#Own Character Family Tree Within The FanFic

[from-memphis-with-love]

A Cowboy for Clementine - An Elvis Presley AU Cowboy Fanfic

Summary: Clementine looked to Elvis, her expression coolly determined. "If there's nothing else, I'll go unpack and change. See you at the barn."

With that, Elvis turned on his heel and strode off, spurs jingling. Clementine released a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. Lord, what had she gotten herself into? Wrangling cattle was one thing. Wrangling a surly cowboy with an itchy trigger finger and an apparent grudge was quite another. She had a feeling this Elvis Presley would prove as untamed as the land itself.

Word count: 26,000 (first four chapters)

Chapter 1

The stagecoach lurched and swayed as it wound its way through the rugged mountain pass. Inside, Clementine Olivetti gripped the worn leather seat, her knuckles white from the effort. She peered out the dust-caked window at the forbidding landscape rolling by—jagged peaks, skeletal trees, sun-baked earth. A far cry from the cobblestone streets and genteel townhouses of New York.

What am I doing out here? Clementine thought, not for the first time since beginning this journey west. Traveling across the country to take ownership of some rustic ranch she'd never laid eyes on, bequeathed by an uncle she barely knew. It was rash, reckless even. Very out of character for the practical, level-headed Clementine. A girl who always had a plan.

But perhaps that was precisely the point. To do something unexpected, impulsive for once. To break free from the comfortable confines of her predictable city life. There was a certain romantic notion to it all—a young woman striking out on her own to start anew in the untamed frontier. Like something out of the dime novels she and her best friend Bonnie used to giggle over late at night.

Bonnie Mae Blakely. Her vivacious partner in crime since childhood. The yin to Clementine's yang—bold where she was cautious, impetuous where she was measured. They had shared so many dreams and secrets over the years. When Clementine told her about the surprise inheritance, Bonnie had squealed and hugged her fiercely.

"Oh Clemmie, it's just like a storybook! A rugged ranch out west, waiting for a plucky heroine to make it her own. Promise you'll write and tell me every adventure! And maybe I'll even come visit once you're all settled." 

Clementine smiled at the memory, picturing Bonnie's pretty face alight with excitement. In truth, having her friend's unconditional support had given Clementine the courage to undertake this journey. To believe she could reinvent herself and start fresh, even without any family left to tether her to New York.

Her parents had passed on years ago and she had no siblings. Just an uncle out west she scarcely remembered from childhood. The letter from the lawyer informing her of Uncle Ned's death and his bequeathing of Windy Creek Ranch had come as a shock. Almost as much as his written words, which she now withdrew from her handbag to read once more:

"Dearest Clementine, 

If you are reading this, then I am gone and the Good Lord has finally called me home. I regret that I did not make more of an effort to be a presence in your life. But know that not a day went by that I did not think of you and wish for your happiness. 

I leave to you my most prized possession: the Windy Creek Ranch. Six hundred and forty acres of prime grazing land nestled in the heart of cattle country. It isn't much to look at, but it has potential. Like a rare gem in the rough just waiting to be polished. I built this spread from nothing, with just grit and determination. I know you have that same strength within you.

There is a small town close by called Crossroads. You'll be able to purchase any supplies there and the townsfolk are generally amiable. But be warned, there have been rumors lately of cattle rustlers and claim jumpers looking to prey on the local ranches. Trust your instincts and keep your wits about you.

I wish I could be there to guide you as you begin this new chapter. But I take comfort knowing the ranch is in capable hands. Take care of it and it will take care of you. Never forget, you are my niece. We are made of tougher stuff than most.

Yours, Uncle Ned"

Clementine folded up the letter, blinking back tears. She barely remembered Uncle Ned—a grizzled, wild-eyed man who would occasionally blow into town like a tumbleweed, his clothes smelling of leather and horses and endless sky. Her father's eldest brother. A dreamer. An adventurer. Everything her straight-laced father was not... and did not approve of. The brothers had a falling out when Clementine was just a girl and Ned rode off into the sunset, never to return. 

She used to envy his freedom, his daring. While her days were filled with needlework and piano lessons, she imagined Uncle Ned out there living a thrilling life. Herding cattle, exploring the wilderness, sitting around a campfire under a canopy of stars. It all seemed terribly romantic to her younger self.

But as she grew older, Clementine came to accept her lot. Became the obedient daughter, always striving to please, to fit the mold of a proper young lady, accepting decisions made for her and on her own behalf. She buried those yearnings for adventure deep down where they couldn't hurt her. Convinced herself that she was content with her sensible, uneventful existence. 

Until that letter arrived and reawakened something within her. A spark. A hunger for more that she could no longer ignore. It was high time Clementine Olivetti started living life on her own terms. Even if that meant venturing into the unknown wilds of cattle country to claim her unexpected inheritance—a ranch that would be hers and hers alone. The prospect both thrilled and terrified her.

The stagecoach hit a particularly deep rut, jolting Clementine from her musings. She clutched her carpet bag closer and said a silent prayer that her worldly possessions would survive the journey intact. 

As if reading her thoughts, the driver called out, "Almost there, miss! Crossroads is just up ahead."

Clementine's heart rate quickened. This was it. No turning back now. She took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and prepared to meet her destiny. Whatever that may be.

The stagecoach rumbled down the main thoroughfare of Crossroads, kicking up clouds of dust in its wake. Clementine peered out at the rustic frontier town, all wooden storefronts and hitching posts. Rough-hewn men ambled down the street in dungarees and cowboy hats. Bonneted women swept front porches and corralled children. A distant clang rang out from the blacksmith and the mouthwatering scent of baking bread wafted on the breeze. Quaint yet industrious. A town where everyone knew everyone else's business and no secret stayed buried for long.

The coach rolled to a stop and the driver hopped down to assist Clementine. A few coins were plunked into his hand. She stepped out into the bright sunlight, stretching her travel-weary limbs. Her legs wobbled a bit, unaccustomed to solid ground after so many hours.

"Miss Olivetti?" a voice inquired. Clementine turned to see a short, wiry man hurrying toward her, his bald pate gleaming.

"Yes, I'm Clementine Olivetti," she replied. 

"Hezekiah Gruber, attorney at law," he said, pumping her hand enthusiastically. "We exchanged telegrams about your inheritance. My condolences for your loss."

"Thank you, Mr. Gruber. It was a shock to us all."

"Your uncle was one of a kind, that's for sure. Now then, I imagine you're eager to get out to the ranch and take possession. I won't keep you but let's get your signature on a few documents at my office to make it all official-like."

Clementine followed him down the creaking wooden sidewalk to the lawyer's storefront, noting the curious glances directed her way. She was used to it—a fashionable girl with a funny surname drew attention even back east. She could only imagine the gossip her arrival would stir up here.

"Here we are," said Gruber, ushering her into his cluttered office. "Won't take but a minute to get you squared away." 

He shuffled some papers on his desk and handed Clementine a pen. She dutifully signed her name on the dense lines of legalese, the gravity of the moment not lost on her. With a few strokes of ink, she was now the rightful owner of Windy Creek Ranch. Her future.

"It's all yours, Miss Olivetti," said Gruber, blotting the documents. "I'll file these with the deed office today. In the meantime, let's get you on your way to your new home. I'll have Jebediah bring 'round the rig."

"The rig?" asked Clementine, perplexed. 

"For your baggage. Unless you were planning to carry those trunks to the ranch yourself?" 

Clementine blushed. Of course. This wasn't New York where deliveries arrived directly at one's doorstep. What would Bonnie say if she could see her now, preparing to rattle off in a dusty wagon toward an uncertain future? Probably clap her hands in glee and tell her it was the start of a grand adventure, the kind they'd always dreamed of having.

"Much obliged, Mr. Gruber," Clementine managed, her smile bittersweet. "I'm afraid I have a lot to learn about life out here."

"You'll get the hang of it," he assured. "Now remember, if you run into any trouble out there at Windy Creek, you just send word. I've been looking out for the place since your uncle took ill. I'd hate to see it fall into the wrong hands."

Something in his tone gave Clementine pause. Was that a note of warning? But before she could inquire further, Gruber had ushered her out into the dazzling daylight where a rickety wagon waited. 

A grizzled old man sat hunched on the bench. He squinted at Clementine and gave a gap-toothed grin. "All aboard for Windy Creek Ranch!"

Trepidation pricked at her insides but Clementine forced a smile, determined to meet each new challenge with pluck and poise. She clambered up beside Jebediah, her trunk secured in the wagon bed.

"Much obliged," she told the driver. He clicked his tongue and snapped the reins. The mules lurched forward and they set off at a bone-rattling pace. Clementine gripped the sideboard, already regretting her choice of footwear. Perhaps button-up kid boots weren't the most practical for a cross-country trek.

The road out of town quickly turned to a rutted dirt track winding through a patchwork of ranches and farmsteads. Jebediah kept up a steady stream of chatter, pointing out local landmarks and the neighboring spreads.

As Crossroads receded behind them, the landscape opened up into a vista of endless grassland and rolling hills. Herds of cattle grazed in the distance, mere specks on the horizon. The air smelled of sage and leather and something else... of possibility. 

"That there's the Circle J, belonged to old Joe Abernathy nigh on forty years 'til he passed on last spring. His boys run it now. And over yonder's the Triple Cross—biggest outfit in the county, but too big for their britches if you ask me."

She thought again of the cryptic warning from Mr. Gruber. Claim jumpers and cattle rustlers, he'd said. The untamed frontier was full of dangers she knew nothing about. As if sensing her unease, Jebediah spoke up.

"Yep, Windy Creek is a right fine piece of property. Yer uncle was real proud of what he built out there. 'Course, ranch life ain't for the faint of heart. Takes grit and know-how to make a go of it."

"I'm a quick study," replied Clementine with more confidence than she felt. "And I'm not afraid of hard work."

"That's good 'cause there'll be plenty of it," said Jebediah with a dry chuckle. "Between the repairs and the brandin' and the drives, ranch folk earn ever' penny of their keep. And that's assumin' the weather cooperates and the rustlers keep their distance."

"I've heard tell of such threats," said Clementine carefully. "Have there been many incidents hereabouts?"

"More'n there oughta be," said Jebediah. "Buncha no-good varmints that'll stop at nothing to line their own pockets. Thievin' cattle, cuttin' fences, raidin' homesteads. Even murderin' folk that get in their way."

Clementine suppressed a shudder, trying not to let her imagination run away with grisly scenarios. If only Bonnie were here to bolster her courage with a saucy quip or two. Her friend had always been the brave one, ready to take on any challenge with a laugh and a toss of her auburn curls. But Bonnie was thousands of miles away, living her own life. This was Clementine's adventure now. Her dream to chase, for better or worse.

"Still, a body can't borrow trouble," continued Jebediah. "Windy Creek's got a solid crew of hands to help you protect what's yours."

Clementine nodded, somewhat reassured. She knew there would be cowhands and ranch staff to assist her, though Uncle Ned's letter had been scarce on specifics. No matter. She would learn everyone's roles and prove herself a capable mistress. How hard could it be?

The wagon crested a hill and suddenly the breathtaking expanse of Windy Creek Ranch stretched out before them—640 acres of pristine range, just like Uncle Ned had said, framed by distant blue mountains under an endless dome of sky. Clementine's heart swelled at the sight of the whitewashed ranch house, the red-roofed barn, the towering windmill spinning lazily in the breeze. Cattle dotted the pasture, fat and healthy. Chickens pecked in the dust and a pair of ranch hands paused in their work to regard the newcomers with frank curiosity. It was more beautiful than she'd dared imagine. Raw and wild and brimming with promise. And it was all hers.

Clementine drank it in, marveling that this was all a part of her uncle's spread. Her spread now. Doubt niggled at her again. What did a city girl know about running a cattle operation? About negotiating with cowhands and driving livestock to market? There was so much to learn, so much riding on her getting this right. She couldn't afford to fail, not when Uncle Ned had entrusted her with his legacy. 

As they rolled to a stop in the front yard, Clementine gathered her skirts, preparing to descend with as much dignity as possible given her ungainly boots and the long journey. But before her foot touched the running board, a rifle shot cracked the air. Clementine yelped as a bullet gouged a tree trunk mere inches from her hand.

Heart pounding, she whirled toward the source to see a tall, black-clad figure emerge from behind the water trough, his features obscured by a low-pulled Stetson. He racked the lever of his Winchester with fluid ease and took aim again.

"That's far enough," he growled, his voice rough as saddle leather. "This here's private property. State your business or hit the road."

"Don't shoot!" cried Clementine, throwing up her hands. "I'm... T-this is my ranch now. I've c-come to take possession."

The man lowered his rifle a fraction but kept it at the ready. "That so? Got any proof?"

With shaking fingers, Clementine fumbled to produce the deed from her handbag. "It's all here. Signed and notarized."

She held out the document but he made no move to take it, his stance unwavering. Clementine bristled at his rudeness. Of all the welcomes she'd imagined, being shot at by her own ranch hand was not one of them.

Jebediah, who had wisely taken cover, peeked out from behind the wagon bench. "Now Elvis, what's the big idea? This here's Miss Clementine, Old Ned’s niece and heir."

Elvis? Clementine looked again at her antagonist. Was he one of the hardworking ranch foreman Uncle Ned had spoken so highly of? He certainly hadn't mentioned the man's alarming propensity for gunplay.

"Never heard of her," said Elvis flatly. "And I ain't about to hand over the keys on the say-so of some pretty city gal. Could be anyone—a rustler scoutin' the place or worse. Ned never said nothin' 'bout no niece."

Clementine scowled at his dismissal. "Yes, well, I suspect there's quite a lot Uncle Ned neglected to mention all around. Starting with the presence of an armed squatter on my property!"

Elvis darkened at that but before he could retort, a hulking bear of a man in a sweat-stained union suit came lumbering out of the barn. 

"What's all the ruckus?" he called, scratching his fiery beard. "I heard shootin'." 

"Stay back, Red," ordered Elvis. "We got us a trespasser."

The big man squinted at Clementine and broke into a slow grin. "Well I'll be hogtied. If it ain't Miss Clementine in the flesh! Spittin' image of ol' Ned, ain't she? 'Specially 'round the eyes."

"You know her?" demanded Elvis.

"'Course I do! Ned's been braggin' on his pretty niece comin' to take over the place for weeks now. Clear 'fore he passed."

Red was a huge bear of a man with a shock of fiery hair and a bushy beard to match. Clementine thought he looked like he could lift a steer with one hand. He stepped forward, his face split by a friendly grin. "Pleased to meetcha, Miss Clementine. I'm Moses Redding, but everyone calls me Red on account of, well..." He gestured to his hair self-consciously.

Clementine couldn't help but return his smile. "A pleasure, Red. I look forward to working with you."

Realization dawned on Elvis' stony features. "Hellfire," he muttered. "Reckon that's my cue to start packin'."

"What on earth are you talking about?" said Clementine.

Elvis met her gaze, resigned. "Way I figure, a fine lady owner ain't gonna want the likes of me hangin' around. Know when I'm not wanted."

Comprehension clicked into place and Clementine gasped. Good lord, Uncle Ned hadn't just failed to mention a few cowhands. He'd neglected to tell her about the man living on the ranch itself! This Elvis character had obviously made himself quite at home in her absence, acting the lord of the manor. And now with her arrival, he assumed he was out of a job and a place to lay his head.

She ought to be livid at the presumption. Ought to send him packing that instant for his insolence and trigger-happy reception. But something in his defeated posture and faraway look stirred an inconvenient pang of sympathy in her breast. Curse her soft heart. As satisfying as it might be to give him his marching orders, the fact remained that Windy Creek was woefully shorthanded. She couldn't afford to lose a single man, especially not one who knew the spread top to bottom. Elvis had been Uncle Ned's right hand. It stood to reason he would be valuable in her transition to ownership, prickly attitude notwithstanding. 

Clementine drew herself up, mustering an air of unruffled authority. "That won't be necessary, Mr... Elvis, was it? I've no intention of displacing anyone, provided they pull their weight. If you've been a loyal employee to my uncle, I see no reason why that should change on my watch."

Surprise and something like relief flickered across Elvis' rugged features before he could school them into impassivity. "That so?"

"It is," said Clementine firmly. "I'll need all hands on deck to keep Windy Creek thriving. Starting with a thorough tour of the premises and a briefing on daily operations. As the new owner, I plan to take a very active role in management."

Elvis looked as if he wanted to argue but thought better of it. He gave a curt nod. "Whatever you say, boss lady. Reckon we best start in the barn then. Red can see to your bags."

"Very well," she said crisply. "I'll change into suitable attire and meet you at the barn in half an hour."

Elvis looked mildly impressed by her ready acquiescence, but his expression quickly shuttered. "Suit yourself. But I should probably introduce you to the rest of the gang before you get too high on that horse of yours."

He turned and hollered over his shoulder. "Slim! Rusty! Get on over here!"

Two men materialized from various corners of the ranch yard, ambling over to join them on the porch. The first was a wiry old-timer with a weathered face and a wad of chaw bulging in his cheek. The second was a gangly youth who couldn't have been more than eighteen, all freckles and awkward limbs.

"Boys, this here is Miss Clementine Olivetti," Elvis announced. "Ned's niece and the new owner of Windy Creek. She aims to learn the ropes, so I expect you to show her the same respect you would've shown Ned. We clear?"

The men nodded, touching their hats respectfully. The old-timer spat a stream of tobacco juice and nodded curtly. "Slim Jackson. Been wranglin' beeves since before you was born, missy. You need any pointers, you just holler."

The young man ducked his head shyly, scuffing a boot in the dust. "Rusty Calhoun, miss. I'm real sorry about your uncle passing. He was a fine man and a heck of a boss."

"Thank you, Rusty. I hope I can live up to his example." Clementine turned back to Elvis, her expression coolly determined. "If there's nothing else, I'll go unpack and change. See you at the barn."

With that, Elvis turned on his heel and strode off, spurs jingling. Clementine released a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. Lord, what had she gotten herself into? Wrangling cattle was one thing. Wrangling a surly cowboy with an itchy trigger finger and an apparent grudge was quite another. She had a feeling Elvis would prove as untamed as the land itself.

But Clementine was no shrinking violet. She had not traveled hundreds of miles to be cowed by one ornery ranch hand, no matter how unsettling his smoky gaze or how broad his shoulders. She would meet this challenge as she intended to meet all others—with grace, gumption, and a stubborn refusal to back down.

*

Elvis looked Clementine up and down appraisingly as she approached.

"Well now, don't you clean up nice," he drawled. "Those dungarees suit you. Almost take the city polish off."

Clementine wasn't sure if it was meant as a compliment or an insult. Likely both, knowing this man. She tilted her chin and replied evenly, "I believe in dressing for the occasion. So, show me around the barn?"

Lifting her chin, Clementine marched after Elvis, determined to assert her authority and begin this new chapter on her own terms. Ranch life was already proving far more complicated and unpredictable than she'd bargained for. But she had to believe that with hard work, an open mind, and perhaps a bit of that famous Olivetti pluck, she would find her way.

She thought fleetingly of Bonnie, no doubt going about her day back in New York, blissfully unaware of the upheaval in her friend's life. What would she make of all this—the sprawling ranch, the motley crew of cowhands, the arrogant and mysterious Elvis? Clementine could almost hear Bonnie's laughter, could picture her delighted grin and twinkling green eyes.

"Oh Clemmie, it's better than any dime novel!" she would say. "Handsome cowboys, wild horses, wide open skies... and you, the unlikely heroine out to prove herself and tame them all! Just think of the adventures you'll have!"

The corners of Clementine's mouth twitched with an unbidden smile. Trust Bonnie to see the romance in even the most daunting of circumstances. Perhaps there was something to that unshakable optimism. With any luck, Clementine would live to write her friend a bushel of thrilling letters detailing her exploits as the mistress of Windy Creek Ranch.

Provided she survived her first day as Elvis' employer, of course. 

Clementine forced down a flutter of trepidation as she neared the looming barn door. Steeling her nerve, she stepped across the threshold into the cool shadow, the pungent scents of hay and horses and honest sweat enveloping her. Her heels sank into the earthen floor, the faint clucking of chickens and a few falling feathers drifting from the loft above.

Elvis stood at the far end of the aisle, backlit by a shaft of sunlight. He had one hip cocked against a stall door, arms crossed over his chest as he watched her approach with an inscrutable expression. Clementine tried not to notice the way his chambray shirt pulled taut across his muscled torso or how his worn denims hugged his lean thighs. She had no business admiring the physical attributes of a subordinate, no matter how undeniably attractive.

He started further into the barn, glancing over his shoulder with a smirk. "You alright there, princess? Need me to fetch you a fainting couch?"

Clementine glowered at him behind his back.

"Welcome to the heart of Windy Creek," he said as she drew near. "This here's where the magic happens."

Clementine arched a brow. "Magic?"

Elvis' mouth twitched, his eyes glinting with something suspiciously like amusement at her primness. "Figure of speech. I mean this is where we break the horses, mend the tack, store the feed. Pretty much everything that keeps the place runnin' starts and ends right here."

He pushed off the stall and gestured for her to follow. "C'mon, I'll show you the layout. Reckon you'll be spendin' a fair bit of time in here, seein' as how you're aimin' to be a hands-on boss and all."

Clementine chose to ignore the note of condescension in his tone and fell into step beside him. For the next half hour, Elvis led her through the barn and corrals, rattling off details about everything from the hay inventory to the farrier schedule to the breeding records of the small remuda. His taciturn demeanor thawed by degrees as he spoke of Windy Creek's prize bloodlines and the foals he hoped to see come spring. It was clear this ranch was more than a job to him; it was his life's work, his pride and joy.

Despite herself, Clementine found she was hanging on his every word, absorbing the intricacies of a world so different from her own. The easy confidence with which Elvis navigated this domain, the surety of purpose in his every move, was oddly compelling. She could see why Uncle Ned had trusted him implicitly.

As they circled back to the main barn, Elvis nodded to a large fenced pasture dotted with grazing cattle. "That there's the heart of the herd. 'Bout 300 head of prime Hereford. The real moneymakers. They'll be your bread and butter once we drive 'em to market come fall."

Clementine shaded her eyes against the glare, marveling at the sea of dun backs and lowing faces. Never in her life had she been responsible for so many living creatures. The weight of it settled on her shoulders like a tangible thing.

"And you're certain we have enough hands to see them safely to market?" she asked, her brow furrowing. "I won't pretend to be an expert, but it seems an awful lot of ground to cover with just the few men I've seen so far."

"We're a lean crew but we're solid," said Elvis. "Me, Red, a couple fellas who drift through as needed. Ain't never lost a steer yet and don't aim to start now." He cut her a sidelong glance. "Course, an extra pair of hands come drive time is always welcome. You any good with a horse?"

Clementine's cheeks warmed at the challenge in his eyes. "I'm a fair rider," she said, lifting her chin. She had ridden in Central Park quite a few times when she was younger. "Though I'll admit it's been a while since I've sat anything beyond a sedate little mare on a bridle path." 

"Ain't nothin' sedate about the mounts we raise here," said Elvis with a slow grin that did funny things to her insides. "But I reckon we could find you a steady cow pony, get you back in the saddle."

"I'd like that," said Clementine, pulse quickening at the thought of flying across the open range with the wind in her hair. Yearning for speed and freedom and a taste of the untamed life that had always been denied her.

Something shifted in Elvis' gaze, his eyes darkening as they dipped briefly to her mouth. "Bet you would."

The air between them thickened, charged with a sudden crackling tension that raised the hairs on Clementine's nape. For a long, suspended moment, neither of them moved. Clementine hardly dared breathe, caught in the snare of Elvis' penetrating stare. What was happening? Why did it feel as if the very ground had tilted beneath her feet?

Then Elvis blinked and the spell was broken. He took a measured step back, features shuttering. "Best we get you settled in the house," he said brusquely. "Red's probably fixin' to break down the door wonderin' where we got to." 

Clementine swallowed, her tongue darting out to moisten her suddenly dry lips. "Of course," she managed. "After you."

They walked in silence back to the ranch house, a palpable charge still shimmering in the scant space between their bodies. Clementine's mind raced as she tried to make sense of the strange, heated little moment in the barn. Surely it was just a trick of the light, an odd fluke of exhaustion and overwrought nerves. There could be no other explanation for the way her skin had flushed and her stomach fluttered under Elvis' intent gaze.

She was just tired, that was all. Tired and overwhelmed and in desperate need of a bath and a good night's sleep in a proper bed. Everything would seem much more manageable in the clear light of morning. Including a certain confounding cowboy who seemed to swing between hostility and allure at the drop of a hat.

By the time they reached the house, Clementine had convinced herself she had imagined the whole unsettling interlude. Elvis deposited her on the front porch with a perfunctory nod and a promise to have one of the hands bring up a hip bath and hot water. Then he was gone, striding off towards the corrals with that swagger that drew entirely too much of her attention.

Clementine pushed through the door, resolved to put the perplexing man out of her head for the time being. She had more pressing concerns, like acquainting herself with her new living quarters and trying to impose some order on the chaos of this abrupt upheaval.

But as she climbed the creaking stairs to the second floor, dusty carpetbag in hand, she couldn't shake the feeling that her true adventure was only just beginning. That Elvis and Windy Creek Ranch might wind up changing her life in ways she had never dared dream.

With a flutter of nervous anticipation, Clementine stepped across the threshold of her new bedroom, ready to embrace whatever challenges and surprises lay ahead. She could only hope she proved equal to them.

As Clementine explored her new bedchamber, she couldn't help but feel a sense of awe at the rustic charm that surrounded her. The room was simply furnished with a sturdy oak bed, a weathered dresser, and a washstand bearing a chipped porcelain basin. Faded calico curtains fluttered at the open window, letting in a breeze that carried the scent of lavender and distant pine.

It was a far cry from her cozy apartment back home, with its gas lamps and indoor plumbing and nosy neighbors just a thin wall away. But there was something undeniably appealing about this rough-hewn space, with its sense of history and hard-won comfort. She could almost imagine Uncle Ned sitting on the edge of this very bed, pulling off his boots after a long day in the saddle.

A lump rose in Clementine's throat as she thought of her uncle, of the legacy he had entrusted to her. She still couldn't quite believe he was gone, that she would never again hear his booming laugh or see the twinkle in his eye as he regaled her with tales of the wild west. He had been a larger-than-life figure, a beacon of adventure in her otherwise orderly world.

And now he had given her the greatest adventure of all. A chance to build something of her own, to carve out a place for herself in this untamed land. It was a daunting prospect, but also an exhilarating one. For the first time in her life, Clementine felt truly free. Free to make her own choices, to chase her own dreams, to become the woman she had always longed to be.

Oh, there would be challenges aplenty. She was under no illusions about that. Running a ranch was backbreaking work, and she had no experience with any of it. She would have to learn everything from scratch, would have to earn the respect of the men who worked for her. Men like Elvis, who seemed determined to undermine her at every turn.

Clementine's mouth tightened as she thought of the infuriating cowboy. He had made it abundantly clear that he thought she was in over her head, that a city girl like her had no business trying to run a cattle operation. Well, she would just have to prove him wrong. She would work twice as hard as anyone else, would study and practice until she knew this ranch inside out. She would show Elvis and everyone else that Clementine Olivetti was more than just a pretty face in a fancy dress.

With renewed determination, she set about unpacking her trunk. She carefully hung up the simple frocks and sturdy boots she had brought for work, then tucked away the few more fashionable items she couldn't bear to leave behind. Her fingers lingered on a photograph of her parents on their wedding day, their faces alight with joy and promise. She placed it gently on the dresser.

A knock at the door startled Clementine from her reverie. "Come in," she called, smoothing her skirts self-consciously.

The door swung open to reveal a plump, motherly woman with greying hair and a flour-dusted apron. She bobbed a curtsy, her lined face creasing into a warm smile.

"Beggin' your pardon, miss, but I thought you might be ready for some supper. It's been a long day for you, I reckon."

Clementine's stomach rumbled at the mention of food. She hadn't eaten since breakfast, too nervous to do more than nibble on the journey. "That would be wonderful, thank you. Mrs...?"

"Jameson, miss. Ida Jameson. I've been cookin' and cleanin' for Windy Creek nigh on twenty years now. Ever since Mr. Ned hired me on after my dear Henry passed."

"I'm so pleased to meet you, Mrs. Jameson," said Clementine sincerely. "I hope you'll be patient with me as I learn my way around. This is all quite new to me."

"Oh, don't you fret none. We'll get you settled in right quick. Ain't nothin' to runnin' a house once you get the hang of it." Mrs. Jameson's eyes twinkled with kindly amusement. "And don't mind that Elvis none. His bark's worse than his bite. He's just used to havin' things his own way."

Clementine felt her cheeks heat at the mention of the exasperating foreman. Did her consternation show so plainly on her face? "I'll keep that in mind, Mrs. Jameson."

"You do that, miss. Now, let's get you fed afore you faint dead away. I've got a nice beef stew on the simmer and fresh bread just out of the oven."

Clementine's mouth watered at the thought. Suddenly ravenous, she followed Mrs. Jameson down to the kitchen, the delectable scents wafting up the stairs making her stomach growl audibly.

The kitchen was a large, homey space, dominated by a massive cast iron stove and a long wooden table that could easily seat a dozen. Bunches of drying herbs hung from the rafters, jars of preserves lined the shelves, and a motley collection of skillets and kettles dangled from hooks on the walls. It was a far cry from the convenient, modern kitchens Clementine was accustomed to, but there was a cozy charm to it that put her instantly at ease.

Mrs. Jameson bustled about, ladling steaming stew into a blue willow bowl and cutting a thick slice of crusty bread. She set the meal in front of Clementine with a flourish, then poured a tall glass of cool, creamy milk from a stoneware pitcher.

"There you are. Eat up now, and don't be shy about askin' for seconds. Lord knows there's plenty to go around."

Clementine breathed in the savory aroma, her eyes fluttering shut in anticipation. She couldn't remember the last time a simple meal had looked so enticing. Murmuring her thanks, she dug in with gusto, the rich flavors exploding on her tongue.

For a few blissful minutes, there was no sound but the clink of Clementine's spoon against the bowl and the occasional appreciative hum as she savored each mouthful. Mrs. Jameson puttered about, wiping down counters and setting a pot of coffee to brew, a small, satisfied smile on her face as she watched her new mistress eat.

But the peaceful moment was shattered by the sudden bang of the screen door flying open. Elvis strode into the kitchen, his spurs jingling and his hat pulled low over his brow. He drew up short at the sight of Clementine, his eyes narrowing imperceptibly.

"Mrs. J, we got any of that stew left? I'm powerful hungry after wranglin' that new string of horses all afternoon."

"Sit yourself down, Mr. Elvis, and I'll fetch you a bowl," said Mrs. Jameson placidly, seemingly impervious to the sudden tension in the room.

Elvis hesitated, his gaze flicking between Clementine and the empty chair across from her. For a moment, she thought he might make some excuse and flee, but then he shrugged and sank down onto the bench, his long legs stretching out beneath the table.

Clementine kept her eyes fixed on her bowl, her appetite suddenly deserting her. She could feel Elvis watching her, could sense the coiled energy radiating off him like heat from a stove. It made her skin prickle and her heart thump erratically in her chest.

Mrs. Jameson set a heaping bowl in front of Elvis, then tactfully withdrew, muttering something about needing to tend to the laundry. Clementine silently cursed the woman for abandoning her, even as she understood the impulse. The air between her and Elvis was thick with a strange, charged energy that made it hard to breathe, let alone carry on a normal conversation.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. Clementine pushed a chunk of potato around her bowl, acutely aware of Elvis' every move as he tore off a hunk of bread and sopped up the rich gravy. She could hear the soft, wet sounds of his chewing, could catch the faint scent of horse and leather and sweat that clung to his skin.

It was all suddenly too much. Too intimate, too unnerving. Clementine pushed back from the table, nearly upending her milk glass in her haste. "Please excuse me," she mumbled, not meeting Elvis' eyes. "It's been a long day and I'm quite exhausted."

She fled the kitchen before he could respond, her cheeks burning and her pulse pounding in her ears. She didn't slow down until she reached the sanctuary of her bedroom, the door slamming shut behind her with a satisfying bang.

Clementine leaned back against the solid oak, her chest heaving as she tried to catch her breath. What on earth was wrong with her? She had never been one to let a man fluster her, had prided herself on her poise and composure in even the most trying of circumstances. But something about Elvis made her feel off-balance, unsettled in a way she couldn't quite define.

It was more than just his rough manners and challenging attitude. There was a rawness to him, a sense of barely leashed power that sent a thrill down her spine even as it set her nerves on edge. When he looked at her, she felt stripped bare, as if he could see straight through her proper facade to the wild, yearning heart beneath.

It was terrifying. And if Clementine was being honest with herself, it was also strangely exhilarating. All her life, she had played by the rules, had done what was expected of her. She had been the dutiful daughter, the demure debutante, the efficient employee. But here, in this rugged land so far from everything she had ever known, she could feel those old constraints falling away. Here, she could be anyone she wanted to be, could chase dreams she had never dared voice aloud.

Even if those dreams involved a certain brooding, impossible cowboy with eyes the color of a stormy sky.

Clementine pushed off the door, shaking her head at her own foolishness. She was being ridiculous. Elvis was just a man, no different from any other. A bit rougher around the edges, mayhap, but certainly not worth losing her head over. She had more important things to worry about, like learning to run this ranch and proving herself worthy of her uncle's trust.

With a resolute nod, Clementine began to undress for bed, her fingers deftly unfastening the long row of buttons down the back of her bodice. She slipped the heavy garment off, sighing with relief as the cool air hit her sweat-dampened skin. She reached for her nightgown, a simple cotton shift that fell to her ankles in soft folds.

But as she lifted the garment over her head, a sudden gust of wind from the open window sent the curtains billowing inward, the fabric brushing against her bare skin like a lover's caress. Clementine shivered, gooseflesh rising on her arms and legs. For a moment, she imagined it was Elvis' hands on her, his callused fingers tracing the curve of her spine, the hollow of her throat, the swell of her breast...

With a gasp, Clementine wrenched the nightgown down, her face flaming with mortification. Good heavens, what was she thinking? She must be more tired than she realized, to let her mind wander down such inappropriate paths. Elvis was her employee, nothing more. To allow herself to entertain such lurid fantasies was not only foolish, but dangerous.

Flustered and out of sorts, Clementine crawled beneath the patchwork quilt, the bed creaking beneath her weight. She thumped the pillow a bit harder than necessary, then lay back with a huff, staring up at the shadowy rafters above.

Sleep. That was what she needed. A good night's rest to clear her head and settle her nerves. Tomorrow would be a new day, full of challenges and opportunities. She would rise with the sun, would throw herself into the work of the ranch with all the energy and determination she possessed. And if her thoughts should happen to stray to a certain dark-haired, blue-eyed cowboy, well... she would just have to deal with that when the time came.

With a sigh, Clementine closed her eyes, willing her racing mind to quiet. But even as she drifted off to sleep, she couldn't shake the feeling that her life was about to change in ways she had never dared imagine. That Elvis and Windy Creek Ranch would test her in ways she had never been tested before.

And that maybe, just maybe, she was ready for the challenge.

Chapter 2

The shrill crow of a rooster jolted Clementine from a dreamless sleep. She sat up with a start, momentarily disoriented by the unfamiliar surroundings. Then memory came flooding back - the long journey west, the startling confrontation with Elvis, the strange, charged moment in the kitchen the night before.

Clementine groaned, flopping back against the pillows. She had hoped that a good night's sleep would clear her head, would settle the unsettling flutter in her stomach whenever she thought of the taciturn cowboy. But if anything, the light of day only made her confusion and trepidation worse.

How was she supposed to face him this morning, after fleeing from him like a frightened rabbit? He must think her a complete fool, a silly city girl who couldn't handle the slightest hint of rough manners. And what must the other ranch hands think, seeing their new boss so easily flustered by their foreman?

Clementine set her jaw, a spark of determination igniting in her chest. No. She refused to let Elvis or anyone else rattle her. She was Clementine Olivetti, mistress of Windy Creek Ranch. She had faced far greater challenges than one surly cowboy, and she would face this one with the same grit and grace that had gotten her this far.

With a resolute nod, Clementine threw back the covers and swung her legs over the side of the bed. She winced as her feet hit the cold floorboards, the chill of the early morning air raising gooseflesh on her arms. Shivering, she hurried to the washstand and poured a measure of tepid water from the pitcher into the basin. She splashed her face and neck, the bracing coolness helping to chase away the last vestiges of sleep.

As she toweled off, Clementine caught sight of herself in the small, spotty mirror hanging above the washstand. Her reflection stared back at her, wide-eyed and a bit wan. The long journey and the stress of the previous day had taken their toll - there were shadows beneath her eyes and a pinched look to her mouth. But there was also a new resolve in the set of her chin, a glint of steel in her gaze.

She was not the same woman who had left New York. The old Clementine would have balked at the idea of manual labor, would have blanched at the thought of getting her hands dirty. But the new Clementine, the Clementine who had crossed a continent to claim her inheritance, was ready to roll up her sleeves and get to work.

With that thought firmly in mind, Clementine set about dressing for the day ahead. She chose a simple frock of sturdy blue calico, the skirt full enough to allow for ease of movement. Over it, she layered a crisp white apron, the bib protecting her bodice from any stray bits of dirt or debris. She pulled her hair back into a practical bun at the nape of her neck, then topped the ensemble with a wide-brimmed straw hat to shield her face from the sun.

Looking at herself in the mirror, Clementine felt a surge of satisfaction. She looked like a woman who meant business, a woman ready to take on whatever challenges the day might bring. With a nod of approval, she turned away from the glass and made her way downstairs.

The kitchen was already a hive of activity when Clementine entered. Mrs. Jameson stood at the stove, stirring a pot of bubbling oatmeal with one hand while flipping pancakes with the other. The air was thick with the scent of frying bacon and fresh coffee, making Clementine's stomach rumble in anticipation.

"Good morning, Mrs. Jameson," she said, taking a seat at the long wooden table. "That smells heavenly."

"Mornin', Miss Clementine," the housekeeper replied, casting a smile over her shoulder. "I hope you slept well. I know the first night in a new place can be a bit unsettlin'."

"I slept just fine, thank you," Clementine lied, not wanting to admit to the restless thoughts that had kept her tossing and turning half the night. "Is there anything I can do to help with breakfast?"

Mrs. Jameson looked scandalized at the very idea. "Heavens no, miss! You just sit right there and let me take care of everything. It's my job to make sure you're well-fed and rested, not the other way around."

Clementine opened her mouth to protest, but the housekeeper cut her off with a stern look. "I mean it, miss. You've got enough on your plate as it is, learnin' the ropes of runnin' this ranch. Leave the cookin' and cleanin' to me."

Chastened, Clementine sat back in her chair, feeling a bit useless. She was used to being busy from sunup to sundown, to having a full day's work ahead of her. The idea of sitting idle while others bustled about made her itch with restlessness.

But before she could dwell on it too long, the kitchen door swung open and Elvis strode in, his spurs jingling with each step. Clementine's heart gave a traitorous leap at the sight of him, her skin prickling with awareness as his gaze landed on her.

"Mornin', Mrs. J," he said, tipping his hat to the housekeeper. Then, almost as an afterthought, "Miss Clementine."

"Good morning, Elvis," Clementine replied, proud of how steady her voice sounded. "I trust you slept well?"

Elvis shrugged, hooked his thumbs in his gun belt. "Well enough. Got a full day ahead, so I reckon I'll sleep when I'm dead." His blue eyes glinted with something that might have been amusement, or might have been challenge. "You ready to get your hands dirty, boss lady?"

Clementine lifted her chin, meeting his gaze squarely. "I am. Just tell me where to start."

Elvis' mouth twitched, as if he were fighting back a smile. "Reckon we'll start with the chickens. Gotta collect the eggs and feed the birds 'fore we do anything else."

Clementine's nose wrinkled at the thought of mucking about in a chicken coop, but she nodded gamely. "Lead the way, then."

Elvis cocked a brow, looking almost impressed by her easy acquiescence. He jerked his chin toward the door, then strode out into the morning sunlight without a backward glance.

Clementine hurried to follow, her heart hammering with a mix of nerves and excitement. This was it - her first real test as mistress of Windy Creek. She could only hope she was up to the challenge.

The chicken coop was a ramshackle affair, all weathered wood and rusting wire. It stood at the edge of the yard, a few dozen scrawny birds pecking and scratching at the dirt around its base. They scattered as Elvis approached, clucking and flapping in agitation.

"Little bastards," Elvis muttered, kicking at a particularly bold rooster who dared to dart across his path. "More trouble than they're worth, most days."

Clementine eyed the birds warily, keeping a safe distance as Elvis unlatched the coop door and ducked inside. She could hear him moving about, the soft cluck and coo of the hens as he gathered their eggs. A moment later, he emerged, a basket hooked over one arm.

"Here," he said, thrusting the basket into Clementine's hands. "Hold this while I scatter the feed."

Clementine took the basket gingerly, peering down at the warm, speckled eggs nestled in the straw. They were still faintly damp from the hens' nests, and they gave off a rich, earthy scent that made her think of new life and green growing things.

As Elvis scattered handfuls of cracked corn across the yard, the chickens swarmed around his feet, pecking and jostling for position. Clementine watched in fascination as they darted and fluttered, their beady eyes bright with greed. She had never seen anything so vibrantly alive, so utterly unconcerned with human affairs.

"They're quite something, aren't they?" she murmured, almost to herself.

Elvis glanced up at her, surprised. "What, the chickens? I suppose so. Never gave 'em much thought, to be honest. Just another chore to be done."

Clementine shook her head, a small smile playing about her lips. "There's a lesson in that, I think. They don't worry about yesterday or tomorrow. They just live in the moment, taking what they need and letting the rest go."

Elvis straightened, dusting his hands off on his chaps. He regarded her with a new intensity, as if seeing her for the first time. "Ain't you just full of surprises, Miss Clementine."

Clementine felt a flush creep up her neck at his words, at the way his gaze seemed to linger on her face. She ducked her head, suddenly fascinated by the eggs in her basket.

"We should get these inside," she said briskly, turning back toward the house. "Mrs. Jameson will be wanting them for breakfast."

She could feel Elvis' eyes on her back as she walked away, could sense the weight of his regard like a physical touch. It made her skin tingle and her stomach flutter, made her feel alive in a way she never had before.

But she couldn't let herself dwell on it. Couldn't let herself get distracted by the way he made her feel. She had a ranch to run, a legacy to uphold. And she would do it with or without Elvis' approval.

With a determined set to her shoulders, Clementine marched up the porch steps and into the kitchen, ready to face whatever the day might bring. And if her thoughts kept straying to a pair of piercing blue eyes and a crooked, knowing smile, well...that was nobody's business but her own.

As the morning wore on, Clementine found herself thrown headlong into the daily rhythms of ranch life. After breakfast, Elvis put her to work mucking out stalls in the barn, a task that left her sweaty and aching but oddly satisfied. There was something soothing about the repetitive motions, the earthy scent of hay and horse, the soft whickers and snuffles of the animals as she worked.

