Oh. My. Gosh. It's BEEN A WHILE PEOPLE! Haha, how've you all been? Hopefully good! Well, sorry to keep you all waiting so long, but college has started for me and MAN I have been busy! Between homework, my two jobs, and my social life, I almost have no time to write! Hopefully though, I'll organize a way because I love it too much to give it up! Anyways, this is a new story for me! JUST a warning though, it covers some serious topics and is pretty darn realistic. The PPG and RRB don't know each other yet and they don't have super powers. Also, the RRB aren't related to each other, and neither are the PPG. It's for the story's sake, but I promise you the other RRB and PPG are still in this story! Not just Brick and Blossom! I hope you guys enjoy this one anyway though and give me a bunch of reviews and feedback! Thank you! Now…*ahem* ON WITH THE STORY! :D


REMINDER: THE RRB AND PGG ALL HAVE NORMAL FEATURES, LIMBS, AND HAVE NOSES. They also are all NORMAL- meaning NO SUPER POWERS. Sorry if this disappoints some of you!

Into The Bumblebee's Nest

Chapter 1: Different Lives, Same Souls

P.O.V.: Brick

My real name is not something I gave out candidly. In fact, no one knows my real name. I am forever to be known as 'Brick'. It's my gang name.

The term was probably a slab at how thick headed I could be. Once I set my mind to something, I go for it. Just that simple.

Then again, that's how I had to live.

Born and raised in the filthy, good for nothing slums of Townsville, there was only one way to live; instinctively. You didn't have time to be nice, think things over. It was eat or be eaten out here. And that was no exaggeration.

I've heard stories about my Pa being the same way as me; tough as nails, salty as vinegar. But I could give a rat's ass about that. Never saw the guy, not once in my life. He bailed out on us before I was born; as soon as he got wind Ma was pregnant. I never liked hearing about my Pa much. So Ma never brought him up.

Wise woman right there.

Ma? She was tough too. She knew the slums like the back of her hand, and let me tell you somethin', she knew where to get a good stash of shit. She was an addict, suffered from depression she said. When I was little, she used to lie to me. Tell me she was sick, needed a doctor.

She needed a doctor alright. She was addicted to heroin. But I got to know this with time, and once I knew, I didn't care much. My aunt who visited only on special occasions blamed it on 'Tony'. Guess that must've been good Ol' Pa, huh? He's good for a lot of things, ain't he?

My aunt was too good for this place. She'd never stay more than a day, and every time she came she'd be alone. My Uncle was too much of a wuss to be seen down here. Supposedly he borrowed some money from a guy around the block and never returned it. My Uncle was smart to stay away, in that case.

Whenever my aunt would come she'd always fidget and could never sit still. Cleaning things, touching things, smoking things. She refused the pot my Ma offered her though. Said that was worse than cigarettes. She tried to make it seem like she was perfect, without vices. I hated her for it. She would sit at the table and smoke four cigarettes, one after the other, her hands shaking. She blamed that on arthritis. But Ma and I both knew she was too young for arthritis.

'Why don't cha come live with me?' She would offer me, but only after Ma had left the room for a bit. I would've been a bad son to her, would've made her regret her offer.

I once pushed her out the door and locked her out of my house. She called my Ma a lazy bitch and had thrown water all over her. After that, I threw her and her suitcase out. Ma said nothing. She didn't thank me or reprimand me. I didn't want a thank you anyway. She just stared at me, her eyes glazed over, her face morbid. She was like that a lot, it didn't bother me.

And then Ma died. Overdosed.

I was 15 when it happened. I came home late one night. Like usual. I had been out with my friends, causing mayhem. When I came home, I saw the living room lamp was on and the stove was on, but nothing was cooking on it. It smelled like gasoline in the house.

I remember walking into my room after shutting off the stove and lamp and lying on my bed, thinking about Mary Fresno. I thought I was in love with her cause she had nice ass and called me hot.

That's when I heard it; my Ma's body fell onto the floor. I hadn't thought much on it, but it sounded like she landed pretty harsh, so I went and checked on her.

Her bed was covered with pills and needles of all sorts. The sheets had been a mess, the room smelling of vomit and perfume. My Ma was on the floor, her skin pale and her cheeks boney. She hadn't been breathing. She died that night.

