hamsternella

[hamsternella]

[hamsternella]

Okay I JUST realized I never posted these on here—- BUT BASICALLY, about a year and a half ago I started doing these experimental black hairstyle posts that were threads long on Twitter, to give artists a source of inspo for their black ocs whose hair they wanted to try something new with! There’s more to black hair than just the selected styles portrayed in media, and I thought it would be fun to show people how much texture, shape, fades, length, and style can be combined when drawing black hair—-cause it’s a kind of manipulation our hair can do irl! The OG thread from when I made these a year ago were lost with the hacking of my original Twitter account (@/bagels_donuts) but I’ve since reuploaded the whole thread to my new Twitter (@/ItsDonutsFR)! I hope artists on tumblr find these useful, sorry it took me so long to post them here😭🙏🏾 I’ll upload them all in parts!

Part 1: Long masc hairstyles + playing with fades

[hamsternella]

Coriolanus Snow x Fem!Reader

Tigris wanted to tell him something; he saw it in her eyes. He saw it in the way she shifted uncomfortably in her seat. Coriolanus was tempted to ask her, no, to demand an explanation. There had to be a reason for this awkward silence, or madness and anger would consume him. Who was she to judge him? Who was Tigris to impose ridiculous ideas on people she didn’t really know? Who the fuck was Tigris, but a daring one? Her hands remained firmly on the piece of wool on the table. Her fingers caressed the knitting needles, pushing them back and forth hesitantly. For Snow, this was the limit.

"Is there something troubling your mind, Tigris?" Coriolanus sat back in his seat, stretching his legs out beneath the table. He held his breath for a moment, frustration leaking from his eyes. "Is there something you wish to tell me?"

She shook her head; her dull, fear-filled eyes fixed on a point on the table. Her fingers no longer played with the needles, and the piece of wool had been rendered useless since Coriolanus had opened his mouth.

"I don't like you lying to me," he insisted.

"I didn't say anything," Tigris whispered, still too terrified to look up.

"I asked you if there is something on your mind, and I know there is. You're lying to me, and you're doing it in silence. I don't like talking to walls."

"I'm sorry, Coriolanus."

And then her eyes moved to the right, where the hallway lay. She could have been looking at the bathroom, Grandma's room, or even some dusty corner that served as a hiding place for her thoughts. But Coriolanus knew very well that the only door Tigris seemed to throw knives at was his own. The only shared room: Snow and his fiancée's. Knowing that she still insisted on you made Coriolanus rekindle that flame of jealousy and a particular fury. That kind of intense anger that made his fists tremble, as if ready to break Tigris's neck; although it would be impossible, considering how much he still appreciated her.

"Do you need to ask her something about her blanket?" Snow asked, drawing her attention back to him. This time, Tigris looked him in the eyes. "I've already told you all the colors, and I'm staying here so you don't have to bother her."

"Maybe she..." Tigris cleared her throat. "Shouldn't I go so I can personalize her blanket in a more—"

"I know everything you need to weave this piece," he interrupted. "There is no reason for you to require her participation."

"She's alone," Tigris said pleadingly, "all the time, everywhere. I don't think it's healthy for you to be the only one... I mean, after what happened, of course. I don't want you to think that I don't see you capable of taking care of your fiancée."

"And what do you want me to think? Because right now, as well as the whole damn time you open your mouth, Tigris, all I can think about is how much it bothers you to see me happy."

"It's not about you!"

Tigris brought both hands to her mouth, covering her own gasp. A torrent of tears began to soak her cheeks as Coriolanus pursed his lips; his eyes dull with a feeling akin to hatred.

"Please," she whispered, clutching the table, "Coriolanus, let's talk. Let's talk like great confidants, just like when we were kids. You remember, don't you?" Her smile was a broken, desperate frown. It was pitiful. "You have to remember, because it's impossible for Coryo not to still be there; at least a part of him. If not for me, then for her. Coriolanus, please... This is inhuman."

"You don't know what you're talking about," Snow muttered under his breath. His voice was a warning. "You don't have the slightest idea of what you're talking about." A slam of his on the table was enough to make Tigris jump in her seat. A knock in the shared room was heard seconds later. "Of course this is about her! It was always about her!"

Tigris shook her head, tear after tear falling as if pieces of her own heart were escaping. Coriolanus barely flinched; the hollow sound of the shared room repeating in his mind. The temptation to rush there gnawed at him, as did the need to slap his cousin’s audacity away. The fear of turning his back and her disappearing drove him mad, but so could you. Everyone could disappear if he wasn’t paying attention.

"Keep your head on what you do," he said. "Knit. Keep knitting; focus on making a nice blanket for my woman, and keep your mouth shut unless you have to. Obey, Tigris."

Obedience. Coriolanus knew that it all started with good obedience. Tigris, you, the whole world; they were all going to be part of the same plan, on the same path, for the same future. No more mistakes, no more accidents. There was no room for failure. Snow rose from his chair, casting one last glance over his shoulder before continuing down the hall. His door seemed to throb under the intensity of his eyes. The copper handle burned against the skin of his fingers as he wrapped his arms around it, pushing against the wood until he found a clear path across the threshold. Finding you in bed was a relief that almost made him whimper.

"I heard something," you said under your breath. "Is everything okay?"

"Ignore it," Snow ordered. He took long strides until he was sitting next to you. "Why is everything so messy?"

"I got scared and ended up throwing my books on the floor. I'm sorry, Coriolanus." Your hands caressed your lap over the sheet, giving importance to the space where a collection of stories and legends once rested. "Could you pass them to me, please?"

Snow smiled with a strangled sigh, almost like a labored breath as he leaned over the floor. "You still read this kid stuff?"

"I've read almost everything Tigris has brought me."

The mention of her made Coriolanus drop the books awkwardly on top of you. You didn't complain, too busy finding the page you were on. It's not like you could say anything, either; Snow didn't like pointless complaints.

"Has she said anything to you?" he asked suddenly. "Have you two been talking?"

"With Tigris?" you repeated breathlessly. Your silence could not buy you any more time. "Very little, almost nothing. Why?"

