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What would've been the sequel/conclusion to Vice Versa
I'm sorry, ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
blood_opal. Vice Versa is totally fucking rejected. :C (ETA: VV2, that is, since VV1 has been posted for years now!)
BUT ON THE PLUS SIDE, YOU GET A TFR POST ABOUT IT. (8D
Okay. So my first Blues fic. I remember being heavily influenced by Kare Kano at the time; I'd recently watched the first few eps of the series and had really dug it, and the way they portrayed confessions of love really stuck with me. I suppose that means I might possibly be spoiling some people for Kare Kano. But I don't think reading my stupid TFR post will impact your enjoyment of it, if you're that into romantic-comedy anime. (I never finished the series and didn't feel it really held up to those first few eps, but those scenes where the main characters confessed to each other as well as the entire first ep (comedy GOLD) are practically drilled into my brain.)
So basically I appropriated the confessions scenes for a Blues fic, and it became Vice Versa.
The basic, overall premise for VV2 was this: Bubbles spends the entire fic struggling with how to tell Boomer she loves him. Which would be easy, maybe, except, as noted in VV1, she rejected him when he originally confessed and he went somewhere, got over it right when Bubbles figured out she really was in love with him, and they're just friends now. Oh, cruel fate!
It culminates in a scene at the park where, after many (or, you know, like... maybe five) attempts to confess to him and being too scared/guilt-ridden to actually do it, Boomer confesses that he never actually got over her. Perfect opportunity, right? Except Bubbles freaks out and leaves.
WHAT I KNOW THAT DOESN'T EVEN, WHAT. Also, yeah, that bit is basically ripped right off of Kare Kano, so in TFRing this I narrowly avoided advertising my blatant plagiarism.
So the next day at school Boomer's all depressed and shit. Bubbles, meanwhile, feels even worse. Because now she's broken the heart of the boy she loves twice. That bitch. She spends the whole day agonizing about what she's done, and then I wanted to rip off another Kare Kano confession moment. This scene jumped from Boomer and Bubbles being in class during a lecture to a pep rally to various other school-based locations that I can't freaking remember, but anyway, they're sitting next to each other because they're friends and Boomer's trying to pretend that's okay even though he's SUPER SADFACE about it, and Bubbles is feeling ridiculously guilty and still trying to figure out how to tell him, and then realizes she doesn't have to actually say it out loud to say it.
She did either one of two things here, which is why I couldn't settle on a location. She either took Boomer's hand in hers, squeezed, and didn't let go, or she asked to borrow his eraser (LIKE BOOMER WOULD BE THE TYPE OF STUDENT TO HAVE A FUCKING ERASER) and then returned it to him with "Me too" written on it. Um, something like that.
AND THEN HAPPIES.
Yeah, Kare Kano did it better.
Just for kicks, and since I actually had a handful of scenes written for this one, I thought I'd post them and insert some self-deprecating commentary as well. (Commentary looks like red.)
Here we go! What remains of VV2.
--
VV2
It’s 8:47 pm on a Saturday night and Bubbles is stuck serving pearl drinks for another thirteen minutes. There are exactly two known parties going on right now, five potential ones, and she can’t make it to a single one because she’s been working all day and after closing time at 9:00 she’ll feel too worn out from her 10-hour shift to bother with partying at all.
Bubbles is frustrated, bored, and lonely because this new hire working with her only has two interests, both of whom are currently sitting at the table in the far right corner, looking very muscley and rugged in cool poses that have obviously been rehearsed. The customers are nice enough, but when the bulk of them that are filtering in at this hour are her age, in groups, and either coming from or on their way to one of the two (or five) parties, she doesn’t feel obliged to be anything but miserable.
It’s 8:48 pm on a Saturday night, and Bubbles is miserable. Before the minute is up she will be decidedly less miserable, then slightly more so, then slightly less.
Fourteen seconds before it hits 8:49 pm, Boomer walks in the door. Bubbles looks up, crowing her usual chipper greeting for customers, sees who it is, and is instantly ecstatic. The next instant, her eyes drift down to the girl he is tailing, and her heart fails. The next instant, she notes that they are indeed not holding hands, and her heart starts up again.
His eyes light up in genuine surprise when he sees her at the counter, and spreads his mouth into a smile that could derail oncoming trains and breaks her heart every time.
It's clunky, but overall I do like the style, even if I feel like I was trying a little too hard to be quirky. A lot of the stuff from my “middle period” reads like this, I think (starting right around 2003-2004). I also had a real thing for counting minutes; I did it in A Week of Unmitigated Almost-Loathing as well.
Something about the voice doesn't really fit Bubbles, I think. Also, it should've been “doesn't feel obligated” or “she's not obliged.”
***
“Bubbles! What are you doin’ here?”
She rolls her eyes. “Saturday night, isn’t it? I’m only at the hippest party in town right now. Witness my mad, glass-cleaning fun.”
Boomer eyes the glass she’s wiping approvingly, while his female companion shoots awkward glances from one blonde to the other. “Wow. That’s something.”
