#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."

[mooonbae]

The Haunting of Hill House (2018)

dir. Mike Flanagan

“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.”

[harmonyunderstars]

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

[earth-scented]

deeply haunting shots of Hill House

dir. Mike Flanagan, 2018

[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.

[theworldofetgoma-blog]

[javiimartinez]

you go in there and bring my brother back.

[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

[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.”

[joelmillerisapunk]

Reincarnated

Joel Miller x F!Reader // 4.5k

summary: A late-night text from an unknown number stirs up memories you thought you’d buried. It’s been years since Joel walked out of your life, but now he’s back. Old wounds resurface, boundaries blur, and the question lingers: is this a second chance or just another heartbreak waiting to happen?

warnings: this is just yearing, longing, sad tortured for years joel, theme's of heartbreak, no beta, two ex's, tommy makes an appearance, no smut here (I know I know this is not my usual)

notes: I don't usually write this kind of stuff (no smut) and I am not sure how I feel about it but this is my submission for @jolapeno's Dear-uary challenge my prompt was: An old flame unexpectedly texts the other after years of silence, sparking memories of their past relationship and wondering if the feelings are still there. A big thank you to @thundermartini my baby for holding my hand as per usual, helping me with the title, being my draft, my cheerleader supporting me through a hundred moodboard changes, @itwasntimethatdidit40 my sweet sweet freckles for being such a massive support, helping me with the moodboard pictures, being a cheerleader and reading through parts of this. and @sawymredfox for always being such a lovely support and listening to me ramble always I love you all more than you know.

masterlist

The sun dipped low behind the hills, painting the Texas sky in streaks of gold and crimson. Joel sat on the creaky old porch chair, boots propped on the railing, a glass of bourbon rested loosely in his hand. He wasn’t drinking to enjoy it tonight—more out of habit than anything. The bitter burn barely registered anymore.  

Beside him, Tommy leaned back in his chair, the faint smirk on his face telling Joel he was gearing up for one of his jabs. Tommy always had a knack for digging up things Joel preferred to leave buried.  

“You ever wonder what happened to her?” Tommy asked, his voice easy, like he was just making small talk. But Joel knew better.  

Joel’s grip on the glass tightened. He kept his gaze on the horizon, jaw clenching as he swirled the amber liquid. “Who?” he grunted, though his heart already knew the answer.  

Tommy chuckled, low and knowing. “C’mon, Joel. Don’t play dumb. You know who I’m talkin’ about. That woman you used to see when Sarah was little. The one who—”  

“Drop it, Tommy.” Joel’s voice was sharp, a warning shot, but Tommy, stubborn as ever, wasn’t backing down just yet.  

“Alright, I’ll drop it,” Tommy said, leaning forward. “But I’m just sayin’, you’ve been walkin’ around like a damn ghost for years now. You ever think maybe you oughta—”  

“I said drop it,” Joel snapped, his tone cutting through the lazy evening like a whip crack.  

That shut Tommy up, at least for a moment. He leaned back again, taking a swig of his beer and letting out a long sigh. “Fine. But you know I’m right. You can act like you don’t care, but I see it, Joel. Regret’s a hell of a thing to carry around.”  

Joel didn’t answer. He couldn’t. Instead, he stared out at the horizon, watching as the last sliver of sunlight disappeared behind the trees.  

————————

Later that night, Joel lay in bed, the house quiet save for the faint creak of the floorboards settling. Tommy’s words churned in his mind, unwelcome but persistent. Regret.  

The truth was, Joel had gotten real good at shoving his regrets into a corner of his mind and ignoring them. He had to. Otherwise, they’d eat him alive. But sometimes, like tonight, they crept back in, catching him off guard when his defenses were down.  

Your face came to him in flashes, unbidden but vivid as ever—the curve of your smile, the sound of your laugh, the way your eyes had always seemed to see right through him.  

He’d thought about you more than he cared to admit over the years. Wondered where you were, what you were doing, if you were happy. Wondered if you ever thought about him.  

Joel sat up, running a hand through his hair as he glanced at the phone on his nightstand. The idea of reaching out had crossed his mind a hundred times before, but he’d always talked himself out of it. What would he even say? What right did he have to show up in your life again after all this time?  

Still, something about tonight felt different. Maybe it was Tommy’s words rattling around in his head. Or maybe it was the quiet, aching loneliness that had settled in his chest like an old friend.  

Before he could think better of it, Joel grabbed his phone. He opened a blank message, staring at it for what felt like an eternity. Then, he typed, backspaced and typed again until he finally settled on something.

Hey, it’s been a while.  

