#am I susceptible to bribery?

[writing-on-the-wahl]

I am willing to bribe for Clouded Instincts part 2 😬😆 I’ve been so so so intrigued by it for so long! But also, only if you want to and have to time. No pressure at all. I love it, but I also understand that writing, especially continuations, can’t always be demanded 😊. Hope you have a wonderful evening!

@thepenultimateword bRiBeRy?!?! 👀👀👀

Are you suggesting… a trade 😏😏😈

Hahaha I DO have plans for more of this one, and I’m SOOOO flattered you like it so much!!! 🥹 I’ll add it to my priority list ☺️😇

#a snippet for a snippet? #am I susceptible to bribery? #yes #yes I am #🙈🙈 #hero x villain #ask

[humanransome-note]

Does my two cents in this matter mean anything? No.

Does the MATTER mean anything? Also no.

But! This is the fandom webbed site and this is my blog so I get to shout my opinions into the vacuous maw.

Astarion from BG3 was a douche before Cazador, we can agree on that yeah? he was a magistrate, which is like “Judge Lite” he has Opinions and views that really scream “Do you know who I am?”

BUT I don’t think he was corrupt. Corrupt in the sense of bribery and double dealing, I mean. (Yes, I’m aware of the lore page, but that was from EA era and a lot has changed since then, Gale looks much less like Johnny Depp for example.)

I’m not just saying this because I like him, is that a factor in it bothering me so much? Probably. But I do think the idea of active corruption doesn’t really jive with how he’s written in the launch version.

When I say active, I mean, he was a shitty magistrate in the sense that his views on who deserved what punishments was skewed, but this wasn’t because of bribery, it was because he was a classist asshole that viewed the wealthy and established as more deserving of the benefit of the doubt.

The man is a dick, in game he shows racist sentiments in both the sense of cultural discrimination and his view of gnomes! He is not somebody I’d wanna hang out with in real life, let alone bone.

What does this have to do with what sort of magistrate he was before? Directly? Not much, I just wanna make sure it’s understood that I am aware of his douchebaggery.

What DOES have to do with his former career, however, is how he reacts to you being kind to NPCs.

It pisses him off, a lot, especially in the early game. He bitches and moans, complains about the detours and pit stops. It pisses him off because he thinks it’s unfair. No one helped him, so why should this random strangers get help in a less dire situation?

Now, I don’t know about you, but I feel this thought process lacks nuance in a way that feels too deeply seeded to have been solely a result of being Cazador’s spawn.

Astarion being a magistrate that didn’t consider nuance, or have empathy of circumstance outside of his sphere of experience, makes more sense to me than “he was a dirty judge who took bribes and turned a blind eye with enough coin.” But he could be read as such from an outsider perspective!

To me, he reads as somebody who had a deeply felt sense of justice, and when he was forced into a situation where justice is the hoped for end result, and it didn’t come, it rocked his sense of how the world works, making him selfish and jaded.

If we are to assume that his initial presentation of personality was built in part by how he acted before Cazador, which is a common assumption. I feel like his pride would have outweighed his greed. And he would’ve seen bribery as beneath him, is some weird execution of judicial self regulation that had nothing to do with actual ethics and more to do with the fact he would’ve taken offense at you thinking him so pathetic and needy as to be susceptible to a bribe.

So yes he was a bad person before being turned, but it was less “greed and his want for power is the root of his evil” and more “privileged asshat cannot conceptualize or empathize with people outside of his sphere, because his understanding of the world is so drastically narrow.”

Basically:

But with judicial authority

#wurds #bg3 #bg3 astarion #bg3 headcanons #baulders gate 3 #baulders gate astarion #this is my headcanon #I don’t wanna argue about it #it’s just I’ve seen posts that were like ‘you know he was a corrupt judge right?’ #and that just doesn’t feel right to me with the way he’s written in Launch #but saying he wasn’t a bad person before Cazador also feels like a disservice to the character #and feels naive

[emmettland]

Gold and Green AU | Repost #15

Ask Prompt: How did Cassius find out Logan was pretending to be a Golden? (2023)

CW: abusive power dynamics, betrayal

"You will tell me the truth. I did not slay five Golds for nothing."

The power of the truth serum that he had injected the True Green with was a lie, designed by Golds to fool Greens into thinking that they were being compelled to be honest. In reality, the drug only made them more susceptible to believing what they were told.

But it clearly wasn't working on Dirk, whose smile was smug when he said, "Oh, only five? My dear Golden slain ten and one Golden. I suppose you got it at a discount."

Cassius smiled. True Greens were indeed respected more than Greens, but this level of disrespect would have gotten Dirk in trouble if he wasn't Teddy Warfson's True Green. Even so, Cassius could have verbally reprimanded him, but he didn't.

If threats were not going to work, bribery would.

"You don't like your Golden," Cassius said.

"Does any Green?"

"You would rather be with that Golden we Reformed at Teddy's request. Malusfa, right? He thinks he's a Green now."

"I am aware," Dirk said dryly.

"And he cannot even look at you without being in pain."

"Is there a point to this, Cassius?"

"I can change that," Cassius said, and caught the glimmer of hope that Dirk masked instantly. "I can reverse his Reformation, so you do not cause him pain and he no longer thinks he's a Green."

"You can, but that doesn't mean you will."

"I will have it done before you give me answers," Cassius said, "as long as you answer one question first. I'm well aware that my accusations cannot go without proof."

Dirk narrowed his eyes. He was suspicious, but not enough to turn down such a generous offer. All he had to do was betray his friend, and the love of his life, the father of his daughter, would be his again.

Some may have placed more loyalty in the friendship. Some may have deluded themselves into thinking that they could protect their friend and get what they wanted themselves, without the help of a Golden who needed something from them.

