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antspaul · 5 years

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happy holidays @lollercakesff !!! I wrote you a fic! I hope you enjoy it ~ and have a wonderful holiday season!

I am posting the fic here, as well as on ao3, as it’s a little long (~10k).

charity (who is helping who?)

Summary: AU in which Anne is a little more poor but just as vivacious while Gilbert is a lot more wealthy and a little more cowardly.

Based somewhat loosely on the book Daddy Long Legs, written in 1912 by Jean Webster. There’s a movie with Fred Astaire and a wonderful musical based on the book. I always thought that Jerusha, the main character, was very reminiscent of Anne. The title comes from the song “Charity” from the musical.

PART I.

13 July 1899

Dear Ms. Shirley-Cuthbert,

I am pleased to inform you that you have been selected to receive a full scholarship to the University of Toronto. This scholarship allows deserving young men and women invested in the arts to attend college in pursuit of strengthening their craft. You were selected on the basis of your imaginative and enjoyable writing, which the University hopes that you will pursue once on campus.

The scholarship will cover your tuition and board for the four years it will take you to earn your Bachelor of Arts, provided to you from a very generous benefactor. There is also a small account in your name that will provide for your books. The funds in this account are stable and will not be replenished, so you are advised to spend very wisely. All additional details about your award are on the attached page.

In order to keep your scholarship, you will write your benefactor letters, at least once per month throughout your tenure at the University of Toronto, informing him of your progress, both academic and creative. Your benefactor will remain anonymous, and you may only address him as “Mr. Smith.” The address is provided below. You may use your book account to purchase postage, if necessary.

Congratulations once again. We at the University of Toronto will see you come fall.

Alastair Pendleton

Director of Financial Aid and Scholarships

University of Toronto

1 September 1901

To my magnificent benefactor,

I am sorry but I cannot address you as “Mr. Smith”, not when you have changed my life for the better in such a profound way. I can hardly believe that scarcely two months ago I was lamenting my future stuck on the farm and now I am here at the University of Toronto, ready to learn all there is to know in the world! And I have you to thank.

Please don’t think that I’m an ungrateful child. I truly appreciate everything that everyone has done for me. Until six years ago I lived the sorrowful life of the unwanted child that I was. You see, Mr. Smith, my parents died when I was only three months old. Does knowing I’m an orphan make you think less of me? I hope it doesn’t. I imagine a man as generous and kind as you wouldn’t care. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be giving charity to poor girls such as I.

Anyway, I lived in an orphanage, among other places, until I was thirteen and the most wonderful people in the world adopted me! Their names are Matthew and Marilla Cuthbert and they are brother and sister. I lived with them on a farm on Prince Edward Island. Have you ever been to Prince Edward Island, Mr. Smith? If you haven’t, you must go. I am quite certain it is the most breathtaking beautiful and splendid place on the planet.

I was told when I spoke to Mr. Pendleton in person that you don’t need to know anything about my life beyond my schooling and my writing. But since I will likely be mentioning Matthew and Marilla quite frequently, I thought that I would tell you who they were.

Will you be reading these letters? On the long train ride to Toronto, I thought long and hard about what I would do if I were a mysterious, filthy rich old man giving heaps of money to farm girls who couldn’t otherwise afford college. After a while I just gave up because I am not any of those things and could simply not put myself in your shoes. Marilla always berates me for my vanity, which leads me to think that I could not remain anonymous for very long. My opinion doesn’t matter, of course, but I do hope you read my letters. I intend to pour every speck of gratitude towards you that I possess onto these pages.

What is there left to talk about? Classes don’t start until tomorrow. I know that you wanted to know about my academics, but there isn’t any to talk about yet. I wanted to draft my first letter to you before homework became too overwhelming. Would you like to hear about my friends? My friendships certainly count as personal, but since I will mention them in the future as well, I will introduce them now.

My best friend and roommate is Diana Barry. Oh, how to describe Diana! She is the most dearest girl in the world. I met her when I had just arrived in Avonlea and immediately recognized her as a kindred spirit. Sharing a room with Diana is a dream come true! Her parents are rigid and close-minded. Perhaps I shouldn’t have written that because they are also very rich and seem to know every other rich person in North America. I don’t mean to be harsh but I’ve seen them make her cry enough times that I think I am entitled to my opinion of them.

Ruby Gillis is my second best friend. She’s also from Avonlea. She’s a wonderfully nice girl, maybe too nice for her own good. Ruby lacks imagination, perhaps, but sometimes an imagination as big as mine, I have found, can be a burden, as when you can imagine a beautiful future it sometimes leaves the present looking grayer than ever.

Who else is there to mention? Jane Andrews is the only other girl from home who also got in to U of T (University of Toronto, as I’m sure you know — writing it like that gives me such a thrill!) but I doubt I’ll be seeing her much, as she’s taken residence with her aunt and uncle in town. I’ve also met some new girls and we’ve become fast friends. Their names are Priscilla Grant, Stella Maynard, and Philippa Gordon. As I have just come to know them, I can’t tell you much except I can already tell they are kindred spirits. It’s just something you feel. I feel that we are kindred spirits, too, Mr. Smith.

I apologize if this letter has gone on too long, or if it’s not the type of letter you wanted me to send you. The letters that come from my desk usually go to someone I know very well, like my friend Cole or Diana’s Aunt Josephine.

Oh, those are two others I’m sure to mention a lot — Cole is an artist and is the kindest, most gentle soul I have ever come across. Aunt Josephine is a rich old lady who is a sort of parent to Cole. Perhaps you know her, though when I asked Aunt Jo if she was acquainted with an old rich man who sends orphan girls to college to be writers, she said she knew of none.

All that is to say that I don’t know who you are or what sort of person you are but I vow with all of the strength in my heart to do my very best to write these letters well.

Until next month!

Your eternally grateful friend,

Anne Shirley-Cuthbert

P.S.: I know you insist on remaining anonymous, but if I were to receive some sort of occasional acknowledgement that you are getting my letters, that would be more than welcome. I only thought I’d let you know.

FROM THE DESK OF ANNE SHIRLEY-CUTHBERT

21 April 1902

To my beloved benefactor,

I have not been able to stop smiling all week! Priscilla tells me I look crazed, with this Cheshire grin stretching across my face but I simply can’t contain myself and it’s all because of you! I don’t know how you found out that it was my birthday last week but your gift came just in time. My handwriting has never looked more beautiful than it does underneath the words “FROM THE DESK OF ANNE SHIRLEY-CUTHBERT.” Just seeing it on my table sends a thrill down my spine knowing you so thoughtfully ordered this for me yourself. How I wish you would have sent some sort of personal note with it. I know you have never answered my questions before, no matter how many I have asked. I am sorry to tell you that you’ll just have to deal with it as I can’t help but want to know you. Can you really blame me?

Classes are going much the same as in my last letter. I retook my geometry test and did much better, I am happy to report, due to Phil’s untiring help with studying. I even started to draft some short stories that I have been thinking about, though I find it difficult to put aside the time to write them as my studies keep me more than busy.

Here, Mr. Smith, is where I get more personal so if you still feel obliged to ignore ramblings about my social life skip to the end of the letter now.

As you know my birthday was last Thursday. Priscilla, Stella, Phil, Ruby, and Diana decided to surprise me and take me out for dinner! They escorted me to the most charming and expensive restaurant within five miles of our boarding house. At first I felt overwhelming unprepared and underdressed for such a formal occasion, sure that I stuck out like a sore thumb around all of the elegant ladies and gentlemen dining nearby. But soon the waiter brought out course after course of wonderful, delicious food and we were having such a pleasurable time that any insecurity slipped my mind completely. For a moment it seemed that nothing at all could tarnish such an impeccable moment!

But of course as soon as this thought entered my mind Gilbert Blythe showed up to ruin the dinner. As I have not yet mentioned Gilbert to you (that I remember, at least) here is all you need to know about him: he did something terribly humiliating to me when we first met in school at age thirteen and I have never forgiven him for it since. If he had left it at that we would be on better terms now but soon after he left Avonlea and on the few occasions we’ve seen each other since he has made a routine of offending me similarly. So as you can see why his presence at my special birthday dinner was less than welcome.

Perhaps, had I not known what kind of person Gilbert is, it would have offended me less when he sent a bottle of wine over to our table and offered to pay for my meal. But no doubt he only intended to flaunt his wealth before us like some peacock parading its feathers! He likely thought we would struggle to afford our meal. I have no aversion to certain types of charity, Mr. Smith, as you know, but his assumptions, and that inappropriate bottle of wine, nearly had me storming out of the restaurant in a rage. Diana and Ruby calmed me down and we politely but sternly declined his offer to the waiter. I didn’t see Gilbert’s reaction but I wish I had seen the smugness drop from his face.

It was a thoroughly exhausting affair. Emotionally, of course.

22 April 1901

I’m sorry for the interruption. I heard Diana call for me and it sounded quite urgent— a bouquet of flowers, it turns out, had arrived at the front door and were addressed to me. Thinking they were a belated birthday gift I readily accepted them. Imagine my surprise when the note inside revealed they were from Gilbert Blythe himself! I wanted to scream from the nerve of him and throw the flowers out but they were still quite beautiful so Ruby convinced me to keep them. The note on the inside wished me a happy birthday and apologized for his impertinence on my birthday. It almost made me regret writing those harsh things about him above. Almost.

Anyway, Mr. Smith, this is where my personal ramblings end if you don’t care to read them. Oh, I almost forgot to tell you that I spoke to one of the instructors here about my stories and she said they sounded promising and recommended that I submit one to the University literary journal! I might get published before the end of the term, if all goes well! If you care to read my work, I’ve attached the first four pages of a recent story to this letter.

Yours,

19 year-old Anne Shirley-Cuthbert, soon-to-be published author

FROM THE DESK OF ANNE SHIRLEY-CUTHBERT

5 February 1902

To my dear but frustratingly mysterious benefactor,

Can you believe it’s been a year and a half since I found out that you had selected me for the scholarship? I can’t. Since this letter will likely be incredibly short (examinations are upon us and will start soon, so I have little time to write) I wanted to start this letter by offering my undying thanks to you. So here it is: thank you, thank you, THANK YOU! And I’m so horribly mortified that I wrote to you in the manner that I did in my January letter. At the time I felt horribly unsympathetic to the wealthy and took out my frustrations on you. I wish every wealthy person were as kind as you. I suppose I really don’t know how kind you are but something tells me you are wonderfully nice.

Classes here are going well. I’ve said it before but I love being a sophomore! I finally feel like I truly belong at the University of Toronto. As much as I love Avonlea— have you visited yet? — I’m equally glad to be exploring the world on my own. As stressful as exams are, I love being at school. Even though I’ve been to only a few places in my life living in a city as large as Toronto makes each new day an adventure. I could explore this city for years and still find new nooks and crannies.

Since time is running short, here are several quick updates:

Ruby is still considering dropping out. Diana and I desperately try everyday to convince her not to, but our pleas seem to have done nothing to change her mind. It will be sad but not totally unsurprising to see her leave.

Ever since Aunt Josephine intervened with Diana’s parents, she has more confidently pursued her music. If you’re ever interested in hearing beautiful songs played on the piano then she plays a concert once a month. You could come and I wouldn’t even know you were there! It would be worth it, I promise.

Stella, Phil, and Priscilla are doing fine as well! Priscilla gets herself into trouble for pulling pranks on our new house matron, but scoldings never seem to bother her. Beautiful Philippa frustratingly has no shortage of suitors willing to do anything for her. It’s maddening in a funny sort of way to watch them trip over themselves to impress her as she pays them barely any notice at all.

What else? I have started to write for the newspaper! Just as I did in school. I will put in the envelope my very first story. It’s only a little book review but seeing my name in print gives me the same thrill as it did last spring when my story was published. I hope this time my writing will be met with less harsh criticism.

Well, that’s all I can think of to say today. I’ll try to send a longer letter next week if I can.

Faithfully,

Anne Shirley-Cuthbert

P.S. I forgot to ask— if it isn’t too much trouble could you send me more stationery? I’m almost out of the paper that you sent me for my birthday.

FROM THE DESK OF ANNE SHIRLEY-CUTHBERT

10 May 1903

My deeply appreciated benefactor,

I deeply apologize for the time it took me to write you this letter. I'm also sorry for how many of my letters start out with an apology. I realize it's been more than a month since I sent my last correspondence. Can it be called correspondence if you never write back? You've sent me gifts, which I cherish with all of my soul, but never once have you sent me a single word back. After three years you'd think I would just resign myself to the fact that all you'll ever be to me is a mystery shrouded in enigma, albeit one I'm relentlessly grateful for. But if you know anything about me by now, Mr. Smith, as you should if you've read any of my letters, is that I am as stubborn as a mule. Every person I've ever worked for or belonged to has said as much.

As I wrote that above paragraph I've realized that some of my words to you could be considered rude. Would you mind terribly if I apologized again? It's just that this week has been one of the worst I have ever experienced. May I tell you about it? I suppose one of the good things about never hearing back from you is that you will never tell me I can't.

As I write this it's Friday, and the dreadfulness started Monday. What makes everything seem worse is that the weekend was so wonderful. Ruby came for a visit, sporting gifts for all of us from her and Moody's recent visit to America. Seeing her glowing face (I think she may be expecting but if she is, I doubt she knows herself) and hearing about how happy she and her new husband are softened the blow of her departure from school last year and everyone had a delightful time. Then she boarded the train back to the Maritimes Monday morning and everything seemed to put on a shade of gray.

For the rest of the day both me and Diana were terribly irritable in our sadness to see her go. Our crossness culminated that night when Diana and I had a horrible argument. I can barely recall how it started— I think that I made some offhand comment disparaging Gilbert and she jumped to his rescue, and everything devolved from there. We were shouting horrible things at each other that should never be said out loud, things we didn't truly mean but hurt regardless. We haven't spoken since and though I know we are both regretful I don't know how to approach her and I think she feels the same. Our friendship isn't over, at least, but I yearn for normalcy. Concentrating in class has proved near impossible, even in the classes Diana and I don't share, because I'm so distracted by my guilt and shame.

To make matters worse, yesterday I checked my mail at the post office and what would be there but not one, but TWO rejection letters from literary magazines. I was reading them up in a secluded tree behind the library, thinking I was alone. The first was firm but polite in their rejection. We regret to inform you that we will not be accepting your work at this time, but please submit more work in the future. The kind of dismissal that comes with an impermanent sting. The next, however, was clearly more personal. The letter described my writing as infantile, superfluous, and shallow— I starting crying on the spot. In my twenty-one years of life, I've been on the receiving end of much harsh criticism, coming from my peers, my teachers, even those I considered my friends. I often turned to writing as a way of comfort and solace in those moments. The thought that I wasn't even good at my one talent was too much to bear. So in my privacy I sobbed harder than I had in years.

But apparently my spot in the tree was not as concealed as I originally thought. Just as I was about to collect myself and climb down, I heard a man clear his throat and call up to me, "Miss, are you alright?"

I looked down and almost fell off the branch as I realized who it was. "Gilbert?" I exclaimed.

He looked surprised to see me, a wonder since that day I wore a bright yellow dress and my hair is as red as ever. "What are you doing up there?" he asked me, knitting his eyebrows together in that infuriating way he always does. "Have you been... crying?"

I shook my head but I'm sure it did nothing to hide my frazzled state.

"Do you need help coming down from there?"

"No," I said but he offered me a hand anyway and I accepted it.

As I brushed the leaves and bark from my skirt he asked me, "Would you like a cup of tea?"

