “Private,” he snapped, staring down the young man who looked like he was about to shit himself. “I advise you get yourself together and watch where you’re going.”

“Yes, sir—Captain Speirs, sir,” he said, turning his attention to you. “Sorry, ma’am.”

You nodded silently, and the private ran off after his buddies. 

Speirs turned to you, his hands on your shoulders as his intense gaze searched your face for any sign of injury.

“Are you alright?” he asked.

“I’m fine.”

In Hagenau, one of the replacements had been pestering you the moment he laid eyes on you. At first, you humored him, supposing he needed a friend, as the men who’d been through Normandy and Bastogne were understandably closed-off and tight knit. Thought the new guys were too green, too eager to do something stupid and get someone killed in pursuit of battlefield glory that was too haunting to exist. 

Then he started getting handsy, not enough to be outright inappropriate, but enough to make you uncomfortable. You weren’t sure what possessed you to mention it to Speirs when he’d asked you how you were doing one afternoon. His brow furrowed, he gave you a silent nod in response. The replacement had been transferred elsewhere the following day.

Though Speirs stared right at you, there was something far away in his eyes as he squeezed your shoulders. 

“I’m fine, sir,” you repeated. “I promise.”

“Hmm? Oh, right,” he said softly. 

He pulled a cigarette from his pocket, not bothering to offer you one. You were in the minority of people who didn’t smoke, allowing you to leverage the packs in your rations to trade amongst the men. As time went on, you’d leave them on top of your finished reports for Speirs, especially if they were Luckys. You watched silently as he lit the cigarette in his mouth, a shining silver lighter in his hand. His eyes drifted from the flame back to you, though you noticed the slightest spark behind them.

The rest of the walk was uneventful until you reached the house. A few stragglers hung around on the street outside, their voices becoming the slightest bit more hushed as they watched you follow Speirs inside. By the time the front door shut, they’d already begun speculating why the two of you were going to his place so late. With the way the men spread gossip, you could hazard a guess as to what the tale would morph into by the morning. You silently bemoaned the prospect of the night hardly being as interesting as whatever they conjured up.

Following him upstairs, the makeshift office seemed especially cramped with the boxes and papers that were haphazardly spread around the place. It’d probably take weeks to sift through it all, especially since a glance at one of the files appeared to be in German. Getting help wouldn’t be the issue, but rather the fact that none of the members of Easy who knew German were particularly inclined toward office work, becoming restless after an hour or so. 

A problem for another time, however. Glancing at the clock, it was nearly half past ten, and you were almost inclined to ask Speirs about coffee, depending on how long he expected the report to take. You sat down at the desk, ready to begin typing the date when you noticed the ink was out.

“Is there any typewriter ribbon around, sir?” you asked.

He nodded. “Should be in one of the drawers.”

You opened the drawer immediately to your right, finding a mess of stationary that had clearly been shoved in carelessly. Or maybe someone had taken something out of it in a hurry. Digging through it, you came up empty, and moved onto the drawer below it. No dice. The one to your left didn’t have typewriter ribbon either, at least, you would have been surprised to find it tucked in with the loot that nearly filled the thing to the brim–shining silverware, glistening jewelry, and trinkets that someone with a keener eye than you had clearly decided were valuable enough to keep. 

His extensive looting was an open secret, but a glimpse of this treasure trove was a shock to the system. So entranced by the contents of the drawer, you didn’t hear him walk up beside you until his shadow fell over the necklaces and rings you silently coveted.  

He gave you a sly smile, wolfish in the dim lighting. “Haven’t had much of a chance to organize those.”

“They’re beautiful,” you whispered in awe, gingerly touching a pearl necklace.

“Try them on.”

“Are you sure?”

“Go ahead.”

You picked up the string of pearls, a nervousness washing over you at holding something so valuable, something of his. Walking over to the window, the nearest reflective surface you could find, you pulled the necklace on, garish against your uniform. You tried shaking off the odd feeling of playing dress-up in front of your commanding officer, a girlish whim he inexplicably allowed you to indulge in. His expression was unreadable when you turned around for him.

“They suit you,” he finally said, brushing his fingers against the pearls, slowly drifting lower to the exposed skin of your decollete. “Keep them.”

