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burntheedges · 3 months

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Maintenance Request: Chapter 7

Joel Miller x f!reader | new chapter every Friday 18+ (minors DNI) | ao3 | main post & chapter list chapter word count: 2.4k

a/n: happy Friday! I think it's about time for Joel to come back and fix that shelf, don't you? chapter tags/warnings: fluff, banter, drink mention, for the purposes of this chapter reader likes a certain coffee drink but feel free to imagine a different one, flirting

Chapter 7

Wednesday, October 9 Seventh week of the semester

A week had passed since your impromptu tour of the department with Sarah and Joel, and you hadn’t seen him in that time, but you had interacted over email a bit.

You emailed him your dissertation as promised, and he replied that Sarah was already reading it. You told him to reassure her that you would not be offended if she didn’t read the whole thing, but apparently she’d scoffed and just hunkered down. He sent you a picture of her curled into the corner of a very comfortable looking couch, eyes on her laptop screen, frowning in concentration. It made you smile and give up protesting. Ellie, who had spent most of Saturday at your apartment, had teased you endlessly when she caught you grinning at your phone during movie night.

Your morning wasn’t quite as bad as the one when you’d met Joel, but it hadn’t gone particularly smoothly, either. Rain had slowed down your commute and troubled your walk from the garage. You finally found yourself in front of your building, juggling your bag, your keys, an umbrella, and the coffee you’d splurged on (again) to try and turn the morning around.

Of course, when you tried to close the umbrella one-handed, your juggling skills failed. The coffee slipped from your grasp, spilling upward and outward in a fountain when the cup hit the ground by the steps. You stared at it for a moment before sighing, face turned up towards the rain. Of course.

You didn’t see him at the time, but Joel had apparently seen the whole mess. You learned this a couple of hours later, finally dry and snug in your office after your class, when there was a knock on the door. You called for whoever it was to come in, and to your surprise, Joel Miller sidled through your open door, large tool box in one hand and steaming cup of coffee in the other.

“Mornin’, darlin’. Thought I might swing by to work on that bookshelf,” he nodded towards your wall. “And replace the coffee I thought you might be missing.” He winked and gave you the half smile that had caught your eye the week before as he set the tool box down on the floor. For a moment you just stared at him, stunned, and then you felt your cheeks heat.

“You saw that?” You asked, embarrassed but already knowing the answer. He smiled, fully this time. “Yeah, I was across the quad, too far away to do much good. Thought maybe this was the next best thing.” He rubbed his free hand against the back of his neck, looking a bit sheepish.

You took him in — his typical dark jeans, boots, and flannel shirt snug around his distractingly broad shoulders. Hair slightly damp from the rain, eyes warm and kind. You felt your face stretch into the type of smile you might use on a date. “Joel Miller, my knight in shining armor, hmm?” It was his turn to blush.

“I can’t promise armor, but I do have a tool belt.” He gestured down at it, and you laughed.

“I’ll take it. That’ll probably be of more help to my sad bookshelf, anyway.” He smiled and handed you the coffee. You took it gladly.

He nodded towards it and said, “wasn’t sure what you’d like, but Sarah promised me I couldn’t go wrong with one of the seasonal things. And I remember you said you liked lattes, when you were showing her the kitchen. Is that alright?” You looked down and took in the drink label, which proclaimed it to be a pumpkin spice latte. You couldn’t believe he’d asked Sarah what to get you.

You grinned. “It’s perfect, Joel. It’s the exact drink I spilled all over the steps an hour ago.” He laughed, and you watched his shoulders relax. Apparently he’d been worried. Cute.

“Well, I’ll take a look at your shelf. I might need to make a little noise — will that bother you?” He looked over at you as he dug in his toolbox for something.

You shrugged. “I’ll be honest, I’ll probably just talk to you instead of trying to work. Go right ahead.” He turned back to look for whatever he was trying to find, but you saw the corner of his mouth lift in a pleased smile.

“How’s Sarah getting on with my brick of a dissertation?” Your tone was self-deprecating, as every academic you’d ever met usually was when talking about that part of their career. You watched as he got out a level and some measuring tape.

“Well, darlin’, it can’t be as bad as you keep saying, not with the way she’s burning through it.”

You bit your lip around a smile. “Oh?”

He nodded. “Can I move some of these books? Where do you want ‘em?” You moved to help and after placing your books on the chairs in front of your desk and the empty area on your small table by the door, he returned to the shelf. “But yeah, she’s really enjoying it. Gave me a little lecture on space and metaphors and, uh, what was it… expansiveness, last night over dinner.” You groaned and put your face in your hands.

“I’m sorry, Joel, I’m sure that was boring.” Out of the corner of your eye you noticed he’d stopped working and turned towards you, so you looked up.

