#not to mention when it keeps them from being able to leverage those skills consciously to improve their work | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

crimson-dxwn · 3 years

Text

Love So Alike (Jango Fett x F!OC)

Summary: Jango Fett takes the occasional bounty posting to keep things interesting. This time, his ship gets hit and he crash-lands far from Kamino. Fortunately, he is found.

Rating: Teen

Warnings: mentions of blood and injury, mild lustful thoughts

This is going to be multi-part! Also many apologies for the sh*ttiest pic collage ever. I tried. HMU if you want to be on the taglist!

-------------------------------------------------------- This day has been fucked to shit, officially. His latest bounty had friends. Nothing he couldn’t handle, but Slave I, Slave I had taken more damage than he was prepared for. One of said Klatoonian friends nailed a lucky shot. Right to the damn hyperdrive, and now he was stranded in the Outer Rim, parsecs from Kamino. Jango’s next priority was picking which skughole to crash-land on and try to fix the damage.

His bones protested the bumpy ride to the surface of the green and blue marble enlarging rapidly before him. Ralltiir, the most hospitable-looking planet in this system. It was about as populated as Concord Dawn, which wasn’t saying much. Fortunately not Republic controlled or occupied. The navicomputer helpfully told him that it was an agricultural world - great - with a few mid-size urban centers. The best he could hope for was to try and aim for one of those. The choking whine coming from the backside of his ship was leading him to believe that it wasn’t just his hyperdrive that was damaged. Smoke started to fill the cockpit, acrid and hazy, as he struggled to keep the controls on course for a settlement. His helmet could only filter so much particulate - every breath burned and his head swam.

He entered atmo at the same time as a great boom echoed from below him, shaking the ship as his stomach lurched uncomfortably. This wasn’t going to be pretty. His hands were numb now on the controls and he struggled to keep them gripped to the joystick. The details of the world below were rapidly coming into focus as Slave I careened toward the surface. His head spun from the lack of oxygen, and he ripped his helmet off to find even more acrid air. Boba...his thoughts ran toward his son, left on Kamino in the care of the aiwha-bait while he chased bounties. He should’ve stayed with his son; he was gonna die on this planet, covered in mud, far from Kamino. There was way too much water, more than he judged when he’d briefly studied the map. If he overjudged his landing, he’d drown in the middle of nowhere with nobody to come looking.

The joysticks protested his efforts to pull the ship up parallel with the ground as trees whipped by, filling his windscreen completely. Solid ground blessedly met the flat landing platform of his ship as the g-forces nearly robbed Jango of consciousness and his head cracked against the console. Boba. He’d make it back. Just another bumpy landing, he thinks, as he stripped out of his harness, coughing black soot from his lungs. There was a little blood left on the back on his hand when he wiped his mouth. Nothing to worry about. He’d had worse. As soon as he could breathe fresh air, he’d be able to think straight and get out of this. When the edges of his vision weren’t blackening and closing in. Finally he made it down the lowered ramp. And his vision blacked out completely.

Through her binocs, Roha watched the man faceplant into the mud. His ship crashing had nearly blown both eardrums to smithereens a few minutes ago and she couldn’t resist clambering up on an outcropping of rocks to watch the ship come down, barely a klik from the homestead. He wore strange armor, from what she could judge that wasn’t soot-blackened or covered in churned soil from the crash. She couldn’t identify his ship, but Roha guessed it wasn’t common from its unusual shape. It was unlike anything she’d ever seen in her roughly thirty years here. Truly, the man must be a skilled pilot to be able to crash-land so delicately that his ramp could still open. From the look of the back end of the starship, he’d taken some heavy damage, probably from some less-than-legal outfits. The man cut quite a figure until he fell, face-first, towards the ground. Part of her hesitated to help, worried that it might be a ploy. But the way he’d gone slack led her to believe that his need was genuine. And so she wiped her dirty hands on her skirt and hurried to the smoking hulk. She prayed she wouldn’t need the small vibroblade hidden alongside her right leg. Roha’s breathing was coming fast by the time she reached the prone figure. Not that she had much to worry about - he hadn’t moved a muscle since passing out.

Roha crouched next to him, watching his back rise and fall shallowly for a few seconds before getting her arms underneath his torso. Flipping him on his back was going to be difficult. The man wasn’t tall, but he was thicker than she anticipated, dense with muscle and weighed down by silver fox armor. Mud squelched as she dug her boots into the mire, searching for some leverage. Finally she got him on his back. Soot streaked his face - his very handsome face. Joining the old scars lining the man’s rugged features was a new gash over his left temple, still oozing blood. Two fingers on his neck revealed a strong, regular pulse, and despite being minimally conscious he seemed to be relatively intact.

The ship had hidden itself relatively well, nestled in a copse of trees at the bottom of the valley, though others were likely to have seen the craft. It was fortunate he’d landed where he did. Half a klik farther east and he’d be at the bottom of the ocean. He groaned a bit - that was encouraging - but didn’t open his eyes. He needed medical attention, that much was obvious. And shelter, that too. No use worrying in who’s shot him down at the moment. That was a worry for later. Now that she’d determined he was alive, the next problem was how to lug his unconscious body back to her cabin.

She knelt in the mud as rain started to mist down on the two of them, him unconscious in the mud and her knee deep in the mire. Eventually she trudged back to the homestead in her soggy boots and harnessed her single orbak and constructed a makeshift stretcher for him to haul. The man was blessedly still breathing when she led the animal back to the crash site. His eyes were still closed and the oozing from his cut had stopped. Was she really about to bring this stranger into her home? Maybe he’d recover and be on his way. Roha checked his breathing again. Still his chest rose and fell, rapid and shallow, dark brows furrowed.

The orbak huffs, indignant at being roped into extra work for the day. The sun had set below the mountains in the west and her breath steamed out in from of her face. There wasn’t much time before it became too cold for him to be lying out in the open, wet and covered in icy steel. She sighed and made her decision as the orbak stamped his feet, impatient for a warm stall.