Dirk was not one of these fools. He had lived a hard life, much harder than the Green who now had all of the privileges and freedoms of being a Golden. He was older, crueler, and knew that if their positions would reversed, Logan Garder would do the exact same as him.

"I accept your deal," Dirk said. "To answer your question, yes. Logan Garder is actually a Green, and I will tell you how to expose his secret once my Malu is returned to me, in the condition you promised."

Cassius has a feeling he underestimated how much Dirk knew about the situation. He teases him. "I can find proof on my own, I'm sure. I just wanted to hear it from--"

"No, you didn't, and no, you can't." Dirk smiles, as if he was the only winner of their game. "Because I'm the one who trained him, and I'm the one who knows how he's been hiding it. You wouldn't pass up on the chance to humiliate him first."

Well, the True Green was right.

He was going to put Logan Garder to shame.

---

It was bound to be another glorious fight, featuring Logan going up against a Golden at least four times his size and five times his weight. People loved to see such a small Golden win against much bigger opponents; there was something exotic, almost taboo about it.

Before the fight to the death began, Cassius approached Logan in the corridors leading up to the arena. After some small talk, he told Logan that he would be cheering him on as always and looked forward to seeing his miraculous victory.

Emphasis on miraculous.

Now that his end of the deal was done, Dirk had told Cassius what he needed to know. It was really so simple, and yet it was no surprise how it never happened by accident. Goldens never touched each other in any sort of intimate manner unless they were related, and of course David had no idea that this Golden was actually his son.

But all Cassius had to do was take Logan's hand. He was clearly caught off guard and looked wary. "Cassius, what--"

"I just want to say," Cassius said, meeting his eyes, "how much respect I have for you, Logan. People doubted your power as a Golden, and yet you've proven them wrong over and over again."

The flattery worked. Logan grinned, distracted by his ego, and was in the middle of responding when Cassius quickly slid his fingers down, where the metal cuff covered Logan's wrist, and circled his thumb around a button in the center.

After what happened the last time, we needed a safety mechanism that could open the cuff. But it had to be subtle, or else it could be activated by accident. I suggested an intimate gesture, which would deter any Golds from trying it, and a specific one that would be impossible to guess.

The cuff clicked open, and Logan's grin dropped.

Cassius was faster. He snatched it away before Logan could grab it, and viciously smiled at the dawning look of horror on the Green's freckle-painted face. Just then, the drums started beating to signal the start of the fight, and Cassius shoved Logan out of the corridor, waving with the cuff as he stumbled into the arena.

"If she starts winning," Cassius said sweetly, "just be a good little Green and beg for your Golden to help you."

my writing x my whump x gold and green au x ko-fi

#whumplr #whump writing #emmett whumps #whump tag #emmett writes #emmett reposts #Gold and Green AU #Gold and Green AU (writing) #emmett ocs #logan oc #cassius oc #dirk oc #malusfa oc #teddy oc #maludirk (ship) #teddydirk (ship) #logius (ship)

[cquackity]

I hope c!clingy wins the c!wilbur battle royale

no coalitions as of right now. However, i will say, that i am 1) susceptible to bribery and 2) doing whatever is the funniest. So take that as you will

#but there can only be One at the end of it all #thes answers #c!wilbur battle royale

[fatphobiabusters]

Someone I follow on Twitter just had the shittiest take I’ve seen in awhile 🙃

https://twitter.com/alexmeshkin/status/1580816351631138816?s=46&t=hbfj8WL4aS-ZWTqaJdjpJg

https://twitter.com/alexmeshkin/status/1580816814912679937?s=46&t=hbfj8WL4aS-ZWTqaJdjpJg

"🧵I am likely going to need to mute this tweet after the comment I am about to make but here it goes anyways…

Once we labeled 'fat as beautiful' we opened Pandora’s box to minimizing serious health conditions."

"PSA: I am not responding to people that I offended about the 'obesity' issue. Refusing to accept obesity as a disease that causes other diseases is just as bad at refusing to acknowledge Long COVID is a serious disease."

This person is, of course, uneducated and ignorant as all fatphobes are. The organization that classified fatness as a disease literally went against the suggestions by their own researchers telling them not to do so. The reason why it's classified as a "disease" is because weight loss companies poured money down the throats of the people running the organization until they were guzzling that good lobbying (bribery) cash. They also used the paper thin excuse of "If we label it a disease, then maybe people will be more empathetic towards fat people......?" Which you don't even need more than two braincells to understand was a stupid excuse that of course would not benefit fat people in the slightest. The podcast Maintenance Phase talks about the choice to classify fatness as a disease if anyone wants to listen to it or read the transcript.

That person is also ignorant on the fact that there are no studies that show fatness to cause anything. Nothing at all. There are only correlations, which we've written before about the correlation vs. causation logical fallacy. Other oppressed groups also experience a correlation between their identities and health problems, but I imagine the guy who wrote those tweets would agree that being gay doesn't cause mental illness and being a person of color doesn't cause complications while giving birth. The actual cause is the oppression those groups face, which includes mistreatment as well as increased poverty and lack of access to healthcare. Their bodies are not physically more susceptible to health issues. And that's just the tip of the iceberg on the whole "fatness causes XYZ disease that thin people also can get but let's ignore that fact." Also, I have no doubt that guy would celebrate representation of people in wheelchairs or with vitiligo in fashion magazines as a positive thing. But as soon as it's representation for fat people that isn't outright hatred, suddenly we're "minimizing serious health conditions." And again as we have stated countless times, fatness is ultimately not a choice for the majority of fat people, and there is no proven way to change a fat person into a thin person for more than three to five years at most. So even if fatness was as unhealthy as he's saying, what does he want us to do? And are unhealthy people really undeserving of positive representation in society that doesn't make them into a joke or villain? Does he think people with cancer should be shunned from society as well?