Bubbles drops her voice a pitch and smiles knowingly at him. “Bet you’re jealous.”
She’s flirting with him. Shamelessly. She shouldn’t.
He grins mischievously in response, not missing a beat of the conversation, and says, “The way you’re rubbing that glass, who wouldn’t be jealous of it?”
Turning away from him to hide her blush is a reflex, and to distract him she tosses her cleaning rag at his chest and says, “Sounds like you could use a little cleaning up yourself.”
“Yes,” he says enthusiastically, “yes I could. I want to be cleaner than that cup you were just—”
“You’re hanging around Butch too much,” Bubbles interrupts loudly, and plunks the glass onto a dish rack. “What can I get you?” After a brief pause she adds, “And your friend?”
“I’m still thinkin’. Amber, you go first,” he says, and pushes Amber forward. It isn’t in Bubbles’ nature to hate people, so she ignores the fact that Amber is too short and too freckled and too brunette for Boomer, and she smiles a winning smile.
Amber grins nervously at her and turns her eyes back up to the menu hovering above the counter. “I’ve never been here before (Holy crap, Bubbles thinks, she sounds young!), so… what are those little black things in the drinks?”
“Little balls of tapioca,” Bubbles informs her, eyes flickering to Boomer every chance she gets. “We call them pearls.”
“You also call them ‘bubbles,’” Boomer interjects, nodding at the girl of similar calling.
Bubbles sighs, and says, “Yes, and California calls it boba. But anyway, it’s all the same thing. Squishy things in your drink.”
“That does not sound like me,” Amber gags. “I’ll just get a passion fruit juice.”
“The pearls are all right,” Bubbles assures her. “It’s different, but they can taste pretty good.”
Amber scrunches up her face and shakes her head. “Nah. Maybe next time,” she says apologetically.
“So we have a passion fruit juice, no pearls… and you sir, taking your sweet time, what’ll you have?”
“Eh,” Boomer says, and ceases his studying of the menu. “A coconut milk tea.” And then he smiles. “With bubbles, please.”
Bubbles stares blankly at him for what seems like an endless instant, then smiles solemnly and says as she turns, “Passion fruit juice and coconut milk tea with pearls coming right up.”
This sort of thing always happens when she flirts with him. Which is why she shouldn’t. She’s got better things to do with her time than build up hope for something that isn’t going to go anywhere anyway.
With Bubbles, she thinks. Pft. Honestly.
The explanation of pearls vs. bubbles vs. boba was too long a digression. I think I've gotten better about this in my writing. I still like inserting rambly little conversations in my fic (I am a slice-of-life genre fan, after all), but this particular one doesn't feel like it's really happening between the characters... more like I'm just setting up Boomer's flirting and they're just talking at each other rather than with each other. Doesn't feel very organic.
Ha, I'm a big fan of the “Pft. Honestly.” thing and wind up unintentionally using it a lot in my fics, coming from multiple characters. I know I did it in TEF! And it was during Bubbles' perspective, too =3=
***
They’ve eaten together for lunch every day since their freshman year, and today is no different. Seated across from her in a two person booth, Boomer looks at her over the edge of his soda and delivers a single word in a very solemn tone. “Kleptomaniac.”
Bubbles squeezes her eyes shut and tries to visualize the word. “Kleptomaniac. C-L—”
“Already got it wrong,” Boomer interrupts. “That’s the third time you’ve done that.”
She groans, just before she resumes hating spelling tests. “Dangit. ‘K,’ ‘K.’ I keep telling myself ‘K,’ but it obviously isn’t working. My brain doesn’t want to do this anymore.”
He sets their English packet aside and says, “Ok, so maybe it’s time for a break. But at least you got most of the words right… right?”
“Yeah, but so what? When am I going to need to spell ‘kleptomaniac?’ I don’t even know what it means. And what high school gives spelling tests anyway?”
“I think a ‘kleptomaniac’ is someone who steals stuff. You know, as in, ‘He kleptoed that ring for his girl?’” Boomer suggests.
Bubbles laughs as she secretly admires his thoughtful face. “Ok, so I’m officially stupid. Way to reinforce the dumb blonde stereotype for me.”
“Bubbles, you are anything but stupid,” Boomer, The Perfect Boy with Pretty Blonde Hair and Pretty Blue Eyes says, and Bubbles wants to blush and burst into tears and die and throw something at him for being so perfect and pretty all at the same time.
All that perfection and pretty could’ve been hers once. Once. And he tells her she isn’t stupid.
She just smiles and changes the subject. “So, how long have you known Amber?”
He tilts his head. “Known her? Mmm, since Todd’s party last night?”
“... Wow, you sure don’t waste time, do you?”
“Ahaha, very funny. Seriously, she’s Whitney’s cousin. Baby cousin. I gave her a ride home, that was it.”
Bubbles gives a dramatic sigh. “Thank God. When I saw you two walk in last night I thought you were crazy, taking out a girl you should’ve been babysitting.”
