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retiredteabag · 4 years ago

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Valentines Day Special

Just Like The Books

Pairing: Shoto Todoroki X Reader

Genre: Fluff

Word Count: ...

Synopsis: Valentines day was only a few days away and Shoto had not yet asked you to be his valentine!! Were you too romantically inclined from all those books you read or was Shoto just trying to make things extra special?

SPECIAL NOTE: This story is being read aloud by Mad July on youtube!!! The link will be posed here very soon, please give the channel all your love!

Link To Video- Here!!!

Link To Channel- Mad July

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It was less than four days until Valentine’s day and Shoto, Y/n’s boyfriend of a year and a half, had yet to request the spot as their valentine. Pure radio silence on his part. They weren’t worried though. Seriously! Y/n knew Shoto wasn’t the best with romancy stuff- it just didn’t come naturally to him which was fine! Still… everyone in 1A had a valentine. Heck even Mineta had received a love letter! Of course, everyone was painfully aware he had sent it to himself but either way- it was a bit embarrassing- what to have a significant other and them not even ask… whatever- Valentine’s day wasn’t even a big deal anyway!

Despite that- when the little envelope- wax sealed with a fingerprint- showed up in their school bag- they couldn’t help but feel the tiniest bit relieved. The paper was light brown and smelled of burned wax, after struggling for a second to open it without ripping the letter- they read to themselves:

“For every day that passes- I realize how many more I want to spend with you. Is this how Mr. Darcy felt when he was with Elizabeth?”

A smile grew on their face- Having introduced Sho to Pride and Prejudice last summer, it made their heart flutter to hear him bring it up.

“In vain I have struggled. It will not do. My feelings will not be repressed. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you.’ It must have been…will you accept my confession?”

- Your Secret Admirer

Not only did he remember their infatuation with the book, but he quoted the line too… he was just too cute! They folded the letter and gently put it in the box in which they kept all his letters. Only to promptly pull it out and read it a few more times.

The next day- it seemed Shoto was ignoring them. In class they would turn- only for him to look away. This wasn’t like him, usually he had no trouble staring- in fact, in the past Shoto would stare until Y/n was embarrassed, not realizing how hard it was to have him look so intently.

That night- after a whole day of hiding- it appeared that Shoto had been on their balcony. Strange as it is, there was a very obvious glow of a flashlight outside Y/n’s dorm room. Sat in the middle of the balcony’s ledge was another letter, held down by a small box. Y/n took at least a minute to look at the whole set up. It wasn’t crazy or anything- just a bit cute. The flashlight shown right through their curtain so they could see the display. Eventually they reached for the envelope. Wax sealed with a fingerprint just like it had been before.

“’Doubt thou the stars are fire; Doubt that the sun doth move; Doubt truth to be a liar; But never doubt I love.’ I remember when you read Hamlet to me- I remember knowing I loved you when I heard the smile in your voice when you read those words. Do you remember? When you quoted them to me while you braided my hair? Do you remember when you leaned over and said them that last day of summer? I hope you do… Because I can’t stop thinking about them.”

- Your Secret Admirer

“Yes” they thought, “Yes, yes of course I do.”

It was a little funny, Sho referring to himself as their “Secret Admirer” when everyone knew they were dating, still- they couldn’t help but find it charming.

By the time they had read the letter for the fourth time- the icy air had chilled their skin considerably. The wind whooshed past their face, but it was hard to leave their spot on the balcony knowing he had been right there. They had already stood before they remembered the box that had been used as a paperweight.

Leaning over to pick it up they ran their hand over the silk exterior. Inside, delicately placed on a velvet stand was a silver ring- a tiny sun on one side and on the other? A tiny moon. It was exactly their ring size and was so beautiful they had half the mind to keep it hidden in a box and not wear it at all. It took a particularly cold gust of wind to bring them back to reality and go inside.

At lunch the next day Y/n sat with Jirou and Kaminari. Food was the last thing on their mind. All their thoughts were occupied with was the fact that Shoto Todoroki had been wearing a ring in class today. A ring that had tiny, engraved stars all over. They couldn’t even thank him because he was gone when class ended. Y/n had even stood quickly and ran after him to try to go looking but he was nowhere to be found.

“Hey- what’s wrong?” Mina stared worriedly. Y/n was sure everyone could tell something was up. It wasn’t the fact that they hadn’t been asked anymore-but that Sho seemed to be avoiding them. They couldn’t answer their friend because suddenly Kaminari jumped upright- startling the whole table. Jirou and the man in question were sharing a look. Jirou looking exasperated and shifted her eyes from the bag hung across his chair- then at Y/n and then back at Kaminari.

