#what is data warehouse

[junaidjee]

What is data warehouse with example

A data warehouse is a repository or data store in which data is stored, queried, and analyzed. The data comes from different sources like marketing research data, educational data, political data, scientific data, company data etc. A data warehouse is just like a store in which you store unused items like an electric generator or extra things. But in the case of a data warehouse, you store…

[dokkywokky]

adding to this: *this is a problem that will fucking haunt EEEEVERYTHING.* not just higher ed. it sucks. and it’s awful. but until the investment bubble commits sudoku and sam altman is (finally) drawn and quartered with silly string by Boston Spot robots as Goddess intended then you need to 👏 ask 👏 questions about things which Don’t Look Right and 👏 talk 👏 to 👏 your 👏 coworkers (or your GP! or your design lead! or your copy editor! or).

use nightshade, block “AI” freaks, and be. aware. it is a greasy little poison that will seep into everything around you and you must not let it breach your defenses. there will be some glassy-eyed soulless bean counting freak who shows up to your place of comfort or work with a mediocrity machine in a box and the world’s grimiest sales pitch and you will need to fight tooth and fucking nail to boot them out and never, ever let them back in until they have dropped the box and lit it on fire.

all LLMs are unethical. CharacterAI was built on unfathomable amounts of theft. Image recognition rests on the back of billions of unpaid man hours of gig work by people in countries where they can’t do anything else to put food on their table. Stable Diffusion is the world’s nastiest plagarist. all of it was made using inconceivable quantities of modern day slavery.

Do. Not. Let. It. In.

ur future nurse is using chapgpt to glide thru school u better take care of urself

[infoanalysishub]

BigQuery: Definition, Meaning, Uses, Examples, History, and More

Explore a comprehensive dictionary-style guide to BigQuery—its definition, pronunciation, synonyms, history, examples, grammar, FAQs, and real-world applications in cloud computing and data analytics. BigQuery Pronunciation: /ˈbɪɡˌkwɪəri/Syllables: Big·Que·ryPart of Speech: NounPlural: BigQueriesCapitalization: Always capitalized (Proper noun)Field of Usage: Computing, Data Science, Cloud…

[mimiiiiiiiiisstuff]

"Sky fall"

ok yall I did get a little inspired! Lmk how it is! I know its not what some of yall wanted but this is how I wrote it! Everything is coming together now! Sorry if its confusing <3

Tiffany’s footsteps echoed through the abandoned warehouse, each one measured, confident, as she strode deeper into the dimly lit space. The walls, once intimidating in their desolation, now felt like a stage set for her triumph. She was certain of herself, this was it. She had manipulated them all, pulled the strings, and now, with the Batfamily’s most sensitive intel in hand, she was untouchable. They would never see it coming. She had convinced herself that the web she had carefully spun was impenetrable.

But tonight, Tiffany was walking straight into a trap.

She paused at the center of the room, eyes scanning the surroundings with a practiced ease. The flicker of lights overhead seemed almost theatrical, as if signaling the grand performance she was about to claim as her own. Her fingers tightened around the sleek metallic briefcase she held—inside it, the false intel she believed would seal her victory. She had rehearsed every step, anticipated every move. But there was one thing she hadn't accounted for: the Batfamily’s silence.

They were everywhere, but they weren't moving. Not yet. They were waiting.

From his position in the shadows, Tim watched through the Batcave’s live feeds, his eyes cold and calculating as he traced Tiffany’s every move. The family had worked tirelessly to set this up—baiting her with fake intel, feeding her just the right amount of information to guarantee she'd take the bait. She had, without fail, walked right into their hands.

Tim’s fingers hovered over the keyboard. Every signal, every encrypted line of data, it had all led to this moment. His chest tightened with the weight of his resolve. This ends now.

He didn't need to say it aloud. They all knew what was at stake. This wasn’t just about protecting Gotham, or the family’s secrets. It was about you. It was about taking back what Tiffany had stolen from you. Your life. Your identity. Your place in this family. Every single person in that room understood that this wasn’t just about a spy. This was personal.

“Now we finish this,” Tim’s voice rang through the comms, calm but with the sharp edge of finality.

The tension in the air was palpable, thick as smoke. Bruce, standing silently with his arms crossed, stared intently at the screen, his jaw set like stone. Dick, ever the optimist, now had no room for jokes. His usual playful nature was gone, replaced by a grim focus. Jason, less patient, was practically vibrating with anger, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. His gaze flickered between the screens and the door, his body coiled like a spring, ready to explode.

Damian was the quietest of them all, his eyes narrowed, his jaw clenched with fierce intent. His mind was only focused on one thing: her.

The trap was set, and now it was time for the family to act.

Suddenly, from the corner of the room, a figure emerged, cloaked in darkness, stepping forward as silently as a shadow. It was Dick, moving with fluid precision as he approached Tiffany from behind. His voice came out low, dangerous. “Thought you had us all fooled, didn’t you, Tiffybear?”

Tiffany froze, her body tensing as she spun toward the sound of the voice. The briefcase slipped from her grip, clattering against the concrete floor as her eyes met Dick’s.

"Dick! Hey! What are you doing here? I thought I said I wanted to be alone." Tiffany asked, her tone clipped and annoyed.

Dick’s voice was almost mocking, a smirk curling at the corners of his mouth. “You never had a chance. You just didn’t know it yet.”

From all sides, the rest of the Batfamily moved into position, emerging from the shadows, closing in.

Tim’s voice cut through the silence again. “You thought you could replace her, Tiffany. Thought you could take what was hers and make it your own. But you were wrong.”

Tiffany’s eyes darted between them, confusion creeping in as the weight of the situation began to sink in. Her lips curled into a sneer. “What is this? You can’t—”

“We already know,” Jason interrupted, stepping forward, his presence like a storm rolling in. “You’ve been feeding information to our enemies. Stealing. Lying to us. Pretending to be someone you're not. And all for what? To replace her? To become her?” His voice trembled with rage, each word fueled by the months of anger, the betrayal, and the crushing realization that someone he had trusted had been working against him all along.

Tiffany’s composure faltered, her eyes flashing with defiance. “I didn’t do anything wrong. I’ve always been here, helping, supporting—”

“You’re a liar,” Tim spat, stepping forward. His gaze was unwavering, every ounce of anger and frustration channeled into his words. “You stole everything from her. Her identity, her life, her place in this family. And now, you're trying to replace her. No more games.”

Bruce’s voice, low and steady, cut through the tension. “We gave you a chance. We treated you like family. And this is how you repay us?”

Tiffany’s eyes widened as the gravity of the situation hit her all at once. She took a step back, her breathing growing erratic. For the first time since she’d entered the room, doubt crept into her expression. The confidence, the arrogance that had once defined her shattered before their very eyes.

“This ends now,” Bruce said again, his words as cold as steel. He motioned to Dick, who moved to secure Tiffany’s exit, blocking her every attempt to escape.

Damian’s voice, soft but filled with a dangerous edge, broke through the noise. “You think you can erase her? You think you can take her place? You think you can get away with this? Jail will be the least of your problems soon” He stepped forward, his eyes narrowing with intense focus.

Tiffany recoiled, as if he had struck her, her eyes flickering between the Batfamily members who had surrounded her. This wasn’t the victory she had imagined. This wasn’t the moment where she was crowned the perfect replacement. This was the moment where her lies crumbled, and she realized how deeply she had miscalculated.

Her hand shot out to grab the briefcase, but before she could move, Jason was already there. His grip was iron-tight as he snatched the case from her. “I think you’ve lost your audience, sweetheart.”

With the briefcase secured, and no escape left, Tiffany turned to face them all, her mask of composure slipping as panic began to seep in. “You don’t know what you’re doing,” she spat, her voice trembling. “I’ve been working with people who can destroy you all. You’ll regret this. You’ll never get away with it.”

“We already have,” Dick said softly. “You’re done.”

The family, united, stood in the silence that followed, their collective presence so overwhelming that Tiffany felt smaller than she ever had. There was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. The Batfamily has finally seen through her. The game was over.

And in that moment, Tiffany realized that she was never in control.

She had never been in control.

They were.

As the family closed in, ready to bring her to justice for the harm she had done, Tim’s fingers hovered over the keyboard one last time. The Batcave’s monitors flashed again, but this time, it wasn’t encrypted files or hidden surveillance. It was a signal, one that would send Tiffany straight to the authorities, where she would finally face the consequences of her actions.

This was the end of Tiffany’s game.

And the beginning of the Batfamily reclaiming what was rightfully theirs.

Tiffany had underestimated them. She had underestimated the family.

Now, it was time to make her pay.

The jet’s wheels hit the tarmac with a soft hum, the quiet after the hum of engines almost disorienting. You stretched in your seat, flexing your fingers, aware of the long flight that had left your body restless, but you could already feel the change in the air. The tension. The suffocating weight of everything happening around you.

You had promised yourself you wouldn’t get attached again, that you wouldn’t let your walls down. But there was something about Alfred’s letters that made it impossible to resist, something about the quiet, steady affection in his words that still clung to your memories of the Manor. You’d gone through all the motions, pretending like you weren’t angry, pretending like you didn’t resent the family for abandoning you, for believing the lies.

Yet here you were. Looking for closure and chasing love.

As the cabin doors opened a gust of cool Gotham air rushed in. It wasn't refreshing, it was as if the air held something dark and heavy that clung to you. The world outside was still dark, the city a blur of towering lights and shadows stretching across the skyline.

The car ride to the manor was a blur, it was as if your body was on autopilot the whole way. Alfred had sent a car to get you, thankfully the driver didn't insist on small talk.

Your stomach was filled with dread and you thought of asking the driver to take you back to the airport, Ariel and her family wouldn't mind if you came two days earlier than expected. You knew that, but your feet wouldn’t let you. The pull of the manor, even after everything, was undeniable.

The long drive up the winding gravel path to the front gates felt like an eternity. It always had, but this time it felt different. Almost like time was pushing you forward, faster than you were ready to go.

When the doors of the manor finally loomed in front of you, all lit up like a beacon in the night, a deep breath caught in your throat.

It wasn’t the same. Not anymore.

The family wasn’t here, at least, not all of them. It was strange, like stepping into a house full of ghosts and memories. You couldn't shake the feeling that things had shifted in ways you couldn’t yet see. But you were about to find out, weren't you?

Alfred was the first to greet you, of course. His warm smile, the familiar twinkle in his eyes, felt like home. He wasn’t perfect, he had his flaws and he also brushed you off for the imposter, but there was no one else who had ever been as constant, as unshakeable in your life.

“It's wonderful to see you. I trust your ride was pleasant?” Alfred asked gently, as he took your luggage from you and wrapped you into a gentle and warm hug. His voice, though calm, held something you couldn’t quite place. It was the way he always spoke when there was trouble brewing underneath the surface.

You bit back the rush of emotion threatening to spill out. The hurt you felt after he just allowed Bruce to exile you. You could feel the eyes of the manor on you, too many memories to process, too many ghosts to acknowledge. "It’s good to see you, Alfred," you said, and even though the words were kind, your stomach twisted with an unfamiliar unease.

Alfred never made you feel this way before, what changed?

He nodded, glancing briefly at the front door. "Master Bruce has been expecting you," he said, and though it sounded almost casual, there was something in the way he said it, something cautious, like a warning wrapped in politeness. "If you'd like, I’ll have your things brought up to your room."

Your heart dropped, Bruce was expecting you? Since when did he stay up late to wait for your arrival? Did Tiffany say something? Did he find you finsta? Your tik tok??

You shook your head, masking your unease and licking your suddenly dry lips. "No, it’s fine. I’ll head straight to the study, it must be important and it won't take long hopefully." You said almost reassuring yourself.

Alfred raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. It was clear he knew better than to ask more. He simply offered a silent nod, stepping aside to let you enter the familiar grand hall.

Every step echoed as you walked through the long corridor, your shoes clicking on the polished checkered marble floors. The place looked untouched, the same lavish decor, nothing changed so why did it feel different? It felt like a time capsule, but you felt distorted, twisted in ways you didn’t quite understand yet.

And then, when you reached the study, the door was open an invitation, though not warm. Your heart picked up pace as you crossed the threshold.

Bruce sat at the large desk, his posture tense, the shadows of the room stretching long against his features. His eyes lifted from the documents in front of him when you entered, but there was no immediate anger in his eyes or anything hostile; so what did he want if not to scold you?

“You’ve made it. I hope your trip was pleasant.” There was a bite to his words, something you couldn’t place, but his eyes never wavered from yours. You realized then that something had shifted in him too. Something had changed.

"It was good. How've you been? Busy? Your phone fixed yet?" you asked coolly, crossing your arms, eyes narrowing slightly. A jab at him for never answering your calls and texts.

Alfred had mentioned that Bruce was expecting you, but he hadn’t said why.

“You could say that," Bruce responded, leaning back in his chair, his steely gaze never leaving yours. "But now that you’re here, I think we need to have a conversation."

Your false confidence was shaking and you were reduced to a scared child standing in front of her all-powerful father. You couldn't handle being blamed for anything or pushed aside for Tiffany anymore.

You faltered, the tension between you both palpable. "About what exactly? I haven't done anything wrong."

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he reached for the large monitor beside him, flicking a few buttons. The screen lit up with files, encrypted footage, and images you didn’t recognize at first glance.

You could already feel your pulse racing. This was about to get interesting.

"About Tiffany," Bruce said, and the very mention of her name made your stomach twist in a way you couldn’t explain. His eyes never left you as he clicked the first file open. “I think it’s time you knew the truth.”

You felt a sick satisfaction knowing you were right all along, that you figured out what The Batman couldn't.

As you watched the first videos, you couldn't stop yourself from scoffing, this wasn't anything new. You knew Tiffany was a spy, but as the videos continued, your skin began to crawl.

Tiffany walking into your room at night and coming out with arms full of things you thought you lost.

Tiffany following you into the library and reading all the books you read. Imitating everything you did.

What really made bile rise to your throat was the last video, there Tiffany was, in the laundry room sniffing and wearing your dirty clothes.

You stood in front of Bruce, frozen and naesous, waiting for him to speak.

" You knew Tiffany was a spy, you told me of how she treated you, and I brushed you off and called you a liar; for that you have my never ending apology and regret. However, there are things about her that even you didn't know." Said Bruce standing and walking toward you, his eyes were different from how they usually looked. Usually cold and unforgiving, they now held remorse and regret, and if you didn't know better, love.

He gently grabbed your hands and turned you toward him, "I'm sorry. For everything. I am the world's biggest fool for how i've treated you these years."

That was all you wanted to hear for years, those sentences healed the cracks in your heart but your eyes burned with tears and you quickly took a step back; snatching your hands from his calloused ones, "Sorry changes nothing." You bit back, suddenly feeling a rush of anger and hurt that gave you confidence.

Your father sighed and took a step back, "I know." He said looking at you with longing.

You turned your head, acrylics burning and digging into your crossed arms. You couldn't bare to look at him, he looked pathetic when he pulled that face. He looked like you. He looked at you in the same way you looked at him all these years, longing and desperate for love.

"Is that all you wanted to say?" you asked faking nonchalance when in reality you couldn't wait to get in your bed and cry.

Bruce sighed again, "No. I need to explain why we all reacted that way to her and we need to talk about your own special.....abilities."

For the next hour, you sat with Bruce in his study, closer than you've ever been, as he explained who Tiffany truly was and why she was able to fool everyone. Your mind was running a million miles per minute as he spoke, it all made sense now.

Why Tiffany had that effect of the family, why she was so popular at school, why she was there that fateful night when you were bit.

Tiffany was working with an unknown organization, PATIENCE. She was planted into your school years ago to observe you and figure out how to infiltrate the Family. She was able to deceive everyone because she was also bitten by the snake but her body couldn't take the full transformation so her abilities were weaker than yours and mutated. She was able to release pheremones that intoxicated the mind, you weren't affected because you were immune.

She was there that night because she was also on a mission, a mission to kill the snake but it ended up escaping and biting you.

PATIENCE was working with the Joker on a one time partnership, they would give the Joker intel on Batman's plans in exchange for him allowing them to bring drugs through Gothams ports.

The situation was handled now, of course, but it was a miracle you survived the bite.

By the end of the conversation you were exhausted, but had never felt that relieved. Everything made sense now. You looked at Bruce only to find her already staring at you and your eyes watered once again. He had a reason for the Tiffany situation, but what about all those other years?

As you both got up, you to go to your room and sleep, and him to go to the Batcave, Bruce gently pulled you back.

In the middle of the hallway, he brought you into tight hug. He towered over you and buried his face into your hair, muttering apologies almost deleriously; and as you felt hot tears fall onto you, you wrapped your arms around his waist and began to sob into his chest.

"I hate you." you said your voice muffled and cracked,

"I know." He replied, voice soft and tears still falling yet refusing to let you see him cry.

"I don't forgive you. This can't change the past." You said sobbing even more yet leaning into his hard, toned chest.

" I know." He replied again somberly and more composed now.

As you parted ways, you could feel his eyes on you, willing you to look back.

You didn't.

That night you slept like the dead, your chest felt lighter than it had in years. When you woke the next morning, you felt hope for the first time in years. Maybe Bruce could redeem himself, not anytime soon, but someday. He had to work for it first. Prove he changed, buy you a birkin in every color and a house in every country and then you would think about letting go of the past.

As you walked down for breakfast in your linen pants and your ex-boyfriends NYU sweatshirt, all hope you had faded. You were so caught up in Bruce's apology that you forgot about the rest of them. And there at the table in the grand dining room sat Bruce at the head of the table with everyone of your siblings surrounding him, all chatting in hushed whispers and immediately going quiet as you walked into the room and sat in the only unoccupied seat right in the middle.

Bitterness filled your heart as you realized they were probably talking about you.

You were seated next to Damian and Tim with Duke and Jason across from you. As soon as you sat Alfred brought out the food, Cinnamon roll pancakes, your favorite along with all your favorite sides. All the tension left your body as you beamed and dug into the food, eyes rolling back as you tasted heaven.

No one spoke, but Jason smirked fondly, Damian rolled his eyes and Dick beamed, Bruce looked interested and Tim just stared creepily from next to you.

You blushed as you noticed everyones eyes on you, and suddenly your mood was ruined again as Duke caught your eye and chuckled "Some things never change huh? You loved these, remember that time-"

You pushed your plate away from you, grabbing a piece of french and cut him off coldly "No, no I don't." Your feelings were still hurt from his betrayal and he thought you could go back to normal? To before Tiffany?

His face fell and he opened his mouth closed it, simply looking away sadly.

"He hasn't even said anything! Why don't you let him tell the story, we all want to know!" Said Stephanie enthusiaticaly from next to Jason.

Who does she think she is? Why does she assume she's entitled to your happy memories? After everything she's said and done? After everything they all said and did?

Blood rushed to your head, your teeth burned and sharpened and and you couldn't stop the scoff escaping you. "Literally who was talking to you? Mind your own fucking business, I really don't give a shit about what you want. Or any of you really." You say standing up angrily and almost throwing the plate in her face.

The hall went silent as everyone stared at your standing, hostile form. Jason looked entertained, Cassandra was shocked for once, Dick looked frantic and concerned, Barbra's mouth was opening and closing in a fish like manner, Steph looked like you stabbed her, even Tim looked taken aback, and Bruce simply stared at you.

