#best toddler car seats 2019

[batrafiakhanuniverse-blog]

Honest review of 10 best convertible car seats and booster car seats for your precious little ones. The list contains the top brands offering affordable kids car seats and 5 point harness to booster seats under 100$.

[stxn-the-mxn]

Family || 2019!Richie Tozier X Daughter!Reader

IT CHAPTER 2 SPOILERS

Being in the town of Derry felt more surreal than anything. It didn’t seem real, actually being in the town your father grew up in. Richie didn’t talk about Derry, in fact, he never once mentioned his childhood. In the fifteen years you’d been alive, not once was Derry mentioned. The first time it had ever been mentioned had been the night he came home and started packing.

***

It hadn’t been that long since you’d gone to bed, 1:30 am most likely. Usually, you went to bed earlier, maybe 10 pm or 11 pm, but on nights when Richie had a show, it would be hours till you went to bed.

It was a tradition for you to watch every one of your dad’s stand up shows, and hope that some of the jokes you had written made it in. Richie made it his mission to have at least one of your own jokes in his set.

Tonight, he had included three of yours, which all went down well after his hiccup at the start. One of yours got the biggest laugh, and you could see Richie’s proud face through the screen.

You switched off the TV after the show ended, and as usual, crashed on the couch. When Richie got home, he usually carried you back to your room, but that night, he made no move to pick you up, pacing around their rather large home instead.

“Dad? What’s going on?” You wiped the sleep from your eyes, as Richie thundered around the house. It was around 2 am, a regular time for Richie to come home after a show, but usually, he tried to be quiet to let you sleep. Tonight was not one of those nights.

“Oh, sweetheart, I’m sorry, I tried to be quiet, I did. I jus-”

The empty suitcase in his hand rang some quiet alarms.

“Dad? Where are you going?”

“Home. I have to go home.”

“Take me with you.”

Richie thought it over. He couldn’t in good faith leave you home alone for as long as he would be gone. Surely you’d be fine if you did what he said. After all, he promised you all those years ago, when one of his late-night flings left a baby girl on his doorstep, that he would be the best damn father around.

“Only if you promise to not leave my sight.”

You held up your crossed fingers and crossed those fingers over your heart. 

“Right well, get packing, sweetie. We leave as soon as we’re done.”

***

The drive to Derry was a combination of obnoxiously singing along to the radio and you catching up on some sleep. The sign welcoming you to Derry sent a shiver down your spine, not going unnoticed by Richie.

“You okay, sweetheart?”

“W-what? Oh! Yeah, yeah I’m good.”

He didn’t believe you but didn’t bring it up again. 

The car pulled into the parking lot of the Jade of the Orient, a Chinese restaurant. Your dad seemed almost shocked by its presence. Clearly, this wasn’t in Derry when he was a kid. Richie spotted two other people off to the side and seemed to recognize them.

“Big Ben? Bev?” You trailed behind him, a few meters behind, somewhat out of sight.

“Richie?” The woman asked, not noticing you as you peered at the two adults. The taller male made direct eye contact with you, a confused expression forming. You stepped closer, not caring if they saw you at this point.

“Uh, Richie, you seem to have a fan.” ‘Big Ben’ said, gesturing behind him. Richie whipped around, only to be met with you smiling awkwardly at him.

“Oh, no, actually this is my daughter, Y/N.”

The pair had extremely shocked faces. You felt a bit more offended than you should have at that comment. The pair seemed to notice but didn’t backtrack on their comments.

“I’m Beverly, it’s lovely to meet you.” Beverly held out a hand for you to shake, which you took happily. Ben simply greeted you with a smile.

“Well, let’s go meet everyone else. I wanna see how they react to Y/N.”

The whole vibe of the restaurant felt normal until you stepped into the reserved room for what you had heard was called “The Losers Club”. Your dad, being your dad, hit the gong on his way in, causing three heads to snap towards where the four of you were standing.

The three pairs of eyes stared at Richie, Ben and Beverly, before instantly snapping to you. Their expressions were similar to Ben and Beverly’s.

“Richie, Ben, Beverly.” One of the men at the table stated, trailing off as he looked at you again.

“Right, I’m starving. Let’s eat.” Richie cheered, and everyone else just accepted that Richie was not doing what they expected. And for some reason, they felt like that was what they expected.

“Hey, Rich, would you mind explaining who that is?” Another man asked, nodding in your direction.

“Oh! Right, this is my daughter.” The three men who weren’t Ben and Bev all dropped their jaws.

“It’s lovely to meet you all, I’m Y/N.” You smiled, feeling less nervous as they smiled back. Going around the table, they all introduced themselves as Mike Hanlon, Bill Denbrough and Eddie Kaspbrak.

You immediately noticed a strong bond between all of them, even if they had only reconnected less than an hour ago. It was a similar bond that you and your father had; family.

You also noticed a different bond between Richie and Eddie. It wasn’t news to you that your father wasn’t straight. And this Eddie man, no offence to anyone, did not give off straight vibes.

It was strange, how well you felt you fit in with the group of forty-year-olds. You and Eddie found many a common interest, including joking around and teasing Richie. The more Richie remembered, the more he realised that you were basically a baby Eddie, save for the hypochondriac-ness.

It brought a smile to his face as he watched the two of you mucking about like toddlers from beside him. 

Dinner continued on, and eventually, one of the waitresses brought out a bowl of fortune cookies. Everyone eagerly took one, cracking them open.

“Huh, mine just says ‘Could’. These cookies are bullshit.”

You looked at your slip of paper, and something about the words written caused that shiver to once again run down your spine.

Welcome to Derry, Y/N! Why don’t you stay forever?

Your hands were shaking, quite violently. Richie glanced over at you and immediately rushed to your side. He took the paper, reading it quickly before ripping it up. He hugged you tightly, comforting you like he would when you would get nightmares.

“You’re alright, sweetheart, you’re gonna be alright.”

***

You felt guilty, honestly. Richie had made you promise to stay in the hotel, not to set foot outside, but you didn’t listen. After finding yourself in a brand new town, so much different from your hometown, writing new material for your dad seemed bland. 

Exploring the place your dad grew up in seemed way more fun. Plus, it was a small town, what could really go wrong? 

In your journey to the centre of town, the only thing that went wrong was the kid who almost ran you over with his skateboard. Aside from that, you were yet to run into the other adults or anyone for that matter. The Canal Days fair was drawing in quite the crowd.

Turning the corner, you froze.

Something about the abandoned cinema in the middle of the town drew you in. It ran in Tozier blood to love the movies. Finding a hole through the newspaper, you pushed the door open. It was incredibly dusty, and you felt your throat constricting. Eddie had warned you earlier about how gross this town could be.

The hallway that led to the cinema was lit up, and the smell of popcorn was on the verge of overpowering all your senses. Something told you to run, walk, do anything in the opposite direction. But your body wasn’t listening, and you found yourself in the screening room in no time.

The screening room seemed harmless, but nothing in this town really was. You turned to leave when the sound of a projector turning on echoed through the empty room. Turning around slowly, every bone in your body trembling, you were met with the blinding white glow of the screen.

Your eyes locked with the harmless, yet frightening screen, panic settling in. 

The white screen wrinkled, and two beady yellow eyes opened. A scream latched itself in your throat, unable to escape through your dust infected lungs.

“Well, well, welcome to Derry, little Miss Tozier.” The face shrunk, smaller and smaller, and became a clown. At this moment, you wished your feet would just move, but alas, you remained glued to the spot.

The clown’s glowing eyes pierced your soul and reached out a gloved hand, grabbing the screen. The screen began to tear. The scream you were holding in escaped, causing the clown to laugh. Once the screen was entirely gone, the clown made his way towards you, leaping over the seats. 

Your feet, much to your dismay, remained glued to the ground. This wasn’t happening. This wasn’t real. You would pinch yourself, open your eyes, and be back at home, watching some crappy movie and bullying it to death with your dad.

It wasn’t working. No matter how hard you pinched, no matter how many times you whispered that “it wasn’t real”, you kept opening your eyes to see that fucking clown.

Your entire body was shaking, all senses except sight seemed to disappear. The clown was only two rows away. One row away. Here. 

A gloved hand clamped around your neck, your already constricted throat growing tighter. The clown smiled, never breaking eye contact. Drool dripped from his mouth, as he growled lowly. His face contorted, turning into Richie.

“You’re useless. A burden. I should’ve left you on that fucking doorstep. You’ve done nothing but hold me back. I never even wanted a child. Your mother was a drunk mistake, and so are you. I might as well leave you here to die.”

Tears rolled down your cheeks. No, your dad would never… Is that really what he thought? Had he spent fifteen years blaming you in secret? No, no, he promised that he loved you. He swore on his life that you were his everything.

Maybe it was true… after all, would any gay man want to live with and raise a reflection of someone who he never wanted to be with?  No. You had to push the thundering thoughts aside. No.

“N-no.” Your voice was weak, only just loud enough to hear. “Richie” tilted his head, a sad expression on his face. His skin was reverting to the pasty white of the clown. 

“No? Poor Y/N doesn’t want to accept that no one truly loves or wants her. Not even her own father.”

“Y-you’re not r-r-real. You c-c-c-can’t be real.” Words struggled to form, and those that did struggled to escape. The clown dropped his Richie facade and in a terrifying turn of events, smiled at you.

His grip continued to tighten, and you could see black dots forming in your vision. The sensation of trickling blood set your mind ablaze. You didn’t know where it was coming from, but it was there, and the clown was the cause.

In your last seconds of consciousness, you heard the thundering sets of footsteps coming down the hall, but the clown had sensed them first. You felt like the world was spinning before everything faded to black, your father’s panicked, fearful face the last thing you saw.

***

“Fuck, shit, shit, fuck!” The five other losers sat, heads hanging as Richie stormed around the building. They didn’t know what to do. Who would, in this situation? Bill was the only one who was close to understanding what Richie was experiencing.

“I’m a terrible father.” His pacing stopped as his knees gave out, collapsing onto Eddie, who caught him with ease. He held Richie tightly, letting him sob into his shoulder. 

In the minutes since Richie had been too late, he was already struggling to come to terms with the gap of silence where you used to stand. It wasn’t right. It was unnatural, unheard of,  unorthodox. 

He couldn’t speak, the wave of guilt and despair pulling him out to sea.

“Richie, I wholeheartedly promise you that you are the best damn father ever. We are all going to get Y/N back, and we will stop at nothing until we do.”

Richie wrapped his arms around Eddie, and one by one the losers joined in. Y/N Tozier was a loser now. And losers never left a loser behind.

***

The sewers were cold, wet and extremely uncomfortable. It was impossible to tell how long you’d been stuck here, but you did know that you’d walked through what felt like thousands of tunnels. You just wanted your dad back.

You couldn’t shake the tiredness that weighed you down. Closing your eyes wasn’t an option. You couldn’t let your guard down, not for a second, unless dying at the hands of a killer clown was on your bucket list.

The clown hadn’t shown his face since he took you. Part of you felt relieved, you didn’t have to fear for your life yet. But God knows what he was doing on the surface. You could only hope and pray that your father and his friends were okay.

Tears cascaded down your cheeks as thoughts of your dad filled your mind. All you wanted was to be held in his arms again. Your dad was your everything, and you were his. This was most likely the longest you’d been away from each other. 

You threw a small pebble up and down, catching it over and over again. Your trajectory was off on one throw, and it bounced and rolled its way over to the wall. Building up some courage, you scampered over to where the rock was, but your mad dash back to the “safety hole” was cut short by an echo.

“Come one, we gotta squeeze through that hole. We can all make it through if we try hard enough.”

That was Mike’s voice. They had come to save you. Somehow, no matter how far below Derry you were, they found you. You ran to where Mike’s voice was coming from, tripping over the smaller spikes on the ground.

“M-M-Mike!” 

Said man’s jaw dropped and he ran towards you, and you grasped onto his jacket. Having a physical being to cling onto was calming. As you stood there, clinging to Mike for dear life, more people came through the small gap, the first being Beverly. She ran to you too, her hug even tighter than Mikes. She was the only loser who knew exactly what you had just experienced.

As Bill and Ben appeared, you could barely see them from between Mike and Bev’s arms. But they were there, and they were real and they were everything you needed right now.

“Y-you found m-m-me!” Bill looked at you surprised as you stuttered over your words. Your stutter wasn’t simply a stutter of fear, it was like his. He knew the causes of a stutter very well. And looking at the causes, he could cross out genetics and prayed he could cross out a brain disorder. Which left emotional trauma. Psychogenic stuttering.

As you remained surrounded by the four losers, quiet bickering drifted into the cavern. 

The four stepped aside as Eddie and Richie came through the hole. Eddie froze, his dropped jaw widening to a smile while Richie remained frozen. There you were, alive, seemingly unharmed, surrounded by all his closest friends.

“Y/N. Holy fucking shit, Y/N!” Eddie exclaimed, hugging the girl close to him. They had only known each other for a few days, but they were already extremely close.

Richie still hadn’t moved, so Y/N and Eddie took the first step, sending Richie into a crazed sprint as he ran to hold his daughter again. Tears blurred everyone’s vision as father and daughter reunited. 

If Richie had an option, he would have chosen to never let his precious baby go.

“Richie. We have to perform the ritual. It's now or never.” 

***

The Ritual of Chüd didn’t work. Mike hadn’t been telling the whole truth. And also, a spider-legged demon clown was chasing and tormenting the Losers Club. 

Each loser had run off in different directions, Richie and Eddie both pulling you with them as your eyes lay transfixed on the evil entity. The sewer’s tunnels were long, windy and tight at some areas. They seemed never-ending.

Until you came to a sudden stop.

Standing in front of the three doors, Richie, Eddie and yourself contemplated what to do. In this sort of situation, nothing was to be trusted. Flinging open the ‘Very Scary’ door, you all found an empty closet.

“O-oh. Well, this s-s-s-seems harmless eno- oh what the f-f-fuck?” You screamed as a pair of disembodied legs ran towards you. Richie pulled you behind him as he slammed the door shut. 

The next door they opened read ‘Not Scary At All’ and at this point you were highly doubting that. From behind your barrier of Eddie and Richie, you could see a small dog staring at you all. It also seemed harmless at first, so you waited for it to fuck around and scare the shit out of you.

“Aww, it’s actually kinda cute.” Eddie cooed, leaving you a tad confused. Richie seemed to agree, telling the dog to sit, which it did.

“Aw, that’s precious.”

The dog twisted into a beastly creature, which was truly inevitable, wasn’t it? Your father and Eddie screamed as if they hadn’t been expecting any of this. The door slammed shut, and you quickly found yourself running out of the cave, back to where this whole mess started.

As you stepped foot into the cavern, bright lights drew you in, and you couldn’t feel anything. You were numb to the world around you. The screams of your father were nothing but faint echoes.

You could feel yourself succumbing to the lights. You let them decide your fate. This was how it all ended.

Until the lights disappeared, and you came crashing into Richie. You blinked slowly, adjusting to the darkness once more. Richie cradled you to his chest as Eddie stood off to the side, amazed at what he had just done.

IT lunged a clawed limb at the Eddie, but he ducked in time for IT to get trapped in the rock walls. It was a chance to escape.

On your feet once more, you ran to meet all the losers. Clambering through the hole once more, you used the time to think of a plan.

“We n-n-need to bring IT d-down to size. If w-w-we can lure IT in, IT’ll h-h-h-have to shrink to f-fit through that h-h-h-hole.” You muttered, mainly to yourself, as you contemplated your options.

“That just might work,” Bill announced, bringing you out of your daze. “But I don’t think we have to lure IT out here…”

Bill had a plan.

Crawling through another entrance, you mentally cursed yourself for coming back to this hellhole. Bill stood before the clown, who loomed over you all. 

“You’re just a clown.”

Physical pain flashed across IT’s face. 

“A clown!”

“You’re a sloppy bitch!”

“You’re nothing!”

The clown’s spider legs weakened, collapsing slightly. The insults continued being thrown, and IT continuously grew weaker. As IT staggered backwards into the centre spikes, IT grabbed the smallest loser, pulling her towards itself.

You fought against IT’s arm, yet somehow still found yourself powerless. Even now, IT was too strong for you.

“Put me d-down. You’re just a clown. Just a motherf-f-fucking clown!” 

With a final punch to the clown’s stupid red nose, IT let you go, deflating into an ugly baby-looking creature. You ran to Richie and Eddie, the pair making another protective barrier around you.

You all moved towards IT, and Beverly kneeled down beside IT. IT’s expression was pure fear. 

The beautiful irony of it all.

She reached into IT, yanking out a rotten, yet beating heart. Each loser placed a hand on the heart, and IT seemed to be begging for mercy. For forgiveness.

You all squeezed the heart, crushing it and watching the life drain from the monster that had tormented Derry for millions of years.

IT had been defeated for good.

***   

Driving away from Derry was therapeutic. It was a breath of fresh air. For the first time in far too long, you felt safe.

On your way out, Richie pulled over on the bridge and got out. Walking over to the wooden rails, you followed behind him, not noticing the other car pulling up too. Richie traced a pair of letters on the wood.

“R + E.” You murmured, much louder than intended. Your dad spun around, catching you just in time to make the connection. His eyes drifted behind you, to the man standing beside his car.

“It was a-a-always you and E-Eddie, huh?” 

You kneeled beside him, hugging him tightly. You knew how long it took your dad to accept who he was, so seeing him recarving the faded ‘E’ into the wood, with ‘E’ standing not so far behind meant the world to you.

“Can you just go kiss h-him, for god’s s-s-sake?” You whispered into his side, making him laugh.

“I just might, so you better close your eyes.” He covered your eyes with his hands, making you laugh loudly.

“And miss s-s-seeing my dad happier than e-ever? I could never.” 

His smile held so much love and appreciation for the beautiful girl he had raised that people all across the USA could feel it.

***

“Dad! These are our s-seats.”

Your dad followed behind, making sure you were reading the right part of the tickets.

“Yep, these are them.”

You sat down first, leg bouncing in anticipation. You had wanted to see this live for years and finally, you could get into the show, with adult supervision.

“It s-starts in three m-minutes!”

If it weren’t for the sheer fanciness of this building, you’d be bouncing off the walls in excitement.

Three minutes passed quickly, and the announcement was made that the show was starting. You stared at the stage, a huge smile on your face.

He walked out on stage, and the applause was thunderous, but you knew you were the loudest.

“Yknow, my husband is a bitch and I love him so much.”

Looking at Eddie’s jokingly hurt expression, you burst out laughing, harder than you ever had in your life.

***

It was around 2 am when you all paraded back home. It had been a long, carefree night, only made better by the pure joy radiating off everyone in your family. Eddie fumbled for the house keys, eventually unlocking the door, only to be knocked down by their surprisingly strong Pomeranian, Stanley.

A minute after you walked inside and kicked off your shoes, you passed out on the couch. Stanley curled up beside you, licking your face.

Eddie and Richie shared similar expressions as they gazed at the adorable sight. Not once had either of them believed their lives would come to this.

Richie Tozier never believed he’d be a world-famous comedian, married to his best friend that he’d been in love with since childhood, with the most amazing daughter anyone could ask for.

Eddie Kaspbrak never thought he’d escape his never-ending cycle of letting an emotionally abusive woman control his life, marry the man of his dreams and have a daughter.

Y/N Tozier-Kaspbrak truly believed that no other kid was as lucky as her. No other kid had a perfect, unbreakable pair of parents like she did.

No other family was as beautifully perfect as the Tozier-Kaspbrak family.

Not even close.

***

@peteporkers @unamused-fangirl

[bechloeislegit]

Merry Pitchmas - 2019

A DAUGHTER FOR CHRISTMAS

@lespetitesmortsde - MERRY PITCHMAS! BeChloeIsLegit here and I am your Secret Santa and this is my Pitchmas gift to you. I do hope you like it.

Prompt: Beca gets a big surprise for Christmas.

It was Christmas Eve and Beca stood staring at the tree she and her wife, Chloe, had decorated together. She was lost in thought when Chloe came up and wrapped her arms around Beca's waist from behind. Chloe laid her chin on Beca's shoulder.

"Penny for your thoughts," Chloe whispered before kissing Beca's cheek.

Beca smiled and turned her head to look at Chloe. "My thoughts are always about you and the girls. And, trust me, they are worth more than a penny."

Chloe smiled and hugged Beca from behind. "Speaking of the girls, we should get them up and ready. The Bellas will be her in a little while."

"Okay," Beca said, turning in Chloe's arms. "But, first, I need a couple of these."

Beca kissed Chloe and then kissed her again. Chloe kissed Beca back and finally laughed as she pulled away from Beca.

"You can have more of those later," Chloe said, taking Beca's hand. "Let's get the girls."

Thirty minutes later, the happy couple came back to the living room, each carrying one of their girls.

Chloe was carrying her mini-me, Sophie, while Beca held her mini-me, Sarah.

"Do you like the lights, Soph?" Chloe asked as the three-year-old looked at the tree, her eyes wide.

"Yes," Sophie said, nodding her head.

Beca smiled and laughed as eighteen-month-old Sarah tried to reach the ornaments on the tree.

"I'm going to check on the caterers," Chloe told Beca and walked toward the kitchen with Sophie.

Beca continued to hold Sarah, pointing out the many decorations that had been set up. She turned toward the door when she heard the doorbell ring.

"Looks like the Bellas are arriving," Beca told Sarah as she tickled her tummy.

Beca walked to the door to find her best friend, Stacie Conrad, standing there.

"Sarah!" Stacie squealed, reaching for the toddler. "Merry Christmas!"

Sarah giggled as Stacie grabbed her into a hug.

"I'm fine, Stacie," Beca said. "How are you?"

"Oh, hush," Stacie said. "You know the only reason any of us come to visit is to see Sophie and Sarah."

"Are you going to stand in the doorway hugging my kid all day or what?" Beca asked.

"I need some help with my bags," Stacie said.

"Since you're staying here," Beca said, reaching for Sarah. "Park your car in the garage and I'll help you with your bags."

"Okay," Stacie said. She tickled Sarah's stomach eliciting a giggle before hurrying down the steps to her car.

Beca saw a few more cars pulling into the driveway and yelled out, "Chloe! The girls are arriving!"

Chloe came out of the kitchen with Sophie.

"I have to go tell everyone where to park," Beca said. "The girls that are staying with us I'm having park in the garage."

"Do you want me to take Sarah?" Chloe asked.

"No," Beca said. "I want to hold onto her for as long as I can. You know we won't be holding our own kids for a while once the Bellas get ahold of them."

Chloe chuckled as Beca walked out with Sarah and started greeting the girls and pointing out where they should park. Chloe and Sophie watched from the doorway. Once Beca had everyone parking, Chloe went through the kitchen and into the garage.

"Sophie!" Stacie squealed, leaving her bags by the car and reaching for the youngster. She gave Chloe a side hug. "Merry Christmas, Chloe. It's good to see you."

"You, too, Stacie," Chloe said. "Let me help you with your bags."

Beca and Chloe showed the Bellas to their rooms and told everyone to meet downstairs when they were ready.

~ Merry Pitchmas 2019 ~

"I can't believe how big these two are getting," Aubrey said as she bounced Sarah on her lap. "I haven't seen them since Sarah was born."

"That was quite a day," Jessica said.

"It sure was," Ashley said.

"It was a day I'll never forget," Chloe said.

"I'm sorry," Beca said.

"It's not your fault," Chloe said, hugging Beca. "It was just nerve-wracking not knowing what was happening. And then have the doctor come out to tell me your blood pressure had bottomed out and they were worried about you and Sarah."

Chloe got choked up and Beca pulled her to her. "Hey, we're both fine. Don't think about the bad stuff. Focus on the good."

"I'm glad I had the Bellas with me," Chloe said, wiping her eyes. "I wouldn't have been able to handle all that on my own."

"We're always going to be here for you, Chloe," Aubrey said. "For both of you and the girls. Always."

"Enough mushy stuff," Fat Amy said. "It's Christmas Eve and I think we need to get our drink on! Woo hoo!"

"Keep it tame, Amy," Beca said. "We still have two little ones to take care of. And I don't want to be drunk when Santa comes tonight."

Sophie toddled up to Beca with a frown on her face and raised her arms. Beca smiled and picked her up.

"What's wrong, Soph?" Beca asked.

"Aunt Amy too loud," Sophie said, covering her ears.

Beca laughed. "Yes, she is. Aunt Amy, did you hear that? Sophie says your too loud."

"I'm sorry, Sophie," Fat Amy said, kissing the young girl on the cheek.

"Remind me to get Sophie to tell Amy she's being too loud next time," Stacie said. "Sophie's got Amy wrapped around her finger."

"Sophie and Sarah have us all wrapped around their fingers," Emily said.

"Mrs. Mitchell," a voice called out, causing both Chloe and Beca to turn toward them. "We are ready to serve whenever you are."

"Thank you," Chloe said. "I believe we are ready now. Come on, girls. It's time to eat."

Everyone got up and made their way to the dining room. Aubrey carried in Sarah, and Emily took Sophie from Beca.

~ Merry Pitchmas 2019 ~

Flo left right after dinner to visit some of her family, promising to be back bright and early the next morning. Emily also left to return to her mother's house, also promising to be back bright and early the next morning with her mom, Katherine.

The rest of the Bellas helped put the girls to bed, singing an acapella version of Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer, Sophie's favorite Christmas song.

"Well, I guess it's time for Santa," Beca said.

"We'll help," Aubrey said.

"Definitely," CR said. "I think I'm more excited about Christmas morning than I've ever been."

"It's the girls," Stacie said. "Something about kids and Christmas."

"I forgot that you weren't with us last year, CR," Chloe said. "I'm glad you were able to here this year."

"Me, too," CR said.

"Let's get those presents under the tree," Jessica said.

"Are we putting ours under the tree after Santa is done?" Ashley asked.

"That's the plan," Aubrey said.

With the help of the Bellas, the presents for the Mitchell girls were under the tree in no time.

"Wow!" Ashley said. "Are you sure you only have two kids?"

Beca quickly glanced at Ashley and looked over to Chloe. Chloe laughed.

"I know it's a lot," Chloe said. "But, I kept finding something that they wanted."

"Wanted?" Beca said with a grin. "More like something you wanted."

"I bought what they asked for," Chloe said with a huff.

"When did Sarah ask you for a Pentatonix Christmas album?" Beca asked, looking at Chloe while trying to hide her smile.

"I love Pentatonix," Stacie said.

"It's something we can listen to together," Chloe explained.

"Okay," Beca said, holding her hands up in defeat. "I love you, you crazy nerd."

Chloe smiled and kissed Beca. "I love you, too."

~ Merry Pitchmas 2019 ~

The next morning Beca and Chloe woke and spent a few minutes snuggled together in their bed. After a bit of a makeout session, they got up and went to get the girls ready for the day.

"Hey, sweet Sophie," Beca said as she gently shook the toddler. "Time to wake up."

"Did Sanna come?" Sophie asked as Beca picked her up.

"He did," Beca said. "We just have to dress you in your special Christmas outfit and go downstairs to see what he left for you and Sarah."

Sophie wiggled and squirmed in Beca's arms. Beca gathered up Sophie's clothes and proceeded to change her.

"Hey, Sophie," Stacie said, walking into the room. "Merry Christmas."

"Merry Kwissmas," Sophie said.

"Do you need any help?" Stacie asked Beca.

"Not with Sophie," Beca said. "But, it would be a big help if you could get the oven started. We made some breakfast casseroles that we need to put in the oven. Also, could you start the coffee?"

"We can do that," Aubrey said, coming into the room. "Come on, Stacie. I'll help."

"See you in a bit," Stacie said as she and Aubrey left the room.

Beca heard the other Bellas' voices as they made their way downstairs a few minutes later.

Chloe came in carrying Sarah. "Sophie, you look amazing!" Chloe said, kissing the toddler on the cheek.

"Look, Soph," Beca said. "Sarah is dressed like you."

"Pwetty," Sophie said, leaning over to kiss Sarah on the cheek.

"Sossss," Sarah said.

Chloe's mouth dropped open. "Did you hear that, Soph? Sarah is trying to say your name."

"Yay!" Sophie said and clapped her hands.

Beca and Chloe carried the girls downstairs and Sophie's eyes grew wide at all the presents under the tree.

"Pwesents!" Sophie squealed.

