#still not up on promoting on tumblr so i know i changed it

[ockissweek]

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[natsaffection]

Code Red. pt 4 | N.R

older!Surgeon!Natasha × Younger!Intern!Reader

Warnings: Age gap (N=35, R=24) hospital atmosphere, shooting mention, gun mention, blood, trauma, therapy, alcohol

word count: 12,3k

A/n: Tumblr has a freaking line limit, and I was stressing over it! So please, ignore the weird spacing. I had to mash a lot of things together just so Tumblr would let me upload it 💔

I even had to delete the entire ending and will have to add it in the next part, BECAUSE I RAN OUT OF SPACE

It had been thirty-one days. The hospital had changed since the shooting. There were more protocols. More drills. More doors that required keycards to open. But there were more people, too. New nurses, new faces from other cities, other programs. They’d flooded in like reinforcements when the ICU bled staff, some transferred, some promoted, some…never came back.

You were healed. The dressing had come off your shoulder weeks ago. The bruises were long faded. You walked clipboard under one arm, talking to nurses and humming under your breath when you thought no one was listening. Natasha always listened. She never stopped. “You’re staring again.” Maria murmured beside her at the nurses’ station, sipping coffee like it was a sedative.

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

Natasha shrugged. “Maybe I’m making sure my patient’s follow-up is behaving.”

Maria rolled her eyes. “Your ‘patient’ was cleared for full duty two weeks ago.”

Today, the sun slanted in through the long windows of the atrium. Late afternoon. The lull before the night shift. You were leaning against a column, chart in hand, when you saw Natasha approaching and smiled. “You steal my post-op notes again?”

Natasha’s voice floated, low and teasing, and you didn’t need to turn to know that signature smirk was already in place. You grinned as you looked up from the nurses’ desk. “Maybe I’m just trying to be more like you.”

“Dangerous goal.” Natasha said, resting a hand on the edge of the counter. “You might end up brooding and terrifying.”

You cocked a brow. “And somehow still everyone’s favorite?”

Natasha shrugged. “Can’t help it if I’m charming.”

You laughed, a real one. Loud, open. It earned a glance from a passing nurse, who smiled like they all did now when they saw the two of you in the same room. Like they knew. And why wouldn’t they?

Natasha brought you coffee every morning now, black with a sugar packet she’d roll between her fingers first, just like you liked. She reviewed your charts even when she wasn’t assigned to your service. Left little red pen corrections in the margins with sarcastic smiley faces.

She waited for you after night shifts, even when she wasn’t on-call. Once, she dozed off in the hallway chair with her hoodie pulled over her eyes, and you had smiled like your whole chest couldn’t hold it. Natasha leaned a little closer now, eyes flicking to the notes on your tablet. “You missed a decimal here.”

You sighed. “You’re gonna bring that up forever, aren’t you?”

“Yup.”

You looked up. “You’re a menace.”

Natasha’s lips twitched. “Only to interns I like.”

Something soft passed between you, just a glance, but enough to hold the weight of what you didn’t say. “Hey, Natasha!”

Addison’s voice cut clean through the hum of the nurses’ station. You straightened instinctively, but Natasha didn’t flinch. Addison walked toward you in her signature heels and dark red scrubs, hair tied up in a neat twist. She had that glow about her, the kind that always made people move just a little to the side when she entered a room.

“Montgomery.” she greeted. “Looking terrifyingly awake for a double shift.”

Addison smirked. “Someone’s gotta make up for your brooding.”

Natasha chuckled. “Touché.”

Addison turned to you, and the moment shifted, just a fraction. Your whole posture softened. Your smile went crooked in that familiar, loving way. And when Addison leaned in and pressed a kiss to your lips, it wasn’t careful. It wasn’t hesitant.

It was yours. Natasha looked away politely, just for a second. But her smile didn’t drop. She held it like armor. Addison lingered with her forehead against yours for a heartbeat. “Lunch?”

“I get off in thirty.” you replied, and your voice..God, your voice was happy.

Addison nodded, then turned back to Natasha. “You good for the cardio consult at four?”

“Wouldn’t miss it.”

“Don’t scare the residents too much.”

“No promises.”

Addison laughed, then took your hand and walked off, still talking softly. And Natasha stood perfectly still. Her coffee was still warm in her hand. The smile still played at her lips. She didn’t look after you. Not right away. But when she did, it was just in time to see you glance back over your shoulder, just once. Just a flicker. Your eyes met.

And you smiled. Not the way you smiled at Addison, but soft. And Natasha smiled back. She stood alone at the nurse’s station, a full chart in front of her and absolutely no memory of what she’d just been reading. She exhaled slowly. Then circled something in red ink. A note you wouldn’t read later.

29 days before:

Natasha sits on the edge of a cold plastic chair, one in a loose circle of doctors gathered in a pale conference room. Her hands rest motionless on her knees, fingers interlocked so tightly her knuckles have turned white. People are talking around her, low murmurs of fear, anger, relief, yet each word drifts in and out of her consciousness as if muffled by cotton.

She is aware of the others in fragments: Dr. Chen wringing his hands as he recounts how he froze when the shots rang out; Nurse Bello blinking back tears describing the blood on her shoes. A therapist or counselor is guiding the discussion, voice gentle and measured, asking them to share whatever they can. Natasha hears the question float by “How are you processing this?” but it might as well be directed at someone else. She doesn’t lift her eyes. She doesn’t speak.

All she can see is the memory replaying in an endless loop behind her eyes. The harsh white lights of the OR reflecting on the pooled blood across your abdomen. Her own trembling hands pressed against your sternum, performing compressions in a desperate rhythm. She remembers counting under her breath, one, two, three trying to coax a heartbeat back. The monitor’s alarm screamed a flatline tone, a single, high-pitched note that drowned out rational thought.

Maria’s voice cutting through the chaos: “He will kill everyone in this room!” At the time Natasha had whipped her head around in disbelief. Then she saw it, him, standing just beyond the swinging OR doors, arm outstretched, the black eye of a handgun trained on them. In the group therapy room, Natasha’s jaw tightens imperceptibly. The others’ voices fade completely as the memories flood her. She feels again the paralytic fear that turned her limbs to stone. In the OR, a lifetime ago and only days ago, she had locked eyes with the gunman. His face was a blur behind her tears, but she remembers the cold steadiness of the barrel aimed her way.

Her heart had thundered in her ears. Maria’s voice had come again, strained and barely calm, “Let her go.” Natasha’s arms had gone rigid, her blood-slick hands hovering uselessly above your open chest. She could still feel the warmth of your skin beneath her palms, then the awful absence of it as she lifted her hands away. For a moment in time, Natasha truly believed it was the end. She was certain she was watching you die. The flatline droned on, and your face was so still, too still. The world narrowed to that single point: the space between one heartbeat and the next, a heartbeat that wasn’t coming. And Natasha had let go. At gunpoint, yes, but she let go.

Someone in the therapy circle clears their throat. The sudden sound yanks Natasha back to the present with a jolt. Her lungs burn; she realizes she’s been holding her breath. Across the circle, all eyes are on her now, the facilitator must have asked her something. Natasha quickly drops her gaze to the scuffed linoleum floor. When the session finally ends, chairs scraping as people stand, Natasha slips out without a word. No one stops her. The hallway air feels cooler on her clammy skin. She draws in a long breath, trying to steady the unsteady thumping of her heart. She survived the crisis. You survived. That’s what everyone keeps saying. Yet as Natasha stands alone in the corridor, all she can feel is the hollow ache left by the moment she thought she lost the woman she…

Without conscious thought, Natasha finds her feet carrying her to the ICU. She pauses just outside your room, fingers hovering at the observation window. The blinds are partially drawn, leaving a gap where she can see inside. You lie propped up in the adjustable bed, pale against the white sheets and connected to a forest of IV lines and monitors. The steady beep of the heart monitor is softer here than it was in the OR, but Natasha zeroes in on it immediately, each measured beep a reminder that you are alive. It’s both a comfort and a knife twist of guilt.

She watches from behind the glass, afraid to open the door. Her own reflection faintly overlays the image of you in the bed: disheveled red hair, haunted green eyes rimmed with exhaustion. She barely recognizes herself. Natasha stands there for a long minute, just watching the gentle rise and fall of your chest. The last time she saw you so still, there had been blood everywhere and a flatline threatening to never end. Seeing you breathing now should ease Natasha’s heart, but instead her chest only tightens.

You stir slightly, turning your head. Natasha steps back reflexively, out of view, her pulse jumping. Coward. She presses her back to the corridor wall beside the door, breathing shallowly. Part of her wants to flee before you notice her; she’s not ready to face those eyes, to field the questions you surely have. But another part of her aches just to be near, to reassure herself you are truly okay. That part wins out, albeit shakily.

Natasha slips quietly into the room. The faint scent of antiseptic and the low hum of the oxygen machine greet her. At the sound of the door, your eyes flutter open. They focus slowly on Natasha, and despite everything, one corner of your mouth lifts weakly. “Hey..” comes the whisper, raspy but warm.

“Hey.” Natasha echoes softly. Her voice is caught somewhere in her throat; she clears it and manages a small smile. She steps closer to the bed, stopping just out of arm’s reach. “You’re awake.”

Your eyes search her face. “Wouldn’t miss a chance to see you playing hooky from rounds..” you joke faintly. There’s a spark of humor in you despite the obvious pain it causes to speak. Ever the optimist.

Natasha’s answering chuckle is thin, but it passes for normal. “I’m just checking on a patient.” she replies, trying for lightness. She reaches for the clipboard at the end of the bed, scanning the vitals as a pretext to avoid meeting your gaze directly. Heart rate stable, blood pressure improving. All numbers that mean you are out of immediate danger. Natasha lets out a breath she didn’t know she was holding.

“They said I was pretty out of it after…” you begin, voice halting. “I don’t remember much. Just…pain, and then waking up here.” Your brow furrows as if trying to recall. “What happened? Is everyone-”

“Y/n.” Natasha gently cuts you off. Her heart gives a panicked flutter at the question. She forces a reassuring expression. “It’s okay. Everyone’s okay now.” You’re okay now. She carefully places the clipboard back. “You should rest. Don’t try to talk about it yet.”

You look unconvinced. Your hand twitches on the blanket, like you might reach out. “I heard I… I almost didn’t make it..” you murmur. Vulnerability shades your tone, fear, gratitude, confusion all at once. “They told me you saved my life.”

Natasha’s stomach twists. Heat prickles behind her eyes and she quickly turns her head under the guise of adjusting your IV drip. “The team saved your life.” she corrects softly, almost brusquely. Her own reflection in the dark monitor screen shows the flicker of anguish she’s trying to hide. “I just did my job.”

“But-”

“How’s your pain?” Natasha interrupts, grasping for any safer topic. “Do you need more meds?” It’s cowardly, changing the subject, but she can’t handle your gratitude. Not when she feels like the furthest thing from a hero.

You pause, realizing Natasha’s deflection. A shadow of hurt or worry crosses your expression, but you relent. “I’m okay. Sore… but I’m okay.”

An awkward silence stretches. Natasha forces herself to look at you directly now. The late afternoon light slants through the window, catching the gentle features of your face. You look tired, yes, and fragile in a way Natasha has never seen. But alive. Alive, because Natasha didn’t completely fail. The urge to reach out, to touch your cheek or squeeze your hand, wells up, but Natasha quashes it. She has no right, not with the secret she carries.

“That’s good..” Natasha says, and her voice comes out quieter than she intended. She clears her throat again. “You should get some sleep. I’ll, um, let you rest.” Your eyes flicker with disappointment that Natasha is already leaving, but you nod softly. “You’ll come by later?”

Today:

The cafeteria buzzed with its usual mid-shift chaos, forks clinking, pages fluttering, nurses weaving between tables with half-eaten salads and even less patience. Natasha sat across from Maria at a window-side table, untouched coffee in front of her, one elbow propped lazily on the tabletop as if she were actually listening.

She wasn’t. Her eyes were fixed across the room.

There, near the vending machines, you were laughing. Really laughing, head thrown back, hand on Addison’s shoulder, your scrubs wrinkled in the way that said you’d just come from surgery and hadn’t stopped smiling since. Addison leaned in to whisper something in your ear, and your face lit up like a goddamn sunrise.

Natasha’s jaw tightened. She didn’t even notice she was staring until Maria said her name for the second time. “Nat.”

No response. “Natasha.”

She blinked. “Hm?”

Maria arched a brow, her coffee halfway to her lips. “You heard absolutely none of that, did you?”

Natasha tried to play it off. She leaned back in her chair, flicked her eyes toward Maria. “Sorry. Thinking about the transplant case.”

Maria glanced at the untouched sandwich in front of her, then back at Natasha’s too-still face.

“Bullshit.”

Natasha’s lips curled in a half-hearted smirk. “What, you don’t think I’m committed to the art of liver transfers?”

Maria didn’t smile. She didn’t need to. Her eyes flicked once, subtle, sharp, toward the vending machines. Toward you and Addison. The way Addison’s hand brushed the small of your back. The way you leaned into it without thinking. Then Maria turned back, setting her cup down.

“This is exactly what I warned you about.”

Natasha’s smile faltered, just slightly. “Warned me about what?”

Maria didn’t blink. “Y/n slipping away. And you’re just sitting here watching it happen.”

Natasha forced a laugh, low, bitter. “Y/ns not mine to lose.”

“You were once.” Maria said calmly. “Or you could’ve been.”

Natasha shook her head, more to herself than anyone else. “It wasn’t like that.”

“It was exactly like that.” Maria said, voice still low but firm. “You just didn’t want to admit it. Not when she was lying in a hospital bed, not when she was asking for you every day, not when she looked at you like you were the only thing tethering her to this world.”

“That’s not fair-”

“What’s not fair,” Maria cut in, “is that she kept waiting. For you to do something. And instead, Addison walked in, cracked one joke, and you handed her the space you wouldn’t claim.”

Natasha’s throat worked. She looked down at her cup like maybe it held answers. “She’s happy.” she said after a long beat. “That’s what matters.”

Maria’s voice softened, but not in the way that gave comfort. “Don’t feed me that noble martyr crap.”

Natasha didn’t respond. Not directly. Her gaze drifted again, pulled by instinct, back to you, who were now holding Addison’s hand under the table. Smiling at her like she hung the stars. That smile used to be Natasha’s. Not really. Not officially. But close enough to believe it could’ve been.

“She’s not just happy..” Maria said quietly. “She’s in love. And you…you’re sitting here nursing a coffee you didn’t drink and pretending like it doesn’t feel like a knife every time she kisses someone who isn’t you.”

Natasha laughed once, too sharp. “Maybe I’m just growing.”

“Maybe you’re just scared.”

Natasha looked at her, finally. The smile was gone now. Her eyes weren’t angry, they were tired. “She deserves better than someone who didn’t know how to show up.”

Maria didn’t argue. She just leaned back in her chair, arms crossed, watching her friend crumble in real time.

“You’re still in love with her.” The words hung there. Natasha looked back to the vending machine. Addison kissed your temple. You leaned into her.

And Natasha, very quietly, smiled. “Yeah..” she said.

After that, Natasha walked fast, eyes locked on the tablet in her hand. Lab reports, liver enzymes, graft viability. The transplant consult was already behind schedule, and her attending hadn’t signed off on the pre-op labs yet. She moved like she always did when she had a case on her mind, quick, surgical, with every step meant for something. She turned the corner too sharply. And collided with someone. The tablet jolted, almost slipping from her fingers. She caught it by reflex.

“Shit, sorry-” the voice was familiar before she even looked up. Dr. Derek Shepherd. He steadied himself with one hand against the wall and let out an awkward half-laugh. “Didn’t mean to bodycheck you in your own hospital.”

Natasha blinked, still clutching the tablet. “I’ve had worse.” she muttered, brushing her shoulder. Her voice was calm. Almost too calm. Derek shifted on his feet. “Right. Uh…” He cleared his throat. “I’ve been meaning to..well, I know I already said it, but…I’m sorry. For what happened. For everything.”

She looked at him, expression unreadable. He went on anyway. “I didn’t know he’d come for me. I didn’t expect-”

“I know.” Natasha interrupted, gently. Not unkind, but final. “You don’t have to explain again.”

Derek nodded. “Still. I wasn’t sure if you…still blamed me.”

Natasha hesitated, then shook her head. “No. I blamed the wrong things for a while, but…not anymore.” Her voice was softer now, and maybe that’s what made it more painful. She wasn’t angry..just tired.

A beat passed. Something shifted in Derek’s face. “I’m glad you’re back.” he said honestly. “The OR feels different with you in it again.”

Natasha smiled, a faint curve of her lips. Not the sharp kind. Not sarcastic. Just quiet.

“Thanks.” she said. Derek stepped aside to let her pass. “It’s good…that things are finally normal again.”

Natasha looked at him for a long moment. Something flickered in her expression, something hollow. She nodded once. “Yeah..” she said. “Normal.”

27 days before:

Natasha stepped out of your room with her jaw clenched and her fists shoved deep into the pockets of her hoodie. The blanket you’d been curled under still clung to the ghost of your warmth. You hadn’t woken when she left. You were still sleeping, weak but alive.

She hated how much that still felt like a countdown. She made it halfway down the hallway before the tightness in her throat demanded air. She pushed into the small family break room, empty at this hour, and dropped into a chair at the table near the window. No monitors here. No beeping reminders. Just her and the thick, choking silence.

She sat there breathing too fast, knuckles pressed into her thighs. She could still see it. The scalpel glinting under trauma lights. Blood pooling like rainwater beneath the table.Your chest open. Your body limp. Your lips blue.

“She’s flatlined.”

“Natasha, let go.”

“There’s no rhythm.”

“LET. HER. GO.”

And Maria’s hand on the ECU cable. Unclamping it. Letting the monitor scream flat. She’d waited until she was alone for that. But now? Now the door opened. And the devil walked in wearing a white coat.

“Hey..” Derek said softly, stepping into the room. “I just checked up on her. She’s holding steady, it’s a good sign.”

Still, she said nothing. “She’s strong.” he added, voice gentler. “Stronger than any of us gave her credit for.”

Natasha’s jaw ticked. “She was the only staff member who got hit and survived..” Derek continued. “The others-”

“Don’t.” Natasha said, sharp. “Don’t finish that sentence.”

Derek blinked, taken aback. “I-”

“She almost died.” she said, her voice colder now. “Because of you.”

He froze. “She got shot. Shot! She had a bullet rip through her chest because you had ghosts you didn’t clean up.” Her voice cracked around the edge. “And you weren’t the one who paid for it.”