It was Damian that really set you off, he pulled your elbow attempting to sit you back down, "There's no fighting or cursing allowed at the table. Stop whining and sit down and finish your pancakes. This display is pathetic." He said arrogantly rolling his eyes at you in his fancy pajamas and messy hair.

You hadn't help that anger in years. HE was lecturing you about whining and fighting? him? That's rich. You don't know what came over you but you don't regret a thing.

You harshly pulled your elbow out his grip and decked him.

Straight.

In.

The.

Face.

You'd show him what fighting at the table really was. Your punch knocked him out of his chair and you heard something crack and heard everyone gasp, rushing out their chairs while you hissed and grabbed your favorite pancakes and shoved them in his stupid, similar looking, arrogant face. You punched him again for good measure and for fun. You were reaching for the syrup to pour on him when Tim tried to pull you away so you decked his scrawny ass too.

Honestly, the moments after were a blur but somehow you ended up in your room with Jason standing in your doorway hours later with chicken nuggets and a smirk.

taglist:

[opencommunion]

"The story of  'John Doe 1' of the Democratic Republic of the Congo is tucked in a lawsuit filed five years ago against several U.S. tech companies, including Tesla, the world’s largest electric vehicle producer. In a country where the earth hides its treasures beneath its surface, those who chip away at its bounty pay an unfair price. As a pre-teen, his family could no longer afford to pay his $6 monthly school fee, leaving him with one option: a life working underground in a tunnel, digging for cobalt rocks.  But soon after he began working for roughly two U.S. dollars per day, the child was buried alive under the rubble of a collapsed mine tunnel. His body was never recovered. 

The nation, fractured by war, disease, and famine, has seen more than 6 million people die since the mid-1990s, making the conflict the deadliest since World War II. But, in recent years, the death and destruction have been aided by the growing number of electric vehicles humming down American streets. In 2022, the U.S., the world’s third-largest importer of cobalt, spent nearly $525 million on the mineral, much of which came from the Congo.

As America’s dependence on the Congo has grown, Black-led labor and environmental organizers here in the U.S. have worked to build a transnational solidarity movement. Activists also say that the inequities faced in the Congo relate to those that Black Americans experience. And thanks in part to social media, the desire to better understand what’s happening in the Congo has grown in the past 10 years. In some ways, the Black Lives Matter movement first took root in the Congo after the uprising in Ferguson in 2014, advocates say. And since the murder of George Floyd and the outrage over the Gaza war, there has been an uptick in Congolese and Black American groups working on solidarity campaigns.

Throughout it all, the inequities faced by Congolese people and Black Americans show how the supply chain highlights similar patterns of exploitation and disenfranchisement. ... While the American South has picked up about two-thirds of the electric vehicle production jobs, Black workers there are more likely to work in non-unionized warehouses, receiving less pay and protections. The White House has also failed to share data that definitively proves whether Black workers are receiving these jobs, rather than them just being placed near Black communities. 'Automakers are moving their EV manufacturing and operations to the South in hopes of exploiting low labor costs and making higher profits,' explained Yterenickia Bell, an at-large council member in Clarkston, Georgia, last year. While Georgia has been targeted for investment by the Biden administration, workers are 'refusing to stand idly by and let them repeat a cycle that harms Black communities and working families.'

... Of the 255,000 Congolese mining for cobalt, 40,000 are children. They are not only exposed to physical threats but environmental ones. Cobalt mining pollutes critical water sources, plus the air and land. It is linked to respiratory illnesses, food insecurity, and violence. Still, in March, a U.S. court ruled on the case, finding that American companies could not be held liable for child labor in the Congo, even as they helped intensify the prevalence. ... Recently, the push for mining in the Congo has reached new heights because of a rift in China-U.S. relations regarding EV production. Earlier this month, the Biden administration issued a 100% tariff on Chinese-produced EVs to deter their purchase in the U.S. Currently, China owns about 80% of the legal mines in the Congo, but tens of thousands of Congolese work in 'artisanal' mines outside these facilities, where there are no rules or regulations, and where the U.S. gets much of its cobalt imports.  'Cobalt mining is the slave farm perfected,' wrote Siddharth Kara last year in the award-winning investigative book Cobalt Red: How The Blood of the Congo Powers Our Lives. 'It is a system of absolute exploitation for absolute profit.' While it is the world’s richest country in terms of wealth from natural resources, Congo is among the poorest in terms of life outcomes. Of the 201 countries recognized by the World Bank Group, it has the 191st lowest life expectancy."

[reasonsforhope]

Green energy is in its heyday. 

Renewable energy sources now account for 22% of the nation’s electricity, and solar has skyrocketed eight times over in the last decade. This spring in California, wind, water, and solar power energy sources exceeded expectations, accounting for an average of 61.5 percent of the state's electricity demand across 52 days. 

But green energy has a lithium problem. Lithium batteries control more than 90% of the global grid battery storage market. 

That’s not just cell phones, laptops, electric toothbrushes, and tools. Scooters, e-bikes, hybrids, and electric vehicles all rely on rechargeable lithium batteries to get going. 

Fortunately, this past week, Natron Energy launched its first-ever commercial-scale production of sodium-ion batteries in the U.S. 

“Sodium-ion batteries offer a unique alternative to lithium-ion, with higher power, faster recharge, longer lifecycle and a completely safe and stable chemistry,” said Colin Wessells — Natron Founder and Co-CEO — at the kick-off event in Michigan. 

The new sodium-ion batteries charge and discharge at rates 10 times faster than lithium-ion, with an estimated lifespan of 50,000 cycles.

Wessells said that using sodium as a primary mineral alternative eliminates industry-wide issues of worker negligence, geopolitical disruption, and the “questionable environmental impacts” inextricably linked to lithium mining. 

“The electrification of our economy is dependent on the development and production of new, innovative energy storage solutions,” Wessells said. 

Why are sodium batteries a better alternative to lithium?

The birth and death cycle of lithium is shadowed in environmental destruction. The process of extracting lithium pollutes the water, air, and soil, and when it’s eventually discarded, the flammable batteries are prone to bursting into flames and burning out in landfills. 

There’s also a human cost. Lithium-ion materials like cobalt and nickel are not only harder to source and procure, but their supply chains are also overwhelmingly attributed to hazardous working conditions and child labor law violations. 

Sodium, on the other hand, is estimated to be 1,000 times more abundant in the earth’s crust than lithium. 

“Unlike lithium, sodium can be produced from an abundant material: salt,” engineer Casey Crownhart wrote ​​in the MIT Technology Review. “Because the raw ingredients are cheap and widely available, there’s potential for sodium-ion batteries to be significantly less expensive than their lithium-ion counterparts if more companies start making more of them.”

What will these batteries be used for?

Right now, Natron has its focus set on AI models and data storage centers, which consume hefty amounts of energy. In 2023, the MIT Technology Review reported that one AI model can emit more than 626,00 pounds of carbon dioxide equivalent. 

“We expect our battery solutions will be used to power the explosive growth in data centers used for Artificial Intelligence,” said Wendell Brooks, co-CEO of Natron. 

“With the start of commercial-scale production here in Michigan, we are well-positioned to capitalize on the growing demand for efficient, safe, and reliable battery energy storage.”

The fast-charging energy alternative also has limitless potential on a consumer level, and Natron is eying telecommunications and EV fast-charging once it begins servicing AI data storage centers in June. 

On a larger scale, sodium-ion batteries could radically change the manufacturing and production sectors — from housing energy to lower electricity costs in warehouses, to charging backup stations and powering electric vehicles, trucks, forklifts, and so on. 

“I founded Natron because we saw climate change as the defining problem of our time,” Wessells said. “We believe batteries have a role to play.”

-via GoodGoodGood, May 3, 2024

--

Note: I wanted to make sure this was legit (scientifically and in general), and I'm happy to report that it really is! x, x, x, x

[sbcdh]

"You saw it?"

"For a second. Yeah. I saw one."

"Start at the beginning."

"Hoo. Okay. Uhhh... It was 77. I think. I was air force. Or, hypnoengineering support staff contracted to help out around St. Louis."

"That's how you came into your supply of JVH-1"

"It was JVH-11 actually, and yeah, the fuckin, uh- the requisitions officer at Scott was an old buddy of mine. We used to fuck around in college before I, you know-"

"Yes I understand."

"I worked records for Sears-Roebuck, I had all the accounting expertise, as well as a ready supply of LSD."

"How did you start?"

"Oh it was easy at first. Really just selling off phials of the new experimental stuff to finance guys. They'd go nuts for the stuff, pay top dollar for it too. Hell, I could get 100$ for a milliliter. Made it easy to keep my contacts bought in and re-invested. Honestly I don't think the req office would even know that we were skimming if they weren't in on it.

But, you know how it is with hypnoregulation. Transchronological market data is worth it's weight in diamond. It started with the odd photo of a 2q-week readout, then biometric data, then, uh- then. Well, we decided to try it ourselves."

"You attempted full sub-finantial emmanation?"

"No no god no, what're you nuts? No, see. We figured if one person can meld their brain with the market, we just had to get as close as we could to that guy, and mark the twain, hypnologically speaking."

"Mark the twain?"

"Yeah, see, okay. A plutophant in full emmanation isn't like us. We exist at a single point in time, an R1 rational market actor. But they exist in multiple points in time, back in 77, I think the government could hit R6 with that analogue tech. Most people can hit R2 with a single hit of JVH-1, with practice you can hit R3, but anything higher than R3 takes a pretty serious support team. But here's the thing, I had a whole cadre of co-implicated members of a military grade hypnoengineering support team. All we needed was the space."

"The warehouse. Schaeffer Marble and Tile was it?"

"Bingo. See here's the thing. You know why the government had to start building those special regulation temples? It's not just for security. Once you crack the R6 barrier, Plutophants start leaving what's called a wake. You know, like a fuckin, uh, like a boat. They're imperceptible to normal people, but if you have sensitive enough instruments or, say, a person in the edge of sub-market emmanation.

See the government didn't know at the time, but if you balanced the drugs just right, and kept someone right on the edge of R4, you could actually read the plutophant's interpretations by their wake rather than their direct neurofeedback. It's not nearly as precise, but if you have a good team and you know what to look for, you can get some really, really valuable market data that way."

"And your co-worker?"

"You mean Mills? Fuck. Yeah...Mills. Right."

"Take your time."

"No, no I'm good. It's... It's uh, It's dangerous. Brains aren't meant to take that much JVH-11 all at once. We could stay on R4, but what we didn't have was a recovery team, or a medical team, or recon team. It was me, Mills, Israel, Connaught, and Marsh. The five of us were the only ones in the soup. Bruso was running the machines and Lasker was monitoring the readout."

"Can you tell us what happened?"

"Yeah. Yeah. It was a normal intrusion. Hypnogrid emmanation is pretty simple with our tech and support. Sedation was all green, hypnoinduction was green. Smooth as silk. Landed about 40 minutes from our work location. We had the codes from the IRSAW people that morning, all we had to do was maintain hypnoinduction for 40 minutes while traversing the colon and we'd be able to-"

"I'm sorry, colon?"

"Oh come on. Colon. Collective Unconscious. Col-Un. Colon."

"I- of course. Continue."

"Hey, have you ever been on a dive before?"

"Can we focus on your statement?"

"It's important. I need to know if this next bit is gonna make sense to you or not."

"I've undergone basic anti-intrusion training standard for IRS investigation task force officers."

"So you've done safe dives. White room? Castle training? Putting up the wall? All that jazz?"

"That's correct."

"Did they ever tell you why it's dangerous to perform off-site hypnoincursion in meta-unstsble hypnospace?"

"They did."

"Well they're lying...don't look at me like that. I'm not bullshitting you. They're lying...there's...there's shit out there okay? There's things out there."

"Mills?"

"Yeah. Mills. Uh..."

"Take your time."

"Yeah yeah. Quit interruptin me. Mills... Uh, yeah so we were T-Plus 30 into the dive. Bruso gives us a heads up that some hypnoflora is headed our way, but can't get a read on mass. Says we should steer clear, but we are so close. Israel had handled some hypnoflora before, so we weren't worried. But it was... I dunno. I can't explain."

"Do your best."

"Like. Okay. Meta-unstsble dives are fucked. They're acid trips. The St. Louis hypnoscape already doesn't look normal, but Scott Base looked like some kinda bastard lovechild of a medieval castle and a seashell, all twisting up into itself. The streets were a chessboard, and all the streetlights we're these tall kinda mannequin lookin' things holding a tiny sun in their hand. Everything is fucked, it's all topsy turvy. But it's okay, because it's meta-unstable hypnospace, its not SUPPOSED to be normal. And then there was a Red Sock."

"Like for the feet?"

"No. Like. In the middle of this fucked up dreamscape, there's suddenly a batter for the Boston Red Sox. He's standing there, maybe 50 feet away. He's got a bat in one hand and a mitt in the other, and he's just kinda walking towards us. Nobody really knew what to do. It didn't look dangerous, but something wasn't right. It didn't fit. We just kinda stood there, looking at the thing. Israel starts talking to Bruso, asking him what to do. Suddenly, Bruso is screaming at us, telling us to book it. He's screaming into the com, telling us to prepare for de-emmanation. Nobody knows what's happening. Israel is suddenly standing between Mills and the Red Sock, and..."

"Any information you can recall could be of use."

"It's...it's mostly feeling at this point. You ever been having a normal dream? Like, a good, normal dream? And suddenly you realize that something is really, really wrong? There's signs. For me? It's that the lights go out. Suddenly day turns to night, and something about this batter just makes me want to curl up and hide. Suddenly, moving through the world is like trying to swim through molasses. I try to run, but nothing moves, and everything is dark. The world is shifting. There's shadows under the bathroom door that can't be happening. A man who looks like Jesus. An old and terrible house and an old man with no name whose face I can't remember. The batter swings at Mills and she just...vanishes. Shes gone. Bruso pulls us out a second later."

"So this, batter killed Ms. Mills?"

"No."

"No?"

"No. We get out, she's comatose. Whatever that thing did to her, she was still in hypnospace. I gave her a hot shot of barbiturates. Her brain activity slowed to R0 after about 90 seconds."

[icedq-toranainc]

Data Warehouse(DW) Testing Automation Tool - iceDQ Data warehouse (DW) testing is the process of building and executing comprehensive test cases to ensure that data in a warehouse has integrity, reliability, accuracy, and consistency with the organization’s data framework. Know how to test Data Warehouse and the techniques involved and automate the data in your Data Warehouse with iCEDQ to avoid data-related risks and overcome testing challenges. Click here to know more about iCEDQ's data warehouse testing or request a demo, Visit: https://bit.ly/43i5IAZ

[prlssprfctn]

I love this specific flavour (semi-canon, mind you) of Bruce Wayne being awfully jealous and petty, if his kids have other parental figures that they like, or just in general prefers someone's company over him. At least, amongst people of his age range.

Thus, I raise you a very specific concept: Bruce one-sidedly beefing with Roman Sionis, because he is the first person Jason wants to annoy, when he is in the good mood. Yeah, you heard it right.

Because let's be honest, Jason doesn't give two fucks about Black Mask, he doesn't consider him to be valuable and intimidating, but he is funny to toy with! You need anti-stress? Stomp on remainings of Roman's dignity! You are in good mood and want to celebrate something? Crash Roman's party. Dunno. Where Bruce lands in this scenario? Let me demonstrate.

Bruce: Okay, I came to peace with a realisation that I am not the adult that Jason goes to get advice from any more. It is fine. But I don't give up! At least, I am his first annoy-the-hell-out-of-it contact. Knowing Jason, it is as valuable as anything else. Dick, sceptical: What is annoy-the-hell-out-of-it contact? Bruce: Like, when he wants to ruin someone's mood, he chooses me first. Tim, not getting distracted from his phone: Uh, no, you are not. It is Black Mask. Bruce: What? Tim: Yeah, everyone knows it. Like, come on. Check the statistics. Bruce: ...

So that is where his rivalry with Roman starts. A one that Roman himself doesn't have an idea about. But that is aside the point.

Bruce: So, Jaylad... You have a good mood. Something had happened? Jason: Oh, lmao, well, I woke up in the bad mood this morning, so I ended up pretending to be one of Roman's goons, had some fun playing cards with these imbeciles, then "accidentally" spilled tea on Roman's new suit when he ordered me to bring it to him, and at the same time his right-hand came exactly at that moment to announce that Red Hood exploded his favourite warehouse. The best morning ever. Bruce, with his eye twitching: You could come to me instead, you know? Jason: Huh? Why would I? Bruce: *silent scream*

Black Mask, calling urgently at three in the morning: Had you set on the Bat on me? Why he is so obsessed with me recently? Jason, half-asleep on his day off: Man, what? I am confused. Black Mask: You are confused??? I am fucking confused. Why is he hunting me down??? Jason: Bro. I don't give a fuck. I didn't set anyone on, let alone that old man. Deal with your shit yourself. Jason: *hangs on*

Tim, later that week: Am I getting this right, you just threw Roman in the jail, so Jason could annoy you first and not him? Bruce, dusting his hands off: Roman is a deeply unsettling, troubling man, who deserves to rot in prison for things much worse than- Tim: Bruce. Don't bullshit me. Bruce: Fine. Yes. What is the problem? Damian, spawning behind them randomly: There is no problem, except for the fact that you failed to check your data. You are not Todd's second favourite object for bullying. It is grandfather. Bruce: What- Damian: That being said, mother called and asked you to do something. Todd is back at League, trying to fasten Ra's cardiac arrest. She would appreciate some assistance. Bruce, on his last strength: This can't be real. Tim, patting on his back: You will get there... some day. Bruce, exhaling: I am fine. Bruce: Tim: Damian: Bruce, a minute later: RA'S AL GHUL????????????????????????????????????????????????????

[donkoogrr]

Hey, where are my DC x DP people at?

What if Jason came back wrong because the GIW had his little ghost self captured for 6 months?

Imagine it. The warehouse in Ethiopia happens to be on some powerful crossing leylines and a GIW agent is stationed to keep an eye on the area. She sees the Joker and his men. She sees Robin enter the building. Maybe the place is bugged and she even knows what's happening and she realizes... This is their chance. The GIW could get data on a ghost as it forms! This is unprecedented!

So, she waits and watches and records data.

And when the warehouse explodes, when the Batman has come and gone, when the response team has put out the fire... She searches. She finds Robin's ghost as it begins to form. She captures it, the scientific find of the century.

And six months of inhumane, dehumanizing experiments later, the ghost of Robin seems to shred itself as it's ripped violently through all the anti-ecto restraints and containments.

Maybe there's a perfect sphere left behind and Jason doesn't realize that he's missing his core. Maybe the recorded experiment logs are out there, waiting for the right hacker to release them. Maybe Team Phantom rescued the core and are searching for the being it belongs to.

