#just be bare metal bars with cheap bike grips over them so they can be replaced easily.

[bitchfitch]

normally i have a pretty easy time with first drafts of Characters. but i fucking hate Gier's now that I'm not exhausted and a Teensy bit off my shits, and I'm not even going to post the first draft of Maalik's bc they came out so bad.

I'm going to give them both another shot tonight tho and i might just ditch full body designs and figure out their faces first.

[boneswriteswords]

Alien Boyfriend: Duxob

I wrote this over a year ago and it was on my wattpad so I decided to move it over here too. Its my first crack at an alien and a space story. Let me know what you think and if I should continue this world building. 

I reread it and I’m not a fan but I never like any of my work so eh. Its unbeta’d because we die like men here. 

Length: ~7900

Male Alien x Female Reader

~~~~~~

The sun that rose in the west was at its peak as you pretended to rummage through your backpack. It was the kind of hot that evaporated the sweat from your body before it even had a chance to drip and you could feel the skin at the back of your neck boiling. Stealing the large tub of sun cream you in preparation for your days on this hell-site of a planet was honestly one of the smartest things you had ever done in your life.

A few feet away, Duxob leaned against your bikes, tinted band hiding half his reptilian face as he scanned the area - particularly the cargo wagon by the gateway- under the guise of adjusting something on one of the handle bars.

It was a believable enough scene. Your bikes looked like they were on their last legs, barely functional and ill-maintained, what with all the scratches and chipped paint, the dangling wires and exposed gear shifts. The tires were covered in duct tape. The seats were tattered and stained. The metals looked rusted and dangerous.  

No one needed to know that they only looked that way though.

No one needed to know that you designed them to look like heaps of junk. Aside from the things that you needed to fix on them the next time you hit a decent port city, they ran smoother and faster than anything on this side of the galaxy.  But, for the purposes of keeping your head down and not getting robbed, life was easier when they didn't look appealing.

Across the clearing, you could hear the men attaching the empty wagon to the jump ship, checking over the mechanics one last time. They're yelling something  The driver of the jump ship revs the gears in quick bursts, filling the silent port with noise, and you know that you only have a few minutes before they leave.

You adjust your band down over the bridge of your nose, turning up the the tint so your eyes weren't visible. If anyone was watching, you didn't want them to have any more identifiers than necessary. It was bad enough that your roots were showing, revealing your natural hair color to the world.

Glancing up at Duxob, you nod. His scales shift colors -green to blue to purple- in silent agreement, running his hand over his pants and mounting his bike. There was no need for words when you've been working together as long as you have. There is no doubt between you and it makes picking out the best targets easier than breathing.

Like the driver. You would have approached him. He was an old Culxan, wrinkles deep in his wide face and expression set in a way that shows he has never known much other than struggle and hard labor in his long life, but he was soft around the edges. He likely had a family or at the very least, he wished he had one. You'd be able to play into that if you had the time, chipping away at him with curious glances and innocent but intrusive questions until he broke rules about stowaways and border jumping.

But time was the one thing you didn't have at the moment.

Which was why Duxob was taking the lead while you kept watch, one hand on your gun and the other on your bike handle. There were no visible security measures - the region you were in was way too poor to afford drones and bots and all the other high tech shit that smothers the galaxies - but that didn't mean much. This was an outlaw station - used more for transporting produce and drugs than intel and technology - and that meant anyone could have some sort of weapon on them at any time.

Which meant that they all did.

It also meant that you both needed to be extra careful. What you were doing was still illegal - Duxob could be arrested the moment he set foot by the gates - but there was a lawlessness about the way they dealt with criminals.  There were no questions. There were no arrests. There were no calling the authorities.

You didn't just have to watch for guard passes through the jump, you had to watch for anyone who looked at your partner for longer than 10 seconds.

It made you anxious but you knew Duxob could handle himself. He was Alzeanian after all - one of the most deadly species to exist on this side of the cosmos - and while they were rare and were hardly ever seen off their own planet, everyone knew what they were capable of.

It was an advantage you had utilized many times since you met him.

Still, you also never looked away from him as he approached the cargo wagon. Between the whirring of refueling pods and the grinding of the lines, the whole area is drowned in a sea of noise that made it damn near impossible for you to pick up what Duxob was saying. He was off his bike and if you hadn't redesigned it yourself, you would have thought it was turned off.

'Not safe yet,' you thought, watching as he adjusts his gait into a saunter as he approaches the driver. His wide smile is all sharp teeth but his flat nostrils are closed into slits as he scented the wagon. After a moment, the slits flared open again and He stretched, his lean body on display as his dirty shirt rode up.

You tried not to stare but it was difficult when your job was literally to watch his scales to see if they shifted or not.  

Duxob's toothy smile morphed into an easy grin as he reached down into his pocket and pulled out a small bag, slipping it into the driver's pointed claw in a pseudo-handshake. He flashed green and you knew you were safe for the moment.

Relieved, you hitched your backpack over your shoulders as Duxob drove back over. "We good?"

"Yeah. One bag of units and four ounces of dust," he husks, removing his own backpack from where it was hooked onto his bike, "Pretty cheap but then again, the wagon is empty, they're jumping through a moon shift, and its heading to the Triquaz region so anything more than that would have been bullshit and he knows it."

"Ew."

You hated the Triquaz region. Hated it. On your list of choices for destinations, it wouldn't even make it to the top 500 but the reality was that you didn't have a choice at the moment. They needed to get off this planet and find a port where they could stock up on their dangerously low supplies. You were human, which limited the amount of things you could consume in the galaxy apparently, and finding stations that imported Earth produce and the like took a bit of research to find.

"I know but at least the temperature doesn't fluctuate so suddenly or so dramatically."

"This is true," you sighed, adjusting your grip on your handle bars as you walked alongside the bulky alien, kicking up dust as you did so "Do you know which planet we're going to?"

"No but I do know we will be confined inside the back for a good five days before we get there."

"Well fuck," you groaned, "Do we have enough to get us through til then?"

His lips quirked up and you couldn't help be annoyed at it. You had real concerns damnit! You knew how much you had in your bag but that was it. You didn't touch your partner's bag unless it was a severe medical emergency, like the time you got bit by a Qon and needed a poison pack or when Duxob accidentally burned off an entire forearm's worth of scales and skin trying to readjust the thrusters on his bike without your supervision.  

"Don't fucking smirk at me dickhole."

His grin widened minutely before disappearing completely, "We will be fine. We have enough to last until we get off-world and find somewhere to sleep."

God you missed sleep. It felt like ages since you were able to get more than an hour here and there. The tension in your body was tight enough to choke someone to death. Your body was not made for the rough interstellar outlaw lifestyle that you found yourself in and it loved to remind you of that.

The alternative wasn't any better so you tried not to bitch too much about it.

The wagon was attached to the jump ship, the back door closing as it prepared to jump. The gatekeepers on both sides of the portal gate were bustling too and fro, making sure everything was secured for a final time before departure.

"Ready?" Duxob grunts, picking up the pace.

This part, along with literally everything else about being a stowaway, made you nervous. Jumping was a very serious, precious thing. If you fell back, it usually wasn't so bad. Depending on how far you are, you could come back unscathed. If you fell to the side.....well, it wasn't pretty thats for damn sure.

"Ready."

As one, you run forward, kicking up even more dust and shoving your bikes upwards, hopping into the wagon just as the doors close. You can hear the clicking as the metal latch seals and the overpowering light from the east sun was consumed in darkness. You quickly dropped to your knees and clutch onto the metal door handle, feeling the start-up of the initial burst of speed that is required in order to jump.

Duxob worked quickly to secure the security locks and activate the bracer shields on the bikes, knowing full well how awful it could be if the bikes remained unsteady during liftoff.  

The wagon rocks as the buildup increases. There is heavy clanging happening outside, slowly being drowned out by the familiar ghostly noises of the portal as the wagon approaches it. You brace yourself as the rocking turns into lurching, knowing full well that no matter how hard you clutch onto the door, you are going to be flung.

It always hurts and this time is no different. The bruises on your back are going to be a fucking bitch.

"Y/N?" Duxob pulls a light stick from his bag as it ends, snapping the two ends together and holding it up. The wagon illuminates and you give him a thumbs up from where you landed on the floor on the opposite side of the wagon.

"Is anything broken, you weird fragile creature?"

The thumbs up quickly turns into middle finger and he snorts, which makes you bend your arm and snap it up a few times to emphasize the level of 'fuck you' you are directing at him. You hated everything.

The wagon lurches again and flings you over to another side of the wagon yet again. Pain shoots into your side but its quickly quashed when you realize it hurled you right into Duxob's body, causing him to grunt and slam back into the wall forcefully.

Fucking aftershocks.

"Ish what you get for talking shit asshole," you mumbled, face pressed uncomfortably into his abdomen (?)- you had no idea because Duxob dropped the light stick on impact and it rolled underneath one of the bikes and died.

A solid hour goes by before either of you move, wanting to be completely sure that the jump was successful.

"Only five days to go," you grumble as you finally shift away from the chilled body of your partner, "Fuck."

Five days of sleeping on a hard floor, working in the low lights of your remaining sticks, sucking on dehydrated food packs and ignoring the grumbling in your stomachs, and trying not to go stir crazy in the darkness of space. Again.

"We'll get through it. We always do."

"I know," you sigh, "I just wish it was different sometimes."

He doesn't say anything but you can feel his clawed hands stroke the top of your head and you hum, content despite the complaints on your lips. You'd cope. You both would. Just like you always do.

Because you weren't alone and neither was he.

