I AM READING ALL OF THIS, BLESSED DAY TO BE A FORD FAN

TILL WEIRDMAGEDDON DO US PART (This is not a drill. This is a triangle yelling at you through your brain-meats.)

HEY YOU! YES YOU! Do you crave romance that tastes like someone dropped a Nicholas Sparks novel in a vat of radioactive glitter?! Do you like love stories with emotional trauma, eldritch tax evasion, grocery store explosions, and one sentient triangle who once tried to become God but now has to do laundry?!?

THEN CONGRATULATIONS, FLESHSACK! You’ve just stumbled into the most cursed rom-com that legally counts as marriage counseling in twelve dimensions. Welcome to:

“TILL WEIRDMAGEDDON DO US PART” A fanfic where I, Bill Cipher—chaos deity, triangle fashion icon, nightmare-made-sarcasm—am FORCED into a marriage trial with YOU, some dangerously unbothered human with a sarcasm stat higher than my ego.

WHY READ THIS FANFIC? ✔️ It’s got heart! ✔️ It’s got horror! ✔️ It’s got a sentient yogurt aisle that may or may not be bleeding! ✔️ And did I mention? I’m in it.

We’re talking existential flirting, legally sanctioned domestic terrorism, bathwater that might be sentient, and one woman who said “yeah sure, I’ll marry the triangle, what’s the worst that could happen?”

THIS IS NOT A “I CAN FIX HIM” FIC. WE'RE BOTH BROKEN. WE JUST MADE IT WEIRD TOGETHER.🔥

So grab your glitter-sigil pajamas, sacrifice a toaster, and dive into the cosmic nightmare-romcom you didn’t know you needed. Side effects may include:

Third-degree sarcasm

Unholy shipping

Ford Pines having a midlife crisis in aisle 7

Weekly acts of violence (sanctioned by the Axolotl™)

Me, cackling in eldritch stereo

"It’s not a love story. It’s horror disguised as comedy." ✨Read now… or I’ll mail you cursed wedding invitations that scream when opened.✨

[AO3 LINK HERE]

This blurb is back up! I didn't really like how it turned out at first, this is my first ever smut I hope it's alright ;;

A Gentler Soul [Stanford Pines X Reader] Spicy Blurb

Tags: NSFW, Suggestive, Minors DO NOT Interact

Just a poetic way of saying I want him lol

*✧･ﾟ: ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──*✧･ﾟ: ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──*✧･ﾟ: ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──✧*

Stanford Pines used to be a gentler soul. He could spend hours reading about cryptids and mycelium. He could name every moth in Gravity Falls in their Latin and numerous nicknames. On Wednesdays, he'd step out of his home and eagerly watch the sky turn dark- because that's when the local pixies came out to play and dance in a glittering display of light.

Now, he was a sharpened knife. All cuts and bruises, running through the dimensions without taking a second to admire oddities around him. He was  a man on the run, he had no time to marvel at how suns imploded and stars seemed to wink at him, in this vast, nonsensical hellscape called the Nightmare Realm.

He can't stop, he can't catch his breath, lest he stops breathing altogether.

You followed him wherever he ran.

It was survival, you told yourself.

It was science, sticking together was something humans did, Ford told you.

The silences in between the running and fighting told you otherwise.

When it grew dark and quit, in wherever ruins he deemed safe enough, that's when the air shifted.

Stanford Pines moved as if he was always running out of time.

But here, under the shade of a forgotten building, away from prying eyes and bounty hunters, he took his time. He looked at you like you were a new book he'd yet to read. His attention was like fire, burning through the layers of your clothes and the fragile. And like a candle, you melted for the flame of his gaze.

Six fingered hands dragged languidly over the flesh of your ribs, dipping low and stopping just at your abdomen. His knee slowly nudges your inner thigh, spreading your leg outward for access.

He'd worship the scars littering your chest and neck with his tongue, warm and wet as it devoured the salt of your skin.

But it would be kissing you that would truly undo him.

Feeling your soft lips was a different kind of rapture, your moans were poetry he intended to burn into his mind forever. He could worship you this way for several lifetimes, if he could.

At every moan, he'd whisper praises and reassurances- safety, in this desolate world made to consume humans like you. Ford wouldn't let that happen to you, not when he could taste you instead, damn the cruel world outside this room. He had you to himself, at least in this one, small eternity.

If you slipped a hand under his greying locks and whispered any sort of praise to him, he'd cave in and give you anything you want.

Trailing your fingers over the lines of his tattoos would earn you more of that pleasure. Like toppling a candle and letting the flames grow, he'll worship you and burn down your altar, until all that was left was him. He'd growl and grow rougher in his ministrations. Drag those nails from his wrist, to his biceps, then to his chest, and see what happens when a composed man cracks. Every desperate cry would be your only confession of his feelings, in a place unfit for sentimentality.

Come morning, he's reminded of how fragile you are. You'd be covered in circular bruises- counting six in each set.

His eyes would soften at the bashful look in your eye, hiding his marking underneath your clothes as you two prepare to venture out again. Time rests for no one, here. He needed to find a way home and bring you with him.

So he pulls up his mask, covers his silvery hair under a cowl. He wraps a warm hand over yours and makes sure you're never separated for too long.

Stanford Pines used to be a gentler soul, and he longed for the day he could be one again, with you.

if you want to know which shirtless stanford won out. I colored him

https://tapas.io/episode/3281052

Imagine post-therapy Bill being assigned by the cosmic forces to stay with you for reasons unknown.... I have this specific scene in my head where you sit outside in the middle of a midnight snow storm and the wind is whipping but the snowflakes are huge and puffy and somehow everything seems calm in the middle of all this chaos and-

He turns to look at you, half buried in snow and under all your layers, the snowflakes lulling to flutter down gently around you... And usually his first bubbling instinct would be to flip a gasket and ruin any semblance of... whatever this sappy nonsense is, but there's something in him, painful and fresh, and yet desperately longing, There's such an innocence to all this, an innocence that seems accidental and should be inconsequential, but... It reminds him of him. Small, wide eyed, blearily looking up at the unbridled beauty that was the stars above. It still hurts, it aches and stabs and you're here looking too, and there's someone here who sees this that isn't him and finally, finally he's not alone in this and-

He tears up, and you don't see.

For zero reason, you got any problems with spiders or deep sea critters?

Why do you ask?

-Bill

more of the sillies :D

click for better quality

Did anyone tell Ford (bonus doodles: Family Movie Night, 70s Classics)

behold

The embodiment of malewife

pose from this diva!!⬇️

my 2 pieces for the @gfwayfaringstrangerszine​!

i absolutely loved working on these, & i have individual prints up here and here ♡

LA LA LA LA LA 🗣🗣