#oh funny thing with the nasa pants is that i like to wear this one cheap black shirt with it (the sweats are white with colourful print)
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by the way. i'm wearing a really cool shirt. just needed you to know
#just me hi#it's got stars and moons on it so that makes it Very Cool (TM)#also i have these sweat pants that are nasa-themed (not wearing 'em rn but-). also hecka cool#i need. i need a hat with stars on it#like that would complete me as a person#i'd probably actually wear it too ngl#OH i also have these little charms- they're astronauts and planets and tiny rocket ships :D#i love how tiny they are.... but also i lost one so. actually a very sad thing that they're so small#i should get stickers for my 'puter#like shiny ones#obviously space-themed#!!!#yeahhh#hmm............................#oh funny thing with the nasa pants is that i like to wear this one cheap black shirt with it (the sweats are white with colourful print)#and the black shirt collects a Lot of lint. specifically white lint#so it ends up matching the pants anyway cuz to me the lint looks like tiny white stars :)#ye -v-#hm. getting ideas now... hm...
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Steve Rogers Oneshot
Warnings: language, attempted sexual assault and harassment, mentions of past sexual assault and harassment - do not read if these situations are triggering for you.
Word count: 6.1k - am I capable of writing anything short anymore???
A/N: HI I’M FINALLY BACK AND POSTING SOMETHING FOR THE FIRST TIME IN ALMOST 3 MONTHS WOW. This story continues the Agent 14 series (so definitely check that out in my masterlist if you’re not familiar!) and...it’s something I’ve had on my mind for a while. I just needed to get it out. I hope that you like it and please share what you think! Feedback is appreciated!
When her phone starts buzzing, she’s mid-swing at the faded sandbag hanging from the ceiling.
She’s glad to have the place to herself - the dusty air and stale silence more of a comfort. A bead of sweat slides down her temple, itching past her ear, and her finger scratches at the spot absently, coming away salty wet. There’s sweat slicking her scalp, too; she feels it under the tight twist of her braids, heat trapped beneath the strands. Her dirty little basement gym - faded posters lining the walls, advertising fights long finished, flickering bulbs hanging from the ceiling, stained linoleum - is quiet in the mornings. A kind of quiet that is all too rare in the city, in her life.
Sure, it was nice of Sam to continue inviting her on their morning runs - she has every intention of taking him up on his offer, when she finally gets off the opening shift at work. She sees his 4 a.m. offers a couple times a week, shooting back a quick response that she’s already up, heading in to open the cafe. He finds it all so funny; calls her “Agent Barista”, and endearingly teases her about her rigorous coffee training at the SHIELD Academy.
Okay but real talk, 14 - what’s your top secret mission down at Starbucks? Pinged her phone as she brushed her teeth and concealed undereye circles with strategic swipes of makeup.
Key word in your question is “top secret”, Wilson. As in, tell you but I’d have to kill you. You know the drill.
Another ping. Yeah, yeah. Y’all agents talk a good game, but I know for a fact 41 can be bought with a box of See’s candies. Just gotta figure out your weakness.
Good luck.
No luck needed. I’ll bring a couple sweaty super soldiers your way around 8:30, you’re welcome.
With a wrapped hand, she flicks one swinging braid back over her shoulder, turning to her duffel bag for her phone. It’s buried under a spare pair of socks and a sports bra she forgot to wash, still buzzing as she grasps it and flips the screen upwards in her hand.
Unknown caller.
She’d bet every cent to her name that she could guess who was on the other end of the line. Tongue pressed against her teeth, she dismisses the call and drops her phone back in her bag. Fury can wait.
Turning back to the sandbag, she sucks a quick breath through her nose, curling power in her lean shoulders, and then unleashes a furious combination of jabs and kicks on the beaten plastic. Grunts and harsh pants slip past her lips, fists slinging blow after punishing blow, her weight held bouncing on the balls of her feet. The sandbag is a stoic opponent, taking her fists and feet without so much as a groan of protest, swinging back only a few inches on the chain even as she whips around high for a roundhouse kick. Growling, she rocks her weight back on her heels, before leaping forward off one leg to drive her knee into the bag with bruising force. More to herself than the bag, she thinks, glancing down at the tender skin on her bare knee, stinging from the impact. She leans an elbow against the bag and drops her head, swiping at the baby hairs along her forehead.
The phone buzzes again, insistent and muffled, and she lets her head drop back with a heavy sigh, eyes closed.
“Shut up,” she mutters, eyes narrowing in a nasty glare at the offending noise.
“I didn’t say anything.”
She whirls at the sound, fists raised - she hadn’t even heard him enter.
Steve has the good grace to look sheepish as he approaches from a shadowed staircase in the corner of the room, his hands raised in surrender. Not many people have had the sheer dumb luck - and misfortune - of sneaking up on her, and the part of her brain not whiplashed by adrenaline grudgingly admires him for it.
“Morning, Captain,” 14 sighs, her hands falling to her hips, rolling her neck against the tension in her shoulders.
“Morning,” he smiles. He’s trimmed back the beard, she notices, closer to the sharp line of his jaw. Dust motes swirl around his golden head like fairy dust as he passes through the puddles of light cast from the weak overhead bulbs. It strikes her then, the unassuming slope of his shoulders, a little shuffle in his gait, not quite lifting his feet from the ground. Not a strut, no stalking or preening like the SHIELD boys she came up at the Academy with, eager to throw their weight around. Somehow, despite his height, he manages to duck his head, to look up at her under a fringe of enviable dark lashes. Disarming and soft, a wayward blond strand falling over his forehead, he tucks his hands into his pockets, standing just a few feet away from her. He nods at the hanging sandbag behind her.
“Gave that thing quite a beating,” he says, tilting a dark eyebrow. She shrugs one shoulder.
“Looked at me funny,” she quips back, still catching her breath from the last bout. Her tongue swipes at a drop of sweat on her upper lip. Sniffing, she turns her gaze down to the wrapping on her hands. “I don’t recall inviting you, Rogers - I thought this was a private session.”
“Sorry for intruding,” he says, scrunching his nose and swiping at the errant lock of hair hanging before his eyes. With a jerk of his chin, he gestures towards her gym bag, where her phone has gone blessedly silent. “Fury had a feeling you would, um, how does Sam say it…’shady button’ him?”
She snorts in spite of herself, just managing to slap a hand over her mouth before her laugh becomes obnoxious. Even in the dim light of the fluorescents, she can see the high flush creeping up those scruffy cheeks. Steve rubs the back of his neck, a familiar embarrassment curling in his belly; it’s a joke the team plays sometimes, and he gets it, he really does. Gotta laugh at your CO sometimes - it brings the team together; so he drops little phrases here and there, incongruous slang with his pleated slacks and old-fashioned manners. Even things that Sam says - the word “fam”, or adding “ass” as a suffix to virtually any word - from Steve’s mouth, they’re suddenly enough to have the team rolling with laughter, Tony red-faced, Wanda close to tears. The tips of his ears burn, and he always acts put out, lowers his stern father brows, but if there’s one thing he learned as a Brooklyn-born punk, it’s how to take his punches.
“Oh, I’m sorry - I’m sorry,” 14 says, hand still half-covering the silly grin tugging at her mouth. “It just sounded so funny coming from you. It was like-”
“Kinda like if your dad were saying it?” Steve purses his lips, tilts his head to the side.
“Oh god…yes, that’s exactly it.” It ignites a fresh burst of giggles, though she scrunches her nose and shakes her head at the image. “Uh, just do us both a favor and don’t say that again.”
“I don’t think you can restrict Captain America’s freedom of speech.” He lifts his eyebrows, playful, considering. The slope of his nose casts a long shadow across his cheek, skin like Irish cream. She rolls her eyes, turning away to her duffel bag, using her teeth to tug at the wrappings on her hands.
“So. You’re Nick’s new personal assistant or something?” Dropping to the bench, she rummages through her gym bag and takes a long gulp from her water bottle. She swipes at her phone screen - 3 missed calls now.
Steve shrugs.
“I volunteered,” he says simply, large knuckles still visible where they stay curled in his pockets. “Thought…hoped I might have better luck.”
She licks her lower lip, chasing a coveted drop of water. It’s not as though she’s tired of the job - it varies so much, from one day to the next, that it makes boredom impossible. No, it’s not the job, she’s just…tired. Of what, or why, she can’t really say. Steve is patient. He doesn’t say anymore, just waits, standing a few feet away and shifting his weight from one leg to the other, his soft eyes watchful. Her fingers go to her shoulders, massaging the oncoming ache in her muscles.
“What’s the mission?”
**********
“You need some help there, punk?” Bucky leans a hip against the doorframe, arms crossed over his beloved NASA hoodie, an amused twitch tugging at the corner of his mouth. Across the room, Steve frowns at him in the mirror.
“Never really got the hang of these damned things,” Steve huffs, fingers losing the knot on his bowtie and sighing again as the cloth falls loose from the crisp collar of his shirt. Hands falling to his narrow hips, he turns to Bucky, wearing a look of defeat rarely seen on Steve Rogers.
Wordlessly, Bucky shuffles across the carpet and begins to knot the offending fabric, fingers of metal and flesh looping one strand over the other and back again. Chin lifted, brows furrowed, a marble bust of martyrdom, Steve is ever stoic while he works.
“Thought you were gonna shave for this,” Bucky comments, his voice quiet, not lifting his eyes from the tie. Steve makes a dissenting noise from his throat.
“Yeah, well, the beard makes it easier to keep a low profile,” he says, a hand reaching up to rub his whiskers absentmindedly. “And besides, I’m sort of attached to it now.”
Bucky chuckles, a smile dimpling his own scruffy cheeks.
“Know what you mean - God, but nobody looked like this when we were kids, ya know?” He steps back, finished with the tie, and gives Steve an appraising nod, pursing his lips. “Not too bad, Rogers, not too bad.”