He kicks lightly at her foot. “Yeah, you know me, all up in that underage thing. My lifelong dream is to raise a whole flock of them and be a farmer of the Underage Booty.”
She gives him a kick in return—a hard one (“Ow!”). “So not right. You can’t talk to me anymore. The Professor doesn’t want me talking to pimps.”
“Since when does ‘farmer’ equal ‘pimp?’” he cries, feigning offense as he rubs at his shin.
“Pretty much since the words ‘farmer’ and ‘Underage Booty’ came out of your mouth.” She looks over their empty plates, and nods at his watch. “Time?”
“Time for you to quit being a smartass with me,” he jibes, Ugh fuck what an awful joke why did I write that it isn't even remotely original and flashes a look at his wrist. “Five till.”
She wets her lips and thinks about it. Five minutes. That’s enough. That’s gotta be enough. It’s only a few words, really, she doesn’t need the whole five.
But it won’t take five minutes to reject her, either, and why wouldn’t he, after what she’s done to him?
She swallows, because her lips aren’t moving and all she can think about is how much her chest hurts. Boomer, oblivious, takes a final sip of his water and asks if she’s ready to go.
Eh, I like and dislike parts of this. Neither of them are feeling like very solid characters. I hadn't really “figured them out” at this point in my head, and it shows.
I do like the Underage Booty convo (I think I may have jacked the phrase “Underage Booty” fromsarahtales' recap of the HP4 movie); it feels like a convo I'd write into a current fic, except with a better end (I still can't believe I ended with that shitty “time” joke, ugh, I mean, UGH). I also like Bubbles' waffling at the end, even if it feels a little unpolished.
***
“Really, Bubbles, I can be real romantic when I want to be,” Butch goes on.
Boomer gives a derisive laugh and quips, “Trust me, bro, I don’t think you’re her type.”
“Couldn’t have put it better myself,” Buttercup mumbles into her soda cup, giving Butch a sideways glare.
Ignoring them, Butch tilts his head toward her. “I mean it. Flowers, chocolates—”
Bubbles laughs politely and shakes her head. “No, it’s not—”
“You ain’t her type, man,” Boomer interjects again, grinning and shaking his head.
Boomer, shut up, she thinks bitterly.
Butch vocalizes her thoughts. Sort of. “Can it, would you? You’re cramping my style.”
“‘Style?’” Brick remarks, a hint of incredulousness entering his typically stoic expression.
Butch turns his attention back to Bubbles and says, “So what’ll it be? Fancy dinner? Expensive shopping trip? Should I pick you up in a horse-drawn carriage?”
“Not her type,” Boomer mutters out of the corner of his mouth, looking around innocently.
Butch drops his smile and turns, frustrated. “Oh, and what makes you the expert on ‘her type,’ huh?” he snaps. “Last I heard, you weren’t exactly it either.”
Buttercup immediately snorts into her drink, stifling a laugh, which in turn elicits a reproving glare from Blossom. Brick’s eyes widen, very slightly, and he aims his gaze first at one brother, then the other, then back and forth again. Bubbles just stands and stares at Boomer, a blush quickly rising to her face.
The look on Butch’s face is challenging and smug, while Boomer returns it with a simple blank stare, and parts his mouth slightly but doesn’t say a word.
You should say something, a little voice in Bubbles’ head whispers. Something like, It isn’t true, or Things are different now, or something.
Anything.
She swallows. Blossom has redirected her gaze to Bubbles now, concern edging her expression. This is a touchy subject, everyone knows it’s a touchy subject, and they never talk about it, and she hates Butch for bringing it up, even hates Boomer for egging him on and forcing him to, but more than anything she hates herself because all it would take is The Truth but she’s too scared to say it, say anything.
She continues to look at Boomer, watching for a change in expression that never comes, and as she’s working up the nerve to say anything, say it, a car horn honks and six heads turn to see the Professor waving at the girls as he drives up.
I posted this as a cookie a long while back and it's pretty just okay. Trying for the sibling interaction thing and not really pulling it off. Well, with the exception of Blossom shooting Buttercup a look when she laughs. And I do like when Buttercup glares at Butch after the “not her type” exchange. Oh Buttercup ♥
Also Boomer is so obviously not over her, I am not even remotely subtle about these things *FACEPALM*
***
This next part could be awful; I really don't remember. I just know I read the first line and tend to go “OH GOD YEAH I WROTE THAT.”
“Hey, let’s do a leaf race,” he suddenly suggests, grabbing at a pile of leaves in the grass.
Her face lights up as she takes a leaf from him. “Are you kidding? Oh my God, we haven’t done this in ages.”
“Come on, get it over the water—”
“Chill out,” she laughs, and holds her leaf over the pond. “I’m getting there! Alright.”
Those blue eyes of his are sparkling when he looks at her. “Okay, ready?”
She looks at him and her expression softens a little in response. “Yeah.”
“Go!”
Their leaves flutter and alight on the glassy surface, sending ripples in every direction. Bubbles watches her watching him amidst miniature tidal waves.
“They’re heading under the bridge,” Boomer says, and taps her as he gets up. “Come on.”
