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I am sick of not posting
So I thought I'd jump on and throw another tfr post up here. I'm hoping to get back on writing and posting next week, if rl decides to stop being so time-consuming.
This is an alternate scene from A Week of Unmitigated Almost-Loathing that was fun and ridiculous and over-the-top, but so completely ridick and over-the-top that my already OOC-Butch became that much more OOC. Whatever, I got him in blue fishnets and you can't not consider that a success. You're welcome, fandom.
(Not editing this; I used to abbreviate Buttercup as Bc and Butch as Btc in my rough drafts so nosy bitches reading over my shoulder as I wrote on the bus would have that much more trouble deciphering who I was writing about. Looking back, I find it amusing that I thought they'd care.)
My God I just skimmed over it and wtf, this is so OOC. (Though that does explain why it was tfr.)
(I think I had just re-watched Rocky Horror when I wrote this scene.)
--
Friday evening, 9:38 pm.
“Almost done in there, Btc?” Bc chirped gleefully, near to bursting with anticipation.
There was a near inaudible grunt from inside the fitting rooms.
“I’ll take that as a yes.” She was smiling like a madwoman.
“You know, I’ll bet these shorts are gonna impede my ability to father children in the future.”
“Thank God. At least I’m doing my part to make the world a better place. Because, you know, we really need more clones of you running rampant across this planet.”
“Stuff it.”
Bc could not help herself. “Considering your last comment about the shorts, shouldn’t I be saying that to you?”
A pause. Then, “You know, if I wasn’t about to make a complete and utter fool of myself in about thirty seconds, I would applaud you for making such an obscene statement.”
“Make it fifteen. You’ve been in there long enough.”
She heard a sigh, followed by a final zip, and stepped back as the door swung open.
She almost lost it right there.
Bc dropped to her knees and doubled over on the floor, cackling hysterically at the feet of Btc.
In drag.
He was not quite so amused. “Remind me again of how you talked me into this,” he said, deadpan.
“I beat the crap out of you at Lasertag,” she gasped, tears streaming from her eyes.
“You got lucky.”
“Luck had nothing to do with it. And if you haven’t forgotten, there’s one more condition.”
Btc cringed. “Yes. I’m aware of that.”
Bc stood, stifling more giggles. “It’s too bad I don’t have a camera.”
“With my luck, I’m sure someone out there will.”
“No, remember, luck has nothing to do with it.” The grin on Bc’s face could’ve covered Alaska. “Now get out there and strut.”
Friday evening, 9:42 pm.
Bc had never laughed so hard in her life.
It was unbelievable. Simply unbelievable. Btc—her bitter enemy, her archrival, the perpetual subject of her ill intentions and fearsome loathing since childhood, and particularly during this past week—defaced publicly as he was forced to skip through the Juniors dept. of Pennie’s, with a shocked audience of Friday evening shoppers looking on in abject… well, abject something. Horror, disgust, amusement, who gave a crap? Bc was getting her kicks, and the rest of them could go blow off for all she cared.
It hardly mattered that Btc didn’t seem to be put off by this one bit; in fact, he seemed to be enjoying it. Why, Bc couldn’t fathom, though it did spur a new line of thought in her head, which only served to further entertain her. In retrospect, she should’ve found it strange (to make an understatement) that he would even agree to do this. However, she was too busy laughing her ass off to be thinking properly anyway.
She could literally feel her lungs straining against her ribs as she panted for air between hysterics—he was adorned in a halter top, blue fishnet stockings and arm warmers, and pink hot pants (HOT PANTS!) for Christ’s sake, and as horrific as the very image was, it was beyond fathomable reason how she could not look at that and just laugh, and laugh, and laugh.
He proceeded to claim the aisle as his catwalk and began to do his best imitation of a runway model at Bc’s command, and she pounded her hand against the floor, overtaken by a whole new round of laughter. As she forced her eyes open and tried to sit up, he twirled, and just as she doubled over again she could’ve sworn she saw him smiling and winking at her.
--
This Butch is like some freakish hybrid of TEF!Boomer and Him. Uh, go my brain, or something?