He hesitated, thumb hovering over the send button. His chest felt tight, like the weight of all the years and mistakes was pressing down on him. But before he could change his mind, he hit send.  

The message hung there on the screen, simple and unassuming, but it felt monumental. Joel stared at it, heart pounding in a way he hadn’t felt in years.  

Minutes passed. Then longer. He sighed, setting the phone back on the nightstand. “Goddamn fool,” he muttered under his breath.  

But just as he was reaching to turn off the light, his phone buzzed.  

The buzzing sound jolted him more than he cared to admit. He picked it up, the faint glow of the screen illuminating his furrowed brow.

You: Who is this?

He hadn’t expected you to respond. Or maybe he had, but he hadn’t thought this far ahead. He was suddenly aware of how much rested on the next words he typed.

Joel: It’s Joel.

The three dots appeared almost immediately, then disappeared. They came back and stopped again. Joel could almost picture you sitting there, debating whether to even respond.

Then it came.

You: What do you want?

There it was. Direct. Guarded. Exactly what he expected. Joel leaned back against the headboard. He didn’t blame you. Hell, he deserved worse. But now that he’d started this, he couldn’t stop.

Joel: I don’t know. Just thought I’d check in.

The response came quicker this time.

You: After all these years? You just “thought you’d check in”?

Joel winced, hesitating over the screen again. Nothing felt right. Nothing felt like enough.

Joel: I’ve been thinking about you.

Another pause. He could practically feel your hesitation through the phone.

You: Don’t. You don’t get to do that.

Joel stared at your message. His jaw tightened as he fought against the surge of guilt rising in his chest. You were right—he didn’t get to do this. But here he was, selfishly dragging the both of you back into a mess he’d created.  

He set the phone down, ran a hand over his face, and stared at the ceiling. Memories of you flickered in his mind—how your laugh used to light up a room, the way your touch had always grounded him when the world felt too heavy. He’d walked away, thinking it was the right thing to do. For Sarah. For her mother. For everyone but you.  

The phone buzzed again. He sighed, picking it back up.

You: Why now, Joel? What’s the point?  

He’d rehearsed this conversation in his head so many times over the years, but none of those imagined scenarios had prepared him for this.  

Joel: There is no point. I just couldn’t stop myself tonight. I know I don’t deserve to be texting you.  

You: You’re damn right you don’t. You broke my heart. You don’t just get to waltz back in like nothing happened. 

Joel: I know I did. And I’m sorry. I should’ve said it back then, but I was too much of a coward.

He stared at the screen, waiting, but no reply came. The silence felt heavier than the darkness surrounding him, and for a moment, he wondered if that was it. If you’d finally had enough and decided to let him rot in the bed he’d made.  

You: But why now, why tonight? 

Joel: Tommy brought you up. Got me thinking. 

The truth hung there, plain and unvarnished. He could’ve lied, could’ve made it sound more noble, but what good would that have done?  

You: So what, I’m some ghost you decided to chase because Tommy made you feel bad? 

Joel: No. It’s not like that. I’ve thought about you every damn day since I left. I know that probably doesn't mean shit to you, but it’s the truth. 

You: Every day, huh? Didn’t stop you from choosing her over me. 

Joel shut his eyes, the memory of that choice cutting through him like a knife. He’d thought he was doing the right thing back then but in the process, he’d shattered something else—something that had mattered more than he’d been willing to admit.  

Joel: You’re right. I made the wrong choice. I know that now.

You: I don’t know if I can do this.  

Joel stared at the words. He wasn’t sure if he could do this either, but he knew one thing for certain—he didn’t want to let you go again.  

Joel: You don’t have to decide right now. Just let me talk to you. For a little bit. Please. 

You: Fine. But don’t expect me to make this easy for you.

A faint, bittersweet smile tugged at Joel’s lips. He didn’t expect it to be easy. He didn’t think he deserved it. But for the first time in years, there was a sliver of hope in his chest.  

Joel: Fair enough.

You: Still into music?

Joel’s brows furrowed, the unexpected question caught him off guard. The memory hit Joel like a sucker punch. The songs. That was how you used to talk to each other when words didn’t feel like enough.

Every morning, like clockwork, one of you would send a song with a time stamp—each track chosen so deliberately. Some days, it was your favorite love songs, sappy and sweet, reminding the other how much you cared. Other times, it was to lift each other up, a little nudge of hope when the world felt too heavy. And then there were the ones that said all the things neither of you could say out loud.

Joel: Always.

You: I’ll send you one tomorrow.

Joel: Looking forward to it.

