oh, and you love me too
Title: oh, and you love me too
Characters: NJBC + D
Rating/Word Count: PG 13/ 773
One line excerpt: It's an age old cliche: boy meets girl, girl meets boy; music swells, cue the love.
It is an age old cliché:
Boy meets girl, girl meets boy; music swells, cue the love.
He’s blonde and she’s brunette; opposites attract and all that jazz. They’re perfectly matched right down to the age of their money and the sparkle in their parent’s eye.
Click.
Except-rising action: The Perfect Girl comes twirling in, a constant stream of sparkles and glitter and fucking rainbows shining out of her ass. Turns out that maybe she’s not the female lead after all. Prince Charming slays hearts instead of dragons.
Climax: “I’m sorry Blair.” Turns out that Prince Charming is just another poor boy, lost and trying to find his way. He’s beautifully flawed, unendingly tragic, the stuff of fairytales; worthless.
Just Another Boy jumps out of her arms and out of her heart.
Roll credits.
Try again:
He’s blonde and she’s blonde; a saying about being made for each other that both try not to believe goes here. They’re perfectly matched right down to their easy laughter and her head on his shoulder.
Click.
Except-rising action: He was never meant to be hers. The doors open and sunlight enters like in that novel they both don’t understand. People see them, people see them, people see them, (she, she, she sees them) and they turn away because this isn’t the plan. She, she, she cries, fat tears slipping out of her big brown eyes. All three of them drown.
Climax: “I didn’t come back for you Nate,” she says, even though she kind of did. Everything that comes after that is unimportant. I didn’t come back for you. She didn’t mean it, but slowly she does.
It’s too late for them.
Roll credits.
Third time’s the charm:
He’s dark, she’s dark; he makes her darker. They’re perfectly matched right down to their penchant for destruction and their daddy issues. It’s not supposed to work, but it does.
Click.
Except-rising action (oh, so much rising action): She’s not his but he claims her anyways. He’s not hers but she claims him anyways. A windy rooftop and: say it, just say it. Three words stuck inside his throat, tumbling out after his al-Ishouldhavefallen-most tumble off a building. Poetic justice. Next stop: happily ever after. Come home, slip under the covers, I love you, and everything’s okay. But then: his father, his mother, his uncle, his empire. His, his, his until there is no more hers.
Climax: “We can burn together Chuck.” She saves him again and he finally remembers to save her too.
Together they find redemption apart.
Roll credits.
Just give it your best shot:
He’s brunette and she’s blonde; a Disney classic about a whole new world. They’re perfectly matched only in their capacity to love the other. Both cross their fingers and pray that it’ll be enough.
Click.
Except-rising action: She’s beautiful. He harrumphs, arms crossed; too beautiful. She’s rich. He harrumphs, hands tighten; too rich. She’s different. He harrumphs, lips pursed; too different.
Climax: “I love you Dan.” It’s true, but finally they learn: love isn’t enough. Later, he’ll go home and write line upon line, trying to fill his spiral notebook; hoping that when he does he’ll fill his heart too.
The elevator dings open.
Roll credits.
Last try:
She’s blonde and she’s brunette; an unconventional pairing but who can fight fate? They’re perfectly matched down to their giggles melding together and arms linked as they walk down cobble streets.
Click.
Except-rising action: They fight. All the time, they fight. She’s selfish. She’s petty. She’s being a bitch. Yeah, but how could you steal my man? But it all boils down to this: I love you. They fight but they always win.
Climax: “I can’t not know you, S.” She says it defiantly, like it means something, because at the end of the day it’s the only thing that matters. She nods, returning the sentiment. Hands find each other in the darkness. Lips slip forward, missing the mouth and ending up at the ear instead. It’s okay; she whispers, guess what?
(A quick montage: Barbie dolls and white taffeta. I’m going to marry you when I grow up B. S, roll of the eyes and patient sigh, that’s not how it’s done. Holding hands at Central Park. Let’s stay like this forever. Promise. A box of letters hidden under her bed. Thinking of you, B. Walking down Fifth Avenue. Look at them; they’re all jealous. Because everyone wants to be you. No, patient sigh, everyone wants to be us. Big smiles worn with stolen dresses. Perfect moment.
Clickclickclick.)
This is the way it’s supposed to be.
