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Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her

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@authorus
i saw these tweets and immediately thought of them
â°á´É´ÉŞá´ âłá´á´É´ÉŞá´ âłÉŞÉ´á´Ę, YŇá´Ě¨Ě¨á´Â â§
 Breathless for want of every minute brush of skin, Bill didnât 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 scholarâs featuresâ 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.
 âWhatâŚ?â 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 allâ together or intermittentlyâ 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.
 âI feel,â How foreign these words were to the tongue. âLikeâŚIâm going to fall.â 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.
 âDonât let me.â This low murmur split the manâs lipsâ 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.
 âNone of this was a problem before whatever you did.â Again accusation arose in his tone (albeit weakly), curiosity and blatant wonder standing more prevalent than anger, or even frustration.
 âOnly humankind would be stupid enough to enjoy this feeling.â 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 mindâ anticipating it, even. Though there was one thing of which he was quite sureâŚ
 He wouldnât be holding himself up for much longer.
   As the otherâs voice grew frailer, so did his grip. Although faint at first, Ford could feel the otherâs 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 Billâs 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 couldnât be healthy. Especially for someone experiencing them for the first time. And with a lifted hand placed upon Billâs forehead, it was evident that Ford wasnât 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 wasnât a healthy situation for the other man to find himself in.
   And so, with a grin and another brush along Billâs cheek did Ford respond: âI suppose then youâre more human than youâd like to admit. Youâre literally falling for me.â A small laugh was uttered. âCome on. Youâre tired, I can tell. This is obviously incredibly overwhelming for you.â
   When Stanford Pines began the day, he certainly didnât 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 otherâs face, features soft, eyes bright. âYou can spend the night if youâd like. Though... will you make it to the second floor? You look as though you can barely stand straight.â
[ COOL DANCE JAMS IN BACKGROUND ]
if youâve ever wanted to hit up a nerdy cool old man during a ball, hereâs your shot!! like this post for a ball-related mini. capping at four.
[ OMINOUS MUSIC IN BACKGROUND ]
with a handy dandy new laptop and a muse fired up and ready to go, hereâs a starter call!! like this post for a normal, non-ball rleated mini. capping at two.
BAD RâĄMANCE | bill cipher.
   Head low, eyes down. Itâs hard for him to breathe -- he let his niece and nephew pick out this suit. Itâs nice, but itâs 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 wonât keep his eyes off him? He canât tell.
   He has to end this now. He knows itâs him. The demonâs 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 --
   Donât say it. Donât remember what happened just days before. Donât 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 Fordâs 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. âTake this as an exchange.â He holds one out. âI donât want you to be anywhere near me. Iâll buy you whatever you want -- just please.â Heâs pleading now. âStay away from me.â
â°á´É´ÉŞá´ âłá´á´É´ÉŞá´ âłÉŞÉ´á´Ę, YŇá´Ě¨Ě¨á´Â â§
providemon:
  It wasnât until he had taken a step ever slightly into the warmth of anotherâs 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 authorâs face in the effort to exploit the luxury of touch to its utmost.
  Beneath the siege Fordâs 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 culpritâ 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 Billâs 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 Stanfordâs 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 Fordâs embrace. Hands once sealed upon either side of the scholarâs face fell to shoulders far broader than his own, snaking their way about the otherâs neck in effort to hold himself up.
  âYou donât have to apologize to me, Specs.â At last did speech serve to gently interject. And, although it was to darkness he spoke, Bill had no need to greet Fordâs gaze with eyes open to imagine the expression he might have been making at that moment. âI like that about you, haha!â
  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 companionâs touchâ his tone, his breath. It was unnatural, pitting in Billâs mind the need to attribute culpability for what vulnerabilities had become him.
  âMy bodyâ itâs sinking⌠What did you do to me?â
   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.
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...!!
â°á´É´ÉŞá´ âłá´á´É´ÉŞá´ âłÉŞÉ´á´Ę, YŇá´Ě¨Ě¨á´Â â§
providemon:
  Fordâs offense Bill took as fuel to fire off all the many differences which estranged them. Only now in light of the demonâs humanity, how few there were to speak of, lending him little ammunition with which to combat Fordâs 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 dieâ 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 âemotionsâ.
  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 Fordâs hands. In the instant his lips were upon the entityâs 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 manâs 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 nowâ a knot twisting and untwisting mercilessly in the pit of his stomachâ the parting of lips sealed once in unspoken recognition was something he wouldnât stand for long. After all, theyâd 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. Intelligenceâ logicâŚthese 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 manâs 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.Â
   What a bunch of bullshit.
