UNBALANCED.

NOTHING LEFT BUT A HOLLOW SHELL

[chaosscales]

arthur harrow from mcu's moon knight. canon-compliant, save for divergence from the post-credits scene. writer is 21+, problematic/proshipping/etc, and will only write w/ plotting done beforehand.

exclusives: @chaosinternalized [steven grant]. @thisiamowed [harmony cobel]. @midnightmonsignor [paul hill].

[femlette]

｡° ⸻ @chaosscales.

       ❝ - Ozzie's almost done with his service training. ❞   Her voice comes before she rounds the corner herself, phone nestled between her shoulder and her ear as she tries rearranging her keys and wallet between her hands. The gas station was a reasonable walk from her apartment, so she hadn't felt the need to drive. Day was nice. She'd showered and put on a clean shirt   ( a whole outfit, in fact! a slim workout shirt, bootcut jeans, and an old pair of martens her old man wore once ).   Decent enough to be out! A sigh into the phone as she puts it back in her hand, holding it to her ear.   ❝ You'd be proud of him. I think, anyway. Hasn't torn up a book in a few months. Progress, right? ❞   The entryway   dings   with her entrance, automatic doors opening and closing as she steps in and nods a little acknowledgement to the clerk. She nods back and returns to the transaction she'd been finishing.

All Emily wanted was a bag of ice and maybe some pistachios. Not enough to warrant a full grocery trip, but just enough to get her ass up out of bed. Plus, they usually had some kind of deal on their icecreams. Wouldn't hurt to grab a pint or two. She's pretty one-track about her path as she once again juggles her phone into her shoulder to grab at her items.

       ❝ Things have been alright. Getting better, even. ❞   There's a bit of distance that hits her gaze and it's hard to shake. Imagine her surprise when a familiar voice snaps her out of it instead of something else mundane. Blinking, she turns, seeing an even more familiar face. God, she wished she hated how quick she was to smile.   ❝ - Call you back later.. ❞   The call is ended with care, phone tucked into her pocket as she gives Arthur a nudge with her shoulder.

       ❝ Hey handsome. Come here often? ❞

[chaosscales]

The apology left his lips swiftly: “Sorry, I don’t know what’s wrong with me today—”

Yet as Arthur fumbled with getting his bills in the right segments and his coins all tucked away in their pouch, the clerk behind the counter seemed not to mind. He got everything squared away a beat after he spoke, stepped to the side to let the next person in queue forward, and then exhaled lightly through rounded lips as he shoved his wallet into the left pocket of his cargo pants.

Stupid, he couldn’t help but think, jaw set and head bent as he prepared to walk out the door.

Then the nudge came. Then he heard someone call him “handsome”.

And there was only one person in the whole god damn universe who ever did that.

“Emily.” Delight was a strange thing for him to feel, but Arthur felt it all the same. Whatever heavy-headed shame he might have felt for holding up the counter faded instantly, replaced by a smile that pulled crookedly at the corner of his mouth. “What’re you—” She’s shopping, of course. “Uh, what’d you get?”

It almost felt wrong seeing her in the light of day, especially at an hour so far from sunrise. Arthur let his bag hang over his forearm (there wasn’t much in it but a loaf of bread and a strawberry Yoo-hoo), stepped a little further to the side to keep from blocking anyone’s way, and kept his eyes on her in a mix of joy and sheepishness.

“You live around here?”

[thisiamowed]

Mercy nodded and moved to sit on her father as instructed. Tiny hands swiped at her eyes. She scrunched up her nose in a way that could have only been learned from her mother as she tearfully pointed to which sandal it was.

Beside them, Charity frowned. She seemed to think of something, suddenly, and began to move behind her father. The gentle tap of Arthur's cane, handled with great care, gave away her positioning -- as did the sound of an opened and closed zipper on the bag on Arthur's back.

Charity reappeared beside Mercy. Carefully, she let Arthur's cane fall against her front. As her sister sniffled, Charity opened her little fist. Inside were four of their mother's favorite strawberry flavored hard candies, which Charity had pilfered and stuck into her sisters' diaper bag for a later treat. One which she thought was earnestly needed now.

The girl deposited two on Arthur's leg. ❝No swallow, Dad,❞ she said, very seriously. It was the same warning that they were always given. Charity kissed Mercy's hair ( the pain between them was shared, in a way she couldn't even begin to understand ), pressed the next candy to Mercy's hand, and then looked at her littlest sisters.

