you got it wrong [buttercup/blossom angst]
title: You Got it Wrong
rating: PG13
fandom/pairing: Powerpuff Girls. Buttercup/Blossom.
spoilers/warnings: n/a. Incest; long-winded run-on sentences; angst. (Although please note that they're intended to be above the age of consent in this fic, so a little less creepy y/n?)
summary: They grow up, and eventually they'll all be okay with that.
words: 1150
disclaimer: Obviously, I do not own The Powerpuff Girls. I also don't own That One One Direction song that this title is stolen from, which my formerly JBiebs-stanning little sister has been playing on infinite loop for the past three days.
a/n: Dude there is so much not right here. Special hell, ahoy. Also, unrelated but I like these cute new little scissors that denote cuts.
For as long as they’ve been alive, as long as they’ve existed, they’ve always dressed the same. Green or blue or pink; black; green or blue or pink. White tights, black maryjanes, always clean and proper no matter how many monsters they fly through, no matter how many fires they put out or how many craters they create in the paved roadways.
But eventually they get older, eventually they age and eventually they’re not the cute little big-eyed, superpowered girls that Townsville used to rely on. They’re still superpowered, they still represent goodness and purity and yadda yadda yadda, but they’re old and the schtick is old and eventually, Buttercup is the first to break and Townsville is surprised but not especially.
She starts dressing differently first, and it’s totally not a thing (but it is and it’s supposed to be). She wears pants, sometimes (black tanktop; green skinny jeans; black boots up to the knees that she has now), and other times she wears shorts and once in a while skirts, but never those same old dresses, green-black-green over white and footed in black.
Bubbles doesn’t take it personally, because she likes the chance to change her own look. She grows her hair longer, makes use of makeup Buttercup doesn’t care for, wears colors outside of her usual blue. She likes it, and it’s good for her - to express herself, and shit like that.
But Blossom does - take it personally. For a while, Buttercup is pretty sure that Blossom hates her. Really, really resents Buttercup, not necessarily for wanting to be herself but for not wanting to be like them, all the same and all together and always perfect because they’re the Powerpuff Girls and that’s how they do it.
But she gets over it (everyone gets over everything eventually, but Blossom takes a little while longer because she’s Blossom and she’s a Powerpuff), and Buttercup tries to make it seem like she doesn’t care if Blossom does or doesn’t or holds a grudge forever (and she could; literally, they all could if they had the desire) or goes back to loving Buttercup again like she used to (like they all used to love each other, except not because she’s Blossom and she and Buttercup are different; not just in the superpowered way).
Buttercup does care, cares a lot (more than she should, but they’ve never been normal and she’s never wanted to be), but she doesn’t want to show it. Not to Blossom, anyway.
(She probably knows without having to be told; without having to be shown. She’s always been the smart one and she and Buttercup have always been different like that and it’s probably wrong and Blossom probably cares, but maybe she doesn’t fight it like anybody else would.)
If Blossom ever finds out, if it’s ever brought up and brought to her attention and made into a real point, it’s Bubbles’ fault. It’s Bubbles who brings it up, brings it to her attention and makes a point out of it because Bubbles isn’t brilliant but she’s not dumb - she’s intuitive, and sensitive, and she notices shit about her sisters that not even the biggest, most attentive fan would.
And if Blossom is keeping that knowledge at the forefront of her mind when she finally talks to Buttercup about it, it’s probably not because she cares (but really, it probably is) but just because she hates having knowledge and not being able to use it.
“You don’t want to be part of a trio anymore, do you?” she says and doesn’t really ask, not because she’s making an assumption but because she knows. She speaks sadly, quietly, won’t let pink eyes meet green because she might be embarrassed or ashamed or just too worn out to keep playing some stupid little game they’ve had going on since they were kids (superpowered, artificially-created kids) and Buttercup said Kissing is lame (and Blossom said No it’s not and changed Buttercup’s mind).
Buttercup shakes her head and stares at the tail of a long orange ponytail, silky and pretty and composed like Blossom has always been and Buttercup hasn’t. “No,” she says, and there’s more to it than that - like that she doesn’t want to fuck around anymore, she doesn’t want to beat around the bush because they’re always under scrutiny from everyone, but mostly she just doesn’t want to depend on her sisters (Blossom) anymore because they’re getting older (who knew?) and she wants to live - but she doesn’t say any of it because Blossom probably fills it in mentally, anyway.
