did contest entry! needed to chill today and get my mind off of things, and drawing helped<3 my drawing is on the right, and my friend morie is on the left<3
plus here is a close up of the lil goober in the corner
you know that Anne Carson thing “where do I put it down” well that’s how I feel about mental illness. Where do I put it, what do I do with it, nothing I try to do with it helps and it’s just there staring back at me
Flowey goes long periods of time without much going on.
It's boring.
Frisk comes by, of course. Usually on the weekends, or at least that's what they say, and they ask him how he's doing, if he's comfortable, if he's happy. They never ask him to come up to the surface. They know he doesn't want to, and he's not as stubborn as them, but it comes pretty close.
They ask him if he wants or needs anything. They offer to bring him books, ones he hasn't read every line of a million times. The surface has an endless supply of books.
He's not interested.
Being the only one left in the dark is his penance, and someone needs to take care of the flowers. It seems a little silly to ask for comforts.
Papyrus does try to get him to come to the surface. He pesters and prods and manipulates, and Flowey is actually kind of… proud? Because Papyrus is getting really good at it. He didn't teach him the art of lies and influences this timeline, but it feels nice to see him using those underused talents.
They still don't work on Flowey.
Papyrus brings puzzles and games with him, then mostly does them himself. Sometimes he does them wrong to get Flowey worked up and eager to help him with the solution, and sometimes that works.
Mostly, Papyrus leaves disappointed. He's been coming by less and less.
And that's about it for company. A moldsmal who got lost by mistake. A whimsun who got lost on purpose. Neither sticks around, and the rest of the time Flowey is just alone.
He gets used to it. It's almost easy to blend in with the other flowers and pretend he's a part of them.
Then, one day, he isn't alone. He senses a presence, and he doesn't try to hide because no one comes here. No one visits but the people who already know that they will find him.
But it isn't Frisk. And it isn't Papyrus. And Flowey is silent and watches from the thicket.
It's… it's mom. His mom.
He doesn't know why she's here but he fears the worst, the worst being that Frisk finally told, and they lock eyes for a second before Flowey dives into the dirt below and stays there until she leaves.
He heard her say something to him. She sounds concerned but not the kind of concern she used to show when she knew what he was and what he did. She stays for a while. He hears her soft footsteps on the earth above him. He thinks at first that maybe she's looking for him, but she's not. She talks a bit, but only to herself, and maybe to someone who can't be there anymore.
Eventually she leaves. The weeds that had been sprouting are gone. Everything is a little thinner and a little cleaner, and Flowey is left alone again.
He doesn't wonder if he was doing a bad job of caring for the flowers. Moms are just better at these sorts of things.
The next day is quiet. The day after, she returns.
Her approach is even quieter, and he doesn't hide in time. He sees her with a pie in her hands. It's still hot, and it smells delicious. She's staring at him. He can tell just from the look in her eye that she doesn't know who he is, but there's something there he doesn't understand, too, but if he wants this nipped in the bud before she keeps coming back here, he knows he can't just hide away again. There's no reason for her to bring a pie here if not to bother him with it. He just doesn't get why.
So he asks, with a bit more of a snap and a shout than he was planning on. Ugh. All this time and he still sounds like a brat.
“I am sorry to disturb you. I merely wishes to speak with you, if that is alright?”
He looks away. “Make it quick.”
His mom approaches, slowly, then stops some feet away before the patch of plantlife behinds, sitting on the dirt floor, less like a queen and more like a mother selling in to play with her child. It doesn't matter that she's wearing denim and polyester instead of a silk tunic, just like it doesn't matter that she's sitting at a gravesite instead of a toy box. It's all way too familiar and it all hurts. Every memory that should have been warm and safe and nice just hurts instead. The love is gone but everything in him wants so badly to put it back. But he just can't. It's been raw since Frisk made him feel again. It's still not worse than when it was nothing.
He forces himself to ignore ask those thoughts and all that pain and instead he stares at her. Maybe he glares at her. Maybe he pouts. He's like that sometimes.
“I wished to say that I am sorry,” she says, and she looks sorry, too.
“What?” That can't be right.
“I hurt you, and I am sorry.”
“M- T- Lady,” he manages, “I don't know what you're talking about.”
She frowns, and focuses instead on the other flowers, tapping her thumbs against the sides of the pie tin like she always did before everything. “About 8 months ago, my child fell here, into the Underground. I saw you attempting to harm them, and I lashed out and attacked you. I wish to apologize, and I brought you this pie, though I do not know if you can eat it. If you cannot, I can bring back a more suitable token… or I can leave you alone. If that is what you wish.”
“I don't understand…” Flowey is tempted to come closer, but he doesn't dare. “I was attacking them. You saved them. I was gonna kill them.”
She doesn't like that. He can tell she doesn't like that. But sometimes you have to tell people the hard truth. She closes her eyes, swallows, and mediates on that information for a moment before speaking, colder now, quieter but still clear and loud compared to the Underground’s silence. “It does not matter what you planned to do. Only what I chose to do in response. I would do anything for my children, and I would kill you without hesitation if I knew that was the only choice to save them. And I would not be sorry about that.”
Flowey doesn't say anything.
“Regardless, Frisk has taught me that there are many choices. Many ways to resolve conflict.” She looks up at the traces of sky barely visible from down at their level. “Really… they did not teach me that. They reminded me, when I had forgotten. It was my son who taught me that.”
Flowey can't say anything.
“I attacked you. I did not check on you. I did not care. And that callousness is what I wish to make amends for, if you wish it.”
“i… I don't want you to do anything! That's nothing! I've done way worse than-- I… I don't care that you did that. I deserved it. You don't have to apologize. Just go home and be with your family. You shouldn't be down here.”
“I came here for my family,” she says simply, and for a moment, Flowey nearly cries, like a baby, before realizing who she means and feeling himself slump. She was here to visit them… not him. As far as she knows, he could never be family, and that's just how it has to be. “but then I saw you,” she says, “and you looked so lonesome here, and I couldn't help but think of you all day, and all night, and all the next… before I decided to come here and speak with you. I do not wish anything of you, but I… I did not want to leave you here alone without saying something.”
What is there for Flowey to even say? He wishes he could understand without projecting all his old hopes and dreams into this. She just feels bad for hurting some random monster.
She isn't here for him. Not really.
“I spent a long time alone in these ruins. I do not wish to see another simply take my place, now that I have left. It is not a life you need to live.”
“If I tell you I forgive you, will you go away?” He doesn't mean to whisper. He wanted to sound tough, like he doesn't care at all.
“If that is what you wish, I will not intrude and bother you.”
“Then I forgive you.” It still sounds sad and pathetic instead of snappy and disinterested like he was going for. It just hurts too much hide. Dumb. It shouldn't hurt. It's not even the first time they've had this conversation. Not this one exactly, but it may as well have been. The only difference is the fresh reminder of what love feels like. And that's going to fade soon. Eventually. And he'll be alone again, whether anyone is here, or not. “I forgive you so just go.”
She nods, and begins to get up.
“But leave the pie!” He shouts without planning to, and adds, without wanting to, “And if you wanna come back again. To garden. I'm not gonna stop you.”
She smiles and sets down the pie. “Of course, my child,” and she doesn't even seem to notice the slip.
But he does, and it hurts. It hurts so, so much. But he holds it together and doesn't cry. It doesn't count as crying if you're quiet about it. “But don't come back too often because you'll overwater them! Like y-you did yesterday!”
It's a flimsy excuse and there is no way she doesn't know it, but she smiles and apologizes for the error, and he forgives her again, and then soon after, she's gone.
