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Progress! Plus rejected.
Okay, so I said I would outline the entire fic, and HOMG I got maybe a good 40% outlined. The first part! Which is not exactly what I said I would do, but it's still A LOT. If I can get the second part outlined by next weekend then YEY, that would be great too. Or by mid-week! (Not going to happen.)
... My optimism amuses me :D
YEEG. I'm feeling fairly accomplished! It felt v. good to get that out, and it didn't even feel like having teeth pulled with no anesthetic. I even got some writing/editing done on TEF.
TEF Word Count: 48,281
TEF Page Count: 90 pages
Outlining makes it a Hell of a lot easier to come up with factoids, too.
TEF Factoid #9: THERE ARE MONSTER FIGHTS.
Okay, not especially impressive, but since ff.net's PpG/RrB epics tend to have so little "protecting the city" going on, I felt it was factoid status worthy.
To celebrate me getting a significant amount of crap done on TEF, I thought I'd dig up another piece I totally fucking rejected and shine a light on its heathen existence. Unlike the first one, I actually started writing a narrative for it.
Originally, it started out as last year's bday fic for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
dee_lirious, but I stopped once I realized I couldn't actually go anywhere with it and wound up writing this, which I liked much, much more.
The idea I had in mind started with Butch plus other guys we don't care about watching Buttercup plus other girls we don't care about play basketball. The boys play this drinking game while the girls play bball, and ugh I can't even finish writing this, I have no idea where I could've carried this. Anyway, see below.
--
This One Doesn't Even Have A Title, Whatevs
Butch swirled his shot glass absentmindedly, his eyes on Buttercup as she caught the pass and instantly drove for the basket. Easy two-pointer. The other girls just couldn’t keep up.
“Mike just took a shot!” the Floydjoydsen twins crowed in unison, and Butch turned his attention back to the rest of the gang. He, Mike, and Mitch were crowded around an upturned milk crate with one bottle of Patrón between the three of them, half gone.
Mitch rolled his eyes. “There’s no point to announcing it if you guys have no idea what the freaking tell is.”
“Oh, we know what Mike’s tell is,” Floyd sneered, and Mike gave him a wary look. “It’s Lindsay, every time she attempts to block a shot with her left hand.”
“Aw, damn,” Mike groaned, flicking his glass into the dirt. “That one lasted me a good four games, too.” He scooted away from the crate and took a seat next to the twins.
It had started out as a way to get a rise out of the girls at their weekly basketball game. They’d wandered back and forth on the sidelines, jeering and whistling at the ones they fantasized about at night, but when Buttercup turned her icy glare on them only Butch had been man enough to continue, and even then it wasn’t much fun doing it alone.
It was then that Mitch devised this complicated drinking game: pick a girl, pick a body part, and pick an action. Every time all three of those elements came together, you were to take a shot, and continue to do so until the guys who weren’t drinking guessed your tell. Courtney pivoting on her right foot as she made a pass. Buttercup handing off the ball behind her back. Robin biting her lip as she attempted a shot.
The tells could get a little complex, but were guessed correctly more often than not. You kept the same tell until either someone guessed it or you wanted to change it, at which point you would lay your previous tell bare to the rest of the group. They cycled, so that only three guys were ever drinking at one time, and really, it wasn’t much about the drinking, but more about any excuse they could have to stare at the objects of their affections, fantasies, and misguided lusts without being called pussies for it.
In the beginning Butch had picked ridiculously easy ones for himself, exclaiming, “What the fuck’s the point of a fucking drinking game if you’re never going to fucking drink anything?” He made a show of taking shots even when his tell didn’t come up, often drinking himself stupid enough to the point of giving it away in a very loud, friendly voice.
“It’s Amy!” he announced one night, spreading his arms to the sky. Mitch groaned and buried his face in his hands.
Butch leered at the girl in question and continued, “When she rests her hands on her knees and you can see her breasts curve—”
“That has nothing to do with basketball,” Mitch muttered, and lifted his head long enough to glower at Butch. “You stupid fuck,” he added viciously.
“Who the hell cares?!” Butch brayed, gesticulating wildly. “The girl is fucking hot. Amy, baby, walk that gorgeous little body of yours over here so I can give that sweet piece of ass the attention it deserves.”
Suddenly there was a cry of outrage, and he had the sudden sense that the rest of the guys were scattering in all directions when out of nowhere something hurtled into him at two-hundred-plus miles an hour, and then he was shoved into the dirt, gasping for breath as he barely focused on the intense, infuriated green of Buttercup’s eyes.
“You are going to shut up,” she hissed murderously. “You are going to shut up, you are going to shut your God damn fucking mouth and play your stupid fucking drinking game in your quiet voice, like the rest of them.” The green orbs he was barely focusing on morphed into slits. “Or else I will tear your stomach open, rip out your internal organs, and strangle you with your small intestine as you make a feeble attempt to salvage your half-poisoned liver.”
Even in his current state he was coherent enough to sneer at her and say, “Fuck you, bitch.”
It wouldn’t have been out of character to hit him, and from the look on her face she certainly seemed well-inclined to do so.
--
I must say, I do love Buttercup's last line, there. Not sure I'll be able to sneak that into a fic I'll be prouder of, alas!
To give an idea of where I was trying to take it... I was trying to turn it into one of those fics where Butch just starts to see Buttercup in a different light. However, I wrote a page of it (see above) and realized I couldn't do it effectively just by having him watch Buttercup play. I also realized I was essentially going to be writing myself in circles trying to get to a very simple point.
That, and I swear to God, that is the STUPIDEST and most complicated drinking game ever. EVER. I can't believe that came out of my brain D:
I'm going to go celebrate progress with brownies!
