#the faceless old woman who lives in your house

[retirement-home-rumble]

Since I am getting mixed responses about how to deal with the faceless old woman/pinako vs kitties results. I think it would be most fair to run another mini poll on whether we should allow them to team up or not. I normally would just stick to the results, but they were literally one vote off of a tiesweep. But at the same time, if more people don't want them to tie, I will respect that and the kitties will stay behind. So without further ado:

[lostwords-found]

I've been thinking a lot about Night Vale as a place where reality is affected by perception, and where the stories people tell about themselves can affect not just the present but the past in a fundamental, physical way, making things that were never true into things that have always been true--whether the people in question meant it to happen or not. And about what that idea would mean for someone like Cecil, who's constantly spinning stories for the entire town to hear--and who has whole mountains of baggage that he's tried to bury, but that nevertheless have contributed to shaping him, and shaping the way he perceives the world. I keep wondering how much of that baggage might have seeped into the grain of Night Vale's reality and taken on independent existence of its own, until it carved itself into yet another new layer of Night Vale's stack of nested matryoshka doll realities.

I got thinking about Cecil's fear of mirrors, and his mother's prediction that he'd be killed because of one. His refusal to look at his own reflection. And then about the idea that everyone in Night Vale has a double, an identical copy, and that one of them must die for the other to live.

I got thinking about that book in episode 171 that he remembers his mother giving him. The book he was supposed to hide, keep a secret, never let anyone see. We've only heard about it the once, but it seems like it was important, and it seems he buried it so deeply that even he forgot about it. And then I got thinking about how, you know, if you want to keep someone from reading a book, if that's really, desperately important to you, the Night Vale Public Library has you covered.

Then I got thinking about Cecil's mother herself, and how so much of what Cecil says about her, he says with the air of someone who has convinced himself, thoroughly, that his experiences were normal. His mother was always foretelling his death, but ha ha, that's just a funny relatable story. She ignored and neglected him and maybe tried to lose him in the woods, but she was kind and caring. She abandoned him when he was fourteen, but for a long time--according to younger Cecil--she was still there, just hiding.

Normal stuff. Motherly stuff. Everyone knows how that is, right?

Then I thought, well, what would that look like, if a kid determined to erase his own trauma convinced reality that everyone knows how that is?

Everyone knows how it is to have a woman hiding in your house, there but always out of sight. She's a... capricious personality. Sometimes the things she does can be interpreted as kindness, viewed from a skewed angle. Sometimes she's just terrifying. She sure does like telling people how they're going to die, either way. She--hang on. This is starting to sound... familiar...

There's one time we've heard Cecil be upfront about his mother, not on the podcast but at the end of Ghost Stories. You know how he describes her there? He says that when she finally came back home--a return he has conspicuously never discussed on the podcast itself--her face was gone. In its place was the face that time had given her...

There's a old woman who's lost her face. You'll probably never see her, but she's secretly living in your house. Sometimes she seems to care for you, in a warped way; sometimes she really, really doesn't.

That's just normal, right? Everyone knows how that is. That's how it's always been. She's got her own reasons for being like she is, and they're nothing to do with you, so there's no need to think too closely about it.

There's no need to think about it at all.

🤔...

...SO ANYWAY how about that threat from Lubelle to explain Cecil, huh?

[omegasmileyface]

why are so many informational tumblr posts like "hey! you. yes, you, the reader. i see you claiming Scleebus is normal and fine and great. you personally do this every day. why are you deliberately ignoring the fact— which i KNOW you used to know, reader— that in 2016 Scleebus bombed Paris and this was never broadcast on the news? reader, you must be evil to deliberately go out of your way to say you are a massive unconditional Scleebus lover when i know that you spent your 2016 researching the Paris incident day and night. why would you do this? fuck you."

[plutoccult]

MY LOVE MINE ALL MINE

pairing: jean kirstein x female reader

description: a few years after the successful peace negotiations, you and jean celebrate his first birthday with your new baby boy, but jean can’t help but look back on what it took to get to this day after dreaming of it as much as he could hope to live without breathing.

word count: 1.2k

also available to read on my ao3 here

author’s note: something short and sweet that’s not soul crushing angst. a shocker on my end, really. BUT, the attack on titan anime has finally ended. it’s like a chapter of my life is over, but a chapter ending only means a new one beginning. i always wanted to write something that depicted some sort of event after the end of the story, so it’s nice to fully bring that vision into fruition. i love writing for jean and i’ll miss him and the rest of the characters so very much, but the writing doesn’t end here for me! more content will come out of me until i get bored of it. i do, however, hope you enjoy this little fluff piece.

when dreaming about what life could be without titans or any worries, jean always knew what the perfect life would be for him. it was always consisted of the same fantasy; sitting out on a balcony with a glass of the finest liquor in hand, wife inside the house, and a newborn baby with the cutest, most innocent smile in his wife’s arms. the ideal daydream used to have a faceless woman, then mikasa took over for a brief second after being struck by her upon their first meeting, but now it’s been the same face for many, many years. since falling head over feet completely, jean could now only picture his future with you bearing his love and his children, and only that would be the perfect life for him. nothing else, just you.

sometimes jean wondered what life would be like if marco were still around. who would have died in his place instead of him that day? who would’ve had to deal with the pain of losing their best friend instead of him? would he live next door to jean’s dream home and babysit the kids whenever? jean liked to imagine marco as the perfect uncle. uncle marco. if only it could all be real. even so, all these years later, he was grateful for the life he had been given.

after years of hell fighting for the greater good, jean was finally able to settle down and live that perfect life he so desperately craved in his youth. he wasn’t very young anymore; small wrinkles began to form, his muscles grew tired far more easily, signs that he was starting to grow old, but not quite just yet. there was still more life to live, so much more he could live for.

today was jean’s birthday, and just like his teenage fantasies, he sat on a balcony with a glass of whiskey just as he imagined. the view of the town he lived in was great, but not the greatest. the only difference between jean’s dreams and his reality that there wasn’t a barrier between him and what he wanted most; you, holding your little baby boy in your arms.

caught in the middle of daydreaming, you emerge from inside the house and join jean on the balcony with your son. you gently grab the baby’s hand and pretend to act like he’s the one waving to jean, which makes him smile.

“does baby marco want to say hi to daddy?” you coo while jean looked at the two of you in awe. naming your child after marco was always in the cards, neither of you doubted it for a second when you both expressed wanting children. it was just the most beautiful thing in the world when he was finally born, after all this time of knowing what you wanted.

“here, lemme hold him.” jean offered, extending his arms out for baby marco. you carefully hand him over then sit down and watch as the infant reached his hands out to grab jean’s face, who was gently cradling him in his arms. “he’s getting so big now, i can’t even believe it.”

“i know.” you say with a smile on your face. “by the way, some letters came in the mail for you.”

“from who?” he questioned.

“armin and mikasa, of course. reiner and pieck too.” you began to ramble, listing off the names of all who sent letters for jean on his birthday. “oh, can’t forget connie. and then levi sent something that gabi and falco seemed to have signed—”

“so… pretty much everyone?” jean interrupted with a chuckle.

“queen historia as well.” you end off the list, giggling to yourself for forgetting such an important name. you simply can’t forget the queen, after all. “oopsie.”

“well, i oughta write everyone back as soon as possible.” he said, but you disagreed.

“you can write after cake, okay? i’ll go grab it now.” you say, standing up from your seat so you could head inside of the house.

“i told you i could make it.” jean insisted. “i don’t like making you do the work for me.”

although his words were sweet, you wouldn’t do that to him today out of all days. “make your own birthday cake? please. i’ll be right back.”

jean sat with baby marco close to him while you disappeared into the house for his birthday treat. you come back with a cake that has an array of lit candles, gently setting it down on the table as far away from the baby as possible. you take the baby out of jean’s hands while you sing happy birthday to him and sit across the table, your voice as soothing as the breeze.

when it was time for jean to blow out the candles and make a wish, he simply couldn’t think of anything to wish for. he finally had everything he ever wanted; the love of his life, a family of his own, and most importantly, peace. you both fought like hell a million times over to get here, doing things you regretted all the time. the past you shared together was ridden with sin, but the future didn’t have to be, and right now, the future was bright and golden like daylight.

if there was anything to possibly wish for, it was for things to stay just like this, so jean closed his eyes and blew out the candles and wished just for that. his eyes opened up to the sight of you and your son, and he was so happy to see it right in front of him.

“happy birthday, jean.” you say softly. baby marco beamed with the most innocent grin, his youthful laugh almost bringing jean to tears.

“thank you, my love.” he mustered up the words to say without crying.

jean insisted he cut the cake himself. seeing as you made it, this was the least he could do, and you didn’t argue. he sliced a piece for you first and set it down in front of you, watching as baby marco eyed the cake in complete awe.

jean’s eyes stray away from cutting his own piece as he found himself watching you with the baby. you were trying to eat your cake, but you couldn’t help but laugh at marco trying to get some of it from your fork.

“ah, no, no, no. you can’t have cake.” you coo, booping baby marco on the nose.

it was times like these that made jean so grateful. he captured even the smallest grain of a moment, cherishing every single one with the thought that tomorrow is not always promised, even when you two were free of the burdens of a solider saving humanity. no matter how many times he made a wish on some candies, there was always that “what if?” thought in the back of his brain that this some day would be taken away from him.

you look up and catch jean staring at you as if he were frozen, like he was taking a million pictures with his eyes. “what are you doing?”

“remembering this.” he simply replied, the best way he could put it all into words.

the love you had for each other and the life that’s been given to you would always be yours, all yours, and it would last beyond the very last breath both of you would take. in the end, all of the hardships were worth living to see this day.

© plutoccult / 310802. please do not copy, repost, modify, or translate any of my content in or outside of tumblr. reblogs are appreciated <3

[thisgirlnamedblusy]

Hello! I really love your work! Please rest if you need to!

Can you please do Donna x Reincarnated!Reader?

So apparently they were childhood friends (who crushes each other but never officially in relationship) but R died and Donna became the even more reclusive as she is. However, decades later a researcher from outside the village came to do some research and she has the same face as R, turns out it was R who got reincarnated. But R has no memories or whatsoever, but frequently got dejavus or dream about the Manor, dolls, and a faceless woman (who is ofc Donna). R feels very familiar with the house and take residence in the manor with Miranda's suggestion. And Donna tries to get closer to R, knowing it is R reincarnated and they were kinda yearning for each other a lot during the times they live tgt, but Donna being Donna, she's too shy and pessimistic with her "deformed" face (eventho Past!R said Donna's past scarred face when Donna was young is beautiful) and she eventually take off her veil and R still found her so beautiful and enamored all over again. Even more~

Also Angie can be the wingman for both of them~ until they both confessed to each other and got together then R remembers everything.

It can be angsty or hurt/comfort with lots of fluff :3

Yesss!!! Thank you for your words, and for your request!!! I hope you like it and sorry about the language mistakes!!! :)))))

I know who you were

Pairing: Donna Beneviento x Fem! Reincarnated! Reader

Warnings: Angst, Donna being Donna, fluff, happy ending, as always ;)

Word count: 9,039

Summary: Why? Why is everything in that house so familiar to you?

N/A: Sorry about the language mistakes!!! Requests are open!!! I'm waiting yours!!! I love you all!!! :))

Tanti auguri a te…

That innocent birthday song was overshadowed by a few claps, while someone, someone you weren't able to make out, blew out the candles on a cake. The number on them was 16, you'd have to remember that.

“Come on D… make a wish,” you said excitedly, happy for the joy of that person, that girl who had no face, who had no name.

“Oh… I…” the mysterious girl stammered, with a distorted voice, an impossible one to understand clearly. “Okay, I wish…”

“No, no, if you say it, it will never come true!” you shouted.

“She's right, Mistress…” another dark voice said, it seemed like a man's voice. “Try to say it mentally.”

“Could Angie also make a wish?” that broken, blurry, dark voice said. Angie, a name you should remember…

“Hey, stranger,” a male voice brought you out of that little nap. The car was no longer moving. You had reached your destination. “Wake up, we're here.”

“Ugh…” you protested, yawning, quickly taking out the notebook you always carried with you and writing down those details that seemed relevant:

16 years old

Angie

“Are you going to stay there all day?” the taxi driver insisted, in an unpleasant way, but with a tremor in his voice that revealed something different, an unknown fear.

You frowned, picking up your backpack and getting out of the vehicle after paying the man, who seemed to sigh in relief.

“I see that kindness is not your thing,” you murmured, still sleepy. The man laughed, shaking his head.

“Not when a foreigner asks me to take her here,” he defended himself, counting the money you gave him. “Let me give you some advice…”

You nodded curiously, putting your backpack on your shoulders, checking that your phone had no signal, so you snorted.

“Don't let the wolves eat you…” the taxi driver said laughing, starting the car and disappearing down that snowy road.

“How funny, look how I laugh,” you said in a mocking tone, with a face of displeasure. “Anyway…”

After taking a look around, you finally saw the village, your destination. As you went down those dangerous hills, you took out the paper you had in your pocket, one that only had one name written on it: Miranda.

Your trip to Europe was not a coincidence, or something you wanted to do while you had finished college. No, it was something different. As a student of plants, of ecosystems, your intention was to investigate that place, one that your own parents recommended to you.

They were scientists. They dedicated their entire lives to the amazing field of biology. As a good daughter, you followed in their footsteps, trying to complete your doctorate with something new, something original. Your parents were the ones who told you about that place, that village where they worked years ago, with another scientist, the so-called Miranda.

Without thinking much, you headed to Romania, alone, willing to make them proud.

“Excuse me, miss,” you said kindly to a villager you crossed on the way. The woman looked at you suspiciously and stopped. “Do you know where Miranda lives?”

The woman opened her eyes and shook her head, walking away from you with a scared face.

“Oh, okay,” you said, crossing your arms, taking a look at that sinister place. Your eyes narrowed while in your head your thoughts seemed to find that place in one of your memories, in one of your dreams.

You may have been a scientist, but not even the most experienced doctor could tell you the meaning of those recurring dreams, strange dreams about houses, dolls, faceless girls...

You had been dreaming about those things for so long that you started your own research. Everything was always blurry. You would forget it after a few hours, so you decided to write it down. You didn't know if you could ever solve the mystery, but at least it wasn't always present in your mind.

“(Y/N), right?” a voice behind you, along with that slightly sinister atmosphere, made you jump in place.

Behind you was a woman, a strange woman dressed in priestess clothing, blonde, elegant, with a smug smile.

“Oh, yes, it's me,” you said nervously, embarrassed by your reaction. The blonde looked at you, without removing that smile from her pale face. “Are you Miranda?”

“Yes, I am,” she answered dryly, turning around and indicating for you to follow her.

“Your parents were very considerate in advising you to work with me,” the strange woman commented, serving you what seemed a cup of tea.

You nodded, staring at the priestess. You weren't expecting a young woman, or at least not that young.

“Yes, and, I, I appreciate your hospitality,” you said pleasantly, tilting your head. Miranda looked at you curiously and laughed softly, sending a shiver through your body.

“Anything for my old friends…” she said in a soft voice, sitting down at a desk. You shifted a nervously, something that the woman noticed. “Is there something wrong?”

“Oh, no, no, it's just that… I, I didn't expect you to be that young,” you said sincerely. She laughed again in a sinister way, shaking her head.

“I suppose it's understandable… The last time I saw you, you were just a crying baby,” she joked. You were surprised by that statement, feeling more and more uncomfortable. Was it a dream?

“Did you know me?” you asked, surprised. As far as you knew, you had been born on the other side of the ocean. The priestess frowned, as if she knew she had said something she shouldn’t, something you didn’t know.

“Let’s leave formalities aside,” the blonde sighed, taking an old file from a shelf and placing it on the table. “The first thing is to find you a place to stay.”

“Yes, of course,” you said, nodding, looking at those old photographs of the village. One of them, an old house, guarded by a waterfall, caught your attention.

It wasn’t just the peculiarity of that place, its beauty. You had seen that house before, in your dreams. You were sure.

“Wait a moment,” you said, putting a hand on the page so she wouldn’t keep turning it. Miranda stopped, looking at you in silence while you took out your inseparable notebook.

A house with a waterfall, surrounded by forest.

A dark forest, a small clearing where there was a grave

A wooden bridge swinging over a cliff

All of those were notes from your dreams. You couldn't stop looking at that photograph. It was that house, that very house.

“Is something wrong?” Miranda asked, while you examined your notes. You looked up and shook your head, rubbing your forehead, which was already breaking out in nervous sweat.

“No... It's just that... That house,” you said, pointing at the photograph. Miranda frowned and approached it, looking at you confused.

“That house?” she asked curiously, her eyes staring into yours.

“Yeah, I've seen it before, I'm, I'm sure,” you murmured, confused, thinking that maybe you were still asleep in that taxi.

“How can that be possible, (Y/N)? It's the first time you've come here,” Miranda said, with a suspicious but interested tone.

“I know but… I, I've dreamed about that house, I'm completely sure,” you said, placing your finger on the photograph, sighing and shaking at that coincidence.

“Dreamed,” the priestess said, with apparent disinterest.

“Yes, I… Tell me, is there a wooden bridge to get there? An elevator?” you asked, without thinking very well about what you were saying. They always told you that those dreams weren't important. Your PhD could be in danger if Miranda considered you a disturbed person.

Her eyes closed slowly as she nodded, confirming your intuition.

“Tell me, (Y/N)…” she murmured, slowly getting up from the desk, not taking her gaze off yours. “Does the name Donna Beneviento sound familiar to you?”

You could barely hear it, but you tried to look for that name in your notebook, or one similar. No, it didn't ring a bell. You had never heard it before. It was a completely unknown name to you.

“No, it doesn't ring a bell,” you said, shaking your head and frowning, putting your notebook away again, trying not to get nervous.

“Mm,” the blonde murmured, sketching a brief fake smile, as if downplaying your words. “Well, I think I know where you're staying… Excuse me a moment, I have to make a call.”

You nodded, relaxing, still looking at that picture while the priestess picked up an old phone, dialing a number on it and waiting impatiently.

“Donna, dear…” the woman commented. You turned your head slightly to pay attention to that conversation. “Yes, yes… Listen to me… No, Donna, I said listen to me. I have a job for you… Oh, no, a simple one… A stranger has come at my request to do some research in the village… No, nothing like that… No, Donna, taci…” she murmured, looking at you, realizing that you were listening to her and rolling her eyes mockingly.

You looked away. Well, after all, you didn't need eyes to listen.

“The girl comes to investigate about plants, fauna, you know, those stuff…” she continued talking. “Simple, dear, she will stay with you. Yes, Donna, in your house… Oh, please, can you just speak up for yourself? That puppet of yours is giving me a headache.”

Puppet?

“Oh, much better…” Miranda sighed, relaxing her tone of voice. “No, Donna, I'm completely serious, the girl will stay with you and there is no discussion possible. Try to be nice, mm? Oh, and keep Angie out of it, at least for a while, I don't want the girl to run away, yet…”

Those words were like a switch for your nerves, making you tense. Angie, that name, Angie, you had heard it in dreams, you had written it down.

Miranda hung up the phone, bringing you out of your thoughts and approaching you again.

“Well, it seems you already have accommodation,” she said, joining her hands, with a slightly different attitude. “You will stay with Donna, one of the village Lords. Not all outsiders are so lucky, right?”

“Lord?” you asked curiously. Miranda laughed in a fake way, nodding.

“Relax, dear, I'm sure you'll get used to this place little by little. Oh, and one more thing… Donna isn't… Well, let's say she's not very well in the head so… Be careful with what you say, mm?”

“Not well in the head? Is she dangerous?” you asked, a bit scared.

“Oh, no, she’s not… Well, if you're careful, of course,” she joked disinterestedly. Your desire to leave the village increased by the moment. “She's a very peculiar woman, but I'm sure she'll be nice to you if you're nice to her.”

“Miranda… Who's Angie?” you asked again, acknowledging that, indeed, you were aware of that phone conversation.

“Mm, I suppose you'll find that out in time too,” she answered coldly, dryly, making a gesture to indicate you to get up from the chair. “Now go, I'm busy.”

“Okay, okay,” you whispered, getting up, frowning. “How do I get to that house?”

“I'm sure you'll know how to get there, (Y/N),” Miranda said, writing something on some papers, not paying attention to you.

Confused, you left that kind of laboratory, looking around for the way to that mansion, to the house that repeatedly appeared in your dreams.

“Oh, excuse me, sir,” you said, stopping a man who was pulling an old cart. “Would you be so kind as to tell me how to get to Donna Beneviento's house?”

The man opened his eyes wide, leaving the cart on the ground and shaking his head.

“Do you want to die, girl?” the villager growled, leaving you stuck in the snow. “Stupid outsiders...” he hissed before picking up the cart again, looking at you with a disgusted face.

“Okay, thanks,” you said, furious at that attitude, or rather, scared.

You walked through the village in confusion, not knowing where to go, not knowing which way to go. You decided to stop asking, since no villager seemed willing to help you.

“Oh…” you said, stopping at an old wooden door with a symbol engraved on it: a moon and a sun. Again, you reached for your notebook. You had seen it before, in your dreams, you had drawn it on one of the pages. “I, I guess it’s this way.”

Your nerves prevented you from remembering, from focusing your gaze on those trees that seemed familiar to you, on that wooden bridge that you heard creaking in the same way as in your dreams. You hadn’t been wrong, that was the way to the mansion.

As you crossed that bridge, a strange feeling invaded you, one that you hadn’t had for a long time. Two abandoned cabins were next to you, two cabins surrounded by stone angels that you approached automatically, putting a hand on them.