“Me too, boy,” she murmured to the beast. Using her full weight, she heaved the man onto the stretcher. The mud soaked through her skirt, so cold that it numbed her skin from her thighs all the way to her ankles. She couldn’t wait to light a crackling fire...maybe heat up some water for a bath. Her skin crawled at the thought. Darkness was falling, and the rain falling harder with it. She clicked in the back of her throat to urge the pony back home. He carried the man easily and she thanked her lucky stars she’d traded for him six months ago, though she lamented not trimming his feathered fetlocks which were - to her dismay - now caked in dark fertile mud. Another worry for tomorrow.

She got him back to the homestead. It had been hers for years since her husband had died. Modest though it was, it was enough. Though a main pitfall, she now realized, was the single bed. Not that she’d be sleeping much anyway, with an unknown man in her home. But part of this felt...right. If she left him outside like, she’d never forgive himself if he died. Damn the consequences. Still wouldn’t sleep a wink.

Her heart breaks for her bedding when she finally rolls his mud-covered body on it with a pained groan. Though fortunately he’d gained a bit of consciousness on the trip to the cabin so she didn’t have to lug his dead weight through the threshold. She on the other hand, was absolutely exhausted. It was all she could take to strip him down to his basics to look at his abdomen and extremities. Hideous bruises covered his chest and stomach. It looked incredibly painful. The man hadn’t done much in terms of movement besides thrash his head from side to side and moan softly. He needed a medical droid, but there wasn’t one for a long ways. The best she could do was cool compresses for the bruises and keep him warm and hydrated. And pray he lived.

---

When Jango wakes it’s because someone is touching his face. It wasn’t something that happened often. And when it did it filled him with prickly discomfort. He greatly preferred the security and anonymity of his helmet. The desert that was the back of his throat distracted him for the moment. He tried to get his bearings. No helmet, but he vaguely remembered removing it in the ship. No comforting weight of beskar on his chest. An arm reaches up to inspect exactly why he was in his basics and how he was going to escape….wherever this was. Forcing his stinging eyes open, he registered a slatted wood ceiling, the smell of woodsmoke and an undercurrent of earthy sweetness he couldn’t quite identify.

A hand stopped his own and Jango grasped the attached forearm, hard. Time to break out.

His abdomen strongly protested his efforts to sit up. Pain struck him, so overwhelming he almost blacked out, and he let out a pathetic noise that normally he wouldn’t be caught dead making. Half groan, half sob. He’d really done it now. Jango settled for simply turning his head and a woman came into view, forearm still trapped in his grip. When her pleading eyes met his, he dropped his hand. She was maybe the least threatening thing that his mind could conjure up at this exact moment.

“Don’t try to sit up,” she said, “you’re badly injured.” He’d established that already, thanks.

“Where..” even talking hurt. He tried again. “--where am I?”

“Ralltiir,” the woman replied, “in the Outer Rim. You crash landed--”

“I know that,” he interrupted. She shut up, wariness in her soft brown eyes.

“Where is my armor?”

She pointed to the foot of the bed she’d laid him on, and there it was, neatly stacked in a wicker basket. “And my blasters?”

“Confiscated,” she replied. She was rubbing her forearm where he’d grabbed her. Jango could see the marks from his fingers marring her skin. He didn’t make a habit of hurting women, but sentiment about which parts enemies had between their legs didn’t prevent them from killing you.

“Your ship went down about a klik north of here. You passed out from smoke inhalation and I couldn’t just leave you facedown in the mud-” her speech was getting faster and faster; it was obvious she was scared of him. Perhaps he shouldn’t have been so gruff with her. After all, she could’ve just slotted his shebs outside Slave I. Jango reaches a hand up to his face. Quite the stubble growth. He had to have been lying here for almost a day. More than enough time for her to call any sort of scum - slavers, bounty hunters, or worse. He sighed as she babbled on, wringing her hands nervously. He decided to take pity on her and interrupt.

“-can I at least have my undersuit back?” She looked at him with a wide, embarrassed expression. Sheepishly, she went to the basket and pulled out his shirt and pants, neatly folded and suspiciously devoid of mud.

“I’m Roha,” she offered, with a pregnant pause, obviously expecting him to return the favor. He supposed it was enough that she dragged him a klik back to what seemed to be her home and probably her own bed.

“Jango,” he replied. Roha gave a small smile in response and started busying herself with rearranging the stacked armor and accessories in the basket.

After his show earlier it was clear that he was going to need help sitting up. Frustration boiled deep in him - it wasn’t often he needed help. Especially from wilting female farmhands. From an upright vantage point he’d be able to get a better idea of his surroundings. Besides, being kept supine under heavy blankets was making his claustrophobia flare up.

“Uh..” he started, “do you mind...” Maker, he hated feeling this helpless. Jango grit his teeth and tried again. “Can you help me sit up?”

“Oh. Yes, of course.” She reached an arm out and he grasped her hand with his. It was still painful, but she was surprisingly strong. Soft brown curls fanned out from her face and there was a strand of something caught in it. Hay. A strange impulse to brush it away flashed across his mind, but he pushed it down. Roha stood back a few paces, still watching him carefully. It was good she was wary.

Throwing off the woven blankets, he gingerly rose. Somehow his legs had survived mercifully intact, though now with his chest bare he could see the extent of the bruising that he could previously only feel with every breath. Moving was slow, and he needed to use the edge of the bed for support. Jango could feel the woman’s eyes still on him, skin prickling at the unwanted contact. It reminded him too much of his youth, stripped down to his basics, injured, helpless and trapped in an unfamiliar place.

“Do you mind?” he snapped over his shoulder. He could practically feel her blush. It rose over her cheeks and down her neck, barely tinting her tanned skin.

Her eyes snapped to the floorboards, looking chastened. “Sorry.”

Jango got his bearings as he changed, taking in the little cottage. It was one spare room, likely with a fresher out the back, much like the ones he’d grown up in on Concord Dawn, except this one was made of light-colored wood. He imagined must have quite the concussion because all the sights and smells of such a humble place had begun dredging up memories he swore he’d forgotten forever. Maybe it was the osik’la jedi playing mind tricks - as they were wont to do - weaving a scene to get him to talk. Unbidden, his stomach rolled over and the room spun with it. He breathed hard through his nose, trying to steady himself. Blessedly, the nausea faded but he had to slow his movements to a crawl and focus on one point in front of him. He already felt less exposed with the flight suit on. It was something.