"Put that book down and look at my face."

And you obeyed; perhaps too soon, considering the morbid pleasure that crossed Coriolanus' gaze when he met your eyes. They were no longer the same. More opaque, more empty, and precisely for that reason more beautiful than ever. Much more beautiful than the first time, when you arrived from your hideous savage district as tribute for the Hunger Games. There was no longer any struggle in your eyes, only weariness. The hatred was barely palpable. Coriolanus preferred them that way.

"Have you been talking to Tigris?"

"Very little," you replied through gritted teeth, "almost nothing, Coriolanus."

He waited a moment. He inspected your face, your bearing; he slowly scanned your figure wrapped in a white dress that contrasted with the oak headboard of the bed. There was nothing out of place. Coriolanus never found anything out of place with you. That was the truth; he loved that about you. So clean, so perfect. The exception to the rule. He placed a hand on the books, pushed them aside, and pressed them against your thighs over the sheet. Your entire body tensed.

"You have to understand how much I care about you," he murmured. "I promised myself I wouldn't open myself up to the weaknesses of the heart, but it was hard when I first met you. Everything has become more complicated when I did."

"Nothing can be easy when you kill on a whim," you said.

"Are you still angry about your mentor's death?"

"You killed her," you repeated with a deep breath, "and because you thought it would be the most logical thing to do to get close to me; to hurt me."

"To hurt you," he snorted with a smile. "Do you think I'm doing all this to hurt you?"

Your eyes dropped to his hand on your thighs, and returned to his gaze almost immediately. You felt your heart in your throat as you tried to speak.

"Sometimes I think you're going to kill me," you whispered. The sting of future tears stung your eyes. "I don't want to die, Coriolanus. I don't want to die."

"And why would I kill you? You're one of the most beautiful things in my life." Snow's hands felt like hot pieces of iron against the skin of your cheeks. "Mine, all mine, part of me; you grow inside my veins and run through my blood. To hurt you would be to aim an arrow at my heart."

"Let me go," you insisted, this time in tears. "I want to go home, Coriolanus. Please, I beg you..."

"We've already talked about this."

His hands left your cheeks, but traveled down your neck and breasts, reaching your belly. His fingers crumpled the fabric of your dress; your skin prickled against the chilly breeze in the room. Coriolanus let out a shaky sigh at your exposed flesh. The lack of underwear made him swallow hard. You wanted to close your eyes in shame, but you were afraid of getting lost in the darkness. Instead, you took a breath and pressed your fists on the bed.

"How much longer until you get pregnant?" Coriolanus asked in a whisper.

"I'm scared. I don't know anything about babies," you stammered. "Can't you find another woman?"

Snow's laugh felt like a gunshot to your chest. It exploded in your ears, and spread through your head like an electric current; similar to the one you suffered during the Hunger Games. Painful and terrifying.

"And what would you do then? Where would you end up?" Coriolanus' hands moved down to your knees, massaging the fabric, and slid smoothly to the empty space on the bed. "Who could love a little bird without wings as much as I do? You should be grateful."

Snow returned both hands to your stumps, digging his fingers into the sheet until he tore it from your body. You tried to stop him, but you couldn't find the strength; crying drained any courage that had taken up space inside you. Coriolanus brushed the amputated area of your legs, near your knees. A crooked smile appeared on his face.

"You won't need them anymore," he continued, "not with me. I'll see to it that you're provided with everything you could possibly need."

"I need my freedom," you whispered.

"I'm pretty sure this cage I've made for you is bigger than you've ever had in your district."

"I wasn't in a cage there. My family..."

"I'm your family now," he interrupted you. "You, me, and our babies. Our real family."

"You're sick, Coriolanus. Sick in the head."

"And does that matter? Because all I've accomplished so far is to proclaim my direct path to victory."

You shook your head, eyes narrowing. "You are not victorious at anything. If there is to be a winner, it would be me."

"Yes," he smiled, "you're right. It would be you." A soft breath escaped through his lips, and the light scent of his liquor caressed your face. "And you're mine."

You didn't exist outside the cage. No one would remember you as anything but the fast woman from a poor, repulsive district, struggling to survive, and winning thanks to her cunning. The poor, bitter woman who lost that which had brought her so much glory, and who was now nothing more than a slave to other people's ambitions and sick desires. That determination in your eyes had faded; your life's purpose reduced to being a bag of flesh and muscle that throbbed on a bed, sometimes beyond the living room, but not far enough to reach the hallway to the elevator. Your wheelchair carried you as far as Coriolanus or Tigris would allow. Your world was reduced to a pair of white walls, the silver of cutlery and glasses, and the sweetness of liquors with the drug to stop the phantom pain of your amputations. Coriolanus promised to provide you with prosthetics when you settled into your new life in the Capitol. You knew that was more a lie than a truth. He would not make the same mistake he made with Lucy Gray again, especially because you were so much more charming and valuable, and because to have you he had to go to inhuman extremes. Losing you would be like condemning himself to his own death. Perhaps the only viable solution would be to end your own life; but if Coriolanus managed to drag you into his world again, it would be impossible to stop the new punishments that would come to his head. Maybe your teeth, your tongue and your arms? Only your torso like a trunk, to admire until his time on earth was over; and your head, to occasionally return to your eyes and be able to gloat over how much he had managed to get into your head.

"Will you ever kill me?" you asked suddenly. "Are you going to get bored of me?"

There was no response, and you thought maybe it was best not to have one.

[hamsternella]

I don't know what happened to my account, or if someone got into it, but I just changed the password and got access here for the first time in many months.

[hamsternella]

You and me | Stanford Pines x Reader

request: "Do you feel comfortable writing a Stanford Pines x Reader? Just something cute and fluffy. I was thinking a College Age Stanford meeting the reader at some party Fiddleford forced him to go to and they’re both shy but they both like science and Ford develops a crush on them."

cw: fluff

''Could you repeat the reason why I agreed to come with you?''

