#anne with an e headcanons | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

bealovesmarauders · 1 year

Text

paper rings // gilbert blythe

or,

the 4 times gilbert blythe fell in love with you, and the 1 time he knew he’d do it all over again

⋆ ࣪. ⁺⑅ ⋰˚ *.ﾟ .˳⁺⁎˚ ˚⁎⁺˳ . ༺ ˖

gilbert blythe x fem!reader

wc: 5.7k

i like shiny things, but i’d marry you with paper rings

a/n: trying something new here! i’ve never used this format (five times // one time- i tweaked it to make it four and one since i’m exhausted) so i hope you all enjoy <3 also fair warning that this is not historically accurate. but i actually spend my summers in PEI (and have for my entire life) so i think my portrayal of the environment at least is good! also, this is rushed as per usual :)

⋆ ࣪. ⁺⑅ ⋰˚ *.ﾟ .˳⁺⁎˚ ˚⁎⁺˳ . ༺ ˖

one. when he walked you home from school.

the late june air was sticky in the avonlea schoolhouse, clinging to skin, beads of sweat gathering by brows. sunlight spilled through the windows, and even billy andrews couldn’t muster enough enthusiasm to tease anyone in this heat. pinafores too heavy for this weather, the girls gathered in one corner, pretending to read the excerpt mr phillips had picked out for today, but in honesty, you were all just complaining about the summer heat.

“i can’t wait until i have my hair up,” ruby gillis sighed, casting a longing glance across the room towards the boys. “my ribbon does suit my complexion, of course- but it’s much too hot in summer to have my hair down.”

murmurs of agreement spread throughout your little group. “i tried it one time,” whispered anne dramatically, “when marilla was away. it was rather romantic, but the pins hurt a great deal.”

sitting in between jane andrews and tillie boulter, you tried not to zone out. gaze drifting across the classroom, you caught gilbert blythe’s eye from where he was sitting with the boys, and he shot you a quick smile. you gave him a shy one back, and looked away before you could blush. you’d known gilbert forever- his family was close to yours- but something had changed recently, and you couldn’t quite put your finger on it.

mr. phillips finally dismissed the class, and in a rush of rowdiness, the boys all excused themselves from the schoolhouse, whooping and hollering about a potential skinny dip in the wild waves. in a flurry of giggles and secrets, your friends gathered their books and rushed outside (in a rather unladylike manner- but it was summer and the world was their oyster, so who cared). you knew diana was hosting a tea party over the weekend- complete with ice cream, she’d said!- but as far as you knew, there were no plans for tonight, save the beach trip the boys had talked about. trying your best to avoid the heat for as long as possible, you lingered in the coatroom, taking the time to adjust your hat into place. but you weren’t alone, and you startled as a familiar face appeared over your shoulder.

“gilbert,” you said, his name sweet on your tongue. “you’re not going to the beach with billy?”

he shook his head. “i’m not quite in the mood for that today. but i was wondering. do you want- can i- would you like some company on your walk home?”

heart in your throat, you looked at the boy you’d known your whole life. was gilbert blythe asking to walk you home? you nodded wordlessly, and his eyes immediately softened. there was a nervousness you’d never seen in him before, a cautiousness, as if he were treading on eggshells and was terrified to break them. “i- i’d love that, gilbert, thank you.” a smile slowly spread across his face, and you seemed to see him in a new light. noticing the things you hadn’t before. the softness of his dark eyes and the way they sparkled. the gentle curve of his jaw. the way he smelled like rosemary and mint soap and the blythe farm’s apple orchard, mixed with a hint of cinnamon. the way gilbert blythe was the prettiest boy you’d ever seen.

“great,” he said, finally breaking you out of your reverie. “i wouldn’t want you to get heatstroke, after all. it’d be ungentlemanly of me to let you go home without making sure you’re alright in this heat.”

your stomach erupted with butterflies, and you walked in silence with him as you left the schoolhouse. treading along the path, your footsteps settled into the same rhythm, and eventually gilbert spoke, his voice clear among the songbirds and crickets.

“how’s your family? i haven’t seen them in a fortnight.”

his tone was proper and gentlemanly, but curious and kind. you looked shyly up at him. gilbert was tall, taller than you, sturdy with broad shoulders and a grin that showed off a lopsided roguishness once in a while on his otherwise serious face. you gripped your books a little tighter, trying to focus your thoughts back to the conversation. “they’re good, thanks for asking. mother’s been wondering about you, though. she’s wanted to drop soup off for your father, but wasn’t sure if he’d appreciate it. it’s been a while since you were over, so she doesn’t know if he still likes biscuits or bone broth.”

gilbert scuffed the ground with his boot a little bit, looking down at you contemplatively. “that’s kind of her,” he said. “he’s barely been able to keep anything down, but he likes soup. i’m not sure about the biscuits, but i’d certainly like some. i wouldn’t mind some of your mother’s plum preserves either. i haven’t had much time to go into town for food lately.”

you’d noticed. there were shadows under his eyes, and he’d always been on the lanky side, but since gilbert had taken on more of the farm work you’d observed his cheeks grow more drawn. his muscles had grown, too- another result of all the wood chopping you knew he was doing- but he lacked energy, and your heart ached for the boy. cicadas chirped as you walked in unison through the path, minding the garden snakes slinking through the tall grass, and an idea sparked in your mind as you passed the field signaling close to home.

“gilbert,” you said thoughtfully, stopping in your tracks. “mother was going to make a layer cake today, with raspberry preserves and clotted cream. i’m sure it’s cooled by now. we can have a little picnic, you and i- we have lemonade at home too, that rachel lynde brought us, and father thinks it’s too tart, so he wants to get rid of it. you can bring some home for your father as well. mother wouldn’t mind, i promise- i can make us a picnic basket, and we can sit in that field.”

gilbert turned towards you, and you couldn’t quite decipher the expression on his face. “i don’t want you to pity me,” he said quietly. “much less drag your family into it.”

“no, no,” you said quickly, fearing he’d interpreted your invitation the wrong way. “just a picnic, to catch up, as friends. we haven’t talked in a while. i miss you.”

he bit his lip. you could almost see the gears turning in his head. “alright,” he said finally. “it’s almost summer, after all. i think- i think i’d like that.”

when you reached your house, your mother was more than happy to oblige, giving gilbert a big hug and fussing over how much taller he’d gotten since the last time she saw him. you cut two pieces of cake and put them on plates in the straw picnic basket along with the bottle of mrs. lynde’s infamous lemonade. your mother even let you bring the crystal glasses used for special occasions- she trusted the both of you well enough to know that you wouldn’t break them. covering up the basket with a red checkered tablecloth, you and gilbert set off again, waving goodbye to your mother and finding a spot in the field where there was a tree with enough shade to sit under. clover and goldenrod and cornstalk bloomed in the field, and the cool, sweet grass tickled the bottom of your dress. gilbert, beside you, leaned back against the tree, his broad shoulder touching yours, and spooned a large amount of cake into his mouth. it was the happiest you’d seen him in months. the thin layer of ruby jelly in between the vanilla layers coloured the cupid’s bow of your lips, and gilbert realized in that moment that he wanted very badly to take you into his arms and kiss you. but the moment was fleeting, and gilbert was left with the idea of love lingering on his mind.

