GIRL I WILL THROW MYSELF INTO THE ARMS OF THE LOCHNESS MONSTER, GOBBLEWONKER, OR JERSEY DEVIL JUST TO

"I have missed you"

Don't ask what this school assignment is for

Sketch

make a little doodle page of yourself or a character sheet ((if something hasn’t been requested yet))

WORKING ON THIS BY THE WAY. CURRENTLY FORCING MY VESSEL TO MAKE AS MUCH ART OF ME AS THEY CAN TO FULFILL THE ONE AND ONLY ACTUAL FUCKING REQUEST GIVEN BY THE 100 PEOPLE HERE

Something about how Ford's favorite color is still a color that he could only see thanks to Bill.

Something about how Fordtramarine, assuming he can still see it, is an ever-present reminder of the ways Bill genuinely did enrich his life before the portal incident.

Or maybe something about how, even if he can't see it anymore thanks to no longer being under Bill's influence, he continues to push aside ordinary colors in pursuit of one he'll never see again, one inextricably bound to the being who simultaneously ruined and saved his life.

man of science?

HAPPY EASTER HUMANS. REMEMBER TO BREAK INTO YOUR LOCAL CAFETERIA AND PELT AS MANY PEOPLE YOU SEE WITH EGGS SCREAMING YOUR FAVORITE UNHOLY TUNE AT THE TOP OF YOUR LUNGS UNTIL THE GUARDS COME TACKLE YOU TO THE GROUND.

doing perimeter patrols is a common but little known ptsd symptom, and i think ford doing it not only makes sense for him post-portal but also is a great way to force awkward, impromptu conversations between him and everyone else

Just some headcanons I've been thinking about lately.

Till Weirdmageddon Do Us Part [Ch. 9]

(just wanted to share the art I made for this chapter!)

He went quiet.

For once, for real, for painfully long seconds, Bill Cipher had nothing to say.

His aura crackled once, then dimmed, then crackled again like it couldn’t decide whether to explode or implode or just sulk eternally into the breakroom tile. You saw his pupil jitter, the way it always did when something was clawing around behind his ego—a memory maybe, or something worse. It trembled. Flickered. Shifted sideways into symbols. Not words. Not pictures. Just impressions. A series of broken, ancient runes flickering rapid-fire in the lens of him. A hand. A flame. Something flat. He looked like the moment after the explosion—smoke rising, colors wrong, edges too sharp to touch. And you had seen this kind of look before. In mirrors. In others. In yourself, once, on the floor of a stranger’s bathroom while the wallpaper peeled off and the world didn’t. He stared up at you. No tricks. No static smugness. Not even the shrieking gremlin sarcasm he wielded like a chainsaw. Just—quiet. Broken code humming against the tile.

You thought, maybe, if you blinked, he would scatter like light off glass.

But then—

“…You meant it,” he whispered. Not dramatic. Not teasing. Just a single note, cracked.

(Font used: Eregyrn Falls (Bill) <3)

THE HANDS LOOK SO WEIRD THO LMAOOO

[AO3 LINK HERE]