#oh the temptation to move everything over to ao3 and orphan them all

[pfhwrittes]

i'm gonna be honest with you all. i've got nothing for wip wednesday this week. i started something based on this post and another something based on this post but i kind of hate my own writing at the moment so yeah

[smolawkwardkidlat]

ikaw ba ulit?

in which there is zero worldbuilding and pure self-indulgent crack.

inspired by many late nights, two Spanish songs, and one Discworld book. I’ll probably never post this to AO3 for personal reasons, but this is going to remain on my Tumblr for all my desperate brethren. I gotchu fam. 

fandom: Noli Me Tangere | pairing: Elias/Crisostomo Ibarra aka Elibarra | other: alternate universe, a bit crack, super self-indulgent, canonical character deaths, (i have no idea how to explain this), very fantasy-ish, somewhat supernatural character?

By the time he has reached the old balete, Elias doesn’t know what the difference is between hunger and exhaustion and agony. What he knows is that they’re eating him alive and yet that he is so terrified it barely matters. It is December—the chill in the air mingles with the heat off his feverish skin and it burns without burning. 

There is a boy. He didn’t expect that. There is a boy in the tomb of Ibarra’s grandfather. 

Elias doesn’t know what to do. 

The boy is alive, that much is clear from the way he’s carrying on. The blood on his head has dried and his leg must be on the mend. So—wounded, but not seriously. Once he goes home and gets tended to he will be fine. The woman he’s moaning over, though… 

Sisa. When the boy raises his head Elias asks, “Are you her son?” 

His voice is so low and rough he doubts the boy heard him, but he gets a nod in response. 

That is truly unfortunate. “What will you do?” 

The boy’s eyes aren’t especially big, but they still seem to fill half his face. No child’s eyes should have that kind of sadness in them. “Bury her.” 

“In the cemetery?” 

“I don’t have money,” says the boy miserably. “And besides, the kura wouldn’t allow it.” 

Elias resists the temptation to reach out and steady himself on the gate. He closes his eyes, opens them again halfway. “Then…?” 

“If you would like to help me…” 

“I’m too weak,” he says, and the moment he says it he knows it’s true. He can’t even stand up straight anymore. The boy’s eyes follow him to the earth, as if unaware of the streak of blood across his own forehead. 

The words he explains with drag at his lungs and his throat. The boy’s eyes follow them as well. 

It must be the older son, Elias decides, what’s-his-name, Basilio. He looks too tall to be seven years old. That means—is he nine or ten? Nine—or ten—and an orphan. Nine—or ten—and left alone with his mother’s corpse on Christmas. 

Ibarra must have infected him with his bleeding heart, Elias thinks sourly. 

At the very least the boy shouldn’t see another death tonight. 

“Listen!” he says, and damn it, his voice falters faster than ever. Nevertheless, Basilio startles to attention and stares at him anew. “Before the day comes I will be dead too. There’s a pile of firewood twenty paces from here, on the other side of the brook. Bring it here.” Basilio starts to get up, but Elias splays his fingers and he stops. He listens to the instructions with an expression going glassy from grief and lack of sleep. 

Elias is happy to see him go; he has no comfort left in him for Basilio, as much as the boy needs it. Hopefully Ibarra will understand the message he has no strength left to write. 

There are stars above him and songs on the wind. There is a dawn coming and freshness on the leaves. There is a thought gnawing at his heart and he only speaks it because he is desperate. 

Before the numbness reaches his lips Elias murmurs one last broken prayer, and it is not the one you think. 

He says, Please, God, let me—

And he is awake. 

“You should have studied at the theater,” says a familiar voice, in a tone that is not at all familiar. “You’d have been brilliant.” 

Everything is blurry and feels like mist. “Ibarra?” he whispers. 

“I’m afraid not,” says the voice. He didn’t know a timbre like Ibarra’s could resonate like that. There is something on his head that tingles like touch. “Take your time, your death was nasty. Infection, exhaustion, and starvation all at once—not enjoyable.” 

“I’ll say,” he rasps, and coughs to clear his throat. Strange, that he still has a throat. “So I am dead.” 

“Yes, you are,” says that voice that still sounds uncannily like Ibarra. 

His nose catches a cool, dry, musty scent like an abandoned room, with just a hint of aged leather. Then he tastes the cold, then he hears a rustle that isn’t quite cloth but that he can’t assign to anything else. He knows these things mean something, but he doesn’t know what it is, yet. He’s dead, and that means something too. 

“You are—Death.” 

“Not quite, but close enough.” 

It stands to reason that if he can smell and taste and hear and think, then he can see, so Elias opens his eyes. What surprises him is not so much that the figure bent over him is wearing all black with a silver brooch at their throat, but that he’s still in the forest, where he died, with the ground under his back and his head resting at the foot of the balete tree. 

Now that he can think about it, it was a horrifically ironic place to die. 

“Are you better now?” asks the figure. 

He is, in fact, better. The ache that was eating away at his insides has faded almost completely—his head is clearer than it’s been in days. “I suppose so,” he says, and finds that his mouth isn’t quite as dry anymore. 

“Good,” says the figure. “Can you sit up?” 

Elias tries. For the most part it is exactly as it has always been, except for the sensation of passing through his own body, which makes his stomach squirm, despite the fact that he doesn’t have it anymore. He appears to still be wearing the dirty, bloody clothes he died in, which is somewhat humiliating. “I suppose so.” 

“I’m afraid we need to wait a while,” his companion says. “You awoke almost as soon as I reaped you, but the poor woman over there will take some time.” 

Ah. 

That’s just as well. Even the dim lights from the town are starting to hurt his eyes now, and it is much easier to focus on the figure in black than on anything else. Easier, and more comforting. 