“Natasha-”

“She coded!” she snapped. “She coded, and they tried to make me let her go. While she still had warmth in her chest. While her blood was still flowing. Maria unclamped the cable so the machine would lie for her!”

Derek’s breath caught. “And you-” her voice dropped, dangerous now, “..you’re the reason he came.”

“I know.”

“No, you don’t.”

“I do, Natasha.”

“She went through hell!” she hissed. “Woke up with a tube jammed between her ribs, no anesthetic, no sedatives. Couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t move and you want to stand here and say she’s strong?”

“I didn’t say-”

“You didn’t have to.” she snapped. “You’re trying to make this easier for you. Trying to feel like this wasn’t your fault. But she almost died because someone wanted you dead. And I’m the one who had to hold her together.”

Derek didn’t speak. “You weren’t there when she whispered she didn’t want to die. When she cried into my chest because the pain was too much. You weren’t there when she told me to stop doing the calm voice, because she knew what it meant.”

Her hands trembled. “I had to choose between letting her die with dignity and slicing her open with a fucking scalpel while she screamed into her sleeve. I had to hurt her to save her. And the whole time, you know what I kept thinking?”

She looked up at him, eyes burning. “Why wasn’t it you instead?” Silence. Derek swallowed hard. “I’m sorry.”

“Good.” Natasha said. “But that doesn’t fix her ribs. Or her lungs. Or the fact that she’s afraid to sleep because the last time she closed her eyes, she died.”

The silence stretched. Then she stood. “I don’t want your apologies. I don’t want your guilt. Just stay the hell away from her.”

And she walked out. She stormed down the hallway, the echo of her own voice still ringing in her ears. Her skin itched with leftover adrenaline. Her fists were clenched. Every step felt too loud. She just needed air..needed out. Her blood was still humming with the weight of what she said and how much of it was true.

She hadn’t meant to say it. She’d meant to keep it all inside. But Derek’s voice..his concern, his gentleness, it scraped against the jagged edge inside her and all the broken things spilled out. She hadn’t planned to scream at him. She hadn’t planned to say she wished he’d been the one bleeding out on the table. But she had. And she hadn’t lied. Her boots hit the linoleum harder now, like her whole body was trying to outrun the shame curling in her throat.

“Nat.”

Maria’s voice, low and sharp. Natasha kept walking. Maria didn’t move. Just grabbed her arm, firm, and pulled her into an empty consult room off the hall. The door shut behind them with a soft click. The silence inside the room was heavy and instant.

Maria stood in front of her, arms crossed, eyes narrowed. “What happened?” Natasha didn’t answer. She moved toward the opposite wall, leaned against it with her jaw tight.

“Talk to me.” Maria said, slower now. “You’re not okay.”

“I never said I was.”

“No..” Maria snapped, “but I can see it.”

Natasha let out a bitter laugh. “You can see it because you’re back in the OR like nothing happened, while I’m still being evaluated like a mental patient.”

Maria’s eyebrows lifted slightly. “There it is.”

“What?”

“The jealousy.”

“Fuck off!”

“No.” Maria said, stepping forward. “Let’s be honest. You’re pissed that I’m cleared and you’re not.”

Natasha turned sharply, eyes flashing. “You think I care about surgical clearance?”

“I think you care that I look like I’m fine. That I’m functioning. That I’m moving on and you’re not.”

Natasha barked a humorless laugh. “You are fine.”

“No..” Maria said, quieter now. “I’m not. I’m just better at hiding it.”

Natasha shook her head. “You didn’t beg them to let you keep holding her heart after she flatlined.”

“No. I was the one who told you to let go.”

That silence hit like a gunshot. Natasha’s hands clenched. “You lied.”

“I protected you.”

“No..” she growled. “You made me think she was gone. You unclamped the damn cable!”

“She was gone, Nat.”

“No, she wasn’t! She was still warm. Her heart was twitching. I felt it. I had her blood under my nails and you wanted me to pretend it was over!”

“I needed you to breathe!” Maria snapped. “You were seconds away from breaking in front of the shooter!”

“Then maybe I should’ve!”

Silence. Natasha’s shoulders dropped. Her voice broke open. “She wasn’t supposed to get hit. It wasn’t supposed to be her. The shooter came for Derek. She got caught in it. And now she..she wakes up crying. She breathes like it hurts. She doesn’t know what happened.” Maria was quiet. Watching her unravel.

“And I’m..” Natasha swallowed. “I don’t know what this is anymore. I’m furious. At you. At him. At me. I keep walking past her room like I’m being dragged back into fire, and then I can’t make myself walk in. I sit at the table and I think if I look at her too long, I’ll snap. I don’t know what the hell is wrong with me.”

Maria stepped closer. Her voice softened just enough. “There’s nothing wrong with you.”

“Then why am I like this?”

Maria didn’t answer right away. So Natasha filled the space herself. Her voice shaking now. “I can’t stop seeing it. Her body open. Her face slack. That second where she died under my hands, and I knew if I let go, she’d be gone. And now? Every time I see her breathing, I want to scream and cry and throw something.”

Her hands were trembling. “I don’t know what I feel.”

Maria looked at her carefully. Then said the one thing Natasha couldn’t bring herself to say: “You love her.”

“That’s none of your business..” Natasha muttered, voice hard.

“It became my business the second I saw her wake up and look around for you.”

That landed. Natasha’s jaw clenched. “She don’t need me there.”

“She wanted you there.”

Natasha said nothing. Maria’s voice dropped lower now. Gentle. Almost sad. “And now you’re not the only one she’s looking for.”

Natasha’s gaze flicked to her. “What?”

Maria hesitated. “Addison.”

Natasha blinked. “The new trauma nurse?”

“She came in with the post-shooting support team.”

“And?”

“She’s been visiting Y/n. A lot..I saw her talking.” Maria continued. “Yesterday. And again this morning.”

Natasha’s throat tightened. “Talking..” she echoed flatly.

Maria’s head tilted. “Laughing.”

Natasha’s jaw ticked. “I don’t know what it is.” Maria said honestly. “But I know it’s new. And I know you’re watching her slip through your fingers while you’re still hiding behind a damn window.”

“I’m not hiding.”

“You’re not showing up either.”

Natasha’s voice cracked. “You don’t get it.”

“I do.” Maria’s voice sharpened. “You’re scared. I know that. You almost lost her. I was in that OR with you, remember? I saw you fall apart in silence. But this..what you’re doing now, it’s not protecting her.”

Natasha’s arms folded tighter. “I don’t know what to say to her.”

“Start with ‘hi.’”

A bitter laugh left Natasha’s throat. Maria stepped closer. “She keeps asking about you.”

Natasha flinched. “She still looks at the door when someone walks in, like she’s hoping it’s you.” Maria said. “But it never is. And now? Addison’s the one walking through it.”

Silence. Maria softened. “Nat, you were the last person she saw before they pushed anesthesia. You were the last person who touched her heart before it stopped. You fought for her when everyone else gave up.”

She paused. “But none of that matters if you don’t show up now.”

Natasha’s fingers dug into her own arms. “I’m not…what if she doesn’t want me like that? What if she’s just grateful, and I’ve been reading it wrong this whole time?”

Maria smiled sadly. “Then find out. But do it before Addison does.”

Today:

The OR was cold, bright, silent, the kind of silence that buzzed just beneath the skin. Natasha stood at the head of the table, eyes locked on the open chest cavity in front of her. Everything else blurred around the edges. She had waited for this. Worked her ass off for it. One month post-shooting. Cleared. Back on the board. And her first transplant in weeks, a complicated arterial graft, high-risk.

And she was in her element. “Retractor.” she said quietly. “Suction to the left. I’m going for the clamp in three.”

She could hear the nurses shifting. Her team moving as one. She barely needed to look up. And then, the door slid open. Natasha didn’t glance up.

“Assistant requested?” came a familiar voice.

Addison... Of course. Natasha didn’t breathe. Just gave the briefest nod. “Welcome to the table.” Addison stepped into her field like she belonged there. She always did. Her gloved hands hovered just inside the sterile line, ready to step in.

“Need a vascular whisperer, huh?” Addison smiled beneath her mask.

Natasha’s lips barely moved. “Wall’s too calcified. Graft line’s tight.”

“Mm. Got it.” Addison leaned in, eyes scanning. “This part’s always delicate. You’re doing great.”

Natasha focused harder on the scalpel in her hand. They worked in tandem, moving without needing more than a word. But Addison? Addison was always the talker. And Natasha should’ve known she wouldn’t stay silent.

“You know.” Addison said softly, conversationally, like they weren’t elbows-deep in someone’s chest, “She told me this was the first surgery she ever watched you do.”

Natasha’s pulse stuttered. She said nothing. Addison kept going. “She said she watched you work like it was watching fire. That you didn’t even look real. I get it now.”

A nurse passed Natasha the graft tool. Her fingers shook, just for a second. “She always speaks so highly of you,.” Addison continued. “It’s cute, really..”

Natasha didn’t answer. Just clamped. “They told me you kept her alive. That you refused to stop even when the odds were nothing.”

“Focus.” Natasha said quietly. “I need to finish the arterial line.”

Addison didn’t flinch. She just softened her voice. “They said you didn’t let her go. Not even when they told you to. I’m…really glad you were there.”

Natasha didn’t respond. Couldn’t. Her eyes were glued to the thread-thin suture she was guiding through tissue and graft. Her jaw was locked. Her shoulders too still. Addison’s voice turned even gentler. “She’s alive because of you. And I get to love her because of you.”

There it was. That last part was a whisper. Almost an offering. And Natasha..She smiled. That tight, too-sharp, I-might-destroy-something smile that never reached her eyes.

“Well.” she murmured. “Glad to be of service.”

Addison smiled too, oblivious or maybe willfully blind. “You’re kind of a miracle worker.”

Natasha didn’t speak. She might’ve thrown the scalpel across the room if it hadn’t still been in her hand. They finished the graft in silence. And when the new heart began to beat beneath her fingertips, strong, steady, she knew it wasn’t the only one still bleeding.

Just the only one allowed to show it. Natasha stood at the scrub sink post-op, letting the hot water scorch her palms. Her gloves were off. Her mask hung from one ear. Her eyes were fixed on the stream of pink-tinged water circling the drain, a mess rinsing clean. Too bad that didn’t work on her chest..The door creaked open behind her. She didn’t look up.

“Hell of a job.” Addison said, her voice smooth as silk and twice as dangerous. Natasha didn’t respond. Just kept scrubbing.

Addison stepped closer, her own mask now gone, red hair tied back, skin glowing from OR lights and a little victory rush.

“You still work like a goddamn machine.” she added, admiring. “Cold hands, warm heart… no pun intended.”

Natasha shot her a look in the mirror. “You coming in here for compliments or to gloat?”

“She talks about you, you know.” Addison said, voice softer now. “Y/n. Not the way I’d expect, given your history. Not with bitterness. Not even anger.”

Natasha’s expression didn’t change, but the pulse in her throat betrayed her. Addison leaned in slightly. “She talks like someone who never really got over something she didn’t let herself want.”

“I was her boss.”

“She was also in your bed.”

Natasha didn’t move. Addison’s smile widened. “One night, right?”

Natasha turned her head. Slowly. “Why are we talking about this?”

“Because I think it matters to you more than you let on.”

The air thickened. “I think..” Addison said, stepping back just a little, enough to feel like a threat pulled away, “you had her. You let her go. And now you can’t stand to see someone else hold what you dropped.”

Natasha laughed under her breath. Dry and dangerous. “You sound awfully smug for someone still checking over their shoulder.”

Addison’s gaze sharpened. “Oh, I’m not worried. She loves me.”

Natasha’s jaw twitched. “That’s new.”

Addison smiled. “No, Natasha. That’s earned.”

The OR was long cleared. The adrenaline had faded. The applause, the soft congratulations, the proud looks from the interns, it was all gone now. And Natasha was alone. The desk in the resident workroom was cluttered with post-op paperwork. Charts, vitals, blood gas reports, transplant summaries. Neatly stacked, just how she liked them. Her pen moved in clean, practiced strokes, her handwriting steady even when her heart wasn’t.

It had taken everything in her to keep still during that surgery. Everything not to shake when Addison leaned closer, asked for the scalpel, and casually said, “She talks about you, you know.” Everything not to respond. Not to react. Not to scream.

Natasha clenched her jaw now, eyes locked on the patient chart, but she wasn’t reading the numbers. Her focus had shifted somewhere quieter. Somewhere painful. The door opened. She didn’t look up. Maria walked in like she belonged there, because she did. Clipboard in one hand, a half-eaten protein bar in the other. Her steps slowed when she saw Natasha still sitting there, back rigid, shoulders squared like she was in an invisible battle.

“I heard you were in the transplant with Addison..” Maria said, soft but pointed. Natasha didn’t answer. Maria stepped closer, leaned against the desk. “How’d it go?”

The question hung between them. Natasha took her time placing her pen down, folding the chart closed with perfect care. She adjusted the edge until it aligned exactly with the stack beneath it. Her hand stayed on the file for a second longer than necessary. Then, finally, she looked up. Her eyes were bloodshot, but dry. Her voice was even, but low.

“You were right.” Natasha said. Maria tilted her head. “About what?”

“I lost her.”

The words didn’t slam out, they fell, heavy and quiet, like a knife dropped onto concrete. Maria’s breath hitched, just slightly. She didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Just let Natasha keep going.

“I kept telling myself there’d be time..” Natasha said, eyes unfocused. “That I’d wait until she was better. Stronger. Until I was cleared. Until I wasn’t a mess.”

A bitter smile tugged at her lips. “But Addison didn’t wait.”

Silence. “I watched her put her hand on her shoulder in the scrub room last week. Like it meant something. Like she belonged there.” Natasha exhaled slowly, like the admission physically hurt. “And maybe she does.”

Maria’s voice was quiet. “She only got in because you never tried.”

Natasha let her head fall back slightly, eyes flicking to the ceiling. “I was scared.”

“Of what?”

“Of being the person who loved someone and didn’t know how to keep them!”

Maria took a step forward. “Nat-”

“I thought if I stayed quiet, if I kept my distance, it would make everything easier.”

She laughed under her breath. “It didn’t.”

Maria didn’t say I told you so. She didn’t need to. She just stood there, watching the strongest woman she knew finally let the truth settle into her bones. Natasha pressed her palms flat to the desk, bracing herself. Her voice dropped to a whisper. “She looked so happy today.”

Maria said gently, “Would you rather she wasn’t?”

Natasha closed her eyes. “No. God, no.”

Her jaw trembled. “I just wish it was me.”

Silence wrapped around them again, not cruel, but raw. Maria reached over, placed a steady hand on Natasha’s shoulder. “She’s not gone. You didn’t lose her like that. You just…let her slip through your fingers.”

Natasha didn’t flinch. “She was in your hands once, Nat. Heart in your hands. And now someone else is holding it.” The chart beneath her hand still bore your name in neat black ink. Natasha stared at it. And didn’t move.

24 days before:

Natasha sat stiffly in the therapist’s office chair, arms crossed tightly over her chest. The small room felt too warm, too close, but her posture remained impeccably controlled. She answered the therapist’s gentle questions with clipped, clinical precision.

“I’m fine.” she said for the third time, her voice cool and even. “It was an unfortunate incident, but I’m ready to get back to work.”

The hospital trauma therapist , a middle-aged woman with kind eyes and a soft voice nodded patiently, pen hovering over a notepad. “You went through a lot, Dr. Romanoff.” the therapist said quietly. “It’s okay if you’re not completely fine. Let’s talk about what happened in that OR.”

At the mention of the OR, Natasha’s jaw tightened. Her mind immediately pushed back against the memory threatening to surface, your blood on her gloves, the flatline tone screaming in her ears, the cold muzzle of a gun at her temple. She forced those images down, focusing instead on the steady tick of the clock on the wall.

“There’s nothing to talk about.” Natasha replied, forcing a shrug. The effect was meant to be nonchalant, but her shoulders felt rigid. “My patient is alive. I did my job. End of story.”

Her tone was measured, almost detached. Only the slight tremor in her fingers, hidden as she clasped her hands in her lap, hinted at anything beneath the cool exterior. She was determined to keep it that way. Years of training taught her how to lock away fear and pain behind a steel wall of professionalism. She wasn’t about to let it crack now. The therapist offered a sympathetic smile. “Natasha…may I call you Natasha?”

A curt nod was the only answer she got. “Natasha, you performed CPR on her for nearly 4 minutes. You were still doing compressions when the shooter came in and forced you to stop at gunpoint.”

Natasha’s stomach clenched at the calm description of that horrific moment. She fixed her gaze on a spot on the floor, willing her face to remain impassive. The therapist continued gently, “That is a tremendous amount of trauma for anyone to process, especially when the person on that table is someone you…” she paused, “care about.”

For a split second, Natasha’s eyes squeezed shut, a flash of pain breaking through. Care about. The phrase was such an understatement it was almost laughable. But when Natasha opened her eyes again, they were cold, guarded.

“With respect.” she said sharply, “I don’t need a counseling session to tell me what I already know. I saved her life. It was traumatic, sure, but I’ve seen traumatic things before. I’m trained for this.”

Her words came out harder than intended, a defensive edge creeping in. The therapist leaned forward slightly, unfazed by Natasha’s icy tone. “You’re trained to handle medical emergencies, yes. But this wasn’t just any emergency. This was someone you love in danger.”

Natasha flinched at the word love and quickly masked it by sitting up even straighter. She bit the inside of her cheek until she tasted blood, using the sharp pain to ground herself.

“It’s my job to handle it.” she replied, voice brittle. “And I handled it. She’s alive. I’m fine.”

The repetition of that phrase..I’m fine sounded hollow even to her own ears, and she hated it. She hated that her emotions were threatening to surface here, in this sterile room under the scrutiny of a stranger’s empathy. The therapist made a note on her pad, then looked back at Natasha, her expression gentle but firm. “I understand why you’d want to move on quickly. But the hospital requires clearance after an incident like this. I need to be sure you’re really ready. Right now, it sounds like you’re avoiding the feelings this brought up.”

Natasha’s temper, usually so carefully controlled, flickered at that. “Avoiding?” she echoed, a harsh, humorless laugh escaping before she could stop it. “What do you want me to say? That I was scared?”

She uncrossed her arms and leaned forward, her green eyes narrowing. “Of course I was scared. Any surgeon would be, in that situation. But I did what I had to do. I don’t see how dissecting my feelings about it now is going to help anyone.”

The therapist met her glare calmly. “Talking about it can help you, Natasha. You went into fight-or-flight mode and haven’t come down. It might help to acknowledge what you went through. You didn’t just witness a trauma; you experienced it firsthand.”