Roll credits.
Characters: NJBC + D
Rating/Word Count: PG 13/ 773
One line excerpt: It's an age old cliche: boy meets girl, girl meets boy; music swells, cue the love.
It is an age old cliché:
Boy meets girl, girl meets boy; music swells, cue the love.
He’s blonde and she’s brunette; opposites attract and all that jazz. They’re perfectly matched right down to the age of their money and the sparkle in their parent’s eye.
Click.
Except-rising action: The Perfect Girl comes twirling in, a constant stream of sparkles and glitter and fucking rainbows shining out of her ass. Turns out that maybe she’s not the female lead after all. Prince Charming slays hearts instead of dragons.
Climax: “I’m sorry Blair.” Turns out that Prince Charming is just another poor boy, lost and trying to find his way. He’s beautifully flawed, unendingly tragic, the stuff of fairytales; worthless.
Just Another Boy jumps out of her arms and out of her heart.
Roll credits.
Try again:
He’s blonde and she’s blonde; a saying about being made for each other that both try not to believe goes here. They’re perfectly matched right down to their easy laughter and her head on his shoulder.
Click.
Except-rising action: He was never meant to be hers. The doors open and sunlight enters like in that novel they both don’t understand. People see them, people see them, people see them, (she, she, she sees them) and they turn away because this isn’t the plan. She, she, she cries, fat tears slipping out of her big brown eyes. All three of them drown.
Climax: “I didn’t come back for you Nate,” she says, even though she kind of did. Everything that comes after that is unimportant. I didn’t come back for you. She didn’t mean it, but slowly she does.
It’s too late for them.
Roll credits.
Third time’s the charm:
He’s dark, she’s dark; he makes her darker. They’re perfectly matched right down to their penchant for destruction and their daddy issues. It’s not supposed to work, but it does.
Click.
Except-rising action (oh, so much rising action): She’s not his but he claims her anyways. He’s not hers but she claims him anyways. A windy rooftop and: say it, just say it. Three words stuck inside his throat, tumbling out after his al-Ishouldhavefallen-most tumble off a building. Poetic justice. Next stop: happily ever after. Come home, slip under the covers, I love you, and everything’s okay. But then: his father, his mother, his uncle, his empire. His, his, his until there is no more hers.
Climax: “We can burn together Chuck.” She saves him again and he finally remembers to save her too.
Together they find redemption apart.
Roll credits.
Just give it your best shot:
He’s brunette and she’s blonde; a Disney classic about a whole new world. They’re perfectly matched only in their capacity to love the other. Both cross their fingers and pray that it’ll be enough.
Click.
Except-rising action: She’s beautiful. He harrumphs, arms crossed; too beautiful. She’s rich. He harrumphs, hands tighten; too rich. She’s different. He harrumphs, lips pursed; too different.
Climax: “I love you Dan.” It’s true, but finally they learn: love isn’t enough. Later, he’ll go home and write line upon line, trying to fill his spiral notebook; hoping that when he does he’ll fill his heart too.
The elevator dings open.
Roll credits.
Last try:
She’s blonde and she’s brunette; an unconventional pairing but who can fight fate? They’re perfectly matched down to their giggles melding together and arms linked as they walk down cobble streets.
Click.
Except-rising action: They fight. All the time, they fight. She’s selfish. She’s petty. She’s being a bitch. Yeah, but how could you steal my man? But it all boils down to this: I love you. They fight but they always win.
Climax: “I can’t not know you, S.” She says it defiantly, like it means something, because at the end of the day it’s the only thing that matters. She nods, returning the sentiment. Hands find each other in the darkness. Lips slip forward, missing the mouth and ending up at the ear instead. It’s okay; she whispers, guess what?
(A quick montage: Barbie dolls and white taffeta. I’m going to marry you when I grow up B. S, roll of the eyes and patient sigh, that’s not how it’s done. Holding hands at Central Park. Let’s stay like this forever. Promise. A box of letters hidden under her bed. Thinking of you, B. Walking down Fifth Avenue. Look at them; they’re all jealous. Because everyone wants to be you. No, patient sigh, everyone wants to be us. Big smiles worn with stolen dresses. Perfect moment.
Clickclickclick.)
This is the way it’s supposed to be.
Roll credits.