Fiddleford shrugged, muttering something that Pines was unable to make out under the raucous music blasting from the sorority house. A heavy, repetitive tune; the kind of music an appellant might come to like, not him. Stanford wasn't cut out for this sort of thing, but his best friend had been urging him on for a full month, even before the national baseball team's shindig was confirmed. It was even strange coming from McGucket.

He looked considerably nervous, but no less willing to let himself be led through the crowd toward the center of the common room. Ford tried to keep up with him—almost impossible, with so many arms and legs around him; so much shouting too close to his ears, leaving him lost for moments. The colored lights and the smell of raw sweat were making him sick to his stomach. Were it not for Fiddleford's sure grip dragging him into a safe shoving corner, Pines could have sworn he almost ended up a carpet on the floor.

''I really need you to repeat the reason,'' Ford shouted between heavy breaths, leaning on his friend's shoulder, ''because I still don't understand my own reasoning. This is insane!’’

''It's just a party!'' McGucket let out a forced laugh, trying to move his body to the beat of the new song bursting on the players. His eyes darted from one side of the room to the other. ''We have to understand their vibe and let ourselves go!''

''This is ridiculous,'' Ford breathed, adjusting his glasses. ''I think I'm going to—''

''—get a drink!'' Fiddleford nodded briskly, beginning to point a hand towards the free bar of drinks at the other end of the dance floor. ''I'll get you a drink!''

Stanford wanted to refuse immediately, but as soon as he prepared his throat to shout again, he noticed that his friend had already thrust half his body between the dancing couples; his legs kicked in all directions, seeking to propel himself among the people tempted by laughter. An occasional woman, unknown to Ford's eyes, had even extended an arm around McGucket's shoulders. Pines knew on a hunch that he wasn't going to see his friend again for a long while.

It's not like he could leave the party either. He wasn't going to leave him alone just like that.

Stanford hugged himself in the corner, leaning his back against the wall to let himself be devoured by the gloom. Occasionally he held his breath, if anything many people crossed his path with the dreadful aroma of alcohol and cigarette on them; other times he simply kept up a pleasant chat until the person in question fell defeated on the floor. At least two hours would have passed like this.

Fiddleford had disappeared, though occasionally his screams reached him through the music. He was clearly having too much fun; so much of that, that after a couple of disposable glasses, he seemed to have forgotten that his friend was still hibernating in a corner of the room.

Ford couldn't feel angry no matter how much he wanted to. The situation was certainly stressful, but particularly funny. At least this was something he could remind McGucket of when the weight of such a wild night fell on his shoulders in the morning.

"I guess that's your partner over there.”

Ford swore he heard the crunch of his own neck above the music as he turned his head to the side. Your sudden appearance, so close to his body, took him by surprise. He hadn't even gotten to see you out of the corner of his eye.

You were nervous, much more than your voice already denoted; the broken and clumsy words when you let them out. The tiny bottle in your hands trembled as if about to fall.

“Excuse me?” he asked.

You licked your lips, pointing your head toward the dance floor. Ford's face merged with the red lights of the crystal ball.

“Ah,” he sighed with a faint smile, “yes, he’s my friend. I guess he had more desire to come than I thought.”

"I see you're from Backupsmore," you leaned closer to Ford, trying to get your voice across. He couldn't help but inhale the freshness of your sweet musk, still dormant amid so much sweat and cigarette around. "How did both of you get here?”

“I-I don't get that question…”

Ford looked intently at the way you bit your lip, nervous again. You walked away almost immediately to his regret.

With one free hand, and leaving the beer bottle on the edge of a table beside you, you pointed towards the outer courtyard of the brotherhood. Stanford almost stumbles from shame—he didn't hesitate for a second to follow you like a dog.

This time the music was much weaker.

"I don't want the question to be received badly," you hastened to clarify, shaking both hands in front of you. "It's not usual for people from other universities to be here, that's all.”

"Are you a recurrent of these parties?”

"I was dragged here.”

Ford let out a cracking laugh, running one of his hands down his neck to dissipate the sweat. "Yes, my friend also dragged me here.”

There were still people around, but not as many as those who passed through the brotherhood. Without the disturbance of the masses, and without the music bursting over their heads, Ford and you found another corner to share glances and a pleasant talk; entertaining enough for both to forget about the shame. A ridiculous pity.

Pines tried not to lose his breath every time you returned the smiles. At no time, no matter how hard he tried, did you lose the thread of the conversation. You were an automatic machine of concrete answers. You gesticulated a lot, passing the weight of your body from one leg to the other; your eyes went from one direction to another, resting on imaginary points in the midst of darkness; your voice never wavered, your mind perhaps devoured by the charm of science. That was it: pure science. Nothing Ford didn't understand—though every time his gaze met yours, it was as if his brain was fried.

He couldn't let himself down so easily.

"What do you specialize in?" he suddenly asked. "You have such interesting ideas as to be wasting time at a party."

You drowned a laugh against the back of your hand. Ford had to bite his tongue to keep from smiling.

‘’Did I say something funny?’’

"It's ironic that you say it," you replied. "That's all... But yeah, it's no big deal, anyway. I finished my thesis about two months ago,’’ you shrugged. "Fifth dimensional calculus. Nothing special."

‘’Wait—what? You too?’’

‘’Me too, you say,’’ you smiled. ‘’Why is that? Big, smart boy got scared?’’

‘’Oh, please!’’

Ford rubbed his hands against each other, making it impossible to hide the smile that adorned his face. It felt hot. He wanted to think that this sensational discovery, this almost magical encounter, was stirring your heart as much as it happened to him in the midst of the icy breeze of the night.

He tried not to make obvious the need to open his mouth to bathe you in questions; Ford really wanted to endure the hunger to find out what else you held in that precious head of yours. But it was impossible. You didn't even hide your own interest. Your smile was to be far greater than his—though shyness burned in your eyes, and in the way your own hands trembled.

Pines really wanted to think that it was nerves and not cold.

"I didn't think someone so pretty could know so much about science," he muttered through his teeth. The way your face subtly changed made him choke on his own saliva. "I don't want it to be an insult!"

