um, yeah. for reasons i won't go into right now i'm posting the second part already b/c i don't know how much i'm gonna work on the third part for now. uh. . . semi-romantic tension, i suppose? mainly. . . yeah, never mind, it's just supposed to be funny. :D
and going over the first part i realized i missed a tense change ¬ ¬. . . and forgot a disclaimer O_O don't sue me craig! or cartoon network! the ppg DON'T belong to me. but a small piece of south africa does ;)
and to hairy gregory: yeah i know they wear skirts in the show, sorry ^^; but for some girls (including me) we all go through a stage where we think "skirt? HAY-ELL NAW!" (sorry. it's the texas accent speaking.) so i'm assuming buttercup outgrew the dresses sometime late. . . elementary and reverted to jeans and never looked back. well, until now.
and i didn't explain how the rrb came back. . . uh, how about "there IS such a thing as too much sex, drugs, & rock and roll?"
yeah. didn't make sense, did it? wasn't supposed to.
ok. that's it. please review! love addressing your feedback!
-jen
*A Skirt for Sunday Evening* pt.II
~-songbirdjen~
"Geez, Buttercup! What the hell are you doing in there?!"
"What the hell do you THINK I'm doing?" I snarl at the shut door, hoping he can't hear the quaver in my voice. 'You should just change out of this right now, Buttercup,' I think to myself as I turn and inspect myself in the mirror. I feel so SHALLOW doing this. 'Just grab a pair of good ol' comfy jeans and toss this. . . thing in the garbage on your way out the door. He'll never need to know, never have to hold it against you, never--"
Butch incidentally chooses this time to once again politely ask if I need assistance.
BAMBAMBAM! "What'd you do, Buttercup, fall in?!"
"SHADDUP!" My hand flies to the zipper at the base of my spine and I move to take it off when Butch barges through the door.
"Well, if that wasn't an invitation--" he starts, a smile on his face, then abruptly stops, his expression dropping. I cringe, my hand still at the zipper, ready to pull it down, only I CAN'T now. Unless I want to just pile on the humiliation and start doing a striptease for him.
His mouth is slightly parted, his eyes wide, and it seems as if all time has stopped. Neither of us moves for what feels like ages, but I guess it's only a second, seeing as how time supposedly ceased to exist for a few brief moments. Being the breaker of awkward situations that he is, Butch quickly recovers from his initial shock.
"Oh--my--GOD," he says, face breaking into a grin and eyes blinking several times to make sure he's not hallucinating. He circles me and shakes his head disbelievingly, chuckling. My hands are still on the zipper. "This. . . dude. . . but. . . DUDE!" His eyes fly up from the skirt to my face. "You have GOT to be kidding me! How long has THIS skeleton been in your closet?!"
"Under the bed, actually, and that's where it's going right now, if you're done gawking," I snap at him and start to unzip it, regardless if he's in here or not.
His arms fly around me and stop my hands from going further. "No no no no no. . . " he protests darkly, an evil grin developing on his face. One of his hands rests on my hip and the other slowly guides my hand to pull the zipper back up as I only stand there, staring at him like an idiot and furiously fighting a blush. "I like this." He nods slowly, still smiling as he releases me. My arms drop to my sides.
He shakes his head again. "I've got to say, though. . . I mean, this is just TOO GREAT. . . what a going-away gift THIS is! Buttercup. . . in a SKIRT. . . my GOD!" His eyes widen again. "What have YOU been smoking?"
"Ugh, I knew this was a mistake," I mutter as I shove past him to pull a pair of jeans off the pile by the bed.
"Oh, come on, Buttercup, I'm just joking." He flies in front of me, impeding my trek to the blue jean pit. "Seriously. Leave it on. You look nice. . . very, VERY nice." He stands back and rests his chin in his hands. "In fact, you look--dare I say it? Like a GIRL."
"Really?" my mouth drops open in mock surprise. "And I thought the BREASTS were a dead giveaway!"
"Not hidden under all those sweatshirts they aren't," he retorts and tugs at the one I have on right now.
I cross my arms. "Oh, and I suppose YOU have something better."
He doesn't deign to answer, but instead strolls to the closet and throws the door open, rummaging around his section of the miniscule storage space. In seconds he pulls out a simple long-sleeved white button down dress shirt and tosses it to me. I catch it one-handed and examine it shrewdly. "This is yours."
