OKAY! SO hear me out- (gets hit with a pan)- I know I'm late updating GM and I honestly have NO excuse for it. The next chapter is 50% done, I promise. We'll get new characters and we'll see Buttercup learn to fight monsters. It'll be good, I promise. But while I was on the bus going home today, I was listening to Halsey and thought, I haven't updated Beautiful Disasters in a while. And the song "Colors" came on and I thought it would make a perfect song for the Powerpunk Girls.

So here it is...sorry if it's a little sappy, but the song is a little sad too.

Colors

She stared at the front of the classroom, paying attention for the first and only time of the day. She didn't care that it was sixth period. She didn't care that it was Creative Writing, the most boring class according to her and her friends. Ever since the beginning of this year, she had never been late to this class and will always listen to every word of it. Because it was his favorite class and he was always willing to chat with her over the homework assigned or the topics discussed.

She pushed her copper tone hair out of her face, scanning over the poem that she had worked for weeks on. It was one of the few assignments she had ever really worked on, barely scraping by on her grades. It wasn't like her father really cared about what she did, so long as she didn't ruin his already tarnished reputation. Her sisters did that enough for him already and he didn't need her to add to it. He said he knew how that felt. His brothers took attention away from him too. His little brothers showered him with affection, but he was the only one who noticed that his mother's smiles are fake enough that they should be on TV. It was the only time that she felt any connection to anyone, so she fell deeper for his slightly doped up, sorry excuse for a heart that held onto the desperately old soul.

She didn't know when she started feeling so hard around him. Before they met, the world was grey with random splotches of red. But when he entered into the room, it was like he sprayed various shades of blue and suddenly the world seemed so different, especially when she looked at it from his point of view. The color of his sighs seemed to overflow like a runny sink, making a mess in her grey scale world that she could never hope to clean up without fixing the leak permanently. But what if you wanted to the leak to go on, if only to drown out the grey? He didn't see how he was making her world a mess, he didn't see anything other than the color blue.

As she watched him approach the front, the others around leaned in. His words had the uncanny ability to paint a picture, to become an over-saturated sunrise or a raging stormy sea. Those around him fell in love, while others fell in misery. Sometimes she was on one side and other times, she was on the other. She didn't know which side was better, to be honest. When it was blue, like the jeans he loves so much or the ink staining his hands, was it then? Or was it when it was grey, like the nicotine smoke from his cigarettes and the chalk in his hair? Was it when they sat together for hours, watching the people go by? When he was higher than heaven on his drugs and she was just high from being near him?

To be honest, each side hurt and she didn't know how to choose. He got to the front and began to speak. His words slipped like they were being written by a fallen angel on holy doctrine, painting the picture of pain and sorrow. He sang the myths of love and happiness without changing a note. Her heart ached in ways that were so sweet, that she didn't know how to cope. Why was it when it's anyone else, she would have flipped the whole building upside down for confusing her, but when it's him...it's like the world is being dosed with light shades of sky and robin's egg paint?

She hates when she wakes up, she sees his face in the morning...whether the sun is shining or it's the gloomy overcast sky. If she had a dream about him, she could swear she entered heaven for the first time. She was never one to believe, but what else could it mean when you're with the one who makes you see the world in different colors like this? If she told him this, he would laugh. He said he would stay an atheist until he found true forgiveness for the sins of his brothers and himself. His gloomy face and soul where what she went to sleep with, but his misery is what she woke up to alone.

He finally came down after the teacher critiqued him, if you could call it that. No matter what, he could do no wrong in this school. Perfect grades, perfect attendance, and a perfectly sad smile on his face. How could you criticize a soul like his? Would you find mistakes in Michelangelo's David? Could you find the flaws in De Vinci's Mona Lisa? To try would be an insult to all that was considered art. Her pink eyes followed his sandy blonde hair and stayed on him for the longest time. She looked away before she could see her sister tease him with a flirty smile.

Of course, regardless of how she felt, he would never know the depths of how she feels. She once thought that maybe, one day, she could let him know. Maybe they could be the perfect mess together. He could mix his blues with her passionate reds and watch the shades of purple paint the skies and ground like modern art. He could be sad with her and she'll let him rage with her. He could cry on her shoulders and sigh along with her. She could yell with him and grumble as the ground shook. But he didn't feel that way for her. He didn't feel like that for anyone here.

Not her sisters.

Not his friends.

Not the girls in their class.

Not her.

The girl who caused his melancholy was in a different place. She was red, like her. But she was perfect. She was like a bright, shiny apple at the top of the minty leave colored trees, a goal he could never reach. She was the dingy crab apple on the ground that he didn't notice by his feet. Her hair was like rubies while hers was like copper. One was hard to find and keep while the other was always around and uninteresting. He just wasn't interested in the colors that she was offering to him. Even though she practically ripped her heart out to give him the red of her soul, he looked at it like it was discount ink with no remorse.

Maybe that's what she loved the most is the fact that he didn't love her back, but it didn't make the truth easier to handle-

"Hey, Berserk! C'mon, class is over!"

"Hey! Let's skip seventh and eighth and hit the mall."

"Good idea, Brat...coming, Ber?"

"...I'll be right there," gathering her things, she glanced back in his direction. He didn't pay her any mind.

- And it didn't make her world any less black.

Your little brother never tells you but he loves you so
You said your mother only smiled on her TV show
You're only happy when your sorry head is filled with dope
I hope you make it to the day you're twenty-eight years old

Okay, to be honest, this was hard to write at first but I like it the most. I was listening to the song and thought it applied to Berserk. I thought that with Blossom being the perfect one, it might be difficult for Berserk to compete with. Blossom's more than likely got admirers in different places, and the Rowdyrite Boys might idolize the Powerpuff Girls (since they've been superheroes for longer than they have). I also thought it would be an interesting change to see some mixed color pairings, which I usually don't write. Break is the guy that she's so in love with, he's Brat's counterpart and his personality is moodier than Boomer's and Bubbles. He's also smarter too, which explainswhy he gets perfect grades while Boomer's struggling to keep up with his straight C's. I wanted to give the Powerpunk's a more grim lifestyle, since they were meant to be the antithesis to the Powerpuff Girls. While the PPG live in a world where justice reigns supreme and the future is bright, the PPnks see a world where justice isn't always right and the shades of grey can overshadow the light.

...Look, I don't know okay?! Writer's Block was weak against the song and I am weak against the muse!