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venmomejoy · 4 years ago

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The Lucky Ones- part 2

Thank you guys for reading!! I hope you like this chapter :)

Read it on AO3 here !!!

part one / part three / part four

As soon as Neil made it back into his interim home, he spent hours pouring over the script Kevin had given him. Neil immersed himself in the pages of dialogue and stage directions, allowing himself to leave Neil Josten for a while and slip into the mind of Alex Howell.

The Foxes was a lot different than Evermore. Where Evermore focused on magic and fantasy elements, The Foxes had a modern setting, with no supernatural aspects. Rather than flashy effects and gripping action scenes, The Foxes depicted the messy lives and relationships of the students at Palmetto High School, specifically how they interact and respond in the wake of the murder of a classmate, all the while navigating friendship and romance and identity. Neil will be playing Alex, a transfer student who is chock-full of secrets, and seems to know more than he is letting on. The irony wasn't lost on Neil.

He tried to get some sleep, but only managed to toss and turn for a few hours, restlessness forcing his eyes open. Early morning light was just beginning to filter through the windows when Neil inspected the contents of his duffel bag, ensuring all of his belongings were still inside. He never unpacked the thing, or left it out of his sight long enough for someone to go through it, but he would rather be safe than sorry. He couldn't afford to lose these things; he would be completely alienated from all of his connections and resources if he did, losing contacts for quality fake IDs and coordinates for stashes of cash.

Neil desperately needed to run, craving the blankness of mind that comes with pushing his body to its limits, but unfortunately, abandoned houses weren't equipped with running water, and he thought it was probably bad form to show up for his first day sticky with dried sweat, for as soon as they landed in L.A., they would be heading straight to set so Neil could meet the cast and crew.

If the pale pink light coloring the walls was any indication, it was far too early for Wymack to retrieve him, but Neil was too agitated to lie around any longer. He settled for a walk, needing some sort of outlet for the nervousness slowly eating through his sanity. Motion had always been Neil's most conformable state; running was what he was used to, what kept him safe. There was comfort in it- in movement, he was always in a position to escape. Sitting still left him vulnerable. It was in stillness that he could be cornered.

Swinging his duffel bag over his shoulder, Neil turned and took one last look at the house. It was dingy, stains littering the ceiling and carpet, paint peeling off in large chunks, but Neil had kept it pretty clean. No one would suspect he had been squatting there for the past three and a half months. Neil took off without a backwards glance.

With hours to kill, Neil practically covered the entirety of the town as he walked. Residential streets eventually gave way to businesses- restaurants, doctors offices', the lone grocery store. Neil let his gaze dart around, checking for anyone hidden in the shadows, any strange cars passing him on the road. He knew this was a bad idea. Joining one of the most prominent shows on television was the exact opposite of what Neil needed to be doing if he wanted to stay alive. He needed to live in obscurity, and instead, he was pushing himself into the brightest spotlight he could find. Not to mention the fact that his personal life would be put on blast; the media loved to dredge up celebrities' private information. He wasn't sure his story would hold up under that kind of scrutiny. But he needed something, something to ground him, to sate this hunger for more than just survival.

Soon enough, the town started waking up. The streets began filling as people drove to work or dropped their kids off at school. There was a good amount of people walking as well, the town so small that it was easy enough to walk most everywhere you needed to go. Several people smiled as they passed Neil, some even waving in greeting; Neil instinctively dropped his head, letting his dark brown curls shield his face. Neil took the growing activity in town as indication that he should probably head towards the theater to meet Wymack.

Within ten minutes Neil found himself at the front of the theater. The building was deserted- no one had business at the theater at eight a.m. on a Monday morning. Neil sat on the concrete steps leading to the building, his knee bouncing as he waited for the ride that would take him away from this life, away from all he'd ever known.

The theater sat directly across from the high school. From where he was sitting, Neil could see the students lounging outside the building, chatting with their friends, waiting until the last possible minute to run into class. He had chosen to make Neil Josten eighteen when he moved here, even though he would not actually turn eighteen for five more months, so he had never been inside the school. Neil had been disconsolate when he arrived here; in the midst of altering his entire lifestyle so it would function without his mother, he didn't have it in him to bother with school. He also didn't want to worry about forging parental consent, which worked out well for Wymack's offer- being eighteen allowed him to sign the contract and work on set without required notification and consent of a guardian.

A honk startled Neil from his thoughts, his hands flying to his bag as his muscles tensed to run, but he relaxed at the sight of Wymack behind the wheel. Kevin was staring unabashedly at Neil as he stalks over to the black suburban. He slid into the backseat next to Andrew, and the smile he shot Neil was nothing short of venomous. Neil kept his face blank as he averted his eyes.

It was Kevin who spoke first. "Where is your stuff?"

"This is it." Neil tightened his grip on his bag as Kevin eyed it.

"Do you want to put it in the trunk?" Wymack asked. "We have a bit of a drive to the airport."

"I'm fine with it here."He could tell he had piqued Andrew's interest, could feel his eyes roving over his bag with renewed interest, but refused to acknowledge him. He could not give Andrew any indication of what this bag held, any reason to be curious about his belongings.

"Suit yourself," Wymack said, pulling the car onto the road. After moments of silence, he spoke up again. "So, Neil, you're familiar with The Foxes?"

"Sort of. I've seen a couple episodes." Without television or internet access, it was hard to find opportunities to watch.

"Wow, too good to act with us, and too good to even watch the show? You've wounded my pride, Neil," Andrew drawled from beside him.

Neil's jaw clenched, willing himself to maintain his docile persona. He didn't need to draw any unnecessary attention to himself, and certainly didn't need any enemies as dangerous as Andrew Minyard, if the stories about him were to be believed. "It's not that, we just didn't have internet access at my house."

"Your parents spend all that time working and they still can't afford internet?" Neil just looked at the blond, unable to come up with a response.

"Andrew," Wymack warned.

"We're all trying to figure out what the deal with your parents is. Well, I am, at least. My money's on them beating you, but Kevin and Wymack aren't the betting sort, so I'll have to take my wager elsewhere." Neil snapped his head up, meeting Andrew's taunting gaze. Neil knows he's just trying to provoke him, but it still unnerves him how close Andrew was to the truth after knowing Neil for an hour, if even.

"Jesus, Andrew," Wymack groans. "Cut the shit or I'll sign you up for the next marathon."

"I'm quaking in my boots." Andrew busts out in a fit of laughter that no one else joins.

Entirely ignoring Andrew's comments, Kevin steers the conversation back towards the show. "You'll need to watch the first two seasons before we can even think about beginning production." He twists in his seat to look at Neil. "Everything builds on itself in television; the plot of this season will be in direct correlation to the plot of the previous ones. It's important that you understand everything that has already happened, how the other characters behave and interact, so you can properly play your role. A lot of characters' backstories and personalities have already been explored in the earlier seasons, and everything that occurs in season three will be written with the expectation that the audience has seen the previous episodes and already knows these facts; we cannot repeat things for you. So these two weeks, while you familiarize yourself with the cast and the inner workings of screen acting, you will watch the show. Then we can get started on the actual acting.”

Neil knew all of this, of course, and was vaguely annoyed that Kevin was speaking to him like he was stupid, but he had told them he had no experience with screen acting, and an amateur would be hanging onto his every word. Unable to stoop that low, Neil settled on schooling his features into neutrality and offering a nod of understanding. But there was still another issue:

"How am I going to watch it?" Without a phone or a computer, there was no way for him to stream anything.

"You'll be staying with us in the cast house, and we have TVs there that you can use," Kevin said, either unaware of or ignoring Neil's confused stare.

Before he could ask Kevin about the cast house, Andrew spoke up. "Haven't you heard, Neil? We all live together during filming. One big, happy family." Laughter bubbles out of Andrew's chest.