He rolls his eyes. "No shit, Sherlock. But it'll flatter you better than THAT," and he jerks his head at my sweatshirt. "Now can you dress yourself or--" his eyes twinkle sinisterly "--do you need MY help?"
I gag at him and turn, heading for the bathroom again.
"Seriously!" he yells after me, and I detect a laugh in his voice. "Considering how long it took you to get a SKIRT on, *I* could probably do a faster job of dressing you!"
"Butch, I KNOW you're really good at taking off a girl's clothes, but that won't be necessary with me," I say with a sneer on my face.
He winces playfully. "Ouch. That hurts, Buttercup."
I turn to face him one last time in the bathroom doorway, eyelids lowered. "Funny. All the men say that the first time."
He starts shaking with laughter. "Touché, Buttercup," he manages to choke out.
I shake my head, starting to smile. "You are SUCH a bad influence on me," I say over my shoulder as I shut the door.
***
"Now THAT is sharp." Butch grins and gives me a low wolf whistle as I step out. "Looking quite. . . feminine."
I hold my sweatshirt to my chest protectively. Despite the fact that it IS a guy's shirt, no less Butch's, I. . . fill it out. Sort of. Noticeably.
Ok. You'd have to be BLIND not to take note of my. . . um, "physical endowment."
"I can't believe you fit into this," I mutter, examining the sleeves, snug on my wrists.
"Freshman year high school homecoming, actually," he responds. "Accidentally packed it when I left for college." He holds his hand out. "Now you don't intend to wear THAT outside, do you?" He motions for my sweatshirt, still clutched to my chest.
I hesitate to hand it over.
He purses his lips. "Buttercup. . . "
I sigh and toss it to him, instinctively crossing my arms over my chest. However, the service that does me in this shirt is roughly the equivalent of putting glitter on a pimple.
Interestingly enough he doesn't catch it. Even more so interestingly enough he didn't even MOVE to catch it. And yet even MORE so interestingly enough he appears to have gone catatonic. I mean, the guy's not even blinking.
I tighten my arms (which only threatens to pop the buttons down the front) and hunch over, looking off to the side. "Um, could you NOT stare at th--ME like that?" I grumble, blushing furiously.
The request snaps him awake. "Oh! God, I'm--I'm sorry--it's just--" he looks away, and--is it just me, or are his cheeks a little. . . pink? "I just. . . didn't. . . well, I didn't expect you to be so. . . " he coughs, ". . . FULL up top." He reddens slightly.
I slowly uncross my arms. "Um, yeah. Since eighth grade." The year I started wearing NOTHING but sweatshirts and baggy shirts to school.
His face is still turned to the side. His eyes widen slightly. "Eighth grade?" he says, awed. He starts to turn back. "You--" And here his eyes widen even more and the red hue of his face deepens, and he snaps his head back to his left. "Y-you've done a pretty good job keeping them--" he clamps his mouth and squeezes his eyes shut, "--IT, I mean IT! I mean--Oh God--" he starts pacing around, "I mean you've kept it a REALLY good-looking secret--DAMN! I mean you've done a really good job keeping those--DAMMIT!" He turns his back on me, rubbing his temples and shaking his head. "God, Buttercup, I-I'm sorry--it's just--just--well. . . "
I burst out laughing, and the base of his neck turns bright red. He starts turning around. "What's so God damn--" he catches himself mid-turn and whirls back. "Um, w-what's so funny?" he mutters out of the corner of his mouth.
I'm laughing so hard tears are threatening to spill out of my eyes, as are some. . . other things. "Nothing--it's just--just--" I double over, cackling maniacally.
"Just what?" Butch demands, a bit indignant.
"Nothing. . . " I giggle and straighten up, clearing my throat. "Nothing. It's just--you can LOOK at me, you know." I place my hands behind my back expectantly.
His eyes briefly flicker to where I stand. "You don't. . . mind?"
I shrug and turn a bit pink. "Well, sooner or later you're gonna have to get used to the fact that your best friend has BREASTS."
He relaxes a bit and turns around, still cautious. "Quite personally, calling those breasts is doing them a huge disservice." A hint of a smile appears on his face.
"I guess I'll take that as a compliment."
He chuckles. "Man, talk about your skeletons in the closet."
"Actually, these wouldn't fit."