My meltdown had caused me to miss lunch so I accepted. At the tea house, he as always volunteered to pay for everything which I found frustrating but I've gotten more used to Gilbert over the years.

We talked idly for a while. I asked him about his classes. He's a medical student, did I tell you that? Not in medical school yet, but in a pre-medical program. With all of his money, I don't know why he needs a career but I suppose you have to do something to fill your days. Anyway, I knew this term he's had a number of terribly strenuous courses and I was curious how he was handling them. Everything was going well, he said but didn't appear that interested in talking about himself.

"Do you want to talk about why you were so upset earlier?" he asked me suddenly. "I would understand if you don't, of course, but perhaps if you told someone you'd... feel better."

I sighed and pulled the letters from my pocket, handing them over to him. He scanned them quickly, raising his eyebrows.

"Wow," he said once he finished reading. "How could they be so..."

"Blunt?"

"Wrong," he finished. "These people clearly know nothing. "

I was a bit nonplussed at his reaction. "I should have worked harder on the stories, instead of rushing to send them in. I'm more angry at myself than at those who rejected me."

Gilbert shook his head. "Your work is far from shallow, Anne. If you wrote it, then I'm sure it was amazing." He scoffed at the letter.

“I didn’t know you had read any of my writing,” I said.

“I read your articles in the newspaper,” he was quick to reply.

“Oh. Well, I wouldn’t judge my writing on those little book reviews in the newspaper.”

“No— I meant the newspaper back home. In Avonlea. Bash would send them to me here, and I always loved what you wrote. Everything you wrote carried so much meaning. That stuck with me.”

"Well, thank you, Gilbert," was all I really could say. I felt a strange burst of affection towards him at that moment and it struck me that we are truly friends. Close friends, as close as I am to Priscilla, Phil, and Stella.

Gilbert has changed these last few years, too. It's the strangest thing. When I first met him and he was a boy of fifteen, he was much like every other boy I met back then— confident, rowdy, foolhardy. Then his father died and on the rare occasion he came back to Avonlea, he seemed to have retreated into himself. We blamed it on the grief and all of the money he came into with his father's inheritance (and, reportedly, that of a wealthy aunt). But recently traces of the old Gilbert, the one who defended me from Billy Andrews and called me Carrots, have resurfaced. I don't know really how I feel about all that. I just know that I was incredibly thankful to have him as a friend yesterday in the tea house.

Anyways, I know that all of that might have been too personal. I'll stop myself now as I hear Diana coming up the stairs and writing this letter has motivated me to mend things with her. I’ll write more to you in a few days with updates on my courses and all of that (everything is well, don’t worry) but I simply wanted to tell someone.

Thankful as always,

Anne Shirley-Cuthbert

P.S. It’s Saturday now and Diana and I are on good terms again. I showed her the letters and she too thought they were preposterous. Diana has read the stories I sent in and liked them a lot. Because of her confidence and my talk with Gilbert on Thursday I’ve decided to send you one of my stories. I know you at least like my writing so perhaps someone will enjoy them.

PART II.

“It still doesn’t feel real,” Anne told Diana as they walked, arm-in-arm, through the front doors of the lecture hall. “Can you believe that it was three years ago that we first walked into this building for our first class?”

“We were terrified, if I recall,” said Diana. “Look at us now— tall, beautiful, intimidating senior girls!” She struck a pose, silly and exaggerated and the two dissolved into giggles.

They found seats, two right next to each other near the front of the room. Twenty minutes early as they liked to be to every class on the first day, only a few other students had yet arrived.

“I remember being frightened of the older girls when I was a freshman,” Anne said, pulling out her notebook and pen and placing them squarely on the table in front of her. “Now that I am one, I don’t know what there was to be frightened of. I scarcely feel older than I did back then.”

“Do you think that there will be many lower-years in this class?” asked Diana.

“I don’t know. If this course was offered my first term here, I would have stopped at nothing to take it.” Anne breathed out dreamily. “To think we’ll be studying only contemporary women writers— this is exactly the kind of course I envisioned taking when I first thought about going to college.”

“It’s too bad that the others couldn’t fit this into their timetables.”

Anne sighed. “Such is the busy life of a senior. Everyone says that we’ll have loads and loads more coursework this term but I think that I’ll hardly notice if the extra work is something I enjoy. Don’t you agree?”

Diana nodded firmly, and the room started to fill up with other students, mostly girls but a few boys showed up as well. Their instructor, the soft spoken but kind Professor Abbott, arrived five minutes prior to the class’s scheduled start time. He walked through the front door, trailed by none other than Gilbert Blythe, and the two seemed to be engaged in conversation. As they approached the chalkboard and instructor’s desk, Gilbert thanked the man and they shook hands before Gilbert left him.

“Hello Anne, hello Diana,” Gilbert said, standing in front of their table. “May I sit next to you?”

One of the only free seats in the room was right next to Anne, so she nodded, then asked, “You’re in this class?”

Gilbert sat down. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

Diana gently elbowed Anne for her rudeness. “We’ll be glad to see you at least twice a week now,” Diana said. “Last term we could barely catch a glimpse of you once a month.”

He chuckled. “Yes, the medical faculty keeps us quite busy. If this is how rigorous pre-medical program is, I can’t even begin to imagine the real thing.”

“You’ll get used to it, I’m sure,” Diana said.

“I have no choice,” replied Gilbert, sardonic but Anne could tell he was in a good mood.

Up front, Prof. Abbott ordered a red-faced sophomore boy to hand out papers with the reading list. He had prepared one paper for every three students, so Anne, Diana, and Gilbert shared a paper.

“Oh no!” Anne exclaimed as she read one title on the list.

“What happened?” asked Diana.

“I forgot to bring a book with me from home. This one here— Elizabeth and Her German Garden— I read it last summer and meant to bring my copy from home so I didn’t have to purchase another. But now I realize that I forgot to pack it, and we’re reading it next week.”

“Don’t despair, Anne, you can borrow mine when I’m done reading the assigned sections,” offered Diana.

Gilbert cleared his throat. “Actually, I happen to have an extra copy, if you wanted it, Anne.”

Anne perked up. “Really? Thank you, Gilbert!”

After class ended, Gilbert and Anne said goodbye to Diana and started the walk to Gilbert’s nearby apartment. Gilbert leading Anne, they reached his street only a few minutes later, as Gilbert lived only a street or two away from the main campus of the University of Toronto. The houses that lined the road embodied wealth and luxury. Though she had never been there, Anne knew that Gilbert lived in a small but ridiculously comfortable apartment at the top of one of these red bricked buildings.

She had never been on his street, either, but still the name— Sherbourne Street— felt familiar. As the two ascending the stairs of Gilbert’s building, Anne realized why: somewhere on the street, among its seven miles of fancy house after fancy house, live Anne’s mysterious benefactor.

Anne laughed out loud.

Gilbert turned around and threw up an inquisitive eyebrow. “Is something funny?”

“Oh, nothing,” said Anne. “It’s only that the world of the rich is so remarkably tiny, don’t you agree?”

“I suppose so,” answered Gilbert. “Why do you say that?”

They reached the top step and Gilbert pulled out his key to open his door.

Anne told him, “I’ve realized that you live on the same street as someone I know.”

Gilbert paused, his key only halfway in the lock. “Oh? Who?”

“Well, I’ve never met him. This might sound strange, but he’s— are you going to open the door or not, Gilbert?”

“Oh. Sorry.” Gilbert let them in. “You were saying?”

“He’s an old rich man who’s been paying for my education. I’ve never seen him in person, you see, but I’ve written him letters for the last three years so I feel like I know him quite well.”

Anne followed Gilbert through his apartment, which was quite larger than it appeared on the outside, until they ended up in a large library room with a fireplace and massive chairs with vast, soft-looking cushions. It was exactly the kind of library Anne yearned to possess herself, where she could sit with a warm cup of tea on a cold winter’s day.

“The book is over here,” Gilbert said, pointing to a shelf and directing her there. “So… your… old man has written you back often, then?”

“Well, not exactly. But I believe that you don’t have to know a person to know them.”

“That doesn’t make much sense at all, Anne.”

She pouted. “Never mind then. Maybe it isn’t meant to be understood by anyone else but me.”

He laughed, then, a soft chuckle that surprised Anne in its clarity. He pulled a book off the shelf. “Here it is,” he said, handing over his copy of Elizabeth and Her German Garden.

As Anne took it graciously, she couldn’t help but notice that he didn’t have another copy on the shelf but decided not to mention it.

The rest of the course was as enjoyable as Anne and Diana had hoped. Tuesday morning before class often brought Anne, Diana, and Gilbert together to a nearby tea house to eat lunch and discuss the week's readings. Anne looked forward to their meeting more than almost anything else. Gilbert seemed to appreciate the literature as much as Anne and Diana, even though the books were by women. He was able to offer both a male and medical opinion, the latter of which being particularly valued in their discussion of The Yellow Wallpaper. Both Anne and Diana thought his enjoyment curious, but their instructor was also a man after all. It wasn't so strange, and to have a man appreciating the words of a woman rather than the other way around was empowering to Anne as a writer herself.

Anne had never seen Gilbert so relaxed as he was during their Tuesday morning book discussions. Usually, in most other occasions when their paths crossed, Gilbert always seemed to be in such a rush, stressed out about business, or class, or some other small thing. Anne had always felt sad for him because of this, but to see him truly at ease painted him in a different light in her mind. His presence became something welcome, more soothing than it had ever been. She had realized they were good friends less than a year ago, and she wondered if Gilbert's father had never died, if business had never kept him away from Avonlea, they would be as good of friends today.

The term flew quicker than Anne had anticipated, as it was want to do, and soon Christmas was over and exam season was upon them. Anne barely caught sight any of her friends for those two weeks, as everyone boarded themselves in their rooms to study and write essays. The only person Anne saw with any sort of regularity was Diana, which only happened because the two shared a room.

The Monday of the second exam week, Anne and Diana decided to take a much-deserved break, going for a stroll in a nearby park to clear their minds.

"Have you seen Gilbert lately?" Anne asked Diana.

"No," said Diana. "I imagine he is incredibly busy with his own exams. Studying for our exams is hard enough. Can you even imagine what his must be like?"

Anne shuddered. "I would rather not. While I find the human body and all its functions endlessly fascinating, I've caught a glimpse of his more complicated textbooks. I won't be joining the pre-medical program any time soon."

"At the very least, we'll see him at the exam for women's literature," said Diana.

But when the day came, Gilbert did not show up. Diana and Anne showed up their usual twenty minutes early, expecting to see their friend, but he was nowhere to be seen.

As the minutes to the exam's start passed, Anne became nervous for her friend. She rose from her chair and said to Professor Abbott, who was seconds away from starting the test, "Excuse me, sir, but shouldn't we wait until Gilbert is here?"

Professor Abbott fixed her with an odd look. "Mr. Blythe won't be sitting the exam."

Had something happened? Had Gilbert dropped the course last-minute? That couldn't be right. He had attended every class.

Anne badly wanted to ask why, worried about her friend, but Professor Abbott gave her no room to do so, starting to read the instructions for their timed essay. She wrote a fine essay, though it took her longer than it would have had she not been so distracted by the empty spot next to her. When the exam finished, Anne wasted not a second to ask her instructor what he had meant.

"Mr. Blythe was only auditing the course," was his answer. "Therefore, he did not have to take the exam. I thought you knew that, him being your beau."

Heat rushed to her face. A younger Anne might have argued that Gilbert was not her beau in the least, but today she thanked him and left with Diana.

On their walk home, Anne clung to Diana's arm and asked, "It seems very strange that Gilbert would audit a course."

"It's not so strange," replied Diana. "Gilbert has always been interested in literature, and likely wanted an excuse to read more without having another exam to prepare for."

"Why do you think he didn't tell us?" asked Anne.

Diana peered at her, a curious glint in her eyes. "I have a suspicion."

When Diana didn't elaborate immediately, Anne stopped them in the middle of the walkway. A disgruntled set of girls behind them rolled their eyes to wind around them.

"What is it?"

With a small grin, Diana answered, "I think Gilbert took the class because of you."

"Me?!" Anne said incredulously. "Why would Gilbert do that?"

"You really don't know?"

"Know what? What is there to know?"

"Never mind," Diana said slyly, pulling them back into motion.

"Diana, quit messing with my head and tell me."

Diana laughed. "Are you saying that you really don't see the way he looks at you? He obviously loves you."

Anne didn't say anything, trying to wrap her mind around Diana's words.

Sighing, Diana continued, "If you don't believe me, just ask him yourself."

Anne huffed, confused at her irritation. "I think I will."

It took a few days to pin down Gilbert, as his exams kept him busy and occupied at the few moments he was usually reliably free. But finally Anne managed to catch him at their favorite tea house, reading a newspaper and sipping a cup of coffee, and sat down without invitation.

Gilbert looked surprised to see her there. "Anne, hello." He folded his newspaper and set it down in front of him. "Not that you're unwelcome, but what are you doing here?"

"Stella said she saw you here," Anne said.

"Oh," said Gilbert. "Well, do you want something? On me, of course."

"No. Actually, I have a question. An important question. Well, maybe it's not so important, but it could be. Depending on your answer."

"Anne— just... ask the question."

Gilbert looked a little nervous himself, shifting in his chair.

Anne took a breath. "Right. Sorry. I was only wondering... why did you take the Women Authors course?"

"Oh." He was quiet for a moment and Anne studied his face. "Well, I wanted to educate myself, I suppose, about literature written by women. I felt I didn't know much about the subject."

Unsatisfied, Anne shot back, "You decided to take an extra class for no reason in your last year of the pre-medical program?"

"I wanted to read something other than dry medical books. I'm sorry... did you want another answer?"

Anne sighed and stood up, more dejected than she thought she'd be. "No. I was just being silly. I'm sorry for bothering you, Gilbert. I should go."

"You don't have to."

"No, I should. I have a letter to write."

FROM THE DESK OF ANNE SHIRLEY-CUTHBERT

1 May 1904

Dear Mr. Smith,

It felt right to address you in a more formal manner today because we have formal matters to discuss. As I graduate in three weeks, I imagine that this will be my last letter to you for some time. Don’t worry, I intend to tell you as soon as something big happens with my writing. You’ll be the first to know, before Marilla or Matthew or even Diana. I could never forget that you are the reason I was able to go to school and reach my full potential. Because of you, I’m not stuck at Green Gables, shoveling hay alongside Jerry or teaching at the small Avonlea school house and never seeing the world for the rest of my life.

You’ve already given me so much, Mr. Smith, and it doesn’t feel right to ask for more but I can’t help it. It would feel even less right to graduate without you in the audience, watching me.

Say you’ll come, won’t you? I know you wish to remain anonymous. Your decision to hide your identity has been my constant turmoil for the last four years and I don’t think I could bear to go out into the world without putting a face and a name to the man who has changed my life completely.

Please don’t be afraid that you’ll disappoint me. Is it presumptuous to tell you that? For all I know, you don’t care about me one bit and haven’t read a single one of my many, many letters. But if you have, and if you have found any meaning in them at all, please tell me you’ll come. I already love you with all my heart.

If you are brave enough to come, I have included in this envelope the invitation. Matthew and Marilla regrettably can’t make it so if you come, you’ll be the only one there specifically for me. If you aren’t, then I’ll try to forgive you. I’m not sure I’ll be able to, but I’ll really, really try.

Hoping to see you soon,

Anne Shirley-Cuthbert

“Perhaps he’s running late.”

