If I'm Posting I'm Procrastinating

I started this for the nostalgia and then never left ✌️Just a bunch of ppg fan blog shit posting but sometimes I write. plz read my tags I put more info in them than the actual posts half the time 😅 any replies come from my main! I was born in ‘96!

[aclosetfan]

ABOUT ME

Click the link above to learn more about me

MASTER FIC LIST

Click the link above to be directed to my various long fics, one-shots, drabbles, and story outlines! (this hasn't been updated in ages)

ship stuff (mostly for my ref)

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PROMPT GAME DIRECTORY:

1) Reassurance Prompts (3-5 sentence prompts as a thank you for following!) REQUESTS CLOSED

navigation: (1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (7) (8) (9) (10) (11) (12; part 1 of 2) (13; part 2 of 2) (14)

2) Hug prompts (ranging from 500 words to whole stories lmao) REQUESTS CLOSED

navigation: (1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6--part II to 5) (7) (8) (9)

3) Shake things up (500 words+)REQUESTS CLOSED

navigation: (x) (x) (x) (x) (x) (x) (x) (x) (x)

4) random ones that could be duplicates b/c I can't remember which game they belong to lolol

navigation: (x) (x) (x) (x)

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****Warning: I block blank blogs and bots!****

I’m srs I block like immediately

****girlies if you ship ace and buttercup together just move the fuck on****

***im also the one person that doesn’t ship the reds together**

On Semi Hiatus (if that's a thing) (I can't do anything for real serious I forgot how to write stuff lol)

[aclosetfan]

Hi! I’ve been re-reading your fics lately and just wanted to tell you that your characterization of everyone is still my favorite. You bring a sort of loser vibe to the characters that gets so often forgotten (usually in response to much darker plots so fair enough but that’s neither here nor there) and I just really love reading about six super-powered, kickass people who are also just mega losers. From ABC to Fake Dating AU to Parasomnia to the little snippets of Acting Normal they’re all so so nice to go back to.

All that to say I know you’ve mentioned the headspace you were in for some of your writing wasn’t the best and as much as I love those stories, I hope you’re in a better place now. Just thought you should know your writing is still missed but obviously it comes second to how well you are. Which I hope you are. Thank you for still keeping them up to be re-read and I really hope we get to read more from you in the future 💕

I've sat on this for a day or two because it was just so sweet, and I didn't know how to reply. Thank you! It makes me so happy to know someone out there is still enjoying my fics and drabbles.

Comparatively, I'm in a much better place mentally, physically, and ambitiously :) (despite everything that continues to happen in the broader world around me). It has taken me a bit, but I'm starting to figure out what I need to make it along through all of life's ups and downs.

This fandom still means the world to me, not so much for the fics and fan art (though those are amazing still, too, lol), but for the people I got to meet and talk to. I look back on all my memories here as one of the highlights of a few really difficult years for me.

I think about writing again often, but when I sit down to write, nothing comes of it. Still, I also hope you'll have more to read from me one day. Until then, thanks for walking down memory lane with me, friend! :)

Stay safe out there, everyone! Times are tough right now for a lot of people, so just know I'm giving you all platonic kisses on your forehead and wishing you the best!!

[aclosetfan]

PLEASE CAN YOU PUT YOUR GREENS FF ON A03, I REALLY WANT TO READ THEM BUT ITS SO HARD TO ON HERE 🙏

IF YOU DO, BEST BELIEVE ILL BE YOUR BIGGEST SUPPORTED 🙏🙏🙏

Aw, that's super sweet and I really appreciate that, but I bring certain "if i have to scroll through my bullshit, you have to scroll through my bullshit" to the function that ao3 doesn't vibe with. Tumblr's my platform for ppg fandom stuff :)

also most of my drabbles on tumblr are my only copies because i wrote them on the tumbr's platform because I love making my life more difficult, so who the heck knows what's on this blog! Not me :))

[aclosetfan]

Any greens oneshot you have in drafts i'm starving for them and i love your writing 🥹🥹

Anon, that's so sweet of you. I haven't written anything in a long time, so I don't have any drafts, but I did write this quick drabble. I don't feel like editing, so I apologize for the obvious mistakes.

It's been so long I've forgotten how I write them, so my goal was like a vibe similar to two old friends seeing each other after a long period of time, but make it enemies???? Sorry if the vibe is incorrect.

title: that awkward moment when you crash into your enemy’s apartment, lol

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From aliens to zebra-stripped mole men, Buttercup had had one hell of a week. She laid lounging in a pile of rubble she had literally been punched into, looking out across the city with detached interest. She felt only just a teensy bit dazed. It wasn’t a bad view. From her vantage point in the dilapidated, now crumbling high-rise—if she had to guess it was in one of the old Section 12 buildings—she could see her sisters in the distance, fighting the reptilian water monster without her.

She figured her sisters owed her one, so she didn’t feel too bad letting them handle the monster on their own. She had handled most of the calls this week by herself and, honestly, as sad as it sounded, being swatted down like a fly was a welcome break.

Her peace was quickly interrupted by a crash at the front door of the apartment she occupied. She turned her head just in time to see Butch Jojo kick down the door. They both froze when they saw each other, blinking owlishly until she noticed the large, heavy sack hanging over his shoulder.

“Are you seriously looting a Section 12?” She frowned,

Butch shrugged, stepping into the apartment, “Guy’s gotta make money somehow.” 

“That’s low, even for you.” She rolled her eyes, turning her attention back to the fight.

“Eh,” He dropped the sack and stood over her, “you don’t look like you’re in too good a position to preach today, so maybe it’d be in your best interest to shut up.”

“Mm.” She sniffed, “just don’t try pushing your luck.”

Butch let out a low whistle, inspecting the hole in the wall, “That’s it? That’s all you got to say? No fun banter?”

She let her head lull to the side, keeping one eye on him and the other on her sisters, “Give me, like, five minutes to perk back up.”

Butch turned around, one eyebrow cocked as he stared her down. He shoved his hands in his pockets, stepping into her crater of rubble and plopping down next to her on the now broken futon. “We got you busy out there, huh?”

She didn’t entertain him with the obvious answer, but her expression must have betrayed her. He smiled and tsked, throwing his arm over the back of the couch.

She rolled her eyes again, tilting her head away from the crook of his arm. Her gaze trailed to the sack he had dropped on the floor—a familiar green sweater had spilled from its opening among other articles of clothing. She frowned, eyebrows furrowing together as she sat up and looked around the apartment complex. Despite it being sparsely decorated, it was quite obviously a young man’s home. Shot glasses lined the top of the kitchen cabinets between empty bottles of alcohol. The furniture consisted of mix matched tables, chairs, and the shitty futon she had crashed onto. A mangled TV, too large for the space, sat hanging halfway off the wall in front of them, again, destroyed when she came crashing through.

She squinted at the fridge, sitting up even straighter when she noticed a Polaroid of Butch and Boomer posing in front of a seemingly passed out Brick. With wide eyes, she turned back to Butch.

“Is that your laundry?” She pointed to the sack of ‘loot,’ then gestured to the whole of the apartment, “Is this your place?” 

He took his time, tearing his attention away from the fight, to answer her, “Huh? Oh, yeah, it is.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah, man.”

“I thought you were looting this place. Why didn’t you say anything?”

He shrugged, “I dunno. Better story?”

“Better story?” She echoed.

“Yeah,” He smiled the same shit-eating grin as before, “I liked your narrative better. I’ve got a rep to maintain, you know?”

She looked away from him then, conflicted, weighing her options before saying, “well, ya know, sorry about your wall and stuff.”

Butch sighed, “It happens . . . in Townsville, at least. I was at the laundry mat two blocks from here when I saw the news and my building on it. Rushed over, hoping it wasn’t actually mine. Don’t know what I was planning on doing, but here we are, I guess. Nice view, though—” He nodded at the hole in the wall, “—never knew.”

“Yeah, it is nice.” She nodded, turning her attention back to the view in front of them. The fight had moved away, so now all she could see was the setting sun sparkling over Townsville’s bay. They sat quietly together, watching. It felt intimate in a way, like a moment of shared understanding, but she wasn’t quite sure over what.

A crash somewhere downtown pulled her out of their shared reverie.

“Where are your brothers?” She asked, curious, looking around, absorbing the tidbits of information she could glean from his place. Apparently, they both used the same protein powder.

He smiled at her again, but kept his mouth shut.

“Alright, fair. Can’t say I didn’t try,” She huffed, flopping back down. “My sisters aren’t going to believe this. I mean, this is where you’ve been on your off days? How’d you manage to get a place?”

“I didn’t. Bruce did.”

“Bruce?”

Butch flicked the sunglasses sitting on top of his head down over his eyes before pulling a cloth mask over his mouth and crooked nose. To complete the look, he flipped his hood up. It wasn’t as suspicious as it would have seemed on paper. With his eyes hidden and not an article of green clothing in sight, he was just another seemingly COVID-conscious guy.

“Bruce,” He stuck out his hand to shake hers. “Bruce Williams, nice to meet ya.”

“Good name,” She said, mostly to herself, taking his hand in hers, “Gotta admit this whole thing feels weird. Like seeing a teacher outside of school.”

“It’s a big step,” He nodded, “meeting your enemy’s alter ego.”

She smirked, “Be careful. Milestones make me emotional.”

He let go of her hand, slowly, like he didn’t really want to. “Just wait. Soon, you’ll be on the Christmas card list.”

“HIM already sends us those.”

Butch laughed, “Then, I’ll make it extra special this year.”

She had something witty to say to that, but Blossom cut her off. In the distance, her sister let out a shout, “Buttercup!”

It wasn’t a panicky shout—one born out of dire circumstances—but there was a frazzled edge to it.  

“Well, that’s me.” She jumped up, rolling her neck and shoulders, testing her joints. Besides the exhaustion headache behind her eyes, her body was no longer screaming at her to sit down. Chemical-X had done its job once again. She probably didn’t even have a bruise.

Her steps were light as she made her way to the hole in the wall. She teetered on the edge, one foot dangling off the side of the building as she turned back to Butch.

“I guess if I come back later, you won’t be here?”

“Not much of a hideout now, is it?”

She shrugged, “It was worth a shot. You’ve got another place to stay?”

She couldn’t see his smile, but she felt it when he said, “You know, after all these years, I figured you’d learn a little tack.” 

“That question was genuine.”

He stretched his arms, resting his hands on the back of his head, “Eh, I’ve got other places to crash. Don’t worry about me.”

She let out a heavy sigh, “I seriously try not to.”

He laughed, putting a hand over his heart, “Ouch.”

“Well, see ya around, Brucie.”

“Likewise, Butters.” He saluted her.

She smiled, watching the setting sun dilute her reflection in his sunglasses, “Call me Brittany. Brittany Jones. It’s only fair.”

“Brittany? You?”

“With two Ts. Look me up sometime.” She winked before falling out the window and back into the fight. 

[aclosetfan]

Can you read my one shot on ao3 about butch and buttercup. It’s called match point let me know!

Of course :)

For all those interested, click here!

One, you're a fantastic writer :) The pacing was well-spaced, and I liked how effortlessly you intertwined the tennis game. The back-and-forth dialogue was a fun touch too! I liked that the dialogue was the "second" tennis match we were reading. (i love tropes like that).