And ever since then I've been on my own. My Aunt came once to try and take me away, but when I punched her dead in the face and broke her nose, she never came back again. I was glad; happy even. I liked living on my own. I kept one thing of my Ma's though: A small picture of her when she was younger. It fit in my pocket effortlessly. I take it everywhere, sometimes not even taking it out of my pants until the end of the day. I just like having it is all. I don't know why.

Call it weakness or stupidity, your choice.

Everything else in her room I got rid of. Some I sold, some I burned, some I dumped. No one cared. It was the slums.

No one cared if you lived or died. The police wanted nothing to do with us, nor did the government.

We were the ones setting the rules.

And it wasn't hard living on my own. I got the hang of it easily enough.

Was I close with my Ma? I don't know. We hardly ever spoke. But she was wise. I liked it when she told me about the different dealers and the best places to smoke a blunt. Sometimes though, she would cry. When she was alive, she would stare out the window and just cry to herself. It was weird cause there would be no sobs, just tears. I think she hated herself.

Maybe she hated me. Who knows?

All I know is I'm 18 now. And I'm not missin' anyone much anymore.

Not even Ma. And certainly not Pa.

P.O.V.: Blossom

There are so many things I have left unsaid. So many insults left hanging off the edge of my mouth. So many dreadful glares hidden behind my mask of ignorance.

Around everyone else, I cannot be myself. I cannot express myself. I must be perfect, I must be good.

There is nothing more I would love to do than break from this shell, leap away from this plastic mold I call a body. I hate myself for being so weak and giving in to the whims of others. Because of that weakness to please others, I have become something I'm not. Something I desperately don't want to be.

And it's sad. Sad because I hate who I want to be. I feel guilty for who I truly am.

Is it wrong to want a life free of helping others? Is it wrong I want to be a little selfish sometimes? Is it wrong I wish to fall in love and have a man by my side?

No, I'd dare say it's human. However, I am not human. Not according to society.

I am a heroine, a role model, a faithful citizen. I tend the sick and feed the poor. I address the needs of society through my own kind and caring hands. I sacrifice my happiness for the sake of others…and in doing so, have created a monster.

I don't want this glory, this fame. All I want is to be me.

Who am I? That is a question I often ask myself.

The me whom everyone else sees is Professor John Utonium's daughter; a scholarly man who lives for science and has achieved a great many things for society with his brilliance. He had a beautiful trophy wife who does nothing but look fancy all day long and whom was my step-mother. I live in a mansion in Townsville's finest. I don't have to clean my own bedroom; it's taken care of by my own personal maid, Bobby. I don't have to clean anything in this house because there is nothing to clean. I don't have to cook either, or wash clothes.

I am Blossom Utonium and I am a prize to be won. I have money, power, and recognition in this town. My father being an inventor, my step-mother being rich thanks to her parents, we have it all. I am scholarly myself and excel in anything I choose to do. If I do not, I am secretly tutored until I get it right…or else I would bring shame to my family. I must get all 90s in my classes or higher, and I do. Secretly, I struggle with math…but no one knows that. I have a private tutor who helps me. Everyone thinks I am a genius, but it's really him teaching me these things. It cost my father a 100 dollars an hour to hire him.

I hate my tutor.

I tend the sick and the elderly in nursing homes and do exemplary hours of community service. More than I need to, actually. More than I care to. I have a scholarship to Harvard University if I choose to go there. I can play the piano with my eyes closed and can play the violin in my sleep. I have a multitude of friends whom I see every day and hang out with every day. Everyone knows me. Yet…

This is not me. The real me. This is the me everyone else sees. Who is the real me?

The real me is someone who craves to live her life outside of a sheltered cocoon. To experience the world with freedom to fail. I want to be fallible. I want to be able to travel at whim, like a bird, free as can be. I want to be able to hate the people I don't like and not have to worry about it being 'impolite'. I want to feel what love is, instead of the gaping hole inside my heart, instead of the numbness. I want to be free.

But…will I ever be?

Foolish of me, really. I know it cannot be.

Until I realize this though, I shall continue to dream and cry myself to sleep. Maybe my dreams will carry me away one night…far, far away…

"Miss Blossom, your bedroom is ready for sleeping." Bobby's voice echoes inside the huge ballroom. I am sitting at the piano, my fingers dancing along the keyboard.

"I do not wish to go to sleep." I state simply and curtly. My fingers become mechanical, the music becoming a bit more intensified.