After a moment of contemplation, Charity reached between Arthur and Mercy. She laid the last candy on top of Faith's head. ❝No swallow, baby,❞ she added, voice softened with her confusion.

[chaosscales]

A slight turn of the head was all Arthur afforded Charity as she fiddled with the infants’ diaper bag before he was helping Mercy take her sandal off. The little rock that plagued her rattled inside it, and he turned it over an open palm so that she’d see the tiny thing that bothered her (and make sure, for herself, that he’d removed it).

“There we go, darling,” he said patiently, holding the sandal out lest Mercy opt to feel it before putting it back on. Patience blinked bleary blue eyes at his loose sleeve as it dangled, and though one chubby fist reached out, she failed to reach the fabric.

It was as he was slipping the sandal back on Mercy’s foot that he heard Charity pipe up, a soft “hm?” in his throat all the while. But the kiss his daughter gave to her twin was all the answer he needed; Arthur’s head dipped, his eyes caught the candies on his leg, and a visible attempt to bite back a laugh accompanied the sight of his youngest with a matching treat atop her head.

Gods. If ever he needed proof of how blessed he was, this was it.

“Patience and Faith are a little too young to have candy, sweet girl.”

Yet Patience reached for the wrapped thing, and Arthur had to be quick to take it off Faith’s head before she tried to eat it. Faith, none the wiser, remained in her blissful half-asleep state, bottom lip soft and a bit of drool coming out. Patience seemed to forget all about the candy as soon as it was out of her sight.

“But you and Mercy can enjoy them.” Arthur’s hand uncurled in the space between him and his toddlers, and he used his free hand to drop the two candies on his leg there as well. “You can have one each” – his index finger was held up in symbolism – “so you still have space for dinner.”

Both his girls’ noses were poked, and the corners of his eyes crinkled. “Mama’ll be disappointed in me if I let you have too many sweets again.

“Are you feeling better now, Mercy? No more owwies?”

[chaosscales]

Can he hear us? We think so, yes.

ETHAN HAWKE as ARTHUR HARROW (MCU's Moon Knight, E03)

[chaosinternalized]

As this peculiar version of Harrow continued to console him, Steven couldn't help the way his body relaxed. As certain as he was that he'd been hugged before- though, in reality, no one had actually hugged him- he couldn't remember when the last time it had happened. And, dear, did he need to be held so desperately.

He continued to sniff and sob, every ounce of self-doubt and guilt pouring out of his eyes with each teardrop.

Steven wasn't certain as to how long he had been crying and clinging to the man, but it felt like it had been ages. Though, as foreign as everything about the situation had been, he found he had sincerely needed this.

Finally, when he had no more tears to cry and his his heartrate and breathing had managed to return mostly to normal, he pulled back just enough to look at Harrow once more. He couldn't help the feeling of his stomach churning with gratefulness and a new sense of guilt and remorse and so many other feelings that he couldn't possibly name them all. Though, he supposed he should go with the most obvious thing and apologize.

"Sorry. I didn't mean to..."

He cut himself, not entirely certain what to say. Was he sorry for crying? Lunging into and clinging onto Harrow? For getting his tears and, assumedly, snot all over the front of his shirt?

"Sorry," he simply repeated as he ducked his head once more.

[chaosscales]

He wasn't surprised that Steven was apologising, but it did break his heart a little bit more. Arthur's expression was soft, and the hand in Steven's hair drifted, moving to pull the patterned handkerchief hidden in his pocket.

"Steven," he began, wiping the tears off his cheeks, "there is absolutely nothing to apologise for."

Whether Steven would elect to believe him or not was another matter entirely, of course. Nevertheless, Arthur cleaned him up, and for some reason felt the remarkable urge to lean in and kiss the boy on the forehead.

So he did.

"I'm glad," he murmured, lowering the handkerchief once he was done, "that you were able to express yourself this way. I think it's been a long time coming, and if you'd held it in any longer you might've just popped."

The damp fabric was relegated to his pocket. Arthur's hand returned to cup Steven's face, and he hoped it was clear in his touch just how precious he thought he was.

"You're safe with me. I mean that."

[veinereastath]

Eᴛʜᴀɴ Hᴀᴡᴋᴇ ᴀs Aʀᴛʜᴜʀ Hᴀʀʀᴏᴡ ɪɴ Mᴏᴏɴ Kɴɪɢʜᴛ [64/?] & ʜɪs sᴛʀᴀɪɴᴇᴅ ʀᴇʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴsʜɪᴘ ᴡɪᴛʜ Kʜᴏɴsʜᴜ

[thisiamowed]

Harmony felt her smile grow at his laughter. It was beautiful, like a rare gem. There had been a time when it seemed lost to her forever, and so she treasured every instance. She pressed herself as tight to him as she dared, given her precious cargo ( shown by the faint curve of her middle ) ; the heat and smell of him were frankly intoxicating.