The romance was fun and playful. I never watched Wimbledon (for everyone who hasn't read, that's the movie the fic is based on), but I imagine you did the movie real justice!

I love seeing Buttercup forced to do "uppity" events, so a tennis charity event is perfect, but it was funny picturing Butch in that environment, like, bro, these aren't your courts lmao

Anyway, it's short and super cute with good characterization. If you haven't read it, I recommend it!!

Thank you, anon for sharing your work with me!! (or, I'm assuming, sagelinga, but shhhh lol)

[aclosetfan]

“Why can’t you love me back?” for the Greens (Romantic) They absolutely need the angst in their lives. I love your work!

A long time ago, i asked people to play along with a prompt game, and I ended up combining this prompt with the one written below:

"You make me want things I can’t have.” Greens (because I couldn't help but be attracted to the angst category) @cannevasingabarbiesong

But I never finished it because it was really short and not much of a story. Anyway, today, I decided less is more. So here we are.

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"Why can't you love me back?" Butch pleaded.

"Because you make me want things I can't have." Buttercup finally choked out. "God, how do you not get that yet? I can't love you because I can't have you because I'm me, and you are you."

She said "you" like his very existence was insulting. It stung. He wished it didn't, but it did, and his face showed it.

Buttercup plowed on, "I won't choose you over my sisters, Butch. I'm sorry. I can't."

"You can't do a lot of things, can you?" He sneered, trying to resist the urge to punch her. But he had never been good with controlling his impulses.

The crack of her nose against his knuckles felt right. She fell back onto the floor, her head hitting the ground with a sharp 'thwack.' It had been a cheap surprise attack, so he didn't fault her when she lost her breath; looking up at him with wide eyes and a bloody nose like this was surprising to her. He pulled her up by a fistful of hair and smashed their lips together.

He only ripped her face away from his when he remembered he needed to breathe. Her blood was warm on his face when he smiled down at her.

"It's a good thing you don't have a choice."

[aclosetfan]

"Will you stop cooking for like ten seconds!" Brick yelled at Boomer, "We're trying to plan a heist!"

"I can't! It's literally my homework! I'm in home ec, Brick!"

"Yeah, why would you tell him to stop!" Butch argued around a mouthful of food.

"ARGH! We used to BE something! People feared us!" He shouted, pulling at his hair. "Now, Boomer's making pastries!"

"You never support my dreams!" Boomer cried, jabbing a spoonful of whipped eggs in his direction.

Blossom sighed from the other room, holding her head in her hands, "Like, I just don't understand why they always have to do this at our house."

Bubbles shook her head, looking over her homework, "I'd rather them fight here than out where we can't supervise them."

"But we're not even friends." Blossom huffed.

"Speak for yourself!" Buttercup spoke around a mouthful of food, "My boy can grill."

[aclosetfan]

Maybe 18 or 36 (hug prompts) for the greens? I always love the way you write them! 💚

Oh my gosh, you're seriously too sweet 💚💚💚 between the two prompts, I'll have to pick 36! @foxgloveglen requested that prompt previously, and I feel like it's finally time I sucked it up and committed myself to it!

Hug prompts: 36. I thought you were dead hug

Characters: Butch, Buttercup

Word Count: 2713

Content warnings: near-death experiences, body horror, slight gore, blood, demonic entities, implied major character deaths (but from the perspective of an unreliable narrator)

Basic background: Apocalypse AU where the world has ended under mysterious (HIM) circumstances (it was HIM), and now, man-eating creatures roam the streets. Through a series of unfortunate events, both the rrb and the ppg are all split up. Depending on who you ask, BC and Butch are the last known survivors of the two sets of triplets. Currently, they live in the last Townsville stronghold defending the “City” from those man-eating creatures as they wait for their siblings to make their way home. The stronghold is made up of the previous citizens, along with a few ex-villains. The tough of the tough are on night patrol (unless you’re an ex-con, then night patrol is mandatory), which is the City’s only chance at survival.

a/n: whoops i made this sad, but there's a happy (?) ending. sorry : ( this wasn’t at all what I had planned on writing but I was trying to think up a new angle for the prompt instead of the old same-old, same-old.

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"No," Butch mumbled to himself, the mantra slowly ramping up in speed as he picked his way through the debris, "no, no, no, no, please no."

The sun was bright on his back, but the air was still too crisp, and the day was still too early to truly feel its warmth. He maneuvered around on auto-pilot, combing through one pile of trash to the next, careful to avoid the shadows. As long as the sun was on his back, he would be safe enough to search for her. But when it started to get dark out? If he couldn't find her in time?

"Buttercup!" He cried out, listening for an echo of an answer, but only hearing his own voice in response, "Buttercup!"

What would he tell everyone? What would he tell Bellum?

He tried again, shouting louder, "Come on, you fucking bitch, answer!"

Butch had no idea how he'd ever find the courage to tell the Professor. Or—he thought, his heart dropping into his stomach—her sisters. Butch couldn't.

When—not if (never if)—he found them all again—his brothers, her sisters—there was no way he could look Bubbles in the eye and tell her Buttercup was gone. Just gone. Done for. Dead. Her heart would break. His heart would, too, he thought dully, if it hadn't already. He didn't know; it was at the very least breaking, but he didn't think there was much of a difference—between broken and breaking.

Was his heart really breaking—or broken—or whatever the right word was? When had Buttercup even wormed her way in there and made herself at home? When had she started to mean this much?

Butch turned on his heels, checking for the sun, then for any clouds, revealing only a crisp blue mid-morning sky, before pivoting quickly in another direction to dig through just another pile of broken concrete. Still no Buttercup. He was less precise about things now, throwing the trash to the side and chucking concrete out of the way. They—those things in the shadows—would no doubt notice that he was being too loud, but Butch couldn't find it in himself to care.

"You just had to play stupid freaking hero, didn't you!" He was not entirely hysterical, but very close to it, "I told you not to! I said it wasn't worth it! And here we are!" He stopped digging and leaned back on his heels, whipping his head side-to-side, looking, searching, using the x-ray vision he was always forgetting about for any possible clue or sign she was around.

"This wasn't my idea! You were the one who wanted to do a night run!" He continued to gripe at the Buttercup living rather contently in his imagination—the one that kept laughing at him every time he turned over the wrong rock. 'Come on, Butch,' She mocked, 'if you seriously can't find me, how will you find our family?'

"Bu—Buttercup!" He called out, cupping his hands around his mouth, ignoring the way his voice cracked its way through his ever-tightening throat. When there was again no response, he fell onto his ass and held his head in his hands. "Don't leave me alone," He muttered, trying his best to blink back the stupid, pointless tears, "I can't be alone."

But he was, wasn't he? Butch hadn't seen Boomer in 789 days. The last time he had seen Brick was precisely two days before the world had ended. According to Buttercup, Bubbles had been gone for almost just as long, and Blossom had left three months into it all. She had been following some lead regarding the whereabouts of their sister, and supposedly, the apparent start to all of this madness. That, of course, had been almost four years ago.

Buttercup had wanted to go with Blossom; Butch knew first-hand how she still cried about it. But Blossom had said someone had needed to stay back—to keep what was left of the City safe. Buttercup had always been one of the best superheroes back in the day, so Butch understood why Blossom had made her stay behind. He didn't think Buttercup knew that, though, that people—that Blossom—had considered her one of the best.

Now, Buttercup was just another martyr on the ever-growing list. So, he supposed, her never knowing didn't really matter anymore.

"Tough my ass!" He yelled at the sky, sneering instead of crying because it was the easier thing to do, "Of course, you'd die! Of course, just to specifically piss me off!"

He fell onto his back and stared up at the blinding sun. It was now near noon. He could hear the creatures—the demonic things that stalked and hunted from the shadows—skittering about watching him. They didn't go where the sun touched; nightmares did their best work when it was dark out.

For a moment, Butch did little more than bask in the sunlight, watching almost numbly as a lazy cloud trekked its way across the sky. The moment it reached the sun, he would only have two options. The first was two-part: fight and run. The second choice was death. And the second choice was far more tempting.

The sun was coming out less and less now that the days were growing shorter. Even before the creatures had begun stalking the City, Butch had always thought winter was the most brutal season to get through. He wasn't big on the cold. However, winter was now more dangerous than it ever had been before, and if he didn't get back to the stronghold soon, the gaggle of survivors that made up what remained of Townsville would be dead within the week. It wasn't like Ima could keep handling the Night Patrol units by herself, especially with Princess still in the infirmary. If both he and Buttercup died today, Bellum would have her work cut out for her—figuring this one out.

But what was the point? Really, honestly? They were all dead anyway. So, what did it matter? It wasn't like the only thing he was living for would ever happen. He already knew he'd never see his brothers alive again. It was a fool's dream to think otherwise. No one had caught wind of Boomer anywhere. His baby brother had just seemingly disappeared. And it had been so long since Butch had last seen Brick, he wasn't sure he could even remember his brother's voice outside of nightmares.

Not for the first time, grief gripped his heart and he found himself mourning. He couldn't quit his brothers no matter how hard he tried, no matter how often he tossed their things away and tried to bury the sound of their laughter in some metaphorical grave deep in the recesses of his mind. Now, Butch could only see Brick in his mind—how wide his smile got when he laughed, how freckles covered him head to toe, how fucking smart he was, and how fucking dumb Butch had been all those years ago taking it all for granted.

The last thing Butch had ever said to his older brother was to go fuck himself. They had been fighting over the grocery list—Butch had forgotten the milk.

The fucking milk.

If he had just remembered the milk then—

His throat tightened unbearably, and again, he swallowed past the sobs, squeezing his eyes shut.

'They're not dead,' the Buttercup living inside his head chided, rolling her eyes, 'Are you thick or something? How many times do I have to this clear to you?'

He gritted his teeth, grinding them together as he tried his best to ignore her. He didn't want another ghost haunting him, especially hers.

'I believe in them, Butch, I believe in my sisters more than anything else in this world,' Ghost-Buttercup continued, 'They're alive. They'll be back.'

You don't know that, he thought, you really don't.

'Blossom promised.' Her voice echoed inside his head, something the real Buttercup had told him time and time again, 'Blossom doesn't break promises.'

Promises don't mean anything, he argued back, not anymore.

'Always put your money on Blossom, Butch, trust me.'

"You're dead." He told her ghost rather bluntly out loud as the world beyond his eyelids went dark, the cloud finally devouring the light of the sun, "You're gone."

"Butch?" Buttercup asked, and his eyes snapped open, "Who's gone?"

He stared up at her, mesmerized as she knelt above him, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. It was always falling loose from her stubby little ponytail, that dumb strand of hair; he dreamt about it.

"Buttercup?" He whispered.

She quirked an eyebrow at him, tilting her head ever so slightly to the left in question, "Yeah?"

He brought a shaky hand up to the cheek of her face, cupping it and ignoring how the temperature of her skin made him shiver. Then, quickly, he propped himself up on his elbow before fully sitting up so he could cup her whole face between his hands—her wonderful, beautiful, very alive face.

"You're not dead," He continued to whisper, still stunned—she was perfect. A vision.

Buttercup smiled, revealing the slight gap in her front teeth, "It takes a bit more than a few shadow freaks to kill me."