He was considering you, head tilted, face unreadable. After a moment of working his jaw, seemingly worrying over his response, he asked, “why do you keep puttin’ yourself down like that? From what she told me, it sounded brilliant. I won’t pretend to have the right words, not about poetry or literature anyway. But I could tell it was smart and insightful and, well. Somethin’ special.” He kept eye contact with you as he praised your work in words that felt more genuine than anything else ever had, even at your dissertation defense. Even from your advisor.

“Oh! Well, thank you. I mean, I think…” you took a breath, flustered, and looked down at your hands on your desk. You tried to find the right words. “I think it’s just that everyone feels that way about their dissertation, at least a little bit. It’s something that represents the end of a huge amount of work and effort, but at the same time, it’s also your first step in an academic career, you know? Your writing is always improving, your skills are always growing.” You paused to think and fiddled with the edge of your stack of post-it notes. “So it’s easy to look back, I guess, and see all the flaws. But maybe I should do as I teach my students and see it as ways I’ve grown, instead.” You looked back up to meet his gaze. You suddenly felt exposed, like you’d just laid yourself open for him. But when you saw his face you realized you should have known by now that Joel would treat those parts of you gently.

He was smiling at you softly as he considered your words. He nodded. “I can see that. But flawed or not, from what I heard, it sounded like the work of someone who really knew their stuff.”

“Heard?” You can’t help but ask, worried he meant exactly what you were thinking.

“Yeah, the lecture included dramatic readings of her favorite parts,” he confirmed, grinning now. “You really seem to like long sentences, huh?” He winked again as he teased you and this time you took it without hiding your face, just grinned back at him.

“Guilty as charged,” you agreed. “It may have been noted during my defense. And by quite a few editors.”

Joel laughed. He turned back to the shelf to continue his work, and asked, “so, what else do you like to do, aside from reading and teaching and writing? Though you do those so well, not sure how you’d have time for much else.” You felt warmed by the compliment and studied the way the muscles in his arms and shoulders stretched and flexed as he repositioned your shelf on the wall.

“Well, I do read a lot. Fit that stereotype pretty neatly,” you confessed. “But I also like movies. And music. Especially live music.”

He smiled at you over his shoulder. “Ah, that’s one we have in common, then, darlin’. I’m a fan of live music myself.” Suddenly you felt a little nervous, getting an inkling of where this might be going. Your heart started racing in anticipation.

“Oh? Any favorites?” You could hear your nerves in your voice, but you hoped he couldn’t. You watched as he reached up high on the wall and the hem of his flannel rose to the top edge of his jeans.

“I’m easy,” he replied absently. “But there’re a few places around here that have good live music nights.” You hummed, thoroughly distracted by the hint of skin that was exposed along his waistband. He started to say something else, and you were waiting eagerly to hear what it might be, when there was another knock on your office door.

You called for whoever it might be to come in, and to your great displeasure, Trevor stuck his head around your door. He didn’t bother to greet you. “I heard you in here and wanted to ask you about the coffee next week.” He said, referring to the biweekly coffee chat the grad students held, which you had been in charge of last year but weren’t this year.

“I’m not in charge of that this year,” you reminded him mildly. “You need to talk to Renee.”

His surprise at your response was clearly fake, but he nodded. “Right, must have forgotten. Ah well. What do we have here?” This question was asked with much greater interest, and you narrowed your eyes in suspicion. “I wasn’t aware of any construction going on today.”

“It’s not construction, Trevor, it’s a maintenance request. This is Joel.” You gestured towards the man, who was working quietly.

“Oh, we’ve met.” Joel interjected mildly. “There was that computer mishap last April.”

Trevor actually flushed, and stood up ramrod straight. “Yes, um. Well. I’ll go see Renee.” He scuttled off at a speed you’d assumed he was incapable of, until now. You turned to Joel and found him looking at you. “What was that about?” You got up and stepped towards the door to make sure he was really gone, but Trevor wasn’t in the hallway or anywhere in sight.

“Man’s a pest,” Joel grumbled. “Put in a maintenance request in the spring because his computer monitor wasn’t tilted how he wanted it. Wasted our time calling us back and forth because he refused to try to fix it himself. By the end I was wonderin’ if he just kept movin’ it so he could call us back to change it again. Or if he just didn’t know what he wanted. And he was rude every time.” You scoffed and crossed your arms.

“Good to know he’s not just shitty to us, then, I guess.” You sighed. “I get the feeling he didn’t actually forget he needed to talk to Renee. No idea why he might have wanted to snoop in here, though.” Joel shrugged, and turned back to you. Gesturing to your wall, he said, “well, darlin’, your shelf is all done. Let me help you put these back.” He started reaching for your books, and to your amusement seemed to remember exactly what order they’d been in before.

“Already? Joel, that’s amazing.”

He shook his head, hiding a smile. “Was a pretty small job, you know. Wasn’t going to take long.” Between the two of you your shelf was put back to rights in just a couple of minutes. You stood back to take it in, and noticed that it really did look nicer, with level shelves.