“Oh! Oh!!” Kaminari clapped his hands as if remembering something. He bent down and pulled out an enveloped from his bag- it had the tiniest of stems attached- little clusters of baby’s breath had been sealed to the letter. They looked up from their table with Jirou, Kaminari and Mina and watched Deku from across the lunchroom nudge Sho with a worried look. He just took a breath in and stared at his lap- a content smile on his lips.

“Just ask me Sho…” They thought. Maybe this was his way of asking. Previously- whenever Shoto wanted attention- he never asked- he would pull on their sleeve or tug on their belt loop… maybe he didn’t know how to ask. Either way- Y/n wanted to thank him for his gestures- to give him a gift too- even if it wasn’t as nice as what he gave to them.

“If you asked anything of me- I believe my heart always replies- ‘As you wish.’ You read to me all about Buttercup’s requests of Westly- I myself have a request of you if it is not too much. Would you be willing to meet with me at my dorm this evening?”

- Your secret admirer

And when they looked up- Sho was gone from his seat with Deku and Iida.

Tomorrow was Valentines- and y/n had spent so much time worrying whether Todoroki would ask them that they didn’t even have a gift for him. Needless to say- they skipped final period to go out and get something.

That night Y/n was nervous- “Pull yourself together” they told themselves- they’d dated over a year and yet it was still a bit nerve wracking to see him. They didn’t really get all that dressed up- just changed out of their uniform into something comfortable and made their way to Shotos dorm room. They had his gift in a small bag and while they knew he would love anything they gave him- it didn’t feel like enough. Simply him reflecting on the moments they had shared had warmed Y/n’s heart to no end.

Romance novels were sort of a part of their relationship- a little thing Shoto had never experienced before they had the chance to become close. And when y/n heard such a horrible truth? They made it a mission to read to him all their favorite stories.

They twisted their ring and took a deep breath- “It’s just Sho…” they told themselves before they knocked.

Instantly the door swung open- as if Shoto had waited for them to knock- “You’re here” he said softly- his hair was fluffier than normal, spread across his eyes- he had also changed out of his school uniform.

“Yeah” is all they could muster- eyes falling on his expression. He looked so good even when he didn’t mean to.

He slowly took a step forward and tugged on their waistband. Pulling them into his room. It smelled like wood and varnish inside- within the brief second in the room they spotted the books laying on his desk. Pride and Prejudice- Hamlet- and The Princess Bride were all neatly set in a pile next to his laptop- behind those were some other stories y/n had shown him- The Notebook, Anne of Green Gables and The Phantom of The Opera were set on his wall.

He grabbed their face- “Y/n” he cleared his throat-

“I’ve been meaning to ask you- and seeing as- “He pulls his finger from their pants elastic- his hand messily grasped at their sleeve before tightly grasping it and then letting it go. He looked at the clock on the wall and faltered- “seeing as- I have three and a half hours before well- you know- I think its best to ask- the thing? You know- Tomorrow is Valentines day and I was wondering if you wanted to stay- with- stay here… with me- until then. So, we could spend the day together?” Somehow his hand had gone back to their sleeve and was shyly tugging on it.

“Oh right!!” he let go. “What I meant was, would you be my Valentine?”

And the hand holding Shotos gift let go somehow and had pulled him in by his neck.

And you know, it really was just like the books. Time slowed down and it was so warm, and they didn’t want to move- so they didn’t.

They pulled away “Yes, yes that would be just perfect.” And then Shoto pulled them back in again by the shoulders and quietly murmured, “oh thank goodness.”

#my hero academia #baku no hero academia #bnha fanfiction #mha x reader #todoroki x reader #bnha x reader #todoroki x y/n #bnha shoto todoroki #shoto x y/n #todoroki fluff #bakugou x reader #bnha bakugo katsuki #todoroki fanfic #shoto x reader #hawks x y/n #hawks x reader #dabi x reader #shoto todoroki x reader #katsuki x reader

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machihunnicutt · 6 years ago

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whoops i kind of failed fic-vember (so have an Anne fic)

Hey ya’ll. Finals happened and then the holidays happened and I gave up on the last week or two of fic-vemeber. Here’s an Anne fic to say sorry.

Like My Heart is Hitting the Ground

(Or read on ao3.)

Anne had been firm in her demand not to work the same shifts as one Gilbert Blythe. She’d managed to get away with it, most of the time, eyieng the schedule every time her manager made it and adjusting her availability as needed. Her intense dislike of Gilbert (Diana called it a grudge but Diana wasn’t there at the inciting moment) began his first day on the job, when, while she was dusting a new batch of scones with powdered sugar, he pulled her braid and called her “carrots.” He got a face full of powdered sugar in retaliation.

But it was Christmas (and therefore winter break at the university) and Anne and Gilbert were the only two in town to run the shop.

“This will work out just fine if you stay over there and I stay over here,” Anne said, gesturing to the imaginary line that divided the back of Avonlea Coffee and Bakery.

