#a blatant rip of dirty laundry | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

jungkxook · 4 years ago

Text

—pour up. (m)

⟶ pairing: jungkook x reader x taehyung

⟶ genre: fuckboy!jungkook / fuckboy!taehyung + smut

⟶ words: 14,048 (idk how it’s literally just smut)

⟶ rating: 18+

⟶ summary: sleeping with both notorious frat boys kim taehyung and jeon jungkook doesn’t sound so bad ━ especially when you’re drunk and faded.

⟶ warnings: mentions of drug/alcohol use, essentially pwp lol, threesome, double penetration, voyeurism, messy rough sex, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, dry humping, manhandling, doggy style, riding (sort of?), fingering, oral sex (f and m receiving), face riding, face fucking, deepthroating, breast play, slight begging (mostly oc making jungkook beg hehe), brief name calling, dirty talking, unprotected sex, creampie

⟶ note: this is a repost of a fic from my old blog! also shout out to miss jlin @bratkook for being the sweetest and for liking this trashy fic of mine, and a happy early birthday present to @onherwings miss juno, the resident taekook lover!! 💛

also the accompanying song to this fic is pour up by dean!

There were times when you were sober where you were persistent about never being in a five foot radius of a frat boy, much less strip yourself of your dignity long enough to sleep with one.

Your appalling disgust and immense irritation of the male species that were frat boys kept you well in tune to your rule ━ until you’re far past the point of drunk and faded. Only then, when your bloodstream is laced with alcohol and your mind is nothing but a hazy cloud of smoke, you shrink into a shameless hypocrite and favour the appeal of a simple hook up. But you have needs too; it isn’t entirely your fault. Kim Taehyung offers you exactly that, with the promise to then act as if nothing happens the very next day so that the two of you can revert to despising one another out in public.

You act as if no one knows about your flings with ultimate frat boy Taehyung almost every weekend, as if they’re just as oblivious as you, but damn near the whole school knows and most certainly the rest of the boys in Beta Tau Sigma, or as Taehyung puts it, his brothers. It’s a useless cycle of bicker, avoid, drink, sex, and repeat, ever since you joined the school as a freshman and the sophomore boy took an interest in you. He’s charming in all the right ways and good looking but his smooth appeal was almost too good to be true and, past his “kind” smiles, you could make him out to be arrogant, vain, and cocky. Maybe you would have given him an actual chance had it not been for his snarkiness but all your brain could truly handle was his dick for a few hours a week.

Unsurprisingly, you always end up crashing at Beta Tau Sigma after one of their raging parties that results in your hook ups with Taehyung; surprisingly, Taehyung is miraculously into pillow talk post-sex and so he doesn’t entirely mind if you stay the night. But, by morning, when the alcohol has all but turned into a terrible hangover, he can hardly care less if you stay or not.

Usually, you wake up on your own, courtesy of past sober you setting an alarm on your phone to make sure you wake up earlier than all the other walkers of shame and anyone else in Beta Tau Sigma. Ideally, it was to help guarantee that no one would ever see you or judge you for stooping low enough to sleep with a fuckboy but you don’t know how well that’s working out for you anymore, if you’re being honest.

That’s why, early one fateful Sunday morning after a night of fun with Taehyung, you awaken with a start to the shrill Marimba tone that rips through the silence of the room and causes you to literally jump out of bed and crash onto the floor. You groan at the sharp pain that shoots up your spine and accompanies your groggy mind as your eyes flicker open only to be greeted with a blinding light that is the sun as it filters through the shut curtains. Littered on the ground are clothes, your clothes, beer bottles, red solo cups, discarded bed sheets, a singular condom wrapper (you thank your past selves for at least being sober enough to remember to use one), and your cell phone.

“Turn that shit off, for fuck sakes,” he grovels.

His hangover, and the early morning, makes his already deep voice even rougher, huskier, and you blame your disoriented mind for thinking he sounds even remotely sexy. He doesn’t bother to lift his head from his pillow or to find where you are in the room, the messy longer-than-usual curls of his hair flopping into his lashes as he flips onto his back. Other bodily remnants remain from the night before, from the mellowing ache between your legs left in the wake of his dick sufficiently railing you to the bite marks on his neck that you had so graciously bestowed him.

Now, you roll your eyes at him instead but dive for your phone nearby and tap the snooze button before it wakes the entire house and rouses the army of fuckboys from the dead.

“Good morning to you too,” You remark. “Is that better, princess?”

“Much.”

You push yourself to your feet and stretch, the stiff joints in your body popping and cracking, before searching for your clothes. You’re certain Taehyung has fallen back asleep as you dig around through the clutter to find your belongings but what else is new? It’s a routine the two of you have come to know well, and one that neither of you mind. You spot some sort of lacy material hidden underneath a few of Taehyung’s dirty laundry laying on the floor and reach for it thinking it’s yours. You’re only mildly disturbed to find that it isn’t yours at all ━ though you’re more concerned about the hygienic purposes of touching some other girl’s thong than you are about the blatant fact Taehyung sleeps with more girls than just you (a fact you swear you could care less for).

“Jesus Christ, your room is a disaster,” You scoff now.

“You could clean it,” Taehyung suggests sluggishly. Now, he’s awake, pretty and hooded eyes fluttering open to find you nearby. He props his hand behind his head to lift his gaze a little higher.

You snort, tossing the underwear away. “You never cease to━”

“Amaze you?”

“Repel me more than when I see the collection of thongs you have hidden in your room,” You correct. Fortunately, you spot your own underwear nearby and scoop it up, quickly slipping into them.

“Aw, baby, is that a bit of jealousy I hear?” Taehyung asks. He runs a hand through his dishevelled dark locks and shoots you a drowsy smirk. “You know you’re my one and only. I can always count on you when I want good head.”

“Please, flatter me some more, Tae,” You quip dryly.

As you hastily slide into your stiff shirt and jeans next and turn to face him, combing your fingers through your hair, Taehyung seems to take your words to heart and tries again. “You look like shit.”

You feign a voluntarily loud and overly dramatic moan. “Ugh, you really do know how to treat a girl━” Your cut off by a shameless snort from Taehyung before you continue on, “You know, you don’t exactly look the hottest right now either.”

“I beg to differ,” he replies nonchalantly. Technically, he isn’t lying, but you refuse to feed his ego any more.

“As if.”

“Funny,” he hums. “Could’ve sworn last night you were calling me hot when you were begging for my dick.”

You don’t bother to reply. Instead, you shake your head as you rub your tired face, uttering, “I need a coffee.”

“You could stay,” he offers. “I can make you one.”

“You don’t even know how to boil water,” You retort. “But thanks for the gesture. Try not to throw up on yourself today, okay?”

Taehyung mumbles something in response but then he’s already flipping over onto his side to fall back asleep again. You grab your bag from the floor and slip into your shoes before tiptoeing out of the room.

The Beta house is just as much a disaster as Taehyung’s room is and you find yourself stepping over more bottles, cups, empty pizza boxes, and hungover passed out people with phallic images doodled on their faces. The sun filters into the ever grand mansion and only illuminates the chaos the frat boys put it through. Everyone is thankfully still asleep as you head downstairs but, as you sneak past the kitchen, you notice two figures rummaging about, boisterous unabashed laughter filling the house that somehow hasn’t woken the others yet.

Jeon Jungkook stands before you with Park Jimin, both fellow Beta brothers, though Jungkook is in the same year as you. They, like most other Beta boys (and especially Taehyung), are well known on campus but Jungkook is perhaps even worse than Taehyung. Now, he’s adorned in only low hanging gray sweatpants that show off the ripples of his toned chest and the happy trail that threatens for your eyes to follow it. He holds a bowl of cereal close to him with the same arm decorated on every inch with tattoos, a snapback pushing his messy hair up and away from his forehead. The best part (and you mean that not at all) ━ or the worst ━ is the fact that he stands on a hoverboard, as if walking is too much for him to handle at nine in the morning. Jimin isn’t far off wearing the same attire, only his look is paired with the fuckboy-essential-starter-pack of socks and Adidas slides, and he’s at least actually using his legs to walk.

“Morning,” Jungkook smirks. “Time for the walk of shame?”

You have to retain a sigh. “I’m surprised you’re up, Jeon. I was sure you were gone past the point of saving last night.”

“A couple of shots do nothing for me,” Jungkook replies, shovelling a spoonful of cereal into his mouth. “I was pretty much sober.”

At this, you sit back on your heels and look him once over skeptically. “You kept trying to hook up with me, called your dick Jungcock, threw up in one of the vases, and then passed out in the bathtub. I wouldn’t have exactly called you sober.”

The smirk remains on Jungkook’s face. If anything, he seems more so amused and it pisses you off. Jimin bursts into a fit of laughter and shakes his head.

“Always a pleasure seeing you, Y/N,” he greets. “Hey, are you coming to the party going down at Lambdas house after exams? It’s pretty exclusive but you and your friends are all invited by courtesy of us.”

“Ugh, I can’t even think about going to another party right now. How do you Beta whores do it?” You grovel. “Besides, why would we come if we know you’re going to be there?”

“‘Cause Tae’s going and you’re probably gonna wanna suck his dick,” Jungkook suggests snidely.

“I was gonna say the free booze,” Jimin offers instead. “Man, you know the Lambdas. They’re all rich pretentious sons of country club owners. They hardly throw parties but, when they do, you know it’s going to be wild. I wouldn’t miss it if I were you.”

“Well,” You say, “thanks for the invitation but we’ll see. Maybe if we have a pre-game where I can get drunk enough to handle your faces and the Lambda boys together.”

“I’ve always said you’re more fun when you’re drunk,” Jungkook hums pensively. Your eyes narrow into a glare and you’re fortunate Jimin is there to block your path from tackling Jungkook.

“Okay, whatever,” You grumble. “I’m out of here. I think if I stay here any longer, I’ll lose all my brain cells.”

Jimin chuckles but hardly seems bothered by your comment. He waves you off as he slips out of the kitchen to retreat into another room, leaving you alone with Jungkook.

“Can I get you anything before you go?” he asks. There’s a cheeky tone laced in his words that makes you blatantly aware he’s trying to suggest something more, like his dick.

“Absolutely not,” You wave him off. “See you around, Jungidiot.”

He grins and shoves another spoonful into his mouth. “Hey, maybe next Saturday you can think about blowing me instead of Tae, yeah?”

He’s met with you jamming your middle finger in his face and it only seems to entertain him further. As you march out of their home, slamming the door behind you, you have one discernable thought amongst your hangover and that is that you’ll definitely need to have that pre-game before you have the audacity to even see Jungkook, or any of the Beta boys for that matter, at the Lambdas.

That Saturday, you find yourself at the Lambdas house party.

So maybe you had sort of been lying when you said you weren’t so sure of going to it, but the thought was tempting enough and you aren’t one to pass up on a good party, especially when it’s after weeks of headaches and stressing over studying and exams.

Mid-terms come and go and when you finally finish writing your last paper, all you want to do is let loose and party and get dicked down by Taehyung. The Lambdas, despite their pretentious behaviour, looks to be very promising ━ but only after you down a few shots beforehand and have a beer while you’re getting ready. You’re not exactly as drunk or as tipsy as you would have prefered but it still gives you a nice enough buzz that makes you warm and lets the adrenaline pump in your veins and excites you even more for the party. The house you rent is off campus but it’s close to Beta’s and Taehyung offers to give you guys a lift to the Lambdas who are a fifteen minute walk away (but you know Taehyung will do anything to not walk anywhere his penny board can’t take him ━ and it’s not even Taehyung who is driving but his friend, Jin).

You can hear the party at Lambdas before you’re even there. The thump of bass coming from the house isn’t hard to miss, especially not with the way it seems to rattle the ground the closer you get. The house is crammed full to capacity and people have already begun to spill onto the lawn by the time you have arrived. A potent waft of alcohol and weed fill your senses and it is all you could really make out in the rambunctious party. You can hardly hear yourself think, let alone what others are saying to you. Yet, you still found a way to have fun almost instantly, drifting away from the guys to party with your friends.

Most of the night is a blur and a haze of confusion but you can remember drinking and drinking some more until you’re sufficiently smashed. You can’t quite recall where you had lost your friends, though you suspect it was after the intense game of beer pong you were suckered into in which you were certain there were no winners or losers as it was just an excuse to drink even more. It’s nearing 1 a.m. when you finally bump into a familiar face, pulling you back from the unruly party and the adrenaline rush coursing through your veins.

You’ve just slipped outside for some fresh air, perched on the front porch, when you notice Jimin is passed out on the lawn below. The other stragglers gathered outside barely take note of him but maybe that’s because he had chosen to faceplant in the shadows under the porch, tucked safely away from the rest of the party. Just before you can even think to walk over to him and make sure he’s still alive, the front door of the house swings wide open and a frenzied Taehyung bursts outside, shortly followed by an equally dumbfounded Jungkook.

“Where the fuck is he?” Taehyung hisses.

“I don’t know,” Jungkook sighs, disgruntled, “but leave it to him to run off and disappear.”

“Looking for someone?”

The two boys startle at your voice. They whirl around to find you taking a sip of the drink in your hand, as if only just noticing your presence. You hadn’t seen them since you parted ways a handful of hours ago in the party, though you’re fairly certain they’re just as smashed as you.

“Ah, babe!” Taehyung beams wolfishly. “What a pleasure seeing you out here. Uh, you wouldn’t happen to have seen where Jimin went, would you?”

You nod in the direction of the sleeping boy down below. “He’s there. He’s passed out cold, though. What the hell did you do to him?”

“Nothing,” Jungkook says. He grimaces as he hastily follows Taehyung down onto the lawn to stand near Jimin, and you in tow. “Jimin just likes to get out of hand. What should we do, Tae? We can’t just leave him here and Luna’s going to be pissed if she sees him like this.”

Taehyung stares down at Jimin miserably, thinking momentarily. “Well, Luna’s looking for him so we might as well drop him off at her dorm. He can deal with her when he’s sober.”

There’s a brief moment where you spot Jungkook seriously considering this though, as if leaving Jimin on the lawn of a frat house is a safer option than returning him to his girlfriend. Ultimately, he caves and you watch as Taehyung nudges Jimin awake (and by nudge, you mean he slaps the boy across the face) before pulling a very disoriented Jimin to his feet and slinging one of his arms over Taehyung’s neck.

“Fuck, he’s heavy,” Taehyung huffs. “Give me a hand, Jungkook.”

Jungkook nods, stepping forward to take Jimin’s other arm and hook it around his own neck. The two boys seem to be struggling carrying most of Jimin’s body weight, though they’re carrying mostly dead weight as Jimin continues to drift in and out of consciousness.

Before they can leave you offer to help though you don’t know what you can really do so you suspect your inebriated mind just wanted to go with them for the hell of it. Luna’s place isn’t far. It’s a ten minute walk from Lambda’s, but in that ten minutes, none of you talk about anything of real importance except for chuckle and laugh about things that happened at the party.

Eventually you make it to Luna’s, who answers the door angrily after you knock on it as if you’ve disrupted her slumber and frowns when she sees Jimin’s current state. At least she has the decency to thank the three of you. When she shuts the door behind her, the three of you turn to look at one another, almost clueless.

“So, what now?” Taehyung asks. “Head back to the party?”

The thought of making the ten minute walk back to the party in your drunken mind seems like an eternity. That, mixed with the way your feet scream in agony from the heels you’re wearing, you begin to pout and shake your head.

“I can’t walk anymore,” You whine, words drunkenly slurring together. “I’d be fine just sitting here.”

Jungkook’s nose scrunches as he looks at you once over. “How drunk are you?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, how about we just go back to our place?” Taehyung asks. His arm slides around your waist then, tugging you close to his side. If one thing is for certain, the boy tends to get more handsy the more drunk he is, and you never seem to mind. “I’ve got a fresh bowl we can hit and we can drink there and just chill?”

You and Jungkook consider Taehyung’s offer fleetingly and, to you, it seems much more appealing.

“Sign me up,” You say. “The Lambdas were a bit too over the top for my liking. There’s only so much I can handle.”

Jungkook shrugs and nods in agreement. “Then I guess I’m going with you guys.”

The five minute walk to Beta is short and soon you’re inside the eerily empty house and climbing the steps to Taehyung’s room but not before the three of you raid their cabinets for any type of liquor. Eventually, you’re all lounging in Taehyung’s room, some type of music playing in the background as the three of you pass around a bottle of whisky and the bong Taehyung had promised he had, giggling at each other.

By 2 a.m., you are smashed and faded but blissfully so.

Taehyung and Jungkook are not too far off. It’s Taehyung who comes up with the idea to play strip poker, though with a twist. His version of the game includes: taking a shot anytime one of you loses a round along with either stripping an article of clothing or being allowed to pass it and get dared to do something else, though each person only has three passes.

Jungkook loses the first round, shedding only his jacket. Taehyung and you lose the second round; you decide to strip out of your own cardigan while Taehyung flicks off his hat. Jungkook and Taehyung lose the third round and both kick off their shoes. The game progresses slowly, with the three of you coming up with “clever” loopholes out of the rules, like stripping one sock one round and then another sock the next and all of you are too drunk to really protest. Eventually, the game winds up with Taehyung and Jungkook both in their pants and you still wearing both your shirt and jeans. Both the boys have used one of their passes and are still losing which, you will admit, boosts your confidence ever so slightly especially when you have such a nice view in front of you.

Both boys are toned, with certified gym rat Jungkook’s abs a bit more chiseled, and you know that sober you would cringe at how hard you seem to be drooling over them. Jungkook must notice because he shoots you a wink that has you squirming in your seat.

“Like what you see?” he asks.

“N-No,” You say shortly. “Shut up and go. It’s your turn.”

You end up losing that round, unfortunately, but you have no qualms with stripping out of your jeans and kicking them to the side. The next round, you lose again, except you decide to use one of your passes which has both boys groaning in defeat.

“Remember,” You coo, “play nice boys.”

The two exchange a look and you wait patiently, taking your shot of whisky in the meantime as Taehyung chides you on encouragingly with a cheeky, “Pour up, baby girl.”

You down the shot in one gulp, wincing as it burns down your throat, then chase it quickly with the drink you had stolen from their kitchen. A drowsy smirk tugs at Taehyung’s lips as he takes another rip from the bong, breathing out a cloud of smoke as he hums insouciantly, “I’ve got your dare.”

There’s a split moment where he makes eye contact with you and pushes his hair out of his eyes.

“Come here and kiss me.”

Had you been sober, you might have rolled your eyes at his simple yet assertive dare but, instead, you can’t help but snicker as you lean across to him from your seat on the floor and pull him down for a not so graceful kiss. His whisky coated tongue instantly collides with yours in an open mouthed frenzy that’s full of teeth clashing and wet sounds but it’s hot, too hot, even as Taehyung pulls you closer to him with his hand grasping at your chin. You instinctively react, teeth nipping at his lower lip as you suck hard, momentarily forgetting about Jungkook sitting in the room.

A moan emits from you as your fingers thread through his hair. Jungkook is left to watch but his eyes stay locked on your figure and the way you cave so easily to Taehyung, the way your mouth moves against his. He can’t seem to tear his eyes away from your position on your hands and knees, or the way you arch your back in an attempt to get closer to Taehyung, and he certainly can’t seem to look away from the tempting curve of your ass jutting in his direction. All Jungkook suddenly wants is for you to be kissing him the same way you’re kissing Taehyung.

You’re only interrupted when he finds the nerve to clear his throat after a few moments. “Nah, it’s alright, I’ll just sit here. Do you guys want me to leave?”

He’s being sarcastic, of course, and when you and Taehyung part to look at the boy, he’s scowling. The two of you chuckle lightly but don’t respond, though you remember the game you’re still playing. Taehyung kisses you one last time before you settle back onto the floor, a sheepish giggle bubbling in your chest. Taehyung loses the next round and he decides to strip down into his underwear though he hasn’t lost yet (the goal is nudity and neither of your drunk selves have enough dignity left to give up before then).

The round after that, you lose again. You decide, once more, to use another one of your passes and the two boys pause, thinking of a dare for you as you take a shot (which, you have realized, only get harder to take as time passes).

“I have one,” Taehyung says at long last.

“Bro,” Jungkook groans, “if you just wanna fuck, let me know. I’ll leave. I don’t think I can sit here and watch you dare her to suck your face again.”

Taehyung laughs and shakes his head. “Easy there. I was just gonna suggest that you━” he points at you before nodding toward Jungkook, “give him a lap dance.”

“A what?” Jungkook’s jaw drops open, his eyes widening. “M-Me?”

You glance up at Taehyung, quirking an eyebrow. “Him?”

Taehyung erupts into another fit of laughter but he’s the only one who finds the situation hilarious because you and Jungkook continue to sit there, dumbfounded. When Taehyung calms himself down, he wipes his eyes and shakes his head.

“Are you seriously telling me you haven’t been noticing?” he asks.

“Noticing what?”

“The way Jungkook keeps eye-fucking you,” Taehyung says simply.

Jungkook gaps. “The fuck? I haven’t.”

“Jungkook, you’re not exactly sly,” Taehyung says. “He’s been doing it the whole night, babe. It’s not the first time he’s done it, too. I just figured we could do him a little favour.”

Your turn to look up at Jungkook and purse your lips. He’s seated in Taehyung’s desk chair and has a frown painted on his face. It’s not like it comes as a surprise to you because he’s constantly trying to flirt with you even when you’re sober but his sudden flustered appearance puzzles you slightly. You’ll admit the idea is ludicrous, but Jungkook is undeniably hot, and grinding on his dick sounds more than wonderful to you in your current state. Either way, you stand to your feet.

“I’ll do it,” You say. “Why not?”

“Wh-What?” Jungkook yelps. “You will?”

“Yeah,” You flash him a pearly smirk. “What? Is confident Jungkookie finally shy?”

At the mention of the taunting nickname, he straightens up in his seat and scowls. “No. I’m just surprised you gave in so easily. You must really like me, huh?”

“Keep dreaming, Jeon,” You retort.

The music is still playing in the background as you slink towards Jungkook’s seated figure. Meanwhile, Taehyung is watching with an amused look on his face and sits back, clearly enjoying the view as he tells you that you have three minutes. As you approach Jungkook, he leans back in his seat and watches you with dark eyes. Jungkook’s eyes sweep over your figure, from the way you muse your hands through your messy hair, your tight tank top with one strap falling down your shoulder, your lacy and scantily clad underwear, and your smooth legs. He gulps at the sight and shifts in his seat.

As soon as you’re standing in front of him, you whirl around so that your back is to him and jutt your butt out just enough to catch his attention as you sway your hips to the music. Your hands ghost up your sides just faintly enough so that chills run down your spine and you lock eyes with Taehyung for a split second to see him grinning. You sit back on Jungkook’s lap and his breath hitches in his throat suddenly. He hates to admit how easily you’re driving him crazy and as soon as you are but he takes the time to enjoy the dance anyway, eyes staying trained on your ass as you grind against him in agonizingly slow circles and right against his dick nestled against his thigh. He can’t help it when a moan emits from him.

“Fucking hell,” he grunts, raking his hands through his hair. You snicker at his reaction, craning your neck to look behind at him.

“Enjoying yourself, Kookie?”

“N-No,” he rasps. This is a lie, of course. “Turn around.”

His command only humours you but you don’t disobey. You get up for a second to spin around and face him before climbing back onto his lap, swinging one leg over his. Before you drop your hips completely on him, you’re rocking them back and forth against the thin air, your hands snaking around his neck. His hands suddenly find purchase on your waist and he yanks you down onto him with a sudden neediness that surprises you, though you don’t complain. You continue to grind against his lap and you can’t help your greedy self when your hands reach out to run up and down his toned chest. He shivers at your slightest touch, his jaw clenched, but he keeps his gaze focused on your eyes, as if challenging you for more. Behind you, Taehyung is taking another hit from the bong and laughs lightly at Jungkook’s reactions.

“Let him touch you,” Taehyung says.

You expect Jungkook to listen to Taehyung and reach out to grab onto you but he hesitates, his hands remaining at your hips. So, instead, you take his hands in yours and begin pulling them up, sliding them along your midriff and up to your chest. You don’t even flinch as you let him cup your boobs over your clothes and you watch him slyly as he gulps.

“Is this the first time you’ve actually touched a girl, Jungkook?” You quip. “You’re gawking at my boobs like it is. Not gonna wet yourself, hm?”

“Fuck off,” he growls, though there’s no malice in his voice.

Instead, he focuses his attention on your breasts and the weight of them in his palm. They’re soft and supple and he squeezes them firmly, jiggles the flesh as he fondles at you blatantly. He hates to admit it but he feels as if he’s going to combust at any second, repressing the sudden urge to tear off your shirt and burrow his head in your chest, your boobs in his mouth. He doesn’t know whether the soft moan that slips from your parted pink lips is intentional to mess with him or because you had been getting carried away yourself. Either way, Jungkook’s certain it’s the hottest thing he’s heard in a while, the hottest thing he’s seen in a while, and he hates how his sudden erection forms, how embarrassing it must be. When you feel his hardened length start to poke at your thigh, you look down at him past your lashes and smirk.

“Are you hard already, Kookie?” You giggle.

Taehyung roars with laughter abruptly and the outburst only makes Jungkook redden.

“I━I━” he stammers helplessly.

You shake your head at him and then purposely press your hips a little more firmly against his, gripping at his shoulders now. You’re challenging him now too, and he doesn’t know what you have in mind but you’re wickedly set on making him cum in his pants before Taehyung stops you.

“Time’s up,” he says.

Jungkook almost groans out loud in frustration when you pull away and step off of his lap. He’s embarrassingly hard now but his drunk self doesn’t try very hard to hide it. Taehyung’s stare is settled on Jungkook as you walk back to your seat but, before you can even sit down, Taehyung is beckoning you over.

