eleanor ,

𝘪 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘨𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 , 𝘵𝘰 𝘱𝘪𝘤𝘬 𝘳𝘰𝘴𝘦𝘴 , [ ... ] 𝙩𝙤 𝙛𝙞𝙣𝙙 𝙙𝙚𝙖𝙩𝙝.

[herhaunt-a2]

𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐇𝐀𝐔𝐍𝐓.             private & selective 𝚎𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚗𝚘𝚛 𝚌𝚛𝚊𝚒𝚗 .      by kenna ( she/her, 25+, gmt )       mixed media between shirley jackson's novel and the netflix series. plotting heavy,  discord avaliable on request .         #𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐃.         aesthetic sideblog    /    pinterest  /     follow luke :    @hisbelief​

(       my  portrayal  of  nell  is  heavily  based  on  the  themes  of  grief,  trauma  and  mental  illness  that  are  present  in  the  show  and  the  book.  nell  believes  hill  house  is  haunted  and  the  cause  of  her  family's  strife,  however,  whether  it  truly  is  will  be  explored  throughout  my  writing.  there  will  be  present  both  interpretations  that  suggest  it  is  and  those  that  suggest  that  nell's  experience  is  a  trauma  experience.   i  do  not  write  these  subjects  lightly  and  please  do  approach  me  to  discuss  aspects  of  my  portrayal  if  you  are  concerned  about  the  way  i  am  approaching  them.     )      located: @bgdnw , @estuery

[herhaunt-a2]

this blog is an archive. nell has been moved to another, private blog.

[herhaunt-a2]

nell will be moving to a private, friends only blog next week.

[herhaunt-a2]

okay this will happen tonight <3 

[barnaes-arch]

( but I keep hurting them after I know they’re not going to tell me anything. because they deserve it. and because I’m angry. and helpless. and for that, i feel shame… )

[herhaunt-a2]

nell will be moving to a private, friends only blog next week.

[herhaunt-a2]

        ❛     bruce wayne.    ❜

                                         he’s   taken   aback,    by   the   sheer   UNSELFISH   nature   of    her    movements,   and   it’s  nothing   short  of   beautiful.   sadness    fills   up   lungs,     and   he   exhales   nothing   but   pure   GRIEF.    on    VERY   special   days   ANGER    can   be   seen    beneath   blue   hues.  he’s   been   carrying    t.s    eliot     𝐭𝐡𝐞   𝐰𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐝   around   for   weeks.    it’s  now  that  he   decides   to  look   down   at   cover,    AVOIDING   her   gaze  for   he    fears   that   someone   may   see   WEAKNESS,   the   uncomfortability   that   IS    bruce   wayne.    such   an   uncomfortable   mask   as    he   bares    all,   and   allows   himself   to   be   a   WALKING   WOUND.   poor   boy   ( ! )    are    the   whispers   as    they   RUMINATE   on   just   how   a   wayne   could   be   so    𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐟𝐮𝐥𝐥𝐲    𝐚𝐰𝐤𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐝.   

                                     long   fingers   pick   up  book   as   he   finally   gets   enough   courage   to   meet   her   gaze,   ‘   i’m  so  sorry   …  ’    AWKWARD   almost   seemingly  pained  smile   passes  upon   visage,   ‘   i   had   no   idea  .  . .  ’   looks  down   at    watch   as   he   sees   just   HOW   MUCH   time   has   passed,   ‘   shop?  ’     𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠   𝐮𝐩  from   table   as  he   throws   an   extra   twenty   on  the   table,   ‘   do  you   need   a  ride?  ’    reaching   for   BLACK   JACKET   as   he    looks   outside,   ‘    might  be   a  good   idea   …   would   get   you   there   on    time  ’      then   FINALLY   noticing   rain,   ‘   a   ride   would   be   a  good   idea  ’   a    GENTLE   smile,   more   COMFORTABLE   with  each   passing   moment. 