   Ford could feel the otherâs hesitation; his quivered breaths, his shaking fingertips against his skin. In response did his other hand reach up to one of Billâs 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 wasnât experienced in this activity, Ford was quick to take the lead. Head leaning closer to his, pushing further and further in he found that Billâs 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 authorâs 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 Billâs first kiss. He wasnât 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 didnât 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 Billâs, 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 didnât even know old men could still get this excited! In any case, with a slow swipe of his thumb, the author stroked the otherâs cheek with the gentlest touch.
    âSorry. I... I sometimes get a little carried away.â
â°á´É´ÉŞá´ âłá´á´É´ÉŞá´ âłÉŞÉ´á´Ę, YŇá´Ě¨Ě¨á´Â â§
providemon:
  It was an honest whirlwind of emotions which had led them to this point, Billâs grip only serving to tighten upon the tether which drew Ford to him. Were he to relinquish this simple trinket of the scholarâs, would he not turn his back on him? Somehow, the thought of this Bill couldnât bear. So stubbornly did he cling to the very thing which assured him of Fordâs 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.
  âHow would you feel if you were forced to occupy the form of an ant ground beneath your heel?â Waspish at first these words were presented, honeyed eyes narrowing ever slightly to counter his opposition. âI, who have and will outlive the birth and death of your galaxyâ imprisoned in a cage of flesh? I know itâs hard to imagine how it feels, Specsâ empathy was never your strong suit.â 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.
  âI feel sick, fragile. Like a gust of wind could come at any minute and sweep me into a pile of dustâ haha!â 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.
  âHave you thought much about your mortality, IQ? How any day now you could cease to keep breathingâ 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 alleyââ 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 Fordâs treating him like a âspecimen.â 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 wasnât 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 wonât 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.
   "Donât you dare claim I donât know what youâre experiencing,â he hissed through seethed teeth. âI... I know Iâm not the most empathetic man, but...â
   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 didnât know what love felt like! What feeling so enamored with another person to the point you canât 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 couldnât 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.
   Fordâs 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,â was all he said, interrupting Bill from his rant. The shoulder upon the once-demonâs 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 heâd wanted to do so many years ago:
   He pressed his lips against Billâs.
â°á´É´ÉŞá´ âłá´á´É´ÉŞá´ âłÉŞÉ´á´Ę, YŇá´Ě¨Ě¨á´Â â§
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 Fordâs 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.
  âDonât act like that wasnât what you were waiting for all along, Sixer!â Billâs 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 wasnât scared of Ford. And why should he be? âAll these years you spent in the dark waiting for some fellow fĚśr̨ȩak like me to open a door and throw you a bone! You brought me here! You made me a promise. And now you think Iâm just going to let you out of it scot-free? Haâhahaha!â
  His free hand rose as if intending to grip at where a dull throbbing arose beneath his temple, golden eyes never once deviating from Fordâs slow approach. Yet when he spoke, into silence again the entity fell, conflict brewing in the back of his mind. SomehowâŚhe felt entirely misplacedâ as though his thoughts didnât 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.
  âWhat does it matter? Are you planning on collecting those too?â 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. âThis is what you want.â A slight shake was given to indicate the journal Bill held now deceptively limp in hand. âGo on. Take it.â
   âNo, I--â 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 authorâs âspecimens.â 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 âthank you.â
   Although Billâs 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 demonâs insults, his nickname âfreakâ as common as his own name. But the moment Bill had said it, the scholar doubted the authenticity of his words. âFreakâ 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: Billâs 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 anyoneâs 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, Billâs grip failed to release.
   Ford scowled.
   âBill.â He removed his hand from the once-demonâs wrist, placing it instead atop his shoulder. âWhatâs going on with you?â
   Oh, no. Stanford Filbrick Pines, youâre not feeling sympathetic for this man are you?
â°á´É´ÉŞá´ âłá´á´É´ÉŞá´ âłÉŞÉ´á´Ę, YŇá´Ě¨Ě¨á´Â â§
providemon:
  A melting pot of emotion flooded him, managing to commandeer Billâs 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 Fordâs 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-demonâs senses beyond his capacity to contend.
  At first he couldnât 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 acutelyâŚ
  âYou Idiot. You look at me and all you see is another entry to be made in your damn journal!â Frustrations boiled to a head as the polygonâs tone took a turn for the worse, little attention paid to the plague of humanity threatening to make its damp trail down the humanâs cheek.
  âYou canât even imagine what this is likeâ this horrible feelingâ!â 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 couldnât stand itâ he wouldnât.
  âWho do you think youâd be without this?â This demand arose alongside a hand flung out to grasp the leather-bound book which adorned the scholarâs desk, holding it to the light now with a piercing eye. âYouâre so blind. Nothingâs changed from all those years agoâ you canât see a thing beyond your own penchant for enlightenment and ego! You donât care who or what it hurts! Just as long as youâve got your precious research to sustain you!â There had been a time where Bill had exploited these properties of Fordâs 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.
