#but All of that original work - i hope to get published maybe someday soon-ish

[lena-oleanderson]

my version of "i wonder what else they have written - RPF hockey???" is my 22 ghostbusters (2016) fanfics i wrote within 2 of my 8 years on ao3

[dearlazerbunny]

Ignite (Redux); Ch. 1 of 5ish

Pairings: Kylo Ren x Reader

Genre/Ratings: currently T for severely injured reader 

Words: 2250

Summary: After an accident aboard Starkiller Base, someone unexpected proves invaluable.

This is a rewrite of Ignite, which I published two-ish years ago. I thought I could put more into it than I did initially, and soon enough this one chapter was more words than the whole original idea. Same story, incredibly expanded upon. Enjoy!

You sigh as you scroll through your daily schedule that’s pinged into your datapad. Apparently a fresh crop of newbie engineers has been recruited, and now you’ve got to teach them how to not blow themselves up- or more crucially, not blow up the expensive TIE Fighters that cost more than your entire life is worth. Joy oh joy. Really, you prefer to work alone- you’re a senior engineer aboard Starkiller base, you don’t need anyone to double check your work (or worse, mucking it up). But as long as the rookie knows their place and doesn’t cross wires they aren’t supposed to, things should- should- be okay.

Hopefully. Maybe. Fingers crossed.

You pull on your uniform, doing up the buttons and fastening the buckles; your tool belt, a beautiful piece of leather that’s been worn enough to be molded precisely to your waist, gets secured in its place of honor across your hips. After tracking down your pesky gloves and tucking them into the top of your work boots so you don’t lose them for the millionth time, you join the ebb and flow of traffic constantly racing though Starkiller’s veins and head for the flight deck.

It’s a decent trek- base is huge, and nowhere you’re heading is ever anywhere near everywhere else. It’s become something of a tradition to mentally curse whoever designed this bucket of bolts as you follow hallway after hallway, trying to keep pace with those around you. Would it have killed them to put in some moving walkways? Maybe a more direct path through the ducts? At least that way you’d be able to avoid all the upper-crust officers on your way to work, and their holier-than-thou stares as they eye your patched elbows and stained pants. Chuckling to yourself, you pat the nearest metal archway, mentally apologizing to your pride and joy. Starkiller is, ultimately, a feat of engineering, and the fact that you get to crawl around in her walls and find what makes her tic is a pleasure, no matter how finicky she gets- or how snotty the officers become.

In the corner of your eye, you can tell that the corridor has suddenly emptied, startlingly silent of stormtrooper boots or the quiet mumbling of messengers running to and fro. Rather than following suit and making yourself scarce, you purposefully slow your gait and linger, letting your fingers trace along the seams of the polished walls.

Not a minute later, Kylo Ren comes stalking around the corner, boots thumping menacingly along his path and cape fluttering behind him. He doesn’t seem phased by the sudden clearing of his path- he probably comes to expect it by now. It’s not like he demands it; people just seem too frightened of the Commander to even do something as simple as walk in the same corridor as him.

You can’t really blame them. He’s a six-foot-something space wizard in all black and an incredibly intimidating mask. Rumor has it he isn’t afraid to cut you in half with a lightsaber if you so much as breathe wrong in his direction- and to be fair, a lot of those rumors are true, given how frequently you’re called to patch up medical equipment in the infirmary.

“Am I interrupting something?” The Commander’s voice comes out heavily synthesized through his visor, but you could swear there’s a touch of teasing in it as he watches you run a hand over some welding.

You grin at him. “No, sir, just having a little moment of appreciation.” You comically pat the metal next to you, as though assessing a prize cow.

Normally you wouldn’t dare joke around with a senior officer, but despite his fearful reputation, the Knight has always seemed… different, to you. In command, yes, but not quite part of command. The rest of base always runs whenever he heads in their direction. Even his infamous Knights of Ren seem just a touch too cautious around their leader to include him in the camaraderie you’ve seen them demonstrate in the mess hall when he’s not around. He’s a true loner, sitting solitaire in meetings and speaking to no one except to yell orders; a black phantom haunting the hallways with rumors flying left and right in his wake.

You made the decision a long time ago to not be afraid of the man. He has to know that not everyone sees him as some sort of grim reaper, no matter what people might whisper. “How are you today, sir?”

Despite you making it a point to ask him this every time you see him, he still seems taken aback whenever he hears it. Like he’s shocked someone is speaking to him in pleasant terms. “I am fine. And you?”

“Just peachy!” You gesture down the hallway. “Are you going this way?”