She paused, voice softening. “You almost lost someone you love in that OR.”

Natasha’s controlled facade wavered. She felt a burning pressure behind her eyes and immediately looked away to stare at the diploma on the wall. Her throat worked as she swallowed hard. Almost lost was an understatement. In her mind’s eye she saw your body jerking under her hands with each compression, saw the heart monitor flatline…heard her own voice screaming your name. Natasha’s fingers dug into her palm so hard it hurt. Don’t you dare, she scolded herself, fighting back the sting of tears.

She would not break down. Not here. Silence hung between them for a long moment. At last, the therapist sighed quietly and closed the notebook. “Natasha, I can’t clear you for surgical duty yet.”

Natasha’s head snapped up. “Excuse me?”

Her voice came out sharp, disbelief and anger lacing the words. A hot spike of frustration shot through her chest. “I’m perfectly capable of operating.” The therapist’s words felt like a slap; surgery was Natasha’s purpose, the one area she always maintained control. Now they wanted to bench her? Her nails bit deeper crescents into her palms.

“I know this is frustrating.” the therapist replied evenly. “But your reactions today show me that you’re still in a state of acute stress. If I send you back to the OR without processing this, it could be dangerous for you and for your patients. You need a little more time and support. Maybe another session or two.”

Natasha shot to her feet, pacing a few steps across the tiny office. The controlled mask was slipping, anger seeping through the cracks. “I don’t need time!” she insisted, each word clipped. “What I need is to do my job. Sitting here talking in circles isn’t helping anyone.”

She knew she was practically snarling, but she couldn’t help it. Being told no ignited something panicked in her chest, a desperate need to regain normalcy, to scrub off the lingering feeling of helplessness by throwing herself back into work. The therapist remained seated, eyes following Natasha with a mix of concern and resolve. “Natasha, please..” she said softly. “This isn’t a punishment. You went through something terrible. It’s only been a week.” Only a week.

It felt like an eternity trapped in one endless nightmare replaying behind Natasha’s eyes. She dragged a hand through her hair, realizing belatedly it was trembling and quickly dropping it back to her side. She took a breath, forcing her voice into a colder register. “I said, I’m fine. I don’t need more time.”

But the quaver beneath her words betrayed her. Even she heard it. The therapist stood now as well, maintaining a respectful distance. “I’m sorry.” she said, and she truly sounded sorry. “I know you want to get back to the OR, but I have to do what’s best for you. For now, I’m not clearing you.”

Natasha’s hands balled into fists at her sides. A storm of emotion roiled in her chest , indignation, fear, and an ache of frustration threatening to choke her. She didn’t trust herself to speak. If she opened her mouth, she wasn’t sure whether a scream or a sob might come out.

Instead, she gave a tight nod, snatched her jacket from the chair, and strode to the door. Her vision blurred for just an instant as she grasped the doorknob. Pull it together, she scolded herself harshly. She blinked the wetness from her eyes, willing her composure back. Without another word or a backward glance, Natasha yanked the door open and stepped out into the hallway, letting it shut perhaps a bit too hard behind her.

Today:

The hospital floor had settled into a lull. Monitors beeped lazily. The fluorescent lights above cast a soft white glow over tired staff. At the edge of the counter, Natasha Romanoff stood with one hand on a patient chart, pen poised, focus razor-sharp. Or at least, that’s what she wanted it to look like. She wasn’t writing. She was pretending to write. And Maria Hill saw right through it.

“Uh huh..” Maria said, striding up beside her. “Busy with that chart, I see. Real intense.”

Natasha didn’t look up. “Complicated case.”

“Right.” Maria drawled. “So complicated you forgot to call back the girl I hand-delivered to you.”

Natasha gave her a glance. “You what?”

“That ICU nurse. Red scrubs. Obvious crush. You were supposed to call her three nights ago.”

Natasha shrugged, barely hiding her smirk. “I got distracted.”

Maria crossed her arms. “You haven’t touched anyone in weeks.”

“Not a crime.”

“It is when you’re Romanoff and you’re acting like a nun. Something’s wrong with the world order.”

Natasha’s smirk twitched wider. “I’ve evolved.”

“You’ve repressed.” Just then, a laugh echoed down the hallway. The kind that hit too loud, too warm. Maria and Natasha both looked. You.

Coming out of one of the one-night rooms. Scrubs a little wrinkled. Cheeks flushed. Addison Montgomery trailing behind you with the cocky kind of smirk that only came from a very satisfying break. You were laughing at something Addison whispered into your ear. The sound hit Natasha in the chest like a punch wrapped in silk.

Maria’s voice softened just slightly. “They’ve got rhythm now, huh?” Natasha didn’t answer. She just looked away, pen tapping absently against the edge of the chart.

“She’s happy.” she said after a moment. “That’s what matters.”

Maria narrowed her eyes. “You mean that?”

“I mean it.”

“You’re over it?”

“I’m fine, Maria.”

“Sure..” Maria said, too sweet. “You look great. Pale. Unkissed. Basically one step from adopting twelve cats and crying during shampoo commercials.”

Natasha snorted, finally giving her a real look. “You’re dramatic.”

“And you’re lying.”

Natasha tilted her head, amused. “Oh?”

Maria leaned in, eyes sly. “You used to bring women to their knees with a look, Nat. You flirted like it was a blood sport. You had entire departments whispering after you walked by.”

“And now?”

Maria shrugged. “Now you’re reading vitals like they’re romance novels and making up fake cases so you don’t have to walk past the one-night rooms.”

Natasha exhaled a laugh, dry and low. Maria didn’t let up. “I miss that Romanoff. The one who made the air thick with tension. Who could snap her fingers and make anyone follow her into a storage closet just to beg.”

Natasha raised a brow. “Beg?”

“You know I’m right.”

There was a beat of silence. Then Natasha’s smile turned sharper. She tilted her head, lips parting slowly.

“You want that Romanoff back?”

“I dare you.” Maria said, grinning.

Just then, a nurse passed by, tall, striking, early thirties, glancing up from her tablet. She caught Natasha’s eye. Blushed. Fumbled slightly with her pen. Maria arched a brow. “Perfect timing.”

Natasha didn’t hesitate. She stepped away from the nurses’ station and fell into step beside the woman, voice smooth as honey.

“Hey.” Natasha said, easy and low. “Long shift?”The nurse looked up, visibly startled, and then visibly flustered. “Yeah..Ten hours.”

Natasha offered the kind of smile that always came with a price. “You know what helps with that?”

The nurse swallowed. “What?”

“Letting someone else do all the hard work.”

Maria almost choked on her own coffee. The nurse laughed, nervously, excitedly, and Natasha leaned in just a little.

“I’ve got ten minutes..” she murmured, “and I promise you won’t be thinking about work when I’m done.”

The nurse blushed hard. “Are you-do you mean..?”

Natasha nodded toward the hallway. “Supply room. Now or never.”

The nurse didn’t even hesitate. As they disappeared together into the hall, Natasha tossed one last glance over her shoulder at Maria. Maria raised her arms in mock worship. “There she is!” Natasha winked. And vanished into the dark with the nurse.

Days later, Natasha blinks down at the chart in her hand again, but the words blur. She’s not even supposed to be here, her shift ended thirty minutes ago, but the second she saw the name on the appointment list, she hadn’t walked away. She hadn’t even hesitated. The door clicks open behind her.

“Nat?”

She turns. You stand there in scrubs, slightly flushed from running up the stairs. Your smile is tight, your fingers fiddling with the hem of your sleeve.

“I, uh..” You clear your throat. “I was supposed to have a follow-up with one of the trauma nurses today. About the scar. And they need someone from cardio to sit in.”

Natasha arches a brow. “You could’ve asked anyone.”

“Yeah.” You bite your lip. “But I asked you..”

That pulls Natasha short. For a beat, she just…stares. She knows Addison works the late shift today. Knows this isn’t about logistics. Not entirely. And for the briefest second, she lets herself feel it, that flicker of something private.

“I’ll come.” she says quietly.

You smile, wide this time, and lead the way. The room smells like antiseptic and lavender lotion, a weird mix, like someone tried to cover up the clinical with something softer. You sit on the exam table, legs dangling. Natasha leans against the counter, arms crossed over her chest, pretending to be casual. She’s not.

“So…” You look down. “You and that nurse.”

Natasha’s head tilts. “Which nurse?”

You smirk. “Oh come on. The one with the long lashes. Room 4C?”

Natasha chuckles, surprised. “You keeping tabs on me now?”

“No.” You shrug. “Just proud of you.”

That hits deeper than it should. Natasha blinks. “We’ve been through hell.” you say softly. “And now you’re, you know. Living again. That’s a good thing.”

Natasha says nothing. The silence stretches a little too long. So you look away, your voice dipping lower. “I mean, I don’t know everything that happened that day. What it was like for you. But I know it must’ve been…more.”

More than you can imagine. More than anyone knows. Before Natasha can respond, the door opens and a nurse steps in. “Hey.” the woman says brightly. “You ready to take a look?”

You nod, swallowing hard. Your posture shifts..stiffens. Natasha sees it immediately. The tension in your jaw. The way your hands twist in your lap. “Just need to raise the gown a little..there we go.”

The nurse gently lifts the hem, exposing the scar across your chest. It’s mostly healed now, red and jagged but clean. No infection. No swelling. But it’s not the physical part that gets you. It’s the look in your eyes. Wide. Flickering. Lost in a memory you don’t want to relive.

Natasha swallows. And then, without thinking, she moves. Her hand slides into yours. You flinch for half a second, but then exhale slow, shaky. You squeeze back. Just once. Natasha’s eyes drop to the scar. She sees the angle of it. The tissue damage. Her own scalpel. Her own hands. And suddenly-

Blood.

Suction.

Flatline.

The weight of a heart in her palm.

She blinks it away before it swallows her. The nurse murmurs something about tissue healing well and finishes up, giving you both a quick smile before ducking out. The second the door clicks shut, you finally speak.

“It still hurts sometimes.”

Natasha nods. “I know.”

You look at her. And for a second, neither of you pretends. After a while the doctor existed you.

“Hey.” you say, almost hesitant. “Are you… doing anything tonight?”

Natasha blinks, caught off guard. “No. Not unless a liver decides to rupture last-minute.”

You smile. “Wanna go to Joe’s?”

Natasha looks at you. Really looks at you. “Joe’s?”

“Yeah. Just us. I, um…I want to talk to you. Something important.” Something warm flutters in Natasha’s chest. Not fast. Not loud. Just…there.

She nods. “Sure.” The bar isn’t full yet. Just the low hum of chatter, a clink of glasses, and the smell of fried everything. You claim the usual booth in the back, the one you’d stumbled into on late nights after 36-hour shifts, shoes kicked off beneath the table. You’re already sipping a beer when Natasha joins you.

You talk for nearly an hour. About the new cardio attending who thinks he’s God’s gift to women and can’t intubate for shit. About Addison’s constant NPR podcasts in the morning. About that intern who almost passed out during a C-section. Natasha laughs more than she expects to. And every time you smile at her, really smile something unravels a little deeper in her chest. Then you go quiet. Your fingers toy with the edge of a napkin.

“Okay..” you say finally. “This is the part I was nervous about.”

Natasha straightens slightly, heart picking up just enough for her to feel it. “I’ve been meaning to tell you..” you continue, voice gentle. “But I didn’t want to just spring it on you at work.”

Natasha swallows. “Okay…”

You look up at her, eyes warm, almost shy. “I’m getting married.”

The words land like ice water. Natasha doesn’t flinch. She smiles. “Oh.” she says, her voice honey-smooth. “Wow. Congratulations.”

Your face lights up, radiant, soft. “Thanks.”

Natasha doesn’t blink. She can’t afford to. “I wanted to tell you before it went around the hospital..” you add. “And I wanted to…ask you something.”

Natasha nods once, tight. Bracing. “I’d really love if you came to the wedding.”

Natasha laughs, light, effortless, the way she’s perfected it. “You want me there when Addison says ‘I do’? That’s brave.”

You smile, a little bashful. “You’re not just anyone. You…you saved my life. You were there when I came back. And somehow, even with all the crazy and all the silence, you became one of my closest friends.”

Natasha’s throat burns. But she nods. “Of course I’ll be there.” Your shoulders drop with relief. “Really?”

“Wouldn’t miss it.” There’s a long pause, soft and full of nothing but old music and the distant crack of a pool ball across the bar. “You’re important to me, Nat.” you say quietly.

Natasha looks at you then. And for just a second, a flicker, a heartbeat, she lets the smile drop. Just enough for it to feel real. “I know.” she whispers.

“You can bring someone to the wedding. If you want.”

Natasha blinks, startled for just a second. “Oh. Uh…”

“I mean..” you continue quickly, “you don’t have to. I just thought, I don’t know. That nurse..?”

Natasha smirks faintly. “Sophie.”

You smile. “Right. Sophie.”

Natasha nods. “I’ll ask her.”

You nudge her again, teasing this time. “So it is serious.”

Natasha’s smile stays in place. Just the right shape. Just the right strength. “She knows what she’s doing.” she says lightly. “Smart. Funny. Kind of scary with a scalpel.”

You grin. “Your type, then.”

Then she picked up her drink. “To love.”

“To love.” you repeat.

It was getting late. The kind of late where the streets are mostly empty and the neon beer signs flicker like they’re too tired to glow properly. Inside, Joe’s is half-lit and half-full, music soft and low, the clatter of glasses still carrying over low conversations.

Natasha leans back against the booth, her second, no, fourth, whiskey sliding warm through her veins. Her cheeks are flushed, her hair a little messy from where she’s run her fingers through it a hundred times tonight. Across from her, you laugh, red in the cheeks, buzzing with that same alcohol warmth. Your beer is barely touched, but the shots Maria lined up earlier had done enough damage.

“I can’t believe you actually challenged Mark to a ‘who can hold a plank longer’ contest!” you giggle, leaning forward to steal one of the peanuts from Natasha’s side of the table.

“He insulted my abs.” Natasha slurs a little, smug. “That’s a war crime.”

“You’re an idiot.”

“You’re laughing.” Natasha points out, finger waggling dramatically. “Which means you love it.”

“I think I’m just drunk.”

“Drunk on me..again.” Natasha declares with a lazy smirk. You roll your eyes but grin. “You’re such a menace when you drink.” You finish the last of your glasses in clinks and shaky giggles, Natasha tilting her head back to drain the final sip. She exhales hard and slow, letting the silence fall for just a beat between you. Then, Natasha murmurs, “I wish I was her.”

You furrow your brow. “Who?” Natasha blinks, eyes heavy-lidded. “Addison.”

There’s a pause. Then you snort. “Are you drunk-flirting with me again?”

“I’m serious.” Natasha says, voice suddenly softer. “I wish I was the one who got to hold your hand in public. Got to kiss you whenever I wanted. Got to…just be with you.”

You stare at her. “Nat-”

But Natasha’s eyes are glassy now, her voice dipping somewhere vulnerable and dangerous. “You remember that night? The one night. Before the hospital. Before the shooting.“ You don’t answer. Natasha sways slightly in her seat, drunk and raw. “It wasn’t nothing. Not to me.”

A beat of silence. Then Natasha’s hand moves, hesitant, trembling, reaching across the table to cover yours. And you don’t pull away. So Natasha leans forward. She’s close enough to taste the alcohol on your breath, to see the flicker of uncertainty in your eyes. Close enough that if you moved an inch forward, your mouths would meet.

And then they do. Just for a second. Lips brushing, soft and unsure, a kiss not of hunger, but ache. But the second it happens- You pull back. Not harsh or angry. Just startled. Reality slamming between you. Natasha jerks back, guilt flashing instantly across her face. “Shit- shit, I’m sorry. I didn’t-”

You exhale, blinking hard. “It’s okay.”

“I didn’t mean to-” Natasha scrubs her hand across her face. “No, I did, but I shouldn’t have-”

You reach out gently, laying your hand on Natasha’s arm. “Hey.”

Natasha stops. “It’s okay..” you repeat, quieter now. “You’re drunk. I’m drunk. And we’re both a little stupid tonight.”

Natasha laughs, hollow and small. You give a soft smile back. “Let’s just get home before one of us makes another mistake.”

Natasha nods, throat tight. “Yeah. Good idea.” But as you stumble out into the night, side by side, shoulders brushing- Natasha doesn’t stop wishing she could go back. Just one more second..Just long enough to see if you would’ve kissed her back if you hadn’t pulled away first.

1 Month later:

The hospital hums like it always does, monitors beeping, carts rattling down hallways, someone yelling about a misplaced chart. But something’s different. Something feels different. Everyone’s smiling more. Because everyone knows what today is.

“Bride incoming!” someone calls out as you step off the elevator, clipboard in hand. A round of playful cheers echo from the nurses’ station.

You roll your eyes but can’t help the grin tugging at your lips. “You guys are ridiculous.”

“You’re the one still working on your wedding day..” An intern calls from across the hallway, raising a brow. “That’s what’s ridiculous.”

“I just had one patient left to check on.” you insist, waving the chart. “It’s not like I’m gonna flatline on the way to the altar.”

“You better not.” a nurse mutters. “Or we’re doing CPR in tulle.”

That earns a laugh. But even as the staff clears the path for you, teasing and cheering, you duck behind a corner near the stairwell, just for a second. Just to breathe.

And then- “Really?” Addison’s voice rings out with that unmistakable blend of fondness and sass. “You’re hiding?”

You wince and peek around the corner. Addison is standing there in wine-colored scrubs, her hair half-up, makeup soft and done just enough to hint at the occasion. Your smile is sheepish. “I just needed a second.”

Addison steps closer, arms crossed. “You do know the whole ‘you can’t see the bride’ thing only counts when the bride’s actually in the dress, right?”

You huff a laugh. “Yeah, well. Close enough.”

Addison’s gaze softens. “You okay?”

“I’m…excited.” you admit. Then, quieter, “And maybe a little freaked out.”

Addison steps forward, slipping her arms gently around your waist. “That’s fair. But I promise not to let you run.”

You lean into her, breathing in the familiar scent of Addison’s perfume, something clean and crisp, like citrus and lavender. “You’d tackle me in the aisle, wouldn’t you?”

Addison smirks. “With love.”

You stand there for a quiet beat, the sound of the hospital fading under the weight of the moment.

“Do I at least get to see the dress before the ceremony?” Addison asks, nosing along your temple.

You pull back just enough to grin. “Nope. Rules are rules.”

Addison groans. “You’re impossible.”

“You love it.”

“I do.”

Your cheeks flush. “I’ll head out soon. Just wanted one last round.”