Joel sighed, setting the phone back on the nightstand. Your last message sat heavy on his chest, lingering. He stared up at the ceiling, the faint glow of moonlight spilling through the blinds. His thoughts churned like storm clouds—your words, the memories they dragged back, the ache of something he thought he'd buried years ago.  

Eventually, the exhaustion won out, pulling him under. Joel’s dreams carried him back to a time when life felt a little less heavy, and the weight of his choices hadn’t yet settled on his shoulders.  

He saw you clearly, like a photograph that had been buried but never faded. You were standing in his kitchen cooking breakfast, barefoot and wearing one of his old flannels that hung loose on you, the sleeves rolled up past your elbows. It was early morning, sunlight streaming through the window and catching in your hair, painting you in a golden glow.  

Joel leaned against the doorframe, coffee mug in hand, watching as you hummed along to Fishin' in the Dark by The Nitty Gritty Dirt Band on the radio—one of those old country tunes you both loved. Your hips swayed to the rhythm, carefree and unselfconscious, like the world outside didn’t exist. You turned suddenly, catching him staring, and your smile lit up the room.  

“What?” you teased, eyes sparkling. “You gonna stand there all morning, or are you gonna help me?”  

“Don’t see a reason to move,” Joel drawled, his lips tugging into a smirk. “Got a real nice view from here.”  

You rolled your eyes, but your laughter bubbled up, soft and sweet, filling the quiet space between you. He couldn’t help but cross the room then, setting his coffee down on the counter as his hands found your waist.  

“Joel Miller,” you said, feigning exasperation as he pulled you close, his fingers brushing along the curve of your hip. “I’m trying to make breakfast, and you’re—”  

“Distractin’ you?” he interrupted, leaning in so his nose brushed against you.  

“Exactly.”  

“Good,” he murmured, before pressing a kiss to the side of your neck. You let out a soft sigh, melting into him, and for a moment, everything felt perfect—like the rest of the world could wait.  

The memory shifted, flickering like an old film reel. You were both lying on the couch now, tangled up in each other as a record spun on the turntable, and he could hear your voice, quiet but clear, singing along to a song you’d claimed was “for him.”  

“Every time I hear this one, I think of you,” you’d confessed, your head resting on his chest.  

Joel hadn’t responded with words. Instead, he pressed a kiss to your forehead, his hand running idly through your hair. Actions had always been easier for him than words, and he’d hoped you understood what he couldn’t say.  

When Joel woke, the room was still dim, dawn just beginning to creep through the cracks in the blinds. He rubbed a hand over his face, groaning softly as the previous night settled back onto his chest. His phone caught his eye, and he hesitated before reaching for it.  

The screen lit up, and there it was—a new message.  

You: 3:01 - Exile by Taylor Swift. 

His heart kicked up as he clicked the link and let the song play, skipping to the time stamp. The haunting melody filled the room, and when the lyrics hit, he froze.  

“I think I’ve seen this film before, and I didn’t like the ending.”

Joel leaned back against the headboard, staring at the phone in his hand. The words hit harder than he’d expected—bitterness woven into a truth he couldn’t deny. But beneath the sting, there was something else.  

You’d sent him a song. After all this time, after everything that had passed between you, you’d listened, and you’d answered. It wasn’t an olive branch, not exactly, but it was a thread. A connection. A chance.  

Joel stared at the screen for what felt like an eternity, the song still playing in the background. The words hit like a gut punch, raw and honest in a way only music could manage. He exhaled slowly. He had to respond, and it had to be right.  

Scrolling through his playlists, he searched for something that could say what he couldn’t put into words. A chance to prove he wasn’t the man who had walked away. Something that could show you he wasn’t taking this lightly, that he regretted the past.

Then he found it.  

Joel: 2:26 - The Night We Met by Lord Huron.  

He hit send before he could second-guess himself, then opened the song and skipped to the time stamp.  

“I had all and then most of you, some and now none of you. Take me back to the night we met.”  

The lyrics bled through the room, a haunting confession of longing and regret. He closed his eyes, letting the melody wrap around him like a cold embrace. It wasn’t just a song—it was a plea.  

Minutes passed with no reply, the silence stretched long and thin. Joel’s chest tightened, doubt creeping in like an unwelcome guest. Maybe he’d read too much into your message. Maybe sending the song was too much.  

The phone buzzed in his hand, and his breath hitched.  

You: That’s a bold choice.  

A small, humorless chuckle escaped him. Bold, sure—but it was the truth.  

Joel: Figured it was fitting.  

You: It is. But that night it’s a hard one to go back to.  

Joel swallowed painfully, the weight of your words settling over him like a lead blanket. He didn’t blame you. 

Joel: I know. I can’t change the past. But I wish I could.  

