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beca-mitchell · 4 years

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we are the wild youth (4/5)

chapter 4: catch us in the mirror (it looks a lot like love)

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5

Summary: New semester, new/old feelings. Same Beca and Chloe. Supposedly.

Usual warnings apply! Smut w/ a dose of fluff this time. chapter title from “Another Place" by Bastille ft. Alessia Cara.

Word count: 5k

Read below or on AO3.

Figuring it out in the morning doesn’t quite come right away. Though they spend the night together, Beca regretfully has an early breakfast with her father and stepmother—a breakfast promised to them many weeks ago. It is a tradition at this point—an end-of-semester breakfast with her father as she begrudgingly admits that maybe four years at Barden wasn’t so bad.

“I have to get breakfast with my dad,” Beca murmurs, pushing at Chloe’s arm. She gives up on that when Chloe rolls further into her and captures her lips in a messy, early morning kiss. Beca almost caves completely, debating how upset her father would be if she skipped out.

“You should go,” Chloe whispers.

But we should talk, Beca thinks. “I should go,” Beca reiterates. “But—”

“Don’t let me keep you,” Chloe says slyly, leaning back with a grin. Beca groans at the blatant way Chloe tucks her arms behind her head and lets the sheets slip tantalizingly low.

“You’re horrible.”

“I’m not doing anything.”

Beca scowls. “Yes you are, you’re doing too much.” With that, she scrambles to climb back on top of Chloe’s body, letting her hands fly up to cup her breasts possessively.

Her previous mild hangover is already a distant memory.

- - x - -

So she’s a little late. Whatever. She’s done with her second last semester of college ever.

Her stepmother shoots her father a knowing look. Beca tries not to think about what that means.

Chloe has already sent her a text.

Chloe i’ll see you tonight

“And tutoring?” Beca’s father is asking her. “That went well this semester?”

Beca shrugs, stifling a smile as she puts away her phone. “I can’t complain.”

What her father doesn’t know can’t hurt him.

- - x - -

“You look beautiful,” Chloe murmurs.

Beca blushes furiously under the intensity of Chloe’s gaze and the deep sincerity in her tone.

It wasn’t that Beca had never been on a date before—she had a small share of relationships over her past few years at Barden, but nothing had amounted to anything serious.

She mulls over how surreal her life seems now, especially as Chloe’s hand wraps around her own, soft and warm all at once.

“Where are we going?” Beca murmurs. She uses her free hand to draw the lapels of her jacket together as she shivers.

Chloe pauses immediately and slowly steps in front of Beca so she can gently pull up the zipper on Beca’s jacket. Beca shivers again, this time because of how close Chloe is standing to her; because of how softly Chloe rests her hands against her shoulders when she finishes zipping up her jacket. The act, in all its simplicity is incredibly intimate and so, so rife with gentleness.

It almost feels like Chloe is a completely different person, but the softness in Chloe’s expression is all too familiar. A gaze that Beca had grown accustomed to over the past semester, even amidst brief moments of tension and annoyance.

It is nothing new, simply just a fresh outlook for Beca.

“We’re going to get dinner,” Chloe says simply. “Then to celebrate you finishing your last exam for the semester, I’m going to let you have your way with me.”

Beca swallows.

Right. Nothing new.

- - x - -

Beca grunts, keeping up the vigorous pace she’s set. Her fingers, slick and dripping with Chloe’s wetness, slide easily through Chloe’s cunt as Chloe’s cries intensify in volume.

She keeps her eyes trained on Chloe’s face, tracing over the furrow in her brow, her parted lips, and the deep flush on her cheeks—all serving to make Chloe even more attractive than she already is.

Chloe’s hands, clenched and unable to move by way of being restrained, tremble with the force of each precise, deep thrust of Beca’s fingers.

“Good?” Beca rasps, concerned when Chloe makes no noise for a few seconds.

Chloe hums, a thick rattling sound from deep within her chest, before nodding shortly. She stares up at Beca with bright eyes, brighter than usual. Her hips arch up wantonly when Beca’s fingers slow to a stop, buried deep inside Chloe. Beca tries to keep up some degree of focus, but the fucking clenching Chloe is doing is kind of fucking distracting.

“Chlo, words,” Beca urges. They’ve already been in bed for hours. Beca knows they should have stopped a while ago, but the thought of being apart for a couple weeks during Christmas break hda been too daunting.

“Yeah,” Chloe mumbles. “Yeah, just a bit more, baby.”

As always, the newfound nickname sends a thrill through Beca’s body. She shivers even if the heat in her room is cranked and the windows are sealed shut. Outside, cool air all around and the slightest hint of rain.

It is a typical Atlanta December just outside her window, but Beca finds it hard to care that another semester has just up and gone like that. Not when her entire world zeroes into the beautiful girl unraveling in her arms.

- - x - -

It is incredible how much better Chloe is at waking up in the morning.

But somehow, she makes waking up horrendously early a more enjoyable experience. Somehow.

Maybe it has something to do with the way she presses a slow lingering kiss to Beca’s shoulder, mapping the edges of her tattoo. Maybe it has something to do with the way she makes no move to leave the comfort of Beca’s bed and instead wraps her arms around Beca.

“I have a question,” Chloe asks. “Do you think I passed?”

It isn’t what Beca expects, but it makes her laugh. “Can we not talk about school right now?”

“What should we talk about?” Chloe wonders aloud. She sighs and nestles her chin just over the curve of Beca’s shoulder. Beca tilts her head back to watch Chloe carefully while her fingers gently trace over place where Chloe’s wrists had previously bore red lines from the scarves tying her wrists to the bed.

“I don’t know,” Beca finally says when Chloe continues to watch her.

“I have another question,” Chloe murmurs, gently easing Beca onto her back. Beca allows Chloe’s to drape her body over hers, like a second blanket because of how warm and comfortable Beca feels then.

“Should I be charging for tutoring services right now?” Beca snarks before she can help herself.

Chloe smiles, beautiful and carefree. “Depends. Will you be my girlfriend?”

It is entirely not what Beca expects at all. Her eyes widen and she takes in Chloe’s sincere expression, bright-eyed and open. It is such a far cry from just months ago, the end of August. Chloe’s dark-eyed gaze hellbent on simply making Beca come against the dresser multiple times. Possession and lust.

This is so much more. Just a matter of months and Beca finds that she has uncovered an entirely new version of Chloe Beale. One that she has grown to care for; one that she might even admit to loving.

It is so, so frightening knowing that there is a very tangible pressure hanging over both their heads. Beca, as Chloe’s tutor and essentially her ticket out of Barden. Chloe...as Beca’s one-way trip out of Barden as well. Out of Atlanta, for good.

“I think we can work something out,” Beca murmurs. “But I think I can’t accept money for that. Ethics.”

“Good, I wasn’t planning on paying you anyway. Not in money at least."

Beca shuts her up with an eager, messy kiss, already looking forward to the rest of the morning; looking forward to the rest of their mornings.

Chloe drives her to her father’s house later that day with the promise to message Beca while she’s away. Beca hates herself for the immediate thought that follows, that a family vacation to Paris and Nice for Christmas never sounded so horrible.

It is the oddest feeling to Beca. As she watches Chloe drive away, her lips still tingling from the kiss Chloe planted on her just before giggling and hopping in the car, she wonders where this feeling came from.

It is the feeling that she would rather be in Atlanta than anywhere else in the world.

- - x - -

Chloe <3 i passed calc :)

That is the message Beca wakes up to followed by a series of kissing emojis.

Beca calls Chloe immediately, cursing whatever Gods decided that Beca had to be across the globe in France of all places travelling with her father and stepmother on a fun family holiday. Emphasis on fun.

Chloe answers on the second ring. “Hey you. How’s Paris?”

“You did it! You passed!” Beca exclaims.

Chloe laughs. “Yes I did.”

“What’d you get?” Beca asks.

Chloe giggles. “I don’t want to tell you, you’ll let it go to your head.”

Beca exhales noisily. “Chloe. Tell me,” she whines, uncaring that it is probably too early in the morning for that kind of nonsense. She can’t help but smile at Chloe’s dramatic exhale.

“Fine,” Chloe sighs.

Pause.

“Chloe!”

“Beca,” Chloe drawls, clearly enjoying herself. Then, finally, “I got an A minus.”

Beca gasps, shooting straight up in bed. “Holy shit, I knew you were faking it.”

Chloe laughs. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yeah, you just casually got an A minus. Alright.”

Chloe laughs again. She does not comment on Beca’s sarcastic tone. The brief silence that passes between them is comfortable. Beca lies back on her hotel bed, smiling up at the ceiling and wishing she could just be back in Atlanta so they could celebrate together.

Beca takes a stab at expressing her emotions. “I miss you.”

Chloe’s smile is nearly entirely audible through the phone: she sucks in a breath and pauses for a one delicate moment. “I miss you, too.”

- - x - -

Just like that, winter break is over.

Beca finds herself stunned at how little time she actually has until graduation. Residual Heat rings in the new year and new semester for her by requesting more samples of her work. That first week back at school ends up being one of the longest weeks of Beca’s life and she spends the majority of the week holed up in her room except when she dashes out for class. It sucks, but she hardly gets to see Chloe except for a very brief study session in which Chloe had diligently completed a preliminary statistics assignment without much guidance from Beca.

It is not until Saturday that Beca realizes that Chloe is lounging on her bed reading a thick novel that barely looks like it is in English.

“What day is it?” Beca asks in wonder. She glances to her side realizing that there is a bowl of yogurt and diced fruit as well as a steaming mug of tea.

Chloe giggles quietly, putting her book down while scooting over to the edge of Beca’s bed. “You’re surfaced, finally. Happy with what you’ve been working on?”

Beca nods. “Want to listen?” She is so grateful for Chloe’s presence. Neither obtrusive or invisible, Chloe had simply waited for Beca to finish.

“Yes,” Chloe says immediately, eyes lighting up. “You still owe me music.”

Beca laughs, amused at her girlfriend’s antics.

“Come here and let’s listen to it,” Chloe declares, patting the space next to her.

“Excuse me,” Beca says haughtily. “This is my room.” She clambers up next to Chloe nonetheless, pulling her laptop up with her. “Save comments ‘til the end.”

“Don’t you want live feedback?”

Beca would respond—she has a response ready—but Chloe’s hand comes up comfortingly to rub Beca’s neck, the gentle curve of the top of her spine, and up again to her hairline.

It is ridiculously nice.

“Stop,” Beca warns.

Of course, Chloe just doesn’t stop. She simply switches to an even slower, even rhythm. Her hand remains soft, yet firm against Beca’s skin.

“Well?” Chloe asks, her voice low and quiet. It makes Beca want to kiss her. “Show me.”

Beca finds that she really does not mind sharing—it is incredibly easy to open up to Chloe after all. It is something she has had the privilege to learn.

- - x - -

It isn’t that she has stopped learning things about Chloe. She learns more about the freckles on her body, along her neck. The curve of her breast. She learns exactly what kinds of touches draw out the sharpest breaths or the gentlest moans.

Beca kind of never expected to be that person, but she ends up skipping a class or two just to lie in bed with Chloe, watching the sunshine dance across their skin. Where one begins and the other ends is a mystery that Beca has no intention on solving.

She learns—and she aches to learn—more about each breathless gasp. Each telltale sign.

It feels like they have all the time in the world, or more specifically, that they have all the time in their world between the stacks of assignments and between classes.

It is every college cliche rolled into one whirlwind romance and Beca has long given up trying to assess risks and calculate the trajectory of heartbreak.

And Chloe—Chloe continues to figure out how to unravel Beca more and more. Each touch of a hot mouth between her legs shatters Beca’s resolve. All kinds of words threaten to spill from her lips, each more dangerous than the last.

Be mine—

I love you—

Stay—

Please don’t leave me.

And with every sure stroke of Chloe’s tongue against her wet, aching clit, Beca finds herself losing all semblance of the carefully-constructed path she had set for herself. She just has no idea when it was that Chloe tore down her walls.

- - x - -

“Before break, you, um, mentioned that your mom…” Chloe trails off hesitantly. “We don’t have to talk about her,” she says hesitantly watching Beca slowly close her book. “But I just wanted you to know that we could. If you want to.”

Beca observes how Chloe bites her lower lip slowly. The way her hands are curled into loose fists. “You can ask,” Beca allows, fixing Chloe with a gentle gaze.

The thought of talking about her mother is daunting most of the time. At least ninety-seven percent of the time. But Beca finds that it is something she wants to share with Chloe, if only to comfort both of them in that moment.

“I don’t really know what to ask,” Chloe admits.

“That’s okay.”

“I...when did she—?”

“I was probably five or six,” Beca replies, wracking her mind for some kind of memory. They are foggy at best. “She was sick,” she says simply. “That’s, um, all that I really remember. I have pictures of me with her, but that feels like an entire lifetime ago. My dad said that she liked to sing to me. Maybe that’s where the music thing comes from. I think about it now, you know? What it’d be like if she were still around. All of this.” You, Beca wants to say. She doesn’t manage to make it slip past the tip of the tongue.

Chloe nods with nothing but care in her expression. She reaches across the table to place her hands over Beca’s as the noise in the cafe fades to nothing but a dull nothingness. “I think she would be very proud of you.”