All of this is just plain, recycled fatphobia that has been repeated again and again despite it being so easily refuted. If someone really wants to be a fatphobe, at this point they should at least be creative with it. "Accepting fat people will lead to the slaughter of anyone who hates beef because fat people are cows and the political correctness police have been equipped with weapons of mass destruction." Is some creativity too much to ask? -Mod Worthy

#Mod Worthy #covid mention #Ask #Disasterhimbo

[pidgecv]

Pidge. Pidge. I will send you all the blorbos. All the goofy aah reaction images. Here, take this tiny creeper sticker I use on my water bottle.

Accepted (I am highly susceptible to bribery)

#cvdraws

[not-actually-human]

i actually don’t have any real requests sooo you could try to draw my pfp ? or just draw a blorbo of your own i don’t really care :3 i am susceptible to propaganda and will vote for whatever any of my moots tell me to, no bribery necessary 👍👍

drew ur pfp :) tysm for voting!!

#asks #my art

[papaya-inspiration]

Hello this is a bribery

OMGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGG kitty 😻

Let the record show: I am, IN FACT, susceptible to bribery.

#asks #haha #cute #cats #also sorrry I forgot to respond to your star chart ask! been a busy few weeks and that slipped through the cracks #it's super cool though thanks for the pictures :D #puppyanon

[yourlocaldisneyvillain]

Well. You ask for mommy, and mommy makes time for her babygirl (once again, you ask very prettily, what's a mommy to do?). I feel like I am starting to spoil you maybe a bit too much... And yet you deserve it, especially on the day before your last exam.

Maybe I do want to keep that somewhat secret, or maybe I just like to play coy...I guess only time will tell...

The fact that you haven't been worshipped in so long is quite criminal indeed, but it will be an even bigger satisfaction for mommy to be the first in so long...

But I would make it oh-so-pleasurable for you as well, sweetheart. You would learn things about yourself that you'd have never guessed without mommy's helping hand.

Don't tell me! To think I won't be able to sit beside you at the bar, pay for your drink, and then help your little overworked self to drain it down to the last drop...now that is a torture that is not pleasant at all! (and if in the enthusiasm some were to dribble out of your lips, well, mommy would make sure it doesn't go to waste).

It would take much worse to get out of mommy's good graces, but you are very welcome to try and charm mommy anytime... I am very susceptible to bribery from pretty girls such as yourself...

Hand kisses from

your mommy, ~🐞

oh, i feel so special <3 i do so love being spoiled by you :) it's dangerous though, i could get used to nice things! and then whatever shall we do?

i think you love being a tease :p

you'd have to be patient with me, i am not that used to receiving pleasure, i get very flustered :* but i am very curious to know what new horizons you'd open up for me :)

what's your favourite cocktail? :) i am thinking about ordering a mojito. you can imagine tasting little drops of it :*

oh, amazing, i love bribing and charming pretty mommies :* it's settled then

(and hand kisses? you know me too well!)

#i got an ask! #mommy anon

[cactusprisms]

I am Susceptible to bribery if it’s food

#blabbering

[courtlyharlequin]

Hey!! I was wondering if i can have a candied rose frappuccino with floyd please. Thanks 😊

Sugar Addict

Warning(s): mild spice, lowkey spicy ending

A/N: I went feral. What is plot? I ended up writing more than expected. Also, I was too lazy to proofread so I apologize for my horrible grammar. Feel free to correct me! I should probably get a beta reader... 

Context: This is an AU. Yes, a coffeeshop AU, but some things are different. These characters are aged up and NRC is actually a college.

It was unexplainable, this feeling. Twilight. The sun was setting. Traffic ensued streets as people poured out of work and into their vehicles, all with one destination: home. But for you, home was the last place you wanted to go. You were a student who did not need to fret over something like a job. You had the convenience of asking for a ride or traveling by foot to reach local destinations not far from your oh so prestigious school. At this moment, at twilight, you were experiencing the convenience of the latter. Well, a normal person would not call it a convenience. These days made taking a stroll an absurd pastime. But right now, it was both a convenience and a pastime. The roads were clogged by a massive sea of cars. Your nose crinkled at the stench of gasoline. Choosing to traverse by foot was more pragmatic. You were in a rush as well. Your destination might close any minute now!

From the inside of any of the vehicles on the street, you were akin to a hooligan. A scrambling, mad hooligan. Not only were you running in the opposite direction of where these cars were going, you were also running as your life depended on it. Therefore, you were a crazy person who was running into the city suburbs at a somewhat late hour rather than going home. Mothers in said vehicles shook their heads in dismay, praying their children were safe at home. But, you could not care any less. Night Raven College’s headmaster was very lenient on curfews and was susceptible to bribery if all else fails. But to be fair, your destination was not something to be frowned upon. It was something to laugh at, really. The place you were so desperate to get to was none other than a café.

More specifically, Café Rosé . Cheesy, chessy, yes, you were aware. The café was notorious for their supposed love potion of a latte, but you weren’t coming for that. You wanted to try their Candied Rose Frappuccino. You were a lover of all sweets; You could never live with yourself if you didn’t try it. Of course, this coffee shop was not going anywhere nor was this beverage a limited one. You simply were in the mood for it. It was craving, a whim, a last minute decision.

You sighed heavily, leaning against the café’s exterior walls. With one deep breath, you pushed the rose-tinted glass door open. The chime signaled your entrance. You braced yourself for a  barista to question your hazed, flushed state… but it never came. Still heaving, you scanned the shop. You made your way to the counter to check for employees in the back room.

Thud!

“Hey, Shrimpy! Café’s closed,” a voice glowered.

