#neither of them were real crushes but one was a closer approximation to one than the other

[angelamoores]

Friends Definitely Don’t Ask Each Other Out

A/N: this one was tough for me to write, and I still don’t love the final product but a special thanks to @rorythevambire and @mychenrymadness for their help talking me out of my funk so I could finish this. I set out to make this a lot less angsty but I was listening to kinda sad music so it turned out like this

Word Count: 2,409

anyway, tagging @kiddangers @ciara-knightly @chenoahchantel @up-the-tube @ginger--binger @cactus-con @charlottepage lmk if you wanna be added/removed

School the day after their midnight escapades to Nacho Ball was a disaster. Not because anything crazy happened, more because Charlotte and Henry could not stop falling asleep. Everywhere. In class, stood up in the hallway, in the janitor’s closet, even on random patches of floor. It had gotten to the point that they both ended up in detention, but to no one’s surprise, they both fell asleep in that too. 

Their extreme tiredness, however, was their only reference to the night before. Neither of them knew how to address their almost kiss, so they just didn’t. Although in actual fact, on the way to work was the only time since then they’d both been conscious enough to discuss it. Not that either of them were ready to bring it up in front of Jasper. 

Instead, they let him take over the conversation, listening to him talking about his crush on the new guy in their class. Every now and then, one of them would catch the other staring at them and they’d share a look, a smile. For a minute, Charlotte let herself picture Henry as not just a best friend, but as a boyfriend. 

Sure, he hadn’t always been the best boyfriend to other girls in the past, but he wasn’t fourteen anymore. He had matured a lot in the last few years, especially due to his job, and it had been a long time since he’d had one of those overly dramatic relationships kids have as an eighth grader before understanding it was never love anyway. Charlotte had never taken part in this experience, deciding to sit out the whole dating thing until she was old enough to have real feelings. And she was beginning to realise that time was now.

These secret glances and heart eyes followed them down into the Man Cave. Only they really weren’t that secret. It was to Jasper. He was so occupied by the text the new boy Lucas had just sent him that he wouldn’t notice if his own hair was on fire. As far as he was concerned, as long as they were talking, all was good. However, Henry and Charlotte were given away by the fact that Ray had eyes. 

He hadn’t seen the two of them this in tune since they were kids. They walked in tune with each other, said the same things at the same time and got flustered every time there was silence, looking at each other’s faces a little too much. It was when Ray saw Henry perched on the back of the round couch, with Charlotte sat below gazing up at him, that he intervened.

“Kid, c’mon. We’re gonna go take the Mancopter out on patrol,” he announced, after deciding this would get less push back from Charlotte than if he tried to fake an emergency somewhere. 

They hadn’t done it in a while, so Henry widened his eyes in concern, trying to figure out if something was wrong. Ray just shook his head with a smile. Henry rolled his eyes, but got up all the same.

When they reached the helicopter, Henry approached the driver’s seat, but was stopped by Ray’s hand on his shoulder. On the way there alone, his sidekick had zoned out approximately four times. And despite being indestructible, he didn’t particularly feel like crash landing that day. 

They didn’t really speak much during take off, despite wearing headsets so the noise from the propellers wouldn’t be an issue. Henry was off in his head, thinking about Charlotte yet again. Things were different now, though he could still turn back. It wasn’t easy as it had been before, with Bianca and Chloe and the other girls he had asked out. His friendship was on the line, and he honestly didn’t know what he’d be without it.

Charlotte called him to make sure he got to work on time every Saturday, she helped him with his homework in a way no one else had ever been able to. She held him when he cried and made sure he slept and drank and basically kept him alive. It wasn’t fair on her, the way he relied on her, the way all the men in her life had grown to depend on her. But she’d let him. And though she complained, she never made him feel like a burden; even when he knew he had been. Henry couldn’t quite pinpoint exactly when. But somewhere along the line, she’d become his favorite person on the whole planet.

And it wasn’t just what she did for him. It was the way she lit up when she was telling him something new and smart she’d learned that day. The way her nose scrunched up when she was concentrating. The faux-innocent smile she’d give him after stealing his food or saying something sarcastic. The nights he’d wake up shaking at the thought of something happening to her because of him, how his heart picked up when he heard her scream for help. 

“I’m scared, Ray.” Henry broke the silence. They’d been circling Swellview for a while now, thinking to themselves.

“What of?” His boss responded. Henry turned to give him a look, he was well aware he hadn’t actually been discreet. Ray sighed. “I know you’re scared to ask Charlotte out, but why?”

Henry let out a breath and leaned back into his seat.

“In case something happens and our friendship is ruined. I don’t think I could do all this without her.” His voice was hesitant, but Ray nodded, letting him know it was okay to go on. “And if- if I did y’know, date her, it puts her in danger. If anyone found out she was dating Kid Danger, she’d be a target. I can’t have people taking out their hatred of me on her, I just can’t.”

Ray thought for a moment, trying to come up with something to say to reassure him. He wasn’t stupid, he knew this life was a hard one, especially for a kid. It was a lonely one too at times. It didn’t matter how many people knew their secret, there were somethings you could only understand by going out there everyday, running after villains and criminals and doing whatever other work the police didn’t feel like doing that day. It was because of this that they shared a bond no one else had. And despite their differences from time to time, it would never go away. 

That was why it was so important to him that Henry wasn’t alone. Settling down had never really worked for him; however it was clear his accomplice was different. Ray had been selfish these last couple of years, yet maybe if he could be of help now, maybe things could change. He could be better.

“Charlotte is a smart girl. If she likes you as much as I think she does, she’s already well aware of what dating a superhero would bring. It’s her decision to make, kid, she’s never liked you telling her what to do.”

As much as he wanted to argue, Henry knew that he was right. Every time he’d tried to protect her from something, she’d just try do it more. It didn’t make him fear for her safety any less. 

“And as for that stuff about your friendship,” Ray continued, regardless of Henry’s continued inner turmoil, “you two have been in each other’s lives far too much for any fight to ever change that. Don’t let fear of breaking up keep you from getting together, it’s hardly like either of you are exactly in the friendship stage anymore anyway.”

Henry nodded, finally allowing himself to actually see this working out. Maybe he had gotten so used to all the good things in his life being able to be taken away at any given moment that he had stopped letting himself want them anymore. It hurt less. But sometimes it took losing things to realise what you’d had in the first place, at least that was how he had felt about his powers.

“Thanks, Ray. That was surprisingly helpful.” Ray feigned hurt, but really he had amazed even himself. It had been too long since the last time he was the adult in their serious conversations. When Henry had become mature enough to handle things himself, everyone who was supposed to be responsible in his life had just stepped back and let him handle everything. 

They didn’t speak much as they landed and walked back down to the Man Cave. Henry has far too concerned with planning out how the fuck he was gonna ask out his best friend. Ray was right about them being past friends now though, because friends definitely don’t ask each other out. 

It had to be big, right? But Charlotte hated stupid extravagance, especially in public. But if he was too casual about it she’d be offended. He knew it had to be perfect, but that was about all he knew.

His thoughts were soon interrupted, when he was greeted by yelling as the tubes came up around them.

“Where the fuck have you guys been?!” Charlotte yelled, dropping her phone from her ear, which he could now see was calling him. Ray opened his mouth to reply but never got the chance. “Some crazy guy came into the store claiming someone gave us something of his to sell and threatened to blow the place apart if we didn’t give it back. Schwoz and Jasper have him trapped upstairs, but they could probably use some help.” 

Ray headed straight for the elevator, drawing a blaster from his belt. Henry moved to follow, but he stopped him.

“Kid, maybe you should stay down here,” Ray muttered, gesturing subtly to Charlotte who was now shaking, on the verge of tears.

Henry nodded, mumbling a ‘good luck’ before slowly approaching his friend. As soon as Ray was gone, she whipped her head around to face him again as if she wasn’t crying. He didn’t get any closer, both remaining on opposite sides of the room.

“Why weren’t you answering your fucking phone?” She asked, trying her damnedest to keep her voice steady. To project anger over her fear.

Because of the events of the night before, he hadn’t had time to charge his phone and it had died earlier that day. However, he couldn’t blame for any of this on her the slightest, so all he said was “it’s dead.” 

A couple of seconds passed in heavy silence before either were willing to say anything. “What happened?”

“I was bored, so I volunteered to do Jasper’s shift upstairs. It was fine until this guy came in, bitching and screaming about how we had something valuable that belonged to him,” She recounted, getting louder and louder with each word until she was shouting again, it was easier to be mad at him. “He told me he had a bomb in his bag and I laughed. I laughed, Henry, and I told him ‘good luck with that’, I’m gonna call Captain Man and Kid Danger.”

“Char-” he started, but she ignored him and kept yelling. 

“I called you right in front of him and you didn’t pick up. I called Ray, no answer. I called you again, but this time when it went to voicemail the guy was the one laughing. He was insane, making stuff up to scare me, I know that now. He didn’t know just how cruel he was being when he told me with such certainty that you weren’t coming, when he implied that he had done something to make sure of it. And I couldn’t reach you, to confirm if you were okay, or even alive.” She spoke the last three words differently, with more emotion behind each letter. 

There was so much he wanted to say. He wanted to do all the right things to make her feel better, but the words weren’t coming. He just froze. 

“What the hell were you two even doing up there, Henry? And don’t lie to me.” She was sick of the tip toeing around their feelings, of taking things so slow they were barely moving. She had thought that she had lost him today. None of the little things she had been worrying about going wrong could be as bad as that. 

“We were talking. About you.” She folded her arms and raised her eyebrows. “I LIKE YOU, OKAY, CHARLOTTE?” For some reason, he was the one yelling now. It was out there, no take backs.

“YEAH? WELL MAYBE I LIKE YOU TOO, HENRY.” 

They both strode forwards across the room, crashing their lips together. Or rather their noses. Charlotte knew she had to tilt her head, but she had angled her head a little too far to the right, bumping her nose against his. Henry put a hand on her chin, connecting their lips properly, though they were both still giggling against each other. It was less awkward after they were able to stop pretending they were characters in a romance novel. It was sweet and new and so much better than she imagined. Because this was the real Henry, not her knight in shining armor, but her best friend.

“So, is kissing me as good as in your dreams?” He asked, pulling away with a shit-eating grin and smiling eyes.

She didn’t exactly have much to compare it to. If someone had told her a few years ago that her first kiss would be with Henry Hart she would have laughed in their face. Huh.

“It’s even better, doofus,” she beamed as if the smile was permanently tattooed to her face. She’s had the shittiest day she’d had in a long while, but none of that seemed to matter right now.

“So,” he started scratching the back of his head, only now realising he was still in his Kid Danger suit, “how about a date?”

“Friday?”

“Yeah, I’ll pick you up at 6,” he replied, trying to be smooth.

“We both have work that evening so I won’t be at home anyway and you don’t have a car, Hen.”

“Fine, you’ll drive us both out from work at 6?”

“It’s a date.” The words felt foreign coming from her mouth, yet she felt a new wave of excitement. It was crazy really, they hung out together, just the two of them, all the time. But this was on a whole new playing field. She leaned back in to kiss him again when-

“IT’S A DATE?” Jasper screamed.

