#r programming assignment help

[statistichomeowrkhelperblogs]

Navigating Challenges in R Programming Homework: A Comprehensive Guide for Students

When it comes to mastering R programming, students often find themselves facing numerous challenges in completing their homework assignments. In this comprehensive guide, we'll explore the common obstacles students encounter and provide practical tips to overcome them. Whether you're a beginner or an experienced R programmer, this handbook aims to be your go-to resource for navigating the complexities of R homework.

Understanding the Importance of R Homework

Before delving into the challenges, let's establish why R homework is crucial for students pursuing statistics or data science courses. R programming is widely used in these fields for data analysis, visualization, and statistical modeling. Completing R homework assignments not only reinforces theoretical knowledge but also hones practical skills, preparing students for real-world applications.

Challenges Faced by Students

Complexity of R Syntax Overcoming the Syntax Maze The intricacies of R syntax can be overwhelming, especially for beginners. To overcome this challenge, consider breaking down your code into smaller segments, focusing on one concept at a time. Utilize online resources and seek assistance from R programming communities to enhance your understanding of syntax rules.

Data Handling and Manipulation Mastering Data Manipulation Effective data handling is a fundamental aspect of R programming. Practice with real-world datasets and explore functions like dplyr and tidyr to enhance your data manipulation skills. Online platforms and tutorials can provide hands-on exercises to reinforce these concepts.

Debugging and Error Resolution Navigating the Debugging Terrain Encountering errors in your R code is inevitable, but learning how to debug efficiently is key. Utilize debugging tools, such as the traceback function, and carefully review error messages. Online forums and communities can be valuable resources for seeking guidance on specific error resolutions.

Time Management Balancing Act: Homework vs. Other Commitments Many students struggle with time management when it comes to R homework. Create a schedule, allocate dedicated time slots for homework, and break down tasks into manageable chunks. Prioritize assignments based on deadlines and complexity, allowing for a more structured and efficient approach.

Seeking External Support

Relying on Professional Assistance Exploring R Homework Help Services For students facing persistent challenges, seeking professional help is a viable option. Websites like StatisticsHomeworkHelper.com offer specialized R homework help services, ensuring personalized assistance and timely completion of assignments. These services can provide valuable insights and guidance, complementing your learning journey.

Conclusion

In conclusion, overcoming obstacles in completing R homework requires a strategic approach, persistence, and access to the right resources. By understanding the challenges associated with R programming, implementing effective learning strategies, and leveraging external support when needed, students can navigate the complexities of R homework successfully. Remember, mastering R programming is a gradual process, and each obstacle conquered is a step closer to becoming a proficient R programmer.

Frequently Asked Questions

Q1: Is it common for students to struggle with R homework? A1: Yes, it's common for students to face challenges in R homework, especially due to the complexity of syntax, data manipulation, and debugging. Q2: How can I improve my time management for R homework? A2: To improve time management, create a schedule, allocate dedicated time slots, and prioritize assignments based on deadlines and complexity. Q3: When should I consider seeking professional R homework help? A3: If you're facing persistent challenges and need personalized assistance, consider seeking professional help from reliable services like StatisticsHomeworkHelper.com.

By addressing the challenges associated with R homework and providing practical solutions, this handbook aims to empower students to tackle their assignments with confidence. Whether you're a beginner or an advanced R programmer, the key lies in persistence, strategic learning, and utilizing available resources to overcome obstacles successfully.

[rprogrammingassignhelp]

How is R Programming Assignment help Beneficial to Students

R Programming assignment help offers significant benefits to students in their academic journey. Firstly, it provides them with expert guidance and support from experienced programmers who are well-versed in the language. This assistance ensures that students receive accurate solutions and learn the best coding practices, enhancing their programming skills. Additionally, R Programming Assignment Help allows students to overcome challenges and meet deadlines by providing timely assistance and reducing their workload. It empowers them to grasp complex concepts, troubleshoot errors effectively, and gain a deeper understanding of R programming, thus boosting their overall academic performance and confidence in the subject.

[lesbianlenas]

have to be real & honest w u….they post who gets the highest grade in each class & this one girl got the highest grade in our writing class both semesters and i had peer reviewed her one assignment last semester like our big assignment & i do not get it……like if my professor wants me to write like that i do not want an A 😶 she had like 30 cases she cited and would write like a single sentence on each case or just like a parenthetical her writing was so hard to read bc she put way too much info i’m like how is she getting an A w that. like i was peer reviewing it w another girl & she was also like u use too many cases i’m mot crazy 😭 and like even my dean’s fellows were like u should find 3 or 4 good cases to use i guess this is why my professor did not enjoy my legal writing bc i didn’t use 20 cases 😔 sorry i 1. don’t have the will for that and 2. try to make my writing comprehensible. guess that is not what they want in law school 😩

[thetutorshelpuk]

R Programming Assignment Help: Expert Assistance for Students

R programming is one of the strongest languages that are used in statistical computing, data analysis, and machine learning. This language has various purposes for students, researchers, and other experts doing research in places like data science, finance, and bioinformatics. However, this language a bit challenging for students because it contains so much coding application, data visualization, and complex statistical functions. Therefore, to help students who need expert assignment help in the language, the platform is established.

What is R Programming?

R is an open-source free programming language applied for computing statistical graphics and more. Heavily used in:

Data Analysis: Handling Big Data and Computation in Statistics.

Machine learning: Algorithm development, such as regression, classification, and clustering.

Data Visualization: It generates graphs, charts, and plots for easy understanding of the data.

Statistical Computing: Hypothesis testing, probability distributions, etc.

Assignments are cumbersome and complex that include writing of scripts, datasets visualization, and making students acquainted with the related concepts of statistics.

Problems With Students Related To R Programming Assignment

Inability to follow the syntax : Such programming languages are not seemed to be that easy as students are finding hard in case it's their new face.

Common Data Handling problem that students might encounter: While performing the respective task, commonly problems related to data cleaning and processing, etc., are being encountered by them.

Statistical Functions: Most of the statistical functions in R require significant mathematical expertise.

Debugging Process: Mostly, students face lots of headaches by using R programming to detect programming error.

Time Management: Managing hundreds of assignments simultaneously and then learning R programming is really painful.

How Can Tutors Help You

We do the R programming assignment help here at The Tutors Help in an easy and hassle-free manner. The reasons students opt for services we offer are as follows:

Experienced Programmers: The people in our team include pretty experienced professionals who can do their R programming works with all the experience they hold.

Custom Solutions: Every solution is especially devised for those academic needs.

No Plagirism Work: Original well commented code 100% guaranteed.

Explanation: Step by step Our tutors explain everything about a particular assignment in detail. They really make learning that easy.

They deliver on time; they are quite aware of the deadlines of doing assignments; thus, the delivery of such is done well and submitted accordingly and on time.

Affordable Pricing: They make it affordable to all and provide the students with essential expert help in terms of accessing all our services.

How to Get R Programming Assignment Help from The Tutors Help

It is simple to begin.

Submit Your Assignment: Provide specifications for your R programming assignment, including topic, guidelines, and deadline.

Get a Quote: We give you affordable pricing for our expert services.

Let Experts Do Your Job: Our R programming experts will do your assignments perfectly and with efficiency.

Improve from the Solutions: You can use our solutions to excel in R programming.

Conclusion

The process of R programming is skillfully exercised, but perfection lies in exercise and coaching. So, in the case of any problem or issue regarding R programming assignments, we at The Tutors Help are always here for you.

