Living up to their parents’ standards was difficult at best, impossible at worst. She never managed. John did, but only barely. He was shrewd when it came to hiding his secret from them, and before that, he behaved like a boy was supposed to – playing football, hanging around with his mates, getting reasonable grades at school.
Their parents were beyond themselves when he decided to be a doctor and got into medical school.
By then, she was a lost case. They threw her out when she refused to go to some exorcism ritual at church to cure her of her queerness.
“No child of mine shall be prone to…such indecencies,” their father had proclaimed with his doomsday voice.
“Fuck you!”
Those were the last words she’d said to them – or shouted more like.
John – the golden boy – had been a helpless bystander. Harry knew that he was under a lot of stress too, although it played out differently for him than for her.
“You can choose, Johnny, so choose wisely,” she whispered as she hugged him goodbye.
The horror written all over his face at having his bisexuality revealed like that, made her heart bleed for him. Being so-called “free” to choose which gender to fall in love with wasn’t actual freedom. Harry knew that. Nevertheless, John didn’t have to pretend he couldn’t be attracted to girls.
***
They kept in contact. Sporadically. When Harry wasn’t sloshed and incoherent. John didn’t like her when she drank. Because she didn’t know when or how to stop once she’d started.
She ranted relentlessly at him when he told her he’d enlisted.
“Do you have a death wish I didn’t know about? How can you do this to me? First Clara, now you.”
Even though it had been Harry who shouted and created havoc, John’s temper was just as short-fused as hers. He just had a way of channelling it. But after her rather egotistical outburst, he snapped.
“Do you know what, Harry? Not everything in this world is about you and your needs. There are people out there who’s much worse off than you. And I am going to help them. I don’t need your blessing!”
The last sentence was yelled more than spoken, and then John was gone for more than three years.
***
In the meantime, she and Clara had reconciled, married, and divorced. Harry saw an opportunity to get rid of her mobile when John came home; a shell of the man he used to be.
“I told you so,” was on the tip of her tongue, but she managed to keep mum.
Harry’s sobriety was precarious, and John refused to stay with her when she’d told him about Clara and the disaster of the years he’d been absent.
Neither of them had attended their parents’ funeral after the car crash that killed them. John was out of reach somewhere in the Afghan desert, and Harry had just kicked Clara out and drank for three weeks straight. Twenty text messages and ten voice mails told her the story when she ran out of alcohol and managed to surface long enough to locate and charge the phone Clara had gifted her.
***
It was an utter surprise to run into John and his new flatmate. They were an odd couple, though Harry could see that they hadn’t jumped over the fence from friends to lovers. Yet. It was bound to happen, no question about it. The looks they shared and the ones they hid from the other, spoke volumes. To her at least.
So, she started to read John’s blog.
“Do you even know how deeply in love you are, Johnny?” she whispered.
The whole thing was a string of obscure love letters, from the descriptions of Sherlock’s deductions to John’s unmasked admiration of the detective’s attire and looks.
“I wonder if Sherlock’s deduced that?” Harry mused to herself.
If he was the genius John described, surely, he would know.
John had become a public figure, and Harry saw him and Sherlock on the news or in the papers regularly. To herself, she could admit that she envied him. He seemed much happier than when he returned from Afghanistan. His limp was gone – apparently thanks to Sherlock – and he looked so very much alive. Of course, that grated on her, who barely was able to keep her job, much less her friends. Unless you were an alcoholic yourself, you turned away from those kinds of friends.
***
Instead of being happy for her brother when the news about his romantic relationship to Sherlock Holmes broke, Harry thrashed her flat completely and got injured in the process.
“Of course, you waited until they were dead and buried before you finally came out of the closet!” she shouted at her ruined flat. “I was never good enough for their bloody Puritanism. No, it was only John this, and John that. Why can’t you be more like John, Harriet? Just be normal. Well, fuck them, and fuck you, John Hamish Watson!”
Despite it all, Clara was still her emergency contact, and she had apparently called John, damn her. He brought his posh boyfriend to the hospital, and she braced herself for accusations and platitudes, but to her astonishment she got neither.