Raising a dubious brow, Steve turns back to the mirror, tugging at the sleeves and adjusting his shoulders in the tux. Strictly white tie - totally out of his element, but sometimes duty comes with a dress code. He wedges a thick finger between the starched white collar and his own tender skin.
“In this get up?” Steve shakes his head. “Never did get used to wearing a monkey suit.”
Tongue in his cheek, Bucky grins.
“Have you seen yourself in your uniform?”
Steve flings a fist back behind him, grinning triumphantly when his hit lands in Bucky’s gut; a metal fist swings in retaliation, but Steve manages to sidestep, his hands raised in quick surrender.
“Hey, not too rough,” he says, tamping down a mischievous smile. “Tony will have my head if I ruin another one of these.”
“Tony could buy you one for every day of the week,” Bucky scoffs, rolling his eyes.
A knock on the doorframe makes them both turn.
It’s been years now, since he met Natasha - wind whipping up familiar curls on the deck of the helicarrier, a watchful smile, wolves’ teeth hidden under a lamb-soft face. Even later, when he learned to trust her, he always found himself surprised at her startling contrasts, the ease with which she managed to be two things at once; ally and spy, friend then enemy then family. In truth, she was testing him. They both knew. Years of probing, disguised as teasing and sarcasm and near-insubordination - assessing his strength, his weakness, the man behind the shield. And after all this time, it was his steadiness at each of her own turns that pacified her, let her learn to lean on him in return.
She smiles in the doorway now, her bright hair swept sleek behind her ears, revealing diamond teardrop earrings, probably on loan from Tony’s collection. The tips of her hair just brush her pale, bare shoulders, revealed by the strapless neckline of her jumpsuit. Black was always her signature color - never dull, though, because with Nat black is a spectrum, a rainbow refracted through her prism: intimidating, alluring, powerful, subtle.
“You clean up good, Rogers,” she smirks, her hands tucked into her pockets as she gives him a look of approval. “Keeping the beard, though?”
Steve’s hand idly brushes against his trimmed whiskers.
“It’s grown on me,” he admits. “And besides, I’ve got too much of a baby face without it.”
“Some girls like that.”
“Some guys like that,” Bucky adds, waggling his eyebrows.
“Yeah, well,” Steve rubs the back of his neck, willing down the flush that crept up at his friends’ praise. “I’m not supposed to be the bait tonight.”
“No, I guess that’s my job.” Another voice appears behind Nat, her head peaking around Nat’s shoulder as she steps forward to share the space in the doorway.
Unbidden, Steve feels his mouth fall open. He always thought she was beautiful, from the first time he saw her, no makeup and the sleeves of her sweater splashed with coffee and mocha sauce; this morning, in the dusty half-light of the basement gym, sweat gleaming on her forehead and arms. But he wasn’t prepared to see her like this, glowing in his doorway, draped in a pink silk slip that exposed one of her thighs. She’d let her hair loose from it’s tight braids, her makeup bringing a dewy sheen to her cheeks - she looked…fresh, blooming like a rose. A clean swipe of red across her lips, almost an afterthought, as if she couldn’t be bothered to make more effort than that. Steve swipes his suddenly sweaty palms against his thighs and clears his throat.
“Um, wow,” he says, wincing at his own voice, which nearly gave an embarrassingly pubescent crack. “I mean, you…uh, you look great.”
“Better than great,” Bucky pipes up, the amused tilt to his mouth the only hint that he enjoys Steve’s embarrassment. “She looks beautiful.”
Nat nods in agreement.
“The dress is perfect for you - is it one of Stark’s?” she asks. 14 shakes her head, modestly gesturing to the gown with her hand.
“I’ve had it for a little while actually, I just couldn’t pass it up,” she sighs. “Just haven’t had the chance to wear it.”
“Well, we’re finally gonna put some miles on it,” Natasha smiles, her eyes cutting to Steve, who has clamped his jaw shut to prevent himself from saying more. “We all ready? Happy’s pulling the car around.”
14 nods, a shy smile tilting her mouth as she spares a glance at Steve before moving to follow Nat down the hall. She turns, and he sees that the cut of her dress falls low against the small of her back - almost low enough to glimpse the sweet dimples at the base of her spine. When they’re out of the doorway, he feels Bucky’s eyes on him - he’s perched on the edge of the bed, chewing his lip, one eyebrow lifted in an all-knowing look. He opens his mouth to speak but Steve lifts a hand.
“Don’t,” Steve cuts him off. “I know what you’re gonna say Buck, but just- don’t.”
Bucky lifts his hands in surrender, standing from the bed and walking over to where Steve still stands in the middle of his room.
“Fine, I won’t say a damn word,” Bucky sighs, shuffling across the thick carpet. He slaps his friend on the shoulder, gripping Steve with a firm hand. “Except you better move your ass instead of standing there like a dud - didn’t I tell you not to keep a lady waiting, Rogers?”
**********
Sam had whistled playfully as she glided out of the elevator on Steve’s arm, his eyebrows lifting halfway up his forehead.
“Damn, girl - almost didn’t recognize you without your apron,” he winked, his gap-toothed grin charming as ever.
“Didn’t match my shoes,” she winked back, flicking her hair over her shoulder. It sent a wave of her perfume drifting upwards; something bright and sweet, neroli, he thought, or orange blossom - maybe a hint of coconut. He had licked his lips without thinking; he’d like to smell it again, just to be sure.
Here, in this stuffy ballroom across town, with eager officials and bourgeois brats trying to rub elbows with Captain America, he finds the smell much less appealing. Sweat and ambition, excess and greed, all covered in layers of atelier cologne (eau de aristocratie) and - well, Bucky heard enough of his socialist soapbox speeches back in the day, and his views certainly haven’t changed much.
Still, he makes polite small talk with his admirers, rubs elbows, accepts drinks, all the while keeping one eye on the far corner of the room. It’s quiet, secluded, an overstuffed chaise with a soft cover tucked away from the buzz of the main dance floor. She’s perched there, ankles coquettishly crossed, the side slit of her dress revealing one leg and her glittering open-toed shoes; she leans on one arm, tilting her head towards the target, charming smile drawing up her lips as she hangs on his every word. Or pretends to, anyway. The target seems not to know the difference: Robbie Sinclair, a middle-aged man with the tanned smile of a Kennedy, salt and pepper hair slicked back from his face with a boyish cowlick escaping near the front, grins confidently as he talks to her. Steve watches him preen and puff his chest, spreading his legs to take up far more space than he needs. He stretches one arm along the back of the couch, leaning closer than appropriate, but she doesn’t move away.
He doesn’t like this, any of it. To be fair, he’d never been a big fan of the espionage facet of his job; much to Nat’s chagrin, subtlety and subterfuge were not Steve’s strong suits. If he had his way, they’d come in swinging and arrest this creep (and his insider-trading Wall Street buddies, too). But shooting from the hip wouldn’t work here, not when they still needed hard evidence on this guy, something more substantial than rumors - heavy as those rumors might be, words like “human trafficking” and “slavery” coming up in his SHIELD files. He understood the necessity, and so did 14.
Still, bringing her here and dangling her like a worm on a hook, hoping this asshole would take the bait…his stomach churned, whiskey bubbling unpleasantly at the thought. Steve angles his body around a chatty senator, trying to maintain his view on the corner. Sinclair looks about ready to take a bite, his head bent close to 14’s, sly smirk plastered on his face as he whispers something in her ear. Did her fist tighten around her glass? He can’t quite tell from this distance; he knows his own fingers are white-knuckled on his third whiskey. Or was it the fourth?
In a blink, a stumble, a minute trapped in choked small talk with Miss New York (during which he wondered if her real teeth were filed down like a shark’s underneath that crown-winning smile like Sam told him), he’s lost her.
A snowy static of panic whites out his brain, and his heart picks up against his ribcage as he all but shoves the beauty queen out of his way, his vision tunneling on the now-empty chaise in the corner. Where did she go? Where would she go? Barely managing subtlety know, he ducks his head, speaking to the comm device in his ear.
“Natasha. Do you have eyes on them?”
“…no, I was doing a sweep of the terrace outside,” she answers a moment later. “Did you lose them?”
Steve turns a circle where he stands, sharp eyes scanning each face and failing to find the one he wants to see.
“They’re gone, I’ve lost visual.” He tries to keep his voice down, his tone tight and clipped. Through a break in the crowd, he thinks he catches a glimpse of her dress, but when he looks again it’s the wrong color, the wrong dress, the wrong woman-
“Alright, I’m heading back inside - I’ll go up the stairs to the next floor, see if they went up that way.”
“Okay, I’ll take this floor,” Steve says, already making a beeline for the open doors of the ballroom, his tight-laced dress shoes clicking a solitary echo in the cavernous hallway just outside. Past the doors, and the gazes of nosy party-goers, he doubles his pace - the stiff starched tux protesting against the movement.
They’re not tucked into the alcoves along this hallway, and he deliberates a moment where the hall forks in opposite directions, before darting to the left and continuing his clipped jog. In a small part of his brain, he knows he shouldn’t be this concerned about her. 14 was an agent - a highly trained, highly skilled agent; he’d worked with her enough by now to know firsthand how well she could handle herself. But the other part of him couldn’t shake the way Sinclair had looked at her - the way every man in the room had looked at her when she walked in, circling and waiting for their chance to close in. Not to mention the less-than-sterling reputation of Robbie Sinclair, who, aside from the trafficking conspiracy that put SHIELD on his scent, had a handful of secretaries threaten him with harassment suits, before they were quietly paid to keep their mouths shut.
He comes to a dead end, a dancing nymph statue (far too baroque for his taste) mocking him with her tambourine against her hip. Doubling back, he curses under his breath and runs through the building schematics in his head, wondering where they could have slipped away to so quickly.
“Natasha? Any luck?”
“Negative. You?”
