Gf Bill Cipher - Tumblr Posts
damn, it's the most awkward meeting with parents when they physically can't perceive your partner's dimension ...
breakup aftermath
nothing like trying to cheer up your child after they break up with their 6 fingers meatbag boyfriend
text under the cut
Euclid: Bill I made deer teeth cookies Euclid: your favorites Bill: I DON'T WANT ANY FUC▲NG DEER TEETH COOKIES! Euclid: they are getting cold.
+ unrelated bonus
Bill likes to talk to himself a lot
Gravity Falls Fanart! Spoiler Warning I Think?;
.
.
.
.
.
.
I have a question to ask.
I just finished watching Gravity Falls for the first time and going to ao3 I saw that the most popular ship is Bill Cipher x Dipper. I kinda figured they were shipped cause of Bill's popularity, but I was also 99.8% sure that there would be problems with the age difference, which made me read their shipping wiki to clear some.
*Let it be clear I'm strictly referring to an aged up Dipper when talking about this ship as pointed out by the wiki that most content is with older Dipper and Human Bill and I hope that ya'll's opinions make mention of this*
Ive now seen some of the content and read some fics, im kinda neutral of them but also on edge.
So,
Now my question is. What are yall's thoughts on them?
Guys I think he’s a silly guy
he’s a silly guy :3
Enjoy some doodles on my notes from class today
What’s Katsuki saying with that smug face?
Me and my friend are watching the South Park movie while making more clay little guys.
And this came to mind
Also Stan is done.
Bills cosplaying me as revenge?
Jokes on you ya sad triangle, I’m just a bad as you!!
rewatching gravity falls like everyone else. yes of course i love the toxic old man yaoi
Bill is infecting my brain and my fyp!!! Get out! :(
Redid this because my brother said the hands looked weird
Eyestrain ^_^
(Click for better quality ;w;)
Bill close up
The quality of the first picture wasn't good so here is a better one. It's pretty messy as you can see so that's why I was so surprised that it won.
LORE WIP
My GOD I have no idea how to do digital art I haven't touched this shit in months LMFAOOO
I hope it's okay anyway, that's Aeschylus(Max) in there alongside our resident evil piece of interdimensional geometry
Gonna try and spin a comic out of this but yeah, got this cuz I am very unwell for my AU rn
Ford this started with you what have you done to me you insane geek-/j
In my case, yall pls do this for the Stan Twins or Mr Bill Pines AU Billford I'll write stuff for it
NSFW or SFW are welcomed :D
Send me a headcanon or scenario for Ford / Stan Pines and i’ll write a five paragraph fic for it.
Revers Falls / Monster Falls scenarios welcomed
NSFW / SFW welcomed too
Damn it's been a while I should make some Mr bill pines AU stuff from @/honeqq(not pinging because I don't wanna disturb HAHAHA) I miss these bozos LMFAO
Cruel
[Mr Bill Pines AU: Bill Cipher-Pines x Clifford(Stanford Reincarnation)]
Bill misses his husband and he can’t decide at the moment if this was Karma or just another mistake he’d walked into. Fate could be very kind, but it could also be a very cruel thing.
Inspired by a comic from @honeqq and I decided why not write something related to it! I need to write more stuff for them PLEASE-
Bill had to steel himself once more at the familiar chime summoning him again. He already knew who it was and had a few theories about the reason behind it. The real problem was that he didn’t know if he could take it anymore; each moment felt like a deep cut, with wounds left to fester as his heart battled his mind, tearing apart any semblance of sanity.
He had to mentally prepare himself for every encounter with the lookalike of his deceased husband, the imitation of a man to whom he had once given everything. Just being there was painful—the same voice, the same face, the similar mutation…
But he wasn’t the same man.
Taking a deep breath, Bill stepped in front of the impatient artist, who regarded him with mild annoyance. The artist was blissfully unaware of the constant struggle the god faced just to maintain a decent appearance. For some reason, Bill didn’t dare to explain this to him; it made it easier… sort of.
“Oh, finally. I was beginning to think you weren’t going to show.”
Bill mused that someone must be pulling a sadistic prank, repeatedly putting him in this situation where every waking moment threatened to unleash the flood of emotions and grief once more. This man wasn’t the genius he had once loved. This guy wasn’t Sixer, no matter how similar they looked.
“Yeah, yeah, I’d call you ‘lucky’ number seven, but you’ve just been annoying. Of all the cosmic beings to seek guidance from, you’d think you’d pick one that hasn’t faded into obscurity.”
“You were the muse for this journal’s author, so I thought you’d be able to help me in some way, somehow. I think.”
At the mention of the journal, Bill wanted to shrivel up and die. It was the only one he hadn’t had a hand in writing. The others he had co-authored with his husband, but this one… this one had eluded him for so long, only to be found by… this guy.
He wanted to bash his skull in and scream.
Stanford was gone; that pill had been hard enough to swallow a thousand years ago. Fate just had to rub salt into that open wound. This whole situation was cruel.
“What’s the problem this time?”
“I can’t decide what I want to paint.”
The empty canvas the other man gestured to seemed to beckon him, the stark white void drawing him in and holding him in a vice grip. The triangle stared blankly at the vacant space; an idea flickered to life in his mind, but he hesitated to indulge it. What if he did? It would only unleash another wave of grief, a haunting reminder of what once was and what he had lost to the relentless claws of time and the cold hands of death.
Bill already knew this was going to be idiotic. He felt it in his bones—he was about to make yet another stupidly ridiculous choice. Yet, before he could stop himself, the words tumbled out. Regret settled in immediately after he spoke.