Just some thoughts~

[junaidjee]

What are Advantages and Disadvantages of Data Warehouse

What is data warehouse A data warehouse is a space where structured data is stored, analysed and fetched. The data can be historical data or new data. Small and medium-sized businesses don’t use data warehouses but use cloud-based services for storing data. Big organizations and multinational companies use data warehouses for storing their large data. Suppose a large company uses a data…

[souliebird]

[[and then I met you || Ch. 33]]

Series: Daredevil || Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader || Rating: Explicit

Summary:

A one-night stand years ago gave you a daughter and you are now able to put a name to her father – Matthew Murdock. Everything is about to change again as you navigate trying to integrate your life with that of the handsome and charming blind lawyer’s while Matt realizes he needs to not only protect his new family from Hell's Kitchen, but from the world.

chapter masterlist

Words: 4.4k

ao3 link

|| Trigger Warning: Graphic Descriptions Body Horror & Death Regarding Unnamed Children ||

All your life you have heard that there is a beauty in chaos, and while you do agree with this, you also find there is a beauty in organization. 

You like taking all the chaos and putting it into categories. You like sorting the details and finding the mysteries that need to be unraveled. You think it must be similar to how clever people feel when they solve a riddle or a puzzle, but you aren’t running in circles with philosophical thoughts - you are analyzing what is already available and coming to a conclusion. 

It is still all chaos, because everything is always chaos, but it is organized into a way that makes sense. 

And Matt’s stolen duffel bag, when first unzipped and inspected, was full of chaos. 

You, Foggy, and Karen quickly got to work looking over the different papers and forming different stacks based upon agreed parameters. 

It became clear Matt’s guess that he had found some sort of laboratory was correct. The papers all appeared to be results of different medical tests, though at first glance, the three of you could not decipher for what.

But deciphering wasn’t needed at that moment, so it didn’t matter, and once everything was spread neatly across the dining table, the next step of your beloved process began. 

Foggy gave each pile a designation and then the three of you began labeling each paper in the top corner. 

A1. A2. A3. A4. 

B1. B2. B3. B4. 

All your analyzing would be useless if you couldn’t source your data, and it was quickly clear your little group all shared the same brain cell when it came to this idea.

While you worked at the table, Matt and Jessica sat on the floor by the couches, marking up a map. You caught snippets of the conversation - this bit of evidence was heard in that alley, to get to a certain tunnel system you had to go through such and such warehouse. It was fascinating to know that Matt had memorized nearly every square inch of Hell’s Kitchen - even the parts you didn’t know existed - and it was equally amazing that Jessica knew just as much. 

After hearing them talk, it left you wondering if Frank had the same knowledge, but you would leave that question for another time. He had been assigned to the two thumb drives that had been in the duffel bag. You had furiously taken mental notes as he had grumpily explained to Matt the little devices couldn’t just be plugged into a computer. They could have malware on them or trigger tracking or something equally devious and needed to be inserted into a clean laptop that couldn’t connect to the internet. That way, if the laptop tried to send a signal or became a brick, there would be nothing lost. 

Since neither you nor Matt happened to have a spare laptop laying around, Frank went to go procure one. 

That was about half an hour ago and now you are well into your third Foggy-assigned task - highlighting any identifying information in yellow. There’s nothing easy like names or addresses listed out, but you noticed a pattern for patient labels and have determined there are at least five. 

As you jot down that Patient 031517DVA also appears on page D4 in your notebook, you find you are enjoying yourself. This isn’t exactly what you imagined when Matt talked about inviting everyone over to review what he had found, but you think it is nice. Knowing that Matt isn’t out there running around without any sort of plan soothes your nerves and seeing that he is putting in the time and thought into his next actions makes you trust he knows what he is doing. 

No one wants a shady underground lab in their neighborhood, but you need to make sure they are actually shady first and not some weird fringe group researching an unknown breed of sewer rat.

The effort going into helping Matt with this task makes your fondness of Foggy, Karen, and Frank grow even more - and gives you a fondness for Jessica. Everyone is serious about their task, and extremely thorough, and you want them to see you in the same light. You know this is not a game and you refuse to let your part in the research be the weak link. 

As you go to the next row of numbers to examine, you catch some movement in the corner of your eye. You turn your head and watch with a soft smile as your daughter emerges from Matt’s bedroom, clad in her mouse-onesie pajamas. Her sleep mask is pulled down around her neck and she looks upset, but she’s not crying, so you don’t jump to run to her. You let her make her own decisions as she sleepily looks between you and her father and you can’t help but to mentally crow a bit as she starts shuffling towards you, her little mouse-tail trailing behind her. 

Everyone’s attention is on you as Minnie lifts up her arms to be picked up once she’s within a foot of you. You dutifully scoop her up and put her on your lap, fixing her hood and mouse-ears as you do. 

“Is everything okay, sweetheart? Did something wake you up?”

She nods, then flops herself against your chest, mumbling out, “There’s monsters.” 

You begin to gently rub her back, hoping to soothe her worries as you confirm, “there’s monsters?”

Again, her head bobs up and down before she nuzzles into your neck, trying to hide herself. Across the room, Matt is up and making his way towards you, but it is Foggy who speaks up next. 

“Are they silly monsters or scary monsters?”

You smile at the question as Minnie ponders it - her little lips purse against your neck and you feel her breath against your skin as she silently repeats the words. She decides on ‘scary’ - replying in a timid voice as Matt takes his place behind you, sliding his hands onto your shoulders.

“Do you want me to help you tell them to go away?” you ask, having packed your bottle of Monster Repellent for just this cause. Little fists clutch tightly at your shirt as Mouse shakes her head and you give a soft hum in thought. “Do you want Daddy to go scare them off?”

You are sure Matt would run outside to chase away a stray cat or hungry raccoon if his princess wished for it, but she shakes her head against you, so you guess Matt will be staying inside. 

“How about we make the monsters silly instead of scary?” is Karen’s suggestion, and like the others, it falls flat. 

You consider offering to read some stories, but Matt startles you from your thoughts by sliding his hands down your arms to get to his daughter. He gently urges her to let go of you before transferring her to his arms and bundling her close. She absolutely clings to him, looking so tiny against his broad shoulders.

“I got this,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper before he turns and starts making his way back to the bedroom. As you watch him walk away, he buries his nose into her hood, and he begins to rock with each step. The itty bitty fist you can still see tightens around his t-shirt and your heart yearns to follow your family, but you know this is a Daddy-Daughter moment and you need to stay seated. 

You were worried about Minnie getting scared over sleeping in a new place - there’s so many new and different noises but you trust Matt to help her interpet everything. He’s already done such an amazing job of it in day-to-day life and you know he’ll explain away all her monsters and let her know she is safe. 

Considering the company she is starting to keep she is probably the safest little girl in New York. No monsters would dare to lurk in her shadows less they want to face the wrath of the Devil.

You know that this little group you are becoming a part of would join you in jumping in front of a bullet for your daughter and you are pretty sure even her newest best friend - Max the Dog - would not hesitate to bare his teeth if someone upset her. 

She deserves nothing less and it makes your heart soar that she is so thoroughly adored. 

Now that her research partner is on another important assignment, Jessica gets up off the floor and strolls over to the table, “anything interesting?”

“Maybe if we were scientists instead of lawyers,” Foggy replies warily, dropping his pink highlighter in favor of nursing his beer, “and knew what any of these numbers meant. We’re going to spend all night looking up these test numbers and hoping they are real. I mean, look at this,” he motions to the paper he is currently working on. “What the hell is D22S1045? And why is the result 15?”

Jessica takes one look at the paper before scrunching up her nose and blandly stating, “It’s a DNA marker. Haven’t you ever seen a paternity test?”

Foggy’s face goes slack for a moment before he is huffing, “Not since college when we had to study paternity suits, and they looked nothing like this! They were like dots we had to match, not numbers!” He uses his beer to point to you, “did yours look like this?”

Your cheeks heat up at the question and you duck your head, hating all the attention is on you with such a personal question. “No. No, mine didn’t…we just received a letter with the results. Not the data.”

“So, they are doing DNA and blood tests?” Karen asks, taking over the conversation and directing it back to Jessica. “And comparing them with each other. Could they be looking for relationships between them?” 

“I’m not a fucking doctor,” is the reply she gets, but Jessica picks up the paper to examine it more closely either way. “But none of these match. The numbers have to be the same for a parental match, but that might not be what they are looking for. Just because it looks like a paternity test doesn’t mean it is one. DNA markers are used in a lot of shit.”

“It might not be human,” you add quietly. “Matt said the lab smelled of human blood, but we don’t know that these tests are on humans. There’s no dates on these, so they could be years old.”

Karen whips out her phone and is typing away before you are done talking, “What was that DNA marker, Fog?”

Foggy repeats the string of numbers and letters and you watch Karen’s eyes scan her screen.

“It’s human,” she states after a long, tense moment. The scowl Jessica gives is near legendary.

“Great, so we have a bunch of assholes in abandoned tunnels running tests on people.”

“That sounds both sanitary and humane,” Foggy grumbles before throwing back the rest of his beer. 

“OSHA and FDA approved,” you add sarcastically and that earns you a smile from Karen. She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear before she guides you all back on track.

“We still have no idea what they are looking for, though. This could be cancer research for all we know - we are still at square one.”

“One point five,” Foggy argues, “we confirmed it’s human.”

“We don’t know what the tests are looking for,” Karen repeats, ignoring him, “and I don’t think looking up the significance of each DNA marker is going to do us much good. Can you and Matt go back to the lab and look around?”

As the clear recipient of the question, Jessica huffs then turns away from the table and goes right to the bottle of Macallan Matt keeps on top of his fridge. She pops off the lid, taking a long drink of it before answering. 

“That was the plan, but I’m betting it’s going to be sprayed with bleach after knowing Devil-boy was poking around. It’s not like we will get much, not that there was shit to get beforehand.”

“So, we have no who, no why, and no where,” Foggy points out. “We are doing great.”

The joy you had gotten from trying to organize the chaos of paperwork evaporates and you sink down into your chair a little. Would continuing to highlight and document be useful or was this all for naught? The rational part of your brain told you to keep going, because it was better to have it done and not need it then to need it later and it still be a mess of paperwork.

“We’ve just started, Fog, of course we have nothing,” Karen says, rolling her eyes a bit as she does. “Did you expect them to write their plans in gel pens and leave them lying around?”

“I mean, that would be useful.”

You roll your lip between your teeth, thinking that Karen is right. You don’t have much, and you’ve only just started - of course things look pessimistic. While Karen and Foggy begin to banter back and forth about the use of gel pens in a professional setting and Jessica finishes off Matt’s whisky, you let your mind wander around the facts of the case. 

Someone is out there running medical tests in a gross underground lab, probably trying to hide what they are doing. To do a lot of tests, they probably needed lab equipment, and a few years ago you would have said to follow that trail, but with all the advancements in technology, a machine to run DNA tests on probably only cost a few hundred dollars and was compact enough to move easily. Generators could keep people off the grid and there were enough tunnels under the city that years could be spent exploring them. Everything they would need could be ordered offline, and thus, was untraceable to you.

The only solid clues you had were what Matt had come home with, so you needed to keep digging there and hope that the thumb drives would contain something more useful. 

So, you pick yourself back up, grab your highlighter, and get back to work. 

Soon enough, Foggy and Karen pick their highlighters back up as well, and Jessica takes up a spot on the couch, putting her feet up and getting out her phone to tap at. The mood is much more somber, but you feel the same determination to find answers that is in you coming off of everyone else as well. 

You don’t pay attention to the passage of time, but it is not long after you grab the final stack of papers to comb through that Matt slips out of the bedroom and closes the door behind him. 

He starts towards the dining table only to stop by the couch, tilting his head towards Jessica, “That bottle was a gift from Foggy’s dad.”

“Boo-hoo, cry me a fucking river, Murdock.”

Despite the venom in Jessica’s voice, Matt chuckles and finishes making his way to you. 

His hands once again find your shoulders and he begins rubbing them, digging his thumbs into just the right spot as he begins his Minnie-update.

“Someone with a really nice sound system is having a horror movie marathon. She was actually hearing monsters.”

“My poor baby,” you instantly coo, your heart breaking for your little one. “Did you tell her it was just a movie?”

Matt hums in affirmation, “That doesn’t help with the noise, though. We walked through turning things off and found something to work as white noise. It’s still hard for her to do it with new sounds, especially so tired, but she’s a quick learner.”

“How long did it take you to learn all that stuff,” Foggy asks, interest clear in his eyes. Karen puts her pen down as well so she can get the gossip. 

“I don’t know, years? It didn’t come naturally to me like it does with her - I would train for hours to be able to pinpoint something, but she can do it pretty easily. I mean, she can’t tell me exact distance because she’s four and doesn’t know what that means, but she can point and say if it’s close or far.” You can feel Matt practically puff up with Pride over his baby girl. “She’s learning inorganic versus organic sounds now. She can tell if a loud banging is someone hitting something or if something just fell over. The other day she told me it was the wind making the window shake, because she couldn’t hear any other noises around the window.”

You smile at the story, having a feeling Matt is going to start going on about all the declarations Minnie had made during the storm and you don’t mind at all. 

“So, she’s as good as you?” Karen teases and you know Matt is just beaming.

“Better. She can actually read a sign.”

Foggy barks with laughter while you and Karen have to cover your mouths to not giggle. 

Once it subsides, you tilt your head back so you can look up at your daughter’s oh so loving father, bumping against his abdomen as you do, “is she down?” 

He gives another positive hum, “In a nice deep sleep. Frank’s on his way back up and I wanted her out before he got here.”

You don’t know if that is from Matt wanting to rejoin the group to know what is on the thumb drives or if it is from him not wanting Minnie to get excited over Frank, but you are thankful she’s conked out either way. The thought of her hearing all your discussions about what lurks in the darkness of the city makes your stomach turn. 

She doesn’t need more monsters to imagine. 

You thank Matt while reaching up to rub one of his arms - letting yourself give him a small bit of affection. You ignore the look Karen is giving you in favor of making sure Matt is all caught up.

“I take it you heard everything?”

He sighs deeply through his nose, and you take that as a ‘yes’. He confirms with his words. 

“Human testing with government trained agents isn’t what I was hoping we would find.”

“I was personally hoping for research on the mutant alligators in the sewers,” Foggy says as he gets up to go towards the kitchen, probably for another beer. “You know the ones they flush down the toilets.” 

“That’s a myth, Fog.”

“Look, with everything else that goes on in the world - weird aliens and giant green men - let me believe in my sewer gators, Murdock. They make me happy.”

“With everything that Stark and Roxon dumped in the waters, I wouldn’t be surprised,” Karen muses, resting her chin in her hand, “I mean, Matt got superpowers from something getting in his eyes. If a rat ate something that was contaminated, it could have gotten super senses as well.” 

You raise your brows up at the idea, a smile coming to your face, “a crime fighting rat?”

“A crime fighting rat that is a ninja,” Foggy chimes, a wide grin on his face and it sends you into giggles.

“How would a rat even learn martial arts?” Matt counters, “There’s not a rodent karate school he could spy on.”

“I don’t know Matt, how did you learn ka-ra-te,” Foggy emphasizes the word to make it sound more mystical. “He would learn from a secret ninja rat clan.”

“What the fuck are you guys talking about?” Jessica asks, looking over her shoulder at the dining table, disgust and confusion clear on her face. 

You and Karen erupt into more laughter while Foggy just grins like he won the world cup as he returns to his seat. Matt gives your shoulders a firm squeeze before letting go and pulling away. He disappears into the narrow passage that is his hallway, and you hear the front door open. Heavy boots signal Frank’s reappearance, and when he and Matt come back around the corner, you offer a small smile. 

The Punisher holds up a clunky looking laptop, straight from your middle school years, “Got it.”

“Does that thing even work?” Foggy asks, eyes narrowing in scrutiny. You trust Frank, but the question is valid - if you saw that in a Goodwill, you would doubt it would even turn on. 

“Of course it works,” Frank scoffs as he delivers the device to Karen. She instantly opens it up to get it started. “Old body, new hardware. Got it built just for this type of shit.” 

Foggy’s lips twitch and you wonder if he wants to say something but is holding his tongue. Jessica joins the table as Matt once again returns to standing behind you. His hands find your shoulders like they are drawn to them, and you wonder if he can’t help but want to touch you. It makes you feel special and wanted and your belly stirs with a certain type of warmth. 

Everyone’s focus is on Karen as she works - the laptop boots up and she fiddles with the first thumb drive until it is ready to be inserted. It feels like you all are holding your breath as she finally plugs it in. You expect there to be a password, but apparently there is not, as she just clicks away.

“There’s two files,” she narrates. “One labeled 082616DUK and one labeled 121417BNY.” 

You instantly recognize the first designation and push your notebook towards Karen, trying to not sound eager as you tell her, “The DUK one is in our files. Can we look at that first?” 

Her face lights up at the prospect of a connection and selects the requested file, “There’s five pictures. Hold on, let me bring them u- Oh my God.”

The little color in her face drains as a horrified expression takes over and her hand shoots up to cover her mouth. You and Froggy scramble up out of your seats while Frank and Jessica crowd around Karen to look at the screen. Matt stays where he is, tilting his head just slightly. 

When you see what is in the file, you wish you had stayed under Matt’s hands. 

The neatly severed head of a boy stares back at you with blank milky eyes, sitting on an examine table. His hair has been shaved away and there is an incision line around his skull that makes it clear someone has probably removed his brain. His mouth is open in a silent scream, showing off that he still had his baby teeth and that someone has taken his tongue. 

You want to throw up and you want to turn away, but you can’t. You can’t look away from this poor child who someone has so thoroughly defiled. Who had done this to this boy and why? You wanted to shake them and scream and demand to know what could possibly possess someone to do this to a baby? Because this was someone’s baby - someone’s little boy - and someone had taken him and ruined him. 

You don’t know how she manages it, but Karen brings up the next image and it fills you with just as much disgust and anger. 

It is that of a tiny hand with its fingers forcibly splayed, stuck with pins to keep it that way. The tips are bulbous and round, different to anything you’ve seen on a human before, and between each digit, there was a thin stretch of skin connecting them, much like the webbing of a duck’s foot. Like the head, the hand has been surgically removed from the rest of the body, and it isn’t hard to determine they go to the same person. 

The next image is of the head again but turned to be facing the left and pre-removal of the tongue, as the appendage is pulled and stretched from the mouth with a pair of forceps. The muscle is an odd shade of purple and coated with some sort of liquidy-white residue, but that is not what is unique about it. The boy’s tongue doesn’t just peek out of his mouth - it extends across the table almost three feet, if the tape measurer under it is to be believed. 

You need to turn away after that and to no surprise, Matt is instantly by your side, wrapping you up in his arms and guiding your head to his neck. “He’s just a baby,” you whisper in horror as you cling to him, not understanding how someone could be so cruel. Even if he had died naturally, there was no reason to treat him like that in death. 

“Did they…” Froggy starts, his voice low and quivering and you don’t know if it's from rage or grief, “Did they make him a frog? Did they mix this kid with a fucking frog?”

“No,” Frank replies, not hiding how he is feeling at all. The fury is clear in his voice. “They did it because he was like that.”

“What’s the other file?” Jessica demands and part of you doesn’t want to know. You bury yourself more into Matt and you listen to Karen click away at the track pad. 

Matt’s arms tighten around you and you can’t imagine what he is thinking. No one has said out loud what the images show, and he has not asked - but he must know it isn’t good. He’s gone tense under you, like he’s ready to jump into action and rip someone apart with his hands. 

