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crowandmousewritingco · 6 months ago

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A Scary Bad Time

Pairing: Benjamin "Benny" Miller x gn!reader

Words: 2.2k

Rating: G, nothing spicy here peeps. This fic just shows off the golden retriever energy that this man radiates.

Summary: You agree with to go to a haunted house with your fiance. Nearing the end, you realize that the whole thing is way too much for you to process and handle.

Author: Mod Crow

Author's Note: This story using the July prompt list from @thepromptfoundry, this fic specifically is using print #8, sensory sensitivity. I don't have the disorder that I chose to write about, so if one who reads this does, please feel free to correct me! The disorder in question is Sensory Processing Disorder, if you would like to learn about SPD, follow the link below.

Info on SPD: https://www.rileychildrens.org/health-info/sensory-processing-disorders

Dipping your hands back into your cardigan’s pockets, your fingers instantly finding the flat, smooth stone that you always kept there. Normally you’d take your fiance’s hand when you started feeling overwhelmed, but he wasn’t next to you at the moment. He was buying tickets while you held your spots in line for entry. Turning towards the ticket booth, you looked through the line trying to see him. When you didn’t see him in line however you could feel your chest tighten. You could feel yourself getting close to that edge, but that was until you saw the familiar brown hair and blue eyes and -arguably your favorite part of his face- his smile.

“Sorry about the wait, sweetheart, the couple in front of me started arguing.” Benny slung his arm on your shoulders and gently pulled him into his side. You couldn’t help but lean into his body, the warmth he radiated was nice in the cool October evening air. But it wasn’t just the warmth, it was him. The fact that was simply touching you was more than enough to bring down the residual anxiety that was left over from just moments ago.

You looked up to Benny, chin resting on the side of his chest. “You promise to stay right beside me the whole time right?” You puffed out your bottom lip ever so slightly, just enough so that you were giving him your famous puppy dog face, or as he likes to call it the ‘definition of having to say yes’.

You scanned his face as he looked at you, he offered back a soft, honest smile, “Of course sweetheart. If they try to take you from me I’ll fight them.” Hearing him chuckle at his joke made you giggle in response. “It’s nice to know that not only is my soon-to-be-husband handsome and funny, but he’s also a body guard.”

By the time Benny returned and you had your chance to calm down, the line finally started moving. You were hoping that the line would move just slow enough that you could convince yourself that this was going to be A-okay; though something deep in the pit of your stomach felt heavy.

“Tickets please.” the sound of the annoyed teen’s voice pulled you from your worrying brain. You looked to Benny right as he handed over the tickets, ‘Too late to back out now.’ Taking a deep breath you put up the front that there wasn’t an ounce of nerves in your body.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Benny wasn’t lying when he said he’d fight someone if they tried to split the two of you up. Right after the two of you had entered, a blood covered butcher was the first to try, and the first to back down. The only other person who tried was a little girl who had dressed as a haunted, cracked porcelain doll. Benny hadn’t actually threatened the kid, but he did do a pretty great job at scaring her shitless.

“I told you I’d fight whoever I needed, sweetheart.” Benny’s voice was soft as he planted a kiss on your forehead. The two of you stood there a moment, maybe Benny realized that you weren’t feeling the best, or maybe he simply wanted a moment to just yourselves. Even if that happened to be right now in a haunted house.

“We should probably keep moving before others come walking through.” You step back just enough to show that you were okay to continue. Benny studied your face for a moment, ‘Oh no, can he tell that something is wrong?’ But just as the thought entered your head, Benny was offering a soft smile before continuing through the Halloween attraction.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

According to Benny, the two of you were drawing closer to the end, but to you it looked like this thing would keep going on for the rest of your lives. Your grip on Benny’s jacket sleeve at this point was in a white knuckled, death grip. You’d be damned if now would be the time that you get separated, and you knew it was getting obvious that this was quickly becoming too much.

As the two of you entered a new room -this one decorated like an abandoned laboratory- you looked around trying to familiarize yourself with the new surroundings. Benny however, was looking down at you, worried, laced throughout his blue eyes. Looking at Benny you saw his eyes,and the look on his face. As you went to calm him however, the once dimly lit room suddenly went black. The sudden darkness isn’t what tipped you over the edge however, it was the feeling of someone grabbing your shoulders and giving you a little tug. At the feeling of tugging, you felt a not-so-unfamiliar pain shoot through your shoulders. Then at the sound of the whisper in your ear you realized what was happening. ‘I’m way beyond overstimulated,’ Looking towards where you think Benny was standing, you gave an apologetic look and thought to yourself, ‘Sorry Benji.’ Squeezing your eyes shut, you could feel yourself almost…turn off. You no longer were in control. Shoving the person off of you, you felt your feet carry you in the other direction, the direction of the exit. Or so you hoped so.

With your eyes still closed you felt your body collide with other people, though you couldn’t tell who was another patron, or a scare actor. After the collisions slowed, you finally opened your eyes. Looking around you could tell you were still in the haunted house, but you couldn’t place where. Other than the unfamiliarity of the area, you relished in the relative quietness of the area. Walking closer to the wall, you could feel yourself coming back to your body. Touching the wall you quickly pulled away, the wall felt…wrong. Clenching your jaw, you drop to a sitting position and pull your knees to your chest. You buried your face in your legs, trying to calm yourself.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He could tell something was wrong when they had the last couple of rooms. Something just felt off about you. Maybe it was the way your grip tightened on his jacket sleeve, or maybe it was the subtle way your breathing had changed. Before it was forced deep breaths and now it was ragged quick inhales. Despite having noticed the changes, and prepared for the possible shut down, he wasn’t prepared for the lights to go out. Nor was he prepared for you to let go of his jacket and vanish by the time the lights came back on.

“Sweetheart?” Benny looked around the small room that you had just been in. At first Benny had been relatively calm while looking for you. He had assumed you had found one of the walls of the room and were sitting there. But after walking the parameter and still not finding you, he could feel his own pulse racing. Benny knew you had a hard time in public places because of all of the senses. Going back to the middle of the room Benny stood there a moment, ‘If they’d had run towards the exit, we would have bumped into each other. So that means…’ Looking towards the way back, Benny sighed and made his way through.