~~~~~

Five days was four days and 23 hours too many to be confined in the dark with nothing to do. You were ready to tear your skin off just to have something else to focus on. As awesome as it was, travelling the galaxies wasn't a luxurious process if you didn't have the money to book passage on a tourist ship or buy your own. More often than not, if you wanted to get somewhere off-planet, you either hitched a ride or you snuck your way into empty crates and bag holds, spending hours upon hours being quiet and still.

It was maddening at the worst of times but you always felt better knowing that Duxob was with you, keeping you company in the quiet.

Nevertheless, the moment the secondary engines turned off, you were up and ready for action, securing your stuff back onto your body before the clinking and clanging of the descent even stopped.  

Duxob was too by the looks of it. His face was always hard to read but you could tell he was just as anxious to escape your wooden prison as you were. You couldn't see it too well in the dark but his scales were more red than any other color and bright than normal, indicating his level of irritation. You watched as he pressed close to the wood, listening to the shouting coming from the outside through his comm chip.

You would have but yours was damaged and the parts were too small to see and repair in the total darkness of the wagon. The universe was filled with other languages and you picked up what you could but everything on the outside sounded foreign.

"Can you make anything out?" you whisper, already straddling your bike with your hand on the starter. After being confined for so long, the rush of adrenline was blinding. You wanted to go.

Duxob jerks away from the wood quickly and hops on his own bike, "We've descended. They'll be opening the door any minute now. Get ready." His long clawed hand turned his bike on before reaching over and flicking yours on too, "We have to be quick. This port is more heavily armed with border agents and just as ruthless. Be careful."

"You too."

The seconds seem to drag on and anxiety causes your grip on your handles to strengthen even as you start to sweat. Border patrol agents were nasty pieces of work, hired to check and process travellers as they come and go off planets but, because there were no uniform regulations to keep them in line, they often just did as they pleased to people, especially those that are illegally jumping.

Like you and Duxob were.

"We will be fine Y/N," Duxob mumbled quietly, his voice hoarse from disuse and oh how you loved how he said your name "They haven't caught us yet. They never will."

The darkness seems deeper in the contours of his face as you look at him, emphasizing the brightness of his golden reptilian eyes and the gold pseudo-eyes that rest above them and bleeding over the contours of his cheekbones. (He never explained to you what the 'pseudo eyes' were - you weren't even sure if they were eyes to begin with- or what they did and you couldn't bring yourself to care about you- not when he was looking at you and you had more important things to focus on).

He's all hard lines and safety, a reminder of all you've gone through the last few years to get where you are, and you relax just the slightest bit.

"No. They never fucking will."

His lips quirk up again, "Now get ready. Its almost time."

And he was right. No sooner than you had turned back to face the wagon door, did it open with a hiss, revealing several border patrol guards with scanners and tasers and all the pretty toys you wish you could get your hands on.

"Show time."

~~~~~~

The getaway was as dramatic as you would expect. The air tasted wet, the humidity of the planet already working its magic on your already beaten body as you sped away from the guards. The port was a mess - Duxob finding it absolutely necessary to snatch one of their stun bombs and let it off over the entire port. There was a pain spreading from your side and you knew without a doubt that you got hit.

But it was worth it.

Duxob was unharmed.

You glance over your shoulder and assess the chaos left in your wake. Its nothing more than a smoky ball of dirt on wet and slimy hilltop and you grin when you see that the guard patrol bikes are still hovering around the port.

"They didn't see us. I think we're good," you shout, grinning wide despite the pulsing pain in your side. You could feel the blood dripping down your back, a burning sensation crawling over your flesh. Carefully, you engage your auto-drive.

"Lets get farther away before we get comfortable," the reptilian man warned, doing nothing to stop the smirk forming on his lips but kicking his bike into the next gear. You untie and retie your jacket's belt quickly, using whats left of your clothes as a makeshift bandage to staunch the bleeding, before putting your bike into the next gear to catch up.

"Where to?" You could feel drops of water splashing up from your wheels and you pointedly do not think about how much fucking mud you are going to have to clean out of your rechargers later. Instead, you focus on how exhilarating it feels to be alive.

Alive and with Duxob.

"There is a city not far from here but I think we should head out farther. When they release we got away, they'll immediately head to it to try and smoke us out."

"Sounds good to me." It really didn't, not with the way the fire in your side spread and consumed you but auto-drive was a beautiful thing and it wouldn't be the first time you passed out and needed your bike to take you to safety. Duxob was more than capable of syncing your bike to his so you didn't get separated and he was more than used to you passing out due to your human stamina.

It would be ok.

~~~~~~

It was not ok.

You had been on the road for at least a full 12 hours before Duxob found a port city to stop in, every rock, bump, and hurdle ripping at the ever-growing wound on your side.  There was nothing special about this particular port - same lost cost rooms, dingy dive bars, questionable food marts, and horrific pleasure buildings, all the same shit that comes with being a hub for the transients and the poor - and that what made it the perfect place to lay low for a bit.

It also meant that there likely wasn't a med bay anywhere in the vicinity and you're going to have to try and fix the wound yourself when Duxob went for food.

There were plenty of buildings advertising rooms but Duxob was picky, choosing the one that had the least amount of skeevy employees and cleaner bathrooms. It had a parking lot right outside the rooms, which was good since being able to get to their bikes at a moment's notice was vital in your combined survival.

Your room was all the way in the back of the building, on the first floor, another thing Duxob insists on when you bunker down in actual rooms for a night or two.

"I got us a room for five nights," he says, flashing the card keys and slipping them into his jacket pocket.

The surprise on your face must have been obvious because he snorted, "We need a rest. And we need to restock. Shipments are due to come in all this week at this port. Better to lay low and stay than run off with half empty gas tanks and no food."

