#longform writing

[writerpolls]

Writers: do you give titles to your chapters?

No, I always just number them

Yes, I give single word titles

Yes, I give short phrase chapter titles

Yes, I give full on sentence (or longer) chapter titles

Yes, I always give chapter titles but hire long depends on the piece

Sometimes I give chapter titles and sometimes I just leave numbers

I don’t write anything with a chapter type of structure

Other answer / it’s complicated somehow

See results / I don’t write

Voting ended onFeb 9

[the-most-humble-blog]

<div style="white-space:pre-wrap">

<meta scrolltrap-category="BLACKSITE LITERATURE™ :: PATREON FUNNEL :: ACCESS EVENT">

TRANSMISSION_CODE="DOORWAY_001"

TRIGGER_WARNING="late realization, access anxiety, intellectual envy, soft regret"

EFFECT="fomo, urgency, membership craving, sudden awareness that the public feed is only the smoke"

You have been reading the public transmissions.

The sharp little fragments. The free range damage. The musings. The elegant acts of psychological vandalism.

Cool.

But let us be adults for one second.

You know damn well the best material is never what gets left on the sidewalk.

Tumblr gets the flare. The signal fire. The bait. The first cut. The beautiful little weapon I can throw into the crowd and let ricochet off whoever still has a functioning nervous system.

Patreon is where I put the rest of the body.

The denser truths. The more dangerous musings. The pieces that breathe heavier. The posts that go further than this site should probably tolerate. The ones that do not merely tap your forehead and leave.

The ones that move furniture around in your head.

That is where I am building the deeper archive now.

Not eventually. Not one vague mystical day in the future. Now.

Which means this is the funny part.

Some of you are going to join early and get to watch the vault form in real time. You will see the sharper work first. You will be there while the tone gets stranger, richer, rawer, more exact. You will get the musings before they are diluted into public fragments. You will be inside the room while the walls are still being painted in blood and excellent phrasing.

Others will wait.

They will lurk. They will "mean to." They will tell themselves they will check it out later. They will do that soft little modern thing where people stand outside the club explaining to themselves that they never really liked music anyway.

And then one day they will realize there is already a whole body of work over there they missed. A whole rhythm. A whole continuity. A whole inner circle language they were not present for when it was born.

That is how irrelevance happens now.

Not with a bang. With procrastination. With tabs left open. With "I'll get around to it." With watching from the hallway while other people get early access to the version of the work that still has its teeth in it.

The public page will still get heat.

I am not abandoning Tumblr. Tumblr is the street sermon. The alleyway miracle. The free sample laced with consequences.

But Patreon is where I am putting the fuller transmissions. Longer pieces. Potent musings. Harder truths. More dangerous comedy. More intimate doctrine. More of the material that makes people stop scrolling and stare at the wall for ten minutes like they just remembered they are alive.

That is the shift.

You are not being asked to "support a creator." That phrase has always sounded like a PBS tote bag having a panic attack.

You are being offered access.

Access to the deeper layer. Access to the uncropped signal. Access to the place where the public posts come from before they get shaved down for open air consumption.

And the beautiful thing about getting in early is this.

Early members do not just consume the culture. They become part of its founding weather.

They are there before the stack gets tall. Before the archive gets heavy. Before the language gets copied. Before the late arrivals show up pretending they were always down.

So if you have been reading me here and thinking:

damn, this is already good

then understand something very simple.

This is the public setting.

This is me with the door open.

Patreon is where I close it.

Enter now while the deeper chamber is still taking shape.

Because once the archive starts growing teeth, the worst feeling in the world is realizing you stood outside it on purpose.

PATREON ACCESS: https://patreon.com/TheMostHumble

Main archive and everything else: https://linktr.ee/ObeyMyCadence

If the public feed made an impression on you, do not make the mistake of assuming the public feed is the main event.

It is the trailer. The breach. The first ripple.

The real water is behind the wall.

</div>

[ruthwritesalot]

Writing Master Post

What's My Age Again?

My current wip, a slice-of-life drama following an two brothers escaping an abusive home together and figuring out their identities along the path to healing. The story is split into multiple parts showcasing different phases of their lives, each with a time skip of four years in between. Alex (19/23/27 years old) has had a parental role thrust upon him from a young age and is coming to terms with the consequential loss of his childhood. Jamie (14/18/22 years old) is discovering what it means to have a queer identity and finding community after escaping his homophobic father. The third part will also focus on Aaliyah, Alex’s longterm girlfriend, as she follows her dream of opening her own dance studio built on a socialist model with her best friend Billie.

Features: queer relationships, found family, platonic love

Relevant content warnings are added at the beginning of each chapter.

You can find it here

Die Abentuer von Bruni dem Brathühnchen

A series of short stories I wrote in german about a hidden universe of socialist roast chickens. I want to translate it at some point but I have to figure out how because some of the jokes are meant for german.