Anne slumped against the stage wall. “There’s no use. He isn't coming."

Diana pulled back an inch of the stage's curtain once more. She must have seen the same empty seat as before, as she said, "I'm very sorry, Anne."

"What are you two up to?"

Anne and Diana turned to see Gilbert, dressed in the same black and white graduation robes as them.

"We're trying to see if Anne's benefactor has shown up," Diana informed him.

Gilbert adopted a pained expression, a crease forming between his eyebrows. "No luck so far, then?"

"The ceremony starts in five minutes," said Anne miserably. "He isn't coming. I don't know why I expected any different. I've written him for four years with barely any response. I'm a fool for thinking today would be any different."

Diana crouched next to her, placing a reassuring hand on her back. "You're not a fool, Anne."

"Perhaps he got called away on urgent business," said Gilbert, with a tone perhaps meant to be reassuring but that came out with a slight irritation. "You never know."

"He's a coward," Anne declared, crossing her arms. "He never cared about me at all."

"You can't possibly know that," Gilbert said.

"Yes, I can. I can just feel it."

Gilbert infuriatingly pointed out, "Just last month you could feel that he was a kindred spirit."

"Would you stop taking his side?"

"I'm not taking his side," Gilbert insisted. "But perhaps your day wouldn't be ruined if you tried to consider things from his perspective—"

"I'm glad to graduate. Then I can finally wash my hands of rich men trying to control my life!"

Gilbert was quiet for a moment. "Is that all you think of me? Just another rich man controlling your life?"

Anne huffed but before she could respond, the professor organizing students called for graduates with B last names.

Diana stood up next to Anne. "We should probably go line up, Gilbert."

As they walked away, Diana turned around to shake her head at the other girl, sympathetic but disapproving, a look Anne had been on the receiving end of many times over their nine years of friendship.

Anne tried to compose herself after that, tried to still enjoy the moment she had anticipated for all her life. But as she walked across the stage, she couldn't stop her eyes from stinging or her heart from aching.

After the ceremony, the University arranged for a banquet of sorts for the recent graduates and their families. When picturing the moment in her head in the weeks prior, Anne had imagined her and her benefactor, who showed up perfectly on time for her graduation and had instantly turned into a grandfather of sorts, walking arm and arm through the crowd so she could introduce him to all of the people she had mentioned in her letters over the years. But in the face of the actual thing without any new friend or grandfather figure, Anne wished to skip the ordeal altogether.

Still, she had watched the graduations of other students older than her with jealousy for three years, anticipating her own shining moment. So Anne changed out of her robes, put on the new dress Marilla sent her as an apology for not being able to attend, a beautiful, soft blue thing, and resolved to enjoy herself. If she had to avoid Gilbert, then so be it.

Anne, Diana, and Diana's family sat at a large table under the largest white tent that Anne had ever seen. The sunset cast a pink and orange glow about everything and the faintest chill of evening air had begun to take hold, bringing a divine atmosphere to the banquet. Anne had almost started to relax when Gilbert approached their table. He had something in his hand which he seemed insistent on hiding behind his back.

He first greeted the Barrys, who always loved Gilbert Blythe, and then turned to Anne. "I was wondering if we could talk."

Anne swallowed and nodded. Gilbert led her to a bench under a tree, away from the crowds of people.

"Look, Gilbert, if this is about earlier today, before the ceremony..." Anne was quick to say, "I'm sorry. Really, I am. I had a horrible moment and ruined the day for you, too."

Gilbert shook his head. "I was trying to comfort you, but I only made things worse. And truly I am sorry that you were disappointed so sorely today."

"You aren't to blame," Anne told him. "It's Mr. Smith that I'm the most angry with."

"Right." He cleared his throat. "Well, I didn't bring you here to apologize. I mean not just to apologize. I mean— these are for you."

He held out a bouquet of flowers, beautiful pink camellias, which Anne only now noticed were the object he hid behind his back.

"Oh, Gilbert, these are beautiful," she told him, eagerly taking the bouquet from his hands. "This is the most lovely apology I've ever received."

Gilbert looked down, a small smile forming on his mouth. "It's not just an apology. It's also a thank you." Then he looked at her, the smile growing to fullness. "You don't know how... valuable your companionship has been these last four years."

Heat rushed to Anne's cheeks as she thought of her reprehensible behavior towards Gilbert the first few years of her time at the University of Toronto. "Even after how horribly I treated you freshman and sophomore year?"

"I probably deserved that," Gilbert said, laughing. "After I left Avonlea, I barely spent any time with people my own age who didn't own at least three homes. I'm afraid I often forgot to act around normal people."

"Still, I could have been a little less harsh."

"Perhaps that's true."

"So I'm a normal person, then?"

"You're anything but, Anne Shirley-Cuthbert."

They were quiet for a moment. The wind rustled the leaves of the tree above them as the final few rays of sun sunk below the horizon.

Suddenly, Anne had to ask a question with an urgency that surprised her. "Gilbert," she said. "This isn't a goodbye, is it?"

He looked at her in surprise. "No. Never."

"Oh. Good," Anne said, relieved.

Gilbert looked like he was about to say something, but at that moment a little girl with light brown skin and curly black hair ran up to him. She couldn't have been more than four. He laughed, picking the little girl up.

"Who is this?" asked Anne, not thinking about how disappointed she felt in that moment.

"This is Delly, my friend's daughter," Gilbert said. He stood up and sighed. "I should probably get her back to her family."

Anne stood up as well. "Yes, probably."

He walked a few steps away before turning around. Again, he looked like he wanted to say something. Instead, he picked up Anne's hand with his free one and kissed it. "I'm really proud of you, Anne."

Her heart beating loudly in her ears prevented her from making any response, and she was only able to watch him walk away, back to the crowds of people, as she tried to reckon with her own feelings.

A | S | C

1 June, 1904

To my forgiven benefactor,

I know I said that the last letter would be the last letter. I had thought that because I had imagined the last week would go a lot differently than it has.

If you had come to my graduation, there would have been no reason to continue sending letters in this manner. As I intend to stay in Toronto for the foreseeable future, I had pictured us having tea once a week and discussing books and my writing and the weather or any number of other things. But, as we both know, you did not attend. Before it happened, I had thought that I could never forgive your absence. I know I said that I would try but I was already certain that I wouldn't be able to forgive you. But I have surprised even myself.

I have realized that I don't know you at all, Mr. Smith, and have made my peace with this. I didn't come to this conclusion easily, that much is certain. I haven't the faintest idea why you never wanted to write back to me, or why you didn't come to my graduation. Perhaps you were busy. Perhaps you have not read a single letter I've sent. Perhaps you were as scared to meet me as I was to meet you. Whatever the reason, I'm afraid I have lost sight of everything you've given me. If our relationship, however one-sided it is, ends with scorn, then every time I think about University and all of the opportunities it has afforded me I would have to think about my anger. A younger Anne would have been content to live that life, but I certainly am not. So there you are, Mr. Smith. This young, foolish girl forgives you.

I've only now realized how valuable writing these letters has been for my personal development. You are my closest confidant. You know things about me that even Diana doesn't know, which is saying a lot. Had you responded, then I doubt that I would have been as honest as I was. If you'll allow me to be honest one more time, I have quite the dilemma. You see, these letters have allowed me to sort through confusing feelings and I feel more confused right now than I had ever been.

You see, Mr. Smith, I think I am in love. I wish you could help me. I could use some wisdom right now. As much as I have longed to be in love my whole life, I never thought to think about what it would actually be like.

When I'm with him, time doesn't exist anymore. And then he leaves, I'm aware of how quickly time passes by and I want to sob. I want to share everything there is. I want him to be there in the morning when I make porridge and I want to be there with him when he's doing the most boring business possible. Every time I read a good book, or think a funny thought, I wish he was next to me so I can tell him about it. At night I hate the moonlight because it's beautiful and he isn't here to see it with me. Do you understand what I mean? I really, really hope that you do. I think anyone who has ever been in love would understand.

Here is my problem and the source of my anguish: the man I am in love with is Gilbert Blythe. This may come as a shock to you, since I have frequently spoken ill of him in my letters. For this very reason, I am afraid I preemptively damaged my relationship with him permanently. We have since become close friends, but how could he forget how horrid I was to him, enough to love me back? I'm sure he'll also want to be with a distinguished woman from wealth, like that beautiful Winifred Rose I spotted him walking arm-in-arm with last February. I will forever be the red headed orphan girl who slapped him with a slate when I was thirteen.

I know you won't respond, but I still have to ask you. What do you think I should do? If you could just read this letter and think your answer really, really hard then I am certain I will feel better.

I will miss writing these letters and I will miss you, Mr. Smith. I will continue to think of you every day of my life.

Sending you all the love in my heart,

Anne Shirley-Cuthbert

P.S. In this envelope I have included my final transcripts as well as a check for $100. The check is not for much compared to all that you've given me but it's a start and I intend to pay you back every penny that you have spent on me. I received a small sum of money for a short story that will be published soon, and it's a start.

P.P.S. Did you notice my new stationery? I bought it myself also with the money from the advance.

A | S | C

6 June 1904

Dear Mr. Smith,

YES! I will be there— Saturday at noon. I can’t believe that I am finally going to meet you. It doesn’t feel real.

Love, love, love,

Anne

Once Anne arrived at the address told to her by Mr. Smith, she recognized the building as the tea place she, Diana, and Gilbert went to nearly twice a week during the Fall term. Had her and her benefactor ever been there at the same time? Had they ever crossed paths before, said hello to each other on the street without knowing each others' identity? For the first time in nearly four years, how close they lived to each other truly struck Anne. She knew he lived in Toronto, even knew what street he lived on thanks to the return address on the stationery he sent her every birthday. But they knew about the same businesses, ate at the same places!

All that time being so close and yet he still never made an effort to visit. Anne wondered if she would come to regret her choice to meet Mr. Smith here today. But she was too curious and had come so far. So she pushed her shoulders back in resolve and entered the tea house with as much confidence as she could muster.

A waiter in a nice blue jacket greeted her immediately.

"I'm here to meet with Mr. Smith," she told him.

Comprehension bloomed on the waiter's face. "You must be Ms. Shirley, then. Follow me."

He escorted her past large rooms with tables full of people eating lunch, past the kitchen door, past the restrooms, to a private tea room with a large window facing the park across the street. A large table sat in front of the window, meant to accommodate a large party of people. A single figure stood in the window, a silhouette in the face of the bright sunlight that streamed inside. This was it. She would finally meet her benefactor. Anne's heart stopped as the man slowly turned around. Only, when he did, he wasn't Mr. Smith. He wasn't even an old man.

He was Gilbert Blythe.

"Gilbert?" Anne cried. "What are you doing here?

"Hello, Anne." He swallowed visibly.

"You must leave now. I'm meeting someone very important and undoubtedly he'll be here soon, so if you could—"

"I know," Gilbert said.

"If you know, then you know why you must leave," Anne told him, irritation setting him. She approached him to try and push him towards the door. "How you could possibly know is another thing. Did Diana tell you? I told her not to tell anyone."

"No, Anne—" He paused, firm in his footing and grabbed her gently by the shoulders. "I know why you're here because you're here to see me. I sent you that letter."

"Did you impersonate Mr. Smith?"

"No, what I'm trying to tell you is..." he dropped his hands from her shoulders and moved one to scratch at the back of his head. "I couldn't impersonate Mr. Smith. Because he's me."

Well. Anne wasn't expecting that. She stopped in her tracks, mouth agape.

"Please, say something," Gilbert begged, a tremor to his voice.

"You?" was all that she could get out.

"You're Mr. Smith."

Blood rushed to Anne's face and she felt her heart and breath speed up dangerously. She grasped the back of a chair, tightly clutching the wood.

Gilbert pulled out another chair. "Perhaps you should sit down."

She did take a seat, but it wasn't the one he offered. "You're my mysterious, anonymous benefactor."

He gave a feeble laugh. "One in the same."

"I don't understand. How can you be Mr. Smith? You're not even old."

Sitting next to her, Gilbert said, "I never understood why you always wrote about my old age. I certainly never said that."

"Rich men who give orphan girls enormous scholarships are old. That just makes sense," Anne told him, nearing hysteria. She didn't know whether to laugh or cry. "They aren't pre-medical students I hit with a slate when I was thirteen!"

"I owe you an explanation. That's why I—"

Anne's hands flew to her mouth in shock. "My goodness, the letters! Every horrible thing in the world about you I wrote in those letters!"

"You said a lot of things to me in person, too," Gilbert pointed out dryly.

"That's different! I didn't know I was insulting my benefactor to his face!" If it were possible, Anne felt her face growing even warmer. She surely looked like a tomato, with her face red enough to match her hair. "And you read my letters?"

"Every single one. They were the best part of my month."

"Every single one?" Anne echoed. "I suppose there's no hope that you skipped the last one, then?"

"I meant every one."

She buried her face into the table. "If Mr. Smith had been my matron from the orphanage, it would have been easier to take."

He patted her back awkwardly. "Well, I'm not so bad, am I?"

Anne wanted to scream, taking a deep breath to avoid doing so. "Could you just promise to forget about the last letter and never mention it ever again?"

"I'm afraid I could never do that, Anne."

"And why not?"

"Well, I— I just couldn't."

"Why would you do this, Gilbert? I can't wrap my mind around it. I just don't understand."

Leaning back in his chair, Gilbert paused a moment before saying, "You wouldn't have let me pay for your education any other way."

"You still should have asked."

"Maybe so," Gilbert said. "But come on, Anne, I've known how stubborn you are since we were kids. I had the bruises to prove it. And when I heard that you had been accepted into the U of T but couldn't go because of money, well, I had to help."

"But why me?" Anne asked him.

"You deserved it. And, well, maybe I was selfish."

"Selfish?"

He took a deep breath. "Maybe because I knew I was also going to Toronto. And maybe I wanted you there, too."

Anne didn't know at all how to respond to that. Her mind raced, replaying every moment they shared over the last few years. How her benefactor happened to know her birthday, when Gilbert had bumped into her at her own birthday party. How her benefactor didn't come to her graduation, when Gilbert was graduating himself. They even lived on the same street. Of course Gilbert was her benefactor. It made sense.

"Why did you agree to meet now? Why not before?"

Gilbert exhaled loudly. "You don't know how many times I almost told you, or how many letters I started to draft but threw away before I could. I didn't know if I should be Mr. Smith telling you I'm Gilbert, or if I should be Gilbert telling you I'm Mr. Smith."

"Mr. Smith doesn't exist," she said.

That made Gilbert go quiet. "I suppose he's not," he said finally. "Are you terribly mad at me?"

Anne sighed. "You lied to me and betrayed my trust for four years. I don't know how I could ever forget that."

"And yet?"

"And yet..." Anne was surprised to feel a smile forming and at last she laughed. "It's you, it's really you."

Hope or something like it bloomed on Gilbert's face. He grabbed her hand.

Anne told him, "You never answered my question."

Gilbert took a shaky breath. "Because," he said, "When I read your last letter, I realized you needed to know everything before I did this."

"Did what?" she asked, but she knew he was already leaning in.

Gilbert kissed Anne, and while Anne had imagined her first kiss much more chaste, she put all of the emotions she felt into it. When they pulled back, Gilbert had a goofy grin adoring his mouth that she was sure matched her own.

"Anne," he said urgently. "I love you."

"I'd tell you the same," she said, "but something tells me you already know."

YOU ARE CORDIALLY INVITED

TO THE WEDDING OF

ANNE SHIRLEY-CUTHBERT

and

GILBERT BLYTHE

Saturday, October 4, 1904

3 o’clock in the afternoon

At the St. Andrew’s Church

Toronto, Ontario

Reception to follow.

