TRUST ME.

❝ knowing that they were paid to remember the past, he blew out a hot breath and said— BURN IT ALL. ❞ stanford pines. bb gun. apartment h-4. affiliated with citta alveare.

[busket]

i saw these tweets and immediately thought of them

[providemon]

ℰᴇɴɪᴇ ℳᴇᴇɴɪᴇ ℳɪɴᴇʏ, Y҉ᴏ̨̨ᴜ ❧

[providemon]

  Breathless for want of every minute brush of skin, Bill didn’t bother to interject as the other man complied with his weak-willed interrogation. Yet in spite of the honest tones in which he spoke, Bill found it increasingly difficult to believe that something so small had wrought shambles of his humanity.

  How could they ever live to suffer such fragility? To think that something as simple as a brush of lips had left him weak at the knees. Any predator (such as himself) would have relished this moment; diced and gobbled them up like the pathetic slabs of meat they were. Still, in spite of this did the limbs Bill had been bequeathed continue to fight any ounce of will power directed towards holding him up.

  Dependent upon arms wound snug about broad shoulders, Bill merely contented himself to observe the comings and goings of every small shift to the scholar’s features– from the faint furrow of a brow, to the enamored glow which gave life to oceanic hues all alight beneath a line of fine lashes. With these details he found himself every bit as absorbed as he was fascinated, the impending brush of golden locks from his forehead taking the creature well off guard.

  Beneath the genteel gesture he again felt his form buckle, gilded hues lazily rising to regard the eventual press of lips upon his brow. So accompanying the motion did a skip of a beat lend his heart to thrum all the most fastly, almost as though with the intent to make up for the hiccup.

  “What…?” The retort was soft at first, more of a vague whisper to attest to his inability in the course of a moment never before experienced by his kind. Nor, did he think, would it ever be again. But in the here and now, Bill had never felt so groundless in a human body before.

  Occupying a host had meant sensation beyond measure. His blood coursed hard and fast, winds gusted past his ear with fervent persistence, the earth beneath his heels drifted leisurely with the shifting of tectonic plates… He felt it all– together or intermittently– but always. And now? While his experience as a human himself was much the same in many aspects, these flights of feeling were not the likes to which he was acclimated. In fact, it was almost as though he felt nothing, and yet everything all at once.

  “I feel,” How foreign these words were to the tongue. “Like…I’m going to fall.” The demon replied blearily, softly spoken words a desperate plea for Ford to hold him tighter, closer. For the opportunity to experience his warmth, and hearken the steady rhythm of his heart strumming a steady allegro moderato beneath his chest. His skin burned where familiar lips had graced him with their touch, a hunger stirred in the pit of his stomach that would not be satiated except with the uncontested compliance of his company.

  “Don’t let me.” This low murmur split the man’s lips– less an indication of any form of affection as it was an order issued, heedless to the ounce of desperation which was telling of his condition to the fellow human. However, for all the care Bill paid, his attentions lay more vested in his attempts to reclaim some power and control from the dazed feeling left over from lips which anointed his own.

  “None of this was a problem before whatever you did.” Again accusation arose in his tone (albeit weakly), curiosity and blatant wonder standing more prevalent than anger, or even frustration.

  “Only humankind would be stupid enough to enjoy this feeling.” What would usually have come across as strictly condescending arose from first-hand experience as arms tightened again about the shoulders of the other, resigned to whatever pursuit Ford had next in mind– anticipating it, even. Though there was one thing of which he was quite sure…

  He wouldn’t be holding himself up for much longer.

[authorus]

     As the other’s voice grew frailer, so did his grip. Although faint at first, Ford could feel the other’s weight grow heavier upon him. Likewise, he had assumed initially it was the sudden sensitivity to all things around them. The ticking of the clock at his wall, the way Bill’s hair nestled beneath his touch, how the room suddenly became warmer. But no, it was quite evident that the once-demon was, in fact, leaning further into him.

     It was a pleasant feeling: to be relied on. To be the result of an unknown feeling to such a powerful being, one of which who had lived for centuries, eons. And to Ford, perhaps it was a sort of revenge toward Bill. Making him feel this way -- so weak, so vulnerable. After all these years, these were feelings that for once, were mutual.

     For so long had he felt so small. And now, here he was: practically holding the man up on his feet. It was a nice feeling yes, but it did bring a pang of guilt over the man, along with concern.

     These sort of feelings couldn’t be healthy. Especially for someone experiencing them for the first time. And with a lifted hand placed upon Bill’s forehead, it was evident that Ford wasn’t the only room with a sudden rise in temperature. He was hot to the touch, with skin as white as the pages within the journal beside them. No matter how amused the scholar was, this wasn’t a healthy situation for the other man to find himself in.

     And so, with a grin and another brush along Bill’s cheek did Ford respond: “I suppose then you’re more human than you’d like to admit. You’re literally falling for me.” A small laugh was uttered. “Come on. You’re tired, I can tell. This is obviously incredibly overwhelming for you.”

     When Stanford Pines began the day, he certainly didn’t expect to offer Bill Cipher his bed. At least the twins were asleep. The Shack was sound asleep. Nothing would intrude.

      His hands slipped from the other’s face, features soft, eyes bright. “You can spend the night if you’d like. Though... will you make it to the second floor? You look as though you can barely stand straight.”

[authorus]

[ COOL DANCE JAMS IN BACKGROUND ]

if you’ve ever wanted to hit up a nerdy cool old man during a ball, here’s your shot!! like this post for a ball-related mini. capping at four.

