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saintkevorkian · 9 days

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NB:

trans theory presupposes male and female personalities. Some might consider this most basic premise rather dubious

trans women say trans women are women

many cis women say trans women are not women

per trans theory, this difference of opinion amounts to a zero sum game: that is to say, choosing to align with one group silences the other.

if one entertains the possibility that trans women might be men, then one has according to neoliberal orthodoxy done the expected thing and silenced the oppressed group, on the order of the oppressor, for speaking out against their oppression. (of course it is also possible the reverse phenomenon has taken place; if one is unwilling or unable to entertain possibilities however unpalatable they might at first seem--no, sorry; these are weasel words. if going against the grain is too difficult, then what are you doing philosophising honestly)

(in parentheses because it isn't a fact, but a likelihood relevant to the coherence of the argument -- the purpose of philosophy is not to while away the hours but to use all available mental strategies to answer difficult questions.)

there isn't any sort of net material advantage to be gained from becoming a woman

worldwide, the female body is seen as an object into which men implant pregnancies. There is a strong culture of disadvantage and disrespect that comes with this perception, and forms an ineluctable part of womanhood for all but the luckiest women. This is tied to simply having a uterus and being seen through the lens of farming and husbandry (next bullet point). It isn't clear how someone's personal feelings about their preferred social or sexual roles opts them into this reality

women have been oppressed since the stone age, in which the oldest known written document describes gifting a male ruler with a child bride. the possibly sudden and apparently worldwide oppression of women correlated with civilisation and settlement and may not have much applicability to nomadic groups as recently as a few hundred years ago (nomadic groups require a more maverick mindset than agrarian societies, particularly established ones -- as such nomads possibly cannot afford to oppress half the population).

women were the last group to be allowed to own property in most countries, and (this isn't a fact but most people would agree--) in a non-collective society, if you cannot own, you are liable yourself to be owned.

the different treatment of women (which as far as science can tell might be the only thing to account for any large-scale personality variations between women and men) most likely arose from the time it takes a woman vs a man to produce children, the strong, almost causal connection between wellbeing of mother and child in early life, and some amount of physical disability in the last months before childbirth

just like 'wiggers' aren't black despite feeling theyve had 'the black experience', it's not clear that any marked group contains an opt-in. an indicator of being marked is to find oneself without options, and to opt into not having options contains not only an element of absurdity but also, in fact, an apodictic prerogative. (if one chooses to burn all bridges and complain of the isolation... one still had a choice*)

(trans men are men, at least in english. it's mankind; we are all men. the extent to which those who do not fit neatly into one category or could pass as another but may have traits of both suffer discrimination and possibly violence is determined both by how each individual is perceived and by the authoritarian inclinations of the surrounding population. NB, strictly policed language and attempts at policing thought indicate increased authoritarian sentiment)

*Obviously, some choices are so cursed and miserable that there's not really anything to choose between the available options. But in cases where a certain path appears preferable, one assumes upon calculating the odds of certain outcomes it has been assessed as the optimal course for the group or ~representative subgroup. Alternatively, if the subgroup are acting against their own interests, one begins to suspect they might have been subjected to organised persuasion.

#this belief in male and female personalities hearkens back to fundamentally misogynistic victorian ideals #nepalese women subjected to Chhaupadi; congolese women taken to rape camps; central american women disappearing... these people are subject #these people are subjected to violence on account of being women --not on how they see themselves which isn't the prerogative of oppressed #(in fact having the means to forcibly redefine how others see the world suggests the very colonialist mentality those types claim to abhor)#when a group is denied access to coherent definitions it becomes almost impossible to champion rights +necessary protections from violence #there's no problem with with men wanting to be se*ually objectified and walking around in frocks and heels; violence against groups should #--should not be accepted unless one accepts authoritarian control #yet these men fall into a distinct group #theyre not paid less for the same work much less forced into prostitution gang raped or freezing to death because of menstruation #there is no category for hate crimes against women.#the ICC (responsible for punishing war criminals) made its very first conviction of 'se*ual violence' in 2016 (maybe for political reasons)#to claim that straights require official access to protections for gays or wiggers need the protections set aside for blacks --#--such deception undermines and makes a mockery of real issues #but all TW stans appear either oblivious or indifferent to this deception which is sort of irritating because #because ostensibly the fulcrum of their entire argument lies in a unified philosophy of human rights #and full arguments for not raping murdering indiscriminately &forcibly taking fruits of others' labours can only be found thru philosophy #in loco parentis