It wasn’t uncommon for him to bring you small gifts every now and then—typewriter ribbon, fountain pens, chocolate, trinkets. You knew better than to question where he got them, as he seemed to give them to you at the perfect moment. The stationary supplies when you were running low on them, chocolate and trinkets when you were feeling down. At times they’d be accompanied by notes from him. Usually short, but so sincere you treasured them more than the gifts. Whenever you’d try to thank him, he’d just shrug, almost dismissing the gesture.

This time, feeling bold in the cover of night, you pressed your lips to his cheek, uttering a quiet “thank you.”

He didn’t react. Disappointed, you moved to sit back down at the desk until he grabbed your arm, gently pulling you back to him.

“Were you telling the truth?” he asked, his voice a husky, demanding whisper. “Back at the bar.”

“Yes.”

“So if I said I’ve wanted you in a bad way since Bastogne?”

You kissed him, an explosion of warmth in your chest as you tangled your fingers in his hair. He settled his hands on your hips, squeezing them with a tenderness that betrayed his longing. Parting your lips for him, you allowed him to deepen the kiss, wanting to see how far he’d take it. 

Almost overwhelmed by his gentle intensity, you pulled away from his lips, though his mouth chased yours, capturing yet another kiss from you.

“Show me how you want me,” you pleaded with desperate kisses to his face, trailing down to his throat where you could feel the way he groaned in pleasure at your touch. 

“In my room,” he managed to say. “I wanna lay you on the bed and–”

“Anything, anything you want, Ron.”

His lips slightly blushed from the ferocity of your kiss, he parted his mouth as if to speak, but instead took your hand firmly in his. 

He led you straight down the nondescript hallway that nevertheless left you feeling turned around, dizzied by your desire for him. A door opened, and you were promptly pulled inside the room. The click of the lock behind you sent a slight shiver down your spine. 

Pulled into his arms again, you lost yourself in his fervent kiss, until you reached down, palming his hardening cock through his pants. He moaned into your mouth, the sound only exacerbating the heat between your thighs, the ache inside of you that up until that point had been abated by your fingers, always rushed, never satisfying the urge to be filled–by him, preferably. From the way he felt beneath your hand, he could do all of that and more. 

And after the months of silently, almost guiltily lusting after him like a nun, he wanted you too. The ego boost emboldened you. “Did you ever think about me when you were alone?” you asked, giving his bulge a gentle squeeze.

“Yes–fuck,” he groaned.

“Like what?”

“Besides keeping me warm in that goddamn forest? This–I thought of this,” he murmured against your lips. “But I didn’t let myself think of a future with you. I couldn’t have survived if I did.”

“And now?”

“I want everything you’ll give me, sweetheart.”

“Lucky you, that’s exactly what I wanna give.”

He smiled slightly, his hands hastily working to unbutton your shirt. “Lucky–except you’re wearing too many clothes.”

You reached for the pearls, about to take them off when he caught your wrist in his hand.

“Leave them on.” His voice was steady, authoritative, the closest he sounded to Speirs since he scolded the private who walked into you earlier. 

Weak in the knees, you acquiesced to the one and only order your captain would give you that night. You otherwise undressed, your uniform in a pile at your feet. Your bra and panties were simple, certainly not the sexy lingerie you’d fantasized about seducing Ron in, but his eyes blazed as if your body were hugged by an inviting satin set. A burst of confidence rushed through you, and you held his gaze as you discarded your bra and panties. 

You laid back on the bed as he undressed, watching intently until he was down to nothing more than his underwear, his hard cock straining against the fabric. He pulled them off, and you sucked in a breath at how big he was. Erect, at attention for you, all the more intimidating as he approached, joining you on the bed. His daring in the line of fire sure as hell wasn’t compensating for anything.

He straddled your hips, his eyes taking in your naked form with a primal intensity that made your breath catch in your throat. He reached down, two of his fingers circling your clit, your body trembled beneath his touch. By the way he studied how your face contorted in pleasure as a foreign-sounding moan rose from deep in your chest, you could tell it was payback for your teasing him just minutes before. 

His fingers shifted, slipping inside your wet core with ease. He pumped them in and out at a steady pace that made your stomach tighten and toes curl, but slowly bringing you closer to orgasm. You bucked your hips when he curled his fingers inside of you, blood rushing in your ears so loud that you could hardly hear the obscene sounds coming from your pussy. A lump formed in your throat, one that made you nearly howl in frustration.