You can complete your assignment with the help of our expert on time, improve coding skills, and get higher grades. So, do not let r-programming challenges become a hurdle. Contact The Tutors Help now to get the best assignment help.

https://www.thetutorshelp.com/r-programming-assignment-help.php

[hellothetutorshelp-blog]

R Programming Assignment Help in Australia

R Programming Task One of the most trusted resources for experts who must create statistical software is assistance.It's possible to dissect the data in a better and easier way with the help of this language. The software made on these languages is used to take checks, pates, and dissect the stylish and worst goods of them. Students in Australia who are stressed about finishing an assignment can simply take advantage of our chic R programming assignment service.We've got professionals who have worked on this language and made numerous software and operations. So, then you can reach mileage experts who have worked on real-time systems in R programming. Motives Covered by Our Online R Programming Assignment Help Expert Data Manipulation: Using R for common data manipulation tasks like sorting, filtering, transubstantiating, adding up, etc. Data Visualization: Creating colorful plots and maps like histograms, boxplots, scatterplots, heatmaps, etc. Linear regression: fitting a direct model on sample data, making prognostications, and assessing model performance. Logistic Retrogression: enforcing double logistic retrogression, interpreting portions, and model evaluation. Time Series Analysis: assaying and vaticinating time series data using methods like ARIMA, Holt-Winters, etc. Clustering Analysis: Applying clustering algorithms like K-means and hierarchical clustering to a dataset. Text Mining Text processing, creating document-term matrices, and sentiment analysis. soothsaying: demand/deal soothsaying using exponential smoothing and SARIMA models. Benefits of Serving R Programming Assignment Writing Services from Experts Stylish R Programmers We've bagged the stylish R Programming Assignment Writing Services in Australia, who have completed their post-graduation from top universities in Australia. They hold a doctorate and have immense experience handling your assignments smoothly. However, you can also directly reach out to the assignment pen if you need any backing. Then, at New Assignment Help, you'll be able to track the assignment's everyday progress online by just clicking on the unique link for every assignment. On-time delivery services Fast delivery is the perquisite that makes scholars patient. Then, you can sit back and concentrate on other tasks. We promise to deliver the assignment on schedule. Then, you need not worry about the assignment as our expert completes it strategically and on time. Value-adding client support For us, excellent client satisfaction is the key. However, you can also communicate with our client care team if you need any help. Our platoon works in shifts so that we can serve you 24 hours a day. Still, you can communicate with us if you have any mistrust related to the online R programming assignment. Our platoon will reach out to you as soon as possible, with a prompt result. By understanding and deep exploration, pens frame assignments, and we also perform proofreading for the delicacy of assignments. Low prices and high results If prices count to you, also you'll feel satisfied then. We understand the pupil's dilemma of spending the plutocrat on R programming assignment services; thus, we're going to give you special deals so that you can enjoy the assignment and learn from it fluently.

[cryinggirlnamedhelen]

For the ladies: need help picking a scenario for a woman to be in the Blue Lock facility without making them a stereotypical (Y/n)? I gotchu bbg.

SCENARIOS

note: all of the ocs/(yn)s here are all 15-19 (high school to first year of college age) depending on your preference.

1. A manager who does the same jobs as Anri but is much more involved personally with the players

- One way this could play out is someone who is a manager from another club or U20 team (ex; Bastard München) and is transferred to Blue Lock, whether it’s out of personal interest or a request from Ego. Either way, with her experience, she helps the players with ease and professional advice and also acts as a PR manager of sorts for them, and might even begin a romance with one of them.

- Another way is perhaps someone who is in desperate need of money and is willing to do anything for money. One day, she checks a sketchy website for new job offers with lots of money, and the new Blue Lock program hiring managers catches her eye. She instantly applies and gets in almost immediately, and helps out the players and Anri. She also might get into a love story with one of the players.

- Another way is someone who is an intern at the JFU (Japanese Football Union) and is assigned to work on Blue Lock with Anri, as the intern is only a teenager and Anri is a new hire and only 22 and fresh out of college. While Anri is helping out Ego more, the intern is helping out the players more while also learning more about herself, soccer, relationships, and love.

2. A nurse who checks the medical data of players and nurses them back to health during injuries or sickness.

- One way this scenario could play out is perhaps someone who is an aspiring doctor, and one way to train herself is to sign up for Blue Lock. She has enough medical knowledge to know what to do with common sicknesses like colds or fevers, and she knows how to deal with broken or fractured bones and more. She’s mostly learning how to truly have patients trust her, and she herself learns to fall in love.

- A daughter of a doctor who is called to Blue Lock, but her parent instead gives her the opportunity to help out at Blue Lock. Any plausible reason would be fine, but to not be too repetitive, I think that maybe something similar to being able to have a backup plan if she ever can’t go to college or doesn’t know what profession to chase could be a good reason for why she’s at Blue Lock.

3. A chef at the facility who is supposed to work in secret but is seen one night by a participant

- Okaaaaaaay so major Rin vibes here, but anyways she’s desperate for money so drops out of high school begins working at some random restaurant as a chef and just earns enough to barely get by. But one day, Ego visits the restaurant and hires her to cook for Blue Lock. She agrees, and she’s the one who cooks all the food at BLLK. One night, when all the players are supposed to be asleep, she sneaks out of her room to eat something, but doesn’t realize that a player from one of the wings had just finished extra training and was eating away. Let’s just say that their love story started from there.

4. An aspiring psychologist who wants to see what will happen to the mentalities and personalities of the players before and after Blue Lock

- HEAVY HEAVY HEAVY Isagi main love interest vibes here, but she’s kind of a weird person. She’s always analyzing the personalities of people because she’s so lonely and just wants to feel loved by someone. She then goes to Blue Lock out of pure interest just to see the results of the project. She accidentally sees one of the results of the elimination tag game for one of the teams, and she basically falls in love with the final eliminator then and there. She then kind of just hangs around them to see their personality, but she unknowingly becomes more and more in love with the person who she finds most psychologically interesting.

5. A former athlete who receives a career ending injury but becomes a regular spectator/mentor in Blue Lock

- So basically, she is a young athlete and is in love with whatever sport she’s playing and what’s to be the world’s best (I personally think ice skating would be perfect for this prompt…but anyways). But then one day at a competition or performance or match, she receives a career ending injury that will never heal, especially not if she keeps playing. Forced to quit and bitter about her injury, she goes to Blue Lock as a former athlete to watch a group of teenage boys try to achieve the dream that she once had, and she becomes a mentor and PR manager of sorts, giving them advice and encouragement.

[indecisivemuch]

hii first of all luv the username cause as a libra rising, samedt ;-; i'd like to make a request for a luke x f!reader fic pls!! um, so they're best friends, and luke decides to confess to r by giving her gifts, letters, trinkets, etc. with hints about his identity, but she doesn't know who they're from. so she asks for luke's help to find out about the identity of her secret admirer. but what if there's like a mistaken identity and she thinks it's someone from the hermes cabin (maybe chris? or one of the stoll brothers idk) and luke's just all pouty but nonchalant or something, but deep down he's like 'how do i even make her see' or something (while also second guessing that maybe he shouldn't confess it's him) like fluff with tiny angst :>

Message in a Bottle

Pairing: Luke Castellan x Reader

Summary: You got a secret admirer and recruited Luke to help you find out who they are...ignoring the most obvious option (Fluff, angst, best friends to lovers, happy ending)

Note: I'm so sorry for the six month hiatus. It wasn't by choice, I swear 😭. So many bad things kept happening that prevented me from writing (is this the writers curse people kept talking about?). Also, the request wanted only a sprinkle of angst, but I kinda got out of hand with it I think 😭 (sorry).

Word count: 4.4k (whoops)

You’ve always thought that too much of something is bad. Yet, ever since the day your life intertwined with Luke Castellan’s, you weren’t very sure about that anymore. 

The two of you arrived at camp around the same time, entering a friendship that felt like hitting the jackpot. Your early days together were something that you both treasured dearly. Every time you thought a certain time period would someday be reminisced as the golden days of your friendships, new things would come, and top it off. 

However, golden skies were soon evaded by clouds of pink hues. You found yourself noticing and appreciating small details you haven’t noticed before about your best friend. Initially, you acknowledged the growing feeling but decided that they better remain as footnotes in chapters of your life. However, fate’s design was different to your plans, because two years later, here you were: you looked at him almost in the same way a fool would look at the world with rose-colored glasses (but then again, maybe it was because you have learned to embrace and adore his flaws).

“Luke!”

The Hermes cabin counselor snapped his head towards the sound of your voice, eyes straying from his duty of the hour. A smile began forming on his face as you came to view, almost like he has always been programmed to do so. There was a certain spring in your steps. Moments like these made Luke feel like he was a minimalist because your happiness was somehow enough to guarantee his own. 

