Bill Cipher Gravity Falls Drawings Novels & Stories

I whispered to myself. But my hands had already moved. Inside the package was a single sheet of paper, folded once. No note. No explanation. Just a drawing. My breath left me in a sharp, broken exhale. It was done in crayon. Bold lines. Messy edges. A child’s certainty in every stroke. A woman stood at the center of the page, her arms raised. Blue and yellow zigzags burst from her hands, stretching outward like lightning. Behind her stood two children. One taller. One smaller. Both drawn close to her back, like they were hiding and standing tall at the same time.

“Either you got a new skincare routine or someone is taking special care of you.” Barry only smirked. “A gentleman doesn’t talk.” Carlson laughed. “Right. You’re so known for being a gentleman.” That afternoon, Barry found Brian in the art room, bent over a half-finished sketch. Sunlight poured through the wide windows, touching his hair with gold. Barry leaned against the doorframe. “You keep staring,” Brian said without looking up. “I’m admiring the masterpiece.” “The drawing or me?” “Both,” Barry replied. Brian’s hand paused just long enough to betray him. “You’re going to get us caught.”

He declined and told them not to disturb him, which made them stop. Anyway, I was lost in my world, sketching what seemed to be my vision of the future. I don't know why I sketched it, but it was a girl like me: slim and curvy, with all the right shapes. She was beautiful, and I imagined I would someday look like her if only I could. Blake and John walked up to me. “Oh my God, look at what Billie drew!” Blake gasped. “It's beautiful!” John smiled. “I guess she is good at something after all—not just getting fat.”

--------------------------------------------------- ~ Ivy ~ I dropped the pencil onto the table and looked down at what I had made. It was a simple drawing of the blue flower from the garden. It was not perfect, and some of the shading was a little messy, but it looked real. It looked alive. As I stared at the dark gray graphite lines, I felt a strange, light feeling spread through my torso. For the first time since the terrible night at the ballroom, the heavy stone on my ribs felt a little lighter. "I did it," I whispered, my eyes widening with wonder. "I actually finished it."

"The groom has never seen Vivienne—" "That is not the point! What about my life?" My throat tightened but I refused to cry. "I have been saying yes my whole life. Yes to moving to a smaller apartment so the bills could get paid. Yes to dropping my scholarship application because you needed me home to help you sell. Yes to dropping out of uni. Yes to every single thing this family has needed from me since I was old enough to be needed." My voice cracks slightly on the last word but i swallow it. I could feel the tears welling up in my eyes. "I am done saying yes. Do you even care about my dream? “Pearl, I'm sorry…” that was Dad. I couldn't even look at his face cos he seemed so pathetic but n

"I know. Tell them to hurry." She walked back to the cutting table. She sat down. She picked up the pencil. She drew the building again. This time, she drew the walls holding. She drew the column supported. She drew the void intact. She drew the figure standing inside, safe. The pencil moved with precision. The lines were heavy and black. The structure would hold. She would not let it fall. She pressed so hard the pencil tip almost broke through the paper. The drawing was a spell. A promise. A blueprint for survival.

But now, he was here, standing in front of me, holding out a drawing like a peace offering. With a smile, I took it gently, carefully unfolding the paper. But my smile faded as I stared down at the image in my hands. It was just like his other drawings—dark, stark lines, the same unsettling red and blacks—but this one was different. It wasn’t just a vague scene. It was a face. A man’s face, drawn in heavy black strokes. Dark eyes, a cruel mouth. And beneath it, in the wobbly handwriting of a child, was a name. “Mr. B.”

“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 unzipped it as I shoved the few bank notes I had stolen from the bald man and also the few bank notes that the plum till operator had given me as my change. My hand felt a hard thing as I grabbed it and pulled it out. It was my sketch book. I slowly ran my hands on it as burning feeling echoed in my chest. I slowly opened it. The complete sketch of Sorrow came to my view. I bite my lower lip to stop myself from crying.

"If I told you that 'Starry Night' was already designed and made into a finished product a few years ago, does it mean that your 'Starry Night' was plagiarized, Mr. Winterford?" Billy was horrified, but he remained calm on the surface. He came here well prepared so he didn't fear her in the least. He knew that they hadn't made a finished product at all. Back then, he saw Brian's design 'Starry Night' with his own eyes. Then, something happened at his home and Billy took the opportunity to take away the design drawings and destroyed all his design traces. Hence, he knew Hilda was just trying to trick him into confessing now.