Soft ‘sorry’s and ‘pardon me’s left Benny’s lips as he made his way through the crowd. As he walked through the haunted house backwards, Benny noticed the areas that allowed the scareers to hide from view. Walk past each one he would dip his head around the corner and scan the area. The deeper he made it back into the attraction, the more worried he grew for you…and how angry he was at himself. He had promised to not let the two of you get split up, and what was he doing right now? Looking for you because he had failed you, he had broken a promise. Something he had sworn to you the day he proposed to you.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

‘Inhale for four, hold for two, exhale for six.’ You kept repeating to yourself in your head, hands under the bend of your legs, fingers rubbing the obsidian worry stone that once lived in your jacket pocket.

“Sweetheart?” At first the familiar voice and pet name didn’t register in your brain. Somehow he sounded far away, yet so close at the same time. You also didn’t quite register to the following calls either. It wasn't until Benny was crouched in front of you on the floor, his lips saying your name, that it registered that his hand on your arm. You had expected the touch to feel like before, red hot, razor sharp pins being forced into your skin at electric speed; but Benny’s touch wasn’t. While his touch didn’t hurt like hell, it was still unpleasant, like a loose shirt on healing sunburn.

“Hey, you made me even more scared than Will is with snakes.” You could tell he was trying to help by telling stupid jokes because he knew it was what you liked when you didn’t feel your best. You knew he wanted a laugh, a giggle, hell, you knew damn well that he’d even take that huff of air that sometimes happens with reading something dumb, but dumb that borders on being funny. You wanted to give that Benny, you really did. What you didn’t want to do though, was lie about how you’re feeling.

Shutting your eyes, you move one of your shaking hands to your pocket and drop the smooth stone. Once empty, your hand retreats from the pocket and joins along your other hand, atop your knees. With your hands on your knees, you take a couple of breaths in an attempt to quell the shaking in your hands and the pounding in your chest. As you took your last deep breath, you opened your eyes and locked them with Benny’s bright blue ones.

“Thank you for finding me,” You smiled softly, in an attempt to help you convince Benny that you’re okay. “Oh and I’m sorry about that whole, running off thing.” You joked weakly. You could tell that your joke wasn’t helping calm your worried fiance. Thinking for a moment you decided to reach out and take Benny’s hands. Once you had his hands in hand, you brought them back to rest on your knees. Without talking, you opened his hands and studied them, running your fingers over the prominent lines at first, before turning over his hands to do the same with the scars that were scattered over his knuckles from the years of boxing.

After a silent moment you looked at Benny once again, though this time he wasn’t staring at you. Well at least not at your face, instead his eyes were glued to where the two of you were tangled, your hands. Detaching one of your entangled hands, you lifted it to rest on Benny’s cheek. Running your thumb along his cheek you watched as he lifted his blue eyes from your hands, to yours. As you looked at each other you felt Benny pull one of his hands away. Once his hand was in your peripheral, you looked at it and followed it to its resting point. On top of yours.

“Sweetheart, are you okay? What happened back there?” You could tell Benny was still worried, and you knew he wouldn’t feel one hundred percent better till he knew the truth. The whole truth. Taking a deep breath and slowly letting it out.

“Benji,” He knew that tone and nickname from the times you were crying, or was giving bad news. “You know how I’m sensitive to…well everything?” You watch as he nods, him almost knowing that his talking might be too much for you right now. “Well there’s more to it than that. I have sensory processing disorder, SPD. I’m more sensitive to things. To me sometimes sounds are way louder than they really are, and sometimes light touches feel like slaps.” You take a moment, the sound of your own voice becoming too much.

“Wh-What happened in there doesn’t happen often. The last time that happened I was a sophomore in high school. I had to give my baby presentation in home economics, and during my presentation a couple of babies went off -mine included- and it became too much. I dropped my papers and kinda speed walked out of the class.” Hearing Benny chuckle helped calm you.

The two of you sat, hidden behind a fake wall, for a while. Just talking. By the time a worker had found the two of you, you were perfectly content. Benny helped you to your feet and dusted off the dirt on your butt and back. Benny led the way to the entrance -since the two of you were closer to that than the exit- you followed happily behind.

Once out of the attraction, he led the way to his car. From there the two of you drove around till dawn, talking over the soft music of the car’s radio. Once the yawns started Benny was quick to get home. He was even quicker to get you from your side of the car, unlock the door and let you in. Not only was it quick for him to help strip you of your date clothes, but also help you find your way to your bed. He wrapped his arm around you the second your legs were on the bed, pulling you in close. He kissed the side of your face to the best of his ability, and whispered an ‘I love you’. As soon as the words left his mouth you slipped off to dreamland.

#crow and mouse writings #mod crow writing #triple frontier #triple frontier fanfiction #benny miller #benny miller x reader #benny miller x gn!reader #benjamin miller #benjamin miller x reader #benjamin miller x gn!reader

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celezztia · 9 months ago

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Taking a stab at writing, I haven’t done it in a while, but I want to help contribute a Professor! Vampire Donna AU and maybe in the future a few spicy one shots, because we are all thirsty.

(I will format this better as I go on, but do enjoy)

Professor! Donna x Fem reader

(May contain fluff, smut, angst in the future, but first chapter is sfw)

After many trials and tribulations, I had managed to score a scholarship to a college in Romania; Miranda’s All Girls University: though you hadn’t hear much of the campus aside from what the schools website conveyed, who are you to pass up an affordable education?

Had you stayed in America, you would spend years paying off these debts, but now your saved money was going towards travels, airplane tickets, apartment down payment and such .

You were the one that applied, got accepted and the first day of college you were ready.

Though as ready as you thought you were, your new life was far more interesting than you had imagined.

You signed up for a Botany course, a few math and English, and an elective in theater. You figured your years in high school being a techie would come in handy.

The professors were fairly bearable, though the Art History professor was quite striking. Intimidating and cold, but as long as you listened, she never really called you out to answer.

Now as you walk towards your Botany class, you pushed the heavy doors open, grunting a bit as you pushed it open.

It was a vast room, build almost like a media center with levels of desks that led down to the board and desk where the professor sat. She was scanning a stack of papers , a pair of red reading glasses hanging off her nose.

You decide to sit in the front of the classroom; mainly because you did always enjoy the sciences, even if you were more right brained.

The room filled slowly, and a few students began talking quietly to one another, the sound of pencils tapping against the desks.

A group of girls came in together, laughing and chatting.

You clicked your phone open, looking at it for the time.

8:02.

The professor sat at her desk, unmoving from her papers as she spoke.

“Do try to enter here in a graceful manner, class had already begun.” She said curtly, her nose crinkling as she continued to read paperwork. The girls quieted down and dispersed among the classroom.

As they sat down, the older woman stood, pushing her glasses back onto her head.