   âPut that down!â 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 wasnât the first time Bill had threatened such, and seeing his monthsâ work in front of him only reminded the scholar that it was far from the last.
   âIâm blind? Youâre the one who helped me further my research! Youâre the one who helped me realize my potential...! And for what? So you could bring your friends in for a âparty?â Youâre one to talk if you think Iâm the selfish one!â
   He was playing a dangerous game here. The more he spoke, the more he seemed to irk Bill. Though that wasnât 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 Billâs 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 couldnât 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: âBill.â Another step. âStop.â One more. Voice at a whisper, his figure a mere three feet away from the otherâs. âPlease...âÂ
   Another step did he take, hands reaching out toward the manâs wrist that bore the hand gripped upon the journal. If his eyes hadnât 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 manâs 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 demonâs cheeks up close. Oh, dear.
   âBill.â His grip tightened slightly. âAre... Are you crying...?â
â°á´É´ÉŞá´ âłá´á´É´ÉŞá´ âłÉŞÉ´á´Ę, YŇá´Ě¨Ě¨á´Â â§
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 Billâs 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.
  âOwâ!? Cut it out!â The flashlight shone a split second too long against perfectly rounded pupils, speckles of lights shone like stars dotting the humanâs vision as he lifted a hand to swat away the offending accessory (and Fordâs 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.
  âOh? Looks like Mr. Smart Guy over here finally caught on!â 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.
     â DÍĚĚŹoĚĚĚn̤̾âÍ ĚŻÍĚĚĚšt̡ͥÍ.ĚĄÍĚš â      âDonâtâŚhandle me like one of your specimens.â      ( Donât 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 journalâs pages managing to stir his ire in tandem with another distinct feeling he had yet to name. But whatever it wasâŚit 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 Billâs tone, but the sudden severity in his voice (despite cooed words just moments before) left him, dare he say, almost afraid. But that wasnât going to stop him from refusing to adhere the demonâs request.
   He was human. There wasnât anything he could do to harm him.
   And knowing Bill, he wouldnât even harm him in the first place.
   âMy, what a predicament.â His words were almost sarcastic, though Ford would be lying if he didnât 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 âmeat sacksâ 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 âah!â, 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 Billâs 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 Billâs index finger with it. âHold still,â was all he uttered before pricking the otherâs pointer and dabbing the now-bleeding finger onto a glass dish.
   So much for the demonâs previous request.
   âI want to run some tests on this. I figure you wouldnât have minded the needle. After all, âpain is hilarious,â right?â
yikes! | closed.
@whyamisweaty
   âDipper, would you mind if I borrowed your--â
   âPhone charger,â 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 hadnât been there before.
   Both Pines stood in silence for a brief moment, until at last the scholar piped (rather lightly, might one add), â...Am I interrupting something?â
ADVENTITIOUS â | closed.
@paperpines
   âTyrone! Over there-- grab that mop...!!â
   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.)
   âHurry, boy!â
â°á´É´ÉŞá´ âłá´á´É´ÉŞá´ âłÉŞÉ´á´Ę, YŇá´Ě¨Ě¨á´Â â§
   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 wasnât 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 Rubikâs cube out of his hands now, the scholar heaved an exasperated exhale: long, drawn out, and hard. His eyes flickered toward the cube â now far from his reach â 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.
   âGuest? I believe a âguestâ is a person of whom is invited.â His frown deepened and lowered, similar to his knitted brows. âLast I checked, I didnât ask you to make such a perilous journey to my office.â
   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 demonâs 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 âguest,â arms crossed, figure against the cabinet. âWhy are you here, Bill? What do you want?â
  The jibe stungâ 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 didnât 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 theyâre 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 importantâŚ? The honest answer was unimaginably shockingâ 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 creatureâs heart rate spike. Ford had always known how to hold his attentionsâ 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 manâs detriment came to mind, one he couldnât 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 hadnât moved from his relaxed position, much less made any motion towards such a weapon Bill could not doubt was indeed concealed upon his personâ he was sure of it. So howâŚ?
  âIââ 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 beingâs battle against the staggering humanity which would no longer permit he shed itâs skin, preferring to claim the beast as one of their own against all protests.
  Thus far the most simplistic he could reckon without hesitationâŚfear, 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 moreâŚthis acheâ of âguiltâ. Tyrone had named it; of âregretâ. 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)âŚ
  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 strangerâ 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 sicknessâŚthen why?