that was the first time gilbert blythe realized he was falling for you.

two. when you showed up on his doorstep in the rain.

rain poured outside, streaking the windows and trickling down the roofs of avonlea’s houses. sorrow hung in the air, and black clothing had dominated the church the day prior. it was not often that avonlea had funerals, and when they were, they were a somber affair, impacting every one of its citizens. especially now. it seemed as though the whole world had watched mr. blythe’s casket descend into the soil, and now the rain was fertilizing it. perhaps flowers would bloom on top of his grave. the entirety of the little town hoped so- anything to bring comfort to the blythe’s only son.

you’d seen gilbert at the funeral, features etched with sorrow, tears brimming at the corners of his eyes. but he’d looked resigned as well- putting on a strong face for those who could not. ruby had sobbed hysterically, as had rachel lynde, and even marilla cuthbert had shed a tear. normally, you would have talked to gilbert. you’d been over the day before mr. blythe had died, bringing with you a sweater you and your mother had knit together to help keep him warm. you’d known his health was declining, but it was even more heart wrenching seeing gilbert that way- expression unmoving, body stiff as he accepted the gift. you’d only had a moment with him before mr. blythe erupted into coughs again- a second in which gilbert’s mask slipped and you truly saw the fear plaguing his mind. you’d wished you could have said something to make it all better. but you hadn’t. you couldn’t.

and now you were on his porch, clutching a package of baking soda biscuits and a small posy of forget-me-nots in your hands. you were shivering from the cold rain, and you’d gotten soaked on the way over, but it was worth it. there seemed to be barely any movement in the gray house- you couldn’t spot any candles lit inside from the windows- and you were wondering if gilbert was even here when all of a sudden the door swung open and he appeared.

his expression was unreadable, brown eyes deep with emotion and seeded in sadness. “hi,” he said. “gil,” you breathed back.

after a moment of silence, the words came back to you. “these are for you,” you said, reaching out. your hands were shaking, and whether they were from nerves or the cold, gilbert couldn’t tell. he took the flowers and the parcel from your outstretched hands, almost unsure what to do with them. “they’re biscuits,” you said, mouth dry, trying to fill the quiet. “mother’s baking soda ones. you mentioned you liked them one time, and we were out of plum preserves, but i-”

“thank you,” gilbert said, and although it sounded slightly robotic, his words felt genuine. you looked at your shoes, unsure of what to say next. your parents had always taught you to say “i’m sorry for your loss” to someone grieving, but the phrase felt too unfamiliar. “i- i’ll leave you to it, then,” you stuttered, backing away from the door and turning to go. you didn’t want to intrude- even if he was your friend. because that’s what you were, right? friends. friends visited during difficult times. friends didn’t want to hug all the sadness out of him. but gilbert’s voice cracked when he spoke next, and you turned around.

“no,” he said clumsily. the words are rushed and jumbled from his mouth, and he stumbles over the next ones too. “please. you’re freezing, and soaking wet. come in.”

up until then, you’d hoped you didn’t look that bad. your straw hat had managed to protect the top of your head, but the rest of your hair was stringy and dripping over your shoulders. your cheeks were also flushed, and even in what should have been a moment focused on his own grief, gilbert found himself worrying that you’d catch pneumonia in this weather. he hadn’t expected anyone to visit today, especially not in a rainstorm.

seeing the concern in his eyes, you realized that walking all the way home in a thunderstorm was probably not such a good idea, so you stepped in cautiously per gilbert’s invitation. the house was warm, but everything seemed dim and gray. the door you knew led to mr. blythe’s bedroom was closed, and you could see gilbert’s eyes darting towards it as well, as if he were praying you wouldn’t say anything. gilbert set down the parcel of biscuits on the kitchen table and looked around for something.

“do you have a vase?” you asked quietly. “i can fill it up with water for you. i thought the forget-me-nots would bring a little light.”

gilbert nodded, but sucked in a breath. you turned to him with a questioning look. “the vase,” he said, voice dry. “it’s in his room. mrs. lynde brought some peonies over while he was still sick, and i didn’t take them out. he’s always hated peonies- he thinks they’re too big and bold. but he would’ve loved these.”

you lightly touched the small forget me not bouquet, felt the soft petals under your fingertips. “you don’t have to use a vase,” you replied softly. “a mug will do.” gilbert stood motionless in the middle of the kitchen, and you maneuvered around him, carefully filling up the pottery with water and placing the flowers in it.

he seemed rooted to the floor, even when he focused his gaze on the posy. your glance met his, and the sorrow was evident. gilbert hadn’t cried at the funeral- you’d never seen him cry. but now tears were brimming at the corners of his soft chocolate eyes, threatening to spill over, and in a moment your body overtook your mind and you had wrapped your arms around gilbert in a hug.

for a moment you regretted it. but then he was hugging you back, clutching your arms, holding onto you as if you were his lifeline. and in a way, you were. you could feel his hot breath on the back of your neck, hear his muffled cries. due to his height, your face was nestled in the crook of gilbert’s neck, and the two of you stayed like that, intertwined, for several long moments.

when gilbert finally pulled away, he knew that for better or for worse, you would be there for him until the day he died.

three. when you exchanged christmas presents in the snow.

to be honest, you hadn’t expected gilbert to come back from the steamer, or trinidad. you’d kept in close correspondence with him, saving the letters he sent you in a special drawer in your writing desk. you memorized his handwriting- the candid tone recalling his tales- the stamps on the envelope. but it still came as a surprise when he’d arrived back.

everything had been awkward at the start, but as soon as gilbert told you all the tales of his travels, you’d slowly slipped back into your old dynamic. there was still a line the both of you were toeing, trying to test out the boundaries between platonic and whatever the two of you were. when you’d met bash, he’d given you a quick wink and told you he’d heard all about you, but other than that, you were positive gilbert just wanted to stay friends. “he can’t love me,” you’d told the avonlea girls a few days prior. “the letters didn’t mean anything, he was just lonely.” but all of them agreed, even ruby- who had been zoning in on moody spurgeon ever since gilbert had left- that there was something more in his words, that it wasn’t all in your head.

and now it was christmas. gilbert, bash, and the shirley-cuthberts had all come for dinner (you’d grown close to anne the past year, and it had taken some convincing but since your father knew matthew so well, marilla had deemed it acceptable). the dinner had been lovely- your mother had brought out all the stops for gilbert and bash- roast goose, scalloped potatoes (island ones, of course), cranberry jelly, chicken pie, spiced gingerbread. flames crackled in the fireplace, biting gusts of wind rattled the windows, and blurred glittery ornaments adorned the pine tree in the center of your living room. dinner was over now, and the adults were gathered around the table and swapping stories of old. anne was there too, heavily engaged in a discussion with bash, but the social aspect was getting to be somewhat exhausting, so you quietly slipped out the back door to have a few moments alone.

in a rather unladylike fashion, you got up and sat on the fence by your house, snowflakes tickling your nose, watching the sun slowly begin to set. hues of pink and orange tinged the sky, and you were surprised you could even see it right now- the weather suggested a cloudy sky. the sound of snow crunching came from behind you, and to your surprise, gilbert was coming towards you. he had his brown cap and his red flannel on, and he looked so cozy that you somehow wished you were cuddled up in his arms. pushing the thought away, you greeted him as he came to sit on the fence beside you.