Beca marvels as that statement unlocks the floodgates of memories over the past few years at Barden. Yet another experience that she will not get to share with her mother, but the thought is comforting in how much Beca really believes Chloe when she says it.

“She would,” Beca agrees finally.

Chloe smiles at her and returns to her notebook.

“Why do you ask?”

“I’ve been…” Chloe licks her lips. “I’ve been coming to terms with what happened to Jamie and just how bad things have been at home. And I just...don’t know what I would have done without you last semester and this semester.” She smiles, a little shyly. “You’ve helped me more than you know, Beca.”

“I have?”

“Not just with the homework and the tutoring because I guess...I never really needed it. But what I needed was somebody like you to help pull me out from my own self-sabotage.”

“You did it all by yourself, Chloe. I’m just here to support you.”

Chloe’s lips twitch, this time neither sad nor happy. “You’re the first.”

Beca is quiet for a moment. “Jamie would be proud of you too, Chloe. No matter what you end up doing. He would be like...stupidly proud.”

“That sounds exactly like something he would say.” Chloe appears mildly amazed. “How do you always know what to say?”

Beca could say the same about Chloe.

- - x - -

“So New York, huh,” Beca’s father notes over dinner one cool evening. “That’s the plan.”

“Yes,” Beca says shortly because she doesn’t know what to expect.

He breaks into a smile. “I’m proud of you, Bec. You really stuck through it. And you’re almost done with tutoring forever. I assume it’s going well.”

That makes some of Beca’s previous elation dissipate quickly. “Yeah, it’s going well.”

It’s kind of hard to admit to her father that she’s kind of in love with the girl she’s tutoring. Not exactly dinner material.

- - x - -

Chloe <3 your original music is EVERYTHING I love it so much <3 And your voice!!!

Beca Glad you liked it :) I made it with you in mind

God, Beca knows she’s a sap, but she can’t help it. She can’t imagine what the freshman version of herself would say about all of this.

Chloe <3 Come over? I miss you

Beca supposes there isn’t much to say about that.

- - x - -

Somehow February flies by in a blink. Between tutoring and working part-time and the dawning realization that she really is going to move to New York at the end of the school semester, time is flying by far too quickly for Beca.

“Come with me to the studio today,” Chloe suggests. “I want to show you something.”

“What is it?”

“It’s a surprise, Beca,” Chloe explains, sounding very much like an exasperated adult lecturing a child. “Do you like surprises?”

“Not particularly, no.”

“I feel like you might like this one.”

“Will it involve sending your minion children to attack me?”

Chloe gasps. “No, but oh my God, that’d be adorable.” She smirks. “I’ll have to keep that in mind.”

Beca grumbles to herself. “Fine,” she agrees. “But one whiff of sabotage and I’m out of there,” she promises with no real bite.

“Deal,” Chloe laughs and pulls her in for a kiss.

Beca ends up learning exactly what Chloe had been teaching her little rascals all semester.

“I used your original song,” Chloe says shyly when the first notes reach Beca’s ears. She loops her hand around the crook of Beca’s elbow, tenderly stroking her skin while being ever mindful of young eyes. “I hope you don’t mind.”

“You choreographed a dance to my song.”

Chloe nods. “I mean. Multiple," she admits sheepishly. "We started with your Rihanna remix. They love your music.”

“They’re ten.”

“Not that song. Your other remix. "We Found Love". I love that one," Chloe says in a dreamy tone. Beca knows exactly what Chloe is talking about. She had absolutely made it (as with most things recently) with Chloe in mind.

“Oh,” Beca murmurs, now entranced by the smiling, happy faces all around her. The dance is adorable and surprisingly complicated for a group of ten year olds.

It dawns on her fully that Chloe choreographed a dance to her music. Beca isn't necessarily one to really judge romantic gestures, but this makes something in her chest grow very tight. She can imagine the smile on Chloe's face as they had planned this little surprise over the previous few weeks.

“This is what I want to do,” Chloe says suddenly and so quietly that Beca almost misses it.

“You want to do what?” she asks, leaning into Chloe’s side, eager to feel the warmth from Chloe's body.

Chloe’s arm comes up around her shoulder naturally. “Teach. Teach kids. Teach them how to be better like you taught me...well.” She trails off, shy for once. “Like how you taught me.”

“You want to be a teacher,” Beca clarifies.

“Yeah.”

“Chloe, I think that’s perfect.”

And it really is so amazingly perfect. Beca isn’t quite sure what to do with this new information. It hadn’t been something they had talked about, Chloe’s post-grad plans. Beca had (wrongfully, she notes) assumed that Chloe would just continue on to work for her father and then eventually work on something like a medical degree like her brother.

God, the thought of more years in school makes Beca want to die.

“You think I could be a good teacher?” Chloe asks, insecurity creeping into her tone. “I’m not...I’m not good at explaining things like you.”

“I’ve seen you with these kids,” Beca assures her. “You care so much about them and everything you teach them. And please, as if I could ever choreograph something and then teach it to somebody. Everybody’s teaching style is a little different.”

Chloe flushes, pleased by the compliment. “I mean...I guess it’s something to consider, right?”

“Right,” Beca agrees.

“Also,” Chloe begins, nudging Beca. “Don’t think I’ve forgotten that you’ve kept this whole singing thing from me. Imagine my surprise hearing your voice on that remix.” Chloe lowers her voice. “Surprise might be a loose word for it…”

Beca flushes this time, bright red. She can feel it on her face. “There are literally children around, Chloe. Shut up.”

“You can make me later.”

- - x - -

As expected, the lines blur between what they consider dates and Beca still keeping up the pretense that Chloe needs tutoring. With calculus well out of the way, statistics is an easier course to handle.

“We should study,” Beca murmurs, though she makes no move to wriggle out from underneath Chloe. She likes Chloe’s solid weight on top of her. She likes the feeling of Chloe’s soft curves pressed against her.

She likes knowing that Chloe is there.

“We should,” Chloe agrees. “I am paying you.” Her hand glides dangerously low down Beca’s belly before sweeping up again to gently grope at her breast, plucking at an already-stiff nipple.

Beca’s body is too easy.

“I don’t know if this was included in the lesson plan,” Beca breathes, though her hips have already begun to rock upwards against Chloe’s body to alleviate some of the pressure between her legs.

“Should I pay you extra?” Chloe asks, voice muffled by Beca’s neck. She begins to hum and whisper-sing into Beca’s neck, the opening bars to Titanium.

What a lovely voice, Beca thinks. She wishes she could have heard it more.

- - x - -

April comes too soon. After an extremely short spring break—thankfully spent along the coastal shores of Savannah at a quiet Airbnb (clothes optional)—Beca finds herself getting ready for a gala honoring Chloe’s father.

Beca knows that Chloe hates having to go to these kinds of events, but when she is the only daughter of the man who has buildings named after him on campus, it sounds like the kind of thing she has no real way out of.

“I think I am way too underdressed,” Beca complains, tugging at the fabric of her dress. “You look like a million bucks. I look like ten dollars. Maybe fifteen.”

Chloe laughs from where she is adding finishing touches to her make-up. The expanse of her back that is visible to Beca from where she is seated on the edge of Chloe’s bed sends all kind of dark, dirty thoughts through her head at an alarming pace.

Beca sits on her hands.

“You look wonderful,” Chloe says without even glancing in her direction.

“You didn’t even look at me.”

Chloe sighs, like she thinks Beca is being exceptionally annoying and puts down her mascara. Beca isn’t quite prepared for the heated, direct look Chloe fixes on her when she turns around. “I’m looking now,” Chloe all but purrs, stalking towards Beca with all the grace of somebody who knows exactly what she wants. “And I like what I see.”

“Oh,” Beca squeaks out when Chloe pulls at her hands so that they’re standing face-to-face.

“Stop worrying,” Chloe whispers, breath hot against her mouth.

Beca wishes she could just shut off her brain like that. “I’m not worried,” Beca murmurs, eyes trained directly on Chloe’s glossed lips.

“You’re worried,” Chloe singsongs before walking back to her vanity to again fiddle with her make-up.

Beca follows slowly. “You’re worried,” Beca says knowingly. Chloe rolls her eyes.

“No,” she replies. “I’m just annoyed that I have to go to this dumb event. Just to watch my dad get yet another award that he doesn’t need. A glorified paper weight”

“You don’t have to go,” Beca suggests even though she knows it’s a weak suggestion.

“Oh, yes I do,” Chloe laughs.

“What’s the worst that could happen?”

Chloe shoots her a look. “Are you sure you want to come?” she asks for the fifth time since she herself invited Beca.

Sighing, Beca reaches out so she can gently trap Chloe against the vanity. “Do you not want me to come?” she asks, trying to ignore the flash of pre-emptive hurt that rushes through her at the thought of Chloe not wanting her there.

“No,” Chloe says. Quick and urgent. Her eyes dart up to meet Beca’s in the mirror as she drops her make-up again. “No, I want you there,” she murmurs. “I just…don’t want you to be bored. It’s going to be boring and I don’t know how not boring I can make it for you.”

It is a reflection of Chloe’s influence on her that Beca’s first thought is something incredibly inappropriate for a gala, black-tie event. She stifles the thought, filing it away for when they return to Chloe’s apartment later that night.

“We can be bored together,” Beca suggests. “I downloaded like two episodes of The Office on my phone.”

Chloe relaxes, twisting in her arms. “Good episodes?”

“I guess we’ll see.”

“I like the idea of being bored together,” Chloe admits.

Beca nods, determined to brighten Chloe’s mood. “And there’s going to be free food.”

“I can’t promise it’s going to be good,” Chloe teases. “It’ll be that annoying fancy food that you hate. Just like in the movies.”

Beca reaches up to brush hair away from Chloe’s face. “Smoked salmon and cucumbers and crackers that I totally could have bought at the grocery store?”

“Yes.”

“I’m suffering through this for you so we’re definitely getting McDonald’s after.”

Chloe brightens, clearly charmed. She loops her arms over Beca’s shoulders, pulling her closer. Like each time Chloe pulls her into her orbit, Beca is breathless with how dizzying the force of her emotions are. “Carls?” Chloe asks eagerly.

“Pancakes it is.”

“Last chance,” Chloe warns. “You sure you don’t want to spend your Friday night with your friends?”

“Chloe,” Beca whines. “I want to be with you.” The words tumble from her before she has a chance to take them back or modify them to correct the course how deeply she actually feels for the woman in front of her. “I don’t want you to go alone. It’s final.”

“Beca,” Chloe murmurs. The heat in Chloe’s gaze makes Beca want to retract all her previous statements so they can spend the entire evening in bed. Beca’s sure she can convince Chloe.

Beca tries to smile innocently. “Is it working?”

Chloe sighs. “Is what working?” she asks with exasperation in her tone, but she is already stifling a smile.

“Making you feel better, weirdo.”

“I like the idea of coming home with you. That's making me feel better.”

Beca blows out a frustrated breath. She hates that Chloe can say impossibly sweet things but somehow make it completely dirty all at once. “Can I kiss you or will it mess up our lipstick?”

Chloe sighs exaggeratedly and finally sags fully into Beca’s arms. “I can fix it after,” she whispers before she is moving forward so that their lips can press together.

The event itself is nothing more than an opportunity for high-powered figures in academic and professional circles to schmooze with each other over expensive, endless alcohol and as Beca and Chloe had predicted, a surprising assortment of unnecessary finger foods.

“We should probably sit,” Chloe murmurs.

Beca startles, lowering her champagne flute from her mouth. She hadn’t thought about it before this very moment and it occurs to her that they’re probably going to be in plain view of Chloe’s parents. At the very least, Chloe’s father. Beca had tried to forget about that first dinner at Chloe’s parents’ house, but it was kind of difficult to shake Dr. Beale’s general intimidating force.

“We’re not sitting with your parents are we?” Beca asks in a panicked tone. She’s sure she has lipstick on her teeth.

“No, they get to sit with the other adults. I just get to be thrown into a photo later on.” Chloe smiles. “Why? Scared?”

“I mean, a little. Considering…” Considering we’re dating and now he knows I spent more time imagining you naked than tutoring you.

“Considering we have sex regularly,” Chloe finishes sagely. “Totally understandable.”

“No! Just...since I’m still tutoring you.” Beca hasn't necessarily considered their relationship like that in a long while. It is still jarring to think that other people perceive her and Chloe's relationship as being an entirely professional and educational one.

Chloe flutters her eyelashes. “You are?”

Beca swallows and quickly passes off her glass to a passing server. “Stop.” She glances around. “He could be anywhere.”

Chloe laughs and pulls Beca to sit down at their designated table. “You’re overreacting. He’ll probably be happy to see you. He thinks you’re a good influence.”

That eases some of Beca’s nerves for whatever reason. She supposes it might be something to do with the fact that her girlfriend’s father approves of her in some capacity (though not necessarily the right capacity). Beca allows Chloe to steer her into a seat.

Chloe politely greets the people seated at their table and makes small talk with some professors that Beca has no idea what department they’re even from.

It is a completely different world.

Beneath the table, Chloe’s hand moves to grip hers.

Beca never wants to let go.