“No.” Steve clenches his fists and tries to force his heart back down from where it’s climbed up into his throat. His teeth grind together, jaw locked tight, holding in a frustrated growl. Unprompted, a wave of worst-case scenarios floods his mind - 14 dragged away by thugs, knocked unconscious, bleeding and gagged, unable to call for help. She’s a good agent. A good soldier. She can handle this. Try as he might to force them away, the tide of panic swells over and over inside him, the voice of his intuition telling him something must have gone wrong-
Behind him, an elevator dings.
Steve turns to see the ancient metalwork door rattle open, Agent 14 stumbling out half a moment later.
He blinks. She’s lost her shoes - no, she’s carrying them, the straps dangling from one hand. The side slit of her dress looks higher, and he notices the frayed edges along the top where the fabric has ripped. Her lipstick is smudged, her hair mussed, and she takes labored, panting breaths as she leans against the wall.
It takes him a while to understand what he’s looking at. As his panic starts to ebb, something different, something wounded and green threatens to perch in its place, at the sight of her so disheveled, with swollen lips and rumpled clothes. He says nothing; he has nothing to say, shocked as he is by the bitter taste of his own thoughts, wondering if a rendezvous with Sinclair was worth the information she might have gained.
It’s not until she starts sniffling that he notices the tears running down her cheeks.
The realization stops him cold, strangles the dark seed of doubt just starting to sprout in his heart, and fills him with shame and guilt. He takes a step forward. She’s not looking at him.
“…14? Are you okay?” he asks, his voice hushed. “Are you hurt?” There were no visible wounds that he could see, though she had limped a little when coming out of the elevator.
She nods, sniffing again.
“I’m-I’m fine,” she says, her voice scraping in her throat, barely holding back a sob. Squeezing her eyes shut, she presses a hand to her mouth, shoulders shaking with silent tears.
In two steps he’s at her side, though unsure of what to do, what would be appropriate, what she wants or needs. Were they…friends? Acquaintances? Colleagues? Do work friends hug, comfort each other?
“Can you tell me what happened?” he ventures softly, still not touching her, not crowding. He holds back a few inches, waiting, his hands feeling empty and heavy at his sides. “Do you want to?”
She nods, but it takes a few moments before she has regained her composure enough to lower her hand from her mouth and take a few rattling breaths, preparing to speak.
“He…h-he,” she stutters over a sob, like a child who’s cried too hard for too long. “He grabbed me and-and was kissing me, and then he tried,” she’s interrupted by a hiccup and a shaky sigh. “He tried to…to…”
She raises her eyes to his, tears welling up again, and shakes her head. She can’t say it, won’t say it - it is too much. It will make it real.
For his part, Steve barely restrains himself from blacking out with rage. His jaw is so tight he can feel his teeth nearly crack from the strain, fists curled but unsatisfied with not being wrapped around Sinclair’s neck. How dare he? How dare anyone? When he gets his hands on this goddamned son of a bitch, he’ll-
His vengeful train of thought is interrupted when she collapses against his chest with a sob, gripping the lapels of his jacket for support. On instinct he wraps his arms around her, caging her in, his chin resting on top of her head.
“I’m sorry - I’m so sorry,” he whispers as he hushes her and holds her, wishing there was more he could do, more he could say. He holds himself back from other platitudes, from it’s okay, and everything’s alright - he knows it’s not true.
She shakes and cries and rides out the storm in his arms, full of anger and fear and shame and helplessness; all the while, he stands silent and solid, murmuring soothing words his mother might have said - in another life, when someone held him, protected him.
Neither of them knows how much time has passed when her sobs become less violent, when her breathing calms, but she doesn’t step away. Her head doesn’t move from its place on his chest, and he makes no sign of wanting it to. Gently, slowly, he rocks her in his embrace, one hand smoothing over her back.
After a while, she speaks.
“I’m so tired,” she whispers. From this angle, he can see her blink slowly, tear tracks drying on her cheeks. He nods.
“You’re coming down from the adrenaline - that’s normal,” he murmurs, letting her weight sag against him, wondering if he’ll need to carry her.
“No,” she shakes her head. “Not like that…that’s not what I mean.”
“What do you mean?”
She doesn’t answer, not right away; her breathing has settled into an easier rhythm, less frenzied and panting. Her fingers slide from their place at his chest to rest around his waist.
“When I was in high school, there was this guy.” Her voice startles him when she finally speaks again, she’s been silent for so long. He makes a noise to let her know he’s listening before she goes on. “He was…I don’t know. Popular, I guess. Cute. Football player. Advanced classes. All the girls liked him.” She takes a shuddering breath before forging ahead. “And-and I guess he liked me because he couldn’t leave alone for a single fucking minute.
“God, it was constant. He’d grab my ass, or say dirty things about me to other guys…sometimes it wasn’t even sexual, it was like…he’d squeeze my waist or pinch the fat on the back of my arms and comment about my weight.” She sniffs, and Steve tightens his arms around her, not speaking. “One time, between classes, he grabbed me by the hips and bent me backwards over a desk - he wouldn’t let go, and he was just laughing…and no one said anything, none of the guys or my friends or anybody.”
Steve frowns, feeling impotent and frustrated. “I’m so sorry.” She shakes her head again.
“The worst thing is I just put up with it. I didn’t say anything…I didn’t think, I didn’t know-” she huffs a bitter laugh. “I guess I just thought it was flirting. Like I should’ve been flattered by it.”
“You shouldn’t - you don’t have to take that,” Steve says, fighting to control his tone. “Not from anyone.”
“I know that now,” she says. “But I was just a kid…nobody told me. Nobody helped me.”
He opens his mouth, tries to think of something to say, but she goes on.
“And nobody told me that it never gets better, it never changes.” He can feel how tightly her fists are clenched at his sides. “No one told me that this would be the rest of my fucking life. First it was him, and old men at the gas station where I got snacks after school, and truck loads of frat boys following me home. Jesus even the damn milk guy at the café calls me ’sexy’ and won’t leave me alone.” She sniffles again, voice tightening with anguish. “I’m tired, I’m so tired - I’m so fucking sick of all of it…of-of just being a thing, I’m tired of being looked at, and-” She tries to swallow back her sob, but it crests and stutters in her lungs, taking over her voice once again as she presses her face impossibly closer.
It breaks his heart and stokes his rage, the helpless, hopeless weight of her bitter words. Here he is, over a century old, and still watching people fight the same battles; battles to be heard, to be seen, to be treated like humans. He’d seen it all his life, women like his mother, like Peggy, spines of steel and hearts made of diamonds, resisting a world that would grind them down and make them small. He wishes his shield were wider, stronger. He wishes he could protect them from this.
“I can’t tell you it’s okay,” he murmurs. “Because it’s not. It’s not okay, I’m so sorry.” She squeezes his waist gratefully and nods her head a little. “But you…you don’t ever have to feel alone in this, okay?” He leans back a little, prompting her to lift her head, to meet her tear-bright eyes. “You’re not alone. I promise.”
It’s not enough. It’s not over. But today, for now, it feels like something.
**********
Natasha pages Happy, who pulls the car around to the front of the building. She says nothing as 14 limps down the front steps, shoes in hand, one arm linked with Steve’s and wearing his jacket, the too-long sleeves covering her hands. Nat’s eyes slide up to his - their silent exchange lasts moments, microseconds; her lips pinch tightly and her elegant white fists curl tight.
Happy holds the door, offering a hand as 14 drops inside, folding her legs and wrapping her torn skirt as tight as she can around the exposed length of her legs. Nat glances at the open door of the car and steps away, angling her back to the patient Happy. She juts her chin at Steve.
“You need a hand, Rogers?” He knows the look in her eyes is mirrored in his own - the look of a boxer stepping in the ring, of a lion sighting prey, a shark scenting blood.
Steve shakes his head, a hand reaching up to loosen his tie.
“No, it’s alright. You go on with 14.”
Happy peaks his head around.
“You don’t want me to wait for you, Cap?” he frowns. “I can keep the car running.”
Steve glances over Nat’s shoulder at the town car, where 14 has curled up in the backseat, and rolls his sleeves up to his elbows.
“Nah. I need to have a word with Mr. Sinclair.”
**********
The arrest doesn’t make the front page. Or any page of the papers, in fact. Robbie Sinclair wakes in a hospital bed, in SHIELD custody, and ready to make deals with anyone who will bargain - provided his security detail keeps him well away from the Avengers and their Captain.
When the file crosses his desk, courtesy of Natasha, he notices the long list of names Sinclair has provided them with - powerful men, Wall Street and Capitol Hill’s finest, who found their positions one dirty handshake at a time. It would take some time to build a case against them all, find sufficient evidence for arrests, but SHIELD was up for the task. There’s a note in the back of the file, a small article someone has attached with a paperclip.
‘Executive’s Secretaries Speak Out’ reads the headline, with the subtext ‘Sinclair accused of sexual harassment, assault’. It appears a few women who had crossed his path were tired of being silenced; they had banded together, sharing pain and courage, to finally see him brought to justice. And combined with the charges SHIELD was bringing against him, it was unlikely he’d step foot outside of a prison for the next couple of decades.
It’s a start.
A few days later, Steve rises before the sun, a creature of habit. He takes his run alone, listening to a podcast that Sam had recommended. By 5:30, he’s stretching at the bench in front of the tower, before making his way down the street to the coffee shop.
She does a double take when she sees him, surprise and (he hopes) excitement creeping up in her smile. There’s only a couple of baristas in the store at this time - they haven’t hit their peak yet - and she’s wiping down the bar in front of the espresso machines by herself.
“Morning, Cap,” she smiles. There are tired little circles under her eyes. She looks beautiful. “You want your usual?”
“Hmmm,” he pretends to think, narrowing his eyes at the menu. “Actually…how about you surprise me.”
She raises her brows, a little impressed. “You sure? Anything goes?”
“Anything - I promise I’ll try it.”
“Alright,” she smirks, mischievous and much too eager, and she turns away from the espresso machines to the blenders behind her.
Milk, syrup, ice - other ingredients he can’t see or identify, all thrown into the pitcher and blended. She leans against the counter as the machine whirs loudly, a cheeky smile dimpling her cheeks. Just as the machine stops, the bell above the door chimes, both of them turning to look.
A small, wiry, white-haired man backs his way into the store, pulling a dolly stacked high with milk crates. He looks around, making sure he’s not backing into anyone, and catches sight of her behind the counter. Steve doesn’t like the look of his smile, or the way 14 ducks back down to her blender, her shoulders inching upwards.
“Morning, sweetheart,” the man says, a bit too loud, rattling the crates on his dolly as he wheels around tables, towards the back of house.
“Morning,” 14 replies coolly, not looking up from where she’s carefully lining Steve’s cup with mocha sauce. She doesn’t say anything more, keeping her head down as she pours out the drink and reaches for a canister of whipped cream. Steve’s eyes cut between them, his hands in the pockets of his shorts.
The milk man hustles back through the store with an empty dolly, on his way to collect the next load of crates, and 14 sighs a little when the bell chimes on his way out. She’s just turning around to hand Steve his drink, when she notices that the café is empty - he must have slipped out as well.
“Hey, pal,” Steve claps a hand on the man’s shoulder, consciously withholding his full force. “I was wondering - you usually deliver the milk here?”
“Yeah,” the man huffs, a little confused, and in a hurry to unload his crates. He squints, the rising sun in his eyes. “Why?”
“Oh, I just wanted to talk to you for a second, that’s all,” Steve smiles. His hand doesn’t move from it’s place on the man’s shoulder.
When he comes back inside, his towering, chocolate-swirled beverage is waiting at the end of the bar. 14 is waiting, too, arms crossed, one hip propped up against the counter. She tilts her head to one side.
“Do I wanna know?” she asks. Steve shrugs.
“Nothing to know,” he says, shuffling up to the bar to claim his drink and stare at it, incredulous and amused. “Now what on earth is this thing, a milkshake?”
She rolls her eyes.
“It’s called a frappucino, old man,” she grins. “Drink up - you promised.”
#steve rogers x reader#steve rogers x you#steve rogers x y/n#steve rogers x agent 14#steve rogers fic#steve rogers oneshot#steve rogers imagine
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Tagged by @firehart9 who is absolutely amazing and I just 🥺 adore! (They tagged me like last week and I forgot to do it...sorry, Remi)
Nickname: Uhmmm....do I have one? Solo I suppose? Ren? Tea? Idk, it depends on how the person, really.
Pronouns: She/They
Star Sign: Scorpio
Height: 5'5"
Time currently: 10:36 am
Birthday: November 13th
Favourite group/band: Louden Swain
Song stuck in my head: Forever have Hooked on a Feeling in my head
Last movie you watched: Uhm....Daddy Day Camp....I think
Last show you binged: Currently binging Survivor!! (One season left, I’m gonna cry)
When you created you blog: Oh geez.....I don't know. Like 2015? '14? Somewhere around then.
Last thing I googled: "Survivor buff"
Other blogs: @curiosi-tea-writes is where I post all my writing (mostly fanfiction and mostly DinCobb at this point)
Why I chose my url: My best friend has me as "Starbucks gremlin" on snap and is perpetually confused by my obsession with boysenberries so.....this happened.
Do you get asks: Occasionally but not often. I love every single one I get though.
How many people are you following: 255
How many followers: 164
Average hours of sleep: Like.....7?
Lucky number: 11
Instruments: Clarinet and violin both pretty well if I do say so myself. Played clarinet for seven years and violin for two.
Currently wearing: NASA lounge pants and a Disneyland hoodie
Dream Job: Okay so listen. Thursday Next from the series written by Jasper Fforde.....? Her job. But that job is literally impossible bc it doesn’t exist so....librarian
Dream Trip: I’d love to go to Disney World some time. I’m slowly checking off all the Disney parks from a list as I visit them.
Favourite Food: Pasta (which is funny bc that’s what @firehart9 said too.)
Favourite Song: I Hear a Symphony by Cody Fry
Top 3 fictional world to live in: Star Wars without a doubt, I just wanna have a lightsaber gdi. Jurassic Park purely for my fascination with dinos. And whatever parallel universe the Thursday Next Series takes place in bc who doesn’t want to be able to jump into books??
No pressure tags: @while-the-world-sleeps @hexedmaiden @notgonnarememberthis @tsilnerka
#I am once again sobbing over tag games#don't mind me#just happy to have friends#tag games#shut up Han
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October 16: 1x19 Tomorrow Is Yesterday
Today, one of the best, most entertaining, and most fun TOS episodes.
This intro is so strange lol. If I were watching this in 1967, I’d be like “Has Star Trek been preempted by something dumb?” It’s also very short.
That is in fact the definition of a UFO--what’s less identified than the Enterprise?
I can’t wait until a space ship of people from the future shows up. It’s 2020 so anything could happen.
Captain’s Log: This is weird!
I love all the shots of the Enterprise through this ep. How clearly it’s cut and pasted against the sky, the weird and jerky way it moves.
So I was confused by the use of the term “black star”--it is in fact a black hole (Spock’s eternal nemesis lol); that term just wasn’t well known or settled on to describe that particular phenomenon in 1967.
The method of time travel reminds me of The Naked Time (wasn’t that also like snapping a rubber band?) and according to the amazon trivia, this was supposed to be The Naked Time part two--which actually would have been pretty cool.
“If Scotty’s not dead” lol. How dark.
Amazed by how efficient this ship is--they get those reports back to Spock really damn fast.
I love how Kirk is so smart and good at history that he can immediately date when they are based on the news about a moon landing. (Although actually this episode pre-dates the actual moon landing so that was just a guess as to when it would happen, which I find AMAZING tbh.)
The drama of the time travel reveal! Close up on Kirk’s face: WHAT??
Sulu’s eye makeup is great. Bones’s is too, later.
“The craft might have nuclear warheads, which would be rather inconvenient for us.”
Kirk doesn’t know his own lady’s strength. Whoops, we accidentally destroyed your ship.
Why does Christopher beam up standing? Because it would be too funny if he beamed up sitting and then immediately fell on his ass?
Kirk immediately checks him out, and then starts flirting. He is so shameless.
“I’m a Captain too! I’m from Iowa!”
“Woman?” / “Crewman” feminist exchange paired with that horn music that usually accompanies Jessica Rabbit. Well A for effort boys.
The Enterprise is one of only 12 in the fleet. Not that that’s really trustworthy since everything in S1 of TOS is seat of the pants random facts and numbers lol. This episode refers to BOTH Starfleet and UESPA--and possibly the Federation? Already can’t remember. I don’t understand any more than Captain Christopher does.
“We’re a combined service.” Combined from what?
Captain Christopher was one of the best guest characters. Love how he’s on this amazing futuristic ship and the only thing he can say about it is “you guys sure fuck up a lot.”
Spock is having tons of fun with the new Earthman like IMMEDIATELY. “I also don’t believe in little green men--by which I mean don’t call me little.”
Another ep in which Spock is referred to as a Lt. Cmdr. while pretty clearly wearing a Commander’s uniform.
“Don’t touch anything.”
“Anything else on your mind, Mr. Spock? A threesome perhaps?”
“Jim, we cannot not exist.”
“That flight suit must be uncomfortable”--so unsubtle in wanting to get him undressed. “Why don’t you slip into something a little more comfortable, Captain?”
“Signet 14 is a planet dominated by women...with a sense of humor.”
“You can’t go home now that you know what the future looks like--damn fine, I mean take a look at us.”
“We’ve no place to go!” Oh Scotty, always coming in to burst some bubbles. They should have just gone on tours everyone’s home towns for fun.
And now Captain Christopher tries to escape. Exactly what Kirk would do in his situation. And yet Kirk is perplexed: “I sent him to his room--and he’s not in his room!”
Bones is so convinced that they have to leave and get back to their own time because they can’t have 435 people just wandering around 20th century Earth changing the timelines and that’s legit--but I think they could have stuck him in 1960s Georgia and he’d do fine. Except for the racism.
“Now you’re sounding like Spock.” Jim! How dare!!
“Could he be reeducated to forget his family” sounds VERY suspicious out of context. Or, really, in context.
Bones identifying that Spock is joking is hilarious and sweet. He pretends he doesn’t know him, but he does.
Kirk’s face when Spock is talking about Christopher Jr. is so MUCH--he looks like he could try.
I love the colors of this episode. I would buy a color tv for this for sure.
“Our tractor beam caught and crushed an Air Force plane.” Well that’s not good. Hard to explain that one.
Sulu gets to go on a one-on-one away mission with the Captain! And he’s obviously having a grand time.
“Look at this cool bulletin board!”
“Look at this primitive computer!” Which Kirk can identify because he likes going to museums because he’s a NERD I rest my case.
I feel like Spock is super alien today. Just giving off a lot of alien vibes. “I am working on my calculations.”
This episode is so hilarious; I love it. This guy’s reactions to Kirk and Sulu and their communicator, and their reactions to him and the whole situation. It’s really pretty cure comedy without much bearing on the plot--just for fun.
“I don’t hear anything.” I mean--you’re officers?? That’s the best you can do?
“Hmmm, you’re not Jim.” “We seem to have another problem.” “An unfortunate accident.” Bones taking the gun and probably keeping it. The absolutely on point score. “Our guest seems quite satisfied to remain where he is.”
Also “A subplot of this episode is that Kirk and Sulu steal government documents from an Air Force base” sounds very fake, but it’s completely true and accurate.
Kirk just straight up LAUNCHING himself at those guys. The ONLY valid fight scenes are in Star Trek TOS and it’s all because of Kirk and his highly choreographed fight moves.
“Three against one? Why don’t you get two more guys and make it a fair fight.”
But then as soon as he’s caught he turns on the charm.
Spock: “Poor photography.” He never knows the right thing to say, does he?