She was quite tall, slender, dressed in all black; a turtleneck, slacks, and a cardigan that draped to her ankles.

Her hair was in a mostly tight bun, a few raven strands fallen to frame her pale face. A discolored scar splotched across her left eye.

She began to pace around, the sounds of her heels clacking against the wooden floor filling the classroom.

“Good morning. I am Professor Beneviento. Please make sure to keep the chit chat to a minimum, or at least to your breaks. I would like to think that I have enough patience for all of you. This class is about the science of plant life, not the unnecessary jargon. Is that understood?”

She waited for a response from the class.

It took a second, but after some nods, she continued.

You couldn't help but absorb her.

She commanded a room fairly well, yet seemingly suave in the process. Her voice was soft, but had a slight roughness that made her sound older than she actually was.

You kept your pen glued to your notebook, hanging off every word this woman spoke in case you needed to jot it down.

The class ended sooner than you realized, and as you grabbed your books and placed them into your bag, Professor Beneviento walked up behind you, leaning over your shoulder.

Your heart jumped to your throat and you dropped the papers in your hands, the pages scattering everywhere.

“Shit!” I exclaimed, as my notes and pages in my binder flew in different directions.

The professor chuckled softly, and began to help you pick up the papers.

I apologized quickly and thanked her as we finished picking them up.

"Sorry about that. Didn’t mean to scare you."she spoke softly as she handed me the stack of papers I haphazardly threw everywhere.

Her voice was as much less commanding than usual. Up close, you realize her eyes were almost crimson. Maybe that was a gene in Europe, you weren’t going to have your first impression of you questioning her features.

Well… second influence at least.

I nodded nervously, realizing how much she towered over me.

She was a lot thinner than I thought, and a lot prettier.

Her dark hair framed her pale face, a few strands falling from her tight bun, her eyes were a striking red, her lips pouty and pursed.

“Y-You’re okay! I just get spooked easily.” I say, my face dusted with pink.

I could’ve sworn the older woman grinned at me for a split second after that comment.

“Your accent, you must be American, yes?”

You nodded.

Her eyes lit up a bit.

"That's good. We have a few other international students this semester. I know this university is pretty new, but I can assure you this is a great school. If you do ever need help with anything, I will do what I can to accommodate.

What is your name again, coda dolce?” She asked, a thick Italian influence in her tone.

You smiled and told her, her expression remaining fairly stoic, but her eyes had softened.

“My name is Y/N, ma’am.”

"What a lovely name. You'll have to pardon me, Y/N, I have to run to another lecture. But do come to me with any questions.”

You nod, and she gives you a smile and a nod before walking past me and exiting the lecture hall, the scent of honeysuckle following.

#donna beneviento #donna re8 #resident lover #re8 donna #resident evil village #resident evil 8 #donna beneviento x oc #donna beneviento x reader #donna beneviento x female reader #donna beneviento x mc #vampire donna #professor donna #angie beneviento

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adore-laur · 1 year ago

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GOLD RUSH: EPILOGUE

— part one | part two | part three

——

Four Months Later

Spectral shadows now haunt the vacant house in Tennessee. They are ones of yourself and Harry appearing as nebulous figures wistfully retracing the steps of every memory played out in each room.

Every wall you were sensually backed into.

Every floor you collapsed onto with heartache.

Every dark corner that sheltered your fears.

The wilted vines of romance that grew under the carpet and ascended toward the roof are surely felt by whoever exists there now, trapping their feet and trying to pull them down into their depths of despair. Their once vibrant color pales from perennial neglect, and they yearn for a single drop of love.

The two lovers are no longer the providers of such an arduous task.

You have broken free from the poison ivy and moved to untethered fields. The deadly nightshade that crawled over your body is no longer lethal, and your stitched heart is now thriving with unburdened lungs. Harry willingly took the needle and delicately sewed each open wound with threads of honeysuckle and lavender, patiently waiting for the crevices to bond back together until they blossomed into feelings of certainty and candor. He never pushed the process, always letting you grow at your own pace and sharing his sunlight when you needed it most.

You adapted nicely to the new soil. You left your dirt behind and pulled up your roots to bury them elsewhere. Somewhere more nurtured with eternal blue skies.

Harry's roots have always been grounded, so the day he left his home pierced thorns in all he's ever known and left him bleeding until you tore off your petals of armor to seal the gash. The cure was in you all along.

You wonder where he is now.

As you sit alone on the late January grass, no snowfall settling across the blades in rural South Carolina this time of year, you miss his warm presence beside you. The knitted cardigan you wear replaces his skin; the breeze finds secret passageways through every petite hole in the fabric. Your arms, terribly sore from moving boxes all day, could use his own wrapped around them.

The lake past the lush, rolling hills is gray from the reflection of the clouds above, and the water looks inviting. No other house can be seen for miles. It's what you've dreamed of—a perfect place to start afresh and continue raising your family away from camera flashes and prying questions. You have privacy at last.

A sudden, soft plucking of guitar strings draws you from your thoughts. The acoustic melody plants seeds in your bones, coursing through the marrow until they lovingly consume your soul.

There he is.

Music follows him wherever he goes. Even when an instrument is absent from his versed hands, he still carries a symphony with his words. Either sung or spoken, they slip off his tongue with entrancing ease.

"Look what I found," Harry says in a way that exudes childlike wonder.

You smile and turn your head, finding him treading toward you while wearing your cardigan and holding a green resonator guitar by its neck. The heavy black case is in his other hand.

"What box was that in?" you ask, admiring how his hair blows in the wind. It falls into place perfectly.

"The huge one that I totally didn't have trouble carrying." He smirks at you, narrowing his beautiful green eyes. The light in them is finally back.

Laughing, you watch him set the case down next to you before sitting on it. He then places the guitar on his lap, its curve naturally fitting along his thigh. "Wonder if it's still in tune," he murmurs, twisting the tuning pegs and strumming random chords with his jeweled fingers.

You're waiting for him to mention how you kept it even through the divorce, but it never comes. You should have a little faith in him for not bringing up that withered phase of life, but it was so miserably monumental that it permeates your mind anyway.

"Hi," Harry whispers with a hint of shyness, as if he's acknowledging you for the first time. You bask in his natural incandescence.

"Hi. I wanted to talk to you about something."

He inhales and nods, absentmindedly playing a few dissonant chords. "Okay."

"I know this move has been hard on you," you say while looking into his eyes, "and I just want to know how you're feeling."