“My ship?” he asked.

“Besides the back end? Relatively unscathed,” she said, eyes still glued to the floor, “but I’m no mechanic.”

No shock there. He made a noncommittal sound under his breath. Despite his suspicion of head trauma he did remember his hyperdrive getting shot to smithereens as well as the smoke pouring out the engine room and filling the cockpit. The question of where he was going to get parts to fix Slave I was a bit of an afterthought, as he currently could barely move. Plus, he’d been unconscious for hours and there were more pressing needs to take care of.

He cleared his throat. “Fresher?”

“Out back,” she replied, and gestured at the heavy wooden door at the back of the homestead. “Can you walk?”

“I’ll manage.” He hoped he could keep his feet enough to manage a piss. Guess he was about to find out.

When get returned, she was pulling something out of the ancient looking oven. It was a giant behemoth of cast iron with a chamber to feed in sticks of firewood. Whatever it was smelled...amazing. Jango was back on the bed, despite his best efforts to stay upright, and settled for simply watching her like a hawk from his perch, trying his best to ignore the ache that gnawed in his belly.

“Why are you helping?” He’s a little shocked the phrase slipped out. But he wants to know. She should’ve just left him, called the cops or whatever passed for them in this backwater. He wasn’t used to blind kindness, to giving without some sort of transactional relationship.

She was still fussing around the stove, conspicuously letting him have his privacy. He was more grateful than suspicious and so he fell silent, content to watch her work. Half her skirt was tucked into the thick leather belt wrapped around her waist. It was thick and worn, with a swirling tooled pattern, and much too big for her. It was fastened on its smallest setting, which happened to be a sloppily awled hole far from the rest of its counterparts.

“Is it just you all the way out here?” he asked, strength fading fast.

Again, she eyed him warily, but replied, apparently dismissing him as a threat at present. “Yes, just me.” Without elaboration she went back to her cooking and Jango finally gave into his screaming midsection. Lying on the bed felt like such a relief. It had been a while since he’d been badly injured and he’d almost forgotten how much it took out of you. The clinking and shuffling from the other end of the room lulled him back under despite his best efforts, and he fell asleep wondering about Boba.

———

That night Roha woke to Jango’s anguished murmuring, listening to him thrash from her nest of blankets in the corner. She’d wanted to get a little broth into him, but he’d fallen fast asleep after their brief, awkward conversation and she wasn’t keen on waking him again. He’d survive without broth for a night, at least. Now, though, he was fretful and she hoped it was a nightmare rather than his injury.

Boba, he kept muttering, over and over. A name? His partner perhaps? A parent? A child?

Trying to get back to sleep was impossible. Roha settled back against the wall and willed him to calm. At first she thought it worked, until he started visibly shaking, large hands gripping the sheets. His muttering changed violently. He was almost yelling now, in a language she didn’t recognize - harsh and grating on her ears. She debating waking him once again. He was going to hurt himself. Tangled in the sheets, he kept shouting in the strange language.

She was exhausted. Wary to wake him too suddenly, she kept her distance, though she knew he could barely sit and walk on his own. The moonlight spilled through the window to the bed, lighting his features in his half-sitting position, arm clutched over his midsection.

And then he looked right at her. The eeriness of his wide open eyes struck her.

“Anade kyrayc...”

“Jango?” she asked, her voice low and soft. She didn’t dare touch him.

He hissed. “Ke’pare.”

She started a little more strongly this time. “Jango.” He stilled and the absolute expression of anguish on his face broke her heart.

“You’re safe,” she assured him. His dark eyes were glassy and stared less at her and more through her, still wandering in the land of nightmares. Though he calmed a little, breaths coming less harshly than a few minutes earlier. “Go back to sleep. You’re safe here.”

Relief weakened her knees as he paused and gingerly laid himself back down, still trembling ever so slightly. Noting his sweat-dampened head and soaked clothes, she rummaged in the storage space below the bed for a pair of Jet’s old pants and a tunic and set them at the end of the bed. She hoped they would fit, though right now she was too exhausted to care much. Curling up in her corner once again, she slept fitfully, chased by fretful dreams of her own and unable to get comfortable on the hard floor despite the cushioning of her quilts.

Hours later, she was roused once again by the sound of someone foreign in her home. Jango was returning from the fresher, in his sleeping clothes. Deep purple circles ringed under his eyes. She felt the same - this cycle of waking the other was getting old.

“‘Morning,” he said gruffly.

“Good morning,” she replied. The warm orange sunrise was peeking through the window over the sink. As good a time as any to get up - the animals would be waiting to be fed.

“I thought you might like a change of clothes,” she offered, nodding towards the tunic and pants. Jango squinted at them. “They were my husbands. If you’d like to bathe, the inlet out front is cold but clean...or I can bring water from the well for you?”

“That won’t be necessary”

“I’ll be at the barn, just yell if you need me.”

He looked down, looking halfway bashful rather than stern. “Thank you,” he said finally.

He glanced at the clothes again and Roha busied herself with the kitchen scraps for the roba, not wanting to pester him or reveal any more embarrassing details about herself.

“There’s bread wrapped in the cloth on the counter,” she threw over her shoulder on her way out. Her own stomach was grumbling terribly, but it would have to wait.

The barn was a ways from the house. Enough that any - unpleasant - smells wafted away in the wind, but close enough for a bearable walk when the snows fell. The chill of early spring was in the air and the breeze was clean and fresh, nipping at her cheeks and making her wish she’d thrown a shawl on over her thin top or under the quilts and furs on her bed. It was plenty warm in the house with a banked-low fire. The creamy white stones that lined the outside had been specially picked for their insulating properties.

The chores whiled away mindlessly. On her way to the pasture she heard the faintest creak of the front door back at the homestead. It shocked her that he’d refused her offer to heat him some bath water. Most men she knew would’ve jumped at the chance to be waited on hand and foot, all while denying that they liked it, or worse - expected it.

Pouring the grain into the trough, she resisted the urge to look for him behind her. Though the tip of the inlet was a ways away, she still averted her eyes while she walked the path back to the barn. If he felt up to bathing, he was probably out of the woods for now.