You spun your heel, making eye contact with a barista with a disheveled appearance– his aquamarine hair was slightly unkempt, his tie was unraveled and dangled loosely around his neck, dress shirt unbuttoned down to the point where his collar bone was exposed with his sleeves rolled up which furthermore accentuated his lean yet muscular figure. It was all too much to take in. He put his weight onto the nearest table. Ah, the thud came from a chair he just stacked… but nevermind that-!! The moment he moved into that position, he exposed a bit of his cleavage. Hot damn he might be lean at first glance, but he was built like a Greek god. This should be illegal! A barista should not be dressing– let alone be looking– like that. Everyone would suffer from a cardiac arrest from such a heartthrob! You quickly averted your attention to the café’s schedule.

“The business hours sign says you guys close at seven. It’s six fifty-two right now,” you said, holding up your phone.

“Close enough. Get lost.”

He walked over to you suavely, leaning over you and against the door frame to flip the open-closed sign over so that it’s closed side faced the streets. It was meant to be a gesture of mockery and intimidation, but holy hell… you were flustered more than anything. He was tall from afar but up close he was huge!! You even got a better look at his chest. Well defined, if you don’t say so yourself. Wait–

You shoved him back, “Not even for a to-go order?”

“Nope. Don’t feel like it.”

“But you’re not closed yet!”

“But I don’t wanna,” he whined.

“Why?”

“What?”

“I asked you ‘why’?”

“Can’t you just come back tomorrow and let me call it a day? I’m tired.”

“That’s not an excuse.”

“I ran all the way here just to get something–”

“Should’ve done it earlier,” he shrugged, returning to his chore.

“Okay. Fine. Is there anyone else here to serve me? Since you’re too ‘tired’?”

“Sorry, Shrimpy, but they all went home.”

“Ugh! Don’t call me something that makes us seem so familiar. I’m not that short anyway...” you huffed.

He snickered, walking behind the register, “Alright then, Shr-im-p-y~! What would you like to order that you just had to come in at the last minute today?”

While you were relieved he gave into serving you a drink, the way he enunciated your unwanted nickname was irksome.

“I’ll have one Candied Rose Frappuccino.”

“Oh thank god it isn’t that latte.”

“You mean the Rosé Latte?”

“Mhm,” he hummed, loudly tapping on the cash register, “Everyone has been flocking here and only ordering that. I’m so tired of making the same order everyday.”

“Sorry, I’m not into hot beverages. Just a person who likes sweets.”

“Cute,” he cooed, handing you your receipt.

You watched as he messily wrote “Shrimpy” onto your cup.

“Can I get your name?” you asked.

“My name?”

“Yeah.”

“What for?”

“Somehow you’re slowly becoming my favorite barista.”

Partially a lie, partially the truth. He was your favorite because he was so fine. You only wanted his name in case you ever decided to write a review on your bitter first meeting with him or if you came across the manager. Petty, yes, but it annoyed you that much.

“Floyd, Floyd Leech,” he grinned.

You checked the receipt and sat down at the barstools in front of the barista’s worktable, watching him intently as he began to work on your order. Well, half your attention was actually on his hand movements. Your mind was having an internal battle about how shameful you were to fantasize about his back muscles, mentally undressing him. The fact that there were only you two in the coffeehouse did not help either. The silence, at its surface, was calming, but, at its core, it was awkward. With the occasional clinks of utensils and the sound of coffee being brewed and blended into a frappuccino,  the lack of noise left your mind to wander.

“Just because he’s good looking does not make up for the fact that he was rude,” you chided yourself.

Floyd cocked his head: “Hey. What are you staring at?”  

He looked behind him as if there was actually something of interest. You saw your drink in his hand. He held it close to his chest, withholding it, waiting for your answer.

“Oh? Um.. nothing? I was just zoning out. I’m tired from running all the way here.”

“Shrimpy’s no fun,” he pouted.

“My name is (y/n), not Shrimpy.”

“You’re short, jumpy, and huggable like a shrimp~”

“I am not that short!”

“Oh-!!! You remind me of Goldfish. You both get so mad for some reason,” he laughed.

“Listen here–”

The barista took a swig of your order. He didn’t take the dome-shaped lid out. He didn’t even drink it with a straw. He just… straight up… put his lips on the lid and drank the contents from the rim. You halted your rant, appalled by his audacity.

“You talk too much, Shrimpy.”

In this total silence, someone, if there were someone here, would have heard your sanity and patience snapped.

“Listen here, Floyd Leech. That was awfully rude of you. Actually, from the beginning, you were so rude! From getting into my personal bubble to calling me names when I told you to stop. And now you drink my order? And right in front of me too?! So, so, rude-!!! I just–”

“Wow. What an expansive vocabulary you have,” he glared, twiddling with the collar of his shirt and somehow exposing more of his collarbone.

You leaned over the counter, reaching for your beverage, heat traveling up your cheeks, “I’m not done yet! Just because you’re hot does not mean you can dress like that and automatically get a free pass to do these things! Do you have any idea how distracting that was?? Now–wHAAA!!”

You pounced at him. Your toes hung on the edge of the barstool, your left arm wrapped around Floyd’s neck, and your right arm stretched out in an attempt to reach the drink in Floyd’s hand. Much to your annoyance, he raised it higher than you could ever hope to reach. If he took anymore steps back, you would most likely flop onto the barista’s side of the table face-first. With the drink in his left hand, his weight (and yours) was shifted onto his right arm which conveniently propped itself against the countertop behind him. You wondered what people on the road thought when they saw what was going on inside the café.

It was early evening with a decent amount of cars on the street before the storefront. Nearly twenty minutes since you came into the café and here you are– without your order, curfew approaching steadily, and no sign of getting your frappuccino anytime soon. Instead, you were sprawled across the counter, a test of your flexibility and modesty.