Christmas dawns slowly, especially when waiting. His companion sits perfectly still, except for the movement of breathing, and he’s seen the way they sit before, somewhere. Around them even the forest seems to be preparing for Christmas, coming alive in striking contrast to the still, dead air beside the tomb. 

Christmas dawns slowly enough that when the movement in the trees makes them raise their heads, the light is only bright enough to make it out. Just when Elias thinks he might recognize the step, Ibarra limps into view and braces himself on the gate. 

The past two days have clearly not been kind to him either. He wears the two days on his grimy face heavily; his entire body slumps with their weight. But even with that, he moves like a hollow banana leaf, fraying with each unsteady step. His staring eyes burn under their hooded lids, so fierce and yet so fragile that Elias wants to look away. 

He does not. 

He watches as Ibarra takes in the sorry state of the two human shapes in the clearing. 

He watches as Ibarra falls to his knees with a sharp rustle of grass and cloth. He watches as Ibarra wrestles himself to his feet, staggers forward, and collapses again by the side of Elias’s body. 

The sky is alight now. 

Ibarra looks up at it. His eyes are dry, catching fire with the clouds and blazing, blazing—his eyes are closing. 

Elias turns to the figure in black. “What did you do that for?” 

They shrug their shoulders. He tries to imagine what their expression might look like; what he imagines is Ibarra—chin raised high and skin stretched paper-tight over rounded bones. “He’ll have enough to do when he wakes.” 

He frowns. “He startled you?” 

“He did, rather.” 

He can hear the curl of the mouth in the voice, and though he has no living memory of it, he remembers it regardless. The identity of his companion is dawning on him with Christmas Day. “I think, after all’s said and done, you’ll startle him quite a bit more.” 

“You never know. I didn’t startle you much, did I?” 

“No,” he says, and he’s only lying a little. “I don’t think you ever did, except that first time.” 

“Hm? What do you—” The guide freezes, as if struck by a bolt of lightning. He doesn’t need to breathe, so he does a better impression of a statue than anyone Elias can think of. “Oh, heaven, it’s you again, isn’t it? So soon?” 

He smiles lopsidedly at the hint of a whine. “I almost made it to thirty this time.” 

“Almost is only almost, soldier mine, and you don’t get any consolation prizes.” The memories are getting clearer—he can just about picture the expression under the cowl. It’s stranger, somehow, now that he has a living memory to compare it to. “I said when you live past thirty, and not before.” 

The word comes readily to his tongue, although he rarely said it in life and can still only vaguely remember saying it in death. “Ay, you’re cruel, querido.” 

The guide snorts, and Elias imagines, vividly, an impish smirk. “And yet you’re so eager to return to me that you get yourself killed just when you’ve finished having growth spurts.” 

“I don’t die quite that young,” he protests. 

“Time off isn’t easy to get, you know.” 

“Nowhere does it say in your contract that you’re required to wait with me.” 

To his satisfaction, his companion doesn't quite have an answer. “Speaking of waiting,” he says instead, “what on earth happened to that woman? This is an absolutely terrifying amount of time to wait for a soul to awaken.” 

Elias doesn’t know very much of Sisa’s story, but he tells what he does know, and the guide’s silence lapses into bleak horror when he finishes. “Well, I was almost right,” he says at last, evenly. “That’s absolutely terrible.” 

“I shouldn’t have told you.” 

“Don’t be ridiculous—I’ve heard worse, and from you, no less.” He twirls his knife thoughtfully, showing off both the sharp, shining blade and the quick, decisive hands. “Would you mind if I dealt with her alone?” 

“Not at all.” Elias has always been bad at talking to the dead, despite—and perhaps because of—having so much experience with death. 

The guide casts him a doubtful look. 

“As long as you return for me afterwards.” 

“There it is,” he laughs. “I was afraid I’d mistaken you for a moment. Don’t worry, I will—and then I’ll be all yours for nine months afterwards, if we’re lucky.” He gets to his feet. “Nearly ready now. May I have a farewell gift?” 

“I have a bullet. Do you want that?” The palpable disappointment just about imagines the pout for him. “Oh, very well. Take your cowl off for a bit.” 

He can feel the triumphant smile against his lips, sparkling as bright as the starlit eyes as they disappear again into shadow. “If you end up not having to take a step out of that gate,” he warns, “you’re getting this bullet too.” 

“If I misjudged that badly, I deserve it!”

[royalcordelia]

Time Turns to Amber (2/11)

Summary: The line between universes is blurred when Anne Shirley of Green Gables suddenly switches lives with Ann Shirley-Cuthbert, a university student living in the contemporary world. Suddenly Anne must learn how to navigate the modern world, one which contains a boyfriend, a part time job, and another year of university. Meanwhile, Ann struggles to tackle corsets, farming, and a world without electricity. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad, but most people can’t tell the difference between the redhead they know and the girl who replaced her. Dedicated to the ever-beautiful @hecksinki

A Time Travel, Soulmate AU

Rated T+ • 7k words • Read on ao3 • Part 1 •

If the circumstances had been different, Ann might’ve secretly wished to never move from this spot. Where else was better than this corner of the world with its enduringly beautiful Avonlea sunsets and comfortable July breeze? She also didn’t mind leaning up against the armrest of the plush porch swing with her legs on Gilbert’s lap. Her eyes fell on him and the one hand that rested on her leg, the other typing something into his phone.

“Alright, Ann-girl. I’ve successfully hacked into your bluetooth speakers. The music choice is yours,” he said. His fingers ran up the skin of her leg in a particularly gentle caress, sending chills down her nerves.