                                  𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐤    𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐝𝐬    𝐜𝐢𝐫𝐜𝐥𝐞    𝐠𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐦   ,   the   THREAT   of   a  thunderstorm    not   far   off    as   the   streets    turn   grey,   and  people   RUSH    to     resume   their   day    to   remain   REASONABLY   dry.   BITES   the  inside  of  cheek,   as   he  wonders   IF   he’ll   show   up   at   wayne    enterprises    FINDING   that   with   his   OBSESSION   with   inventions,   has   lead    to   a    comfortable   position.   which   ALSO  means    he   can   avoid   the    BUILDING   at   all   costs   the   WAYNE   MANOR   turned   into   a   lab   of   sorts.   𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐟𝐞𝐫𝐬   𝐢𝐬𝐨𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧,   something   so   wonderful   within  that   word.  ‘   what   kind  of   car   do  you   have?  ’   

GUILT SWELLS IN THE CHEST, an apology written in the hollows of her cheeks as she watches his expression play out. eleanor is used to letting down the world around her, being the one who never made it out of the haunting, tied to a night in childhood when the world crumbled down, each time it cuts through her chest and leaves her trembling. she wants to say she’s sorry but she cannot find the words, cannot quite pin them down on the tongue. instead, she paints roses, bites the sides of her cheeks until a soft - pink washes over them, pretends to live despite the pressure building in her head, the strange feeling that builds at the base of her throat; she wants to be summer for him. the truth about sadness is that it always holds echoes, always reaches out and coils around and mirror it can find. maybe they’re one and the same.

       —      ❛   a lift might be nice. if you really don’t mind?   ❜      the spare cash pocketed, slight resentment building for the fact that she does need it. either way, stubbornness will see her dropping it in the car, making pretence that she never even noticed; never was anything she could stand to take from friends. and they are, friends, sort of ... she’s hoping so. arms form cages around her as she follows on, bones smaller by the moment as she caves in on herself, never wanting to burden the world around more than necessary. little nell is always helpless, needs watching every moment until her fragile health caves, can’t do anything without showing up on sibling’s doorsteps, newly out of a phase and bearing the bruises. she can still hear them laughing when she said she moved here, when she pretended that feet had landed where she wanted them to. 

she smiles again, laughs a little and hopes it sounds pleasing, wants to find a way to conjure warmth even in the midst of the grey.       ❛   it’s ... blue. it was my older brother’s first car and then went through a couple and sisters before getting to me. think luke wanted it really, but —  ❜       the pause hits hard, heart slamming into her ribs painfully as the days weigh heavy on her tongue, whole form protesting the absence. it’s been a while since he’s called, only consolidation that he’s still out there somewhere, that she would have felt it if he wasn’t. she doesn’t want to lay that burden on bruce, feels sort of like it might ruin the spell created if she admitted to aching.       ❛   well, that didn’t work out. it’s a bag of shit if i’m being honest, costs way more than it should to run it, but buying a new one isn’t really an option so here we are. i’m kind of attached truthfully. ❜

[barnaes-arch]

follow my revamped multi @estuery

[herhaunt-a2]

         ❛     bruce wayne.    ❜

                     it    had   served   as   a   RESPITE   ,   a  place   where  he   could   TEMPORARILY   lay     𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝.     it   had    been   UNBEARABLE   to   sleep   within    the   wayne   manor  ,   there   were   whispers.   GHOSTS   that   had   come    to   fusion  and   were   READY   to   exact    REVENGE   upon   𝐛𝐫𝐮𝐜𝐞  lately    he   hears   his   FATHER   calling.    imploring    BRUCE   to   listen   to   reason,   to   FORGIVE   the     𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐒    𝐎𝐅     𝐅𝐀𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑    yet  ?   it   wasn’t    JUST    bruce’s   life   that   was   affected,   it   was   ALL   of   gotham,   ARTHUR   if   one   truly   believes   the    DARKEST   of    secrets.    he   hears   his   mother’s   cries  ,   IMPLORING    thomas   to   leave   their   son   alone.    there’s   something   to   be   said   for     small   cafe   ,   it    allows   him   to   STAY   until  closing   ,    he   finds     that   if   he   buys   enough   CUPS  of  coffee   that   he   can    get   away   with  a   small   NAP.    then  there’s   the   KIND   barista   ,    or   is  it     SERVER   ?   she   always   manages   to   make  do   with   his   awkward   ways,   FORGIVE   the   𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬   he  spends    sleeping.     