“You can’t get me, you can't get me...” a voice sang.

“What?” you asked confused, at the sight of a girl running through that place, a girl being chased by another one. The sensations, the voices and strange images were also part of your life, although never that intensely. “I think, I think I need a break...”

Walking a little further, you came to that clearing, one decorated with a grave that jutted out of a mound, the grave of a girl, Claudia Beneviento.

“Now she walks through the valley of death... How sinister,” you said, reading the inscription on that tombstone.

“I should have died instead of her...”

“Don't say that, you would have left me without you...”

Children's voices came back to torment you. They weren't visions, nor dreams. They were sensations, air currents that carried those voices to your mind, faceless, meaningless voices.

Finally, going up an archaic elevator, the mansion stood before you. It was the same waterfall, the same sound of running water, the same cool, damp breeze, the same smell of flowers. Everything was the same.

“Ahem,” you said, climbing the steps towards that house, meditating, making the decision to knock on the door instead of running away and never coming back. “Hello?”

The door suddenly opened before you knocked, making you step back. A woman appeared, dressed in black, with her face covered by a veil, Donna Beneviento, surely.

“Hello… I'm…” you said shyly, kindly extending your hand towards the woman, who seemed nervous, frozen, with her hands shaking.

“No… It can't be…” a hoarse voice whispered from behind that veil, taking several steps back. “You, you can't be here.”

The lady seemed very nervous, too much. Yes, you knew she wasn't mentally well, but that attitude didn't make any sense.

“Miranda told me I would stay with you for a while and…” you stammered. She shook her head profusely, breathing heavily. “Oh, hey, are you okay?”

“It's not true… This, this can't be true…” she muttered to herself, turning around and resting her hands on her head, moving on herself. “No, you're not here…”

“Well, yes, I am,” you said cautiously, getting a little closer to the lady, risking putting a hand on her shoulder, a hand she immediately pushed away with a furious growl. “You… You're Donna, aren't you?”

“What? You're asking me my name? How dare you show up at my house and…?” she stammered, pushing you away unpleasantly. “Non… Non è possibile…”

You stepped back a little, looking at the door, seriously considering turning back. But it wasn’t fear or that woman’s erratic attitude anymore, something else was pushing you to stay, a heavy feeling that fell on your shoulders.

“Oh, Italian… Okay…” you murmured, remembering Miranda’s advice: be nice. “Um.. Io… Sono… Sono…”

“Stop pretending!” she squealed, nervous, pointing at you with her finger “You know Italian perfectly.”

“What? No… Of course I don’t…” you said confused, frowning and putting your hands in a surrender position.

“Of course you do, I… I was the one who…” she hissed, sighing nervously, controlling her breathing. “You… You are…”

“(Y/N),” you said with more courage, extending your hand again towards her, who seemed to stop when she heard your name. “Mi, Miranda has spoken to you, I’m the girl who…”

“(Y/N)? Is that your name?” she asked with a calmer tone, but with her hands shaking as she approached again. “Are you sure?”

You laughed confused, running a hand over your forehead as you nodded.

“Well, quite sure,” you joked, biting your lip, watching how that madness dissipated little by little.

“How old are you?” the lady in black asked, curious, uneasy, but at the same time, more serene.

The question surprised you, but you shrugged. After all, you were her guest.

“25,” you answered in a kind tone.

The lady in mourning sighed, letting her shoulders fall, shaking her head.

“25…” she repeated, in a whisper. “I see… No, it can't be…”

“Um, I…” you said, interrupting her senseless murmurs. ��I, I don't want to be a bother, really. I can, I can find another place to stay and…”

“No,” she said dryly, with a brusque, sudden tone. “Mother Miranda has ordered me to take you in, and that's what I intend to do.”

“Mother Miranda?” you asked, frowning at that strange name, that curious nickname.

“Come,” the lady said, turning and going up the stairs, where, on the wall, a portrait of a woman seemed to be watching you.

It was a beautiful woman, wearing the same dress as Lady Beneviento, holding what looked like a sinister doll. A shiver ran down your spine again.

“How cool, it's really cool!”

“My dad gave it to me, it's called...”

“Here, (Y/N),” the woman in black interrupted that kind of feeling, those voices that echoed in your head, pointing to a small room, where you would surely stay.

“Oh, okay... Do I stay here?” you asked nervously, passing by her, smelling the lavender of her perfume, one that, strangely, also seemed familiar to you.

She nodded slightly, letting you pass without taking her hidden gaze off you, you could feel it.

“Th, thank you… Donna? Lady Beneviento?” you said with exaggerated kindness. A growl came from the black veil, as if the simple act of saying her name had been terribly offensive to her.

She didn't answer. She simply left the room, closing the door with a loud slam.

“Well, it could have been worse,” you sighed, letting yourself fall on the small bed.

You were too tired to start your research and, after everything that had happened, you decided to call it a day, lying down and closing your eyes.

“You're wrong... Nobody could ever, ever like me with... This, this face...” a young woman said, again, without a face, without a clear voice, sitting next to you in a vague place.

“Nonsense, you are... You are beautiful, D…” you said, convinced of something you couldn't see.

“No, I'm not,” the teenager said, with a voice that was increasingly dark and distorted.

“I, I like you...” you said shyly, looking at your legs, dressed in a strange dress, full of patterns of colors that you had never seen before.

“Do... Do you like me?” the young woman asked, with a distant voice, just as vague.

You nodded, with the familiar burning sensation of blushing on your cheeks.

“I like you too…” that dark voice said, that blurry figure, leaning closer to you. “Even though… Even though we are friends, I… I wanted, I wanted to tell you that…”

Suddenly you opened your eyes, waking up from a dream like any other, of conversations with a faceless woman, with an unknown girl, a conversation too lucid, too concrete.

“Uff…” you sighed, sweating in bed, shaking your head and looking for your notebook, although you had nothing to write on it. “When I get home, I'll have to see a doctor…”

Tired, needing to freshen up, you left the room in search of the bathroom, peeking through the door, checking that there were no sinister ladies nearby.

The house was completely dark and, not wanting to disturb your hostess's rest, you took out your useless phone, turning on the flashlight to guide you around that place.

“Much better…” you sighed when you refreshed yourself in the sink, with that inaudible voice, with that feeling from your dream still very present in your thoughts. You turned off the tap, or well, you tried to, it seemed that the sink had no intention of obeying you.

As if you had a silent revelation, you pulled the handle, moving it gently until the water stopped coming out. It was like… Like you suddenly knew you had to do this, like you'd done it before.

You stood there, stunned, looking at yourself in the mirror.

“There's a trick, you have to pull it a bit, otherwise it won’t close… My parents say that one day they will fix it…”

Again that strange voice passed through your mind, forcing you to put your hands on your temples, which were throbbing intensely, threatening another one of your horrible migraines, migraines that you had since you were very young.

“Not now…” you said in a whisper, knowing that you hadn't brought your medications, that you didn't consider them a priority. “Shit, does this crazy woman have some ibuprofen?” you asked, walking towards the stairs, going down them slowly.

The portrait caught your attention again, that stoic beauty, that sinister puppet…

“Hello? Lady Beneviento?” you asked in the darkness, illuminating the mansion with your phone, getting no answer. “I'll have to look on my own… I'm a researcher, right?” you joked to yourself, passing through the door that seemed to lead to a dining room, one that, somehow, you found familiar.

The musty smell, the furniture, that feeling of loneliness you had already felt. You didn't have to pay attention to the obstacles, you dodged them without wanting to, knowing where they were. You didn't give it any importance, your head was already starting to hurt.

A creaking sound behind scared you, the sound of wood sinking under something, a small footstep. Nothing, everything seemed to be as usual. Everything? No. In a small corner, on top of a sofa that you thought was empty, there was something, something sinister that you recognized instantly, a doll, the same doll in the portrait.

You were born curious. Nothing could stop you from approaching it.

“What is this?” you asked, approaching the puppet, carefully picking it up and moving it in your arms. The sound of the wooden joints caused another horrible feeling of déjà vu. “A ventriloquist doll?”

You examined that doll with curiosity, moving it to look for something, something that would tell you why your heart had started beating fast.

“Why do I have the feeling that we have seen each other before?” you murmured, passing your hand over its broken face, destroyed by the arrangements that it had to have over time.

“Ha! Not at all, stupid! Get me off your filthy foreign hands, stupid, stupid!”

“Yiahhh!” you screamed, letting the puppet fall to the floor.

It couldn't be a dream, or a nightmare, or even your imagination. You had seen that doll move, you had heard it speak. You weren't crazy, you had heard it.

“Shit,” you said scared, stepping back, looking at the doll, which was now inert on the floor. “What the...?”

Fearful, you picked up your phone, pointing it again at the doll, which didn't seem to move. Relieved because you thought it had been a silly thing, you picked it up again, leaving it on the couch with a frown.

“Damn jet lag…” you lamented, passing a trembling hand over your forehead, sighing, watching that horrible doll.

But the doll was not the strangest thing of all. In a corner, on a nearby table, there was what looked like an old framed photograph, a black and white one, straight out of another era. Two girls appeared on it, one of them dark-haired, with hair as black as the night, with skin as pale as the Moon. On her face there was a scar that kept her right eye closed.

You didn't know who she was, you couldn't know, even though she looked suspiciously like the woman in the portrait, a few years younger, of course.

But that coincidence wasn't what made your body tremble again. Next to her, another girl smiled excitedly, holding a teddy bear. You had to look at her several times to make sure that, like that doll, it hadn't been some kind of hallucination due to the time change.

“No...” you sighed, picking up that photo, looking at that girl over and over again. “It can't be...”

You nervously picked up your phone, hurriedly browsing through the photo gallery until you found what you wanted, a photo of yourself when you were little, a photo of a girl identical to the one in that portrait.

“Amazing,” you said, comparing the two photos. There was a rather disturbing resemblance.

A sinister laugh distracted you from your astonishment. You searched everywhere, focused on the doll. Nothing.

Fearful and scared, you decided to go back to your room. Maybe in daylight you could clarify everything.

“Good, good morning,” you said in a timid voice, rubbing your eyes as you walked down to the dining room. The lady in black was already there, sitting at the table, quiet, as if she were a ghost, as if she wasn't even there.

Walking towards the table, you glanced at the doll, which seemed to still be in the same position. Donna's response to your kindness was a simple nod.

“Um... Can I... Can I have some coffee?” you asked timidly, pointing at an old coffee pot. “It looks great. It smells great.”

“You don't like coffee,” the lady said in a hoarse voice, with a soft tone that seemed a bit different from the day before. You frowned, sitting in front of her.

“Oh, well, no, not especially but... You know, college changed my mind,” you explained amused, pouring some liquid into a cup, not having noticed that information she provided, something she shouldn't, she couldn't know.

Donna sighed, playing with her spoon, not wanting to look at you, but at the same time, not being able to not do it.