And you want him to. You want Matt to find whoever did this and make them pay. You want him to punish those who hurt the child in the photos, the people who ran tests on him. 

You want to help Matt find who did this and for him to make sure they can never hurt anyone ever again.

“She’s…she’s got a beak.” Karen says slowly after a few moments, and you can’t bear to look at another autopsy photo. You hide yourself more against Matt, not at all ashamed of your choice.

“She’s Enhanced,” is Jessica’s reply, almost blank with stifled emotion.

“She’s a kid. They are hunting Enhanced kids.” 

“Why?” Foggy questions, sounding wet, like he’s starting to tear up. You don’t blame him in any way. “Why would they do that?”

Under you, the Devil finally speaks, his voice low and eerily calm, “it doesn’t matter why. We are going to find them, and we are going to stop them.” 

---

:) :) :)

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[onlyforsebastianstan]

Better Off Without Me

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: You, a sharp-tongued Avenger, love Bucky Barnes, but his Winter Soldier past haunts him. When he sees you laughing with Steve Rogers, the “perfect” hero, Bucky’s insecurities flare, believing you deserve better.

📎Genre: Angst | Romance | Drama | Hurt/Comfort | Jealousy

⚠️ Warnings:

→ Emotional Content → Mild Violence → Psychological Themes → Mild Language

The Avengers compound buzzed with the quiet hum of post-mission decompression. The air smelled of coffee and antiseptic, a strange mix of home and hospital that clung to the walls after a fight. You leaned against the kitchen counter, a mug of tea cooling in your hands, the warmth doing little to ease the knot in your chest. The mission had been brutal, Hydra stragglers, a collapsed warehouse, too many close calls, but you’d all made it back. Bruised, battered, but alive.

Steve Rogers sat across from you at the table, his sketchpad open, pencil scratching softly as he doodled. His blonde hair caught the late afternoon light, giving him an almost ethereal glow, like the hero posters you’d seen as a kid. He was laughing, recounting a moment from the mission where Sam had tripped over a crate and swore loud enough to wake half the city.

“You should’ve seen his face, Y/N,” Steve chuckled, his blue eyes crinkling. “Like he was personally offended by that box.”

You snorted, the sound escaping before you could stop it. “Oh, I saw it. He’s probably writing a strongly worded letter to that crate as we speak.” Your sarcasm, sharp as ever, drew another laugh from Steve, and for a moment, the weight of the day lifted. You tossed your hair back, grinning, and added, “Bet he’ll challenge it to a duel next.”

The moment felt light, a rare reprieve from the chaos. But then you felt it, a prickle on the back of your neck, like someone was watching. You glanced toward the doorway and saw him. Bucky Barnes, your Bucky, stood there, his broad frame half-hidden in shadow. His metal arm glinted faintly, but it was his eyes that stopped you cold. Stormy blue, clouded with something you couldn’t quite name, pain, maybe, or something heavier.

“Bucky?” you called softly, setting your mug down. “You okay?”

He blinked, as if snapping out of a trance, and forced a tight smile. “Just tired, doll.” His voice was low, rough, like gravel underfoot. He turned and disappeared down the hall before you could press further, his boots echoing faintly.

Your stomach twisted. Bucky had been distant lately, more than usual. The Winter Soldier’s shadow still clung to him, you knew that, knew the nightmares, the guilt, the way he’d wake up gasping, hands clenched like he could still feel blood on them. But this was different. This wasn’t just the ghosts of his past; this was something new, something aimed at you.

Steve noticed too, his pencil pausing. “He’s been through a lot,” he said quietly, always the optimist, always trying to fix what was broken. “Give him time.”

You nodded, but the knot in your chest tightened. Time. You’d given Bucky time, fought alongside him, held him through the worst nights. So why did it feel like he was slipping through your fingers?

The next few days were a slow unraveling. Bucky was a ghost in the compound, slipping in and out of rooms before you could catch him. You’d find traces of him, a half-empty coffee mug, a jacket slung over a chair, but never him. Not really. You tried to keep busy, throwing yourself into work. You and Steve were tasked with analyzing mission data, poring over grainy footage of Hydra’s latest moves. It was tedious, but it kept you grounded, and Steve’s easy camaraderie was a welcome distraction.

“You’re good at this,” Steve said one afternoon, leaning over your shoulder to point at a discrepancy in the footage. “Spotted that faster than I would’ve.”

You smirked, tapping the screen. “That’s because you’re too busy drawing sunsets to notice the bad guys, Rogers.”

He laughed, a warm, rumbling sound, and nudged you playfully. “Hey, art’s my therapy. Don’t knock it.”

You rolled your eyes, but the banter felt good, normal. For a moment, you were just two friends, not soldiers in an endless war. But when you glanced up, you saw Bucky in the doorway again, his jaw tight, eyes fixed on the space between you and Steve. He didn’t say a word, just turned and left, his footsteps heavier this time.

“Damn it,” you muttered under your breath, pushing back from the desk. Steve raised an eyebrow, but you waved him off. “I’ll be back.”

You found Bucky in the training room, the steady thump of his fists against a punching bag echoing like a heartbeat. His shirt was damp with sweat, his hair sticking to his forehead, and the metal arm gleamed with every strike. He didn’t look up as you approached, but you knew he sensed you. He always did.

“Bucky, talk to me,” you said, crossing your arms. “You’ve been avoiding me for days. What’s going on?”

He didn’t stop, his punches landing harder. “Nothing’s going on.”

“Bullshit.” Your voice was sharp, cutting through the rhythm of his hits. “You’re shutting me out, and I want to know why.”

He froze, his fist hovering mid-air, chest heaving. Slowly, he turned to face you, and the look in his eyes made your heart stutter, raw, unguarded, like he was carrying the weight of the world and it was crushing him.

“It’s not you,” he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper. “It’s me.”

You stepped closer, undeterred. “That’s not an answer, Bucky. I’m not some fragile thing you have to protect. Whatever’s eating you, we can face it together.”

His laugh was bitter, hollow. “Together? You think you can fix this?” He gestured vaguely to himself, to the scars on his soul you couldn’t see but knew were there. “You deserve better, Y/N. Someone who’s not… broken.”

Your breath caught, the words slicing deeper than you’d expected. “Don’t do that,” you said, voice shaking. “Don’t decide what I deserve. I chose you, Bucky. You.”

He looked away, jaw clenching, and you saw the flicker of something, guilt, fear, maybe both. “You shouldn’t have,” he muttered, and before you could respond, he grabbed his towel and walked out, leaving you standing alone in the empty gym.

The team dinner that night was supposed to be a reset, a chance to reconnect after the mission’s chaos. The common room was warm, filled with the clink of glasses and Sam’s loud laughter as he recounted another story. You sat between Nat and Wanda, trying to focus on their conversation, but your eyes kept drifting to Bucky. He was at the far end of the table, picking at his food, his expression unreadable.

Steve, ever the leader, stood to make a toast, his glass raised. “To the team,” he said, his voice steady. “And to Y/N, who saved my ass out there today. Couldn’t have done it without you.”

The room erupted in cheers, and you forced a smile, your cheeks warming under the attention. Steve’s grin was genuine, proud, and you couldn’t help but return it, even as you felt Bucky’s gaze on you, heavy and piercing.

When you looked his way, he was already standing, his chair scraping against the floor. “I’m turning in,” he said curtly, not meeting your eyes. He left before anyone could protest, the door swinging shut behind him.

The room fell quiet for a moment, the air thick with unspoken tension. Nat raised an eyebrow at you, but you shook your head, not trusting your voice. Steve started to follow Bucky, but you grabbed his arm.

“Let me,” you said, your tone sharper than intended. Steve hesitated, then nodded, his eyes full of concern.

You found Bucky outside, sitting on a bench overlooking the compound’s grounds. The night was cool, the stars sharp against the sky, and he looked so small, so unlike the soldier you knew. You sat beside him, close but not touching, waiting for him to speak.

“You and Steve,” he said finally, his voice low, almost lost in the breeze. “You looked happy tonight.”

Your heart sank, realization dawning. “Bucky, it’s not like that. Steve’s my friend. You know that.”

He didn’t look at you, his hands clasped tightly in his lap. “He’s everything I’m not. Hero. Leader. Whole. You deserve that, Y/N. Not… this.” He gestured to himself, the metal arm glinting in the moonlight.

Anger flared in your chest, hot and sharp. “Stop it,” you snapped. “You don’t get to tell me what I deserve. I’m here, Bucky. With you. Why can’t you see that?”

He turned to you then, his eyes raw, haunted. “Because every time I look at you with him, I see the life you could have. No blood on his hands, no ghosts in his head. I’m holding you back.”

You reached for him, but he stood, stepping out of reach. “Bucky, please—”

“I need time,” he said, his voice breaking. “I’m sorry.” He walked away, leaving you on the bench, your hands trembling as you fought the urge to scream, to chase him, to make him see.

You didn’t notice Steve watching from the doorway, his expression heavy with guilt. He’d seen the whole thing, and for the first time, he wondered if his presence was doing more harm than good.

The Avengers compound felt colder after that night, like the air itself had absorbed Bucky’s absence. You sat on the bench outside long after he walked away, his dog tags heavy in your pocket, a habit you’d picked up, carrying them like a talisman against the growing distance between you. The stars above mocked you with their stillness, indifferent to the ache in your chest. You wanted to scream, to shake Bucky until he saw himself the way you did, not a monster, not broken, but a man worth fighting for. But his words, “I’m holding you back,” echoed like a curse, and you couldn’t unhear them.

Steve found you later, his silhouette looming in the doorway. “Y/N,” he said softly, his voice carrying that familiar weight of concern. “You okay?”

You laughed, sharp and bitter, wiping at your eyes. “Do I look okay, Rogers?” Your sarcasm was a shield, but it felt flimsy tonight. “He thinks I’m better off with you. You believe that?”

Steve’s jaw tightened, and he sat beside you, keeping a careful distance. “He’s wrong,” he said firmly. “Bucky’s got a lot of demons, but he’s not thinking straight. You’re the best thing in his life, Y/N.”

“Then why’s he running from me?” Your voice cracked, and you hated it, hated the vulnerability that spilled out. Steve reached out, then stopped, his hand hovering like he wasn’t sure you’d welcome it.

“He’s scared,” Steve said finally. “Scared he’ll hurt you, scared he’s not enough. I’ve seen it before, back in the war. He’d push people away when he thought he didn’t deserve them.”

You shook your head, fingers curling around the dog tags. “I’m not giving up on him, Steve. But I don’t know how to make him see.”

Steve’s eyes softened, but there was guilt there too, a shadow you hadn’t noticed before. “Just… don’t let him push you too far,” he said. “You deserve to be happy too.”

You didn’t respond, the weight of his words settling uneasily. Steve’s support was a lifeline, but it stung, knowing his presence was part of why Bucky was pulling away. You stood, brushing off your jeans. “I need to find him,” you said, more to yourself than to Steve, and headed back inside, the night air biting at your heels.

The next week was a slow bleed. Bucky was a phantom, slipping through the compound like he was made of smoke. You’d catch glimpses, his shadow in the gym, his laugh muffled through a wall, but he avoided you with a precision that hurt more than any fight. You threw yourself into training, hoping the physical strain would dull the ache. It didn’t. Every punch you threw at the bag felt like a plea, every dodge in sparring a dodge from the truth: Bucky was slipping away, and you didn’t know how to stop it.

You found him in the training room one evening, the air thick with the scent of sweat and rubber mats. He was alone, his fists pummeling a heavy bag with a rhythm that bordered on frantic. The metal arm moved like a machine, precise and relentless, but his face—God, his face, was a storm of pain, eyes dark and distant. You stood in the doorway, watching, your heart twisting at the sight of him unraveling.

“Bucky,” you said, stepping forward. Your voice was steady, but inside, you were shaking. “We need to talk.”

He didn’t stop, his fists hitting harder, the bag swaying. “Not now, Y/N.”

“Yes, now.” You crossed the room, planting yourself between him and the bag, forcing him to pause. His chest heaved, sweat dripping from his brow, and his eyes met yours, raw and guarded.

“What do you want from me?” he asked, voice low, almost a growl. “I told you, I need time.”

“And I told you that’s not an answer.” Your sarcasm slipped out, sharp as a blade. “You’ve been dodging me for days, Bucky. You don’t get to just walk away and call it ‘time.’ What’s going on with you?”

He stepped back, wiping his face with a towel, his movements jerky. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“Try me.” You took a step closer, refusing to let him retreat. “You said I deserve better, that I’m better off with Steve. Is that what this is? You think I’m pining for Captain Perfect over there?”

His flinch was subtle, but you caught it, and it fueled your anger. “Don’t,” he said, his voice breaking. “Don’t make this about him.”

“Then what is it about?” you snapped, your hands balling into fists. “Because I’m standing here, telling you I want you, and you’re acting like I’m some damsel who needs saving from you. I’m not fragile, Bucky. I chose you.”

He laughed, a hollow, bitter sound that made your stomach lurch. “You chose wrong, doll.” He tossed the towel aside, his eyes blazing with something desperate. “You think you can handle this?” He gestured to himself, to the scars you couldn’t see but knew were there. “I’m a monster, Y/N. A broken machine. You deserve someone whole, someone like him.”

“Stop it!” Your voice echoed in the gym, sharp enough to make him freeze. “You don’t get to decide what I deserve. I’m not some prize to be handed off to Steve because you’re too scared to try. I love you, Bucky. You. Not him.”

His expression crumpled, just for a second, before the walls went back up. “You don’t get it,” he said, quieter now, almost defeated. “Every time I look at you with him, I see what you could have. A life without blood, without nightmares. I’m not enough.”

You reached for him, desperate to close the distance, but he stepped back, shaking his head. “I can’t do this,” he muttered, and before you could stop him, he grabbed his gear and left, the door slamming shut behind him.

You stood there, the silence deafening, your hands trembling as you fought the urge to scream. The dog tags in your pocket felt heavier, a reminder of what you were losing. You sank to the floor, pressing your palms to your eyes, willing the tears to stay down. You weren’t giving up, not yet, but God, it hurt.

Bucky’s absence became a physical thing, a void that followed you through the compound. He started taking solo missions, slipping out without warning, leaving only curt notes in the mission logs. “Recon. Back in 48 hours.” “Hydra lead. Don’t follow.” Each one was a knife, cutting deeper, and you hated how they echoed the notes he used to leave you, scribbled apologies, promises to talk later, always signed with a simple “B.” Once, you’d found a wild daisy tucked into one, a quiet gesture that made your heart ache. Now, there were no flowers, no softness, just cold efficiency.

You confided in Steve one night, sitting in the common room with a bottle of whiskey between you. The amber liquid burned your throat, loosening your tongue. “He’s killing himself out there,” you said, staring at the glass. “And he thinks he’s doing it for me.”

Steve sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Buck’s always been stubborn. He thinks pushing you away keeps you safe. But he’s wrong.”

You snorted, the sarcasm slipping out. “Great, Captain Obvious. Got any advice that isn’t a fortune cookie?”

He gave you a half-smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “I’ll talk to him,” he said. “He listens to me, sometimes.”

“Don’t,” you said quickly, the whiskey making you bold. “You’ll make it worse. He already thinks I’m halfway in love with you.”

Steve’s face fell, guilt flickering across his features. “I never meant to—”

“I know,” you cut him off, softer now. “You’re his brother, Steve. I get it. But every time you’re around, he sees everything he’s not. And I don’t know how to fix that.”

Steve leaned back, his jaw tight. “I’ll back off,” he said quietly. “But you need to fight for him, Y/N. He’s worth it.”

You nodded, but the words felt hollow. You were fighting, but it was like punching water, every effort slipped through, leaving you exhausted.

You didn’t mean to overhear them. It was late, the compound quiet except for the hum of the air system. You were passing Steve’s office, heading to your room, when you heard Bucky’s voice, low and jagged.

“You don’t get to fix this, Steve.” He sounded angry, but there was a tremor beneath it, like he was holding himself together with fraying thread. “You’re the standard I’ll never meet. The hero. The one she should be with.”

You froze, your heart lurching. Steve’s voice came next, calm but firm. “You’re wrong, Buck. Y/N loves you. She’s fighting for you, and you’re pushing her away.”

“She deserves better,” Bucky snapped, and you could hear the clink of his metal arm, like he was gripping something too tight. “You saw her with you, laughing, happy. That’s what she needs, not… this.”

“Bucky, stop,” Steve said, his voice rising. “You’re not a monster. You’re my brother, and you’re enough. But you’ve got to let her in.”

There was a long silence, and you held your breath, waiting for Bucky’s response. When it came, it was barely a whisper, but it broke you all the same. “I can’t. Not when I’m like this.”

Footsteps echoed, and you ducked into a shadowed alcove, your pulse racing. Bucky stormed past, his face a mask of pain, and you pressed a hand to your mouth to stifle a sob. He didn’t see you, didn’t know you’d heard, but his words carved themselves into your heart: I can’t. Not when I’m like this.

You slid down the wall, the dog tags digging into your palm. Steve emerged a moment later, his expression heavy, and when he saw you, he froze. “Y/N…”

“Don’t,” you said, your voice shaking. “Just… don’t.”

He nodded, respecting your space, but the guilt in his eyes was unmistakable. You stayed there, alone in the dark, as the truth settled in: Bucky wasn’t just pulling away, he was letting you go, and you didn’t know if you could pull him back.

The compound was too quiet, the kind of quiet that pressed against your eardrums like a warning. It had been days since you overheard Bucky’s words to Steve “I can’t. Not when I’m like this.” and they haunted you, looping in your mind like a broken record. You carried his dog tags in your pocket, their weight a constant reminder of the man slipping through your fingers. You’d tried to reach him, leaving notes by his door, texting him mission updates laced with pleas to talk, but Bucky was a ghost, disappearing into solo missions with nothing but curt log entries: “Hydra cell. 72 hours.” No flowers, no apologies, just absence.

You threw yourself into work, analyzing data, training until your muscles screamed, anything to drown out the ache. But every night, you’d lie awake, staring at the ceiling, wondering if Bucky was right, maybe you were fighting for something already lost. Your sarcasm, usually a shield, felt brittle now, cracking under the weight of his silence.

Then came the call. A late-night alert from Sam: “Barnes is down. Med bay, now.” Your heart stopped, the world tilting as you ran, boots pounding against the cold tile. Sam met you outside the med bay, his face grim. “He went solo again,” he said, voice low. “Hydra trap. Got him pretty bad.”

“Is he—” You couldn’t finish, the words choking you.

“He’s stable,” Sam said, squeezing your shoulder. “But he’s not in a good place, Y/N. Not just the injuries.”

You nodded, pushing past him into the med bay. The sterile smell hit you first, sharp and clinical, followed by the sight of Bucky on a gurney. His shirt was torn, blood seeping through bandages on his chest and arm. His face was pale, eyes half-open, staring at nothing. The metal arm was scratched, glinting dully under the fluorescent lights. You wanted to scream, to shake him for being so reckless, but you swallowed it down, your hands trembling as you approached.

“Bucky,” you said, voice barely steady. “What the hell were you thinking?”

He blinked slowly, his gaze flickering to you, then away. “Had to be done,” he muttered, voice rough, like he’d swallowed glass. “Hydra doesn’t wait.”

