Chapter Text
When she stepped through the portal to Alfea, Bloom could taste the magic in the air. Her first inhale surged it through her lungs. It’s a little like a drug, how immediately happy and right it made her feel. In that moment, she didn’t know what she was getting into, knew she had no fucking clue what she was getting into, and deigned to roll with it anyway.
Finally, there’s a place she belongs to.
That’s what she thought for several, days long, heavenly moments. It lasts through Stella flubbing her into school, it lasts through meeting her dorm mates, it lasts through the cultural differences that spawn naturally from being from different planets, and it all comes crashing down during her first class the moment some fairy starts talking shit about her planet. Because she’s from Earth, which isn’t a dead planet, but it’s not a living one either.
There’s life, but no magic. A backwater, an anomaly, a place mentioned rarely and with scrunched noses and amused sneers. At least her friends are supportive. At least she has friends.
The warmth that gives her is entirely different from the fire magic flowing through her veins. She likes it more, too.
So, Bloom doesn’t really belong. Except inside the safety of her dorm where she feels like she does. That’s better than what she had before, even if her parents love her to itty bitty pieces.
It’s never been more apparent that she doesn’t belong until this one moment. She’s staring into blue eyes, three shades lighter than her own and full of malice. Also, she’s pinned to a wall by a hand against her sternum and huge shards of ice that grow around her limbs.
It should have been more uncomfortable than it is. The lack of mobility sucks. The temperature doesn’t, because, again, she has fire magic flowing through her veins.
Her name is Icy. She’s a witch, and she’s flanked by two other girls, tall and lithe and clad in dark, beautiful colors. All of them are witches, judging by the dress code. A different culture entirely, according to what she could suss out from Stella’s spitting words. One she doesn’t belong to, not that she really belongs to fairy culture, anyway. Not yet.
“Well, well,” Icy says, and it’s more like a purr. She drags her fingernail down Bloom’s stomach, and Bloom has to suppress a shiver. Bloom narrows her eyes at narrowed eyes. “Look what I caught, girls.” Stormy (she’s pretty sure that’s her name) lets out a snort. “An adorably helpless little fairy-”
“You think I’m cute?” Bloom says before she can stop herself. She should definitely be worrying more about her physical safety, but she’s already, uh, iced to a wall, and it’s either focus on that, the touching, or the words. She’s choosing the words, because the ice is uncomfortable, and the touching is too comfortable. Maybe it’s a witch culture thing.
Icy’s next words die in her mouth. It lasts just one second before she starts pulling herself together, but it’s enough. Darcy (she’s also pretty sure that’s her name) raises an eyebrow. Stormy eyes go wide, then she clutches her stomach and starts to laugh. Hard. Hard enough that Icy whirls towards her, snarling. It also means that her hand leaves Bloom’s stomach, so Bloom focuses harder on the words.
“Be quiet!” Icy orders, and it doesn’t do anything at all. Stormy keeps laughing until Icy waves her hand and splats Stormy’s mouth shut with a wad of ice. Bloom winces a little in sympathy. “We have more important things to focus on here.”
“You didn’t answer the question,” Darcy points out, measured, taking care to smirk only a little bit. “Well, I guess you did, before our adorably helpless little fairy even asked-” She steps to the side and an icicle the size of Bloom’s leg impales itself into a wall behind Darcy. Witch culture is wild.
The temperature surrounding Icy is absolutely frigid. Bloom is a fire fairy. She’s cool with it. “I think you’re cute too,” Bloom says with a smile, and Icy visibly twitches.
Stormy, who was busy tearing the ice off her lips, actually stops mid movement. Then she finishes freeing herself and starts cackling. Like, a full on witch cackle. It’s kind of fascinating that that trope has a basis in reality. The next time Bloom goes home, she’s going to need to brush up on her witch media.
“C-cute!” Stormy somehow turns a howl into a wheeze, which is impressive, really. Too focused on cackling, less on breathing. She raises her hand and points at Icy. “She thinks you’re cute!”
To be fair, the flush forming on Icy’s cheeks and ears and neck is really, really cute. Icy lets out a shriek, and sends out a mini blizzard that has Stormy yelping and sprinting away. It follows her, smacking her with little bolts of hail.
“I am not cute,” Icy hisses, low, snake-like. She gives Darcy a challenging glare, who shrugs out a surrender. Icy’s cold stare slides back to Bloom. “I’m one of the most powerful witches of my generation, and witches are not cute. And if you know what’s good for you,” Icy says, leaning in closer to Bloom. Close enough that Bloom can feel her cold breath brush against her face. “You’ll keep your mouth shut from now on, pixie.”
“Are pixies and fairies the same thing?” Bloom asks, and Icy pauses, once again thrown off kilter.
“What?” Icy says, because it looks like she’s not sure what else to say.
“I’m new here. I don’t actually know.”
“Yes,” Darcy says. Bloom manages to tear her eyes away from Icy to look at her, and decides she doesn’t believe it. Darcy is still taking measures to smirk only a little bit.
“Can we get back on track,” Icy says, completely deadpan. In the background, Stormy finally stops running and dissolves her chasing blizzard with a mini tornado. That’s cool.
“Oh, right,” Bloom says, shifting as much as she can for a slightly more comfortable position. She smiles, and maybe it’s a little shy, but she’s still getting the hang of this witch culture thing. “Okay, continue.” And Icy doesn’t seem to know what to say. It must be her turn then.
“I think you’re pretty, too. But that’s kind of obvious, right?”
Icy’s mouth bobs open and closed like a fish. Faintly, she hears the sound of Stormy starting to laugh again. Darcy starts chewing on her lower lip.
“You know what,” Icy says, throwing both of her hands up into the air. “I’m done.” She starts to stomp away. “Have fun with her, girls. I have better things to do than waste my time with a fool.”
Bloom watches her go, frowning. She definitely needs to learn more about witch culture. Maybe she came on too strong? Which really makes no sense, because Icy’s the one that pinned her to a wall and started touching her all over. That’s definitely the strongest anyone has ever come on to her (and, honestly, one of the only times someone has come onto her. It’s kind of flattering, but she’s going to need to talk to Icy about boundaries).
She turns back to Darcy, who is A - still here and B - not laughing so hard she’s dying, probably.
“Could you help me get out of this?” Bloom asks hopefully. Darcy starts smirking a lot now, and she eyes Bloom up and down slowly and deliberately.
“No,” Darcy says. This time, Bloom does believe her, especially because Darcy walks away in graceful steps, heading towards where Icy disappeared to. Bloom turns to Stormy just in time to watch her stop hacking out her coughs, drag herself to her feet, and follow after the other two. The last of her hope dies with Stormy's footsteps. The ice is really uncomfortable. Bloom frowns.
Witch culture is really weird.