He nods briefly, and so the two of you start off together, only close enough to barely be associated as acquaintances. The stares you get are numerous, but you always feel just a tad more confident with the Commander at your side. You suppose it must look a bit comical- the dark knight and a tiny engineer marching through base like they own the place. But you’re grateful for the company, silent as it is, and you tell yourself he must be too- otherwise, why give you the time of day? You’re not anyone important.

You know Commandeer Ren notices all the attention the two of you get- you can tell by the way he has to keep his fists from clenching up; struggle to keep his gait even. Briefly, you wonder if the reason he wears a mask is so his emotions won’t run amok across his face. It’s certainly easy enough to read the rest of him, if you bother looking.

“Are you not afraid of me?”

You stop short, surprised. Even when he seems to be in a good mood, he rarely says anything. “No sir, I’m not. Should I be?”

“Yes,” he says flatly. Just, yes, as though that’s the only possible answer to his question.

“Well… just don’t come at me with your fancy glowstick, and I think we’ll be alright, yeah?” You offer him an easy grin, instinctively reaching out to tap him playfully on the shoulder before you remember who you’re talking to- it quickly gets withdrawn. He simply stares at you, and you’re unsure if you’ve just doomed yourself to a cold and miserable fate on Hoth. “I’ll see you later?”

He just turns and stalks away, and you sigh, shoving your hands in your pockets. He never answers that one. Which, to be fair, he probably has much more important things to do than run around entertaining some random engineer. Still, he never blows you off though, even when you’re rambling or asking too many questions- he might not answer the questions, but he doesn’t tell you to shut up either.

Truth is, you’re a bit fascinated with the man. He’s an enigma, a mystery, and your whole life you’ve been trained to solve mysteries; pull out the broken pieces and wind it all back together again even better than the day it was brand new. You can only hope someday that helmet of his will short circuit and you’ll get a chance to take a crack at it.

You have to pull yourself away from watching Ren’s retreating back, refocusing on your job. Rookie to train. TIE Fighters to tune up. Right.

It’s pretty easy to spot your trainee- he’s tentatively poking around a TIE the way you do when you want to look like you know what you’re doing, but in actuality you’re three seconds away from seriously messing something up. When he gnaws his lip and reaches for a panel of circuitry, you step in- “OKAY! Let’s back away from that, shall we?”

Startled, he knocks himself away from the board he’s studying. “Right! Right. Uh, sorry.”

You gingerly close the panel back up and push him a few steps away from the battleship, then wipe your hands on your pants and hold out a hand. “I’m Y/N. I’ll be your supervisor for the day. Rule number one? Don’t touch anything unless you know for certain what it is, what’s wrong with it, how to fix it, and all the ways it can kill you if your finger slips.”

The kid’s cheeks pale a bit. “Right. I’m Cale.”

“Wonderful. Don’t blow anybody up and don’t put our heads under the general’s fist, and I’m sure we’ll get along great.” You tug on your gloves, tighten the cord securing your hair, and put a hand on your hip. “First thing’s first- how much do you know about twin ion engine ships?”

You spend the better part of your shift going over every inch of the craft in front of you, as well as the science that makes it run and the parts that need hands on them more often than not. “…and this is the engine itself. It destabilizes xenon gas and uses the resulting broken-off electron for thrust. Xenon gas is ideal because for the most part, it’s completely inert- fireproof, explosion-proof, etcetera. As long as it’s converted back to a stable state before it’s exuded by the engine, it’s pretty safe. But you should still be extremely cautious when working on the engine itself. Obviously. It’s worth more than we ever will be.” You press your wrist to your forehead, trying to think of anything you missed. “Okay. Any questions?”

“…No?”

“Cool.” You check your datapad. “This one needs new electrostatic grids. Xenon gas is fairly corrosive. Check with me before you do anything, and we’ll get to work, okay?”

Other than the occasional question here and there and getting used to someone hanging over your shoulder watching you tinker, you settle into a wonderfully familiar routine. Your fingers fly like they have a mind of their own, effortlessly making the rig in front of you shine like it did when it first came off the line.

“-so what do you do here, anyways?”

You shake your head, pulled from the flow of work- “um, little bit of everything? I got promoted to senior a few years ago so I’m called all over base. I work a lot with command and their personal rigs and equipment.”

You can’t see Cale’s face, but you can hear the curiosity in his voice. “You work with General Hux?”

“Yes. He’s just as…intense, as everyone makes him out to be. But thus far I’m not on his bad side and I plan to keep it that way, so I’m not saying anything else about it.”