“enjoying the night so far?”

“quite,” gilbert replied. there was a sparkle in his eyes that danced, one that had been noticeably absent since his father died. you suspected it had something to do with bash’s uncle-like presence, and maybe anne’s too- it was well rumored that he’d fancied her for a while when they’d first met. gilbert looked off into the sunset, puffs of his breath materializing in the cold air, and you shivered involuntarily. he offered you his wool mittens wordlessly, and you gratefully put them on, although they were too big for you.

“oh,” you said, remembering something. he turned towards you, watching you intently as you pulled out a small package from your coat pocket. it was wrapped in festive paper, and you’d written his name on it in swooping calligraphy.

“for me?” gilbert asked. he carefully unfurled the wrapping paper to reveal a small leather bound book embossed with “the complete illustrated medical dictionary (pocket edition)” on the front. “i’ve had it since you left,” you said, breath catching in your throat. “i kept it for you. all this time.”

genuine joy shone in gilbert’s eyes. he flipped through the pages delightedly, marveling at the drawings inside. “thank you,” he grinned. “i actually have something for you too.”

breathlessly, you awaited your gift, snowflakes fluttering down and landing on you. they decorated your hair and its festive ribbon for one fleeting moment before melting, and you swore there was nothing as beautiful as this moment, exchanging gifts with gilbert in the snow, watching the sunset sweep across the dove-gray sky. finally, gilbert found what he was looking for in his pocket, and produced a tiny box.

“it doesn’t look like much,” he warned, “but i found it on my travels. i was waiting to give it to you. i wanted it to be the perfect moment.”

carefully opening the small box, you gasped as the lid revealed a necklace with a pendant. a small silver locket shaped like a heart, the kind one could put a photograph in. “gilbert,” you breathed. “this is- this is beautiful.”

and it was. the locket lay on a delicate chain, and it was engraved intricately, with elaborate designs. your mittened hands fumbled to take it out of the box and inspect it more, but gilbert took it from you with a small smile. “let me help you,” he murmured, and made to fasten it on you. you stood still, hyper aware of how close gilbert’s hands were to your face. his fingers brushed against the back of your neck, securing the necklace, and you caught yourself from flinching. you didn’t know what to say, except for thank you, so you repeated yourself again.

“a thing of beauty is a joy forever,” gilbert quoted, somewhat uncharacteristically. “keats,” he added after a moment, referencing the poet he’d read the phrase from. “i wanted you to have something to remember me by.”

“to remember you by?” you laughed. “what, are you going on the steamer again?”

he could tell the thought sobered you, so he shook his head, shrugging. “no. i just think…you’re a wonderful girl. the loveliest in avonlea.”

“i think you’re wonderful too,” you said shyly, which was about as many words as you could manage right now. the loveliest girl in avonlea? goodness.

the sun had almost set by now, and the sky was turning dark- a good cover for hiding the red tint spreading across your face. “we should go back inside,” you said hurriedly, and the two of you made your way over to the door. you stopped before opening it, basking in the glow of the oil lamp on the porch.

“gilbert, i-”

overcome by sudden anxiety, you handed back his warm mittens. “thank you,” you said, the words lingering on your tongue. “for everything.”

quickly, so fast you almost missed it, gilbert leaned down, brushed a stray wisp of hair away, and pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead. “merry christmas,” he said simply. and then, the two of you went back inside, as if nothing had happened at all.

as soon as you entered, bash noticed the locket and smirked. gilbert shot him a warning look, lest he say anything. the two of you immersed yourself in separate conversations- you with anne, him with marilla and your mother, while matthew silently observed your father and bash discuss politics. but you kept stealing glances at each other as if you were speaking a secret language that only the two of you knew, and each time it filled you with comfort.

it was a cold christmas, but you felt the warmest you had been in a while– and, as luck would have it, so did gilbert.

four. when you climbed a tree.

and so summer rolled around again, fading into august. university loomed on the horizon. childhood was over- gone were the days of butterflies, bumblebees, and scraped knees. yet you could pretend, and so you did.

the soft salt breeze tickled your face, sending a pleasant feeling down your spine. you were with gilbert- on his farm, in the orchard. it was just the two of you- most of avonlea were in charlottetown for the island county fair, granting you the opportunity to do whatever you wanted, since no one was around to see.

so you took advantage of that. no more were the stolen glances, the sneaking around, your only physical touch with gilbert being brushed hands- and even then you’d both deemed it risky. neither of you wanted word to get around yet. sure, there had been rumors and some of your best friends knew (only the ones you were sure wouldn’t spread anything around). but here, now, the world was your oyster. and the two of you soaked it up blissfully.

you were lying on the grass with your head in gilbert’s lap, weaving a flower crown as he read a book- an old poetry collection ms stacy had lent him. the clouds were glorious fluffy shapes in the blue sky, and you pointed them out to gilbert every once in a while. your fingers deftly twined the daisies and their stems, finally tying them all together in a knot, creating a perfect circlet, and setting it teasingly on gilbert’s dark hair.

he smirked, leaving it on. “made it for me?”

“a pretty crown for a pretty boy,” you replied, smiling from your position in his lap. he was solid, sturdy, his hand resting securely on your waist. you felt safe with your body close to his, arms and legs intertwined. and he was pretty- “the prettiest boy in avonlea,” you said, mimicking his words to you from last christmas. he laughed and set the book down, taking the flower crown off and resting it gently on your hair. “it suits you,” gilbert said softly, and he was right.

the two of you stayed like that for a while, absorbing each other’s presence. you charted the rare freckles scattered across the bridge of his nose as if they were constellations, tracing them with the tip of your finger. it tickled him, and he smiled down at you. he finally returned to his book- “i want to read you something”- and blissfully, you obliged, settling down to listen.

“i almost wish we were butterflies and lived but three summer days- three such days with you i could fill with more delight than fifty common years could ever contain,” gilbert read from the poetry collection in his lap, a break from the constant medical anatomy books he was usually seen carrying around. you recognized the fragment of poetry- “keats,” you said, “just like what you said to me last winter. when you gave me the necklace.”

a smile tugged at gilbert’s lips, and you pulled out the locket from under the neckline of your dress to show him. “i’ll never take it off,” you promised him, right then and there. “it’s like a little piece of you with me, all the time.”