You: Wishing doesn’t fix anything.  

Joel: You’re right. But maybe it’s a start.  

You: We’ll see.    

The conversation faded into silence after that, but Joel didn’t mind. For the first time in years, he felt like he’d taken a step—small, tentative, but forward.  

He wasn’t walking away this time. Not again.  

——————————

The next day started quietly for Joel. After his usual morning routine—coffee, and an aimless walk around the property—he finally glanced at his phone, half-expecting silence, but there it was

You: 2:01 - All I Want by Kodaline

Joel sat on the oak chair at his kitchen table, his phone resting in his palm as All I Want faded out. Your song hit him square in the heart—a combination of longing and accusation he couldn’t argue with. He leaned forward with his elbows on the table.

Joel played the song, the ache in the lyrics settled heavy in his chest. "Cause you brought out the best of me. A part of me I'd never seen. You took my soul, wiped it clean. Our love was made for movie screens. But if you loved me, why did you leave me?" The words cut sharper than he wanted to admit.

Why did you leave me?  

The answer felt too big, too tangled in old guilt and choices he couldn’t take back. Joel rubbed his hand over his mouth, trying to think of the right response. Music had always been your language, but today, the words felt harder to choose.  

After a while, he scrolled through his playlists again, stopping when his thumb hovered over a familiar title. It wasn’t just about the lyrics—it was the feeling, the truth of what he wanted to say but couldn’t. He thought it might somehow tip the scales in his favor and so he typed.

2:41- Let Her Go by Passenger 

He opened the song and let the timestamp play, you only know you love her when you let her go and you let her go.

Finally, he hit the button, watching as the message marked "Delivered."  

The phone sat in his hand as he leaned back against the kitchen chair, the melody echoing in his mind. This back-and-forth of songs and guarded words—it felt like a lifeline, but also like walking on a tightrope. He wanted more, needed more, but he wasn’t sure if you were ready to give it.

The phone buzzed, breaking his thoughts.

You: You always pick the gut-punchers.

Joel exhaled a small laugh.

Joel: Never been good at subtle.

You: You’ve still got good taste in music, I’ll give you that. Suprised it’s not an oldie.

Joel smiled, a faint warmth spreading through his chest. It wasn’t forgiveness, not yet, but it was a step—a reminder that some part of you still wanted to talk to him.

By the sixth day, it felt like you both slipped back into old habits, texting each other all day about everything and nothing. Joel found himself smiling more, laughing even. It wasn’t like the years hadn’t happened—those gaps still lingered, but they didn’t feel so wide anymore.

—————————————

The next few days blurred together in a steady rhythm of texts. It started slow—Joel’s messages were careful and measured. A “good morning” here, a comment about the weather there, and a song in between. But soon, the conversations stretched longer, dipping into familiar topics and inside jokes he hadn’t thought about in years.

It was comfortable and natural. Everything was falling back into place, even though you weren’t sure if you were ready to let it.

Joel: Thought about calling you earlier.

You: Why didn’t you?

Joel: I don’t know. Didn’t wanna push too hard, I guess. But I miss hearing your voice.

You: Well if you’re going to call, might as well make it a video call. Let’s see if you’ve aged as much as you sound like you have ;)

Joel blinked at the screen, his lips twitching into a surprised smile. He ran a hand through his hair, glancing at the hallway mirror. “Damn you old fool,” he muttered to himself, brushing a finger over the lines on his face.

Joel: You sure? Don’t want to scare you off.

You: I’ll take my chances.

Joel chuckled, the sound low and almost nervous as he tapped the video call button. His heart thudded in his chest as the screen shifted, the ringing filling his ears until, finally, the call connected.

Your face appeared, a little blurry at first before the image settled. Joel stared, his breath catching at the sight of you, just as beautiful as he remembered.

“Hey,” you said softly, your voice breaking the silence.

Joel swallowed hard, his grip tightening on the phone. “Hey,” he replied. He gave a small, self-deprecating smile. “Guess this is me. Older, grayer, and maybe a little wiser.”

You tilted your head, a smirk forming on your lips. “You don’t look half bad… for an old man.”

Joel chuckled, the sound more relaxed this time. He paused, his eyes scanning your face through the screen. “It’s real good to see you.”

You nodded, your expression softening. “It’s good to see you too.”

Joel leaned back in his chair, the tension in his shoulders easing as the two of you settled into the call. His smile lingered, even as he tried to play it cool. “Y’know, video calls weren’t much of a thing last time we talked.”

You laughed, resting your chin on your hand. “Yeah, it’s weird seeing you like this. Makes you feel closer, though.”