The fatal flaw in your relationship's early stages was a lack of communication. It was a bit ironic, considering marriage is built on the mere foundation of it. Perhaps that's why it didn't work out the first time.

"I feel good." He lightly slaps his hand on the guitar to stop the strings from vibrating. "Really good, actually."

You could cry with relief. "Yeah?"

His lips quirk up. "Yeah. I obviously miss Nashville, but I'm starting to love it here."

You nod understandingly. "It's quiet, you know? So different from the city."

"I think this move is exactly what we needed. To leave all those bad memories behind."

Leave your dirt behind. Bloom somewhere new.

"Can I say something I don't tell you enough?" you ask, tucking strands of windswept hair behind your ears.

Harry lays the guitar down and begins picking at the dead grass by his feet. "Will it make me cry?"

"It'll probably make me cry."

He looks at you for a moment before patting his lap twice. "C'mere. I don't like it when you're far away."

You stand and then settle sideways on his thighs, his arms instantly circling around your waist. His touch was something that took you a while to allow yourself to accept. It started with longer hugs and holding hands, then soft and lingering kisses on the cheek. They all led to bigger things, like kissing his heart-shaped lips and letting his hands rest on your hips or neck. Making out like teenagers on the couch to make up for lost time felt more purposeful than ever. It felt different this time around, more significant. His touch was a telltale sign that the petals could still be saved from wilting and falling to the frozen ground.

It was a slow blossoming of sprouts, but he was understanding. That's all you could've asked for.

"What's on your mind, baby?" Harry quietly asks.

Unwarranted tears form in your eyes as you look at the man you almost entirely let go of. When your gaze traces the features of his face, you wonder how you would have lived without him. How does someone possibly keep from loving him? You're glad you didn't fall victim to that.

"I just... I'm so proud of you," you shakily whisper, a teardrop sliding down your cheek.

Harry's chest deflates. He breaks eye contact, visibly swallowing and rolling his lips in before responding, "I know you are. You've never made me doubt it."

"But it's not just with your job. Even when we weren't together, I was proud of who you were."

"You shouldn't have been. I was a mess."

You shake your head. "The way you still tried to mend things while grieving is something to be proud of, Harry. You should be proud of yourself."

"I did it because I love you," he says with shimmering eyes. "I did it for her."

Her, meaning your daughter. She's away with your grandparents for the day while you and Harry unpack and set up the necessary furniture. He does everything for her, and you firmly believe she was the single ray of light in his phases of deep depression.

"I know, but I was worried about you. No matter how angry I tried to be, I still cared about you so much." You take a deep breath before continuing, "When you came over during the first few months..." You pause and let out a weak sob. "You scared me. You didn't look like yourself, and it fucking terrified me. I remember your cheeks were so... so hollowed."

Harry looks out at the lake, almost ashamed. His thumbs rub soothing circles on your hips, and you've never been more grateful to see the supple skin on his cheeks today.

"We never really know grief until it happens to us," he says, laying his head on your shoulder. "I didn't eat for days. Didn't shower. Barely left my bed. I lost myself completely."

You know you shouldn't apologize, but you do anyway. "I'm sor—"

"Don't," he interrupts. "Please don't."

"It killed me. I had never seen you so sick."

"But it led me back to you, didn't it?" He softly kisses your arm and smiles against it. "All that pain led me to this moment, love."

You rest your hand on his stomach. "That's not the point, though."

"I think it is," he remarks. "Everyone goes through shit, and everyone learns something from it."

You sniffle as Harry takes one of your hands and blows warm air onto it. "What did you learn?"

He stares at you while kissing your wrist. "That your love was worth the fight. And I don't regret fighting my goddamn life for it."

His love-laced words rush through you like liquid gold and heal every stitch on your heart, leaving only scars behind.

You don't regret diving into his waters anymore.

——

#harry styles fanfic #harry styles imagine #harry styles x reader #harry styles angst #harry styles au #harry styles #adore-laur #gold rush series

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queerfanfiction · 2 years ago

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Love Notes (Ch. 6)

Larissa Weems x musicteacher!Reader Thank you for being so supportive, even though it has been literal months since I have updated!! I will try to post a bit more regularly (but also who knows because depression is a bitch).

AO3 link

You decide to hop up and shower after Enid’s inadvertent pep talk, feeling more hopeful now than you have in days. After getting dressed and stocking the bathroom for recently arrived students, you head to Jericho. It’s time to finalize scavenger hunt plans. You don’t want to wait weeks and drag out the process through secret codes in your mixes.

Flowers were taken care of, thanks to your new acquaintance James. You had also created a few other clues but needed to access a few places, like the bookstore, in town to complete them. You try to push your latest trip with Larissa to Jericho from your mind as you begin jogging the wooded path from Nevermore grounds to the town square. The crisp spring air was welcomed, and hopefully you could use this time to clear your head. Besides, you didn’t want to check-out any vehicles to drive in case Larissa was nearby. Her quarters were right above the school’s scheduling office, and you weren’t ready to face her just yet.

Once you’re severely out of breath and think the pain in your side will topple you, you finally reach the outskirts of Jericho. Your pace slows, and you begin to map out a to-do list in your head. At the bookstore, you’ll need magazines and the clerk’s cooperation on the day of the scavenger hunt. At the flower shop, you’ll need to ensure James was able to secure lilies and might lend his labor in planting and arranging them. At the Weathervane, you will need to clue the new barista in on your plan. Since Tyler is now a guest of the state after everything went down a couple months ago, a new barista was hired. You two are friendly due to your aggressive kindness when they would accidentally make mistakes during training. You hated that people in town weren’t understanding of the realities of service work. Finally, you will need to visit city hall to ensure you don’t need a permit to occupy the public space around the fountain in the middle of the square.

As you check things off your list, you realize you still need a way to ensure Larissa makes it to the book store once in Jericho. You ponder this as you head back to Nevermore—this time at a reasonable pace. Once on the grounds, you cross through the courtyard to the dorms and see Enid giggling with Yoko. You smile softly at their carefree banter. It’s at this moment you have the idea to loop Enid into the scavenger hunt, especially since she had helped you put things into perspective when you were secluded away in your room. It’s also at this time that you know it would probably be a terrible idea to entrust Nevermore’s gossip queen with a secret regarding the school’s principal. Stumped at this conundrum, you trek up to your room to leaf through the magazines from the bookstore you bought.

You get to work creating the aspects needed to complete the scavenger hunt—a new mix CD, cut out letters, a fake newspaper crossword, and so on. After an hour or two, your energy and attention span begin to falter without food. Your eyes wander to the clock; with students back on the school’s campus, you could catch dinner before the cafeteria closes if you leave now. You toss on an oversized maroon cardigan and head downstairs.