Gilbert’s dark eyebrow rose into the mess of curls that fell over his forehead. “So I take all the orders and you’ll make everything.”

“Yes, exactly.”

“What if you need help with something?”

“I won’t,” she said, tightly. “I can handle myself.”

“I didn’t say you couldn’t, Anne,” Gilbert said, meeting her eyes. She hated it when he did that. It reminded her that Gilbert Blythe wasn’t bad to look at. He had a crooked, self-satisfied sort of smile and his gaze was effortlessly warm and guarded by long lashes. And if she was being completely honest with herself (which she wasn’t, she usually counted on Diana for honesty) he was entirely her type: big knitted hand-me-down sweaters, dark cuffed jeans, Converse, messy hair, and a plastic watch with a million pre-set alarms. Anne was attracted to exclusively nerdy wannabe hipsters.

Gilbert Blythe had apologized for the carrots incident, profusely in fact, but Anne wasn’t in the habit of trusting too easily.

“Good, then count the cash in the register and I’ll wipe down the counters,” she said.

“The spray bottles are on my side.”

“Fine, will you please hand me a spray bottle Gilbert Blythe?”

“Why do you do that?”

“What? Say please?” She crossed her arms over her chest and planted her feet firmly on the tile. Her apron had a few leftover stains and one of her braids was starting to come undone, but she maintained her show of authority.

“Call me by my full name, like it’s some sort of comic book name,” he frowned.

“I don’t know what you’re referring to,” she replied.

“You know, Bruce Wayne, Clark Kent, Peter Parker, Charles Xavier...Gilbert Blythe,” his mouth quirked up into half a smile and Anne rolled her eyes.

“Give me the bottle, Wonder-boy,” she said, and he obliged. “And to answer your question, I’m just trying to maintain a professional work environment.” She began wiping down the countertops, briskly, with the intention of ending this conversation.

“Could’ve fooled me, Anne Shirley-Cuthbert.”

Anne had started working at Avonlea Coffee her second semester as an education major at the university. Her scholarships covered housing and a good portion of her tuition, and Marilla and Matthew had sent her off with enough money for textbooks, but she realized her summer job savings weren’t going to cut it the hard way. The second week of spring semester her card got declined when she was buying groceries. Luckily she was there with Diana (angel among men), who covered for her. The next day she sent out a slew of applications. Now she’d been at the shop for two and a half years.

“Welcome to Avonlea Coffee and Bakery. What can we get started for you?” Gilbert’s smile when greeting customers managed to hide the bags beneath his eyes.

“I can’t believe you’re open on Christmas,” the woman at the counter said. She was the twelfth to say so in the last two hours. Nevertheless, Anne had a steady stream of orders to make.

“If you want to switch, let me know,” Gilbert said, halfway through the shift. It was the third instance of Wham’s “Last Christmas” on the shop’s holiday playlist and Anne was tired.

Gilbert was counting the remaining scones in the case. They were down to five and she desperately hoped she wouldn’t have reason to put in another batch.

Outside it had begun to snow, big white clumps that reminded her of walking in Green Gables, at dawn when the snow was heavy and untouched, blanketing the grass.

She hadn’t been back to Green Gables since school started, though she called Marilla and Matthew at least once a week. She’d tried to get them set up on FaceTime, but neither was technologically savvy enough to complete a successful video call. The longer she was away the more her gable room showed up in her dreams: fluffy white comforter that smelled of lavender and detergent, tiny wood desk where she’d studied for her slew of AP exams, Marilla’s lacy curtains that just managed to keep the sunshine out in the morning, and of course the cherry blossoms outside.

“Do you have a ride home? Or are you walking in all that?” Gilbert asked. He looked out at the icy sidewalks and she watched his jaw tighten.

“I’m walking, but I’ll be fine. Thank you,” she replied.

“Are you sure? I’d be happy to...”

“What brings you to the Christmas day shift, Gilbert Blythe?” She interrupted.

“Oh,” he blinked. “Well, I could use the extra money.”

“You’re not going home for break?”

He shook his head and looked back down at the scones. “My dad died earlier this year and I...I sold the house, so I don’t really have a home to go back to. I have a friend back in my hometown, Bash, who invited me to stay with him and his wife for the holidays, but I thought it would be easier and cheaper to just stay here and pick up some extra shifts.”

“I’m sorry,” Anne said. “I didn’t know.”

He laughed nervously. “It’s fine. It’s good to be here when campus is empty, I can catch up on studying. Pre-med and all that. What are you doing here, Anne?”

“My...Matthew, my guardian, is sick and we don’t really have the money to spare for me to fly home. He’s fine, getting better I know, but having a whole big Christmas at home would be a lot right now and I didn’t want to cause my adoptive parents any trouble. Of course they protested.”

“Of course,” Gilbert smiled. “Who wouldn’t want to spend Christmas with Anne Shirley-Cuthbert?”