"Sounds like you're underestimating a couple of issues right now."

"That wasn't my—’’ Ford let out a heavy sigh, covering his face with both hands for a moment. Your laughter made him open his eyes. ’’Aren't you angry...?"

‘’Not really,’’ you shrugged, ‘’just playing with you. Sorry. I guess I’m kind of nervous.’’

‘’I can see that.’’

You and Ford laughed together; a soft sound, lost in the wind. He noticed your gaze searching his hands insistently. Shame struck him suddenly.

‘’My hands,’’ he sighed.

‘’I think they're cool,’’ you whispered, a little bit shy. Ford smiled at you. "Can I see them more closely?"

‘’Uh, sure, I-I guess.’’

Almost pathetically, Ford stretched out both hands in front of you before you could get close. His fingers brushed your palms as you extended your arms, making room to wrap his hands. Despite the cold, Ford's body emanated an intense heat that melted into your skin. It was nice. You prayed that your heartbeat wouldn't reach him—that it wouldn't be so obvious how nervous you were to hold him in your hands, caressing his fingers like a fool.

"I've never seen anything like it," you added in a broken voice. "Not in person, at least."

‘’Do you really think it’s cool?’’

‘’I mean, yeah, why not? You’re different and that’s super cool.’’

Almost immediately you let go of his hands, and Ford found it hard not to complain about how much he had begun to miss your touch. You didn't back down this time, anyway.

‘’So, six fingers,’’ you muttered. ‘’That would be… Sixier?’’

‘’I have a name, you know?’’ he frowned.

"It's not like you told me."

‘’Stanford Pines. That’s my name.’’ Ford streaked, pushing his glasses along the bridge of his nose, trying to distract himself. The heat returned to his face immediately as he heard you repeat it out loud. ‘’Yours?’’

You gave him your name. Ford recorded it in his head as a magical melody that settled into his brain immediately.

"I haven't seen you around the halls of college," he added.

"I attend the neighboring university," you replied, "the one that remains going to the valley. I was late for the Backupsmore inscription."

‘’It's a pity; we could have made a very good research team."

The smile you gave him made Ford's heart clench in his throat.

"I don't doubt it," you nodded. "I'd have something better to do than be at this party."

"Well, you have me here with you," he said. At the same time, a choking laugh slipped through his lips like a painfully dry cough. "I mean, we're together—talking, I meant, sorry. Not that we're together, of course. Not if you don't want to, obviously. I'm not pressuring you, anyway, don't think that."

You let out a laugh, almost as nervous as he was. Nothing one could hide from the other; it was all very obvious, but neither you nor Ford dared to break the illusion. The night had already improved too much, and there was nothing that could change that fact.

The music of the party, once strident and annoying, was now a whisper in which the battery of the players faded at the same time as the farewell of most of the guests present. There was no silence; just a murmur almost dead and far away. Ford looked behind him, sighing.

"Am I going to see you again?" he asked, returning to you, unable to hold your gaze. "I wouldn't want this to be a final goodbye."

"I wasn't planning on leaving you anyway, Stanford Pines," you smiled. "Backupsmore is opening its winter courses for advanced engineering and ultra-subject studies. I don't know if you wanted to, you know, go with me... "

Your voice became small and almost audible as you noticed the gleam in Ford's eyes increase. His gaze lit up with your proposal.

"We could work together on the cellular anomaly contest!" he exclaimed. "McGucket, my friend, is in charge of system maintenance; me, from research and fact-checking."

"I can help!" you nodded almost immediately. A huge smile on your face.

You patted the pockets of your pants until you hit a paper ball. Ford looked curiously at the colorful letters, recognizing the place of the indications as soon as he had it in front of him.

"I work making drinks at the student center cafe," you explained. "You and your friend can go there tomorrow. On Saturdays we make the breakfast special for champions; since the team qualified and that. He's going to need it because of the hangover."

"I don't think he will want to go..."

You thought about it for a moment, taking a deep breath.

"Then come alone," you said. "It is you I want to see.’’

This time Ford held your gaze; as much as he could, eyes wide and cheeks rosy. He didn't squat as he took the paper from your hands, brushing your fingers, quickly putting it in the back of his pocket, terrified of losing the only way to find you tomorrow.

‘’See you Saturday, then?’’ you asked. ‘’You and me.’’

He nodded, smiling alongside you. ‘’You and me,’’ he whispered.

Just you and him. That sounded too good to be true.

[hamsternella]

HELLO EVERYONE!!!11!!1

My broke ass shows up with open commissions.

I write NSFW at no additional cost, and for any kink, although I don't think I have a problem, my dm's are open for consultation.

I'm not having a very good time, and although I'm a little embarrassed —I don't know why, either— I'm coming here to try my luck.

Payments would be by PayPal for the moment.

1k = $10

2k - 3k = $20

5k = $35

After 5k words, for every 1k words, $2 is added.

I also do beta reader work, at $15.

My NO's:

Minors/Ped0shit

Zooshit

Other than those things, you can consult me without any embarrassment.

Thanks for reading.

[hamsternella]

"El hombre que yo amo", Myriam Hernández

ATTENTION

If you see this you are OBLIGATED to reblog w/ the song currently stuck in your head :)

[hamsternella]

Second part of this one

Bill Cipher x Fem!Reader

cw: gore, bill is a warning by himself, mdni, yandere and obsessive behavior

''She's my wife! You're talking about my wife, Cipher!'' Ford ran his hands through his hair, feeling desperate. Disgust was driving him mad; fury was blinding him. ''You've crossed a boundary! You're a…''

''A monster, a madman, a sick man,'' Bill interrupted him lazily. ''Yeah, yeah. I get that a lot, thanks, Fordsy. Anyway, what do you say? Do we have a deal?''

Ford backed up a couple of steps, colliding with the edge of his desk behind him. His hand brushed against a statuette of Cipher himself; a figure of pure gold that weighed between his fingers as he lifted it into the air, eyes fixed on the demon. The latter shook his hand in denial. 'No, no. Don't even think about it.' But he did it anyway. He didn't even get to hit him—Bill had disappeared.