As you wander, you wonder if Larissa will be tucked away in her office with dinner and wine like she usually is. You desperately missed the time you two would spend together. You also speculate about whether or not you two would stay friends if she rejected you. You think too highly of her to be sour if her heart does not feel the same magnetic tug that yours does.

—

The same morning as your talk with Enid, Larissa awoke in sweats. She normally regulated her body temperature well and wasn’t terribly affected by nightmares. She’d lived through enough monsters to not be effected by them in dreams. Recently, however, she had been agitated…fitful. She knew why, even though she tried to rationalize it away.

She didn’t have a lot of friendships, let alone close ones. Shapeshifters never do. That’s why she constantly worked so hard to change the perceptions of outcasts—both within and outside the community. Whatever she had with you, Larissa feared she had ruined it. At the beginning of her relationship with you, there was a feeling between you of treading carefully, of testing boundaries. When could you be silly or drop the professional façade? That hesitance quickly dissipated and was replaced with comfort and familiarity. Unfortunately, Larissa had learned to rely on it. She craved it. It balanced her. Letting others in didn’t come easily, yet it felt like you were meant to know her.

After giving it more thought, Larissa isn’t completely sure if seeing you flirt with someone made her lash out or if it was about being confronted with her own feelings for you. Regardless, the underlying fear came true—damaging her relationship with you.

Once her breathing steadied after waking, she peered around her room. Her living quarters used to feel so luxurious and private, something completely hers in a boarding school that constantly pulled her in so many directions. Now, though, all she can sense is emptiness in the space. Bitter echoes of joyous moments she had with you throughout the room lingered.

Not only did you vanish from her room and office, but she hadn’t visibly seen you since that day at the Weathervane. You were no where to be found these last couple weeks. Instead of regularly creating music in the orchestra room and popping into her office, the library, the conservatory, and student dorms, you had hidden away. She knows this, because she had asked around about you to various faculty (and even some students). Larissa’s schedule often took her throughout Nevermore, and she ached to catch a glimpse of you—check in on you in some way. It wasn’t until she stepped away from answering emails to drink tea on her balcony for a moment that she saw you. You were outside in the spring air, heading away from the school.

Larissa had never seen you in athletic clothing…mainly because you two had joked about running being a punishment, that it was often a mutually constituted performance by people who bought into traditional, often limited ideas of health. Of course, that’s not why seeing you stunned her.

Rather, her heart ached. She felt panicked, as if she should make a decision about what to do right then and there before you ran completely out of sight. With a deep, slow breath to hinder acting impulsively, Larissa began to consider her options. Is it better to swallow the hurt and try to salvage the friendship? Surely, only a friendship with you is better than being without you completely. Or would doing that and being close with no hope for a future together hurt worse? Could she handle seeing you with the florist all the time? Larissa sat her teacup down to rub her temples.

A distant knock at the door to her office pulled her away from her thoughts. She stepped inside and called for the visitor to enter. There was work to do, meetings to be held. Quickly and neatly compartmentalizing her thoughts and emotions, Larissa moved forward to greet the mayor.

—

You were in the orchestra room, arranging a new composition in preparation for the scavenger hunt. You couldn’t sleep now that you had decided on a course of action, so you decided to make use of the extra energy swirling in your stomach and radiating out through your arms and legs. Thankfully the dormitories were on the other side of Nevermore’s campus, meaning students could not overhear or be disturbed by your work. You don’t quite remember how you got across the grounds or what time you left your room. All you knew was that this was your time, your safe space.

All of the sudden you hear heels from down the corridor and know that it must be Larissa. Who else would it be? Sure enough, Larissa comes in. No hesitation in her approach. Your stomach flips, and you’re surprised she seems so confident and determined. No silk pajamas; she’s still in a work outfit. You can’t remember if you’ve seen it before. Her sense of purpose impelled you to lean the cello in your arms to it’s stand instead.

Her lips are on yours before logic can catch up with you, her hands cradling your face as if you’re something holy and sacred. You let out a surprised “mmph” but return the kiss eagerly, wrapping your arms around Larissa and inviting her closer. When your lips part ever so slightly, she deepens the kiss without delay. Her hands drift downward from your face to your neck to your arms to your outer thighs. You feel as if your heart is going to beat so quickly and become so enlarged that it will begin to break through your ribcage. Still, you wouldn’t stop this long-awaited union for anything.

Larissa’s swift hands had begun to pull you up into her arms, urging you to wrap your legs around her torso. You couldn’t bother with whether or not the cello was okay. After feeling her warmth against you, knowing she could feel the heat radiating from you too, both of your movements turned frantic. Your breath mimicked the raggedness it had from your run the other day.

“I want you. I want you. I need you.” Breathy declarations from Larissa ring out and ring throughout the room. In response, you bring her hand from the small of your back to your front, just under the edge of your shirt. The encouragement makes the taller woman whimper in between fervent kisses.

Suddenly, a deafening, reverberating crash sounds out.

Heart racing, sweaty, you jolt awake in your office chair in the orchestra room. Looking around anxiously, you see the cello you were playing on the ground, still vibrating. You must have was accidentally kicked it over in your sleep. The reddest blush plasters itself onto your cheeks. You were no stranger to dreaming of Larissa, but this is the first suggestive dream since she left you in the Weathervane. You didn’t even know someone could feel this embarrassed with no one else present. You’re alone and unsure of what time it is or what time you fell asleep after traipsing across campus. Only the quiet singing of birds outside indicated it was early morning. You normally frowned upon clocks in the classroom, but maybe you’ll rethink that now.

You look to the sheet music stand near you and find your phone. It’s dead. With a deep sigh, you gather your items and make your way to your living quarters. You need to confirm what time it is and change your clothes. Today is the day that you’re putting your scavenger hunt into motion.

—

Outside of Larissa’s office is a corkboard for Nevermore news, flyers, events, and so on that she checks daily. You post the anonymous note that serves as your first clue and fade into the stone wall behind you just as her office doors open and she steps out.

Larissa moved towards the board, not suspecting any terribly special memos pinned on a Saturday morning. Her eyebrows furrowed as she read the pasted together instructions. Larissa knew the mismatched lettering had to belong to whoever was gifting her the elaborate playlists. It was finally time to uncover the truth that she so desperately desired. She quickly glanced around to see if anyone was watching or leaving the area. …No one.