/end ch. 4

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#bechloe #pitch perfect #we are the wild youth #fanfiction #my fanfic #mine #text

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sillydodobird · 4 years

Text

Glittery

Here it is, finally!!

This took forever and its insanely long and I can’t tell if i love it or hate it. I started this over a month ago and I just finished it. It’s one of the longest things i’ve ever written. Super sorry if anythings misspelled or wrong, It’s Christmas Eve and I really need to wrap presents! Happy Holidays to you all!

Paring: Chlonath

Warnings: Kissing, Cursing.

Length: 7K+, so buckle up.

It’s probably the insane amount of sugar in her snickerdoodle latte that’s making her so sentimental. One is naturally sentimental around the holidays, but she’s looking at a really pitiful looking Christmas tree surrounded by more impressive Christmas trees. The small thing is barely 4 feet tall and kind of slouching to the side, but it’s adorable in its own little way. It has character. More character than the other overpriced 9 foot trees in the lot.

Chloe has probably been staring at the tree a little too long because a teenager comes up to her and asks her if she needs help with anything. She makes a split-second decision and decides to buy the little charlie brown Christmas tree. She’s never actually bought a real tree, her parents grew up with real tree’s and both never wanted to deal with the hassle of having to care for a dead tree in their own living room, opting for the fake trees that are not as big of a fire hazard.

It’s not even December 1st and in the back of her mind, she realizes the tree might not make it until Christmas because of how early she bought it. Worse comes to worst she will just buy another one.

This is the first year she’s spending most of the season alone, not going back to Paris until the day before Christmas eve. She can’t say she’s upset she won’t be with her father until then but she does feel a little out of place not being home.

She has her butler, Nico, drag the small tree in and place it right by the window, far away from the fireplace. She doesn’t have any Christmas decor at her apartment, this is the first of soon to come decorations.

She hears him before she sees him. More accurately, she hears his weird gasp slash choked “Chloe?”

Really she could ignore him, pretend she doesn’t recognize him, but some strange part of her longs for the normalcy of someone from Paris, even if that someone happens to be a hipster art student. She grinds her teeth before turning around to face him.

“Kurtzburg?”

The ginger in question has changed since the last time she saw him, which was a little over a year ago. His hair is longer, pulled up into a messy bun. His cheekbones have gotten sharper and from what she remembers she thinks he’s gotten taller. Other things haven’t changed, he still has paint on his hands and he still has ripped jeans on even though it is 23 degrees outside.

Nathaniel doesn’t look nearly as confused as he sounds. She’s not sure if he’s shocked to see her because he didn’t expect to see a familiar face in New York or if he didn’t even know she was in New York. She, on the other hand, doesn’t know why he is in New York. Last she heard, he going to the royal college of arts in England.

“What are you doing here? Are you on vacation?” He asks in french, which Chloe is grateful for because she really hates speaking English.

Chloe fiddles with her Starbucks cup, her second of the day. “Uh, no. I live here.”

Red eyebrows rise, “You live in New York?”

“Yeah, I’m at FIT.” She doesn’t ask him what he’s doing here because she doesn’t really care.

“The fashion school?” Nathaniel asks, “That’s really cool, Chloe.”

The blonde nods already feeling the awkward tension in the air. She’s not sure if Nathaniel can feel it, he’s always awkward, maybe he’s immune to it.

He obviously doesn’t pick up on the weird air that comes with seeing an old classmate, “I’m at Columbia.”

Oh great, the hipster goes to the college her father wanted her to go to. The Ivy League college that Chloe decided not to apply for because she did not want to follow in her father’s footsteps. Her father, while slightly disappointed, managed to be supportive of his little princess forging her own path in life. She realizes that this means she will probably be seeing him more than she wants too.

“Very cool.” Her voice is monotone, displaying how uncool Chloe really finds it.

He reaches up to grab a package of colorful Christmas lights from the shelf, “Well it was, uh, nice seeing you?” It sounds like a question more than a statement, and Chloe guesses the awkwardness is finally starting to register to the artist.

“Goodbye, Kurtzburg.”

Nathaniel makes a weird face like he’s second-guessing himself, “Uh...See you around, Chloe.” He leaves the aisle, taking the colorful lights with him.

Once he’s out of sight Chloe lets out a breath. She can finally get back to shopping.

Her townhouse is now a winter wonderland. A very well thought out the color scheme to be both holly and jolly but not nauseatingly so.

Chloe decides to celebrate her newly decorated home with hot chocolate and watching Saturday Night Live’s Christmas special.

Chloe really wonders how she managed to piss God off enough that he decides to make her life a living hell.

She’s positive she’s cursed. Just today she woke up late and left her portfolio at her house, had to speed walk to class in 6-inch heels because her driver had a family emergency, almost twisting her ankle in the process and on top of everything her hair appointment had to be rescheduled.

But now it’s pouring rain and she did not bring an umbrella. Even though it is well below freezing it’s not snowing outside, it’s just freezing cold rain.

She’s sitting in Starbucks’s lobby, sipping hot chocolate and trying to work on her essay. It’s not due for another week but she feels like wasting time waiting for the rain to stop.

Once again, she hears him before she sees him. He’s ordering a black coffee, weird how boring his coffee order is considering how artsy he is. His hair is down and he is wearing a ridiculously bright blue scarf that clashes terribly with his, well, everything.

She’s debating on hiding behind her portfolio when he notices her. His blue eyes widening in recognition and she can see the moment of hesitation before he makes his way over to her.

“Uh, Hey. Long-time, no see.” He jokes.

“Are you stalking me, Kurtzburg?”

Nathaniel lets out whatever is a cross between a sigh and a laugh, “Still blunt as ever, I see. Would have thought you would have grown out of it by now.”

Her blue eyes narrow, she doesn’t need or deserve attitude from a living breathing tomato.

“What do you want?” She doesn’t want to attract any more attention to herself than necessary, the fact that they are speaking french is already attracting onlookers.

“Nothing, Chloe. Believe it or not, I don’t seek you out. I’m just taking shelter from the storm, same as you.”

Chloe hmphs but doesn’t bother responding to him. She bites her tongue when he decides to sit across from her.

He takes out a sketchbook and some graphite pencils. She wonders how much he’s improved since the last time she saw his artwork. Admittedly, he was the best artist in their entire school. She remembers the beautiful paintings he did of Ladybug and Chat Noir and she can’t help but be curious about what is taking up pages in his sketchbook nowadays.

She resorts to sneaking glances at him. He doesn’t look at her, too focused on his art. His stupid hair falling in his face and he moves to push it behind his ears, where she notices he has multiple ear piercings. His eyebrows were furrowed and he looks to be having trouble with whatever he is drawing.

After a while, he speaks up. “So why New York?” He doesn’t even look at her, still looking down at his art.

For a moment she considers telling him to fuck off and let her write in peace, even though she hasn’t actually written more than two sentences. She decides to answer him with a smidge of politeness.

“I like New York.” She really does love it here. It’s always busy and she doesn’t ever feel like people are watching her. Back in Paris, she could never let her guard down.

“How does your father feel about you being here?” He’s put his pencil down, using his fingers to smudge the graphite. He still hasn’t looked at her but she hasn’t looked at her essay since he spoke.

“Why do you care?” She spits out, she can’t tell if she’s annoyed at the fact that he’s asking such a personal question or if it’s the indifference his voice seems to project.

“Curious. My parents hate that I chose to go to school in the states.”

“Why did you come here? I thought you were destined for the Royal College of Arts.” She doesn’t realize she’s even asking the question until its out.

Luckily Nathaniel either doesn’t notice how weird it is that his former bully knew where he was planning on attending college or just didn’t care.

“Didn’t like the vibe.” He’s picked up his pencils again, fingers now dusted with graphite.

Chloe bites back a laugh, “Didn’t like the vibe? What were they not hipster enough?”

He does look up at that remark. His blue eyes meet hers and a weird feeling spreads through her stomach. His lips spread to let a small smile peep through.

“Nah, just didn’t feel right.”

She rolls her eyes but doesn’t try to get any more info out of him and he doesn’t bring up his previous question.

He does, however, ask what kind of classes she’s taking and she responds. It’s not awful, talking to the redhead. If anything it’s just nice to be able to converse in her natural tongue. She tries to figure out what he is drawing but he keeps it perfectly angled away from her.

It’s about another 40 minutes when he starts to put his sketchbook away. She looks out the window and notices the rain has stopped.

“Imma head on home.” He says while making eye contact with her. He has a soft smile and a dimple makes an appearance. He lifts his bag up and stands up.

“Bye.”

“Bye, Chloe. See you around.” He sends her one last smile, this time with teeth, and walks out the door.

Chloe tries her best to look uninterested, gives him a small wave and looks back to her laptop. She’s only managed to write two paragraphs in the last hour.

Chloe tries to stay and finish her essay but quickly gives up after 20 minutes.

It’s not like her essay is due tomorrow anyway.

Chloe manages to score an A on her marketing exam and she celebrates by taking a walk through the city to do some Christmas shopping. She’s already bought her parents, Adrien ( and by extension Mariantte), Sabrina, and all of the people her father employes to make her life easier. She did manage to contact her driver’s wife and plan a small romantic vacation for the two of them, so she's able to cross off ‘good deeds’ on her checklist.

Chloe is admiring the newest line from Versace when she sees him.

She is 98% convinced he is stalking her and the next thing she should do is file for a restraining order.

He’s in a very ugly silver puffy jacket, jeans, and boots. He has a beanie on covering most of his hair but is unable to cover the unruly locks. She wonders how an artist can be so fashionably challenged.

He’s also carrying bags, not shopping bags because Chloe highly doubts he can afford to shop in this plaza.

She decides to ignore him. He obviously didn’t see her and she's definitely not about to walk up and start a conversation with him.

She does, however, see him when she walks towards the Channel Gardens. He has a camera in his hands and he’s zooming from tree to tree snapping away pictures. She didn’t know he was interested in photography, she wonders if this is for a personal project or a mandatory school project.

She turns away and starts her journey home. It’s below freezing and she’s ready to watch the polar express and wrap presents.

And if her thoughts drift to the redhead in the garden, well no one can prove it.

She’s listening to Terror Jr and trying to find inspiration. She doesn’t know if it’s because of the holiday stress but she has been severely lacking any inspiration.

Chloe hates feeling like this. She feels like how she imagines the color brown to feel like. Boring, unimaginative and overall yucky.

She is getting nowhere on this stupid essay and she’s also getting nowhere with the spreadsheets she needs to have completed by the end of the week.

She’s at Starbucks again because while she does go to a fashion school the library is always crowded around this time of year and she’s claustrophobic. She’s only been in the Starbucks for a while, she’s only on her first toffee nut almond milk latte.

Her father FaceTimes her, which is honestly surprising. Who taught him how to do that? Jean?

The camera is pointing to the ground so she sees some of his shoes and the floor. He’s discussing the annual Christmas dinner at their house with all of their extended family. Chloe zones out through most of it until he asks if she’s bringing a plus one, during school, Sabrina used to be her plus one but now she can’t see that happening. She tells her father she doubts it and puts on a smile so he forgets about it. He’s perfectly fine going back to rambling on about Paris and his mayoral duties.

She manages to hang up with her father and goes back to writing her essay. It takes her about another 2 hours, and two more latte’s, but she manages to finish it.

He finds her at Target again. She wants to know why he’s at Target so often and then realizes she can’t find that weird because she’s at target most days.

“Maybe I should be worried about you stalking me, Bourgeois?” He teases.

“Fuck off, Kurtzburg.” She doesn’t hold back this time but instead of being intimidated he, however, lets out a laugh and smiles a toothy smile at her.

“Oh Chloe, it’s no biggie. I don’t mind.”

Chloe rolls her eyes and starts to move her cart away from him, tempted to run over his feet.

He catches up with her, “Alright, sorry. I just think it’s funny that this is the second time I've seen you at target.”

“Have you looked at the calendar? It’s less than 6 weeks until Christmas.”

Nathaniel nods, keeping pace with her even as she tries to speed up. “Ah, nope had no idea.”

She abruptly stops and he stumbles a bit.

“What do you want?” She asks

“Nothing. I just think it’s a funny coincidence.” he raises his hands in mock surrender.

“So you’re bothering me because?” She snaps.

He lowers his hands and she’s ready to hear whatever bullshit is about to flow from his mouth.

“I think we should hang out.” Her eyes widen and Nathaniel is quick to continue to add on. “I think we should hang out because it’s nice to see someone from home.”

“Come on, Chloe. We should at least try hanging out once.”

She glares at him, “Doing what?”

He averts his eyes and shoves his hands into his orange hoodie, “Well...I uh…” He stutters “I really didn’t think you’d let me talk long enough for me to get to that.”

Chloe rolls her eyes and walks away. If he wants to hang out with her, he’s gotta do better than that.

They do become friends or what Chloe would call acquaintances who don’t hate spending time together.

She grows used to the way Nathaniel dresses. She doesn’t approve of it but she is used to it.

She grows used to the way he constantly doodles. How his hands are often covered in paint.and how he always had at least 3 earrings in.

She’s not even really sure why he’s even trying to be friends with her. It’s not as if he doesn’t have other friends in New York, she’s seen his Instagram stories that include friends who she imagines share the same passion for art.