“Of what?” You look around the hospital, your second home. Your battlefield. The place that nearly broke you…and gave you everything. “One last moment before everything changes.”

Addison presses a soft kiss to your forehead. “I’ll see you at the altar.” You move down the corridor with a tablet in hand, scribbling notes from your last patient. Your hair is pulled up hastily, your badge slightly crooked, but you’re focused, in that calm, collected way you always are when your mind is busy. “Watch it-”

You collide into someone turning the corner. The tablet nearly drops, but steady hands catch you before it does. “Gotcha.” a familiar voice murmurs. You look up. Natasha. All black scrubs. Her hair is pulled back messily, and there’s a light sheen of sweat on her temples, the kind that only comes from a surgery done right. You exhale a breath you didn’t know you were holding. “Sorry, I wasn’t looking.”

Natasha chuckles, letting go of your arm slowly. “I noticed.” Her voice is low. Playful. But there’s something…careful in her eyes. “What are you still doing here? I thought today was…kind of a big deal?”

You give her a sheepish look. “I had a couple things to finish up. Patients don’t stop needing care just because I’m getting married in a few hours.”

Natasha nods once, smiling, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. “Right. Of course.”

There’s a beat. Something unsaid is heavy in the space between you. Natasha shifts, then clears her throat, trying not to look as nervous as she feels. “Hey. That night. At Joe’s…” You look up sharply.

Natasha tries to keep it casual. “Do you… remember it?”

There’s a flash of something in your eyes. Surprise. Maybe something more. But you recover quickly, smiling, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “No..” you shrug. “I don’t know. I was pretty tipsy. You know how Joe’s gets. Loud. Blurry.”

You say it lightly. Natasha blinks once. Nods slowly. “Right.” She smiles. “Blurry.”

Her voice is quieter now. But steady. “Well…I should go. I’ve got charts to finish and, you know. A suit to iron.”

You laugh. “Oh..suit?”

Natasha shrugs with a smirk. “I’m full of surprises.” Then, just as she’s about to turn. A loud chorus echoes from down the hall. “Y/n!”

Your family. Your mom, arms wide. A younger cousin carrying a bouquet. A sibling with a camera already filming. They descend like a joyful storm, ushering you away, laughing and pulling you by the hand. Your smile blossoms instantly, all light and love. But right before you’re swept away completely, you glance back. And Natasha is still standing there, watching. Smiling. Still. But her eyes are dimmer now. Just a little. You lift a hand in a small wave, mouthing: “See you there.” Natasha lifts her fingers in a wave, too. Then she turns.

The golden light from the wide windows filters in like honey, soft and warm against the white walls and the lace-trimmed veil draped over the vanity chair. The hum of string music floats faintly from the garden outside. Everything is quiet. Perfect. You stand in front of the mirror in your wedding dress. You’re breathtaking. Hair pinned just right. Lips glossed in a soft pink. The gown fits like it was made for you,elegant, timeless, radiant. But your fingers fidget at the edge of the lace bodice. You exhale, shallow and slow, eyes meeting your own reflection like you’re trying to steady yourself.

Then, the door creaks open. Your intern, Jules, pokes her head in. Dressed to the nines in a simple plum bridesmaid gown, her hair curled, her grin wide. “Is the bride taking visitors? Or are we preserving the mystique?”

You turn, grinning. “Come in, before I sweat through this dress.” Jules walks in, stops just a few feet away, and lets her eyes sweep up and down, clearly stunned. “Holy crap…You look like the main character in every love story I’ve ever watched at 3 a.m. while crying into ice cream.”

You laugh, the kind that wrinkles your nose. “Wow. That good?”

“Better.” She steps closer, adjusting a tiny piece of veil near your shoulder.

“You happy?” You nod slowly. “Yeah. I really am.”

Your voice is soft, certain, but there’s a slight tightness in it. “Good. You deserve happy. Especially after…you know. Everything.”

A silence hangs between you for a moment, not heavy, but not light either. Then Jules smiles again, trying to lift the mood. “Honestly? If you’d told me months ago that I’d be here watching you marry Addison Montgomery, I would’ve lost a bet.”

You raise an amused brow. “What, you didn’t think we’d make it?”

“No, I just…” She hesitates, then shrugs, “I kinda thought you were gonna end up with Romanoff.” The words land like a soft, slow punch. Your breath catches. “What?”

“Oh. sorry. I didn’t mean anything by it. It just…I don’t know. Back then, after the shooting, it was like she only existed when you were in the room. The way she looked at you? It wasn’t subtle. None of us thought it was just professional.”

You turn back to the mirror slowly, your eyes distant. “She never said anything.”

“She didn’t have to.”

Your fingers still against the edge of the vanity. Your heart thuds once, too hard. “What exactly… do you mean?”

Jules shifts, suddenly realizing this might be more than casual talk. “I mean… I guess no one ever told you?”

You turn to face her, serious now. “Told me what?”

Jules opens her mouth. Then sighs. “Okay. Don’t freak out, but.. when you were in the OR, after the shooting, your heart stopped. Maria unclamped the cable to fake a flatline when the shooter came in. The machine went quiet on purpose.”

Your face drains of color. “And Natasha…she lost it. She refused to stop. Even with a gun pointed at her. She kept fighting for you. Said she could still feel your heart fluttering. She was shaking. Crying. But she wouldn’t let you go.”

You stumble backward, gripping the back of the chair. You sit, hard. Your vision blurs, like you’re trying to remember something you never got to witness. “They said she only let go when Maria begged her to, for everyone’s safety. She looked like she broke right there. After that…she was different. Didn’t sleep. Didn’t talk to anyone. She didn’t step into an OR for almost a month.”

You stare at the floor. Your mind races, back to Joe’s. That drunken kiss. The way Natasha looked at you. How she said, “I wish I was her…” and meant it.

All this time. You’d thought it was just a drunken mistake. A blip. But it wasn’t, was it? It was grief. Jules swallows, realizing her mistake. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything. You don’t need this today, I just-”

You look up suddenly, and your smile is back. But it’s different now. “It’s okay. Really.”

“I love Addison. I’m marrying Addison.” You exhale. “Whatever that was with Natasha… it’s in the past.”

Your voice is strong. Steady. And your hands are shaking in your lap. “Right. Yeah. Of course.”

Jules leans down, squeezes your shoulder gently. “I’ll give you a minute.”

You nod. The door shuts. And you’re alone with the reflection again. Your fingers brush the scar on your chest, just visible in the low dip of the neckline. A line Natasha once held in her hands. You close your eyes. And for a second… you let yourself wonder: What if? But then you stand. Straighten your veil. And walk toward your own happy ending. Even if it’s not the one you expected.

The soft hush of music filled the air, delicate piano echoing beneath the vaulted ceiling of the garden hall. White flowers lined every aisle. Rows of guests, hushed and smiling, turned their heads in unison. You stepped into view.

Your gown shimmered in the afternoon light, every stitch tailored with care. You held a small bouquet of white lilacs and peonies, Addison’s favorite. Your father’s arm was steady at your side. Your eyes, uncertain, but brave, locked ahead, on the woman waiting for you at the altar. Addison stood poised, radiant in an ivory suit, the softest smile blooming across her face. Love, unmistakable and unfiltered, shone in her eyes as she watched you take each step closer.

In the second row, dressed in slate-gray, Natasha Romanoff sat still. Her hands were clasped tightly in her lap, fingers pale where they pressed into each other. A fine sheen of sweat coated her brow, though the room was cool. She didn’t blink. Barely breathed. She’d rehearsed this, told herself a hundred times she could do it.

But as the pastor began to speak, each word was like glass beneath her ribs. “Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today…” You reached Addison, gently taking her hands. Your fingers laced together, familiar and warm. You exchanged a quick look, loving, easy. Your lips twitched into a nervous smile.

Natasha didn’t blink. Beside her, Sophia leaned in slightly. “You okay?” she whispered. Natasha didn’t answer. Just nodded. The pastor continued. “If any person here knows of any lawful impediment as to why these two should not be joined in matrimony, speak now or forever hold your peace.”

Natasha’s throat tightened. Her pulse roared in her ears. She looked around. No one moved. Not a breath stirred. Her own legs tensed. She turned to Sophia, barely a whisper. “I’m so sorry.”

Then she stood. A quiet murmur rippled through the guests. Addison’s expression didn’t shift, but her grip on your hand tightened. Natasha looked like she hadn’t meant to stand. Her hand hovered uselessly by her side. Her chest rose and fell in shallow gasps. And then, as if gravity caught up, she started to sit again- But stopped.

Instead, her voice, shaky, but clear, cut through the stunned silence. “I can’t.

Every head turned. Your eyes widened. Addison’s jaw tightened. “I’m sorry.” Natasha said, her voice rising now, firmer.

“I didn’t mean to, I didn’t plan to ruin this, I swear. I was gonna let you go. I wanted to. I told myself that was the right thing.” Her eyes found yours. Just yours.

“But I can’t sit here and watch you promise your whole life to someone else…without saying this.”

She stepped into the aisle now. The guests parted like waves. “I didn’t show up when I should have. Not after the shooting. Not after. I stayed away because I thought I’d break you even more.”

Her voice cracked. “But the truth is…I broke myself.”

Natasha swallowed hard, shaking her head. “That day, when I brought you to the OR, I wasn’t thinking about duty or protocol or even survival. I was thinking about your laugh. Your sarcasm. The stupid way you always corrected some post-op notes with a pink pen.”

A soft, stunned laugh rippled somewhere in the crowd. Natasha didn’t blink. “When your heart stopped, I didn’t let go. I held it in my hands. I begged it to come back. Even when- I just couldn’t.”

She looked down. Her voice softer now. “Because it wasn’t just your life I was trying to save.”

She looked up again. Straight into you. “It was mine too.”

The room held its breath. You stood frozen at the altar. Pale. Silent. Addison’s grip on your hand had loosened. Natasha took one more shaky step forward.

“You asked me that night at Joe’s…what I meant.” She exhaled, brokenly. “I meant that I’ve been in love with you since the first time you rolled your eyes at me in the trauma bay. Since the first coffee. Since the night we lost ourselves and pretended it meant nothing.”

She smiled, a tired, tear-bright smile. “But it meant everything to me.”

And then Natasha whispered, “I love you.”

Dead silence. The words hung in the air like smoke. And then, softly, apologetically, Natasha stepped back.

“I’m sorry.” she whispered. “You don’t have to do anything. You don’t even have to say anything. I just…couldn’t let today pass without you knowing.”And with that, she turned to walk away. The room didn’t move. Neither did you.

The silence was crushing. The kind of silence that bent time. You stood frozen at the altar. Addison’s hand had just fallen from yours. The bouquet was on the floor behind you. Your chest rose and fell too quickly. You could still feel the echo of Natasha’s voice, raw and real and shattering, and now the room was full of stares, but you couldn’t see any of them.

Your eyes were locked on the door Natasha had disappeared through. And then you looked at Addison. Her face was unreadable. But her eyes- They weren’t angry. They were knowing.

You opened your mouth. Closed it. Swallowed hard. “I’m sorry..” you said.

Addison blinked. “Y/n…”

“I’m so-” Your voice cracked. “I didn’t know. I swear, I didn’t know.”

Addison took a shaky breath and smiled. It was sad. But not bitter. “Go.”

Your chest clenched. “I didn’t mean-”

“I know.” Addison whispered. “But she’s out there.” That was all it took. You turned and ran.

[obscurevideogames]

Tumblr’s Core Prodct Stratgy

Here at Tumblr, we’ve been working hard on trying to keep our sinking ship afloat for as long as possible. This means desperately trying to copy every new fly-by-night social media app that some multi-billionaire sh*t out during their daily Peloton routine. What follows is the strategy we're using to accomplish the goal of user growth. If you find the things we say here worrisome, please understand that is our exact intention. You've outgrown our target demographic. Don't let the door hit you on the way out.

The Diagnosis

It's lookin' pretty bad y'all!

After somehow losing hundreds of thousands of users during the great pr0n purge of 2018, we started to wonder if anything could be done to get back to where we were. We even brought in a management consultant who charged us a ridiculous amount of money. It would make you sick if you knew how much, but we got a few nice meals out of it at least. Anyhow, we handed this guy the app, and HE HAD NO IDEA HOW TO USE IT! It was f*cking hilarious! But suddenly it all clicked -- our users are a bunch of stupid idiots who can't even do basic arithmetic. I mean, they spend all day looking at their phones, so what do you expect?

Tumblr’s best feature is its unique content and vibrant communities. But who cares, right? We're just as happy getting traffic from people sh*t-posting memes, vague-booking, giving out-of-context hot takes to news events, and spewing whatever random thought is in their head at the moment. Plus that stuff doesn't p*ss off Apple.

To keep this thing going we need new people. And by "people" we mean teenagers, like we used to have back in the good ol' days. Unfortunately we're all in our 40s now, so we have no idea what they want. But teenagers are so cool! Imagine if they talked to us like we're one of them? We're getting hard just thinking about it.

Our Guidng Principls

To make Tumblr cool again, we must address these huge glaring issues.

People can look at a blog without logging in. How is that fair to all the poor schlubs who had to fill out forms to get an account? Also we haven't figured out a way to force ads onto the personalized pages yet. But we swear that's not the main reason.

People can see content they are looking for or linked to. People can keep up with blogs they follow. But the problem with this is, people don't know what they want. We know what they want! We're smart. We wrote this damn site, remember?

Promote posts that incite pointless conversations. Posts that are guaranteed to bait every troll into responding. Isn't that why all your Magat relatives love Facebook so much? We can do that!

P*ss off your content creators in every way possible (see #2).

Create algorithms that throw an unending barrage of irrelevant content in your face. Have you seen Instagram lately? We could do that so easy!!!

The app is slow. The website is slow. Obviously this is because of GIFs. Facebook and Instagram don't allow them, so why should we?

Conclusion

Our mission changes on a day-to-day basis. Right now we're super jealous of all the attention that new Threads thing is getting. We're still not sure what it is, but we're gonna download it after work.

[ms-demeanor]

Okay I'm going to submit actual feedback about this but. Tumblr. Tumblr I love you stop making it hard for me to like you.

Tab management is GOOD. That is a GOOD option for user control, excellent, well done, good website, I am patting your head and rewarding you with positive interaction.

Locking "for you" as the default for blogs created after May 2023 and "following" as the default for blogs created before May 2023 is BAD. This is not a behavior I want to reinforce.

This is so close to being a legitimately really really good thing; if all users were allowed to select what tab they wanted to have as their default that would be so good! That would be really really awesome!

I am going to submit calm, collected feedback about this and check @changes to see if this is a feature that is still in the works and might update to make this change soon.

This seems like a killer feature, I know there has been discussion of multiple dashes and I would love to see something like a mutuals tab or a "popular right now not just direct algo based on your likes" or even "featured on tumblr" or straight-up I would honestly love a "blazed" tab I want to see what those maniacs are paying to promote that seems like it would genuinely be fun to scroll.

Just. You're so close. SO CLOSE. Let people choose what view they want as default please please please this is a GOOD idea but that one thing (allowing users to set their default view) is a pretty big thing really really sucks.

[feedthefandomfest]

Comment Bingo (Original Edition)

Very simple rules: connect 5 squares in a line by completing the task in each square

Very simple goals: encourage readers to comment on fics; encourage fandom writers to KEEP WRITING

(reposted so a cleaned up version links back here rather than my main blog)

STEPS:

Download Bingo Card HERE (png) or HERE (jpg) or HERE (pdf)

Complete the tasks on the card, marking off each as you go, until you've completed 5 in a line (vertical, horizontal, or diagonal; NO double-dipping; kudos ♥️ is a free space)

POST your winning card (or list your filled squares) and tag @feedthefandomfest! Glory in your victory.

REWARD:

✨ victory badges ✨

Tag me when you earn a bingo (or double, triple, quadruple... FULL CARD bingo) and I'll reblog a shiny badge with your name on it to commemorate the win.

FAQ:

Can I comment on tumblr or only on AO3?

Either one is great! The tags are drawn from AO3, but most can be adjusted to suit tumblr as well, so I say go for it. Tumblr fics deserve love, too.

Can one comment count toward multiple squares if the fic fits more than one category?

Since the goal is for as many fics to receive comments as possible, try to comment on a different fic for each square.

Is there a time limit?

Nope! Take your time or set your own deadline, whatever works for you. This blog is still in its early experimental stage, so feedback welcome. Play around and let me know what you like and what might be added/changed—including ideas for squares on future cards!

Do I have to record progress on the actual card?

Nope! If it’s easier to keep track in a different way, that’s fine. This is all very honor system, so if you say you earned a Bingo, we’ll call it a win 🎉

Some people have been tracking not just completed tasks, but the fics they read along the way, so that when they post a bingo, they can also promote the fics/authors in a little rec list. Not required, but definitely cool to see!

Can I adjust the task in a particular square to suit my comfort level?

Of course! If you deliver something in the spirit of the task, then it’s all good. Use your best judgement in constructing a comment that will make the author smile, and you can consider it a job well done.

In general, so long as each square has produced at least one comment, you’re golden and I salute you 🫡

Happy commenting!!

[myceliacrochet]

Hey friends, Neveen and Alram and their four children have gone nine days without donations. I don't know why, but every time I post about this family, the post doesn't do well and the donations don't change. I say this not as a criticism (I'm so proud of all of us tbh) but to seek insight on how I can better promote this family. I'm not really an influencer type -- in fact, I'm looking to delegate post-writing to other people and spend most of my time on the spreadsheet, if the spreadsheet ends up being helpful to people and I can find people to take on my posting obligations.

These kids are in serious danger of freezing. I don't know if you've seen, but kids are freezing to death right now in Gaza. Any money you could send Neveen's way would help so much.

I don't know if it's because they're vetted by association instead of just vetted, but if that's where the hesitation is coming from, let's all try to keep in mind that both are equally valid and there's little difference between the two. I've seen organizers with the Sidra Project talk with and about this family, they have confirmed they are real.

I've also noticed that ever since the U.S. election, raising funds on here has suffered significantly. I'm in the U.S., and I can definitely appreciate the need to attend to our own health and safety in preparation for the regime change. I am disabled and queer and very worried for myself and my friends. But I can't drop these families.

This community of people on Tumblr is the best group I've come across for raising money for Palestinians. Please let me know any changes I can make that can help Neveen's campaign, or that can benefit the community in general. Please check out Neveen's campaign and see if you can donate. The kids are straight up starving and freezing. Someone stole a lot of the kids' clothes from the wash recently. Please see if you can help.