Point.

"They didn't charge me too much," he murmured, knowing how anxious you got when you ran low on units, "I bartered."

Bartered meaning threatened the clerk until he was satisfied that they wouldn't bother you both.  You smirked up at him, "Good. I'm assuming we also have an hydration pod?"

Duxob leveled you with a stern look before it broke into a small grin and a wink, almost sending you to your knees in shock.

"Oooh, whats got you all playful?" you joked, subtly adjusting so you could poke his abdomen through his thick jacket. The movement was enough to make you want to die but you could not pass up the opportunity to tease him.

"You're going to stop smelling like shit and I'm excited about it."

"Fuck you, you stoic cumstain," you cackled, knowing full well that he was right. A downside to the life is that cleanliness often had to be traded for survival. Weeks could go by with only light rinsing and scrubbing through hoses and water containers and lakes. Soap was an almost nonexistent luxury as was conditioner and lotion.

Honestly, it was one of the hardest things you had to give up when you first left Earth and the thought of slipping into the pod and being able to do a deep cleansing of your body and wound was heavenly.

The scales on his head shift to a deep violet, spreading down his neck and chest in striping patterns and you know he is just as excited as you are to bathe. He reeks just as much as you do, the skin between his scales caked with ingrained dirt that probably drove him insane.

You made a mental note to offer to swab them out for him after his initial wash. You know, if you didn't pass out from the pain.

He swipes the card through the door before walking back outside to secure the bikes. You immediately drop all your stuff onto the bed in the corner, slowly lowering your body down next to it. You side screamed in protest, sweat starting to drip down your body as the wound shifted from a spreading  pain into paralyzing infection.

Which means that it wasn't just a normal blaster the guard was wielding.

Which means that it was one of the million different kinds of biological weapons they had at their disposal.

Which means that not only did it feel like your flesh was being fried and eaten, it likely was being fried and eaten to create the ideal environment for whatever chemical or disease that was inside it to make itself at home and infect you.

Which meant you were fucked.

The world got really fuzzy.

"....hey....Y/N? Are you ok?" your partner said, voice sounding distant.

'Oh...I think I'm dying,' you thought sluggishly as Duxob's face appeared above yours, handsome reptilian face slowly fading.

"Nope," you slurred, making sure to emphasize the pop of the 'P', "I got shot at the port. Thought it was a normal blaster shot but looks like its not...."

"What?"

Oh, he sounded mad.

"Yeah. Don't be mad."

"Oh. Mad doesn't even begin to cover what I'm feeling," he growled, easing off your jacket and the majority of your shirt off as carefully as he could to inspect the damage. "Why didn't you say anything?"

"We had to get away." There were pieces of fabric melted into the wound and no matter how gentle he was being, it was not pleasant and you couldn't stop the choked noises from escaping. Something cold was sprayed on the blistering skin and you vaguely recognized the smell of antibiotic spray.

'He's so smart,' your mind supplied as it floated in dead, squishy remnants of your ability to think rational and continuous thought, 'Knows just what I need.'

"We could have stopped sooner! This needs to be dressed and treated!"

You didn't have the strength to argue, blinking to fight off the very tempting urge to just pass out and ignore the way your body was succumbing to the infection. There was an unhealthy amount of sweat pooling in your collarbones and in the small of your back but there was ice in your bones.

"Stay awake. Stay the fuck awake Y/N! Do you hear me? I'm going to wrap you up and get some help."

"Too dangerous."

"Fuck you, I swear if-"

You didn't hear what he said next. Everything went silent, like when audio is cut right in the middle of a movie. You were positive he was still talking but his lips were moving way too fast for you to read them and it wasn't like you could see them clearly anyway.

A feeling of calm washes over you before the world goes black.

~~~~~

The first time you regain consciousness feels like something out of one of your nightmares.

There is pain.

Lots and lots of fucking pain.

And you can't move.  Your body was frozen, limbs unresponsive and weak.

And there is one - no, two - faces hovering above you covered in blood and neither of them was Duxob. You didn't recognize either of them but you knew that the blood was yours.  

The screams formed and fizzled out before they could reach your teeth.

'Please. Please let me die. Oh my God, please let me die. I can't....help me. Someone help me!'

The darkness gripped you tight and you hoped that you never woke up again.  

~~~~~~

The second time you wake up, you are in a different room and the pain is gone but it was replaced with a throbbing ache in your joints. Its dark, the only light coming from a small light stick in the corner of the room, but you can make out the shape of something moving in the room behind weighted eyelids.

"Dux?" you rasp, mouth dry and disgusting, "That you?"

The shadow figure moved closer. Right away you knew it wasn't Dux and you couldn't stop the anxious whine from escaping. It crackled painfully in your throat. The dark hid everything from you, fear slamming back into you forcefully.

"Shhh. Shhh little love," the shadow whispered, voice feminine and sweet, "Dux is nearby. Cade had to take him to the back room while R fixed you up."

A cool cloth was placed on your head and you flinched, whining again when you realized you couldn't move away from it. The ache spread throughout your body as it tried to shiver. The bed beside your hand dipped before a soft hand stroked your cheek and hair.

"Rest. You are out of danger now. I'll let Dux know you know you woke up," the shadow said, a smooth lilt to its voice as they continued to soothe you. "He worries."

As much as you want to protest, to jump up and demand answers, scream for Duxob to come in and protect you from the shadow and this strange, awful place, you couldn't help but the shadow's touch was comforting. Something beeped somewhere in the darkness followed by a burst of sweet-smelling aroma.

Before you could stop yourself, you slipped gently back into unconsciousness with the bitter knowledge of waking up alone on your tongue.

~~~~~~

The third time you woke up, you felt better. The throbbing ache was centralized to the spot where you knew your wound was. You kept your eyes closed for a few moments, cataloging your body, relieved when it seems that all your limbs seemed back online and capable of movement.

"Y/N?" a familiar voice asked and you couldn't help the grin as it formed on your mouth.

"Dux?"

"Yeah, its me," the sound of wood scraping on wood filled the room and the bed dipped a little, "I was starting to think Jazza lied."

"Who?"

"Don't worry about it right now," he murmured quietly and you didn't have to look to see that his face was next to yours on the pillow, "How do you feel?"

"Sore," you whimpered, shifting a bit on the bed, "but good. Better."

"Good. Good."

After a moment of struggle, you were able to roll your head to side and open your eyes. Duxob's face was, indeed, very close to yours on the pillow. Close enough that you could trace the green patterns in his iris's.

"Hi," you whispered.

"Hey."

"You ok?"

"Yeah, I'm ok."

"Promise?"

He chuckled at that, the sound reverberating through the pillow, "Promise. Go back to sleep. You need more rest."

As soon as the words left his lips, you yawned, sending what was probably a really nasty-smelling gust of gross-mouth into his face. His face contorted in mild disgust but stayed put. You admired his restraint.

"Sleep." There was a hint of command in his tone.

So you did, eager to fall into a place that was just Dux's cool hands and vibrant scales.

~~~~~~

Weeks had passed before you were able to stay awake for more than three hours and each time you woke up, Duxob was there with fresh blankets, soup, and a new story about what he had done while he waited for you to wake up again.

You quickly became acquainted with Jazza, a fiery little humanoid Flazian woman with artificial purple eyes and scars across her pink body who you recognized as the shadow who lulled you back to sleep, Cade, a small golden alien (you couldn't place his species for the life of you) with bright orange antennae and tattoos covering his body, and R, a tall tentacled Carcog who trained as a doctor on Pantone but left the practice to lead a rebellion after he discovered that the institution that hired him had been giving placebos to the poorer populations of beings instead of actual medicine.