You turned to tell Joel that, and to thank him, and found that once again he was already looking at you. You felt heat rise in your cheeks at the look in his eyes. It was warm. And intent. “Thank you, Joel. This really is amazing.” You stepped a bit closer to him and nudged him with your shoulder. “Pretty impressive work, you know.”

He looked pleased, but tried to hide it by ducking his head and twisting his mouth around a smile. “Wasn’t a problem, darlin’. I wanted to get it done before all of your books and things fell off the wall, anyway.” For a moment you both just stood there and smiled at each other, but then Joel cleared his throat and straightened his shoulders. You noticed he was clenching and releasing one of his hands. “Don’t suppose you’re free for lunch later?” He sounded hopeful but uncertain.

“Oh! Sorry, I’m meeting my best friend.” You suddenly wanted to call Beth and cancel but knew you couldn’t. “Another day?”

He nodded, looking a little disappointed, but replied, “I’ll hold you to it.”

“Please do.” You tried to catch his eye again but he was already turning away. Between one moment and the next he was gone, out the door and down the hall.

…

At lunch, Beth made you talk her through the whole encounter. Twice. It took you all the way through the line to order and well into your lunch for her to be satisfied with your account.

“Ok look, like I said, he wants you. And we know you want him. You should ask him out next time.” Beth punctuated her verdict by brandishing her fork in your face. You rolled your eyes.

“It feels like we’ve only been on the same page for like, a minute. I didn’t realize he was flirting until he appeared at my door to hang my picture.” You shook your head, unsure.

Beth huffed. “I told you he was. You were too busy being annoyed.” You sighed, but you knew she was right.

“I just…” You trailed off and took a bite of your lunch to give yourself a minute to think. “I’m embarrassed. I yelled at him a lot.”

“Well, clearly he didn’t mind.” Beth smirked. “I bet he thinks it’s hot.” You threw your napkin at her. “If you don’t ask him out the next time you see him I’m going to call his office and do it for you.”

The worst part was, you knew she meant it.

...

a/n: see you next Friday! maybe they'll finally have lunch? prev | next

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em-dash-press · 10 months

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Everything Writers Should Know About Chekhov's Gun

We’ve all heard someone mention the idea of Chekhov’s gun. Sometimes it’s not even related to a weapon. “Oh, the protagonist just left an email open on their computer. That’ll be a Chekhov’s gun later.”

What is this literary tool and what does it mean? This is everything you need to know, plus a few tips to help you use it in a story.

It Started With a Playwright

Anton Chekhov was a playwright who created plays in Russia in the late 1800s. People loved his work because he didn’t use recycled plot formulas. Instead, he always knew how to surprise those who watched his plays.

In one of his letters, he famously wrote, “If in the first act, you have hung a pistol on the wall, then in the following one it should be fired. Otherwise don't put it there.”

It was a lesson in wielding tension as a storytelling device and it’s lasted through creative writing classes to this day.

Remember Your Most Important Details

One of the points Chekhov makes comes back to the idea of promising your viewers or readers that everything they learn is essential to your plot. Every character, scene change, and object affects how your story plays out.

Sleuth readers will try to solve your plot like a puzzle while they read. Others will want the enjoyment of getting surprised by clever writing.

The lesson is simple and important—ensure that your plot always has a purpose, no matter which page or scene you’re writing. If it’s worth your reader’s time, it will be vital to your story.

Create Effective Tension

A forgotten, loaded gun adds tension because it’s a threat. Chekhov’s advice is universal, so many readers will literally expect it to fire at some point later in your story. Readers who have never heard this advice will only recognize the essential threat that is a weapon ready to fire. Either way, they’ll become concerned for their favorite characters and get anxious to continue reading.

You can do this with objects or story elements that aren’t guns. Character A might learn that Character B betrayed them, but they don’t reveal that right away. Tension builds as your reader waits to see how far the betrayal will go and how Character A gets revenge or breaks the news.

Let tension linger. There’s a specific strength in controlling your plot’s tension. It gives readers moments to breathe or anxiously turn the page, which makes their experience much more enjoyable.

Use It as an Escape Pod

We’ve all written ourselves into a corner at some point. Instead of throwing the entire story away, that’s a great moment to return to any of your plot’s Chekhov’s guns.

Your character might remember that thing they learned earlier in the story and use it to jumpstart a change in their life. Maybe they grab hold of a Chekhov’s gun meant for another character and use it for themselves.

It depends on where you’re stuck, what you’re writing and which type of writer’s block you might be dealing with. Going back to something that added tension to your plot and giving it purpose could help propel your story to its conclusion in a way that makes readers think you’re a mastermind.

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Keep your plot promises. If something adds tension, it has to either fulfill its purpose or get solved before it can. Readers will trust that you know what you’re doing on the way to an epic conclusion, which is why Chekhov’s gun is a fundamental plot device any writer should know how to use.

#chekhov's gun #plot devices #plot device #plot development #writeblr #writers of tumblr #creative writing #writing community #writing inspiration #writing tips #writing advice #writing resources #writing #writing help

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