Die Abenteuer von Bruni dem Brathühnchen

Das Gurkenglas

Der Cosplaytag

Translation:

The Adventures of Randy the Roast Chicken

The Pickle Jar

Cosplay Day

Looking for Myself (Inside the Labyrinth)

A Looking for Alaska fanfic I started writing which is basically just the book but from Alaska's perspective because I think she's a much more intersting character than Pudge (who I don't like). There's only like one chapter right now because it has the lowest priority of all of my projects.

Looking for Myself (Inside the Labyrinth)

[deadpresidents]

The recent question about your writing process makes me curious: do you pre-plan any posts? For example, I think today is the day Jimmy Carter passes John Nance Garner as longest-living president or vice president...do you have something ready to go? Similarly, I know major news outlets have their coverage of major figures' passing mostly queued up and ready to go -- did you have a similar process for your posting around George HW Bush's death (and, given that President Carter is on hospice, of course, is that something you're working on now?)

Good question!

There was a fascinating story related to your question in the New York Times after Fidel Castro died in 2016 about how Fidel's obituary had been written in advance and just edited with new information or pertinent facts for decades. When he actually died, they were able to make some tweaks and add specific information to the advance obit that over a dozen journalists had worked on over the years. The first draft of Fidel's NYT obituary was written in 1959 when Castro led the Cuban Revolution and the Times just kept working on it for nearly 60 years. When he did die, they were able to quickly publish an in-depth obit that was like 8,000 words long. And, as you said, most major news organizations have advance obituaries ready for leading figures, so that they can move quickly when something finally happens.

(Saturday Night Live even had a famous sketch about preparing advance obituaries where Tom Brokaw (Dana Carvey) was taping numerous reports about Gerald Ford dying in increasingly ridiculous ways.)

Anyway, to answer your question, I do not usually write anything in advance to be published when something specific happens. There have been a few occasions where I've worked on several different pieces to publish on the anniversary of certain historic events. For example, I kind of did that last month for the 100th anniversary of Warren G. Harding's death. But even in that case, I wrote most of the stuff as I posted it and the things I had ready to post ahead of time were mainly the contemporary photographs or the screenshots of newspaper headlines that I had ready to go in my Drafts so I could easily post them.

I think the only time I wrote a significant amount of content ahead of time to publish on a specific date was on November 22, 2013, which was the 50th anniversary of John F. Kennedy's assassination. I wrote several longform essays (this was when I still knew how to write!) about the Kennedy Assassination that I published on that day because I knew that there would be even more people interested in the subject than usual on that specific day and wanted to be sure I took advantage of it.

But, other than that, I'm usually just writing stuff as I go along.

[oldfilmsflicker]

Obviously I will never leave Tumblr, but if you used to like my old long form blog (Cinema-Fanatic.com) or my YouTube videos, please take a gander at my newsletter, which sends my posts directly to your inbox. It’s mostly about female directors, but there is a lot more as well. 

https://oldfilmsflicker.substack.com

[recurring-polynya]

Do I mind if I ask how you approach writing longer fic? I've always struggled to write anything more than maybe two chapters long and I'm curious if you have a particular method to how you approach such stories.

Thank you so much for this ask! I absolutely love it when people ask me for writing advice because it makes me feel like a Smart Person Who Knows Things.

Before we start, here is one grain of salt to take all of this with: I have a naturally long-form brain. It is very hard for me to write something less than 1k. Short fiction is great, and there is nothing wrong with sticking to short things if that's what your brain likes to do.

So. You have decided to write a story. This is going to focus on "stories". Some people write fic that's more freeform or whatever, I am not going to cover that. What I mean by a story is this:

It starts

Some stuff happens

It ends

It is highly probable that your story contains a change of state, which could be that a villain is defeated, or a goal is reached, but it could also be that character falls in love with another, or someone learns to like broccoli.

I like to start out by completing the sentence, "This is a story where _______". This is basically like coming up with a summary for an ao3 post, except that it doesn't need to be catchy. Lots of different kinds of things could go in that blank! It could literally be what happens: This is a story where Ichigo goes back in time and punches young Aizen in the nose. It could be about what you want to explore: This is a story where Hitsugaya gets a better understanding of his zanpakutou. It could be about the vibe you want to achieve: This is an AU where everyone is in a punk rock band and has cool hair and outfits. The idea of this is to clearly define what you, the author, is interested in writing. Make sure it feels right! Maybe you pick the first one, but when you say it out loud, you say, "You know, I really just want Ichigo to go back in time so he can horse around with young Renji and Rukia and punching Aizen in the nose is just an excuse for that." That may sound dumb, but it's fine, actually! Most people don't read stories strictly for the plot, they read stories for the implications of those plots! Will my favorite two characters kiss? Will there be funny interactions between these two groups of characters? Will there be sick fights? Stories are excuses to have scenes. Sometimes, you will have a story where the interesting sequence of events is the draw, but the point is to know what you're about.

