#Place Bellevue

[huariqueje]

Place Bellevue  - Marc Dailly

Swiss , b. 1978 -

Oil on panel , 30 x 24 cm .

huariqueje 19/23

[equivocations]

red sketchbook, my love~!

[fieriframes]

[Now, the chef was knocking out killer combos in the kitchen and working on the American Dream, and never underestimate the power of human stupidity with a whole new place. This is Athens Family Restaurant and Bellevue Diner.]

[travelling-bird]

Discover the beautiful landscape, amazing theme parks and insightful museums during your trip to America. Check out the best places to visit in Washington state here.

[infiniteglitterfall]

A Chabad synagogue in Pomona, New York, burned to the ground on April 17th, along with its three Torah scrolls.

Torah scrolls are hand-written, hand-made, and kept in elaborately decorated cases or wrappings.

Many of them have long histories; my synagogue has two, I think, that were smuggled out of villages being destroyed in pogroms or in Nazi attacks. One of them is the only remaining piece of that village on earth.

Sometimes, the Torah scroll doesn't even belong to the synagogue, but is on loan from a place like the Memorial Scrolls Trust:

There's an entire Jewish holiday just for taking them out and dancing with them: Simchat Torah, "The Joy of Torah."

In fact, that was the holiday on which Hamas's invasion took place.

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So it's a particular tragedy when a Torah is destroyed.

Chabad itself has a page about what goes into making just one Torah scroll:

"An authentic Torah scroll is a mind-boggling masterpiece of labor and skill. Comprising between 62 and 84 sheets of parchment -- cured, tanned, scraped and prepared according to exacting Torah law specifications -- and containing exactly 304,805 letters, the resulting handwritten scroll takes many months to complete.

"An expert pious scribe carefully inks each letter with a feather quill, under the intricate calligraphic guidelines of Ktav Ashurit (Ashurite Script). The sheets of parchment are then sewn together with sinews to form one long scroll. While most Torah scrolls stand around two feet in height and weigh 20-25 pounds, some are huge and quite heavy, while others are doll-sized and lightweight."

I learned all of this on Tumblr.

Once upon time, in people's "punch Nazis" days, I would've been able to find some mention on Tumblr of this synagogue burning.

There is none, so I'm posting about it.

And I'm going to quote Daniel Weiner, Rabbi of Temple de Hirsch Sinai in Bellevue, Washington, when his own synagogue was vandalized last November:

"It’s horrific and heartbreaking.... [Taking out your feelings about] what's going on in the Middle East by defacing a sacred space of a synagogue -- that’s the very definition of antisemitism."

I'm also posting about the Kehillat Shaarei Torah Synagogue in Toronto, whose windows were broken on Friday, April 19th, by someone who also tried to break the front door down.

And the April 15 graffiti outside a Bangor, Maine synagogue that said, "Nazi Israel 30K murdered," next to a crossed-out Star of David. The same synagogue faced pro-Hamas flyers plastered around it in November.

I was going to include all the synagogues vandalized over the past six months. But there are way too many. Several every week. Lots are swastikas.

I'll go back to just doing attacks on and near synagogues.

Someone has to talk about the 1-year-old who was stabbed outside Temple Beth Zion-Beth Israel (BZBI) synagogue, in Philadelphia, on April 13th.

The foiled terrorist attack on a Moscow synagogue on April 11th.

The man who, on April 9th, screamed at the rabbi at Moldova's Great Synagogue, "What are you doing here? How come no one has finished you off for everything you are doing to the Palestinians?" Just one week after people had vandalized a Holocaust memorial in nearby Soroka, and sprayed "Free Palestine" on it.

The Oldenburg, Germany synagogue that was firebombed on April 5th.

The Florida Las Olas Chabad Jewish Center, which on March 16 burned, but not to the ground. The Torah scrolls were safe, and no one was hurt, but the back of the building was severely damaged.

The planned-but-thwarted-on-March-7th ISIS massacre in a Moscow synagogue.

The stabbing of an Orthodox Jew in Switzerland on March 5th. (He was badly injured, but expected to survive.)

A man leaving a synagogue in Paris was beaten on March 3rd.

People set the courtyard of a synagogue in Sfax, Tunisia on fire on February 27th. Firefighters managed to put the fire out before it consumed the inside of the building.

The synagogue is no longer used; there are no Jews left in its area, and fewer than 1,000 Jews left in Tunisia overall.

(Thousands of Tunisian Jews were sent to work camps during the Holocaust. Antisemitism across the Middle East continued to increase rapidly for decades. By the 1970s, 90% of Tunisian Jews had fled to France or Israel.)

On February 18, an Orthodox Jew leaving Synagogue of Inverrary-Chabad in Lauderhill, Florida, was beaten by an attacker yelling racial slurs.

Someone deliberately chose International Holocaust Remembrance Day, January 27, to smash all the windows in the front of Sgoolai Israel Synagogue in downtown Fredericton, New Brunswick.

On December 29, Turkey arrested 32 people linked to ISIS who were planning attacks on synagogues and churches.

On December 17, a man drove a U-Haul truck up onto the sidewalk between a barrier and the front door of the Kesher Israel Congregation in Washington D.C., got out, and started yelling "Gas the Jews." He also sprayed a foul-smelling substance on two people leaving the synagogue.

December 17 also saw 400 synagogues across the United States receive bomb threats.

On December 11, a man attacked an elderly couple on their way into a synagogue in Los Angeles, screaming, "Give me your earrings, Jew!!" and beating one of them bloody with a belt. (Happily, he chased the guy down the street, and caught him when his pants fell down.)

On December 10, a 16-year-old was arrested in Vienna for planning an attack on a synagogue.

On December 8, on the first night of Hanukkah, 15 synagogues in New York State received bomb threats. And someone screamed, "Free Palestine," and fired shots outside of Temple Israel in Albany, NY. Which has a preschool that was in session.

Meanwhile, the five Jews left in Egypt were canceling public Hanukkah candle-lighting at their synagogue out of fear of reprisals. Particularly after two Israelis in Alexandria had been gunned down by terrorists on October 8. (While Israel was still fighting Hamas in Israel.)

On November 15, a terrorist group set the only synagogue in Armenia on fire.

Armenian Secret Army for the Liberation of Armenia (ASALA) has a history of working with the Popular Front for the Liberation of Palestine (PFLP).

(PFLP is part of Hamas's network of groups. Samidoun is their nonprofit arm - which is why Germany banned Samidoun last year, although it's still active in many other countries.

PFLP is also actively supported by the Palestinian Youth Movement (PYM), a diaspora nonprofit group, and Within Our Lifetime (WOL), an SJP spinoff in NYC.)

On November 11, halfway through Shabbat services, police asked Central Shul in Melbourne, Australia to evacuate "as a precaution" due to a "pro-Palestinian" protest that had chosen the neighboring park as its gathering place. Australia has seen some very outspoken antisemitism at protests, including the march shortly after October 7 that chanted "Gas the Jews."

Also on November 11, protesters targeted a synagogue along a march route. They sat in their cars, spraying green smoke and shouting at people leaving the synagogue. The march itself featured a record number of horrifying signs and chants.

On November 7th, Congregation Beth Tikvah in Montreal was firebombed, and the back door of the Jewish organization across the street (Federation CJA) was set on fire.

On November 4, protesters chanted "Bomb Israel," and burned an Israeli flag outside the only synagogue in Malmo, Sweden.

During October, there were 501 antisemitic acts under investigation in France in just three weeks, including groups gathering in front of synagogues shouting threats, and graffiti such as the words “killing Jews is a duty” sprayed outside a stadium.

On October 18, people firebombed a synagogue in Berlin after homes all over the neighborhood were graffitied with stars of David.

And also on October 18, hundreds of "pro-Palestine" rioters attacked the Or Zaruah Synagogue, in the Spanish enclave of Melilla in North Africa, while worshippers were inside.

Based on the video, they seem to have blocked the synagogue entrance completely, while screaming "Murderous Israel" and waving Palestinian flags. (Melilla is an autonomous zone belonging to Spain. It borders Morocco.)

On October 17, during pro-Palestinian protests, hundreds of rioters set fire to Al Hammah synagogue, an abandoned house of prayer in central Tunisia. They hammered down the building’s walls and raised a Palestinian flag on the building. Police did not intervene.

The Facebook page "Tunigate", which has around 88 thousand followers, published a video of the assault. So did "Radio Bousalem”, with 83 thousand users. The vast majority of comments on these videos welcome these acts. The building was severely damaged and almost completely razed to the ground.

On October 15, bomb threats were sent to many East Coast synagogues. Attleboro synagogue Congregation Agudas-Achim received one of the emails, which read, "The bombs will blow up in a few hours. A lot of people will die. You all deserve to die."

On October 8 -- again, while Hamas was still in Israel -- Madrid’s main synagogue was defaced with graffiti that read “Free Palestine” next to a crossed-out Star of David.

And on October 7, an assailant in Rockland, NY fired a BB gun at two women entering a synagogue. Later in the month, a banner at the Stephen Wise Free Synagogue in the area was vandalized with the words, “Fuckin kikes."

[aubvrns]

would you be up to write for alex based on your fav songs maybee

Gold Rush — T.S

| SVU & Stories

Sypnosis — The struggle of loving Alexandra Cabot from afar, who everyone wonders what must it be like to love her.

Note — Fluff, Light Angst, Admiring from Afar, Alex being a tease but oblivious, and avoidant Reader.

(Female lawyer centered, pronouns used!)

———————————————————————

!!

Gleaming, twinkling Eyes like sinking ships on waters So inviting, I almost jump in

“Y/N? Come down here, captain’s requesting your presence for the debriefing.”

“Okay, I���ll be there in 10.” You said, tying your hair up in a ponytail before dropping the call.

You grabbed your briefcase and complied all the documents needed for the case you were working on, organizing them by size.

John usually called you whenever you were needed in the precinct right after your arraignment, but you managed to arrange your time just in case. It took you exactly ten minutes to get there by taxi, thankful for the considerate couple who let you ride before them.

Upon your entrance, you paused mid-step, a frown forming as you spotted Alex seated across from Olivia and Elliot. Your eyes swept the room, taking in the scene. "Who died?"

"Y/N, sit, no one died." Olivia chuckled, gesturing towards the empty chair beside Alex.

You sat beside the blonde and slightly moving the chair at a distance, putting your briefcase beside the chair. You can feel Alex’s gaze on you and you could only clear your throat.

"Atleast not yet." Elliot placed a file on the table and you both leaned forward to read it, although you didn’t get much far. You felt as if your heart was beating out of your chest when you saw what it was about, looking at Olivia and all she could do was shrug.

"You want us to work together?" Alex questioned, her tone derisively condescending.

Elliot crossed his arms, "For this case, yes. We’ve got serial killing syndicates across Manhattan to Harlem, and we’ve processed none."

"Okay, but why me? You’ve got Casey." You asked before turning to Alex. "Not that I have anything against you, it’s just that—"

Oh my god, her blue eyes are so pretty.

Alex pursed her lips as she stared at you, "So you basically hate me? Okay, that’s alright."

You rolled your eyes, instinctively looking away before she could see your rose tinted cheeks.

"Casey’s on a well-deserved vacation. She isn’t coming back in a week, give the poor woman a break."

The brunette uttered, "Besides, you guys are best suited for this case. Together."

You sigh, fixating on your watch before Elliot touched your shoulder to get your attention. "Y/N, c’mon."

"When do we start anyway? So far, your evidence is still circumstantial." Alex asked, crossing her arms.

"Fin and Munch called from Bellevue. Estelle Bauldelaire was overdosed with Hallucinogens. Guess who was indicted for running an underground drug cartel?"

You furrowed your eyebrows, reading the file once again when he added,

"Her con girlfriend."

—

I don’t like a gold rush, gold rush I don’t like anticipating my face in a red flush I don’t like how anyone would die to feel your touch

Alex groaned at the columns that was messily distributed on the carpet. Her hands folding the papers, clearly frustrated. "This is sickening."

You sat on the floor with her, leaning back to the edge of the couch before helping her categorize the files.

"Don’t be so dramatic, Cabot. We haven’t even started yet."

She dragged an exasperated exhale and composing herself together. This wasn’t the first time you both worked on a case. The last case you’ve worked on together was successful at most, winning effortlessly.

Unfortunately, the only disadvantage was that you have had a something for her in forever.

A feeling in your chest that you couldn’t shake off everytime she was ever near you. How your cheeks heated up when she gives you the minimum of attention.

It was ridiculous. The way you couldn’t make eye contact when she was talking to you. You honestly felt like a teenager obsessing for sweaty basketball players during Field Day, that was exactly how it was with Alex.

"How can we work on our arguments when we don’t even have an indictment yet?" The blonde reasoned as she sipped from her coffee mug.

You played with the brim of the paper, "Well, Estelle is bound to go to trial. All we can do is sit here and wait."

A moment passed and the silence was deafening. You two were skimming throughout the textbooks following the Bauldelaire case, writing on colored sticky notes.

Then, a knock came onto the door, disrupting the adequate peace.

"Lex?" An unfamiliar man seeps in the door. Alex smiled and stood up, walking over to him.

With her hand on the side of the door, they talked together remotely which leaves you with your lonely, forlorn self. You wondered what on earth could be so funny that you heard Alex laugh, the soft sound warming your heart.

Alex welcomed him to her office, introducing him to you. "Y/N, this is Dr. Huang. If you don’t mind, he’ll stay here for awhile."

The doctor waved his hand to you, offering a warm smile before reaching to shake your hand.

You accepted, shaking your head in response, "No worries, I was about to leave anyway." Your nails dig against your palm, fixated on the documents you reviewed before uncluttering the mess.

Really, when you said we haven’t even started? Alex thought and watching you clean after yourself. She didn’t want you to go so soon, but assumed it was because of the unfamiliarity.

You wish you hadn’t made such a disorganized space. It was awkward to crawl on the floor as the two chat in front of you. You saw how he fixed her hair, tucking it behind her ears, making you want to crawl out of your skin.

Fortunately, you finished putting all the documents and notes inside your briefcase. With a simple glance, you take in Alex once again. Looking at her smile as she talked to the doctor made you wish it was you she was talking to.

Bidding goodbye, you exit the office with a heavy exhale, alongside a heavy heart.

—

Everybody wants you Everybody wonders what it would be like to love you Walk past, quick brush I don’t like slow motion, double vision in a rose blush

A few days later, you had finished practicing, done reviewing, and gone to the precinct.

You stopped at a local bistro to order coffee, from a very pleading request by the captain. They forgot to restock their needs, and luckily, you were patient enough to buy some.

You got out of your car, firmly holding the cups as you press the buttons on the elevator.

When you arrived to the floor, you were swarmed by alot of civilians. They kept yelling, being strided away by the detectives.

Because of the cramped area, you were pushed by the people backwards causing you to spill a cup of coffee to a woman’s shirt.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?!" The lady barked, causing you to flinch slightly at the volume of her voice.

"I am so sorry, I didn’t mean to—"

The next thing you know, a hot, searing pain came running down your shirt. You wince in affliction, dropping the rest of the cups on a table before escorting yourself out of the room. You were truly sorry, but you couldn’t handle the embarassment of it all.

Thankfully, the bathroom was empty.

You locked the door, taking your blazer off. Luckily, you have always brought an extra shirt in your briefcase.

But your smile quickly falters when you realize you left it in your car.

Closing your eyes, you accepted defeat. You should have been more careful, and if you were, you wouldn’t have been drenched in coffee.

A knock came to the door caught your attention. You hands frantically put on your blazer, "Wait a second!" You exclaimed, unable to hook the buttons properly.

"It’s Alex. You okay in there?"

You slowly opened the door, revealing the concerned woman. You bite your lip in unease and let her inside the comfort room.

"Can you give these to the woman and tell her I feel sorry? It should be enough to dry her shirt."

You handed her a packet of wipes. But instead of accepting it, she took a wipe and rubbed it on your what-was-once pristine shirt.

"You shouldn’t feel sorry, Y/L/N. What she said and did was so out of line. It was just an accident."

You slightly panic, feeling her wipe your skin. Out of the awkwardness, you gently take the wipe from her, "Thank you. I really think I should get home, though,"

She gave you this sorry look, taking your hand in hers before opening her mouth to speak. "I’ll tell the others you had an emergency. But why did you buy coffee?"