“Gilbert Blythe letting someone else choose the music for once? The world must be ending.”

“Ha ha,” he replied sarcastically. “Maybe I’ll blast something raunchy and obscene so that even Rachel Lynde blushes two miles away.”

“You wouldn’t ,” Ann gasped. Temptation slipped into his face, but drained away as quickly as it came.

“Not today I wouldn’t,” Gilbert admitted. Not with Matthew in the hospital in the middle of an open heart surgery after a small stroke he’d had in the fields early the day before. With Matthew condemned to the ICU, Marilla was glued to his side. She insisted that Ann stay home, an assertion that the 22-year-old redhead rebutted with a fierce conviction. But then Marilla began to cry, and Ann realized that the cost of this battle was more than she was willing to pay.

She called Gilbert, who arrived almost instantaneously to drive her home, and the rest was history - less than a day of moving through the house with the ghost of Matthew following her and the eminence of the inevitable looming over her head. The only thing that kept her eyes from glazing over completely was Gilbert’s kind presence at her side - humble and empathetic. What would she do without him, her very best friend who cooked her comfort food and held her when she felt she’d drown in worry?

He was one of the only people who understood her. He was the only one that could have known that when her eyes burned from so many tears that the cure was the spirit of the island in its sunset and summer wind. Only Gilbert could have known that the one place she could rest was on the veranda of her home, swaying on her favorite porch swing and listening to her favorite music.

“Hey, where have you wandered off to?” Gilbert asked gently, scratching his fingers into the skin behind her ear. “You’ve been staring at Hozier’s album cover for a good minute now.”

“What can I say? I love to appreciate art,” she replied weakly, pressed play, then handed Gilbert his phone. As the opening notes of “In a Week” hummed from the small speaker set on the porch railing, Ann shifted so that her head was buried in his neck and his arms could wrap around her like a protective shield.

Yes, if circumstances had been different, she’d be running away from her rapid heartbeat and the peace of being the recipient of many head kisses. And Gilbert would let her flee, knowing that she would have to do it if they wanted to keep this pretense of friendship free from his growing feelings.  It certainly wouldn’t be the first time it had happened.

But for now, this was okay. Matthew was going to be okay, too. They repeated it in their heads, a simultaneous and silent mantra.

When Marilla called Gilbert’s phone later that evening, Ann had already been pulled down by the last purples of the sunset into sleep. She didn’t stir when the folksy melodies had turned to the tritone chime of his ringtone. Gilbert, confident that Ann was deep in the reprieve of a dream, answered the call.

“Hello?” There was a pause, then - “Oh, hey Miss Cuthbert. No, no, everything’s okay. We didn’t hear the house phone because we’ve been on the porch...Yeah, she’s asleep.” There was another pause, a sigh of relief from Gilbert that carried an entire day’s weight with it. “That really is great news, Marilla. I’ll tell her as soon as she wakes up. We’ll be here when you get home. Is there anything you needed done before then?...Are you sure?...Yeah, you too. Bye.”

Gilbert set his phone down and pressed a kiss to Ann’s hair.

“Look at that, Ann-girl,” he whispered into perfumed strands. “Looks like Matthew’s going to be okay after all.”

//

Ann believed that if the world was against her, she had acclimated to its cruelty. She had developed a sixth sense for predicting whether a single moment would tear apart the peace of the present, or bring days worth of joy.

When Gilbert’s name lit up across her phone at three in the morning, paired with the chimes of a phone call, Ann’s sixth sense told her to steel herself.

“Hey Gil,” she answered, voice groggy. “Everything alright?”

She was met with silence for a few seconds, long enough that Ann began to wonder if Gilbert had really meant to call her at all. Maybe he’d been dreaming or slept with his phone in his hand and -

“Ann, can you -” his voice broke off and she heard him swallow.   “I’m sorry to wake you up.”

The strain in his voice was enough to stir her awake completely, and she sat straight up in bed.

“Gilbert, what’s wrong?” She heard a sharp inhale, a few indistinct voices in the background, some strange beeping noises, then a shuddering exhale.

“My dad was...he’s….he was in an accident. Th- There was nothing they could do.”

Ann deflated as if a massive weight had fallen on her chest. She pulled the phone away from her face, almost as if to hide the whimper that came from her lips and the tears welling up in her eyes. Gilbert’s father was all the family he had left.  There were no uncles, no grandparents, no long lost cousins.

And now there was just Gilbert - the last, the only. Her heart split down the center at the thought of him living the way she’d had to, orphaned and lonely.

“Gilbert, I…” A tear slid down her cheek and she swallowed the lump in her throat. “Where are you? I’m already on my way.”

She found him in a waiting room of the Carmody hospital, thirty minutes outside of Avonlea by car. He was slumped in a chair against the wall in the corner of the sterile space, pale faced and red eyed. Ann waited in the doorway, wondering if she should break his quiet grieving, only to have him look up through heavy lashes.

Ann didn’t have to be told what to do then. In a moment she was kneeling before him and wrapping him in an embrace that she hoped would shield him from the anguish closing in around him. His stiff arms came around her in an instant, his face pressed into the comfort of the crook of her neck.

“It’s alright, I got you,” she soothed. Gilbert let out a quiet whimper fingers digging into the soft fabric of her shirt.

They stayed like that for a while, Ann rubbing his back and soothing him as he wept. She couldn’t ask him what happened, only able to ask one of the passing nurses once Gilbert had gotten up to use the bathroom and wipe off his face. John Blythe had been in a car crash driving home from his job late that night, the nurse told her.

“There are only two types of people on the road that late,” the nurse said. “Third shifters and drunks.”

Ann rubbed her hands over her face and sighed.