---

hi! if for whatever reason you’ve stumbled upon this after November 2020, you get the bonus content of the beginning of part 4 I never finished! enjoy! :

“What’s a date?” Charlotte replied too fast, she’d always been a terrible liar. Henry tried to hide his laughter by burying his head in the back of her hair, his arms around her shoulders not exactly selling her denial.

Jasper was far from the most observant person, but it didn’t take a genius to read the room. He’d literally walked in on them about to kiss. He gave her a look, holding eye contact until she cracked.

“Fine! We are going on a date, but I don’t want everyone to know just yet,” she admitted. 

Henry scrunched his nose behind her. “Ray, kinda knows,” he confessed, stepping out from behind her and into her eye line. 

She sighed. “That’s what you two were doing in the mancopter.”

“At least Piper doesn’t know,” Henry offered.

“Well…” she trailed off.

“Okay, is there anyone who doesn’t know about us?” He asked, only partially annoyed. It was kinda sweet that neither of them had been able to shut up about one another.

“What about you guys?” Schwoz questioned, reentering the room with the memory wiper that he had just used on the crazy guy upstairs.

“Oh, just that they’re going on a date,” Jasper replied with a smile, a full five seconds before he slapped his hand over his mouth. 

“Seriously, Jasper,” Charlotte groaned, wishing that any of this surprised her. Honestly, it was a miracle that they had managed to keep their identities a secret.

“You have to admit it’s kinda funny,” Henry laughed. It would’ve been nice to try out the whole dating thing and get settled in their relationship before it was announced to the world, but in the chaos they already lived in, what was a little more.

Jasper wasn’t quite sure how to feel now that he saw the two of them beside each other. He’d had a week to get used to the idea of them dating, but it felt different now that it was less hypothetical. He made the decision there and then that he was going to be happy for them. They had enough going on in their lives than to have to worry about him. He would say something if they left him out too often, not that he thought that was likely to happen. It was still gonna be the three of them against the world, at least that’s what he told himself.

It was getting late and after the day they had and the lack of sleep the night before, they were all pretty ready to go home. The tubes came up closer to his and Charlotte’s houses than Junk n’ Stuff, so Henry made his way over to them, chewing a bubble to turn back into his own clothes as he walked. 

By the time he’d changed and was on the launch pad, he looked out to where Charlotte was stood in front of him looking mildly annoyed. Wondering why she wasn’t stood at the other tube he glanced across to see Jasper stood there waiting, completely oblivious. He smiled, he’d been waiting for an opportunity to do this for a while.

“Char, c’mere,” he mumbled, opening his arms. She obliged, doing a little walk run over to him. Once she was close enough, he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her against him and she looked at him the same way she had when they first kissed.

“Up the tube.”

…

Piper groaned, perched on the end of Henry’s bed as he tried on a ninth outfit. 

“She’s seen you sick and dying, you could literally wear anything!” she yelled to where he was changing in the closet, but he ignored her. It didn’t matter that he’d known Charlotte forever, tonight was their first date and he had to look perfect. He opened the door revealed his latest pairing of clothes that didn’t match. “Not that, though.”

She sighed, finally giving in as walked into his wardrobe. It took her approximately eleven seconds to pick out a top, belt, pants and jacket before wordlessly setting them out on the bed in front of him.

“I hate you, how’d you do that?” 

“I follow Charlotte on Pinterest, she has a board called ‘Outfits That Would Look Good On Henry’, it really wasn’t that hard,” she laughed. 

Henry would ask why she had neglected to tell him about it up until that point if he didn’t already know. He tried to look mad, but he couldn’t fight a smile. He really needed to see that board.

spoiler alert they were then going to try go to a restaurant in a car Charlotte built herself but it breaks down and she tries to fix it whilst he sits on the bonnet and orders food to the car and they sit there and watch the stars together it was gonna be cute but know life happens :/

#I still don't like this but fuck it I wanna write the next part already #lmk if u want me to add any warnings at the top #henry danger #Henry hart #charlotte page #chenry #fic #blurb #fanfic #fanfiction #jasper dunlop #ray manchester #captain man #part 3 #my writing #kid danger #I dream of danger #friends don’t series #charlotte bolton #charlotte page bolton #charlotte x henry

[heryellowcup]

Prompt, whereeee Beca and Chloe both land parts in a acting role where they’re in a relationship but when Beca can’t continue because she’s catching real feelings and it’s affecting her acting :)

dude, thanks for the prompt! really enjoyed writing this!

Beca’s breathing was shallow, her heart beating fast in her chest as she made her way across the room to where Chloe was waiting for her on the bed. She was nervous for seemingly no reason and yet the smile on her lips was confident, the longing in her eyes real as she slowly approached the other woman. She knew, of course, that she would have been a lot more timid, her lips curved into a smile much more gentle if it hadn’t been for the script that was telling her just how sure she was in approaching the redhead sprawled out on the bed in front of her.

And when she looked at said woman, really looked at her for the first time in that particular scene, Beca swore she would have forgotten her lines, if she had any. But she wasn’t supposed to speak, was supposed to love Chloe with only her body, with subtle touches, a teasing smile and her eyes deliberately studying every single one of Chloe’s flaws that just caused Beca to admire her even more. And it was painfully easy, doing all of this, loving her. Beca almost chuckled, almost scoffed when she suddenly remembered her drama teacher telling her how important it was, as an actor, to be able to lose yourself in a role. And Beca agreed, had successfully done just that many, many times before. But right in that moment, she wasn’t losing herself in a role, in a character. She was losing herself in Chloe, was drowning in her own feelings. Had been for a while now.

It was hard not to fall for her, everyone did. Everyone admired the other woman, admired how upbeat and happy and incredibly charismatic she was. And she was, of course, incredibly gorgeous, too, as she lay there, sheets barely covering her delicate body. The only light source being a little lamp in the far right corner of the spacious room, shadows were now playing with her soft features, her curly red hair framing them beautifully. Everything felt so comfortable and warm, and Beca wanted to cry.

Wanted to cry, to yell at Chloe, at herself, punish them both for fitting so well together, in a setting that didn’t allow such things, that didn’t allow these kind of feelings. Beca was hard and cold, perhaps a bit too guarded at times. She was professional and she did not, under no circumstances, fall for one of her co-stars, someone she was supposed to love on screen and forget once it was over.

She wanted to deny it, had tried many times, but the way Chloe smiled at her just then made it impossible. Said smile managed to pull her out of her thoughts as well, made her move forward again until she was right in front of her.

Chloe reached out for her then and before Beca knew it, their lips had met in a gentle, somewhat needy and desperate kiss. It wasn’t the first time, not the second or third time either, but it felt different now. It felt soul crushing and way too perfect for her to pull back again like she should have, way too perfect for her to recognize the familiar sound that was seemingly there just to break her heart, to remind her that none of this was real.

“Cut!!”

It was Chloe who first pulled back and when Beca opened her eyes again, she was looking into blue ones, she was looking at freckles, a scrunched up nose and beautiful red lips curved into a genuine smile.

She panicked, then, when the director started criticizing that their encounter had seemed too intimate, too gentle for two people who had just started to fall for each other. Beca’s only thought was that it had felt way too real.

“I need a break,” she simply mumbled as she suddenly left the room, hand running through her hair as she quickly made her way down the stairs and into the cold night air. Filming at night always felt surreal, but the cool wind seemed to calm her down.

She was halfway through her first cigarette, leaning against the wall, when she heard a familiar voice cut through the silence. She wasn’t surprised that Stacie, her manager, assistant and best friend had followed her. After all, she usually didn’t pull stunts like this. She was, again, very professional, something that just leaving without an explanation definitely wasn’t. It was so unlike her, but so was falling in love, catching feelings for someone unattainable, someone she shouldn’t be looking at like that.

“Are you okay?” Stacie asked and Beca knew she was trying her hardest to stay calm, probably wanted to yell at her and ask what the hell she was doing instead.

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

The leggy brunette snorted, snatching the cigarette out of Beca’s hand and throwing it on the ground, stepping on it a few times for good measure. Beca didn’t even complain, just sighed and leaned her head back against the wall, closing her eyes.

“You just fucking left in the middle of a scene! To what, smoke? Just because you got the hots for Chloe? That’s not-”

“I don’t have the hots for Chloe.” The words sounded ridiculous coming out of her mouth, just like lying to her best friend felt. Stacie, quite frankly, knew exactly how Beca was feeling, and yet denying it still felt easier.

“Yeah, right. My bad. You don’t have the hots for her. You’re absolutely in love with her, better?” Beca couldn’t help but chuckle upon seeing the teasing grin on her friends face, though the other woman still seemed somewhat agitated.

“It’s not like that.”

“It’s not? I’ve seen you two grow closer and closer over the past few weeks a-”

“It’s not like that,” Beca repeated, more determined this time. Stacie was right, they had indeed grown really close over the course of filming this movie, before that even. It had been Chloe’s idea, going out and having fun so they could become friends. It was supposed to make it easier for them, to make them feel more comfortable with each other. But the plan had backfired, Beca now feeling entirely too comfortable with her co-star. “We’re not, we’re not a thing. Just friends.”

“Friends my ass!” Stacie scoffed, shaking her hand. “I’ve seen the way you two look at each other. Hell, everyone can see it! And I’m sure no one’s gonna say anything if you two-”

“Stace.” Her name was a warning on Beca’s lips and it successfully managed to shut the other woman up. There was an uncertain silence between them for a while, before Beca finally took a deep breath and opened her mouth again. “I like her.”

“And she likes y-”

“She doesn’t. We’re friends and co-stars and we’re supposed to be professional. I’m supposed to be professional. This is against all of my rules and fuck, I can’t do this anymore.”

Stacie seemed to understand when Beca’s voice broke and she immediately pulled the smaller woman into a tight hug, holding her protectively like she was always prone to do. She hated seeing her friend like this, especially knowing how much it took to get her this emotional.

“It hurts, Stace.” The words were barely audible, a quiet whisper at most, but Stacie could hear the pain in them nonetheless.

“Have you talked to her?” she asked gently, the only response being a shake of Beca’s head. “Come on, I’m sure you guys can work something out. This doesn’t have to destroy all of th-”

Stacie never finished her sentence, a quiet chuckle interrupting her. It took both of them a while to realize that it had escaped neither of their lips and, turning around, they could now see Chloe standing a few feet away from them. Beca wasn’t sure, perhaps just imagined the tears rolling down the redhead’s cheeks, but it wasn’t like she could look there anyways, or breathe, or do anything without getting dizzy as her heart hammered in her chest.

“We’re idiots.” Chloe’s voice was light, laced with an uncertainty that Beca wasn’t used to hear, not while talking to the redhead.

She almost didn’t dare look up, but when she did, the other woman was smiling at her. Said smile calming Beca down more than just a little, she managed to build up some more courage. “Why?”

“Would you believe me if I told you that I had this exact conversation with my manager approximately fifty times those past few weeks? I can’t believe it took us this long to realize.”

When Beca didn’t say anything, Chloe simply held her hand out for the brunette to take whenever she was ready, a mischievous smile spread across her lips. “Come on, let’s go make out a little more.”

