#working on the Nezzer petunia one next

[rumor-weed]

{{Omg can I request a Petunia and Vicki Drabble LMAOOOO}}

Some women just wanted to watch the world burn. Vicki would’ve settled for just one particular redhead.

Okay, maybe burn was a little… harsh. It wasn’t Petunia’s fault that things went south between her and Larry. If nothing else, she should’ve been mad at Larry. This wasn’t her Misery Business moment, or her Better Than Revenge moment for that matter.

Jealousy, however, was a very human feeling. It was also an inescapable monster who could snatch you up and consume you before you even knew you should run, and that monster dined on Vicki like she was a five course meal.

She curled her long blonde locks between her fingers, tilting her head to the side as she read over old email exchanges between her and Larry.

“Larry,” she read out loud to the empty apartment, “I’m going into town today to apply for that TV reporter job. Do you want to go get lunch together? Xoxo, Vicky.”

Then, in a cartoonishly mocking voice, Vicki answered,

“Gee Vicki, I sure would like to, but I promised someone else I’d meet them for lunch so she could interview me! Uh, I mean, interview my friend, Larry-Boy, who is super reclusive so I have to answer for him, and anyway, maybe we can meet for a movie after?”

She rolled her eyes, turning her office chair around so she was facing the wall. Newspaper articles she had written. Pictures of Larry-Boy. Pictures of Larry, if she could sneak them. An old office photo they took together at the Christmas party a year ago.

They kissed under the mistletoe. They went on dates, had serious discussions about their individual futures, and then…

Petunia Rhubarb came to town.

She snatched up that TV reporter job right from under Vicki. Told her they already found someone and sent her on. And when Vicki waited for Larry at the movie theater after the interview, she waited over an hour. She tried calling, he didn’t pick up. She paged him. Nothing. At one point she called his home phone number, one he had said was ‘only for emergencies’, but… this felt like an emergency. For all she knew, Larry could’ve been dead on the sidewalk. However, when she called, a British voice answered, “Master Larry’s residence, how may I assist you?”

A fake number. He had given her, all this time, a fake number. Or he had answered and was playing a cruel trick on her, pretending to be someone else. She hung up in tears.

When Vicki was particularly sad, she’d stop and get her favorite coffee from the Bumblyburg Bean. Just a macchiato, warm enough to comfort her, enough caffeine to keep her focused.

Looking back on that day, Vicki now wished her comfort treat had been pizza, or a burger, or an ice cream sundae, or literally anything else other than coffee. She might’ve still fooled herself into two more weeks of blissful ignorance.

Instead, she opened the doors to a rude display of PDA between Larry and a giggling, airheaded ginger girl.

“I’m so proud of my girl,” Larry was saying, pushing away some ginger curls to make room on her cheek to plant a kiss. “You nailed that interview, ‘Tunia!”

Vicki stared in shock at the blatant display of affection. Larry hadn’t even noticed her come in. She stalked over to their table and slammed her palms down flat on the surface, and Larry and Petunia jolted away from each other as if Vicki had struck lightning between them.

“Oh! Hey, Vicki! This is Petunia! I meant to introduce you to her -“

“You were supposed to meet me an hour ago,” Vicki snapped at him.

Larry’s eyebrows furrowed together in confusion, dumb brown caterpillars contemplating their desired closeness. His eyes widened behind wireframed glasses, and he gasped. “Oh! The movie! Shoot, Petunia, I told you I was forgetting -“

“So, this is your ‘girl’, huh? Isn’t she pretty? Do you kiss everyone who interviews you?” Vicki spat out the words.

Petunia looked at Vicki with wide, innocent eyes. “I’m so sorry, I’m lost. What did I do wrong?”

“Nothing, you didn’t do anything wrong,” Larry assured her. “Look, Vicki, I just made a mistake and forgot. This is my girlfriend Petunia. She’s a reporter. She just got hired like, on the spot for -“

“The TV reporter job at channel 3,” Vicki answered in a soft, disbelieving voice. “The one I was supposed to interview for today. And they said it was filled. And you’re… dating her?”

“Oh, shoot! I had no idea that was the same interview. Gee, Vicki, I’m sorry!”

Vicki felt burning rage in her heart. “So like, what is this? You’re just going to be blatant about… cheating on me with this…?”

“Cheating?” Petunia echoed, and she looked at Larry with that same confused, wide-eyed look. “You were dating someone?”

“No! We were just friends! I mean, we kissed once but that was because of the mistletoe, and you hafta kiss under mistletoe, and -“

A sob escaped Vicki’s lips, the crack of her heart’s escaping echo. She covered her mouth. “Oh my god.”

Petunia stood up from her chair. “Vicki, I’m - this is -“ she touched Vicki’s shoulder, and Vicki screamed,

“Don’t touch me! Don’t you dare even talk to me!”