“Ann,” Gilbert called quietly out behind her. “Can you take me home?”

She looked back to the nurse, unsure if there was any paperwork to be filled out or procedures to be completed, but the nurse nodded.

They drove home in silence, Gilbert’s cheek pressed against the window of the car, glassy eyes watching the blurry trees pass them on the highway. Ann kept her fingers on the wheel, trying her best to keep her focus centered on the snowy January roads. The car had grown cold, so Ann reached a hand over to turn up the heat and face the vents toward Gilbert, who’d forgotten to take a coat when he left the house.

“I don’t know how to plan a funeral,” he admitted quietly.

“I do,” Ann said, “I’ll help you. I’ll write the obituary and call the hospital and funeral home in the morning.”

Gilbert nodded his head, then turned to look at her.

“At home. We’ll have the funeral at home.”

“Whatever you want,” Ann said, pulling into his driveway. The gray house was all shadows when the pair walked up the front porch steps, Ann’s hand entwined with Gilbert’s to keep him standing. She released his hand and watched him collapse on the couch, face turned away from her. She stood across the room for a few seconds, watching his chest rise and fall with an odd, unsteady rhythm. But then, as if a switch had been flipped in her mind, she began to work.

Caring for Gilbert was much easier than she could have anticipated, not because his pain was less than she expected, but because her heart knew his needs without having to be told. She knew that he was most comfortable when he had his own pillow and the large blanket his mother quilted for him during her pregnancy. Ann wrapped him in his quilt and placed the pillow beneath his head wordlessly, wiping a stray tear from the corner of his eye as she stood up.

Gilbert watched as she moved quietly around the room and turned down pictures that had his father in them, knowing that seeing them would hurt too much. Even in his grief, or maybe because of it, he had a strange, quiet realization. Ann Shirley-Cuthbert was quite possibly the most beautiful thing he’d ever laid eyes on, with her messy bun of auburn hair and strength in her brave shoulders. Bathed in the moonlight coming in through the windows, he could stared at the milky skin of her neck and the tear trails on her cheeks.

Then she came to his side with a plate of peanut butter toast and a shot of whisky.

“How’d you know where that was?” he murmured in a scratchy voice, nodding down at the shot glass. He brought the copper substance to his lips and let the burn travel down his throat.

“I’ve watched you sneak it out a few times,” she confessed. “I brought you some toast in case you’re hungry.”

He wasn’t, but he took a bite out of it to soften the worry lines on her forehead.

“Thanks,” he said, mouth dry from the peanut butter. “You can go home now, Ann. I’ll be fine.”

“If you think I’m leaving you now, Gil, you’ve got another storm coming,” she said, running her fingers through his hair. “If you want to be alone, I can go up to the guest room.”

“No, I don’t want to be alone.”

Ann nodded, standing up to take the chair next to the couch, but Gilbert opened his arms, causing Ann to pause. With no room on either side of him, she settled with her chest pressed to his, legs tangled together. She thought back to the day of Matthew’s surgery, how she’d wanted Gilbert to hold her just like this in her own sadness. That day she’d been too distracted to notice how her heart raced in his chest. Now she was acutely aware of the effect of his breath in her hair and the intimacy of her heartbeat thumping to the same tempo as his.

She thought he’d fallen asleep when she murmured into his shirt, “Do you think you’ll be okay, Gil?” To her surprise, his embrace tightened and she felt a tired sigh blow through her hair.

“Someday,” was his whispered reply.

//

The wake, funeral, and reception went by in a blur to Ann and Gilbert, who played hosts to dozens of bodies coming and going through the Blythe household. Ann stayed by Gilbert’s side throughout the four days, knowing how exhausting it must have been to spend the last weeks of winter break in mourning. Marilla and Matthew helped too - Marilla bringing by meals and clean clothes for Ann, Matthew coming to fix the wood furnace in Gilbert’s living room when it malfunctioned hours before the reception. Diana came by to help clean the house for a few hours because, You’re supporting Gil, Ann, but who’s supporting you? And when it was all finally over, Ann felt like she could release a breath she had been holding onto since Gilbert called to pick him up from the hospital.

Perhaps she relaxed a little too soon.

“I’m sorry, what?” she choked out. She and Gilbert were sitting on the docks of the Lake of Shining Waters, the pond that separated the Barry and Cuthbert lands. Ann’s face was white, even paler with the sunlight reflecting off of the snow and onto her cheeks.

“It’d just be for a year, Ann. I just have to get out of here for a little bit,” Gilbert said, placing his hand on her shoulder. “Walking through Avonlea is like walking beside the ghosts of my past.”

“I’ve haven’t left your side for the past two weeks and you haven’t thought to tell me about this?”

“I knew if I told you I was thinking about it, you’d react like this.”

“And how am I reacting?”

Gilbert took a deep breath and gave a melancholy smile.

“Heartbroken enough that it’d make me consider staying.”

A small little sob escaped her lips and she stood up. She looked out over the frozen pond with its icy fractals, puffs of hot breath blowing fog in front of her face.

“No, I won’t ask you to stay. I know why you have to leave,” she said finally, wiping her cheeks.

“Just think about the sorts of cool souvenirs I can send back from an internship on a cruiseliner. The first stop is Trinidad, you know.”

She turned back to him, biting her lip to keep from smiling. There was no staying angry at Gilbert Blythe for long.

“You’ll call?” she asked.

“Everyday.”

“And send pictures?”

“As many as you want.”

“And when you come back, you’ll finish school?”

“It’s just a gap year, Ann. I’m not waving the white flag yet.”