Once you feel happy with your "mission statement", you need to decide the bounds of your story: where it starts and where it ends. It may be easier to start with the end. In some cases, it may be obvious from your mission statement: everyone gets home, a villain is defeated, Kenpachi realizes the meaning of friendship. On the other hand, let's look at that punk rock AU. You've picked a vibe, but you don't really have a natural story arc. It has to have a destination, though, otherwise, it's not really a story, it's a recipe for 3 chapters of an abandoned fanfic. So brainstorm a little: Maybe they get a record deal? Maybe they win a Battle of the Bands? Maybe Byakuya accepts that the band is actually good and tells Rukia he is proud of her. Do not settle for a plot just because it works. Pick something that makes you excited! You're the one who is gonna have to write it!

I said that we needed to pick a beginning point, too, but I'm actually going to skip that for now. The next thing I do is think of all the Big Scenes I want to write, the ones you are hype to write, the ones that pop in your head as you think about the premise. Make a bullet list. They don't need to be in order. The descriptions don't need to be super detailed, but write down anything about it that is important to you. If there's a mood or a snippet of dialogue or a joke you want to make, go ahead and jot that down so you don't forget it later. What you're doing now is putting broad blotches of color on a canvas, filling in space and leaving the detail for later.

Once you are pretty happy with what you have down, try to arrange it in chronological order. Put your end at the end (if it wasn't one of your big scenes, add it now). The next task is figuring out how to traverse your scenes. You've already picked out where you want to spend the majority of your energy. The rest, I regret to tell you, is your slog writing. Now, it often happens that you will find joy in some of these scenes and your best writing may occur there, but that's serendipity. These are the scenes that you are gonna have to make yourself sit down and write, so you honestly want to limit them to just the ones you need.

So how do we do this? Look at the first thing on the list. Can you start there? If so, congrats, that's your beginning. If you can't, what needs to happen to get to there? Where can you start so that you can get to your first fun scene as soon as possible? There. That’s it. You’ve picked your beginning, good job! Now, go through the rest of your list, and add in things that must happen, even if you don’t particularly look forward to writing them. The characters need to travel from geographic point A to point B. Shuuhei needs to say something that Izuru hears and misinterprets. The Central 46 makes a new law. If you have a good idea of how these things happen, go ahead and write them down, but it’s okay if you don’t know yet. Fill in all the blanks so that if you think of each bullet list as a scene, you could read it as a story, start to end. Once you get writing, you might add more scenes, or move things around or whatever, but you should have a thing that functions as a story.

If you struggle with this, an alternative is a story with a very strong structure that is going to guide you though what you have to write.Here are two examples from my own stories Hold On, Hold On (which is only one chapter, but the principle is the same) is structured around the 5 stages of grief. Not Broken, Just Bent takes place over roughly a week, and I just decided what happened every day of the week. See You on the Other Side takes place in the middle of a bunch of canon events, which worked at mile markers.

Congratulations. You’ve just made a rough outline!

Special note for avoiding burnout!: I am a slogger. I will drag myself through the broken glass of an interminable plot to get to a single thirsty scene. That's why, at this stage, I try to look at the ratio of what I want to write to what I must write. It's gonna vary for everyone, but this is a hobby, and if looking at this proto-outline makes you feel deeply tired, maybe this isn't a good story to be devoting your time to! Can you carve it down? Can you chuck two scenes you really want to write and get rid of 80% of the slog? Or maybe you can't! In that case, just write that thirsty scene as a standalone drabble! Or just go work on something else! Maybe in the future, this one will come back to you and you’ll have a fresh idea or a renewed enthusiasm for it.

Another thing I sometimes like to do at this point is to write out some notes about my characters and their motivations and moods. Character A is homesick. Character B is so determined to defeat the enemy that they are having a hard time being sympathetic to Character A. Character C cares for both A and B and is trying to support them both. This is sort of background info that you want to keep in your head as you are writing. Depending on the type of story you are writing, this might actually be the main plot, or it might be happening subtly, but adding to the emotional impact of the story. It’s very easy for me to write these sorts of emotional arcs, but if you struggle with that, you may wish to go ahead and made a more detailed outline for that, too.

Now, it’s time to start writing! I am great at beginnings-- it is very often the case for me that the opening scene was one of my Big Tentpole Scenes. (Before you hate me too much, I make up for this by being double horrible at endings; just let me have this) Usually, I will start at the beginning and write linearly for as long as I can until I get stuck. Then, I will look forward on my outline and do the next chronological scene that I feel like writing. In general, if I sit down to write and there is something I have an urge to write, that trumps everything else. Inspiration is a precious commodity, and you should embrace it when it hits! You can slog any day. I will occasionally hold off writing a scene that I really want to, because I am saving it, like a prize for myself for getting that far. This is a very personal process of figuring out what motivates your brain and then giving your brain what it needs to be its most productive.

Eventually, you will run out of things you are excited to write, but the good news is, you’ve got a bunch of story now! Odds are that what’s left is going to be a lot of those connective tissue scenes, and you’re just going to have to do them, except that now, because you’re connecting two concrete points instead of two abstract points, it will be a lot easier. You can continue running jokes you’ve started. Maybe you invented a cafe in an earlier scene where your characters hang out and you can have them return there. Try to think of ways to make these scenes more fun, both for yourself to write and for your reader to read. 