#bechloe #beca mitchell #chloe beale #beca x chloe #beca and chloe #bechloe au #bechloe fluff #bechloe angst #bechloe drabble #bechloe oneshot #bechloe one shot #bechloe fanfiction #bechloe fanfic #bechloe fic #pitch perfect #pitch perfect 3 #pp3 #pitch perfect one shot #pitch perfect oneshot #pitch perfect fanfiction #pitch perfect fanfic #anna kendrick #brittany snow #sendrick #stacie conrad #alexis knapp #pitch perfect fic

[jaemtens]

Rescue (Chapter 5)

seventeen | junhao | side meanie / vernkwan | chapter 5 of 10 | 18.8k

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written with @bulletproof-bad-wolf | updates every saturday morning

summary:  When Soonyoung finally “agrees” to let Junhui get a dog for their apartment, he realizes that he needed something a little bit more than a puppy. Enter Minghao, the bona fide Bad Boy™ with tattoos and piercings. Oh, and he doodles puppies and kittens in their Probability and Confirmation class.

chapter 5: junhui

It was just a casual guess, really, an estimate pulled out of the sky and definitely not decided through hours and hours of intense, unending thought about the subject. It was just a casual guess, but Junhui was pretty sure Minghao hadn’t spoken a word or even looked at him in nearly three weeks. Not since the day at the shelter, when Junhui had adopted Lilli.

He hadn’t acknowledged Junhui was alive in exactly nineteen days, two hours, and forty-six minutes.

Approximately. Junhui absolutely had not spent any time adding that up on an actual, real-life calculator.

He had a life, after all. Even if that life was upsettingly empty, without even the small bit of communication Minghao and he had shared.

The only thing Junhui really had now was Lilli. The small dachshund had become Junhui’s entire world of late, and he didn’t regret it at all. He spent every second he wasn’t in his classes playing with her, teaching her tricks, walking her, and generally just cooing at/around her on a loop. At first, Soonyoung had been openly aghast about all of it. He didn’t like dogs, he didn’t like Lilli, and he didn’t like this new situation Junhui had gotten him into. But slowly, so slowly that Junhui might not have noticed it if he didn’t suddenly have all kinds of extra time that allowed him to pay close attention...things began to change.

Outwardly, Soonyoung didn’t like Lilli. But, when he thought Junhui wasn’t looking, that wasn’t exactly the case.

At least twice, Junhui had caught his roommate petting the dog. That, on it’s own, might have been enough of a Happening to raise alarm.

But it didn’t end there.

Soonyoung began to bring home a variety of leftovers from the campus cafeteria, tucked into paper napkins and shoved into his pockets, and while Junhui really wanted to comment on the sanitation issues there, he didn’t, because every time it occurred, Soonyoung would pull the half a dinner roll or small helping of cooked carrots out of his pocket and toss it on the counter, then say casually, “Oh, I guess I forgot I had this. You can give it to Lilli if you want,” then walk away before Junhui could subject him to any questioning.

Not that he needed to. The action was admission enough.

Anyways, Lilli was his whole life, and Soonyoung maybe didn’t hold as much of a grudge against her as he pretended he did, so things were pretty okay in Junhui’s world. As long as he didn’t spend too much time obsessing over the weight of the Minghao Problem, it was good. Admittedly, he wasn’t doing that great in his classes. But honestly, when had he ever? Wen Junhui was a master at Getting By. He’d done it all his life, the bare minimum, just good enough to not be noticed. It was one of the things that pained his parents the most. They would constantly remind him how smart he was, how much potential he had, how very much he was squandering it by not really trying at his education.

By the time he got to high school, Junhui had run out of ways and willpower to try and explain to them that just because he was smart, didn’t mean he had any idea what he wanted to do with all that intelligence. Hopefully, he had at least another year of taking random, bullshit classes left before he would really have to figure everything out. It was problem for Future Junhui, really. Present Junhui was busy.

Busy spectacularly bombing his midterms.

He studied. A little. Junhui spent at least half an hour or so the morning of each exam cramming information into his head while he crammed breakfast into his face. He got an acceptable return on his Impressionist Painting practical. History of Film wasn’t a total wash. But Beginner French, Prob and Conf, and Principles of Pastry Decoration? Shit. Actual piles of excrement, his grades. Junhui was especially ashamed about Pastry Decoration. He’d mixed the royal icing all wrong, three times in a row, and then he didn’t have enough of each ingredient left for a redo, so he was stuck with runny royal, and the result was an exceptionally sad looking, melty wedding cake. Junhui had tried to convince his professor that it was a metaphor, for the way love eventually becomes a puddle of all the expectations and excitement one had at the beginning of a relationship.

Actually, Junhui spent an embarrassingly long time pleading his case to the T.A., the one and only Lee Jihoon, object of Soonyoung’s previously mentioned, ill-advised crush. He’d cornered Jihoon on his way out of class, and Jihoon stood there uncomfortably for three-quarters of an hour while Junhui likened his oozy, upsetting wedding cake to the way Love Always Dies.

He was maybe projecting. Just a bit. That didn’t make his point any less valid, Junhui figured.

“It’s just like...it’s like…” Junhui fumbled, somewhere around the forty-four minute mark, “It’s like when you just try so hard to be nice to someone, because they’re special, right? You try really hard, you try to, um...mix your ingredients right and not say dumb shit, I mean, not make bad frosting, or whatever…” He couldn’t even look at Jihoon anymore. Junhui stared at the ground instead. He was aware that he should probably stop, that this was all extremely futile. But he had pride, dammit. Pride, an overwhelming need to not fucking fail this exam, and also, lots more projecting to wade through.

“And you do all that trying, until you’re so tired you can’t try anymore, and anyway, they won’t even fucking give you the time of day in class...or...um...y’know, the sugar...won’t...it won’t mix with the...the spice…” Junhui trailed off. He was finally done, maybe. At the very least, he had maybe said enough insane things to make Jihoon take pity on him and talk to the professor. Hopefully.

Jihoon had his arms crossed when Junhui glanced up again. He was a short guy, but he could pack enough intimidation into his gaze to bring down a whole gaggle of jacked weightlifters with barely a word. It was moderately terrifying, honestly. Anyway, Jihoon’s arms were crossed and he was staring at Junhui, but to Junhui’s surprised, he didn’t look angry, or annoyed, or like he was secretly recording every word of Junhui’s brain vomit to use against him later.

He looked concerned. And faintly confused, but Junhui sort of vaguely remembered most of what he’d just said, and that was to be expected, really.

Junhui huffed out a shaky breath, his eyes stinging. He didn’t really realize the rest of him was shaking, either, until tears started to roll down his cheeks, the kind of warm, angry tears that weren’t really sad, but more just made of sheer frustration. He was so frustrated, with himself and his classes and the situation with Minghao. It was just too much, suddenly.

At least they were the only ones left in the classroom. Small mercies.

When Junhui started crying, it was quiet enough that he could still hear Jihoon mutter, “Good god,” before an awkward arm circled his shoulder. Briefly, Junhui wondered how Jihoon could actually reach his shoulder, but Jihoon was trying to comfort Junhui, and he appreciated it, so he stowed away the height jokes for the time being.

Also, Jihoon had the potential to make or break his midterm grade. There was that.

Jihoon pulled his arm back after a few moments, clearing his throat. Junhui continued to focus on every crack in the floor, trying to get his emotions under control. Neither of them said anything for a while.

Finally, Jihoon sighed. “Come on,” he said firmly, dragging Junhui out of the room and down the hall by his arm, and Junhui let him.

*

Junhui didn’t really pay attention to the journey. He was mostly just trying to shrink in on himself as much as possible as Jihoon pulled him along, out of the culinary arts building and across the campus quad and then off-campus entirely, and by the time they got to the little boba shop right on the edge of the university, frequented by students and teachers alike, Junhui had managed to stop crying like a baby.

He came back to himself a little bit in the shop, standing behind Jihoon as he ordered two drinks authoritatively, sat Junhui down at a table and then went back to wait for their order. Junhui didn’t want boba. He wasn’t hungry, or thirsty, even though he felt empty inside. He didn’t know what Jihoon was trying to do, or why. As far as Junhui knew, Jihoon had never been nice to a single person or student in his entire life.

To his extreme and eternal surprise, when Jihoon returned with their order, he gave Junhui a friendly smile, pushing one drink to Junhui’s side of the table. Junhui stared at it, then back at Jihoon. He felt light-headed.

“So. Tell me about the guy,” Jihoon said, and holy shit, he sounded friendly. He sounded like any number of Junhui’s friends. Junhui remembered that they were close in age, closer than Jihoon usually made it seem. Maybe Jihoon was someone Junhui could actually talk to. An impartial party. More impartial than Soonyoung, for sure. Every time Junhui tried to talk to his best friend about the Minghao Situation, Soonyoung just told him to grow a pair and work it out with Minghao himself. It was rich, coming from someone too afraid to talk to his own crush, the T.A. currently sitting across from Junhui at this very moment.

Junhui frowned a little, peeling the wrapper off his straw and stabbing it into the lid, although he still wasn’t thirsty. It was something to do.

“What guy,” he said, unwilling to make it into a question, if only so he wouldn’t be required to provide an answer.

Jihoon quirked an eyebrow, but didn’t reply. Junhui frowned harder.

They got sort of locked into a spontaneous, nonverbal stalemate after that, Junhui because he didn’t want to talk about Minghao, and Jihoon probably because he wasn’t much of a talker to begin with. For a few minutes, the only sounds at their table were quiet slurps of boba. It was awkward.

Finally, Junhui gave up.

“It’s Xu Minghao. Xu Minghao is ruining my life.”

Jihoon didn’t say anything, which Junhui interpreted as an open invitation to continue babbling.

“He’s ruining my life, and now he’s ruining my grades because I physically cannot stop thinking about him all the time. I pissed him off somehow, right, I don’t even know how, and now he won’t even talk to me or look at me in our one class together. He still sits right next to me, but it’s like there’s this giant wall between us.” Junhui paused to take a breath and a gulp of boba. It was good. Maybe he was thirstier than he thought.

“And I know it’s stupid, I really do. But knowing is one thing and life is another thing. Y’know?” Junhui asked, raising his head to meet Jihoon’s eyes.

Jihoon chuckled a little. “I know, Junhui.”

Junhui sighed. “It’s just. I like him so much. Sooooooooo much. And I don’t know what to do now. I don’t know what I’m allowed to do. And clearly…it’s starting to affect other things.”

“Clearly,” Jihoon echoed.

Junhui rolled his eyes. “Shut up.”

Jihoon’s raised eyebrow went even higher this time. “I partially control your Pastry Decoration grade, may I remind you.”

Junhui frowned harder. “Amended to ‘be quiet’. Sorry.”

Jihoon smiled a little wryly. “I’m just messing with you. Listen, Jun…”

Junhui listened. Jihoon seemed much wiser than he was.

“I don’t have a lot more experience or knowledge than you do about this stuff. Love, or whatever,” Jihoon mused. “But I do know this. It’s easier than it seems. All of it. Our brains have a tendency to make everything seem like the worst, but it’s not. I don’t know much about Minghao, to be honest. Not more than what I’ve heard from a few professors. But the general consensus seems to be that he’s fundamentally an alright guy. A little rough around the edges, sure, but probably soft in the middle. Not unlike a cream puff,” Jihoon finished, smirking.