For the second time this day--no, this MORNING--Butch starts shaking with laughter.
Man, I'm getting good.
"Too slick, Buttercup," he smiles, shaking his head. "Too slick." He looks me over once hastily, a hint of a blush still on his cheeks. "So--" he says abruptly, "--what shoes you wearing? Your good ol' Nikes?" A wry smile appears on his face. "Or are you hiding a pair of shoes under that bed of ours too?"
"Um, they're on top of it," I say sheepishly.
His eyes blink, surprised. He stares at me a moment, then flies up to the top bunk and pulls the shoes from their spot next to the pillow. Shaking his head yet again, he looks at me with awe and admiration etched on his features. "Man, Buttercup. You ARE good."
I fly toward him, hand outstretched to take the shoes. "I know."
He doesn't hand them over. "Wait," he says as I reach for them. "We don't, um. . . "
"Wha--" But before I can say another word he sits me on the bed and bends down. Wordlessly he tugs one of them onto my foot.
"We don't want you to strain yourself in that skirt," he says softly, fitting the other one on. Then he stands, leaning on my knee a bit for support, and heads for the door. Opening it wide, he motions and bows. "Ladies first."
It takes a while to process in my mind. I blink, then grin. "I believe that's the first time you've called me that. Ever," I state as I walk past him.
He gives a nervous laugh as he shuts the door. "Well, you've done a pretty good job fooling me up till this point."
"Don't press your luck, Romeo."
He only smiles and offers me his hand, which I accept before I can give it another thought.
"You know," he starts as we walk down the hall, "actually, I should've INSISTED on helping you get dressed this morning."
*end pt. II*
yergh. like it? hate it? don't give a shit? then review, dammit.
um, i'll take this time to say i'm sorry, but the third part may not come out for awhile. yesterday i received news that two really good friends of mine got in an accident and. . . just don't feel like writing. at all. for the moment. not sure how long it'll last, but. . . for the moment i just don't know. so i posted the second part today since i wasn't sure i'd be up to doing so later on. uh. . . *sigh* ok. excuse my seriousness ^^ i just wanted to justify my reasons for putting writing at a hiatus right now, so thanks guys :) hope you liked the second part and stick around for the third (whenever it comes out ¬ ¬)
and just for the record, i'm glad they're alive. really glad.
and going over the first part i realized i missed a tense change ¬ ¬. . . and forgot a disclaimer O_O don't sue me craig! or cartoon network! the ppg DON'T belong to me. but a small piece of south africa does ;)
and to hairy gregory: yeah i know they wear skirts in the show, sorry ^^; but for some girls (including me) we all go through a stage where we think "skirt? HAY-ELL NAW!" (sorry. it's the texas accent speaking.) so i'm assuming buttercup outgrew the dresses sometime late. . . elementary and reverted to jeans and never looked back. well, until now.
and i didn't explain how the rrb came back. . . uh, how about "there IS such a thing as too much sex, drugs, & rock and roll?"
yeah. didn't make sense, did it? wasn't supposed to.
ok. that's it. please review! love addressing your feedback!
-jen
*A Skirt for Sunday Evening* pt.II
~-songbirdjen~
"Geez, Buttercup! What the hell are you doing in there?!"
"What the hell do you THINK I'm doing?" I snarl at the shut door, hoping he can't hear the quaver in my voice. 'You should just change out of this right now, Buttercup,' I think to myself as I turn and inspect myself in the mirror. I feel so SHALLOW doing this. 'Just grab a pair of good ol' comfy jeans and toss this. . . thing in the garbage on your way out the door. He'll never need to know, never have to hold it against you, never--"
Butch incidentally chooses this time to once again politely ask if I need assistance.
BAMBAMBAM! "What'd you do, Buttercup, fall in?!"
"SHADDUP!" My hand flies to the zipper at the base of my spine and I move to take it off when Butch barges through the door.
"Well, if that wasn't an invitation--" he starts, a smile on his face, then abruptly stops, his expression dropping. I cringe, my hand still at the zipper, ready to pull it down, only I CAN'T now. Unless I want to just pile on the humiliation and start doing a striptease for him.
His mouth is slightly parted, his eyes wide, and it seems as if all time has stopped. Neither of us moves for what feels like ages, but I guess it's only a second, seeing as how time supposedly ceased to exist for a few brief moments. Being the breaker of awkward situations that he is, Butch quickly recovers from his initial shock.
