#cipher circuit

[euphythefox]

Hash

[loathemetc]

Hash, the Cipher Circuit is one of the characters I started this series for because I really wanted to draw him. He was a bit more complicated than I initially assumed but I'm really happy with how this turned out. He's one of the bosses from Gravity Circuit, a really fun game that is basically a melee focused Mega Man. And he's my favorite of said bosses! He's a hackerman with an awesome design and... Remarkably similar boss patterns to Yoku Man from Mega Man Unlimited. Huh. Well, his stage is a lot more tolerable than Yoku Man's at least, LOL.

Newgrounds

Character Art Series Masterpost

[the-spog]

Hello again tumblr

Play gravity circuit, now.

It's cool the gameplay is crisp, the controls are so responsive the combat is insane and so fluid and I can't say enoughhhhhh

Play

The

Game

Nowwwwwwwwwwww

Do itttttt

[m00nstera]

he is so plushie

[thestormlightnetwork]

stanford pines stop refering to bill cipher as your muse challenge (LEVEL IMPOSSIBLE)

[forthedancingandthethriving]

The Viruses/Programs

Viruses

Ozymandias

Virus

Status: Active(

Ozymandias is one of a pair who once occupied an area with a Program named Leto. Both had an agreement where the other would not attack, as both knew that the other could kill it. However, when Ozymandias began to leave and destroy universes to grow stronger, Leto set out to get more power. This resulted in a fight months later, with both of them firing a shot of code that caused everyone to forget their true names.

Enraged, Ozymandias went on a rampage until reigned in by Antivirus, CPU, and Crash. It was trapped in a prison of its own code until escaping in Fleeting Sands, causing chaos, and then being drawn back in once more.

However, he escaped permanently after Raging Riptides and has been on the loose since.

Morris

Virus

Status: Deactivated

Introduced here!

Morris was a twin Virus, paired up with her sister Root. The two were viruses that were made from Ozymandis's scales that got cut off when it was escaping its prison. Morris's end goal was to siphon power from the Admins and anyone of similar power in order to free Ozymandias. However, it didn't go to plan, as Root didn't share her sister's sentiment, and Root killed Morris.

Root

Virus

Status: Active

Introduced here!

Root is a former twin Virus, having once been a twin to Morris. The duo were made from the scales of Ozymandias, but Root didn't know this as her code formed wrong. This left her with memory issues and being blind. However, as time went on, she began to remember and was horrified at the prospect of having to have all these people who cared about her die. So when she had the chance, she struck and killed Morris.

This left Root with being able to see in one eye, but she still had memory problems. She currently resides at the Showgrounds Castle.

Lockdown

Virus Status: Active/Contained

Introduced here!

A prisoner at the Containment Zone and a part of the Illusion Gang. He's the second eldest of the group and is a terrifying Virus, using his ability to force any area of code into a lockdown. Whenever she makes he attempts to escape, Warden often chases him.

Dust

Virus

Status: Active/Contained

Introduced here!

A prisoner at the Containment Zone and a part of the Illusion Gang. He's the second youngest and is a near harmless Virus, only using his abilities to help his friends make an escape after a successful plan. Whenever she makes her attempts to escape, Supervisor often chases him.

Worm (belongs to @duckapus)

Virus

Status: Deactivated

Introduced here!

Once a powerful Virus that reigned with a cruel hand, during his first inital defeat at the hands of Antivirus (a failed fusion of Glitch and a red Doomguy), he went into hiding and planned his revenge. During the events of the Legacy Arc, he re-emerged with two helpers, Mira and Garyboy. However, this still failed in the end, and he died at the hands of ClearAll.

Glitch (belongs to Duckapus)

Virus

Status: Deactivated

Introduced here!

Originally a creation of Worm, her code had the ability to damage any other code she touched. She didn't agree with her creator and hated him, but initially thought there was nothing she could do. However, she then met a red Doomguy recolor, Dave, and Matrix. While the initial fight did not go their way, in the final moments of Glitch's life, she got the friendly contacted she'd wanted for so long. From this, she and the red Doomguy fused, creating Antivirus.

Mira (belongs to Duckapus)

Virus

Status: Active

Introduced here!

Originally created by Worm to distract and distance Antivirus whenever the virus was working on his plans, she was eventually freed from his influence following his defeat at ClearAll's hands. She now resides in the Mushroom Kingdom, dating Amy Rose the hedgehog.

Garyboy (belongs to Duckapus)

Virus

Status: Active

Introduced here!

He was originally created by Worm to help him further his goals and plans. However, now that Worm is dead, he's working for another major virus: Ozymandias. While Ozymandias is still trapped in his prison, Garyboy is capable of coming and going and is spending a considerable amount of time teaching Ozymandias that brute strength alone won't win a battle.

Programs

Leto

Program

Status: Active

Introduced here / here!

Leto is one of a pair who once occupied an area with a Virus named Ozymandias. Both had an agreement where the other would not attack, as both knew that the other could kill it. However, when Ozymandias began to leave and destroy universes to grow stronger, Leto set out to get more power. This resulted in a fight months later, with both of them firing a shot of code that caused everyone to forget their true names.

Following this, it left its home in search of ways to grow its power in case of Ozymandias returning. It then found Avatar Nimbus in her universe, and due to the Avatar's preexisting insecurities, Leto was able to convince Nimbus to use its programs. This resulted in an incredibly toxic 'friendship', and Leto's manipulation only ended when Nimbus's friends came to her aid and the Program was imprisoned in its own home.

Following more antics, Leto now has Bio-Lumi, Baxter Stockman, and Disc/Rahzar working with (moreso for) her.

Hotspot (belongs to @duckapus )

Program

Status: Active

Introduced here!

Hotspot owns a bar named the Internet Cafe, called that because she doesn't have a license and is trying to keep the Moderators from coming down on her ass.

Vector (belongs to Duckapus)

Program

Status: Active

Introduced here!

Vector is a who really doesn't like the Admins. Per the post he came from; "As far as he's concerned, they're a bunch of self-righteous blowhards who act like they're in charge of everything just because they have ridiculous powers and get rid of a few viruses every once in a while. Never mind the fact that their battles, both against so-called threats and each-other, often cause far-reaching devastation, leaving everybody outside their little club to pick up the pieces."

His grievances are understandable. However, he doesn't have the full picture, and unfortunately, the barkeep he's venting to doesn't exactly have his best interests in mind.

Circuit

'Program'

Status: Active

Introduced here!

A second identity for Mr L as he finds himself able to access the code world. With this failsafe of an identity, he's obliviously going to get up to something..

Overseer

Program

Status: Active

Introduced here!

An egmnatic Program that keeps to its own space. Not many know what it does. All they know is that it documents everything. Leaving some a little.. unsettled, because sometimes you can clearly see evidence of how it gets information it wants. Often leaving its targets with trauma, be it physical or mental.

Click/Blotch

Program / NPC

Status: Active

Introduced here / here!