Junhui honestly wasn’t sure if that was an adorable metaphor, or a remarkably suggestive one. He decided on the first option, if only for his own sanity.

“If he’s being distant, he’s probably dealing with things in his own life that are taking up most of his brain power. Maybe you’re one of them, maybe you’re not. You’ll have to work that out for yourselves. The problem is, you’re making him take up most of your brain power, and it’s tanking your grades, and, Jun...no guy is worth throwing your education away for. I promise you that much.” Jihoon said sagely, and Junhui sighed.

“It’s not like I’ve even settled on a proper education at this point,” he muttered despairingly.

Jihoon shrugged. “You’ve got time.”

Junhui snorted. “Mr. Choi doesn’t seem to think so.”

Jihoon rolled his eyes. “I’ll talk to Mr. Choi. He’s not nearly as scary as he seems,” he said with a laugh.

Junhui took another few sips of his drink, considering that. “Neither are you,” he said finally, and Jihoon smiled.

“I know. It’s my deepest, darkest secret, and I’d like to request that you never tell anyone, please.”

Junhui laughed too, for the first time that day. It felt good. It felt, like, cleansing. At the very least, he could breathe again, without it descending into a sob. He finished off his boba, reveling in the sweet taste for a moment, and thinking. Thinking of how Jihoon usually came off to everyone, versus how he was right now. Thinking about Soonyoung and his poor, neglected crush. Remembering his end of the bargain they’d made, when Junhui was on his quest to adopt a dog.

Soonyoung had made him a sheet of topics he was allowed to discuss with Jihoon, when he got around to it. He’d even laminated it, and made it small enough that Junhui could carry it around in his pocket. He’d reminded Junhui not to go off book at least ten times since their first conversation about it.

Junhui went off book.

“You know, my roommate has a massive crush on you,” he said, scooping tapioca out of the bottom of his open cup with a spoon and into his mouth.

Jihoon snorted. “Who’s your roommate?” he asked, and Junhui could tell he was trying hard to sound casual.

“Kwon Soonyoung,” Junhui replied, nonchalantly stabbing the tapioca with his straw now. He didn’t look up for a moment, giving Jihoon time to absorb this information. Junhui hoped to hell he even knew who Soonyoung was.

He knew.

When Junhui glanced up again, Lee Jihoon, the Meanest T.A. in the whole university, was blushing.

Junhui didn’t say anything. He let it sit for a while.

“Oh,” Jihoon managed after a long moment. “Oh. That’s. Um...that’s...cool.”

Internally, Junhui rejoiced gleefully. “Do you know him?” he asked casually, even though it was glaringly obvious that Jihoon did.

“Uh. Maybe? I might. I think maybe I’ve seen him before. Or...maybe he’s in one of the classes I’m assisting with this semester. I dunno. I might.” Jihoon stammered the words out. Junhui felt like cackling. Soonyoung was going to die.

“He seems nice,” Jihoon murmured, almost dreamily. Even Junhui could not have expected this good of an outcome. But, if he was going to be honest with Jihoon, he needed to stop him right there.

“He’s alright when he wants to be,” Junhui said. “Not unlike you.”

Jihoon blushed more. “Shut up.”

Junhui snickered. “I think you mean ‘be quiet’.”

*

Junhui tried not to think too much more about Minghao, after he left the boba shop. He did pretty well, comparatively. Compared to the last few weeks, anyway. He spent long enough considering the situation to come up with a plan for the next step. Junhui needed to go back to the shelter, to catch Minghao outside of class, where he (probably) couldn’t run away or avoid talking to him completely. That made it sound like something of an ambush, Junhui was aware, but he was going to be gentler than that. Nicer. He didn’t want to scare Minghao. He just wanted to know what he’d done wrong, and how to fix it. So, even though things were going spectacularly with Lilli so far, and Junhui was proving to be a great dog dad (even surprising Soonyoung, who was still convinced that he’d end up being responsible for the dog after a while), he invented a reason or twelve to visit the shelter that weekend, a short list of things he needed “help” with.

Speaking of Soonyoung, Junhui had decided not to tell him about his run-in with Jihoon. Not yet. Knowing his best friend, the information would only serve to throw Soonyoung right off his game, to the point where he would make an ass of himself in front of his crush.

Should they happen to meet.

Junhui felt it was very likely, at that point.

Anyway, he waited until Sunday morning before he worked up the nerve to go to the shelter. Junhui was strangely proud of his own restraint. First thing on Sunday morning, he got up and got Lilli ready to go, shepherding her into her carrier and letting them out into the hallway of the apartment building. He had just finished locking the door of his apartment, when Junhui’s ears (and poor Lilli’s, by extension) were subjected to one of the highest pitched shrieks Junhui’d ever had the displeasure of experiencing.

When Junhui managed to stop cringing and holding Lilli’s carrier to his chest protectively long enough to seek out the source of such a noise, there stood Boo Seungkwan, Junhui and Soonyoung’s neighbor two apartments down, staring at Lilli in abject horror.

“What...exactly...is that?” Seungkwan managed to choke out through his extremely palpable fear and dismay. Junhui definitely felt like he was maybe overreacting, just a bit.

Junhui glanced down at Lilli in her small carrier, peeking out of the front timidly.

“Uh. It’s a dog, Seungkwan.”

That much should have been obvious.

Seungkwan removed his hand from his chest, where it had flown when he’d gotten a scare from the least menacing dog in existence. “Yes, but...why ??” he questioned next.

Junhui tried not to make his eyeroll too pointed. “Because I wanted one.”

Seungkwan made a noise of distaste. “Well, there’s no accounting for taste, I guess.”

Junhui didn’t answer.

“You know what’s a great pet?” Seungkwan asked. Junhui still didn’t answer, because he knew he didn’t have to. Seungkwan was going to continue either way.

“A chinchilla. They’re so clean and cute and fun and quiet. You should really look into a chinchilla, Jun.”

Junhui blinked. “‘Kay.”

Seungkwan didn’t go on, so Junhui made an attempt at small talk. “Anyway, how’s things?”

Seungkwan rolled his eyes dramatically. “Oh, y’know. The life of a pre-med. Don’t sleep. Don’t eat. Always interning! Or in class, I guess. I haven’t quite decided which branch I’m going down, yet. I sat in on a few surgeries last week. I didn’t really know there’d be so much blood, Jun.”

Junhui fought the urge to guffaw. “Yeah, I...I’d imagine there would be.”

Seungkwan’s eyes glazed over a little, his gaze far away. “Just...so much blood…”

Junhui lifted himself off the wall. “Okay, well...I gotta go, Seungkwan. Good luck with all that blood, yeah?”

Seungkwan seemed to shake himself out of his waking nightmare. “Yeah. Thanks, Jun. See you later. Good luck with your beastie, there.”

As Junhui walked away, he whispered to Lilli, “Don’t worry, he doesn’t know what he’s talking about. You’re the most beautiful puppy in the entire puppy world, and no amount of Boo Seungkwan Dramatics will ever change that.”

#seventeen #junhao #junhao fic #seventeen fic #junhao fanfic #junhui #minghao #jun #the8 #myungho #wen junhui #xu minghao #my writing #rescue

[theeurekaproject]

Parva Rubrum Marmor

The rice plants waved from side to side in the summer breeze, endless viridian green against a landscape of burnt sienna and umber. The sunlight streaming through titanium white clouds was zinc yellow, and it left sparkles of aluminum powder on a pond of cobalt blue. Cressida swirled the paintbrush through American rose and dotted it on the vermillion of the cliffs far in the background, completing the picturesque landscape of the quadrangle.

She leant back and looked at the painting, somewhat dissatisfied with it. American rose might not have been the right color. It was more candy apple red or electric crimson. And maybe diamond dust would have looked better than aluminum powder, to really capture the essence of sun on water, or maybe-

Maybe she was just overthinking it.

She looked at the painting, and then at her pigments. She eyed the chocolate cosmos. Dark, rich, deep red—it would be the perfect opposite of bright, vibrant American rose, especially in a painting where she was trying to create so much contrast. But was chocolate cosmos really faithful to the cliffs of the Mare Acidalium at sunset?

Cressida frowned and walked over to her window. It wasn’t that she wanted photorealism, exactly, but she wanted something that really matched the soul of the place, the heart of the landscape. Colors were important for that. She pulled open the drapes, revealing the real rice plants, and all of the people who worked in them. The cliffs rose up in the background. Chocolate cosmos did kind of match their character, but it wasn’t really super accurate-

“What the hell?”

Something flashed in the sky, momentarily flickering before vanishing into thin air. Cressida squinted. There it was again—a sleek chrome triangle, pulsing in and out of existence. That was advanced cloaking technology, the likes of which she’d never seen outside of crappy sci-fi B-movies they played at the theater on Fridays. Martian ships didn’t look like that.

“Dad?” she called downstairs. “Dad, there’s something weird in the stratosphere.”

“I know,” he shouted back. “They’re with me-“

“The ones in the ship?” she asked, watching all the workers in the field stop their labor to gaze at the cyan sky. “Because there’s a white thing-“

“What?”

“Come take a look at it.”

She heard him murmur an apology to his visitors—Eleutherian ambassadors, probably, but she had long since given up on trying to keep his various guests straight—and run upstairs, his footsteps pounding on the hardwood floor. He joined her at the window still, shielding his eyes with one hand.

“Look, Dad,” she said. “It’s flickering, see? That’s not one of ours.”

“That’s strange,” he said slowly. “That’s a nice ship. A really nice ship.” Even from this far away, Cressida could tell it was expensive; the way the mid-morning light glinted off the metal was unique to fancy Eleutherian cruisers. But why would the space equivalent of a yacht have cloaking technology unless whoever was flying it really, really didn’t want to be seen?

“It doesn’t look dangerous,” Cressida said, “but civilian ships aren’t even allowed to have that type of tech. That goes against so many regulations it’s not even funny.”

“You’re right. And it isn’t just cloaking, either.” Her father tilted his head up, shielding his eyes with one scarred hand. “See how shiny it is? That’s not for aesthetic purposes—or, well, it is, but those are shields, like on a military ship.” Cressida’s voice caught in her throat. “Military?” The Eleutherian military was no joke; their fleet outstripped anything Mars had by far, to the point where fending them off was laughable. The last war they’d fought had resulted in patches of nuclear devastation all over Daedalia Planum, and the soil was still irradiated and poisonous even centuries later. And, to Eleutheria, that had been nothing—at the time, their Imperatrix had called it a “skirmish.” Millions of people dead and entire cities leveled, a civilization reduced to radioactive ash, and it barely even registered on Eleutheria’s radar. They could nuke the entirety of Mars and barely bat an eyelash. Cressida was sure that her father’s status would protect her in some way—he prided himself on being annoyingly overprotective, and he was rich and powerful in some sectors—but, at the end of the day, he was just a farmer who had gotten lucky. He was high-ranking, but was he high-ranking enough to save his daughter and his planet from the most volatile empire known to mankind?

“What did you do?” Cressida demanded. “Why is the Eleutherian army coming after us?”