This posed new complications for Neil. On one hand, he wouldn't have to waste as much money on housing and the like. He had been nervous about blowing so much of his resources on a house, since he imagined he wouldn't be able to get away with squatting on abandoned property with so many people watching him. He would probably still have to pay a portion of the rent and utilities, but it would be far less than he was expecting, and that lifted a weight off of his shoulders. On the other, it would make it a lot harder for Neil to keep things confidential. Not only would he be at risk for people looking through his things, if he had to run he would have a whole crowd of people to sneak past. He would have to keep his guard up all the time; one slip-up could cost him his life, and he would no longer have a space to drop his act.

The conversation dwindled after that, and the airport appeared sooner than Neil had anticipated. After checking their bags and going through security, the four of them walked to their gate and boarded the plane almost immediately. Neil was surprised to be seated first class; it made sense, he supposed, since he was flying with an acclaimed director and two of the most famous actors in Hollywood, but Neil had only ever flown in the economy class, he and his mother always opting for the cheapest option possible. The plush seats were roomier than the firm, cramped ones Neil had known.

He was sat with Wymack, Kevin and Andrew sitting together across the aisle. From what he'd heard in the news, Andrew and Kevin were practically inseparable, one hardly ever being seen without the other. If they were as close as the media seems to think, Neil understood why they choose to sit together, but Neil couldn't help a little stab of resentment when he realized they had left him with Wymack. He didn't have anything against the man, but he had a deep-seated fear of any man that was close to his father's age, and Wymack fit the description. Neil tensed as soon as Wymack fell into the seat next to him, his instincts revolting at the idea of sitting in close quarters with him. Neil clasped his hands tightly in his lap, willing his muscles to relax. After the plane plateaued in the air, Neil pulled out his script and begins analyzing the lines, chunks beginning to stick in his memory.

"It's important to read the entire script, so you know what is happening in the show as a whole, but after getting a general understanding of the episode's plot you should focus on your scenes. I know in theatre you have months of rehearsals to nail your lines, but screen acting is far more condensed. You have a couple of weeks now, but typically actors get the script only days before they begin filming. No need wasting brain space on scenes you are not even in."

Neil suppressed an eye roll at Wymack's unsolicited advice. His director filled the first half of the flight preparing Neil for what he would face when he arrived in L.A., explaining what the set would look like and how a typical day of filming would go. It had been many years since Neil had been on a set, and he had been a child at that, so he gladly absorbed all the information Wymack gave him. He told him a little bit about the main cast, and he told him that he and the rest of the cast will have biweekly meetings with their acting coach, Abby, courtesy of Kevin. Apparently, Kevin thought their biggest issue was that they acted as individuals, not as a team. In a scene, the actors need to draw from each other's energies and emotions to make the connection authentic, and Kevin's been working on making the cast more in sync. He and Wymack eventually settled into silence, Neil reading his script and Wymack typing away on his laptop.

The flight was pretty short, only two hours of airtime before they were landing in LAX. The drive to the studio was quiet, the occasional comment fading into silence. Neil was staring out the window, taking in the scenery of his new home. It was dirtier than he expected, but still nice. He assumed the beautiful scenery always seen in movies was towards the beaches, not in the middle of urban life, so he cut the city some slack. The sheer amount of people he saw passing by had him clutching his duffel bag tighter. It was too easy to get lost in a city this big, to disappear and have no one notice you're gone until it's too late. Neil had been looking over his shoulder his whole life, but that isn't always enough when people are coming from all sides.

They drove through security at the studio, providing authorization before parking in Wymack's designated spot. As Neil swung out of the car, he spotted a brown-skinned boy sprinting towards him, a grin breaking out on his face. If the curls didn't give the man's identity away, his personality did: Nicky Hemmick was bubbly beyond belief, his excitement making Neil vaguely uncomfortable. Walking at a much slower pace behind Nicky was a carbon copy of Andrew- his twin, Aaron.

"You must be Neil," Nicky panted, sticking his hand out for Neil to shake when he got close enough. "How was your trip? I hope Kevin and Andrew didn't soil your opinion of us; I swear, the rest of us have manners."

Andrew feigned hurt. "Here I was, expecting a touching reunion, and this is what I'm met with? Slander, and from my own cousin!"

"It was fine," Neil said.

"That's good to hear. I'm Nicky, by the way. I play Henry." Nicky's character had always been a fan favorite; many people found themselves relating to the sweet gay kid and the adversity he faced as he came out.

Neil pulls up a quick smile. "It's nice to meet you."

Aaron didn't so much as acknowledge Neil when he looked over at him. Wymack's gruff voice spoke up. "Is everyone else inside?"

Nicky nodded. "Anxiously awaiting our newest member," he said, sending a wink Neil's way.

With that, Kevin strode forward and Neil followed him into the building, Wymack, Nicky, and the twins flanking him. Kevin was pointing things out as they walked- where the bathrooms were, where the craft service was located- and eventually led him into the lounge, where the rest of the cast was sitting. Almost all of them stood as Neil entered, a tall boy with spiky black hair approaching him first.

“Matt Boyd," he said, extending his hand. "Wymack showed us some videos of you performing, you seem like you have real talent. We're excited to work with you."

"Speak for yourself," Aaron muttered from behind him.

"Thank you," Neil responded to Matt. The man only clapped him on the shoulder, not noticing the way Neil stiffened under the contact.

Matt pointed to the short-haired girl standing behind him, a fierce smile on her face. "This is Dan, our fearless leader." Dan Wilds played Kayla, the shows main protagonist.

"And that is Renee," he said sweeping his hand to a girl with a kind face and rainbow-tipped hair, before moving onto a couple, the girl sitting on the boy's lap, his hands running idly over her thighs. "And the PDA show stars Allison and Seth. Those two are always all over each other. Well, unless their fighting. Then you won't see them speaking unless it's to hurl insults at each other."

"We can hear you, dick," Seth seethes.

Dan steps forward, halting the brewing fight before it could take off. "It's really good to meet you, Neil. Kevin said you have already started looking at the script?"

"Yeah, I studied it last night, and on the flight."

"Perfect, we want you to be as prepared as possible for your first time on set. We have a training session with Abby tomorrow, so that will give us an opportunity to feel out where you are in your skills and how you naturally work with all of us. We can go from there." Neil simply nodded.

"The table read for the episode one will be in two weeks," Wymack says. "In that time, Neil, you need to be caught up on the show and familiar with the set. These guys will all help you if you have any questions. Now, I've got paperwork to do, so you maggots do something useful for once and show Neil around." With that, he strode out of the room.

Neil stood their awkwardly for a moment, unsure what to say, but Dan quickly came to his rescue. "Let's go, Neil. We can take you by your trailer so you can drop your stuff off, and then we'll show you the inner workings of a television set."

Neil followed Dan, with Matt, Allison, Seth, and Renee coming as well, but turned back to look at the group he was leaving behind. Kevin, Nicky, and Aaron were paying him no mind, not even noticing his gaze, but he found Andrew's eyes already on his. Andrew's intense gaze never wavered as a slow smile spread across his face. When Neil didn't break his stare, Andrew cocked his head to the side, flicking his fingers in a mocking goodbye.

Neil had the feeling he would be seeing a lot more of Andrew. And he doubted it would be friendly.

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swishandflickwit · 6 years ago

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Shirbert — promise me (no promises) 1/1

Summary: Maybe love didn’t always mean the adventure was in far off places, but was found within the four walls of her classroom; where a rival, in actuality, was not the villain but a prince in disguise?

