#hill house moodboards

[holocenestatelines]

ᴛʜᴇ ʜᴀᴜɴᴛɪɴɢ ᴏꜰ ʜɪʟʟ ʜᴏᴜꜱᴇ: ᴇʟᴇᴀɴᴏʀ "ɴᴇʟʟ" ᴄʀᴀɪɴ

"ɪ ʟᴏᴠᴇᴅ ʏᴏᴜ ᴄᴏᴍᴘʟᴇᴛᴇʟʏ. ᴀɴᴅ ʏᴏᴜ ʟᴏᴠᴇᴅ ᴍᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ꜱᴀᴍᴇ. ᴛʜᴀᴛ'ꜱ ᴀʟʟ. ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴇꜱᴛ ɪꜱ ᴄᴏɴꜰᴇᴛᴛɪ."

[loveguts]

home that’s hell

“how’d your parents die again?” by fatimah asghar / p.t. / anatomy by kitty horrorshow / skinamarink by kyle edward ball / house of leaves by mark z. danielewski / silent hill 4: the room / heck by kyle edward ball

[harmonyunderstars]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐬𝐦𝐨𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧 𝐮𝐬. 𝐖𝐞 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐝𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫 𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐟𝐟. 𝐖𝐞 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐚 𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐮𝐧𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐢𝐭𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟.

[mythic-rose]

❝ — "No live organism can continue to exist sanely under conditions of absolute reality. Even larks and katydids are supposed by some to dream. Hill House, not sane… stood by itself against its hills holding darkness within. It had stood so for a hundred years before my family moved in… and might stand a hundred more. Within, walls stood upright, bricks met neatly… floors were firm. Silence lay steadily against the wood and stone of Hill House. And whatever walked there… walked alone." — Steven Crain

rose's 15 favorite shows — 4/15: The Haunting of Hill House (2018)

➛ related boards — Steven

[userstuf]

★ VICTORIA PEDRETTI USERS ★

• vpstuf

• pedrttiz

• victfilms

fav/reblog if u save or use ♥︎ dont repost it

[fatherforgivethem]

Hi💚I saw your Hotd Hunger Games post and I couldn’t help but ask to do Hotd meets Bly Manor, or Hill House if you can🤷‍♀️

“I’m a dream, and so are you, and so are we…”

.

.

.

Alicent Hightower had only ever wanted to give her family a sense of adventure. She wanted them to see different parts of the country, and with her job as a house flipper, she had been able to do just that. Until recently….

She had wanted her children to like the new house, she had wanted herself to like the house; but something about it made her feel a certain kind of unwell. And no matter how she tried to encourage her children, it was a known fact that the family was sick and tired of Hill House.

Yet, life had changed when her little girl had begun to speak of figure she’d scene around the house. A women, she’d explained, that she called the Bent-Neck-Lady. And when Aemond had spoken of a very tall man he’d seen walking about the halls. All of it seemed to be going wrong. She herself had begun to see a vexing auburn-haired women that would snarl hateful nonsense into Alicent’s ears. Even Daeron hated the house. Aegon seemed to be doing the best out of all of them.

Her life felt like chaos, like madness. It was so mad that it drove her to point of no return. She felt light, like she was floating. She was once there, in the flesh with her children. And now, she was one with the house. She was of Hill House. Forever wandering the halls alone until a voice that sounded like her little girl’s rang through her ears like music.

Aegon could identify the exact moment that his and his families life had gone up in flames. It had been when his uncle Gwayne, who had been staying with them at Hill House, had pulled Aegon and his siblings from their beds, ordering them to keep their eyes closed as he lifted them in his arms and began running down the halls as fast as his feet could carry them.

He’d shoved them into a car and driven like a madman to the nearest hotel. It had been in the chaos of the car that his uncle had revealed what had happened to their mother. It was that exact moment that Aegon knew nothing would ever be the same and the family would be forever changed. The days after that night had been full of questions from Aegon and his siblings, but those questions had all gone unanswered by a shell shocked, almost hollow-looking Gwayne, who Aegon realized only the next morning had been covered in blood the night before when they’d escaped Hill House.

They had moved in with Gwayne. Who in Aegon’s opinion, was not stable enough to care for them after the death of his sister, Alicent. Aegon did what he could for his family. But despite his efforts they always seemed only just out of his reach. From then, time had gone on, and Aegon and his siblings and grown up. Aegon had married a man named Jace and the two opened a funeral home. They had a little girl and even Daeron had moved in with them, living in the guest house.

Aegon thought, or at least hoped, that life should have been set, it should have finally been at a place where they were all fine and happy. But that was never the case with the Hightower family. Aemond had fallen victim to nearest substance, Helena hadn’t been taking her meds in over a year, and it had all been left to Aegon to sort out, as their uncle Gwayne had become harder and harder to reach in the last several years. It seemed that Daeron and Aegon were the only ones holding on to some semblance of a healthy sibling relationship with each other.

Despite it all however, Aegon could at least say that it was going ok. Aegon had been able to get Aemond a place in a rehab facility. And Helaena had her husband to rely on. It was going ok… until Helaena had called.