Anne rolled her eyes and turned away to restock the paper cups and hide the blush spreading over her face. The shop was just warm. “Are you all alone then?” She asked, after a moment.

“My roommates have all left for home, so yes,” he said.

Anne thought about Gilbert Blythe all alone in his apartment, pouring bowls of cold cereal or opening cans of Red Bull, or whatever sad, lonely, study food he ate.

“Well, if you like you can join my roommates and I. We’re all still in town and decided to do our own Christmas. They’re both working today too, so we saved the gift giving for tonight.”

“I don’t want to intrude.”

“You wouldn’t be,” she shot back, suddenly hell-bent on keeping Gilbert Blythe from a Christmas alone. It was sad enough not to have a home to go back to. “Join us, please.”

The front door bell dinged and another wave of customers came in out of the cold, putting the conversation on hold for a moment.

“What do you think?” Anne asked. It was nearly closing and she was halfway through cleaning the espresso machine.

“Okay,” Gilbert said. “If I can drive you.”

“Deal,” Anne said, extending her hand to shake his.

“You’re on my side,” he said.

***

Gilbert Blythe started work at Avonlea Coffee and Bakery at the beginning of his junior year. It was his second job. He worked assorted evenings at the automotive garage down the street from his apartment, and divided his remaining time between a full schedule of classes, homework, and the occasional handful of hours of sleep.

The day he met Anne Shirley-Cuthbert she had flour on her freckled nose and was expertly crafting a latte. She didn’t pay him any attention as their boss trained him, and continued to effectively ignore him the first shift they worked together.

“Do you know Anne very well?” He asked his co-workers during their break. Billy and Charlie were vaping in the alley beside the shop. He sidestepped clouds of vapor and tapped his foot.

“She’s bossy. She’s worked here forever,” Billy said. “I hear she’s got a whole orphan sob story. I’d keep my distance if I were you.”

“Not much to look at anyway,” Charlie put in.

Gilbert considered this for a moment. “Well, I should be getting back.”

“We have five more minutes,” Billy said.

“I know, I’d just rather spend my break inside, and not with you two.”

He tugged on her braid to get her attention. Childish? Absolutely. But he couldn’t think of another way, and he’d never purported to have the best judgment.

He hadn’t worked with Anne much since, but he’d seen her at the end of her shifts, when he took over for her. She was great with customers; she knew all the regulars by their orders and their names. She added special touches to all the cakes she decorated: buttercream roses, dainty chocolate work, tufts of spun sugar. And Anne always looked pretty in a way that he had to try really hard not to stare at all the time. When it was warmer she wore long, flowy, floral dresses that fell to her knees and clashed with her heavy work boots. In the winter she wore the same dresses with tights and cardigans and long scarves wrapped around her neck. Her hair was almost always braided. He’d seen it down once, curled on her birthday when their boss had brought her a box of her favorite lemon cupcakes.

“You can turn here,” Anne said. She was in the passenger seat. Her dress was red with tiny black flowers. The navy cardigan and coat she had over it nearly swallowed her small frame. “My house is on the right."

This was a pity invite, he knew, but there was still something exciting about Christmas with Anne. Maybe they were turning over a new leaf.

Anne scooped up the box of discount pastries she’d salvaged and led him up the steps to her house.

“Anne’s home!” He heard a call from the kitchen and a woman with dark hair and unevenly cut bangs looked back at them. She was stirring a pot of something that smelled like apples and cinnamon and she seemed to be Anne’s stylistic opposite: heavy eyeliner, dark turtleneck and pencil skirt, nose piercing, and ruby red lipstick. “Oh, hello. Who’s this?” She said.

“Diana Barry, this is my co-worker Gilbert Blythe. Gilbert, meet my roommate Diana.”

“Gilbert,” Diana repeated, giving Anne a look Gilbert couldn’t read. “Nice to meet you.”

“Likewise,” he replied.

“He’s joining our band of stranded misfits for the evening,” Anne said. “If that’s alright.”

“It’s alright with me. Just be warned that Jerry’s on his third glass of rosé already, and quite torn up about his most recent breakup.”

“Jerry’s an international student. His family's in Paris. He doesn’t fly home for breaks usually,” Anne explained.

“And my family’s abroad in London,” Diana said. “A trip they planned before they knew I’d paid for January term classes already. Either way, it’s much nicer to be with my lovely Anne.”

“It’s much nicer to be alone together,” Anne concluded.

“Alone?” Came a strangled howl from the living room.

“Anne, will you tell Monsieur Heartbreak that this apple cider will be done in five minutes and he better have his present for me wrapped by then?”

Gilbert followed Anne into the living room to see her other roommate sprawled face down on the couch. He turned his head toward them when they came in and moaned.

“Anne of Green Gables how could you bring a new beau to this sacred gathering of singles?”

