My entry for LiveJournal's ppg-hub-drabble community. I tried and I lost-but there's always next month! Congrats to the winner!
If you've the time, check out Rumination (previously One and the Same), my collection of PpG one-shots. Hit me up with a request in the reviews if you have one!
Prompt: The Beach
Fandom: The Powerpuff Girls
Protag.: Brick-centered
Genre: General
Rating: T [mild language]
Age: 16
Point of view: Third Person Limited
Other: All appendages are accounted for; Slight changes from my actual entry (e.g. the ending)
He hated the beach.
First off, it was hot. Yes, he realized that was more due to the sun and not the beach itself, but he felt that the beach should hold some responsibility. Even when the sun wasn't out, and the beach looked every bit as depressing as one of—or all of—Butch's report cards (he still wasn't sure how he ended up with a brother like him. At least Boomer does his work), it was still hot with humidity. Really, the heat was everywhere; in the air, in the ocean, and on the sand.
Speaking of sand, whoever had the thought that little beads of dirt and rock that get everywhere (he's had sand in places sand shouldn't be) would be something fun was dead wrong. And don't even get him started on the beach people. He'd seen more muffin-tops and speedos in his lifetime than any normal sixteen year old should.
So when his brothers suggested they go to the beach, he protested vehemently. They even went so far as to recruit the Powerpuff Girls—to recruit Blossom, to persuade him. Some brothers they are. The commander and the leader did everything she could to get him to go, including batting her eyes (didn't work), kissing him (somewhat worked), and then blowing him off, which was the final straw.
That's how he found himself sitting on a sand dune, the little pieces of rock somehow getting into his hat and hair; staring moodily into the godforsaken ocean (he made a mental note to keep Blossom away from Bubbles. Her manipulation techniques were getting better). Much to the protests of his brothers and the girls, this was how he was going to stay until it was time for them to pack up and fly home. According to Butch and his wonderfully eloquent girlfriend, Buttercup, he's "being a fucking prick and ruining everything". Serves them right.
And they would have continued to be served, until he spotted the Pink Puff emerge from the changing tent, clad in a pink and white one-piece, her long legs on display. It took all he had for him to not give in to his chemically enhanced hormones, and stop staring—and even then, he still caught himself glancing at her (and her legs. She didn't have those when they were five), and felt the heat rising to his neck whenever he got caught (Butch called him a fag for that one).
That's how he found himself on a sand dune, pieces of rock still in his hair as he watched Blossom (and her legs. How did they get so long?) relax on a beach towel with a book in her hand (The Great Gatsby. He swore he was falling in love).
Maybe he could learn to like the beach.