Bill Cipher Gravity Falls Drawings Novels & Stories

*Lily* After I had convinced myself William had no interest in me and stumbled around in my pajamas for most of Sunday, trying to fill my hollowed heart with junk food, sloppy drawings, and bad television, I resigned myself—he wasn’t calling. By Monday, I was in crimson paint up to my elbows. I dove into a new collection that morning, what I wanted to call City on Fire—a series of skyscrapers, boats along the river, and Coney Island amusement park rides, all with burgundy, fire-streaked lines.

“Hey, angel. You got taller.” She shook her head vigorously. “No, you got shorter.” He grinned. “That’s impossible.” She wriggled free and dug into her backpack. “I made drawings on the plane! Look!” She spread them out on the table — crooked little hearts and stick figures labeled MOMMY, DADDY, and ME. One drawing had a fourth stick figure, taller, in a blue suit. I tried not to look at it too long. Anthony crouched down beside her, admiring each page as though it were a masterpiece. Cameron stood beside me, polite, silent. The faintest strain crossed his face before he smoothed it away.

I couldn't sleep. Desperate for an escape, I grabbed a sheet of heavy art paper and began drawing. My hands shook as I began to draw, letting my raw emotion guide the strokes. Within minutes, James's face began to emerge from the stark white paper. I stared intensely into his eyes through the charcoal lines, feeling a dangerous, intoxicating connection to a ghost.

I have filled eleven pages in three days. The drawings are all of Chase. Not his face exactly, not a portrait. More like the quality of him, the shape of what I see when I look at him with the part of my perception that operates below the ordinary level. The darkness that has been around him since graduation, which I first saw as smoke, as something atmospheric, has changed shape. It is not smoke anymore. It has weight now. It has structure. In the drawings it looks like something geological, like rock strata pressing down, like the accumulated mass of something that has been building for a long time and has reached the point where its own weight is the force that drives it.

“Old habits. Hard to shut down.” She poured him a cup of coffee, sliding it across the counter. “Then drink before you fall over.” Adrian took it, his hand brushing hers — brief, accidental. She pulled back quickly, pretending to adjust her sleeve. He pretended not to notice. Aria lifted her drawing proudly. “Look, Mr. Blackwood! It’s me, Mommy, and you.” He crouched beside her, glancing at the stick figures — a house, a big sun, and three smiling faces holding hands. Something in his throat tightened. “You’re quite the artist,” he said quietly.

FELIX’S POINT OF VIEW. Raindrops hit the floor-to-ceiling length window softly, and the smell of coffee and paint filled the large sky-rise apartment. Billy and Max played with the squishy toys nearby, while I gripped the broken charcoal resting between my tattooed fingers before tossing it in the overflowing bin beside me. “Damn.” I hissed, staring at the large canvass is just been dragged a line of black ink across. The enormous crowd overlooked the gray cliffs bordering the sea.

She had soft hands and always tucked loose hair behind my ear before offering me cookies. I nodded and took Billy’s hand. We walked quietly down the back path, past the cabins where the grass grew too tall. The wind made the leaves whisper, and the sky looked heavy, like it was holding its breath. Billy squeezed my hand tighter, his chalkboard tucked under his arm. Then he stopped. So suddenly I almost crashed into him. The chalkboard slipped from his hand and hit the ground with a small thunk and his eyes went wide, wider than I’d ever seen them.

“At least they were honest before the wedding.” “What? The twins?” I asked, mouth full of watermelon. “Forbidden love. Taboo. Family drama. Every box checked. This is art.” I nodded absently, my eyes drifting toward the hallway. Inside Ash’s room, the sound of a pencil scratching on paper carried softly, followed by a burst of laughter. “I drew a ball falling on someone’s head. That means gravity, right, Papi?” Zane chuckled. “Technically... yes. But maybe add a little arrow to show the force direction.”

He pulled out a small bundle of trinkets—buttons, beads, a broken bracelet—and several crumpled papers. "Bingo," he murmured. Bella gasped. "Her stash. She hides things all the time at our place too." We all sat down right there on the floor, spreading out the drawings. Childish sketches. A house. A crying face. A stick-figure family. A swing set. Then my fingers froze. "Here," I said. "Look at this." We all leaned in. It was a grey, smudged drawing of an oval with a cross on top.