Vetted by association by the Sidra Project (Omar #28's neighbor)

@an-elegant-void @blvvdyindustries @morelinesandscribbles @monstermashpotato @danielladadasworld @wellsbering @random-autie-fangirl @tolbachik @akajustmerry @comrademango @superdragonjpeg-thing @afropiscesism @tiredguyswag @ihavenotfallenyet @fly-sky-high-09 @cherry-shrimp @insanitysmiles @wirehairwiredstare @everypores @pregnantseinfeld @seeyouguyslater @innovatorbunny @fantasynovel @ohlorde @imjustheretotrytohelp @awetistic-things @theinconvenientlifestyle @riding-with-the-wild-hunt @sea-shame @faacethefacts @buttfacemcgee @craigthetourguide @blomstermjuk @mythiedew @operationladybug @fifthnormani @disinfobot @beserkerjewel @hellootoodlesxoxo @skipppppy @okapi23 @bluejay0715 @punkitt-is-here @acehimbo @murderbot @butchfeygela @smilepilled

Still no donations... What am I doing wrong

I don't know that people will even use the spreadsheet 😭 maybe I should stop

[skzhocomments]

Interview with my Ex - Bang Chan Oneshot Fanfic

General Masterlist

Request me a story

---

Pairing: Bang Chan (Stray Kids) x OC/Reader (Story is written in 2nd person, OC is called Eun-ji)

Genre: light angst, strangers to lovers to exes (to lovers?)

Word Count: 8.8k

Warnings: swearing, non-explicit mentions of mature themes

Summary:

You have been invited to participate in a show titled ‘Interview with my Ex’ together with Bang Chan. Will you go and confront him for breaking up with you one year ago, or will you miss out on this opportunity?

This is just a story that doesn’t describe Bang Chan or other mentioned Stray Kids’ members true characters in any way. It’s just a product of my imagination and should be treated as such.

This story is also on Wattpad (click here) and AO3 (click here)

---

A/N: As any other writer out there, I would appreciate reblogs and your comments on this story. Please let me know if you enjoyed it, and most importantly, have fun!

© all rights reserved by skzhocomments (Tumblr), skzho (Tumblr)/ storminsidemycore (Wattpad), storminsidemycore (AO3)

---

Interview with my Ex

---

What the heck is this?

Your eyes are stuck on the screen, unable to believe the E-mail you’ve just received.

---

“PROPOSAL to Mrs. Eun-ji Park

You have been invited to participate in our show titled ‘Interview with my Ex’ together with Bang Christopher Chan.

The show is scheduled to be filmed on XX.XX.XXXX. You will be able to talk openly to your ex about your relationship and your break-up through a series of questions we’ve prepared.

Please let us know if you are interested in this proposal and if you are available.

Thank you,

The ‘Truth Behind The Scenes’ Team”

---

Reading through the lines, your eyes widen in shock.

You look up the E-mail address the message came from and find that not only is it legit, but they have a YouTube channel with millions of subscribers, which would explain why your ex – Chan – would be invited to it and would want to participate.

Although you haven’t kept up with what he’s been doing, you know that he is preparing to release an album to launch his solo career, and he’d probably want to promote it as much as possible.

But still, isn’t it a bit cruel to invite you to something like this? Would he really promote this album at your expense, after knowing how much he’s hurt you?

It’s been more than a year since you’ve broken up, but still, your heart still hurts whenever you read his name. You don’t think you’d be able to face him without feeling pain creeping in from every crevice of your body.

You miss him terribly, and ever since he left, you weren’t able to fill the hole he left behind. Once in a while, you wonder if he’s ever tried reaching out and you almost unblock his number, but quickly change your mind because the possibility of talking to him again scares you.

You are scared of your heart swelling up with hope in your chest again, you are scared of confessing that he was the best thing that’s ever happened to you, and you are scared he most likely doesn’t feel the same.

Still, you are curious. Maybe it wouldn’t be a bad idea to participate in this show – to talk to him more or less openly about the whys and the hows, so you eventually decide to reply to the message, and you clear up your work schedule for that day.

~

As the day approaches, you get more and more anxious about having to see him. Initially, you decide to dress to the nines, to show him what he’s been missing out on, but the more dresses you try on, the more uncomfortable you feel.

Why should you try to be someone you’re not just to try and impress a man who’s left you?

You shouldn’t.

You don’t care to impress him anymore. You should just be you, and you should wear something you’re feeling good in, even if that’s just a plain black shirt and some matching black jeans and shoes.

You decide to do your make-up as you’d usually do for work – a soft glam paired with a glossy lip balm, and glancing once more in the mirror, you sigh to yourself and get out of your apartment, taking the bus until you reach the address you’ve received in the last message the Truth Behind the Scenes team sent you.

As you reach the filming studio, someone takes you inside a room with a table and two chairs, and Chan is already there with his back turned to you, speaking with someone you don’t recognise.

Your heart skips a beat at the sight of him, and you hesitate for a little while, but eventually decide to approach the table with a soft smile.

“Hey.” You say, and seeing you, Chan immediately stands up and smiles brightly.

“Hey! I wasn’t sure you’d show up.” He chuckles, taking you into a hug, and oh, how much you missed his embrace, even if it’s short.

“Yeah, I wasn’t sure either.” You reply honestly. “But here I am. So, how does this work?”

“Well, I thought we would have a conversation of some sort, but apparently there’s some questions on those cards each of us has to draw from those two boxes-” he points towards the table, “and the other has to reply.”

“I see.” You nod and sit down, and he follows soon after.

The team instructs you to draw the first card, and as you do, you begin reading:

“How did we meet?”

“Oh, alright. Well…”

---

Rubbing his tired eyes, Chan looked in the corner of his computer screen and cursed out loud when he noticed how late it already was.

3:52 AM.

“Shit.” He leaned back and closed his eyes tightly, and when he opened them again, they started stinging.

He rubbed them again while contemplating if he should go back to the dorms or just sleep on the sofa in the studio. Although uncomfortable, it would do until tomorrow at 10 when he’d have to be back to the building.

After some more minutes and deep breaths used to try and calm him down, he eventually decided against sleeping on the sofa and getting God knows how many neck cramps in the morning when he’d wake up.

He got up and shut down his computer and his laptop, of course after making sure a million times that he’s saved the progress made on the track in the past few hours of the night. He had a good feeling about this new song, even though it would probably not see the light of day in a few years.

Still, it’s better to work in advance and be prepared, especially in an industry as competitive as the one he works in.

Walking into the hallway, he eventually reached the elevators and called one of them. He glanced one more time left and right, and made his way inside, thinking of how peaceful the company is so late into the night. This was probably the only thing he enjoyed about staying up late cramped in his studio: the quietness, the emptiness, the fact that he can take the elevator all the way down uninterrupted-

“Oh.” A woman’s voice pulled him out of his trance, as he stood bewildered looking at the elevator’s doors that opened on the 6th floor. “Wasn’t expecting someone else to be up and about at this time.” The woman continued, and Chan smiled out of courtesy.

You got in and pressed the button to close the doors, and the elevator started moving again, until it suddenly came to a halt.

The lights followed, leaving you in complete darkness.

“What the fuck…” Chan mumbled, taking his phone out of his pocket.

What a great day to have 2%.

He turned the flashlight on, nonetheless.

“Is this a blackout?” You contemplated out loud. “Ouch.”

“Oh, I’m sorry!” Chan apologised, putting the flashlight down. He unintentionally blinded the poor woman. “Yeah, I think so.”

“Great.”

“Tell me about it… What do we do?”

“Is there anyone you could call to tell them we’re here? I forgot my phone on my desk. Shit.”

“Yeah, let me try and call my manager. He’ll probably kill me tomorrow morning for interrupting his precious sleep, but he’s our only hope.”

“Okay.”

Chan searched up his manager’s name and dialled his number, but before the call could connect, the phone shut down.

“No more battery.”

“No way. Are you fucking kidding me?” You asked, but despite the harsh words, there was no annoyance in your tone. Instead, Chan was able to hear slight amusement.

“I always charge it.” He mumbled once more under his breath.

“Do you think the power went out in the whole building, or is it just the elevator?”

“Hmm. Not sure. Probably the whole building.”

“So, we’re stuck.” You concluded, and Chris started hearing a slight shuffle. “Might as well be comfortable. I’m down here.”

“On the floor?”

“No, dummy. On the ceiling.” You laughed.

“Okay, okay. It’s 4 AM, be a bit more lenient on me for the stupid questions.” Chan laughed as well and sat down, hoping he wouldn’t accidentally sit on you.

“I’m Eun-ji, by the way.”

“Chris.”

“Nice to meet you, Chris.”

“What are you doing here so late?”

“Same as you, probably. Working.”

“Damn, what department are you in?” He asked, trying to keep the conversation going.

“Financing.” You shrugged, although you knew he wasn’t able to see you.

“I see. I’m from Stray Kids.”

“Yeah, I know.” You chuckled at the absurdity of the situation. Of course you knew, since you were up so late because of this guy and his team’s never-ending resources for their million albums, merch and tours.

“Really? How so?” He asked, as if taken aback.

“Uhm, I mean… you’re one of the stars of the company I work for. It would be kind of weird to not know, don’t you think?” You asked plainly.

“I guess so, yeah…”

“So, do you think we’d be here for long?”

“God, I hope not. I’m so tired I could sleep right here.”

“Do it, then.” You shrugged again. “Do you want to put your head in my lap to be more comfortable?”

“What?”

“I asked, do you want to put your head-”

“No, I heard what you asked.” Chris chuckled. “I was just taken aback.”

“Well, you don’t have to. It was just a solution to the problem.”

“Then, you should be the one to do it and get some sleep, I bet you’re as tired as me.” He countered.

“No, I’m fine. Sure, I’m tired, but I have a day off tomorrow, so I can sleep in once I get home.”

“Oh… do you live far away?”

“Just a couple blocks over.”

“I see.”

“You?”

“Same…”

You hummed and nodded, and the two of you stayed silent for a few moments, until Chris started speaking again.

“So… do you like your job?”

“What?” You chuckled. “That was so random.”

“I’m trying to make conversation!” He retorted.

“I can’t say I dislike it, but I also can’t say I like it. It’s just a means to a way, I guess.”

“Mhm.”

“What about you, Chris? Do you like your job?”

“Yeah, a whole lot.” He smiled, and although you couldn’t see it, you heard it from the tone of his voice.

“Isn’t it stressful, though?”

“It is, but it’s also very rewarding. I wouldn’t pick anything else for the world.” He continued with the same excitement.

“That’s incredible. I wish my job and I had the same relationship honestly.”

“Hey, does your offer still stand?”

“Sorry?” You asked confused, and then realised what he was referring to. “Oh, yeah, of course. Come here.”

You found his shoulder in the dark and raised your hand until you found his nape, guiding his head towards your lap.

“There you go, are you comfortable?”

“Yeah, I am. Sorry about this, I’m just very tired and feel like I might pass out.”

“Don’t worry.”

You placed your other hand on his head and figured out he had a cap on, which you haven’t noticed earlier when you could see him.

“Mind if I take this off?”

“Why?” He asked immediately.

“Just figured I’d massage your scalp to help you sleep better?”

“Oh, no. I haven’t washed my hair.”

“So what?” You chuckled. “You’re such a kid.”

“I’m not a kid! Okay, fine, whatever. Take it off.”

“Good. Now, don’t get worked up and focus on sleeping.” You chuckled again and took off his cap, starting to scratch his head softly, and not even a few minutes later, you heard his steady breathing, signalling that he must’ve fallen asleep.

You wondered how long this power outage was going to last, and time seemed to pass by extremely slowly, and you eventually ended up dozing off as well. The next thing you remember is waking up blinded by the strong white lights inside the elevator, with Chris still sleeping peacefully in your lap.

“Hey.” You nudged him awake, and as he sat up, he looked more confused than ever.

“What’s up? Is the power back on?”

“Apparently.” You smiled softly, yawning.

“Thank you for being my pillow.” He said and stood up, putting his cap back on, then gave you a hand to help you up as well.

“No issues.” You chuckled and accepted his help.

“Need me to drop you off?”

“No, don’t worry about me. I live really close by. Besides, I still need to go back upstairs and grab my phone, so you get going and get some more rest.”

“Alright. Good night, Eun-ji.”

“Night!” You waved as he exited the elevator, unable to believe the interaction you just had, but still way too tired to think too much about it.

---

“That was one of the best sleeps I’ve ever had, believe it or not.”Chris says with a laugh as he recalls the memory.

“Yeah, you mentioned about it a whole lot and always made me scratch your head before sleep whenever you’d come over.” You laughed as well with a shake of your head and watched as he grabbed another card from the deck.

“When was our first kiss?” He asks, and you tilt your head to the side.

“You mean, the date and time?”

“I think it’s more like… if you remember how it happened?” He replies, quite confused as well.

“Ah, I see. Of course I remember.”

“During our first date?”

“No.” You chuckled again. “I told you before that you don’t remember that one time!”

“Ohhhh!” He exclaims. “Yeah, sorry, I think I was drunk out of my mind when that kiss happened.”

“You make it sound like I took advantage of a poor drunk man.” You joke, and Chris laughs as well.

“No, no, nothing like that. But come on, tell the story.”

“Fine.” You playfully roll your eyes.

---

“I can’t believe we’ve been invited to this party!” Your co-worker exclaimed happily as she applied and reapplied her lipstick, making you laugh at her antics.

“Why? It’s literally just a Christmas dinner, babe.”

“No, Eun-ji. It’s not just a dinner, everyone will be there. Everyone.”

“No clue what this means, but whatever.” You chuckled again.

“It means, even the idols! I told you I met Yeji last week and she was such a sweetheart! I wonder if she remembers me!”

“I doubt it, with how much foundation you’ve put on, babe.”

“What, am I not beautiful?” She pouted.

“You are extremely beautiful, but you look very different compared to your day-to-day look. Wait, your lipstick smudged a bit. Here, let me wipe it off.” You grabbed a napkin and carefully worked around your coworker’s lips, making sure the lipstick looked cleanly applied.

“Thank you so much! You’re dressed so plainly, though. You should always dress to impress, Eun-ji! Let’s get you in a dress!” She exclaimed, but you were quick to shake your head.

“No, thank you. I’d much rather feel comfortable. Besides, it’s just a dumb dinner. It’s not like I’ll meet the love of my life or anything like that. I don’t care to impress anyone either.”

“You’re literally impossible. Fine, wear your lame-ass black shirt and jeans, then!” She stuck her tongue out, and you replied in the same manner, before you two ended up making your way towards the elevators.

A few floors up, the elevator stopped, and the doors opened, revealing two men.

One of them, you knew.

“Oh, hello! Eun-ji, right?” Chris spoke, and you smiled slightly.

“Hi.”

“Are you girls going to the last floor too?” He asked, noticing the striking discrepancy between how you and your co-worker were dressed.

“Yeah, we are.” You replied, trying to ignore how hard your co-worker was gripping your arm. You were sure she was freaking out and in dire need of help, since she couldn’t seem to keep her cool in front of these two.

“This is Felix, by the way.” Chris introduced him.

“Hello!” The other man replied in a low tone with a nod and a sweet smile, and you acknowledged him with a short nod.

Of course, you also knew who Felix was, but it was never a big deal to you that they were famous or whatever. They were still people, just like you and your co-worker, who didn’t seem to think the same way, however.

The elevator ride was short, and you got to the last floor in no time, waving goodbye to Felix and Chris and heading towards your assigned table.

“You didn’t tell me you knew freaking Bang Chan!” Your co-worker scream-whispered in your ear, still gripping your arm.

“Because I don’t.” You retorted with a shrug.

“Yeah, you do! He even knew your name! How did that happen?”

“We just happened to meet in an elevator and got stuck for about two hours or so.” You shrugged again.

“What? When?”

“A few months ago, maybe?”

“How could you not tell me? I thought we were friends!”

“Because there was nothing to say!” You replied slightly annoyed, and she rolled her eyes, just as you reached the table.

~

The air was so stuffy in the large room, you could barely breathe. There were too many people – most likely almost everyone in the company, be it idols or mere workers.

It was so hard to hear your thoughts over the loud music, that you decided to simply make a run for it and disappear. It was getting late anyway, and you were tired, and quite honestly sick of the noise.

As you got back to the elevator and reached over to press the button and call it to your floor, your hand collided with someone else’s.

“It appears we meet again.” Chris chuckled.

“Yeah, what’s with us and this damn elevator? I don’t get it.” You laughed as well as you both stepped inside, and you pressed on the ground floor.

Chris also reached out to the buttons and pressed on another floor, but you didn’t pay it any mind.

The doors opened and he got out with a little smile and a “Goodbye!”, but then, just before the doors closed again, he placed his hand in-between them, making them reopen.

“Yes?” You asked in surprise.

“Do you, uhm… do you wanna come see my studio?”

“Why?”

“Might be cool to see.” He shrugged. “I have a bomb song idea and, you know, the creative process and all is quite interesting.”

“The creative process.” You chuckled. “Alright. Why not? As long as it’s quiet.”

“It is, it’s the best room in the building, trust me.” He smiled excitedly and turned around, so you followed him out of the elevator and into the studio.

“It’s so cramped!” You exclaimed the moment you saw it.

“Yeah, but it’s cosy, and it’s mine.” He smiled and offered you a seat on his sofa, which you were quick to accept.

Chris initially sat down at the desk, but after a little while of him pressing buttons and you admiring every corner of the room in silence, he decided to stand back up and come sit on the sofa next to you.

“No more working?”

“No more working.” He shook his head. “I can’t focus.”

“Oh, is it because I’m here?” You replied, slightly embarrassed. Maybe you shouldn’t have come.

“No, of course not! It’s because I’m drunk as fuck and nothing on my screen makes any sense.” He replied quickly with a warm laugh.

“Oh. It’d be best to head home and sleep, then.”

“Eun-ji, I’ll be blunt. Your lips look so incredible right now…”

“Wh- what? My lips?” You immediately put your fingers on top of them. “Must be this new lipbalm I’m using. It’s called-”

“No, it’s not that.” Chris chuckled. “I just wanna…” He grabbed your hand softly and dragged it away, his body coming closer to you, until your lips collided.

For a few seconds, you were taken aback by what was happening, but as the kiss deepened, your hands found the back of his head and you brought him closer.

His tongue was hot on yours, and in no time, you found yourself sitting in his lap, still making out like you were thirsty and his mouth had the only water left on Earth.

One of his hands travelled under your shirt on your naked back, and the other went down to your bum, squeezing it softly, and you let out a moan muffled by his mouth on yours.

---

“Yeah, thinking about it, it was you who initiated that kiss, so you can’t blame me for your drunken mistakes.” You chuckle.