Arthur Harrow worshipped Ammit, and Harmony Harrow worshipped Arthur.

❝They are a gift,❞ Harmony murmured, hand sliding up to hold him by the side of the neck. ❝I am sure of it.❞ She stroked her thumb along his skin and breathed in his scent deeply. ❝— an acknowledgment of all you have done, Arthur. It sounds mad, but I know it is true. I can feel it. They are good ... perfect, even.❞

Harmony turned Arthur's face gently. Her other hand arose, touching his cheek. ❝Will you be with me, when they come ?❞ she asked. ❝I have strength enough to deliver them myself ; I will not deny my own power. — but I want you there.❞ Harmony's teeth caught her lower lip, and her breath swelled in her chest. ❝Please, Arthur.❞

[chaosscales]

Perfect, his wife said, and Arthur breathed out a "yes". There was very little man could create that was perfect, and while rationally even children ought to fall under that ruling, in Arthur's heart he couldn't help but feel their young were going to be different. They had only thought to conceive them after Harmony was judged-- and surely in the wake of that truth, so too was her body judged to be worthy of carrying a miracle. Their children would be loved, and would grow in a body deemed worthy of Ammit's new world. That meant something, didn't it?

That was significant, wasn't it?

(And surely Arthur's presence at their birth wouldn't ruin it all, not when Harmony herself had requested him there.)

"Harmony, my sun and stars," he started, chuckling as his hands caught the ones on his face and pulled them off, "yes, I would be with you." Arthur drew her hands together, bringing them up to his lips to kiss her fingertips in reverence. "And I would have it no other way."

Then, head dipping, his eyes shut as he pressed their foreheads together.

"Tell me what you need of me and I'll prepare for it," he said, continuing to hold her hands together. Harmony's were small and warm, and he relished the connection. "My hands are yours to command."

[chaosinternalized]

To say Steven was baffled by the seemingly protective demeanor of Harrow would be an understatement. While the man hadn't exactly been cruel to Steven since Marc had disappeared, he never struck him as the warm and cozy type. Not towards someone who, in a sense, was still an enemy.

And yet, despite how perplexing it was to feel Harrow's hand in his own, he accepted it earnestly.

Steven also accepted the fact that Harrow seemed sincere in his offer of protection, to which he nodded in understanding. "Thank you," he replied lowly before he placed his backpack under the seat in front of himself.

"Have... Have you traveled a lot?"

It's a bit of a forced question, but at the least, it'd help him take his mind off of the fact that within moments, they'd be thousands of feet up in the air.

[chaosscales]

"Yes, Steven," came Harrow's answer as the wheels beneath them began rolling. "I have.

"I told you about my trip here." By 'here', of course, he meant Egypt. "And when I was Khonshu's Avatar, he had me travelling often."

He saw the absolute worst of mankind then, he was sure, and the memories that flashed through his head had a furrow forming between his brows. The worst thing about persecution after the fact was seeing the aftermath of it all: the humans that were trafficked, the children who lay broken and violated, the men and women who wept as their lovers broke them from the inside out. Doling out Khonshu's justice had never felt wrong; it was seeing all the damage done before Harrow ever arrived that was the worst part of it.

"My travels as a free man were better," he said then, fingers twining with Steven's as the plane lifted off the ground. "I travelled the U.S., then returned to Egypt. Then I visited Sudan, Libya, the nations of the Arabic Peninsula...

"Europe and its countries were explored much later. And I never left it until the Scarab was returned to Ammit's custody."

By now, the clouds were seen through the window at Steven's side.

"Planes are the least inspired way to travel, though. This I can say with total certainty."

[femlette]

A can't of her head, a scrunch of her nose, and it's a short version of her long answer in the form of a   yes and no   expression. The amusement doesn't leave her, though. Even as her eyes and her tone darkens.