"Captain called me asking if I had time to stop by. Why?"

"I already bought the squad coffee with Huang. Olivia asked us before we left my office."

Oh.

You’ve been waiting for twenty minutes for their order, swarmed by half the population, and drenched in caffeine. In conlusion, you went through the depths of hell.

You let out a breathy exhale, exhausted and uncomfortable. Your eyes stared to prickle, and you knew you had to leave.

"I have to go."

As you walked out of the bathroom, the feeling of your hands leave hers. Alex called out, "Y/N, wait—"

Alex followed after you, only to be called out by Dr. Huang. She stops, her eyes drop apologetically and watching you walk away.

She saw your eyes glance back at her, with George beside her. Your tired eyes, closing with the doors of the elevator.

She didn’t want you to go.

If only you knew.

—

But I don’t like a gold rush What must it be like to grow up that beautiful? With your hair falling into place like dominoes My mind turns your life into folklore

The evening passed fairly quickly, a storm brewing in the sky. You had took a long shower, yet the sting left a bruise. You applied ointment on your chest, squirming at the desolation. You were unsure if it was just the sting that hurt you, or the fact that you were jealous.

You had no right to, anyway. It’s just that you and Alex once picked up coffee for the squad, and hearing her do the same with someone else hurt your feelings. But you weren’t special. You were just a colleague.

Her warmth remained like the sun. So tender, yet so far. You could only watch as she shines her light for others, dreaming you were her favorite flower.

When you came out of the shower with a towel wrapped around you, the doorbell rang.

It was late in the evening, who could be outside your apartment this behind?

You walked down the stairs, the towel secured around your body. You look out the window, and you saw a familiar blonde.

You open the door, close to ajar. "What are you doing here? It’s raining, Alex." You opened the door, a gesture for her to come in.

She was damp, assuming she ran from her car to your doorstep. You rushed to give her fresh towel, placing it over her shoulders.

"We aren’t dating."

"What?"

"We aren’t dating."

You narrow your eyes in confusion, "What do you mean, Alex?" You close the door before the rain seeps into your apartment.

"Me and Huang, We aren’t—"

She was crying.

You stood there, unsure what to do. You have never saw Alex cry, let alone infront of you. You quiver in silence, letting her proceed.

"We aren’t dating, okay? So stop running away from me like you hate me!" She blurted, her composed mask slipped away.

You furrowed your eyebrows, "What do you mean I hate you? I don’t hate you, Alex!"

Even if I tried to.

She wiped her eyes, breathing uneven, "Then why do you keep avoiding me? Why do you keep bolting away when I’m trying to be there for you?"

"It’s because I like you, okay!"

Alex stared at you in shock, her attention was drawn to your nails digging your palm. A habit you did when you were tense. She noticed. She always had.

"I liked you from the moment I met you, and the feeling never went away. I tried to convince myself that I didn’t, but I couldn’t. How could I possibly do when simply seeing you makes my heart beat out of my chest? It’s—," You breathe, your heartbeat quickened as she looked at you.

"It’s ridiculous, and I avoid you because of it. I know you don’t feel the same way, Alex. But I told you because I don’t hate you. I really don’t—"

Alex cut you off with a soft kiss and Oh, Her lips are so soft- She brought her hand to cup your cheek as your hands went up over her neck.

You traced her jawline with your thumb as you kissed while her other hand was at your waist delicately digging your fingers into your towel, holding your body close.

You pulled away, breathing heavily.

She stared at you, her hands remained on your waist. In her eyes, with ever so adoration, looked into yours.

"How do you know I don’t feel the same way? Are you psychic? Because I do, from the moment I met you."

Quoting your words, you were lost for any. You expected her to let you go, but her arms stayed where as they were.

"I won’t let you run away again, ever." Her head found its way to the crook of your neck, feeling her inhale your scent.

"But what about Dr. Huang? Doesn't he like you?" You softly said. Remaining still as you savor the moment between you and the blonde, she pressed a kiss to your shoulder blades.

"God, I forgot your gaydar was so bad."

!!

[rqgnarok]

leave a light on - nolan price

prequel for love you better now, but can be read individually

fandom: law & order, law & order special victims unit

wc: 4,735

warnings: canon presence of injuries, blood, violence, weapons, and hospitals. female reader.

summary: nolan's wife gets shot. he tries and fails to deal with that.

author's note below! masterlist / ko-fi / ao3

Nolan misses Liv’s call thrice before he calls for a recess.

The first two he’s stuck cross-examining a witness and doesn’t realize she’s trying to reach him until the third time she calls. He can’t answer– Judge MacNamara is lenient but not enough for Nolan to take a call in the middle of the day– but it goes to voicemail and his screen lights up with Liv’s other calls, constant and insistent.

He immediately knows it’s bad. And he immediately knows it’s about you.

His chest constricts with his panic, breath catching and refusing to enter his lungs as his brain catches up to the situation. The courtroom is suddenly too small and suffocating, his tie a noose around his neck.

It takes McNamara calling his name several times and the DA snidely wondering if the defense needs a minute for Nolan to somewhat snap out of it, pressing on Liv’s contact before the judge finishes adjourning for the day.

“Nolan,” she says, shaky. 

Not Price, which is what he’d expect from his wife’s coworker. They’re all friends, sure, but during work hours they fall into the habit of keeping each other at arm’s length. Not right now, for some reason, and Nolan is tiptoeing the line between fine and about to crumble on the courthouse steps from a knock-out panic attack. 

“What happened?” Because something must’ve happened. You have one of the most dangerous jobs out there, life-endangering experiences being the norm and coming home not-dead being a good day. But if Liv is calling– if Liv is calling and you aren’t…

Nolan has been psyching himself up for this day since you first told him about joining the police academy. He’s still somehow not ready. 

He will never be ready for this. 

Olivia hesitates for a second too long and Nolan’s fear gets the best of him. “Olivia. What happened?”

Her voice cracks when she says your name. Nolan grips his briefcase so tightly on the way to the hospital that his hand goes numb, nails digging into the skin of his palm until it’s red and tender. 

The knot of anxiety in his belly doesn’t unclench despite the quick, easy ride to Bellevue. New York traffic seems to be doing him a favor, but it isn’t the physical distance he’s worried about. That one he’s able to cross but there’s nothing he can do if his wife is… if you…

Nolan finds himself amidst a sea of NYPD blue as soon as he steps into the reception, talking over each other as they watch over one of their injured own. None of them are familiar faces and his vision tunnels, the sound of his heartbeat in his ears drowning out doctors, officers, and detectives. 

Suddenly, the sea of people parts. Olivia is in his line of sight and it gives Nolan something to focus on rather than the never-ending possibilities of what he’s facing here. She looks disheveled, shirt askew and vest still halfway on; hair out of place and expression haunted, but no blood. There’s no blood on her and it's an important distinction for Nolan to make when she seizes his free hand in hers.

“Nolan,” she says, and her voice sounds like static, just like it did on the phone. It isn’t the line but Nolan’s brain filled with noise, like cotton in his ears. “Nolan, are you okay?”

“What happened?” he asks now in person. Liv hadn’t explained, not really. She only told him that you were hurt and they were taking you to Bellevue. You should come too, she’d said, and should had sounded more like need, which did nothing to soothe Nolan’s raising hackles.

His breath stutters. Nolan knows what happened but can’t comprehend it. He’s still holding onto his fucking briefcase and his hands won’t stop shaking. 

Liv only blinks at him, mouth open and no words coming out. “Liv. What happened?”

“We were chasing a suspect via foot,” and Nick’s there, too, by Liv’s side, like an apparition Nolan’s broken mind has conjured. His brows are furrowed, jaw tense. “We caught him mid-rape and separated to cover more ground. No one had mentioned a gun during their disclosures, he wasn’t supposed to be armed.”

“She caught up to him first,” Liv continues, shaking her head. “He– Shots went off but we didn’t know– he must’ve known we were onto him. Got his hands on a gun after the first wave of assaults.”

Nolan bites the inside of his cheek. He tastes blood, thinks of his wife. Stops.  

“She was alone for two minutes tops,” Nolan wonders if Liv thinks she’s being reassuring. “She’d been shot, we called a bus right away.”

“Where?” Nolan asks tightly.

Liv stares, uncomprehending. Nick answers, “What?”

“Where, where in her body was she shot, how–” he struggles for a full breath and only comes out half successful. “How bad is it?”

Silence. 

“Did you– did you not see her?” he wonders, biting. Nolan turns back and forth between his wife’s coworkers, losing his patience. “Were you there, was she– Jesus, Liv, how bad is it?”

“The bullet hit her chest,” Nick says, and Nolan loses all fiery, defensive passion right then and there. His own heart stops for a second, or at least that’s what it feels like when his chest is engulfed by a pressing ache that numbs him all over. 

“They took her straight to surgery,” Amaro continues when Nolan finds no answer to that. “Liv rode with her in the ambulance but there wasn’t– it’s in their hands now. They’re taking care of her, pal, okay?”  He reaches to touch Nolan’s shoulder, shake him a little. “She’s getting help.”

Where was the help when she was alone chasing a fucking criminal, where the hell were you, huh he wants to say; wants to shout and curse and make a scene, but the words get stuck in his throat and in the next blink he finds himself seated in the waiting room, still surrounded by cops.

God, Nolan thinks, pressing his fingers to his tightly closed lids. When in all your years together could he have seen this coming? The pretty girl in a law course elective that outsmarted half of the senior class still in his life decades later, bleeding out a couple rooms over and threatening to take his heart with her six feet under. 

He remembers running into you after that final exam outside the lecture hall. He’d been catching his breath on a bench when suddenly you were there too, smiling as you crouched against the opposite wall, elbows on your knees. You’d nodded. “How’d you do?”

Nolan had stuttered back, flustered in your presence, “I’m, uh, not flushing out yet, I hope.”

“You don’t sound too sure.”

“Ask me after I’ve slept some 12 hours,” he’d sighed, messing nervously with his hair. “Things usually seem less dire by then.”

“Would some coffee do the trick?” and Nolan hadn’t known it then, but you’d been nervous too. After all, you’d offered him what would be the first day of the rest of your lives together. No easy feat, but you’d seen something in him that deemed him worthy of you. 

“Coffee can work,” Nolan, young and eager, had said slowly. He couldn’t stop grinning, high with lack of sleep and your attention on him. “You’re buying?”

“It’s only fair,” you’d shrugged, but there was something giddy about your expression that still appears in your features these days, bright and young. “You look like you’re about to drop dead.”

“And I still seem like worthy company?”

“I think we can pull a few good hours out of you yet,” a few hours, a few years; Nolan will be as sleepless as he was then on his wedding day out of pure excitement. You’ll have spent the night before the ceremony talking on the phone while in separate rooms since your friends were sentimental little fucks and wouldn’t let him even kiss you goodbye before the big day. 

He’d described the few hours apart as agony in his vows, had made the crowd laugh and you cry with the sentiment, and now he wishes he hadn’t. He shouldn’t have said a damned thing, shouldn’t have manifested any sort of agony into your lives because now the illusion cuts off sharply and he’s back in the waiting room, a nurse calling your name while he fiddles with his wedding ring, staring blankly into the hallway. 

Liv’s still there for some reason, as are some other officers and Amaro, while the others hunt down the man who landed you here. Munch had snapped at the Captain when he told him he couldn’t stay. Fin had to lead Amanda out by the shoulders, too stricken to walk out herself. 

Liv and Amaro stand but it takes Nolan a few moments to return to himself. She tells them, gently, that you’re out of surgery. “She lost a lot of blood, but only some of the bullet’s fragments hit her heart. It was touch and go but the doctor was able to extract all of them.”

Nolan’s lungs open up and he breathes his first full breath since Liv called. He must make a sound, because the attention in the room shifts to him, suffocating and inquisitive. His vision blurs for a second, heartbeat pumping in his ears.

“She’s extremely lucky,” she continues, looking right at Nolan, like it's supposed be comforting. Like that’s what luck means, almost-but-not-quite bleeding out while your heart had to be stitched up back together. “Most people with injuries like this don’t even make it past the ambulance.”

Nolan closes his eyes in anguish. He presses his closed fists against his forehead, elbows on his knees, back hunched. It’s almost like he’s trying to disappear into himself, but the image of an ambulance opening its doors to his flatlining wife refuses to leave him.  

“There’s still a long way to go,” she continues, softer, realizing she’s hit a nerve. She turns to Liv and Nick, who are paying rapt attention even as Nick walks close to him to put a hand on Nolan’s shoulder, firm and steady. “She won’t wake up anytime soon. Her body needs rest and to recuperate from the most acute injuries. And the doctor would like to talk about next steps once she does.”

Next steps, Nolan thinks. The only next steps he’s aware of are those that lead to your room. Olivia and Amaro trail behind him and the nurse like a couple of guard dogs, standing alert for any sign of Nolan backing out or collapsing into his grief.

He just might. He feels queasy, nauseous with exhaustion and worry. But then he sees you, and nothing else matters. 

“Sweetheart,” he says, devastated, walking to your bed. “Oh, honey.”

Despite his eagerness to touch you, Nolan flails when you’re finally within arms reach. You look asleep for one blissful, hopeful moment, but then Nolan blinks and the light settles; the ashiness of your skin, the uncomfortable placing of your body, the blank expression devoid of dreams or nightmares or consciousness. 

He’d usually be embarrassed to have witnesses to such a personal display of affection, but not even Liv and Nick standing at the door can stop Nolan from carefully cupping your face in his hands and kissing the apple of your cheek, lingering and gentle. He’s afraid of touching the rest of you, of jostling you too badly. But the steady noise of your heart rate monitor is a constant, loud reminder that you won’t fall apart that easily.

Liv and Nick linger behind him, talking quietly amongst themselves in sharp whispers. It might or might not be an argument. Nolan would kick them out if he could gather the energy to care. 

Benson eventually takes a few apprehensive steps into the room, seemingly having lost whatever fight she and her partner were having. 

“We’re on our way out,” she murmurs. “There’s a lead on our guy and Cragen’s calling us all back to the precinct. But if there’s anything…”

She trails off. Nolan doesn’t answer, studies instead the bridge of your nose and the shape of your brows, tries to count your eyelashes and catalog the bruises on your face. Liv sighs defeatedly and reaches for him.  

“Whatever you need,” Liv says firmly with a hand on his arm. Still, her steady presence is undermined by the way she keeps looking at you like you’re already in a coffin. For that, Nolan wants her out, can’t stand her even if she rode with you to the hospital and kept you semi-conscious until the doctors took you off her hands. “We’re here for you, alright? All of us, Nolan. I’m serious.”

“Thanks,” he says, monotone, voice rough and cracked from swallowing down his panic and tears. He clears his throat but it does little to help. “Thank you, Liv. For everything.”

Her lips tighten in an unpleased line, but she nods and leaves the room with one last pat to his arm. He’s being ungrateful, he knows. Liv’s the one who found you, who held your hand in the ambulance before they drove you off to surgery. Nolan owes Benson his life.

The thought alone makes him so nauseous he has to clench his eyes shut, breathing shallowly. God, what would he have done? What will he do, if something happens to you? You aren’t out of the woods yet and if something goes wrong, if your body decides to cave in, if the wound gets infected, if there’s something they didn’t catch, if, if, if, if–

He lifts his head and catches his wife’s face, lax and motionless. Once again, the panic settles. He hasn’t gotten the chance to let it unfold the way it needs to. 

“I finally got you on your own,” Nolan says, soft, careful not to disturb the semblance of peace in the room.You don’t answer, no matter how badly Nolan wants you to. “You’re very popular. A tough one to find these days, you know.”

You weren’t even supposed to be in today. Cragen had called mere hours after you’d gone to bed and Nolan had done his best to stay up while you got ready to go. You’d kneeled next to his side of the bed and Nolan had leaned in to kiss you without thought, an automatic notion he wishes he’d paid more attention to now. 

I’ll call you when I can, you’d nudged your nose against his temple before pressing a kiss there. Nolan had already been half asleep at that point. I love you.

Love you, Nolan mumbled, eyes closed, jutting his chin forward blindly. One more. 