He nodded, the warmth in your voice made his chest tighten. “Closer’s good. Been too damn long.”

Your gaze softened, and for a moment, neither of you said anything, just letting the silence stretch. Joel was the first to break. “So, I passed the test, then? Don’t look too ancient on camera?”

You laughed, the sound sending a ripple of nostalgia through him. “You’re doing okay. Grays suit you.”

“Flatterin’ me now, huh?” He leaned forward slightly. “I think you’re tryin’ to distract me.”

“Distract you from what?” you asked, raising a brow, but there was a playful lilt in your voice.

“From how damn beautiful you are,” he said, the words leaving his mouth before he could stop them. He blinked, his expression shifting as if he wasn’t sure he should’ve said it.

“You always were a charmer, Miller.”

“Not sure ‘bout that,” he replied, rubbing the back of his neck. “Think I just say what I mean when it comes to you.”

The honesty in his voice made your breath hitch, and Joel caught the way your expression softened, your playful demeanor faltering for just a moment.

“You always did have a way of catching me off guard,” you said finally.

“Guess it’s mutual, then.” He leaned back in his chair. “You’ve always had a knack for makin’ me say things I don’t plan on sayin’.”

“Oh yeah? Like what?”

“Like tellin’ you how beautiful you are,” he said without missing a beat, his tone steady now, as if he’d decided to own the moment. “How much I’ve missed seein’ that pretty face, hearin’ your laugh.” He paused, his eyes holding yours through the screen. “How much I’ve missed you.”

“Joel…” you began, but he cut you off with a gentle smile.

“Don’t gotta say anything,” he said softly. “Just… wanted you to know.”

You shook your head, a smile breaking through. “You always do this, you know? Say something that makes it impossible to stay mad at you.”

“Not my intention. So, how ‘bout you? You miss me at all, or am I just an old fool?”

"I mean, you are an old fool, but…"

"But?"

"But maybe I missed you a little," you teased, holding your thumb and forefinger an inch apart for emphasis.

He shook his head as a laugh rumbled out of him. "A little, huh? Should’ve known I’d only get a half-assed compliment outta you."

"Hey," you shot back, grinning now, "that’s more than most people get. Consider yourself special, Miller."

"Special, huh? Careful now—you keep sweet-talkin’ me like that, and I might start thinkin’ you missed me a lot."

You laughed, rolling your eyes. "Don’t push your luck."

The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable—it was charged, full of unspoken things. Joel shifted in his chair, his thumb brushing absently along the edge of the phone. He hadn’t realized how much he’d needed this, how much he’d needed you. And now that he had you on the other end of this call, he wasn’t sure how he’d gone so long without it.

“So,” he started, his voice softer now, “what have you been up to all these years? Catch me up.”

You shared bits and pieces of your life. Joel listened intently, his eyes fixed on the screen like you might vanish if he looked away. Your laugh filled the space between his words, and every now and then, you’d tease him about his “old man” habits or the way his drawl had only gotten thicker.

It was easy. Too easy. And Joel realized he didn’t want the call to end.

“Y’know, this… this ain’t enough. Seein’ you like this. Hearin’ you talk. Feels good, don’t get me wrong, but it’s not the same.”

You hesitated, your smile faltering. “What are you saying, Joel?”

“I’m sayin’… I wanna see you. For real. None of this video callin’ nonsense.” His voice dropped lower, softer, like he was afraid you might say no. “Just you and me. Like old times.”

You blinked, your lips parting in surprise before a slow smile spread across your face. “You sure you’re ready for that? Seeing me in person might ruin the illusion.”

“Doubt that,” Joel said, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I’ll take my chances.”

The day of the meeting came quicker than Joel expected. He stood outside the small café you’d chosen, his hands stuffed into his jacket pockets to keep them from fidgeting. His heart was pounding in a way that made him feel like a damn teenager again, but he couldn’t help it. This wasn’t just any meeting. This was you.

You laughed, shaking your head. “Alright, Miller. When and where?”

————

He looked around waiting to see you, and then Joel froze. There you were, standing just a few feet away, your face illuminated by the golden afternoon light. You looked just as he remembered, and yet somehow different—like time had added something to you, something he couldn’t quite put into words. His breath caught, and for a moment, he couldn’t move.

And then your eyes met.

It hit him like a punch to the gut, the kind of emotion he thought he’d buried long ago. There was no escaping it, no pretending it wasn’t there. The way you smiled at him, tentative and warm, like you were testing the waters but already knew the outcome—it was enough to undo him completely.

“Joel,” you said softly. It was the same voice he’d been hearing in his head for years, the one he’d convinced himself he could live without. But now that it was real, there was no going back.