"You're not dead." He repeated, at a loss for words before the reality of the situation settled into his heart, and he swore he could have died right then and there, happy and content. "You're not dead! You piece of shit," He laughed, removing his hands from her cold face, so he could encircle them around her neck and bring her into a bone-crushing hug, "you scared the hell out of me."

She laughed, her breath tickling his ears as she returned the hug, wrapping her arms around him, "I'm okay!"

There was an odd tickle in his stomach, and he could feel the palms of his hands start to sweat, but he attributed it to the close proximity. He could count on one hand how many times he had hugged Buttercup in his life, and each time had left him more flustered than the last.

"Yeah," He agreed, heartbeat in his ears as he squeezed tighter, holding onto her like she'd disappear if he ever let go, "I thought you were dead."

"I'm not," She hummed after a long moment.

He broke out into a grin, agreeing quickly and hoping she wouldn't notice the tears of relief slipping down his face, "You're not."

"But you are, though." She said rather matter-of-factly, "You're dead."

His eyes fluttered open as he let go of her ever-so-slightly, "What?"

"Butch!" He heard someone scream, and he snapped his head to the left, following the sound, but Buttercup pulled his face back and locked her eyes with his.

"I said," Buttercup smiled—but now that he was looking, like really looking, it wasn't Buttercup, was it? Her voice wasn't quite right, and her smile was just a little too broad—and cupped his cheek, "I'm not dead, you are."

The nervous fluttering in his gut grew tenfold as black spots started taking over his vision. Butch tried shaking them away as he looked down at his stomach, his arms dropping on their own from around her neck. He swallowed, choking slightly on thick salvia mixed with blood, as he watched an impossibly long and bulky knife-like claw lodge itself firmly into his gut. The claw twisted around inside his body until the nail finally broke all the way through him, breaking through the skin of his back. Then, slowly, the claw began to pull out. With wide eyes, his head lulled up to meet Buttercup's stare once more.

Where bright, wonderful green eyes had just been, two ink-black eye sockets stared back. The stare was emotionless, but the corners of its mouth—whatever it was—was stretched out into a wide and grotesque smile with two pus-infected industrial staples keeping the corners of the smile permanently high up its face. It was almost cartoonish in style, but vaguely, it reminded Butch of HIM, how the demon's mouth would stretch up to its eyes when it was amused (or hungry).

The nightmare in front of him brought the blood-slick elongated claw up to its mouth, and a black tongue slithered out, wrapping its way around the nail. The blood that wasn't licked off dribbled down the creature's arm, where the black of its clawed hands gave way to the blistering and white skin of its arms. The creature sucked and licked contently, and with sick fascination (because he had never seen one of these things so up close before), Butch watched.

It had no nose or ears and only small tufts of hair covered its head. And it was horrible to look at, but Butch couldn't look away. Every inch of its large, awkwardly proportioned body was covered in peeling and blistered skin like it was suffering from a 3rd degree sunburn. When it noticed him watching, its' smile grew, irritating one of the staples that kept the corner of its mouth up, and Butch watched as pus began to ooze out of the wound.

"Butch," It cooed at him, "Oh, Butch!"

"Butch!" There was another scream, "I'm coming! Just hold on! Butch!"

"Buttercup lovesss you!" It giggled, "Oh yes, I doooo!"

Even though he absolutely knew that the thing in front of him wasn't at all his Buttercup (she was dead, he could remember that now), his traitorous heart still jumped at the admission. Or maybe, he was just dying. He couldn't tell. The last time he had died, he had just blown up. This was different altogether; it was like the Chemical-X in his body was frozen, unable to heal what was broken—it was just so cold all of a sudden. Where had the sun gone?

Butch's vision became darker and darker as the world around him swam. He slouched to the side, leaning onto his elbow, and tried to find his breath, barely responding to the sticky claw that tapped sharply against his cheek.

"Buttercup lovveesss you." The creature continued to coo as it began to push its' nail into the skin of his temple, "I lovvee you!"

"Hey, asshole—" There was a voice behind them as clear as day.

Startled, the creature looked over its shoulder with a hiss as Butch struggled to keep his eyes open. The figure was a tall green blob wearing a black hat, but Butch couldn't discern anything more. He was having a hard enough time remembering where his own feet were. Whoever the figure was, they snatched up the creature in front of him, grabbing it by its head like a bowling ball and holding its face up to the sky.

"—the sun's coming out." The green figure hissed, finishing their sentence, as the cloud from before finally moved away from the sun, continuing its lazy trek across the sky. The creature in the figure's grasp flailed about for a moment before it erupted into a high-pitched scream. The blistering on its' skin increased, bubbling as if the creature was being boiled alive.

Butch collapsed into a heap on the ground, too tired to support his own weight as he watched the creature's body bubble into a final convulsion. The gut of it exploded, a black substance spraying out, but the figure didn't seem interested in that as they chucked the monster's corpse far away and dropped to their knees in front of him.

"Butch!" They gasped, "Oh—Butch! I thought you were—shit, oh no, no, you're bleeding out! I—I need to get you to the Professor!" The figure in green, who smelt of sweat, blood, and something incredibly familiar and warm, scooped him up off the ground with a strength he had never thought a human could possess.

"Just stay with me, okay?" The figure pressed their foreheads together, their voice cracking, "Don't go just yet. I've got you now, okay? I'll protect you, I promise."

He tried answering, but his tongue was like cotton in his mouth.

"You're not dead yet," The figure whispered with a mouth pressed to the crown of his head, "we're not dead yet."

[bre-meister]

So…um…. how do I formally request the Secoundary part that you definitely haven’t planned but talked about in the tags? Because I feel like I was just stabbed!

[aclosetfan]

Here's Part II!! Sorry, it took so long, I wrote this instead of studying for my FINAL final! Less horror, more cutesy lmao, which is much grosser. Idk I was excited for this, but then I actually wrote it, and I think it ended up being pretty bleh with the romance :') I got more caught up in the “story” that this would be from, than the actual scene.

If there's a hug prompt connected with the second part, it's 18, which is tight and desperate! Hopefully, it's still a semi-fun read!

Characters: Buttercup, Butch, and ssh a surprise guest-star!

Words: 4846! This 2x longer than Part I. I don't know how. It's way more dialogue I guess lol

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It was the low buzz in Butch's ears that finally woke him up. The slight electrical sound grated on him, and the more it pulled him back into the conscious world, the more he began to register the bright lights past his eyelids. He sunk into the pillows of the bed and squeezed his eyes tighter against the light. His stubborn attempt to ignore his discomfort and slip back into sleep was in vain, and he quickly lost the battle.

Slowly, Butch blinked awake. At first, the world was blurry, but eventually, shapes began to take form. He stayed stock still, trying his best to remember where he was, but for those first few moments awake, everything was utterly unfamiliar. Wherever he was, it wasn't his bedroom in Mojo's Observatory. It was too bright and sterile. A blue privacy curtain was to his right, and it matched the color of his stiff hospital-like blanket.

The unfamiliarity sent a minor panic through his heart, and for half a second, he opened his mouth to call out for his brothers. Then, quite suddenly, his brain caught up with reality. He clamped his mouth shut, teeth clicking painfully together. There was no way he could be at the Observatory. He hadn't stepped foot in lair-sweet-lair in almost four years. There was no doubt in his mind that his comfortable green comforter was a ratty mess of unused fabric now, and all the dirty plates and cups that littered his floor were molded ten times over.

And his brothers weren't with him anymore to answer his calls.

He blinked up at the bright lights above him and let out a shaky sigh. He knew exactly where he was—the Townsville Stronghold Infirmary—he just couldn't remember how he had gotten there.

Butch's eyes quickly adjusted to the intense lights above him. He relaxed against his pillows, knowing full well those lights were the source of the annoying buzzing noise, which, to him, meant he wasn't going crazy. Hospital rooms were the brightest places besides the children's care facilities in the Stronghold. They needed to be since the sick and maimed weren't the quickest on their feet. If the Stronghold was ever breached, the extra light gave some people stuck in the hospital a slim but fighting chance.

The brightness of the lights didn't bug Butch as much as they once had. He had grown accustomed to a world of burning light. The dark bred the nightmares that stalked the shadows. Bellum—their acting "mayor"—had been smart on her toes and flooded the Stronghold with light to squash the dark before it even had a chance to breathe. Still, despite his general indifference to the lights above, they managed to irritate the small headache throbbing behind his eyes.

Further irritating was being stuck in the infirmary and not knowing why.

Hardly still awake, Butch attempted to sit up, ready to hunt down the nearest nurse and demand an explanation, but the moment he tried sitting up, a gut wound he wasn't aware of, screamed in pain. He fell back into his pillows with a strangled gasp, blinking away the black dots that obscured his vision. It was as if a searing fire had ripped through his gut, and he decided as a line of cold sweat broke out on his forehead, he wouldn't need to track down a nurse to find out why he was here. He just needed the how.

Gritting his teeth, he tried sitting up again, but now, more gingerly, hyperaware of the pain in his gut. He only paused when a deadweight he hadn't noted before slipped from his left hand. He blinked and looked over, surprised for a moment that the deadweight had been a hand connected to an arm connected to a sleeping Buttercup.

His heart seized with both apprehension and relief. Buttercup was alive. But why wouldn't she be? His headache throbbed the harder he thought, trying to connect one hazy memory with the next. He only snapped out of his thoughts when Buttercup snorted in her sleep. A small, fond smile tugged at the corners of his mouth while he stared at an angry wrinkle forming on her forehead. Her lips were moving rapidly, and he tried to make sense of her sleep-talk gibberish. In whatever dream she was having, she must have been arguing about something because even in sleep, Buttercup, of course, had an opinion.

Buttercup was seated in a chair positioned close to the side of his bed. She was bent over at an uncomfortable angle, using the edge of his cot as a pillow. Butch wondered how long she had been seated there, holding his hand, as she waited for him to wake up. The very idea made him nervous in a boyish way, and with a shy hand, he reached out to tuck a strand of loose hair behind her ear, fingertips barely grazing the side of her face. Something painful—a good painful—knotted up inside of him, lodged somewhere between his throat and stomach as he watched her sleep.

For reasons beyond him, Butch knew this was a significant moment, and he tried memorizing every single detail of it: the way she breathed, the way her hair stuck to her face, and the sound of her snoring. Every small detail that shouldn't have mattered did, and he wanted to remember it all—just in case. Just in case something bad happened, and he wouldn't have the chance to again. This time, when he traced the shape of her cheek and trailed a finger down her jaw, he put weight into his actions and made sure he registered the heat beneath his fingertips. He made it all the way to her bottom lip when she began to stir, and he snatched his hand back, twisting it into the bunched-up fabric of his blanket that pooled around his waist.

Utterly entranced, Butch watched Buttercup blink awake, processing the same confusion he had gone through only moments ago.

"Morning," He croaked, throat dry and voice hoarse. Again, he wondered how long he had been out.

The sound of his voice made her jump to attention, and with wide eyes, she gasped, "Butch!"

He shot her a lopsided smile, "Hey, sleeping beauty, did you know you snore?"