Petunia recoiled. Larry stayed seated, offering a pitiful, “I’m sorry if you thought…”

He didn’t bother to finish the sentence. Vicki was already at the door.

She quit her job the next day, packed her things, and moved back home to her small town. Until now. A year later she was back in Bumblyburg, trying to figure out how to rebuild a bridge from the ashes she left behind. It was as fruitful an attempt as you’d expect.

She turned back to face her computer, opened a browser, and typed in the address for her yet unused blog.

“The Truth About Larry-Boy” was written in big letters across the website banner, but she wasn’t going to start with dessert. She had several appetizers to offer first.

She put her fingers to the keyboard and typed out her first blog post’s title:

“Secret Identities Are Not An Excuse to Be a Two-Timing Asshole.”

#working on the Nezzer petunia one next #VeggieTales #VeggieTales fanfic #Vicki cucumber #petunia rhubarb #Larry-boy #larryboy #the cartoon adventures of larryboy #VeggieTales fic #Ryan writes vt #fanfic #Drabble #humanized veggies

[sweet-sweet-petunia]

Flufftober Day 11

Prompt: Meet Cute

Pairing: Daphne Woodbridge and Milward Phelps (Star of Christmas/Easter Carol with a BRAND NEW PETUNIA CHARACTER MAKING HER INTERNET DEBUT)

Daphne Woodbridge was at the church to see the Star of Christmas. Every journalist for The London Post Gazette was. And as they watched the performance - the rocketing in, the very cute cucumber illuminated with electric lights on the scenery rather than the star itself - they all knew it would be all over the next day’s front page.

While many of her colleagues seemed to gravitate towards the angle of not even showing the star and how the pageant was still wonderful, Daphne was more interested in a certain individual. The rocket carried 5 different veggies. Reverend Gilbert and his son, Edmund, playwrights Cavis Appythart and Milward Phelps…and an asparagus who didn’t seem related to the show at all.

She hummed and hawed over it. He was sat next to Effie Pickering - was he possibly an actor? Daphne loved the theatre, and his face didn’t seem familiar. He was an asparagus - perhaps a relative of the pastor and his family?

As the masses filed out after mass, Daphne unfortunately lost the man in the crowd. But who might possibly know more? The rhubarb scanned the crowd…no sign of the reverend or his family…but…was that old man Nezzer? Talking to Cavis Appythart?

She waited for her chance, and then, as soon as whatever conversation they were having closed, she moved in. “Cavis Appythart? Daphne Woodbridge of the London Post Gazette.”

“Oh.” The tomato winced. “Hi.”

“Can I ask you who that fifth person who flew into the theatre was?” She asked.

“There were only four of us.” Cavis replied, confused.

Daphne shook her head “the third asparagus-“

“There were only two.” Cavis spoke assuredly “Edmund and the Reverend.”

“Hey, Cavis,” a voice soon interrupted “Were we still gonna pop by the jail and visit Mr. Pincher?”

“In a moment, Milward.” Cavis shook his head. “As I was saying, there were only the four of us on that carriage-“

“Until we went through the bank!” Milward interrupted, eyes wide with excitement “Then we picked up a hitchhiker! Boy, THAT was crazy-“

“A hitchhiker?” Daphne questioned, the fire in the search for her lead reignited.

“Yeah, we picked him up inside the bank, seemed like his shift was done anyway, but…” Milward trailed off, before suddenly becoming a lot more…bashful. “Uh, sorry, who are you? I don’t think we’ve met.”

“Daphne Woodbridge.” She introduced. “Of the London Post Gazette.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Woodbridge,” the cucumber smiled sheepishly. “I’m-“

“Milward Phelps!” She exclaimed excitedly. “I’m a huge fan of your work. Your composition for turtle wax was inspired.” She gushed.

“Why thank you!” He smiled proudly.

“We wrote that together-“ Cavis tried to interject.

He went unheard. “Mr. Phelps, would I be able to schedule an interview? Find out more about the rogue hitchhiker at the bank?”

“Sure!” He beamed. “I’m free all the time, since our shows cancelled due to the theatre burning down and…I’m not free,” he sighed. “Since I’ll be working for Uncle Nezzer to pay it off. The only time I’d be available would be well after dinner, and I don’t think your husband would think kindly of you meeting up with another man at that hour.”

“I don’t have a husband.” She giggled. “So that won’t be an issue.”

“Your boyfriend, then.” Milward corrected.

“Don’t have one of those at the moment either.” She batted her eyelashes. “So I can meet you when you’re free. F-for an interview, of course!”

Milward’s face lit up far more than it should have to be accepting an interview. “Yes! I look forward to it! Say tomorrow outside Nezzer’s factory?”

“Sounds perfect!” She, too, was looking forward to this more than a usual interview, but didn’t dare say that out loud. She wouldn’t want to jinx anything.

#otp: more beautiful #flufftober #Milward Phelps #Daphne Woodbridge #star of Christmas #larry the cucumber #petunia rhubarb