"Come back here, Bill!" cried the investigator in despair. "Don't you dare lay a hand on my wife again, Cipher!"

But all he received in response was a shrill laugh, and the blow of a warm breeze that made him stagger. The lights went out, and in the gloom the only thing that enveloped Ford was silence barely interrupted by his own breathing.

"My God," he whispered, "what have I done?"

After your talk with Bill, and the forced kiss that sealed an implied deal, your life becomes confusing and uncomfortable.

The demon had not stopped possessing your husband until the day you decided that enough was enough.

The limit was to have found him on you, forcing your petticoats with the hands of the man who was supposed to be your companion.

How were you supposed to know when it was Ford and not Bill? How could you let him kiss your lips with that sweetness, sometimes interspersed with the awkwardness of a need that already seemed alien to you?

When Ford found out about the situation you were acting so strange about, his fury is such that even you find yourself terrified of the human as you were of the demon.

They felt like one and the same entity. At this point you didn't know what to think about it.

Your relationship with your husband deteriorated considerably. It was easy to see how uncomfortable it made him to know that you and Bill had been intimate.

"Aren't we ever going to talk about it, then? Ford, I'm addressing the word to you..."

"I know," he interrupted you, the frustration palpable in his voice. "You've been saying the same thing every day, throughout every week; it's a regular thing come this point."

"Because we need to talk about it! For God's sake, Ford, you can't even stand to be in the same room with me anymore. Do you think this situation hasn't affected me too?"

You heard his footsteps coming towards where you were. You felt him in front of you, with his scent and his breathing altered into a choked growl. "Be honest with me, didn't you suspect at any time that that imitation wasn't me?"

"Ford, not again with this..." you sighed.

"Not again, you say? Not again, as if it were something upsetting to you," he exclaimed. "Oh, well, perhaps it is—perhaps because things happened there that I don't know about. More things I don't know—I don't want to know. Terrible things, lots of secrets hidden from me, your husband!"

"Are you serious, Stanford? You're coming at me with such audacity!" You had risen from your seat, colliding immediately with your husband's chest. His hands took you by surprise; a shove brought you back to the world as you hit the table at your side. "Ford! What's wrong with you, God..."

"This is all wrong! This is all terrible!" he shouted. Moments later there was silence. It took your husband some time to regulate his own breathing. "Whole weeks... being possessed by a creature I thought was my friend, my companion. Days believing I was falling into madness; the darkness of a confused dream enveloping me, devouring my senses... all of me. All of me! My works, my researches, my wife! He dared to possess my woman!"

"So that's what I am to you," you hastened to add. "Just your woman. That's what this irrational outburst of yours is all about, Stanford."

"It's everything! This is about everything! For God's sake, woman, understand. He's taken everything from me—he's trying to make it, and he's closing in on me by leaps and bounds... He's wanted to ruin my life completely and you don't understand! You can't be so selfish!"

"Who's being selfish here, when you were the scoundrel hiding a demon under our feet! This was all started by you, Stanford! And you never told me the truth!" You covered your face for a moment, sighing faintly. "You let him take your body and walk around the house; you kept me ignorant of your true plans while to him you built a shrine."

"How did you..."

"He told me," you interrupted him coldly, "as usual. Because of course I have to find out what's going on in my own house from a demon. Same demon who, by the way, got into our room to try to molest me!"

"You could have told me that in the first place! Things don't magically escalate."

"Excuse me? What are you trying to tell me?"

His silence confirmed the shame that had overwhelmed him by his own words.

"I'm talking to you, Ford."

"You should have told me. You allowed him direct entry."

"I don't think I gave him that much power," you shook your head. "Not like you gave it to him, Ford, with your portals and your 'insignificant' studies."

"I didn't mean to."

"And you think it was my intention to have him on top of me?"

"For God's sake—this is not about you!"

"It's never about me! Nothing is ever about me, your very wife, Ford!" You held back the heart-rending cry in your throat, until the other words snatched it from you. "I could have been raped that night and you didn't care! That thing has kissed me, touched me while in your body, and what affects you most is losing your portal! Please, Stanford, please, I beg you to understand!"

You stretched out your arms in a desperate attempt to cling to your husband's shirt. You knew where he was when you brushed against his body; there your hands rested, fingers digging like daggers into his arms. Your voice was barely a whisper corrupted by pain and despair.

"I gave up everything for you," you continued, "even my hobbies, my friends and my family. I believed in you like no one ever has; I sacrificed time, sweat and tears on your journey to glory... All for you. Always for you. When will there be something for me? When will I have a family of my own? When will I have a nice home? When will I feel safe?" you weighed a couple of raw ideas at the back of your mind. "When will I feel safe with you, Ford. You're supposed to be my husband..." you sobbed.

"I need you to understand," he whispered back. "Please, honey. I need you to."

"I'm tired of understanding things I don't know," you shook your head, possessed by crying. "You let that thing into this house. You gave your body, your mind... your wife."

"I would never allow him to lay a hand on you!"

"He's done it already!" you shouted back. "He's already done as much damage as you have, Ford! You're just like that! Unsatisfied, cruel creatures; eager to carry more than your arms can carry. He may be able to make it. Not you, Ford. And that's your problem—yourself. You're selfish, self-centered..."

"You don't know what you're talking about."

"... and I begin to believe that I have been a victim of that victorious perversity that consumes you when you get something that others want and can't. But you could! And now you want more! More of what you shouldn't, of that which you can't have."

"I can have it! I'm capable! You know it; you've heard me achieve it."

"Thanks to him. And everything has a price in life, Stanford. Who says I'm not that now?"

The laughter that your husband dismissed hurt your soul.

"It's not that simple. He couldn't want you for... I don't understand. Why would he want you for something like this? I don't get it. Why would he want you in exchange for something like this? What do you figure here, but a sack of meat like me?"

"I don't know, you tell me," you shrugged. "Why do you want me, Ford? What do you think I possess, beyond a hole for you to fuck when you're stressed? Do you consider me to have value? Maybe you think I'm a stupid bitch—"

"Don't talk about yourself like that!" he interrupted you, sounding hurt. "One thing has nothing to do with the other here, right now."