“Come here, babe,” he hums. You look at him curiously but move in his direction. “What do you say we help Jungkook with his problem, huh?”

“Help? How?” You question.

“Come sit,” Taehyung gestures to his thigh.

Jungkook watches with silent seething jealousy as you take a seat on Taehyung’s thigh and then he’s kissing you, pressing his lips against your neck. You react almost instantly, your head craning to allow him more access and your eyes clamp shut, your mouth hanging open in delight.

“Tae━” You mewl, tugging at his hair, as if to prompt him wordlessly about Jungkook’s presence. But when does it become too much? Every action seems to keep building and building, that you know where the night surely must be heading; that you crave it.

Taehyung’s tongue swirls at your neck, his lips sucking on the sensitive skin, before he peeks one eye open to look at Jungkook.

“Look at him,” Taehyung hums against you. “Look at how jealous he is right now. Look at how bad he wants to be me right now.”

You take a moment to register his words, your head spinning. You struggle to find Jungkook as Taehyung continues to ravish your neck. Jungkook’s stare is hard, his jaw clenched; his hands are balled into tight fists that let you see the bulging veins in his arms. Is he jealous? Angry?

Taehyung suddenly bites down onto your neck and you gasp in surprise, leaning against his chest. His nimble fingers find the hem of your shirt which he lifts and discards on the floor with ease. Next to come off is your bra. You don’t realize your torso is bare until a slight breeze hits your breasts and perks your nipples and Taehyung reaches up to cup the soft tissue in his large hands and Jungkook can’t look away because, fuck, touching you is all he really wants to do.

“Do you see him staring now?” Taehyung asks. “Do you see how desperate he is for you? Look at how bad he wants to touch you right now, baby girl. Will you let him?”

You’re still staring at Jungkook as Taehyung speaks and note how fast Jungkook’s demeanour has changed. He looks helpless, his erection more prominent in his straining jeans which he shamelessly palms at to feel some sort of relief.

“Better yet,” Taehyung hums, averting your attention back to him. He’s sliding one of his hands down your front and in between your legs, pushing your thighs apart. His digits come in contact with your clothed pussy and the sudden touch, light and feathery, makes you jump and gasp. You hadn’t been aware of how wet you had been until he touched you just then and the coil in your stomach only tightens with each passing second. “Will you let him play with you?”

It takes you a second to respond, though that isn’t because you’re struggling to decide. The thought entices you far more than you ever believed it could. Taehyung is suddenly rubbing his fingers against your clothed clit in so very slow circles that it suddenly has you tripping over your own thoughts. You’re biting hard onto your lower lip as you force yourself to nod hastily.

“Do you want him to?” Taehyung asks.

“Fuck, yes,” You whine. “Mmm, Tae━”

Taehyung shifts you in his lap so that your back is pressed against his chest, leaning all your weight against him. It’s hard to focus as one of his hands fondles one of your breasts while his other presses figure eights onto your clit. You’re on full display for Jungkook now, though his eyes fall to the wet spot that forms on your pretty little underwear as your arousal leaks from you.

“How badly do you want him to?” Taehyung asks.

“So badly,” You whimper.

This catches Jungkook’s attention and he leans forward in his seat. Taehyung smirks against you and then he’s moving, withdrawing his hand from between your thighs to hook around the waistband of your underwear. He gives it a quick tug and you fumble to lift your hips so he can pull the useless fabric down your legs. Once it pools at your feet, you kick it off to the side and then Taehyung’s hand returns between your thighs.

“Spread your legs,” he says.

You do as you’re told, pushing your thighs apart but then instinctively squeezing them shut when Taehyung continues to press his fingers against your clit. The sudden stimulation is too much for you and your face begins to heat up so Taehyung uses the chance to push your legs apart for you. He hitches one of your thighs over his own as if to anchor you in place and it works.

“Can you stay like that for me, baby?” Taehyung drawls. “Look at Jungkook for me.”

You nod, your throat dry as you lift your gaze to lock eyes once more with Jungkook. You find the boy gawking at your sex and you moan suddenly. His head snaps up to stare at you with a sudden blazing determination and lust in his eyes before they fall once more to your pussy, admiring the way it pulsates each time Taehyung swipes at your clit or tweaks at your nipples. But the best part? The best part is just how wet you are, your clear juices coating Taehyung’s fingers, spilling onto yours and Taehyung’s thighs with the passing seconds, and suddenly Jungkook is hungry for you. But what he doesn’t know is how you suddenly imagine Jungkook in Taehyung’s place, sat beneath you poised daintily on his lap, his fingers pressing against you.

You twist on top of Taehyung, your own hand reaching up to grasp at your other breast, pinching at the nipple tightly. A delighted moan fumbles from your lips. “Jungkook━ Fuck━”

“It’s nice, yeah?” Taehyung asks aloud to the other boy. “She’s pretty, hm?”

Jungkook nods eagerly and then groans. “She’s dripping. Fuck, it’s so hot.”

Your face burns at his words but you don’t have enough wits to think of a snarky retort like usual.

Taehyung chuckles. “Why don’t you come here then and touch her? Taste her? Is that okay, baby?”

When you realize Taehyung is asking you, you nod eagerly. “Shit, please━ Jungkook, wanna feel you━”

At your request, Jungkook practically tumbles out of his seat. As soon as he’s standing on his feet, the realization seems to hit him and he takes his time, walking to you slowly. His gaze sweeps over your exposed body and he licks his lips, his eyes suddenly darkening. Taehyung doesn’t stop touching you or marking your neck his even as Jungkook walks closer and it hits you in that moment what exactly you’re doing and who you’re with ━ and you fucking love it. Jungkook kneels down in front of you and Taehyung nods in encouragement.

“She’s impatient and feisty,” Taehyung informs. “But that makes her fun to tease.”

“I know how to pleasure a girl,” Jungkook quips.

“But you don’t know how to pleasure Y/N,” Taehyung replies. “You’re too cocky, Jungkookie, and she doesn’t like that. You need to take your time with her and you don’t do that often with girls, do you?”

Jungkook doesn’t respond but, judging by his face, you assume Taehyung is right.

“What do you want me to do?” Jungkook asks. He’s staring at your face now and only your face. His intense stare makes you squirm on Taehyung’s lap, and makes you suck your lower lip between your teeth.

“Touch me,” You rasp. “Touch me, please, Jungkook.”

God, how he loves hearing you moan his name. But the anticipation is killing you. You’ve felt Taehyung’s fingers plenty of time; you’ve never felt Jungkook’s, and the abrupt need seems to grow more intense with each passing second.

“You heard her, Jungkookie,” Taehyung says. He draws his hand away from your heat and kisses your neck softly. “Go on. Touch her. Be gentle, go slow.”

Jungkook is shaking with excitement ━ or maybe it’s just the weed and alcohol in his bloodstream ━ but he eyes you carefully, gnawing down on his lower lip. He reaches out at a tedious pace and hesitates, his fingers hovering over your core. Taehyung is watching with eager eyes whilst planting open mouthed kisses along your shoulders, neck, and jawline. Jungkook finally presses his fingers against your pussy and your reaction is immediate. You toss your head back against Taehyung’s shoulder and jutt your hips forward.

“Nnngh, fuck, Kook━” You whimper. “M-More━ Wanna feel more━”

Jungkook takes that as a good sign and follows after Taehyung, rubbing circles into your clit slowly. He feels just how wet you are, his fingers coating with your cum as they move with ease past your folds, and it’s enough to let the wave of glee wash over him again.

“See? Look how much she loves it already,” Taehyung says. “Keep going.”

Jungkook doesn’t need to be told twice. As he rubs his fingers over your clit, his other hand comes up in a greedy fashion. He can’t stop himself from slipping a finger past your folds and it takes all you can not to moan out loud but you give up on the prospect of remaining quiet when it feels so good to have both boys on you.

“Let him know how you feel, baby,” Taehyung purs. “How he’s making you feel.”

You struggle to find your voice momentarily, too caught up with the lust and desire but then a cry of delight falls from your lips. “Fuck, ah, Jungkook! That feels s-so good━”

Jungkook’s head snaps up to look at you in pure disbelief.

“Holy shit, that’s so fucking hot,” he huffs. “I never thought you’d moan my name and now you’re so wet and tight and for me━”

“And me,” Taehyung admonishes offhandedly.

Jungkook doesn’t reply but that’s mostly because he’s suddenly fixated on curling his finger inside of you and watching your every reaction. Your hips jut forward and you cry out, panting at the blissful feeling but it isn’t enough. You need more, and you need more now. As if Taehyung can read your mind, he chimes in again, disrupting yours and Jungkook’s reverie.

“Why don’t you have a taste of her?” he asks. “You won’t regret it.”

Jungkook’s eyes light up and he watches as you nod eagerly, desperate pleas coming from your mouth. Jungkook lowers himself down between your thighs and you wait with bated breath before he’s licking a clean stripe against your folds with his flattened tongue. The sudden slippery warmth has your body writhing in pleasure.

“Jungkook━” You cry out. “Oh my god━”

Jungkook grins. Then he’s licking at you again, tasting your sweet succulence, and groans into your hot core.

“Shit,” Jungkook huffs. “You taste amazing.”

He nibbles down slightly on your clit without warning and tugs. You instantly jerk into his mouth, a strangled moan ripping from your throat that sounds something like a scold of his name and a desperate plea for more. “Jungkook!”

Taehyung snickers against your neck and you can feel Jungkook’s lips curl into a taunting smirk between your thighs. Jungkook’s finger still curls deep within you as his tongue returns to lapping at your clit and you can feel his nose brushing against you the deeper he burrows into you. Meanwhile, Taehyung is continuing to ravish your neck, his hands tweaking at your nipples. The onslaught of senses is so much for you that you nearly scream when Jungkook’s tongue dips into your heat so suddenly to accompany his finger. He laps at you hungrily and you gasp, your breath stuttering as your hands come down to tug hard in his raven locks, your hips bucking forward and into his mouth. It feels fantastic, too incredible for you to put into words, as you feel the wetness of his tongue lap at your walls and suddenly you’re aware of just how susceptible you are to both of the boys near you.

“Fuck, don’t stop, Jungkook,” You moan.

“Now who’s the needy one?” Jungkook coos against your cunt. “Gonna cum on my tongue?”

“P-Please━ Want it so badly, Kook━”

He smacks his lips against you, taking as much as he can of you into his mouth and sucking hard until all you hear are the lewd wet sounds of his tongue and finger working miracles against you. You’re clutching his hair so tight, pushing him closer into your heat but he doesn’t relent. One of his hands comes up to hold onto your waist, to push you firmly back onto Taehyung’s lap and closer into Jungkook’s mouth. You can feel Taehyung’s budding erection poking against your thigh and it’s enough to make you flustered once more.

In an attempt to help Taehyung, you find yourself grinding not only into Jungkook’s mouth but onto Taehyung’s lap, earning a growl into your neck. Taehyung’s free hand comes up to your chin which he grabs roughly. He forces you to look at him and then he’s smashing his lips onto yours in a heated fashion for an entirely ungraceful kiss. It’s needy and hot, completely open mouthed as your tongues mingle in the air and as Taehyung sucks on your lower lip. Yet you tear your gaze from Taehyung to look down at Jungkook as he buries himself further into your pussy, his nose nuzzling against your clit. You’re dripping by now and you can see your own juices smear onto his lips, dribble down to his chin, and it’s the hottest thing you could ever imagine seeing. He doesn’t seem to care as it spills down his neck and suddenly the mere sight has you squirming again. You part from Taehyung’s mouth with a wet pop that rings in your ears and moan.

“Fuck━ nghn, I━I━ think I’m close,” You whimper.

“Fuuck, yes,” Jungkook growls against you.

“Let it go, baby,” Taehyung hums, nibbling at your ear. “Cum for him, for us.”

Jungkook’s pace quickens, pumping his finger faster in you and sucking at your clit until you have no more strength to hold off. Your hands fumble in his hair, trying desperately to pull him closer, and you hate how badly you want your sweet release already. It doesn’t help when Taehyung twists your body ever so slightly so that he can lean down to your breasts and catch one of your nipples between his teeth. His tongue swishes back and forth against the perked bud and you whimper again, the coil in your stomach tightening and loosening.

You’re so close now and Jungkook can hear it, can feel it, can taste it. You don’t have much longer after that before your orgasm is hitting you hard.

“I’m gonna━” You reach out to grasp at Jungkook’s hair, tugging at the roots. “Fuck, Jungkook━”

You cry out suddenly, the coil in your stomach springing apart. Jungkook moans into your pussy as you cum, pulsating around his tongue and finger and dripping into his mouth. You’re reduced to nothing but a whimpering, writhing mess against Taehyung as you buck back and forth into Jungkook’s mouth to ride out your high. Taehyung pulls apart from you to rub circles into your hips and the seemingly gentle move somehow soothes the intense wave of pleasure into something much sweeter. Fire burns at your core and flicks outward until your whole body is warm and numb and then you collapse against Taehyung’s chest, panting hard. Jungkook drinks up every last bit of you and you begin to cringe at the oversensitivity before you gain some of your wits again. You push his head away hastily and this time he relents.

“Did all your little happy wet dreams finally come true, Jeon?” You snicker languidly.

The boy sits back on his knees and looks up at you, locking gazes with yours. You can finally see his face, his tousled black hair, his swollen red lips, and chin, all of which are covered in your perfect sheen. He licks at his lips and wipes at his chin and neck where his tongue can’t reach and he does all of this without breaking eye contact with you. A small smirk forms on his face and suddenly you’re filled with an intense need for payback.

“Yeah, you act confident now but you seemed to enjoy it when you were riding my face,” Jungkook says. You roll your eyes, about to reply before he adds, “So, you’re welcome.”

“You’re impossible,” You huff, pushing yourself off of Taehyung’s lap.

“Where do you think you’re going, baby?” Taehyung mewls behind you. “We still need you.”

“Oh, I know,” You quip. You reach down to grab onto Jungkook’s chin, forcing him to look up at you. “But it’s my turn, don’t you think, Tae?”

Taehyung chuckles and nods in agreement. Jungkook, however, hardly looks bothered, though he seems a little taken aback by your sudden assertiveness when you begin pulling him up to his feet before pushing him back onto the bed. Taehyung scoots over so that the three of you can fit comfortably on his bed and then you’re moving, crawling over to Jungkook on your hands and knees.

“Are you trying to intimidate me?” Jungkook asks. “Because this is sexier than it is scary.”

You’re hovering over his crotch when he speaks, your greedy hands reaching forward to brush against his hard dick straining in his jeans. He nearly jolts in his seat at the sudden touch and you and Taehyung giggle again.

“Mmm, baby, teach him a lesson,” Taehyung hums. “Suck him off nice and slow but don’t let him cum.”

“Not unless he begs for it,” You say wickedly.

Taehyung stifles a chuckle. “I told you she’s feisty, Jungkookie.”

The younger boy is eyeing you carefully as you busy yourself by undoing the belt buckle on his jeans. He acts unimpressed, unfazed, as you unbutton his jeans and began sliding them off his legs, but you can see the needy and impatient glint in his eyes. Your eyes fall immediately to the ever present straining bulge in his boxers and you gulp in response, licking your lips. You can’t help yourself when you reach out to brush your fingers faintly along his length. He jolts in his seat and grits his teeth, shooting you a hard glare.

“Are you seriously going to tease me?” Jungkook grumbles. “We can skip all of that, y’know━”

“It’s payback, Jeon,” You hum, running your fingers down his dick and then back up again. “Where’s the fun in it if I skip all of the teasing?”

“You know,” Taehyung murmurs from beside you. He’s reclining back, watching you with intense eyes and is completely shameless about his prominent erection contained by his boxers. “I’m surprised the idiot hasn’t referred to his dick yet as Jungcock.”

You giggle, an all too innocent and sweet sound for the way you’re palming at Jungkook’s dick. Jungkook, who is apparently having a rather difficult time keeping up with his surroundings while your fingers continue to work against him, scoffs. His eyebrows knit together as he throws a beady glare at the older boy.

“You’re ruining the mood,” he grunts.

Taehyung clicks his tongue against his teeth, a smirk tugging at his luscious lips. “Of course. I digress.”

You turn your attention back to Jungkook who’s staring down at your hand with parted lips and a crease in his brows. Without warning, you grasp him through his boxers and he groans suddenly, bucking forward. The desperation of his situation only seems to increase in severity when you peel back the elastic band of his boxers and slide them off his legs, finally freeing his dick which springs out from it’s confines. He’s much bigger than you expected, his tip angry and red, leaking with pearly beads that dribble down his length and the bulging veins that line it.

“You’re staring again,” Jungkook hums when he notices you pause, your eyes wide. “Sure you don’t like what you see?”

You shake yourself from your daze and frown. “Shut up.”

The boy starts to chuckle at your flustered expression but yelps when you clasp your fingers around the base of his cock. A beautiful moan falls from his lips and excites you even more. You start pumping him slowly, guiding your hands up and down his length in careful and measured motions, wiping your thumb across his tip each time you reach it. Jungkook shudders in your touch, his teeth coming down to gnaw hard on his lower lip. His eyes are glued to your hands working against him, his face scrunching up in pure euphoria.

“Mmm, fuck,” he grunts, his head lolling back. “Stop teasing me and go faster.”

You don’t listen. If anything, you slow your pace and it has him so frustrated that he lets an involuntary whimper escape him. He bucks into your clenched hand, practically begging for more but remains quiet, safe for his heavy panting.

“You heard her, Kook,” Taehyung says. “Beg for her.”

“There’s no way I’m begging,” Jungkook hisses through gritted teeth. “Never. I never have and never will.”

“Bullshit,” You scoff. You fondle at his balls with your other hand and he moans again. Your hand comes to a complete halt all of a sudden, interrupting Jungkook as he is about to speak. Before he can protest, you lean down and lick at his tip, swirling your tongue around him once to taste his saltiness. His hips rut forward into you but you pull back almost immediately and find Jungkook gaping. You meet his desperate eyes for a steady gaze. “Beg. Just once, Jungkookie.”

Jungkook’s stare wavers as you run your fingers along his tip, squeezing slightly. He tries to compose himself, to remain calm, but when you are relentless, he caves very easily. He only gives in when you kiss the base of his cock. And those eyes ━ fuck, the way your eyes turn so wide and already look so fucked out. How could he resist you?

“Fuck, fuck, okay,” he gasps. “I need more, baby, please. Ah, please━ You feel so fucking good.”

His needy pleas satisfy you and your lips curl into a devious grin. You lower yourself on him suddenly, licking a clean stripe up his length and he moans loudly. You enclose your mouth around his tip and suck, earning a small growl from him as he pushes his hips forward for more. In the next second, you sink your mouth down his length, taking as much of him as you can.

“Fuck!” he moans abruptly. “Ahh, shit, that feels amazing, baby.”

You hollow out your cheeks as you pull your head up and then back down, starting at an even pace that has him moaning and writhing beneath you. He feels much bigger in your mouth but you don’t mind even when he bucks himself into you unexpectedly and hits the back of your throat. The action makes you gag around him and, in return, he curses at the way it feels.

“K-Keep doing that,” he mumbles. “Please, fuck, just like that.”

His fingers thread in your hair and he pulls you down greedily on him but you don’t refuse.

“Can you do it, baby girl?” Taehyung questions. His hand finds his way on your back where he rubs gentle circles into your skin. “Can you take all of him in your mouth?”

You nod carefully around Jungkook’s hardened length.

“Good girl,” Taehyung smirks. “Go slow.”

You follow his orders, sinking gradually onto Jungkook until you feel the tip of him hitting the back of your throat. You gag once more but, instead of pulling back, you shut your eyes and take a few deep breaths in through your nose. In, out, in, out, and then you swallow. Jungkook’s reaction is sudden and intense. He bucks into your mouth unwillingly and moans even louder, his fingers clutching at your roots.

“That’s it, baby,” Taehyung hums and his sudden presence is comforting.

“A-Again,” Jungkook stammers. “Again, please━ holy shit, you feel amazing.”

You swallow again and then a third and each time you can feel yourself sinking lower onto him. Tears prickle at your eyes as your nose is suddenly pressed against his lower abdomen but his reactions are well worth it and so you continue.

“You’re doing so well, baby,” Taehyung says, planting a chaste kiss against your shoulder. “You deserve some more attention, hm?”

His fingers slowly rub circles down your back, his lips following your arch and has you shivering beneath him, before stopping at the dip just above your ass. He’s kneeling behind you now, his fingers massaging into your thighs. You sigh against Jungkook when you feel Taehyung’s fingers continue their trek to your ass, rubbing you carefully. You, in response, push your hips back, waiting for more.

“You’re still so wet, baby,” Taehyung says. “I bet you’d come with one touch of my finger.”

With Jungkook buried hilt deep inside your mouth, you’re hardly prepared for when Taehyung slips his fingers underneath to your folds. It’s embarrassing to admit how right he is. You react instantly, moaning around Jungkook and jutting your hips back for more. The simple vibration has Jungkook groaning, his hips bucking forward. You hadn’t even been aware of just how wet you are before Taehyung pointed it out but then you can feel it, pulsing out of you and dripping down the top of your inner thighs.

“But you need more, don’t you?” Taehyung asks. “How about my cock? Will you let me fuck you, baby girl?”

You nod eagerly, the simple question exciting you even more. Taehyung chuckles and leans down to press a kiss to the arch of your back.

“But you’ll have to be good and keep pleasuring Jungkook too, okay?” Taehyung says.

You hum in response and swallow around Jungkook as if to tell both boys that you have no plans on stopping. Jungkook twitches inside you and scrunches his eyes shut.

“Fuck, Taehyung,” he grumbles. “Hurry up. Any time you touch her, she swallows. It feels so good.”

Taehyung snickers but he takes his time. He runs his fingers up and down your folds until you’re moaning needily against Jungkook. You look over your shoulder to see Taehyung’s fingers wrapped around his own hardened and pulsating erection, pumping himself a few times as he stares at you carefully. He positions himself behind you and takes the chance to run his tip and length along your folds. You whimper suddenly, hoping your desperate noises will spur him on.

“You want more, baby?” Taehyung asks.

You hum again, your voice muffled and hoarse.

“Okay,” he sighs. “Only because you’ve been so good.”

You have no time to brace yourself from the sudden impact of feelings. He doesn’t do much except for push himself into you, past your folds. It’s only just the tip and yet your heart jolts in your chest, the coil in your stomach tightens. It feels so good to finally have something of larger girth in you that you gap, simultaneously sinking down further onto Jungkook. The two boys grunt above you, both of them panting hard.

“You feel so good, baby,” Taehyung mumbles. “Fuck, you’re so wet.”

He leans down to press a kiss against your shoulder, his other hand coming up to rest on the dip of your lower back to guide you. He slowly, so very slowly, pushes himself into you, inch by inch, so you can feel the way he stretches you open, feel the way he buries into you. Your leaking arousal only proves to be of an advantage, letting him easily push into you without any trouble. Your fingers grip the bed sheets beneath you in an ironclad grip and you squeak when he’s finally buried hilt deep within you. You nearly gag around Jungkook again, who’s still panting and writhing above you, but the way Taehyung’s tongue marks patterns into your shoulder comforts you. You whine against Jungkook, pushing your hips back for more and the simplicity of your action has Taehyung’s breath hitching in his throat.

“So warm,” he grunts and then sighs against your back. “You always feel so amazing.”

He still hasn’t moved and you’re beginning to grow impatient, distraught over the feeling of him rock hard inside you but unmoving. You debate pulling apart from Jungkook to yell at Taehyung but you assume he can understand your haste judging by the way your body writhes beneath him, your fingers clench into fists. He pulls out in one languid movement, his breath stuttering, until only his tip is left before he pushes himself back in, equally as slow. He sets at a steady, easy pace that, at the very least, lets you grasp onto some sensible thoughts and pushes you to keep pleasing Jungkook. Jungkook can’t take it anymore; he starts rutting his hips up into your mouth with gritted teeth. It’s a hot, erotic mess of mingled moans and groans but you never want it to stop ━ in fact, you want more.

“You like that, baby?” Taehyung grunts.

You nod hurriedly, humming in response.

“Ah, fuck━” Taehyung groans. “Want it harder?”

You nod once more, this time eagerly. When Taehyung pulls back one more time, he slams himself back into you without any warning and you jerk forward, sinking down onto Jungkook. The younger boy moans, his head lolling back as his fingers twisting in your hair. You don’t expect Taehyung to do the same thing again, pull out slowly and then push himself back in with more force, but he does, and he repeats the action again and again until he abandons it for a whole new pace. Soon, he’s thrusting into you hard and fast but always making sure his hips reconnect with yours before pulling out so you can feel him practically in your throat.

“Like being fucked like this?” Taehyung asks. “You like being used like a little slut?”

His thrusts are relentless suddenly, jerking your body and back and forth until he’s fucking you in a way that has you sucking off Jungkook just right so that you hardly have to put in any effort. Although his hard thrusts feel amazing, each time you’re pushed forward, you sink further down onto Jungkook unwillingly and that, paired with the way Jungkook frantically fucks himself into your mouth, you nearly gag each time as he hits the back of your throat, drool pooling at your lips and dribbling down your chin. Tears prick at your eyes from the feeling and it’s too pleasing to quit, to pull away from Jungkook just yet. Jungkook’s staring down at you when he notices your scrunched up face. You’re surprised when his hand finds your cheek, his thumb brushing reassuringly into your cheekbone.

“You’re doing so━ ah, fuck━ so well, baby,” he rasps.