And now the obligatory moment when Bones accuses Spock of not caring about Jim even though he of all people should know better.
This interrogation scene is also hilarious and one of my favorites. How he doesn’t say his middle name is Tiberius. Wincing when they throw the weapon around. “I’m a little green man from Alpha Centuri.” “This little thing? Just something I slipped on.” “Two hundred years? That oughtta be just about right.”
Tbh sometimes I do feel better about the AOS!Kirk characterization because of scenes like this. Like, you could see that mid-20s Kirk turning into this mid-30s Kirk; the sense of humor is similar.
This man in the beret is having a fun time. I think he’d like to stay here. Also, I find the food replicators in the transporter room really random but I guess that was a budget issue.
This is such a good-natured episode. Everyone’s so friendly, so forgiving of light moments of back-stabbery, so generally good-hearted.
You’ve seen the Vulcan nerve pinch, now get ready for the Sulu shoulder chop! And then the Vulcan nerve pinch! And then the Kirk very-fake-looking punch in the face!
Spock so obviously wants to kiss it better. The camera is away from them for so long, it’s possible there was a lot of hand fondling going on.
And then everything about the rest of the scene--how Spock somehow leaves by one door and comes in by another to get behind Christopher; how he lurks out of focus in the background; the random shots of Sulu’s face; all the opportunities for Kirk to look Fond.
Aw, poor Christopher. Didn’t get into NASA but he still gets to go to space. I wonder if a part of him did remember all this and that’s how he inspired his son to work on the Saturn probe.
Also there is no way for DC Fontana or anyone else to know this but there was a Saturn probe launched in 2004, which is approximately the right timeline to match this ep--if Christopher’s son was born in 1970, he would have been in his mid-30s in 2004.
“You only have 15 years, so you better hurry”--Kirk, hurrying to get his last flirty comment in.
More shaky ship and more people throwing themselves around the set. Never gets old.
Christopher sure learned the ship fast. He’s already pushing buttons to talk to the bridge. Maybe NASA made a mistake.
Scotty is a genius lol--they were SUPER precise in getting both of those guys back to the exact right moment in time.
“Mr. Scott is still with us”--again!
Uhura really likes the lady computer voice.
“The Enterprise is home!”
Amazing ep, as expected. I don’t have deep commentary on it because it wasn’t a deep episode, but it was a rollicking fun time. Next up is Court Martial, primarily memorable for the introduction of Kirk’s ex-girlfriend, The Lawyer.
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Hello, may I request a fluff imagine/headcanon? How would UT and UF Sans (who I imagine are space nerds) react to finding out that their s/o (who they've recently started dating) works at a planetarium/observatory complex when the s/o takes them on a date there? They also tell them the reason they kept their work a secret is because they didn't want to appear like a huge nerd in front of the cool skele. Oh, and the skele can come by anytime as long as the s/o worns their boss beforehand
UT!Sans: Okay, it will be a MIRACLE if he doesn’t already know. Sans spends a lot of time at the planetarium. Given that monsters went Underground centuries ago their understanding of astronomy is way, waaay behind the times. He’s done his best with the sci-fi novels and occasional textbooks that fall into the dump, but it's very piecemeal and sometimes hard to tell what’s real and what’s just a sci-fi trope. After he and Papyrus get settled he spends a lot of time wandering and figuring out what he can. He’s relieved the moon landing was real (or was it…no its real).
He’s seen you a couple times but just assumed you were a regular like him (the dress code is basically just formal wear for you). You were pretty cute, and he ended up striking up a conversation after you’d ended up responding to his bad joke (”that solar system exhibit’s so nice I wanna put a ring on it”) with one of your own (”yeah, must’ve taken a long time to planet”).
You’d talked for a while and he’d walked away for your number. Normally Sans isn’t the type to move fast but clearly, there was some kind of gravity at work here (heh) so it wasn’t long before you’d had a first date. Then a second.
Third date planning went something like this:
Sans: what do u think, brave enough to try Paps spaghetti again tonight?
You: as appealing as that sounds, I’ve got work late tonight :’(
Sans: nooo
You: yeah…
Sans: eh, it's okay. can always try for another night
A pause. And an idea struck you.
You: u know what? Meet me at the planetarium at 10 with some food.
Sans: ok?
Sans: u don’t have time to get to my house but have time to get to a closed planetarium in the middle of nowhere?
Sans: that sounded sarcastic tbh i’m sorry
You: you’re good xD. and trust me. it's a surprise ;)
Sans oooh~
He showed up at ten on the dot, not late for once and holding McDonald's. He looked around for you on the front steps when the locked doors opened and you were on the other side, trying to stifle an excited grin. “hey”
“uh, hey. How did you….” he smacked his forehead. “I’m an idiot. you work here?
”yeah. I mean, to be fair to you, I’m upper management, so I don’t wear the uniform.” You held the door open for him and he walked inside.
“still, might’ve picked up on it. how come you acted all mysterious about it?”
“I dunno.” You led him down the dimly lit hallway, shrugging. “its kind of nerdy, I guess? not like the glamourous nerdy, like NASA or something. Like, low budget never enough funding nerdy.”
“hey, what part of this made you think I wasn’t into nerdy?” He gestured to himself.
“I don’t know, it's dumb. and I’m hungry” You made a grab for the food and he pulled it out of your reach.
“hmm, I dunno..” His perpetual grin widened and he waved the bag tauntingly. “don’t know if secret keepers deserve food…”
You grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him in for a brief kiss. He flushed bright blue and you took advantage of this to snatch the bag out of his hand and stuff some fries in your face.
“heh, you play dirty, kid”
“always”
“so what did you want me to see?”
“Same reason I had to stay late” You rolled up the bag to save the rest for later. “we’re opening a new special exhibit, and well…got special permission from my boss to give a special tour.”
“…..you didn’t”
“I did” You grinned
“you didn’t”
“come on” you grabbed his hand and pulled him along
It was a small theatre with about twenty seats in it. You led him to the front row and then dug around in your bag, pulling out two pairs of 3D glasses and handing one to him. “its this recreation of a satellite’s path. Goes out pretty far and the effects are fan-fucking-tastic” You sat down next to him
He wrapped an arm around your shoulder. “hey i think i’m in love with you, is that normal?”
You stuffed some fries in his mouth, smiling. “just don’t spill food, the janitor will murder me.”
You sat there in content silence for the full thirty minutes, listening to the narration as it took you on a tour of the galaxy. You’d seen the video a lot of times at this point and spent most of it watching him.
He looked like a kid at a theme park. It was honestly kind of adorable. Sans didn’t show open excitement often, but he was so lost in the film and the visuals that he wasn’t at all self-conscious about his facial expressions. His smile was wider than you’d ever seen it and he kept squeezing your shoulder whenever something particularly cool came on screen.
You settled against him. Enjoying the silence and the warmth, and the moment between you.
UF!Sans: “what is this uniform even for?”
“stop going through my clothes, ya creep,” you said, snatching the blue polo out of his hands and pulling it on.
“up until about five seconds ago you were naked but it's noticing the clothes that make me creepy” Red sat up and stretched, pulling back the blankets on the bed.
“no one ever said I made sense” You pulled on some dark slacks too, turning to the mirror leaning against the corner and trying to get your hair into something approaching decent shape.
Red sidled up behind you and wrapped his arms around your waist, pressing toothy kisses along the crook of your neck. “sure you gotta go?”
“yeah, got work.” You smiled, humming softly at the attention.
“could call in sick…” His hands crept lower, towards your hips. “stay a little longer…”
You flushed and gently pulled his hands off.“ my boss would actually kill me.”
“trust me, your boss ain’t seen nothin like me yet” He grinned.
“hey, be nice to my boss, I actually like this job” You adjusted your shirt.
“like it so much you won’t even tell me what it is.”
“is it important that you know?” You pull on some shoes
“nah, just a weird thing for me to not know.” He rolled his neck, groaning softly.
“I’ll tell you someday” You pulled on a jacket and grabbed your keys.
“unless I find out first” He smirked sharply.
“that threat would be a lot more credible if you were wearing pants right now instead of just boxers”
“that a challenge?”
“take it how you will. I gotta go”
“hey” You turned your head to face him and he caught you in a slow, soft kiss. “have a good day”
You smiled. “yeah. you too.” And with that, you were out the door.
You’d been seeing Red for a couple months now. What the battle-hardened, rugged, smooth-talking skeleton saw in you you’d probably never know, but all that mattered right now was that his jokes made you laugh (even the bad ones) and his kisses left you weak at the knees. You’d be an idiot to give that up.
Which….is probably why you hadn’t told him about your job. Like, you hadn’t been actively hiding it or lying to him or anything. But you’d skirted questions and tried to avoid talking about anything that happened at work. Red was a badass. And you were slowly realizing that he was probably a genius too, based on what little he told you of his life Underground. And there was something kind of embarrassing about telling a person like that that your place of work was a planetarium gift shop.
As if you needed more reasons to feel inadequate next to him. You knew you were being kind of stupid about the whole thing, and you kept meaning to tell him. But every time you’d get so nervous about what he might say or think that you couldn’t make yourself.
Which was a shame, because you really did like your job. Sure, some of the customers could get a little annoying, and the pay wasn’t super great. But there were definite perks. Watching little kids chatter excitedly about planets and comets and asteroids to their parents/teachers. Getting to wander around the exhibits on your breaks and after work. Even the occasional chance to talk to guest speakers in between lectures. You were fascinated by space and space-related stuff. No interest in becoming an astronaut or even an astronomist but you loved the opportunity to learn in a more casual setting.
Still, by the end of your shift, you were ready to get home and clean up for your date. You and Red were planning on going to a movie.
One problem. You couldn’t find your keys.You dug around in your pockets, the break room, even the space behind the counter in case they fell out, but nothing. You searched for nearly forty-five minutes, making a general nuisance of yourself to the person who came to swap you out.
Your phone buzzed.
Red: where are you?