"They're not all yours," Beca said. "Some are for Sarah and the Bellas."

"Hey, Beca," Ashley said. "We just put the casseroles in the oven so we have about an hour before they'll be ready."

"I guess that means we get to," Chloe paused and smiled before screaming, "Open presents! Yay!"

"Yay!" Sophie squealed and clapped.

Sarah squealed and giggled.

"Let's get to it," Beca said.

The Bellas came from the kitchen with cups of coffee and juice in their hands. Aubrey handed Chloe her coffee and Jessica handed a cup to Beca.

"Bless you," Beca said and took a sip. "Ahh, perfect." She set her cup down and walked over to Chloe.

"Okay, ladies," Chloe said. "Everyone find a seat. We're going to let Sophie and Sarah open presents. I want lots of pictures so everyone, get your cameras and phones out."

The Bellas collectively held up their cameras and phones as if they were waiting for their cue to do so.

Beca laughed and sat down on the floor with Sophie. Chloe did the same with Sarah.

"How do you want to do this?" Beca asked.

"Just start handing them presents," Chloe said.

"Okay," Beca said and reached for a gift for Sophie. "Here you go, Soph. Go for it."

Chloe did the same for Sarah, helping tear the paper away from the gift.

The Bellas talked and commented while the girls opened their gifts. Soon there was torn wrapping paper and opened presents strewn around the room.

Stacie was holding Sarah, playing with a stuffed porpoise that Sarah wouldn't let go of once she opened it.

Jessica and Ashley were playing a game with Sophie. They didn't know what exactly they were playing, but Sophie had toddled over to them and plopped down in Jessica's lap and said, "Play." So, they played.

Beca and Chloe, with assistance from CR and Fat Amy, put the finishing touches on breakfast.

There was a knock at the door, and Stacie handed Sarah to Ashely, and went to answer the door, saying, "That's probably Flo or Emily."

Stacie answered the door to find Flo on the other side.

"Feliz Navidad," Flo said.

"Merry Christmas," Stacie said, grabbing a couple of the bags Flo was carrying. "Come in. Breakfast is almost ready."

"Thank you," Flo said and entered the house.

Flo wished everyone a Merry Christmas as everyone greeted her. Chloe came out of the kitchen and hugged Flo when she saw her.

"Breakfast is ready," Chloe said.

"What about Emily?" Jessica asked. "Aren't we going to wait for her."

"She won't be here until later," Chloe said. "She and her mother were going to spend time with Emily's grandmother before coming here."

"Oh," Jessica said. "Then, let's eat!"

Chloe picked up Sarah and Jessica walked Sophie into the dining room. They hadn't been sitting long with there was another knock at the door.

"I'll get it," Stacie said and left the room.

"Do you think Emily is here already?" Chloe asked Beca as she fed Sarah.

"I don't know," Beca said. "Maybe."

"Juice, mama," Sophie said.

"It's right here, sweetie," Beca told her, handing her a sippy cup.

Stacie answered the door to find a young woman who looked to be about eighteen standing there. "Oh, may I help you?"

"Does, um, does Beca Mitchell live here?" the young woman asked.

"Who are you?" Stacie asked.

"My name is Amanda Henderson," the young woman said.

"And what do you want with Beca?"

"You're not her. I've seen pictures but you're not her. I need to talk to her."

"No, I'm not," Stacie said. "But I am her best friend. And I won't let you see Beca if you don't tell me what you want with her. She's had stalkers before."

"I'm not a stalker," Amanda said. "I think, um, Beca Mitchell is my mother. My birth mother."

Stacie's eyes widened. "Oh, my God!"

"So, is she here?" Amanda asked.

"Um, come in," Stacie said, stepping aside to let the woman in. Amanda stepped inside and Stacie closed the door. "Follow me."

Stacie moved toward Beca's office and Amanda followed. "Wait here and I'll get Beca. Do not touch anything and stay in this room."

"Okay," Amanda said and sat on the small sofa.

Stacie looked at Amanda and shook her head to clear it. She had to admit this girl did look quite a bit like Beca.

Stacie left and hurried to the dining room.

"Everything okay, Stacie?" Chloe asked as Stacie entered.

"Um, yeah," Stacie said. "Beca can I see you for a minute?"

"Sure," Beca said. "We'll be right back."

Beca followed Stacie out of the dining room. "What's up, Stace?"

"Um, when I answered the door there was a girl standing there," Stacie said. "She, um, she said she thinks you're her birth mother."

Beca paled. "Did she leave?"

"No," Stacie said. "I put her in your office. Is it true? Could she be your daughter? Does Chloe know you have another kid?"

Beca swallowed a few times. "Could you ask Chloe to come to my office. And please don't tell the others anything. Please? I'll explain everything once I talk to the girl."

~ Merry Pitchmas 2019 ~

Beca stood outside the door of her home office and paced back and forth. She didn't want to go inside until Chloe was with her.

"What's going on, Beca?" Chloe asked.

"Um, no matter what happens, just remember that I love you," Beca said.

"I know and I love you, too," Chloe said. "But you're scaring me, Becs. What's going on?"

"We have a guest," Beca said. "And I think you should meet her."

"Okay," Chloe said.

Beca let out a breath and opened the door. She allowed Chloe to enter and Chloe stopped short, her eyes widening. The woman jumped up as soon as the door opened.

Beca came in behind Chloe and tears sprang to her eyes. The girl looked just like her.

"Oh, my God!" Amanda said, tears spring to her eyes as well. "It's true."

"Who are you?" Chloe asked.

"I'm Amanda Henderson," Amanda replied.

"There is a very strong possibility that she's my daughter," Beca said.

"What?" Chloe asked, looking from Beca to Amanda and back.

"Sit down," Beca said, indicating the seat next to Amanda. "I'll explain everything."

Chloe moved next to Amanda and the two women sat down. Amanda looked at Chloe and gave her a small smile. She then turned her attention to Beca who was pulling her desk chair over to sit directly in front of the two women.

"My folks divorced when I was barely five years old," Beca said. "I hated my dad for the longest time because when he left my mom sort of checked out. I was allowed to do whatever I wanted and my mom didn't care. When I was fifteen, I started hanging out with a bad crowd. I started drinking, smoking pot, and popping pills. I was also having sex with whoever I wanted."

"Beca," Chloe said.

"No, Chlo," Beca said, holding up her hand to stop Chloe from saying anything more. "Please? Let me finish."

Chloe nodded and Beca looked at Amanda.

"I was three months shy of my sixteenth birthday when I found out I was pregnant," Beca continued. "I wasn't far along, maybe five or six weeks. I freaked a bit and thought about getting an abortion. But, I couldn't do that. Not because I'm against abortion, but I didn't think it was right for me."

A tear escaped from Beca's eye and she wiped it away. "I also knew that I was too young and immature to raise a child, so I decided immediately upon adoption. Up to this point, I didn't care about anyone, even myself. But as soon as I found out I was pregnant, I cleaned up my act. I stopped drinking, stopped using any kind of drugs, and went back to school."

Chloe wiped a tear from her eye as she watched Beca relive the memory.

"I found an adoption agency who would help pay my medical expenses while I was pregnant," Beca said. "They also found a nice family to adopt you."

"My parents are the best," Amanda said. "They encouraged me to look for you. They gave me this picture. It's the one the hospital took when I was born."

Amanda held the photo out to Beca; Beca took it. She held it for a moment before looking at her. She let out a small sob. "You look just like Sarah when she was born"

"Sarah?" Amanda asked.

"Our daughter," Chloe replied.

"Oh, you two are…?"

"Yes," Beca said. "Chloe is my wife and we have two daughters. Chloe carried Sophie; she's three. I carried Sarah and she's eighteen months old."

"Congratulations," Amanda said.

"Thank you," Beca said.

"Um, may I ask you a question?" Amanda asked.

"Sure," Beca said.

"What about my father?" Amanda asked. "Do you know where he is?"

"I don't," Beca said and looked down embarrassed. She quietly added, "I'm not even sure who he is."

Beca let out a sob and started crying. Chloe got up and pulled Beca into a hug. Beca wrapped her arms around Chloe's waist and buried her head in Chloe's stomach. Chloe leaned down and kissed the top of Beca's head before laying her head to rest on Beca's.

"It's okay, babe," Chloe whispered.

Amanda smiled and wiped a tear from her cheek. "Is there anything you want to ask me?"

Beca lifted her head and looked at Amanda. "From the way you look and how you speak of the Hendersons, it sounds like you've had a good life."

"I have," Amanda said with a big smile. "I, uh, I'm sorry I ruined your Christmas. I lost my parents a few months ago and they left me some money and a request that I look for my birth parents. When I found out that you were my birth mother, I was shocked. My friends always said I looked like you but I never saw it until you walked in here and I couldn't deny it anymore. That you were my birth mother."

"I'm sorry for your loss," Chloe said. "And I hope that you will consider us your family."

"You're okay with that, Chlo?" Beca asked.

"Why wouldn't I be?" Chloe asked, surprised. "She's a part of you and I love everything about you."

Beca pulled Chloe to her and hugged her. She lifted her head and Chloe leaned down to kiss her.

Amanda smiled. "I, um, should probably let you get back to your Christmas. I was hoping that you would want to get together sometime so we could talk more."

"Why don't you stay?" Chloe said. "We were just having breakfast and there's plenty."

"Yes," Beca said excitedly. "Please stay. I know I'm not your mom in the real sense of the word, but I'd love it if you stayed to meet your sisters."

"I don't want to intrude," Amanda said.

"You're family," Chloe said.

Amanda let out a small sob. "I'd love that. Thank you so much."

Chloe released Beca and pulled Amanda into a hug. "I'm glad you're here to celebrate with us."

"Me, too," Beca said, wrapping her arms around Chloe and Amanda.

"Come on, you two," Chloe said. "Let's go eat."

They all wiped their eyes and Chloe led the way to the dining room. Everyone stopped talking and it was quiet as soon as Chloe entered. All eyes widened when Beca and Amanda walked in together.

"Whoa, Beca," Fat Amy said. "Is this a long-lost sister you never told us about? She looks just like you."

"Everyone," Beca said. "This is Amanda Henderson. And, she is my daughter."

The Bellas gasped and stared wide-eyed at Beca, not saying a word. Sarah cooed and giggled causing Stacie to laugh. She jumped up and pulled another chair to the table.

"Sit here, Amanda," Stacie said. "I'll get you a plate."

"Thank you," Amanda said and sat.

"Are you sure you're okay with this?" Beca whispered to Chloe while everyone was throwing questions at Amanda.

"Of course I am," Chloe said. "It's as I told you, she's a part of you. Although I am a little hurt that you never told me about that part of your life."

"I'm sorry," Beca said. "It was a painful part of my life and I didn't want to talk about it."

"Wait, you're eighteen?" they heard Jessica ask Amanda. At Amanda's nod, Jessica looked at Beca. "And you're thirty-four, so that means you had Amanda-"

"When I was sixteen," Beca finished for her. "I know."

"Well, I could tell she was related somehow," Fat Amy said, around a mouthful of food. "She looks just like you and your mini-me, you. You're mini-you."

Amanda stood and walked around the table. She looked at Sarah and at Sophie.

"I've always wanted to have sisters," Amanda said. "Hey, cutie," she said, taking Sophie's hand in hers. "I'm your big sister."

"Sister?" Sopie said. "Sarah is sister."

"That's right," Chloe said. "Sarah is your sister, but so is Amanda."

"Manda?"

"Yes, Manda," Amanda said with a smile. "I like that."

Amanda looked at Beca and Chloe. "Thank you for allowing me into your home. I wasn't sure how this was going to go, but I'm glad I came."

"So am I," Beca said. "I mean, who else can say they got a daughter for Christmas."

"I can," Chloe said with a grin. "Merry Christmas, Amanda."

"Merry Kwissmas, Manda," Sophie said.

"Merry Christmas," Amanda said.

[footballxixstars]

Day 7 ~ Trent Alexander-Arnold

Christmas Competition

Countdown to Christmas 2019

Trent’s competitive. Really competitive. He hates losing no matter what it is and every little thing can and will turn into a competition. You found it funny most of the time finding some entertainment in it but sometimes it did get annoying. Sometimes you wanted to play a game against Trent for fun but it was never just for fun with Trent he always wanted to win. Sometimes it felt like he needed to win so that he could function. There were times where he would throw a complete tantrum like a toddler when he didn’t get his way during a game that he played. You had no idea why you thought that this would be a good idea but you decided to challenge Trent to a day of different challenges and the overall winner of all the challenges gets a prize. A prize that you haven’t decided yet. There would be 5 different challenges where you would call one of Trent's teammates to decide the winner knowing that they would be fair. You also decided 5 challenges so that there wouldn’t be a tie at the end and that there would be a distinctive winner.

“Hey Trent, I’ve got an idea for the first challenge.” You turned round and said to him as soon as the idea popped into your head. Trent just looked at you and raised his eyebrow probably wondering what idea you had come up with.

“Who can wear the ugliest jumper than we go and see Hendo and he can judge who the ugliest is” you stated and the smirk had already found its way onto Trent's face. You knew he had an idea but you couldn’t dwell on it too much since he began speaking before you could.

“Let’s go to the shop then,” Trent said standing up and grabbing his jacket and shoes. You made your way to Trent's car getting into the passenger seat so Trent could drive you to the store to buy the jumpers. You eventually made your way to the shop but you and Trent stayed by the entrance so you could talk over the rules together to make sure that this was fair. It had to be fair so that neither of you had an advantage to win even though Trent may since you were asking his teammates to decide. Trent, however, thinks that it’s you who has the advantage since his teammates find it funny when Trent loses. So overall neither of you actually had the advantage.

“5 minutes then meet by the queue so we can pay for it.” You said to Trent who nodded his head and he already looked ready to go. You got the timer up on your phone and counted down from 5 and as soon as you said 1 Trent was off in the direction that the Christmas jumpers were in. You just laughed and shook your head before casually making your way there. You obviously wanted to win but also didn’t want to look like a complete idiot in front of everyone. It didn’t take long till you made it to the Christmas jumpers and you couldn’t lie. They were all horrendous. You touched a couple so you could look through them properly and find the worst one and just the material made you feel uncomfortable. You picked one up off of the hangers it was black and had ball balls that were glittery wrapped around it.

You stared at it for a couple of seconds before picking it up. You knew that you didn’t have long left till the time was up and you realised that this was probably the best one that you could grab so you decided to make your way to the queue for Trent whilst he had some time still left to find a Christmas jumper. He only had a minute but that was still some time for him to find a Christmas jumper. You looked through your phone to see busy because it would look a little strange if you were just stood there not looking at anything even if it was just for a minute.

“Y/N” you heard from in front of you only a few seconds after you got your phone out. You glance up and Trent passed you his Christmas jumper.

“There let's go and pay and then go to Hendo’s house so he can pick who’s got the ugliest Christmas jumper.” You said getting in line with Trent. You looked at his Christmas jumper and you had to admit it did look horrendous.

As soon as you paid for the jumpers you both went back to the car before putting on your jumpers and making your way to Jordan’s house. You hadn’t warned him before that you were coming so you were hoping that he was still in.

“Jordan answer the door,” Trent screamed banging on the door. You had barely got out of the car and he was already screaming and banging on the front door. You couldn’t believe how loud he was being. Actually. Take that back. You could believe how loud he was being. You could hear a commotion from the other side and you knew that Jordan wouldn’t be happy when he answers the door.

“What- What the hell are you two wearing?” Jordan said. He could barely get his words out of his mouth. With how long he had known the both of you he couldn’t say that he was entirely shocked. You both had turned up wearing stupid clothes a number of times so nothing really shocked him when it came to the both of you now. He remembers one time where you decided clothes that Trent had to wear and Trent decided the clothes that you had to wear. Let’s just say he never wanted to be seen with either of you that day.

“Who’s Christmas jumper is uglier?” You asked. Trent was just rambling nonsense but as soon as you asked Jordan he shut up. Jordan stared at the both of your jumpers probably trying to figure out which one hurt more to lookout. He stared at the both of you for 2 minutes before he reluctantly pointed to Trent.

“Thank you!” Trent said hugging Jordan tightly before running off for the car without even saying bye to him. You just shook your head at Trent as you watched him run off. Once again you thought to yourself why you decided to hold these mini competitions with Trent knowing how bad he could get with both winning and losing.

“Bye” was all you said to him before walking off towards the car. You left Jordan stood in his doorway confused to no ends. You got in the passenger seat and Trent drove off towards the house bragging about how he won the first challenge and how he was going to win the rest of them.

“It’s only the first challenge there’s still 4 more.” You said to him but Trent didn’t care. His confidence had gone up high from winning that challenge. You knew the next one had to be good and you also had to win at it so that Trent couldn’t brag any longer.

“Who can decorate the gingerbread house the best?” You walked into the living room saying to him. Trent turned his attention away from the TV to look at you. He thought about it for a couple of seconds before opening his mouth.

“We don’t have gingerbread houses,” Trent said confused with what you were going on about. He had never done this before so he had no idea what you were going on about but he was up for anything. He was up for anything that included competition as he was ready to win.

“I brought some when I went to the shop earlier. I brought that and some other things for some other challenges.” You said walking over to the kitchen where everything was already set up because you did it all before you came in.

“Let’s go then,” Trent said standing in front of one of the gingerbread houses ready to go.

“Right 15 minutes,” you said putting the timer back onto your phone but changing the time to 15 minutes. You counted down from 5 once again and pressed start once you said go. You both started decorating your houses not even paying attention to each other, to begin with however that ended relatively quickly as Trent took a quick glance at yours and noticed how good it was. Since Trent was such a sore loser he saw how good yours was going and decided to start to sabotage your gingerbread house. He was setting his up all nicely then every so often he would throw something onto yours so it wasn’t looking as nice. You would hit Trent but that wouldn’t stop him because he was finding it too funny. You tried to ignore Trent but it was hard when he was stood right next to you making stupid noises and just being an idiot overall. You couldn’t help but laugh at him at how much he was trying to win. You knew that he wanted to win badly but you never thought that he would purposely try and sabotage you even though you probably should’ve.

“Stop,” You said when the alarm went off. You meant stop for decorating the gingerbread house but also telling Trent to stop messing up your house. He didn’t even give you a chance to say who you were calling he apparently had already made that decision.

“Let’s call Alex,” Trent said already getting Alex up on FaceTime so you couldn’t argue. You just shook your head at him and let him call Alex since you picked Hendo to judge the last one it would only be fair to let Trent pick Alex to judge this one.

“What do you want?” Alex said laughing when he accepted the face time. You could tell that Alex was getting ready for training since they had that in a few hours but you knew you had about 1 hour and a half before Trent had to leave so you had enough time to do another challenge straight after this.

“Who decorated the best gingerbread house?” Trent asked turning the camera around so Alex could see the both of them. Your gingerbread house was on the left and Trent’s was on the right. You could see Alex was looking carefully at the both of them asking Trent to change the angle a couple of times so he could get a look at the whole gingerbread house. You had no idea why it was that important but for some reason, it seemed to be for him.

“The one on the right.” Alex ended up saying after some time. You were nearly going to tell him to hurry up but luckily he said his answer before you could and it wasn’t the answer you wanted. Trent was now 2-0 up and only had to win one more of the challenges.

“Yes! Thank you!” Trent screamed before hanging up the phone. He was jumping around the kitchen celebrating about getting another point and obviously he was rubbing it in your face about how winning this was going to be easy and how the prize was going to be his.

“Next challenge.” You said not wanting to hear this for any longer. You definitely needed to win this one or else all of the challenges were over.

“What is it?” Trent asked you moving the gingerbread houses out of the way since he could see you grabbing something from the cupboard and he was guessing that you would need room for it.

“Who can bake the best Christmas biscuits? Decorated as well.” You said grabbing all of the things that were needed to bake biscuits. You knew that you had this challenge in the bag because Trent can’t bake. The last time he baked he forgot that he had put the cookies in the oven and when he eventually remembered they were like rocks. You couldn’t bite into them unless you wanted no teeth at the end of it. The very middle was edible but the rest was not.

“Let’s start then,” Trent said already grabbing the equipment and pouring the ingredients into the bowl. You both had a simple recipe to follow to make it somewhat fair since you knew that he would have no idea how much of what had to go into it and you also wanted to double-check before doing anything. You took a glance at Trent and just saw him chucking everything into the bowl whereas you were putting everything in but by bit like it should be. Trent was making an absolute mess of the kitchen which you would probably clean up to keep yourself busy when he goes to training. You, on the other hand, weren’t making that much of a mess. Trent was also quite far ahead of you he got his biscuit cutter and started to cut them into the shapes of little football shirts. You slightly laughed at him and how his life revolved around football. You, however, were still mixing all of your ingredients together but there was no set time limit on this so it didn’t bother you. You had until Trent would have to leave for training.

“How are you going to decorate them?” You asked wanting to know what his plan was. Trent looked at you suspiciously before he saw you were cutting out Christmas trees so you couldn’t copy his ideas.

“This,” he said pointing to the marzipan. You knew he didn’t know what it was but for some reason, he was going to use it anyway. You nodded your head and placed all of your biscuits onto the cooking tray before putting them into the oven. You saw Trent copying you and you knew it was because he didn’t know what biscuits looked like when they were baked to perfection. So he was going to put them in when you put them in and take them out when you take them out.

“Do we take them out now?” Trent asked just sat in front of the oven just watching the biscuits cook. He looked like a little kid who was waiting for cakes to cook so that he could eat them. He didn’t want his to burn so he was watching them intently making sure that they don’t. You sighed telling Trent to move out of the way so you could check your biscuits. You weren’t going to check his but you knew as soon as you take yours out he would also take his out thinking his would be done. Yours were nearly done but not quite so you put them back in before closing the oven door. As soon as you closed the oven door Trent made his way in front of the oven again.

“Mines not ready but I don’t know about yours.” You said to Trent turning around to go and do something else. Trent just pouted not even bothering to check his own biscuits. You were getting everything ready to decorate your biscuits so you wouldn’t have to worry about it all when your biscuits were ready. You got one of the packets of marzipan and opened it before grabbing the green food colouring. You then went and got your biscuits out of the oven which Trent copied but he also turned off the oven. You got your marzipan and got some green food colouring and put it in it so the marzipan would turn the perfect green for the Christmas trees. Once it was the green that you wanted it to be you rolled it out so it was thin so you could use the cutter to cut out the Christmas trees. Carefully you placed the cutout marzipan on top of the biscuits making sure that it was flat and covered the top of the biscuit. You looked at Trent's biscuits and you had to admit that they did look good. But looking good and tasting good are two completely different things. You made sure yours were perfect by adding icing on it. You used the icing to decorate the tree with different decorations. With the black icing, you used it to create string than with all the other colours you create ball balls and finally with the yellow you made a star on top of it. You were proud of your work and smiled to yourself and just touched up every other little detail making sure it was all perfect.

“The masterpiece is finished,” Trent said showing you his biscuits. You smiled at them admitting that they did look good but you believed that yours looked and tasted better even though you hadn’t tasted his. Trent's biscuits were literally the Liverpool shirts than with the white icing he wrote the names and numbers with them.

“Since Millie and Andy seem to be the kings on knowing their biscuits we should go and ask them to judge the biscuits.” You said refering to that Liverpool video where they judged what the best biscuits were. You were putting a couple of biscuits into a tin so that Trent could take them to training for James and Andy. Trent was getting ready for training so that he wouldn’t be late whilst you were sorting out the biscuits.

“Millie, Andy,” Trent screamed running down the corridor chasing after them like a complete mad man once training had finished. Some of the other guys gave him weird looks but let him be knowing that it was probably Trent being Trent. They stopped and turned around looking at Trent like he was an idiot.

“Can you try these biscuits and tell me which one is best?” Trent asked forcing the tin of biscuits into Millie’s hand so that he didn’t have the option of whether to hold them or not.

“Hang on let me call Y/N,” Trent said getting out his phone to call you so you could hear who the winner was. It was also so Trent couldn’t cheat and say that they said his biscuits were better when in reality they actually said yours were. Andy and James nodded their heads just inspecting the biscuits that the both of you made.

“Right let’s go then,” Trent said once you were on FaceTime. He motioned for Andy and Millie to take a bite out of one of the biscuits. They made a face that showed it was really good before placing it back into the tin so they could grab the other biscuit. They took a bite of that one and made a face. Their faces showed that it wasn’t that great but they wanted to be nice so pretended that it was good. Well, Andy pretended it was good James just came out saying how bad it was. It didn’t take long till they agreed on a winner and you and Trent could already guess who it was.

“This one” Millie said holding up your biscuit. Andy nodded his head in agreement so that meant it was 2-1.

“2-1 Trent.” You said before Trent hung up. He was being a sore loser and you knew that but you couldn't help but get excited since you were getting back into this. You already knew what the next challenge would be and you decided to get everything ready for it. You didn’t know how long you had till Trent got back home but you knew that it would be long enough for you to get the next challenge fully completed.

“What’s next?” Trent asked placing his bag on the floor when he walked into the house. It was getting late and there was still 2 challenges left to do. Also when he peeked into the living room there was a box full of things so he was guessing that you had already sorted out what the next challenge.

“We get one room each and we have to decorate it.” You said walking to where Trent was. He walked over to you and kissed you before opening his mouth to speak again.

“How will we decide?” Trent asked you.

“Flip a coin, lands on heads I get livingroom and you get the bedroom. Lands on tails you get the living room and I get the bedroom.” You said grabbing the coin out of your pocket and twirling it around in your hand. Trent nodded to you to flip it so that’s what you did. You flipped it and let it land on the side so that you didn’t touch it and Trent couldn’t complain that you cheated.

“Heads so I get the living room and you get the bedroom.” You said when you looked at the coin. You left it on the side so that Trent could see what it was as well.

“Alright, how long do we get?” Trent asked already getting ready to run off in the other direction.

“Half an hour,” you said already getting the timer sorted on your phone. You placed it on the side in the hallway so when it goes off both you and Trent would be able to hear it clearly.

“Alright start the timer,” Trent said. As soon as you started it Trent ran off to the bedroom to start to decorate it. You stayed in the living room thinking about how you would do it before you would execute it. You decided to start with the tree because that is one of the most important things needed to decorate a room and it’s also the thing that takes the longest to do. You heard some banging from somewhere else in the house which you were guessing was Trent and not some random person who came into your house. You didn’t pay any attention to Trent just focusing on your own job at hand. You were putting the tinsel on the tree humming ‘rocking around the Christmas tree’ minding your own business when you felt someone grab your sides and shout ‘boo’ into your ears. You don’t think that you’ve ever screamed so loud in your life. Instantly you turned round and smacked Trent in the chest and this made him laugh even more than he already was. You swore to yourself that you would get him back at some point no idea when but you swore to yourself that you would. It probably wouldn’t be today because he would be expecting it and it’s best to do it when he’s not expecting it.

“Go and sort out your room.” You said to him out of breath because of how much you just screamed. He nodded his head and walked back to his room laughing his head off. You got back your composure before adding all of the other decorations to the tree. Everything else passed by in a blur but your room did look good. The timer hasn’t gone off yet so you still had time just to move everything to make sure every little thing was perfect. You had absolutely no idea how you got the room to look so good especially in a time limit but somehow you did. You put one last decoration up as the timer started to go off so you quickly put it up before going to grab your phone.

“Times up Trent. Come here.” You shouted down to him. You heard a lot of banging before you saw him emerge at the top of the steps and make his way down. You were thinking about who to call to judge it and neither you or Trent could think about who to call. You had been thinking about it for a while but nobody came to your mind about who to call.

“How about Marce and Ty? They don’t live far.” Trent said shrugging his shoulders not knowing who else to call. They had to live close enough so they could come around and a lot of people that you knew were busy.

“Ty, are you busy?” Trent asked. You could only hear one side of the conversation so you had no idea what Tyler was saying on the other end of the phone.

“Great! Can you and Marce get here as soon as you can? I will explain why when you get here.” Trent begged. You had to hold in your laugh at Trent begging his brothers to come round your house to judge a stupid competion between the both of you. Actually, it wasn’t a stupid competition it was one that you both wanted to win now and badly. You both wanted to win this so badly even though you still had no idea what the prize would be.