She heard the breath he sucked through his teeth when he realized how cold the water was and smiled. Maybe he’d changed his mind about that bath. She peeked just for a moment to the shore, just to make sure he was safe and not lying facedown on the pebble beach. The water was waist height, lapping at his lower back. His shoulders were tense, whether from cold or pain she couldn’t tell.

Roha couldn’t believe she’d mentioned Jet. She rarely spoke of him, let alone reveal to strange men staying in her home that she didn’t have a man of the house. Her mother would disapprove. What she would also disapprove of his how long Roha has been staring at a naked and injured man’s heavily muscled back while he bathed. Heat rose to her face and for once she was glad she was alone out here. Insistent bleating of the gathered sheep in their shed finally drew her attention away from the very well-made man half-submerged in her little bay.

She fed them their allotment of grain as usual, but something was off. Almost all her ewes were pregnant, and it was a little early for them to lamb, but the one with the cream fleece and black undercoat was nowhere to be seen. A little pit formed in her belly. It had frosted overnight, and if the ewe gave birth in the pasture, the lamb was vulnerable to hypothermia. Roha hopped the fence, leaving the rest of the flock to their breakfast and headed out into the pasture. Parts of the grass in the shade still crunch with frost under her boots. She’s lucky the ewe’s coat sticks out so much or she’d never have found her in the copse of trees at the far corner of the pasture complete with a tiny black lamb, curled up by its mother, barely moving.

The mother was concerned, nudging the little creature with her nose, trying to get the little one to perk up. Crouching by the pair, she tries to rouse the lamb. It breathes fast, wet coat cool to the touch. She sighs. They’d need to be separated; the baby was too cold now to be kept in the shed. Roha prayed Jango was washed and dressed as she rushed back to the cottage.

He was back in bed, dressed in Jet’s old clothes, breathing deep and even. The bath had taken a lot out of him, then. Oblivious, the tiny thing in her arms gave a weak cry. Jango opened an eye to assess and Roha busied herself making a nest out of a ratty old blanket and mixing formula she kept in the storage shed.

When she glanced back at her guest, he was upright on the bed - a promising sign.

“What’s this, then?” he asked.

“Little one came on an inopportune morning,” she replied, rubbing the lamb dry with the blanket and scooching herself closer to the fire for warmth. It took to the bottle well, fortunately, and drank its fill. Jango watched silently as she worked. She stroked the little whorls of wool on the lamb’s head absentmindedly. Jango didn’t look confused at why she had a farm animal indoors and she wondered if this wasn’t the first time he’d crash landed on a rural world and been taken in. She couldn’t help the smile that tugged at the corners of her mouth.

Sitting here, alone with him in the small house brought back the events of the previous night vividly. She’d never ask what he’d dreamed about. He likely wouldn’t remember, and the last thing Roha wanted was to dredge up any painful memories he might have. And by the amount of scars littering his body, he had many. What she couldn’t help beng curious about was the name he’d called out, distinct from the rest of his speech.

She tried to be as nonchalant as possible.

“Who’s Boba?”

One look at his expression told her that she’d made a wrong move.

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

Mando’a Translations

anade kyrayc - everyone’s dead

Ke’pare - wait

#Jango Fett x OC #Jango Fett #Roha (OC)#sw prequels fic #my writing #barely edited we die like men

48 notes · View notes

samthemarvelfan · 4 years

Text

Goodbyes: Chapter Three

Summary: Ella Monroe is the Avengers newest recruit, handpicked by Steve Rogers himself. Indebted to him for reasons unknown, Cap pairs her up with Bucky Barnes. He is tasked with training her to relearn and hone the skills that have long since rusted. Bucky is cold and distant, and Ella can’t seem to break through the wall he’s built up for decades. He sees something in her though, and it scares him to death. Has the fate of these two strangers been sealed? …or will they always be longing…

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x OFC, feat Steve Rogers, Sam Wilson

Warnings: DARKER THEMES AHEAD. Angst, Bucky is a dick, mutual pining, self sabotage, male-on-female violence, mentions of non-con/rape if you squint, (purely for backstory) PTSD

A/N: WOW! I am so incredibly happy! Thank you guys for enjoying the first few chapters so much! This chapter is the turning point in the story.AKA SHIT GOES DOWN. Please keep interacting and commenting. It means the world!

Taglist: @iheartsebastianstan @jjlizz @stuckysbabe @sk493494 (strikethrough means the tag didn’t work! I’m sorry!)

Bucky was already in the training center when you arrived. You yawn, hoping it would expel the exhaustion from your body.

Last night, you and Steve had decided to catch up over pizza and a movie. You talked well into the evening; almost midnight. After kicking him out at 11:45, you kicked yourself for being up that late in the process.

The floors of the room were covered in gray mats, and the walls in mirrors. Practice weapons were strewn about the room for use. There were monitors along one wall and a table against another.

“Morning.” You speak flatly. Refusing the hope that maybe he’d greet you first.

He moved a practice dummy with ease, “Morning.” He responded, continuing his task.

Wow. You think. That’s a first.

Bucky had his back to you as he began to wrap his hands in tape. Had he even looked at you since you walked in? You didn’t think so.

You observed him whilst his back is to you, in awe of his physique. Muscles looking like they’d been carved from marble. Despite enjoying the view, you noticed how incredibly tense his body was; like a rubber band ready to snap. Something was different about him today, and you couldn’t put your finger on it. He was just...off.

“So, what are we starting with?” A question in an attempt to cut the tension.

He didn’t speak for a moment, but you heard a sigh escape his lips. “Right just uh,” he stumbled over what to say, “Show me what you know.” Bucky gestured to the dummy he’d brought over earlier.

Okay, who the hell was this and where is Sergeant Barnes?

Quickly, you grab the tape from Bucky and tape your wrists and knuckles, then stand in front of the dummy to get in position.

Bucky nods at you, signaling you to begin your strikes. Lefts, rights and uppers thrown with ease. Knees and takedowns came just as easily. You barely broke a sweat, but then again it was just a dummy.

You’re stood waiting for approval from Sergeant Barnes, but he doesn’t even look at you.

“Um hello? Did you miss all that?” You ask, already irritated.