“He isn’t,” Anne said, at the same time as Gilbert said “I’m not.”

Jerry rolled onto his back and put his head in his hands. “I am destined for suffering.”

“Wrap your present for Diana. Cider’s ready in 5 minutes. This is Gilbert, my co-worker. Please refrain from regaling him with stories of the many sorority girls who have broken your heart until I get back. I need to get my presents from my room.”

Diana brought the cider and offered Gilbert a glass of rosé, which he accepted along with the ten minute recounting of Jerry’s failed relationship. Anne came back and sat next to him on the couch. They all had wine and cider and cookies that Anne made with a recipe from home. Diana ordered pizza and over the exchange of gifts Gilbert learned a number of things:

1) Diana was a music student who studied classical piano for class but made her own songs on synth and guitar in her spare time. She came out as a lesbian last year and went to her first Pride with Anne that summer. Thus her gifts from Anne and Jerry were (respectively) a framed photo of Anne and Diana covered in glitter with bright grins and pride flags, and a pair of musical note earrings.

2) Jerry was an English major, despite the fact that he was dyslexic and it was his second language. He met Anne freshman year in their professor’s office hours and had had a spirited debate about Jane Eyre, which they continued over lunch every week while she edited his (otherwise excellent) essays for typos. He had the unfortunate habit of falling for sorority sisters and writing them embarrassing poetry that often found unsympathetic audiences on ex-girlfriend’s Instagrams post-breakup. Anne got him a mug covered in Brontë quotes and Diana got him a journal and a mood ring she insisted was stuck on “love struck.”

3) Anne’s friends really cared about her. They got her a joint gift, a silver heart locket that made her face light up when she opened it. “For all your love, kindred spirit,” Diana said. Gilbert couldn’t take his eyes off of her.

“Could you do the clasp for me?” She asked him.

“Of course.”

Anne swept her curtain of red hair from her neck and Gilbert undid the clasp and put the necklace on her. He had some trouble doing the clasp up again because his hands were suddenly very sweaty and Jerry, seated next to Diana and thoroughly drunk by now, started laughing as Gilbert could feel his face heating up.

“I’m cutting you off, Jerry,” Anne said as Gilbert finished with the clasp. “I’m going to put on some music,” Anne said. She rose to her feet and turned around to look at the three of them. Her form was glowing in the light from the kitchen and her hair became a halo of orangey light around her head. “Any requests?”

Gilbert shook his head dumbly and Anne disappeared into the kitchen.

“Mon amie, you are gone on her. I can tell,” Jerry said. He got up with Diana and the two of them began swaying to the song Anne had chosen.

“I’m not...I don’t...”

“Oh leave him alone,” Diana put in. She winked at Gilbert.

Anne had returned. “What do you think? It’s my usual playlist.”

She outstretched her hands and pulled him up off the couch. “Do you dance, Gilbert Blythe?” She asked. Her face was flushed too, no doubt from the wine, and she held him by his waist.

“Sometimes...” he muttered.

“I’ll have you know that tonight means nothing in the grand scheme of things.”

“The scheme of things meaning you’re always going to be angry with me?”

“If you keep giving me reasons to be,” she said, but she was smiling.

“What song is this?” Gilbert said. His head was buzzing.

“It’s called Townie,” Anne said. “I put Mitski on all my playlists.”

“We rotate,” Diana said. “Whenever we’re all together and need to play music.”

“Like at work,” Gilbert said.

“Like at work,” Anne repeated.

There's a party and we're all going And we're all growing up.

Anne swayed close to him. “I’m sorry, again, by the way. For pulling your hair like a grade schooler. I really didn’t want to get off on the wrong foot with you.”

Somebody's driving and he will be drinking And no one's going back.

“You didn’t?” She asked. “I was sure Billy and his goons had turned you against me.

'Cause we've tried hungry and we've tried full and nothing seems enough.

“Billy’s a dumbass."

So tonight, tonight The boys are gonna go for More more more.

“Well I guess we can agree on one thing.”

And I want a love that falls as fast As a body from the balcony, and I want a kiss like my heart is hitting the ground.

I'm holding my breath with a baseball bat, though I don't know what I'm waiting for. I am not gonna be what my daddy wants me to be.

The rest of the night blurred out in a haze of laughter, dizzy dancing around the living room, and Jerry pulling him aside to lecture him in slurred, half-French about the perils of love.

“Merry Christmas Gilbert Blythe,” Anne said, as she saw him off.

“Merry Christmas.”

***

The next week Anne and Gilbert had more shifts together. When it was his turn to pick the music Anne heard Mitski on his playlists, in between his old music.

“Why is it that all of your music sounds like it belongs in a 50s diner?”

“Hey, I don’t complain about your music.”