Aemond had been seeing the man again. It had been ok for a little, it really had. He had been in a facility, one he had wanted to be at. He had been taking his medicine. He was even going on six months of sobriety. He was doing ok… until he saw him again. The man, the one with the hat who seemed to be at every corner that Aemond turned, always looking in the opposite direction. He had made the mistake of leaving the facility for a girl he thought had cared for him.

All he wanted was his family, he wanted his mom who he remembered only in pieces, he wanted his older brother Aegon who always knew what to do, but who Aemond knew was tired of him asking for money, he wanted his little brother who wanted nothing to do with him, and who he really wanted was his twin. Helaena. It was Helaena who would understand what he was feeling.

He had tried to stay somewhere, to sleep, but he only saw the man, the tall one who was always there, watching him. He had tried calling his uncle Gwayne but he hadn’t answered. He tried calling Aegon and Daeron but they hadn’t answered. When he called Helaena, she had sounded off, like something wasn’t right. Aemond could always tell when something wasn’t right with Helaena. The same way she could always tell with him. It was a twin thing. That’s what they’d always said. She had kept going on and on about Hill House. And the line had cut off after that. He needed to get to Helaena.

He needed them, his family. He would get to them somehow. He would.

Daeron knew people looked at him as odd for always wearing his gloves. As if wearing something on his hands made him a freak. It was just gloves, truly. And to others, he wanted to keep it that way. But he knew the truth. Those gloves protected him from knowing things that no else wanted to know. He could touch an object and feel the exact emotion of the last person that had used it. He could touch a couch and feel the emotions of the last person who has sat on it. He could touch a lamp and the same thing would happen. And with his mother gone, there wasn’t anyone to help him with it. He was all by himself when it came to this. And so, the only way to keep it in check was to put a barrier between himself and everything else. To put leather gloves over his skin. The odd stares people sent his way were worth it.

After the events at Hill House, Daeron had put most of his time and energy into school, and it wasn’t long before he was graduating and staring his job as a child’s psychologist. He could still remember the proud look that Aegon and Helaena had given him when he walked across the stage. Aemond had been absent. He’d been at one of many rehabs. All of that, the struggle of school, the absence of Aemond, that had all been before. Before everything else that soon occurred. Before Helaena’s husband had died and she had stopped taking her medication, before Aemond was nowhere to be found. Moving in with Aegon had been the best decision he made in a long time. They needed each other more than anything.

And so, years after Daeron had cut ties with Helaena and Aemond, years after dodging calls, Daeron was surprised to see Aegon so worked up after a voicemail from Helaena. It wasn’t long before Daeron was waking up in a fright. His sister was there. Back at the house they had sworn to forget all those years ago. He could feel it.

She was in the Red Room.

Life was a terrifying task that Helaena had been forced to live through as of recent. She had a husband, a charming man who had loved her despite her odd quirks and nightly terrors. He was loving and supportive, kind and gentle. She had needed him. The two had been happy, she had been happy for once in a long time. When her mother had passed, it seemed as if nothing would be the same again. However, when she met him, Arthur, her life had seemed to brighten. He was the lamp inside a dark room. Though, like most lamps, the bulb eventually went out and the room was left in the dark once more. He had gone in the night, a brain aneurism of all things. Unexpected and bewildering. One moment he was there, and the next, he was gone.

She had been plagued as a young child with night terrors. A woman with long black hair and a bent neck who seemed to float above her her bed and she jay there, or before her in a dark hallway. And each time she saw her, it was as if her body was stuck. Frozen. Paralyzed by fear. She couldn’t breathe, she couldn’t blink, she couldn’t scream. That was always the worst part.

It seemed it would never end. Until one day it did. She had been glad that she had called Aegon. Glad that she was able to leave some kind of message before departing.

If there was a creature in the woods, they would have seen her feet moving along the gravel and into the creaky house. Hill House, it was called. Now, if a particle of dust were to watch her, they would see her dance with no one, deeper and deeper into the house, until she was so far, that she could never dream of making her way back out. Until the world she had once known had been replaced with a world full of something different. Something less real.

[4mashedpotatoes]

how do you know who you are

[purple-dahlias]

— eleanor vance

“journeys end in lovers meeting”

[earth-scented]

deeply haunting shots of Hill House

dir. Mike Flanagan, 2018

[c-aelii]

[thespookybean14]

Hi!! So, I’ve kept thinking about The Haunting of Hill House and Dungeons & Dragons, so…here’s a little moodboard post for my thoughts about what class and alignment they’d be if they were thrown into the world of D&D. :)

1. Steve Crain - Warlock Bard

Alignment: Neutral Good

2. Shirley Crain - Ranger

Alignment: Lawful Good

3. Theodora “Theo” Crain - Sorceress Rogue

Alignment: Neutral Good or Chaotic Good

4. Luke Crain - Barbarian

Alignment: Chaotic Neutral

5. Eleanor “Nell” Crain - Cleric

Alignment: Lawful Good

[awrestlinggirlwholoves80sbands]

Skid Row Christmas 2022

 Week 3 is about Skid Row. I tried to write some stories here too :)

Sebastian Bach: Reindeer

“So how do I look?” Sebastian asked.