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cashmoneyyysstuff · 7 months

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you’ve been katsuki’s for as long as you can remember.

sure, he had never outwardly called you his girlfriend, but when you were both seven years old, he came up to you. chest heaving slightly from running up and down the hill where he had gotten you a freshly plucked out bouquet of flowers. the roots were still clinging to them and he got dirt all over your hands from forcibly grabbing them and shoving the bouquet in them before you could even form a sentence.

“since you accepted the flowers, you’re mine now.” he mumbled, his little hands tightened into fists at his sides and chubby cheeks a cute shade of pink, staring at you as confidently as he could.

a grin grows on his face when you respond with a simple “okay !” and a bright smile. the grin on his face never disappears even as his mom scolds him for getting you both all dirty.

you were katsuki’s in middle school too, when the boys in class decided to play kiss, marry, kill and he had somehow gotten dragged into it. the girls in your class tried their best to seem uninterested, claiming the boys were being childish, but you noticed how hard some of them were straining their ears trying to hear what the guys were talking about in their own little corner of the room. you’d be lying if you said you weren’t a little curious as well.

katsuki was as ruthless as you’d known him to be, choosing to kill any girl that wasn’t to his liking, which ended up being all of them. much to the other boys’ chagrin, claiming he had no taste.

then your name was brought up.

at that, his eyes widened and he turned in his seat to see if you were watching. you had never turned your head away so fast in your life and you were pretty sure you heard something go “crack”.

he clicked his tongue. mumbling something about how stupid the game was before muttering out a “kiss yn, marry yn and kill that other bitch.” before getting up and stomping away, claiming he had to go to the bathroom followed closely by the whoops and hollers of his two friends behind him.

you both made eye contact when he walked out and you think you’ll never forget how red his cheeks were.

you were katsuki’s when he was the one to walk you to and from school everyday, claiming you would somehow get lost without him. you were katsuki’s when he had begrudgingly shoved homemade valentines day chocolates into your arms, mumbling something about how you had been upset nobody had gotten you anything last year, conveniently leaving out the fact he had scared off all the other guys trying to offer you anything.

you were katsuki’s when he grabbed your hand during the winter because he said you’d “end up dying of hypothermia with the way you’re chittering over there.” and you were his when you were the only person he laughed around. loud, genuine laughter that you and only you could squeeze out of him. you were katsuki’s when he randomly kissed you goodnight at your door one night and he’s been doing it ever since, and gets all pouty when you turn away from his kisses to tease him.

“are we dating ?” you had asked him. you’re both in high school now and you’re in his dorm room. your legs are on his lap and he’s got a comfortable grip on your leg, which tightens after he registers your questions “hah?” he looks utterly confused and a little insulted as he looks back at you, his entire face scrunched up in confusion. you pinch his nose and he swats at your hand.

“are we dating ? like—am i your girlfriend.” you say again and katsuki’s face scrunches up even harder. he huffs and looks back at his phone, landing a little smack on your leg still placed in his lap. “ ‘course yer my fuckin’ girlfriend.” he spits out, obviously irritated. then he looks back at you “I haven’t made it obvious ?” he says sarcastically. one of his eyebrows lifted as he pokes at your leg still very much in his lap.

you simply shrug “s’not that. it’s just because you’ve never actually asked me out before, so i was a little confused on where we stood.” you mumble. he stares at you while you speak and he stares a little longer before sighing. then he leans towards you and flicks your forehead.