Seemingly, Sherlock bloody Holmes was an addict, like her. Recovered, but like he said to her: “And addict will always be an addict.”
“If you want, we’ll help,” John said quietly, “but only if you’re willing. We both know that rehab is a thing you have to work to get through, there’s no quick fix. But we will support you.”
So, maybe she should stop being envious of a brother who’s struggled too, albeit in other areas than her.
“Time to slay the green-eyed monster,” Harry Watson whispered, determined to keep her promise for once.
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[#FFF342 Envy's Attire ]
Who is envy? How is this sin portrayed? Literal or figurative or an emotional display? Are they dressed all in green or is it a mask people wear? What's causing the envy, how are your characters reacting? You're in charge of the story! Tell us, we want to know!!
When Mel was young, often her thoughts drifted from the present and she would dream.
What it would feel like to sit on the throne at the head of the family and it fits? Melded to her. For her to not have to strain her feet to points, only for her toes to barely skim the marbled flooring. For the muscles in her neck and shoulders to not burn reaching for the armrests of said throne, incredibly cold under her touch.
What it would be like to, like her mother and father, have people by her side. Ones to aid her in aspirations for herself and those she loved.
When she was young, Mel would often walk through the streets of the Shimmering Market and wonder:
What would it be like if she didn't have to wear a cloak over her head and form? To not feel the need to sneak out of the estate for so much as a glimpse of the artisanal creations in Bel'zhun that left her heart glittering and inspired. To devote herself to the arts to the fullest extent of her heart. And with someone she loves and respects dearly.
Mel stops before a peddler who has a grand tapestry on display. It is of a land she fails to recognize, but the textures of the waves and rocky outcroppings call to her. Her heart flutters at the thought of letting it hang it in her quarters, but principles know better.
Her mother wouldn't allow such indulgences.
Mel does settle for a small piece. One that can be rolled up and tucked away in her cloak discreetly.
Somewhere in the background there is chatter and laughter that makes her eyebrows lift with light curiosity. She tips her head in a polite thanks and dismissal before turning around to find what it was.
The sight both makes her heart warm and twist with an ache.
What would it be like to, like them, move freely with a friend or two? Have open time to relinquish the burdens of the day with shared indulgences and laughter.
Mel has her father and brother. Steady company when storms were tumultuous. She also has servants catered to just about every need she could possibly imagine. She can certainly talk to them, yes, and they would respond in kind with a sense of love, but it's all transactional. Lacking of substance.
After all, at the end of the day, they'd go their respective ways to their chosen people. Not those with whom they sided because of a certain degree of influence and payment.
Perhaps it was selfish of her to dream for more. Relentless greed.
None of it mattered, though.
Mel steels her features and turns around to head back home, forcing the laughter and gossip to fall back.
Raised to strike one's own path and hold Medardas over all was a terribly lonely experience.
After so many years, the fundraisers and organizations in Piltover have grown dreadfully numb for Mel. The forced polite smiles, handshakes, and chatter with those who have little to offer Mel that pique her interest.
After yet another conversation of mediocre trade opportunities, Mel ticks her pinky nail against the base of her goblet of fine Noxian wine at a rapid pace excusing herself, drawn to the balcony to watch the setting sun.
Feeling her features relax when the tight grin falls, she admires the warm colors and chides her hypocrisy. Sits in it for a long while. She really is no better than everyone else, doing the same song and dance these fundraiser attendees subscribe to.
It has helped in getting her far, succeeding in negotiations, navigating her role as a Councilor and thriving in it remarkably. She entertains the idea of letting it all go to the wayside; but only in her dreams, for she has plenty left she still needs to accomplish.
Mel washes the thought away with a polite sip of her drink.
Other thoughts are adamant on lingering in the forefront of her mind, however.
Just as stubborn as the subject of such thoughts.
In the budding era of HexTech and her as the project sponsor, it was an obvious decision to invite Jayce to the affair. It is pertinent that he present himself to the public, who very much includes those who take great investment in the progress and evolution of Piltover.