[authorus]

[ OMINOUS MUSIC IN BACKGROUND ]

with a handy dandy new laptop and a muse fired up and ready to go, here’s a starter call!! like this post for a normal, non-ball rleated mini. capping at two.

[authorus]

BAD R♡MANCE | bill cipher.

     Head low, eyes down. It’s hard for him to breathe -- he let his niece and nephew pick out this suit. It’s nice, but it’s much too fitted (these kids and their fashion trends today; honestly, what happened to nice, large suits?). His neck feels trapped, as if he heaved in too heavy of an inhale he would suffocate. Is it the tie or the fact Bill won’t keep his eyes off him? He can’t tell.

     He has to end this now. He knows it’s him. The demon’s using a different body, but his eyes -- he knows. Bill has been staring at him for what feels like hours. Is it amusement? Curiosity? It has to be a mix of both. Last he saw him they were --

     Don’t say it. Don’t remember what happened just days before. Don’t think about how close he was to you, how you were happy and in love and everything felt so right, and now. How everything went back to normal. How everything broke apart, left to nothing more but embarrassment and shame.

      Well, at least on Ford’s part.

      His frown deepens, fists clutched, sweaty. Gold eyes upon ashen skin feels uncomfortable, and the longer his gaze lays upon him, the warmer Ford feels in his suit. He has to end this. Now.

   So he approaches him, a martini in both hands. “Take this as an exchange.” He holds one out. “I don’t want you to be anywhere near me. I’ll buy you whatever you want -- just please.” He’s pleading now. “Stay away from me.”

[providemon]

ℰᴇɴɪᴇ ℳᴇᴇɴɪᴇ ℳɪɴᴇʏ, Y҉ᴏ̨̨ᴜ ❧

[authorus]

providemon:

   It wasn’t until he had taken a step ever slightly into the warmth of another’s embrace that Bill came by the realization that his hands were considerably more empty than what they had been in moments prior. This realization was brought on by the elevation poised beneath his heel, not even a downward glance paid to the leather-bound book which had at some point slipped weakly from his fingertips. Instead, upon his current prize they lay intent, coveting every inch of the author’s face in the effort to exploit the luxury of touch to its utmost.

   Beneath the siege Ford’s lips lay upon his own, it was only a short time until Bill found his head swimming. The action in itself could have been the culprit– as it was too responsible for the weakness to assail his knees, which moment by moment were robbed of the will to support his weight. Yet more likely was it that his vision (now alternating between a sea of stars and inky blackness) was instead born of Bill’s neglect for the air pooled about them on all sides.

   For all the mind he paid, one could have rightfully assumed he had all but forgotten to breathe in turn for the intensity accompanying a union an eternity in the making. Instead to the heat which blossomed forth with each and every whisper of breath upon his skin did the once-demon submit, until he was fairly certain that the strength which held him aloft was not his own, but belonging to those of arms and digits would secure and safe about his form.

   New breath returned to the beast some inkling of consciousness, remnants of darkness and smoke blinked away to avail him of a scene once realized only in the recesses of Stanford’s most private reveries. In spite of the flood of oxygen again to run rampant through his blood did the neophyte to humanity remain dazed, a crooked grin left to adorn his features as he hearkened the remark Ford put forth. And then? He laughed.

   Many a note of unkindness had been wrought of such a sound before, now voided out by a feeling most contrary to the sadistic amusement which kindled the cackle most often to his lips. Instead, the basis of this gesture was not in any way depreciating the worth of his company, but bearing with it a sincerity otherwise unheard of in all matters where the demonic entity was concerned.

   Taken entirely by this gleeful exclamation, the racket only served to disturb the butterflies set free in his chest, now bounding off his rib cage with reckless abandon as the man adjusted himself within Ford’s embrace. Hands once sealed upon either side of the scholar’s face fell to shoulders far broader than his own, snaking their way about the other’s neck in effort to hold himself up.

   “You don’t have to apologize to me, Specs.” At last did speech serve to gently interject. And, although it was to darkness he spoke, Bill had no need to greet Ford’s gaze with eyes open to imagine the expression he might have been making at that moment. “I like that about you, haha!”

   Desperation and desire in tandem were a dangerous foe, driving the man to the very brink of indulgence his withering skin puppet no longer saw fit to facilitate. For, it was soon to the weakness which had come to inhabit his form that Bill now attuned his remaining senses, something in the back of his mind pitting Ford at fault for the frailty which befell him.

   Since when had it been so difficult to draw breath? It was rather as though a rock weighted down his chest, shoulders festooned with stones which caused him to sink into the heat of his companion’s touch– his tone, his breath. It was unnatural, pitting in Bill’s mind the need to attribute culpability for what vulnerabilities had become him.

   “My body– it’s sinking… What did you do to me?”

     At hearing Bill's laugh, his warm breath against his lips, Ford couldn't help but quirk a brow. Not because the laugh was unexpected -- oh no, that laugh had preoccupied many nightmares in the past -- but it was because it was just that: a laugh. A simple, jolly giggle from the back of the demon's throat; a genuine, mocking-free laugh. To the author, hearing the ex-demon give out such a happy sound was like hearing bells. Simple, yet joyous. Light. Free.      And to hear something so honest left the scholar so,      so      happy.      Hand cupping the other's cheek, Ford allowed his thumb to slide across Bill's temple once more. His eyelids remained low, just barely enough to see that the situation across form him was real, yet enough to close if he found error in his view. Even still, if Bill just slightly glimpsed at the author's eyes would he see only warmth; benevolence; welcoming. For the first time in ages, Ford wanted to be in the same room as the other. He wanted to be close to him -- to feel his breath against his skin and his grasp within his own.      "I didn't do anything," he responded. It was a true statement (to a point). All he did was kiss him. Everything that the man he once called his enemy felt was all on him. "I just..." His eyelids lowered more, voice no higher than a soft whisper. "I just wanted to be close to you."      And with that, he lifted his forehead from the other's, grip tightening just the slightest on Bill's face. With a free hand did he lightly push away the hair from the ex-demon's forehead, and what followed came a light press of the lips onto the man's forehead. It was a simple gesture, but another Ford had wanted to do all those years ago.      And here he was, an old man finally acting upon his wishes; chasing the thing that could mend his shattered heart.      Funny how that worked out.