But she’s now in those Instagram stories. He’s developed a habit of snapping photos of her and adding them to his story. He always tags her and she wonders if he’s completely okay with all of their old friends and classmates knowing they are hanging out.

The first time she puts him in her story and tags him, he sends her a small little heart and smiley face emoji. No one is around to see her blush and therefore it’s totally fine.

He’s asked for her help with some art project, something about Christmas lights and free not chocolate. Chloe doesn’t turn him down and now they are in the middle of Rockefeller Center, staring at the Rockefeller Christmas Tree.

Chloe is sipping on her hot chocolate, with extra mini marshmallows. Nathaniel is setting up his art supplies, thankfully it looks like he just plans to sketch and not paint. She wonders how long this is going to take and if they should go out for dinner afterward.

The ice skaters are all around and Chloe remembers when her parents first took her here when she was a little girl. She hasn’t been ice skating in a few years and she’s pretty sure she would look like a newborn baby giraffe trying to skate.

She’s content to people watch but Nathaniel wants to talk apparently. He’s gotten into the habit of playing a game like twenty questions, something about them needing to know more than the basics about each other.

“What is your favorite Christmas song?”

In all honesty, it’s probably that Pennies from Heaven song from the movie Elf but she doesn’t say that, “Merry Christmas, Darling by the Carpenters.”

“A classic.” He says while looking up at the tree, hand still moving across the paper.

“What about you? Is it something like super obscure? Must be Santa by Bob Dylan?” She laughs.

“What? No! What even is that? Is it good?”

“It’s definitely weird.”

He laughs and Chloe realizes she doesn’t hate the sound. Doesn’t make her want to grind her teeth, his laugh is not obnoxious but it’s genuine. Like he’s honestly having fun just sitting here working on an art project with her.

“It’s Please Come Home For Christmas.” He says after he’s stopped laughing “By The Eagles.”

They go back and forth for a bit, she finds out he thinks Eggnog is better than hot chocolate which Chloe calls bullshit on and Nath finds out that she can’t possibly pick a favorite Christmas movie because they are all good, including the shitty hallmark ones.

It’s around 11 o’clock. The crowd has died down and there’s no one around besides the stray couple still ice skating. Nathaniel is putting the finishing touches on his sketch. It’s gorgeous of course, he’s managed to blend the colors of the lights on the bright green Christmas tree to make it look as if they are twinkling, he’s also drawn the ice skaters and the hot chocolate vendor. She’s amazed he managed to put this much detail into something that’s only taken him 2 hours.

“So what do you think?”

It takes her a moment to realize he’s asking for feedback. She’s not sure why he’s asking someone who has very little artistic talents but she gives her honest opinion.

He blushes when she tells him that it’s amazing. His cheeks a similar color to his hair. It really shouldn’t be cute but it totally is and Chloe wants to see it more often.

They go to a special showing of Elf. It’s dark in the theater and she’s currently munching on popcorn and Nathaniel is sipping on his ICEE.

She’s trying to focus on the movie because it really is one of her favorites. However, her mind keeps drifting to the redhead who just moments earlier was mistaken for her boyfriend.

The usher at the movie theater just happened to mention how cute of a couple she thought they were, which side note: if they were an actual couple they would most definitely be the cutest couple.

Nathaniel didn’t even correct her, neither did Chloe. Which makes her mind race. Why didn’t he correct her? Does he care if people think they are dating? Does he want people to think they are dating?

Now her mind is curious how he would be as a boyfriend. The seed has been planted in her head. She wonders what he would wear on the first date, where would he take her, would he kiss her on the first date? How does he kiss? Is it soft and slow or fast and passionate? Would he be in control or would he let her take control? Would she want him to be in control?

Her thoughts are swarming around and she doesn’t even notice he’s talking to her until he taps her on the cheek.

She smacks his hand away and glares at him. Just because she was entertaining the idea of kissing him doesn’t mean he can bother her.

“You zoned out, I wanted to know if you wanted a refill?” He asks looking down at her now almost empty popcorn tub.

She would actually love some sour patch kids but she’s not going to ask for that. “I’m fine. Thanks.”

He smiles at her and then stands up and walks out of the theater.

Chloe has finally managed to get her thoughts together enough to start enjoying the movie when he walks back in. He sits down and she figured he would go back to watching the movie but he turns to her, hands her two boxes of sour patch kids(original and watermelon) and puts his arm over the back of her chair.

Chloe gives up trying to watch the movie.

They are building a gingerbread house. Or more accurately Nathaniel is designing a beautiful gingerbread house, with intricately placed candies and icing. Chloe, on the other hand, gave up after 10 minutes; deciding to let the artist do what he wishes. She’s content to watch the grinch, the original animated version, and drink Eggnog.

Chloe doesn’t really remember why he even came over, it’s a Saturday and she really should be studying for her finals. She shouldn’t be spending time with the artist who is way too invested in this editable house. But his tongue is slightly sticking out and his hair is disheveled like always. He’s also mumbling to himself about aesthetics and weight limitations.

“The older I get the more I relate to the grinch.” She says.

Nathaniel is adding what looks like some candy shrubbery to the side paneling, “You love Christmas though, Chlo.”

If Chloe wasn’t paying attention she might have missed that. He called her Chlo for the first time. The only other person who calls her that is Adrien, and yet it feels very different coming out of Nathaniel’s mouth. Somehow more intimate and affectionate. She wonders when they reached the point of nicknames. Would it be alright for her to call him Nath? Did he even realize he did it?

Chloe recovers quickly though, “Of course I love Christmas, I meant that I understand where he’s coming from.”

Nath breathes a laugh, “Yeah? You gonna run away to live in a cave with a dog?”

She rolls her eyes and goes back to the movie.

While she likes to pretend that she is 100% aware and in control all the time, it’s not true. Right now she has no idea how this happened. When did they get into this position? She doesn’t remember him moving his arm to rest over the top of the couch, or when her legs decided to intertwine with his. She remembers how far apart they were when they first sat down though.

She wants to know if he noticed how close they’ve gotten. If he was just as unaware of it as her or if was secretly inching closer to her all night. She can smell him, and she’s trying hard to not being creepy about it at all. He smells strangely warm and fresh. She always kind of expected him to smell like art, like acrylic paints and clay. Instead, he smells like clean laundry and spiced oranges.

They are watching it’s a wonderful life on her tv. The fireplace is crackling and the Christmas tree is glittering in the corner. Nathaniel is fully engrossed in the movie. He admitted that he had never seen the movie before and so here they are, sitting entirely too close together.

She is honed into the fact that his right hand is absentmindedly stroking her hair. She wonders if he would notice if she moved her hand from her lap to his thigh and if she did would that be too forward?

She decides to take a leap of faith because she’s not thinking straight and she can’t tell if it’s because of him or if it’s because of the glass of wine she had earlier.

Her hand moves and she lets it rest gently on his thigh and she can feel him tense up beneath her. He doesn’t move or shove her off of him so she’s taking that as a good sign.

Chloe is distracted by the movie when he moves, he jostles them so she is practically in his lap, he moves so one of his hands is on her hip and the other still in her hair.

Nathaniel rests his chin on top of her head and she’s not breathing properly. She’s not paying attention to George Bailey or Clarence. She feels like she might overheat, he’s so warm and he smells so good.

He hasn’t looked at her or acted like this is unusual even though they’ve never ever been this close to each other. He’s acting like this is completely normal, that she’s always been able to feel how his chest feels against her back or how his fingers feel on her hip.

Chloe wonders if he knows what he is doing to her?

Does he know she feels like her heart is about to burst out of her chest?

Does he know how he makes her feel? How safe and happy she feels?

She doesn’t want to move, wants to stay in this moment forever or at the very least the entire night. But unfortunately, life gets in the way and Nathaniel whispers to her after the credits start to roll that he has to head home and that she should get some sleep.

Chloe gets very little sleep that night. Instead, she spends hours tossing and turning, remember the way it felt to be held by him.

—

“Are you going back to Paris for Christmas?”

The question doesn’t startle her, she’s been expecting it. Christmas is less than two weeks away.

“Yeah, I still need to book my flight. What about you? Are you going back for Hanukkah?” She knows his parents miss him and even if he doesn’t say anything she can tell he misses them when he’s speaking with them on the phone.

Nathaniel nods, “The semester ends on the 18th so I’ll probably leave on the 19th.”

They are in her kitchen, making some stupid holiday cookies that will probably burn in the oven but Nath seems excited.

“Do you think you’ll meet up with anyone from school?” She asks after a short pause. She is curious if he still talks to anyone back home. She doesn’t really speak to Sabrina anymore besides the occasional text every now and then and Adrien is busy with his career and Marinette.

Nath shrugs and continues kneading the dough. His hair is very disheveled and she ponders when she started finding that attractive in a man.

“I might meet up with Alix and Kim, maybe Max.” He says. “But I don’t think our schedules will match up well.”

Chloe nods, she wants to know if their schedules match up. If this weird friendship they’ve managed to form will exist in Paris. Nathaniel doesn’t seem to be afraid to let people know they are friends, he’s posted about her enough on Instagram.

But she desperately wants to know if Nathaniel talks about her to anyone else. And if he does, what does he tell them. Wants to know if he talks about her with the fondness only one can talk about someone they treasure.

He’s tearing open the packaging of the cookie cutters, with his teeth because Nathaniel could care less when he tells her they should travel together.

She chokes on the glass of eggnog she’s drinking.

“What?”

“I said we should travel together, flying by yourself is so boring.” He says this way too nonchalantly.

Chloe resorts to just staring at him, confused and slightly shocked.

“I thought your parents would be picking you up from the airport.” She says and she can see that he doesn’t seem to understand why she’s apprehensive.

“Yeah? And?”

They do end up flying together, Chloe convinces him to let her pay for his first-class seat because she is not about to ride in Economy just because he decided to tag along.

It’s an 8-hour flight. Nathaniel is wearing grey sweatpants paired with a Columbia hoodie and she’s not sure she’s ever seen him look less like a hipster. He is still wearing some very ugly sneakers so she guesses the world hasn't ended just yet.

He’s seated across from her, watching a movie on his Ipad. It’s only about 3 hours into their flight and she wishes she could just fall asleep.

She watching the Sound of Music, but in all actuality, she ends up watching the way Nathaniel’s hair falls into his eyes and counting how many freckles litter his nose and cheekbones.

She’s standing at the luggage pick up and Nath is standing next to her. Vaguely she realizes onlookers definitely see them as a couple. She moves a tad bit closer to him. To make it easier for other people looking for the luggage, of course.

Chloe has met his parents before, Victor and Lisel. His parents are kind and warm, and it’s so obvious that they love their son. His mother latched on to him as soon as she saw him. His father actually greeted Chloe first. He is so unlike her own father that she instantly tensed up before he smiled at her.

Lisel lets go of her son and immediately goes to hug Chloe, which startles her. She supposes other families are more touchy than her own but she still wasn't expecting it. She timidly hugs Nathaniels’s mother back. Nathaniel shoots her a smile when they pull apart and she works harder to push those butterflies down.

She supposes she believed her parents would be waiting for her to arrive home. However, the only two who greet her are the family butler Jean, who takes her bags and then gives her a quick hug, and the family dog, a Shih-Tzu named Beignet.

Beignet jumps into Chloe’s arms and demands attention, which is fantastic. It takes her mind off of her parents.

Jean takes her bags to her room and Chloe makes her way through her childhood home. The entire hotel is decorated for Christmas with plastic trees littered around every corner. This year's theme is very pastel Christmas, baby blues and frosted green baubles and light pink bows.

Beignet squirms in her arms and she sets the tiny dog down who then tries to get her to play a game of tug of war with a nearby toy. Chloe entertains him until he tires himself out, curling up beside his plush faux fur doggy bed by the fireplace.

Her mother is the first one to arrive home. Tossing her bag to Jean, who doesn’t even bat an eyelash at her antics. Butler arrives behind her, carrying multiple shopping bags. Her mother embraced her in a hug that Chloe returns, albeit the hug is very awkward and kind of robotic because they rarely hug.

Chloe is wondering what has gotten into her mother when she releases her and begins to speak. “Chloe, my love, I found the most amazing dress for you to wear for Christmas dinner! It’s going to look dazzling on you!”

Her mother continues rambling on even well after Chloe stopped listening.

Her father comes home much later. Chloe is sound asleep on the couch with Beignet curled up next to her, Christmas Vacation still playing on the tv. Her father drops a kiss on her head and gives her a small squeeze. Chloe, recovering from jet lag, sleepy mumbles a greeting to her father.

Nathaniel forces Chloe to hang out with Alix and Kim. They go Ice skating and Chloe only trips a couple of times. Kim, however, fell multiple times until Alix took pity on her boyfriend and grabbed his hand to lead him around the skating rink.

Nathaniel asks her after Alix and Kim left if she had fun. Chloe tells him it wasn’t as deplorable as she would have thought and Nath rewards her with hot chocolate.

It’s Christmas Eve and she hasn’t seen him since they went ice skating with Alix and Kim. She can’t lie to herself and say she doesn’t miss him. It’s been less than 48 hours but it feels like it’s been so long.

She knows he’s not avoiding her. She knows that he has plans with his family. She spends time doing some self-care, taking a hot bath, drinking wine, and watching the Muppets Christmas Carol.

It’s around 9pm when he calls her.

His voice is hard and she can hear the cold wind through the speaker.

“Are you home?” He asks.

“Yeah, but I’ve already changed into my pajamas so-“

“I’m outside. The doorman won’t let me in.”

Of course, they wouldn’t let him in, they won’t let anyone in unless she told them too.

She forgoes the elevator, opting to run down the stairs. She’s in her Hello Kitty pajamas and her hair is down and she has absolutely no makeup on.

she gives the doorman, Georg, permission to let him in. Nathaniel all but runs inside, his hair is messy and awful, he has snowflakes on his jacket and she belatedly realizes that he’s wearing sweatpants and a hoodie. He comes straight to her, she doesn’t know what happened but something seems to be wrong. His eyes are hardened and she suddenly has a flashback to when they were kids and he was akumatized.

She’s grabbed onto his wrist and is pulling him up the stairs to her bedroom, she doesn’t even bother looking back to see the look she knows Georg is giving her.

Once they reach her bedroom he immediately makes his way over to her bed, uniting his shoes and taking off his hoodie.

He’s laying down on her bed, she hasn’t moved, opting to lean against the closed door. He looks exhausted and drained. She wonders what happened, she assumes it’s something to do with his family and she wonders what in the world could have happened. She’s also having a very small moment of panic at the image of Nath in her bed. He looks comfortable and a little too good against her bedspread.

“You can come over here, you know.” He says after a while.

She slowly moves to her bed, unsure if he wants to talk about what happened, or if he wants to outright ignore it. She finally sits at the foot of her bed, next to his sock-clad feet.

“Just lay down, Chlo.” He nudges her with one of his feet and she decides to give in.

She positions herself a respectful distance away from him. He doesn’t allow that.

He reaches over and puts an arm around her waist and pulls her closer, fitting them together and Chloe stops herself from thinking they are like puzzle pieces. His fingers are gently moving across her exposed shoulder, and his feet touch hers and she belatedly realizes he’s trying to intertwine their feet.

She’s entirely too close to him. Friends do not cuddle each other. They definitely don’t allow their fingers to roam over the other's chest and they definitely don’t imagine themselves planting kisses on their jaw and neck.

Chloe’s brain is foggy and filled with thoughts of nothing besides the redhead and the way he smells and how nice it feels to be held by him.

She sneaks a peek at him and finds him already looking at her. She tries to think of something to say to break the silence but he interrupts her.

He interrupts her in the best way possible.

She remembers debating with herself about how he would kiss, but anything she could imagine pales in comparison. His hands are on her jaw and neck, his lips are not rough against her but not soft.

She knows he can probably feel her shivering when his hands drift down to her waist and especially when one holds on to her upper thigh.

She wastes no time in exploring him as well. She hesitantly bites his bottom lip and his hand on her thigh tightens in the most delicious way. His mouth opening for her and it’s now a whole different type of kiss.

One of her hands is holding tight on his hair, allowing her fingers to pull slightly and he makes a noise that Chloe will try forever to recreate. Her other hand is moving down his chest and she stops them right above his sweatpants.

She’s trying to figure out what her next move should be when he pulls away from her. Her heart stops and she’s nervous he’s going to take everything back and tell her this was a mistake.

He, however, moves his attention from her lips elsewhere. His mouth pressing kisses to her cheek, jaw, and neck. He even presses a small kiss below her ear and she swears she swoons.

He places one final kiss on her neck with a soft bite and then he pulls her even closer. Nathaniel embraces her and she has the chance to gather her thoughts now that his lips are not attached to her anymore. One of his hands is still on her thigh but the other one moved to her hair.

He breaks the silence.

“Your hair is down.”

That’s what he’s going with? Mentioning her hair?

“Well...I was going to bed before you barged in here.” She teases.

He snickers and she feels it more than she hears it and that makes her entire face flush.

“I like it. Your hair. I don’t think I’ve ever seen it down.”

She hmm’s and is curious if they are going to act like the kiss didn’t happen and continue being just friends. That idea doesn’t sit well with her and she wants to latch onto him even tighter.

“If it wasn’t obvious, Chlo. I do like you. A lot. Like a lot a lot.”

Chloe laughs in relief and instead of responding she moves back to kiss him.

Unlike the other kiss, this one is soft and sweet. Her hand goes to his face and she traces a thumb over one of his cheekbones. His hand moves from her thigh and wraps itself around her waist. She feels him smile into the kiss which makes her heart flutter.

“Merry Christmas, Chloe.” He says when they separate.

“It’s 10pm on Christmas Eve.” She points out and he tickles her in response.

He leaves around 1am on Christmas morning, pressing a kiss to the top of her head and then he’s out the door. Georg shoots her a small smirk and winks at her when he closes the door behind Nathaniel. She can’t even feel embarrassed instead she feels all tingly inside.

“Merry Christmas, Chloe. For real this time.” He says when Georg opens the door. “Merry Christmas to you too, Georg.” Who in turn just nods his head in acknowledgment.

She grabs his hand and pulls him inside.

“Happy 4th night of Hanukkah, Nath.” She kisses his cheek and tries to walk into the hallway.

Nathaniel has other plans and pulls her into his arms and kisses her. It’s nothing major but it’s sweet and makes her feel tingly again.

It’s hours later, after awkward introductions and her father interrogating Nathaniel, snuggled by the fireplace with Beignet curled up at Nath’s side, she asks him what had him upset last night.

He blushes and tightens his hold on her, he mumbles something about Alix and Kim which makes her very confused.

“What? What happened with Alix and Kim? Did you guys have some kind of fight?” Even though Alix and Chloe are very different, Chloe can see what a good friendship Alix and Kim have with him.

He shakes his head and moves so his head is digging into her shoulder and hair.

“Alix and her annoying boyfriend said if I didn’t do something soon, someone would steal you away.” He says and then pulls away from her with wide eyes. “Not that I see you as some type of property! I don’t think that! I promise! I just kept thinking about it last night and I had to do something.”

Her boyfriend is biting his lip and nervously petting Beignet. Chloe can’t help but love how flustered he looks.

“I’m glad they said something. If they didn't, who knows how long it would have taken for you to confess.” She says, her hand moving to his neck to play with the ends of his hair.

“Hey! Why couldn’t you be the first one to confess?” He protests but grabs her hand in his and moves to pull her closer.

“I could have, but I couldn’t tell if you liked me that way or not.” She says.

He presses a kiss to her temple, “You couldn’t tell? Even after I didn’t correct the movie usher? Or after I practically cuddled you to death while watching it’s a wonderful life? Really Chlo?”

“I thought maybe you were just one of those touchy-feely friends.”

He scoffs and she giggles more.

“Well, Chloe Bourgeois. I want you to know that I really adore every little thing about you. Even if you obviously have zero taste when it comes to superior holiday drinks. Eggnog is obviously better than Hot Chocolate.”

She smacks him lightly on his chest and he laughs. She giggles into his chest, content to just stay there with him while the fireplace roars with Andy Williams plays in the background.

#Chlonath #chloe bourgeois #chloe x nathaniel #nathaniel kurtzberg #Holiday #miraculous ladybug #miraculous au

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icedanceupstarts · 6 years

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JGP Ostrava and Nebelhorn Trophy

JGP Ostrava:

Khudaiberdieva/Nazarov RD FD won easily as expected and have qualified to JGPF. Their tango has been sharp since the beginning, and this was another great showing of it here. In the free dance they made some changes since their first outing week one, most notably swapping the placement of their choreographic spin and straight line lift. They ran into some issues with their combination spin, but still set a new season’s best with improved components. We look forward to seeing their continued progress in December!

Kazakova/Reviya RD FD had an excellent JGP debut in their second season as a team, utilizing their speed and flair for drama to grab silver. We love that stationary choreographic lift they close out their free dance with. They’re both such expressive and committed performers that they would be a delight even if their technique wasn’t as strong as it is.

Davis/Smolkin RD FD

As you may have heard, Davis is Eteri Tutberidze's daughter, and they made a very solid JGP debut here. You can tell they're lacking in experience compared to the teams that placed above them when it comes to interpretation, but they make up for it with commitment and some admirably difficult tech content. They had some solid lifts and speed and a good deal of expressiveness even if their interpretation was not always enhancing the music, and their enthusiasm and energy were palpable.

Bronsard/Bouaraguia RD FD

A great JGP debut for this highly charming team. We would have liked their tango to have a little more tango in it, and we still aren't a fan of mixing rhythms, but their quickstep was very strong and showed off their personalities well. Bouaraguia is a very strong partner with a solid presence and a good lead, and they've both got a real sense of showmanship, which is fortuitous with their free dance being what it is. It's an even better vehicle for them than the rhythm dance, since the whole thing is molded to their strengths, whereas they didn't seem to quite get the tango section in the same way. They're a very promising team and we wish them luck over the rest of the season.

Nebelhorn Trophy:

Gilles/Poirier RD FD

Gilles/Poirier are, as always, entirely themselves, artistic and creative and constantly innovating. We've already written about how they've pushed the boundaries of the sport and predicted trends, and they continued that here. Their twizzles need a little practice to make it clear that the unique, difficult positions are intended and not mistakes that they're just rolling with, and there are a couple tricky transitions they get stuck in in both programs, but overall this is some of their strongest packaging to date. Their tango manages to be different from their very successful free dance from two seasons back as well as different from the rest of the field while still maintaining the feel of a tango. Their free dance has a few rough spots but was lovely and fascinating and should grow into a powerful vehicle soon enough.

Parsons RD

They started off strong with a tango that showed off the polish, maturity, and experience that they gained in the year they've been seniors that helped them secure the silver. Unfortunately for the second competition in a row their free dance is unavailable on youtube, and we haven't been able to find an alternative link, but they showed off their warm, natural sibling connection and stayed uncannily linked throughout, minus a small bobble at the end where she lost her balance that counted as a fall. They're really making this music their own and we're glad that they had such a strong performance of a program that holds such meaning to them. They finally cleaned up their levels on their fourth international outing of the season and look strong and prepared for their grand prix events.

Carreira/Ponomarenko RD FD

Carreira/Ponomarenko continued their solid senior debut with two more strong skates, including a level 4 on the first section of the tango romantica pattern. Carreira also was the only ice dancer in the event to achieve a level 4 on the one foot step sequence. Their programs are technically ambitious and should continue to grow with every outing, and their speed and dynamic energy is already fully present. They continue to utilize their strong, versatile chemistry in both programs, and they're really settling into the interpretation and nuances of their music. We can't wait to see them continue to develop throughout the season.

Fear/Gibson RD FD

Bringing the fun back to ice dance! The music alone would brighten our day, but they show off their stamina by keeping up the energy all the way through, combined with some difficult elements and some seriously fun knee slides. While their disco free dance is the real star, their tango is very solid as well and we'll be intrigued to see them again at Skate America in a few weeks where they'll be facing their domestic rivals Tweedale/Buckland.

Koch/Nuchtern FD

Their tango needs a little more tango feeling, but is a solid program, although apparently not worthy enough to appear on youtube. We have a big soft spot for Notre Dame de Paris, and they milk every ounce of drama from it. They use the highs and lows very well, letting the program build and build until they finish off with a big choreographic lift where she shakes her fists at the sky before swooning into his arms so he can cradle her dying form as her body goes limp in one of the best on ice deaths we've seen recently. Although we would suggest a minor tweak in his hold in the end pose, because at the moment it kind of looks like he's feeling up her corpse which is frowned upon in most societies.

Muller/Dieck RD FD In the wake of Lorenz/Polizoakis' split, they are trying to push the limits to become German #1. Very good tango, the best tango feel of the German teams, just an unfortunate fall from him at the end of the diagonal step sequence. As for the free dance, we're not quite sure that four minutes reflecting on our own mortality is quite what we're looking for in ice dance, but its certainly unique and attention grabbing. They made a coaching change to Gorshkov over the summer and you can already begin to see the improvements in their skating skills. Slightly wish that they would bring back their free dance from last year, ice dance needs more Whitney, and with the field increasingly trending towards moodiness we'd prefer to see a fun dance party on ice rather than somewhat distracting voiceovers declaring YOUR TIME IS LIMITED. But this is clearly a meaningful program for them, and we hope to see them continue to grow into Memento Mori On Ice.

Kaliszek/Spodiriev RD FD

Kaliszek/Spodiriev could have fought for a medal but took themselves out of contention in the RD when she fell on the twizzles. We love the commitment though-- pre-skate posing including a slap to get into character is the kind of unselfconscious theatricality that ice dance could use more of. Shout out to Spodiriev for winning the deep V contest we didn't even know was happening, and she looks like a beautiful leaf in her unusual tango dress. Fantastic rotational lift to open their free dance. Some struggles on the twizzles and the one foot sequence couldn’t take away from the innovativeness and potential of this program. We hope they have a stronger outing in a few weeks at Skate America!

Nazarova/Nikitin RD FD

This is one team that never fails to push the boundaries and show off their quirky personalities, but unfortunately they didn't have a great competition. They fell early on in the pattern in the rhythm dance and got rattled and never quite got back into it. Perhaps Nikitin would have stayed on his feet better if there weren't a pair of disembodied hands strangling him? The free dance went somewhat better, but all in all not their best skates. If you look beyond the messiness, though, you'll find a lot to like. Even when scrambling they're incredibly fun performers, and have loads of difficult, interesting transitions. Their lifts are as great as always, with acrobatic and eye catching and utilizing their flexibility and balance as well as strength. Shout out to Nazarova for smashing the gender binary with her black boots, and we hope they pull it together in time for Skate America.

#ice dance #nebelhorn trophy 2018 #jgp ostrava 2018 #jgp 2018 #review #season: 2018 2019

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freedom-shamrock · 6 years

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All I Want for Solstice is You

Happy solstice to all and to all some tasty wassail. also on AO3

Adrien smiled, warmed by the energy of the holiday market wrapping around him. He caught a whiff of cinnamon as he passed one stall, and he closed his eyes, thinking of cider and Mari's apple tarts. The squeals of children caught his ears, still sensitive though he no longer donned a magical suit to protect the city on a regular basis.

He adjusted his course to head for the ice rink. He leaned on the boards and looked around. He saw Marinette on the other side of the rink, hunched over, her fluffy pink mittens fully enveloping the tiny hands of the stocky little boy she was helping glide across the scuffed sheet of ice. Ivan's son looked so much like their long-time friend, though he was clearly quicker to smile. A toothy grin was plastered over his face as his little legs frantically shuffled in an ineffective effort to go faster.

"Adrien," a deep voice said, just as a hand came down on his shoulder. "We didn't think you were going to make it."

Though he'd topped out at six two, Adrien had to look up to meet Ivan's gray eyes. "Sorry I'm late," he apologized. "The board was being pig-headed and stupid." He'd actually had to haul out a slideshow to push the point.

Ivan rolled his eyes. "Ugh. Stuffy businessmen. Don't know how you stand working with them."

Adrien shrugged. "Fortunately it's only a quarterly pain in the ass, and then I can go back to ignoring the company again." When his father had been sentenced to prison for his side gig as a magical terrorist, Adrien found himself saddled with company he had no interest in. Much of his father's financial wealth went into a fund for restitution to those who had suffered at the hands Hawk Moth's akuma. Going from supermodel to son of a super villain had been quite the trip, and Adrien was keen to distance himself from his emotionally cold father. At Alya and Nino's suggestion, he'd embraced his role as Gabriel's primary stockholder, forcing the company to change its name to Agreste and donate heavily to emergency and mental health services in Paris.

"I'm surprised you're not on the ice," Adrien said.

Ivan let out a little huff. "Mylène doesn't let me do open skates anymore."

Adrien raised one eyebrow, sensing a story.

Ivan shrugged. "I sometimes forget I'm not playing hockey, and I terrify people."

"Ivan, do you go knocking down grandmothers and children?" Adrien demanded, grinning.

"Hardly," Ivan said. "I have much better control of myself on ice than that. I just look like I'm going to mow them over when I cruise by at my usual speed."

"Hello beautiful," Marinette called as she approached their side of the rink. Her cheeks were pink with cold and her whole being radiated with happiness.

"You stole my line," Adrien protested, pouting a little. "You always steal my line."

Marinette shrugged, entirely unrepentant. "Can't fault me for speaking the truth." She looked at Ivan. "Michel's getting pretty tired. We were thinking it might be time for cocoa."

The little boy giggled, stomping his skates on the ice.

Adrien grinned down at him. "Do you like cocoa, too Michel?" He reached out and lightly ruffled the hat, clearly a Marinette creation, on his head.

Michel nodded. "She said we can have marshmallooooos."

Marinette glanced at Ivan. "Mylène went to take off her skates so she'd be ready to help us. You guys stay right there, and we'll grab you before we head over to the vendor."

Adrien leaned over the barrier to press his warm lips to her cool cheek. "Sounds purrfect, mi'love." He and Ivan watched for a moment as Marinette pushed off the ice, taking the little boy toward the exit.

"Michel is going through a really shy phase," Ivan noted idly. "But I swear you and Mari have kid magic. He's happy being alone with her, and he talked to you." He shook his head. "That's impressive, dude."

Unsure what to say, Adrien just shrugged. Marinette was the lucky one. And while he'd spent time with kids as Chat Noir doing holiday and fundraiser things, he had no real experience caring for them.

"When are you guys thinking of having your own?" Ivan asked.

"Our own?" Adrien asked, confused. As realization hit him, he felt like snow had been dumped down the back of his coat, and a heavy dread settled into his stomach. Him and Mari have kids? Was that the expectation? Did she want that? They'd never discussed it, and he had a sudden fear that this was something important to her. He had no idea how to be a father; his own had been an abusive asshole.

A huge hand gently patted his shoulder. "Adrien? Are you okay?"

Adrien shook his head. "Uh. Sorry. Uh."

Ivan's eyebrows bunched as he looked at his friend in concern. "You need to sit down or anything?" he asked. "You looked like you were having a panic attack or something."

"It was something, all right," Adrien agreed. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, focusing on the light rumble of Plagg purring in his shirt pocket, right over his heart. "I'll be okay. I just… maybe need a minute."

Ivan wrapped an arm around Adrien's shoulders. "Come on. We'll go find you a seat, and I'll text the ladies so they don't freak out."

Adrien pulled the strap of his small gym bag over his shoulder. "I'm going to hit the dojo a little early tonight," he said, offering the love of his life a small smile when she looked up from her sketchbook. She was so talented.

She held his eyes for a moment before setting aside her pencil and getting up. "Are you okay?" she asked, her face pinched with concern.

He quickly nodded, then looked away as he realized he should have played stupid or acted surprised. His fast response was a tell she'd figured out before they'd shared identities.

One of her hands came up to rest on his cheek. "Hey," she said softly. "Look at me, Kitty."

With a sigh, he met her eyes again. Why did his eyes feel so dry all of a sudden?

"It's okay if you're not all right, you know," she said. "And I'm here if you want to talk about it."

He nodded. "My head's kind of a mess right now."

Her thumb caressed his cheek. "I know this time of year is hard for you, but I thought it was going a little better this year."

"It has," he agreed. His memories of fun and joy at Christmas were so old and faded, like a photo left on display too long. The more recent string of holidays spent alone in his father's mansion had apparently conditioned him to avoid and resent the trimmings so pervasive in December. "I guess the… uh, awfulness kind of snuck up on me." It definitely didn't help that his revelation about their future and his current aversion to having children coincided with his usually gloomy season.

"Can I do anything for you?" She tilted her head in the way he found so adorable.

"Not yet." He needed to figure out how he felt before he could bring it up.

"Are you ready to tell me what's wrong?" Tom asked, settling himself across from Adrien, coffee and mini custard and fruit pavlova between them.

Adrien glanced up at the big man who'd been a steady source of support since Adrien first showed up at their house in the middle of the night. It had been months before discovering Hawkmoth's identity but only a few weeks after Ladybug let the cat out of the bag. He returned his gaze to his mug, wrapping his chilly fingers around it.

"You know you can talk to me about anything, right?" Tom asked.

Adrien nodded. This was going to suck. Tom probably wanted grandkids. Why would he want his daughter saddled with a broken man terrified of having children? He heard the soft clink of Tom's mug on the table, then a groan of his chair as the big man got up. Adrien rubbed at his eyes with the heel of his hands.

"I'm worried about you, son," Tom said gently, sitting down next to Adrien.

Adrien sucked in a sharp gasp. His own father didn't address him with such love or kindness.

"I don't think this is just your usual holiday glooms, is it?"

Adrien shook his head, his throat too tight to speak.

"Whatever it is, it's eating you up, Adrien." Tom's voice continued to be soft and concerned. "It's not healthy. We're all worried." His hand settled lightly on Adrien's head, but instead of touseling it with a tease, as he normally would, he offered a hesitant caress. "And whatever it is, we'll work through it, okay?"

Adrien nodded.

"Can you try to talk to me about it, then?" Tom suggested. "You've told me I'm a good listener."

Closing his eyes, Adrien focused on relaxing his throat. "I don't want Mari to hate me," he blurted. "Or you and Sabine."

There was a moment of surprised silence before Tom responded. "Have you done something that makes you think we'll feel this way?"

Adrien shook his head. "No, but…"

"But?" Tom encouraged.

"I don't want kids," Adrien finally forced out. "I'm not sure I'll ever be ready for that." He shook his head. "I know I'm not my father, but… I don't know anything about raising kids. I'm terrified that I'd fuck it all up. That I'd hurt them." Instead of being chastised and ordered out of the house as he expected, he found himself wrapped in a warm hug.

"Oh, Adrien." Tom sighed. "None of us could hate you for feeling this way."

"B-but I want to be with Mari," he mumbled, pressing his face into Tom's blue sweater. "I've been thinking about p-proposing."

"And that would be lovely," Tom assured him, rubbing his back.

"But she probably wants kids," Adrien countered. "She's so good with them. And I can't promise her that."

Tom held him, his patience seemingly endless. Once Adrien's breathing was regular again, he asked, "Have you talked to her about this?"

Adrien straightened up and shook his head. "I'm a coward. I'm afraid that conversation will be the beginning of the end for us."

Tom let out a little laugh. "Chat Noir is no coward."

"What?" Adrien looked up startled and vaguely fearful.

"We've known for years, son." Shaking his head, Tom smiled. "Between the dumpster fire you call "father" and the conditions you put up with Chat Noir, it's clear you're not a coward. You're too hard on yourself." He patted Adrien's shoulder. "Talk to my daughter about this. She's a very understanding little bug." He winked before turning serious again. "How long has it been since you left therapy?"

Adrien shrugged. "Couple years." After the nightmares stopped and he was able to let go of the guilt by association that he felt, he'd figured he was done.

Tom rubbed his chin contemplatively. "Maybe it's time to revisit that."

"You think they'll be able to help me want to have kids?" Adrien asked, surprised, but willing to give it a try.

Tom shook his head. "No. That's only something that will change with time, if at all. I think this all just highlights that maybe you still have some healing to do."

"Oh." Adrien took a deep breath. "You're probably right."

Tom gestured to the mini pavlova, heaped with custard and Adrien's favorite fruit. "Now eat up. We have an hour before we head back to your place."

"You're coming too?" Adrien asked. These coffee visits with Marinette's father started shortly after he moved in with her family, and they'd kept them up through university and three apartments. Normally Adrien headed back home alone.

"Sabine's over there, scheming with my daughter, if I'm any judge," Tom said happily. "We're going to go out to dinner, so I may as well head back with you."

Later, as he and Tom approached the door, he was assailed by the scent of cloves and apples. "Mmmmm. I wonder if Mari's experimenting."

"Probably," Tom agreed.

Adrien opened the door to find the apartment lit with candles, evergreen swatches festooning the walls, and a clove and ribbon bedecked lemon hanging off center in the doorway.

"Happy solstice, Adrien!" Sabine said, rushing forward to give him a hug.

"Oh, hey dude, Tom," Nino called. "Blessed be." His greeting was accompanied by finger guns.

"Ah… what?"

"It's a solstice gathering," Tom said, clipping him on the shoulder.

Marinette appeared then and took his hand drawing him through the apartment and to their bedroom. In passing the balcony, he noticed that someone had put out a copper fire bowl and it currently held a log adorned with cranberries. Their bedroom was lit with candles, and it was quiet once the door was shut.

"Hi," Marinette said, sounding uncertain. "Is this okay?"

He stared at her for a moment. "I'm just a little confused."

She smiled sheepishly. "You've been so down, Kitty. We've all seen it. And we know we can't fix the past, but we all want to help." She shrugged. "I thought maybe if we made our own traditions, something completely new and different, it would be a good start." She reached up to run her fingers through his hair over his ear.

"I love you," he said, giving her a small smile. "You're amazing."

"So are you."

"Can I tell you what's been freaking me out?" he asked. Maybe this wasn't the right time, but her father was right. She deserved to know.

She nodded. "I'd like that."

He took a deep breath, comforted by the weight of Plagg suddenly settling in between his collar and his neck. "You're amazing with kids Mari. And… people have started to ask me when we're going to have our own." He watched her vibrant eyes go wide. "And… I'm not sure I'm ever going to be ready for kids. The very idea terrifies me." He swallowed. "And…" A finger lightly covered his lips.

"Can I interrupt for a teeny moment?" she asked. "If you have more to say, I want to hear it, but… I think I have something relevant to add here."

He nodded.

"I have thought about having a family with you," she admitted. "You're the only person I would consider that with. But it's… not a deal breaker. I'm fine with us not having kids. I'm fine with revisiting the topic someday if you want to. But really, all I want is you."

He pulled her into a hug, burying his face in her neck. "Thank you."

"Love you," she replied.

When they stepped back from each other, he could feel the difference in his smile. "Okay, so what's this solstice thing we have going on?"

She giggled. "It's just our family, the family we've chosen, having a nice candle-lit evening together. Mama and I made wassail and treats."

"And this is our new tradition?" he asked. It was a nice idea.

"I hope so."

"I like it."

She beamed at him. "I have one more thing I want to do before we go back out there." She walked over to her dresser and rummaged around for a moment. He heard a dull snap and then she came back to him with something closed in her hand. "I was going to do this in January, but…" She tilted her head from side to side. "I think now is better."

"I don't know what you're doing, but you're adorable." He kissed her on the nose.

"Do you really believe I love you?"

"Yes," he said with a chuckle. "Though sometimes I wonder why."

She beeped his nose lightly with her index finger. "Do you believe that you're really important to me, and that I can be happy with just you?"

He nodded. That was still too new and too tender for him to joke about.

"Can I prove it?" she asked, her eyes wide and hopeful. Without looking away she raised his right hand to kiss the ring he wore. She let go and took his left hand. "Adrien, will you marry me?" She gently placed a metal band on his palm. "Will you be my best friend and dearest love forever?"

He stared at her for a moment, completely stunned. Then he looked at the ring in his hand, silver with two small stones, blue and green, embedded side by side. "Wha… Really?"

"Really," she insisted, plucking the ring and holding it up.

Grinning so big his face hurt, he held out his hand, fingers splayed. "Yes. Very yes. All the yes."

She giggled while she pushed the ring on. "Now come on." She grabbed his hand. "I want to show everyone what I got for solstice."

#Miraculous Ladybug #fanfic #my writing #solstice #holiday #Adrienette

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talhaghafoor2019-blog · 5 years

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Drake, Ariana Grande, Cardi B and the other songs to create the best Summer music playlist

On Spotify last weekend, it seemed as if the streaming service had given itself over entirely to presenting the music of a single artist.

That would be Drake, whose double album Scorpion was released on June 30.

Everywhere you looked, there was his handsome mug, the cover image of every single playlist on the world’s most popular streaming service.

That went for even the ones his songs weren’t featured on, such as “Best of British,” or \”Happy Pop Hits.” The promotion was a silly goof that online rageaholics are comparing to U2’s Songs of Innocence being inserted into all the world’s iTunes music folders in 2014 because, well, because people love to complain.

But the all-Drake all-the-time stunt underscores a truism: Scorpion is the unavoidable event release of the summer. The Toronto rapper’s album is uneven but still packed with hits. Scorpion has smashed streaming records left and right, garnering more that 435 million plays on Spotify, Apple Music, and other streaming services in its first three days of release. That is more than the previous record holder, Post-Malone’s Beerbongs & Bentleys, accumulated in a week.

Drake is included on the 24-song summer playlist assembled here, which you can play on Spotify by scrolling down to the bottom of the page.

But there’s more than Drizzy happening this summer: The tunes assembled include big pop hits in contention in that winner-take-all Song of the Summer competition that media outlets obsess over, but also breezy and brooding songs with a multiplicity of moods, because while hot and sticky seasonal pop songs are often joyful, they’re not always enough to chase away the summertime blues.

“I Like It,” Cardi B feat. Bad Bunny and J Balvin. If a single song of the summer had to be named, I’d go with this one, the second Billboard chart topper for the Bronx born rapper who dominated 2017 with “Bodak Yellow.” This collaboration with two reggaeton emcees effortlessly blends trap music beats with salsa. It’s further evidence of the indomitable spirit of the rapper born Belcalis Almanzar.

“Make Me Feel,” Janelle Monáe. The current single from the Atlanta R&B-pop-funk synthesist’s terrific new Dirty Computer is “I Like That.” “Make Me Feel,” however, is the superior summertime jam, a celebration of sexuality that takes pointers from Prince’s “Kiss.” She will play the Made in America festival on the Ben Franklin Parkway on Labor Day Weekend.

>> READ MORE: ‘I’m not America’s nightmare, I’m the American dream’: Janelle Monáe’s new kind of protest song

“Apes-,” The Carters. Beyoncé says the bad word on multiple occasions in this hard-banging celebration of high-powered entertainment couple bliss on Everything Is Love, which features art history lessons aplenty in its video filmed at Paris’ Louvre museum. Jay and Bey will be at Lincoln Financial Field on July 30.

>> READ MORE: Beyoncé and Jay-Z are a happy couple on ‘Everything Is Love.’ Is that good for their music?

“Short Court Style,” Natalie Prass. A delectable slice of bubble gum flavored throwback 1970s pop-funk is Richmond, Va., indie singer Prass’ impressive second album, The Future and the Past. Prass plays the Xponential festival in Camden on July 28.

“Boo’d Up,” Ella Mai. Summertime is the love song time. British singer Ella Mai first put out this celebration of going steady early last year, but it’s a success story that gathered stream and pop radio exposure into 2018.

“Slow Burn,” Kacey Musgraves. While still IDing herself as country singer, Kacey Musgraves has redirected her music in a ‘70s soft-rock direction, a smart strategy since country radio is too conservative to play her anyway. This superbly crafted tune stays on permanent simmer.

“Babe,” Sugarland feat. Taylor Swift. Wyomissing, Pa.’s own megastar Swift now rules a pure pop universe. She plays back-to-back nights at Lincoln Financial Field starting Friday. but she’s smartly kept her finger in the country pie by continuing to write hit songs for country pop acts such as reunited duo Sugarland.

“Let’s Take a Vacation,” Joshua Hedley. The Nashville crooner puts a warm-weather spin on Merle Haggard’s “If We Make It Though December,” on this cut from Mr. Jukebox, as he tries to convince his significant other that a summer time getaway will put some zip back in their failing relationship.

“Pretty Horses,” Dwight Yoakam. This is the best of two new lonesome and blue songs that the uncommonly dependable veteran songwriter recently debuted on his excellent new Sirius XM channel Dwight Yoakam & the Bakersfield Beat.

“Pet Cemetery,” Tierra Whack. A love song to her lost dog, this is one of the standout cuts on the North Philly rapper’s wondrous 15-songs-in-15-minutes album Whack World.

>> READ MORE: Welcome to Tierra Whack’s ‘Whack World’: The North Philly rapper only needs 15 minutes of your time

“Summer Games,” Drake. “Summer just started and we’re already done,” the Canadian rhymer, in sad and sensitive mode, raps on the 1980s synth driven summer bummer, sounding disappointed. It’s one of many Scorpion cuts, along with “After Dark” and “Nice For What” that would have made worthy addition to this list.

“No Tears Left to Cry,” Ariana Grande. The octave leaping singer has a new album called Sweetener due next month, and a frisky new single called “Bed” with Nicki Minaj. This, though, is the sad song with a sweet melody whose mournful tone feels like a response to the terror attack that killed 22 at a Grande show in England last year.

“Lucid Dreams,” Juice Wrld. Drake isn’t the only rapper who’s pouring his feelings out this summer. Juice Wrld is the suburban Chicago teen born Jared Higgins who specializes in feeling sorry for himself in song, thankfully with a modicum of self-awareness. “I take prescriptions to make me feel a-OK,” he rap-sings. “I know it’s all in my head.”

“Heat Wave,” Snail Mail. Baltimore teenager Lindsey Jordan explores her feelings with scalpel-sharp acuity and songwriting smarts on her debut, Lush, and this will mentally cool you down if you watch its ice hockey video. Jordan plays Union Transfer on Saturday.

“Nameless, Faceless,” Courtney Barnett. The Australian rock songwriter who is so good at precisely — and drolly — detailing thoughts of alienation and detachment on her new Tell Me How You Really Feel. Put down of the summer: “I could eat a bowl of alphabet soup and spit out better words than you.”

“If You Know You Know,” Pusha-T. There’s no self-pity on this hard-hitting highlight from Daytona, the Kanye West-produced return to form by the rapper who made his name with the street-wise Virginia hip-hop duo Clipse.

“Stay Woke,” Meek Mill feat Miguel. The appropriately serious-in-tone first song by the Philadelphia rapper since his release from prison in April. He spits with authority, and takes Grandmaster Flash’s classic “The Message” as a starting point. Look for Miguel to join him when they both play Made in America on Labor Day weekend.

“This Is America,” Childish Gambino. The song of the summer that speaks the most intensely to a bitterly divided nation in 2018 from Renaissance man Donald Glover.

“The Middle,” Zedd, Maren Morris, Grey. A collaboration between Russian-German deejay-producer, a Nashville country pop singer, and an L.A. EDM act is just the sort of Frankensteinian creation that contemporary pop mega-hits are made of. And this one is hard to resist.

“One Kiss,” Calvin Harris feat. Dua Lipa. This summer’s soaring firework celebration-ready dance track from Scottish deejay and Taylor Swift-ex Harris. This time with English songwriter and vocalist handling the vocal duties in a testimony about how a single peck on the lips can spell transcendence.

“A Song for Those You Miss All the Time,” Thin Lips. Speaking of Lips, this song by the Philly band fronted by Chrissy Tashjianis is by no means a happy one, but its gnarly guitar riff and catchy hook does deliver plenty of catharsis. Chosen Family is out July 27.

“Hey! Little Child,” Low Cut Connie. A ribald stomp from the raucous throwback Philly rocker’s Dirty Pictures (part 2), covering Big Star star Alex Chilton, who included it on his 1979 solo album Like Flies On Sherbert.

“I’m Your Man,” Spritualized. One man band Jason Pierce — a.k.a. J. Spaceman — is returning with And Nothing Hurt, his first album of new music since 2012 on Sept. 7. This and a second song, “A Perfect Miracle,” are marked by swelling orchestration and divine summertime sadness sentiment.

“Summer’s End,” John Prine. Before you know it, it’ll be gone. This highlight from the 71-year-old Prine’s superb better-than-it-has-any-right-to-be The Tree of Forgiveness is as beautiful and bittersweet as a late August sunset.

July 5, 2018 — 6:54 PM EDT

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chestnutpost · 5 years

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Tuchel's moment of truth as PSG manager

4:14 PM ET

Sometimes Thomas Tuchel concentrates so hard that he can’t see a person standing a yard beside him. He must feel like that this week.

On Tuesday, the giant, obsessive manager sends his weakened, Neymar-less Paris Saint-Germain side out against a resurgent Manchester United. If PSG wins, the club remains on track for its last remaining obsession and, frankly, almost the sole point of its existence these days: its first-ever Champions League trophy. (So dominant is Paris at home that nobody is excited about its impending sixth French league title in seven seasons.)

Off the field, Tuchel has another objective: getting his nemesis, Antero Henrique, replaced as PSG’s sporting director by his soulmate, Arsene Wenger. This is the German’s chance to establish himself as the long-term guide of a giant club rather than just the latest of PSG’s seemingly temporary coaches.

Like Wenger, Tuchel reached the top solely on drive and brainpower. He, too, was a modestly talented defender whose true passion was coaching. After injury ended his playing career at third-division Ulm, aged just 24, he coached youth teams at Stuttgart, Augsburg and Mainz, graduating from a coaching course with sky-high grades. After Mainz suddenly offered him a job coaching the first team — the first time he had ever coached adults at any level — he went on to win more points than all but four other Bundesliga teams in five seasons. He then quit, saying he couldn’t take the club any further. In his next job, at Dortmund, he had the unenviable responsibility of replacing Jurgen Klopp but arguably went on to be better; his points-per-game average (2.09) was the best of any coach in the club’s history. Yet Tuchel quit in 2017 after clashing with team executives and, after a sabbatical, he joined Paris.

And so, an awkward character had taken on an awkward club. If PSG’s stars had been the kind of people who wanted to push themselves to the maximum every week, they wouldn’t be playing in the tinpot French league. And nobody can tell Neymar, Dani Alves or Kylian Mbappe what to do. Tuchel understands that the coach isn’t the most important man in any club: he describes soccer as a “players’ game.” But how does one manage this squad?

Thomas Tuchel is an obsessive manager who tries to leave nothing to chance. PSG will need every bit of his focus in the weeks ahead. Jan Kruger/Getty Images

Tuchel arrived having taught himself very decent French (better than some players who have been at PSG for years). That helped him woo PSG fans: “Too-shell,” as the French mangle his name, is more popular than his predecessors. However, language is also essential to his work. Tuchel believes in deep communication that’s different for every player. He obsesses about what makes each man tick.

At Mainz, writes German author Christoph Biermann in his book “Matchplan,” Tuchel discovered that one of his players was motivated by money: namely win bonuses and the dream of a lucrative transfer. That was fine by Tuchel: understanding this made the art of man-management easier. At PSG, he decided that what the squad’s many Brazilians most wanted from a coach was love. Tuchel says he hugs Neymar and that when the player isn’t around, “I write him texts to tell him I still believe in him and that I’m sad he isn’t here.” This was not the approach taken by his predecessor Unai Emery.

Yet Tuchel also subjects PSG’s players to his fanaticism. Rail-thin at 45 years old, he boasts of having once spent four weeks in Italy without touching either pasta or pizza. The first time his PSG side took the bus to an away game, the playmaker Marco Verratti requested a Coca-Cola. Horror of horrors, he discovered that Tuchel had banned all soft drinks and sandwiches. Verratti quickly got the message.

Discipline has long been an issue at PSG. Players kept forgetting bits of kit in the changing rooms during training, and going back to fetch them. Showing up late for meetings was epidemic. Eventually, Tuchel punished Mbappe and Adrien Rabiot by benching them for the grudge game against Marseille last fall (of course PSG won anyway). He has also reportedly gone around his players’ favorite restaurants and nightclubs to have a word with staff.

ESPN+ is America’s home for a host of professional soccer leagues from around the world, highlighted by Italy’s Serie A, Major League Soccer, UEFA Nations League and English FA Cup. | ESPN+ schedule

ESPN FC’s experts ranked the best men’s players and managers in world football. Check out the list.

Fear, paranoia, difficult behaviour and constant battling with club officials and players led to the inevitable, writes Rob Dawson.

When Boca Juniors and River Plate were set to meet in Argentina’s most important match, Buenos Aires lost its mind, writes Wright Thompson.

Tuchel’s pushed his team in a tactical sense as well. For years, PSG had only one gear: an attacking, possession-based 4-3-3. But Tuchel is a believer in constantly changing formation and in attacking through the center of the field rather than the flanks. PSG can now play in a 3-4-3 and even run on the counterattack.

Their start to the season was excellent: PSG reeled off 14 straight league wins, a French record, and a slightly lucky qualification for the Champions League knockout stages after a crucial 3-2 home win against Liverpool. But things unraveled this winter.

In December, Henrique kicked Rabiot out of the squad because the midfielder refused to sign a new contract. Then, on Jan. 23, Neymar broke his metartarsal bone again. He will miss the United games. So, almost certainly, will Edinson Cavani, after he limped off during Saturday’s 1-0 home win against Bordeaux. With Verratti only just back from injury, Tuchel is struggling to field a midfield against Ole Gunnar Solskjaer’s suddenly invincible side.

PSG’s run of injuries is terrifically unlucky, but also reveals a flaw in the club’s recruitment strategy: after it paid a combined transfer fee of €400 million for Neymar and Mbappe, the two most expensive players in soccer history, there wasn’t enough left to build a deep squad.

Cavani’s injury at the weekend, which puts him on the sidelines along with Neymar, could be a problem vs. Man United. Yet another issue for Tuchel to address. Jean Catuffe/Getty Images

Since the New Year, Tuchel’s previously unbeatable team has crumbled. It lost at home to village team Guingamp, away to Lyon and on Feb. 6, PSG needed extra time to beat third-division Villefranche in the French Cup.

Meanwhile, Henrique has been flailing off the field. Last summer, he failed to sign the defensive midfielder that was Tuchel’s priority. Days before the January transfer window closed, with Tuchel asking for two new midfielders, the Portuguese still hadn’t even managed to sign one. The young Argentine midfielder Leandro Paredes was expected to join from Zenit St. Petersburg but in late January, Tuchel half-joked “I’ve looked for him in the showers, in the changing room, with the janitor, the physios… but he’s not there!” Paredes eventually arrived before the deadline, but he alone may not be enough.

Henrique’s longer-term project of signing midfielder Frenkie de Jong from Ajax failed too, despite long hours of negotiations in Amsterdam’s Amstel Hotel. Perhaps predictably, the player chose Barcelona.

Tuchel is cautious when responding to questions about Henrique — “I have my views, he has his” — but the two plainly aren’t best friends. Tuchel’s exit from Dortmund after his clashes with directors there suggests one possible ending in Paris, but there’s also a more hopeful scenario for him: that Wenger replaces Henrique as sporting director. Nine months after leaving Arsenal, the Alsatian, 69 years old but still looking more like 40, is bored and keen to return to daily soccer.

Wenger has advised the club’s Qatari owners from the start. In 2011 he told them it was a “no-brainer” to buy the club. He has long been a well-paid pundit on the Qataris’ French TV channel, BeIN Sports. In recent months he has received many offers from clubs and federations but the job he appears keenest on is Henrique’s.

Tuchel is a coach in Wenger’s own image: a cerebral, multilingual workaholic obsessed with diet, match stats and beautiful football, and so far anyway, not a serial winner of trophies. In fact, Tuchel hasn’t yet won a single title. But Wenger doesn’t want to join PSG only to spend his days fighting: he wants long-term control. That would mean Henrique leaving.

A Tuchel-Wenger duo able to unleash Neymar and Mbappe would be something to behold. But first, an under-strength PSG team must somehow find its way past United.

The post Tuchel's moment of truth as PSG manager appeared first on The Chestnut Post.

from The Chestnut Post https://www.thechestnutpost.com/news/tuchel039s-moment-of-truth-as-psg-manager/

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fernwehxxi-blog · 7 years

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CHAPTER I: My Village Home

I WAS a foundling. But until I was eight years of age I thought I had a mother like other children, for when I cried a woman held me tightly in her arms and rocked me gently until my tears stopped falling. I never got into bed without her coming to kiss me, and when the December winds blew the icy snow against the window panes, she would take my feet between her hands and warm them, while she sang to me. Even now I can remember the song she used to sing. If a storm came on while I was out minding our cow, she would run down the lane to meet me, and cover my head and shoulders with her cotton skirt so that I should not get wet.

When I had a quarrel with one of the village boys she made me tell her all about it, and she would talk kindly to me when I was wrong and praise me when I was in the right. By these and many other things, by the way she spoke to me and looked at me, and the gentle way she scolded me, I believed that she was my mother.

My village, or, to be more exact, the village where I was brought up, for I did not have a village of my own, no birthplace, any more than I had a father or mother the village where I spent my childhood was called Chavanon; it is one of the poorest in France. Only sections of the land could be cultivated, for the great stretch of moors was covered with heather and broom. We lived in a little house down by the brook.

Until I was eight years of age I had never seen a man in our house; yet my adopted mother was not a widow, but her husband, who was a stone-cutter, worked in Paris, and he had not been back to the village since I was of an age to notice what was going on around me. Occasionally he sent news by some companion who returned to the village, for there were many of the peasants who were employed as stone-cutters in the city.

“Mother Barberin,” the man would say, “your husband is quite well, and he told me to tell you that he’s still working, and to give you this money. Will you count it? ”

That was all. Mother Barberin was satisfied, her husband was well and he had work.

Because Barberin was away from home it must not be thought that he was not on good terms with his wife. He stayed in Paris because his work kept him there. When he was old he would come back and live with his wife on the money that he had saved.

One November evening a man stopped at our gate. I was standing on the doorstep breaking sticks. He looked over the top bar of the gate and called to me to know if Mother Barberin lived there. I shouted yes and told him to come in. He pushed open the old gate and came slowly up to the house. I had never seen such a dirty man. He was covered with mud from head to foot. It was easy to see that he had come a distance on bad roads. Upon hearing our voices Mother Barberin ran out.

“I’ve brought some news from Paris,” said the man.

Something in the man’s tone alarmed Mother Barberin.

“Oh, dear,” she cried, wringing her hands, “something has happened to Jerome ! ”

“Yes, there is, but don’t get scared. He’s been hurt, but he ain’t dead, but maybe he’ll be deformed. I used to share a room with him, and as I was coming back home he asked me to give you the message. I can’t stop as I’ve got several miles to go, and it’s getting late.”

But Mother Barberin wanted to know more; she begged him to stay to supper. The roads were so bad! and they did say that wolves had been seen on the outskirts of the wood. He could go early in the morning. Wouldn’t he stay?

Yes, he would. He sat down by the corner of the fire and while eating his supper told us how the accident had occurred. Barberin had been terribly hurt by a falling scaffold, and as he had had no business to be in that particular spot, the builder had refused to pay an indemnity.

“Poor Barberin,” said the man as he dried the legs of his trousers, which were now quite still under the coating of mud, “he’s got no luck, no luck“! Some chaps would get a mint o’ money out of an affair like this, but your man won’t get nothing!”

“No luck!” he said again in such a sympathetic tone, which showed plainly that he for one would willingly have the life half crushed out of his body if he could get a pension. “As I tell him, he ought to sue that builder.”

“A lawsuit,” exclaimed Mother Barberin, “that costs a lot of money.”

“Yes, but if you win!”

Mother Barberin wanted to start off to Paris only it was such a terrible affair… the journey was so long, and cost so much!

The next morning we went into the village and consulted the priest. He advised her not to go without first finding out if she could be of any use He wrote to the hospital where they had taken Barberin, and a few days later received a reply saying that Barberin’s wife was not to go, but that she could send a certain sum of money to her husband because he was going to sue the builder upon whose works he had met with the accident.

Days and weeks passed, and from time to time, letters came asking for more money. The last more insistent than the previous ones, said that there was no more money the cow must be sold to procure the sum.

Only those who have lived in the country with the peasants know what distress there is in these three words, “Sell the cow.” As long as they have their cow in the shed they know that they will not suffer from hunger. We got butter from ours to put in the soup, and milk to moisten the potatoes. We lived so well from ours that until the time of which I write I had hardly ever tasted meat. But our cow not only gave us nourishment, she was our friend. Some people imagine that a cow is a stupid animal. It is not so, a cow is most intelligent When we spoke to ours and stroked her and kissed her, she understood us, and with her big round eyes which looked so soft, she knew well enough how to make us know what she wanted and what she did not want. In fact, she loved us and we loved her, and that is all there is to say. However, we had to part with her, for it was only by the sale of the cow that Barberin’s husband would be satisfied.

A cattle dealer came to our house, and after thoroughly examining Rousette, all the time shaking his head and saying that she would not suit him at all, he could never sell her again, she had no milk, she made bad butter, he ended by saying that he would take her, but only out of kindness because Mother Barberin was an honest good woman.

Poor Rousette, as though she knew what was happening, refused to come out of the barn and began to bellow.

“Go in at the back of her and chase her out,” the man said to me, holding out a whip which he had carried hanging round his neck.

“No, that he won’t,” cried mother. Taking poor Rousette by the loins, she spoke to her softly: “There, my beauty, come … come along then.”

Rousette could not resist her, and then, when she got to the road, the man tied her up behind his cart and his horse trotted off and she had to follow.

We went back to the house, but for a long time we could hear her bellowing. No more milk, no butter ! In the morning a piece of bread, at night some potatoes with salt.

Shrove Tuesday happened to be a few days after we had sold the cow. The year before Mother Barberin had made a feast for me with pancakes and apple fritters, and I had eaten so many that she had beamed and laughed with pleasure. But now we had no Rousette to give us milk or butter, so there would be no Shrove Tuesday, I said to myself sadly.

But Mother Barberin had a surprise for me. Although she was not in the habit of borrowing, she had asked for a cup of milk from one of the neighbors, a piece of butter from another, and when I got home about mid-day she was emptying the flour into a big earthenware bowl.

“Oh,” I said, going up to her, “flour? ”

“Why, yes,” she said, smiling, “it’s flour, my little Remi, beautiful flour. See what lovely flakes it makes.”

Just because I was so anxious to know what the flour was for I did not dare ask. And besides I did not want her to know that I remembered that it was Shrove Tuesday for fear she might feel unhappy.

“What does one make with flour?” she asked, smiling at me.

“Bread.”

“What else?

”Pap.“

”And what else?“

"Why, I don’t know.”

“Yes, you know, only as you are a good little boy, you don’t dare say. You know that today is Pancake day, and because you think we haven’t any butter and milk you don’t dare speak. Isn’t that so, eh?”

“Oh, Mother.”

“I didn’t mean that Pancake day should be so bad after all for my little Remi. Look in that bin.”

I lifted up the lid quickly and saw some milk, butter, eggs, and three apples.

“Give me the eggs,” she said; “while I break them, you peel the apples.”

While I cut the apples into slices, she broke the eggs into the flour and began to beat the mixture, adding a little milk from time to time. When the paste was well beaten she placed the big earthenware bowl on the warm cinders, for it was not until supper time that we were to have the pancakes and fritters. I must say frankly that it was a very long day, and more than once I lifted up the cloth that she had thrown over the bowl.

“You’ll make the paste cold,” she cried; "and it won’t rise well.”

But it was rising well, little bubbles were coming up on the top. And the eggs and milk were beginning to smell good.

“Go and chop some wood,” Mother Barberin said; “we need a good clear fire.” At last the candle was lit.

“Put the wood on the fire!”

She did not have to say this twice; I had been waiting impatiently to hear these words. Soon a bright flame leaped up the chimney and the light from the fire lit up all the kitchen. Then Mother Barberin took down the frying pan from its hook and placed it on the fire.

“Give me the butter!”

With the end of her knife she slipped a piece as large as a nut into the pan, where it melted and spluttered. It was a long time since we had smelled that odor. How good that butter smelled! I was listening to it fizzing when I heard footsteps out in our yard.

Whoever could be coming to disturb us at this hour? A neighbor perhaps to ask for some firewood. I couldn’t think, for just at that moment Mother Barberin put her big wooden spoon into the bowl and was pouring a spoonful of the paste into the pan, and it was not the moment to let one’s thoughts wander. Somebody knocked on the door with a stick, then it was flung open.

“Who’s there?” asked Mother Barberin, without turning round.

A man had come in. By the bright flame which lit him up I could see that he carried a big stick in his hand.

“So, you’re having a feast here, don’t disturb yourselves,” he said roughly.

“Oh, Lord!” cried Mother Barberin, putting the frying pan quickly on the floor, “Is it you, Jerome.”

Then taking me by the arm she dragged me towards the man who had stopped in the doorway.

“Here’s your father.”

#nobody's boy: chap1 #novel: nobody's boy #novel

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