You turned around only to laugh at what you were seeing : Sebastian was wearing a reindeer costume, with horns and all.

“Why are you a reindeer?” You were puzzled.

“For the christmas party, duh!” He said, too casually to be sarcastic

“Since when Rudolf is part of a party dress code? You kept chuckling.

To be fair it wasn’t a big deal, it was a friend party so no paparazzi yet the idea of drawing everybody’s attention scared you.

“I’m sure the other people will love it!”

“Do you want a red nose, too?”

Without hesitating Sebastian grabbed you and spun you around, earing some high pitched screams from you.

“You better behave, or Rudolf will tell Santa you’ve been naughty!”

Rachel Bolan : Gingerbread house

"Do we need all this candies for the house?” Rachel said, examing a bag of Skittles.

You were surprised when he proposed you to build a gingerbread house, it was a family tradition for you but you never forced upon him, being totally okay to decorate the house by yourself. However this year was different.

“You don’t have to use them all, but I like to have mutiple options, you know. Cookies, skittles, peppermint candies. The more coloreful it is, the better!” You explained.

“What if I want to do a spooky gingerbread house?” He asked.

“Okay, Mr Halloween, go for it then. You will need some food paint and I’d suggest you put dark chocolate as the ground.

Rachel nodded and gathered all the ingredients. You two stayed silent but it was an enjoyable silence, you were focused on your tasks and you couldn’t help but smile seeing Rachel so invested.

“I think I’m done!” You announced, a while after. 

“ Same here.” Rachel replied.

You were happy with your result and absolutely thrilled to notice how good Rachel had been for his first time.

“I like how you put the colors in yours! It looks like it’s from a movie!”

You didn’t resist the tempation to kiss him.

“I love yours too, it’s truly the spookiest halloween house made of gingerbread.”

Scotti Hill: Christmas Lights

“Ehm, Scotti... don’t you think maybe you went a little overboard with the christmas lights?” You said.

Your christmas tree was covered in the usual multicolored lights ( even if they weren’t on so you couldn’t tell for sure), however a new set of snoflakes shaped lights was hanging on the ceiling. Pretty normal, no? Well added to the ones you saw on the door, on the roof and in your drive when you came home, it was a show.

“What? No! I can finally afford to buy as many lights as I want, this house has to look like you walked straight into the sun!” He replied.

“Okay, Mr. Electrician. Did you leave some of the fun?”

“Sure, the tree needs another string of lights. You can put those and then turn it up.”

You did as he said, anticipation running through your veins once you got to see all the colors popping up. You loved christmas lights, they reminded you of evening spent on the living room floor with your family, watching movies and drinking hot chocolate.

“Scott, it’s amazing! I love it!”

You felt two big arms hugging your from behind, as you could only imagine his confident smile, as you boosted his ego.

“I’m glad, because I was convinced it could explode once you plugged in.” He admitted with a laugh.

Snake Sabo : Christmas Presents

“Next one says Aunt Joelle” Snake said, reading from his list.

You nodded, choosing from a big box next to a beautiful cristal snowball. Wrapping presents had always been your favorite activity to do during Christmas time, sometimes you even experimented with the wrapping shape to fool your friends.

“Can you keep strumming your guitar? I really liked that melody you came up with.” You asked him.

Snake was more than happy to grant your wish. He asked you if you needed any help, but you prefered to do it by yourself while having him be your music background and reader.

“And done. I put it in a bubble wrapped and then in another bag, I hope it holds up until christmas dinner. So how’s next?” You lifted the package to show Snake.

“My band. You have to grab the leather jacket for Rachel, the drumsticks for Rob, the hat for Scotti  and the bag of coke for Seb.”

“ THE WHAT?!” You asked worried.

“ I was kidding, the Kiss action figure is for Sebastian.”

You balled up some paper and threw it to him.

“Don’t mess with me!” You pouted, earning a soft kiss on your lips by Snake.

“Can you wrap them in totally different shapes so they will be confused?” He asked you.

“You know I love to do that!” You said with a smirk.

Rob Affuso : Christmas cookies

You came back home with your hands filled with two bags. Rob immediately took interest in that.

“What’s in those?”

“Christmas cookies from my parents’ shop!” You replied happily.

“Oh sweet!”

“But they have a twist...” You teased.

“Is it a good one or a bad one? I don’t want to eat cookies filled with tuna or something.” He wrinkled his nose.

“Nope, they are plain, which means we can decorate them!”

Rob’s eyes lit up of joy, he confessed to you how much he would do that with his family when he was younger. You smiled back and empied the bags : different containers of gingerbread man cookies, red velvet, santa, candy cane, tree and other cookies shape covered your countertop.

“They also gave me royal icing and food coloring. This was all product about to expire so we are recycling! Where do you want to start?” You explained.

“I want to do the gingerbread men. I’ll create some five Skid Bread !” He chuckled and you couldn’t wait to see the result.

