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veinereastath · 2 years

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Jᴜᴅɢᴍᴇɴᴛ Dᴀʏ [Aʀᴛʜᴜʀ Hᴀʀʀᴏᴡ x Rᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ᴏɴᴇ-sʜᴏᴛ]

Sᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: Rᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ɢᴏᴇs sᴘʏɪɴɢ ғᴏʀ Mᴀʀᴄ, sᴛᴀʏs ᴀ ʙɪᴛ ᴛᴏᴏ ʟᴏɴɢ, ᴏʜ ɴᴏ. Wᴏʀᴅs: 2611 Wᴀʀɴɪɴɢs: Nᴏɴᴇ. Tʜɪs ᴘɪᴇᴄᴇ ɪs ᴘᴜʀᴇ ᴀs ғʀᴇsʜ ɪᴄᴇ.

Aᴜᴛʜᴏʀ's ɴᴏᴛᴇ: Aɴᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ᴏɴᴇ-sʜᴏᴛ ᴏғ Hᴀʀʀᴏᴡ, ᴍʏ ʙᴇʟᴏᴠᴇᴅ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴀ Rᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ/ᴏʀɪɢɪɴᴀʟ ғᴇᴍᴀʟᴇ ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀ, ᴜᴘ ᴛᴏ ʏᴏᴜ. I'ᴍ ɴᴏᴛ ᴄᴏᴍғᴏʀᴛᴀʙʟᴇ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴡʀɪᴛɪɴɢ ɪɴ 2ɴᴅ ᴘᴇʀsᴏɴ, ᴀs sᴏᴍᴇ ᴏғ ʏᴏᴜ ᴍᴀʏ ᴀʟʀᴇᴀᴅʏ ᴋɴᴏᴡ. Hᴏᴡᴇᴠᴇʀ, ᴇᴠᴇʀʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ɪɴ ʜᴇʀᴇ ɪs ʟᴇғᴛ ᴛᴏ sᴘᴇᴄᴜʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ᴀɴᴅ ᴄʜᴏɪᴄᴇ, sᴏ ʏᴏᴜ ᴄᴀɴ ɢᴏ ᴡɪʟᴅ.

Iᴛ's ᴊᴜsᴛ ᴀɴᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ᴍᴏᴍᴇɴᴛ ᴏғ ᴡᴇᴀᴋɴᴇss ғᴏʀ ᴍʏ ᴀɴᴀʟʏsɪs, ɪɴᴛʀᴏsᴘᴇᴄᴛɪᴏɴ ᴀɴᴅ ʙɪᴛs ᴏғ ᴅɪᴀʟᴏɢᴜᴇ. Aʟsᴏ, ᴜɴᴅᴇʀʟʏɪɴɢ ᴅʀᴀᴍᴀ. Nᴏᴛ ᴘʀᴏᴏғʀᴇᴀᴅᴇᴅ + Eɴɢʟɪsʜ ɪs ɴᴏᴛ ᴍʏ ғɪʀsᴛ ʟᴀɴɢᴜᴀɢᴇ, sᴏ sᴏʀʀʏ ɪɴ ᴀᴅᴠᴀɴᴄᴇ ғᴏʀ ᴀɴʏ ᴍɪsᴛᴀᴋᴇs.

Aᴠᴀɪʟᴀʙʟᴇ ᴏɴ ᴍʏ AO3.

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She started to spy on Harrow's community in London at the beginning of May. While these people did nothing in particular to grasp the actual attention of the authorities, neither the lower or the higher sort, she could feel there was something eerie and wrong about them as soon as she stepped in between the buildings they occupied. There wasn't a lot of people there, at least not as much as possibly could, considering the amount of living space; she estimated there to be around seventy to ninety people at best. They tended to come and go; and if someone seemed to disappear, they disappeared for good, never to return. She quickly noticed the pattern – if someone was no more to be around anymore, the last person they spoke to was Arthur Harrow. Each and every time.

Considering his role in this little merry cult he has build, it was understandable that he had the right to deem someone unworthy and send them back home, wherever it may be. However, considering who he was, according to Marc, and the mysterious cane he almost always had at his side, it was hard to believe he would just allow people to leave. She was pretty sure that the only form of sending someone back was, for Harrow, to send them back permanently. To another world, literally.

She shouldn't be surprised – she was aware of his past dealings with Khonshu, as well as his current obsession with Ammit. She was fairly certain that despite all those gentle smiles, pats on the back and words of semi genuine comfort, he would be ready to sacrifice all these people in those communities he's build around the world in a blink of an eye, if only it would bring him closer to awakening the crocodile goddess that seemed to drive his every action, thought and gesture.

She had a chance to see him many times, though she did her best to avoid a heads-on confrontation. Yes, they exchanged some words, and she played the card of the most innocent, pure soul on this earth, in order to push her cane-judgment as far to the future as she possibly could. Harrow, to her relief, seemed to be convinced enough by this facade to actually postpone it, and did not push her into the subject. In exchange, she did what she could to help the community, even in the simplest tasks. She walked around, talked to people in order to know them better – both because her cover required it, and because every single piece of information could be important.