“Well - that’s okay,” Blossom says, chipper (and she’s faking it; she’s desperate and she’s looking for anything to cling to and she’s not finding anything but she’s too determined or maybe just too desperate to give up), and she looks up, takes Buttercup’s hand, smiles (and she’s faking). “It’s not the end of the world, right?”
She’s right, but she’s lying and she doesn’t believe it herself, so even as truth it doesn’t mean anything. It’s not the end of the world, but it could very easily lead to that, and it feels like it might be already.
Smiling (faking), Buttercup nods, pretends she doesn’t notice herself squeezing Blossom’s hand back (but she does; it’s completely conscious like nothing has ever been before; she’s hyperaware of every breath, every touch, everything between them and everything that they are and can be and won’t be), and agrees, “Yeah!” with the same cheer that doesn’t mean anything because she doesn’t feel it.
They hug, and they kiss, and they’re sisters so it’s wrong but they’ve never been right, not from the start, so they don’t overthink it. When it’s over, they don’t say goodbye because they don’t have to, but mostly because nothing could say it better than muffled whimpers into mouths and frenzied touches against bare skin.
Walls go up in their childhood bedroom, starting the week after. When everything is said and done, there are three small rooms, each individually decorated in individual ways, where there used to be one. Each room has a bed of its own, and that’s not exactly strange but it feels foreign to the girls all the same.
(Bubbles still sneaks into Blossom’s room to sleep, anyway, because she wants to be different but she’s not ready for complete separation just yet. Buttercup feels jealous, and wraps herself up in the navy blue [it’s more like black] blanket that’s all hers and no one else’s.)
She cuts her hair short, into a pixie cut that might suit her but maybe not (she didn’t ask Blossom’s opinion, but Blossom would know), and expands her color palette. She’s hardly recognizable anymore, and she still fights crime and still helps people, but not as much and usually alone.
She’s Buttercup, and she’s a Powerpuff Girl, but she’s more than that and also so much less.
rating: PG13
fandom/pairing: Powerpuff Girls. Buttercup/Blossom.
spoilers/warnings: n/a. Incest; long-winded run-on sentences; angst. (Although please note that they're intended to be above the age of consent in this fic, so a little less creepy y/n?)
summary: They grow up, and eventually they'll all be okay with that.
words: 1150
disclaimer: Obviously, I do not own The Powerpuff Girls. I also don't own That One One Direction song that this title is stolen from, which my formerly JBiebs-stanning little sister has been playing on infinite loop for the past three days.
a/n: Dude there is so much not right here. Special hell, ahoy. Also, unrelated but I like these cute new little scissors that denote cuts.
For as long as they’ve been alive, as long as they’ve existed, they’ve always dressed the same. Green or blue or pink; black; green or blue or pink. White tights, black maryjanes, always clean and proper no matter how many monsters they fly through, no matter how many fires they put out or how many craters they create in the paved roadways.
But eventually they get older, eventually they age and eventually they’re not the cute little big-eyed, superpowered girls that Townsville used to rely on. They’re still superpowered, they still represent goodness and purity and yadda yadda yadda, but they’re old and the schtick is old and eventually, Buttercup is the first to break and Townsville is surprised but not especially.
She starts dressing differently first, and it’s totally not a thing (but it is and it’s supposed to be). She wears pants, sometimes (black tanktop; green skinny jeans; black boots up to the knees that she has now), and other times she wears shorts and once in a while skirts, but never those same old dresses, green-black-green over white and footed in black.
Bubbles doesn’t take it personally, because she likes the chance to change her own look. She grows her hair longer, makes use of makeup Buttercup doesn’t care for, wears colors outside of her usual blue. She likes it, and it’s good for her - to express herself, and shit like that.
But Blossom does - take it personally. For a while, Buttercup is pretty sure that Blossom hates her. Really, really resents Buttercup, not necessarily for wanting to be herself but for not wanting to be like them, all the same and all together and always perfect because they’re the Powerpuff Girls and that’s how they do it.