The patchwork note from cut-out magazine letters read, “Alas, it’s time to confess who I am. Come and find me if you can. I can skip but can’t walk. I’d rather sing than talk.”

A wild goose chase? Larissa considered. Truly, what can come of this? Just another CD with no confirmation of who this is? Even with her skepticism, Larissa was intrigued. She enjoyed conquering puzzles. There was something so satisfying about hunting down information and excavating the truth. With everything going on with you, Larissa welcomed a distraction, especially from someone who she considered herself to have a certain bond or connection with.

Snatching the clue from the board, Larissa retreated back to her office, abandoning her morning plans to roam among the grounds. I can skip but can’t walk…sing rather than talk…hm… Larissa mulled over the riddle. After a few moments, she can’t believe it took her this long to realize: CDs. Of course, it’s telling her to go back to the CDs. It’s where this all started. She walked over to her media player where one was already in place and started from track 1. Larissa felt as if she had committed the sounds and occasional lyrics to memory. How is there a clue here?

Pacing in front of her lit fireplace, Larissa fumbled haphazardly with the CD case in her hands as she listened with new intent. On the third turn around, her hand accidentally brushed off a sticky note that was placed on the back cover. “Wha-” she began while bending over to pick up the small piece of paper on the floor.

“Finish” she saw written on it. Finish what? A bit frustrated that she can’t make sense of the notation, she went to her desk to examine the other gifts. Sure enough, there were post-its on the backs of them as well. When read all together, they directed her to finish the newspaper crossword. Okay, so whoever this was definitely knew her routine. That’s not exactly breaking news, though. Larissa stepped out onto her balcony where she laid the newspaper next to her finished cup of tea. Flipping through to the crossword section, she saw a custom crossword tucked into the paper. In all honesty, she admired the dedication and thought that went into these clues.

Once she completed the crossword, it very obviously did not read out her admirer’s name like she had hoped. Rather, the answers prompted her to go to Jericho. Larissa pursed her lips, attempting to win against a budding smile as she shook her head. This is ridiculous. The final part of this clue spelling out Jericho also mentioned finding an outcast and a normie laughing together. Larissa didn’t know if she hated or loved that prospect, seeing as many Nevermore students had passes to Jericho this weekend. How many will be hanging out with a local, though? she asked herself while grabbing her overcoat and heading out the door.

—

“Alright, and what’s the plan?” you quizzed Enid on the ride over to Jericho.

In the passenger seat sat a wiggly werewolf who bounced her legs with excitement. In a singsong voice, she responded,“Hey now, give me some credit. I’m the one who suggested Lucas and I could give Principal Weems the next clue!”

“What if she asks who is orchestrating the scavenger hunt? How do I know you won’t crack under her prodding?” You narrow your eyes at her briefly before returning them to the road. You try to keep the tone light while still voicing your concerns.

With a small scoff, Enid confidently replies, “Please, one time Thing accidentally spilled nail polish on Wednesday’s typewriter, and I was an iron trap. If I can handle Wednesday Addams, I think I can handle Weems.” She ends the statement with her arms crossed, seemingly very proud of herself. To be fair, that was impressive. “Besides, I’m on the side of true love. This idea is so romantic!” Oh my god was all you could think to yourself at that statement. Once parked, you and Enid walk into the center of the square to wait for the normie component of this clue.

“What are we doing here again?” Lucas, the mayor’s son, questioned once he was in front of Enid. She sheepishly glanced at you and back to Lucas and then swiftly elbowed him in the side. It was kind of cute how seriously she was taking this.

You’ve done all you can do, so all you can do now is hope for the best. You put your hand on Enid’s shoulder and reassure her, “If you need anything, just give me a signal and excuse yourself. I’ll be watching from the Weathervane.” Well, mainly you’re reassuring yourself.

—

Once in Jericho, Larissa felt it an insurmountable task to search every store and outdoor area for the right outcast and normie. It didn’t help that she automatically parked in her usual spot, which happened to be by the flower shop. Getting out of her car, Larissa saw that very florist outside, pruning and watering plants. He noticed her and waved. She could feel a scowl on her lips, so she looked away, pretending to not have seen his friendly gesture. At least that’s one person that the admirer couldn’t be…

Having walked past the flower shop, Larissa cups her hands over her eyes to look inside Uriah’s Heap. She can’t imagine a normie having fun in the morbid antique shop, but she’s nothing if not thorough. After being satisfied that Uriah’s Heap did not contain her next clue, Larissa turned around to consider where to search next.

Before she can decide to go into another store, she sees Enid. Actually, she sees multiple Nevermore students. It’s a beautiful day, and many students want to make the most of their time before classes officially begin. Curiously, though, all of the other students are with Nevermore peers, and here is Enid with the mayor’s son. Larissa wouldn’t have pegged them to be friends.

Attempting to take control of the situation, Larissa came straight up to them. “Enid? Young Mr. Walker?”

“Principal Weems! Wow. Hi!”

For a brief moment, Larissa considered if running into them was a red herring. There was always a possibility that at a boarding school, the person sending her gifts and love notes could be a student with a harmless crush. Could Enid be the admirer? Larissa had always considered Enid to be like a daughter or menteé. She had felt protective of her, especially when Enid’s own mother made some questionable choices at the last parents’ weekend. Larissa pushed the thought to the furthest recesses of her mind; the person from those letters had a connection with her that no one else compared to. Well, almost no one else.

“What are you-” Larissa began but was cut off by Enid’s excited voice. “You should try to find the building with the most stories!”

“I assume this is the next clue?” Larissa stood in the familiar pose she often used to command attention. Combined with her height and immaculate dress, it simply wasn’t hard. “Enid, I’m terribly busy with finalizing spring semester contracts, schedules, and arrangements. I need to know who has enlisted your help. I know you know more than you are letting on.”

In an effort to be defiant, Enid asked, “What do you mean, Principal Weems? What help?” Her face gave her away, though. Her lips were pressed together firmly, as if she was attempting to hold back a grin.

Larissa considered escalating, but before she could, the young girl interrupted again with a determined look, “Remember, find the building with the most stories.” With that, she grabbed Lucas’s wrist and skipped off, pulling him behind her. All Larissa heard was next was a distant, “Byeeeeee, Principal Weems!”

Larissa is a bit surprised Enid could hold out, but the young werewolf’s evasiveness helped in that regard. Sitting underneath her gaze made Enid uncomfortable. Larissa remembers a time when she pressed the girl on Wednesday’s whereabouts the night Crackstone’s crypt flooded and the water was dyed red. Enid promptly confessed after Larissa put on a semi-firm voice and a stern look of disappointment.