you   know   you’re   right   

            spoken   half   dazed   as  @herhaunt​   voice   slowly  awakens   ,   and   he   gives   her   a   SHEEPISH   look.   ‘  here   i   thought   buying   endless   coffee   would   get   me   by   ,    was   i   sleep   talking   ,   SNORING  ?  ’

LONELINESS CURLS AROUND COMPANY; the hollows of her will fill with any kindness, any dependability, she can find. he comes back time and time again, and though she cannot understand why he’s there, she counts the moments between visits as if they are an inevitability. once, when she wasted a break in the silence of his table, fingernails carved come back on the underside of the table, and he stared out the window and never noticed. she thinks she’s always been searching for jigsaw edges, hunting down broken shards of others as if they will blunt her own. she thinks she has always been lonely, that there’s some old poetry in the notion of shared sadness, and one day she bit her tongue to stop from spilling that out, wondering if he’d care at all. aching eleanor, clinging to every inch of kindness she might find, daydreaming that she might matter to someone, that he comes back because in some way, even deeper than he knows, he wants to see her too. 

(         maybe it’s unfair to make a memory out of a feeling, to craft a daydream when she’s important just because he does not scowl when he sees her. )       she always had a terrible tendency to fantasise.  

      —      ❛   no, no ... nothing like that.   ❜       guilt pools in the dimples at the edge of her smile, sickness swelling as she contemplates the let down an awakening must be. hands wring out fingers, creaking like floorboards, shoulders half caved around a body barely holding her; bones as delicate as a baby bird.         ❛   i just have to close on time today ... my car’s at the shop and if i don’t show up and pay tonight i’m pretty sure they’ll trash it.   ❜        a more polite version of the voicemail that shook her stomach the day before, change counted desperately from the tip jar, breakfast forfeit in hopes of not calling her brother. she’s pushed the clock past where she should already, each tick, tick, tock striking through her veins, regret pooling until they’re the only one’s still in there. half an hour ago she would have avoided the rain, but minutes were marked by slight lightening under his eyes and she cannot bring herself to care much. better to be be bone soaked than to live with the guilt of waking him a moment sooner than needed. they’re friends, she thinks, or something orbiting friendship, unspoken but existent. she needs all the friends she can get.          ❛   i could come back after ... if you want.   ❜

[barnaes-arch]

i think maybe that’s the path … a way to the redemption i’ve been looking for.

[dpdl-deactivated20240730]

when margaret atwood said “i'm sorry there is so much pain in this story” and richard siken said “there is no other version of this story” and mary oliver said “you don’t want to hear the story of my life, and anyway, i don’t want to tell it”

[monaghan-pedretti]

[herhaunt-a2]

         ❛     mason greene.    ❜

❝   when   are   the   brownies   not   fresh   ,   hmm   ?   ❞   there’s   a   teasing   lilt   in   his   voice   as   mason   approaches   the   counter   ,   noting   the   exhaustion   in   her   features   ,   though   he   won’t   make   note   of   it   yet.   who   knows   what’s   going   on   behind   the   scenes   ,   but   he   hopes   she’s   alright   &   it’s   nothing   more   than   just   work   related   stress.   ❝   long   time   no   see   ,   nell.   how   goes   things   ?   you   &   that   wonderful   husband   of   yours   getting   along   alright   ?   ❞

when she thinks of honey, it is in a bowl in the garden, sugar sweet until the flies stick in syrup of gold and turn all goodness into horror. there are days when she cannot remember if she is the syrup or the insect, if she is the trapped or the trapping; what peace there was meant to be in the aftermath is gone the moment her hand is unheld, cold sinking deeper into bones. easier to smile and paint cheeks like roses, easier the breathe when she’s crafting a lie.