     "Sinking? Is that how you really feel?" A laugh of his own emerged from the scholar's lips. But curiosity killed, and he couldn't help but follow up with another question regarding Bill's state: "What else do you feel...?"      Really, what did he want to ask was "How do I make you feel?" but. Ah. Baby steps, Stanford. The man just said he felt as if he were drowning; best to not make it worse.

[authorus]

HEYA, FELLAS!

unfortunately, my laptop charger gave out. until my new charger gets delivered (or i find a computer to borrow from someone), replies will be put on hold.

happy roleplaying...!!

[providemon]

ℰᴇɴɪᴇ ℳᴇᴇɴɪᴇ ℳɪɴᴇʏ, Y҉ᴏ̨̨ᴜ ❧

[authorus]

providemon:

   Ford’s offense Bill took as fuel to fire off all the many differences which estranged them. Only now in light of the demon’s humanity, how few there were to speak of, lending him little ammunition with which to combat Ford’s claims. So to the weakness which accompanied the bitter acknowledgement of his own newfound mortality did Bill fall, fear the emotion introduced which crippled from its corners the state of his smile.

   They were all bound to die– gracelessly, alone, and without recognition of due accomplishment by which to be remembered. Such was the striking flaw of humanity. Civilizations Bill had seen rise and fall in the span of a blink of his eye and yet, these historic observations amounted to little in terms of present worth when confronted with the barrage of human flaws they appropriately termed “emotions”.

   The demand for his compliance was greeted only with budding frustration, the likes of which drifted almost instantaneously to the wayside as the minute shift of Ford’s hands. In the instant his lips were upon the entity’s did golden eyes widen in disbelief, any longing he had once attributed to this hopeful gesture long-since melted away. Yet in spite of that desire which he had thought deadened in his chest was reciprocation soon to follow, fingertips inching their way up to grace the man’s cheeks on either side, all the better to perpetuate their union.

   How many years had they squandered in opposition? When in the here and now everything which could have amounted to their mutual happiness had accumulated in anticipation of expression. Overwrought by this feeling now– a knot twisting and untwisting mercilessly in the pit of his stomach– the parting of lips sealed once in unspoken recognition was something he wouldn’t stand for long. After all, they’d waited long enough.

   Amber eyes which had never once parted from his opposition (even to blink) during this entanglement now paired themselves to skyborn hues, able to read in the close and heated silence the uncertainty which became him.

   Hesitation was there, and perhaps the question of whether or not it was too soon to regret what the author himself had willfully initiated. Intelligence– logic…these things would be their downfall if Bill permit them to. Fortunately for Ford, out of a great zest for life did the demon-turned-human act without consideration or intellect. Rather, into the throes of passion he eagerly plunged, unwilling to waste even a second of the short lifespan he had been bequeathed.

   Fingertips ascertained their grip where they lay to either side of the man’s face, the gap again bridged breathlessly which partitioned their lips meeting. Lost he may have been considered, a victim to the faults of feeling which did drive humanity to make the stupidest of mistakes. What a poor excuse for an experience it would be then, were he not to indulge himself likewise.

     For a moment he regretted his actions. Kiss Bill Cipher? The demon responsible for so many restless nights, for leaving him paranoid month upon month -- and yet here he was, lips upon his, grip held to him. But that was all it was: a moment. For the instant he could feel Bill reciprocate, his hands cradling his cheeks, Ford only sunk further.

     He could feel his face rise in temperature the moment Bill leaned into him. For so many weeks did he dream of this in his youth: to have the demon in his grasp and his (and only his) to hold. And despite everything they had been through -- the betrayal, the fights, the insults and toxic encounters -- it was as if all of that had faded away. He felt as if he was a 30-something again, doing his best to please the being from which he formed a contract with.

     Young love. Defined as an intense but relatively shallow romantic attachment. 

     What a bunch of bullshit.

     Ford could feel the other’s hesitation; his quivered breaths, his shaking fingertips against his skin. In response did his other hand reach up to one of Bill’s wrists, wrapping six digits ever so gingerly upon it. His hands had a bad habit of being cold and rugged (a result of frequent ventures within the city), but perhaps they would offer the slightest bit of comfort. He wanted him to feel comfortable around him. He wanted him to trust him.

     Lips parted in search of desperate breaths every here and there, while respiring become more rapid. While it was evident Bill wasn’t experienced in this activity, Ford was quick to take the lead. Head leaning closer to his, pushing further and further in he found that Bill’s mouth was dry, rather tasteless too (might he add), but he was warm, safe. Of course there was his teeth too, as lazy kisses led to collided pearly whites, and his nose was a problem as well. Far too often did it rub against the author’s but -- ah! To hell with it! He was here now with him, and that was really all that mattered. At least his lips were smooth.

     Come to think of it, that was right. This was likely Bill’s first kiss. He wasn’t bad, Ford thought, but considering he was now human... Yeah, this sort of thing was probably incredibly overwhelming for him. Because hey, this was overwhelming for Ford too. His stomach was in knots, his skin felt as if it were on fire, his heart was sure to bounce out of his chest any moment now -- and that was just the least of it.