An NPC who is cursed to never be able to stay in a universe for too long, they met Overseer, and the two formed a friendship quickly. Blotch often uses a bracelet given to them by Overseer to come with them into the world of code, simply to learn and try to figure out what their role should be.

Sparks

Program

Status: Active

Introduced here!

The owner of a restaurant/bar that's pretty popular with many Programs. He's a kind hearted Program, but he isn't above getting cruel if someone decides to try and make any of his patrons uncomfortable.

Cipher

Program

Status: Active/Contained

Introduced here!

A prisoner at the Containment Zone and a part of the Illusion Gang. She's the eldest of the group and its founder. She's a tricky Program, using her puzzle-themed abilities to scam and harm others to get what she wants. Whenever she makes her attempts to escape, Warden often chases her.

Chainlink

Program

Status: Active/Contained

Introduced here!

A prisoner at the Containment Zone and a part of the Illusion Gang. She's the youngest of the group and is a tricky Program, using her chain-based abilites to hold down victims and take their code or items. Whenever she makes her attempts to escape, Supervisor often chases her.

Disc

Program

Status: Active

Introduced here!

A brother-in-arms to a long forgotten Healer, and tried to cheat death multiple times, and has been cursed to be in a constant state of pain, and can only speak in Binary that's intentionally garbled. He intends on getting revenge soon enough..

RAM

Status: Active

Introduced here!

The Lead Archivist for the Internet Archive, she really has her work cut out for her. But hey, she can get through it! Even if some Programs are ruder than others.

Madam Stinger

Status: Active Introduced here! A black arms/information dealer that's very prolific in the Dark Web. She has many, many connections, and as such, has dedicated clientele. She's assured, smug, and full of herself. While she chose this way of life because it fits what she wants, it's also to desperately have control she'd been denied for under the supervision of Encode.

Mixer

Status: Active Introduced here! Madam Stinger's right-hand man! He unfortunately got on the wrong side of her, in a story involving a contract, some drinks, and a goddamn goose for some reason. He tries to balance her out, but its hard when she always has her sights set on bigger things.

Encode

Status: Unknown Introduced here! The former Admin to CPU and Madam Stinger in their younger years. She was not a good Program, often abusing the duo to gather information on her magnum opus, Neo Programs. However, she was found out by fellow Admins and stripped of her status before she fled. Her whereabouts are unknown.

Cloak and Dagger (belong to Duckapus)

Statuses: Active Introduced here! The Moderators to Roulette in her Snake-Eyes Casino. They help Roulette with whatever she needs.

Array

Status: Active

Introduced (formally) here!

The Program running the Codespace Train, and the former mentor of CPU. A Program as old as Vitality and Sparks, and a caring one at that. She often lets the lost and lonely spend as much time as they need upon her train. Many stickmen work on the train with her.

[gav-san]

ONE PIECE Masterlist:

Main Masterlist Here

Drabble Series:

Cosmic Joke Masterlist

You’re a normal person with the unfortunate position of having him as your soulmate. You’ve never met the guy, but you’ve been hearing his inner thoughts most of your life, and he should absolutely be locked up.

Who's Your Daddy Masterlist

Your mouth has a mind of its own when asked awkward questions. Freud is winning.

Red Haired Shanks

“No Takebacks" (Drabble Series)

You joined the crew for berry, not to accidentally marry the world’s most chaotic, rum-soaked, and smug pirate captain. But somehow, here you are—dodging sea gods, brotherly charmers, and your own poor taste in men. Unfortunately for you, Shanks smells like trouble… and you said I do anyway.

Soul Shanked (Short Chapter Story)

At nine, you asked what a man was. Elder Gloriosa described a creature of chaos, charm, and cursed shoulder width. You swore an oath: no man would ever claim you. Years later, as a respected Amazon Lily envoy, that oath dies the moment a glowing name—Shanks—appears on your palm. A soulmate mark. You panic. Shanks, naturally, celebrates.

Garling Figarland

Lineage in Red: (Chapter Story)

In Mariejois, power is polished, bloodlines are currency, and every smile is sharpened for war. Your mission is simple: survive the social circuit, gather intelligence, and escape unnoticed. Saint Garling Figarland—God’s Knight, judge of blood, master of selection—watches you like a man cataloging flaws in a prized weapon. You were supposed to be beneath his interest. Now you’re squarely in his sights.

Dracule Mihawk

A Vintage Bouquet (Chapter Story)

Trapped in a monastery and threatened with an impending marriage, you'll strike any deal with a Pirate to escape what your father has in store for you. This has some significant consequences when you accidentally marry him.

Benn Beckman

Pipe and Prejudice (Oneshot)

Pirate law says don’t screw the crew. Beckman says: not unless it’s him. You just wanted a kiss. Maybe a date. Definitely a good time. Instead, you got involuntary celibacy, crew-wide surveillance, and one maddeningly attractive first mate who watches your love life like it owes him money. This is a tale of: Pirate hypocrisy. Sexual tension. Emotional warfare. And Benn Beckman—armed, infuriating, and apparently making exactly one exception.

Beckman’s Law (Oneshot)

You’re a bounty hunter to rescue a kidnapped Kuja, you almost pull it off; until mid-escape your soulmark goes off like a siren. On the other end? Benn Beckman. (A Soul Shanked Epilogue)

Kuzan Aokiji

Operation Cold Front (Oneshot)

Marineford’s New Year’s Bash was supposed to be harmless—drinks, bad singing, and a spontaneous midnight kiss. You weren’t planning on participating. You definitely weren’t planning on kissing someone. Especially not an Admiral.

Rob Lucci

Cyrano de Birderac One Two

How You Accidentally Got Romanced by Cipher Pol's Deadliest Duo: Featuring: Rob Lucci, the man who could kill you with a stapler, but primarily uses it to silently admire you from the other side of the office. And Hattori, his smug little wingman with no filter, no chill, and absolutely no authorization to be this romantic. Aka, his wingman.

Silvers Rayleigh

Cook Wanted (1), Crisis Found (2) (Two-shot)

All Pirate King Gol D. Roger wanted was a decent cook. Unfortunately, you fed them once. Now you’re emotionally held hostage by the most chaotic crew on the sea, being aggressively courted by a half-shirted war criminal with excellent manners and terrible timing. Rayleigh doesn’t just flirt. He haunts your kitchen like a respectful poltergeist, makes eye contact like it’s foreplay, and threatens anyone who compliments your hands.

Monkey D. Garp

The Sundress Incident (One-shot)

Vice Admiral Garp is undone by a sundress, strategic sabotage, and one very dangerous woman.

Marine Older Brother (Enzo)

Safe Harbour (Oneshot)

You met Emiliano first; loud, charming, all flash and no brakes. He grinned like the world owed him attention and flirted like it was a sport he intended to win. But it was Enzo you noticed. The older brother. The quiet one. His love is shaped by duty and devotion, built in the spaces between glances, in the quiet weight of callused hands. Reader x Older Marine Brother (Enzo) Here's my love letter to One Piece's Fan Letter (and because, your honor, he's a cutie-patootie). The brothers are named Enzo and Emiliano here.

