disclaimer: lol, no.
dedication:
to phantompottergirl, because she's very chill and we're both still freaking out about more than human. and also fall out boy, tbh.
notes:
i couldn't sleep the other night and thought of this instead. the rival bakery au that absolutely no one asked for. what am i doing with my life what.
notes2/important things to remember: all human with full human features (fingers and toes), boys+girls are around sixteen or seventeen, no powers (for now). mojo jojo is not a super genius monkey because that'd be weird and him is not the lobster demon king of hell. bc, also weird.

title: take the cake

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(let's play this game called "when you catch fire", i wouldn't piss to put you out)

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i.
Blossom collapses her umbrella and twirls the raindrops off of it before pushing the door open and stepping inside. A blast of warm air hits her straight in the face and she sighs in relief, closing the glass door behind her. She sets her umbrella in the stand by the entrance and threads her fingers through her hair in an attempt to release the tangles caused by the howling wind outside.

The weatherman had said that they would have a little rain, but there wasn't anything about a thunderstorm in the forecast. At least she'd been prepared today, unlike most of the populous of Townsville, apparently. She'd seen several people running for building eaves and shelter when the storm had broken out. Newspapers over heads might work for a little while, but aren't exactly dependable in the long run.

Her after-school programs had run over half an hour, and she'd been worried about being late for her shift, but the bakery is almost entirely empty, save for her two sisters. Blossom attributes it to the storm and people's unpreparedness, but maybe it was also because the clock says that it's almost five. Business will probably pick back up in twenty or so minutes, and she figures that she should use this free time to her advantage.

Blossom slips off her coat and hangs it on the hook by the door, then heads for the nearest corner booth. She has an essay for AP English to complete tucked away inside her backpack, and maybe she can finish the final draft before typing it up later tonight. For once it's nice and quiet—mostly peaceful, even—in the shop and a perfect environment to work in. She slides into her seat and lets out a sharp exhale as the feeling of cold leather seeps through her blouse and skirt.

She unzips her backpack and pulls the assignment out of it and turns to look at her sisters one last time before starting.

Buttercup is behind the counter, bobbing her head to some beat Blossom can't hear and twirling a pair of drumsticks. Bubbles is swaying to the quiet strains of pop music coming from the speaker system, chewing bubblegum and wiping down tables. Given that they've obviously hit a slow patch, the Professor is likely in the kitchen baking or out for a little while.

The dainty glass lights dangling from the ceiling are dimmed low, but are still bright enough to illuminate the open room—they aren't blinding, so that's nice. In fact, the whole bakery has a comforting air, and with the lull of the rain beating against the roof and the quiet music floating through the room, she could almost go to sleep. She can't remember the last time this has happened.

Bubbles is stepping and swaying back and forth across the tiles now, adding in a little twirl here and there. Her blonde pigtails bump and bounce against her shoulders as she dances, and Buttercup is thumbing through a cookbook picked up from the pile beside her that Blossom hadn't noticed before. It's her turn to make dinner tonight, and Blossom can't help but be a little excited because Buttercup's cooking is divine. The book looks French, too. Delicious.

Her youngest finally seems to notice her appearance as she spins around and chirps out a "hi Blossom!" and Buttercup's gaze slides up to meet hers for a brief second before she nods. Blossom smiles to herself and shifts her attention to the papers and pen in front of her. Yes, she decides, this is definitely a good thing.

Which is of course, abruptly shattered around ten minutes later when the bell above the front door lets out a soft ring-a-ding. Blossom is completely into writing and has apparently lost touch with reality, so she doesn't look up. But Buttercup does, and her expression immediately sours, though it switches to her blank poker-face one a second later.

"Well would you look at that," she says flatly, "if it isn't Tweedledum, Tweedledee, and Tweedledick."

Bubbles pauses mid-twirl, arms still raised and wet dish cloth dripping water onto the floor. "What?" She twists around to look at the entrance and suddenly drops her arms at the sight of the three boys standing by the door.

Butch snickers at her, Boomer looks just a little interested in what she'd been doing, and Brick really couldn't care less. "What's the matter, Barbie?" Butch grins, "You don't have to stop just on our account."

She smacks her gum around a few times and blows a pretty pink bubble before harshly popping it. "What do you guys want?"

Her tone is suspiciously close to a whine, and Buttercup hides a smile as she turns back to her book full of French cuisine. This has been going on for years, and so it's nothing new to her. A feud slash rivalry between bakeries is absolutely ridiculous, and yet it started almost as soon as the shop across the street opened.