“Yeah, because my music’s good,” Anne said. She was assembling a batch of macaroons as quickly as she could. Since Christmas they’d been engaging in a number of competitive games. Right now it was timed macaroon preparation. Yesterday it was who could make the most complicated latte art.

“I’ve got to beat you now since you beat me yesterday.”

Gilbert leaned against the counter beside her. “What did you expect, Anne? A doctor has to have steady hands.”

“Yeah, yeah, time! How fast was that, Gil?”

“Gil?” Gilbert repeated, smile growing wide on his stupid face. “Since when do I have a nickname?”

“You don’t! I...didn’t. Did I beat you?”

Gilbert glanced down at the time. “You got me, Anne. Well done.”

As it had turned out, Gilbert Blythe wasn’t the absolute worst. The past couple of times they’d worked together she’d let him drive her home. He had one of those tree shaped air fresheners hanging from his mirror; it smelled like apples and cinnamon. He always cranked the heat up to make sure she wasn’t cold, though she never was. That’s what Gilbert Blythe was becoming to her: apple cinnamon and warmth, wrapping her up as he turned into her driveway.

“Do you have plans for New Years?” He asked.

“Diana’s spending the night with her girlfriend and Jerry’s with his French friends. They both said I could tag along but I don’t want to feel like the odd one out,” Anne said. She’d been the odd one out against her will for years; she wasn’t about to do it voluntarily.

“Well, if you want...I mean I was going to ask you if...uh, if you wanted to come to my place for New Years, in exchange for Christmas.”

“You don’t owe me anything.”

“I know that. I’m just...” he flushed. “Asking, Anne. I didn’t really have a plan. Pizza, probably, and champagne, watching the festivities on TV.”

“And at midnight?” She met his eyes.

“At midnight I can drive you home,” he said quickly.

“Okay,” Anne said, before her brain fully processed what she was agreeing to. She didn’t want to ring in the new year by herself, not when every day of the past year had been nothing but work (good, rewarding, exhausting work) and the coming year promised more of the same.

“Okay?” Gilbert replied. “That easy? I thought I was going to have to bribe you.”

Anne rolled her eyes. “Don’t make me change my mind.”

Diana insisted that Gilbert Blythe’s invitation was more than it seemed.

“He obviously likes you,” she said, sprawled on Anne’s bed playing Nintendogs on her beat up DS.

“He’s my friend,” Anne said, flipping through the hangers in her closet.

“Then why are you so concerned about your outfit?”

Anne sighed.

“It’s okay if you like him too, you know?” Diana sat up and looked at her. “I know you think you don’t have time for romance, with school and work and Green Gables, but you deserve something all consuming and tender and warm and...” Diana trailed off. They’d known each other for years. Maybe Diana knew her better than Anne knew herself. “I don’t mean to pry. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” she said. “Thank you. Happy new year.”

Diana hugged her goodbye. Anne stared at herself in her bathroom mirror and debated whether or not to put on red lipstick. When she was younger she’d look in the mirror and hate her face: mud splatter of freckles, tired eyes, fiery hair framing her features. Now she and her face were on better terms. Would lipstick tonight be overkill? She looked at herself intently. An all consuming love, that’s what Diana had said. Anne smiled, and put on the lipstick.

***

Anne sat cross legged on Gilbert’s couch with a breadstick in one hand and wine glass in the other. He tried not to grin.

“What? Why are you looking at me like that?” She said, but she was smiling. There was a crescent of lipstick on her glass’s rim. “I thought you were making dessert.”

“About that...” he said, taking a seat beside her. He held up a package of Oreos. “I’m not much of a baker on my own time.”

She laughed and selected a cookie from the package. “I’ve got you beat in the desert arena then. I make pies back at Green Gables.”

It was 11:30. She’d spent part of the night teasing him for the poorly hidden heap of laundry in his bedroom and overly animated voice on the phone when ordering pizza, part of it playing cards and watching TV with him at his living room coffee table, and part telling him stories of Green Gables.

“I’m sorry my New Years is so boring,” he said. On TV crowds were huddled in the snow, waving noisemakers and throwing confetti.

“It’s not,” she said. She moved so her shoulder was pressed to his on the couch. “Thanks for having me. It’s nice not to be alone. I wanted to have the holidays at home this year. I feel like all I do is work and go to class now, like I'm racing to an invisible finish line. It’s hard to be away. And with Matthew sick I...anyway, thanks.”

"And what if you get to the finish line and it isn't everything you thought it would be?" Gilbert added. "I know the feeling." He sucked in a breath. “It’s the first holiday without my dad,” he said. “I’m glad I’m not alone either.”

Anne put her hand over his. It was small and warm and he didn’t move a muscle for fear she would take it back.

“What’s that song?” He muttered. “That Mitski song, from Christmas?”

“It’s called Townie,” she replied.

“Do you want to listen to it? Would you dance with me, Anne? Like at Christmas?"

