3/17/16 All chapters are being revised and edited. Expect new chapters by next week!
Careful Blues
Her vision blurred. The sights around her became a watered painting, her orbs sinking into an ocean of pain. Her charcoal haired opponent never paused from his attacks. With fist of turmoil, he connected each punch to her face and chest. Every contact knocked the oxygen right out of her lungs—a feeling she grew used to after many vicious battles.
But this opponent was her equal. He was just as impatient and mighty. His male form pounced onto her body with savage claws like a beast. He attacked her feverishly, enjoying the image of her broken skin. Her might had now taken its dosage of weakness and she reached for an escape.
Her knee dove deeply into his gut, causing him to flinch at the collision. He coughed madly taking precious time away from his attacks. Buttercup's fingers caught the material of his shirt, bringing his figure downward to impact the cement. His built, super body against the hard cement created a path of crumbled street.
His narrowed gaze was inseparable to the aggression in her look. Amazingly, her expression never twitched (unlike his own reaction to aggression) and it showed that she was in control of her impulses. Butch snickered under her hold, laughing as she pulled him up by the collar of his shirt, slamming him back down onto the pavement.
She didn't participate in his vile humor. Buttercup slammed him with intense hatred. The power never caused him to flinch. His evil lungs breathed out his continuous laughter, and once she raised her elbow to prepare to deal greater damage, he silenced himself to grab her by the strands. He gripped onto a handful of her short locks, pulling her down to him.
"I'll kill you," he closed a fist over her neck, "I'll be the end of you."
Buttercup struggled against her enemy, knowing he was wrong. She was his equal and the goodness in her heart, and the will to protect her family, would be his demise.
Bubbles slowly regained consciousness. She awoke to the horrific body of the nurse, the moments leading up to her death flooding her mind. The flashbacks reminded her of her empty arms. Glancing down to her cold hands, she buried her sobs in their crevices, sensing the little warmth her had son left.
She tore the blankets of the bed off of her. Walking to the window, she faced down to see the sea of citizens. She hadn't known that they were holding one another in fear. She was nude beneath her hospital robes and she trembled in her steps searching for garments.
"Ah!" She winced, falling onto an IV.
The medication stock on wheels rode away from her weight, leaving Bubbles to meet the hard tile floor. The sudden fall intensified the ache, a now searing pain crawling onto her knees and echoing along her side. No new mother should be in this predicament—lonely, shaken—that Bubbles found herself in.
For a woman laced with Chemical X, the mixture in her blood did little to comfort the aftermath of child birth. She desperately needed to recover. She needed to save her creator, he sisters, Townsville, and most importantly, her son.
And the worst aspect of her encouragement to remove herself from the floor was the need to protect her son from his own father.