“Mother Miranda says you’ve come to study plants,” she commented, after a tense moment of silence. You nodded, setting your cup down on the table.

“It’s for my PhD. My parents told me this place could be very interesting,” you explained in a calm voice, still keeping an eye on the doll on the couch.

“Your parents,” she said, completely ignoring your motivations.

“Yes…” you affirmed with a fake smile. “It, it seems that they knew Miranda for a long time. She worked with them in some kind of scientific corporation.”

“But you weren't born here,” she said, with a dark, intriguing voice, as if she knew the answer to her own questions. That made you remember things that you didn't like to talk about.

“No, I… I was born, I was born in… Well, I don't know exactly where I was born. I'm… I'm adopted,” you said, annoyed by that indiscretion. The lady in black nodded with disinterest.

“What happened to your biological parents?” the woman in black asked, sinking a dagger into your fragile feelings, starting to annoy you.

“I, I didn't know them, I…” you murmured with your hand shaking, with the sadness of your past starting to stir your heart. “I don't feel comfortable talking about this with a stranger.”

“Stranger…” she murmured, crossing her arms, as if she were mocking you. You couldn't know, the veil on her face hid her expressions. “You're in my house, you have to show some respect for me.”

“Respect?” you asked, arching your eyebrows. “You're the one who asks me personal things. In my country that's disrespectful.”

“Do you know what is disrespectful?” Donna asked, getting up from her chair and getting dangerously close to you. “Your existence.”

You stood there open-mouthed, not knowing how to respond to that offensive comment, closing your eyes, sighing and trying not to lose your nerves.

“Great, I like you too,” you joked, making the lady turn around abruptly, without saying anything, just breathing with difficulty.

The image of the night before, the image of that photograph you accidentally put in your backpack came back to your mind. It wasn't the best time, but, after all, you weren't doing much to stay in that house. You would have to get out of doubt.

“I'm sorry,” you apologized with a grunt. “I was rude.”

“Me too,” she said, apparently calmer, ignoring your comments.

“Okay…” you sighed in relief, slowly taking the photo frame out of your backpack, looking at it once more. “Hey, who is this girl?”

The lady froze when she saw you with the photo, snatching it from you with a strong tug of her hands.

“What are you doing with that?! This is mine!” she screamed furiously, kicking the floor and tightly clutching the photo to her chest. “It's mine!”

“I, I know, I took it by accident because…” you said nervously, trying to explain why you kept it, what you wanted to know.

“Don't touch my stuff!” Donna protested, upset, with a voice broken by rage and sudden sobs. “Don't touch her!”

“I'm, I'm sorry, but it's just that...” you said, approaching her trembling figure.

“Stupida! What have you come for?! To torture me?! Is it because I couldn't save you?!” she screamed deliriously, unhinged, totally out of her mind. You could run away, take advantage of her madness to escape but... You didn't.

“What are you talking about?” you asked, approaching slowly, trying to calm her down. “Donna, I...”

“Perché?! To lose you wasn't it enough? Haven't I suffered enough?” she stammered, sitting on the floor with her knees on her chest, burying her covered face between them. You, bent down, trying to grab her wrists.

“Please, calm down, please, I, I didn't mean to…” you said nervously, feeling sorry for that sick woman, unintentionally intoxicating yourself with that familiar lavender scent.

“Donna, Donna! Don't do that!” a third voice, which you didn't hear, approached you. “Don't pay attention to this fool. Donna, Donna, sing, sing with me…”

A soft song came out of that black veil, one that seemed to calm her under your watchful gaze. You were so nervous that you didn't notice there was someone else there.

“Fool, damn foolish outsider, you made my Donna cry!”

The voice spoke again, while the lady ran out, crying inconsolably.

“I didn't mean to make her suffer,” you said, standing up, brushing the dust off your pants. “I don't…”

You opened your eyes when you realized there was something strange, someone, something that shouldn't be there. You slowly turned your head, staring in astonishment at that doll, a doll that was no longer lying inert on the couch, but standing next to you.

“No…” you sighed, slowly moving away, your body paralyzed by fear. “Oh, no…”

“What are you looking at, you fool? Have you seen a ghost?” the doll said again, confirming that you hadn't imagined it. It was alive.

“How, how can you…? Oh, no, no, you can't be alive,” you stammered, suppressing the impulse to take out your phone and record that phenomenon.

“You're the one who can't be alive! Stupid outsider!” the doll shrieked, in an unpleasant, shrill tone, walking away from your petrified body. “If you mess with my Donna again, you'll pay dearly! Keep that in mind, Angie is always watching!”

“Angie?” you repeated, blinking in confusion. You had dreamed of that name.

Maybe some fresh air would do you good, and besides, you had to start your investigations.

During the day you walked around the village, looking for those places you saw in your dreams, leaving the plants aside, having a new objective: to know why that place was so familiar to you, what was happening in that cursed village.

The night came too soon and, without wanting it, you were already back in that mansion, next to that living doll and its disturbed owner. The atmosphere was still tense, but something had changed. In front of you, a plate of food that she had prepared for you was waiting.

“It's not poisoned, eat,” Donna whispered, with a voice broken by the crying of hours before, but with a slightly different serenity. You, distrustful but hungry, obeyed.

“Mmm, it has a lot of oregano,” you commented with a false smile. “I always liked tomatoes with a lot of oregano, how did you know?”

The lady shrugged, as if she didn't feel like talking.

It was true that she looked dangerous, that her problems could cause you to have them, but, above all, you had something in mind, you wanted to know why the girl in the photo looked so much like you, why, for so many years, you had dreamed of that place, that house.

“Well…”you stammered, breaking the silence again. “I, I'd like to know something else about… Angie,” you said, afraid of her reaction, looking at the doll, which seemed to be entertaining itself with some balls of wool.

“Angie,” Donna repeated.

“Yes, I… Well, I've never seen a living doll,” you said amused, hiding your fear.

“I suppose you haven’t,” she said, coldly. “If you don't annoy her, she won't do anything to you.”

“Oh, okay…” you said, disappointed with the answer, continuing with that silent dinner, at least until your desire to know, to understand, came back to your head. “So… What do you do here?”

“I make dolls,” the lady answered with a disinterested whisper, leaving you speechless again.

“Wooow, there are a lot of dolls…”

“My father makes them, one day I will be like him”

“Will you make one for me?”

“As many as you want…”

Inopportune whispers echoed in your head, making you drink water, so those feelings would not worsen the tension of that dinner, the first of many others.

“Wow, that's... interesting,” you murmured, feigning interest. Donna didn't answer. She just stared at you through her veil. “I don't know many people who make porcelain dolls.”

That caught the lady's attention, tensing her body and breathing nervously again.

“I didn't say they were porcelain dolls,” she said in a cold, distrustful tone.

“Oh...” you said, regretting your boldness. Porcelain dolls, another entry in your notebook, a recurring vision in your dreams.

Everything was related, there was no doubt. The only thing you didn't understand was what Lady Beneviento had to do with it.

“You knew they are porcelain dolls,” she said again, taking you out of your thoughts, out of the memories of your dreams, memories full of dolls, of laughter, of faceless women.

“No, well, not really,” you said apologetically, pretending that your success had really been a coincidence. “I just said it randomly.”

“That's not true,” Donna whispered, getting up from the chair, approaching you with the same dangerous, slow and threatening step. “You knew it, how?”

“I, I don't know,”-you stammered, blushing at your lie.

“No matter how much you deny it, I know it's you,” she whispered, bringing a hand to your cheek, one that made you stir, but not move away.

“I, I don't know what you're talking about,” you said nervously, turning your face away so those soft caresses would stop.

There was no more conversation. There was nothing else to clarify your confused thoughts.

The days passed slowly, your dreams became more and more unbearable, more intense, the voices that sounded in your subconscious revealed things you didn't know, words that you didn't understand. That figure, that blurred face of that woman refused to be revealed.

You had so many new notes in your notebook that there were no blank spaces left. But all that information didn't make sense. It was confusing, confusing names, distorted voices, imaginary scenarios inside or outside that mansion.

Your doctorate was the main loser. It was as if everything you had gone to do in that village blurred with time. That was the place of your dreams, of your visions, of all the sensations that remained latent in your feelings.

Donna didn't seem to want to overwhelm you with strange phrases, with stupid accusations like the first few days. Her attitude relaxed, she seemed more comfortable with you, although always absent, shy, distant and at the same time eager to get closer.

She was the only thing you didn't understand, but somehow, that voice, the softness that her hands seemed to have, that lavender scent... All of that started to confuse your feelings, to make you start to feel attracted to her, hopelessly.

“Hi, I’m back...” you sighed, carrying two shopping bags.

Of course, living in that huge mansion could be an order from Miranda, but that didn't mean you could live without giving anything in return. Shopping was a task that the lady in black assigned to you, thus freeing herself from having to face her anxieties, the discomfort she felt with people around.

“(Y/N),” she whispered, getting up from the sofa, stoic as always, nervous as never. Yes, her nerves seemed to get worse in your presence, but the softness of her character didn't show it. It was a contradiction.

Donna Beneviento was herself a contradiction, a very... attractive contradiction.

“I think I have everything…” you sighed, leaving the bags on a table. “But I'm afraid that fat guy doesn't make bills.”

She laughed shyly, approaching you and looking at the contents, puzzled by a bottle of wine.

“What is this?” she asked, taking the wine out of the bag, showing it to you. You shrugged.

“Oh, it's Mastrala wine,” you said passively.

Donna laughed again, shaking her head.

“I know what it is but… Why did you buy it?” she asked in a lower tone, getting a little closer to you, giving the bottle back to you.

“Oh, I hope you don't mind. The Duke had that bottle there, and… I don't know, I don't really like wine but I thought I could do something with it,” you said, placing that bottle on the table, one bottled that, since you saw it, caught your attention.

“Something?” the lady in black asked, her voice shaking and her hands playing erratically with each other.

“Yes, well, I was thinking of making something sweet, maybe…”

“Zabaione,” you said, but so did she. You two spoke at the same time, you said the same thing. It was a strange, tense moment, one that made you blink several times.

“Y-yes… Right, right…” you sighed confused, your head claiming your attention again. “Um… Well, I, I guess you like them…”

“Of course she likes them!” Angie interrupted, comically pushing Donna closer to you. “She makes them well, very well, don’t you Donna?”

“I, I guess so,” the lady in black murmured, kicking the doll, who laughed amusedly. You still hadn't gotten used to the puppet, but deep down, you liked it.

“Great, I'll make them right away,” you said, wanting to leave the room before the shadows of the unknown lurked again.

“Why don't you make them together? It could be funny,” the doll suggested, with a strange laugh

“Angie, no…” Donna said head down, with an embarrassed tone for the doll's increasingly less subtle impudence. It was as if Angie knew that something had started to grow between you two.

“Eh, it's true, why not?” you said, rubbing your hands. “But I warn you that I'm quite an expert. Since I was little I made them perfect.”