[antoimne]

hai haiiiii can i pls request any 2 idv men (whoever you want) with a reader who faints from fear during a match?

Heyo! First of all, tysm for the ask!! It’s my first time doing this so srry in advance if it’s not what you expected 😭 I’m so so anxious but I really hope it’s not too bad, enjoy! (Also choose Norton and Luca cuz I love them both but if you wanted someone else feel free to tell me ^-^)

Norton Campbell and Luca Balsa with a reader who faints from fear in matches.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽N O R T O N ☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅


Norton is not a gentle guy—that much everyone, including himself, knew.
He was used to fighting for the bare minimum, struggling among men just as desperate as him. He was used to being wary of others, attentive and alert, like people could fool him at any moment if he wasn’t sharp enough.
The incident at the mine sure didn’t help—it shortened his temper even more, turning him into a ticking time bomb, ready to explode at the bare minimum.

When he first met you, it was—expectedly—not easy.
You’d been liked by everyone ever since you arrived at the manor, open and bright like the shiniest star; the complete opposite of his harsh, gloomy demeanor.
But if anyone knew that opposites attract—it was him.

You’d taken a liking to the Prospector despite his hard exterior, convinced that you wanted to know him—the real him—beneath that façade.
It took time—probably longer than you’d liked.
At first, he was avoidant. But your persistence became...almost pleasant. A gentle routine he learned to look forward to.

He’s not one to show affection easily, and he’s mostly big on acts of service, which is why he’s always keeping an eye on you, noticing even the smallest details when you’re not looking.
Keeping you safe. Keeping you treasured.

He takes note of what you like, dislike—what you fear.
He remembers those flowers you said you liked.
Suddenly, they’re growing in the greenhouse just behind the manor.

Spider in your room?
He’ll burn the whole place down if it means you’ll sleep soundly.

Most of all, he knows about your fear of being chased—ironic and inconvenient, considering the situation you’re in.

He knows how you panic easily just hearing that all-too-familiar heartbeat speeding up.
Knows how your hands start to shake, how your mind fogs over.
How your legs weaken. How your vision blurs.
You have this habit—of fainting when it all gets too overwhelming.

But don’t worry. He’s got you.

His hands are firm but careful as they cradle you. He hushes you in a low voice, tucking you behind a big rock or the shell of an abandoned car.

“I’m here. You’re safe.”

Your heart slowly begins to return to its normal rhythm.

Norton shields your body, caressing your forehead with his callous hand.

“If they want to get you, they’ll have to get through me first. I’ve already lost too much to lose you too”.
He’s got you—and you have nothing to fear.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽L U C A☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Luca gets lost in his own inventions.
Lost as in a deep-dive, full-on hyperfocused — the kind where the world fades away and only blueprints, wires, and flowing abstract concepts seem to count.
He doesn’t mean to ignore things, nevertheless you. He adores you, truly. You’re one of the few people at the manor who listens — really listens to his endless ramblings about circuits and gears. You’ve even tested a few of his inventions yourself- a shocking experience in all senses.

He’s glad he met you.
You see him for more than just the genius inventor. Not as the prisoner. Not the broken prodigy. Just Luca — quirks, flaws, messy hair, lazy eyes and all.

"Last machine..." he muttered, his sharp canine just barely peeking out from his lip — the usual sign he’s buried deep in thought.

Suddenly you can hear heavy footsteps coming from the distance.
The usual loud heartbeat pounds in your ears like drums.

"..."

“Hey? Don’t stand there! We need to finish this cipher before—” he chirped, not noticing the way your hands trembled as they hovered over the console.

Your fingers grasped the edges of the machine, desperately trying to anchor yourself to reality as you could feel yourself slipping away.
Vision blurring. Breath coming out short.

“Hey? Hey—are you—?”
He reached for your hand—
Then everything went dark.

“Darling? Oh god—”
Luca knelt beside you, holding your body in between his surprisingly steady arms.

“I thought i almost electrocuted you,” he stammered. “When I saw you pass out like that, I panicked and i messed up the machine and it exploded, and—”

He trailed off, running a hand through his hair, sighing loudly.

“I’m sorry.”

“Hey, hey, it’s okay. Don’t say that—don’t blame yourself,” you murmured, your voice warm.

His gaze softened as he gently pressed his gloved hand on your cheek.
“It’s my fault. You know how I get with this tech stuff — I hyperfocus and forget the rest of the world even exists. I knew you had that fear. I should’ve noticed—how could I not notice sooner—” he kept rambling, more to himself than you.

You leaned up just enough to press a light kiss to his temple.
“Luca. Stop spiraling. I’m okay. Really.”

He let out yet another long breath, chuckling slightly.
“‘Aight... but maybe next time just tap my shoulder or— I don’t know—pull me out the spiral, ok?”

[darlingdaisyfarm]

ok so this was SUPPOSED to be just a scene in my fic but now idk if i should make it a one-shot bc DAMNN

i was just writing & building up this scene in my fic and then my brain just fucking broke. because. WHAT IF

so imagine bursting into Ford's lab (pre portal) bc you need to find Ford’s journal (for the plot). u know there’s something in there, smth about shutting the portal down and u can't let Bill get his hands on it

but the second you see Ford you know it's not him because of his posture & intonation of voice is wrong too. when he finally turns to face you his eyes are yellow

Bill finds it hilarious, he thinks ur nothing, weak, dumb, not even worth worrying about so he just. lets you in

he’s leaning against the workbench, throwing out some "aww, you came all this way for me, sweetheart?" just bullshit, probably trying to get under ur skin but you don't take the bait, don't even look at him

and then you just start smashing his shit and BILL FREEZES. genuine panic for the first time. because you're destroying everything they worked on. ur hands sweep across the workbench, smashing glass, overturning notes, sending stacks of delicate calculations flying

“HEY” you don't stop, grabbing the nearest equipment and throwing it, sending a monitor crashing, the screen shattering into a mess of exposed wires and ruined circuits.

Ford (Bill) panics like “WHOA, WHOA, WHOA, OKAY, RELAX, SWEETHEART, LET’S NOT—”

“HEY, THOSE TAKE TIME, Y’KNOW—”

you don't give a fuck bc you need to find that damn journal while Bill is trying to dodge the chaos, scrambling to grab whatever’s left, floundering.....

so when your back is facing him Bill lunges, wanting to attack you BUT THEN BUT THEN BUT THENNNNNNN you whirl around with Ford's journal in hand and Bill stops immediately because there’s a memory gun pressed right between his fucking eyes!!!! (well Ford's eyes but you get me)

for the first time Bill actually feels threatened. but no no no he doesn’t let it show, he won’t let it show. instead his lips curl

i haven't figured out what he's going to say yet, still working on dialogue but maybe something as:

“ohhhh, baby, ya don’t wanna do that.”