“That was anything but a mistake, Eun-ji.” He replies with a smile that you couldn’t quite read, however, there is a slight longing in his eyes, which makes your heart skip a beat. “And it was quite funny, really. I literally couldn’t remember that we made out, but the next thing I know, I’m looking at my phone and see that we have a date planned in the next few days.”

You chuckle again at the memory, remembering how confused he was when you messaged him to confirm the details about the date.

“Alright, it’s my turn.” You say, deciding to stop pondering on your first moments as a couple and ignore his expression, as you aren’t sure you’d be able to keep a straight face for much longer if he keeps looking at you that way.

He looks at you as if he’s still in love, which makes no sense to you whatsoever. It’s been a year, and even though you are probably still very much in love with him, he is, after all, the one that got away.

You draw a card and read out loud.

“What’s your most treasured memory with us?”

“Oh, tough one.” He replies quickly, his brows furrowing.

“Why? You can’t think of any of them?” You ask, slightly dejected.

“No, it’s not that, Eun-ji. It’s just that… I treasure all of our memories.”

“All of them?” You counter back.

“Yes.”

“Even the fights?”

“Even those.”

As he replies, you don’t know what to say any further. You want to ask some more about it, but before you get the chance to formulate a proper question in your head, he begins talking again.

“If I were to pick only one, however… I think I’d go with that one time you surprised me by coming to our concert in Europe.”

---

“Thank you! You were great tonight, and we can’t wait to come again!” Chris shouted in his microphone before heading off-stage, completely sweaty but still high on the adrenaline from being on stage in front of such a large crowd.

No matter how many times he’s done it, he could never get used to it.

“Good job, boys.” He complimented his team members with a large smile plastered on his face. “Are you ready to party for the rest of the night?”

“Oh, Chris. The manager just informed me that you have to go back to the hotel. There’s apparently something wrong with your room.” Felix frowned slightly as he approached Chris, but was unable to contain his excitement for long, so he made sure to turn around just in time for him not to notice the large smile on his face.

“An issue with my room…?” Chris contemplated with a shake of his head but decided to take the driver anyway and go back to the hotel.

After all, he could always meet up with the boys and the staff later and party, after he fixed whatever was wrong with the room and saw what the emergency was about.

He inquired about the issue at the reception, but they only informed him to head upstairs, and so, he followed suit and went to his room.

As he opened it, however, he noticed that there wasn’t anything wrong. In fact, it was the exact opposite.

There you were, in his room, sitting leisurely on the bed and smiling gleefully at him.

“You’re finally back!” You exclaimed getting off the bed, and Chris just stood silent in the doorway, as if unable to believe his eyes.

“Eun-ji?!” He asked, confusion plastered across his face. “But… how? You told me you couldn’t get off work!”

“Yeah, well, surprise! My co-worker finally agreed to switch shifts with me, so I’ll be here until you leave to the next city!”

“That’s, oh my God, I’m freaking out!” He exclaimed, immediately running towards you and hugging you tightly against his chest, peppering your face with kisses.

“Eww, you’re so sweaty!” You joked and pushed him away.

“Let’s take a shower together! How does that sound?”

“Don’t be lame, Chris. I already filled the tub, let’s have a bubble bath instead!”

“Damn, you’re the freaking best.”

“Damn right.”

You two made your way towards the bathroom, slowly undressing each other in-between kisses, and when you were completely naked, you went into the tub and washed Chan’s back, kissing his neck slowly and hugging him from behind.

“By the way, Chris, you were amazing on stage.”

“Don’t tell me you’ve also seen the concert!” He exclaimed surprised.

“Of course I did! Well, some of it, anyway. But you know what? I’m quite pissed at you. I should be the only one who gets to see these.” As you replied, you moved your hand lower until it reached his abs.

“You’re the only one who gets to touch them, baby.”

“That’s not even true. Your make-up staff touches them all the time.” You pouted, and Chris started laughing at your antics.

Although he couldn’t see you, as you were still hugging him from behind, he knew you well enough to know the face you were making.

“I missed you.” You whispered.

“Me too, baby.” He replied and turned around, making sure to splash a ton of water on the floor in the process, and kissed you again. “Wanna get out so I can show you how much I’ve missed you?”

“Hell yeah.”

---

“That’s a good memory, yeah.” You chuckle, your cheeks growing slightly red remembering the steaming night you two shared, and the morning sex afterwards.

You couldn’t deny that Chris was the best you’ve ever had in every way, and your body already got hot at the thought of him touching you like that.

“So, I guess that makes it my turn.” Chris says with a clear of his throat, and you wonder if he is thinking about the same things as you.

“Go ahead.” You smile and point him towards the cards on his deck.

“Have you slept with anyone else since we’ve broken up?” Chris reads out loud, but before taking his eyes away from the card, he continues by saying: “Wait, you don’t have to respond to this. Can we skip this question?”

He looks at the staff members and places the card down, but you don’t have anything to hide. It wouldn’t have mattered anyway if you slept or didn’t sleep with anyone else. It’s not like it’s any of his business to care and get affected by your reply.

“I didn’t.” You say quietly and reach towards a new card but decide to ask as well. “Have you?”

“Eun-ji…” He frowns.

“Sorry for asking.” You shrug and then turn your card up. “The next questions reads-”

“I haven’t.” He cuts you off and averts his gaze, moment when you look at him confused.

“What?”

“I haven’t… slept with anyone else.” Chris confesses, leaving you utterly speechless.

“Oh. Alright… uhm… the next question says… what was the worst part about our relationship?” You tuck your hair behind your ear, a habit you have whenever you get nervous.

“Oh, that’s an easy one.” He chuckles. “It was definitely me.”

“What?” You frown. “Chris, you know that’s not true.”

“But it is… the fact that I was never there when you needed me…”

---

“So, I went shopping today. What are you wearing on Saturday? If you wear a tie, we need to get one in the same colour as my dress.” You spoke in a breath, kissing Chan's cheek.

“Saturday? What’s on Saturday?” He asked, genuinely confused.

“What?” You chuckled in disbelief. “My childhood friend invited us to her wedding, remember?”

“Oh, right!” He exclaimed. “Wait, let me check the date real quick.”

He stood up from the bed and ran to the living room, picking up his phone and opening his calendar.

“Shit. Babe…?” He smiled sheepishly.

“Don’t tell me you have other plans.” You frowned.

“I talked to our producer, and we are supposed to record some parts from that new song I told you about on Saturday… but it’s okay! I’ll make sure to finish in time so we can still go to the wedding! Don’t worry!” He immediately responded and apologised.

“Chris, the wedding is 3 hours away by car. I promised her we’d be there at 2 for the ceremony as well, not just for the party afterwards.” Your frown only deepened.

“Do we really need to go to the ceremony, though? Aren’t they… I don’t know… boring?”

“Are you being serious right now?” You sat up, annoyance plastered in your tone. “Chris, she’s my best friend. Of course we have to go to the ceremony too!”

“Eun-ji…” He started, and you got even more annoyed. It was like he wouldn’t take accountability for anything.

“I told you six months ago, Chris. How much time ahead do I have to tell you to make sure you’d clear up your schedule?”

“I’m so sorry, baby, but you know that our release schedule is really tight…”

“Why can’t I be a priority at least once, hm?! At least for a weekend!” You felt your eyes watering up. You knew his job was the most important, however, you were getting tired of always being put in second place by your boyfriend.

Hell, you were so disappointed right now. You asked him to clear up one single weekend, and he couldn’t even remember to do that.

“You know what? You’re right. I’m going to call up the producer right now and reschedule for next week, okay?” He pleaded with you, but you were already beyond disappointed with this situation.

He’s already made sure not to prioritize you, so you decided to just stop bothering him about it altogether.

“You know what? Don’t worry about it. I’ll just go on my own.”

“Eun-ji-”

“Besides, you don’t know anyone there, anyway, whereas I’ll just catch up with all my friends from school, so don’t worry. Go record your song.”

You got out of bed and made your way to the bathroom, turning on the water and hopping into the shower, trying to wash all the tears away.

---

“That was certainly… one of the lowest points in our relationship.” You reply, remembering the event with bitterness.

You ended up going alone to the wedding, and despite having fun and catching up with your old friends, having to go there on your own and having people ask you about where your boyfriend was truly hurt you.

“Mhm… I agree. I was such a dick. I’m so sorry, Eun-ji. If I were to turn back time, I would’ve never done those stupid mistakes.” He smiles apologetically.

“It’s fine… it’s all in the past anyway.” You return the same pained expression as he draws another card from the pile.

“Why did you accept to come here today?”

“Is that the question?”

“Yeah.”

“Hmm, I guess I was just… I don’t know, even though we’ve broken up on relatively good terms, if you could say that... I guess I just wanted to talk to you again?” You smile briefly and draw another card. “Do you think I was a jealous partner?”

“You?” Chris chuckles. “God, no. If anything, I was the jealous one.”

“You were?” You laugh as well.

“Yeah… You, however, were never jealous, no matter how many people I’d interact with. Even though it was never inappropriate, I really appreciated that you trusted me, no matter what.”

“Of course I trusted you.” You smile. “You never made me doubt you, not even once.”

Which was true. You knew that he truly loved you during the brief two years of your relationship, and he’s never put himself in any compromising position with anyone else to make you jealous.

“Anyway… the next card reads: Why didn’t we work out?” You read out loud and wait a few seconds for Chris’ reply.

“I think the first time I started to doubt if our relationship was fair to you was when you got fired from the company because… because you were dating me. That’s when I knew that something was fundamentally wrong with us being together, because instead of me giving you anything positive, I just ended up causing you pain.” Chris speaks slowly, letting out a long exhale at the end.

“It was… a really tough time for me. Although my job was not ideal, it was something I worked very hard for, and once our relationship became public and suddenly everyone knew about us…” You shake your head.

It was a very difficult time for you to put yourself out there and find another job when the whole country was aware of your relationship with Chris.

“However… no matter how hard it was, I could get through it only because you were there with me.” You frowned. “I never blamed you for my job, or anything like that… ever.”

“I know… But still, how could I not blame myself? I felt so guilty… Heck, even now, a year after we broke up, I’m still sending you money to help you out with rent, even though I know you have a new job and all.” He chuckles.

“And I always send it back.” You smile.

“Wait, you do?” He frowns. “Really?”

“Mhm.” You nod, and he pulls out his phone and opens his bank app, and his expression only becomes more downcast.

“Eun-ji, why?”

“It’s alright, Chris. I really don’t need it. You’d better spend it for something else.”

“But I-”

“Really, stop it. Read the next card.” You blow him off, dismissing his words, and he lets out a sigh.

“What was our worst fight?”

“Hmm… I think the most soul crushing one was when I got that new job…”

“Right, I was also thinking of that one. See? I told you I was the more jealous one in our relationship.” Chris chuckles with a shake of his head.

---

“Thank you for dropping me off.” You smiled sweetly at one of your new co-workers, who offered you a ride home in his car since you were on his way.

Ever since you got fired from JYPE, you were struggling to find a new job, but thankfully, an opportunity came your way, and you didn’t think twice to accept it.

However, the new job was quite far away, and the hours were longer. You missed your short commute home, but you were simply unable to find anything else in the area.

You got out of his car and waved him goodbye, and when you turned around, there was Chris, with an angry expression on his face.

“Who was that?” He asked immediately.

“Is this how we say hi to each other now?” You tilted your head, unable to understand why he seemed so pissed at you.

“Eun-ji, answer the question, please. Who the hell was that, and why is he dropping you off so late? Where were you?”

“At work. I started a new job, remember?” You frowned, not understand what he was trying to accuse you of, or why.

“It’s almost 9 PM, and I see a random man dropping you off home. Do you think I’m stupid or something?” He fired back, angrier than before.

“Excuse me? What are you insinuating?” You retorted.

“I’m not insinuating anything. I’m just asking you a damn question, Eun-ji.”

“And I’m answering!” You almost started shouting but decided to take a deep breath in and ask Chris to talk inside.

He followed you upstairs, but his demeanour was cold, which gave away the fact that the fight was far from over.

“Alright, we’re inside. Care to explain now?”

“There’s nothing to explain, Chris. That was just my co-worker.”

“Just your co-worker. Okay, sure. And why the hell was he giving you a ride home?” He continued to ask in an accusatory tone, which pissed you off to no end.

“I don’t know, Chris. Maybe it’s because my boyfriend is way too busy to make the time to come pick me up or at least send me a damn cab!”

You found it hard to keep your composure any longer, so the way you replied came out a bit too loud, and so began a screaming match between you two, and by far the worst fight you’ve ever had, which ended in Chris leaving your apartment and you crying your eyes out until 5AM.

---

“I am not proud at all of how I acted that night…” Chris closes his eyes and breaths in, and you can almost hear the pain in his voice.

“I can’t say I handled it too well either.” You sigh. “I mean, I always gave you my unconditional trust, and there you were, doubting me because I decided to accept a ride from my co-worker. It was really shitty of you to do that…”

“I know… I’m sorry.” He apologises, and you draw a new card.

“Who broke up with who?”

“It was me... I knew how much I was hurting you, and I just… I guess I decided that breaking up would be better for the both of us.”

---

“Are you mad at me again?” You frowned, hearing the 10th sigh getting out of Chan’s lips in the past 5 minutes.

“No, I’m not mad at you.”

“That’s what it looks like.”

“I’m just so incredibly stressed, Eun-ji. Can’t you understand that?”

“No, Chris, I’m just a child, I need you to spell it out for me.”

“Now you’re just mocking me again.”

“What the hell is wrong with you? It’s like the only thing we do lately is fight.”

“You’re right.” He let out another sigh. “I wish we wouldn’t fight anymore.”

He stood up and cupped your cheeks, pressing a firm kiss against your lips.

“Me neither. I love you, Chris. I really do.”

“I love you too, Eun-ji.”

You continued kissing slowly, your hands exploring the other’s body, and your clothes started disappearing one by one, your naked bodies collapsing on the bed on top of one another.

You made love and kissed each other again and again, until there was no space on your bodies that the other’s lips haven’t touched.

Then, you laid your head on Chan’s shoulder and closed your eyes, almost falling asleep before the sounds of a whimper stirred you awake.

“Hey, you okay?” You asked, concern plastered across your face.

“Eun-ji… I’m so sorry baby.”

“What for?” You frowned.

“I think…” Chris started, his voice immediately cut off by a cry as he separated himself from you and sat up on the bed, not even looking at you.

“What’s wrong?” You sat up as well and placed your hand on his naked back, caressing it softly.

“I think we should break up, Eun-ji.”

As he said this, it felt like your whole world collapsed around you. His words took your breath away, and as he stood up and got dressed, you began shaking your head repeatedly and trying to talk some sense into him.

“Chris… no. No, no, we can’t. What do you mean, break up? No…” You stood up and followed him out of the room and into the hallway, watching helplessly as he began putting on his shoes.

“I’m so, so sorry. But it’d be better for us to break up. All we do is fight, and I… I ruined everything…” Chris cried, and so did you, as you hanged onto him for dear life, hugging his back and trying to stop him for going through that door.

“Please, no. Please stay.” You begged. “We don’t have to break up. We can make it work, hm?”

“No… No, we can’t. We’ve been trying for so long, and yet… I put you through so much… you’d definitely be better off without me, Eun-ji.”

“You’re so fucking selfish!” You shouted, crying your heart out. “I love you so much, and yet…”

“I’ve never loved anyone as much as I love you, Eun-ji. But…” As he said this, he chocked on a sob, coughing slightly and wiping his tears away rapidly. “I just think it’d be best to stop this before I end up hurting you more, hm?”

"I'm the one who should decide if you're hurting me, Chris, not you!" You countered back, but he wouldn't hear any of it.

He turned around and hugged you tight, and the only thing you could do was beg him not to go.

He didn’t listen to you, and he left, and the house felt unbearably cold, and your bed was so empty, you loathed looking at it, knowing that just hours prior, you’ve made love on top of those sheets, and he loved you, and you loved him.

You tried calling him numerous times for the next week, but his calls would instantly get redirected to voice mail. At first, you left messaged for him, raging from disappointed, to sad, and even angry as the days passed and he wouldn’t return any of your calls, and after two weeks of no news from him, you understood that his decision was final, so you decided to finally block his number, and you haven’t looked back since.

---

“You were so incredibly cruel about that.” You reply, feeling tears well up in your eyes. However, you swallowed back the lump in your throat and didn’t allow yourself to cry in front of him again.

“I don’t know what I was thinking… To be honest, I’ve been considering breaking up for a while, but… the way I did it was indeed way too cruel, and that’s something I still regret. I just ended up hurting both of us in the process…”

You let out a bitter smile at his confession. You wanted to tell him how much it still hurt, how the break-up was still fresh in your mind even a year later, and how much you wish it never happened, but you couldn’t say anything.

You point him towards the cards, and he draws one and reads:

“Who do you think had the harder time after we broke up?”

“Honestly?” You chuckle. “I’ll selfishly say it was me. Did you have a hard time at all?”

“God, you have no idea.” He chuckles as well.

“Really?” Your eyes grow large. “But you didn’t even return my calls.”

“And when I did, I found out you blocked my number, so…” He scratches his nape.

“Oh.”

“Yeah…”

You don’t know how to react to this new information. You’ve been wondering all this time if he’s ever reached out, and now that you found he did, you heart broke.

Maybe coming to this show was really a mistake, because your heart doesn’t seem to heal at all – it’s quite the opposite. It’s weighing heavier in your chest, and it hurts so much, and it doesn't seem like you'll get any closure.

You draw another card, but the question gets cold on your tongue, and you barely find the strength to ask it.

“Did you… uhm… did you ever see yourself marrying me?” You clear your throat and look at Chris, who’s showing you the most compassionate expression, so full of love, like you haven’t broken up a year ago.

“Yes.” He replies plainly, and this finally breaks you.

You avert your gaze as you feel your eyes swelling up with tears.

“I’m sorry, can I please have a moment? I need a break.”

You take in a few deep breaths and refuse to look at Chris anymore, because you can’t help the growing feelings in your chest and the pain ever-present in your heart.

“Alright… when?” You ask after a little while, trying to wipe away any tears that might’ve fallen on your cheeks.

“I fell in love with you quickly, but… I think I knew for sure that I wanted us to… uhm… to be more than just a couple… when you first met my family.”

---

“I’m so anxious! What if they won’t like me? What if they’d think I’m not good enough for you? Oh my God, Chris, where are the presents I bought??? Did you forget to pack them? I explicitly said-”

“God, Eun-ji, calm down.” Chris chuckled. “It’s just my parents. And I put the presents right there in the bag, just as you’ve asked me to.”

