#[ alienor – sun of my life ] | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

elsenthal · 7 years ago

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Commonwealth Gamekeeper 01

The sun didn't rise yet but, in a small verdant space in the north of the Commonwealth,

“Simon, get up! We've got a lot to do.”

A grumble answered the call from inside the low-ceiling, dull green cabin. Still in his trunks and tank top, a young red-haired man got out scratching his neck, eyes half-closed.

“Can't we just wait for daylight, Jon? I could use a few more hours sleep.”

“No, we can't. You do know we have a better chance to get all the radroaches right before the sunrise. Now get your clothes and we're moving.” Jonathan paused, slightly frowning his eyebrows. “Comb your hair too. You'll have a hell of a time with the blood if you don't.”

“Oh come on! It'll take hours!”

Jon raised his left eyebrow. “If you want to shave your entire head because you can't detangle those pretty curls of yours after the elimination, be my guest.”

“Ugh, fine! But you'd better make coffee while I get ready!” Without waiting for an answer, Simon entered the cabin and looked for his uniform. He found his moss green shirt at the end of the bed without a problem, along with the brown pants of the National Park Uniform he managed to find, perfectly preserved, years ago. His hat was on the desk, along with the machete and the syringer, but no shoes were in sight. The cabin wasn't that big – there were a bed, a desk and a chest of drawers, nothing more – but he couldn't find his hiking boots anywhere. He stepped outside with a sigh, barefoot.

“Jon.”

“Hmm?”

“Have you seen my boots? I can't find them.”

“Right here. You put them near the fire to make them dry. You don't remember?”

“Well... Yes, I do. It's just... Morning, you know?”

“What I know is that you completely forgot. Again. Thank god you can't get rid of your head.”

Simon and Jonathan drank their coffee and ate some fancy lads, checking if everything was alright for the elimination. They argued a few minutes about the fact Simon should have a proper gun instead of his syringer, but Jon gave up when Simon threatened him with the weapon. They headed to the South, where they knew a nest of radroaches was getting too big for the area. That was the part of the job Simon liked the less. He killed the creatures with a heavy heart, while Jon slaughtered his part humming happily. Those drastic cuts were always a good opportunity to gather resources, either for themselves or to sell in Bunker Hill. Today was meat day and, if they were lucky, they'd find some treasures nearby, like uncommon seedlings they'd be able to grow and reproduce. After they killed all the radroaches, Simon built a stake, mumbling about the pity it was to kill poor innocent beasts before they could invade the entire land or something like that. Jon let him grouch to gather the radroaches' eggs. He wasn't a true believer like Simon was. According to him, the Commonwealth was dangerous enough without them making sure a baby mirelurk could get to the sea and become some crazy mirelurk queen, but yet, the pay was good. This, along with Simon being his best friend, was the only reason to continue wearing that stupid uniform. Within the nest, he found an odd-looking root, half eaten. He put it in his pocket and went back to the stake. They burned all the corpses and eggs, eating some grilled meat while the fire extinguished itself. Simon insisted that they couldn't leave with the fire on, as it could spread and destroy the ecosystem. They were back at the cabins around midday and gathered the goods they had to sell in town.

“For once in a while, we could go to Bunker Hill. I mean, it's been several weeks since the last time you saw your sister, and the caravanners may have some fresh news they won't have in Goodneighbor.” “You mean it's been a while since you saw my sister, Jon.” A gently mocking smile appeared on Simon's lips. “But you're right. Besides, we need to see Eric about that seedling you found.” The sun was low on the horizon when they finally made it to Bunker Hill. Simon headed right to Eric's office while Jon stopped with the supplies at Wendy's shop.

“Hey, Doc!” Simon smiled at the tall scientist.

“Simon. Been a while. Do you have something new for me?”

“Well actually...” He showed him the root, only to see excitement illuminate Eric's dark eyes.

“I've only seen that root in books before! Do you even know what it is?” Eric didn't even give time to Simon to answer. “It's ginger! You found actual ginger! Oh man, I can't wait to take cuttings and make experiments on it. We'll probably not be able to get caps from it right away, but as soon as the shoots will be stable, I know several caravanners who'll be more than happy to buy some.”

Simon took a seat, knowing that it could take a while before Eric let him go.

“By the way, I've got news. There's a deathclaw that's been attacking traders on your territory. I know you'd prefer to keep it alive, but it's quite bad for business. If you don't deal with it, Kessler will hire some mercenaries, so... You'd better make sure it moves in another area.”

“A deathclaw? I haven't seen one since two months. They were two and... Oh.”

“What?”

“Well, you know. Two deathclaws.”

“So what?”

Simon yearned “No wonder why you're still single despite you being... you. It's probably a female, that deathclaw. Like in nesting female deathclaw.”

“Do you think you could get an egg for me? For science?”

“I'm pretty sure I'll help that poor little lady safe with her offspring.”

“Too bad.”

A comfortable silence fell upon them while Eric replanted the ginger root and Simon took advantage of that time to prepare syringes for his weapons. The silence was interrupted by Jon stepping in, a petite red-haired mechanic following him closely.

“Guys! There's something you need to know!”

“Shh! That root needs calm to grow in good conditions!”

“Uh, sorry Eric. By the way, you do know Deb has a crush on you, do you?”

“I don't have time for such a futile pursuit as flirting, Jon.”

Both rolled the eyes in exasperation, and the woman went to Simon.

“Hi, Dreamer.”

“Hi, Mindful. How do you do?”

“Good. I've got food for you. Jon got some for himself too, but I wanted to give you those sugar bombs.”

“Thank you! Seriously, how could I even survive without you?” A bright smile reached his blue eyes, making them sparkle.

“While we're speaking about flirting...” She nodded in direction of Eric “Do you know, my dear little brother, that Karin asked for you? You should hang out with her someday.”