“Okay! See you in ten minutes.” Trent said before hanging up. You didn’t need to ask what was being said since you gathered enough from just Trent’s words. When he hung up the phone he grabbed your hand before pulling you to the livingroom so you could just enjoy each other’s company and cuddle before Marcel and Tyler come round to judge the rooms. You were sat in silence with each other when the doorbell went and Trent instantly jumped up and ran to the door leaving you on the sofa.

“Let’s show you the rooms,” Trent said as soon he opened the door. You thought for a second at how funny it would be if it was someone else at the door and not Marcel and Tyler. When you heard Marcel's voice you got off of the sofa and walked towards the hallway but when you nearly got there Trent, Marcel and Tyler come around the corner. You said a quick hello to them before allowing them to see the rooms that you and Trent decorated on your own. You didn’t tell Tyler and Marcel who decorated which room to make it fair because then they couldn’t pick in their favourite person or go against Trent because he was there brother and they find it funny when he loses.

“So Marcel, Ty, which room is decorated better?” Trent asked as slightly directing them to your bedroom so they would pick that one which would mean that Trent would win the overall competition. Much to his dismay and your excitement the other two Alexander-Arnold brothers didn’t go with the room their brother was trying to get them to pick. They went for the living room.

“The living room.” They said together. They looked at each other weirdly before looking back at you because you started to scream and shout. They had always known how weird you and Trent were but never actually thought that you were this weird.

“I’m back in this.” You shouted. You went up and hugged them tightly which they literally had no say in and they also couldn’t move because of how tightly you hugged them. You jumped around and celebrated some more and Trent just stood there trying to ignore you which wasn’t going very well since you were so loud. He sarcastically thanked Marcel and Tyler for coming and choosing the living room but gave them a proper goodbye when they left. You also have them another hug out of excitement before they left.

“One more challenge to go,” Trent said to you and you had no idea what the next challenge could be and you could see that Trent wanted to do another challenge. You decided to go to your bedroom to see if you could get any ideas for the next challenge. You luckily walked in and saw some presents on the floor so for some other members of your family and got an idea.

“I’ve got the next challenge idea,” you said bringing down some wrapping paper, sellotape, scissors and some presents. You had absolutely no idea how this would be decided or who would decide the winner but you needed these Christmas presents wrapped and it would be quicker with the both of you.

“What?” Trent asked looking at everything that you had in your hands because they full. You could hear him sigh a little bit probably being able to guess what you were going to do because of the things in your hands.

“Who can wrap the present the best?” You said placing everything on the floor in front of Trent since that was the place with the most room for you to wrap the presents.

“Why do we need to wrap presents?” Trent asked. You looked at him questioningly wondering what the hell he was going on about.

“Santa will wrap them,” Trent said to you to explain what he was going on about before.

“He’s not real” you insisted generally getting concerned that Trent actually believes Santa is real.

“Santa is real, who do you think brings the presents,” Trent asked like you were the stupid one. You had no idea if he was joking around with you or if he truly still thought Santa was real. You were kinda hoping that Trent was joking but you have no idea with him now.

“Anyway, We have 5 minutes to wrap 3 presents.” You said shaking your head from what Trent was saying. You made yourself believe he was joking because what 21-year-old still believes in Santa. Obviously, Trent unless he was messing around but you can’t really tell with Trent.

“3...2...1...GO” Trent shouted grabbing everything that he could whilst you stayed calm. The calmer you were the better wrapped the presents would hopefully be. You did the bigger present first knowing that would take longer to wrap but you didn’t anticipate how quickly the five minutes would be. You managed to wrap the first two present well but when you glance at the time left there were only 30 seconds so you literally through it all together and it didn’t look nice what so ever. You looked over at Trent's presents and they all were all wrapped really well and he even put a bow in them.

“Times up,” you said placing everything down and Trent done the same thing.

“Let’s call Klopp,” Trent said with a smirk on his face. You looked at him and shook your head but Trent had already got his number up and started to call him. It took a while for Klopp to pick up the phone but he eventually did.

“Is everything okay?!” Klopp asked looking concerned considering Trent never calls him. Literally never calls. If he needs to tell Klopp something he makes Hendo do it for him.

“Everything is fine Kloppo don’t worry,” Trent said.

“Why did you call then? You never call me constantly afraid that you’ll get into trouble.” Klopp said laughing at Trent. Trent numbed something before opening his mouth to ask what he was going to ask.

“I need to ask you a very very very important question and it cannot wait.” This made you laugh. Trent was making it seem like it was a life of death situation which it totally wasn’t. Not to you anyway but it could be to him because whoever loses this challenge loses the whole thing and he would hate that. You would hate it too but he would be 1000x worse than you.

“What?” Klopp asked knowing that it probably wasn’t as important as Trent was making it. Trent smiled innocently before speaking up again.

“Which side of presents are wrapped the best?” Trent said turning the camera around so Klopp could see both of the sides. It didn’t take long till Klopp opened his mouth.

“The ones on the left,” Klopp said and Trent instantly jumped up in joy. Thanks to Jurgen Klopp Trent has now won the competition overall.

“I am Santa,” Trent said dancing around the front room. You could hear Klopp laughing from the phone since Trent didn’t hang up the phone. Klopp couldn’t see what Trent was doing but he could hear him screaming and that was enough.

“Sorry Kloppo talk to you tomorrow,” Trent said before hanging up the phone and jumping around the living room again. He nearly instantly started rubbing it in your face. You just couldn’t believe it how did Klopp choose Trent’s over yours. Trent had won and although the prize for winning would be fun for you too you also knew that Trent could gloat to you about winning. That was probably the worse thing about Trent being competitive as well. He was a sore loser but could also be a terrible winner depending on who the other person is.

“So what do I get for winning?” Trent asked you once he stopped jumping around the house in excitement from winning. You pretended to think about what the prize would be although you already had an idea in your head.

“You’ll see.” You said seductively moving closer to Trent. Trent's hands instantly went onto your hips clearly liking your idea for a prize. His lips got placed onto you and it didn’t take long till his tongue made it into your mouth. He pushed you up against the wall just wanting to be as close as he could to you. He did eventually pull away from you though when you both needed air.

“Let’s go to the bedroom,” Trent said out of breath but at the same time pulling you towards your newly decorated bedroom which he decorated. Let’s just say your night was a lot of fun with no competitions included. You wouldn’t mind having more competitions if it ended like that every single time.

MASTERLIST | MORE ALEXANDER-ARNOLD

[elsaclack]

the smell of coffee runs through my veins

or,

five times jake smells like fresh coffee grounds (and one time he doesn’t)

hi @winnietherpooh!!! so i wasn’t originally your assigned writer for the @b99fandomevents summer 2019 fic exchange, but they unfortunately had to drop out due to some unforeseen circumstances, so i stepped in!! i loved all of your ideas, but i decided to go with a jake/amy coffee shop au (with a liiiiiiiittle bit of jake/rosa friendship thrown in for good measure). it’s also the first time i’ve successfully finished a 5 times fic ahhh!!! i hope you like it!!! 

He smells like fresh coffee grounds.

She isn’t sure what to do with that, at first. She just honestly wasn’t that into coffee. It always played the role of a last-resource fuel to keep her awake when all else failed - never something to be independently enjoyed in an otherwise leisurely setting.

It makes sense, then, that she falls in love with a man who loves coffee.

He smells like fresh coffee grounds on the morning she meets him, looking haggard and disheveled at five in the morning, the stains on his flannel shirt just visible in the early morning light. Shattered glass litters the sidewalk just outside of his coffee shop’s door, catching the flickering street lights above them like urban diamonds forgotten in the rough. There’s another man, a shorter, older-looking man, pacing back and forth in the street just beyond the curb, looking more like a worried first-time father outside of a delivery room than a man whose place of business was robbed overnight.

Rosa is busy examining the busted windowpane in the door, so Amy turns to the shop-owner - whose stained flannel shirt smells like fresh coffee grounds despite him not even entering the store yet that morning.

“My name is Detective Santiago, and I’ll be the lead detective on this case.” 

He shakes her hand and manages to flash a smile - albeit a shaky one. “I’m Jake,” he says, “Jake Peralta.”

His hand is warm, and when she pulls her hand back to her side, the faintest scent of coffee grounds wafts toward her.

It’s a B&E - security cameras from the flower shop across the alley caught images of three perps hauling off through the back door with armfuls of merchandise and a particularly heavy-looking espresso machine - and within four hours Amy and Rosa are cuffing all three and calling in assistance to recover the merchandise from an apartment in the Bronx. The espresso machine is toast - apparently they dropped it three times in their attempt to escape unseen - but other than the general stench of cigarettes clinging to the merchandise, everything else is relatively unscathed.

The open sign hanging in the shop window is turned off, the front door is locked, but Amy manages to spot Jake through the window inside the shop as she approaches. He darts to the door immediately to let her in, looking anxious and hopeful in a way that makes her stomach bottom out despite her best efforts to remain unaffected. He up and hugs her when she tells him they solved it - and it’s like the scent of fine Colombian coffee has come to life and enveloped her fully.

(She wonders, briefly, if this is the kind of sensation Manny gets when he talks about food being so good that it’s all-consuming.)

“Do you like coffee?” he asks once they’ve parted.

“I love it,” she hears herself say.

His grin is brilliant, nearly blinding, and he trips over his own shoelaces as he quickly backs away from her. “Great,” he says as he rounds the far end of the front counter. “This one’s on the house. In fact, all of ‘em are. Forever.”

“Oh - you’re very generous, but I can’t accept -”

“Sure, you can,” he interrupts loudly. “Your money’s no good here, detective.”

She stares for a beat, biting the inside of her cheek to tamp down her smile. “It’s, uh, Amy,” she finally says - and some of the frenetic energy that overtook him moments earlier seems to dissipate, if only slightly.

“Amy,” he repeats, voice low and warm in a way that sends a thrill down her spine.

He smells like fresh coffee grounds every morning she returns - which is often, for a person who doesn’t drink coffee. The windowpane is replaced after a few days and the shop is reopened for business, and every morning she stops by on her way to work, he greets her loudly by name and introduces her to every other customer in the shop as the detective who saved the store.

“I’m just sorry I couldn’t save the espresso machine,” she says on the fourth morning, pointing up to the chalk-written menu hanging behind the counter - at the COMING SOON written over the line that advertised espressos before.

“It’s fine, it’s why I’ve got insurance,” he shrugs. “New machine should be here by Thursday of next week, which means we’ll  have it up and running for the Friday morning rush. Here, try this one - I added a couple of shots of cinnamon. I think you’re gonna really like it.”

(She does.)

Charles, Jake’s cook, takes a shining to Amy right away - in addition to the free coffee, she often finds herself juggling several pastry bags on her walk to her car. Some are certainly better than others; while Jake seems to be learning about what Amy likes and dislikes and customizing her drink accordingly, Charles tends to be a far more adventurous eater and seizes any opportunity to expand Amy’s palate.

“It’s a poppy seed bagel with a wasabi-infused cream cheese, drizzled with a caramelized citrus simple syrup,” he tells her proudly one morning while loading the bagel into a pastry bag. He’s pressed up against the edge of the counter, leaning toward Amy as he speaks; it’s how he misses Jake’s exaggerated gag from by the register, earning a nervous laugh from Amy. “I know the flavors don’t sound like they’ll go together, but trust me, it’s delicious. You’ll love it.”

(She doesn’t.)

“You can tell him you hate it, y’know,” Jake tells her after Charles walks away.

She shoots him a look as she straightens her blazer. “I don’t wanna break his heart,” she sighs, and he nods in understanding. “Besides, not everything he gives me is inedible. I like poppy seed bagels. And the citrus stuff actually sounded kind of good -”

“It’s really adorable that you’re trying to be gentle with him, but I hired him to make, like, blueberry scones and chocolate chip muffins. Stuff that normal people want to eat when they go to a coffee shop. If you don’t nip this in the bud, he’s gonna want to try to sell that stuff again and I’m not about to have that fight for the fourth time -”

“Alright, alright,” she interrupts, briefly raising both hands in defeat before snatching her briefcase, the pastry bag, and the to-go cup of coffee from the counter. “I’ll tell him the next time I’m in.”

“So, tomorrow,” Jake says.

Heat drips from the tips of her ears, but there is no judgement or derision in his expression - just expectancy, as if her presence is a given. “Actually, it’s - tomorrow is, um, my day off,” she stammers, “so I don’t know if -”

“Oh.” She’s fairly certain there’s disappointment in his voice - his shoulders definitely dropped, his gaze definitely lowered to the countertop between them. “Sorry, that was presumptuous -”

“No, no, it’s - I mean, I’ve been in here every other morning this week, so -”

“Well, uh, hey, have a good day off -”

“I might still -”

“You don’t have to -”

“I’ll be here.”

He pauses, a crease appearing between his brows. “Are you sure?”

“I’ll be here,” she repeats, “but maybe not ‘til after the morning rush.”

He smiles, the dimples in his cheek flashing. “I’ll see you then,” he says with a two-fingered salute.

He smells like fresh coffee grounds at the end of the day, battle-worn and weary but smiling and groaning in all the right places as she recounts her harrowing arrest of a man with a bag of human ears on the subway earlier that day. The hysteria of it all had taken up most of her day - she was only able to break away from paperwork at eight o’clock this evening, putting her on the coffee shop’s front stoop at precisely nine-oh-three, three minutes after closing.

Which of course didn’t stop Jake from holding the door open for her as he insisted she come inside. It turns out he had quite the day as well - his afternoon barista called in sick, leaving him with a sixteen-hour workday she unwittingly extended. “Stop apologizing,” he tells her as he passes her a mug full of steaming decaf coffee. “This isn’t work.”

His eyes are bloodshot and his eyelids seem to stick together every time he blinks, but he’s awake, he’s invested in her story, and there’s something a little different about the way he smells tonight - like the fresh coffee ground scent infused in his very atoms has blended with something spicier, something tangier. He’s slouching in his seat, legs splayed out wildly beneath the table, and even with one leg bouncing he’s practically emanating exhaustion.

“I should go,” Amy says for the third time. “You’re practically falling asleep over there.”

“You don’t have to,” he says, voice quiet and worn. “I think I have some stuff here to help me stay awake.”

She laughs, and he grins, eyes twinkling in the low light. “You’ve had a really long day, Jake.”

“So have you,” he reminds her, tone taking on the faintest edge of a disgruntled toddler refusing to nap. “You don’t see me trying to kick you out.”

“I don’t have to be at work at five in the morning,” she reminds him, and he rolls his eyes, a strangled grunt escaping his throat. “You really, really should go get some sleep.”

“I don’t wanna,” he mumbles, crossing his arms a little tighter over his chest. “This’s been the best part of my day. I don’t want it to end.”

“I’m the best part of your day?” she asks skeptically, ignoring the now-familiar thrill in the pit of her stomach to focus on the blush igniting in his cheeks. “I didn’t know you loved me so much, Peralta.”

“Whatever,” he grumbles, “I had a bunch of, like, snooty soccer moms come in and bitch me out because I didn’t make their mocha chai lattes with extra whip and extra sprinkles at the exact right temperature, and then they all blasted the shop with one-star reviews on Yelp,” he leans forward to bury his face in his hands. “And then Daisy called out sick, and Charles tried to crucify me over some oregano or something. Today sucked, and you’re, like, super nice, and I like talking to you because you don’t yell at me about coffee or oregano.”

It’s quiet for a beat - and then Amy finds herself leaning forward, her fingers closing over his left forearm. His skin his just as warm as she remembers; his eyes liquid and piercing as he peers at her through his fingers. “I’m sorry today sucked,” she murmurs sincerely. “D’you want me to track all of those soccer moms down and arrest them for disorderly conduct?”

He snorts and drops his hands to the table, and she quickly retracts her hand. “Maybe,” he says with a pseudo-thoughtful nod. He studies her face for a moment, his gaze darting over her face as she pulls a long drink from her coffee. “Thanks, Ames,” he says softy.

It’s quiet enough that she almost misses it, but he holds her gaze when she meets his eyes. “For what?” she asks.

He shrugs. “Being you. You just - you always know what to say.”

“Well that’s definitely not true, but - you’re welcome.”

He hugs her right outside the coffee shop, and she hugs him back - he’s warm and soft in that unique half-asleep way, and she curls her fingers into the loose folds of his flannel shirt, fighting back the urge to squeeze him to her as hard as she can. He’s slow to pull away, slow to retreat; it’s not until he’s a good ten feet away that he finally raises his hand in farewell, nearly tripping over a stray cafe table from the bistro next door to the shop before turning his back and walking away in earnest.

She can still smell that spicy, tangy something wafting off of her blazer when she gets home.

He smells like fresh coffee grounds when Amy finally convinces Rosa to come back to the coffee shop with her - a good four months after the case officially ended. By then Jake’s perfected Amy’s entirely unique order and has had it added to the menu; The Santiago Special now graces the bottom of the left hand side of the chalkboard, written in Daisy’s perfect looping scrawl.

“Detective Diaz!” Jake leans across the counter to shake Rosa’s hand as they approach, looking every bit as thrilled as Amy hoped he would be. “Welcome back! It’s good to see you again, how have you been?”

“Fine.” Rosa grunts, already scanning the menu over Jake’s head. “What d’you recommend?”

“Well, what do you like?”

“Coffee.”

It’s silent for a beat - and then Jake seems to realize she won’t be expanding any further. “I can respect that.” he says, casting beneath the counter for the already-opened bags of coffee grounds they keep stored there. “Sweet or savory?”

She ponders it a moment, lips pursing slightly. “Sweet.” she finally says.

“You got it. Regular for you, Ames?”

“Obviously.”

He flashes her a grin over the countertop before setting about working, and Rosa leans against the edge of the counter, seemingly taking in the rest of the shop. “It’s nice,” she finally says as she returns her attention to Amy’s face. “I can see why you like it so much. Is all of this artwork local?”

“The paintings are,” Jake confirms as he measures out coffee grounds. “The photography isn’t. A lot of those are stock photos that came with the frames - I just needed to fill empty space when I first moved in here, but I didn’t have the budget for legitimate photography. I’ve been meaning to take them down, but I haven’t gotten around to it yet.”

“There’s a farmer’s market not too far from here that sometimes has a photographer selling in a booth,” says Rosa. “She’s pretty good. You should check her out.”

“You go to a farmer’s market?” Amy asks incredulously.

Jake snorts as Rosa rolls her eyes. “I’ll definitely check her out. Are there any painters there? Like, murialists, I should say?”

Rosa frowns thoughtfully. “I don’t know,” she says. “I mean I’ve seen some people selling paintings, but I’ve never stopped and asked. I usually go for the fruit, the locally sourced honey, and the pottery.”

“You’re into pottery?”

“No.”

Jake pauses, a peculiar grin on his face. “Aren’t you partners? Shouldn’t you guys know, like, everything about each other? Or did the cop movies lie to me about that, too?”

“Well up until about sixty seconds ago, I thought we did know everything about each other,” Amy sniffs. Slowly, Rosa shakes her head, eyes never leaving the corner of the menu board. “Is your name even Rosa?”

Rosa turns her head, holding Amy’s gaze. “No. It’s Emily Goldfinch.”

“Oh, ha-ha, very funny.”

“I’m not kidding.” Before Amy can get another word in, Rosa returns her attention to Jake. “Are you thinking of putting a mural on that wall?”

“Yeah, but I really want to find a local artist who won’t charge out the ass for it, y’know?”

“Amy paints.”

“Wha- I don’t - I mean -”

Amy splutters as they both turn to look at her. “You paint?” Jake asks, the corners of his lips quirked upwards.

“I mean I - I sort of - I’m not that good -”

“She’s excellent,” Rosa interrupts, “I’ve seen some of her stuff. I think it would fit in with the vibe you’ve got going in here.”

“Well, I’d probably pay out the ass for you to paint a mural in here,” Jake says, abandoning the coffee grounds to plant both hands on the counter. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to, of course, but I’d love to talk to you about it.”

“Um - I mean -”

“Take some time to think about it,” he says, moving to resume making their coffees. “I’ll ask again later.”

Amy’s still staring when Jake slides their cups across the counter - on Amy’s sleeve, he’s written Ames, and on Rosa’s, he’s written Emily??

“I like him.” Rosa says once they’re back in Amy’s car. “He’s funny. You should paint the mural.”

“I don’t know if I’m good enough to paint an entire mural,” she mutters, tucking her cup into her cupholder and starting the car.

“You won’t ever know until you try. And I think that this is the place where you should really try.”

There’s something significant to Rosa’s tone, something meaningful in the slant of her head and the angle of her brows, but there’s traffic coming, and they’re three minutes late coming back from their break, so Amy just heaves a sigh as she pulls out of her parking spot.

He smells like fresh coffee grounds when he hands her a shirt with the shop’s logo on it - a simple, minimalist drawing of a coffee mug on a plate in side profile, thin white lines against dark blue material - and he’s grinning like a fool when she pulls it on over her ratty painting clothes.

“You’re officially on payroll,” he declares, dragging a table backward to make more room. “Welcome aboard.”

“Thank god, I was really struggling to make ends meet.”

He laughs outright at that, pausing halfway through dragging two chairs away. “Please,” he says once he’s recovered, “you probably have, like, eight savings accounts.”

“I have one, thank you very much.”

He’s still chortling as he drags the last table away - leaving an empty stretch of wall sprawled before her, a slate-grey canvas that stretches from floor to ceiling. She’s got sketches taped around the outer edges of her work space and a respectable collection of paints and brushes clustered together on the floor to her left; from the corner of her eye she sees Jake draw even with her to her right as she studies the space, staring at the wall as well. “It’s gonna look great,” he assures her.

“I just feel bad that you have to be closed for two full days.” she says as she turns toward him. “That’s a lot of money you’re losing out on.”

“I’d rather miss out on two days of business and have an incredible piece of artwork done by an incredible person than be open for one more day with lame stock photos on the wall.” he says earnestly, and the tips of her ears burn. “This is gonna bring more people in, Ames. We’ll make our money back in a week.”

“What if the painting sucks?”

“We paint over it with the stuff I have in storage and you start over.”

“That’s another day wasted, though.”

“What are you talking about? I don’t have to deal with any annoying Brooklyn hipsters and I get to hang out with you. That’s not what I’d call a wasted day.”

She bites the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling too broadly as she turns back toward the wall. “I’ve never done anything like this before.” she reminds him, voice small.

He touches her shoulder, fingers curving over the upper ridge and squeezing as his thumb sweeps down her arm several times. “It’s gonna look great.” he says again. “I’m really, really excited.”

He retreats to a chair dragged to the opposite wall and sits, and Amy inhales deeply, praying he can’t read her nerves despite her shaking hands. It’s a painting, Amy, she reminds herself. Relax.

The first touch of paint to the wall is agonizing, but a split-second later she’s liberated; Jake kicks on music over the shop’s speakers from his phone and she’s back in the groove, like she never left her last college painting class. She pauses only occasionally over the next several hours - for bathroom breaks and lunch and once, briefly, when paint dripped into her coffee - and by the end of the day she’s studying a nearly-completed mural, taking notes on her sketch for areas that need touch-ups when she comes back tomorrow.

“Okay,” Amy says, folding her sketch and tucking it into her pocket with one hand while tucking her pencil behind her ear with the other. “It’s not all-the-way done yet, but it’s mostly done. I just need to do a couple of touch-ups in some spots once the paint is dry, but that’ll take less than an hour tomorrow. What do you think?”

Jake’s silent, an unreadable expression on his face, when Amy turns toward him. He seems almost winded as he slowly stands; his eyes follow each line of the mural, sweeping up and over and down and up again. It’s pretty abstract, considering her penchant for still-lifes, more of an explosion of muted pastels in sharp geometric shapes that fade back into the grey of the wall along the outermost edges. “I love it,” he breathes.

There isn’t a single modicum of insincerity about him, so she tamps down a smile and turns back toward the mural. “I wanted it to feel like Brooklyn, and like the shop itself, which is why it’s kind of modern-looking and has a lot of sharp edges and clean lines, but...I also wanted it to feel the way that I feel when I’m here. Which is why I used pastels.”

From the corner of her eye, she sees him draw up even with her; he’s no longer looking at the mural. “What’s important about pastels?” he murmurs.

“Well, they’re - they’re soft. Cool, but not cold - they’re refreshing, like an oasis. It’s like an unexpected bright spot in the midst of a lot of sameness. They’re sweet, and calming, and - and I just - I really, really, really like them.”

She can’t bring herself to look him in the eye, but she can hear his sharp intake of breath. Tension radiates off of him in waves, and it’s suddenly near-impossible to draw a breath. “I love it,” he repeats, softer than before, and the too-familiar thrill bottoming out in her belly feels like the opening of a bottomless cavern and the smell of coffee grounds grows stronger as he leans closer -

A sharp knock on the window behind her has them both jumping backwards - an unfamiliar face is pressed against the glass, peering inside. “Are you open?” she asks as she jiggles the locked doorknob.

“No.” Jake says back loudly, stepping around Amy to point to the darkened open sign. Amy watches him go, one hand over her heart, the other pressed to her suddenly burning cheek. “We’re not open again until day after tomorrow.”

“Can I get a coffee to go, then?”

“What? No, we’re closed. We’re not making coffee today.”

“There are two of you in there, why can’t one of you make me a coffee?”

“Because we’re closed and we don’t have any coffee to make today. Come back on Tuesday and we’ll have some for you.”

“This is ridiculous, I thought this place was supposed to have good service!”

“It does. When it’s open.”

The would-be customer rolls her eyes and storms off, shouting obscenities and promises to drink only Starbucks moving forward as she goes, and Jake watches her go with his hands on his hips. “There goes another one-star review. You see what I deal with every day?” he mutters as he turns back to Amy.

“Well, at least your place has a reputation for good service,” she tries.

“Oh, you and your silver linings,” he says with an affectionate smile.

The heat still burning in the tips of her ears has spilled down to her cheeks now; slowly, eyes never leaving his face, she steps backwards. “I should - I should let you go -”

“Right, yeah, it’s nine,” he murmurs, glancing at the clock above the front door to confirm. “I’ll, uh, walk you to your car?”

“You’re parked way further away, I should be offering to walk you to your car.”

They both laugh, Amy’s filtered with nerves, and in the dim lighting she can see his throat moving as he swallows. “Maybe - maybe I could walk you to your car, and then you can give me a ride to mine?”

“That’s fair,” she concedes with a nod.

They’re in the front seat of her car ten minutes later, parked behind his beat up old Mustang four blocks away from the shop. He’s in the midst of recounting an exchange not unlike the one they just had with another customer, imitating a high-pitched Long Island accent perfectly with a comically distorted face, a smile twitching across his face with each new peal of laughter from Amy. The tension from earlier has not dissipated, but she finds she doesn’t mind it here - not with him sitting so close, smelling so good, smiling at her like that.

“It’s late,” he finally sighs, patting his palms against his thighs.

It’s not, not really. She’s off tomorrow. “A little,” she murmurs, hoping her reluctance to leave isn’t as evident in her voice as it feels.

He smiles, warm and affectionate, and lets his head fall back against the seat. “The mural is really beautiful,” he says softly. “I can’t wait to see it again tomorrow.”

It’s hard to tell with what limited light is spilling into the cab of her car, but she’s fairly certain he’s looking at her lips; she swallows thickly, and his eyes dart back up to meet hers. “Me either,” she whispers.

She’s not sure if it’s him, or her, or the gravitational pull tugging at her very heart, but the next thing she knows is his lips on hers and his fingers in her hair. He tastes like cocoa and indulgence, like every sweet thing in her life; he sighs against her and shifts closer, and the familiar scent of fresh coffee grounds envelopes her every sense.

He smells like soap, like clean earth, like fresh rain falling on grass and trees, like something spicy and tangy. He’s awake when she opens her eyes - he’s been watching her sleep, she realizes with a touch of embarrassment.

The look of awe-struck wonder in his eyes doesn’t allow the embarrassment to last for long.

“Hi,” he murmurs as she shifts her head on her pillow to look at him more directly.

She laughs and he flushes pink, head dropping down just far enough that the still-damp curls at his hairline brush against her arm. She bites down on the inside of her cheek to keep from reaching out to touch his hair - before realizing that she can do that now, probably.

So she does.

He lifts his head just slightly the moment she cards her fingers through, and his expression is so soft and so affectionate she’s certain her knees would have given out from under her were she standing. “You smell different,” she whispers.