"I think it has a lot to do with when your pride outweighs your wife's honor and safety. Does that title do any good? Perhaps the term 'maid' paints a better picture, considering how much you hold me in high regard as a person."

"Stop it."

"And that's all you have to say."

Life feels empty when your marriage suddenly seems like a sham.

You no longer consider Ford a company that provides you with security; now you are truly on your own.

The world is scary.

And this is where he comes to save the day.

More or less, let's assume.

Bill takes this opportunity to start filling your head with hallucinations. You can't escape them.

Your husband is a nightmare that whispers lies in your ear, which later become truths the more you think about them.

Cipher doesn't show up in your dreams until months later, when your husband is at his worst peak of stress and paranoid episodes.

The demon is much more kind, caring and receptive to you than ever before; even manipulating your brain to reproduce his figure in your mind.

At last you meet Mr. Cipher.

"But look who it is! The protagonist of this beautiful story of bloody, forbidden visceral romance from...! Oh, forget it. The title is too long."

The triangle levitates around you with its golden glow. Its edges are sharp; it has only one eye, and it wears a galley and a staff that seems to have a life of its own, far away from you, circling in the air. It is black, just like the galley and the slender limbs of the beast.

The laughter is as loud as ever. For a moment it brings you peace. It's the same—nothing has changed nor is a lie. It's just Bill.

"That's me! Yes, ma'am." Its figure reappears in front of you, with one of its small hands resting on your cheek. "My pronouns are call/me/Bill; but I also go by he/him."

"Are you reading my mind?"

"Oh, you little bag of muscle and nerves! We're in your mind," he laughed. "By the way, you should be nicer to me."

"I don't have to be nice to you," you replied. "You've ruined my life."

"Ruin your life, you say! Oh, no, my dear, but I haven't done anything!" His hand moved away from you, returning to his back as he entwined it with the other. His eye narrowed for a moment; he was fascinated. "But didn't you mean, rather, your husband's life? Isn't it the same as yours?"

"Is that, you suppose, a comment to hurt me?"

"Hurting you is one of my last thoughts when I think of you," he said. "And believe me: I think about you a lot."

"I don't want to know what kind of things."

"And you do very well not to want to!"

Another shrill laugh pierced your ears like a needle. The sound settled painfully in your brain.

"Oh, my dear! So beautiful and so pitifully silly," he sighed. "How I've missed you."

"I find it rather disturbing the way you address me. Especially after the accident..."

"That night!" he interrupted you; so fascinated that his yellow color darkened into a kind of still luminous blush. "Perhaps I was a little thrilled by the tenderness of your flesh—how your heart throbbed! An organ pumping warm blood, under that weak skin."

The triangle was suddenly in front of you. His eye wide open.

"The way your muscles tensed in your face," he continued, "with each eye wide open, as if you could just see me. No need to when you can feel me, little one. And how did that feel? How did you feel under the rough warmth of hands on the smooth skin of your belly?"

"While you were using my husband!" you cried out in shame. "You forced yourself on me with my husband's body. You are a..."

You bit your lip, holding back the string of insults that were about to hang from your mouth. Bill narrowed his eye, humming an unfamiliar tune.

"I'm a... what? Say it, come on!"

"Just shut up," you growled. "Shut your mouth—whatever you use to talk. Shut it."

"A little bird told me something very interesting. I'm sure you want to know! I know you do!"

You covered your face, using your hands to stifle a frustrated scream that could barely overshadow Bill's animated narration. His voice was penetrating your head, which was funny to think about considering the two of you were in your mind; there was no way his voice wasn't getting through to you being in a place like this. There was no escape possible.

"Oh! Yes, that's right," he pointed out with his cane. "You can't wake up until I decide."

"That's crazy!"

"I guess... Whatever! You want to play a game of chess for which you might lose something very valuable to you when I cheat?"

"Of course not!" You rubbed both hands together, trying to stop the trembling all over your body. "Ford will notice I'm not in the kitchen; I always make breakfast. He'll notice, won't he?"

"Dear, are you asking me or are you losing your senses?"

"Isn't it the same?" you turned to look at him, narrowing your eyes. "Wondering something to you, losing my mind—isn't it the same thing?"

Bill rolled his eye, dropping his cane in the air again. "What a mood! Too many gentlemen on this world for so few ladies—"

"What do you want?" you interrupted him. There was no answer. You took a deep breath as you met his gaze upon you; too much intensity, with his figure levitating slower and slower. "Bill, please, is there something you want? Because I can't give it to you. You should talk it over with Ford, like always" you muttered.

"Something I want," he repeated. "Maybe I wasn't very clear with you. In the olden days new romantic prospects used to murder the current spouse. You want that? So freaky, grr—"

"What the fuck are you talking about! My God," you swallowed the string of insults hanging from your throat. "Cipher, let me go right now. Go and talk to my husband and do together whatever it is you have in mind. Leave me alone!"

"I tried to talk to Fordsy about you," rushed the demon defensively, "but I don't think he liked certain details... My bad, I admit it! There are always second chances—although with him we'd be going for number three hundred and twenty something, I think... I don't know, I don't care! Hey, you really don't want to play chess with me?"

"You told him about that night," you whispered. Tears began to tickle your cheeks without your noticing them. "You told him first and he never... Ford never told me—he never told me about it..."

"And then he made you feel terrible about it," he laughed. "How crazy is Fordsy. And what's with all that pushing and shoving this last week? Didn't you see it coming? Ha! Get it? Because you're totally blind—"

"I can't wail and cry if I hear your shitty voice."

"Oh, come on! It's not my fault your husband is a deranged madman. There are lots of fish in the ocean, did you know that? Lots and lots... Lots, really... Then there's me, who's better," he pointed to himself, shrinking his eye in a smile. "I mean, uh, a god, technically."

"A demon."

"Very soon a god," he corrected you.