❛  last thursday, oven malfunction.  ❜       like it’s some awful confession, secret whispered with dramatic flair across the counter, tone walking eggshells over the sounds she makes.      ❛  he’s good, working a lot.  ❜      safer to fall towards the butterflies in her stomach, to rely on salvation to save face in the conversation. easier to focus on the one thing that does not ache.      ❛  there’s a lecture coming up ... i don’t really understand it.  ❜

[herhaunt-a2]

          ❛     loki.    ❜

hail ,   loki  of  outcasts ,    loki  of  giants - blood ;         they see her, supplicating in the kingdom of their vast shadow, and cannot give up a boon any more than a stone can yield blood.   the guttural rattle in the depths of their breast is something close to the dirges of crows, 𝚊 𝚛𝚊𝚜𝚙 𝚘𝚏 𝚋𝚕𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝚙𝚕𝚞𝚖𝚊𝚐𝚎, something like mirthless laughter that they quell in their throat.

her gaze is a dual - edged pendulum, flaying them both, so the beasts they each conceal are dredged up to the winter - bright light of day.   ( loki’s own swims very near to the surface and needs very little beckoning before its scales would glimmer and glissade the stygian waters of their pupil.  )   so perhaps their monsters could fathom each other in their own perverted and debased language, as long as eleanor understood that loki was never the rose nor the thorns in the garden of the gods ;  𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚢 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚟𝚎𝚗𝚘𝚖𝚘𝚞𝚜 𝚟𝚒𝚙𝚎𝚛 𝚘𝚗 𝚒𝚝𝚜 𝚋𝚎𝚕𝚕𝚢, spitting and baring fangs.   for now, the eyes say all the mouth will not, cleaved vulnerose, etched in affinity :   I WILL NOT BITE IF YOU DO NOT.               “  I daresay suffering hath made stranger matches than ours.  ”      their voice wanes from a murmur to a whisper, but still cuts clear through the wind and the susurration of snow.   their palm scarcely feels the sting of rime but shakes it off all the same, afore the same fingers are lifted again in offering for their companion to take.   the gesture is sprung from regality, but leaves off the indifference of a mere courtesy ;   it is more sincere, and much more intimate.           “  shall we shirk this dreadful cold now ?  I would take favorably to a hot drink somewhere warm and less blindingly white. ”

there’s rotting in the belly of this beast, ribs growing around arsenic and disguising them as peach pits. she thinks sweetness was once meant to be a kind matter, that sugar in the throat was meant to delight rather than choke; perhaps she suffocates around her loneliness and makes it an art form. the centuries form around girls like her, make martyrs of their bruises and for a moment she wonders how many they have seen. she’s too old for daydreams. she’s too old for dark circles around the eyes and translucent fingers pressing to her temples to ease the headaches away, too young to feel the way this rotting rips through her from within. old and young and trapped between both and reaching for fingers that could offer any moment of shelter from the storms.

❛  i like the cold.  ❜        petulant, tone caressing the words as pout takes over expression before cheeks give way to rose petals. there’s a crafted nature to every movement, tricking the gaze, never wanting it to linger long enough that her undone ties can be seen. she’ll die before they know she unravelled.        ❛  there’s an okay café a few streets up. the cakes aren’t too good but the sandwiches are alright if you’re hungry... and they have coffee, tons and tons of coffee.  ❜      and her hands need something to take away the bone chill, to chase off the grip that death has on her body. she’s more corpse than girl, rotten roses in the veins, but there’s comfort in the way their chaos seems echoed, like he made the legacy in which she finds herself. a thought like that could never be lonely.        ❛ we could waste away an afternoon, since you have so many and i have so few.  ❜ 

[herhaunt-a2]

i have an interview monday...

[herhaunt-a2]

i wish i had like... a good reason to come and post like why im not around right now but like... all the posts on this blog are like that and idk the truth is im just sad and tired and burnt out and life keeps punching me when im down and like i’ll be fine i have an amazing support system but idk im just sorry that im like... so absent because like... i dont want to be. i am on discord a bit more at the moment if u fancy a natter tho <3 bc i miss u all <3 

[herhaunt-a2]

Hi Kenna, just a gentle reminder from ya star pal that you are so wonderful and deserve all of the love and light! Truly, am I forever grateful that I got to know you. I love ya so much! <3 <3 <3

hi just know that i adore you + i really, really needed this and im just so grateful for your existence and presence in my life <3

[serenitus-a-deactivated20220901]

in   the   midst   of   𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑,   i   found   there   was,   within   me,   an   invincible   𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐄𝐑   ––––   #𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐈𝐓𝐔𝐒   :   independent,   private,   highly   selective   original   character.  penned   by   rowan.