“Hey,” he managed, his voice rough and uneven. He took a step closer until he was standing right in front of you.

For a moment, neither of you said anything. You just looked at each other, the weight of the years between you pressing down and then lifting all at once. Joel’s eyes traced every line of your face, every detail he’d missed, and he felt something settle deep in his chest. Something he hadn’t felt in a long, long time.

It was undeniable, inevitable. Whatever this was, whatever it could be—there was no stopping it now. Joel knew it, and by the way you looked at him, he knew you did too.

“Guess we’ve got a lot to talk about,” he said finally, his lips quirking into a small, lopsided smile.

“Yeah,” you replied, your own smile soft but full of promise. “We do.”

And as Joel held the door open for you, letting you step inside first, he felt it—the certainty that this wasn’t the end of something but the beginning.

Whatever came next, he knew one thing for sure - you were in it, and there was no turning back.

[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

[pascals-doll]

—★ GATÚBELA

╰┈─➤ IN WHICH ELLIE GOES TO A PARTY AND FELL IN LOVE WITH A MYSTERIOUS GIRL.

—★ READER INFO

LOYAL, FIERCE, AND ALLURING

─◌✰್ READER’S MOODBOARD

you were always sticking to what you knew, cautious of change which always created inner-conflict for yourself which is probably how you ended up in this situation. you found yourself with a cheating boyfriend and it just takes one night for your bestfriend!dina to take you out to reggaeton party, bumping you into the perfect stranger.

early 20s reader! reader is latina!, no specific-latina ethnicity identified just race (very little is written around certain mexican culture/heritage!!), mentions of tan skin-tone, references to latina beauty, tatted!reader, reader speaks spanish!!, mentions of catholic/hispanic religion, reader wears alot of bold eye makeup/cateye makeup, references to being like catwoman/ a femme fatale, reader wears la virgen/statement hispanic gold jewelry/medallions.

—★ ELLIE WILLIAMS INFO

TOUGH, PLAYFUL, AND EASYGOING

─◌✰್ ELLIE’S MOODBOARD

one night ellie is coerced by her bestfriend!jesse into going to a house party his friend was dj-ing. ellie was usually always away from the riled up crowds, smoking, mindlessly flirting with some girl if she got lucky while her bestfriend had some girl shaking it on him. jesse must’ve dragged ellie to just the perfect party, a reggaetón party where ellie isn’t in the back anymore.

early 20s!ellie, masculine!ellie, tatted!ellie, ellie learns about latino heritage/spanish, ellie having admiration for reader’s ethnic beauty!

—★ SERIES MASTERLIST

🫧 description: MODERN AU! SMUT/SUGGESTIVE CONTENT IN CHAPTERS, FLUFF, MENTIONS OF TOXIC EX RELATIONSHIP, IDENTIFICATION OF SEXUALITY , PARTYING, DRINKING, SMOKING MARIJUANA, VIOLENCE IN CERTAIN CHAPTER, SLIGHT MENTION OF BLOOD IN CERTAIN CHAPTER, INTENSE THEMES, ANGST, TALK ABOUT HOMOPHOBIA IN HISPANIC FAMILIES IN CERTAIN CHAPTERS.

🫧 LATINAS FOR ELLIE WILLIAMS RISE

🫧 THIS MY FIRST SERIES!!! PLEASE BE KIND AND I HOPE YALL ENJOY 🩵

🫧 this story has a whole ass playlist tbh on my spotify so i only put a tracklist so you could get a vibe of the storyline!

—🎧📼 MIXTAPE | GATUBELA -KAROL G ELLA ME LEVANTO -DADDY YANKEE 8 AM —YOUNG MIKO CLASSY 101 - YOUNG MIKO CONTIGO - KAROL G TE AMO -RIHANNA FINA- YOUNG MIKO Y BAD BUNNY DISPO-KAROL G Y YOUNG MIKO AGOURA HILLS -DOJA CAT OYE MI AMOR -MANÀ LES-CHILDISH GAMBINO LAND OF THE SNAKES- J.COLE MOONLIGHT -KALI UCHIS \\AGUARDIENTE Y LÍMON %ᵕ‿‿ᵕ% -KALI UCHIS

🎀CHAPTER ONE: GATÚBELA

🎀CHAPTER TWO: CONVENIENCE STORE

🎀CHAPTER THREE: DISPO

🎀CHAPTER FOUR: AGORA HILLS

🎀CHAPTER FIVE: coming soon…

© copy right claims to pascals-doll | do not try to copy/steal my series publishings in any shape or form. do not claim my work as yours.