"Oh--my--GOD," he says, face breaking into a grin and eyes blinking several times to make sure he's not hallucinating. He circles me and shakes his head disbelievingly, chuckling. My hands are still on the zipper. "This. . . dude. . . but. . . DUDE!" His eyes fly up from the skirt to my face. "You have GOT to be kidding me! How long has THIS skeleton been in your closet?!"
"Under the bed, actually, and that's where it's going right now, if you're done gawking," I snap at him and start to unzip it, regardless if he's in here or not.
His arms fly around me and stop my hands from going further. "No no no no no. . . " he protests darkly, an evil grin developing on his face. One of his hands rests on my hip and the other slowly guides my hand to pull the zipper back up as I only stand there, staring at him like an idiot and furiously fighting a blush. "I like this." He nods slowly, still smiling as he releases me. My arms drop to my sides.
He shakes his head again. "I've got to say, though. . . I mean, this is just TOO GREAT. . . what a going-away gift THIS is! Buttercup. . . in a SKIRT. . . my GOD!" His eyes widen again. "What have YOU been smoking?"
"Ugh, I knew this was a mistake," I mutter as I shove past him to pull a pair of jeans off the pile by the bed.
"Oh, come on, Buttercup, I'm just joking." He flies in front of me, impeding my trek to the blue jean pit. "Seriously. Leave it on. You look nice. . . very, VERY nice." He stands back and rests his chin in his hands. "In fact, you look--dare I say it? Like a GIRL."
"Really?" my mouth drops open in mock surprise. "And I thought the BREASTS were a dead giveaway!"
"Not hidden under all those sweatshirts they aren't," he retorts and tugs at the one I have on right now.
I cross my arms. "Oh, and I suppose YOU have something better."
He doesn't deign to answer, but instead strolls to the closet and throws the door open, rummaging around his section of the miniscule storage space. In seconds he pulls out a simple long-sleeved white button down dress shirt and tosses it to me. I catch it one-handed and examine it shrewdly. "This is yours."
He rolls his eyes. "No shit, Sherlock. But it'll flatter you better than THAT," and he jerks his head at my sweatshirt. "Now can you dress yourself or--" his eyes twinkle sinisterly "--do you need MY help?"
I gag at him and turn, heading for the bathroom again.
"Seriously!" he yells after me, and I detect a laugh in his voice. "Considering how long it took you to get a SKIRT on, *I* could probably do a faster job of dressing you!"
"Butch, I KNOW you're really good at taking off a girl's clothes, but that won't be necessary with me," I say with a sneer on my face.
He winces playfully. "Ouch. That hurts, Buttercup."
I turn to face him one last time in the bathroom doorway, eyelids lowered. "Funny. All the men say that the first time."
He starts shaking with laughter. "Touché, Buttercup," he manages to choke out.
I shake my head, starting to smile. "You are SUCH a bad influence on me," I say over my shoulder as I shut the door.
***
"Now THAT is sharp." Butch grins and gives me a low wolf whistle as I step out. "Looking quite. . . feminine."
I hold my sweatshirt to my chest protectively. Despite the fact that it IS a guy's shirt, no less Butch's, I. . . fill it out. Sort of. Noticeably.
Ok. You'd have to be BLIND not to take note of my. . . um, "physical endowment."
"I can't believe you fit into this," I mutter, examining the sleeves, snug on my wrists.
"Freshman year high school homecoming, actually," he responds. "Accidentally packed it when I left for college." He holds his hand out. "Now you don't intend to wear THAT outside, do you?" He motions for my sweatshirt, still clutched to my chest.
I hesitate to hand it over.
He purses his lips. "Buttercup. . . "
I sigh and toss it to him, instinctively crossing my arms over my chest. However, the service that does me in this shirt is roughly the equivalent of putting glitter on a pimple.
Interestingly enough he doesn't catch it. Even more so interestingly enough he didn't even MOVE to catch it. And yet even MORE so interestingly enough he appears to have gone catatonic. I mean, the guy's not even blinking.
I tighten my arms (which only threatens to pop the buttons down the front) and hunch over, looking off to the side. "Um, could you NOT stare at th--ME like that?" I grumble, blushing furiously.