His teasing was lost on her as she stood up and cupped his face with her hands, looking him over with frantic eyes. "Y-you're awake," She whispered, voice cracking only slightly, "I-I thought—" She didn't finish her sentence, practically climbing into the bed with him so she could hold him tight around the shoulders. The tighter she clung to him, the more desperate and heartbroken the hug felt. He ignored the pain searing in his gut and returned it the best he could, letting his eyes fall shut as she buried her head into his shoulder.

When she pressed closer, her knee coming dangerously close to his mid-section, he couldn't stop the cautious hiss of pain, cringing slightly from her touch. She jumped back, eyes still wide, as her hands fluttered uselessly around his waist.

"Are you okay?" She looked back up at him, not waiting for an answer as she stepped off the bed, "I'll go get a nurse!"

He reached out, gripping her wrist to stop her, "No wait, Buttercup, what—what happened?"

She faltered a bit, searching his face, "You don't remember?"

He frowned in thought, "I remember going on the night run, dawn broke, and—and I lost you. I couldn't find you, so I assumed—"

He went quiet, but it seemed that Buttercup was able to finish his thought. She sat back down on her chair next to his cot and gave him a grim look.

"We were separated in the Urgent Care parking garage downtown. There was a horde after us, so you hung left, and I went right with the medicine."

He furrowed his eyebrows as slowly the pieces started to connect, "We were supposed to meet on the corner of fifth and third. Where were you—what happened?"

"The horde followed me," She shrugged, "I couldn't shake them. By the time I did, you weren't there. I figured you had left for the Stronghold," Her eyes narrowed, "like you were supposed to, but I found you surrounded three streets over. Butch, what happened? Why didn't you fly off? You were—" She gave him an odd look with a shake in her voice, "—you were just sitting there." She looked past him, her eyes clouding over, "I watched that thing put a claw straight through you like you were butter—just in and out, and you didn't—you just—" She shook her head, blinking a few times before she fixed him with a stare, "What did you see? What did that thing look like?"

He stared at her for a long time, trying his hardest to remember. No doubt in his mind, he had been out there looking for her. The more he thought about it, the more his memory came back to him, which, medically speaking, had to be a good sign, right?

Buttercup had been late to their rendezvous point. Butch had waited an extra five minutes, shot into the sky, made it halfway back to the Stronghold before Bubbles' ghost (and something more) had him turning back around. He had spent the morning looking and looking, and then when he had made it to a spot where the sun shined so bright, he had stopped looking because surely, he had convinced himself, that just like his brothers, she was dead.

There had been a tiny, insignificant cloud floating in the sky. And then—

"Butch?" Buttercup waved a hand in front of his eyes, catching his attention; there was a thick worry coating her voice, "Are you alright? Should I get a nurse?"

"No," He answered quickly, "No, I—it got me in the gut?"

Buttercup's eyes trailed to his waist, and she nodded her head, "Right through with its claw, like I said. And by the time I was able to get you here, your Chemical-X hadn't kicked in to heal it up."

His frown deepened, "And I'm guessing we don't know why?"

"We have theories," She explained, "well, at least, the Professor does."

"And what's he got to say?"

Buttercup sighed, leaning her elbows on the side of his cot as she pressed her fingers to her eyes, "He thinks they're mutated—"

He snorted, interrupting her as he thought back to the empty-socketed, pus-dripping, smiling monster, "Tell me something I don't know."

"—with Chemical-X." She snapped, shooting a quick glare his way, "Could you let me finish my sentence?"

"You were taking too long—wait," He stopped, fixing her with a look, "Chemical-X?"

"Mm-hmm," She nodded, "sort-of at least. A variant. A variant mixed with Antidote-X."

"How is that even possible?" Butch's face screwed up in confusion, "I thought they canceled each other out."

"They do," She huffed, "I don't know. I don't get it either! And the Professor—" She shook her head, "—he's not one-hundred percent sure. He needs more blood samples."

"And I'm assuming those blood samples came from me?" Butch deadpanned, then his eyes widened as he sat up a little bit straighter, "Fuck, Buttercup, do not bullshit me—am I going to turn into one of those things? Is this turning into a cliche zombie thing now?"

"What? Zombie thing?" She snorted, breaking out into a smile with an airy laugh as she pushed him softly back into his pillows. "No! Don't be—" She giggled (it was cute) at the relieved look on his face, "—just let me finish, okay?"

"Then spit it out already!" He snapped, crossing his arms over his chest, "Some of us don't got all day."

"Oh, stop pouting, you do have all day; you ain't getting out of bed."

"Like hell, I'm not." He argued.

"Butch," Buttercup rolled her eyes, "that thing, it injected a shit ton of Antidote-X into your system. The Professor thinks the claws act like a snake's fangs, injecting venom into its victim. Which makes sense since those things never have any teeth, and the claws make up, like, what? Thirty? Forty percent of the body?"

He nodded, "Something like that, but—"

"I'm not done." She sniffed, putting a finger to his mouth to silence him, "When I asked him about all the other people who had died, whether he had found any Antidote in them, he said he hadn't. He thinks they know we—me and you—are made of Chemical-X, instinctively. Humans don't need the Antidote to be taken down, but they know we do. Given how their blood is black, the Professor has begun noting the similarities between their—how'd he put it, again? Their supernatural abilities and—"

"—Are you fucking telling me your dad thinks those things are our genetic cousins?"

She cringed, "That makes it sound like we're cousins."

"You get what I mean! Human's get apes, we get shadow people?"

Buttercup pressed her lips in a grim line and nodded.

He licked his lips, they were cracked and dry, and he realized then that the first thing he should have asked for was water, not whatever this was.

"He needs more blood samples," Buttercup whispered, "but it doesn't look like me, and you are at the top of the genetic food chain anymore. I guess it explains how those things leave scars," She shrugged, gesturing to the thin angry scar that cut down her cheek. Between them, they both had quite the collection of scars battling those things, but the Professor had never been quite sure why Chemical-X couldn't fix the blemishing.

His hand fluttered to his stomach, "A shit-ton of Antidote-X, huh?"

"You've been out for close to five days," Buttercup explained, her voice tiny, "no one thought you'd…ya know."

"Yeah, well," He huffed back, ripping his gaze away from her, still confused and more than a little angry, "I did."

He couldn't accept it. He couldn't accept that the chemical that had made him him, had made those monsters—those monsters that had killed his brothers, and her sisters, and the whole damned world. The chemical that had given him life had gone and taken almost everything he had ever lived for, and he couldn't—

He just couldn't accept that.

"You did," Buttercup echoed, and the hollowness of her tone made him look back over. She gave him a leveled stare, "You did live, but why didn't you fight? When I found you, Butch, why were you just sitting there? What did it say to you?"

When Butch hadn't answered the first time she had asked, he had been hoping she would have forgotten to ask again. There was no way he'd be able to tell her that he had seen "her," that "she" had told him that "she" loved him. Not like this. Not when there were dark shadows under her eyes and the unforgivable knowledge that their own blood had killed their siblings lingering in the spaces between them.

Not when he was still afraid of loving her.

"Brick," He croaked out, "it was just Brick, again."

For Butch, the monsters always looked like one of his brothers. Brick more often than Boomer. The people at the Stronghold called the monsters various names, including Shadow People, Night Stalkers, and of course, Nightmares. But the monsters didn't appear as nightmares; they appeared as dreams. The monsters were mimics who pretended to be something or someone a heart desired most to lure their victims into a false sense of security.

As time went on, it had become easier to detect when the mimics were mimicking. Specific details were out of place, certain things were said out-of-character, and if a heart only really wanted one thing, the monsters weren't creative when reprising the role. They all used the same tricks, latched onto the same idea, and would only talk about the same thing.

"Brick" would forgive him. "Boomer" would find his way home. "Buttercup" would love him, he supposed.

He knew it now. He wouldn't fall for it again.

Buttercup was haunted by her own dreams. She had confided in him that the monsters mimicked a variety of people, but most often, it was—as he had guessed—Blossom and Bubbles. Everyone had their own heart, their own desires. And, for the most part, people kept what they saw to themselves. It was almost funny how a sign of trust and friendship was telling people what lured you into the clutches of a blood-thirsty predator, but that was just the way the world worked now.

"What changed?" She asked in a low tone of voice, eyebrows furrowing together. Her confusion made sense. Generally, Butch went ballistic when those things mocked one of his brothers.

This time he was honest, "You, I guess. I was just looking for you."

"And they caught you by surprise?" Buttercup searched his face, "You were looking for me, and they caught you by surprise?"

She was feeding him the lie she wanted to hear, and he turned away with a sorry shake of his head, "No, I—" He stopped, trying to find the words. Silence engulfed them, and Buttercup scoffed.

"Now, look who's taking so long. What?" She hissed, her voice rising in volume, "You what? Gave up, right? You just sat there, and you gave up! Why!"

"Because!" He shouted back, "Because what was the point! If you were gone, what was the point of going back! We'd all be dead anyway!"

It sounded like a romantic sentiment, and deep down, he knew he meant it as one, but right then, it wasn't, and she knew it. The Stronghold only having two Chemical-X-infused people was hard enough; only having one would stretch resources too thin. Bellum, the Professor, Ima, Princess, none of them could do it with just him or Buttercup. The Stronghold needed both of them. It was just a plain fact.

"If you weren't already stuck in that fucking bed," She spat, standing up and jabbing a trembling finger in his face, "I'd put you there myself!" Then, her face twisted into a sneer, "I always knew you were a fucking coward."

He recoiled at the accusation, but not because it wasn't true. He was a coward, but hearing her say it—confirm it—hurt more than he liked to admit.

"Your brothers—"

"—don't mention my brothers—" He hissed, narrowing his eyes at her, but she ignored him.

"—your brothers are out there—"

"I said," He growled, snatching her wrist and squeezing, "don't!"

He wanted to break her wrist, but when he squeezed, hardly a thing happened, and then he remembered the Antidote-X. The Antidote would fade. He had no doubt in his mind that he had gotten enough Chemical-X transfusions to make sure of that, but those things still took time. He was still weak—stronger than a human, but not enough to do much more than bruise Buttercup's wrist with his grip.

"Your brothers are out there, and you just gave up." She finished, glaring down at him.

He glowered at her, ignoring the tears in her eyes, "You don't know that."

"I do."

"You don't." He let his grip fall and lowered his gaze, "And then I thought you died too. And I was alone."

"That's not—"

"Oh, just admit it, Buttercup!" He snapped at her, "Just say it! They're dead! They're all dead! My brothers are dead!"

"Fine!" She said after a moment, "Fine! They're dead. They've been dead! They aren't coming back! They died brutally. They were ripped apart. You failed them! You didn't save them! The whole world ending is your fault, Butch Jojo! Does that make you happy? They're dead, and it's all your fault. Is that what you wanna hear?"

He felt his blood pressure rising, but he couldn't get a word in edgewise. Buttercup continued, "But none of that changes what's happened these past four years! You're still alive! You're still breathing! So, for the love of everything still good in this broken world, don't you think you owe it to your brothers to fight instead of roll over and die? Don't you think they'd want you to be happy? Don't you think if you were dead, you'd die hoping they'd live, like really live? Can't you do that for them?" Then, more quietly, she added, "For me?"

"If I had died, Butch, I'd want you—I'd want you to do everything I didn't get the chance to for me. I need you to fight. We all do."