[heavenlyyshecomes]

misc readings pt. 11

tech edition

It's not your fault you're a jerk on twitter, katherine cross, wired

Becoming human again: a reading list for the extremely offline, lisa bubert, longreads

The internet is rotting, jonathan zittrain, the atlantic

ambient cruelty, linda besner, real life magazine

Searching for lost knowledge in the age of intelligent machines, adrienne lafrance, the atlantic

Ghosts of the future: the smart home is a haunted house, julia foote, real life magazine

The internet is flat, charlie warzel, galaxy brain

How TrueCaller built a billion-dollar caller ID data empire in India, rachna khaira, rest of the world

Vivid hues: what does it mean to think of the internet as a color? anna rose kerr, real life magazine

Singapore’s tech-utopia dream is turning into a surveillance state nightmare, peter guest, rest of the world

The $2 per hour workers who made chatgpt safer, time

I cut the 'big five' tech giants from my life. It was hell, kashmir hill, gizmodo

Social media is not self-expression, rob horning, the new inquiry

The narcissism of queer influencer activists, jason okundaye, gawker

On losing perspective, or, why i don't give a fuck about geronimo the alpaca and nor should you, rachel connolly, novara media

The exploited labour behind artificial intelligence, noema

The class politics of the instagram face, grazie sophia christie, tablet

Google, amazon, and meta are making their core products worse on purpose, ed zitron, business insider

All advertising looks the same these days. Blame the moodboard, elizabeth goodspeed, eye on design

Seen by, megan marz, real life

[rafesfuckdoll]

Destined To Be Pt.1

summary: Two best friends Leilani and Katie that bring Y/N and Rafe to earth. The destined duo. inspired from my moodboard!!!

warnings: none!! this is just a introduction into the two moms life before we get into y/n and rafe.

word count: 1.4k (this will be a 4 part fic so it'll get longer sorry yall!!)

Part 1: Beginnings

The summer of 1981 in Outer Banks, with its rolling hills and whispering beaches, was painted in vibrant shades of green and gold. Leilani L/N, with her unruly mane of black curls that seemed to catch the sunlight just right, lived in a cozy house with a sprawling backyard. Right next to it was the house of the Camerons, where Katie Cameron, a girl with freckles speckling her cheeks like a galaxy, spent her days.

Their friendship blossomed from a genuine and innocent place, as two young kindergartners bonded over their shared interests in chasing butterflies and confiding in each other. Beneath the warmth of the afternoon light, they sat under the shade of a venerable oak tree in Leilani's backyard, their little legs hanging over the frayed picnic blanket.

"Katie, you know what I just thought of?" Leilani mused, her eyes glinting with mischief, indicating a mischievous idea forming in her mind.

"What?" Katie responded enthusiastically, her chestnut-colored pigtails bouncing playfully as she eagerly shifted her gaze towards her companion, filled with curiosity and interest.

"We should build a secret clubhouse right here," Leilani declared with all the authority a five-year-old could muster.

Katie's eyes expanded in surprise. "Yes! We'll have a password that no one else knows but us!"

Their adventures became limitless from that moment onwards. Using discarded cardboard boxes and old bedsheets, they built a secret hideout where they stored treasures such as acorns and shiny rocks. At night, they shared their hopes and ambitions—Leilani's dream was to become a mural artist decorating city walls, while Katie's goal was to become a well-known veterinarian who could communicate with animals.

With the passage of time, the strength of their bond intensified and developed. Throughout the challenges of elementary school crushes and middle school drama, they stuck together, their friendship serving as a stable force during the tumultuous years of adolescence. Leilani's bedroom walls were transformed into a gallery of their memories, adorned with pictures of them in DIY Halloween costumes and flashing bright smiles on the annual first day of school.

"You'll always hold a special place in my heart, Leilani," Katie whispered one evening while they were having a sleepover, the light from a flashlight casting a warm glow on their faces.

"For eternity," Leilani responded seriously, solidifying their agreement with a pinky swear.

Changes came with high school, yet their friendship stayed constant. Leilani became a member of the art club, spending her afternoons covered in paint splatters, while Katie thrived in science and math, securing a place on the academic decathlon team. Even with their varied interests, they were always by each other's side, discussing everything from crushes to future college endeavors and beyond.

"Lani, do you think we'll still be friends when we're old?" Katie asked one day, lying on the grass and staring up at the clouds.

"Of course," Leilani replied without hesitation. "We'll be those cool old ladies who still get into adventures."

High school passed in a blur of exams, dances, and late-night study sessions. Leilani developed a love for art that translated into vivid paintings, each one telling a story of her life and friendships. Katie, with her sharp mind, excelled in her studies and dreamt of opening her own veterinary clinic one day. Despite their different paths, they were always there for each other, providing support and encouragement.