Maybe love wasn’t always the stuff of legends. What if it was the quiet things? The constance? Love was steady, she realized. It was study sessions and long walks, an ashen gaze and an encouraging smile in a sea of faces that expected her to fail.

It was standing up for what and who you believed in, going after them when they walked away and promising to want them for all time.

Words: 6.8k

Ratings: General Audiences

Also on: ff.net | AO3

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Anne Shirley-Cuthbert was in a rage.

How dare he, she seethed, that vile, repulsive, odious, witless pissant!

Oh, how Marilla would despair at her thoughts!

(Rather, Marilla would equally rage at her debasing introspection, as she would later realize once she had calmed herself)

However, in that moment, Anne thought no one in Canada—in all the world even—could neither rival nor temper her resentment. Fury rolled off her and stained her skin an angry red to match her hair. She imagined steam leaking from her pores as her blood curdled… boiled, and not even the pleasant coolness of the summer night air could ease her pique.

She stomped through the lane that would take her home to Green Gables, unmindful of the mud that tracked her boots and splattered across her pristine, white stockings. And they were new too!

I never should have come to this party, she continued her merciless tirade. I should have known better than to accept an invitation, from the Pyes no less! Nothing good ever came out of a gathering hosted by the Pyes. Never mind that it should be the last time we might all be gathered in such a fashion for a long while.

Indeed, for school had come to a close the previous day—at least for Miss Stacy’s pioneer class. A smattering of them would be staying in Avonlea but for the most part, a majority were resolved to pursue their higher education, including (though it hurt her to leave Diana behind) Anne.

Billy Andrews, however, had other… unsavory opinions about that.

“You got into Queen’s?” he scoffed, referring to the Academy in Charlottetown where those with a vocation in mind chose to pursue them. Anne had not only gotten accepted, but gained the highest marks out of all the applicants in Prince Edward Island.

(She was tied with Gilbert though she often, and with much convenience, forgot that fact)

Billy, the thick-headed oaf, elected to ignore this certitude. He had nothing of import or quality to say for Queen’s Academy, having not applied (and in his innermost musings, known that he was not smart enough to be accepted anyway), and therefore inwardly envied and outwardly ridiculed those who had passed.

Anne, through no provocation of hers, nevertheless received his special brand of scorn.

“You may have fooled the Cuthberts, and our classmates. You may have even fooled this entire island. But you’ll never fool me. I know who you are,” he said this in low tones, and lower still as he crept closer and whispered in her ear like she were his lover murmuring sweet nothings to warm her heart, “the Cuthberts didn’t want you in the first place. They were stuck with you, there was no one else. You may have gotten lucky with them, but you ought not to forget who you are and where your place is.” He grinned then, blinding and malicious. “I feel sorry for the Cuthberts. If I were them, I’d have treated my dog better than you. You’re lower than dirt. You’re an orphan, and who could ever truly want you?”

How she burned and burned, the nerve of this insolent and ill-mannered fool! And yet—she meant to say this out loud, make the most of her extensive vocabulary but, her body betrayed her. Her throat felt parched and her feet leaden. Where had her voice gone? The words that were otherwise ready for her to wield as weapons or shape as clay? Where was her indignation?

Her spirit?

Just as quickly, heat melted to cold, noise gave way to a ringing silence and she felt herself rooted to her spot, Billy’s awful, smug smirk frozen before her eyes until—

“ANDREWS!”

Gilbert’s voice pierced through the static that clouded her mind and Billy’s ugly visage was, at last, removed from her line of vision as he turned towards their schoolmate. Anne did not wait to see what would commence between the two boys, however. As soon as the feeling returned to her legs, she imagined she walked out of there with the poise and dignity befitting a nobility such as the Princess Cordelia.

(Bolted, would have been closer to reality)

With nothing but moonshine for light and the faint rustling of the poplar trees for conversation, Anne was her own company. She thought for sure Diana would have come to her side by now, but she supposed that no one had really seen her leave. Billy, for once, hadn’t made a spectacle of himself though somehow this was worse, for she shuddered at the intimate way he had pressed himself onto her as he purred his contempt.

She did not even deign to consider that one witness to that deplorable interaction and what it meant that he had not followed her so for the moment...

She was utterly alone.

Evenings were a curious thing. There was, after all, something quite romantical about the night—lovers meeting in secret to proclaim their forbidden romance, friends exchanging hushed yet excitable stories beneath blankets by candlelight, oh the adventures to be had under the dusky twilight!

But, it was not called the witching hour for nothing. Terrible things happened once the moon had come to siege the sky for every sin, if only for a moment, could be hidden beneath the cover of darkness—ghosts and wolves and brigands and villains abound, and demons too.

Anne’s demons were not of the horned and pointy-tailed kind. Though they too were born of baneful things, they were mostly made of shadows, wispy and seductive intimations that brushed softly against her mind, lulling and comforting and infinite, till it was a pervasive tumor that lay siege to her sense of reason before she ever realized it was a threat.

She looked at the mud tainting her legs, at the stark contrast between muck and cloth, and thought about how she was much like her stockings.

I am a stain. All I’ve ever given Marilla and Matthew and even Jerry since I got here was grief. And Diana... I dread to think how many times I’ve gotten my bosom friend in trouble! As for Cole, the only reason he is still my friend is because he’s miles away in Charlottetown and therefore spared from my importunate nature. Not to mention, I almost drove Miss Stacy to quit her first year here. I’m nothing but trouble! Though I have no love for it, it must love me, for why else would it follow me wherever I tread?

Anne sniffed, shame filling her gut as she fought back tears. I’m just a stupid, orphan girl. There’s no imagining my way around that. No one could ever want me. No one.

So immersed was she in her melancholy that she hadn’t noticed someone was calling her name till a hand descended on her shoulder.

She shrieked (a shrill, embarrassing, banshee of a sound), closing her eyes even as she whirled around to face her assailant.

“Whoa!” exclaimed a deep and resonant voice.

“Whatever riches you may think I possess I assure you sir I am as poor as the dirt beneath your feet, poorer even, than a cow that grazes a pasture for I am utterly incapable of producing anything of value and I—”

“Anne!”

She hadn’t realized she was without breath till she let out a long and heavy exhale. It occurred to her, then, that the tenor by which her name was said was uncannily familiar, the scent of her would-be attacker was that of sun and grass and clean sweat and deeper still, an aura redolent of quiet, fortitude and refuge.

She opened her eyes and breathed.

“Gilbert.”

“Anne,” he chimed in equally, susurrous tones. When she let out another astonished gasp, the air before her crystallized in an algid cloud.

“Where’s your coat?”

She groaned. Of course! Of course, she forgot her coat and bonnet when she left in a huff. Why, walking out may be as dramatic an act as they came, but the books failed to mention just how inconvenient it was! How had the heroines in her favorite literatures managed their adversities with so much courage and grace? And such humor too! While she must have her exposé out in the cold, with (at this, she is gratified) no audience in sight (and at this, she is mortified) save for one, as she cowers and quakes in her boots?

The ardor that fueled the ire in her blood had by now dissipated, leaving an icy and hollow blitz in her veins. Humiliated to her core, she demanded of him, in squeaky volumes, “What are you doing here?”

So she cleared her throat and asked, more stately, again.

Gilbert shook his head. He did not answer. Instead, he looked at her with wide eyes—silver pupils darting back and forth, as if he couldn’t take in the image of her enough. She felt the fleshy, apple of her cheeks flush, a bit of heat returning to her body though a shiver continued to wrack her bones.

“You’re freezing,” he blurted, before an urgent concern (that made Anne rather uncomfortable, as she was wont to be whenever she found herself in Gilbert’s presence—alone or elseways) driving his motions had him divesting his own coat and, without evocation, wrapping it around her frame.