Around this time, I like to start refining that rough strokes outline into what I will call an “as-built” outline. (This is an engineering term where you update your plans or models for something to reflect any changes that had to be made along the way). This is a great activity to do at times when you feel like you have writers block. I write down every scene I have written as a 2-3 word blurb, in order. I break the scenes into what I think makes logical chapters, and I will do a word count on those prospective chapters and write it down. As you do this, you will realize that maybe you can move a scene from here to there, which will make it 1000% easier to write. Things may be happening too much, or you’ve got the characters eating three times in the same chapter. If you have subplots and dangling threads, this is where you make sure they get closure. I know this sounds very headache-y, but you are so far along in the story at this point that it’s really not-- it’s a way to look at the problems you have left. Use some sort of formatting (I like to bold things I haven’t done and sometimes I put them in red) and it gives you a very visual to-do list.

You specifically mentioned multi-chapter fanfics and I admit that I don’t tend to think in chapters, I tend to think of the story as a whole and just break it up where it feels natural. The as-built outlining I described is very helpful in making sure that my chapters feel balanced. They don’t necessarily need to be the same length, but I like them to have the same amount of stuff in them. One chapter may basically contain one long scene, and other may contain many short ones. I don’t tend to, but you can certainly have a fanfic that varies between short and long chapters, that can actually be an interesting effect. But like I said, I always like to know what I am doing, and so having it mapped out, you can say “welp, this is what I’ve done, how do I feel about that?”

Polynya, you may be saying at this point, do you write the whole fanfic before you post any of it? and I regret to inform you, the answer is yes. A lot of people write as they go, and I have made one attempt at this and I didn’t like it. I don’t like locking myself in, I just need to be able write out of order and go back and change things. Here is the story of a little in love: someone gave me an AU prompt and I got mildly obsessed with it, and wrote 5 snapshots drabbles in that universe, ending with a slight cliffhanger ending. I probably should have stopped there, but I decided to keep going. I wrote out an outline of 5 acts where the first act was detailed to the degree of each chapter being specified. The chapters here were much smaller than I usually make chapters: 1-2k. I wrote act i and ii and it was actually great, and then I hit act iii which required a lot of set up for misunderstandings and a mini romance arc. I couldn’t wing it, but nor could I figure it all out with outlining. I write dialogue in almost sort of an improv “Yes, and...?” style, so until I do it, I don’t know what’s going to happen. So, what I did was treat the second half of act iii as a complete story in the process I describe above, wrote the entire rest of it, and then posted it. One might notice that the chapter lengths grew to 3-5k each. I have two more acts to go, and I haven’t decided how I am going to do them yet, but I suspect I will treat each of them as their own mini-stories.

(I will admit that in Heart is a Muscle, I tend toward chapters that are about 10k long, and this is honestly too long, someone should smack me. If you like punchy chapters, 1-2k is good. I think 3-6k is probably an ideal chapter length. Is this how long the chapters are in my latest fanfic? Absolutely not.)

Okay, so there’s one more step, which is quality control. I am habitual re-reader-- I read my fanfics-in-progress over and over and over while I am working on them. I understand that not everyone does this, but I am usually the primary audience for my own writing, and this is the actual fun part for me. Nevertheless, you should re-read your work at least once, to make sure it hangs together.

This is purely optional, but I recommend it: get a writing friend (if you don’t like re-reading your work, I recommend this even more strongly). If you can get a full-service beta reader, that’s great, but if you can’t find someone, or if receiving that level of critique stresses you out, it’s perfectly valid to just find a friend who will read your stuff and a) shower you with compliments, b) reassure you about parts you aren’t sure about (or suggest ways to help) and c) point out any huge problems you missed. When I am writing a long fanfic, it is a huge motivational factor for me to be able to send my beta chapters as I finish them. If you are already an established writer, and you have people who consistently comment on your fic, they might be overjoyed to get a sneak peak at your work.

And that’s it! That’s the way I do it, anyway! Some people are able to sit down and write a very detailed outline and the write it start-to-finish. Good for them, I say! I have tried this and it doesn’t work great for me. I will admit that some of my fics (especially my early ones) I just sat down and banged out whole-cloth like an insane person and they are generally better than the ones I actually plan out, but that’s not a reproducible process.

As one final mechanical note, I usually write in Google Docs, which I can access on multiple devices (I used to write a lot on my phone), has convenient sharing functionality, and I use the ao3 html formatting script add-in. I generally have two documents for a single story-- one is the outline, and any other notes I want to have handy. I’ll usually put a trashcan space at the bottom for scenes that got cut but I don’t want to lose. The other is the fanfic itself.

I hope this is helpful! Please feel free to follow up with other questions and good luck with your writing!

[writerpolls]

Longform/novel writers: how deep do you usually get into most novel-length writing projects that you start?