“I didn’t do anything, not really,” he said quickly. “And they wouldn’t send the army after us. They’d send the space force.” “That is literally the opposite of reassuring.” The only thing more terrifying than the sight of centuria of mutant super-soldiers was the sight of centuria of mutant super-soldiers riding indestructible starships.

“Don’t panic just yet. That might not even be a military craft,” he said, though Cressida could hear the waver in his voice. “Military ships are’t sleek and white—more cubic and black and intentionally intimidating.” Cressida squinted, trying to get a closer look. Everyone in the fields had long since stopped working; now, they just stared up at the sky, enraptured. The vessel drew closer, close enough to cause tornadoes of rusty-red dust to swirl up from the ground in jets of spent soil, and then closer still. It was big—admittedly, not as big as a yacht, but big—and Cressida felt a surge of anxiety as she realized just how near it was to the farmhouse. Either it would flatten all the crops and destroy the year’s harvest, which would be a massive inconvenience requiring ten tons of paperwork, or it would completely crush the homestead. Neither were good options, and both were bound to piss off the almighty Algorithm.

But, to her surprise, the ship simply coasted over them with a surprising amount of grace for something so large and unwieldy-looking. It cast a long, dark shadow over the fields as the Martian sun vanished behind glimmering Eleutherian plastic, sending chills down Cressida’s spine.

“Hey, Ace,” her father called to one of his guests. “Can you come up here for a minute?” “Ace?” Cressida asked. That name sounded like it belonged to a frat boy, not a visiting dignitary. “Who the hell is—“ “What?” A teenage boy with wild, curly black hair came barreling into the room in a cacophony of noise. His clothes suggested that he was a soldier, but his demeanor seemed less “military precision” and more “confused.” Maybe Eleutheria’s massive population meant that they were less discerning when it came to their soldiers, since they had so much cannon fodder, or maybe he was smarter than he looked.

“Is that who I think it is?” Cressida’s father asked, gesturing to the ship. Ace considered it for a minute.

“Yeah,” he said. “Oh my god, yeah. That’s Acidalia. We’re so fu—uh, screwed.”

“Wait,” Cressida interjected, “Acidalia? You’re not talking about-“

“You know exactly who I’m talking about,” he replied. “Either that or her psycho mother, because there are only two people I can think of who have rides like that.”

Cressida looked nervously at her father, and his eyes widened slightly.

“You don’t think it could be Alestra, do you?” he asked.

“Alestra Cipher is after you?!” Cressida exclaimed. “What the hell, Dad?” Alestra was the most dangerous woman in the solar system—hell, probably even the whole galaxy. She killed her own citizens on a regular basis, and she did not like Martians, particularly martians from the Mare Acidalium quadrangle. If she saw the opportunity to strike, she’d probably mow down the whole Seren family where they stood.

“I don’t think it’d be her,” Ace said dismissively. “It must be Acidalia. If it was Alestra, she’d have burnt this whole place to the ground already. We’d all be piles of radioactive ash by now. But that’s not the point—it doesn’t matter if she’s on that ship or not, because she’s the hunting dog to Acidalia’s fox. We are so, so, so screwed—and the fact that Acidalia thought it was necessary to come all the way here doesn’t bode well, either.”

“What do you mean, ‘that doesn’t bode well?’” Cressida asked again. “Dad, what’s happening?” Moving away from the window, she knocked over the all-but-forgotten jar of mixed chocolate cosmos, which left a reddish brown stain where it spilled.

She went utterly ignored.

“Yeah, it must be Acidalia’s,” Ace decided. “Alestra wouldn’t have let us live this long—she’s too efficient for that. And Cassiopeia’s an impulsive idiot, but Alestra keeps a leash on her, right?”

“I suppose there’s only one way to find out,” Cressida’s father shrugged.

***

Approximately thirty seconds later, Cressida and her father, trailed by Ace and a strange Eleutherian girl with fluorescent pink hair, stood outside the homestead in a rare patch of grass. Each and every one of them was sweating and tired-looking—something about the heat made standing under the sun exhausting, even when one had barely done anything requiring any sort of labor. Together, they stared at the ship, watching, waiting.

Suddenly, with an odd lack of fanfare, the shields vanished, and in place of their iridescent glow was a set of marble steps that somehow looked as natural on the landscape as the rice plants and the trees. At their very center stood a woman in a white dress and a veil—she could have been a bride, but Cressida knew better. She was flanked by two other women wearing identical gray uniforms, but somehow they gave off the same energy as an entire court full of people, and Cressida felt like she ought to respect this person, whoever she was.

The girl with pink hair, the one who apparently didn’t speak a word of Anglian, dropped to her knees in an awkward sort of worship. Cressida briefly contemplated doing the same thing, but neither Ace nor her father followed the girl, so she did a slight curtsy and remained standing, feeling very small compared to this foreign princess of a person. Even here, surrounded by the spoils of her family’s wealth—a mansion of a farmhouse, fields upon fields of employees, the best technology any Martian could ever hope to buy—Cressida felt like a tasteless hick.

“You know how to make an entrance,” her father said to the stranger, smiling slightly.

She sighed. “Old habits die hard.” Something in her expression was completely humorless, but not in an I-mean-business way, more of a someone-just-died way. Something churned in Cressida’s stomach, and she suddenly got a horrible gut feeling that something had gone very, very wrong.

“Are all the Imperials this dramatic?” her father asked, apparently not picking up on the David-this-is-serious vibes the woman was clearly trying to send his way. It took a moment, but a wave of embarrassment surged through Cressida. Imperials? This woman was an Imperial? Not just an Imperial—if she was standing here, and she wasn’t Alestra, she had to be—

Oh my God, Cressida thought. I’m speaking to Acidaila Cipher. It should have been obvious in retrospect; Ace had identified this craft as her ship, after all, and it made sense that the Imperatrix Ceasarina would be the one person outside the military who would own a ship this nice. But Cressida had been expecting some type of aid or minister to come out first—why would the ruler of the most powerful empire humanity had ever known want to speak face-to-face with the Secretary of Agriculture on Mars, of all people?

“David, I don’t have time for this,” Acidalia said, looking harried, and the tone in her voice made Cressida want to hear whatever she had to say sooner rather than later. She gave off a sort of frantic, panicked aura, even though her stone-cold face was completely calm. It was like chaos and disarray just surrounded her—she wasn’t its source, but it seemed to like her, and Cressida wanted to figure out what the problem was before it turned into a catastrophe.

“Sorry,” her father said. “Generally, when important political figures show up at my house with no explanation or forewarning, I get a little curious.” She glared at him. “There are a lot of things we could be talking about right now that don’t involve dramatic entrances. I’m afraid that I come bearing bad news.”

“Bad news?” Cressida asked, terrified by the vagueness of the statement. “Bad news” coming from a political figure could mean anything from an unfavorable poll to a famine that killed eight thousand people, and that was just on Mars. She didn’t even want to imagine what had happened in order to make Eleutheria acknowledge that it had a problem.

“We should discuss this inside,” Acidalia said, gesturing quickly towards the ship, which vanished into thin air at the movement of her wrist. Every worker in the fields stared, open-mouthed, but the Eleutherians didn’t look surprised in the slightest. As Acidalia walked to the farmhouse, Martian dirt soiled her elaborate white gown, but she didn’t seem to notice or care. She exuded the same type of confidence as Arlen Tycho—the persona of a leader who knew damn well how powerful and famous they were, and didn’t care what the unwashed masses thought of them.

With surprisingly little fanfare, Acidalia and her companions sat at the low wooden table in the kitchen by the foyer, and Cressida almost laughed at the sheer absurdity of the sight. Even she didn’t sit in the kitchen—they had dining rooms for that. The kitchen was the domain of the help and other people whose social points weren’t high enough to let them sit with the big guns. But Acidalia was the biggest gun in the room, and if she wanted to sit in the kitchen, the Algorithm probably wouldn’t penalize either of the Serens for that.

Acidalia said something low to Cressida’s father before turning to her. She gulped, half-expecting to be struck down or laughed at, but the Imperatrix had an expression of almost friendly neutrality, though she still gave off an underlying feeling of dread and anxiety.

“Um… bonus vesper, celsituda tua,” Cressida said, feeling nervous for a reason she couldn’t place.

“Loquerisne Latine?” Acidalia asked, surprised.

“Scio exigua.” I know a little bit. She’d studied Latin at school, too, but not the complicated, intricate dialect that Eleutheria used, if one could even call it that. Eleutherian “Latin” was really more of a creole of Latin, English, random Romance languages, Greek, and a bunch of drunk people adding -um and -us and -trix to words where they didn’t belong. It was created by a slew of college students armed with online translators and some Church documents two thousand years ago, and it showed. But she could hardly insult Acidalia’s mess of a first language in front of her, so she smiled blandly and tried her best not to cringe at the incorrect declensions and pronunciations.

“Ego Acidalia,” Acidalia said, as if Cressida wouldn’t know who she was. She pronounced her name the Catholic way, like the word acid. “Tu es filia David?”

“Sic. David pater meus,” Cressida replied. “Meum nomen Cressida est.” Yes, I am David’s daughter. My name is Cressida.

“Suave te cognoscere est,” Acidalia. “Pater mecum operatur. Qui dixit mihi multus est de te. Quotos annos habes?”

“Sedecim annos habeo.” I am sixteen years old—well, more like I have sixteen years. She was pretty sure that’s how they said it in Latin. That’s how they said it in Spanish, right? Tengo dieciseis años, not soy dieciseis años. And Latin was like Spanish’s ancestor, sort of. So that had to be it. Cressida was suddenly reminded of the Horus she’d spent in Trinity Court’s Academy for Young Women, staring longingly at the languid summer days just outside the window and trying to remember complex webs of verb tense rules for the sake of grammar quizzes. Was Acidalia trying to test her?

“Libens sum. Possumus, eamus intus?” Acidalia asked.

Before she could reply, Ace interrupted them. “Et arripuerit,” he said. “T Ubi est?”

Acidalia sighed deeply and didn’t meet his eyes. With a sweeping gesture, she announced more than said, “Veni. Nos eamus.”

No one moved.

She did not say anything, but gave them a look that wordlessly said, “this is a command, not a suggestion.”

***

“Et mortuus est?!”

Acidalia’s expression barely changed. “Cassiopeia.”

Looking incredulous, Ace sank down on the table. “Quomodo?”

“Et percusserunt eum. Significatum est enim mihi est…. mea culpa, se nunquam mori. Et ego paenitet.”

“Non utique creditur moriturus!” Ace exclaimed. “Erat tantum septendecim annorum… Ego ei ne ire. Cur non ibimus?” He buried his head in his hands and sunk down to the table, muttering frantically to himself in a whispered Shakespearean soliloquy.

Cressida didn’t know enough Latin to pick up on most of the conversation, but she knew enough to judge that someone had died. Mortuus, mori, moriturus… dead, dying, dying? It was difficult to tell; half their words didn’t make sense in Classical, non-Eleutherian Latin, because they had the wrong declensions or wrong grammar or were in the wrong order. But “mort” she understood enough. And “mea culpa…” that meant “my fault.” Mea culpa, mea culpa, mea maxima culpa was part of the Confíteor. Imperatrix Acidalia was claiming responsibility for someone’s death.