I mean for fucking serious does any loser out there actually do leaf races? I mean, my Boomer is generally a big happy dorky loser, but a leaf race, I mean really, COME ON.
He glides over and alights on the railing, peering into the water, while she gets up and simply walks, reaching the bridge just as their leaves sail under it.
“That one was first,” he announces, punctuating this with a point. “Um, do you remember which one was yours? Because if you don’t, that was mine.” I do like this line of his; I think it's really cute.
She simply smiles and leans her elbows on the rail, watching his reflection again. “We used to do this all the time when we were kids.” No you didn't, because NOBODY does leaf races all the time. What the hell, self.
“Yeah,” he grunts as he sidles off the rail and leans his back against it. He looks around and nods in one direction. “There used to be a swing on that tree.”
Bubbles twists to look and immediately a lump forms in her throat. Despite it, she quips, “There used to be a tree there, period.”
“Yeah, well, my memory just fills in the blanks.” I like this little conversation about the swing and the tree. This was written way after that boba conversation and is much better. Yay for good slice-of-life!
The lump in her throat grows and she wonders how many blanks his memory is filling in. She turns back to look at the water and see his back swimming in its reflection. Her breath won’t steady, but maybe it never will, so she just sighs and says as evenly as she can, “You told me you liked me under that tree.” AND THEN I RUINED IT.
She listens and watches the pond for a weight shift, a fidget, a change in tone of voice. She gets none of the above. “Yeah.” But I do like this bit. I guess I'm bipolar.
I like “Yeah” as a response in general because it can be such a versatile response—depending on the context of the conversation, you get exactly how the character is feeling. This is another thing you'll see a lot of in my fics. Which probably means I should scale it back. Damn it. Maybe I shouldn't do these TFR posts. I'm giving away all of my cheap-ass writing tricks and secrets D8
Her heart drops to the floor, but she keeps her face stoic as he turns back around and leans his elbows over the railing, too. She might as well tell him now. Get it out, at least. All these words, bottled up in her; she’s going to explode if she doesn’t get them out soon—
“No, that’s wrong.”
She blinks in surprise and is suddenly only able to focus on her mitts, clenching each other as tight as possible with the water’s reflection a hazy backdrop.
“I said—well, I didn’t just say I liked you,” he says quietly, and in their reflection she can make out a small smile on his face. “And what I said that day… I’m sorry.”
Oh God, Bubbles thinks miserably, What now? Something, anything, she just hopes she doesn’t start crying.
Suddenly he reaches over, pulling strands of her hair away from her face. “I’m just, I’m really sorry. But I still mean it.”
His hand skims across her temple, and she looks up at him in shock.
Boomer’s gaze darts from his hand to her face, and there’s that small smile again. “You know, I just thought that maybe I could try and forget about it, and if I smiled instead of looking upset when I came back I could fake my way through it until I stopped, or, you know. I mean, it… well, it didn’t work,” he laughs, and his hand slides a little against her skin. She wishes she could bring herself to touch it, hold it in hers, but she remains rooted to the spot with her heart thudding furiously in her chest.
“Look, I know… I know we’re just kids still, and everything, but I just…” In a flash of absolute insanity she could swear his smile falters, but then he goes on. “I don’t stop thinking about you, ever. And I know that’s really stupid and probably from a billion different movies, but I mean it. I still am completely, totally… I fuckin’ love you, okay?” he finishes with a grin that’s almost a laugh and maybe a lot nervous, and all she can do is stare.
Ehhhhhrrrrrr squirming. Squirming now.
He falls back on that small smile of his and drops his hand to his side again. “I just… I just wanted to put that out there.” He takes a deep breath and sighs. “And… you know, if anything’s changed, then…” He trails off, and just shrugs lamely.
She stares at him, feeling as if the world has dropped out from under her. This is what she wants, isn’t it? It is, of course it is, but why can’t she think, why can’t she say anything…
“Bubbles, I love you,” Boomer suddenly blurts out, and his smile finally breaks and the look that’s hiding under it is one of complete and utter despair.
It’s too much. She just can’t think.
She closes her eyes and takes off in a blinding streak of blue, trying to remember how to say Yes or Me too or anything at all and hate, hate, hating herself for breaking his heart. Again.
Well okay, the confession isn't exactly as awful as I remember it being. It does drag on a little long—both the dialogue and the narrative. (I'm still working on this, even to this day. On a related note, my betas are awesome.) MELODRAMA, OOOH. The last little bit of this, about Bubbles running away—I like the poetry of the line, but I am really divided about the addition of “Again.” there. Maybe if I had moved it to a new line and added an ellipse, like “... Again.” Or maybe I'm just deluding myself. W/E YOU GUYS, THIS IS WHY IT'S A TFR POST.