This is an alternate scene from A Week of Unmitigated Almost-Loathing that was fun and ridiculous and over-the-top, but so completely ridick and over-the-top that my already OOC-Butch became that much more OOC. Whatever, I got him in blue fishnets and you can't not consider that a success. You're welcome, fandom.
(Not editing this; I used to abbreviate Buttercup as Bc and Butch as Btc in my rough drafts so nosy bitches reading over my shoulder as I wrote on the bus would have that much more trouble deciphering who I was writing about. Looking back, I find it amusing that I thought they'd care.)
My God I just skimmed over it and wtf, this is so OOC. (Though that does explain why it was tfr.)
(I think I had just re-watched Rocky Horror when I wrote this scene.)
--
Friday evening, 9:38 pm.
“Almost done in there, Btc?” Bc chirped gleefully, near to bursting with anticipation.
There was a near inaudible grunt from inside the fitting rooms.
“I’ll take that as a yes.” She was smiling like a madwoman.
“You know, I’ll bet these shorts are gonna impede my ability to father children in the future.”
“Thank God. At least I’m doing my part to make the world a better place. Because, you know, we really need more clones of you running rampant across this planet.”
“Stuff it.”
Bc could not help herself. “Considering your last comment about the shorts, shouldn’t I be saying that to you?”
A pause. Then, “You know, if I wasn’t about to make a complete and utter fool of myself in about thirty seconds, I would applaud you for making such an obscene statement.”
“Make it fifteen. You’ve been in there long enough.”
She heard a sigh, followed by a final zip, and stepped back as the door swung open.
She almost lost it right there.
Bc dropped to her knees and doubled over on the floor, cackling hysterically at the feet of Btc.
In drag.
He was not quite so amused. “Remind me again of how you talked me into this,” he said, deadpan.
“I beat the crap out of you at Lasertag,” she gasped, tears streaming from her eyes.
“You got lucky.”
“Luck had nothing to do with it. And if you haven’t forgotten, there’s one more condition.”
Btc cringed. “Yes. I’m aware of that.”
Bc stood, stifling more giggles. “It’s too bad I don’t have a camera.”
“With my luck, I’m sure someone out there will.”
“No, remember, luck has nothing to do with it.” The grin on Bc’s face could’ve covered Alaska. “Now get out there and strut.”
Friday evening, 9:42 pm.
Bc had never laughed so hard in her life.
It was unbelievable. Simply unbelievable. Btc—her bitter enemy, her archrival, the perpetual subject of her ill intentions and fearsome loathing since childhood, and particularly during this past week—defaced publicly as he was forced to skip through the Juniors dept. of Pennie’s, with a shocked audience of Friday evening shoppers looking on in abject… well, abject something. Horror, disgust, amusement, who gave a crap? Bc was getting her kicks, and the rest of them could go blow off for all she cared.
It hardly mattered that Btc didn’t seem to be put off by this one bit; in fact, he seemed to be enjoying it. Why, Bc couldn’t fathom, though it did spur a new line of thought in her head, which only served to further entertain her. In retrospect, she should’ve found it strange (to make an understatement) that he would even agree to do this. However, she was too busy laughing her ass off to be thinking properly anyway.
She could literally feel her lungs straining against her ribs as she panted for air between hysterics—he was adorned in a halter top, blue fishnet stockings and arm warmers, and pink hot pants (HOT PANTS!) for Christ’s sake, and as horrific as the very image was, it was beyond fathomable reason how she could not look at that and just laugh, and laugh, and laugh.
He proceeded to claim the aisle as his catwalk and began to do his best imitation of a runway model at Bc’s command, and she pounded her hand against the floor, overtaken by a whole new round of laughter. As she forced her eyes open and tried to sit up, he twirled, and just as she doubled over again she could’ve sworn she saw him smiling and winking at her.
--
This Butch is like some freakish hybrid of TEF!Boomer and Him. Uh, go my brain, or something?
no subject
This was amazing. But I'm a little glad you Didn't add it. It's special enough on its own I daresay. Bravo! <3
no subject
Meanwhile I will ponder that proposal of yours =3=...
no subject
You're very welcome!
8D