You situated yourself next to Luke on the ground, not minding the dirt.

“Hey now, I’m meant to be watching these kids train, don’t come over and distract me,” the Hermes cabin counselor warned, though he didn’t move his eyes away from you. He simply couldn’t.

Everything about you served as a distraction to him. From the soft smirk gracing your lips to the innocent tilting of your head. Every little detail about you was captivating and was equally capable of drawing his attention away from wherever it was meant to be. 

In fact, his attention issue around you was getting rather shameless because his friends have begun picking up on it and started teasing him for it. Personally, Luke doesn’t think it was his fault. His eyes just happen to draw to you in every room like second nature, while his mind short-circuited every time you were near. 

Maybe, and just maybe being rational and able to function properly has stopped being his forte…at least whenever you were around.

Your eyes moved to the group of kids that were only going to be at camp for the summer. From the looks of it, Luke has just assigned them to practice sword fighting in pairs. You then glanced back at your best friend, discreetly drinking in the sight of him. 

No doubt he did his fair share of demonstration before letting these kids go off on their own, because right now, his face was slightly flushed, veins evident on his forearm while the familiar orange shirt clung onto his body with glistening sweat.

You shook away the non-platonic thoughts and teased him, “Oh, come on, you wouldn’t pass up on talking to me. You adore me too much.” 

Damn right, he does. Luke could feel his cheeks heat up again.

“Fine. What are you here for, firecracker?”

“I got another gift,” you informed, presenting the bracelet in your hand. 

For the past month, you have been receiving small letters and gifts. This time it was a handmade bracelet with beads of your favorite colors, as well as charms that represented some of your hobbies and favorite things. It was clear that your anonymous admirer had put a lot of thought into such a small item. However, as always, there were no identities attached to it, leaving you clueless about the person behind these gestures.

Luke took your hand in his, eying the accessory that perfectly fitted your wrist. He started toying with the beads around your wrist that were shining in your favorite color.

The boy’s gaze flicked from the object to you, catching your soft and warm look. Gods, if you kept looking at him like that, he might just actually stop thinking logically. He could practically feel a confession lingering behind his lips, threatening to spew the second his ropes of restraint died.

“Anyway, I came here with an idea,” you broke the silence. “What if I try to find out who this person is? I mean, some of these gifts are quite specific. They seem to know my favorite color, flowers, and things I like. Surely, it wouldn’t be that hard to narrow it down and figure it out?”

Something shifted in your best friend’s behavior and you could feel it. There was a slight flustering look on Luke’s face as he avoided eye contact with you. It was rather strange to see the Hermes cabin counselor so fidgety. Luke has always been confident and composed, and you’d often be the one to humble down his playful cocky remarks. Half-way through looking at his behavior, you began speaking:

“You…”

Luke could feel the blood draining from his face at your facial expression, his face paling despite how flushed he was seconds ago from demonstrating sword fighting. The boy tried to regain his composure, though his attempt at seeming nonchalant failed as you touched his arm. Did you—

“You can be my inside man, talk to these guys to see if they’d slip up or something like that.” 

“I don’t think that’s a very good idea,” Luke hastily replied, clearing his throat.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Did that come across as a suggestion? I hate to break it to you but being best friends means you sorta have to participate in my schemes,” your lips curled as Luke grunted at your words. 

“Yeah, but—”

“Luke, please…it’ll be fun,” he almost scoffed at your words and unconvincing argument. Clearly, the two of you had different definitions of fun. Just as he opened his mouth to reject your idea again, his eyes caught yours. You were looking at him in such an eager and heart-warming gaze that it made him forget what he was intending to say.

Ah, there was no denying anymore. Being rational and able to function properly has truly stopped being his forte.

“Fine,” Luke uttered, the word pricking his tongue as regret started kicking in as he accepted being your accomplice. This decision could only come back to bite him in the ass. He watched as you quickly celebrated his lack of restraint.

“Ah, you gave in quite quickly,” you jabbed.

“Shut up.”

Oh, you were going to be the death of him.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Two days have passed since you got Luke to agree to help you find your secret admirer. Though, the boy must say, the last forty eight hours have been slightly comedic for him, watching you trying to track down your secret admirer…

While the real sender of those gifts was right beside you, nodding along to your every word. 

Luke’s mind trailed to the origin of this “secret admirer�� idea. He started it as a way to abate the urge of straight-up blurting out how love-struck he was with his own best friend, while also testing out the waters before finally confessing his feelings for you. 

Though it was slightly amusing how the idea led him to where he was right at that moment. The Hermes cabin counselor zoned out as he pretended to speak to another boy you thought was behind those sweet gifts and letters. 

Luke used to have those feelings under rein, but self-repression only caused it to grow exponentially. Initially, the Hermes cabin counselor dismissed those beyond friendly thoughts, thinking they would eventually fizzle away. However, against his predictions, this fondness towards you became a sort of companion to him for three long years. 

Not only that, years of excessively burying these feelings six feet underground also came back to bite him in the ass because instead of having his feelings under control, they now have the upper hand. 

Sometimes he felt like a puppet, while his feelings plucked the strings. His facial expressions were forever cursed to be sculpted in raw yearning whenever around you, having no choice over how he reacts to everything related to you.

But it didn’t matter, because he was going to finally confess soon.

Luke almost burst out laughing at the way you were standing in anticipation, waiting for his intel on the most recent candidate. It was entertaining, to say the least, pretending to engage in investigative conversation before heading back to you, shaking his head in feigned disappointment. 

However, it didn’t take long before the Hermes cabin counselor started feeling sour.

Just as he made it back to your side, he watched as you started talking again, already discussing the next guy you thought might have done these things that Luke himself came up with. He eyed your in sync footsteps with a heavy heart. Despite the matching movement, he somehow still felt eternally behind. Luke was so close, yet so far away, and never quite able to grasp onto your ever moving attention. 

Did you not consider him as an option at all? Did you truly not see him as anything other than a good friend? It started stinging him knowing you were considering all these other guys as potential candidates — the faces that now haunt him in his sleep, poisoning his mind with an acidic jealousy that was eating away his common senses and fueling immoral thoughts. 

Soon enough, that same jealousy seared his mind with this overwhelming self-doubt. Luke’s foot started feeling cold at the thought of confessing. Gods, he never thought the same security behind anonymity would now make him feel desperate to be seen by you. 

“Maybe I should give up,” you concluded, mindlessly staring ahead. Your attention elsewhere gave Clarisse and Chris an opportunity to send each other knowing looks. The two have been watching you run around in circles on a goose hunt, not knowing to look right behind at the sulking figure that was trailing after you. 

Your distracted state also meant you didn’t notice the moping human situated beside you. However, hearing your declaration of ending your chase, Luke saw a window of opportunity. Maybe now was finally the time to be truthful. After all, if he doesn’t tell you, then how will you know and see him? Luke’s momentary motivation carried him through waves of dejection.

“Y/N, I need to tell you something,” Luke blurted out without much more thought or preparation, and his tone made you fully turn to him. Just as words finally formed and the boy opened his mouth to tell you—

“Hey Y/N, can I talk to you privately?” Somebody interrupted. Your eyes didn’t leave Luke immediately, but when you saw your best friend’s momentum had faltered, you turned to the stranger. It was another Hermes boy, somebody who you’ve seen around. You politely agreed and left with him. 

“So, I heard you’ve been looking for the person who’s been giving you anonymous gifts. And well, it’s your lucky day, 'cause…” the boy stared you up and down while you subconsciously took a small step back when he leaned forward. “...I’ve decided to come forward and reveal myself.”

“Okay…well, prove it” you squinted. Though your skepticism didn’t make the Hermes boy in front of you falter. Clearly, he expected this.

“The first thing you were given was a note, and…the two most recent gifts were a cassette tape and a bracelet — which was made from beads of your favorite color and charms like…” you zoned out as the boy started listing out some of your favorite activities that were indeed the charms on your bracelet. You fiddled with the bracelet that you had purposefully hidden out of his view right behind your back.