“I’m so anxious, I can’t help it!” You pouted. “Where exactly?”

“Here, let me look for them.” He offered, and you plopped on the bed in Chan’s old room, almost on the verge of crying.

You were thankful that his parents were away for a few hours to some sort of event, which gave you a little time to settle in their house and mentally prepare yourself for the impending meeting.

“What?” Chris asked puzzled.

“What?” You immediately sat back up, watching as Chris looked confused.

“I’m sure I packed them. Is this the wrong bag?” He tilted his head to the right, and you just about died.

“This can’t be true!” You exclaimed as Chris closed the bag and examined it.

“Shit, I thought you said I should put them in the blue one.”

“Chris!” You grabbed a pillow and threw it at him, and he started chuckling.

“It’ll be okay, babe, don’t worry.”

“No, it won’t! I came empty handed and they’re going to hate me, and-” You sniffed and buried your face in your palms, but Chris grabbed them gently and pushed them away, grabbing your face with his hands.

“They won’t hate you. They will see how much I love you, and they will love you too.”

“I put so much thought into those presents, though.” You pouted, thinking of the matching jewellery set you got for Chan’s folks that took you ages to decide on.

Before Chris got the chance to say anything else, you heard the front door open, and your heart stood still in your chest.

“Looks like they’re here. Come on, let’s meet them.” He dragged you up from the bed and you reluctantly followed him, and there they were, in the doorway, with large smiles on their faces at the sight of their son.

Chris introduced you and they immediately made you feel welcomed by taking you into a large hug, and then you had lunch together, when you talked and told them lots of funny stories from work and from your childhood.

Chan’s mother was more than happy to hear these stories and shared some of her son’s growing up as well, with a large smile spread across her face, and you had such a pleasant time together, hours ended up passing by, and day turned to night in no time.

By the time you were back in bed next to Chris, you wondered why you worried in the first place. These people were as lovely as him, and they apparently adored you too.

---

“My mom still asks me about you.” Chris chuckles.

“I also think about them often. How are they doing?” You ask with a soft smile, remembering the good times.

There were a lot of downs in your relationship, but more than anything – bigger than the pointless fights and sleepless nights –, you had some amazing moments together that you’d do anything to relive.

It truly doesn’t feel like a whole year went by with Chris not being in your life.

“They are doing well. Like usual.” He smiles back. “I believe we have two more questions to ask.”

“Yeah, it appears so.” You reply, unable to believe that a whole hour has passed already.

“My question reads: what have you been up to ever since we’ve broken up?”

“Hmm… you know me, just hustling here and there. I’ve found a new job that’s closer to home, I started going to the gym more or less regularly, I made some new friends and tried out some hobbies – which I ended up being too bad at to pursue.” You chuckle.

“Really? Like what?” Chan’s eyes sparkle with excitement as he’s placing his elbows on the table and his head steadily on his palms, showing you that you have his undivided attention, and it feels like no time has passed at all.

If you weren’t totally sure of your feelings until now, if you had the smallest doubt in your mind that you still loved him, watching him look at you like this made it clear.

You are very much still in love with Chris, and despite everything that went down, you wish things would be different between you.

You dread the hour being over and going back home to your life, devoid of his presence.

“Uhm, don’t laugh at me please.” You start, and Chris already lets out a chuckle. “I tried dancing, painting, boxing-”

“Wait, dancing?” Chris immediately erupts into laughter. “Eun-ji, you can’t be serious!”

“And why not?” You frown jokingly.

“I mean, you were always so bad at it whenever I’d try to show you any moves!” He continues laughing.

“Well, that’s your own fault for having hard ass choreos, not mine!” You retort, laughing along. “Besides, you promised me you wouldn’t laugh!”

“I didn’t promise anything!” He raises his hands in front of him in fake defence, a large smile adorning his face.

“Oh, fuck off!” You exclaim with a chuckle, drawing the last card from your pile. “Why did you invite me here today?”

“Oh.” Chris immediately turns serious and scratches his nape in slight embarrassment. “Uhm, you might know that I have a new album coming out… a solo one?”

“Yeah, I’ve heard something about it.” You nod.

So, after all, you were right, and he only invited you here to promote it.

“I don’t know what that has to do with me, though.” You continue, feeling your heart grow heavy.

“The album is about you, that’s why.” He smiles softly. “Would you maybe like to… listen to one of the songs in it?”

“Sure.” You nod again, your heart beating harder.

“It’s called Eun-ji.”

As he says this, he pulls out his phone and presses play on the song, and the calm beats begin surrounding you two, and soon enough, Chan’s pained voice.

It’s a sad song about a missed love, about regret and pain, about every unspoken feeling Chris had ever since you’ve broken up, and you found yourself tearing up and needing a few napkins to go through the whole thing.

Chris also begins crying, wiping his tears away repeatedly until the song is over, and when it is, he clears his throat and places his phone back in his pocket.

“Eun-ji, I… I’m still in love with you. Do you think that maybe... you would ever see us getting back together? Do you think you could ever give me another chance to fix my mistakes, to fix us?”

As he confesses this, you cry even louder and decide against replying. Instead, you stand up and go directly towards him, plopping yourself in his lap and hugging him tightly, and he immediately welcomes you, his arms circling your frame and pulling you tighter against him.

“I love you too, so, so much, Chris.” You whisper as you draw back, and his hands find your cheeks as he wipes away all the tears that are falling.

“My love, I was so, so wrong and selfish.” He frowns.

You shake your head, not wanting to think about it anymore, and press your lips against his.

Your first kiss after a whole year apart is long and sweet, and he hugs you even closer, and oh, how much you’ve missed him and everything about him. How much you longed to have him again…

“I missed you so much.” You confess, and he buries his head against your chest and sobs quietly in your arms for a few moments.

“Do you… uhm… do you want to get out of here and have some lunch? And maybe dinner, too?” He asks looking right in your eyes, and you nod, so he helps you up and grabs your hand, and without a word more, you two exit the studio together with the silent understanding that you’re back together, willing to work on your mistakes and to make it work this time around.

~The End~

[mxtxfanatic]

Just wanna say for those of y’all who came into this fandom late: just a few years ago, speaking on Jiang Cheng with anything less than glowing praise used to bring so much harassment that “angry grape”-related tags had to be created to circumvent jc stans finding and subsequently dogpiling your posts. I’ve since seen this tagging convention appropriated by his stans to be an “affectionate” petname for his character. If you wrote a wangxian fic in which Jiang Cheng did not appear, your fics would get bombarded with stans flooding your comments with their own headcanons on why Jiang Cheng isn’t around but “this is how he’d react if he was” and “everyone loves him, they’re definitely thinking about him, rn” and “when is he supposed to show up, op???” If you read a wangxian fic and Jiang Cheng did appear, there was a 95% chance that you would have to slog through thousands of words of abuse apologia paired with every character (except maybe Lan Wangji, maybe) claiming that Wei Wuxian deserved to be abused and should just learn to handle it better because abuse is really love. It took me a year of reading purely (only, exclusively) wangxian fics to find a single fic that had both 1) canon Jiang Cheng and 2) did not twist the other characters into fanon iterations to justify canon Jiang Cheng’s abusive behavior. When more canon writers started appearing, their fics got flooded with negativity, claims that the fic wasn’t realistic because “jc isn’t like that,” and demands to change things. They started moderating their comment sections. Eventually, jc stan writers even stopped tagging Jiang Cheng in their fics despite writing him as a major character because people began to avoid reading fics if they knew from the tags that his character appeared.

The “canon jc” tag was created on tumblr because jc stans said that if we didn’t like being attacked for canon opinions we should “create our own tag.” It was not a tag that always existed. Nobody used it until my friends created it. And every few months after that, we’d get a new “flood the tag” campaign by jc stans pissed at the name until it died down… until twitter refugees arrived, bringing with them a new faction of jc stans. That jc appreciate week or whatever they call it that starts on Halloween? Created by jc stans in an attempt to flood out Wei Wuxian appreciation posts on his birthday by making sure that new Jiang Cheng content would dominate all the major tags on that day. I watched the creators brag about that.

One BIG fandom upset happened when a jc stan wrote a horribly mistagged rape and murder wangxian fic and had their friends promote it so that wangxian lovers would read the fic and be traumatized. They gloated about having "successfully baited people," then tried to delete their tweets admitting it when they got them in trouble. I was there for that, too, and I only dodged being triggered because I saved the fic to read for later instead of cracking it open immediately.

Some of y’all may see me around now, but I’ve been watching this fandom for much longer than I’ve been making posts, before even the friends and mutuals I know now even knew I existed (yes I was a lurker lol). I’ve seen the development of all this play out across tumblr, ao3, and twitter (despite my best efforts to avoid the twitter side, that’s how ubiquitous it was). That’s how inescapable it was. I saw so much shit go down that I already had a mile-wide blocklist before I made my first post, and even then, I still got hate commentary on some of my posts the moment I dipped my littlest toe into metas. I had anon off for like a year because I didn’t want to deal with any harassment, and the moment I turned it off, I started getting bait anons (though not as bad as the others I’ve seen, holy shit). When I started this blog, all I did was liveblog and reblog other people’s art and metas. I was so stressed entering this fandom because the shit I had seen off rip was absolutely disgusting. That’s why I have very intentional rules of engagement that I try to hold to for myself. I may never be the first to start the fight, but I damn sure will defend myself and my friends. I also will never run away from admitting my mistakes, but I will also never be bullied into treating someone’s personal fantasies as equal to the actual factual text.

This isn’t to say that fanon enjoyers don’t get harassment. Another big fandom scandal was that a popular fanfic writer obsessed with canon had been harassing other writers through a series of bot accounts into leaving the fandom. What a lot of people don’t bring up in their bid to paint canon enjoyers as particularly prone to “fandom bullying,” however, was that the “canon” they were obsessed with was tied almost exclusively to the canon wangxian’s top/bottom sexual dynamic. I’d read that person’s works before—enjoyed them, even, before the scandal happened. They wrote fanon into their fics in other ways. The fanon/canon divide isn’t the problem; entitlement to unanimous fandom praise and recognition is.

There’s nothing wrong with enjoying canon or fanon, nothing right or wrong or morally superior for either camp. But do me a favor: go into the main jiang cheng character tag right now, and count how often you see a post about Jiang Cheng that portrays him in a negative light. Not one that portrays him as an snarky asshole or a teacher’s pet or a helicopter parent or a crybaby who only wants to be loved, but one which shows him in all of his uncensored glory as a piece of shit antagonist. How often do you see fanart of Jiang Cheng that isn’t “best jiujiu” or “sad didi” or “badass sect leader”? How often do you see metas that don’t include some iteration of “everyone is just so mean about poor little jc who just didn’t have a choice in anything he ever did 😢”? Go to the main novel tag and do the same. Hell, go to the wangxian tag and see what you find while you’re at it. How many of those posts are viral compared to “look at jc with his dogs!” or “look, I made lxc and jc kiss!” Then tell me whether or not you believe that jc stans are being specifically targeted for some unique and undeserved persecution by the fandom at large.

[wistfulnightingale]

Aziraphale's Jubilant Smile (NOT the crazy elevator grin)

Part 8 of 8 in The Chess Moves Theory Set by @wistfulnightingale

The rare times we see Aziraphale smile like this, it makes me want to smile too! The happiness is contagious. It's a genuine smile, the special smile our angel usually reserves for Crowley.

Remember seeing it? Just before Aziraphale gets on the elevator?

Neither did I.

No, it's not a special edit or cut scene. It goes by in a millisecond, just after the Metatron announces The Second Coming, and steps out of our sightline. This is the expression on Aziraphale's face, for the tiniest instant, before he registers what the Metatron just said. Our Angel is looking in the direction of Crowley and the Bentley. He was safe for a moment, literally behind the Metatron's back, unseen and unsupervised for a few moments, as that wonderful smile was happening.

As the Metatron steps aside, the camara cuts and moves in closer. The Angel's happy grin immediately disappears, and Aziraphale's remaining small smile slowly fades and changes to alarm as he turns his head to look after the Metatron.

Then, he slowly and cautiously turns his head back towards Crowley. It has to be a guarded and cautious look because now the Metatron is in the elevator facing Aziraphale, frowning expectantly...

But the Jubilant, Happy Smile that was first there suggests to us a new understanding of what might have been happening in that cautious look across the street, and why Crowley was still waiting.

If nothing else from the other 7 parts of my 8-Part Chess Moves Theory made you reconsider the Final 15, this singular photo might.

We see so much anxiety and stiff smiles and mixed messages from Aziraphale in his contact with the Metatron, from the time the so-called Voice of God walks into the bookshop uninvited and seemingly without permission (See Nothing Lasts Forever), to the time Aziraphale gets on the elevator. We know he is not Happily trotting away, excited about his new promotion. And it appears that he just broke up with Crowley and is leaving him behind...

Until we see this exuberant smile -- aimed in Crowley's direction.

It's not an anxious smile or a fake smile or one of the hundred variations of Aziaphale putting on an act for someone. It's a pure, happy, genuine smile.

Folks, something happened.

Something we didn't get to easily see.

Something hidden in Misdirection, and in chaotic confusion, and in loss and grief and frantic scrambling to figure out how to cope and what to do...

I think it happened during the Kiss (See The Circle Kiss Theory), but, even if I'm mistaken.... some Good thing must have happened to make Azi smile at Crowley like that!

..........

Tumblr is fun and Tumblr is wonderful weird chaos. You might be seeing this final post of mine before seeing any of the rest of my 8-part Chess Moves Theory Set. If you're interested or curious about the rest of the interconnected ideas I have about all this, you might enjoy checking out the rest of them at @wistfulnightingale!

Thanks for coming along on this crazy ride!!!

The 8 Chess Moves MetaTheory Set:

1 - The Metatron Misdirection

2 - The Metatron's Second Coming

3 - Ineffables in Check

4 - A Hefty Jigger of Death

5 - Nothing Lasts Forever

6 - The Circle Kiss Theory

7 - The Nightingale DID Sing

8 - Aziraphale's Jubilant Smile (Not the crazy elevator grin)

Also: The Chess Moves Theory Set, Why Chess & Magic?

[kenandeliza]

a collection of ideas of a post-suspendium Golden Age comics Billy Batson if he ended up in the 21st century (pick any comic continuity

EDIT: IF YOU SEE THIS POST HAVING A WEIRD/REPEATING PARAGRAPH/FORMAT, LET ME KNOW BECAUSE TUMBLR ISNT WORKING FOR MY MOBILE

1.adoption scenario

(If a leaguer wanted to adopt Billy, he’d just show them his birth certificate)

Billy smirking:” Sorry, you can’t legally adopt a grandpa”

2. Billy teasing with a smug boomer voice: “Back in my day, we used to play with atomic machines!”

3. youtube

Billy:thanks for showing me how to use a modern phone (insert friend from 21st century)! But I wonder, where is the tv remote for changing the youtube channel? And Where is the news?

(Friend from the 21st century):*sighs* it’s so over

4. Old friends

Aside from the fawcett city heroes, Billy in this case probably relates more to the older heroes like wildcat, Alan scott or Jay Garrick, maybe they have multiple team ups in the past and would reminiscent over it (the rest having their favorite drinks while Billy preferring his hot chocolate ice cream)

5. Teasing

The younger hero teams who know his identity would teasingly call him a “boomer”, Billy wanted to protest that he technically was born before boomers but they ignored it and still teased him about it.

to the rest of the heroes who didn’t know about his identity, they assume captain marvel is more than centuries old, and thinks this is the reason the kid heroes calls him a boomer.

6. Jokes

Billy: “oh so these memes are like what replaces comic strips i used to read, how nice”

Some of these ideas are taken from the fanfics i’ve written, some just came to me inside my head, but it’s fun to think about it.

(Edited: added more scenarios)

7. Caprisuns

Caprisuns werent invented yet when Billy was in suspendium. After getting out of suspendium, He really likes caprisun.

Other leaguers would be confused, Marvel's liking of caprisun is comparable to Martian Manhunter's love of oreos. When asked about when his capri sun addiction started, Marvel shrugged, "They weren't made before I was born, so it was only recent"

The league is now confused as to how old marvel is. Wonder Woman relates to this with her fascination of ice cream flavors.

8. Billy automatically put on a Mid-atlantic accent whenever he is near a microphone due to his habit and work with Whiz station for his TV segments as well as radio programs.

Whenever Captain Marvel uses a communicator, he unintentionally uses a mid-atlantic accent (this confuses the leaguers, "who is this guy!?"). Some of the leaguers enjoyed listening to his voice

Marvel would occasionally file an audio JL report (yes, with the same mid-atlantic accent) when he's on a hurry and couldn't type it out with his typewriter (he still finds it difficult to use a computer) : "And there you have it, folks! In a nutshell, I managed to handle the There was an outbreak of imps but Mary and I already took care of it, Junior apprehend the acrobat after a terible case of Moonitis, the three of us thwarted Mr. Mind's dastardly scheme to seize control of the sun, and we all prevented Sivana from being promoted to "King of Earth" by hurling his atomic bomb straight into the heart of the sun itself! That's the latest from me, This is Captain Marvel, signing off!"

Leaguer: "Why does he sound like a radio host commenting on a football game?"

Other leaguer:*shrugs*

9. Billy watches a cgi lion movie for the first time

..and thought innocently that there are other talking tigers like tawky tawny.

Some of these ideas are taken from the fanfics i’ve written, some just came to me inside my head, but it’s fun to think about it.

[ockissweek]

♥ Welcome to #ockiss24 ♥

The time has come again, fellow creators! Grab your tools of choice and prepare!

♥ #ockiss24 CALENDAR

from FEBRUARY 12th, 2024 to FEBRUARY 18th, 2024

♥ #ockiss24 MINI FAQ

What is OCkiss? It’s a week long event in which artists, writers and other creators produce content about OCs kissing.

Who can participate in OCkiss? Do you have an OC? Do you want to participate in OCkiss? Congrats, you’re in! Create something and upload it during the event with the tag #ockiss24

My OC doesn’t have a significant other, can I still participate? Of course! OCkiss is not restricted to romantic kisses - they can be friendly, they can be familiar, they can just be kissing their pet!

Can I use other people’s OCs? If they have stated that their OCs are up for grabs for this event, of course! If you’re not sure, please, please always ask the OC’s owner first.

I’m a bit lost and don’t know what to create! You can ask other people for prompts, make your own, or follow the official #ockiss24 prompt list (to be released soon!).

If you have more questions, please refer to the main FAQ!