Harrow asked her about her past, and sometimes she could feel him watching from afar. Whether he suspected her actual agenda and just allowed her to play, waiting for her to slip, was a mystery to her like the man himself. After nearly four months she still barely knew anything about him – anything real, anyhow. Even though the facade of genuine politeness was masterfully crafted – yes, she was truly impressed by his abilities – she knew that something way darker was hidden underneath. Sometimes she could swear she can see it, a darker shade of something ominous, hiding in the depths of those blue eyes of his. They were full of wisdom, but they were also very expressive. To what extent he could control what they actually were showing – she also didn't know. It was driving her mad, because the best description of Harrow she could deliver to Marc was basically "he's extremely clever, cunning and can adapt to any situation accordingly, like a chameleon. He knows what to say, when to say and how to say it. He knows what strings to pull, what questions to ask, what to do to push his goals further." Shortly speaking, she could say that "Arthur Harrow is an A-class manipulator" and that was it. Because of how good he was, she couldn't get under that mask of his.

She admired him, and was intrigued by the way he acted, but at the same time was genuinely afraid everytime he came into her vision and their eyes connected. Even though he always made sure to send her a polite smile, she could swear that something was wrong. He knows, something seemed to tell her in the back of her mind. He knows, he's just seeing how far you're willing to go with this. Leave, tell Marc you can't do anything else and just suggest you can help him in more direct way, instead of being his eyes and ears.

She wanted to leave, many times. And, interestingly enough, and she knew it could not be a coincidence, he seemed to appear just when she was about to stroll out of the street occupied by the community and get out of London. He casually came over, and started to ask her about her worries – like he could actually sense something in her head was trying to fight back. What exactly he could get by allowing her to play for this long, she didn't know. And she was afraid of what his reasoning might be. When the very first days of September came, their relationship became... Strained, to say the least. He knew about her true purpose, and she was aware of this. He seemed to communicate with her with silent stares, his smiles towards her became more eerie, different, and his eyes shone with something else when they spoke. He didn't call her out directly – actually, he didn't even leave anny bread crumbs or slight suggestions. No, he spoke to her as he always did, his words pure and comforting, but the undertones were obvious to her.

She should run, and yet she stayed. One day longer, two days, three days. Week. Two weeks. Why, she wasn't sure. Sometimes, when she was laying awake in the middle of the night, when mind likes going haywire, untamed, she had these thoughts – maybe he actually got under her skin, to the point where she liked talking to him, where she liked those undertones of danger in his stance, where she liked the fact he played this silent game with her – and perhaps even he enjoyed it, too. Maybe they had this weird, private relationship of 'I know, you know that I know, but we both like it, so let's keep knowing, playing, and see where it goes.' It seemed absurd, but that was the most accurate description of her current reality she could think of.

Everytime these thoughts were going too far, she hit herself with a pillow. But they still came, nearly every night, and she felt like she was starting to get insane. Was this the side-effect of being around him?

"Your troubles never seem to truly leave you, do they?"

She gasped, turning around to see him standing right behind her, his cream-colored coat blowing slightly in the wind, with a strand of hair cutting through his forehead. He tilted his head a little, giving her one of those smiles of his. She responded in kind, bowing her head a little, reminding herself about the innocent face she has to pull if she wants to survive.

"It's nothing." Was her response, an obvious classic of its kind. "I think I'm just tired, is all. My mind is slipping of its boundaries."

He chuckled, his eyes temporarily leaving her face, looking at the face of the moon above, shining on the cobblestones of the street with a familiar, blueish hue. "Yes, our human minds like to make those attempts of escape. Still, it's worth giving ourselves a try at gaining more control." Harrow looks at the bench nearby and gestures in its direction, asking her to follow. She complies, even though she knows that every time they have these little conversations, each and every one leads her closer to her possible demise. Still, if she wanted to run away, she should've done it sooner. An hour before, for example. Or last week. Or last month. Two months...

She blinks hard in order to scatter her thoughts away, focusing on the way Arthur walks – he isn't limping, she already noticed that. He was perfectly able of walking without this cane of his. What never ceased to amaze her, however, was that creepy crunching of glass in his shoes. And it was fairly easy to hear, too. How was he able to sneak up on me?

She sits next to him, folding her hands on her lap, shivering slightly. Not really because of the cold. He notices, of course. She tried to not focus on that, hoping to regain control of the situation fast enough to be able to get rid of him. And, preferably, finally get out of here. She was staying too long.

"So, what's on your mind on this fine evening?" Harrow asks, his eyes looking for hers. It's a trap, because she knows that if she looks at them for too long, it will be harder for her to remain composed. No more than three seconds, she reminds herself. Three seconds of eye contact, then look somewhere else, fidget with your hands. Act small, he will get bored and go away.

Well, that never exactly worked, but a bit of naivete in the time of stress can't hurt, no?

"A lot, I guess." She says, chuckling awkwardly. "Maybe it's my turn for middle-age crisis or something."