“you better not,” he teased. “cost me a fortune, that one. even more than all of those romance books i’m always secretly buying you in town.”

you sat up and shoved him jokingly, tousling his dark curls to purposely peeve him. gilbert’s hair wasn’t tidy all that often, but he’d let it slip once that he always tried to make it look nice for you. struck by a sudden flash of inspiration, you jumped up. “let’s go pick some apples.”

the blythe orchard was infamous for their strawberry apples, the only place in avonlea where they were available. contrary to popular belief, this was simply a variant of apple, and not a strawberry hybrid. all too happy to appease you, gilbert took your hand and led you to the best tree on the land. most of the other boughs were still blooming with apple blossoms, but this tree was different.

he pointed to a low-hanging branch, one blessed with red fruit. “my father always picked the first apple on this tree in august,” he told you, tone contemplative and wistful. “he said this was the tree he kissed my mother under for the first time. he thought if the first apple of the season was picked here, at this tree, it brought the harvest luck.”

nostalgia flickered in gilbert’s eyes, and you knew he was missing his father more than usual. “let’s do it, then,” you said, finding your voice, fingers delicately intertwined with his- giving his hand a gentle squeeze. “we’ll each pick one. in honor of him. a new tradition.”

the words you’d spoken may have been simplistic, but to gilbert they meant the world. without his father, it had been so incredibly difficult at first to do anything- carry on old traditions, much less creating new ones. but here you were, by his side, looking up at him with adoring eyes, and giving him the opportunity to heal and grow. gilbert knew he could never put into words how much it truly meant to him.

you let him go first, watching him scamper up the tree like a squirrel. he seemed a boy again, plucking an apple from the highest bough and descending nimbly. when you started climbing, you found your footing easily, but doubt wracked your mind- imagine the horrors if mrs. lynde and her posse heard about this, climbing trees like a chimpanzee! - and so you opted for a lower branch, reaching it deftly. you reached for an apple and held it high victoriously. some hint of pride shone in gilbert’s eyes.

“to making new traditions,” he said- a toast with the notable absence of glasses brimming with champagne. “to making new traditions,” you repeated, and in that moment, you in the tree and him on the ground, you swore you could see hints of a future- one with new traditions and old traditions, little feet running around and everything in between. today was flawless.

and it would’ve been perfect, except for the sound of the branch cracking under your weight. you weren’t too high up in the tree, but inevitably, you landed on the ground, a crumpled heap of petticoats and ribbons, crying out softly upon impact.

you’d never seen gilbert this way, in ‘doctor mode’, simply put. he was immediately beside you, voice laced with concern, checking you over for scrapes and bruises. you were fine, mostly- just a little shaken up and scared, save for the red-hot throbbing in your wrist. the pain didn’t exactly warrant crying, but you weren’t used to the funny feeling, and tears welled in your waterline anyways. gilbert, telling you to take deep breaths, helped you sit up.

he’d noticed straightaway the way you held you wrist, cradling it slightly away from your body, and murmuring words of comfort, he started prodding your knuckles, gently examining the swollen area. you winced, but it wasn’t too bad. “i don’t think it’s broken,” gilbert said finally, deeming it a sprain after careful inspection. “but let’s get you back home. i have some bandages- i’ll wrap it just in case.”

tears threatened to spill over again as the two of you walked from the orchard to his home. gilbert noticed, and stopped. “hey,” he said softly. “it’s okay. i’ll make you some herbal tea. that should help with the pain a bit.”

“it’s not that,” you made out, a small pout forming on your lips. “we were having such a wonderful day, gil, and i ruined it all. i’m sorry.”

“whoa, whoa, whoa,” he said, his brow furrowing. “you didn’t ruin anything. you got hurt, it happens. and we have the rest of the afternoon to be together- i’ll tell you what, how about once we get back to the farmhouse, we’ll make the most of it, okay? we can still have some fun.”

a wobbly smile formed on your lips, and you nodded. gilbert cupped your face gently, and looked into your eyes. “i love you,” he said, voice nervous but firm. “just let me take care of you.”

your heart caught in your throat. he’d never said that before. contrary to the rumors, he hadn’t even kissed you properly yet. “i love you too,” you whispered, voice hoarse. and before you could think about it too much, you went up on your tiptoes and pressed a small kiss to gilbert’s lips.

they were soft and sweet and filled with promise and hope, and he leaned into it, your bodies closer than they’d ever been. his hands ghosted the small of your back, your hips, your shoulders, and it felt like home. when you finally pulled apart, there was a twinkle in his eye you’d never seen before. a twinkle of something called joy.

when you got back to the farmhouse, he finally settled you on the couch, comfortably sipping a cup of tea and trying wholeheartedly to braid your hair. he’d always wanted to learn, and since you were currently unable to do it yourself, he deemed it the perfect opportunity. it made you laugh- his fingers, usually nimble and clever, were clumsy in your locks, and the braid you ended up with was slightly sloppy, but filled with adoration. a realization fluttered through your mind, and set its claws into your future. you loved gilbert- gilbert loved you- and though you wouldn’t say it out loud, at least not for several years, he would make a wonderful husband.

five. when you said “i do”.

the spring skies were blue today- flowers were blooming- grass was green. “a lovely day for a wedding,” mrs. lynde had told marilla that morning, and all of avonlea agreed.

you were walking down the aisle in a few minutes, getting ready in reverence. a delicate white veil lay on your hair, the one passed down through your family for almost a century. the lace dress fit you perfectly, intricate embroidery accentuating your waist. your mother’s simple pearl earrings adorned your ears, glowing in the morning light. in your hands were a bouquet- a single spray of forget-me-nots, periwinkle blue, an ode to gilbert’s father, who had loved them so. and at the same time, a tribute to your past together, that awful rainy day after the funeral filled with grief and tears and emotion, yet what had brought you closer together. something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue. all was well. you were ready.

the springtime realm of gilbert’s yard was immersed in devotion. petals decorated the grass down the aisle. your dearest friends and family observed, and the wedding itself passed in the blink of an eye. there was not a dry eye during the vows, and gilbert’s words were even more poetic than you had ever hoped. he promised to love you- to care for you- in sickness and in health, to be your rock. it was not the fanciest wedding- there were no messes of tulle and satin and roses- but it was yours, and you couldn’t be happier.

you were husband and wife. the dawn had come anew. and that night, when gilbert fell asleep watching you breathe, finding solace in the rise and fall of your chest, he knew without a doubt that he would do it all over again.

2K notes · View notes

temporaerthaervaerk · 1 month

Text

I just realised that all the media I adore has some level of autistic/neurodivergent coding and it's been that way since I was a child.

And like, oftentimes their different way of perceiving and being in the world is the driving force of the story/and or a crucial element in it.

There’s the canon example of the entire Camp Halfblood (ADHD), where the ADHD is literally what keeps the characters alive.

There's Dean Winchester (ADHD) whose hyperfixations are typically masculine (as well as geeky) and who never sits still, with the added bonus of Castiel (Autism), who Dean just... accepts, in a way I rarely see.

Then there’s the infamous Will Graham (Autism) whose hyperempathy is litterally the focal point of the entire narrative.

We have Haru from Free! (Autism), whose special interest (swimming) is the motivating factor for several other characters.

Reki and Langa from Sk8 the infinity (Autism), who share a special interest and grow a special bond because of it.