There was a pinch in your heart that signaled the last bit of hope dying. 

Oh…so Luke really wasn’t your secret admirer.

You internally scoffed at yourself. You should have known right after he said yes to helping you out with finding your secret admirer — which was originally an idea used as bait to determine if Luke was the sender or not, because if it was really him then he wouldn’t have agreed to help you out with this. However, not only did your best friend agree without much convincing from you, but he had seemed so nonchalant and unaffected as you named all these boys you wanted him to talk to. 

Perhaps this secret admirer thing was something good. Somebody has shown interest and their actions have been nothing but sweet. Those letters contained words that were eternally bound to your memories, even altering the way you view yourself for the better. Maybe you could get to know this person and move on from hopelessly crushing on your best friend.  

Halfway through, you realize you were so engulfed in your thoughts that you have zoned out to half of the things the Hermes boy was saying, and merely caught onto the last bit of his speech:

“...thinking maybe we could go on a date and get to know each other more tonight?”

Your stomach churned again, yet you nodded your head.

Move on. Move on. Move on. Move on. 

Your friends gave you questioning looks when you got back to where they were, clearly curious about what you were pulled away for.

“So…that was my secret admirer, and I’m going on a date with him tonight,” you hoped you sounded more enthusiastic than you were feeling. You tried convincing yourself at least it was good knowing definitely how your best friend actually felt about you. Quickly sitting down, you kept your eyes on Clarisse, knowing if you even looked over at Luke, he’d be able to tell straight away that something was wrong.

Your lack of focus also meant you didn’t think much of the quiet murmur from your best friend: “Sorry, I just remember I need to do something.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

You looked at yourself in the mirror one last time. It was now the afternoon and you just finished getting ready for your date. As you were leaving, you spotted a note at the foot of your cabin. Seeing your name written on the paper, you picked it up while eying it peculiarly.

“You could be the one that I love, 

I could be the one that you dream of,

Message in a bottle is all I can do, 

Standing here hoping it gets to you.”

Your gut feeling stirred, hitting you with waves of higher certainty over suspicions you have previously had and denied.

Those lyrics were directly associated with a memory from summer two years ago. 

Luke and you were sitting by the campfire when he asked what your favorite song was. You told him the name and mentioned you hadn’t listened to it in a while because using technology devices with signals were dangerous for Demigods. The conversation slipped your mind but clearly loitered in your best friend’s mind, because two months later while on your way back to camp from your quest together, he gifted you a tape player along with a cassette of said song along with others that you liked.

You blinked away the image of you leaning on Luke’s shoulder while the two of you listened to the song together on the train back to camp.

You re-read the note again while shaking your head. Perhaps it was a coincidence. Perhaps, that Hermes boy knew the song and it was also one of his favorites. Perhaps—

Your hand started trembling around the paper. Your eyes landed on one small detail in the note: a particular handwriting choice. The rest of it matched with previous notes, but there was one singular scribbling feature you’ve never seen used before. 

Everything came crashing down and your internal eternal cycle of excuses and denial shattered.

You ran. It didn’t matter that it was raining and your attire was getting soaked. It didn’t matter at all because you were frustrated and confused. In other instances, you would have been elated at the possibility of mutual affection, but in that moment, exasperation blinded you from sensibility. 

If what you have concluded was true, then why on Earth would he allow you to go on a date with a person who stole credit for things they didn’t do? This whole time, he made you feel like a fool — for waiting that long and having hope after all that time; for asking the person you were looking for to hunt them down with you; for sulking despite having what you thought was a good opportunity to come along; for borderline going on a date with an imposter; and for not seeing it all along that it was him. 

“It’s you, isn’t it?” you called out.

Despite the rain, you could see your best friend’s figure stiffened before turning around to face you. The boy stood with his hands behind his back, not yet daring to look at you. 

“The “th”. You connected the cross in the ‘t’ directly to the ‘h’,” you presented the note in your hand, pointing specifically at the slip up that Luke had made in the latest note, not caring of the raindrops that were hitting the paper. “It’s how I write it, and you started writing it the same way a year after we got to know each other because you liked the way it looked,” you pressed further.

The expression on Luke’s face painted your theory into the truth of the situation. You felt your hand slightly shaking at the revelation.

“Why? You left anonymous gifts and notes and watched me put on this hunt — which by the way, was for you. And didn’t even say anything when a guy lied and said he was my secret admirer? Is this one big cruel prank?”

“No—”

“Oh! Well then, surely at one point in this whole thing, you felt like you should just tell me?” 

“I was going to.”

“Then where were you when I was just about to head out with that fraud? Maybe if you really liked me and really cared for me, like all those damn notes say, you would have fought for m—”

“I did,” Luke finally raised his voice, his face briefly hardened in an attempt to convey his desperation. His chest heaved, and the way it did almost made you think the anger radiating off every inch of his skin right then was directed towards you. But it wasn’t, and he knew you knew. 

“I confronted him right after he claimed that he was the one who gave you all those things.” 

Invisible ivies rooted your foot to the ground. You gulped, trying to digest the information you were given. However, it finally sunk in when Luke’s hands appeared from behind his back. It was then that you could see the bandage wrapped around his knuckles. Your breath hiccuped in both flattery and worry at the implication of what he had done. The darkness behind those deep hazel-brown orbs reflected a certain side of your best friend that you hadn’t seen before. Although, part of you felt like you wouldn’t mind it.

It made Luke’s blood boil knowing what he dedicated to you from the bottom of his heart was spoiled by ill intentions. Luke should have known better than to carelessly write all the letters and craft those gifts right on his bunk bed, rather than discreetly. 

Once again, the Hermes cabin counselor was pulled back to memories from an hour ago. The way the other boy shot remarks at Luke’s lack of precautions, boasting his wrong-doings like someone incapable of having a guilty conscience. Luke's jaw tightened as the image of the sly smirk on the other Hermes boy's face flashed in his mind, but a wave of satisfaction ran through him as he recalled how quickly that smirk was wiped away by his own fist.

They might be brothers by a fraction, but blood or not, that boy was dead to Luke the second he tried tricking you.

“And no, I wouldn’t have let you go out with a fraudster. Never,” Luke’s eyes softened. “And in case it’s not implied enough: I like you…a lot. I was going to confess but then this guy came along lying,” Luke could feel that tremor returning once more to his fist. He hated that something he built, from scratch, on the foundation of sincerity was momentarily tainted by the hands of a spineless liar. Not only that, he hated witnessing somebody so dear to him getting deceived in such a tasteless manner.

“I also…didn’t want to get hurt. It was starting to seem like you would ever consider me as more than just a friend with the way you were listing out all these other guys. So for a bit there I was considering just keeping quiet…forever” he confessed, eyes now straying away from you and down to his shoes.

You observed your best friend through a new perspective. So your initial suspicions were true. You had thought it was him because all the things you have received hinted to somebody who knew you so well, and who else at camp but Luke knew this many things about you. But ultimately, another part of you — the proclaimed “logical” side — has hyper-analyzed every split second you two have shared and deemed that Luke has not given any true signs of interest in you beyond as a friend. Thus, you dismissed the thought of Luke being your secret admirer.

You know now to trust your gut feelings more.

“Oh, Luke Castellan, you dumb ass…” you spoke softly underneath your breath, but you knew he heard you perfectly clearly from the way he slightly peered up. Your heart almost shattered at the dejected look on your best friend’s face and the thought of him burying his feelings eternally. You sure as hell would not allow that to be this timeline.

“I’ve liked you ever since the day you went out of your way and gave me that first cassette tape,” the marveled look on Luke’s face over your confession made you continue, “I guess I should have known it was you…cause gift giving has always been your love language.” It seemed like the boy was too stunned and struck frozen. However, his shell-shock state didn’t last long, because soon, your best friend’s gaze reverted back to the way he has always looked at you, only slightly more intense.