“Neither do I,” you snapped, your sarcasm a thin veil over your fear. “You can’t keep doing this, running off alone like you’re some martyr. You’re not invincible, Bucky.”

He didn’t respond, just closed his eyes, and the silence cut deeper than any blade. You pulled a chair beside him, the metal scraping loudly, and sat, refusing to let him shut you out. “Talk to me,” you said, softer now, pleading. “You’re killing me with this. What’s going on?”

His jaw clenched, and when he spoke, his voice was low, raw. “You know what’s going on. I told you, Y/N. You deserve better than this.” He gestured weakly to himself, to the bandages, the scars, the weight of his past. “Every time I see you with Steve, I see it, a life without my baggage. No blood, no nightmares. Just… happiness.”

Your breath hitched, anger and heartbreak colliding. “You don’t get to decide that for me,” you said, voice shaking. “I’m not some naive girl chasing a fairy tale with Steve. He’s my friend, Bucky. You’re the one I love. Why can’t you see that?”

He looked at you then, his eyes stormy, haunted. “Because I’m not enough,” he said, each word a wound. “I see you laughing with him, and it’s like I’m back in the forties, watching Steve become the hero while I’m just… the guy who falls. I’m holding you back, Y/N. I can’t give you what he can.”

Tears burned your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. “You’re tearing us apart by deciding for me,” you said, leaning closer, your voice fierce. “I don’t want Steve’s life. I want you, nightmares, scars, all of it. Why is that so hard for you to believe?”

He shook his head, a ghost of a smile flickering, sad and broken. “Because I love you too much to let you settle for this.” He reached out, his flesh hand brushing yours, but then he pulled back, wincing as he shifted. “I need to protect you, even if it’s from me.”

You grabbed his hand before he could retreat fully, holding tight. “Don’t you dare,” you said, voice cracking. “Don’t you dare walk away from me, Bucky Barnes. I’ve fought for you, bled for you. You don’t get to throw that away because you’re scared.”

His eyes searched yours, and for a moment, you thought you’d reached him, thought the walls might crumble. But then he pulled his hand free, slow and deliberate, and the coldness in his gaze made your heart plummet. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, and it sounded final, like a door slamming shut.

He turned his head away, and you stood, your chair scraping back, the sound echoing in the sterile room. “You’re a coward,” you said, voice low, venomous. “Not for your past, but for this. For giving up on us.”

You stormed out, the dog tags burning a hole in your pocket, your vision blurring with unshed tears. You didn’t see the way Bucky’s hand clenched into a fist, or the way his breath hitched, like he was fighting not to call you back.

You found yourself in the common room, the whiskey bottle from last week still on the table, half-empty. You poured a glass, the burn grounding you as you sank onto the couch. The dog tags were in your hand now, the metal warm from your grip. You traced his name, James B. Barnes, and wondered when it had all gone so wrong.

Steve found you there, his footsteps hesitant. “Y/N,” he said, pausing when he saw your face. “What happened?”

You laughed, sharp and bitter, the sarcasm slipping out. “Oh, you know, just another day of Bucky deciding I’m better off with Captain Perfect. He’s gone, Steve. Really gone this time.”

Steve sat beside you, his shoulders slumping. “He’s not thinking straight,” he said, but the words felt hollow, like he knew they wouldn’t fix this. “He’s trying to protect you.”

“From what?” you snapped, turning to face him. “From him? From love? I’m so tired of everyone trying to protect me by breaking my heart.” Your voice broke, and you hated it, hated the way Steve’s guilt mirrored your own pain.

“I should’ve stayed out of it,” Steve said quietly, his eyes fixed on the floor. “I saw how he looked at us, and I should’ve backed off. I didn’t mean to make him feel like this.”

You sighed, the fight draining out of you. “It’s not your fault, Steve. You’re his brother. He’s just… lost in his own head.” You held up the dog tags, the chain dangling. “He left these in the med bay. Like he’s cutting me out for good.”

Steve reached out, then stopped, his hand falling back. “He’ll come back,” he said, but it sounded more like a hope than a promise. “He always does.”

You didn’t respond, just stared at the tags, the weight of his absence crushing you. You wanted to believe Steve, wanted to believe Bucky would come back, but the finality in his voice “I’m sorry” echoed louder.

The next morning, you found the note. It was tucked under your door, folded neatly, Bucky’s familiar scrawl on the front: Y/N. Your heart leapt, then sank, as you opened it.

Y/N, I’m sorry for everything. You’re the best thing I ever had, but I’m no good for you. Not like this. Steve’s the kind of man you deserve, someone who can give you a life without shadows. I’m going where I can’t hurt you anymore. Don’t come after me. - B.

A single wild daisy was pressed inside, its petals fragile, a ghost of the gestures he used to make when things were simpler. You clutched the note, the flower crumbling in your shaking hands, and sank to the floor. The tears came now, hot and relentless, as the truth hit: Bucky was gone, and he’d taken your heart with him.

You didn’t know how long you sat there, the note crumpled in your fist, when Steve knocked softly. “Y/N?” His voice was cautious, like he knew what he’d find. He stepped inside, his eyes landing on the note, then the daisy, and his face fell.

“He left,” you said, voice hollow. “He really left.”

Steve knelt beside you, his hand hovering before settling on your shoulder. “I’m so sorry,” he said, and you could hear the guilt, the weight of his role in this mess. “I’ll find him, Y/N. I promise.”

You shook your head, the dog tags clinking in your pocket. “He doesn’t want to be found, Steve. Not by me.”

Steve’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t argue, just sat with you in the silence, the weight of Bucky’s absence filling the room. You wanted to scream, to blame Steve, to blame yourself, but all you could do was hold the note, the daisy’s broken petals a reminder of everything you’d lost.

The days after Bucky’s departure blurred into a haze of grief and defiance. His note “Don’t come after me” sat on your nightstand, the pressed daisy now brittle, its petals curling like a fading memory. You’d read the words so many times they’d burned into your mind, each one a fresh cut. The dog tags stayed in your pocket, a heavy anchor, and every time your fingers brushed them, you saw his face, stormy eyes, broken smile, the man who thought he was saving you by leaving. You wanted to hate him for it, but love was a stubborn thing, rooting deeper with every ache.

You threw yourself into missions, your sarcasm sharper than ever, a blade to keep the pain at bay. The Avengers noticed, Nat’s raised eyebrow, Sam’s gentle nudges, but you brushed them off, claiming you were fine. You weren’t. Every night, you wrote letters to Bucky, unsent, pouring your heart onto pages you’d never send. “You’re an idiot, Barnes,” one began, your pen digging into the paper. “Thinking I’d ever choose Steve over you. Come back, you stubborn bastard, so I can yell at you in person.” The words were half-joke, half-prayer, a way to keep him close when he was God-knows-where.

Steve hovered, his guilt a palpable thing. He’d promised to find Bucky, but you’d told him to stay out of it, your voice sharp: “You’ve done enough, Rogers.” You didn’t mean it, not really, but his presence—his perfect, heroic shadow—still stung, a reminder of why Bucky left. Still, Steve was there, a steady friend, helping you through missions with a quiet understanding that made you feel both grateful and resentful.

Bucky moved like a shadow, drifting through forgotten towns and safehouses, chasing Hydra’s ghosts to outrun his own. He’d left the compound to protect you, to free you from his darkness, but every step away felt like tearing out his own heart. He carried a worn journal, pages filled with unsent letters to you, each one a confession he couldn’t voice. “Thinking of you,” he wrote in one, the words smudged from his grip. “Found a field of daisies today. Picked one, then felt like a fool. You’d laugh at me.” He never sent them, but writing kept you alive in his mind, a light in the void.

He hunted Hydra remnants, taking down safehouses with brutal efficiency, his metal arm a weapon and a curse. In a derelict warehouse, a Hydra scientist sneered, “You’ll never outrun what you’ve done, Soldier.” The words hit like a blade, echoing his fear that he’d never be more than a killer. But then a civilian he’d saved, a young woman with your fire in her eyes, thanked him, her voice trembling. “You didn’t have to help us,” she said. “But you did.” It cracked something in him, a sliver of doubt in his self-loathing.

Wakanda called him back. He arrived under a starlit sky, the air warm and heavy with promise. Shuri scanned his mind, confirming no trigger words remained, but it was Ayo who cut deeper, her voice calm but piercing: “You’re not the Winter Soldier anymore, but you’re not free until you choose to live, James.” They sat by a lake, the water reflecting the stars, and Bucky remembered a night with you, rain-soaked, laughing under a storm, your hand in his. The memory hurt, but it also anchored him, a reminder of what he’d left behind.

One night, in a rundown motel, he found a photo of you tucked in his journal, one he’d stolen from the compound, a candid shot of you laughing, your eyes bright. Not with Steve, but with him, after a rare good day. He stared at it, his thumb tracing your smile, and realized his fear of losing you to Steve was his own demon, not your truth. He wrote another letter, shorter this time: “I was wrong. I’m trying to be better. Wait for me, doll. Please.” He didn’t send it, but he kept the photo close, a spark of hope in the dark.

You became a force on missions, leading with a fire that surprised even Natasha. “You’re scarier than me now,” she teased, but her eyes held respect. You saved a teammate during a raid, pulling them from a collapsing safehouse with seconds to spare, your heart pounding with a realization: you and Bucky were fighting the same demons, proving your worth through action. It made you miss him more, not less, the dog tags a constant reminder of the man you refused to let go.

Your unsent letters piled up, a stack of raw emotion. “You think Steve’s my type?” one read, your sarcasm dripping. “He’s all apple pie and righteousness. I’d rather have your brooding ass any day.” Another was softer, vulnerable: “I see you in every shadow, Bucky. I’m still here, waiting.” Writing was your catharsis, a way to scream into the void without breaking.

Steve was your rock, but it wasn’t easy. During a quiet moment after a mission, he patched a cut on your arm, his touch gentle but heavy with guilt. “You don’t have to do this alone,” he said, his blue eyes searching yours. You almost leaned into him, craving comfort, but pulled back, the dog tags clinking in your pocket. “You’re family, Steve,” you said, voice firm. “But Bucky’s my heart. Don’t blur that line.” He nodded, respecting the boundary, but the moment lingered, a reminder of Bucky’s fears.

One night, you found a mission report Bucky had filed remotely, a brief note in his scrawl: “Target neutralized. Safehouse clear.” Tucked into the digital file was a photo—a single wild daisy, uploaded without context. Your breath caught, recognizing the gesture from the note he’d left, from the flowers he used to leave when things were simpler. It was a sign, faint but real, that he was still thinking of you.

The turning point came during a briefing. Steve shared a story about Bucky from the 1940s, how he’d risked everything to save a squad, his jaw set with the same stubborn love you knew. “He’s always fought for the people he loves,” Steve said, his eyes meeting yours. “Even when it hurts him.” You realized then that Bucky wasn’t just running from you—he was running from himself, and you weren’t going to let him.

You tracked his last known location, a small town in Eastern Europe, using mission logs and Sam’s intel. “You sure about this?” Sam asked, his voice soft. You nodded, clutching the dog tags. “He doesn’t get to decide my future,” you said, your voice steady despite the fear. You wrote one last letter, not to keep but to carry: “I’m coming for you, Bucky. No more running.”

You stood outside the compound, a duffel bag slung over your shoulder, the night air sharp against your skin. Steve was there, his silhouette familiar but heavy with unspoken words. “You’re going after him,” he said, not a question.

“Yeah,” you said, your sarcasm softened by resolve. “Someone’s gotta knock sense into that thick skull of his.”

Steve’s smile was faint, tinged with guilt. “I’m sorry, Y/N. For making this harder.”

You shook your head, the dog tags warm in your hand. “You’re not the problem, Steve. You’re his brother, and I’m grateful for that. But this is between me and Bucky now.”

He nodded, stepping back. “Bring him home,” he said, his voice low. “Both of you.”

You turned, the horizon stretching before you, a mix of fear and hope churning in your chest. Bucky was out there, carrying his own scars, his own letters, and you were done waiting. You’d find him, not to save him, but to fight for the life you both deserved.

The small town in Eastern Europe was a speck on the map, all cobblestone streets and flickering streetlights, the kind of place that felt like it was holding its breath. You’d tracked Bucky here through Sam’s intel and a stubborn refusal to let him go, the dog tags in your pocket a constant pulse against your thigh. Your duffel bag was slung over your shoulder, heavy with the weight of unsent letters, pages of sarcasm, love, and desperation you’d written to keep him close. “I’m coming for you, Bucky,” the last one read, tucked in your jacket, a vow you meant to keep.

The diner was at the edge of town, its neon sign buzzing faintly, casting a warm glow over the dusk. You’d heard whispers, Bucky had been here, helping locals, fixing things quietly, like he could outrun his past by building something new. Your heart pounded as you pushed open the door, the bell jingling softly. The air smelled of coffee and fried onions, and there he was, in a corner booth, his back to the wall, eyes scanning the room like a soldier who never stopped watching.

Bucky looked different, yet achingly the same. His hair was longer, tucked behind his ears, and his jacket was worn, patched at the elbows. The metal arm was hidden under a glove, but his eyes, those stormy blue eyes, were still haunted, though softer now, like the edge of a storm breaking. He froze when he saw you, his coffee mug pausing mid-air, and for a moment, the world stopped, just you and him in a diner at the end of the world.

“Y/N,” he breathed, voice rough, like he hadn’t spoken your name in months. Maybe he hadn’t.

You slid into the booth across from him, dropping your bag with a thud. “You’re a hard man to find, Barnes,” you said, your sarcasm a familiar shield, though your voice trembled. “Thought I’d have to fight a Hydra army to get to you.”

He didn’t smile, but his eyes softened, a flicker of the Bucky you loved. “You shouldn’t be here,” he said, but there was no conviction, just a tired echo of his old refrain.

“Too bad,” you shot back, leaning forward. “You don’t get to tell me where I belong. Not anymore.” You pulled the stack of letters from your bag, dropping them on the table with a soft slap. “These are for you. Been writing them since you left. Figured you’d want to know I’m still pissed.”

His gaze fell to the letters, his fingers twitching like he wanted to reach for them but didn’t trust himself. “Y/N, I—”

“No,” you cut him off, your voice sharp but cracking. “You don’t get to apologize yet. You left, Bucky. You left a damn note and a daisy, like that was enough. Do you know what that did to me?” You pulled the dog tags from your pocket, setting them beside the letters, the metal glinting in the dim light. “I carried these every day, hoping you’d come back. Hoping I wasn’t fighting for nothing.”

His face crumpled, the walls he’d built trembling. “I thought I was protecting you,” he said, voice low, raw. “Every time I saw you with Steve, I saw the life you could have. No blood on his hands, no nightmares waking him up. I thought… I thought I was doing the right thing.”

You laughed, bitter and broken. “Protecting me? By breaking my heart? Real heroic, Bucky.” You pushed the letters closer, your fingers brushing his. “Read them. See what you left behind.”

He hesitated, then opened the top letter, his eyes scanning your words. “You’re an idiot if you think Steve’s my type,” he read silently, a ghost of a smile tugging at his lips. “I’d rather have your brooding ass any day.” His breath hitched, and he looked up, eyes glassy. “You wrote this?”

“Every night,” you said, softer now, the sarcasm fading. “Kept me sane. Kept you close.”

He reached into his jacket, pulling out a worn journal, its pages dog-eared. “I wrote to you too,” he admitted, sliding it across the table. “Never sent them. Didn’t think I had the right.” He opened it to a page, his handwriting jagged but careful. “Found a field of daisies today. Picked one, then felt like a fool. You’d laugh at me.” A pressed daisy fell out, its petals faded but whole, and your heart clenched, remembering the one he’d left with his note.

“You kept daisies,” you said, voice barely a whisper, picking up the fragile flower. “Even after you ran.”

“Couldn’t help it,” he said, his voice breaking. “You’re in everything, Y/N. Every damn thing.”

You leaned forward, your hands shaking. “Then why did you leave? Why’d you let Steve’s shadow make you think you weren’t enough?”

Bucky’s jaw tightened, his eyes dropping to the table. “Because I see him, and I see everything I’m not. He’s the hero, the guy who always does right. I’m the one with blood on my hands, with a past I can’t erase. I thought you deserved that, someone whole.”

You reached across, grabbing his hand, metal and flesh, holding tight. “I don’t want whole, Bucky. I want you. Scars, nightmares, all of it. I’ve been fighting for you since the day we met, and I’m not stopping now.”

His eyes met yours, raw and searching, and for the first time, you saw the walls crack. “I was wrong,” he said, voice thick with emotion. “I thought I was saving you, but I was just… scared. Scared I’d ruin you.”

“You didn’t,” you said, tears spilling now. “But you hurt me, Bucky. You hurt us.”

He stood, moving to your side of the booth, and before you could protest, he pulled you into his arms, his embrace tight, desperate. “I’m done running,” he whispered against your hair, his voice breaking. “I’m so sorry, doll. I’m here now.”

You clung to him, the dog tags pressed between you, the letters scattered on the table. “You better be,” you mumbled into his chest, your sarcasm a faint spark through the tears. “Because I’m not chasing you across the world again.”

He laughed, a shaky, broken sound, and pulled back to look at you, his thumb brushing a tear from your cheek. “I don’t deserve you,” he said, but there was no self-loathing now, just awe.

“You don’t get to decide that,” you said, echoing your words from the med bay, but softer, a promise. “We’re in this together, Bucky. No more running.”

He nodded, his forehead resting against yours, and for the first time in months, you felt whole. The diner faded, the world narrowing to his warmth, his breath, the steady beat of his heart under your hand.

You didn’t see Steve until you were back at the compound, days later, your hand clasped in Bucky’s as you stepped off the quinjet. The journey back had been quiet, filled with small gestures, his thumb tracing circles on your hand, your head on his shoulder, the unsent letters now shared, read aloud in a motel room as you both laughed and cried. The daisy was tucked into your bag, a symbol of what you’d fought for.

Steve was waiting on the tarmac, his silhouette familiar, his expression unreadable until he saw you both. His eyes softened, a faint smile breaking through the guilt that had shadowed him for months. “You found him,” he said, his voice low, warm.

“Damn right I did,” you said, your sarcasm lighter now, a grin tugging at your lips. “Took a whole continent, but I’m stubborn like that.”

Bucky’s hand tightened around yours, and he stepped forward, facing Steve. “I owe you an apology,” he said, his voice steady. “I let my head mess me up, made you the bad guy. You’re my brother, Steve. Always will be.”

Steve’s smile widened, and he clapped Bucky on the shoulder, careful not to linger too long. “You’re enough, Buck,” he said simply. “Always were.”

You felt Bucky’s tension ease, the weight of Steve’s shadow lifting, and you squeezed his hand, a silent reminder: You’re my home. Steve stepped back, his gaze flickering to you, a nod of respect and gratitude. “Take care of each other,” he said, then turned, walking away, his role in your story finally at peace.

Under a starlit sky, you and Bucky stood outside the compound, the air cool, the world quiet. He pulled you close, his lips brushing your forehead, a gesture so soft it made your chest ache. “I’m not going anywhere,” he murmured, his voice a vow. “Not without you.”

You smirked, leaning into him. “Good, because I’m not signing up for another world tour to find you.” But your arms wrapped around him, holding tight, and the dog tags in your pocket felt lighter, like they’d finally found their place.