Apparently Ace had asked a rhetorical question, because Acidalia didn’t answer him. Instead, she merely looked down at the wooden table, elegantly mournful. Her eyes were watery, but there was no other sign that she was even remotely upset.

Ace, meanwhile, remained with his head in his arms for a few seconds, and the girl with pink hair looked over at him, concerned. She went to lay a hand on him, then redacted it, swallowing hard and looking at Acidalia.

Suddenly, Ace jolted up, his eyes red. “Et scissis vestibus pergens ad te.”

“Fecit,” Acidalia said softly.

“Et occidit se ipsum pro te,” Ace snapped. “Et occidit se ipsum pro te et tu ne quidem curant!”

Cressida caught the word occido—killed. Et occidit se ipsum pro te—“he killed himself for you.” She was taken aback; who would just say that to the Imperatrix? This random soldier had to have been of extraordinarily high rank to get away with this type of open defiance.

“Hey,” she whispered to the girl in gray, the one with long hair tipped with streaks of red (which the Algorithim would have killed her for if she wasn’t Eleutherian.) “Hey, do you speak English?”

“Um, some?” she whispered back. “I’m Athena.”

“Thank god,” Cressida said. “Do you know what’s going on?”

“The brother of the Imperatrix—uh, the empress?” she asked herself. “No… she who commands? I don’t know if there’s an English word with the same exact meaning-“

“Doesn’t matter,” Cressida said quickly.

“Yeah, I guess it doesn’t. But, um, the brother of the Imperatrix is dead.” She didn’t use the English possessive Acidalia’s brother, which made her voice sound stilted and awkward in a way she probably didn’t intend.

“I didn’t even know she had a brother,” Cressida said. She saw Acidalia and Aleskynn’s faces everywhere, but there was never any boy with them. If Acidalia did have a brother, his image would be on every propaganda poster ever produced.

“I didn’t know either, until about yesterday,” Athena said. “He’s gone now, though.”

“What happened?”

“Acidalia said Cassiopeia shot him—you probably don’t know who that is. She’s, um… insanus. What’s the word for-“

“Insane. It’s the same, pretty much,” Cressida interrupted. “How did she-“

“I don’t know,” Athena said. “I found out about this five minutes ago, too.”

“Oh.” Cressida felt like she shouldn’t be sitting here watching this—Acidalia had just lost a brother, and Ace was clearly upset about it. At the same time, though, she wasn’t sure how she could get away. Surely if the Imperatrix wanted her gone, she’d have told her to leave, but why would she want her here?

She turned to Athena, who looked like she felt just as bemused as Cressida did.

“Non est vestrum erit flagitium!” Ace shouted, suddenly, standing. The Imperatrix looked momentarily surprised before reverting to the same expression she’d worn before—sad, but strong, determined. She looked like a movie character, not someone whose brother had just been brutally murdered by a madwoman.

“Non ea culpa fuit,” Cressida’s father said gently.

“Sic factum est,” Acidalia replied, looking down at the ground. “Et mortuus est in me. Me paenitet, Ace-“

"Ignosce, non satis!” Ace spat. “Quod illi non erit! Et profecta!”

Cressida cringed internally. This man was going to wind up dead if Acidalia was anything like her mother—which, judging by the white and the theatrics, she was. Insulting the Imperatrix was not a good way to become popular in Eleutheria.

But, to her surprise, Acidalia hardly reacted. She closed her eyes and put her hands on her face for a moment, before sighing deeply. “Scio.” I know.

“Acidalia,” Cressida’s father said. “Prohibere. Quid enim sunt ne putasti?”

The Imperatrix didn’t say anything, but she wiped her eye with the back of her hand so subtly Cressida might not have noticed it if she weren’t so close. Ace just sunk back into the table again, and the girl with pink hair was clearly crying. The whole room filled with a stilted silence for a few minutes. Athena, her friend, and Cressida stood against the wall, bemused. Athena’s friend looked scared and embarrassed, chewing on her lip until blood trickled down her chin.

With a sudden realization, Acidalia abruptly straightened her shoulders, switching from one emotion to another far too quickly for Cressida’s comfort. She couldn’t tell whether the Imperatrix was upset and very good at hiding it or crying crocodile tears for the benefit of Ace, but either way, the transition was too sharp to seem normal. Acidalia looked—and acted—almost like a robot. A creation that had been told what humans liked when it came to looks and personality, and then replicated it, but replicated it wrong. Her oddly symmetrical features, her strange bright brown eyes, her impossible hourglass figure, the way she went from a weepy sister to a strong leader in a nanosecond—it wasn’t right, and it made Cressida slightly anxious. Acidalia was far too deep in the uncanny valley for her liking.

“Aegre fero,” Acidalia said, while Ace continued to look blankly at the wall. Then, addressing Cressida’s father, “David, si necesse est dicere.” We need to talk.

“About what?” Cressida asked, recognizing too late that she maybe shouldn’t have.

Her father’s eyes turned shifty. “Non hic.” Not here.

Acidalia nodded. “Sunt telecameras.”

“Cameras?!” All the times she’d danced around her room singing Vocaloid songs into a brush at top volume flew through Cressida’s head, before she remembered that there were clearly bigger issues at hand. Who would want to bug the Seren farmhouse? Just what types of games were her father playing?

“In Revelatio,” Acidalia said, standing. “Non debeo hic.”

Cressida really wished they would stop speaking Latin—or at least speak normal Latin—but knew better than to say it. She joined her father, glaring at him. “Tell me what’s going on.”

“Come with me.”

The stitch in her side returned as her father dragged her back to the ship, which materialized again in order to allow the passengers on. She winced, clambering up the marble steps. They were a lot less beautiful when she was roughly forced up them, and they were steep. Acidalia followed quickly, almost jogging in her seven-inch heels. It was a miracle she didn’t fall. Robotic, Cressida thought again.

The Revelation had entirely too many chairs and too much decor—all blue stones mixed with Greek and Roman art, not like Eleutherians even had any concept of what Greece and Rome were outside of those cool ancient people who made pretty statues. The neon lights immediately gave her a headache, and the architecture was sleek and organic but cold—but not literally, it was about eighty degrees. Everything Cressida disliked was in the Revelation’s sterile insides.

She collapsed on a rounded bench with white LEDs on the edges, blinking at the brightness. None of the other Eleutherians seemed too bothered by the harsh, unnatural lighting, though they’ll all been squinting in the Martian sun. Cressida’s resentment towards them grew suddenly, especially when every last one of them started speaking in rapid Latin, much too fast for her to understand. Who the hell were these people? They could land a ship on her farm, invade her house, make battle plans without her? Who did they think they were?

“Excuse me,” she said.

She was promptly ignored as her father delved deep into a conversation with Athena, the one who spoke a bit of English.

“Excuse me,” she said, louder this time.

They continued their discussion.

“Veniam in me!” she snapped. Six heads turned to look at her. “What the hell is going on?”

They stared at her blankly.

“Quid agatur in infernum?”

Her father sighed, looking worried. “We’re going to Eleutheria.”

“What?”

“Acidalia had a conversation with the Proregina of the Lunar Colonies-“ he began.

“What on Earth is a ‘proregina?’"

“Like a vicereine-“

“A what? None of this makes any sense! You can’t just-“ “Like a female viceroy,” Acidalia added, very unhelpfully. Cressida looked to Athena for help, but she just whispered, “Don’t know either.”

“An important person on the Moon,” her father said slowly, looking like he had a headache. “She said there’s been an uprising in Appalachia—that’s Eleutheria’s capital city. They think Acidalia’s dead-“

“Well, she’s clearly not, unless this chick really is an alien robot,” Cressida snapped, “so I don’t see what the big deal is.”

“I’m a leader of the Revolution,” Acidalia explained, like this was something completely normal to say. “We’re in a difficult spot here. The Novagenetica-“

“The eugenicist crazies,” Athena explained helpfully.

“-have declared a full-out war on us and claimed to have killed me. Obviously, since I’m not on-planet and it’s difficult to contact me out here, many have made their assumptions about my untimely death. The entire reason I’m here is because an assassination attempt that killed my brother forced me to flee, so that likely was a contributing factor in why so many believed the Nova when they declared that I had been murdered. Either way, most people on both sides think I’m deceased, and it’s vital that we correct that in order to preserve the safety of the planet.” “What does that have to do with me?” Cressida demanded.

“Well,” Acidalia said, “meet our Martian contact, David Seren.” She gestured to Cressida’s father. “Ally of the Revolution and close friend to President Tycho.”

Astonished, Cressida stared at her father. “What the hell, Dad? You’ve been in cahoots with a bunch of Eleutherian insurgents and you didn’t tell me?” “Seeing as we’re spearheaded by several members of the federal government, we aren’t exactly insurgents,” Acidalia replied calmly, her tone never shifting. “More like one faction of a civil war. But we need to stop discussing this. Clearly, I’m needed on-planet, and so is your father. For your safety, so are you. Besides, you’re an expert on Martian climate and agriculture and you’ve attended finishing school; the daughter of a Martian aristocrat is valuable.” She smiled in a way that was probably supposed to be as welcoming, but the corners of her eyes didn’t crinkle up like they were supposed to, and she looked too strange for anything she said to come across as genuine.

“Flattery won’t get you anywhere with me,” Cressida said. “I can’t leave Mars. I have a life. I have school, exams are coming up—it’s November, remember? Finals start next month.”

Acidalia looked entirely nonplussed about this. “I can tutor you on anything involving biology,” she said, “and I’m sure you’ll find that there are plenty of educational opportunities on Eleutheria.” “You’re missing the point,” Cressida said, wondering if she was really that thick. “I can’t just not take exams. I need a diploma-" “A what?” Athena asked.

“I’ll write you a recommendation letter,” Acidalia said dismissively. “No school in its right mind would deny you an admission. And, keep in mind, this is only temporary, and for your own safety. Now that I am here and my brother is dead—“ Her voice broke for a second, then she regained her composure so quickly Cressida wondered if anything had even changed to begin with. “Now that my brother is dead,” she continued, “this place is no longer safe for any of us. My mother will find out the truth soon enough, and then we will all be in danger.”

“But I haven’t done anything,” Cressida said indignantly. “I have no part in any of this.” She found it hard to believe that any Eleutherian dignitary could get away with murdering the daughter of an important politician. People would notice that, and then they’d be angry, even if there was nobody left to really mourn the Seren family. Acidalia sighed and looked up at Cressida. “Your innocence doesn’t matter,” she said. “Your father spoke to me once, and that’s enough. She’d murder you in a heartbeat if she thought you were related to a revolutionary, even if you posed no threat to her. I’ve seen her mutilate people for less. And even if the people of Mars rioted in response, there’s nothing they could do to counter Alestra’s immense power. She’d sooner bomb your whole city to ashes than show an ounce of mercy.”

“Acidalia is right,” Cressida’s father said. “That woman is a psychopath, and she doesn’t like Mars—or Martians—very much.”

“But she’s half-Martian!” Cresida exclaimed.

“Yes,” Acidalia finished, “I am. And so is—was—my dead little brother, who my mother’s henchman shot in the head. Nobody is safe from her, I guarantee it.”