He smiles. "Oh, I think you're definitely too young for that." She looks at him again, and those blue eyes are watching, analyzing. In the light of the moon, they almost look otherwordly. And they seem to tell her something else, something that is hidden and requires more than just three second of eye contact to decipher. It's like he's genuinely tries her to break that rule she has, to push her out of her comfort zone and step into the light.

Considering how the moonlight is shining on him, yet she's mostly hidden in the shadow of the tree above their heads, the metaphor works quite well.

"Well, yes, but I suppose some kind of, emmm, 'identity confusion' is possible even at my age." She looks at her hands again, trying to hide away from his gaze. It's impossible – he sees everything, and it feels nearly physical. "It's nothing important. It goes away as quickly as it comes, won't be an issue in a few minutes or so."

"Struggling with ourselves is probably the toughest battle all of us have to fight at some point." He says, lifting his chin slightly. "But the most important thing to remember is not to be scared of it. Step ahead..." He seems to drawl out the last two words, and that deliberate shift in his tone of voice lights the little, red diode in her mind. He's warning her. "... Take responsibility."

The diode, she thinks, very quickly metamorphoses itself into a huge red neon banner. She looks at him, not sure what to say, and he's smiling slightly. It's a charming smile, truly, it awakens in her something akin to genuine attraction. If to ignore how it literally seemed to say to her 'I know.'

Fuck.

"You think I should step ahead?" She finally gathers her courage back, but her voice isn't that little and innocent anymore; though she can't hide the undertones of pure uncertainty and fear. Harrow catches it mid-flight and adapts accordingly. At this point, she knows that every gesture he makes serves a specific role – she noticed the way his long fingers gently trace the line of the crocodile heads on his cane, how his left foot taps the ground quietly a few times. Five times, she counts.

"I do." His voice is smooth and rough at the same time, like honey coated with warm sand. "I think it would do you good, my pure little soul."

She gulps, then takes a long breath, ignoring how it almost sounded like a genuine pet name. "You think I'm pure?" Another question. It's nothing more as trying to buy herself some time to gather enough ideas to formulate a plan. A plan which right now she desperately needs. She briefly looks at the moon above them. Full moon. Huh, weird. The time for the full moon isn't until five days from now on.

Harrow's slow, silent purr once again brings her back to the present moment. Whether she's grateful for this or no, she can't tell. Her mind picks up on the sound he just made and seems to revel in it for a short while, and the cringe she feels towards herself makes her shiver once more.

"Well, I suppose it's up to debate." He shifts, eyes travelling to his right, where he clutches his cane and slowly brings it between them. Oh, that's bad. Still, he doesn't yet make any move towards grabbing her wrists. Yet. "We've both waited quite long to see this for ourselves, don't you think?"

She blinks, a bit too fast for someone who's supposed to stay calm. "I didn't think time was so important." She admits, her eyes tracing the lines of the crocodile heads. In the light of the moon, their amethyst eyes seem to actually shine.

"When we fight in the name of eternity, the idea of time may seem small." Harrow's left hand moves to his right arm, and he slowly starts to bare the tattoo of scales for her to see. She does her best to try and control the rising panic. Could she try to run away? Possibly. They were, interestingly, totally alone. Actually, the street seem to be deserted, the only people she could notice were very far away.

Everytime someone dissapears from this community, they are left with Harrow alone right before they're last seen.

"So, is this finally time for my judgment day?" Her voice is quiet, and even though she tries to sound sure, she knows he can feel her tremble. Was she a good person? Yes, she liked to believe so. Unless Ammit decides that stealing a candy bar from a supermarket at the age of eight was a mortal sin, that is. Or, the cane actually can predict who would stay loyal to Ammit no matter what, while the whole "purify of evil" motto was just a ruse. That could be a possibility. Egyptian Gods were liars, after all. Like all gods, she supposed.

She feels the touch of Harrow's figertips on her palm, and it cuts her train of thoughts short. She blinks again, surprised at how warm and truly comforting his touch is. He traces a small circle with his thumb, and then his right hand briefly cups her cheek. His smile is back on his face, delicate, pure... Almost sorrowful, like if he knew what is going to happen and somehow regretted it. But in his eyes she can see cold steel, and which one if true and prevailing, she didn't know.

"Don't be afraid." His hand leaves her face, but before it does, one of his fingers very briefly brushes across her lower lip. "You did well. It was actually amusing to watch you."

And that's all he says before his fingers clutch around her wrists, slowly but surely. His grip is strong, but not painful – it's actually weirdly comforting, though she can clearly understand the hidden message. Don't run. You have nowhere to go.

The tattoo on his arm starts to shift, and she looks at it, hypnotized. And in the moment something cuts through the night sky, in the light of the early full moon, she can feel a sharp breath of the wind, and scales on Harrow's arm turn red.

#I can't believe how much this show awakened my motivation for writing #it's extraordinary #anyways here have this and enjoy #I'm such a sucker for drama I'm not sorry #but like a silent drama #threatening little one #ominous and ambiguous #my jam #arthur harrow #arthur harrow x reader #my writing #moon knight

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