Next came a lesson in saddling a horse, Elvis' hands guiding her through the intricacies of cinches and stirrups. Clementine tried not to think about how close he stood, how the heat of his body seemed to seep into her skin through the layers of her dress. She focused instead on the task at hand, on the supple leather beneath her fingers and the solid weight of the saddle as she hefted it onto the horse's back.

By the time the sun reached its zenith, Clementine was sore and sweat-streaked but buzzing with a sense of accomplishment. She had never worked so hard in her life, had never pushed herself to such physical limits. But there was a deep satisfaction in it, a pride in knowing that she was capable of more than she had ever imagined.

As they made their way back to the house for dinner, Elvis fell into step beside her, his long legs easily matching her shorter strides. Clementine glanced up at him, surprised to find a glint of approval in his eyes.

"You did good today," he said gruffly, as if the words pained him. "Reckon you might just have what it takes to make a go of this place after all."

Clementine felt a warm glow of pleasure at his praise, even as she bristled at the note of surprise in his voice. "Did you doubt it?" she asked archly.

Elvis' mouth twitched, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Let's just say I had my reservations. But you're full of surprises, Miss Clementine. Reckon I'm gonna have to keep an eye on you."

There was something in the way he said it, a hint of challenge and something else, something that made Clementine's pulse skip and her skin tingle. She met his gaze squarely, refusing to back down.

"I suppose you will," she said, her voice steady even as her heart raced. "But I intend to keep an eye on you as well. We're in this together, Elvis. Whether you like it or not."

For a moment, Elvis just stared at her, his expression unreadable. Then, slowly, he nodded, a glimmer of respect in his eyes.

"Reckon we are," he said, his voice low and rough. "Reckon we are."

And with that, he turned and strode off toward the barn, leaving Clementine to watch him go, her heart hammering in her chest and a new determination burning in her veins.

*

One morning, Elvis gathered the ranch hands for the afternoon's work—a cattle drive to the south pasture to check on the herd and survey the fence lines. Clementine insisted on going along, despite Elvis' skeptical look and Slim’s poorly concealed grin.

Elvis gestured to a small bay mare tethered nearby. "That there is Nutmeg. She's gentle as a lamb and sure-footed on any terrain. Figured she'd suit a greenhorn like you."

Clementine eyed the saddle and tack warily. She knew she was badly out of practice. But she'd be damned if she let Elvis see her falter.

"Lovely," she said brightly, untying Nutmeg's reins and leading her out into the sunlight.

Now came the tricky part. How in blazes did one mount a horse unassisted whilst wearing trousers? Clementine's mind raced as she tried to recall the particulars. There had been talk of a mounting block or some sort of assistance from a groom...

Before she could make a bigger fool of herself, a large, work-roughened hand appeared in her peripheral vision.

"Allow me," Elvis murmured, his breath tickling her ear. 

Clementine stiffened but managed a jerky nod, steeling herself as he gripped her waist and practically tossed her into the saddle as if she weighed nothing at all. Good lord, the man was strong as an ox!

"There now," Elvis said, sounding faintly amused. "Snug as a bug. Let's hit the trail."

He swung aboard his own horse, Rising Sun, with effortless grace and set off at a brisk trot, leaving Clementine scrambling to gather her reins and urge Nutmeg to follow. The mare fell into step readily enough, but the motion of the saddle had Clementine lurching and sliding like a sack of potatoes. She clung to the horn for dear life, her teeth rattling and her hat threatening to fly off with every jolting stride.

“You alright there, city slicker?” Elvis offered with a smirk. 

Clementine scowled at him, her face flushed with exertion and embarrassment. "I'm perfectly fine, thank you. It's just been a while since I've ridden."

"I can see that. You're bouncin' around up there like a flea on a hot griddle." Red, Slim, and Rusty chuckled. 

Clementine's temper flared. "Well, forgive me for not being born in the saddle like some people. We can't all be insolent, arrogant cowboys!"

Elvis' eyes narrowed, his smile fading. "Careful now, missy. That insolent, arrogant cowboy is the only thing standing between you and a long walk back to the house. Might want to mind your manners."

“Aw hell, Elvis, leave the little lady alone,” Slim attempted to diffuse the budding argument.

Clementine knew she should back down, should swallow her pride and apologize. But something about this man just rubbed her the wrong way, stirring up a reckless, contrary streak she didn't even know she possessed.

"Oh, I'm sorry," she said sweetly to herself, not expecting anyone to hear her. "I thought I was the boss around here. My mistake."

Elvis' jaw clenched, his hand tightening on the reins. "Boss or not, out here you're just another greenhorn. And greenshorns who don't listen to good sense often end up buzzard bait. So you can either stow that snippy attitude and let me teach you a thing or two, or you can take your chances on your own. What'll it be?"

Red, Slim, and Rusty slowed their horses down, holding their breath and waiting for her answer. Clementine glared at Elvis, her pride warring with her common sense. As much as it galled her to admit it, Elvis was right. She was out of her depth out here and antagonizing her only guide was foolish at best, deadly at worst.

"Fine," she bit out. "Teach away, oh wise one. I am your humble student."

Elvis snorted, shaking his head. "You sure don't make it easy, do you? Alright, first things first—loosen up on them reins. You're holding 'em like you expect Nutmeg to bolt any second. She ain't going nowhere, trust me."

Clementine forced her white-knuckled grip to relax, letting out a shaky breath as the mare flicked an ear back curiously.

"Good. Now, stand up in them stirrups a bit. Let your knees absorb the motion 'stead of your backside. And keep your heels down for balance."

Clementine did as instructed, wobbling precariously for a moment before finding a rhythm. To her surprise, the ride smoothed out considerably, Nutmeg's rocking gait almost pleasant now that she wasn't being jounced to pieces.

"Well, would you look at that," Elvis drawled. "She can be taught. Keep that up and we might make a passable rider out of you yet, Miss Clementine."

Clementine felt an absurd flush of pleasure at his gruff approval. Honestly, what did she care what this uncouth lout thought of her? Still, perhaps it wouldn't kill her to bend a little, to put aside her wounded pride in service of the greater goal. She needed Elvis' cooperation if she hoped to make a go of this venture. Catching more flies with honey and all that.

Red’s mare caught up to hers, and he gently squeezed Clementine’s arm. “Don’t pay old Elvis no mind. He’s always a little ornery in the morning.” 

The four of them rode on in relatively companionable silence, the raw beauty of the landscape stealing Clementine's breath. Towering buttes and mesas rose up from the sun-baked earth, their banded layers glowing red and gold in the slanting light. Gnarled junipers dotted the hillsides, providing scant shade for the cacti and scrub brush that clung tenaciously to the rocky soil. In the distance, a band of wild mustangs kicked up dust as they fled across the flats, tails streaming behind them like banners.

It was a harsh, unforgiving land, but stunning in its austerity. Clementine tried to imagine her uncle Ned riding these same trails, his weather-beaten face creased in a smile as he surveyed his domain. She may not have known him well, but she sensed a kindred spirit—someone drawn to challenge and adventure, to pitting themselves against an untamed wilderness and emerging the victor.

Well, here I am, Uncle Ned, she thought. Following in your boot prints at last. I just hope I'm up to the task.

Lost in thought, Clementine scarcely noticed when Rusty reined in his horse at the crest of a rise, his keen gaze scanning the horizon.

"There," he said, pointing to a distant smudge of brown against the green and gold. "The herd's just over that next ridge. About three hundred head of prime Hereford, Ned's pride and joy. Let's ease up on 'em slow and quiet-like. Don't want to spook 'em into a stampede."

They approached the grazing cattle cautiously, Clementine's heart thudding with anticipation. Her first real look at her newfound livelihood. What would Ned have thought, seeing her astride a ranch horse, ready to take the reins of his empire? Would he be proud or appalled? Amused or aghast?

"You sure you're up for this, Miss Clementine?" Red asked, his blue eyes twinkling with mirth. "Ridin' herd ain't no picnic, 'specially for a greenhorn."

Clementine lifted her chin, giving him a cool smile. "I'm tougher than I look, Mr. Redding. And I'm a quick study. I'll be just fine."

The cattle regarded the riders placidly, chewing their cud and swishing their tails at the flies. Up close, they were even more enormous than Clementine had imagined, their heavy bodies and wickedly curved horns dwarfing the horses. She felt a flicker of unease, remembering tales of cowpokes gored and trampled by unruly steers.

As if sensing her trepidation, Elvis murmured, "Easy now. They're more scared of you than you are of them. These are good, docile beasts, well-used to human handling. Just keep your movements slow and predictable and you'll be fine."

Clementine nodded jerkily, fighting the urge to wheel Nutmeg around and gallop in the opposite direction. She trusted Elvis' expertise, even if she didn't particularly like or respect the man himself. He'd kept this herd thriving for five years—that had to count for something.

They meandered through the milling cattle, Elvis pointing out choice specimens and explaining the finer points of branding, breeding, and husbandry. Clementine did her best to absorb the onslaught of information, her head fairly spinning with talk of bloodlines and feed supplements and market prices.

One thing was becoming crystal clear. She was hopelessly out of her depth when it came to the day-to-day realities of running a ranch. Short of a miracle or divine intervention, Windy Creek would be bankrupt and in ruins within a month under her ignorant guidance.

Clementine's throat tightened with despair at the thought of failing her uncle, of losing this land that meant so much to him. And what of the people who depended on Windy Creek for their livelihood? Red and Slim and Rusty and the other hands she had yet to meet—how could she face them if her incompetence cost them their jobs, their homes?

No, it was unthinkable. She needed help, loath as she was to admit it. She needed Elvis.

Clementine was just working up the nerve to broach the subject when the quiet afternoon exploded into chaos. One moment the cattle were grazing peacefully, the next they were bellowing in alarm, eyes rolling and hooves churning the earth. The cause of their distress soon became apparent—a pair of snarling, yipping coyotes had burst from the underbrush, harrying the herd's flanks in search of an easy meal.

"Damnation!" Elvis swore, spurring his mount towards the threat. "Slim! Red! Rusty! Get after 'em 'fore they scatter the herd!"

Clementine watched in amazement as the cowhands sprung into immediate action, whooping and hollering as they rode to head off the predators. Red in particular was a sight to behold, his enormous frame dwarfing his horse as he thundered after a fleeing coyote, his lasso whirling overhead.

In the midst of the pandemonium, Clementine lost sight of Elvis. She reined in Nutmeg, heart in her throat as she scanned the milling herd for any sign of him. Panic clawed at her insides as horrible visions flashed through her mind—Elvis thrown from the saddle, trampled beneath a hundred hooves, bleeding and broken on the unforgiving ground...

A flash of movement caught her eye and Clementine shrieked in alarm, instinctively wrenching Nutmeg to the side. Too late, she realized her mistake as a coyote darted from the brush directly underfoot, spooking the mare into a wild, twisting buck.

Clementine felt herself slipping, her tenuous grip on the saddle horn failing as Nutmeg crow-hopped and whirled beneath her. She had one instant of sickening clarity, the knowledge that this was going to hurt, before the ground rushed up to meet her with stunning force.

The impact drove the air from her lungs in a whoosh, black spots crowding the edges of her vision. Dimly, she registered the thud of approaching hoofbeats, the bawl of frightened cattle, someone shouting her name with increasing urgency.

"Clementine! Clementine, goddammit, answer me!"

Rough hands seized her shoulders, rolling her onto her back. Clementine blinked up at Elvis' ashen face, his blue eyes wide with fear.

"I'm... alright," she croaked, wincing at the stabbing pain in her ribs. "Just had the wind knocked out of me."

"You're hurt," Elvis said roughly, his fingers coming away from her temple sticky with red. "What the hell were you thinking, pulling a stunt like that? You're lucky you didn't break your damn fool neck!"

"I was thinking that I didn't particularly want to be some coyote's dinner," Clementine snapped, struggling to sit up. "What was I supposed to do, let it take a chunk out of Nutmeg?"

"Better the horse than you!" Elvis shot back. "Christ almighty, do you have any idea what it would've done to me if you'd been killed on my watch? On your first day here?"

There was something raw and desperate in his voice, an emotion Clementine couldn't quite name. She stared at him, struck speechless by the intensity of his reaction.

Before she could formulate a response, the sound of pounding hooves announced the return of the other cowhands. Red reined up hard beside them, his ruddy face creased with concern.

"Miss Clementine! You okay? We saw you take that spill and feared the worst!"

"I'm fine, Red," Clementine assured him, accepting Elvis' hand up with as much dignity as she could muster. "Just a little tumble. No permanent damage."

Rusty looked skeptical, eyeing the bloody gash on her forehead. "That's gonna need some doctorin'. We best get you back to the house and have Juanita take a look."

"I said I'm fine," Clementine insisted, swaying slightly as a wave of dizziness washed over her. "There's no need to fuss."

Elvis made a wordless sound of frustration, scooping her up into his arms as if she weighed no more than a sack of flour. "Stubborn woman! You're gettin' patched up and that's final. Rusty, ride back to the ranch and tell Juanita to put the kettle on and set up a place on the porch.”

"Yessir, boss!" Rusty wheeled his horse and took off at a gallop, stirring up a cloud of dust.

"Slim, you get this heard settled and head on back when you can. Red, you lead Nutmeg back. I'm takin' Miss Accident-Prone here home before she finds more trouble to get into."

Elvis plunked Clementine onto his saddle and swung up behind her, caging her in with his long arms. She opened her mouth to protest the indignity of it all, but a stern look from those flinty blue eyes had her subsiding into sullen silence.

The ride back to the house seemed to take an eternity, every jolt and jostle sending fresh sparks of pain through Clementine's battered body. She could feel the heat of Elvis' chest at her back, the tickle of his breath ruffling her hair. It was unsettling, being in such close proximity to him. Like trying to relax with a loaded gun at your temple.

By the time they reached the ranch yard, Clementine's head was throbbing and her stomach was churning alarmingly. Black spots swarmed her vision as Elvis lifted her down from the saddle, his hands exceedingly gentle for all their strength.

"Easy there, darlin'. I got you."

Clementine leaned into him, too woozy to protest the endearment. He smelled of leather and sweat and something uniquely male, a scent that made her pulse flutter in a way that had nothing to do with her injuries.

She was only vaguely aware of being carried up the porch steps and settled onto a low cot, clucking female voices buzzing around her like concerned hens. Cool hands smoothed her brow, a damp cloth dabbing at the sticky mess at her hairline. The sting of alcohol made her hiss, flinching away.

"Hush, child," crooned Juanita, the middle-aged Mexican woman who served as the ranch’s de facto doctor-slash-veterinarian. "This will clean the cut, keep it from putrefaction. Drink this now, for the dolor de cabeza."

A cup was pressed to Clementine's lips, bitter tea laced with something sharper, medicinal. She gulped it obediently, desperate for anything to dull the relentless pounding behind her eyes.

Gradually, blessedly, the pain receded to a distant ache, her limbs growing heavy with languor. Clementine felt herself sinking into the downy embrace of the cot, the muted sounds of the ranch fading to a distant hum. Just before oblivion claimed her, she thought she felt the calloused touch of a hand smoothing her hair, the gruff timbre of a voice rumbling something that sounded suspiciously like "rest now, wildcat."

But it was probably just a dream, a product of her exhausted, concussed brain. Elvis Presley would never be so tender, so solicitous. Not to her. Not in a million years.

*

Clementine slept, and did not dream at all.

She awoke slowly, surfacing from the depths of unconsciousness like a diver ascending sunlit waters. Her head felt muzzy, her mouth dry as cotton, but the pain had faded to a faint, distant throb. Blinking gummy eyes, she struggled to focus on her surroundings.

She was lying on the cot on the front porch, a patchwork quilt tucked around her legs. The sun was setting in a blaze of orange and pink, the long shadows of the outbuildings stretching across the yard like grasping fingers. Somewhere nearby, a lone cicada buzzed in the cooling air, a herald of the approaching dusk.

"Well now, look who's back among the living."

Clementine turned her head, wincing at the twinge in her neck. Elvis was seated in a rocking chair a few feet away, his long legs stretched out before him and his hat tipped low over his eyes. He looked relaxed, indolent even, but Clementine could sense the coiled energy beneath the languid facade, the watchful tension of a predator at rest.

"What happened?" she croaked, struggling to sit up. "How long was I out?"

"Couple hours," Elvis replied, leaning forward to hand her a tin cup of water. "You took a pretty good knock to the head when that mare bucked you off. Juanita cleaned you up and dosed you with one of her concoctions. Said you'd be right as rain after some rest."

Clementine sipped the water, frowning as memory returned in fits and starts. The coyote, Nutmeg's panicked thrashing, the sickening weightlessness as she flew through the air...

"The cattle!" she exclaimed, slopping water down her front in her agitation. "Did they scatter? Was anyone hurt?"

Elvis shook his head, a faint smile playing about his lips. "Nah, we got 'em rounded up and settled quick enough. And other than a few bumps and bruises, everyone came through just fine. Except for you, a'course. Damn foolish stunt you pulled out there."

Clementine bristled at the censure in his tone, even as a tiny part of her acknowledged the truth of it. "I was just reacting on instinct. I didn't want Nutmeg to get hurt."

"And I didn't want you to get dead," Elvis retorted, a sudden edge to his voice. "Do you have any idea how close you came to dying today? How it felt to see you layin' there in the dirt, bleedin' and still as a corpse? Christ, Clementine, you 'bout stopped my heart."

Clementine stared at him, caught off-guard by the admission.

She flushed, both at the scolding and the backhanded compliment. "Yes, well, I suppose I've learned my lesson about playing the hero. Ranch work is a sight more dangerous than minding a shop or keeping accounts."

To her surprise, Elvis chuckled. "Reckon that's true enough. But you showed some real grit out there today, greenhorn or no. Not many city gals would have stuck it out like you did."

His praise, grudging as it was, warmed Clementine down to her toes. She ducked her head to hide her pleased smile, suddenly very aware of his nearness, of the way his knee brushed her hip through the quilt.

"I guess I'm tougher than I look," she said, aiming for nonchalance.

"Guess you are," Elvis agreed. Something in his tone made Clementine look up, her breath catching at the intensity in his blue eyes. For a long, charged moment, they just stared at each other, the air between them fairly crackling with an unnamed tension.

Then Elvis blinked and looked away, clearing his throat gruffly. "Best you get some more rest," he said, rising from the rocker. "I'll have Ida bring you up some supper later. Holler if you need anything."

And with that, he was gone, leaving Clementine alone with her whirling thoughts. She lay back against the pillows, her heart racing and her skin tingling where his gaze had lingered. What on earth had just happened? One minute Elvis was his usual gruff, scolding self, the next he was looking at her like... like...

Like a man looks at a woman he desires, a traitorous voice whispered in her head. Clementine shook the thought away, scandalised. Surely she was imagining things, seeing more than was there. She and Elvis were like oil and water, always rubbing each other the wrong way. He tolerated her for the sake of the ranch, nothing more. The idea that he might feel something deeper, something tender and passionate and real... it was impossible.

Wasn't it?

Clementine groaned and turned her face into the pillow, suddenly exhausted. Her head ached abominably, and her heart felt like a bird beating its wings against the cage of her ribs. She needed sleep, needed time to sort through the jumble of her emotions and the strange, unsettling effect Elvis Presley seemed to have on her good sense.

But even as she drifted off into a fitful doze, Clementine couldn't shake the memory of his eyes on hers, intense and searching and full of something that looked achingly like longing. It haunted her dreams, that look—a promise, a challenge, a invitation to something thrilling and terrifying and utterly forbidden.

Something Clementine knew she shouldn't want... but lord help her, she did.

She wanted it with every fiber of her being.

*

Over the next few days, as Clementine recovered from her injuries, she had ample time to reflect on her growing feelings for Elvis. It was maddening, the way he seemed to invade her every waking thought. She would be in the middle of some mundane task—shelling peas with Ida in the kitchen, or mending a torn shirt in her room—and suddenly his face would swim before her mind's eye, those piercing blue eyes and that crooked, knowing smile making her stomach flutter and her cheeks heat.

It was ridiculous. It was inappropriate. It was... inevitable, if Clementine was being honest with herself. From the moment she'd first laid eyes on Elvis, standing tall and proud on the porch of Windy Creek Ranch, she had felt the pull of him. The attraction, the fascination, the infuriating urge to crack that stony facade and see the man beneath.

But it was more than just physical allure. As the days turned into weeks and Clementine settled into her new life at the ranch, she began to see glimmers of the real Elvis: the loyal friend, the tireless worker, the unexpected jokester. Oh, he could be maddening, with his gruffness and his stubborn pride. But he could also be unexpectedly kind, unbelievably patient, and downright entertaining when the mood struck him.

Like the time he'd caught her trying to sneak a peek at his guitar, the one he kept propped in a corner of the bunkhouse. She'd been sure he would scold her for snooping, or worse, laugh at her clumsy attempts to pluck out a tune. But instead, he'd just shaken his head and smiled that crooked smile of his, then sat down beside her and showed her how to hold the instrument, his callused fingers guiding hers over the strings until she could pick out a passable melody.

Or the night he'd found her crying in the hayloft, homesick and overwhelmed and halfway convinced she'd made a terrible mistake in coming to Windy Creek. He hadn't said a word, just sat down beside her and pulled her into his arms, letting her sob into his shirt until she was spent. Then he'd tipped her chin up and looked into her eyes, his own gaze fierce and tender all at once.

"You're doing just fine, Clementine," he'd said, his voice low and rough. "You're right where you're meant to be."

It was moments like those that made Clementine's heart ache with a longing she couldn't quite name. A yearning for something more than friendship, more than partnership. 

Something that felt suspiciously like affection.

But it was impossible. She and Elvis were too different, too stubborn and set in their ways. They would drive each other mad within a year, Clementine was sure of it. And even if by some miracle they could make a go of it, there was still the ranch to consider. Windy Creek needed her, needed Elvis. They couldn't afford any distractions or entanglements.

No, it was better to put such foolish notions out of her head. To focus on her duties and her goals, and let her heart's desire remain just that—a secret, wistful dream.

But oh, how she dreamed.

As the weeks passed and Clementine grew stronger, she threw herself into life at Windy Creek with renewed determination. She rose with the sun each morning, joining Mrs. Jameson in the kitchen for a hearty breakfast before heading out to tackle the day's chores. She rode herd with the cattle, mended fences with Red and the boys, even tried her hand at roping and branding.

She still felt hopelessly out of her depth at times, but she was learning fast. And she had Elvis to thank for that. He was a patient teacher, though a demanding one. He pushed her hard, expecting nothing less than her very best effort. But he was also quick with a word of praise when she got something right, or a steadying hand when she faltered.

Slowly but surely, Clementine could feel herself changing. Growing tougher, more resilient. The blisters on her palms turned to calluses, the ache in her muscles to a pleasant sort of soreness. And though her prim city dresses were a thing of the past, she found she didn't miss them all that much. There was a freedom in denim and calico, a practicality that suited her new life.

She knew she still had a long way to go before she could truly call herself a rancher. But for the first time since arriving at Windy Creek, Clementine felt like she might actually belong here. Like she was exactly where she was meant to be.

And if her gaze still strayed to Elvis more often than it should, if her heart still raced at his nearness and her skin tingled at his touch... well. That was her secret to keep. Her cross to bear.

But lord, what a sweet burden it was.

*

One evening a few months later, as the sun dipped low on the horizon and painted the sky in shades of gold and pink, Clementine found herself alone with Elvis on a bluff overlooking the ranch. She'd gone up there to get away from the noise and bustle of the house for a while, to let the peace of the prairie soak into her bones and ease the remnants of the day's tension.

She hadn't expected Elvis to follow her. But then, he seemed to have a knack for turning up wherever she was. A coincidence, she told herself each time. Just a quirk of ranch life, two people whose paths were bound to cross often. It didn't mean anything.

But as Elvis came to stand beside her, his shoulder brushing hers as they looked out over the rolling expanse of Windy Creek, Clementine felt that old familiar flutter in her chest. The hitch in her breath, the skip of her pulse.

It meant something. It had to.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The only sound was the wind rustling through the grass, the distant lowing of the cattle in the pasture. Clementine breathed it in, let it fill her lungs and settle in her bones. This place, this land. It was a part of her now, as vital as her own beating heart.

"It's beautiful," she murmured, almost to herself.

Elvis hummed in agreement, his gaze never leaving the horizon. "Never get tired of this view. No matter how many times I see it."

Clementine glanced at him, struck by the wondering note in his voice. "You really love this place, don't you?"

Elvis nodded slowly. "It's in my blood. Has been since I was old enough to sit a horse. Used to dream about having a spread like this, a place to call my own." He paused, his jaw working as if wrestling with some inner debate. Then, quietly, "Never thought I'd find someone to share it with, though."

Clementine's heart stumbled, then began to race. Surely he didn't mean... no. He couldn't have. 

They rode home in silence. 

Chapter 3

The sun beat down on Clementine's back as she rode across the pasture, her eyes scanning the herd for any signs of trouble. It had been just over a year since she'd arrived at Windy Creek Ranch, and in that time, she'd learned more about cattle and cowboying than she'd ever thought possible.

She'd also learned a thing or two about herself. Like the fact that she was stronger than she'd ever given herself credit for, and that the wide-open spaces of the West felt more like home than the bustling streets of New York ever had.

As she turned her horse back towards the ranch house, Clementine couldn't help but smile. Despite the long days and the hard work, she'd never been happier. She had a purpose here, a place where she belonged.

She had Elvis. 

Of course, he was as quiet as ever. Truly, the strong and silent type. But somewhere along the way, through all the disagreements and teasing, a comfortable companionship had grown between them, and Clementine was grateful. 

She dismounted in front of the house, handing the reins off to one of the ranch hands. "Take good care of him, Johnny," she said, giving the boy a pat on the shoulder. "He worked hard today."

Johnny grinned, his freckled face beaming with pride. "Yes, ma'am, Miss Clementine. I'll give him a good rubdown and some extra oats."

Clementine nodded, grateful for the enthusiasm and dedication of her crew. Over time, the workers at the ranch had become like her family. In addition to Red, Slim, and Rusty, there was Johnny, the eager young newcomer; Hank, the grizzled old-timer who'd been working the ranch since before Clementine was born; Juanita, the no-nonsense veterinarian who kept the animals healthy and her affable husband Gerónimo; Ida, the motherly housekeeper and cook whose fried chicken was legendary around these parts; and a handful of other steady, reliable hands.

She made her way into the house, sighing with relief as the cool shade enveloped her. She had just taken off her gloves and settled down at her desk to go over the day's receipts when a letter caught her eye. It was postmarked from New York.

Clementine smiled as she unfolded the pages, eager for news from home. But before she could read more than a few lines, the door burst open and Elvis strode in, his face grim.

"We got trouble," he said without preamble. "Rustlers hit the Falling Tree Acres last night. They're missing a dozen head."

Clementine's blood ran cold. Rustlers. The scourge of the open range, the nightmare of every rancher west of the Mississippi. She had heard the stories, had listened to the ranch hands swap tales of cattle thefts and midnight raids. But she had never thought it would happen here, in their peaceful valley.

"Are you sure?" she asked, her voice barely more than a whisper.

Elvis nodded grimly. "They found tracks this morning, out by their western pasture. Looks like the bastards cut the fence and drove off a dozen head in the night. Took ‘em 'til now to make sure there weren't no stragglers."

Clementine sank back into her chair, her knees suddenly weak. A dozen head. It didn't sound like much, but she knew that every animal counted, that even a small loss could be devastating to any ranch. 

“What’ll they do?” she asked, hating the tremor in her voice. "What if the rustlers come here?"

Elvis sighed, running a hand through his dark hair. "Ain't gonna be easy. These rustlers, they're smart. They know how to cover their tracks, how to disappear into the wilderness like ghosts. We could spend weeks chasin' 'em and never see hide nor hair."

Clementine's heart sank even further. Something had to be done, but... weeks of fruitless searching, of neglecting the ranch and the rest of the herd? They couldn't afford it, not now. Not when they were just starting to find their footing. Then again, they needed to do something about it—prevent any losses before they happened.

But then, a sudden thought struck her. A memory of something her uncle had said, long ago, when she was just a girl. Something about the importance of neighbors, of community, of banding together in times of trouble.

"What about the other ranchers?" she asked, sitting up straighter in her chair. "Surely we're not the only ones who have been hit by these rustlers. What if we joined forces, pooled our resources and manpower?"

Elvis looked at her in surprise, as if the idea had never occurred to him. "You mean, like a meeting?"

She took a deep breath, her mind already racing. "Yes," she said, standing up from her desk. "Let's get the word out. I want every rancher in the valley here tonight. We need to figure out a plan."

Elvis nodded, his jaw tight. "I'll send Rusty and Johnny to spread the news. You want me to ride over to Big Sky, let them know?"

Clementine hesitated, remembering the last time she'd seen Nathaniel Hawthorne. The man had been cold and dismissive, making it clear that he didn't think much of a woman running a ranch. But Big Sky was one of the largest spreads in the area, and they needed all the help they could get.

"No," she said finally. "I'll go myself. It's time Nathaniel and I had a little chat."

Elvis's eyes narrowed, but he didn't argue. "Alright then. I'll hold down the fort here, make sure everything's ready for tonight."

Clementine nodded, grateful for his support. She knew that Elvis had his doubts about her plan, but he trusted her enough to follow her lead. It meant more to her than she could say.

She rode hard for Big Sky, her thoughts churning as she tried to come up with a way to convince Nathaniel Hawthorne to join their cause. The man was as stubborn as a mule, and twice as mean. But if they had any hope of stopping the rustlers, they needed Big Sky on their side.

When she arrived at the ranch, she was surprised to be greeted not by Nathaniel, but by his son Aaron. The young man was a few years older than Clementine, with sharp hazel eyes and a no-nonsense air about him.

"Miss Olivetti," Aaron said, his tone cool but polite. "I'm afraid my father is indisposed at the moment. What can I do for you?"

Clementine dismounted, dusting off her hands on her skirt. "I'm sorry to hear that," she said, though she wasn't entirely sure she meant it. "I've come to talk to him about the rustler problem. We're calling a meeting tonight, and I was hoping Big Sky would be represented."

Aaron’s eyes narrowed, and Clementine got the sense that she was being sized up. "I see," the young man said finally. "Well, I can't speak for my father, but I'll be there. Big Sky takes the rustler threat very seriously."

She rode back to Windy Creek feeling accomplished, like they might just have a chance against the rustlers after all. But as the sun began to set and the ranchers began to arrive, Clementine felt her confidence waver.

The main room of the ranch house was crowded, the air thick with tension and the murmur of voices. Clementine looked around at the gathered men, recognizing most of the faces. There was Jake McAllister from the Circle B, his weathered face set in a scowl. Tom Hawkins from the Rocking H, his fingers drumming an agitated beat on his thigh. Hank Brewster from the Lazy J, his shoulders slumped with weariness. Of course, Jake Dawson from Falling Tree Acres was there, too, hopping mad. And a half-dozen others, all looking to her for answers.

Her own men were there as well—Red and Slim and Rusty, their expressions grim. And a few more she'd come to rely on over the past year: Jeb Thompson, a grizzled hand who could coax a calf from the orneriest of heifers; young Billy Turner, eager to prove himself; and Lyle Davis, quiet and steady, with a gift for gentling horses.

But there was one face Clementine didn't recognize—a woman, standing slightly apart from the rest. She was tall and slim, with honey-blonde hair and sharp blue eyes. When Elvis saw her, he stiffened, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his face.

"Katie," he said, his voice carefully neutral. "Didn't expect to see you here."

The woman—Katie—smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. "Desperate times, Elvis. My father and Aaron sent me in their stead." Aaron Hawthorne. Katie was Aaron’s brother, and Nathaniel’s daughter. 

There was a story there, Clementine could tell. A history between Elvis and this Katie Hawthorne. But now was not the time to dwell on it. They had bigger problems to deal with.

As if on cue, Tom Hawkins spoke up, his voice tight with anger. "We all know why we're here. These rustlers are bleeding us dry, and something needs to be done about it. But I think we ought to wait and see." A murmur went around the room, heads shaking and fists clenching.

"And what good would hunkering down do?" demanded Sam Johnson, his fists clenched at his sides. "They'd just pick us off one by one, like lambs to the slaughter. No, we need to take the fight to them, hit them hard and fast before they can hit us again."

"Are you out of your mind?" Nathaniel Hawthorne's voice cut through the din like a knife. "You're talking about going up against armed men, men who won't hesitate to put a bullet in your back. It's suicide, plain and simple."

"I say we let the law handle it," said Hank Brewster, his tone weary. "It's their job, ain't it?"

Jake McAllister snorted. "The law? You mean Sheriff Hodges? That old drunk couldn't find his own ass with both hands and a map. We'd be better off hiring a pack of coyotes to guard the henhouse."

A ripple of uneasy laughter went through the room. Clementine frowned, her patience wearing thin. They were getting nowhere with this bickering. Soon, the men all erupted into argument, voices rising and tempers flaring. Clementine looked from one angry face to another, her heart sinking. This was exactly what she'd been afraid of—that the ranchers would be too divided, too set in their ways to find common ground.

"We have to do something," she said, her voice ringing out clear and strong. "We can't just sit back and watch everything we've worked for be taken away."

"And what do you suggest, Miss Olivetti?" Katie asked, her tone faintly mocking. "That our men go out there, guns blazing, and get themselves killed?"

Clementine opened her mouth to retort, but Elvis beat her to it, his deep voice cutting through the din like a knife.

"Seems to me," he said slowly, "that we don't have much choice in the matter. Either we take the fight to the rustlers, or we sit back and watch everything we've worked for get stolen out from under us. I don't know about y'all, but I ain't too keen on the second option."

A heavy silence fell over the room, broken only by the occasional cough or shuffle of feet. Clementine could see the indecision on every face, the warring impulses of self-preservation and solidarity.

But then, slowly, heads began to nod. Shoulders straightened, jaws set with determination. "The man's right," Jake McAllister said grudgingly. "We can't just sit back and let them pick us off one by one. We have to stand together, or we'll all fall alone."

There were murmurs of agreement from around the room, a sense of purpose beginning to take hold. Clementine felt a surge of pride and gratitude, her eyes seeking out Elvis's across the sea of faces. He met her gaze steadily, something warm and reassuring in the blue depths.

"Alright then," Elvis said, his voice ringing out with confidence. "Let's get to planning. We'll need every able-bodied man who can ride and shoot. We'll track the rustlers to their hideout, and we'll make sure they never trouble us again."

The meeting broke up soon after that, the ranchers dispersing to make their preparations for the evening. As she was lighting a candle, Clementine caught a glimpse of Katie Hawthorne deep in conversation with Elvis, their heads bent close together as they spoke in low, urgent tones.

Something twisted in Clementine's gut at the sight, a flare of jealousy that she didn't quite understand. But she pushed it down, focusing instead on the task ahead. There would be time to worry about Katie Hawthorne later. 

*

Later that evening, Clementine found herself wandering the quiet halls of the ranch house, her mind too full of worries to settle. She was just about to open the cupboard when she heard a noise from the living room, a soft clink of glass on wood.

Curious, she padded over to the doorway, peering into the dimly lit room. Elvis sat at the table, a half-empty bottle of whiskey in front of him and a troubled expression on his face. He looked up as she entered, his eyes widening in surprise.

"Clementine,” he said, his voice rough. “What are you doing up?”

She shrugged, suddenly feeling self-conscious in her nightgown and robe. “Couldn’t sleep. Too much on my mind, I guess.”

Elvis nodded, his gaze dropping to the glass in his hand. "I know the feeling," he said, taking a swig of whiskey. 

Clementine's heart clenched at the weariness in his voice, the vulnerability he so rarely showed. "You don't have to go tonight, you know," she said softly, reaching out to lay a hand on his arm. "The other men can handle it. You've done enough already, Elvis. More than enough."

He looked up at her then, something fierce and determined in his eyes. "Ain’t no way," he said, his voice low and intense. "I promised your uncle I'd look after this place, Clem. I ain't about to break that promise now."

Clementine felt a rush of warmth at his words, a flutter of something deeper and more complicated than gratitude. But she tamped it down, focusing instead on the danger ahead.

"It's going to be risky," she said, her voice wavering slightly. "I don't want you getting hurt on my account, Elvis. I couldn't bear it if something happened to you."

He covered her hand with his own, his skin warm and rough against hers. "Good thing I ain't planning on gettin’ hurt, then," he said, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Besides, it’s just a search party. We ain’t gonna do no shooting tonight. We’re just gonna track the rustlers, that’s all.”

Clementine laughed, the tension draining out of her in a rush. "Well, I suppose I can live with that," she said, her eyes sparkling. "Just promise me you'll be careful out there, alright?"

"I promise," Elvis said, his voice solemn. "And you promise me, Clementine. You’ll be waiting when I get back?"

She nodded, her throat suddenly tight. "I promise," she whispered, meaning it with every fiber of her being.

They sat like that for a long moment, hands clasped and eyes locked, the silence stretching out between them like a promise of its own. And then Elvis cleared his throat, releasing her hand and standing up from the table.

"Best get some rest," he said, his voice gruff. "Got a long day ahead of us tomorrow."

Clementine stood as well, her heart racing as she followed him to the door. "Goodnight, Elvis," she said softly, her hand on the knob. "And thank you. For everything."

He paused, his hand coming up to brush a strand of hair back from her face. "Anytime, Clem," he murmured, his eyes soft. "Anytime at all."

And then he was gone, the door closing softly behind him, leaving Clementine alone with her thoughts and the pounding of her own heart.

*

The ranch house was quiet that night, the usual bustle and chatter replaced by a tense, watchful silence. Clementine wandered the halls like a ghost, her mind spinning and her heart aching.

She couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong, that some disaster was looming just beyond the horizon. And she couldn't help but wonder if she had made the right choice, staying behind while her men out to face the danger alone.

She found herself in the kitchen just as dawn was breaking, staring blankly at the coffeepot as it burbled and hissed on the stove. She couldn't remember how she'd gotten there, or why she'd come. All she knew was that she needed something, anything, to take her mind off the worry and the fear.

And then, like a miracle, Elvis appeared in the doorway. He looked haggard and worn, his face lined with exhaustion and his eyes shadowed with some dark emotion. But he was alive, and whole, and Clementine felt her heart leap with relief.

"You're back," she breathed, stepping forward to meet him. "What happened out there? Did you find them?"

Elvis shook his head, his jaw tight. "No. We rode hard all night, followed their trail as far as we could. But they're clever bastards, know how to cover their tracks. We lost the scent somewhere around Coyote Creek, and by then it was too dark to go on."

Clementine's heart sank, disappointment and frustration welling up in her throat. "So what now?" she asked, her voice small. "What do we do?"

Elvis sighed, running a hand over his face. "We start again the day after tomorrow, at first light. Keep searching until we find them, or until we can't search no more."

He looked at her then, his eyes dark and intense. "I need you to be strong, Clementine. I need you to keep this place running, keep the men in line. Can you do that for me?"

Clementine swallowed hard, forcing down the lump in her throat. "Of course," she said, her voice steadier than she felt. "I'll do whatever needs to be done, Elvis. You know that."

He nodded, something like pride flickering in his gaze. And then, to her surprise, he reached out and pulled her into his arms.

Clementine stiffened for a moment, unused to such displays of affection from the taciturn cowboy. But then she melted into him, her hands fisting in the back of his shirt and her face pressing into the warm, solid strength of his chest.

"I'm scared, Elvis," she whispered, the words muffled against his skin. 

He tightened his hold on her, his chin resting on the top of her head. "I know, darlin'. I'm scared too. But we can't let that fear control us, you hear me? We gotta be strong, for each other and for this ranch."

Clementine nodded, drawing in a shuddering breath. And then, before she could lose her nerve, she tilted her head back and pressed her lips to his.

The kiss was quick and chaste, a gentle exploration that made her heart race and her blood sing. Elvis made a low, desperate sound in the back of his throat but before things could go any further, he tore himself away, his breath coming hard and fast. "I’m sorry. I shouldn’ta done that." he said, his voice rough with wanting. "We can’t. I ain’t gonna take advantage of you.Not when we both don't know what tomorrow might bring."

“I—you’re right.” Clementine knew it, even as her body screamed in protest. She stepped back, wrapping her arms around herself as if to ward off the chill of his absence. "I'm sorry," she said, her voice trembling. "I don't know what came over me. It's just... the thought of losing you..."

"Shh." Elvis placed a finger over her lips, silencing her. 

"Don't talk like that. We're gonna make it through this, you and me. And when we do, we'll have all the time in the world to figure out what this is between us."

Clementine nodded. 

He leaned in, pressing a soft, chaste kiss to her forehead. "But for now, we gotta focus on the task at hand. We gotta be strong for the ranch. Can you do that for me, Clem?"

She looked up at him, her heart in her eyes. "I can. I will."

He smiled then, a real smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes and made her heart skip a beat. "That's my girl. Now, let's get some rest. We got a long day ahead of us tomorrow."

*

The first rays of the sun were just beginning to paint the sky in shades of pink and gold when Clementine stepped out onto the porch, a rifle slung over her shoulder, two pistols at her hip, and a steely glint in her eye.

The ranchers were already gathered in the yard, checking their tack and loading their saddlebags with grim determination. Elvis stood at the center of the group, his black hat pulled low over his brow as he issued last-minute orders and instructions, saddling his mount quickly and efficiently.

He looked up as she approached, his eyes widening in surprise and something like consternation. "What do you think you're doing? I thought I told you to stay put," he demanded, striding over to block her path. "You ain't comin' with us, Clementine. It's too dangerous."

She lifted her chin, meeting his gaze squarely. "The hell I'm not," she said, her voice ringing with conviction. "This is my ranch, Elvis. My land, my cattle, my responsibility. My men. And I'll be damned if I'm going to sit back and let someone else fight my battles for me."

He opened his mouth to argue, but she cut him off with a sharp gesture. "I know what you're going to say," she said. "That I'm just a woman, that I don't know how to handle a gun or ride with a posse. But you're wrong, Elvis. I've been learning this past year. I can shoot as straight as any man here, and ride twice as quick."

Red’s face split into a big, knowing smile. Elvis elbowed him, and his ruddy companion stood ramrod straight. She saw the flicker of surprise in Elvis’ eyes, too, the grudging respect that warred with his instinctive need to protect her. But she wasn't about to back down, not now, not when so much was at stake.

"I'm coming with you," she said, her voice low and intense. "And that's final. You can either accept it, or you can try to stop me. But either way, I'll be riding out of here at your side, come hell or high water."

For a long, tense moment, Elvis just stared at her, his jaw working as if he were chewing on a particularly tough piece of rawhide. Then, slowly, he nodded, his eyes glinting with something that might have been pride, or exasperation, or a little bit of both.

"Alright, then," he said gruffly. "But you stay close to me, you hear? And if I give you an order, you follow it, no questions asked."

They rode out in a thunder of hoofbeats, the sun high overhead and the wind whipping at their faces. Clementine could feel the adrenaline coursing through her veins, the thrill of the hunt mingling with a cold, creeping fear. She knew that they were riding into danger, that there was no telling what they might face out there on the open range.