“Different...bad different?”

“No, good. But different. You usually smell like coffee.”

“Well, I typically try not to bathe in it,” he mutters, and his fingers gently close over her elbow bent up against the mattress. “But it’s hard not to smell like coffee all the time when you own a coffee shop.”

“Hey, I’m not complaining,” she says, grinning as she ruffles his hair. “I’ve actually always loved the way coffee smelled, even if the taste is kind of so-so.”

He furrows his brow, and a split-second later she feels her stomach bottom out. “The taste is kind of so-so?” he repeats, and she retracts her hand to pull his comforter up over her head. “Amy, do you not like coffee?”

There’s laughter in his voice and the mattress beneath them is quaking, and she lets out a groan she’s sure is comically muffled on the other side of the comforter. “I’m - it’s not that I don’t like it, it’s just - before we met, I never really - I mean I did, but only when I was, like, on the verge of passing out asleep at work - I just never really -”

“You said - on the day we met - that you love coffee.”

She flips the comforter down with enough force to bounce them both slightly, earning another volley of giggles from Jake. “Well, I do now!” she half-shouts.

“But you didn’t then?”

“What was I supposed to do? You were really cute and you were being so sweet and I had no idea we’d - that you and I would -”

“Oh, my god, you are so cute when you’re all flustered,” he interrupts, lightly poking her upper arm before curling his fingers around her bicep in earnest. “I’m really glad you lied about liking coffee.”

She rolls her eyes, but can’t fight back the smile spreading across her face. “Me, too. Even though I have a feeling I’ll never live it down.”

“You definitely won’t.”

He leans down before she can retort, and his lips are as soft and warm as they were the night before. His kiss is warm and sweet, thorough and electric, and before long she forgets her embarrassment and instead focuses only on the way his hair feels thick and soft between her fingers.

She’s practically panting by the time he pulls away, her eyelids fluttering open to find him looking down at her with an undeniably satisfied expression on his face, his kiss-bruised lips parted as his own chest heaves. “So glad you lied,” he murmurs before leaning down to quickly nip at her chin.

“I need to take a shower before we go back to the shop,” she says as he rolls out of bed and arches his back. “Do you mind if I use your stuff?”

“Do I mind if you smell like me for the rest of the day? Uh, no,” he winks cheekily as she rolls her eyes. “Towels are in the cabinet to the right of the toilet. I’m gonna make a breakfast run while you’re in there - muffins okay?”

“As long as Charles didn’t make them.”

He laughs as he tugs his shirt on, eyes twinkling with mirth. “I’ll make sure he doesn’t get within a city block of them,” he assures her as she sits up in bed. “Can I get you something other than coffee to drink? Like maybe tea or apple juice?”

Despite his obvious joking tone, she senses the note of sincerity beneath the question - like if she really wanted something other than coffee, he’d take no personal offense. And it’s like all of a sudden, every insecurity of his is laid out bare before her - and she knows he’s not only asking about coffee. “I want coffee,” she assures him, pouring every ounce of conviction into the words. “I’ve been wanting coffee for a long time now.”

He smiles, small and shy, and steps toward the bed to kiss her soundly once more. “You’ve only been up for five minutes,” he murmurs against her lips.

She smacks his shoulders and he laughs, recoiling backwards. “Go get breakfast and I’ll shower and then we can go straight to the shop to finish this mural up. I want to be done before ten.”

“You have other plans today?”

“Yeah, I’m spending the whole day with you, and I’d rather not fight self-entitled hipsters through the shop windows.”

“Fair enough!” he shouts through a broad grin, yanking his jeans up his legs and bounding out the bedroom door. “I’ll be right back!”

It isn’t until well after the front door has slammed shut, after the water has begun pouring out of his showerhead and the steam has enveloped her body, that the scent wafting off of her own skin reaches her consciousness -

She smells like fresh coffee grounds.

[almondharry]

you look so good : three

you look so good [10.8k]

“Don’t do it, M.”

“Do what?” Her voice was all too innocent. 

“I know what you’re thinking.”

Part three: Neumann’s Game Theory 

Neumann’s Game Theory

July 5, 2003

Genevieve’s forearms were gripped in an iron tight hold. Her mother’s long and bony fingers wrapped around like medieval vine; they curled and held Genevieve in place. With lips set in a thin line, her mother’s perfectly plucked brows were drawn in a scolding glare. The strength behind it could cut diamond.

“How did this happen?”

“I… I don’t know,” Genevieve mumbled. “I was playing and running really fast and I didn’t see the rock.” Her chin met the center of her collarbone. Loose pieces of gravel rolled under her shoe, the crunch calmed her. It was her favoured alternative over maintaining the heavy eye contact that glared from above. A drop of red splattered onto the pavement.    

“Oh, Genevieve.” The defeated sigh that slipped from her mother’s lips had less to do with mourning the dress, but more to do with the innocence that framed her rose tinted glasses. “Darling, there is only one thing I ask of you.”

Genevieve was no foreigner to her tone. It was laced with a classic sweetness, one that teachers liked to lay on thick when explaining instructions to kindergarteners.

Genevieve waited. She poked a finger in the horizontal slit of fabric that hovered above her knee. The broken threads were an easy fix; she had seen her mother tackle far worse from her work. She hypothesized it would take her six minutes at her sewing machine to restore the misalignment. It wasn’t those fancy new electric ones that had ten different settings. It was fashioned mechanically and had a joint foot pedal that Genevieve pretended was its best friend. It was humble and did all the required stitching.

“Yes, Mama?” Thin red streaks slid down the sides of her leg, tiny rivers went their separate ways. They darkened the navy blue of her dress.

Her mother’s eyes skimmed over Genevieve’s features in desperation. They took in her sweaty hairline, scratched cheek, and pouty lips.

Her tone dropped to a hush. It was a secret meant to be sealed between only them. “Never chase a boy, Genevieve. Don’t do it.”

***

October 31, 2019

Genevieve wasn’t used to the stop and go. It was something she never thought twice about when she was younger and needed to get across town, but now it was painfully obvious. A middle aged man in a green tie and second hand suit sat across the aisle from her. His ankle crossed over his knee and a newspaper open in his lap. At the front, three seats folded up and made room for a teenage girl in a wheelchair. She untangled the cord of her white headphones. A mother attempted to calm down her shrieking toddler. The boy, red faced and wet with tears, stomped his feet and waved his arms impatiently.

Genevieve didn’t mind the ruckus. Between being trapped in a self-imposed exile at a still library or the solitude of her apartment, the hustle of the city gave her much needed normalcy. Her head pressed against the window, she regretted her decision when the driver hit the brakes suddenly. The potholes on the concrete made her bang her forehead several times, but she kept it there because she liked to see her breath fog up the glass with each little puff. The cloudiness stained the window for a second before it disappeared. She enjoyed counting her exhales to pass time.

She was at a prime number, sixty-one, when the buzzing of her phone interrupted her recording.

Incoming Call. Meena.

Her thumb slid across the screen and she brought the receiver closer to her head. “I’m coming, I’m coming.”

“Where are you?”

“Right now? Just by King Street. Shouldn’t be any much longer. Maybe twenty minutes tops.”

“Well, hit the gas, you’ve been requested.”

Genevieve mentally went over the list of people who beckoned her. She had already texted Liam and informed him that she was running slightly behind schedule. That only left Niall.

“Niall?” She laughed. ”Tell him I can’t give him a ride tonight, my car is at the shop.”

“No, not Niall— wait, how are you getting here?”

“The bus.”

“Ooh,” she hummed in realization. The toddler was now invested in a juicebox, his nose sniffled and palm wiped at his eyes for dried tears. There was still honking on the street and Genevieve nodded along to the soft music from the car radio beside them. “Those things are never on time, no wonder you’re so far away.”

“Sixteen minutes now.”

“I could’ve given you a ride if I had known.”

“It’s alright, I’ll be there soon anyway.” Green Tie flipped the page, Genevieve briefly glanced at the stock market numbers. “What’s going on there? Have they got on yet?”

“Nope it’s some poetry thing right now, they won’t be up until later. Liza said something about two more people on the set list.”

The invitation for Liam and Genevieve had stretched out to a few more familiar faces. It was Halloween night, that meant The Cabinet had colourful drinks, orange and yellow streamers on the walls, and faux cobwebs lining the bar tops. Usually Ted wouldn’t have put much thought to it, but when he noticed the direct correlation in risen sales, he made it a full blown out theme. There was a popular promotion; if you came in with a costume you get a small percentage off your drinks.

“Liam just popped into the loo to fix his face paint. There’s a guy here with a very detailed Ironman getup. Niall has taken a liking to a brunette in a lingerie set. I think she’s supposed to be a bunny, or a hamster. My drink is making my lips blue.”

“Riveting.”

“I think so too. It makes me a more believable zombie while getting me buzzed. Talk about a two for one special—” There was shuffling, ice cubes clinking against glass—“oh shit, I think… I think I see Professor Biggins.”

Genevieve groaned. He had become a common topic of conversation with Meena. She would mostly drag his name through dirt for giving her a mark that she strongly argued she didn’t deserve. He was the type of professor that had a God complex. To do above and beyond in his class—the only thing that Meena allowed herself to do—you had to fight through the trenches with your own bare hands. “Don’t do it, M.”

“Do what?” Her voice was all too innocent.

“I know what you’re thinking.”

“It’s a perfectly casual setting. I’ll just buy him a drink and ask him to give me his thoughts on my rough draft,” she said. “I have a copy on my phone.”

“Really? Are you serious?”

“Okay, well it isn’t a rough draft.” She let out a disgruntled huff. “It’s actually my final that I worked my arse off for the past week. But I’m not gonna let him know that, of course. Knowing him, he will rip it to shreds and make it seem like a mess of jot notes instead of well developed arguments.” Genevieve heard a gulp over the line when Meena threw back her drink. “You know I saw Lucy Wallace leaving his office hours in tears. Lucy Wallace! Can you believe it? I’ve never seen that girl with less than a four point oh, and he broke her, Gen.”

“Oh my God, leave him alone, he’s probably there to relax and not be bothered by students.”

She scoffed. “Relax? If I can’t sleep because of this bloody essay then neither should he. It’s only fair.” Genevieve could picture Meena squirming off her bar stool. “And if he really didn’t want to run into his students, he should’ve thought of that before choosing a pub on campus.”

“You’re walking towards him, aren’t you?”

“Yup, ten steps away,” she said, without an ounce of shame. “I hope he recognizes me behind this makeup. For being such a young prof, you’d expect him to be somewhat lenient and not have a stick up his arse. I swear to you Gen, this man hasn’t a clue what mercy means.”

“I’m sure you’ll give him a proper schooling on it then. With the whole definition and everything.”

“And nothing less,” Meena agreed. “Text me when you get in, yeah?”

“Take it easy on him.”

“Not a chance, see you soon.”

***

Genevieve spotted Liam instantly. His Captain America shield, leaned against the wooden peg of the table, really gave him away. A simple light fixture dangled above them and spilled a dull orange hue. Across from him, Angie sipped a pink drink and Liza was in the middle of telling a story with expressive hand gestures. A witch hat contained her curls and matched the long black maxi dress that she had on. Genevieve grimaced at the dried beer on the floor; the soles of her shoes grew tacky with every step towards the table.

“—She was a complete psycho! Had too many screws loose!” Liza exclaimed with brows at her hairline. “I had a feeling from the start, Liam! But it seems like anything I say falls on deaf ears!”

Angie rolled her eyes with a bored expression. The jewelled bracelets that covered her wrist hit against the neck of her glass as she brought the rim to her lips. “She wasn’t that bad.”

“She wouldn’t let you come out with us.”

“That was a... misunderstanding.”

“She refused to get along with any of us for more than twenty minutes.”

“Some people like to keep to themselves. Introversion and all.”

“She threw your clothes off the balcony and almost started a fire.”

Angie hissed at the painful memory, her face crumpled as she swallowed her drink. It was easy to mistake her reaction as a liquor burn. “Okay, yeah, maybe that bit was a little too much.”

“Wait a second, she threw your clothes? From the balcony? Don’t you live on the twenty second floor?” Liam’s eyes could drop out of their sockets and roll on the table like a pair of dice.

“Lived. And it was the whole suitcase, unzipped, the whole shabang. Quite the show.” Genevieve’s eyes wrinkled with amusement when Angie waved her hands in a jazz like theatre fashion, a sarcastic smile pulled at her painted black lips. “I was just happy that my clothes broke the fall for my laptop. But she did manage to crack my camera lens.”

“She sounds delightful,” Genevieve said at last when she approached close enough to the group. Her teeth caged her bottom lip to bite a smile. Liam’s head whipped around and he stood up to grab an empty stool to join the table.

“Gen, don’t get her started, please,” Liza scoffed. She leaned forward and wrapped an arm around Genevieve’s neck to pull her in for a quick hug. Despite being taken aback by the immediate friendliness, Genevieve relaxed into her embrace. “We prefer not to have a reenactment of her many grieving nights. Thank you for making it.”

“Of course! Liam wouldn’t let me miss it. When do you guys go on?” Genevieve balanced herself on the stool after her jacket was shrugged off on a nearby hook. She shot Liam a nod in thanks.

He raised his glass of beer. The foam rested well below the halfway level. He pointed his index finger at it and his brows curled in question. Genevieve’s lips mouthed ‘sure’. He threw back what was remaining of his drink down his throat before he headed towards the bar. He slid at the empty spot beside Niall, who didn’t pay any attention, too engrossed in the brunette in front of him. He was given a twisted pinch on his side, he jumped and yelped in his seat and Liam snickered as the brunette walked away.

Liza’s eyes snapped to the inside of her wrist, they doubled in size when she analyzed the hour and minute hand. “Shit, in about fifteen. I should get going.”

The Cabinet was far from a fancy establishment. Genevieve recognized a few people from her course littered around the space, everyone had a drink in hand. There was a modest platform that served as a makeshift stage. Amps, mics, and a keyboard was plugged in and the thick black wires resembled withering snakes.

Liza’s block heels sounded against the floor as she hurried towards the side of the stage where a crouched down Zayn fiddled with a specific setting on the amp, dressed in all black. His neck arched towards her when she was close enough. He had a guitar pick between his teeth like a toothpick, it made his smile crooked. He plucked it out and  gave it to her in exchange for the microphone in her hand.  Beside him, another girl turned the knobs on a bass, probably giving it some last minute tuning.

“If I remember correctly, you must be Gen. Liam and Liza mentioned you a bit.”

“I am. All good things, I hope?” She laughed.

Genevieve was impressed by Angie’s outfit. Her shirt’s bell sleeves were wide and the length of her skirt stopped at two inches below the knee. Layered necklaces and rings glinted under the light. A scarf tied across her forehead held back her hair, but it peeked out slightly. It was the crystals on the table and a deck of cards that founded her hypothesis. “Let me take a guess… you’re a fortune teller?”

“Close, try again.”

“A gypsy?” Her voice squeaked in a higher pitch.

“I’m Angie, the tarot reader.”

“I’m gonna be honest, I don’t know the difference at all.” All the trinkets that laid on the table overwhelmed her. There were crystals in all shapes and sizes and charms that sat in a green bowl.

“Don’t worry, most people don’t. Here, do you want to give it a try? My great aunt swears by this deck.” Angie raised a brow. “She said something about how she had it spelled by a Sufi in India. Just between us, I think she’s ripping off the storyline of The Monkey’s Paw. But with her, who knows? Or maybe it’s the retirement home rotting her brain.”

“What is this exactly? How does is work?” It piqued an interest. Genevieve watched closely as Angie scooped the deck of cards to shuffle with expertise.

People tended to be a bit wary about myths, legends, and the ‘other world’. Genevieve understood the fascination that came along with it, but her belief regarding the supernatural was as weak as a packed public library’s wifi signal. Her belief stayed with something she could see and understand. For her, this was the existence of concrete numbers. If anything, a deck of cards was just another application of game theory. It was all permutations and combinations that were behind seeing the past or forecasting the future, not magic.

“There are two types of reading. You can do a question based or more of an open reading,” Angie said. “We’re gonna do an open one because that was the only one my aunt was willing to teach an eight-year-old on a snow day.”

“Sounds good, how do I start?”

“After the deck is shuffled, I’m going to lay out four piles of three cards each. All you have to do is tell me which pile you gravitate towards and we can go ahead with your reading.”

Genevieve nodded.

Angie’s fingers tapped the edges to align the corners; soon, the pile was neatly ordered. She gripped the two ends of the deck and bent them in a concave curve. One of her thumbs let go and the tension released, the cards slapped against one another in a harmonic way. After the shuffling, she distributed the cards on the table, her fingers looked like they were snapping at a poetry show except no sound came out, the card between her thumb and index prevented it. The cards were faced upside down, the intricate swirly blue pattern was identical on each card.

“You know what to do,” Angie hummed after she finished with the deck. She took a generous sip of her drink while waiting for Genevieve’s response.

She rapped her fingers on the table. There wasn’t a specific reason as to why her fingers drifted to tap the second pile to her right. Maybe because Genevieve’s hand was already propped on the table and it was the nearest deck her fingers could reach. Or maybe it was the Indian Sufi controlling her actions. Whatever it was, Genevieve hoped for the best.

Angie flipped the three cards over to reveal their faces. The blue pattern was replaced with three distinct images.

“Wow,” Angie said sharply under her breath. A whistle blew from her lips as she scanned the cards to interpret their meaning. On the first card, three women stood over flowers and fruit, all holding identical cups in the air. The second card had a skeleton in black armor riding atop the back of a horse. In his hand was a black flag. The last card had a royal figure behind a veil, a well-built pillar at each of her sides. “Three of cups, death, and the high priestess. Now that’s a complicated combination.”

“How so?”

“Well the three of cups means friendship which goes against the death card. And not to mention the high priestess means new knowledge. Which is a bit off. I think this has more to do with—”

Genevieve smelled his cologne before she saw him.

She felt heat lift off his skin from his close proximity. The space was packed, leaving him no option but to step into her bubble. His presence made Genevieve’s spine solid as a metal rod. The little hairs on the back of her neck bristled. Threatening scavengers wheeled hungrily above their table.

A glass full to the top was slid in front of her, the frothy foam almost dribbled over the rim.

“Don’t listen to her, this is all rubbish,” a voice to her left sounded, his breath hitting the shell of her ear. Genevieve wiggled on her stool at the jet of warmth that shot down her arm.

“Harry, you twat! Not on the cards! You know I have to give them back!” Angie lurched forward to swipe the cards nearest the drink. She began to collect all the spread out cards into her deck with a scowl. Genevieve could’ve sworn she felt a shy lingering palm hover over the small of her back, but Harry wasn’t brave enough to actually do it.

“It’s best you put them away before you give away another false reading. Wouldn’t be the first time, right Ang?” His voice was light and airy. It gave Genvieve the impression that Angie was the easiest to pick on in their group. From jokes about scorned exes to innocent jabs here and there, she took the brunt of it all.

As if it was even possible, Harry leaned further towards Genevieve, she was half a centimeter away from falling off her stool. He tapped the wood beside the glass with his pointer finger. “Liam sent this over by the way.” Genevieve nodded, without turning in her seat. Her throat was too dry to give a response, she gulped down her drink like it was water.

“Oh piss off,” Angie brushed off. Her eyes scanned Harry’s outfit and her mouth dropped open in offence. “What happened to the pirate get up? Wait, hold on a minute, do you guys know each other?” Her curious eyes bounced back between the two. Was the Indian Sufi working overtime?

Genevieve downed a large gulp to refrain from spitting her drink out. “What? No! Why do you ask that?” Genevieve coughed before Harry could answer.

Angie shrugged. “Looks like you coordinated outfits.”

Genevieve’s eyes snapped to green ones before they flickered down to his chest. The print was a carbon copy of the fabric that hung off her shoulders except for the number in the dead centre of the shirt. Thing 1. Thing 2.

Genevieve rolled her lips as she tried to think fast on her feet. Harry saw it in her eyes, the acute sense of panic. The answer being a simple yes prompted too many questions. Genevieve didn’t want to get into the how’s and the why's. It would be like untangling knotted necklaces that had very thin chains.

Sure, they did know each other at a different time. Now, years apart, the answer failed to uphold any truth. It was the same as admitting they didn’t know the other at all. Something passed between the two of them—a mutual understanding, a silent conversation.

Harry cleared his throat, his attention gravitated back to an expectant Angie. “By coordination, you mean picking the most common shirt as an excuse for an outfit, then yes, of course, we coordinated. Along with whoever is wearing a size small in this halfway across the world.”

“Forget it, I need another drink.” Angie’s curiosity went as quickly as it came. She slid off her stool and marched towards the bar. Her necklaces and rings jingled together like windchimes with every step.

And then there were two.

Harry pretended not to notice Genevieve wrap a broken fray of her jeans around her pointer finger. It was one of her many ticks. She picked at her clothing before an important presentation, a tricky exam, confrontation. She gave the thread a hard tug and it ripped off. She had one leg crossed over the other tightly on her stool. Her thumb caged the first knuckle of her ring finger.

Harry attempted to make eye contact, and she met his gaze for the length of a heartbeat.  

Harry watched as Genevieve released a relieved breath. Her tongue ran over her lips. “Thank you,” she sighed.

Neither of them knew if it was for bringing her drink over or keeping the veil on their past.

Before Harry could respond, there were two taps into a microphone. The electric shrill came to a stop; heads turned towards the stage.

“Having a good night everyone?” The small crowd gathered near the stage grew slowly as Liza adjusted her mic stand. It was like the beginnings of the holy mecca. An incoherent response was given in a cheer. “We’re The Red Day, thank you for having us! Our first song is one I’m sure will sound somewhat familiar. Here is Nine Hearts!”

Niall and Liam whooped and hollered from their new position closer to the stage. Encouraging claps and cheers were shouted. Angie raised her drink in support. Meena abandoned her professor for their set.

At the first few chords of Liza’s guitar and Zayn’s keys, Harry’s head turned to catch a glimpse of Genevieve’s reaction. He didn’t know if her music taste differed from what it was. Was she still into the same bands? Did she still hate karaoke? Somehow he thought his questions will be answered with a hopeful glance. Then his chin met his shoulder, a frown pulled at his lips. The stool beside him was vacant. She left a wet ring of water on the table, the only proof of her presence.

Genevieve was no longer there.

***

Sweat coated the back of Genevieve’s neck and the high points of her face. Drinks sloshed over rims and a couple drops misted her skin. The small space began to feel like a furnace, the dial set at the highest setting. Energy vibrated with ease through the huddle of strangers she found herself among. Her lack of height and the dim lighting did little to aide her view of the stage. Genevieve elbowed towards the flash of blond that caught her eye.

The song switched when Genevieve stumbled beside her friends.

“There you are!” Niall screamed, but his voice was muffled. He trapped her neck in the crook of his elbow, pressing a messy kiss to her matted hairline. “Haven’t seen you all night!”

“You have me now!” Genevieve knocked elbows with a boy who rushed to the bar. Her index finger and thumb squished Niall’s cheek. Even with the facepaint, his skin was flushed a certain shade of red he only got when was buzzed or severely sunburnt. “What’s this?”

“I’m a mime!” His costume only registered to Genevieve when her eyes landed on the black and white striped shirt. Her mouth parted in a drawn out Oh.

He pushed his drink into her hands before his raised to spread in front of him, an invisible glass barrier became apparent.

“You’re the loudest person I know, whose brilliant idea was this?” She snorted when his face contorted into extreme expressions. “Could’ve mistaken you for a clown. It’s more fitting.”

That prompted a deep chuckle from Liam. He was an arms length away. A blue drink in hand. With closed eyes, he nodded his head to the mellow beat of the music. A few lighters were in the air.

“Two costumes in one, I am going above and beyond! For the people, you know?”

“So generous.” Genevieve helped herself to his drink. It would be something that Niall would snatch from her if he was sober. Instead he swayed with the rhythm and mouthed the lyrics obnoxiously all while he clutching his heart.

Genevieve could only imagine the heat of the potted stage lights aimed at Zayn, Liza, and the unnamed girl. Sweat beaded their temples. She hadn’t been lucky enough to familiarize herself with their sound. As Genevieve concentrated on the music, a stubborn knot in her shoulder dissolved.

Liza was the frontwomen, a guitar strap slung around her neck and red lips kissed the mic. Zayn was a natural behind black and white keys, practiced fingers knew their placements as if he was recalling the alphabet. No-name controlled the bass with expertise, the sound traveled through floorboards and made toes curl. They were skilled at holding down a beat. The tempo and chord arrangements went together effortlessly. It testified to the hours spent at their craft.

Liza’s voice was deep and rough and settled in your bones. Zayn occasionally leaned forward into his mic to add light harmonies that complimented her voice. The contrast between them made for a balanced sound. The amps thundered as they progressed into the pre-chorus. The crowd became rowdy with anticipation. It was an electric, needy, callous disorder.

“I need to pee,” Liam winced, his eyes pinched in pain. He was in the middle of a funny dance. He adjusted his bulge and shoved his unfinished drink into Genevieve’s hand.

Genevieve’s protest didn’t make it out in time because Liam was gone in a flash. Her mouth hung open. His figure drowned in a sea of people.

The song neared an end. A roar flooded the bar, the praise and claps were deafening. It was obvious as daylight, they were pocketing hearts away with every strum of a guitar. Liza’s chest heaved to catch her breath. Her hair bounced as she crouched down, the mouth of a plastic bottle met her lips. While she hydrated, to keep the momentum up Zayn pressed closer to his mic.

“Evening everyone—”

Niall cupped his palms around his mouth in a makeshift megaphone. “Yeah, Baby!”

Zayn closed his eyes and exhaled a shaky breath before he gave an acknowledging nod. “And Niall.”

“Woo!” Niall—an embarrassing soccer mom on the sidelines—didn’t quite know when to stop with the positive reinforcement. A couple heads turned towards Niall and by association, Genevieve. Zayn began to thank the crowd and plugged the student radio that he had started with Liza as another place to find their music.

Genevieve’s elbow dug in the soft pillow of Niall’s side. “You know him?” She raised a brow and pointed her chin towards the stage.

“Who? Zayn?” Genevieve nodded in confirmation. “Top lad. I smoke with him at the back after every gig. You should come. He has the best stuff.”

Genevieve’s jaw hung open in mock offence. “He’s your pot buddy now?”

“That’s what you get for abandoning me.” Niall shrugged. “I move on fast, you know?”

Genevieve recalled the last time Niall had reached out to give his invite. It was one of those weeks where too many things piled right after the other. Where days blurred into one because professors couldn’t grasp the concept of strategically placing due dates, despite having fancy doctorate degrees. “It was finals week!”

“More the reason to do it, if you ask me.” He wiggled his brows. He sighed when she pouted. “Don’t be jealous, there’s still enough of me to go around.”

Genevieve rolled her eyes freely and took a swig of the amber liquid, it slid down her throat with ease. The chords of the last song floated into the air and Genevieve didn’t bother to fix the strands of hair that stuck to her face. Her feet swayed with Niall’s, featherlight and carefree. Their arms pretzeled each other’s shoulders as they lost themselves in the music. It was a mix of knocking knees and withholding the other’s weight. Their drunken stumbles didn’t hinder their experience, if anything, it amplified it.

Liam and Meena nursed their drinks on the other side of the bar. Attempts at reclaiming their spots proved futile as the crowd grew more relentless and chaotic. All hopes of a good view died at once, like an annoying house fly under a swatter.

Meena caught Genevieve’s glazed eyes. They held eye contact, it was something they did at parties or pubs. Touching base to make sure all things are in order. Are you okay? Do you want to leave?

Genevieve shot her a thumbs up with a bubbling smile to dismiss Meena’s worries.

Meena narrowed her eyes on Genevieve’s shoulder. Her own fingers came to pinch at her top. Don’t you sleep in that?

And?

It’s wrinkled.

Genevieve spotted Meena’s professor over her shoulder. He laid some bills down on the table and folded his wallet. He then made his way slowly approaching Meena. Of course, he wasn’t in her peripheral so she had no idea. Genevieve raised her pointer finger and pointed behind her. After half a second of confusion, she turned around and plastered on the fakest smile for Professor Biggins; a perfect enactment of a comedy and tragedy masks. And so the conversation of her shirt was dropped.