Oh one last thing, Bubbles' petrified reaction overall really bugs me because it doesn't feel true to character anymore. I can see a person reacting like this, but with the Bubbles in my head now, not so much.
blood_opal. Vice Versa is totally fucking rejected. :C (ETA: VV2, that is, since VV1 has been posted for years now!)BUT ON THE PLUS SIDE, YOU GET A TFR POST ABOUT IT. (8D
Okay. So my first Blues fic. I remember being heavily influenced by Kare Kano at the time; I'd recently watched the first few eps of the series and had really dug it, and the way they portrayed confessions of love really stuck with me. I suppose that means I might possibly be spoiling some people for Kare Kano. But I don't think reading my stupid TFR post will impact your enjoyment of it, if you're that into romantic-comedy anime. (I never finished the series and didn't feel it really held up to those first few eps, but those scenes where the main characters confessed to each other as well as the entire first ep (comedy GOLD) are practically drilled into my brain.)
So basically I appropriated the confessions scenes for a Blues fic, and it became Vice Versa.
The basic, overall premise for VV2 was this: Bubbles spends the entire fic struggling with how to tell Boomer she loves him. Which would be easy, maybe, except, as noted in VV1, she rejected him when he originally confessed and he went somewhere, got over it right when Bubbles figured out she really was in love with him, and they're just friends now. Oh, cruel fate!
It culminates in a scene at the park where, after many (or, you know, like... maybe five) attempts to confess to him and being too scared/guilt-ridden to actually do it, Boomer confesses that he never actually got over her. Perfect opportunity, right? Except Bubbles freaks out and leaves.
WHAT I KNOW THAT DOESN'T EVEN, WHAT. Also, yeah, that bit is basically ripped right off of Kare Kano, so in TFRing this I narrowly avoided advertising my blatant plagiarism.
So the next day at school Boomer's all depressed and shit. Bubbles, meanwhile, feels even worse. Because now she's broken the heart of the boy she loves twice. That bitch. She spends the whole day agonizing about what she's done, and then I wanted to rip off another Kare Kano confession moment. This scene jumped from Boomer and Bubbles being in class during a lecture to a pep rally to various other school-based locations that I can't freaking remember, but anyway, they're sitting next to each other because they're friends and Boomer's trying to pretend that's okay even though he's SUPER SADFACE about it, and Bubbles is feeling ridiculously guilty and still trying to figure out how to tell him, and then realizes she doesn't have to actually say it out loud to say it.
She did either one of two things here, which is why I couldn't settle on a location. She either took Boomer's hand in hers, squeezed, and didn't let go, or she asked to borrow his eraser (LIKE BOOMER WOULD BE THE TYPE OF STUDENT TO HAVE A FUCKING ERASER) and then returned it to him with "Me too" written on it. Um, something like that.
AND THEN HAPPIES.
Yeah, Kare Kano did it better.
Just for kicks, and since I actually had a handful of scenes written for this one, I thought I'd post them and insert some self-deprecating commentary as well. (Commentary looks like red.)
Here we go! What remains of VV2.
--
VV2
It’s 8:47 pm on a Saturday night and Bubbles is stuck serving pearl drinks for another thirteen minutes. There are exactly two known parties going on right now, five potential ones, and she can’t make it to a single one because she’s been working all day and after closing time at 9:00 she’ll feel too worn out from her 10-hour shift to bother with partying at all.
Bubbles is frustrated, bored, and lonely because this new hire working with her only has two interests, both of whom are currently sitting at the table in the far right corner, looking very muscley and rugged in cool poses that have obviously been rehearsed. The customers are nice enough, but when the bulk of them that are filtering in at this hour are her age, in groups, and either coming from or on their way to one of the two (or five) parties, she doesn’t feel obliged to be anything but miserable.
It’s 8:48 pm on a Saturday night, and Bubbles is miserable. Before the minute is up she will be decidedly less miserable, then slightly more so, then slightly less.
Fourteen seconds before it hits 8:49 pm, Boomer walks in the door. Bubbles looks up, crowing her usual chipper greeting for customers, sees who it is, and is instantly ecstatic. The next instant, her eyes drift down to the girl he is tailing, and her heart fails. The next instant, she notes that they are indeed not holding hands, and her heart starts up again.
His eyes light up in genuine surprise when he sees her at the counter, and spreads his mouth into a smile that could derail oncoming trains and breaks her heart every time.
It's clunky, but overall I do like the style, even if I feel like I was trying a little too hard to be quirky. A lot of the stuff from my “middle period” reads like this, I think (starting right around 2003-2004). I also had a real thing for counting minutes; I did it in A Week of Unmitigated Almost-Loathing as well.
Something about the voice doesn't really fit Bubbles, I think. Also, it should've been “doesn't feel obligated” or “she's not obliged.”
***
“Bubbles! What are you doin’ here?”
She rolls her eyes. “Saturday night, isn’t it? I’m only at the hippest party in town right now. Witness my mad, glass-cleaning fun.”
Boomer eyes the glass she’s wiping approvingly, while his female companion shoots awkward glances from one blonde to the other. “Wow. That’s something.”
Bubbles drops her voice a pitch and smiles knowingly at him. “Bet you’re jealous.”
She’s flirting with him. Shamelessly. She shouldn’t.