You can taste the saltiness of precum on the tip of your tongue and you wonder how close he is. You have no qualms in finishing him off then and there but soon the pleasure you’re receiving from Taehyung becomes too much. Soon, he’s hitting you at an angle that shakes something in you. You pull apart from Jungkook with a loud pop, saliva and cum coating his length and your lips, and a gasp wretches from your throat.

“Fuck!” You cry hoarsely. “Ah, T-Taehyung!”

You’re too weak to push yourself up and end up burying your head in Jungkook’s lower abdomen, feeling the heat consume you. You’re near numb, senseless, as you let Taehyung ravish your body, fuck you hard into the mattress and Jungkook. It’s a frantic build up, an intense wave of emotions that you seem to pass through, and you can hardly bring yourself to react. All you can hear is the sound of moaning and skin against skin and the heat seems to make its way up to your head, making you warm and fuzzy. Jungkook gently pulls at your face, lifting you up and bringing you to him so that he can smash his lips onto yours and all you can taste is bitter liquor, you, and him, but that doesn’t stop him from sucking on your lower lip even when you pull apart to moan and gasp.

“T-Tae,” You sob. “Fuck, Tae, I━I’m c━close━”

“Cum for me, baby girl,” he murmurs. “Let me hear you.”

You shake your head frantically at the sensitive sting between your legs still raw from your orgasm from Jungkook, shutting your eyes. Taehyung’s hands find their way onto your hips and he pulls you down his length until you’re balls deep and pauses. He lifts your hips and you can feel him twitch inside you that it even makes your own thighs tremble and shake. You’re sure you’ll collapse on him if he doesn’t hold onto you and he must realize this too because he grips your hips tight to continue thrusting into you. Soon you’re tumbling towards your high. Taehyung’s pumps are frantic, growing sloppy with each passing second, as he pushes you to yours and his high. The coil snaps in your stomach again and you’re in a moment of freefall where you’re stunned by the wave of pleasure. Then, Taehyung is bringing you back down to reality with his hard thrusts, the way he moans, and the lewd wet sounds of him pumping himself into you.

“Ah, T-Tae━” You whimper. “So good, fuck━”

His name falls from your lips in a repeated mantra. You crumble beneath him, collapsing entirely against Jungkook, who’s brushing your hair away from your face. You’re shaking with each touch, your walls pulsing around Taehyung and clenching hard. He moans and curses behind you and you know he must be close to his high because he, too, is fumbling for it. His thrusts are even more hasty and soon he’s reaching his climax. His moans increase in volume and his thrusts become sloppier until he finally pulls his cock from your walls and nearly collapses against your back.

With his hand clenched tightly around his shaft, he jerks himself off until he’s releasing onto your back in white hot spurts. He’s panting hard, sweat coating his forehead, but he takes the time to press chaste kisses along your back and shoulders as the two of you attempt to calm your shrill hearts. It’s silent in the room for a moment despite your panting breaths. Taehyung takes a moment to grab his discarded shirt and wipe at the mess he’s made before he collapses next to you at long last with a huff of air. You moan wearily, rolling off of Jungkook to lay on your back between the two.

“God, you’re amazing,” Taehyung sighs.

You giggle up at the boy and lean towards him to kiss. His fingers rake in your hair and a few silent seconds pass before you’re nearly back to an even breathing pace. That’s when you notice Jungkook, his hand gripped tightly around his still painfully hard dick.

“Jungkook,” You pur his name, catching his attention. “What are you doing?”

“What does it look like?” he quips.

“It’s your turn,” Taehyung points out. Jungkook glances at Taehyung and then down at you, quirking an eyebrow.

“W-Well, I just thought━” Jungkook stammers. “I just thought you’ve had enough. It’s okay, you don’t have to.”

“I call bullshit again,” You scoff.

“Baby girl,” Taehyung hums, “do you want Jungkookie to fuck you?”

You nod eagerly but Jungkook doesn’t seem too convinced, or maybe he’s hesitant. Taehyung’s eyeing him closely, curiously, before he gaps. He bursts out into a fit of chuckles, earning both yours and Jungkook’s attention.

“Shit, of course,” Taehyung grins. “He’s probably gonna let go the minute he’s in you. You’re close, hm?”

“Only because she’s already been down on me,” Jungkook grumbles.

“You know that’s not it,” Taehyung replies. “You’ve been wanting this forever.”

Jungkook’s eyes suddenly darken as he glares at the older boy. “Taehyung.”

“Wait, what?” You ask, turning to gawk at both.

“Jungkook has a little crush on you,” Taehyung smirks. “This is all he’s ever wanted. I bet he’ll bust a nut the second he fucks you and he’s embarrassed.”

You gasp as you turn to face Jungkook who looks entirely disgruntled but you’re more shocked about the fact that Jungkook likes you than anything else. Jungkook, notoriously arrogant fuckboy, who’s seemingly made it his mission to give you a headache every waking moment by trying to flirt with you. And maybe you’ve always sort of known it; maybe you’ve always sort of felt the same.

“That’s not true!” Jungkook protests. “I━I━ Well, Tae hardly finishes when he’s with another girl. He’s jacked off to the thought of you before, too━”

Taehyung starts. “Fuck off━”

You’re stuck between the bickering boys, staring up at both of them with a dumbfounded expression. Before either boy can strangle the other, you’re speaking up and interrupting them.

“I don’t mind,” You say. “I’m just… surprised.”

Both boys are silent now, aggravated probably, and you giggle. You reach up to rake your fingers in Taehyung’s hair and then look up at Jungkook, using your other hand to grab onto his chin once more and force him to face you.

“Come here, you idiot,” You drawl. “I want you to fuck me. Wanna feel your dick.”

Jungkook seems taken aback but then his eyes are sweeping down your body and he writhes in his seat. Before he can protest, you’re pulling him down onto you to kiss. It’s passionate and rough but hot altogether as your lips smack against one anothers. Jungkook’s desperate situation seems to hit him again, especially when you snake one of your hands down to his length and wrap your fingers around him to jerk him off. He pulls apart from you, gulping.

“Fuck, okay, okay,” he gasps. “I need to be in you right now, please.”

You and Taehyung smirk as Jungkook shifts around on the bed to kneel between your legs. He pauses, glancing up at you once more and noting the way you bite your lower lip seductively, before finally pushing himself in. He goes slow, but not as gradual as Taehyung. You can still feel him stretching you open and he groans. He seems to slide the rest of the way in with a lewd squelch sound because of just how wet you are and then he’s buried balls deep, fitting so snug within you.

“Holy shit,” he whines. “You weren’t kidding, Tae. She feels amazing.”

Taehyung hums in agreement. “What does she feel like? Let her know, Kookie.”

Jungkook squeezes his eyes shut momentarily to focus. “Wet,” he hisses through gritted teeth. “Warm, tight ━ fuck, so tight.”

He marvels at the feeling, wonders how you can still clench so tightly around him despite being stretched wide by Taehyung. He bows his head to rest in the crook of your neck and moans. His words are enough to spur on your own reaction and you whimper against him.

“Oh, fuck, Jungkook━”

The sensitivity you feel in your core met with his hard cock makes you cringe but simultaneously pleases you and you’re bucking your hips for more. He groans at the feeling, his hands flying down to grip your hips. He’s big, stretching you wide, but you feel anything but pain except for the sharp burning sensation as the intensity of your past orgasms start to hit you. He rolls his hips back and then thrusts into you so hard that you yelp and jerk back on the bed.

“Go easy on her, Jungkook,” Taehyung admonishes. “She’s not a doll.”

“I’m sorry,” Jungkook sighs, nipping at your throat. “You just feel so good, Y/N.”

“I’m okay,” You reassure. You feel his length twitch within you and your head lolls back. “Fuck, I feel more than okay.”

“Can we try something?” Taehyung asks.

He receives two weak nods in response. Jungkook pauses, shifts the two of you until he’s on his back and you’re straddling his hips, his dick never once slipping from your core. The older boy grabs onto you and yanks you onto his hips.

“What do you say we give Y/N the pleasure she deserves?” he asks. He pushes his length past your folds and is rewarded by the sound of your moans as your jaw unhinges. “Think you can handle both of us, baby?”

“Fuck, yes,” You gasp.

Jungkook seems just as enticed by this. He’s careful as he pushes his cock into you and your reaction is explosive. With Taehyung already stretching you wide, you wonder how Jungkook will fit but it’s snug and perfect. You can feel him stretching you further, inch by glorious inch, and he hasn’t even begun moving when your walls clench around the two of them. Taehyung hisses in your ear and Jungkook pauses at once, sputtering for air, giving you time to adjust. When Jungkook pushes himself further into your cunt, rubbing against Taehyung’s cock and your own walls, you can’t help the delicious moan that falls from your lips.

“Oh my god,” You whimper. “Fuck, fuck, that feels so fucking good━”

It’s such a sticky, hot mess, and all you can hear is the sound of guttural moans and grunts. You jut your hips forward, a silent plea for something more. Jungkook’s hand grasps at your ass and then he’s pulling out. He growls suddenly, thrusting his hips forward and the sensation suddenly overwhelms you. As he picks up a pace that leaves you breathless, Taehyung slowly thrusts into you and the pleasure becomes too much. Your hands reach out to grab at anything, fingers digging eagerly into Jungkook’s chest, Taehyung’s sides.

“Oh, fuck,” Jungkook grunts. His face is scrunched in pleasure and concentration, his mouth hanging open.

“You’re doing so well, baby,” Taehyung growls. “You like being stretched wide like this, huh? Such a good girl too. Fuck━”

He’s sweating, but so are you, and all you can hear is the sound of yours and the boys’ moans, the vulgar wet slap with each thrust Jungkook makes. It’s only amplified with each small leisurely thrust Taehyung makes into your throbbing pussy, his dick rubbing against Jungkook’s with each thrust. Your walls tighten around Jungkook and Taehyung as the seconds pass and you know you’re already close to your third orgasm of the night but you try to hold off despite the room spinning. All you can do is lay there for Jungkook to ravish and control, for Taehyung to enjoy, too caught up in the moment. Your breasts bounce wildly with each thrust Jungkook makes and his gaze seems fixated on your chest before flickering down to watch himself disappear inside you each time. Taehyung is raking his fingers through your hair, soothing you through your next climax and it’s close.

“Fuck,” Jungkook hisses, panting hard. “I’m not gonna last.”

You push your hips forward as if to probe him on and he growls.

“No, shit, let me enjoy this, baby,” he whines. “Ah, so tight━”

He’s grumbling to himself, cursing under his breath and you smirk tiredly. Jungkook leans his head down to kiss at your chest, catching one of your nipples in his warm mouth. His tongue swishes back and forth over the perked bud and your chest arches into his face. Your fingers are clutching tight at his hair even as he obeys and adds more force with each thrust, slowly picking up his pace. His mouth widens and he sinks lower on your breast, humming against you in pleasure. Taehyung’s own pace quickens. It’s not as relentless as Jungkook’s but he makes sure to help aid you to your high, ramming his hips into yours until both their cocks slip into a seamless pattern. All you can focus on is the crude wetness, the way their dicks threaten to slip from your hold at how sloppy and wrecked your cunt becomes.

“Ah, yes,” You hiss. “Fuck, yes, yes━ So good, oh my god━ Right there━”

Your voice is cut off by a loud moan. You feel the familiar wave hit you once more and this time you hardly have any strength to fight it off or welcome it.

“I can’t━” You wail suddenly. “Fuck, I can’t━ I’m gonna cum━”

You’re fumbling for words to warn him that you’re close before you’re cuming around them. Their names wrench from your throat in no discernible pattern, accompanied by vulgar curses. Your body writhes between the two boys, your chest arching into his mouth, your legs tightening around Jungkook’s waist.

“You’re doing so well, baby,” Jungkook coos. “Come on, wanna feel you cream all over us━”

Stars form behind your eyelids and explode into galaxies as they swirl down your spine and to the tip of your toes, making them and your fingers curl in delight. Your vision grows blurry and tears stream down your face at the build up of pressure finally being released for the third time and you can’t help it when your mantra turns into delighted sobs and whimpers. You’re clenched so tight that Jungkook feels as if he hardly has any space to move and the confinement of his length has him gasping. He pulls apart from your breast to watch your scrunched up face with hooded eyes. He moans again, and desperately leans down to suck at your jawline.

You’re too spent to keep up with him or Taehyung as he helps you further to your high but you know Jungkook is close when his thrusts become messy, quick spurts. You gasp each time he thrusts up into you until he’s finally cuming.

“Shit,” he hisses. “Gonna cum━ Gonna let us fill you up, baby?”

“Please, please, wanna feel it,” You mewl.

He slams his hips into yours and stills for a moment as he releases into you in one hot wave and emits a beautiful moan of your name. You’re panting hard even as he rides out both your highs with a few more incredibly sloppy pumps before he finally collapses against your chest. The two of you are struggling to catch your breaths, your heart beating in your ears.

The room is silent, blissful, and it takes you a few moments of basking in it before you’ve regained your breath. Your fingers rake in Jungkook’s soft and sweaty hair and you hum in content. His mouth presses a few open mouthed and hot kisses along your neck and jawline before connecting with your own mouth. This time, the kiss is chaste and you smile against his lips before he’s pulling out of you. You moan at the missing feeling of his warmth and the way his own cum leaks from your core, down Taehyung’s cock, and your own thighs.

But Taehyung isn’t done. He thrusts up into you to ride out his own high, pushing Jungkook’s release back into you. His pace is steady, deep, and all you can both do is moan and gasp for air.

“Fuck, Tae,” You rasp tiredly. “Cum for me, baby.”

The boy gasps for air, nearly fumbling behind you to reach his high. “Gonna make this pussy mine. Fuuck━”

When Taehyung finally reaches his own high, it’s in another sticky stream of hot cum, each fluid mingling with the other in a pitiful mess. He pulls his slackened length from you and you whimper at sudden the loss, core and legs aching. As you slide onto the bed between the two tired and breathless boys, Jungkook wipes at your glistening core with a shirt and you sigh in content.

“Why haven’t we done that before?” You gasp, earning a chuckle from both. Jungkook lets out a boisterous laugh and you flick his arm. “If you say anything dumb, we’re never having a round two.”

“Round two?” he asks, wriggling his brows. “You want this to happen again?”

You nod, though you can already start to feel yourself succumb to sleep as it creeps upon you. “What do you think, Tae?”

“I think,” The older boy hums, “that’s your best idea yet.”

Jungkook seems surprised, excited even, and you smile sleepily. Taehyung throws his arm over your waist and pulls your back to his chest, wrapping you in his arms as he slips off to sleep.

Before you fall asleep that night, you snake your arm up Jungkook’s chest and let your hand rest against his beating heart which you can still feel beating shrilly even long after your messy night together.

You awake to the familiar sound of your alarm.

It’s loud, annoying, and jolts you awake only to toss you into a haze of muddled confusion and an incredibly terrible hangover. Your head throbs and your body aches. Sunlight splashes in from the closed blinds and illuminates your face, making you squint.

“Turn that off, Jesus Christ, Y/N,” Taehyung snaps, his voice muffled and aggravated.

Your mind is too groggy to realize he’s sleeping next to you, too groggy to suddenly remember what happened the night before. Until, of course, you feel your limbs tangled with not only Taehyung’s but another’s. When you crane your neck to look, you see Jeon Jungkook splayed out beside you sleeping peacefully and you gasp.

The events of the night before suddenly flood your mind and everything is hazy up until your wild time with the two boys. Your muddled sober mind alerts your heart and suddenly it’s beating hard and fast in your chest as you register the situation. You’re used to waking up with a naked Taehyung by your side but never were you used to waking up next to a naked Taehyung and Jungkook.

Jungkook stirs in his sleep then and you curse silently, diving for your phone on the floor before realizing your drastic mistake. Your core is still tender and your legs feel so delicate, nearly caving in beneath you as you wobble precariously. Somehow, you manage to grab your phone and tap the snooze button hastily. Taehyung’s still half asleep on his side but Jungkook lays on his back and you’re surprised to see him looking up at you with a quirked eyebrow and a tiny smirk.

“Don’t you dare say anything,” You hiss. “Holy shit, that wasn’t a dream?”

You gnaw on your lower lip and reach down blindly to grab the nearest article of clothing on the floor (one of Taehyung’s shirts) to toss over your bare body. To soothe your aching muscles, you resort to kneeling on the edge of the bed.

“It wasn’t,” Taehyung murmurs.

“Nice to know you think our dicks are dream worthy though,” Jungkook snorts. “So when’s our round two?”

Your promise from the night before dawns on you all too suddenly and, though you feign your usual annoyance for both boys, the potential prospect of another night with the two of them thrills you to no end.

“I━ I━” You stammer.

“Come back here, baby,” Taehyung muses. “It’s too early to be up right now. You can sleep a bit longer before you pretend you hate the both of us.”

Your eyes flicker down to your phone to check the time: 6 a.m. You can barely walk, let alone function this early in the morning, even without the added stress of your hangover, and sleep seems far too appealing to ignore. Maybe you can stay for a few more hours…

“Fine,” You grumble. You crawl back between them and wiggle around until you’re laying back on the bed. “But you’re making me that cup of coffee when I wake up, Taehyung.”

“Anything else, princess?” Taehyung grins.

“Maybe run me a bath too,” You wince as you settle back against the bed. “Everything hurts.”

“Will do,” Jungkook says. “Gotta do the most to make sure we get that second round. Now, come here━”

The boys snicker and, soon, the three of you have slipped back into a peaceful slumber.

You know that when you wake you’ll profusely deny that the night before and the morning after had ever happened; that you’ll never again find yourself in either Jungkook’s or Taehyung’s bed, much less with the both of them at the same time ━ but you find that you never really listen much to rules anyway.

⟶ Feedback is always appreciated!

7K notes · View notes

hermannsthumb · 5 years ago

Note

47. our first date goes horribly so i don’t know why i say yes to a second date, and now, we’re stuck at the diner until the snow slows down and i’m having fun

from winter writing prompts here

okay i really enjoyed this one and it got to over 2.5k SO in the hopes of saving people lengthy scrolling i posted it to ao3 instead!

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

Like, the thing is, as much as it sucks, Newt kinda went into this whole thing knowing he was gonna fuck it up somehow. He holds no illusions about his charisma, or his ability to maintain a stable, cohesive line of conversation, or even the general fucking fact that he tends to overwhelm people within five minutes of meeting them. His relationship with Hermann was (important indicator here: was) good for that reason–Hermann never had to put up with him in person. He never had to find out that Newt sometimes gets so excited about something he can’t help but interrupt whoever it is he’s talking to, or rants about anything and everything that crosses his mind, or cracks weird jokes when he’s nervous. He never had to hear Newt’s (shrill) voice. He never had to see Newt’s (cool, but probably tasteless) tattoos.

It never felt like blatant deception. Newt wasn’t going to start out a letter to Hermann like hey, man, I sound like a symphony of kazoos and one time I got tossed out of a TGI Friday’s because I drank too much at happy hour and started ranting about the mating habits of salamanders. It just…wasn’t the right kind of medium for that.

The way Hermann’s looking at him now, though, is making Newt reconsider.

read the rest on ao3 here

#newmann #maria's fanfiction tag #Anonymous

37 notes · View notes

bitsandbobsandstuff · 6 years ago

Text

A love that never leaves (12)

Summary: Sometimes when you go looking for the past, you find things you never expected. When an accident brings him face to face with something he never knew he lost, Bucky Barnes begins to understand an age old truth – it’s so easy, sometimes, to love the things that destroy us.

Characters: Bucky Barnes x Reader Warnings: Bad language. Violence. Character death.

A/N: This was tough to write, but here we are at the end. Bucky makes a decision and the past is rarely what it seems to be. There’s a Band of Brothers reference in here, if you can spot it. An epilogue will be up next weekend!

Last year I posted Ch 9 of Safe With Me on Bucky’s birthday, which was also a real angsty chapter for him. I might need to write him something nice soon. ♥️

Links don’t work, so if you want to access the full ALTNL Masterlist, just click the MASTERLIST header on my blog.

Previously...

For two weeks, she stays there recovering, but no one comes.

In that sleepy Italian town, she finally understands.

After everything she has done, after everything they stole from her, after they broke her one last time - it appears that Hydra really was finished with her.

With freedom should come relief, but that is an emotion reserved for saints, not sinners like her. What she has done, she can never undo.

She will live with that fact, from now until the end of her days.

*****

MISSION REPORT

WAITING IS THROUGH. THE MISSION ENDS NOW.

He doesn’t want to do it. He doesn’t. But orders are orders. Tucking the white notebook into his coat pocket, he takes a deep breath.

And he walks toward the little cabin.

*****

The bedroom is quiet. Kneeling on the bed, they face either other.

Staring blankly into his lap, Bucky is frozen in place. Across from him, all he can hear are her quick, short breaths, growing steadily faster the longer they sit in silence. Distantly, he notices his fingers are clenched so tight in the fabric of his threadbare sweatpants, they’re moments from ripping apart.

“Say something,” she finally whispers.

Bucky slowly looks up.

Blatant fear rests in her face, and it makes him want to wrap her in his arms. Soothe it away and tell her everything will be okay, that he understands what happened, and he knows why she did it and he loves her no matter what.

Those are the words he should give her. They sit on his tongue, ready to be used. And he wants to use them, he really really does. But he doesn’t.

Because right now, Bucky has never felt so god damn lost in his entire life.

“What am I supposed to say?” he asks instead.

Shivering under the glare of his shocked disbelief, she fumbles her words. “I wanted to tell you Bucky, I did -“

She reaches for his arm and he involuntarily jerks away.

“But you didn’t,” he interrupts, and she recoils at the betrayal in his voice. “You didn’t tell me.”

Licking her lips, she tries again.

“I wanted - Bucky, I wanted to tell you so damn much. From the very beginning, but you were doing so well, and - and we were doing so well together, and I just wanted you to remember first. I wanted you to remember us first.”

Once again, she tries to touch him and once again, he wrenches his arm away.

“So, you lied, instead,” he says coldly.

Alarmed at the ice in his tone, she shakes her head. “No! I never lied to you Bucky, everything I told you was true. Everything about you and me, every single word, it was all true, you know that, you know it was, don’t - please don’t -" she chokes on the words as they tumble free.

Her fingers reach for him again. He pulls back again.

“How the hell do you expect me to believe you? You left out the most important part of the god damn story!”

“I know, shit, I know I shouldn’t have, but I just - Bucky, you said before, you said it didn’t matter - you said it wasn’t - that it wasn’t my fault, please!”

She reaches. He shies away.

Every time he withdraws from her touch, the light inside her dims. Finally, she stops trying. She tangles her fingers in her lap instead.

“That was - that was before I knew - you had to do that to those men, but - but I was - I was - how could you do that to me?” He hates the way his voice rises hysterically, but he can’t stop it. The question is like a physical blow and she cowers from his words.

“Bucky, I’m so sorry -“

“You ruined my life!” he shouts, and she quits breathing. “Everything I was, you just - you took it. Who I was, where I came from, what I believed - you broke it all. You broke me.”

Shrinking into herself, she has no reply. Tears spill down her face as she accepts his anger.

What the hell is he supposed to do now?

Scrambling backward off the bed, Bucky finds himself riding the dangerous edge of a full-blown panic attack. Looking at her there, sitting in the pile of soft blankets where he held her and kissed her and -

Shaking fingers comb through the wild tangles of hair falling over his face, and he feels tiny scars scattered across his scalp. Physical residue of horrific memories he still cannot remember.

Gathering her courage, she tries to speak again, but he stops her.

“Don’t,” he says forcefully. “Just - don’t.”

Looking around the room, he sees the glowing red embers of the fire, sees snowflakes drifting by the window, sees the pile of his dirty socks in the corner and her small jewelry box propped open on the dresser. All these small fragments that make up their life.

Their life here. Their life together.

It should be enough to rein him in. His heart wants it so much.

But apparently his brain has other ideas.

Spinning around, he goes to the closet and yanks the door open. Snatching up his duffel bag, he finds the pile of his neatly folded laundry tucked on the top shelf. Gathering everything, he stuffs it haphazard in the bag. Zipping it shut, he heads for the door.

“What are you doing? Bucky? Where are you going?” her voice rises in panic. Struggling off the bed, she follows him. “No no no, wait, please wait! Please, Bucky, don’t leave, please! Talk to me, tell me what I can do.”

It’s almost enough. The desperate plea nearly breaks him. Everything in him is screaming to stop, to drop the duffel bag and bury his face against her and cry until he’s empty. But he’s so god damn confused, he can barely see straight.

He forces himself to ignore her.

Rushing downstairs, he hears the soft thump of her bare feet chasing him, but he keeps going.

More pieces of their life together are strewn down below. Empty mugs with damp tea bags on the kitchen counter, a paperback book with one of his gum wrappers marking her page, the fluffy blanket Bucky wrapped around them both as they cuddled by the fire. Tiny remnants of a perfect life, a beautiful picture he never knew he craved, until he held it all in his perpetually mismatched hands.

Reaching the front door, Bucky shoves his feet into the boots he keeps lined up below the coat rack. Trembling fingers whip through the buckles and laces, and then he grabs his white jacket and jams his arms through. Without bothering to zip it up, he hefts his bag over his shoulder and pulls the door open.

Cold air swirls around him, the freshness of a beautiful morning spilling in.

With one foot outside, he abruptly halts. Breathing hard, his entire body vibrates under the strain of the anguish that sweeps through him.

Because he cannot help himself, he looks back.

Surrounded by the comforts of their home, there she stands. The love of his god damn life, hugging herself while she watches the man who promised to love her forever, as he walks out the door.