“Yes, that... That would be... Good,” the lady stammered, guiding you towards the kitchen.

As you entered that dark room, more memories, sensations that you lived in your dreams began to haunt you.

“Stop adding sugar or it will be too sweet”

“Just a little more…”

“(Y/N),” the hoarse voice of the lady in black blurred the voices in your head. “The sugar is in…”

You looked down, automatically opening the door of a cupboard, taking out the sugar packet, without really knowing how. How could you know it was there?

“Here,” you said in a small voice, a bit confused, more than usual. “Um… I'm going, I'm going to get the yolks.”

Cooking with the lady in black seemed like a good candidate to be your favorite hobby. Donna laughed while you talked about anything, about college experiences, about your travels… Everything seemed like a gift to her, like a sweet melody that calmed her spirit. Her soft laugh, her shy words and that sweet accent, also calmed yours.

“Perfect, I told you so,” you said, admiring the result with satisfaction. “I can't wait to try them.”

“You were always so impatient,” ​​Donna whispered, wiping her hands with a rag, leaving you again with a loose wire, speaking to you in the past tense, as if she already knew you, as if she did one day.

“It's one of my flaws, yes,” you murmured in a less euphoric tone, helping her to clean up the kitchen. “What do we do with the egg whites?”

“The egg whites? Oh, well, maybe I could make a…”

“Meringue, I love meringue,” you interrupted, with an innocent smile. She nodded, sighing sadly. “My mother used to make it, but I constantly annoyed her, always…”

“You always stuck your finger on it,” Donna finished your sentence again. Once again, you couldn't deny the evidence. She knew too much.

“Y-Yes…” you affirmed, nodding slowly, with a cold sweat running down your forehead.

“You could never stay still, Olga,” she said, making you frown, blinking several times, thinking you had heard wrong.

“Olga?” you asked confused. You didn't remember that name in your notebook, or in your dreams. More problems, more unanswered questions.

Donna looked at you, but then pulled away, shaking her head.

“I'm sorry, I’ve made a mistake,” she said in a very low tone, one that was regretful and broken. “Take the sweets upstairs, I'll make some tea.”

“Okay, but…” you said, seeing how the lady seemed to tremble again, how one of her crises was about to ruin a wonderful afternoon. “Should I help you?”

“No,” she growled, clenching her fists tightly. “Go away.”

“Are you okay?” you asked, putting a hand on her back, one that she rejected, moving violently.

“Vai via!” she shrieked, making you, resigned, obey, taking the tray with the sweets and leaving the lady alone, beginning to sob.

You waited a while for her to go up again, with the annoying Angie dancing around you.

“Hey, Angie, who's Olga?” you asked, picking up the puppet from the floor, causing it to kick violently.

“Let me go, you rude girl!” she shrieked. “Have you never looked yourself in a mirror?”

You obeyed with a frown, knowing that you would never get an answer from that irreverent puppet. Luckily, Donna soon appeared.

The taste of those sweets along with the tea transported you to an unknown place, recognizing the mixture of the darkness of the house, the humidity, the steaming tea, those delicious sweets...

“Even though you're my friend, I... I, I want, I want to tell you that...”

“Come on, talk”

“I know it won't come true if I say it, but, but... My birthday wish has been... To give you, to give you a kiss...”

That image appeared in your head, the image of that strange dream, of that blurry woman who slowly approached you, placing her blurry lips on yours. You even brought your hand to your mouth, believing you had felt that kiss, you had noticed the softness of those unknown lips.

“(Y/N),” Donna, who had remained silent until that moment, spoke to you. The sensation of that kiss disappeared with her words. “I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you in the kitchen.”

“No, well, it's okay,” you said, trying one of those sweets, much less pleasant than that imaginary kiss. “We all make mistakes.”

“I haven't made a mistake,” she said in a more serious tone, with her cup of tea shaking in her hands. “Do you remember the photo you stole from me?”

“Oh, I didn't steal anything from you, I took it by accident and…” you said, getting scared by that cold attitude, one that she hadn't had with you for a long time.

“Taci, I'm talking,” she protested, nervous.

You nodded, eating slowly, bringing your cup to your lips so as not to say more nonsense.

“The, the girl was… She was…” she said, her voice breaking. “Olga, she was my best friend, the only one, in fact…” she explained, causing your heart to beat faster for no reason. “Let me ask you a question, (Y/N).”

“Mm,” you murmured, interested in that conversation, afraid to say why that girl, Olga, seemed so curious to you.

“I know you don't like to talk about it but… What is your first memory?” she asked in a mysterious, studious voice. You gulped down the tea, embarrassed by the answer.

“You're not the first one to ask me, the, the kids at school laughed at me when I answered,” you said amused, but nervous.

“I'm not going to laugh,” Donna said, with a serious tone, with one that said under that black veil, there was no smile. “Answer, per favore.”

“T, the truth is… It's not exactly a memory... It was more like a dream,” you said, lowering the tone of your voice, immersing yourself in your thoughts, in the dream that was the first, the first of hundreds of them.

She nodded for you to continue.

“Well, I dreamed that I was surrounded… I don't know, by some kind of black branches… I know it was cold, I remember the cold and…  I, I don't know, suddenly my parents appeared and… I, I woke up… Or so I think.”

“Mm,” she murmured, calmly placing her cup of tea down. “Do you usually have those kinds of dreams?”

“Not exactly,” you said, with a serious tone, frowning, ready to reveal for the first time, your concerns, feeling strangely safe next to Donna, comfortable, even… Happy. “This, this will seem crazy to you but… I… I have been here before. I mean, before I arrived… I couldn’t explain why but I… I already knew this place, this house…”

“Did you know me?” she asked suddenly, not surprised by what you were saying, something that confused you even more.

“No, I'm sorry... I've never, ever dreamed about you,” you said, sure of your words.

“I've been dreaming about you for over 30 years,” she whispered in a sad tone. “Since I lost you.”

“30 years?” you asked confused, with a burning sensation in your chest, with all those unknown voices wandering through your mind, overwhelming you, making you tremble. “But, but that's impossible, I... I'm 25 and...”

The lady in black didn't answer, she simply moved her hand to the veil that covered her face, moving it away, letting it fall on the table. She was a beautiful woman, really beautiful, the woman in the portrait, the girl in the photograph. Dark hair, pale skin, one eye, the other hidden by a horrible scar.

You, absorbed by her beauty, by discovering the appearance of that woman for whom you were beginning to have feelings, stood still, studying her features.

“You are… You are beautiful,” you stammered, with a different feeling in your chest, with a deep, sonorous beat, a different one, not nervous, but excited. The voices fell silent, the thoughts of your dreams stopped appearing. In your mind, there was only Donna.

The lady in black, letting a tear slide down her cheek, shook her head.

“You still don't remember me,” she said, lowering her gaze, desperate not to make you understand what she wanted to say, that missing piece in the puzzle of your mind.

“No, I'm, I'm sorry… I don't know why I would have to remember you… I, I don't know what I'm doing here, I…” you said, overwhelmed by the situation, nervous, with an imminent anxiety attack. “Hey, Donna, I, I had a good time with you but, but, I think, I think it's better that I go before I lose my mind.”

“Don't go,” Donna whispered, getting up from the chair at the same time as you. “Don't go, please.”

“I, I don't know what's going on, why, why do I feel like I should be here and at the same time I shouldn't. I don't know why... I, I can't stand it anymore,” you said, shaking your head, with a crazy look, walking towards the entrance. A strong grip on your wrist prevented you from doing so.

“Even at the risk of losing you once again, I can't let you go without first... Without first fulfilling my wish again,” she sobbed, approaching you. You shook your head, crying too, too nervous.

“Your birthday wish,” you said without thinking, remembering that recurring dream, that kiss that a few moments ago you thought you felt on your lips. You went pale, with your eyes wide open, paralyzed.

The lady in black nodded, running her hand over your cheek, getting closer, closing her one eye before closing the distance between you, before kissing you slowly, with soft lips.

A shock went through your body. A tremor nullified the mobility of your muscles while your brain ran through all the images of your life, all your dreams, your dèjá vu. There were no longer blurred figures, incomplete sentences. The truth was revealed in your mind.

“Blow out the candles, Donna”

“Olga, do you think I'm beautiful?”

“I like you, Donna”

“I want us to be friends forever…”

“I have something to tell you”

“I liked kissing you, tell me you'll come back tomorrow”

“I'll come back tomorrow…”

The woman without a face, that blurred figure, was no longer one. Black hair, a scar, a melodic accent, a soft voice, a dazzling smile, the smell of lavender…

Donna, it was her, she was the mysterious woman, that woman of your dreams, that little girl who played with you, that young woman who kissed you that rainy afternoon, that afternoon after which, you couldn't remember, or dream anything.

Endless experiences, memories, clouded your thoughts while her lips kissed you, while that feeling of having done that before invaded you, telling you that it was true, that you were madly in love with her, with your best friend, that you kissed her, that she kissed you, that that afternoon you came home and everything went black.

Family, friends, a strange cult, the figure of Mother Miranda... Your whole life passed through your thoughts. But it wasn't yours, it couldn't be yours.

“Oh, Christine, look at that...”

“My God, it's a baby...”

“Where did it come from? Poor girl...”

“Look at that, it's the mold...”

“God, what does this mean?”

“I, I don't know, but, we can't leave her here...”

The voices of your adoptive parents were the last thing you heard before opening your eyes, before pulling away from that warm kiss. As if drugged, as if you were very far from that place, you brought your hands to the brunette's face, looking at it again and again, with the salty taste of your tears still on your lips. Donna, it was Donna, it was that girl you loved, the one you loved once, in another life.

“Donna… It's you…” you sighed, confused but sure of what you saw, of what you felt. That attraction for the lady in black disappeared under a sea of ​​love, of feelings that had remained locked away for too long. “My God, Donna, I, I remember you.”

“Do you remember me?” she asked confused, letting herself be caressed by your trembling hands, getting closer, studying your lost gaze.

“I, I don't know why but… I… I…” you said nervously, smiling involuntarily, drawing her towards you to kiss her again. “I, I, I loved you, I loved you even without knowing you, I knew I loved you…”

“(Y/N)…” she sighed, shaking her head. “I could never tell you… You, you left before I could tell you how, how in love I was with you.”

“I… I died, right?” you asked, unable to stop caressing her, unable to stop smelling that lavender scent, her scent, the scent of the unknown love of your life.

“Yes, you… You, you fell off a cliff… And… I… I was left so alone…” she said, kissing you desperately.

Everything fit, even your irrational hatred of heights.

“I, I don't know how to understand this… I, I’m (Y/N). I’m, I'm not Olga…” you said nervously again, grabbing her sweaty hands, losing yourself in the softness of her skin. “I will never, never be.”

“So…” she whispered, moving away from your touch, sobbing heartbreakingly. “Even knowing, knowing who you really are… You, you will leave.”