“what, you really gonna do it? really gonna erase your precious genius from his own mind? gonna wipe out every little memory he’s ever had? everything you've ever shared?”

“oh, c'mon, u really wanna erase ALL that? all that brainpower? all those little memories? what was it, your first date? your first kiss?”

and all of that while he takes a step forward, coming closer until he's right in front of you. he leans in. presses you back against the workbench

“you really wanna lose all that? cause lemme tell ya, dummy, he won’t remember a damn thing about you.”

ur finger twitches on the trigger and Bill is like “aw, don’t feel bad,” while wrapping Ford's fingers around your wrist. “you humans and your little attachments. it's cute, really. adorable, even. but c’mon, sweetheart. we both know you ain’t gonna do it. you don’t wanna hurt our lovely brainiac. deep down, you know he'd never forgive you”

“Ford would rather forget me than be your puppet.” you say

anyways

im still thinking about how i should write this scene. it can be two ways

1. you grip the gun tighter and Bill tilts his head, his grin widens and then that freak leans forward until the barrel of the gun slides past his lips. “y'know, Ford's got a real sensitive gag reflex.”

2. Bill leans in and presses his forehead against the barrel. “go on, sweetheart, pull the trigger. pull that trigger and poof! your little nerd loses everything.”

anyways bill cipher you are a whore that's all i wanted to say

[thenoellebird]

You know what, there's one thing I've never understood. How did Ford manage to break the first and second laws of physics in high school with only 60s Earth technology, but when he went to build the interdimensional portal, which also broke the laws of physics, 80s Earth technology wasn't enough and he had to use alien technology from a UFO? If he managed to break the laws of physics in high school with only 60s Earth technology, why he couldn't break the laws of physics in Gravity Falls with only 80s Earth technology? That doesn't make any sense.

That's one thing that I actually think those university guys were right about: A perpetual motion machine has one thing to do: not stop. Even if it was broken, once started, the machine isn't supposed to stop. Stan didn't break the weights that were spinning, and even if he did accidentally short circuit the thing, its supposed to create energy, not use it. The only explanation for it stopping if it was a real perpetual motion machine is that a broken wire or part got stuck in the gears of the piece that was rotating. But in all honesty, that probably would have stopped it immediately rather than had it still rotating as Stan walked away, thinking it was still working. It looks to me like it slowed down and stopped. IMO, Ford didn't create perpetual motion anyway, even though it was probably a very good experiment. And truth be told, if it was a real one, scientists would have probably come to him, rather than him needing to go to them. He had all the blueprints. He could've sent them to West Coast Tech. He could've told them what he was working on. They could've looked and thought about it and mabye eve ntested it. But that's just the thing. I don't think it really actually worked. And deep down, Ford, though he's way too stubborn to admit it, probably knew that from the moment it broke, but was desperate for someone to blame other than himself for his failure.

To Ford, failure means just that: he failed. He didn't make it. He lost. And if there's one thing gifted kid Stanford Pines doesn't do, it's lose. Ford Pines doesn't lose, not against other scientists, not against Bill Cipher, not against anyone. "He may be a god, but I am a scientist."

Ford may be a scientist, but what Ford forgot is that he is also still a human.

Anyways I could go on for a really long time about all this, so I'll just leave it at that with a TLDR--

TL;DR, Ford has above average intelligence but that doesn't exempt him from being human, and perpetual motion is probably impossible anyway.

This whole thing was referenced in my ao3 fanfic for my ax therapy au in chapter ten by the way. Idk if that's where u caught onto it, but that's where I talked about it.

[loathemetc]

Just beat Gravity Circuit, phenomenal game to play if you liked Mega Man or Shovel Knight. Would highly recommend. Now excuse me while I go add several pictures of Hash the Cipher Circuit into my reblog queue on account of: He's cool.

[plothole-in-one]

Dancing with Deceit || Bill Cipher || Chapter 5

Chapter 5

There was salt on the floor. Salt in the microwave. Salt in my hair.

I looked like I’d gone to war with a pretzel.

Bill floated above the mess, humming.

“So,” I said, arms crossed, “you wanna explain what exactly a ‘distortion entity’ does, or are we just pretending that didn’t almost eat my kitchen?”

“Oh, buddy,” Bill said cheerfully, “you are way past the ‘explain it slowly’ phase of cosmic involvement. That thing? Think of it as… reality’s nosy neighbor. It doesn’t knock. It just sort of oozes in, peeks around. But hey, you're one of the lucky ones! If you'd 've touched that thing you would have had it rearranged your organs!!!. HAHA!!

I gagged a little. “Neat. So fun. So comforting.”

“Good! That’s the spirit!!” He beamed. “You’ll be an excellent pawn—uh, partner! Yeah, partner.”

I narrowed my eyes. “You almost said pawn.”

“Noooo,” he singsonged. “I was gonna say poppet. You’re my little poppet. My little eldritch snugglebug.”

I flung a spoon at him. It went through his head.

“Okay, okay,” I growled. “What now? Am I supposed to—what—fortify my house? Hire a priest? Move into a salt circle and live there forever?”

“Fun idea! But pointless. They’ve already sniffed you out. You’re like a glowing ‘FREE LUNCH’ sign to things that slither through dimensional folds.”

I mumbled something under my breath, “You could slither through my dimensional folds any day…”

There was a beat of silence.

Bill blinked.

Then he threw his head (body??) back and howled with laughter, the sound spiraling into something that grew unrecognizable. “OH, WOW. Bold move, meat puppet! Horny and terrified. My favorite combo.”

My face was on fire. “I– I didn’t mean– I wasn’t– IT WAS A JOKE, BILL.”

“Oh no no no, don’t backpedal now.” He wiped a phantom tear from the edge of his eye. “That was gold. I’m keeping that one. Framing it. Tattooing it across the sky in flaming letters.”

I grabbed a dish towel and buried my face in it. “Kill me. Kill me now.”

“Oh.." he purred, circling lazily above me, “you’re way more useful alive. Especially if I can keep short-circuiting your brain like that!”

I peeked out from the towel, mortified.

He was smirking. Not in a flattered way. In a "Oh, I’m going to make this worse for you"-way.

He knew.

And worse—he was going to use it.

“Stop looking at me like that!” I snapped. “Like I’m SOME..toy!!”

“Ohhh, kid, you’re not a toy.”

I blinked.

“You’re a game. And games are so much more fun.”

I backed up toward the fridge. Not because I thought it was safe—nothing felt safe—but because I needed to put some kind of barrier between us. Even if that barrier was my half-defrosted bag of peas.

“What do they want?” I asked. “The entities. What could they possibly want from me?”