He continues as if you had replied. “You’ve got half of the NYPD out there waiting on you. The nurses are rioting, but I don’t think anyone’ll leave until you wake up.”

Nolan’s voice loses the battle, it breaks right at the end of his sentence and so does his composure, eyes burning with tears that for some goddamned reason just won’t fall.

“Please,” he begs to the sky, to God, to no one. “Please, please, please. Wake up.”

He presses his forehead to his wife’s limp hand maybe a little too harshly. Even if your skin is cold and your grip nonexistent, the touch has him sobbing dryly.

An hour ago you were in surgery, out of reach and sight even if you were already getting help.

Three hours ago you were bleeding out in some alleyway in Queens, struggling for your radio to call for help. 

Twelve hours ago you were kissing him goodbye, smiling against his mouth despite the dark nature of the case because Nolan kept pulling you in for one more kiss.

One more, one more, one more, his pleads now. Wake up and give me one more, sweetheart, come on.

“Please, honey,” he whispers, wet and nasal with emotion. “I’m not ready for this. I’m not ready yet, I didn’t– I don’t–”

The words don’t come. Nolan chokes, holds your hand in his own. Breathes, breathes, and breathes. 

Days keep piling up. You don’t wake up and Nolan doesn’t cry. God knows why, but he can’t, his body on automatic while he solely focuses on your condition. The nurses know him by name and he makes record time to the apartment and back for showers and quick naps, some food for the little appetite he has. 

He doesn’t even think to be offended when he’s placed on indefinite leave at work. Nolan can’t bring himself to care, he would’ve stacked up every sick day and vacation time available to stay at your side as much as he could anyway. 

The squad offers to stand guard almost daily, which Nolan appreciates, but his object permanence has gone to shit. Whenever he doesn’t have eyes on you his panic rises again like a tidal wave, never quite crashing but dwindling when he sits in that Godawful chair next to your bed. His hand settles your ankle or arm or somewhere he can easily look for your pulse, weak but steady, and it keeps him wearily calm.

It’s desperate, he knows, and more than a little pathetic, but Nolan feels like he’s allowed. Until you wake up to tell him he’s been worrying over nothing he will do as he pleases.

He talks to you. Liv and Amaro have caught him more than once speaking quietly into the lull of the hospital room, holding your hand and drawing soothing motions with his thumb against your skin.

Mom drove into the steps again. The ones in the driveway? They were already loose from last time and now she has Dad driving through every Home Depot in North Carolina to find the right tile to replace them. 

Jill sends her best. Last time I saw her she was talking my ear off about her kid’s college fund. Apparently her husband lost half of it during Tuesday night with the boys, whatever that means.

Munch says he owes you 20 bucks from the Giants game from two weeks ago? Which is weird, because you haven’t watched a full game since, like, ‘08. Not like you’re missing anything, but still, your accuracy to outsmart Munch in his own line of work is pretty outstanding. 

It helps, though barely. Whenever he ventures over what you’ll do once you’re awake the illusion breaks and so does Nolan’s composure. He trails off, feeling foolish, the weight of his delusion pressing against his chest.    

“It’s not silly,” Munch tells him during one of his visits, the book he’s been reading to you resting on his lap. “You’re talking to your wife. If I’d done more of that back in my day then maybe I’d still be married.”

“Which time?” Nolan asks, his lips tingling with the almost want to smile.

Munch points at him, managing a smirk himself. “Exactly.”

He’s so sure it calms Nolan more than you’d expect. So far he’s the only other person who talks about you like you’re still alive and thus, the only one who doesn’t make an indomable rage wash over Nolan whenever they’re in the same room. 

He’s the one with him when you wake. You do so in a panic, waking Nolan up from his uncomfortable nap next to your bed. It’s a sudden flail after another as your heart rate monitor goes crazy and you don’t answer any call of your name, terrified and in pain.

It’s awful. Nolan doesn’t think he’ll ever forget how you almost tear your stitches mid panic while doctors and nurses gather around and kick him out with quick accuracy. There’s nothing he can do to help and he knows it, but he’s never supposed to be in a position in which he can’t help you.

He’s doomed to watch from a glass window, helpless, as you suffer without anyone to reach out to.  

She woke up but had to be sedated, a nurse tells him after, it’s normal for patients to be unaware of their surroundings after waking up from long periods of unconsciousness. We still haven’t been able to determine neurological damage, so we’ll have to wait until it wears off. 

“Kid, kid, hey,” Munch says, alarmed after coming back from the cafeteria with two coffees and finding Nolan sitting outside your room, crying into his knees. “What’s wrong, what happened? I was gone fifteen minutes–”

Nolan tries to explain but the words get caught up in his throat, his grief taking over his sense of logic. She woke up, he meant to say. She woke up and she didn’t know where she was and I stood by like an idiot watching her suffer. 

After he’s talked down from a panic attack he says, a mere croak. “She woke up. They don’t know–” his breath hitches “–but she woke up.”

Munch sighs, visibly relieved as he squats next to Nolan, cupping the back of his neck. “Good. That’s good, hey– Nolan. That’s good, okay? That’s one step closer to getting her back. This is good.”

He repeats those words to himself like a mantra. This is good, this is good, this is good, and doesn’t dare to close his eyes for something other than blinking until you’re conscious. It’s hours later, deep into the night when you open your eyes again, groggy and disoriented, blinking into the dark hospital room. 

“Honey,” he says, quiet and so, so relieved. You don’t appear to hear him and a flash of fear seizes his heart. He presses the button and calls for a nurse, edging closer to the bed. Nolan says your name, filled with trepidation. “Hey, honey, you with me?”

Arduously slowly, you follow the sound of his voice. You blink at him, gulping and saying, dry as the Sahara. “Nole.”

It’s the most glorious thing he’s ever heard. The smile that pulls at his mouth feels odd on his face, like he’s forgotten how to show joy. How to feel it. He goes to touch your face, hands shaky and reverent. “Yeah. Yeah, sweetheart, it’s me.”

He offers you a drink and grips your hand all through the nurse’s examination, which you pass with flying colors. While she’s tinkering with your IV, you ask him, “Bellevue?”

“Yeah,” he says grimly, thumb rubbing soothing motions against your skin, trying to infuse some warmth. 

“Shot?” you wonder next.

Nolan hesitates. “You don’t remember?”

“Guessin’,” you slur, tired, blinks getting longer each time you close your eyes. 

The nurse pipes up then with the same explanations she’s given Nolan the past few weeks: the bullet to your heart, the long-lasting surgery, the even longer coma. You nod in all the right places but your head rests against the pillow and your expression is vacant, like you’ll forget all about it by the next time you wake up.

“Anyone… else?” you ask.

“No,” Nolan responds, watching some tension fall off your frame when he confirms this. He wishes he felt the same, though a selfish part of him would’ve preferred it to be someone else in this hospital bed instead of you; Liv or Amaro, Rollins or even Fin. It’s true, even if the thought is followed by guilt. “No, everyone’s fine, honey. Working their asses off and worried out of their minds, but okay. It’s just you.”

You hum and then promptly fall back asleep, breaths settling into an even rhythm. It’s then that his eyes water and his tears fall on the scratchy hospital sheets where you lay.  Oh, Nolan thinks, almost surprised by them. So this is what it takes.  

The next time he looks up, hours later, is because you’re reaching to touch his face, tender and shaky. He snaps to attention like a soldier called to the front lines, but there’s no trouble chasing after you, no bad thing happening for once. You’re both okay, safe in your hospital room while nurses and doctors and visitors keep passing by just outside the door.

“You haven’t slept,” you croak out as you drop your hand from where you’d been gently pressing at the bags under Nolan’s eyes, tired from that simple movement. Your chest rises and falls with breaths that are a little too labored, but your eyes are fixed on your husband, worried. “Nole.”

It almost makes him smile: how you worry about other people while you lie with a hole in your heart on a hospital bed. Nolan would laugh if he were sure the sound wouldn’t dwindle into sobbing. There’s nothing funny about this. Nothing.

“‘m alright,” he promises, croaky and wet from previous cries. You’re still a little too out of it, but your face contorts in weak disbelief. You don’t believe him for a moment. He amends: “I will be. And so will you. You’re gonna be okay, honey.”

happy new year!!! i wanted to start the year giving you a little something after being so absent the last couple of months and i've had this piece in my drafts for ages! it was originally waaay longer but i thought i'd end it on a happy note and maybe make a part two if anyone's interested?

anyway! i hope you guys enjoy what has become one of my favorite pairings to write and i hope you had a good time last night and a great 2024! thank you for reading!

<3

[loganjameshowlett]

SAME AS IT EVER WAS

02: FACTS DON'T DO WHAT I WANT THEM TO

pairing: peter parker/muntant!reader summary: you're getting good at pretending everything is normal. peter's getting less good at the very same. word count: 3.2k+

series masterlist | previous installment | next installment

When you woke up on Thursday, the bizarre scars were still uncomfortably present on your shoulder blades, and you kind of wished the SUV had finished the job. 

It was 3:07 PM when you rolled over– an action accompanied with a certain measure of full-body agony– and squinted blearily at your phone screen. 

“Shit,” you muttered, rubbing your eyes and checking the time again. You had missed both of your classes for the day, and had to be over to the bodega in just under two hours for a shift. It was unlike you to oversleep, or to ever miss a class, and you tamped down the anxiety already bubbling in your chest about falling behind or missing something crucial. It was also unlike you to get fully run over by an SUV and live to tell the tale, you supposed. And it made for a hell of a good reason to have missed class, anyway. 

Your body felt like it belonged tucked into a bed in the ICU unit over in Bellevue. When you finally dragged it out of bed and in front of the mirror to check, the line of unsightly, discolored tire track bruises had bloated to cover most of the skin from your ribs down to your hips. The same wave of questions from the night before welled up in your mind, and just as the night before, you pushed them all away just as fast. You had enough sense to know you weren’t going to come to any meaningful answers standing on your own in the middle of your bedroom, and you had to shower and get ready for work, anyhow. Another place where you were not likely to get answers, so best not to think about the questions. 

By the time you were done with a near-scalding shower, your body was actually feeling mostly okay and you were well on your way to convincing yourself that whatever happened last night was a fluke. A one time thing. Yes, it was completely bizarre and should have been impossible by all accounts, but those were things you didn’t have to concern yourself with if it never happened again. A few decades from now, you’d probably think it had all been a particularly vivid dream, the way most people who glimpse one unexplainable thing in their lives and then nothing ever again do, and that was alright by you.  

***

“You’ll never guess what happened to me last night,” Mickey says, grinning and coming around the counter as soon as you came through the door. 

You stole my line, you wanted to say, but you were making a valiant effort at not devoting large quantities of brainpower to thinking about last night, so you didn’t. Instead, you walked behind the counter and shed your jacket on the plastic chair in the tiny storage-closet-turned-office, tossing a look Mickey’s way to show her you were listening to her story. 

“Two minutes away from my dorm, I ran into fucking Klara,” she said, punctuating her sentence with a roll of her wide brown eyes. “She has somehow gotten more fuckin’ unbearable than ever.”

“In other news, the sky is blue,” you interjected, and Mickey waved a hand dismissively. 

“That is not the point of the story,” Mickey said. “She stopped me on the path with her bullshit smalltalk for about thirty seconds before dropping that fucking Spider-Man had just swung through campus five minutes earlier!” 

“He has been known to do that,” you nodded. “Couple weeks ago he webbed up some finance frat loser who was trying to start fist fights with everyone who walked past him.” 

“Yeah, I know he’s around sometimes, but I have never seen him! And there I was last night, missing him by a matter of mere minutes.” Mickey huffed, dropping her chin onto her hand. 

“Your time will come, Mick,” you assured her. “And then you can try to flirt your way into his spandex, or whatever.”

“I will succeed in flirting my way into his spandex, thank you very much,” she responded haughtily, and despite your mood and the soreness still ebbing its way through your body, you laughed. 

Gary hopped up onto the counter, wending his way through Mickey’s arms, and then crossing over to do the same to yours. Absently, you sunk your fingers into his soft orange fur, gently scratching his little head. 

“Hey, you kinda look like shit. Did something happen?” Mickey asked, startling you out of the blank-gazed factory reset your brain was trying to accomplish. When you looked up at her, her head was tilted to the side, eyes narrowed in scrutiny. 

“If staying up most of the night doing homework counts as something happening, then yeah,” you shrugged. “This is just what a me approaching midterms looks like.” 

“Yeah… I guess that’s true,” she drawled, but you could tell by her voice that she wasn’t totally convinced. Mickey was your best friend, and years of telling each other everything without a second thought had culminated in both of you being able to easily tell when the other was, on those rare occasions, hiding something. And usually, as soon as Mickey seemed even marginally onto you, you would spill everything to her. But this time, you couldn’t say a thing. What even would you say? Nothing good could come out of telling her that you’d been run over by a car and then just… walked home. 

“Can we finally talk about how Josh McClellan is clearly coming in here several times a week just to see you?” you asked, trying to change the subject as smoothly as you were capable of. 

“Okay, so it’s not only me who was thinkin’ that?” Mickey launched into a play-by-play dissection of her interactions with the guy immediately, and you sank onto the stool behind the counter in relief of the attention no longer being on you. 

The rest of your shift passed mostly without incident. Mickey followed Gary around the bodega, harassing him with pets and occasionally fixing up or restocking a shelf or two. The after-work crowd even seemed a little less disgruntled than usual, which your hourly deteriorating people skills appreciated greatly. 

“Think we can bump off early?” Mickey asked, as the clock reached eleven. “It’s only an hour.”

“I wouldn’t do Mr. Browne like that, and neither should you,” you said, aiming  a scolding look at her over the shelves as you idly pushed a broom back and forth in front of the coolers. “And, ‘sides, this is the easiest hour of the shift. Basically nobody comes in between now and closing.”

As soon as the words left your mouth, the bell above the door chimed. Mickey shot a told ya so look at you, before turning around to see who came in. 

“Oh– hey, Peter,” you greeted, eyes widening slightly as you realized it wasn’t just some random schmuck looking for mixers for their pregame. You knew this schmuck. Kind of. 

For his part, Peter froze in the door, looking a little too much like a prey animal for someone simply being recognized when they didn’t expect it. His eyes met yours, and he forced an awkward smile onto his face. 

“Hey,” he said your name, accompanied by a small wave. “I didn’t know you worked here.” 

“Didn’t come up while we were discussing your essay?” you asked, and Peter’s smile grew into something a little more embarrassed, cheeks pinking slightly as he ducked his head. 

“Sorry, that was stupid,” he said, wending his way through the aisles and clearly searching for something specific. You brought the broom back into the office and situated yourself behind the register for when Peter was ready to check out. Mickey met your eye from across the room as she hoisted Gary into her arms, giving you a look that was clearly asking what the fuck? You shrugged almost imperceptibly and looked away, but you could still feel her eyes on you. 

A few minutes later, Peter ambled up to the counter and set three different flavors of Celsius and a bag of Cool Ranch Doritos down in front of you. Fascinating snack for this time of night. 

“Still on for tomorrow afternoon?” he asked as you began scanning his items. 

“Yeah, ‘course,” you said, looking up to offer him a small smile. Up close, the bags under his eyes were so pronounced they looked like true bruises, and there was a pretty fresh cut almost completely hidden in his hairline. 

“You okay?”

The words came out of both of your mouths at the same time, followed by twin looks of confusion. 

“Me?” you asked, brow furrowing as you finished ringing him up. “Total’s $13.50, by the way.” 

“Yeah– uh, sorry–” Peter said, fishing a couple of bills out of his jacket pocket. “You just… it seemed like something might be wrong.” 

You blinked at him for a few seconds, frankly dumbfounded that he– a virtual stranger– was able to pick up on the general wrongness of the current state of your existence. Realizing you’d been quiet for a weird amount of time, you sucked in a breath and responded, “Oh, yeah, no, I’m good. Just exhausted, s’all– you know, finals coming up and everything.”

“Oh, sure,” he nodded, like it made complete sense. “Right there with you.”

“And, uh, what happened up–?” you asked, gesturing toward the cut along his hairline. You noticed then that the skin around it was starting to bruise. 

“Oh, that,” Peter said, bringing a hand up to ghost along the offending injury. “I was in the lab earlier for my, uh, my internship and there was a little accident. You know how labs are.”

