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31_days2006-08-08 08:10 am
loonieyoonie.livejournal.com) wrote in 31_days2006-08-08 08:10 am
[August 8] [Anne of Green Gables, Anne of the Island] To Blove
Title: To Blove
Day/Theme: August 8/ To love is to kiss, to touch hand or arm or to send letters whose
spells are stronger than witchcraft. Love is nothing but this.
Character/Pairing: Anne/Gilbert
Rating: G
For an agonizing length of time, Anne tried to work out her definition of love. Was it Roy, in his splendour and poetic umbrellas-- her dark, handsome, and mysterious stranger? She didn't know.
To be honest she was much more sure of what it was not. In chronological order, her unimposing list of paramours: (1) pathetic Billy Andrews in a one-sided crush that was easily ground to dust and swept away under prosaic practicalities (when Anne got over the insult of Billy's immediate marriage to Nellie Bly, she thought ruefully that she had probably been the last chance for any spark of romantic soul to be ignited from the ash-heap hearts of the Andrews-line), and (2) the goggle-eyed Charlie Sloane that crushed Miss Ada's poor cushions ruthlessly, and without taste. These two, at least, certainly were not her definition, in any shape or form. Judging from her progress she supposed that Mrs. Andrews had a point. If things went on like this she would probably let all her beaux 'slip through her fingers,' as the madame had said in her peculiarly vulgar yet exact manner.
Hints hovered about the edge of her consciousness; it was by this means that she finally realized her answers, not through her earnest, forced, self-analysis. A letter which she would have liked to receive that Ruby Gillis had instead; the subtle touches of arms, electric brushes of skin on self-proclaimed platonic walks.
Day/Theme: August 8/ To love is to kiss, to touch hand or arm or to send letters whose
spells are stronger than witchcraft. Love is nothing but this.
Character/Pairing: Anne/Gilbert
Rating: G
For an agonizing length of time, Anne tried to work out her definition of love. Was it Roy, in his splendour and poetic umbrellas-- her dark, handsome, and mysterious stranger? She didn't know.
To be honest she was much more sure of what it was not. In chronological order, her unimposing list of paramours: (1) pathetic Billy Andrews in a one-sided crush that was easily ground to dust and swept away under prosaic practicalities (when Anne got over the insult of Billy's immediate marriage to Nellie Bly, she thought ruefully that she had probably been the last chance for any spark of romantic soul to be ignited from the ash-heap hearts of the Andrews-line), and (2) the goggle-eyed Charlie Sloane that crushed Miss Ada's poor cushions ruthlessly, and without taste. These two, at least, certainly were not her definition, in any shape or form. Judging from her progress she supposed that Mrs. Andrews had a point. If things went on like this she would probably let all her beaux 'slip through her fingers,' as the madame had said in her peculiarly vulgar yet exact manner.
Hints hovered about the edge of her consciousness; it was by this means that she finally realized her answers, not through her earnest, forced, self-analysis. A letter which she would have liked to receive that Ruby Gillis had instead; the subtle touches of arms, electric brushes of skin on self-proclaimed platonic walks.