Back to this never ending task of uncovering the identity of her secret admirer, Larissa thought. Bars have quite a lot of stories… The only bar in Jericho is the Rabbit’s Foot Tavern, and the only tales it holds are repetitive small town musings and desires to leave the town behind.

Though it seems like a long shot, it’s her only lead. As Larissa headed in the direction of the bar, she began to pass the bookstore. She only made it two more feet before she stopped in her tracks. There are thousands of stories there!

Feeling pleased with herself, she steps inside only to be met with a tired clerk that is paid too little to care about town shenanigans. The worker behind the counter gives Larissa a sticky note with specific numbers from the Dewey Decimal System. He doesn’t even look up from his phone. Larissa blinks slowly and gestures appreciatively before she heads to the 700s, somewhere in Arts & Recreation.

The “book” that she finds at the detailed location is actually a mix CD on the shelf disguised as a musicology textbook. Torn between feeling excited to have a new playlist and determined the find the next clue, Larissa pushes herself to continue and try to examine the cover, rather than only appreciating it. The track listing is unlike the previous CDs, so she begins to break down what she assumes is a code. Finally, Larissa cracks it: “Make a wish, but don’t take a drink.”

—

Once you watch Larissa disappear inside the bookstore, you leap into action. Hopefully you’ll have enough time to sit out all the lilies before she figures out the next clue. Thankfully, Enid offers to help (and makes Lucas assist). Even James briskly walks over with an armful of lilies. You appreciate the kind gestures and make a mental note to send everyone thank you after this is all over. You’re not sure how long it takes, but your calves and lower back ache from the manual labor. You all successfully sit out hundreds of lilies planted in recycled Weathervane cups. Thank goodness the new barista, Emily, was on board to save as many used paper cups as she could throughout her shifts over the week.

When Larissa makes her way to the town square fountain from the bookstore, you are safely back inside the Weathervane, becoming more and more anxious as you realize she is so close to finding out you’re completely smitten with her and have been keeping it from her. However, she stands at the fountain, unmoving, for much longer than anticipated.

Larissa did not expect this—the humble lily of the valley, her favorite flower. She had never been gifted them. When she was younger and pining after Morticia, Larissa remembered getting the other woman an entire slew of flowers. Dark, moody flowers. Orchids. Carnivorous plants. Anything she thought Morticia would like. In return, when Morticia asked about Larissa’s favorite flower, she ended up giving her lilies. Larissa thought lilies were beautiful, but she had always adored lily of the valley. It hurt that Morticia did not care enough to get her the correct flowers, because it symbolized so much more when it came to their relationship.

The lily of the valley is always overlooked, considered modest and unimposing. Of all people Larissa thought Morticia would appreciate that every single aspect of the flower is poisonous. Now Larissa is at a loss for who arranged this scavenger hunt, because she hasn’t told a soul about what this flower means to her in years. Before she can intervene, tears begin to fall from Larissa’s eyes, staining her face. Sitting on the edge of the fountain, surrounded by hundreds of lily of the valley, Larissa takes a few minutes to appreciate the flowers, almost as if she is mending her relationship to them.

After awhile, Larissa stands, smooths out the creases in the front of her clothes and takes a deep, filling breath in. As she can infer from the cups, the next stop is the Weathervane.

At the Weathervane, Larissa takes notice that it is unusually empty for a Saturday. She strolls around the counter and then the seating areas, examining the area for any clues. Her eyes glance quite a bit to the booth she normally shares with you. Nothing seems to be out of the ordinary except for the much smaller amount of people she would expect.

When Larissa internally questions if this is the wrong destination, the barista calls out “Larissa” and sits a mug in the “pick-up” area before going back to make the rest of the drinks in the queue. Scrawled on the cup are the words “sit where you are most comfortable.” That doesn’t seem like much of a clue, she surmises incredulously.

The task at hand proves to be more difficult than expected. Larissa looks to her regular booth, the one you two often shared. Is that where I am most comfortable? She wants to face the door, to surveil the inside of the café for any changes. However, she normally lets you sit in that direction; Larissa liked to have her focus on you instead of the bustling environment. Longing for that familiarity wins out, and Larissa takes a seat facing the back of the Weathervane.

No more clues. You knew that was the last one. Once Larissa sits in her usual spot, you phase through the back wall near the bulletin board. Astonished, the taller woman steps up and out of the seat with a slight gasp.

Before preparing to explain the past several months and your previously concealed ability, you proclaim, in what you hope is the most impressive way possible, “I’m sure you have a lot of questions, but you owe me a hot chocolate date.”

You slide into the booth opposite to Larissa, waiting for her to sit back down.

—

Tagging: @lilsmeaux, @suckerforcate, @rickistheman, @tundra1029, @aster-loves-gwen, @justcallmelittleone, @poorwritingandstalecoffee, @lvinhs, @one-pining-queer, @kimiinou, @bobia13, @gwendolinechristieiscute, @kay-liah-scope, @readingtheentrails, @a-queen-and-her-throne, @weemssapphic, @ctrlamira, @im-a-carnivorous-plant, @winterfireblond, @gwendolinechristiesnumberonegirl. Let me know if you'd like to be tagged or have your tag taken off future posts. :)

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songs-of-the-east · 1 year ago

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whinlatter · 7 months ago

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For the WIP game 'door'

Can't wait for chapter 13! ❤️

door, you say....

thank you sm @starlingflight! here’s door:

Number three is an elegant, well-kept house, white paint and pale grey brick. Little lavender trees line the steps to the front door. She pokes around on the covered doorstep for somewhere to tuck the present, knocking over a plant pot in the process, hastily trying to wipe scattered soil off the gift-bag. She’s just about to put the card through the letterbox when suddenly the door opens. A woman stands in the doorway. She must be in her early fifties: she’s got a serious face, greying bushy hair held back by reading glasses and a cardigan hung around her shoulders. She takes in Ginny’s muddy hands, old boots, grubby backpack. ‘Hello,’ she says. ‘Can I help you?’

#🚨 new cameo alert 🚨#beasts #spoilers #WIP game #yes these reaction pix are election themed what of it

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olderthannetfic · 2 years ago

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I thought it would be interesting to look at ravelry stats. I was surprised at how many patterns are apparently designed for acrylic, but when I restricted my search to “knitting” (as opposed to crochet, machine knitting, etc.) and sweaters (cardigans, pullovers, etc.), the patterns looked much more familiar.