“Who got you this worked up, sweetheart?” he asked, nipping the shell of your ear.

A whimper. “You.”

“What was that?”

“You.” Through a haze of lust-soaked desperation, you took his face in your hands. “Don’t make me beg, Sparky. It’s always been you.”

He pulled his hand from between your legs, and you nearly whined until he slid his length inside your pussy, your walls clenching around his cock. You braced yourself on his shoulder blades, your nails doing a number on him as you dug them into his taut skin while he thrust into you. Carefully at first, almost frustratingly so, until you cried, “More.”

He was bigger than you were used to, even before the war, but the slight discomfort was drowned out by the way his steady, deep thrusts filled you. He ducked his head down, taking one of your breasts in his mouth, his hand groping the other. Sucking on your breast, his teeth grazed your nipple, the hint of pain complimenting the pleasure. Your climax was so close you could see it if you closed your eyes, raw and vulnerable.

“Ron, I’m so close,” you moaned. “Don’t stop.”

He lifted his head, nodding. “Where should I–”

“Inside–fuck–I want you to cum inside me.”

And he did, with an erratic thrust that pushed him deeper inside you still. You kissed him as your pussy milked his cock, lifting your hips to grind against him for the slightest bit of friction to your clit. You threw your head back as you came, an obscene moan escaping your lips as pleasure spread across your body, white-hot like a star in supernova.

His name fell from your lips, laced with curses, over and over like a vulgar prayer. He pressed sloppy, open-mouthed kisses along your decollete, his lips brushing the pearls that stuck to your sweat-sheened skin until he shuddered, bottoming out in you. 

He pulled out slowly, his toned chest heaving before he collapsed next to you. Reaching over to the nightstand, he grabbed a pack of cigarettes, silently offering you one. You declined, and he placed one between his lips, using a nearby match to light it before taking you in his arms. You settled comfortably against his chest, closing your eyes for a few moments.

“So, what about that report?” you asked slyly when you’d finally caught your breath.

His quiet laughter rumbled in his chest, and he took a drag from his cigarette, his gaze betraying his adoration as he looked at you. “I might need your help again tomorrow night."

Knowing it was too risky for you to spend the night, he reluctantly let you leave around three in the morning, a slight pout on his face as you took off the pearl necklace and tucked it into your pocket. You left him with a passionate parting kiss, one that he used to nearly convince you to stay just a little bit longer until you quietly promised you’d report to him first thing. 

The streets were mostly deserted except for the men on patrol. You kept your head down, booking it back to where you were quartered, hoping your arrival wouldn’t wake anyone up, or at least raise any questions.

Just your luck, you ran right into Tab, a shit-eating grin on his face at your disheveled appearance. “I knew it."

[panzershrike-pretz]

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~ Helloooo! Welcome to my blog!

- I go by the name Pretzel, but i prefer being called Pretz. I'm a 18 yo Brazilian 🇧��, so keep in mind that English is not my first language. Feel free to come by and chat or send an ask.

- I'm currently very into Band of Brothers and Starkid, although I also rebblog other stuff.

• OC MASTERLIST

• HBOwar MASTERLIST

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

• Q&A;

1. What do you do irl?

- I'm currently a biology student, intending to specialize in birds.

2. What are your favorite BoB characters?

- Webster, closely followed by Roe, Liebgott and Malarkey.

3. Do you mind receiving messages or asks?

- Not at all, i actually would appreciate a lot being able to make new friends!

4. Why do you have furry OCs?

- They actually didn't start this way. Their species was just a normal animal, but then I wanted to play a bit more with stuff only humans can do (reads: grab things) and settled in half-feral/half-furry.

5. Why do their names/powers looks similar to [insert thing]?

- Because they are old. A few years old at that, and at the time I didn't know how to make my own ocs so I just did fanfic. The thing is that as I got older and better, their names stuck and I couldn't find it in me to change. Nowadays they are their own characters sepparated from where they came from. I do aknowledge similarities and give credit where it's due, because my Universe is an amalgamation of things I loved and made a significant impact in my life.

6. Are you a furry?

- I don't consider myself a furry, but my OCs are anthropomorphic animals of an original species. Feel free to ask about them, I just ask kindly that you do not spread hate towards me because of it; I'm not here to fight and I do love my characters.