Bucky feels his heart thumping uncontrollably, smashing against his ribs, boom, boom, boom. Screaming at him to stop and listen. To let her explain and forgive her. To love her unconditionally and forever.

His heart thumps harder, BOOM, BOOM, BOOM, and those sketchy memories that haunt his nightmares, the wash of red blood and the stench of black death, those painful colors that painted the life of the Winter Soldier, fill him with sick horror and it makes him dizzy.

“Please, Bucky,” she whispers. Broken. “Please stay. Don’t leave me.”

It takes every ounce of self-control he possesses, but he turns away. Slams the front door, hoists his bag over his shoulders, and leaps down the short flight of steps. With no plan other than escape, he bolts for the thick grove of pine trees opposite her house.

Knee deep drifts of snow blanket the yard, and he feels the icy bite of wet cold seeping through his pants as he trudges along, but it doesn’t matter. He keeps stomping until he reaches the cover of trees, where the thick white tapers away and the path is easier to navigate.

Breaking into a slow trot, he winds around the wide trunks of the silent forest. Now and then, he sniffs and angrily wipes away the tears that won’t seem to stop.

On and on he goes, his slow jog eventually changing to a flat out run. One mile turns into two and then into five. In the thin mountain air, his breath comes harsh and ragged as he runs faster and faster, away from the horrors of a past he can’t remember and the crushing disappointment he left on her face. On and on he runs, until suddenly, the terrain curves up, so he drops his head and sprints, scrabbling at slippery black rock. The duffel bag bounces crazily at his back and he loses his grip once, smashing his face against the icy granite. Swearing viciously, his nose gushing blood, he crawls back to his feet and keeps running.

Bucky climbs and climbs and climbs, until all of a sudden, he skids to a stop.

Spread out before him, is an alien world. Glittering white stretches into infinity, sawtooth mountain peaks clawing at the distant blue sky. In the open, it is fiercely cold, but he jerks off his stocking hat, sighing in relief at the feel of air on his blisteringly hot neck. Sweat slides down his back, pooling between his shoulder blades and he gulps down the dry air, relishing in the ache it forces into his lungs.

Folding his fingers atop his head, he tips his face to the dazzling sunshine. Slowly, his panting lessens. Slowly, he feels the wild anxiety dissipate. And slowly, he begins to understand what he’s done.

“Oh my god,” he exhales. Staring up into the deep blue sky, dread creeps up his spine. “What the fuck did I just do?”

Knees buckling, he falls hard, the sting of cold soaking through his pants. A shaking hand wipes away the blood still trickling from his nose and he closes his eyes.

Bucky Barnes will be the first to admit, sometimes he makes terrible decisions.

Sometimes they’re just normal terrible, like the time he ate four platefuls of spaghetti and then challenged Sam to a five-mile run. By mile two, he was puking up tomato sauce.

Sometimes they’re slightly more terrible, like the time he refused medical treatment and insisted on digging three bullets out of his thigh himself. He passed out near the end and cracked his head on the ceramic floor of the med bay.

Sometimes they’re pretty terrible, like all those times he forced himself to stand in a Hydra base and relieve every hideous memory that inevitably resurfaced. That just proves he’s an idiot.

But now and then, he does this. Makes such a monumentally terrible decision that nothing positive can come from it. And this one here just might be the most catastrophically stupid decision of his entire fucking life. He should have stayed. He should have dug his heels in and worked through this with her, but like a god damn coward, he ran.

“You dumb idiot sonofabitch,” he growls.

Above the whistle of wind whipping around, he hears a quiet chirp chirp sound and a striped chipmunk scurries past. The small creature stops when it sees him, popping up on its haunches and sniffing the air. Bright eyes watch him, and Bucky has the uncomfortable feeling of being judged.

“I really fucked that up, didn’t I?” he asks. The chipmunk twitches its fluffy tail in agreement and Bucky grunts. “I know, I just - I fuckin’ panicked. One minute I’m asking her to marry me and the next she’s telling me - well, you know.” The chipmunk tilts its head. “Okay, so maybe you don’t know, but believe me, it was insane.” Another chirp, another head tilt. Bucky groans and buries his face in his hands. “Jesus. You’re right. I’m a god damn idiot.”

Shame flares red-hot in his chest. How could he have done this to her? Left their trust behind and walked away?

In the crisp morning air, clarity arrives like a clap of thunder.

Despite decades apart, despite every cruel twist of Fate, despite the unending brutality Hydra leveled against them both, despite everything in the world conspiring to keep them apart - nothing worked. With only muscle memory to guide them, somehow, against all odds, they found their way back to each other.

Because this right here, is what it means to love someone with every piece of your heart.

The simplicity of that realization brings a deep comfort to his soul. He knows then, exactly what he has to do.

“I have to go back,” he announces. Jumping to his feet, he grabs his bag and shrugs into the straps. “Tell her none of it matters. None of it does matter. I get why she did it, I would’ve done the same damn thing, if I thought I could save her.” Bucky nods at the chipmunk. “Thanks man.”

Turning around, he picks up his trail and he heads for home.

*****

The trek back seems shorter. Or maybe he’s just anxious to get back, but in no time at all, Bucky picks out the familiar markers that mean home is just over the horizon. Unable to contain himself, he starts to sprint.

Relief fills him when he plunges through the trees, finding the house exactly as he left it.

Smoke curls lazily from the chimney, water bubbles merrily in the nearby stream, the pile of wood he was chopping lays unfinished by the shed. Everything in its place, everything perfect, everything -

Wrong.

There is no discernible reason for it, but feeling is overpowering. It slams into him, like a punch to the face.

Something is wrong.

Pulling up short, he goes completely still.

All those threats he imagined lurking in the darkness last night feel suddenly real, magnified in the morning sun. There are no screams, no cries, no blood, nothing that would indicate anything out of the ordinary, but still. Swinging his bag around, Bucky crouches in the snow and digs through his pack until his fingers find a gun. Shaking a round of bullets from the clip stashed inside his coat, he slips them into the chamber and snaps it shut. Rising slowly, he raises the gun, eyes darting back and forth across the quiet landscape. Picking his way carefully through the snow, he’s within a few hundred feet of the house when he sees it.

Footprints.

Coming from the opposite direction, leading in a straight line to her front door.

Bucky feels the ground disappear beneath his feet.

“Fuck,” he spits out. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

Something suddenly crunches under his boot. Glancing down, he drops to one knee, his eyes tracking every direction, while he reaches blindly for whatever made that sound. Fingers touch a hard edge, and brushing away a dusting of snow, he picks up a white notebook.

Eyes still roaming cautiously, he balances it on his knee and flips it open.

Written at the top of every page, the words “MISSION REPORT” are ground into the paper. Thumbing through page after page, he finds shaky block letters in gray lead, short sentences and rambling comments and odd words jumping out at him.

Krakow. Pain. New soldiers. Old signals. Pain. Electricity. Pain. Pain. Pain.

Utterly bewildered, Bucky flips to the last few pages.

---

MISSION REPORT: CONTACT MADE BUT RESPONDENT ELIMINATED. BASE DID NOT REVEAL INFORMATION REQUIRED TO PROCEED TO NEXT RENDEZVOUS POINT. HOLD AND WAIT. WITHOUT ADDITIONAL SUPPORT MISSION FAILURE IS IMMINENT. REQUESTING BACK UP FOR –

---

MISSION REPORT: NEW OBJECTIVE IDENTIFIED. RECONNAISSANCE REQUIRED TO DETERMINE APPROPRIATE COURSE OF ACTION. OBSERVATION WILL CONTINUE FROM A SAFE DISTANCE.

---

MISSION REPORT: LAST MISSION PARAMETERS RECALLED AND RE-ACTIVATED. APPROPRIATE TOOLS COMMANDEERED TO ADDRESS ISSUES AND SECURE ADDITIONAL SUPPORT. SECOND ATTEMPT AT CONTACT WILL BE UNDERTAKEN BEFORE PROCEEDING WITH FINAL ELIMINATION PLAN.

---

MISSION REPORT: SECOND ATTEMPT AT CONTACT ESTABLISHED. AWAITING RESULTS.

---

MISSION REPORT: BOTH TARGETS UNEXPECTEDLY INFILTRATED BASE. UNABLE TO SEPARATE AND ADDRESS INDIVIDUALLY. WILL CONTINUE HOLDING PATTERN UNTIL OPPORTUNITY ARISES.

---

MISSION REPORT: WAITING IS THROUGH. THE MISSION ENDS NOW.

---

Bucky reads it all twice, trying to make sense of the words. They look like diary entries, the barest details outlining the sketch of a person’s day.

Kind of like the notes Steve jots down sometimes, so he can fill in a more descriptive report later. Like the kind Sam sometimes writes in the notebook he tries to hide, so he can examine his own thoughts and mood swings. Like the kind Bucky sometimes marks on the back of grocery receipts, when he gets stuck inside his head and needs a way to set the anger free.

Mission reports are the hallmark of any good soldier.

Any good soldier.

An idea suddenly pops into his brain. Insane, irrational, and entirely ludicrous.

Tucking the notebook into his pocket, he grits his teeth furiously and raises the gun again. Picking his way through the snow, he reaches the shoveled path and when he hits the front steps, his feet choose the places he already memorized, where the creaking whine of the wood is silenced.

Pressing his ear to the door, he strains to hear, but finds nothing. Praying he is dead wrong, Bucky turns the handle slowly and eases the door open. Stepping into the doorway, he finds himself momentarily snow-blind from the world of white, so he blinks quickly.

The inside world takes shape. All the basics of a comfortable life remain, just as he left them this morning.

A crackling fire. The smell of coffee. The hum of a fan. A low radio playing staticky jazz in the background.

In the dim light, the barrel of his gun finds the face of someone kneeling by the fireplace.

Except there are two people kneeling there.

She sits on her knees, her arms folded behind her back. Dressed in sweatpants and a heavy sweater, thick socks on her feet, she still shivers uncontrollably. Crouched behind her, digging a gun into her neck, is a familiar face, one Bucky recognizes from a blurry photograph.

“What kind of soldier leaves his home base completely unprotected?” Henry Lewis asks. His voice is low and hollow, guttural tones of a man who hasn’t spoken in a long time. “You failed to even lock the door, I walked right inside. I expect she thought I was you, she came running at the sound.”

The resemblance to the photos is there, with only slight differences. After years of electricity and experiments, his curly black hair is now a shock of white, illuminating his dark eyes. He looks like a young man, mid-30s at most, but the haunted look in his face speaks of decades of nightmares.

When she meets Bucky’s eyes, he sees dazed shock fill her features. Swallowing hard, she keeps her eyes focused on him and tries to speak.

“Henry, I know you’re upset. You should be,” she says quietly, never looking away from Bucky. “But he has nothing to do with this. Let him leave, and you and I can figure out what you need to do. Please.”

“No, I need him here,” Henry answers, his mouth at her ear. “He has to be here for this.”

Still aiming the gun at the pair, Bucky eyes his angle, gauging his chances of taking Henry down with a single shot. The mechanics of it bounce through his head and he comes up empty. He tries to get Henry talking while he strategizes.

“Lieutenant, how are you here?”

“How am I alive, you mean?” Henry clarifies. “That’s a long story. Without a happy ending, I’m afraid. Let’s just say the serum they gave me wasn’t quite as effective as yours, but it still covered the basics.”

Bucky glances to the photos scattered across the coffee table, of soldiers and experiments.

“So, you were one of the first, then,” he states. The gun in his hand is steady as he keeps it raised, still waiting for the right angle. “You volunteered?”

“Fuck you, I never fucking volunteered,” Henry snaps. “I never would have gotten involved if I knew what the hell they were.” Nostrils flaring angrily, his lips press into a tight line. “My unit, the men I trained and served with, all of them were dying out in Germany and there I was, stuck behind a god damn desk writing reports. They said they could fix my leg and I wanted a way back into the war.” His gaze flicks quickly to her. “I wanted her to be proud of me.”

Tears spill down her face at the comment. “Henry, I was always proud of the man you were,” she whispers.

Henry says nothing. Simply clenches his jaw, his eyes back on Bucky. When he speaks again, his voice is hard.

“When they put me under, it was 1959 and I was in the Ukraine. They left me there. Useless forgotten tech. No one thought twice about the old soldiers they kept in cold storage, but decades later the tech in the place went to shit and the cryo tank stopped working. I was the only one who woke up. That was in 2016.”

A bead of cold sweat drips into Bucky’s eye and he blinks it away, shuddering at the thought of returning to cryo. Of remaining locked in that cold darkness forever.

“What then? You went back to the old bases?” Bucky questions. His gun drifts a hair to the right, still searching for a shot, but Henry knows exactly what he’s doing. Tugging her closer, he digs the gun at her neck in deep and she flinches. Bucky swears under his breath and gives up the angle.

“At first, the only thing I remembered were the locations of the bases where I was stationed. I went back to all of them, launching distress signals and trying to find someone to help. But you and your friends were the only people who ever came.”

Christ. How fucking wrong could they have been? All this time, Bucky thought they were smashing Hydra’s broken tech, but there was so much they missed.

“We thought it was the technology,” Bucky says tightly. “Never found anything at the bases, thought they were all breaking down.”

“No,” Henry says. “I was always good at hiding.” A tiny, reluctant smile curves his lips. “The day you were shot, when she found you, I was sitting in the bar. You walked right by me. Barely glanced in my direction.”

Bucky has an epiphany then, remembering the occupants of the bar with perfect clarity. Specifically, a lanky man with a ragged fur hood drawn around his face, one hand encased in a black wool glove - the other hand splayed bare on the table.

“The glove,” he says slowly. “The one I found up at the base. That was you.”

Henry nods once. Stares searchingly at Bucky.

“I’ve been in the shadows of your life Barnes. The night she wiped you, I was there for that as well. They sent me to fetch her for the procedure.” Henry seems confused for a moment. “I think they were testing me. To see if I remembered.”

“Oh,” she breathes, realization dawning. “I saw you hesitate, when you came into the cell. I remember now." Henry twitches at her statement.

“I know,” he says sharply. “You always remember. The rest of us don’t have that luxury.”

Bucky sees her face crumple at the words. He feels a flash of anger at the insensitivity.

“That’s enough,” he says sharply. “Lieutenant, why are you here? What do you want?”

Henry doesn’t answer. He changes the subject.

“I stood there in that room while the two of you said goodbye. I watched her comfort you. Everyone could see how much she loved you. It made me so fucking angry and I couldn't say anything, they wouldn't let me. But I couldn’t understand why she was with someone else. She was supposed to love me, that's why she left me those memories of her.”

At the hurt in his voice, she tries to turn to face him, but he won’t let her move. “They told me you died, Henry. They said they killed you, I didn’t know. I’m so sorry I didn’t know.”

Henry talks to her now, his voice a little lower. “The last day we were at the base, before we moved out, I snuck away and left food by your door. Unlocked in in case you wanted to leave. I had no clue why I was doing it, but something told me that I should. So, I did.”

“You saved my life,” she says, closing her eyes. “Thank you for saving my life.”

“I had to,” he replies softly. “It was like I had to do it.”

There, for a brief, shining moment, Bucky sees the gun begin to lower. But then Henry remembers himself, remembers the anger he keeps inside, and he rolls his shoulders back and presses it harder against her.

Watching him closely, Bucky tries again.

“You still haven't answered the question. Why are you here?” Still, Henry says nothing. Frustrated, Bucky tries something else. “Fine. Then do you know what happened to Richter?”

Henry’s lip curls at the question.

“I killed him.”

Her eyes fly open at the words, palpable relief in her face.

“Not that any of us here are sad about that,” Bucky says, “but why?”

“Because he was an asshole who deserved it,” Henry sneers. “I had more control after a mission and I started to remember things about him. Got so mad, I gut-shot him, wanted him to suffer.” His eyes narrow and he muses quietly to himself. “I never should have done it that way.”

Nerves tensing at the comment, Bucky grips his gun a little tighter. “Why? Why was that a bad thing?”

“He was still alive when I went over to him. He said something to me.”

“What did he say?” There is no answer and Bucky asks again. “Lieutenant. What did he say to you?”

Henry sits up straighter, his gun still pressed to her skin and he glares at Bucky. “He gave me one more mission.”

“And? What was it?”

No answer. Instead, Henry fists his hand in the back of her sweater and pulls her to her feet. Using her as a shield, he moves closer to the door.

“Lieutenant,” Bucky barks. “Dammit, what was the last mission you received?”

Still no answer. Henry holds her tight against him and she stares mutely back at Bucky.

The love he sees there takes his breath away.

When Henry finally speaks again, the words are harsh. “She did this to both of us, you understand that right? Everything that happened, it was because of her.”

“No,” Bucky says fiercely. “She had no choice. They gave her no choice. Surely you understand that. You have to see that.”

“You’re a fool.”

“Maybe. But I love her,” Bucky says simply. “I’ve loved her every day since I was twenty-seven years old. Nothing can change that.”

“Sometimes,” Henry says wearily, “it’s the things we love most, that destroy us.”

Bucky sees the devastation in her expression at those words. But still there, steadfast beneath it all, is that all-consuming love. The kind that doesn’t give up.

She loves him. He loves her. Nothing else matters.

“She could take every last memory again and it wouldn’t change anything,” he says, speaking to her now. “I told her, this love would never leave, and I meant that. If I lose it all again, I’d still find my way back to her.”

There is pity in the gaze Henry levels at him. Bucky glares defiantly back and behind Henry’s dark eyes, is a minuscule shift. A hint of relief appears, before quickly fading.

“Well. Okay. I guess that’s it then,” Henry says calmly.

“Wait,” Bucky says quickly. “Hang on, you still haven’t - tell me about your final mission.”

Without replying, Henry tucks he against him and shuffles toward the front door. Bucky tries to come closer, but he shakes his head warningly and shoves the gun into her harder. Bucky keeps his distance.

The door is still open, and Henry nudges it further, until they’re backing out onto the porch. There he pauses, giving Bucky a hard look.

“Think about it. You know exactly what the mission was,” Henry says flatly, and Bucky feels his stomach plummet. “I have to end this now.”

Wrapping one arm around her waist, Henry lifts her down the stairs, the gun still tight against her. Like a magnet, Bucky follows, the gun in his hands now coated in slick sweat.

Out in the icy world, Henry keeps going backward, pulling her through the snow. Bucky can see her shivering violently now, the wet cold soaking through her socks and thin sweatpants. Further and further he drags her, Bucky stalking every move, his throat clogged with fear.

Finally, they stop.

“Henry,” she says, her voice cracking. “Henry I’m sorry. I’m so sorry for everything.”

“I know you are,” he says gently. Kissing her temple tenderly, he looks back at Bucky and places the gun carefully to the exact same place his lips just touched. She chokes back a sob.

“Lieutenant put the god damn gun down,” Bucky calls, fighting to keep his voice even. “I can help you. Let me help you.”

“No, you can’t,” Henry says calmly. One long, thin finger caresses the trigger and then blue eyes meet bottomless black ones.

What he sees, cuts Bucky Barnes down to the bone.

The pleading expression on Henry’s face is something Bucky knows intimately. How many times through the years did he give that same look to other people? Handlers and henchmen and horror-struck victims. The look is gut wrenching desperation, the kind that begs for one single thing above all others.

This is the look of someone asking for death.

Please, it says. Kill me, it says.

“No,” Bucky says urgently, desperation soaking into the words. “God dammit, don’t - don’t make me do this.”

“You know I have to,” Henry says and in the cold mountain air, the finality of his words is obvious.

“Lieutenant,” Bucky grits out and Henry tightens his arm around her.

“She’s my mission,” he whispers.

There it is. This cannot end until the mission is complete. Years of training, brainwashing, torture. All of it culminating in the burning desire to complete the given mission, no matter the cost. Bucky knows that feeling like no other.

“Please,” Bucky croaks out one final time. “Put the gun down, I’m - I’m begging you. I know you don’t want to hurt her.”

“No. I don’t,” Henry agrees. But then his finger squeezes tighter on the trigger and Bucky sees him silently mouthing two words.

“Do it.”

One man squeezes a trigger. Another man takes the hit.

The sound of the bullet making contact is jarring. During the war, Bucky learned to hide the flinch, to keep the stoic mask in place with every kill, but it roils his gut all the same. Across from him, Henry Lewis drops like a marionette cut from its strings. The gun falls harmlessly by his side and in death, his lips curve up in a relieved smile.

Bucky waits a beat, before throwing his gun aside and running for her. There’s blood splattered on her clothes and across the side of her face, but she's reaching for him and he sweeps her into his arms as she tumbles forward.

The echoing ricochet of the gunshot ripples away and world is silent for a fleeting moment, before the birds resume their bright chatter. Burying her face against his jacket, she clings to him and she breaks. Great heaving sobs rip from her throat, ugly sounds of absolute dejection, of fear and relief and heartbroken sadness. Cradling her in the snow, Bucky rocks her against him and lets her cry.

“It’s okay,” he keeps saying, over and over. Finally, he scoops her up and carries her back toward the house. “It’s okay honey, I’m here. I won’t let go.”

*****

Deep in the heart of the forest, where the snow struggles to reach, Bucky stops walking.

Easing down the body from his shoulder, he unstraps the shovel from his back and starts to dig. Once he breaks through dead pine needles and the first frozen layer of dirt, the rest is easy. Through the years, he’s gotten good at digging graves.

As he digs, he thinks.

This man, with serum pumping through his veins, was one of the world’s first super soldiers. His body and blood would be a veritable gold mine of information, every scientist on the planet would be dying to get their hands on him, slice him apart and peek inside. Find out what made him tick. Perhaps he should have brought the authorities in for this one, there was so much science to learn, so much to discover.

But Bucky thinks about dignity and honor. About what it means to be a soldier, back then and even today.

And he says fuck it.

Instead, he carries Lieutenant Henry Lewis, of the British Army’s 506th battalion, to the base of a towering pine tree in the mountains of France and gives him a real burial. One fit for a soldier.

Out here, he digs alone. Back at the cabin, she had said her goodbyes. Standing on the porch, he gave them privacy, watching from a distance as she spoke to Henry, occasionally pausing to think, to wipe her eyes. When she placed a hand on the cold body wrapped carefully in her softest pair of bed linens, she squeezed his arm and smiled. Bucky never plans to ask what she said in that goodbye. That was for them alone, and he knows that every love story deserves a proper ending. He would never begrudge them theirs.

An hour later, he tamps down the mound of dirt. Dropping the shovel he sighs, clapping the rough texture of earth from his fingers. Tilting his head back, he looks up to find streaks of purple and red filtering through the thick branches soaring overhead.

Color, he thinks. Painting a new memory. This is one he plans to keep to himself. Life is funny like that sometimes.

Death always brings sadness, but there is beauty in one thing. For Henry, all those vibrant memories that made up his life will live on, held in her hands, never to be forgotten. Bucky smiles when he realizes the same can be said for him. The memories of his past held tight in her hands, accessible any time he needs. But all he really wants, is the chance to create new memories together. The past is done, he just wants a future with her.

And he gets one. She said yes.

He’s so damn lucky.

Darkness begins to descend, and he feels that aching pull toward home. But before he leaves, Bucky thinks of one last detail.

There is no gravestone here, this soldier will not rest among that familiar sea of identical white stone, each inscribed with those key details. Name. Rank. Military brand. Birth. Death. Those final black and white bits gifted to every soldier, forgetting the unending sea of color of their lives.

Slipping a knife from his boot, he crouches down and digs his blade into the tree. With a few twists of his wrist, he carves a rough cross deep into the base of the tree trunk. He gazes at the small token for a minute, before sliding the knife back into his boot.

Standing with an inaudible sigh, he backs away. Straightens himself up. Snaps his feet together and offers a sharp salute to the unmarked grave.

“Rest easy, Soldier,” he murmurs.

And then Sergeant Bucky Barnes turns and heads home.

*****

Epilogue

*****

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky #altnl

712 notes · View notes

hardyimagines · 6 years ago

Text

Part 1 — A Little Bit of Something

—————————————————————

First of all! Your Baker series with Alfie saves me from utter boredom whilst I’ve been on my bum sick so thank you 🙏 Can I get an Alfie x reader where she isn’t a gangster but she’s kinda like Tommy’s Assistant/stand in date for events, and Alfie gets an embarrassing crush on her? 😝

Requested by: @kitcatimpala67

Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

Word count: 7.1k

———————————————————

The floor was sticky beneath your high heeled boots. Staring down at the floor, you cringed openly as the alcohol clung to your shoes, effectively slowing you down. Your displeased eyes flickered to the brown sole of the boot, cringing openly. You were Alfie’s assistant, but you were not his maid. Leaning against the edge of Mr. Solomons’ desk, the sharp wood was more than sturdy enough to hold you up. You hiked your leg up and over your other one so you could inspect the filthy bottom. These were new, but aside from that, you didn’t want to walk around all day, listening to the sickening crackling sound of your boot as it pressed to the floor. The ground was no doubt sticky from all the late nights Alfie spent in here. Long after all the men had gone home to their families, your boss was stuck here, alone in the large building, working on things he hadn’t had time to work on earlier in the day. Occasionally you would offer to stay behind and help out, but he would always swat you away and tell you to go on home. Lifting yourself off of his desk, you let out an audible sigh before kneeling down. Opening the wooden cabinet under Alfie’s desk, you pulled on the silver handle, humphing silently when the hinges loosened and the little door popped open obediently. Extending your arm, you wrapped your dainty fingers around the bottle of cleaner before lifting the yellow rag. It was stained with dirt and dust from all the times that Alfie had used it to clean the surface of his desk, but he never bothered to do anything to the floor. Pressing the nozzle twice, you squirted the lemon scented spray on to the sticky floorboards and began to scrub away. Your knees sunk into the hardfloor, one hand balanced on the ground a few inches away from the whiskey. Scrub by scrub eliminated bit by bit of the disgusting alcohol from the wooden floor and the second you were finished, the door opened.