“How about this? What if you painted someone for me? A portrait.”
The reincarnation regarded him with curiosity and interest, and Bill felt an overwhelming urge to gouge out his lone eye at the sight. Don’t look at him like that. Don’t give him the same expression that once held so much love and adoration, the kind that had nearly drowned him. Don’t remind him of those memories. Don’t drive the knife in deeper.
“Sure, I don’t see why not.”
That was the amusement that haunted him: the ghost of a man he had once loved to his own detriment. Someone whose smile caused the edges of his eyes to crinkle with unbridled joy, someone whose gaze never wavered in love and adoration. It was a ticking time bomb to have chosen and loved a mortal; inevitable goodbyes lurked around every corner of his finite life. There was no telling how much time they had left together, yet Bill still felt like Stanford was taken from him far too soon.
What he would have given for just a little more time—one last kiss, one final “I love you.”
He was a god, yet he would have surrendered absolutely everything for just another moment with the man he once called a husband. His equal. His muse.
Bill had to turn away from the other man, feeling tears welling up in his eyes. He quickly blinked them back; after a thousand years, the grief was still overwhelming. It felt like just yesterday he had been in the arms of his lover, and now that love and comfort were nowhere to be found. The ache in his heart throbbed and pounded, emotions turning him soft. What a useless god he’d become. What was once a pleasant feeling had morphed into crippling sorrow.
“If you don’t mind me asking, though… who is it that you want me to paint?”
That was a loaded question, burdened by the lament and grief of a thousand years—a love lost to the hands of time and the embrace of death. The one plane of existence where Bill couldn’t follow. Not as he was. Not when he didn’t have the ability to die. The sickness of an immortal, truly.
“Someone important to me. My muse.”
“You have a muse? Wow. They must be someone incredible.”
Bill could only let out an empty laugh. Stanford was incredible—more than he could ever dare to articulate. Words simply wouldn’t do the man justice; to have a god fall to his knees out of love was an immeasurable feat. The triangle always believed his lover was a force to be reckoned with, a powerhouse and then some. Yet, the relentless sands of time eventually wore him down. Even Stanford's brilliant mind, which had endured so much, couldn’t escape the inevitable; the grim reaper came to collect his dues.
No mortal was spared from that fate.
“Yeah. He was .”
The pain that bled through the triangle’s voice didn’t go unnoticed by the artist, despite his attempts to conceal it. However, the artist chose not to mention it, believing it was best not to pry. After all, it wasn’t his place to interfere; why would he?
Bill cleared his throat and floated up to get a better look at the empty canvas. Every instruction was clear and concise, every requested stroke of the brush executed with intention and purpose. The triangle’s close guidance and precise descriptions of each detail left no room for error; there were simply no mistakes.
As the painting began to take shape, colors and pigments blended seamlessly, crafting an image clearer than crystal. Gradually, the likeness of a man emerged—one with silver hair and a gentle gaze, complemented by a smile that reached his eyes, eyes that radiated immense love and adoration. It was evident that the painting captured an intensely intimate moment; such an expression was not meant for just anyone. Only someone so deeply loved and cherished could inspire a face like that. Only someone who felt eternally young could carry the weight of age with the wonder and joy of a child. The painting became a living juxtaposition.
The artist dropped his paintbrush in surprise; the painting looked so… alive. Under Bill’s guidance, this project had transformed into one of his best works. He couldn't help but wonder if its resemblance to a self-portrait was purely coincidental—an unnerving mirror he had created hour after hour, stroke after stroke, with immense specificity from the triangle beside him. However, the longing gaze from Bill toward the smiling subject made things clear. That action alone spoke more truth than any words they had ever exchanged. Yet, despite the painstaking effort poured into this piece, his eyes were inevitably drawn back to the final product.
It felt… familiar somehow, as if he knew this man, perhaps having met him somewhere before, despite the artist's certainty that he never had.
What was this sense of déjà vu?
The painting was beautifully crafted, distinctly unreplicable, particularly within the eyes of this man, which overflowed with mirth and fondness that clearly belonged to a lover. The expression he wore embodied the true essence of being loved, the purest depiction of happiness.
How had Bill even known about this? Not to mention in such explicit detail…
“Bill—”
“You have your painting, I need some time to think.”
The triangle’s voice trembled with overwhelming emotion, cracking under the weight of his grief. He couldn’t bear to look at the painting any longer. He turned away, unable to face either the finished work or the living, breathing human who looked so painfully similar to the man immortalised in the portrait. Every glance at the painting drove the knife in his chest deeper.
He had been right—this was a stupid idea.
“Just summon me again when you need me,”
Bill muttered, his voice barely holding together. And with that, the god vanished before the artist could even respond.
Back in his original resting place, hot tears spilled from his lone eye as the grief he’d kept buried for so long finally poured out. The triangle broke down into uncontrollable sobs, curling up against a nearby wall, shivering as anguish consumed him. An agonised scream tore from his chest, shaking the very room. It was a miracle he had managed to stay composed for as long as he had.
Maybe he had wanted to see Stanford again—wanted to remember a happier time, to recall a memory frozen in place. The face of his husband, the man he had loved so deeply. But that love was now buried beneath a thousand years of pain and loss, an ache that had festered beyond measure.
Bill Cipher couldn’t move. He stayed there, weeping through the day, letting the weight of eternity crush him.
If he was truly fated to cross paths with that reincarnation, there was only one truth left.
Fate was just so cruel.
Fic is here as well on Ao3!