0-5k words

5k-20k words

20k words - 45k words

Greater than 45k words (but I usually don’t finish them)

Greater than 45k words (and I usually DO finish them)

It completely depends on the specific project (but I usually don’t finish them)

It completely depends on the specific project (and I usually DO finish them)

It completely depends on the specific project (and I finish about half of them)

I finish all / almost all of the novel length projects I start

Other answer / it’s complicated / unsure

See results / I don’t start novel-length projects

Voting ended onSep 17, 2025

[ruthwritesalot]

What's My Age Again?

Overview

Previous chapter

Next chapter

PART 2: Chapter 19

I decided to make the story have parts, and this is the beginning of Part 2, which means there's a time skip. I tried to make this chapter introduce Jamie again as a character, because he's obviously changed a lot in the time we missed. I'd love to hear any thoughts and constructive criticism!

////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

Jamie

My breath fogged the mirror as I leaned close to it, concentrating. I’d gotten a lot better at eyeliner over the years. In the beginning, it had taken me twenty minutes to manage an awkward, jagged line but now, it was flawless in less than two minutes.

I still ended up running late, like I always did. I grabbed my backpack and ran past Alex, deciding to skip breakfast. “Bye!” I yelled.

He called something back, but I was already awkwardly walking to the elevator with my boots half put on. I quickly tied my laces as I watched the floors get lower and lower, then began trudging through the snow, barely making it to the bus stop in time.

“Nice makeup,” Oliver snickered as I walked past him.

“Fuck you, too,” I threw back, softly enough so Mrs. Broderick wouldn’t hear.

Still, I threw myself onto a seat at the very back of the bus and pulled up my hood. The confidence boost I’d gotten this morning was already beginning to wear off, leaving room for anxiety. I put on my headphones and selected Ancient Dreams in a Modern World to drown out my thoughts with Marina’s voice. It worked to an extent, but I still caught myself thinking about running to the bathroom and smearing off the makeup the first chance I got. What had I been thinking? Now that I was almost an adult, I was incapable of being bullied?

I stared intently at the ground as I got off the bus, so I only noticed Omar once he was standing right in front of me. I jumped a little, then threw my arms around him. “Happy birthday!” I squealed loudly enough to make a few people turn their heads.

He happily let me ambush him. “You, too!”

“Mine’s not ‘till tomorrow,” I reminded him, like I did every year. Omar, unlike me, loved being the center of attention. I didn’t see why he had to try and share his spotlight with me before it was my turn.

“Yeah, but we’re celebrating today,” he argued. “You look great, by the way.” I’d pulled away from him, so he could admire my makeup.

“Yeah, I got a stupid burst of confidence this morning,” I explained. “I don’t know where it came from.”

He tilted his head. “You want my makeup wipes?”

I did, but I’d also promised myself I wouldn’t backtrack this morning. And what if I ran into Oliver again? He’d know he won. “No, it’s fine.”

The bell rang, so we turned around and started heading inside. “Okay. Let me know if you change your mind.”

--------------------

I should have wiped the makeup off. I could feel people watching me as I moved through the halls, desperate for the day to be over. I could have cried I was so relieved when the final bell rang. I almost ran, my mind blank except for getting to the bus, when I suddenly collided with someone in a full-body slam.

“Hey, watch where you’re going, you fucking faggot.” It was Oliver. He didn’t seem particularly angry, he just snickered, which somehow made it all worse.

I saw red. Later, I’d realize that my fight or flight response had apparently changed to fight at some point in the last four years. I didn’t have control over my body. It was as if the fist that connected with Oliver’s jaw was someone else’s, and I was only watching it happen. He stumbled back a few steps, holding his chin. I couldn’t tell if he was in pain or just in shock. It didn’t matter though, because everyone around had seen what happened, including three teachers.

I instinctively looked around for Omar, but he was nowhere to be found. I heard someone say “Hey!” and felt myself being physically pulled away from Oliver, which seemed unnecessary. He’d already put some steps between us, and I’d made no move to fill them. “Both of you to the principal’s office. Now.”

--------------------

Oliver’s parents didn’t seem like very nice people. His dad was currently towering over me, berating me for daring to lay hands on his son. The confident Jamie from this morning would have told him that if he was gonna raise such a homophobic asshole, he had to be prepared for the consequences, but of course all current Jamie did was shrink back into the stiff chair. I watched as Oliver smirked at me over his dad’s shoulder, ignoring his mom who was fawning over him as if he’d just been traumatized for life. He wasn’t even traumatized physically. There was only a slight bruise. To their side, Principal McLean was sitting at her desk, holding her head in her hands, giving off the energy of someone who just wanted to go home.

The door opened, and the sound of Alex’s quick steps cut through the room. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” he said to Oliver’s dad, shoving him to the side before kneeling in front of my chair. “Are you okay? What happened?”

Someone sucked in a sharp breath. “Is he okay?” Oliver’s mom said incredulously. “He attacked my son!”