       ❝ I made that man so much money for so many years. ❞   A breath and Emily readjusts her grip on the steering wheel. Loosens it enough that her knuckles aren't white from the pressure.   ❝ He liked to, uh..  Spoil me. Said I'd earned it anyway, so I could spend it if I was smart about it. ❞   A shrug and the darkness leaves. Like she'd slipped into someone she used to be and found her way back out.   ❝ Turns out it's permanently in my name. I try not to use it too much, but side gigs only pay so much of a cross-country trip, y'know? ❞

There's a bit of unease in her chest, like she's shared too much or rained on the parade. It wasn't that she wouldn't have told Arthur any of this. She didn't mind him knowing. In fact, she liked him knowing. Emily just didn't like the way the air goes acrid after the slightest mention of her past. She sighs a little, if anything to just get the feeling out of her chest and out of her lungs before moving on.

       ❝ Hike, probably. Swim. Wouldn't mind asking a local or two about some stuff to do. ❞   Her eyes draw up along the sky for a moment, just to take it in before they land on the road again.   ❝ I don't know. Just feel like we deserve a bit of a break. Just a bit. ❞

[chaosscales]

We don't have to was Arthur's kneejerk response, but the sound of Emily sighing was a swift cap to that bottle. She was well aware that there was nothing she had to do, and in light of that Arthur allowed himself a crooked little smile instead. Regardless of where the money came from, what really mattered here was that Emily wanted to spend time with him.

He reached out without hesitation, fingers brushing the back of her wrist in a silent bid for her to return to him and leave the trappings of her past.

"I'd go anywhere with you," he said, as simple as it was honest. "Hiking sounds fun."

Fun. When had he ever called anything fun before her?

"I could probably swing for one of those disposable cameras..." Arthur's touch dropped then, not wanting to distract Emily from her driving. But his fingers caught the hem of her jacket for no other reason than to remain connected. "I think it makes things more meaningful, having images of them to keep. A first vacation fits the bill... at least it does to me.

"And I don't have any pictures of you." This was a thinly disguised and I really want to have some. "Nor us, together. We should change that."

[stingslikeabee]

The confessions that came forth from Arthur's lips began like quiet droplets in the ocean, eventually turning into a torrent: not only did the avatar engage in these conducts that had been shunned by her worship, but the man also had enjoyed it. Melissa listened to him rather than searching for the memories herself - there was a point to the goddess asking him to convey it all in words, honeyed eyes attuned to the miniature changes to Arthur's facial expressions and the way his body responded to that soul-baring exercise.

Not once did she interrupt - instead, Melissa's hands gradually moved up, trailing the flesh over his ribcage, then closing inwards to palm over the man's chest. There was a moment of pause then, where the goddess pressed against his pulsing heart - the beating rhythm of the organ was tangible, like an agitated butterfly before being captured by a net. That was not, however, a reaction born out of fear - instead, it was blissful rapture that ran through Arthur's veins.

It was obvious in his eyes, the curled lips, the open vulnerability of a bare, carved body surrendered to Melissa's control: Arthur Harrow had committed one unspeakable sin after another, cognizant of what it meant for his soul and damning himself to save his goddess and her people. That type of devotion ignited something fierce in the brunette's eyes - unblinking, unflinching and so inhuman in that moment where the avatar offered no excuse to escape whatever punishment the goddess saw fit to demand.

"You would die for me and my people," Melissa said at length, right hand leaving its prior placement over Arthur's ribcage and instead softly gripping his chin. The goddess in human form was not taller than him - that impression came solely from the divinity that was so evidently contained in flesh and his genuine subservience, but they two figures had been at eye level for quite some time now. The deity's tone carried no question either - it had been merely an affirmation.

She had seen into his soul - Melissa knew he would have traded his existence for the safety of her flock and the goddess' undying glory.

"Which is precisely why I am not granting you that fate, Arthur."

Melissa's hand dropped from his face, only because she required some minimal help to remove her own garments. They were lighter than feathers, the delicate fabric being nothing more than wisps of clothing that seemed to shift color depending on the angle adopted by the observer: pearly white, pale yellow, soft rosé - it was a pastel kaleidoscope covering the immortal figure, kept in place by stone-encrusted pins and a belt, all of these efficiently removed in a single sweep of the goddess' hand.

The vestments pooled around Melissa in a reflection of Arthur's own. With nothing but the cane coming to stand between them, the goddess moved forward, linking her gaze with the avatar's before pressing her mouth to his. It was tender, soft and almost chaste, but surely the man could sense how different it all felt to him - it heralded something much more intense, as if the curtains to a hidden stage were being pulled back and the avatar was being granted the chance to see beyond the veil.

