Archive of Our Own ^beta

Basil subconsciously attached memories to their belongings–their plants were no exception. their sunflowers were unanimously named “seedlings” after Kel kept referring to them as such when the two would cook the flowers’ seeds. they taught Hero about natural remedies, making it a point to give him a few plants to experiment with. Aubrey and Sunny would host craft nights, and Basil brought petals and leaves to be dried out and used in various crafts. multiple memories would attach to each plant, blooming and wilting with the petals when necessary. they still thought of Mari every time they saw a lily of the valley, but no heavy memories were tied to any of Basil’s plants. either that, or the memories have been dormant when Basil ran out of a certain plant. an amalgamation of (mostly) fond memories would resurface when Basil would obtain more seeds of previously-grown plants.

a flower won’t bloom in poor conditions, and memories won’t resurface when left buried. naturally, when Basil stumbled upon a slightly-damaged pouch of purple dahlias tucked away in the depths of their cabinets, memories associated with the flower came rushing back to them.

the rusty tinge of blood and cold, harsh winter winds enveloped Basil as a dreadful sense of helplessness weakened them. the acidic taste of bile welled up in the back of their throat– was that real, or a part of their memory? they couldn’t tell, and chose to close their eyes, attempting to ignore the unpleasant past.

they focused on steadying their breath, but a few memories pierced through their mental barricade as they regained their calm. their mind replays the time they walked along the main streets of Faraway Town, ignoring the strangers offering them a ride. they were freezing, frail, and miserable, yet they pushed away any hands offering support– or even a hand to help pull them up from their self-dug hole of hell. they see themself sitting on their bedroom floor, eyeing the box of sharps that sat tucked beneath their dresser with teary eyes, contemplating if they should stay strong or have a moment of temporary peace. they momentarily relived the toxically false happiness they used for motivation to continue torturing their body, pushing themself to every limit they never knew they had.

a voice from deep inside Basil’s mind spoke out, beckoning them to return to their “roots”– in other words, their cycle of “dignified” self-abuse. instead of listening any longer, Basil opened their eyes, and started towards the bin in their greenhouse, but ultimately ended up at their work-table. burying seeds in the dark again would only lead to a more sinister version of the memories resurfacing upon crossing paths with them again. after jotting down a quick note, Basil pinned the pouch of seeds and note on their cork-board, smiling to themself.

“ purple dahlia // plant on 10/1/XX “
“ to commemorate a year of moving forwards “