You: sorry, still at work, can’t find my keys. be home soon
Red: want a lift?
You: you don’t know where I am.
Long pause.
You: Sans-
Before you could send it you heard a familiar, amused voice behind you. “really should know better than to leave your location on, doll~”
You yelped, nearly dropping your phone as you whirled around. “Red-!”
“so, where are we-’ His voice dropped off and his eyes went wide as he took in his surroundings.
Your face slowly grew redder. “I…..I know its nerdy and I swear I was gonna tell you eventually but…” Your voice died off as you realized he was chuckling. “….what’s so funny?”
“stars, doll.” He hooked his fingers under your chin and pecked you on the lips, eyes lidded. ‘if I believed in soulmates i’d say you’re getting pretty damn close to one.”
“….you’re into space?” Your cheeks felt like they might catch on fire but your heart leaped in your chest.
“uh…” His turn to look slightly awkward. He rubbed the back of his head. “yeah, honestly. one of those interests I keep on the down low, but…yeah.”
“…do you want a tour-”
“yes”
The movie fell by the wayside (you found your keys in your car later on). You walked, handing hand through the planetarium, and got to watch as your gruff and tough boyfriend turned into a hyperactive twelve-year-old over all of it.
Comforting to know deep down, he was just as big a nerd as you are.
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Neighbors- Loki/Jane/Bucky
05: Supernatural Creatures- Loki/Jane/Bucky
Monster AU: Bucky, an Alpha werewolf, knows there’s something funny about the way that vampire couple next door looks at him.
When the townhouse next to Bucky’s was sold, he didn’t think much of it. As long as they weren’t another family of pixies constantly stealing his lawn mower (which was clearly only done to annoy him because they knew damn well the grass was self-cutting), it could be a bunch of human-sized slug people for all he cared. Good neighbors came in many forms, just like bad neighbors did.
He was on his front porch, unable to sleep when the moving truck pulled in. Goblins scurried out of the cabin, giggling to themselves about their latest haul as if it was theirs to keep. Bucky almost didn’t recognize them in the dark of the new moon, nor the sleek black Jaguar that parked in the driveway as they worked. Two figures stepped out and seemed to glide across the walkway. Bucky focused on them, growling softly as his eyes shifted from human to lupine.
There were a man and a woman. The man was tall and slender, dressed in a finely tailored suit which contrasted sharply with his pale white skin. His hair was black and worn long, even longer than Buckys. He spoke quietly to the woman as the goblins ran in and out of the house with their belongings. She was more casually dressed in simple jeans and a t-shirt, and the top of her brown head barely reached the man’s chest. Nevertheless, when they both suddenly turned to look at him, three important things were immediately clear to Bucky.
First, they had blood red eyes and pearly white fangs. Vampires. That explained the late move in.
Second, they were both abnormally hot. Forget that Twilight shit, this is what sexy vampires looked like.
Third, they knew he was watching them.
Clearing his throat, Bucky waved at the couple, a much too wide grin on his face. “Hey there! Welcome to the neighborhood. I’ll just…”
He backed inside, shaking his head at his own stupidity. ‘Way to make a good first impression, dumbass.’
As the werewolf disappeared from sight, Jane Foster-Odinson ran her tongue along her lips. The sweet scent of the delectable man’s blood lingered in the air and oh, how good it tasted.
“What are you thinking, dearest?” her husband asked, pulling her into his tight embrace.
“I want him,” Jane purred. She hadn’t wanted anything this much since NASA unveiled their plans for a new Hubble telescope.
Loki nibbled on her earlobe. “Then, my love, we shall have him.”
**
The next day, Bucky left his house before noon to go on a leisurely run through the forest. He had foregone everything except his pants. Not like he’d need clothes as a wolf. In the yard next door was the vampire woman, resting under the shade of an apple tree with a book in her lap.
“Morning,” she called to him, stopping him in his tracks.
“Huh?” He said stupidly. “Sorry, I wasn’t expecting to see you out here.”
She giggled. Her fangs were on full display. “It’s okay. My husband and I are purebloods. We can go out during the day as much as we like. As long as we wear sunblock of course.”
Which explained the distinct odor in the air. “Oh yeah… okay.” Bucky ran his hands down his shirt, except he wasn’t wearing one. Her eyes trailed shamelessly over his muscular torso.
“I’m Jane, by the way,” she said, her voice slightly deeper. “My husband is Loki. You’ll probably see him later tonight.”
“Bucky Barnes,” Bucky said. “It’s nice to meet you. Hope we become good friends.”
He left for his run after saying goodbye. Changing into his wolf form, he sprinted through the trees, lost in the power and freedom the transformation brought. Somewhere in the distance, he thought he heard Jane’s voice.
“We’ll be great friends…”
**
At midnight, someone knocked on Bucky’s door. He’d just gotten home from a meeting with his pack, where one upstart beta decided he didn’t like being ordered around anymore and issued a challenge. Though the fight had lasted barely a minute, the idiot did manage to land one good swipe and Bucky would be feeling that for the rest of the night.
He was applying antiseptic when the doorbell rang. Fully expecting Steve or Nat come to check on him, Bucky opened the door to find two pairs of red eyes staring at him.
“Evening, Mr. Barnes,” said Loki, his perpetual grin faltering slightly at Bucky’s pained expression. “Did we come at a bad time?”
“Nah, it’s fine,” Bucky said, moving aside to let them in. “Just some stupid kid in my pack making trouble.”
“Are you okay?” Jane moved around him and gasped at the foot long gashes on his back. “Oh my God!”
“Trust me, it looks worse than it is.” Bucky walked back to the living room couch, Loki and Jane close behind as if afraid he would collapse. “I heal fast. By tomorrow there won’t even be scabs.”
“Can I just take a quick look anyway?”
“Jane minored in nursing,” Loki explained. “She thinks she can fix anyone.”
“I’ll fix that smart mouth of yours,” Jane shot back.
“Do you promise?”
They smirked at each other, eyes turning a darker red. Bucky coughed. “Do you guys need a moment?”
“We need several, but not right now,” said Loki. He sat down in the recliner by the fireplace, crossing one long leg over the other. Jane watched him, clearly entranced by her husband’s poise. Bucky didn’t blame her. “Regardless, we only wished to formally introduce ourselves. Since we’ll be neighbors for the foreseeable future, it seemed only right that we all get to know each other.”
“We would’ve invited you to our place for dinner,” said Jane as she bandaged the wound, “but then we realized… we don’t really have a kitchen. Kinda don’t need one so....”
“Yeah well, I’d offer you something to drink, but I only have Pepsi products,” Bucky shrugged. “No blood here.”
“Except your own,” Loki said, eyeing Bucky hungrily before bursting out laughing. “I’m only joking of course.”
Jane laughed with him, albeit more hesitantly, while Bucky forced a weak chuckle. “Heh… yeah, I figured.”
Weirdly enough, the idea being bitten by one or both of them didn’t sound so bad. He had heard the stories about what vampire bites were like. Better than ten orgasms at once, or so it was said.
“If you were hoping to get some sleep tonight, we can come back another time,” said Jane.
He smiled at her. Damn, she was adorable up close. “Nah, it’s cool. How about we all watch a movie?”
“We were rather hoping to discuss something with you first,” said Loki, steepling his fingers. “Mr. Barnes, are you seeing anyone?”
Bucky’s mouth opened, but his ability to speak was momentarily lost. Even when it came back, the most he could manage was, “I’m not… What? I mean… no, I’m not.” It was a perfect time to notice Jane was still touching him.
“I hope you don’t mind my asking. Jane and I were merely wondering.”
“Right, and it’s in Loki’s nature to speak his mind no matter who’s listening,” Jane sighed.
“Indeed it is,” he said proudly.
“Okay well…” Bucky rubbed his neck. “I’m kind of at a point where I’ve been so focused on my pack and working and stuff like that. Haven’t been in the dating scene for a while.”
“Then you’re not currently looking.”
“No, I guess not.”
Loki hummed and shared a glance with Jane. Bucky had heard some mated vampires could hear each other’s thoughts. He’d certainly believe it looking at these two. After a moment, Jane moved away from him to sit on the other side of the couch. Bucky almost held her back. His claws extended before he could stop them.
“Very well,” said Loki, turning towards the flat screen. “Let’s see what’s on tonight.”
The switch from intimate conversation to casual chit-chat was so abrupt, it was almost like Loki had become a different person. Bucky watched him carefully as he reached for the remote, but neither he nor Jane moved or made any provocative comments. Instead, they argued over whether to put on a sci-fi movie or a historical drama. Bucky was partial to war movies himself, but they were the guests, so he left it for them to decide. He soon relaxed enough that, when Jane scooted over and her fingers brushed his biceps, he took it for the innocent, accidental touch it most assuredly was.
**
Bucky awoke the next morning in bed. Naked. All pain completely gone. With two equally naked vampires cuddled up to him.
He sat up and felt his neck. Bitemarks. He checked Loki and Jane’s arms. Scratch marks.
“Holy fucking shit,” he muttered. “That wasn’t a dream.”
Loki’s eyes snapped open. Bastard probably wasn’t even asleep to begin with. “No, it wasn’t. And neither is this.”
He kissed Bucky hard on the lips as Jane ran her tongue along the holes in his neck, sending residual jolts of heat coursing through his body.
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the 100 ask game
Tagged like over a month ago oops I didn’t mean to take this long by the amazing Kat | @viviansternwood, thanks love <3
1. What station on the Ark would you be from?
Apparently Mecha was formed from the AEB spaceship so probably Mecha?
*AEB is like the Brazilian NASA
2. What would you get arrested for on the Ark?
Probably for arguing with authority or some shit like that. I don’t take things at face value.
3. Would you take off your wristband when you landed on the ground?
Nah, I’d probably try to find a way to make it possible for me to read the vital signals it was detecting.