You picked a miscellaneous shapes, feeling inspired to experiment and variate as much as possible. You were quite the artistic person and so was Rob, which meant this task entertained you for a while.

“Ta da! Look at my Skid Bread.” He showed you five gingerbread men, all of them had a distinctive feature of Seb, Rachel, Snake,Scotti and himself.

“You should give those to the guys, I bet they would love it!” You encouraged him.

“I also made this.” He took out a red cookie heart, the words “ I love you” written in icing.

“Aww babe we should eat it together!” You proposed. In true Lady and the Tramp fashion, you eat the cookie from both sides, until you got to kiss one another.

“I love you.” He whispered.

“ I love you too.”

[self-loathing-peach]

The delusion is getting to me 🌻☕

[hadersversion]

how to disappear! - lumberjack! logan x farmer’s daughter!reader: how they first meet

warnings: mentions of christianity, waiting till marriage, innocent reader, implied age gap (reader in 20s and logan being logan so 200?), good ole country attitudes

moodboard <3

🍓you’ve been living in a small town in nebraska your whole life

🍓the youngest daughter to the towns farmer, you were full of personality and many people in the town just liked to be around you

🍓you cared for the kids, helped the elderly, cooked & baker for everyone while wearing a big, beautiful smile on your face

🍓logan came to town in early spring, buying the fixer upper house down the dirt road from your home

🍓you two first met when your father asked you to run down some eggs that the chickens just hatched to the new neighbor as a welcome gift

🍓 you got on your bike, your white skirt flying in the wind as you drive down the hill

🍓 you parked your bike in front of his house and walked around the property, which seemed to be empty besides the pick up truck sitting in the drive way

🍓“hello? hello? i’m y/n, your new neighbor from up the street.”

🍓 you ventured around the property and admired the way it was already coming together. the once run down house now painted a fresh coat of red.

🍓 your walk around the house was cut short when you heard the sound of wood being split deeper into the woods surrounding the property

🍓 clutching the eggs, you followed the noise until you were looking at the ripped back of a man as he swung his axe high in the air

🍓 your body froze as you watched the man move swiftly with his axe, admiring his body and trying to tune out all the things you wanted him to do to you

🍓 he turned around and did a double take, his eyes raking up and down your body

🍓 the older man stood tall, his dark hair spiking up

🍓“um, hello?” he grunted

🍓 his white tank top clung to his sweaty body, showing off his hairy chest

🍓 dog tags hung around his neck as your brain thought about them hanging above your face when he’s on top of you

🍓 your mouth became dry as you stared at him

🍓 “h-hi.” you said shyly.

🍓“can i help ya with something, sweetheart.” he set the axe down and picked up a cigar from a log

🍓“y-yeah, i-um-i.” you were a stuttering mess looking at the gorgeous man in front of you. “sorry, i-uh…i live up the street and my daddy asked me to drop off these eggs to ya. our chickens hatched them this mornin’. think of it as a welcome to the town gift.”

🍓 he looks down at the eggs in your hand and smirks

🍓“appreciate it.” he walks up and grabs the eggs, cigar hanging from his mouth. “tell your pa i said thanks.”

🍓 your breathe hitches as you stare up at him, your thoughts becoming impure before you could even control them

🍓you never had thoughts like this before, you knew that you had to wait until marriage to even cross this bridge

🍓but this man made you want to throw those ideas out the window

🍓you watch as he stares down your chest, your shirt didn’t leave much to the imagination as it opened a bit at the top

🍓 instinctively, your fingers come up and play with cross necklace sitting comfortably against you

🍓you could swear this man let out a small groan at the tiny action

🍓“didn’t catch your name, sweetheart.”

🍓“y/n.”

🍓“y/n.” he repeats back and you swear, your heart melted in your chest. “pretty, just like you. i’m logan.”

🍓 i nod and smile. “thank you.”

🍓 the two of you stand in silence, appreciating the company of one another

🍓“i-uh…i should get going. but it was nice to meet you, logan.”

🍓“back at ya, kid.”

🍓 he watched as you walked towards your bike and hop on

🍓eyes raking over your body one last time as though he was never going to see you again, he wanted to savor you

🍓 you wave innocently and start your journey home

🍓 logan waves back and takes the cigar out of his mouth

🍓“maybe comin here wasn’t so bad.”

[chaotic-mystery]

Call It What You Want

pairing: Joel Miller Jackson era x f!reader

summary: Who knew a storm would push you and Joel exactly where you wanted to be but never thought you’d end up?

content warnings: shocker shocker, Mads wrote fluff for once! There’s a slight mention of arson and your house burning down but ya know, the rest of it is fluff. Nicknames, implied age gap but it’s not specified, storms. NO USE OF Y/N.

authors note: this is almost two months late for the lovely @janaispunk 1500 kisses challenge! I couldn’t find my moodboard unfortunately (it was beautiful) so I had to improvise. I got Joel + cheek kiss. It’s short and sweet 🖤 Jana ilysm. || word count: 1.1k || thank u always to @pedgito for beta reading & @wannab-urs for hyping me up to post despite how far I got derailed from life. Ily ily ily.