"Denying violence - that is not the answer," the brunette whispered against her follower's lips, words issued at a leisurely pace so he had the time to absorb them all, "Nothing is as powerful as loving something so fiercely you would kill for it; die for it. We are connected," Melissa's left hand moved to find the avatar's shoulder, warm digits following the path of his clavicle until the neck, then upwards and into the hair that had been tousled by the hasty removal of his tunic, a moment earlier.

"All this time locked away has taught me something - and we will reform our people, my darling Arthur. We will help them see the truth, but you shall be the first one I welcome into this new era," the goddess' voice was colored by elation then, Melissa's other arm slithering over marred flesh to pull him closer, towards her, "I absolve you for your sins and ask you to turn them into something else for me. Harness that violence within, Arthur - love me with it."

The kiss that followed was the polar opposite of the first one - hungry, feral and almost painful. The digits in his hair gripped the avatar's scalp, the palm sitting over his back dug into his old wounds and his cane vanished into thin air. Arthur was trapped by his goddess- but it wasn't the Melissa he had known before. Darkness had transformed his mistress and somehow made her light shine even brighter.

[chaosscales]

For millennia, Harrow was certain he would meet his end the moment his goddess returned. He'd come to terms with it so long ago that no other possibility made sense to him. But then Melissa spoke--

I am not granting you that fate, Arthur.

--and his world came crashing down around him.

This was supposed to be his end. With so many disciples more worthy of being Melissa's hands in the real world, it almost felt like cheating. Frozen in place, he watched as his goddess revealed herself, soft cloth drifting off her figure as she stood there bare. For what purpose would she do this? What had he done to deserve such a blessing-- his life, her intimacy? Melissa kissed him and he had to keep himself from falling, his eyes shutting tight as he struggled to keep himself upright.

"My goddess." The words left him in a rushed breath when she pulled away, lashes fluttering as he offered a gaze that was confused but not any less reverent. Melissa was pulling him close and he was powerless against her, years upon years of being her people's bulwark seeming to crumble away. Harrow was steadfast in every aspect of his life, but for her every muscle turned to clay.

But he was hers to reshape, to own, to make act. And when Melissa demanded he love her, Arthur found it impossible to control the heat that bloomed in the backs of his eyes as an unreal sense of relief settled in the marrow of his bones.

Melissa, I've loved you longer than I remember.

Was this what happiness felt like? It'd be so long since he'd last felt it he almost feared it. In her eyes he felt young, shivery and new, and above all things he felt safe in a way he never had before.

I've always loved you, my goddess, it's always been you.

There was nothing to fear, though, if it was his goddess that demanded it of him. For her, he would do anything. For her, he'd jump into the depths of the underworld blind, needing nothing but her love in his veins to claw his way to Osiris and bleed the god until he returned him to the world where his goddess waited for him.

I'm yours.

And when she kissed him, gods, every nerve ending he had began to sing with the righteous sear of nirvana. Arthur's hands didn't hesitate to take her then, and he held his goddess' face with the unbroken devotion of a priest and the desperate, needing strength of a man. As he parted her lips, unwavering in the slide of his tongue as he was in every other aspect of his life, she tasted like more than sweetness. Melissa's mouth tasted like home, tasted like the end and the beginning, and in his heart he found himself filled with a sense of rightness as much as it did the miracle of her untethered love. She loved him more than a subject, loved him with something so fierce it could obliterate him, and he craved every blow she could inflict on his battered body.

His hands slid down her shoulders and back, capturing the curves of her waist and lifting so Melissa could hook her legs around him. With bare flesh on bare flesh, Melissa's body was smooth against the scarred expanse of Arthur's own. He felt it even more acutely when he lowered her into his bed and wasted no time seeking a place between her thighs.

The press of his tongue into Melissa's mouth was fervent and needy, wet and hot and even a little clumsy. With one hand caressing her cheek, the other came to the inside of her thigh, squeezing the muscle there as they drifted ever inward.

"Please," he whispered between kisses, thumb stroking the swell of her mound. "May I--?"

[dailyflicks]

Reality Bites (1994) dir. Ben Stiller

[chaosscales]

[ @femlette ]

[chaosscales]

tweakin bc i cant find gifs of harrow's "YOUR TORMENT FORGED ME I OWE MY VICTORY TO YOU" to khonshu. what the fuck .

[femlette]

It's instinctual as much as it was just ravenous greed to want to mold him closer. There's a crawl along her nerves that screams to slip into his skin, dig herself down into his bones and settle there.  Make a cage of his ribs.  For all Emily cared, her heart was already captive there, right beside his. Her fingers drag marked pressure everywhere from his scalp to his neck, shoulder blades to spine, all the way through and back again in slow, measured stretches. 