“ow !”

“dumbass.” he murmurs. there’s a slight pout on his face and his cheeks are light shade of pink when he looks you in the eyes again. he grabs both your cheeks with one hand and smushes them together to push your lips out and presses multiple wet kisses onto them that have you squealing and squirming. his wet lips are pulled into a smirk when he pulls back and you try your best to at least look a little angry, you really do. but it’s useless when he looks at you like that.

“of course you’re my girlfriend” he reiterates. his smirk’s been replaced for something softer, something more sincere as he gazes at you with so much unadulterated affection it makes your head spin a little. “you’ve always been mine.” he says it in a teasing tone and his hand is still smushing your cheeks out and it hurts a little but his eyes are still the same. they’re warm and soft and so, so enamored with you and only you.

when he finally let’s go of your face and pulls you fully into his lap, you realize katsuki’s been yours for as long as you’ve been his.

you smile brightly at him but turn your nose up when he leans in to kiss you again. “i still haven’t heard what i wanna hear though, mr. bakugou.”

he rolls his eyes and pinches at your thigh as he mumbles out a “don’t call me that.” sighing, he looks at you intensely and you suddenly feel very shy.

“will you be my girlfriend, ya shitty girl ?” and he says it as a joke, you both know it is cus his lips are already forming into a smirk the second he finishes his sentence. and you’re pulling at his nose the moment you register it, but you’re both smiling hard. he laughs and you’re sure you’ll never get tired of the sound. “what’s your answer, pretty ?” he asks playfully and you pretend to really think it over just to mess with him, and giggling out a “yes!” when he suddenly pounces on you. flipping you both over and tickling you mercilessly, calling it revenge for you “taking too damn long to answer.”

you’d been katsuki’s for as long as you can remember, and you hope you can be forever.

#just a silly little thing i wrote in record time in the bus #i love him sm yall dont get him like i do #just silly boyfriend katsuki tingz #him n my oc r childhood friends in my canon so thats why i made this #i love my boyfriend #I didn’t know how to end this one either #bakugou katuski x reader #katsuki bakugo fluff #bakugo fluff #bakugou imagine #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugou x reader #bakugou drabble #bakugou fluff #bakugo x reader #bakugo x you #bakugo x y/n #bakugo x female reader #bakugo x oc

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daisyachain · 1 year

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Fujiwara is a character I’ll be interested to revisit both as key to Asahina backstory (or is it…) and an example of a more proactive time traveller. Really, with the implications he has for the Haruhi universe it’s surprising he’s not talked about more. He must just be that much of a loser

#kelsey liveblogs haruhi suzumiya #if I remember…? correctly Asahina-san (big) has some memory of his aborted home time plane #so she’s lived her own version of Kyon’s X-X’ disappearance loop.#but why that had to happen? what that had to do with anything? biggest unsolved mystery #what would make the soppy and nostalgic Mikuru forcibly sever that connection? and what does it have to do with Haruhi?#wait strike that no the biggest unsolved mystery is how many other closed-space-generators there are and whether they’re all connected

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nerdpoe · 19 days

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Tim takes a prank too far. This is, of course, relatively normal for him to not know when it is normal to stop playing along.

Damian makes yet another quip about Tim not being good enough or whatever, Tim doesn't really know he wasn't really paying attention, and Tim.

Tim has an epiphany.

A long time ago, back when Young Justice was still relatively new and getting neck-deep in intergalactic and interdimensional trouble, he'd made a friend.

That friend is a little difficult to get ahold of, and he hates the method he has to use to do so, so he doesn't usually reach out.

But he really, really wants to fuck with Damian.

He brings out the mangled, horrible amalgamation of old tech, future tech, and fantasy tech that creates a block that could vaguely be a cell phone (this horrid thing is the bane of his existence and he hates it so fucking much), and makes the call.