After graduation, life took them to different colleges. Leilani attended an art school in New York City, where she immersed herself in the vibrant culture and honed her skills. Katie went to a prestigious university in California, where she studied veterinary medicine with dedication. They kept in touch through letters and phone calls, sharing their experiences and dreams.

"New York is incredible, Katie! The art scene here is like nothing I've ever seen," Leilani wrote in one of her letters.

"And California is beautiful, Lei. I'm learning so much about animals and how to care for them. I can't wait for you to visit," Katie replied in her letters.

Even though they were miles apart, their bond remained unbroken. They visited each other during holidays and vacations, exploring each other's worlds and deepening their friendship. Leilani took Katie to art galleries and introduced her to the bustling city life, while Katie showed Leilani the serene beaches and animal shelters she volunteered at.

Years flew by in a blur of laughter and shared secrets. Eventually, Leilani developed feelings for Theodore, a tender spirit who played melodies on his guitar that resonated with her soul. In Ward, Katie found someone who matched her boldness, a fearless businessman who shared her adventurous spirit.

Amidst the joyous clinking of glasses in honor of each other's forthcoming weddings and the elegant twirls on the dance floor under the shimmering canopy of stars above, Leilani and Katie both had a deep-seated understanding that their paths were about to diverge in a significant way. Savoring lemonade, they lounged on Leilani's porch on a pleasant summer night, listening to the crickets chirping in unison.

"Katie, I've been considering something," Leilani said excitedly.

Katie's raised eyebrow revealed her curiosity, her blue eyes searching for answers. "About what, Lei?"

"I've been contemplating starting a family," Leilani admitted, her fingers absentmindedly tracing the rim of her glass. "And I was thinking... what if we did it together?"

Katie's face lit up with a smile that reached her eyes. "You mean... we plan to have babies at the same time?"

Leilani nodded with excitement. "Imagine, Katie. Our kids could grow up just like us—best friends from the very beginning."

The concept began to grow, developing into detailed plans brimming with optimism and excitement. They imagined their children running through the same backyard where their own adventures began, sharing secrets under the same oak tree that had witnessed their childhood dreams.

After graduation, both Leilani and Katie moved back to the Outer Banks, fulfilling a promise they had made to each other years ago. They bought houses next door to each other, just like their parents had done. Their bond deepened more and more with every passing year, keeping them as close as ever.

Katie, now Dr. Cameron, opened her own veterinary clinic, fulfilling her childhood dream. Leilani, an accomplished mural artist, brought color and life to the city streets with her vibrant paintings. Their lives were busy, but they always made time for each other, their friendship a constant source of joy and support.

It was in the spring of 1999 when their dream was fulfilled. Leilani, with joy in her heart, introduced a beautiful baby girl named Y/N to the world, and just a few days later, Katie welcomed her son, Rafe, with open arms. Together, side by side, they found themselves in the hospital room, each cradling their precious newborns in their arms, their faces adorned with tears of happiness, trickling down slowly, like a gentle, steady stream.

"Katie, it's unbelievable," Leilani murmured, her eyes fixed on her daughter.

"We made it happen," Katie said, her voice filled with emotion. "Our kids are here."

Leilani glanced at her dearest friend, their relationship now spanning to the next generation. "Here's to the future, Katie. For Rafe and Paris."

Katie smiled, nodding. "For Rafe and Paris."

Their children would grow up together, sharing the same unbreakable bond that had defined their mothers' lives. The adventure was just beginning.

Leilani and Katie spent the next few weeks adjusting to motherhood, often calling each other for advice and support. They took their babies on walks through the familiar streets of the Outer Banks, pointing out the places where their own childhood memories were made.

As Y/N and Rafe grew, their mothers' dream of them becoming best friends started to take shape. The two children played together in the very backyard where Leilani and Katie had built their secret clubhouse all those years ago. They chased butterflies, built forts, and whispered secrets under the same oak tree, their laughter echoing the joyous sounds of their mothers' past.

"Look at them, Katie," Leilani said one afternoon, watching their children play. "It's like seeing us all over again."

Katie nodded, tears of happiness welling in her eyes. "We've come full circle, Lei."

Their lives, intertwined from the very beginning, had created a legacy of friendship and love that would continue for generations. As they watched Y/N and Rafe grow, Leilani and Katie knew that their bond would never fade, and their children would carry forward the spirit of their enduring friendship.

The adventure was far from over. For Leilani, Katie, Y/N, and Rafe, it had only just begun.