Your eyes fluttered at the sight of Luke Castellan in front of you at that moment. You were finally able to see the effect you’ve always had on him. The way his lips hung slightly agape, eyes dilated in such a way you were no longer able to see their usual color anymore, chest slightly heaving despite lack of physical reasons for such a reaction. You almost wanted to hit yourself for being such a fool and not spotting these details sooner. 

“Now, Castellan…you have two options,” you stepped closer to him, leaving an appropriate amount of personal space in between. “You either kiss me or—”

Luke grabbed your wrist with his uninjured hand and pulled you in. The same hand-guided your arms around his neck while also effectively eliminating the remaining distance between you two. 

Without hesitation, he kissed you.

Likewise, you returned the action without a second thought. You frankly didn’t care about the rain that was soaking the both of you. Kissing Luke felt like such a natural act that it felt simply like diving home. The way he held you made you feel like you were a national treasure he was so afraid of losing. Gods, you don’t think you mind doing this ever so often.

Though, there was a certain urgency in the way Luke kissed you, as if afraid you’d either vanish or you’d change your mind. You pressed your lips harder against his, hoping he’d understand you didn’t intend on leaving or having a change of heart.

A grunt escaped his throat as you kissed him harder. Oh, Luke Castellan already knew he was in immense trouble. He knew almost immediately that the concerning number of thoughts he had about you each day would only increase tenfold from this day on. He wondered if you could taste all of his unspoken words. If kissing you felt like this, he might as well sign away his heart, body, and mind to you. In fact, he’d sign anything you put in front of him without even considering the fine prints. 

Luke slowly backed you against a tree, giving you a bit of support to lean against whilst shielding the both of you from the heavy rain. He smiled into the kiss as you hummed at his action, feeling it echo against his lips. His heart tugged, almost leaping out of his chest when your hands made their way to both sides of his face, cupping it intently like holding something yours. Yours. Fuck, he loved the sound of that. 

You were the first to break the kiss. The both of you gasped for air while maintaining eye contact. The close-up view of his intense gaze drove your cheeks rosy. You could not help but admire the way his locks of wet curly hair clung onto his forehead, while raindrops fell from his face, some following the length of his eyelashes before falling — Oh, the way he glanced down at your lips at that second made you feel almost like you had the power to convince him into anything at the moment. 

“You’re my best friend…” he broke the silence.

“Mhm.”

“...but what if I want you to be more than that?”

“I can be both,” Luke’s lips broke out into a smile, and you mirrored his facial expression. He leaned his forehead against yours whilst softly rubbing his thumb soothingly against your waist.

“I’m not against that.” 

As a larger grin broke out on your lips, Luke’s eyes further softened. He realized right there and then that anything you wanted, he would not be against it. A breath of relief quietly escaped beneath Luke’s breath. He could not wait for whatever was in store for the both of you in the future.

Good thing his messages in a bottle did get to you.

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

masterlist

join my Luke Castellan taglist (or to remove yourself from)

[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.

[maxwellatoms]

Hello Mr. Atoms, I'm an animation student in college and fan of your work. I got this assignment in which I need to ask questions to a professional in the area. Could you pretty please answer them? It'd mean a lot to me.

1- Are you happy with your career? How it's going.

2- What are your opinions, expectations and hopes about the independent animation industry that's developing?

3- What do you think about the advent of artificial intelligence? Do you fear for the future of animators?

4- If money wasn't a problem, would you still do what you do?

5- Any animators you admire and would like to mention?

Okey dokey.

1- Are you happy with your career? How it's going.

Not really, in that there seems to be no career left.

The animation industry swelled its numbers greatly before 2020. Almost immediately after that, corporate greed synergized with a pandemic to reduce animated programs and the number of people working on them to almost zero. It takes almost a year from beginning to end to make a single episode of an animated show (by the modern standard). There was nothing being made in 2020 and four years later, we''re not in a much better spot. It's going to be a long drought for (especially) Kid's TV Animation.

Recently, many of my former co-workers have hit the financial wall and can't continue, moving away after (sometimes) 20 years in the industry. I begin to wonder if I'm very far behind.

A "bounce back" a year from now would need to start today. There are still some animated shows being made now, but those are almost universally "library" properties. That means it's an existing I.P. (Intellectual Properties like Garfield/Mario/Batman/Star Wars) so as an artist you're immediately in that box. Depending on the property and the studio, it can be an unpleasantly tight box. I grew used to holding and maintaining the vision for a show, but it's less fun when it's not my vision. It's even less fun when you can't inspire someone to follow your vision because they've been so ruthlessly abused.

I'm pretty sick of how big media corporations treat their employees. If I inherit one more burnt out crew due to mismanagement, I'm gonna lose it.

Over a decade ago I fought hard to get board artists story credit for the episodes they were actually writing, and felt like I'd won a big victory for everyone. The second my back was turned, it all reverted.

Mostly... what is the point now? My career is/was developing ideas, crafting those ideas into a workable show, then managing teams of thirty to seventy people to produce a couple of dozen episodes per year. Studios actively do not want new ideas right now, and are actively searching for ways to eliminate what artists from the process. I'm not sure what my job would be under this new system, but it feels like they decided to hang onto the anxiety-inducing deadlines while removing anything remotely pleasurable from the experience.

2- What are your opinions, expectations and hopes about the independent animation industry that's developing?

It's the only way to get anything done, currently.

The current state of the industry is not sustainable. I (along with a lot of other animators I know) are trying to decide what's next, and pretty much everyone agrees that "you just have to make something".

It is (in that very specific way) a great time to be a young animator. The system was never going to treat you well anyway. If you can get something like a Hazbin Hotel happening without studio help, you can currently write your own ticket. I'm super proud of Vivsie, because that's a LOT of stuff to handle. I never had to handle my own marketing or drum up money to make Billy & Mandy happen.

There are opportunities there, but it's definitely "Hard Mode". The best idea is probably to team up with a few other people you like and like to work with.

Hopes? I hope that the young animators take over and make something new on top of the bones of the old industry, rather than just allowing that industry to patch its rotting hide with their collected works.

3- What do you think about the advent of artificial intelligence? Do you fear for the future of animators?

I suspect true AI might just peace-out like ScarJo in "Her", but we're not there yet. What we have now isn't Artificial Intelligence at all (though I do believe it may be the underpinnings of the Artificial Suconscious of what may one day become an actual Artificial Intelligence.)

The LLMs and "Generative AI" are (so far) a big dumb waste. They consume tons of energy and aren't great for doing anything creative. If you've sat down with Chat GPT for a creative writing session, you've probably run into the "out of the box" limitations which prevent it from talking about sex or violence-- which happen to be a major component of most stories.

Still, the technology has come incredibly far in an incredibly short amount of time. I imagine we're going to hit the point where we're being hazed by artificially generated political ads way before Generative AI can produce a consistent and usable character turnaround, so that'll be the test. Whatever the legal fallout is from this stuff over the next few years will set the tone.

Still, studios have a vested interest in pleasing their shareholders. Generative AI potentially has the capability of not only replacing swaths of money-eating artists, but handing that control directly to the billionaire studio heads. Mark my words: We're headed straight for billionaire-generated content.

I don't think the public at large will want to watch Elon Musk's fever dreams, so there's that. So law and general distaste might stave it off for a while, but I think there's just too much impetus for studios to continue to try to please their investors. "AI Art" is here to stay.

Eventually that will lead to millions and millions of bots generating millions and millions of songs and paintings and movies all day every day. Most of it will be utter trash. Right now (so I'm told) viewers are already burnt out, and will generally only click on what they already know. On Netflix, where there are twenty things you've never heard of and one you have, you're more likely to pick the thing that gives you comfort and gives you a guarantee you're not wasting your time. With exponentially more A.I. trash, how would you even begin to filter it out?

You'd need absolute control of an already existing distribution system. We currently have a few of those, and all of the media companies are desperately trying to merge with them to insure their own survival.

To me, the post-Gen-AI landscape looks a lot like old-school Cable, but with endless I.P. and fewer masters.

4- If money wasn't a problem, would you still do what you do?