“I didn’t really think Shrimpy was this bold, this naughty,” Floyd chuckled.

Ah shit. Your anger got the best of you. Your verbal filter was removed and all of your thoughts slipped past your conscious and common sense. His sly grin did not help at all. Your close proximity enhanced your blush. The way you clung onto him caused his shirt to slide off his left shoulder and with the position you were in, you had a front seat to all his glory. What a sticky wicket this was.

“I just wanted something sweet to drink,” you panted, fisting his shirt in your petite palms, frustration washing over you.

You were on the verge of tears. Floyd sighed, lowering the cup just a bit, and took a few steps back as he carefully let you slide onto the barista’s side of the counter. However, your beverage was still out of reach.

“You’re such a snowflake,” he mumbled.

You clung to him, still, using him as leverage to reach your order, “Am not. This wouldn’t have happened if you just let me have my coffee!”

“You mean this hell of a sugary confection??”

“Yes? I mean I wouldn’t know because I haven’t even tried it yet,” you grunted, jumping at it like a fish trying to catch the bait.

“Oi, (y/n), can I kiss you?”

That was the first time he used your actual name instead of “Shrimpy” ever since you met. You would rejoice, but the following words were out of the question. His tone made it sound more like a demand than a request of consent.

“Excuse me?!”

“You wanted to try the drink right?”

“Yes, but it’s right there in your hand! So if you would just let me have it, I’ll stop annoying you!”

“The taste is lingering in my mouth. It’s so sweet. I wanna get rid of it…”

“Get some water.”

He squeezed his right arm around your waist, bringing you closer to his face,  “But I want to kiss you~!”

“Well, since you drank out of it, if you let me have it, then we can have an indirect kiss!”

The temperature of the coffee shop was just unbearable at this point. And worst of all, this was self-inflicted. You didn’t have to tolerate him. Frankly, you should have left the moment he told you the café was “closed”.  You didn’t have to pounce on him and end up in this painstakingly uncomfortable position either. Moreover, you were sweating from embarrassment from your suggestion. An indirect kiss! That was such a childish thing to fret about and here you were, regretting your own words.

“That’s no fun,” Floyd said, taking another sip of your frappuccino.

“Hey–mmpff!!”

Despite how he manhandled you thus far, he kissed you very tenderly. His lips were soft, warm even. As much as you wanted to push him back and scold him for taking away something as precious as your first kiss, you couldn't. Everything just… felt right. Your grip on his shirt loosened. Before, you held them in your palms in anger, a way of intimidation, a sign to show him that you weren’t going to back down even if he was teasing you with no mercy. But now, you held Floyd’s collar to close the space between you two. You were this close to each other, but it wasn’t close enough.

You gasped as he nibbled your lip. Floyd took it upon himself to invite his tongue over to your wet cavern. A sugary substance flooded your taste buds. Ah… he never swallowed your drink.... Not that it mattered. You gulped it in one breath, continuing on with your tango of tongues. If Floyd wasn’t supporting your waist, you might’ve melted away into this temporary bliss. You momentarily broke away from him to catch your breath. The distance between you two was barely five centimeters. He growled lowly, taking two steps forward, pushing you towards the bar. He smashed his lips against yours, a clear sign for you not to do that again. A fire lit in his eyes. Floyd hungrily bit your bottom lip, earning a whimper in response.  Without breaking away from your mouth, only turning his head to take you at a different angle, he hoisted you up and set you and the beverage down on the countertop. Now, with both hands free, he cupped your cheeks. You responded by wrapping your legs around his waist and grabbing his wrists, drawing away his hands.

“W-Wait…” you exhaled.

“...did you not like that?” he cocked his head.

“No... No… I liked it… I liked it a lot… I just… S-Slow down…”

Floyd reached for the ends of your hair, twirling with the strand, “Take your time…”

Perhaps it was purely the heat of the moment or lust, but you judged him too soon. In this brief period of time, he was being considerate of you.  He traced your figure with his eyes, grinning from ear to ear at your bruised lips, bright pink from the dozens of kisses he gave you. You were just as disheveled as he was.

“...More..”

“You sure?”

“I’m thirsty,” you pouted.

Floyd let out a chortle before sipping your coffee, “Alright, then Shrimpy.”

You prepared yourself for yet another rough session. Before he took your lips, he smoothed back his hair, revealing his forehead. The gesture caught you off guard thus you stiffened as he brushed his lips against yours. By gods, it was as if he wasn't even trying to be provocative. Was it possible for someone to be this seductive without actual effort? At this rate, you were going to miss curfew..

“Floyd…” you moaned, intertwining your fingers with his as he pushed you down onto the counter.

“I’ll be gentle, don’t worry...”

“Floyd… No… T-There’s people watching-!!!”

“So?”

“Does that not bother you?!”

“Not when they’ll know you’re mine~”

You sat up, “I’m a bit too shy for that. A-And I would like for my first time to be private…”

You left the last part trail off in embarrassment, fiddling with his necktie which somehow managed to stay on his person despite everything that just happened.

“Oh? Is Shrimpy a virgin?” he teased.

“So what if I am?!”

“Nothing. Just thought a cute Night Raven College girl like you wouldn’t be since you were really good~”

He earned himself a playful smack on the shoulder to which he responded with a sarcastically scoff. This was so unfair...

“How did you know that I went there?”

“Hmm must be because of the shirt you’re wearing underneath that hoodie,” he said, feigning innocence.

Oh. He’s the perceptive type. You didn’t think much of his ministrations (other than them being tantalizing). It seemed that he took note of every detail about you. At this point, you were crimson as a tomato.