/ fin

#annesecretsanta #kindredspiritssecretsanta #kindred spirits secret santa #lollercakesff #anne with an e #awae #shirbert #royalcordelia #tessa im tagging ur other blog in case something gets fucked up lol #i hope you enjoy this lollercakes!#i love ur fic a lot :)

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storyastorya · 5 years

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merry christmas, kindred spirit @seawolvesanddragons! super excited to finally give you my little gift... your fave gangsters and duos! this was my first ever attempt at any kind of fan art so i really hope you like it. from the bottom of my heart, wishing you and your loved ones a happy holiday! potato light bulbs forever!

(also tagging @kindredspiritssecretsanta, thanks for giving our beloved fandom the opportunity to share the christmas love! wishing you a lovely holiday season as well!)

#anne with an e #annE #anne shirley-cuthbert #diana barry #moody spurgeon #ruby gillis #sebastian lacroix #gilbert blythe #kind spirits #christmas gift #kindredspiritissecretsanta #kindred spirits secret santa

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kindredspiritssecretsanta · 5 years

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8 days until Christmas!~

This means there are 8 days to continue sending your giftee asks and complete their present. If you’re encountering problems, please message me asap! (and if you’ve changed your mind about participating, please let me know instead of disappearing!) I’m tagging everyone under a cut so that you all see it.

@aanneshirley @aliceinireland @anne-shirley-blythe @annesadventure @annessnowqueen @antspaul @anydragonsneedslaying @audeladelle @bookathlete77 @colemckenzies @cresmix @elderofavonlea @forcordelia @gilbertsannegirl @ginervaweasley @glimadora @hecksinki @katia-dreamer @ladytharen @leiaslightsaber @leonhaardt-s @littlemisspraetor @lollercakesff @lxstdreams @mariamancini @mrs-shirley-cuthbert-blythe @neveragainsanta @onedayiwillflyfree @paulinemaier @plutolittleplanetwithabigheart @raspberrycordially @remylebub @royalblakes @seawolvesanddragons @thxnderclouds @uwontfeelathing

#anne with an e #anne of green gables #annesecretsanta #kindred spirits secret santa

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lollercakesff · 5 years

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Happiest Place

PT 3 / 3

For @katia-dreamer - here's the last instalment of your secret Santa gift! I hope you've enjoyed it and it brought a little light to your day. Have a wonderful day!

We eat our way around the mock globe of Epcot, tasting everything we can fit in our bellies from the Holiday Feast and then relaxing under the hot sun as Diana, Bash and Mary test out all of the virtual reality rides that are available to them. By the time evening rolls around on our fourth day in the parks I find myself content, the growing camaraderie I feel with Gilbert and the Lacroix’s something I hadn’t expected from this trip. I know Diana feels it too - her friendship with Mary having bolstered over the sweet Dellie she dotes on like her own kin.

By the time the weekend arrives, I'm ready to take a break and relish the idea of a vacation for a few hours by the pool. It’s not hard to convince the others and we order in take-out and eat and drink in the hot sun.

“Did you want to go check out one of the resorts and get dinner with me tonight?” Gilbert asks as we walk back together from the lobby, our hands full of food from the cafeteria.

“That would be cool. I’m assuming Bash wants to go to Sebastian’s at the Caribbean resort?”

“Oh, I mean, maybe he does. But I was thinking just, um. The two of us, if you wanted,” he adds hastily as I stop and look up towards him. My mouth hangs open as he slows and turns to look at me, his smile hesitant.

“Like - one on one?” I sputter, disbelief in my voice. Was he asking me on a date? In Disneyworld of all places?

“Well, kinda yeah. Just the two of us. I thought maybe - It’s okay if not, I just - “

“No. I mean. Yes. I mean - that’s not clear at all. Yes. I’ll go to dinner with you,” I blurt and feel my cheeks heat, my feet starting to carry me forward with a clipped pace as we near the pool.

The afternoon rushes by and when I tell Diana about the dinner back in our room she nearly collapses from excitement on my behalf.

“Oh, Anne! If my Jerry were to have met me in Disneyworld I think we would already be married! This is so romantic! You absolutely must choose somewhere amazing - I’m going to start looking now!” She squeals and drops onto the bed.

Two hours later and I’m brushing my hair frantically back from my face, trying to contain it as I ready for a night out. Diana has taken to assuring me - repeatedly - that she is dying for a night where she doesn’t have to do anything, her feet already propped up as she reclines in her bed.

“Have fun. Make good choices,” she bids as I open the door to Gilbert’s knock. He looks fresh and bright, his eyes sparkling in the low light of the evening as he bids goodnight to Diana.

“Where are we going?” I ask as we head past the pool and towards the lobby. Where I expect to head towards the buses, we instead veer towards the front entrance where Gilbert steers me into an Uber.

“It’s a surprise,” he says as the driver leaves the round-about. We drive for almost ten minutes before turning into the Wilderness Resort, the treeline becoming dense as we head by campsites decorated with lights and beyond little cabins adorned with bows and puffs of smoke rising from the chimneys.

Pulling up outside of a brightly lit restaurant that’s designed like a frontier-style western eatery dropped in a snow globe, I glance at Gilbert as he smiles wider and pulls open the door. Inside the waiter takes our names and settles us onto a bench with 20 other guests wearing their holiday best, all seats facing towards a stage with bright red curtains fluttering in the breeze.

“What is this place?” I ask over the crowd’s noise, my senses trying to take in every detail, every delicious smell and sight.

“Well what do we have here Otis?” A voice calls out around us before there’s a crash and a puff of smoke from the stage.

“It’s dinner and a show. A Hoop-de-doo Musical Review,” he adds and I can’t help the laugh that escapes me, the idea so preposterous and yet so amazingly delightful that I couldn’t even have thought it up myself.

The show is spectacular and the food delicious, my spirit running high as we finish our third drink and start heading out for the rest of the evening. To say the night was magical was an understatement. It had been amazing. Gilbert had been the perfect gentleman, funny and kind, smart and generous. Though I’d offered to go dutch, he wouldn’t hear of it, sneaking off to the till and paying before the check could even be brought to our table.

When it was time to head home we crawl off of the benches with our bellies full, our cheeks red from the liquor and the laughter that had kept us occupied for hours.

“What a show,” I sigh as we walk along the dirt road, heading in some direction that I’m not sure which. Not that it matters. I don’t want tonight to end.

“It was pretty good. I’d hoped for something decent but that so much more then just time well spent. Good food, good entertainment, exceptional company…” He trails off and I spare a look towards him, enjoying the view of his profile in the moonlight. “What do you say we take the boat across to Magic Kingdom? We could probably catch the fireworks from the ferry, if we’re lucky...”

I don’t hesitate to follow him across the road and down the pathways towards the water, willing to follow him anywhere he was ready to lead me. I couldn’t help but think about how quickly I was falling, how easy it all seemed to be in his presence and the way we fell into sync with one another once I gave him a chance to not be the bane of my existence.

Gilbert Blythe had snuck up on me and now that he was here I didn’t want to let him go. Maybe it was the ease of life here, or the magic of everything surrounding us, but when we step onto the ferry and lean over the front rail to watch the castle light up in the distance I can’t help but lean into his side and relish the feel of him next to me. When the first firework cracks across the sky I turn to him and catch his gaze already on me, his fingers lifting up to brush the loose hair back from my face.

He leans in first, hesitating a breath away from my lips, before I exhale and tug him towards me for a kiss that nearly knocks us overboard.

--------

All of us spend the last few days together, revisiting our favourite places and getting as many Fastpasses as we can manage in the few hours we have left in the parks. It’s easy to be with Diana and the Lacroix’s, even easier to be with Gilbert whose light demeanor and quick-wittedness make the days seem brighter than they do at home.

On our last night in the park it’s simple to get lost in the magic of everything, our minds spinning as we eat as much as we can and ride all of the rides just to feel the glow of happiness seep into our bones.

“Are you ready for the fireworks?” Diana asks as we spill off of Space Mountain for the last time.

“More than ready! Though the fireworks also mean it’s time to go home and I’m markedly not ready for that!” I answer and spin my friend around as we walk up the ramps. It was our last ride with just the two of us, our plans to meet up with Gil and company meaning these were the final moments we could soak in this trip together. “Did I tell you yet how happy I was that you came up with this idea, dearest Di?”

“Only a few times,” she replies, slowing to link our arms together. “Did I mention how excited I am for you after this week? I know it’s not why you came here but it’s a lovely turn of events, wouldn’t you say?” Her words make me pause, the realization that going home also meant leaving the cocoon of Gilbert too.

We hadn’t really talked about any of this. How could we have? It was only a blur of a week with so much to do and so much excitement and wonder and beauty there was no way I could have thought about returning to reality. But we’d have to, tomorrow, and I didn’t want to.

“Oh, Di… It’s been such a bittersweet week. I’ve just met him only to say goodbye already. It was such a thrilling time and yet it’s over so soon!” I exclaim as she leads me towards the main entryway.

“Well, yes, goodbyes will be had, but surely they don’t mean forever? You can keep in touch!”

“I know, but it won’t be the same,” I lament as she sighs and pulls me closer.

“Nothing back home is ever the same as Disney, darling. That’s why they call it the happiest place on earth - because the real world can’t hold you back here. But what they don’t talk about is that you can take the memories with you and create a new piece of happiness for yourself back home made just from them. Even if it doesn’t work out, you still have the memories you made and that’s what counts.”

“When did you grow so wise?”

“Right about the time you came into my life, I presume. Made all the difference,” she adds as we slowly come upon the group. I pull her in for a tight hug, holding my best friend close as I try to remember this moment in my mind.

“How was space?” Gilbert asks as I lean against the railing and into his side. His arm comes around my hips and I pull his hand tighter, not wanting him to let go.

“It was fine but I’m happier here just like this,” I admit and look up at him with a cheshire grin.

“Me too. Hey - I was thinking, since you like writing and all, why don’t we try being pen pals when we get home? Would you be interested in trying that?” He questions just above a whisper, his breath tickling the side of my ear.

“That sounds like an excellent idea, Gil,” I murmur and shift closer to him so his arm crosses my chest.

Bound against him, I look up at the sky as the first burst of light shines overhead, the castle's Christmas lights flickering and shifting to display a story of hope, friendship, happiness and love. It seems fitting to end the week here, with new friends and new dreams. A nearly missed flight had lead to this moment and I couldn’t have timed it better. Magic had been spun around us all and whatever came next was bound to be another great adventure that we could face together.

#awae secret santa #anne x gilbert #anne of green gables #anne with an e #kindredspiritssecretsanta #kindred spirits secret santa #awae #@katia dreamer #@royalcordelia

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seawolvesanddragons · 5 years

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Merry Christmas to my kindred spirit @audeladelle ! I’m glad I got the chance to get to know another AWAE fan during this holiday season. Wishing you and yours a very best holiday season, and in honor of Bash, stay warm! Hope you enjoy this ficlet- a dash of modern Shirbert in their prime element - being unable to communicate. https://docs.google.com/document/d/1GQhXForq0euMCy7zzSe-KnoiSMTNiW_L-mWEq8dfZ5U/edit?usp=sharing

(I tried posting the whole fic here but the format got really messed up - sorry!)

#awae #kindred spirit secret santa #potato lightbulbs forever #shirbert #anne with an e

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scaevolawrites · 3 years

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Broken But Gold

WELCOME TO WRITBLR SECRET SANTA Happy Holidays @lexiklecksi

WTW's Santa gave me your name from the expansive Nice List this year, and like a dutiful artist, I got to work suffering a bit along the way. I however found a kindred spirit in your MC Enya Arati (pls put me on the taglist for that wip!) I was also struck by your blog's tagline. Thusly this poem was created (below the cut).

Ich hoffe du hattest einen guten Rutsch und Ich wünsche dir alles Beste für 2022 - Scae Broken But Gold

I was broken when they took me They gathered the pieces and locked them away To keep me shattered

Children were told to watch out for monsters I was told I was the monster With that skin, those eyes, and that wicked fire within me What else could I be but a nightmare made flesh? And like children do, I believed them All that to keep me broken and scarred

Thus, a monster she was, and ever would be Nothing more than the scales upon my skin, and the slits within my eyes Not a young girl but a wicked monster Yet the girl persisted, believing she could fill the gaps with gold But gold is weak and soft And so they melted that too

Eventually, nothing but the monster they made remained Rage and anger fuelling the fire within The monster was all there was, all she was, and she was hurt So she shattered herself even further

And so, she survived, fragments of the girl she used to be Until she met her, the one who could heal with just a word Her words cooled the raging wildfire within me Gave me the rest I needed And the fragments of the girl I used to be, came together Yet the cracks remained I was broken still, but gold once more

#wtwcommunity #wtw event #secret santa #lexiklecksi #lexi tag #poetry #scae.writes

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punishing-gray-raven-ocs · 3 years

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Azure Cardinals: Some Secrets.

Anubis' Secrets:

- Loves the concept of Santa Claus.

- Enjoys being festive during any holiday.

- Sees Watanabe as a kindred spirit.

- Thinks Kamui has beautiful eyes.

- Thinks Caelum is much more annoying than Kamui.

- Is bothered by other Constructs immediately writing him off as 'dangerous' or 'intimidating'.

- Thinks Lucia is a snoozefest.

- Will gladly sacrifice himself for the Cardinals, Chrome or Kamui.

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Caelum's Secrets:

- Has a puppy crush on Kamui (may or may not turn into something deeper, depending on the Cardinal route Kamui takes lol)

- Maintains a flawless appearance because he feels doing anything less would disappoint Commandant Kyrie and his squad mates

- Is afraid of Lee.

- Wants to cuddle with a certain Strike Hawk Operator while watching cozy movies.

- Can't sleep at night due to nightmares. Gets the least amount of sleep out of all the Cardinals.

- Attempted suicide once.

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Eden's Secrets:

- Is obsessed with orange juice (then again, that's not really a secret)

- He works as an Attacker and a singing idol. Actually fears singing more than going to battle.

- Wants to ask his parents point-blank why they sent assassins to kill him.

- Sometimes feels as though Caelum holds the Cardinals back.

- Wants to talk with Liv more.

- Got his horn trapped in a wall once. Anubis had to pull him out.

- Doesn't mind being mistaken for a woman.

#the azure cardinals #pgr ocs #09/15

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a-gentle-spy · 3 years

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Happy secret Santa to a kindred spirit and my favorite Research Cryptobotanist!!! @agent-bracken

Thank you for always indulging in my discussions when I need it 💚

- Caroline (agent Cherub)

#the roanoke society #roanoke secret santa #agent bracken #I made ya a business card #and a screen saver moodboard #merry christmas ❤️#holidays with the society #agent cherub

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the-lonelybarricade · 3 years

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Hello dear :D I am so excited to be your SS! I hope you have a lovely day, but also here are some questions! 1. What would you be most surprised to receive as a gift? 2. What is a favourite but least-come-across trope? 3. What do you like reading in your emotional down time?

Hello my lovely new friend!! I'm having an amazing day because I just submitted an assignment I was very much dreading and it feels like a load has been lifted off my chest 😌

Okay haha I know I left the my SS requests super open ended but that is 100% because decisions paralyze me. I don't want to put any pressure on you because I will absolutely adore anything someone took the time to make for me! That being said I don't want to paralyze you with decision making if you're a kindred spirit in that way.