He grins mischievously in response, not missing a beat of the conversation, and says, “The way you’re rubbing that glass, who wouldn’t be jealous of it?”
Turning away from him to hide her blush is a reflex, and to distract him she tosses her cleaning rag at his chest and says, “Sounds like you could use a little cleaning up yourself.”
“Yes,” he says enthusiastically, “yes I could. I want to be cleaner than that cup you were just—”
“You’re hanging around Butch too much,” Bubbles interrupts loudly, and plunks the glass onto a dish rack. “What can I get you?” After a brief pause she adds, “And your friend?”
“I’m still thinkin’. Amber, you go first,” he says, and pushes Amber forward. It isn’t in Bubbles’ nature to hate people, so she ignores the fact that Amber is too short and too freckled and too brunette for Boomer, and she smiles a winning smile.
Amber grins nervously at her and turns her eyes back up to the menu hovering above the counter. “I’ve never been here before (Holy crap, Bubbles thinks, she sounds young!), so… what are those little black things in the drinks?”
“Little balls of tapioca,” Bubbles informs her, eyes flickering to Boomer every chance she gets. “We call them pearls.”
“You also call them ‘bubbles,’” Boomer interjects, nodding at the girl of similar calling.
Bubbles sighs, and says, “Yes, and California calls it boba. But anyway, it’s all the same thing. Squishy things in your drink.”
“That does not sound like me,” Amber gags. “I’ll just get a passion fruit juice.”
“The pearls are all right,” Bubbles assures her. “It’s different, but they can taste pretty good.”
Amber scrunches up her face and shakes her head. “Nah. Maybe next time,” she says apologetically.
“So we have a passion fruit juice, no pearls… and you sir, taking your sweet time, what’ll you have?”
“Eh,” Boomer says, and ceases his studying of the menu. “A coconut milk tea.” And then he smiles. “With bubbles, please.”
Bubbles stares blankly at him for what seems like an endless instant, then smiles solemnly and says as she turns, “Passion fruit juice and coconut milk tea with pearls coming right up.”
This sort of thing always happens when she flirts with him. Which is why she shouldn’t. She’s got better things to do with her time than build up hope for something that isn’t going to go anywhere anyway.
With Bubbles, she thinks. Pft. Honestly.
The explanation of pearls vs. bubbles vs. boba was too long a digression. I think I've gotten better about this in my writing. I still like inserting rambly little conversations in my fic (I am a slice-of-life genre fan, after all), but this particular one doesn't feel like it's really happening between the characters... more like I'm just setting up Boomer's flirting and they're just talking at each other rather than with each other. Doesn't feel very organic.
Ha, I'm a big fan of the “Pft. Honestly.” thing and wind up unintentionally using it a lot in my fics, coming from multiple characters. I know I did it in TEF! And it was during Bubbles' perspective, too =3=
***
They’ve eaten together for lunch every day since their freshman year, and today is no different. Seated across from her in a two person booth, Boomer looks at her over the edge of his soda and delivers a single word in a very solemn tone. “Kleptomaniac.”
Bubbles squeezes her eyes shut and tries to visualize the word. “Kleptomaniac. C-L—”
“Already got it wrong,” Boomer interrupts. “That’s the third time you’ve done that.”
She groans, just before she resumes hating spelling tests. “Dangit. ‘K,’ ‘K.’ I keep telling myself ‘K,’ but it obviously isn’t working. My brain doesn’t want to do this anymore.”
He sets their English packet aside and says, “Ok, so maybe it’s time for a break. But at least you got most of the words right… right?”
“Yeah, but so what? When am I going to need to spell ‘kleptomaniac?’ I don’t even know what it means. And what high school gives spelling tests anyway?”
“I think a ‘kleptomaniac’ is someone who steals stuff. You know, as in, ‘He kleptoed that ring for his girl?’” Boomer suggests.
Bubbles laughs as she secretly admires his thoughtful face. “Ok, so I’m officially stupid. Way to reinforce the dumb blonde stereotype for me.”
“Bubbles, you are anything but stupid,” Boomer, The Perfect Boy with Pretty Blonde Hair and Pretty Blue Eyes says, and Bubbles wants to blush and burst into tears and die and throw something at him for being so perfect and pretty all at the same time.
All that perfection and pretty could’ve been hers once. Once. And he tells her she isn’t stupid.
She just smiles and changes the subject. “So, how long have you known Amber?”
He tilts his head. “Known her? Mmm, since Todd’s party last night?”
“... Wow, you sure don’t waste time, do you?”
“Ahaha, very funny. Seriously, she’s Whitney’s cousin. Baby cousin. I gave her a ride home, that was it.”
Bubbles gives a dramatic sigh. “Thank God. When I saw you two walk in last night I thought you were crazy, taking out a girl you should’ve been babysitting.”
He kicks lightly at her foot. “Yeah, you know me, all up in that underage thing. My lifelong dream is to raise a whole flock of them and be a farmer of the Underage Booty.”
She gives him a kick in return—a hard one (“Ow!”). “So not right. You can’t talk to me anymore. The Professor doesn’t want me talking to pimps.”