You had also learned that the building you were in was where R worked to heal the disenfranchised and those injured by border agents and those they work for in the various riots and rages he leads and organizes. It was beaten down and broken, windows boarded up with wood and red tape, floors splintered and decayed, regularly infested with at least three kinds of parasites at any given moment - seven if Cade didn't parasite bomb once a week -, and the smell was enough to make you vomit. It was incredibly well-hidden - it had to be in order to fly under the radar for extended periods of time.

However, despite the shitty state of the building and most of its rooms overall, the healing rooms were immaculate and perfectly sterile. The medicine cabinets were lined up neatly along the walls and labeled with the different medicines they stored. There were neat charts and lists hanging on the walls - patient schedules, post-its with cute doodles on them, restock lists, all manner of relevant papers.

Air purifiers hung in every corner just high enough to reach and adjust if needed and you were thankful for them because without them, you could imagine it getting quite stuffy in the room.

Cade had found the building right before the last time they had been forced to run - over 3 years ago - and they still hadn't been found, which put you at ease. You wouldn't be able to fight your way out if there was a raid on the building.

Especially since you were unarmed and unable to get out of bed without risking rupturing all of R's hard work.

They were quite the trio, always on the go and doing something, getting in each other's way - sometimes on purpose just to get a rise out of the other - but, despite their strangeness, you were grateful. They saved your life and, from what Jazza had said, kept Duxob from losing his shit all over the place while you were out.

"Dinnertime!" Jazza sang as she sauntered into the room, a steaming bowl of gross mush that was supposed to promote rapid healing.

"Oh goody," you reply sarcastically, dog-earing the page you were on and putting the book off to the side so she could place the bowl on your lap table.

"Hush now," she mock-scolded, purple eyes whirring as they focused on you, "This is helping."

"But it tastes like shit," you whine loudly, exaggerating random syllables, "Its NASTY!"

"Child, I will spank you."

"Pfft, that is sooooo not a punishment," you smirked, wiggling your eyebrows at her as she cackled.

"If it makes you feel better, the rest of us are stuck on this canned garbage until we can make another run and it tastes even worse than the shit R is making for you."

"You're right, I do feel better."

"Oh fuck off."

You laughed, only stopping when your side started to throb. R had told you all about the stuff you had been shot with, and, because you waited so long before getting it treated, you would likely always have a residual pain in your side from where the nerves had been frayed and rebuilt.  Over time, the pain would fade into a more manageable level and you'd be able to resume most activities but it would likely never go away.

It bummed you out in more ways than you could ever imagine and for once, you were thankful Duxob wasn't in the room. You were 90% sure R had already told him everything a;ready, there was no way he wasn't going to get some answer from R after he had fixed you up, but you sure as hell didn't want to have a conversation about it.

"So, I have more questions," Jazza smiled and you groaned obnoxiously, causing her to shoot you a playful glare.

Jazza had grown up with very little knowledge of the worlds beyond her own, having come from a very secretive sub-community on a moon in some quadrant you hadn't even heard of, and only started experiencing other beings when she hitched a ride with Cade off her birth world. As a result, she had at least 20 new questions for you every time she came in and grilled you endlessly as she tried to understand. Most of the time, her questions were about humans and Earth but there were times when her curiosity drifted to your partner.

It was sweet, the way she lit up when something made sense to her. She's get all starry eyed and excited and you felt a pang of loss over your own loss of wonder.

"Ok. Shoot."

"What is up with Dux's scales? One minute they're green. Then they're blue. They get really bright and then dim down like a Hashi craft. I fucking turned around yesterday and he had bright red fucking elbows for no reason and I don't know dude, is he sick? Does he need a catheter too?"

If you had been drinking, you would have choked, "First of all, thank you for reminding me that I have one of those in right now. I really needed to be reminded that I can't pee on my own."

"You are welcome," she responds with all the seriousness of condolence.

" Secondly, its partially how he communicates," you said, rolling noodles onto your fork, "Alzeanian scales are a lot more complex than what people think. Probably because they don't leave their planet often and anyone who visits their planet gets killed so no one really has any data on them." You shrug, dipping your fork of noodles in the little sauce pot. "Each scale looks like its just a flat color from a distance but the closer you get, the more you can see that they are more of an iridescent duo-chrome. Alzeanians can control how muted or how bright their colors are and can make them shift from regardless of where they are standing in the light. Duxob has a green to blue-purple shift in the majority of his scales. In others, he has a gold to red shift and he has a tiny patch that shifts between purple and red but that's literally just on his elbow. Depending on where we are and what we are trying to do, he uses them to talk to me from a distance."

"That is so cool," Jazza whispers, eyes wide and whirring as she slurps down her own food with her double-tongue.

"It can be," you acknowledge, "and its always nice knowing that your partner is adept at handing any kind of situation and can alert you real fast if things get...unsavory. I lucked out big time that he took me on."

You couldn't help the twinge of sadness that came when you thought too deeply about Duxob's presence in your life and the implications of how recent events were going to change that.

"How so? I saw your Wanted reel. You are quite handy with a gun," she grinned, nudging you with a dirty hand and you couldn't help but grin back. You were extremely proud of your Wanted reel. It really captured your insanity and desperation for freedom. Other outlaws try to seem as scary as possible when they know they are being filmed to dissuade anyone from coming after them.

Not you though.

You welcomed the challenge.

'Come and get me. I dare you.'

"I try."

"You succeed."

"Its all I know how to do. Wield a gun and fix bikes," you shift your now empty bowl away from you. There is a bitterness lurking there, something you try to keep down as much as possible. Jazza seems to understand.

"Lets change your bandages," she suggests and you are grateful for the change in topic.

~~~~~~

You hate physical therapy.

Hated it.

You also hated Duxob.

Because the piece of shit loved to get you up early and do the exercises with you until you cried.

This morning was no different. The stupid lizard wouldn't stop smiling as he guided you into each stretch.

"Stop enjoying this," you grumbled as he pushes down on your torso so you get an actual stretch instead of one of the fakes ones you did before he took over because you didn't see the point of putting yourself in more pain.

"I'm not," he said, smile stretched, sharp, jagged teeth on display, even further on his usually stoic face. Fucking liar.

"You are, you - ow, ow, ow, owwwww," you screeched as he eased you into the most painful of the stretches, "Whhhhhyyyyy?"

"You need to use your muscles again. You were in a coma on and off for two weeks and you've been recovering in bed for two more. You're going to get squishy and useless."

"I already am squishy and useless though!"

"No, you aren't," he murmured, letting you come out of the stretch and falling back onto the bed, "And you need to get your body used to movement again."

"Leave me to die," you whine dramatically, turning your head and throwing your arm over your eyes like a princess.

The words formed and hit your mouth before they hit your brain and the silence that follows is deafening.

"I think recent circumstances would suggest that I wouldn't," Duxob says, soft and displeased.

"I know," you sigh.

~~~~~~

"Tell me," Jazza begins, a couple of days later, "How'd you get hurt anyway? I feel like we've talked about literally everything else since you've been here but that. You had a pretty sizable wound when you came in. R wasn't sure you were going to pull through and he's done multiple surgeries on Gorglax creatures."

"Oh um, well," you wrack your brain for a good explanation but the look on Jazza's face suggests a finger right in your side if you lie. "Ok well. We had gotten off a port wagon and the usual 'run for your lives before the space coppers get you' game ensued. Dux had managed to get a hold of one of their stun bombs and released it, paralyzing the border guards. Most of them anyway." You take a deep breath, a weird flash of emotion flowing through you as you relived it. Ew. Not going there. "There was a smaller one following close behind us as we fled from the port. I don't know if he saw me or what, maybe he completely disregarded me as being the less important catch - whatever - but he aimed at the back of Dux's bike. His recharger wasn't in the best shape - I only had duct tape with me when I rewired it - and any sort of hit would have caused an explosion. He took aim at it and I swerved in front of him, causing him to slam on the breaks and swerve away."