There's Sai from Hikaru No Go (Autism), who trancedented time and space to play Go (special interest) and whose special interest sets the story into motion.

We have any version of Sherlock Holmes (AuDHD), who's brilliance I attribute to a mixture of hyperfixations and special interest in crime solving. His conflicts with society and disregard of social norms are a central theme as well.

There's Anne with an E (Autism), who loves words and stories and speaks before she thinks (where all major problems arise due to her lack of understanding for social norms)

We have Pat and Pran from Bad Buddy (ADHD + Autism), like I dunno, I just really felt that vibe.

There's Beth Harmon from Queen's Gambit (Autism) with her special interest in Chess.

And like, the list goes on: Daryl Dixon, Jon Snow, Kotaro from Kotaro Lives Alone, Will Treaty from the Ranger's apprentice, Hal from the same author, Katniss Everdeen, Si-eun from Weak Hero Class 1, etc.

Don't get me wrong I've consumed plenty of stories without characters coded this way, but all the stories that truly resonated with me? Neurodivergent, all of them.

It's probably because the focus on social norms/hierarchy always seemed foreign to me. Eg. I like Skam but it's like a view into a completely foreign world where people function differently.

336 notes · View notes

babyflorencee · 4 months

Text

Jealousy

Gilbert Blythe x fem!Reader

The sun dipped below the rolling hills of Avonlea, casting an amber glow across the landscape. Gilbert Blythe, with his characteristic disheveled hair and thoughtful gaze, strolled through the orchard, a place that had witnessed the blossoming of friendships and the unveiling of tangled emotions.

Avonlea was abuzz with preparations for the upcoming fair, a festivity Y/n L/n held dear in her heart. As Gilbert walked past the vibrant stalls and fluttering banners, he couldn't help but notice the vivacity in Y/n's step, her eyes sparkling with an enthusiasm that painted the world in hues of her imagination.

Yet, beneath Gilbert's calm exterior, a storm brewed. A quiet jealousy, like an unexpected visitor, had taken residence in his heart. It wasn't the kind born out of malice but rather a realization of the changing dynamics between them.

Yln, oblivious to the tempest within Gilbert, happily chatted with Cole and Diana, her laughter weaving into the summer breeze. As Gilbert observed from a distance, he couldn't shake the feeling that he was standing on the periphery of her universe.

His heart, usually steady as the Avonlea river, now raced with an unfamiliar cadence. Why did he feel this way? Gilbert grappled with the turmoil, his fingers absentmindedly tracing the edge of the fair's prize ribbon he held.

Later that day, under the canopy of stars, Gilbert found himself by the bridge, a place where moments unfolded like chapters in a story. The rhythmic sound of cicadas filled the air as Y/n approached, her gaze alighting upon Gilbert's contemplative silhouette.

"Hey, Gil. Are you alright?" Y/n inquired, a glimmer of concern in her eyes.

The words struggled to find their way out of Gilbert's mouth, but the truth, as elusive as it was, demanded expression. "Y/n, do you ever feel like things are changing, and you're not sure where you fit in anymore?"

Y/ns brow furrowed, a reflection of her confusion. "Change is a constant, Gilbert. But you'll always have a place in my heart. In my world." With the last sentence that left her mouth, her eyes softened, feeling sadness for the boy standing by her.

His heart, still entangled with vines of uncertainty, yearned for more. With a breath held in the quiet night, Gilbert spoke the words that fluttered within. "Y/n, it's not just about the changing world. It's about me, about us. It's about what we could possibly be. I can't stand on the sidelines anymore, y/n. I want to be more than a distant star in your sky."

It was a balm to Gilbert's restless heart, and yet, a lingering question remained unspoken. As they stood on the bridge, the moon casting its silver glow upon the water, the bond between them seemed to shimmer with an understanding beyond words.

Y/n's eyes widened, finally realizing the gravity of his confession. "Gilbert..."

Before she could say more, he took a step closer, his hand cupping her cheek. "I can't hold back any longer," he admitted, and in the soft glow of moonlight, he kissed her.

Their lips met, a silent promise of untold emotions and uncharted paths. The orchard witnessed the quiet culmination of a friendship blossoming into something more, as the stars overhead continued their timeless dance. In that stolen moment, Gilbert and Y/n discovered a new chapter in the story of Avonlea—a chapter written with ink that glistened with unspoken feelings.

284 notes · View notes

frickingnerd · 5 months

Text

gilbert blythe telling you "i love you" for the first time

pairing: gilbert blythe x gn!reader

tags: fluff, unspecified relationship, implied romance

the first time gilbert said those three little words to you was on a sunny spring evening

after school, he had walked you home but on your way there the two of you got sidetracked and ended up strolling through the woods, just talking and laughing together

eventually, you two ended up near a small lake and took a break there

while gilbert sat down near the water, you picked a few flowers that grew nearby, holding them in your hands and admiring them

your eyes were fixated on the pretty flowers, while gilbert's eyes were glued to you

he sat there in silence, until those three little words just spilled over his lips, as if he couldn't keep them to himself anymore

"i love you…"

the way he said those words, you could've sworn that he never said them to anyone else before, nor would he ever tell anyone else

it was like those words were just for you to hear…

when you whipped your head around to look surprised at gilbert, he just smiled softly and apologized

"that came out of nowhere, i'm sorry…"

315 notes · View notes

crvptidgf · 10 months

Text

i think what upsets me the most about the sudden cancellation of awae isn’t necessarily the fact that anne and gilbert finally got together after pining and longing for each other for aggesss, but rather the fact that anne, at last, seemed to find somewhere she belonged and we don’t even get to see it. i think she would thrive in college and it’s like the perfect place for her - and she’s with all of her friends! what could be better. her and josie set their differences aside for the most part, and she gets to hang out with her girls in a shared dorm and read and be at the top of class and grow independent!!! i just want to see her live a better life. i miss this show so much. i might read the books but i can’t handle the extra depressing facts that are included in them. we’ll see.

813 notes · View notes

writerbeemedina · 2 years

Text

Could someone please tell me why the best, most well-written neurodivergent / autistic - coded characters are always BY ACCIDENT

4K notes · View notes

that-bitch-kat3 · 5 months

Text

lily and james = anne and gilbert

99 notes · View notes

stargazing-imagines · 1 year

Text

What Dating Gilbert Blythe would be like

Being new to Avonlea

Him potentially rescuing you from the wrath of Billy who has found you as you were walking on your way to school

Of course Billy getting jealous because you prefer to walk with Gilbert instead of with him

Ruby being envious of you

Same with Josie but she would hate you

“ShE cAlLs DiBs”

Being best friends with Anne and Diana

Helping bash with Delphine after Mary’s passing

Getting mad at Anne for having feelings for Gilbert

“I thought you were my friend!” “I am!”

You and Anne being on no talking terms because of this

But Anne would be the one breaking the cycle

Y/n please let me explain!