“Since when does ‘farmer’ equal ‘pimp?’” he cries, feigning offense as he rubs at his shin.
“Pretty much since the words ‘farmer’ and ‘Underage Booty’ came out of your mouth.” She looks over their empty plates, and nods at his watch. “Time?”
“Time for you to quit being a smartass with me,” he jibes, Ugh fuck what an awful joke why did I write that it isn't even remotely original and flashes a look at his wrist. “Five till.”
She wets her lips and thinks about it. Five minutes. That’s enough. That’s gotta be enough. It’s only a few words, really, she doesn’t need the whole five.
But it won’t take five minutes to reject her, either, and why wouldn’t he, after what she’s done to him?
She swallows, because her lips aren’t moving and all she can think about is how much her chest hurts. Boomer, oblivious, takes a final sip of his water and asks if she’s ready to go.
Eh, I like and dislike parts of this. Neither of them are feeling like very solid characters. I hadn't really “figured them out” at this point in my head, and it shows.
I do like the Underage Booty convo (I think I may have jacked the phrase “Underage Booty” from
sarahtales' recap of the HP4 movie); it feels like a convo I'd write into a current fic, except with a better end (I still can't believe I ended with that shitty “time” joke, ugh, I mean, UGH). I also like Bubbles' waffling at the end, even if it feels a little unpolished.***
“Really, Bubbles, I can be real romantic when I want to be,” Butch goes on.
Boomer gives a derisive laugh and quips, “Trust me, bro, I don’t think you’re her type.”
“Couldn’t have put it better myself,” Buttercup mumbles into her soda cup, giving Butch a sideways glare.
Ignoring them, Butch tilts his head toward her. “I mean it. Flowers, chocolates—”
Bubbles laughs politely and shakes her head. “No, it’s not—”
“You ain’t her type, man,” Boomer interjects again, grinning and shaking his head.
Boomer, shut up, she thinks bitterly.
Butch vocalizes her thoughts. Sort of. “Can it, would you? You’re cramping my style.”
“‘Style?’” Brick remarks, a hint of incredulousness entering his typically stoic expression.
Butch turns his attention back to Bubbles and says, “So what’ll it be? Fancy dinner? Expensive shopping trip? Should I pick you up in a horse-drawn carriage?”
“Not her type,” Boomer mutters out of the corner of his mouth, looking around innocently.
Butch drops his smile and turns, frustrated. “Oh, and what makes you the expert on ‘her type,’ huh?” he snaps. “Last I heard, you weren’t exactly it either.”
Buttercup immediately snorts into her drink, stifling a laugh, which in turn elicits a reproving glare from Blossom. Brick’s eyes widen, very slightly, and he aims his gaze first at one brother, then the other, then back and forth again. Bubbles just stands and stares at Boomer, a blush quickly rising to her face.
The look on Butch’s face is challenging and smug, while Boomer returns it with a simple blank stare, and parts his mouth slightly but doesn’t say a word.
You should say something, a little voice in Bubbles’ head whispers. Something like, It isn’t true, or Things are different now, or something.
Anything.
She swallows. Blossom has redirected her gaze to Bubbles now, concern edging her expression. This is a touchy subject, everyone knows it’s a touchy subject, and they never talk about it, and she hates Butch for bringing it up, even hates Boomer for egging him on and forcing him to, but more than anything she hates herself because all it would take is The Truth but she’s too scared to say it, say anything.
She continues to look at Boomer, watching for a change in expression that never comes, and as she’s working up the nerve to say anything, say it, a car horn honks and six heads turn to see the Professor waving at the girls as he drives up.
I posted this as a cookie a long while back and it's pretty just okay. Trying for the sibling interaction thing and not really pulling it off. Well, with the exception of Blossom shooting Buttercup a look when she laughs. And I do like when Buttercup glares at Butch after the “not her type” exchange. Oh Buttercup ♥
Also Boomer is so obviously not over her, I am not even remotely subtle about these things *FACEPALM*
***
This next part could be awful; I really don't remember. I just know I read the first line and tend to go “OH GOD YEAH I WROTE THAT.”
“Hey, let’s do a leaf race,” he suddenly suggests, grabbing at a pile of leaves in the grass.
Her face lights up as she takes a leaf from him. “Are you kidding? Oh my God, we haven’t done this in ages.”
“Come on, get it over the water—”
“Chill out,” she laughs, and holds her leaf over the pond. “I’m getting there! Alright.”
Those blue eyes of his are sparkling when he looks at her. “Okay, ready?”
She looks at him and her expression softens a little in response. “Yeah.”
“Go!”
Their leaves flutter and alight on the glassy surface, sending ripples in every direction. Bubbles watches her watching him amidst miniature tidal waves.
“They’re heading under the bridge,” Boomer says, and taps her as he gets up. “Come on.”
I mean for fucking serious does any loser out there actually do leaf races? I mean, my Boomer is generally a big happy dorky loser, but a leaf race, I mean really, COME ON.