For a long time, they were silent. Eventually, Buttercup sat back down on the edge of his cot. Her eyes were glazed over, staring at nothing. He couldn't tell whether she wanted to yell at him some more or finally yield to the reality of things. She did neither. Instead, she reached back over for his hand and held it loosely with her own.

"Sometimes," She started, "sometimes I see you in the shadow people."

He took a rapid breath-in, "Oh?"

"You never say anything," She admitted, shrugging, "just smile. When it first happened, I almost fell for it, but then I realized, shit, when was the last time Butch smiled like that? I realized the last time I had seen you smile like that was, like, two weeks before the world ended. You and your brothers had gone and done something stupid—" She snorted, meeting his eyes again, "—I dunno, robbed a bank maybe. And Boomer had said something, and you had smiled, and laughed, and made fun of him. And—" Her voice cracked, "—I didn't realize how much I had missed that, so when I saw you smiling up at one of those things like that, I didn't know if it was really you."

"But it was you," She continued, "it was you. And I saw red, because of course, the first time you smile like that in years, you're dying. Like death was a gift." She smiled herself, but it was a senseless act, "Something I wanted, so badly, was given to something I hate so much. And I'm sorry you thought you were alone and I was dead, but I can't forgive you for that. I can't forgive you for not fighting."

Buttercup waited for him to say something, but when he didn't, she stood. Her hand fell from his grasp.

"Butch, I—" She started, but he reached for her hand and kept her there so she couldn't walk away.

"It was you," He admitted softly, "It was mimicking you. I didn't fight because I thought it was you."

He didn't want to admit it, but Boomer would have. Boomer would have died for the chance to say something sappy like that. But Buttercup was right. Boomer was already dead, so Butch had to do it for him, didn't he? Butch had to live for them. And Boomer would have wanted to fall in love, wouldn't he? Boomer wouldn't have been scared of it.

Buttercup's forehead furrowed, "What?"

"I was sitting there smiling at what I thought was you, happy that I hadn't lost you, that you were alive." He explained, a ghost of a smile on his face, remembering their hug, how he hadn't wanted to let her go, "We even hugged. We shared a very emotional moment," He smiled at her in full then, "it's too bad you weren't there for it, pretty moving stuff."

"Me? Not your—"

"No," He shook his head, "you."

"Oh," She whispered, and he watched her blush, "well, uh, that kind of makes me feel like an—"

"Ass?" He supplied, "For calling me a coward?"

"Y-yeah," Buttercup nodded, "yeah, something like that."

He pulled her by the wrist, and he hugged her all over again because, well, why not?

"Eh, don't worry about it," He chuckled, holding her onto her tight, dragging a hand up her spine, "I—I needed to hear it."

"Anytime," Butch swore Buttercup squeaked into his shoulder, no doubt embarrassed. He laughed a little louder, and his gut hurt for it, but he didn't care. This time their tight hug was real, and they were both alive, and he wouldn't take it for granted ever again. At the very least, he owed his brothers that.

After a moment, she pulled away, her eyes wide and cheeks red, and his heart fluttered.

"So," He gave her a coy smile, one that he would have used on a girl years ago, "you like when I smile?"

Her eyes widened a fraction more, "I, uh, wouldn't say it like that."

"You sure about that?" He winked.

Buttercup let out a nervous giggle that set off a pleasant spark somewhere inside him. At the same time, a frustrated "ARGH!" ripped through the infirmary room. The two of them froze as the blue privacy curtain was yanked open, revealing Butch's disgruntled and previously unknown roommate.

"Would you two puh-lease GET A ROOM!" Princess screeched, "This is KILLING me!"

A complete flush covered Buttercup's face as she snapped at Princess, "You're not dead yet!?"

"What do you mean by that, huh!" Princess yelled back, "You ungrateful brat! I save more lives than you can count every damn day, and this is the thanks I get! Emotional constipation! BONE ALREADY!"

"Shut up, Princess!" Buttercup snapped, trying to untangle herself from Butch, but he kept her in her place, throwing a shit-eating grin towards Princess.

"You wouldn't mind all the moaning, would you, Prin!" He asked, "I like shit loud, but I promise it won't take too long! I'm good with my mouth."

"What!" Buttercup squeaked (again).

"AUGH!" Princess sneered at him, "I was here first! Find your own room!"

"Tch, no need for that, I wouldn't mind the extra pair of eyes. Kind of kinky, right, Butters?" He explained with a shrug.

This only made Princess angrier and Buttercup all the more flustered, and he laughed at them until there was a sharp knock on the door.

"Sir," Someone called out, and Buttercup pulled away, rising slightly to indicate she was paying attention to the voice outside the door, "there's a fog rolling off the bay. Bellum's requested your assistance."

"Shit," Buttercup whispered under her breath, and then more clearly said, "How long till fog coverage?"

"Ten minutes, sir."

"I'll be right there." She stood up off the bed, and Butch tried getting up with her. She blinked down at him before shooting him a soft smile. "No," She hummed, lightly pushing him back down by the shoulder, "you stay." Then, when he was again resting on his pillows, she wagged a finger at him, "I'm serious. Stay."

Butch snorted, "I'm not a dog."

"Then stop acting like one," She shook her head, moving towards the door.

Again, he reached for one of her hands as she left, but he didn't have any intention to stop her from leaving. Butch just simply wanted to hold onto her for a little longer, and he held onto her until it was no longer possible. The further away she walked, the more her fingers slide slowly from his grasp.

When the last of her fingertips finally fluttered out of his grip, he nodded at her, "Be safe."

"I will." She nodded back, her voice barely above a whisper, and his heart skipped a few beats at the heavy—almost heady—but earnest look in her eyes that he returned tenfold.

Princess, his horrible cock-blocking roommate, gagged, and with a dramatic huff, pulled the privacy curtain back into place, blocking them from her view. "Nurse!" Princess cried, "Nurse! I demand a new room!"

His smile grew as he watched Buttercup shoot Princess's side of the room one last withering glare before mouthing a final goodbye to him.

He didn't know how long he watched the door after she left, but enough time passed that he eventually found himself settling back into his pillows, drowsy and sore. He figured Buttercup wouldn't be back for a long while. Fogs in Townsville were no joke. They were thick impenetrable blankets that—despite the Professor's best efforts—their lights hardly worked well against.

With his eyelids growing heavier and heavier, Butch allowed himself to be lulled back to sleep by the electric thrum of the lights above him. Suddenly, though, a high-pitched sound came from the window across the room. His eyes snapped back up, and he stared at the foggy glass. He watched a long talon-like object grind across the surface of the glass, leaving a long deep scratch in the windowpane. The sound was like nails on a chalkboard, and it made his skin erupt into goosebumps.

"Butch," Something—something that sounded a lot like Buttercup—cooed from beyond the window, "Butch, I love you."

The privacy curtain was thrown back open, and Princess narrowed her eyes at the window, regarding it seriously before turning to him.

"Did you hear that?" She asked, but it was more a statement than a question.

"Yep," He replied with a grim nod, "The containment wall's been breached."

[aclosetfan]

ope, hey guys, i'm still avoiding the work I'm paid to do. i thought of something sad and fucked up after rereading these original posts :)))

------

"But they all leave scars," Buttercup said with a tremble in her voice. Her eyes were unfocused, and she started to pant, "No, no. That can't be true—" She stood up abruptly, her chair clattering to the ground, "the scars, you said that because they all leave scars—"

"Buttercup," Dr. U cut her off, his voice grim. He looked on the verge of tears, "that was only a working theory."

"Well, find a fucking new one!" She screamed hysterically before zipping out of the room.

Dr. U didn't say anything for a long time. Neither of them did.

"Butch, son, I'm sorry." Dr. U finally said.

There had been a time when Butch was much younger that Dr. U had been slightly afraid of him. Of course, most of Townsville had once been afraid of him. It was an inappropriate time to think about the fear he once possessed over people, looking at the older man, who he now considered an in-law. But that was what he was thinking about. John Utonium existed in a perpetual state of grief like most of them did, but Butch had never seen the man so somber. Not even before, back in the day, when he had been slightly afraid of him.

Butch licked his dry lips. He felt angry, but he should have felt angrier. Mostly, he felt numb. Everything he had ever believed felt more true than it ever had before, and that was . . . unsatisfying, maybe? But he had always known, hadn't he? That his brothers were dead. He had processed that grief already. Right? He didn't know.

Maybe it was just shock. He didn't know.

"I'll go check on her." He responded after another prolonged period of silence. His voice was thick like he had a ball lodged in his throat that he couldn't quite swallow around.

Dr. U let him go without a parting word. He sat quietly in his makeshift lab. Behind him was the corpse of a shadow person. Its torso had been pinned open, its insides partly dissected. It looked like a gruesome autopsy, but Butch had seen worse things to feel affected by the sight.

Its head was patchy with black hair. The staples on its mouth looked fresh. Its mutation was not totally complete. Its hands weren't as claw-like as they should have been. Its flesh was not chalk white but a pale blush. It had a tattoo that belonged to their friend Harry, who went missing a little over four weeks ago.

He stared at his friend and thought of his brothers.

------------------------------

"Buttercup." He sighed, sitting down next to her on the wall. The LED lights that kept the wall in a constant blanket of blinding white light didn't allow her to hide for long, but he hadn't needed to look. He knew where she came to think.

She sniffed and shuffled over, allowing their shoulders to touch. He looked up at the night sky but saw no stars. He could hear shadows scurrying just beyond the light perimeter, pacing and waiting for them.

A chorus of them cried out to him, "Butch! I forgive you! Butch, I love you! Butch, I'm right here!"

He ignored them. It was easier now than it had been in the beginning. Still, he didn't understand why Buttercup tortured herself like this. She knew it was fucked up, but she had told him once I just like to hear their voices sometimes.

"He said it was just another theory."

"Bullshit." She croaked.

Butch nodded, "Yeah."

"We haven't found a single one like it all those years ago. And now, with Harry," Her voice broke, "god, that was Harry, Butchie."

She fell into him, then, and sobbed. He held her tight, trying to blink past his own tears, surprised they had finally managed to show up. Still, his anger was at a simmer.

"They're people. They're our friends." She continued. "They're being mutated."

He pulled her into his lap and rocked them back and forth. The voices below them only seemed to grow louder.

"It wasn't supposed to be a zombie thing," There was a bite in her tone, "it's a fucking zombie thing, now?"

"I didn't turn into one. And you've been scratched and bitten, and you haven't either." He tried to reason, "It's something else. We just don't know yet."

It was weird being the person of reason. Usually, it was the opposite. Usually, Buttercup was holding him.

"The one that stabbed you," Buttercup's voice broke, "the one that stabbed you, it had—" she choked out, "—it had tuffs of hair still. Blond hair. I remember it had blond hair, and it—"

"We don't know that for sure."

She pulled away from him, an angry sneer smeared across her face, "fuck you, we do! The Professor said it himself. None of the others have antidote X in them. The one that stabbed you wasn't some special breed of apex predator! That was one of our siblings! That was B-Boomer or Bubbles, and I killed them!"

Her voice fell to a whisper, "I killed them. They were right there, and I killed them. I didn't have to, but I did. I killed them and—" Her eyes were wide as silent tears fell down her face. "Do you hate me? What if it was Boomer. Do you hate me?"