She looked over at him and smiled. “It’s nearly midnight, Gil.”

He’d become Gil, so quickly, without either of them knowing. He’d become someone she looked at softly. She’d become someone who made his heart feel like it was jumping around in his chest.

“But okay,” she said.

He didn’t know when the clock struck midnight. He was swaying with Anne in his living room. Her head was on his shoulder. His heart was hitting the ground. When the song was over she tilted her head up to blink at him.

“I have to work tomorrow,” she said. “At 7, But I don’t even care.”

“Can I kiss you, Anne Shirley-Cuthbert?”

“Yes, Gil, you can.”

He did, and she kissed him back. He took her face in his hands and kissed her for a long time. It still felt too short.

“You have lipstick on your face,” she told him. Her own face was flushed and her lipstick was smudged. “Happy new year.”

“Happy new year, Anne,” he said. He could hear fireworks, but it could just be in his head. It was a firework kind of night, new year or no new year.

“It’s going to be a good one,” she said. “I have a feeling.”

#anne with an e #shirbert #anne with an e fic #anne shirley cuthbert #gilbert blythe #diana barry #jerry baynard #coffee shop au #fic-vember 2018 #awi's fic #anne shirley/gilbert blythe

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theconservativebrief · 6 years ago

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When Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone came out in the United States 20 years ago, it changed the way we thought about children’s books. Under Harry’s influence, kids’ books got longer. They got more prestigious. They became culturally inescapable. And for a generation of writers, the Harry Potter books became foundational texts, ones to refer to again and again to figure out what their next book should look like.

Vox spoke to seven writers via email about their memories of growing up on Harry Potter, and how the books influenced their own writing. In their own words, here’s how Harry Potter changed the next generation of writers.

The following comments have been lightly edited for length and clarity.

Lee’s gay Regency road trip novel A Gentleman’s Guide to Vice and Virtue was one of the most charming books of 2017, and its sequel will come out in October.

My strongest memory of Harry Potter is listening to the audiobooks narrated by Jim Dale. I was a big audiobook reader as a kid, and I used to carry a little cassette player all around the house, listening to Harry Potter over and over again until I could recite passages from memory. I also remember going to a release party for the fourth book, where my sister and I made her a Fluffy the three-headed dog costume and she won second prize in the costume contest!

My other biggest Harry Potter memory is when the seventh book came out, my family made a pact we’d all read it together. But I couldn’t wait! My mom was keeping a close eye on the book to make sure no one read ahead, so in order to sneak it away, I swapped the dust jacket with another fantasy novel and pretended to be reading that one instead. And it worked! She didn’t know until I told her years later!

I feel like Harry Potter is always with me, and always with everything I create. I’m constantly chasing the feeling those books give me in everything I write, and hoping that someday someone will love my work even a smidge as much as I love Harry Potter.

Robson is an internationally best-selling author of historical romances. Her new book The Gown comes out in December.

My sister put the first book in my hands a year or two after it was first published. I read it straight through without stopping, and then I turned to the first page and read it all over again. When my now-teenage son was still very little, probably no more than 4 or 5, I read the first three books aloud to him at bedtime over the course of a year or so. I simply couldn’t wait any longer to introduce him to the world Rowling had created.

The clarity of [Rowling’s] vision continues to astonish and inspire me. She saw, right from the beginning, where the great arc of the series would lead Harry and his friends, and she knew exactly how those thousands of puzzle pieces would fit together. I also adore Harry himself, not least because he reminds me of another orphan who only wanted to be loved and have a place to belong and a family to call her own: Anne Shirley [of Anne of Green Gables].

For me, Rowling herself is the inspiration. I’d dreamed of writing a book for years, but for one reason or another I kept putting it off. And then, late one night when I was up with my weeks-old daughter, I watched a documentary about Rowling, and how difficult her life was before the great success of Harry Potter. She wrote her first book without any of the supports that many people would consider essential to such a grand endeavor: no supportive partner, no child care, no money for things like a computer or research trips or even a nice cup of coffee at the end of a bad day. She kept going through the bad days; she never gave up. I started writing my first book the next morning.

Knisley is an author and illustrator who reimagined each Harry Potter book as a poster-length comic. Her new book Kid Gloves comes out in February.

I was that cool kid who had a book club with my sixth-grade teacher. We’d trade books that we thought the other would like all through elementary school and into high school. In my freshman year of high school, she sent me the first Harry Potter book. It was the last book she ever sent me, but it was probably one of the most long-lived gifts I ever received.

[Harry Potter] celebrates everyone’s differences. We love the characters because of their individuality and strengths, and that they can find a place for themselves. I was a lonely, awkward kid who changed schools quite a lot (a Neville, if you will) but I recognized this world in the book as a place where everyone, oddball or misfit or even bratty narcissist included, could find their home.