The request snaps him awake. "Oh! God, I'm--I'm sorry--it's just--" he looks away, and--is it just me, or are his cheeks a little. . . pink? "I just. . . didn't. . . well, I didn't expect you to be so. . . " he coughs, ". . . FULL up top." He reddens slightly.
I slowly uncross my arms. "Um, yeah. Since eighth grade." The year I started wearing NOTHING but sweatshirts and baggy shirts to school.
His face is still turned to the side. His eyes widen slightly. "Eighth grade?" he says, awed. He starts to turn back. "You--" And here his eyes widen even more and the red hue of his face deepens, and he snaps his head back to his left. "Y-you've done a pretty good job keeping them--" he clamps his mouth and squeezes his eyes shut, "--IT, I mean IT! I mean--Oh God--" he starts pacing around, "I mean you've kept it a REALLY good-looking secret--DAMN! I mean you've done a really good job keeping those--DAMMIT!" He turns his back on me, rubbing his temples and shaking his head. "God, Buttercup, I-I'm sorry--it's just--just--well. . . "
I burst out laughing, and the base of his neck turns bright red. He starts turning around. "What's so God damn--" he catches himself mid-turn and whirls back. "Um, w-what's so funny?" he mutters out of the corner of his mouth.
I'm laughing so hard tears are threatening to spill out of my eyes, as are some. . . other things. "Nothing--it's just--just--" I double over, cackling maniacally.
"Just what?" Butch demands, a bit indignant.
"Nothing. . . " I giggle and straighten up, clearing my throat. "Nothing. It's just--you can LOOK at me, you know." I place my hands behind my back expectantly.
His eyes briefly flicker to where I stand. "You don't. . . mind?"
I shrug and turn a bit pink. "Well, sooner or later you're gonna have to get used to the fact that your best friend has BREASTS."
He relaxes a bit and turns around, still cautious. "Quite personally, calling those breasts is doing them a huge disservice." A hint of a smile appears on his face.
"I guess I'll take that as a compliment."
He chuckles. "Man, talk about your skeletons in the closet."
"Actually, these wouldn't fit."
For the second time this day--no, this MORNING--Butch starts shaking with laughter.
Man, I'm getting good.
"Too slick, Buttercup," he smiles, shaking his head. "Too slick." He looks me over once hastily, a hint of a blush still on his cheeks. "So--" he says abruptly, "--what shoes you wearing? Your good ol' Nikes?" A wry smile appears on his face. "Or are you hiding a pair of shoes under that bed of ours too?"
"Um, they're on top of it," I say sheepishly.
His eyes blink, surprised. He stares at me a moment, then flies up to the top bunk and pulls the shoes from their spot next to the pillow. Shaking his head yet again, he looks at me with awe and admiration etched on his features. "Man, Buttercup. You ARE good."
I fly toward him, hand outstretched to take the shoes. "I know."
He doesn't hand them over. "Wait," he says as I reach for them. "We don't, um. . . "
"Wha--" But before I can say another word he sits me on the bed and bends down. Wordlessly he tugs one of them onto my foot.
"We don't want you to strain yourself in that skirt," he says softly, fitting the other one on. Then he stands, leaning on my knee a bit for support, and heads for the door. Opening it wide, he motions and bows. "Ladies first."
It takes a while to process in my mind. I blink, then grin. "I believe that's the first time you've called me that. Ever," I state as I walk past him.
He gives a nervous laugh as he shuts the door. "Well, you've done a pretty good job fooling me up till this point."
"Don't press your luck, Romeo."
He only smiles and offers me his hand, which I accept before I can give it another thought.
"You know," he starts as we walk down the hall, "actually, I should've INSISTED on helping you get dressed this morning."
*end pt. II*
yergh. like it? hate it? don't give a shit? then review, dammit.
um, i'll take this time to say i'm sorry, but the third part may not come out for awhile. yesterday i received news that two really good friends of mine got in an accident and. . . just don't feel like writing. at all. for the moment. not sure how long it'll last, but. . . for the moment i just don't know. so i posted the second part today since i wasn't sure i'd be up to doing so later on. uh. . . *sigh* ok. excuse my seriousness ^^ i just wanted to justify my reasons for putting writing at a hiatus right now, so thanks guys :) hope you liked the second part and stick around for the third (whenever it comes out ¬ ¬)
and just for the record, i'm glad they're alive. really glad.