“Meh. I can't, you know that. I'm pretty sure she'll want to date and all, get married, have kids, all those things that people do. I can't stop helping the Commonwealth's animals.”

“Simon, don't be stupid. She's been your crush for years.”

“Guys!! We're losing sight of what's important here!” Jon intervened between them. “Someone made it out of a vault near Sanctuary!”

Simon looked at him with a peculiar look on his face.

“Yeah, so what? Is that guy killing our protégés? Burning all the forest where he goes? Anything that actually has something to do with our job?”

“No, but...”

“Then I don't care. Take all the time you need Jon, but I'm leaving, I got a deathclaw to protect.” He put his hat back and left in a rush.

“I hate when he does that. There's only place for work in his life. No wonder why you get along so well with him, Eric.”

Wendy took Jon's arm.

“Come on, you need to eat. I invite you.”

So I was thinking about some prompts and I ended up writing a whole plan for a guy who believes it’s his almost sacred duty to protect nature within the Commonwealth. Thus I presume this is chapter 1. Probably. And I know that title is terrible, I just can’t think of something better at the moment (that’s something I need to work on, too. Titles).

And I should totally be writing about Alienor, but Simon just popped out in my head and Alienor went on holiday, probably in Far Harbor.

#fallout 4 #fallout #fo4 #oc #not sole survivor #Commonwealth gamekeeper

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theoracleshcp · 8 years ago

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What makes a life worth living?

Dark, afraid, alone

I can feel the walls closing in on me

Hiding in this attic

For what feels like an eternity

Breathing in and out

Longing for the golden sun to cast its rays upon me

For the cold, fresh ocean air

But no.

I am here.

Breathing in this stale air.

I can hear planes overhead.

The mindless engine propelling itself forward.

I think about my life before,

Before the war,

Before we were stripped away from our home

And from our freedom.

I think about my life and what makes a life worth living.

Is it happiness?

No I don’t think so.

Because I am not always happy.

But purpose.

We all have a purpose here.

Once we find that purpose,

We can find that joy in our life

And create something meaningful

By Alienor Boiteau ‘19

#Alienor Boiteau ‘19 #war and peace #peace #written works

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lancastrie · 1 year ago

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@alienored

The Holy See professes that fasting and abstinence purifies the soul, makes lusty men even more saintly in the eyes of God, but tonight the provisions are ample. Cloudy-eyed servants, draped in gossamer wimples, dip in and out of the King’s chambers to deliver bowls upon bowls of victuals, joints of hearty bore, bread pregnant with precious oils, goblets of blessedly unwatered wine, picked from the French King’s own vineyards. In the cold, damp streets below, a cacophony of chatter flares up, ladies cluck in the mizzled nightfall, and bishops hum out their sonorous chants, swinging flaming incense about, sanctifying the palace with rich, earthen smells (for God is displeased by foul odours, though not, evidently, by indulgence).

Henry Plantagenet’s heavy hand looms over the oak table, its blackened grooves and splintered contours hacked from an ancient log. His ruby heirloom clinks against the wood, appearing molten in the hearth’s amber glow. The table has been cleared of food, but wine and ale flows in abundance; Gascon, German, Italian, corked in better times. None, of course, English –– that sweet, viscid nectar of the marshy moorlands, where Brutus trampled over thistles, where dragons belched out flames –– though this is a sin Henry readily forgives.

The King quaffs another swig, his countenance immovable with thought.

Though a tempestuous channel now separates him from that misty isle, his kingdom lingers upon the conscience; a court of hawks and eagles, unwilling exiles and conquerors, unrest rumbling out from the Council of the North, sickness leaching in from Ludlow. An image of his boy, now twelve years in the grave, with the soapy scent of youth still upon him, beckons. The English retinue, with so many and such lively princesses, had dazzled the Parisian convocation. Their pious King; their holy, freely-moving Queen. But it would not take more than a hard glance to peer past the plastered exterior, and into the moulting, crumbling centre of their primaeval keep.

Henry’s thoughts, to whatever acidic depths they might have descended and fizzled like an old coin, are snared in the net of Aliénor’s emerging presence, dispatching from the long, yellowed shadows of the evening; a radiant, golden beacon, her long throat nuzzled by the soft grey plumes bunched about her shoulders, her freshly plaited hair tapering down her spine. She is not dressed for a reception in the Great Hall, splashed with pearls, bedecked with the richest of English jewels; but brought low to the role of a wife, a maiden, her body sculpted, softened with tokens of childbearing –– all of it the more pleasing to the husband who’d warmed her lovely bed, these twenty years.

‘Wine,’ the King begins, tipping his chalice toward his wife, ‘must run in Charles’s veins. Though I predict that its soporific quality may be of value to us. Come, sit. Are our daughters abed?’

#[ alienor – sun of my life ]#alienored

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lancastrie · 1 year ago

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@alienored continued from x

Firelight dragged and glinted over Alienor’s cheek, a slash like a sunbeam across her face; her eyes, even in the dim glow of the hearth, pulsing like two clear, icy streams. They were blue, like his own, the colour of cornflowers in the July-heat; surmounted by a halo of sun-gold hair that made faint the lines of age that appeared about her eyes as they pored over a manuscript, or inspected a delicate ring at close. But, this Henry knew, an asp hissed beneath her honeyed exterior. Even as a queen-in-waiting, whose duty it was to clasp her hands, hear nothing, and heat her husband’s bed, Alienor had fortified herself with a determined directness, a polished stalwartness, that invoked the loyalty of his barons and stirred the envy of courtly belles. Her veins, after all, housed the watery blood of Virgin Mother, and her lineage – sprung from the venerable house of Poitiers, rich in silver and fecund with sons – was old, ancient. The Lancastrians appeared upstarts in comparisons; a new duchy, with little honour or pride to fall back on. Only the hope that Henry, in whose broad frame aspirations of usurping the throne had been kindled, would one day seize his rightful place among the highest of the land.