Encased as she was in his jacket and engulfed in the warmth from his body that had suffused itself onto the cloth, the sweet and opulent smell of him further intensified.

(As did the beat of her heart)

(Though this, if asked about, she would vehemently deny to her grave)

“I don’t need your pity,” she averred in what she hoped was a cold and unforgiving demeanor, even as her hold on the coat about her shoulders only tightened.

“It’s not—”

“Isn’t it?”

He sighed, his face scrunched up in exasperation and though a part of her felt abashed at her behavior, a larger part was content to drown in thorough defeat.

“We’re friends, aren’t we Anne?”

She licked her lips, something of a nervous habit. His eyes darted to track the movement and his throat bobbed. She felt her blush deepen.

“Are we?” She whispered.

He laughed though it was more tight than it was humorous.

“Must you always answer my questions with questions?”

She glared at him in the universal expression of, you’re asking for it.

He chuckled in genuine good-nature this time and she felt her irritation abate as she joined him. But their mirth abated all too soon and Gilbert was once more looking at her through hooded eyes that did nothing to lessen their intensity.

“I don’t know what Billy told you that made you react this way, but nothing good ever came out of his foul mouth anyway so, whatever it is he said—don’t believe it,” he shook his head. “It’s not true.”

At once, where she was bereft, the animosity welled within her at the reminder. The wrath that had been absent when she stood before Billy Andrews was now within her grasp and expelled itself onto the nearest presence—Gilbert.

She shoved him. It was a commiserable attempt since he hardly moved, but he let her anyway and she felt a little of her dauntless energy return.

“You can’t say that. You don’t know!”

“Then help me know,” he pleaded.

“I can’t,” she exclaimed, an unwanted sob building in her throat. “It’s too gruesome.”

“Then at least tell me that you don’t believe it,” he took her hand in his with utmost care, his palm coarse with calluses born from a life tending to a farm, his fingertips of ice. And yet, she had never felt so delicate, her hand cradled within his. “Tell me you know he’s wrong.”

“That’s the worse part,” she whispered as she pulled her hand away. “He’s absolutely right.”

A frightful silence had descended upon them. Even the wind had died and the poplar trees halted their rustling, as if Mother Nature herself wanted to be privy to their conversation.

“You can’t mean that, you don’t know what you’re saying—”

“And you do?” she sighed, running a hand—that same, still-tingling hand that Gilbert held what seemed like only a heartbeat ago—over her face.

He groaned. “Not this again.”

She scowled at him. “What do you care anyway? Why are you here? What I do or what I talk about with other people, worthless they may be, is none of your business.”

“And if I want to make it my business?” he countered, the muscle in his jaw ticking from restrained frustration.

She frowned. “What do you mean, Gilbert?”

“Tell me what Andrews said and I can prove to you, I can guarantee, that it’s not true.”

“But it is!”

“No, it’s not.”

“Yes. It is! ”

They bickered in this fashion as if they were six instead of approaching sixteen. She insisted on her truth (or rather, Billy’s truth), though she hadn’t the faintest idea why. Is this not what she craved? Is this not the assurance and acceptance she sought her whole life? But still, she found herself scoffing.

“You don’t even know what I’m talking about!”

He rolled his eyes and in snide intonations, rebutted, “Because you won’t tell me!”

“FINE!” she relented and snarled, nay, practically spat the words at him.

“I’m an orphan! Is that what you wanted to hear? Maybe my parents loved me, once upon a time, but apparently not enough to live for me.” Her voice was guttural, her words laced with so much acrimony, it was unrecognizable to her. “I’m a burden to Matthew and Marilla, who wanted a boy in the first place and instead was saddled with me. I bring misfortune on anyone I touch. I’m nothing but a curse. No one could ever want me.”

There. She said it. And again, that insidious reticence, how she was beginning to abhor it. She closed her eyes, unsure of which she was dreading more: his resignation or condescension.

As it stood, she had neither to fear, for what she received was far worse.

He laughed. Laughed!

“How dare you, Gilbert Blythe!” She fumed. She punched him on the shoulder, though his chortles only grew in volume. She made to cuff him again, but he caught her fist in his and pulled her closer—closer than either of them had ever emboldened to be.

No one was laughing now.

“You are an idiot, Anne Shirley-Cuthbert,” he murmured, his whisper a hot hiss of breath against her cold and beggared lips. She had never been more aware of the weight of her hand in his, she had never been more aware of him. “A downright fool.”

She was mindful that she should have been peeved by this imputation, her common sense screaming at her to react and do so with equal and voracious impudence.

If only the rest of her faculties got the message.

For though his words were intended to wound, the effect was rather lost in translation. Not when there was an undercurrent of awe in his inflection, not when he said ‘idiot’ and ‘fool’ as if that was not what he meant at all; like they were terms of endearment rather than grave offenses.

As if Gilbert had his own personal meaning just for her, and it was the very opposite of its conventional connotations.

“Am I?” She returned in watery tones for she trembled under the weight of all that implied.

He smiled and it was slight in breadth but tremendous in affection. He stepped closer till she had to crane her neck just to be able to take all of him in, her face tilted towards the moonlight. He stopped his beaming then, for a silvery stream had caught his eye.

She hadn’t realized she was crying till he brushed away a droplet.

“I guarantee you,” he repeated, his eyes fervent and bright, “no one could have ever provided you a better home than the Cuthberts. And Diana—she’s positively radiant around you and she was never that way until you came along. Cole found the courage to be who he truly is and you helped him achieve that. And it was you who orchestrated the plan to keep Miss Stacy in school and believe me, she has never regretted the experience for a single moment. This whole island is alive because of you, you emit a gravity of your own and anyone who meets you can’t help but fall into your orbit. If that’s not enough to convince you…”

That same rough hand, from which he never relinquished her violent fist, now urged her to bloom her fingers so that he might place it on his chest. There she rested them and there he cupped her fingers, with a lambency that made her ache for she didn’t expect such a touch from one who lived most of his life as a laborer.

There she felt his heartbeat, strong and certain and—and racing.

How could it thud so hard and so fast when they hadn’t been running or walking since they began? Astonishment etched itself across her features.

“How—?”

“Do you really need me to spell it out for you?”

“For old time’s sake,” she strived to banter, afraid to reveal herself.

(Afraid to acknowledge the truth)

“How did you figure that no one could ever want you? I’m right here,” he avowed. “I’m here, and I want you. So much.” He shook his head and released a laugh that was riddled with disbelief. “I can’t even begin to explain just how so. I want you, plain as that. I wanted you from the moment I laid eyes on you and I want you now and I’m—” he gulped. “I’m quite certain I’ll want you for as long as I live.”

She gaped, the flow of her tears halted from her stupor at such an exaltation. All this unbeknownst to Gilbert, her countenance spurred him to quip with a, “Well, Miss Shirley-Cuthbert, what say you about that?”

His lips stretched into a timid smile that betrayed his timorousness all the same.

“I’m at a loss for words,” she admitted freely. At that, his smile dimmed but did not diminish altogether.

He did, however, let her go.

(She hadn’t realized how much of him had seeped into her skin when at once, he stepped back, taking all the heat with him and leaving a resounding void in her chest)

“May I walk you home?”

And just like that, the conversation was dropped.

Anne, who was more confused leaving this exchange than she was when she entered it, acquiesced to this simple request for lack of a better reaction.

The true gentleman that he is, Gilbert indeed accompanied her the entire trek to Green Gables. Bubbles of conversation drifted between them before fizzling out due to the vapidity of their topics. It was only when they reached her porch did he speak to her with a solemnity that matched their earlier situation.