Jayce's scientific research and discovery have now become a significant part of that, growing at a once unimaginable rate.
The morning of, he stopped by her office, informing her Viktor wasn't interested in attending, but Sky would do an excellent job in his stead.
Mel saw no problem with that and looked forward to seeing them both. Sky was a talented young woman and she complimented them remarkably.
How often belief strays from reality.
Jayce was a gentleman the entire evening; of course he was.
And Sky was a star as well.
In her head, Mel knows there wasn't anything between them, if Sky's stolen glances at Viktor were any indication.
But there's Jayce's hand ghosting the small of her back as they'd walk through the crowd.
Him being polite and attentive to her, the two of them navigating conversations with other stakeholders with certain confidence.
Sky being close enough to Jayce to undoubtedly catch traces of his cologne with every inhale.
An unfamiliar churning gnaws away at the pit of Mel's gut, ever growing as the night passes on.
This is all good for Jayce.
It is. Truly.
But why is it—
finger presses too tight at the stem of her goblet.
—that when she looks at the two of them…
Mel wonders…
what if his hand grazed her own skin? Not a stiff hovering, but a grounding touch? One that felt like home?
It was a thought chained to the deepest part of her she dare not name.
Written for @flashfictionfridayofficial for the prompt #FFF342 - envy’s attire. This is the he-said version of this fiction, which I expanded a bit. The usual warning, some spoilers from the book series though this is an alternate universe. Also, this is for teens and up.
—
Fandom: Yatagarasu: The Raven Does Not Choose Its Master
Characters: Yukiya, Himemiya/The Princess (Shion no Miya), very very brief mention of Haruma
Word count: 980
YUKIYA missed the girl.
“Please, don’t go, Your Excellency! You will only regret it!”
Yukiya couldn’t afford to be sentimental nor nostalgic. But here he was defying his adjutant’s advice. Most of all, his own set of principles. He didn’t want to remember how many times he read the Princess’s letter the moment he received it. His behaviour was an anomaly that the loyal Haruma reminded him of what he truly was. His pleading voice still rang in his ears.
“What is the point of you going there meeting her?”
In truth he also couldn’t understand himself why he had to grant the girl’s wishes. Well, she was not the little girl he once knew. She was a young woman of 20 years in human age.
She looked exactly like her father. Her eyes, however, possessed a heavier hue of violets that reminded him of hydrangeas in the garden of the former Sunrise Palace. Like countless galaxies peppering the vast space. He heard it from the humans in the Outside World.
The sky was clear of clouds today saved for some stars that sprinkled all over it. The good weather was playing along with his mood. He could easily admit to himself that it was partially because of the girl and he didn’t care the least.
The walk toward the mansion of the present emperor was not far. The path however there was treacherous. Darkness enveloped the area. His will-o’-the-wisp lighted lighted the bridge, which was devoid of Yamauchi guards and the emperor’s own entourage.
It must be her own doing. Yukiya thought. Her increasing clout should be taken seriously. He must look into it.
Standing in front of the heavy wooden door, Yukiya tapped twice until he heard the rustling inside.
“Come in,” a sultry voice said.
His hand gripped his left side as if there was a phantom sword dangling on his waist. There was a time, some 20 years ago, that it was automatic to search for his tachi whenever he entered an unknown portal anticipating for danger.
A voluptuous being sat up wearing the familiar lilac-white kimono as he opened the door. Yukiya’s eyes went straight to her bare breasts. The Princess knew that she was beautiful and she was taking advantage of it. But her hair was still short like a young man’s. He knew the owner of the kimono she was wearing. She taunted him. It was irritating. Observing her the similarities between the girl and her father were uncanny. It was as if he was looking at his former master. He couldn’t take his eyes off her.
“You came….”
“Your letter seemed urgent. So what do you want, Princess? I don’t thrive in games.”
“Neither am I. That’s not important. What matters is that you are here now.”
Yukiya stepped closer, but stopped. He sniffed the air. A perfumed sweetish scent wafted round the chamber.