“I really do not know how labs are,” you said, and the same embarrassed smile from earlier grew on his face. 

“Right. Yeah. Accidents are par for the course.”

“Well, make sure you dress that properly when you get home,” you said, fighting the urge to fuss over the wound. 

“First thing when I walk through the door,” he promised, and you nodded, satisfied, as you handed over his purchases. 

“See you tomorrow, then.”

“Yeah, ‘night,” Peter said, waving as he took a few backward steps from the counter, before disappearing through the door. 

As soon as he was out on the sidewalk, Mickey materialized on the other side of the counter, red curls and freckled expression of shocked interest taking up your entire field of vision. “What the fuck was that?” 

***

You spent Friday morning valiantly trying to finish your biology work so that you actually had something for Peter to look over that afternoon. You figured that, honestly, bringing a blank lab worksheet to him would be just as useful as bringing one you filled in by yourself; it was like the synapses stopped firing in your brain when you opened up this stupid lab’s Canvas page. 

And anyway, your lack of ability to concentrate on anything that looked even remotely like STEM homework had become a hundred times worse since the Incident (you had taken to thinking of it as this: capitalized so as to be given proper weight, and named so that you never had to dwell on any of the details). Suddenly learning about plant tissue culture seemed entirely meaningless in the greater context of your increasingly bizarre life. 

Meaningless or not, you still had to pass the class. The universe worked in mysterious ways, and as you skimmed the same textbook page for the ninth time, absorbing not a single word, you thanked it for sending Peter Parker your way. 

When you reached the second floor of the library at five minutes to two, Peter was already sitting at the table the two of you had occupied the other day, general backpack detritus spread haphazardly across half the surface. He had a fresh printed copy of his edited essay in front of him, partially obscured by his arm resting on top of it, which was, in turn, supporting his head while he napped. 

You approached the table, dumping your bag in one of the empty chairs as gently as you could. Peter’s hair stuck up in all directions, and you noticed that the bruise blooming out from the cut along his hairline had matured into something nastier looking since the last time you saw him. 

For a moment, you stood awkwardly at the side of the table, waiting to see if he would wake up. You felt bad about the prospect of waking him– he clearly needed the sleep badly– and you briefly thought about just leaving and emailing him to set up a different time, but you knew he’d feel bad about it and selfishly, you needed to submit your lab by midnight. 

“Peter?” you asked, voice pitched low for the library. Hesitantly, you reached a hand toward his shoulder, unsure still of what you would do with it once it reached its destination, but just before your fingers brushed his sweatshirt, Peter’s head bolted up as if electrocuted. 

He took a few seconds to gaze, confused, about the room, before his eyes landed on you and a blush that was quickly becoming familiar pinked his cheeks. 

He said your name, half confused question and half surprised exclamation, and blinked up at you a few times as if trying to orient himself. 

“You alright?” you asked, moving to sit in the seat catty-cornered to his own. 

“Yeah, I’m all good, I– honestly, I can’t believe I  fell asleep here,” Peter answered, reassuring smile an afterthought. You watched how the smile dropped quickly and his brow furrowed, skin creasing above the bridge of his nose; he seemed far too concerned about accidentally falling asleep in the library. 

“I can’t tell you how many naps I’ve taken at this exact table, let alone the rest of the building,” you told him, tone light. You weren’t quite sure what about the situation had him so worried, but you hoped you could reassure him a bit anyway. “You wanna start with your essay, or my lab?” 

“Your lab deserves to go first,” Peter decided quickly. “What’s this one on?”

You attempted to explain the lab to the best of your ability, eventually giving up and handing over your entire biology folder so Peter could read it himself. For the next two hours, he talked you through each aspect of the lab– it felt like finding God, finally being able to understand something for this fucking class. 

Peter perked up with every question you asked him, as though getting the opportunity to explain biological concepts was literally reinvigorating him. His eyes brightened, his posture straightened– he was more confident than you’d ever seen him now that he was given the space to ramble about something he knew well. You were embarrassed to have to forcibly stop yourself from openly staring at him about half a dozen times. 

“Sorry, we got way off track at the end, there,” Peter said, suddenly cutting off a tangent about some research on chloroplasts that one of his internship colleagues was conducting. 

You waved him off, a genuine smile on your face. “Don’t be, I like listening to you. ‘Sides, I learned more from you this afternoon than I have from Dr. Katz the entire semester,” you said earnestly. 

Peter grinned, ducking his head a bit. “Well, I aim to educate and entertain, so I'm glad I hit on both of those today.”

“I really think you could have a future as Bill Nye’s successor with these skills, Parker,” you said solemnly, and Peter laughed. 

“With this kind of unwavering support, maybe I will be conducting science experiments on direct-to-videos being played in seventh grade biology classrooms all over the country very soon.”

“Maybe,” you nodded. “If you’re lucky.”

***

Three years into college, and Peter still hadn’t quite mastered balancing the student and hero halves of his life. 

Submitting work late and having no consistent social life were just, he guessed, par for the course. His entire life seemed to be made up of excuses, and he was helpless to change it. Mostly, it didn’t bother him. Being Spider-Man was just who he was; he wouldn’t give up any part of that for “the traditional college experience” or “having friends”. He shuffled his half-dead body between chem lectures and getting 18-wheelers thrown at him by the Rhino, and in the exceedingly rare moments of quiet between the two, he kept his head down. And that was that. He was good with that. 

And then he met you. 

He’d never needed a tutor before Professor Liu, and when he finally bit the bullet and asked her for help, he expected to be paired with some pretentious, Moby Dick reading, flowy blouse wearing poet who would eloquently tell him exactly how much of a dunce he was when it came to literary analysis. This probably wasn’t a fair assessment, but he didn’t know many English majors, and anyway, anyone who was held in such high esteem by Professor Liu was somebody whom, he assumed, he would never get along with in a million years. 

And then he’d shown up to tutoring, and there you were at the table in a giant sweatshirt, dog-eared book held open by one errant finger as you tapped at your keyboard, and you’d remembered his name right off the bat and smiled at him– one of those patient, encouraging smiles that could make anyone open up about anything– and somewhere between breaths the tutoring session had become the highlight of his week. 

He’d left with the guarantee of seeing you again in a few days, and then it was like his brain got the flu because all he could think about, any time he idled, was you, and how you laughed at all his stupid jokes and were so casually witty and– honestly, the torrent was never ending (not that he was trying to end it very hard) and maybe worryingly distracting (he’d only missed the broad side of a building with his webs once, and he rebounded before he became a stain on the pavement, so really, no harm no foul). 

He thought he was hallucinating when he walked into a bodega at random after a surprisingly nasty spat with a would-be car thief, spandex still on under his jacket and a pair of sweatpants, and there you were, too, name tag pinned to your sweater and broom in your hand, existing in your own right away from the library, which was, for some reason, a shock to him. He said something stupid (a curse he was sure he would never get rid of) and had to fumble his way through normalcy even when you, through what you claimed to be exhaustion but was pinging his spidey senses as something much more, noticed his little bump on the head and asked if he was okay. His heart had done a painful, spasmodic little dance at the thought that you cared enough to ask, and he didn’t really know what to do with that. 

Sitting on this rooftop was becoming frigid, and all he could think about was your hand touching his when you handed him back his change, and your voice so earnestly saying I like listening to you. 

God, but he was fucked.

[pawnshopbleus]

These Are the Days

Abby Anderson x Fem!Reader

High school AU

Prologue

For the summary, warnings, and more please visit here

Thank you @saradika for the divider!

U-Haul's don’t allow for much space. The driver's seat and the passenger's seat allow for a normal sized human to sit in while the middle seat is reserved for children. The problem is that you are no longer a child.

Your parents don’t seem to mind the less than spacious conditions as your father drives and your mother looks out of her window. The sound of two people babbling about some senator comes from the radio. Even though they put it on, your parents are not listening to it. Your hand goes to change the station to something you like. They don’t flinch at the change. They just continue on with what they’re doing. 

Squished in between your mother and father, you pull up to your new house. It’s a beautiful and luxurious colonial-style home in Bellevue, Washington. Just minutes away from Seattle, the Emerald City. 

It looks like something straight out of a fairytale. The beautiful L-shaped home is surrounded by trees, bushes, flowers, rocks, and grass. Curved steps take you up to the porch surrounded by brick walls. Gabled roof lights emerge from the slate roof. And just around the corner is another walkway that leads to a curved white arbor and an expansive backyard. 

No matter how beautiful this house is, you still crave your home. It was small, yes, but it was home. 

Washington was so different from California. You’ve only been here for a few hours but you could already tell. You missed the air that smelled like sand and saltwater. How sticky your skin felt when you were outside too long. The constant sound of dogs barking. The breeze that shook the curtains. Watching the sunset from the window of your old bedroom. California was home. This place, no matter how hard it tried, could never do what California did. 

As your parents and the movers loaded things up in the house, you took your bike and began to peddle. With music playing in your ears, you rode your bike fast and hard, trying your best to get away. 

All you could see was green. Green grass, green trees, green bushes, even some flowers were green. Something about it made you sick. 

Further down the neighborhood, things were clearing up. You could see the same houses multiple times in a row. The only thing different about them being the cars that were parked in the front. The only things that followed were a dog park made especially for small dogs, and a small bakery at the very end of the street. 

You were alone on the street. Not a single person passed by. Not a jogger, a car, or a pedestrian. It felt as if everyone was in their homes watching you peddle your way through their neighborhood. 

After hours of riding your bike, you drag it back home. Your legs are tired but you can always appreciate the art of walking. 

The U-Haul is parked neatly in the driveway and the door is unlocked, meaning that your parents remembered you existed for once. Their new cars, which were delivered just before the three of you arrived in Washington are gone which means one thing; they’ve gone to work. 

Like always, there’s a note on the kitchen island. 

We’ve gone to work. We put your things in the first bedroom to the left. The movers already set up your bed and bedframe. 

Sincerely,

Mom and Dad.

The professionalism of the note just encapsulates your relationship with your parents. One drunken night after they met, they slipped up and had you. The three of you know you’re a mistake but it’s never been mentioned. They’ve never said “I love you,” and they’ve never shown up to a school play or performance. They missed out on your kindergarten graduation because they had a work party they “needed” to attend. Their neglect hurt at first and then you got used to it. You stopped looking for them in crowds, stopped asking them to come to events, and stopped telling your teachers the real reason why your parents never picked you up on time. 

Your bedroom is spacious even with the bed in the middle of it. Your things are unpacked in no time and it almost looks like your room back in California. Almost. 

Your parents were generous enough to give you a room with a window that overlooks the front of the house. You like sitting by the window while people pass by, just watching as they go on with their lives. You assign each person walking by with a little backstory. Something brighter and happier than what you’re living with right now. It makes you feel less alone. 

You stand by your curtainless window waiting for someone - anyone to walk by. And just like when you were riding your bike, no one passed by. That is until you hear the sound of a truck approaching. The sound of the latest pop hit escapes through the rolled down windows. A boy in a blue and gold varsity jacket is driving while a girl with striking blonde hair looks out of her window. The two of you hold eye contact for just a second before she and the car are out of sight. 

Next Chapter

[hanaaishi]

PAIRING: Matt Rempe x AFAB! Reader

WORD COUNT: 4.7K

SUMMARY: A surprise bar fight in Gramercy lands Matt Rempe in Bellevue with a head laceration. But a missing bangle allows you to share an experience of a lifetime with him.

WARNINGS: Bigotry, Harassment, Hospitals, Medical Treatment, Swearing, and Violence

I dedicate this story to @2manytabsopen as part of the 2K24 Summer Fic Exchange.

This is my first time writing for a non-binary, asexual person of color. I tried my best to incorporate that into the story while following the instructions you provided in the initial ask. As a result, if I messed up on anything, I am deeply sorry.

That being said, it was lovely to write for you. I had a lot of fun researching Desi culture for the story.

@wyattjohnston @kurlyteuvo @callsign-denmark @avengedearth

The fluorescent lights of the Bellevue emergency room burned overhead as you knelt between endless rows of medical supplies in the storeroom with an open package of disposable syringes at your feet. You scooped a handful and placed them into their labeled plastic container alongside the others lining the chrome-wire shelf. After unloading and breaking down the cardboard, your eyes shifted to the Apple watch around your wrist, which read 6:09 pm. Unpacking today's delivery of medical supplies pared only a single hour away from your twelve-hour night shift, causing an exasperated sigh to fall from your lips. You adjusted your navy blue watch band and rose to your feet to provide your knees with much-needed relief after kneeling upon the hospital's mosaic tile floor for an extended period. A smile appeared as you took a few steps back to review your work and admire your pristine organization before tucking the cardboard under your arm and touching the light switch.

As you entered the hallway, an adagio melody of soft chatters reached your ears. Your nose picked up the remnants of a disinfectant miasma as if the hospital came to life and unleashed a deluge of germicide upon itself like the Overlook Hotel from The Shining. You look deeper into the hallway to your left and into the waiting room on your right, waiting for a code to begin over the intercom and a flock of nurses rushing around the corner with a crash cart. But the announcement never came, causing you to blink at the colleagues meandering past with their files and patients. The hospital's serenity continued to hold against the chaos of the bustling Manhattan streets outside, a rarity in the most populated metropolis in the country.

You closed the door behind you, waiting for the light on the card reader to turn red, signifying that the storeroom had locked. Afterward, you joined the flow of hospital staff wandering through the department on your way to the emergency room’s hospital bay, where the maintenance staff stored the recycling for easy disposal. Several nurses, who must have received a slight lull while waiting for new patients or test results, mulled around the central station. They stood against the white quartz countertop, filling out paperwork or discussing their plans for their next day off with the RNs assigned to monitor the systems for that shift. The handful of invalids who visited the emergency room that evening lay interspersed upon the flimsy white mattresses lining the hospital’s beds with their eyes fixated on their phones or a book in their hands. In one or two stations, a fortunate soul conversed with one of the scheduled doctors, who explained their diagnoses and proceeding prognosis through gestures toward their tablets and illuminated X-rays. Their mouths moved in gentle whispers, preventing you from picking on their reason for visiting. However, based on their relaxed demeanor, you deduced it was for non-critical injuries, like broken bones and simple sutures, and other everyday ailments as you wandered further from the department’s core.

After several moments, the expansive black sliding doors where the EMTs unloaded patients from their ambulances came into view. The sight added an extra bounce in your step, driving you to the recycling room in desperation to trash your cardboard and join your fellow nurses at the station or perhaps grab a cup of mediocre coffee the hospital stocked in the break area from local grocers. However, before you could take your break, one of the boxes slipped from your grasp and clattered to the floor, causing you to stop. As you bent down to retrieve it, a chill began to rise on your spine as the sound echoed through the ambulance bay. The hospital was well-lit, and you could still see bits of your co-workers' pastel scrubs in the distance, but an eerie silence had permeated the air. In the city that never sleeps, you often had a faint cacophony of horns honking and emergency services sirens always accompanying you. But there was nothing like seeing the dark storm clouds before hearing the thunder.

Suddenly, indistinct red and blue shimmers appeared on the off-white walls, causing you to lift your head and turn your attention to the dancing lights. You slouched your shoulders and rolled your eyes at the illuminations as the ambiance of the distant siren struck up once more and confirmed the proximity of an emergency service vehicle. Despite your odds, an incessant mantra began in your head, pleading with the lights to disappear and the siren to fade into as the New York City Police Department or Fire Department passed on their way to an emergency. The Universe sadly appeared to ignore your invocation as the lights and sirens grew ever closer to Bellevue, and you grimaced upon realizing that it was the FDNY, but not for a blazing inferno threatening to burn down several city blocks.

“Fuck!” you said under your breath as you recognized the youthful visage of one of the EMTs who often brought patients to the hospital through the bay doors. You grabbed the cardboard and leaned it against the recycling room door, making a mental note to dispose of it later if maintenance didn’t remove it first. Turning to the door, you grabbed a pair of sterile gloves from a nearby box and rushed out to meet the team.