Diana talking to you about forgiving Anne

But you still don’t budge

“Y/n , Anne means nothing to me... ok maybe as a friend, and a sister, but your my everything,”

Of course after this conversation you apologize to Anne

“Going to UoT with him”

You both becoming doctors

Having a small family business

Having 2 kids, a boy and a girl

Overall it would be a happy ending!

Anne with an E masterlist

#annewithane #anne with an e imagine #anne with an e #gilbert blythe x reader #gilbert blythe headcanon #awae

221 notes · View notes

hoardingpuffin · 1 year

Text

Characters that are autistic (because I am autistic and I say so)

There is so very little autism representation, but there are many more characters that are clearly autistic-coded, be that intentionally or not. I will be giving reasons for why I think these characters are autistic in dedicated posts for each individual character in the future, but for now, this is just a list. If you want to later find those specific posts, you can seach the up under #PuffinsAutismHeadcanons [I provided pictures for all the characters that have an official visual. For characters where only fanart exists, I have not done this, since I presently do not have art of them I made myself and I don't want to wait til I get permission of artists to use their artwork]

Anne Shirley Cuthbert (specifically from Anne with an E)

Prince Wilhelm (Young Royals)

Jonathan Sims (The Magnus Archives)

Boober Fraggle (Fraggle Rock)

Tancred Torsson (Children of the Red King)

Gabriel Silk (Children of the Red King)

Caleb Widogast (Critical Role Campaign 2)

Enola Holmes (Enola Holmes)

Bruce Wayne (DC Comics)

Damian Wayne (DC Comics)

Jayce Talis (Arcane)

Beth Harmon (The Queen's Gambit)

Lilo Pelekai (Lilo and Stitch)

Gus Porter (The Owl House)

The Doctor (Doctor Who)

#autistic characters #autistic representation #autistic headcanon #Puffins Autistic Headcanons #the doctor #the owl house #young royals #lilo and stitch #arcane #the queen's gambit #batfamily #the magnus archives #anne with an e #fraggle rock #critical role #children of the red king #enola holmes

165 notes · View notes

maraudersmyloves · 6 days

Text

me when 'Anne with an e' fans that only watched the show try to tell me about Anne as if i didn't read all the books YEARS ago?? You dont know her like i do!! I know her in a way she herself doesn't even know!! I watched her cry and love and laugh and gried while going through life!!

#anne with an e #headcanon #writing

14 notes · View notes

yourfavisalilace · 9 months

Text

The most kind-hearted asexual man I know:

#matthew cuthbert #r.h. thomson #anne with an e #ace #asexual #asexual headcanons #yourfavisalilace

17 notes · View notes

a-aexotic · 1 year

Note

hh sorry to bother you!! if requests are closed or you don't wanna write this you can delete the request but

i don’t know if you watched Puella Magi Madoka Magica, but it’s a really great anime and i wanted to send this character, the anime looks cute but it really isn’t 😭.

can i request josie pye, Gilbert Blythe or Prissy Andrews with a S/O who has a Homura Akemi Personality? (She’s stoic, distant, independent, Homura also appears with her personality being that of a shy, timid, magical girl rather than her cold and strong personality, she also knows self defense since she was in a lot of battles you can watch it here)

Thank you a ton!! I wish you well<33

hey i’m so sorry for the late reply, but here’s a headcanons for both :) i hope you enjoyed

—cw’s: just fluff!!! i think gen!neutral but lmk!

josie pye

i feel like josie would like an s/o who’s generally stoic and is independent

she wouldn’t necessarily mind having a stoic s/o because i feel like josie is reactive and it would be nice to have a neutral energy to the chaos 😭

she likes that you’re calm and that you can solve issues with logic instead of emotions and she can depend on you in that sense

she likes the fact that you are independent because she doesn’t like the feeling of letting people down

so if she knows that you wouldn’t be let down by her, it feels like a weight would be lifted off her shoulders

she is kind of the opposite of you

she would intrigued with your persona and kind of feels like it’s fake at first 😭

she didn’t like how shy you were because she wanted to get to you, but you were hard to break and that pissed her off

most people open up to her very quickly (surprisingly) so she would find this weird

but she ended up cracking you!! AND she fell in love <3

gilbert blythe

he finds you VERY interesting

he loves that you’re not an open book, he wants to earn getting to know you if that makes sense

gilbert loves a good challenge 😭😭

he’s used to people depending on him, so he doesn’t know how to feel when he realizes you’re pretty independent & would rather do it on your own

he loves that you’re shy & that you’re not like this with everyone

he feels special knowing that you’re not just talking to him to talk to him, but rather because you genuinely want to

he just loves your personality and it goes with his perfectly

#anne with an fanfics #anne with an e headcannons #anne an e #anne of green gables fanfiction #anne of green gables #awae fics #awae #awae headcannons #awae fanfiction #awae season 2 #gilbert blythe headcannons #gilbert blythe imagine #gilbert blythe #gilbert blythe x reader #josie pye x reader #josie pye #josie pye headcanons

73 notes · View notes

frickingnerd · 4 months

Text

fake dating anne shirley cuthbert

pairing: anne shirley cuthbert x gn!reader

tags: bullying (anne being bullied), fluff, mention of gilbert

you were quite popular in your class and had been even before anne joined the class

anne didn't like you right away, believing you to just be one of those mean popular students, who'd mock her to get a laugh out of their friends

but you were different and anne soon learned that!

when gilbert was teasing anne about her hair color, tugging on her braids, you grabbed his wrist, calmly telling him to stop

despite gilbert claiming it was just a joke between friends, you insisted that he'd leave anne alone and stops those childish jokes

ever since then, people started to playfully tease you too, asking if you protected anne from gilbert because you were crushing on her

you didn't humor them, though when anne was being teased by a few of the boys one day, you changed your attitude towards that

you stepped in once more, this time telling them to 'leave your girlfriend alone or they'd regret it'

everyone went quiet, their confusion clearly visible, but the boys eventually apologized and quietly hurried away

word spread quickly about you calling anne your girlfriend and despite just saying it in the heat of the moment to help her out, you soon had to start acting the part

anne wasn't too thrilled about it, but you ensured her you had no intentions of forcing a relationship onto her and that this was just to help her out

begrudgingly, anne agreed to play along as your girlfriend, though only until the school year ended, after which you two would have to break up

#anne shirley cuthbert x reader #anne shirley x reader #anne cuthbert x reader #anne shirley cuthbert #anne x reader #anne with an e x reader #anne with an e #awae x reader #awae #x reader #x you #x y/n #x gn reader #headcanons #fluff #comfort #fake relationship #anne of green gables

29 notes · View notes

crvptidgf · 10 months

Text

Doctor Blythe

Gilbert Blythe x Reader

[FLUFF]

A/N: thank you to the anon who requested this! sorry it’s taken me so long to get to it

warnings/notes: slightly suggestive content?characters are both 18+

requested: yes

summary: you get injured and go to gilbert for help. however, in order to properly tend to your wounds, the top half of your clothes needs to be removed.

- - -

Your ribs burned and ground against each other as you groaned, standing up as slowly as you could.