If words could make her lightheaded, she's sure his admission had done it. Or maybe it'd just been the sacrifice of breath in exchange for contact. Not that she was paying any mind. Her's had been full of him. All, entirely, wholly him. The same way it'd been when she'd died for him. The same way it would be when they come back up for air. When they fall asleep. Wake up again. Fight again. Survive another day together again and again and again. Every press of her lips deepens with this sentiment and it dizzies her. He says her name again and there was no amount of control that could've contained the soft exhale of desire to escape her.

Maybe she should have been just a little alarmed. Maybe a better person would've tried pulling away, sorting themselves out a little before leading any further into temptation.   How could somebody like her change him and know it was for the better?   Broken and built back up to be something horrifically, tremendously terrifying...   How could that change somebody and it change them in a way that was good?  God, she selfishly hoped it could be true. He deserved good. He deserved so much more.

Emily's hands have found their way and almost mirrored Arthur's own now. Her palms burn against his jaw, against his pulse, holding onto him desperately. He settles himself against her temple   ( worship, reverence )   and her hands travel until they fall over his collar, his heart. She wants his thumb to press into her own beating pulse. She wants him to feel the life she would give for him over and over and over again.

Her nose lightly meets his cheek as she turns towards him, drawn to seek him out even though they've practically left no room between them anymore. When she's awake in that peaceful in-between, she'd think about this exact moment.

       ❝ Because you are a person, ❞   breathlessly leaves her lips just in time to reconnect them to his. She catches taste of the blood that connects their kiss, tongue chasing out to clean at the stain before devouring it entirely. The words tumble from her as sincere as they were in a hurry to be said before they're lost to another kiss.   ❝ You're my person, Arthur Harrow, ❞

It should have felt  wrong,  claiming him so brazenly, and yet...   Emily's determined to make good on that claim. Her body rolls up into his own, hands pulling him in against her, relying on her strength to fold them both together with each other on his couch. She pulls one of her thighs against his hip just to the leverage the draw of him over and atop her. Everything about her is starved for every bit of him and she was going to chase that appetite with every kiss, every touch. Slowly, her hands travel again, one reaching to hold the side of his throat, to connect his pulse to her's, the other holding onto his hip.

Need..   Hunger...  It's saturated in all of her affection, in all of her intimacy for him. The tang of copper spurs her on, teeth grazing at his bottom lip before biting into it, drawing her tongue over the plump irritation before sighing into his mouth.

       ❝ and I'm all your's. ❞

[chaosscales]

You are a person.

Arthur groaned, and he wasn't sure if it was the kiss or the words that did him in. Emily's tongue swiped over the crack in his lip and his own followed after her, chasing the taste of death where it still lingered in her throat (for him, for him, for him).

My person, Arthur Harrow.

Everything was a paradox, complete and through-and-through: his heart raced, yet his soul felt calm. His blood pumped heavy, yet he felt light as a feather. Emily pulled him in close and Arthur's hand swept over the back of her neck, claiming her whilst his arm looped possessively around her waist. He could feel every beat of Emily's heart against his own, felt every breath as they huffed and licked into each other's mouths, and in the near delirium that seeped into his brain--

And I'm all yours.

--Emily's promise made him snarl.

"Yeah." For a second, it was as if his voice wasn't his own-- like it wasn't his tongue pressing to hers, or his chapped lip stinging as they kissed. The euphoria she inspired in him unmade him as much as it served as the very foundation of his life. But Arthur was smiling as he met Emily's mouth each time, head tilting to match her movements and body sinking lower into the altar Emily made out of her body.

He sucked on her tongue as he pulled away and her spit tasted sweet. Arthur's eyes were bright as they met hers, fingers drifting from the back of Emily's neck to trace her jaw as he admired her from above. She was pristine save for the dried blood on her skin; a knight through and through, down to the violence she dealt for protection.

"Thank you," he murmured, gaze soft despite the dilation of his pupils, "for talking to me that night."

Thank you for letting me belong to you.

For becoming mine in turn.

These thoughts echoed in his head, ringing over and over with every thud of his heart. Watching her, Arthur's hand dipped over Emily's collarbone, down between the dip of her breasts and over the firm muscle of her abdomen, and with his arm still hooked beneath her waist, the touch of his hand inevitably swept beneath the hem of her shirt. Emily was so warm now-- a far cry from the sleeping thing that'd been reviving in his arms-- and each inch of flesh he explored thrummed beneath him as proof. He watched her shirt ride up, saw the shape of his own hand beneath fabric bracketing over her waist, and allowed the pad of his thumb to feel along the bottom of her bra.

