Cut To The Feeling (Reader x Professor Ren / Kylo Ren)

If You're Good Enough

"INT. FUNERAL HOME - DAY
Lauren looks over the casket, eyes swollen and red, nose wet with snot. She looks at her father--well, her father's shell--for one last time before he's put in the ground for good. Her face is hard. Stoic.

LAUREN (SIGHING)
Dammit, Dad. Dammit.

She takes a step back, crossing her arms. She looks over to see her mom who is charming the room even in such a dark time, and Lauren is filled with contempt. She feels the closest she ever has to--

You groaned, hitting the backspace key with far too much force, sure that you had just broken the damn thing. But you were frustrated--unbelievably frustrated. You knew that you wanted to write this story. You knew that you could tell this story, but all you had done for the past two weeks was hit the backspace key just like this. The story wasn't coming to you the way you had expected it to. A nice organic flow in your brain, pumping down from your head to your fingertips and onto the page. But no. No, you could not for the life of you get this story down. The angle. You were beginning to doubt your ability as a filmmaker at this point.

Taking a long sip of the freshly brewed coffee next to you, you sat back in your desk chair; staring at the screen of your laptop. It was your senior year of film school. Your senior production would show in just eight months, and you didn't even have a page written. It was pathetic, really. You wondered how you had gotten this far through your filmmaking program with the obvious lack of talent you believed you harbored. You didn't want to make something mediocre, because you knew that you weren't mediocre, but at this point, it seemed like if something didn't give soon, you would definitely be putting out some Terrence Malick quality material. 

It also wasn't helpful that a week before school started, your screenwriting professor had up and quit with no notice to the students nor the school. So, here you were two weeks later still enrolled in the screenwriting class with no professor, and struggling more than anything with putting your script to paper. You had gotten an email earlier in the day informing you and the other senior film majors that a professor had been secured, and you would have their class the following day, but nonetheless, you were still very stressed. You rubbed your fingers against your eyelids, trying to make the vision less blurry. You knew you needed to get some sleep, but you knew it would be another restless night.

You stood from your small writing desk in your studio apartment, shed your sweats, and wrapped up in the blanket on your day bed. You turned on Red Rocket, your current comfort film, and watched mindlessly as you waited for the sun to rise over the Crescent City.

Surprisingly, you were able to get some sleep. Granted, it was very light sleep, but rest regardless.

You had a 9 AM class--Horror Films and Their Social Commentary--which was probably earlier than you liked, but you had to have the credit. You stood, outstretching your arms, and then dug through the mile high pile of clothes atop the velvet tulip chair you inherited from your mom when you moved out. You fished out a pair of black leggings and a big black t-shirt. It was only week two, and you already gave no fucks about how you looked on campus. You didn't have time to impress anyone: you had a job to get done if you were going to get out of here with a piece of paper that would suddenly "qualify" you to be an authority in filmmaking. You threw your several days old hair into a bun atop your head, grabbed your backpack, slipped on the Birkenstocks by the door, and you were on your way.

You were comfortable on the campus of Tulane University. It had been your home for nearly five years now. Yeah, you were a super senior, and though it plunged you further into debt, you weren't mad about it, because you loved it here. You loved being in New Orleans even with all of its flaws, and you enjoyed the campus. You would be leaving the city after your graduation, but for now, it was the perfect home away from home. It was walkable, you rarely had to leave to get the things you needed, it felt like its own little bubble in the middle of the city. A very humid bubble, but your bubble after all. Your professors were the best, always there to give you encouragement and steer you the right way. Especially because your class of film majors was so small, you got really intimate lessoning with you professors. It was the perfect setup.