He glides over and alights on the railing, peering into the water, while she gets up and simply walks, reaching the bridge just as their leaves sail under it.
“That one was first,” he announces, punctuating this with a point. “Um, do you remember which one was yours? Because if you don’t, that was mine.” I do like this line of his; I think it's really cute.
She simply smiles and leans her elbows on the rail, watching his reflection again. “We used to do this all the time when we were kids.” No you didn't, because NOBODY does leaf races all the time. What the hell, self.
“Yeah,” he grunts as he sidles off the rail and leans his back against it. He looks around and nods in one direction. “There used to be a swing on that tree.”
Bubbles twists to look and immediately a lump forms in her throat. Despite it, she quips, “There used to be a tree there, period.”
“Yeah, well, my memory just fills in the blanks.” I like this little conversation about the swing and the tree. This was written way after that boba conversation and is much better. Yay for good slice-of-life!
The lump in her throat grows and she wonders how many blanks his memory is filling in. She turns back to look at the water and see his back swimming in its reflection. Her breath won’t steady, but maybe it never will, so she just sighs and says as evenly as she can, “You told me you liked me under that tree.” AND THEN I RUINED IT.
She listens and watches the pond for a weight shift, a fidget, a change in tone of voice. She gets none of the above. “Yeah.” But I do like this bit. I guess I'm bipolar.
I like “Yeah” as a response in general because it can be such a versatile response—depending on the context of the conversation, you get exactly how the character is feeling. This is another thing you'll see a lot of in my fics. Which probably means I should scale it back. Damn it. Maybe I shouldn't do these TFR posts. I'm giving away all of my cheap-ass writing tricks and secrets D8
Her heart drops to the floor, but she keeps her face stoic as he turns back around and leans his elbows over the railing, too. She might as well tell him now. Get it out, at least. All these words, bottled up in her; she’s going to explode if she doesn’t get them out soon—
“No, that’s wrong.”
She blinks in surprise and is suddenly only able to focus on her mitts, clenching each other as tight as possible with the water’s reflection a hazy backdrop.
“I said—well, I didn’t just say I liked you,” he says quietly, and in their reflection she can make out a small smile on his face. “And what I said that day… I’m sorry.”
Oh God, Bubbles thinks miserably, What now? Something, anything, she just hopes she doesn’t start crying.
Suddenly he reaches over, pulling strands of her hair away from her face. “I’m just, I’m really sorry. But I still mean it.”
His hand skims across her temple, and she looks up at him in shock.
Boomer’s gaze darts from his hand to her face, and there’s that small smile again. “You know, I just thought that maybe I could try and forget about it, and if I smiled instead of looking upset when I came back I could fake my way through it until I stopped, or, you know. I mean, it… well, it didn’t work,” he laughs, and his hand slides a little against her skin. She wishes she could bring herself to touch it, hold it in hers, but she remains rooted to the spot with her heart thudding furiously in her chest.
“Look, I know… I know we’re just kids still, and everything, but I just…” In a flash of absolute insanity she could swear his smile falters, but then he goes on. “I don’t stop thinking about you, ever. And I know that’s really stupid and probably from a billion different movies, but I mean it. I still am completely, totally… I fuckin’ love you, okay?” he finishes with a grin that’s almost a laugh and maybe a lot nervous, and all she can do is stare.
Ehhhhhrrrrrr squirming. Squirming now.
He falls back on that small smile of his and drops his hand to his side again. “I just… I just wanted to put that out there.” He takes a deep breath and sighs. “And… you know, if anything’s changed, then…” He trails off, and just shrugs lamely.
She stares at him, feeling as if the world has dropped out from under her. This is what she wants, isn’t it? It is, of course it is, but why can’t she think, why can’t she say anything…
“Bubbles, I love you,” Boomer suddenly blurts out, and his smile finally breaks and the look that’s hiding under it is one of complete and utter despair.
It’s too much. She just can’t think.
She closes her eyes and takes off in a blinding streak of blue, trying to remember how to say Yes or Me too or anything at all and hate, hate, hating herself for breaking his heart. Again.
Well okay, the confession isn't exactly as awful as I remember it being. It does drag on a little long—both the dialogue and the narrative. (I'm still working on this, even to this day. On a related note, my betas are awesome.) MELODRAMA, OOOH. The last little bit of this, about Bubbles running away—I like the poetry of the line, but I am really divided about the addition of “Again.” there. Maybe if I had moved it to a new line and added an ellipse, like “... Again.” Or maybe I'm just deluding myself. W/E YOU GUYS, THIS IS WHY IT'S A TFR POST.
Oh one last thing, Bubbles' petrified reaction overall really bugs me because it doesn't feel true to character anymore. I can see a person reacting like this, but with the Bubbles in my head now, not so much.
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Just wanted to point out that for all the negatives I did have positive things to say about it in the commentary as well!
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I just..I dunno, so many writers online have been doing so much 'IHATEMYWORKOMG'ing lately that..I am on like a try to cheer up mission in my mind I guess. It's like 'Okay, it is useful to be able to do it, but you write well!'