Liza and Zayn wrapped up the last song, coming to a graceful end. They said their goodbyes and were off the stage in no time. Zayn proficiently folded the stand of his keyboard. Liza made sure her guitar was snug as a bug in its case.

It was a blur. Niall shoved around the group of people which were taking too long to dissipate. Genevieve squeaked when a harsh tug trapped her wrist. Niall lead her towards the door of the back exit where Zayn and Liza helped themselves to a few water bottles. Their equipment leaned against the wall.

Niall threw his arms around Zayn instantly, the sudden force caused him to stumble back. Zayn recovered easily from his falter, then beamed at Niall with a wide smile.  

“You lot killed it! Insane! Absolutely smashed it!”

Genevieve nodded at Niall’s words. “It was amazing to watch, I’ll be sure to catch the next set.”

“We will definitely let you know when we get it lined up.” Liza glowed with post stage euphoria. You could reach out and practically touch the energy still buzzing around her. “Oh, Zayn! This is Gen!”

The quick introduction was met with a kind smile and nod.

“Ah, yes! Liam mentioned you.” Zayn’s thumb struck towards the iron gate. A red exit sign was fixated on hinges above. “We’re going out for a quick smoke. You’re welcome to join.”

It was a common theme, Genevieved noted. There was no awkwardness or tough exterior that needed to be cracked to befriend Zayn, Liza, and Angie. No deadbolts or fastened chains, instead a welcome mat situated boldly outside their door. Genevieve found herself taking a step in.

“Liz, you coming?” Zayn inquired when he spotted Liza shuffling towards the opposite direction.

“Gonna grab some drinks first. Rum and Coke good for you?”

“Yeah, hurry back.” Zayn pushed open the door and they stumbled outside one by one.

The cool breeze made it seem like they just exited a sauna, the heavenly contrast stretched a wide dopey smile on Genevieve’s lips. It was a narrow alley of two red brick walls. Flies circled the lined dumpsters, but they were far enough that the smell wasn’t unbearable. She had been here on many occasions. She once held back Meena’s hair as she vomited in the corner, then again when Niall needed a place to quietly cry after his first breakup, and once more when Liam became insanely paranoid after a happy pill.

Zayn and Genevieve bounced back the typical introduction. He studied life sciences, had three younger brothers, and was doing research with a professor Genevieve once had. Alongside his work at the radio, he proctored exams and did part-time hours at a record store down the block. He smiled with his tongue flattened behind the row of his top teeth. He had buzzed his hair to purposefully display the tattoo behind his ear.

Niall and Zayn got talking about the upcoming game. They made light conversation until the door flung open, abruptly. It slammed against the wall with great force.

“Fuck.”

The ugly screech of metal against brick didn’t falter Genevieve. The sight the door revealed did. Zayn grabbed the swinging door just before it had the opportunity to collide again.

“Jesus, H, you’re gonna have to pay a fortune if that falls off its hinges,” Zayn warned.

“All I have is ten quid.” The self deprecation was laid on thick, a nonchalant shrug tacked on the end of his sentence. In his hands were tall glasses, the pad of his fingers turned slightly white from their hold. “—And your drink.”

“Where’s Liz?” Zayn asked holding his drink to his lip as he looked over the rim.

“She popped into the loo for a bit,” said Harry. She is thankful for the few drinks circling her veins because it helped lessen the intensity of his gaze when he noticed her standing there. “She’ll be out with Angie in a minute.”

It feels like she’s in elementary school and in trouble. Her previous departure was still fresh in his head, it flared an insecurity in him that he thought was long put to bed.

Lately, Genevieve made him feel one prominent emotion. Her quick dismissals made him invisible, like a little boy in red shorts at a gym class line up that everyone knew would be picked last. He was a blackened steel pot pushed to the backburner. However, the difference between that boy and Harry was the years that separated them. He has learned the art of confrontation. He won’t hide in bathroom stalls during lunch, he will not cower from her rejection. He is here, whether she likes it or not.

Genevieve avoided him by taking an interest in the sky above with her fingers braided behind her back. She expected him to hand the drink and turn around, but like always—she is proven wrong about him.

Genevieve doesn’t realize how tight the ally was until Harry’s shoulders brushed the crest of her collarbone to take the vacant spot beside Zayn. She had instinctively pressed her back to the rough brick wall to create as much distance as possible. The back of her sneakers squished old cigarette butts lodged in the cracks of the pavement. She held her breath for a moment and deflated when the only thing left of him was a gust of wind.

“Perfect.” Zayn dipped his fingers to the back pocket of his jeans.

They were pre-rolled. The white of the paper is less transparent at one end and more opaque on the opposite. The two joints are rolled into a twist in a way that doesn’t make the length lopsided and uneven.

Genevieve wasn’t an habitual or chain smoker. In fact, she hated the smell of reminiscent smoke. She indulged herself every once in a while. Especially when the pace of everything increased to uncontrollable speed, when deadlines weighed down on certain pressure points and occasionally, when Niall begged her to. It was effective to take the heaviness off her, the feeling of carrying extra body weight would evaporate.

Zayn and Niall picked up their conversation, Harry adding his two cents here and there.

You can hear stumbling drunks coming out from the front doors of The Cabinet. A pair of heels dangled from a girl’s grip as she made a run to cross the street with a friend. It was nearing the time where tabs were closed out and cab rides would be split.

“Fuck,” Zayn groaned with one spliff trapped between his lips and the other one behind his ear. He patted his front and back pockets like he was looking for his car keys or wallet. His brows frowned as he repeats it again. “I think I dropped my lighter.”

“Oh, that’s no problem.” Niall waved. “Gen, you always keep one on you, yeah?”

It’s humiliating.

The simple question among different company wouldn’t be much of a concern. It was innocent and didn’t hold much significance in a stranger’s eye. But Harry’s ears perked up and brows jumped at the little piece of information. The way his eyes fixated on her added a double meaning, it was enough to make something crawl under her skin.

Tiny centipede legs stomped all over her. The scales of a snake slithered itself around her neck, gradually suffocating her airways. Her mouth filled with live cockroaches.

Genevieve’s stomach churned.

“Gen?” Niall elbowed her side, breaking her out of her trance.

“Yeah?”

“Lighter?”

“‘Course.”

It was a weak fumble, her fingers trembled as she plucked it out from her back pocket. It was the most mundane looking thing on the planet. The white colour was chipped at the sides. The sparkwheel was dulled, but worked just fine. The flint spring was probably a bit beaten down.

With the back of her nail, Genevieve flicked the guard off. Her thumb pushed down and her free hand cupped around the igniting spark. It took two tries before the fork gave away and released the gas from the valve. A candle light heat absorbed into her skin. She brought the flame towards Zayn. His face was a soft yellow, and the tip of the spliff glowed a burnt orange. The flame died when it was no longer needed. His hollow cheeks inhaled a drag. Lips curled and he hummed in content. When he exhaled, a pungent smell of cannabis floated through the air.

Zayn handed it to Niall before swapping it out with the unlit blunt. Genevieve repeated her motions once more.

“Shit,” Niall sighed in bliss. “This one’s a good one.”

He handed the joint to Genevieve. Her thumb and index finger pressed the rolled paper to her lips. The smoke was smooth and Genevieve held it in her lungs for a moment. White smoke puffed out and Genevieve wishes it was thick enough to block Harry’s intentive peering. Zayn offers him a hit, but he declined by raising his drink to his mouth.

Genevieve takes another drag and taps off the ashes before passing it back to Niall.

It goes on like that for a bit. A calming silence fluttered between them. It took about twenty minutes for the high to settle in. There is an upward buoyancy in oil which is greater than the downward force of its gravity. That is why oil floats when mixed with water. Genevieve’s insides feel like someone stirred a spoon in the mixture; uneven bubbles of separated oil danced towards the surface freely.

She noticed her reactions weren’t as sharp when she laughed a beat after Zayn’s joke. It was easier to smile; two invisible strings pulled at the corners of her lips like she was a puppet in a grand show.

One side of her face was warmer than the other. The alcohol and weed blurred the edges of her view, but she felt his eyes on her. She stamped her eyes shut and threw her head back, soft giggles broke through. Everything was funnier when you were stoned. Her knuckle collected an escaped tear from her glassy eyes.

If Genevieve was sober, Harry would’ve looked away when she caught him. There was something charged in the air. He hadn’t seen her like this much before. She anticipated him to blink away when Genevieve locked her eyes on his. But he was shameless, and as usual, she held his stare for a moment too long.

Her fingers swiped the blunt from Niall. She took another hit in hopes of deluding herself into thinking that the tension between them was imaginary.

She inhaled too quickly. The smoke trapped in her windpipe and she spluttered a few coughs. Her eyes stung and fresh tears surfaced. Genevieve passed the spliff back to Niall and tipped her head back. The wall behind her propped her weight as she took a minute to calm her breathing.

In her compromised state, she could only think one thing clearly. She had to get out of here.

“I’m gonna grab some water.”

She didn’t wait to hear their response. She pushed herself off the wall. The door pulled open under her grip and Zayn and Niall said something she couldn’t make out. Her eyes squinted to focus under the soft yellow lighting. She made a beeline towards her jacket. It was easier to navigate the premises since a large amount of people had filtered out. Genevieve took out her phone and typed away.

Going hooome. -Gen

A bing sounded from her phone. The name of the group chat lit up as she wrestled an arm into her jacket.

If you wait half an hour, I’ll take you. Need to sober up first. -Meena

Gen whyyyy, stay for a bit longer! -Liam

I’m so stoned. I’m gonna go home and stuff my face with food. Or sleep. -Gen

Don’t worry, M! I’m already out! Where are you btw, didn’t see you? -Gen

Washrooms! There is a huge line :( -Meena

A girl is wearing a nice skirt, should I ask her where she got it from? -Meena

Munchies? -Niall

You know it -Gen

Eat a bag of chips for me -Niall

Maybe two -Niall

Ask her about the skirt. I have my money on H&M -Niall

Text when you get home safe -Liam

Genevieve walked for five minutes. The door of The Cabinet was far enough to be a miniature entrance of a dollhouse. She had missed the last departure time of the bus and decided the crisp night air would make for a sobering walk. Her reflexes were still a bit delayed. The traffic lights glowed on the sidewalk pavement until she harshly blinked to steady the blurred image. Everything was sluggish, her vision muddled and a few green and red circles floated about.

She recalled the corner shop from her childhood house, it sold cheap DVDs. The sleazy man at the counter never denied burning them illegally. The image quality was broken and poor. Her hands were a clump of squared pixels that took a minute to buffer.

The last button of her jacket was secured when loud footsteps mirrored hers from behind. She gripped the metal chain link of the bag sat on her shoulder tightly.

It was dark. Especially now that she passed the strip of convenience shops, no open signs lit up the streets.

She inhaled a shaky breath through her nose and a jagged puff came from her parted lips. The sweat from her palms caused her grip on the bag to slide down.

It could be nothing. Maybe she was hearing things. She didn’t want to assume the risk of turning around. Instead, she counted her steps from each lamp post to the next. They weren’t consistent. The range was from ten to sixteen. The mean would lie around twelve. The mode was eleven.

Before she began to compute the median, she choked on a sharp intake of air as the footsteps neared closer than ever.

Her neck stretched and examined her surroundings. You were intentionally supposed to put yourself in a very visible place or somewhere where a witness could be found, something she once read in an article online. Genevieve made note of the houses that still had their lights on.

“Are you avoiding me?” An exhausted voice huffed out. Impatient with a hint of naked hurt. “You are, aren’t you?”

Fear clenched her jaw. Her brain waved tiny red flags, the ones that topped cupcakes. The familiarity of the voice shot a clear fishing line and sank its hook in the flesh of her shoulder. The reel was being taken in and slowly she turned around. The crunch of gravel distracted her from the erratic thump thump thump of her pulse.  

“Harry?” She wheezed. She expected his name to roll off easily, but she stuttered and added another syllable. His name sat on her tongue with the weight of a rounded pellet.

“‘Course, who else would it be?”

“Holy fuck.” Stress alleviated only when he stood under the light of a lamp post. Her shoulders eased as the impending horror diluted. “Don’t you know not to creep up on someone who is walking the street alone? I thought you were a murderer!”

“Oh–shit, I didn’t think of that,” he confessed with a sheepish smile. A wave of humility flooded his features and he glanced towards the sky. With his fists deep in his jean pockets and head thrown back, he never looked more youthful. “Well if it’s any reassurance, I’m not.”

“Lovely.”

He spluttered a laugh at her impassive tone. “Is that a new thing of yours? Not answering questions?”

“What gives you the impression I’m avoiding you?”

“You ran out of there like a bat straight out of hell.”

“I have an 8 a.m tomorrow.” She didn’t. “Nothing personal, don’t be so sensitive.”

Harry uttered a string of words under his breath so incoherent they never made it to Genevieve’s ears. His boot kicked a pebble off the sidewalk to the empty street. Genevieve and Harry watched it skip twice before it laid in an anticipated still.

His boots resumed their trek towards the direction she had previously set her path to. It was a line of residential houses. Each one had identical roofs, a sharp triangular hat. He passed four houses before it dawned on him. He didn’t feel another presence trail after his shadow. Long legs halted in an abrupt stop. He peered to his left before he turned around fully, arms raised in question. “Well, come on then! What are you waiting for?”

“What are you doing?”

“Walking you home.”

Genevieve snorted. “That is the last thing I need”

“Oh, come off it. You’re out of your mind, literally. And you yourself said that there are actual murderers on the street.”

The prolonged silence didn’t falter for a moment. Crickets chirped and a frog groaned from the nearby pond. Genevieve held his stare without remorse. He needed to offer a compelling reason as to why walking her home was his concern. It hadn’t been for the past three years. She was far from a little girl who needed her hand held to cross the street.

It took a moment, but he finally caved.

“I’m headed in that direction anyway.”

Genevieve didn’t throw him a bone right away. His proposition molded into a clay-like fixture and took shape in Genevieve’s mind. The newfound tangibility allowed her to rotate it on an xyz plane to analyze from every which way.

Her weak inhibitions, admittedly the reason behind her decision, coupled with a lack of energy to put up a fight contributed to possible human error. She dragged her feet towards him, a ball and chain clasped snug around her ankle. Her mother’s words vanished into thin air.

The moon, a clipped toenail, played a game of hide and seek with surrounding clouds. It would peek out every other second—a shy toddler that clung to their mother’s calf. Thin overgrown grass blades swayed with the wind and became italicized, upright, then italicized again. A steady and delicate whoosh sounded between them rhythmically, their own personal metronome.

It was alien to walk side by side him. Short legs worked twice as hard for every step he took. To her memory, it was never this demanding. Her breaths, once even, began to puff out in quick jabs after a few steps. It blemished the silence and perked Harry’s ears. In an instant, his pace was adjusted and Genevieve was no longer the victim to his strides.

Harry’s index fingernail scratched above his top lip. It was his attempt to hide a budding smile. “You smell like maple.”

Harry had a tendency to short circuit, there were times he blurted out a phrase or thought meant to be kept in the space between his ears. He had explained it to her as an involuntary muscle spasm, he could control the twitch at times but he would slip up once in a while. His statement was full of surety, an irrefutable fact. For a second, she ignored it.

He turned to her with a boyish grin, it coined a painfully deep dimple to his left cheek. It conveyed that this was no slip up, it was deliberate.

“What?” Her laugh was dry and perplexed under his observation.

“And weed, but mostly maple—like the syrup. Is it a new perfume?”

Genevieve pressed the neck of her shirt to her nose and sniffed the cotton. She only smelled the weed. “I think you’ve finally lost it. Haven’t you?” Harry grinned to the floor, bashful and content. His hair flopped on his face. “Along with a couple of inches. Finally figured out where the barber is located?”

“You don’t like it?” He feigned offence.  

“Doesn’t matter what I like, I don’t think I’ve ever seen your ears. It’s different, that’s for sure.”

“Good different? Bad different?” He prodded. “You gotta give me something to work with here.”

“Neither… I guess? It’s just changed, is all.” The pathway curved into a right turn. They passed by a low shrill of a heater attached below a window. “People change, it’s expected.”

“Not as much as we like to think, no,” he countered, his fingers threaded his hair back. “You are a prime example, haven’t changed a bit.”

Genevieve was unaware if he had taken to being the devil’s advocate as a part time hobby, but regardless she took his bait. They still had quite the trek to cover. “What makes you think that?”

“Well for starters, you still run a bit late.” A snicker fell from his lips, adolescent yet collected. A thumb jutted out from his closed fist.

“Well, it is better than not coming at all.”

“You only drink Stellas.” His index finger appeared. She felt like he put her smack dab in the middle of a boxing ring. He was red gloved offence which left her to fulfill the defence vacancy.

“—A classic. Can never go wrong with it.”

“Can’t smoke without coughing.”

“Hey. Happens to everyone. Mild error.”

“And carry that lighter.” The slow ringing in her ear ascended in volume like a train arriving at a platform. Tight sheets of saran wrap roped around her face. “One that’s not yours.”

Ah, there it was.

Her lungs were empty, winded as though he had delivered a suckerpunch to her gut rather of a small observation. Out of the four fingers, his middle one had a metal band. An ornate rose— bloomed, its petals laid vulnerably wide open. Would it leave a scar? Her bottom lip cushioned the front row of her teeth as she sorted her brain for something, anything.

“It’s a very useful tool. Comes in handy multiple times, more than you can imagine.”

He had a good eye, perfect vision, and an even better insight to see right through her.

Harry pursed his lips. “I’m sure it has.”

The shift in the atmosphere right before it begins to pour mesmerized Genevieve. The air would be stale and thick. It held a suffocating weight and the unbearable humidity made it harder to draw a breath; each inhale came through the narrow valley of a plastic straw. That’s how it felt standing beside Harry. She had forgotten about it for years, but now it mocked her head on.

“But these—” the pad of his index finger tapped his temple twice—“These are new, right?” He expertly switched topics when her head bowed down and an ashamed stare fixed on the pavement for a moment too long.

The reply wasn’t immediate and Harry kicked himself for bringing it up in the first place. He disrupted the natural current of the conversation and it was achingly obvious. He should’ve kept his mouth shut, probably even locked it and tossed the key down the gutter. They don’t talk about it, it’s something they don’t do.

A punishing silence dragged on for an eternity. She forgot how to string together a sentence. Time was needed to collect the pieces of her scattered brain.

Eventually, she gave out a long defeated hum. “They are, how do they look?”

The glasses sat on the bridge of her nose were wide framed. If you looked closely they had a tortoise pattern, the colour of toffee. When she smiled, the apples of her cheeks pressed to the underside of the plastic.

“So good.” He didn’t miss a beat.

She smiled, halfheartedly.

Good. Nothing had felt good for a long time. Genevieve didn’t realize it for a while. Denial was a wicked witch that masked what lay in front with a dozen spells. The days continued to come one after the other. Consecutive and strict. Then Mondays got confused with Thursdays. Months came and went. And suddenly it was years later. Everything was gone. He was gone, until he wasn’t.

“Enough about me.” She cleared her throat before it knotted in on itself. “How’s Esther?”

“Annoying as ever.” He rolled his eyes, words dipped in fond admiration. It was love, gentle and timid. “She doing great. We’re talking more now.”

“That’s good,” she sighed. That was the bitterest pill of them all. Harry was good. So good.

“She wanted to meet you.”

Her head shot up, she brought her hand to her chest. “Me?”

“Yeah, she asks about you a lot.” Genevieve gulped at the piece of information. She assumed Harry would have avoided bringing her up to others. The only way Genevieve could see herself in his current life is as an abandoned cardboard box, shoved in the back of his closet. Only opened to reminisce about what was. “Didn’t know how to tell her you won’t pick up my calls.”

“I got a new number. Dropped my phone in the toilet.”

“‘Course you did.” Her building came into view and Harry feels like someone flipped an hourglass. Each grain fell too quickly. Harry’s vision darts around his surroundings as if he is in search for a lost valuable. He doesn’t look for an item in particular, but he hopes to find another topic of conversation to prolong the definite departure. His hands tremble. No matter how tight his fist clenched, the grains slipped.

He began his sentence without knowing how it will end. “You should… you should come over for dinner.”

The helplessness in his plea made Genevieve question his invite. “Dinner?”

Shaky fingers combed his hair back. He gripped the crown of his head in tepid frustration. “Yeah, or I don’t know, lunch? Breakfast? Brunch?—”

Genevieve saw the anxiousness grow in his eyes, a beast slowly rising from its slumber. If he had all the time in the world, he would spend it on completing his list. They would be there all night.

She knew better than to make promises she couldn’t keep. Committing to dinner with a non-existing appetite wasn’t at the top of her list, priority wise.

“—This is me,” Genevieve stated to put him out of his misery. A yawn escaped her. She wanted nothing more for her pillow to bear the weight of her head, which felt like a million pounds and more.

“I know.”

She coughed in her fist, a flush crept up her neck. Of course he knew. She busied herself with plucking the bundle of keys from her bag. “How far off are you?”

“Oh not by much.” His unclear answer made Gen tilt her head. A question mark hung in the air. “Just that way,” he added. A thumb pushed towards the street on the left. It didn’t even have a name plate on it.

It was one of the things about him that made Genevieve red in the face on multiple occasions. It was never a linear answer with him. He danced around to an nth degree. What do you want to eat? Anything. What time can you come around by? I don’t know, maybe seven. Where will you be at Tuesday? Can’t tell. Can you do this for me? I’ll try. At times, Genevieve wanted to dump a can of grey paint on him because that is the only colour he knew.

“Where do you live, Harry?”

“Are you inviting yourself over?” He was all cheek and wit. A tactic Genevieve saw him pick up from the master himself.

“Just answer the question.”

Genevieve doesn’t know why his living accommodation takes an interest. She conditioned herself to stop caring for his well-being and whereabouts ages ago. That’s something they don’t tell you about broken friendships. You can never resort to a hundred percent erasure of someone. There is no backspace or delete button.

Maybe a part of her wanted to know if he was actually safe, secure and stable, or if it was a front. She wanted a person to compare herself with. Sometimes Genevieve pictured them as two athletes on a track field sprinting towards the finish line. The white line signified growth, healing, and closure. Genevieve was always behind him.

“Edison and Fourth, apartment nine,” he clarified. His weight shifted from his heels to his toes. “It’s decent, but has a slight mice problem. Zayn has set up traps.”

Genevieve blinked robotically when she mapped the intersection in her brain. She frowned when the red pin dropped on the map. “That’s like a thirty minute walk in the opposite direction.”

“I’ll manage, I think I saw a bus stop not far away.”

It would’ve been a much shorter and efficient route straight from The Cabinet. Instead, his insisted pit stop tacked many more steps than needed.

“You really didn’t have to go out of your way to walk me.”

“Yes I did,” his firm tone didn’t waver. The next words flowed like ripples do in a river. “I always will.”

Genevieve slipped her fingers into her back pocket and retrieved her phone. It was warm from her body heat. Her thumb hovered over the screen until it lit her home screen, the bottom half of her face illuminated with a fluorescent light. Her thumb tapped over an application before she typed in the address previously given as the desired destination. A bubble popped up with a potential driver and route. “I’m calling you an uber.”

“No you aren’t. It’s a waste of money.”

She looked up with a bewildered expression. “Don’t be crazy.”

“Cancel it.”

She hadn’t confirmed it, her credit card information covered the screen, but she wasn’t going to let him be privy to that. “No.”

It was unexpected, to say the least.

He jolted towards her in a way that blinded her eyesight to only the colour of his shirt. Red. Red. Red. Her nose brushed against cotton over his shoulder, lint rubbed against her nostrils. His smell reminded her of the grocery store aisle with all the detergents and softeners.

The lack of distance distracted her for a moment. “What are you—hey give that back.”

His fingers brushed against hers were like hot coal. The device was swiped away as if he had the hands of a practiced kleptomaniac.

“I said I am fine as is.”

Maybe it was the effects of alcohol and weed that set something off in Genevieve. It flicked a switch that she had no idea existed, his fingers crawled deep in her chest and pushed the lever up. Anger bubbled and frustration swelled in her. The simmering volcano rose.

“Can you just stop! All of it!” The pads of her fingers dug into his shoulder as she gave a hard push. He staggered back two steps from her force. When space was created between them, Genevieve exited a narrow tunnel, seeing the whole picture and not just some biased misrepresentation. “Showing up everywhere, giving me drinks, walking me home.”

Harry’s face crumpled like a ball of paper being thrown in the nearest trash can. His posture slumped, shoulders caved in on themselves.

“That’s a bit harsh, no?” When Genevieve didn’t reply to him he bit his lower lip. His unsure steps neared her, his voice dropped to a different modulation. Tender and watchful. “Genny...”

“—No, no.” Her words broke by a parched laughter that bordered hysteria. She backed away cautiously when his eyes glimmered with something. He was doing it again. The signature pleading glaze enticed its prey. It got him many things in life: assignment extensions, a bed, with a blonde if he was lucky. “I’m not doing this with you, not again.”

“Can you just hear me out?”

Genevieve’s expression was frozen in a revengeful scowl. She compressed her lips together, an attempt to not spew out nasty words. The skin around her lips turned a shade of white from the lack of blood flow to the vessels. There was only so much self control one could contain. She reserved her ration for a particularly complex problem or when Jonah was getting on her last nerve. Genevieve hadn’t penciled in a portion to give to Harry in such a long time.

“What’s there left to hear, Harry?” She exploded and his shoulders dropped immediately. A yellow light turned on behind a window pane in the building above her from the sudden raise in volume. She inhaled a slow breath in order to contain herself. Her fingers knotted in her hair and she inadvertently felt her throbbing pulse. Her hands motioned in the space that divided them. “This, us? Whatever you’re trying to find again, is not there. You’ve got an amazing life, even better friends. Hell, they’re probably a thousand times better than I ever was.”

“Not true, don’t do that—”

“You don't get it, do you?” Her voice croaked. Genevieve trained herself to not break composure near Harry. She memorized the floorboard to such a detail that she could navigate the house blindly, but now her weight gave away on a loose piece of hardwood and it creaked. “You’re making me think about it all again and it won’t be long until I go weeks without sleeping. I need you to...” Her nostrils flared to inhale a breath, she held it in her lungs as if it delayed the inevitable. But the silence spoke.

I need you to leave me alone. I need you to go away.

He shook his head rapidly. Stern determination fixed in his every word, “I’m not doing that. Not again.”

“Why the hell not?” She spat. Her nails pressed stinging half moons into her palm. Her words, rather vindictive and eroded, were rightfully just. “You were so quick to do it before.”

She looked into his eyes, they were level headed and cool; a complete juxtaposition when compared to hers. Harry wondered when her face became gaunt and the darkness of eyebags took up a permanent living.

“Genny.”

She wasn’t five years old anymore, but a horizontal sting settled above her knee. Her skin ripped open, red splattered all over the floor. He wore red. She saw red. She spilled red.

“I’m tired, Harry.” Admitting this made Genevieve feel small. She closed her eyes and waved her white flag.

Being around Harry was gruesome. Genevieve could only compare it to a drained battery. She didn’t have enough fuel to do this with him. The cogs were rusted from not being used in ages. He brought the rim of a metal container to her lips. His fingers clamped on the back of her neck to keep her in place as he tilted the container up. He poured battery acid down her throat. Concentrated sulfuric acid blackened her insides and poisoned her with every sip.

“I’m so tired.”

***

“On Hallowe'en the old ghosts come about us, and they speak to some; to others they are dumb.” - Hallowe'en by Eleanor Farjeon

---

© 2019 almondharry All Rights Reserved

Thank you eriza @booksncoffee for making the banner. Copyright also applies on banners folks! Remember this.

Always so thankful for my betas @haaaaaaarrry @drivingmekiwi @at-least-im-1

Tag list: @harryschanclas @wanderlustiing @daydreamsharry @quintessentially-weird @brassharry @kizsyou @thursday-iminlove @mellamolayla @at-least-im-1 @stylishmuser @stylesfics-xx @guccikingstyles @awomanindeniall @mylifeisatoilet @confusedkiwifan @wonderonrepeat @sydneysuit @sortaanonymous @infinitiae

Check the story page if you wanted to be added on the tag list.