You frowned, forcing a smile as you said, "But you're still a demon. One trapped far away from our world, aren't you? What assures you that you're going to be anything more than that, when Stanford no longer believes in you?"

"The last thing I care about is your husband," Bill narrowed his eye. "Beyond that, could it be that you're testing me?"

"Testing you?"

"If I can get out of here, if I can catch you anywhere, anytime," he continued, "does that mean I win?"

"For you everything is a game. A demon at the end of the day."

Bill's shrill laughter pierced your ears again. This time you found him in front of you in the blink of an eye; closer, more attentive.

"Does that mean I win?" he whispered. "Because I believe I can have you whenever I want, wherever I want—this is just a taste of my power."

"This is a sign of what a monster you are," you replied in kind. "Ford will not allow you to go beyond your dimension—"

"Fordsy couldn't stop me all those times I messed with you," the demon interrupted you, suddenly surly at the mention of your husband. "It's almost like he doesn't care. Anyway, that brainiac is going to fail sooner or later, and there's no corner of the universe where you can hide your head. I'll be there, in your dreams; and I'll be here, where you don't see me. Everywhere I'm going to be, dear little flesh bag."

"Don't fucking call me that!"

"Nuh-uh!"

You opened your mouth, ready to pour over his expectant eye a couple more insults, but the lack of your own voice led you to wrap both hands around your neck. You thought you were piercing flesh with your fingernails; you caressed muscle, you smeared yourself with blood. You wanted to scream, terrified, alone in the middle of an empty, dark space, but the only response to the nervous silence of your panic attack was another thunderous laugh.

Everything was suddenly red. Red and painful. A sharp stab of pain shot through your body from your throat, and with a shocking jolt you fell to your knees, drowning in your own blood. Warm, viscous, thick. You closed your eyes, too disgusted with the spectacle of intense sensations assaulting your senses, and let yourself be carried away by the spasms that seemed to go on forever. You barely felt him on you.

When you opened your eyes, overcome by another intense, hot sensation, you found Bill leaning over you. His yellow color had migrated to a deep black; red edges like your blood, glowing, and with the same wide-open, watchful eye. You noted with another kind of horror that same morbid charm in his gaze—the ravenous hunger of a natural hunter.

You shook your head, barely moving your lips in a faint 'please'.

"I missed this," he said. "I missed you. It's strange... this feeling, I mean—it's kind of weird. It's unpleasant. But when I finally have you again, when I can touch you, I can see you, I can hear you, that awful feeling goes away; it disappears and I feel good again. I feel better. It's strange, like I told you."

One of his limbs brushed against the bleeding wound on your neck. The nightmare was compounded by the pressure of his fingers playing with your flesh.

"You're beautiful," he whispered. "If you could see yourself. I don't think you'd understand. It would be fun, anyway. See you cry, make you scream," he laughed. "You know, the usual. Stanford makes you cry a lot, doesn't he? He hurts you."

It took you a while to respond, but you were able to give him a nod.

"Everything he does is a product of my own genius," Bill continued. "I'm better. A hell of a lot better. This is just beginning; there's more to this than I've shown you now. A lot more. But that's all right! We have all the time in the world. Lots of nights, lots of dreams. Opportunities, my pretty little bag of nerves."

His limb moved away from your wound, wrenching another spasm from your body. You couldn't take your eyes off the way the demon was spewing a long, slimy tongue from the strip below his eye, starting from the socket. Another repulsive limb. The flesh of your body disappeared in what was a light taste of your own flavor. You noticed the fascination in his small figure; the tremor of ecstasy bursting the moment.

"Fordsy would be delighted to know this," Bill said, squinting his eye. "You think we should tell him?"

'We?' Your own mind gave you away.

"I'm asking for your opinion! That's what couples do, right?"

Silence. Bill let out a sigh; his yellow color back with a particular glow.

"Whatever," he shrugged, "I don't think he'll mind. This may be our little secret." He approached you, levitating gently. "As for you, beautiful little waste, I hope to see you in a better mood soon. There's so much to do! So many things to talk about. Our plans ahead, of course—the big moment. What a thrill!"

Your eyes began to close. The pain gradually, gently subsided. It was getting harder and harder to hear Bill chattering.

"... portal, and the... But maybe a crazy... you and me, of..."

Before you faced the impending total darkness, Bill's intense gaze invaded your mind. This time you stopped listening to him. In spite of that, a new sharp pang of pain pierced your head; it upset you completely, as one who feels disarmed at the discomfort of their own body, and made you wake up again. This time there was no yellow demon in front of you. There was nothing, directly. Not that nothing of one whose eyes are covered—but that kind of empty expectation, typical of the blind.

'Returned home,' you thought with a sigh.

The morning was quiet, but not calm. Bill's nightmare had left you jittery, with tremors and a nagging itch in your neck. A sick kind of paranoia kept you standing between the bedroom and the bathroom, unable to go any further. It was the murmur of timid footsteps downstairs that made you make the decision: tell Ford, give him the chance again. Who else did you have in the world but him?

You walked down the stairs with the itch in your neck increasing as your husband's silence to your calls did. At a certain point, and with madness tearing tears from your eyes, you ended up tripping over an obstacle on the floor where you thought the living room was. You rested your hands as soon as you felt the blow of the air like a whip; the pain came seconds later, along with the roughness of a jacket.

Ford did not wear such jackets.

You pushed your fingers against the leather, dragging your nails along the inner fur. You felt the coolness of some pins, and maybe found a couple of holes.

"Ford?"

"He's not here."

A man's broken voice took you by surprise. You jumped up, fell back down, and began to crawl backwards across the floor. You forgot about the pain and itching in your neck.

"Who are you?! What did you do to my husband—"

"Just... just a moment! Please!" The voice broke even more, as if choked with an inevitable cry. "You said husband—you must be her, I mean, his girl. His wife. Logically, isn't it?" an unfunny laugh broke through his words. "Please, I'm not here to do anything bad..."

"Who the fuck are you?!"

Silence. A long one, interrupted by a couple of accelerated breaths.

"Stanley," the man replied. "I'm Stanley Pines. I'm Stanford's brother."