I'll add more stuff if needed.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

~ THIS IS SUPPOSED TO BE A SAFE PLACE,

IF YOU ARE RACIST, LGBTQIAPHOBE, ABLEIST, A BIGOT, A TERF, ZOOPHILE, PEDOPHILE, FASCIST, NEONAZI OR ANY KIND OF DICK IN GENERAL, GET THE FUCK OUT!

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[conservativemalarkey]

@wingedcatgirl said:

i was scrolling through your blog because apparently today is a hyperfocus for hours day and found this: https://conservativemalarkey.tumblr.com/post/161560100340/the-anti-female-receipts-blog-is-a-cesspool-of 

it looks like you never followed up on this? i am interested in seeing a followup on this

TERF rhetoric goes hand-in-unloveable-hand with the sort of feminist rhetoric that says women should be terrified to be anywhere near men, women should be terrified to have male friends or date men or walk around at night, and any woman who tells you otherwise is a dupe of the patriarchy. I don’t think that’s a coincidence. TERFs seem to be afraid of men as a class and have made that fear into their political practice. 

...There is a certain kind of woman who wants to mentor and protect other women, particularly younger women, to a point that can be deeply unhealthy. Their goal is to Help Support Their Sisters, but they’re willing to stomp on other people’s boundaries, spread malicious gossip about women who aren’t their Sisters, and generally manipulate and harm other people in the name of Providing Support.

And ... I hate to say it, but most of the really vocal TERFs I’ve seen have fallen into this category. They believe that feminism is about Helping And Supporting Other Women, specifically helping women liberate themselves from male oppression. They believe that men are inherently harmful to women and that the best thing you can do for women is get them as far away from men as possible. They are willing to fearmonger, dictate the terms of other women’s lives, stomp on people’s boundaries, and out vulnerable queer people in order to make this happen. Because, you see, they’re Protecting Their Sisters. 

The way they see it, they're feminists because they wanted to help other women get away from their oppressors, but now a group of their oppressors have come in and made feminism all about them. To the point where they’ve been ostracised from their own communities because they won’t agree that feminism is about something else now. And now people are calling them a mean nickname because they are standing up for what they’ve always believed in even though the world has changed around them. 

I’d almost feel bad for them, except that they’ve been trying to hijack my movement to make it all about them, and I kinda like being able to take a piss in peace. 

Anyway. People on the social justice end of the internet like to claim things are slurs when they’re just words that are used by people who are mean. Like... “libfem” and “mogai” are not slurs, I’m sorry. They’re mean nicknames. But it’s become A Thing- if you call someone something with an intent to hurt them, that’s A Slur. 

So TERFs are already pissy that their movement has (in their eyes) been hijacked, and now people have come up with a mean nickname for them and trying to frame them as Big Bad Oppressors, when (again, in their eyes) all they’re trying to do is Protect Other Women. 

[duct-taping-zhenguo]

People who look for A-generated images in every corner and TERFs who try to figure out whether every woman they see is trans are basically the same, I think.

ngl watching people shriek about the gay sex cats has really made the idea of making AI art that's not obviously AI generated much more appealing. The more tightly you clutch you pearls the more I want to tear them off your neck when you drop your guard.

[earlgraytay]

the only thing that's worse than unexpectedly running into a TERF on the internet is doing so right after discovering you're out of mood stabilizer and can't immediately go get more

[shebpaw]

Anyway after all that I’m gonna go ahead and do what I did about DraikNate and now bounce from the discourse. I don’t really wanna have this conversation anymore.

Recap:

1. Disliking/disagreeing with Moonkitti and her opinions are completely fine.

2. Calling her a TERF based on some headcanon someone else made about The Sisters is not okay. Leave.

[radiqueer]

I'm a shattered person

[werewolf-cuddles]

lmao, the TERFs have started flocking to this post

imagine describing JK Rowling's transphobia as "malarkey" (as if that's a word people really use anymore) as if she doesn't spend every waking moment of her time bitching on twitter about trans people

Fuck off TERFs, this post isn't for you, and you are not welcome on my blog. You WILL be blocked on sight.

Every time I see a "Why be a Harry Potter fan when [insert vaugely similar IP here] exists?" post, that just makes me less interested in whatever "alternative" this person is trying to promote.