They stood facing each other, the space between them so corpulent it was its own presence. The camaraderie they had built (and sincerely enjoyed) in those final years at school seemed to have evaporated till their very atmosphere felt too hostile to breathe—they were that edgy. Still, he must have wanted to reclaim a bit of ease with a manoeuvre reminiscent of their first meeting.

He tugged on one of her braids.

But the stark difference between then and now was the intent for there was nothing teasing about his touch. There was no mistaking the feeling in his caress when it was so careful.

“You didn’t answer my question.”

It was devotion.

She licked her lips and again, the muscle in his jaw strained as he clenched it.

“Um,” she stuttered. Answer? Answer? She wasn’t ready to answer. Nor did she think she ever would be ready to answer!

“Relax,” He laughed, no doubt reading the panic that pulled her face taut. He smirked.

“We are friends,” he said, a bit of anxiety leaking into his tone. “Right?”

She blew a relieved breath though she shouldn’t have been, the uncertainty in his voice consoled her all the same. In this, she could unfailingly put her faith. She nodded with the eagerness of a pupil first in her class.

“Always.”

At her affirmation, he gave her hair one last, fond tug and replied quietly, “Good,” before arranging it away from her face and tucking it behind her ear.

“Anyway…”

She felt her breath catch in her throat.

“Anyway,” she returned in an equally hushed voice.

His parting smile was a shot of radiance in the gloom. She returned it with a crooked one of her own, praying it concealed the jumble of her emotions. His smile… it—did things, to her insides. Strange things. Things that made her sick at the image of him walking away from her.

Things that made her want to stop him leaving.

“Gilbert!”

He whirled at the sound of her voice, hope a living flame on his countenance. She floundered.

“I… you…” her hand clenched around the jacket engulfing her frame, and she remembered. “Your coat!”

She moved to take it off but Gilbert stopped her.

“Keep it.”

“But won’t you be cold?”

He shook his head. “I’ll be fine.” he said. “Take care of yourself, Carrots.”

She pursed her lips. Where once the nickname would have incensed her, now it filled her with a breathless sort of glee, like a language only the two of them shared because they were the only ones in the world who understood it.

“I guess… I’ll be seeing you around?”

Why was she stalling?

“So much, it’ll be impossible to miss me,” he teased with a roguish smile.

She chuckled.

He was approaching the gate when she called to him once more, “Goodnight!”

He turned, walking backwards as he tipped his newsboy hat towards her and bowed. “And to you, Miss Shirley-Cuthbert!”

And though he couldn’t see, she bit her lip, trying with all her might to hide her grin.

Watching him leave, she found her ebullience ebbing. Something felt different within her... had her soul shifted somehow? She did not feel like she had been halved nor did she feel any less of herself. If anything, she felt bigger. She felt more. Like her essence had expanded, only to carve a mold shaped suspiciously to Gilbert’s silhouette. She felt forever changed, it was incomprehensible to her that he didn’t feel the same way. And yet—

How could it be so easy for him to walk away?

His frame was swallowed by the darkness before he disappeared altogether, the echoes of their confabulation fading with him until she was all alone.

And it was as if it never happened at all.

Sun chased moon and dusk gave way to dawn. Recounting the occurrence to Diana and Cole (who was visiting from Charlottetown for the weekend to celebrate the start of summer with his childhood chums) betwixt the orange orchard that bordered the Barrys’ property, the sun warm and effulgent on their skin, she deemed her revelation from the night before as ridiculous.

“Right?” she questioned the two, expecting their full agreement. “I was being ridiculous!”

“I suppose that’s one word for it,” Diana muttered.

“I’m sorry,” exclaimed Cole, not sounding apologetic at all, “But I’m still hung up on the part where Gilbert proposed to you.”

Anne was certain she blushed to the roots of her flaming hair.

“He did not!”

“You’re right,” he acceded and she felt it safe for her mind to enter a state of palliation when he followed with a biting, “you are an idiot.”

“Technically, Gilbert said that.” Diana smirked as she spoke. Anne turned to her with a glare.

“And what is your opinion on this, oh bosom friend o’mine?”

She demurred but Anne persisted with a whinge in her voice.

Diana was perfectly aware what Anne wanted her to say, which is why it hurt her to divulge her true opinion. It seemed her friend was in dire need of a wake up call—not that she would be the one to give it.

So she skirted for an answer.

“Well, ‘as long as I live’ seems an awful long commitment…”

Apparently she hadn’t skirted well enough for Anne bellowed with a disparaging, “Diana!”

She cringed. “But—”

Anne groaned. “No! I think I’ve had enough of this conversation.”

Diana bit her lip, looking rather miserable. “I’m sorry, Anne.”

“Don’t be!” Cole reproached her. “Tell her.”

“Whatever it is, I won’t hear it!”

Anne, in a fit of childish tantrum, put her hands over her ears. It prompted Cole to roll his eyes and march over to where she was seated, buried amongst the roots of a tree so that he could unhand her. He locked eyes with Diana and raised his eyebrows. He tipped his chin towards Anne, who was glaring viciously at him.

“She needs to hear it.”

Anne turned her head away, but it didn’t stop her from hearing what Diana made known.

“I saw you leave last night,” she started. “I was going to follow you, but then Gilbert punched Billy! And apparently, it wasn’t the first time for no one stopped him. Personally, I think Billy has the kind of face that’s just asking to be punched so truly, who could blame Gilbert?”

“Diana,” Cole chided, though his mouth twitched in barely suppressed laughter.

“Well, Gilbert didn’t wait for Billy to get up, he just dashed for the door and that’s where he bumped into me. He asked me if I saw you come out that way and I said yes. I told him I was just about to run after you but, he stopped me.

“‘I’ll go after her,’ he said. ‘There are… words I must say and I can no longer conceal myself.’”

Diana and Cole expected Anne to react in an explosive manner, or, at the very least, say something. When she did nothing but give them both a blank stare, Cole gave Diana an encouraging nod.

“There’s something else, Anne.”

“Oh, what is it now?” she wailed.

Diana shook her head. “It’s not about you. It’s… I’m—”

Her troubles forgotten, Anne jumped to her feet and was at Diana’s side in a blink.

“Are you all right?”

Tears sprung into her eyes and Anne’s alarm grew. “Diana?”

She shook her head.

“I couldn’t be better. I’m, well,” she took a deep breath.

“I’m engaged!”

Anne stared.

Diana deflated. “Oh, don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what,” she said, crossing her arms in defense.

“Like I’m a different person. Like everything's about to change.”

“Everything is about to change!”

Diana looked away.

“When was this?”

She paused, as if unsure whether she should answer.

“Last week.”

“Last week,” Anne repeated, rolling the words around her brain till it clicked. “Last week!”

Diana nodded haplessly. Anne turned to Cole and pointed at him an accusing finger. “You knew!”

“To be fair, she only told me today, as we both made our way here.”

Anne furrowed her brows and rubbed at her forehead. An ache was forming at her right temple.

“But… but we’re only sixteen.”

“Prissy was sixteen when she first walked down the aisle.”

“Look how well that turned out,” she rebutted in a tone heavy with sarcasm. “And what have your parents to say about this? I don’t need a wide ‘scope of imagination’ to figure that Jerry is hardly their first choice for you!”

Diana flinched.

“They… don’t know. I haven’t exactly told them.”

“Oh Lord,” Anne muttered. She was beginning to sound a lot like Marilla, and was just now understanding the spectrum of emotions she herself put the female Cuthbert through on a daily basis.

“When will you tell them?” Cole asked in a more gentle manner.

“If you tell them!” she called out. "Diana, this is Jerry. He’s a dear friend but—"

“Stop it, Anne!” Cole bursted before he shot her a glare. “For someone who prides herself on her tolerance, you sure have a narrow perspective on this. If you would listen to her, you would see that she’s in love.”

“What do you know about love? What do any of us know of love?” she shot back.