Ah, it was the dreadful incense Karon that could kill someone when exposed in large doses, but an effective sedative in small amounts. He shook his head and smiled but then turned his head to the other figure on the matrimonial bed. He wanted to know if he was still breathing. After all, this was the same incense that killed Lord Nazukihiko’s mother Izayoi. The teenaged emperor, for what it’s worth, was only sleeping. He didn’t notice that the young woman stood in front of her. Her breasts poked him. He wanted to leave.
“Don’t you want me?”
Deep inside Yukiya the question was absurd.
“I don’t care about my own happiness, Princess. I only care about Yamauchi, which your Father neglected.”
The girl’s face turned red. If Yukiya offended her then he succeeded. All the hurt in the world accumulated in years.
“I get it now. Could it be that you are still wearing envy’s attire all this time?” She said, then continued. “Sometimes the reason is so minute. Like a tiny stone thrown into the ocean, sending ripples to the surface.” He could feel her candle-like fingers touch his face. Yukiya recalled the day his world crashed. His faith shattered. He was all alone.
“You know that this is not proper. Your duty is to the emperor.”
She scoffed at his reasoning. Yukiya should be above it all, blocking this temptation in front of him. He turned his back. As he tried to open the door, she grabbed him from behind and held him tight. Her cries tinged with anguish and despair this could be their last chance to reconcile.
“Please…”
Please don’t leave me. Please don’t go. Please do not forsake me.
But they did forsake him, didn’t they? He never even had any time to grieve his lord. What he got in return was nothing. Lord Nazukihiko deemed it was best to give all the power to his wife when the time was crucial and the infighting within the four houses got worse. Yukiya thought it was foolish to throw his lot to a young girl. He realised that while witnessing the burning of Sunrise Palace. She might be mature for her age but asking her to run away with him was not enough to appease his aching heart.
A sharp cold wind broke his reverie. The chill began to envelop his body. He was not aware that she managed to undress him until the last piece of his clothing was in her hands. This was bordering on not so good. He seemed to have lost his sense of danger by only interacting with her. Did he not know that she could kill him? She declared it a while ago.
“These are fresh welts…” Yukiya felt a set of lips caressing them. What should he answer to this softness?
“Princess…”
When she lead him to the bed, the red ropes waited. At that moment he knew that he was lost forever.
Hey! Did you know that today is Friday? You did? Well then you must ALSO know that it's @flashfictionfridayofficial time! Though, to be fair, I woudn't blame them if they didn't let this one count, lol. This fic doesn't have a LOT to do with the prompt, but I've had James Bond on the brain for the past two days and the prompt sounded SO much like a Bond film that I couldn't get the idea out of my head. So, this is set in the highly niche James Bond AU that lives only in my head because no one else will want to read it. One of the reasons no one will read it is because it centers around my borderline crackship of Percy/Annabeth/Calypso. I cannot apologize for living my truth.
ALSO! Friendly reminder that I have Valentine's Day commissions available, and it is ALSO time to sign up for the @pjo-equinox-solstice-exchange! That's all for now!
Word Count: 990
Ao3 Link
The mission was supposed to be simple. An infiltration of a high-end casino, popular with remarkably lucky and unlucky high rollers, that went simply by the name of Envy. Calypso’s job was just to get in, charm her way to the middle of everything, get the information, and get out. She was dressed to the nines in a flawless emerald dress, Walther PPK strapped discreetly to her thigh right above the slit. She was good at this, she could do this in her sleep. Little did she know that would end up sprinting down the streets of Monte-Carlo in six-inch heels.
Though, considering her company, she wouldn’t have been surprised.
She was sitting at the bar when a man sat down next to her. He was impeccably dressed in a three-piece suit with a tie that just so happened to perfectly match her dress, but his hair was mussed, and there was a wild glint in his sea green eyes that Calypso knew would never dim. “Whiskey, neat,” he said once he had the bartender’s attention. Then he shot Calypso a roguish grin that was nothing but boyish charm and trouble. “And a martini for the lady, if she’ll allow it.”