It was as if I’d suddenly and violently fallen back into my body, the weight of the situation punching me in the chest and knocking the wind out of me. Tears welled up in my eyes and quickly started streaming down my face. Alex immediately got up and wrapped his arms around me.

“I’m sorry,” I sobbed. Did he understand it was meant for him and not Oliver? I’d ruined everything. I was gonna be kicked out of school months before graduation, and Alex was gonna have to pick up the pieces like he always did. What had he been doing when Principal McLean called him? Had it been important?

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” he calmed me. I was painfully aware of the other four people in the room staring at us, but I felt physically unable to pull myself together.

Eventually, my sobbing lessened somewhat, and McLean cleared her throat. “Jamie, you still haven’t told us your side of the story.”

I swallowed and lifted my chin to look him straight in the eyes. “Oliver called me a faggot, so I punched him.”

She raised her eyebrows slightly, then looked to Oliver. My heart thumped as I tightened my grip on Alex’s arm. Like I’d been hoping, he seemed to pick up on the name Oliver. He gave me a questioning look, which I answered with a slight nod, at which point he turned back to face the room. “Ma’am, this isn’t the first time this has happened,” Alex announced in his grown-up voice that left little room for argument. “This kid has been bullying Jamie for years, which has gone largely unnoticed by the teachers and administration. He was bound to break at some point. If anything, the school should feel responsible for letting the situation escalate to this degree.”

Okay, I hadn’t been expecting him to go that hard. He seemed to be fuming behind the tight-lipped stare he was directing at Ms. McLean, who seemed to be taken aback.

Oliver’s dad actually scoffed. “Oh, give me a break. Everything’s bullying these days. Hurt feelings don’t give him the right to go around punching people.”

Alex fixed his piercing gaze on him. I’d never been more glad not to be on the other side of it. “What would you call calling people slurs for years?”

Oliver’s dad stared at Alex for a few moments, then apparently decided to try a different approach. “I’m sorry, who even are you? You’re not his dad, that’s for sure. You’re like, twenty.”

“Not that it’s any of your business, but I’m his legal guardian,” Alex informed the room. “As I was saying, Principal McLean, can I expect the school to take any measures against the rampant homophobia among students?” His hand was still on my shoulder, making me relax. I slowly started to sink back into the chair and let myself zone out as they argued. Eventually, it was decided that we’d be moved to different classes, nothing else. I couldn’t believe it, and neither could Oliver’s family. They stuttered in protest, but McLean had had enough and kicked us all out of her office. Alex quickly ushered me past them and to the parking lot.

“Jamie,” he said once we were in the car.

“Yeah,” I said to show him I was listening, not moving my gaze from the window.

“I’m not mad at you,” he assured me. “I meant it when I said you did nothing wrong. But you need to be careful. The world isn’t fair, and you might not get off as easily next time.”

Nothing about this had felt easy. “I know,” I replied, forcing back tears.

He sighed and reached over to stroke my hair. “Don’t let this ruin your weekend, okay? Let’s just forget about it.”

I nodded. It seemed to be enough. He didn’t mention it again.

--------------------

The sound of Omar’s excited footsteps could be heard the second Aaliyah rang the doorbell. He wrenched open the door with a grin.

“Happy birthday!” Aaliyah said, giving him a hug.

“Come in, come in!” he said, moving to the side.

We all walked in, Alex carrying the cake and me carrying my present for him. It wasn’t heavy, but it was lumpy and impractical for both holding and wrapping. I’d thought I’d done an okay job at the latter, though. The creases were almost only in the places I’d wanted them to be.

“You can put that in the kitchen,” Omar directed Alex once we’d taken our shoes off.

“Thanks,” he said, following the sound of voices.

I was about to head after him when Omar stopped me. “Are you okay?”

I tried to look believably confused. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

He furrowed his eyebrows. “I don’t know, you’re kind of quiet.”

I glanced in the direction of the kitchen, trying to gauge if they could hear us.

Omar followed my gaze, then said more loudly, “Why don’t we bring my present to my room?”

I gratefully followed him. The second he shut the door behind him, the information burst out of me. “I punched Oliver.”

He spun around, looking understandably shocked. “What? When? Are you in trouble?”

“After school,” I explained. “And everything’s fine, Alex handled it.”

“You’re not even in detention or anything?” he asked in disbelief.

I shook my head. “Nope. You should have seen Alex.” We sat down on the bed and I detailed everything that had happened in Principal McLean’s office.

“I can’t believe you actually punched him,” Omar said. There was a tone of admiration in his voice. I looked up to see him grinning at me.

I couldn’t help it. The corners of my mouth curved into a small smile, too. “I did.” It was something I’d been imagining for years, but never seriously.

“Thank God Alex was there,” Omar said, rocking back and forth. “Just… wow. You just made this the best birthday ever, you know that, right?”

I laughed. “I thought you were gonna tell me how stupid it was,” I admitted.

“I mean, it wasn’t the smartest thing to do,” Omar said. “But it all worked out, so who cares? It’s not like he didn’t deserve it.”