‘By my word, never,’ vowed Henry, giving a sly wink, sparing nary a thought to the fact that both the King of England and le Roi of France lacked sons – two rivals, bitter enemies, without true heirs to the throne. That, he deemed, was a rumination better suited for another day. For now, Henry eagerly embraced the indulgences of kingship, stirring the fragrant wine in his goblet with a flick of a wrist, and casting a sidelong glance at his wife, her smooth flesh buttered with pearls. As he observed Alienor’s movements, Henry arched a dark, inquisitive brow at her rise, and sudden drop, into her velvet-cushioned chair; her cheeks glowing as pink as sunrise as she jested with him. ‘If my words brought you such grievous displeasure, I warrant that you would find no trouble in kicking me, whatever afflictions may ail you. I seem to recall a night, twenty-six years hence, when the back of your hand proved a fitting tool to express your discontentment.’ He brought a hand to his cheek, as if recalling the blow, as a mischievous grin curled at his lips. ‘I never asked you to address me upon your knees again, did I? Or, at least – not in such terms.’

Leaning one shoulder against the hearth, Henry’s lips thinned in thought. ‘Must I summon you for you to appear at my side?’ He requested; his hard gaze riveted upon hers. ‘My fealty to the land is both a gift and a burden. I am unable to rest, for the thought plagues me, should I meet my demise…’ Hanging his head, recent visions of a ghastly death – swiftly dispelled by a concordat of astrologers and priests – danced before his eyes. Alienor’s words only served to darken the pall that now hung over his visage. ‘The betrothal is sealed in blood; there is nothing to be done. Were we to annul it now, it would only hasten the Yorks’ lust for the throne. A foreign prince would ignite their enmity… Nay, our hands are bound.’ At least, with his own brother away in the Holy Land, Henry could trust that it was not Stephen who would stir such mutiny. ‘I trust, madam, that I can rely upon you to present a united front on the matter, as our vows intended. Your concern is noble, but you needn’t exert yourself. We entrust our affairs to the lawyers, to the people of England, and to God. If their duty to their anointed King does not ensure their loyalty, they shall bow before the Holy Father unquestioningly’.

Swallowing another mouthful of wine, Henry deposited his chalice on the mantle and, striding toward Alienor, sank to his knee before her, a hand curving around her thigh. ‘Forgive me.’ He gently bade. ‘My words are cruelly spoken. I would go to any length to ensure our children’s safety. Though the cost is great, I see in them your goodness, your fortitude. Will you not stand with me, wife? Stand with your King?’

#i give up on tumblr #alienored #[ alienor – sun of my life ]

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deathonyourtongue · 5 years ago

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Willow Run | Ch. 1

Summary: On a horse ranch in Texas, life is far simpler than on the streets of Bakubah, but Syverson has a bad habit of taking in strays of all kinds, no matter what demons may be after them. Pairing: Captain Syverson x OFC Word Count: 3K Warnings: Mentions of physical abuse A/N: Dusting off an old one I’ve never quite been able to shake. Cowboy!Syverson, anyone? _______________________________________________ Message me if you’d like to be added/removed from the tag list! @fumbling-fanfics @skiesfallithurts @pinkpenguin7@madmedusa178 @crushed-pink-petals @fangoria @bluestarego@caffeinated-writer @my–own–personal–paradise @tastingmellow @honeychicana @lua-latina @angelicapriscilla @swiftyhowlz @schreiberpablo @pinkwatchblueshoes @kirasmomsstuff @prettypascal @blacklotus-of-the-black-kingdom @nardahsb @playbucky @veryfastspeedz @queen-of-the-kastle @freyahelps @cajunpeach @godlikeentity @captainsamwlsn @nakusaych9@katerka88 @katerka88 @kirasmomsstuff @melaninmimii@alienor-romanova @downtowndk @redhairedmoiraandtheliferuiners @safiras @agniavateira @henryfanfics101 @fatefuldestinies @iloveyouyen @justaboringadult @xxxxxerrorxxxxx

Dust made up ninety percent of her body. It clung to her hair, baked into her skin, coated the inside of her nose like a clay mask drying much too fast. Her eyes stung with it, whipped up by the permanent breeze that crossed the flats of the farmland she traversed with slower and slower steps. Her hair—black with a cobalt undertone—stuck to her lips as she walked, making each step more hazardous as it cut out what little the sun hadn't taken of her visibility. Her shoulders burned even through the cream cardigan she wore to protect herself from the sun. Her water bottle empty, she let it slip from her fingers, slowly beginning to come to terms with the fact that she wouldn't see another sunrise.

Sasha had been walking for nearly eight hours, moving from the suburbs of Austin's south side towards the dry scrub of central Texas, no final destination in mind. Her only goal was to put as much distance between her and the bungalow as she could. Behind her, she knew her life would end in a matter of days. The phone call she shouldn't have heard made it all too clear. So, she took what she could carry—what she could access—and booked it, taking the only method of transportation available; her feet.

Her attempt at hitchhiking had been disastrous. The first car to stop had been full of men in their early twenties and her exposed legs and cleavage had made her an immediate bullseye for their testosterone-fueled desires. She'd spent an hour hiding in the women's bathroom of a convenience store, weeping softly, afraid to come out until the owner of the store knocked and told her the men had gone. Each step after that was taken with a glance over her shoulder, her tears coming back full force as her mind made a gruesome collage of images past and present, the men chasing her taking the spotlight for that particular day.