"Hey is there anyway you could pretend to kidnap me after a long, boring monologue broadcasted across Gotham? I really need you to state that the reason you're 'getting me out of the way' is because I was the best Robin. No, I'm not Robin anymore. No, I'm...I'm Red Robin now. Stop laughing. What do you mean restaurant chain?! Danny. Danny. Come on, lemme take a week long vacation in the Realms. Please? Sweet, see you soon, just gotta let me pack real quick."

That night, as Red Robin is out on patrol, the sky turns into a sickly green. Purple fog rolls in, disjointed whispers giggle and gossip from mouths unseen, and every single screen in the city of Gotham is forcibly turned on to broadcast the speech of a white haired, fae-looking villain.

He wears a black and white jumpsuit, a Green Lantern Ring that keeps glitching out the camera focus around it, and a crown of ice that moves like fire.

He give a grand speech about how he's going to get back at Robin, for foiling his plans. That Robin was better than his any other who has ever borne the name, and he wanted it to be known to the world that this was an honorable battle he'd had to struggle with. That, regardless of losing the first time, in order to ensure the success of his plans this time he's going to take Robin out of the picture early.

The Bats get prepared to defend Damian with their life, Damian who is strangely flattered; only for the villain to hold up a seemingly unconscious Red Robin and dramatically disappear into a green portal.

The sky goes back to normal, and the fog and whispers go away.

Damian is pissed. Then worried. Then both.

He will rescue the fool and prove he is superior.

Meanwhile, Danny and Tim are catching up and vibing as Danny puts the Ring of Rage and Crown of Fire back in their special places. He doesn't need them or anything, they just had that 'villain' vibe he'd needed.

#dpxdc #dcxdp #dp x dc #dc x dp #phanfic #story prompt #the batfam is fucking CONCERNED #damian is pissed and worried and he fully intends to take that out on tim #young justice see the broadcast and know who danny is #they also know that tim was absolutely faking it #mostly their jealous cuz they wanna hang out with danny too

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falling-endlessly · 4 months

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Boomerang (part 2)

Vox x Female!Ex!Overlord!Reader

Summary: After being faced with a dilemma, Vox tries a new approach to get you back. All hell breaks loose.

<—Part 1 Chapter Index Part 3—>

"You're shitting me right now," Velvette's eye twitched as she stared at the snoring TV demon sprawled across your bed. "For fuck's sake, what am I? A babysitter?"

"At least he's knocked out," you crossed your arms, raising a brow. "You won't have to listen him try and tell you that he lost his hat, only to realize it was on his head the whole time, and then start crying because he forgot he owned such a cool hat."

Velvette smacked her forehead audibly, dragging the hand down her face. "Jesus Christ," she hissed under her breath, before glaring at you in irritation. "You know, none of this would have happened if you hadn't left, right?"

"Vel," you said tiredly, rubbing your temples.

"Do you know how fucking annoying it is to hear him bitch all goddamn day about you?" She growled, waving her hands around aggressively. "I'm this close," she held her fingers a millimeter apart. "To pouring water all over his monitors. This. Close."

"Vel—"

"And then there's Valentino, who's also in a fucking mood. You know what? Forget about the water. I'm going to shoot both of them in the—"

"Velvette!" You raised your voice, making her grit her teeth. "I'm not coming back. He made his choice," you glanced at the demon in question, currently drooling all over your pillow. "It's not my problem anymore."

"Is that what you think?" She snapped, crossing her arms. "That you can just, what, leave your shit in a mess and walk out? Sorry to burst your bubble bitch, but you aren't fucking Cinderella. Things aren't just going to magically work out if you hide from them."

"I'm not hiding—"

"Bullshit!" She growled.

Your jaw set tightly as you both stood in a tense silence, glaring at each other.

After a few seconds, you sighed, shaking your head. "He already knows what he has to do if he wants to fix this," you said firmly. "I'm not going to change my mind."

Velvette pressed her lips together, before letting out an irritated breath. "Always fucking cleaning up everyone else's messes," she muttered angrily under her breath as she roughly hoisted Vox's limp body over her shoulder. "I'm going to kill him. Pathetic piece of shit—keep up a good image my ass."