I think Harry Potter has given all of us something to strive for — a world so beloved and complete that people of all ages get lost in the pages. I’d love to be able to write a book like that someday.

Matharu became a YA fantasy sensation on the fanfic website Wattpad. His book The Summoner’s Handbook comes out in October.

I was first given Harry Potter at around the age of 9. It was right before the series became a phenomenon — I hadn’t heard of it before. When I read Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone for the first of many times, in my eyes, it was like any other book.

That was before I started reading it. I became an instant fan — I loved every page, and immediately begged my mother for a trip to the bookshop to purchase the second one when I finished it. After that, I was one of the many readers who had the release date of the next book written in my diary, and would queue up with my parents outside the bookstore, waiting for the doors to open. I count myself lucky to be in the first generation of Harry Potter fans.

J.K. Rowling lived and breathed the world of Harry Potter, and that was plain on the page. You believed it when you read it. And perhaps most important of all, it was a world you wished you could live in. I stayed up all night on my 11th birthday, waiting in hope for an owl to deliver my Hogwarts acceptance letter.

Of course, now I know that Muggle-born children don’t receive owls — a teacher from Hogwarts arrives at their door with the letter, to explain everything to their parents. It’s that kind of attention to detail that made the world of Harry Potter so special.

It’s no coincidence that my own first novel takes place in a boarding school setting, where teenagers learn to control their powers. Harry Potter’s Hogwarts is one close to my heart, and it inspired me to make my own magical school. That being said, [mine is] more of a military academy. Training involves learning how to fight as military officers, in a war against the savage orcs of the Southern Jungles.

The magic is also very different; no wands or broomsticks here. But even here, Rowling’s influence can be seen — students’ powers involve summoning demons from another plane of existence. These demons are magical creatures inspired by world mythologies, not unlike Rowling’s own bestiary of fantastic beasts.

Along with his brother, young adult author and icon John Green, Green is one half of the YouTube power duo Vlogbrothers, the founder of VidCon, and a longtime member of Harry Potter fandom. His debut novel An Absolutely Remarkable Thing comes out this month.

The way we loved Harry Potter while the books were coming out was so good and big and pure, and the fact that some of the younger, nerdier parts of the internet were simultaneously on the rise can’t really be separated from each other. The community and passion of the Harry Potter fandom was, for a lot of people, how their experience of the internet began. That community was vital to my growth not just as a creator but as a compassionate, thoughtful citizen of the internet. Weird, but true.

Lam is the author of the critically acclaimed YA fantasy series the Micah Grey trilogy and the Pacifica series.

My best friend since I was 6 thrust the first book into my hands when I was 11 or so. I devoured the first three books and became an instant fan. I waited in line at midnight for the next book release, dressing up. When a new film came out, my mom would let my brother and me play hooky and we’d go watch a matinee showing. In a roundabout way, I met my husband and moved to Edinburgh, the birthplace of Harry Potter, through the books too, because he was a troll on a Harry Potter Yahoo chatroom that me and my friends posted on (it’s a long, nerdy story).

My favorite thing about the books is the sense of magic. It was pure escapism. It didn’t matter that if you thought too hard about certain things about the world, it didn’t exactly make sense. Because it was such a wide phenomenon, it was fantasy that all my friends also read. It was my first fandom, where I read fanfic and started thinking about where else the world could go and who else could live within them. I was especially drawn to fanfic about the marginalized that didn’t show up that often at Hogwarts — the queer and POC characters, for example.

I once uploaded two chapters of a Harry Potter fanfic called The Black Cat. I have zero recollection of what it was about — I only know the title because I referred to it in my teen diary. It’s better lost to time. My first love is fantasy, and that’s what I started writing. Harry Potter’s influence has creeped into my Micah Grey trilogy, starting with Pantomime. Micah runs away to a magical circus to escape his stifling real life, changing gender presentation within the process. There’s even a trio — Micah is definitely the Gryffindor. Cyan is Ravenclaw. Drystan is Slytherin but with a little bit of hidden Hufflepuff. I’ll always be thankful to Rowling for the magic.

Spieller is a literary agent and author of the YA novel Your Destination Is on the Left. She recently revealed her Harry Potter allegiances via Book Twitter’s version of fuck/marry/kill: “Write Gryffindor. Edit Ravenclaw.”

I heard Harry Potter before I read it. My seventh-grade computer teacher read the first chapter to the class, then helped us build basic HTML websites inspired by the story. I remember a lot of pixelated, rotating witches’ brooms …

My favorite thing about the books is how they make me feel. Reading even a single line takes me back to childhood, when all I wanted was to receive my Hogwarts acceptance letter via owl. J.K. Rowling makes Harry’s world feel lived-in and real by including lots of small details. I try to do that with my own books.

Original Source -> 7 authors tell us how 20 years of Harry Potter shaped their lives

via The Conservative Brief

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