Ann crossed her arms over her chest and set her face into his shoulder. She hadn’t expected this turn of events, otherwise she’d have cherished his company more, paid more attention to making lasting memories. He brought a hand up to her head and ran his fingers through her hair in a way that was so very Gilbert.

“I’ll miss you too,” he said gently. “I can’t thank you enough for everything you’ve done since Dad…”

“You’ve done the same for me,” she said, pulling back.

“Still, I appreciate it.”

Their gazes lingered on each other’s for a few seconds, bringing back that same warmth that had started blooming in Ann’s chest whenever she really looked at him. How easy it would be to just rise onto her toes and press her lips against-

“Well, I better start packing,” Gilbert said, clearing his throat. Ann blinked a few times, turning her heated cheeks toward the ground.

“Do you want some help?”

An affectionate spark lit up in his eyes.

“I wouldn’t mind some company. The house is a little lonely.”  

Two days later, a small crowd of Gilbert’s favorite people followed him to the Public Bus station. He carried two suitcases with him, his other belongings already mailed to the cruise liner that was to be his home for a year. Ann walked in pace with him at his side, with Diana and their friend Jeri trailing behind. The rest of their friends would be meeting them there, Charlie and Moody, Ruby and Jane.

“I didn’t think everyone would spend their last day of break saying goodbye to me,” Gilbert admitted as he laid eyes on the crowd waiting for him.

“Everyone loves you, Gilbert. Some more than others,” Jeri said, pushing a long strand of brown hair out of her face. She gave Ann a sneaky, sly grin, only to be shot daggers in return.  Before Ann could say anything terribly embarrassing, the group at the bus station exploded with They’re here! and There you are! You finally quit dragging your asses!

Ann was quiet as everyone said their goodbyes to Gilbert, who was nearly rendered speechless at the overwhelming explosion of affection on his behalf. His eyes lingered over to her every few seconds, noticing her unusual silence as easily as if she’d been yelling. When she was the only person left to say goodbye, he walked up to her and stuffed his hands in his pockets.

“Whatcha thinking about, Ann-girl?”

“I’m wondering who I’m going to study with, or who’s going to come annoy me at Patty’s Place when you’re gone.”

“I’m sure Roy Gardner will be happy to fill my shoes.”

“Big pass,” she groaned, nudging him in the stomach with her elbow. “It’s gonna be a long year without you, Gil.”

“You too,” he replied in a reverent murmur. “But I’ll call and text and send pigeon mail and smoke messages just as promised.” She opened her mouth to say something, then closed it, but he could tell there was something waiting on the tip of her tongue. “What is it?”

“I’m about to do something I probably shouldn’t do in front of all of our friends,” she stated seriously.

Gilbert felt his heart leap into his throat, and he swallowed it back with difficulty. There was nowhere else to look but down at Ann, red hair in two braids down the front of her sky blue winter jacket and freckles like snowflakes floating on her cheeks. The chatter or their friends had either fallen silent or he’d simply grown unable to hear it. Ann rose her brows as if asking for permission, and he nodded, entranced and grinning.

Then she was holding the sides of his face and kissing him. Tension drained from them the second their lips made contact, like a long carried weight finally gone from their shoulders. Gasps came from their friends, but neither minded, content to stay held in a tender embrace.

When she pulled back, Gilbert had to remind himself where he was, what he was doing. The look in her eyes was almost enough for him to reconsider the whole internship and stay home to kiss her as long as he wanted.

“They just gave last call for boarding,” she reminded him quietly. Gilbert nodded, not really hearing her. Ann laughed. “That means get on the bus, you idiot!”

Gilbert blinked, looking around at their smug friends.

“ Oh! Right. I’m going. See you guys soon.” He picked up his bag, turned around, took two steps, then turned right back around. Ann, who had deflated the second he’d gone, let out a small gasp when he marched right back up to her.

“Let me take you to dinner when I get back,” he said bravely. Ann let out a half hysterical laugh and covered her face in her hands.

“Okay, okay! Just get on the fucking bus. It’s going to leave without you.”

“You will?” he asked, crooked grin on his face.

“I said I would!” she laughed, then horror crossed her face. “Gilbert, they’re closing the back doors, get on there!”  

He pressed his lips to her cheek, gave one last wave to his friends, and jogged onto the bus. It pulled off before they could find the window he sat by and give their last goodbyes. Then it had pulled out of the station, a distant speck in the horizon, Diana pulled an arm around Ann’s shoulders. She might’ve said something, but Jeri cut her off.

“Well, it’s about damn time,” she stated.

“Leave her alone, Jer,” Diana scolded, then tugged Ann closer to her side.“Come on, babe, let’s get you home.”

//

The kitchen smelled of dried cranberry and crush rose petals several mornings later, the sun dripping in through the translucent cream curtains. When Ann came down the creaky stairs, she found Marilla working over the stove with her back turned to her. The older woman had her long gray hair tied in a single braid down her back, a style which made people who didn’t know her assume she was some sort of nonconformist.

Ann stood in the doorway, enjoying the swell in her heart at the comforting sight of Marilla at work. Then she pulled her phone out and snapped a picture of the scene for days when it was raining and lonely in Kingsport.

“Morning, Ma,” Ann said lowly, as not to startle her. The nickname was one that had originated from Ann’s pressing desire to address Marilla as Mom, and Marilla’s insistence that Ann merely call her by the name her parents had given her.

“Good morning, Ann,” Marilla replied, wiping her arm against her sweaty brow. “You’re just in time. Can you hand me the rose oils? I can’t read the small print on the bottles.”

Ann swept across the fragrant kitchen over to the counter, where Marilla had her open case of essential oils.

“Who are you making soap for this time?” she asked, rifling through the tiny vials in search for the rose colored one.