“I don't know who I am, or who I was… I just, I just know that… That I love you. It’s the only thing I'm sure of right now.”

“Who loves me?” Donna asked abruptly, with her lips pressed together, with a fury shining in her eye.

“I love you,” you whispered, lowering your head, not wanting to think that you had been reincarnated, that you were never (Y/N), that you were a projection of a girl who died, who ceased to exist, and then came back.

“Who are you, (Y/N)?” she asked again, coming closer timidly, taking your hands, playing with them, hoping to hear an answer that wasn't a rejection.

“I, I guess if… If I want to know… I'll have to, I'll have to stay with you,” you whispered softly, pulling on her waist, kissing her again, wanting to feel those soft lips on yours again, and forever.

“Will you stay with me?” she asked, pulling away, crying just like you, confused, just like you, but in love... Just like you. “You, you don't know me. (Y/N) doesn't know me.”

“Of course I know you,” you said smiling. “You've been living in my dreams for a long time.”

[bracketsoffear]

Lonely: Slugpelt (Pinepaw and the Forgotten World) "she is lonely--her mother was cruel, favoring her brother rainhaze whilst treating her like shit, and the group where she lives is very isolated. also her boyfriend left her to raise her kids alone

she spreads loneliness--while she is less of an antagonist and more of a tragic hero in her own right (and she's at least trying to get better), she does somewhat pass her loneliness down to her kids, being... rather neglectful and barely connecting with them (generational cycles of abuse are somewhat of a. theme in patfw). the comic's author, Raz, is also a big tma fan and has explicitly described her as Lonely-aligned."

Eye: Cecil Palmer (Welcome to Night Vale) "I know he won last time, but I honestly think he deserves it. He is seemingly all knowing about current events in the town and sometimes reports them in a similar way to fear statements. I don't pay enough attention to all the lore to know exactly how he knows all the goings-on all the time, so it seems spooky to me. Though there is no canon description of him having a third eye he is often depicted with one, and a huge eye is a part of the logo. Being watched is also a theme throughout Nightvale, with the government agents who are always outside your house, or the faceless old woman who secretly lives in your home"

[kerink]

okay, i finally finished the faceless old woman who secretly lives in your home. i thought it was a good story but not really a wtnv story. this post isn't about that. this post is about some of the things i got really excited about re: implications for the podcast:

the first was in part 5 ch5 when the FOW talks about how she's drawn to slobs and sloths. she does her best to help them improve their lives by cleaning their home for them and by trying to help mend their relationships. but if they're beyond her help she terrorizes them until they kill themselves.

this stood out to me because of how much the FOW fucks with cecil in the early part of the podcast. there's a lot of implication about cecil's depression and alcohol abuse in the early parts of the podcast, and we slowly watch him get better as the show goes on. i think knowing this about her MO adds an additional layer to that conversation. it makes me think about an immortal man burdened with decades of childhood trauma, the damage of which led him to being completely cut off from his family. a man living only to get up and go talk on the radio and drinking himself to sleep every night. the whole time the FOW is trying to get him to get himself together.

the second was in part 5 ch6 when she's talking about how all she had was murder and she existed in this world not by god or the devil but that she was brought by herself. she paralleled this with the story of eleanor, who was raised in a gilded birdcage by a controlling father and sold to her husband for a business deal. eleanor murdered her husband to take his money and make a life for herself controlled by herself. and how eleanor could see her face.

and what stood out to me about this was in the debate liveshow, kevin could see her face. the FOW made it clear that the only people who could see her face were people who were unburdened with the knowledge of this world (babies, small children, the erikas) and people who are on the same path as her - living for themselves and fueled by revenge.

lastly was in part 5 ch7, the FOW said that leonard burton's show was broadcasting 24/7. she said she stood in leonard's house, watching his sleeping body, while also listening to him perform on the radio. she said she called in and he answered her live.

i frankly can not believe i haven't heard anyone talking about this and what implications it has for cecil.

[youhavebeentraceyd]

due to welcome to night vale's resurgence in the tumblr world, i thought I'd reach out to anyone interested in listening to the show that you shouldn't be intimidated by the number of episodes. it's not a binge type of show, you can relax and take your time.

but if you're wondering what are the top tier episodes to look forward to, I'd say:

• ep 2 "Glow Cloud" - Starting out strong with the floating cat in the bathroom 🐱🐈‍⬛ its just a cat floating in the bathroom.

•ep 4 "PTA Meeting" - sets up a lot of lore nicely, like hey don't look at or even think about The Dog Park ok? It also features one of my favourite weather segments "Closer" by The Tiny.

•ep 14 "The Man In The Tan Jacket" - oooh man THE FANART that came out of this episode. just look up the titular character, the art slaps.

•ep 19A & 19B "The Sandstorm" - hohohoho you ain't ready for desert bluff 🙃 we are scared of desert bluff.

•ep 26 "Faceless Old Woman" - listen i love Cecil's voice but it's always a pleasure when a new voice is heard. and the Faceless Old Woman who's secretly living in your house is an icon.

•ep 30 "Dana" - DAAANAAAA!! absolutely love this storyline, go dana goooo!

•ep 33 "Cassette" - baby cecil ✨

•ep 49 "Old Oak Doors Part A" & "Part B" - imo this is the best place to stop if you'd like, because it concludes I'd say the first Big Arc. its a two part episode performed LIVE for an audience of fans, that had grown over the past 48 episodes. the episode resolves a lot of ongoing storylines, its a little fanservicey but its also just amazing. a great conclusion!

reblog and add some more of your favourite epa if you'd like!

[welcome-to-gunsmoke]

You turn your radio on. Just in time. "There is a church on the edge of town." "There isn't supposed to be a church on the edge of town. The Faceless Old Woman who lives in your house says so, under her breath and barely out of hearing. But she's impossible to ignore. "There is a church on the edge of town, its steeple and bell staring listlessly into the sands like a lost lover." "Welcome, to Nightvale."

[pessimisticpigeonsworld]

Do you think that the Red Keep is haunted (In the books of course), like Harrenhal is said to be? I need someone to discuss ASOIAF lore and concepts with but I don’t have anyone so I’m asking here 😩 I like to imagine that since the Targaryens who are a more magical family built and lived in it for 300 years, the castle would be more susceptible to be affected by all the atrocities and events that have gone on there. The dead all leaving behind an imprint, their spirits and memories haunting the place, echoes of memories from a time long past.

I can imagine some random servant jumping out of their skin as they pass the throne room, later swearing up and down that they saw a figure sitting impaled on the Iron throne, blood dripping down to the floor, but that it disappeared in the blink of an eye. Another one swears they saw a young woman with silver hair standing dangerously close on a windowsill, but that it was too far away to make out who. A woman wearing a dark gown and long black veil is seen lurking around the corners, but her back is always turned to the observer and she slinks away into thin air before anyone has the chance to catch up to her. A woman in a green dress, chains rattling about her wrists as she runs down the corridors. The distant laughter of a little girl running after her black cat. Pounding and clattering behind heard from the Maidenvault at night, despite it being empty at the time. A little girl with silver hair in a white nightgown walking around the halls, looking for her mother to tell her she’s cold. A woman with a long braid being seen amongst the mist of the training yard early in the mornings, when no one else is there, practicing her swordplay. People swearing they saw the fearsome shadow of a dragon flying overheard, even a hundred years after their deaths. If you look at them out of the corner of your eyes, you could catch the portraits of the former Targaryens following your every move, their gazes burning into you. A woman dressed in red and black, crown on her head, seen walking the corridors at night and leaving trails of blood behind her. Hues of green fire illuminating windows of empty rooms as seen from outside, distant yells echoing through the corridors, screaming to burn them all. Worst of all is the little girl in a ragged red dress, hair matted and tangled, body emaciated and eye sockets empty, unspeakable creates crawling all over her tattered body, seen peeking out from behind the corners.

I don’t think it’s actually haunted like this since there’s nothing in canon to support it, but I love the idea so much!

Anon I absolutely love this idea!! I'm a huge fan of horror and this just totally speaks to me! I have to admit, I kinda wish GRRM would go more into the gothic horror themes he has in some parts of the story. The Targaryens definitely have a lot of potential for some great horror stories. I would love to see like a fanfic that focuses on something like this.

I think the idea of Dany encountering spirits of her ancestors when she goes to Dragonstone would be awesome. Especially since she's already had visions of her family members (except Rhaella), so it'd be interesting to see her actually interact with them as she is now.

Jon also has some great potential for horror, especially after his resurrection. Like he could have a connection to the dead and be able to see ghosts or something. I feel like him being literally haunted by Ygritte and Jeor could have some great angst potential.

I could totally see the same thing happening with some of the other houses. I feel like the Starks are a pretty obvious answer, what with their connection to the Others and the Old Gods. Plus Bran is basically already living some gothic shit.

Arya though, I could definitely see her encountering ghosts in the Trident when she returns to Westeros. I think her connection to the Faceless Men could definitely lend some great horror themes, especially if combined with ghostly encounters.

One family that definitely has some major horror vibes is the Boltons. Like the family being haunted by the spirits of their skinned enemies. Guards in the dungeons hearing screaming from unoccupied cells; prisoners having surprise cellmates. The ghost of Roose Bolton hanging over Ramsay slowly driving him to insanity (well more than he already is).

Related to that, Theon also is someone who, like Bran, already has some major gothic horror themes. However, there's still so much more we could lean into. Like him literally being haunted by Robb, Balon, and his brothers. Maybe meeting the original Reek during his time as Ramsay's prisoner.

I think there's soo much potential for this idea anon! These are all just some surface ideas, but I would love to talk about this more lmao!