     He didn’t want it to end. But it had to eventually. So he pulled away. Slowly and regrettably. But only so far so that his forehead could lean against Bill’s, hand still allowing him to hold his face in his grasp. Not only did his eyes remain closed, but quick and fast-paced breaths stayed too. He didn’t even know old men could still get this excited! In any case, with a slow swipe of his thumb, the author stroked the other’s cheek with the gentlest touch.

      “Sorry. I... I sometimes get a little carried away.”

[stariousfalls]

[providemon]

ℰᴇɴɪᴇ ℳᴇᴇɴɪᴇ ℳɪɴᴇʏ, Y҉ᴏ̨̨ᴜ ❧

[authorus]

providemon:

   It was an honest whirlwind of emotions which had led them to this point, Bill’s grip only serving to tighten upon the tether which drew Ford to him. Were he to relinquish this simple trinket of the scholar’s, would he not turn his back on him? Somehow, the thought of this Bill couldn’t bear. So stubbornly did he cling to the very thing which assured him of Ford’s attentions, dark eyes scarcely flickering to where a hand had come to rest now upon his shoulder. But the inquiry which accompanied such a gesture came by no easy answer. In fact, in his throat instead stirred a dry chuckle uttered low and sour beneath his breath pending speech.

   “How would you feel if you were forced to occupy the form of an ant ground beneath your heel?” Waspish at first these words were presented, honeyed eyes narrowing ever slightly to counter his opposition. “I, who have and will outlive the birth and death of your galaxy– imprisoned in a cage of flesh? I know it’s hard to imagine how it feels, Specs– empathy was never your strong suit.” To this truth he spoke with a strained smile, nowhere near as wide as the grin he had formerly adorned. But to speak of this estrangement from all the many things he did know and understand acutely was not without consequence, for the gravity of the matter did weight the inter-dimensional being with what shackles he attributed to the curse of humanity itself.

   “I feel sick, fragile. Like a gust of wind could come at any minute and sweep me into a pile of dust– haha!” These things he found himself admitting to as the thoughts arrived on scene, his eyes tracing their way down to a free palm open and shut at his behest. This sensation was so far from the recreational incidents of possession in which he engaged, each breath and beat of the organ caged behind ribs pushing him (not his host) ever closer towards an untimely demise.

   “Have you thought much about your mortality, IQ? How any day now you could cease to keep breathing– you could get hit by a car, or drop dead of a heart attack. You might wander off a cliff, drown in the ocean, or meet the unfriendly end of a blade in a back alley–” These things Bill could have gone on listing without end, each observation introducing to formerly callous features a further flicker of progressive humanity. For, the thought of any of these things managing to befall the creature before his time was enough to make any man with such a lust for life as he to tremble; weak at the knees with dread.

     His failure to release his journal. His sensitivity at Ford’s treating him like a “specimen.” The blush at his cheeks and his continuous rantings. At that moment exactly, the scientist knew what was wrong with the man across from him.

     Bill desired his attention.

     Bill was envious.

     Bill was in love.

     Oh, how the tables had turned. How ironic was it that, after so many years of wanting him to love him back did Bill finally return his affections. But it was here that he wasn’t sure how genuine his feelings were; this event could leave anyone in love. Yet also now here they were, with the demon unsure as to what he was feeling, how he should react when people won’t treat you the way you want to be treated. To Ford, it was like looking back at his 30-year-old self. Similarly, all the feelings the author swore he left behind all those years ago suddenly came flooding back: the butterflies, the pursed lips, the hazy vision.

     Because after all, it would be a lie to say Ford was still in love himself.

     "Don’t you dare claim I don’t know what you’re experiencing,” he hissed through seethed teeth. “I... I know I’m not the most empathetic man, but...”

     He left his words to trail off again, allowing Bill to continue. Yet despite his words ringing in his ears, all it seemed to Ford was white noise. How dare he say he didn’t know what love felt like! What feeling so enamored with another person to the point you can’t feel your own knees was like; what wanting to be with someone so bad that when they betrayed you, you were left alone to your own thoughts and regrets that you couldn’t believe it to be true! How could he? He knew how much he cared for him all those thirty years ago. He knew exactly how infatuated he was with him.

     Ford’s heart was racing. His hands were shaking as Bill spoke. He wanted so eagerly to be close to him -- but for what? To finally receive what he failed to have in the past? What good was it...? So many times had Bill tormented and insulted him, and suddenly now he wanted to be within his grasp once more. Funny how that worked.

     But what would happen once this whole thing was over? Even if he did go for it, just imagine the consequences the moment Bill reverted to his old self. His rag tag team of friends would be on his ass, and Christ, the amount of insults would increase tenfold. Not to mention what would happen if his family found out. How embarrassing.

     Fuck the scientists, honestly. Fuck them for this goddamn event.

     Oh. God. Fuck me, Ford thought.

     Fuck it.

     "Stop,” was all he said, interrupting Bill from his rant. The shoulder upon the once-demon’s shoulder shifted to the back of his head, pushing his face against his own. And as quick as his comment slipped from his tongue did Stanford Pines finally accomplish what he’d wanted to do so many years ago:

     He pressed his lips against Bill’s.

[providemon]

ℰᴇɴɪᴇ ℳᴇᴇɴɪᴇ ℳɪɴᴇʏ, Y҉ᴏ̨̨ᴜ ❧

[authorus]

providemon:

   The points Ford made to reinforce seemed spoken as if they were intended to inspire regret. And, although this emotion Tyrone had helped Bill attribute towards the situation concerning his six-fingered friend, the predicament was considerably more complicated than just that.