Cole sighed in frustration. “You and I may be limited in experience but you would have to be blind not to see it in Diana. And perhaps you are, if you go on in this fashion! Are you so lost in your flight of fancies that you’ve turned your head around on what it means to love? Just look at her, Anne.”

She frowned but for once, Anne forced the words that piled itself into her mouth, down her throat. She turned still wary eyes to her oldest friend and observed her with the kind of open mind she beseeched upon the world, and saw her, truly saw her, anew.

Despite her pallor, she stood straight, her shoulders back in a way that would make her mother proud save for her chin, jutted out in defiance. She had never looked taller. Her eyes held a certain shine—as though nothing, not even the threat of her parents or the prospect of leaving Jerry behind to go to finishing school in Paris, could ever banish their light.

“I know he’s not the Ideal Man we promised ourselves we would find in our youth, nor is his proposal the grand advent that we dreamed of nor is our love the epic we longed to command, but Anne, I don’t know how to explain it without sounding like a silly, lovestruck fool. He’s so much better, he’s so much more…”

(She felt more. Was this not a thought she conjured to herself last night?)

Diana trailed off, evidently lost in her thoughts. In that moment, Anne had never felt so far away from her friend. But this wasn’t about her feelings. Diana had a smile on her face and it was awash in excitement but more than anything, it was serene. As though she had found her rightful place in the world, and it was by Jerry’s side, her arm slightly outstretched and her body angled in a way like she was merely waiting to fit herself to him.

Chagrined, the pit of her gut flooded with the shame of her actions. That she drove Diana to have to explain herself! How could she have done this and ever called herself a bosom friend?

In the end, she only had one other question to ask.

“Are you happy?”

Both Cole and Diana turned surprise eyes, at her and her tone, soft and apologetic. Diana though, her lovely jet-black hair a blazing amber in the noon sunshine, looked perfectly brilliant and Anne had her answer.

“If you’re happy, then so am I.”

She went to her, a mist transforming her gaze into pools as she hugged the girl who had grown into a woman, seemingly before her very eyes.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, “you can’t know how much,”

“It’s all ready forgotten.”

Cole shortly joined their embrace and the three friends were laughing even as they wiped rivulets of tears from each other’s cheeks.

“Well,” Cole prompted. They were spread on the grass, their heads together in a triangle while they mooned onto the blue sky and painted pictures out of clouds. “How did he propose?”

Anne’s mouth twisted as she deduced that it must have been unromantical—though this sentiment, she kept to herself lest she again upset the comradeship that was so newly established amongst them.

But Diana’s tenor was sweet and dreamy as she recalled, “He wrote me a letter—a full-fledged letter! He gave it to me personally, of course, for fear of my parents finding it first but oh, it was in an envelope and stamped and everything, as if he had sent it to me through courier.”

She was all too relieved that she kept her opinions to herself, for though he hadn’t gone down on one knee, Anne supposed that an epistolary proposal sounded absolutely beauteous—especially once she considered just how far Jerry had come from, being illiterate as a child. He prided himself on his abilities now.

“If anything, I have you to thank Anne, for you began his tutelage.” Diana sighed. “I’d show you the letter, but I’d like to keep it to myself if you don’t mind.” She blushed as she said this and they all giggled, for they did not mind at all. “But truly, it was divine, it was himself in words. All his emotions on a page, and yet all he wrote of was me...”

Nestled within the grass, Diana was a rose in bloom with the way she blushed as she spoke of her betrothed. It was then Anne had an epiphany.

Perhaps love did not always come in the form of impassioned speeches or grandiose adventures. Perhaps it wasn’t always a princess who was locked up in a tower guarded by a fire-breathing dragon, her prince ready to brave the flames.

Maybe it was a low-burning ember, less hot than the blaze of a fire sure, but just as passionate. She thought of Diana and Jerry and wondered if it might be letters written in longhand, if the prince’s sword was actually a pen, the ink his weapon that illustrated his ardor—if the dragon wasn’t a dragon but the politics of society that told young lovers they must not marry below their station or, and she looked at Cole, their same sex.

Maybe love didn’t always mean the adventure was in far off places, but was found within the four walls of her classroom; where a rival, in actuality, was not the villain but a prince in disguise?

It was standing up for what and who you believed in, going after them when they walked away and promising to want them for all time.

“Anne?”

Diana touched her shoulder but all she could say was, “I am a fool.”

Cole smiled knowingly.

But, fool that she was, it took her till twilight to empower herself to take any sort of action. With word to Marilla on where she would be, and Marilla raising an astute eyebrow at the very young male coat she left behind when she departed (honestly, was she the only one oblivious to her own feelings?), she went where her heart led.

And her heart led her at the boundary of the Blythe farm, where she paced back and forth, back and forth and back and forth until—

“Anne?”

She startled. “Gilbert!”

“Hello…?”

He looked bewildered at her being there, and rightfully so. Dusk was falling, and here they were again. She chuckled, though it was riddled with tension.

“You’re always catching me unawares,” she jested. “I wonder when I’ll ever return the favor.”

“Impossible,” he muttered.

Disconcerted, she inquired, “why?”

He gave her a modest smile, though he didn’t look away.

“I’m always aware of you.”

She was tempted to look away—so heated was his gaze. But her determination was even more ignited and so she compelled herself to hold his stare.

“Not that I’m displeased,” he continued, before the silence could prolong. “But what are you doing here? It’s nightfall. Is something wrong in Green Gables?”

“No, no,” she assured in quick tones. “The very opposite. I just—I need to tell you something.”

His brows furrowed as he tilted his head for her to go on. “Yeah?”

“It is rather important,” she began. “Could we… could we talk somewhere more privately? Preferably, not out in the cold.”

“Oh!” Gilbert laughed in abashment. “Of course, let’s go inside.”

“Where are Bash and Mary?” She asked when they entered the dark and empty house. Gilbert led her to the parlor where he offered her a seat and he lit candles as he spoke.

“They’re in Charlottetown, I just came from the train station where I dropped them off actually. They’re going to attend to Mary’s son. He’s fallen ill.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“I offered to go with them, but it doesn’t sound so serious. Overfatigue, probably stress from work, and a fever. Mary wants to be with him, just to be sure and Bash, well,” he rolled his eyes though when he spoke, it was full of fondness. “He never wants to be far from Mary.”

Again, they shared a weighted look. Anne cleared her throat, but nothing came out. Should she make more small talk? Ease into it? Or should she just dive right in?

“So,” Gilbert smoothly urged. “You had something important to tell me?”

Right, she thought, diving into it, then.

“I needed to see you,” she started.

“In the middle of the night?”

He sounded amused. Was he mocking her? Here she was, laying her heart bare and he was ribbing her?

“Hardly!” she burst out, her temper rising. “The sun hasn’t even fully set!”

“Hasn’t it?”

He gestured towards the window where, surely enough, darkness had conquered the sky with a swiftness Anne had forgotten it was capable of. She frowned and when she looked back at him, that insufferable smirk was affixed to his lips.

Oh he means to rile me, she conjectured. He thinks he’s so clever!

His goading gave her an inexplicable boost of confidence so, abruptly, she declared, “I have objections.”

“Objections?” befuddled, he scratched at the side of his head—a habit of his, she knew. “To what?”

“To ‘as long as I live’.”

“As long as I—”

He broke himself off as all humor was swept from him and the light of realization settled upon his eyes.

“‘Forever’ sounds ever more romantical, don’t you agree?”

“Anne,” he whispered, hope lighting his face and forging her heart and soul anew. She hid a smile. How unfair it was that he should look so glorious under the candlelight, the shadows sharpening his all ready chiseled jaw and the strong slant of his nose.