He shakes his head subtly to bring himself from his thoughts. “What? Yeah, yeah that was fine.”

You scoff, “Alright you’re obviously not interested in training today so...”

“So what? I said it was fine.” He retorted

You shake your head, “So I’m gonna go. Your mind is clearly somewhere else.”

You turn from him, and begin to remove the tape from your hands. “Did I say you were dismissed, Cadet?” He asks angrily.

You look up at him momentarily, his eyes are dark and there’s very little of that gorgeous cerulean blue showing. “No, but—“

Bucky grabs your wrist firmly, not enough to hurt you, but enough to let you know he’s serious.

“You don’t leave until I say you can leave.” He practically growls.

You snatch your wrist back from him. “Don’t touch me again, Barnes.”

He doesn’t respond to your comment. He just stares at you for a beat, before crossing to the other side of the room.

“Hand-to-hand, now. Show me a takedown.” He orders, pointing at the spot on the mat in front of him.

You shake your head. “No. I’m done with you for today.”

Bucky stares at you, a bit in shock of your defiance. As your hand grips the door handle, you hear a loud scoff.

“Maybe if I get Steve down here you’ll be happy to train.” The way he said his friends name was almost taunting you.

Your feet carried you back to Sergeant Barnes faster than your brain could stop you. “Excuse me? What the hell does Steve have to do with this?”

Bucky let out a sharp laugh. “C’mon Ella.”

You cross your arms in front of you, “Am I suppose to know wh—“

“Tell you what,” He interrupts. “Next time you and Steve decide to spend the night together, you might wanna make it on a weekend so you can actually start making some progress.”

You look at him with confusion before you realize what he is insinuating.

“Are you serious right now?” The anger coursing through your veins was making you tremble.

Bucky held his hands up on defense. “Hey not judging, but if you’re gonna bring a guy into your bedroom, you should make sure your door is shut next time so the whole fucking compound doesn’t hear the two of you.”

A scoff of disgust left your lips, “How dare you!”

Bucky took a step closer to you. “How dare I what?”

You push him back with all the force you could muster, sending him stumbling a few steps.

“That’s your new plan? Spy on me? You listen to me Bucky and you listen real fucking good,” you take several paces towards him and look up into his eyes.

“My life is mine. My choices are mine. You have no right to follow me around and monitor who you assume I’m sleeping with. Got it?” Bucky’s jaw was clenched and his fists were tight. “Last I checked, Steve was your best friend—why didn’t you ask him what was going on between us, hm?”

Bucky was visibly shaken by your words, but you didn’t care.

“Ya know what? I would actually love to do some hand to hand. Right now.” Swiftly, you hit Sergeant Barnes’ left knee with yours, causing him to drop down to one knee. You plant your foot hard against his chest, knocking him backward.

“Have I got your attention, Sarge?” You quipped.

Bucky could’ve stopped you easily, but he deserved it. He tried to control his tongue and his temper, but when he saw you he couldn’t get the image of you and Steve...together, out of his head. It made his stomach churn.

He stood quickly after your takedown and looked at you. “Again.” He ordered.

He watched you charge him. He dodged both of your punches, and grabbed your arm, twisting it behind your back.

You did a back flip to put yourself in a position of leverage, and Bucky allowed it, curious to see what you’d do next.

You were good, naturally good. Practically anticipating the moves he’d try next. The only thing concerning Bucky were the takedowns you used were all too familiar to him.

Using his own arm against him, you jumped behind him swinging his right arm over his neck, yanking him down to the ground. With a twist of your body, you grappled with both of his wrists, pinning them to the mat, and Bucky watched with panicked eyes as your knee aimed for his groin, but you moved it an inch down before you made impact.

Bucky was breathing heavy, as were you. You brought your face inches from his, feeling your warm breath mingle in the space between. “I’m not fucking your friend, Barnes.” You seethe.

Your eyes flickered to his lips that were teasingly close to yours. They looked soft and gentle in contrast with the prickly stubble growing across his face. You imagined how easy it would be to kiss him like this. How it would warm you from top to tail, but his comments from earlier returned to your mind, discarding those.

You pushed off of his chest, jumping to your feet, begrudgingly offering him a hand to stand. He took it, watching you cautiously.

“Where did you learn that?” He asked flatly.

You look at him inquisitively, “Learn what?”

“That,” he said. “Those moves. Pretty advanced for a rookie. Where did you learn them?” He asked again.

Bucky asked you like he knew the answer. Did he know? No. Steve said he didn’t say anything.

“I-I don’t remember. It was a long time ago.” You stuttered, quickly unwrapping the tape from your hands.

He walked closer to you, causing you to back up until your hip hit the table.

“Stop lying.” He ordered. “Where were you trained before this?” The metal vice grabbed your wrist again, only this time it was meant to hurt

“S-Sergeant Barnes, you’re hurting me.” You said, a small tremble in your voice.

The blue of his eyes was completely gone, and they were dark and bloodshot.

“Who the fuck are you?!” He shouted, causing a ringing in your ears.

You twisted and pushed off of him, making a run for the door. As you reached it, you felt a powerful tug on the back of your hair. The force of being slammed into the ground knocking the wind from your lungs. Bucky dragged across the room by your hair, holding down so you weren’t able to escape.

He threw you to the center of the room. “FRIDAY! Get Steve!” You shout.

“I’ve already alerted him Miss Monroe, he’s on his way!” She shouts.

Bucky released your hair, and moved his metal grip to your throat. “Я знаю кто ты! Ты один из них!” He shouted at you in Russian. You knew what he was saying, he thinks you’re one of them.

“B-Bucky...” you choke. “I’m not. I s-swear!” Your eyes are full of tears as you plead with him.

He doesn’t register what you’re saying—he just grips your throat harder. You punch and kick with everything you have left, but he doesn’t move an inch.

Vision spotty, and feeling yourself losing consciousness, you suddenly hear the door of the room burst open.

“Bucky! Stop!” You hear Steve shout. You watch as he grips his friend shoulder and rips him off you with ease.

“Sam, get her outta here!” He shouts.

The man scoops you in his arms, “I gotcha. Don’t worry.” You’re still faint, but safe. The last thing you see is Steve attempting to hold Bucky back.