   After all, no regret was there to be had for the end game Bill intended, only the consequences for which he was now being held accountable. And, however deserved Ford’s hatred and mistrust was placed (an observation which had never bothered him before), the humanity which had poisoned the demon would not see him look so painlessly upon the past as he once had.

   “Don’t act like that wasn’t what you were waiting for all along, Sixer!” Bill’s free hand made a swipe out to the side as though to further accentuate his point, not a step either forward or back serving to jeopardize his position. He wasn’t scared of Ford. And why should he be? “All these years you spent in the dark waiting for some fellow f̶r̨ȩak like me to open a door and throw you a bone! You brought me here! You made me a promise. And now you think I’m just going to let you out of it scot-free? Ha–hahaha!”

   His free hand rose as if intending to grip at where a dull throbbing arose beneath his temple, golden eyes never once deviating from Ford’s slow approach. Yet when he spoke, into silence again the entity fell, conflict brewing in the back of his mind. Somehow…he felt entirely misplaced– as though his thoughts didn’t match his words, as much as his actions did counter his new-found emotions. It was a dreadfully obscene imbalance suited to a mind which ascribed to every sense of the term. Although, the sensation of fingertips wound about his wrist did serve to piece them together bit by bit, effectively stifling unruly laughter in favor of the aforementioned distress which had taken him by storm.

   All thoughts of resistance fell to the wayside, this confrontation one which their union had been leading up to from the start. And now that it was here, and the larger questions at hand posed, tense was the air occupied by silence in answer.

   When Bill again found himself capable of drawing breath dark eyes fell to the wayside, seeking not to greet those of clear and unassuming azure. So were words bitterly professed to contend a question he could not have anticipated in his wildest dreams.

   “What does it matter? Are you planning on collecting those too?” His snide retort arrived in reference to the few tears bled of his human host, a half-hearted irritation taking up residence in his tone. “This is what you want.” A slight shake was given to indicate the journal Bill held now deceptively limp in hand. “Go on. Take it.”

     “No, I--” He left his sentence unfinished, unsure as to what to reply with. While tempted yes, it was his mistake to collect a blood sample. A piece of hair would have sufficed honestly, and he had requested to not treat him as one of the author’s “specimens.” But curiosity killed, and Ford was never the best at keeping promises. In any case, lips pursed and voice at a whisper, all he continued with was a small uttered “thank you.”

     Although Bill’s words had stung like a needle pierced through his heart, Ford was somewhat used to them. Fazed, but accustomed. He had long grown adapted to the demon’s insults, his nickname “freak” as common as his own name. But the moment Bill had said it, the scholar doubted the authenticity of his words. “Freak” was just another word to Bill. But the way he said it, the way it slipped from his lips like a hurt schoolboy trying to defend himself from the playground bully made Ford believe that, for once, the now-human man saw himself as such.

     A freak.

     Perhaps becoming human was more than what Bill had bargained. After all, being human was more than just having blood through your veins and a heart to care for.

     The point was: Bill’s claims were far from the truth; mere words in a petty attempt to make himself feel better. Ford had used such before -- he could recognize anyone’s endeavor to do the same. And so gentle was the touch in which he took his journal into his grasp. Yet when he tried to jerk it from the other human, Bill’s grip failed to release.

     Ford scowled.

     “Bill.” He removed his hand from the once-demon’s wrist, placing it instead atop his shoulder. “What’s going on with you?”

     Oh, no. Stanford Filbrick Pines, you’re not feeling sympathetic for this man are you?

[providemon]

ℰᴇɴɪᴇ ℳᴇᴇɴɪᴇ ℳɪɴᴇʏ, Y҉ᴏ̨̨ᴜ ❧

[authorus]

providemon:

   A melting pot of emotion flooded him, managing to commandeer Bill’s features and steer them far from his typical grin. Instead, it was fleetingly that warmth rose from the grace of fingertips to greet his own, disbelief taking him to find that the author would make such a motion of his own accord (though why this indeed mattered to him at all was as much a mystery as anything to follow).

   However, it was as Ford’s intent came clear that a sharp pain assaulted the entity-turned-human. Not a physical pain, no, but one which tugged violently at his heartstrings to the point of snapping, setting the organ free to tumble and shatter into a veritable nest of chipped porcelain at their feet. Even in the silence, Bill imagined the tinkle of shattering glass could be heard; the gaping hole left in its wake a plague upon the once-demon’s senses beyond his capacity to contend.

   At first he couldn’t say anything at all, finding that every word which came to mind was instead stuck in his throat until, despite his efforts, he could no longer entertain the prospect of speech for fear of suffocating beneath it. However, where words fail him his features did again compensate, the prior color draining from his cheeks at the contact to be replaced with the most primary indication of sorrow.

   The feeling of moisture to stain his cheeks he had come by once before, though then they had been tears of laughter, as opposed to whatever feeling now assailed him. Yet it was as they arose to flood his eyes that these minute traces of moisture were received with shock and accumulating resentment; for his sorrow Bill was soon to trade for an emotion he understood much more acutely…

   “You Idiot. You look at me and all you see is another entry to be made in your damn journal!” Frustrations boiled to a head as the polygon’s tone took a turn for the worse, little attention paid to the plague of humanity threatening to make its damp trail down the human’s cheek.

   “You can’t even imagine what this is like– this horrible feeling–!” Again did Bill force the words back down into his throat, finding that his hope in quenching the flames which lapped at his insides were ill-served by giving voice to these thoughts which arose. He couldn’t stand it– he wouldn’t.

