*clutches my trash hands around the ‘now until the end of time’ phrase*
He used that phrase with Bill and honestly that’s not something ford should throw out to anyone else
I messed up but
@flo-nelja I hAVE and thank you for reminding me of it!! Because it’s hitting the mood so good rn, and its such a good fic too.
Like the moments are great and the consistent lying because yeAH NO the fam shouldn’t be hearing those truths when they’re all trying so hard to get closure.
hello i can’t tag your blog bordapanic but like i always see you tags before and I LOVE IT SO MUCH like always in every reblog so here have another paranoid ford ❤
ohhhhh my goshhhhhhhhhh
💖
Yes, I Will Gladly Take This Paranoid Ford, Thank You Very Much™
Time no longer had any meaning. Days, weeks, perhaps even months might have passed, there really was no way to tell.
Ever since that day, the day when the world had ended, he had been here, within this darkness. Where, he didn’t know, and he had stopped caring. It was quite ironic… in the past, his questions had been without end, his curiosity and his thirst for knowledge had been what fueled him, it was what he had lived for.
But no more.
He was old and tired, so very, very tired from all these years of struggling, ultimately meaningless. There was only one thing that mattered now, one other existence that would at times appear to break away the darkness and maddening silence with its presence. And now was such a time.
NSFW, light bondage, mind break, general terribleness:
Someone drew a cool thing for it here and it is great *__*
When Bill pops into his Dreamscape this time, there’s something different. Usually it’s about Ford—Ford’s fantasies, Ford’s sick desires. This time, Bill doesn’t bother shifting into a human form, just flies at him as a flickering triangle, one moment a small yellow thing, the next huge and red, with lolling black tongues. He settles on this form for just long enough to attack Ford with his tongues, one wrapping—affectionately, he hopes—around Ford’s neck, another pushing beneath his sweater, a last dripping slimy spit in Ford’s face and hair in a strange imitation of a kiss. “Woah,” Ford says by way of greeting, and Bill shifts again in another series of flickers before settling back into his standard form.
Bordapanic fo rrel 