4. What would the necklace Finn would make for you look like? (Clarke: deer/Raven: a raven duh..)
Finn is a douchebag and I doubt I would ever get along with him, but anyways, I have several owl necklaces, so probably an owl.
5. If you could resurrect any MINOR character who would it be?
Zeke love of my life
6. Create a squad of 5 characters to go on missions with. Who are they?
Raven, Miller, Monty, Bellamy, Clarke.
7. What Grounder Clan would you belong to you?
I will say Trishana just because I like me some pretty glowing forest
8. What would your name be in Trigedasleng? (example: Octavia=Okteivia…just make it up!)
I think my name is already spelled like it’s spoken? idk
9. Thoughts on Finn? Some people hate him, and others love him, so I’m curious
I... I cannot remember my first impression of him. I also binged the first 2 seasons, so I never really got to form an opinion on him, I guess. But he is an asshole, no questions asked there.
10. Be honest. How willing would you have been to take the chip without knowing all the horrible things it does?
I don’t think I would.
11. What character do you relate to most?
Monty, probably. Or Raven, to a certain extent.
12. What character do you like the least?
Abby and Kane have been around for longer than they are needed at this point tbh and I never liked Gaia that much either, and Niylah just feels kinda ooc to me
13. Describe your delinquent outfit. (Would you wear something like Murphy’s jacket with the spikey red shoulder patch or have a trademark like Jasper’s goggles? Be creative, yet practical)
I wear a lot of black pants, and I have a biker style jacket that I tend to wear when it gets colder mine is suede though not leather. Oh, and colorful headbands if we are going for practical, I have a lot of hair I need to keep off my face.
14. Favorite type of mutant animal?
Mutant insects!!! They were never really shown but gimme all the bugs
15. What would your job be on the Ark?
I would probably be a scientist or teach science.
16. Would you have willingly pumped Ontari’s heart if Abby asked?
Sure
17. If Lexa wasn’t Heda, but she was still alive then who would have made the best commander?
I wasn’t her biggest fan, but Luna would have made a good commander
18. How would you act if you ate the hallucinogenic nuts like Jasper and Monty?
I’m a sleepy drunk, so maybe I would get sleepy? Or just like super absent-minded?
19. How would you have dealt with Charlotte’s crime? A more John Murphy approach or Bellamy Blake approach?
Bellamy Blake approach, definitely.
20. Who should have been the Chancellor, if anyone?
Honestly? I cannot picture anyone as a truly good Chancellor. Maybe David Miller? He seemed to have his head on the right place.
21. Would you have been on Pike’s side like Bellamy or on Kane’s side? Or Clarke in Polis?
Kane’s side.
22. Mount Weather had a lot of modern commodities. (example: Maya’s Ipod) What is the one thing you would snatch while there?
An Ipod, or some other sort of electronic device.
23. What would your Grounder tattoos look like? Hairstyle? War paint?
War paint around the eyes I would say, and then hairstyle a lot of braids probably, and tattoos... probably some sort of pattern using thin lines.
24. Favorite quote?
I’M TERRIBLE at remembering quotes y’all
25. If all of the characters were in the Hunger Games, who would have the best shot at winning?
Octavia or Echo
26. Least favorite ship? Favorite canon ship? Favorite non canon ship? NOT INCLUDING CL OR BC OR BE
Least - idk I’m not particularly against any ships
Fave - Memori or Zaven
Non canon - MINTY WE WERE SO ROBBED YALL
27. A song that should be included in the next season? If there had to be another guest star like Shawn Mendes on the show, who would you want to make a cameo?
Can we get Stephen King to make a cameo lol he watches the show right so that would probably be funny
As for a song, idk I don’t think I listen to the kind of music that matches The 100 vibe
28. What would you do if you were stuck in the bunker with Murphy for all that time?
Sleep... I feel like there must have been books in that bunker, so read them all and reread them all.
29. You’re an extra that gets killed off. How do you die?
Let’s be real, my glasses get broken and I can’t see shit without them, so I fall off a cliff or something very stupid like that.
30. A character you’d like to learn more about and get flashbacks of?
Echo, the founders of Sanctum. I wish we had learnt more about Luna and her conclave class or maybe had seen a flashback with Costia. Grounder culture in general? There was a lot of build up around it, but not that much telling, let alone showing.
31. A character you’d bang?
Raven, LINDSEY MORGAN IS A GODDESS and I’m a mere mortal
32. Would you stay in the Bunker? Go up to Space? Or live on your own in Eden?
SPAAAAAAAACE
33. In the Bunker, would you follow Octavia? What would you do to pass the time underground?
Probably I mean, I definitely wouldn’t want to die. I don’t know what I would do to pass time though.
34. What crime would you commit in the Bunker that lands you in the fighting pits?
Again, speaking against authority aka Octavia?
35. Up in Space, who would you bond with first? Who would be the most difficult for you to get along with?
Emori!! And Echo I think it would be hard for me to get along with.
36. How long do you think you would last on Earth by yourself?
Less than a day, I was born and raised in the city, I don’t do outdoors well
37. When the Eligius ship lands what do you do?
Hide and wait out
38. Favorite Eligius character? Least favorite?
Fave - Zeke. Diyoza is growing on me this season too
Least fave - McCreary?
39. Would you Spacewalk?
Yassssss
40. Would you prefer to eat Windshield Bugs, Space Algae, or Bunker Meat?
Space algae
41. Would you start a war for the last spot of green on earth? What would your solution be to avoid it?
Sharing is caring
42. Would you rather dig out flesh-eating worms or stick thumb drives into bullet holes?
Either or?
43. Are you willing to poison your sister for the Traitor Who You Love? What would you do to stop Octavia?
This is a very subjective question, like if I knew my brother I don’t have a sister would recover from the poisoning, then maybe, otherwise I might just imprison them or something.
44. Would you go to sleep in cryo or stay awake like Marper?
Cryo
45. Who are you waking up first to explore the new planet?
The 5 I mentioned for my explorer team
I won’t tag anyone because we are well into the season... again I didn’t mean to take this long but I forgot I had this on my drafts 🤷♀️
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!Question Tag!
RULES: answer the questions in a new post and tag 20 blogs you would like to get to know better.
Got tagged by @pikkuinen :D Thank you, this was fun to do!
nickname: Lori
starsign: Libra
height: 176cm / 5'77
time right now: 5:37pm
last thing googled: salary calculator. I plan to ask for a salary increase and wanted to check how much % more is realistic to ask for and how much I actually have after taxes were substracted
favorite music artists: I got too many!!! Currently I am listening to a weird mix of Lovex, Nightwish, The Birthday Massacre, different Zumba songs and Kpop bands and recent popular songs.
song stuck in your head : Tetris theme, lol. I was packing meds witha colleague yesterday and we both started humming it.
last movie watched: Antique Bakery, a korean movie that my friend recommended me :)
last TV show watched: YOI <3
what are you wearing right now: black jogging pants, an oversized white, dark blue and black sweater and fuzzy, glittery-black socks. I am ready for the holiday and the weekend!
when did you create your blog: 19.02.2013
what kind of stuff do you post: Random things I like or think are funny, sometimes fandom stuff, depending on how into I am in that fandom at the given moment.
do you have any other blogs: Not that I know of
do you get asks regularly: My askbox is starving. It is sad, very, very sad and I don't know anymore how to cheer up my poor little askbox. Maybe you can help?
why did you choose your URL: Was a very random choice, because I didn't like my old one anymore. I am currently thinking about getting a new one, but haven't had the "Oh I need that name!"-moment yet.
gender: female
hogwarts house: Hufflepuff! Badger pride! Yay!
pokemon team: Instinct
favourite colour: Green, orange and pink
average hours of sleep: atm around 4 hours at max... I have a problem...
lucky number: usually 13, but recently I think they all fail me
favorite character(s): Calcifer probably. I love this little fire demon.
how many blankets do you sleep with: One biiiiiig one. And sometimes a thinner one if it is really really cold
dream job: My dream job was to work for NASA or ESA lol Something that had to do with research, but after 2 teachers managed to demotivate me enough I went for my MMORPG profession I really liked and became a pharmaceutical-technical assistant - was close enough for me to a Healer :D
following: many, many cool and awesome people!
Tagging 20 is kinda much so i stay with @gaarawantcookie @kimjongkeyshipper @sae-png for now and everyone else who follows me and feels like doing this: feel tagged! Do it! Show me!
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Castle Rock Tanning Club #2
“He shot me down…bang bang…I hit the ground bang bang…my baby let me down.”
Kill Bill just started. Uma Thurman is beating the shit out of some black chick. I’m just sippin’ some Fat Tire. Mike, Joel, Ken, and some other dude are here. Other dude just broke me off a piece of Toblerone. “Now that’s a fine piece of ass…looks just like Larissa’s ass” said one of them during a scene of Uma Thurman wearing tight jeans. A discussion breaks out about Larissa being a masseuse.
“He’s not gay, he just eats his corn the long way”. says one of them. These dirty old men just don’t stop with the jokes. So, where was I with that my castle rock adventure…
* * *
I set my alarm for 10:15…I’m of the philosophy of trying to get to brunch at a reasonable hour. It’s hard to tell what time it is when you don’t have windows in your room. I woke up several times, as per usual. Partly due to drinking last night, and partly from having two roommates.
I throw on some sweats and a black and white palm tree shirt—one of like six shirts in my inventory here. Time to saunter down for brunch. I don’t even have flip-flops here. I had a little preview of brunch around midnight when they started serving midrats brunch. I was sitting at a table talking to some sous-chef who mentions she’s from Russia in every conversation.
The table we sat at was round, wooden, and full of galley chow. I saw she had a polaroid photo of some guy tucked into her clear gel iPhone case. The other girl at the table had a pink clear water bottle full of water—or what appears to be otherwise. It turns out that it’s just vodka. There’s also a polaroid of someone I carry, it’s just in the ID Pouch of my wallet. “He’s down at Pole” she says.