Two years. It’s been two years living with Joel Miller in Jackson. It wasn’t what you expected, given the week you moved into the smaller house just up the hill, someone decided to burn it down to get you to leave. It wasn’t really the warm welcome like you were promised. Joel was tasked with housing you until they could rebuild or find you somewhere else to shack up. Given he was Tommy’s brother and Tommy was with Maria, no one dared to even mess with anyone close to the Millers.

It took Joel a mere three months to decide he liked keeping you around, it wasn’t so quiet in the house anymore, and he had someone to share his dinner with because he could never figure out after all these years how to cook for one person. Either way, you both liked each other’s company and you didn’t want to live anywhere else. However, there was a mutual agreement between you two of house rules.

Keep up after yourself, do your work and do as you’re told, and no overnight guests.

Even if you didn’t talk about it, the third rule just kind of happened. It was never your house to get comfortable in and over the years you slowly started to feel more relaxed, but it was never going to be yours.

A nasty storm was rolling in during the middle of the night and knowing storms freak you out, especially living in a house surrounded by trees as tall as buildings, you laid in bed staring at the ceiling, contemplating going into Joel’s room to wake him up. You just wanted to be held again, despite you starting to catch feelings for him. You knew the first night you climbed in his bed for relief of knowing you weren’t alone in the house, this was going to fuck you up. You just wanted to feel someone else there with you, anyone. It just so happened to be Joel who was half asleep but more than willing to let you sleep in his bed as long as you didn’t try anything with him.

With each sunrise, you’d wake up in his arms and his head nuzzled into your neck from behind. Had Joel known what was happening or how you’d wake up tangled in each other, he’d make a big deal about it and not let you come in during the middle of the night anymore. Before he’d open his eyes you’d crawl out of his room to let him think you left hours ago.

A ginormous crack of lightning lights up your bedroom and follows with booms of thunder loud enough to rattle the windows and causes you to jolt up in your bed.

You grab your blanket and run into Joel’s room, skipping the knocking that normally wakes him up. He jumps awake, fear coursing his veins as he looks around the dark room and seeing you standing there from the small flashes of lightning.

“What’s the matter?!” He asks and swings his legs over the side of the bed closest to you.

“There’s a storm and-”

“C’mon, get in here.” He lays back down and lifts the covers up, not aware you had your blanket.

Still, you jump in under them and lay your blanket over the top. He knew you were scared of storms, it was all he needed to know as to why you busted in the way you did. With no second thought, Joel’s arms wrap around your body, pulling you against his chest to console you.

“It’s okay, you’re okay. I’ve gotcha.” He murmurs tiredly as he rubs your back gently to soothe you.

His warm palms smooth over your t-shirt covering your shoulder, almost sucking all the anxiety right out of your body.

“I’ll forgive you for barging in here like that, even if you did scare the shit outta me.” His chin lays right on top of your head, tucking you in closer than you’ve ever been to him. Did he always smell this good and you’re just now realizing?

“I’m sorry, yeah I probably should’ve knocked. I’m sorry.” You try to cover your face in embarrassment but he catches your movements and tugs your arm down, tightening his grip on you as he rocks back and forth trying to get you to laugh.

“No no no, cut it out. I’m just messin with you. C’mon, get some sleep. Long day tomorrow.”

You couldn’t stop staring at the skin on his neck and thinking about how badly you wanted to kiss him. Cuddling with him never went further than what it was because if it did, you’d have to talk about what you two were and that would completely ruin everything.

“But I’m not tired now.”

“Too bad, if you just stop yappin’ you’ll get tired.”

“But-“

His hand comes up gently to your face and squeezes your cheeks together to keep you from finishing your thought. Your adrenaline was pumping as you could feel his face get closer to yours and his breath tickling your skin. A ghost of a kiss was pressed to your cheek, followed by him saying goodnight once more.

Your entire body was on vibrate, hands cemented to your torso where they’ve been since you climbed into his bed. Joel’s hand never left your face as he started to drift off to sleep but his grip loosened.

“Joel.” you whisper

No answer. You shuffle under him and he stirs softly.

“Joel.”

“What's the matter, kid?”

“Why’d you kiss me?”

Bracing yourself for him to kick you out for talking too much, you hold out for an answer and to your surprise, he answers.

“Because I wanted to.” He grumbles and blinks open his eyes, the thunder still rumbling outside.

Biting your lip trying to decide if you should keep going, to give into your temptations and tell him what you’re thinking about.

“What if I want you to kiss me…like…for real? Would you?” You shuffle around as he sits up enough to prop his arm up and hold his head steady in your direction.

“Why would you want that?”

You didn’t know how to answer. Maybe it was the mixed signals you were getting, the looks you’d catch from Joel every time he saw you talking to a guy, or maybe you just really wanted him to kiss you. It had been forever for you too, since someone glittered your skin with delicate kisses and touches from angels and every day that passed, it grew stronger and twined itself with whatever this was with Joel.

“If you’re going to kiss me, I’d rather have a proper one.” You whisper and the flash of lightning lights Joel’s face, exposing the stupid smirk on his face.