How he glowed.

“I think I ought to school you on the proper techniques to proposing. I am, after all, to be a teacher.”

“Oh,” he queried, his voice wobbly and a suspiciously wet gleam in his cinereal look. “What exactly would you have me do differently, teacher?”

“Well, for one, I would have you down on your knee like… so.”

Gilbert’s eyes widened in genuine shock. In truth, Anne too was surprised at herself. She never thought she would be so happy, lowering herself to the ground. But she was, as she bent on one knee.

“And then?” he said, low and susurrous.

“Then, I would have you take my hand,” Anne’s fingers touched his, resting open on his lap like he was just waiting, waiting.

They entwined.

“We would look deeply into… each other’s… eyes…”

Her breathing began to quicken. From the rapid rise and fall of his chest, so had his. She was drowning, captured by the depth of his wonder—nothing could have made her look away from him.

“Then?”

“The most important part, of course.” she breathed. “A vow.”

She gulped.

“I love you.”

Gilbert exhaled shakily, his grip tightening on her hand.

“Would you have me, Gilbert? Would you do me the honor of being my partner… forever?”

Her breath hitched. For one horrid second, she was of the mind he would deny her.

He let go of her hand. He shoved the chair away and was leveled in front of her in a heartbeat. He cupped her face in his hands, his touch light and cool as a doctor’s should be. Anne closed her eyes.

Was there ever any doubt?

Gilbert kissed her.

In this, she could trust. This, she thought, is true.

She was happy to stay that way, ecstatic to be linked in the most universal language of devotion. But air was a necessity, and when they pulled but a hairsbreadth away she asked, “Is that a yes?”

Gilbert laughed, jubilant and boisterous, and oh how it outshined even the shadows.

“What now?” she breathed, her hands cupping his own around her face.

“I love you, Anne Shirley-Cuthbert, more than anything. I’ll love you in this life and the next, you can be sure. Forever isn’t nearly long enough.”

“Now that’s a vow.”

He laughed again. She joined him. "Shut up and kiss me, Carrots."

"You shut up and kiss m—"

He did, and she didn't even mind that he cut her off.

For Diana was right. They were no Elaine and Lancelot, but how could she ever give this up? Give him up? A lifetime of his kisses, a lifetime of his touch, forever in his arms?

No... this was better.

This was more.

AN: Come say hi to me! ;)

#shirbert #shirbert ff #awae #awae ff #anne shirley-cuthbert #gilbert blythe #shirbert future fic #shirbert au #shirbert fluff #I just want my children to be happy #my two happy idiots #let them be freeeeeeeeeeeee #swishandflickwit ff

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exquisitelyeco · 7 years ago

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So today I get discipline.....

So my promise for today was ‘Do not despise my discipline, for in time I will heal your wounds..‘😬😬😬🤒🤧

I got to say, this freaked me right out! What’s God going to do now? Bash me in? Stick me in prison for 100 years, bringing shame on my family and ruining me, all for my good?😫😩😡😦

You know, I’ve said it before. And I’ll say it again. I have times I really HATE God. There. Said it. God, I know your here. I don’t like you right now. 😡You want me to trust you, to discipline me?

Fuck that. It’s going to hurt. I don’t like discipline. It sucks. Heal my wounds? Yuck! I don’t want my wounds healed! I don’t want wounds at all, ta very much.😳

I thought you took all the wounds, so I didn’t have too? Well, it clearly didn’t work did it?

But you have me in a corner, and you know it. I love you. And you take advantage. You have my heart. And your going to break it. To make me well. SOD OFF! 😤😤😤

You really take the piss. I don’t like pain. I don’t want pain. I don’t like being out of control. I don’t like knowing you are up to mischief. Meddling to get me ready for heaven. Wahhhhhhhh! Booo hooo. (seriously…….)

I bet Peter and Susan, my pastors would be shocked at this. But I don’t want God to deal with me! It’s going to hurt. Like Eustance Clararence Scrubb, when Aslan pulls the scaly skin off. OUCH, OUCH! I am CROSS God!!!

Why do you have to discipline? Why does discipline need to hurt?

Yet, what did this dumb chick ask for? Well, I tell you what I must be crackers. Do you know what I asked God for?

1. That I wanted to walk on water with God. 2. I wanted Him to discipline me and sort me out. 3. To meddle and have a His will in my life

AHHHHhHhHhh! What an idiot! But part of me isn’t sorry. I must be crackers. I’m scared. I don’t want to be told off. But I want God to change me. To deal with me. Cos like Eustance Clarence Scrubb ( WHAT and unfortunate name!) I have a big tough scab. And it needs to come off.🤢🤢😬

My pastor, bless his boots, and bow tie, would say I have many scabs…..I’ll ask God to discipline him……

Well this scab is FEAR, with capital letters. 😱And God wants to deal with it. Even worse, I want God to deal with it. But I’m cowering away, cos I’m scared of it being dealt with ( it being fear, “tis hardly surprising I’m cowering away, fear being like that….hehehe) 😝

The tough skin to keep the fear in. Did you see it? Ironic humour, which is fun and healthy most ‘time, but not this time. Ironically, having accused others of having skins like rhinoceros, I confess, I have too🙁

And now I get this promise. Some bloody promise. God is love, but He is going to beat me. I’m not to get upset, or angry, well, I am, I just can’t despise it🤢And then, to add insult to injury, in TIME he is going to heal my wounds?

Time??? How much time? 10 years in solitary? It’s all right you laughing! I am not finding this at all funny. In fact I’m feeling sick.

Stupid, stupid thing is, something inside me is glad. Glad cos it shows God really DOES love me. Now before you go all phycological on me, no, I am not being masochist. Or is It sadistic? The bible says God disciplines those He loves. And actually, it proves we are His children.

And carrying the fear that God doesn’t want me, kind of sinks at this point. All though right now, I’d rather have the fear of rejection, thanks.

Is the discipline over, nearly? Is it just starting, me think so🙁

I’m not happy God. I’m sad. And scareded. I feel small and weak. I want to hide in a cupboard. Please don’t hurt me God. I don’t want to be hurt. I don’t like it.

I know I’m a real pain in the bum. A rebellious child of yours who does everything kicking and screaming. And you have to bully me, to get me into the right places to survive. I know I’ve got more baggage than a goods train. But I don’t like being told off. It makes me wince, and my tummy drop☹️☹️

But I guess you don’t want to keep dragging me, kicking and screaming do you? Cos I won’t get on, will I? You want me to grow up. But I don’t want too. I want to stay in my cupboard. Hiding. And peep out at you, to see if you’ve gone away, or changed your mind about hurting me. Please can you change your mind? But I don’t want you too. I want to be like you. I want you to be proud of me. Blast it, I suck. Really. I must be mad. But I don’t want you to walk away. I don’t want to lose you. Or you to lose me. Ever. Please don’t ever go away. I’m lost without you. And I can’t do this without you, can I? So I’m well and truly buggered. Thanks for that. As Digory said, in The magicians Nephew, to his horrid Uncle Andrew, “By gum, If I was big enough, I’d punch your head.” And I don’t want to say, ‘By Gum.’ I want to be rude, and stamp and stick my tongue out and say Yahhh to you. From my cupboard. So you can’t get me. But you can can’t you. It’s really crap. I’m really stuck. But in your eyes, it’s not mad is it? It’s righous. Well, right now, righteous is not feeling very nice. I’m not happy. At all.