I hear Bobby's heels pad across the room towards me, the only other sound in the room besides the piano at my fingertips; the sound of shoe against marble.

"But my lady, you've been up since 6. Shouldn't you be getting to bed now?" A concerned Bobby implores as my fingers morph into claws.

"I told you, I shall not sleep. I am not tired, therefore, I do not wish to sleep." My back is to her and I can feel her brown eyes on it.

She must think I look and sound deranged.

"But- my lady-"

"No buts Bobby. Off with you."

"But your mother will-"

"Off with you!" I slam my fingers onto the piano aggressively, stopping the tune altogether. The piano keys echo eerily throughout the big room and slowly fade away like a distant memory.

Bobby is silent as I peer at her over my shoulder, my mutant pink eyes serious and glaring.

"Leave me." I command, my voice solemn, but low. She's frowning, some loose curls from her tight bun falling at the sides of her pretty face, lips pursed.

"Y-Yes my lady..." She whispers, her eyes twinkling with concern and hurt. It was cruel of me, but I felt nothing as I watched her leave and disappear behind the ballroom doors. When they are shut, I face the keyboard yet again, my nightgown crinkling as I do. It was a long, elegant lavender one, made from the finest silk. Spaghetti strapped and thin to the touch, it showed off my freckled shoulders and pale arms effortlessly, the nightgown long and flowing easily past my knees, leaving a small train behind me. It was my favorite nightgown because it made me feel like a bird. Free and light as a feather.

In other words; something I was not.

I suck in a breath and let myself calm down again, Bobby's presence clearly agitating me.

"It's not Bobby so much as it is that rotten step mother of mine. I'm just taking my anger out on poor Bobby is all." She isn't my mother. But father and Bobby always insist she is.

Earlier today my stepmother convinced my father it was okay to take away my television time. She said it was 'unhealthy for me'. Just like being crammed into this house with no alternatives other than volunteer work and school, right? Like I needed any of my other limited freedoms taken away from me…

The tramp even said it with a smile on her face. How I hated her…but of course I had to smile back. We were in front of father. I had to act like the perfect daughter I so desperately didn't want to be.

My real mother died a long time ago. She was better off…but I miss her.

She wouldn't like the way I was being treated right now. Like a pet canary for crying out loud.

My mother was a sensitive woman who had a love for all things related to work. She was described as a workaholic by some, but I don't believe that's the case. Workaholic is a bad stereotype. Hers wasn't bad. She wasn't addicted to work, so much as she believed in work. Hard work. Instead of just loafing around, having money float over to her greedily (like my step mother), expecting it, she went out and worked for it. That's what she believed.

Other than that, I don't remember much else about her. I was five when she died.

All I have of her now is this small little locket that lies on my neck. I only take it off to shower. Other than that, it always stays on me.

Pure gold, inside of it is a picture of her when she was in her 20s. She had the same striking red hair I did, only mine was much longer, much brighter. Hers was a bit darker and went past her shoulders a bit. Mine was up to my waist.

How much I'd give to be living with her right now, instead of living with my father and step-mother. Too bad she's dead. Father never used to be so corrupt, but Anna, my step-mother, has influenced him greatly. I'm positive she's the one who tells him to send me off to volunteer so much. She probably just wants me out of the house…

I took the heart shaped locket into my left hand and gave it a gentle squeeze.

"Guess I can't count on anyone much anymore, huh Mom? Not even dad." I wince, thinking back to how it used to be before my father married Anna. He had been so sad about the loss of my real mom, Lena. Yet, he had still been kind, still willing to let me grow up normally...

And then she came along. Anna; a bat outa hell. She ruined it all. If it weren't for my friends Bubbles and Buttercup, I don't know what I'd do. I'd probably go insane…

I know, I know, weird names right? Those weren't their real names. We just made up nicknames for each other was all and it stuck.

Buttercup and Bubbles were like my sisters. I could tell them anything. In fact, out of all the people I knew, I think they were my only true friends…

They don't like Anna much.

Then again, it's reasonable, isn't it? Anna did kick them out once…merely because they weren't 'dressed accordingly'. I doubt it was that though. She just wanted to ruin my life some more. I swear…she is such a…

"Why, hello there." I hear Anna's sultry voice echo into the room. I hadn't realized it but I had let my mind wander and was now just staring at the keyboard blankly. I wasn't even playing anymore.