What happened that night was going to stay between you two, even if it meant complicating everything.

Thank u for reading! 🖤

[604to647]

What Was I Made For?

3.1K / Frankenstein AU Tim Rockford x fem!reader

Summary: Left on his own, Tim learns a new way to live.

Warnings: None! Age gap cause Tim’s like hundreds of years old 🤷🏻‍♀️😂 Semi-sentient woodland creatures that meddle, I guess 🤭

A/N: Inspired by @almostfoxglove’s beautiful AU moodboard below - if you haven't already, check out that post and the tags, along with all her other AU moodboards! Thank you so much for sharing them with us 🥹🥰

Title by Billie Eilish / Dividers by @saradika-graphics as always 🥰

For a very long time, Tim did not go outside during the daytime.

Father said not to.

And even though Father has been gone for many years, Tim still heeded his words.  His being the only voice Tim had ever heard.

He still doesn’t know why Father left.  He’s even less sure of why he never returned.

Merge Mansion remains dark, even during the day.  Its halls empty, its candelabras unlit.  If anyone was to pass through the ivy choked iron gates and listen at its door, and no one ever did, they would hear only the skittering of mice and the occasional heavy footstep, so slow and deliberate it could be mistaken for the heartbeat of a slowly dying house.

Only ever at night, Tim goes out to the woods behind the now dusty and crumbling mansion.  Those same woods where Father would have him lift, throw, break - repeatedly.  And Father would write furiously in his notebooks.  Tim thinks maybe that’s what he was made for.

For more years than can be counted, enough so that he passes into legend, Tim continues to do what he knows.  He uproots trees and plants and heaves them over knolls and into streams.  He rolls boulders and smashes rocks.  He haunts the forest alone until the dawn threatens to pierce through the thick overhang of the old growth trees; hiding within the moss-covered stone walls of the only home he’s ever known until night brings cover once again.

Until one night after so many nights, he just… doesn’t.  Instead of his nightly exertion to prove something to the darkness, Tim just sits and bathes in the pureness of the moonlight.  He breathes in the earthy musk of the forest’s damp soil and the sweet scent of pine mixed with bark sap.  Instead of his own laboured breathing, Tim finally hears the babbling of the brooks, the hooting of the owls, and soft breeze whistling between the low berry bushes and the high tree tops.  Tim doesn’t know if he was made to be at peace, but he finds that he can do it all the same.

He teaches himself to read.  At first using words Father would say and the signs he would point to in the room Tim lived in: Lock.  Unlock.  Hot.  Cold.  On.  Off.  Danger.  Stop.

Then from books about nature that he finds in the library, remembering words that Father would use to describe their surroundings when in the woods that Tim now knows so well.

Tree.  Rock.  Hill.  Hole.

It takes a very, very long time.  But Tim has nothing but time.

He’s not even sure if he’s doing it right - he has no one to ask.  Not that he could even if there was.  He says the words in his head the way he thinks they sound, but with no voice, never out loud.  He wasn’t made for that.

It’s no matter.  Even if he isn’t sure he’s sounding them out properly, Tim thinks he’s assigned the words to the pictures in the books of animals and landscapes correctly.  There are other books, as well.  Ones with illustrations that are foreign to him and where the words denote meaning that he doesn’t think he will ever understand, but he learns them anyways:  Music.  Dance.  Laugh.  Feast.  Love.

In his woods, Tim no longer destroys: he clears, builds, tends.  Tim carves out paths that feel softer on the bottoms of his lumbering feet.  He removes dead branches from healthy trunks and uses them to sweep the forest floor.  He rolls away dead trees, some fell by age or disease, others by his own hand in the olden days when he thought that was what he was made for.

He still only does these things under the cover of night.  Father had said to be afraid of the village at the bottom of the looming hill upon which Merge Mansion perched.  He warned Tim that if he was discovered, the villagers would come and hurt them both.  Tim wishes that he had known the words or had the voice to tell Father that he would have protected him.  That perhaps it was the villagers who should have been afraid of him. Father’s notebooks say that he was built to be fierce. 

The bunnies in the woods do not seem to think so.  Nor the foxes, or the badgers, or the mice.  The deer do not find Tim to be fearsome, and the birds readily to flock to him.

He supposes it’s because he starts to help them build their nests; his long legs easily carry him to the farthest corners of the woods where the best nesting materials can be gathered.  He volunteers his big, pawlike hands to dig their burrows and holes.  His strength he uses to drag logs and branches to where whole furry families reside, breaking the thick wood into smaller pieces to help them expand and fortify their homes for their growing broods and the incoming weather.  He’s tall enough to lift baby birds back into their nests when they fall out before they’re ready to fly.  He forages and shares all his bounty, himself having no need for sustenance. 

Tim would not mind if this is what he was made for.

The years continue to pass.  The village at the bottom of the hill gets less busy, smaller, and is eventually gone.  Tim only knows because he witnesses the number of tiny square windows illuminated by bright candles during the night, dwindle until there is only darkness.