Your side throbbed dully at the memory of your skin splitting open as the gun went off anyway, haphazardly, hitting you just enough to burn away a chunk of your body.

"It went off anyway  and got me in the back as I was speeding away."

"It wasn't a direct hit?"

"No, thankfully."

"Then why was it so bad?"

You chuckled awkwardly, "I, um, didn't tell Dux I had gotten hurt so we, kinda, sorta...drove for 12 hours before I collapsed and he brought me to you."

The furious look on Jazza's pretty face would have been hilarious if it hadn't been for the fact it was directed at you, "You are an idiot."

"Hey, no I-"

"Yes you are! Did you have some kind of death wish?!"

"No-o...I-"

"You what? What could possibly have gone through your head that would justify you allowing yourself to burn and rot?"

It was silent for a moment as you tried to think of a reason other than the truth but, it just wasn't worth it. Not anymore. You were tired.

"I thought it was a normal hit, something minor," you whispered, unable to keep looking into the girl's pretty purple eyes, "I thought that I'd likely be okay. We'd stop, I'd patch myself up, and we'd rest. It wasn't until we got there that I realized I was fucked but even so, I was content. It hurt like a bitch but I've long accepted that I'm going to die in a shoot out or in a shitty sleep room in some shitty port," you sighed, leaning back into your lumpy pillow and rubbing your face, "And you, if I was gone....Dux would be safe. Safer, I should say."

Jazza's round face softened, the anger melting into a calm understanding.

"How so?" Her voice was soft, like the night she had soothed you to sleep in the shadows.

"I am a liability. I am no use to him, not really. I get hurt more. I eat more. I sleep more. I am more high maintenance than he is. I require things he doesn't and  that make being on the road difficult. There is a reason humans aren't an ideal partner, especially when you are running from space cops! I mean, look at where I am now? In bed! Hurt! He had to go around in a strange place and put himself at risk to try and find someone who could help. And he's waiting for me out of some misplaced whatever when we both know he could dip at any moment and he'd survive just fine!"

You didn't realize you were screaming until you stopped to catch your breath, throat hoarse and frustrated tears rolling down your face. Everything that had bottled up the last few years poured out, exploding in a tsunami of bullshit you didn't want to have to deal with. There was a throbbing in your side that you knew was from overexertion but you didn't give a fuck anymore.

"He would be fine," you reiterated, suddenly feeling sluggish. The drip in your arm had turned up on its own at the feel of your elevated heart rate and increasing level of agitation. R had set it up to monitor your activity and keep you from doing something stupid out of boredom and ripping yourself open. It was such a staple in your life that you had forgotten it was even in.

"No, I really wouldn't."

Oh shit.

He did not.

"Dux?" your mouth was slow, dripping over the syllable as he entered the room. A silent conversation took place between him and Jazza, one too fast for your slushy mind to process, before Jazza took off out of the room without another word.

The door closed and he sighed, all but collapsing on the chair next to you bed, looking more ragged than you had ever seen him before. His scales flashed and shifted uneasily as he looked at you.

"It seems we need to talk," he said, the finality of his tone telling you a talk was going to happen despite his phrasing.

"If you want."

"No but we're going to."

"Fine, you start."

Coward, you scolded yourself but hey, feelings were scary, which is why you never dealt with him.

"Fine," he growled, scooting the chair even closer and putting himself all in your personal bed space, "Things are going to change."

"I figured," you shrugged, "I can't run anymore. My side will never allow me to do all the strenuous activity of being an outlaw."

"Agreed. You can't do that anymore," he said, eyes roaming over the bandages peeking through the shredded top you were wearing before meeting your eyes again, "So I came up with a solution."

You leaned your head back, your neck unable to hold it up due to the sedation pumping through you, "Where are you going to take me?"

"What do you mean?"

"I'd like for you to drop me off in a place I'll be able to get around easily enough. I liked that little blue planet we stopped at like 2 years ago."

"You aren't going anywhere."

"But you just said I can't run anymore. I can't stay here forever and we are still Wanteds. I'm going to need to be in a place where I can live and blend in without drawing suspicion."

"Who says you can't stay here?," he asked, harsh golden-green eyes boring into yours, "And who says that I'm going to ditch you on some random planet?"

"Dux, I can't," you pause, mind really blurry because he isn't making any sense and it's making you anxious, "I am very drugged. Please stop."

His gaze softens and he reaches a stubby clawed hand out to stroke your head, "Calm down, ashistoiro. You are ok. You are safe. I am here."

"Ashi-what?"

"Ashistorio, Y/N. Beloved in Alzeanian...well, the closest translation for it," he murmured, claws scraping gently along your skin, "I discussed it with R. He is letting us stay. There is a bunker attached to this building that he is going to let us have until its time for all of us to leave. I am not leaving you. I won't. I can't. You are my biggest asset."

It wasn't a normal confession of love, not by a long shot, but it was one of the most meaningful you had ever heard.

And you hated that you were passing out in the middle of it.

"Yeah?"

He smiled as he watched you nod off, "Go to sleep. I'll be here when you wake up."