Bill twirled his cane, shrugging. “Who knows? Maybe they want your soul. Maybe they’re just bored. Or—” he leaned in until I could see every tiny shifting rune inside his pupil “—maybe you’ve got something hidden. Something you don’t even know about yet.”

I swallowed hard. “I’m just a paranormal researcher. A very tired, very cursed researcher who wants to eat soup and not die.”

“You’re more than that,” Bill said, eerily serious now. “You wouldn’t be flagged if you weren’t.”

He hovered closer. Too close.

“And if you really want to survive this,” he added, “you might wanna start trusting me.”

I stared at him.

Then I laughed. Short, sharp, bordering on hysterical. “Trust you?! Bill, you lie like it’s your love language.”

"AWW, kid. I don’t believe in love.”

“Exactly.”

He paused, tilting his head. Then, with a chuckle, “You’re learning.”

I didn’t like the way he said that.

[daydreamgoddess14]

Congrats on your followers milestone!!

For the Ficlet, could I please request a non-AU River Cartwright x femreader with undercover romance please!! Where the reader is a cryptologist at Mi5 - like insanely in love with maths (and River more)??

Thank you Anon! This was a super cute Ask, I hope I've done it justice! 💕

River Cartwright x femreader

Warnings: non, just fluff

Word Count: 544

Masterlist

Decoded

You’d been in love with River Cartwright since the first time he’d dropped by your cramped MI5 office to pick up a decrypted packet.

He’d teased you gently about the state of your office (a windowless mess), the state of the packet (notes in the margin, coffee rings, crumbs), and the mugs littering your desk (six of them). But he’d also listened - really listened - when you explained why certain ciphers sang to you like poetry.

Everyone knew, of course. Even River. But he’d always smiled it off, kindly, almost fondly, before disappearing back to Slough House.

Until tonight.

You weren’t supposed to be here - out in the field, dressed to the nines, pretending to be River’s date at a high-stakes embassy reception.

But they'd needed someone who could do the work there and then, in minutes rather than hours, and who could adapt to new encryptions on the fly. None of which River could do. Despite his claims otherwise.

You were meant to stay buried in cryptosystems and ciphertext, not whisper fake sweet nothings into an agent’s ear.

He'd already done a double take when you stepped out of the car, as if seeing you out of context had made his brain short circuit.

Everything was carefully picked out to make you look like the forgettable girlfriend on River Cartwright’s arm.

"Try to look like you're having fun," River murmured against your ear, his warm breath raising goosebumps down your arm.

"It's a bit hard to enjoy myself when I'm running decryption on three separate devices," you muttered back, tilting your champagne flute to hide your lips.

You looked discreetly at your bag where you could still see your custom built software working it's magic.

River’s laugh was low and genuine. You hated how much you wanted to hear it again - how much you wanted him.

When you dared glance up, his eyes were already on you. Not in his usual, teasing way, but something sharper.

His fingers pressed slightly firmer against your waist. You felt your breath stutter.

“You know,” he murmured, voice barely above the music, “I always knew you were brilliant. I just didn’t know you’d be…” He paused, his gaze dropping to your mouth, then back to your eyes. “This.”

You blinked. “This?” you echoed, your voice hoarse.

He swallowed, something raw flickering across his face. “This brilliant, like a real life genius.”

“Oh, I’m not anything -” you insisted nervously. Before you could find something to distract yourself, you felt the brush of his thumb on your jaw, tilting your face up to look at him.

He leaned down and kissed you softly, hesitantly.

“Can we go back to me thinking you're brilliant now?” He asked quietly. “I think I’ve been an idiot.”

“That doesn’t sound like you at all,” you blushed.

The device in your bag completed, sending a vibration through the table.

You startled, but River just laughed and pressed a kiss to your temple this time.

“I need to finish this off,” you whispered, breathless.

He lit up with a smile, making him look much more youthful than his usual scowl. “And then?”

“And then maybe I’ll stop talking about algorithms for a minute.”

“Don’t you dare,” he teased, “I’m just starting to want to learn more.”

[acrylic-jess-o]

Ok but

This a high though woah but

Pink diamond is Bill Cipher as we know him today.

Please don't make me explain myself I think I'll short circuit and die.

[gav-san]

Cyrano de Birderac (1/2)

Main Masterlist Here

One Piece Masterlist

Two-Shot: Rob Lucci x reader Length: 3.5 K+ Rating: 16+ (Language)

How You Accidentally Got Romanced by Cipher Pol's Deadliest Duo: Featuring: Rob Lucci, the man who could kill you with a stapler, but primarily uses it to silently admire you from the other side of the office. And Hattori, his smug little wingman with no filter, no chill, and absolutely no authorization to be this romantic. Aka, his wingman.

Next

Based on this: HERE

You genuinely thought he was mute.

Not shy. Not quiet. Not “strong, silent type” with a dark secret and a heart of gold.

No. You thought Rob Lucci was physically incapable of human speech. Like maybe someone had taken a particularly intense marble statue, dressed it in a three-piece suit, gifted it a bird, and said, “You now work here.”

The first time you met him, he didn’t say a word. Didn’t introduce himself. Didn’t shake your hand. Didn’t even blink, as far as you could tell.

He just looked at you. Eyes sharp, expression unreadable, like someone trying to determine your net worth by evaluating the alignment of your paperclips, and nodded once.

Then he turned and vanished into the Galley-La employee room like a hot, brooding ghost with a government pension and a deeply committed relationship with lint rollers.

And that was that.

You’d written him off immediately as one of Water 7’s many mildly disturbing background characters. Every town had them. Yours just happened to come with better tailoring.

Mysterious. Intense. Overdressed for the weather. Silent. Attractive enough to generate a fan club by simply existing within five meters of a reflective surface.

You assumed he worked security, probably ex-military. Conceivably dishonorably discharged for being too emotionally constipated. Definitely broody. Possibly had a tragic backstory involving betrayal, fire, or rain. Or all three. Honestly? It tracked.

He never spoke. He never smiled. He never sweated, despite the fact that Water 7’s humidity could bend steel.

And he had a pigeon.

Which. Talked.

The bird wore a tiny tie. It rode around on his shoulder like a judgmental assistant manager. It flapped dramatically. And it spoke, in a smug, overly articulate voice that made you suspect it had either been enchanted or was possessed by the spirit of a snarky retired librarian.

At first, the bird’s comments were harmless. Weird, but harmless.

“He says your notes are very organized.”

You paused mid-sentence. Glanced at Lucci.

He didn’t react. Just stood there like a particularly disapproving umbrella stand.

“He appreciates your time management skills.”

Okay. Fine. A little specific, but still within the realm of professional compliments.

Then the bird said:

“He likes the way you smell today.”

You froze mid-paperclip.

“…I’m sorry, what?”

Lucci didn’t blink. Didn’t twitch. He just stared at the wall, as if it had offended his ancestors. The pigeon preened. Innocent.

“What? I didn’t say he said it.”

Your brain short-circuited slightly.