She was almost out of the window when you called out, "Vel."

Velvette turned to give you an annoyed what now look over her shoulder, scowling impatiently.

"Thanks," you said sincerely.

She didn't answer you, instead turning and vaulting herself out of the window, disappearing from sight.

****

Vox woke up feeling like his screen was being forcibly bent in half. "What the ungodly fuck?" he whimpered, grabbing fistfuls of his sweaty bed sheets as he tried to control his breathing.

His stomach roiled ominously, making him gag. "Nope, nope. Not here," he stumbled out of bed, staggering to his attached bathroom like a desperate zombie and nearly running face first into the wall.

Vox dropped to his knees, flipping open the toilet lid and shooting out an unholy amount of chunks.

"What the—ugh, holy shit!" Velvette coughed from the doorway, shielding her face. "God, that smells worse than that skit when Angel got shat on."

Fuck you, he wanted to say. What the fuck are you doing in my bathroom?

But instead what came out was: "FUghhhuckk!"

Velvette watched him, unimpressed and disgusted. "You're an idiot."

"Not. Helping." Vox growled miserably, screen flickering as he gripped the edges of the toilet bowl.

"Oh, I'm sorry," Velvette jeered unsympathetically. "Who dragged your pathetic drunk ass back here last night? Oh, that's right!" She snapped her fingers in a mock eureka! moment. "I did. How about a little gratitude?"

Vox lifted a weak, trembling hand and flipped her off.

Velvette rolled her eyes. "Ungrateful bitch," she muttered under her breath.

Vox heaved loudly into the toilet, making her cringe. Gross. She grabbed the hand towel off of the rack, before throwing it at his head. It landed on the top of his monitor, hanging off the corner, before he grabbed it and sluggishly wiped his mouth. "I th-think I'm sh-short circuiting," he groaned, gripping his head in pain.

"You'll be fine," Velvette closed her eyes in frustration, but internally her thoughts took a different turn. She hadn't seen Vox this fucked up in ages. Val maybe. But not Vox. He cared way too much about his public image. This erratic behavior was very, very unlike him, and it was starting to become...concerning.

"What happened?" Vox coughed, leaning his monitor weakly against his forearms. The last thing he remembered was the fight with Val, and then—a garden...? The hell?

"Well, apparently, your dumbass thought it was a good idea to pay Y/n a visit—" Vox froze at the sound of your name "—to personally deliver her flowers at three in the morning. Then you cried about your stupid hat, passed out in her room, and she called me to pick you up like an incompetent child. The end."

By the end of her rant, Vox's expression looked even more pained, if that was even possible. "Shitttt," he moaned, curling in on himself. "Fuck. Shit. Fuck."

He looked so pathetic and distraught that Velvette almost felt bad for him. Almost.

For a long moment, the only sounds in the room were Vox's labored breaths and Velvette's judgmental stare. The silence was starting to border on stifling when Vox finally broke it.

"Did she like it?" He asked quietly.

"What?" Velvette scowled, crossing her arms.

"The roses," he continued, making her raise a brow. So he did remember buying the flowers then, she never told him what kind they were. "Did she like them?"

She was about to dismiss it when a sudden memory struck her, making her pause. "She kept them. In a vase on her night stand."

Vox slowly lifted his head, a warmth (not bile this time) blooming in his chest. You kept them. Even though he'd made a fool out of himself and probably ruined your night. And you didn't kick him out, either.

You still care, he realized, with a fragile, growing hope.

And that meant—he had a chance. Not baseless hope this time, an actual, legitimate chance to win you back. A slow, goofy grin started to climb his face.

"What—what the fuck? What's with the idiotic look on your face?" Velvette cringed away, disturbed. Then realization hit her as her eyes rolled skyward. "You're going to do something incredibly stupid, aren't you?"

"Maybe," he grinned, before another bout of nausea hit him, making him retch violently into the bowl.