Maybe Omar was right. It didn’t feel fair that I had to feel bad about the one time I’d retaliated after years of bullying. I reached over to hug him, already feeling better. “Do you want to open your present now?”

He took it eagerly, feeling the shape. “Did you knit me something?”

I pursed my lips, my heart pounding as I watched him rip open the wrapping paper. This moment had been playing over and over again in my head since I’d come up with the idea, and I had to focus to make sure my face wouldn’t give away how anxious I was.

He picked up the cardigan I’d gotten to know by heart over the past few months and studied it. “Oh my god, it’s Mabel’s star!” he said, already ecstatic as he pointed at the shooting star on one of the pink patches. I smiled, waiting for the rest to dawn on him. “Wait,” he said as he touched the patch with the question mark, then the llama. “Are they all…?”

I nodded.

“You knitted me a Gravity Falls cardigan?” he said, looking at me in disbelief.

“Yeah,” I confirmed, my heart swelling as he excitedly pulled the sweater he was wearing over his head and put the cardigan on. It was a perfect oversize fit.

“It’s really good,” he said, running his finger along the ribbing.

“I practiced a lot before I started,” I explained.

“I can tell.” He hugged me again. “I’m never taking this off.”

I laughed into his shoulder, but a twinge of sadness stabbed at me as I thought of him wearing it in some college dorm far away from me. At least he’d always have a part of me with him.

He was the one to eventually pull away. “Do you want to open yours, too?”

I gave him a look. He knew how I felt about celebrating early.

“Okay, okay,” he relented. “Let’s just go downstairs.”

We found Omar’s family, Aaliyah and Alex sitting around the coffee table. “There you two are,” Omar’s dad joked. “We were getting close to cutting the cake without you!”

We laughed politely and I squeezed next to Alex on the couch while Omar sat cross-legged on the carpet. It was a nice cake. Pumpkin spice with a layer of frosting on top, and lettering that simply said ‘Happy 18th birthday’. ‘Jamie and Omar’ probably would have been too long. His mom offered me the knife, but I motioned for her to give it to Omar. I couldn’t even enjoy the cake properly as I watched the minutes tick by.

“Can’t wait for it to be your turn?” Alex teased when I pulled out my phone for the fifth time.

“Nope,” I lied, leaving a bitter taste in my mouth that had nothing to do with the cake.

Alex raised his glass for a toast. “To Jamie and Omar. May the two of you achieve everything you want to in life.”

Damn, that was intense. A shiver ran up my spine. I glanced at Omar, relieved to see that he looked uncomfortable, too.

“Speaking of what you want to do in life,” Aaliyah started, making everyone look up, “Jenny asked me if any of my students would be up for teaching the after-school classes for the little kids. You know, the Monday and Thursday ones.”

“Why isn’t Jenny doing them anymore?” Omar asked curiously.

Aaliyah shrugged. “She just said she wanted to cut back her hours. She said to tell you you can do it together if you want, since it’s your first time teaching.”

Omar looked strangely thrilled. “That would be so cool! Imagine us working together.”

I wasn’t so sure. I looked at the pair of them skeptically, then at everyone else since I seemed to be the only one seeing the obvious problem with this suggestion. “We’d be teaching?” I asked Aaliyah pointedly for confirmation.

“Yeah,” Aaliyah said, much too casually for my liking. “I thought you might want a chance to earn some easy cash.”

“How is teaching easy?” I asked, still unconvinced. “Are you sure we’re like, qualified for that?”

Aaliyah and Alex exchanged a look, and I saw Omar’s smile slip. “C’mon, Jamie, it’s just the basics,” he pointed out. “It’s the dance equivalent of teaching a first grader how to add.”

Yeah, but if you fucked that up, it would ruin the first grader for the rest of their life.

There was an awkward silence, then Alex nudged me. “Why don’t you think about it? I think it’s a great idea. Getting your first job is a part of growing up, and wouldn’t you rather do this than work at McDonalds?”

A pit formed in my stomach at the words growing up.

“Yeah, and for the record, I’m definitely qualified to decide that you’re qualified,” Aaliyah chimed in.

I hated how good of a point that was.

--------------------

It felt like hours until Omar and I were finally allowed to leave. Everyone followed us out the door.

“Be home by one at the latest, okay?” Omar’s dad said.

“Yeah, yeah,” Omar waved him off.

His dad narrowed his eyes but let us go. It was the only occasion we were ever gonna have such a late curfew, he knew we were smart enough not to abuse it.

We got to the main road before Omar asked for the wine and I directed him to my backpack. He unscrewed the half-empty bottle, took a few sips, then hid it again. Omar didn’t act like Dad when he got tipsy. He laughed a lot, like now when he thought the way the radio host pronounced Eminem was hilarious for some reason.

“He made it sound like M&Ms,” he couldn’t stop giggling. “You know, like skittles?”

It all went to show that Dad had been the problem, not the alcohol. I still wouldn’t trust myself with the stuff though, which Omar didn’t complain about, seeing as it meant he always had a driver.