“I’m making a large batch this time. I’ll be donating some to the church for their craft sale, but you may take the extras and send them to Gilbert if you’d like.”

“Ah, found it!” Ann said triumphantly, handing Marilla the oils. “Is that your long winded way of suggesting that Gilbert isn’t bathing?” Marilla sent a glare over her shoulder, mixing the soap in the warm pan. “No, Gilbert doesn’t like soaps that are too sweet. Diana might like some, though! She’s been having a hard time at home.”

Marilla turned off her mixer.

“Why’s that? Her parents aren’t fighting, are they?”

“No, it’s not that. They just...share different opinions with her on certain things, I guess. It breaks her heart to see her parents talk the way they do.”

“You don’t ever feel that way about me, do you?” Marilla asked carefully. Ann draped an arm around Marilla’s back and leaned her head on her shoulder. She took a deep breath, inhaling the aromatic perfume of the soap, then handed Marilla the bowl of dried berries and petals.

“Not even a little.”

At that moment, the back door swung open with a creak, followed by familiar heavy footsteps. Matthew appeared then, wiping his hands on his jeans and smiling at his girls.

“I see Rachel convinced you to make that soap, after all.”

“She reminded me of my ‘Presbyterian duty’ and was more than happy to remind me of all the filthy people just waiting to be cleaned by the soap of the Lord.”

“Oh I see,” Ann said with a nudge. “You just wanted her to shut up.”

Marilla chuckled, turning off the heat on the stove.

“You watch how you talk about her today. She’ll be here any minute now and you know how that woman doesn’t knock before making herself at home.”

“Wait, why is Mrs. Lynde coming over?” Ann grabbed a piece of Wonderbread from its bag and stuffed it into her mouth. “Did someone die recently? Get pregnant? Find their long lost twin on Eharmony and have tear jerking reunion?”

“Rachel doesn’t always come over to gossip, Ann,” Marilla scolded.

“Come on, Marilla, you have to admit that she’s only ever over when she wants to talk shit about people.”

“Language, Ann,” Matthew said with a cup of morning coffee at his lips. Ann knew he wasn’t terribly upset, since he hadn’t even bothered to look up from his newspaper.

“If you must know, Miss Shirley Cuthbert, Rachel is coming over to drive me to the optometrist. I have an eye surgery today. I won’t be able to drive afterwards.”

“You didn’t tell me you were having surgery done,” Ann murmured. “Is it serious? Why can’t Matthew drive you?”

“It’s nothing to worry about. Matthew has things to accomplish and Rachel needs to get out of the house every now and again,” Marilla insisted, pulling off her crafting apron and folding up. “Now, don’t you have somewhere to be soon?”

She gestured down at Ann’s outfit, a tie dye shirt and a pair of boyfriend jeans with a tiny flag sticking out of the back pocket. The flag and shirt featured three colors - fuschia, purple, and blue. To top it off, she had a pin above her heart that read Kiss Me, I’m Bi!

“Oh Marilla, my first pride officially out of the closet!” Ann said excitedly. “I just wish everyone could be so lucky.”

“That’s why you’re going today, Ann-girl,” Matthew said, sticking his mug in the sink and then pressing a kiss into her red hair. “Lots of people don’t know that’s okay to be who they are, but you’re an expert in that.”

“I suppose I am,” she agreed quietly.

“Stay safe. Call me if you want to come home and I’ll pick you up,” Matthew said. Ann was about to utter her thanks when Rachel Lynde came bursting into through the door. She pulled off her flashy sunglasses, sticking them in her purse, then took one look at the college student standing unashamedly in the kitchen. Then she turned right to Marilla.

“The kids of today are losing their minds,” Rachel remarked.

“Oh thanks Mrs. Lynde,” Ann said sarcastically, “I’m only standing right here. ”

“I’m just saying that-”

“Rachel, do I need to I remind you about Harmon Andrews’ party back in ‘73 when you and Nancy McLean -”

“ Marilla! Rachel choked out, but the damage was done. Ann’s brows were raised into her hairline as she tried, and failed, to take the image of Rachel’s sapphic experiences out of her mind. “We’ll be late for your appointment!”

Rachel grabbed Marilla by her wrist, dragging her toward the back door.

“I guess we’re off. Have a nice time, Ann!” Marilla called, grabbing her purse from the back table before she could be completely kidnapped.

“I suppose that means I should get going, too,” Ann said to a red faced Matthew. “I’ll be back to make dinner.”

  She was standing on the park staircase handing out various flags to empty handed passersby when she saw him. He was a lanky fellow, long limbs and honey colored hair. He had some sort of book in his hands, bounded in a mustard yellow fabric, and judging from the fluid motions of his pencil, he was sketching. Ann only noticed him because every few seconds, he’d peer up at her, then snap his eyes back down to his paper before she could think twice about it. Sitting a few steps down, he kept his bag above him to rest his elbow on. The messenger bag had a few tiny buttons on it, one of which was a thumbnail sized rainbow pin.

Ann left her station for a short moment, and took a few steps down to crouch by him. His eyes went wide when he noticed her before him, and watched nervously as she pulled a rainbow flag from her hands and handed it to him.

“Happy pride,” she said warmly.

“Thanks,” he murmured back, pulling his book against his chest.

“Sorry, I wasn’t trying to look at what you were drawing,” Ann said. “You just looked so lonely over here all by yourself.”

The boy averted his eyes to the pavement but gave a genuine smile that sent a familiar wave of warmth through Ann - the kind that accompanied an interaction with any new kindred spirit. He tugged his book from his chest and handed it to her.

“I hope you don’t mind.”