Afraid to look over your shoulder because you already knew who was standing in the doorway, you gripped the rag a little tighter before straightening on your knees. “Good Morning, Mr. Solomons.” You could feel his eyes flickering along your form, probably internally asking himself why the hell you were on the ground. “Yeah, it is, it is. How come you’re on the fucking floor?” He ushered to you with his pinky before traipsing across the room to sit down at his desk. You turned your attention toward the man when you heard him drop down on his seat. He let out a low utterance of complaint when he saw the pile of papers on his desk before looking to you when you gave him no reply. Straightening with a small smile, you laid your hand on the corner of the desk and used it to haul yourself up and off of the cold floor. “You had a stain. Whiskey I think.” Cradling the rag in your hand, you moved behind his desk, hip skimming his arm. The man glanced to his left at the brief contact, blue eyes widening slightly at the closeness of your small form. Your back bent smoothly, hunching over so you could tuck the cleaner away into its proper place before moving away from his side. “This needs to be cleaned, Alfie.” Dropping the dirty rag on the surface of his desk, you watched his face twist. “Yeah, give that to Ollie, mh? He’ll clean it, won’t he? I don’t have the fucking time, right, to be doing laundry. I’ve got a very important business meeting coming up, yeah, so, you go on.” He ushered to the door. Assuming that was the end of his sentence, you headed toward the door without a word, but he halted you. “May I finish?” He frowned. Your eyebrows raised, reaching high on your forehead as you turned slowly back around to face the man. Alfie was leaning against his desk, forearms settled on the surface and hands folded together in the center. “What I was going to say, right, go on and grab Ollie, give him the rag, and then have him drag your desk in here.” He pointed to the vacant corner where a tall vanity had once stood. A look of confusion plastered itself upon your face, hands moving to your hips. “Why on earth would we move my desk in here?” You didn’t really mind that, but nevertheless, you wanted an explanation.

Alfie lifted a brow at your question. At this point, he was use to your little questions, sassy remarks, back talking, and blatantness. You’d been working as his assistant for two years and he really wouldn’t change you out for anybody else. “I find it’d be a hell of a lot easier for us to communicate, right, if your desk were in the fucking corner. I wouldn’t have to be fucking shouting all day, right, you’d just be in here and it would be so much easier, wouldnt it, to get things done, yeah, so, you go on and get Ollie.” Pinching the chain around his neck, his fingers glided along the metal before he lifted the spectacles up and on to the bridge of his nose. You stared at him for a second, studying the way he ran his thumb and pointer finger along his facial hair, pinching it before he repeated the motion. He glanced over at you when he sensed your lingering eyes, giving you a look of question, but you scurried off as soon as you were caught.

Closing the door quietly to Alfie’s office, your heels clicked audibly against the floor, moving downstairs to retrieve Alfie’s right-hand man. “Ollie?” You called out, moving along the lengthy corridor and past all the working men. Various gents lifted their piercing eyes to you, studying the way you walked until you were out of view. Your grey-blue dress swished around your ankles, hugging your hips in a way no man ever had. The neckline was a bit low for your liking, but it had been the only clean gown you had, so it was all you could wear. You’d grown use to the whispers and the stares, so it was pretty easy to ignore them at this point. “Chip.” You called out to one of the only boys that worked here who’d never stared any lower than your eyes. The dark-haired boy lifted his chestnut eyes to yours instantly. The boy was 17, very friendly, kind-hearted, and wanted to do anything he could to please you. You were 22, 5 years older than the lad, but you were the second youngest person to work in the shop. All the other man ranged from ages 30 to 50. Alfie being one of those men. “Have you seen Ollie?” You dropped the rag on top of the other filthy garments in the corner that had been either used to clean gears or used as a rag to wipe the sweat away from their faces. The bin was nearly full, but you knew Mariam, maybe the oldest person to work here, would be down on Thursday to do all the washing. “He’s in the back room, Miss, not having a good day, I think.” You smiled politely to the lad before parting his shoulder as you passed. Ollie was only a year or two older than you, so the pair of you got on nicely. Pushing the surprisingly heavy oak door open, you stuck your head into the homely room.

The light in the room shone dimly down on the occupant. Ollie was laid on the sofa, arm slung over his eyes. “Are you fucking hungover?” Despite your harsh question, your tone was soft, inquisitive. The boy didn’t budge, but he let out a low groan of disapproval. He was probably in no mood to talk. Pursing your lips as you stepped further into the room, the clicking of your boots faded into nothing as you stepped on to the velvet rug on the floor. “Alfie needs you Ollie.” You whispered softly, wondering just how this boy was going to get up and move a desk. Ollie inhaled deeply, chest rising as the oxygen filled his lungs. “Tell him I don’t feel good, please, I’m not going to be able to do anything today, I feel like my head may fall off.” You could tell by how breathless he was that he wasn’t lying. His feet were kicked up on the arm of the sofa, resting there comfortably. He looked as if he were lounging, maybe sleeping on the job, but when he moved his arm to look at you, checking to see if you’d go and tell Alfie, you noted the sunken depths of his dark eyes and the red hue that kissed his cheeks. Taking a small step back, you nodded. “Uh.. did you want me to grab you some water or anything?” The boy shook his head slowly, assuring you he was okay before he rolled away from the light and buried his head beneath the green pillow. Turning on your heel, you made your way back toward the stairs to Alfie’s office, preparing yourself for the displeased shouting he was bound to let free.

The stairs groaned slightly and only for a second as you ascended them. Wrapping your fingers around the round door handle, you pushed it open before closing it back. It was nobody else’s business what was wrong with Ollie. The man looked up at you the second your honey scented body entered the room. Setting his pen down on the desk, he eyed you in question. “What of the boy?” He moved to stand. The chains that hung from his hips bounced against his thighs as he moved to the corner. You kept a close eye on him, studying his every movement. Alfie Solomons was definitely an attractive man. When you’d first started working here, you were intimidated by him, but now you understood him. The beastly man had never raised his voice at you, though you did tend to tick him off, he’d never once bellowed at you the way he ripped at the men downstairs. Alfie opened the glass cabinet in the corner, dragging out a glass for himself and then a bottle of whatever he was in the mood for. You didn’t drink and he knew that. “He’s not feeling good, Alfie. I can move the desk.” The man sent you a look of bewilderment. You weren’t sure if it was because, for once, Ollie was unable to work for him or if it was because you’d offered to move the desk yourself. You turned on your heel to head out and begin moving the large furniture, but Alfie’s hot fingers curled around your wrist, halting you. “Brave of you, really it is, yeah, but I’ve got this.” He pointed out, dragging you back and away from the door. “You, right, sort through those papers on my desk and I’ll do the fucking heavy lifting, yeah?” Your wrist was burning from the warmth that seeped through his fingers, but you didn’t move, apart from nodding lightly. “Okay.”

Alfie opened the door and the scent from the distillery poured in. Rubbing your nose gently, you retreated over to the desk and sat yourself down on the comfy seat. Your feet hardly touched the floor and you figured because Alfie was so large, his seat needed to be higher in order for him to rest his legs comfortably. The files in front of you were disorderly tossed on the surface and you assumed Alfie was in the midst of organizing them himself before taking over your task. The legs of the table groaned loudly against the floor as Alfie began to slide the thing. You lifted your eyes to him, ears twitching as he let little grunts escape his throat. Directing your attention back to the papers in your hands, you began to sort them into alphabetical order, as Alfie liked for them to be. He let a growl roll off his tongue, lips parting as he tugged the heavy wood across the floor. He only made it halfway through the door before he drew back. You lifted your eyes again, watching the way he pinched the cuffs of his shirt and rolled them up to his forearms. “Alfie, I can help you.” You offered, already setting the papers down and rising from your position on the chair. “I don’t need any fucking help, right, sit down. I’ve got this, yeah?” He hooked his hands beneath the desk and began to pull again. The muscles in his back rippled beneath the thin white shirt that clung to his bear-like body. “Alfie.” You crossed the room, halting at his side. “You’re going to throw your back out.” Gripping his shirt sleeve, you halted his movements before gently dragging him back. “I can help, itll be easier and quicker.” The desk was wedged in the doorway, making it impossible for you to get on the opposite side. “You’ll need to lift me though.” Placing your hands on the desk, you shot him a look. “I can’t get to the other side if you don’t.” Alfie swallowed quietly before moving behind you. His large hands met your curvy waist and he smoothly lifted you up and on to the desk. Careful not to flash him on accident, you held your dress in place. He held on to your hips until he could no longer reach you. The warmth of his hands lingered, burning through the thick fabric of your dress. Climbing off of the desk with a soft “oof!” Your feet hit the floor with a dull thud before you gripped your end and shot him a wink. “Come on, Mr. Solomons.”

The man eyed you with a glint of pride before beginning to tug again. Surprisingly enough, the desk moved much easier with the both of you pushing and pulling on it. Gliding it smoothly along the wooden floorboards, you easily positioned your side against the wall in the corner and Alfie did the same. “Good?” You asked the man. He let out a guttural grunt of approval before moving back to his desk. “Very good, yeah, that’s a nice spot for you to sit and do your work, innit? You can open that window there, yeah right there, if you ever want to.” You moved out of his office to get your chair before rolling it up to the desk and dropping down on it. Rotating the seat so you were facing the man as he returned to his own desk, you inhaled deeply. “Won’t you get annoyed with all my talking?” You smirked, eyeing the man intently. The corner of his lips twitched visibly, hand lifting to scratch the corner of his mouth. “No, pet.” His eyes lifted, holding a light brighter than the bulb in the room. Letting his eyes fall back to the paper in front of him, he busied himself with organizing once again. “Sorry, Mr. Solomons, what do you need me to do?” Alfie’s mouth opened, tongue darting out to glide along his lips to wet them before he replied, but the door to his office opened with an audible creak. “Alfie.” Your eyes, along with your boss’s, moved immediately to the doorway to eye the unforgettable face that belonged to Thomas Shelby. You spun in your chair so that your back was to the men. Attempting not to eavesdrop was going to be a very difficult task considering they were about to be speaking directly over your shoulder. “Tommy?” Alfie clearly wasn’t expecting him. “What’s going on? Did Ollie fucking let you in? I’m busy, right, don’t have time to be sitting around, yeah, and chatting all day.”

Thomas ran his tongue along his lips before reaching into his suit jacket. Dragging out the small envelope, he took two steps forward so he could set the paper down on Alfie’s desk. “Good day, Alfie.” He tipped his hat in your direction. “Miss.” Thomas Shelby hardly ever spoke a word to you, only ‘miss’ when he said goodbye or ‘oh, didn’t see you there’ when he would first climb the stairs. You craned your neck to peer over your shoulder. The peaky wasn’t here for long, merely came in, gave something to Alfie, and then left. You watched as Alfie lifted the card, short nail of his thumb clipping the paper, tearing it. He ripped the paper open too slowly for your liking so you rose from your seat. “Good god, Alfie, its meant to be torn open.” You came to a stop at his side. Placing your small hand on his shoulder, you peered over at the envelope. “Anyway, I’m meant to be the one checking your mail.” You smoothly snatched the rectangular form from him before turning on your heel and retreating to the corner. You tore the slip of paper further, doing your best to hurry before Alfie stood and made his way toward you.

As you predicted, his chair groaned as the man rose. “Oi!” He moved toward you. “Come on, love, hand it here.” He extended his arm toward you, fingers wiggling in a ‘come here’ motion. You paid him no mind. Removing the small invitation, your eyes flickered along the brown background before settling on the words. “They’ve invited you to a dance.” You muttered, confusion filling you. Alfie wasn’t good friends with the Shelby’s, why would they invite him out. Alfie’s walking didn’t come to a stop until his chest brushed against your back and he could see the words clearly, looking down and over your shoulder. “I don’t do dances.” He muttered. Reaching around you, he pinched the card with his thumb and pointer finger before flicking it toward the trash can. “Hang on a minute.” You spun around to face him. He was much much taller than you, so you weren’t intimidating at all. “Alfie, this could be a good way to gain more of his trust. He’s invited you for a meeting, surely. It’s just a public setting this time.” You brushed your hair out of your eyes, lips twitching as he studied you. “It said I needed a bloody date, yeah?” He grunted. “I don’t got one of those, do I? No, pet, last time I checked, I was as single—“ You shrugged. “I’ll go with you.” Silencing him instantly, your hands clasped together behind your back, shyly wringing together. “I-if you want? I’m your assistant anyway, I’m meant to help out.” You added.

Alfie fixed you with a pointed look before moving away. His boots thudded noisily against the ground before he sat down with an audible grunt. “Why would you, right, wanna be my date?” Adjusting the spectacles on his face, he finally lowered them, chain clinging to his neck. You arched a brow. “I never get to go out and I’d like to go to a dance.” You straightened your posture, trying to seem more confident than you actually were. “It has nothing to do with me wanting to go out with you, Alfie. I just want to go out.” You assured him before lifting the files from his desk. Cradling the bindings, you moved toward your wooden desk and sat down, back toward the man. “Alright.” He spoke gruffly. “You can come with me.” You, grateful that he couldn’t see the way your features brightened at his words, nodded lightly so all he saw was the bob of your head. “Very well then, when is it?” You asked, still not bothering to look toward him. Revealing the excitement you felt would only annoy the man, right? You needed to stay calm and compliant with whatever was said. “Tonight.” He muttered, looking to the card that lay on the floor beside his boot. Leaning over, he pinched it between his fingers once more before tucking it away in his jacket. “You don’t need to wear nothing fucking fancy, yeah? We can just go straight from work.” He pointed out. You looked down at your attire before finally twisting in your seat, eyes locking on the man. “Sorry.. Mr. Solomons, but I can’t wear this to a luxurious place. This is a mere dress, I need to wear my gown.” Cocking a brow, you bit your cheek. “Please, Alfie? Don’t you want your date to look pretty?”

Alfie scoffed quietly. Who said Thomas Shelby had chosen a luxurious place. “A dress doesn’t make a woman pretty.” He muttered, voice low and careless, almost as if there was nothing preventing him from speaking his mind. And apparently there wasn’t. “Your face and personality are pretty enough, pet, right, you don’t need to wear a fancy fucking gown.” You flushed vibrantly at his words before smoothly turning away before he could see your rosy skin. He thought you were pretty?

Alfie licked his lips, trying to think of how he could explain what he’d just said, but since you hadn’t complained or questioned him further, he let it go. “You know, being my date means you don’t just..” you turned once more, curious to know what exactly being his date consisted of. Your boot sunk into the floor before tapping the ground lazily. You sat with your legs crossed, one hand resting on the back of your seat, the other in your lap. “Alfie?” You pressed when he didn’t answer right away.

The man grumbled incoherently before laying his hands on his thighs and leaning back in his chair. The bendable seat retracted. He was slouched, comfortably, it seemed. His hands moved to clasp together over his belly, elbows residing on the arms of his chair. “Being a gangster’s date, pet, that means you’re fucking willing to do a lot, yeah, and you, well, you offering yourself up the way you just have, right, means you’re aware of what you have to do, innit?” You frowned softly. What the hell was he hinting at. “Words, Alfie, use better words. Quit beating around the bush.” You watched as his face turned a dashing shade of red. “Sex?” You inquired, unsure of why that would be involved, especially somewhere public. Alfie’s eyes widened, head shaking dramatically. “Christ, girl, what do you think we do at dinners.” He laughed loudly, his hearty chuckle kissing your ears. “Well you’re blushing like a schoolboy, Alfie, what am I meant to think!” Turning away, again, you busied yourself with the work on the desk, ankle rotating lazily. If he didn’t want to tell you then fine, you’d figure it out eventually. “Just a few kisses.” He finally whispered.

You weren’t even sure if you’d heard him correctly, but after seeing how shy the man got when speaking about displays of affection, you didn’t say anything to embarrass him further. “Well.” You bit your lip gently, hand falling to rest on the desk. You hadn’t kissed a man in a very long time. “I suppose that’s nothing I can’t handle.” You told him softly, both of your voices much weaker and shyer than they were before. Alfie’s eyes shot to you at your words, but he didn’t say anything. Studying the back of you, his eyes moved from your curled locks, along the revealed skin of your shoulders, and down your spine. Looking away, he frowned softly. He’d never looked at you as more than a secretary, ever. He thought you were beautiful, sure, but he’d never really looked at you. Maybe it was because you were in your early 20’s and he was sure you wouldn’t want to waste your time with a man in his 30’s, but he couldn’t help the little smile that pulled at his lips. “I’ll see you tonight.” He spoke softly before rising. Grabbing his coat off of the hook by the door, the man pulled it on before leaving the room. You were drowning in the silence, eyes drifting to the door as it fell shut with a soft click. Alfie was gone and you were alone with your thoughts. It wouldn’t have bothered you if they weren’t about him.

The day seemed to drag on. Every paper you filed was now in its proper place. Your nails tapped against the surface of the desk, lazily humming a soft tune as you pondered the events that would take place later on tonight.

The clock in the corner struck five and you assumed that that was a suitable time to head home. You lived right around the corner so it wouldn’t take long for you to get back to the distillery. The sun was low in the sky, but still shone down brightly on the streets and its occupants below. You made your way up the little stairs to your front door before unlocking the knob and stepping into the warm house. The corridor to your bedroom was lengthy, but inviting. You had lots of decor scattered along the shelves in the hallway, photographs lazily thrown here and there on top of the cracked, wooden tabletop at the end of the walkway. Opening your bedroom door, you stepped inside. You already knew what you were going to wear. You had had a dress picked out for a long time— for a special occasion and now, after a year of owning the beauty, you were able to actually wear it.

———————————————————

Alfie smiled apologetically to Thomas. It was seven. “I’m not sure where she’s gone off to, yeah, I fucking told her to just wait, but that ones got a mind of her fucking own.” He muttered before pushing his hands further into the deep pockets of his coat. “You go on, right, yeah, you go on, Tommy and we’ll just meet you there.” Alfie’s breath was visible in the cold air, blowing away in visible puffs with every word he spoke. Thomas shook his head lightly, waving his hand to hush Alfie’s apologies. “Probably went home to get dolled up, Alfie, lots of women do.” The man muttered before licking his chapped lips and placing his cigarette between them. “I can’t picture you with a woman.” Thomas spoke again. “I mean, what’s your type?” Casual conversation didn’t sit well with either of them, but they tried their best. Alfie grumbled, thinking about the answer to the question. The last woman he’d actually been with worked at the brothel down the road and that was months ago. Before he could answer, the sound of a car rolling up met the man’s ears. The wheels crackled softly as they drove over the gravel, coming to a stop after a few moments. The driver climbed out and opened the back door, ushering for you to get out. “Have a good night, Miss.” Tipping his hat to you, he climbed back into the vehicle and road off. When the large car was no longer blocking Alfie’s view, his eyes, originally flooded with annoyance and frustration, darkened when they settled on you, but not with unhappiness. His eyes flitted along your form, studying you. The red dress you wore was vibrant, eye-catching. It was stunning, especially on you. Your hair was pinned up and out of your face, only a few loose hairs tickled the sides of your face and that was simply because they were too short to be pinned back. Alfie’s mouth fell open, but he quickly shut it, tongue pushing firmly into his cheek. “That,” he leaned toward Tommy. “is my fucking type.”

Thomas arched a brow at Alfie’s words before looking to you as well. His eyes moved from your daring red lipstick to your rosy cheeks and colored eyelids. You looked stunning. Absolutely mesmerizing, but Thomas showed no emotion. “You’re dating your secretary?” He spoke quietly as you began to approach. “Mh, it would appear so.” The gangster muttered before moving away from the man’s side and approaching you. “What did I tell you about going home and getting all fucking dressed up?” The man whispered, towering above you. Despite his attempt to hide how he truly felt, you could see the attraction he felt, hanging in his gaze. You lifted your hand to his cheek. “Thank you.” You cooed sweetly. Hiding his words with grateful ones of your own, you pretended that he’d complimented you instead, so tommy didn’t get suspicious that the pair of you weren’t really together.

Alfie’s skin was hot beneath your fingers and you found yourself enraptured by how much heat he carried. The man licked his lips slowly before straightening. “Come on.” His hand fell to yours and he lightly grasped it. Thomas, once he’d seen the two of you interact, had to admit he could feel the chemistry. Alfie had done good. Ushering the pair of you to follow him, he made his way down the dark road, walking a few steps ahead of the two of you. You could feel the piercing eyes that belonged to your lover, for the night, boring into you. “Alfie.” You whispered softly, eyes drifting up to his own. “Stop staring, you’re making it seem like you’ve never seen me like this before.” He halted. “Pet, for all they know we just started fucking dating, right.” You squinted. “It’s more believable if you look at me like you want to love me, not fuck me.” Slapping his arm, you rolled your eyes playfully before walking again. He was quick to keep up, hand tightening around your own so you couldn’t get too far. “I’m not looking at you like I want to f-“ You hushed him. He was being so defensive. It was cute. Following Thomas into a large building, the lively music inside could be heard from the street. The second the doors were opened though, the loud music met your ears. The room was gold and red, everyone was dressed in fine clothing and beautiful jewelry. Alfie still thought you were the most beautiful of them all. His hand slid up your arm before moving to your lower back, guiding you into his side as you followed Thomas to a table in the center of the room where the rest of his family sat. Dragging off your coat, Alfie took it from you before putting it away with his own. Grunting quietly, he pulled your chair out before settling down at your side. Your eyes scanned the people at the table who you’d met once before. That was a year ago and they hadn’t thought you were with or ever would be with Alfie.

John extended his arm, hand curling around your small hand. “Good to see you again.” He flashed a charming smile, trying to win you over with his sensitive tone, but Arthur was quick to nudge him to the side, head shaking lightly. “Quit it, brother.” He muttered. Esme looked to john with a hard stare before directing her attention to her food. She didn’t much care for you, nor you her, but it was good you only saw this family once in a while and only when Alfie invited you along. You felt his hot fingertips against your shoulder, touch gentle as he spoke to Polly. His fingers were tracing your shoulder bone before gliding down the length of your arm. You ignored the goosebumps that rose on your skin, but allowed yourself to lean into him, fingers moving to rest on his knee beneath the table. Even though nobody could see what your hand was doing, they could see where it was and that was enough. Alfie jumped lightly at the foreign touch before looking to you instantly. His eyes were wide, but he calmed as soon as he saw you, looking back at him beneath your pretty lashes. Your eyes fell to his lips but you didn’t lean in. If he wanted to kiss, he would be the one to initiate it. You directed your attention to your glass of wine before looking to Thomas as he began to speak about business. Blah blah blah. You shifted slowly. You didn’t care about business talk, it never applied to you. Thomas had his hands clasped together on the table and grace was completely infatuated with every word he spoke, fingers lazily trailing along the top of his hand, but he showed her no attention. Alfie was completely different, he wouldn’t take his hand away from you for even a second. John and Arthur seemed to be more touchy than their wives, so you assumed that looking at the rest of the table’s occupants to see how physical you should be to be believable was pointless. You and Alfie would just be.. you. Your thumb slid along his knee before you looked toward him. “I’m going to go to the ladies room.” You told him softly before standing. His hand grazed your back before moving to your hip as you stood. He stared up at you like you were the most angelic thing he’d ever seen. He craned his neck, ensuring he had a clear view of the bathroom so he could get to you quickly if he needed to. It was far. “I’ll come with you.” He stood. “What?” Staring at the man in shock, you stood as well, hand moving to his chest. “No, stay here, it’s fine, I’ll be right back.” The man curled his hand around your arm gently. “Pet, I’m not asking.” Spinning you around, he didn’t release your hand but instead pulled you along with him to the bathroom. “You don’t know these fucking people, Y/N, right, but they know me.” He stopped in a vacant hall, staring down at you intently. “I don’t know what I’d do if someone put a hand on you because of me.” He muttered, hand lifting to his face so he could rub it down. “Alfie..” you whispered softly, fingers moving to his elbows. You’d touched him many times before, but now, being his date, the touches didn’t seem so innocent. “Alfie.” You repeated and he finally moved his hand away from his features. “Nobody is here for me.. okay? Thomas wanted you here for a dinner and a meeting and you’re missing out on it so you can check on me.” Squeezing his arms gently, you let a little giggle leave your throat, head shaking. “I’m fine, really, I am, okay?” Alfie sighed softly before nodding once. He turned to move away before halting. “What I said about earlier..” you lifted a brow. “Earlier when?” The man grunted softly. “About kissing.” He whispered. “Are you okay with that?” His eyes met your own and you smiled softly at his question. “I wouldn’t have gone out with you if i wasn’t.” Opening the door to the girls restroom, you disappeared inside.

Alfie, smug smile on show, made his way back through the crowded room toward the table. Sitting back down with a grunt of satisfaction, he looked to Thomas. “What did I miss?” The bloke shook his head, hand wrapped around Grace’s. “Nothing, really, we didn’t discuss anything important.” He finally looked to Alfie. “Everything alright with Y/N?” Alfie nodded softly. “Mh, I’m just very fucking protective of her, ain’t i? Yeah, and she likes her independence so it’s a bit fucking complicated at times, right, but she knows how to talk to me so she always fucking gets what she wants.” He shook his head before looking to the bathroom just as you emerged and headed back toward the table.