After another hour and a half of walking, her worn shoes breathed their last and dime-sized holes in the rubber brought her in full contact with the earth beneath her feet. Step after step she felt her soles burn a little further, her once-pink skin blistering and chafing as the gravel shoulder bit into her feet. It was agony, but she wasn't about to stop when he could reach her with a simple drive down the interstate.

Civilization had begun to die away at the three-hour mark and the only landscape markers were ranch-style homes that dotted the landscape every few miles. At the five hour mark, even the trees dwindled, providing little in the way of protection from the sun and leaving her exposed to the afternoon's rays at their hottest.

By mile twenty, she was staggering, Sasha's body shutting down as the sun, lack of water, and exhaustion overtook her. In the sharply contrasted lights and shadows of the path in front of her, she could only just make out a two-story home encircled by old Willows, green meadows as far as her eyes could see. With a final burst of energy, she made a beeline for the home, praying that someone would be home. Sasha hit the gate before she realized it was there, her body crashing to the dirt drive, one final insult added to her already-injured body.

The farrier was booked solid for a week, but Syverson's horse couldn't wait that long. If he didn't re-shoe him today, he'd be lame come the end of the week. As much as he felt his shoeing skills subpar, Syverson knew it was better than leaving the ill-fitting shoe on longer. So, come six in the morning, he was out in the stable, cleaning, sanding, prepping, and re-shoeing Wolf. Syverson worked diligently, and when he finally looked up, it was already heading on closer to nine. With a smile, he gave Wolf part of an apple, stroking his long black mane as his horse ate the fruit happily, all four feet now comfortably on the ground.

Satisfied that his horse was in good spirits, had a fresh barrel of hay, and was no longer in any discomfort thanks to his footwear, Syverson started the trek back to the main house, his leg aching from squatting for so long. The ATV his father had given him last year for his birthday had never come in handier. Before he'd received it, Syverson had been either driving his pickup over the acreage, hoofing it up to the stables, or riding one of his horses when he felt like getting some fresh air. Now, he had the best of both worlds; out in the open, and with more than one horse to power his trip.

As he rounded the corner, Syverson caught sight of something at his front gate. From the distance he was at, it was just a dark smudge, but the closer he got, the clearer the image became and when Syverson realized it was a person, he put the ATV in full throttle.

Within minutes, Syverson was lifting the lock on the large swinging gate, the ATV still purring behind him as he crouched down next to the slumped-over body of what seemed to be a young girl. With one glance, Syverson quickly realized a few things. For one, she wasn't that young, as a small tattoo on her wrist pegged her for at least eighteen. Secondly, someone had beat her senseless, and third, she'd walked a very long way, the worn-out soles on her shoes indicating the last fact quite clearly. Most noticeable, however, was her swollen belly; whoever she was, she was most definitely pregnant.

Careful not to touch any part of her that was bleeding or black and blue, Syverson kept his tone soft as he gently shook her, knowing she wasn't dead by the fact that her back was rising and falling at a steady, albeit shallow, rate.

"Ma'am, can you hear me? Open your eyes, ma'am, can you do that for me?"

Sasha’s eyes opened at the voice and her flight or fight response took over immediately.

“Get the fuck away from me!” She screamed, voice raw and hoarse from lack of water. Shaking visibly, she did her best to get up, although the moment she got upright, her legs gave way, muscles contracting involuntarily thanks to her emergency exodus.

Syverson backed up, hands up in surrender as he gave her the space she needed.

"I'm not gonna hurt you, but you collapsed out here in front of my house, ma'am. I wanted to make sure you were breathin'," he explained, still keeping his tone soft as he slowly stood, hiding the wince of pain he felt shoot down his right leg.

"Did you get into a car wreck or something? You're pretty busted up, there," he continued, looking around for any signs of a car in a ditch. While the road leading to his ranch was long, it was mostly flat so he could see all the way to the highway, some two miles down.

"Listen, why don't we go inside, get out of this heat. You can wash up, I'll grab a couple of ice packs and some ice water for ya, and we can figure out what happened," Syverson reasoned, pointing towards the main house just a few feet up the hill from the gate.

Sasha’s mind reeled as she tried to come up with a plausible explanation for why she looked the way she did. One eye black and swollen, cuts and bruises covering every inch of visible skin, and lip split open, she was quite the sight, but she wasn’t certain she could just pawn it off on a car accident, especially as she didn’t have a license. Unable to think of another reason as to why she looked like she’d gone twelve rounds with a pro boxer, Sasha decided to use a diversion tactic, ignoring the topic altogether.

“I’m fine. I was just...tired. I’ll go. I’m sorry for...fallin’ asleep at your gate.”

"You're not fine. You're not sweating, which is a problem given it's almost 100 out. You're all cut to shit, and I'll bet anything that if you try to get up again right now, your legs still won't hold.” Trying the straightforward approach first, Syverson hoped that keeping to the facts would help her process the information better, given her condition.

"Let's get you inside, get you some water, a couple band-aids and once you start seeing 20/20 again, we'll get you a ride home. Okay?" Syverson tried again, using more of his straight-and-narrow approach. If she was so hellbent on being 'fine', he'd help her along and then make sure she got wherever she was going in one piece.

Squinting against the sun despite the baseball cap he wore, Syverson reached out a hand for her, knowing full well he was going to end up carrying the poor thing inside; her shaking was getting worse and there was no way she’d be able to move under her own power.

Eyeing his hand warily, Sasha took a moment before managing to shake her head, her hand smoothing over her bump, a diamond engagement ring sparkling on her finger despite the dust that coated it.

Syverson grimaced as he looked at her in more detail, finding more and more injuries wherever he looked. Covering his mouth with his hand, he took a few deep breaths before scrubbing a hand over his face.

"How far along are you? And what in God's name are you doing out in 100-degree heat, walking in the open sun when you're pregnant?" Syverson tried to keep the worry from his voice, but he just couldn't, his eyes darkening with anger at whoever had let this woman get into the situation she was in, in the first place.

"Please, just come to the porch. Just so you can get out of the sun. I'll bring you some water, you can rest a while, and when you're ready, I'll drive you wherever you need to go."

Seeing that he wasn’t going to let up, Sasha relented, figuring that dying in the shade would be no worse than dying under the glaring Texas sun.

“Just to the porch,” she agreed, finally taking his hand, her legs only giving her enough power to get to a squat before she crumpled back against the dirt with a whimper.

"If the mountain won't come to Muhammad..." Syverson muttered softly, shaking his head. Despite her condition, the woman was determined and prideful; something he hadn't seen with such force since being in the Middle East. It made him smile even as he plucked the ball cap off his head and placed it gently on hers, Syverson crouching down and slipping his hands under her body, picking her up with ease.

Sasha was too out of it to protest the sudden move, fighting just to keep her eyes open as Syverson loaded her up on his ATV and booked it up the gently sloping hill that led to a rather large, beautiful ranch home.

Older than a lot of the houses that neighbored Syverson’s acreage, it nevertheless looked pristinely-maintained and had just had a fresh coat of paint put on it. As they came nearer, Sasha took in the wraparound porch, a swing hanging near the back door, looking out towards what could only be farmland of some sort, Sasha unable to see the stables or the horses with Syverson’s broad shoulders blocking the view.

Syverson cut the engine on the ATV and hopped off, holding Sasha steady until he could pick her up again. If he limped a bit as he walked, it wasn’t noticeable to her, and Sasha felt nothing but relief when he set her down on the porch swing with a nod.

"All right, you just stay right there, kick your feet up, and I'll be back with some water," he instructed once he was certain she wasn't about to pitch over the side of the swing from exhaustion.

Running in, he grabbed what he needed, along with two ice-filled glasses of water, hoping that she'd be able to get at least half of one down in the next few minutes. She looked dehydrated and Syverson knew it wasn't a good thing for a woman who was pregnant.

"Sip, don't gulp. Gulping will make your stomach churn and that's the last thing you want in this heat, believe me. Been there, done that." He tried for a light and jovial tone, though with his frown still firmly in place, it sounded out of place. Syverson handed her one of the glasses before setting the other down on the floor.

Doing as she was told, Sasha drank slowly, her lip stinging briefly against the cool water before relief began to wash over her. Looking at her rescuer out of the corner of her eye, Sasha felt ashamed that she’d ever doubted his intentions. Sitting next to her quietly, she could feel both patience and anger wafting off him and it made her wonder if she was about to get another talking to regarding her condition and her decision to walk in the heat. Regardless of what kind of conversation she had in store, Sasha couldn’t help but notice that he had kind eyes, something which went far in her estimation of a person.

“Thank you,” she murmured after finishing half of her first glass, her eyes already on the second, even though he’d told her to take her time.

“You’re welcome,” Syverson responded, eyeing her legs carefully. Spotting the largest area of swelling, he carefully placed the ice pack over it, a small tea towel keeping the cold gel from coming into direct contact with her skin. Strapping it down with an ACE bandage, he leaned against the porch railing across from her, Syverson’s arms crossing over his large chest.

Continuing to study her as she drank, Syverson took note of the shape of the bruises and the distinct impressions of half-moons at the edges of some of them. Someone had been squeezing this girl a little too hard, and Syverson already felt his temper starting to flare at whoever it was that had the gall to do it.

"Did you hit the ditch out on the 474? I keep tellin' 'em to put up a sign, but they don't listen..." Syverson kept his voice light, but he knew he was scrabbling for something to say without taking the direct route and asking her who beat the shit out of her before throwing her from their car; at least that's what Syverson assumed had happened. Immediately however, he could see the discomfort his question had caused, Syverson regretting his words the moment they reached her.

“You didn’t have to trouble yourself with all this, you know,” Sasha said after a moment, trying to save face despite her pitiful condition and her obvious lack of a vehicle. “I’ll be out of your hair in no time, I promise.”

"Of course I did. Not just gonna leave you layin’ on the ground in this heat with no one for miles. I'm not even sure how you made it out this far without a car," his voice drifted as he spoke the last few words, Syverson's eyes glancing around at his acreage. It was one of the most desolate areas in Texas and even with the highway two miles to the north, the land was about as far removed from civilization as humanly possible.

"You hungry? I was getting ready to fix up some breakfast. Had to get up real early this morning to re-shoe Wolf and I haven't eaten yet." Syverson asked, changing the subject to something a little less involved; his own stomach was churning, eager to have something for breakfast, even if it was only a bowl of cereal. He wasn't the type to skip breakfast, no matter how early he had to be up. If it meant holding off for a few hours after getting some chores done, so be it, but he needed his first meal of the day, come hell or high water.

Sasha was about to shake her head at the offer, feeling like she was already a burden on the man she’d only just met, but then he said the magic words. Eyes lighting up, she looked up at him with eager hope.

“You have a horse?”

"Horses. Plural," he laughed softly, nodding at her question, Syverson pointing to his right at the stables that sat further back on the property. "This is a horse ranch. I raise 'em, sell 'em, breed 'em...The works. With a little help, of course," Syverson added humbly, explaining what the land was used for and how he fit into it all.

"You like horses?" he asked, his gaze intent and curious, Syverson always up for talking with people that had similar interests to him. He made no move to get up, to usher her anywhere, or do anything more than sit there and talk. He figured he had an in with the horses, but he didn't want to push too hard, lest she try to get up and hurt herself in the process of trying to be stubborn.

“I used to groom them for pocket change when I was a kid. I always found it calming, almost like meditation, you know?” Sasha nodded, her smile growing brighter with each passing moment.

"I absolutely do," Syverson enthused, his face regressing in age right before Sasha’s eyes, as it always did when he was talking about something he loved.

"Tell you what. You stay for breakfast and I'll bring Wolf around to meet ya. He's the sweetest, and he's closer to the house, since he just got new shoes. All the others are out back and that's further than I think you'd be able to walk on those tired legs of yours," he winked, Syverson’s smile finally relaxed and open, the change in expression one that took Sasha’s breath away and made her forget her problems for a just a moment. The promise of meeting a horse for the first time in years, certainly didn’t hurt matters either.

#henry cavill #syverson x ofc #captain syverson #fic #deathonyourtongueoriginals #willow run

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deathonyourtongue · 5 years ago

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Willow Run | Ch. 2

Summary: On a horse ranch in Texas, life is far simpler than on the streets of Bakubah, but Syverson has a bad habit of taking in strays of all kinds, no matter what demons may be after them. Pairing: Captain Syverson x OFC Word Count: 3.3K Warnings: Nothing in this chapter. A/N: You guys!!!! Thank you so much for all the love you’ve shown on this fic! It means a lot and I appreciate each and every one of y’all! CHAPTER 1 |

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Wolf did the trick, and though it took her an extra moment to be convinced, Sasha allowed Syverson to carry her inside, the house blessedly cool thanks to an HVAC system that had been retrofitted a few years prior.

Once inside, Syverson set her onto one of the high chairs that took up one side of the kitchen counter. Like most everything else in the house, the kitchen was bright, airy and spacious. Curiously, the appliances seemed to come straight from the past; the sink, the fridge, even the oven all dated back to at least the fifties in appearance though they had all been fitted with new technology.

"Bathroom's just down at the end of the hall if you need it. Lemme just wash my hands and I'll fix somethin' up real quick," he explained, pointing down the hall before moving to the old farmhouse sink to start washing up.

As he prepped, the sound of two sets of paws grew louder and louder, nails clicking on the hardwood flooring. A quick glance over his shoulder and Syverson's smile grew tenfold, although he quickly took action, blocking the path of the two puppies who were eager not only for scraps, but to find out who the new human was.

"You're not afraid of dogs, are you? I completely forgot, I'm so sorry," he stammered, Syverson starting to herd them back towards his office which was just a few steps away from the kitchen. One of them was clearly the boss as he pushed right past Syverson with an upturned nose, trotted over to Sasha, sat down and grunted as though asking her who she was. Syverson chuckled, a little embarrassed as he turned his attention to the little mastiff, picking him up easily before tucking him into his chest.

"Don't mind the grunting. He does that when he wants something from someone."

The other dog, a hearty little guy, followed his buddy's example and sat down next to Sasha’s feet, looking up at her with curiosity.

"This is Hudson, and that down there, is Goliath," he introduced, each dog making a noise as his name was called. "They're strays. Up on all their shots though. Perks of knowing a vet."

Syverson set the puppy down just as a third set of paws clipped along the ground, the sound much heartier than either of the two pups. Although curious about the newcomer, the older dog simply sniffed at Sasha’s general direction before sitting down in her dog bed by the back door of the kitchen. With age came wisdom, and the four year old German Shepard knew full well her owner never went a morning meal without giving her at least a piece of bacon.

“And this beautiful lil’ lady is Aika. She’s been with me since...For a long time,” he asserted, catching himself before divulging information he wasn’t sure Sasha was ready to hear yet. Given her injuries, he wouldn’t have been surprised if she believed the stereotype of military men being prone to violence. Keeping it to himself was his best option at the moment.

“They’re all so cute!” Sasha smiled, her eyes still bright, every moment that passed leaving her feeling more and more relaxed around Syverson, something she didn’t even notice as she watched the puppies frolic around Aika, who paid them no heed and let them bounce all over her and her very comfy-looking bed.

After making sure the puppies wouldn’t get into any mischief while he cooked, Syverson washed his hands again, drying off before extending a hand to Sasha.

“I never did get your name,” he smiled sheepishly.

“Oh, right. It’s Sasha. Sasha Bettencourt. How ‘bout you?”

“Kyle Syverson. You can just call me Sy, though. Everyone does.” Shaking hands with Sasha, he couldn’t help but let his smile get a little bigger, mirroring the one he was getting from the young woman.

“Sy, can I use your bathroom?” Sasha asked once they’d let go of each other's hands, her own expression slightly embarrassed since she knew just how dirty she was. Given what the house looked like both inside and out, she couldn’t imagine the bathroom being anything less than spotless.

“Of course!” Syverson said, moving around the counter in a hurry, ready to steady her as she got down off the chair. “You alright to make it there on your own?” He asked, the concern returning to his expression as he waited to see if she’d drop like she had outside. “Take your time,” he told her gently, the words spoken not only as a warning not to walk quickly, but as a reminder that she no longer needed to rush now that she was safe and out of the sun.

Testing her legs, Sasha found them working well enough and with a nod, she ambled her way down, relieved to have her body functioning at least somewhat close to normal again. Finding the door easily enough, Sasha closed and locked it behind her, taking a moment just to breathe. Looking at her reflection in the mirror, she was surprised Syverson had let her anywhere near his property, let alone inside his house. Gruesome was putting it mildly.

The bathroom was charming and just as beautifully-appointed as the rest of the house. Sasha wondered, not for the first time, if Syverson had a wife who’d done all the decorating. For a man who was so, well, masculine, the house screamed of a woman’s touch. She reminded herself to ask him after she got out.

Though she was only planning on washing her face, Sasha took one look at the sunflower-sized shower head that sat on top of the clawfoot tub and was taking off her dirty clothes without a second thought.

Syverson heard the shower going and couldn’t help but smile; he'd have done the exact same thing. Shaking his head, he began preparing breakfast for two; something he hadn’t done in a long time.

Soon enough, Sy was operating at full steam. Eggs in a skillet, hash browns frying and sausages turning a delicious golden brown. He managed everything with the ease of someone who'd taken classes at the very least and as he worked, he sang an unrecognizable tune, the soft smile never leaving his face. It was easy for anyone to see that the man was at peace in his own home, and that he wasn't the type to sit idly for any length of time.

As the cool water poured over her still-overheated skin, Sasha couldn’t help but sigh in utter contentment, finding her muscles truly loosening and the panic in her veins dissipating for the first time all day. She’d unknowingly walked to a haven, and while she still felt guilty for putting Sy out, especially since he was out there cooking her breakfast, Sasha vowed not to be so hurried to leave if he didn’t want her to.

There was one stark problem that Sasha only realized once she got out of the shower; she had no clean clothes to wear. Feeling stupid for her lack of foresight, she begrudgingly put her dirty clothes back on after quickly shaking them off in the tub, hoping to get at least some of the dust off. Though she felt a million times better, memories of the road still clung to her, leaving Sasha pensive and quiet as she left the bathroom.

“Feelin’ better, mama?” Sy asked with a wry smile, his back still to her as he began to plate breakfast, giving both plates a generous helping of eggs, sausage, hashbrowns and pancakes. Though Sy was known to eat like a horse, he never worried about his portions, knowing he’d work it all off down at the stables.

“I’m sorry. I just...I was so dirty.” Sasha stammered, looking as though she’d stolen something out of the house, even though she’d done nothing of the sort.

Turning, he gave her a bright smile which quickly turned into an impressed look at the visible difference. She was beautiful, even with all the cuts and bruises that marred her otherwise-smooth skin.

"It-It's no problem. Should've told me, I would've grabbed you some clothes to wear while I threw yours in the wash," he answered after coming back to his senses, Syverson shaking his head as though he'd been startled out of a dream.

A closer inspection of her clothes showed that the washer wouldn't do much good. Tattered and dirty as they were, she was better off throwing them out. Syverson knew it probably wouldn't happen though, as girls were attached to their clothing like guys were attached to their cars. Still, he would broach the topic again after they'd eaten.

"Here we go. One Syverson special, on the bar," he grinned at her as he slid her plate in front of her seat at the kitchen counter, Sy setting his own plate down next to hers. Grabbing his coffee, a glass of orange juice for her, and a bottle of his favorite hot sauce, Sy made sure the salt, pepper, syrup, and napkins were all within reach before taking his seat.

“Go on, dig in,” He urged, pointing at Sasha’s plate with his chin, Syverson wondering when the last time she ate was. She was thin, almost alarmingly so, and aside from her swollen belly, there wasn’t nearly enough meat on her bones to be carrying another human. If she stayed, Syverson knew he’d see to it personally that she ate her three squares a day, and that she got as many nutrients as she needed to grow the little one inside her.

Tentatively, Sasha took a bite of the pancake first, hers slathered in syrup the same way Sy’s were, something she thought endearing. Her eyes rolled back and she practically swooned as the familiar taste hit her tongue, Sasha melting a little in her seat.

“This is really good,” she managed to say after swallowing, her face showing nothing but awe that Sy had made it all himself. Where she came from, men were never in the kitchen unless they were getting a beer. It shocked her, to say the least.

“Thank you, again, for all of this. I don’t...I don’t have any way of repaying you,” Sasha murmured after another bite, looking up at Sy with regret. She had to do something in return for all his generosity, she just didn’t know what she’d be able to manage, given she’d left her home with just the shirt on her back.

“There’s no need, honest. I’m not doing this ‘cause I’m lookin’ for something in return. I’m doing it ‘cause it’s the right thing to do. Couldn’t just leave ya to burn to death out there. What kinda animal would I be if I did that? Nah, no repayment necessary, mama. Just...don’t go walkin’ into the middle ‘a nowhere without water and cover again. That’s all I ask,” Syverson replied, biting his tongue to keep from saying what he actually wanted to say, knowing that doing so would spook her. Asking a near-stranger to stay as long as she needed and not worry about lifting a finger while doing so usually didn’t go over well in most circles.

They ate in silence for a bit, Sasha taking in the house and occasionally slipping a bit of food to one of the dogs, making sure Sy wasn’t looking while she did so.

“Your home is beautiful. Looks like it’s straight out of a magazine,” she mused, blushing slightly when she realized how silly she must’ve sounded.

"Thank you. It belonged to my parents, but they've decided to live the high life down in Florida now. Boating, fishing, tanning, the usual retirement stuff. They visit every now and then, but they've got their own little house not far from here, so the place is all mine," he replied with a big smile, Syverson not even realizing that he was divulging so much information in one answer. Despite years of military training on how to keep mum about personal and secure information, at home, Syverson was an open book who wore his heart on his sleeve.

“As for it lookin’ like it’s out of a magazine...Well, that’s ‘cause it’s been in a few. Couple ‘a years back, some hoity toity types came and shot the place. It ended up in a few rags. Mom’s got ‘em all stashed away somewhere.”

Feeling brave when her comment wasn’t met with ridicule, Sasha remembered her question from earlier, a smirk crossing her face as she spoke.

“I find it really hard to believe it’s just you here.”

Sy laughed heartily at the idea of there being someone else on the ranch. Sure he occasionally had help (aside from his two stable hands), especially during foaling season, but that usually just consisted of his friends coming down for a few days.

"It's just me, the dogs, and the horses. I’ve got some guys that help with the stables, but they don’t live here," he assured her, shaking his head in amusement before taking another bite.

“It’s just….Well, it’s so clean and decorated so nice,” Sasha said the words without thinking, instantly looking down and away, fully expecting that she’d offended him by assuming he couldn’t look after himself.

“The place has a woman’s touch ‘cause my mom decorated it and I couldn’t be bothered to change it. As for the cleaning, well, I don’t like livin’ in filth any more than anyone else, so I clean a bit everyday and by the end of the week, everything’s spick and span. It becomes a routine after a while.” Sy chuckled, answering the underlying question of why it didn’t look like every bachelor pad ever.

Sasha grinned, blushing as she nodded her understanding. “I figured you had a wife, but mom works too.”

“Yeah, don’t got one of those.” Syverson shook his head, eyebrows going up comically as he finished his last bite.

“What? You have something against the institution of marriage?” Sasha laughed.

“First off, calling it an ‘institution’ makes it sound like a loony bin. Secondly, I have nothing against it. All the women I’ve dated have seemed to hate the idea though, hence no ring.” He explained with a shrug, giving her a wink as he stood and loaded his plate into the dishwasher before leaning against the other side of the counter, waiting for Sasha to finish her own meal.

“I’m gonna go get Wolf, as promised. Stay here where it’s nice and cool, and I’ll come grab ya when I’m back.” Sy explained once she was done, taking her plate and swapping it for a glass of water, the liquid cool enough to make the glass sweat near-instantly. Sasha nodded, the excitement returning to her eyes at the prospect of meeting the horse.

Slipping on his boots, Sy stopped and gave Aika a piece of sausage before giving her the command to stay. Though his eldest dog usually followed him everywhere, he wanted her to look after Sasha while he was gone, if only for his own peace of mind.

Sy took the ATV down to the stables and made quick work of tacking up Wolf, speaking to the horse in gentle, hushed tones the whole time.

“There’s someone I want you to meet, bud. You gotta be gentle, ‘cause she’s hurt pretty bad, okay?” He said once he’d given the straps one last check, smiling up at his Friesian and giving him a good pat to the shoulders. Climbing on, gave the stable a quick check before riding out, going an easy pace until he crested the hill.

Sasha knew she should have waited inside, but curiosity got the better of her and she wandered out, wanting to see Syverson come up from the stables. She wasn’t disappointed at what she saw. With his red plaid shirt, fitted jeans, boots, and baseball cap, he was every inch the modern cowboy and Sasha couldn’t stop the butterflies that filled her stomach even if she’d wanted to.

Sy saw her the moment he got to the top of the hill and with a shake of his head and a beaming smile, he signaled Wolf to gallop, knowing he had plenty of time to slow down before he hit the house. There was no feeling like riding a horse at full speed, and never once did Sy think he’d grow tired of the exhilaration it brought; it was better than any rollercoaster and no one could tell him different.

“Didn’t I tell you to stay inside, mama?” He called as he came within earshot, Sy slowing Wolf with ease and grace, the two coming to a full stop a few steps from the porch.

Blushing but smiling ear-to-ear, Sasha nodded, knowing she’d been caught.

“I couldn’t help it. I wanted to see y’all two coming down the hill.” She admitted, taking slow, tentative steps towards the massive horse and his equally big rider.

“Like you would a dog. Palm up, let ‘im give you a sniff,” Sy instructed gently, patting Wolf’s neck as he watched Sasha approach.

“Hi, Wolf. You’re a very handsome boy,” Sasha smiled, extending her hand and giggling softly when Wolf sniffed at it with enthusiasm. After a moment, Wolf nuzzled first at Sasha’s face and then at her belly, seeming to know that the new person Sy had been talking about was carrying another person with her.

Sy’s smile was sappy as he watched the interaction, knowing for certain that if his favorite horse liked Sasha, then she was good people. Horses never had a reason to feign affection, and they were smart enough to only offer it when the person was right. By Wolf’s account, Sasha was second only to Sy himself.

“He likes you,” Sy murmured, adjusting one of Wolf’s long braids, letting Sasha take her time.

“Feeling’s mutual, isn’t it, Wolf?” Sasha beamed, nodding her head in time with Wolf, laughing happily when the horse let his head slump onto her shoulder.

“Alright, that’s enough there, mister. Layin’ it on a lil’ thick,” Sy joked, patting his neck, his eyes never once leaving Sasha’s smile; he wouldn’t admit to being smitten just yet, but her having Wolf’s approval didn’t hurt matters in the slightest.

“I gotta get the rest of the bunch turned out to pasture. I’ll be back around one for lunch, but until then, why don’t you head on in and have a rest? There’s clean clothes in the laundry room if you wanna change into something a lil’ more comfortable. Pretty sure there’s some basketball shorts in there with a drawstring so they don’t fall off ya,” Sy gave her a wink, “and if you wanna take a dip, the pool’s good to go, though I don’t got a bathin’ suit for ya, unfortunately.”

As he spoke, he turned on a pair of walkie-talkies, Syverson bending down to hand Sasha one. “Keep this close, and just press the button to talk. I’ve got mine on my belt, so I’ll hear ya no matter what. Just lay back and relax. You’re good here, for however long you need.”

By the time he was finished speaking, Sasha had tears of gratitude in her eyes, and giving Wolf a final scratch to his nose, she nodded, managing to give her rescuer a big smile.

“Thank you. So much,” she whispered, not trusting her voice to get louder. Sy nodded, his eyes gentle and understanding. A moment of silent connection passed between them before Sy clicked his teeth and tugged at the rein, turning Wolf with ease.

“No walkin’ out in the sun, mama. I mean it!” Sy called over his shoulder with a wide grin, waving as he nudged Wolf back into a full gallop, the pair making it up the hill in no time at all before disappearing over the horizon, leaving Sasha with a warmth that spread throughout every fiber of her being, a feeling she hadn’t experienced in years.

#henry cavill #syverson x ofc #captain syverson #captain syverson fic #fic #deathonyourtongueoriginals #willow run

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