Mojo Jojo—the owner of the bakery they could see through their front windows and father of the brothers currently in her family's shop—is a short, ape of a man who mostly talks in circles and uses a lot of redundancy, also hates her family with a burning passion. She's not exactly sure what possessed him to build his own bakery smackdab in the middle of downtown, only a short trip of about one hundred feet from them, but. For someone who's supposed to be so smart, he definitely makes some idiotic decisions, that much is sure.

So yeah, shortly after the grand opening of Knead Bread?—which also, like what the fuck, it's a cool name but it's also punny, and that's just crossing the damn line—right across from their bakery (Confection Connection, also cool, by the way) everyone officially met for the first time. Or, well, she and her sisters met the "Rowdyruff Boys" and it basically consisted of insults being thrown back and forth—mostly by the boys and herself—and Brick throwing a dish of lemon and raspberry dacquoise at Blossom. She retaliated by dumping a full tray of strawberry crème crepes over his head, heavy on the crème.

Buttercup would be lying if she said she still didn't find this hilarious. Mostly because Brick's face turned almost as red as his hair, and his own brothers had been laughing at him. Karma's a bitch, really. In summary, they hadn't ever gotten along since, though food wasn't used as ammunition in their war (most of the time) anymore. Blossom and Brick competed against each other in everything they could because they were always trying to be better than one another, she and Butch were always at odds, and Bubbles and Boomer…well, she didn't really know.

The point is, they didn't like each other. At all. And the boys always came over to pester them whenever the opportunity presented itself. Like right now, for instance.

What a bunch of assholes, honestly.

"We don't want anything," Brick responds, crossing his arm and glaring at Blossom out of his peripheral vision. She doesn't notice, and his eyes narrow even more. "At least not from this shitty dump."

"Then get out," Buttercup deadpans, not even glancing up from her cookbook. "No loitering. Or solicitors."

Bubbles tries to choke back a snort but fails miserably. Blossom still hasn't acknowledged the presence of their not-guests or patrons, and Buttercup thinks it's seriously pissing Brick off. Good. He's a moody little bitch, he deserves it.

Boomer is perusing their selection of goods with mild interest. "Do you guys have blueberry tart?"

Butch guffaws as their older brother smacks the blond upside the head. "Boomer, you absolute shithead, were you not listening to anything I said?"

He looks up with half-wild eyes and a panicked expression on his face. "I-I'm just hungry," he insists frantically, which only makes Butch laugh harder.

"I usually just tune you out," he briefly sobers up to say seriously, then starts to cackle again at the look on Brick's face.

Buttercup inconspicuously slips out her phone and manages to snap a quick photo without anyone noticing. It's going to be her new lockscreen wallpaper. Beautiful.

Bubbles flails, slinging dirty table water all over the place, including Butch's open mouth. He sputters magnificently, and Buttercup snaps another picture for her background wallpaper. "Ohmigosh, why are you even still here?" the blonde moans and screeches at the same time. "Leave."

"No loitering dickheads," Buttercup repeats monotonously, and in Butch's general direction drones, "or soliciting."

Brick fumes. "Fine," he spits, and turns to leave. His brothers follow as per usual, and Butch sends a flippant wave to Buttercup. She sends him the finger.

They pass by Blossom's booth and Brick reaches over to tug the meticulously tied scarlet ribbon out of her hair. She immediately looks up, finally rejoining the world, long auburn locks falling all around her shoulders and a few strands in her face. Brick gives her a shit-eating grin and twines the ribbon between his fingers before disappearing out the door after his brothers, the piece of smooth fabric still in his possession.

Buttercup rolls her eyes and kicks her feet up on the counter as Blossom is too busy processing everything that's happened to scold her. Bubbles stirs up a mug of cinnamon hot chocolate and takes it to her oldest sister, who's just realized that her favorite hair ornament has been stolen.

"Jerks," she mutters under her breath and flips past a page about preparing escargot. She mentally begins to formulate a plan to get back at them, as Blossom is too goody-goody to do anything except get into explosive arguments with the oldest brother.

But first, she's going to need a fresh batch of strawberry crème crepes.


tbc

end notes: a wise piece of information from my older brother: "boys only pick on girls because they like them, even though it's totally an asshole move." this could probably be considered as foreshadowing.