Ann’s jaw dropped when she saw just what the boy had been drawing. He’d been drawing her - every freckle, every smile line, every loose strand of hair. In fact, Ann didn’t think all the instagram staging or filters in the world could ever make her look so beautiful. There was something raw and ethereal about his sketch, something that made Ann want to be the girl on the paper.

“I...I don’t know what to say. It’s amazing.”

“Sorry I drew you without your permission,” he said meekly. Ann shook her head.

“There’s nothing to apologize for. I’m honored you chose me as your subject. I’m sure there are prettier girls to draw-”

“Aw, come on, that’s not true,” he cut in. Ann shrugged.

“At any rate, thank you for showing me.” Her smile lingered on a moment as she gave him a second to either continue the conversation or return to his work. Bright blue eyes blinked at her, but the boy said nothing. “I should let you get back to it.”

Just as she turned to leave, she heard, “I’m Cole.”

Ann felt a relieved laugh escape her lips; today was not to be a day of lost kindred spirits, after all!

“I’m Ann,” she introduced, sticking a freckled hand in his face, “No E. Though if it were up to me, I’d spell it with an E. Fits my aesthetic a bit more, ya know?”

“I think I can understand that,” he said, smiling as Ann settled down beside him.

“Here, take a handful,” she said, pulling some more flags out of her pocket. “That is, if you want to help me hand them out?”

“Yeah, sure!” The more he spoke, the more be blossomed into happiness, like a flower that needs like but has been kept under shadows too long. “I tried to sign up to work the event, but I couldn’t sneak out of the house without my mom knowing. Even today, she thinks I’m on a field trip for school.”

Ann gave a sputtering laugh.

“It’s the middle of June!”

Cole shrugged. “My mother isn’t known for being the brightest crayon in the box.”

“Speaking of which, you’re an artist?”

A red hot warmth covered Cole’s face, as if he were ashamed to admit it. He pulled the sketchbook back out and opened it to the first page.

“Kinda I guess. I’m not as good as some people.”

Star-struck at the beautiful works in his soft journal, Ann flipped through the pages with gentle fingers and a tender eye.

“I don’t think you’re giving yourself enough credit. These are spectacular. You’re an artist for sure.”

“Are you an artist too?”

Ann shrugged, thought about it, then shook her head.

“My medium is language, words strung together into pretty constellations of poetry and stories,” she said with a flair.

“So...a creative writer?”

“Ding ding ding! But I’m not good enough to make anything of it. Now you, on the other hand, I think you’re good enough to do whatever you want.”

“Maybe someday,” he said, knowing he had to take some of the compliment or risk disappointing her. “Umm, actually, there is- well, that is, if you’re interested. You can say no! I realize that maybe you wouldn’t want to-”

“Cole!” Ann laughed. “Out with it!”

“I’ve been trying to find someone to model for me so that I can practice more portraits. I think I could really make some decent commission money doing them, but I haven’t drawn many - er, women.”

Ann’s face had fallen with shock, and for a second, Cole thought he’d offended her.

“You know what, that’s okay, I shouldn’t have asked,” he murmured quick under his breath. He handed her the flags and moved to pack his things, but she placed a hand on his wrist.

“Wait. I’m not upset you asked me, Cole, I’m just...I was serious when I said there are prettier girls to draw. My looks are nothing special.”

“Well I beg to differ. I look at pretty things for a living and before we met, I was looking at you. Maybe it can help us both out. I can show you how you look through the eyes of other people.”

“I know already how people look at me.”

“I mean the ones that count.”

Ann flipped back to the sketch Cole had been drawing of her minutes ago, and stared at it for a second. Then she made the mistake of looking up at his hopeful eyes, the ones that longed for a kindred spirit for too long, the ones that had taken this one risk.

“Fine, I’ll do it. But it’s your fault for choosing me if your pieces come out looking odd.” Cole only smiled.

"I'll risk it."

//

They met every Tuesday in the late afternoon. Ann chose the time because she said it was when the sun was directly outside her window, bathing her the pastel turquoise of her room with “the most beautiful golden light in all of Avonlea.” She could have chosen three in the morning seven days a week for all he cared, he just wanted out of his house. Besides, if he’d brought a girl home, he knew for sure that his mother would say, “Cole MacKenzie, did you finally get over that homosexual phase you were in?”

Ann’s home was one were he felt safe, the first few visits showing him all he needed to see of Marilla and Matthew Cuthbert, the kind siblings who’d adopted Ann.

“How long ago did you come out to Marilla and Matthew?” Cole asked one day, not taking his eyes off the intricate details of his sketch. Ann herself sat in the window seat, cross legged and looking off to the right.

“Matthew knew from the first day,” she confessed. “I was sitting outside my group home in Bolingbroke. One of the boys had just teased me about having a crush on one of the girls from school. Really, I think he was just projecting a bunch of his bullshit onto me. Matthew originally intended to adopt him - he and Marilla had planned on adopting a boy, and James was the only guy in the house - but then he met me and the plans changed. Matthew heard all about my crush at our first meeting, among other things. I talked his ear off.”

“And it didn’t bother him even a little?” Cole couldn’t imagine the unconditional acceptance of a parent, not with the way things were in his household.

“Nope. He never dated women, so I’ve often wondered...But in the end, his acceptance of an LGBT youth was what convinced my case worker to assist him with the adoption. The rest is history. I told Marilla several months later, and was officially out in Avonlea earlier this year. All of it made for a very undramatic coming out story.”

“You’re one of the lucky ones,” he murmured bitterly.

“I am. I’m blessed,” she replied sincerely. “But Cole, you’re my friend now. You’re part of this family, whether you like it or not. You’ll be one of the lucky ones soon.”