[mccoys-killer-queen]

Here it is- this week’s playlist (1/31)

My attempt at a so called “radio show” where I recommend 10 songs to everyone. Take it or leave it, I’ll still do this either way lmao.

This week I gotta start off with some of my more obvious picks. There’s gonna be a lot of feel-good songs, as this is my first time doing this, and wanna start off strong. Plus, most of my all time favorites are feel-good songs.

Links to the songs are provided!

1.) I Don’t Want To Lose You- REO Speedwagon (1988) Okay, let’s get these guys out of the way first. As you all probably know by now, I’m the biggest sucker for REO on the planet, and I do believe I know I am the entirety of their fandom on this website. Some of the first music I ever remember hearing was by these guys, and even though you’re all probably sick of me talking about them, give this quick song a try to start things off. It’s super strong, and it BOPS- PERIOD. Today I had to pick up my sister and had this blasted the whole way there. This one is the leading song off of REO’s 1988 greatest hits album, and was made/included as a bonus track for it..

2.) Rockin’ Into the Night- 38 Special (1979) I feel like this list would be incomplete without including the first song I can recall ever listening to. My mother would normally drive me and my sisters to wherever she went when I was a toddler, and she’d always play her CDs in the car. One in particular that was circulated a lot was her 20th Century Masters: 38 Special disc. It was played so often that little me in the car seat behind her had it glued to the inside of my brain so early in life. I can’t say why I remember this song in particular as the “first one ever”, but I probably think it’s because of the over enunciated and consistent line of stressed syllables in the chorus. That ROCK-IN-IN-TO-THE-NIGHT just sounded like pure gibberish to a 3 year old. I guess it fascinated me somehow.

3.) Roll Away the Stone- Mott the Hoople (1973)

So far on this list, I’ve only included songs from my distant past. This song, I’ve only gotten into within the past two years (and that goes for Mott in general), so to me, it’s still a song from my very recent present. This is by far my favorite Mott song, cos it’s just so joyful, hopeful and fun (not to mention it has a nice, bright, mellow, catchy 70s vibe. Kind of half-hippie, if you will). That opening riff is undeniable. I feel like you guys will like this song apart from the others on this list- it gives off some energy that I feel will fit a lot of people I know on here. This song is definitely the odd man out on this week’s list.

4.) Sad Songs (Say So Much)- Elton John (1984) Ah, Elton. How do you pick only one song by him? I only picked this one because it was probably the only good thing that came out of my first job. I worked at a department store, and heard the same 50 songs EVERY. SINGLE. DAY. I’d never heard of this when I started working there, but in due time, it was just about the only thing I had to look forward to every day in that job besides going home. It’s a real 80′s-sounding anthem about “suffering enough to write it down” in which he and Bernie really capture the universal feeling of shoveling sad songs into your ongoing dumpster fire of sadness.

5.) Shakin’- Eddie Money (1982)

I was deeply hurt by this wonderful man’s passing in September of 2019, and still find it hard to believe. I grew up on some of Eddie’s hits and hardly ever knew it until very recent years, and, like many, I wish he had more time with us. It’s songs like this one that act like a cage and trap the memory of any wonderful time, making Eddie still very much alive. This song was definitely my summer anthem of last year, and I feel like upon listening to it, y’all will suddenly feel like it’s a hot summer evening, you’re in love, and you’re heading out for a good drive. Eddie’s music lets the good times roll, indeed.

6.) My Kinda Lover- Billy Squier (1981) I know my followers really like The Dirt, and I watched it again this week, so I had to include one of the few non-Crue songs from the movie. This song was used when Vince is singing at the pool party, and the Crue guys meet him. This is one of those songs where when I willingly listened to it for the first time, I went “wait, that’s THIS song??” Of course I’ve heard this before, but I never knew the name of it, or who it was by. It’s such a swinging, confident, bold, happy song about sticking with your lover because you just can’t see yourself doing anything else. Fucking adorable, and catchy as all fuck. Probably in my top 3 out of everything on this list. Someone on this site recently said that Billy Squier deserves more love on here- and I AGREE.

7.) Urgent- Foreigner (1981) This song doesn’t just bop, or bang, but it grooves. That sax just hits you in the best spot, the bass is just uGh- so good, and I can’t stop myself from busting a move at least a little bit whenever this comes on. Yes, this song is very horny, but it does it so so poetically, maturely, and it does it in all seriousness. This seriousness, I feel, is partly because it’s about a relationship between two people that is purely for the passion, but both parties believe that their lust for each other is always of the utmost urgency. What a topic for a song! Great song about a bad relationship.

8.) Photograph- Def Leppard (1983) Duh. Of course Leppard was gonna come in here sooner or later. And I know, I’m starting off with a cliche Leppard song, but this one also just so happens to be my second most favorite song of all time. A fast-paced, tragic anthem of being in love with a photograph because the real person is either dead or not real. Maybe it hits a little too close to home, being in the classic rock fandom and all, but you can’t deny that this song just SLAMS in every way imaginable. Booming guitars, earth-shattering drums, tragic lyrics, and every time Joe screams in this, I just fall in love even more. Not to mention the backing vocals are to DIE for.

9.) Hammer to Fall- Queen (1984) Also duh. You want a song that gives off Queen’s Big Dick Energy? Here ya go. I personally never heard of this song until I saw Bohemian Rhapsody in theaters, but boy, am I glad I did. This is one of those Queen songs where you can clearly say “boy, this ROCKS”. Definitely one of Queen’s more mature songs, but in the best of ways. They just scream it flat out for you, “What the hell we fighting for?!” For me, Roger’s drums are the best part of this one. Hits a huge crowd through lyrics as well as the huge rock and roll energy it gives off. Truly a Live Aid-worthy song.

10.) Only the Young- Journey (1985) I’m ending this list with this song because it really gets my excitement up a lot. Every time that intro hits me, I just feel like sprinting up a fucking mountain, across a huge bridge, or through a wide open space. This one really makes me feel like I’m running to something that I’m really excited about, or heading on an exciting adventure. It gives off that 80s energy of having more power to the youth of the generation, talking about how they’re a “generation waiting for dawn”, even after the “golden age” that preceded them that they’re expected to live up to. They’re also called brave because they have to live through the promises and lies that they “dare to tell”. In a time with so much hate towards the younger generations, I think it’s important to remember an empowering song like this. Get that excitement up, take pride in your young generation- “the bold and the strong”- and go sprint up a fucking mountain. This one’s also the first track off Journey’s 1988 greatest hits album.

Even if you take the time to listen to one of these songs, I don’t think you’ll be disappointed!

[2020nissancars]

Highlighting 2019 Vs 2020 Nissan Armada

The Armada full-size SUV is quiet, comfortable, well-equipped, and easy to like. Nissan's Armada was fully refurnished for 2017 and rolls into 2019 with noteworthy updates, including more standard safety and driver-assistance technology.

The Armada also got a little price increase for 2019, though it still undercuts most comparable full-size, body-on-frame SUVs.

The Armada, which shares it underneath design with its more expensive Infiniti QX80 corporate sibling, presenting ample of standard features and high-quality interior features in each of its four trim levels:

SV

SL

Platinum

Platinum Reserve

V-8 power and high towing capacity are common, and you can get rear or four-wheel-drive each one of them.

The 2020 Nissan Armada's serene interior and bold design are best in class amongst its rivals. The three-row Nissan can tow up to eight people and haul as much as 8500 pounds in stats which put it right in the mix with competitors such as the GMC Yukon.

2020 Nissan Armada Upgrades?

The 2020 Armada mostly remains unchanged except for a new common feature and newly optional packages.

Every model now has a heated exterior mirrors attribute. Also, the 2020 Nissan Armada is now equipped with a 22-inch wheel package that adds up distinctly styled 22-inch wheels wrapped in all-season tires perk.

Both the model year Nissan Armada have unique features which every Nissan lover would opt for!

Every variant have their own peculiarities and can withstand all the qualities you are searching in to buy a car.

Let’s have a look at each of the 2019 Nissan Armada and 2020 model year specifications.

Imposing Exterior

The Armada has a striking look, with a comprehensive and high grille, massive front bumper, and a high beltline above slab-like sides. A crescent-shaped back pillar with a large flat roof is a well-known Nissan element, collaborated with the brand's global Patrol SUVs and the QX80.

Moreover, dark-painted running boards are general and much valued, permitting for semi-graceful motor market into the elevated Armada, which has just more than 9 inches of ground clearance.

All but the base trim receives 20-inch alloy wheels, up from the SV's 18s, which looks a little archaic, but overall it has managed well.

2019 Nissan Armada Comfort, Cargo, and Interior

A spacious and cushy interior supplements the Armada's classy outer shell.

The three-row Armada can equip up to eight passengers and a competitive amount of cargo around. The Nissan adds up a second-row center console with the optional captain's chairs attribute. The second-row captain's chairs folded easily and swiftly with a handle that springs up the seat forward; resetting the seat must be done on own.

The power-folding third row common on the SL trim and above can be adjusted through buttons in the cargo space or on the third row's armrests!

2020 Nissan Armada - Luxury Within

The interior design and materials of the Platinum Reserve SUV have a luxury look and feel to the attractive colors, padded surface, and soft-touch quality two-tone leather and vinyl coverings, and classy headliner fabric wraps the windshield pillars. But even the base models, the SV interior doesn't look economical with dark gray patterned cloth seats. Materials quality upgrades in the second row and the third row is predictably more straightforward, with more plastic.

Seats in the initial two rows are supportive and comfortable without a lot of side support. Overall the cabin is impressively quiet accommodating and has adequate legroom.

2019 Nissan Armada - Safety and Driver-Assistance Features

The standard safety range has expanded for 2019 to take account of adaptive cruise control with automatic emergency braking and a front collision system.

A new standard safety feature for 2019 is rear Door Alert, which helps you not forget the toddler or laptop you put in the backseat. As it indicates the driver if a back door was used at the beginning of a trip but not accessed again when it was ended, which also includes a horn beep if you walk away.

The Armada earned a four-star crash-test rating from the National Highway Traffic Safety Administration. Other key safety features include:

Standard automated emergency braking

Available lane-departure warning and lane-keeping assist

Available blind-spot monitoring and rear cross-traffic alert

2020 Nissan Armada Safety and Driver-Assistance Features

Every model has a host of driver-assistance technologies such as;

Automated emergency braking

Lane-departure warning and lane-keeping assist

Blind-spot monitoring

Rear cross-traffic alert

Well, these are all the sturdy features of both of these models are equipped with. 

Also head towards the Reliance Nissan updated store for more information about the Armada.

[hollymartinswrites]

Chapters: 5/? Fandom: IT - Stephen King, IT (Movies - Muschietti) Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Ben Hanscom/Beverly Marsh Characters: Eddie Kaspbrak, Richie Tozier, Ben Hanscom, Beverly Marsh, Bill Denbrough, Mike Hanlon, Original Child Character(s) Additional Tags: Fix-It, Post-Canon Fix-It, Post-IT Chapter Two (2019), Domestic, Light Angst, Family Feels, Childhood Trauma, Adoption, Kid Fic, Adopted Children, Richie Tozier Loves Eddie Kaspbrak, Eddie Kaspbrak Loves Richie Tozier, Marriage, Eddie Kaspbrak & Richie Tozier Are Parents, Angst, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Minor Ben Hanscom/Beverly Marsh, Beverly Marsh & Richie Tozier Are Best Friends Summary:

Eddie and Richie embark on the most terrifying experience of all—parenthood.

Or, the author desperately needed a domestic, family fix-it for Richie and Eddie.

Chapter V: Richie and Eddie’s youngest daughter suffers from separation anxiety. Or is it something else?

“No, please, don’t do this to me, baby,” Eddie begged.

He tried to straighten and gently remove the arms that were locked around his neck but toddlers in the midst of hysteria apparently have the strength of twenty men.

“Tess, it’s okay,” Richie insisted over the loud sobs of their youngest daughter as he, too, tried to pry her death grip off of Eddie. “Daddy’s just going to work. He’ll be back later to play with us, I promise.”

He managed to free one hand from Eddie’s neck and, in her brief confusion as to why she was suddenly no longer in control of her hand, gathered Tess up in his arms. Her screams only increased in pitch. She launched a bodily attack this time, kicking and flailing with all her might. She managed to land one solid kick to his stomach, and he nearly doubled over.

“Just go,” he grunted at Eddie. “I’ll distract her.”

“Rich, I—”

“You gotta go to work, just leave, you’re makin’ it worse standing here.”

Eddie frowned as Richie turned, Tess still hysterical in his arms even though he kept telling her all the fun games they could play now. Eddie hated leaving the house like this but he didn’t have any other choice. He turned towards the door and quickly slipped out, locking it behind him before heading towards his car.

He collapsed in the front seat, and winced. He could still hear Tess’s hysterical cries from inside the house. Everything in his heart told him to ignore work and return to his daughter but he knew the parenting books he had obsessively read before adopting their first child were against that. He also knew that if he walked back into that house, he would quite possibly never return to work again.

He started the car, took a deep breath, and drove away.

“This can’t just be a phase.”

Eddie rubbed his forehead, incredibly exhausted. He looked up and watched as Richie haphazardly threw their clean laundry into their dresser. He couldn’t bring himself to care.

“I mean, separation anxiety is a thing, I get it, but shouldn’t it be for both parents?” Richie continued.

Eddie shrugged.

“Maybe not,” he said quietly. “Maybe it’s just because I’m the one who leaves every morning.”

Richie shook his head and ran a hand through his hair.

“It should be getting better though,” he sighed. “I mean, you going to work isn’t new for her anymore.”

Eddie rubbed his face.

“We need to find her a therapist,” he said.

“They have therapists for toddlers?”

Eddie nodded. Richie sighed again and sat beside him on the bed, his shoulders slumped. Eddie took his hand into his and ran his thumb along his knuckles.

“I hate this,” Richie mumbled. “I hate seeing her so upset.”

“Me too.”

“She made herself sick once.”

Eddie’s heart fell and he stared at his husband in shock.

“What?” he gasped.

“Like a month ago,” Richie admitted softly. “I thought it was because I gave her French toast for the first time but she kept crying so hard after you left and the next thing I knew, she lost her lunch all over the floor.”

Horror and pain and guilt whirled around inside Eddie.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked breathlessly.

“I told you, I thought it was just regular toddler throw up, but now I think she...I thought she was gonna get sick again today. Fuck!” Richie dropped his head into his hands and yanked at his hair. “I’m such a fucking shit dad.”

“Rich—”

“Our baby’s suffering and all I could think to do is put on Cinderella and rope Lydia into playing dress up to distract her.” Richie sniffed and shook his head. “I’m just like my parents.”

“What are you talking about?”

“My parents didn’t know what to do with me as a kid,” he murmured. “They loved me but they had no idea how to handle a kid with ADHD and anxiety. I mean, it was the 80s, they didn’t have the resources but we fucking do and I’m still fucking up.”

Eddie took Richie into his arms and held him silently for several long minutes until his breathing got under control. He rubbed his back and tried desperately to think of the proper thing to say but he had never had a way with words, not like Bill.

Richie exhaled shakily and straightened. He wiped at his eyes and sniffed again.

“Thank God it’s Friday, right?” he muttered, huffing a laugh. “At least we got a weekend to recoup.”

Eddie brushed Richie’s hair from his forehead and smoothed it gently.

“And we’ll look into a therapist for her,” he said. “We’ll figure it out. I promise, Rich.”

Richie nodded and sighed before resting his head on Eddie’s shoulder. Warmth spread throughout Eddie and for once, he felt like the stronger of the two.

“It’s been getting better,” Richie admitted. “She still cries more often than not but not like before. This week we got two days in a row without a freakout.”

Eddie’s eyelids fluttered. Tess was in his arms, fast asleep, on the living room couch, The Wizard of Oz playing softly on the TV. Though he was speaking quietly, Eddie could still hear Richie as he spoke on the phone in the kitchen. From the relieved happiness in his voice when he answered, Eddie assumed he was speaking to Bev.

“I don’t know,” Richie continued. “It’s clear she has some anxiety issues but hopefully we can nip it in the bud before it gets worse as she gets older. The therapy seems to be helping.”

Eddie glanced down as his daughter peacefully slept, curled up on his chest. He ran his thumb along her arm and smiled gently. She always looked younger and somehow smaller when she slept. Eddie wished, not for the first time, that she could look this calm and serene when she was awake.

“No, it’s still just when Eddie leaves,” Richie said, his voice dropping even lower. Eddie had the distinct feeling that Richie had assumed he had also fallen asleep in front of the TV. “And it’s not just that. Sometimes she gets these looks...like, far-off looks. I can’t explain it.”

Eddie swallowed. He, too, had noticed that particular quirk of their daughter’s, only he called them ‘long-gone looks’ because, for brief moments, it seemed as if Tess had disappeared somewhere deep inside herself. Her eyes would go out of focus, her entire little body would still, and for a moment, she was gone. It had frightened him the first time he had seen it but she would always blink and smile up at him and Eddie would nearly collapse under the overwhelming relief.

“I know, I know, you think I’m crazy,” Richie sighed, “but I worry. It’s more than just being sensitive or anxious, Bev. It’s something else.”

Eddie tightened his grip around his daughter. He had never said it aloud to his husband, but he had been plagued by the same worry.

“I don’t know what to do,” Richie said. “I remember when we first started looking into adoption, I was so fucking...I thought I would be able to handle anything because of the shit we went through as kids but it turns out, I feel really fucking helpless.”

Well, Eddie thought sadly, it wouldn’t be the first time I’ve overlooked Richie’s feelings.

“No, they passed out on the couch watching a movie,” Richie continued, huffing a laugh. “Yeah, I’ll tell him. I will, I promise. Thanks. Give Ben a big kiss on the mouth for me, okay? With lots of tongue. Love you.”

Eddie froze. He briefly considered shutting his eyes and pretending to be asleep but to his immense relief, Richie merely pushed back his chair at the kitchen table and slowly walked down the hall to their bedroom. Eddie exhaled a breath and turned back to the TV. Dorothy was crying about not being allowed in to the Emerald City. He sighed and closed his eyes, gently rubbing his daughter’s back.

Rainy days had never been his favorite when he was a child. They meant loneliness, isolation, and long days with his mother fretting over him. He always had his worst asthma attacks on rainy days. Those had been dark and dreary days that never seemed to end.

Eddie glanced into the living room. Lydia was sprawled on the couch, munching on apple slices, while Tess played with Barbie dolls on the floor. The Lion King was playing on the TV. Through the windows, he could see the rain falling even harder. He turned back to the cutting board. Rainy days weren’t so bad now.

His phone buzzed. He picked it up.

Just got to the venue. Gonna grab dinner with my agent and the promoter before the show. I’ll call you before I go on.

Eddie swiped his phone open and began typing his reply.

Have a good time and break a leg. All’s quiet here. Lydia asked if she could stay up until you get home tonight but I squashed that.

Richie responded immediately.

Yeah, when I told her I had a show this morning, she told me you already did a show last month. She’s very persuasive.

Eddie smiled and shook his head.

Well, she’s fine now so go live it up down there in AC. But don’t go too crazy.

I’m gonna eat a burger and maybe since I’m feeling wild even drink a soda. Really let loose. I’ll call you later. Love you, babe.

Eddie smirked as he texted that he loved Richie back and put his phone away. He returned to the task of chopping eggplant and making sure it didn’t get too quiet in the living room. He and Richie had quickly learned that there was no sound more terrifying for a parent than silence.

Lydia was still loudly snacking on her apple slices and explaining the movie to her sister. Tess, meanwhile, simply hummed in response. From the music, Eddie could tell they were at the infamous stampede scene. He still didn’t understand how kids could enjoy that movie so much. It seemed so fucking dark. Richie said that because Simba gets adopted by two gay dads, they should let it slide (Eddie hadn’t bothered to ask if they were supposed to be Timon and Pumbaa).

He dropped the chopped eggplant into the pot and began working on the bell peppers when he heard Lydia insist with all the wisdom that comes with being an older sibling, “No, he’s not sleeping, he’s dead.”

“I know,” Tess replied. “But he’ll get up.”

“No, Tess, when someone dies, they stay dead. Mufasa’s not coming back.”

“Yes, he is.”

“Nuh-uh.”

“Sometimes they come back.”

“Tess, that’s not—”

“Daddy came back.”

The knife slipped and Eddie felt his stomach clench as he watched the blade miss his finger by millimeters. He was suddenly aware that he wasn’t breathing.

“What are you talking about?” Lydia continued. “Daddy’s not dead.”

“I know that,” Tess replied impatiently. “But he did die and he came back.”

“No, he didn’t.”

“Yes, he did.”

“No!”

“Yes!”

“No, no!”

“Yes, yes!”

“DADDY.”

“Girls, settle down,” he heard himself saying as he walked into the living room.

“Tess says you died,” Lydia said quickly, pointing at her sister, who merely looked puzzled at the fact that this was even an argument.

Eddie turned towards his youngest daughter and swallowed.

“Tess, sweetheart, what makes you say that?” he asked hollowly. “I’m right here. Quite alive.”

“I know but—”

“You shouldn’t lie,” Lydia observed importantly.

“Lydia, please,” Eddie sighed. He crouched down in front of Tess and took one of her hands in his own. “I’m right here. See? Everything’s fine.”

“I know that, Daddy, you’re okay now,” Tess continued.

“You can’t die and come back,” Lydia insisted again.

“Jesus did,” Tess shot back. “Grandma told us.”

Eddie pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers. Great, now he and Richie had to have another conversation about setting boundaries with Richie’s family. He was not looking forward to that.

“Tess, sweetheart, what exactly are you talking about? I’m obviously alive and okay.”

“But I saw it, Daddy,” she insisted, a trembling whine in her voice.

“Saw what?”

“You and the monster and Papa. I saw it and I cried lots and lots but then you got better so I wasn’t scared no more.”

The blood rang in Eddie’s ears and he almost missed hearing his eldest daughter haughtily reply, “There’s no such thing as monsters.”

“And it hurt you but Papa made sure you got better and the monster disappeared forever. That’s why you have that boo boo.” Tess tapped him gently on the chest.

Later, Eddie would be amazed at his ability to compartmentalize. All he could think in that breathless moment was, I’m burning the eggplant.

He stood up on shaky legs, smiled (or at least attempted to) at his daughters, and told them to apologize to one another for arguing and finish the movie. He walked, as if in a dream, back into the kitchen, turned off the stove, and suddenly realized that tears were streaming down his face.

You thought you knew fear once, laughed a voice that sounded like a macabre combination of his mother and the clown, but you’re in for quite a ride, Eddie Bear.

“It’s back,” Richie exclaimed as he feverishly paced around their bedroom. “It has to be back. We didn’t kill It.”

“You don’t know that,” Eddie sighed.

“Then why did she say that?” Richie asked, his eyes wild. “It’s back and It followed us here.”

“That’s impossible.”

“No, what’s impossible is that a fucking space alien takes the form of a clown and a leper and fucking Paul Bunyan to fuck with us and kill people we love,” Richie insisted, breathless. “That’s fucking impossible but it fucking happened so why would it not happen again?”

“Rich, our scars are gone,” Eddie said, holding out his hand. “It’s gone.”

Richie shook his head. Eddie could tell by the look on his face and his frantic movements that he was on the verge of a panic attack. He took both of Richie’s hands in his and begged him to breathe with him. Richie snatched his hands away.

“We gotta call Mike,” he gasped.

“It’s two in the morning,” Eddie reminded him.

“So what? This is an emergency.” Richie stopped moving and pointed at Eddie. “And you should’ve called me as soon as it happened.”

“And what would you have done?” Eddie snapped. “Tell your manager, sorry, I can’t do the show, you gotta refund all the tickets because my four-year-old said something weird. Come the fuck on.”

“How are you so calm about this?” Richie asked wildly.

“Because it was probably just a dream she had.”

“Bullshit.”

“Think about it logically,” Eddie continued, “dreams are just our brains trying to make sense of the shit we see and experience, right?” Richie stared at him doubtfully. “Tess has seen the scar on my chest. Her little kid brain came up with an explanation for it.”

“An explanation that includes me and a monster and you dying?”

“We’re her parents, of course she’d dream about us,” Eddie replied. “And all kids are afraid of monsters.”

“She said you died and came back.” A tormented look crossed Richie’s face and his eyes were suddenly wet. “You did.”

“Parents die in all Disney movies. So her brain used that to explain the scar.”

Richie hesitated and ran a hand through his wild hair. Eddie noticed more strands of gray.

“I don’t know,” Richie murmured.

“I do,” Eddie said. “It was a dream. Tess had a bad dream. It’s nothing to worry about. I just wanted to tell you so you didn’t have a freak out like this in front of her if she ever brought it up again.”

Richie’s shoulders slumped. Eddie bit his tongue. He hadn’t meant to make him feel guilty. Richie raised his eyes to meet Eddie’s.

“Are you sure?” he asked hoarsely. “Are you sure she was just talking about a dream?”

Eddie took Richie’s hand again and squeezed it reassuringly.

“I’m sure,” he lied.

Weeks went by, then months. Tess’s separation anxiety seemed to be improving and though she still got that long-gone looks occasionally, she never mentioned anything about death or monsters or people coming back when they shouldn’t have. She still threw tantrums, still favored being held and read to by Eddie, still was an exhausting four-year-old but both Richie and Eddie were more than happy with that.

Perhaps it all had been a phase. Kids could be weird, Eddie figured. He and Richie both knew that to be true. And she was the younger sister. She needed her moments to act out for attention, right? Nothing to fret over. Just typical, run-of-the-mill childhood. Eddie and Richie began to relax and enjoy the ride. Besides, with two clever and rambunctious children under ten, they were far too busy to constantly worry. Like today.

Eddie was packing the cooler with juice, water bottles, and snacks. Richie was searching for his sneakers and Lydia was in the midst of her now daily monologue about the merits of owning a puppy.

“Not now, kiddo, we gotta get going,” Richie said, emptying a duffel bag of old gym clothes onto the floor. No sneakers.

Eddie grimaced from the kitchen.

“You’re cleaning that up later and washing those clothes,” he called. “They stink.”

“We could get a tiny puppy,” Lydia continued. “One that doesn’t get big and slobbery.”

“Lydia, go get your sister and make sure she’s got a jacket on,” Eddie said as he was silently debating which brand of organic fruit snacks to pack.

“And I’d clean up after it, like how I always clean my room.”

“Your room is still a mess from Tuesday,” Richie replied, now on his knees in front of the hall closet. “Go get your sister. Your cousins are all waiting for us at the park.”

“But—”

“Ah-ha! Found them,” Richie exclaimed, waving a pair of old Converses in his hand. “Lyds, Tess, now.”

Lydia sighed dramatically before stomping off down the hall to her sister’s room. Eddie zipped up the cooler and watched Richie tie up his laces.

“You’re wearing those?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“What? They’re cool.”

“You know you’re not in high school anymore, right?”

“Forgive me for not wanting to dress like a grandpa.”

Eddie glanced down at his outfit.

“Grandpas don’t dress like this,” he insisted.

“Babe, no one dresses like that.”

Eddie was prevented from flipping Richie off by the arrival of their eldest daughter.

“Tess is being weird,” she stated, an odd look on her face.

“Did you tell her we’re leaving?” Eddie asked before he realized he nearly forgot the allergy pills and went back to the cabinet.

“Yeah, but she’s being weird,” Lydia repeated.

“I’ll get her,” Richie sighed. “Put your jacket on, Lyds.” He went off down the hall to retrieve their daughter.

Eddie rifled through the medicine cabinet, searching for the children’s non-drowsy allergy medicine and wondering if it was overkill to bring ibuprofen, too. He opened the bottle and peered in to see how many pills were left. He never got a chance to really look, however, because he dropped the opened bottle on the floor when he heard his husband scream their youngest daughter’s name in horror.

[cupidmarwani-archive]

Afterward (2/13)

Chicago, Illinois: The Sexton Baby, Connor Rhodes

14 January 2019 | 19:58 Local Time

I have formally met the man haunting Dr. Halstead, or as the spirit calls him, Will and/or Sunshine. He will not tell me his name or how he died, although I looked into the hospital records and have identified him as Dr. Connor Rhodes, former Cardiothoracic/Trauma surgeon. His cause of death was labeled inconclusive, and Connor will not give me any details. I believe he died at the hospital, and it’s worth a legal investigation why he was labeled inconclusive when his death was clearly violent.