It wasn’t like you were some stranger to eccentric coworkers. You worked with Paulie, after all, a man who had once tried to fire a cannon inside a filing room because he was "testing acoustics.” You’d seen weirder. You’d survived worse.

But this? This was new.

You were just the secretary. You handled contracts, corrected dock schedules, and—crucially—stayed out of things. You liked tidy margins and lunches eaten at your desk. You liked knowing what was on your calendar for the next three weeks. You liked not having to emotionally interpret men who communicated via birds.

And yet.

Lucci. He was silent. Polished. Always at Iceburg’s side, or standing ominously by the stairwell, like a grim reaper with health insurance. He moved like an oil slick in a nice suit. Unbothered. Controlled. Maybe dangerously handsome?

But never impolite.

He opened doors for Iceburg. He returned documents exactly where he found them. He always made sure the coffee pot was full, even if he had just poured the last cup.

And sometimes, only sometimes, he stood so still in the far corner of the records room that a junior clerk tried to hang their coat on him. Lucci didn’t even react. Just stepped away once the hanger touched his shoulder, as if evaporating into the nearest wall was part of his job description.

At first, you thought it was some strange form of professional courtesy. A weird, ultra-efficient office drone who somehow had the presence of a cryptid. You chalked it up to the usual Water 7 eccentricities and moved on.

Until the bird started talking.

To you.

You were convinced Rob Lucci might be clinically incapable of basic conversation. A fully formed adult man whose soul had been replaced by a steam-powered filing cabinet. But his bird?

His bird had designs.

At first, you assumed the whole thing was a gimmick. A bizarre PR strategy has gone too far. Maybe Galley-La had decided their terrifyingly silent employee needed a mascot to soften his image and thought,“Let’s give the antisocial guy a bird! It’ll be quirky! Harmless!”

Only, it didn’t break the tension.

It weaponized it.

Because the bird? The bird had comments. And not for the room. Not for the team. Just for you.

“He says you’re very efficient with scheduling.”

You smiled. Glanced up from your desk.

Lucci stood by the doorway, hands behind his back, still as stone. He didn’t say anything. Didn’t move. Just regarded you like you were a particularly interesting spreadsheet.

“He says your handwriting reminds him of swordplay: Elegant but sharp.”

You stared.

Hattori didn’t look away.

“He says he likes how you organize your pens.”

Your eye twitched.

You told yourself he was just being nice. Probably. Maybe. Maybe he was one of those emotionally stunted types who didn’t know how to give compliments like a normal human, and outsourced the whole ordeal to his bird.

That seemed reasonable.

Until the comments got personal.

“He says your voice is his favorite background noise.”

You turned, slowly, towards Hattori.

Lucci was in the hallway this time, flipping through a folder like he wasn’t downright violating every Revery Convention on flirting.

“He memorized your coffee order. By accident. Probably.”

You nearly knocked your mug off your desk.

“He thinks your handwriting looks like it could kill a man. He finds it inspiring.”

You dropped your pen.

Lucci said nothing.

Did nothing.

He just blinked. Maybe. Once. Like a lizard.

And then, one perfectly average Thursday afternoon, with the wind off the sea and paperwork piling up around you, Hattori landed on your desk again.��

This time with no preamble. No softening lead-in. No buffer.

“He says your scent is… distracting.”

Your pen snapped clean in half.

Ink bled into your hand. You didn’t move. You didn’t breathe.

You slowly looked up, slowly, like you were checking for a sniper. Then meet Lucci’s gaze across the office.

He was perfectly composed.

Expression unreadable. Suit pristine. Pigeon, indeed, was thrilled with himself.

You just stared.

And for the first time, you wondered.

Was this real?

Was this man, this terrifyingly silent, possibly government-engineered humanoid statue, flirting with you?

Had you accidentally fallen into the middle of a slow-burn romance where one party refused to speak and the other was a bird?

You weren’t sure.

But you were beginning to suspect.

It wasn’t just the weird compliments. Or the way Lucci’s pigeon had somehow become your romantic intermediary-slash-personal hype man. It was the little things. The patterns.

The kind you don’t notice until they break.

Like the night of the storm.

You’d stayed late, as usual. A backlog of manifests had imploded in your inbox, and there was no one else qualified, or willing, to untangle the mess. Rain battered the windows like a desperate salesman. The lights flickered, the office creaked, and for a while, the only sound was the scratching of your pen and the hum of the generator.

Until you heard it.

Shoes.

And wings.

You turned, heart skipping. Rob Lucci stood just inside the doorway, water dripping from the hem of his coat. Hair damp. Expression unreadable. He looked like the final chapter of a noir novel; tall, tired, and two degrees short of poetic tragedy.

Hattori flapped forward, his usual dramatics absent. He landed on your desk with uncharacteristic softness. Almost reverent.

“He came back because he was worried. You didn’t clock out.”

You went still. Stunned.

“…How did he know that?”

Hattori looked at you. Quiet. Direct.

“He always knows.”

You stared at the bird. Then at the man in the doorway.

Lucci said nothing. He just stood there, dripping, watching you the way some people might observe a puzzle they weren’t allowed to touch.

And you didn’t know if that was sweet… or mildly alarming.

Maybe both.

You started noticing things after that.

Little shifts.

Lucci always arrived exactly three minutes after you did. Never late. Never early. Never made a show of it; just appeared, like a clock you couldn’t set but somehow always ran on your time.

You never ran out of supplies. Pens, staples, coffee stirrers, we’re always there. Neatly restocked before you ever realized you needed them.

Your chair was always at the perfect height, even after someone else used it. Even after the cleaning staff adjusted the levers. Always just right. You hadn’t touched it in weeks.

And your desk?

Never in the sun. Not directly. But always near enough to catch the warmth. To feel lit without being exposed.

It was subtle. Thoughtful.

And undeniably him.

You began to feel warm. Not just in the literal sense. But in that quiet, steady way that seeps in when someone pays attention to the details you never voice aloud. When someone doesn’t ask, but does.

It wasn’t dramatic.

It wasn’t a confession.

It was a routine. A presence. A thousand invisible gestures that said: I’m here. I see you. I remember.

And what made it sweeter was that he thought he was hiding it.

Rob Lucci remained mute.

Didn’t even communicate silently to you, not directly. Not unless you counted the subtle nods and brow twitches he used like punctuation. He moved like a man made of precision and threat; silent, sharp, and suspiciously well-pressed.

He nodded. He signed things. He glared at the pirates.

And, unfortunately, he let a pigeon do the talking.

At first, it was fine. A little eccentric, sure. But this was Water 7. Half your coworkers had dramatic pasts, questionable fashion choices, or secret identities involving masks and high explosives. Lucci, in comparison, was almost normal.

Silent. Predictable. Occasionally terrifying, like if someone made a scarecrow out of malice and Armani.

But the bird? The bird had plans.

The bird had opinions. The bird had range. And worse, the bird had you in its sights.