You couldn't wait to wake up.

 ~~~~~~

[alyisweyerd]

Olive

Summary: You gets a little too handsy at the bar and Bucky decides you deserve a little bit of punishment.

Warnings: edge play; flogger; safe word usage; happy ending

This is my first time doing smut! Hopefully it isnt too terrible! <3

Cuffs dug slightly into the skin on your wrists. Not too much to hurt you, but enough to make you realize who’s really in charge right now. Bucky stood at the foot of his bed, a flogger whip gripped in his right hand, his left holding the loose leather straps taught. His hair was loose, and his bare chest shone in the dark dim lighting, the black jeans he wore did nothing to hide his erection. You knew what was coming. His lustful stare is on your bare body. You were spread eagle for him, each limb cuffed to a bed post.

“You’ve been naughty doll.” His voice sounded gruff and laced with the whiskey that now sat empty on the end table, and lust. “You’ve been very, very naughty.” Bucky dropped the loose leather from his left hand, letting it dangle on your feet. “That means I need to punish you…” Bucky flicked his wrist slightly letting the whip hit the bottom of your foot. The feeling of the cold leather hitting your left foot stung, but it also sent shivers up your body, eliciting a moan from your throat. “Y/N. Would you repeat what you did? I need to hear it.”

***

It wasn’t on purpose, you suppose. You and Natasha went to a club, needing to let loose a little after the last mission. Sex Traffickers. All of the girls were no older that 15. It made you cringe at the thought of what would have happened to them if you hadn’t done anything about it.

So that’s why you and Nat ended up at a club with cheap drinks and a cheesy D.J. You didn’t realize Bucky was at the bar top watching you dance and grind along some guy you just met. Natasha was with you the entire time, and you also being an Avenger, you could have ripped the guy in half if he tried anything. But that didn’t stop you from noticing icy blue eyes staring at you as you put the unknown man’s hand on your hips. Bucky’s eyes never left yours as you swayed to the music finishing off your drink. Letting your dancing partner go, you headed to the bar to refill.

Leaning over the bar you asked for your usual, letting your hips jut out a little more. Your ass a little more voluptuous in the dress you had on, and your heels making your legs look miles long. Looking to your left you noticed Buckys posture. Open legs, glass of whiskey in his metal hand right arm gripping his thigh. Tight white crew neck clung to his body his leather jacket tossed on the back of the chair, legs covered in tight black jeans and combat boots adorned his feet.  “Oh, hey Bucky.” You said in a teasing tone. “Didn’t know you were here.”

“Y/N.” Bucky breathed in through his nose, trying hard not to pin you against a wall and take you as his, again. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

The bartender handed you your drink and you began to take sips, stirring the drink as you walked closer to the super soldier. “Why, what in the world do you mean? I’m not doing anything I can’t do.” You batted your long eyelashes at him, and his gaze became darker. He stood and pulled you by your hips. In a flash you were pressed against the bar and him. You smirked and asked him a perverted question. “Is that a banana in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?” Bucky grabbed your wrist and let out a sultry laugh.

“You think your funny doll?” Bucky asked, grinding his pelvis into yours, making you release a quiet moan. He moved his lips to your ear whispering into your ear. “Just what the hell do you think your doing baby. Trying to fuck that man on the dance floor? You know you’re mine right? My toy to play with. No one else can have you except me.”

That left you in a puddle of juices that collected inside your lacey panties. You loved it when he whispered naughty things to you. Smirking you look back up at him, a blush adorning your cheeks. “Oh yeah? Well then why don’t you show me? Play with me sir.” That was the last straw for Bucky.

“We’re leaving. Now.” Bucky pulled you along towards the exit you tried to make him stop.

“I-I came here with Natasha, I n-need to let her know-.”

“She’ll be fine.” He huffed and continued to pull you outside towards his bike. Handing you the helmet that adorned the back of his bike you put it on, adjusting the chin strap.

“Where are we going?” You asked innocently, knowing you were going back to his room in the tower.

“Where do you think your going, doll?” Wrapping your arms around his midriff you whisper in his ear.

“Hopefully to heaven.” Bucky shook his head and your heart dropped as he turned back to you, anger and lust clouding his gaze.

“Only good girls go to heaven doll face.” And with that Bucky started the bike and took off, in a rush to punish the daylights out of you.

***

So that’s how you ended up cuffed and whipped on Bucky’s too soft bed, begging to be touched. “Answer me, doll. Now.”

Your chest rose and fell as the whip made small traces around your other foot, a whimper falling from your mouth. “Ah-…” Your chest rose off the bed, needing Bucky’s hands on you now. “I was flirting…” A small lash to your right foot sent another chill through your body.

“No, Y/N. What were you doing?” The leather rose up to your thighs, getting closer to your aching core.

“Bucky please—” Another whip, a little harder on your left thigh, leaving a red lash mark that would probably be there for a week.

“I asked you a question. Answer me.” A tear escaped your eyes, longing for release.

“I was dancing, with a man. -Oh fuuck… I was grinding on him. I-I made you watch…” Another lash on your other thigh brought more tears to your eyes.

“Yes, you did. I watched another man put his hands on you. Press his cock against you.” Walking around the bed, Bucky trailed the flogger up the middle of your chest. “You understand your mine, right?” A lash against your nipples sent another whimper through your mouth.

“Y-yes.” Another whip, tears falling like rain. It was getting a little too much, but you still thought you could handle it.

“Yes… What?” The flogger traced your other nipple. The sensation almost becoming panic. You tried to see through the cloud of tears as the leather rested on your breast.

“Yes sir.” With that the leather left your breasts and moved to your aching pussy.

“Good girl.” Bucky flicked his wrist, letting the leather collect your juices. “You’re mine.” Another small flick. “Say it.”

A loud moan released from your lips. “I’m yours.” You were so close to coming, you could tell. “Bucky, I’m gonna—” As soon as you said it the leather was gone, and you were screaming. “AH! Bucky please! Please! I need to, please.” You needed release; you were never one to be declined an orgasm. This is the first time Bucky has edged you to the point of exhaustion. You never liked being edged. You were never in control and couldn’t bring yourself to that point of ecstasy. But this was your punishment, you needed to be taught who was in charge.

Bucky moved the leather up to your biceps whipping you once on each side then on each breast, thigh, and feet. He continued this motion a couple more times before he moved back to your pussy slapping it with the flogger again, raising you up into that climactic state, but stopping right before you glided over the edge. It was overwhelming, too much.

Panic seeped through your body and you needed to get out of it. You felt trapped, and you couldn’t leave. The man standing over you, looking like you were a piece of meat for him to enjoy. You never wanted to have to stop, you needed this just as Bucky did, but the panic you were feeling became overbearing and harsh as your breathing sped up.

You can’t do this any longer. So, for the first time you say your word.

“O-Olive…. Olive…”

“Shit—” Bucky spoke up as soon as you said it.

You broke down in sobs as you heard the flog drop to the ground and the clank of metal against the bedframe as your wrists were released from their binds. You curled up on top of the covers as Bucky joined you, panic in his eyes as his heart beat a mile a minute.

“Baby, doll… I’m so sorry, I’m sorry doll face. I didn’t mean to, are you okay?” Bucky got up, grabbing a water bottle and the bottle of lotion sitting on his dresser. “Drink this baby.” He sat you up against his chest, letting you gulp down the water as he squirted some of the lotion in his hands. “Why didn’t you say it earlier baby? I thought I was gonna lose you for a bit there.” Worry was laced in his voice now as he massaged your wrists with lotion.

“I thought I could take it, but it just ripped into my core and I couldn’t take it anymore. I’m sorry—” Bucky pulled you close, tossing the duvet over the both of you.

“No. No please, don’t be sorry. This was my fault; I shouldn’t have done that to you. I’m so sorry doll. It won’t happen again.”

“I thought I was going to have a panic attack.” You admitted to him as you snuggled close. “The cuffs were fine and the whip itself was okay, we could use those again…”

“I feel a but coming on. Baby doll, if you don’t talk to me and tell me what you don’t like I can’t set those boundaries to stop this.” Bucky reached up to grab your chin, making you look at his face. “Please, tell me what I need to do to make you safe.”

“I…” You hesitated and sighed. “I don’t think we should use the flog and whip together.” Bucky smiled and pecked at your lips.

“Okay that’s fine baby. No cuffs and whips together. Anything else?”

Your breath shuddered a bit. “The edging was a little too much. I didn’t have control of it. I didn’t mind it the first time, but after the third I couldn’t take it. I was gonna burst and I wasn’t sure you were going to stop.” Bucky placed light kisses all over your face, pulling you close to his body.

“I’m sorry doll, I was a bit rough on you. I’ll keep an eye out for it next time okay?” You pulled him into a deep longing kiss, letting him know this wasn’t his fault either. Resting his forehead against yours, Bucky spoke again. “Do you want to shower and go back to bed?”

You hummed lightly and snuggled against his warm chest. “Mmm. No. Lets stay like this, We can shower in the morning.”

“Anything for you, doll.”

[chwetuan]

Champagne at Sunset - Choi Youngjae x Reader (f)

 1. Requested:  hi z! i hope you’ve been doing alright! if it’s ok can i request a fake dating au with youngjae? like with some angst but it ends fluffy? love your writing btw ! (anon)

2. Summary: Youngjae knows you like the back of his hand. He also knows that there were about ten other ways he could’ve asked you to be his fake girlfriend, but he wouldn’t choose any of them if the outcome were different (<1k).

3. Warnings: Fluff and possibly language, soft angst.

 4. A/N - I’m back! Quality over quantity...and consistency? Anyways, this is more of a drabble that leaves a bit for you guys to wonder about. Enjoy <3 - Z

Two friends walk into a bar, and for a moment, things are normal.

The heated, packed feeling of the room is a stark juxtaposition with the cool metal of the stool against your thighs. The music is a little too low, the people are a little too loud, and the drinks are a little too strong. They come cheap, a happy hour on a Monday evening as people flood the booths, tables, and couches with tired, tense bodies.

Youngjae sits next to you, black slacks snug at the bend of his leg and white button down rolled up to his elbow. He’s bouncing his knee, a nervous habit he’s harbored since his youth, as he takes a sip of his beer.

He knows you like the back of his hand, scars and all. A friendship of 15 years just doesn’t fade into your subconscious; not when you’ve grown together — rode bikes, climbed trees, snuck out, gotten drunk, and failed one too many algebra tests.

Picking up your phone, you answer a few texts before checking the time. 6:04pm.

“Shouldn’t your friends be here now?” You ask, taking a sip of your beer and turning to face him.

Youngjae said a few coworkers would join you guys, which was a little less than normal, but no cause for concern.

After all, everything had been normal thus far.

Everything is normal, but things get a little strange when he pulls your stool closer to his own.

“About that,” He pauses, hand coming up to grip your shoulder. It’s firm, not hard, and in a split second, you register that you’re not going to like whatever he’s about to say.

Things are quiet - as quiet as they can get in a bar like this — before he speaks again. “I told them that you’re my girlfriend.”