The EMT smiled as he saw you emerging into the cool spring air from the building. “Evening! I have an interesting one for you: Matt, 22, got into a bar fight at The Foundry a few blocks down in Gramercy. His vitals are stable, and the only noticeable injury is this laceration on his forehead.” He pointed to a patch of gauze on the patient’s face, anchored with two pieces of medical tape. “Apparently, there was a group of rowdy patrons there, and Matt and his friends intervened, causing one of the guys to launch a beer bottle at Matt’s head. He declined to press charges, so no visits from PD, and seems alert. He’s also not too thrilled about getting checked out at the hospital because he’s afraid some guy named Peter would kill him, but I told him it was protocol.”

“Hi, Matt. I’m one of the nurses who works in the emergency room here. It looks like you have a nice cut on your head. We’re going to get you checked out and make sure you don’t have any other hidden injuries. And then, we should get you out by the end of the night. How does that sound?” you explained, approaching the stretcher and placing a comforting hand on the guardrail.

Matt turned his head, acknowledging you with his honey-almond eyes. Your grip around the bed rail tightened, and you tilted your head to study his features better as you neared the bed. Given the fact that the wound wasn’t actively bleeding, it appeared prime facie that the wound was superficial and wouldn’t cause a lasting scar to maim his handsome face. He wore a tense smile on his uneven pink lips and under an adorable button nose while a few strands of his long chestnut hair framed his square jaw. Noticeable dried blood spots on his white button-up peeked out from his dark grey blazer, but it was nothing that some coffee grounds would be able to take out. He also possessed a delicate aroma of juniper, possibly from a cologne that he bought on Fifth Avenue, which tied his outfit together and gave him a gentlemanly appearance. Intrusive began storming your subconscious, compelling you to remark on his handsomeness. However, despite the persistent urge, you remained in place and offered Matt a warm smile, hoping it would ease his fears. He regarded your face for a moment more before reciprocating your tenderness and spreading his lips into a more genuine smile.

The paramedic exchanged puzzled looks with his technicians waiting to roll Matt into the emergency room, wondering why you two were staring at each other. After a few moments, he cleared his throat to break the intimate encounter. “Yeah, so, that’s the story. Can we head into the emergency room to get him some help?”

“Oh, yes, I’m so sorry,” you replied as your brain uncrossed its wires, allowing you to re-comprehend human speech. You stepped back and turned your head to the aging brick wall constructing the hospital, pretending to stare at something to avoid eye contact with the technicians as they entered the ambulance bay.

Once they had passed, you fixed your eyes on their backs as they rolled Matt through the doors. The intrusive thoughts finally gave up the fight, but the battle left more questions than answers. You have worked at Bellevue for several years and received outstanding reviews on your bedside manner and standard of care for your patients. But you had never established an infatuation with a patient before. Perhaps it was his handsome appearance or the story of Matt selflessly placing himself between a group of drunk guys that made him sound like a hero in a fable. Whatever the reason, you pursed your lips at the thought of having to get back to work as you stumbled into the emergency room with the paramedic in tow.

The technicians guided Matt over to a nearby station at your instruction and parked the stretcher near the bed, allowing Matt to climb in on his own volition. It took some work, but he maneuvered his long, robust limbs comfortably onto the sterile striped sheets. You gave the EMTs a polite nod and thanked them for their assistance as they packed up their supplies and headed back to the ambulance with the stretcher, allowing you to return your attention to Matt. You raised the bed’s angle, giving Matt more solace and a better angle to examine his injury. Once everything was in place, you placed a hand on Matt’s shoulder and grabbed ahold of one of the pieces of medical tape.

“Alright, let’s look at this injury of yours. You’re going to feel a bit of discomfort, but it will only last a few seconds. Okay?” you explained. Matt responded with a nod, permitting you to remove the tape. Slowly, the adhesive separated from his ivory skin as you peeled it back, causing Matt to form a slight wince. The gauze lifted, revealing a long but otherwise clean cut an inch above Matt’s left eyebrow. “Oh, that’s not that bad. It’s a neat, straight cut, and there doesn’t appear to be any glass fragments there, which means that getting you sutured up will be easy. You relax here while I go see which general surgeon we have on call tonight.”

“Thank you,” Matt replied in his gruff tenor voice, shifting in his bed as he prepared to wait.

You returned to the storeroom once more and retrieved a series of butterfly strips and a non-adhesive bandage to help close the wound while you waited for the surgeon. As you tended to his wound, your eyes caught glimpses of a video playing on Matt’s phone. The pendant lights fastened from old canning jars hanging around the bar created a cozy ambiance for enjoying a nice stout or a lager after a long day at work, but it did not provide enough lighting for filming. Nevertheless, you could make out the contours of Matt’s stern face as he glared at another bar patron, who resembled the stereotypical blond, old-money villain from a romantic comedy. In the shadows, a man’s arm grabbed Matt’s bicep and attempted to drag him away from his scowling opponent, but Matt’s goliath frame stood firm. A few moments passed before the assailant launched himself at Matt, pushing him against one of the lacquered wood high-tops and punching him in the face. Matt's fierce right hook was the last thing you saw before the videographer concluded the recording, and the screen went black. After the video finished, Matt’s long fingers navigated out of full-screen mode and through the never-ending sea of comments and reactions from fans on Twitter.

“You have a nice punch there. Are you a boxer?” you asked as you focused on straightening a butterfly strip.

Matt let out a chuckle as he continued scrolling. “No, more like a hockey player. Some of the guys and I were out enjoying a couple of drinks before all of them returned home for the off-season, and we overheard a bunch of pricks from some Ivy League school out east. They were harassing some girls across the bar. I have two older sisters. If they talked to one of them like that, those guys wouldn’t be in the back of a police car; they would be in the back of a hearse.”

“Where did the beer bottle come from?”

“One of the douchebags bonked me over the head when I wasn’t looking. I’m lucky I got off with nothing but a simple cut.”

“You can say that again. On behalf of all female kind, I just want to say thanks.”

Matt furrowed his brow as you reapplied more medical tape to finish the dressage. “Female-kind? Not womankind?”

“Yeah, I’m non-binary,” you replied, grabbing wrappers and clicking the tape back into its case.

"Right on!” said Matt with a nod and his attention fixed on his Twitter feed.

You smiled and patted his shoulder as you rose from your stool and disposed of the wrappers in a nearby wastebasket. A warmth spread across your chest as you returned to the nurses' station to consult the on-call and see which number you needed to dial. You traced over each line until you saw the general surgeon’s name, a veteran with several years of experience in the hospital, and picked up the phone, tucking it between your shoulder and ear. In the several years you worked for New York City Health and Hospitals, you didn’t receive much hate for being a non-binary nurse. A few older patients would glare at you upon seeing the rose-colored button on your ID, informing them of your she/they pronouns. But they pursed their lips as you took their vitals, knowing that the wrong word would cause their bridge to healthcare to incinerate faster than the Great Fire of London. The others who accepted you often interrogated you on when you learned you were non-binary and what your thoughts were on the current political climate. While they were always well-intended, their line of questioning sometimes felt invasive. You weren’t participating in a pageant or running for city office, making your personal life irrelevant to their care. That is why Matt was such a breath of fresh air. He cared enough not to treat you like an oddity but didn’t overly care to the point that you became a fragile flower. He allowed you to be you without any regret.

A minute or two passed until a female voice belonging to the general surgeon came onto the line. You explained the situation and Matt’s status, prompting her to state she would be right down. The hospital stowed the surgeon's offices in another wing far from the emergency room, and it would take the doctor a few minutes to travel from her ivory tower. With little to keep you occupied, you returned to your stool in Matt’s station. The two of you conversed about anything you could devise — his hockey career, your nursing career, how he ended up in New York, how you found your way from Detroit. Eventually, the surgeon showed up and stitched together a nice line in his head before giving him instructions on proper wound care. The dissolving stitches would disappear over the next few weeks, but the hospital required Matt to return a week to ensure proper healing. Matt nodded at everything the surgeon said, causing a few more strands of hair to fall to his face. The surgeon’s voice faded to the back of your mind as you fiddled with your watch band once more, trying to ignore the melancholy weighing in your heart. Some of you wanted to see Matt and his aesthetic face again and listen to his charming cadence blather on about his summer. But he was a professional hockey player who had better things to do than visit one of the hundreds of nurses working in the Big Apple. He would likely visit the surgeon’s office through another entrance or even the Rangers’ physician. The possibility of seeing him again outside of one of the hospital’s entrances on your break did exist.

But would he remember you?

Unfortunately, despite your wishes, you never saw Matt again after that day. You rationalized that he must have slipped in and out to visit the surgeon on one of your days off. His presence left a bittersweet mark on your life, like a dent in a hockey rink, for you were glad you met him but sad he left so soon. But you had no time to dawdle on what could have been, for other patients required your attention. It was almost time for the City’s annual Desi Heritage Day, uniting the Indian, Pakistani, and Bangladeshi enclaves from around New York.

While reports of South Asians in the United States existed back to the 1700s, it wasn’t until the early 20th century that the Desi immigration began to increase. Today, New York City boasts one of the largest South Asian populations outside of California. It would only be befitting if the community celebrated their progress over the past 100 years. The Desi-American Association of New York obtains permission from the NYPD to block off a portion of Lexington Avenue at the heart of several Indian restaurants. They decorated the light poles and streets with colorful draping, flowers, and plastic folding tables lining the sidewalks, permeating the air with the delectable aroma of dishes from the local restaurants. You didn’t always receive a chance to visit the festival due to your work schedule, but you tried to get outside during your breaks to hear the dhols drumming in the distance.

This year, the hospital’s director of emergency medicine and human resources authorized you to have the day off to enjoy the festival after several previous tries. You immediately ran to your closet in your West Village loft and pulled out a gorgeous maroon kurta from the upper shelves amidst various clothes and sets of scrubs. It needed some cleaning and ironing from being stowed away for so long, but it was perfect for the occasion. The calf-length dress was solid in color, with two thin golden lines reaching from the shoulders down to the hemline. The tunic and the matching pants contrasted perfectly with the busyness of the dupatta, a long piece of chiffon with an aureate border and ornate flowers decorating the entity of the sheer fabric.

You made plans with a few friends to meet near 28th Street and put on your kurta, ready to enjoy some naan and biryani. But one thing was missing: a bangle your family gifted you before you left Michigan from New York. The only times you removed it were during showering and work. It always remained in a designated pocket in your bookbag, locked away in the nurses' lockers. But it disappeared without a trace over the past few days. You retraced your steps and searched high and low for any sign of it — your apartment, the hospital, and even the station where you treated Matt. However, there was no sign of it.

“Come on! Come on! You must be here somewhere!” you said as you lifted the pillows from your couch in the living area.

However, before you completed your quest, your phone rang an alarm, signifying it was time to gather your stuff and go. You hung your head and sighed, exasperated at your failure, before grabbing your phone off its charger in the kitchen and shoving it into a golden clutch. You also maneuvered a pair of crisscrossed chunky heals into place and draped the dupatta. After looking over your outfit again, you locked your unit door and went downstairs to the nearest subway station. It admittedly stung that you couldn’t find the bracelet, a treasured connection to your family and friends back home in the Midwest. But as the green line grew closer to the festivities, you remembered that the bangle could be replaced, but memories of celebrating your heritage with your friends could not. Outside the oblong subway windows, you caught glimpses of 28th Street Station’s tiled sign, causing you to rise from your plastic seat. The car stopped, allowing you and several other passengers to step out onto the musty underground. You followed the crowd through the exit turnstiles and the decrepit stairs toward the Manhattan streets. A familiar sound reverberated through the air as you returned above ground: the dhol with several other Desi instruments accompanying it. You followed the music until you came across a large gathering of Manhattanites and other New York residents of all ethnicities wandering through the blocked-off portions of the street. Women in delicate sarees and men in sleek jodhpuri suits mingled in the streets, catching up on lost time, while children did their best to draw mandalas with sidewalk chalk. The restaurants from the surrounding businesses help hand out sweet and savory Desi food to any souls who wander into the celebration, from butter chicken to jalebi.

“You look really nice today,” a man complimented behind you.

Your eyes grew wide upon recognizing that gruff tenor voice. A kaleidoscope of butterflies danced around your stomach as you mustered the courage to turn around to confirm the man’s identity. There was no chance it was an acquaintance or a co-worker from the hospital. It was Matt, and you knew it was Matt. Eventually, after several moments, you strengthened your resolve to turn your head around slowly. Matt met you with the warm smile he offered you as the FDNY rolled him into the ambulance bay. His laceration, which had long since lost its sutures, began to form a neat little line of scar tissue in his forehead. He had his hair brushed back, giving him adorable angel wings around the ears and wore a simple ensemble of a tan jacket and black jeans. Despite the casual attire, he still had a sense of suaveness as he shifted his tall frame around, waiting for you to break the awkward silence.

“Oh, thank you. It’s for the festival,” you replied, turning around to gesture and the frivolity behind you. “What are you doing here?”

“I wanted to return this,” said Matt as he dug out something from his pants pocket.

Your mouth fell open as he presented you with your lost bangle. You quickly grabbed it from his hands and spun it with your thumbs, searching for any scratches or scuffs under the light of the spring sun. But it was just as pristine and polished as the day it came out of the box. You shoved your hand through the middle of the bracelet, allowing it to gently slide down on your forearm near the three-quarter sleeves of your dress. “Where did you find it?” you asked after a few moments of silence.

“I saw it on the ground while I was leaving the hospital. It must have fallen out of your bag or something,” he replied.

“But why didn’t you return it to the nurse's station?”

“I held onto it because it seemed important, and I also wanted a reason to see you again. You seem like a cool person.”

“I appreciate that. But that also doesn’t explain how you knew I would be here.”

“Well, a famous office manager once quoted a famous hockey player in saying that you miss 100% of the shots that you don’t take.  I remember you talking about a festival down the road, and this happened to be the only festival down the block from the hospital in the next few months, so I decided this was the best place to catch you, if any.”

You giggled at his reference and said, “It sounds like you went through a lot of trouble to get it back to me, and I appreciate it. This bracelet cost a pretty penny for my family, and it means a lot. So, thank you.”

“Of course, it’s not a problem. I hope to see you around. Have fun at your party,” Matt said, shoving his hands in his pockets and turning around to leave.

“Wait!” you cried out as you chased him, attempting to stop him before he became another face in the strangers walking up and down the sidewalks. He turned around and faced you upon hearing your exclamation, allowing you to catch up with his long gait. As you skidded to a halt before him, you continued, “You came all this way down to return my bracelet, so you might as well stay for the party. I know it seems overwhelming, but it’s actually a lot of fun and open to everyone. Think of it as a tiebreaker.”

“I do have to admit that it does look like a fun time.  I was just under the impression I would be stepping on some toes by intruding,” he replied.

“Nonsense. You’re more than welcome here. Come on,” you protested before grabbing his hand and leading him towards the crowd.

It took some work, but you eventually found your friends mulling around your designated meeting area and introduced them to Matt. Their eyes widened as they watched you drag a rising defenseman from the New York Rangers over to them, but they quickly recovered and welcomed him into the group without complaint. As the sun climbed high into the sky, the lot of you led Matt around the streets, introducing him to other community members and showing him Desi cuisine. At first, you thought Matt might be nervous, being thrust into a world of new sounds and smells. But he took everything in stride as he slowly learned about the community’s history and customs.  Even when he pronounced a word wrong, the two of you would share a laugh as you walked him through the word’s etymology. The same tingling sensation you felt at the hospital had returned as you watched Matt integrating himself into the culture. It had been a long season for the underrepresented demographics in the hockey community, leaving you a bit jaded over meeting stars like Matt. As the league says, business is business, and there seldom were any consequences for players who expressed maladaptive views. However, as you listened to Matt’s chuckle and how intently he listened to your heritage, you slowly began to believe that Matt could be one of the good ones.

The party went well into the afternoon until around dinner time when the Association determined it was time to pack everything up out of respect for the people who lived in Lennox Hill. You and Matt said goodbye to your friends before staying behind to assist the association volunteers in cleaning up from the celebration. Your hands gently guided a broom down the asphalt, pushing colorful flower petals into a pile, while Matt assisted in folding up the tables and loading them into the rental truck. The work went by relatively fast when you have a 6’8”, 240-lb man on the clock. Eventually, the attendees began to dwindle until you and Matt stood in the middle of the road. As you committed Matt's features to memory, a gentle breeze swayed your hair and dupatta.

“Thank you for such a wonderful time,” Matt eventually said, breaking the silence. “I definitely learned a lot.”