But she gets over it (everyone gets over everything eventually, but Blossom takes a little while longer because she’s Blossom and she’s a Powerpuff), and Buttercup tries to make it seem like she doesn’t care if Blossom does or doesn’t or holds a grudge forever (and she could; literally, they all could if they had the desire) or goes back to loving Buttercup again like she used to (like they all used to love each other, except not because she’s Blossom and she and Buttercup are different; not just in the superpowered way).
Buttercup does care, cares a lot (more than she should, but they’ve never been normal and she’s never wanted to be), but she doesn’t want to show it. Not to Blossom, anyway.
(She probably knows without having to be told; without having to be shown. She’s always been the smart one and she and Buttercup have always been different like that and it’s probably wrong and Blossom probably cares, but maybe she doesn’t fight it like anybody else would.)
If Blossom ever finds out, if it’s ever brought up and brought to her attention and made into a real point, it’s Bubbles’ fault. It’s Bubbles who brings it up, brings it to her attention and makes a point out of it because Bubbles isn’t brilliant but she’s not dumb - she’s intuitive, and sensitive, and she notices shit about her sisters that not even the biggest, most attentive fan would.
And if Blossom is keeping that knowledge at the forefront of her mind when she finally talks to Buttercup about it, it’s probably not because she cares (but really, it probably is) but just because she hates having knowledge and not being able to use it.
“You don’t want to be part of a trio anymore, do you?” she says and doesn’t really ask, not because she’s making an assumption but because she knows. She speaks sadly, quietly, won’t let pink eyes meet green because she might be embarrassed or ashamed or just too worn out to keep playing some stupid little game they’ve had going on since they were kids (superpowered, artificially-created kids) and Buttercup said Kissing is lame (and Blossom said No it’s not and changed Buttercup’s mind).
Buttercup shakes her head and stares at the tail of a long orange ponytail, silky and pretty and composed like Blossom has always been and Buttercup hasn’t. “No,” she says, and there’s more to it than that - like that she doesn’t want to fuck around anymore, she doesn’t want to beat around the bush because they’re always under scrutiny from everyone, but mostly she just doesn’t want to depend on her sisters (Blossom) anymore because they’re getting older (who knew?) and she wants to live - but she doesn’t say any of it because Blossom probably fills it in mentally, anyway.
“Well - that’s okay,” Blossom says, chipper (and she’s faking it; she’s desperate and she’s looking for anything to cling to and she’s not finding anything but she’s too determined or maybe just too desperate to give up), and she looks up, takes Buttercup’s hand, smiles (and she’s faking). “It’s not the end of the world, right?”
She’s right, but she’s lying and she doesn’t believe it herself, so even as truth it doesn’t mean anything. It’s not the end of the world, but it could very easily lead to that, and it feels like it might be already.
Smiling (faking), Buttercup nods, pretends she doesn’t notice herself squeezing Blossom’s hand back (but she does; it’s completely conscious like nothing has ever been before; she’s hyperaware of every breath, every touch, everything between them and everything that they are and can be and won’t be), and agrees, “Yeah!” with the same cheer that doesn’t mean anything because she doesn’t feel it.
They hug, and they kiss, and they’re sisters so it’s wrong but they’ve never been right, not from the start, so they don’t overthink it. When it’s over, they don’t say goodbye because they don’t have to, but mostly because nothing could say it better than muffled whimpers into mouths and frenzied touches against bare skin.
Walls go up in their childhood bedroom, starting the week after. When everything is said and done, there are three small rooms, each individually decorated in individual ways, where there used to be one. Each room has a bed of its own, and that’s not exactly strange but it feels foreign to the girls all the same.
(Bubbles still sneaks into Blossom’s room to sleep, anyway, because she wants to be different but she’s not ready for complete separation just yet. Buttercup feels jealous, and wraps herself up in the navy blue [it’s more like black] blanket that’s all hers and no one else’s.)
She cuts her hair short, into a pixie cut that might suit her but maybe not (she didn’t ask Blossom’s opinion, but Blossom would know), and expands her color palette. She’s hardly recognizable anymore, and she still fights crime and still helps people, but not as much and usually alone.
She’s Buttercup, and she’s a Powerpuff Girl, but she’s more than that and also so much less.