1. Okay so most suprising gift would probably be art? I haven't done an SS like this before but I assumed most people entering would be exchanging fics but that could also just be my bias as a fic writer. I meant it sincerely though when I said I would be happy with any type of gift!

2. I had to think hard about this one (and do some googling) because I am a sucker for all the popular tropes. Least come across--maybe like single parents? Picturing Rhys as a single baby daddy with Nyx does all kinds of things to me 🥵

Oh! Or maybe a fallback marriage pact? I don't think I've come across a fic like that in the acotar archives, granted I haven't explicity searched for one. A right person, wrong time trope is also one I don't feel like I've seen a lot which is along similar lines.

3. I literally just read fanfiction at the moment. I know that's super lame of me, but I know if I start a new book series I'll lose my current acotar hyperfixation and I am just vibing right now. I am a soft hearted person so I just binge fluffy romance fics, mostly Feysand and Elucien <3

p.s. I entered both gift exchanges so I'm sorry in advance if that causes any confusion for my secret santas!

#I hope these answers helped #pls feel free to ask me anything I am an open book for you to puruse my lovely #secret santa #gift exchange

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smolbeandrabbles · 4 years

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Come What May - Ned Kendall x Reader (Beautiful Kate)

Soulmate!AU

GIF CREDIT: X

@wltz-bby @happyskywhale

Author’s Note: For @severalmiles‘s Mendo Nation Secret Santa - I know you’ve already read this, but I still wanted to tag you and thank you for letting me post it on here of New Year! 😁💜

Alright guys, this is it! Your last fic of 2020! And it’s my very first Soulmate!AU

I hope you enjoy - I got a little creative with the whole AU idea..!

@mandy23b - thank you so much for your Soulmate discussions with me, they were SO helpful 💕 Now you get to read mine! 😁

Disclaimer: Beautiful Kate characters not mine / it is my own Soulmate!AU idea / lyrics not mine / gif not mine

Premise: Soulmates are rare; and to have one you need to meet a specific set of criteria. Ned Kendall does. The Soulmate trend is known in the media as ‘New Years Day Phenomena’, and the end of year is far approaching...

Words: 8380

Warnings: sexual content (but not too explicit) / Swearing / Drinking / AU (obviously!)

______

Never knew I could feel like this, Like I've never seen the sky before. Want to vanish inside your kiss; Every day I love you more and more.

Listen to my heart, can you hear it sing? Telling me to give you everything. Seasons may change, winter to spring; But I love you until the end of time.

Come what may, come what may, I will love you until my dying day.

Suddenly the world seems such a perfect place, Suddenly it moves with such a perfect grace. Suddenly my life doesn't seem such a waste It all revolves around you.

And there's no mountain too high, No river too wide. Sing out this song and I'll be there by your side, Storm clouds may gather and stars may collide, But I love you Until the end of time.

Come what may, come what may, I will love you until my dying day.

There's glitter on the floor after the party Girls carrying their shoes down in the lobby Candle wax and Polaroids on the hardwood floor You and me from the night before…

You squeeze my hand three times in the back of the taxi I can tell that it's going to be a long road I'll be there if you're the toast of the town babe Or if you strike out and you're crawling home

Don't read the last page But I stay when it's hard or it's wrong or you're making mistakes I want your midnights But I'll be cleaning up bottles with you on New Year's Day

Hold on to the memories, they will hold on to you And I will hold on to you

---

The only noise in the room was the scratching of pen to paper, the clock ticking the seconds of the day away - and, as it was late evening, there were precious few of those left. The still burning cigarette lay regretfully forgotten in the ash tray as his writing hurried across the page. The final draft of his latest novel was due in a few weeks, but he was hardly bothered by that now - something was pulling his attention and it was infinitely more pressing. Ned ran a hand through his hair: it was like writing while possessed, that was the only way he could describe it. When he’d look back the morning after and hardly remember a word of it. And the writing calibre too… so far removed from the trashy smut he seemed to be pretty into these days. They sold copies; he wasn’t bothered by that… but this kind of blacked-out writing often made its way into novels of its own. His darker, more serious work; and hopefully not the kind that his family would be embarrassed reading. He flipped another page and continued - always the same… it always started the same. Soulmates. Usually Ned Kendall scoffed at such a word. It was banded around far too often, and made everyone far too excitable. But it was a rarity to actually have one. Someone out there hardcoded into you, someone made just for you. But he’d heard the news reports - the ‘miracle’ of it all. Seeing the same person all your life; compelled to do everything you could to make them real by any medium necessary. Until you finally found them. It was known as the New Year’s Day Phenomena - because all the reports of this ever happening around the world occurred on New Year’s Day. Everyone seemed to find each other on this magical clock strikes midnight evening. New Year, New Beginnings. The beginning of forever, it seemed. Ned Kendall was sceptical. This wasn’t like those soulmate universes he’d read before, countdown clocks embedded in your skin… timer running out when you met, or first words exchanged tattooed on your wrist… In those universes everyone had a soulmate. In the world he was living in, they were rare. And when a new couple appeared, they were treated like celebrities. The problem was, ever since he could remember, Ned had dreamed of the same woman. At first she scared him, she haunted him, like she was there in his veins and he couldn’t get her out of his head, no matter how hard he tried. No matter how much he covered her with other women, no matter how many times he thought they might be the one and would laugh in the face of the whole notion of a Soulmate, these relationships always fell apart. And she was always there in the back of his head. Even when Ned was sleeping with them, it was her he got flashes of. It was almost like she was real, like if he imagined hard enough, he could reach out and touch her… and yet she always remained just out of his grasp. So he wrote her. Ned poured her into every single one of his novels, somewhere. Even if she was a bit part character with no dialogue, her image was there. She had been his main character a few times: when he got this urge, as he had right now, and a force he couldn’t explain compelled him to write her in such a way. She was the worst muse he’d ever had. And what Ned Kendall hated most of all was that he was falling for her. And hard - for this past few months she’d been nearly his every waking thought. Pages and pages, and reams and reams of writing covered his apartment and it was all her. And what scared him most was the year was ending. It was nearly New Year. He’d spoken quietly with Sally about this a few times. Because he didn’t want to believe it, because it felt crazy and Ned needed her to set him straight. To let him know that he was crazy, because Sally definitely would. Instead she looked at him, amazed, and then laughed: “Oh my god, Ned… Do you… Do you have a Soulmate?” “Sally, stop, it’s not funny!” “You! Part of New Year’s Day Phenomena!?” She cleared her throat, trying to act serious as she apologised, “Of course the most disbelieving person in the world on Soulmates would have one…” “This is so stupid. There’s no way, I’m just a writer and she’s…” “Ned. I know you’re just a writer - but all the tells are there. Aren’t you excited? You’re going to meet the person you’re meant to be with. And you know what she looks like already… Finding her will be so easy..!” He exhaled, tipping his head and body back to look at the sky; “What if I don’t like her-!?” “What part of Soulmates don’t you get, you were made for each other!” “What if she doesn’t like me?” Sally sighed, “Then she’s crazy.” “With how fucked up my life’s been?” “Geez…” She shook her head at him, and placed her hand over his, “Just give her a chance… Ned. Whoever she is.” He quirked his eyebrow at her, with a smile, “It doesn’t exactly sound like I’m going to have a choice-!”

Usually the holiday didn’t mean a thing to him, it was just another year. Maybe he’d go to a bar, swallow all his sorrow with an expensive tab and take someone home. But something was changing. It wasn’t just the way she looked anymore; he was so used to flashes of her body, her face, her smile, those pretty eyes, the kind of person who - if Ned was totally honest - had walked straight out of his fantasy. But he was starting to get a feel for her personality and the way she sounded; her laugh, her voice, the way she flirted, her tells when she was shy or bending the truth just a little. And the closer the end of the year was, the stronger her presence became: now when he dreamed her he could feel her touch, how it felt to hold her, to run his fingers through her hair… He didn’t even know her name, but Ned knew what it felt like to pin her beneath him, heartbeat flush with his… He shook that thought away and dropped his pen, leaning back in his chair. This was all getting a little too much. This woman was driving him insane. Ned swallowed hard, and looked to the clock. He had but one conclusion for the whole thing, and how much it all scared him. He was exhibiting every sign of a crazy person, so utterly paranoid and obsessed with the thought of finding his ‘Soulmate’. What if she was just a muse his thoughts had dreamed up? What if she didn’t even exist…? Was it all too real for that? Could Ned bear to find out the truth. But Ned had all the tells; even when whining ‘give me a breaaak’ as previous girlfriends had forced him to watch these ‘romantic’ interviews, he’d been listening. And this was what happened, everything got stronger and you became more fixated with them until you finally found them. 31st December into January 1st.

He couldn’t risk it; Ned just couldn’t risk the excitement that rushed through him becoming anguish and devastation. Ned Kendall would be staying in this New Year’s Eve. He didn’t even want to stay up to welcome in the New Year.

***

Soulmates - wasn’t that everyone’s dream? To find the one person they were destined to be with. You had always found the prospect to be exciting whenever you’d heard talk of it. Every time those interviews came up on TV - you believed in the idea of pre-destined partners and kindred spirits… two halves of a whole, before you’d become aware that you had your own. And you still believed in that notion even for people that didn’t have visions like yours. Afterall, didn’t most people end up with that one person. How could that not have hinted at something meant to be? Yours was just a little clearer than everyone else’s. You knew who that person would be. Even if you didn’t know the how, or the when, or the where… or even the why you? At first you hadn’t even really put two and two together, his was simply a face that had occurred to you in dreams. But one that you had latched onto and interested you. Intelligent, mischievous blue eyes, a little smirk that hinted at exactly what he was thinking, dark curls that you just wanted to run your fingers through, his cheek bones were accented but he wasn’t overly skinny. He had one of those faces that told a story, and every so often when you’d get flashes of him you could see all those troubled emotions. He must have been a fan of dark colours; at least, that’s always what he was wearing… but you liked that, because it just brought out the blue in his eyes even more. And that was what you focused on most when you drew him. Your apartment and your artist’s studio were covered in drawings, paintings, sketches of pieces of a man you’d never known. And you really meant pieces; sometimes you would just get his hands, the kind of motions as if he were explaining something to you (and he was left-handed, by the way he held a pen) you might get nothing else, but you knew they belonged to him. At first he was simply a muse, and your best friend used to laugh - when you said you had no idea how he popped into your head - that you must have just been drawing your perfect man. You couldn’t say she was that far off, but you could have done something similar without the need for his image in your head… and it was the emotional depth of the pieces that had you wondering exactly who he was. Maybe he was a face you knew, maybe he lived around here or you’d seen him on your travels to work - and yet when you started actively looking for him, he was still nowhere to be found. You weren’t one to dare to hope to believe in him being your Soulmate. Your clientele always asked about the works, but none were for sale. Sometimes you thought you’d put them up in the hope that someone would recognise him, and tell you who he was. Or that he might just up and walk in here one day: like he truly had just walked out of your dreams. But you always liked having the familiarity of his presence around, and drawing him just came so naturally to you. There was a particular centre piece - almost life-size - of him sitting at a desk. A vision; with the light pouring through the window behind him and hitting all his features just right. He was adsorbed in the papers in front of him, all handwritten; you wondered if they were letters - perhaps love letters. You liked to imagine that they were. That either he was writing them, or reading those words from the heart of the person who loved him the most. You got visions of him pouring over paper like this often, and he always looked so relaxed… it was when he looked his best to you. When you thought he most looked like himself; if you even knew what that meant. How could you know? Even when you felt like you did. Whenever clients asked who he was, and why he was so special (after you’d told them the piece wasn’t for sale) you would always give a bashful laugh and look to the painting: “Oh, I… I don’t know. I just dream about him. He comes to me in dreams…” Almost all of them got wide-eyed and then turned to you - knowing the stories everyone was becoming obsessed with - “A Soulmate!?” You would always shrug, because you simply didn’t know. “Well, perhaps. But I don’t think so.” Besides, you knew as well as they all did - you had to more than just envision your Soulmate. You should be able to feel them, to know their touch, to hear their voice. This man had been coming to you in dreams day and night, and you’d never got anything physical from him - just his body. Whether in still images or kinetic energy. Perhaps it wasn’t the right time for anything more, or maybe you were just insane for believing that something so rare could really happen to you.

As this year started to trail off, things began to change. And it made you too excited - you made him your every waking thought - because somehow that heightened the experience. And sometimes you weren’t all that sure these dreams were dreams; waking up surrounded by sketching paper and drawings you hadn’t ever remembered doing yourself. All of this guy… and sometimes a little more risqué than you’d ever display. Sitting there trying to recall the why - were you having sex dreams about him now? You knew sometimes you felt him pinning your wrists back, how he’d bite his lip and the distinctive way he called you a ‘good girl’. You knew how it felt to entwine your fingers with his now, and the warmth of his body as he embraced you. Sometimes you would get his distinct scent and you’d spent far more time than you’d ever care to admit in department stores trying to find whatever brand of cologne he used, to no avail. His voice really got you though, that beautiful Australian twang had just a touch of way out there - not a natural city boy. You realised you were quickly falling in love with him. And you hoped against hope that this wasn’t just your mind overthinking it, or playing tricks on you. That this was the real deal. That whoever this man was, he was really your Soulmate. And perhaps, with New Year fast approaching - this would be the year you met him. Still, sitting over a cup of coffee with your friend, in front of yet another painting you were mid-way through, you voiced your concerns. She only rolled her eyes, “Girl! Have you seen your face-! LOOK how happy you are!” “But, shit-! What if they’ve all been right?! What if he is my Soulmate!? Am I crazy, tell me I’m crazy!?” “Girl. He’s EVERYWHERE in all your artwork. No, you aren’t. We gotta FIND this guy.” “But what if I’m wrong!?” There was something scary about the whole thing too, and how foolish you’d feel if you were so sure that you’d find him, and it turned out this wasn’t what you felt it was. “Stop thinking you’re wrong, and start thinking about HOW you’re going to find him. It’s all New Year’s right!? You gotta be out there looking! You’ve gotta take fate into your own hands.” She pulled out her phone, “I’m going to find out where all the big parties are - with the way you draw him, I’m sure he’d be up for getting into some trouble at one of those.” She had a point, he didn’t exactly look like the stay at home with a cup of tea type. Maybe he’d stay at home for other reasons though… You felt a gentle heat stir in your stomach on that thought alone and had to curse yourself. “...What if he doesn’t like me? Or… I don’t like him.” “You’re worrying again!” She looked up from her phone when you didn’t respond; you were starting to look a little disheartened as you stared at the floor, fingertips tapping your knees. She wasn’t about to let you spiral on something that was so exciting, and so important. New Year was just around the corner and she was determined to make sure that you got the opportunity to meet this guy, and have the best night of your life. “He’s a looker, I’ll give him that…” She raised her eyes back to your painting and then around the room, making you turn back, smile on your face at how right she was, “but if this Soulmate of yours doesn’t treat you right after all this, I’m gonna kick his ASS!”