The real question is, maybe, "What am I even doing?" These days I try to do a lot of gardening. I'm trying to learn new art skills, because suddenly twenty five years of experience managing, drawing, and writing isn't worth much. I recently worked on Jellystone until Zaslav lost 2.5 billion in the wash and had to find justification for his new yacht. The show before that? Also culled midway through to save money. The days of multi-year gigs seem to be over, and if I'm going to scrape by doing freelance, maybe I can do that somewhere else.

I'll always make art. I can't seem to help it. Ideas aren't my problem-- it's executing those ideas without the help of a structured pre-existing system. I honestly don't know if I'll ever be able to pull that off. My strengths are great, but were always supported by friends I worked with.

Can I start an indie cartoon with all of these cool friends? Sure, maybe. Most of those people have gone on to have other careers of their own and got used to being paid. Now nobody is getting paid and no one can pay anyone else. My immediate circle are all now middle-aged people with families and no jobs. Convincing them to give up a large chunk of their day for an idea that's not guaranteed to pay off is going to take some real effort.

I technically have fifteen years until I can claim my "retirement", assuming that still exists by then. That's a pretty big hole to fill with... I don't know what.

The difficult "What comes next" discussions at home are really just starting.

5- Any animators you admire and would like to mention?

There are a lot of cool animation people out there. I already mentioned I was proud of Vivsie. I was also reminded recently just how great C.H. Greenblatt and Mr. Warburton are. I know they're my friends. They're both just really upstanding, creative people who take good care of their crews.

The treatment of animation industry professionals by the studio system has been one of the most demoralizing and heartbreaking parts of this demoralizing and heartbreaking time.

---

So there ya go. If you want to look for someone whose attitude is a little more upbeat, I won't blame you a bit.

Wherever you are, I wish you the best of luck. For me, just climb up there and crush it. I would very much like to add you to #5 someday.

[sideshowsnob]

[tutorial] how to make computers functional in the sims 3 by sideshow_snob

Programs needed: TSRW [i use the old version] Blender 2.7 [you can use any version] Milkshape 1.8.4

You can download this tutorial as a .doc HERE

Original [right] TS3 version [left]

So, how do we start?

Seperate your computer of choice into pieces. [mouse, keyboard, monitor, monitor screen, mousepad if applicable, drop shadow if applicable]. This can be done by selecting faces and holding 'shift +' to select that entire piece. if shift + doesn't work you'll have to do it by hand. Once your desired piece is selected, press 'P' to separate.

Once you've seperated all your parts, go ahead an open TSRW and clone a similar PC. I chose this one

Go ahead and export the .wso AND .obj file for this computer in the mesh tab. I named my exports 'eapcref' we're going to be using this PC as a reference to modify our mesh, and assign bones in milkshape.

go ahead and import the .obj into blender, where your separated PC is.

As you can see, these computers are pretty different. We're going to move each piece around until its in a similar size and position as the EA one, so the PC animates properly. Helpful shortcuts ---> G [grab] S [scale] R [Rotate]

This is what mine looked like when I finished moving it around:

Keep in mind, i actually tested mine quite a few times in game because the animation was not lining up with the PC location, so this is what mine looks like after a few modifications. Make sure you save this .blend file so you can modify it if necessary after you assign the bones.

Now onto actually assigning the bones…

Open milkshape and import all your seperated PC files.

Your PC parts should be grouped like this:

group_0: the monitor, mousepad [basically everything except the drop shadow, screen, and mouse] group_1: drop shadow group_2: screen

Now import your EA pc .wso file

Select the EA pc parts in the groups tab, then go to the joints tab and click 'show' Then go back to the groups tab, with the ea pc still selected, and select all your PC parts. Go back to the joints tab, and click 'assign'.

Now delete the EA PC.

the first bone is the mouse assignment, and the second bone is the rest of the computer.

go ahead and click 'selassigned' and clear the bone assignment since its incorrect.

To assign the bones, go to the model tab and click 'select' alt shift left click all the bones in your mouse

go back to the joints tab and click assign

now to assign the PC bones

Select everything except the mouse and drop shadow, then go back to the joints tab and click assign

you can check to see if your bones are properly assigned by clicking 'selassigned' on both bones

export as .wso and your finished!

something to note:

if your mousepad gets in the way while assigning bones, you can keep it seperate and just regroup it back into the mesh after assigning bones.

[fearfulfertility]

SURROGATE PROCESSING WORKFLOW

DRC, Facility Operations Command, Compound Oversight Unit

Date: [REDACTED]

Subject: Surrogate Management Protocols

Location: Paternity Compound 131, [REDACTED], Oregon

Objective

This document provides a detailed overview of the surrogate processing workflow employed at Paternity Compound 131. It highlights the efficiency-focused methodologies implemented throughout the process, from intake to post-delivery. Personal letters from Surrogate ID S131-279-P are included, documenting his journey from arrival to delivery to help illustrate the overall operations.

I. Arrival & Intake

Transport

"Dear Dad,

I’m not sure where to start. They brought me here in this big, quiet van, and as soon as we got off, they started running all these tests. They gave me a number and tattooed it on my stomach like livestock. They keep saying I’m doing something important for the greater good, but I'm just confused." - S131-279

Candidates are transported to the facility in climate-controlled vehicles, ensuring they arrive in stable physical condition. They are processed in batches of [REDACTED] at a time for efficiency.

Initial Assessment

Upon arrival, surrogates undergo physical and psychological evaluations to assess readiness for the program. This includes fertility screening and compatibility testing for high-multiparity potential.

Registration

Each surrogate is tattooed with a unique ID number for tracking and monitoring throughout their conscription period, imprinted just above their navel.

Compound ID: The facility they will be housed in for gestation.

Arrival ID: The order number in which they arrived at the facility. 

Fetal Count: A letter to indicate the number of viable fetuses they carry:

A (1) - B (2) - C (3) - D (4) - E (5) - F (6) - G (7) - H (8) - I (9) - J (10) - K (11) - L (12) - M (13) - N (14) - O (15) - P (16) - Q (17) - R (18) - S (19) - T (20) - U (21) - V (22) - W (23) - X (24) - Y (25) - Z (26)  Example: Paternity Compound 127 + 437th Surrogate to Arrive + Carrying Quattuordecuplets (14) = S127-437-N

II. Rest & Preparation

Induction & Crowd Control

"Hey Dad,

Things are getting weirder by the day. Yesterday, they gave me a shot that burned like hell and made me feel woozy. It must have knocked me out cause I woke up, and it was tomorrow morning. I don’t know what happened, but I was so sore. I just want to go home." - S131-279, Arrival Weight 170 lbs

Entry areas are designed to funnel a group of surrogates into a single file line. Short but sweeping corridors are employed so that each candidate is prevented from seeing what lies ahead and concentrates on the individual in front of it.

Hygiene Protocols

Surrogates are directed to communal hygiene zones where they undergo full-body cleansing, enemas, and sterilization procedures.

Hormonal Optimization

Subjects are administered hormonal injections and supplements to ensure optimal uterine receptivity and increase the likelihood of successful embryo implantation.

Tranquilization (Optional)

Depending on the subject’s stress levels, mild to full sedation may be administered to maintain compliance and calm.

Note: [REDACTED]% of surrogates require some form of sedative before insemination.

III. Insemination Process

Surrogates can be assigned one of three insemination methods, depending on operational efficiency, donor availability, and strategic objectives:

"Dad,

I don’t even know who I am anymore. My body feels like it’s not mine. It’s only been a week since I arrived, and my stomach is growing so fast it scares me. I can’t stop eating, and it’s like my hunger gets worse the more I eat, but I can't stop. They keep telling me this is normal, that 16 is a "good number"?! They said it was a badge of honor. Sixteen! I feel like I’m being turned into something I don’t understand, and I can’t stop it." - S131-279-P, Day 6, Weight 192 lbs (+22 lbs)

In Vitro Fertilization (IVF):

Procedure: Embryos fertilized in a laboratory are implanted directly into the surrogate's uterus. 

Benefits: High precision, maximum control over embryo count, and genetic compatibility.

Usage: Preferred for surrogates assigned to carry high-volume fetuses or when multiple donors are involved.