“What about-” he pauses, like he’s looking over his shoulder to make sure no one else in the massively busy hangar is listening in- “Kylo Ren?”

You wedge a particularly tight support into place with a grunt. “What about him?”

“Is he really insane? I heard that-”

“No,” you say harshly. “And you shouldn’t believe everything you hear. He’s a person, just like everyone else, okay?” Christ, the rumor mill is as exhausting as it is useless.

Thankfully, something on your tool belt starts beeping and you can focus on that. A little indicator light is flashing orange, harsh and neon. “Interesting.”

Cale pops his head out from underneath the ship. “What’s beeping?”

“This monitors the air quality; lets us know if the composition of gases gets unbalanced. It generally means there’s a leak somewhere.” You glance at what you’d doing. More electrostatic grids. “What are you working on down there?”

“Oh, a few tanks were too pressurized, so I released the valves a bit to relieve those.”

You blanch. “The xenon canisters?”

“Um… maybe?”

Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck. Just before you can hit the alarm button, you see a spark from a nearby welder flicker- it arcs to the floor almost in slow motion, one small bit of fire promising catastrophe. If you’re lucky, it won’t catch- it will fall harmlessly to the floor and extinguish, giving you time to alert others, clear the area, and reset things when proper ventilation has made the area safe.

But when have you ever been lucky?

All you see is red. You’re awash in it, swimming in it, drowning until your whole being is nothing but scarlet and an unholy, white-hot, supernova blue. You’re in the heart of an exploding star, witnessing the birth of the universe, and it’s just as beautiful as you’d imagine the very atoms of space rearranging themselves would be.

Then there’s stillness. The colors fade. It’s not silent- no, there’s a ringing in your ears, and somewhere very, very far away something like an alarm. And then- pain.

Oh, the pain. It flashes through your nerves like lightning, so intense you almost can’t comprehend all the little nuances screaming across every inch of your body. Joining the ringing and the far, distant sound of klaxon alarms comes a high-pitched, desperate sort of scream. You turn to help whoever it is- you raise a hand in front of you, only to see rapidly singing flesh. It’s you. You’re the one screaming. You’re the one on fire.

Sprawled on the floor of the hangar, vaguely aware of everything and nothing, hoarsely begging for this to stop, stopstopstop please make this stop, you wonder just for one second if the tall cloaked figure at the other end of the room is a hallucination or wish fulfillment or both.

You lose consciousness before you can come to a decision.

A/N: Yee

[lit--bitch]

Current-Reads (06/04/2020 - 12/04/2020) 📖🌷

(Disclosure: I don’t know any of the authors (two of them are dead, sadly) nor the publishers from any of the books I’m recommending this week. Three cheers for impartiality, everyone.)

All the blossoms’s out and it’s raging blue skies at the moment. I’ve found some peace in it at times. I really can’t stop thinking about the sacrifices key workers are making, especially those in healthcare, and wishing I could do more. Keep loving the people around you, keep appreciating the springtime blossom, and I hope you’re all keeping safe and well. 

So, every Sunday I draw up a list of what I’ve been reading over the week and share them on here, in the hope that maybe some of the suggestions might pique your interest too. I know not everything will be everyone’s cup of tea, and if you think there’s something out there I should read, drop me a line and tell me about it. 

I generally gravitate towards a lot of emerging writers or contemporary literature from the 21st century. But as of late I’ve looked at some 19th and 20th century literature, which has been fun to read and write about. 

Anyhow, this week I’ve been reading Georges Bataille’s Story of the Eye, Cunt-Ups by Dodie Bellamy, E M Cioran’s The Trouble with Being Born, The New Fuck You: Adventures in Lesbian Reading edited by Eileen Myles & Liz Kotz, and Adam Phillip’s Attention Seeking. It’s been great. So below I’ve got a small-ish breakdown in terms of what they’re all about, what they do. Sometimes I add ‘RECOMMEND’ next to some of the titles, but that’s not to say I don’t recommend all of them, I just love some books more than others. C’est la vie. 

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Okay so, first up: 

Georges Bataille, Story of the Eye (RECOMMEND): Bataille spent most of his life being rejected by various writers and thinkers, (the Surrealists, the Existentialists, etc.) He was considered far too extreme, far too transgressive. Look at him now. He’s a Penguin Modern Classic. I have no doubt if he were alive today, he’d hate this. Though I find the idea of the canon a tenuous subject, I don’t necessarily avoid all the books. For the most part I absolutely loved this. I had been meaning to buy it since my old tutor from RCA asked us in class if any of us had read Story of the Eye and when my friend Tom (The Death of a Clown, Tom) said he read it when he was a teenager, and told me what it was about properly, I picked it up as soon as I finished my MA. 