It started setting traps.

You were at your desk, calmly reviewing the revised port schedules, when Lucci stepped into your office like the final boss of a very expensive cologne commercial; black hair billowing slightly, green eyes fixed on you like you’d just insulted his entire bloodline.

“Here for the shipment manifests?” you asked, monotone, highlighting a line with your pen.

He nodded.

Hattori fluttered down onto your desk with all the grace of a stage actor making his entrance. He tilted his head at you with a slow, appraising blink.

“He says your organizational charts should be framed. Preferably above his bed.”

You froze. Your jaw tightened. Once. Twice.

 “…Excuse me?”

Across the room, Lucci’s brow furrowed. He made a sharp gesture—a sort of throat-cutting swipe—like he was trying to erase the bird from existence through sheer body language.

Hattori didn’t even flinch. The pigeon cooed smugly. 

“I’m paraphrasing.”

Lucci frowned. Actually frowned. Made a sharp, slicing gesture in the air like he was cutting ties with the concept of flirting itself. Hattori waves a wing like a little shit. (And for the first time, the world’s most feared assassin begins to suspect his bird has betrayed him.)

You stared at the bird. Then, at Lucci, who was now studiously examining the wall as if it contained a better reality.

You tried to go back to work.

You’d drop off files, and the bird would purr,

“He likes the way you cross your ankles.”

You’d misplace your pen, and as you leaned over the desk,

“He’s trying not to look. He’s failing.”

You once asked if Lucci was free for a team lunch.

The bird blinked.

“Emotionally or romantically?”

You nearly sued.

But Lucci?

Lucci never talked. Never smiled. Never laughed. Just stood there like a very finely sculpted statue carved from “brooding sex appeal and murder.” His eye twitched, though. 

You assumed it was a gag.

Until you passed by a window reflection and saw him watching you, not lazily, not idly, but hungrily.

Now, you’ve entered a strange state of denial.

You pretend you don’t notice the way Hattori gets more brazen when Lucci’s tired.

“He wants to know if you’re seeing anyone. And if you’d like to stop.”

You pretend it’s all just misinterpretation.

You pretend you’re not starting to pay extra attention to your clothes, your perfume, your hair.

But it’s getting harder to ignore when Lucci stands closer. When he lingers. When his gloved hand grazes yours under the guise of passing a file, the bird immediately croons:

“His hands are cold, but his thoughts are not.”

You choke on your tea.

The final straw?

You catch Hattori sitting alone at your desk one morning. No Lucci in sight.

The bird preens, fluffs his chest, and says softly, almost seriously:

“He dreams about your shared cubs. It’s making him stupid.”

You freeze. 

“…What?”

Lucci enters ten seconds later.

You pretend you didn’t hear. He pretends he didn’t send the bird ahead like a lovesick missile.

You began to realize something was deeply off when Hattori started enhancing basic conversations and turning logistical reports into accidental love letters. Your job was numbers. Timetables. Freight weights. And somehow, every interaction began to sound like a courtship dance choreographed by an over-caffeinated playwright.

You: “Please confirm the number of ships arriving by noon.” 

Hattori: “He’s saving up PTO for your future joint honeymoon. He hasn’t asked yet. Give it time.”

You: “Does he want coffee?”

Hattori: “He says your mere existence has set off seven internal alarms. He welcomes the threat.”

You: slamming a drawer shut so hard the pens rattled

 Lucci: grim silence, nostrils flaring slightly

 Hattori: “He’s begging me to stop, but he’s too proud to say it out loud.”

You looked up.

Lucci was standing near the doorway, arms folded tight across his chest like he was physically restraining himself from committing homicide. His eyes were closed. Meditative. Or possibly murderous.

The tension in his jaw could’ve cut steel.

Meanwhile, the bird, his tiny, traitorous accomplice, puffed his feathers and looked pleased with himself. Smug. Gleeful. Like this was all part of a larger plan. A slow-burn play scripted with a glitter pen and romantic sabotage.

Worse still?

You were beginning to enjoy it.

It had become your favorite part of the day. Watching Rob Lucci, the human personification of a locked filing cabinet, be undone by a bird with theatrical ambitions. The subtle glances. The growing exasperation. The brief, rare flashes of discomfort; so slight, you’d miss them if you weren’t already looking.

Which you were.

You caught the way his eyes flicked to your desk before you arrived. The exact three-minute delay between your arrival and his. The steady appearance of perfectly stocked pens, fresh staples, and your favorite brand of coffee stirrers is constantly restocked without fanfare. No one ever admitted to it.

Your chair was always at the right height, even after someone else sat in it.

Your workspace? Never in direct sun, but always near it; warm, comfortable, intentional.

It couldn’t be a coincidence.

But he never said anything.

And the bird?

The bird got bolder.

“He thinks you’d look good in his tie. Just his tie.”

That last one made you inhale so sharply, you nearly choked on your spit.

Across the office, Lucci dropped an entire folder. Just: bam. Documents scattered. Eyelid twitching.

Hattori? Beaming. Practically glowing.

You start leaving little treats out for Hattori. Cleaning up your desk just in case Lucci drops by. Pretending not to notice how red his ears get when Hattori says things like:

“He dreams about the way you pronounce ‘ledger.’”

Lucci nearly crushed a clipboard that time. You almost fainted. From either horror or interest, you’re not sure.

You cornered the pigeon not long after on a late afternoon. Balcony breeze ruffling the curtains. Lucci was inside, reviewing invoices with the intensity of a man interrogating them for war crimes.

You cross your arms.

“Are you actually repeating what he says?”

Hattori fluffs his feathers. “Define ‘actually.’”

You narrow your eyes. “He doesn’t even talk to you, does he?”

The bird tilts its head. Then, smugly:

“I’ve taken creative liberties.”

You gape. “You’re telling me—he has no idea?”

“He thinks he’s just sending basic orders. I’ve been ghostwriting this romance for months.”

You gaped. “So none of this was real?”

Hattori fluffed his wings.

“Oh, no. It’s all real. He just… doesn’t know how to say it yet.”

He flapped once and landed on the railing.

“Someone had to move the plot forward.”

You looked up. Slowly.

Lucci was standing by the window, the morning light cutting across his tank top in pale gold. Still. Silent. As always.

But you noticed it now, the tension in his shoulders. The stillness that wasn’t indifference but restraint. Like he was holding his breath behind his eyes.

You met his gaze.

He looked away.

And the bird?

The bird just cooed. Softly. Like a curtain closing on the final act of a play only he’d been narrating.

He hasn’t said anything yet because he thinks he shouldn't want things like this. Things like you.”

Inside, Rob Lucci looked up from his paperwork, just in time to see you laughing.

Really laughing.

And something in his posture eased. Barely. A ripple across stone.

He didn’t smile.

But his eyes softened, just enough.

And the bird? The bird winked at you.

Then the bastard adds:

“You’re welcome.”