Traditional Method (Sexual Intercourse):

Procedure: Selected donors engage in physical intercourse with surrogates under closely monitored conditions.

Benefits: Natural conception methods reduce laboratory overhead and offer efficient insemination for surrogates with high natural fertility markers.

Usage: Typically used donor compatibility is exceptionally high.

Fluids Infusion (Turkey Baster Method):

Procedure: Donor samples are introduced directly into the surrogate's reproductive tract using a sterile infusion device.

Benefits: Combines simplicity with minimal intervention—a cost and time-effective alternative to IVF and traditional methods.

Usage: Often employed in high-volume batches where rapid insemination is required or transportation to the nearest compound is infeasible.

Post-Procedure Monitoring: Surrogates remain in observation units for [REDACTED] hours to confirm successful implantation and address any immediate complications.

IV. Monitoring & Maintenance

Ward Assignment

"Dad,

I don’t think I can do this anymore. My belly is enormous—I can barely move, and I’m out of breath all the time. They keep saying I’m ‘thriving,’ but how can they call this thriving? I heard one of the staff joking about how I’m ‘one of the biggest ones yet.’ They think it’s funny. I don’t. I can feel them—16 of them—moving inside me, taking over everything I used to be. I’m not me anymore." - S131-279-P, Day 13, Weight 254 lbs (+84 lbs)

Surrogates are transferred to gestational wards, where they will reside for their pregnancies. These wards have medical monitoring stations, communal feeding areas, and resting zones.

Nutrition Protocols

Diets are adjusted to high-calorie "one-size-fits-all" solutions, such as nutrient-dense puddings designed to promote fetal growth while maintaining surrogate docility. Hormonal treatments are incorporated into meals to reduce the need for frequent medical interventions.

Weekly Checkups

Surrogates undergo routine ultrasound exams, weight measurements, and health assessments to ensure all embryos develop within target parameters.

Behavioral Observations

Any signs of distress or resistance are addressed promptly through psychological support or, if necessary, isolation protocols.

V. Delivery Process

"This will probably be my last letter. I don’t think I’ll make it much longer. My body’s breaking under the weight—literally. I'm too big, no one was ever meant to be this big. They’re moving me to the birthing wing tomorrow, and I know what that means. I’m terrified, but I don’t have a choice. I just want you to know I didn’t have a choice." - S131-279-P, Day 28, Weight 490 lbs (+320 lbs)

Pre-Labor Preparation

As surrogates approach full term (29-35 days), they are moved to birthing wings equipped with specialized delivery equipment and staff trained for high-multiparity births. Diets are radically adjusted to promote greater weight gain.

Labor Management & Delivery

Surrogates are monitored continuously, and medical staff is on hand to manage complications. Multiple babies are delivered in succession. This process may last several hours or more, depending on the number of fetuses.

Post-Delivery Processing:

Fetuses are immediately evaluated for health and viability.

Surrogates are provided palliative care as necessary.

VI. Post-Delivery Workflow

"Surrogate S131-279-P demonstrated remarkable endurance and successfully delivered 16 fetuses, average weight 14 lbs, in 30-45 minute intervals, after a 34-hour labor. The surrogate's abdomen showed extreme distension, with clear evidence of significant internal [REDACTED]. Full natural delivery was achieved, but the surrogate succumbed to irreversible [REDACTED] failure minutes after the final baby was delivered." - Dr. [REDACTED], Chief OBGYN, Paternity Compound 131

Vital Cessation Verification

Medical staff confirm the cessation of all vital signs immediately following delivery to ensure compliance with humane protocols. Time and cause of expiration are noted for record-keeping and research purposes.

Surrogate Decommissioning & Disposal

[REDACTED]

Note: As standard protocol, all personal items of Surrogate S131-279-P were recycled following his decommissioning, including the destruction of [REDACTED] paper letters addressed to a Mr. [REDACTED] Collazo.

Surrogate Output Metrics

Each surrogate’s performance is evaluated against pre-delivery projections. The Prenatal Division records key performance indicators for review, including total fetal weight, fetal viability, and gestational efficiency. Personal details related to the surrogate are then purged to save computer storage space and maintain confidentiality.

Key Metrics and Efficiency Goals

Average Per Surrogate: 8–14 Embryos

Delivery Survival Rate (Fetuses): [REDACTED]%

Surrogate Survival Rate: 0%

Cost per Surrogate: $[REDACTED]

This structured process ensures that surrogate output meets national population growth goals while maintaining operational efficiency and cost-effectiveness.

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

Click Here to return to DRC Report Archives

[127luvr]

Hi can i ask for a male reader x doyoung, where they're both in school and they have an assignment to sing a duet, but doyoung just really chose m!r so that they can spend more time together. Then they kiss?

kiss ♫⋆｡♪ ₊

kim doyoung x male reader

doyoung had never questioned his life in music. he knew from a young age where he was headed--what path in life he wanted to pursue. he breathed music like it was his lifeline. it was the one thing in his life he never second-guessed. he knew he was good at it. at singing--at reading music--at conducting his class for an assignment--at teaching it when he became a student-teacher.

he was born for this.

you weren't as lucky.

the passion for music came from watching a performance of your school choir by chance. you were convinced that you were destined to pass by the auditorium at that very moment--destined to hear the way the ensemble blended their voices together so seamlessly--as if it was a body of water collectively sending waves to shore.

it was too late in the year to join the ensemble you heard, but you managed to squeeze in to one of the beginner classes. it was one of the things in life that you took seriously. staying after school for any extra help from upperclassmen. staying behind to see the rigorous practices that the advanced classes had. while you were graced with a natural talent for music, you still had so much to learn.

which is why you were the most excited when they assigned duets. the only strict rule being that it had to be someone that was in the choir program.

doyoung had taken a liking to you. watching you from the corner of his eye when you sat in one of their after-school practices. he watched the way your pencil followed along the sheet music as they sang, circling the dynamics on top--and underneath--the staff. he watched as your body followed the conductor's baton--watched as you sang along subconsciously to your voice part in the song. he knew without a doubt that he had to choose you for a duet.

he just wasn't entirely sure if it was for his own selfish reasons or for your raw talent.

"(y/n)?" you feel a light tap on your shoulder, the sudden sensation startling you. your binder slips out of your hands when you turn to doyoung, his nearness surprising you further. you can't help but gawk at him, ignoring the way your sheet music spills out of the binder on the floor. doyoung's eyes fall to the floor, his lips twitching slightly as he goes to pick it up for you. you are still watching him as he bends down, his long fingers quick with gathering your materials. you manage to look away as he straightens his posture again, holding his hands out to hand you your binder. "i know we aren't really familiar with each other, but did you want to team up for the duet assignment?"

he was one of the upperclassmen. one of the singers that stood out to you when you watched them practice. the critiques he received from directors were nitpick-y. always something about rounding out his vowels--looking more expressive. it was clear that they only picked on him for small things because they weren't able to find anything he was bad at. he didn't need to improve--but he did need to be pushed just like his classmates.

"yeah!"

you quickly realize that doyoung isn't in it for the music. he knows the song inside and out from the get-go. leaving you to scramble and learn the song even when you're not practicing together. this only makes you wonder what he was in it for. why he chose you of all people?

your practices were usually done in the school practice rooms. preferably one with an old piano in it--sometimes you weren't as lucky. but you watched as doyoung's eyes moved faster than his fingers, reading the music as he played the black and white piano keys. you were almost jealous of his talents. envious of his ability to multitask so effortlessly but he interprets your gaze differently. patting the space on the bench next to him so you could sit--instead of standing with your back to the wall, stiff.

"i like to learn the notes by playing them and then singing them. makes it easier to correct. do you want to try?" your hands hover over the keys, scared to play any of them incorrectly. if you were being honest, you only knew the name of the notes on your phone, where the keys were labeled. "here, i'll show you."

you don't expect doyoung to put his hands on top of yours, guiding them to where he was previously playing. but the piano is the last thing on your mind. instead, thoughts of doyoung's soft skin and dainty fingers replace any and all rational thoughts from your brain.