Settling back down in your chair, your hand slid to his, cold from just being washed, but you were sure they would warm up momentarily. “Alright, Alfie.” He shifted. “I want to take down the Italians.” You slumped back against the seat, looking as bored as the other women. You didn’t handle violence well and you had never been in a fight or disagreement with someone that hadn’t ended with an apology of some sort. This business was not yours. Your head rolled to the side to rest against Alfie’s shoulder and with every chortle, your head would shake. Alfie’s hand moved along the sticky surface of the table, knuckles knocking against it with his harsh laughter and deep conversation. He looked to you curiously when he felt your head growing heavier. “Pet?” He spoke softly, lips against your ear. “You alright?” You lifted your head from his shoulder and slowly moved your hand to the back of his head. Leaning in closer, your eyes fell shut, lips sliding to his ear so you could speak quietly. “I’m not really into business talk.” You told him truthfully before drawing back. Alfie let his lips spread into a slow smile before he moved his hand to your chair and drew you closer to him. “What kind of talk are you into?” His voice was low. Those who looked at the two of you couldn’t hear what was being said, just saw that the two of you were enraptured by each other. “Mh, all kinds, just not work.” Your smile was soft and warm as you leaned into him. “But sometimes I’m not into talking at all.” He lifted a brow. You licked your lips, effectively pulling his attention to your mouth. It was painted red. Your lips were full, silently challenging him. He’d never wanted to kiss you before, had he? His hand slid to the center of your back, breaths deepening as he slowly leaned in. His lips were inches from your own, possibly even centimeters. You could feel his hot breath as it hit your lips and that was all the approval you needed. You leaned in even further and you could’ve sworn you felt his mouth just barely touch yours, a featherlight skim, before Thomas spoke up and Alfie was drawn away from you and back into conversation.

The disappointment that filled you confused you. Why did it matter if you got to kiss Alfie or not? This was a fake date. Leaning back in your chair, you couldn’t hide your displeasure. Averting your eyes to your lap, your hands lazily fiddled with each other. Alfie was just as unhappy that he hadn’t been able to kiss you. Tonight was the only night he’d be able to. He had an excuse to. His lips were tingling, burning from want, but he swallowed his desire down and focused on his conversation with the Shelby’s. The lively music was starting to die down and the dancing crowd had dispersed, each person finding their own corner to drunkenly take a seat or a breather if they needed it. Women had their heads laid upon men’s chests, seeking warmth and comfort as their tired bones threatened to drop at that very second. You studied the people in the room before looking to Alfie when he took your hand. “Come on, dove, time to go home.”

The entirety of the table was already standing, pulling on their coats and hats as they gathered their belongings and finished off the last of their drinks. You licked your lips slowly before straightening in your seat. “I-“ standing slowly, You stared up at the man apologetically. “Sorry, I must’ve been lost in my thoughts.” The man shook his head at your apology, hands settling on your shoulders as he wrapped your coat around you. “Nonsense, pet, don’t fucking apologize, right, I didn’t expect you to fucking pay attention to all that, yeah, it’s business, and you’re much more than business.” As you stared up at him, your ears twitched at his words. Nobody was even within earshot so you weren’t sure if he was just talking or if the man actually meant what he’d said. Staring up at him, you buttoned the front of your coat as he drew his own on. “See you next time, Shelby’s.” He called out gruffly before taking your hand in his own. The club was clearing out so you assumed it was time for closing. Letting Alfie lead the way, you subconsciously let your body move closer to his own as the cold, night air attacked you. The car was parked at the front so when he finally let go of your hand to open your door, you couldn’t help but scramble hurriedly into the warm vehicle. Closing your eyes gratefully, the man slid into the driver’s seat. You’d been outside for no longer than 45 seconds, but that was enough for the icy air to prick your skin.

It wasn’t a long drive back to your home, but apparently it was long enough for you to doze off. Alfie sat in the silence, nothing but the sound of passing cars filled the air. Your head, once again, found his sturdy, strong, but very comfy shoulder and you nuzzled into him as he drove. He kept his eyes ahead. He could already feel the burning in his chest, the reminder of what it felt like to like someone. He looked to you shyly. To care for someone. The man clenched his jaw before turning the car down an even darker road and toward your home. He realized then that taking you, a woman he saw everyday, out tonight was a mistake. The growth of feelings in his chest would only sprout further and this little crush he felt was bound to develop into something stronger. Soon he’d start noticing the little sway of your hips when you moved and the faint dimples beside your lips when you smiled. He’d notice your baby hairs as they tickled your forehead and the way your hair was actually quite long when you let it down. He shook himself out of his thoughts and stopped the car. He had the urge to carry your slumbering form into the cozy house, but he knew if he did that, there was no going back. He nudged you with his shoulder carefully. “Pet, you’re home, mh.” He ushered to your house. You sleepily lifted your head, hand curling before uncurling as you tried to remember what you were doing with Alfie. Studying him curiously, realization slapped you in the face and you grinned instantly. “Goodnight, Mr. Solomons.” Leaning forward, your fingers moved to his beard. “It’s a shame you didn’t kiss me.” Your mouth pressed to his cheek. A mere whisper of a kiss, before you slid out of the car and vanished into the darkness toward the front door. He hadn’t missed his chance, Alfie reminded himself. No, there were many, many more dates to come. He was sure of it.

—————————————————————

@thatsamegirl @peakyhoegh @ihclipse @callisen @hardygal69 @centerhabit @favouritereadings @goodiesintheclosetlove @buckypetal15

—————————————————————

Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

#alfie imagines #alfie solomons #alfie solomons fanfic #alfie solomons fanfiction #alfie solomons imagine #alfie solomons x reader #tom hardy #tom hardy fanfic #tom hardy fanfiction #tom hardy imagine #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders #tom

408 notes · View notes

pasteldirkgently-blog · 8 years ago

Text

Dirk/Todd ship ask

@lovingvincent requested I do this for the ship ask. Send me your DGHDA ships and I’ll fill in the questions below accordingly!

Who Hogs the Duvet? I definitely think it would be Todd. In the first episode we saw Dirk sleeping above the covers in his bed, plus imagine Todd rolling over in his sleep and yanking all the sheets with him? Dirk doesn’t mind, but he will tease his cute boyfriend about it in the morning just to see Todd’s cheeks flush with embarrassment.

Who Texts/Rings to check how the others day is going? Dirk for sure. He does it at the most inconvenient times to. He’ll be hiding from a rather dangerous suspect and he’ll just decide to text Todd to see what’s up because if the universe wanted that scary guy to find him/kill him it would’ve happened already, duh. Todd also does love the text messages he gets from Dirk, but at one point his detective does mention in a text that maybe he might need saving send Farah or yourself please! Xx

Who’s the most creative when it comes to gifts? Dirk! He’s very creative, he learned how to make cool things when he was in CIA holding. There wasn’t much to do and well, there was a lot of toilet paper, so he made a bouquet of thin papered roses almost every week. Eventually Riggins gives him a crafting kit. Dirk makes Todd wind chimes out of guitar picks he found lying around the apartment.

Who Gets Up First in the Morning? Todd does. He’s used to getting up at the crack of dawn for his old jobs, and every morning he sits at his coffee table with a hot cup of coffee resting between his hands and a cigarette hanging from his parted lips. He watches the sun rise over Seattle from his single apartment window and waits for Dirk to stir awake around noon.

Who Suggests New Things in Bed? Todd. Dirk isn’t really experienced sexually so Todd usually has to take control in that area.

Who Cries at Movies? Tbh, as obvious of a choice as it sounds it’s Dirk. One time Todd suggested they watch El Dorado and wtf Dirk just started bawling when Tulio was going to leave Miguel. Very emotional stuff. But one time Todd cried from laughing so hard at the sheer ridiculousness that is the Bee Movie.

Who Gives Unprompted Messages? Dirk. He likes to send Todd pictures of cool rocks or things he sees at the grocery store. Sometimes he’ll send a funny video of the cat shark making growling sounds as it eats. Todd saves everything Dirk sends him.

Who Fusses Over the Other When they’re Sick? Todd get’s very worried about Dirk one day when he see’s Dirk coughing up his lungs and sniffling a lot. When Todd presses the palm of his hand against Dirk’s forehead and feels the warmth of a fever. He makes Dirk go lay down in Todd’s bed and force feeds him chicken soup and holds his hair back when Dirk pukes. At one point Todd comes home from a trip to the store with every form of cold medication he could find and starts fixing up his ill lover.

Who Gets Jealous Easiest? Dirk. One time Todd was getting flirted with at the bar they went to together and Dirk was not having it. Todd has never heard the word boyfriend used so much in a sentence before but by the point Dirk had finished the person who’d been flirting with him had left.

Who Has the Most Embarrassing Taste in Music? Dirk. He loves K-pop and underground rave music.

Who Collects Something Unusual? After Dirk brings home yet another trophy item from a case, this time it’s a hand sized frog statue Dirk ripped off the side of a crumbling fountain edge, Todd has to say enough. Or at least, Todd has to rent a storage space because there isn’t enough room in either of their apartments for this much memorabilia.

Who Takes the Longest to get Ready? Both. Their bathrooms are cluttered with different skin and hair products, and Dirk takes to long trying to find a humorous tie to go with his vibrant outfit while Todd is still in the shower.

Who is the Most Tidy/Organized? Todd! He needs his living space to be clear of clutter and to smell like Pine-Sol. Dirk likes to leave his dirty laundry all over the bedroom and every morning Todd silently murmurs curse words and picks all the crumpled articles and washes them while his lover is sleeping soundly. Todd also has to wash all the dishes they use because one time Dirk broke a plate in the sink and cut his thumb and now Todd doesn’t trust him to handle washing them.

Who Gets the Most Excited About Holidays? After having been locked away in CIA holding for so long Dirk never got to properly celebrate any holidays. Now whenever a holiday is coming around he and Todd buy every decoration offered for that Holiday and string them up all over the apartment. Dirk will also cut Heart shapes for Valentine’s day, Snowflakes for Christmas, and Bats for Halloween.

Who is the Big Spoon/Little Spoon? Todd is the big spoon, Dirk curls up on his side and leans against Todd’s chest while Todd wraps his arms securely around his detective and listens to his breathing.

Who Gets Most Competitive When Playing Games and or Sports? Both. One time they played a six hour game of Monopoly that ended with Todd throwing the board off the table and Dirk screaming his was the king and throwing the fake money at Todd.

Who Starts the Most Arguments? Todd for sure. He has a lot of doubts about everything and it does occasionally frustrate Dirk.

Who Suggest that they Buy a Pet? Well Dirk already has the shark kitten which does make Todd nervous as it can rip people literally in half but when the little guy is snoozing in Todd’s lap in the morning he decides that there is no pet better than Dirk’s and his cat.

What TV Shows do they Watch? Dirk is a huge Criminal Minds fan. He likes to judge the characters for needing to find clues and pretends he wasn’t totally surprised by that twist ending!! Todd will watch BoJack Horseman or It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia. He likes his cynical humor okay.

What Other Couples do they Hang Out With? Farah/Amanda, Amanda/The Rowdy 3, Amanda/Martin, Bart/Ken. There’s a lot they could be potentially hanging out with tbqh.

How Do They Spend Time Together as a Couple? There’s a lot of snuggling at first. Dirk likes to go on long car drives and explore Seattle and Todd tries not to faint during his lovers hectic driving. They’ll solve new cases and eat a home cooked dinner together almost every night.

Who Made the First Move? Dirk. After realizing Todd would be forever oblivious to his rather blatant flirting tactics, he finally made his first real move in the jeep when they were both exhausted from digging for Mr. Spring’s machine. Todd was leaning back in the passenger seat his eyes studying the stars above because in the city you barely got to see the night sky this clearly. His hands were folded across his chest and that’s when Dirk had the greatest idea. He slowly trailed his own hand across the small space between him and his assistant before lightly sliding it up Todd’s wrist, by now earning the heart fluttering attention of Todd who had unfolded his arms and held it limply out for Dirk to easily interlace their fingers in silent hand holding. They didn’t talk about it, but Todd and Dirk both clearly could feel the romantic tension suffocating them for the remainder of the night.

Who Brings Flowers Home? Dirk see’s all these pretty bouquets of flowers at a flower stand in the park one day and decides to buy the whole cart of plants without a second thought. Todd’s tiny apartment is now flourishing with strong scented flowers and Todd admittedly did find it a nice surprise when he pushed open the door to find Dirk watering a load of flowers in his apartment.

Who is the Best Cook? Todd. Todd can cook anything,he learned the skill in college when he had about three different room-mates who also couldn’t fend for themselves, someone had to learn the trait and Todd decided to pick it up. One day after taste testing Dirk’s bowl of brown mush that Dirk swore was supposed to be coca puffs and oatmeal mixed together, Todd teaches Dirk how to make some basic meals. When he tries to teach Dirk how to make bread, they both get covered in flour and have a mini spice war. Their kitchen as well as each other are covered in different spices, but they’re both laughing on the kitchen floor having a real swell time despite the mess.

#dirk gently's holistic detective agency #brotzly #todd brotzman #dirk gently #dirk and todd #ship ask #long #the detective and his gorgeous assistant

93 notes · View notes

ofsparksandwings · 8 years ago

Text

Sensing

Jan 1, 2017 – Of Vietnam, from Nom Khiaw, Laos

And now I exhale. Before a 1,000 foot looming karst that plays hide and seek in the mist of the Laos cloud forest, I embrace the rainy day while I sit on the thatch-roofed porch of my well-appointed bungalow at the interstices. These spaces in between, neither of this world nor outside it, not attached to past or future, breed reflection like no other.

Preceded by a particularly immersive weekend meditation retreat, this travel experience, more than most, has allowed me to almost watch the ebb and flow of my reactions as a detached observer. I always find that displacing oneself from the familiarity of home conjures feelings of every extreme. The elation of a strong, steaming shower, after days without, can be replaced with shocking swiftness by the devastation of a boat trip to a coveted landscape cancelled due to unseasonable rain. Just as mercurial was the titillation I felt, on Christmas Eve in Vietnam, when my hotel staff performed a hilarious choreographed version of Uptown Funk in Santa suits – too soon followed by a sleepless night because India’s bureaucratic and labyrinthian e-visa website threatened to thwart my ability to gain entry in the country where I am committed to deliver a youth arts project in just 2 weeks.

However, I am no longer surprised when such unabashed joy erodes the moment another travel aspiration is dashed. I’ve ventured far from creature comforts often enough to realize that my daily happiness on the road is inextricably linked to the management of my expectations. And so I secretly hoard my hopes, like one does their vices (whisky under the bed or sweets in a hard to reach cookie jar). And instead I strive to absorb each travel experience like a sponge – neutral and receptive, as open to saturation as I am ready to be wrung out to dry.

Hanoi boasts more cafes than Vancouver, Seattle, and Portland combined. And one of our favorites was the Notes Café. Visitors are invited to leave messages on pastel sticky notes that wallpaper this three-story, 10-by-10 sliver, in the centre of town. On mine I wrote, “live every day like a traveler” by which I mean to savor every sensation like it’s the first time you’ve ever encountered it.

A lofty goal, but one far more easily achieved when a routine day includes the blood-curdling squeals of a giant pig as Hmong tribesman try to tie it, alive, to the back of their moped; the ubiquitous smell of fish sauce, cigarettes and singed flesh; the glories of a woman’s firm hand kneading all of your worries from between your toes; the taste of a liquid hot coconut pancake bought on the street for a quarter; or the hourly site of a mother tenderly picking lice from her child’s hair on the sidewalk, their family’s “dirty laundry” laid bare, the way it seems everyone lives their lives in this part of the world – in public, proud and shameless. Perhaps it’s why all their café chairs face outwards, where an endless array of stimuli abounds. Weddings are held in open downtown patios; men can get a shave or a haircut on every street corner; electrical wires hang in exposed, tangled webs draped from block to block; and cyclists ride past, dwarfed by enough wares to fill a whole floor of a department store. I envy such candor. We could all learn from their honesty. And I think such transparency lends itself to much deeper compassion.

Sense-making

Jan 1, 2017 – Of Vietnam, from Nom Khiaw, Laos

Another favorite aspect of travel, for me, is sense-making. It was three days before we learned that the balloons cryptically sold at every Hanoi bar were filled with shisha (a flavored smoke enjoyed in Hookah clubs around the world). The same amount of time was required to realize that the amplified chant which woke us every dawn was communist propaganda emanating from the loud-speakers of their garbage trucks. Conversely, the donut ladies and shoe repair boys were a much quicker read. Not two minutes off our airport bus, we were accosted, unawares, by a woman in a triangular straw hat who popped free TimBits in our mouths. This seemed like a friendly welcome, but it turns out the same ruse happens every 15 minutes in Hanoi. So, we learned to keep our mouths closed when we passed them to avoid the pressure to buy more. Just a minute later, with our sore-thumb status confirmed by our rolled suitcases, a sharp-eyed, young male bent at my feet and proceeded to glue the sole of my shoe, near the toe, where it had begun to detach. While I reached for a 5,000 dong note (30 cents) to thank him, he had already grabbed his needle and mismatched thread, ripped my sneaker off my foot, and continued to repair the undamaged heel. Then, he asked for the equivalent of a whopping $10 for his unsolicited 2 minutes of labor and mismatched gold scar which he left on the treasured shoes that I’d bought on my last adventure, in Colombia. We settled on a buck, and I chocked it up to a great tale. Now, I’m just hoping that I’ll get them polished in Kenya then stolen in Paris so I’ll eventually collect a story from every continent.

There are sensations I count on as sort of traveler’s homing-devices in every part of the world. Rooster wake-up calls, unidentified prickly fruits, chromatic bird calls, steaming street food, traffic chaos, and smoky sunsets. Then, there are those unique to certain regions. And I have to confess that Asia’s tickle me most. The constant waft of Buddhist incense. The colorful light that paper lanterns lend to almost every setting. The gorgeous silks and embroidered textiles that line the markets like flags attesting to the efforts of the women who have toiled over these precious pieces. And then, of course, the delectable food that no amount of Delhi belly can deter me from trying. There is noodle soup, sticky rice, hot pots, curry, sweet iced coffees, teas, and fried bananas to name a mere few. My mouth is watering as I write. So much so, I think it’s time to break for dinner….

Travel Lessons

Jan 5, 2017 – Of Vietnam, from Luang Prabang, Laos

Certain insight can be revealed about a culture through one’s own eyes. The art nouveau propaganda posters that abound in Vietnam act as souvenirs that loudly scream of their unabashed hatred for the US during the “American War”, as they aptly call it. Conversely, a crowd of children yelling in a public park turned out to be a game of Tug of War – an ironic demonstration of their more peaceful present times. Thoughtfully restored French colonial structures and fresh baked baguettes at every café infer a certain reconciliation with their former imperialists. As did our experience on Christmas Eve, when we accidentally happened upon thousands of locals singing Silent Night in front of a jumbotron outside St Joseph’s Cathedral, where several hundreds more attended the service. Though a vestige of their colonizer’s religion, the profound sincerity of their adopted faith gave us chills.

Other truths have to be gleaned from more deliberate research. Hanoi’s impressive Women’s Museum (an institution I wish existed in every nation) taught me that females have been leaders in Vietnam for centuries (politically, militarily, scholarly and otherwise). Perhaps influenced by the history of numerous matrilineal tribes, women seem largely respected and included in Vietnamese public life – not only relegated to domestic responsibilities as we’ve observed more in places like India and Morocco. Of course, along with this has come grueling physical and low-paid labor, in sweat shops, on farms, and everywhere on the streets where you see them carry burdensome wicker baskets dripping with vegetables or chickens or toys, balanced by a mere bamboo pole that rests on their probably thickly calloused shoulders.

But I always learn the most interesting things from my direct interactions with locals. Hanoi is not without its hipsters. Microbrew culture is budding. Latte art and mojitos are easy to find. And the trendy Tadioto Bar was certainly the best example. This dimly lit, art-gallery-slash-20-seater drinking hole hosts Vietnam’s artsy literati types, along with the few foreigners who can find it. The 27-year old manager, who did not look a day over 16, returned to his hometown to swap philosophical banter with his clientele after a grad school stint in Wisconsin as a poetry major. And we were privileged to a long chat with him once the place had emptied. He spoke about a small but thriving educated class, eager to study abroad. He criticized the hypocrisy of the blatant consumerist values he perceives in Vietnam while it remains a Communist state. His female companion, (an actual 16-year old far too big for her britches, sipping tea amidst her adult peers while home on holiday from her New Jersey prep school), added that many of her compatriots were quick to capitalize on the ease with which a clever person could make good money in her country. And when we asked about the danger of dissent (like we’d previously observed in Cuba, for example), they shared that because many “revolutionary” thinkers can relatively maintain the comfortable lifestyle they want, within the current regime, their objections remain more ideological than action-based because their need to make waves is not great enough. Of course, such a conversation is merely a glimpse of their political reality, and received only through the lens of a few select opinions. However, it still added much richer hues to the picture of Vietnam that I had before my visit.

Tours and Chores

January 6, 2017 – Of Vietnam, from Luang Prabang

While I travel primarily to gain cultural insight, not all of my travel choices have such lofty intentions. I am also hungry for new experiences and certainly allow myself to indulge in occasional not-to-miss attractions along the way. In Vietnam, one of those was HaLong Bay, where thousands of mythically shaped karst mountains hold court in the South China Sea, like creatures out of a horror film. One can’t avoid sharing this World Wonder with 2,000 other travelers who dot the coast in orange-sailed junket boats on any given day. And whether you want to or not, you are shuttled through an action-packed itinerary that includes a cave trek, kayaking, and a cooking class. Not a bad combo at all, but the constant demands on our minute-by-minute behavior had me wondering if they’d dictate when I could pee or even breathe too. Such guided programs do, however, offer some surprises. And while I dreaded the visit to a cultured pearl farm, for fear of aggressive sales pressure, I was astounded by the lengths to which our species manipulates nature to mine it for the tiniest gems. After a test tube baby-like breeding process that mixes a dead oyster’s shell lining with organic flesh, they inject this into a living mollusk in the hopes that a drop will fuse with sand and other solid ocean matter to produce the coveted pearl. Of course, it only works 3 out of 10 times, and then only 10% of those pearls are “perfect” sellable specimens. So, with a 3 % overall success rate, it’s no wonder this laborious process reaps such expensive jewelry. I was left wondering who ever thought up such craziness and why, but that’s a disorienting state in which I often find myself as I travel, and I invite it.

At the end of our two-day tour, we were mildly disappointed with the overcast weather that never lifted. But, for the most part, this only meant one less screen saver shot than we’d hoped. And, of course, that is never a real reason to travel. Meanwhile, the shrouded look did lend its own magic, and I still feel very grateful to have seen this one-of-a-kind landscapes.

Insights

January 9, 2017 – Of Laos, from Siem Reap, Cambodia

There are few places that can surprise anymore. Facebook, Instagram, the Amazing Race, our intrepid friends’ travel slideshow parties, and much cheaper, easier flights than ever before mean that at least someone somewhere has told you/showed you about nearly every place on earth. And though Laos is far less traveled to than most spots, surely some of our adventurous buddies had already ventured there. However, we’d resisted looking at their photos, or others, as much as possible prior to our trip. So, the country’s fifty shades of green, which barely resemble the same number that paint BC’s Sea to Sky corridor, were wonderous to discover.

The design sensibilities of the tribal weavers, the Buddhist temple-builders, and the interior decorators of Luang Prabang’s stylish cafes constantly exceeded our expectations. And the unwavering calm, clear-eyed joy of the Laotian people continued to amaze us while we failed to witness an exceptional case by our tenth day there.

But most shocking was the 100-year-old film, Chang, that documented daily Hmong life, deep in the Northern jungle, in a way that has not been rivalled before or since. It follows a loving family of four, in a scant stilted home, who lived at times in harmony and at others in discord with a host of creatures that surrounded them. Chickens, pigs, goats, giant lizards, pet baby bears, and howler monkeys they counted as friends or food. But leopards, tigers, cobras and a full herd of 400 elephants threatened them daily. It’s difficult to say what astounded us more - the boldness of this courageous filmmaker, or the preposterousness of this family’s efforts to outwit their far fiercer foes. Even more strange is the fact that the film is virtually unknown, and went entirely missing for almost 65 years until its recent rediscovery. So, while part of me wishes to keep Laos’s secrets amongst the few who are willing to go there and see for themselves, it would certainly benefit the study of Mekong’s indigenous people, and perhaps the anthropological understanding of other aboriginal cultures if this deserved film were to receive global circulation. However, for now, it is only available in the most quaint and romantic bike/walk-in theatre ever, each night at 7:30, in the garden of one of Luang Prabang’s most chic hotels – popcorn, beer and all.

We were granted another privileged and intimate peek into Laos culture when we took a slow boat up the Nam Ou river with our guide Wong, whose story spoke volumes about his people. Wong was born in a remote Northern farming village, the middle child of 11 siblings – the boys outnumbering the girls by only 1. Raised by parents with a strong value for education, Wong woke at 3 am, from the age of 5, to have enough time to steam rice for his “lunchbox” and then walk a whopping 3 hours to the nearest primary school, only to study from 7-1 and then repeat the whole journey home, every afternoon, before dark. Wishing to improve his access to learning, Wong chose, of his own volition, to become a monk at the age of 11, which meant that he had to move to Vientiene, 600 kilometres from home, to study at a temple school there. He generously shared that he cried non-stop for his first 3-days, but his homesickness abated when he soon began to make close friends. It was 7 years before he even once returned to his village, but his parents did make the long bus trek, once per year, to see him.