“Shaken, not stirred,” Calypso confirmed with a slight nod. When the bartender turned away, she glanced at her company. “003.”
“007,” he replied. “Fancy meeting you here.”
“What are you doing here, Jackson?”
Percy hummed softly and smiled at the bartender as their drinks were put in front of them. “M sent me, of course.”
Calypso fought the urge to pout. Annabeth Chase, codename Minerva. Of course she sent him. “I don’t need help.”
“Didn’t say you did,” Percy agreed. “But you know what they say.”
“M knows best,” they recited in unison.
“If it makes you feel any better, I don’t think M believes you need help,” Percy whispered, leaning in conspiratorially. His breath fanned over her neck, and Calypso’s lips curved up in a smirk. “I think she just likes to watch us dance.”
Calypso huffed out a soft laugh. Annabeth was witness to her and Percy’s dance plenty, both on and off the clock. She didn’t need an excuse. “Why’d she really send you?”
Percy straightened his posture, slipping into business mode seamlessly. “Are you aware that this casino is built right on top of a Soviet military base?”
Calypso’s martini hovered in the air, inches from her lips. “Interesting trivia. I had no idea.”
“Then you’re also not aware of the fact that said military base is currently active.”
“Let me guess,” she drawled. “Run by Alison Simms?”
“Or whoever it is that she’s working for.”
Calypso was about to reply when she noticed that the guards, who had originally been stationed along the far walls were slowly, slowly closing in. She stood, tugging Percy along with her. “Come on.”
Percy’s eyebrows shot up, but he followed her lead. “Where to?”
“M wanted to see us dance, right?” she said with a wicked grin. “Then let’s dance.”
Those were the last words Calypso got to say before her night, her mission went to hell. Their dance was interrupted by Alison Simms herself, eyes and smile sharp as the crossbow bolts she kept pointed at them. They were escorted downstairs, right into the heart of the military base Percy had warned her of. They were locked up together, and Alison cheerfully informed them that the whole place was set to blow, taking them and everyone in the casino down with it. She was quite proud of her little plan, and her mocking laughter echoed off the walls of the metal corridor as she left.
Unfortunately for her, if you want to keep two of the top special agents in the world locked up, it’s best to not keep them locked up together, especially if you didn’t bother to take their Q-supplied toys.
“Go after Simms, I’ll take care of the boom,” Percy ordered, already sprinting down the hall.
Calypso didn’t even bother to respond, she just raced after Simms, who was not happy to see her. She especially wasn’t happy when Calypso yanked on of her men out of the driver’s seat of a Jeep to instigate a high-speed pursuit, based on the fact that she shrieked at the top of her lungs for someone to Shoot that bitch before she gets any closer! This, inevitably led to one of Calypso’s tires, leaving her to abandon her ride and continue the chase on foot.
Only, she didn’t have to run for long because about that time a nearby wall exploded outward as a Soviet-era tank plowed through it. Percy’s head popped up, grinning like a madman. “Need a lift?”
“Subtle,” Calypso scoffed, climbing in without a second thought. “You really put the ‘secret’ in ‘secret agent’.”
“Don’t be jealous,” Percy mocked as the tank tore down the street with all the decorum of a tsunami. “Green’s not your color.”
“I look phenomenal in green, actually,” Calypso countered as a nearby car blew up, thanks to one of Percy’s missiles. “Did you really have to do that?”
“Is it really a night out if it doesn’t end with a bang?”
Calypso snorted as the tank screeched to a halt at the dock. Simms and her crew were already on the water, making their way towards the Princess Andromeda, but Calypso could already see a jet ski with her name on it. She grabbed Percy by the back of the neck and pulled him in for a quick, passionate kiss. “Tell Annabeth goodnight for me.”
“Make it home and do it yourself,” Percy challenged, his smile pressed against her lips. “Go get ‘em, Commander.”
Calypso grinned back, heart pounding in her chest. “See you tonight, Commander.”
Then she hopped out of the tank, and sprinted for the dock, heels abandoned. She had to move fast, she couldn’t risk anything slowing her down.