Cole smiled at this, considering offhandedly that she was right about the sunset in her window. In that moment, she looked like a fiery angel, fierce and strong.

“I’m already one of the lucky ones,” he decided.

The moment was broken by Ann’s phone chiming with a recognizable little chime. Ann didn’t budge, but only moved her eyes to see her phone sitting on the seat beside her. A smile erupted on her face and she broke her pose, swiped across her screen, and held the phone up.

“Hey stranger!” she said.

“ Hey yourself, carrots.” He was as lovely as she remembered, with those soft brown curls and warm hazel eyes. His face lit up as soon as he’d seen her, and Ann was sure she mirrored the expression. It’d been so long since he’d had time to call, giving her plenty of time to remember parting at the bus station.

“You’re lucky I’ve missed you too much to acknowledge that abominable you just called me,” she said sweetly. “Oh, Gil, how are you?”

Instead of Gilbert answering, she heard another voice come in from the background.

“ Alright Blythe, the shower is yours, but don’t take too lon-” A face appeared in the screen, bearded and dark eyed. “ Is that your girl there? Ann?”

Gilbert swatted the man away as Ann laughed, “Guilty!”

“ Can’t a guy make a call home in peace? Ann, that’s Bash, one of the guys I met working here.”

Cole came around and poked his mop of blonde strands into the frame.

“Any friend of yours is a friend of mine,” Ann said. “This is Cole, the friend I told you about from pride.”

“Oh hey, man! Nice to finally put a face to a name! ”

“Cole, this is Gilbert, my…” Ann gaped for a second, causing Gilbert to raise his brows. “This is Gilbert.”

“I’ve heard lots of good things about you,” Cole said with a smile. “Medical man, right?”

“ The very same,” Gilbert replied.

“Hey, Gil, I thought you were rooming with that Nova Scotia man. What was his name? Matthew? Marcus?”

“ Maddox,” Gilbert offered. “ Bash’s roommate was being a racist asshole, and so the room director let us switch.”

“ The man didn’t want to shower in the same place I had. Can you imagine?” Bash cut in.

“Oh, I think I could,” Cole grumbled the same time Bash called out, “Oh, tell her the news, man!”

“News?” Ann said carefully. “Everything alright?”

“ No no, everything’s great. Seriously, Ann, you’d be the first to know if something was wrong. I have a feeling you’d feel a disturbance in the bosom connection between the two of us.”

“Now wait a second-”

“ But I called to let you know that my supervising doctor onboard is thrilled with my performance the last few months. He wants to get in touch with a colleague at the University of Toronto. You know, set me up an interview so that I could meet the board and get a head start on planning for grad school. It’s an amazing opportunity, and a great connection to have. Plus, the University of Toronto is one of my top choices.”

“That’s great, Gil, but isn’t that...you know, really far away?”

“Not any farther than Trinidad and the rest of the Caribbean.”

Ann bit her lip and forced herself to smile. While Gilbert was off saving lives and delivering babies, where would she be? In the back of his mind?

“Don’t forget about the small people when you’re becoming a big fancy doctor.”

“Forget about you, Queen Ann? Never.” Ann blushed, feeling the same way that she might if he suddenly told her he was in love with her - heart racing, stomach fluttering. Suddenly the image on the screen shifted away to a very passionate face of a very passionate Bash.

“ Oh Ann, I wish I could tell you of my plans for you once I graduate medical school! I’m going to be a biiiiig fancy doctor and we’ll get a biiiiig fancy house.”

“Hey!” Gilbert cried. The image on the screen turned into a rollercoaster as Bash swung the phone away from Gilbert’s grabby hands.

“ And we’ll get married and have teeny, weeny little spitfire babies. Twenty of them!”

“ Sebastian! I’m serious!”

“No? How’s twenty-five?”

Ann exchanged an awkward look with Cole, who’s smirk gave off tangible energy.

“Gilbert’s cute,” he murmured knowingly.

“ See!” Bash laughed.

Finally Gilbert was able to snag the phone away from his obnoxious roommate, and his distressed face greeted Ann when he finally managed to steady his hand.

“ Sorry about that. ”

“Not at all,” Ann said, shaking her head. “It’s just nice to hear from you, even in embarrassing circumstances.”

“I know I haven’t called much lately. I’ll fix that.”

“Effective immediately?”

“Yes ma’am,” Gilbert said officially with a solemn nod of his head. “Listen, I have to get back to my post soon. I really will call. Next time I want to hear all about how Diana’s doing and  Marilla’s eye surgery, okay?”

“Yeah, okay,” Ann said, forcing her voice to stay even. “Hey, Gil, you know…” If it was Marilla, Matthew, or Diana, the call would have ended with Ann’s typical I love you. But she couldn’t say that now, not to Gilbert. Not because it wasn’t true, in fact, each day she knew more and more that it was true. The fact that it was true made it terrifying, especially now that he was thinking of going to Toronto. Cole grabbed her hand where Gilbert couldn’t see it, seeing some of her thoughts across her face.

“ What is it? ” Gilbert probed.

“Take care of yourself, yeah?” she said finally.

“Love you too, Shirley.”  Ann’s heart gave a pleasant little jump. If only he were home. “Talk to you later.”

She smiled right as the phone beeped and went black. Ann heaved a heavy sigh and threw her phone onto her bed.

“Well, I feel like my life is complete now that I’ve finally met Gilbert Blythe: the man, the myth, the legend,” Cole said dramatically.

“Oh please, it’s just Gilbert,” Ann said, settling back into her pose. Taking the cue, Cole grabbed his sketchbook again and sat in front of her.

“But he’s not just Gilbert to you.”

Ann sighed and gave Cole a surrendering look.

“No, no he’s not.”