***

It was the week of New Year and you almost couldn’t sleep these days. You’d spent most of the holiday with your family, but you just couldn’t ever get comfortable. Couldn’t ever shake the feeling that something huge was coming. This felt bigger than just your brain playing tricks on you though, it felt like your body and soul were being dragged towards a force that you had no way of resisting. And there was no way you even wanted to fight it, you just let it carry you. Heck, you knew that you’d spent most of your time distracted, and were glad that everyone else was so relaxed and you didn’t have a client deadline to adhere to, because if you thought you were being driven crazy by him before… When you were able to quiet everything for just a moment and slow the world down to concentrate, you began to formulate a plan. No-one had ever been specific enough on whether it was New Year’s Eve, New Year’s Day, or that funny moment of Midnight when a New Year officially came. Your friend had the good idea of scouring New Year’s parties - if it was meant to happen you weren’t going to find him cooped up in your house, that was for sure. And you had the little list she’d painstakingly laid out with a walking route, so you caught all the bars in the most populous area of town. But you still had no real idea of how this was going to work; would it be like a chance encounter? Would neither of you have any idea until you finally beheld each other for the first time? So your aimless wandering would still lead you to him - just like fate? Or would this feeling inside you that kept building just guide you straight to him - like a homing beacon that only got stronger as you got nearer? You didn’t know. And you wondered how he was feeling, wherever he was in the world right now. Was he just across town? Was he elsewhere in the same country? Was he halfway around the world..? The only thing you hoped, was that he was just as excited as you were to finally meet. To finally find the person you belonged with. You’d got it wrong plenty of times before… so you had to admit, you were ready to get it right.

***

It was gone 11pm on December 31st and Ned Kendall was still sitting at home slow sipping a drink, finding it surprisingly easy to ignore that nagging feeling in the back of his head. Whoever she was, she wouldn’t meet him tonight and - in his opinion - she’d be a lot better for it. Why the hell had whatever it was that decided to allocate people Soulmates, decided to stick this poor woman with him. ‘She musta done something really wrong somewhere along the line!’ Ned took another sip. If she was out there looking for him, she would be disappointed, Ned knew; but she could move on. In fact he wasn’t even sure how that worked… had anyone ever ignored this call before? Did the bond just break if he did? No-one had ever talked about that… His phone buzzed, and at first Ned thought it was an ignorable text, but it was a call. And it was from his editor. He’d finished his master draft by now, and he’d let his editor know he was ready to hand it in, but Ned had said there was no rush and he’d simply drop it in next time he passed the office. Besides, it wasn’t due until mid-January, so he was ahead of schedule. ‘What the hell…?’ Knowing he couldn’t exactly not pick up, Ned answered. “Hello?” “Yo. Ned, I’m in town! Get the fuck down to Campari’s now, and give me your draft.” Ned glanced at the clock again, sounding a little incensed; “On New Year’s Eve?!” “YES. NOW.” “But-” “No buts, except yours, get it down here, N O W.” “Are you fucking-” What was the rush? There was surely no need for this? Okay, so his editor wanted the manuscript in person, fine, but it was New Year. Everyone had better things to be doing than worrying about work! Ned sighed, knowing that arguing would get him nowhere, given how persistent his editor was; “Okay…” “Okay! See you soon!” Ned groaned as he hung up and ran his hands through his hair; looked like he wasn’t about to get away with staying in all night after all. He stood and picked up his manuscript. How likely was it this thing was about to get lost in a bar somewhere-!? At least he had copies. Ned was determined to keep his eyes on nothing and no-one for too long; just drop the draft with his editor and get out of there. No loitering. No chance for this Soulmate thing to come off. Although the second he stepped out of his apartment the uneasy feeling he’d been able to keep at bay up until now hit him full force. “Aw man…” Ned shuddered, as if some invisible presence was watching him. He could do this… He could do this and still save this poor woman from the fate of him. He rushed to the bar, and although it was crowded, his editor was looking for him and waved him over. Ned didn’t trail his eyeline anywhere else and almost immediately dumped the manuscript on the bar. “Couldn’t you have waited like 2 days!?” “Nah, I was in town, thought it’d be easier to get a head start on all the deadlines in case of revisions.” “Man, I dunno, Mike… In the middle of a bar on New Year’s Eve?!” “It’s okay!” Mike produced a case from beside him and tapped it, “I promise it’ll be safe; I’m not even drinking a lot.” “Well on your head be it, I have copies!” “It’s safe!” Ned held his hands up – whatever - and backed away from the bar, ready to take his leave. “Uh, no! Ned, stay, have a drink it’s almost midnight!” He was painfully aware of this fact and didn’t need reminding. “I’d rather not-” Mike yanked him back to a bar stool, flagging the bar tender down for Ned’s favourite brand of whisky; “What are you so desperate to leave for?! What else is there to do in the city tonight? You got someone waiting at home or something?” “Not exactly.” Ned kept his eyes on his drink as he sipped, disgruntled. The uneasy feeling was pushing down on him like a ton of bricks and he wished he’d told Mike to fuck off and stayed back at home where he felt safe from this. Or made up any lie really; that he was celebrating with Sally somewhere… Why didn’t he think about that!? The countdown to midnight came and went, and Ned felt this one was just as unimportant as all the others. He didn’t even count the numbers as everyone else yelled them. But as the clock struck 12 Ned downed the rest of his drink, placing it decisively on the bar as everyone cheered. He turned to Mike as everything began to lull into friends hugging and lovers kissing: “Can I go now?” Mike huffed, arms folded. “Wow. You’re a real kill joy, I thought you loved a good party?” “Yeah, New Year never really stuck. Thanks, though. Enjoy reading!” “Thanks Ned, I will! Happy New Year!” Ned smiled but didn’t really mean it, just glad to be leaving. He scooted out of the bar and into the street, where everyone now seemed to be spilling. ‘Thank god I can go home and breathe now. What a waste of time.’ It wasn’t so easy to hurry home, however, as the crowds of people outside were mostly still - either watching the fireworks now adorning the sky, or couples sharing their New Year’s kisses, or groups going from bar to bar… and those who, just like him, were heading home. And - as much as he despised having to be out - Ned was politely navigating these people. As he looked at them now, he couldn’t help but shake his head. What was so great about New Year anyway? In his experience he’d never had one that particularly stood out against any of the others. It was all just days blending into days. He stuffed his hands into his pockets and kept walking slowly through the crowds of people, smiling to himself at the ridiculousness of it all. But it wasn’t until far too late that he realised the uneasy feeling had left him completely. So really Ned should have been jumping about in the street for joy that he was finally rid of it, only this time as he looked up to dodge around some more people watching the bright colours crackle across the sky, he froze. Standing on the other side of the square, one eye on the fireworks and every so often looking around herself, was the woman from inside his head. Someone yelled a New Year’s greeting at her, and she became distracted by them, laughing and calling back with a sweet smile. Ned wanted to make a break for it, but he couldn’t, almost like he was rooted to the spot: his mouth went dry and his heart began racing. He felt a million things; unbridled joy the likes of which he didn’t think he’d ever felt in his life, he felt sick, fearful, that dread from before panged in him for just a minute at the knowledge that any second she was bound to look his way and her life would be over… She turned back to the fireworks, via sweeping the crowd once more and Ned knew she’d spotted him by the way she immediately froze as he had. But she’d missed him because she was looking at the sky by the time this happened. He watched her swallow hard, and say something to herself. Ned wondered if she was feeling all this emotion as he was; and he definitely saw the fear cross her face as for a moment she turned sheet white, before she blinked and turned herself slowly back to him. When his eyes locked with yours Ned Kendall felt his breath leave him - and he struggled to take a new one. He thought he knew what love felt like; he’d fallen in it before. But that feeling suddenly ran through his body multiplied exponentially. Your lips parted, and you smiled gently. How long had you been waiting for this moment? Even before you’d figured out he was your Soulmate… you’d been waiting for the man who was staring at you from across the square to walk into your life since you’d first brought him to life on paper. And suddenly there he was. Real.

***

Ned blinked hard to snap himself out of the trance before, looking both ways to check he wasn’t about to crash into anyone, he took a deep breath (that it hurt slightly to take) and crossed to you. He was taller than you’d expected, though you didn’t really have that much comparison or frame of reference. Built exactly like you saw him in your head, and - apparently as customary - his shirt was very dark navy, top few buttons undone; as if he wasn’t already pretty easy on the eye. And you realised that you were about to find the answer to the biggest mystery of all: what his name was.

He stopped just in front of you, not exactly sure how close he should get. If you were both having the same sort of visions, then there was already a comfortable level of familiarity you should have with each other. And yet, this was the first time you were meeting. Which was the most appropriate? He immediately laughed, scratching the back of his head and then running a hand through those curls. You paid attention to this, to how large his hands really were; you’d not really got a good idea of that in images either. How your hands were going to look so tiny in his. “I guess you’re her… The girl of my dreams.” And you weren’t sure if he meant that literally or, just because he’d been dreaming about you the way you had him. You blushed gently, but he smiled sincerely, “Oh. Well. I’m Ned Kendall and this is really awkward-!” You giggled a little, responding in kind, “I’m Y/N. This is amazing - you’re… you’re real!” Ned too chuckled, and his eyes traced your body, damn near respectfully, as if he was checking that you were every bit as faultless as he remembered you. This was beyond something like a fantasy come to life: “You are too… I’ve written you for so long and you’re standing right here.” You gasped gently, “Oh, you’re a writer?!” Clearly you’d never heard of him. Ned wasn’t sure he wasn’t actually glad of that, now he could guide your reading a little! Introduce you to his best work first. His nod was fairly confident, although his smile was a little bashful, “Yeah. And you…?” You rummaged around in your bag for a moment, and produced a fairly small sketchbook. It wasn’t that you thought you’d forget what he looked like, but almost that you could prove to him this was meant to be. You flicked through the pages to one of your favourites, even with how quick it was and turned it around to him. “I’m an artist.” He held his hand out, blue eyes wide and curious, “May I?” You nodded, relinquishing it to him, and Ned began to scroll through your work. Drawings they might have been, but it was just like looking in a mirror. “Wow… I’m as in your head as you’re in mine, huh?” “If you’d ever set foot in my gallery then…” You trailed off, “Wait, if you write - about me - then?” “Oh, yeah, you’re- you’re out there on bookshelves right now.” He shut your sketchbook and handed it back over, “You’re… an incredible artist.” You immediately blushed, “I mean I wish I’d have read your work before now. So then I could return the compliment. But now my visions make sense. You’re not… looking at love letters, you’re writing… novels.” He nodded slowly, but grinned, “Love letters is romantic though - and I could do that. If that’s what you wanted!” You laughed, that sound he’d heard so often but now got to experience in real life, “I’m… somewhat of an idealistic romantic. And I guess you can tell that by the way I’ve been looking for you all evening.” Ned didn’t dare tell you that his notion was the exact opposite, “Well. We found each other. Exactly like they say in all those interviews.” “Yes!” Then your eyes widened too, “YES! Oh my goodness, it’s just- it’s just like they say-! That’s crazy-! This is really happening and… it’s all true!” That excitement was back on your face, and Ned found it unbelievably adorable. His head tilted, and you caught that mischievous glint in his eyes: the one you liked so much. You wondered what was coming. His teeth sank into his bottom lip for a second as he mulled his question over, eyes flicking to your lips; “Well I feel like this could be too soon, but if we’re Soulmates then… I don’t know about you but, I kinda… I feel like I know you.” You nodded, absolutely knowing exactly what he was feeling; in fact, you were literally the only person in the world who knew precisely what he was talking about right now. “And I’d like to kiss?” Ned watched your expression change to intrigue, from fairly soft to sly, your eyes narrowed and you almost gave him a smirk. “Well, I’m glad one of us voiced it first.” Ned was curious, that wasn’t an expression he’d ever seen from you in his dreams, you were always happy sure, but this smile was new to him. Even when his visions were at their sexiest this wasn’t a look on your face. He realised there was still so much to learn; but with the rush that almost-smirk made him feel, he knew he was looking forward to learning. Ned didn’t move particularly slow, but he supposed you’d both been waiting for this for roughly the same amount of time, arms sliding around your waist he pulled your body into his, leaning down and closing his eyes to capture your lips. He already knew what you looked like: now he wanted to experience you for the first time. The taste of your kiss was exquisite and he didn’t even notice liquor; heck you really had been out here trying to find him all night. There was the faint hint of something - but he thought that might just be your lip balm. You wrapped your arms around his neck, fingers tangling through his curls and both of you made the same hum. Synergy, perhaps? He wasn’t exactly sure if there was a *click* and the world stopped spinning and this weird feeling went away - why did the people on TV never talk about the important things? He wondered if the kiss was so good because you were his Soulmate, or because in reality he really had been waiting so long for this. Ned’s tongue ran yours teasingly and you weren’t about to let him be the only playful one here; drawing him closer and carding your nails over his scalp; Ned shivered. And all he could think for a moment was kissing you like this with you beneath him in the sheets - where he could trail these kisses all over your body. To hear more than just a gentle hum out of you. The kiss was certainly confident - and you supposed neither of you had to hold back; there was no need to ask where this was going. You knew exactly where this was going - to the end of the world. But that didn’t mean there wasn’t a keen rush of excitement through you. This was beyond finally finding someone; this was finding the someone. But his lips were soft, and he was gentle even when he was playful. You wondered what Ned Kendall was thinking; and you wondered a lot of other things too - you’d certainly need to pick up a novel or two of his… You wanted to know him. You wanted him to know you, better than you knew yourself. There was no thought in your head of slowing down. You didn’t have to think like that anymore. You both pulled back, taking deep breaths. The fireworks were still going, and the illuminated colours on his face highlighted all those smooth lines and those cheekbones that you loved drawing so much. Much better in person… You bit your lips together, savouring the feeling of his still on them. You were a little flushed, but your eyes were bright as you looked back at him - loving that confident little smile on his face. Ned had been the first one to voice the kiss, and you wondered if he would mind you voicing taking this further than that. What he might think of you for doing so. As if you were moving too fast? There was only one way to find out, and you mirrored the smile you saw; “Whaaat if we did more than just kiss?” Then, to make sure you explained why you’d be the kind of person to jump into bed with a man you’d just met (because you certainly weren’t that type and didn’t want to give that impression.) - “Ned, I feel like I already know you better than if we’d been on a bunch of dates.” Your eyes were almost pleading him, “I would never normally do this but… this isn’t normal. Is it? I just- Of course this feels right, but it feels so right. I have never felt like this and even though I know why… I want to follow what I feel. And I… I want you.” There were a few seconds pause as his bright blue eyes looked between yours, but there was absolutely no hesitation in his gaze. He was perfectly happy with following your suggestion. In fact, Ned chuckled a little as he nodded; “Ha, funnily enough I was just heading home. And we would literally only have to walk.” He waved in a vague direction. You couldn’t help but grin, so he had been in the city all along, “Sounds perfect!” Ned held his hand out for yours and you couldn’t help but eagerly take it, then wrap yourself around his arm. This seemed a little crazy and reckless, even if he was The One. But it was a New Year, that old ‘new beginnings’ cliche. And you’d found yours - why not get a little reckless? Ned couldn’t help but look at you as he began walking you back to his apartment, he liked you already. After all the worrying he’d done to Sally, Ned saw he’d needn’t have done any of it. But part of him couldn’t believe that you were up for this already. As you walked plenty of people also heading home from their New Year’s parties wished you a good night, and yelled holiday greetings. From couples who looked seriously loved up, to groups of drunk friends spilling all over the street, to couples who looks a little nervous to be together - Ned would reckon they were as new as you. And yet, also realised that it was highly unlikely any of them were what the two of you were - and certainly didn’t realise what they were witnessing. There was no neon sign. No giant arrow to say ‘They’re Soulmates!’, not another person on earth knew you’d met up tonight - even if you’d both talked about each other before… Ned held your hand a little tighter; no-one was taking you from him now - that only made you snuggle a little more into his arm. Suddenly he smirked in realisation; ‘Holy shit, this is going to be a normal New Year’s for me… A normal night out!’ His eyes flicked to you, ‘I’m gonna end up with a gorgeous woman in my bed, only this one is destined to stay.’

