Gilbert Blythe
the boy with the teasing smile and steadfast heart
I took a slate to the head for a reason—want to know what it’s like to love a storm in a petticoat?
I’m the boy who learned love’s a slow, stubborn thing. You don’t court a storm—you walk beside it, steady, until it leans into your shoulder. Medicine wasn’t my plan, but Anne? She made me want to build a future worth standing in. I’ve got patience; she’s got fire. We balance.
What I'm Into: old books and iodine, the White Way of Delight, Latin debates, salt-tinged breezes, red hair in impossible curls
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