The future wasn’t certain, Bucky’s nightmares wouldn’t vanish, and your scars, both seen and unseen, would linger. But as you stood there, hand in hand, the stars above felt like witnesses to a promise: you’d face it all together, no more running, no more shadows.

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[arc-misadventures]

Right on Schedule

Jaune looked over a progress report as he was once again was inspecting the walls of, Mantle's newest fortifications. The time graph they had made was displaying good progress the wall. Displaying that for a week, and a half of work, they were well on schedule, even ahead of it in some areas. But, there was a very noticeable dip in the chart from two days ago. A dip that, Jaune didn't like.

Jaune: Hey, Major Skender?

Major Felix Skender, was an officer in the, Atlas Engineer Corp. Jaune had talked to, Major Skender quite often when he came to inspect the wall. He had come to like the fellow. He was a little quirky, though from, Jaune's experience that tended to me a normal habit of anyone into pyrotechnics. Least, Major Skender seemed to be the saner side of things.

At least he hoped he was.

Maj. Skender: Yes, Sir?

Jaune: It's nice to see how things are coming along. I dare say you might be ahead of schedule.

Maj. Skender: Ahh, thank you, Sir! Yes, we are being encouraged by the higher ups to get this completed as soon as we can. That way we can get back to work on the, CC...?!

Jaune's hand shot up silencing, Major Skender instantly. Jaune, gave the, Major a cautionary gaze as he lowered his hand.

Jaune: We do not address it as that. We address it as, General Ironwood's Project, Ironwood's Secret Project, or anthing along those lines. But, we do not say what it is. It is a secret project after all, Major.

Maj. Skender: Yes, Sir. Sorry, Sir.

Jaune: Good, make sure that the other officers are made aware of this as well. There are many who would take great pleasure in derailing the, General's future plans.

Maj. Skender: Understood, Sir.

Jaune: Now then, about this timetable here... What was this dip here you experience two days ago? You were delayed by about half a day, but you've made up for it. Good job on that, Major.

Maj. Skendor: Oh, thank you, Sir!

Jaune: But, nonetheless; what happened here?

Maj. Skender: Two days ago...? Ahh yes, a bunch of, Happy Huntresses came by, and were disturbing the workers.

Jaune: The, Happy Huntresses? What did they do?

Maj. Skender: They were interrogating some of the workers; They were asking them about what weapons we were installing, how long we were taking. Why did it take so long for, General Ironwood to order the reconstruction, and fortification of the walls. Things such as that.

Jaune: Weren't the people of, Mantle already made aware of these things; Why were they asking what should be seen as common knowledge?

Maj. Skender: I'm sorry, Sir, but I do not know why.

Jaune: Hmmm... Very well then...

Jaune handed back the data slate before giving one last look at the construction upon the wall.

Jaune: I will be taking my leave then. Till later, Major.

Maj. Skender: Till later, Sir.

The Major offered, Jaune a salute who returned one in kind. Jaune then made his way down a flight of stairs. As he made away from the wall he pulled out his scroll, and typed out a simple message to, 'Finch.'

"We need to talk."

Jaune quickly put away his scroll as he walked down the many paths of, Mantle interacting with civilians as he went about. He kept walking until he felt a buzz from his pocket, and he checked his scroll, and read the message that he had been sent.

"Okay. Usual spot?"

"On my way."

Jaune quickly made his way towards the downtown area of, Mantle, heading into one of the many empty warehouses in the southern parts of, Mantle.

As, Jaune entered the warehouse, he was met with the familiar sight of, Robyn Hill resting against one of the many empty crates. She pushed herself off the crate as she walked towards, Jaune. An odd smile spread across her face that, Jaune could not quite place as she walked towards him.

Robyn: Hello, Jaune. What is it?

Jaune: Hello, Robyn. I need to ask you about something that happened a couple a days ago.

Robyn: I suppose you're asking about the incident at the wall that happened the other day?

Robyn crossed her arms, and shook her head. Jaune worried that he may have upset her, but her eyes said she was more so disappointed. Was she disappointed in him for not trusting her? No, no she wasn't disappointed in, Jaune. She was disappointed in herself. Herself, and her followers.

Jaune: What happened?

Robyn: Some of my followers... they saw how quickly the wall was repaired. So, they went to the wall, and wanted to know why, General Ironwood was taking so long to order it's reconstruction if it only took three days to do. Since the, Engineers couldn't explain it, the people got angry, and... well they got rowdy.

Jaune: And, the Engineer's had to keep them back so they didn't get too close to the construction site. Otherwise something could have happen to them. Or, worse, one of them could have gotten hurt.

Robyn: Exactlly.

Jaune: So that's why construction was delayed. Since I didn't hear anything about a mass arrest, I suppose it was dealt with peacefully?

Robyn: Yes, two of my cohorts; Fiona, and another member of the. Happy Huntresses, May Marigold came by, and dispersed them. I told them to make sure things like this didn't happen again.

Jaune: They better. The sections getting the new fortifications will have armed guards around them all the time. While I am certain of the, Atlasian Militaries trigger discipline, I wouldn't hold it past, Ironwood to get... itchy fingers.

Robyn: Do you think, General Ironwood would order his troops to open fire on civilians?!

Jaune waved his hand down, placing one on his lips as he looked at, Robyn. Her voiced echoing in the empty warehouse.

Jaune: Your voice carries, Robyn; In more ways than one.

Robyn: I'm sorry... I just... Do you seriously think, General Ironwood would do that?

Jaune looked at, Robyn before turning to look away shaking his head.

Jaune: I not saying he will, but... If he was pushed far enough...

Robyn: Oh... oh no... No wonder you want me on the council; The more I learn about, General Ironwood, the more I understand why you want someone to put a leash on him.

Jaune: Someone has to, and the only person who could is... preoccupied...

Robyn: Preoccupied with what?

Jaune: Uhhh...? A severe case of identity crisis...

Robyn: Really?

Jaune: More, or less...

Jaune didn't want to lie to, Robyn, he wanted to keep her trust in him. But, knowing about Ozpin, and Oscar was a whole bucket of worms that he didn't want to deal with. And, besides, even if she used her semblance on him, he wasn't lying. Technically.

Robyn: ...

Robyn: Very well. Is that it all you wanted to talk about, Jaune?

Jaune: That's it. Is there anything you want from me, Robyn?

Robyn: Uhh... yes there is.

Jaune: Oh, what is it?

Robyn: I was wondering if you wouldn't mind coming to one of my rallies I'm having today?

Jaune: Oh, why so?

Robyn: Several reasons. You've mostly heard about my political policies, and plans from my supporters.

Jaune: I have.

Robyn: Well, I was wondering if you'd like to hear it from the horses mouth. To know what I think of, and how I plan to help the people of, Mantle, and Atlas.

Jaune: And, to have a, Specialist there to... show their... No, to show, Atlas's support for you?

Robyn stopped, and stared at, Jaune. A coy smile appeared across her lips as she pointed a finger at him.

Robyn: You can say that.

Jaune returned her coy smile with one of his own.

Jaune: If anyone asks, just say I'm there to keep the peace. We'll use the incident at the wall the other day as an example.

Robyn: Alright then. Let's do this.

~~~

Jaune had never been at a political rally before. He thought it would involve a lot of wine sipping, and snobbish wealthy people speaking down to people. If this was a political rally run by someone like, Jacques Schnee it would no doubt be like that. But, no, this was more simple, more relatable. It was nice.

Although, Jaune certainly had something to say about her posters.

; Jaune? Jaune!

Jaune: Hmm? Oh, hello, Casey, fancy seeing you here today.

Casey Roll. One of the mothers he often saw when he was leading kids to school, and often was the one who gave him rather large servings of casseroles to him. While he did miss taking those kids to school, he was tired of all the casseroles...

Casey: Hi, Jaune! I haven't seen you lately, what are you doing here?

Jaune: Oh, I'm just here to make sure things go smoothly. We don't want another incident like we had at the wall the other day.

Casey: Oh, I heard about that. People were upset that, General Ironwood didn't order the repairs of the wall sooner if it was only going to take a matter of days to rebuild it. But, luckily he listened to, Robyn Hill so he decided to rebuild the wall, and fortify it!

Jaune smiled, Casey's enthusiasm was infectious, but even more so at the news that his little rumor was spreading so well. He told, Casey's friends about his little white lie, if she was repeating it, then no doubt others were as well.

Casey: So, even though you're here just watching things, are you enjoying yourself?

Jaune: To a point. I'm just inspecting the 'art' right now.

Casey: You mean the, Robyn's political posters.?

Jaune: Yes. The political posters...

Casey: ...

Casey: You hate it don't you?

Jaune: Oh absolutely. This an absolutely the worse design you can make for a political poster. I mean, give me a marker, and five minutes, and boom! Wanted poster!

Casey: ...

Casey: Oh shit... you could do that... How much?

Jaune: Hmmm...?

Jaune: At least ten thousand lien.

Casey: That's fair.

Jaune: I mean, why doesn't she have a slogan, or anything like that? 'Robyn Hill, The Hope of Mantle.' Something simple like that. At least she could be smiling in the photo. Or, is being dead on the inside a natural expression for people from, Atlas, and Mantle?

Casey: Yes.

Jaune stopped staring at, Robyn's picture to give, Casey a concerned look. But, based upon the expression on, Casey's face that she was giving him, she was in fact: dead serious.

Jaune: ...

Casey: ...

Jaune: Noted...

Casey shrugged her shoulders before she let loose a startled gasp as she darted to the side, Jaune looked over to see, Robyn, and a few of her, Happy Huntresses behind her.

Robyn: Hello, Specialist Arc, it's nice to see, General Ironwood's underlings showing some concern with the common people of, Mantle.

Jaune: Hello, Miss Hill. The concerns of, Mantle are also the concerns of, Atlas. So of course, General Ironwood is concerned about the common people of, Atlas. but, in this case, Miss. Hill I am here to keep the peace. We do not wish for another incident from your followers, like we did at the wall the other day.

Robyn: There wouldn't have been an 'incident' if, General Ironwood had rebuilt the wall once it was broken.

Jaune: So you say.

Casey had back away as, Jaune, and Robyn had begun to verbally spare with one another. As soon as she was out of earshot the conversation changed to something that carried a more casual air to it.

Jaune: Putting up a facade for your darling fans?

Robyn: We may be... allies of sorts, Jaune. But, since you are an, Atlasian Specialist, I do have to put up an air of defiance towards you, and by extension, General Ironwood. I'm glad you caught on so quickly, Jaune.

Jaune: It was simple enough to catch on to. I've seen how you act with my fellow, Specialists. So it was easy enough to play the... polite jerk with you.

Robyn: So you did... Well if you'll excuse me, I must address the people of, Mantle.

Jaune: Best of luck then... 'Councilwoman' Hill.

Jaune's comment may have been taken as a teasing jest from, Jaune. As if saying that she will never get a seat on the council. But, Robyn knew from the small smirk that, Jaune gave her was that she had his full support, and hope for her to get that seat on the council. For the good of, Mantle, and Atlas.

~~~

Robyn: Welcome everyone!

A cheer of zeal, and joy abundance echoed through the auditorium as, Robyn stood on the stage, and walked before her supporters. Jaune spared, Robyn a look as she took the stage before his eyes rested on the crowd, and watched them carefully.

Robyn: As many you have seen, Atlas have begun the reconstruction of the walls of, Mantle!

More cheers echoed as, Robyn celebrated the walls reconstruction with her supporters.

Robyn: I know many of you are happy that the people of, Atlas are supporting the people of, Mantle. That they are not only rebuilding the breach in the wall, but also fortifying it! Adding weapons to protect the people of, Mantle from the, Grimm!

Robyn: I know some of you are angry. That this should have been done years ago, that the walls should have been fortified as they will be the day they were built. Or, the fact that when they start firing those guns, it will be rather loud...

The audience laughed at, Robyn's simple remark. But, after hearing that, Jaune made a mental note in the back of his mind that they better inform people when they started test firing the weapon emplacements. He could think of several reasons why people wouldn't like that.

Robyn: But, the people of, Mantle, and Atlas are one people. We may call ourselves, Mantlites, or Atlasians, but at the end of the day, we are one people. One people who should not be fighting each other, but a common enemy: The Grimm.

Jaune could hear murmurs of agreements as, Robyn said those words. The Grimm were the people of, Mantle, and Atlas true enemy. Not each other. Jaune could agree with that, the Gri...?!

Jaune's mind abandoned his previous train of thoughts on, Robyn's word. Something was here, someone was here. Jaune had seen something. A lanky individual, a brown cloak over their head. Jaune recognized that shape. And, if it was who he thought it was, then things were about to get messy...

Jaune drowned out the world as he slowly weaved his way through the crowd. His mind was solely focused on the individual that was moving closer to the stage. Jaune quickly made his way to cut them off, but was careful to make his sure his presence was unnoticed. But, if it was who he feared it was, he knew their attention solely focused on, Robyn.

And, it was, considering they never saw him coming until his cerulean eyes locked in on his crazed yellow eyes.

Jaune: Hello, Tyrian~!

Tyrian: Wha?!

Jaune pulled out his sword, and sent it flying towards, Tyrian's face. People screamed as they ran out of the way, and started to flee the building. Unfortunately, Tyrian was a slippery bastard as he weaved out of the way of, Crocea Mors pristine white blade.

The crowd started screaming as they ran away. Jaune tapped his hip several times before deploying his shield, and taking a defensive stance at the mad scorpion faunas.

Tyrian: Whoa-hahaha! Well, hello again!

Jaune: I would say it's nice to see you again, but that'd be a lie.

Tyrian: Hahaha! Well it's nice to see you again!

Jaune: I doubt that...

Jaune was stalling for time; Jaune's greatest concern wasn't just, Tyrian, but also the civilians here. But, as he was stalling for time, most of the civilians in the auditorium had managed to escape, the only one that remained was, Robyn. She had sent, Fiona, and May off to help evacuate the civilians. With one extra huntresses, the odds were now on his side. But, nonetheless... the odds are never good when fighting a psychopath.

Tyrian: Well, since you spoiled the fun I bes... Whaa?!

Jaune stabbed forward with his sword hoping to catch, Tyrian off guard, but he managed to dodge out of the way, but, Jaune was more focused on keeping him here, and not letting the slippery bastard from getting away.

Jaune swung his sword in an upward arc, before leveling it it to stab at, Tyrian, before pulling back his blade back, deflecting the mad scorpions bladed gauntlets.

Tyrian jumped back before charging forward, and jumping on, Jaune's shield planning to throw him off balance, and take him down. But, just like many others before him, they all underestimated, Jaune's capabilities.

Jaune felt, Tyrian push on his shield, and cackle on as he readied his stinger to stab at, Jaune only for, Jaune to push his arm forward, and send him flying back. He spun in the air before landing on his feet, he let out a maniacal laugh before it was cut short as, Jaune bashed him in the face with his shield.

Jaune thought he was going to have an easier time dealing with this pyshco since his stinger was cut shot by, Ruby. But, evidently he had gotten a prosthetic tail to replace it. That just made him all the more dangerous.

Robyn: Jaune, duck!

Jaune 's body dropped into a squat before quickly standing back up as an crossbow bolt whizzed above him. Tyrian's bladed gauntlets flew through the air as he started knocking down the various blots, Robyn sent flying at him.

Tyrian leapt over, Jaune, and charged, Robyn. Robyn's crossbow changed into a bladed shield as she started crossing blades with, Tyrian. Jaune realized as he ran up towards the pair that, Tyrian wasn't just randomly here, he was here for a reason. He was here to carry out an assassination, and Robyn was the target.

Jaune: Robyn! He's a scorpion faunas! Watch out for his stinger!

Robyn: Got it!

This was the first time, Jaune got to see, Robyn in a fight, and to put it simply; She fought just like her name sake: Like a bird. Robyn's movement were as smooth, and as majestic as a robin in flight. Her skill with her weapon was as precise as a master violinist's. And she was deadly as a hawk on the hunt. It was mesmerizing to see. Almost.

Jaune's eyes weren't looking at the beauty of, Robyn's fighting style . His eyes were only taking in her passively, his attention was solely focused on, Tyrian. And, he saw something he didn't like.

A dark violet glow enveloped, Tyrian's hand as he reached for, Robyn's side. Jaune saw what a lilac field around, Robyn's side disperse, and make a hole on her side. Jaune suddenly realized something that was very, very dangerous.

That glow around, Tyrian's hand was an active sign of him using his semblance. And, Tyrian's semblance was capable of making holes in people auras! It was the perfect semblance for a, Hunter killer.

Jaune: Robyn! Back away from him!

Robyn, jumped back before, Tyrian could land a fatal blow. Tyrian charged her, but before he could he had to dash back as, Crocea Mors came flying past him. Jaune did see this as a dangerous move; Throwing his primary weapon, and leaving him relatively defenseless. But, Robyn's death was an even worse outcome for the future of, Mantle, and Atlas.

Tyrian laughed as, Jaune's sword flew past him, and he swiftly turned on him, and jumped atop of. Jaune. This action caught, Jaune off guard; Jaune had over extended himself allowing, Tyrian to land on top of him. Luckily, Jaune still had his shield on him, but, Tyrian had him pinned to the ground.

Jaune felt his aura being pulled away by, Tyrian's semblance. Jaune quickly activated his own semblance amping up his aura, trying to cover the breach in his wall, but it was too little, too late.

Jaune: AHHH?!

Jaune felt a searing burning pain as, Tyrian's stinger dug into his shoulder, injecting him with his vile poison.

Robyn: NOOO!

Robyn yelled as she fired bolt, after bolt at, Tyrian. But, Robyn had charged in too close to, Tyrian.

Tyrian effortlessly jumped off of, Jaune's prone body, and tackled, Robyn. Pinning her to the ground as his stinger rose into the air.

Tyrian: Ah-HAHAHA! It's my lucky day! Not only do I get to kill an annoying little, Huntsman! But, also the savior of, Mantle! Ah-HAHAHAHA!!!

Robyn's eyes widened in fear as, Tyrian's stinger hanged above his head, ready to dive down, and kill her. Robyn struggled against, Tyrian, trying to free herself from his grasp, but to no avail.

Tyrian laugh maniacally assured of his victory. But, as, Jaune watched, Tyrion prepare to kill, Robyn, he remembered something, something, Pyrrha had said to him years ago, back when she was training him on the roofs of, Beacon Academy, back when things were a simpler, happier time.

Pyrrha: "Remember, Jaune, landing the final blow is when your opponent is most vulnerable."

As Tyrian Laughed in mad glee at his assured victory, his laughter was suddenly cut short as, Jaune wrapped his hands around his head, and growled into the monsters ear.

Jaune: I'm not buried yet!

"SNAP, KER-CRAK!!!"

The sound of, Tyrian's neck snapping echoed throughout the auditorium like a gun shot. It was deafening in it's brutal energy, and the sound of the dull thud as, Jaune threw, Tyrian's wretched corpse off of, Robyn.

Jaune's breath came out heavily as he stared at, Tyrian's corpse, a maniacal smile still etched across his face. Robyn looked at, Jaune with wide eyes, stunned silent as she looked about her savior.