"He doesn't... No, because he doesn't have a brother. You are lying to me—"

"Are you blind?"

This time the silence came from you.

"I didn't think... Sorry, I didn't get a good look at you," he rushed back. "I'm sorry, ma'am."

"Stanley Pines," you said, "is that really your name? Stanford never told me about you." You craned your neck, gathering as much air as you could. "Stanf—"

"He's not here."

"What do you mean? Did he go out or something? Again," you sighed.

Silences were commonplace at this point. You had time to stand up with the help of the supposed Stanley. You let him guide you to an armchair, allowing him as much freedom as a tired woman could allow a man this robust. You tried not to let fear blind your senses.

If he was inside the house, it meant he hadn't set off any traps. Was he telling the truth?

"Did Ford tell you where he went?" you insisted in the absence of an answer. "Do you know when he'll be back?"

"I don't think he..." a heavy, shaky sigh. "Sorry, but I think Stanford—I don't think he can come, today, at least..."

"What do you mean?"

But you didn't need a clear answer. Stanley was still talking, saying things very unimportant to you; and yet there was something special that leapt into your mind along with the memory of a thunderous laugh. The word 'portal' throbbed in rhythm with your heart, leaving in its wake a trail of horror from which a couple of tears were born. Only then did you return to the world—along with Stanley's hand caressing your back.

"I'm really sorry," he continued in a soft cry. "I didn't mean to, I swear..."

"Through the portal?"

"It was too fast, and... and then we pushed each other a lot, and there was screaming—"

"Then I guess he's not coming back," you sighed shakily, interrupting him. "Ford's not coming back. My God..."

"I'm going to fix that thing. You have my word."

The image of Bill in your dreams quickly jumped into your memories. You reached desperately for Stan's hands, taking them in yours. You stared into the void, hoping to behold his face of -possible- intrigue.

"You can't touch that thing!" you exclaimed in warning. "Stanley, you can't go near that portal, please. You have no idea what's in store for us on the other side."

"My brother is trapped in there! God, woman, your own husband!"

"This is beyond him right now!"

His hands released yours; a push let you know that he had risen from your side.

"You're crazy," he growled. "As crazy as he is. Just a crazy couple!"

"You have no idea what this is, Stanley Pines... You have no idea. You haven't the faintest idea. Am I crazy? Do you think I've lost my mind? I think you saw Ford very well; I'd like to think there's something of him in you—that you understand why I'm this way. Whose fault is it!"

"Your husband could be dead and you just go around attributing blame!"

"Our lives are at stake! Good Lord, Stanley, you have no idea what it was like to live with him!"

The image of Bill wouldn't leave your head. At this point you didn't know if you were thinking of Ford, or the triangular demon.

"I'm going to fix that fucking machine," Stanley spat angrily, "and I'm not going to let some crazy woman stop me over a couple of superstitions. I've had enough of that with Stanford. I want my brother back, and I'm going to get him. Whatever it takes."

You heard his footsteps walk away from the room, and seconds later a slamming door vibrated through your bare feet. Until then you hadn't felt the cold seeping into your sensitive flesh. Nothing seemed to matter enough to you.

It wasn't about Ford anymore; now you had to deal with the nervous insanity of his so-called brother. Could it get even worse?

Maybe.

[hamsternella]

Everyone bow down to Jacob Anderson. He is our Louis always and forever more.

[hamsternella]

WIP ‼️ Don’t Be Afraid, Just Start the Tape

- we are so back

[hamsternella]

ovulating, need him to bend me tf over 🤤🫠

[hamsternella]

he has a 100% divorce rate btw

[hamsternella]

“oh that man is so fucked up”

*immediately starts reading/writing fanfic about him*

[hamsternella]

[hamsternella]

SOMEONE ALREADY CRACKED THE WEBSITE AND GOT A MAJORITY OF THE SECRET CODEWORDS! I'm putting them all here in image form because there's a crapton, have fun!

6 images in all, you'll probably have t. Save them and zoom in. Go nuts ya'll!

[hamsternella]

could you write about Hazbin Hotel or Helluva Boss? I would like something about that written by you. Only if you want ofc

Maybe Lucifer or Stolas first, or with anyone else you want more but from those I'd like a lot🤭

Hello! Of course, I have no problem. If I take a long time to write or to answer the requests, it's because there are several, and I have other personal projects in drafts. So sorry for that. 😔

[hamsternella]

Happy 25th birthday, Dipper and Mabel 🥳

It's crazy to think Gravity Falls itself is now as old as the twins were that summer and in turn, that same amount of time has now past since. Though we may all grow old as time goes on, our love for them and Gravity Falls will never end!

It's been quite a summer. From the Book of Bill, the website, Gravity Falls having a resurgence in popularity not seen since it ended and so much more. It's been an incredible adventure to see and like every summer, we end it celebrating the birthday of, to quote Alex Hirsch, "the cartoon babies that live in my brain."

I say it every year, but who knows what is to come till the next summer (ours...not GF's as that's not happening, lol). Will we get a new Gravity Falls book announced with BoB's success showing Disney it's worth it? Will Alex Hirsch's Netflix projects finally get out of development hell and happen? Will I still be here? Will Gravity Falls' fandom still be as thriving or will it decline back to the semi popular state it was before? Who knows. But whatever happens next, I am grateful to have experienced yet again a chance to see the GF fandom feel like it was alive again to the same extent as if a new episode was airing.

I was not here for those days. I barely got to experience that in 2018 with Lost Legends. So, in a large sense, this whole experience was as new for me, a now 7 year long member of the fandom, as it was for a fan who just joined this summer. Despite the ups and downs, I'll take these memories with me and cherish them for many years to come and till the end. From the book of Bill PR, the codes and deciphering them, helping Alex Hirsch curb leaks (I'll discuss that in a future video, lol), waiting for the website to reveal its secrets and more. It's been amazing.

Happy birthday, Dipper and Mabel. Here's to another great summer and for another amazing season of memories made.

Gravity Falls is real and it will NEVER die!