"Idiot," Velvette reiterated.

****

"Oh, hell no," you heard Vaggie say, making you glance up. The moth demon looked incredibly hostile, spear pointed at whoever was at the door.

Concerned, you lifted from the lounge chair you were seated in, taking a few steps towards them, only for a firm hand to land on your shoulder.

"Toots," Angel Dust laughed nervously, moving to block the scene with his body. "Maybe you should let the others sort this one out, yeah?"

"Angel, I know I don't look like much, but I'm an overlord," you raised a brow, peeling his hand off of your shoulder with ease. "I can probably help."

"Shit! Wait, you're not going to like this," Angel groaned under his breath, but it was too late. You'd already seen him.

Vox caught your eye, a charming smile quirking his mouth. "Hey, doll."

Your fists curled by your sides, eyes flashing dangerously as you started to dematerialize, glowing green code dancing along your skin. You glitched out, growing substantially in stature as your mouth distended horrifically.

"Ohhh shit," Angel cursed, taking cover behind the bar counter.

"What's wrong?" Charlie's confused voice came from the stairwell, only to gasp at your demonic form, glitching horribly as your voice raged like gravelly static. It almost sounded like there was another, deeper voice speaking in tandem with yours.

"Woah!" She bolted to the scene, catching sight of a pale Vox, shocked Vaggie, and gaping Niffty. Husk, Pentious and Angel had done the smart thing and taken cover behind the bar.

"Y/n," she smiled placatingly, raising her hands in a show of non-aggression. "What's going on?"

"Gonna kill him," you spat, making everyone wince. "Can't have one goddamn moment to myself without this fucker appearing like a fucking genital wart—"

"Hey," Vox laughed nervously. "I'm not here for any of that, I promise. Just—sweetheart—could you maybe not hover over me like that—"

"O-kay Y/n," Charlie stepped between the two of you. "Maybe just calm down, take a few deep breaths, and let's hear him out."

"Charlie, he blew up the hotel two days ago," Vaggie hissed through gritted teeth.

"Yeah, well, so did Pentious," Charlie raised a brow, wincing at said demon's faint protest.

"Pentious blew a hole in the wall," Vaggie argued. "This guy blew up half of the building!"

"Charlie!" Angel yelled, voice strained. "Do something before we all die!"

"Alastor's going to kill him," Niffty said cheerfully.

"I'll kill him first."

"Guys—" Charlie pleaded.

"I'm here for redemption!" Vox's voice cut through the air, making everyone freeze. It even shocked you out of your demonic form, the glowing code disappearing as you shrunk to normal proportions.

"You what?" you snapped.

"I want to...make things right," he glanced at you, making you grit your teeth and turn away. "I'm not here to cause trouble I swear—"

The door slammed in his face, cutting him off.

"Charlie," Alastor grinned, finally pulled from wherever the hell he'd fucked off to in his free time. "Tell me you're not thinking of letting this mongrel stay, are you?"

"What is this?" Vaggie hissed, dropping her head in her hands. "Overlord central?"

Charlie looked down, pursing her lips. "Well, it would be wrong of us to refuse anyone. It is open to everyone, after all."

"Think of Y/n!" Alastor said desperately, smile twitching as he clasped his hands on your shoulders, holding you out like some sort of charity case. You gave him an unimpressed look. "It's obvious he's only here to harass her!"

"And what were you here for again?" Charlie raised a brow. "To see demons trip and tumble down into the fiery pit of failure," she deepened her voice to imitate his, making him let out a screech of radio feedback.

"Look, I appreciate the concern, but I can take care of myself," you said, disgruntled as you shrugged off Alastor's uncomfortably tightening grip. "Charlie, do what you want. But I can't promise I won't kill him."

You were starting to accept the fact that there was nowhere in hell you could possibly go to escape your ex if he didn't wish it. That didn’t mean you wouldn’t put up a fight, though.