You’ve been working with Rob Lucci for three months now.

Three months of complete silence from him. Three months of Hattori the Hellbird™ crooning veiled compliments and romantic espionage. Three months of subtle, possibly imagined kindnesses.

And you’re starting to feel like you’re losing your damn mind.

You know better than to crush on a coworker. Especially one who doesn’t talk. Especially one whose bird might be a liar. Especially one who, for all you know, is just standing there like a statue while his bird builds an elaborate fantasy in his name.

But…

Your pens never run dry. Your coffee is always at the perfect temperature. Your broken drawer now glides like butter, and you never told anyone it was stuck.

And that one time you nearly tripped in the hallway?

Lucci didn’t even blink. But the moment you stumbled, he had a hand on your lower back; steady, firm, gone in a second.

Hattori said nothing that time.

You’re beginning to believe the bird might actually be the most honest part of this entire equation.

You finally snap during a meeting.

Iceburg is droning on about port clearance when you accidentally glance at Lucci. He’s looking at you, not just casually, but like he’s been looking at you. Focused. Faintly frowning. That same unreadable stare he always has, but this time, it catches you in the chest.

You drop your pen. Hattori says:

“He’s wondering if you drop things around him on purpose so he’ll bend over. He finds it flattering.”

You make a noise somewhere between a squeak and a groan.

You corner Iceburg in the break room with the dead-eyed intensity of a woman on the edge.

“I need to ask something,” you mutter, gripping your coffee cup like a lifeline. “But I need you to promise not to laugh.”

Iceburg raises an eyebrow. “…Sounds promising.”

You exhale. “Is Lucci… weird with everyone? Or just me?”

He pauses. “You mean silent? Or brooding?”

“Neither! I mean—yes, but—” You rub your temples. “I think he might be… doing things for me. Quiet things. I don’t know. Helpful things. Sweet things. And the bird—” 

You gesture vaguely, as if invoking some cursed spirit.

“The bird keeps saying things. Romantic things. Things I want to believe but probably shouldn’t.”

Iceburg stares.

Then he leans back and mutters, “Oh.”

You blink. “What?”

He takes a long sip of coffee. “That damn pigeon. I told Lucci not to let it speak unsupervised. It’s been running rogue since that last shop had a parrot who taught it sentience.”

Your blood goes cold. “You mean Lucci doesn’t know what the bird’s been saying?”

“Oh, no, he probably knows.” Iceburg shrugs. “Eventually. But he’s the kind of guy who’ll watch a building burn down and wait for someone else to call the fire department. If that bird is confessing for him, he’ll let it burn.”

You stare. “So you’re saying I’ve spent three months being seduced by a pigeon with zero confirmation that the man behind it is even aware it’s happening?!”

Iceburg pats your shoulder. “You’re doing great.”

You go back to your desk, shoulders tense, heart pounding.

Lucci glances up from a file. Doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t need to. The look lingers a second too long.

Then Hattori hops onto your keyboard and says sweetly:

“He dreams of you in his bed. But mostly, he dreams of you staying.”

You close your eyes.

“…If I punch the bird, does that count as workplace violence?”

“Lucci wonders if you like your men quiet or dangerous. He’s asking for a friend. A very quiet, dangerous friend.”

You think he might not be just the public’s problem. He might be yours.

I'm apologizing for my last story with this one.

[blackjackkent]

The most important part of our quick map circuit is Flymm's Cobblers, which is actually the reason I decided to do a quick sweep in the first place because I remembered it was definitely Durge-relevant.

Rakha did not have a chance to talk to the guy in the House of Hope who explains that Gortash's parents sold him to Raphael, so she doesn't have the same context that Hector did for learning that Gortash's parents are here and tadpoled.

Connect your tadpole to hers. Delve into her mind.

Narrator: You search her mind, but the psionic forces that control her are different, split somehow. Your own consciousness slips into the gap.

Help me. Gods, help me! Enver's ruined my mind. He's taken my body! I should've slammed the door in his face, but I let him in, and he rammed some kind of worm in our eyes. I'm here, but I can't speak. I can't act. I'm trapped.

"What exactly happened?" Rakha asks, listening to the strange, warbling rhythm of the old woman's thoughts.

We hadn't seen him in so long, Sally Flymm answers. I knew he was an animal, but I underestimated him. He sauntered in - 'Lord Gortash.' What a name, conjured up like a cheap trick. Said he was back - for good - and he wanted to repay us for his childhood. Still bitter after all these years. But we did what was best for him, for all of us. We had debts, world-ending debts trying to keep this cursed shop afloat. Dangerous lenders who said they'd bury us all if we didn't pay. Then a warlock offered us a pretty penny for Enver's service. He was a smart boy, too smart. It was give him up and all of us live, or refuse and die. What choice did we have?

Rakha takes this in silently, unimpressed. She has no love for Gortash - but this story rings too closely to the tale of Wyll's father turning him out in the cold. If she wants to get poetic, even to her own father who ripped the blood out of her body when she wouldn't do what he wanted.

"You had every choice,"(*) she says curtly.

We got good coin for him, Sally answers. Closed our debts, and all of us kept our lives - Enver included. You may disagree. Enver did. But we don't deserve this - this torment. You're the first person who's heard the real me in months.

Rakha can hear the trapped woman's desperation, and is in a way grateful that she's spared from having to decide what to do about it. She can't even get the worm out of her own head, let alone someone else's.

"I could put you out of your misery, if you like," she says curtly. It's not really a serious offer, but more sardonic - a reflection that once again, the only idea that comes to her is killing.

There has to be another way! Sally wails. I deserve to live again! I deserve my own life!

Rakha shrugs. "There's nothing I can do for you, at least for now. I'm sorry."

There has to be! I can't live like this! I'm trapped... trapped! Sally wails, as Rakha breaks the connection and backs away.

-----

The conversation with Gortash's father is even more unnerving.

Narrator: You delve into his mind and find... nothing. Like someone or something has drained his mind of all personality.

Troubling.

Upstairs, though, are a few documents that Rakha can't help but find interesting - because they are documents from Gortash's original plans for the Absolute and the domination of Baldur's Gate.

First, a book labeled "The Ultimate State":

And second and far more important, a book of letters in a box, labeled "Scrapbook of Letters":

The earliest plans, letters between Gortash and... Rakha herself. She peers with great curiosity at the cipher in her handwriting, symbols that she doesn't recognize.

It makes her terribly uncomfortable and yet... uncomfortably fascinating at the same time. It is a piece of the past she cannot remember, the person she used to be. Evidence of the bloodsoaked bond she once had with Gortash, the man she is en route to kill.

After thinking about it for a long time, she stuffs the letters in her pocket and stalks out of the shop, leaving Gortash's parents locked inside their skulls.

-----

(*) Shortened version of the in-game line, "You had every choice. You sold your son to a warlock - that's unforgiveable" to sound a little more Rakha-ish.