"You didn't know," He grabbed her by the shoulders, "you were doing what you had to do."

"Do you hate me? Answer the question." She demanded, searching his face.

"Butch, I'm right here! I'm right here! Butch, I'm here! Listen to me! Help me! I'm scared! I'm right here! Why can't you find me! Why can't you see me! I'm. Right. Here." The chorus of screams intensified.

"Butch, I love you!"

He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, "No."

"No," he continued, "if that thing was Boomer—" It was his turn to pause, thinking it and saying it was two different things, "—if that had been my brother, the thing that stabbed me," he thought of the pus dripping from its infected wounds. He thought of the hollow eyes and the blistering skin. He thought of its joy, licking at the blood on its claw, "then I'm glad he's dead."

He looked her in the eyes, cupping her face, "I wanted him to be alive, Butters. But not like that."

She looked no less shell-shocked as she held his hand to her cheek. "Yeah," she eventually said. "Yeah."

--------------------------------------------------------------------(Buttercup, why weren't you fast enough? Why didn't you know? You killed me. Why did you kill me?)

(BC, why didn't you come with me? Come with me. It's your fault. Why didn't you come with me?)

(Butters, I hate you.)

[aclosetfan]

I realized, looking back at a lot of my posts, that I have a lot of Bubbles and Buttercup taking care of Blossom or Bubbles and Buttercup taking care of each other, but not any between Blossom taking care of Buttercup. Im avoiding my actual work i get paid for, so here we goooo!

-----

Blossom tsks, nose scrunching up in distaste, at the pile of trash spilling out of Buttercup's trash bin. It smells like sweet rot. She flicks on the kitchen light and sighs. Dishes are piled in the sink. Take-out containers have been left out on the table. There is an indiscernible sticky spot on Buttercup's counter, maybe from a spill of some sort.

Blossom doesn't want to open the fridge, but she does anyway. It's not as bad as what she had imagined. There are no apparent signs of rotting, moldy food. The contents are sparse, with nothing of substance (ketchup packets and protein shakes).

She tsks again, taking note of the dust on the window sill, and doesn't try to think about the state of Buttercup's bathroom, but she's a sucker for punishment and makes her way there regardless.

She tiptoes through her sister's apartment, finding more takeout containers as she goes deeper. Her living room is a pigstye. Her hallways are cluttered. Half of her lightbulbs are out. Her bathroom—yep, just as she had feared—unspeakable.

She follows the trail of takeout containers all the way to Buttercup's bedroom door. She stops momentarily to examine a family picture hanging crookedly on the wall. The glass of the frame is splintered, like it's been punched. Other picture frames are scattered along the floor. It's like a tornado landed in Buttercup's apartment. It's left a mess of destruction, but she thinks with a sigh, it's scrubbed the place of Bubbles.

Grief does funny things to people. It has brought Buttercup's rage back, the likes of which Blossom has not seen since they were children.

She turns back to Buttercup's bedroom door, knocks once, and announces, "Dad wanted me to check in on you."

Her announcement is perfunctory at best. Buttercup knows she's here. Buttercup can see through walls and has super hearing. Still, it's polite to knock.

Buttercup doesn't answer. Blossom doesn't expect her to, but she waits a beat for the Professor's sake before turning on her heels to leave.

"Professor, she wants nothing to do with me."

"What do you want me to say? It's not like I'm Bubbles. It's not like I'm the one good at this stuff."

"She's mean! And if she wants to die buried in her own filth, so be it!"

"I lost Bubbles, too!"

These are all things that she cannot say out loud to the Professor.

Blossom and Buttercup aren't like Bubbles and Buttercup. She and Buttercup don't braid each other's hair, paint nails, hug, or go for car rides just to blast loud, annoying music. She and Buttercup don't gossip about city officials or villains or play hooky together when Bellum wants them at a meeting. She and Buttercup don't have each other's fast food orders memorized, special ring tones, and a standing Facetime call every night. She and Buttercup are sisters, but they aren't best friends. Outside of their day job (a job that Blossom had to begrudgingly keep doing while Buttercup hid), they had little to do with each other.

There was a time when it wasn't like that between them, but that was the past, and Blossom tries not to reflect on the past. She's thinking of the future, focusing on the present. Her therapist is very proud of her.

She's brainstorming another excuse for the Professor, something like, "I tried Professor, but she was tired, and I have a meeting tomorrow," which isn't totally a lie when the smell of sweet rot again assaults her nose.

She stops and stares at Buttercup's trash bin, rolls her eyes, and stomps to the kitchen. It takes a few seconds, but eventually, she finds Buttercup's extra trash bags under the sink.

She ties the previous bag and pulls it out, placing it near the front door before putting the new bag in. She'll take the full trash bag to the communal dumpster on the way out. It's an inconvenience, but she's hoping it absolves her guilt.

When she's done putting the new bag in, she stands up straight with her hands on her hips, reobserving the kitchen space, eyeing the takeout containers. She moves to leave, but something stops her. It's not the ghost of Bubbles or any nonsense like that, just this insatiable need of hers to finish the job.

She sighs and reaches for another garbage bag. It takes her only a few seconds as she zips through the apartment, shoving takeout containers into the bag. She places it down next to the other trash bag and nods to herself, but before leaving, she eyes the dishes. She thinks of the picture frame hanging in the hallway. Thinks of the way Buttercup had crumpled—her stonewall of a sister—at the funeral. How Blossom had to literally drag her kicking and screaming away from the casket. How she wished she was better at being a sister. A friend.

She screws her eyes shut, forces herself to think of other things, and then does the dishes. When she's done with the dishes, she cleans the counters and dusts the window sill, and since she's dusting, she might as well do the rest of the damn place too. But all of Buttercup's shit is everywhere, and briefly, Blossom worries that Buttercup's going to come storming out of her bedroom and yell at her for touching her things, but then Blossom remembers who cares. Buttercup's already trashed the place.

So, Blossom starts throwing more stuff away and vacuuming, and she cleans the bathroom, and picks up the glass, and carefully takes the pictures out of the picture frames, and goes back to the kitchen to mop, and throws all the bags in the dumpster, and then she goes to the store and buys Buttercup easy, pre-made meals and stuff for sandwiches.

By now, she's worked up a good sweat cleaning the place, but she doesn't feel done yet, so she runs to the hardware store too, comes back, and starts plastering the holes Buttercup had punched into her walls. She even bought a small can of "landlord white" paint.

And it's when she's trying to get the damn can open that Buttercup leaves her room.

They stare at each other. Buttercup looks bad. Tears have streaked down her face. She is wearing sweatpants and a baggy T-shirt and smells like she needs a shower. Or maybe Blossom's just smelling herself. She knows she's sweaty and dirty too. Her hair is now pulled back into an unattractive top knot, and loose strands cling to her oily forehead.

After a long silence, Buttercup says, "I was going to fix those."

"No, you weren't." Blossom sniffs without missing a beat and turns back to her work.

She expects Buttercup to argue, but surprisingly, she doesn't. Blossom doesn't know what to say to Buttercup's silence, so she does what she does best and bosses Buttercup around, "Go get your laundry. I want to start a load. And seriously, can you please shower? My gosh. You smell."

Buttercup snorts, and this also surprises Blossom. She turns back to Buttercup so she can stare.

"I'm not letting you anywhere near a laundry machine."

"That was one time." Blossom huffs.

"One too many." There's a ghost of a smile on Buttercup's face, "But I am willing to shower . . . thanks."

"Fine." She nods, focusing again on her task, "I left a clean towel for you. And while you're in there, brush your teeth; you're literally peeling the paint."

"Oh my god." Blossom doesn't have to look to know Buttercup just rolled her eyes. "Yes, mom. I'll brush my teeth."

But Buttercup pauses before entering the bathroom. In a quiet tone, she asks, "Are you, maybe, staying for dinner or something?"

Blossom knows how she throws up her hands is dramatic, but whatever. "Well, obviously, I have to. I don't think you've eaten a vegetable in months."

Buttercup snorts again and shuts the bathroom door.

"And we're doing your laundry!" Blossom calls out after her, "And you're cleaning your room!"

[aclosetfan]

Have you seen Multiversus, they added the ppg as a playable character and the rrb. They got all the original voice actors even did a ship tease

I didn't know! I couldn't tell you anything about the multiverse or what it is. But how cute!

It's kind of crazy how long CN will keep a cartoon going lol

[aclosetfan]

If the ppg characters had different voice actors voicing, what voice actors could you see voice the ppgs, rrbs, and any other charcter/charcters (if you've ever thought about and don't mind me asking)?

I think Cristina Vee could do a good voice for Buttercup.

Oh jeez, I'm sorry, anon! I wouldn't be able to answer this one. I'm horrible with actors/voice actors. Idk who Cristina Vee is.

I know some of the big VAs, and, of course, I appreciate the work they do, but once I clock a familiar voice actor, I can't associate the voice with the character—it's just the voice actor. So, I do my best to divorce myself from actual people when I watch animations.

Since I have a hard time suspending my disbelief, I also can't answer, "Oh, who do you think should play this character in a live-action," questions. I'd rather real-life people stay out my fictional stories. The less i know about celebrities and shit, the easier it is for me to watch a movie. The threat of a CW live-action was, as you can imagine, devastating to me lol

I mean, look at Tara Strong, the VA for many beloved characters, and now I can't hear her voice without thinking of the bigoted shit she says on twitter. I'm no good at divorcing the artist from the work.

[aclosetfan]

Wanna hear a random/dumb au, if you can call it that, I had a long time ago?

Basically, all I did was kept switching the girls colors.

Blossom was yellow

Bubbles was blue

And Buttercup was red

(Because of Roses since I had just got done watching a gameplay of Ib the rpg maker game)

Then it was

Blossom as blue

Bubbles with yellow

And Buttercup with red still.

Then

Blossom with Purple

Bubbles with Red

And Buttercup Pink

Or

Bubbles with Pink

And

Buttercup with Red

(I made these a long time ago and I just really wanted to put Buttercup in the color red/pink because I started really loving the color)

One, I've never heard of lb before, but that game looks up my alley, so I'll be checking it out more.

Two, I can see where you are going with this. I like when shows with color-coordinated characters "switch" colors, and their whole personality changes. Idk why. I just like it. Like yessss the color coordination is essential to the character. love that.

I also think it would be cute if the girls experimented with other colors when they were growing up. If Buttercup wants to wear pink or purple, it'd be fun to see that, especially because she's traditionally seen as a masculine character. Having her interact with more traditionally feminine colors would be an easy way to explore that side of her character (if that's what you want) without it being so in the readers' faces. :)

[aclosetfan]

I once did a "what's in their purse" writing exercise, where i just wrote for ten minutes for each girl, so I wanted to do that again, but their go-to uniforms :)

Bubbles: She would have the most creative fun with her uniforms, pushing the line of impracticability. She's opposed to matching identically with her sisters except when she gets to plan their group uniforms. Her sisters taint her creativity. Typically, her uniforms resemble magic-girl animes, like Sailor Moon. She loves a more feminine look with big waist bows and frilled accents. She wears skirts mostly or dresses, and they're hardly athletic. Her outfits are LOUD and aggressively there. She sparkles and shines with jewelry and homemade earrings, which always get tangled when she fights or is yanked off by bad guys. Her shoes are heels, strappy sandals, or sparkly converses (but Blossom usually forces her to change into closed-toed shoes). She over-dresses and knows it, but when she's covered in muck, grim, and monster guts, she feels she deserves to be a little over the top in her dressings. If she's NOT wearing something over the top, she's wearing something more boho chic. Still obnoxious, but make it more "hippy." She likes bandanas and tie-dye, which I think she can still make aggressively feminine, but sometimes, she needs to step back and go on a nature hike. If you could marry the two concepts, I feel you'd have what I picture as quintessential Bubbles. Someone in tune with nature and crystals, but also someone who shops at Claire's. A cotton candy witch with a bedazzler problem.