  âIâŚI donât ķnoĚĄwŇ̾͢ÍĚ?ĚśÍĚĄĚśÍ â
   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 wasnât 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 Billâs within seconds. âHold still,â was all he uttered, his hand at work pushing Billâs 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) demonâs skin, the authorâs face backed away from the otherâs. Lips pursed and eyes squinted, he looked away. Staggered, one would say. Aghast would be more fitting. Horrified at what Bill had become. He couldnât 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 Billâs forehead. âThat explains a lot now, actually.âÂ
Undertale Starter Meme
cittastarters:
âAfter a great meal, I like to lie on the ground and feel like garbage.â
âAnything can make a good story with enough spin!â
âArenât you excited? Arenât you happy?â
âBeautiful. Why donât you write a book?â
âBe good, alright?â
âDidnât you read the sign?â
âDid you hear what they just said?â
âDid you know I love to âget owned?ââ
âDisgusting. Iâd love to try it sometime.â
âDonât you have anything better to do?â
âDonât you know how to greet a new pal?â
âExcuse me, do you want to know how to beat me?â
âFinally, someone gets it.â
âForgive me for this.â
âGolly, you must be so confused.â
âGoodbyes arenât allowed in my town.â
âHavenât I done a great job protecting you?â
âHavenât you ever seen a cooking show before?â
âHe flexed himself out of the room!â
âHeheh⌠The old whoopee cushion in the hand trick. Itâs ALWAYS funny.â
âHey, lighten up, bucko! Iâm just joking with you.â
âHey, thatâs my emptiness, not yours.â
âI am just a silly little lady who worries too much!â
âI am only protecting you, do you understand?â
âI canât afford not to care anymore.â
âI canât go to hell. Iâm all out of vacation days.â
âI could make friends with a wimpy loser like you any day!â
âI donât like you the way you like me.â
âI donât need friends! Iâve got KNIVES!â
âIf I were you, I wouldâve thrown in the towel by now.â
âI found a gun in a dumpster!â
âIf you werenât my houseguest, Iâd beat you up right now!â
âI just want to have handsome, bishonen eyes.â
âI knew you had it in you!â
âIâm gonna need some dog treats for this!!!â
âIâm just a dozen away from a double digit follower count!â
âIâm nineteen years old and Iâve already wasted my entire life.â
âIâm not ready for this to end.â
âIn this world, itâs kill or be killed.â
âI really should have killed you when I had the chance.â
âIs (the sound a baby makes) an emotion?â
âItâs not wrong. Itâs just my headcanon.â
âItâs rude to talk about someone whoâs listening.â
âIâve heard they have things called bathrooms.â
âI want you to be happy, too.â
âI will bathe in a shower of kisses every morning.â
âNever interact with attractive people.â
âNowâs your chance to accept my mercy.â
âNow youâll see my true power: relying on people who arenât garbage!â
âOh no! Youâre meeting all my standards!â
âPlants canât talk, dummy.â
âQuick, behind that conveniently-shaped lamp.â
âReally not feelinâ up to it right now. Sorry.â
âRemember how I said NOT to shoot at me?â
âRevenge wonât bring anybody back.â
âSorry, canât talk. Iâm busy being popular on-line.â
âSo what if a few people have to die?â
âStop plaguing my life with incidental music!â
âStudying history sure is easy when youâve lived through so much of it yourself!â
âThaaaaaatâs politics!â
âThatâs the trash can. Feel free to visit it any time.â
âThat was fun. Letâs finish the job.â
âThe only joke here, is how strong my muscles are.â
âThey come. They leave. They die.â
âThis is just a friendly, um, killing between acquaintances!â
âTime for our union-regulated break!â
âToo intimidated to fight me, huh?â
âWatching someone on a screen really makes you root for them.â
âWere those two robots making out?â
âWhat a terrible creature, torturing such a poor, innocent youthâŚâ
âWhat do you think of my secret style?â
âWhere are the knives.â
âWhere is this? Where can I see the Anime.â
âWho knew that all I needed to make pals was to give people awful puzzles and then fight them?â
âWho needs arms with legs like these?â
âWhy would I ever be friends with you?â
âWill anyone like me as sincerely as you?â
âWould you smooch a ghost?â
âYou arenât gonna tell my parents about this, are you?â
âYou canât spell âpreparedâ without several letters from my name!â
âYou canât understand how this feels.â
âYou didnât need my help, which is great, âcause I love doing absolutely nothing.â
âYou do not dislike cinnamon, do you?â
âYou just wanted to see me suffer.â
âYou think Iâm just gonna stand there and take it?â
âYouâll never see âem again.â
âYouâre filled with determination.â
âYou really hate me that much?â
âYouâre giving me a real workout.â
âYouâre gonna have a bad time.âÂ