A shiver went down Cressida’s spine. “What do you think she’ll do if she finds out—?” “I don’t know,” Acidalia replied. “I can’t say. But if you would like to remain alive—which I suggest you do; it is a dreadful waste to lose somebody so young—I suggest packing and leaving. Once the sirens start blaring, it will already be too late. I’m sure you know what happened to Daedalia.”

“Okay, but…” Cressida’s voice trailed off. She’d be missing school, she realized suddenly, and she’d lose half of her social points if she was absent any more. After that bout of flu in October, the Algorithm was already angry with her, and it would not be merciful if she abandoned her planet without a trace a month before exam season. And then the rumors would start and her reputation would sink even lower—she’d be called a deadbeat and a dropout and all manner of other things, and she’d never be able to go to a good college if she had no status left. The Martian meritocracy didn’t allow for mistakes or variations from the norm, even during a civil war.

But losing merit was still better than being dead.

A surge of fury coursed through Cressida’s veins. There was no way for her to get out of this—if she stayed she’d surely die, and if she left she’d be abandoning the life her father struggled so much to build for her. And none of it was her fault. She wasn’t the one who joined a revolution for the sake of a planet she didn’t even live on, she wasn’t the one who made friends with a woman whose family was insane enough to murder anyone its black sheep of a daughter set her eyes upon, and she wasn’t the one who dragged her friends into a war so violent teenage girls could be shot to death over nothing, absolutely nothing. This was all her father’s fault, and even beyond that, Acidalia’s—Acidalia Cipher, who had the nerve to show up at the Seren home, completely ignorant of the trail of destruction she’d leave in her wake. How dare she? None of this was Cressida’s problem.

But the nuclear war hadn’t been the Daedalians’ problem, either, and they were still the ones who had to pay for it. Such was politics. It was all one big game of chess—you sacrifice the pawns for the sake of the king. And the Algorithm would rather see a game won than save a useless piece.

Still, despite her desire—no, need—to please the Algorithm and her homeland, Cressida was growing tired of being a pawn.

#eurekaproject #on the edge of eureka #POV Cressida #Cressida Seren #Acidalia #ace (character) #Carina #Athena #David Seren #Cressida #David

[artificialqueens]

More than you know (Vatya) - Polly

Authors note: I don’t even know how or why this thing here came about. Honestly. I was meant to write the next chapter for ‚My loneliness is killing you‘ but somehow the fan fiction gods lead me here. When I started typing I literally had zero idea where I was going with it so this ended up being somehow kept down love, some flashbacks, a lot of anger, a lot of fluff, jealous Violet, confused Katya, angry sex, light blood play and bad communication… not in that order. (Yes, I got all that into 2,4k) I hope you enjoy? xx

PS: Look who got herself a side blog. (Feel free to send Vatya requests if you have some specifically for me) And now have fun, I hope reading this isn’t as confusing as writing it felt. xx

Violet/Katya; she/her; kinda out of Drag

TW: blood 

More than you know

“You know, for just having said that you’re dating and that it’s starting to get serious you were very easy to convince to come with me,“ Violet laughs while closing Katya’s hotel room door behind herself.

Katya rolls her eyes. “Shut the fuck up, Violet.” Her voice sounds annoyed and Violet isn’t sure but she thinks that’s there’s also a hint of uncertainty to it. Then Violet walks to where Katya stands and Katya grabs her roughly and throws her onto the bed. Violet loves it when she is a bit rough with her. Right now however, she seems downright angry; if she is angry at herself or at Violet or maybe both, Violet doesn’t know. 

She can’t blame her though, she is kind of angry too. Technically she doesn’t have the right to be angry but that doesn’t stop her. She saw Katya today for the first time in months and Violet had been excited but then Katya just had to ruin it again. They had just somehow recovered from Violet’s irrational behavior last year. 

-

Well, it was only irrational to Katya really, it had made perfect sense to Violet to simply never reply or even talk to Katya for a few months. At least not until she had gotten over her crush or whatever it was on Katya that surely was only born out of the fact that they had been hooking up so regularly and that Katya was also her friend and that Violet also already had had a crush on her while they were on Drag Race. It wasn’t even a real crush she had kept on telling herself, it couldn’t be. This was her friend Katya, just her friend. 

So Violet didn’t want to make things more complicated than they had to be which was why she ultimately had decided to ignore Katya for a short while until her feelings for her had vanished.

The plan had sounded pretty easy in Violet’s head. It’s not like her and Katya were working with each other after BOTS anyway. What she hadn’t calculated into her plan though was the fact that Katya was relentlessly sending her texts with incorrect quotes (“Feeling like pussy, feeling like cunt“- Hillary Clinton; “This is my hair, I don’t wear wigs“- Donald Trump; “That’s a rash, not a herpes sore“ - Wladimir Wladimirowitsch Putin).

Violet never replied but always read them with a dumb, fond smile on her face. Violet had expected Katya to stop sending them after Violet’s third non reply but instead she just started sending them more frequently. It was easy to ignore them, Violet wouldn’t even have known what to reply with even if she wasn’t ignoring Katya.

But then one day in the early morning hours a heartbreaking ‘Have I done something wrong? You never reply anymore‘ came in and two minutes later ’I miss you‘ and Violet had almost started crying in the club.

Instead she had gone outside and had called Katya and made up some lame excuse about being busy that neither of them believed. Violet had always been a horrible liar. Katya had let it go anyway and they had gone back to a somewhat friendship. But Violet could tell that she had hurt Katya and the guilt was killing her. When they had seen each other again it had been awkward but they somehow slowly but surely had gotten back to normal.

They never once talked about Violet’s strange behavior or all the hook ups or the few nights that were spend in each others arms or all the secrets they had shared in the dusky hours before night turns into day. All her favorite conversations were always made in those early morning hours, especially if they were with Katya lying in bed next to her smiling; smiling at her with a smile Violet had never seen before or after those short hours.

Being around Katya again without hooking up had been harder than Violet had expected. So she had called Katya almost daily in the hopes of being able to out-friendship the sexual tension between them. Maybe if they would be really emotionally close they wouldn’t be attracted to each other anymore, all the mystery would be gone. That plan had worked out way better in Violets head. In reality it had brought them here: both angry and about to have sex. 

The reason for Violet’s anger is approximately 300 miles away and is named Craig. Katya had told her that she had started dating while fiddling with her hands, not looking Violet into the eyes. Which was fine, just fine. But then Katya had told her that she had been going out with the guy for six weeks now, a fact she hadn’t mentioned when they had been talking on the phone last week, or the week before that, or the week before that one. The point was, there had been plenty of chances for Katya to mention him to Violet, but she didn’t. She couldn’t have forgotten by accident as it was the first thing she said to Violet after they had greeted each other today. Violet had been thankful for the fact that she was in drag, her facial expressions where easier to hide with heavy make up on.

And even though she smiled at Katya and told her that she was happy for her, she had still gone on stage angry and had dragged Katya around a corner after the show to push her against a wall and shoved her tongue down her throat. The fact that Katya had kissed her back had been both surprising and exciting.

-

And the fact that Violet is still here now, in Katya’s hotel room, without wig and with both her and Katya’s lipsticks smeared around her face is simply mind boggling. 

Katya is crawling onto the bed leaning into Violet.

“I’m going to fuck you like a giraffe you fucking bitch,“ she growls.

“My body is ready,“ Violet smirks.

Katya is on top of her now and kisses her roughly while pushing her hips into Violet’s. And even through the material of her jeans Violet can tell that she’s hard. Even though she is glad that Katya is here and that she should just let it go, she can’t get the guy Katya is dating out of her head. She flips them over and starts pressing her ass against Katya’s crotch.

“What’s so great about this guy anyway?“ Violet says and Katya’s hands leave Violet’s hips and she looks at her with an unreadable expression. Violet doesn’t care, she won’t be stopping unless Katya pushes her off of her or asks her to leave and right now she isn’t doing either. So she just starts moving her hips and feels Katya’s erection pressing against her ass.

“Can he make you feel like this? Does he want you like I do?“ she says while Katya closes her eyes and leans her head back. Her hands are still on the bed instead of on Violet but she is moaning now and that’s enough for Violet to keep going.

She leans down so that her mouth is on Katya’s ear. “Tonight I’m only thinking about you. Tonight I only want you.” She softly licks over Katya’s neck before biting into the skin there. She hears Katya hiss and feels her hands on her hips again a second later. Katya flips them over, and roughly removes Violet’s clothes.

“Get that smug grin off of your face,“ she demands while removing her own clothes. Violet smirks, pulls her back in and kisses her.

Violet doesn’t mean for it to happen but somehow the kiss is soft and before she knows they’ve been kissing a moment too long. Katya’s hand strokes through Violets hair and the kiss is sweet and gentle and it’s confusing so Violet flips them over again. She can’t have those feelings coming back, she can’t make this more complicated than it has to be again. This is just sex. With Katya. Katya whom she may or may not still has lingering feelings for.

She starts pressing her body against Katya’s again, feeling both their hard dicks between them. Katya let’s Violet move against her for a few moments, groaning, head leaned back, eyes closed, before flipping them over again. It’s half a wrestling match, half sex at this point.

She reaches to her bag next to the bed and pulls out lube and condoms. She lubes up one finger and pushes it inside Violet and Violet feels her toes curling. Katya isn’t exactly gentle with Violet and before she knows it there are three fingers inside her, moving for a moment before scissoring her for a little while. Violet can’t keep her moans down and this is going to be over too soon if Katya keeps going. 

Violet looks at Katya through hooded eyes. “That’s enough now,“ she brings out between moans. Katya pulls her fingers out and strokes both her hands over Violets sides once.

 "You’re so beautiful,“ she whispers with a smile and Violet pulls her in even though she knows she shouldn’t, shouldn’t let feelings cloud her judgement. But Katya smiled at her. She smiled at her with that smile Violet hasn’t seen since some early morning somewhere in Europe. 

Maybe she had lied to herself and never actually gotten over her crush on Katya. She pulls her closer to herself and Katya’s head is on Violet’s shoulder, her lips are on her neck and Violet can feel her hot breath on her skin and closes her eyes for a moment. She can feel Katya’s heart beating on her own chest. She moves her hand through Katya’s short hair a few times and presses her face into Katya’s neck and inhales her scent. They’re naked and their erections are trapped between their bodies and they’re kind of hugging and Violet thinks how strange this it but she cant bring herself to let go of Katya yet. 

When she finally does, Katya kisses her again for a moment and then pulls away and they look at each other unsure and Violet can see Katya swallow hard. 

“Ready?” Katyas voice is barely over a whisper and she looks at Violet with a smile. That smile again and Violet feels warm at the sight of it.

“Yes,” Violet whispers back and let’s her thumb stroke over Katya’s bottom lip briefly.

Katya pushes into Violet and they both groan. When she starts moving, Katya is looking at her so softly that Violets heart starts beating faster. 

But Katya has a boyfriend or whatever he is and Violet feels her anger coming to the surface again. She flips them over so that’s she’s on top and leans down to bite into Katya’s shoulder hard. Katya hisses in pain and looks at Violet, confused by her sudden change of mood. Violet moves back and starts bouncing on Katyas dick with force. Her movements are harsh and aggressive and she knows she’s going to be sore in the morning. But Katya is groaning and her dick is big and hard inside Violet and it’s hitting all the right spots. 