At 18, again by choice, Wong incurred a self-imposed fast, during which he remained in his room for 8-days of contemplative meditation, to determine if the monastic life was truly for him. He emerged spiritually strengthened but physically weakened, and his retreat was followed by a 6 days in the hospital. But his resolve to seek further university study and to one day marry caused him to disavow celibacy and asceticism. Most Laotians follow Therevadan Buddhism which allows for men and women to enter and exit monastic life (unlike the Dalai Lama’s Mahayana branch which requires a lifetime commitment), so Wong was not alone in his life transition. More than half of his childhood mates also left the monkhood and he sadly lost touch with all of them. His desire for love has not yet panned out either. He confessed to his discovery of Lao whisky and beer when he nursed a broken heart after his first love ended because he could not abide a possessive or jealous girlfriend. But his career aspirations did successfully lead him to complete degrees in English and Law. He also acknowledged that he knew he could be much more effective as a lay person, providing legal counsel to people in villages like his own, because many hill tribe people are not Buddhist and are thus less receptive to Buddhist monks.

So now, he has reached the arduous internship phase that his country requires of all bureaucrats. And this means that he must work full-time, without pay, potentially for several years, until he passes a very demanding exam to qualify as a legal officer. Meanwhile, he has to work weekends to pay for his living expenses, which is why we found ourselves scrambling into a limestone cave, swimming in jungle waterfalls, passing gargantuan 10-inch amphibious millipedes en route to a jungle waterfall, and kayaking cavernous river valleys with our charming guide who taught us so much.

View from Two Wheels

January 10, 2017 – Of Laos, from Siem Reap, Cambodia

Life is always observed most vibrantly for me from a bicycle. This slower two-wheeled pace, though faster than walking, still allows for careful observation of the people, places and things you pass along the road. And rather than to simply watch it, you are truly in it, moving as so many others do in the world, by human-powered pedal. Our Laos trip covered 300 k in 4 days, a manageable distance that still enabled us to cover some real ground.

Slipping towards and away from the Mekong and then Nam Ou waters, we were hugged by stunning views at every turn. But a few sights stand out in particular, for better or worse. -Triangular-hatted women working impossibly green rice fields, just like you might mythically imagine in any rural Southeast Asian scene. -Formerly-adorable, brown and black decapitated goat heads, on sale at the side of the road for god knows what culinary purpose. -Straw roofs covered in drying river weed to prepare one of our favorite Laotian treats, kaiphen, a scrumptious nori-style roasted greens served with sticky rice.

-Another seemingly unnecessary gas station, no less than every 10 k (5 times more prevalent than guest houses, for sure). We figured this gave the residents of the tiny villages en route a way to fill up their motor bikes without having to travel too far, but the infrastructure for these fossil fuel beasts seemed incongruous amidst the primitive nature of the surrounding communities. -And Hmong tribal children honoring their New Year celebration (Pei Mei) in incredibly festive traditional dress.

But the worst blight to our senses were the series of imposing dams which the Laos government has hired China Energy to build all over the country. I don’t think that there is any edifice that serves as a greater physical manifestation of humanity’s raping of Mother Earth than a giant concrete dam. And the thoughtless red spray-painted numbers scrawled across hundreds of families’ homes, slotted for demolition, were a stark reminder of the displacement such projects incur. Even more tragic is the fact that Laos is overdeveloping its hydro power for its population’s needs. So, it plans to sell it to its neighbors. Little beautiful has been built in the name of greed and these Mekong scars are no exception.

Massage Dynamics

January 10, 2017 – Of Laos, from Siem Reap, Cambodia It seems unfair that the aches and pains gained from a one-week bike tour could be so instantly and cheaply alleviated at your destination. But Luang Prabang is, indeed, the perfect landing spot for saddle sores, throbbing quads, and nagging shoulder injuries. The full menu of body treatments is available there (foot, Thai, Swedish, hot stone, or head massages). And we availed ourselves of all of them. When I pay a pretty penny for this luxury at home, I think I take for granted the true preciousness of the exchange. But somehow, when such bliss is doled out for less than $10 an hour, I am struck by the intimacy and privilege of having a complete stranger come into such close and loving contact with your flesh. Usually these are wordless encounters delivered by nameless people, which should not seem so touching (pardon the pun). However, the Laotian touch moved me. And because some of my former foreign masseuses have so mindlessly dialed it in (checking Facebook as they annoyingly rub the same 4 inches of my calf for ten minutes), I know the difference when I feel it. Such a blessing.

Post-massage bliss:

Expat Reflections

January 11, 2017 – Of expats I met along the way, from Kuala Lumpur

So, I’ve taken to waiting to record my travel thoughts until I reach each subsequent country – letting the tastes of Vietnam marry before writing about them in Laos; weaving the lessons from Laos into a story once I’ve arrived in Malaysia. And so it is here, in an Aussie style coffee shop in Kuala Lumpur, complete with its chalkboard menu scrawled in trendy font and wistful songstress tunes, that I sip a flat white and continue my reflections from Luang Prabang. And oh, how I love to let these foreign place names tickle my tongue. My next destination is my favorite – Kaliyampoondi, the Indian village where we will lead our youth arts project. And if the piece we create with the kids there is anywhere near as musical as its name we’ll be in great shape!

Throughout the journey we’ve met a host of ex-pats, (living and working in these countries). And I’ve become increasingly interested in understanding the dynamics of their lives abroad. So, since it is during this phase that I am the guest of my KL-based friend, Lisa Sauer, (the most intrepid traveller I know , with only 3 countries left on the globe unvisited) and her husband Jeff, I have been able to gain a keener insight into this topic. As someone who has had at least temporary residence in 7 countries, I am sensitive to the rewards, challenges and ethical quandaries that foreign living can pose. And each of the characters we’ve met on this trip have handled these in quite disparate ways.

Harps was a brawny Aussie who served as the virtual impresario of Nong Khiaw – a hostel owner and an expert on everything from the best river guide, to the coolest locals’ New Years Eve party, to the cheapest beer in town. He was already three sheets to the wind when we met him, at around 6 pm on December 31st, which added several hues to his usual colorful delivery. And he tipped us off to the riverside ritual, where locals floated banana leaf boats decorated with flowers, candles and incense to send their new year’s intentions down the Nam Ou.

We gratefully joined in, then later saw him at the town’s midnight bash, participating in a traditional Laotian dance (that oddly resembled American square dancing) while the mayor and his wife provided “musical” accompaniment with completely tone-deaf karaoke (seemingly the only kind in Laos, as I documented on the attached sound file recorded in Luang Prabang two days later). Harps seemed fairly well integrated into the culture, but was also quick to criticize several locally-run outfitters who he warned were out to fleece tourists. Interestingly, we met one such local competitor the following day, and this charming 32-year old bar/hostel/travel agent owner had similarly controversial things to say about foreign business owners (though, respectfully, without naming names). So, these two simple exchanges revealed volumes about the tensions that arise with ex-pat ownership.

I was made aware of another ex-pat conundrum in Siem Reap, Cambodia when I checked out a yoga studio in the town’s tourist hub. Paul was the South African owner of Ahimsa Yoga. And while the Sanskrit word ahimsa translates as non-harm, his demeanor was anything but harmless. When I inquired about the class style, schedule, etc. I was barraged with an uninvited litany of complaints about the LA hard-body divas who come to his classes thinking they have nothing to learn, the phony instructors who have commercialized yoga world-wide, and the foolishness of the scantically-clad co-eds that prance through his studio as well as the Siem Reap streets and then complain when local Buddhist men (not accustomed to seeing a women’s knee or shoulder in public) harass them. I took that as my cue not to return for the sunset flow class and chalked it up to another angry escapee, seeking refuge from the discontent of home only to swap it for frustrations of another ilk.

We did, however, meet several far more exemplary models of ex-pats doing genuine good abroad. The Aussie manager of Luang Prabang’s Saffron Café, another perfectly first-world styled coffee shop, partners with a local owner. They use only Laotian beans, roasters and staff and contribute 100% of business profits to Laos communities of need. And Joanna was the British owner of Ok Pok Tok, a divine respite perched over the Mekong, where we stayed for two nights. The four romantic villas are surrounded by lush gardens and adorned with top-quality textiles crafted by the tribal women they employ from around the country at the weavers coop which is located on the same grounds. Sandra and her Laotian business partner travel widely to discover and support indigenous artisans. From some they purchase wares in their remote communities and take on all the risk to sell them to tourists in the city. And for another 30 villagers, they offer a home and a job on their beautiful premises.

Inspirations

January 11, 2017 – Of Southeast Asian NGO’s, from Kuala Lumpur

Foreigners were hardly the only philanthropic folks we met either. Local social enterprises abound in Laos and Cambodia. Friends International is an awesome organization that provides drop-in centres, transition homes, and education to marginalized youth. It also trains street kids from both countries in gourmet cooking and then employs them in one of their 8 restaurants (in LP, Siem Reap, Phnom Penh and more). We ate at Luang Prabang’s branch, Kaiphen (named after the aforementioned riverweed snack). And it was hands-down our best meal in South East Asia. Laotian-style fish tacos with mango salsa, smoked eggplant puree on homemade baguettes, as well as prawn corn fritters offered us a delectable twist on local cuisine. And I scored a funky wallet, repurposed from Cambodian magazines, at their gift shop too.

Another notable project, and one quite relevant to my work, is Phare, the Cambodian circus troupe we saw perform in Siem Reap. Their pole climbing, silks flying, fire juggling acrobatics were astounding. But even more impressive was the Art for Social Change aspect that similarly trained street youth in circus arts intent on creating professional opportunities for them. The act included high-quality live music, dance, acting and storytelling as well, because their school provides a fully interdisciplinary training. And the end product, whose narrative had a powerful social message about bullying, could easily rival Cirque de Soleil standards too.

But the most fascinating NGO I discovered is run by Fi, who sat next to me on my flight from Siem Reap to Kuala Lumpur. His company’s innovative app, AgriBuddy, is serving thousands of rural farmers to digitally track their GPS location, size, crop inventory, fertilizer needs, etc., so that they can legitimize these small businesses and act as intermediaries to arrange bank loans for growth and sustenance. All very inspiring as I embark on my next social venture abroad.

Nature of Memory

January 12, 2017 – Of Southeast Asia, from Kuala Lumpur

I find so fascinating the fleeting nature of our memory stores. Images, senses and experiences which I have not called up in years come flooding back with the simplest triggers when I travel. Particularly with unfamiliar or infrequently encountered sensations, my brain scrambles to make associations, perhaps to ground my mind and body into my new surroundings. The Bugs Café in Siem Reap immediately conjured up reminiscence of the ground ant coated fish we ate in Oaxaca or the larvae Geoff accidentally ingested in Thailand, when he mistook the honeycomb he was served for actual honey. The blinged-out Cambodian tuk-tuks, no-pun intended, took me right back to Northern India where we guiltily let a geriatric man bike us up an outrageous hill. (Luckily, they are motorized in Siem Reap.) The sweeping frenzy that is pervasive throughout Asia, to keep the constant dust at bay, reminded me of the great pride Cubans took to keep their small patches of land or front stoops immaculate. And certain landscapes instantly harken an inventory of similar features I’ve seen before. As if my brain keeps all waterfalls stored in the same folder, Laos’ cascades brought me back to Bolivia, Switzerland, and of course the Sea to Sky highway in my backyard. The harrowingly steep karsts of HaLong Bay bore a striking resemblance to Norway’s fjords and New Zealand’s Milford Sound. The songs of Cambodia’s monkeys and frogs reminded me of my favorite critters’ croaks and howls in Bali, so much so that just hearing them made me imagine a distant gamelan. And while I’d heard each of the individual auditory elements from Siem Reap’s Pub St. before, its syncopated soundscape of motorbikes, limbless beggars, men hand-churning ice cream, and house music blaring from its street bars was a melange unlike any other. Then, the crowds thousands deep, jockeying at the Angkor Wat night market for a myriad of plastic silliness, fried food or colorful local crafts, took me back to every other Asian market I’ve ever braved. Finally, joining the armies of mostly tourists who flocked to the summit of Siem Reap’s Phnom Bhagan or Luang Prabang’s Pu Si mountain, for the most advantage view of the “best sunset in the world”, felt exactly like the lemmings we followed to do the same in Santorini, Greece or Cinque Terre.

Of course, I know that I may not be doing justice to the uniqueness of each of these places by comparing them so closely. Perhaps, also, this need for recognition defies my ability to fully appreciate their nuanced differences. However, I cannot deny my synapses’ tendency towards such filing. And, admittedly, the fact that land formations and human behaviors tend towards common patterns across the globe actually both touches and comforts me. I am, after all, the daughter of a Jew and a Catholic raised to look more for parallels than conflicts amongst ideologies. So, I won’t resist doing the same when I step in mangy Indian street doggy doo and think that it smells like Yukon husky poop.

Visiting Giants

January 12, 2017 – Of Siem Reap, from Kuala Lumpur

As is often said, travel is about the journey rather than the destination. But some end points are, in fact, the point. And a handful actually do live up to and beyond all the hype. Angkor Wat certainly tops this list. Before we travel to various places, Geoff and I both resist seeing too many photos, particularly of hugely popular sites. And though we could not avoid having seen a handful of images from these temples throughout our lifetime, the extent of their beauty and magnitude remained a secret until we were there for ourselves. It is difficult to put into words the mystique of witnessing her majesty revealed as the sun rose over her five-crowned glory. That we shared this moment with 10’s of thousands of other tourists, mostly Chinese clicking their Canons at a shot a second, took nothing away from this experience I’d wished to have for my entire adult life.

Extra surprising were the uniquely beautiful aesthetic qualities of several other temples in the region. My absolute favorites were the four-Buddha faced pillars that serenely smiled against spotless skies at Angkor Thom.

And as I wound my way around the creepy roots that have strangled but still preserved the stones of Ta Prohm, I felt I was in my own Indiana Jones adventure and am only grateful that they have not let more Hollywood producers co-opt this setting, to let it maintain its mystery for most.

A numbers buff, I also adored the endless layers of wings and corridors at Preah Khan, whose hall of mirrors-like effect gave me the sensation of being embedded in an architectural fractal.

So, for those who shun the roads most travelled, all I can say is that this world wonder is certainly worth shedding a hang-up or two.

New Realities

January 12, 2017 – Of Cambodia, from Kuala Lumpur We are all now bound to each others’ realities in so many ways. Internet, films, and other rapidly spread media images mean that many children in African can recognize Spiderman, and a good number of North American adults can identify a burka, a burrito, or a banyan tree by sight. To me, the Buddhist Tree of Life, pictured below, represents the many intertwined branches that comprise humanity.

These global ties help build empathy and break down “us and them” barriers. However, they also leave increasingly fewer mysteries and surprises. This is why I relish, all the more, those rare new discoveries that travel still sometimes affords, even if the lessons are harsh. The ubiquitous landmine music bands, in Cambodia, were a shocking introduction to the vestiges of the civil war under the Khmer Rouge – thousands of limbless, deformed, blind and deaf performers lovelessly sawed at violins, hammered on dulcimers, and pounded on drums in what appeared to be an empty government gesture to create some kind of paltry vocation for their injured citizens (funded only by the donations from tourists). More cheerful was the realization that Cambodians celebrate their marriages in grand but casual style – up to 50 guests (in everything from jeans to gowns) gather in sprawling outdoor covered patios, over mounds of food and drink, with music blaring from giant subwoofers. One of our drivers taught us that each guest is asked to give an ample minimum contribution, (generally equivalent to $40 USD or more) to cover the festivities cost and to set up the happy couple with several thousand dollars for their new life together.

Solo Travel

January 12, 2017 – Of Cambodia, from Kuala Lumpur

I’ve now been in Asia without Geoff for 4 days, and I’ve been surprised to find myself somewhat disoriented as I’ve proceeded with my trip alone. I’ve done plenty of solo travel before, but rarely have I been “abandoned” part way through a journey. So, even as fiercely independent as I consider myself, I cannot deny that I experienced an unsettling feeling of being untethered when Geoff first left. Of course, as a couple whose greatest compatibility lies perhaps in the way we approach travel, we get into a comfortably flowing rhythm on the road that, as my Grandpa Barron always used to say, “makes beautiful music together.” Therefore, it has taken me a few days to get “in tune” with my new song. To do so, I gravitated to the familiar. My first night I dropped into a hippie bar, where I shared pillowed papasan chairs with chatty foreigners, as we exchanged travel tales over margaritas. Geoff and I crave connection with strangers when we travel, but invariably opportunities infinitely expand when you’re on your own. The crew at the Asana Bar included a divorced American mom who’d taken her two teenage girls out of the US as fast and far as she could, so disgusted by the latest political turn there. She’s got hardly a penny to her name, yet they plan to stay in Cambodia indefinitely, each finding ways to make ends meet (café jobs for the kids, a coop grocery gig for mom, homeschooling and more to learn from the School of Life than any American public school could ever provide.) The coop owners were there too – a gay couple – one guy from Africa and the other from the UK, well settled into a Siem Reap groove. I also really bonded with a French woman who has traveled the globe and worked remotely, for years, as a filmmaker and editor involving local amateurs in her work wherever she goes, and educating them in her art form.

My second attempt to find my own wings, of course, involved a bicycle. I rented a one speed for the day, for 2 bucks, and headed 12 k south of town to check out Tonle Sap Lake – apparently the most fish-rich lake in the world, and a point of pride mentioned by every Cambodian we met. Western ways are the norm in Siem Reap (short shorts and halter tops, beer drinking, and pop music). But I should have known that exposed shoulders and knees (even in 35 degrees Celsius) would get me too much unwanted male attention the moment I was inches from the city boundaries. Nonetheless, this venture let me see working waterwheels, rural villages, rice paddies, my first Southeast Asian mosque and more. My first day on two wheels instead of four served as a healthy refresher course in the mindfulness that solo travel brings. And as I felt my uneasiness begin to settle, I slowly became moored to my surroundings – no longer untethered.

Austerity and Indulgences

January 13, 2017 - Of Transitions, from Kuala Lumpur

That I’m booked to leave for India on a full moon and Friday the 13th certainly adds to my trepidation about the unknowns that await me. But now, as I take my 6th flight in half as many weeks, I marvel at the ease with which most travel plans flow. That I can be walking in freezing rain in Canada one moment, and swimming under tropical sun only hours later never ceases to amaze me. And almost nothing fills me with greater glee than seeing a smiling gentleman in a Cambodian airport with a huge MISS LAURA sign in his hands simply because I sent my hotel an email ride request. I still consider it a minor miracle every time a travel plan actually comes to fruition. And though I’m usually an optimist, I’ve lost enough luggage, missed enough flights, and arrived to enough overbooked hotels to almost expect major mishaps every time I set off on another adventure. But the truth is, almost things actually do work out. And my 90+% successful track record is what gives me the chutzpah to take some leaps even though they still terrify me in certain ways.

Geoff and I like to leave lots of room for spontaneity. So, most of our rooms or internal fights are never pre-booked. But the greatest risks we’ve taken have been during our bike tours in Cuba and Laos, where there was no guesthouse info available en route. And most accommodations were about 50-100 kilometres apart. This was the case when we left Luang Prabang on rented mountain bikes, loaded with only 2 outfits each and a few repair tools for the week ahead. 65 k into our ride, as dusk approached, we had not seen a guesthouse for hours and we could tell form GPS that the next “town” was at least 10 k further. This had me as thrilled as I was scared, while I peeked in the few barebones bungalows that we passed along the road trying to imagine how I might humble myself to ask a local villager if we could sleep on their floor for the night. I’ve met several far braver travelers than I who’d almost exclusively survived this way, and I was always inspired by their courage. So, It hardly seemed a bad last resort. But it was also no guarantee. However, just as dark set in, we came across the sparse Pak Nga guesthouse where we managed a comfy bed and a hot shower in a windowless room for just $3. And again, I percolated with wonder at our fortune.

I’ve also always prided myself on such bargains. And I sort of wear, as a badge of honor, my ability to endure the meagerist of housing amenities on the road. But on the cusp of my 2nd half century of life, with a lower tolerance for undesirable odors, a bum neck that whines without a proper pillow, and ahubby hubby with an excellent paying job and a penchant for good design, I’ve surrendered some of my low maintenance ways. And I must admit that I’ve savored the subsequent perks along the way. In Laos, we scored three different spacious riverfront bungalows with private balconies, daily fresh fruit and bottled water in the room, fragrant toiletries and safes for our valuables. The comfort and security usually still only cost us less than $50 a night, so I could barely resist.

I even got so accustomed to our new standards that I agreed to splurge, for our last 4 nights in Siem Reap, on an $80 room at the incredible Mulberry Hotel, the luxuriousness of which you could probably not book in North America for less than $500. At any rate, accounting was the last thing on my mind as we finished every sweat and dust filled morning temple visit hilling at Mulberry’s glorious pool, surrounded by Buddhas, frangipani, and geckos while we ate complimentary spicy peanuts washed down with tamarind mojitos. The good life is not so bad after all.

All that said, I have only 1 more night of spoiling, at my flutist friend Shashank’s home in Chennai. When Geoff and I stayed there in 2007, we were treated like royalty with 3 multi-course gourmet veggie meals a days, a four poster bed, and a driver. But after their place, it’s back to basics for me, where I’ll share a room with other Child Haven volunteers, sleep on a cot, take cold bucket showers and eat dal for most meals along with the children who live at the home. And, of course, that is all just as it should be, and I plan to relish such immersive living. But of course, I hope my tangled curls, my belly and my cervical spine have not become too “soft” to handle it!

on their floor for the night. I’ve met a few far braver travelers than I who’d almost exclusively survived this way, and I was always inspired by their courage. So, It hardly seemed a bad last resort. But it was also no guarantee. However, just as dark set in, we came across the sparse Pak Nga guesthouse where we managed a comfy bed and a hot shower in a windowless room for just $3. And again, I percolated with wonder at our fortune.

Loss

January 15, 2017 - Of Sparks and Wings, from India

This was far from the entry I imagined I would write today. I have arrived at Child Haven International, in Kaliyampoondi. The distorted sound system of a Tamil film blares across the dirt field of the Home, no longer filled with young cricket players because they are all riveted to the screen inside their dining hall. This special form of entertainment is their treat for the occasion of today’s holiday, Pongal, Tamil Nadu’s harvest festival. Rangoli designs adorn the concrete foundations of the campus buildings, each chalked in multi-colors to create the beautiful mandala-like designs that honor this festival. And yet I struggle to feel festive today, despite the hugs and kisses and hand holding that every child and staff member greeted me with upon my arrival. Because they should be showering Maggie too. But instead, in a tragic turn of events, she is on a plane headed home after receiving the shocking news that her father suddenly died of respiratory failure on a jungle trek in Peru. We were apart when she heard, awaiting our rides to the Home from separate friends’ places in India. She learned over Facebook – something no daughter should ever have to experience. I learned on a video chat with her, while long pauses and glassy eyes showed how little either of us were able to truly process this.

Morton Winston was an exceptional man, and while we are often inclined to say that of people once they pass – with him it is entirely true. For years, he served as the President of the Board of Amnesty International. Maggie was raised in a family that, at times, harbored Burmese refugees; at others, spent years abroad helping the unjustly served in Nepal, Thailand, South Africa. Though little can be of solace in the wake of such a loss, I have to hope that her father’s adventurous soul would have wanted to come to rest in a place as wild and wonderous as the Amazon. Inspired by her father’s example, intrepid travel and community service have been second nature to Maggie. Morton also married into a remarkable family of women, each power house arts activists in their own right. Together, they have collected Canada Council honors, film and dance awards, and accolades too numerous to mention. Maggie always jokes about holiday family dinners, where simple “what’s new?” catch-up conversations rival Nobel Peace Prize presentations. And in keeping with this generosity of spirit, amidst her moment of crisis, Maggie still managed to secure a fellow theatre artist, living nearby in India, who could take her place as my collaborating facilitator for these two weeks. She said she found it a helpful distraction while she could do little for 2 days as she waited for her changed flight to depart. I am deeply grateful to her for this gesture. I will meet Kaeridwyn for the first time tomorrow, where she lives in the intentional community of Auroville (below) – perhaps one of the most sustainable and successful of its kind in the world. Since the 70’s, this non-denominational autonomous society has grown to a thriving community of 5,000 from over 50 countries. I relish the chance to learn about her alternative living, and to learn from her artistic expertise in physical theatre and some of her own forms of puppetry.

How ironic though that, only two entries ago, I marveled that most things actually do go to plan. Yet, of course, I’m now harshly reminded that this is only true except in those 1 % of times when they absolutely do not. As I sit alone in the Home’s library, digesting this sad and sudden change of plans, wondering if I can still be of true value here, I pass the day reflecting and reading, as I will do until our project begins on Tuesday. And here, I quickly came upon several texts, left by former volunteers, which my intuition somehow knew I needed to discover.

· A Tagore verse: “The butterfly counts not months but moments and has time enough.”

· Gary Zukav’s Soul Stories that claims “the journey of a hawk depends on both the hawk and the wind. Sometimes the wind takes the hawk where it wants to go, and sometimes it doesn’t. When it doesn’t, the hawk doesn’t mind. Either way, hawks are masters at flying, always in control of their own wing and tail feathers. This is what elegant spirts do.”

· And the charming biography of Child Haven’s founder, Bonnie Cappuccino, written by her “long-suffering” husband Fred. They opened their first of nine homes and schools (serving almost 2,000 youth in India, Nepal, Bangladesh and Tibet), 30 years ago, at the ripe young ages of 53 & 60, after raising their own 21 children into adulthood (19 of which they adopted). For their astounding efforts they have received the Order of Canada and a UNESCO Human Rights Award. Their inspiring book’s final words read: “Glowing deep within each one of you is a divine spark. Some of you may be skeptical, or feel you are unworthy, yet the divine spark glows. This divine spark may surprise you as the future unfolds. It may lead you to risk much in some wild act of compassion. You are of infinite worth; you possess a dazzling beauty that is irresistible. Trust this divine spark glowing in your deepest being.”