   “Who do you think you’d be without this?” This demand arose alongside a hand flung out to grasp the leather-bound book which adorned the scholar’s desk, holding it to the light now with a piercing eye. “You’re so blind. Nothing’s changed from all those years ago– you can’t see a thing beyond your own penchant for enlightenment and ego! You don’t care who or what it hurts! Just as long as you’ve got your precious research to sustain you!” There had been a time where Bill had exploited these properties of Ford’s personality to his advantage. Yet now from the other side of the spectrum did he see the effects of the monster he had helped create.

   Maybe they were both empty after all.

     “Put that down!” A once teasing voice was replaced with anger, the author stepping toward the demon. However, that was all that was made: a step closer. For he feared that if he made any more advancements toward Bill, his Hive City journal would meet an unfortunate fate. It wasn’t the first time Bill had threatened such, and seeing his months’ work in front of him only reminded the scholar that it was far from the last.

     “I’m blind? You’re the one who helped me further my research! You’re the one who helped me realize my potential...! And for what? So you could bring your friends in for a ‘party?’ You’re one to talk if you think I’m the selfish one!”

     He was playing a dangerous game here. The more he spoke, the more he seemed to irk Bill. Though that wasn’t to say Ford himself was annoyed; the parasite had an odd habit of bringing the worst out of him. But for all that was worth, the author had to ask himself: why? Bill always had a witty comeback to combat his defenses. But no, here, he almost seemed... distraught. It was out of character. Unusual. And while becoming human also meant acquiring emotions, he still unsure. What game was Bill playing at?

     Eyes flickered from the journal down to the face of the man who held it, but when Ford expected to see anger upon Bill’s features, all he could find was desperation. Sorrow. Hopelessness. The face of a man who was lost; who seemed to have lost all faith that he could accomplish anything. For a moment the author wondered if this was the same demon who had tormented him for all those years before, but upon closer inspection at his eyes -- fiery, yet somehow earnest -- did he confirm that the human in front of him was such.

     He felt odd. Sympathetic, almost. But he couldn’t be entirely sure.

     He felt bad, yes, but Bill was a tricky fellow. So he attempted to play it cool.

     Ford took another step closer, his tone softer this time, compassionate: “Bill.” Another step. “Stop.” One more. Voice at a whisper, his figure a mere three feet away from the other’s. “Please...” 

     Another step did he take, hands reaching out toward the man’s wrist that bore the hand gripped upon the journal. If his eyes hadn’t failed him (he was rather old, after all), Bill had been blushing just moments before. He wanted to test if he would do it again, but. Ah, perhaps that was an old man’s heart playing with him.

     But no matter how many tests the scholar took, no matter how many hypotheses he formed, nothing could have prepared him from seeing the tears on the demon’s cheeks up close. Oh, dear.

     “Bill.” His grip tightened slightly. “Are... Are you crying...?”

[providemon]

ℰᴇɴɪᴇ ℳᴇᴇɴɪᴇ ℳɪɴᴇʏ, Y҉ᴏ̨̨ᴜ ❧

[authorus]

providemon:

   Contract arisen between this particular pair usually constituted acts of violence inflicted upon the other. That was to say, a means to deprive one of air, or power, or pride. Yet this intent was harbored not in the hand lain flush against Bill’s forehead, a motion which likewise kindled a reaction which would have otherwise been unprecedented where the inter-dimensional being was concerned. However, against his usual nature did the event strive to debunk every aspect of his inhumanity, a heat rising full and fast into his face alongside a violent toss of his stomach.

   “Ow–!? Cut it out!” The flashlight shone a split second too long against perfectly rounded pupils, speckles of lights shone like stars dotting the human’s vision as he lifted a hand to swat away the offending accessory (and Ford’s hand along with it). However, after a brief rub of shut eyes, Bill rather found he did not object to the prolonged contact of a cool palm to his forehead, and even thought to mourn its absence when six digits parted from flushed skin.

   “Oh? Looks like Mr. Smart Guy over here finally caught on!” Bitterly professed were these words, as alongside them rose some small inkling of pain to be attributed to heartstrings pulled taught during the course of conversation. But his tongue railed onward regardless, as if seeking to estrange him from the very object of his desired attentions.

        “ D̘̬́o̞̖̝n̵̤’̯͉̗̖̹͠t̷͔͡.̡͏̹ ”          “Don’t…handle me like one of your specimens.”          ( Don’t you dare… )                                                                                ( Ever. )

   The lashing retort arrived with the taste of venom on his tongue, somehow the very idea of being treated as just another entry in the journal’s pages managing to stir his ire in tandem with another distinct feeling he had yet to name. But whatever it was…it pained him; a reflection for which there was no relief.

     So he was right.

     Bill was human.

     Although his hypothesis was correct, upon its realization did Bill retort rather harshly. This in turn led Ford to back away slightly; not that he was particularly unfamiliar with Bill’s tone, but the sudden severity in his voice (despite cooed words just moments before) left him, dare he say, almost afraid. But that wasn’t going to stop him from refusing to adhere the demon’s request.

     He was human. There wasn’t anything he could do to harm him.

     And knowing Bill, he wouldn’t even harm him in the first place.

     “My, what a predicament.” His words were almost sarcastic, though Ford would be lying if he didn’t agree otherwise. It was a predicament. How funny that Bill -- a demon capable of immense power and unmeasurable knowledge -- had been shrunk to nothing more than the ‘meat sacks’ he so desperately took interest in. And Ford himself, for the first time in thirty years, found himself interested in Bill once more.