~~~

The car ride back to your apartment is nothing like the usual. Instead of loud laughs, stupid jokes, and off-key sing-alongs, the drive consists of you glaring at him while he struggles to keep his eyes on the road.

Youngjae thinks he’s sly when he steals his glances, or when his eyes linger on you longer than deemed necessary.

“Usually, when friends invite you for a drink, they don’t have alternative agendas.” You hiss, stepping through the threshold of your too small, too cold, apartment. Your bitter tone is made obvious as you shrug your blazer off.

You hear the clutter of keys as they hit the countertop.

“Thanks. I owe you one.”

“I owe you one?” You echo, incredulously. “How about an explanation? I thought this was one of our regular bar runs.” You scoff, a little more than irritated as you kick off your heels. Your back is to him as you continue speaking. “Then you say your coworkers are coming, and oh, they think you’re my girlfriend.”

Turning to face him, you finish your mini rant. “Youngjae, I love you, and I don’t know what you’re playing at, but I’m not your girlfriend.”

The words sting him deep down in a way he isn’t fully ready to acknowledge. The reminder that you don’t feel the same way about him is always in the back of his mind, like a hook to a song he doesn’t quite know, yet, the one line is always stuck in his head.

But whether or not you have feelings for him, Youngjae doesn’t have the time to deal with the particulars. Even though his mind is clouded with thoughts of you, and him, and the possibility of you guys together, he pushes it to the side as he responds.

“You aren’t, but you were tonight, and you will be next weekend. Hopefully.”

~~~

When Youngjae said wedding, you didn’t think this.

Frankly, your dress was little too overpriced and little more on the uncomfortable side, but Youngjae’s palm against your waist and the burn of champagne down your throat made the circumstance a little more bearable.

As much as you wanted to positively fight Youngjae, you couldn’t deny how the apples of your cheeks ached from smiling, and how his kisses against them made your heart flutter more than it was supposed to.

But as you sit on the dock, heels at your side and dress bunched up so you can feel the cool water against your bare feet, you muse out loud.

“Being your fake girlfriend isn’t so bad. If you had just asked me from the start, I wouldn’t have been opposed.”

He hums as a blush crawls up his cheeks, down his neck and to the tips of his ears. He’s thankful for the pink glow of the sunset at that moment.

“Do you remember Valentine’s Day in 4th grade?” You ask, sighing as you scoot closer to him, head falling against his shoulder.

“No, not really.” Youngjae doesn’t know why his voice is so quiet all of a sudden.

“I figured.”

“Why?”

“I wrote you a letter that year,” You start, eyes watching as the sun begins to duck beyond the horizon. “It was anonymous. I worked so hard on it. It was purple and pink, and had a huge red heart in the center.”

“Wait, you’ve never written me a valentines letter in the entire time that I’ve known you.”

“I did, Youngjae. Who was your first girlfriend?”

He furrows his eyebrows, lips tugged between his teeth as he responds. “Lauren Peters, she was in our 4th grade class.”

You hum.

“She wrote me a card asking if I would be her boyfriend.”

“Exactly.”

There’s silence between you, and you're desperately hoping that Youngjae will put two and two together, but the solution never comes.

You sigh again, turning all of your attention to him. “She never wrote you that card, Youngjae. I did. I think I’ve always been in love with you.”

~~~

The drive back to your apartment this time is also not the usual, with Youngjae’s hand in your own and the remnants of champagne kisses at sunset on your lips.

.

.

.

(mlist) 

[jayne-hecate-writer]

Where have I been of late?

Since about October 2018, I have been hibernating. Some things have happened, some nice and some not. More than anything though, I have been shut in doors, suffering as always with severe pain and hiding away from the dark cold days with my hot water bottle and a pile of pain killers that would make the average junkie jealous. In comedy terms, I am one CH short of being a heroin addict and if you don't know the units known as CH, then you should go and check them out. So with my usually enjoyable heroin addiction* starting to get boring, we hit March 2019...

With the beginning of April only days away, the days have got longer and the nights have got shorter, the weather is brighter and the sun has burned away the deep grey clouds. Basically, spring has hit us and with the increase in air temperature and pressure, my pain levels have retreated to the depths of my body. This is not to say that I am pain free, that is a dream that I know is no longer possible, but the levels are low enough to allow me to start living away from my hot water bottle for a few days at a time, although as I write this, I am perched on my hot water bottle once again.

Of course for us, spring means days on the motorbikes, or rather it used to means days on the motorbikes, for me it also means a constant yearning for the mountains, moors and wilderness of adventures past, the aching heart of an adventurer stuck in a mundane life, with only the occasional bit of respite.

My friend Ess was dating a boy and she really liked him, but as is often the way with this thing called life, Ess and the boy parted ways, which left her feeling a little sad and in need of a bit of cheering up Jayney style. At the same time, Darling wifey was having problems with her bike, the fabulous Noreen, or to you bikers out there, a Kawasaki ZRX1100. After a long cold winter of too few miles, it needed to blow the cobwebs out of the carbs and so wifey set about with a clean cloth, some clean plugs and some fresh petrol. Ess was on a day off and I suggested a little ride around the block on the back of Sylvie, my precious custom Suzuki SV650 while Wifey fixed her bike. Ess had never been on a motorbike before and the thought of doing so was intimidating. I promised not to go fast and promptly became a pre-teen girl and turned Ess into Biker Barbie, with my full leathers, spare helmet and a teeny little bit of encouragement.

Our first trip was a circle of our street at slightly less than twenty miles per hour... Well, I had promised not to go fast, hadn't I? It turns out that slightly less than twenty miles per hour is a bit dull for Ess, so we went a bit faster, or to be more accurate, slightly more than twenty miles per hour. Ess was captivated and when Wifey hit the starter on her bike and it sounded like it needed a quick run, That could only mean chip shops, beaches and a three mile ride along the coast. Ess clung on to me like a set of Mole grips to a cheap steel bolt, I thought that I would be crushed in her arms, but we did hit thirty miles per hour. After our chips and a chilly evening ride back to my hotwater bottle, Ess stated firmly that she was now a biker convert, zero to hero in three miles. We showed her some biker gear on line and she started looking at helmets, picking out some of the prettier and more feminine styles. You see Ess is not like me, not only does she have manners, she also likes pink things, she loves Unicorns in a gentle non Deadpool kind of way and she likes to look pretty.