Before you knew it, you had passed out completely.

The scar where metal met flesh was burning and his head was throbbing.

Bucky’s eyes took their time adjusting to the bright lights. Groans escaped his lips as he shook off the delirium, realizing he couldn’t fully move.

He looked at his left arm, it was strapped down to the floor with what he could only assume were vibranium restraints.

“Buck?” He heard his friend call.

Bucky’s eyes looked to the wall opposite him. Steve was there, arms folded leaning against the off-white walls of a holding cell.

“Steve.” Bucky gently tugged at the restraints, “What...what did I do?” he asked, sounding defeated.

He hadn’t had a relapse in months, damn near a year. He thought all the progress he’d made with therapy had finally been working for him, and now it seems that’s all down the drain.

“What do you remember, Pal?” Steve asked kindly. He’d been through this with Bucky before. He knew it would be better for Bucky to recall things himself, rather than painting him a vague picture.

Bucky let out a puff of air, “I-I was in the training center.”

Steve nodded.

Bucky was struggling to fit the puzzle pieces of his mind together as quickly as he would like. Her face flashed across his memories, except it was distorted. Scared.

“Ella and I. Ella was there. We were training, fighting...we had a fight.” Bucky’s voice was painted with sadness and embarrassment at the thought of fighting with her.

The cloudy images of what happened next began to enter his mind. He saw himself on top of her, choking her. He remembers wanting to kill her...

He felt his blood pressure rising and his heart pounding in his chest. “Oh my God, Steve. Where is she? Is she okay? Did I...” Bucky swallowed hard.

“Did I hurt her?” He sounded like he would cry if Steve’s answer has been yes.

Steve shook his head, “She’s okay, Buck.” He walked to his friend, undoing the restraints and hoisting him to his feet.

“Did I hurt her...” Bucky asked again firmly.

He nodded. “She’s a little banged up, but nothing...serious. Sam took her back to her room. She’s resting.” Steve said, putting a reassuring arm on his friends shoulder.

“Shit...” Bucky cursed, rubbing his face. He felt his heart nearly split in two at the thought of what he did.

“What happened, Buck? Do you know what triggered it?” Steve sounded as if he knew the answer.

Bucky sat down again, leaning his head against the wall next to Steve, waiting for him to join him. When he sat, Bucky let out a shameful sigh.

“She—Ella, she reminded me so much of HYDRA. Everything she was doing, and with the way she moved. I’ve only ever seen HYDRA agents know how to take me down that way.”

Steve rubbed his hands over his knees a few times; an old habit from when he and Buck were kids and Steve was nervous.

“I know you said you know her, and you trust her,” Bucky spoke. “But how, Steve. Who is she? Where did she come from?”

Steve sighed. He knew Bucky needed answers, he just hopes Ella forgives him for spilling her secret. “Okay, first things first, she’s not HYDRA.”

Bucky kept his gaze on the floor as his friend spoke. “She was...raised, I guess you could say, by them. She was kidnapped when she was 9 or 10, she doesn’t remember exactly how old she was.”

Bucky looked to his friend, confused. “What? HYDRA takes kids?”

Steve nodded. “Yeah. She was one of the first. Took her from her family while they were on vacation. The theory was if you eliminate the compassion—the innocence before it can grow, you have someone...something that doesn’t know anything but rage and obedience and violence.”

Bucky felt sick to his stomach. In all the time he was kept by HYDRA, he’d never seen them take kids.

Bucky didn’t speak, so Steve continued. “They...they did things to her. Experimented on her, trained her to be a sword-for-hire, and used her for...other really horrible things, but she survived. That’s what she does Buck, she’s a survivor. All the hell they put her through, she found a way to hold onto that little piece of herself.”

Bucky wanted to cry. He wanted to run to her and hold her in his arms and never let her go. He wanted to make her feel safe, and wanted and loved.

But he couldn’t. He screwed up, like he screws everything up. He’d pushed you away, making you feel like you didn’t matter and worse than anything...he hurt you.

“How did you find her?” Bucky asked with tremors in his voice.

“Around 8 years ago, we were storming the last active HYDRA base over in Romania. Got all the hostages out, right in time to blow the building. Then Sam tells me he’s getting heat signatures in the basement. It was her, Buck.”

Steve helped Bucky to his feet, and continued talking as they made their way back toward the compound.

“She was surrounded by 4 or 5 of them, she was chained to the wall...the things they were doing to her...” he shook his head in an attempt to erase the memories, “It’s a scene I’d never want to relive, and I don’t think she would either. I got her out right before the first charge blew. From there I brought her to a SHIELD infirmary, she was there for a few months. After that she was debriefed and gave us anything we could ever need on HYDRA. I set her up with a place to stay, and a job...anything to help her try and find a sense of normality.”

Bucky still hadn’t said a word. He knew what HYDRA was capable of, and what those men probably did to her. He also knew how lucky they were to have been killed already, before he got his hands on them.

The two of them reached the housing level of the compound. Steve heading into the kitchen with Bucky on his heels. Each of them grabbing a water from the fridge before taking a seat at the table.

“Ella’s not a threat, Buck. You two have a lot more in common than you think. Give her a chance, she’s a great gal.”

Bucky nodded at his friend. “All you’ve done for her, why’d you do it?” He asked.

Steve smiled softly. “I’ve seen what happens when HYDRA takes someone’s life from them, this time I had the means to give one back.”

When the pair had finished talking, Bucky headed for his room. He strolled down the hall, instinctively stopping in front of her door. He heard her breathing, steady and rhythmic. She was asleep.

He put his hand flush with the door, wanting nothing more than to go see her, and apologize. Instead he stood there for a moment, repeating a silent apology to himself over and over again.

Bucky slipped through his bedroom door, stripping himself of the dirty, sweat stained clothes currently clinging to his body. He entered his bathroom and turned the shower on as hot as it would go.

Steam filled the room in seconds and Bucky jumped into the scolding water, not caring how his skin was screaming at him to get out. He washed himself thoroughly, scrubbing his hair and rinsing that too.

By the time he was done, the water had run cold. Bucky didn’t care, he pressed his back to the glass wall of the shower and slid down it. He brushed his wet hair back with both hands and closed is eyes.