     That said, shortly after his comment could the author be seen digging through his desk drawers. Eyes widening and a small voiced ‘ah!’, he took the object he had been looking for, rubbed it onto his lab coat, then turned back to the man beside him.

     Contact upon his skin was made once again as Ford took Bill’s hand within his own. He reached at a handwipe (that was so generously taken from a barbecue restaurant in Sector 1 while dining with the twins) and opened the package, wiping Bill’s index finger with it. “Hold still,” was all he uttered before pricking the other’s pointer and dabbing the now-bleeding finger onto a glass dish.

     So much for the demon’s previous request.

     “I want to run some tests on this. I figure you wouldn’t have minded the needle. After all, ‘pain is hilarious,’ right?”

[authorus]

yikes! | closed.

@whyamisweaty

     “Dipper, would you mind if I borrowed your--”

     ‘Phone charger,’ was what he was going to finish with. But upon stepping into the Mystery Shack basement, what the author was greeted with was the smell of burning incense, the warmth of candles aflame, and a particularly startled boy with a book open in front of him. If he had known any better, it would almost seem as though his nephew was performing a ritual of some kind.

     Well, not like Ford himself hadn’t been there before.

     Both Pines stood in silence for a brief moment, until at last the scholar piped (rather lightly, might one add), “...Am I interrupting something?”

[authorus]

ADVENTITIOUS ⚠ | closed.

@paperpines

     “Tyrone! Over there-- grab that mop...!!”

     Figure upon a pair of doors, Ford nodded his head toward the cleaning object in the corner. A low groan escaped his lips as he tried to keep the doorway shut, but with the amount of angry, fiery undead pushing against the entrance, his efforts seemed futile. So much for trying to set fire to a group of zombies in hopes of shooing them away. (Note to self: throwing a molotov cocktail their way only makes them angrier.)

     “Hurry, boy!”

[providemon]

ℰᴇɴɪᴇ ℳᴇᴇɴɪᴇ ℳɪɴᴇʏ, Y҉ᴏ̨̨ᴜ ❧

[authorus]

     He rose a brow.

     While the parasite demanded attention and pleasure from the author, all that he received was annoyance. He certainly had his attention, but that wasn’t to say it was the kind of attention he wanted, per se. Then again, any thought Ford was so generous as to bestow upon Bill was good enough.

     With the Rubik’s cube out of his hands now, the scholar heaved an exasperated exhale: long, drawn out, and hard. His eyes flickered toward the cube – now far from his reach – then turned back to the man behind him. And so, with the roll of his eyes, he swung his chair toward Bill, cheek rested upon his fist.

     “Guest? I believe a ‘guest’ is a person of whom is invited.” His frown deepened and lowered, similar to his knitted brows. “Last I checked, I didn’t ask you to make such a perilous journey to my office.”

     Almost casually did the author then stand from his chair, pushing past Bill and toward the coffee maker atop his filing cabinet. With diligent hands did he select the coffee pack that he wanted, place it within the machine, and slide a cup underneath before switching it on. The demon’s visits were frequent; Ford was long used to them by now. Might as well relax himself while he dealt with such a creature.

     Once he had the machine going did he turn back to his ‘guest,’ arms crossed, figure against the cabinet. “Why are you here, Bill? What do you want?”

[providemon]

   The jibe stung– not enough to formally hurt, but a pointed tug at fragile human heart strings which did beget a grin at best. Although, it was simultaneously that Bill could feel his ire wavering, careening like a restless sea above an invisible line which marked his point of tolerance.

   He didn’t have to come here in the first place. Who would think to throw themselves at the feet of their enemy at such a point when they’re at their weakest? Yet something had driven the former-demon to do so, willingly risking that delicate human mortality to pursue the abode of the author. But why was this so important…? The honest answer was unimaginably shocking– provided Bill could see these wonderings through to their conclusion.

   Almost as soon as feet graced ground, and he had slid from his seat on the others desk, a rough shove beyond him made the creature’s heart rate spike. Ford had always known how to hold his attentions– but nothing like this could in the past have lent Bill more than a dosage of manic glee to his grin. Instead now had he grown quiet, the incidental brush and inquiry lain before him provided no easy answer.

   A witty retort made to the man’s detriment came to mind, one he couldn’t stomach to give voice over the secondary feelings to blossom forth when dark eyes again made contact with skyborn hues. And, beneath the weight of their scrutiny, Bill all but cringed as if Ford had single-handedly thrust a steel blade into his chest. But he hadn’t moved from his relaxed position, much less made any motion towards such a weapon Bill could not doubt was indeed concealed upon his person– he was sure of it. So how…?

   “I–” Silence became him, not for any fault in wording, but in the course of his conscious mind to dismantle the mountain of emotions he was slowly learning to attribute names to. Tyrone had served as a great help in the inter-dimensional being’s battle against the staggering humanity which would no longer permit he shed it’s skin, preferring to claim the beast as one of their own against all protests.

   Thus far the most simplistic he could reckon without hesitation…fear, excitement, anger. But this was none of these despite the physical indicators which suggested otherwise. What then was it that turned his tongue to lead when he looked at Ford now? Why could he seem to hardly think over the riotous drum of his heart in his presence? And what was more…this ache– of “guilt”. Tyrone had named it; of “regret”. He was not known for being contrite, for remorse. But in this heightening pain he could find no pleasure to be had. If it would stop for just a moment then maybe he could think (or breathe)…

   He knew what he had to say, that repentance was the only way. Yet instead, for the first time a phrase passed his lips so unlike him, they may as well have been spoken by the stranger– the humanity which was but a plague upon his all-encompassing mind. If not to act upon some intended purpose, if not to amuse himself at the expense of the scholar, if not to resolve this sickness…then why?