Sorry, but "You're a bad person for still liking this thing, go get into this other thing instead" is a TERRIBLE way to get people interested in new things. Even if the post in question had nothing to do with Harry Potter and was about some other property instead.

Like... I get the idea behind trying to get people to drop Harry Potter, JK Rowling is an anti-trans bigot, but you're not doing these other properties any favours by positioning them as "alternatives". You're just inviting unfair comparisons by doing so.

Also, the whole "Let this IP die" thing is hopelessly naive and completely ignores the fact that most people aren't terminally online like we are, and either don't know or don't care.

[postplus-protest]

I know this blog is retired, but Blaze is becoming a problem and we need blogs to help spread the word about it. Staff is allowing TERF posts to be blazed, and I wouldn't be surprised what else is next. When it's reported they claim "In order to maintain freedom of expression, we won’t remove that material." They've updated their guidelines so they can get paid to spread hate. If you can't come back maybe someone can help you mod? idk I'm fuming and need to take action

Ahhh, hello, sorry I’m so late to this latest round of malarkey. I’ve been watching from my private corner of tumblr and agree that tumblr’s choices in blazing are very concerning. In fact, the one you tagged me in isn’t even the first of its type I’ve seen. It’s a problem that’s going to continue and one I’m not sure how to approach.

@staff and @wip knows there’s a problem. They’ve hand waved it off by saying they’re going to implement better moderation but the track record isn’t great. In fact, @wip has become a more of a repository for doing bare minimum answers of “cool idea but we’re not gonna” than anything else. Though isn’t it funny how quickly the ‘Harry Potter staff’ situation got nuked? Yet, things like terf blogs and pro-self harm/ana blogs remain.

At this point, I’m not sure what I can do with this problem (money and internal organization rot are a hard rock to budge) besides stir shit. I don’t even think I have the following to even properly stir shit anymore. If someone wants to tackle it, lemme know; I can help where I can. This problem is going to take more than just me, it’s going to take multiple tumblrs with time and focus.

[earlgraytay]

It's unbelievable how lesbaphobic you are

[leeoliver]

uhh this was supposed to be part of a larger set but im. fuckin tire. heres some young mal

[contrabandhothead]

✰ name - ky

✰ pronouns - she/they

✰ zodiac sign - cancer sun

✰ MBTI - enfj

✰ height - 5’2” (we don’t talk about it)

✰ eye color - hazel

✰ hair color - light brown

✰ nationality - red blooded american yeehaw

✰ 3 things i love - hbo war, food, my cat

✰ tattoos/piercings - i have regular lobe piercings, doubles, and a helix on my left ear (i’m thinking about getting triples soon)

✰ favorite holiday - halloween!!! i love dressing up, and i enjoy all the candy and activities

✰ characters we kin in this household - ray person and lewis nixon because i too am a walking disaster that uses humor as a coping mechanism

✰ sexuality - i’m openly bisexual, so if you’re anti-LGBT in any shape or form dni

✰ hogwarts house - slytherin (i don’t support JKR because fuck TERFS)

✰ favorite color - i love them all, but periwinkle and sage green are my current favs

✰ favorite food - i don’t know, ice cream???

✰ addictions - the internet, soda, talking

✰ when i made this blog - march 2020

✰ average hours of sleep - i either get 4 or i get 14 there is no in-between

✰ why i made a tumblr - i have too many thoughts about hbo war so you all must suffer with me

✰ are you in a relationship - yes!!!

✰ dream trip - travel all throughout italy, i wanna see everything

✰ fav hbo war characters - nate fick (loml), poke espera, ray person, joe liebgott, bill guarnere, don malarkey, eugene roe, and literally everyone else.

✰ THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR 400 FOLLOWERS!!! i love you all so very much, you’re all absolute angels 🤍

[chinesegal]

Reading terf posts is really terrible for my health. Months ago I realized that the vast majority of terfs have only anecdotal evidence and shitty statistics on their side. Just today I Went through a huge dump of screenshots claiming that trans people support conversion therapy or any other “cotton ceiling” buzzword and while some said things that sound skeevy most were about how you shouldnt assume what genitals someone has. 

[fierceawakening]

What the actual shitting dicknipple hell is this?

Terfs saying the jeopardy lady has an advantage over "real women" because men can push buttons faster is so fucking funny