But she also knew that she was not alone, that she had Elvis and the others by her side, ready to fight for what was theirs, and that knowledge gave her the courage to keep riding.

They rode for hours, following the rustlers' trail across the rugged terrain. The sun beat down on them, the heat shimmering off the rocks and the scrubby brush. Clementine could feel the sweat trickling down her back, the dust caking her face and hair. But she hardly noticed, her mind focused on the task at hand, on the need to find the stolen cattle and bring the thieves to justice.

It was nearly sundown when they finally caught sight of the rustlers' camp, a thin plume of smoke rising from a hidden canyon up ahead. Elvis called a halt, his hand raised in warning.

"We'll have to go in on foot from here," he said, his voice low and tense. "Can't risk them hearing us coming."

Clementine nodded, her heart pounding in her chest. This was it, the moment of truth. She slid from her saddle, her legs stiff and sore from hours of riding. She checked her rifle, making sure it was loaded and ready, then fell in behind Elvis as he led the way toward the canyon.

They crept through the underbrush, the only sound the crunch of their boots against the dry leaves and twigs. Clementine could feel the tension in the air, the sense of impending danger. She knew that the rustlers would be armed, that they would fight to keep their stolen herd. But she also knew that they were outnumbered, that the posse had the element of surprise on their side.

As they neared the edge of the canyon, Elvis held up a hand, signaling for them to stop. He peered over the edge, his eyes narrowing as he took in the scene below.

"They're down there, alright," he said, his voice barely more than a whisper. "Looks like they've got the cattle penned up in that box canyon. I count six men, maybe seven."

Clementine swallowed hard, her mouth suddenly dry. Six men. Six armed, desperate men who would stop at nothing to keep what they had stolen. She knew that the odds were in their favor, that they had the rustlers outnumbered and outgunned. But she also knew that anything could happen in the heat of battle, that there was no guarantee that they would all make it out alive.

She looked at Elvis, saw the grim determination in his eyes, the set of his jaw. And she knew that he was thinking the same thing, that he was weighing the risks and the rewards, the need to protect their own against the danger of the unknown.

"What's the plan?" she asked, her voice steady despite the hammering of her heart.

Elvis took a deep breath, his gaze still fixed on the canyon below. "We'll split up, come at 'em from both sides. Jake, you take half the men and circle around to the north. Tom, you take the other half and come in from the south. Clementine, you're with Jake. I’ll go straight down the middle, try to draw their fire and give the others a chance to get in close."

Clementine felt a sudden, sharp fear at his words, a sense of dread that she couldn't quite shake. She knew that Elvis was putting himself in the greatest danger, that he was using himself as a distraction to give the others a chance. And she knew that she couldn't let him do it alone.

"I'm coming with you," she said, her voice brooking no argument.

Elvis looked at her, his eyes widening in surprise. "Clementine, I don't think—"

"I'm not asking, Elvis," she said, cutting him off. "I’m coming."

For a moment, Elvis just stared at her, his expression unreadable. Then, slowly, he nodded, a flicker of something like pride in his eyes.

"Alright then," he said, his voice gruff. "Let's do this."

They made their way down the steep slope of the canyon, the loose shale and gravel sliding beneath their feet. Clementine could hear the low murmur of voices from the camp below, the soft lowing of the penned-up cattle. Her heart was pounding in her ears, her palms slick with sweat on the grip of her rifle.

As they neared the bottom of the canyon, Elvis held up a hand, signaling for her to stop. He peered around the edge of a boulder, his eyes narrowing as he took in the scene.

"Alright," he said, his voice low and tense. "On my signal, we move in. You stay close to me, you hear? And if things start to go south, you get the hell out of there and don't look back."

Clementine nodded, her throat too tight to speak. She knew that he was trying to protect her, that he was willing to lay down his life to keep her safe. And she knew that she couldn't let that happen, that she would fight to her last breath to keep him alive.

Elvis took a deep breath, his hand tightening on the grip of his pistol. Then, with a nod to Clementine, he stepped out from behind the boulder, his voice ringing out across the canyon.

"Drop your weapons and let the cattle go!" he shouted, his pistol leveled at the nearest rustler. "You're surrounded and outnumbered. There's no way out!"

For a moment, there was silence, the only sound the low moan of the wind through the canyon. Then, with a shout of defiance, the rustlers opened fire, their bullets whizzing past Clementine's head and shattering the rock at her feet.

She dropped to the ground, her heart pounding in her chest. Beside her, Elvis was returning fire, his pistol barking in the still air. She could hear the shouts and curses of the rustlers, the panicked bellowing of the cattle as they milled about in their makeshift pen.

Clementine leveled her rifle, her hands steady and her aim true. She squeezed the trigger once, twice, three times, watching with grim satisfaction as the rustlers fell, clutching at their wounds.

But then, out of the corner of her eye, she saw something that made her blood run cold. Elvis, locked in hand-to-hand combat with one of the rustlers, his gun lying forgotten on the ground.

The man was huge, easily a head taller than Elvis and twice as broad. He had a knife in his hand, the blade glinting wickedly in the sun, and a feral grin on his face as he bore down on the smaller man.

Clementine didn't hesitate. She got up from her position, charging towards the two men with a shout of fury. She leaped, tackling the rustler around the waist and sending them both tumbling to the ground.

They grappled in the dirt, the man's knife slashing at the air as Clementine tried to wrestle it from his grip. She could hear Elvis shouting her name, could feel the impact of bodies hitting the ground all around her as the battle raged on.

And then, with a final, desperate twist, she wrenched the knife free. The man lunged for her, his eyes wild with rage and desperation, but Clementine was faster. She plunged the blade into his chest, feeling the sickening give of flesh and bone.

The rustler's eyes went wide, his mouth opening in a silent scream. And then he was falling, his body hitting the ground with a dull, final thud.

Clementine staggered to her feet, her breath coming in great, heaving gasps. She looked around wildly, taking in the scene of carnage and chaos.

All around her, the canyon exploded into chaos. The posse had burst from cover, guns blazing as they bore down on the rustlers. She could hear shouts and screams, could smell the acrid tang of gunpowder on the air. Bullets whizzed past her head, kicking up puffs of dust at her feet. 

It seemed to go on forever, that nightmarish battle in the heart of the canyon. But in reality, it was over in a matter of minutes. The rustlers, outnumbered and outgunned, threw down their weapons and surrendered, their hands raised in supplication.

Clementine sagged with relief, her knees suddenly weak. She looked around, taking in the scene of carnage—the bodies sprawled on the ground, the wounded men groaning in pain, the cattle milling about in confusion.

And then her gaze fell on Elvis, and her heart stopped.

He was lying on the ground, his face pale and his eyes closed. There was a spreading stain of red on his shirt, a wound in his chest that pulsed with each labored breath.

"No," Clementine whispered, stumbling forward on numb, leaden feet. "No, no, no."

She fell to her knees beside him, her hands shaking as she pressed them to the wound, trying desperately to stem the flow of blood. Elvis's eyes fluttered open, glassy and unfocused.

"Don't you dare," she said fiercely, her tears falling hot and fast on his face. "Don't you dare leave me, Elvis Presley. Not now, not like this."

*

"Somebody help me!" Clementine shouted, her voice raw with desperation. "Please, he's hurt, we need to get him back to the ranch!"

The others crowded around, their faces grim as they took in the sight of their fallen comrade. Tom Hawkins knelt down on Elvis' other side, his fingers searching for a pulse.

"He's alive," he said, his voice tight. "But he's lost a lot of blood. We need to get him back to Windy Creek, and fast."

Clementine nodded, her vision blurring with tears. 

“Put him on White Lightning!” Rusty cried, “Clem’s horse is the fastest.” She watched as the men lifted Elvis onto the back of her horse, his head lolling limply against his chest. She wanted to go to him, to gather him into her arms and will the life back into his broken body. But she knew that she couldn't, that she had to be strong now, for him and for herself.

"I'll go with you," said Jake, swinging up into his own saddle. "Red and Tom, you, round up the herd and head on back. The rest of you, tie the rustler up. We'll meet you there."

The ride back to the ranch was a blur, a nightmare of dust and sweat and clenching fear and Elvis’ limp form cradled against her chest as she urged White Lightning onward. She could feel his blood soaking through her shirt, could hear the rattling wheeze of his breath in her ear. 

But she refused to give up hope, refused to let the fear and the despair take hold. Elvis was a fighter, a survivor. He would make it through this. He had to.

They reached the ranch just as the sun was setting, the sky painted in shades of orange and gold. Clementine leapt from the saddle, shouting for Juanita and the ranch hands as she half-carried, half-dragged Elvis inside.

"Help him!" she demanded, her voice tight with fear. 

Mrs. Jameson hurried over, her face creased with worry. "They took him straight up to his room, miss. Juanita's with him now, doing what she can to stop the bleeding. But he's in a bad way, I won't lie to you."

The next few hours passed in a haze of activity and dread, the ticking of the clock on the mantel the only sound in the silent house. Juanita worked tirelessly, cleaning and stitching and bandaging, her face set in grim determination.

*

It had been hours, and Clementine had no news. "I need to go to him, Ida" she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "I need to be with him."

The housekeeper nodded, her eyes soft with understanding. "Of course, miss. You go on up. I'll see to the hands and the stock."

Clementine managed a grateful nod, then turned and fled into the house, her heart pounding and her breath coming in short, sharp gasps. She took the stairs two at a time.

She burst into Elvis' room without knocking, her eyes wide and wild as she scanned the dimly lit space. He was lying on the bed, his shirt torn open to reveal the ugly, seeping wound in his chest. Juanita was bent over him, her hands bloody as she worked to staunch the flow.

"How is he?" Clementine asked, her voice thin and reedy to her own ears. "Will he... will he live?"

Juanita looked up, her dark eyes unreadable. "I don't know, Clem. He's lost a lot of blood, and the bullet's still in there. I've done what I can to clean and bind the wound, but he needs a real doctor, and soon."

Clementine nodded, her throat too tight for words. She sank down onto the edge of the bed, her hand reaching out to brush the sweat-soaked hair back from Elvis' brow. He was burning with fever, his skin hot and dry beneath her palm.

"Oh, Elvis," she whispered, the endearment slipping out before she could stop it. "What have they done to you?"

She sent Red to fetch Doc Jamison from town, his saddlebags laden with all the medical supplies they could spare. And then there was nothing to do but wait, and pray, and hope against hope that Elvis would pull through.

The sun rose and set, the hours bleeding into days.

Clementine sat by Elvis's bedside, holding his hand and whispering words of encouragement. She barely slept, barely ate, her whole world narrowed down to the rise and fall of his chest, the fluttering of his eyelids, the faint pulse at his wrist.

And then, on the eighth day, a miracle. Elvis's fever broke, his breathing easing and his color returning. He opened his eyes, blinking up at Clementine with a weak, crooked smile.

"Hey there, darlin'," he rasped, his voice hoarse from disuse. "Fancy meeting you here."

Clementine let out a sob, tears of relief and joy streaming down her face. She threw herself into his arms, burying her face in his neck and breathing in the warm, familiar scent of him.

"Don't you ever do that to me again," she whispered fiercely. "You hear me, Elvis Presley? Never again."

He chuckled softly, his hand coming up to stroke her hair. "Yes, ma'am," he murmured. "I promise."

*

The next morning, Clementine awoke to Elvis screaming in agony. Before long, Doc Jamison was at his bedside, procuring a large needle from his medicine bag and injecting it into the patient’s arm. Clementine watched with bated breath as Elvis slowly settled back into a comfortable sleep, floating in the twilight of morphine.

She sat at his bedside, keeping vigil, praying for him. At one point, he whispered something.

"Marry me," she thought she heard. "Be my wife, Clementine.

Chapter 4

Clementine sat at her desk, sorting through the mail that had arrived the previous week. Among the various bills and correspondence, one letter caught her eye. The familiar handwriting on the envelope made her heart skip a beat. It was from Bonnie.

With trembling fingers, Clementine opened the letter and began to read:

"My Dearest Clemmie,

I hope this letter finds you well and thriving in your new life at Windy Creek Ranch. I miss you terribly, and the city feels empty without your laughter and companionship.

I have exciting news! I've decided to take a break from the hustle and bustle of New York and come visit you at the ranch. I long to see the beautiful landscapes you've described and meet the intriguing characters you've mentioned in your letters.

Expect me to arrive within the fortnight. I cannot wait to embrace you and hear all about your adventures.

Your loving friend, Bonnie"

Clementine clutched the letter to her chest, a wide grin spreading across her face. The prospect of having Bonnie at the ranch filled her with joy and excitement. She couldn't wait to show her best friend around and introduce her to everyone, especially Elvis.

Elvis. The thought of him made Clementine’s smile falter.

Since his injury, their relationship had been somewhat strained. She had been tending to him diligently, changing his bandages and ensuring he was comfortable. However, every time she tried to bring up his morphine-induced mumblings, Elvis would change the subject or feign exhaustion. It was starting to worry her. 

A knock at the door startled Clementine from her thoughts. 

"Come in," she called, setting the letter aside.

To her surprise, Katie Hawthorne stepped into the room, her blonde hair perfectly coiffed and her blue eyes sparkling. She looked stunning in a sage green day dress that complemented her fair complexion.

"Good morning, Clementine," she greeted, her voice polite but cool. "I hope I'm not interrupting anything important."

Clementine forced a smile, trying to ignore the twinge of unease that Katie's presence always seemed to evoke. "Not at all, Katie. What brings you here?"

Katie walked over to the desk, her posture poised and confident. "I was hoping to visit Elvis. I heard he's recovering well, and I thought he might appreciate a familiar face."

Clementine's stomach churned at the thought of Katie spending time alone with Elvis. She knew there was a history between them, but the details remained a mystery. "I'm sure he would appreciate that," she managed to say, her voice even. "He's in his room, resting."

With a nod and a polite smile, Katie left the room, leaving Clementine alone with her thoughts. Unable to concentrate on her work, Clementine decided to take a walk around the ranch to clear her head.

As she stepped outside, the warm sun and gentle breeze greeted her. The sound of laughter caught her attention, and she spotted Red and Slim engaged in a lively conversation near the stables.

"Miss Clementine!" Red called out, waving her over. 

Clementine made her way over to them, eager for a distraction. "You're just in time. Slim here was about to share a story about the time he singlehandedly fought off a pack of coyotes."

Slim grinned, puffing out his chest. "It's true! I was out on the range, minding my own business, when suddenly..."

But as Slim launched into his tale, Clementine found herself only half-listening. Her mind wandered to the conversation she had overheard earlier between Katie and Elvis. She had been passing by Elvis' room when she heard their voices, low and intense.

"Elvis, I know things ended badly between us," Katie had said, her tone sincere. "But I want you to know that I still care about you. I always have."

"Look, I appreciate you coming to see me, but things are different now," Elvis had replied, his voice firm but not unkind. 

Katie had scoffed. “I know you don't mean that—”

“Katie, I’m not the same man I was back then.”

"I know that, Elvis. And I respect it. I just... I don't want us to be strangers. We have too much history for that."

There was a pause, and Clementine could picture Elvis considering her words. "You're right. We can be friends, Katie. But that's all we can be."

Clementine hurried away before she could hear Katie's response, her heart racing and her mind reeling. What exactly had happened between them? And why did the thought of them together make her feel so unsettled?

Feigning a stomachache, Clementine gently extracted herself from Slim and Red and started back for the house.

Lost in her thoughts, she didn't notice Ida approach until the older woman placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. "Miss Clementine, you look troubled," Ida said, her kind eyes filled with concern. "Is everything alright?"

Clementine sighed, offering Ida a weak smile. "I'm fine, Ida. Just a lot on my mind, I suppose."

Ida nodded, understanding dawning on her face. "It's about Mr. Elvis and Miss Katie, isn't it?"

Clementine's eyes widened. "How did you know?"

Ida chuckled softly. "I've been around long enough to notice things, Miss Clementine. And I can see the way you look at Mr. Elvis, and the way Miss Katie looks at him too. Frankly, I’d look at him that way too if I were younger,” she chuckled.

Clementine felt her cheeks heat up. "I don't know what you're talking about, Ida."

The housekeeper smiled knowingly. "It's alright, Miss Clementine. You don't have to pretend with me. I know it's not my place to gossip, but I feel like you should know the truth about Mr. Elvis and Miss Katie."

Curiosity got the better of Clementine, and she found herself leaning in closer. "What truth, Ida?"

Ida glanced around to make sure they were alone before lowering her voice. "Mr. Elvis and Miss Katie were engaged to be married once, years ago. They were young and in love, or so they thought. But then Miss Katie got it into her head that she wanted to see the world, experience life beyond the ranch. She left Mr. Elvis behind without so much as a goodbye, broke his heart into a million pieces." She sighed, shaking her head. "It was a terrible thing to see."

Clementine's heart sank. "I had no idea," she whispered, her voice trembling.

Ida patted her hand reassuringly. "Mr. Elvis was never the same after that. He threw himself into his work, closed himself off from the world. But then you came along, Miss Clementine. I've seen the way he looks at you, the way he smiles when you're around. You've brought light back into his life."

Clementine felt tears prick at the corners of her eyes. "But what about Katie? She's beautiful, and wealthy, and she knows this life. How can I compete with that?"

"Miss Clementine, you listen to me. You are a smart, strong, and kind-hearted young woman. You have brought so much good to this ranch, and to the people who live and work here. Don't you ever doubt your worth."

Clementine nodded, blinking back her tears.

The housekeeper smiled warmly. "Now, why don't you go and check on Mr. Elvis? I'm sure he could use some company."

Taking a deep breath, Clementine squared her shoulders and made her way back upstairs. She waled down the hall to Elvis' room, her heart pounding in her chest. She raised her hand to knock on the door, but hesitated when she heard voices coming from inside.

"... and do you remember that night by the creek? The stars were so bright, and you held me so close. I felt like I could stay in your arms forever." Katie's voice was soft, tinged with nostalgia.

“Sure do.” Elvis’ deep chuckle reverberated through Clementine’s bones.

"Hold still," Katie's voice was soft, almost tender. "This poultice will help with the pain."

There was a moment of silence, followed by a sharp intake of breath from Elvis. "Ouch! Careful, Katie."

"Don't be such a baby," Katie chided, her tone playful. "You've had worse."

Then, a sigh.

"Katie, we can't keep doing this. I told you things are different now." Elvis sounded tired, his voice strained.

"Are they? When I'm with you, it feels just like old times. We sure had something special, didn’t we, Elvis? Don't you miss it?"

Clementine's stomach churned as she imagined Katie sitting close to him, her hands gentle on his skin. She knew she shouldn't be eavesdropping, but she couldn't seem to make herself move.

There was a long pause, and then Elvis spoke, his words hesitant. "I... I don't know, Katie. It's been so long. I’m not the same man I was before."

Katie's voice turned pleading. "But you could be. We could be happy again, Elvis. Just like we used to. If you just give me a chance—"

Another pause, heavy with unspoken words. "I can't make any promises, Katie. But... I won't deny that being with you brings back a lot of memories. Good ones."

Clementine's heart raced, her palms sweating as she listened to their exchange. Did Elvis still have feelings for Katie? Was she just a temporary distraction, a way to forget his past heartbreak?

“Why, Elvis? Why can’t you make any promises? Is it... because of her?” Katie asked, Katie asked, a hint of bitterness creeping into her voice. "The city girl who's come to play at being a rancher?"

"Don't do that, Katie."

Katie scoffed, the sound sharp and brittle. "Oh, Elvis. Can't you see? She doesn't belong here. She's not one of us. Sooner or later, she'll realize that and go running back to her fancy city life. And where will that leave you?" She got up, dusting herself off. "Sometimes, you're a damned fool, Elvis Presley."

Clementine backed away from the door, her mind reeling. She couldn't bear to hear any more, couldn't face the possibility that Elvis might choose Katie over her. With a choked sob, she turned and fled down the stairs, out into the yard where she could breathe, where she could think.

Shaking her head, Clementine decided to focus on the one thing she could control—her work. She made her way downstairs and out to the barn, determined to throw herself into the daily chores and put all thoughts of Elvis and Katie out of her mind.

As she mucked out the stalls and fed the horses, Clementine found herself falling into a comfortable rhythm. The physical labor was soothing, allowing her to clear her head and focus on the task at hand. Before she knew it, she was hours deep into her tasks, the sun was setting, and it was time to head home. 

She was so absorbed in her thoughts that she didn't hear the sound of hoofbeats approaching the front yard until a familiar voice called out, "Clemmie!"

Clementine turned her head, her eyes widening in disbelief. There, sitting in a stagecoach, was Bonnie, her fiery red curls blowing in the breeze and her green eyes sparkling with mischief in the golden hour.

"Bonnie!" Clementine exclaimed, dropping her pitchfork and rushing forward to embrace her friend. "What are you doing here? I thought you weren't arriving for another week!"

Bonnie laughed, hugging Clementine tightly. "I couldn't wait that long to see you, darling. I hopped on the first train out of New York and made my way here as fast as I could."

Clementine stepped back, taking in the sight of her best friend. Bonnie looked radiant, her cheeks flushed from the ride and her smile as wide as the sky. "I can't believe you're really here," Clementine said, shaking her head in amazement.

Bonnie grinned, linking her arm through Clementine's. "Well, believe it, darling. I'm here, and I'm ready for an adventure. Now, show me around this ranch of yours. I want to see everything!"

Clementine laughed, feeling lighter than she had in weeks. With Bonnie by her side, everything seemed brighter, more manageable. She led her friend around the ranch, introducing her to the horses and the cattle, showing her the sprawling fields and the cozy bunkhouse.

As they walked, Clementine found herself pouring out her heart to Bonnie, telling her all about Elvis and Katie and the confusion she felt. Bonnie listened intently, her brow furrowed in concentration.

"It sounds to me like you're in love with this Elvis fellow," Bonnie said finally, her tone matter-of-fact.

Clementine sputtered, her cheeks turning crimson. "What? No! I mean, I care about him, of course, but love? That's ridiculous."

Bonnie raised an eyebrow. "Is it? Clemmie, I've known you since we were in pigtails. I've never seen you this worked up over a man before. And from what you've told me, it sounds like he feels the same way about you."

Clementine wilted. "But this Katie… She's beautiful, and accomplished, and she understands this life in a way I never will."

Bonnie took Clementine's hands in hers, her green eyes fierce and determined. "Now you listen to me. You're smart, and strong, and you have the biggest heart of anyone I know. If this Elvis character can't see that, then he's a fool."

“Thanks, Bon. You always know just what to say. What would I ever do without you?”

“Shrivel up and die of sadness and boredom, most likely,” her best friend laughed. “Now, let's go find some trouble to get into. I've been cooped up on that train for far too long."

Clementine laughed, feeling a rush of affection for her friend. "I think I know just the thing. How do you feel about a little horseback riding?"

Bonnie's eyes sparkled with excitement. "Lead the way, darling. I'm ready for anything."

As they made their way to the stables, Clementine spotted Red and Slim leaning against the fence, deep in conversation. 

Red's eyes widened as he took in Bonnie's fiery red curls and sparkling green eyes. 

Bonnie smiled, holding out her hand. "I’m Bonnie, Clementine's friend from New York."

Red took her hand, holding it a beat longer than necessary. "New York, huh? What brings a city girl like you out to our humble ranch?"

Bonnie laughed, her eyes sparkling. "Oh, you know. Adventure, excitement, the chance to see my best friend in the world."

Red grinned, leaning in closer. "Well, I can certainly promise you adventure and excitement, Miss Bonnie."

Slim rolled his eyes, elbowing Red in the ribs. "Ignore him, Miss Bonnie. He's all talk and no action."

Red chuckled, his cheeks flushing slightly. "I don't know about that, Miss Bonnie. I do my best to make all our guests feel welcome."

Bonnie raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing at the corners of her mouth. "Is that so? Well, I guess I'll just have to see for myself."

As Bonnie and Red continued their flirtatious banter, Clementine felt her spirits lift. It was good to see her friend getting along so well with the ranch hands.

Suddenly, a shout rang out across the yard. "The fence is down! The cattle are escaping!"

Clementine's heart raced as she saw the herd of cattle stampeding through the broken fence. "We have to round them up!" she cried, running towards the stables.

Red and Slim were already saddling up their horses. "Miss Clementine, you take the north pasture," Red called out. "Slim and I will head south. Rusty, Billy, head east. We'll meet up at the old oak tree." He looked back at Bonnie. “You alright to stay here a spell?”

Bonnie nodded as Clementine swung herself up into the saddle, her face set with determination. 

They rode hard, the wind whipping through their hair as they chased down the errant cattle. It was a minor crisis, but it forced everyone to work together to resolve the issue. 

Finally, after several hours of hard work, they managed to herd the last of the cattle back into the pasture.

Exhausted but triumphant, Clementine, Red, and the rest of the ranch hands made their way back to the house for a very late dinner, where Bonnie was helping prepare a bountiful spread. 

As they entered the dining room, Clementine was surprised to see Katie sitting at the dining table.

"Katie!" Ida exclaimed, setting down a steaming pot of stew. "I'm so glad you could join us for dinner."

Katie smiled, her flaxen hair gleaming in the candlelight.  "Thank you for asking me to stay, Miss Ida. It's always a pleasure to share a meal with friends."

Clementine's stomach churned at the sight of Katie, memories of the woman’s earlier conversation with Elvis still fresh in her mind. She took a seat at the table, trying to ignore the way Katie's eyes seemed to be searching around the room. For him.

Bonnie leaned over to Clementine, her voice low. "So that's the famous Katie Hawthorne? I can see why she's got Elvis all twisted up."

Clementine sighed, nodding. "Yeah, they were going to get married until she up and left one day. They’ve got... history."

Bonnie raised an eyebrow, her expression skeptical. "I see."

As they sat down to eat, Clementine found herself seated across from Katie. The blonde gave her a polite smile, but there was a guardedness in her eyes that made Clementine uneasy.

"Clementine, I hear you had quite the adventure today," Katie said, her voice cool but not unkind. "I'm glad to see you're settling into ranch life so well."

Clementine forced a smile, determined to be civil. "Thank you, Katie. This year’s been a learning curve, but I'm enjoying the challenge."

Katie nodded, taking a sip of her water. "It's not an easy life, but it can be a rewarding one. If you're cut out for it."

Clementine bristled at the implication, but before she could respond, the door opened and Elvis stepped into the room. He was moving slowly, his face still pale, but there was a determined set to his jaw.

"Elvis!" Ida exclaimed, her face lighting up. "It's so good to see you up and about!"

"Elvis, darling, you're here," Katie purred, patting the seat beside her. "Come, sit with me. We have so much to catch up on."

Elvis hesitated, his gaze flickering to Clementine before he nodded and took the offered seat. Clementine felt a stab of jealousy, her appetite suddenly deserting her.

"Evening, everyone. Sorry I'm late."

He made his way to the table, his steps measured and careful. As he neared Katie, she reached out and touched his arm, a look of concern on her face. "Elvis, are you sure you should be out of bed? You're still recovering."

Elvis patted her hand. "I'm fine, Katie. Just a little sore, is all. Nothing a good meal and some good company can't fix."

He settled into the chair between Katie and Clementine, his leg brushing against Clem’s under the table. She felt a flush creep up her neck at the contact, her skin tingling where they touched. She forced herself to focus on her plate, not wanting to give away the effect he had on her.

As the meal progressed, Bonnie regaled them all with tales of her adventures in New York, her quick wit and easy charm winning over even the most taciturn of the ranch hands. Red, in particular, seemed taken with her, his eyes rarely straying from her face.

Even so, Clementine couldn’t focus on anything but the strange situation she found herself in. Even as she laughed and chatted with the others, Clementine could feel the weight of Katie's presence, assessing and calculating. It made her feel off-balance, unsure of her place in this world that Katie knew so well. Her stomach roiled. 

She couldn't help but notice the easy familiarity between Elvis and Katie, the way they laughed and reminisced about old times. It was clear they shared a deep bond, a history that Clementine could never hope to match.

"Do you remember old Samson's face when he caught us sneaking out of the barn that night?" Katie giggled, her hand resting on Elvis's arm.

Elvis chuckled, shaking his head. "I thought he was gonna skin us alive. But you sweet-talked him out of it, as usual."

"What can I say? I've always been good at getting what I want." Katie's eyes sparkled with mischief, her lips curving into a seductive smile.

Clementine's heart sank as she watched their interaction, doubt gnawing at her insides. Did Elvis still harbor feelings for Katie? Was he considering rekindling their romance?

Bonnie, ever observant, leaned across the table to whisper in Clementine's ear. "Don't let her get to you, Clemmie. She's just trying to stake her claim."

Then, never one to let an awkward moment pass, Bonnie eased back into her chair with a mischievous grin. "So, Elvis, I hear you’re quite the foreman," she said, her voice carrying across the table. "Tell me, what's a handsome cowboy like you doing running a ranch all by your lonesome?"

Elvis choked on his stew, his eyes widening in surprise. The other ranch hands snickered, their faces red with barely suppressed laughter. “Nice to meet you too, Bonnie.”

“No, really! Do pray tell,”Bonnie grinned.

"Well, I... uh..." Elvis cleared his throat, clearly taken aback by Bonnie's forwardness. "I'm not running it alone, y’know. I have a whole team of hardworking folks helping me out."

Bonnie nodded, her expression serious. "Of course, of course. But still, it must get lonely out here sometimes. Don't you ever wish for a little companionship?" She wiggled her eyebrows.

Clementine kicked Bonnie under the table, her face flushing with embarrassment. But Bonnie just laughed, clearly enjoying the effect she was having on the usually unflappable Elvis.

As the dinner wore on, Bonnie kept up a steady stream of witty repartee, peppering Elvis with questions about life on the ranch and his plans for the future. The other ranch hands could barely contain their laughter, choking on their food as Bonnie's New York City directness clashed with Elvis's stoic cowboy demeanor.

At some point during the night, while everyone was in their sixth fit of laughter in a row, Bonnie cleared her throat and made an announcement. "I've been thinking," she said, her eyes twinkling with excitement. "I'd like to stay at the ranch for a while longer, if that's alright with you, Clementine."

Red, who had been hanging on Bonnie's every word throughout the meal, sat up straighter in his chair. "That's great news, Miss Bonnie," he said, his voice eager. "I'd be more’n happy to show you around the ranch, if you'd like."

Bonnie smiled, her cheeks dimpling. "I'd like that very much, Red. Thank you."

Clementine nodded, forcing a smile. Her best friend in the world was always welcome. But even as everyone laughed around her, she felt melancholy. Doubts lingered, gnawing at her heart. Somewhere between the second and third course, she felt lightheaded. She stepped out onto the porch, taking a deep breath of the cool night air. The evening's events swirled through her mind—Bonnie's arrival, the weird tension at dinner, sitting next to Elvis and nearly jumping out of her skin when his knee touched hers... 

"Clem?" a familiar voice called out softly from behind her.

She turned to see him standing in the doorway, his handsome face illuminated by the warm glow of the lanterns. 

He came to me, she thought, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. 

"Y’know, I wasn't sure if you'd be joining us tonight, Elvis, what with you still on the mend and all."

He stepped out onto the porch, his spurs jingling with each movement. "Aw shucks, you know me. I never could resist a party. 'Specially not with that firecracker friend of yours lightin' things up."

Clementine laughed. "Bonnie sure is something, isn't she? Hope she didn't put you too much on the spot in there."

Elvis leaned against the railing beside her, a slow grin spreading across his face. "Nothin' I can't handle. Your girl's got a tongue quicker'n a rattler's strike, but she means well. Kinda reminds me of someone else I know." He shot her a wink.

"Wonder who that could be," Clementine teased, bumping his shoulder playfully with her own. She took a moment to really look at him, warmth blooming in her chest. The past weeks had been hard on him, but he was finally starting to look like his old self again—color in his cheeks, that familiar glint of mischief in his blue eyes.

"I'm real glad you're feeling better, Elvis. We were all so worried about you, you know."

He ducked his head, suddenly bashful. "Shucks, ain't no need for worryin'. Can't keep a stubborn ol' mule like me down for long."

"I have never met a mule half as stubborn as you, Elvis Presley," Clementine ribbed.

"You got me there," he conceded with a chuckle. Then his expression softened. "I never did thank ya proper, Clem. For takin' such good care of me when I was laid up. Ida told me how you were always there, changin' my bandages and makin' sure I took my medicine... I 'preciate it. More'n you know."

Clementine felt a sudden lump in her throat. "Of course, Elvis. There wasn't anywhere else I would've been. I couldn't have bared it if... if we'd lost you. Windy Creek just wouldn't be the same without you."

Elvis looked at her intently, something flickering in his gaze that made her heart skip. "That so?"

"It is," Clementine whispered, feeling pulled in by some invisible force between them.

Elvis reached out, tenderly brushing a stray curl behind her ear. His fingertips lingered on her cheek and Clementine's breath hitched. "Clem, I..."

Just then, the sound of raucous laughter erupted from inside the house, breaking the spell. Elvis dropped his hand and they both took an unconscious step back, the air suddenly thick with words unsaid.

Clementine cleared her throat, trying to calm the riot of butterflies in her stomach. "We should probably head back in soon. Wouldn't want Bonnie to commandeer the whole evening."

"Heaven forbid," Elvis agreed, the corner of his mouth quirking up. 

But neither of them actually moved. Clementine and Elvis lingered on the porch for a moment longer, not quite ready to rejoin the clamor inside. The night air was cool and sweet, the distant sounds of crickets and lowing cattle a soothing backdrop to their companionable silence.

Elvis fished in his pocket for a moment before withdrawing a battered harmonica. At Clementine's curious look, he just grinned and brought it to his full lips, blowing a few soft, experimental notes.

"Huh, I didn't know you played," Clementine said, pleasantly surprised.

Elvis shrugged, his eyes twinkling in the low light. "There's a lot you don't know about me, darlin'. I'm a man of many talents."

"Is that so?" Clementine arched a brow, fighting back a smile. "And here I thought I had you all figured out. The strong, silent type with a heart of gold."

"Aw shucks, you'll make me blush," Elvis teased. He leaned back against the porch rail, cradling the harmonica loosely in his hands. "Nah, I ain't nothin' special. Just a cowpoke who likes a good tune now and then."

"I don't believe that for a second," Clementine said softly. "I think you're a lot more than you let on, Elvis Presley."

He looked at her then, something raw and unguarded in his gaze. "Maybe so. But I could say the same about you. When you first blew into town with your fancy city clothes and your high-falutin' ideas, I reckoned you wouldn't last a month out here."

Clementine huffed out a laugh. "Gee, thanks for the vote of confidence."

"Lemme finish," Elvis chided gently. "What I'm tryin' to say is you surprised me, Clem. You're tougher than you look. Stronger. You've taken to this life like you were born to it, and you ain't afraid to get your hands dirty or speak your mind. It's a rare thing, and I admire it. Admire... you."

Clementine felt a flush creep up her neck at his words, her heart suddenly racing. "I... I don't know what to say. Thank you, Elvis. That means a lot, coming from you."

He ducked his head, suddenly bashful. "Ain't nothin' but the truth. Windy Creek's lucky to have you."

"I think I'm the lucky one," Clementine said softly. "I never knew how much I needed this place, these people, until I found myself here. It's like... like I finally found where I belong." She laughed self-consciously. "Listen to me, getting all sentimental. Bonnie would never let me hear the end of it."

"Secret's safe with me," Elvis promised with a wink. "But I know what you mean. This ranch... it has a way of gettin' under your skin, makin' you feel like a part of somethin' bigger. It ain't always easy, but it's a good life. An honest one." He raised the harmonica to his lips again, blowing a few mournful notes that seemed to hang in the night air.

Clementine closed her eyes, letting the music wash over her. When it faded away, she opened them again to find Elvis watching her, an unreadable expression on his face. "That was beautiful," she said honestly. "Will you teach me to play like that?"

Elvis's face split into a delighted grin. "You want to learn? Well alright then, c'mere." He beckoned her closer until they were standing side by side, shoulders almost brushing. He handed her the harmonica, arranging her fingers on the holes. "Now, purse your lips like you're gonna whistle, and blow real gentle-like."

Clementine did as instructed, letting out a breathy, off-key squeak. She dissolved into laughter. "I sound like a dying cow!"

Elvis chuckled, shaking his head. "Nah, that was good for a first try. You just gotta adjust your embouchure a little, like this—" 

“Embou-what?”

“Embouchure. What, you don’t speak Eye-talian?”

“I’m pretty sure it’s French.”

“Oh.” The two erupted into laughter, a deep belly ache that had them soon doubled over the porch railing and wiping tears from their eyes. 

“Your mouth position, silly girl. Look at me, teachin’ a fancy New York City girl something!” 

Clem playfully slapped him on the arm. “I am not fancy!” She bent her leg to show him her well-worn, mud-covered boot. “See?” 

Elvis laughed and brought his own hands up to cup hers, guiding the harmonica back to her mouth. This close, she could feel the heat of him, could catch the faint scent of leather and soap and something uniquely Elvis. It made her head swim pleasantly.

Under his careful tutelage, Clementine managed to produce a passable chord. She beamed up at him, giddy with the small success. "I did it!"

"Sure did," Elvis praised, his eyes warm and proud. "Stick with me, kid, and you'll be a regular vir-tu-o-so in no time. Or... is that another word I gotta teach ya?”

“Ha ha. Very funny.”

They stayed like that for a while, huddled together in the pool of lantern light, trading the harmonica back and forth as Elvis taught her a simple melody. It was a rare moment of peace, a stolen pocket of time where the rest of the world and all its troubles fell away. 

As the moon climbed higher in the star-strewn sky, Clementine finally straightened up with a sigh. "I suppose we really should head back in. Bonnie's liable to send out a search party if we stay out here much longer."

Elvis huffed out a laugh. "Lord have mercy. I don't think I'm ready for another interrogation quite yet." He hesitated for a beat, then reached out to take Clementine's hand in his. "Clem, I... I just wanted to say..."

But before he could finish the thought, the porch door banged open and Bonnie's vibrant red head poked out. "There you are! I was starting to think you two had run off together." Her green eyes sparkled with mischief as she took in their linked hands and close proximity.

Clementine felt a blush stain her cheeks and she stepped back self-consciously, dropping Elvis's hand. "Bonnie! We were just... Elvis was showing me how to play the harmonica."

"Uh huh," Bonnie teased, waggling her eyebrows suggestively. "Well, hell, don't let me interrupt. I just came to tell you that apparently Ida's famous peach pie is being served, and if you don't get in there soon, Slim's liable to eat the whole thing himself."

"We'll be right there," Clementine promised. Bonnie flashed them a knowing grin and a jaunty salute before disappearing back inside, leaving them alone once more.

Clementine turned back to Elvis, an apology on her lips, but he just shook his head with a rueful smile. "Never a dull moment with that one around, is there?"

"Welcome to my world," Clementine said dryly. "I love that girl to pieces, but subtlety's never been her strong suit."

"Seems to me she's just lookin' out for her best friend," Elvis mused. "Can't fault her for that. You're lucky to have someone who cares about you so much. Hell, we all care about you."

For a suspended moment, they just stared at each other, the air heavy with unspoken longing. Elvis's gaze dropped to her mouth, his thumbs sweeping over the delicate arch of her cheekbones. Clementine's lips parted on a shallow inhale, her body thrumming with anticipation.

But before either of them could close that final distance, a sudden crash sounded from inside the house, followed by a peal of laughter and Red's booming voice calling out an apology.

The spell was broken. Elvis released her and stepped back, clearing his throat roughly. "We should, uh... we should probably get in there. Before they tear the place down around Miss Ida's ears."

"Right," Clementine agreed, trying to calm the riot of her pulse. "We wouldn't want that."

Elvis held out his arm to her, a small, crooked smile on his lips. "Shall we, boss lady?"

As the evening wound down, Katie stood up, smoothing her skirts. "Well, I should be getting back to Big Sky. Early morning tomorrow." She turned to Elvis, a soft smile on her face. "Walk me out?"

Elvis hesitated, glancing at Clementine. But then he nodded, pushing back his chair. "Of course."

Clementine watched them go, her heart sinking. She knew it was foolish to read too much into a simple gesture of courtesy. But she couldn't shake the feeling that something had shifted, that Katie's return had stirred up old feelings best left buried.

Bonnie, sensing her friend's distress, reached over to squeeze her hand. "Don't worry, Clemmie. He'll come around. He just needs time to sort through his feelings."

Clementine nodded, trying to take comfort in her friend's words. But the doubt lingered, a small, insistent voice in the back of her mind.

“Yeah, well, maybe by then I’ll already have moved on.”

*

Clementine sat at the card table, trying to focus on the game of poker in front of her. But her attention kept drifting to the table across the room, where Elvis and Katie sat huddled together, laughing and whispering like old friends.

She couldn't help but compare their easy intimacy to the tender moment she and Elvis had shared on the porch just a few nights ago. The way he had looked at her, the gentle brush of his fingers against her cheek... it had felt so real, so meaningful.

But now, watching him with Katie, Clementine couldn't help but wonder if she had been reading too much into it. If the connection she thought they shared was nothing more than wishful thinking on her part.

"Clemmie? It's your turn, darling." Bonnie's voice snapped her out of her reverie, and Clementine blinked, realizing she had been staring off into space.

"Oh, right. Sorry." She studied her cards, trying to remember what game they were even playing. Across from her, Red and Lyle exchanged knowing glances, their eyes flickering between her and the other table.

Clementine felt her cheeks burn with embarrassment and frustration. Was she really so transparent? Did everyone on the ranch know about her foolish, unrequited feelings for Elvis?

She was just about to make a halfhearted bet when the door to the bunkhouse swung open and Ida bustled in, a letter clutched in her hand.

"Miss Clementine, I'm so sorry to interrupt, but I completely forgot to give you this earlier. It arrived with the afternoon post." She held out the envelope, her face creased with a smile.

Clementine took the letter, recognizing Joseph's familiar handwriting. She had been corresponding with her old friend for weeks, sharing stories about life on the ranch and seeking his advice when things with Elvis got complicated. It had become a comforting routine, a way to stay connected to her old life while embracing her new one.

She opened the envelope, expecting to find another friendly, chatty letter full of news from home and words of encouragement. But as her eyes scanned the first few lines, Clementine felt her stomach drop.

"Oh no," she muttered under her breath. "Oh no, no, no. I’ve really made a mess now."

"Clemmie? What is it? What's wrong?" Bonnie leaned in close, her voice low and concerned.

Clementine looked up, her face pale. "It's Joseph. He's... he's coming to Windy Creek. Says he's booked a ticket and everything."

Bonnie's eyes widened. "Joseph? As in, your Joseph?"

Clementine nodded miserably. "I've been writing to him, just as a friend. I never thought he'd actually come out here. Oh, Bonnie, what am I going to do?"

Bonnie reached out, squeezing Clementine's hand. "Don't panic, Clemmie. We'll figure this out. It's not like you invited him, right?"

Clementine shook her head. "No, of course not. But... what if Elvis finds out? What if he thinks..." She trailed off, her gaze drifting back to the other table where Elvis and Katie sat, still deep in conversation.