Story of the Eye is about a guy looking back on his life and recalling his sexual exploits as a teenager with a girl called Simone. The relationship from the off is just odd, and for that reason well-matched. They take pleasure from the same fetishes that they explore together. They share that weirdness in each other. Some of these perversions get really specific, and I mean really specific. Like in the first sexual encounter (which happens on the book’s second page, Bataille doesn’t fuck about at all, no pun intended), Simone sits butt-naked in a dish of milk and it gets the narrator really hot under his collar. It’s a piece of psychoanalytic eroticism, and it just gets weirder and weirder. I suppose it’s all tied up in misadventure and adventure, and Bataille’s own life, his psyche. If you buy a Penguin Modern Classic edition of this, you’ll get his notes on Story of the Eye (which btw was originally published under Bataille’s pseudonym, Lord Auch, you’ll see this), and an essay from Susan Sontag and Roland Barthes. I do think overall the ending is kind of abrupt... and it’s intentional but I wish Bataille had said more. Overall, I did love it for the beauty in Bataille’s choice of words to describe (what I deem to be) the surreality of sexual conquests and even the macabre at times.  

Dodie Bellamy, Cunt-Ups (RECOMMEND): Oh so wonderful. This book introduced me to the joys of the cut-up method and it is a sweaty, relentless fuck of a book. I salute Dodie Bellamy. It is exactly what Sophie Robinson says in the book’s foreword, ‘a kind of erotic Midas touch’. Everything this book touches is sex, queer, wet, shaky, writhing. It is absolutely exhausting. It consists of exchanges, voices, rooted in porn, rooted in love, the unachievable and the real in its gendered body. Won’t say anymore. You may have to look hard to find a copy available to buy in the UK, but when you do, just buy it. 

E. M Cioran, The Trouble with Being Born: This was the first time I bought Cioran. I was looking for new philosophy to read and came across this one line in an article, which quoted The Trouble with Being Born. 

It said:  ‘I have decided not to oppose anyone ever again, since I have noticed that I always end by resembling my latest enemy’. 

It has been true of me sometimes in my life, to have fallen prey to imitating the ones who hurt me. It just so happened I read this line at a particularly difficult time, where somebody had failed me. So I bought the book. Did I use this text as a coping mechanism? Maybe a bit. Apparently everything goes to shit when you’re born, not when you’re hurtling towards death. That’s Cioran’s two cents. I like this book when I feel like life is never going to be okay ever again. It indulges my mindset at that point, then it gets so depressing I wake up and never read Cioran again until someday something else makes me feel lifeless. In his inherent nihilism, Cioran revives my optimism, and lust for life. 

Ed. by Eileen Myles & Liz Kotz, The New Fuck You: Adventures in Lesbian Reading (RECOMMEND): Incidentally, at the same time I read that line about never opposing your enemy again from Cioran, I was at the time, ill at ease with men. So I went looking for Kathy Acker. Instead I found this, an anthology of 37 writers talking about everything. The book was published in the 90s, at this point ‘queer lit’ isn’t really a term being mobilised, and the work isn’t always for lesbians, or written by lesbians. Some stories do wane, not everything here is my cup of tea, but that’s what you find in anthologies, the diversity of voices. It’s also deeply rooted in the real. It doesn’t sugarcoat at all. There’s sex, cancer, drugs, alcoholism, cake, driving, seasons, pizza, stairs and diabetes. There’s everything. 

Ultimately, to be a woman is to be in pain all your life. It’s chronic.  This anthology soothes and chafes these difficult wounds. 

Adam Phillips, Attention Seeking: Food for thought in the psychology literature of Adam Phillips. I like his hypotheses, and I enjoy his explanations. His writing is engaging and playful. Attention Seeking is about why and what we choose to pay attention to, why we seek attention for ourselves in four essays. He begins saying everything in life depends on what we find interesting. When we’re interested, we pay attention. 

This is an argument for attention-seeking in each of its facets. There’s no conclusions or set answers. Our selectivity makes up the very basis for who we are. And to understand this book you need to pay attention to it, and if you don’t, you’re only proving Phillips right. Now isn’t that masterful? 

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That’s all this week. Next Friday I’ll be reviewing Crispin Best’s Hello published very late last year. Hugs and snugs. Stay safe. 💕💁🏽