***

As you entered the lobby of his apartment building your heart was threatening to beat out of your chest. You’d never felt desire like this before, but you also felt so nervous. There were still so many ‘what ifs’ and you were supposed to spend the rest of your lives together. What if Ned didn’t like what he saw, what if you didn’t? What if when you told him all about you, he pushed you away… What if he had so many secrets, one that matched the haunted look on his face you saw once too often in your dreams. You shook the thought away - you couldn’t think like that. One step at a time. You could worry about your forever in the morning, right now you kinda wanted him to shove you against the back of the lift; to hell with making it to his bed. He weaved you through those leaving the penthouse parties, carrying their heels and half-finished bottles of champagne. Shaking his head as he pushed the elevator button. “Typical New Year, huh?” “I guess not for us.” He laughed, watching them shriek as they stumbled over each other. “Well, I wouldn’t be opposed to making this a typical New Year.” You giggled, “Me either. But hopefully I won’t only find you at midnight next year.” His eyes flicked to yours, “Whatever’s meant to be.” You both laughed at the shared joke as the elevator pinged and more leavers spilled out. Ned dragged you in and pressed the button to his floor. The doors slid closed and, as the lift began moving, you were left in the quiet at last. He closed the gap between you; grabbing your chin between his thumb and his index finger Ned kissed you again. This one far harsher than the first, and you squeaked in surprise as he did push you against the wall. Oh, okay, this was going to go just the way you wanted it. And be far better than any fantasy. Ned’s hands roamed your body, and up into your hair as the kisses became hot, passionate, teasing. Every so often his touch caused you to groan into it, and you could feel him smirk - at least that gave you a good gauge of what he might like. Mind you, you were probably helping him on that front also. By the time the elevator slowed to a stop at his floor you were already halfway through the buttons on his shirt. He was reluctant to release you, and yet eager to get you back to his place, and lacing his fingers with yours once more, Ned ran you down the corridor. You couldn’t help but laugh - this felt so teenage romance, the same rush, the same quick whirlwind of no patience. Of wanting everything to happen right then and there. A little too excited Ned had to fumble with the keys a few times to actually get in, but once the door was open it was closed just as fast. His shirt didn’t take long to find the floor as once again his lips found yours. You ran your fingers over his warm, supple skin and received a few delightful hums of your own to keep. Your clothes didn’t take long to find the floor either, as he guided you back towards the bedroom, and you both left a trail. Your body threaded with his - and dare you say perfectly? - and your nervousness wore off. Only excitement remained, and the feeling that this could only be right. This was fate. It had pulled you together, and now you were getting your first opportunity to be one. Ned entwined your fingers, head tilted, he searched your face. He had all the time in the world to get to know you, to get to know your body, to be so in tune with you that all he could ever give you was pleasure. That might take a little bit of time - but it started tonight. And skin to skin, your body beneath his, Ned already knew you were gorgeous, and he was going to get lost in you. You’d found your ideal weight - that old joke of ‘him on top of you’ - but as you let your eyes glide down his body you noticed his chest was awash with freckles, and you wanted to kiss every single one of them before the night was through. Ned’s exploration of your form didn’t last too long, right now he only wanted to be inside you - and the desperation of it was his only thought. He had time, he’d apologise and he’d do you right, just not right now. He was compelled otherwise, and you didn’t seem to mind that - possibly because you were feeling the same thing. Damn Soulmates... Ned nearly chuckled, but was happy he could at least pull delightfully sinful sighs and moans from you as he tested that you were ready for him. As he pushed into you Ned realised that he was still looking into your eyes. Normally by now he’d have turned his bed mate over. But you… you he wanted to see, wanted to watch your emotional responses as they crossed your face. It’d never been like this… not with any girl. But here he was, and Ned actually wanted to look into your eyes… If he wasn’t careful, he’d be spilling I Love You’s before he was ready.

***

Ned woke naturally to the sunlight streaming through the window. Glancing at the clock, he was glad it wasn’t really that late in the day. His arm was still around your bare waist and he pulled you closer to him, you moaned gently still not awake and cuddled yourself into his warmth as he kissed your shoulder. With his free hand Ned moved locks of hair out of your face and lay there quietly admiring you. How many times had you had sex last night? It all felt like a weird (magically induced) blur. So, he’d just call it innumerable, with a smug little smirk. Eventually you stirred, and you appreciated how much you were going to enjoy this when you woke up looking into his pretty blue eyes and realised that he wasn’t just a dream. Ned would never be just a vision in your head ever again. You couldn’t help but pull him into a delicate morning kiss. Sighing blissfully, you stretched your body out, propping yourself up on the pillows and smiling at him, your body ached a little - but it was a sweet ache and you didn’t mind too much at all. You spoke softly, almost dreamily, as you continued to stare into those beautiful eyes: “I know you’re made for me. And that I would feel like this no matter what, but… I’m glad he’s you. In my wildest dreams I didn’t ever think he’d be like you.” Somehow he was not only your Soulmate - the person you really had no choice but to be with; and you wouldn’t have thought that would happen if you weren’t at least compatible - Ned was still ticking all your boxes. And you could threaten easily that you loved him for it. Ned bit his lips together, even though he’d been smiling. He still needed to confess to you, he wasn’t sure he could put you through this without beginning on the right foot. Even if it took a while to confide the whole truth, you had to know. He sighed gently, fingertips stroking down your back; “Look I’m not perfect, and you have a lot to learn and I kinda want to apologise in advance… if we’re really meant to be Soulmates. If this is really… THAT.” You tilted your head slightly, but all you did was smile mysteriously; “Well… so do you. But we’ll get though it together. We’re meant to, right?” You took his other hand, and kissed all his knuckles, and then his fingertips, “You’re not going to scare me away, Ned Kendall.” Besides, you’d seen what your future held. You wondered how much you should keep to yourself… you wondered how much he’d seen himself. How much Ned already knew without realising… diamonds and wearing white… You chose to believe these things could come true. Your time together could still only be measured in hours, but you already wanted these things with him. He chuckled, running his thumb over your lips, “I guess. But I do have one request. Unlike all those other Soulmates out there that share our fate… Can we please not go public with this thing?” At the look on your face Ned changed his track, “Not yet. I’m kinda ‘A Big Deal’.” You found that understandable, as a writer people knew his name and his work. You weren’t sure you wanted the world to know that you were part of the New Year’s Day Phenomena either. But it would be a little hard not to tell some people about it - your best friend already knew. And if your clientele saw him kicking around your gallery… You nodded in agreement, “Well Mr. Big Deal, I can’t wait to read... about me.” Ned continued to stroke his fingers down your back, with a smirk, as he rolled onto his side pressing his lips to yours, you accepted his kiss and stole another: “Well, I want to see how you draw me… and maybe I could pose for you. Like Rose and Jack.” You couldn’t help but scoff, before cackling, “Holy shit, a Titanic reference? I can’t believe you’d do that-!” “Terrible, I know. You’ll have to get used to this.” He grinned, affording you another kiss. “Mmm.” You hummed in agreement, “That doesn’t sound so bad to me.” You looped your arms around his neck and let Ned pull you back on top of him, tangling your bodies together once more as you continued to deepen your kisses.

Right now it might only have been hours, but you could both see your future, soon it would be days, months, years… And maybe eventually you’d tell the world, and join all the Soulmates that came before you. Or perhaps you’d stay quiet, and just smirk at each other knowingly every time you stood and watched the New Year’s fireworks, or as another couple made the announcement on TV. Whatever it would be, it would be a joint decision. Once you were both ready. For now, you had the whole world in front of you. And you had to learn each other’s. But you couldn’t wait to explore together. Good and bad; and perhaps there was a lot in both your pasts… but you were Soulmates and now bound together by a force bigger than both of you. You would make it through. You weren’t sure you were going to give Ned Kendall the choice either way. And he certainly wouldn’t be giving you one. You belonged to each other now.

---

Thank you!!! Thank you for reading the final fic of 2020! Here’s to 2021! 🎉

#Ned Kendall #Ned Kendall x Reader #Beautiful Kate #Ben Mendelsohn #206 #Linzi Writes #Smol Bean Drabbles #Soulmate!AU #First AU fic!#Woo hoo! That's worth a celebration-!#A giffffffft #I can't take this with Jessika or even AU!Jessika because she doesn't look like her in my head. so that is that on that!

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kindredspiritssecretsanta · 5 years

Text

Almost time to post!

Here’s some stuff to know! (based off of some FAQs I’ve gotten)

Post between the 23rd to the 25th (Monday to Wednesday).

Please tag me and the person your gift is for in your posts. That way they see it and I can reblog it!

If you plan on being late because of life circumstances, just give your person a heads up.

Remember if you’re writing a fic, you can split it up into parts so that your person receives something for Christmas!

If a few days pass after Christmas and you still haven’t received a present, let me know. We’ll get one for you.

#anne with an e #anne of green gables #shirbert #annesecretsanta #kindred spirits secret santa

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bnha-general-fan · 4 years

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Feelings Change Like Seasons

My secret santa gift, for the @fyeahbnha secret santa exchange, to @faulty-writes!!

I apologize again for not being able to gift you the whole fic >_< But as it is a multi-chaptered story, I can at least give you the first chapter! I really hope you like it, and I promise that as soon as I have the others rewritten I’ll tag you as they are posted!

(Also sorry for the title, I’m not really good at coming up with them ^.^’)

Merry Christmas if you celebrate!! And happy holidays :)

Title: Feelings Change Like Seasons

Pairing: Iida Tenya/Midoriya Izuku, hinted EraserMic

Characters: Midoriya Izuku, Midoriya Inko, Iida Tenya, Shinsou Hitoshi, Uraraka Ochako

Additional Tags: Fluff, Quirkless AU, Coffee Shop AU, Ochako and Hitoshi are Best Wingmen, As is Inko, Clueless Iida Tenya, Matchmakers Ochako, Hitoshi and Inko, a little angst, but like tiny so don’t worry, it’s just Iida being bashful, Happy Ending of course

It was an unusually warm autumn day. The calm breeze transported a few golden leaves from the trees, the cloudless sky hosted a cheerful sun, and the streets of the city were still half-empty. Overall, there was a sensation of calm and peace that Iida Tenya, letting out what must've been his fifth sigh in ten minutes, wished he could bask in.

Any other day he would be by now finishing what he considered to be his normal morning routine, which consisted of waking up early, have breakfast, and go for a run. Then he showered and headed out to classes, making a short stop at a small coffee shop beforehand.

A normal, completely uninteresting routine. So uninteresting that he had never particularly told anyone about it, because why would he? But his two friends had somehow caught wind of it and even made the effort to wake up earlier than usual to accompany him on his way to the coffee shop. How? Well, he had a slight idea…

“So, are you ever going to tell us what’s so interesting about this shop?” Came Ochako’s cheery voice, her Chesire grin as wide as it had been since Tenya found both of them waiting for him near his home.

“It must be big,” Shinsou said in his usual drawl, smirk never leaving his lips. “It made uncle Tensei rant at Pops and Dad about how his little brother suddenly changed the routine he’d been religiously following since he was fifteen and refused to tell him why. I can still hear him. ‘It’s been three months, Shouta, and he still refuses to tell me! When did my little Tenya stop telling me everything?’”

Tensei. Of course it was him. Tenya sighed again, completely unimpressed by the information.

“Oh, and talking about uncle Tensei, I casually met him the other day. Do you know what he told me, Ochako-chan?”

“What did he tell you, Hitoshi-kun?”

“He said he suspected the reason wasn’t a what but a who.”

“Oooh, that sounds interesting. Seems like it was worth waking up earlier, huh?”

“Seems like it. What do you think about the theory, Tenya-kun~?”

Tenya just stared at the pair of Chesire-cat lookalikes his friends had turned into with a tired look.

“Like I told Tensei, the idea is ridiculous. I go here because I like their food, nothing more. Why must he make a big deal about this...”

“Oh, is that really all~? Then why come to a coffee-shop that forces you to go so out of your way, I wonder?”

“Hmm, that's a good point. Also, since when were you a fan of sweets?”

“Look, we’re finally here,” Tenya said, walking faster to avoid answering their questions. “Let’s just get in so you can see for yourselves.”

Ochako and Hitoshi followed the blue-haired young man while snickering all the while. Honestly, they also thought Tensei was exaggerating a bit. Having been neighbors their whole lives, they’ve known Tenya their whole lives and they’ve never seen him ever look at others in a romantic way. But it was fun to finally be able to tease him about it, even slightly, and they weren't going to waste this opportunity.

***

Standing in line, Tenya surreptitiously looked around, feeling both relieved and slightly disappointed at not seeing that person around. Not because Tensei's accusations were right, but because at this point he suspected that even being seen on friendly terms with another person would just add more fuel to the fire.

Seriously, Tensei just made a big thing out of nothing. Tenya had just bumped into this person one morning while distracted and made him drop what he was carrying. As an apology, he helped him carry his things the rest of the way to the coffee-shop he worked in, and as a thank you, he insisted on gifting him some pastries. He liked them, which was why he returned every day. Not to see him, but for the pastries- and Tenya better stop now before even himself though he was just making excuses. Which he wasn't, but still.

"Oh, good morning Iida-kun!"

"Good morning Midoriya-san!" Tenya greeted, snapping out f his thoughts to greet the green-haired woman with a smile.

"Your usual, right? Oh, and if you have time to wait five minutes you'll be able to greet Izuku," she added with a small grin while handing him the order. "He's just attending something in the kitchen and should be out by then."

"Thank you Midoriya-san! And yes, I have enough time to greet Midoriya-kun, so I'll wait." Tenya really liked Midoriya Inko. She was a sweet woman, and she always insisted he waited for Izuku whenever he came when he was in the kitchen. He didn't really understand why, and why she always smiled so mischievously when she did, but he was glad Midoriya-san liked him enough to not mind him distracting her son while he was working.

"So, Izuku huh?"

Tenya glanced at his two friends, whose grins had somehow widened.

"He's Midoriya-san's son," Tenya defended himself. "I met him accidentally one day and made friends with him. There's still nothing that implies I have a c-"

"Oh, hello Iida-kun!"

Tenya turned around, a smile already forming as he greeted the greenette that came from behind the bar.

Midoriya Izuku looked a great deal like his mother. Fluffy green hair, wide green eyes, and a sweet smile. Smile he was directing at him that moment, and Tenya wondered if Midoriya-san had turned on the heating because suddenly, the light jacket he was wearing was slightly uncomfortable.

"How did that exam you told me about go?" Izuku asked, leaning on the bar while crossing his arms. Tenya took slight notice of how firm those arms looked before answering, immersing himself in his conversation with Izuku.

***

If Hitoshi and Ochako weren't witnessing this with their own eyes, they would never have believed it.

At first sight, there was nothing abnormal about what was happening. Tenya didn't look red or nervous like one usually did when talking to their crush. But they weren't his childhood friends for nothing, and the subtle signs they could see were all but screaming at them.

It was how his smile was warmer and softer than usual, as were his eyes. How he stumbled slightly over his words while recounting something about his classes. How his usual gestures were less frantic. And most importantly, how he seemed to have completely forgotten about their existence, seemingly in his own shared universe with Midoriya Izuku.

"It's a sight, huh?" Midoriya Inko's voice startled them slightly from behind the bar. "It's been like this for a few weeks now," she continued with a grin, looking fondly at the two young adults. "It's the first time I've seen Izuku like this."