“Also, because I go there as well,” he snickered.

You smacked his shoulder once more.

“I’ve never seen you before.”

“Different years, probably.”

“Maybe..”

“Also, I’m always stuck at the Mostro Lounge so you can find me there,” he winked.

“Ahhh! Stop doing that!”

“Doing what?”

“Giving me two answers and mixed signals.”

Floyd tilted your head upwards and pecked your lips, holding you as if you were a figure of glass: “What about this is mixed?”

“You were terribly rude before… and you probably just want someone to bed with for the night,” you puffed your cheeks.

How your body was betraying you… Your legs were still wrapped around his waist and the fervor was not going to dissipate anytime soon.

“I’ll have you know that I’ve had my eyes on you for a long time, (y/n).”

He raised your hand and pressed a chaste kiss on each individual knuckle.

Oh god. Your heart couldn’t bear it anymore. The way your name rolled off the tip of his tongue made honey taste like summer– hot, overwhelming, but still something to look forward to.

“Since when?” you exhaled.

“Since your first visit to the Lounge.”

He switched to your other hand, continuing the ritual.

“I’ve only been there once.”

“You were such a cute Shrimpy that I couldn’t forget about you~”

“That can’t be right–”

“You just have to accept it!”

“It doesn’t make up for how you treated me before.”

He placed your hands on his cheek, “Sorry, Shrimpy. The scent you released was too irresistible.”

Instinctively, you sniffed your clothes, “I don’t smell anything.”

“It might be just an eel thing*, then. But just so you know, I’ve been trying to find you for a while now. I’m so happy that I did. You’re mine now, Shrimpy. Your smell is intoxicating,” he cooed, leaning closer to your ear, “It makes me go feral~”

You squealed at his sudden remark, unable to regain your composure. Your words melted into gibberish and murmurs as you buried your face into his chest once more.

“You’re such a creep,” you whined.

“You don’t mean that~”

“I don’t…”

“We should get going before curfew though. Help me clean up, will ya?”

“Okay.”

Floyd planted a kiss on your forehead, “Thank you, Shrimpy.”

That nickname wasn’t as obnoxious as it was before, huh.

“I’ll reward you once we get to my room,” he snickered over his shoulder as he left for the back room.

Wait– WHAT?!?!?

“H-Hold on-!!”

“Relax, Shrimpy, ’m not gonna do anything to you… not yet, anyway. I’m just sayin’ in case we don’t make it before curfew.  Azul needs me for Mostro Lounge tomorrow, he has no choice, but to let me in. If anyone can convince the headmaster, it’s probably him,” he gave you a thumbs up.

“Good to know. But… I’ve been meaning to ask about Mostro Lounge and this café. If you work for Azul then why work here too?”

“He doesn’t pay me. I’m just helping out of obligation.”

“What? How come?”

“He’s my friend?”

“You sound unsure.”

“You made it sound like I’m gullible,” he laughed, stacking the last of the chairs.

“Well? Shall we go, Shrimpy?”

You took his hand without hesitation. This feeling– it was addicting. You only knew him for a less than a day, but it felt right. It felt meant to be... as if you were soulmates. 

Bonus:

“Oya? Floyd, what happened to your back? There’s scratches all over it. Are you alright?”

“ s’nothin’, Jade. I just… had a fun night~”

“Please. You and (y/n) were so loud. Please reserve those kinds of activities for somewhere more private– not a dormitory with thin walls,” Azul chided.

His brother’s eyes widened, but he didn’t question it any further. Jade curtly closed his gym locker and headed out towards the field.

Azul followed in suit with a huff. 

* Note: Female moray eels release an odor in order to attract males to mate with them

#twisted wonderland #twst #twisted wonderland imagines #twst imagines #twisted wonderland oneshot #twst oneshot #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #floyd leech x reader #event fic #cafe rose event #mild spice #god help me

[redwinterroses]

If you do, I'll send you a cute drabble to help u recover from writing something so bleak.

Yes this is bribery, I want u to rip the bandage off so the nervousness goes away

hnggg.

I am susceptible to bribery.

Also I am genuinely proud of how this story turned out but the ending went in a direction I didn't realize I had foreshadowed since the very beginning and it just works but also I am Rather Nervous about how people will read it so.

Okay. Imma go post.

#redwinteranswers #the widow's revenge

[curiosity-killed]

Trying to bribe myself to do tedious work things is not working despite both the fact that I have to do the work things and that I am very susceptible to self-bribery

#orz #I just #absolutely do not want to do them at all #social media burn in a hole challenge #I have been so so bored at work lately #personal

[rubykgrant]

Things I would sprinkle onto Aaron Stack to make his character even MORE entertaining-

-he literally can’t do those “Prove you are not a robot” tests, and it ticks him OFF

“Wait... this says words? Like, actual words? Why can’t I read it? I can translate almost every known language, WHY CAN’T I READ THIS!”

“Wait, give me a sec... I should be able to do this... I know what a stop sign is, I’ve seen them, I SHOULD BE ABLE TO DO THIS”

-his robot brain is indeed very advanced, but when he developed a personality he also somehow became neruodivergent, it is hard for anybody to test him or try to classify what this means, but stuff like this happens

(other hero) Hey Arron, what time is it?

Aaron “Uh... I don’t know. I can’t tell time on old clocks. I always get confused about the hour hand and the minutes... I can only read digital clocks”

OK but... isn’t your BRAIN a digital clock?

“Yeah”

Then what time is it!?