Enough midrats…back to real brunch. It’s 10:45 and I’m sitting at a table with my friends–basically just a bunch of fuckin’ dudes. There’s gotta be like eight of us all around one of those big wooden tables. Cheeses of every kind were out–per usual–and fresh berries—unusual. Got damn, were there ever a lot of fresh berries available at brunch. After I ate my fill I decided it would be tasty to make a berry margarita in my HydroFlask. I mix some fresh strawberries and raspberries, margarita mix, and that god awful Jose Cuervo together in my HydroFlask with some ice. Surprisingly, it tastes good
It’s another Castle Rock day with the Castle Rock Tanning Club (CRTC). Joel, Tim, and I are going out there per usual to do some snowboarding. Some other people raise an interest over brunch, and we recruit some people to slide down on their lunch trays in lieu of skis or snowboards.
People come and go from our busy table, but we agree to “Meet up at the hand-wash at 12:00”. It’s about 11:20 now, and I call it quits on brunch. I get ready, putting on my snow pants and packing my backpack full of goodies: four PBRs, a HydroFlask full of Berryrita, and a flask of tequila. I grab a to-go paper bowl full of French toast for the road. It takes me longer than you would think to get all of that together, and I’m hustling to get a move on.
We make it out the gate around 13:00, late as per usual. There’s a balloon launch planned for today at 20:00. We check-out of the station at the firehouse with less trouble than our first attempt and then head off down the road towards Castle Rock. We’ve got to walk up the hill and out of town again. “Let’s see if we can get a ride, we’re walking past shuttles anyways” says Tim. He runs inside as we pass Building 140, the building shared by shuttles and the post office. A minute later Tim bursts out of the building. “Load up!” he says. Sick, it worked—we’re getting a ride up that treacherous hill.
The Ford E-250 lumbers up the hill as we pass three people on fat tire bikes. “I bet Bernie’s involved” I say as we creep up on them slowly powering up the hill. Upon closer inspection I see a dude with white Oakleys on pumping away—Bernie. Called it.
Onwards. We get dropped off at the trailhead. We march onwards through the snow—much more manageable and packed down from last week. Tim found an NRK-9 strap for me to fashion as a board sling, so I’m not dragging my snowboard in the snow this time. Joel slips on a little ice, we all have some conversation. It’s a two hour hike up to the rock.
“Who’s the lone ranger, walking back” I say as we see a pale man walking our way. “Man, Is that Vinnie? He walks like him”. says Tim. As we get closer to each other we realize, shit, that’s Velcro Vinnie! We ask him what the heck he is doing alone, and the conversation goes as follows:
“Oh are you supposed to bring someone?”
“Did you even do a footplan?”
“Nah”.
We ask him to come up to the rock with us, but he wants to get back for Sunday massage / self-massage class. Sayanora.
Icebridge DC-3 Basler
The first apple passes us by, but we stop at the second one for a little rest and chill-sesh. I crack a cold one and Joel opens a bottle of Scrumpy. I get the speaker going, we drag the chair outside into the snow. It’s a beautiful day in Antarctica, a balmy 30 degrees Fahrenheit. I shed my jacket and hang out in my cover-alls and t-shirt–It was pretty sweet out here. We pop the hatch in the apple and Tim uses a snowboard to prop the door open. We wave hello at everyone going past us.
Onwards. We close up the apple and head up to castle rock. We slog up the hill and up to the rock. We mount it and hang out a little on the ridge, our chill spot from the inaugural discovery expedition. About 15 minutes go by and we see Justin–from brunch–coming down off the top of the rock. “Hey! What’s up dude, wanna come up again with us?” says Tim. “Yeah, sure”.
Ropes have been set in the rock, leading us up to the top. We get up there about 5 minutes later, finding our promised land awaiting. There’s no one else up here, just lots of rock. There’s a nice flat clearing with some nearly black volcanic rocks. It’s huge up here, you could have a whole camp site here. We set up shop, laying our bags down. Shirts pop off, suns out guns out. It’s nice and warm. There’s a flight coming in at 16:00, so we hang out. Drinks are flowing. We all lay down on our clothes—our own makeshift blankets. Justin brought his own blanket but I just didn’t have the cargo space.
We hear a plane coming in for a landing. It’s NASA’s Icebridge DC3 Basler. It’s painted red white and blue, making it stand out. I grab my camera and snap some photos of the landing. It’s pretty neat.
Groups of people come and go from the top of the rock. “We don’t bite!” yells Tim at them. One guy was even wearing a big red. Meanwhile, we’re here topless. They look disturbed by our presence. At the edge of the rock we find a little ridge area we can hang out it that blocks the wind. Heck yeah. We end up migrating over there, piece by piece. It’s a beautiful thing. Meanwhile, all these people that are on the other end of the rock kind of stay up in that windy area, afraid to come down to us at the clearing.
“This is the firehouse announcing an uncontrolled landing. FROZEN11 will be landing at 1635.” Nice, looks like we got a little airshow. Uncontrolled landing sounds scary, but that just means that there’s no air-traffic controllers working right now. There was supposed to be some LC-130 Hercules landing today, this must be one of them. We take some photos posing in front of the beautiful mountains—the Royal Society range and Mt. Discovery–taking advantage of this beautiful day.
Brrrraaaappppppppp. We can hear the throaty sounds of a plane coming in over the sea ice. It’s that LC130, greenish with a red stripe on the tail. The Air National Guard flies those. It photographs beautifully, foregrounding the Royal Society Range.
30 minutes later and the same thing again–another LC-130. This time I grab the binoculars and track its landing—it looks even cooler, those binoculars much more powerful than my 55-250 lens. Watching a giant plane land on skis like that never gets old. I think it’s the only large aircraft that has skis for its landing gear.
LC-130 coming in for a landing. It’s got 5000 pounds of package mail for us.
The LC-130 joins two other LC-130s, two DC3 Baslers, and a Twin Otter.
I’m at that perfect buzz, just enjoying the beautiful weather. We’re getting ready to head out now, unsure if we should wait for the balloon launch at 20:00.
The fog gets thicker minute by minute back over the sea ice. It’s starting to come up over the top. The visibility that way has dropped to almost zero. It’s a good time to leave. We pack up our HQ and head back over the top of Castle Rock, to the rope routes down the rock. There’s a couple of people that have just come up—a little late for the party. They’re laying prone looking out into the fog as we depart the rock. Strange.
We climb down, feelin’ pretty tired. We strap into our snowboards and skis. Joel is having trouble with his bindings again. It’s kind of funny to watch, he’s kind of at his wits end with these cheap gear-issue alpine skis.
It’s way clearer than last weekend. Out over the permanent ice shelf it’s clear as day—a wall of fog behind us, now spilling over castle rock. I ride down, looking back at the stark beauty of fog flowing over Castle Rock, like cream over coffee, or dry ice and ice cream like they used to serve at Moxie’s.
Antarctic fog
It’s a nice minute-long ride down the mountain and then it flattens out. It’s what I would call the equivalent of a ‘green’ run in California. It’s not so fun after, hiking uphill until we can get to the next slope. We get over the ridge, and see the beautiful long run down to the ‘Kiwi Ski Hill’ and where the ‘green apple’ warm-up hut is. We peer over at the Long Distance Balloon Facility (LDB) to see if the balloon is launching. It kind of seems like it could be, so we walk out of the boundary zone and to this rock ridge overlooking the ice shelf. There’s some Pisten Bully tracks, so we figure it must be fairly safe.
Nothing is really happening down at LDB upon closer inspection. We strap in and get going down the mountain. It’s pretty fun…as far as McMurdo snowboarding goes. I slalom down the hill between the flags–having a ball. And then we hit the bottom and that’s over. Hours of hiking for just those two little runs. Still, worth it. I would rate the second run a ‘blue’ or even ‘bluegreen’ on the California scale.
We rest a bit in the green apple (ol’ granny smith), hanging out before our long walk back. It’s about four miles back to base from here. About 1.5 – 2 miles until the main road. We see some shuttles drive by—damn it. They look so close, but they’re still another 30 minutes of walking. Long gone by the time we get there.
More walking, and then we finally are nearly at the main road. A slow ‘delta’ heads out the opposite direction we need to go. I get on the radio:
“Shuttleops, Castle Rock Rec Group”.
“Shuttles, go ahead”.
“Can we get a ride from the snow road?”
“uhhh..well we got a delta coming back from Willy in about half an hour, you can grab that…”.
Dang. So we walk another mile, walking past Scott Base and the pressure ridges. We see a dot off into the distance–that’s the Delta we saw earlier on its way back. We hang out atop some Concrete barriers and try to check out LDB again. Hard to tell what’s going on. Looks like a balloon or something is on the ground. Eventually the Delta drives by. The driver keeps driving. “Shuttle Delta” I say on the radio, and she stops–this lady is in a hurry.
We climb up those rough, metal, drop-down stairs into the passenger compartment. A delta has big fat tires that are nearly five feet tall and really puffy, it’s got like 8 of em, and the driver cab is separated from the back. We climb in, strapping into the bench style leather seats lining the sides. These things are bumpy as all hell and go about 7 MPH up the hill.
A grouchy National Guardman is the sole passenger, looking grumpy behind his Oakleys that they had to stop and pick us up. It strains up and over the hill, and half an hour later we’re back at McMurdo–starving. We drop our shit off and then stop by the galley.
I grab a tray, plate, knife and fork and start walking up to the food line.
“Dude, don’t we have to check back in?”
“What time is it?”
“22:57”.
“Shit.”
Visions of salty search & rescue team members and firefighters paged for no reason enter my mind. I just leave my tray with my plate on it by the food line in the galley, abandoning it on some ledge. We hustle back to the firehouse to check in, and when I go back to the galley my stuff is still there—oooh yeah baby. Nothing like chowing down on some food after a long day. We get news that they rescheduled the balloon launch to another day–perfect.
And I went straight to bed after that.
Castle Rock Tanning Club #2 was originally published on RUT-IS-UP
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