“It’s the least I could do after you return my bracelet.”

“I know you said this was a tiebreaker, but now I feel like I owe you again. Maybe I could leave you some tickets at will call when the season starts again. It would be my treat.”

“That sounds lovely. I think I’ll take you up on that offer in the fall,” you laughed. “I should probably get going. This kurta is beautiful, but I would prefer to change into something more comfortable.”

“Of course. If you don’t mind, may I escort you back to the subway,” replied Matt, offering you his elbow’s crook like a true gentleman.

You nodded and slinked your arm through the aperture he created. The two of you walked toward the Manhattan horizon, painted in soft hues of orange and yellow as the sun prepared to set, now friends brought together through the power of medicine.

[scarlethexelove]

A Crazy Love Story

Pairings: Wanda Maximoff x Reader, Natasha x Wanda (Platonic), Natasha Romanoff x Reader (Platonic)

Summary: When Wanda gets a call that her wife has been in a car accident what will happen next in their crazy lives.

Word Count: 4.6K

Warnings: Angst, Injuries, Depression, Coma, Pregnancy's, maybe a bit of Angst, Probably more.

Pt 2, Pt 3

A/N: This is a work that I had originally posted on ao3. So I figured I might edit it a bit and post it over here.

NO ONE IS PERMITTED TO STEAL, COPY, OR REBLOG MY WORK AS THEIR OWN

Wanda and Nat were sitting on the couch in the compound finishing up paperwork. The room was silent, the only thing that could be heard was the typing of the computers and the sounds of pencil on paper. Occasionally the sounds of a wine glass being picked up or put back down.

The silence was interrupted when Nat’s phone started ringing. She looked at the number that flashed across the screen, she didn’t know it, so she hit ignore on it. If it was important, they would call back or leave a message. It just so happens to be that important cause her phone starts to ring again. This time she picks it up.

“Hello?” Natasha questioned over the phone. “Hello, is this Natasha Romanoff?” The lady on the other end of the phone asked. “Yes, this is her.” Nat responses the the woman questioning what this could be about. “I’m a Nurse at NYC Health Bellevue Hospital. You are one of the emergency contacts for Y/n Maximoff. We tried to contact her wife, but nothing ever went through.” Nat stops listening and looks to Wanda. “Wanda, where is your phone?” Wanda picks up her phone and looks down at it sadly, noticing that it is currently dead. “It’s dead.”

Nat is brought back to the conversation with the other woman. “Ma’am, Y/n has been in an accident, and you should get here as soon as possible.” The woman on the other end of the phone says as she brings Natasha back to the conversation on the phone. “We’ll be right there.” Nat hangs up the phone, putting her laptop down and getting up. “Wanda get up now we have to go.”

“Nat what is going on? Where do we need to go? We haven't finished our reports yet.” Nat walks over to Wanda and places her laptop on the table in front of her. “Y/n has been in an accident, we have to go.”

Wanda felt like all the air in her lungs had been pushed out hearing those words fall from Natasha’s lips. She gets up off the couch in a daze as Nat pulls her towards the garage. Wanda stumbles along behind her not knowing how to feel or think.

The two of them barge past the boys not being able to hear a word coming from them as their minds only focus on you. Nat pulls Wanda out into the garage, grabbing her keys off the hook and heading straight to her car. Wanda gets in the passenger seat as Nat gets into the driver seat. The drive was silent. Both Wanda and Nat’s minds racing. Nat’s mind flash’s back to different memories.

When she first met you, you were 18 and fresh out of the academy. Becoming a top SHIELD agent was something you were striving for. You were great at hacking, but you were also skilled in combat making you a versatile agent.  She knew you were fresh out, but she could see your determination and your drive to do your best.

Nat’s mind then flashes to when she truly started to care for you and wanted nothing more than to protect you. “I know it’s late and I hate to call you … but I need some help. I have no one else to call.”

Your voice sounded so small on the other end of the phone. The longer you talked the quieter your voice got. It sounded like you had been crying and maybe in some sort of pain. “I’ll text you my address.” Before Nat could say anything back to you, she heard the phone line go dead. But just like you promised your address popped up on her screen.

Nat got in her car and drove to your place. Getting there way before the estimated time. She rushed up the stairs going to the exact apartment number that you had sent her. She double checked the address from her phone and where she was currently standing before knocking on the door.

Nat hears a barely audible come in. She pushed open the door, shocked to see a trashed apartment. Glasses shattered everywhere. The coffee table was broken and the kitchen table overturned. That is when she spotted you curled up in the corner of the room. Your knees were pulled up to your chest as you lay your head on your knees. She could see a trail of blood that leads up to you.

Nat quickly moves over and crouches down in front of you just now hearing the light sobs coming from your lips. “Y/n?” You lift your head to look at Natasha in front of you. Nat looks at your face seeing a deep gash that is about 3 inches long on your cheek that is just below your left eye. Your right eye is just about completely swollen shut.

“I’m sorry.” You say to Nat in a low strangled voice. “Y/n what happened?” Nat felt anger inside her seeing you like this. “Lucy, s-, she.” You struggled to get your words out, stopping when a loud sob broke through your lips. “I’m going to kill her.” Nat said, going to stand up and find your worthless girlfriend. “Nat please.” You whimpered, grabbing her hand before she had a chance to get away. Causing her to crouch back down in front of you.

Nat has hated your girlfriend since the day she met her. You two have been together for 2 years now. Moving in together only 6 months ago. She never trusted her, but now she wanted to kill her for hurting you.

“Fine.” Nat huffed looking at your small figure in front of her. She knew she couldn’t leave you like this. Nat helped you get up off the floor and into your shared bedroom with the jackass. You had blood all over your cloths all of it being your own. You needed some clean cloths, but you struggled to pull your shirt over your head. Nat came up behind you and helped you lift it over your head. As your arms dropped back to your sides Nat notices that your right side is just one giant complete bruise. She notices the faded older bruises and the ones that aren’t so faded yet around your torso.

“Y/n/n how long has this been going on for?” Nat gritted her teeth as she helped you pull a clean shirt over your head. You held back tears looking at Nat directly in her eyes. “6 months.” You say as a whisper.

Nat knew you could defend yourself, but for someone to have this much power over someone that they won’t even defend themselves makes her see red. Her face hardens, knowing that as soon as you moved in with her, she started beating you. You, of all people, never deserved that.

Nat was about to rush out of your room when she noticed a blood spot forming on the front of your clean shirt. She lifted it up just to the point of the blood to see that she had missed the small stab wound that was on your abdomen.

“You need to go to the hospital.” Nat said dropping your shirt and taking your hand to lead you out of the room. “No, please. I can’t go. May and Peter will find out if I do.” Scared of what your family would think of you in this weak position. “Y/n you need help. Your ribs are broken, you’ve been stabbed, and your cheek is still bleeding.”

“I can’t.” Your eyes started to water again as Nat pulled you into her embrace. “I know someone who can help you.” You shook your head yes in her chest. This was the night that Nat took you to the Avenger’s tower. Bruce had set your ribs back in place. Stitched up your stab wound and the cut on your cheek. You lived at the tower for a few years. Nat had called some other SHIELD agents to get your things out of that apartment. This was the night that you two became best friends and sisters.

Nat’s memory goes forward to a year and a half later. You're now 23 years old and were dating some other SHIELD agent that you had met at work. Nat thought you were safe with her since she was a SHIELD agent. But you had pushed everyone away.

Nat had, had enough and went over to your girlfriend’s place after not hearing from you in a week. Maria had called her saying you hadn’t shown up for work in 3 days. She was worried so she didn’t hesitate to barge into your girlfriend’s place. She heard screaming coming from the bedroom.

When she walked in, she saw your girlfriend banging on the door and screaming at it. She didn’t see you, but she heard your sobs from the other side.

“What the hell are you doing?” Nat yelled, catching the attention of your girlfriend. “What the hell are you doing in my apartment?” Your girlfriend asked. But Nat didn’t back down just moving closer to your girlfriend. “I said what the hell are you doing?” Nat said through gritted teeth. “This is no concern of yours Natasha!” Your girlfriend spat. Her words were laced with venom. “It has everything to do with me. You better get the fuck out of here before I make you.” Nat stalked closer to your girlfriend who is utterly terrified of her. So, she throws up her hands and rushes out of the room.

Nat walks to the door and knocks on it slowly still hearing you crying from the other side. “Go away.” You whimper trying to sound confident. “Y/n/n it’s me Nat. Please let me in.” The door swings open and you just jump into her arms. “Natty?” You can't help the tears that fall. “I’ve got you.” This relationship didn’t have physical abuse like the last, but she mentally broke you down and you stopped talking to friends and family as time went on. It only took a few short months for you to pull completely away from everyone. But Nat wasn’t going to give up on you that easily.

Soon Nat was back to the present with her thoughts when she pulled up to the Hospital. Not even remembering the drive to the hospital, only thinking of you. Nat parked the car and jumped out the car running towards the door Wanda right in front of her. They both run up to the main reception desk.

“Excuse me, I'm looking for Y/n Maximoff.” Wanda asks the nurse who was sitting behind the desk. The nurse starts typing on the computer looking at it intently before she looks back up to Wanda and Nat. “It looks like she is currently in surgery.” The nurse points behind them. “That officer was the responding officer.” Wanda nods tears in her eyes. “Thank you.” Wanda rushes over towards the officer who is talking to a family. The man is covered in blood, the woman is holding a small child, and another child is latched onto her leg.

“Excuse me officer, the nurse said you may know about my wife’s accident.” Wanda's voice is smaller than ever as she speaks. “Wanda Maximoff?” The officer asks her. “Yes.” The officer motions for them to move away from the family that is giving them sad looks.

“Your wife was in an accident earlier today. Someone ran her car into oncoming traffic.” He points to the family. “Her car was about to hit that family and according to witnesses she swerved the car out of the way of them running straight into a barrier. Her car flipped over and landed down in a ditch. The family she almost hit helped get her out of the overturned car and was there when paramedics arrived. We don’t have any leads on the car that ran her into traffic, but we are investigating.” The officer hands Wanda a card with his information on it as before walking away. Wanda and Nat walked over to the family who had sad smiles on their faces. Wanda held out her hand to the man.

“Thank you for helping my wife.” The man shakes Wanda’s hand. “It was the least I could do. It looked like someone really wanted to hurt her and she decided to save my family at the risk of her own life.” Tears were freely flowing down Wanda’s face knowing that you would do anything to help people no matter the cost.

The interaction with the family was quick and filled with a lot of thank yous from both sides. After the family left Wanda and Nat went to sit down in the waiting room.

Several hours passed filled with anxiety and fear waiting to hear anything about your condition. But then Wanda and Natasha were pulled from their thoughts as a surgeon walks up. “Wanda Maximoff?” Wanda scrambles to her feet followed by Natasha. “That’s me.” Wanda’s accent is thick due to worry and concern for you.

“I’m Dr. Grey, your wife is out of surgery and is currently being taken to a room. Her left leg was shattered in the crash. We had to put several plates and screws and also needed the use of rods. She had some internal bleeding that was determined to be from the liver. She also has a nasty gash on her head and currently looks to be doing fine but we will keep a close eye on it. I am happy to tell you that your wife and baby are doing just fine. You can head on into her room whenever you are ready.” Wanda mumbled out a thank you. The words baby ringing through her head over and over again. Nat hearing it also was confused by the words. She hasn’t heard anything about the two of you trying for kids. There is no way you would cheat on Wanda would you. No, it can’t be.

Wanda is heading towards your room with Natasha hot on her heels. As they get there, they see you laying in the bed looking so broken. They could see the rods sticking out of your leg all the way from your hip down to your ankle. They could see the gash that the doctor was talking about, some of it poking out from your hairline on the top left of your forehead. Your face was covered in small lacerations as were your arms.

Before Natasha could ask Wanda about the baby an ultrasound tech walked into the room with a machine. “Hello, I came to check on the baby and see if there is any concern.” The woman walked to your right side and began to perform the ultrasound. Wanda went to your left and was holding onto your hand as she watched the screen. The room was silent, no one knew what to say or do. All that could be heard was the beeps from your heart monitor and the swishing sound from the ultrasound.

The tech took a shot of the screen and smiled at Wanda. “Well, would you look there?” She marked two locations on the screen. “Looks like you're having twins.” Wanda felt the tears streaming down her face as the tech handed her a photo that she had printed that showed both babies, one marked A and the other B. “Congratulations.”

Wanda gripped onto the photo looking at the two small jelly beans in the photo. Blinking away tears as the tech continued taking some more photos and printing a few more and placing them into a small envelope.

Nat had her hand on Wanda’s shoulder looking at the photo that was tightly gripped in her hands. The tech left after leaving the photos with Nat as Wanda was still clutching the first one.

“Wanda?” Nat tries to get Wanda's attention. “I’m sorry Nat. I’m sorry. We wanted to wait to tell everyone when we knew she was actually pregnant. We’ve been trying for months but it always ended up being negative. I didn’t know this one took.” Nat spun Wanda around and pulled her in a hug as Wanda sobbed into the crock of her neck. “It’s ok Wanda. They are all ok and looks like you two are having twins.” Wanda sobbed harder at the thought of having twins just like what she is. “I’m so happy for you two Wanda.” Nat cooed as she rubbed her hand on Wanda’s back trying to calm her down. Wanda started to calm down as it really dawned on her that you were pregnant and you two were going to have twins. She turns back to look at you with a small smile on her face.

Wanda sat down on your left side holding onto your hand as Nat went to the right and just watched you. They sat there for an hour when all of a sudden, your monitors started to beep like crazy and your body began to convulse.

Nat quickly smacked the emergency button. Soon the room was flooded with doctors and nurses. Wanda and Nat were moved to the end of the bed watching as they worked on you. The two girls holding each other in an embrace.

The doctor opened your eyes and flashed the light seeing that your pupil was blown. “We have to get her back into surgery right now. Someone page Dr. Greene.” The team of them started moving you out of the room leaving Wanda and Nat standing there both having tears stream down their faces.

Before they could do anything, Nat’s phone started to ring. She looks down as Tony’s name flashes across the screen. “What Tony.” Nat bites not in the mood for the man. “We need you and witchy back at the compound now.” Tony is heard through the phone. “Tony that is not going to happen. Y/n was in an accident, and they just had to take her back to surgery.”

Tony was silent for a second taking in the news. Nat and Wanda had forgotten to inform anyone else of the situation. “Can you make it? We are under attack by Hydra.” Nat huffed knowing that Tony wouldn’t ask if he didn’t really need the help. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“What’s wrong?” Wanda asks concerned just from the one side of the conversation that she could hear. “The compound is under attack. I told Stark you are staying here but I’ll go help.” Nat explains. “Are you sure?” Wanda questions, not really wanting to go but knows if they need her she has to go. “He wouldn’t ask if he didn’t truly need it. I’ll be back as soon as possible.”

With that Nat left out the room. Wanda didn’t want to sit in there by herself, so she went into the hall seeing some chairs lining the hallway a few feet from your room. She sat down waiting for you to come back to her.

Wanda waited for hours fidgeting with her rings as she stared at the wall or sometimes the clock on the wall waiting for you to come back. Wanda was so in her own head she hadn’t notice the person who sat next to her. They placed a hand on hers stopping her from fidgeting. She looked up meeting the green eyes of Natasha. “Your back.”

“And I brought some friends.” Nat gestured behind her as Wanda seen the team standing behind her. Wanda’s attention was taken away from them when she heard the sounds of a gurney coming towards them. She looked back seeing them wheeling you back into your room and the doctor once again coming up to her.

“We were able to stop the brain bleed without any complications. We made sure to keep a monitor on your wife and babies. They all did just fine.” The doctor explains. “Thank you.” The doctor turned around leaving as Wanda headed back into your room taking the same seat as before. The whole of the Avengers following into the room. Peter pushes from the back of the group towards you and Wanda.

“Babies?” Peter questions Wanda as he looks at you. His older sister that has spent years helping to train him. “You’re going to be an Uncle Peter.” Wanda gave Peter a small smile. Peter’s demeanor changed to happy and giddy as he looked between Wanda and you. It was still sad that you were hurt but so exciting knowing that he was going to be an uncle.