Jaune: But, you will be, you bastard son of a bitch!

Jaune yelled this out, panting heavily as before his body gave out, and he fell down, landing on the ground with a solid thud.

Robyn: Jaune...? Jaune?!

Robyn shouted his name as she ran over to him, cupping his face in her hands as she checked him over.

Robyn: Oh no, nonononono!

The doors to the auditorium burst open as several members of the, Specialist team came rushing in.

Clover: Jaune we got your message, what hap... Jaune?!

Clover, and Harriet ran over to, Jaune while, Marrow, Vine, and Elm kept the crowd out.

Clover: What the hell happened?!

Robyn: That psycho attacked us! He stabbed, Jaune with his tail!

Harriet: What psy...?! Wait, that's, Tyrian Callows?!

Clover: He stabbed, Jaune with his tail?!

Marrow: Fuck, that means he's been poisoned!

Clover: Call for a medevac!

Vine: On it!

Clover then pushed, Robyn out of the way as he looked down at, Jaune ever growing pale face.

Clover: Jaune! Jaune answer me!

He couldn't answer him, his voice had left him.

Clover: Jaune! Look at me! Look at me!

His couldn't look at him, his vision was getting blurry.

Clover: Jaune stay with me! Stay with me, Jaune!

He couldn't stay, he was leaving them.

Winter: JAUNE?!

His world faded into the darkness.

[natsaffection]

Auge um Auge pt. 4 | N.R

Investigator!older!Natasha x Robber!younger! reader

Warnings: 18+! MINORS DNI! Age gap (Natasha is 32 = reader ist 22), gun, angst, oral (r receiving) fingering (r receiving), dirty talking, kinda obsessed Natasha?

Word count: 6,4k

A/n: I was so carried away, I actually wanted to stay overall cute and softness, but well….🙅🏻‍♀️

The light in the tent flickered slightly as Maria sat at her desk, her brow furrowed as she stared at the screen in front of her. The data she was reviewing just didn’t make sense. She opened a new file, checked it again, and bit her bottom lip unconsciously. She stood, grabbed the printed documents, and made her way to Natasha, who was in the middle of discussing a protocol with another investigator. Maria lingered at the edge of the conversation, waiting for Natasha to finish before clearing her throat to get her attention.

“Nat.” Maria said quietly, though her voice carried a serious undertone. “I need to talk to you. It’s important.” Natasha looked up, her eyes narrowing as she noticed the expression on Maria’s face. “Of course.”

Maria hesitated before stepping closer. “It’s about Y/n.” Natasha set down the documents she was holding and crossed her arms. “What about her?”Maria handed her a report. “I did some basic digging on her after you brought her into the tent. Just to make sure she was clean.” Natasha raised an eyebrow, already annoyed. “I didn’t ask you to do that.”

“I know.” Maria replied evenly. “But I thought it could be important. And guess what I found?” She gestured to the report. “She owns a warehouse. A whole warehouse, Nat. And it’s not a normal one. It’s not even officially registered, at least not under her name.” Natasha frowned, taking the paper and scanning the details. “And what exactly is that supposed to prove?”

Maria shrugged, but her eyes were sharp. “It’s suspicious. A young woman who claims she’s hardly ever home and works at a café has a place no one knows about? And she’s paying for it..what? under the table?” Natasha exhaled a frustrated breath, letting the piece of paper fall to the table. “Maria, I get that you’re trying to do your job, but this isn’t evidence. It doesn’t prove anything.”

“Nat!” Maria pressed, her voice harder now, “she told you exactly what you wanted to hear. A girl with a tough background who needs protection. I get it. But you can’t deny something doesn’t add up.” Natasha leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms tighter. “I’ve been in this line of work for years. I’ve got enough experience to tell when someone’s hiding something. And I’m telling you, she’s not a criminal.”

“I know you’re good at what you do, but sometimes feelings can cloud the best instincts.” Maria try’s and is leaning in. “This isn’t that.” Natasha said sharply, leaning forward. Her eyes sparkled with conviction. Maria scoffed quietly. “And the warehouse?”

“Maybe it’s a safe place..!” Natasha countered. “Somewhere she feels secure. There’s no proof she’s doing anything illegal. I’m not going to treat her like a suspect just because she doesn’t fit your mold.” Maria paused, her eyes searching Natasha’s face. “And if you’re wrong?”

Natasha took a deep breath, her voice softer but still firm. “If I’m wrong, I’ll deal with it. But I’ve learned to trust my instincts, and my instincts tell me she’s harmless.” Maria nodded slowly, her gaze heavy. “I hope you’re right, Natasha. I really hope I’m wrong.” Natasha’s tone turned cooler as she gave Maria a pointed look. “Why do you care so much? Is this about the case, or is it…personal?” Maria stared at her, momentarily speechless. “Seriously? You think I’m saying this because I’m jealous?”

“You said it, not m.” Natasha replied with a smug smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “But you’ve been showing a lot of interest in Y/n lately.”

“Natasha.” Maria said sharply, her patience wearing thin. “This isn’t a game. If I’m sure she’s hiding something, it’s because there are signs. Not because I’m jealous.” Natasha took a step back, folding her arms more tightly. “She’s not a suspect, Maria. She has nothing to do with this case.”

“You can’t know that!” Maria shot back firmly. “You’re letting your feelings for her cloud your judgment!” Natasha shook her head, her jaw tense. “I’m not letting my feelings get in the way, Maria. But I know when I can trust someone, and I trust her.” Maria looked at her, her gaze sharp and tinged with sadness. “I hope you’re right, Nat. I really hope I’m wrong. But if I’m right-” She stopped, her voice softening. “I don’t want you to get hurt.”

Natasha didn’t respond immediately, staring at Maria for a long moment. Finally, she picked up the piece of paper from the table, crumpled it, and tossed it into the trash. “Do what you want, Maria. But leave me out of your games.” Maria stood still, watching Natasha for a moment before leaving the room, leaving her alone.

Hours later, Maria was still in the darkness of the tent, the faint light from her screen reflecting on her face. Around her, the tent was nearly empty, most of the investigators had already gone home. But Maria couldn’t pull herself away. The feeling that she was missing something important gnawed at her.

She went over the recorded conversations between The Professor and Lisbon once more. Lisbon’s voice had bothered her from the start..it was soft, almost too uncertain for someone playing such a key role in the operation. Maria hadn’t been able to connect it to a real person yet, but something about you kept nagging at her.

Her fingers flew over the keyboard as she went through your background data again. The unused warehouse, your seemingly aimless lifestyle..it all screamed someone trying to lay low but hiding something significant. Maria couldn’t shake the suspicion. Then she noticed a detail she’d overlooked before. A digital footprint, encrypted communication traced back to a banking network. She compared it to the voice data from Lisbon. Her eyes widened as the match came up. It was undeniable. The voice matched at 90%.

“Holy shit..” Maria murmured, her fingers trembling slightly as she copied the files. The patterns in the data and the voice couldn’t be ignored. You weren’t just an innocent civilian. You were deeply involved in the operation..you were Lisbon. Maria grabbed her phone and dialed Natasha’s number. It rang. And rang. And went to voicemail.

Meanwhile, Natasha sat at a cozy table in an elegant little restaurant. The light was warm and dim, candles flickered on every table, and soft music played in the background. You sat across from her, a shy smile on your lips as you held a glass of wine in your hands.

“Thank you for accepting the invitation.” Natasha said with a gentle smile, watching you closely. “It’s…nice. Thank you.” Natasha took a sip from her own glass, her eyes fixed on you. “I wanted to get to know you better. Away from…everything else.” You laughed softly, your voice nervous. “You mean away from my constant presence at the café?” Natasha grinned. “Nothing against the coffee, but it was getting a little repetitive.”

You glanced briefly at your glass before meeting Natasha’s gaze again. “I’m glad you asked me. It’s been a while since I’ve had a night like this.” But as you spoke, a thought crept into Natasha’s mind: Maria’s words. The conversation earlier in the day had lingered at the edges of her thoughts. The suspicion, the warehouse, the questions..they were like a shadow at the edge of this evening. “Natasha?” your voice pulled her from her thoughts. “Hmm?” Natasha blinked, forcing a smile. “Sorry, I was just distracted for a second.”

“Is everything okay?” you asked, your eyes searching hers. “Yes.” Natasha lied, her smile remaining calm, though inside, she was battling with herself. Why can’t I just let Maria’s words go?

Meanwhile, Maria was relentless. After several failed attempts to reach Natasha, she decided on a different approach. She needed proof, something Natasha couldn’t ignore. Maria combed through the data again and finally found something undeniable: an encrypted login tied to the banking system, linked to your old digital signatures from your days as a hacker. Maria held her breath as she compared the files. Once again, it was clear.

You weren’t just Lisbon. You were one of the key figures behind the entire operation.

Maria opened her messaging app and typed quickly: Nat, call me. It’s important!! Y/n is Lisbon!She attached the files to the message, her heart pounding. She knew Natasha wouldn’t take this lightly, but she needed to know.

You had just leaned back when Natasha’s phone vibrated on the table. Natasha glanced at it, saw Maria’s name flash on the screen, and pushed the phone aside.

“Do you want to get that? It sounds important..” you asked cautiously. “No.” Natasha answered calmly, though her brow furrowed slightly in concern. “You’re more important right now.” But the uneasy feeling lingered. As you reached for your wine glass, Natasha discreetly turned the phone over and read Maria’s message.

Y/n is Lisbon!

The words hit her like a blow. Her hands clenched around the phone so tightly her knuckles turned white. Her eyes skimmed the message again, then the attached evidence: traces in the banking system, signatures that unmistakably linked to your hacker past. The connections were too clear to ignore. Natasha’s body tensed, her heartbeat unsteady, but she forced herself to remain outwardly calm. This can’t be true. No. It can’t be.

She lifted her gaze and looked at you, smiling as you sipped your wine, blissfully unaware of the world crumbling around you. Natasha swallowed hard, sliding the phone into her jacket pocket as she tried to control her breathing. Her thoughts raced. You’ve been lying to me this whole time? Every touch, every smile, every explanation, all lies?

But she couldn’t confront you here. Not now. If you were really Lisbon, you weren’t just a liar, no, you were central to one of the largest heists Natasha had ever investigated. “Is everything okay?” you asked again, your eyes searching hers. Natasha forced a soft smile. “Yeah. Everything’s fine.” You nodded, but you seemed to notice her subtle tension. “Are you sure? You seem…different.”

“It’s just the wine..” Natasha said lightly, raising her glass. She looked directly at you as she spoke, her voice softening, becoming more seductive. “You know, I was thinking we could make the evening a little…more exciting.” Your face reddened slightly, your eyes widening with curiosity. “What do you mean by that?”

Natasha leaned forward, her hand gently resting on yours. “Why don’t we head to the bathroom? Just the two of us. Something…private.” Your heart raced. Scenarios played out in your mind, each one making you more nervous than you cared to admit. The bathroom? Now? You felt your hands trembling slightly but forced a small smile. You nodded, rising from your seat and heading toward the bathroom, your heart pounding wildly. Your thoughts swirled. What’s she doing? Why now? You stepped into the bathroom, closed the door behind you, and looked into the mirror. Your cheeks were flushed, your breathing uneven. “Calm down!” you whispered to yourself. “It’s just Natasha.”

In the hallway, Natasha stood with trembling fingers, her phone still in her hand. Maria’s message was clear and unambiguous. Evidence that tied you to the heist, signatures and traces that pointed to no one else. Her knees felt weak, her heart drummed loudly in her chest. You are Lisbon.

She couldn’t believe it. The girl I let into my life. The girl I…cared for. Disappointment, betrayal, and above all, pain gnawed at her. But she couldn’t let herself be overwhelmed by these emotions now. She had to act. Her hand instinctively moved to the grip of her weapon, her steps slow but deliberate. Yet another thought crept into her mind: What if I’m wrong? What if she has an explanation?

You didn’t notice Natasha until the door softly clicked shut behind her. You turned your head, a small, uncertain smile on your lips, one that immediately vanished when you saw the gun in Natasha’s hand. Your eyes widened, and you froze. “N-Natasha?” you stammered, your voice barely above a whisper.

Natasha held the gun steadily in front of her, her stance firm, her eyes cold. “Hands up.” she said, her tone sharp, carrying a coldness you had never heard from her before. “What…what’s going on?” you asked, your voice shaking as you slowly raised your hands, your heart hammering in your chest. You couldn’t read the expression in her eyes, there was anger, yes, but beneath it was something deeper. Something raw. Pain.

“I said, hands up!” Natasha’s voice thundered in the small room, and your legs felt like they might give out beneath you. You obeyed, tears already welling up in your eyes. “What…what are you doing??” Your voice cracked as you stared at the weapon in her hand. Natasha let out a bitter laugh, though it sounded more like a choked noise. “What am I doing? I’m arresting you Y/n! Or should I say Lisbon?”

Your heart stopped. She knows. It’s over. The Professor’s words echoed in your mind: Stay calm. You’re only caught when there’s no doubt. But how could you stay calm when Natasha, the only person you might truly care about was pointing a loaded gun at you?! Natasha stepped closer, the gun still trained on you. Her eyes shimmered with suppressed tears, but her voice remained icy. “Don’t move. Don’t say a word. You’ve lied enough.”

You shook your head, tears streaming down your face. “I I don’t know what you’re talking about. Natasha, please let-“

“Stop, Y/N!” Natasha’s voice rose, sharper this time. “I have the evidence. Maria sent me everything. Your signature. Your damn warehouse. You used me this whole time, didn’t you?”

“No!” you cried, your voice breaking in panic. “That’s not true! I would never use you!”

“Shut up!” Natasha hissed, her fingers gripping the gun so tightly her knuckles turned white. “I trusted you. I thought…” Her words faltered, and she clenched her jaw, shaking her head. “It was all lies..”You were trembling all over, your thoughts racing. Is this the end? Am I really going to be arrested now? But you forced yourself to remember the Professor’s advice: Wait. Stay in character.

“Please, Natasha..!” you begged, your voice barely above a whisper. “You’re making a mistake. I didn’t play you..!” But Natasha wasn’t the woman you’d come to know over the past weeks. Standing before you now was the agent. Hardened, unrelenting, and unyielding. Yet deep in Natasha’s chest, a different battle raged. I’m pointing a gun at someone I cared for. At someone I..trusted.

Natasha felt her chest tighten as she looked at you, your trembling figure, pale face, and tear-filled eyes. It was like a punch to the gut. How could I have been so wrong? But alongside the anger was something else. A pain that had nothing to do with betrayal. Why does it feel like I’m losing her, even though she’s the one who lied to me? Natasha shook her head, forcing herself to push the emotions away. She couldn’t afford to be weak. Not now.

“Turn around.” she commanded sharply, her voice hard once more. You hesitated, your body shaking so badly you could barely breathe. “Please, Natasha…”

“Turn around, or I’ll turn you around myself.” Natasha snapped. With a strangled sob, you finally obeyed, turning slowly and placing your trembling hands behind your back. Natasha pulled the handcuffs from her pocket, her movements mechanical, almost robotic. The sound of the cuffs clicking into place echoed in the small room, and you felt panic threatening to overwhelm you.

Natasha stepped back, her gun still trained on you. “We’re going to your warehouse now. And you’re going to show me what you’re hiding.” You turned your head slightly, tears streaming down your cheeks. “Natasha, please…this is a misunderstanding.”

“Shut up!” Natasha snapped, her voice breaking. “You had your chance to tell me the truth. It’s too late now.” Your chest rose and fell rapidly, your thoughts racing. I have to convince her. I have to find a way to make her believe me. But the look in Natasha’s eyes made you doubt there was any chance left. Natasha placed a hand on your shoulder, gripping you firmly as she led you toward the bathroom door. Her steps were heavy, and inside her chest, a storm of anger, grief, and disappointment raged. “You had your chance.” Natasha growled, her voice sharp. “Now the facts will speak for themselves.”

The tension in the car was unbearable, like an invisible wall separating you and Natasha. You sat in the passenger seat, your hands still cuffed behind your back, your chest rising and falling in uneven breaths. The only sound was the low hum of the engine. Your thoughts raced, your mind a labyrinth of fear and hope. What if they really search the warehouse? What if the Professor is there right now? But as Natasha turned onto a familiar path, your eyes widened.

That warehouse…? It was the one you had hacked and claimed years ago. A place that had saved you from the cold and homelessness after you had lost everything. Relief washed over you, but tears pricked your eyes. The relief was quickly smothered by another feeling. Natasha’s broken expression. From the corner of your eye, you caught the occasional glance she cast your way. The hardness in her gaze was laced with pain, and it hurt you more than you thought possible.

Natasha abruptly parked in front of the old warehouse, the car tires crunching against the gravel. She got out, walked to the passenger side, and yanked the door open. “Out.” she commanded, her voice sharp, leaving no room for argument. You obeyed shakily, your hands aching from the cuffs behind your back. Natasha grabbed your arm and guided you to the warehouse door, which she kicked open with force.

The darkness inside was oppressive until Natasha raised her gun with one hand and flicked on the light with the other. The room flooded with warm, simple light..and Natasha froze. It wasn’t a hideout filled with plans or stolen riches. It wasn’t a space worthy of a professional thief. Instead, it was a sparsely furnished living space. An old bed in the corner, a small dresser, a makeshift table with a laptop. A tiny heater hummed quietly, and photos hung on the walls, snapshots of a time long gone.

Natasha blinked, her gun still raised, but her hands trembled slightly. “W-What…?” she asked quietly, her voice tinged with confusion. She slowly lowered the weapon, her fingers shaking as she holstered it. Her breathing was unsteady, the reality of the situation hitting her like a dagger to the chest. She was a professional, trained, calm under pressure, yet here she was, a lump in her throat, the weight of her actions nearly knocking her over.

You stood a few steps away, your hands still cuffed, tears glistening in your eyes. Yet your gaze didn’t waver from Natasha, even as your body trembled. “This is…everything?” Natasha asked finally, her voice barely a whisper. You nodded, swallowing hard, trying to hold back the tears threatening to spill. “This is all I have.” you said quietly. “My parents…” You took a shaky breath, your chest rising and falling erratically. “They died a few years ago. A car accident. It was sudden, and I had no one. No money. No family. Nothing.”

Natasha’s eyes widened slightly, and a knot formed in her chest. She had suspected you were hiding something from your past, but this…this she hadn’t expected. “I lived on the streets for months.” you continued, your voice cracking. “It was winter. I was lucky to survive at all. But…I knew I couldn’t keep living like that. So I started hacking. Not to hurt anyone, but to survive.”

Natasha swallowed hard, her throat dry. Hacking to survive. Not to harm. Her hands clenched into fists as your words echoed in her mind. “This warehouse…” You glanced at it briefly before lowering your gaze again. “I hacked it. Bought it illegally. It was the only place I felt safe. Where I didn’t have to be afraid. I didn’t hurt anyone, Natasha. I just…I just wanted to survive.”

Natasha felt her chest tighten as she looked at you your pale face, your pain-filled eyes, and yet you spoke with a calmness that broke her heart even more. She exhaled deeply as your words played over and over in her mind. I cuffed her. I pointed a gun at her. The thought made her heart ache.