"the note in between these black keys is d. if you look at the piano you will notice that the pattern repeats over and over again, so the notes only go a, b, c, d, e, f and g. and then back to a. the black keys are semitones--flat or sharp. it just depends on what key we're in, you know?" doyoung finally takes note of your flushed face, his hands immediately clammy on top of yours as he watches you chew your bottom lip anxiously. "(y/n)? did you get any of that?"

"uh-"

"is there a way for me to keep you concentrated?" your gaze drops down to his pouty lips, subconsciously licking your own as you stare them down. this doesn't go unnoticed by doyoung--who has been yearning for your affection since your practices together started. "kissing you?"

for a moment you thought you had shared your thoughts out loud--only to find that your lips were still shut. doyoung was the first to bring up a kiss. that could only mean that he wanted to. that it crossed his mind before it crossed yours. he leans in, with his hands still on top of yours. you're aware of his nearness. the way his cool breath hits your cupid's bow. the way he smells like baby powder--and a little bit like sweat from being in this room for so long. your eyes finally meet again which causes him to tilt his head, raising his eyebrows as if to ask you for a second time.

"here?" but you're the first one to close the gap, the first to meet your lips together. completely disregarding the glass door. completely disregarding that someone might walk by. but none of it matters--not when doyoung's lips feel heavenly. and he's drinking you up like you're a glass of iced tea on a hot summer day. you almost don't want to pull away. wanting to stay in his warmth even if the positioning was awkward. "we can practice at my place next time."

[rprogrammingassignmenthelp]

🎉 Exciting news! Introducing R Programming Assignment Help, your go-to destination for top-notch R programming assistance! 🚀

🔥 Are you struggling with complex R programming assignments? Look no further! Our team of skilled experts is here to help you excel in your coursework and boost your grades!

💡 Unlock the power of R programming with our comprehensive solutions. We provide step-by-step guidance, clear explanations, and practical examples to ensure your understanding and success. From basic concepts to advanced techniques, we've got you covered!

📚 Our services include: ✅ R programming assignment help: We'll tackle your assignments, no matter how challenging they are, ensuring accurate and efficient code implementation. ✅ R programming project assistance: Need assistance with a project? Our experts will guide you through every stage, from planning to implementation, to create a robust and functional solution. ✅ Code review and debugging: Worried about bugs or errors in your code? Let our experienced programmers review your code, identify issues, and provide optimized solutions. ✅ Concept clarification: Struggling to grasp a particular R programming concept? Our tutors will break it down for you, making complex topics crystal clear.

🌟 Why choose us? ✅ Expert team: Our professionals have extensive knowledge and experience in R programming, ensuring high-quality solutions tailored to your needs. ✅ Timely delivery: We understand the importance of deadlines. Rest assured, we'll deliver your completed assignments and projects promptly. ✅ Plagiarism-free work: Each solution is crafted from scratch, guaranteeing originality and adherence to academic integrity. ✅ Confidentiality: Your privacy is our utmost priority. We handle your personal information with the utmost care and ensure its security. ✅ 24/7 support: Have a question or need assistance at any time? Our friendly customer support team is available round the clock to assist you.

📢 Don't let R programming assignments stress you out! Visit our website now at https://www.rprogrammingassignmenthelp.com/ and experience the difference. Let us help you unlock your full potential in R programming!

🔗 Follow us for more R programming tips, tricks, and valuable insights. Like, reblog, and spread the word to fellow students who could benefit from our services. Together, let's conquer R programming challenges effortlessly! 💪📈

[harveybwabbit92]

[How R/n met first met Zero (And Seven.) She was 7990 years old and in college when she joined a volunteer group (think something like the Big brother and sisters program) and was assigned to Zero who was then a 2000yr old bratty half-pint and was very annoyed by her presence.]

Zero: Look, I know you don't care or wanna be here, I'm nothing but school credits to you-

{Zero is confused when R/n put something in his mouth and realized it was cookie.]

R/n: I don't know what went down with you and the last volunteer, but just know this- I'm not in this for the credit, I'm here 'cos I wanna be your friend.

{Zero eats the cookie while eyeing the ultrawoman suspiciously, the last volunteer said something similar, until he overheard them talking to their classmates about how they much hated volunteer work and how annoying they found Zero and the other kids were- the next day they stopped coming around so Zero assumed they quit.

A few weeks of R/n helping Zero out with his homework and taking him out to places, he was still guarded, but there were cracks forming in the wall as Zero started smiling a lot more and would tell her about what happened at school sometimes; before remembering he was supposed to dislike her and clammed up.]

R/n, pats Zero on the head: I'll see you tomorrow, okay?

Zero, pouts: Whatever.

[R/n was walking home when she was suddenly stopped by someone, the ultrawoman's eyes widen when she realized she was looking at Ultraseven who was eyeing her suspiciously...had she done something wrong?]

Seven, sinister: Let's talk...

R/n: *Gulp*

[Cut to Seven and R/n sitting in a dark empty bar]

Seven: Who do you work for?

R/n: Uh...what?

Seven: Whose paying you?

R/n: Paying me- What is going on?

Seven: Don't play dumb-

R/n: Telling me what I'm being dumb about would help out a lot here...

Seven: What are you intentions with Zero?

R/n:...Well, what are your intentions with him?

Seven: I'm asking the questions her-

R/n: No, You being a freak is what you are, first you pull me off the streets without my consent and now your asking me weird questions like I'm some kind of villain!

{Before Seven could say anything else another ultra (it's Jack) frantically yanks Seven out of the booth. The two go off to the side and talk hush whispers, R/n couldn't hear but Seven looked flustered; just as a another ultra (Man) takes Seven's place sitting across from her.]

Man: Miss R/n I'd like to apologize for this whole situation.

R/n: Would someone tell me what's going on? And why Zero is involved?

Man: *ahem* I'm afraid there was a case of misidentification, your charge Zero is the son of someone very important, the reason he's at the orphanage is because his parent can't take care of him on account how dangerous their job is. They have a lot of enemies; enemies that could use Zero as leverage if it's ever found out he's their son.

R/n: I'm guessing someone found out?

Man: Correct. Fortunately for Zero the group responsible backed out on their plans once they realized we were on to them. Unfortunately for you one of their disguises looked similar to your appearance and my colleague jumped to conclusions.

R/n: please tell me there's good news in all this.

Man: We found the group responsible for the plot and are arresting them as we speak. Again, I apologize for this misunderstanding.

[Needless to say, R/n put that whole incident behind her until recently when Zero asked her how she met his dad? Seven didn't remember it but then again its been 3100 years so she doesn't blame him for forgetting.]

[celestialspritz]

ts2 render workflow ramble under the cut if u wanna see what ive been doing

so i'm working on the pose browser again, except this time it uses maxis' rig rather than another rig from wherever. the maxis rig is GOOD bc it will use the original bone assignments from whatever meshes are used which in most cases ARE better than some program determining it.

i also did it properly this time so u dont need to do that thing with a million armatures

it made the workflow so much easier, this simple render took all of 5 minutes because i:

made this fat ass browser . ignore the fact some are duplicated ill figure that out

made these cubes with the textures for the skin / body so i don't need to use ninjaripper every single render

I also made their outfits an asset as well as their heads, so i can just drop their head/body into the viewport

and then i delete the armature the outfit and heads had and just plop this skeleton in and parent the outfit and head to it. and voila. literally everything that would've taken 20 mins done in under 5 mins

another example of the poses. took major inspo from vyxated's rig plus for ts4. cool thing abt this is u can blend poses similarly to how u blend face temps in ts2

btw, if anyone is interested in upscaling TS2 textures for use in renders, i highly recommend this free program UpScayl and the preset High Fidelity. makes them crisp and smooth and significantly reduces the crunchiness. i usually make the face and bodies like 2k textures cuz . cuz i can

anyway as well as the poses etc, im also working on maxis objects browser too:

and with these i took the liberty of manually creating spec and normal maps for them. some of the objects look super cool:

overall. this year is gonna be my year for ts2 in blender i just kno it. and as always if u r looking to get into this my dms r always open if u need help!!!