“Wait didn’t the doctor say babies, as in more than one.” Steve asked. Wanda shook her head with a smile. “Twins.” Still excited by the news. “Congrats Witchy.” Tony said with a smile on his face.

It has been a week since your accident, and you have yet to wake up. They had you in a medically induced coma for the first 5 days but have weened you off of that. The doctors think you will wake up soon, but it is hard to tell.

Nat was sat in the same chair as Wanda was in hers. Nat was reading a book as they hoped and prayed that you would wake up soon. Wanda looked at you with tears in her eyes.

“Nat.” Wanda said softly. “I can’t lose her. It’s been 2 days and she still hasn’t woken up.” Nat places her book down on the stand next to your bed. “Wanda you are not going to lose her. She is too stubborn for that.” Nat tries to reassure Wanda. “I can’t take losing another person. First my parents, then Pietro, and then Vision.” Wanda started to cry looking at how peaceful you looked.

“You know before Y/n met you, she had given up on love. After Lucy and that crazy bitch, she swore to me that she was done. She didn’t think she deserved to be loved, all love had ever brought her was hurt. The strongest person I know was beaten down and broken cause she couldn’t bring herself to fight the person hurting her. Then you came along, and I had never seen her so in love. She wanted to push it down and never let it happen. But you who never seems to give up on love brought it out of her. I wish that Maria and I can match up to what you two have. Don’t give up on our girl now she’s a fighter.” The tears flowed freely from Wanda as she looked at you in so much admiration and love. Nat was right your stubborn and a fighter.

“I love her so much.” Wanda mumbled. “I love you too.” A whisper came from your lips as you slowly blinked your eyes trying to get use to the bright lights of the room. Wanda grasped your hand in hers as she looked into your y/e/c eyes. “Baby.” Happy tears fill Wanda's eyes.

“What happened?” You questioned trying to remember and understand why you’re in the hospital. “You were in an accident but you’re ok.” Wanda places a hand on your cheek. Her thumb brushing over the scar below your eye. Something she always does to calm and comfort you.

You look to your wife and see a small photo sticking out of her hoodie pocket. You instantly recognize what the photo is just from the top corner of it.

In a small flash, you remember what happened that day. You were worried that all your symptoms of pregnancy were just another tick from your body. You had seen how much it crushed Wanda each time the test was negative. So, to stop her from going through the pain you decided that you would take the test on your own for the first time, but you had run out of test the last time, so you had to go to the store.

On your way to the store a black SUV rammed into your car continuing to push you into the opposite lanes traffic. You could see the car carrying a family getting closer and they had no where to go so in your split decision you swerved and hit the barrier on the other side of them. That was the last thing you remember before now.

Your brain runs at a million miles an hour panicking thinking that you hurt that family. You also think that you may have just killed your baby. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. It’s all my fault. I should have waited and now… now…”

You sob as your try and get your words out. Wanda hates reading your mind, but she does hear what you’re thinking. Since your words come out as a sob. “No, no, baby. It isn’t your fault. They are all alright. The family is ok, our babies are ok.”

“It was Hydra’s fault. They used you to help split up the team. But we got them Y/n/n they won’t hurt you again.” Nat had filled Wanda in on the events that happened when she left. They had figured out that it was Hydra behind everything. They knew if you were hurt that both Wanda and Nat would be by your side taking them out of the fight. But what they didn’t expect was for Nat to go back and for Peter to be there.

Wanda takes your face in her hands making you look into her eyes and see that everything is fine. As your sobs turn into sniffles you realize just what your wife had just said to you. “Babies?” You question. “Yes babies.” Wanda pulls the ultrasound out from her pocket. She hands it to you. You look down at it seeing it marked with an A and a B with two small jellybeans underneath the letter. You start to cry happy tears as you take in the image in front of you. “Twins.” Wanda nods at your words. “Twins.” Wanda repeats.

Your now 4 months along in your pregnancy. You and Wanda have been living at the compound since your apartment was compromised. You two want to find a house but with your recovery and pregnancy it has been hard.

Your mood has been down recently. Hating that you can’t do anything on your own paired with the hormones from your pregnancy you start to get angry and distant.

Right now, you were being stubborn, and you needed to go to the bathroom, but you didn’t want to call for help. So, you took it upon yourself and got up and tried to head to the bathroom. Quickly losing your balance and falling on your ass. Letting out a yelp of pain from hitting the ground.

Wanda comes running in the room seeing you sitting on the ground and struggling to get back up. “Baby why didn’t you call me?” Wanda moves over to you to try and help you up, but you swat her away and continue to try and get yourself up. “Baby please let me help you. You could hurt yourself.”

“I’m fine.” You roll your eyes. “You’re not fine and that’s ok.” Wanda tries to still help you even if you don't want it. “No, it’s not. I can’t do a single damn thing by myself. I have to sit in bed all day and have you wait on me hand and foot.” You spit angrily. “I don’t mind, I just want to help you.” She tries to reassure you more. “Help me! Help me! If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t be in this mess. They used me to get to you and now look at me I’m pathetic and broken.”

Wanda stepped back from you with tears in her eyes. She knew that you have been beating yourself up over what happened, and you were just pissed. You finally snapped and took it out on the next person.

“God, I’m so useless.” You struggle to try and bring yourself up. Wanda watches you wanting to help but knowing right now you’re breaking. Soon tears start to stream down your cheeks as you give up. You place your hands over your face as you begin to sob.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it. I’m sorry.” Wanda moves over crouching down next to you and pulls you into her chest as you continue to cry and keep your face covered. “I know baby. I know.”

“No, I’m sorry. It’s not your fault. I’m sorry.” You sob feeling bad for snaping at Wanda. Wanda continues to hold you as you continue to cry and mumble sorry. Finally, your cries turn into sniffles, and you stop saying sorry. Your hands fall from your face as you look up at Wanda. She has a small smile on your face letting you know everything was going to be ok.

[drugsforaddicts]

Hey I need you to check the last Joker Out Subs translated video "Bojan sings Tivoli" because Bojan is singing the most Bojere coded song if I ever heard one 😭

It's been... to see you soon

Take care and have a good time

Let me kiss you goodbye

Just once more

Call me

When you've got time

If you'd like to hear my voice

At the same place, amore mio

La-la-la in Tivoli (*park in Ljubljana)

We'll dance again

Slow-slow, quick-quick

Touching gently with our faces cheek to cheek

Across Bellevue to Tivoli, to be alone

Just you and me, like we used to

Let's surrender to the night.

Yeah thank you anon, this is the only thing I want to think about for the rest of the night 🪦

[leah2eroes]

okay which us accents do you vibe with?? i gotta know 👀✨️

okay thats a lot more specific!! lemme list those:

-texan (specifically east texas i think?) because duh -anything with that southern drawl (yk around MS, TN, GA?) but like. specifically when its spoken softly. i have a weakness for southern milfs. its a disease. -those midwestern accents that will make the average englishman's head spin and go "...was that canadian?" (yk like wisconsin, minnesota) -north/south dakota have a special place in my heart tho :3 -seattle (i knew this guy from bellevue and like. fuck. need.) -new york (staten island in particular. yes its vinny's fault.) -any and all latino accents. bonus points for miami (cuz the cuban influence fuuuuck thats like maybe top 10 for me) -boston will get a giggle out of me but i love it nonetheless. goofy ass <3 -....okay yeah i like nevada and arizona aswell. its like california but better. -honourable mention to specifically lexington ky (again i know someone from there)

this is coming from a chick whos like. yk. welsh. all my accent exposure is american media and the handful of online friends i have. pls no get mad at me for knowing jack fuck about your accents mmwah

[usafphantom2]

SR-71 is on display at the SAC Museum in Ashland, Nebraska. Many folks may recall the SAC Museum in Bellevue, Nebraska, just north of Offutt AFB. In 1998, the new museum moved indoors to its current home in Ashland, which is much more accessible to the public. The new building also allowed the aircraft to be moved indoors and protected from the elements to which they had previously been exposed. The name of the Strategic Air Command (SAC) Museum was officially changed to the Strategic Air & Space Museum.

In 2015, the museum announced another name change to the current Strategic Air Command & Aerospace Museum to reconnect to the museum's original mission of preserving the history of the Strategic Air Command while promoting interest in aviation and science among the general public. After the end of the Cold War and the shutdown of SAC, the State of Nebraska built a new building for the SAC Museum. It is just off Interstate 80, about halfway between Lincoln and Omaha.

The SR-71 is dramatically displayed in the museum atrium.

Why, Nebraska? After the end of World War II, it was determined that the Midwest was the safest place in America in case of a nuclear war. Today that is not true; Russia has the entire United States covered.

@Habubrats71 via X

[notesfromthepalace]

Some Things are Not for Tea Time

My Father once said "... people will hate you [and be jealous of you] because they see you with a new nail set every week, not knowing you do your own nails at home to save money".

Let me explain:

What my Father was trying to convey is people will dislike you over the smallest things i.e. like me doing my nails on my own every Saturday morning to save money (back in my college days), but jealously having an effect on their perception; "Oh she has so much money she gets her nails done every week" - then going into the rabbit hole of assumptions just because they are choosing to dislike me.

Again, as I always say, this blog is for the girls who get it, because if you don't, the first two paragraphs will go right over your head (if it hasn't already) and you will be lost in the sauce the entirety of this blog post.

But for the girlies who get it: the nice, mind your business, your man and money type of girls who stay prayed up but don't tempt me to jump because "knuck if you buck".

Yes, you darling!|

Hey friend!

So, just to be clear, if you did not know: not every woman who smiles in your face is your friend, and not every compliment comes from a place of being genuine.

That being said, not every woman you have conversations with should be privy to every good thing that happens in your life - to include your plans for the future.

I believe I have touched on this subject before but the more and more I vet my social circle and distance myself from certain people, the more and more apparent how important it is to safe guard the things that are so precious me.

Story Time! *Mariah Carey voice

Over the last few months, I have received a vast amount of good news and there have been new things, new investments, and new moves. But recently, certain people have been reaching out to me to inquire about my whereabouts, my love life and so on.

To be quite frank, it is none of their business.

So myself and my African Prince have gone for holiday in Times Square, met each other's close families and friends and have started to move as one - 2024 is going to be a movie (if you know what I mean).

God has been really great to me and through prayer, and learning to be more discreet with what I am working towards, my dreams and visions are coming to fruition. For example, last year I bought my first pair of Christian Louboutin heels:

I didn't do a "show-in-tell" or an unboxing. No tea no shade to people who do that, I just chose not to. I wore the hell out of these shoes though! The photo above is from my Ghanian Sweetheart taking me to The W in Bellevue for date night. But when I bought the first pair, I told myself that I would have the pumps, this time next year - it's this time next year, is it not?

My African King was literally in my mind. He got me the very shoes that I told myself I would have by December 2023!

There was a time I was doing hair and make-up on the side for some extra money. I'm aware that there are plenty of girls who had my address who may not be the finest company. So I didn't want to post the nice things I had or the nice things my man would do for me before someone tries to rob me - jealous people do that.

I am currently enjoying the Christmas Holiday with my man in our home away from the city and during this time of love and bliss, I received a call from a girl I used to be close with.

She called me on FaceTime - in tears (and inebriated) asking why we don't hangout, how come she doesn't know what's going on in my life, why I don't call her; Then goes on to insult the girls I do hangout with like "you only hang out with your boujie friends, yeah I saw that you went to the Powder Room" - like yeah I did go to the Powder Room (very nice restaurant by the way) because I was invited by a friend to go. Like I have said in previous posts, I frequent high-end establishments all of the time.

Don't get me wrong, a part of me felt bad bad because I genuinely like and care for the girl. But as I was evolving, she would ridicule the changes that she saw and insinuate that I was acting like I was better than her or the other girls we used to go out with.

To put things into perspective, she and I started hanging out when I dumped my ex. And I remember I called her on a Saturday morning and she was surprised, like "What, you're calling to go out with us tonight? We always ask you to come out and you say 'no'".

She was right, I would typically say no, but I didn't want to be one of those girls who sits in their flat and cries because they just went through a breakup. I was ready to go to the club and just be out. I needed to take my mind off of the hurt. So we went to club that night.

But, in my typical Sarah Chanel fashion, I got tired of the club quick. I don't mind it from time to time, in a section with my girlies from back home. But I remember the last time we went to the club, she got kicked out for being drunk and disorderly.

I was low-key cool off the entire situation. I was also going through my own personal evolution and changing what I do, how eat, the places I frequent - just for her to ridicule the changes. That was another reason why I distanced myself. As a friend, I wasn't asking her to do the things I was doing or to change herself; I would've loved her support though. My best friend and I have been friends of over a decade and when I would talk to her about taking my walk with God more seriously, she didn't make me feel bad for it or act weird, even as a person like herself who isn't extremely religious - she supported me from afar, so I know it's not impossible or an extreme ask.

Not to mention she would put me in compromising positions like trying to hook me up with a man that she knew was in a fully committed relationship with another woman, or acting a complete fool in a restaurant and yelling at the waiter.

So naturally I distanced myself. And to be fair, she's not the only person I distanced myself from. Over these last two years, I have seen so much change in my outlook on life, my spiritual life and walk with God, my ideas and interests, my love life and so on.

I am also of the understanding that everyone you meet can not go on your journey, especially if they choose to remain in the same place mentally, that they were in back in 2022 - we are on the brink of 2024, become anew.

Take tips from my blog, it'll help.

And I don't say that to be a mean girl.

I want to see all women, especially young women of color evolve and be of their higher selves. But I can't make the horse drink the water if it doesn't even want to come to the well.

With less than a week left in 2023, leave the need of giving everyone an explanation in 2023 - ITS NONE OF THEIR BUSINESS!

For the girlies who have already been living their lives in luxe and love, keep doing it.

But for the girls who don't know where to start, sissy pooh, start at Notes From the Palace. And will it be lonely someone times, yes. Will your character be questioned by people that you thought were your friends, yes. But will the grass be greener on the other side, YES!

Happy New Year and I pray all of my readers, even the low key haters have a year of prosperity, peace, love and money

With Love,

Sarah Chanel

P.S.

You see that shoe! I almost forgot the most important part. Walk with Jesus, for real. And I will be walking right along our Lord and Father Jesus Christ for the rest of my life because all of the great things I have obtained and will achieve are all in thanks to the Most High! Stay prayed up!