"You're so beautiful," he breathed, words rasped like the thought of that pained him. "Oh, gods. I almost can't believe you're real, Emily.

"Let me see you." Arthur swallowed. "Please."

[chaosscales]

what's your love style?

pragma.

Pragma love is driven by the head, not the heart. This doesn’t mean these individuals are emotionless—it’s only that they’re just as in tune with their minds while in love as they are with their hearts.

tagged: @templeofvengeance, thanks mate ✨ tagging: steal this and @ me if you want 8D

[chaosscales]

@thisiamowed || Mercy stopped Arthur with a tug to his hand. It didn't matter that they were in the middle of a village walkway, where anyone could see them ; she was accustomed to the eyes that followed her family, which were so kind. As always, though, there was only one person's attention who mattered to the little girl. She whimpered and pulled on his fingers again. In spite of her insistence, Mercy was mindful of her sisters, who were still just cooing infants on their father's chest.

Another noise, another pull. Mercy asked for Arthur to come down to her level, in all the ways a child had. Her twin, Charity, leaned into their father's cane as she watched.

❝Da,❞ Mercy said, eyes suddenly filling with tears. She wriggled in tight against Arthur with a sniffle. ❝I'm sorry ...❞ The girl picked up one of her feet and touched her sandal. ❝There's rock, Da.❞ Along their path, a stone had gotten into her woven shoe, and it hurt. Mercy nuzzled into Arthur and hiccuped. ❝Help, please ?❞

The pull of his daughter's hand was so minute, so gentle, that anyone could have missed it easily. But with girls who so often met him step for step, the pause was immediately noticed-- Arthur let out a soft "hm?" as he glanced in Mercy's direction, stopping all the while.

Charity stopped as soon as he did, he noticed, and accommodated the shift in height as he came to one knee in front of her sister. His girls, he noted with pride, really were so intuitive.

It made it all the more heartbroken seeing them upset, and he frowned as he held Mercy up against his side whilst she spoke.

"Oh, darling..." A rock. Arthur's free hand carded gently through Mercy's hair, tucking some behind her ear. "You don't need to be sorry for needing help. I'm proud of you for speaking up."

The babies against his chest babbled mindlessly, but if he strained his ears it almost sounded like they were agreeing with him.

With some gentle instruction for Charity to hold his cane, Arthur moved to sit criss-cross apple sauce on the ground. "Come here, sweetheart." He pat his thigh gently. "Come sit on Dad.

"We'll get that rock out real quick."

[femlette]

｡° ⸻ @chaosscales.

There was a terribly violent part of Emily that was giddy knowing this contact was trying so hard to run. Even giddier thinking they were knowingly running from  her.  A few of the smarter ones she's hunted down have realized or recognized it would've been her in the end-   Her, their downfall.  God, it was satisfying! Puts her in a great mood. Only other reason for her to be smiling had been sat in the passenger seat beside her.

       ❝ Should we do some sight-seeing when we're done?   -Like a mini vacation? ❞   Maybe she's getting ahead of herself. Emily wasn't even sure what there was to see in Washington. She knew there was that  Twilight  town. Seemed quaint enough. Other than that, the west coast was an enigma to the New York born and bred. Didn't make it less interesting, though. A glance is cast sidelong to Arthur and she even offers a little smile before her attention is taken back to the road.   ❝ Stay at a nicer hotel than usual. The whole thing. ❞

[chaosscales]

"You have money for a nicer hotel?"

This wasn't Arthur doubting Emily's abilities or anything-- he just knew he himself didn't have the funds for more than a shitty motel, most days. One could argue he could get a proper job if only he kept proper hours, but it was easier to schedule his life around Emily instead. He liked knowing he could drop everything for her, and for that he'd be happy working part-time for the rest of his life.

If he went back to office work, he was sure he wouldn't have been able to go to Washington with her. (And then where would he be?)

"If I knew we were going sightseeing I would've gotten a map at the last gas station." He chuckled. "What do you think people do around here?"

[stingslikeabee]

The simple affirmation was enough to have Melissa's lips curling upwards. Perhaps it was in the nature of every deity to enjoy seeing that response in their followers, the immediate fulfilment of their most basic desire... And also a sign of loyalty. Not that the goddess doubted that Arthur had strayed - because he had not; the fact she once more walked the Earth was proof of his dedication to her cult, and the power that had connected the divine to mortal flesh served to guarantee his survival year after year.