For me, biker gear should be proof against dirty grit filled rain, it should cover enough of me to keep the unhygienic splats of crushed blue bottles hit at speed on the motorway away from my skin  and it should look cool, all of which means black, with black highlights and black seams. Ess, liked the helmets that were decorated with flowers or pink flashes and which would really show up dead fly splats, road dirt and flicked up dog shit from the gutter. That is why I don't wear pink biker gear any more. We promised Ess that we would eventually take her over to the bike shop in Bristol so that she could have a look at helmets and clothing, but warned her not to buy too much gear before she really knew that she wanted to ride bikes. The following morning, Ess had made up her mind and was ready to go and told us so, so we loaded up the bikes and rode over to Bristol. One hundred and fifty pounds later, Ess looked great in her new pink and black helmet and gloves. That was two days ago, zero to hero in two days. Wifey has also been charged with finding Ess a bike that she can learn on, but while she waits for said bike to arrive on e-Bay, Ess is aching to get out and do the miles on the bitch seat.

I have not just been playing with bikes and bullying Ess into going for rides, in fact if I were to try that, I would be a splat on bedroom floor myself by now. Instead, last night I met up with my more cultured friends (more cultured means that we say cunt with a little more conviction) and we wandered over to Glastonbury to watch what I had been promised was a Folk-Punk gig... Oh yeah, I don't just do Black Metal and opera does I, after all I am cultured, in I!? The head line band was Ferocious Dog who sing socialist anthems about the Minors Strike and although they are not the sort of thing I usually get to see, I genuinely enjoyed their performance, even if the middle class, Glastonbury wannabe Crusties that arrived in their Marks and Sparks jeans, Edinburgh Woollen Mill jumpers and brand new Dr Marten's boots took over the (for want of a better description) Mosh pit... Now having been to several Death Metal and Black Metal gigs in my time, I am well versed in Mosh Pit etiquette and have been in several absolutely belting mosh pits. I have in my time seen limbs broken, hair torn out, teeth lost and skulls cracked, but the broken and the dying are always helped up from the floor and shoved in the waiting arms of paramedics. In contrast, this 'Mosh Pit' was sedately swaying in time while occasionally clapping in time and I was later informed that the dancing is usually considerably more hardcore. By this, they meant that the dancers form acrobatic human pyramids, basically they are architects who use people as building blocks in the construction of high rise blocks. It is all very twee, but I still enjoyed it and danced along when my pain levels allowed.

After my night out in Glastonbury, I was exhausted and I climbed into bed and pretty much passed out for five hours of blissful dream free sleep, finally waking up with a spine that felt broken and a head that could not turn left. But that is why we have hot baths and massage. I was able to soak it all away in the bath for an hour of hot water and occasional swearing, which was handy because Ess was demanding to go out on the bikes again... It was such a hardship.

Jan my co-writer and fellow biker arrived as I was packing Ess's spare kit into my tank bag and together with Wifey, the four of us got ready for an adventure that would take us to the bikes and a lunch date with the always fabulous leader of the ultra mega cool writing club. Jan was on the back of Wifey's bike and Ess climbed onto the back of me, for what was in effect, only her third ever ride, but as is often the case with these kind of things, she was full of enthusiasm and for the second time in twenty four hours, I was going back to Glastonbury, or at least close to it.

The ride across the Somerset levels is particularly beautiful, with the rolling hills of the Mendips in the distance and flat open pasture stretching out for miles in almost every direction. There was the occasional drainage ditch, filled with stagnant water and loads of pondweed. There were also the odd herds of cattle or flocks of sheep blinking in the fresh spring sunshine, so generally speaking it was just pure beauty as far as the eye could see, blighted by the occasional sewage pumping station. 

 Sadly I have to admit that our stop next to one of these pumping stations was necessitated by my need to curl up in a ball of pain and weeping due to the awful bumpiness of the roads almost jarring the bones out of my body. I was in pain from my toes to my ears and was thoroughly angry with myself for being broken and in pain, meaning that I could barely keep up with Carol. Ess was kind and gentle as she stood patiently waiting for me to stop swearing and hexing next to the bike and no doubt she was wondering how the fuck she was going to get home if I was too broken to ride? Thankfully, we were less than ten minutes away from our meeting with Head Honcho and I was able to scrape myself up from the gravel, where I had lay, screaming and kicking like a petulant child who says cunt far too much!

We parked by the pub front door, undressed from all of the fly corpse encrusted riding gear, slapped on our least 'dangerous biker' smiles and went inside, to be warmly greeted by the bar staff and a waiting Head Honcho. A table had been reserved for us in the dining room, next to a large window that allowed me to see the traffic outside and count an unusual number of Suzuki TL thousands that seemed to be flowing by. The food arrived and it was remarkably good, I even managed to squeeze in a dessert, which is unusual for me, but I did feel like a huge fat bitch afterwards and I really need to go back on my misery diet to loose the extra fifty tonnes I am now carrying on my hips! For anyone interested, I can highly recommend the Pipers Inn as both a beautiful place to sit and to enjoy a fabulous meal. I am sure that we will be back again, providing that they let us in and don't object to my casual strong swearing and awful wind!

With lunch sitting on my stomach like a concrete kebab, we propelled the bikes towards the Mendips and Cheddar Gorge. The scenery was spectacularly beautiful and as we began to climb the hills, Jan found an enormous pile of shit, reminiscent of the descriptions from our latest book. 

Well, it would have been rude not to stop and Wifey needed a rest to take some photos. Cheddar Gorge is beautiful, it feels mountainous in stature as we entered the roadway to the bottom and the great limestone walls rose up around us. The road meandered, not always gently to the bottom and the village of Cheddar itself and I was forced to laugh at the newly placed signs warning people to stick to the speed limit of thirty miles per hour. I can only imagine that this is to speed up because they tend to crawl down the hill at about fifteen miles per hour at best, absorbed utterly in the beauty around them.

We stopped in the village of Cheddar for just long enough for a splash and dash... We also said hello to a few of the other bikers and Carol even spoke to the wife of a sadly passed friend whose funeral we had gone to a couple of years ago. It was all very nice and as usual for a sunny day, Cheddar was packed to capacity with grockles. As much as I wanted to ride somewhere else fabulous, my body was giving me the warning signs of exhaustion and my pain levels were rising, meaning that our next stop was home. We enjoyed in total a couple of hours of riding and for me this was enough of a adventure that I felt energised, reinvigorated and I am looking forwards to a summer of even more adventures. Which is sad because when I woke up this morning, knowing that his evening I must trudge over to Bristol once again, this time to see the mighty Akercocke play at the Thekla, I was utterly broken and beyond even shuffling around the flat. No Mosh Pit for me tonight then, just the usual gentle swaying as I stand there in my Marks and Sparks Death Metal shirt and shiny Dr Marten's boots!

With no particular order of preference, I would like to thank the following people for dragging me out of my fortress of solitude that is my duvet. Thank you to the staff of the Pipers Inn who made us all feel very welcome. A big thank you cuddle to Ginny Lego and the fabulous night time navigators who got us to Glastonbury for the first gig in scary dense fog. A big thank you to Head Honcho for her continued patience as we search out more obscure places to meet up for a chat. Love and thanks must go to Ess and Jan who barely moaned at all about my swearing, hexing and wind breaking. As always, a great big thank you to Darling Wifey who navigated me around the Mendips and the levels like a Sat Nav, but with a lot less of the “Turn around now you blithering idiot!” that I usually get!

* Please note: I am not currently using and nor have I ever used actual heroin, but for comedic purposes I have compared my medically proscribed codeine based pain killers with this tragic and illegal drug that has harmed so many people. The sad truth is that codeine is a nasty, addictive substance and it needs to be carefully monitored by your Doctor if used regularly.