Blossom: Her uniforms are sleek with clean lines. She's practical to the max and professional. Compared to Bubbles, her style is minimalist. She prefers wearing skorts or athletic dresses, but never without anything underneath, for decency's sake. On occasion, she'll also wear athletic leggings, which are form-fitting but practical for combat. She wears steel-toed sneakers. Besides a ponytail, she doesn't wear any other accessories; occasionally, she may forget to take off a necklace and wear normal stud earrings. She stays away from jackets during combat but keeps a matching one around in case she gets cold or has a wardrobe malfunction. Her tops/dresses are long-sleeved athleisure wear with the occasional thumb hole. Overall, she's a modest dresser who rarely varies styles. If there was a term for it, it would be tennis player/country club golfer. It fits her active lifestyle, and often, she chooses to just wear a uniform throughout the day so she doesn't have to worry about changing. Make-up-wise, like Buttercup, she wears little to none. Not because she's anti-makeup but because she doesn't like it when she gets sweaty and it streaks. Again, practicality is key for her. If it isn't practical, it's not for Blossom, which is why she unironically sports a fanny pack for convenience. However, she may be found to have backup ponytails or a bowed scrunchie on her wrist.

Buttercup: Like Blossom, Buttercup lives in athleisure wear, except unlike Blossom, she's very casual about it. Blossom's professional, but Buttercup? We're just lucky if she remembers to wear a bra; if she does, it's a sports bra, and she may not have a shirt covering it. She's also the worst at sticking to their color coordination. Her closet is full of greens and yellow accents, but sometimes she'll show up to a fight in some weird t-shirt she got at overnight and away camp the girls went to in middle school because it was the only thing clean and beggars can't be choosers. It's not rebellious like some people think; she's just a little lazy. Her shoes consist of combat boots and tennis shoes. She likes joggers and athletic shorts and is fine with skorts. She'll wear athletic dresses if Blossom picks them out but refuses to wear what Bubbles demands they wear. She doesn't wear much jewelry unless it's a necklace/bracelet/etc, that a family member or friend gave her. She had earrings, but they've been ripped out too many times during fights for her to continue wearing them. Her jewelry is surprisingly dainty. If she gets caught in a fight wearing makeup, she goes heavy on eye makeup but less on lipstick and blush. Very punk. But for the most part, she skips over it because she accidentally rubs it off throughout the day. Hair accessories consist of ponytails if her hair is long enough and bandanas/headbands she steals from Bubbles. She's an incredibly casual jock with punk undertones.

I totally think all three girls would wear knee or elbow braces, especially if they've had prior injuries.

[butt3rdite]

Rating PPGxRRB ships because I’m bored

Color-coded

Reds- 2/10-not my favorite, it’s overrated (my opinion) I will draw them together for fun but rivals to lovers is not my thing. I think they would be friends but they won’t end up together.

Blues- 10/10, they’re very underrated and I wish fanfic writes do them justice, I don’t want them to be the first ones who end up together, I want some drama with them pleaseeeee

Green-1000/10- yes I hate how some people write them on fanfics but seeing other blogs like @aclosetfan write them makes me so happy that she writes them all sweet .

ColorCrack

Blossutch-1000/100, they was the first pairing I shipped when joining the fandom because of my favorite artist @milksteaki and I Cherrish them dearly.

Boomercup- 8/10, I see why people like but I don’t know, it’s not bad

Brickubbles- 10/10- this is cute I did ship it at one point and I love how other artists draw them so cute

ColorCrash

Blossoomer- 100/10, same as my fave @aclosetfan at first I hated it because it didn’t make any sense but how she wrote them made me automatically love them

Brickercup- 5/10, I mean ehh they can be friends but ship wise it’s a little toxic but please people who ship them convince me please lol

Butchubbles-7/10, I’m not really as much liking the bad boy/ good girl trope but I really love how other artists draw them and it’s making me appreciate this ship more.

That’s it for now, but if you want to convince me you can lol 🫶🏽

[aclosetfan]

I started this draft a long time ago based on a joke text post that goes around tumblr fandom spaces, but i can't find a link anymore. my mutuals love the greens as the secretly soft couple and i think the post fits the vibe perfectly, so here’s my spoof 😭😭

—————————

The kitchen clock read around 9 p.m., but their apartment was midnight silent. Butch sat in front of the tv, playing his video game. He kept the volume on low and muted his mic. As much as he wanted to cuss out his team, Buttercup was already asleep.

Townsville had been keeping Buttercup and her sisters busy for the last week. She was up early and in bed late, with no break in sight. He thought it was bullshit that she couldn't, at least, eat an actual dinner, but he was saving that argument for later when the dark circles under her eyes had receded slightly, and he didn't feel like such a shithead for not being able to do more to protect her.

Tonight, she had come home to him battered, bruised, and bone-tired. He had picked up her favorite take-out, and they had settled on the couch to watch a movie. They had made it about twenty minutes into the horrible B-rated horror flick when Buttercup's soft, tired snores reached his ears.

He had been only slightly disappointed. While this had been their first night together in a long time, he had been happy to see her sleeping, so he had scooped her up and placed her in bed with a kiss on the forehead.

That had been two hours ago.

He paused his game when Buttercup floated back into the living room. She wore their comforter like a cape and rubbed at her bleary eyes with a frown.

"Hey, babe," He smiled, opening his arms wide for her.

Buttercup didn't need further invitations. She plopped down on his lap, wrapping her arms around his neck.

"Youse warm," She spoke into his chest.

"Bad or good warm?"

"Good."

He laughed, "Are you cold?"

"Mm."

"Come’ere then." He shuffled her around into a more comfortable position so he could still play his game with her wrapped around him. "Comfortable?"

"Mhm." She nodded, her head resting on his shoulder. "Couldn't sleep without you."

"Well, sleep now, I ain't goin' anywhere."

"Don't wanna," she said through a yawn, nuzzling into his chest. "Miss you."

Butch's heart skipped a beat as if they were still teenagers and he was still hiding his miserable crush on her.

He didn't say anything back. He didn't have the words, but he held her close to him, rubbing small circles into her back and peppering kisses to the crown of her head. Her breath pleasantly tickled his neck as she fell back asleep.

He enjoyed her dead weight and marveled, not for the first time, over the fact that this was his life now—safe with Buttercup. He could act like himself, here, with her, not as some demonic entity's tool.

And it was all thanks to her.

And he was such an idiot for fighting it for so long.

His heart skipped another beat, and he held her even closer.

"You deserve an award, putting up with me." He whispered, thinking she was asleep.

"You’re m’award." She whispered back.

——————————————————————

(BONUS)

The main overhead light in their bedroom flicked on as the door banged open.

"Bubbles!" Boomer jumped onto the bed. "Bubbles! I made a lil' midnight snackieee. Do you want some?"

Bubbles' eyes snapped open with the fury of a thousand suns. Boomer stood above her, obnoxiously chewing whatever unholy midnight concoction he had slaved over. The kitchen was likely a mess.

"It’s two in the morning," She squeaked, squinting against the overhead light, "and you're getting crumbs all over me!"

"Yeah! I was craving something crunchy!" Boomer beamed, but his mouth was full of food, so his stupid explanation was garbled and only pissed her off further.

She wiped spittle crumbs off her face and flopped over on her side. "No, I'm tired. Go back to playing your video games."

"Ugh!" Boomer groaned, flopping down on the bed, "It got boringgg when Butch logged off. Let's do something else!"

"Sleep."

"That's boring too," Boomer pouted, tugging her shoulder until she faced him again. "Hey, by the way, why didn’t you say I love you when you went to bed? I was like hey babe, goodnight! Love you! And you were like, night, like what’s with that, huh? You love me, right?"

Guilt pierced her heart for a second, but then she remembered it was two in the morning. "I love you," she said.

Boomer regarded her momentarily, then addressed her dryly, "Well, it doesn’t sound sincere now!"

"Boomer." She seethed. "What time is it?"

He squinted at the alarm clock, "About two!"

"And how long have I been asleep?"

"Four hours and thirteen minutes!"

"I need more than four hours and thirteen minutes! We've been over this. I'm so tired."

Boomer frowned, putting his snack to the side. "I'm doing it again, aren't I? I'm sorry. It's just that I can't sleep, and I miss you, Bubs, that's all."

This time, the guilt stayed. She knew about his nightmares, after all.

Bubbles sat up to cup his face with her hand. She kissed his cheek and said, "Oh, Boomer, it's okay, silly. I'm sorry. It's just been a long week. I'll make a midnight snack with you tomorrow."

Another bright smile broke out across his face, and he wrapped her up in a big hug before laying her back on the bed.

"Bubbie," He announced, "you deserve an award for putting up with me!"

"I really do." Bubbles smiled serenely, pulling the covers up over her head, "You’re a real dumbass sometimes. Now, go away."

[aclosetfan]

livestream

Bubbles smiled at the live stream, squinting slightly to read the questions popping up.

"Oh!" she cooed, "Marylivluv889, that's such a fantastic question. My siblings and I are a pretty diverse group, with me being pansexual, obvi!"

She bounded over to her brother, "And this is Bud! We’re identical triplets created at the exact same time, but I was named first, so that means I’m older!"

"No, it doesn't," Bud said without looking up from his Switch.

"Yes, it doessss!" Bubbles sang in a falsetto as she redirected her attention back to her phone, "He’s a trans guy!"

Bubbles twirled into the kitchen where Bunny sat, reading a comic she had likely pilfered from Bud.

"This is my little sister, Bunny! She has Down Syndrome!"

Bunny looked up and waved, showing off a toothy smile. Bubbles pivoted slightly, angling the camera so only a crop of short blue baby hair showed, "And this is Bliss! Our babiest sister! She's black and has blue hair! We love her!"

Bliss cooed as Bubbles explained, "She's probably the cutest lil' thing ever to be cooked up in a lab!"

"You better not be putting her face on the internet," Blossom snapped, sitting beside the highchair with a spoon of baby food in her hand, "She's a baby, Bubbles. We've talked about this!"

Bubbles beamed at the camera, smooshing her face next to Blossom's, "And finally, we have Blossom. She’s our resident stick in the mud! Like I said, Mary, we're very diverse!"

"Hey!"

"Ha!" Bud laughed from the living room.

[aclosetfan]

Parental Bliss

a/n: this is how Bliss should have been handled. I won't be taking criticism.

--------------------------------------------------------

"Professor!" Bubbles gaped at the bundle of blankets in the Professor's arms, "Aw! Did you steal another baby! So cute!"