In the icy water, it was easy to feel the hot tears spilling down his cheeks. He sat there weeping for what felt like hours. When was the last time he’d cried? He couldn’t remember.

Bucky was embarrassed, and he was ashamed. Ashamed of what he had done, and what he was still capable of doing. Hurting you was his biggest fear and now look at the mess he’s made.

When he’d had enough, he climbed into his bed somberly, bracing himself for a sleepless night. He knew he’d have to see you again, but he also knew it would probably be the last time.

It’s going to hurt him. To not see you smile every morning at the sunrise, not hear your voice wish him good morning, or see you steal those momentary glances at him everyday.

Distance. That’s the only way it could work. No more training, no more contact. Just removing himself from your life, one day at a time.

Bucky’s lost you before he even had you, but maybe that for the best.

Chapter Four: A Mistake

#samthemarvelfan #bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #bucky barnes x original female character #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes series #sebastian stan #sebastian stan fanfiction #mcu #marvel fanfiction

210 notes · View notes

jinruihokankeikaku · 4 years

Note

Mage of Space?

You got it!! Here we go…

Title: Mage of Space

Title Breakdown: One who actively understands [innately comprehends, experiences, suffers from, explores] Space [birth, vastness, physical distance/size, infinity]

Role in the Session: The Mage of Space is an Active player with the crucial role of breeding the Genesis Frog and creating thereby the new Universe. They’ll likely realize the importance of this task more quickly than most, given their natural aptitude for understanding their Aspect and its domains, but they may struggle seeing beyond their experiences with Space – which experiences are likely to begin fairly early on.

All Space players tend to be somewhat isolated, but the Mage will likely suffer from it the most. Prior to the game, they may have gone for years without seeing anyone else. They’ll feel the isolation more acutely than most Space players, too – perhaps they’re less capable of distracting themselves, less complacent, and they may reject their isolation entirely (at first), reaching out to anyone they can. However, they may be disappointed slash disillusioned once they do begin interacting with people more frequently, as their inability to see beyond their Aspect might render them less-than-dexterous on the social level. This all sounds like a rather unfortunate lot for our Mage, but keep in mind that a Mage’s greatest weakness is also their greatest strength – their unique understanding of their Aspect, surpassing even that of the Seer, allows them to wield it and navigate it in ways that others might well be incapable of.

The Mage’s solace in their time of isolation will likely be some form of physical/sculptural art, or some form of mechanical engineering. They might be outright uncomfortable in open spaces and/or spend some time as a shut-in, and in either case they’re going to fill up the spaces around them with their creations, whatever forms those ultimately take. They may see this sort of creation as their only talent, though it almost certainly isn’t – regardless, they’ll be rather good at it, approaching it from angles few others would think to.

Once they’ve arrived on their Planet and begun their Quest, the Mage will likely be forced into a situation in which they must think outside of their usual field of expertise, reckoning with Domains of their Aspect with which they’re unfamiliar. If they manage to do this, to broaden their understanding of Space and its place among the Aspects, they’ll be able to transcend the suffering it has caused them, carrying on the lessons learned but overcoming the lingering anguish. A Sylph of Life might help the Mage recover from the fatigue or ennui brought on by their isolation, rekindling the Life inside them and allowing them to grow, as they must; also, a Seer of Rage could perhaps grant the Mage a better understanding of their Aspect’s position in the Order of Things, Rage being as it is the Aspect of meta-textual knowledge and skepticism regarding established precedent.

Opposite Role: The Heir of Time. The Heir of Time begins with a natural affinity for music, death, narratives (especially conclusions), and of course, Time itself – and they will ultimately fulfill their Role by becoming one with Time, merging their consciousness with the Timeline in order to lead their team through without facing Doom in the process. Their personality will likely be single-minded, focused, and somewhat grim – initially preoccupied with fate and eventually standing in defiance of it. In their interactions with the Heir, the Mage may find the Heir’s laser-focus to be counterproductive, and be somewhat wary of the Heir’s potentially being manipulated by their Aspect to an excessive degree. There may also be a simple mutual lack of understanding – because the Mage and the Heir are interacting with the world on such radically different levels, they will be loathe to look at things from each other’s respective perspective.

God Tier Powers

Space is the Expansive-Explosive-Actual Aspect, and the Mage is the (moderately) Active Understanding Class. This means that the Mage’s powers will draw largely on actual reality (in this case, physical space) and will be focused towards personal comprehension of the various possibilities inherent to their Aspect. Here are a few ideas…

Spatial Awareness: The Mage is constantly aware of their physical location, and their position relative to relevant landmarks. They’ll likely be expert navigators with a knack for knowing not only where things / places / people are, but also how they got there, and how they’ll get wherever it is that they’re going. The Mage could leverage this by either sabotaging or expediting this transit using their innate comprehension of speed, distance, and other such physical principles.

Archimedes Lever: With their vast knowledge of physics, and especially the physics of movement and inertia, the Mage could vastly multiply the physical force they exert, causing their weapons to strike their foes with phenomenal, unnatural strength. They could also utilize this ability outside of combat, to lift or otherwise act upon seemingly immovable objects, or propel objects at high speeds through the medium in which they find them. This strength is limited only by the Space they have access to, and the Time they have to make the necessary calculations / estimations as to how much force they ought to be exerting.

Telemetric Transit: The Mage can metaphysically bind themselves to a particular object and use that object as a point to which they might return, no matter the distance. They will also, of course, be aware of the location of any such bound objects, so that should they be moved, the Mage will be able to discern exactly where it is they’re going, should they attempt to return to that object.

Personality: The Mage of Space, as previously mentioned, is going to experience a whole lot of isolation in life, and this could potentially damage their “social skills” (whatever that means). This isn’t to say they’d be unsociable – they’d probably just be a bit out of touch with whatever norms are typical to the society they’re (re)entering. They’re likely to be very interested indeed in their particular, uh, interest – which interest, as also previously mentioned, is likely to involve physical craft of some kind, whether it’s aesthetic or pragmatic. This intense interest will manifest less as a fascination with one particular facet of the practice, and more as a desire to uncover and experience every potential facet of the practice, and because of this the Mage may uncover and/or come to favor particularly esoteric techniques or methodologies. Mages, unlike Seers, aren’t teachers, even when well-developed – their destined Role is to leverage their knowledge, rather than to transmit it, so if anything they’ll be inclined to “show by doing” when it comes to matters related to their Aspect and its Domains.