“You know, if we drove to Canada, this would be legal,” Omar carried on. “Want to drive to Canada?”

I smiled at the way he was acting. “I think that might make us miss our curfew. I can offer you McDonald’s or a lake.”

“Lake,” Omar said. “I don’t have money for McDonald’s.”

I drove through the park and stopped close by the lakeside, leaving some distance between us and the few other cars that were parked. In the summer, we’d lay down a picnic blanket, but now we were glad to have the warmth of the car as we stared at the icy sheets.

“Do you want your present now?” Omar asked.

I took the large rectangular package from him gingerly, suspecting it to be art of some kind. He’d given me some of his printed-out work before, but never anything this big. My favorite was the comic-style Taylor Swift currently hanging over my dresser. It was too thick to be just a drawing, and it didn’t feel like anything framed, either. As I carefully pulled off the tape and undid his neat folds, I caught a glimpse of a canvas.

“Did you paint something?” I asked, intrigued. I’d barely seen him work non-digitally, except maybe sketches.

He just smiled, obviously proud of himself as I uncovered the painting completely. I stared at it in shock.

“Do you like it?” Omar asked, unnerved by my non-reaction.

“I…” I couldn’t find the words. I felt bad, but all I could do was look at it with my mouth hanging slightly open.

It was a portrait of me, except it wasn’t me. It had all of my features down to the scar on my lip and the freckle on my left cheek, but that was where the similarities ended. The person in the portrait looked radiant, almost like an angel. His face shone in a purple light, complemented by the lilacs surrounding him. I had to look closely to see where his curly hair ended and the stems began, giving it the effect that he was one with the flowers. Was this how he saw me?

“Oh my God,” I said, and realized I was crying. What was that, the third time today? “Wow.”

Omar chuckled, interlocking our fingers. “I’m glad you like it.”

“Uhhuh,” I mumbled, not able to tear my eyes away. There were so many details. Every petal was different. I was going to have to hang it somewhere I could easily spend hours analyzing it. “Thank you, really. I love it more than anything.”

He squeezed my hand. “I’m glad. I spent forever deciding how to start. I have almost half a sketchbook filled with ideas.”

The weight of what the painting meant was slowly reaching me. How many hours had he spent painstakingly making sure every brushstroke was perfect, just so he could give me this testament to how much he cared for me?

“I love you,” I told him. Saying it wasn’t awkward anymore. The first few times, we’d both hastily added ‘platonically’ or ‘as a friend’, but that soon stopped being necessary. We both knew what we meant to each other, and we didn’t hesitate to say it as casually as saying goodbye. I was certain no matter what happened, he’d always be my best friend in the entire world. But there were some moments like these where it had to be said with intention.

“I love you, too,” he replied easily, then glanced at his phone.

“Well?” I asked.

“10:30,” he said. “Only an hour and a half to go!” He took another sip of the wine for good measure.

“Great,” I grimaced.

He studied me, then set the bottle down. “Why aren’t you happy?”

Lying to him was about as useful as lying to Alex. “I don’t think I’m ready to be an adult,” I admitted.

Omar rolled his eyes. “Turning eighteen doesn’t make you an adult.”

“Maybe not, but graduating does,” I protested, blinking back tears again. “Going to college, getting a job? I’m not ready to move out. I feel like I just got here.”

Omar chewed on his lip thoughtfully. “Aren’t you excited, though? I can’t wait to not have my parents breathing down my neck 24/7.”

“Yeah, but you’re a lot braver than me,” I dismissed. “I cried today because I wore eyeliner.”

Omar raised an eyebrow. “You also punched Oliver.”

“That doesn’t count. I wasn’t thinking.”

Omar leaned back in his seat and stared out at the lake. He was silent for so long, I was starting to be concerned that the booze was hitting him a little too hard when he said “I’m not particularly brave, either. I can’t even tell my parents I got a full scholarship to art school.”

I gaped at him. “What? In Chicago?”

He wiped away tears. “I don’t want to be a fucking doctor or lawyer or whatever.”

Some things clicked into place. “Is this what’s been bothering you lately?”

His silence was answer enough.

“I don’t think you should rule it out just yet,” I tried to encourage him. “Maybe they won’t react as horribly as you think.”

Neither of us believed what I was saying.

“You got a full-ride scholarship,” I protested. “That has to count for something.”

Silence.

“How’d you get it, anyway?” I pushed. “I didn’t even know you applied.”

“There was this competition, and I won,” he explained. “There’s an award ceremony next month, but I’m not gonna go.”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “Okay, you’re going.”

He gave me a look that said not to push it, which I risked ignoring. “Look, if your parents won’t go, I’m going with you. Promise me you’ll at least think about it.”

He rolled his eyes again, which were still teary. “Okay,” he sniffled, then added, “Does it bother you that we’re both crying on our birthdays?”

I laughed. “A little.”

“Good, ‘cause it bothers me, too.”

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