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” Natasha finally asked, her voice soft but broken. You looked up, your eyes shimmering with tears. “Because I was scared. Scared you wouldn’t understand. That you’d look at me…the way you’re looking at me now.” Natasha stepped back, as though your words had physically struck her. “That’s not how I see you.” she murmured, but her words felt hollow. But that’s exactly what I’ve done. I treated her like a criminal. Like someone I could never trust.

Natasha took a deep breath, her gaze shifting to the cuffs on your wrists. “Let me take these off.” she said softly, moving toward you. But as she approached, you flinched instinctively, your eyes full of fear. “Y/n..” Natasha whispered, her voice trembling. “I won’t hurt you. I…I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” You shook your head, tears streaming uncontrollably down your face. “You pointed a gun at me..” you whispered. “You treated me like…like a monster.”

Natasha stopped in her tracks, her arms falling to her sides as her heart cracked in two. “I know.” she said quietly, her voice full of guilt. “I know, and I’ll never forgive myself.” The gun she had held earlier now felt like a symbol of all her mistakes. She looked at you, still retreating, your fear a barrier between you. And Natasha couldn’t believe what she had done.

“I…I just wanted to protect you..” Natasha whispered, her eyes glistening with tears. “And instead, I hurt you. I didn’t believe you. I…I ruined everything.” You stared at her, your lips trembling, but you said nothing. Natasha slowly raised her hands, showing you her empty palms. “Please. Let me make it right. Let me take the cuffs off.”

It felt like an eternity, but eventually, you nodded hesitantly. Natasha stepped forward carefully, unlocking the cuffs with trembling fingers. As the cuffs fell to the floor with a click, you stepped back, rubbing your sore wrists. “I’m sorry..” Natasha repeated, her voice cracking. “I don’t know how to fix this, but…I never wanted to hurt you.” You looked at her, your tear-filled eyes softening slightly, but they still held doubt. “I never wanted to hurt you either..” you whispered. Natasha stood frozen, her arms hanging limply at her sides as you sat cautiously on the edge of the bed. You rubbed your reddened wrists in silence.

Natasha wanted to say something, anything to break the tension. But the guilt weighed her down, and every time she looked at you, she felt a sharp pain in her chest. I betrayed her. I treated the one person I wanted to protect like my enemy. “You..you can sit down if you want.” you said suddenly, your voice quiet and uncertain.

Natasha blinked, as if waking from a dream. “I…” She glanced around before slowly lowering herself onto an old chair near the bed. The two of you sat in silence for a long moment. It wasn’t an uncomfortable silence, but the air was still heavy with everything unspoken between you. You were the first to smile faintly, though your eyes were still red. “You know.” you began, your voice soft, with a hint of humor, “this isn’t the first time you’ve treated me like a criminal.” Natasha raised an eyebrow, surprised. “What?”

“The café.” you said, a tiny smile tugging at your lips. “Remember? You looked at me like you wanted to arrest me on the spot.” Natasha felt the corners of her mouth lift into a small, reluctant smile. “Maybe because you seemed so suspicious..” she said softly, her tone slightly teasing. You let out a small, shaky laugh, the first in hours, but it sounded fragile, as though it could break at any moment. “Suspicious? I was just trying to help you. You looked at me like I was public enemy number one.”

Natasha shook her head, letting out a quiet, bitter laugh. “And now I’ve done exactly that. I arrested you.” Your smile faded as you noticed the pain return to her expression. “I’m sorry.” Natasha said suddenly, her voice raw. “I should have trusted you. I should never have treated you that way.” You looked at her, your gaze softening even more, though a trace of caution remained. “You were just doing your job.” you said quietly.

“That’s no excuse.” Natasha replied quickly, her hands balling into fists. “I pointed a gun at you. I cuffed you like you were…” Her voice cracked, and she lowered her gaze. “I hurt you.” You shrugged slightly and gestured to your still-red wrists with a faint smile. “Cuffs. A gun. And an emotional breakdown. Not exactly what I imagined for a date.”

Natasha stared at you, her eyes filled with regret. “I wronged you.” she said quietly. “I didn’t trust you, and I…I treated you like a monster. But you’re not.”You bit your lip, averting your gaze. A part of you felt the weight of her guilt, but you couldn’t ignore that some of what Natasha believed was true. “Maybe I am a monster.” you whispered, your voice trembling. “I’m not innocent. I’m not…who you thought I was.”

“You’re more than you think!” Natasha said immediately, her voice firm. “I’ve seen who you are. Not the person you pretend to be, but the person you truly are.” You wanted to laugh, but you couldn’t. Her words hit you deeply, and you didn’t know if you could accept them. Natasha stood, her movements slow and cautious, as though afraid of pushing you further away. She moved toward the bed and sat beside you, leaving a respectful distance.

“I didn’t want this to end like this..” Natasha said softly. You raised your head, looking at her, your eyes brimming with unshed tears. “It wasn’t just your fault.” you said quietly. “I…I lied to you too. I’m not innocent.”

“Maybe not.” Natasha said gently. “But that doesn’t change how I feel.” The words hung between you, and your chest tightened. You knew Natasha trusted you..or at least wanted to. But the guilt in your heart grew heavier as you thought about the plan.

Natasha lifted a hand cautiously, brushing a strand of hair from your face. Her movements were slow, almost hesitant, as though she feared you would pull away. “I don’t want to lose you.” Natasha whispered, her voice breaking. You looked at her, and before you knew it, you leaned forward slightly. Your lips met hers, tentative and uncertain but filled with emotion. Natasha responded, her hands gently cradling your face as though afraid you might break.

But suddenly, you pulled back, your breathing heavy, guilt and fear swirling in your eyes. “What’s wrong?” Natasha asked, her voice laced with concern. You shook your head, your hands trembling. “I…I can’t do this..” you said softly. “Not without telling you the truth.” Natasha looked at you, her gaze softening. “You don’t have to tell me until you’re ready.” she said gently. “I know you want to trust me. And when you’re ready, I’ll be here.”

Her words struck you deeply, and finally, your tears spilled over. I have to keep the plan going, you thought. But what if it costs me everything? The thought weighed heavily on your heart as you realized the stakes of what lay ahead. But in that moment, all you could feel was Natasha’s warmth beside you. Her touch, her presence, and her unwavering belief in who you truly were.

"You don't know what you're saying." you whispered, your voice breaking. "I do." Natasha said softly, lifting your chin so your eyes met hers. "I'm saying I see you-for everything you are. And I don't want to lose this. I don't want to lose you." You couldn't ignore the guilt and fear clawing at you, but in that moment, all you could feel was Natasha's closeness.

You gazed into her eyes, and before you could stop yourself, you closed the distance and kissed her again. The kiss was tentative, brimming with unspoken emotions, and Natasha responded immediately, her hands gently resting on your waist. She pulled back slightly, her forehead resting against yours as she took a deep breath. "Are you sure?" she asked softly, her voice full of tenderness but tinged with concern.

You nodded, your eyes shimmering as you answered honestly. "I'm not sure about anything." you said. "But I want...I want to be here. With you." Natasha smiled faintly, a genuine, fragile smile, before she kissed you. This time, her movements were less hesitant, filled with a quiet intensity. Her hands slid gently to your hips, pulling you closer until there was no space left between you.

The tension between you grew as Natasha's fingers trailed delicately down your back, her touch sending shivers through you. You let yourself sink back onto the mattress, your hands finding their way to Natasha's waist, pulling her closer. "Is this okay?" Natasha asked again, her voice barely above a whisper as she looked down at you.

You nodded, your chest rising and falling quickly, and you reached for her hand, guiding it to your side. "Yes.." you whispered, your voice trembling slightly. Natasha began slowly, cautiously, her fingers gliding over your sides before gripping the hem of your shirt. She hesitated for a moment, searching your eyes for permission. When you raised your arms to help her, she carefully lifted the fabric over your head and set it aside.

Her gaze roamed your body, but she paused, her fingers brushing gently over your skin. "You're beautiful.." Natasha murmured, her voice shaky but sincere. You felt heat rise to your cheeks, and you turned your head slightly. "Stop.." you mumbled quietly. "No." Natasha said firmly yet softly, leaning down to press delicate kisses along your neck. "I mean it."

Natasha began to lower herself, her lips trailing soft, lingering kisses across your collarbone. Each touch felt like a spark against your skin, sending shivers through your body. Her hands moved to your sides, steadying you as she continued her path downward. When her lips reached the hem of your pants, she paused, glancing up at you. “Is this okay?” she asked softly, her voice filled with care.

“Yes..” you whispered, your cheeks flushing as you nodded. Natasha took her time, peeling your pants away with deliberate slowness, her fingers grazing your skin as she revealed more of you and this made you squirm slightly, your hands instinctively moving to cover your face. Natasha chuckled softly, reaching up to gently pull your hands away. “Don’t hide from me.” she said, her voice firm but kind. “I want to see you.”

As Natasha moved lower, her lips pressing soft, lingering kisses to your hips and thighs, you felt your body tense, your back arching slightly as the sensations overwhelmed you. You hadn’t expected it to feel like this, so intimate, so consuming, and it was hard to stay still. Her hands pressed you gently but firmly back against the mattress, holding you steady as her lips continued their slow descent. She took her time, her touch unhurried but deliberate, her lips and tongue exploring with a precision that left you breathless.

You couldn’t stop the soft sounds that escaped your lips, your hands moving instinctively to her hair as you tried to ground yourself. Natasha didn’t stop, her movements growing more purposeful as she found the places that made you gasp, that made your body tense in ways you couldn’t control.

“Look at me.” she said softly, her voice steady but firm. You opened your eyes, meeting her gaze, and the intensity in her expression made your breath hitch. Natasha’s movements grew more purposeful, and she smiled faintly as she watched the pleasure overtake you again. Her tongue and lips moved with precision, exploring you with a slowness that made your toes curl. Each sound you made only seemed to spur her on, her grip on your hips tightening slightly as she held you in place.

“N-Natasha..” you gasped, your voice trembling as your back arched instinctively. Her tongue found your most sensitive spot, and you couldn't stop the loud moan that escaped your lips, your back arching instinctively. Natasha chuckled softly, her hands moving to grip your hips and press you back against the mattress. "You're not going anywhere.." she mur-mured, her voice tinged with amusement but filled with desire.

Her words only made the tension in your chest grow, and you couldn’t stop the way your fingers tangled in her hair, holding her closer as the pleasure built higher and higher. When you finally reached your peak, a loud cry escaped your lips, your body trembling as waves of pleasure crashed over you. Natasha didn’t stop, her hands holding you steady as she coaxed you through it, her lips pressing soft kisses to your inner thigh as you came down from the high. “That’s it.” she murmured, her voice filled with awe. “You’re incredible.”

She kissed you softly, slowly, her lips brushing against yours with a tenderness that sent shivers down your spine. As she pulled back, her hand gently cupped your cheek, her thumb brushing against clit. “Still with me?” Natasha whispered, her voice low and steady.

You opened your mouth to respond, but all that escaped was a broken, trembling moan. Natasha stilled for a moment, her gaze flickering down to your lips before returning to your eyes. Her lips curved into a faint, knowing smile. “I’ll take that as a yes..” she murmured, her tone carrying a hint of humor, though her voice was thick with desire.

Her words sent a fresh wave of heat coursing through you, and you whimpered, your hands clutching at the fabric of her shirt. Natasha leaned down, pressing a lingering kiss to the corner of your mouth as her other hand slid lower, her fingers moving with deliberate intent. When her fingers slipped inside you, you couldn’t stop the loud moan that escaped your lips, your back arching instinctively off the mattress. Natasha let out a low groan of her own, her gaze flickering downward as her fingers moved deeper.

“God.” she muttered, her voice rough, “you’re so responsive.” and she felt it, the way your walls clenched tightly around her touch. Natasha froze briefly, a soft laugh escaping her lips. “Oh..” she said, her voice tinged with awe and amusement. “You like this, don’t you? The way I’m talking to you?”

You let out another broken moan in response, your body trembling beneath her. Natasha groaned softly, her jaw tightening as she pressed her forehead against yours. “Say something..” she murmured, her voice low and teasing. “Say my name.” But you couldn’t. The pleasure was too much, and all that came out were more desperate, breathless moans. Natasha grinned, her free hand moving to grip your hip and hold you steady as your body squirmed beneath her.

“You’re completely gone..” she whispered, her tone laced with satisfaction. “God, you’re so perfect like this.” Her fingers moved with more purpose now, her thumb brushing against you in a way that made your head spin. Every gasp, every moan that spilled from your lips seemed to affect her just as much as it did you. Natasha’s own breath hitched, and she swallowed hard, trying to keep herself in control.

“You don’t even know what you’re doing to me..” she admitted, her voice rough. “Hearing you like this, feeling you…God, it’s making me crazy.” She glanced down briefly, her gaze fixating on the way her fingers moved inside you, the way your body responded to her touch. Her lips parted slightly, and she let out a soft, involuntary groan. “You’re so perfect.” she muttered, almost to herself. “Absolutely perfect.”

The intensity of her touch, her voice, the way she looked at you..it was all too much. You felt the pleasure building higher and higher, your body trembling uncontrollably beneath her. Natasha noticed immediately, her hand on your hip tightening as her movements grew more deliberate. “That’s it.” she murmured, her voice thick with desire. “Let go for me. Come for me Y/n..”

“F-Fuck..! ”Her words pushed you over the edge, and you cried out, your head tipping back as waves of pleasure crashed over you. Natasha groaned softly as she felt your walls clench tightly around her fingers, her forehead dropping to rest against yours. “Good girl..” she whispered, her voice barely audible as she worked you through the climax. “That’s my good girl.”

Her fingers slowed but didn’t stop, her free hand smoothing over your side as she kissed your temple softly. “You’re incredible.” she murmured, her voice filled with awe. “Do you know that?” As you came down from the high, your chest heaving, Natasha didn’t pull away. Her fingers remained inside you, her movements slow and deliberate as she watched your flushed face.

When it was over, her touch soft and soothing as you lay trembling beneath her. She pulled her hand away gently, her gaze flicking back up to your face. Her cheeks were flushed, her breathing uneven, but her eyes were filled with warmth and something deeper, something that made your chest tighten. “You’re okay?” she asked softly, her thumb brushing against your cheek.

You nodded, though your breath was still shaky, and you couldn’t find the words to respond. Natasha smiled faintly, leaning down to press a lingering kiss to your lips. You buried your face in her shoulder, your body still trembling as her arms wrapped around you, pulling you close. “I…I didn’t know it could feel like that.” you admitted softly, your voice muffled against her skin. Natasha chuckled, her fingers brushing through your hair as she held you tightly. “You deserve to feel like this.” she said firmly. “And I’ll make sure you do. Every single time.”

Her words made your chest ache, and you felt tears prick at the corners of your eyes. “I…I don’t know what to say,” you whispered. “You don’t have to say anything,” Natasha replied, her thumb brushing against your cheek. “Just let me hold you..”

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[maxlarens]

driver!reader and engineer!george spiel:

I can just imagine if driver had a tyre blowout or smth George just becomes so apologetic and feels terrible-

“I’m so sorry I didn’t notice it in the data-“

*driver sighs* “for the a thousandth time, it wasn’t your fault.”

also when driver first moved to the team George had no idea how to comfort them after a bad race, unsure if they wanted space, or just someone to be with them. George decides to keep his distance until one race where driver just sighs and mutters “stay…please.” George’s heart melts and combusts simultaneously at this.

i love this it’s so sweet!!!! hope y'all enjoy!!! i feel so bad for not posting anything recently so i wrote this sooo quickly before i had to get ready for work lol😵‍💫😵‍💫

You know the disqualification wasn’t your fault.

You know that. How could it possibly be your fault anyway? Sure, if you twist it into something utterly unrecognisable you could make it into a personal failing. But you’re trying not to blame yourself for every little thing, and you’re trying hard not to micromanage.

You’re new at Mercedes anyway, you don’t want to come off too strong. Scare them off before they start to really trust you. It's a miracle in and of itself that you're here. A rookie driver, a woman, at Mercedes of all teams. Alongside Lewis Hamilton. You've got Susie and Toto Wolff to thank for that you suppose.

Anyway, you're trying hard not to think about the car just on the other side of the wall. Trying not to grab a tape measure and measure the chassis yourself. Like you'll find anything different than the FIA, like it'll change anything at all.

It's only P8 after all— four points— which is four points you'd have really liked to have to your name. Especially so early on in your rookie season. Toto knows that, had been apologetic on behalf of the team during the debriefing. You'd understood.

You'd tried to understand at least.

He'd said it wouldn't happen again.

Still, it hurts. There this ache in your chest that makes it feel like your hopes and dreams are slipping away through your fingers. This was the first race you felt you'd really begun to prove yourself and your position on this team and now everyone will be able to point to the disqualification and say this is why. She doesn't have the raw skill, it's because of the car—

"There's next week."

You snap your head up, startled at the noise. It's George, in the doorway. You'd not heard him come in, too busy navel-gazing, feeling sorry for yourself. God, you're pathetic.

"Hm", you question, trying not to let on that you're utterly miserable.

"There's next week," he repeats, inching into the room and closing the door gently behind him, "You'll do it again next week."

Your mouth twists involuntarily, skeptical. Even though you know it wasn't you. It was the car, it was some silly mistake from the warehouse. You couldn't have done anything. It just inexplicably feels like the world is crumbling in on you and you can't figure out why.

"You think?"

George nods, expression serious, a little harrowed. But sympathetic, like he understands, like he knows how it feels. You're inclined to believe that he does, he'd not given you a reason to think otherwise in the six odd months you've known him.

"Pretty sure," he says in such a way that you're sure he means 'unequivocally yes', like he believes in you wholeheartedly, like he'd never doubt you.

You're not sure what you've done to deserve that from him. This unwavering loyalty to you that he seems to have already. You just know you feel it too. Inexplicably.

You watch him, long-limbed and slightly out of place, shifting from foot to foot under your stare. He makes a move to leave after a long minute, giving you a cursory nod— you feel something open up in your chest at the thought of him leaving right. Some pit of yearning, some ache that you cant quite place.

"Wait," you say, feeling brave.

His hand falls from the door knob, he turns, tilting his head at you in question. His eyebrows furrowed.

"Would you stay? For a bit?"

He's nodding before you've got the words out, crossing the room to sit next to you on the couch. Not too close, but enough that you can feel the body heat radiating off him, smell him, a little sweaty from being out on the pit-lane, but mostly the smell of his cologne.

"Yeah," he says gently, "Of course, I can."

You nod in thanks, feeling a little exposed, a little vulnerable from your shame, from begging for a friend in him.

"Thank you, George. I just—" don't have anyone else, you don't say, feeling like that might be too far. Instead you let you sentence taper off and sigh, letting some tension leech out of you, "Yeah."

George moves closer, fractionally. Feeling brave again, you lean your head onto his shoulder, hoping he doesn't mind too much. You decide he doesn't when his arm comes around so he can rub little comforting circles into the top of your shoulder.

Slowly but surely, you feel all the anger and the sadness make way for some warm fuzzy feeling in your stomach. From then on, George becomes a regular fixture in your driver's room, especially post-race, especially when you feel like your heart has been stomped on. It's hard to feel like shit when George acts like you're capable of anything.

headcanon: george is a former driver turned engineer!