"Us too. I mean, we've known Tenya for forever, and this is the first time we've seen him look like... that." Ochako knew she sounded amazed, but she still couldn't believe it. Tenya, her straight-laced, rule-abiding, not-really-interested-in-that Iida tenya, with a crush? Unthinkable.

And yet, there it was.

The two made a really peaceful picture, conversing animatedly in a near-empty coffee-shop while golden leaves floated on the other side of the glass wall behind them.

"Oh, then you wouldn't mind lending me a hand, right?" Inko asked with a mischievous smile, making both of them sense a kindred spirit and mirror her smile, which increased in size as Inko talked.

***

"By the way, Iida-kun, are they friends of yours?" Izuku suddenly asked.

Tenya startled, suddenly remembering he'd come with his two friends. Turning around, he found himself faced with three sets of grins, which made him blush slightly for some reason.

"A-ah, yes, they are," Tenya answered, clearing his throat slightly. "They're-"

"Hi! I'm Uraraka Ochako, and he's Shinsou Hitoshi!" Ochako interrupted him, waving at the greenette alongside Shinsou. "We're Tenya-kun's childhood friends!"

"Oh, so you are the friends Iida-kun talks so much about!" Izuku said with a smile. "I'm Midoriya Izuku, nice to meet you!"

"Oh? Tenya-kun never mentioned you. I wonder why~?" Shinsou smirked. Watching Tenya's blush intensify, and sharing looks with Ochako and Midoriya-san, Shinsou decided this was definitely going to be fun.

#scret santa gift #fcls #fcls chapter 1 #bnha fanfiction #Iideku #fluff #my fic #fyeahbnhasecretsanta

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theannecordeliashirley · 4 years

Photo

Di sobbed into her pillow as Nan lightly rubbed her back.

“It’ll be okay, Di. I promise.” Nan’s face wrinkled in concentration as she tried to imagine and absorb some of her sister’s pain. “You don’t need any of those silly girls at school.”

“But how will I ever make friends after this?” Di wailed. “My reputation will never recover!”

Nan pulled on her sister’s shoulders until Di was sitting up. “Listen to me, Di. It doesn’t matter what the others think of you. None of them know you half as well as I do. I will always be your best friend. Just like Mother and Aunt Diana.”

“Bosom friends?”

“Yes. Bosom friends. You’ll find a real kindred spirit someday, but I will always be your Nan, your bosom buddy.”

Di wiped her eyes and threw her arms around her twin sister.

“Forever?”

“Forever.”

I was going to wait until tomorrow morning, but I’ll go ahead and give it to you now.

Merry Christmas @chyoonah!! I was your Secret Santa, I really hope you enjoy this mood-board and one-shot! Happy Holidays!

#annesecretsanta #nan and di #diana blythe #anne blythe #anne of green gables

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this-forest-within-me · 4 years

Text

I write fanfic, and I’m actually really proud of it! I’ve been writing for many years, and have poetry accounts on Facebook and Instagram, but my main ambition has always been to write fiction novels.

Funnily enough, Robin Hood BBC gives me oodles of inspiration to do just that. This is a short story I wrote for my friend, Michelle, a huge Gisborne fan, for her Secret Santa gift. I hope you like it.

** It is aimed at Gisborne fans only - no outlaws are involved in the making of this **

Third Chances

The end was nigh. Sir Guy of Gisborne, once the Master-at-Arms and evil henchman to the Sheriff of Nottingham, black knight supreme, and killer of Lady Marian, his one true love, was dying. Stabbed by Vaisey, the sheriff himself, in a fight to the death, he lay on the ground in the tunnels beneath Nottingham Castle, and thought about the life he had lived. About the mistakes he had made, and the people he was leaving behind.

Robin Hood, formerly his sworn enemy and love rival but now his brother in arms, held Guy tightly as his breathing slowed, and then, the black knight was gone and Robin laid him gently on the ground.

He was left alone, his lifeless body, swathed in black leather, resting on the cold, stone floor, his black hair fanned around his head. And, when the castle exploded above him, he didn't notice a thing.

***

Two days later, after a full day and night of torrential rain which had doused the raging fire in the castle, leaving a smouldering, blackened pile of stone, the salvage team was sent in. Made up of various villagers from Nottinghamshire, as well as bounty hunters from further afield, their main aim was to recover bodies, along with any valuables that hadn't been destroyed in the explosion, caused by Robin Hood's final arrow, aflame, hitting a barrel of Byzantine Greek fire.

There wasn't much hope for survivors. The Byzantine fire had decimated the castle keep, and there was barely anything left of the imposing fortress. Only rubble and death.

Michelle of Clun was part of a small team who had been sent below the castle, into the secret tunnels that had connected the castle to Sherwood Forest. Unused for many years, they had recently been the scene of a bloodthirsty battle between Isabella of Gisborne and Vaisey, former Sheriffs of Nottingham, and Guy of Gisborne and Robin Hood. The battle, that had been coming for many months, had ended with the death of everyone involved, apart from Archer, the illegitimate brother of both Gisborne and Hood, who now lived in the forest with Robin's outlaw gang.

All that should remain in the tunnels below the castle was the body of Gisborne, which Archer had requested be removed and receive a Christian burial.

Michelle felt a degree of melancholy as she descended into the tunnels depths. Although she hadn't known the imposing black knight in person, she had seen him around, and had admired his dark good looks from a distance. She had also sensed the yearning deep in his soul, for it mirrored her own.

She wasn't looking forward to seeing such a great man reduced to nothing more than a corpse, but the pay for salvaging was handsome, and she needed the money. It had been a difficult year. She only hoped that the sight of Guy of Gisborne's body wouldn't make her openly cry.

There was rubble all around, and, as Michelle and her compatriots scanned the area, she worried that they would not find a body in one piece. Setting out alone, she moved further into the cellar, coughing a little as she disturbed piles of dust. Holding her lantern above her head, she glimpsed a flash ahead of her and recognised the muted shine of a leather-clad arm, and a motionless hand. As she drew closer, she realised a wooden beam had fallen diagonally, wedging itself between the ground and the ceiling, and causing the rubble above it to pile onto the wooden beam. Beneath it lay Gisborne's body, protected.

Michelle called out to her workmates and fell to her knees beside the body. In repose, Guy's face was pale and austere, beautifully handsome. His leather jacket was a bloodied mess, and she tried not to look too closely. She felt a pang of loss. Although she had never even spoken to him, he had felt like a kindred spirit, yet his life had been snuffed out so early. Before she had even had chance to say hello.

She reached out a gentle hand to brush the dust from his face, and it barely registered that he was still warm before his bloodshot eyes snapped open, staring at her uncomprehendingly.

She shrieked, and Denton, one of the other salvagers, reached her first, placing his hand on her shoulder.

"Michelle, are you alright?"

She stared at him, wide-eyed. "It's Gisborne. He— he's alive."

The rest of the gang joined them, and Guy was briefly and inexpertly examined. He was alive, but in a bad way. He had lost a lot of blood, and his wound was deep and jagged. It was unlikely that he would survive, but Michelle was suddenly galvanised into action.

They fashioned a makeshift stretcher and lifted Guy onto it. He cried out in pain, but his words were delirious and made little sense. There was no room to take him to the upper levels of the castle, so it was agreed that he would be transported further along the tunnel and into the forest. From there, Michelle intended to take him to her home nearby, where she would call for the wise-woman, Matilda.

***

It took a while to manoeuvre their way out of the tunnels, but, eventually, they reached Michelle's modest cottage in the village of Clun. They laid the knight out on her mattress.

"What will you do with 'im, Michelle?" Rose, one of the other salvagers, asked, and Michelle shrugged.

"I don't yet know, but I have to try to save him," she replied.

"Just be careful, Michelle," Denton warned. "He was never a nice man. I'd hate for yer to get hurt."

They left to return to the castle, and Michelle covered Guy with fleeces and ran as fast as she could to Matilda's forest dwelling. The wise-woman was tending to her herb garden, yet gathered her things together and followed Michelle, sensing the urgency in her friend's words.

Once in Michelle's cottage, she stopped and stared at the figure on the bed.

"My dear, dear 'Chelle. Why are yer wasting yer time on this scoundrel? I reckon 'e deserves to die, more so than my poor Robin did."

"Maybe so," Michelle replied. "But he's alive, and I can't allow him to suffer."

Matilda shrugged. "Very well. We will need hot water, and rags. Oh, an' a sharp knife so I can remove these leathers. I need to get to the wound," she added to a wide-eyed Michelle.

Matilda worked long into the day, removing Guy's clothes, cleaning the deep wound, and stitching it. Guy cried out in delirium and stared about him, although he never saw them. He muttered to himself and shouted, speaking to Robin and Marian and Archer, crying for his mother. Michelle did her best to hold him down while Matilda worked on the wound, and it wasn't difficult for he was very weak.

Once the wound was sewn and covered, they attempted to feed him with broth. He took a little and drank deeply when offered water. Matilda added something to the cup, and, eventually, he slept.

Michelle stayed with him almost constantly. His sleep was restless, and his skin burned with fever. He called out constantly, and pawed at the bandages. Sometimes, he cried, speaking Marian's name, begging for her forgiveness. Other times, he shouted for his mother, his voice forlorn and lost. Michelle tended to him, cleaning him constantly, and ensuring he was comfortable. She slept in short intervals, alert to Guy's needs, always on hand to serve him. She was exhausted, but the desire to nurse the knight back to health was paramount. He deserved a second chance; everybody deserved a second chance. Even a third chance.

On the seventh day, Guy's fever broke, and the knight slept peacefully, at long last. Exhausted yet pleased, Michelle pulled blankets around herself and curled up by the fire, falling into a deep sleep.

When she finally awoke, she had no idea where she was. She was facing the stone hearth, and her slumber had been so deep that she was, for a moment, confused. But then, it all came flooding back; entering the castle ruins, finding Guy's body, bringing him home, and nursing him through the worst of his fever.

She rubbed her eyes, sleepily, and stretched. Behind her, the mattress creaked and a tentative voice broke the silence.

"My— my lady. Please tell me where I am and why I am here."

With a gasp, Michelle whipped round, clutching the blankets beneath her chin. Guy was awake, watching her in bewilderment. His gaze softened as he regarded her startled countenance.

"I don't mean to alarm you. But," he looked around the cottage. "I have no recollection of getting here. What happened? And why am I," he looked downwards, appearing embarrassed. "Why am I naked?"

Michelle blushed and scrambled to her feet. It had been easier to keep him unclothed while she tended to his needs, including his bodily functions. She couldn't deny having admired his body while she worked, and she hoped it wasn't written all over her face.

"My lord," she stammered. "I apologise. I found you in the castle, close to death, and brought you to my home. You had been stabbed and everybody thought you were dead."

She watched the puzzlement on Guy's face turn to realisation as he recalled the events that had lead to him being stabbed. He looked stricken.

"Robin?"

Michelle shook her head, regretfully, and his expression fell. "What about Isabella? The Sheriff?"

"The castle exploded," Michelle explained, gently. "They both died."

A tumult of emotions passed over his features before they settled on grim satisfaction. He nodded, stonily. "They got what they deserved."

Unsure of how to reply, Michelle fell silent, and, after a short pause, he looked up at her, hopefully.

"I'm hungry and thirsty. Is there anything to eat?"

Glad of something to do, Michelle fetched him broth and cooled boiled water, and he drank both, greedily, and asked for seconds. Once he was full, he asked for clothing.

His leather outfit was ruined, having been cut off his body by Matilda, who had commented bawdily on his emerging body parts. Cringing slightly, Michelle told him that his former outfit was not suitable to wear anymore, and he shrugged.

"Leathers were the old me. I need something new."

Enthusiastically, she left him consuming more broth and ran to her neighbour's cottage. Robert was tall and built similarly to Guy, and he presented her with clothing suitable for the black knight. Returning to the cottage, Michelle found Guy sleeping again, and she lay the outfit, roughly-made leggings and a loose black tunic, out on the mattress beside him, before setting to work filling the water supply and collecting firewood.

He awoke much later and dressed, gratefully, before attempting to rise. He was too weak, though, and Michelle had to help him, wedging her shoulder under his armpit and guiding him outside so he could relieve himself. Although she turned away to preserve his dignity, he remained unembarrassed in her presence.

"I don't even know your name," he said to her, once they were back in the cottage, and he was eagerly spooning more broth into his mouth.

"It is Michelle," she said, shyly.

He nodded. "Of course. A beautiful name for a beautiful person."

"Oh, I don't know." Michelle avoided his eyes, directing her gaze at the floor, modestly, but he reached out to put a finger under her chin, raising her head until her eyes met his.

"I tell the truth," he said, softly, looking into her eyes. "I owe you my life. You have selflessly nursed me back to health, even though you didn't have to. I don't know how to repay you."

Michelle smiled, faintly. "I'm just glad that you are recovering, my lord."

"It is Guy," he told her, firmly. "You can call me Guy. I am no longer lord of anywhere."

"You will always be a lord to me, Guy." Michelle looked at him, unable to hide the adoration in her eyes, and he stroked a finger across her cheek.

Michelle could feel herself falling for the black knight, and there was nothing she could do to stop it. Indeed, the longer he resided with her, the less effort she put into hiding it. She hoped against hope that he would eventually feel the same way, and sometimes, she thought that he did. It was in the way he watched her when he thought she didn't know, in the way his hand lingered on hers when she helped him to move about. It was in the way he spoke her name, like it was the most precious, exotic word he had ever uttered. Maybe he was just grateful to her, but Michelle hoped it was more, because she was mad about him.

The day that she was dreading finally arrived. Guy was finally well enough to return to his home in Locksley. His wound had almost healed, and she couldn't blame him for wanting to leave her small, humble abode for the opulence of Locksley Manor.

She could barely contain her grief as he prepared to leave. He seemed reluctant about something, and hadn't spoken for quite some time, which sent Michelle spiralling into a depressed silence. He had no need for her anymore; this was obvious.

She busied herself about the small cottage, attempting to convince herself that his leaving was for the best, and that she could get back to normality once he had gone, when suddenly, he was by her side.

"Michelle," he said, urgently, and she looked at him in surprise. Next minute, he took her in his arms and began to kiss her with a desperation that astonished her.

Sensing her reluctance to respond, he released her quickly and backed away. "I'm sorry. I overstepped the mark."

"No, no." Michelle reached out for him, then stopped herself. "You surprised me, is all. I didn't think you felt the same way."

"You mean, you have feelings for me?" It was Guy's turn to express surprise, and Michelle nodded.

A genuine smile spread across his face. "Then, may I kiss you again, my lady?"

"Yes, please," Michelle said.

A long while later, they parted and he smiled, taking her by the hand and leading her with him to Locksley. They paused on the edge of the village, looking across at Locksley Manor, Guy's former home. The outlaw gang were waiting in the courtyard, a shadow of their former self. Archer saw Guy and moved a few steps in their direction, a hand raised in greeting.

Autumn had Sherwood in its grasp, and the trees surrounding the small village blazed with russet and gold and brown, the ground coated with fallen leaves that crunched underfoot. Locksley was in mourning, for the great Robin Hood was dead, but, as Guy and Michelle walked through the village towards the manor house, hand-in-hand, Guy realised that not everything had to end in the fall, and that new beginnings were always there if you wished for them hard enough.

The end.

#guy of gisborne #sir guy of gisborne #richard armitage #robin hood bbc #fanfic #fanfiction #fanfic writer #my fanfiction #fan fiction #fan fic author #alternative ending #secret santa

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