[pastafossa]

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ME, I FINALLY LEFT THE HOUSE AFTER WEEKS OF SICKNESS AND MANAGED TO GET TO THE BOOKSTORE, EVEN IF I KEPT HAVING TO SIT DOWN TO REST, BUT I DID IT. 🥺

Got 2 books! The Faceless Old Woman Who Secretly Lives In Your Home, which as a lover of Welcome to Night Vale, I've wanted to read for AGES, and also a tarot workbook that was on sale! 😁

[retirement-home-rumble]

Your Elderly Representatives:

Gravity Falls - Stanley and Stanford Pines

Avatar: The Last Airbender - Uncle Iroh

Muppets - Statler and Waldorf

Lord of the Rings - Gandalf

Dream SMP - Philza Minecraft and Technoblade

Discworld - Granny Weatherwax and Nanny Ogg

Ace Attorney - Wendy Oldbag

Doctor Who - Wilfred Mott

The Magnus Archives - Gertrude Robinson

Batman - Alfred Pennyworth

Star Wars - Yoda

Critical Role - Chetney Pock O'Pea

Up - Carl and Ellie Fredrickson

The Owl House - Principal Hieronymus Bump

Just Roll With It - Old Man Earl

Splatoon - Captain Craig Cuttlefish and DJ Octavio

Half Life VR but the AI is Self Aware - Dr Harold Coomer and Bubby

Jojo's Bizzare Adventure - Joseph Joestar

Transformers - Ratchet

Cats - Old Deuteronomy

Rise of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles - Splinter

DuckTales - Scrooge McDuck

Ninjago - Sensei Wu

Undertale - Gerson

Amphibia - Hop Pop

Golden Kamuy - Hijikata Toshizou

The Good Place - Michael

Back to the Future - Doc Brown

X-Men - Magneto and Professor X

Zero Escape - Tenmyouji

Genshin Impact - Zhongli

Five Nights at Freddy's - William Afton

Welcome to Night Vale - The Faceless Old Woman Who Secretly Lives in Your Home

Homestuck - Nanna Jane Egbert

Kingdom Hearts - Master Xehanort

The Adventure Zone - Merle Highchurch

RWBY - Maria Calavera

Hermitcraft - TinFoilChef

Full Metal Alchemist - Pinako Rockbell

Miss Marple - Miss Marple

Skullgirls - Black Dahlia

Yu Yu Hakusho - Genkai

Umbrella Academy - Five Hargreeves

Golden Girls - the Golden Girls

Breaking Bad - Mike Erhmantraut

Dimension 20 - Bishop Raphaniel Charlock

Final Fantasy - Emet-Selch

Warrior Cats - Yellowfang

One Piece - Dr Kureha

My Little Pony - Granny Smith

Spongebob Squarepants - Mermaid Man and Barnacle Boy

Stardew Valley - Grandpa

She-Ra and the Princesses of Power - Madame Razz

Bloodborne - Gehrman the First Hunter

Courage the Cowardly Dog - Muriel Bagge

Dragon Ball - Master Roshi

The Emperor's New Groove - Yzma

Mulan - Grandmother Fa

Death Note - Watari

Kung Fu Panda - Master Oogway

Christmas - Santa Claus

Plainview Discord Server - Funky Old

Token Tumblr Real Person - @theangstking 's cat, Lilly

Real Life Old Person - Betty White

EDIT: Results from all preliminaries have been updated

[manwalksintobar]

I Couldn't Sleep In My Dream // Alice Notley

I couldn't sleep in my dream. The moon was a vast flower but broken, behind leaves and the force of distortion. Where does that come from? There's no moon here. Distortion's all that I know. I walked near the ocean unable to sleep. Trying to receive messages, though I know there's no one to send them. Here are the words you were looking for. But I wanted something different-Or is this it? Any- thing, anything's different. I left with another widow and a divorcee. I didn't say goodbye. But that's just autobiographical, who cares? I want to live here, where nothing coheres. Who'd be in ordinary life, working or shopping, looking forward to whatever it turns out it's about, in the eyes of belief. I don't believe something. Here I'm spooked, it's not that I like that, it's that I stand in for that, rather. Though Here's so total. Someone's screaming from the basement, who's going away tomorrow; and I'm no particular age. I have no fear. I'm only that I am this moment, inside sheer unsteadiness, the night-time of crisis as tone. Awake the banks are failing, but I've nothing invested there. I'm listening for something else, not Death, but what she hears. She hears me, but I can't always hear me saying to her, Keep me at arm's length. I don't know a thing yet, and I haven't lived. I'm starting to now, aren't I? No, you're asleep, you're always asleep. I meet someone else who knows nothing, the woman who said I am big- hearted. I think about her but I'm dreaming my dream. She flows into me then rolls away. I approach my holy, haunted railroad stations, underground networks, airports, trying to leave. I don't know what I'm leaving or where I'm going. I don't seem to mind, I'm in the state of traveling. Suspended. That's always been my state. This is my heart, or is it yours, I move within. Death's faceless, looking for my face to wear within her hair shape, just for a minute, before she moves on to another. Everyone does it. Well I'm gone. Not with death, but from the market. Evaporated I've never been there. I don't know how to dream but I'm dreaming. In front of the house where I began; then I'm still no one and everything. Everything circumscribed by this child's body that's grown, but is dimensionless near the dark tree. Enter door once more-It's too personal. And I go in, it's just a portal after all. I don't know what's inside. Whatever happens next. Nothing happens; things coalesce then melt again, as if you yourself create them. Well don't I? I create death, and time. Make my story have a shape that's understood. No, I won't be pressed for emotion now that I'm back. If I hear people marching, mobilized, I won't be one. I'm free in this house that doesn't exist. And the crowd's passed crying out for power. I have no needs. No country, no continent, no hope. I sit in blackness where I once lived. In magic, the only force I recognize. What is it? a face cries, skittering away. All that's left, I reply, the basis of life, the explanation of how I came to town. Oh, there's furniture, some old couch I knew but can't remember, tranquilizer of my thought. Press cheek to it, sit on lino, breathe. I used to remember this floor but I don't. I mean I'm just here. I was cared for, and now I care for myself, but I'm the early one too; though the carers aren't here, perhaps the care is. Don't turn on the radio, the old console, a period piece. I'm not one. I'm immortal, like the universe. All I feel is the tingle of this existence, or non-existence, if you're an activist, handing out parts out there where Death's invoked. Does she come to them sooner, for all their rage to find her?

The sun is rising, and light enters my old house. What sun is this? The desert star or some one flame as in transcendence? I won't ask it. I won't ask anyone anything. I got tired of being childish. In your assigned role you were a woman. But I've always been a poet, that's all, no sex or race, no age or face. Can Eternity strip me of it? That's only another word. I'm inside myself, and inside it. Today's the new fact. Are there others there? Timeless, and loveless, this light touches me. I won't need anything else.

[rxgerthatt]

even satan used to be an angel

Pairing : Lloyd Hansen x reader

Summary : Lloyd Hansen is an ass. You’re in denial.

Warnings : smut/18+/descriptions of gunshot

A/N : man I’m on a roll! Enjoy babies!

“So angel face, I hear we’re working together.”

You fucking hate Lloyd Hansen.

Even when he leans over your desk now, smug smile on his face - cocky, brazen attitude on his chest like a badge - it’s hard not to punch him square in the face. You keep it together with a deep breath.

“Unfortunately,” you say, looking back down at the paperwork before you.

Lloyd chuckles, hand tilting your chin to look at him but you turn away, cut a glance in his direction - the iciest you could muster.

You’d argued with your boss - please, anyone but him, please - well, more like begged, but at that point you didn’t care. You would do anything to get out of working with Hansen, and you mean anything.

“Awh, don’t be like that sunshine!” He laughs before his voice drops lower. “We’ll make a great team.”

You’ll believe that when you see it.

—

It’s a fucking sleeper agent.

No intel, no name and this job was about to be so much longer than you needed it to be. You were sure by the end of it you will have lost your sanity completely.

To make matters worse, your lead is your home town. It had been years since you’d been home and with any other company you reckon you would be happy about it, but it wasn’t any other company - it was Lloyd fucking Hansen.

“Jesus - it’s fucking hot,” Lloyd blows out a breath of air - dramatic. “How did you live here?”

You look at him incredulously, “not all of us had a trust fund at the age of seven.”

Lloyd laughs, a deep belly chuckle, white gleaming teeth peaking out from a perfectly styled moustache. How was this guy an agent? He looked like he should be at the fucking social club.

You lead the way to the safe house - your old home.

It sat alone, an old style plantation home just outside the French Quarter in New Orleans. It was surrounded by lush nature. Ivy climbed like veins up the sides of the building - twisting and pulsing with life. Your parents left it for you - they’re only daughter - and you had little time to look after it given your job.

“You sure you didn’t have a trust fund at seven?” Lloyd asks.

“Shut up,” you reply, fetching the key from a rock placed perfectly on the patio.

The house had remained untouched - cobwebs making homes in corners long forgotten. The stairwell stretched in front of you as you walked in, white paint peeling from a wooden banister, you mothers old ornaments dusty and dull compared to what you remember.

You catch Lloyd studying a family picture. You’re 19 in it - little pink sundress with white sneakers and sun kissed skin - the sweetest smile in New Orleans. You hated reminiscing.

“You look like your mother,” he commented. “She’s hot.”

You roll your eyes, “have you always got to be this insufferable?”

“Yes,” he responds with a smile. “You’ll come around, they always do.”

Yeah - right.

—

You follow a lead to an old cafe at the end of St Louis.

It brings back memories you don’t want to unbox. A quaint little building, striped gazebo and open planned - the inside lit with warm lanterns, bathing everything in a golden glow.

You used to come here after school with friends - their pastries were to die for. Now you were here with your greatest nemesis - looking for a faceless man. Or woman, who were you to judge.

“Ah! Y/N! My darling!”

You remember Annalise. She knew your parents well, used to watch you on a Thursday afternoon when your mom was on the back shift. She pulls you into a bear hug.

“How are you Annalise?” You ask her, reciprocating her affection. Lloyd smirks as he watches the interaction. Smug prick.

Your dislike for him ran deep in your veins, and you don’t use the word ‘hate’ lightly. Typically you give people a chance - give them time and you’ll warm up to them. You’d known Lloyd Hansen for five years, and you were still waiting for the switch to flip.

“I’m well,” Annalise replies and it’s only then you notice how much she had aged. Skin like wet leather, hair as white as snow and you don’t remember her being as hunched as she is now. You imagine she was thinking the same.

You catch her looking at Lloyd and you hope to god she doesn’t ask-

“And who’s this?” She smiles. Fuck sake.

Before you can speak, Lloyd is stretching a thick arm towards her, “nice to meet you ma’am, I’m Y/N’s boyfriend Lloyd.”

You bristle, words caught in your throat because that was low. You knew he was sneaky but fuck. Annalise makes a squeak before grabbing both of your hands - you’re too busy cutting Lloyd a deadly glance to share her excitement.

“Oh! I can tell you so many stories about Y/N when she was young-“

“That will be unnecessary,” you cut her off. Lloyd begins laughing beside you and you feel your cheeks heat with embarrassment. You decide then that this is the worst mission you had ever been on.

Your boss would be signing your resignation upon return.

“We’re actually looking for someone Annalise,” Lloyd turns on his charm and you notice the way the older lady melts. If only her husband could see this.

He turns his phone with an updated picture HQ had sent in this morning. It was of a young man - the assumed suspect.

“Oh yes! He lives near the swamp. Be careful down there, lotta gators.”

You look down at Lloyd’s slip ons with a complacent grin.

“You’ll need to change your slippers.”

—

So, turns out the suspect is in possession of some really valuable intel.

You found this out when it hit you and Lloyd in the face, a cloud of colour - purple, blue and fuck knows what else because it was down your throat, in your eyes.

All in all not a great experience.

“What the fuck!” You heard Lloyd shout. He’s coughing, waving his hands about erratically - finger on the trigger and bang.

Well - the suspect is dead.

Your vision comes back, granted it’s blurry and your eyes are sensitive but at least you weren’t blind - yet.