[xoxoproject21]

Project 21 Season 9 Results

Solos

Copacabana (Cece Chung):

4th place mini solo (Jump Las Vegas)

5th place mini solo (24 Seven San Diego)

7th place mini solo (Radix Anaheim)

3rd place mini solo (Nuvo Santa Clara)

4th place elite 9-11 solo, 2nd runner up ELITE MISS JUNIOR DANCE (KAR Redondo Beach)

3rd place mini solo (NYCDA Santa Clara)

6th place mini solo (24 Seven Glendale)

All That Jazz (Aliya Yen):

6th place mini solo (24 Seven San Diego)

Before It Ends (Aliya Yen):

1st place mini solo (Nuvo Santa Clara)

2nd place mini solo (NYCDA Phoenix)

Mink, Schmink (Aliya Yen):

1st place mini solo (24 Seven Anaheim)

Hollyrock (Delaney Anbardan):

7th place mini solo (24 Seven Bellevue)

Ode To The Blue (Bristyn Scifres):

6th place junior solo (Nuvo Meadowlands)

Little Secret (Bristyn Scifres):

4th place junior solo (Jump Las Vegas)

5th place junior solo (24 Seven San Diego)

Perderse (Bristyn Scifres):

9th place junior solo (Nuvo LA)

It cannot be (Bristyn Scifres):

3rd place junior solo (NYCDA Santa Clara)

3rd place junior solo (24 Seven Anaheim)

1st place junior solo (24 Seven Glendale)

2nd place junior solo (Jump Honolulu)

3rd place junior solo (Nuvo Glendale)

Interrogation Room (Berkeley Scifres):

7th place junior solo (Nuvo Meadowlands)

L.O.V.E (Berkeley Scifres):

3rd place junior solo (Jump Las Vegas)

4th place junior solo (24 Seven San Diego)

Cornet Man (Berkeley Scifres):

5th place junior solo (Nuvo LA)

4th place junior solo (NYCDA Santa Clara)

1st place junior solo (24 Seven Anaheim)

3rd place junior solo (Jump Honolulu)

6th place junior solo (Nuvo Glendale)

Woman (Chloe Mirabal):

5th place junior solo (Jump Las Vegas)

10th place junior solo (24 Seven San Diego)

2nd place elite 12-14 solo, Elite Miss Teen Dance (KAR Redondo Beach)

13th place junior solo (NYCDA Santa Clara)

7th place junior solo (24 Seven Glendale)

9th place ultra competitive solo 12-14 (Ultra Mesa)

2nd place junior solo (Radix Portland)

Cold Hearted Snake (Leilani Lawlor):

7th place junior solo (Jump Las Vegas)

7th place junior solo (24 Seven San Diego)

10th place junior solo (Radix Anaheim)

Taking Note (Leilani Lawlor)

4th place junior solo (Nuvo LA)

3rd place junior solo (Radix Dallas)

4th place junior solo (24 Seven Bellevue)

2nd place junior solo (24 Seven Glendale)

1st place junior solo (24 Seven Houston)

9th place junior solo (Nuvo Provo)

2nd place junior solo (Jump Honolulu)

Showcase only - already won 1st (24 Seven Santa Clara)

This Will Be (Madelyn Nasu):

7th place junior solo (Jump Las Vegas)

6th place junior solo (24 Seven San Diego)

Absolutely Final Goodbye (Sara von Rotz):

5th place junior solo (24 Seven San Diego)

5th place junior solo (Radix Anaheim)

Light Surrounds (Sara von Rotz):

16th place junior solo (NYCDA Vancouver)

3rd place junior solo (Nuvo Santa Clara)

Champagne Taste (Sara von Rotz):

1st place junior solo (24 Seven Anaheim)

Showcase only - already won 1st (24 Seven Bellevue)

8th place junior solo (NYCDA Provo)

6th place junior solo (Jump Honolulu)

Awakening (Kira Lieberman):

5th place junior solo (24 Seven San Diego)

7th place junior solo (Nuvo LA)

10th place junior solo (NYCDA Santa Clara)

Did not place (Nuvo Westminster)

5th place junior solo (Jump Honolulu)

Somebody Help Me (Elliana Anbardan):

6th place junior solo (24 Seven San Diego)

2nd place junior solo (NYCDA Santa Clara)

1st place junior solo (24 Seven Anaheim)

Showcase only - already won 1st (24 Seven Bellevue)

4th place junior solo (Nuvo Provo)

Heartburn (Regan Gerena):

4th place junior solo (Nuvo Santa Clara)

4th place junior solo (Radix Dallas)

3rd place junior solo (24 Seven Anaheim)

Over The Rainbow (Regan Gerena):

6th place junior solo (24 Seven Glendale)

4th place junior solo (NYCDA Phoenix)

About that walk (Olivia Armstrong):

Did not place (NYCDA Meadowlands)

Silhouetted In Sunshine (Gracyn French):

1st place teen solo (Jump Las Vegas)

2nd place teen solo (24 Seven San Diego)

Paul is Dying (Gracyn French):

3rd place teen solo (24 Seven Chicago)

2nd place teen solo (Radix Anaheim)

3rd place teen solo (NYCDA Santa Clara)

5th place teen solo (Nuvo Glendale)

Pale Blue Sun (Gracyn French):

3rd place teen solo (Nuvo LA)

3rd place teen solo (Nuvo Santa Clara)

El Tango De Roxanne (Gracyn French):

3rd place teen solo (24 Seven Anaheim)

2nd place teen solo (24 Seven Glendale)

Black Sea (Richie Granese):

5th place teen solo (Jump Las Vegas)

4th place teen solo (24 Seven San Diego)

5th place teen solo (Radix Anaheim)

4th place teen solo (24 Seven Anaheim)

1st place teen solo (24 Seven Glendale)

1st place teen solo (Jump Honolulu)

The Way You Take Up Space (Richie Granese):

7th place teen solo (Nuvo LA)

7th place teen solo (Nuvo Santa Clara)

Nebula (Stella Eberts):

5th place teen solo (Jump Las Vegas)

8th place teen solo (24 Seven San Diego)

Nothing More Simple (Stella Eberts):

5th place teen solo (Nuvo Santa Clara)

6th place teen solo (NYCDA Santa Clara)

3rd place teen solo (Radix Dallas)

4th place teen solo (24 Seven Anaheim)

2nd place teen solo (24 Seven Glendale)

Bone Marrow Stem Cell (Liliana Barajas):

7th place teen solo (Jump Las Vegas)

8th place teen solo (24 Seven San Diego)

Falling Inward (Liliana Barajas):

10th place teen solo (Nuvo Santa Clara)

All I Wanted (Lilly Barajas):

5th place teen solo (Jump Honolulu)

Echo (Allison Choi):

10th place teen solo (Jump Las Vegas)

5th place teen solo (24 Seven San Diego)

4th place teen solo (NYCDA Lake Geneva)

Let's Fall (Allison Choi):

4th place teen solo (Nuvo LA)

15th place teen solo (NYCDA Las Vegas)

6th place teen solo (Jump Honolulu)

Sing It Back (Brooklyn Ladia):

3rd place teen solo (24 Seven San Diego)

7th place teen solo (Radix Anaheim)

5th place teen solo (24 Seven Provo)

The Middle Is The End (Brooklyn Ladia):

2nd place teen solo (24 Seven Glendale)

2nd place teen solo (NYCDA Phoenix)

Moon Song (Dillon Barron):

8th place teen solo (24 Seven San Diego)

Beneath the surface (Dillon Barron):

19th place teen solo (NYCDA Santa Clara)

6th place teen solo (24 Seven Glendale)

4th place teen solo (Jump Honolulu)

The Clock (Brooklyn Lieberman):

9th place teen solo (24 Seven San Diego)

More Than One Time (Brooklyn Lieberman):

2nd place teen solo (Nuvo LA)

Happiness (Brielle Lieberman):

10th place teen solo (24 Seven San Diego)

Going Under (Brielle Lieberman):

2nd place teen solo (Nuvo LA)

10th place teen solo (Nuvo Santa Clara)

9th place teen solo (Nuvo Westminster)

Liquid Slow (Makeila Bartlett):

7th place teen solo (Nuvo Santa Clara)

Red Shadow (Makeila Bartlett):

17th place teen solo (NYCDA Santa Clara)

6th place teen solo (Jump Honolulu)

To Build A Home (Airi Dela Cruz):

14th place teen solo (NYCDA Santa Clara)

Back To Black (Leighton Werner):

10th place teen solo (24 Seven Anaheim)

15th place teen solo (NYCDA Phoenix)

I Dare You (Avery Reyes):

3rd place senior solo (Jump Las Vegas)

5th place senior solo (24 Seven Glendale)

Tell Me Why (Avery Reyes):

8th place senior solo (Nuvo Santa Clara)

3rd place senior solo (24 Seven Anaheim)

The Silent Word (Sammi Chung):

3rd place senior solo (Jump Las Vegas)

2nd place senior solo (24 Seven San Diego)

2nd place senior solo (Radix Anaheim)

4th place senior solo (24 Seven Glendale)

In One Ear (Sammi Chung):

6th place senior solo (Nuvo Santa Clara)

3rd place senior solo (NYCDA Santa Clara)

5th place senior solo (24 Seven Anaheim)

Fame (Lexi Blanchard):

4th place senior solo (Jump Las Vegas)

Did not place (Nuvo Santa Clara)

5th place senior solo (24 Seven Anaheim)

Catching Smoke (Lexi Blanchard):

7th place senior solo (Nuvo LA)

9th place senior solo (NYCDA Santa Clara)

Clay Pigeons (Lexi Blanchard):

2nd place senior solo (24 Seven Glendale)

6th place senior solo (24 Seven Dallas)

Red Desert (Kameron Couch):

4th place senior solo (Nuvo Tulsa)

Volant (Kameron Couch):

6th place senior solo (Nuvo Santa Clara)

5th place senior solo (24 Seven Detroit)

4th place senior solo (NYCDA Santa Clara)

6th place senior solo (24 Seven Anaheim)

3rd place senior solo (24 Seven Glendale)

NERA (Katie Couch):

5th place senior solo (Nuvo Tulsa)

Winding and Unwinding (Katie Couch):

10th place senior solo (Nuvo Santa Clara)

5th place senior solo (24 Seven Detroit)

15th place senior solo (NYCDA Santa Clara)

6th place senior solo (24 Seven Anaheim)

3rd place senior solo (24 Seven Glendale)

Siren (Mackenzie Couch):

Did not place (Nuvo Santa Clara)

6th place senior solo (24 Seven Detroit)

11th place senior solo (NYCDA Santa Clara)

7th place senior solo (24 Seven Anaheim)

4th place senior solo (24 Seven Glendale)

Rework (Loila Rhee):

4th place senior solo (Nuvo Santa Clara)

7th place senior solo (NYCDA Santa Clara)

7th place senior solo (24 Seven Anaheim)

4th place senior solo (24 Seven Glendale)

Duos/Trios:

To Cross Paths (Katie + Kami Couch):

2nd place senior duo/trio (Nuvo Santa Clara)

3rd place senior duo/trio (24 Seven Anaheim)

Groups:

Too Many Fish In The Sea:

1st place mini group, 1st mini jazz, Best NU Group (Mini) (Nuvo Santa Clara)

1st place mini group, 1st mini jazz, Critics choice winner (Mini) (NYCDA Santa Clara)

1st place mini group, 1st mini jazz, 11 O'Clock (Mini) (24 Seven Anaheim)

2nd place mini group, 2nd mini jazz, 11 O'Clock (Mini) (24 Seven Glendale)

With A Little Help From My Friends:

2nd place junior group, 2nd junior jazz (Nuvo Santa Clara)

2nd place junior group, 1st junior jazz (NYCDA Santa Clara)

1st place junior group, 2nd junior jazz (24 Seven Anaheim)

Did not place (24 Seven Glendale)

I Am Adrift:

1st place junior group, 1st junior contemporary (Nuvo Santa Clara)

Junior overall high score, 1st place junior group, 1st junior contemporary, Critics choice winner (Junior) (NYCDA Santa Clara)

2nd place junior group, 2nd junior contemporary (24 Seven Anaheim)

1st place junior group, 2nd junior contemporary (24 Seven Glendale)

Big Noise:

1st place junior extended line, 1st junior jazz, Best NU Group (Junior) (Nuvo Santa Clara)

2nd place junior extended line (NYCDA Santa Clara)

1st place junior extended line, 1st junior jazz, 11 O'Clock (Junior) (24 Seven Anaheim)

1st place junior extended line, 1st junior jazz, 11 O'Clock (Junior) (24 Seven Glendale)

Pose:

3rd place junior extended line, 1st junior ballroom (Nuvo Santa Clara)

1st place junior extended line (NYCDA Santa Clara)

1st junior ballroom (24 Seven Anaheim)

2nd junior ballroom (24 Seven Glendale)

We Disappear:

2nd place teen group, 3rd teen contemporary (Nuvo Santa Clara)

2nd place teen group, 2nd teen contemporary (NYCDA Santa Clara)

2nd place teen group, 3rd teen contemporary (24 Seven Anaheim)

Did not place (24 Seven Glendale)

You Don't Love Me:

1st place teen line, 1st teen jazz, Best NU Group (Teen) (Nuvo Santa Clara)

Judges Pick, Teen overall high score, 1st place teen line, 1st teen jazz, Critics choice winner (Teen) (NYCDA Santa Clara)

1st place teen line, 1st teen jazz, 11 O'Clock (Teen), Studio Pick (24 Seven Anaheim)

1st place teen line, 1st teen jazz, 11 O'Clock (Teen) (24 Seven Glendale)

Break My Soul:

1st place teen extended line, 1st teen jazz (Nuvo Santa Clara)

1st place teen small production, 2nd teen jazz (NYCDA Santa Clara)

1st place teen extended line, 2nd teen jazz (24 Seven Anaheim)

1st place teen extended line, 2nd teen jazz (24 Seven Anaheim)

Leave Room For Change:

3rd place teen extended line, 2nd teen contemporary (Nuvo Santa Clara)

1st place teen extended line, 1st teen contemporary (NYCDA Santa Clara)

2nd place teen extended line, 3rd teen contemporary (24 Seven Anaheim)

Did not place (24 Seven Glendale)

Knives Out:

4th place teen production (Nuvo Santa Clara)

1st teen large production (NYCDA Santa Clara)

2nd place teen production, 2nd teen hip hop (24 Seven Anaheim)

3rd teen hip hop (24 Seven Glendale)

West End Girls:

1st place senior group, 1st senior jazz, Best NU Group (Senior), Studio Pick (Nuvo Santa Clara)

1st place senior group, 1st senior jazz (NYCDA Santa Clara)

1st place senior group, 1st senior jazz, 11 O'Clock (Senior) (24 Seven Anaheim)

1st place senior group, 1st senior jazz, 11 O'Clock (Senior), Studio Pick (24 Seven Glendale)

When You Least Expect It:

3rd place senior group, 2nd senior contemporary (Nuvo Santa Clara)

2nd place senior group, 1st senior contemporary, Critics choice winner (Senior) (NYCDA Santa Clara)

3rd place senior group, 2nd senior contemporary (24 Seven Anaheim)

1st place senior group, 1st senior contemporary (24 Seven Glendale)

Scholarships

Jump

Mini Jump VIP

Winner:

Runner up:

Cece Chung

Junior Jump VIP

Winner:

Berkeley Scifres

Bristyn Scifres

Leilani Lawlor

Sara Von Rotz

Runner up:

Madelyn Nasu

Chloe Mirabal

Kira Lieberman

Teen Jump VIP

Winner:

Gracyn French

Lilly Barajas

Runner up:

Allison Choi

Stella Eberts

Richie Granese

Dillon Barron

Makeila Bartlett

Senior Jump VIP

Winner:

Lexi Blanchard

Runner up:

Sammi Chung

Avery Reyes

Nuvo

Mini BreakOut Artist

Winner:

Aliya Yen

Runner up:

Delaney Anbardan

Junior BreakOut Artist

Winner:

Bristyn Scifres

Berkeley Scifres

Regan Gerena

Leilani Lawlor

Kira Lieberman

Chloe Mirabal

Sara von Rotz

Elliana Anbardan

Runner up:

Savanna Musman

Olivia Armstrong

Madelyn Nasu

Teen BreakOut Artist

Winner:

Gracyn French

Stella Eberts

Brielle Lieberman

Runner up:

Liliana Barajas

Allison Choi

Richie Granese

Dillon Barron

Makeila Bartlett

Airi Dela Cruz

Madelyn Kim

Brooklyn Lieberman

Brooklyn Safford

Senior BreakOut Artist

Winner:

Lexi Blanchard

Kameron Couch

Avery Reyes

Runner up:

Katie Couch

Sammi Chung

Mackenzie Couch

Loila Rhee

24 Seven

Mini Non-Stop Dancer

Winner:

Aliya Yen

Runner up:

Cece Chung

Delaney Anbardan

Junior Non-Stop Dancer

Winner:

Regan Gerena

Berkeley Scifres

Bristyn Scifres

Sara von Rotz

Elliana Anbardan

Leilani Lawlor

Savanna Musman

Madelyn Nasu

Runner up:

Kira Lieberman

Chloe Mirabal

Olivia Armstrong

Teen Non-Stop Dancer

Winner:

Stella Eberts

Gracyn French

Brooklyn Ladia

Mady Kim

Leighton Werner

Lilly Barajas

Dillon Barron

Allison Choi

Richie Granese

Runner up:

Brielle Lieberman

Brooklyn Lieberman

Makeila Bartlett

Airi Dela Cruz

Senior Non-Stop Dancer

Winner:

Sammi Chung

Mackenzie Couch

Kameron Couch

Katie Couch

Avery Reyes

Lexi Blanchard

Runner up:

Loila Rhee

Radix

Mini

Winner:

Runner up:

Junior

Winner:

Regan Gerena

Sara von Rotz

Leilani Lawlor

Runner up:

Chloe Mirabal

Teen

Winner:

Gracyn French

Richie Granese

Runner up:

Liliana Barajas

Allison Choi

Stella Eberts

Brooklyn Ladia

Senior

Winner:

Runner up: