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ghouljams · 8 months

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Okok idk if you’ve done anything for könig for the medieval au but I can think of no better role for him than the royal executioner. Given a wide berth by all as he is technically forgiven for his job of killing, but beheading a bound prisoner is hardly the stuff of legend, it doesn’t inspire the same awe in folk. König helplessly enamored with a soft maiden reader and well aware of the blood on his hands so he skulks after her, a looming shadow she can’t seem to shake.

I know there's another writer who has an executioner König that I fucking adore, which has made me hesitant to write him in that role. However it's such a good fit for him. My sister is very upset that I made König a hunter and not an executioner, and I have another ask about König being a king put up for our lovely Princess's hand in marriage(Ghost's big mad about that, ahhhh act 2).

But yeah I like König being big and scary, gotta keep the nasty boy nasty. So I'm gonna write something for executioner König

It started so simply, so plainly, that it could hardly even be called unremarkable. Forgettable, was perhaps the better word. König is sure you must have forgotten it, at least.

Executions are an exact science. If you can call it that. There is a certain way that things must be done to ensure that death has been achieved. Rule one: No drinking on the job, not after last time. Rule two: Always aim for the center of the neck, severing the spinal column ensure the pain doesn't last past what is needed. Rule three: Do not hesitate, self explanatory. Rule four: There will always be a lot of blood, it's best to get out of the way quickly once the ax has hit its mark.

König had been washing his hands of said blood in one of the water spouts around town, when he first saw you. Your eyes wide with fear at the sight of him. You looked like the sunset, something painted by the hands of God himself, so soft and radiant as you turned and fled. He looked after you a moment longer than it took you to disappear around the corner before going back to his grim work. He stripped off his mask to rinse the blood from that as well.

This was treated with wax, the blood and water sliding from it much easier than it did his calloused hands. He could never get all the blood off on his first attempt. Maybe he should wear gloves, but he could never feel the ax as well and leather stained. He ran one short fingernail under another to clean the congealing blood out and stopped. König turned to look down at you, your hands clasped together tightly, your eyes still sparkling with fright.

You held your hand out to him, and he tilt his head to look down at it curiously. The familiar scent and off-white color of soap, just a little piece of it resting on your palm. He was careful taking it from you, shaking the water off his hand before plucking it from your palm. Despite his best efforts to prevent you the displeasure a small puddle of red tinged water formed where the soap previously sat.

"Thank you," He mumbled, turning back to his work so he didn't have to see you wipe your hand off.

"I'm sorry," You told him, in so unfamiliar a tone he didn't think he'd ever heard one like it. Pity was something he was used to, executioners were often looked on with some form of it, but this- this wasn't pity. He turned to ask what you were sorry for, but you were already gone. Quick on your feet. Like a little rabbit.

You're jumpy like a rabbit too. Cute. Actually that part might be on him. You may have forgotten your kindness --did you forget? he hopes you didn't-- but König certainly didn't. He's keeping an eye on you. Moving unseen isn't exactly König's strong suit, but he can do it with the right motivation. Motivation like following you around town. He just wants to see you. Wants to see you smile and laugh and hear your sweet voice. Wants to see you interact with normal people without fear in your eyes.

He has to be careful though, the last few times you noticed him you tensed up. Breath held and hands clenched like that might prevent him from seeing you. Sweet scared little thing. Was it the blood on his hands that scared you? The violence he enacted? Was it his size, his strength, the heat of his gaze? Do you imagine his hands on your soft skin like he does?

Well, maybe not like he does. Your imagination is likely less... appreciative than his, more violent. Too bad.

That's exactly why he has to steal these glimpses of you. He doesn't want to frighten you, although you are beautiful even when you look on his in fear. You're so much more without him. To think music could ever sound as sweet as your laughter, that the sun could ever shine as bright as your smile. He tips his head to watch you, a wonder of divine creation, terribly kind in your every movement.

You crouch to help an older woman pick up a basket of heavy produce, wave off her thanks with a smile and settle the goods on a nearby stall. You pull a child out of the way of a cart, and wave at the driver without a speck of malice. Your kindness is rewarded in turn, an extra few apples for your coin, a warm slice of fresh bread for your walk, people stop you to chat with friendly smiles and kind words.

And yet. And yet he never sees you with anyone. Never sees you walking arm in arm with a friend or a lover, even a parent. You're alone in your crowd of kind acquaintances.

He can't follow you when you leave town. There aren't enough places to hide, not enough corners to stay shadowed behind. That doesn't stop him from watching you as you walk down the road. You don't go far, just far enough to find a comfortable place on the stone wall lining one side of the dirt path. You settle your shopping basket on the ground beside your feet and finally look back at him.

König's breath seizes in his chest. You're still so tense as you stare at him, as you unclench one of your tight fists and pat the wall next to you. He glances behind him to see if there's perhaps a friend of yours he'd missed. No, when he looks back you're still staring just as fiercely determined at him as you had been.

He's cautious with his approach, nervous as the way your eyes track his, your head tipping to accommodate his height the closer he gets. Until he's stood in front of you, your wide eyes still blinking up at him. You pat the wall again, wordlessly asking for his company.

"Are you hungry?" You ask when before he's barely sat down. König pauses, watches you bend to pull an apple from your basket. "You've been following me all day, you must be." You pull a knife from your pocket to slice the fruit and König holds out his hand.

"Let me," He tells you. You hesitate, staring at his -clean, he swears they're clean, he'll never dirty yours again- hands. You settle the apple in his rough palm and offer him the knife. König shakes his head, and grips the apple between his hands, twisting it sharply to break it neatly in half. He offers you one.

"Thank you," You offer him half of a smile, take the offered half and bite into it. Clean enough to touch your lips, König thinks. Or maybe you just don't care about the stains. "It's lovely out isn't it?" You make quiet conversation.

"You are," He breathes, and you bite your lip, your smile blossoming around your best intentions to stop it.

Maybe you were alone for him, to give him the space to get close to you. A rabbit baiting the big bad wolf.

#Spec is that you #könig x reader #könig fanfiction #könig cod #könig call of duty #könig #executioner!König #medieval au #Reader absolutely scared shitless of König: I gotta be nice to this guy so he doesn't kill me #König delusional: they're in love with me #cod x reader #x reader #könig mw2

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mjolnirswriststrap · 6 months

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Executioner | Renaissance AU

Summary: Natasha is the king’s executioner. What plot? Just smut.

Natasha x f!reader

Warnings: 18+ only! Read at your own risk, panties definitely came off in this one, beheadings.

Masterlist

You knew you shouldn’t have been in that tavern after curfew. Some of the local women whispered about meeting to discuss steps to improve living conditions in your village. You thought it was worth trying. The king had no intentions on helping the starving women and children. The draft had taken every able bodied man, leaving your people devastated. None of you expected the kings men to burst in. You wouldn’t have gone if you knew what you’d be charged with.

You can’t see anything as burlap sack was roughly crammed onto your head. Desensitization wasn’t a new tactic, pigs for slaughter were treated this way. If you can’t see how close death is, you’re less likely to freak out. You stood there shackled to a girl on both sides of you, shaking in fear, using your last moments to pray. If you tilted your head just right you could see out of the bottom of the sack. A pool of red creeps towards your toes, and you hear the swing of a blade yet again. The only thing louder at the moment is the scream of the girl ahead of you, she knows she’s next. Your arm is jerked forward as the shackle is unlocked, separating you from the crying girl.

You close your eyes as you begin to pray, what king would do this to his people? You didn’t do anything wrong, the village only wants food and clothes for the winter. You knew why he didn’t favor your village; you didn’t export any goods. No crops, linen, or cattle were given to the castle. The women needed everything just to keep their children and elderly alive.

The blade makes contact with the wooden bench yet again, and you begin to shake. You won’t cry, you won’t let them have the satisfaction. They can take your life but they can’t have your soul. You had no reaction as the sack was pulled from your head. Your eyes squint to adjust to the sun. Standing in front of you is a tall man, so broad he shields you from the crowd of onlookers. He starts fiddling with your shackle and you look around him, seeing that you’re on a high wooden platform in the middle of the capital. Hundreds of subjects crowded around, waiting for the next beheading.

You catch a glimpse of red hair behind the man, but he jerks you forward before you can get a better look. You pad forward, and the crowds chatter becomes clearer “treasonous bitch!” “Witch” “this will teach you!” ”long live King Stark!”. You couldn’t help but to laugh out loud. They really thought the king cared for them. They could be on this chopping block next, they’re too deluded to see it. You start giggling louder, and louder and it draws the attention of the red haired woman.

“Don’t make this any harder than it has to be.” You tilt your head to the side and see a short woman, black robes covering her, a large hood pulled halfway up. “I am being prosecuted for being a woman. This is already harder than it has to be.”. How sick, the king making a woman execute other women. You looked into her eyes, knowing they’d be the last thing you ever saw. She was beautiful beyond measure, fair skin, full lips and large green eyes stared back at you. The woman is frozen in place, never having had a stand off with a person she was about to execute. You lean down, the blood of the innocent girl tickled your cheek. Closing your eyes you inhale the scent of rust and mud. Taking a deep breath you wait for your execution, unwavering.

It never comes, a loud explosion shakes town square. You’re thrown from the chopping block, landing on the hard dirt. Screams erupt and you feel feet trample over you. A large man steps right on the hand balancing you, causing you to scream out in pain. You coddle your sore fingers like a cat licking its wounds. You crawl under the wooden structure used as a stage. Hiding from the crowd who were willingly going to chop your head off moments earlier. You look up between the cracks and see the red head woman scanning the crowd, searching for you. “Tell the kings guard she’s gone. The explosion gave her cover for escape.” She whispers to a man in all metal armor.

The crowd has finally dispersed and all you can hear is the dripping of blood, the woman’s deep sighs as she paces the platform above you. You’re too scared to make a sound, knowing your cover could be blown at any moment. You feel a tickle at the edge of your hairline, you quickly swipe at what’s bothering you. A spider crawls up your hand causing you to wince, shaking it off. Your eyes dart upward, in hopes she didn’t notice. Except you can’t see her anywhere between the cracks. You lean forward to get a better advantage point and still, the platform is void of any person. Sitting back down on your feet you take a deep breath, maybe you’re finally in the clear.

A blade is pressed to your neck before you can exhale. A hand snakes its way around your waist, traveling upward along your front, securing your arm and neck in a tight lock. “Thought you could escape?” She breathes in your ear. Your heartbeat fastens, “Please, you don’t understand, I’m innocent. I’ve done nothing wrong.” You plead as she tightens her grip on you. “That’s what they all say. But not everyone was found gathered under a full moon, whispering about a kings downfall.” You furrow your brow, full moon? You’d never gathered with anyone under a full moon, you were no witch.

She pushes you forward, your face hitting the ground, billowing up a cloud of dirt. “You’re mistaken miss, we met to discuss rations, create a plan on how to survive the winter, I would never knowingly gather under a full moon.” You wiggle as she straddles your ass, pushing against her as she shackles your hands behind your back. “I thought I was being executed for conspiracy not witchcraft.” You writhe more underneath her, grasping her wrist, you hold her there as you plead for her mercy. “Please, I am not what you think. I’ll go far away, you’ll never see or hear of me again. I’ll never return. I swear it upon the Lord.”

The woman stares at her wrist in your hand. Your words completely muffled to her. She looks at your rode up gown, lace garters around each of your legs. She pulls herself away, kneeling beside you. You start shaking in fear of what is to come next. She places a hand on the back of your thigh, slowly feeling her way to between your legs. “If you want me to let you go free, you’re going to have to earn it, witch.” The woman laughs to herself. You squeeze your eyes shut as you realize what she means. “What do you want from me?” You cry out. The woman flips you over onto your back, she leans down looking you right in the eye.

“Make it worth my while, and I’ll escort you to the city limits myself.” She smirked on top of you. You look into her eyes, she was too beautiful to be this wicked. Something happened to make her this way, you’d never know. Your survival instincts kicked in before you could protest. Pressing your lips to hers you eagerly run your tongue against her bottom lip. She takes the opportunity to feel your breast, massaging them behind thick dress linen. You pull away as a strange feeling builds inside of you, you’d never been with a woman so you didn’t think you’d get anything out of this. But the feeling of her hands on you, ignited a flame deep inside, causing a throb to wreck your clit.

“You like that?” She asks with hooded eyes, pinching your nipples in the process. You sharply gasp, the feeling of wetness pooling between your thighs. Your back arches off the ground as she slips her hand under your dress, the feeling of her hand on your bare skin, burning. She feels her way up to your right nipple, pinching it unbearably hard, you yelp. “Answer me, witch.” She says. “Yes, ms?”

“Natasha, not that it matters.”.

Natasha lifts herself to her knees, looking down at you, your dress pulled up, thrown over your shoulder as your chest is exposed. “So pathetic, begging to run away like that. So small underneath this thick fabric,” she places a finger on your navel, drawing a line down, running it between the folds surrounding your clit; stopping when the tip of her finger slips inside of you. “So wet, and I’ve barely touched you”.

You bite your lip so hard you taste blood, you couldn’t help it as she gently stroked her finger in and out of you. You raise your hips off the ground practically begging for more, “Please Natasha, I’ll do anything, just uncuff me.”. The red head throws her head back laughing while she adds another digit, going deeper than before “I don’t need to do that to get what I want.” You press your head into the ground as you adjust to her thick fingers, the burning stretch and the slow pace causing your legs to shake, a wet soothing feeling stopped the shaking as soon as it began, you looked down to see Natasha staring up at you, her tongue moving in slow circles around your clit. “Don’t stop.” You plead.

As if she was getting off on torturing you, she stopped instantly, pulling her hand from you. “I don’t want you getting the wrong idea,” Natasha says, pulling her black robe over her head. “This isn’t for your pleasure, it’s for mine.” She says, freeing the ties around her waist. Her undercoat falls down, exposing a hairless pussy. She throws one leg over your waist, diagonally straddling you. “I had to make you want it, no one wants to ride a sleeping bull.”. She spreads her lips, pressing herself into you, the feeling completely foreign, everything she’d done up till now, a man already had the privilege of doing before.

Natasha rolls her hips, perfectly gliding against your clit. It felt like a warm kiss, wet and desperate. You whine, wishing you could touch her, hold onto something for leverage. You couldn’t move as she fucked you, you’re completely helpless besides being able to wrap a leg around her waist. It did nothing to move you, it only made her grind harder against you.

A strangled moan leaves your lips as she starts rocking against you with a new pace, it was gonna make you cum if she kept going. A rubber band inside of you was being stretched past its limit and was about to snap back. At this point you thought, she has to be reading your mind. She slowed down, throwing her head back as she barely lifted herself, just to slam herself back down. She did this over and over again till you were sore, you needed release.

Natasha wasn’t thinking about your release as she crawled up your body, sitting on your chest. “If you make me feel real, real good. I’ll even get you to the next town, deal?” You nod your head before thinking. She quickly grabs a handful of your hair, “What did I say? Speak when spoken to, witch.” “Deal.”

She strokes your face, admiring your features before she makes a mess of them. Soft eyes search hers for answers, but nothing would prepare you for how gentle she was. Natasha lifted her hips, ghosting her center past your lips, causing you to crane your neck to reach for her. She was practically dripping into your mouth as you reached your tongue to take a practice swipe. She was so soft, like rose petals that tasted like ‘more’; you wanted more.

You tilt your chin forward latching your lips around her core, creating a suction while your rolled her clit around the tip of your tongue. “Fuck yes, keep doing that.” Natasha praises you from above. She miraculously keeps herself still, not abusing your face like she did your bottom half. You liked the way she sounded, light and raspy, searching for a breath. It kept you going while you explored her every inch. You lapped up wetness as it dripped from her hole, rimming the hole with the tip of your tongue.

Her body reacted the best to your flat tongue, licking long thick stripes over her clit. It made Natasha jerk her body forward, causing your nose to stimulate her even more. “You’re doing so good baby, just a little longer.” You couldn’t help but use the praise as fuel to keep going. The sight of Natasha writhing in pleasure makes you needy. You feverishly rub her clit as you breathe hot breath onto her.

Natasha grips your hair as she finally takes hold of the situation, she grinds her hips down, fully pressing herself on your tongue. You can’t keep up as she tries to climax. Her hips going at a pace your jaw isn’t accustomed to. You close your eyes as you feel her jerk forward, slowing herself down, she writhes on your face.

You gasp for air as she stands, throwing her robe back over her head. You lift yourself to your knees, letting gravity pull your dress down. You do nothing but await your release from the chains that bind you. You did what she asked, you just wanted to be freed, you needed no escort to the edge of town or the next village. “Please, uncuff me now, Natasha?” She gave you a pitiful look as she tied the straps to her undergarments.

“Oh honey, did you really think I was gonna let you go free?” She walked towards you, bending over to match your eye line. “You’re dead as far as the king knows, a crowd never lets a criminal get away. You just got lucky with the explosion.” Confusion clouded your brain, what was she going to do, if not turn you in? “What?” You say, knowing whatever she had in mind was better than execution.

“You’re coming home with me, witch.”

#avengers fanfiction #natasha x reader #natasha romanoff #nat x reader #mcu #natasha romanov #natalia romanova #natasha x you #black widow #avengers #x reader #black widow x reader #renaissance au #executioner #natasha romanoff is a lesbian

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purplecatghostposts · 5 months

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Sometimes my MH AUs are about recovery and redemption and hope and basically a ‘What if things got better instead?’ And SOMETIMES I tap my evil fingers together and go “What if I made someone worse. What if I made Brian specifically worse. What if.”

#marble hornets #I’m not saying it’ll become a fully fledged AU but. But.#I’m thinking about it. A little.#What if the guy you were trying to kill was getting better and you just got worse. what then. what if.#are you an executioner? do you still have the right?#the past sins have not been forgotten but do you have the right to take another life?#to which he answers yes. because if he didn’t then all of this would be for nothing and maybe he can’t handle that #is it enough that things get better or do you need your sacrifices to mean something.#all those years. alone. empty. losing yourself. did they mean nothing if he got better.#no. you will make it mean something. no matter the cost.#yeah. that’s the premise basically.

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hydrogenperoxdie · 6 months

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Relapsed

#alf is in different clothes bc .its au stuff dw about it #same goes for the hunter #alfred the executioner #good hunter #alfred x hunter #alfred bloodborne #hunter bloodborne

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darkdemeter · 9 days

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𝑺𝑶𝑼𝑳'𝑺 𝑹𝑬𝑸𝑼𝑰𝑬𝑴, 𝑪𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝑶𝒏𝒆

— BUCKY BARNES COLUMN

Executioner! Bucky Barnes x Nun! Female Reader

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; || 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑’𝐒 𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐄 : 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑’𝐒 𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 || ;

𝑶𝒉 𝑰 𝒋𝒖𝒔𝒕 𝒘𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒅 𝒕𝒐 𝒘𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒆 𝒂 𝒅𝒂𝒓𝒌 𝒉𝒊𝒔𝒕𝒐𝒓𝒊𝒄𝒂𝒍 𝒇𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒂𝒔𝒚, 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒅𝒚-𝒅𝒓𝒂𝒎𝒂 𝒇𝒆𝒂𝒕. 𝒃𝒆𝒆𝒇𝒚, 𝒃𝒓𝒐𝒐𝒅𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒆𝒙𝒆𝒄𝒖𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒆𝒓 𝑩𝒖𝒄𝒌𝒚 𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒆𝒅 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒂 𝒓𝒂𝒚 𝒐𝒇 𝒔𝒖𝒏𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒆 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓.

𝑴𝒊𝒏𝒐𝒓 𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒇𝒂𝒏𝒊𝒕𝒚 — 𝒓𝒆𝒍𝒊𝒈𝒊𝒐𝒏 𝒓𝒆𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒅 𝒕𝒐𝒑𝒊𝒄𝒔 — 𝒔𝒍𝒐𝒘 𝒃𝒖𝒓𝒏 — 𝒐𝒑𝒑𝒐𝒔𝒊𝒕𝒆𝒔 𝒂𝒕𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒄𝒕, 𝒆𝒏𝒆𝒎𝒊𝒆𝒔/𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒔 — "𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒅𝒚" (𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝑰 𝒇𝒊𝒏𝒅 𝒇𝒖𝒏𝒏𝒚 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒂𝒎𝒖𝒔𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒐 𝒎𝒚𝒔𝒆𝒍𝒇) — 𝑺𝒉𝒂𝒓𝒐𝒏'𝒔 𝒋𝒖𝒔𝒕 𝒂 𝒃𝒊𝒕𝒄𝒉 — 𝒉𝒊𝒔𝒕𝒐𝒓𝒊𝒄𝒂𝒍 (𝒍𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕) 𝒇𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒂𝒔𝒚 𝒂𝒖 — 𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒐𝒓 𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏 𝒐𝒇 𝒃𝒍𝒐𝒐𝒅/𝒎𝒖𝒓𝒅𝒆𝒓 — 𝑰 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒌 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕'𝒔 𝒊𝒕?

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; || 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑'𝐒 𝐒𝐂𝐑𝐈𝐏𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐄 || ;

𝑭𝒓𝒐𝒎 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝑽𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒄𝒂𝒏, 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒔𝒆𝒏𝒕 𝒕𝒐 𝒂 𝒇𝒂𝒓 𝒄𝒐𝒓𝒏𝒆𝒓 𝒐𝒇 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒍𝒎 𝒐𝒏 𝒂 𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒚 𝒊𝒎𝒑𝒐𝒓𝒕𝒂𝒏𝒕 𝒎𝒊𝒔𝒔𝒊𝒐𝒏. 𝑼𝒑𝒐𝒏 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒂𝒓𝒓𝒊𝒗𝒂𝒍, 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒎𝒆𝒆𝒕 𝒂 𝒍𝒆𝒔𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒏 𝒈𝒍𝒂𝒅𝒅𝒆𝒏𝒆𝒅 𝒑𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒔𝒕 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒂 𝒉𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒔𝒐𝒎𝒆, 𝒃𝒓𝒐𝒐𝒅𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒔𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒆𝒓 𝒘𝒉𝒐'𝒔 𝒔𝒐𝒖𝒍 𝒊𝒔 𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒊𝒏𝒆𝒅 𝒃𝒚 𝒃𝒍𝒐𝒐𝒅𝒔𝒉𝒆𝒅. 𝑨𝒏𝒅 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒘𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒉𝒂𝒗𝒆 𝒎𝒂𝒏𝒚 𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒆 𝒇𝒂𝒄𝒆𝒔 𝒕𝒐 𝒎𝒆𝒆𝒕 𝒔𝒐𝒐𝒏 𝒆𝒏𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉.

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◤𝐌-𝐂𝐎𝐃𝐄𝐗 : 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐓 𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐃◢

@mostlymarvelgirl @hollyseb @sebastianstansqueen @openup-yourmind @kandis-mom @calwitch @cjand10 @identity2212 @ashdoctor @missmarvelophilic @boobsbeesbongos

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For where there is desolation, there is room for God. This is the belief you cling to in a gaze held to Fort Solitude and its surrounding lands. As its name suggests, the keep has stood lonesome and sullen over some decades, the village at its feet yearns for the same aid of repair. God’s aid. That which you are sent to provide.

“This is as far as I will go. The Lord’s infinite gift for strength that I do not wrangle Father Fury’s neck with a noose is futile.” Abbess Maria shuns the reclusive settlement with a look of irritation. You swallow thickly at the boldness of her confession. Tongue held in silence, your gloved hands squeeze the reins of your horse, you turn to blindness in favour of the growing anticipation that swells inside your chest and blooms brightly with your unshaken faith.

“I must venture forward now, alone,” you conclude, voice lilted behind a fleeting stream of breath that mists past your lips. She nods firmly, her jaw clenched.

You accept this. Understanding her position and that personal ties lay as opposing obstacles tend to entrap, you take no part in trying to sway her decision. “Shall Ser John escort you?”

“No, I can manage from here,” you answer evenly, eyes cast down to instead count the woven threads of the saddle’s pommel. Your lungs expand and your shoulders push with a deep inhale, the smell of rain lingering in the valley. Raising your focus back to Fort Solitude, you are swept in the renewing grace of God’s spirit.

He guides you now. You feel it.

“I am here for a purpose, it is God’s will that I go forth now, and with his light I will prevail. I promise, Abbess Maria, I will not— and they’re gone…” Only a cloud of dust resides where your escorts once were, long since vanished are the thundering applause of their escape.

‘Alone then, but with the Lord.’

“Very well, let us be off!” Lips folding out into a brimming smile and with chirpy tone, you sit a little straighter in your saddle and nudge your heel inward, riding down the spiraling dirt road as you take in the rolling hillside. From what you have been told by the higher council of the Vatican, the settlement has been absent in its presence, cut off from the rest of the world. Tucked into this darkened corner of the realm, your superiors wish to see its return to the fold, to become a beacon of hope and refuge once more.

Many of the sisters back home spoke in hushed tones when news spread of your newly elected station. That the residents of Fort Solitude were beyond saving, that their souls were condemned for eternity’s hellfire. And to that, you very much disagreed with. Because they spoke with spirits of fear and faith that wavered like a flame to a breeze. The abbey sang a chorus of sighing relief when their names were not summoned.

It makes you smile that this opportunity has been given to you. That this great task, no matter how bigger it may seem for someone of your inexperienced caliber, it can only mean that the Lord has set this plan for you. With a light-hearted hum on your tongue, you continue with a merry bounce in your saddled approach.

“What the fuck is that?” A woman of blonde hair sneers, lips screwed into a thinned line in her scrutinising glare. Joining her at the wooden fence, two other women also study the approaching form.

“Maybe she got lost?” suggests Wanda, her tone light with benefited doubt. Not that that swayed the mind of either woman beside her, their eyes still bearing the weight of their prowling judgment.

“Do you think Father Fury knows of this?”

“We’re at time to find out,” snorts the blonde haired, sauntering out past the fenced gate, the two women not too far behind. “Maybe she’s a gifted lamb for the headsman’s axe.”

“Sharon!” hisses both Wanda and Natasha, ignoring the way she practically moaned the words.

Sharon laughs, the sound a clouded abyss of sickness that hangs like an ominous storm. Not too long until the priest joins the growing community outside, his untaken eye spying your approach, your horse slowing to a trot at your gentle command.

“Greetings, Sister.”

“Father Fury,” you say in return, still adorning that bright and thoughtful smile, you take a moment to dismount. Your struggle, however, provides a much amusing sight for the villagers who snicker quietly amongst themselves.

Fury arches a brow and clears his throat, bringing a dismissing silence. Stumbling back a little, you turn to face the settlement’s priest with a victorious grin.

“Abbess Maria didn’t accompany you?”

“Hm? Oh, no, she erm… well, she was, but I uh…” Your move to gesture up towards the opening juncture of the valley where you’d come from, your grin falling into a grimace as each word became utterly futile.

“I thought it best to carry on alone.” You refrain from gulping too loudly.

“Of course. Come.” He beckons you forward with a wave of his hand and with a staggering attempt to bow, in courtesy of the mud trampling your resolve, you tug the reins and follow alongside him.

“Father, I’ve come to understand that there was an… incident involving the previous sister.” In the company of Fury, you believe there is no reason to hide the relation of fear you have regarding that particular detail.

“Yes, there was. Unfortunate in loss, rest her soul, now we’ve moved on.”

“Oh, I see…” The lax nature of his response leaves the beginnings of a bad taste on your tongue, dry and tart, but you push forward. You must look ahead if you are to get anywhere here.

“I’ve this letter from the Vatican, Father,” you begin with slight pause, procuring the sealed document from your safekeeping, you hand it to him. His eye glares down at you, a brow coiled up in his unspoken anguish, his suspicion of the Vatican all present in a single look.

He thanks you quietly under his breath and breaks the wax seal with a muffled pop and unfurls it, reading over its contents. For a moment you each stop and you take the opportunity to come to know what will be your supposed home now.

You cannot exactly say for sure how long you’ll be present at Fort Solitude. Only God knows. Casting the land in a graying gloom, the village is not the sight you’d heard in gossip. Much rather, it stands relatively still and otherwise, together, but the feel of it is… wrong. Tainted by darkness.

Colour appears to be washed out. A dull palette that grieves an aura of forsaken-hood.

‘Blue!’

Striking, the grandest and highest majesty of blue you’ve ever seen, and you’ve seen a lot of colour. But nothing like the marvellous hue of his eyes. And unblinking to a degree so unnerving you find it impossible to release a single ounce of breath, now held prisoner in your chest until the ripened bubble of explosion is upon you - ready to break you - but his penetrative gaze commands you to not give in.

A man with a powerful stride to his walk, a path carved by purpose, each step as lethal as the next and last; as everything that is him.

Your voice is suddenly lost. Incapable to bring yourself to question the priest of who the man dressed in dark clothing, and a heavy leather coat that flows at the muddy hem and dirtied boots. A clinking of leather straps and buckles looping this way and that over his broad form as he saunters alongside the keep’s walls, dark brown hair cascading down in framing locks, haphazardly pulled into a bun with no trace of neatness. A mask covers the lower of his face, concealing the remainder of his features and leaving you to the idea of imagination. A man of rugged charm.

Of sinful charm. A forbidden combination of feelings riles within you, stirring your skin to become reddened with blooming heat. You only pray to the Lord above that the overdrape of your cowl hides your manner of impropriety.

However, your entranced stare turns widened, the fast repetition of your heartbeat forces you to gasp, finally allowing your stilled breath free. In the weight of his fisted palm is the balancing beam of wood, anchored at its end a sharpened tool of bloodshed. A curved and very sharp blade. And freshly blooded. Need you ask, that is no longer necessary, to only realise that this man is an executioner.

“I see that Bishop Alexander is insistent on your work here,” Father Fury says, beckoning your attention.

With a shake of your head you rid away the impure thoughts that threaten you, repelling them with a clearance of mind and throat. You must focus. You are here to help, to offer yourself as a vessel for God’s help. You cannot simply be distracted by a pair of beautiful eyes - no matter how enchanting - you are a sworn sister of the church.

“Very well. By this letter, it appears that you are one of astute read, and willed strongly in your duties.”

“Words spoken kindly… but yes, that is what defines my repute, Father.” A deflection of the praise, your tone reserved and soft.

Yes, Bishop Alexander spoke highly of your work and commitment to the order, and your unwavering faith and loyalty. For each struggle is a mere trial you are meant to overcome. An admirable quality. Amongst many things, your tendency to lend help to the city’s streets, at times from dawn to dusk, captured the attention of the Vatican’s council. And thus, it was brought to attention that Fort Solitude remained an outskirted fortress, unyielding to rejoin the outer community. And you would be sent to do what you do best.

“Indeed, kind. But I’d wager flattery first and foremost.” The plainness of his comment rears its ugly head. You sputter over your words that come out as a series of contorted starters and ends, noises he assumes will be frequent.

“W-why would the Bishop - or anyone - need to flatter me?”

His hand waves in gesture to dismiss your ensuing shock. “Don’t take to it, Sister, perhaps to get closer to God through you.”

Your lips pinch and purse together, your eyes rolling over the mystery of the executioner's sudden disappearance and Father Fury. “I-I don’t… understand your meaning.”

All it took was a simple glance of his good eye and bow of his head, and a sudden chill creeps into your skin like claws. Your body involuntarily shivers, an unsettled grimace upon your visage. “Ew…”

You dare not dwell on such paths of thought. To cure the churning disease that is that concept, you tilt your chin high to take in the fort, its walls old and worn, but still bearing strength in its foundations. A once respectable court and haven for the old knights brotherhood, the Templars, the fort’s survival for all these years is remarkable.

God hasn't given up on this refuge. No matter the trying of the enemy, His will would not be defeated. This line of thought that distracts you brings you to smile, forcing away any disturbed topic prior.

“It is getting late.” He draws your attention to the sun that levels low over the mountain ridge, though its presence is masked by the thick smog of overcasting clouds. “I’ll have James show you to your quarters.”

Akin to the innocence of a pup, your head cocks to the side, voice inflecting with keen curiosity. “James?”

The older man answers your inquiry with a summon, calling over the man you presume is this ‘James’, your jaw slackens the moment you come to see those alluring pools of heaven’s blue.

‘Grant me your strength, Heavenly Father, for this man is dangerous.’

He discards his mask as he walks towards you, eyes shifting from yours to Fury, brows pressed firm into a furrowing glare. “James, this is Sister L/N, I ask that you show her to her respective room.”

James chuffs a haughty breath through his nose, as if to snicker in his contemplative annoyance, he nods obediently to the now retreating priest and then looks to you. For a moment, he just stares, the affect of it is potent, it begins to play your mind in ways you did not think capable of a mortal man.

You’re unsure what exactly it is that traverses the process of his mind, his expression impenetrable to reading, all you can do is give him a wide smile, but otherwise that feels like it’s too much. For a moment you think you see something move beneath the placidity of this man, a startled view in the reflection of his hues, like he’s never seen anyone smile at him before; at least not like you.

“So the Vatican sent another one.”

A rather interesting first impression but you would take it. You nod, perhaps a bit too much with enthusiasm, you answer with a definite and pronounced, “Yes.”

His gloved hand wrestles the reins from your own and he walks without so much as another glance or word. Fisting the skirt fabric of your long, black grown to hop over a puddle, you’re at his heel as he leads you through the iron gates and into the large courtyard.

“I am sure Father Fury has spoken of my arr—”

His interjection comes bluntly and swiftly, “Not really.”

‘Uh…’

His hair dances the line of his heightened collar to peer over his shoulder and down at you. Quickly, you cast your eyes down to the ground, inspecting the water-lined footprints and minute details, he only hums in what you either calculate to be in amusement or relief. As to what personalised goal, you cannot fathom. Willing to remain in control of yourself, you puff the contouring of your mouth with air and continue.

“I see. Well, as evidently as it is, I am here to provide solace and comfort to those of Fort Solitude.”

“As was the last,” he whistles aloud over the gust of wind that howls downwards from the mountains, the power of it forces the tresses of your clothing to flutter about madly. Harbouring your horse in the nearby stables, he passes the duty of her care onto the stable-hand, before he unstraps your bag from the saddle.

When you try to reach for it, he swings it over his shoulder, cocking a brow at you with a bout of skepticism over your actions. You huff shortly in reply, “You needn’t carry my belongings, I can— and he’s gone…” the last of which is muttered under your breath.

‘What is it with this man?’

You have to lift the skirts of your gown again to hurry after him towards the keep, a small yelp catches in your throat from almost tripping through a puddle, he eyes you warily once at the heavy, wooden doors. Smoothing down the fabric of your gown and regaining your composure, you motion for him to continue with an eager and bright smile.

The only thing he can think in that moment as he pushes the doors open with a howling bellow of its aged hinges, is that you smile at him too much, with far too much hope in those eyes of yours.

“Welcome to Fort Solitude, Sister.”

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