But as the man shed his clothes and bared his body to Melissa, her eyes roamed over the signs left behind by his own design. It wasn't Arthur's face that held the interest of the immortal in that private sanctum, ambar-colored irises instead moving over his flesh with a curiosity that was nothing but genuine. Out of habit, she drew in air into the lungs (despite not strictly requiring to breathe), a hand with glittering jewels reaching to his chest.

The goddess' digit trailed the angry, perpetual red lines slowly - tracing each and every one of them, reading the insults that gave physical form to the self-imposed penance for every time violence was committed. Melissa's teachings had been in the sense of opposing such basic instinct - humans were better than that; violence would only lead to the end of everything while love ensured life carried on. That had been the gist of her worship, many centuries before - and unfortunately the reason the goddess had eventually been bound and trapped, forced into oblivion until Arthur freed her.

Her avatar had punished himself for walking away from her word - inflicting the same pain others suffered at his hand so no similar tragic fate would ever happen again. To save Melissa, violence had been required; and the one dispensing such treatment to preserve her commune had not once missed his rituals of penance and devotion. These words (in all the different human languages that were translated directly to the deity now walking around him) were a litany of his love.

"All that violence... And you so readily embraced it for yourself, did you not?" the brunette queried softly, voice never raising beyond that point but not demanding an answer - Melissa already knew. The powers Arthur had were a fraction of hers, and now she was free of the chains of darkness... There was light all around; the goddess could evoke the history of each of the marks on him, to the point of recognizing the blade that carved the letters and how he gasped with the effort it took for that offering to be made.

Melissa completed a full round then - she slowly walked around Arthur, right hand moving over his skin and reading the words there as if she required touch to fully absorb the markings. Once she finalized that mapping of the avatar's frame, her face revealed no disgust or disappointment - it remained fiercely passionate, eyes burning with a glow that was akin to a fire but which had not yet consumed anything to satisfy its conquering nature.

"How did it feel?" Melissa's head craned as that scrutiny of the scars continued, the voice gentle like silk but carrying the ability to strangle one to death with the same softness. Her hands, however, found the sides of Arthur's body, palms settling over different letters marking his flesh. The goddess stood motionless there, pleasantly warm to the touch and alive, their proximity causing her gossamer-like vests to brush against him, "Was this violence the sole form of companionship you had during my absence?"

[chaosscales]

The first touch of Melissa's finger made goosebumps rise on his skin, the sensation so new it almost hurt. You embraced it for yourself, did you not?

"Yes. For you," Harrow said unflinchingly, even as his breathing deepened with the brush of her fingers over every deliberate line. "For your people."

With his staff and his blade, their community was kept safe. They could exist without fear of the vile sneaking in and inviting ruin. They could live, and laugh, and raise children for the future. Though he was hardly the only soldier, the act of execution was reserved for Harrow alone. The rest of Melissa's people deserved to rest in the Field of Reeds with the goddess of love and acceptance in their veins, especially when they were judged to be pure in their continuation of her work.

Feeling both Melissa's hands on him, he fought the urge to fall to his knees. The only one more certain of her power than Harrow was the goddess herself, he was sure; each touch was a blessing, each word like water for the parched thing that was his soul. Harrow felt her clothes brush his bare skin and thought he might weep from the joy of being in her presence once more.

I don't deserve to stand before you.

And yet Melissa looked up at him with an eagerness so pure he found it impossible to do anything but fall under her spell.

"I must be honest," began his confession, knuckles going whiter around the wood of his cane, "I... I enjoyed it, my goddess. I enjoyed making your enemies hurt. I enjoyed watching the life drain from them in the name of protecting your people, and I carry that sin with me wherever I go.

"The sting of flesh is nothing compared to the pain of blasphemy." The blues of Harrow's eyes were locked, mesmerised, with the molten amber of Melissa's before him. How many mortals could boast sharing gazes with one of such magnitude? She was so much more beautiful than he remembered. "I couldn't live in the truth of your word. A man like that doesn't deserve the love of another.

"But because I became executioner, our people have thrived. I smile everyday seeing the children in our community. The families. All are able to live in the love of your teachings because none need wrestle with war but me.

"I ache, knowing I cannot live in your gaze in the afterlife."

Harrow's lips curved up, clearly at peace.

"...but I smile knowing your people can. Your return has given me fulfilment in a way nothing else could, my goddess, and even if I may only bask in it today, I would do it all again."