I grouped the fibers by broad type. Silk is sometimes just included in “animal”, but it isn’t hair and is really its own category, while the other animal fibers are all much more similar to each other.

Then I have regular plant fibers, rayons and their relatives, which use plants as raw materials but involve a lot more chemical processing than something like cotton, synthetics, and the ever-mysterious “other”.

Maybe it’s possum. I saw a possum blend from NZ the other day at the store.

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vivianprior · 16 days ago

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Walking through the picturesque streets of Cardinal Hill, you find Vivian Prior, the 27 year old florist & writer originally from Cardinal Hill, WA. Living alongside them in such a small town, you know that they're friendly and emotional, but what you might not know is that they are a witch, and that they’re hiding something… ― Saoirse Ronan, bisexual, woman, and she/her.

Trigger warning for death and physical injury.

Name: Vivian Lou Prior

Age: 27

Birthday: April 1st

Gender: Woman

Pronouns: She/Her

Sexuality: Bisexual

Occupation: Florist & Writer

Hometown: Cardinal Hill, Washington

Appearance:

Vivian possesses a quiet, earthy beauty. Her dirty blonde hair, often tied back in a loose bun or tucked behind her ears, frames a face marked by both strength and softness. Standing at 5'6", she has pale skin and blue eyes that convey a deep, introspective nature. Often found in cozy, worn-in clothing like flannel shirts and cardigans, she dresses for comfort rather than style, though she still carries a sense of effortless grace. Her arms, often covered by long sleeves, bear faint scars from a traumatic incident, a reminder of the physical and emotional scars she carries.

Personality:

Vivian is kind-hearted, sensitive, and introspective. While she’s friendly and approachable, she tends to keep her deeper emotions private, sharing them only with those she trusts - if at all. She has a natural ability to read others and offer support, but she often hides her own pain behind a warm smile. Her creativity runs deep, and she’s always thinking up new stories, reflecting her emotional sensitivity. She’s a natural nurturer, and this trait is reflected in her work at the florist, where she finds peace tending to flowers and plants.

Vivian has a quiet strength, but also a vulnerability that she sometimes keeps hidden. She’s fiercely loyal to her family, especially her sisters, and values the stability they provide. However, her emotional depth and creativity sometimes leave her feeling out of sync with the world around her.

As a witch, her abilities are tied to her emotions. They've always been directly connected to how she feels, which has never worked in her favour. Vivian's magic is explosive, coming out unwillingly at times of excitement or anger, and almost always failing her in times of fear or sadness.

Background:

Vivian grew up in Cardinal Hill, WA, in a large family of six sisters. Her father passed away when she was young, a loss that profoundly affected her. To cope, Vivian retreated into her imagination, creating stories as a way to process the grief. This early love for storytelling led her to a career in literature. She left Cardinal Hill to study literature, with the dream of becoming a professor.

During this time, Vivian entered a serious relationship with Clifford Prentis, a man she thought she would build a life with. To the outside world, they were the perfect couple, something her sisters often heard about via phone or letter.

Everything changed mid-1990. The story goes: Vivian was involved in a severe car accident. She broke both arms and sustained other injuries, forcing her to drop out of school and return to Cardinal Hill to recover. After months of healing, she decided not to return to her studies, opting instead for a quieter life working at the local florist and pursuing her dream of writing a book. The entire story is one she avoids speaking of.

Relationships:

Family: Vivian is closest to her sisters. As the second-oldest, she often feels a protective instinct toward her younger siblings, though she doesn’t always share her personal struggles with them. Her sisters all play a significant role in her life, she's always felt nothing but belonging and trust in them.

Clifford Prentis: Clifford was Vivian’s serious partner during her time away from Cardinal Hill. Their relationship was often regarded as picture perfect. After the car accident, their relationship was no longer; she cries at the topic, and doesn't speak of it with anyone, promising more details when she's come to terms with it.

Wanted Connections:

Friends from college

Witch mentor

Neighbors

Co-workers

Fellow creatives (especially writers)

Exes from Cardinal Hill

Ex friends

Childhood best friends

Crush

Goals & Motivations:

Vivian’s primary goal is to finish writing her book, a project she’s poured her heart and soul into during her recovery. She is still processing the loss of her academic career and the life she had planned, but she’s slowly learning to find fulfilment in the slower pace of life that comes with living in Cardinal Hill. Though she tells others that she’s enjoying the freedom her new life brings, deep down she struggles with certain pieces of her past and her present.

Vivian also seeks a deeper understanding of herself and her magical abilities. She hates their tie in with her emotions, as it makes her feel defenceless in times of trouble, something she has experience with due to her past. She's trying to gain more control over her powers, afraid that she'll need it in the future.

Likes & Hobbies:

Writing: Vivian has always loved writing, whether it’s short stories, poetry, or even journaling. Writing allows her to process her emotions and experiences in a way that feels deeply personal. She dreams of finishing her novel, and it’s become her primary outlet of expression as she recovers from her accident.

Floral Arranging: Working at the local florist shop is more than just a job for Vivian - it’s a therapeutic and creative escape. She finds joy in arranging flowers, experimenting with different combinations of colors and textures, and watching her creations bloom. The tactile nature of working with plants helps her center her mind, especially when life feels chaotic.

Reading: Growing up, books were her escape. Vivian loves to read, particularly classic literature, mystery novels, and books about the supernatural. She often finds herself drawn to stories of strong, complex female characters, which influence her own writing.

Nature walks: She finds peace in nature, often going on long walks through the woods or along nearby trails. These walks are her time to clear her head and think through her writing or personal dilemmas. It’s not uncommon for her to bring back flowers, leaves, or other plants to incorporate into her floral arrangements or just to admire.

Music: While Vivian loves the old classics, she has a soft spot for alternative rock and grunge music. Bands of those genres are often playing in the background as she works. Music serves as a backdrop to her thoughts, providing both energy and a sense of melancholy.

Cooking & Baking: She enjoys making simple, hearty meals for herself and her family. Baking is a particular favorite, as she loves the process of making pies, cookies, and cakes from scratch. It’s a way for her to nurture others and create something tangible with her hands, much like her work with plants. She's not the best, but certainly not the worst.

Cinema: Vivian is an old soul when it comes to movies. She enjoys watching classic films from the 1940s and 50s, often feeling drawn to the simplicity and nostalgia they evoke. Audrey Hepburn and Katharine Hepburn are among her favorite actresses, and she finds inspiration in their strength and independence.

#cardinalintro

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