Songs: Alright, I’vve got a feww for this one –

Dinu Lipatti’s Bones by the Mountain Goats

All Alone by Fun.

January Hymn by The Decemberists

I hope you found this analysis interestin and/or informativve!! Mages alwways havve a difficult path, 8ut they also seem like excellent candid8s, from a pragmatic perspectivve, for completin their task of creatin the new Universe, given how deep their understandin of Space is 8ound to 8e 8y the end of their narrativve arc.

~ P L U R ~

#Homestuck #classpect #class #aspect #classpect analysis #space #mage #mage of space #anon #ask

36 notes · View notes

hook-on-fandoms · 7 years

Note

So, how great is the new season?

Long and spoilers so under the cut

Overall I enjoyed it. We got a bit of backstory and the other universe was awesome. And we got to see Hunk stretch his engineering/science muscles again (it’s always fun watching the science duo at it again, solving problems and confusing everyone else at once). And while I still think Hunk, out of the current paladins, is the second best fit for Green (right after her current paladin) I now don’t think Green would be the best fit for him (much smaller, less armor only plus is it’s hard to hit what you can’t see but still). And they didn’t drop his cooking skills and showed it as an important part of diplomacy. That paired with his attitude makes me think even more that with the right training he would be the best Paladin (that is not Allura who would have grown up with this stuff and can’t stand beside herself) to actually stand next to Allura and talk diplomacy for s4.

This season has confirmed for me if a change for all of them was needed Red is the only alternative for Pidge. Besides being the only one I think fits her personality well enough to accept her, Black dwarfed her and while Blue and Yellow are decently smaller than Black they are still way bigger than Red and Green while Red and Green are around the same size. And the scene where she was going through the footage made me laugh so hard because all I could think of was she would love Eliot (from Leverage) and Eliot would respect her process of finding her brother (SOMEONE ELSE RESPECTS THE POWER OF IT’S A VERY DISTINCTIVE… EVEN IF THEY CAN’T IDENTIFY THEM BY FIRST SOUND OR LOOK) and help her. And Coran has some very Eliot like skills in that department ;) .

And poor Lance needs some confidence. I mean I don’t know how well professional sharpshooters would be able to shoot a sword flying towards an ally in the middle of a battle and anyone else I wouldn’t believe but Lance freaking did it and it was awesome. I’m half scared what they are teaching them in the Garrison for Lance to have that skill but that’s on the Garrison. For Lance you go man.

Keith needs to grow a lot in order to become a leader if that is to stay. But he showed the most promise when, after Lance talked to him about the math, he said he’d stay behind for the mission Shiro was suppose to go on. Lance is a good paladin but for reasons that I think they’ll explaining more in s4 though I could be wrong, can’t see it in the quiet moments he has to think. Taking Lance up on the offer to have Lance stay behind would have reinforced that in Lance’s mind. This way he isn’t hurting the team in the long run and while he may not know what “Shiro” went through the chances are high (100%) that they are traumatic. Staying freed him up to take over with Black if once in battle (or as it happened before then) “Shiro” couldn’t do it. I do have one question. What kind of falls from great heights can Keith just roll from and be okay because those falls in episode 1 looked high and they were Galra and he is half Galra and one has to ask. Even if a padded suit is required.

And I put “Shiro” in “” because someone pointed out that the name for the project mentioned means clone. So until proven otherwise, Black transported Shiro to Matt by mistake because she was trying to get Shiro to safety by going to the farthest one that was “safe” and Shiro seeing Matt as safe and the uncanny resemblance to Pidge with that signal being farther away got Shiro sent to Matt in all of the chaos thinking she sent him to Pidge and the one with them is a clone with all of Shiro’s memories and doesn’t realize he’s a clone and won’t til activated.

And while I’m very ????? about Allura going I can’t just send people out to fight my battles I have to fight them too (my lady you do in that castle ship of yours that in and of itself is a powerful weapon and not a single season has gone by that you weren’t actively fighting pretty much as much as Voltron) and the switches seem more to do with messing with dynamic (unstable arm to head, leg to extremely fast lion/arm, huge ship with no consciousness of it’s own to lion size that you have to actively work with) I do love that it’s brought her some peace and it gave her some good scenes that let her show a bit more uncertainty again and make her more human (in how the saying goes only). And Coran is just awesome when allowed (we need more of them all).

The alternate reality was awesome and I love how Pidge and alt Slav figured it out at the same time. And just Slav’s energy the whole episode like I’m gonna f things up because this universe is AWESOME.

And Lotor. Oh man he is an evil genius. He knows people have been enslaved by his people for 1000s of years. So now all he has to do is say he isn’t ruling as his father did and you all have a “say”. Make them think they are free. That Voltron can’t give it to them because the second Voltron leaves their planet is vulnerable again. But I don’t want you to be my slaves. I want you to be my people. I want you to gain from this too. And now it’s the devil that keeps you safe but not enslaved but you know you aren’t truly free but over time he might gain your (gulp) loyalty and that is truly freighting. Also, is he half Alterian? His father’s wife is Alterian but it sounded like she forgot who she was after going through the rift so she may not be his mother but with his features I can believe it and it would explain a bit on why all of his generals aren’t full Galra (besides another tactic of look your people can move up the ranks in my system). And he is just so evil I love him as the villain because even after speeches of loyalty and all that he is shown not willing to forgive so I don’t think he’s gonna be “redeemed” or “secretly good” but he is gonna be evil in a different way and so I’m excited I can enjoy this evilness.

Overall this season felt like a lot of set up for the next (how many planets did Lotor visit and possibly flip without the Paladins or anyone knowing and is he asking the leaders or people he feels would be more loyal to him to pretend to still be part of team Voltron so he can get info as it comes :) )but still loved it. Hope we get a bit more about Keith’s sister too (if that general isn’t Keith’s sister I don’t know whats real anymore..

How about you?

#voltron #voltron spoilers #voltron s3

0 notes