A bullet hole, right in the centre of his forehead - leaking blood, parts of his brain in his lap and his skin was already turning a bluish grey. Maybe that was just the dingy lighting.

You’re lightheaded, skull pushing against your brain and it’s not long before you’re throwing up the contents of your stomach, skin slicked in sweat with a sudden heat that was completely unbearable.

“Hey sugar,” Lloyds hand is on your back. “We gotta get you out of here.”

Lloyd looks funny. He’s in a purple filter, face contorting every time you blink and it makes you giggle uncontrollably.

“You’re so handsome.”

That has him concerned.

He lifts you over his shoulder like you weigh nothing. The sun blinds you, the steady sway makes you titter even more and you feel Lloyd shaking. He’s laughing now too?

This really isn’t good.

—

By some miracle you end up back at your house.

A call to your boss confirms the worst. It was some kind of pollen you had both inhaled - Fibre 2.0 they were calling it - a truth pollen to put it simply. Any poor asshole that consumed it could tell nothing but the harsh punch of truth.

You’re sitting on the sofa - filter falling from your mouth and you’re telling Lloyd about your life in New Orleans. He’s listening, staring at you with eyes like cherry pies - wide and sweet and so unlike himself.

“I’ve had a crush on you since the training academy,” he blurts.

“Me too,” you surprise him.

It’s not long before he has you bent over the kitchen table, black panties at your ankles as he pounds into you from behind and oh - if your mother could see you now.

But it felt too damn good to care.

“You’re the hottest,” he grunts, pushing his cock into places you didn’t know existed and knocking the breath from your lungs in a minty puff. Your insides curl with pleasure, an undeniable pressure building in your groin and you moan like a fucking porn star as you grip the table.

“Thanks,” you manage to squeeze out. “You’ve got a great dick.”

“Thanks,” he replies, grabbing a fistful of your hair.

The orgasm hits like a wave of warm water, stealing the thoughts from your brain and you’re a mumbling fucking mess for Lloyd Hansen.

Fuck Fibre 2.0.

He finishes on your back, cleans you up afterwards and helps you to the sofa. It’s oddly caring, affectionate and you can’t help but point that out because you need to say everything that comes into your head.

“You’re being nice,” you pant.

“I’m nice when I want to be,” he slumps beside you. “Plus, that was the best sex I’ve had in my life. You deserve me being nice.”

“I’ll remember that Lloyd.”

—

You argue when the pollen wears off.

“It’s a truth pollen sunshine!” He shouts from the bottom step, you standing above him. “Which only means one thing. Oh! I know! You were telling the truth!”

“I don’t give a fuck what it was!” You scream, stomach cringing and you really hated yourself right now. “I don’t like you!”

“Boring,” he sing-songs and your fury bursts as you throw an ornament at his head. He dodges, narrowing his gaze back towards you.

“You can be in-denial all you want angel face,” he’s pointing a finger at you now - he’s hot when he’s pissed. “You and I know the truth - you want a bit of the Hansen.”

Give me a break.

You turn away, marching up the flight of stairs to your bedroom with a wave of your hand.

“Keep dreaming Hansen.”

—

It’s you who ends up dreaming.

Replaying the feeling of him deep inside you - over and over again. Your shorts were soaked through, a deep pulsing in your intimate area that had you whining because you needed that release.

The release only he could give you.

It was 4 am. He was surely asleep - you could just check. God! You were weak! Right now, your word meant jack shit. Like dirt on the bottom of your shoe and it was all because of that pollen. If you hadn’t inhaled that, you would have never fucked him and you wouldn’t be feeling like this!

Right?

A sudden thought of - what if the hatred I feel isn’t hatred at all? - crosses your mind and you want to bat it away as quickly as it comes. It sticks like gum and before you know it you’re standing outside his door.

What am I doing?

Before you can turn the door is open. He’s shirtless, eyes squinting as he adjusts to being awake and you’d never seen him so undone.

“Angel, it’s 4 in the morning-“

You kiss him, push him into the room and he’s caught off guard momentarily before he’s kissing you back. It’s a heated kiss - all tongue and teeth clashing together, but you couldn’t ignore how you felt anymore.

Pushing him onto the bed you drop to the floor, unbuckling his belt to reveal an already hard cock - staring you right in the face, judging you because -

Look at you now.

You don’t allow yourself to think anymore, taking his cock into your mouth you feel a swell of pride when he melts before you. Maybe you were looking at this all wrong because who had that affect on Lloyd Hansen?

He breaths heavy as you bob up and down, taking him like a pro, spit dripping down your chin in the most lurid way but you didn’t give a fuck.

“Holy s-shit angel,” he croaks. “You’re too good at that.”

He’s pulling you from the floor, laying you down on the bed with something about how that’s not how this works before he’s pushing into you.

Like a match to gasoline your body comes alive. You wiggle beneath him, trying to accommodate his thick girth and he takes your tit into his mouth.

“Fuck, you’ve got the best tits,” he groans. “Always knew you were hiding something special under those cat suits.”

You moan in reply as he begins to move, a steady rhythm, not like the brutal pounding in the kitchen. No, this was passionate, slow and deliberate like he wanted to make it last forever.

God, you hope it would.

There’s a squelch that starts from the joining of your bodies and it only serves to bring you closer to release. You pant, holding his arm with one of yours to keep you from drowning in the waters of your own pleasure.

He grunts as you squeeze him, the metaphorical coil in your stomach snapping with such force it makes you stretch your spine. You gasp for breath and he’s not far behind you, tucking his head into the crook of your neck and pressing a kiss there.

The question of whether he wanted you to leave was soon answered when he pulled you under the covers, wrapping you in strong arms and holding you there.

“I could be good for you,” he says so uncharacteristically. “I don’t like a lotta people sugar, but I like you.”

He’s being honest. As honest as he had been not even 48 hours ago. You knew Lloyd, you’d known him a long time. He was a good liar, but not that good.

You offer him a smile, “you’re not all bad Hansen.”

Sure - he’s tortured the fuck out of some people, but you were no angel. You had more than enough kills under your belt to warrant that trip down the River Styx.

“So when we’re back, you’ll let me take you for dinner?” He asks hopeful, you see that twinkle in his eyes.

“Sure,” you reply, laying your head back on his chest and you feel it release a pressure.

Did you make Lloyd Hansen nervous?

How many times had you answered that question differently? Let me take you out sugar? Let me show you a good time? Be mine angel face?

You suppose even Satan was an angel once.

[elderlytourney]

Welcome to the Old Woman Tourney!

In this tourney, 62 old women will face off for the title of Ultimate Old Woman! Our competitors are...

Avagon (Pirates of Dark Water)

Irene (The Mist)

Mama Coco (Coco)

Arcee (IDW's Transformers)

Eileen the Crow (Bloodborne)

Opal (Pokemon)

General Leia Organa (Star Wars)

May Parker (Spider-Man)

Toph Beifong (Avatar: The Legend of Korra)

Blanche Devereaux (Golden Girls)

Irene Frederic (Warehouse 13)

Link's Grandma (The Legend of Zelda: The Wind Waker)

Fortuneteller Baba (Dragon Ball)

Lucrecia Mux (Psychonauts)

The Fates (Hercules)

Fairy Godmother (Cinderella)

Grumples (Yo-Kai Watch)

Lady Butterfly (Sekiro: Shadows Die Twice)

Granny Rags (Dishonored)

Gwendolyn Clawthorne (The Owl House)

Outcast (Arknights)

The Urn Witch (Death's Door)

Matoya (Final Fantasy XIV)

The Faceless Old Woman who Secretly Lives in your Home (Welcome to Night Vale)

Ambessa Medara (Arcane)

Sadie Croaker (Amphibia)

Maria Calavera (RWBY)

Tala (Moana)

Esme Weatherwax (Discworld)

Baba Yaga

Xate Yawa (Baru Cormorant)

Crooked Rook (Pale)

Erin O'Niell (Dungeons and Daddies)

Granny (Looney Tunes)

Mama Odie (Princess and the Frog)

Kammy (Paper Mario)

Wrinkly Kong (Donkey Kong Country)

Suga Mama (The Proud Family)

Yan Lin (W.I.T.C.H)

Grandma Flexington (Borderlands)

Karin Chakwas (Mass Effect)

Rita Repulsa (Power Rangers)

Ubaba (Spirited Away)

Alice Green (Big City Greens)

Lucretia (The Adventure Zone)

Ginger (OK KO: Let's Be Heroes!)

Granny Goodness (DC Comics)

Alma Madrigal (Encanto)

Gertie Shortman (Hey Arnold!)

Faragonda (Winx Club)

Grandmother Fa (Mulan)

Jasmine Lee (The Life and Times of Juniper Lee)

Madame Foster (Foster's Home for Imaginary Friends)

Nanefua Pizza (Steven Universe)

Nana (Nanalan)

Barbara Howard (Abbott Elementary)

Wendy Oldbag (Ace Attorney)

Thora Read (Arthur)

Grandma Spankenheimer (Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer)

Erina Pendleton (Jojo's Bizarre Adventure)

Helen/The Administrator (Team Fortress 2)

Mom (Futurama)

Next week, the battles begin! Each round will last only a day, and the 31 winners will move on. The losers will go to a redemption round where one of them will be able to return.

Thank you for your patience. It's been a wild couple of days, and things are only gonna get crazier. But regardless, I can't wait to...have you vote on the elderly...

...eh. It's not the weirdest poll on Tumblr probably.

(Masterpost will also be coming soon, to help keep track of certain rounds. You'll also be able to track them through tags)

[oldhagtournament]

Round 1 Match Up Master Post

LEFT SIDE OF THE BRACKET

Big Mom vs Dr. Kureha

Faragona vs The Golden Girls

The Sanderson Sisters vs Tsuru

Kaede vs Captain Gi-Gan

Yubaba vs Lisa Sherwoood

Granny Puckett vs Granny Weatherwax

Enya vs Grizabella

Fairy Godmother vs Captain Dola

Mary Keay vs Sybil Forsynth

Pinako Rockwell vs Granny Wen

The Stygian Witches vs Odin

Odile vs Flemeth

Wickerbottom vs Etsuko

Madame Ping vs Eda Clawthorne

The Weird Sisters vs Akane Kurashiki

Mama Racer vs Moira

RIGHT SIDE OF THE BRACKET

Boss Lady vs Baba Jaga

Opal vs Miss Marple

Lazy Susan vs Dorothy Elford

Nanna Egbert vs Impa

Auntie Ethel vs Genkai

Paledriver vs Yzma

The Chevre Sisters vs Gertrude Robinson

Majo Rika vs Strega Nona

Eileen The Crow vs Nanase

Pearl vs Otose

The Witch vs Dash Granny

Big Betrude vs Kiriko

Wendy Oldbag vs Morgan Fey

The Faceless Old Woman Who Lives in Your House vs Ahab

Nikolai vs Gloriosia

M vs Gothi