From the now dilapidated walls of Merge Mansion, Tim watches as what remains of the village rots and is reclaimed by the Earth.  It looks less frightening to him the way it stands now, wild and lush - much more like his beloved forest where he’s only ever known friendly creatures.

It’s the bunnies who convince him to come out in the daytime. 

It had been an especially abundant year for the rabbits, with baby bunnies almost overrunning the forest floor.  The mamas plead with Tim using their big brown eyes to help round up their little ones and keep them safe, making sure none of them strayed too far from the safety of the woods.

Little bunnies are hard to see in the dark.

The first time Tim steps outside during the day, he’s so blinded by the sky’s brightness that he thinks perhaps his eyes were not made for sunlight.  His forest is so green in the daytime.  A richness of browns with the occasional pop of red, blue, even lavender.  In the winters, the snow is so white during the day it appears almost clear.  Once the snow has melted, the streams splash with fish that jump during the day – something that never happens at night.  The sun’s beams warm Tim’s rough skin in a way the moon’s cold, comfortable ambiance never has.  The sounds of the forest are so much louder, cheerier in the day than they are at night – it strikes Tim as odd given it’s the same forest but he supposes he feels more alive during the day as well.

The deer are the ones that lead him out of the forest and to the front of the house.  The overgrown grass on the Merge Mansion hill begs to be grazed on, and with the village gone, Tim and the deer while away many days unseen and unbothered amongst the soft green blades – looking out to a splendid view of rolling plains and sprawling forests stretching all the way to the horizon.  He never strays far from the house - still heeding Father’s words of caution even though the dangers he warned against look to be long gone.

Tim doesn’t even know that another village has sprung up somewhere on the other side of a low mountain that he considers to be more than a fair distance away until you.  The first time he sees you, you’re but a little girl and you come with your own father to the cemetery that rests at the bottom of his hill, where it once bordered the old village.  The same cemetery from which Father gathered the parts that make up Tim as he is, if Father’s notebooks are to be believed.  The deer scamper away before you or your father see them, but Tim stays and hides, watches.

He hears your father tell you that these graves belong to your ancestors who once lived in the old village that’s now gone and that even though you live on the other side of the mountain, you should still pay your respects.  Tim listens to your cheery chatter and the hum of your father’s merry tunes as the two of you clean the gravestones, pull the weeds, plant fresh gardens.

You and your father come every week and Tim begins to look forward to it.  He watches you grow into a beautiful woman and your father into an old man.  He listens to the musical lilt of your voice and the gentle teasing of your father as the two of you care for and nurture the plot of land at the base of the Merge Mansion Hill so that it grows vibrant and fragrant with flowers that he’s only ever seen in Father’s books.  He hears your father tell you stories he heard as a child about the house that Tim lives in – the legend of a mad scientist and a terrible monster.  Tim doesn’t know why, but he feels relief when you laugh at these stories and call them ridiculous.

When your father stops coming with you, Tim watches over you in his stead.  You continue to do your duty in the cemetery joyfully and your sweetness is like an invitation.  The bunnies and the foxes and the mice and the deer all come down to join you.  You laugh and share your food with them and they enjoy your company as much as you do theirs.  Music.  Dance.  Laugh.  Feast.  He thinks he finally understands.  When his furry friends turn their soulful eyes up to the house, Tim knows they’re looking to him to come down but he shakes his head no.  He’s not made for this.

He doesn’t know that you see him anyways.

You’ve known he was there since the days you would come to this cemetery with your father as a little girl.  Most times as just a shadow on the Merge Mansion grounds, but once or twice you had seen Tim’s handsome, haunted face in one of the cracked windows.

You don’t know who he is or what he is, but some how you know that you have to pretend that you’re unaware of his presence.  As if for some laughable reason, he finds you to be frightening.

So, you try to make yourself to be as nonintimidating as possible.  You wear soft flowing fabrics that lie prettily over your equally soft skin in pleasing colours that compliment the hue of your hair and the brightness of your eyes.  You keep your voice gentle and the sound of your notes harmonious when you sing or hum your favourite songs of love and fantasy.  When your father tells you the old stories of the Merge Mansion Monster, you make sure to loudly decry this characterization.  Your unseen friend is not a monster, and you want to make sure that he knows you know that.

Your woodland friends who proclaim to know him best seem to say, give him time.  So you do, waiting patiently for a sign.  For what?  You don’t know.  Just a sign for more.

It comes one summer day, many, many years after your weekly trips to the cemetery became solo trips.  For two weeks, you’ve been in a state of mild panic, unable to find the delicate gold chain necklace that your father gave you - his last gift to you before he passed.  A part of you fears that it may have come unclasped and dropped onto the path some time during your weekly trip to the Merge Mansion cemetery; your heart clenches – if that was the case, your treasured necklace is surely lost.

Your surprise when you find your necklace waiting for you on top of a gravestone next to a small tied bundle of lavender is palpable.  Your eyes threaten to overflow with tears as you look up the hill to the house and mouth, thank you.