Bonnie followed her gaze, her expression thoughtful. Even she had to admit it: "Clementine, honey, I don't think you have anything to worry about on that front. Elvis is clearly still hung up on Little Miss Perfect over there."

Clementine sighed, her heart sinking. Bonnie was right. Elvis had made his feelings for Katie abundantly clear. What right did she have to be upset about Joseph's visit when Elvis was practically fawning over his ex-fiancée right in front of her?

Still, the thought of her former beau showing up unannounced, stirring up old memories and complications... it was enough to make Clementine's head spin.

She took a deep breath, trying to calm her racing thoughts. "Okay," she said, more to herself than to Bonnie. "Okay. I can handle this. It's just a friendly visit from an old friend, right? No big deal."

Bonnie nodded, a mischievous glint in her eye. "Exactly. And who knows? Maybe a little competition is just what Mr. Stubborn over there needs to pull his head out of his rear and realize what he's got right in front of him."

Clementine couldn't help but laugh at that, some of the tension easing from her shoulders. Trust Bonnie to find the silver lining in even the most awkward of situations.

Across the room, Elvis glanced over at the sound of Clementine's laughter, his brow furrowing slightly. He couldn't shake the feeling that something was amiss, that the letter Ida had delivered had upset Clementine in some way.

But before he could dwell on it further, Katie was leaning in close again, her hair brushing against his cheek as she whispered something in his ear. Elvis forced a smile, trying to focus on the conversation at hand, but Katie’s perfume smelled so good.

Taglist: @whositmcwhatsit  @ellie-24  @arrolyn1114 @missmaywemeetagain  @be-my-ally  @vintageshanny  @prompted-wordsmith @precious-little-scoundrel @peskybedtime @lookingforrainbows @austinbutlersgirl67@lala1267 @thatbanditqueen @dontcrydaddy @lovingdilfs @elvispresleygf @plasticfantasticl0ver @ab4eva @presleysweetheart @chasingwildflowers @elvispresleywife @uh-all-shook-up @xxquinnxx @edgeofrealitys-blog@velvetprvsley @woundmetender @avengen @richardslady121 @presleyhearted @kendralavon7 @18lkpeters@lookingforrainbows @elvisalltheway101 @sissylittlefeather @eliseinmemphis@tacozebra051 @thetaoofzoe @peskybedtime @shakerattlescroll @crash-and-cure @ccab @i-r-i-n-a-a @devilsflowerr@dirtyelvisfant4sy @elvislittleone @foreverdolly @getyourpresleyfix@gayforelvis @headfullofpresley @h0unds-of-h3ll @hipshakingkingcreole @p0lksaladannie @doll-elvis @tacozebra051 @richardslady121 @jaqueline19997 @myradiaz@livelaughelvis @deke-rivers-1957 @atleastpleasetelephone @sloppiest-of-jos

#elvis presley #elvis fanfiction #elvis #elvis fanfic #elvis fans #elvis presley fanfiction #elvis presley fanfic #elvis presley fic #elvis fic #elvis x oc #elvis au #alternate universe #alternate universe fanfic #wild west fanfic

[asumofwords]

Smoke, Fire and Ash

Warnings: This fic includes noncon, dubcon, manipulation, violence and inc3st. Tags will be added as the fic goes on.

This is a dark!fic. 18+ only. Read at your own discretion. Please read the warnings before continuing.

Summary: You are the eldest daughter of Rhaenyra and Daemon Targaryen. You are forced to navigate the difficult surroundings of your upbringing and the eventual disintegration between your family and the Hightower's relationship. What will happen when your older and estranged uncle suddenly takes a more sinister interest in you? (Dark!Aemond x Reader)

Characters: Aemond Targaryen X Reader, HOTD characters.

Note: This is my first time ever writing fanfic. I have been reading fanfic on this godforsaken app since I was 12, and have been encouraged blindly by my best friend to post this. I hope you enjoy!

Chapter One : Smoke

There was a chill that had come early to Kings Landing this season. The breeze carried a bite to it that most people who were born there had only seen once or twice before. Some whispered that Winter was coming, but the prospects of that happening once more was less than the more unfortunate events happening presently.

In the courtyard of the Red Keep, the cobblestones were freshly swept. The servants having worked tirelessly through the night as to not be seen and ruin the illusion of its perfection and all those within it. That biting wind lifted the soft red leaves from the godswood, making them dance around each other to land softly on the green grass surrounding. Your skirts moved with the breeze, blowing lightly between your legs and making the long sleeves of your gown brush softly against your sides. 

You walked slowly towards the Godswood, looking up at the swaying branches, gazing at the deep cracks and ripples in the bark. The afternoon sun shone gently through the crimson leaves at the top, the warmth lightly dusting your cheeks and forehead.

The Godswood was where your mother Rhaenyra would read to you as a child, softly brushing your locks, and whispering tales in High Valyrian in your ear. Sitting down in your favourite spot, you leant back against the tree and closed your eyes, letting the cooling sun lay a blanket of warmth over you, listening to the soft rustling of the leaves above. 

This was your place, your comfort. Somewhere to read, somewhere to lay, to cry, to laugh or sing. Your special spot was nestled between two large roots that worked as a support for your body like a cocoon.

You sat there silently, thinking of your mother and younger siblings. You were the eldest, and it had been years since you had been back to the Red Keep. The venomous rumours of your parentage were openly whispered by the Queen.

Though raised by the late Prince Laenor, Daemon had always called you his, telling you of a secret visit he paid to your mother when she was still engaged to the younger Prince. 

The rumours of you and your siblings legitimacy were for the most part true. You knew that Sir Harwin Strong was your brothers father, their likeness was uncanny but these, as your mother called them 'vile accusations' did not bother you, for you knew that she loved Sir Harwin and Prince Laenor; just in different ways. Just as you knew that Prince Laenor loved your mother in a different way also.

You knew that the young Velaryon was not interested in the touch of a woman, but he still raised you as his own and was a kind and loving man.

As for your uncle Aegon, all knew that he had fathered many a bastard, perhaps hundreds, and yet he was not looked down for it. Aegon did not face the stares and whispers, the japes and the disgust that your younger brothers and mother face.

Women are destined to carry sins that no mortal man would be made to. That was the reality of it, but most like Queen Alicent let their tongues sharpen the peoples knives.

As you thought more of your family and memories growing up in the Red Keep you felt yourself tire, drifting into a light sleep, the afternoon sun having a soporific effect on you.

A sharp pain rippled up your leg from your foot, the pain jerking you awake. Your eyes snapped open and you peered up to see a dark figure standing in front of you. The moon reflected on long silver tresses of hair, peeking out from beneath a dark hood.

The garden was now dark, except for the few torches lit along the pathways of the stone walls. The warmth of the sun had left, leaving the cold to seep up through the ground beneath you. 

“Mm.” Came a smooth guttural hum from the tall figure before you. Aemond stared down his nose at you, lips upturned in amusement. 

You hurriedly pulled your legs underneath you and stood, one hand reaching back to steady yourself against the bark of the Godswood.

Holding your breath you looked your uncle in the eye, the lost one covered by a dark leather patch he always adorned. The long snaking scar that traveled from cheek to forehead looked more sinister in this light, deeper and more ragged as the shadows fell upon his face from the licking flames of a nearby torch. 

Aemond had become fond of torturing you in many ways. Growing up you had gotten along. As a child he would sometimes read to you or correct your High Valyrian, but now since the loss of his eye and the fraying tension of both of your mothers relationships, his disdain and hatred for you had festered into an obsession. 

Still staring at him you pulled your hand off of the bark to brush down your skirts, pulling them up quickly to step over the root of the tree only to have him abruptly step forward. His cloak swaying towards you to brush against the bottom of your dress, pushing his distinct scent to surround you.

His sharp movement made you step backwards against the tree, foot slipping a little on the root below and replacing your hand back against the bark. His lips quirked upwards into a smirk, a huffed breath blowing out through his nose in amusement. You corrected your footing and stood straight, looking up into his eye.

“What is it, dear uncle?” You asked, sarcasm thick on your tongue as you tilted your head sideways in frustration. 

Slowly he leant forward, eye still staring into yours, searching both of them to seek out your unease. The movement made his cloak gape at the sides, and the soft glint of the hilt of his sword upon his hip caught your eye.

Aemond followed your line of sight, and smirked harder, the corner of his upturned lip stretching further up his face. Leaning back he pulled his body away from you, allowing you to release the breath you had been holding.

“Dinner is to be served soon, and you are to join us, sweet niece.” 

With the billow of his cloak, he stalked back along the stone path, a menacing sway, and into the archway of the building. 

Slumping back against the tree you took a deep breath, pulling up your skirts once more and stepped over the roots. Briskly walking along the cobblestones to the archway, you could still smell the subtle hints of your uncle.

Sandalwood, the soldering smell of ash and fire, and the deep scent of leather. On any other man you would find this combination to be alluring, though from him it made you uneasy.

You hastily walked through the Red Keep to your chambers, mentally preparing yourself for your rapidly crumbling family dinner. 

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[brianwashere]

Hellooooo everyone welcome back to another fanfic! This is inspired by the several times in the comics that Logan has been shown befriending deer. I’ve also been in feral desperate need for Logan x teen reader bcc that man is a father to me and this was short and simple. So here it is! Look out for at least one more Logan x teen reader fic coming soon bcc I got an awesome idea for a trope I’m weak for.

Pssst and look out for some rottmnt fics

Anywhosy, enjoy the fic! Stay chill, stardogs!

**I do not own any characters or part of the franchise from marvel or X-men**

Pairing: Logan Howlett x male teen reader

Genre: fluffy/family/platonic

Summary: Logan wakes you up at god knows what time for a surprise.

Tw: nothing just fluffy father son shit

Snowy Mornings

“Logan, where the hell are we going?” You asked the grizzled man skeptically.

“No where if you keep being loud.” He whispered to you.

You rolled your eyes but kept quiet as he led you deeper into the forest.

He got you up early. Way too early. It was currently 5 am as you two were trekking on the snowy forest floor. The giant trees of the Adirondack forest shaded the snowfall from all falling on the two of you.

Logan turned and began walking through dense thicket. You sighed quietly and followed him, your jacket doing a well enough job of keeping the thorns from scraping you up too much.

You entered upon a small clearing with a couple of boulders resting in the center. Logan kept walking to the boulders and sat down on the snowy ground, leaning his back on one of them. You copied his actions and stayed next to him.

You’ll looked at him expectantly but his eyes were closed and to the untrained eye it would appear as if he was sleeping. You knew he was listening for something.

Then he heard it. You could tell because his eye twitched just a little bit.

He slowly leaned over to you and whispered very quietly.

“No sudden movements and don’t say anything.”

You nodded, small tendrils of fear curling at your heart. They soon dissipated when you saw a doe cautiously strut out of the tree line with a fawn wobbling behind her.

You nearly gasped in surprise but caught yourself. They began approaching slowly but with less fear then you would have expected.

When they got within about four feet of the two of you Logan steadily reached out his hand. The doe came closer and began licking his cold fingers.

Clearly he’s been meeting her for a while. Logan carefully felt around for your hand, never looking away from the doe. When he found it he turned your palm upright and offered it to the doe.

She looked over you, her thick eyelashes and large brown eyes staring into yours. She sniffed it before licking it gently. You turned your attention towards the fawn as it began sniffing your shoe.

Logan watched as you moved your hand from the doe to the fawn, slow and steady. You waited until it seemed comfortable with you being so close then gently pet it.

You smiled and looked at Logan who had a smile of his own on his face.

Before long the doe turned and strut back into the forest, her fawn following.

“So was that a good surprise?” Cockiness laced in his deep voice.

You smiled and nodded rapidly.

“Hell yeah it was!”

#james logan howlett #Logan #logan howlett #Logan x reader #Logan x male reader #Logan x gender neutral reader #Logan x platonic reader #Logan x platonic male reader #Logan x platonic gender neutral leader #Logan x child reader #Logan x teen reader #Logan x teen male reader #Logan howlett x male reader #logan howlett x reader #Logan howlett x teen reader #Logan howlett x teen male reader #Logan howlett x platonic reader #Logan howlett x platonic male reader #marvel #marvel x male reader #marvel x reader #x men x reader #x men #x men x male reader #x men x teen reader #x men x child reader #x men x male teen reader #fanfic #fanfic writing #male reader

[igakc]

MORE DEJA BLU BRAINROT

Disney Lyrics//Avatar Fanfic Scenes

Na'Vi Original Female Character teaching the Deju Blu squad about Eywa'eveng (Pandora), and they keep messing around because they're all academically-challenged goofballs.

She gets pissed off and decides to fuck it and sprint into the forest, while the squad rushes to catch up. She is quicker and more agile within the trees but she's purposely leading them to the Tree Of Souls, where many atokirina have gathered.

"You think you own whatever land you land on. Eywa'eveng is just a dead thing you can claim." She lets one of the woodsprites land in her cupped hands before gently guiding it to Miles, who is already wide-eyed and staring at her. "But I know every rock and tree and creature." Viperwolves chirp and howl from the trees around them, Hexapede herds are grazing nearby, and somewhere deep in the Pandoran forest, a Thanator has begun it's nightly prowl.

"Has a life, has a spirit, has a name." The forest comes alive as eclipse finally begins, sending bursts of colour all throughout the flora. The squad is painfully reminded of all that they have destroyed as they each hold a precious atokirina in their hands.

"You think the only people who are people, are the people who look and think like you." She bends down to sit in front of the semi-circle the recoms have created, drawing detailed figures of her family and those who have come before in the soft dirt. "But if you walk the footsteps of a stranger, you'll learn things you never you never knew."

She pulls them all up onto their feet and sets off again, this time towards where their Ikran are resting. She connects with her own and lifts into the sky, leaving the recoms to awkwardly scramble onto their own. Miles sits atop Cupcake (teehee) and lets himself relax, the wind ruffling through his short-cut hair, sending shivers down his spine. As he soars beside her, staring longingly as she opens her arms wide, her legs the only thing stopping her from tumbling to the ground, he thinks he sees it. He thinks he sees Eywa'eveng for all that is is, not just a planet for the RDA to destroy, but a living home for all of it's inhabitants. And he was now one of them.

"Come run the hidden pine trails of the forest, come taste the sunsweet berries of the earth." She invites him closer as they touch down on one of the many floating islands, the recom squad so far behind he can't even hear they're yelling anymore. She holds his hands close to her chest "Come roll in all the riches all around you. And for once, never wonder what they're worth."

"The rainstorm and the river are my brothers, the animals and the plants are my friends." She steps away from him, creating a gaping hole between them. A silent question in her eyes. "And we are all connected to each other, in a circle, in a hoop that never ends."

"If you end it, then you'll never know. You'll never the hear the wolf cry to the blue corn moon, for whether we are blue or pale skinned."

Miles lets out an irritated sigh, wondering how in the fuck he got to this place. But he can't ignore the woman in front of him, and the planet he's decided to call home. And stupid Sully who's now going to have to wait for Miles to kill him.

She waits, and waits, and waits for him to say what she wants to hear. As the moment stretches so long it's about to snap, he finally opens his mouth.

"We need to sing with all the voices of the mountains. We need to paint with all the colours of the wind."

------

Lol

#Avatar #ATWOW #Miles Quaritch #Lyle Wainfleet #Pocahontas #Colours of the wind #Deja Blu #project phoenix #Recom squad #Eywa'eveng #teehee #Cupcake #Ikran

[the-blind-geisha]

Questions about OCs and stuff

You can find the original file here! I reblogged it super late at night.

Gonna fill this one out myself, because it looked fun!

OC questions:

* Who was your first ever OC? Do you still “use” them? How have they evolved over time?

Oreana was my first ever OC, and yes I do! She evolved from me wanting to write myself in with my favorite fixations to becoming her own actual character.

I could tell as a character she wanted to have the princess title removed, but I refused since I wanted that to be another obstacle for her. XD

2. Who is your newest OC? Why did you make them?

Asther Thyme, my goat OC was one I bought on toyhouse, but newest one made by me is Demiurge turned into a jackal.

I bought the goat because I am trying to rethink about this old idea of mine I wrote years ago as a kid that had more furries in it than humans. Demiurge turning into a jackal was just originally for fun but he stayed after awhile.

3. Biggest self-insert OC?

Oreana. XD; While she's come a long ass way since then, I still feel the parts of me that are in her.

4.What kind of music do your OCs listen to?

There's too many to list. Oreana just likes anything with a good beat, and Ignatius and Demiurge prefer instrumental.

5. What are some of your OCs biggest fears?

Oreana: being used again Ignatius: enduring loss again Demiurge: the loss of himself

Demona: never returning home

Cheshire: Demiurge ever getting his Creator's love when he feels he doesn't deserve it.

6. Do you have any OCs without stories? Will you ever create one for them?

Yuna, Asther, Elasha, and Haruka. Their Toyhouse bios aren't even filled in yet, because I don't know what to do. XD;

And yes, they will! I just have to get my ideas all together first.

7. What are your favourite relationships between your OCs? (romantic or platonic!)

Romantic, mainly because of the lack of love in my life. XD;

8. Do you have any OC family trees?

Oreana does have parents and 2 brothers—as well as an ancestor I can't get into because that's spoilery, and Ignatius has a twin brother.

9. Favourite OC?

It bounces from Oreana, Ignatius, to Demiurge.

10. OC you most struggled to make?

Ignatius. In fact, he went through a redesign about a year—er two years—ago. He originally was just going to look very much like a guy from YYH I loved but a naga, till I decided to make him more like an amalgamation of characters and ideas I loved. Doing that was so much so for the better. As I don't have to feel fixated on the one canon character to be fixated on him.

Fanfic questions:

11. * Sum up one or more of your wips!

Werewolf professor in a fantasy styled Victorian London looks to try and quell the fear over the werewolf curse. It's a commission so I can't really plop too much of it down.

12. Which story took the most research?

Anything from Assassin's Creed. Especially the Victorian London ones regarding brothels, tuberculosis, opium dens, and factories.

Don't get me started on the sex stuff... since that was considered 'prudish', it feels nearly lost to time.

13. Which story has the most lore?

Uuuh... A Love Most Profound and or The Demon King of the Desert, depending what you mean. Both spoke of their beliefs and even had rough outlines of their worlds.

14. Current word count of all your main wips?

I don't think I have any active yet since I'm on vacation.

15. How many projects do you have going on right now? Are there any that you doubt you’ll ever finish?

I have my private journal

A private personal story

In Another Life, We Could Have Been Lovers

Amnesia: A Dreamer's Requiem

An Empty Heart Full of Memories

The Devil After Midnight

The Devil's Tome

Within the Dream Temptation

The Princess and the Dove

I am not sure. I would like to get through all of these, but it's doubtful.

16. What was you first major project? How far along is it?

I guess The Devil's Contract would be considered that. And it's done now at 50 chapters. I was quite happy to have it finished.

17. What are some tropes and character dynamics found in your wips?

Slow burn, soulmates, and just romantic stuff.

18. Describe the setting of one or more of your wips

Horror fantasy of who is doing what and what is happening under the OC's nose, Victorian werewolf fantasy, and murder fantasy with a bit of reincarnation? I guess we'll say.

19. What are some things that inspired your stories? Real events? Maybe a dream?

Dreams more than anything, and if not those, anything I play or watch. Even The Demon King had elements of LOZ in it.

20. What story are you the proudest of? Why?

The Demon King of the Desert. It helped me come to terms with a bit more online trauma, and it seemed to touch a few folks. So I'm happy with it.

About me questions:

21. * When did you start considering yourself a writer/artist?

Artist, I always felt I was one. In fact, I was quite upset when I got online and people preferred my writing over my art. XD But I came to terms with it after awhile. Heck, I realize when I blend the two, people enjoy both.

Writing started to happen the more I wrote stories on websites, and folks came to love them or use them as a means to shoulder through a tough time in their life.

22. What are all the “kinds” of writing/art you do? (short stories, poetry, screenplays, digital, painting, clay, etc.)

I do short stories, poetry, digital art, traditional art too at some points—and sing as well as (kind of) play the piano.

23. Are you in any writer/artist groups? (Ex: discord server!)

Sadly, not really. I get nervous to spread my works to places I'm not comfortable in. But I've heard joining discord servers is a good idea.

24. Do you have/want a career in your medium? If not, what do you do/want to do instead? I would love to publish a book or do a comic of some sort. How I'll go about that, I have zero clue.

25. What’s your favourite genre to write? Is it also your favourite genre to read?

Fantasy and or romance. I prefer to read fantasy over reading romance. I only write romance because of the trauma in my life.

26. What are your favourite books?

The Maze Runner and The Last Unicorn.

27. What are your favourite movies?

The Last Unicorn,Watership Down, and now The Super Mario Brothers Movie (I've watched it like 4 times since I bought it lol).

28. Favourite songs at the moment?

Moonlight Shadow (original artist Mike Oldfield but any artist will do), The Secret of Monkey Island intro melody, and Tombi from Trigun.

29. What was your first fandom you were in? Did you make any art/fanfic for it?

Ronin Warriors, and yes, I wrote and drew for it but ALL that stuff is now archived and lost to time. Lol Well, only gone from the net, really. I still have it offline.

#questions #mod talks #fanfiction #stories #artwork #about me #answers #i wanted to do them all #b/c i found them interesting #ocs #original characters #mywriting #my characters

[starry-skies-116]

GregEvan Character Analysis (FNAF Project Samsara AU)

This is like the whole compiled post of GregEvan's character analysis: TW warnings include PTSD, trauma, flashbacks, depression, nightmares, etc.

Enjoy my compiled rant about my mentally ill android/golem brunette vessel boy lol:

***

Prologue- Introduction:

Okay- I’ll go ahead and admit, for a literal child that’s appeared in his original human life in the minigames of FNAF 4, and then again in Security Breach in his reincarnated robotic vessel form (taking into account the GregEvan/GregBot theory), I went into depth on his character development a LOT within my interpretations of his backstory and personality, as well as crafting quotes for him and actions that he (in my AU) would do to further drive home his personality and character evolution and the transformation he undergoes with every bit of emotional grief and traumatic event he has to endure.

Taking into account the sticky notes in the Post-It note room and the messages written on them (go check out MatPat’s video on them for in-depth context), the broken glass in the parts and services room, most likely the actions of Gregory in a act of panic, hysteria and desperation out of pleading for his own life unsuccessfully (read all the parts of my fanfic “Software Instability” for more information on my AU), and the terse, apprehensive way he behaves throughout the beginning of the game, I think I have a solidly crafted character arc for my AU- for the universe of FNAF: Project Samsara.

What I like the most about Gregory is that he seems standoffish, blunt and rude for absolutely no reason at first- however, if you take into account his previous personality, the nightmares he endured, and the sheer amount of trauma he went through… one might actually feel pretty happy that he’s become this self-advocating and domineering over himself, despite the overly cautious attitude and survival mode being a bit of a stretch (but, again, very understandable).

He’s a teeny bit of a bitch, sure- but what I love about him is that he’s THAT BITCH. He is the BADDEST BITCH. He’s a certified badass- a child BAMF- and he’s earned that title with his blood, sweat and tears. 

Dude has layers. And, at least to me, he has so much potential and is so interesting- this is what I like about the GregEvan theory- it adds so much complexity and character development to the character of the crying child, Evan Afton.

Like, say what y'all will about Gregory, but I love him. He may be mentally a child, but he's a badass. Even in disgrace, even in failure and unimaginable pain and tragedy and strife and tumult, he does not shame himself- he never, ever, ever gives up, never stops fighting for what he believes in, never stops fighting to bring his goals and his dreams to fruition.

He's a certified BAMF, and not just because of his character development, his past life, his losses, his goals, his tragedies, or his nature as a golem/android physical vessel brought to life via extremely dark and questionable methods (my AU). I dunno, it's just impossible for me to hate him, in case y'all couldn't tell before. I love him, I just do.

I mean, did y'all see the way he kicked Chica in the garbage compactor? Savage. Literally- judgement has been passed, they didn't stand a chance. 10/10.

I wanted to do an analysis/headcanon post on him that may be updated and reblogged several times as time goes by because, well, God has favorites, even if he treats those favorites like shit someti- er, okay, fine: most of the time.

Here I present the character arc of our Patient Zero- from past to present, despair to hope, anguish to faith- once merely a victim, now reborn.

Evan and Gregory- two halves of the whole, reincarnated, reborn.

From old trees come new seeds that take root and give birth to new life- in the ashes, a beating heart is reborn, the flame undying- the soul burns brighter than the stars, alight forevermore.

Part 1- Origins:

Evan Cristopher Afton (The Crying Child) is born as the youngest son to the Afton Family sometime around 1972-1973, after Fredbear´s Family Diner was founded. Normally, his age range differs from six to ten, varying depending on the AU, and his place in the family ranges from youngest to middle child to even being fraternal twins with Elizabeth Afton.

In the universe of Project Samsara, Evan is ten, the Bite of ‘83 taking place around his eleventh birthday, which is why Gregory, the reincarnated “perfect” vessel, is created to look around eleven to twelve years old, and he is the middle child, being three to four years older than Elizabeth, and because of his age and pace of maturity within his place in his family, causing him to take on a more caring and open-minded, “maternal” disposition with Elizabeth.

Almost immediately, we see Evan’s personality and major character flaws. We are introduced to him in the minigames as timid and harmless- a quiet, meek and easily emotionally provoked and vulnerable child who easily believes what he sees lurking in the dark, most likely the result of a corrupted spiritual core via emotional stress or tension, or just a hyperactive imagination, something that a lot of children have. 

In the process of designing him, I didn’t want to give him bright blue or green eyes like Michael or Elizabeth had, like he has in so many AU´s- it would be the result of genetics inherited from their father or mother, sure, but those choices didn’t… sit well with me, somehow. So there I sat, testing unique eyes on him. 

Then, the idea to give him the compound eyes of an insect came to me- a recolouring of Kocho Shinobu’s eyes but with a natural color- a deep, dark brown, so rich and nebulous- so twilight dark it almost appears next-to black, reflecting glimmering specks of light in their wake. No pupils, just pure, unblinking eyes, wide and large, gentle and kind. Reflecting the universe, the celestial bodies of the heavens in their wake, shining with brilliance and curiosity about the universe, the forces larger than man, watching intently over life and growth and change, with every blink.

(I’m rambling about his eyes again, aren’t I.)

From then on I decided to make Evan, and consequently Gregory’s, entire appearance resemble that of someone with a demure, unassuming and outwardly “weak” demeanor- large, gentle and dark eyes, different than that of the bold, bright and piercing eyes of the rest of his family, a soothing and silvery voice, almost nectarous in nature and pleasant to listen to. Light and near-graceful footsteps being made even when he walks, highlighting the more cautious side of his personality: a small, short and weak stature- not malnutritioned in any way, but rather more lithe- petite and dainty, if one will exemplify further, almost as if such a body structure is meant to convey submissiveness.

Everything screams that of a meek, “cute” child, from his pale complexion, taking on the appearance of smooth, pearly white skin tinged with apricot and peach-colored blush here and there, his soft and youthful features, being characterized physically by full cheeks, rosy petal lips, high cheekbones, a cute button nose, somehow naturally curved lashes, not to mention somehow thick and perfectly trimmed brows- hell, even his hair is somehow pretty. It’s thick and voluminous, wavy and slightly tousled in style- dark chestnut brown in color, shimmering as his bangs fall over and frame his face with a piece conveniently falling in between his eyes.

I basically made him the type of boy that would’ve grown up to be ridiculously pretty as an adult. Excuse me while I go cry now because haha foreshadowing goes brrr.

The tragedy begins with the headcanon that he- that Evan- wasn’t always like this.

At first, he starts out at four years old as someone who is easygoing, calm and cheerful- articulate, intelligent and quite intellectually/emotionally mature for his age, evidenced by the way he would sometimes have deep conversations with his Fredbear plush. He starts out as someone who craves affection and gives it in return- someone who endlessly loves, trusts, respects and appreciates those around him. 

However, as the years go by, Evan becomes more and more anxious and internally stressed, as evidenced by the Sticky Note dialogue and his behavior throughout the minigames. As his family grows busier and busier with work and life, the more his home life grows tense.

Furthermore, the older he gets- the more he has to outwardly mature, and the more he has to focus on his perception of who the world wants him to be, and the more he has to take care of his younger sister. He begins to develop a version of empty-nest syndrome- every day, he secretly craves affection and validation- he craves to be emotionally, spiritually and physically vulnerable and helpless without someone hurting or humiliating him. Just for once, even if it’s only once- he wants to be selfish, childish and pampered, and he especially desires this from his older brother Michael- more on their relationship and how it evolves later.

The concept of chasing material pursuits- external glory- comes from his father, as well as the world around him- and rather than confronting his feelings and providing the proper self-care for confronting and pacifying said feelings… wouldn´t it be so much easier to bottle them up? To be what the world expects of you? To never feel your own pain again, and instead escape by feeling the pain of others?

***

I´ll offer you a bit of short worldbuilding context within this post to give more clarification on how souls work within my AU of FNAF:

Since the beginning of creation itself, all of life is born with a soul, evidenced by the real life explanation that all things containing cells are somehow biologically alive. Varying from lifeform to lifeform, all things have something in common, as they possess a life force that continues to keep their physical and organic components somehow alive, referred to via many names.

The entity itself has three components, most visibly common in humans:

The vessel

The soul

The shadow

All held together by this inexplicable life force that goes by many names varying upon the sources referred to.

The vessel, which serves the role its name suggests, and is exactly what its name suggests as well- the physical vessel that is a part of the entitaem, instead of the body just merely being something the soul loosely inhabits with no connection to the body whatsoever. The physical vessel contains the memories, personality, consciousness, spiritual core, heart, and most of the emotion (keyword being most), and is characterized by humanity, self-awareness, the unique personality the person possesses, a basic-to-complex array of emotional spectrums, and the retention of all five senses as a way to sustain the vessel, and by extension, the soul and the shadow.

 The soul, which departs from the body upon the death or “expiration” of the physical vessel. One historian comically dubbed and described organic bodies as having a “shelf life” varying depending on the lifeform in context, but the soul, as described by many, is eternal- being able to take on many forms, possess many things, and even have, to some extent, supernatural abilities if the entity in question is particularly powerful or spiritually potent.

The shadow, represented by the person’s past regrets, desires, and lingering emotions and sensations, often fueled by strong primal instincts instead of more “human” emotions, some examples being pleasure, pain, love, trust, fear, hatred and rage. Oftentimes they take the form of wraithlike, inky black creatures without any detail or form, only with visibly glowing white eyes, hence the name of “shadow” given to it. They can vary from anything, from butterflies to animals to vaguely human-like figures, to monstrous, vengeful and hostile approximations of tormented souls that have suffered particularly tragic and violent lives or deaths, the latter often belonging to souls that linger on the physical plane of existence- tormented spirits whom cannot find peace or rest due to unresolved conflicts and lingering wishes unattended to and disrespected.

In most theologies, the soul moves on to the afterlife once it has found peace, and it can only be found peace through some sort of ritual, as prehistoric humans have found, resulting in the human culture of immense respect and veneration for the dead. However, emotional muck from when the individual was alive can tend to impact their entire self.

In Evan´s case, it´s a plethora of things- horrible, saddening, harrowing and internalized things that build up on their own and eat away at him from the inside out with no one there to notice or take care of him, to validate him- and what makes it worse is that he has to deal with such things as a child building up inside of him, and he feels guilt for feeling and thinking such things, and for being spiritually corrupted with negative emotions. He has a good life, does he not? Why does he still feel sad? He shouldn´t feel sad, he doesn´t have a right to feel sad, does he?

(He doesn´t yet know. It´s never that simple, it never has been.)

Actively confronting the darker parts of yourself and accepting them, though it is a difficult and arduous journey that many people never bother to start, let alone complete, can reduce and even eliminate corruption within yourself. Moral of the story: don´t neglect your needs, physical, emotional or spiritual. Take care of yourself, please- because that´s what Evan failed to do, and that´s exactly what comes back to bite him every day without him even knowing fully about the existence of mental health and personal needs.

Focus on yourself before you can focus on others- forge your own identity and beliefs and stick to who you think you are- embrace all parts of yourself, even the ugliest, darkest parts, and take steadfast charge of yourself and your own destiny because it´s YOUR life, and YOUR rightful future- that´s the purpose of the existence of the soul, and Gregory/Evan´s character arc through what I´m trying to signify in the AU, primarily directed from my own beliefs drilled into my head as a kid- if you can´t stand, how can you help others stand?

***

Already, the gaping stomachs of his nightmares and their undeniably sharp teeth are what set off all the alarm bells in his brain- of course, he´s a child. Being tormented by them for four-to-five years of his life, as they sometimes showed up, sometimes didn´t- who wouldn´t be scared of them? Who wouldn´t be scared of their own internal struggles and insecurities, ignoring their needs due to personal weakness and heavy diffidence, so prominent that it weighs them down, locking their true selves away? 

Evan spends the final six out of all ten years of his first life actively running away from who he is- he´s scared of exposing his heart to the world, as if they´re going to hurt or break it, whoever ¨they¨ are. The nightmares are a perversive reflection of the internal struggles he faces. It is a culmination of the sentiments, unfulfilled desires and pain that corrupt his mind and soul. He runs away from the darkest corners of his thoughts when his body actively tries to warn him that this kind of fear, this kind of emotional withdrawal and willful self-torture isn´t healthy for him. Every night is a representation of how he feels, the worst parts of his sentiments worsening even more every day.

And the saddest part? Evan’s hope for his family and his future, and his willingness to trust others that formed the original basis of his childlike, carefree naivete that all children start out with was massacred at such a young age, and now, his faith and pride in himself is slowly diminishing- rotting away as he sinks further into his own despair, neglecting his own needs more and more, caused by the views of his family, his peers, his elders and the world around him morphing and distorting the way he sees himself, as well as pre-defined a set of strict expectations that he can’t seem to reach.

The only things that seem to be keeping him going is what the world expects him to be, and his pride and sense of adoration and love for his family. That’s not enough to sustain a person, much less a child.

And don’t even get me started on his growing sense of emptiness and personal loss caused by his perpetual soul dissociation as a result of neglecting his spiritual needs- that’s a persisting problem that plagues him even when he is reborn in his new robotic vessel and takes on the identity of Gregory.

He feels like everything is spiraling out of control. He doesn´t know his place in the world- he doesn´t know who he´s meant to be. He feels like he has no say, no power, no control over how his future, and the future of his family, unfolds due to his severe lack of confidence and, by extension, decreasing self-esteem, which is harrowing to watch.

The aspect of life he struggles with the most is duty, purpose. He grapples with destiny on a spiritual level constantly, not believing that his life is within his control. He is afraid of who he is, and he does not have enough faith in himself to empower himself to truly believe in himself- to try harder, become stronger, for the sake of not only those around him, but himself.

Evan is around seven when these thoughts truly begin to surface as a reaction to his environment- he is spiritually uneducated, young and still searching for an identity and his place in the world, so he is MASSIVELY underequipped at this time to deal with such premature emotional and spiritual urges to nurture and essentially pamper himself. He doesn’t ever know why he feels this way- he has a great life, right? 

So many other people have it worse… why is he being ungrateful all of a sudden? He has a pretty rich family, a nice neighborhood, and a great Uncle Henry alongside his “cousins” Charlie and Sammy. Food is on the table every day, a roof is above his head every night when he goes to sleep, school is going great, he loves his family and friends, everything is supposed to be fine! He’s supposed to be happy!

So why is this happening…? That is the question he wonders.

He tries every once in a while to confess this to his family, his father and mother and his siblings- now, don´t get me wrong, they´re not bad people or a bad family (William wasn´t truly bad at the time). They utterly, truly, deeply and really love him. But do you really think, with how busy and caught up with life they were at the time- William buried in his work, Eleanor taking care of Elizabeth, Michael navigating teenage life- that they were going to listen to him? Evan, the apparent ¨crybaby¨ of the family, who complains about Michael and his friends tormenting him, as well as the nightmares haunting him, every day? Would they, with their lifestyles practically orbiting around hustle culture, not once stopping to think about their own wellbeing and needs, listen to the needs of the middle child, bother to pay attention to his concerns?

There´s no doubt about it- he´s being denied validation and acceptance, and the resources needed to heal and maintain his happiness that he once had- he´s being denied support to actively take control of his life, to grow, mature, find his identity and take charge of his own decisions- his own destiny.

Evan everyday is being infantilized, pitied and patronized by his own family.

His family do love him, don´t get me wrong- not once have they neglected him… they just failed to properly understand what Evan was trying to convey, and consequently, they fail to understand the actual danger that ignoring his emotional and spiritual needs, as well as his corruption and contamination was doing to him. This is a symbolic representation of how refusing to confront your past- the ugliest and neediest parts of yourself, refusing to work on yourself and your growing maturity, and how the toxic need to remain ¨strong¨, can damage you further down the road- which is exactly what Evan did. 

As a result, he grows more emotionally and spiritually poisoned, and his previous repression and withdrawal starts to have serious consequences on him- he starts crying and bursting into tears more easily, becoming more susceptible to bouts of fear and hysteria- lashing out at Michael more often in response to his pranks, possessing a terse and distant attitude towards his father and mother, being forced to take on a maternal role for Elizabeth, not having any true friends besides his neighbors and the acquaintances he makes at school, and most of all… being trapped under the illusion that he´s inadequate- that he’s not good enough for his family. That´s the eventual conclusion that his mind prematurely comes to. And what makes it even worse is that due to his dwindling faith in his ability and himself as a human being, he never bothers to be proactive and cognizant about how he can improve upon himself, despite the deep-rooted desire to work on himself.

Wouldn’t it be so much easier, so much better, to fall into the label society gives you? To effectively become what the world thinks you are, and nothing more? Nothing deeper?

After all, why even bother trying to reach your full potential? Why bother trying to be braver- to be stronger, to be better, to be more than what those around you say you are when you´re not good enough to take control of your own life, your own destiny, when you´ll never be good enough to even start trying?

As a sort of coping mechanism, one that evolves into a habit, Evan starts listening to Elizabeth’s troubles as he takes care of her. On a general scale, this evolving empathy and desire to help comes in the form of easing the workloads and burdens of others, such as helping his mother with dishes and cooking because he feels the need to- so that he doesn´t feel like a whiny burden and a disappointment to the Afton family name. I feel the need to remind everyone that the surname of “Afton” as the founders of both Fredbear’s Family Diner and Fazbear Entertainment would be incredibly famous within the town of Hurricane, Utah, and eventually across all of the United States after the founding of Fazbear’s Entertainment (given the circumstances of the outside world and Security Breach’s location, the Pizzaplex), so already being placed in such a position was putting a lot of pressure on his shoulders.

Of course, every now and then, he feels compelled to confess about the nightmares and his feelings to Elizabeth, but he knew that not only would she brush it aside or not understand it due to her young age, but that would shatter the facade he so carefully constructed just for her. What kind of older brother burdens their younger siblings, especially their younger sisters, with their problems?

On top of this, he becomes an important figure in Elizabeth’s life- for example, he encourages Elizabeth´s confidence further and pushes her to show her gold stars she got on all her assignments to her father and he actively listens to her rant about Circus Baby. But he also listens to her problems and internal strife on her worst days, and displays his love for her, empathy for her struggles, and proves and demonstrates time and time again that he will always love her no matter who she is and who she wishes to become, and will always support her. Most importantly… that he will always believe in her.

He, as an older brother and the oft patronized and infantilized child of the family, tries to prove his maturity and self-worth via providing the support and affection to Elizabeth that his family failed to provide to him as soon as he got older. Keep in mind that he is still a child, so events such as these would scar him incredibly deep- deeper than he would like to realize.

We, in both the sticky notes and in the FNAF 4 minigames, also see a lot of dialogue about running away or hiding- these messages are written as if the writer is calculating and planning a sort of ‘escape route’, further highlighting Evan’s descent into fear of both himself and the nightmares that plague him, caused by spiritual corruption. 

By the time we see him ingame, five days before the party, his life had essentially become a living hellscape- his mind was physically sick, not working properly on an actual biological basis like how a normal human brain should. The nightmares could practically be considered hallucinations at this point, and his neglect of his own spiritual and emotional desires and needs have prolonged for so long that they’ve started impacting his physical body in noticeable ways, i.e. insomnia, severe anxiety, and panic attacks. 

His spiral has reached rock bottom- to drive the nail further into the coffin, he only has his Fredbear Plushie for comfort- Michael has begun to spend more time with his friends as they frequently ganged up on him to tease and bully and ridicule him more often than not, his father is practically engrossed in his work every day now that Fredbear’s Family Diner and Fazbear Entertainment has become especially popular, and his mother had already enough on her plate looking after their family’s needs as there were. 

He wanted nothing more than to hide- for the storm inside to silence itself, for it to be clear, cloudless skies littered with the stars again. There’s no way this possibly could get any worse.

…It gets worse, doesn’t it?

Of course, of course! Of course it gets worse- when it comes to FNAF, it always does!

Because even before Evan’s death and reincarnation, his spiritual corruption began to impact his relationships, especially that with his big brother Michael on both ends. And he never gets to fully dive into the reason, until later, as to why.

And that probably is one of his biggest regrets, more than anything- that they couldn’t be there for each other, that they couldn’t explore and deeply understand each other better than what their prejudice and hubris would allow them to, to bring their hearts close together like they should’ve done all those years ago.

That they couldn’t confront whatever was thrown their way together… like they promised on that stormy night all those years ago.

Part 2- Older Brother Issues:

You’ve heard of Daddy Issues, and you’ve heard of Mommy Issues. Now I think it’s well past time you get ready for older brother issues- specifically, Michael Afton issues.

When they were young, the relationship between these two were untainted- sincere and pure. Of course, they teased each other- like, a lot- Michael would steal Evan’s plushie, but he would always return it. He would lock Evan in his room or sneak inside to jumpscare him whenever he walked in, but he didn’t have that stupid Foxy Mask on back then- one key difference. Even then, Michael didn’t give two craps about whether Evan liked him or hated him back then, not even bothering to think about such things- for all he knew, the moment he locked eyes with his younger brother as a baby, he loved him- deeply, dearly, overwhelmingly, inexplicably- something awakened within him, an instinct he didn’t know he had- to preserve, to protect. 

They made a lot of promises between each other, shared countless secrets between each other, as many as the wonderful memories they had. The bond they possessed was deep, like a healthy mixture of a bond between siblings- brothers, and between a father and a son. They swore that they would be connected together forever, never growing apart.

However, as they all have learned the hard way- life tends to be complicated, more often than not.

Michael desired nothing more than for Evan to be proud of himself- to realize that he was a gift, existing as he was, for him to realize that the world was cruel and for him to defend himself, not accepting anything from those who desired to abuse his kindness and cheery demeanor (which ironically was lost as years went by).

He feared that he couldn’t defend his younger brother forever- the nightmares and spiritual corruption was something he surmounted to childish fears, something that further confirmed his troubles. Every day, their relationship began to become tainted and crumble apart further and further- fast forward to the years of 1980, and Evan is already way too deep into his spiral, and Michael has begun to distance himself from his father, and unintentionally, Evan, by spending time with his friends. Of course, he possesses a strong bond with them, and they’re good, supportive and close friends… but he is always tinged with guilt at the end of the day. Does he really hate his younger brother…? Does his younger brother hate him for lashing out at him so frequently? Is that why they argue… because he shows his true self in front of him?

And meanwhile, Evan is angry. He’s angry because of the love he still has for his brother, deep down amidst the neglected, blackened wasteland of a spiritual environment he has within him.

He resents the secrecy- the dishonesty, the lack of proper communication and proper self-care running in his family, the Aftons- painted as this picture-perfect neighborhood family to everyone around him, and meanwhile he despises such things with a burning passion because the smiles in the photo aren’t real. They’re hiding something.

He resents the stupid teenager things that Michael now keeps doing with his friends, things that continually and consistently patronize, disrespect and infantilize him- things that continually deny him of the validation, the acceptance and support of his own emotional and spiritual needs and the acknowledgement of the nightmares that continually plague him- the acceptance that he wants, craves and oh-so desperately NEEDS.

And yet, in all that time… Evan never really hated or even disliked Michael. Reasons for such things can vary, from refusal to let go of past memories and therefore past perceptions of his older brother, to a steadily deteriorating sense of self and an already low self-esteem disguised as humility, but even then, Evan always looks at Michael with so much pride and adoration glimmering in those eyes of his, always viewing him through rose-colored glasses and always looking up to him as a role-model to follow similar to how Elizabeth views both Michael and him. He wishes to actively seek out his love, approval and affection, but at the same time… even Michael’s mere presence imposes fear onto Evan- a fear of rejection, of humiliation, of being bullied or scared or teased again.

Evan feels as though Michael won’t accept him for who he is- he won’t see him in moments where he is true to his heart, emotional and vulnerable, and take care of him and love him nevertheless like he wants those around him to do with him.

Of course, he does get annoyed when his older brother bullies or makes fun of him with his friends, and he obviously retaliates and defends himself like any sane human being would. However, in moments when he renumerates and laments his relationship with Michael, you can see how much he truly respects, loves and admires the other. 

One of the things he despises is Michael actively seeking him out, using his status to assert dominance over his younger brother in order to bully him and get away with his actions with Evan being forced to dismiss it to his peers, his other sibling, and his parents as “normal older brother behavior”. Their conflict, when taking this into account, is largely one-sided- Evan only ever reacts in a hostile way whenever provoked, and, even though it goes against his best wishes, tries to avoid Michael whenever he can.

The kind of warped mindset that drives this sort of behavior could most likely be that Michael needs an outlet to take his anger out on, so he inclines proclivitively towards Evan as his punching bag since he sees himself as a superior and domineering figure over Evan’s currently timid and submissive personality- it is a warped, twisted kind of relationship driven by corrupted love and fear, with Michael internally wishing that Evan could simply “be braver and stop crying”, being blind to Evan’s internal struggles and being completely oblivious as to what is truly going on beneath the surface.

Then again, he’s not the only one to blame for his insensitivity… within Evan’s family, the Afton family, who wouldn’t be to blame for his first undoing before his rebirth?

Part 3- The Meaning of Pain:

I’ll go ahead and confess when I say that I find the nightmare animatronics absolutely horrifying. I mean, I’m average height, and these fuckers are already, like- what, a whole three feet taller than me? Poor Evan over here is only 4’5, and these stupid demon hallucinations are already out here looking like they can swallow me whole, let alone a terrified child like him.

(Please do not make fun of me /j, it took me two days to beat the final night of FNAF 4. I still possess the burning desire to sock Nightmare Fredbear in the nose in real life to further cement my hard-earned superiority over him.)

When I decided to further study into the appearance of the nightmare animatronics, the description of their physical appearance I found on the wiki page was quite interesting, and served as proper and thorough breakdown of what otherwise would be incomprehensible nightmare fuel:

“Most of the nightmare animatronics are featured with a deteriorated appearance with a big series of rips and holes all over, sporting a total of ten fingers with spike-like claws/nails, an excessive amount of long dangerously sharp teeth (found in both the structure of the animatronics and the endoskeletons), and small metallic eyes. Their endoskeleton heads look suspiciously similar to that of a human skull, with a line of indentations down their forehead (FNAF Wiki).”

This, in and of itself, is a clear sign that these animatronics were not made for Fazbear Pizzerias- couple that with their grotesquely sardonic and bloodthirsty behavior, reminiscent of that of feral beasts starving and scavenging for food, and boom- good luck sleeping for the rest of your nights.

Within the universe of Project Samsara, the nightmares possess erratic behavior- sometimes they show up, and sometimes they don’t. However, if one notices closely, this irregularity worsens the further Evan’s paranoia and hypervigilance heightens. When it comes to these nightmares, he’s no longer able to differentiate between hallucinations and dreams- nighttime becomes especially torturous for him as a result.

The whole thing is basically boss music faintly playing in the background while he can´t tell why it´s playing. Yeah, that´s certainly a way to live out your life, isn´t it?

While these hallucinations could be metaphorical for how the FNAF 4 tormentors, Michael and his friends Dorothy, Elijah and Andrew, bully and ridicule him in the real world- these nightmares are also a sign of severe and detrimental spiritual corruption. 

It’s absolutely critical, imperative that the soul is kept safe and healthy at all times, evolving at the pace at which the physical body does, to avert emergencies such as soul loss or to prevent the self from self-destructing upon physical death.

Consequently, his family and his friends don’t yet know the sheer, actual danger that these nightmares pose to Evan’s wellbeing and himself as a whole.

Nightmares in today´s culture are associated with deeper, more psychologically rooted fears that tend to cast a silent, barely noticeable shadow over the individual of whom they belong to- they are often a twisted reflection of darker thoughts and worries, partially inspired by day-to-day events taking place throughout daily life. If not handled properly and with care, these nightmares can escalate into hallucinations that tend to ¨bring to life¨ the deeper fears, negative sentiments of the individual- these thoughts can also evolve into a poisonous energy that can corrupt the soul, and the spiritual blood, the remnant (alternatively called ether or anima in ancient times) flowing through it. 

In the case of Evan, his nightmares have evolved into metaphysical, lucid hallucinations, and the remnant residing within his atman is corrupted and being rendered virtually useless due to the emotional muck inside, prevented from being cut off from spiritual and emotional support networks in order to properly mature.

You all may remember saying in one of my past posts that Evan posesses an extreme phobia of springlocks and the matrices of machinery in the animatronics, which appear to be heavily accentuated in the nightmares. On the other hand, the behavior of the nightmares and their laughs/taunts may be a reflection of how ruthless the FNAF 4 tormentors can be when they´re teasing him. 

They are a representation of Evan´s greatest fears- his origins, parts of his childhood that have been twisted and corrupted into a barely recognizable version of what they once were- he continually runs away, not only from his fears, but from his identity- he isn´t able to exactly grasp why this is happening to him, why he´s suffering such a crisis, why he’s so scared.

They are a culmination of his worst thoughts- not being good enough, being powerless and vulnerable, being in a position where people can easily hurt you, the fact that society will never let you grow, mature and change, that the world around you will forever infantilize and patronize you and never accept you… the fact that you will never take charge of your own destiny- never carve your own path, create your own future- the fact that you will never come to terms with your own identity… that you will figure out just who exactly you are, let alone accept it.

¨You´re never going to find inner peace. You´re never going to be more than what you are. You´re never going to be braver, stronger. You will never find yourself… be yourself. You will never be at peace with yourself- you will NEVER find peace.¨

This dilemma effectively places him into a situation where his unfulfilled and neglected spiritual and emotional needs and his desire to grow and mature and care for himself on these levels are conflicting, aggressively clashing, even, with his self-image and lack of self-worth, as well as the stereotypes and expectations the world and his family have imposed onto him by infantilizing him and patronizing him, whether it be through his parents dismissing his concerns or Michael and his friends bullying him about his ¨crybaby¨ nature. 

His kindness and desire to protect, empathize with and care for and help others are muffled as a result of this, and his carefree nature and ability to genuinely trust others are all but gone- sure, he still loves people endlessly, and he can still be charitable and generous, but none of those deeds possess any heart to them anymore. This is just how deep the scars have cut him. This is what his steadily declining life has done to him- this is how it ruined him.

Had he been emotionally damaged further, he probably would´ve developed a mental illness or two.

Not to mention the plethora of physical difficulties he’s already facing, including irregular sleeping patterns and forced insomnia as well as a fluctuating appetite and his explosive, poorly suppressed hysteria episodes and mood swings- both his mental and emotional state as well as his physical state would´ve deteriorated alongside the state of his spiritual health, the nightmares would´ve been giving him heart difficulties, seizures and panic attacks, his brain would´ve started to display symptoms of a failing body, such as frequent memory loss, excessive crying and mood swings, extreme physical weakness and fatigue, among other things- and eventually…

He would´ve self-destructed, resulting in premature death.

I feel the need to remind you that Evan is only ten years old?

And these nightmares are a metaphysical hallucination, a manifestation of his deepest, darkest fears, repeatedly telling him that he needs to STOP- that scraping the bottom of the barrel to sustain your basic physical needs isn´t enough, and that he needs to explore and confront himself and the expectations of the world around him in order to truly discover his identity. 

Compared to real life, having an identity crisis might not result in your health declining, but if it prolongs perpetually, it can result in severe mental illnesses developing.

Believing is seeing, after all. He believes these nightmares are real… so why wouldn’t they be real?

Maybe it is all in your head, maybe it isn´t, since the brain is a physical organ capable of becoming sick or breaking down like any other organ in the body- but it´s just as painful a cut or a bruise, and it can be just as dangerous if you leave the wound there, festering and waiting to be infected.

And that´s exactly what Evan does, and it bites him back so hard that he regrets everything. Yeah, I mean everything.

Part 4- The Flower Withers:

By the time we see Evan in the minigames, he has descended into a former shell of what he once was- he is tired of ignoring himself for so long, tired of being disrespected, of being ignored and infantilized and invalidated time and time again. 

His body is physically suffering, and his entire family is overlooking him and his symptoms of his spiritual and emotional negligence. His core´s metaphysical manifestation is a black, stormy wasteland of his own resurfacing fears, nightmares, self-doubt and negative thoughts- the spiritual blood, the remnant- the ether, flowing through him is utterly clogged with this emotional dirt and muck- his brain simply can’t work like it used to no matter how hard he wills himself to try, and the fog clouds his mind and judgement.

The smiles he gives to Elizabeth and to his mother are tired and lightless- the formalities he exercises with his father is just him going on autopilot and letting his body walk around the eggshells at this point- every interaction physically tires him whilst no one is there to see his mental deterioration. He can’t find the strength to actually reprimand Michael and his friends, so he just doesn’t care about the teasing anymore- why even bother when you probably deserve feeling these things, when you probably deserve being teased because of feeling such horrible feelings? 

Evan has been reduced down to his base instincts, his primal emotions by the time his birthday rolls around- he cries when sad, and smiles when happy, but even those emotions are less sincere than they were before. The happy and cheerful demeanor he puts around his family, and the calm, levelheaded one he puts around his elders, other relatives and acquaintances, are nothing more than elaborately constructed facades.

His life had devolved from this hopeful, imperfect and yet utopian paradise to, simply put, his own personal hell- all he feels is nothing but the emptiness that has been there since those years ago, when everything started to crumble, as well as the crushing sense of shame and guilt in who he is- the penetrating, overwhelming fear that had become what the world has now expected of him- what the world continually shamed him for, what he always falls into without fail, never bothering to subvert expectations or break this awful cycle.

So it is when Evan dies- when five whole years of disregard and disrespect rebound in on and crash straight into his family’s hearts- his family, who had just begun to wonder if they were loving him in the wrong ways… that his spirit refuses to bend, refuses to snuff itself out of existence- refuses to die.

And as a second chance being granted to Evan, partially because of William tampering with remnant and his remains in order to construct a new physical, cyborg-esque vessel for him- a new, reincarnated android body: and partially because of Evan’s own past regrets, as well as his own immutable willpower and love for his family, memories and past life, he has one thought on his mind: he doesn’t want to die- he can’t die.

And it is through these factors that he defies the cycle of life, death and reincarnation- the endless cycle of natural Samsara. His soul grants his wish to live- his wish so strong that it transcends lifetimes, transcends universes, is basically a desperate plea for salvation at this point… and it does this by triggering a last-ditch attempt. 

A failsafe.

Normally the consciousness and spiritual core are both wiped clean and eradicated/discarded upon a living being’s premature death, as seen with the Missing Children’s Incident victims. However, Evan’s case is different.

The consciousness and spiritual core start by detaching itself from the psyche, the soul and the heart, as well as the shadow temporarily disconnecting from each other, breaking the close-knit bonds formed between the two entities composing the self. When it comes to Evan, his new vessel also contains borrowed life force- remnant, also called ether, the part of the spiritual body that needs sustenance in the form of food and drink, like the physical body does. 

After the soul splits in two, like some sort of reverse-mitosis process, the memories, the personality, and the emotions associated with said memories are purposefully “corrupted”, or scrambled/garbled to prevent damage to the consciousness. They are then stored deep in the back of the mind, the process resembling what happens when an overworked computer resets and reboots.

Both the entities of the vessel and the spirit are finally reset and put into a sort of sleep mode to recover their power and energy. Meanwhile, the shadow continues to be tied to the physical realm, also put to sleep and wandering amidst the earth until the day when the vessel wakes up again.

When the physical vessel containing the consciousness finally possesses the energy required to reawaken, the mind must actively work in tandem with the body to recover the scrambled memories in order to remember their previous life and earthly attachments that kept them tethered to the plane of the living and mortal existence. 

New goals also begin to surface post-awakening as more and more memories begin to take hold, such as the goal of the physical reincarnated vessel to search for the spirit, as well as the shadow and any other possible remaining fragments and links to the past that may repair previously done damage.

Such a process can be extremely painful, and yet also liberating once it is done- the deep, dreamless slumber that Evan was thrown into for nearly sixty years whilst his new body still recovered, and as his soul began to possess Golden Freddy alongside Cassidy’s soul did wonders to his mental and spiritual state, slowly undoing and recovering from the corruption and emotional muck that was defiling those fragments of him.

Whilst the things tainting his soul are not fully eliminated by the time Gregory, the reincarnated vessel, awakens and sets out on his own to accomplish his determined goals, such a deep self-cleansing process was ultimately very necessary and inevitable- otherwise, all fragments of himself would’ve self-destructed, and he would’ve ceased to exist from this world altogether- he would’ve been truly dead.

So, now that that’s out of the way… now that he’s awoken from such a deep, half a century long sleep… he’s left wondering one thing, the feelings of unavoidable emptiness persisting still.

What is my purpose… my destiny? What was I created for?

…Who exactly am I?

Part 5- Starting Over:

Okay. The failsafe worked. Everything worked- everything went according to plan. The memories were encrypted and stored in the back of the mind for both safekeeping and later retrieval, and both separated segments went to sleep as a part of the reset sequence- the soul didn´t self-destruct. 

The consciousness and identity are present within the computer chip stored within Fredbear, which in turn is stored inside Gregory- the reincarnated robotic vessel meant to serve as the new body, while the formless spirit is stored within the Fredbear animatronic. Everything is okay, everything is fine.

So… what now?

Well… when Gregory awakens for the second time after the events of Software Instability, he is… confused, to say the least.

Memories have not yet begun to return to him, but questions are starting to surface to his head amidst the fuzziness and the pain: Who am I? What was I even built for in the first place?

Within this universe, Gregory is well aware of his true nature- that he´s not normal, that it would be dangerous if he met anyone and revealed his secret to them at that present moment.

Gregory at this point is lethargic, beginning to suffer the effects of exhaustion and starvation, even though he´s been asleep for nearly sixty years to recover his energy. There´s no food in the room, save for a few pieces of expired, wrapped up Sundrop candies and a disgustingly warm and overly carbonated bottle of Fizzy Faz- a serving of meager portions that he begrudgingly accepts as his meal. 

After eating, I like to think that he tries to explore, only to trip and unceremoniously fall into a wooden box filled with writing utensils, unlit candles and sticky notes. His consciousness hasn´t fully returned to him, some of his most crucial fragments still asleep in the back of his mind- he does not yet know how to read, write, or draw in normal alphabetic characters. 

And yet the first thing he does when he glances upon the myriad of strange supplies he falls into is take out a pastel-turquoise coloured sticky note, click the pen he now grasps in his hand, faintly feeling along it´s texture, and writes something, watching in fascination and awe as the ink carves itself into the paper, writing intricate characters of binary:

01110111 01101000 01111001 00100000 01101001 01110011 00100000 01101001

Translating to: ¨Why is I?”

As in the question of ¨Why am I alive? What was I created for? What, or who, am I meant to be?¨ Again, a recurring question that pops up in Gregory´s mind time and time again. He doesn´t know how to write like he used to, even though he doesn’t know how he used to be. And yet, he feels as though such things should be obvious to him, almost blatantly obvious. He´s frustrated- how bothersome! It is as though he knows, and yet he doesn´t. Why must some things be so obscure?

Either way, he is tired- thinking drains a lot more energy than he would expect or like, so he merely curls up, lies down, and goes to sleep. And for a couple of days, his daily routine remains the same as his first day trapped within the sticky note room. 

He behaves almost akin to a small, semi-docile animal holed away in its den. He hunts and scavenges for any food that may be hiding away in the safety of his sticky note room, sniffing out food, and he continues to sleep when he´s not scavenging in an effort to gather energy.

(No joke- in my AU this robot ate a decaying rat one day).

Gregory is confused, disoriented and scared- scared of why this is happening. He actively writes on other sticky notes over the days in crude, haphazard and barely legible binary strings- "Hide." "No Hide."

A depiction of a perfectly punctuated plan.

For the longest time, this is what seems like the life of Gregory- scavenge and hunt, eat, sleep, scribble occasionally on the notes in frustration after nothing comes to him, then rinse and repeat. 

That is, until he receives his first vision in the form of a lucid, psychedelic nightmare.

The smell of decay lingers on his nostrils. Every time he closes his eyes, there´s a strong sense of vertigo, as if he´s free-falling, perpetually adrift through a chasm of abyssal, infinite black steeped in the soft glow of the embers of twilight and dusk.

He recalls once more- he falls through darkness and flies through light- body aflame and alight, burning brighter the stars, the fire never going out.

An obelisk, a triad of birds encircling the top above as the clouds swirl at the tip, glistening and as sharp as the end of a sword. The black, impeccably smooth obsidian surface reflected obscure, cryptic hieroglyphs carved painstakingly into the surface, the surface prismic and iridescent with flecks of color visible on the cold metal.

A sarcophagus entombed deep within the ground, outside the reaches of the ever-changing world.

A once clear sky littered with the stars speckled across the countless celestial bodies spanning across heaven´s black, now clouded with storms and lightning. The water´s surface yet still remains serene as the thunder crackles in the distance- butterflies of pure light flutter around him as far as the eye can see, and seemingly luminescent lotus flowers tickle his toes as they float lazily atop the surface of the endless ocean, perfectly still.

The trinity of the triskelion tingles with a faint sensation of a perplexing, scalding heat, engraved on the back of his neck that he noticed just now. Beads of sweat form unto the back of his neck- not being able to tell the difference between artificial and real anymore, he doesn’t bother to wipe them away.

Alone, slumbering in the space between now and forever, he drifts.

And that brings him to the question… why? What sort of cryptic imagery that made his heart ache and throb could possibly invoke such emotion, why were the past and futures he never bore witness to somehow in his mind?

He digs deeper- even though the effort tries to rip him apart, he continues to dig, shuffling around desperately in the back of his mind for an answer. He has to know, he NEEDS to know!

A few days of a bone-deep ache later, like hard coils of chains were wrapped tightly around his head trying to asphyxiate his brain, he finds something amidst the blackness of the mist enshrouding his mind.

The surroundings enshrouded in light- three figures smiling with joy and pride at the magical little thing below them, full of warmth and life, babbling its first breath into the waking world.

“Daddy?” a young boy speaks in a thick British accent- a voice some emotion was tied to. “Can we keep him?”

“He’s your brother, Michael,” an older, more smoother voice responds. “Of course we can keep him.”

The lights flash and distort- the colors invert, and Gregory is back in his room again- no longer feeling warm or full, how the memory made him feel. The loneliness and the frigid, gnawing sense of emptiness is eating him from within once more. He tilts his head. 

He feels the name roll around and off his lips, forming itself into existence from nothingness as it vibrated in his throat, echoing and cushioned in his mind by hazy fondness. “Mi…chael. Michael.”

Hm- how curious… as far as he knew, none of those mechanics were named Michael.

“Who’s… Michael?” the young, brunette robot boy stutters his thoughts aloud with what limited speaking ability he possesses at this point. Who could this strange ‘Michael’ character possibly be to him? As far as he knew, Michael was a stranger- a name he hadn’t met. Whoever could he be?

And yet… a strange sense of deja vu- a great depth of emotion was tied to the sight of him. He felt pain and love, longing and regret, fondness and admiration, and all things in between, continuing to gaze into the boy’s ocean blue eyes swirling like glimmering, sun-lit currents gazing so lovingly into him, cradling him in his arms with the promise of protection and eternal love.

A love bound and sealed by blood and soul in kind. Transcendent above lifetimes- an unfettered promise to endure forevermore.

Gregory sighs, rubbing his throbbing temples and letting a sigh seep through his clenched teeth, exhaling out his frustration… until his posture shoots ramrod straight, eyes wide, palms unfurled.

“He’s your brother, Michael.”

That figure… that figure looking down upon him- was he referring to…?

No, no- that couldn’t be.

His entire body quakes- the ground spins like gears beneath him. The word echoes in his head, cushioned by the hazy clouds and condensated pillows of disbelief.

Brother. Brother brother brother.

He’s family. An older brother.

MY older brother.

Another word flashes to his mind- a surname. Afton. Michael Afton.

Hasty and tripping over himself more times than he can count, stumbling frantically with every step, he scrambles to another sticky note- a purple and a red one, respectively, before he whips out the pen once more and begins to scribble and write every thought in his waking mind, converging and then dispersing like the dewdrops glimpsing the first morning light.

¨You are Afton Family.¨

Followed by a set of two smiling faces on another sticky note.

Hours of sleeping and laying dormant in his nest later, yet another face comes to mind- the face of a fair skinned girl tinted with a peach blush and translucent freckles underneath her cheeks, donning a ginger shade of blonde hair and glimmering green eyes glistening with gemstones of chartreuse and the purest jade.

He scrambles to the last sticky note to draw a third face.

His beloved little sister, the third face. Elizabeth Afton. The three siblings, together and happy.

Gregory´s heart swells from within with a strange ache of pain and longing, crackling and flickering like a firework from within. When was the last time he had seen them… where were they, at this present moment, if they were not by his side? 

He begins to draw more- a house on one sticky note, to provide a roof above their heads. A semi-crude map to Fredbear´s from their house to the doors- not that he knew why these places were special to him, anyways- but more and more memories were beginning to take hold, coming back to him.

Soon, nearly the entire room, even the floor he walks upon- is covered with a thin sheet of sticky notes with haphazard, childish musings of a past life scribbled onto them. He adorns them with lit candles, the melted wax sticking to the polymer paper and the gentle golden glow illuminating the otherwise dim and dilapidated room- as if this were a sacred place.

If so, then the heads of the decommissioned staff bots that fell down the chute nearby must’ve been offerings, he silently mouths to himself, chuckling at the positively silly thought.

More and more days pass, days that Gregory doesn´t bother counting- not when he had more important things to do, like remembering. Days stretch out into weeks, the time within illuminated by his frequent pastimes of drawing, programming, writing, creating countless things despite the ache in his stomach wailing for food like an infant animal. Weeks stretch out into months, which probably extended into a year or two. Over time, the stench of garbage and rusting metal becomes the stench of a new home.

Seven tally marks- seven faces, all for his friends.

Three slices of cake, one for him, two for his siblings. Three slices of pizza as well.

Words repeated three times- home home home, fun fun fun, play play play.

Gregory had almost forgotten how cake tasted in his mouth- the salt and grease of classic cheeze Pizza, takeout from Fredbear´s Family Diner. He ponders the whereabouts of his plastic blue toy telephone, the Fredbear Plushie he would always carry around.

His soul longed to be whole- to return home. To his real home- his house, his neigborhood and community and town of Hurricane, Utah- like he totally didn´t just remember that two seconds ago.

Family. Family family family.

The back of his eyes hurt, throbbing with a dull ache that pierce and penetrate his temples as if someone were poking him in the head rather brutally and insistently. His fingers run through his hair, attempting to mitigate the effects of thinking so hard.

Where could it all have gone wrong…?

Where could it have all fallen apart?

He gets his answer on the day he can hear a party going on upstairs- the party for someone obviously not him.

Not him.

Gregory blinks. A grave mistake.

A flash- the lights, the balloons, the stage. Black linoleum floors sprinkled with rainbow confetti, the posters of colorful animal mascots plastered on the walls.

¨I can´t believe you need a girl to defend you…¨

He blinks again.

Shoved against the muzzle of a bear- tears blurring the sides of his vision, heavy against his eyes. Blue, green, yellow, red- the lights above the stage as the world comes crashing down and collapses beneath his feet. His feet, dangling above the floor.

The party was all for me.

¨You heard the little man- he wants to get even closer, haha!¨

What…?

Pleas for mercy- screams that beg for a life to be spared. Miscellaneous voices in the background- the commotion trying to observe what was going on at the stage where Fredbear remained singing.

¨No! Stop, I don´t wanna go!¨

¨P-Please, Michael, I´m scared!¨

Wails, followed by laughter.

A crunch and a thud.

…

Red against matted golden fur- the laughter and squeals stop, the room is dead silent.

All for me.

He blinks again- an action he pays dearly for.

Gregory falls through darkness, he wings through light- he zips through countless pasts, presents and futures before the unceremonious thud of the floor befalls him and he loses sight of everything he´s ever known- the world crumbles into ash and blows away in a nonexistent wind, as if the hole in his heart had been scooped out that very moment. 

One moment, he´s a prokaryotic, single-celled organism floating amidst the creation of life born anew, awakening from dreams amidst a moment of stillness in the relentless chaos and fire.

Another moment, a butterfly whose wings had been clipped no longer, as he was free to fly away- his wings every shade of all the colors in the world, alight.

The next moment- a boy being screamed at by his father, disciplined over running away from home because it was too much and he was crying all the time.

No gravity, no light, no sound. Endless, vast and incomprehensible nothingness.

Gregory blinks yet another time, and the days have passed, the sticky notes already having the events from those horrific, psychedelic nightmares drawn on them. ¨God,¨ he whispers, practically croaking the words out- he doesn´t know why he´s invoking such a name, perhaps to draw on the strength of whatever creatures dwelled in the primordial lands above. His fingers trace over the triskelion-shaped mark indented into the back of his neck- the tips ghosting across every intricate detail possible. 

His eyes blur- and before he knows it, he´s screaming.

Shrieking with laughter and hysteria, with grief, with pain and lost love- of the rifts in his heart that deepened with every sob that tore itself loose from his throat and ribs, as he cried so hard that his chest began to hurt.

Every memory in his mind- the screams he didn´t realize were coming from him- his own throat, his own lungs. He curls into his knees, pressing his fingers to his sternum, his knees to his forehead, heels to his buttocks and screams into the dampening skin slick with tears.

No, no, no, no, no.

You´re just a problem with no solution- an over-emotional brat and an embarrassment to the Afton name.

His Father´s voice. He lets out a primal growl crossed with a high-pitched whine of distress, the sound animalistic, nigh bestial.

He covers his ears, skin slapping against his temples as he cries his surroundings away, the ground beneath and sky above melting, until there was nothing left but him and the sticky notes, and the starry abyss encroaching all.

Just let it out.

Let it out… and then let it go.

He screams.

Even as he boxes up a poster perfectly for Fredbear’s Family Diner, even as the silo of the perfect, spitting image of his family sits before him- arranged like a family at dinner, a recreation of all he ever had, all he ever wanted- he continues to cry.

After all, he has always been a crybaby- his heart too big for his body.

So he places it outside in a box for his family- the statues, in a place where no one can see.

The perfect plan.

Part 6- Duty-Bound:

Evan. 

Evanescent.

His name means transience- fugaciousness. His very name means the brilliance of every moment that casts a shadow of the lingering past.

When the blossoms are in season, pure and in bloom, and the spring butterflies fluttering, coming alive abound- whether they be crawling from their cocoons born anew or migrating back home, Evan is always reminded of their transient beauty. 

The ever-changing nature of individuals, the false constant that is names- the ever-changing identities, likes and dislikes of human beings as his people question what they are, what their purpose and their creation, their nature is on earth.

The lotuses float on the ponds in the new and unfamiliar environment, where the grass is verdant and lush, the morning dew dissipating- yet another sign of transience, he thinks to himself as he peels back the leafy wrapping of a spring roll his older brother got him from one of the nearby food stalls. He sees and embraces a world mired in impermanence- where every life lost is a crack in Mother Nature´s heart, where every second counts, where every fleeting moment matters more than anything else in the world.

If nothing else, we have the present moment.

And even the moments illuminated within those now-dreams, the faint scent and gentle, warm embrace of the glow of memories grow further closer and yet further distant. 

The butterflies come forth, nestled amidst the branches of their home where they once dwelled as caterpillars gnawing on the leaves and drinking in the early morning dew like dehydrated men. 

The white blossoms and pure lotus flowers aflush with faint, rosy specks of pink- they glimmer underneath the pale moonlight, cutting through the darkness of the midnight like the galaxies and stars, celestial bodies reflected in the twilight yawn of heaven´s black: and it is then that Evan has the same dream.

His family is with him- his mother, his father and his two siblings. His heart is happy, his stomach is full. 

Underneath the sky and upon the earth… he is at peace once more.

And now, more than ever, with even his primal, innermost desires unsatisfied, those moments are what he desires. Perhaps, deep inside his heart somewhere… those carefree, perfect days of being a happy family together had not ended for him.

Somewhere, mired in this world of impermanence- this perfect, eternal body longs for the ephemeral moments of the past. For his soul to be whole again- for his family and home to be unbroken once more.

And yet, as snow thaws and melts come the emergence of spring flowers, taking root within the soil… as those same flowers wither and shrivel upon the arrival of blizzarding winter storms… things are always subject to change. Just as things change in this world, he too, must awaken from this dream of eternity and stillness, to the world mired in transience- of both destruction and creation, of tragedy and miracles. 

He too, must change.

With every step he takes forward, every silent breath he huffs out as he clambers to his feet- something stirs within him. Perhaps the beckoning echo of fond moments spent with all he ever loved and treasured, the desiderata of bygone yesterdays carved within his mind.

The call continues to entrance him, the lust of life evident within every beat of his heart from deeper inside.

And as the butterflies too, escape from their cocoons to awaken from rebirth into a new world in a beautiful new form, to fly to a new home so soon: Evan, too, must embrace the new, ever-changing backdrop of the world- this new form, this new identity.

¨My name is Gregory.¨

Gregory. The english variant of Gregorios, anglicized.

Vigilant, watchful and awake. Aware of all. Unwavering, unshakeable and unbreakable, will forever enduring and indomitable come whatever challenges shall try to stagger him, lead him astray.

No longer shall he show shame, show fear. There the memories linger, day after day, pushing him to take charge of his own destiny, to overcome the grief and pain, to overcome all.

Pushing him to overcome.

Gregory now deems it his responsibility to seek out the same happiness and peace he lost, the life that was so tragically ripped from him alongside his dignity, his family and home, and his humanity- so long ago. He doesn´t know what changed over the passage of time, but he merely accepts it and moves on like mature adults would do, seeking to merely find peace and live out his life once more.

Time leaves wounds, and yet heals them too- the cycle of seasons persists forevermore, engaging all life in perpetual death and rebirth of perfect harmony.

All things must be born, grow up, and die, only to repeat. Nothing remains permanent, not even the blackness of death.

Evan remains within him, like the memories of the distant past. This day, too, shall be the day when he emerges from the cocoon- the day that Gregory was born.

And so he sets out to recreate his life anew, to make use of this miraculous second chance: to ensure that whatever may be the cost, no matter what comes in his way, no matter how difficult things will get…

He will crush all obstacles underneath his heel and continue to move forward to his dream- his unshakeable, unchanging dream, enduring forevermore.

To find his new family, to live out and entrust his new dream unto the future like all those before him have done, and like he should´ve done.

¨I´m so proud of you, Gregory,¨ he whispers to himself with a fond smile on his face as he slides on the blue striped shirt alongside the socks and shoes he got from Glamrock Gifts. He shudders in pleasure and delight as he rubs his arms- no touch present to comfort him other than himself. ¨You´re so mature… so grownup, now. You´ve come so far. Keep going- keep trying. You can do this.¨

It´s not about the things you can or cannot do, after all, he reminds himself. It´s about the things you must do- it´s about your duty to the world, the legacy you wish to fulfill and leave behind- the dream you will entrust to everyone who comes after- in this case, to your new life.

There are things that you have to do, no matter what.

He grits his teeth and pushes forward, the flame forever burning, brighter than the stars. And amidst it all… he continues to persist, to live. Nothing is immutable, but…

Despite it all, it´s still him. When he looks in the mirror, it has always been him.

And it shall be him, enduring forevermore.

Part 7- To The Ends Of A Dream:

I think I´ll cut to the chase and give the short version before launching into the long explanation here: Evan, or rather, Gregory, becomes a walking contradiction to himself post-awakening and post-remembrance.

Though he is artificial, he is alive and can breathe. He hungers and tires, bleeds and breathes, laughs and cries as humans do.

Though he was once kind, a boy of deep and sincere faith, that faith has since been warped and twisted beyond compare. And as he has once carried himself with a timid and sensitive posture, always trembling and whimpering, now it is as though that facet of his mind had been all but stripped away, reduced to ash in the wind.

Grief and love have changed him- he feels as though it is HIS PERSONAL RESPONSIBILITY, from then on, to put his family back together.

After nearly five months of grieving, on that day, he somehow wipes his tears away and pulls himself up by the boostraps, finding the willpower to take initiative and give himself the courage and strength boost to do what, in his eyes, was absolutely imperative to be done.

By the time Gregory ¨leaves the nest¨, he primarily leaves the safety of the sticky note room in pursuit of three main goals:

To find the shadow and spirit to complete his form. He serves as the physical vessel of which the consciousness, life force (in the form of stolen remnant) and the identity are sealed within via a mixture of technology and presumably dark supernatural magic of sorts, indicated by an elaborate triskelion mark on the back of his neck as well as tiny, several and barely readable runes encircling the mark. At present, Evan Afton has been split into the shadow, the spirit and the vessel- his present goal is to reunite with these aspects of his self to be ¨whole¨ again. 

To reunite with his family: GregEvan is a very family oriented person, often forging and creating strong bonds with the people he trusts. Naturally, when he loses his family (despite his complicated relationship with his siblings and spiraling spiritual and mental state at the time of his death), he is devastated upon learning about this when he reawakens from slumber. He wants to ¨recreate¨ his family, finding a suitable ¨substitute¨ for an older brother and younger sister, as well as his father and mother, living out that ¨found family¨ trope to fulfill his own happiness, as well as theirs, to combat his crushing loneliness and torment. Arguably, this can be seen as a bit selfish, but can you really blame him? He´s a kid. He thinks he´s finally accepted loss of his family and wants to find a new one, since that´s the conclusion a ten year old would arrive at.

To find and retrieve a new home, including claiming back relics of the past. The loss has scarred Gregory so deep that he actively searches the Pizzaplex in search of territory to claim- the Afton Family silo on the nearby table is further evidence of how he wishes to recreate his family and home. He´s basically living in the past at this point, even though he´s under the strong delusion that he´s accepted the past and moved on by trying to ¨find new happiness¨, as he is under the impression that his family is dead, or has forgotten him and moved on.

Gregory is, at this point, under the influence of the strong belief that the ends always, ALWAYS justify the means, which is the driving force behind all his actions- that he will do anything, and he means ANYTHING, to squash every obstacle underneath his heel that poses a threat to his life and to his family, and that could potentially prevent him from cultivating and nurturing his dream. Someone who doesn’t share his proclivities of directly and swiftly crushing and wholly eliminating obstacles to further your own progress regardless of collateral damage caused can find it easy to critique his methods, understandably.

¨I don´t support jumping to those conclusions of yours. I won´t fall to you.¨

Gregory, as a result of his goals and how his trauma has changed him, develops a strong sense of responsibility and duty, as well as an impressive willpower and unbreakable, resilient spirit from this mindset of ¨whatever it takes¨. He acts reserved, despite being outwardly brash and overtly arrogant at times, and he takes his responsibility and his “work” immensely seriously.

This trait is a double edged sword at its simplest description- on one hand, it grants him an able and strategic mind with the newfound and exemplary computing power and intelligence he has, willing to form elaborate plans to eliminate his obstacles to whatever short term or long term goals he may have. 

It grants him an unshakeable drive and will as his goals continue to endure and remain unchanged despite the tumultuous environment around him, or even all the odds working against him. Even when each day feels like trying to escape a warzone, he endures and remains steadfast, dignified and unwavering in his pursuit- an honorable trait to have.

Most of all, as cheesy as it sounds- he never gives up hope. He never abandons the possibility, no matter how small, that there is always a way to work towards your dream and your deepest desires.

However, any virtue can turn into a vice. The willpower and sense of responsibility and duty Gregory develops turn him headstrong, obstinate and mistrusting, as seen in thee game. For the entire time Gregory carries himself in a terse, restrained and apprehensive manner, he becomes apathetic to the pain and struggles of the other animatronics, entirely unaware that they are under his father´s control- again, expressed via the darker side of his vigilant, mercilessly judgemental demeanor. 

Even despite his starkly contrasting empathetic attitude towards Freddy over losing Bonnie, he holds the other Glamrocks in extremely low regard and even occasionally relishes holding a position of power over those who hurt him or wrong him. He arbitrarily declares them as threats to his livelihood, his future, his family, and his dream and his goals, and thus eliminates them without any forethought for their wellbeing or magnanamity towards their condition and considerable suffering post-shattering them.

He couldn´t care less about them, saying that their actions are inexcusable, and goes through with destroying and scavenging their parts anyway to upgrade Freddy: Gregory even lies through his teeth to his older brother about where he got the parts from, thus indirectly hurting his feelings deeply when Glammike finds out the truth. However, he does feel guilt and anxiety regarding this a bit later. As steadfast and unwavering as his commitment is to his goals, he is also rigid- not caring about the obstacle in front of him, or the collateral damage that he´ll cause by getting rid of it to further his pursuits- all he knows is that it poses a threat to his life and his dream, and he must eliminate it. He steadily grows obsessive, ruthless and cruel in his pursuit, and such sentiments also bleed into his behavior.

He keeps and treasures signs of his true nature, his heritage and his purpose- the LED on his temple. His unique blue blood. The triskelion ‘birthmark’ on the back of his neck. The sticky note drawing of his three siblings that he keeps in his back pocket, occasionally taking it out to kiss it and cradle it close to his chest as if cuddling it obsessively, further highlighting how emotionally weak and destabilized the near-crumbling child is.

Additionally, one very disturbing thing I’ve noticed about Gregory is that his intelligence is highly of that beyond what a normal ten or twelve year old would possess. 

For one thing, he possesses a significant amount of technological knowledge to the point where it’s straight up odd, being able to hotwire a car, recharge Freddy with a car battery, and also being really savvy with computers- something of a phenom, as a certain therapist in the tapes would say. 

This might be because of the nature of his creation and rebirth as a synthetic android vessel, hence in my AU extending it to flat out slight cyberkinesis, but it is still pretty disturbing.

Gregory also has immense creative and intellectual abilities, being able to take what paltry information was given to him in the emails left by the S.T.A.F.F. and piece the clues together to reconstruct scenarios and plans. He was then able to efficiently gather materials for said plans to decommission the animatronics, ruthlessly and cruelly using underhanded tactics to enact the constructed scenarios with near-perfect accuracy and impeccable execution.

And, interestingly enough, despite all his pent-up problems, despite all the emotional turmoil and obsession, anxiety and suffering and agonizing self-hatred eating away at him thorughout the game… he’s not insane while doing such things. 

No, Gregory’s the opposite of insane when crafting and executing these plans. He’s… sentient. Tactical, intelligent, even, despite his inner rage. Ruthless and uncaring- indifferent and dismissive of the suffering of the animatronics whilst he is deliberately inflicting pain upon them. Even acting as downright cruel, saying something along the lines of:

“They get what they deserve.”

Of course, it was all in self-defense: but this, to me, shows something fundamentally non-human about Gregory, despite all his very human qualities in the masses. He has moments like those where he’s smart in areas where he shouldn’t be- truly robotic, dutiful and… terrifying. Like some force of nature.

Willing to do anything to carry out his mission. To fulfill his destiny, and to bring his dream to life, to fruition- and to eliminate and neutralize all obstacles that stand in his way.

Of course, he does retain certain aspects of his avoidant personality he once retained in the past, such as hiding from and actively expressing fear of the other animatronics and Vanny in the beginning, as well as his father, even to the point of crying out of fear as he once did. 

His willpower also does not seem to restrict his creative potential by any means, evidenced by him deducing and recreating information of past events in the Pizzaplex, as well as formulating plans to temporarily decommission the other animatronics from what paltry information was given in the emails and S.T.A.F.F. messages as seen in-game.

It also does not appear to hinder his acceptance of blame, as he fully accepts responsibility post-game for everything he´s ever done and actively tries to make amends with everyone he´s wronged. However, his rigidity does spike his fear of confrontation, as he bursts into hysterics and tears whenever Glammike yells at him or argues with him. He also becomes intensely hostile in response to these ‘betrayals’- courtesy of bad memories resurfacing as a result of probably C-PTSD.

Gregory also is also irrationally upset whenever his set criteria and expectations are not met, and often berates either himself or external circumstances, as seen when he lashes out in anger at the Mr. Hippo magnet he recieves in game and expresses dismay at the machine eating his pass. This trait is significantly exacerbated by the fact that the more sincere, close and familial Gregory´s and Freddy´s relationship becomes, the more secrets they are forced to either share or keep from one another the more they learn about each other.

Gregory’s willpower also allows him to develop a sense of confidence and reassurance in himself, a sense of grounding and duty originally fueled by self-praise until Freddy comes along and becomes the best friend, older brother and father figure he so desperately needed. This temporarily dispels the mental corruption and deterioration present inside of him. 

He also occasionally has a lighthearted demeanor on the rare occasion he cuts lose, cracking witty jokes and even laughing at some of Freddy/Michael´s bad puns. 

And towards those he cares about genuinely, Gregory also expresses a strong sense of empathy, protectiveness and camaraderie, having a father/son and older brother/younger brother relationship with him (a combination of the two). He looks up to Freddy with nothing but admiration, sincerity and warmth in his eyes, eventually evolving into expressive affection and respect and pure love that only continues to deepen more and more- similar to the feelings he had towards Michael when he was still alive. 

Because of this, he recognizes Freddy as a ¨new older brother¨. And since Vanessa (separate from her alter ego Vanny) reminds him so much of his little sister Elizabeth, he actively thinks of her as a new little sister, until he learns the truth about their identities.

He is also kinder towards Vanessa upon learning the truth about her and her circumstances, and ends up repairing his relationship and trust with Vanessa/Elizabeth, as well as Glamrock Freddy/Michael- he also seeks to respect Freddy´s wishes starting post-game as a result of the animatronic bear being the father figure to Gregory, and to follow his older brother´s example. He has the ability to recognize change and a good heart as a result of his improved sense of judgement of others, sincerely forgiving, apologizing to and approving of Michael after learning of all he did to prevent further tragedy and save the souls of everyone who fell victim to it. 

Now, let´s go to the reason as to why he wishes to achieve these goals: well, because as for locating and recreating his family, it´s obvious that the trauma and grief have affected him to such an extent that he´s deluded himself into ¨moving on¨ whilst he simultaneously tries to recreate the past life and memories that he missed in his present life.

And as for reuniting all the components of himself, Gregory is in an extremely vulnerable state when his being is split into the vessel, the shadow and the soul. The vessel expresses this via feelings of extensive fatigue, hunger and starvation that gnaw at the back of the mind even when they´re satisfied- a perpetual reminder that he needs to get up and get shit done, perhaps. 

The way that the physical and spiritual body and form work on a simpler-explained level is that the body, the shadow and the spirit is the complete entity, held together by the remnant, or the vital quintessence and life force that composes each living being- the spiritual blood is the complete manifestation of the person, hence why they cannot change forms like spirits of the deceased can. 

Although the splitting of the soul is a safety measure- a sort of failsafe- upon death for those with unique circumstances like Gregory/Evan, keep in mind that he serves as the physical vessel with the consciousness, memories, spiritual core/heart, borrowed remnant and identity implanted into him. 

One wrong move could potentially result in his destruction and thus the destruction of the entire being, resulting in him basically ceasing to exist- he has to remain hypervigilant at all costs in the face of any dangerous circumstances he may be in, in order to ensure his survival and the eventual reunification of himself. He needs to be EXTREMELY careful- calculating his every move, because one wrong misstep and he could meet his demise.

So, taking his stressful situation into account…

Can you really blame him for being a bundle of nerves? At least, in this universe?

***

When you peel back all the layers, Gregory/Evan is a good kid at heart, kind and witty, intelligent and a nice person deep down. He’s a fundamentally good, but extremely lonely individual, losing everything- having his life, his world, all he ever loved and cherished ripped away from him in the blink of an eye by some freak accident that happened on his birthday. He never gets the chance to grow up and live life like a normal kid due to his death and reincarnation, being reborn into a perfect vessel that he still feels incomplete in because of his fragmented soul, of which he has no idea where the remaining shards linger.

First off, on his birthday, his older brother, with whom he has a… complicated relationship with, to say the least, tries to shove him into the mouth of Fredbear alongside his three friends as a practical joke or some sort of funny prank that he could be the laughingstock of, only for the springlocks to fail and clamp down on his head, resulting in his body dying in the hospital. How rude.

To make matters worse, his body and soul were essentially violated and descerated to bring him back to life in some sort of robotic, heavily remnant-infused physical vessel with his consciousness, memories, spiritual core and identity magically sealed inside via some sort of dark supernatural sorcery- down to his blood, heart, bones, organs and very flesh by some upstart businessman and inventor who wishes to become immortal, and has somehow dragged his own son into the mix without any forethought or without his consent. How even more rude.

Then, he learns post-awakening and after retrieving his memories that he´s been locked into a deep slumber for nearly half a century- for nearly fifty seven years, sixty if we want to round: and that therefore, a lot of shit must´ve happened while he was asleep and M.I.A? Just how unreasonably preposterous must his circumstances get?

To summarize: Gregory is not having a good day.

He clings to what once was as a coping mechanism, delusioning himself into thinking he has moved on and accepted loss, thinking he must be strong and independent and self-willed, and that he must grow up for the sake of himself and his family. He possesses an intense dedication to family, growing overly attached to those he trusts, but is also ready and very much willing go to intense lengths to protect them, to preserve the reminders of the past, of what he once was and what little he has left.

Gregory/Evan also survived and endured months of starvation, exhaustion and crushing loneliness on top of lucid, psychedelic nightmares that left him screaming and shaking until dawn post-awakening when he got his memories back along with certified C-PTSD, and in the mindset of a kid trying to mature and find his identity, purpose, destiny, place and worth in the world he lives in, he takes it upon himself to raze every obstacle that stands between him and his goals, his dreams, to the ground. 

He deems it his sworn duty to remain unflappable in the face of danger, to dispose of any potential threat to his survival, his life, his home and his family. Every action he does justifies the end result- the ends always justify the means, in his eyes.

This makes him narrow-minded, emotionally distant and apathetic to those he doesn’t care about, obstinate, weary of his circumstances and surroundings, and most of all, favorable towards using brute force and even sometimes cruel, underhanded tactics to swiftly and promptly crush his adversaries. He doesn´t take pity in the way Chica shrieks in the garbage compactor, how Roxanne cries after losing her eyes, how he basically incapacitated Montgomery- he´s too fixated on his goal, his survival, his trauma and the life he wants back. He even lies about it, wholesale making shit up about the decomissioning of Freddy’s friends: “Well, she’s still functional.” (line directed at Freddy referring to Chica).

Are his actions morally questionable and wrong? Yes.

Is he most likely cuckoo, has he lost his mind by this point? Absolutely.

But can you really blame him for doing so?

To be honest, he just wants to be left alone with his siblings and his found family- the people he cares about the most and, as demonstrated previously, would do absolutely anything for. He practically is obsessed with finding them, worshipping them at this point out of his grief.

Gregory/Evan has developed admirable qualities by ¨forcing himself to grow up¨- he isn´t exactly in the stablest of mental states by the time the main story of Security Breach rolls around, but he doesn´t take things lying down anymore. 

Even in his past life, he was no coward. Timid and reclusive, sure, but he was and now still is faithful, devoted, commited with undying love and dedication to his family and his dream, his goals and all he loves and treasures. He´s not merely just some sad, pathetic, lonely boy who wants his siblings and parents back (excluding William).

And merely through faith in himself and flimsy self-reassurances strung together haphazardly, he constructed an indomitable will and an unbreakable spirit, enduring forevermore alongside newfound courage and strength- a new reason to fight, despite him crossing many lines in the process. Even if his future is dying, withering away, rotting to nothingness- he never gives up hope, never stops searching for even a brief flash of light in the encroaching darkness.

Those are qualities to be mentioned, honored and respected.

And, real talk- Gregory/Evan just wants to be happy. He just wants to be whole again, to be with his family again with no impending threat of danger threatening to rip him apart at any moment. He longs for a shoulder to lean and cry on, for someone to look up to and defend but also depend on- a parental figure. His entire reason for continuing to exist despite his unimaginable pain and sorrow is to find and recreate his family and his life- to protect and preserve what little he has left. And he´s willing to do anything, anything, to gain his life back- his life that was so unfairly ripped from his arms on what was supposed to be his happiest day.

He finds and begins to reconstruct his identity on his journey: his sense of worth, of purpose, of control and of destiny begin to rebuild itself along the way- he begins to partially mature, but his deeper, darker fears and his inescapable inner despair, shame and guilt influenced by his C-PTSD still are not yet put to rest.

And for the longest time… it feels like Gregory/Evan´s going to continue into this downwards spiral of unhealthy obsession and a rapidly declining mental state fueled by false hope for the future and a traumatic past…

Until he reunites with his older brother Michael in the form of Glamrock Freddy, without the two of them even being aware of each other´s identities.

***

Part 8- Forgotten Love:

A more simpler explanation is that by the time the main events of Security Breach rolls around, Gregory is deluding himself into believing he has moved on from his past while also simultaneously letting a fanatical, unrealistic desire to recreate bygone memories and his lost family get to him slowly, tearing him apart from the inside. 

Like any other human, he falls victim to his own web of haphazardly crafted lies, arrogance and hubris, as well as his festering cruelty, rage and hatred towards anyone remotely hostile towards him. He also suffers from crippling paranoia and loneliness stemming from his PTSD, manifesting itself into the form of anxiety, depression and harrowing self-hatred from his trauma.

He´s still extremely lonely, stressed and tired beyond what can be taken for a child, his life becoming a constant and growing death threat looming and stalking closer via everything that wishes to inflict harm upon him- hence his obstinate, brash, self-domineering and headstrong exterior, with the terse and apprehensive manner to his words despite his kind, youthful and demure appearance.

Gregory still hasn’t gotten over his losses and the tragedy of his first death, temporarily pushing it to the back of his mind and refusing to acknowledge it to avoid incurring strong feelings of inner wrath, shame and sorrow. He’s willing to eliminate any obstacle for the sake of serving, nurturing and cultivating his dream as if its something to take care of- something that he NEEDS, under ANY circumstance, to bring to life- a twisted parallel he shares with William Afton, his father, both of them being enslaved to their goals albeit for very different reasons.

His false hope for the future is rotting, flickering out and dying, and yet he rekindles a used match half-burnt to ash repeatedly by convincing himself that everything will be alright if he stays the course (highlighting yet another twisted parallel, this time between him and Vanessa).

Gregory loves- adores and idolizes his family, missing them to the point where trying to recreate them becomes an unhealthy obsession born from his grief tormenting him, grief that he was incapable of processing and accepting on his own. He’s ironically idealistic, in a way- believing that transient life should be treasured and protected whilst it lasts, and being devastated at the prospect of premature loss since he’s experienced it firsthand.

He also believes that love and inner strength conquers all, and absolves him of whatever crime he commits in the name of his family, since he genuinely possesses good intentions behind everything he does. His love, longing and adoration for the past life he led, for his family and his friends back when he was alive, becomes not only a nostalgic trip, but also it becomes his unhealthy obsession and hyperfixation that gnaws at him from the inside out every day and leeches away his energy, forcing him to walk the murkier, darker side of himself.

In fact, Gregory deems it his only reason for existing at all. To reclaim what he lost so he can lead the proper life he was promised when he was young, naive and still alive.

And as a result, he has no qualms resorting to extreme measures to get what he wants, using brute force and cruel, underhanded tactics to swiftly and promptly crush obstacles and potential threats that may prevent or hinder his progress. He throws himself into his “work” as deeply as possible to escape and dissociate himself from the nightmare that his life had become, while also growing “closer” to achieving his goal, something he sees as a win-win situation for himself.

There is no mercy for those who try to hurt him or those he cares about- no forgiveness whatsoever, as they are often brutally dealt with (Chica being smashed in the garbage compactor, Roxanne being run over with a Go-Kart, Monty plummeting to his own destruction off the catwalks). He is often overconfident in using these methods, believing strongly that his enemies have no shred of hope or chance against the punishment he sees fit to mete out to those ¨foolish and arrogant enough¨ to stand in his way.

Gregory has no one in the beginning to help him cope, to help him accept and move on from the death of his past life and the separation of him from his siblings, resulting in an unhealthy need for companionship, for love and a sense of unfulfilled dependency resulting in him being secretly and severely touch-starved and suffering extreme empty-nest syndrome. There was no one to anchor him, to dissuade him from driving himself back into the abyss that was his demise so long ago…

Until Freddy rolls around.

When Freddy and Gregory initially meet, their relationship starts off a bit awkward. Freddy does have most of his memories as Michael just drifting around in his head, and often keeps it as a secret from the other Glamrock members. 

We have to keep in mind that Michael is already an almost-fleshed out character by the time the events of Security Breach roll around, having already undergone most of his personal journey by the time the end of Pizzeria Simulator rolls around, which is why he so readily accepts his fate and lets his physical body die in that burning pizzeria. Freddy does miss his siblings, seeking to protect any kid from danger and show unfaltering kindness to them- it is in his programming, of course, but it´s also partially influenced by his evolving nature as Michael when he was alive.

With Gregory, though, of course, he feels… a special connection with him, as if something sparks within him upon meeting him- it must’ve caused the malfunction on stage earlier when he felt a foreign entity in his chest cavity during the performance. 

As if his physical traits upon first glimpse of the young boy remind him of his younger brother- the dearest brother that he failed so long ago. Gregory, of course, feels the same way, being slightly reminded of an older brother figure- his older brother, Michael, before everything fell apart. and everything he’s ever known and loved melted into nothingness right before his eyes along with his past name.

However, Freddy soon begins to grow suspicious of the boy’s nature. His pulse, blood pressure and heartbeat seem all too perfect, too simulated to correspond to every situation accordingly for a kid in a stressful situation with animatronics on all sides trying to rip him to pieces. Of course, his emotions were real, and his appearance was perfect- too perfect, too real, and way too similar to his younger brother.

The gentle, unique and dark eyes reflecting glistening starlight in its wake, the wavy and tousled chestnut brown hair that took on a faint shimmer in its highlights, and the pale complexion adorned intricately with an apricot and peach blush that perfectly complimented his youthful, demure features.

Everything, from the petite, lithe and short body structure down to the button nose, high cheekbones and full cheeks, and plump lips, slightly roseate in tint.

The animatronic bear shakes his head- he’s seeing too much of Evan in this random kid.

However, even in disgrace, even when all hope seems lost- Gregory does not shame himself. He remains fixated on the light at the end of the tunnel- his goal, his dream, not once wavering or faltering, never giving up fighting for his survival: a quality Freddy undeniably admires, persistence. The brunette struggles a bit to show basic manners and accept help, but he is obstinate, self-willed and domineering, not to mention undeniably intelligent and creative: not to mention his surprising knowledge of technology and computers. 

This boy is a bright young man with a bright future ahead of him! At least, Freddy once remarked of such things to him and the boy’s face fell into an expression of despondence. “Yeah,” was all he responded with following a heavy sigh.

How odd.

As per the protocol programmed in him, whenever the boy seems distressed, Freddy tries to provide him with encouraging physical stimuli such as shoulder rubs or head pats. Kids would usually giggle and laugh as a response, but Gregory merely awkwardly reciprocated such sentiments by rubbing and patting the large metal paw back. Hm- perhaps he felt it was an obligatory duty to thank him via such silent expressions?

Freddy´s facial features droop a bit- was his performance in providing an emotional outlet for kids less than exemplary at the moment? Oh, well- it might have been because he was on emergency power.

Meanwhile, Gregory, by this point, is NOT OKAY. He´s neglecting his needs again, keeping secrets to himself, suffering in silence while longing for companionship, intimacy and love with no such secrecy, and no such conflict. Ever since his epiphany, he is prone to irrational and wantonly violent and even near-homicidal thought processes- he is a walking contradiction of himself, desiring trust and yet not trusting anyone. Freddy seems to, albeit slowly, mitigate the severe, deep effects that trauma has on Gregory via his companionship. Instead of pouring further salt on the wound, he begins to treat it.

At first, Gregory seems terse and apprehensive, reluctant and mistrusting of Freddy due to his circumstances. However, as evidenced by the game, he begins to open up more- Freddy becomes less bookish, adhering to protocol and robotic, whereas the boy becomes kinder, more carefree, and more trusting and empathetic, whilst still retaining his strong, unfaltering dedication towards those he loves.

In addition, the two contrast each other well- Gregory provides hope and comfort for Freddy due to his ironically idealistic nature and his unbreakable, unshakeable spirit and willpower, whereas Freddy does possess this same belief, yet it is a bit more mellow. Freddy is much more pragmatic and straightforward, despite his sweet and entertaining nature in his programming, grounding Gregory to reality and providing him genuine, solid and true reassurance via actual hope that he can believe in.

The two serve as the ¨light at the end of the tunnel¨ for each other respectively, in a way. They give each other hope and a new reason to exist by reminding each other of someone they once loved- and as a result, their affections for each other deepen and evolve into something more intimate, familial and strong over time.

This is the last family Gregory is capable of finding, the last bond he can build- a last chance at redemption, if one will.

I’ve already pointed out how Gregory is unfalteringly loyal and dedicated to those he trusts and loves, and is also willing to do anything for them due to his nigh-unhealthy obsession with recreating his friends, family and his past life. His goals are strongly fueled by a steadily growing fear of loss motivated by the threats all around him, as well as a sense of justice and a desire to right all wrongs. Reviving the happiness, humanity and dignity that has been brutally ripped from him via accomplishing his pre-set series of goals seems to be his only objective at this point, of which he absolutely deems imperative that he gets done. The thought of destroying and hurting others to get what he wants is something he frequently entertains, and their pain and suffering is something he can’t really give less of a shit about, to be frank.

However, once Freddy opposes the idea, suddenly Gregory feels anxious and guilty when destroying and decommissioning Chica, Roxanne and Montgomery- not because he’s suddenly aware of their pain, but because he’s aware of Freddy’s pain and how much he cares for his friends.

And this is where even more of his uglier qualities come into play- he sees his older brother in Freddy, a true parental figure- his family in Freddy. And because of how much the android boy has grown to truly care for and deeply love the animatronic bear, he begins to grow jealous- protective and secretively possessive, almost. 

He’s jealous that Freddy cares more for his friends than, what he perceives as, his own younger brother, though Freddy remains unaware of Gregory’s true identity until much, MUCH later. Most of the time, he merely lets his raging fury within be dampened and restrained by the quiet rain of tears inside, longing to feel the phantom sensation of a large metal paw holding his hand whenever he’s alone, apart from Freddy. 

With his darkest, overshadowing fears not yet put to rest, Gregory begins to grow alarmingly clingy, immoral and headstrong in an attempt to seize his destiny and bring his dream to life. His most fanatical, paranoid, dishonest, ruthless and obsessive traits come out at this point, and though they are not conventionally expressed like in other obsessive characters, they’re still there.

I also feel the need to point out Gregory’s positive traits: He’s very strong, figuring out most of his identity, his purpose and who he’s meant to be in the form of fleshed out goals. He’s obstinate, self-reliant and possesses a will of steel and an unbendable, unbreakable spirit that cannot be shaken in any way, shape or form. Though he’s been eroded at by constant torment and trauma, he still retains his ability to show an impressive and heartwarming degree of comfort, empathy, compassion and kindness to those he loves and deems as family. Even in disgrace and crushing loneliness, even in humiliation, he is no coward, and through his myriad of expressiveness and emotion he remains unflappable and unfaltering- he never, ever gives up on what he believes in, never stops fighting against impossible odds to bring his goals to fruition, to protect and care for those he loves, trusts and cares about. He succeeds in bringing new meaning to the phrase “love conquers all”, and utterly brings shame to those who call idealism “hilariously outdated and mediocre”. 

Freddy acting as an emotional anchor and parental figure to Gregory is ultimately what brings out the worst of himself, but it also brings out more of the best of himself- and, despite all his immoral actions committed throughout the game in the name of his family and dream, it is all aspects of himself that triumphs post-game and helps him to find his destiny and sense of worth and self- to cope, accept and find happiness and inner peace upon being reunited with his family. 

Freddy’s presence stabilizes Gregory’s emotional turmoil, and eventually revives and reawakens something Gregory had more or less lost- genuine care and trust for individuals other than his friends and family, and a true willingness to accept and fully embrace change with everything he is. His enduring love for his older brother, reborn in a new form, broke down the armor and dulled the agonizing sting of trauma left on him by his past, and allowed him to be fully and truly reborn.

In the end, it is Freddy’s/Michael’s love that more or less saves his younger brother and fully rounds his development, healing him from his torment and his suffering, putting his fears to rest for good, helping him to accept, forgive and embrace all of himself so he can put the past behind him along with the rest of his family and start a new life.

Truly like a butterfly emerging from its cocoon to soar into the night- the transformation that all humans can undergo is beautiful. In a way, the moment Gregory can let go of his trauma and find several new reasons to live, to embrace and be his true, full self in the moment and be at peace with the rest of his family and live his best life is a touching moment.

It is the moment he’s finally set free.

#GregEvan/GregVessel #FNAF Project Samsara AU #robot/android gregory #reincarnated vessel gregory #golem/android gregory #FNAF Security Breach #Glammike #Michael Afton #Evan Afton #Glamrock Freddy #Character Analysis #character development #relationship analysis: siblings #relationship analysis- older brother and younger brother (slightly father and son) #healthy relationships #sibling love #sibling bonds #Gregory angst #hurt/comfort #happy endings #FNAF Gregory #FNAF Glamrock Freddy #FNAF Vanessa/Vanny #FNAF Elizabeth Afton #Vanbeth #Vanessa is Vanny and Tape Girl #My AU #Afton Reunion #my babies I love them </3333

[tsumi-to-higeki]

Update on The Story I Am Doing

This is why I should never let my brain take control and do things like this.

Though at least this will help me later on within the story I am doing, so there is that.

#Xiaolin Showdown FanFic #Own Character Family Tree #Own Character Family Tree Within The FanFic #this was a lot of fun #Kind Of... #Utter Chaos #May Revamp At A Later Date

[streamingcolors-gvf]

Tears of Rain - Chapter 1

Josh x f!reader

Summary: Living in a small, New England town, daily life was rarely ever exciting for you. It lent comfort and peace with few neighbors, beautiful nature and scenery and a calming reliability with each new day. Things were starting to feel a little stagnant and lonely for you despite how much you enjoyed living here. One summer morning a beautiful stranger might have changed everything for you.

A/n : This is my first fanfic work and everything written here is intended to be read as complete fiction with upmost respect for the real people these characters may be based on. I do not know the guys personally and don’t intend for this to reflect on them as real people in any way.

Warnings: swearing, brief mentions of grief, just fluff

You began to stir due to the cool, damp morning air that was sticking to your exposed skin, sending a chill throughout your body. Your eyes open to the soft blue glow of early dawn as the mourning doves coo their familiar songs within the talks trees that scattered around your home. The feeling is comforting and always brings a sense of nostalgia to your heart, always bringing you back to summer mornings spent here as a kid with your grandparents.

They have been gone for a few years now and your heart still aches from the loving memories you shared. They essentially raised you throughout your childhood out of the instability your parents seemed to constantly carry. When they passed within the same year, you found out they had left their small New England home and several acres of land to you. It was known that most members of your family would have sold it off for a quick profit, but your grandparents knew deep down that you would be the one to cherish it.

It was a modest place, adorned with the New England charm of Victorian architecture with that classic rustic farmhouse feel. You insisted on keeping its vintage charm, afraid of scrubbing your grandparents from its existence.The wood floors were warped with age that creaked loudly when you walked across them, paint had started to peel on the shudders and wrap-around-porch. You maintained the house at your own pace, a project here and there to fit your budget as a waitress at the local diner. It wasn’t an ambitious career move but the pay was good and the regulars always treated you well.

It truly gave you the ability to sustain your lifestyle with maximum flexibility. You didn’t want to be strapped to a corporate office job or something that burned the candle at both ends for you. You loved spending time here, showcasing and experimenting with all the homesteading skills your grandparents gave you.

You laid on the soft mattress and pulled the soft comforter up to your shoulders to warm your chilled skin, nudging your orange Maine Coon, Beau, awake from his deep slumber at your feet. You knew you didn’t have long before his playful morning chirps became loud desperate cries for his breakfast. You wanted to bask in the peaceful moment as long as you could, knowing the day would be filled with household chores and your weekly trip to town to visit the local farmer’s market.

You were pulled out of your daydreaming from the loud barks of your dog, Ollie. He was outside and near the chicken coop from the sounds of his barks. He was already out patrolling and watching over your farm animals. Ollie had become your closest companion within the last two years and the townspeople probably thought you had lost your senses a little. He was by your side no matter where you went. If it was trips to the local feed store, laying out on the porch at the diner when you had a shift, or perched up in the passenger seat for Sunday drives in your old Chevy pickup.

People had tried to set you up on dates in the past but no one ever held your interest long enough to warrant a second date. You either knew everyone is town way too well or you were hesitant about sharing everything you’ve built with someone new. You lived for you and the things that made you happy and you would be lying if you said that a man didn’t threaten that for you.

That being said, you definitely missed the touch of a man’s fingers on your skin and someone treating you to nice things or even sharing mundane experiences together. You’ve simply learned to live without the romance aspect of life. It was probably sad for others to see, but you were in no rush to bring something like that into your existence.

With Beau’s impatient cries and Ollie making his rounds across the yard, you finally gathered the energy to slide out of bed to get ready for the day. You threw on a pair of high waisted faded Levis and a worn blue chambray shirt. You threw your hair in loose bun with your bangs framing your face. You finished up your routine in the bathroom with brushing your teeth, applying some sunscreen and a quick coat of mascara. You weren’t trying to impress anyone today and you knew you needed to stay comfortable in the summer weather.

After your rounds of feeding the animals and watering your cherished garden before the heat of the day hits, you’re finally ready to make your regular trip into town. Ollie hops up into seat of your truck, already sticking his head out the passenger window. You were never sure what kind of dog he was, but it seemed to be the classic mix of “farm dog”. That’s what was said to you when you picked Ollie out from the litter of puppies an old man was giving away at the local feed store a few years ago. If you had to guess he was probably mostly Border Collie with a hint of a half dozen other breeds thrown in. It didn’t matter to you because he was the best dog you’ve ever had. He was loyal and responsive to your every move and feeling. He seemed to know you better than anyone and had been by your side through all your ups and downs while you lived here.

It didn’t take long to make your way into town, even though you stayed on backroads for the entirety of the drive. Your grandparents loved they were pretty close to town without sacrificing privacy with fellow neighbors or townspeople. You were grateful that things haven’t really changed that much here over the years. You had a supermarket and a few gas stations in town, but most of the larger corporate stores were still about a thirty minute drive from you. It gave you the peace of nature without being completely isolated from modern, 21st century living. The only thing that really sucked was that internet was very spotty at your house and you didn’t want to shell out the hefty price tag to get satellite.

It was a little past eight a.m when you rolled into a parking space at the Farmer’s market, which was really just booths set up in the church parking lot. It wasn’t really an official one since people set up their booths every Saturday morning. You loved it though, sometimes feeling ambitious with your own booth every so often. With Ollie by your side, you scanned through the fresh produce and the creamery booths. You knew everyone so well that they set your stuff aside to pick up when you were done with your shopping.

You finally stopped at the local coffee booth, craving something refreshing before you heading out to finish the rest of your errands for the day. You had spent almost an hour buzzing around and catching up with people. A favorite iced coffee was definitely a needed boost to get through the rest of your morning. You settled in your place in the line and found yourself zoning out the conversations of others around you. A voice pulled you out of the thoughts dancing in your mind and you look down to see Ollie looking behind you while wagging his tail. You turn to see a man you don’t recognize, patiently waiting for your response.

“I-I’m sorry, are you talking to me?” You stumbled over your words, not being prepared for this interaction. He flashed a smile at you, showcasing a set beautiful white teeth. They were so perfect that they took your breath away for a minute. They weren’t perfect in the goofy veneer kind of way either. It was something you don’t normally see around here, a place filled with older people or people who didn’t seem to prioritize that sort of thing.

“Yeah, I was.” he chuckled lightly while breaking eye contact from you, revealing his slight nervousness. “I don’t mean to bother you or anything but I’m not from around here.” His hand reaches to rub the back of his neck as he glances up from the ground to meet your eyes again. It gives you an opportunity to look over him. He wasn’t a tall man, standing about an inch or two taller than you. He is dressed in an all white t-shirt with the cuffs rolled up slightly to show his toned arms. His khaki pants are form fitting around his frame, also cuffed at the bottoms to meet his white high-top vans. A few necklaces sit on his neck and chest, a couple silver rings on his slender fingers and tiny gold hoops on his ears peak out from the mess of caramel colored curls that frame his face.

God, he is fucking cute. Holy shit.

He noticed you checking him out longer than you probably should have and flashed you that signature smile he seems to have before pulling his bottom lip in between his teeth. The summer sunlight catches his brown eyes just right, turning them into a golden honey color.

“Yeah I can kind of tell.” You huffed out a playful laugh in attempt to ease your awkwardness.

“Is it really that obvious?” He lifted an eyebrow as his hand clutched his chest in faux-offense.

“I mean… given that I’ve never seen you before and that you are dressed in a lot of… white.” You tucked a piece of hair behind your ear, immediately aware that you most likely look like a huge mess at that moment.

“What’s wrong with white? I like to keep it simple.” He huffed in protest, laughing throughout his words.

“There’s nothing wrong with it! It looks good on you.” You blushed as soon as you slipped out the compliment to him, and he instantly took notice with his smile growing larger. “What I mean, is that there are a lot of farmers and blue-collar workers around here. Not many of them choose to wear white.”

“Are you trying to say these aren’t working hands?” His smile turning into a playful grin to get a reaction out of you. He raised his hands up to your eye level, flipping them back and forth to see both sides. They were beautiful, towing the line with delicate and masculine features. They were completely different to the very rough, calloused hands you’ve been seeing on men the past couple years. This man was truly making your head spin here in line waiting for your coffee.

“No! I didn’t say that- I meant that-“

“Hey, relax! I’m only messing with you, mama.” He teased, reaching out to gently brush your elbow with his fingertips. The new nickname he just gave you made your heart flutter in your chest. “Besides, I was bothering you to ask if you had any recommendations for coffee here.” He points a finger out to the chalkboard menu in front of both of you, also signaling the now shortened line of people.

You try your best to regain your confidence as well as your awareness to your surroundings. What coffee do I like? Why have I suddenly forgotten anything I’ve ever liked? You study the menu for a good amount of time to recover the memory of what you like to order.

“Well, I usually get their cold brew with some of their smoked vanilla syrup or if I’m feeling like something fancier I get their burnt honey iced latte. Everything is local here, they even roast their own beans.” You looked over to see him just watching you talk, his eyes switching between your eyes and your mouth. You know its absentminded when his tongue gently sweeps over his bottom lip while his eyes are glued to you. Embarrassingly, your eyes also lingered on his mouth, taking in the soft features of his lips and how they upturn slightly at the corners.

He is so damn pretty. Get it together.

He clears his throat to break the momentary silence between the two of you. “Uh, the honey one sounds really good. I’ll have to try that.” Attempting to break the tension with a nervous laugh and his eyes signal to the cashier in front of you.

You apologize for making them wait for you and you give them your order, an iced burnt honey latte and a chocolate croissant. It’s not everyday you run into a beautiful stranger and you were feeling indulgent this morning. You started to reach for your purse to pay and he quickly steps in behind you.

“I’ll have the same thing as her and you can put that all together.” He chimed in, already handing the young employee a crisp twenty dollar bill. He takes the change to put into his wallet and sticks another twenty into the tip jar sitting beside the register. He flashes her a polite smile and a friendly wink, “Have a wonderful day.”

So does this guy have money or is he just trying to impress me with his over the top generosity?

“You seriously didn’t have to do that.” You protested as you both stepped off to the side to wait for the barista to finish making your order.

“Do what?”

“Pay for my order or give them a twenty dollar tip.” You scoffed lightly, crossing you arms to gauge him. He didn’t seem flustered by you giving him a hard time.

“I know. I just wanted to thank you for your recommendation and allowing me to bother you on this lovely morning. For the tip? I enjoy supporting local businesses. Is that okay?” His voice was calm and gentle, almost saccharine to the ears with how sweet he was being. His lips pulled into a soft smile while his honey brown eyes scanned your face.

“I’m sorry. Thank you for the coffee and croissant. I really do appreciate it. I guess I’m just not used to people doing that for me.” You instantly felt guilty for questioning his act of kindness when he gave you no reason to think poorly of him. His face lightened up to the same enthusiasm he had before.

“No need to apologize. I get being weary of strangers, especially a random man trying to buy you stuff. My name is Josh, by the way.” He stuck his hand out towards you for a more formal introduction, contrasting the interaction you two have previously shared.

“Y/n.” You put your hand in his, expecting a standard handshake. Instead he wrapped his warm fingers around your hand and kept it still for a moment before gently grazing the fingers off his opposite hand across your skin. It was brief moment of affection, but it was vastly more intimate than anything you have experienced in a long time. He broke from you after a few seconds to grab the coffees and croissants off the table.

“So would it be too forward of me to ask if I could join you for a few min to enjoy these?” He interrupted the brief silence while he handed your cold beverage and the wrapped up pastry to you.

Would it be too forward of me to ask to take you home right now?

“No, of course not! I would love the company. There are a few picnic tables over here.”you waited for Josh to grab his items with a few straws and napkins for the both of you. You led the way over to a few picnic tables that were surprisingly available for a Saturday morning.

“Is this guy yours?” Josh asked from behind you. You had momentarily forgot about Ollie that had been patiently waiting by your side the entire time. He was your shadow and you didn’t have to constantly worry about his whereabouts. Him following you around off a leash was just second nature so you routinely forgot people questioned his behavior.

“Oh yeah! Sorry! This is Ollie.” You turn on your heels to notion with your head an “introduction” between them. Ollie doesn’t seem nervous around Josh, given his wagging tail and tongue lazily hanging out of his mouth. You take that as a very good first sign moving forward with your time with Josh.

“Hey bud! You taking care of her? Let me know if I cross any boundaries, okay?” Josh spoke softly down at Ollie. He went to reach out a hand to pet him but paused suddenly and looked up at you, “Is it okay?”

“Sure! But if he bites you I’ll know you’re a creepy bastard.” You send a wink at Josh, letting out a laugh as you place your stuff on the table.

Josh joins your laughter while bending down to extend an open hand to Ollie, allowing him to sniff for a moment. He gently places his hand on top of Ollie’s head and starts to give him scratches behind his ears. “It seems like I pass for now.” Josh lets out a relieved chuckle as he settles into the bench at the table across from you. Ollie flops down under the table by your feet, stretching out to enjoy the cool grass thats been shaded.

“So what brings you out to this small town?” You begin to unwrap you croissant and you catch him letting out a small sigh.

“Well, my car broke down and it’s going to take a few days to repair it. So I’ve been just going around and exploring the area for now. It been a nice change of pace for me.” He take a large sip of his coffee and his eyes close from satisfaction as he hums to himself. “Good choice on this.”

“Thanks! It really is a treat. You might be all hopped up later from the caffeine and sugar though.”

“That’s okay, people seem to think I’m a crazy anyway. What difference will a bit of sugar make.” He flashes that breathtaking smile before taking a huge bite out of the croissant in his hand. He closed his eyes again and let out a low groan in his throat as he chewed, nodding his head slightly.

What is this man doing to me.

“I’m really sorry to hear about your car though.” Desperate for a distraction from the barely there sounds he was making. He opened his eyes and cleared his mouth with another sip of coffee.

“It’s okay. Like I said, it gives me a chance to clear my mind a little from all the chaos. And I wouldn’t have run into a beautiful woman giving me the best coffee and croissant recommendations.” The wink he gave you this time was laced with a little more intention and desire than they previously held.

Your cheeks flush hot from blushing so hard, and you just know that your face is a rosy pink shade. His eyes on you are intense in the best way possible, like he truly did see you as beautiful. You try to remind yourself that he is probably just a natural flirt and this really didn’t mean much to him. Your eyes are finally able to break away from his, only to cast down on your hands that was fiddling with the straw wrapper. His eyebrows furrow from his misunderstanding of your sudden shift in body language, taking your nervousness as a sign of discomfort.

He finished the last bite of his croissant and brushed off the fallen crumbs from his shirt and lap. “Listen, I don’t want to keep you from enjoying your morning. I know you probably weren’t expecting me to pop in. Let me leave you my number. I would love to take you to dinner tonight if your free. If you are interested of course. No pressure.” He leans to the side to retrieve a small notebook from his back pocket and an ink pen.

Was this guy an author or something? Is he straight out of a romance novel?

“You aren’t bothering me at all. I’m just-“

“Shhh. Please no pressure. I’m sure you’re a busy woman.” He looks you from writing his note and gives you a warm smile. He finishes what he was writing, rips the page from his small leather bound book and folds it neatly in half before placing it on of your hands. “It’s been a real pleasure meeting you, y/n. I really hope I get the chance of having your company again.” He rubs his thumb over the knuckles of your closed hand for a only a few seconds. Before you know it, he’s out from the picnic table and heading down the sidewalk.

You finish your croissant in silence, reliving your moments with Josh over and over again in your mind. You finally find the courage to open the folded paper he handed to you before he waltzed away, fearing that there was nothing written and it was a tasteless prank on your behalf.

It was truly a pleasure meeting you today.

Even if you decide to never see me again,

I will never forget that beautiful face of yours.

I hope you enjoy the rest of your morning, mama.

Josh

XXX-XXX-XXXX

You read his note a few dozen times, battling within yourself if you were really going to reach out to him. It seemed like he was passing through once his car was fixed. He appeared to be more attracted to the city life and traveling around in general. You quickly reminded yourself that you essentially knew absolutely nothing about him besides the fact he was charming, beautiful and that his name was Josh.

You desperately attempted to push him out of your mind for the rest of the morning. Trying not to think about his warm gentle touch on your skin, the effortless smile that lit up his entire face, or the soft honey eyes that made you feel safe and comfortable.

It was a little past noon when you finally made your way back to your home, Ollie trotting by your side as you brought in your groceries from your eventful morning. You again tried to occupy your mind with a few records playing through your house as you washed and put away your produce.

“Ollie, what do you think? Should I send Josh a message?” You muttered out-loud, your companion lifted his head off his paws to give you a curious look. “I’m a single, young and available woman. When was the last time I went out and did anything fun? It’s not like I have to sleep with him or anything.” Ollie just let out a grumbled huff as his head plopped back down on his paws. “Oh what do you know? I’m going to text him.”

You fished your phone out of your purse and pulled the delicate folded paper you had stashed carefully away in your front pocket. Your hands started to shake slightly from how nervous you were in this moment. You slowly typed the numbers written on the paper into your phone, triple checking to make sure they were correct.

“Hey, it’s y/n from the farmers market earlier today. I would love to go out tonight if you are still offering!”

You hit send before you had a chance to overanalyze and chicken out of sending him the text. You tried to keep the message casual without sounding desperate, but the more you read the sent message over - the more desperate and awkward it seemed. You quickly set your phone face down on the counter and went to go make yourself an iced tea. The heavy feeling in your chest was making you feel lightheaded and you were eager for any distraction, no matter how small. It felt like an eternity, but in reality it was only a few minutes before you heard the familiar ping coming from your cell phone.

Your heart seemed to plummet into your stomach the moment you heard the sound. Why am I feeling this way over a man that I spent 15 minutes with? You can’t help yourself from flipping the phone over to see the screen light up from the new notification.

I wasn’t sure if I was actually going to hear from you again. It would be my pleasure to take you out tonight. I’m staying at the Blue Moon Motel in town while my car is being worked on.

Was this really going to happen?

“I’ll meet you at the same place we were earlier around 7. Is that okay?”

You bit your bottom lip nervously as the you watched the three dots flash as he started to respond. You appreciated the fact that he left the details open ended to your comfort. If you were being honest with yourself-the idea of any potential date in your life pushed you completely out of your comfort zone.

“Sounds perfect! Can’t wait to see you again.”

With the final confirmation you ran up your stairs to raid your closet of something to wear for your date with Josh. He was either going to disappoint you and fall right back out of your life like nothing happened or nothing was ever going to be the same for you.

#gvf fic #josh gvf #josh kiszka #josh kiszka smut #josh kiszka series #gvf smut #fanfic #josh kiszka fanfiction #josh kiszka fluff #gvf fluff

[qqueenofhades]

20+ Books That You (Might Actually Want) To Read During Pride Month!

Right, so. I got annoyed after seeing the list referenced in this post last night, told myself that my books are all packed up so I couldn’t do anything about it, and lasted all of a whopping 10 minutes before picking up my phone and attempting to make my own list instead. Behold, my from-memory attempt to present 20 books with strong LGBTQ plots, characters, and/or authors, that DON’T just rely on Suffering and Identity Politics and are... you know... fun.

Listed in alphabetical order by title. Links take you to Bookshop.org, where you can buy them from your local independent bookstore at a discount and NOT from the evil empire.

1. A Master of Djinn – P. Djeli Clark * author of color * steampunk Cairo in 1912 * djinn! magic! murder mystery! * butch Arab lesbian main character * devout hijabi Muslim badass assistant * anticolonial alternate history

2. An Accident of Stars – Foz Meadows (Sequel: A Tyranny of Queens) * trans author * bi, pan, trans, aro representation * racially diverse characters * all female POV characters * high-fantasy world adventures

3. Boyfriend Material – Alexis Hall * queer author * look I love this book SO MUCH and have absolutely screamed about it before but also I LOVE IT SO MUCH * contemporary M/M fake dating in modern London, complete with full cast of disaster found-family queer friends * it is. fucking. HILARIOUS. I almost died the first time reading it * there is a sequel called HUSBAND MATERIAL scheduled to be released in 2022; I am a normal amount of excited for this book

4. Gideon the Ninth – Tamsyn Muir (Sequel: Harrow the Ninth) * the book cover says “Lesbian necromancers explore a haunted palace in space!” * that is exactly what you get * slow-burn enemies-to-lovers F/F main romance * I cannot describe this book, it is dark, genre-bendy, science fiction-y, Hunger-Games-with-lesbian-necromancers-in space? Kinda? I have literally never read anything like it * also fucking HILARIOUS

5. One Last Stop – Casey McQuiston * queer author (who wrote Red White and Royal Blue) * bisexual fat girl from the South/lesbian-daughter-of-Chinese immigrants from the 1970s-riot-grrl main romance * time traveling mystery involving the Q train in Brooklyn (mentions Brighton Beach ahem) * magical realism * many more found-family chaotic queers including a trans Latino psychic and a Black accountant by day/drag queen by night and the mean little gay disaster who has a hopeless crush on them

6. Parasol Protectorate (series) – Gail Carriger * this is one of my favorite series, and there are five books: Soulless, Changeless, Blameless, Heartless, and Timeless * steampunk vampires/werewolves late Victorian London, like Jane Austen crossed with P.G. Wodehouse (they are all fucking hilarious) * pretty much everyone is queer; we got your flamboyantly camp gay vampires (Lord Akeldama ftw!) We got your gay werewolves! We got your lesbian French inventors! We got your big disaster idiot werewolf main male love interest! We got your crazy adventures! You name it we got it! * two spin-off novellas: Romancing the Werewolf (M/M) and Romancing the Inventor (F/F) * she has a ton more books in this same universe and writes sexy queer supernatural romance as G.L. Carriger

7. Plain Bad Heroines – Emily M. Danforth * queer author * historical horror-comedy set between a haunted girls’ school in early-1900s New England and in the modern day * all sapphic female main characters * plays with style/form/voice, a story within a story within a story

8. Red White and Royal Blue – Casey McQuiston * you’ve probably heard of it but here I am reccing it again * the biracial son of the first female POTUS falls in love with the Prince of England; shenanigans absolutely ensue * yes, the British monarchy still absolutely sucks a big fat dick * hilarious, heartfelt, reads like fanfic, just go get it, it will change your life

9. Rosaline Palmer Takes The Cake – Alexis Hall * same author as Boyfriend Material, this is his newest * bisexual female protagonist * absolutely perfect satire of The Great British Bake Off (you can tell this man has watched EVERY SINGLE SERIES and all of the holiday specials) * sweet and surprisingly thoughtful

10. Starless – Jacqueline Carey * genderqueer/transmasculine main character of color * almost all main characters are brown people! * lush Middle Eastern/India-inspired fantasy world * gods, prophecies, monsters * the best Oh God Why Me I Am A Horrible Mentor wise-old-mentor

11. The Future of Another Timeline – Annalee Newitz * nonbinary (they/them) author * time travel but make it The Handmaid’s Tale * will probably make your head explode * feminist, queer, subversive * diverse characters

12. The Gentleman's Guide to Vice and Virtue – Mackenzi Lee * queer author * technically YA but historical/magical adventure set in the 1700s * bisexual disaster main protagonist and love interest of color * (mis)adventures across Europe * has a sequel (see below) with the badass asexual sister of the protagonist

13. The Hate Project – Kris Ripper * nonbinary/genderqueer author * M/M enemies to lovers/sex with no strings attached (spoiler alert: strings attached) * HECKING HILARIOUS * sweet, escapist, and very low stakes * diverse characters, including fat protagonist with realistic anxiety disorder

14. The Lady's Guide to Petticoats and Piracy – Mackenzi Lee * PIRATES, obviously * sequel to Gentleman’s Guide * asexual female protagonist * strong queerplatonic f/f friendship * more historical/magical 18th century adventures

15. The Last Rune (series) – Mark Anthony * Imma be real with you chief, I haven’t read this series since I was a clueless teenager with no idea why I liked Gay Stuff so much, so if it does turn out to suck now, don’t throw rotten veggies at me * but especially since it was written in the NINETIES, this series was hella progressive?! * gay characters, disabled characters, characters of color, all playing significant and heroic roles in six-book epic fantasy cycle * people from Earth end up in high-fantasy world of Eldh * endgame M/M romance for the main character * books out of print, I think, but you can find them cheap somewhere like AbeBooks; first one (Beyond the Pale) linked above

16. The Library of the Unwritten – A.J. Hackwith * queer author * heaven-hell-Valhalla supernatural adventures * The Good Place x Good Omens x Lucifer x The Librarians * Pansexual Black badass female heroine * Queer found families * The Sassiest TM Bisexual Villain Turned Reluctant Hero (is he my favorite? Why on earth would you think that.)

17. The Priory of the Orange Tree – Samantha Shannon * epic doorstopper science fiction/historical fantasy set in a vaguely 16th-century world * main F/F romance between a queen and her sorceress bodyguard * sassy old gay alchemist whose backstory will give you Feelings * so many strong women and characters of color * no homophobia! marriage is fully gender-neutral, spouses are called “companions”

18. The Song of Achilles – Madeline Miller * likewise one you have probably heard of but still * a little light on the myth/historical part imho, but the writing is beautiful and will give you many feelings * M/M romance between Achilles and Patroclus  * reimagining of The Iliad (her other book Circe is also really good)

19 The Stars are Legion – Kameron Hurley * all-female apocalyptic space opera * messy messy antiheroines * grimdark war fantasy * queer sci-fi drama

20. Witchmark – C.L. Polk * author of color * M/M romance * main character is a veteran and a doctor dealing with his own hidden magic and repressed war trauma * gaslamp fantasy set in a world reminiscent of post-WWI England * strong sibling relationship

#book recs #book recommendations #bookblr #happy pride #pride month #lgbtqia #long post

[translightyagami]

James “translightyagami/avoidfilledwithcelluloid” Death Note Fic Masterlist

Hello to all you guys out there. Here is my full masterlist of allllll the Death Note fanfic I’ve written: There are over 120 fics contained within this entire list. I’m going to split it up by chapter fics, one-shot fics, short fic compilations, and gift fics I’ve done for fandom exchanges. The descriptions will tell you what the pairings are (mostly Lawlight, but there’s other stuff too). There are several posts of mine that are loosely defined fic, but I won’t be adding those in this post as they are just … hard to organize lol.

Fics are marked with E if they have explicit content and T if there are textual references to transgender characters. Chapter fics are marked as either complete or currently incomplete. Okay! Here we go! 

[UPDATED 11/20/2021]

CHAPTER FICS

sit and stay awhile https://archiveofourown.org/works/31032719 complete Light has a fantasy of sitting in L’s lap, and he’s got a plan to make that a reality.

the art of ink and flowers  https://archiveofourown.org/works/35106943 currently incomplete, E, T Light needs an apprentice and thinks he's found the perfect one in young firecracker Mello. Now to deal with Mello's uncle, the strange, mysterious, and - oops! - super hot florist Ryuzaki, who doesn't want his nephew near a tattoo parlor. What could possibly go wrong?

i could write it (better than you ever felt it) https://archiveofourown.org/works/13913043 currently incomplete Light works in the To-Oh university library, where he meets his favorite romantic mystery author, Eraldo Coil, who later reveals himself to be the great detective L. Through the course of their working together to solve a crime, Light finds he might have feelings for L and those feelings might be shared by the detective novelist.

your heart is an empty cup https://archiveofourown.org/works/13027707 currently incomplete Light is the assistant manager of a Starbucks in NYC, and L is one of his most annoying customers. When L accuses Light (correctly) of being Kira, as well as mysteriously asking for his help on a different case, the barista has to decide if he’s ready to get in bed with the enemy – maybe even literally.

the forest holds strange creatures https://archiveofourown.org/works/16442660 complete, E, T Light, a paranormal research grad student, comes to a small town trying to find a mysterious cryptid. He finds L, a 10-foot-tall tree creature, who helps Light discover the greatest cryptid of all: love. The only reason this one is in the chapter fic section is because it includes a Halloween special chapter with the intro of Beyond Birthday into the cryptid AU.

At Your Service https://archiveofourown.org/works/19229524 complete, E, T The Yagami family owns the sprawling, exclusive Hotel Kitsune where all sorts of international espionage agents make their temporary home. That includes the great detective L, whose romantic tension with Light comes to a boiling point when he comes to stay after a long absence.

best practices https://archiveofourown.org/works/21113519 complete, E, T Light has been working his way to the top of the corporate ladder thanks to his own hard work, and his more-than-close relationship with L, the company CEO and founder’s son. Their relationship comes to a head when L challenges Light to open himself up, making him vulnerable to showing the true depth of what he feels for L and his own desire to explore sexual power dynamics.

ONE-SHOT FICS

tell me the truth https://archiveofourown.org/works/12592320 E, T Light and Matsuda hit up a bar after work, and then Light hits up Matsuda for sex, praise, and a distraction from the deep emptiness inside him.

constricting https://archiveofourown.org/works/13721580 E, T Light breaks L’s favorite tea cup in their kitchen, and L eats him out because he loves his husband so much.

tell me I’m good https://archiveofourown.org/works/13986861 E In the middle of the night, L receives a drunk call from Light, hiding in the bathroom at a party. The call, turning from desperate to horny, reveals more about Light than L wanted to know.

if at first you don’t succeed https://archiveofourown.org/works/15119816 E, T Light gave his first blow job and accidentally bit L on the dick. He tries to make up for his mistake by trying again.

let me work on you https://archiveofourown.org/works/15884799 E, T As the result of losing bet to him, Light has to be L’s computer desk – naked and laying over his boyfriend’s lap. Of course, when L gives him another sexy challenge, Light can’t help but rise to the occasion.

alterations https://archiveofourown.org/works/17945957 E, T Light comes to visit his boyfriend Mikami at his fancy law office and suggests they have sex there. When Mikami reacts unfavorably, Light has to do damage control, and it smarts a lot more than he expected.

lizard https://archiveofourown.org/works/18552499 E, T Light meets a beefcake guy at a bar on the anniversary of L’s death, and lets him take him home (Lizard is my death note OC, and the fic was a wonderful commission from @queerical​)

Buried Alive https://archiveofourown.org/works/19705540 L and Light live together in L’s underground bunker after the apocalypse scorches the Earth. They watch some VHS tapes and do some gardening.

Our Little Secret https://archiveofourown.org/works/23822881 E After getting his memories, his freedom, back, Light wants to give L a gift: Kira tied up at his mercy. But L isn’t so sure if that gift is the one he really wants.

The Light of the Moon https://archiveofourown.org/works/25052722 E, T L is a vampire and accidentally bites Light, who is haunted by dreams that make him question why he wants L to bite him again (and maybe … something more …)

little animals https://archiveofourown.org/works/26829778 E Light and his werewolf boyfriend L fuck in their backyard garden.

Change OR the one where L and Light get married https://archiveofourown.org/works/27748159  E, T A gift/commish fic for @ohgodplsdontlook​. Six years after the Kira case closes, L and Light go have a wedding in the mansion where L spent his childhood summers. They bring the Yagami family, their baggage, and vows to share each other’s secrets.

a divine power https://archiveofourown.org/works/28018197 E L has a particular power that has helped him get confessions from even the most hardened, tight-lipped criminals, and he offers to use this power on Light to get an honest answer to the question "Are You Kira?" Not really believing L's power is real (and also smelling an easy way to lie his way out of being caught) Light agrees to submit to this bizarre investigative power - not realizing that L is about to make him a *very* honest man. (TL;DR, L has a Magic Cock That Makes Anyone He Fucks Fall in Love With Him AU.)

Possession https://archiveofourown.org/works/29232294 E After being killed by his family for being Kira, Light makes a deal with the demon L to get back to the mortal realm - a very, very sexy deal.

24-Hour Gym https://archiveofourown.org/works/29415480  After the yellow warehouse goes (mortally) in their favor, Light and Mikami frequent the same 24-hour gym. Eventually, after seeing all his work out skills, Light asks Mikami if he can bench press *Kira*.

Fantasy of a Fantasy https://archiveofourown.org/works/29729685  E, T While monitoring the Yagami family home for suspicious activity, L catches Light getting off to a dirty magazine and projects what he thinks his main suspect's fantasies might be.

the chains that bind us https://archiveofourown.org/works/32051299 E, T  Obligatory post-Yotsuba arc fic where Light is released from the handcuffs, and wants desperately to be back in bondage with L. Features a very creative use of the handcuff chain.

Kept https://archiveofourown.org/works/33334282 E, T Omegaverse AU where Light cooks up a horny evil scheme so that L won’t throw him in jail, and also lets him get that alpha lovin’ he so desires.

so glad you’re home https://archiveofourown.org/works/33977605 E, T L returns from a solo case and he and Light have a purr-fect homecoming together - including some spanking, cat ears, and a shower of sappy affection. 

SHORT FIC COMPLIATIONS

hand in unlovable hand https://archiveofourown.org/works/15025058 E Okay so I’ve been answering Tumblr askbox prompts for over 2 years now, and this? This is ALL of the Lawlight fics. There are over 70 Lawlight fics in this compilation, with all the nsfw fics marked as such. Here are somethings you’ll find in this horde: an AU where L is fat; dirty talk; ghost sex; phone calls about buying a house; early morning tea; kissing; spanking; bondage; L’s hair being brushed; and much, much more. If you have wished for a particular type of Lawlight fic, it is probably in this bunch.

Containing Multitudes https://archiveofourown.org/works/17570645 E Like i said, I’ve been answering all types of Tumblr prompts. These are all the multi-pairing fics that are not Lawlight. In over 20 fics, you’ll find Mikalight, Light/Misa, Misa/Takada, Misa/Rem, Light/Namikawa, Beyond/Light, Light/Matsuda, and even a few ones with Light and my DN OC Lizard. All nsfw fics are marked as such.

hereditary https://archiveofourown.org/works/17159354 All the Tumblr prompt fics I wrote specifically about the Yagami Family. About 4 fics long, includes a really nice couple of Sayu and Light sibling sadness fics.

bottom shelf erotica https://archiveofourown.org/works/20899706 E These are the 5 fics that I wrote to fill Death Note kinkmeme prompts. They are few frills, dirty, sloppy, all bottom Light smut fics. Also, since I didn’t want to give myself away on kinkmeme they’re all cis stuff. (because really who else would have been throwing trans smut up there?)

something between us (anyway) https://archiveofourown.org/works/30304620 T, E a slowly updating collection of 10 tumblr fic requests I received for the pairings of lawlight and (my DN OC) lizard/light, covering prompts including omegaverse, coffee shop AU, sexy lingerie, and much, much more.

kinktober 2021 https://archiveofourown.org/works/34235686 E, T updated each saturday of Oct. 2021, these five fics all revolve around lawlight and specific kinky prompts.

GIFT EXCHANGE FICS

your father’s son https://archiveofourown.org/works/15115568 T A Secret Shinigami 2018 gift for AbbodonAbandon. Light and Soichiro have a talk about why Light quit the tennis team. Lots of trans shit in here.

in your shoes https://archiveofourown.org/works/22405516 E A Sexy Enquirer 2019 gift for @pashmina-dhaage​. L is a professor who is having a quiet relationship with one of his grad students, Light. When he sees Light through his office window stepping in mud, L rushes to give him the shoes off his feet.

wash it out https://archiveofourown.org/works/22405648 A Sexy Enquirer 2019 gift for @complicatedmerary​. Mikami and Light, a pianist and violinist respectively with the same opera company, are carrying on a passionate affair while Light remains married to the opera’s soprano, Misa.

Thank you for Reading, Commenting, and Being Nice to Me About My Silly Fic!

#me me me #subtextual #death note #lawlight #my fic #death note fanfiction #woof! okay! #i know i'm posting at the worst time #but i'm gonna pin this so everyone can see

[avengerscompound]

The Tower: Happily Ever After - 2

The Tower: Happily Ever After An Avengers Fanfic

Series Masterlist | Character Refrence PREVIOUS //

Pairing:  Avengers x OFC, Bruce Banner x Bucky Barnes x Clint Barton x Wanda Maximoff x Steve Rogers x Natasha Romanoff x Tony Stark x Thor x Sam Wilson x OFC (Elly Cooper)

Word Count: 1849

Warnings:  Pregnancy and minor language on chapter.

Synopsis: Almost 40 years after Elise Cooper first crashed into Natasha Romanoff outside the library at Columbia University, she and the Avengers are adapting to a near-immortal life together with their large brood of children.  Yet things aren’t perfect.  Life is moving on without them and they’re starting to discover who isolating being immortal can be.When Angela comes and asks Thor to take the throne of Asgard once more, the group leaves Earth in the hopes that they will find their Happily Ever After there.

Chapter 2: Anger Issues

When Marya returned home from school that day we were all ready to meet her.  Marya was sixteen years old, a little taller than I was, with dark hair and light brown eyes - just like Bruce.  Those weren’t the only things she’d inherited from her biological father.  She was extremely intelligent and had been skipped ahead a grade in school.  There had been talk about skipping her ahead more than that, but it wasn’t something encouraged in schools due to the strain it has on children’s emotional and social development.  So instead she was finishing up high school with her peer group while taking college courses as electives.

She also had her own little green problem.

Her powers worked differently from Bruce’s.  She could turn into a hulk, and that transformation could be triggered by extreme negative emotions - not just anger, but when she was really sad or anxious too.  Unlike Bruce though, she never had to worry about sharing her body with another person.  When she changed she was always herself and generally she had such precision control over the transformation that she could do it on command, much as Bruce could after the bonding ceremony all those years ago.

She looked around suspiciously at us as we called her over to the couches by the large window, typically the place where we had family meetings.  It was usually where we spoke to the kids if they had done something they probably shouldn’t have.  We took an approach with our parenting where they didn’t usually get in trouble for misbehaving.  Rather we tried to think of a real-world consequence for what they’d done.  For example, if they were fighting they had to sit down and listen to each other’s grievances and then work out a way to both come to an understanding about how the other feels and try to make each other feel better.  It didn’t always work, but we figured it was better than arbitrarily making them go sit in the corner.  So it made sense that she’d think she was in trouble for something.

“What’d I do?”  She asked, dropping her backpack on the ground while she stood looking at her gathered parents.

“Why don’t you tell us?”  Sam teased.  “And we’ll tell you if that’s it.”

“I’m not falling for that,” Marya snarked, folding her arms across her chest.

“Honey, sit down,” Steve said, gently.  “You’re not in trouble.  We just need to tell you something.”

Marya sat down carefully, looking at everyone with deep suspicion.  “Is someone else pregnant?  Are you trying to populate Earth with just our family?”

“No,” Clint laughed.  “What the hell?”

I rolled my eyes.  “Honestly, honey, I sometimes think the same thing,” I said.  “But that’s not what this is.”

“Your Aunt Angela came to visit today,” Steve explained.  “She’s giving up the throne of Asgard.”

“Does that mean Riley’s going to be queen?”  Marya asked, looking over at Thor.  “I can’t believe my sister’s going to be the queen of a whole other planet.”

Thor shook his head.  “Riley is still too young to rule by Asgardian standards.  My people - our people - would consider that the equivalent of having Zak as their king.  I have to step up and take the lead.”

“Which means, we are moving to Asgard,” Steve finished.  “I know that...”

“What?”  Marya yelped, interrupting Steve as she blinked at us.  “When?”

“Within the month,” Steve said.

“But I have school!”  Marya shouted.  Her fists clenched and she started to turn green at the edges.  “And what about my friends?  You can’t just take me away from everyone I ever knew!”

“Mar,” Bruce said, gently.  “Deep breath.  Get that under control.”

“Don’t tell me how to feel!”  Marya shouted, slamming her hands on the coffee table and sending a large crack through the heavy wood.  I jumped a little, startled at her violent reaction, and the green started to creep into her arms starting at her hands, making her muscles swell and double in size.

Sam moved forward and crouched in front of his daughter, taking both her hands in his and looking into her eyes.  “Marya,” Sam said with a gentle yet commanding tone.  “I know you’re upset, but you need to talk about this rationally.  If you can’t talk about it, you’re gonna have to go to your room to cool off first.”

She started crying and pulled her hands out of his.  “It’s not fair!” She cried.  “I don’t even get a say about whether or not you take me away from my friends.  My whole goddamn planet?”

“Honey,” Steve said, wrapping his arm around Marya’s shoulders.  “I know this is tough.  I really do.  But we’re partially doing it for you.”

“I don’t see how taking me from my friends is somehow supposed to be good for me,” she grumbled.

“Alright, kid,” Natasha said.  “I’m going to give you some harsh truths here.  You’re going to lose them anyway.  Maybe not all of them anytime soon, but the ones you would have kept in your life you’d have had to watch age and die.  Just like we all have done and are with our friends and family.  We want to save you what’s happening with Rose.  We don’t want you to have to fall in love and then watch them fade out while you’re stuck looking like you can’t buy a beer.”

Marya started crying harder and fell into Steve’s side and Wanda glared at Natasha.  “You didn’t have to be so harsh,” Wanda snapped.

“Well babying her wasn’t doing it either,” Natasha argued.  “She needs to hear it.  She might not like it, but going to Asgard is what’s best for her.”

“Can’t I even finish school?”  Marya begged.  “I could stay with Eddie - or Rose.  Or one of my friends.  And then… then I’ll come.”

“There will be school for you on Asgard,” Thor said.  “And it will teach you things that far outreach anything any of you have learned on Midgard.  Riley and Pietro both attend and they learn of the world tree, and alien languages, advanced mathematics, and magic.  You are already holding yourself back to fit in, daughter.  You would never have to hide any part of you in Asgard.  Not your intelligence, and not this -” he tapped her arm where it was still tinged with green.

“And I’ll make it so you can talk to your friends here.  We’ll set up a line of communication,” Tony added.  “Don’t worry.  I’ll make sure my kids don’t go without Tumblr and Instagram.  Imagine how many followers you’ll get posting selfies in Asgard.”

“I already have a tonne of followers, dad,” Marya sniffed.  “I’m a Skjodbærer.”

“Yes, you are,” Tony said.  “And don’t you forget it.  The whole universe is yours.”

“We’ll make sure we come back to visit,” I said.  “We all still have friends here, and places we like to spend our time.”

“Yeah, who’s going to annoy Katie-Kate if I’m not around?”  Clint joked.

Marya let out a small laugh that was still more tears than actual laughter.  “I’m sure she’d hate not being annoyed by you.”

“Yeah, that’s right,” Clint said and patted Marya on the thigh.

“We aren’t doing this to punish you, Mar,” Sam soothed.  “I promise.  We’ve all been talking about this for a long time, and we were going to wait, but your dad can’t anymore.  He has to go and rule his kingdom.  And sometimes we have to give up what we want to do for what we need to.”

Marya let out a long slow breath and nodded.  “I know.  I know, dad.  They’re still my friends though and I’m still sad about it.”

“I know,” Wanda said.  “Being sad is normal.”

“Can I have a goodbye party?”  Marya asked.

“Look who you’re talking to,” Tony teased.  “The biggest.”

She sat silently for a moment and nodded again.  “If I really hate it, can I come back again?”

“You need to give it a proper chance,” Steve said.

“I will,” she assured him.  “I just… I don’t…”

“If you really hate it, you can come back,” I said, cutting Steve off before he had a chance to reply.  “We won’t like it, but our kids being happy and healthy is the thing we want most.  We just think… in the long run, this is the best option for that.”

“I know,” Marya said.  She looked around at anyone and kicked at her bag.  “Can I go now?”

“One thing first,” Steve said, tapping the table where she cracked it.  “What are we going to do about this?”

Marya sighed and looked at it.  “I’m sorry,” she said.

“And…?”  Steve pressed.

“And… I’ll go see if I can find someone who can repair it.  If I can’t, I’ll shop for a suitable replacement.  And… and I’ll volunteer at the soup kitchen for the Sundays before we leave as a stand-in for the fact I don’t need to earn money to pay for these things.”

“Good girl,” Steve said.  “Dinner will be at 6.30.”

Marya stood up and grabbed her back.  “Okay.”

“Marya,” I said.  “We love you.”

She smiled a little and nodded.  “I love you all too.”

We watched her disappear up the stairs and Bruce sat back and ran his palms over his scalp.  “I really need to help her deal with her anger.”

Bucky patted his arm.  “It’s usual teen stuff.  We’ve seen it before -” he gestured to me “- we’ll see it again.”

“Yeah, but when any of the others got upset we didn’t have to worry about them breaking the building,” Bruce said.

“Umm… do I need to remind you about that tantrum Riley had that meant we had to remodel her room,” I said.

Bruce chuckled and nodded.  “Right.  I guess.”

“It won’t hurt to work with her more,” Sam said.  “But don’t think that her having a temper is on you.  She’s hyper-intelligent and smart kids often deal with anxiety because they’re always thinking ten steps ahead about all the potential terrible outcomes.”

“Tell me about it,” Tony snarked.

“Yes, Tony, you’re a genius, we all know,” Bucky teased.

“I do not like that I am the reason for her distress,” Thor said.  “We could always go back to how it was before Angela took the throne.”

“And barely get to see you?”  Clint said.  “I don’t fuckin’ think so.”

“That’s not going to happen, Thor,” Steve said.  “We’ve been talking about this for a while.  It’s time.  Sometimes kids have to move because their parents are.  It’s not fun for them.  But she will adapt and it is better it happens sooner than for her to fall into this society's expectations for when she should be doing things.”

Thor nodded, though he didn’t look completely convinced.  

“Alright,” Clint said, clapping his hands.  “Enough about moody teenagers.  We have a lot to work out.”

“It’s going to be a big change,” I said.  “But we’ve gotten really good at those, and in my experience, they always worked out for the best.”

// NEXT

#the avengers #steve rogers #bucky barnes #tony stark #natasha romanoff #bruce banner #clint barton #wanda maximoff #sam wilson #avengers fanfic #avengers x oc #steve rogers x oc #bucky barnes x oc #tony stark x oc #stucky #clintasha #natasha romanoff x oc #wanda maximoff x oc #clint barton x oc #bruce banner x oc #sam wilson x oc #all caps #thor x oc #thor #fanfic #fanfiction #smut #pregnancy #the tower

[noverturemusings]

Masterlist

I mostly made this for me for convenience’s sake but it should also make navigating the blog easier for anyone viewing it. 

The Main Fic:

1. In the face of your light [Read on AO3]

An m!solavellan time-travel fix-it longfic with a large focus on characterisation and lots of mystery (and a talking raven). Any time a question gets answered, a different question is raised. It’s like a matryoshka doll. Filled with angst and heart-warming moments alike. Possibly falls under the hopepunk category? 

2. Three points of a constellation  [Read on AO3]

Part 2 of the main story. The return of an old friend calls into question everything that everyone thought they knew about the world. 

3. A tapestry of stars [Read on AO3]

A collection of side stories, mostly in Solas’ POV, but also includes POV from others within the inner circle. Not required to understand the story but definitely adds to it. 

Discord Server

Noverture’s Emporium of Angst

Art Tag:

Chapter art (All drawn by @cdraconik​)

General art

Fanfics:

Yeah, fanfics of a fanfic. My mind is blown to this day. These fics are massive spoilers for chapter 71 onwards though, so I’d steer clear of these if you’re not caught up.

1. ClearAutumnVibes

Nothing Gold Can Stay - Centred on three characters and their relationship with one another (Angst)

Starlight, star bright, will you bloom for me tonight? - A constellation AU in which spirits are stars/constellations and the Evanuris are planets (Angst)

Triumvirate - Focused on the three characters once again. Actually all of these fanfics are focused on this trio (lovingly referred to as the Sad Elf Sandwich by readers) (Fluff)

In a Kingdom by the Sea - A Little Mermaid AU of the Sad Elf Sandwich (Angst + Tragedy)

2. Alasnirelan_Lavellan

Something in my heart, some secret hidden part, illogically insists you are there, somewhere - A happy ending AU for the Sad Elf Sandwich because apparently I’m mean and Alasnirelan took matters into their own hands haha (Angst with a happy ending)

Wishes are Dreams, and Dreams are pretend - An alternate ending of the happy ending AU. There is only pain. (Angst. No happy ending. None. Zero. Only pain. It may be payback against me)

Are You, Are You Coming To The Tree? - Alasnirelan’s rendition of Solas’ POV after chapter 93 (Angst + Hurt/Comfort)

We go together (Like rama lama lama ka dinga da dinga dong) - Incorrect quotes

3. raven4138

I Dreamed a Dream - Sad Elf Sandwich again. A happy dream that swan dives into nightmare and pain (Fluff + Angst)

4. LunartheDragon (@lunarthedragon​)

Forgotten but Never Gone - An AU that changes an event in chapter 84 and causes the entire narrative to head towards a new direction. The false gods’ lies are revealed and the empire’s supposed enemies become its saviours. Featuring more lore expansion and new characters. (Some angst + Found Family + Happy Ending)

Screencaps:

Mahanon Lavellan

Ras’virelan

Playlists:

Main playlist

(Spoilery playlist - don’t open until you’re caught up to Chapter 58. Or open it, idk, I can’t tell you what to do)

Miscellaneous Tags:

Song Recommendations - a few people have sent me song recs for the playlist so might as well put it here

Asks

Itfoyl insp - quotes/poems that I think aligns with the story’s themes/events/imagery

Moodboard

Fashion

Anyway, that’s it I think. Much better, look at that, all organised. This was a totally necessary and successful use of my time. Procrastination who? No, couldn’t be me, wouldn’t do that

#masterlist #making this at 2am instead of sleeping? couldn't be me #solavellan #m!solavellan #dragon age

[unenchantingly]

Daddy Dearest.

PERCY JACKSON X READER fic.

“Remember what I told you buttercup! You need to concentrate on the light within you. I have a haiku to commemorate my visit-“

“That’s alright, dad. Thank you,” you cut him off quickly, not wanting to have to suffer through that.

Apollo ignored you, clearing his throat, and holding up his hands dramatically.

“Crying is okay, concentrate on your own light, shine bright like your dad.” 

“Gee, thanks dad.” you muttered, not really knowing what to say to that.

—–

Alternatively: your father pays you a visit after the death of your mother.

Hello! You have stumbled about a story with an overarching plot following a daughter of Apollo and the trials and tribulations she faces. It will start in Percy Jackson and The Olympians and continue into Heroes of Olympus. It is a Percy Jackson/Reader fanfic. Comments and constructive criticism are very much welcome!

The characters and the plotline of the books are not mine and belong to their respective owners. The story is mine, however, as is the character of ‘the reader’. Please do not publish this story elsewhere without asking for my permission.

Additional note: So, spoiler warning (but I feel like I should mention this before you start reading); in this installment, the reader's mother passed away due to a mysterious illness. This seems a bit vague right now, but it will all become clear in the later installments. Also, I'm not too sure about my portrayal of Apollo but I really wanted him to have a special connection to the reader-

Summer at Camp Half-Blood was a lot more fun than winter at Camp Half-Blood. There were fewer campers and the outdoor activities were a lot less fun given the cold of the snow. Camp Half-Blood had magic boundaries. Nothing was allowed to enter the camp unless Mr. D allowed it. You did not understand why he would want it to snow. Sure, it was pretty to look at, but it was so cold. As a child of Apollo, you were not too fond of the cold, wet, damp snow, especially when you were spending most of your time in the forest, shooting at trees.

After your helped Clarisse and Percy get Ares’ war chariot back from her two immortal brothers Phobos and Deimos, you had spent a week in Manhattan before you decided to go back to Camp Half-Blood. You had spent most of that week with Percy showing him all his favorite places in New York, and it was amazing. It was probably the best week you had in a while. Then, tragedy struck and your mother passed away. The funeral was beautiful, and you even sang a song for her. You never liked singing, but your mother would always ask you to sing something for her, and you would always comply. She used to call you songbird because you had such a lovely singing voice – which you attributed to the fact that your father is the God of music. After the funeral, you immediately left for Camp Half-Blood. Your stepfather had asked you to stay. He had told you that he would take care of you and that you would always be a family to him, but you did not want to stay in Manhattan, and you did not want to be a bother to him (monsters were not opposed to lingering in the hallways of your apartment floor, anymore).

Despite there not being all too many campers, most of your friends were year-round campers, so you had enough people to keep you company. The only problem was that you did not want any company. All you wanted to do was shoot at trees, work on your free-run skills, and not think about your mother. Michael had tried to get you to open up. He said that it was good to talk about it and that it was okay to cry. It would help you with the grief. You were not having it.

So, you spent most of your time in the forest, and you made it clear that no one should bother you, or they would likely be used for target practice. Even Connor and Travis Stoll knew better than to mess with you now.

Today was no exception. You had woken up early and started your daily routine. You had grown used to being up before everyone else, grabbing a bow from the weapons room, and heading off to the forest to train. Your own bow had been eaten by a sea serpent while you had been helping Clarisse in Staten Island, so you had to make do with one from the armory. Along with archery and free-running, you had been trying to conjure up light from the palm of your hand, but to no avail. In your fight against Phobos, you had shown that you have photokinetic abilities. You had wondered whether it was a one-time thing or just an ability that you needed to learn. Chiron had told you to practice. He thought that it was not a one-time thing and that you were blessed with the ability to manipulate light, but you were starting to give up on your abilities.

You were standing in a clearing where the satyrs usually gathered when they had one of their nature councils. It was the place where the most sun shone. You figured that if you were going to manipulate light, it would be best to be in a place with as much light as possible.

You stood with your eyes closed, holding out the palms of your hands and concentrating of creating a ball of light in your hands. You had been at it for a few hours now, but you were determined. Plus, it provided a good distraction. Though, you had been lacking in concentration lately. Whenever you stood still and took time to think, you started thinking about your mother.

“You need to concentrate if you’re going to manipulate light,” a voice spoke from behind you.

You spun around towards the source of the voice you heard and narrowed your eyes as they landed on a blonde man who looked about seventeen or eighteen. He was smiling at you, brightly and playfully, clad in jeans, loafers, and a sleeveless T-shirt that ironically said “soak up the sun”. You knew exactly who he was and you were not happy to see him.

“What are you doing here?” you asked bluntly.

The blonde tsked, “That’s no way to greet your father.”

You rolled your eyes at him. “You look like you could be my older brother, not my father.” You shoved your hands in the front pocket of your hoodie. Well, it was not your hoodie. You were wearing the navy blue hoodie Percy had given to you when he saved you from the fake snakes in Cabin Seven. You had been wearing it a lot. You told yourself it was because it was cold, and you did not have any warm hoodies, but the truth was that Percy’s hoodie brought you comfort.

“I could change appearances if that makes you more comfortable.” Apollo offered.

You shook your head, a sigh escaping your lips, “Why are you here, dad?”

Apollo took a seat on a large tree log that had fallen over and now acted as a bench. The moment he came into the proximity of the log, the snow started melting until it became completely dry. He motioned for you to sit beside him.

You raised your eyebrows but took your place next to your father. You could tell that this was a serious conversation because Apollo's mischievous smirk had been replaced by a look of concern. “I wanted to tell you how sorry I am about your mother,” he said, his tone soft and full of sorrow, “She was an amazing woman, and I cared very much for her.”

You took a sharp breath, before turning to look at your father with an angry glare, “You’re sorry? You cared for her?” you repeated in disbelief. You immediately stood up, pointing accusingly at your father. “You are Apollo, the God of healing. You are a healer. You can heal people. You could have healed my mother. You could have saved her life. Don’t tell me that you’re sorry and that you cared for her because if you did then she would not be dead.”

Apollo’s eyes flared with anger, and you knew that you should not have said what you did. Still, you were glad you said it. You expected him to lash out at you, but instead, he shook his head, his anger fading quickly. Instead, his eyes were filled with a gut-wrenching sorry. “You know that is not how it works, buttercup,” he said softly, and you could not stop yourself from letting a tear roll down your cheek.

Your mother used to call you by that name. She had told you that your father always called her buttercup, so to honor him, she would call you buttercup to (unless she wanted you to sing, then songbird came into play).

“I admired your mother as much as I loved her. If I could have saved her, I would have. You need to realize that we aren’t as powerful as we make ourselves out to be. We can be overpowered by other forces, as you will come to realize soon enough,” Apollo paused for a moment, as he did not want to spill too much about the secrets of the future. “I came here to talk to you, even though I am forbidden from doing so, because I wanted to show you that I do care, and I’m worried about you.”

“Worried? Why? I’m fine.”

Apollo gave you a look that read are you serious right now? “I am the God of truth and knowledge. Do you really think you can lie to me?”

You sighed, shrugging your shoulder and taking your seat beside him once more. It was nice and warm beside your father.

Apollo continued, “I examined the illness that took your mother, and it is something ancient. Someone purposely poisoned her, and though I do not know who, I know that it is a part of a large plan that will be set in motion in the future – a plan that you will play a role in.”

You stared at him, skeptically, but Apollo was not done yet.

“You need to prepare yourself. You have been blessed with a rare gift, and you need to learn how to use it” he locked his eyes with yours, and you nodded in understanding. Your photokinesis was not a one-time thing. “Also, you need to stop shutting everyone out. You’re just like your mother, thinking you need to shoulder your burdens on your own to prove that you are independent. It’s your fatal flaw, buttercup.”

You stared at your father for a moment, allowing the words to sink in.  You had never met your father before, but from what you had heard from him, he was obnoxious and arrogant, and perhaps even a bit childish. Though, you did not recognize that in him now. He was wise and thoughtful.

“You need to allow yourself time to grieve. Your bother Michael was right, it’s healthy to talk about it. You should not go through this alone.” Apollo stood up, and you know that it meant that his visit had come to an end. “Perhaps you should talk to that boy you like. The one who's hoodie you’re wearing.”

You blushed beet red, “Dad!”

Apollo smiled brightly at you, flashing you a wink, “Here he comes now.”

Turning, noticed the familiar silhouette of one Percy Jackson approaching.

“Remember what I told you buttercup! You need to concentrate on the light within you. I have a haiku to commemorate my visit-“

“That’s alright, dad. Thank you,” you cut him off quickly, not wanting to have to suffer through that. You were a child of Apollo, sure, but you were not the biggest fan of poetry, and your father’s haikus were known to be exceptionally terrible.

Apollo ignored you, clearing his throat, and holding up his hands dramatically.  

“Crying is okay, concentrate on your own light, shine bright like your dad.”

“Gee, thanks dad,” you muttered, not really knowing what to say to that.

Apollo grinned and ruffled your hair, and said, “Oh, I got something for you too. You’ll find it in your cabin.” before he walked away, the snow melting from the trees as he disappeared into the forest. You stared after him, wondering if you had imagined all of this, or if you had really just had a meeting with your dad. It was the first time you had ever spoken to him. You had seen him before, though, when you went on a field trip to Mount Olympus. He had winked at you.

By the time Apollo had disappeared, Percy had reached your side.

“Michael said I would find you here. Haven’t heard much from you since we helped Clarisse with her brothers” Percy greeted you, though his eyes were fixed where Apollo had disappeared. “Was that –“ Percy trailed off, already knowing the answer.

You nodded, “Daddy dearest.”

There was a silence, and you were not sure how to break it. You were trembling, and you were having a difficult time keeping your emotions in check. The last thing you wanted to do was cry in front of Percy Jackson.

But when he looked at you, his ocean eyes filled with concern, and asked, “Hey, sunshine, what’s wrong?” you could not help but burst into tears, letting all the emotions you had been bottling up out. He wrapped his arms around you, and you sobbed into his chest. He did not say anything. He did not know what to say. But he did not need to say anything, he just let you cry, until you pulled yourself from his embrace and wiped your eyes with the sleeve of your hoodie.

Percy had not realized that you were wearing his hoodie, but he could not help but let a small smile tug at his lips when he saw. It was too big, but it looked good on you.

“I’m sorry” you hiccupped, “I just. . . my mom died, and I kind of shut down after that. That’s why I haven’t been in touch. I’ve been having a hard time . . . grieving.”

Percy’s eyes were soft, and he shook his head at you, “Don’t apologize. I’m so sorry about your mom.”

You mustered a smile, “Thanks, Perce.”

The two of you stood in the clearing for a few minutes. You had your head against his chest, and he had his arms wrapped around you in a comforting hug. Then, you heard the obnoxiously loud singing of your fellow cabin mates.

“The bonfire” you commented, pulling away from Percy once more.

“We don’t have to go.”

“No, it’s okay.” You smiled at him, to emphasize that it really was okay. “I’ve kind of been cutting myself off from civilization. It’ll be good for me to be among my cabinmates and my friends. Plus, I need to head to my cabin. Apollo said he left something for me.”

The two of you started walking back to the cabins.

“So Apollo seems. . .” Percy trailed off again, looking for the right words to describe the God of the sun, but he could not seem to find them, “He gave us a ride to camp after our mission in his sun chariot. Thalia also scorched New England.”

You turned to him, “Oh yeah, your mission. How did that go? Did you get the half-bloods?”

Percy frowned, and he told you how he did get the two half-bloods, but they had lost Annabeth in the process, and Artemis had gone to search for them.

“So, the Hunters are here? That’s not going to end well” you commented, and you noticed Percy’s frown deeper at the mention of the Hunters of Artemis.

“Have you ever considered joining them?” Percy asked you, his eyes fixed on yours.

You were surprised by the question, and your cheeks flushed. “Honestly? I have. I mean, I have always been an archer and a group of powerful female archers in service of a goddess? Sounds like a dream come true” you admitted, and before Percy could reply (and you could tell that he was not happy with your answer), you hastily added, “But then I realized that it would be leaving all my friends behind. I could never leave Michael, Connor, Travis, or you.”

Percy considered you for a moment, before smiling at you. He wrapped his arm around your shoulder and guided you to your cabin. He had originally paused in front of the entrance awkwardly and you laughed, “You can come in, you know.”

So, you entered the cabin, and Percy followed in pursuit. You guided him to your bed, which was all the way in the back corner of the cabin. The cabin had changed since the last time he had been in it. Your bed was no longer a bunk-bed, but a single bed stuck underneath a window, with a little nightstand and a small furry rug laid out in front of it. A large suitcase stuck out from under your bed. You had not unpacked your things yet.

Michael smiled at you when you passed him, and he got up off of his bed and followed you to yours. “You’ve got a package. It appeared an hour ago and I’ve been dying to know what it is,” he said, pulling you into a side hug. He gave you a knowing smile, and you were grateful that he had not commented on your puffy red eyes.

You picked up the small package and unwrapped it carefully to reveal a small yellow box. Inside the box was a simple gold bracelet with a charm in the symbol of the sun. There was no note in the box, but you already knew who had given you the present. You smiled and put on the piece of jewelry. You touched the charm, and the bracelet transformed into a beautiful golden bow, with beautiful carvings of the sun, the moon, and the stars adorning the handle. On your back was a quiver, filled with celestial bronze arrows decorated with white feathers and golden details. It was obviously magical, as it had appeared the same time your bracelet turned into your beautiful new bow.

“Wait, is it like the bow and quiver that the Hunters of Artemis have?” Michael thought out loud, admiring your new weapon.

“Oh so, the quiver magically appears when you need it, right?” Percy asked, looking interested.

You smiled, eyes staring lovingly at your new weapon. It was ten times better than the one the sea serpent had chewed up. While Percy and Michael discussed the magical properties of your new bow, you looked at the sun as it shone through your window.

Thanks, dad.

Timeline: The Titan's Curse

Reader: Fourteen years old Percy: Fourteen years old

Part five of Heliophilia

credit for the pictures goes to lulu.  

#percy jackson x reader #percy jackson/reader #percy jackson & the olympians #heroes of olympus #daughter of apollo!reader #percy jackson #pre-relationship #fanfiction #short stories #slow burn #heliophilia #my writing

[hufflautia]

Believe me darling, the stars were made for falling

Hello! I didn’t expect to post this “fanfic” because I didn’t write it specifically for fanfiction, if that makes sense. Today, (well it is technically tomorrow for you or perhaps you’re not viewing this on the day that I posted it. today is 12/11 (technically its 12/12 because its 1:39 AM rn lmao i did my makeup and it took longer than expected)) my creative writing teacher told us to write a short piece for a character that I created for the class. I wrote it and I thought about posting it because I liked the idea of it, and I felt as though the main character had slytherin vibes. I also really like the ending, and I wanted to share it with others. 

This is not a typical slytherpuff story. It has no magic involved. Slytherin and Hufflepuff are normal people like you and me, aka muggles (or maybe you’re not a muggle( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) who knows?). The story has nothing to do with Harry Potter. Thus, I am creating another section for my masterlist and it will be labeled “somefink special” because its not technically harry potter related. However, it will always have Hufflepuff and Slytherin in it, because I made sure to change the names from the original character. Stories like this is just a work of art that I would like to share with others, so I think of it as somefink special (and somefink is not an actual word, its supposed to be “something” but i just think the spelling is funny). I’m not sure if I will post more stuff like this, as in stuff that doesn’t relate to harry potter but still has my usual characters. Heck, perhaps I’ll write fanfics like this but for other character ships like Slytherin x Ravenclaw or the other ones. We shall see. 

Anyways, this “quick” author’s note is running a little long, so I will end it here. I hope you guys enjoy reading this! TOODELOO

FYI, this is not my “monthly” fanfic. In other words, this isn’t the only fanfic that I will be posting for december. I will still be posting The Queen and the Dragon soon (around Christmas). I am almost done with the college process, I need to revise some of my essays and I will finally submit it. After that, I will continue writing the long story. I am currently stuck at a difficult scene that will require a lot of thinking, hence the delay. OK BYE NOW, THIS IS THE FOR-REALSIES TOODELOO :D! 

***WARNINGS: Drug abuse, addiction, and suicidal thoughts 

Summary: Slytherin is hanging out with her favorite person in the entire world: Hufflepuff, her darling little sister. They lay beneath the stars, comfortable silence drifting upon them like a soft blanket that wraps around them, keeping them safe from outside forces that threaten their moment of contentment. This small pocket of tranquility is rare—and Slytherin knows this. She knows it all too well. As if on cue, it breaks into shattered pieces when she overhears their parents arguing. Again. Dread stealing her breath, a familiar urge rises once more, an urge that is more destructive than she realizes. She wishes the overwhelming feeling of anxiety would go away. And it could—with the help of a couple of pills. 

Slytherin smiled, a feeling of mirth warming her heart when she saw the smile plastered on her sister’s face as they laid on their backs against the porch floor, staring up at the stars. She took a hold of Hufflepuff’s hand, her touch slightly sweaty but cold at the same time. She didn’t mind and merely gave it a light squeeze. A cool night breeze blew past them, the wind’s touch like gentle kisses against their skin. 

This was nice. This was really nice. Slytherin hardly had any time for herself this week, because she was busy with exam after exam, stress piling on top of her before she could even take a breath of air. To her relief, the burdens finally lifted because it was Saturday, and she didn’t have to worry about school. She was with her sister, and that was all she needed. In fact, she was so comfortable and content that she didn’t even think about the drugs. A pestilent part of her, the part that was created the moment she swallowed the white pill down her throat, urged her to go inside. To walk nonchalantly towards the bathroom with a pace that was fast enough so that she would get to where she wanted to go quickly but slow enough to not attract any attention. To snatch her mom’s bottle of Xanax and hurry to her own room, making sure to lock the door before sitting on her bed. To pop the drug into her mouth and allow the artificial feeling of euphoria to overtake her.   

But that destructive part of her settled down, for she was with the person she loved most. Their surroundings dark enough to see the hazy glow of the stars above, they laid there, gazing upon the night sky. Aside from the soft rustling of the trees nearby and the occasional giggles that spilled from her sister’s mouth because that’s just how 10-year-olds were, it was quiet and peaceful. 

But like most things, it didn’t last for long. 

“You fucking asshole!” 

Through the walls, Slytherin could hear her mother’s muffled words, her tone hot and angry. Whenever her parents argued, they would spit curse words out like poison, the dreadful toxin targeted at each other with the intent to kill and destroy. 

She sighed. For once, just for once, why couldn’t things be normal? She desperately wished that the comfortable silence that drifted upon them could come back, and she would gladly welcome it with open arms. 

However, she felt Hufflepuff squeeze her hand, and she knew that the peace that she had known a few minutes ago would not return. Not for a while. Squeezing her hand was a nervous habit of Hufflepuff’s—a habit that Slytherin was well aware of. Even if she tried her very best to shield her darling sibling from the atrociousness of their home-life, it was essentially impossible. 

Her sister was young and so terribly innocent. If she could, she would take all the pain that Hufflepuff endured from living in a dysfunctional household and pour it into herself. That way, she wouldn’t have to suffer. 

But this wasn’t a fairy tale. Slytherin didn’t have magical powers to take their suffering away. She couldn’t give her sister the happy ending that she deserved. This was reality, and they would just have to endure this for a while. 

“I’ll be right back,” she whispered before opening the porch door and stepping into the dungeon that she called home. Dread seemed to choke her as she neared her parents’ room, inhaling sharply at the sound of shouts that seemed to boom from the walls. 

Gingerly turning the knob of their door, she peeked inside. Tears trickled down her mother’s face, her slightly red eyes ablaze with anger. “I can’t believe you would cheat on me again!” 

Her dad started to mutter something lowly but she cut him off. “Do you have any idea how much this affects me,” she said in disbelief. “How much this affects your children?” 

She suddenly caught sight of Slytherin, who immediately felt a sinking feeling in her chest when she was caught lurking. The feeling intensified when her mom walked towards her. 

Slytherin immediately withdrew and tried to close the door but her mom opened it enough to fixate the full force of her anger onto her daughter. “Why can’t you mind other people’s business,” she hissed before slamming the door shut, leaving her in complete darkness. 

There it was. The breaking point. Her face contorted into a grimace as she tried to will the tears away. Her sadness quickly morphed into annoyance. “I hate her,” she thought angrily as she walked to her room. “She’s gonna wish she didn’t say that when she finds me dead on the fucking floor.” Her chest heaved with sorrow and a torrent of emotions clashed within her. A million thoughts zoomed through her head. Fucking bitch, I fucking hate you. I hate everything. I wish I was never born into this family. I hate my parents, I hate my mom, I hate my dad. Why the fuck did he have to cheat? Were we not enough? 

She was frustrated and resentful, but most of all, she was broken inside. She needed to calm the raging storm of anxiety within her—and she knew exactly what to do. 

Hiding the bottle of Xanax in her pocket, she walked towards her room. Just as she was opening her door, she felt someone close their hand over her wrist. She looked back and saw Hufflepuff, who looked at her with furrowed brows. 

“Are you coming back,” she asked in a small voice. 

Slytherin swallowed with difficulty. If things had gone differently, she would have gone back to the porch with her sister and continued their night of stargazing. If her parents weren’t completely psychos whose hate for each other shook the household, she wouldn’t be addicted to the drugs that controlled her life. 

“I have homework to do,” she responded. “Ask Gryffindor to go outside with you, okay?” 

Her sister nodded and started her way to their other sister who decided not to join them on the porch because she had cooler 13-year old things to do. 

Slytherin watched her retreating figure before closing the door and twisting the lock in a flash. She exhaled slowly as she took a seat on the edge of her bed. 

“Finally,” she breathed out in a whisper as she uncapped the bottle, gently shaking it so that a couple of tablets spilled out onto her hand. She had never taken so much, and she knew that as she poked the contents with a finger. But she needed this. Her family—more specifically, her parents—were fucked up, and there was nothing she could do about it. She couldn’t fix her father’s constant infidelity. She couldn’t control her mother’s temper. Hell, she couldn’t even take hold of her own life, for the white rectangular capsules held the reins, the power. And she would gladly let it take control. Just for a little while longer. 

Slytherin tossed the pills into her mouth and took a sip of water to ease them down her throat. She fell back onto her bed with her arms spread out on either side of her, forming a crooked ‘T’ shape. As she stared up at the ceiling, a blissful smile slid onto her face. 

She could see the stars again.

Comments and reblogs are a writer’s gold! 

MASTERLIST ; sometimes links don’t appear on posts. if you can’t see the link linked to “MASTERLIST”, the masterlist itself is pinned to the top of my blog. check it out if you haven’t already :D

Author’s note: HELLO AGAIN! I hope you enjoyed reading that. The story is dark and sad, so I will include some wholesome pictures to rid you of the lingering sadness that you might be feeling right now. 

you can probably tell that i’m a dog person lmao :’) I hope you are feeling better! I am not sure if I will turn this into a series; there is a chance I will because I will have to continue writing stories in english class for this character. i actually have another story for the character (her name is Faye) and idk if I should post it. Let me know if you want me to release it! 

Did anyone else feel slytherin vibes from... well, slytherin? Technically it’s Faye, but I changed the name for the purpose of posting. In my opinion, the slytherin in her is presented in the fact that she cares a lot about her sister, aka Hufflepuff, and slytherins typically care a lot about those close to them. it was also shown in the sense that she isolates herself, but then again, anyone can isolate themself, regardless of their hogwarts house. maybe im just overthinking this. After all, if I had changed the name from Faye to Hufflepuff, that could still work as well. 

In fact, I might even change the names sometimes, depending on what is happening in that moment. Faye is pansexual, and I was talking to my friend about the story, and she said maybe she’ll get a gf, so maybe ill keep Faye’s name as Slytherin and have Hufflepuff (DIFFERENT HUFFLEPUFF FROM THE LITTLE SISTER OF COURSE) be the girlfriend?? idk, we’ll see. 

Anyways, let me know what you thought of this fanfic. Should I do more like this, as in post my future works that arent actually related to harry potter but is set in the real world? 

OH GOSH BEFORE I FORGET, THANK YOU FOR 700!! I guess this will be my thank you present, because I like to write fanfics as a present whenever I hit a follower mark. I intended The Queen and The Dragon to be the thank-you present for 600, but we are well past that, and the fanfic is long overdue. I had planned to change the fanfic to “thank you for 700” but i plan on posting it near christmas, so i will consider it as a “MERRY CHRISTMAS, HERES A FANFIC:D”. 

As always, I appreciate you very very much. Thank you for reading this and being caring enough to do so. I appreciate that very very very much, and I am sending you some gucci vibes! It is currently 2:34 am and i should get some sleep. goodnight! love you all! BYE

TAGS: 

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#Hogwarts #harry potter #slytherpuff #hufflepuff x slytherin #hufflepuff #slytherin #hogwarts imagine #hogwarts houses #hogwarts would include #harry potter would include #slytherin x hufflepuff #ravenclaw #gryffindor #hufflepuff-x-slytherin #slytherin-x-hufflepuff #slytherin and hufflepuff #hufflepuff and slytherin #slytherin friendship #hufflepuff friendship #cedric diggory #hufflepuff pride #slowburn #hogwarts fanfiction #harry potter oneshot #slytherpuff oneshot #slytherpuff au #hufflepuff and slytherin fanfiction #slytherpuff friendship #slytherin and hufflepuff friendship #harry potter fluff

[starry-skies-116]

GregEvan Character Analysis (FNAF Project Samsara AU)

Prologue- Introduction:

Okay- I’ll go ahead and admit, for a literal child that’s appeared in his original human life in the minigames of FNAF 4, and then again in Security Breach in his reincarnated robotic vessel form (taking into account the GregEvan/GregBot theory), I went into depth on his character development a LOT within my interpretations of his backstory and personality, as well as crafting quotes for him and actions that he (in my AU) would do to further drive home his personality and character evolution and the transformation he undergoes with every bit of emotional grief and traumatic event he has to endure.

Taking into account the sticky notes in the Post-It note room and the messages written on them (go check out MatPat’s video on them for in-depth context), the broken glass in the parts and services room, most likely the actions of Gregory in a act of panic, hysteria and desperation out of pleading for his own life unsuccessfully (read all the parts of my fanfic “Software Instability” for more information on my AU), and the terse, apprehensive way he behaves throughout the beginning of the game, I think I have a solidly crafted character arc for my AU- for the universe of FNAF: Project Samsara.

What I like the most about Gregory is that he seems standoffish, blunt and rude for absolutely no reason at first- however, if you take into account his previous personality, the nightmares he endured, and the sheer amount of trauma he went through… one might actually feel pretty happy that he’s become this self-advocating and domineering over himself, despite the overly cautious attitude and survival mode being a bit of a stretch (but, again, very understandable).

He’s a teeny bit of a bitch, sure- but what I love about him is that he’s THAT BITCH. He is the BADDEST BITCH. He’s a certified badass- a child BAMF- and he’s earned that title with his blood, sweat and tears. Dude has layers. And, at least to me, he has so much potential and is so interesting- this is what I like about the GregEvan theory- it adds so much complexity and character development to the character of the crying child, Evan Afton.

I wanted to do an analysis/headcanon post on him that may be updated and reblogged several times as time goes by because, well, God has favorites, even if he treats those favorites like shit someti- er, okay, fine: most of the time.

Here I present the character arc of our Patient Zero- from past to present, despair to hope, anguish to faith- once merely a victim, now reborn.

Evan and Gregory- two halves of the whole, reincarnated, reborn.

From old trees come new seeds that take root and give birth to new life- in the ashes, a beating heart is reborn, the flame undying- the soul burns brighter than the stars, alight forevermore.

Part 1- Origins:

Evan Cristopher Afton (The Crying Child) is born as the youngest son to the Afton Family sometime around 1972-1973, after Fredbear´s Family Diner was founded. Normally, his age range differs from six to ten, varying depending on the AU, and his place in the family ranges from youngest to middle child to even being fraternal twins with Elizabeth Afton.

In the universe of Project Samsara, Evan is ten, the Bite of ‘83 taking place around his eleventh birthday, which is why Gregory, the reincarnated “perfect” vessel, is created to look around eleven to twelve years old, and he is the middle child, being three to four years older than Elizabeth, and because of his age and pace of maturity within his place in his family, causing him to take on a more caring and open-minded, “maternal” disposition with Elizabeth.

Almost immediately, we see Evan’s personality and major character flaws. We are introduced to him in the minigames as timid and harmless- a quiet, meek and easily emotionally provoked and vulnerable child who easily believes what he sees lurks in the dark, most likely the result of a corrupted spiritual core/atman via emotional stress or tension, or just a hyperactive imagination, something that a lot of children have. In the process of designing him, I didn’t want to give him bright blue or green eyes like Michael or Elizabeth had, like he has in so many AU´s- it would be the result of genetics inherited from their father or mother, sure, but those choices didn’t… sit well with me, somehow. So there I sat, testing unique eyes on him. Then, the idea to give him the compound eyes of an insect came to me- a recolouring of Kocho Shinobu’s eyes but with a natural color- a deep, dark brown, so rich and nebulous- so twilight dark it almost appears next-to black, reflecting glimmering specks of light in their wake. No pupils, just pure, unblinking eyes, wide and large, gentle and kind. Reflecting the universe, the celestial bodies of the heavens in their wake, shining with brilliance and curiosity about the universe, the forces larger than man, with every blink.

(I’m rambling about his eyes again, aren’t I.)

From then on I decided to make Evan, and consequently Gregory’s, entire appearance resemble that of someone with a demure, unassuming and outwardly “weak” demeanor- large, gentle and dark eyes, different than that of the bold, bright and piercing eyes of the rest of his family, a soothing and silvery voice, almost nectarous in nature and pleasant to listen to. Light and near-graceful footsteps being made even when he walks, highlighting the more cautious side of his personality: a small, short and weak stature- not malnutritioned in any way, but rather more lithe- petite and dainty, if one will exemplify further, almost as if such a body structure is meant to convey submissiveness.

Everything screams that of a meek, “cute” child, from his pale complexion, taking on the appearance of smooth, pearly white skin tinged with apricot and peach-colored blush here and there, his soft and youthful features, being characterized physically by full cheeks, rosy petal lips, high cheekbones, a cute button nose, somehow naturally curved lashes, not to mention somehow thick and perfectly trimmed brows- hell, even his hair is somehow pretty. It’s thick and voluminous, wavy and slightly tousled in style- dark chestnut brown in color, shimmering as his bangs fall over and frame his face with a piece conveniently falling in between his eyes.

I basically made him the type of boy that would’ve grown up to be very pretty as an adult. Excuse me while I go cry now because haha foreshadowing goes brrr.

The tragedy begins with the headcanon that he- that Evan- wasn’t always like this.

At first, he starts out at four years old as someone who is easygoing, calm and cheerful- articulate, intelligent and quite intellectually/emotionally mature for his age, evidenced by the way he would sometimes have deep conversations with his Fredbear plush. He starts out as someone who craves affection and gives it in return- someone who endlessly loves, trusts, respects and appreciates those around him.

However, as the years go by, Evan becomes more and more anxious and internally stressed, as evidenced by the Sticky Note dialogue and his behavior throughout the minigames. As his family grows busier and busier with work and life, the more his home situation grows tense and the older he gets- the more he has to outwardly mature, and the more he has to focus on his perception of who the world wants him to be, and the more he has to take care of his younger sister. He begins to develop a version of empty-nest syndrome- every day, he secretly craves affection and validation- he craves to be emotionally, spiritually and physically vulnerable and helpless without someone hurting or humiliating him. Just for once, even if it’s only once- he wants to be selfish, childish and pampered, and he especially desires this from his older brother Michael- more on their relationship and how it evolves later.

The concept of chasing material pursuits- external glory- comes from his father, as well as the world around him- and rather than confronting his feelings and providing the proper self-care for confronting and pacifying said feelings… wouldn´t it be so much easier to bottle them up? To be what the world expects of you? To never feel your own pain again, and instead escape by feeling the pain of others?

Already, the gaping stomachs of his nightmares and their undeniably sharp teeth are what set off all the alarm bells in his brain- of course, he´s a child. Being tormented by them for four-to-five years of his life, as they sometimes showed up, sometimes didn´t- who wouldn´t be scared of them? Who wouldn´t be scared of their own internal struggles and insecurities, ignoring their needs due to personal weakness and heavy diffidence, so prominent that it weighs them down, locking their true selves away? 

Evan spends the final six out of all ten years of his first life actively running away from who he is- he´s scared of exposing his heart to the world, as if they´re going to hurt or break it, whoever ¨they¨ are. The nightmares are a perversive reflection of the internal struggles he faces. It is a culmination of the sentiments, unfulfilled desires and pain that corrupt his mind and soul- his atman, by extension. He runs away from the darkest corners of his thoughts when his body actively tries to warn him that this kind of fear, this kind of emotional withdrawal and willful self-torture isn´t healthy for him. Every night is a representation of how he feels, the worst parts of his sentiments worsening even more every day.

And the saddest part? Evan’s hope for his family and his future, and his willingness to trust others that formed the original basis of his childlike, carefree naivete that all children start out with was massacred at such a young age, and now, his faith and pride in himself is slowly diminishing- rotting away as he sinks further into his own despair, neglecting his own needs more and more, caused by the views of his family, his peers, his elders and the world around him morphing and distorting the way he sees himself, as well as pre-defined a set of strict expectations that he can’t seem to reach.

The only things that seem to be keeping him going is what the world expects him to be, and his pride and sense of adoration and love for his family. That’s not enough to sustain a person, much less a child.

And don’t even get me started on his growing sense of emptiness and personal loss caused by his perpetual soul dissociation as a result of neglecting his spiritual needs- that’s a persisting problem that plagues him even when he is reborn in his new robotic vessel and takes on the identity of Gregory.

He feels like everything is spiraling out of control. He doesn´t know his place in the world- he doesn´t know who he´s meant to be. He feels like he has no say, no power, no control over how his future, and the future of his family, unfolds due to his severe lack of confidence and, by extension, decreasing self-esteem, which is harrowing to watch.

The aspect of life he struggles with the most is duty, purpose. He grapples with destiny on a spiritual level constantly, not believing that his life is within his control. He is afraid of who he is, and he does not have enough faith in himself to empower himself to truly believe in himself- to try harder, become stronger, for the sake of not only those around him, but himself.

Evan is around seven when these thoughts truly begin to surface as a reaction to his environment- he is spiritually uneducated, young and still searching for an identity and his place in the world, so he is MASSIVELY underequipped at this time to deal with such premature emotional and spiritual urges to nurture and essentially pamper himself. He doesn’t ever know why he feels this way- he has a great life, right? So many other people have it worse… why is he being ungrateful all of a sudden? He has a pretty rich family, a nice neighborhood, and a great Uncle Henry alongside his “cousins” Charlie and Sammy. Food is on the table every day, a roof is above his head every night when he goes to sleep, school is going great, he loves his family and friends, everything is supposed to be fine! He’s supposed to be happy!

So why is this happening…? That is the question he wonders.

He tries every once in a while to confess this to his family, his father and mother and his siblings- now, don´t get me wrong, they´re not bad people or a bad family (William wasn´t truly bad at the time). They utterly, truly, deeply and really love him. But do you really think, with how busy and caught up with life they were at the time- William buried in his work, Eleanor taking care of Elizabeth, Michael navigating teenage life- that they were going to listen to him? Evan, the apparent ¨crybaby¨ of the family, who complains about Michael and his friends tormenting him, as well as the nightmares haunting him, every day? Would they, with their lifestyles practically orbiting around hustle culture, not once stopping to think about their own wellbeing and needs, listen to the needs of the middle child, bother to pay attention to his concerns?

There´s no doubt about it- he´s being denied validation and acceptance, and the resources needed to heal and maintain his happiness that he once had- he´s being denied support to actively take control of his life, to grow, mature, find his identity and take charge of his own decisions- his own destiny.

Evan everyday is being infantilized, pitied and patronized by his own family.

His family do love him, don´t get me wrong- not once have they neglected him… they just failed to properly understand what Evan was trying to convey, and consequently, they fail to understand the actual danger that ignoring his emotional and spiritual needs, as well as the corruption and contamination of his atman was doing to him. This is a symbolic representation of how refusing to confront your past- the ugliest and neediest parts of yourself, refusing to work on yourself and your growing maturity, and how the toxic need to remain ¨strong¨, can damage you further down the road- which is exactly what Evan did. 

As a result, he grows more emotionally and spiritually poisoned, and his previous repression and withdrawal starts to have serious consequences on him- he starts crying and bursting into tears more easily, becoming more susceptible to bouts of fear and hysteria- lashing out at Michael more often in response to his pranks, possessing a terse and distant attitude towards his father and mother, being forced to take on a maternal role for Elizabeth, not having any true friends besides his neighbors and the acquaintances he makes at school, and most of all… being trapped under the illusion that he´s inadequate- that he’s not good enough for his family. That´s the eventual conclusion that his mind prematurely comes to. And what makes it even worse is that due to his dwindling faith in his ability and himself as a human being, he never bothers to be proactive and cognizant about how he can improve upon himself, despite the deep-rooted desire to work on himself.

Wouldn’t it be so much easier, so much better, to fall into the label society gives you? To effectively become what the world thinks you are, and nothing more? Nothing deeper?

After all, why even bother trying to reach your full potential? Why bother trying to be braver- to be stronger, to be better, to be more than what those around you say you are when you´re not good enough to take control of your own life, your own destiny, when you´ll never be good enough to even start trying?

As a sort of coping mechanism, one that evolves into a habit, Evan starts listening to Elizabeth’s troubles as he takes care of her. On a general scale, this evolving empathy and desire to help comes in the form of easing the workloads and burdens of others, such as helping his mother with dishes and cooking because he feels the need to- so that he doesn´t feel like a whiny burden and a disappointment to the Afton family name. I feel the need to remind everyone that the surname of “Afton” as the founders of both Fredbear’s Family Diner and Fazbear Entertainment would be incredibly famous within the town of Hurricane, Utah, and eventually across all of the United States after the founding of Fazbear’s Entertainment (given the circumstances of the outside world and Security Breach’s location, the Pizzaplex), so already being placed in such a position was putting a lot of pressure on his shoulders.

Of course, every now and then, he feels compelled to confess about the nightmares and his feelings to Elizabeth, but he knew that not only would she brush it aside or not understand it due to her young age, but that would shatter the facade he so carefully constructed just for her. What kind of older brother burdens their younger siblings, especially their younger sisters, with their problems?

On top of this, he becomes an important figure in Elizabeth’s life- for example, he encourages Elizabeth´s confidence further and pushes her to show her gold stars she got on all her assignments to her father and he actively listens to her rant about Circus Baby. But he also listens to her problems and internal strife on her worst days, and displays his love for her, empathy for her struggles, and proves and demonstrates time and time again that he will always love her no matter who she is and who she wishes to become, and will always support her. Most importantly… that he will always believe in her.

He, as an older brother and the oft patronized and infantilized child of the family, tries to prove his maturity and self-worth via providing the support and affection to Elizabeth that his family failed to provide to him as soon as he got older. Keep in mind that he is still a child, so events such as these would scar him incredibly deep- deeper than he would like to realize.

We, in both the sticky notes and in the FNAF 4 minigames, also see a lot of dialogue about running away or hiding- these messages are written as if the writer is calculating and planning a sort of ‘escape route’, further highlighting Evan’s descent into fear of both himself and the nightmares that plague him, caused by spiritual corruption. By the time we see him ingame, five days before the party, his life had essentially become a living hellscape- his mind was physically sick, not working properly on an actual biological basis like how a normal human brain should. The nightmares could practically be considered hallucinations at this point, and his neglect of his own spiritual and emotional desires and needs have prolonged for so long that they’ve started impacting his physical body in noticeable ways, i.e. insomnia, severe anxiety, and panic attacks. His spiral has reached rock bottom- to drive the nail further into the coffin, he only has his Fredbear Plushie for comfort- Michael has begun to spend more time with his friends as they frequently ganged up on him to tease and bully and ridicule him more often than not, his father is practically engrossed in his work every day now that Fredbear’s Family Diner and Fazbear Entertainment has become especially popular, and his mother had already enough on her plate looking after their family’s needs as there were. He wanted nothing more than to hide- for the storm inside to silence itself, for it to be clear, cloudless skies littered with the stars again. There’s no way this possibly could get any worse.

…It gets worse, doesn’t it?

Of course, of course! Of course it gets worse- when it comes to FNAF, it always does!

Because even before Evan’s death and reincarnation, his spiritual corruption began to impact his relationships, especially that with his big brother Michael on both ends. And he never gets to fully dive into the reason, until later, as to why.

And that probably is one of his biggest regrets, more than anything- that they couldn’t be there for each other, that they couldn’t explore and deeply understand each other better than what their prejudice and hubris would allow them to, to bring their hearts close together like they should’ve done all those years ago.

That they couldn’t confront whatever was thrown their way together… like they promised on that stormy night all those years ago.

Part 2- Older Brother Issues:

You’ve heard of Daddy Issues, and you’ve heard of Mommy Issues. Now I think it’s well past time you get ready for older brother issues- specifically, Michael Afton issues.

When they were young, the relationship between these two were untainted- sincere and pure. Of course, they teased each other- like, a lot- Michael would steal Evan’s plushie, but he would always return it. He would lock Evan in his room or sneak inside to jumpscare him whenever he walked in, but he didn’t have that stupid Foxy Mask on back then- one key difference. Even then, Michael didn’t give two craps about whether Evan liked him or hated him- for all he knew, the moment he locked eyes with his younger brother as a baby, he loved him- deeply, dearly, overwhelmingly, inexplicably- something awakened within him, an instinct he didn’t know he had- to preserve, to protect. 

They made a lot of promises between each other, shared countless secrets between each other, as many as the wonderful memories they had. The bond they possessed was brotherly, like a healthy mixture of a bond between siblings, and between a father and a son. They swore that they would be connected together forever, never growing apart.

However, as they all have learned the hard way- life tends to be complicated, more often than not.

Michael desired nothing more than for Evan to be proud of himself- to realize that he was a gift, existing as he was, for him to realize that the world was cruel and for him to defend himself, not accepting anything from those who desired to abuse his kindness and cheery demeanor (which ironically was lost as years went by).

He feared that he couldn’t defend his younger brother forever- the nightmares and spiritual corruption was something he surmounted to childish fears, something that further confirmed his troubles. Every day, their relationship began to become tainted and crumble apart further and further- fast forward to the years of 1980, and Evan is already way too deep into his spiral, and Michael has begun to distance himself from his father, and unintentionally, Evan, by spending time with his friends. Of course, he possesses a strong bond with them, and they’re good, supportive and close friends… but he is always tinged with guilt at the end of the day. Does he really hate his younger brother…? Does his younger brother hate him for lashing out at him so frequently? Is that why they argue… because he shows his true self in front of him?

And meanwhile, Evan is angry. He’s angry because of the love he still has for his brother, deep down amidst the neglected, blackened wasteland of a spiritual environment he has within him.

He resents the secrecy- the dishonesty, the lack of proper communication and proper self-care running in his family, the Aftons- painted as this picture-perfect neighborhood family to everyone around him, and meanwhile he despises such things with a burning passion because the smiles in the photo aren’t real. They’re hiding something.

He resents the stupid teenager things that Michael now keeps doing with his friends, things that continually and consistently patronize, disrespect and infantilize him- things that continually deny him of the validation, the acceptance and support of his own emotional and spiritual needs and the acknowledgement of the nightmares that continually plague him- the acceptance that he wants, craves and oh-so desperately NEEDS.

And yet, in all that time… Evan never really hated or even disliked Michael. Reasons for such things can vary, from refusal to let go of past memories and therefore past perceptions of his older brother, to a steadily deteriorating sense of self and an already low self-esteem disguised as humility, but even then, Evan always looks at Michael with so much pride and adoration glimmering in those eyes of his, always viewing him through rose-colored glasses and always looking up to him as a role-model to follow similar to how Elizabeth views both Michael and him. He wishes to actively seek out his love, approval and affection, but at the same time… even Michael’s mere presence imposes fear onto Evan- a fear of rejection, of humiliation, of being bullied or scared or teased again.

Evan feels as though Michael won’t accept him for who he is- he won’t see him in moments where he is true to his heart, emotional and vulnerable, and take care of him and love him nevertheless like he wants those around him to do with him.

Of course, he does get annoyed when his older brother bullies or makes fun of him with his friends, and he obviously retaliates and defends himself like any sane human being would. However, in moments when he renumerates and laments his relationship with Michael, you can see how much he truly respects, loves and admires the other. One of the things he despises is Michael actively seeking him out, using his status to assert dominance over his younger brother in order to bully him and get away with his actions with Evan being forced to dismiss it to his peers, his other sibling, and his parents as “normal older brother behavior”. Their conflict, when taking this into account, is largely one-sided- Evan only ever reacts in a hostile way whenever provoked, and, even though it goes against his best wishes, tries to avoid Michael whenever he can.

The kind of warped mindset that drives this sort of behavior could most likely be that Michael needs an outlet to take his anger out on, so he uses Evan as his punching bag since he sees himself as a superior and domineering figure over Evan’s currently timid and submissive personality- it is a warped, twisted kind of relationship driven by corrupted love and fear, with Michael internally wishing that Evan could simply “be braver and stop crying”, being blind to Evan’s internal struggles and being completely oblivious as to what is truly going on beneath the surface.

Then again, he’s not the only one to blame for his insensitivity… within Evan’s family, the Afton family, who wouldn’t be to blame for his first undoing before his rebirth?

((***NEW PARTS COMING SOON***))

#Elizabeth Afton #Michael Afton #Evan Afton #FNAF: Project Samsara AU #fnaf #GregEvan character analysis #GregEvan #reincarnated vessel gregory #Gregbot/GregEvan angst #character analysis (aka an angst rant) #traumatised children #fnaf 4 #pre-fnaf 4 #FNAF Security Breach #Project Samsara lore #my au #my au ideas #fnaf sb #crying child #crying child fnaf #android gregory #android evan #robot gregory #eventual character symbolism #might update this as it goes on #family relationships #sibling relationships #relationship exploration #sibling love #sibling bonding

[jocazep]

In the Whole Wide Train | Chapter 11

Pairing: Curtis Everett x Reader (Jo, OFC), slight Edgar x Reader

Warnings: Major spoilers for SNOWPIERCER, dystopian society and its countless problems, mentions of forced abortions, language, violence, deaths, slow burn, eventual smut

Synopsis: Having grown up in the Front Sections of the Snowpiercer, you venture down the train when a rare opportunity presents itself, but the excursion quickly changes flavor when you arrive in the Tail Section.

A/N: Sooooo it's been a while... mainly because I didn't want to write the inevitable [SPOILER] of a certain character...but alas, the fanfic must go on. So here we go again...

Taglist: Now closed

Series Masterlist

Chapter 11 - Breaking Bread

“I forgot to ask,” you reached out to grab Curtis’ right arm as the gang shuffled along the green aisles of the garden section.

“What?” Curtis was too busy looking at the overwhelming plants, trees, and vegetables that he thought had long been extinct in the world. It was a beautiful sight, you had to admit, especially compared with the monotone bleakness of the tail section. So beautiful that when Namgoong opened the door, everyone’s eyes, with the sole exception of Mason’s, lit up as this unimaginable paradise was presented to them.

“That little scar on your forearm--”

“It’s nothing--” you felt his arm stiffen beneath your hand, his left hand involuntarily scratching the coat over the position of the scar. To be honest, you could barely remember what it looked like anyway. In the heat of passion last night, your eyes caught a long, even line near the elbow that looked more like the remnant of a precision surgery than a battle scar.

“All right, keep your mysterious cool guy aura then,” The scar piqued your interest, but you decided against pushing for an answer--there will be time after the matter at hand... You grabbed tighter onto his arm, tip-toeing to place your lips near his ear and whisper, “Tease.”

Curtis turned around, surprised. You didn’t need to forego all the fun, right?

“No, no, no don’t eat that--” a worker reached out to Tanya, who had picked up a tomato.

“It’s OK, just a tomato.” You calmed the worker down, rolling up your sleeve, “Here use my credit.” The worker took out the scanner, still hesitant, but obliged you. A small beep sounded and you were on your way.

“What was that?” It was Curtis’ turn to be curious.

“Well up front we have this thing called currency--” you joked, but the sight ahead distracted your audience.

You had come to the aquarium section.

Moments later, the eight of you were sitting along the sushi bar, staring at the plates of exquisite raw fish in front of you.

“So, sushi.“ Tanya took up her serving and popped it into her mouth.

“You people are lucky! This is only served twice a year, January, and July,” Mason decided this was a good time to open her mouth.

“Why, not enough fish?” Tanya quibbed dryly, as a massive manta flowed overhead.

“Enough isn’t the criterion,” You absent-mindedly took over the conversation from Mason as you poured the soy-sauce for your toro nigiri, “It’s balance--”

You lift your head to put back the soy-sauce, only to realize everyone to your right was looking your way, waiting for you to finish your thought.

“What about balance?” Curtis, sitting to your left, asked.

You whipped your head back, a quick moment as you looked at the man--he will need to know sooner or later, right?

“Be...because of that--” you pointed to the whiteness outside, the remnants of a metropolis whipping past, “the only way this aquarium was going to survive, was by becoming a closed ecological system. The number of individual units must be very closely, precisely controlled in order to maintain the proper, sustainable balance.”

“Like so many other things on this train.”

You passed a stern look to Mason, who was bitterly fiddling with the iron around her wrists.

“Whoever designed this got really lucky then,” Namgoong commented.

“Oh no, back in the first year my--” you caught yourself before the word “father” slipped out, “my friends told me they had to get rid of the fish that couldn’t fit into the food chain...”

“What, the restaurant served exclusively fish?” Curtis could almost hear Edgar’s ranting in his ear.

“Some,” You picked at the wasabi, smearing it on your sushi, “a lot of them got made into taxidermies for posterity...” It was only after the room became quiet that you realized you misspoke, “I’m sorry...It was...”

“It’s all right, it’s what actually happened,” Curtis put his arm on your shoulder, pulling you closer towards him.

You couldn’t let it go that easily of course. Remember your surroundings, you were bothered that your father’s voice rang up in your head. But the truth was you probably needed a reminder, after such a long time with the revolters, it’s easy to forget what you were really here for. Better now than later.

But it seemed the meal was just destined to go awry--no sooner had Mason picked up her chopsticks, than Curtis pulled on the chain, jerking the tools out of Mason’s control.

“No,” Curtis palmed out a protein bar, waving it in front of Mason, “You eat this. Know what it’s made of?”

Mason took it up, and threw a quick look at you, only to realize you had pre-empted her by turning your attention to Yuna sitting to your right.

“Curtis my friend, this seems uncalled for--“

“I’m not your friend, and this is 100% called for.”

”Would I be your friend if I had classified information about Wilford?“

Uh-oh. You forced yourself to turn your head--naturally and slowly--towards Curtis and Mason, “Curtis...” You lay your hand on his, and shook your head.

You could swear you saw his nostrils flare up a little, “We have had to eat this for, hell you have had to eat this for--”

“But isn’t the point of the revolt--”

“The point,” Curtis wriggled his hand from underneath yours, and flung the protein bar at Mason, “is to make them pay for what they did to us--”

“Make them pay? Weren’t we fighting for equal quality--“

“Not after what they did to Edgar--”

“How is degrading Mason any help?”

“At least I’ll sleep a little better knowing I made one front-sectioner get a taste of their own medicine.”

The words hung like leaden rings in the air, reverberating through your spine. Mason looked on, unsure how to react.

“Well,” after a long while, you finally opened your mouth, “then let that be me instead.”

Curtis, like everyone else, was taken aback. They watched as you reached out, switching the protein bar with your own sushi serving.

“Jo, that’s not what Curtis meant...” Tanya tried to diffuse the situation, but you ignored her, biting down on the brownish jelly, forcing the rubbery morsels down your throat. It tasted even worse than you remembered.

When you couldn’t stomach any more of the protein bar, you stuffed the rest in your pocket, got to your feet, and walked to the far end of the aquarium.

Curtis made a move to follow you, but Tanya stopped him, “let her blow off a little steam.” Curtis nodded, still hesitant, his eyes trailing your footsteps as they quickened the closer you moved towards the restroom.

Yuna ran past, intent on following you, but was met with the slamming of the steel door in her face. She looked back at Curtis and company, a little confused and hurt.

On the other side of the door, you were puking your guts out, eyes welling up, nose running. It wasn’t just the thought of eating protein extracted from millions of locusts that turned your stomach--the little clash had brought a stern reality check in your head: this is a revolt, and whatever the original intent, if Curtis and Co succeed, there will be suffering and chaos before any sort of balance is reached.

Guess the old man was pretty perceptive after all...you thought as you finally straightened up, wiping your face with water, trying to recall what your father had planned in case the revolt went further than the water section, only to realize Wilford had actively excluded you from that conversation.

You were wondering if he had predicted your eventual realization of the irreconcilable conflict between your visions of change and those of the revolt when a gentle knock sounded at the door. You checked your face in the mirror, forcing an air of nonchalance—you don’t want Curtis to think you had been crying, even if it was just from nausea.

“Are you OK?” It was Yuna’s voice coming through the door.

Eyes dropping a little, you pulled opened the door, “yeah, just nature calling. What’s up?”

Yuna raised the same wrinkled notebook page, pointing at the pencil-colored steel drawers.

“Yes we’ve been through this—“ Yuna pushed the paper closer to you, forcing you to take a closer look. There were shallow indents on the page, remnants of your notes when you made your way down the train.

Oh god. You panicked as you scrambled to remember what you might have written on those pages.

“Yuna, listen—“

“Guys, c’mon, we are moving onto the next section.” Tanya called out.

You nodded in her direction, and looked down at Yuna, “we’ll revisit this?” Yuna put the paper back into her pocket and followed you to join the gang.

As the two of you approached, Curtis tried to find your eyes. He wished he could say that he didn’t mean what he said, but he knew you saw the truth behind the hot-blooded words. Years of oppression had created a beast within him, and it was easy to hate the front-sectioners when they were faceless beings living in his head, or the pompous Mason. But now...

To be honest he had stopped thinking of you as a front-sectioner since well before your passionate evening together. Which makes it all the more frustrating when you chose to remind him of the undeniable fact, stirring awake the beast he thought he had put to sleep. He knows it’s not your fault—you were barely out of school when you boarded the train. And it is terribly difficult for him to imagine the courage it took for you to side with him against your family and friends—goodness he had never thought about that before. Do you still have family in the front--

His train of thought came to a grinding halt as you walked past him, determined not to look at him. Curtis felt his brows furrow further, and jerking the chain, pulled Mason forward.

“Curtis my friend, could we dispense with the chains for the next section?”

“Why?” A half-distracted answer from Curtis as he watched you push the door open with Namgoong and Grey, heading into the freezer section.

“Well, for the sake of the young, the children--“ Mason was barely finished with her sentence when you walked over, taking off your overcoat and draping it over her cuffs.

”What do you think you’re doing?“ Curtis didn’t sound too pleased.

“It’s the school section next,” you said as you strode to the front of the procession again, “kids shouldn’t be a part of this.”

The silence game between you and Curtis continued throughout the freezer section please, you walking at the front, him trailing in the back with Mason. You started fidgeting as you walked past the racks of beef and frozen chickens—maybe giving Mason your coat wasn’t such a great idea. But you were not going to give Curtis the satisfaction, so you did the only thing you could do, walk faster.

“Hey, spoiled lady, wanna slow the fuck down?” Namgoong never actually learned your name, which doesn’t really make a difference to your really...

“Sorry, I’m just not very good with cold.” You said as you slowed your steps until you were in the same footing as the disheveled security specialist.

“Then you’re fucked in this world.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle, “yeah guess I am...” Then you remembered something, “Why does the Yekaterina Bridge mean so much to you?”

“What?”

“I saw you looking for something through the windows when everyone was hanging on for dear life. Must have been pretty important to you...”

A moment of silence as Namgoong stopped his steps. You kept your eyes on him, waiting for an answer. He let out a sigh, raising a hand, “you wanna swipe your implant to open the door, or should I?”

You turned your head—and see the door at the end of the section.

When the rest of the company finally caught up to you and Namgoong, Curtis noticed your fidgeting hands as they raised up to unlock the door, the fingertips showing just a tiny hint for blue. With Mason in tow, he strode up to you, taking your hand before you could retract it.

“Wh—“

“You’re freezing,” Curtis said as the lively noise of children hit you like a heatwave. Bright colors assaulted your eyes and saccharin songs flowed through the concrete doors.

“I’m fine,” you replied, your hand twitching within his grasp, but not quite withdrawing it.

“Look, I feel like an asshole for earlier...” Curtis took a pause as the rest of the company shuffled past into the school section. A pregnant lady led the children in chorus as an educational, semi-propaganda introduction of the train was blaring on the TV at the moment. Thank god you were too old for this when you first boarded.

When it was once again just the two of you hovering at the entrance, Curtis continued, “Here take my coat—” He moved to shrug off his tattered coat, but you stopped him.

“Sure this front-sectioner has had enough taste of her own medicine?”

“C’mon, I don’t think of you as a front—“

That’s not exactly what you were hoping to hear.

“But I am one,” you said as you pulled your hand free, his fingers leaving visible prints on yours, “and up to a month ago, everyone in my life is one too.”

”But now you’re with us—”

“There should be no ‘us’ or ‘them’, that’s kind of the point of all this jazz, Curtis.”

Curtis just blinked at you. You could see the idea behind your words not quite computing within his mind, a mind that had always lived in the darker part of a dichotomy. And a part of your resolution melted away.

“Let’s do this another time,” You laid one hand on his, urging him to put his coat back on.

“Sure you’re ok without the coat?”

“I’ll survive. My blood is still raging hot from our fight earlier.” Curtis was a little bummed at your joking dismissal of his concern, but he knew there was no use pushing you.

“Children, let’s say hello to our guests from the tail section...” To her credit, the pregnant teacher kept her countenance as she took in the group of torn coats and ragged shoes filing past her, Tanya and Andrew getting their grease-stained fingers on a student’s face every once in a while when they thought he resembled their sons.

“Today is the first day of the new year, so we have a special little treat,” the teacher said as a well-dressed, clean-shaven Gerald walked in, to everyone’s surprise.

Amidst murmurs of “Is that Gerald?”, your eyes glazed over, thinking about his wife back in the tail section and her broken hand. And your resolution crumbled further—surely the train could have made room for one more violinist? A cloudy silhouette of the previous violinist took form in front of your eyes—was she the first chair of the Viennese Philharmonic? You couldn’t quite recall, except for the fact that she played at the weekly fete.

You were so lost in thought, and music, to have noticed Egghead walking down the aisle, handing each child a New Year’s celebratory egg.

And then, came the most traumatic three minutes of your life.

Taglist: @torntaltos @emmalbg @ajosieface

#curtis everett #curtis everett fanfic #curtis everett x reader #curtis everett x you #chris evans #chris evans fanfic #chris evans x reader #chris evans x you #snowpiercer #snowpiercer fanfic