Connor is violent verbally, although his actions do not follow through3. I believe he is frightened, and that’s why he can’t move on. However, he has an undue influence on the environment around him. Particularly, the sense of time. It makes me nervous to think about the danger he could put Dr. Halstead in by doing this, as it doesn’t seem to be intentional- although he is aware of it and can bring his influence to a stop. Without more information about his life and death, I can’t help him or the doctor he has chosen to haunt.

3[Addendum ?? January 2019 | ??:?? Local Time]

Connor has proven that he is capable, physically and emotionally, of violence when he so chooses. I’ve never failed to detect this before, so I think he may have developed this capability recently. My best guess at this time would be that the communication I held for him to speak with Will is responsible. He is capable of violence. I believe the hospital should be evacuated and temporarily shut down until Connor can be contained.

-

While April gets back to work, leading Sarah away from the overwhelming crying, she finds herself a seat in the corner of the waiting room and observes. Most of the people lingering, the spirits, are benevolent, if not completely detached from the world. They just drift aimlessly, stare at themselves. Sarah wishes more than anything she could help them all, but she just doesn���t have the time. She promised herself a long time ago that she would give priority to those who really need her- people tortured, and spirits in pain. 

As she sits, she gets to see Will- whose scrubs are labeled “Halstead” if she squints- come out to the front desk to say something to the nurse there. Behind him lingers the same ghost, still bloodstained and trying to touch Will, but unable. He isn’t capable right now.

“Hey,” she hisses, and the spirit spins to look at her. Points at himself. “Yes.”

One of the other people in the waiting room, a mom cradling a wheezing toddler, shoots her a strange look and moves away a seat. That doesn’t matter, though, because the spirit drifts toward her and looks down at her, like he’s sizing her up and trying to decide what he makes of her. She’s not blatantly hurt or sick, and she knows she looks strange to him, since he wasn’t expecting a medium to show up and try to speak with him.

“My name’s Sarah,” she says.

“Connor. You can see me.”

She nods. A lot of spirits are surprised. When they can impact the physical world, even then, many aren’t visible to most human eyes. “I have the gift.”

Connor shifts nervously, looks around the room. He must be able to see the others like him, but has gotten used to the way they’re walked through and ignored by others. It can be terrifying to scream and have no one really hear you. She can’t imagine that, can’t come close to thinking up how that must feel. 

“Connor, do you have any idea why you’re stuck here? Because I can help you move on, if you’d like.”

He recoils like she’s burned him, looks back to Will and wipes his face. His hands scrub roughly, but the bloodstains don’t move. She wonders if the blood is his own, because she can’t entirely see where it’s coming from. Maybe if she saw his autopsy, she’d have more luck. But now, he’s looking at her like she’s threatened to kill him all over again, and she knows she can’t push him any farther today.

“Never, ever speak to me again.”

Just like that, he’s gone, and Sarah can’t reach for her phone fast enough. She knows which websites to look at to try and figure out what happened to him, what kind of person he was, but when she presses the power button, white numbers flash at her almost violently. It’s seven at night. When she sat down, it had barely been four. He must have some ability to manipulate time, or at least her perception of it, and that in of itself is a clue about what might have happened to him. She needs to talk to Will, though, is the thing. He might have the answers she needs.

First, though, she gets as much off the internet as she can. Suspicious death. Passed away six months ago. He was a gifted surgeon, born with a silver spoon in his mouth but determined to change the perception that he didn’t work hard. His mother killed herself when he was young. His sister and father are still alive. His instagram is private, and the bio simply reads an obituary written by someone who had loved him before his life came to an end.

Sarah winds up with more questions than answers. She needs to talk to Will, get more information from him, but it doesn’t seem like a possibility. At the moment, she doesn’t consider Connor dangerous, but he could quickly turn if she upset him by doing something like asking Will about his death.

When April finally gets off work and comes to get her, Sarah wonders if she was close enough to Connor to be someone who Connor wouldn’t like to be questioned. It’s worth asking, at the very least. The worst that happens is April doesn’t know anything, or doesn’t want to talk about it, which Sarah really wouldn’t be able to blame her for. She was called to help let April’s baby cross to the other side, not to investigate Connor. And at the moment, he isn’t a threat, so it isn’t the worst thing in the world if she has to let it go. 

“Did you know Connor Rhodes?”

The name makes April pause, her shoulders falling into a strict, angry line. Maybe she shouldn’t have asked right now. “Yeah. We weren’t super close or anything, but we were friends. Why?”

“He’s around. Did he die here?”

“I don’t want to talk about him, Sarah.”

“Right. Yeah, yeah, I’m sorry, I just- yeah. “I’ll get in my car and follow you? I’ve got stuff I need in there.” She thinks about the whole altar she has in her trunk, in addition to the duffel she’s got in her back seat. Without them, she can’t really measure the severity of the haunting, nor can she help. “Hopefully I can uh, solve this for you tonight or tomorrow. It doesn’t seem to be a difficult one.”

April seems relieved, her tension melting a little. “Thank you. Really. I can’t wait for this to be over.”

Sarah knows the feeling, but for a moment, she imagines what it might be like to stay longer. Something about April just draws her in, makes her feel like nothing else in the world matters. It’s like light, like sunshine, has been personified and Sarah has been blessed with the opportunity to meet her.

“Of course.”

She opens the car door for April, closes it after her, and heads to her car at a not-quite-jog, not wanting to waste time. She doesn’t have much to spend here, and she wants to spend what she has with April in an effort to understand the radiance pouring out of her. Maybe, if she’s lucky, she can spend a little longer here to investigate Connor. Not that it’s lucky for a disgruntled ghost to be trapped on this plane, but she just doesn’t want to leave. Something makes her want to stay here, stay in Chicago, stay with April. It feels right.

By the time she backs out, she has to speed through the lot a little to catch up with April. But after that, it’s easy going, not worrying about the unfamiliar twists of the road when she has a practical angel guiding her way. As long as she stays behind the sensible grey honda, she’s alright. And thankfully, she’s able without a hitch, and eventually they reach a nice apartment complex, nicer than Sarah’s home base she just uses as somewhere to rest between jobs and store her things. It’s not really a home. It’s just a cheap house in the middle of texas, smack in the middle of a far spread of houses surrounded by chickens and horses. The area gives a sense of family, just not one Sarah is a part of.

April parks in a numbered spot and slides out of her car, all grace and beauty, before coming up to lean on Sarah’s car door and, in a moment, let her arms balance on the sill of the now unrolled window. 

“My neighbor is on vacation for the next week, so you can use his spot,” she says, gesturing to a space a couple parking spots down from her own car. 

Then she’s backing away, and Sarah pulls in smoothly, thankful that she doesn’t need to repark. It would be humiliating. But she does fine, and is able to get out of her car and grab the duffel bag from the trunk. Candles, some gemstones and other instruments of connection to the world that many don’t see, a good handful of her notebooks to call back on if need be, and the same cross her grandmother had used some fifty years ago. It doesn’t work the way movies would have one believe, but the sense of safety and familiarity it gives Sarah is enough for it to be a useful part of her kit, both for her job and for the remaining frays of her sanity. Some days she wonders, how far is she from completely losing her mind? The answer varies. 

She hefts the bag on her shoulder so she can follow April in, making a point to keep her eyes respectfully on the bun at the nape of April’s neck. It’s still neat and almost entirely intact in spite of how long ago it must have been done. Nurse’s shifts can be killers. They’re often far too long, to the point that any other industry would be filled with strikes and complaints of inhumane demands. But that’s the medical field, that’s the kind of people who dedicate themselves to saving others. 

As April pulls out her key to let them through an almost unsettlingly average apartment door, Sarah watches her fingers sort through the metal and tries to ignore the faint crying that starts for the first time since she left the hospital.

[drabblemesilly]

Ben Bishop #3

Requested by @thatangrymardleschick:  Hi there! Love your blog! I was hoping that I could get an imagine about Ben Bishop where you and him take your child to school, kindergarten or preschool, for the first time and both of you get really emotional. Thanks a bunch!!

*Hiii! This is probably 2 years overdue but I hope you like this one. I’m trying to clear all requests so I can open it again and write according to the NHL season. Haha Have a great 2019! Enjoy. :)*

Word count: 721

Breathing exercises do not help. At all. You’ve tried counting to 10, and then to 20, 30, 40… and then you just stopped because it’s pointless. You’re still nervous as fuck. It’s like you’re the one who’s going to school for the first time, what with all the first day jitters you’re having.

Not that the behemoth sitting next to you is helping any �� seeing that he looks like he’s about to puke all over your car any second now. Reaching out, you grabbed Ben’s hand and squeezed, giving him a soft smile. It turns out, parents are the ones more nervous on their child’s first day of school – first day of kindergarten, at that.

“You okay?” you asked the nervous dad.

“This is exactly what I felt on my first NL game,” he breathed, glancing at the rearview mirror.

Your daughter, with Ben’s eyes and your hair, is happily singing the Paw Patrol theme song, her legs swinging from her car seat.

“This is a good idea, right?” you asked your husband warily, “I mean it’s just three hours.”

He nodded, although he didn’t look convinced, “it’s day school anyway.”

She’s four, though. Aren’t they supposed to stay with you until they’re 6 or something? Who knows? Honestly, you’re just winging this whole parental thing.

“You did pack her those pudding stuff she likes, right?” he asked all of a sudden.

“Yup,” you assured, “even got her some Goldfish crackers,” you smiled, breathing out.

From a distance, you can see the kindergarten center all bright and shiny.

Ben glanced at the rearview mirror and grinned, “you okay there, bub?”

Looking up, you saw your daughter flash him a toothy grin, raising her stuffed bunny, “yep, tatty,” she swung her legs excitedly, “I’m going ta school today.”

Ben chuckled, “that you are. And you’re gonna meet friends there.”

“Uhuh,” she nodded, her honey-colored curls swaying along, “lots and lotsa fwends! Just like you and mommy are fwends before you became mommy and daddy, wyt?”

Ben groaned.

You snorted, “well, not that kind of friends, darling,” you told her, “definitely not like that, not for a long time.”

“Not ever,” your husband said under his breath eyeing you, “not as long as I’m alive.”

“Huh,” you snickered, “wait til she’s eighteen, babe, she’ll be a riot.”

Before he can even answer, the little girl behind you chipped, “you will be there with me at school, daddy?”

Of course she’d want daddy there. She’s been a daddy’s girl from the moment she opened her eyes. Mommy’s the bad cop, making her take a bath, making her go to bed, making her eat those yucky vegetables. Daddy, on the other hand, takes her to the rink, buys her toddler goalie gear, takes her to get ice cream… all those stuff. Not that you’re complaining, somebody has to do it, right?

“No, baby,” Ben shook his head.

For a second, your little angel looked like she was going to cry but then she nodded bravely, tightened her hold on her bunny, and said, “okay.”

He huffed proudly, “that’s my girl.”

“I’m your girl,” she grinned, “wyt? Me and mommy?”

“Hmm,” he agreed, lacing his hand with yours, “you and mommy are my girls.”

Nine years ago, when you just started dating, you would have told him off and be all ‘I’m no one’s girl’ but today, after six years of marriage, while driving your little girl to kindergarten, you can agree that you are utterly, truly Ben Bishop’s girl. And honestly, being his girl is the second best thing to happen to you.

Having his baby girl is the best.

You rubbed his hand with your thumb, finding a moment of peace before your tears kick in.

“I’m gonna mith you bof, though,” she mumbled.

“We’ll miss you too, bub,” Ben answered for you, “but we’ll be outside waiting for you, okay?”

“Will you hold my hand?”

“Everyday for the rest of my life bub,” he smiled.

“Pwomise?” she asked, her eyes shining.

“Promise,” Ben winked.

Tugging at his hand a little, you asked, “what if some j-e-r-k makes fun of her?”

He shrugged, “she can totally kick his a-s-s and you know that.”

You chuckled, “what if some b-r-a-t is mean to her?”

He smiled confidently, “she can handle herself, all right, she’s your kid and you’re the toughest person I know,” leaning over, she gently kissed your temple, “you did great.”

Looking at your daughter, you smiled, “we’re doing all right.”

[everymovie2020]

Dead Calm (1989)

Date watched:  28 July 2019

This post brought to you by Nicole Kidman’s glorious curls:

Plot:

Sam Neill is some kind of high-ranking navy man, and on the way to pick him up, Nicole Kidman crashes her car and their toddler goes flying out through the windscreen because he unbuckled himself from his car seat and distracted her.

That is very clearly a doll, by the way.

Also - they make car seats a lot better nowadays, and I think we can all be grateful for that.

So like any good sea-faring husband, Sam Neill takes Nicole Kidman out on their yacht in the middle of the pacific for a long, isolated sea voyage (not sure exactly where they are, just... the Pacific).

Then one day they spot this boat that doesn’t return any of their radio calls, and someone is in a rowboat paddling towards them.

Enter young Billy Zane:

Sam and Nicole are suspicious of Billy Zane’s story - mostly because it reeks of bullshit - so while he’s asleep, Sam Neill leaves his wife and his dog alone on their boat with a stranger in the middle of the Pacific and heads over to the other boat to see what’s up.

Instead of, I don’t know, sailing over to the other boat in their boat so he didn’t abandon his wife but wtf do I know

And it’s not like I don’t think Nicole is capable - she is.  It’s just that... you don’t know this person and you leave your wife alone with him?  Okay.

When Sam Neill gets on board he finds that the boat is very slowly sinking, and then he opens a door and a bunch of water and mutilated bodies pour out, which makes him very upset, you can imagine.

So he then starts to row back to his boat.

But Billy Zane has woken up and taken control of the vessel, and he kidnaps Nicole and sails away from Sam Neill, leaving him stranded.

At this point you’re like, okay, I feel like this whole situation could’ve been handled better.

So now we’ve got a situation where Nicole Kidman and Billy Zane are alone, he’s a psychopath who is trying to get her on side - why doesn’t he just kill her though?  I guess because he wants to fuck her? - and she’s trying to figure out a way to turn the boat around so she can rescue Sam Neill.  Sam Neill is now on the haunted sinking boat trying to find a way to make it not sink.

He’s a sea-faring man, you see.

Anyway, Nicole and Sam manage to get in touch on the radio while Billy Zane is distracted, and then she hatches a scheme to kill/incapacitate Billy Zane, but he keeps thwarting that plan by trying to fuck her.

So then they have sex.

And it’s weird because... she goes along with it, but it’s also rape, because she does not want it, she’s just doing it so that she can get the boat turned around to rescue her husband.

Which really fucking sucks for her, like, fuck Nicole has a bad time in this movie.

I mean sure Sam Neill nearly drowns a bunch of times and Billy Zane takes a flare to the head, but like, Nicole has to grapple with some serious moral choices.

So she manages to get him strung up like a turkey and locked in a room - but before this she totally inadvertently kills the dog, by the way, which, I mean, yeah the dog died, but that dog really kept fucking over her plans to thwart BZ so maybe it was ultimately for the best - and turns the boat around.  During this time Sam Neill has gotten himself stuck below decks and then managed to escape through a hole in the hull, and he then sets the haunted yacht on fire, and Nicole finds him in the night.

Then they wrestle with BZ and knock him overboard, and you think, to his death, BUT THEN they show the other side of the boat where he’s clearly climbed back on board.

Okay, so here’s the thing.

At this point I’m pretty sure the movie was meant to end - leaving it open-ended, they think they’ve escaped but really he’s back on board.  

But it keeps going.

The next scene is where Sam Neill is washing Nicole’s hair - because they’ve just been through this horrifically traumatising thing but heaven forbid her hair isn’t attended to - and he goes below decks to get their breakfast, right?  And then you see bloodied hands twisting their way in Nicole’s beautiful hair, because Billy Zane is back on board with a fucking vengeance.

Sam Neill comes back up, finds BZ menacing Nicole AGAIN, and shoots him in the face with a fucking flare.

It is to my eternal regret that I can’t find this scene in gif format, but the freeze frame sure is excellent.

AND THAT’S WHERE IT ENDS.

And it’s like, okay, but... it could’ve been way creepier if they’d ended it on the “he’s back on board!” note instead of this tacked on scene at the end.

Thoughts:

Sam Neill is way too old for Nicole Kidman in this movie.  She’s in her 20s, and he’s 20 years older than her and it shows.

The whole toddler death thing at the start has no bearing on the rest of the movie, the kid is never brought up again after Billy Zane enters the picture.

I mean, it could’ve very well been that they were on a boat because they were on their honeymoon and that would’ve made sense.

Everyone makes stupid mistakes here all the time.

Who leaves their fucking wife alone on a boat in the middle of nowhere with a fucking stranger?

And you call yourself a man of the sea, Sam Neill!

I get an icky vibe that parts of it were meant to be sexy but I just really felt like it would’ve fucking sucked to be in Nicole’s predicament.  Like, do you even tell your husband that you let the psycho fuck you in order to escape?

And why the fuck did he kill everyone anyway?

And why was his boat sinking?

What was his plan here?  He had no idea that Nicole and Sam would happen upon him in the middle of the ocean.

Also, at one point, even though they’re meant to be in the middle of nowhere, you can clearly see a really large island in the background.

Look, it doesn’t suck, it just could be way better.

Nicole was 10/10 FIRE though.  What a legend.

QUEEN

[danthedrakk99]

The Greatest Jogging Strollers Of 2019

Welcome joggers for finding the most effective jogging strollers to your sweet youngsters. BOB Revolution joggers have THE BEST suspension I have even seen and tried.

 Car seat and guarantee data: The MB mini is designed for children as much as 44 lbs and comes with a one-year warranty. Distance between Wheels: Jogging strollers ought to have a comparatively large distance between its wheels.

It has one step fold system, has a large cover and three great rubber tire wheels. My favorite characteristic was the ability to fold the seat up, supplying you with on the spot access to the storage basket beneath find this. To assist with that although, the three wheels are quickly releasable and could be simply removed to scale back storage mass.

The wheels might be removed when folded, which will definitely assist with squeezing this stroller into a tight trunk. Now that you're nicely-aware about the car seat stroller combo, its types, benefits as well as suggestions to decide on the best one, I am certain you are able to know the preferred manufacturers out there out there.

The 5 level harnesses easily snap into place, whereas the seats provide different ranges you can alter for the youngsters inside. The Thule Urban Glide has a sporty feel and look that's designed particularly for energetic dad and mom who might be taking their little one jogging, climbing, and extra.

The stroller also has an adjustable entrance wheel tracking helps correct alignment with a simple twist of the knob. The Graco Modes Duo is a double stroller with 27-different driving choices for 2 kids. The canopy on prime of the seat will be organized in a variety of positions, and there is a viewing window that allows you to see how your youngster is doing.

There's a foot-operated parking brake that locks the rear wheels and security strap in your wrist. This roundup of some of the greatest jogging stroller choices out there features something for every child and price range. For those who look simply behind each wheel on your jogging stroller you'll notice what seems to be a coiled spring.

In terms of functionality, the stroller is simple to place up and fold again down once more, as you simply lift up the straps and it does the work itself, which you having to battle. A top quality jogging stroller will be designed for speed and flexibility, and many characteristic ultra-treaded wheels to help glide over rugged terrain.

Shock absorbers permit the wheel to bounce up and down without forcing your stroller and baby to bounce in a similar violent movement. In the case of a superb jogging stroller, it comes right down to sleekness, sportiness, and design components that let you hit your stride with out feeling like you're pushing a buying cart.

This product consists of the highest rated KeyFit toddler automobile seat and base, stroller features multi-position and flat-recline seat with Reminiscence Recline. A few of these double jogger strollers can run upwards of over $500 (Bob Stroller) and is focused in the direction of the intense runner who'll be operating and utilizing this on a regular basis.

The BOB 2016 Revolution Flex has an enhanced fast release design that lets you both remove or connect the wheels in an instant. This jogging stroller has noticeably large tires (bigger than those I mentioned already). This jogger stroller has three-wheel design with eleven'' entrance wheel and 16'' rear ones.

3. It can be used not only as a jogger however can serve as primary stroller when you add one of many Graco Click Join infant car seats - and you don't even have to spend extra cash on adapters. It's options like these that set BOB (and others like Child Jogger)Â aside from the rest.

FYI  All the joggers reviewed right here use pneumatic, air-crammed tires (as they need to), which will need to be reinflated often and may develop into flat if you hit something sharp; such is life with a jogging stroller. On the plus  side, air-crammed tires experience and handle exceptionally nicely, even on the most affordable of strollers.

Within two-steps folding, your BOB Revolution Flex Stroller is ready-to-go. Beneath find a chart comparing the highest 5 jogging strollers based on choose options. The Baby Jogger Summit X3 has some attention-grabbing options, like the ability to lock the entrance swivel wheel from the handlebar, but reviewers discovered it difficult to push and not worth the price.

three wheel stroller with air-filled rubber tires to offer finest suspension. This stroller can go on most terrains and gives a cushty and protected ride with swivel wheels for easy turning. This stroller has the identical basic stroller look as four-wheeled models, and doesn't look quite as sporty as another jogging strollers.

The journey strollers are large and heavy making them best for folks especially those who journey usually. 2. It has probably the perfect cupboard space amongst double joggers - it's big and closed with a zippered cowl. Quite a lot of the time these dad and mom will hand over on their jogging stroller and buy an entire totally different stroller that's more suited to them.

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[not-a-statement]

Chasing ghosts. Chapter 2

So for some reason I can’t edit my masterlist for this story. On of us - me or tumblr - is definitely a clumsy fool. 

Anyway, it’s been a long time but here I post again. This chapter introduces original characters and focuses on them exclusively.

Critics and opinions are always appreciated.

Baton Rouge,LA, January 23, 2035

The general office of the State Police Department was filled with sounds and people typical for Monday morning. Investigators, detectives, even a couple of court clerks were moving slowly between the work tables. Phones ringing, Maggie's coffee machine softly grumbling, detective Nate Parker rants about his little rendez vous with a couple of girls past weekend, which caused an occasional bursts of laughter from a small group of listeners. Someone’s complaining about son, who’s got yet another detention at school. That scallywag was caught smoking in the school closet during lunch break. “I mean, come on! What’s the school’s backyard is for? What’s wrong with these children?”

All this leaving no chances at all for detective Robert Brooks to focus on completing the report. Frankly, if there was anything consistent to write then probably no excuses could take place. The missing was found the week prior in the Pine Prairie area - one of the tourists called the police and said that near the shore of Lake Millers lied a body of a dead girl dressed in a white light dress. By the time detectives and the team of medical experts arrived, a decent crowd of onlookers gathered around the corpse, hence searching for traces at the crime scene wouldn’t be for big avail.

What else?

There’s no doubt that the victim was killed - even though the lungs were full of liquid and the fact that clothes and skin of the deceased were pretty much hinting that she’s spent plenty of time in the water, a rope trace was found on her neck. So, the drowning was staged.

By whom?

Well, here’s where interesting questions start.

No wonder why the crime scene was so crowded - case after case were quaking the whole country. People kept disappearing in a daylight - single men and women of different ages, usually without family and friends - those who wouldn’t be immediately claimed missing. Generally the search would last for about a week or two only to let detectives stand before such corpses (and it could’ve been worse, if one believed Nate the Chatter Box) or find victims alive but absolutely insane. Wearing rags, disoriented, and with no memory at all, no one even remembered their names.

People were frightened. And no one had even a small clue, even a hint, about this maniac’s whereabouts or appearance. His work was flawless - every time a new case appeared in press, this bastard’s already in another state. Probably.

At least everything looked like that  - no one had accurate information. And, which was a very bad thing to say, such cases were a nightmare for any detective - perfect addition to the record. There were adventurers, of course, who wanted to catch their own Zodiac, but most people were genuinely concerned about their careers.

And so it happened that careerist Brooks was not only brought to a partner of the adventurer Tam Bennett, and more so, he was appointed to investigate such a case.

Robert sighed, once again glancing over the printed report page on the computer screen.

Elizabeth Arthrisha Marlowe, born in 2019, blah blah blah ... Numerous abrasions on the arms in the forearm, blah blah ... The time of death was determined between 9 pm and midnight on January 17 of this year ... and more rubbish. Seriously, what else to write?

When he and Tam just started the investigation about two weeks prior Robert was saving hope that that time would be a fluke. Children and adolescents haven’t figured in such cases so far, and a sixteen-year-old girl could go to carouse with friends, or with some guy - anything. But the fact was bulletproof  - the corpse of Lake Millers was identified, parents were heartbroken, Captain Hernandez was constantly inspecting for progress on the case, and Bennett was obsessed with all sorts of theories. Or women.

Where is, by the way, that boy this time? Monday, ten in the morning! Wasn’t it Tam who kept calling me all Sunday while I tried to spend the day off with family, and reminded of all the chores to do on Monday? That’s not even funny.

Okay...This won’t work. Perhaps the morning coffee-tobacco ritual will help clear the thoughts? Yes, sounds good. A cup of Colombian black with cream, a spoon of cane Mexican sugar and a pinch of cinnamon in a compartment with a cigarette and fresh morning air. The first good idea for today, Brooks.

Robert got up from his desk stretched and headed for the dispatcher's counter. After receiving his equivalent of the Holy Grail from  Maggie, he passed the doors leading to the office, a corridor filled with civilians who were brought here or who came by their own will, then the hall and finally went into the parking lot in front of the department building. The weather was pleasing, here and there, however, small flocks of clouds were gathering, but the sun was shining warmly. The city, long awakened, performed a symphony of the weekday - passing pickup trucks and small cars, ordinary townspeople and important birds like lawyers and real estate agents scurrying around here and there. You could even hear a heavy truck driving in the distance.

Someday all this will be rewarded, Brooks thought, releasing cigarette smoke and slowly sipping from a mug with the inscription "Best Daddy in the World". Another five years, and I’ll be in higher position, and five more - and here comes the retirement. A small house in California somewhere in Palo Alto, a neat little garden for my Mary and a home winery for both of us. Our Aaron and Lucy would come over for Christmas, Thanksgiving, Easter ... imagine - a festive table with the family and you are sitting at the head of the table. What else can you dream about? Life will be like this cup of coffee - warm, reliable and with a very long aftertaste, if sipping small ...

“Aaaaaah!!!!”

Mother of…!!!

Brooks threw up his hands in surprise, spilling half the contents of the mug on the sidewalk. Thank God not on a work shirt.

"Are you trying to give me a heart attack at thirty-seven?" he yelled into Bennett's laughing face, sticking out of the silver Volkswagen’s window. Tam's hand was still on the honk.

"Seriously," he panted through his laughter, "you would see your face, Bob! Standing there, caught up in a daydream, and then this - Aaaaah!”

He mocked Robert’s grimace of horror.

That laughing blond face was so tempting to throw the rest of coffee at it! First he’s late for work, and now he decided to mock me!

All right, calm down, Robert, calm down. It would be disrespectful on your part to respond to the pranks of this toddler overgrown.

"Not funny, Tam," he said, trying to sound dignified, "what took you so long, by the way?"

“Oh, oh, oh! " Tam started fidgeting in the seat, shaking his arms around him.

"Wait ... where was it ..."

He began to search for something, bending in all imaginable and unthinkable directions. The front passenger seat, glove compartment, pockets on the doors, even under his feet. As Tam reached there, his head fell on the steering wheel with a swing, causing one more honk.

"Just find a spot and park already" Brooks said, rubbing the bridge of his nose with two fingers, pain in his voice. Seriously, not a partner, but a complete disappointment.

After Bennett parked his car in the far corner of the parking lot, and Brooks reached the porch of the building, finishing his coffee (great, the sugar at the bottom did not dissolve completely, and now the last sips are too sweet, splendid), they exchanged a handshake and went inside.

"I'm still waiting for the answer, young man" Robert said as strictly as he could as they crossed the hall.

"First, I'm not your son," replied Tam, smiling. "And second, I decided that I’d make you a surprise."

"What surprise for God’s sake? What are you up to again?”

"Don’t worry, Bobby, you'll like it! Very much!”

"Can you at least pretend sometimes that you're a professional?”  Robert didn’t like all those glances from people around, attracted by Tam's enthusiastic exclamations.

"Nah, I'm gorgeous just as I am" Bennett shrugged as they approached the door leading to the general office.