“Oh. Oh yeah... It’s 4:34 pm”

-he is constantly explaining “memes” to the other characters (they run into young people that speak in riddles all the time), and when they ask how the heck he knows what any of it means, he just dabs and says “My mind is the internet”

-he’ll talk smack about how humans are just “fleshy meat bags”, but he is in fact FASCINATED by human stuff (and this ranges to many things, like him thinking wrinkles/freckles/pimples are really cool)

-he’s super OK with people info dumping to him, and he’ll sit and listen to all the tragic back stories everybody has for hours

-he tries to look like a stern and serious robot most of the time, but if he thinks something REALLY funny, he has a stupid and uncontrollable laugh

-he is very susceptible to bribery and flattery, if people tell him he looks pretty and he’s a very special robot, he’ll just do them favors. he’s fully aware that they are just buttering him up and he can’t stop it, but also nobody asks him to do anything horrible, so it isn’t a problem (just like... go get them a soda, ect)

-when he gets in a MOOD, he goes into full rants about how robots are the best, humans suck, and he has to reel it in before he just starts chanting EXTERMINATE EXTERMINATE (he’s not gonna actually DO anything, he just has to throw a hissy-fit every once in a while)

-he’ll get all in a huff if nobody pays attention to him for too long; he’s both attention-starved AND a drama-queen

-the other MOOD he gets into is super depressed because “Woe is me, I am a misunderstood robot, my emotions are ignored by mankind, but does not even a robot weep?” and then he starts crying

-instead of not being able to experiences various senses like people expect from a robot, he can actually see/hear/taste/smell stuff even MORE strongly than a regular human. this is why even though he doesn’t “need” to eat, he still does just because food tastes good 

#hahaha #my thoughts #aaron stack #machine man #marvel

[jzixuans]

Lmao i love the 2 types of people,, "I'll send u cat pictures 🥺👉👈" and "I WILL REMOVE ROMAN FROM YOU"

it’s important that y’all know that i am Very susceptible to bribery and/or most threats

#lad of inbox #ask

[musicprincess655]

The sun shines brightly overhead, and Dazai hates it. He would drown it out and disappear into the shadows if he could, disappear from sight, hide away.

He doesn’t let any of that show on his face, though. He keeps the same carefree, vacant expression in place, the one that people see and dismiss immediately, perfected from a life of being seen and not heard. If anyone knows how to disappear, it’s Dazai.

He knocks on the door of his destination, grateful to be there, grateful to escape the mass of people living their stupid, boring lives prescribed by the stupid, boring city. He’d sooner be alone than surrounded by them.

“Dazai-kun.” Fukuzawa gives him a stern look that only reads as welcoming because Dazai’s been coming here for years. “You’ve found your way back here again.”

“I always do,” Dazai says, falsely cheerful in a way that puts people at ease around him. “May I come in?”

The answer is always yes, but Dazai’s learned that Fukuzawa likes to be asked anyway.

“There’s always a place here for someone trying to escape Mori Ougai,” Fukuzawa says, stepping out of the way to let Dazai in. “Ranpo’s in the back with Yosano. I’m sure the three of you can find something to amuse yourselves.”

“You don’t have any new cases?” Dazai asks. Disappointing. The best part of coming to the detective agency is that sometimes, if he’s lucky, there’s a weird case, one that makes him work for it. He gets a spark of something like a genuine emotion when he has to push his brain to the limit to puzzle out something difficult.

“I have new cases, but none you’ll be interested in,” Fukuzawa says. “Just the old staples. Cheating, open and shut murders, theft, you know the drill.”

“That’s boring,” Dazai complains.

“That’s what Ranpo said,” Fukuzawa tells him. “Why don’t you go commiserate with him?”

Dazai wanders to the back of the building to do just that. Ranpo sprawls in his chair, leaning back on two legs, opening chocolates and throwing them in the air, trying to catch them in his mouth with limited success.

“There’s nothing to do,” Dazai complains, sitting across the table from Ranpo and dropping his head to his arms.

“Oh, good, the sassy lost child is here again.” Dazai twists to see Yosano levelling an unimpressed look at him.

“Hi, Sensei,” he grins. Yosano rolls her eyes and goes back to what she was doing.

She likes him. Dazai knows it. He laughed when she threatened to dissect him and suggested she take a souvenir for her troubles. She retaliated by leaving him anatomy textbooks she thought he’d find interesting and teaching him how to suture on a banana.

Dazai reaches across the table to steal Ranpo’s abandoned laptop. If there’s really nothing to do here, he’ll just default to an old favorite: poking at things he has no business sticking his nose in.

It’s not like he couldn’t have done this at his guardian’s house. It might have even been easier. His parents might have pawned him off on Mori as a cousin just closely related enough to be coerced into watching him, but he still has access to things most citizens of No. 6 don’t because of them. But that defeats his entire purpose of getting away from Mori.

He doesn’t hate his guardian. In some ways, Dazai is even grateful to Mori. He’s a difficult child to deal with, and he knows it. A combination of being smarter than both his parents and not yet having the social skills to pull his punches about it got him sent to live with Mori in the first place, though both of them will swear up and down that they needed to focus on their careers. Mori isn’t like that, though. Mori is smarter than him, and perfectly willing to let Dazai play whatever mind game he wants, mostly because Mori is capable of winning. He’s a challenge that Dazai desperately needs, especially back a few years ago when he was so bored by everything around him that he threw all the pills in his medicine cabinet down his throat just to see if that would make him feel anything.

But Mori also, in some ways, represents everything Dazai hates about his life. For one thing, he’s been remarkably good at stopping any further suicide attempts. For another, as much as Dazai likes a challenge, it’s not fun when he never wins.

So, instead, he comes running to Fukuzawa, someone who’s more than willing to take in a refugee from Mori. He gets to help Ranpo solve cases that challenge him, but that have a possibility of victory. Ranpo’s better than him, but Dazai’s learning.

And when there aren’t any cases to solve, and when Dazai’s feeling particularly spiteful, he likes to try and find all the secrets No. 6 wants to keep hidden.

His parents are both politicians, though Dazai doesn’t have a clue what they actually do. He doesn’t much care to find out. Instead, if they’re the ones making the laws, he’ll see what they hide in a place where they punish those who break their laws.

The Correctional Facility has more security around its information than Dazai thinks is strictly necessary. If all they have is prisoner information, it shouldn’t be worth this much effort. It was Ranpo who pointed out, in the middle of one of Dazai’s bitch sessions about it, that if it was really so hard, they must have something to hide.

What could a prison have to hide?

Nothing Dazai can think of in answer to that question seems like something No. 6 would be comfortable having any citizens know, and that’s reason enough for him to want to know anyway. He’s almost got it, too, teasing his way around a tricky firewall.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

Fukuzawa joins them in the back, giving Dazai a reproachful look. He knows what Dazai’s doing, or at least has an idea, and he disapproves, but he hasn’t bothered to try and stop him.

“Looking for the truth behind the biggest lies No. 6 likes to tell,” Dazai says breezily.

“You should be more careful,” Fukuzawa says. “You never know who might be listening.”

“Sensei!” Dazai gasps, laying a dramatic hand over his heart. “How could you? I thought we had something special!”

“Please,” Yosano rolls her eyes. “You should be looking at Ranpo. He’s susceptible to bribery.”

“That is true,” Ranpo says. “I would sell you for snacks.”

“I am hurt.”

“That’s enough,” Fukuzawa says. “Ranpo, I need to get working on this murder case, and I need to interview witnesses. I need your help.”

“But going door to door sucks,” Ranpo complains.

“Not even you can solve a case without any evidence to look at,” Fukuzawa says.

“Make Dazai do it.”

“Dazai is not technically an employee.”

“Because you won’t hire him.”

“I will when he finishes school.”

“Ugh.” Ranpo casts a dark look at Dazai. “Thanks for nothing.”

“My pleasure,” Dazai says, turning back to his work.

He’s almost got it. He can even get a few pieces of information at the lowest security clearance levels. And, as suspected, what he finds isn’t good.

In fact, if he’s reading the snippets he can find right, the Correctional Facility might be more accurately described as a lab. It’s not that he doesn’t believe No. 6 is capable of human experimentation. He just wishes they were less cartoonishly evil. A government that does experiments on its own citizens? It’s like a plot from a low budget movie.

“What’s that face for?” Yosano asks him. “You look like you’re about to start laughing maniacally.”

Maybe Dazai should develop maniacal laughter. It would probably be a good skill to have.

“I found something cool,” Dazai says. And then yawns. Without him even realizing it, night has fallen. “I should probably go home.”

“You’ll be careful, right?” Yosano says. “The Lost Town is dangerous at night.”

“Aww, Sensei, you do care,” Dazai simpers. She rolls her eyes, already writing him off. “I’ll be fine.”

Dazai whistles to himself as he walks, hands stuffed in his pockets. Predictable villain plot or not, he still found something interesting, with the promise of more if he keeps digging. He should get at least a couple more weeks of entertainment digging out all the secrets of the Correctional Facility, and weeks more trying to decide the best way to use it.

Part of him wants to just release it to the internet and let chaos make its natural way through the city, but surely if he puts his mind to it, he can come up with something better. Something more targeted.

“Dazai Osamu?”

Dazai slows to a halt. A police officer looks him up and down, takes in the bandages around his wrists, the perfect wide-eyed innocent expression Dazai’s perfected over the years.

“Can I help you with something?” Dazai asks, pleasant, just a hint of fear, the perfect cocktail to portray a well-raised young boy with nothing to hide.

“You’re under arrest,” the officer says, stepping forward with a pair of cuffs. Dazai takes one step back before he thinks better of the urge to run. He knows his own ability, and if a real chase starts, he won’t win.

“For what?” Dazai asks as the officer shoves him in the back of the car. The man’s partner turns around, holding up a device and pressing a button.

“Looking for the truth behind the biggest lies No. 6 likes to tell.”

Dazai wishes he could at least feel surprised. It’s so predictable, he just never bothered to predict it. Of course No. 6 would spy on their own citizens. It’s probably in the wristbands everyone has to wear. ID bracelets, keys to anything in the city, why shouldn’t the also be listening devices?

Dazai suddenly realizes that the part of him that still wants to die is about to get its wish. Will they even bother with taking him to the Security Bureau? Surely they won’t bother with a trial. If they accuse him of stealing state secrets, they’ll have to admit what those secrets are or contend with the possibility that he will. Wouldn’t it be easier to shoot him out here and be done with it?

He’s not sad about the certainty of his death. He never has been. But it does seem like a shame to die for something when he barely found anything out. And, of course, he finally found something to hold his attention for a while. Now he doesn’t even get to finish it.

“Why are we going this way?” one of the officers asks. “Shouldn’t we just…you know?”

“Not for this one,” the partner answers. “Don’t you know who his parents are? We can’t just kill him, and we can’t take him to the Security Bureau either, he might be recognized. Looks like his mother.”

Dazai has never put much stock in his parents, is sure they don’t really want him around. But he also doesn’t want to die painfully, and that’s almost a certainty if No. 6 is the one sentencing him to death. Maybe they can at least spare him that.

Wait.

If they’re not killing him here, and they’re not taking him to the Security Bureau, there’s only one place they could be going.

“We can keep him in the Correctional Facility,” one officer says. “They can keep him out of sight until his parents come get him.”

If my parents come get me, Dazai thinks darkly. He sits quietly in the back and, for once, tries not to think as he’s driven to his own death.

#soukoku #skk #bungou stray dogs #bsd #my writing #no. 6 au #spectres