—

Remember to tag your OCkiss creations with the #ockiss24 tag! I aim to reblog everybody who participates and I will set up a queue to that effect. Reblog culture has gone down on Tumblr, and I want to change that and promote creators to the best of my ability - it would be awesome if you joined me on this! If you don’t want your work to be reblogged here, please say so in the tags!

*I don’t own OCkiss in any shape or form, and everybody is free to launch their own OCkiss event whenever they want! I’m just aiming to have a more organized place for it, as I have been organizing this event for the last years on my artblog.

[alelathedragon]

Alright chat 👏👏👏👏 we pretty much have Promotional Posters/Ads for every single Puzzles in the competition.

The Brackets are set, every Puzzle has their opponent lined up

I just have to finish my project for the competition and then we'll be off to the races!!!

I wanted to make this post to ensure you things are still going smoothly for the Mr.Puzzles Tumblr Sexyman Competition even though I've been mostly radio silent on progress. I just don't wanna spoil my idea!!!

Which speaking of.... I need something from one of you

@purpdrawsthings PARKER WHERES THAT MR.PUZZLES REFERANCE?????? /ref/silly/not mad

Can i have it plsplsplsplsplspls /again silly take your time, im just missing your puzzles and im like

I HOPE

I can get the Tumblr Sexyman Competition officially started by the end of February if not sooner than the end of the month.

Lets cross our fingers and hope bc i do work at Walmart ✌️ piss hours and minimum wage my hated raagffggg

Do i @ everyone involved just for an update??? .....

My empathetic side; id be annoying

My friend bugs in the back of my brain: NO YOURE NOT DO IT COWARD

@michaelscorneroftheinternet @kuromipuzzles2000 @bluedoofus

@h4ppysoki @4thwallbreakerdraws2 @bidinonsense @theclosetcreature @mrtophat518 @change-name-later @kizzorelli @astro-vision-au @bluestrawberrybunny @icedbeverageenjoyer

@puzzle-pilled @thestuffiesheadquarters @alex-dolmatescu3-0 ??? That one?

@emeraldsk @jovialoddity @alien-star88 @goofishh @bear-boi-5 @livzees @spv-au

@mothfoxwastaken @starlynmelodica

@dakaakula (i know youre on a miss puzzle hiatus and this announcement is NOT a push to get you to get back to it, its just an update on the competition and how its going. I debated weither to @ you or not but i didnt wanna leave you out so aaa)

[writingquestionsanswered]

Worried About Traction/Why Write?

Anonymous asked: Okay answer me this, so I've read how trad publishing is going to shit, but self-publishing I doubt I could gain any traction with. Then why fucking write, ya know? People say, "write for yourself," which sounds like a lot of goody bullshit. I want people to love my writing, I need some type of validation. So, how the hell do I get anyone to care about my stories?

Just a quick note that this ask came in off Anon, and I wasn't sure if it was meant to, so I put I'm posting it Anon to be on the safe side.

So, I don't want to get too much into the "is traditional publishing dying" debacle, because it's a conversation that's complex and nuanced and outside of my energy reserves at the moment. What I will say is that the traditional publishers--the Big Five in particular--still dominate the market, especially where print books are concerned. And although self-publishing can respond more quickly to trends and shifting tastes, traditional publishing continues to evolve.

Having said that, even if traditional publishing was stronger than ever before, that wouldn't guarantee you a book deal. Even in the best of times, the odds of being traditionally published are between 1 and 2%. Even if you get a book deal, that doesn't guarantee your book will be a best-seller. Hundreds of thousands of books are traditionally published every year, and far fewer than 1% of those books will become best sellers. Being traditionally published doesn't even guarantee your book will be sold in brick and mortar bookstores. I can point you toward traditionally published books that have been out almost a year and still have fewer than 10 reviews on Amazon. I can point you toward many more with fewer than 30.

And, while we're on the subject, I can show you self-published books with thousands of reviews (positive ones, btw...)

The point is, it doesn't really matter how you publish. What you write, how you write, and how you market is far, far more important. But the reality is, most of us aren't writing the kinds of books that are going to be best-sellers, BookTok sensations, Oprah's Book Club selections, or get optioned for film rights before the ink on the book deal is even dry. So, when you say you need validation, what does that look like for you? Does it mean seeing your name at the top of the NYT best seller list for five weeks straight? Seeing your book on eye-level shelves at an international airport? Hundreds of fans showing up to your book signing? A-hundred thousand followers on Twitter eagerly awaiting news of your next release? Or, does it look like someone... anyone... enjoying your book enough to leave a 5-star review... someone calling you their favorite writer, several fans re-posting your cover reveal because they're so excited for your upcoming book, or someone writing to say your book got them through a difficult time in their lives? Because, while I would never tell you not to dare to dream of achieving the former list of expectations, I will absolutely tell you the latter list of expectations is well within your grasp. So, if that's validation enough for you, write for those people. If it isn't, and it's not enough to write for yourself, then I think all you can do is try. Write the best stories you can write. Get them out there. Promote the hell out of them and see what happens. Maybe you will be one of those lucky few who see their book at the top of the NYT best seller list for five weeks in a row. Or, maybe you won't, but you get a two-page e-mail from a fan who says your story changed their life. And maybe, after all, that's enough. Here are some posts that can help you start building a following ahead of publishing, whatever route you end up choosing. Building a buzz on social media ahead of publishing and consistent promotion afterward can make a big difference. Even if you publish traditionally. Guide: Getting Your Writing Noticed on Tumblr Guide: Author Platforms-What, Why, and How? Guide: How to Promote Yourself as a Writer/Author via Social Media 12 Sites for Sharing Original Fiction

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I’ve been writing seriously for over 30 years and love to share what I’ve learned. Have a writing question? My inbox is always open!

♦ Questions that violate my ask policies will be deleted! ♦ Please see my master list of top posts before asking ♦ Learn more about WQA here

[gatheredfates]

POSES. It happened! ✨

I made a smaller post this morning, but I am super pleased to announce that Tumblr's moderation has approved SEAFLOOR as a Community! We're live, baeby!

If you don't know what a Community is, you can check out Tumblr's post about it here.

If you are interested in joining, I will copy/paste the information contained on the Community's pinned post in the read more below, as you won't see it otherwise (outside of joining). I'd like to kindly request that if you are already a member of the Community to not like this post (it just saves me doubling up) but please reblog it to spread the word!

Welcome to SEAFLOOR! This a Community run by myself, Sea (@gatheredfates), as an offshoot of the identically named Discord server aimed to contain both my personal projects and promote member-created content. If you would still like to keep up to date with my projects, interact with members of my community, and generally enjoy xiv content without the pressure of a Discord, this is the place!

This server has mandatory tags that MUST be used for spoilers. A general rule of thumb is the most recent patch/live letter is considered spoiler content and must be marked accordingly; as well as major spoilers for the most recent expansion. If it doubt, it always pays to tag. Please mind the following:

#dawntrail spoilers

#7.0. spoilers (will likely come into effect for 7.1 to differentiate from general Dawntrail spoilers, but you can tag for both!)

#liveletter spoilers

Much like my Discord, there are some house rules I want to put in place first for first-time users. Please familiarise yourself with the below. This post is pinned; you can't claim you haven't seen it. A lot of these are near-identical to the server rules, but I'll be no-less forceful in implementation if they are not adhered to.

If I'm being entirely honest, moderation past Community maintenance is something I do not want to engage with, so I will be intervening only when it is entirely necessary and will be harsh in my implementation. Therefore, if you don't think you can conduct yourself in a healthy, adult manner, do not join. Some of these rules may seem 'harsh' but are the product of me making clear boundaries in what I will expect, tolerate and foster. I will not hesitate to curate where I feel it is necessary.

I believe in the age-old phrase "Be excellent to each other," and that underpins every rule featured below. If in doubt, refer back to this mantra.

This Community is strictly 21+ only. This is to keep in line with my personal boundaries regarding minors. It's nothing personal, I just don't have time to moderate for a younger audience.

Common-sense rules apply. Do not break Tumblr's ToS, spoiler/content warm where appropriate and sensible, and don't be rude/harass people in the comments. Just because a rule isn't explicitly stated doesn't mean you have full reign to do the thing.

Intolerance (namely racism, homophobia, transphobia, etc.) will not be tolerated. If you don't like it, the back button is free.

Due to this being a predominately XIV focused Community, dark themes will present due to subject manner explored in the game. I will not enforce mandatory tags/censors outside of patch/expansion spoilers; I just ask that people use their common sense and consider peoples' safety and mental wellbeing when posting work(s). If you do not warn appropriately or mock/ignore requests for things to be censored/warned, you will be removed.

As Communities are in their infancy, rules may be amended/adjusted to better fit this space's purpose as time goes on. While I will attempt to make these changes obvious, please check back on occasion just in case. "I didn't know," is not a valid excuse.

HOKAY, now that the serious of the rules are out of the way, you might be wondering to yourself, "Sea, what can be posted?" I'm glad you asked! ✨ First and foremost, as I do not encourage secular spaces, please make sure all content has originated from a public tumblr blog. I want to encourage people to reach out, interact and follow other people, not just stick to this space! Beyond that, I accept:

Screenshots (gpose), writing, art, think pieces and other xiv content created by members. You can tag these with #gpose, #writing, #art, etc.

Resource gathering similar to what is featured in the Discord server including resources, prompts, commissions, etc. You can tag these with #resources, #prompts, #WoLQoTD, #commissions, #other, etc. These do not have to be created by members in the community.

Event, character profiles, looking for content/rp/free companies and more! You can tag these with #events, #character profile, #lfc, #lfr, #free company, etc. These do not have to be created by members in the community.

Links to lodestone posts/dev commentary and other official posts provided they are tagged correctly. You can tag these with #lodestone.

Anything you've created in response to my projects! You can tag these as #sea's character questions OR whatever the event is at the time (for example, Down to Dawntrail posts can be tagged as #(count)down to dawntrail)! I will try to reblog anything that I am tagged in if the owner doesn't reblog it here.

Anything xiv related that isn't covered here but you think is in line with the spirit of this community and what I'm trying to foster. Please DM me if you're unsure.

[hallowpen]

I know you said you're not talking about it anymore but I would like to invoke my special privilege of being your most favorite mutual who has suffered for you creating sh weapon references until visions of runes replaced my very thoughts

What is it that distinguishes general shipping culture from Thai-specific shipping culture? Because you mention Thai shipping culture a lot, and while I know there is a difference I can't seem to put into words what that difference is. I don't know if I'm making any sense, but like, under the umbrella of QL in Thailand, what part of it is culture and what part of it is marketing? Like the presenting of a "ship" as a "product" part.

Listen you... (Only because it's YOU asking... but be aware: You cannot pull this 'fave moot' card for the rest of our tumblr interactions. You had one shot! And you've now used it hehe)

So let's sort of break down the Thai QL marketing strategy, as you've put it: You have the 'production' and then you have the 'fandom/engagement' side of that production.

Production Marketing Branded Pairing - the production companies are going make a QL series and then present you with the leads as an easily 'shippable' pair. In Thailand, we refer to these ships as คู่จิ้น or 'imaginary couples' (จิ้น is pronounced as "jin" like imaGINE... cute no? hehe) These pairs are the product... the draw to attract viewers/fans. It's more common for branded pairs to stay working together once they've developed a comfortable relationship with one another. However, this can lead to some stagnancy within their working relationship and the types of roles they are offered. Companies like GMMtv, in my opinion, go a little overboard in this aspect. The logos and mascots are cute, but they're firmly cementing the fact that these pairs will never star opposite someone else in a BL production once they're established as a brand. It's very limiting for the actors involved and the fans who crave varied content... because at some point it all starts to feel very same. But again, that's just my feeling. It does work very well in some instances. And as long as production companies are gaining revenue, I don't really see that changing anytime soon.

Fanservice - the pairs' job is to sell the product: attract brand deals and increase fan engagement. The best way to do that for QL is to play up the fantasy (at a level that both individuals involved are comfortable with). They're going to pretend and have fun with their fans with a little back-and-forth. At this point in the conversation it's important to note that in the early days of fanservice, and even still, there was a lot of cultural nuance involved in order for businesses and potential viewers to be more accepting of mlm relationships which were heavily featured in the series that were being promoted. There's also discussion about whether or not the proco's allow their pairs any say in the level of fanservice they must perform. For the most part, it seems that they do... but that's not always the case.

Production Engagement Shipping - the viewers and fans are the 'consumers'. They essentially buy the 'product' the companies are selling, with both financial support and through their engagement. Now... in Thailand, as fans of these pairs, we are very aware of what is being sold to us. This is what I refer to as 'Thai shipping culture'. It's part of the 'game', for lack of a better word. We tease and we joke and we partake in the shipping... but at the end of the day, we know it's not real. Our support doesn't have any strings attached and isn't based in contingencies. We support the actors because we like the content they are providing for us. It's as simple as that. It's equal parts unfortunate and heartbreaking that this culture has been lost in newer fandom (from Thailand specifically). But it's important for interfans to understand, as well, that fanservice and shipping are not forms of queerbaiting. No one is trying to trick anybody... it's all very laid out in plain sight. And if you're buying too much into the fantasy, that's a YOU problem.

I don't really know how else to end this, other than to say what I always say, which is:

Please re-evaluate what it means to be a "fan" of someone. You are no more entitled to an artist's time or attention because you paid for it. You did that because you wanted to; you wanted to SUPPORT them. This doesn't give you any right to dictate their life; you cannot claim ownership over them. They are NOT your property. So if you truly "support" them, just let them be themselves...and love them all the more for it! The only thing misplaced anger/hate accomplishes is to create an environment where artists no longer feel comfortable interacting with their fans altogether, out of fear that every little thing they do or say will be misjudged.

[ahappydnp]

philm club rewatch #1

phil 7/21/12

detailed timestamp notes below the cut but my overall summary thoughts are

you could tell phil was still getting into the groove of liveshows so it's a little awkward and slow going in the first 15 minutes are so with lots of shoutouts and showing the camera random things. liveshows got sooo much better after just a year or so it's fascinating to watch them getting comfortable

mind boggling to think back to a time they were willing to show up to fan meetups and then made a point to state publicly why they weren't there AND share their location so openly constantly (obviously they were about to move but STILL they showed the outside of their flat So Much back then)

the juxtaposition of how naturally comfortable they were with each other (stealing hats, sharing food, having their little jokes and songs) vs. them remembering the chat and having to recalibrate (i don't want to procreate with you)

i'm gonna be sooooo real i still spent the entire hour kicking my legs and twirling my hair and having to pause to compose myself because that's my phil like that was my guy and it brought back all those giddy feelings :3

i love them both so dearly and i love that era despite the bad rep it gets in fandom now because it was also so exciting and new but they were growing up together and taking on the world like 2012 WAS dnp vs. the world and dnp won <3333

0:28- agrees to marry a girl and a boy

1:38- final broadcast from manchester!! moving to london

2:40- stressed bc logistics for moving (he’s trying to be a grown up). interesting that he is taking the reigns on coordinating and not dan 

6:27- PIGEON NOISE MY BELOVED

8:50- phil refers to processed ingredients as “skanky stuff”. sure. 

11:59- he's gonna put lion in his backpack during the move 😭😭 he doesn’t want to lose him

15:01- dan jumpscare popping into defending phil for not showing up to a meet up 

16:21- dan gives him an A star….girl

21:30- american phil i haaaaate it i hate it i hate it

21:57- “everyone just says awkward for everything now” okay this but now everyone says “help??” in the replies of every tweet WHAT DOES IT MEAN???

22:35- cornelia playing harpsichord at phil’s parents 

24:42- phil attempts a guest broadcast with a fan and he’s being so cute despite the horrors

28:42- they’re going to see muse again 😭😭 

30ish- fanfiction segment i love his brain

33:55- dan gets caught playing gw2 and not packing asdfghjl. omg their apartment is a mess they stress me out 

34:39- the way they used to show off their exact locations was truly a time like girl internet safety!!

35:21- he still wants to call his children jack and emily (cuts quickly to mo and slyvester lester joke and i won’t think too hard about what that means with this also being the era of dan being SO deadset on having 2 or 3 children like god they were just babies with dreams)

37:14- phil thinks max the guest is australian and has The Biggest Grin phil you slag ilysm and now he’s promoting him hard lmao

39:57- drawing game. he went too fast i couldn’t keep up so i stopped. unfortunate slur from the chat. 

44:38- had to check his tumblr archive to see the kstew gif he mentioned and found a mv a fan did of the manchester flat to i will always love you phil reblogged (phannies never change)

45:27- sneak peak of the “new” apartment WHAT IF I SOBBED!!!! the first london flat…god they had no idea what’s coming and all the things that will happen in that house ;___; living with danisnotonfire who is through that wall and Not Packing (married babies)

46:24- NEW I LOVE YOU FOR THE ILY SPREASHEET FUCK YEAH!!!

46:41- he’s getting a bit annoyed at the go get dan comments and it’s such a specific shift in vibes which makes sense because this was younow and god knows what that chat was also saying 

48:57- omg it’s danisnotonfire! what are you doing here get out of my house (you’re the same person dot gif) also sooo funny they already had their sides™️

50:36- that iconic dan hair push up and swoop is simultaneously the most comforting/nostalgic and single most anxiety inducing motion of all time

52ish- they’re sooo low energy in this one but it’s still comforting 

53:35- these two…

57:52- phil putting things on dans head because of course he does and taking dans thing because of course he does

58:00- i am not immune to phil in the trapper hat. 

58:24- them seeing all the screenshots and immediately making jokes (fun little note for those who don’t know is younow would have a pop up everytime someone took a snapshot so they knew every time they were being archived which had to have been a specific kind of hell and also what a shit feature??) their skin molecules are touching 

1:01:48- quite possibly the single most controversial shirt dan has ever owned. people haaaatedddd it for years (now im just soft bc its nostalgic)

1:04:06- dan and alexander mcqueen 4ever truly lmao also phil immediately having an opinion on the one he liked dan in better 

1:04:44- "dan played it on repeat all yesterday" “whenever i get sad i listen to it” :(( dan

1:05:15- dans fashion opinions haven’t changed and also the start of them being So conscious of revealing what they spend their money on because fans “didn’t like” when they spent a lot of money on things

1:05:46- we made it an hour before they read a gay comment but he’s handling it better than usual. phil saying “ don’t go there”

1:08:05- dan is STILL yapping about the hat god i love him he simply must elucidate 

1:09:29- aweeee a fanboy <333 he’s their love child (except dan reminds phil they’re not down to procreate with each other)

1:10:24- i love that phil has always thrown a random question at people to ease the tension like it’s suuuch a phil thing to ask what your worst fear is when you’re feeling awkward