"Take the keys and wait for me at your car. Mine is... umm ... not in the purest condition today. I need to go to Sam, I'll be back in a moment”.

“Oh for love of...”

"Maggie! My doll!” - Bennett exclaimed, pressing his lips to the hand of the dispatcher, who immediately blushed and playfully giggled. The white blouse, she was wearing, obviously lacked buttons in certain places, which caused a lot of discomfort to Brooks. Bennett, apparently, didn’t mind this kind of view.

"How was the weekend, my sugar? Had many men kneeled?”

"I think you'd know better, detective," Maggie purred innocently  "or am I wrong?"

Really? In front of the whole office, these two would exchange so unconcealed expressions of passion and lust? Where’s the ethics committee when you need one?

"I'd love to know more ... dig a little deeper if you let me put it this way ..."

Wow! Okay, not listening to this! Gross and obnoxious!

"All in good time, detective. But next time you shouldn’t forget your promises about ... special equipment.”

The phone rang at the dispatcher's desk, putting an end to this vulgar scene much to Robert's relief. While Maggie, still crimson and still with a half-detached blouse, were answering the call, Tam winked at his partner and pronounced "handcuffs" with his lips, pointing his finger in the direction of that spicy’s lover. Just like a student at a dorm party.

"Don’t forget the keys!" he added, quickly moving away from the counter in the direction of Captain Hernandez office “I'll be in a sec!”

Brooks stayed where he stood, setting the mug on the counter. 

Here we go. Got nothing else to do but to stand here and wonder what this scoundrel has in mind. Every time. Every goddamn time. Easy to wound up with a half-turn, and everybody better run away within a radius of a couple of miles around. Cars soar into the air, tiles fly from the houses’ roofs, women in  panic, children crying. A real hurricane. Safe for the name - Tam, not Andrew.

"It's not even the first month that he works here. Sam lectures him constantly, I give instructions, and look at him. Always jumping ahead, as if his head’s made of stone and will demolish any wall”  Robert thought out loud “what's even going on in his brain? ..”

"Dunno much about the head, Bob," Maggie said in a caramel voice reappearing at the counter, dreamily slapping her eyelashes, "but trust me, what's going on in his pants ..."

"You know what, I already regret saying it out loud!" Jesus Christ, would this vulgarity scene come to an end already?!

Brooks got to his desk and sat down in the armchair. The plan for today, which could hardly be called consistent as it was, began to become completely insane. First the report, which he had nothing to write in, then spilled coffee, all sorts of bedtime insinuations - yes, Robert knew what sex was and where the children came from, he himself was a father, but that's too much - and now it's time to arm with a trowel and a little plastic bag to walk this boy. We ought to find a leash. Maggie probably would have one ...

No, no, that's a bad joke. Very bad.

Okay, probably the report can be a time killer, while Tam’s chatting with the captain. It’s not like time killers are always pleasing but what you gonna do, right?

At least there were some people who’d probably be happy with whatever Brooks wrote for a report of an adolescent girl’s horrifying murder. Newspaper editors.

It looked like they’re making it a competition to draw more attention to their source of information compared to competitors. "The Oregon maniac visits Louisiana." "Yet another reason to use the door chain." "Mysterious kids killer at large".

Blah blah blah. Scribblers.

Of course the case is serious and everybody mourns for the girl and prays for her parents to smother their misery, but is it really necessary to play with people's hearts like that? Add in the photo plastered on the front page - a police tape in the foreground and a bunch of people crowding behind it. Fresh stuff, just from the crime scene.

On Friday evening, when Brooks was about to leave home, anticipating a delicious chicken breast with Parmesan and eggplant for dinner, he found Nate and Tam in the interrogation room, staring intently at that exact photo from the newspaper. Enthusiasts. They say that the criminal always returns to the crime scene. So both decided to play bloodhounds. Also Robert could smell some booze in the room too, so...

On the other hand, if one took a sober look at things, then there wasn’t anything consistent either. No traces, no clues, even the smallest. Absolute zero. Robert had already suggested Hernandez to hand over the case to the special squad to take that burden of a case off his shoulders, but every time that question popped up Sam would just grin and pat Brooks on the shoulder.

"Bob, what are talking about? You have such an experience, such record! And what a chance to be a mentor to the young one!"

Sounds easier than it is...

“Surprise!” a folder fell sharply on the table in front of Brooks.

Oh my God…

“Cheer up, partner!" Tam said, plopping down in the armchair opposite to Brooks. "We have a case!"

"Um, I know," Robert raised an eyebrow, "and you always find an excuse to slick away"

"No, you don’t understand, Bobby." Bennett majestically placed his palm on the folder, touching it with his fingertips, and slowly moved it towards Brooks. "We have a case."

Robert, still looking suspiciously at the youngster, took the folder and opened it, going into reading. Photo, name, surname, lots and lots of text. With every line he read, the hope to at least somehow bring the present day to an acceptable level, was slipping away. It seemed that having a leash wasn’t a joking idea, but a very real necessity.

Brooks gave his partner a glance full of fatigue and disappointment.

“Well, am I good at making surprises or am I the best?” Bennett's brows creased conspiratorially.

"Please tell me this is a joke ..."

“Why?”

“Tam, I’m begging you.”

"What's wrong, Bob?"

Brooks heaved a deep sigh and began to read aloud.

“Mabel Jessica Pines, born in 1999, Piedmont, California. According to her landlords arrived on January 18 of this year from the city of New York. According to Smiths couple - owners of the apartment at 881 West Roosevelt Street Miss Pines rented - she came across as a modest, quiet woman, not particularly talkative and constantly thoughtful. Her interests were the surroundings, especially the University of Louisiana and Manchac swamps. Mr and Mrs. Smith also noted that she preferred not to answer questions about family and relatives. Only said that she was married, but got divorced a few years ago. Wasn’t seen participating in any phone calls. On the 20th of January she left the rented apartment and never came back. Was dressed in a gray coat and a long skirt, carrying a medium-sized travel bag and a mobile phone, which she stopped responding around 7 pm. Left a laptop and a notebook in the apartment”.

Brooks put down the folder and brought his hands to the bridge of his nose, resting his elbows on the countertop.

"Great, isn’t it?" exclaimed Tam. “Full set - you’ve got clues and description! All we need to do is restore her route, trace each her step, find her perso... What?”

Brooks, still holding his hands on the bridge of his nose, pointed to his partner with his finger, as if asking him to plug his fountain of enthusiasm.

"What's bothering, Bobby?"

Calm down, Robert, calm down. You are reasonable, smart man. You’ve had many of such conversations with your young son Aaron. It's the same, no differences.

"Bob, you're straining me."

Easy, easy. I'm straining him, you see. Well, well, let it be, a little bit of tension didn’t kill anyone so far. I'm still alive.

"Listen, you're breathing as if you've gone too far with pepper in the soup, Bobby.”

All right, that's enough.

Robert slowly raised his head, holding his hands together at the tip of his nose. He was breathing really deep and quite noisy.

"First," he began softly, clearing his throat, "call me Bobby one more time and you'll be riding in the back seat. And second, we have no new case. Foot down”.

Tam whistled.

“Hmm, mate, you're …”

"Let me ask you something" interrupted Robert, "when you accepted this case, which part of your organism was functioning as a thinking part?"

“What does it have to do with it? It's such an opportunity!”

“What opportunity? Tell me" Brooks asked, still keeping his coolness.

Tam looked at him with an expression of complete perplexity a second or two, then leaned forward and began:

“Listen. What’s the main problem we had with the Marlowe’s case?”

“The case itself.”

“I'm serious.”

“You don’t say! You know how to be serious?”

"Look, this isn’t funny” Tam frowned. "Our main problem was time which we’re lacking of. What did we initially know about the Marlowe girl? Almost nothing, neither where most likely she could go, nor her full circle of acquaintances. So no one expected that her loss could be just such a case.”

“What case?”

"Such a case" Bennett pointed to the folder, "clear as day."

Brooks raised his eyebrows.

"Give me at least a hint because I don’t really understand ..."

“There’s nothing to understand here. A lonely woman, from another city. Comes to nowhere and almost immediately disappears!” Bennett could barely restrain himself from being excited. "This is our Oregon maniac, I'm telling you."

Well, here you go.

When it comes to do paperwork, he has plan for the evening. And when it comes to burden me with additional stress, so he's first in line. It’s already becoming unbearable. How do I explain him?

"Ok, Tam," Robert said, restrainedly. "Here’s what we’ll do. You’ll take this muck to where you took it, wash your hands with soap and then we'll go to your piano tutor.”

Bennett made an uncomprehending face.

“Seriously. We are not taking this case and that’s final. We've had enough trouble with that Marlowe girl" Tam started to protest, but Brooks stopped him, lifting both his hands “No, I'm saying that’s enough. Get yourself a notebook, call it "My hasty conclusions that have nothing to do with reality" and write down all your speculation there.”

Robert got up from the table and began to pull on his jacket.

“Now you and I will get in the car, go for a coffee and do some work.”

With these words, Brooks took his car keys from the table, checked once more whether the token that hung on his belt of trousers was there and was ready to the exit the office when Bennett found something to say:

"So you'll go to Sam yourself?"

“For what?” Brooks froze half a turn, looking back at his partner.

Bennett just shrugged.

“Well, to tell him personally that you refuse to take the case, which he himself commissioned, for example?”

Sam did what?

“Come again.”

"The captain of the state police department assigns us a case, and you stand against the decision of your superiors." Bennett smiled ingenuously.  “Pretty brave of you, I must say.”

Oh no. No no no.

So it’s not Tam? Can this day get any worse?

Brooks sighed noisily and lowered his head, staring at his polished black boots. How many thresholds were overstepped by these guys, how many pursuits for criminals and capture operations they saw. How many times did Brooks polish them to shine, to look neat, while receiving a new title or listening a praise for a successfully disclosed case. How long have they gone and for what? In order to soon go to the dump together with the Robert’s career.

The vision of the house in California again appeared before him and immediately melted in a light haze. Nothing of the sort will happen if the captain continues to charge Robert with such hopeless cases and companions.

“So what?” Tam behind Brooks pointedly looked at his watch. “What did you say about coffee? Can we grab a cup for Sam? Well, you know, as a sign of respect and …”

"Come on ..." Robert muttered softly.

“Sorry, what?”

Brooks raised his eyes to the ceiling and repeated a little more distinctly:

“Come. On”

Bennett, grinning in a broad smile, instantly jumped from his seat, grabbed a folder from the table and flew past a still motionless partner, slapping him along the shoulder.

“That’s more like it!” he proclaimed joyfully. “New case, baby!”

Would you just shut up already an unfortunate thought flew through Robert's head as he sadly followed Tam out of the office.

***

“And she had very kind eyes. Hazel” Brooks looked into his notebook. Yes, this phrase has sounded for the third or fourth time for those half an hour from the time that detectives arrived to the landlords of the missing.

“Kind, but very sad eyes …”

"Yes, Mrs. Smith, I think I wrote it down," Robert said, holding out his hand to his cup of tea on the coffee table in front of him. Mr. Smith tumbled in the room noisily puffing, holding an ashtray in one hand while the second was already groping for his pocket.

“Anna really liked the girl” Mr. Smith perched in a chair next to his wife. The ashtray was placed on a table next to the cup of Brooks, and in the pocket finally found the coveted pack of cigarettes. A mischievous smile played on Mr. Smith's lips.

"Henry, for heaven's sake!" His wife threw up her hands. "How many times have I asked you not to smoke in the house! You know, my back does not welcome airing so often.”

"You can bear it once a week honey" Henry brought his lit-up match to a cigarette with trembling fingers then inhaled and immediately fell into a ruthless throaty cough.

Anna Smith shook her head worriedly, looking at her husband, and turned to the detective:

"I told him that forty years of smoking would make some consequences. Imagine - he wasn’t listening to me until he laid down on the surgery table! Who knew that you can get a tumor like that, right?”

"Benign," Henry finally cleared his throat, "it was benign, my dear. And the main thing I’m still in one piece. Head, hands, legs” he winked at the detective and folded his old mouth into a grin like a little mischievous schoolboy.

“And what’s betw…”

"When you, ahem ..." Robert hastily intervened to stop the phrase, which beginning wasn’t biding anything good "when you applied, you mentioned that Mabel reluctantly talked about herself. I believe that you’ve learned at least something about her?”

"Yes detective but very, very little." Mrs. Smith clasped her fingers and put them to her forehead, concentrating on something.

"She said she came from New York," her husband said, releasing a cloud of blue smoke, "god knows what called her to our backwoods ..."

"Oh shush, Henry." Mrs. Smith shook her finger in vexation. "I'm sure detective knows already where the girl came from."

“Can I clarify the question?” Brooks put the notebook aside on the table. “The bartender from the diner near the bus station mentioned that in a conversation with him Mabel said that she came in search for someone. Didn’t she tell you the same thing? Maybe mentioned who it was?”

"Ah, poor thing! Did she have to eat breakfast there?” Mrs. Smith shook her head in frustration. "If she came at once, I would feed her with a decent breakfast. What kind of muck could she be offered there?”

"They used to have good burgers," Henry shook the ashes, "at least five years ago, when I last had them ..."

“Nonsense! Burger for breakfast?”

“Ahem. Mrs. Smith …”

"Yes, sorry" Anna turned her attention to Brooks. "No, she didn’t say anything like that to us. She was married, that's all I know about her life. But her husband didn’t interest her very much, as far as I can tell. I did not see a ring as a lock, so he’s probably still alive. Maybe he was quite a scoundrel”

"And what’s her husband's name?"

Anna just shook her head.

"Forgive me, detective, but I never heard it from her."

From above came the sound of the door being opened, followed by hasty steps down the stairs. Found something a thought rushed through Robert's head. A moment later, Tam appeared in the room. His face was ... disappointed?

"Mrs. Smith, you wrote in a application that Mabel had a laptop and a notebook."

"That's right, young man, she left them in her room."

Brooks stared at his partner's face, puzzled. Tam only shook his head briefly.

"Is something wrong, gentlemen?"

"Have you left your house in the last couple of days?"

"Just to do shopping yesterday afternoon ... what happened?"

Brooks rose abruptly, and they both hastily rushed to the stairs to the second floor. Mabel's room was nothing particularly noteworthy - a bed, a desk, a window and four walls. Things were lying neatly, the bed was made. It seemed that the guest had left a minute ago.

“Checked the window sill?”

“Yes, it’s dusty as if no one touched it for several years”

“A lock on the door?”

“Just a latch, any fool would open without a trace ..”.

Brooks slowly walked to the table, on which was a layer of dust accumulated over the past few days. All the items seemed to be in their places, but two square spots were barely noticeable near the edge, in which dust seemed to sink.The distance between the spots was about 9 inches, as between the pads of a small laptop.

"I think we're done here" Robert muttered.

***

"So someone broke into the house at night, or when the hosts were not there," Robert and Tam were driving away from the Smiths' house toward the police department, "I think we both understand that it was our client."

“Here you go, drawing conclusions again!” Brooks briefly honked the driver who was still standing on the green traffic light signal.

"Maybe it's our client, or maybe just a burglar."

“Burglar who took only a laptop?”

"Did you have time to inspect the rest of the house? Found anything valuable?”

“No, but …”

“Exactly. Maybe he was in a hurry”

“Come on, you're just looking for an excuse not to solve for 2 and 2”

“I'm looking for an excuse to conduct an investigation of a case imposed on me correctly”

"Come on, Bobby, this is an adventure! Now we write a request to New York, find her family ... hey, need to have a leak?”

Robert pulled over and stopped abruptly. After that, he turned his head staring at his partner intensely.

“What?”

Brooks slowly moved his head toward the back seat.

"What’s that?" Bennett looked back “I can’t see anyth…”

Coming to a realization he slowly turned and gave his partner an incredulous look.

"Are you kidding me?"

Robert shook his head sarcastically.

"You're not serious."

"Very serious, Tam." Brooks looked at his watch briefly. "Hurry up, we're running late."

Rolling his eyes Bennett leaned back in his seat looking up above while groping for the handle. Twenty seconds later, when he got into the back seat and slammed the door behind him, Robert said with satisfaction:

"You have to bear responsibility for your words and deeds, dear Tam. Welcome to the world of adults”

He heard a loud raspberry being blown from behind and noticed in the rearview mirror that Bennett was now staring out of the window with his arms folded.

“Who I'm talking to though…”  Robert tiredly complained without addressing anyone “Seriously, my eight-year-old son behaves more adequately”

He accelerated and detectives continued their way to the department building.

[martinlook43-blog]

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Round baby cribs offer you beautiful woodwork and very rich finishes and you'll love the expression of them in your infant's nursery. If you reside in a cool region, you need to consider how to insulate it in the winter. Amish baby furniture may well be the ideal option for you and your infant. When you begin looking to get a convertible baby bed, you will realize that you have to put that bed together when it arrives at your residence. With several styles, sizes and shapes to select from, you are going to discover the crib that's just right once you shop with Bassett. Describe to her what you're doing. It isn't easy to open and close. There are a lot of cute, safe crib sheets that could enhance your nursery's charmjust make certain they are made to snugly fit the mattress. In addition, a high excellent crib will continue to appear great throughout recent years. The non-organic mattress is created with viscoelastic foam, which includes polyurethane. There are a lot of websites about parenting that you may find nearly all kinds of situation possible. With so many choices and choices, new parents can be overwhelmed by the complicated things essential to consider, with all these things putting their kid's health in danger. Most parents want only the most appropriate for their children. When many moms utilize a crib from the beginning, a bassinet has multiple advantages. Last but not the least, double and triple strollers are ideal for the parents who have a couple of young kids within a stroller. To help you to find the ideal baby crib, we at Best Reviews have done all of the research you demand. Invest in the top sort of baby cribs, you won't regret it. They don't come with a mattress, so this is an extra purchase you need to make. Round baby cribs are in reality no more costly than the standard cribs. The durable wood construction is certain to last for a long time to come. Whether you've got it in the crib mode, the toddler bed mode or the complete bed mode, it's a lovely item of furniture. Additionally, if it's in pieces when you get it, it's almost not possible to tell if it's in good shape or not. For more information please visit 10 BEST PRINCESS BABY CRIBS 2019 If you reside in a cool region, you need to consider how to insulate it in the winter. Amish baby furniture may well be the ideal option for you and your infant. When you begin looking to get a convertible baby bed, you will realize that you have to put that bed together when it arrives at your residence. To make certain that your child's safety in a crib, it is essential to look at turning down the second hand offers from your family and friends and get new. After you have assembled the baby crib, make sure that there's no part missing. In the event the baby isn't enjoying the massage, he'll fuss. Wearing your infant is becoming more and more popular, but given how many different baby carriers are on the market it has gotten really tough to work out which ones are right for you and your infant. It's convertible, therefore it will grow with your youngster. A young child might not always mention this meeting so that you ought to be an active parent within the youngster's school. Also, you are going to want to find some great crib sheets to cooperate with it, and we also carry a guide for it! In addition, a high excellent crib will continue to appear great throughout recent years. Have a look at the way in which the mattress is held up. If space optimization is at the peak of your list, we've got styles that are guaranteed to suit you and your infant. It was an alternative, but a risky one. Since it's difficult to purchase the very best crib with all these alternatives out there in the industry, but above I mentioned some factors which you should you must take into consideration before buying a crib, they will certainly give you the capacity to secure you the item worth the purchase price. When you're likely to wash baby bibs for the very first time, make certain to read the care label carefully. One other important thing is to correct the crib in accordance with your baby's abilities. If all you will need is a great crib that receives the work done, going with a standard one ought to get the job done! There are lots of party ideas that may be taken from the online first communion party supplies stores, especially if you've got no clue how to start organizing such event. There is an abundance of online shops available which will help you personalise or design the invitation cards just how you desire. A number of the bigger and more industrial items will sell well above the standard garage sale rates. What the In-Crowd Won't Tell You About BABY CRIBS Despite the fact that it can be somewhat expensive, trust me, it's worth the cost! You may get cribs for a couple of hundred dollars to a couple thousand dollars. With so many choices on the industry nowadays, it is a good idea to understand what you would like before you start. Alright, a few of you may be wondering what a mucus plug even is, so we'll start there with the fundamentals. It will enable your child's skin especially if he's got cradle cap and nappy rash. It is going to also guard his skin from any more irritation. Also, it's a superb idea to pick a car seat that the seat belt can easily fit into so it is possible to continue to keep your infant in place when moving. In case the used crib you're taking a look at is a convertible crib, check to see whether the conversion kits are already there, and whether they are included in the purchase price. But if you go this route, make certain that the wheels are in a position to be locked in place. When giving your baby medicine, it's imperative that you stick to the recommendations of your child's physician. And I really like their return policy. Come prepared to spend a few hours here. An individual should also think of the assembly. Newer cribs are not as likely to have these issues. The majority of the times, babies remain in the crib. Nevertheless, in regards to a baby crib, it's always wise to purchase brand new. Picking a baby crib is just one of the most significant decisions in a baby nursery, Not only do you wish to make certain the crib is safe and secure, but it could also sometimes set the general style for the nursery. Below you'll discover a checklist for selecting the proper baby crib. 1 solution is to choose an oval crib. There's additionally a large assortment of bedding to produce your new round baby crib as fancy and elegant as you are interested in getting the nursery to be. The Fight Against BABY CRIBS Kid beds arrive in an enormous choice of styles including modern designs, fundamental and conventional styles, along with sleigh bed layouts. These cribs also supply a huge array of convertible cribs in their various collections that are made to last for a lengthy time from infant to preschool age. They come in a variety of styles and configurations. Even though most of the bites and stings are harmless but still, you have to be cautious. Describe to her what you're doing. It's very easy and simple. Only a small quantity of lead is required to harm a young, growing child. The simple fact that drugs like marijuana are really simple for adolescents to get is a somewhat disturbing fact, however there are particular things that can be done to deter substance abuse among adolescents. Such teen problems have zero boundary or actual source of worry. To help you shop, keep in mind that you can sort the goods in our on-line store by category. You usually can't buy or even price their furniture online, but could easily use their site to find a dealer near you. If you are interested in an inexpensive crib without the bother of ordering, these stores can be a fantastic choice. BABY CRIBS Features You might be a bit nervous ordering it as it's so inexpensive, but nonetheless, it is actually a significant crib and many parents who buy it agree. And I really like their return policy. Speak to your physician about testing your son or daughter. There is not a good deal more to it than that. You should also bear in mind that there's no need to purchase two of everything. If all you will need is a great crib that receives the work done, going with a standard one ought to get the job done! Don't forget to at all times hold the baby as you are feeding them. Whenever your baby is about to move on a bed, a toddler bed is a good option. Selecting a crib for your infant is a significant step in creating your fantasy nursery. It will provide your nursery a very open feel, which is good for smaller bedrooms. Moveable PVC coop so they can feel like they're free ranging. It also includes a bedding set to assist you set up your nursery in no moment. Babies generally have a short length of attention and they have a tendency to run out of interest and energy quickly. In finding and purchasing a round baby crib, they need to be sure that it will fit their budget first and foremost. Convertible cribs are attractive to a lot of buyers, but the extra expense might not be well worth it to some parents. City apartments, as lots of people know, can be little and stuffy. Healthy finger foods are perfect for your baby's very first birthday. Bathing them two to three times per week is sufficient. Decorating your child's nursery is among the basic pleasures of being a true parent. After all, as a parent, you would need to make sure your kid is secure and comfortable whilst traveling. A young child might not always mention this meeting so that you ought to be an active parent within the youngster's school. Mattresses ought to be dense, firm, and not sag below your child's weight. Most cribs are made from wood, but some will be reached out of metal, so bear that in mind, too. Many cribs available on the market permit you to correct the height of the mattress. Well, aside from that, a restful sleep is also necessary for your baby's proper improvement. By way of example, adjustable mattress heights are useful since they may keep you apart from bending again and again to pick your son or daughter. Somewhere around the time of 4-6 months, babies usually begin to acquire their teeth. Characteristics of BABY CRIBS The ultra modern design is certain to make it a focus of a nursery. Consequently, safety and caliber of workmanship play a critical part in items like car seats, infant carriers and strollers. Another method is to examine reviews of the baby stroller to observe the way that it stands with those who have already utilized the exact same model you're looking at.

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Greatest Double Umbrella Stroller In 2018 & 2019

Your youngsters want to see the world. Pushing ZOE XL2 BEST is sort of a breeze and the wheels roll properly, but this is not an off-highway stroller. It is nice choice for urban dad and mom, who are sometimes on the go with their toddlers. Delta Youngsters Metropolis Metal DX Facet by Facet Stroller.

The ultimate necessary feature is recline. Do you want a reclining seat or not? Strollers that function a recline generally are bulkier and weigh extra. This is likely to be price it in case your youngster naps in a stroller. We also like how easy it's to fold the stroller. The unit folds compactly to 30.5x13x30.5 inches, which is compact sufficient to be accepted by most airlines.

The stroller has a 360-diploma shock absorbing front wheels in addition to a giant European fashion cover retaining your baby protected from the elements. Like asking, What's the most effective automotive? The question of what is the perfect double stroller is determined by your needs and your budget.

These are the facets that that you must think about if you've made your mind for getting one of the best light-weight stroller for new child. If that's the case, you're going to enjoy riding the Child Jogger 2016 city mini double stroller. This double umbrella stroller is designed with an elaborate entrance wheel suspension to soaks up street bumps.

Journey: This stroller is nice for youths as one in all them can sit up front and the opposite may be behind . Even at the again, the kid can safely do whatever he needs, be it sleeping or standing or just sitting. Full measurement: this ultra-lightweight stroller boasts the scale of a full-size twin stroller. It accommodates two rising children of various ages.

When you get an umbrella stroller, you will not have to carry any additional baggage anymore, as a result of there's enough room within the stroller to hold them for you. babykidshq has a list of  strollers, You probably have the seats reclined, accessing the storage basket will be hard. If they are not reclined, you will haven't any points.

It has to be used for kids who are older than six months. You can't use it with a car seat or newborns. I came up with this record after days of painstaking research and have solely included strollers with one of the best safety ratings, firm history and buyer feedback.

Jeep double stroller. In excellent situation. Used for our twins. That'd be good in a single stroller. In a double stroller it is incredible. In case you are in search of a double umbrella stroller for travel or one you can simply carry round lots then the ZOE XL2 is it.

2) Can be folded swiftly in a matter of seconds. Wants little or no cupboard space - fits easily at the back of even small cars. You must also ensure the double stroller has ample storage accessories to fit all of your journey necessities. Choose a stroller that has a storage basket and below seat compartment. The Valco Child Snap Duo Denim Blue is desirable.

Storage: two storage baskets positioned below the seats assist you to carry all essentials comfortably. If your toddler still prefers to journey in a seat together with your toddler alongside, you'll want to be certain your stroller has the weight capability to accommodate both kids.

This stroller is almost prefect. Only complaints is that both seats should recline more also the wheels do not stay i was in a position to wash the material however its still the most effective strollers ive had. This stroller is beloved by many parents, not only as a result of if its low value, but principally because of its superior features. It has over a hundred and fifty constructive reviews on Amazon. Here are the primary assets and flaws that oldsters mention.

Light-weight: this is one of the most lightweight double strollers on the market, weighing solely 20lbs. Harness systems on each seats hold the babies protected while strolling, while the product seamlessly converts right into a convenient journey system. In reality, Graco DuoGlider Click Join accepts two Graco SnugRide Click on Connect automobile seats.

Options include 5 seat positions, front and rear suspension, extendable legrests, individual sun canopies, a compact umbrella fold and carry handle. When folded, the stroller has the dimensions of a carry-on and is easy to take with you in your flights. Nevertheless, this unit isn't quite suitable for an toddler.

Double Strollers, like the UPPAbaby G-Hyperlink, are good investments for fogeys of young children. With a little analysis and a bit of thought, you'll use this versatile piece of child gear throughout the toddler years. For comparison sake, remember that the City Mini GT and Valco Child New Twin have smallish 8-10″ tires, and the most important of all-terrain strollers have 16″ tires. These 12″ are smack dab within the center.

Delta Kids LX Side by Aspect Tandem Umbrella Stroller. This tandem stroller is likely one of the extra affordable good for twins” double strollers. We call it the poor man's Metropolis Choose” as a result of it offers many of the same features, but for a cheaper price tag.