"Anna." I state coldly, turning to glance at her over my shoulder. I wasn't planning on being nice to her. She was alone, so I didn't need to hide my true feelings. It would be fun.

I'm sure she's thinking the same.
She's so far away she looks like a little speck across the room. I wish she was a little speck- then I could squash her.

"Bobby told me you refuse to go to bed." A dramatic pause, "Is this true?"

"Yes," I blink, hoping the intensity of my eyes can be seen from all the way over here, "It is."

She folds her arms underneath her voluptuous chest and heaves a sigh. I can tell she was busy doing something else with my father before she came to see me. Her brown curly hair was a mess, which is unacceptable according her standards. A spaghetti strap on her nightgown was hanging off her shoulder sloppily. The thought of her all over my father… made me want to shiver.

"Well, why not?" She sighs frustrated, "You must be tired." She makes it seem like if she says it then it'll be true. But I wasn't tired and that was a fact. Even if I was, I wasn't letting her command me around. Not when I had no witnesses around me.
"I'm not. So leave me be." I stop looking at her over my shoulder and look back to my piano, a smirk crawling on my face. I love it when I talk to her privately. I can be as cruel as I want. I hear her scoff at this…but I knew this is what she wants. She came in here just for this. She wants to fight.

"Excuse me? I am your mother. You can't dismiss me." But her words are drowned out by the sound of my fingers playing the piano. On purpose.

"I can't hear you, you should speak louder." I smile back at her maliciously, my eyes sharp as daggers.

"I said, you should have more respect for me!" Her arms are still folded, her big chest perked up, and I can hear the frown in her words. But I can also hear the eagerness, the pleasure she was getting from this.

"LOUDER!" I sing out obnoxiously, smiling bigger, playing the piano feverishly. She fidgets in her spot, growing hungry for more. She loves this. As do I.

Finally, she decides to walk over to me. She's beaming. I can hear her slippers tread towards me quickly, and I know what's coming. I laugh darkly to myself as I look at my fingers play the piano. Here it comes.



The music and laughter stop. I am silent as my hair sweeps into my face. She is towering over me. I smell the smoke off her and the alcohol on her breath. My heartbeat quickens.

"Don't you ever laugh at me you little bitch!" She hisses, showing her true colors yet again. I am looking away from her. I won't give her the satisfaction of seeing my eyes. She has to earn that.

She grabs my hair and yanks it so that I am forced to look at her. I stare past her, my eyes glazed, lips pursed. We're at our best states right now; our true selves. We're not hiding anything anymore.

How I wish it could last…but…

"And if you tell anyone about this, I swear I'll make you pay for it." She wants this to be our little secret. She likes me being her little play thing.

She has hit me before. Twice. I am supposed to keep it a secret and act respectful to her in public. And I do. Around Bobby and father. Around everyone else. Begrudgingly enough.

In private, I show her my hate. And she shows me hers. It's lovely to be able to express any emotions other than fake happiness at all.

"Let go of me." I growl out, my voice deep and menacing. I feel happy though. I feel better letting my anger out. Instead of being perfect, instead of smiling in her face, like usual, I can show her how much I hate her. As can she. It would seem weird to other people, but to me, it's the height of my day.

She lets go of me with one final yank and I can see her chest rising and falling rapidly. She's out of breath; exhilarated. I think she likes abusing me more than she likes having sex with my father.

"Great, now I need a smoke. See what you do?" She hisses, slapping me once more, making my hair whip me in the face again. I feel the rush of adrenaline pump into my body and the sting of her slap on my cheek.

I love every second of it. Why? It's better than feeling nothing at all.

"I want to kill you so bad. You're lucky I can't." I hiss evilly, my voice venomous. She knows that threat. I've told her that before. She smiles, her lips are shaky. Her red lipstick is smeared from kissing my father.

"Same here." She coos venomously.

"Get the hell out of here." I whisper threateningly, "Before I call Bobby in and have her get Father."

"Shut up, you know Bobby wouldn't do that. She knows better. She's smarter than that." Yeah, or else the twat would fire the poor girl.

"Then I'm leaving." I get up abruptly. I hope she'll stop me and push me into the piano. That would give me a good reason to claw her eyes out.

"See if I care. All I know is if you tell, I'll cut your god damn head off."

A bitter smirk spreads on my face. Cut my head off? Sounds good to me. Exciting.

"Yeah? With what? You couldn't use a knife if you tried."

Her eyes narrow at that, the electric blue color sending lightning bolts down my spine, "Oh, I'd think I'd manage."

With that, I heaved an amused huff and trotted on out of there. Truth is? I was sure she'll do it too.

The hallway was dark, lit by a few dull wall lights that could've passed as torches. The long, narrow rug padded against my bare feet as I walked down the lengthy, elegantly designed hallway, past the fancy artwork on the walls and stylish décor.

Feet marching, I could hear the floor squeak under my rage. I was far from happy or satisfied. I just wanted this to end. Everything. The fakeness, the lies, the loathing. All I wanted was freedom, but it turns out that's the hardest thing to find. No matter we live in America. The 'freest country in the world'…

With a low, inaudible growl, I reach my room and thrust open the door. It's dark inside.

I am swallowed up in darkness, the curtain closed, and one candle burning on my bureau.

"Bobby always closes the curtains." I grumble in annoyance.

With a rush of rebellion I race towards my enormous window and push away the heavy satin curtains, revealing the night. Moonlight filters into my room, the full moon staring back at me. My eyes twinkle as I stare at it, its luminous light making my heart melt.

"That's better." I whisper to myself, touching the window's glass. Such longing I felt at that moment to be out there. The night was so enticing. I wanted to be a part of that.

Instead I was here, alone. Caged.

The fight I just had with Anna relieved me a bit. It was my only form of venting, although I admit it probably wasn't a healthy one.

Outside there was a big oak tree that shook in the wind feverishly. Moonlight shined on it beautifully, its leaves looked glossed.

The stars were out too, shining as brightly as they could. Below was a clear span of grass and some rose bushes, but not much else, the backyard ended here. My room was located on the side of the house. In the distance there was the street and sidewalk, lit by a select few streetlamps which burned eerily, but romantically in the nighttime sky.

I fantasized about opening my window, leaping out of it, and walking along the sidewalk of that street. There were a few houses down the block, but they were farther down, a good distance away from here. I fantasized a complete stranger would grab me and kiss me under one of the street lamps, holding me close to him. My bare feet would touch the concrete, my nightgown would blow in the breeze… and I would have not a care in the world.

But it was impossible. I knew it to be impossible.

Yet I still wished for it each night…

With a sigh, I walked over to my King sized bed and crawled inside of it, surrounded by a light pink canopy. Curling myself up under the covers, I closed my eyes and thought silent, devious thoughts to myself.

'What would it be like to run away with a man? Would we kiss a lot? What would it be like to not have to think about how I looked all the time and what I say? What does sex feel like? Will I ever have sex? If so, will I be doing it with someone I love, or doing it with someone my parents love?'

My mind was racing and I could feel the tears wiggle their way out of my eyes and down my cheeks. I tried to close my eyes tighter, but it was no use. The tears just kept on coming.

'I should be grateful I live this way. There are people who have less than me.' I think to myself, sniffling, 'but I'm not. I hate my life with a burning passion. I can't be myself. I can't experience everything a normal teen is supposed to experience. Instead, I'm like a Barbie Doll. A toy. I'll never know what it's like to really fall in love with somebody. Anna will torture me forever and I'll always have to call her mother in public…I'll never be able to show my true hatred for her to anyone else. No one would accept it or appreciate it. I'd be forced to make amends because I would be in the wrong. It's because people think too highly of me…put me on a pedestal. Well I don't want to be on a pedestal! Knock me off! Make me bleed! I don't know…something! Anything but this numbness…God, I'm going to die like this. Alone, depressed and repressed.'

"Mom…" My voice is hoarse and it stings. I sound so little, like a mouse. I clutch my locket with all my might, sobs escaping my throat gently.

"I miss you."

WOW…Okay! First chapter is done! I hope you enjoyed this first chapter. I know the story is strange in its own way... it may not even seem like a Powerpuff girls fanfic! But, hopefully, you'll give it a shot. I'm not sure if people will like this story because of its intensity but…hopefully you will. Ah, either way... I hope you enjoyed it! Please review and sorry for any spelling mistakes! I know it may not seem like Blossom saying all this, but I'm making it more realistic is all and adding a little bit of my own OC to the mix. Hope you liked it anyway! Plus, just a heads up, I may not update quickly. I have to worry about a lot of college work, so it may get in the way lol. Just a warning! U-Um…anyways…Review? =] Thanks a bunch…!