I know you love me Papa. But I’m frightened by what you just said. Your a big person. And I’m small and insignificant. I just parp on, all wind, like the wizard of Oz. But you just pulled my curtain, and found me out.😧

What if you change your mind about me after all this? What if I change my mind about you and end up in hell anyway? Won’t this be pointless? But then, if you don’t do it, Discipline me, that is…..I’ll think you really DON’T want me! So you have me, by the preverbal balls don’t you? I’m stuck. And I have to trust you to save me don’t I? I have to trust, you will not let me go to hell. What if you don’t do it? I’ll think I AM going to hell! But if you do and I do anyway that’s two minuses! I don’t like this. I’m small and unhappy right now. I don’t like trust. It’s horrid. And I’m fearful of it. Yup, and you knew it! You’ve tricked me. That was low of you. You always hold the ace cards! And you don’t show me them. That sucks and I don’t like it.

And you did this on purpose. Well. If I live through it, I guess you’ll know. Cos I’ll still be here. But at the moment, I’m quaking in my boots. Please be gentle. Cos I am really scareded of you right now., Papa.

#god funny #god

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siouxempirepodcast · 8 years ago

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Stranger Things: The First Month of the Trump Era

I wanted to complete and turn in this article more than two weeks ago, but I’ve been struggling. Struggling to understand, struggling to accept what is happening in our country. In fact, it seems like every time I wrap my mind around what is happening and sit down to chronicle it, it all blows up with the latest press release, the most recent executive order, the newest accusation, the latest Twitter war. In Part One of this Blog Series (Orange is the New Black: The First Week) I listed, by day, what the Trump Administration had done during those first seven days. This blow-by-blow account began on the Saturday after the Inauguration, when Trump went to CIA headquarters, stood at the wall that bore 117 stars (for each intelligence officer killed in the line of duty) and claimed that attendance at his swearing-in was the YUGEST ever. It ended with the following Friday, Holocaust Remembrance Day where Trump failed to mention the word “Jews” at all in his tribute. I knew, for the second installment of this series, that I wanted to talk in broader terms about the first full month of Trump’s presidency but that’s where I’ve been stymied. Instead, my mind is going to some pretty dark places. Areas of confusion and disorder, anger, and dismay. It’s been nearly impossible to navigate my way through this. We can joke about how dystopian fiction has become ALL the rage again. Stories like “The Handmaid’s Tale” and “The Stand,” “1984” and Philip Roth’s “The Plot Against America” (which I am currently re-reading). In “The Stand,” novelist Stephen King wrote: “Afterward Larry felt as if he had been through a long pillow fight in which all the pillows had been treated with a low-grade poison gas.” That, my friends, is how I feel. There are times I can clearly see what is happening and how to fight it and other times that I feel like I’ve lost my everloving mind. I’m beginning to think that is the intention. When we are confused, we do not fight. When we are uncertain, we do not protest. And this administration has been masterful at inciting doubt in the most fundamental of certainties: Truth itself. Truth has always been a wascally wabbit. Just ask any married couple what happened on any given night, and you’ll get two wildly different answers. But usually, you can find the full truth somewhere in between. In between our account of what is real and what we’re being told is a dark and murky place. A land of “Alternate Truths.” A place where somewhere around half of all Americans are quaking in fear and the other half are gleefully celebrating. And if you want to feel like your half is somehow losing this battle, somehow much smaller in numbers than you believe, just start looking closely at your neighbors. This past Saturday night on a random search on Twitter for #rapidcity (hey, I’m a writer and a blogger – I just try to stay apprised of what’s happening around my community…) I discovered the other half. They were triumphant. They were determined. And they are Neo-Nazis. Yes, real Nazi’s. Not just the kind of derpy-derp redneck, backwater, ignorant white folk who think black people and Jews and Muslims are inferior. I mean the kind of individuals who say this: “ROFLMAO it’s going to get very very bad for #jews & sooner than they think. You’ll be licking Goyim boots very soon Kikes.” Yes. This “human being” lives amongst us. He follows people like David Duke, Richard Spencer, the Europa Project and other white supremacists. He also follows a bunch of dominatrix-related profiles. I was surprised that he didn’t have a frog picture on his Twitter profile (in fact he doesn’t have a pic at all – he’s got the ubiquitous, anonymous, chickenshi… egg). And no, I’m not going to name him. It’s like someone poked a sleeping beast and awoke it. It’s like someone opened up the tar sand pits and poured some black and foul substance on the ground. It’s like we’re living in the Upside Down. “You swear, to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth – so help you God?” – statement of Sworn Testimony, American Justice System. What is truth? Remember when, in the aftermath of the September 11th attacks, nearly 16 years ago we declared that perhaps Irony was dead? We also thought back then that truffled macaroni and cheese and Foie gras hamburgers were going to become the norm, but both ideas proved unsustainable. Today we have to ask the question “Is truth dead?” Like the understanding that this administration believes that the American public will develop “protest fatigue” I believe that they think they can continue to manipulate the facts and steer us toward the conclusions they wish us to have and that eventually we will tire and give in. If nothing else that many fighting so hard on the left will stop their public gatherings and head home, leaving those in power to tinker with our freedoms willfully. To have our national media sources declared “the enemy of our people” is a shocking statement. We are nothing without an impartial, even hostile media. There are Republicans who have made statements to the contrary. That even some of our previously most-divisive GOP leaders understand that key to a free society is a free press. Last week on “The Today Show” former President George W. Bush responded “I consider the media to be indispensable to democracy. That we need the media to hold people like me to account. I mean, power can be very addictive, and it can be corrosive, and it’s important for the press to call to account people who abuse their power, whether it be here or elsewhere.” Other presidents, throughout history, have spoken at length about the need for truth and transparent democracy. Our first President, George Washington, said: “Truth will ultimately prevail where there are pains to bring it to light.” “Honesty is the first chapter in the book of wisdom” – Thomas Jefferson “All men profess honesty as long as they can. To believe all men honest would be folly. To believe none so is something worse” – John Quincy Adams “Repetition does not transform a lie into a truth” – Franklin D. Roosevelt “I would rather the man who presents something for my consideration subject me to a zephyr of truth and a gentle breeze of responsibility rather than blow me down with a curtain of hot air.” “Honest conviction is my courage; the Constitution is my Guide” – Andrew Johnson “Tell the truth, work hard and come to dinner on time” – Gerald R. Ford Cleveland’s flowery language aside, each of these men spoke to the notion that the truth is a fixed and inflexible reality. Facts are what support the truth. Perceptions are the way that each sees and accepts the reality. Beliefs are the underlying structure that impacts how we perceive the reality. Experiences mold our views, making us lean in one direction or another, but truth is still truth – right? Trump is a President and an administration that is desperately trying to control the perceptions of the public and their reactions. It’s hard to comprehend how a man who spent 13% of his first month in office Tweeting (actual statistic, from the Wall Street Journal) fails to understand the transparency and connectivity of the modern world. This administration’s attempts to manipulate, debunk and deceive the public come off so laughably bad and yet every mouthpiece representing the president is so deeply convinced and entrenched in their unwavering determination that it leaves you feeling a bit befuddled. I’m not the only one who feels like I was treated with a low-grade poison gas. I’m not the only one living in the Upside Down. Am I? The first installment of this series was about what Donald J. Trump and the Trump administration had done in the first week. This second installment is what is happening to us. When we cannot see the truth, can we fight for it? Will we know when our friends, family, neighbors may be in peril? Will we even know when we are? Do we check out? Turn off the 24-hour news cycle (of all stripes) and sign out of Twitter and just focus on what is right in front of our noses? Is it better to simply NOT know that there are Nazi’s in our midst? Do we turn back to the fiction of yore, reading of make-believe dystopias while chuckling at the resonance, the reflections in our society? Do we only gather around our televisions on Saturday Night, in our Snuggies, and laugh at what is no longer satire but straight-up, the straight-forward fact (albeit with hilarious actors)? Is there a sane way to experience the Trump Era? If so, can you share it with me?

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