You couldn’t even remember how it happened, but all you know is that you fell stomach first onto the ground after attempting to get something out of a tree.

Was it a cat? A piece of fruit? God knows, but all you could think of now was the sting that was quickly spreading throughout your entire torso.

Your breathing shallow and painful, you pulled yourself up fully and stood up straight - or as straight as you could with the pain that was searing through you. Not only that, but the wind had been knocked out of you and you were struggling to breathe.

Looking down at your previously white shirt, you saw a tear near your ribs and a violently crimson colour seeping through the cotton.

Immediately your mind went to Gilbert. After all, he was a doctor in training, and he was close-by.

He’d know what to do - he always did.

Trudging your legs along as fast as you could, you made your way through the forest, cracking and breaking several twigs on your way out. You hoped you wouldn’t get an infection from whatever you scratched yourself off of, but you’d be in good hands once you reached Gilbert’s home.

After a hellish trek to the Blythe residence, you were finally there.

Standing in front of the chestnut-brown door, you felt sort of silly. What if he was busy? Were you interrupting his peace by walking in, all bloodied and probably bruised?

It was too late to turn back however, as he opened the door, a small smile already plastered on his face.

Gilbert’s eyes immediately dropped your hand clutching at your ribs, and his face fell.

“Oh God! What happened?” he all but dragged you into the house.

“I fell,” you stated bluntly.

He held you as gently as he could as he lead you to his room, setting you down in a sitting position on the bed before disappearing into the kitchen.

“How long have you been bleeding?” he yelled from his location.

Your head throbbed as you tried to think of when this occurred. Honestly, your head was a bit of a fuzzy mess at the moment and whether it was from the blood loss or being in the vicinity of Gilbert, you didn’t know.

“Uh- I-“ you tried to get your words out but with every breath you took, your ribs felt like they were separating from each other.

Appearing back into the room, Gilbert set a few supplies down on the drawer next to his bed.

He pulled a chair out to sit right in-front of you, and he hesitantly touched the afflicted area.

“I just need to check-“ he suddenly stopped, and his eyes widened to at least twice their size.

Your heart stopped. You were surely dying, right? Why else would he react that way?

“Well? Spit it out, Doc!” you pleaded.

His eyes averted from you and he picked up some cotton and placed it in a bowl of water to soak.

“It’s just- Is it okay if I remove your shirt? I need to clean the wound-” he said, his eyes looking at anything but you, “and I also need to check for bruising and internal bleeding, since your ribs seem to be broken.”

Broken? Why in the hell did you decide to climb that stupid tree.

“Well if that’s what needs to be done then...” you trail off as you painfully cross your arms to grasp the hem of your top. You’re honestly not sure where all the courage came from. If you were any saner and had more blood in your system, you would’ve been too nervous to even think about being half naked in Gilbert’s room. However, you also wanted to avoid getting sepsis.

Seeing you struggle, Gilbert sighed and pulled your hands away, finally looking into your eyes. He replaced your previous grip on your shirt with his own hands, before whispering a simple ‘can I?’.

Your words felt like they were sucked out of you as you watched the veins in his hands twitch, his muscles tensing with every second that passed. The sleeves that were rolled up on his arms exposed his toned forearms, revealing more of that veiny appearance.

You slowly nodded, careful to not move too much as his hands were dangerously close to your exposed torso.

Gracefully and gradually, he lifted the fabric up your body, urging your arms up so that he could remove it fully. Everywhere that his fingertips grazed caused an electric jolt throughout your body, leaving invisible marks in their wake.

You shuddered as your top was completely removed, and Gilbert’s face suddenly flushed a bright pink. His face remained close to yours, his warm eyes glazed with concern.

You could tell he was as nervous as you were, but your safety was at hand here, so he pushed off the bed slowly and fished the soaked cotton out from the water bowl. Looking down past your chest, and onto the cut on your ribs, his breath hitched. You weren’t sure if it was because he was staring right at your almost-naked body, or if the cut was really that bad.

“Let me know if you want me to stop, okay? This is gonna hurt.”

Not trusting your voice, you nodded again.

He instantly got to work, leaning his head down and gripping your waist for stability. You melted into his touch, letting the warmth of his palm spread throughout your body. Humming gently, you tilted your head to watch him better.

You almost didn’t notice the sting as he cleaned the dry blood from your wound, but unfortunately his pretty curls couldn’t fully distract you from it.

Wincing and gasping, you grabbed the hand that held onto your waist, interlacing your fingers.

“Sorry,” you mumbled, embarrassed at how low your pain tolerance was.

He shook his head. “Don’t be.”

Squeezing your hand comfortingly, he continued the task at hand. After this he smothered the wound in antiseptic, all the while rubbing circles into your hand and shushing your huffs and groans.

“You’re doing amazing, but I still need to check for any internal wounds.” he whispered, careful to not shock you out of your quiet daze.

You just groaned in response.

“Just a little more I promise. Is it okay if I touch you?” immediately realizing his innuendo, he cleared his throat.

“I mean your ribs. To check them.”

Even through your pain you smiled at him, sighing a quiet ‘yeah’. He was so dreamy like this. You always liked him in doctor mode, but it had never been directed towards you.

You were shoved out of your train of thought as you felt his smooth palms roam upwards to your back as he checked the health of your ribs. His breath fanned across your collarbone as he tried to control the speed of his breathing.

He knew it was the wrong time to be so nervous and flustered, but he couldn’t help it.

Gilbert’s hands expertly moved to the front of your ribs, gently applying pressure and massaging them as softly as he could. It would’ve been nice if it wasn’t for the agony that you felt.

You held your breath as he touched a particularly sensitive spot on your torso.

Retracting his hands, he swiped some bandages off his drawer and wrapped your newly cleaned wound up. Wordlessly, he stood up and went to his closet, grabbing a green sweater.

He sat back down in-front of you, and tucked your hair behind your ear.

“I know you’re tired. I’ll help you into this and you can nap here. The good thing is your ribs aren’t broken, just bruised,” he explained as he shuffled closer to help your head into the sweater hole. Grasping your hands, he helped you lead them through the arm holes before pulling the bottom of it over the rest of your body.

“And the bad news?” you said, voice scratchy from exhaustion.

His brown furrowed in worry. All his previous nerves were gone as he now stroked your cheek, reveling in how you snuggled into it.

“You lost a bit of blood, but I’ll do what I can to help.”

Your eyelids shut closed, unable to stay open any longer. “Already done more than enough, Gil,” you praised.

“You’re the one who did a good job today,” he coo’d, placing you down onto the bed, making sure your head was comfortably on his pillows. He pulled the blanket out from under you and tucked you into bed.

Gilbert began to clean up all of his supplies. Yet he made sure to glance at you every few seconds to make sure you were breathing okay.

It didn’t take long for sleep to take over, but not before you mumbled a little ‘thanks Doc’ to which Gilbert blushed and grinned at, turning away to let you have your peace.

836 notes · View notes

anghraine · 2 years

Text

#personally I headcanon Darcy as being demi or grey-ace #he doesn't seem to feel physical attraction to Lizzy until her personality captures him #which may help to explain his confusion over Bingley's falling for Jane #he can aesthetically appreciate she's the prettiest girl in the room #but intellectually that means nothing to him #insert Cronk gif #by all accounts it doesn't make sense (via @kungfunurse)

That’s also my headcanon, haha. /fistbump

My very long ramblings about grey-romantic grey-ace Darcy under the cut:

I think that initially, Darcy understands beauty a) aesthetically and b) as a status symbol. So he can see that Jane is the most beautiful woman in the room, and is kind of insulted that Bingley dances with her while trying to fob Darcy off on a less good-looking woman, but Darcy himself is not attracted to anyone at that point. He makes zero attempt to dance with Jane at the assembly, or indeed, ever. After the assembly, his only takeaway from her is that she’s pretty but smiles too much.

It could just be that she’s not his type or whatever, but the fact that he does specifically mention Jane’s beauty while evidently feeling zero attraction to it (sorry, Mary Russell Mitford!) seems more customary for him. This seems to be more or less Mr Bennet’s read on him, incidentally. One of the reasons he (Mr Bennet) finds Mr Collins’s letter about Darcy so funny is because he thinks Darcy “never looks at any woman but to see a blemish.”

And it’s true that Darcy’s earliest response to Elizabeth’s figure is like “hmm. asymmetrical.” Yeah, maybe he’s just an overly critical asshole, but my headcanon is that he’s genuinely disinterested most of the time and that he’s inhaled enough patriarchy that it’s easier for him to attribute this to other people’s physical appearances than his own nature. (So, still an overly critical asshole, but for somewhat more complicated reasons.)

And even once Darcy does begin to feel attracted to Elizabeth, his response is to just hover nearby and listen to her talk to other people in order to work himself up to talking to her himself. She finds this distinctly weird. Maybe he’s just that awkward, but given that he’s at least twenty-seven at that point and doesn’t seem to know how to handle the earliest stages of a crush, I think grey-ace is a very valid reading.

He also firmly asserts that he never dances with anyone, anywhere, if he can avoid it, and in literally the same conversation, is willing to dance with Elizabeth. So again, there’s the possibility that this whole experience is actually pretty exceptional for him.

It’s still fairly early on when she shows up at Netherfield and blindsides him, and in the Netherfield scenes he’s already like I have NEVER been so bewitched by a woman before, wtf. So he’s been ... slightly bewitched by a woman/women before, presumably, but given that this is still far short of where he’s at by the time he proposes, it seems to have been pretty minimal (and I suspect infrequent) before Elizabeth. Still easy to read as grey-ace.

He makes a remark about admiring Caroline’s and Elizabeth’s figures, but the context is that Darcy is reading while Caroline keeps trying to attract him. She starts walking around to show off her very good figure, but Darcy remains “inflexibly studious,” so in desperation, she gets Elizabeth to join her in order to draw his attention. She succeeds in that goal, but both Darcy and Elizabeth find the whole thing deeply suspicious, and Darcy is mostly just being snide about Caroline’s motives + not quite rude enough to say that he’s only interested in Elizabeth’s figure (though this is clearly the case in the larger scene).

Darcy does worry that, by arguing with Elizabeth a few times, he’s leading her on and thus goes out of his way to ignore her. There are multiple ways to explain his thought process here, but I think the combination of his arrogance, his principles, his poor judgment of others’ emotions, and his relative inexperience with what he’s feeling all contribute. He’s never been this attracted before and he still has a long way to go.

Although the miscommunication goes both ways in Kent, I think it’s fair to say that he continues to handle the situation fairly poorly. Again there are multiple reasons, but one of them is that he doesn’t seem to know exactly what he’s doing or planning until fairly late, and he thinks what he feels by the time he proposes is the “utmost force of passion” and that he can struggle against it no longer. It obviously turns out that he can, since the proposals are like six months apart, but at the time, it feels overwhelming to him, well beyond where he was at Netherfield, when it was more then he’d ever felt in his life.

ALSO he makes a kind of intriguing remark about Bingley in the letter. He says that he didn’t really take Bingley’s interest in Jane seriously until he(Darcy) was explicitly told that everyone expected an engagement, because “I had often seen him in love before.” There are also a lot of ways to read this, depending on how sympathetic you are to Darcy or Bingley.

I personally find it very believable that Bingley has had a lot of shallow infatuations and every time the girl in question is the most beautiful girl he has ever seen blah blah blah. Even Elizabeth refers to Jane’s beauty reanimating Bingley’s affections late in the novel (but I think it’s Elizabeth’s POV and not an omniscient statement). In any case, maybe it doesn’t take that much for him to fall in love, for a certain value of “love” (this is possibly backed up by Colonel Fitzwilliam’s opinion, though that may be filtered through Darcy).

But it’s interesting that someone as usually precise as Darcy would refer to those kinds of entanglements as being in love, even though it’s clear that these previous romances are distinct from Bingley’s considerably deeper feelings for Jane. It’s also interesting that, through the rest of the novel, Elizabeth very consistently and emphatically characterizes Darcy’s feelings for her at this point as love and Darcy nowhere suggests that he did not truly love her then. In fact, the phrasing of his second proposal suggests the opposite, that his affection for her has not changed since the first proposal.

My point here is that I’m not saying that Darcy proposes only because of his overwhelming sexual attraction to Elizabeth, which in this interpretation is felt all the more strongly because it’s rare for him to feel at all and unprecedented for him to feel to this extent. The novel is pretty insistent that he did love her then, and despite his anger and bitterness in the letter, by the end it’s clear that his love for her is overriding them. Nevertheless, it’s important to note that his conduct in this scene is ... let’s say, not particularly loving, even though we don’t “hear” the bulk of the proposal, and even though it’s possible that Elizabeth takes it in the worst possible light.

I think that, while Darcy’s society and background give him at least a vocabulary of sorts for sexual attraction, his concept of romantic love seems ... off. He associates romantic love with poetry, bewitchment, captivation, Bingley’s polite infatuations. It’s all kind of unreal. My reading of him at this point is that he is genuinely in love with Elizabeth, but also that he doesn’t fully understand what romantic love is except in a kind of abstract, courtly-literary way that doesn’t accurately represent what he’s feeling.

Part of that may be his social circle, in which more or less arranged marriages are still a thing (I’ve never cared for the fanon that his parents married for love and he’s holding out for it from the outset, both bc it’s not the vibe I get from the Darcy-Fitzwilliam-de Bourgh dynamic in general, and bc I think it undercuts some of his character arc). But I can imagine him thinking, well, of course I’ll marry a woman of appropriate background and connections and political affiliations and beauty and personal refinement and so forth, at some point, eventually. But he seems to feel no particular urgency, and my headcanon is that he’s just not that into it in general until Elizabeth.

Again, this is not the only way to read him, but I do think it’s a very possible reading. I see him as someone who doesn’t fully understand the power of either attraction or romantic love, whose understanding of both is fairly abstracted, and who would never have imagined that they could affect him in the way they end up doing.

172 notes · View notes