   “I…I don’t ķno̡w҉̵̛́͢?̶̶̡́͟ ”

[authorus]

     His eyes widened.

     Usually his sentences were met with a witty retort or quick insult, but instead, what his inquiry faced was yet another question. This wasn’t unusual, this was… not right. It was awkward. Unfeasible. Impossible.

     So instead of offering a response of his own, Ford summoned a small flashlight from the inside of his lab coat, his figure upon Bill’s within seconds. “Hold still,” was all he uttered, his hand at work pushing Bill’s hair from his face, his other holding the flashlight into his left eye.

     And to his surprise, what he saw were not slit pupils, oh no. They dilated as soon as the light hit them.

     Although his hand remained on the (once) demon’s skin, the author’s face backed away from the other’s. Lips pursed and eyes squinted, he looked away. Staggered, one would say. Aghast would be more fitting. Horrified at what Bill had become. He couldn’t have… Could he? Was it possible for one to become human during this event? He had seen people become their costumes, but was it possible for Bill to actually--?

     No. But yes. But why?

     Then did that mean--?

     He removed his hand from Bill’s forehead. “That explains a lot now, actually.” 

[cittastarters-blog]

Undertale Starter Meme

[authorus]

cittastarters:

“After a great meal, I like to lie on the ground and feel like garbage.”

“Anything can make a good story with enough spin!”

“Aren’t you excited? Aren’t you happy?”

“Beautiful. Why don’t you write a book?”

“Be good, alright?”

“Didn’t you read the sign?”

“Did you hear what they just said?”

“Did you know I love to ‘get owned?’”

“Disgusting. I’d love to try it sometime.”

“Don’t you have anything better to do?”

“Don’t you know how to greet a new pal?”

“Excuse me, do you want to know how to beat me?”

“Finally, someone gets it.”

“Forgive me for this.”

“Golly, you must be so confused.”

“Goodbyes aren’t allowed in my town.”

“Haven’t I done a great job protecting you?”

“Haven’t you ever seen a cooking show before?”

“He flexed himself out of the room!”

“Heheh… The old whoopee cushion in the hand trick. It’s ALWAYS funny.”

“Hey, lighten up, bucko! I’m just joking with you.”

“Hey, that’s my emptiness, not yours.”

“I am just a silly little lady who worries too much!”

“I am only protecting you, do you understand?”

“I can’t afford not to care anymore.”

“I can’t go to hell. I’m all out of vacation days.”

“I could make friends with a wimpy loser like you any day!”

“I don’t like you the way you like me.”

“I don’t need friends! I’ve got KNIVES!”

“If I were you, I would’ve thrown in the towel by now.”

“I found a gun in a dumpster!”

“If you weren’t my houseguest, I’d beat you up right now!”

“I just want to have handsome, bishonen eyes.”

“I knew you had it in you!”

“I’m gonna need some dog treats for this!!!”

“I’m just a dozen away from a double digit follower count!”

“I’m nineteen years old and I’ve already wasted my entire life.”

“I’m not ready for this to end.”

“In this world, it’s kill or be killed.”

“I really should have killed you when I had the chance.”

“Is (the sound a baby makes) an emotion?”

“It’s not wrong. It’s just my headcanon.”

“It’s rude to talk about someone who’s listening.”

“I’ve heard they have things called bathrooms.”

“I want you to be happy, too.”

“I will bathe in a shower of kisses every morning.”

“Never interact with attractive people.”

“Now’s your chance to accept my mercy.”

“Now you’ll see my true power: relying on people who aren’t garbage!”

“Oh no! You’re meeting all my standards!”

“Plants can’t talk, dummy.”

“Quick, behind that conveniently-shaped lamp.”

“Really not feelin’ up to it right now. Sorry.”

“Remember how I said NOT to shoot at me?”

“Revenge won’t bring anybody back.”

“Sorry, can’t talk. I’m busy being popular on-line.”

“So what if a few people have to die?”

“Stop plaguing my life with incidental music!”

“Studying history sure is easy when you’ve lived through so much of it yourself!”

“Thaaaaaat’s politics!”

“That’s the trash can. Feel free to visit it any time.”

“That was fun. Let’s finish the job.”

“The only joke here, is how strong my muscles are.”

“They come. They leave. They die.”

“This is just a friendly, um, killing between acquaintances!”

“Time for our union-regulated break!”

“Too intimidated to fight me, huh?”

“Watching someone on a screen really makes you root for them.”

“Were those two robots making out?”

“What a terrible creature, torturing such a poor, innocent youth…”

“What do you think of my secret style?”

“Where are the knives.”

“Where is this? Where can I see the Anime.”

“Who knew that all I needed to make pals was to give people awful puzzles and then fight them?”

“Who needs arms with legs like these?”

“Why would I ever be friends with you?”

“Will anyone like me as sincerely as you?”

“Would you smooch a ghost?”

“You aren’t gonna tell my parents about this, are you?”

“You can’t spell ‘prepared’ without several letters from my name!”

“You can’t understand how this feels.”

“You didn’t need my help, which is great, ‘cause I love doing absolutely nothing.”

“You do not dislike cinnamon, do you?”

“You just wanted to see me suffer.”

“You think I’m just gonna stand there and take it?”

“You’ll never see ‘em again.”

“You’re filled with determination.”

“You really hate me that much?”

“You’re giving me a real workout.”

“You’re gonna have a bad time.”