Thank goodness Bonnie trusted hers. And thank goodness the wind seems to have been on her side when she’s needed it. Not when they found a brain tumor that paralyzed the right side of her face. Not when one of her treasured children committed suicide. But certainly when her second cancer surgery succeeded. And several times, when she has managed to overcome seemingly insurmountable obstacles, immigration nightmares, civil wars, natural disasters and more to create and sustain Child Haven’s nine thriving homes. Bonnie was on the Air India plane that left Montreal in 1985, crashing and killing 190 people. Only she took its incoming flight to YYZ, before those fated passengers boarded on their way to London. The wind was with her that day. It is hard to understand what the wind intended for those 190 others. None of us can ever answer such questions. I guess we can only keep flying and continue to be the master of our own wings.

Wayfinding

January 19, 2017 Of Kuala Lumpur, from Pondicherry, India

After Cambodia, Air Asia’s wings took me to Malaysia for an extended layover before my India project began. My whirlwind arrival reminded me that finding my way in a new surrounding is one of my favorite travel pastimes. I landed at the Kuala Lumpur airport solo, soared through immigration, collected my luggage, scored local currency from the airport ATM, located the train terminal, successfully navigated the ticket machine, boarded the correct train, managed a station transfer without a hitch, and then walked straight to my hotel front door, all in just one hour. My feat gave me a rush equivalent to winning the Amazing Race. But thanks to GPS and surprisingly clear wayfinding signs, this was actually quite doable and not really as impressive as it might seem.

For my first night, I stayed in the commercial district of Bukit Bintang, in the heart of the city just meters from the fabled Petronus towers. On first glance, downtown KL appears nothing but a conglomeration of neon, highways and malls. The latter rival the opulence of Fifth Ave, with marble floors, high speed escalators, and posh stores like Prada and Sephora, built in post-modern architectural style. But no amount of polish is able to hide the same litter, sewerage stench and stray dogs that one can find almost anywhere in Asia.

My Canadian friend and Malaysian resident, Lisa Sauer let me know that her new home is a nation rapidly striving to attain first world status, but too fast for its capacity. Thousands of luxury high-rise condos stand empty, built over-ambitiously and without proper amenities to service them. A government program to mass distribute Western toilets throughout the country has dramatically failed to meet its targets. And an ever-increasing disparity of wealth keeps many still living in squalor while others enjoy every continental comfort. Craft beer, high speed wifi, pools and tennis courts in most middle to upper class apartment buildings, quinoa and kale smoothies at Whole Foods-like grocery stores, and even flat whites at Aussie-inspired cafes are the norm in the mostly ex-pat neighborhood of Mont Kiara, where Lisa generously hosted me for my final three nights.

Such economic imbalances trouble me, just as they do at home. But I can’t deny that a few more days of indulgence did provide a welcomed breather for me as I prepared for the intensity and austerity of India. And I can certainly understand the appeal for many to stay in this city, surrounded by the familiar while still only a $100 flight from an endless stream of exotic destinations. Lisa and her partner Jeff are able to spend long weekends in Bali, have Christmas holidays in New Zealand, and take quick jaunts to Hong Kong with the ease of a trip from Vancouver to Seattle. It was a privilege to witness the full life that they’ve carved out for themselves there. It was also a treat to discuss books, share concerns and criticisms of “the orange man who will remain nameless”, and to swap travel highlights and travails. Lisa is the most intrepid person I know. She can only keep track of the countries she has NOT visited, because this list falls only in the single digits, while the count for those hundred plus principalities that she has experienced keeps changing with history’s shifting geographical borders. Though a rhythm-loving musician and chronic counter myself, I have resisted the urge to innumerate my own travel destinations, for years, realizing that a qualified life is always more well-lived than a quantified one. However, I learned in Morton Winston’s obituary that he always aimed to visit more countries than his current age. And that someone as substantive as he set himself this challenge gave me permission to do so as well. So after my own tally, I realized that Lisa’s new home marked 46 for me, leaving me close to my new 50 by 50 goal, with only 16 months to go. If all goes to plan by then, I’ll make it to Brazil for another school project, to Nicaragua for some Spanish practice, to Australia to teach some university Art for Social change workshops, and finally to Burma, where I will sail with several of my best buds to mark my passage into the second half century of my life. But I’m also open to wherever the wind might take me…

Imprints

February 8, 2017 Of India, from Vancouver

One week after my return to Vancouver, I stare at the red faded swirls on my left palm, willing the mendhi design to last just a bit longer, in much the same way I strive to keep the lessons of my trip alive. I can still practically count the hours since 15-year old Sangitha, one of our most keen Indian students, artfully applied the henna to my limbs on my last night. Yet, I can already feel the glow of my skin, the bloom in my heart, the sparkle in my eyes starting to dim despite my best efforts. I remember when I attended the Dalia Lama’s 10-day Kalichakra teachings, in Dharamsala in 2007, and I finally understood why people go to church. Between five daily hours of exposure to his wise words, 10,000 global visitors engaged in high-minded discourse at every café, hostel and momo shop, inspired to live better, be better. I got caught up in this too. But with every passing day after leaving his Himalayan refuge, my behavior slipped ever so subtly, and I wished I could be in the presence of his radiance yet again. I needed the nudge that I now realize church provides for the most earnest seekers, whatever their faith.

Like then, for two weeks in Kaliyampoondi, I easily relinquished coffee, alcohol, cursing, and even ill thoughts of others while I was immersed in my purposeful existence there. But it took only two days home for a Canadian friend’s “us and them”ing of Americans, (the very same dangerous thinking that led “the despot who won’t be named” to implement his dreaded immigration ban), to set me off into a temperamental rage, the negative effects of which lingered for several hours. Gone seemed the equanimity and compassion that so grounded me when I faced numerous cultural differences in India and throughout my trip. Only a day later, a string of unnecessary expletives escaped my mouth after a simple computer glitch, as I mourned for the analog-nature of my intimate face-to-face Indian exchange. And finally, a third Saturday night cocktail, sipped only out of habit not need, had Geoff and I walking home from a dinner party on separate sides of the street over a trivial thing I’ve already forgotten.

Art is my temple. And the privilege to witness its transformative power, despite language barriers and gaping cultural differences, is what nourishes my soul. There is also something undeniably sacred about India. Beneath the cow dung, beyond the open sewer stench, besides the archaic gender dynamics that still perpetuate inexcusable oppression and violence towards women, there is a palpable grace. Just to watch the sincerity in the Child Haven kids’ closed eyes and furrowed brows as they chant their simple pre-meal prayer is to truly know this. I was reduced to tears, daily, by similar profound expressions of spirituality. Indians also bring exquisite beauty and ceremony to every occasion, as seen in the stunning saris that Child Haven students wore for their Republic Day school dance performance.

In only my two brief weeks there, I experienced 5 state holidays and 4 additional rituals for special occasions at the Home. Pongol is South India’s harvest festival. And I was treated to its chromatic splendor the instant I landed. I arrived in Chennai just prior to midnight, terrified that there would be some grave error in my visa-upon-arrival form, and that I’d have no way to get cash for a cab. I’d heard that India’s prime minister had taken 5 & 10 thousand rupee notes out of circulation to prevent black market counterfeit. Consequently, this had left the country with a currency crisis and practically no working ATM’s as they scrambled to print more small denominations. However, to my surprise, I waltzed through immigration in a record 5 minutes (faster than YVR), and successfully exchanged my last $100 USD for 4,000 rupee (a crap rate since the Global Bank quoted 6,000, but I was happy to take anything at that point). Then, I braved the sea of pre-paid taxi stands to secure the best deal, proceeded to be accosted by a team of drivers jockeying for the right to my fare, and chose the most geriatric of the bunch figuring he was my safest option. I gave him the address of my friend Shashank’s posh neighborhood which he pretended to recognize. But of course, he proceeded to stop a half dozen times for directions. Luckily though, Pongol had most families still up at that hour, diligently chalk-painting their stoops with amazingly symmetric Rangoli mandalas. This vibrant display of communal art-making let me know I had, indeed, arrived in India. And she instantly got under my skin.

Detours

February 8, 2017 Of India, from Vancouver

Geoff and I stayed with Shashank exactly ten years earlier, mid-way through our year-long trip around the world. We’ll never forget our lively discussions with his family, about art, politics and travel. And we can still taste the epic 6-course meals that his mother and wife prepared for breakfast, lunch and dinner every day, as they did on this visit too. That Shashank is also a world-renowned Karnatic flutist only added to the richness of our visit, as we were treated to daily rehearsals in his living room. And this time, his ten-year old daughter Swara (aptly named after a musical note, and still in Siri’s belly last we came), was the one displaying her own virtuosity on the blues guitar.

But sadly, it is the Skype call that I had with my dear Flagstaff colleague, Michael Sullivan, on that first morning in India, January 15th, 2007, which I most remember. With shock and horror in his eyes, Michael revealed to me that he had just learned he had a terminal bone cancer, the ravages of which took him before we even returned home in June. So, a mere glance at Shashank’s desktop computer made me long for my friend. How odd, then, that it was on that very same screen I read Maggie’s message about her father’s death, again on my first morning at his home, this time on January 14th, 2017.

And so the detours began. Maggie’s to Baltimore, and mine to Pondicherry and Auroville, to meet my new artist partner, Kaeridwyn, where we’d revise a plan that would best align with our complementary skill sets. Of course, our sessions had been scheduled to begin on Monday, but as has seemed to become the norm on these global projects, the Child Haven director neglected to mention that Pongol celebrations continued through Tuesday evening. To lose 20% of our scheduled 10-day engagements would have normally set me into a panic. But instead, I seized the opportunity to pivot, explore another Indian destination, and bond with my new colleague. That I also fit in long walks on Pondicherry’s seaside boardwalk, marveled at parades of sari-clad women in their holiday finest, visited their Ghandi statue, and enjoyed one more night in a cush b&b was only a bonus. But I’ve come to appreciate that detours are always full of such perks.

Silverware and Other Taboos

February 8, 2017 Of India, from Vancouver Another of my favorite aspects of India is her cows, who roam her city streets, lighten her chai, and transport her people and goods. Cows were the talk of the town during my visit, as the state had just outlawed the ancient Pongol practice of jallikattu,which is South Indian’s version of “running with the bulls”. So, while blue Americans and their global peers hit the streets to protest the horrifically racist policies of the “man who shall not be named”, Tamil Nadu’s streets were alive with their own activists. But these were not the PETA version that one might expect (animal-lovers standing up to support the abolishment of a practice that is cruel and violent to the bull, and which kills several bold and foolish men each year). Contrarily, the prevailing sentiment of the protesting citizens (largely university students) favored the maintenance of this ritual, as these deeply traditional people feel their government too often threatens their ancestral connections. As I’m partial to protecting animal and human rights, I was, no doubt, very surprised to learn about the nuances of this controversy. But I realized I was ill-equipped to understand such a complex and age-old battle.

I was born in bovine country myself. And cow-tipping was a high school pastime for me and my friends. But our version involved only a harmless ringing of their bells, rather than a full body topple which I’d learned some rural US farm kids preferred. For most Hindus, cows are sacred, revered for their gentle nature and agricultural assets. Perhaps this, too, inspired me to become a vegetarian as well as an ice cream fanatic by a very young age. I virtually started my career in the industry, with jobs in five different parlors between the ages of 13-20. With such a shining for these adorable heffers, I also invariably took a preponderance of cow photos on my routine bicycle excursions to neighboring Uthiramerur. Most amusingly, Indians paint the horns of these honorific beasts for Pongol, the brilliance of which lasted throughout my fortnight. And while close sleeping proximity to animal feces is not usually something I would celebrate, I was actually comforted when a Child Haven staff first walked me to my room and I was greeted by the Home’s five dairy cows whose pen was just five feet from my door.

Eating meat was the easiest of India’s taboos for me to avoid. But their other eating practices took more getting used to. In keeping with the rock-hard mattress that I slept on, our meals were served on the floor of a giant chairless, concrete dining hall. So, three times per day, I joined all 250 children, 30 staff, and a half dozen other volunteers as we ate cross-legged and with only our hands to ingest the splendor they served us each day. The puffy rice flour dumplings, called idly, which the cooks miraculously prepared by the thousands to perfection, were the easiest to eat without cutlery. But rice with spicy mango stew, chickpea curry, or ginger chili pesto posed tougher challenges. And I found that tearing chapati (their rice flour pancakes) one-handed was the trickiest feat of all. But, of course, this was essential because their lack of toilet paper meant that all self-cleaning was done with the left hand, leaving only the right free for dining. However, whatever discomfort these new habits caused became quickly overshadowed by the children’s infectious joy and gratitude during meals.

Adapting to their dress code, though, did not come as rapidly. Kaliyampoondi is located deep in traditional Southern India where gender roles are clearly delineated. The public domain is largely male, and the home female. Throughout rural Tamil Nadu, girls and boys sit on opposite sides of their school classrooms, as they did in the dining room at the home. This persists despite Child Haven’s strongly imparted Gandhian beliefs of gender equality which result in their generously funding every single child’s university tuition (male and female). However, in keeping with such contradictory divisions, we were only allowed to work with each gender in separate sessions throughout our project, and this led to a variety of interesting observations. While boys wore short-sleeved button down shirts and tailored pants to school, and then changed into Western shorts and t-shirts for afternoon play, girls (by the age of only 10) had to wear chudigar in most contexts. This oppressive uniform included large, knee-length, polyester shirts with baggy pants and an additional shawl (or dupita), carefully pinned to their shoulders to cover even the smallest bloom of a bosom. Additionally, these heavy layers are worn throughout the year, which peaks to 120 Farenheit in the summer months! And girls had to wear similarly unrevealing clothing around the home, even as they ran 800 metre dashes in preparation for their State-wide Sports Day competition, which was scheduled for my departure day. Here they are with my new buddy and volunteer, Andy Rush, as they arrive home on the new bikes that every Grade 11 child was gifted under a special government program.

This dress code was also enforced with female volunteers at the home. And though I am eager to honor foreign traditions when I’m abroad, it was difficult to abide, while I watched male staff and volunteers wear jeans or whatever else they liked. Some even enjoyed topless morning runs. However, what I found most disturbing was the community policing that the girls did with each other, as well as with the volunteers, to adjust a slight slip of the shawl or accidental exposed bra strap. Of course, I was keen to avoid being corrected or perceived as disrespectful in any way, so I soon found myself routinely fussing with my own scarf. And I quickly came to imagine the body shame and self-consciousness that these strictures could breed. Consequently, it became highly evident that the boys exhibited far greater self-esteem and exuberance, as well as a willingness to improvise and be playful. That said, I was amazed how much the girls’ confidence grew throughout our project. So, I soon forfeited my inclination to fight such bewildering practices, and recognized that my time would be better spent focusing on scalable transformative change through our arts engagements rather than on massive systemic change.

Superheroes

February 9, 2017 Of India, from Vancouver

Inspired by the ideals of Mahatma Gandhi, Child Haven International was founded in 1985, by Bonnie and Fred Cappuccino, the superhero couple that I previously mentioned. Their non-profit has built nine healthy, sustainable homes for almost 2,000 children and women in India, Nepal, Bangladesh, and Tibet. And each of these “havens” provides food, shelter, clothing, health care, educational and moral support for their residents. Most children go on to pursue post-secondary education, and Child Haven even funds their university tuition. The homes are fully run and staffed by locals, along with a handful of volunteers from abroad (largely Canadians). And Gandhi’s principles of gender equality, no caste (or class) recognition, non-violence and vegetarianism, simple living, as well as respect for all religions and cultures breed a positive, life-affirming energy that I felt during every moment I spent at their homes in both Kathmandu (for a 2015 arts project) and Kaliyampoondi. This fertile ground provided the ideal environment for our arts engagements. So, it is no wonder they resulted in, perhaps, the most impactful project for Instruments of Change, to date.

Amidst cicada and frog song, morning starts at Child Haven with the children’s 5 am wake-up bell which elicits an occasional bark from Puppy, the resident dog. As the children are meticulous about cleanliness, they proceed to pridefully brill cream and braid their hair, wash their bodies, and press their uniforms to perfection. These thorough ablutions are followed by meditation, non-denominational chanting, and a jog around the large grounds of the home. Then, they queue up for their daily protein, a sweet, warm cup of soy milk, made from soybeans that are crushed, right there on the property, by the machine they affectionately call the “soy cow”. They form similar lines to receive breakfast, lunch, snack and dinner, and this 300+ person dance proceeds with remarkable order.

In fact, observing these young people choreograph their shared space, day in and day out, was perhaps the most moving part of my experience there. In the spirit of simple living, each child’s entire worldly possessions (clothes, shoes, jewelry, toys, toiletries, photos) fit into one small metal suitcase. Consequently, there is little sense of “mine, mine, mine”, just like we witnessed in the Nepal home. Throughout our project, the children cooperatively shared supplies, decorations, and tools without incident. They were equally gracious about returning things promptly, in good condition and exactly where they found them. Our limited stock of erasers presented the only sharing challenge, as they took the same pristine approach with their work as they take with their appearance. Of course, we are always careful to dispel notions about “right or wrong”/”good or bad” art in our projects. But habits run deep. So, there was nothing left of our 10 inches of rubber erasers by the end of our two puppet-designing sketch sessions. However, their diligence certainly paid off, as seen by these fanciful characters that they created.

During our project, entitled Repurpose Our Purpose, we asked kids to express their feelings about their own unique value and purpose (or, in other words, their superpowers), through story and song. At the same time, they harnessed the value of everyday objects and trash by repurposing these materials to make puppets and instruments for a final original theatre piece. And finally, we introduced a variety of interdisciplinary collaborative activities designed to cultivate an appreciation for the power of a collective sum that is greater than its parts. The first of these exercises asked students to identify with certain Jungian archetypal personality types (IE. Jester, Creator, Explorer, Sage, Leader, Caregiver, Innocent, Hero, or Rebel). Then, we organized them according to their chosen type, and these became their working groups for the duration of the project. Subsequently, they performed physical gestures that represented their Archetype’s character, demonstrated by our Boy Jesters, with their thumbs to their noses.

They also collectively brainstormed a vocabulary of words related to the assets of their chosen superhero characters. And while we relied heavily on the excellent translation provided by 4 helpful staff members, Ganesh, William, Johnson, and Poppy, this activity revealed that the students had a stronger command of English than we had realized earlier in our project. Below are their own words, placed anatomically correctly, on the Body of a Superhero that they chalked on their playground.

Ultimately, each archetype group chose the most resonant word to describe their character’s superhero, and the first letter of this word became the body shape for their puppet design (IE. M for Meditation as the Sage’s superpower, and D for Dance as the Creator’s superpower). Then, they brought these creatures to life using reclaimed cardboard, bicycle tires, scrap paper, styrofoam and newspaper waste. Predictably, their creations were full of saturated color and ingenuity, as is everything in India.

And the designs did not divide along typical gender lines, as the sweetness of this Caregiver Boys’ heart-balloon covered puppet illustrates. These resourceful children also took the upcycling aspect of our project to a whole new level as they proceeded to cut scrap gold metallic paper into hundreds of tiny bits to make their own glitter!

To further develop narratives for their characters, we presented the children with a scenario (much like a videogame simulation), where each puppet (1 per archetype group) had to collectively pass through a series of obstacles. However, we set the rule that each challenge could only be solved using one of the puppet’s superpowers, (referencing the idea that the whole is stronger than the sum of its parts). So, each archetype group invented both an appropriate problem and a solution with which their superhero could “save” the day for all their peers. The girls and boys created separate narratives, each with their own host of diverse characters. And some of their most memorable storylines were when the Boy Sage taught everyone to meditate so they could levitate over a cold, impenetrable river; and when the Girl Creator drank a magical chocolate soy power drink after all the puppets became immobilized by the scorching sun. Then, she led them all in a dance that revitalized their energy. These are both, interestingly, very Indian solutions. I was also thrilled to learn that the Boy Hero group chose Music as their super power. In their creative storyline, after the whole puppet group gets trapped in a house, set ablaze by fire, the singing hero puppet plays his guitar and the musical notes that emanate from it magically transform into water that puts out the flames. Additionally, to develop their dramatic skills, Kaeridwyn led the kids in found object animation activities. Below, they are enacting a “fart” scene (or “susu” in Tamil). It was, of course, heart-warming to see that adolescent poop jokes transcend cultural boundaries. And clearly, our young-at-heart translator, Johnson, thought so too.

Here I am listening intently to the Boy Leader’s plan out their scene.

And this is Kaeridwyn directing the whole crew of boy puppeteers in their opening scene.

Over two weeks, we were allotted one hour per day with each gender group. However, the children were so invested in our project that they went over and above the call of duty, spending several additional hours writing their stories, practicing their actions, and fabricating their puppets. This is exactly the ownership we always strive to cultivate in our work.

We also put in our fair share of extra time, administering puppet triage and other vital work, graciously helped by Jackie, (in the back of the photo below). It was incredibly fortuitous that she and her husband, Andy (in the bike photo from Feb. 8th’s entry) happened to be volunteering during our visit, because they are, respectively, a retired music and English/drama teacher. They supported nearly all of our sessions with their expertise and cheery presence, and Kaeridwyn and I could not believe our good fortune to have their help.

For the music component of our piece, the kids brainstormed about qualities essential for good team work. Then, we analyzed the musicality of this language by breaking the words into rhythmic syllabic categories, according to spoken stresses (IE. Re-spect; Leading, Sharing, Kindness; Unity, Confidence, Discipline; Following; Concentration; Cooperation). These evolved into both chants and drum beats that they performed with their voices and found object instruments. To warm-up these budding percussionists, we used stray firewood for sticks and turned their playground into a drum kit. And for their instrument scavenging, which I’ve previously led in Vancouver alleys and Kathmandu streets, we had to go no further than the grounds of the home itself, for they had a plethora of sonorities right on the premises (10-gallon water jugs for drums, empty 10-litre bottles and beans for shakers, damaged tin plates and cups for cymbals, and giant 5-foot rice barrels for bass drums).

A most boisterous time was certainly had by all. And we’ve received reports that the children have continued to chant the lyrics around the home, since we left two weeks ago. Another legacy of our project has been the re-mount of their puppet show for Bonnie, when she visited just one week after our departure. Their sports director, William, had so skillfully translated for us, that he was able to hold up the fort by himself, rehearsing and directing their repeat performances. Jackie sent me this photo of all the kids’ animated faces while they sat through the entire hour-long show for the second time.

Excitingly, the children may even get a chance to “take it on the road” if Kaeridwyn succeeds in securing them a showcase at Auroville’s Upcycling Festival in mid-March. It is this kind of sustainability that we aspire to achieve in all of our work. But the nature of two-week arts engagements run the risk of merely serving as “hit and run” projects, particularly with communities who have little additional exposure to artistic activity, like in Kaliyampoondi where their schools’ rigorous academic expectations emphasize a STEM rather than a STEAM (Science, Technology, English, Arts, and Math) curriculum. In fact, on top of their 6-hour school day, Child Haven kids diligently study at least 3 more hours per day. We even witnessed those approaching state-wide exams (Grades 10 & 12), downing chai until the wee hours of the night to pack in a few extra hours of study. Academics aside, there was at least one artistic discipline with which the kids had lots of experience - dance. That’s because they are treated to a Tollywood (Tamil Nadu’s version of Bollywood) film every Saturday night, and they’ve memorized the moves from all of their favorite scenes. So, we knew we had to end each of their puppet shows with a dance number.

What we never could have counted on, though, was the spontaneous eruption of all 250 kids in the audience, when they began to dance along, after the boys’ last piece. The enthusiastic Director of Child Haven, Ganesh, consistently voiced how impressed he was by the efficacy of this type of arts-infused learning. In fact, he was the one who made the final call to keep the Tollywood music blaring after the show, lending itself to what we learned was the first ever time that Child Haven boys and girls danced together in one room, at the home. So, maybe systemic change is not impossible after all.

In addition to the meaningful encounters that I had throughout our engagements with the children who participated in our program, there are so many moments I keep returning to, now that I am home. Showers of hugs and nose kisses from kids young and old, never too-cool-for-school to demonstrate their appreciation, as many adolescents at home would be. Afternoons, sitting with the other volunteers, on the kitchen’s dirt floor, thumb wrestling, hair braiding, bean cutting, and playing paddy-cakes with the kids. And 7 am theatre games with the irresistibly adorable littlest ones who were too young to participate in our main project.

But what remains deep in my bones, after my time in Child Haven, is the profound sense that there are potent ties which bind us all on this fractured, complex planet. This is not to glibly say that we are all one, or that our similarities outweigh our differences. Certainly, there are gaping distinctions, for example, between the realities of the children that I work with in Canada versus those in Kaliyampoondi. However, I cannot escape my roots, which grounded me to see connection rather than division. I am the daughter of a Russian Jew and an Italian Catholic. And I was fortunate to be raised in a Unitarian church, where we were exposed to the wisdom of a multitude of global belief systems, and where social justice was preached instead of religious dogma. Understandably, this inclusive approach focused my lenses to look for common ground. Not surprisingly, a number of volunteers that have come through Child Haven over the years have also been Unitarian. And Fred Cappuccino even spent his career as a UU minister. The remarkable organization that he and Bonnie have built clearly responds to the basic human truth that we all need to be loved and feel safe. And I now believe, more than ever, that the role of the artist activist is to respond to a different basic human truth - that we all want to be heard. That we all want to express what moves us, and we want to do so beautifully. That no matter how different our life experiences, we want to find those deepest knowing parts of ourselves that can empathize and relate to our fellow humans and then, put them into words, or dances, or pictures, or songs. In other words, we want to connect to our inner spark, give it wings and let it take flight.

2 notes · View notes