The Professor chuckled, "No, Bubbles, dear. And besides, those charges were dismissed. This is your new little sister. I made her."

Bubbles gasped, eyes growing wide as she looked up from the bay into the Professor's eyes, "You were pregnant!"

"You made a baby!" Blossom appeared out of nowhere, zipping in from across the City. She was out of breath and furious, "Did I hear that correctly? You. Made. A. Baby?"

"Sweetie! You're home early." The Professor beamed, "You're just in time to meet your new baby sister!"

"Dad." Blossom seethed, "Why did you make a baby?"

"Because all my other children are leaving me," The Professor said with a serene smile.

"Dad," Blossom huffed, "I am . . .was just at a college tour. A college tour for a college located in the same city we already live in. A college tour of the college you work at. I am not leaving you! Your reaction—" she gestured wildly to the cooing baby "—is completely disproportional to the situation."

"When you’re an empty nester, then we’ll talk, Blossom," Professor tsked.

"You’re not an empty—" Blossom started, throwing her hands up. She stuttered over her sentence, trying to find the right words, "—w-we still have two more years of high school left! You’re not an empty nester!"

"Well, Professor," Bubbles chirped, wiggling a finger at the cooing baby, "I, for one, think this is a totally valid way to deal with the fact that you’re not dealing with the fact we’re growing up. Just make more babies! It makes perfect sense!"

Blossom looked between the two of them in complete bafflement. After another moment of soundless stuttering, she was able to ask, "Does she even have superpowers?"

The Professor looked down at the baby for a moment as he seriously considered Blossom's question, "Well, I just don’t know. After the explosion, I found her bundled up in the same pot I created you all in—"

"—aw, mom—" Bubbles interjected.

"—mhm, sleeping like a little angel. I almost named her that, but I was so overcome with parental bliss and thought, well, golly! That’s her name! Bliss! And, you know, it starts with a B!” The Professor exclaimed.

"Oh my god." Blossom's face palmed.

"Aw!" Bubbles covered her heart with her hands, "And it starts with a B!"

"Did you hit your head or something?" Blossom seethed.

The Professor's face lit up, "How did you know! The explosion knocked me out. I'm surprised you didn't hear it, Bubbles."

"Oh, I did!" Bubbles smiled.

"And you didn't help him?" Blossom's eyes bulged.

"I thought he was just having guy time," Bubbles said with a shrug, "I dunno."

"Why!"

"I just said dunno!"

"Oh my god." Blossom repeated, "We can't have a baby! What if all the villains find out? What are we going to—"

Without warning, a sneeze ripped through Bliss at an inhuman speed. It triggered a quick succession of eye beams that blasted through the kitchen and into the backyard, missing Buttercup by a hair. Credit where credit was due, the explosions didn't phase Buttercup, who continued eating her cereal as if nothing had happened.

Blossom panicked enough for them all.

"She has powers!?" Blossom cried, pulling at her hair, "Uncontrollable powers!?"

"Annnnd," The Professor chimed in at the end of Blossom's outburst, "She has some of the best mentors around to help her out!" He lifted Bliss up for Buttercup to see, "Buttercup, dear, this is Bliss, your new sister!"

Buttercup looked up from her cereal to examine the blue-haired infant.

"Just tell her to stay out of my side of the room," Buttercup spoke around a mouthful of food.

[aclosetfan]

Bliss meets the boys, but like it's chill or whatever. They definitely steal her, but it's cool or whatever.

--------------------------

"So, is that, like, a real baby?" Brick peered at the infant strapped to Buttercup's torso.

"No."

"Yes!" Bubbles giggled, "Buttercup, don't be so silly!"

Brick's eyebrows shot up, "Is it yours?"

"I'm definitely holding it."

"Wait, so were you like pregnanté?" Boomer gaped.

"Yes."

"No!" Blossom squeaked, pulling at the roots of her hair. "Buttercup, don't just agree!"

"This is Bliss!" Bubbles cut in again, "She's our new baby sister!"

Blossom's eyes bulged out of their sockets, and she threw her arms in the air, "Stop explaining our personal business to the bad guys!"

"Our dad made her!" Bubbles beamed proudly, bending at the knee as she dramatically waved her arms with a flourish, presenting Bliss-still-strapped-to-Buttercup like she was a game show prize. Bliss squealed with delight, but Buttercup remained largely unaffected.

"Wait, so your dad was pregnanté?" Boomer gaped.

"Yes."

"Yes!"

"Real shit." Butch nodded.

Blossom turned several shades of red, jumping in front of her sisters to correct their mistake. She waved her hands in the air before them like she could physically erase their words, "N-no! No! Our dad doesn't—he's not—he doesn't have a uterus!"

"Heh," Boomer snorted, "nice." A second ticked by before he leaned over to Brick, "Wait, dude, isn't that the dangly thing in the back of your throat?"

"That's a uvula, dude."

Boomer's eyes went wide, "But like—" he gestured to his groin and wiggled his eyebrows suggestively"—ain't the uvula, ain't that like, ya know, the lips?"

Brick sighed, "No, that's the vulva."

"Heh," Boomer snorted, "nice." Another second ticked by, "But, like, what's a uterus?"

Brick paused before answering, "It, like, holds the baby inside the chick or something. It's, like, part of the vagina—" he paused again, "—or something."

"The vagina?" Boomer's eyes widened again.

"Yeah . . . or something."

"Heh," Boomer snorted, "nice."

"Does it have powers?" Butch asked Buttercup as his brothers talked privately amongst themselves, leaning over to examine Bliss.

"She. And yes."

"So she can fight?"

"No. She's a baby."

"Lame. Can you fight?"

"Yes."

"Holding a baby?"

"Probably."

"No!" Blossom fumed.

"Oh." Buttercup blinked, "No."

Butch's eyebrows furrowed, "If the baby can't fight, and you can't fight—"

"Wait, does Dr. John have a vagina?" Boomer asked Brick loud enough for everyone else's conversation to die for an awkward few seconds.

Brick squinted at Boomer, "Boomer, like, shut the fuck up, man, like, just have a little quiet time."

"But how'd he make a baby, dude? A prison toilet?"

"Our father does not have a vagina." Blossom sputtered.

"He could if he wanted to!" Bubbles chirped.

Blossom ignored Bubbles, "And he certainly did not use a prison toilet."

"It was a cooking pot, actually!" Bubbles stopped, rubbing her hand thoughtfully on her chin, "Or at least, that's what they want us to think, but I'm pretty sure he told me he was pregnant."

"They? Who are they?" Blossom shook her head, "The Professor didn't tell you that, Bubbles!"

"—Who the fuck am I supposed to fight?" Butch pushed the other four away, focusing his glare back on Buttercup.

"I guess, like, fight them? Idk." Buttercup nodded at her two other sisters.

"Them!? Lame!"

"Hey!" Bubbles and Blossom both huffed.

"Ugh," Butch rolled his eyes, holding his hands out. "Can I at least hold the baby?"

"You gotta wash your hands first," Buttercup instructed, unsnapping the straps of the baby carrier.

"Buttercup, no!" Blossom scolded, slapping her hands away from the rest of the straps, "You can't just give the baby to the bad guys."

Buttercup's eyebrows furrowed, "But it's just Butch."

"Yes! Butch! He launched you halfway to Jupiter yesterday."

"And? It was a decent throw."

"It was," Butch agreed, making grabby hands at the baby.

"Here," Bubbles presented him with a tiny bottle of hand sanitizer, "ya gotta use some of this first."

"No fair! I wanna hold—" Boomer pushed Butch out of the way at the exact time Bliss sneezed, accidentally blasting Boomer four football fields away into the side of a concrete skyscraper.

Butch and Brick gaped and shared a looked before falling into fits of laughter.

"Wait, can your dad make us one, too? Like a boy? Stay on theme," Brick asked excitedly, with a wide, gaping smile.

"NO!"

"Fine." He pointed at Bliss, his grin still stretching from ear to ear, "We'll just steal this one. Butch—" He commanded, "—get me that baby!"

"Alright—" Butch leaned forward, but Buttercup swatted him back.

"Dude," she chided, "hand sanitizer."

"Oh, my b," Butch blinked, turning to Bubbles, who squirted a generous amount in his hands. He rubbed it in, shook his hands dry, and then leaned back in towards the baby.

"Yoin—!" He started to pluck Bliss from the carrier, paused mid-way, looked up at Buttercup, and asked, "Am I doing it right?"

"Cradle her head. Ya gotta protect her neck, like this—" She adjusted his grip, "—there, you're good."

"Cool, thanks," He nodded, stood up, and cleared his throat, repeating, "Yoink!" before he and Brick shot off into the horizon, cackling like mad men.

"Boomer! Come on!" Brick called out a few seconds later, and a blue shaky streak shot out of the rubble and into the air.

"See!" Blossom turned to her sisters with her hands on her hips, "See! This is exactly what I said would happen, but no one ever listens to me!"

"Aw, but the boys were just so cute about it!" Bubbles clasped her hands together.

"Why did you help him!" Blossom scolded Buttercup, conveniently ignoring the fact that neither she nor Bubbles had done anything to stop the boys.

"You told me I couldn't fight with the baby." Buttercup sniffed and shrugged, "They'll bring her back when she needs a diaper change. No biggie."

Blossom scowled and opened her mouth like she was prepared to argue further before deflating, "Uh, yeah, actually, that—that's a good point. I . . . didn't think about that."

The girls were silent for a moment before Bubbles spoke up, "Wait, so, like, the Professor wasn't pregnant, right?"

"Bubbles!" Blossom snapped, back to her former naggy glory, floating into the air after the boys, "We've been over this!"

"Yeah, but now I'm confused!" Bubbles and Buttercup floated after her. "I know it was "the cooking pot," but do you think "the cooking pot" is secret slang for—" She mouthed the next word, "—vagina?"

"Yes."

"Buttercup! No!"

[aclosetfan]

I know at one point i said Bubbles would be jealous of the baby. I was wrong.

Sniffling echoed in the dark room as the Professor slipped his head through the bedroom door.

“Can I come in?” He hummed as he knocked.

“S’go a’way.”

There was another wet sob from the bed, and the Professor sighed, entering the bedroom. He slowly padded his way to the bed and sat on the edge.

“Now, come on, there’s no need to cry. Nothing has changed.”

“Yes, there has. Y-you replaced me!”

“No! Never!” The Professor shook his head.

“Yes! With a baby!”

"No," The Professor sighed, patting the forlorn lump on the bed, "Sure, Bliss is here now, and I have to take care of her, but she'll never replace you. You'll always be special to me. It'll be just like before."

"Really?”

"Of course! And, you know, I think Bliss will need you to show her the ropes. She will need a strong authority figure to look up to and don't tell the others, but I think you fit that bill the best," The Professor said.

"But the girls!" the lump huffed, "She'll like them better!"

"No, no," the Professor shushed, frantically waving away Blossom, who lingered anxiously by the door. "That's not true. You'll be her best friend!"

"You really, really mean it?" A monocle popped out from under the covers, peering up at him with gleaming hope.

"Of course, Mayor." Professor smiled, crossing his fingers behind his back. "Now, come on, are you ready to meet her? Ms. Bellum's holding her downstairs."