... My optimism amuses me :D
YEEG. I'm feeling fairly accomplished! It felt v. good to get that out, and it didn't even feel like having teeth pulled with no anesthetic. I even got some writing/editing done on TEF.
TEF Word Count: 48,281
TEF Page Count: 90 pages
Outlining makes it a Hell of a lot easier to come up with factoids, too.
TEF Factoid #9: THERE ARE MONSTER FIGHTS.
Okay, not especially impressive, but since ff.net's PpG/RrB epics tend to have so little "protecting the city" going on, I felt it was factoid status worthy.
To celebrate me getting a significant amount of crap done on TEF, I thought I'd dig up another piece I totally fucking rejected and shine a light on its heathen existence. Unlike the first one, I actually started writing a narrative for it.
Originally, it started out as last year's bday fic for
dee_lirious, but I stopped once I realized I couldn't actually go anywhere with it and wound up writing this, which I liked much, much more.The idea I had in mind started with Butch plus other guys we don't care about watching Buttercup plus other girls we don't care about play basketball. The boys play this drinking game while the girls play bball, and ugh I can't even finish writing this, I have no idea where I could've carried this. Anyway, see below.
--
This One Doesn't Even Have A Title, Whatevs
Butch swirled his shot glass absentmindedly, his eyes on Buttercup as she caught the pass and instantly drove for the basket. Easy two-pointer. The other girls just couldn’t keep up.
“Mike just took a shot!” the Floydjoydsen twins crowed in unison, and Butch turned his attention back to the rest of the gang. He, Mike, and Mitch were crowded around an upturned milk crate with one bottle of Patrón between the three of them, half gone.
Mitch rolled his eyes. “There’s no point to announcing it if you guys have no idea what the freaking tell is.”
“Oh, we know what Mike’s tell is,” Floyd sneered, and Mike gave him a wary look. “It’s Lindsay, every time she attempts to block a shot with her left hand.”
“Aw, damn,” Mike groaned, flicking his glass into the dirt. “That one lasted me a good four games, too.” He scooted away from the crate and took a seat next to the twins.
It had started out as a way to get a rise out of the girls at their weekly basketball game. They’d wandered back and forth on the sidelines, jeering and whistling at the ones they fantasized about at night, but when Buttercup turned her icy glare on them only Butch had been man enough to continue, and even then it wasn’t much fun doing it alone.
It was then that Mitch devised this complicated drinking game: pick a girl, pick a body part, and pick an action. Every time all three of those elements came together, you were to take a shot, and continue to do so until the guys who weren’t drinking guessed your tell. Courtney pivoting on her right foot as she made a pass. Buttercup handing off the ball behind her back. Robin biting her lip as she attempted a shot.
The tells could get a little complex, but were guessed correctly more often than not. You kept the same tell until either someone guessed it or you wanted to change it, at which point you would lay your previous tell bare to the rest of the group. They cycled, so that only three guys were ever drinking at one time, and really, it wasn’t much about the drinking, but more about any excuse they could have to stare at the objects of their affections, fantasies, and misguided lusts without being called pussies for it.
In the beginning Butch had picked ridiculously easy ones for himself, exclaiming, “What the fuck’s the point of a fucking drinking game if you’re never going to fucking drink anything?” He made a show of taking shots even when his tell didn’t come up, often drinking himself stupid enough to the point of giving it away in a very loud, friendly voice.
“It’s Amy!” he announced one night, spreading his arms to the sky. Mitch groaned and buried his face in his hands.
Butch leered at the girl in question and continued, “When she rests her hands on her knees and you can see her breasts curve—”
“That has nothing to do with basketball,” Mitch muttered, and lifted his head long enough to glower at Butch. “You stupid fuck,” he added viciously.
“Who the hell cares?!” Butch brayed, gesticulating wildly. “The girl is fucking hot. Amy, baby, walk that gorgeous little body of yours over here so I can give that sweet piece of ass the attention it deserves.”
Suddenly there was a cry of outrage, and he had the sudden sense that the rest of the guys were scattering in all directions when out of nowhere something hurtled into him at two-hundred-plus miles an hour, and then he was shoved into the dirt, gasping for breath as he barely focused on the intense, infuriated green of Buttercup’s eyes.
“You are going to shut up,” she hissed murderously. “You are going to shut up, you are going to shut your God damn fucking mouth and play your stupid fucking drinking game in your quiet voice, like the rest of them.” The green orbs he was barely focusing on morphed into slits. “Or else I will tear your stomach open, rip out your internal organs, and strangle you with your small intestine as you make a feeble attempt to salvage your half-poisoned liver.”
Even in his current state he was coherent enough to sneer at her and say, “Fuck you, bitch.”
It wouldn’t have been out of character to hit him, and from the look on her face she certainly seemed well-inclined to do so.
--
I must say, I do love Buttercup's last line, there. Not sure I'll be able to sneak that into a fic I'll be prouder of, alas!
To give an idea of where I was trying to take it... I was trying to turn it into one of those fics where Butch just starts to see Buttercup in a different light. However, I wrote a page of it (see above) and realized I couldn't do it effectively just by having him watch Buttercup play. I also realized I was essentially going to be writing myself in circles trying to get to a very simple point.
That, and I swear to God, that is the STUPIDEST and most complicated drinking game ever. EVER. I can't believe that came out of my brain D:
I'm going to go celebrate progress with brownies!
no subject
Progress! Yaaaay. :D :D
no subject
Buttercup, you militant feminist you. I think you should pound him for even thinking of looking at another girl, then rip a lead pipe out of the wall in the bathroom and let Amy have a go while he's down. :D
Hooray for progress! Keep that progress coming, I need fic like you would not believe. D: