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literarywebseries-secretsan-blog · 11 years ago

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Always A Day Away (A Lizzie Bennet Fic for erinwert)

Lydia checks her watch. “Midnight,” she says, with a small smile. Forty-five. “Happy birthday. You should call Darce again, it’s… What’s your masters in?”

“Mass Communications -”

“So communicate,” Lydia finishes, with a weak grin.

Post-series, canon compliant with Secret Diary (& one or two “official” Lydia headcanons). Feeling better isn’t a destination she’s arrived at yet, but maybe that’s not the point; maybe it’s about the process of picking up the pieces of herself and letting them be hers.

Recipient: erinwert Fandom: Lizzie Bennet Diaries (Gen) Characters: Lydia Bennet, Lizzie Bennet, Jane Bennet Rating: PG Pairings: background Dizzie & Jing Warnings: Mild swearing, implied past emotional abuse Word Count: 3191 Happy Christmas, Erin! Have some sisterly bonding and cute things, but don’t worry, I wasn’t “afraid to make it hurt”. Hope you enjoy your gift! – LWSS xoxo

45.

Lydia’s painting Lizzie’s nails when it happens. They’re both stuffed full of ice cream, still half-watching the movie but mostly just soaking up the quiet and the calm; Charlotte’s driven back to her apartment looking for a bottle of wine, and Lydia’s brow is wrinkled in concentration, her head bent low over Lizzie’s hand, tongue poking into the side of her mouth as she places another careful, tiny stroke to the ring finger.

“You’ve got really bad nails,” she mutters, half to herself, and then squeaks when Lizzie kicks her in the leg. “No! Not like that!”

“Like what, then?” Lizzie asks, sounding unconvinced.

“Like… Okay, listen, they’re good nails,” Lydia hurries on. “They’re just short! There’s nothing to paint!”

“It’s practical, Lydia.” Lydia rolls her eyes. “Don’t give me that, you know what I mean, what if I need to go – play tennis, or… I don’t know, rock climbing? Long nails just break all the time.”

“So?” Lydia shrugs. “Just be careful. And don’t go rock climbing, duh.”

Lizzie laughs quietly. “Okay, so that was a reach.”

Lydia huffs out a laugh in response, and falls quiet again, concentrating on Lizzie’s pinkie finger now, determined to get the paint completely even. As she works, she becomes aware again of the movie still playing; Robert Downey Junior is strapped into his rocket suit, speeding towards the sky as the world’s about to end. He’s crying, and there’s heroic music playing – Lydia vaguely remembers going to see this with Mary last summer, but the details are fuzzy – and now he’s trying to call his girlfriend, but she won’t pick up, and Lydia… Lydia can’t breathe.

“Lydia?” Lizzie’s voice is quiet, concerned; she’s noticed something in her sister’s stillness.

Lydia takes a harsh breath in. “Nothing,” she forces out. “Dumb movie, right?”

“It’s entertaining,” Lizzie shrugs. “And everyone’s really hot.”

“Whatever,” Lydia snorts. “They’re just trying to make us care about some dumb girlfriend that won’t pick up the phone even though he really needs to talk to her, I wanna see Captain America kick more alien ass –“

Lizzie’s hand covers hers, and Lydia closes her eyes; dimly, she’s aware of the movie being muted.

“He just needs to hear her voice,” she says into the silence, almost shocked to hear how quiet and thin her voice sounds. “And she doesn’t even know, all she knows is he’s in trouble but she doesn’t know he needs to talk to her.”

Her heart is beating painfully loudly in her chest; she can feel every rib reverberate with it, like she’s only made of so much egg shell about to crack into a million pieces.

“We know who took the site down,” Lizzie says, her voice low, gentle. “Lydia?”

“Yeah,” she says, swallowing back something that might be a hiccup. “God, I know, it’s pathetic, I just – “

“Hey.” Lydia looks up; Lizzie is staring at her, eyes wide and hand gripping hers tightly now. “No it’s not.”

“It’s been six weeks, Lizzie,” Lydia says, hating the way her voice trembles over It. “We were never… It was barely that long. So, yeah, pathetic, I need to – god, I need to – “

She pulls herself free; stands up abruptly.

“Lydia?”

Lydia checks her watch. “Midnight,” she says, with a small smile. Forty-five. “Happy birthday. You should call Darce again, it’s… What’s your masters in?”

“Mass Communications -”

“So communicate,” Lydia finishes, with a weak grin. “It’s – yeah.”

“You don’t have to go,” Lizzie says quickly, seeing Lydia start for the stairs. “We can watch another movie, or just talk, Char’s getting something to toast with –“

Lydia shakes her head. “You guys have fun,” she says, hand creeping to the pendant still hanging around her neck. “I’m gonna sleep, I think.”

***

196.

“That’s the last box…” Lizzie calls, dumping a cardboard box full of plates and bowls in the kitchen doorway and turning back to Lydia, face red and hair coming loose from its ponytail in the heat. “All set?”

“All set,” Lydia nods, hugging her arms to herself and looking around the apartment – her apartment (well, not just her apartment; Mary won’t be driving down till Monday, but Lydia’s got orientation). “Thanks for the help. Both of you!”

“No problem,” Darcy tells her, his hands shoved deep into his pockets; he looks just about as cool and collected as ever, but Lydia heard him swear at the couch when it wouldn’t fit through the hallway, so now she’s got that to use against him for all eternity. “Do you need anything else, can we give you a ride to the store, the library maybe?”

“I’m good,” Lydia assures him. “Really. I’ve got my car, I’ve got maps on my phone, it’s cool. I need to find my own way around, anyway, right?”

“Right,” Lizzie grins. “Wow! My baby sister’s all grown up, moving to college, moving into her first apartment…”

Lydia pulls a face. “Gross. Anyway, you moved into your first apartment like two months ago, back off.”

“Just be thankful mom couldn’t face the drive,” Lizzie teases, her voice taking on the exaggerated Southern lilt she’s perfected over the past year. “Lydia, honey! You should go introduce yourself to your neighbours, maybe there’s a nice, handsome young man just down the hall, wouldn’t that be… Convenient?”Chin on one hand, other hand on hip. Wink, wink[ln1] .

“Not your best,” Lydia rolls her eyes. “I miss the hat.”

“Me too,” Lizzie admits; an unexpected moment of quiet, there, but welcome all the same. Lydia gives her sister a small smile.

“You could always start the videos again – “

“No! No,” Lizzie laughs. ”That’s not what I meant, I don’t want to go back or anything, I just… Miss it for what it was, you know?”

“Yeah,” Lydia nods, biting her lip. She’s expressed the same sentiment, almost word for word, to her counsellor; when she shifts her weight from one foot to the other, uncomfortable in the heat and the thick air of the unlived-in apartment, her necklace bumps against her collarbone. “I know what you mean.”

There’s a strange, heavy pause; then Darcy clears his throat, checking the time on his tablet. “I need to get back to the office,” he tells Lydia. “Let me know if you need any assistance over the next few days, you’ve got water and power for a start, but if anything comes up…”

“I will,” Lydia smiles. It’s been strange, getting used to being nice to Darcy and having him be perfectly pleasant in return – but oddly comfortable, despite the weirdness. “Thanks.”

Darcy gives her a funny nod, more of an awkward head bop; some things never change. Then he turns to Lizzie. “I’ll see you at home?”

Lydia doesn’t miss the way her sister’s cheeks turn a light shade of pink she’s pretty sure has nothing to do with lifting heavy boxes; she turns away, busying herself with flicking through boxes of bedroom stuff and looking for her throw cushions until Darcy’s said his goodbyes and the apartment door has slammed shut. She gives it five seconds, then turns on Lizzie.

“I’ll see you at home?”

Lizzie flushes even darker. “Lydia…”

“No, mom, don’t be like that, of course I’m getting my own apartment,” Lydia recites from memory, smirking. “I’m independent, mom, I’m moving for my career, not some boy!”

“Oh, god,” Lizzie groans, leaning back against the doorframe and pressing her fingertips against her temples. “It’s not like that. We just – we have dinner together, and then I’m there anyway, and If I’m going to work in the morning it just makes sense to keep a few things there –“

“Uh huh,” Lydia crosses her arms, not buying a word of it. “How many nights have you slept at your place so far this month?”

There’s a short pause as Lizzie counts back. “Six…”

“Darcy staying over because Gigi’s home does not count.”

Lizzie scowls at her. “Two. I guess.”

“Oh my god.”

“When you consider we’re only halfway through the month, that’s really not that bad – “

“Lizzie!” Lydia laughs. “Chill, oh my god. It’s cute. I think it’s cute!” She ducks out of the way when Lizzie swats at her side. “What, I can’t think my sister and her totally-not-committed-relationship- boyfriend-of-five-months are cute?”

Lizzie shakes her head, sighing somewhat dejectedly. “We didn’t want to rush into it,” she huffs. “Separate apartments are really important in the early stages of a relationship –“

“Okay, miss self-help-website,” Lydia smirks. “It’s not like you’re not in the early stages, right? And it’s not a bad thing, you’re just… Passed that point. You matter to each other.”

“Of course we matter –“ Lizzie starts, sounding outraged, but Lydia waves her off.

“No, I know, I know! It’s more than that, though, right? Now? You plan your whole schedule around each other! You keep clothes at his place, he’s just helped your sister move into her apartment, and it’s like – like – “ Lydia shrugs. “I don’t know, settled? Routine?”

“Routine,” Lizzie nods, looking thoughtful. “I guess.”

“You didn’t even notice half-moving in together,” Lydia laughs, seeing the way Lizzie’s eyes soften at the thought; her sister’s happiness is almost annoyingly infectious, and she feels it sink through her like warm butter. She’s happy for Lizzie, and if Lydia doesn’t probe that emotion too forcefully then it really is that simple. “I guess Darcy is… He makes you not think about how you’re supposed to act in a relationship.”

Lizzie lets out a slow breath, and laughs a bit shakily. “When did you get to be the expert?”

“Please,” Lydia snorts. “You mess up, you get smarter.”

Shit.

She blinks quickly, lifts one hand to press thumb and forefingers to the hollow beneath her collarbone; her wrist catches against the pendant. A hundred and ninety six days…Four days short of two hundred. Four days since she got drunk and dialled his still-unchanged number, just to hear the voicemail message. Healthy, Lydia.

“Lydia…” Lizzie sounds worried; Lydia stares at the carpet, biting back the solitary tear that’s threatening to prick against the back of her left eye.

“Whatever,” Lydia shrugs forcefully, conjuring up a blithe smile; they come harder these days, but she can still turn it on at a moment’s notice. “I was the boy expert in high school compared to your sad perpetual-singleness, you really think I’d pass on the chance to hand out the advice?”

There’s a slightly sticky pause as Lizzie clearly struggles with Lydia’s joking tone and Lydia tries to will her sister into matching it.

“Please, no more lists,” Lizzie laughs, finally. Then: “Come on. Lunch on me?”

“Deal,” Lydia smiles, bumping her shoulder against Lizzie’s on her way into the hallway; it’s as close as she’ll come to acknowledging what they almost talked about, at least for today. “Let me get my keys… Oh my god, can you believe I get my own keys?”

***

315.

“Lydia?” There’s a gentle knock at her bedroom door, to accompany the gentle voice. “Can I come in?”

Lydia sits up, runs a hand over her face. She feels oddly like she’s been crying and like it shows, even though her eyes are dry; there’s nothing in particular that’s upset her, except for some stupid impulse to scroll back through the photos of 2013 on her phone; she’d got as far back as January, and then it had hit her, the three hundred and fifteen days; she doesn’t keep count, not anymore, not in a long time, but the number still comes unbidden to the tip of her tongue with only a few worn-out calculations.

And even if she hasn’t needed to cry, her bed is warm, and her room is quiet, and the rest of the house is loud and unrelentingly festive; she’s needed to retreat, just for a few minutes.

Still, she quickly combs her bangs out of her face, and tries to straighten the pillows before calling out a chipper “Sure!”

The door creaks open, and Jane takes a few small steps into the room, looking worn-out from the drive; she’s spent the last week of work at a conference in Portland, so it apparently made the most sense to come straight home. “Lyddie?”

“You haven’t called me that since I was ten,” Lydia laughs, then jumps up. “Jane!”

They collapse into a hug, all laughter and garbled sentences and sprawling limbs; Lydia presses her face into the (fake, if she knows Jane even a little bit) fur collar of Jane’s coat, and doesn’t let go for a long time. She’s missed her.

“Bing says hi, and merry Christmas,” Jane says, when they eventually detach from each other and are sitting side-by-side of Lydia’s bed. “He’s looking forward to seeing you next week!”

They’ve agreed between the three of them, no boyfriends before the 27th this year, although Lydia felt slightly superfluous to the decision – Lizzie and Jane had wanted her input though, and in the end they all agreed without much need for discussion. And there’s an unspoken acknowledgement hanging in the balance of this decision: next year, things won’t be the same. This Christmas might be the last one they all celebrate in the same home; and after last year, they deserve one good holiday to end the tradition on. Next year, new traditions will be forming, and Lydia’s excited for her older sisters, of course she is, but… She’s glad they asked her what she wanted, this year.

“Of course he’s looking forward to it,” she grins. “You think he’d rather spend time with Caroline than with his perfect girlfriend and her way cooler sisters?”

“Lydia!” Jane admonishes quietly, and Lydia’s almost taken aback by the fervor. “I think you just need to spend some more time with Caroline, she’s really… Really…”

“Tall?” Lydia nudges Jane, and Jane apparently can’t help the laugh that bubbles up.

“No! I mean, yes, she is tall, but she’s also kind, and loving, and she cares about her brother a lot. She protects her family.”

“Right,” Lydia nods, unconvinced. “Protects her baby brother from evil, scheming gold diggers…”

“I’m not saying you’re wrong to think that,” Jane says slowly, brow creasing with the effort of saying something uncharitable. “There were a lot of misunderstandings between us, between all of us. You only really got one version of Caroline. Didn’t we always say, Lizzie sees what Lizzie sees?”

Lydia shrugs her shoulders. “Doesn’t change what she did to you.” There’s an old hurt that Lydia barely dares to give a name to, even now; when she has to think of it at all, she thinks of it like a bruise against her ribcage, pink and tender. If she were to press against it now, a year later, it would knock the word energetic against her spine, cracking every vertebrae, leaving her empty, scrubbed raw. “And, you know. The stuff she said about all of us.”

“I know, Lyddie…” Jane puts an arm around Lydia’s shoulders, comforting, close. “But I’ve put it behind me, and it’d mean a lot to me – and Bing – if you could try and do the same.”

That’s enough to startle Lydia out of her thoughts, and she shoots Jane a sidelong look; Jane blushes under the force of the gaze, and the faint suggestion of a suspicion settles itself against Lydia’s temples. She purses her lips, daring Jane to speak first, but the pause simply stretches on, Lydia fidgeting impatiently, Jane blushing, but still and serene. Glowing.

She opens her mouth to demand an explanation – and then closes it again, suddenly scared. It’s not like Jane will actually confide anything to her, not if she’s waiting for Bing to join them, so they can tell the whole family Something-with-a-capital-S. But Lydia thinks she could probably guess from Jane’s flustered reaction, if she forces a vague denial out of her; and she doesn’t want to know, not yet.

“I’ll send Caroline a happy holidays tweet,” she giggles instead, nudging Jane in the ribs with her elbow. “Okay?”

“That would be so sweet!” Jane nods, clearly surprised that Lydia’s let the weird moment go but not about to argue with her. “Next time you come see me in New York we’ll get dinner with her, how does that sound?”

Lydia shrugs, pulling an exaggerated grimace. “If it means a free dinner…”

“Lydia!”

“Kidding,” Lydia laughs, then gets to her feet, pulling Jane with her by one hand. “Come on, let’s go annoy mom.”

“Aren’t we a bit old for that?”

“She’s trying to get all her gingerbread trees the same shape, there’s like a billion rejected cookies in the kitchen.”

“Say no more.”

The rest of the day passes in a comfortable haze; the next day, Lizzie comes home, and Lydia is finally presented with her last two birthday presents. Jane gives her a new bottle of perfume and a set of matching notebooks and folders, which seem sweet and useful if a little anticlimactic (although she’s used to that, it’s another curse of the December birthday). When Lizzie hands over an envelope, Lydia swallows a nervous hiccup, and prepares to not act disappointed with a card and gift token.

The return flights to New York, December 15th to 19th, require no pre-decided reaction; Lydia drops the envelope, and pulls Lizzie into a hug, flinging her arms around her. “Lizzie!”

“We’ll be back way before Christmas,” Lizzie laughs. “And you’ve got a whole day to pack.”

“And…” Jane pulls out a third, matching ticket from inside one of Lydia’s new notebooks. “Surprise! I’m coming with you.”

“Oh my god,” Lydia shrieks. “Jane! Oh my god, you guys.”

“We’re having dinner with the Lees on Monday,” Jane tells her, with a slightly mischievous glint to her smile; Lydia just rolls her eyes, and Jane wavers. “If that’s… Okay?”

“Jane!” Lydia laughs. “Yeah, it’s okay, seriously, you guys, this is the best present ever, thank you thank you – oh my god, my Christmas stuff sucks, I’m getting both of you something super nice when we’re in New York, what do you want, Jane? Shoes? I’ll get you shoes!”

“Slow down, Lydia,” Jane giggles, clearly relieved that her plans aren’t causing any major upsets. “You don’t need to get me anything.”

“Yes I do!” Lydia insists, then rounds on Lizzie. “And! I could get you –“ she pauses, smirks. “A nice book?”

Lizzie just pushes her off the couch, but she’s smiling (later that week, Lydia will buy three heart-shaped pendants on silver necklaces; she’ll wear hers under her shirt, in the hollow beneath her collarbones, and every time her fingers go to ghost over the old scars they find it there instead, somehow always seeming warm to the touch). Before long, the three of them are all sitting on the floor, Lizzie leaning her head on Lydia’s shoulder and Jane sitting with an arm slung over their shoulders, all of them talking over each other, planning the vacation and planning outfits – although later Lydia won’t remember a single decision getting made in that conversation; what she’ll remember most of all is the laughter.

[ln1]

#the lizzie bennet diaries #lizzie bennet diaries #bringyouhometoo #erinwert #literary web series secret santa #submission

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literarywebseries-secretsan-blog · 11 years ago

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The Valeton University Pie Appreciation Club

Dear Kate,

MERRY CHRISTMAS

Your christmas present is split into two parts. The story, as it is below, and this pie inspired playlist created by Cara. I hope you enjoy them both - I wasn’t sure what you would like to read about characters that you’ve created, but I love Cara and Lily’s relationship, and you mentioned your love of Andrew and Cara.

Fair warning: there’s a lot of talk of pie below. A lot of talk of pie. I wonder what brought that on…

[And I feel like I should apologise, because once upon a time this small tale of friendship, love and dessert was cute and innocent. Then I made the mistake of talking to Erin and everything spiralled].

I hope you have a lovely Christmas. I also hope there’s snow!

I’ve loved every moment of the Classic Alice world. It’s beautifully written, funny, heartwarming, emotional and an absolute joy. For a girl who’s grown up sometimes feeling on the outside because I adore books and rules (and I know there’s a lot of us) it’s amazing to dive into this rich world of wonderful characters every week and see that we’re more than just a nerdy stereotype on screen. Thank you for bringing Valeton into our worlds - I hope it’s bringing lots to your world too.

Merry Christmas, happy holidays and best wishes for the New Year.

Your Secret Santa

(Who’s possibly not much of a secret anymore. Andrew tweeted me back about this story earlier today. Oops)

—-

The Valeton University Pie Appreciation Club

[With Cara’s Pie Playlist]

The Valeton University Pie Appreciation Club met on Wednesdays.

It wasn’t an official student organization. Unlike the Chess Club or the Debaters Association or even the Darcy Appreciation Club that Alice had eyed warily on her first day at Valeton, Pie Club had never been approved by the student body nor advertised by over enthusiastic RAs.

It was a private group; an elite selection of pie lovers who met regularly to eat, admire and discuss the merits of strawberry, blueberry and key lime creations – at least that’s how Cara had described it after half a bottle of wine.

In reality the club consisted of three members and Andrew, who only attended meetings when he was lured into the kitchen by the promise of fresh baked goods. They never invited other people to join them, never thought about moving beyond Alice and Cara’s living room space. In the early days there had been dreams of expanding the club’s activities to dabble in some pie related poetry recitals, or a pie eating contest (Andrew’s one contribution) or even an end of semester bake off, though the latter had been cancelled when it became clear that Alice would win by default – she was the only one in the club who was allowed unsupervised access to the oven and stove.

In the end the club was simple; Alice, Cara and Lily met every Wednesday afternoon and devoured slices of pie.

“We do other things,” Cara had once protested, fork raised to her lips between bites of apple and cinnamon dusted pastry. Her smile had been wide and crumbly, evidently proud of her wit, “We don’t meet to eat pie – we eat pie because we meet.”

Andrew had let out sigh, “You live together,” he’d muttered from his spot on the floor, leant back against the sofa and throwing tiny paper balls into an empty mug sitting on the corner of the table, “You don’t need an excuse to meet. You definitely don’t need an excuse to eat together.”

Cara had patted his curls awkwardly, shaking his shoulder with her other hand to emphasize her point, “Oh Prichard, you wouldn’t understand, you poor, lonely child. Did they have pie in your lonely childhood mansion? Or was that not fancy enough. Fancy pie for fancy baby Prichard –“

“What? I don’t – do you even listen to what you’re saying?”

—-

Despite the club’s meagre beginnings and its 3.5 members (3.14 when Cara was in charge, despite Andrew’s protests that he was definitely more than 0.14% of a man), Wednesday afternoon pie had become such a tradition in Cara and Alice’s living room that even Nathan had begun expecting desserts to be provided on the rare occasion that he was present. It was a comfort to the three girls - no matter how intense their final exams were the following week, how difficult the music recital, how tangled in metaphors the short story or complex the math, the reality of pie remained constant.

For Cara the club represented all her favorite things in life - time with those she loved, dessert, the opportunity for mathematical puns and witticisms, sugar and pastry, endless innuendos that had Alice blushing in seconds and Lily cackling into her shoulder, and food.

So much food.

She’d made the mistake of jokingly mentioning one day that Alice could open a bakery if her writing was never published, and while Alice had all but lunged for the butter knife resting by the sink Lily had loudly intervened and explained that obviously Cara was referring to some strange alternate universe where they were all different - Lily had been a detective, Cara an astronaut, and Prichard had been the overconfident but hollow businessman who turned into a fumbling mess whenever he bought coffee and cupcakes from his favorite redhead, and who ended up leaving the family business in a blaze of sudden enlightenment to go work the counter of the cafe.

Her Pie Playlist, compiled late one night when she was supposed to be studying for finals but was instead trawling through Buzzfeed and reorganizing her music for the fifteenth time, was one of the highlights of her late night rapid fire playlist project. She’d made Alice listen to it on repeat in the lead up to Thanksgiving - “American Pie” was now banned in the apartment and Lily had been horrified to learn that Destiny’s Child’s “Apple Pie A La Mode” hadn’t been included.

For the Valeton University Pie Appreciation Club, whose Secretary insisted that minutes be taken at each meeting so they could be organized into Pie Charts (the snickers had lasted at least a week), things only hiccupped on the rare occasion that Alice wasn’t available to make homemade desserts and Lily’s attempts to forcibly restrain Cara from entering the kitchen were bribed away with kisses and the promise that she could control the music in the car.

Cara and kitchen utensils were a recipe that only ever ended in fire alarms, not freshly baked goodness, but Lily liked the way she would start humming “Wild Honey Pie” around the same time the first smudges of flour started dotting her cheeks, and music privilege was sacred in their relationship.

The kitchen would survive.

—-

On one such Wednesday the sky was dark by three and rain shattered against the windows in angry bursts. Alice was curled up in bed with Jonathan Swift, the two of them working to defeat a lingering cold that had been tickling her throat since the previous Monday and Cara had quietly collected all the bowls and utensils in the kitchen that could possible be needed to make frozen Oreo pie. If all ran according to schedule Lily would be arriving shortly with the premade pie crust and Alice would be distracted long enough that Cara could mix together the vanilla and oreo filling and stash it in the freezer.

“I don’t even have to bake it!” she whispered in delight as Lily slipped in through the front door.

“You say that like it will stop you from destroying it,” she murmured, pressing a kiss to the corner of Cara’s mouth and quirking an eyebrow

“O ye of little faith. Hush. I’ve been preparing, can’t you hear? Paul McCartney will guide me through.”

Lily paused at the bench, fingers drumming along the countertop before she turned sharply to face Cara, “You do realize this song has nothing to do with pie?” she asked, corner of her mouth crinkling into a smile as Cara inched towards her. “In fact none of your pie playlist has anything to do with actual pie - and don’t you dare waggle your eyebrows at me. I refuse to enter this discussion again.”

Cara laughed in delight and slipped an arm around her waist, spinning into the kitchen, “I have no idea what you’re talking about. Everything here is magical and pure. Pie is magical.”

“Of course.”

——

Four hours and two pie related emergencies that Lily was still having trouble understanding later and the frozen Oreo pie (“Frozen because it goes in the freezer, not because it’s necessary to sing “Let it go” while mixing.” “You don’t get to control me heathen.”) was chilling in the freezer.

There was a knock at the door and then the steady thump of boots down the hallway that normally meant Andrew - he was the only person they knew who entered without an invitation but still felt the need to knock.

“Hey, Alice around?” he asked moments later, glancing around the quiet living room where Cara and Lily were sat before looking into the kitchen. There were stacks of bowls and plates and spoons in the sink that told a tale more akin to a banquet, not a simple no bake recipe, but he took it all in stride. His boots were off and sitting in their usual place in the corner of their tiny foyer - an innocuous, familiar gesture that had Cara burrowing her head against Lily’s shoulder, irrationally annoyed all of a sudden that Andrew and Alice hadn’t figured anything out.

Pie Club would be a lot better without the underlying sexual tension adding so many layers to the innuendo Cara liked to throw around on Wednesday afternoons.

“Rackham has a date,” she explained cryptically, watching him tense, “She and Jonathan are curled beneath the covers in her room if you want to take a look.”

There was a pause, and then Andrew frowned at her, “I only fell for that once.”

He stood awkwardly in the corner of the living room, glancing every so often towards Alice’s bedroom door. “Is she okay? She’s been…off lately. Ever since we went bowling. And then…”

His words trailed off, as if Cara might not know everything that had transpired recently. She felt the tips of Lily’s fingers press into her side, a subtle warning to be gentle - teasing was fun up until the emotion turned raw. “I think she’s just worried,” she finally settled on saying, “things have been tense - you know. The project, McDouche, her writing.”

“Her writing? I thought - I mean. She sent me a couple of drafts. They were good.”

“Yeah?”

There’d been a time when Cara couldn’t wade across their dorm room for fear of treading on drafts that Alice and Andrew had scribbled over. Andrew’s comments were mostly question marks and smiley faces, but Alice would write tiny scrawled notes in the margins and watch him with her lip between her teeth as he read through her work. Nowadays the apartment was still covered in loose sheets of paper - but Alice’s words were sometimes cautious; careful in a way that she’d never been before.

“Is there anything we can do to help her feel better?” Lily asked finally, gaze held on Andrew’s troubled countenance. He began to shuffle slightly, awkwardly pulling at the hem of his shirt before sighing loud and quick.

“Can I do something?” he offered, attempting to sound casual.

“Take her something yummy - something book themed and yummy! She’ll love that,” Cara immediately announced, pushing towards him with a little too much enthusiasm.

Lily tucked a hand against the curve of Cara’s neck and rubbed softly, trying not to sound condescending. “Nothing you just said made sense.”

“Excuse me,” objected Cara, reaching over towards the table where slices of frozen pie were beginning to melt on the plate. “Meet Edgar Allan Pie, see how his manpain is causing pudding tears to swirl and drip? She’ll love that,” she announced, laughing at her own joke before pausing a moment to glance between the two, “Get it? You do get it, right? Don’t be silent! That was funny.”

“Really? No, Cara.” Lily hid her face behind her hand, “And you can’t name things you’re about to eat - that’s the first rule, surely.”

But Cara scoffed, “That’s only fish – and chicken. And ducks? Not pie. It’s not like the pie can complain,” and picking up the plate she waved it around in front of them, putting on a voice that Lily assumed was an attempt at sounding warm and delicious.

“Ohhhh no. Don’t eat me good kind sir. I have to get back to my strawberry pie wife and caramel pudding children. I lived a good life! Noooooooooo -”

“Guys?”

Cara all but dropped the plate, spinning quickly to find Alice in pyjamas and messy pigtails, half leant against the doorframe with her book tucked to her chest. Her gaze shifted immediately to Lily, “You let her bake?”

“No ovens were touched. Promise. Only the freezer. And…it’s edible?”

“No kitchens were harmed in the making of this pie-y goodness. Scouts honor,” Cara vowed. She stuck her fingers up in the vulcan salute and Alice scoffed, stepping forwards to bat at her hand.

“You’re a terrible scout. But a decent frozen pie maker - maybe. And a good roomfriend.” Cara beamed and squeezed Alice’s hand in her own.

“So Prichard is here - don’t know why. Sometimes I think he forgets where he lives,” she announced after a moment. She swung Alice’s hand in her own and smiled at her, “You okay? You look like you’re about to collapse - you want anything? Tea? Pie? Mac and cheese?”

“She’s mother hen,” Lily muttered, and Alice laughed, bright but congested.

She coughed suddenly, grumbling about sore throats and noses and Cara caught a glance at Andrew - his eyes tight and his fist clenched. She recognized that look; it was the same she wore when Lily refused to let her cuddle her when she was ill. It hurt to watch on another; but hurt more to experience. This tug of war between her friends was pulling tighter but the tension didn’t demand a happy ending - they were just as likely to break. It scared her sometimes, the thought that their small world might fracture. But it was ripping them apart at the seams with or without action.

“I worry,” Cara explained, brushing it aside for now. “We worry.”

“Yeah Rackham, if you get sick what hope do the rest of us mere mortals have?”

Alice glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, but her face was soft - she was growing, Cara recognised. Slowly she was opening up.

“I think…I think I’ll just go back to bed,” she finally murmured, smiling softly and hugging the book back to her chest. “Thank you though,” and she spun with a quick glance at Andrew before disappearing back towards her room. Andrew knocked a socked foot against the edge of the table and purposefully looked anywhere but at the door.

“Save us all the despondent sighs and take her a slice of pie, Prichard,” Lily muttered. She pushed a plate into his hand and nudged him towards Alice’s door before he could protest. He paused, hesitant, but with a slight knock against the wooden frame and the soft call of Alice’s name he nudged at the door and slipped in to her bedroom.

“I have pie,” Cara heard him chuckle, and then the door softly closed.

“What do you think they’re talking about?” Cara whispered after a minute. “Films, books? They’re undying love for each other?”

Lily snorted, bumping her shoulder against Cara’s before steering her back to the couch. “Don’t know. Don’t care. As long as they’re talking I’m happy,” she smiled.

Cara sighed gently. Another day they could discuss everything else.

“Pie, Lily. It’s magic. Told you.”

#Classic Alice #hackettkate #josephinemarche #literary web series secret santa #submission

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literarywebseries-secretsan-blog · 11 years ago

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Jane's Diary (for cammysawr)

Dear diary

I know I usually just record my thoughts on video, but my camera’s broken and I haven’t gotten around to asking the River’s if they have one I could use.

So…I should explain things. It’s been a while since I’ve written anything in here.

Do you ever feel like…you get a rug pulled out from under you and your world does a 360 and before you know it you end up somewhere you had know idea you would be? Well, of course you don’t, you’re just a diary… But does the figurative you ever feel like that? Because that’s what my life has been like lately.

*Jane paused to wipe at her eyes. “Crap, Jane. You’ve cried enough. It’s just a diary.” She sighed and rubbed her face. “Deep, soothing yoga breaths…” She inhaled and exhaled slowly. “Ok. You can do this…” She couldn’t help but chuckle weakly. Did she really just give herself a pep talk to write in her diary?*

I love Rochestor. I really do…so much. but I couldn’t stay there. I don’t really want to relive all of that right now. If I wanted to do that, I would just rewatch my videos…but…he’s married. It’s a long story. His wife…she’s not exactly “there” so to speak. She’s suffered for many years from depression and addictions and they’ve taken their toll. She was the person I caught on tape during the power outage. She was in my room while I was sleeping. It’s kind of…I don’t know…unnerving. Rochestor had been trying to get a divorce, but it wasn’t working out as easily as he’d hoped, so that’s why our marriage was going to be symbolic, rather than legal.

I know why he did it, and I forgave him for lying to me…but I just couldn’t stay. It would have hurt too much. If I’d’ve stayed…nothing would have changed. I think…I know I would have been too distracting for him. Things need to change, and for that to happen his focus can’t be on me. I mean…this is the guy that bought me a TEN THOUSAND EURO TEACUP for Christmas just because I really like tea. He needs to fix things with the people in his life…and I just can’t be a part of that right now. I had to get out of there. It wasn’t easy. I love him and Adele so very much, but it was the right thing to do.

Anyways…I went to the bus station and waited a really long time for a bus. I didn’t know where I was going. Just anywhere that was far away where I could start fresh and learn some things about myself.

I’ve learned one thing already. Anybody can get mugged. Some guy came up to me asking me the time and then all the sudden he was trying to steal my camera. It fell and broke, but he managed to get away with my purse.

It happened really fast, but I sort of caught it on tape. He pushed me down and I hit a wall pretty hard. I got some whiplash from falling…He kicked me and ended up bruising on of my ribs. It really hurt to breathe. Luckily, there were some people there who helped me. Simon-James Rivers and his sister Diana. Simon is a doctor and he was able to confirm I hadn’t broken any bones (though it definitely felt like it). Simon and Mary wanted to call the police and take me to the hospital…but…I just couldn’t let that happen. Rochestor would have found out and nothing would have stopped him from coming for me and asking me to go back. I don’t know that I’m strong enough to refuse him, so I begged them not to call anyone.

So, they brought me to their home instead. I met their other sister Mary. I’ve been here a couple days now, and they’re so kind! They keep telling me to rest and offering to mahe me some tea. They haven’t asked any personal questions yet, but I’m sure they’re curious. It’s not everyday you meet an inured girl at a bus stop with no idea where she’s going…and unwilling to talk about the past. I’m not saying that I’ll never be able to tell them…but I don’t know how long I’ll be here for…and I just can’t talk about it when everything still feels so fresh.

I don’t know where I’ll be a month from now, or if I’ll manage to find a job, but what I do know is…life is…full of surprises.

And it kind of sucks. It’s just one thing after another. That’s an awful attitude, I know…but that’s what my life’s been like lately.

I’m gratful for their help, I really am…but it’s hard to ignore the fact that life seems to have declared me it’s official dumping ground.

Be positive, Jane. That’s what I’ve been trying to tell myself. I’ll be ok.

So…it looks like Diana has a camera for me. I guess I’ll see you when I see you.

#the autobiography of jane eyre #aoje #breeveeree #cammysawr #literary web series secret santa #submission

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literarywebseries-secretsan-blog · 11 years ago

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Dear Laila (wolfspirit103),

when I visited your tumblrs to find out more about you and about what you would like to receive for this Secret Santa, I realized quite quickly that you were a big fan of musicals. Being pretty new to the world of musicals but loving it and being a fan of "Classic Alice" which you love too, I thought it would be nice to combine musicals and "Classic Alice". So I present to you : "Classic Alice, the musical"!

Basically, I tried to find songs from musicals (and Disney on two occasions) to fit some situations and episodes of "Classic Alice". Sometimes the song is totally relevant, sometimes it's just a few verses, sometimes it's here mainly for the title. I'm not satisfied with everything (I still wish I had found a song to illustrate Alice's fear in the Crime and Punishment arc and a better song to give to Cara in "Birnam") (I'm a bit of a perfectionist) but I hope you'll like it!!!

Have a wonderful Christmas!

Classic Alice, the musical

I. When Will My life Begin, Tangled

Alice in Down the Rabbit Hole

II. You've Got to Pick a Pocket or Two, Oliver!

Andrew in Just a Little Peril

"You know what you should do... You know what, steal a test! Not the answers, just the test."

III. Guys and Dolls, Guys and Dolls

Andrew in To Siberia and Punishment (and basically every time he tries to fix things for Alice)

IV. Popular, Wicked

Alice in Why Can't the English?

"So the flower girl, Eliza, has atrocious speech pattern but Higgins thinks that he can make a duchess out of her ergo... Win a make-over inside and out with... really we wrote YouTube star?"

V. I Feel Pretty, West Side Story

Alice in I Could Have Danced All Night(before the dance)

VI. Still Hurting, The Last Five Years

Alice in I've Grown Accustomed to Her Face and Confessional 6

"I see freaking Ewan at the paper, I don't want to see him right now so I've been spending more time studying."

VII. Forget About The Boy, Thoroughly Modern Millie

Alice in Beauty of Form

"It's been a long, crappy week but I've decided not to let Ewan McBay get to me anymore"

VIII. Cabaret, Cabaret

Reagan in Beauty of Form (and basically all the time)

IX. All That Jazz, Chicago

Alice and Reagan between Beauty of Form and Beauty of Mind

"I think Alice is doing pretty well, you know, she's getting out of her comfort zone, meeting people, she's dancing, she's having a good time. She's drinking a lot more alcohol which is great, you know, I think that's gonna do a lot of really good things for her, open up a lot of doors."

X. The One, First Date

Alice in Beauty of Mind

"You guys, dating is hard."

XI. Just You Wait, My Fair Lady

Alice in Forres

"Because, damn it, I will be Ewan McBay's doing."

XII. You're Nothing Without Me

Alice and Ewan's dynamic in the Macbeth arc

"I created a monster, I'm Victor Frankenstein, I have to put that monster out of its misery."

XIII. Cell Block Tango, Chicago

Alice in Inverness

"Banquo is dead ... He got rid of her, he got rid of Sarah, his campaign manager, she is gone. Dead!"

XIV. Anything You Can Do I Can Do Better, Annie Get Your Gun

Alice and Ewan in Fife

XV. Brand New Day, Dr. Horrible's Sing-Along Blog

Ewan in Confessional 11

"Just in case, I still have a few tricks up my sleeve."

XVI. I'm Still Here, Follies

Cara in Birnam

XVII. I'm Not That Girl, Wicked

Heather after she watched the videos

XVIII. Dancing Through Life, Wicked

Alice, Andrew, Cara, Nathan and Booling

XIX. Chip On My Shoulder, Legally Blonde

Alice in Geoffrey Crayon, Gent

XX. There Are Worse Things I Could Do, Grease

Reagan in The Wind in the Willows

"Let's show the whole world what a little goody two shoes my cousin is and how much of a screw-up I am. That's just perfect. Isn't that what you've been trying to do this entire time, Alice? Every time I've been coming to visit. Let's see what crazy cousin Reagan is up to you. You know what, Alice? I am not a character in a book... and neither are you."

XXI. Legally Blonde, Legally Blonde

Alice in The Wind in the Willows

"This thing isn't working. This whole thing isn't working. I mean, I'm not spontaneous or reckless, I like plans and I like graphs and I like knowing where I'm going at all times and maybe that means that I am just, I'm stiff and I can't identify with speakers but that is me ... Maybe I'm not a writer. Like maybe that's just not my thing. I, I mean, everything is so stiff and bland and whatever so... that's probably just, you know, wasting time and..."

XXII. There's a Fine, Fine Line, Avenue Q

Alice in The Wind in the Willows

XXIII. Kiss The Girl, The Little Mermaid

Cara in Confessional 20

"Oh my god, you guys, just make out with each other's faces, it's gonna be okay."

Bonus : Musical songs which made me think of APlus :

I. With Anne on My Arm, La Cage aux Folles

II. The Hill, Once

III. Say It To Me Now, Once

(I couldn't put "The One" on the playlist but you can listen to it here)

Classic Alice the musical by Elisha on Grooveshark

#Classic Alice #wolfspirit103 #voiceofanightingale #literary web series secret santa

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literarywebseries-secretsan-blog · 11 years ago

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To abigailcliffstuff from your Secret Santa :)

An LBD Christmas fic entitled “My Name is Lizzie Bennet and I Finally Got What I Wanted for Christmas.” ENJOY! xoxo

“Lizzie?” Elizabeth woke to a small tap on her shoulder. She grumbled. “Liz-ZIE! LIZZIE, LIZZIE, LIZZIE!” “WHAT,” she screamed into her pillow. “IT’S CHRISTMAS! WAKE UP, WAKE UP, WAKE UP! WE HAVE PRESENTS TO OPEN!” A giggling 7-year old Lydia was now jumping on her bed. “I JUST KNOW DADDY GOT ME A PONY!” Lizzie rolled over and frowned. “Daddy? Santa brings our presents, not Daddy.” Lydia stopped jumping and folded her arms. “I know that Santa doesn’t exist. I’m not a baby, Lizzie.” She rolled her eyes and leaped off the bed. “Are you coming downstairs or what?” “In a minute. I need to wake up.” “Fine. More Christmas pancakes for MEEEE,” she squealed as she ran out of Lizzie’s door. At that moment Jane stuck her head in Lizzie’s room. “Lizzie? Are you coming? Mom made PANCAKES!” She giggled. “It’s Christmas, don’t be a humbug.” “A what?” Jane laughed. “You have a dictionary, look it up!” Then she was gone.

Lizzie stuck her tongue out at the empty hallway. “I just don’t understand why we can’t sleep in on Christmas,” she grumbled.

It took her 15 minutes to stumble out of bed, brush her teeth, comb her hair, and head downstairs. By that time, there were only 2 Christmas pancakes left and Lizzie’s Dad was the only remaining family member in the kitchen. He looked up from his book as Lizzie entered and he greeted her. “Merry Christmas, Lizzie!”

She smiled and walked over to give him a hug. “Merry Christmas, Daddy.”

"Pancakes?"

"Yes, please." She took the plate he offered her and sat down beside him. She was taking her first bite when-

"LIZZIE LIZZIE LIZZIE, HURRY UP! I WANT TO OPEN PRESENTS!"

Her father laughed and said, “You better take those pancakes to the living room and eat them there.”

"Fine." She huffed and shuffled into the living room.

Jane was braiding Lydia’s hair to keep her occupied form the lack of present opening and Mrs. Bennet was sorting the presents into piles. Mr. Bennet followed Lizzie into the living room and sat in his recliner. Lizzie sat in his lap and continued eating her pancakes. “Okay, I’m here,” she mumbled through bites.

"YAY!" Lydia squealed.

"Sit still, Lydia," Jane said. "I just need to put a hair bow in."

Lydia whined, but obeyed her sister.

"Why don’t you open one first, Lizzie?" Mr. Bennet nudged his middle child.

"But I’m still eat-"

"Oh," cried Mrs. Bennet. "Yes! What an excellent idea. Here, Elizabeth." She handed Lizzie a rectangular shaped gift wrapped in Disney princess paper. "Open this one!"

Trying not to seem excited, Lizzie grabbed the present from her mother’s hand. It felt sturdy, but not too heavy. Her father winked at her when she met his eyes. She smiled and ripped into the present, forgetting her plan to be apathetic. She gasped. “A journal?! An actual, real journal?!” She looked to her mom, who shook her head yes, and then to her dad who winked. “THANK YOU, THANK YOU, THANK YOU!” She ran to her mother, hugged her, and then rushed back into her father’s lap.

"Do you like it?" He whispered into her ear.

"I love it, daddy." She snuggled against him and held the journal close to her chest.

"MY TURN!" Lydia sprung into action and grabbed a gift from her pile.

She unwrapped it viciously and screamed. “IT’S A PONY!”

Everyone laughed and cheered as she tore open the box, forgetting the rest of her presents.

"Your turn, Jane, dear," said Mrs. Bennet, handing Jane a rather large present.

She unwrapped the gift, making sure not to make any tears. “Oh, my.” Her hand went to her mouth. “A sewing machine! Oh, thank you, momma, Thank you, daddy.” She stood up and hugged them both. “This is so nice.” She smiled and then reached under the tree, grabbing another gift. “This is for you, mom and dad. From all of us. Merry Christmas!”

Mr. and Mrs. Bennet unwrapped the gift together. Inside were 3 hand-made ornaments - a beautifully hand-sewn reindeer from Jane, a bright pink and purple painted round glass ornament from Lydia, and a miniature book hanging on a string from Lizzie. Mrs. Bennet immediately started crying. “You are the three most perfect girls in the world,” she said between tears. “Your husbands will be so lucky!”

Lizzie rolled her eyes and sighed. “We’re not even in high school yet, mom!” Her mother ignored her and began hanging the new ornaments on the tree.

"Soon she’ll be making us t-shirts with the words ‘FOR SALE TO GOOD HUSBAND’ written on the back," Lizzie whispered to Jane. Jane giggled and shook her head.

"She loves us, Lizzie. That’s all it is."

"Yeah, yeah." Lizzie sighed.

The girls opened some more presents (Lizzie received some new pens, Jane got some fabric, and Lydia got her first bra - bright pink and totally useless, as she had several years to go before she hit puberty. But it’s what she’d asked for.) Mr. and Mrs. Bennet opened their gifts to each other, and once all the gifts and stockings had been opened, Mrs. Bennet made her way into the kitchen to start cooking their Christmas meal.

Lizzie hid away in her room to write in her journal, Jane began reading the instructions to her sewing machine, and Lydia dragged Mr. Bennet to her room and forced him to play thieves and bandits with her new pony and dolls.

The entire Bennet household was content and happy. Christmas really was the best time of year.

#the lizzie bennet diaries #lizzie bennet diaries #abigailcliffstuff #getoffyourfeetandmakethiscount #literary web series secret santa #submission

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literarywebseries-secretsan-blog · 11 years ago

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Lake of Shining Waters - An Anne/Matthew Fic

Sometimes Anne wondered if this was all there was, if this was all there would be. Going to school, coming home, doing homework, occasionally visiting Diana or hanging out with the girls. It was all good, it felt good, but was it… enough? She’d always been a dreamer, drifting away on her fantasies about the lady of Camelot, trees with falling leaves, grey forests and lakes of shining waters. She would go out and walk to her own lake in Avonlea, look out and think about things that could be, but weren’t.

When she’d come to Matthew and Marilla, she had been so excited about getting a real home that her imagination had led her into wild imaginings of what it would be like. And at first, it had been like that, but then she’d realized that even this, the realization of her biggest dream, was taking place in the real world. A world in which she would not be Cordelia, but Anne with an E, with flaming red hair that would get her the nickname ‘Carrots’. And even though she’d gotten over all this (although she hadn’t quite forgiven he-who-shall-not-be-named for giving her that nickname), she was painfully aware of the fact that her life was not perfect, and would probably never be. Perfection only existed in books. This was why today, she was once again reading her favourite book by the lake, dreaming about Liesel while staring off in the distance. So technically, she wasn’t reading. It was a particularly nice day in June and she’d gone directly to the lake from school, without even dropping off her heavy school books at home. Marilla was probably wondering where she was, but Anne didn’t think about it much, engrossed in dreaming about The Book Thief as she was. She wondered about her, Liesel, and her horribly romantic love story. She thought about her own life in comparison and had to conclude it wasn’t as enchanting, nor as romantic or exciting. There wasn’t even a love interest in her life (for some reason Gilbert Blythe flashed through her head, but she pushed the image away as she was currently trying to think of more pleasant things) and no conflict of any greatness had crossed her path. She hadn’t even had the courage to steal books from anyone, unless she counted borrowing books from her previous foster mother, which was unfair because she always brought them back… after a while. There was only once thing that could be said. Despite all her dreams, all her fantasies, her life was dull. “Who’s this, moping in between the bushes?” A familiar voice woke her from her slumbering self-deprecation. Jerking up her head, she discovered Matthew standing a little ways away, half behind a tree. “Matthew!” she exclaimed, waving at him. “Come here, I’m sitting beside the lake! Come sit with me. It’s wondrously calm here today.” “Okay,” the older man muttered to himself before uncertainly picking his way through the bushel to the place where Anne sat. He stood next to her, apparently uncertain whether to sit or stand. “It is very nice out,” he said to the top of Anne’s head. “Sit down! The grass is dry, it’s actually pretty comfy.” So Matthew sat down next to his foster daughter and settled in on the blanket of grass on the bank. Looking at the sparkling sun on the lake, he remained silent for a while. After some time, and some sort of consideration, he looked over at Anne. “So?” She had been staring off into the distance and had to compose herself before she was able to comprehend what he had said. Frowning, she looked at Matthew. “So what?” “You know,” he said quietly. “What is bothering you?” “Nothing, I’m fine!” she exclaimed immediately. Matthew sighed. When he’d seen his foster daughter sitting beside the lake, not reading her book with a sad expression on her face, he’d known there was something the matter. And as her foster father, it was his task to wipe that sulky expression from her face, right? Wasn’t it? He wasn’t quite sure yet as to what his exact task description was, but he assumed this was part of the job. And he didn’t object to doing his job as well as he could. He nudged her shoulder awkwardly, quite unsure about what he was supposed to say. “I noticed you looking a bit sad, so I thought maybe you wanted to talk about it. If you don’t, that’s fine, I’ll understand.” She looked at him with the same expression as he’d seen her wear earlier when he had walked by and he felt his hart shrink a little. She’d – he wanted to say literally – stolen his heart the moment he saw her, which was why seeing her vulnerable was painful to him. She was such a strong girl, he thought for the millionth time. “You’re right, Matthew. As usual.” She smiled a little. “How do you know me so well. It’s just… I’m fussing about little things, that’s all.” The older man nodded a little. “Little things can become big things when piled together,” he then said thoughtfully. “But they still aren’t any more important,” Anne parried, looking over at Matthew with a slight smile on her face. “They’re little and will remain that even when they’re in a pile.” Again he nodded, tilting his head before speaking one of the longest sentences she’d ever hear him utter: “Good luck cleaning up that pile, Anne. If you’re not going to admit it’s big, you will give up clearing out the mess because you don’t see how close you are to succeeding.” She thought about this for a while, reminding herself of her recurring thoughts about her dull life in Avonlea, where she felt she didn’t amount to much. “I don’t think I’m very close to succeeding,” she sighed. “What is it? Are the teachers giving you trouble?” Matthew asked worriedly. Anne shook her head. “The teachers are wonderful and the school work is challenging. It’s just that I sometimes wonder if I’ll ever reach my goals. I live here in Avonlea, and that’s magnificent; I love the people, the nature is enchanting and you and Marilla have been so kind to me, as kind as only kindred spirits can be. But still… I thought that my life would be more.” The horrifying thought entered her head that Matthew would take this personally, so she added hastily: “Not that I don’t—

I love it here, but it’s—

You are all amazing, but—“

Her foster father laughed at her pitiful attempts to form a sentence. “Anne Shirley without anything to say? Miracles do happen.” All this got him was a frown and a deep sigh. “Don’t worry, Anne,” he said quietly. “You’re working towards the future, aren’t you? Going to school every day, getting good grades, you’ve got great friendships even though you’ve only been here for such a short time. It sounds to me like you’re well equipped for a future that will be the ‘more’ you’re looking for.” “But I don’t even know what I want to do with my future!” Anne exclaimed. “I want to be a writer, but I’m already seventeen years old and I haven’t produced anything noteworthy. I’m not Mary Shelley! Did you know she published Frankenstein at age twenty-one? And she eloped with the love of her life to France! That must have been terribly romantic.” “Oh Anne.” Matthew had to smile, because he started to recognize his feisty foster daughter again. “Don’t be angry at me for laughing, because I love your ambition. And remember, you’re not twenty-one yet. I think you’ll make a great Mary Shelley.” The redhead let out a short laugh and put her arms around his neck. “And you’re the best foster dad ever. I´m not sure about the Mary Shelley thing though.”

To neverthesamegirl from your Secret Santa

#Green Gables Fables #neverthesamegirl #candyflossandsprite #literary web series secret santa #submission

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