"Oh fuck," Angel dragged a hand down in face. He already knew what Charlie was going to decide. "Shoulda fuckin' stayed over with Cherri."

Charlie took a deep breath, and despite everyone's silent pleas, reached for the door handle and twisted it open. Vox perked up, turning towards her attentively.

"Welcome to Hazbin Hotel!" She attempted an awkward, welcoming smile.

****

<—Part 1 Chapter Index Part 3—>

Taglist: @pooplyface1423 @spookysisters @that-one-weeb-buts-its-the-main @neito327 @hxzbinwrites @coleisyn @bababahannah

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shotmrmiller · 4 months

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neighbor ghoap deciding it’s time to quickly put their plan into action once they get a taste of reader’s own sounds through the walls.

Brought home some guy off tinder, and they were seething the whole time. They heard the door slam, noting that the guy had left, and your moans started again. This time they were different, real, which just made Simon start laughing.

no cuz johnny almost bit through the skin of his knuckles in fury.

see, he's the one that's nudging at simon about how he needs to have you, even if it's the once.

(it's not gonna be but what simon don't know won't kill him)

simon is a bit reluctant because he's not used to sharing. what's his is his. period.

but johnny's got a honey mouth. he can spin straw into gold.

it takes a couple of deep throat blowjobs, and a few nights of murmuring directly into simon's ear as he gets fucked into the mattress to make simon see (his) reason.

and then you've gone and brought someone home. some bawbag that sounds like a cow about to breathe it's last. he feels rage, white hot, deep in his chest. his blood is practically at a rolling boil under his skin.

the last time he felt this angry was when they had makarov in the plane.

he can't even hear your sweet little whimpers you usually let out when you masturbate.

johnny turns to simon, who's absentmindedly cleaning his gun on the table and tells him to get up.

"make sure tha' feartie doesnae come back when he leaves, aye?" he snarls.

simon tips his head wordlessly. he'll let johnny order him around, just this once. the scrunched skin of johnny's nose as he bares his teeth in aggression is adorable.

he racks the slide of the gun and places it down with an audible clack, grabs his leather jacket from the chair and shrugs it on.

"does he need to disappear?"

johnny makes a disgusted sound at the back of his throat. "i dinnae care! just make sure he goes and stays gone."

simon moves quick- light on his feet toward him and fists his hair cruelly, forcibly craning johnny's neck back to lock eyes with him.

down boy.

"watch the attitude, or i'll be fuckin' it outta ya 'n there won't be anyone tell tha' imbecile t'piss off, yeah?" simon's voice rumbles with his warning.

if johnny had ears, they'd be pinned flat to his head. "aye."

he gives a soft slap to johnny's cheek. "good. i'll be back," and is out the door in seconds.

the next day, johnny corners approaches you in the lift, and rubs the back of his neck, feigning discomfort.

he watches your eyes widen, mouth gape in sheer horror as he tells you that he got no sleep, some guy couldn't stop caterwauling like a cat in heat last night.

oh, you look like you're about to burst into tears. he can't help but unabashedly stare at you. that expression is moving all the blood in his head south.

please cry. he'd come in his pants if you did.

the lift pings and the moment is broken, so johnny wipes the drool from the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand and does that he's always done best.

use his honeyed tongue.

"grab a tea with me? i promise to not bite." he walks out and steps to the side, extending a hand towards you.

he notices your hesitance, so he amps up his charm. johnny's lips curl into a roguish smile, the blunt edges of his white teeth barely visible.

"please? jus' a tea. i'll pay." simon's always said he looks best while begging.

you must seem to think so too, because you're sliding your much smaller, softer hand in his- fingers grazing the rings that adorn his hand.

"atta lass. we'll take a cab."

a few days later, johnny has the tv running in the background as he cooks dinner, when he hears:

'a man crashed into the bay, possibly under the influence...'

you're all theirs, now.

only theirs.

#ghoap x reader #simon ghost riley #johnny soap mactavish #ghoap x you #ghoap

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