You don’t know that you had actually lost your necklace next to this very gravestone and that one of your bluebird friends had carried it up to Tim in its beak.  Tim spends two weeks practicing making the small bouquet of lavender – his large and clumsy hands unused to the precise and delicate movements required.  He refers to the instructions in the book he found so many times he can see the diagrams in his sleep.  But he keeps trying until he gets it right – wanting to offer you something more than just your returned necklace as a token of his appreciation for all the work you do.  Holding the delicate chain in his oversized hand, he can’t stop looking at it glittering in the moonlight and admiring its intricate craftsmanship.  It’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.  Well, second.

The next week, Tim discovers a large and fragrant bouquet of the cemetery’s best and biggest blooms laid outside of his iron gates.

Three weeks later, on the same gravestone, you find those flowers dried and pressed, then laced together in a pretty flower crown.

You weave your own from new fresh flowers and leave it in place of the dried one you take home.  The following week, the crown you made is gone, and in its place, a large pile of fresh wild berries that must come from the forest behind the mansion.

The squirrels had objected, but Tim promised that the reduction of berries from their weekly hoard would be for a good cause.  You helped prove him right the following week when he returned from the hill with a jar of wild berry jam which he happily shared.

This continues for months.  Each week a small, thoughtful trinket exchanged - neither you or Tim having much to offer except your consideration and time.  The giddy anticipation and resulting awe a gift in itself.

The day you bring a blanket that took you six weeks to knit, you’re imbued with a bravery (the source of which is unknown even to you) that brings you all the way to Tim’s doorstep.  The heavy door opens when you push against it, but no one answers when you call out.

While Tim is in the woods assisting with the birth of a newborn deer, you’re wandering the dark, musty halls of Merge Mansion.  You find where you think Tim must sleep: in a room that looks like a lab - electrical wire equipment, gurneys, restraints and medical utensils long since pushed against the walls of the room and abandoned.

You read the notebooks left behind by the scientist and seethe on Tim’s behalf.  To call him a Creature!  To experiment on him and put him through trials of endurance and strength as if he was merely an instrument for violence!  You’re grateful that Tim’s creator must be long dead by now, else he might not be able to escape the vitriol you feel rising in your chest at the mistreatment Tim endured at his hand.

You leave the blanket and the mansion in a hurry.

When Tim comes back into the house, he knows immediately that you were there.  He smells you.  The sweet floral perfume from your garden and the sticky scent of fruit from your jams hangs in the air.  Nothing in this house or the forest smells quite so lovely.  You were here. 

With growing distress, he finds your thoughtful gift in the room where he sleeps and knows that you’ve read Father’s notebooks.  You know the truth of what he is now.  He’ll never see you again.

But you come back.

You leave him a letter and for three weeks, he reads it every day. 

It’s a letter that tells him about yourself and your family, and how you came to be his weekly visitor.  You tell him how you’ve always known he’s been there but you were afraid to scare him away so you never let on that you saw him.  You tell him that now that you’ve calmed down a bit, you’re not quite so angry at Father but you do think that he didn’t understand Tim’s true nature, or perhaps, you concede, he simply wasn’t gifted enough time to understand. 

You tell him what you think of his nature.  In your experience, men who are strong are rarely gentle and those who harness power are hardly ever giving.  But Tim is.  His hands, arms and muscles may be sewn together from much lesser men, but he, Tim, wields his strength to protect and look after others.  His heart may not be able to pull down trees or break rock, but it’s tender and pure – and where his true power lies.

You write that even though you’ve never met him face to face, you only ever feel safe and cared for knowing he’s around.  And you hope that even if he never forgives you for trespassing in his home and going through his personal belongings without his permission, he will take your words to heart.

Every week you come back to the doors of Merge Mansion bearing a small gift and a big apology, but Tim is nowhere to be found.  You’re starting to fear that you’ve crossed an unforgiveable boundary and ruined your indescribable but cherished connection, when the most wonderous sight awaits you as you near the top of the hill nearly a month after you left your letter.

Tim. 

Impossibly large and broad, a hulk of a man is sitting on the front steps waiting for you.  His face is hard, lined from time and worry, but his eyes are soft and vulnerable.  You see some trace of old scars along his forehead and neck, and down the worn skin that stretches over the corded muscles of his forearms.  His clothes are outdated and entirely the wrong size, but somehow it works on him.  He looks formidable.  Wild, yet tame.  Handsome.

You run to him, beaming.  Tim stands when you come to a stop in front of him, towering over you as he holds out a bouquet of wildflowers picked from the forest lands behind his home that he tends to so carefully.

When you reach out to accept, your small fingers brush his larger calloused ones, and the jolt of electricity that passes between the two of you feels like pure joy.  And although Tim can only offer a quiet grunt, unable to say the words that he wishes he could sing with his whole chest, you understand him perfectly.  Your incandescent smile and hopeful expression reassure him that you too, recognize the simple, unspoken truth: Tim was made for you.

🎶Obligatory Billie Eilish, What Was I Made For lyrics🎶:

'Cause I, 'cause I I don't know how to feel But I wanna try I don't know how to feel But someday I might Someday I might

Think I forgot how to be happy Something I'm not, but something I can be Something I wait for Something I'm made for Something I'm made for