And she’s angry, so angry with Katya and with herself and she doesn’t even know exactly why but she has to let it out. She puts her hands on Katya’s chest and digs her fingers into it forcefully. Katya is going to have bruises and scratch marks there but Violet doesn’t care. She wants to punish her and isn’t even sure what for.

Suddenly Katya’s hands are on Violet’s hips and she digs into them to flip them over so she is on top again. Katya’s hands stay firmly on Violets hips and push them into the mattress, disallowing Violet to move. And then she starts thrusting again. 

Now, Katya has never been soft or gentle while fucking Violet but this is downright aggressive and for a split second Violet isn’t sure if it’s more pain than pleasure but then Katya adjusts her position and Violet moans at the sensation.

 Katya leans down to Violet and Violet thinks how strange kissing her would feel right now while they are basically hate fucking but then Katya bites into her lip with so much force that Violet can taste blood. Katya leans back slightly and looks at Violet with dark eyes while Violet can feel the blood on her chin. Katya leans down again and her tongue licks the blood off of Violets face. It feels dirty and forbidden and Violet isn’t sure if she ever has been this turned on. 

She pulls Katya’s lips onto hers and kisses her roughly while digging her fingers into her ass. She can taste and feel the blood in both of their mouths and it’s weirdly arousing.

Katya breaks the kiss leans back and plunges in and out of Violet hard again and again and they’re both moaning and groaning. It feels good, so good that Violets mind feels foggy and she’s so close she might faint if she won’t get off soon. She doesn’t know how Katya is holding out this long but Violet notices that her thrusts are slightly less hard than moments before. Katya moves one of her hands and starts pumping Violet’s cock and Violet has been close that even this small touches send her over the edge and she unloads between both of them. Katya keeps pounding into Violet but her thrusts get less intense each time and only a short moment passes and Violet feels Katya come inside her. 

She pulls out and rolls off of her. Both of them lie next to each other, panting for a moment before Katya grabs the corner of the blanket and wipes Violet’s cum off of her chest. Then she leans over Violet and moves the blanket over her too. Violet watches Katya carefully, trying to read her expression but she can’t. Katya just stares at Violets chest while cleaning it. Once she’s done she throws the condom away and sits down on the bed again. 

Violet turns to lie on her stomach and looks at her. Katya’s back is against the headboard and she has her eyes closed. After a moment she moves again, now lying down, her head on the pillow and rubs her hands over her still closed eyes.

Violet crawls towards her and Katya must’ve heard the rustling of sheets because she opens her arms and Violet drops into them. She let’s her head rest on Katya’s shoulder. 

Katya is lightly stroking over Violet’s hair when she mutters a soft „Fuck…“.

Violet can hear the smile in her voice and lets out a light laugh with Katya joining in a moment later. When their laughing dies down, Katya looks at her with that smile and leans down to softly kiss Violet for a moment and Violet feels herself smiling into the kiss. She moves her hand to Katya’s stomach once they break the kiss and draws lazy circles there. 

“Yeah…. Fuck,“ she says softly.

#violet chachki #katya zamolodchikova #vatya #polly #more than you know #tw blood #smut #fluff #rpdr fanfiction #submission #canon compliant

[strainofthestress]

Fanfic: Somebody to Share it With Ch. 6

Kadara Port, 1900 Hours

Ryder sat on the edge of the port, watching the majestic landscape that unfolded in front of him. The sunset glowed with honey-pink light that bathed the alien landscape in warm rays. Behind him, the techno thump of the club’s music could be felt more than heard, far enough away to not interrupt the serenity of the scene in front of him. Soft footsteps sounded behind him, though he barely noticed.

“Enjoying the view?”

Vetra stood behind him, looking out from the edges of the dock, her visor almost unnoticeable in the light of the evening.

“Something like that, yeah.”

Vetra sat down next to rider, her feet dangling off the edge with him, kicking mildly in the freedom they enjoyed.

“You been in to explore the port yet?”

“A little bit. Went in to meet our Angaran contact, met with Sloane Kelly – she’s a piece of work. Still have to go interrogate the Angaran.”

“No, I mean actually explore the port.”

Ryder looked at Vetra quizzically, his left eyebrow shooting up as he tilted his head slightly to the left. Vetra’s brow plates lifted and her mandibles flared out as she spoke.

“You know, like where the real people live? Where you are right now, this is to Kadara what the docks are to the citadel – a collection of travelers and smugglers, here for the night and nothing more.”

“So, have you been farther in, then?”

Vetra stood up excitedly, extending a hand to Ryder as she did so. He followed suit, taking her hand to help lift him to standing next to the precipice of the landing platform.

“Yes, I have been farther in. I lived here for a few weeks, actually. Let’s go exploring. I’m hungry, you want dinner?”

The growl in Ryder’s stomach answered for him, and Vetra was greeted primarily with a sheepish grin from the Pathfinder.

The two started walking, into the port first, passing all of the shops and din which Ryder was familiar with until they came to what had initially struck Ryder as a wall of junk. A closer inspection, though, with the help of Vetra activating the hidden console, revealed that it was actually just a creatively disguised door, blending in perfectly with the grab-bag assortment of equipment which made up the majority of the walls and corridors in the port.

Ryder looked around with childlike wonder as Vetra led him down a corridor, wide enough for three or four people to walk abreast in, her dual-toned voice explaining as they walked.

“See, the people who settled Kadara – the outcasts – for the mostpart aren’t all bad. Yeah, there’s a vocal minority whose entire platform is ‘screw the nexus’, but that’s not really representative. The majority of people here just wanted a life with a little bit more… control, than Tan allows for on the Nexus. Once they found Kadara and started to settle in, the lack of a clear police force, government, or any regulations made this an immediate pirate and smuggler’s haven. They were happy for the trade, we do keep the money flowing here, but most people here don’t want anything to do with it. So they separated Kadara Proper from the port, hid the entrance. They get to live a life largely free of the vagrancy in Andromeda, the pirate’s still get a place to booze and laugh and trade, and everybody makes money. An elegant solution, really, if you think about it.”

After a long distance the tunnel opened up and Ryder was greeted by a small square in which hundreds of people were walking about. The buildings bordering the square had the same chanty-town feel of what he had seen in the port, but the smell of vomit and sewage had been replaced just by general life – the faint tingling smell of power converters, the dust kicked up from a Turian walking by, the sweet aroma of the food stand to his left. The square itself was modestly sized, approximately 50 yards at its widest point, and at even intervals five roads split off into what he could see was a rather thriving city. To his best guess they were on the backside of the mountain that Kadara was on, this square being the tallest point of the entire establishment, but the tunnel had effectively disoriented him with an occasional and random turn (a feature he was certain was rather intentional).

Vetra started walking confidently down one of the roads and Ryder followed, his mouth still agape as he took in the sights and sounds around him. The outcasts had clever handcarts that they used, the cargo area glowing blue with Mass Effect Fields as they hauled clearly heavy wares with ease up and down the narrow and inclined roads – it was clear this was a pedestrian’s town. Species of every kind – Turian, Asari, Humans, Angarans, Salarians, even a few Krogan – stood around, clothed in dull greens and blues, bartering over the cost of this upgrade or that fruit. Only a handful of buildings looked to be more than two stories high, though there were some that were large enough to cover an entire block. While not dirty, nothing in the city seemed particularly sturdy, almost as if all of it had been built as a placeholder for a more permanent building which had yet to come. Looking forwards to see Vetra a few yards ahead, Ryder trotted forwards, speaking while he ran.

“So, do they have, like, a government here? Police? Civil servants?”

Vetra laughed, smiling at Ryder as the two dodged around a human and a Turian who clearly disagreed on the true value of a pistol.

“Of sorts. There’s no formalized government, as you’re thinking. Sloane’s word is still law back here. Any sort of government or civil tasks happen at her word. Say what you will about her, though, she does a pretty good job. Most tasks are taken care of fairly quickly, and the majority of her ‘shoot first ask later’ goons stay on the port side. In here.”

Vetra dodged to the right, Ryder following suit, into a small diner with a low ceiling. An L-shaped counter hugged the back corner with a door to the kitchen behind it, and on the counter behind glass sat plates of Turian and human food. 8 tables filled the rest of the space, chairs surrounding them. Vetra walked up to the counter and quickly a short Turian left the kitchen, wiping her hands on a rag as he did so. Her face was scarred in places and his colony markings were all but weathered away. A frown hugged her mandibles to her face, but as soon as she looked up to see Vetra, her eyes lit up and her voice erupted with dual-toned joy.

“Vetra!!!” Vetra was practically yanked over the counter into a crushing hug. “Oh how good it is to see you! It’s been a few months, no? Please, please, sit sit!”

The turian gestured to the tables filling the space and Vetra and Ryder turned around to find a table of four, taking seats opposite each-other with the new turian seated to Vetra’s right. She continued.

“Vetra, you’ve got to tell me what you’ve been up to? How is life on the Nexus? We’ve heard rumors of a pathfinder, is this true? Is he real? Or is it a she?!”

Vetra was about to open her mouth when the Turian’s attention turned to Ryder, her eyes blatantly looking him over from top to bottom, her mandibles flaring slightly as she did so. The subharmonics of her voice getting deeper as she spoke.

“And who’s your new friend?” She turned to Vetra, her voice lowering in volume “you didn’t tell me you kept such cute friends! I like him!” Ryder’s face reddened as the new turian spoke and Vetra gave him a look which was an even mix of exasperation and amusement. The turian turned back to Ryder. “I’m sorry, where are my manners. 600 years out of the hierarchy and look what I’ve become! I’m Trivenia Quo, but most of my friends just call me Tri. I run the finest Levo-Dextro diner in Kadara.”

Ryder’s face made how taken aback he was by the bombardment of friendliness quite obvious and, stifling a laugh, Vetra took over the introductions.

“It’s good to see you again, Tri. I’d like to introduce you to my friend, Wes Ryder, Pathfinder.”

Her clear emphasis on the last word was not lost on Trivenia, and she gave Ryder another impressed once-over, glancing at Vetra who nodded at her as if confirming that her information was accurate.

“Well, nice to meet you, pathfinder. Here, let me get you something to eat.”

Trivenia stood up, hustling behind the counter as she took out two plates, loading them both up with heaps of oddly green and pink food, which Ryder recognized from neither Levo nor Dextro diets. Vetra leaned across the table to speak to Ryder in confidence.

“Trivenia is one of my most reliable contacts here in Kadara. She worked with Blackwatch – a Top Secret Turian Spec Ops team – before coming to Andromeda. As you’ve seen, she’s very friendly to those she likes. Get on her badside, though… it’s unlikely any of your loved ones will see you again.”

Trivenia returned from behind the counter, placing steaming plates of… something, in front of both Ryder and Vetra, though neither were terribly certain whether it was food or not.

“Now, forewarning you two, these are some of my newer recipes – I went out to collect some plants outside of town and made these. The turian dishes taste pretty good, and my human friends say the same about your food, pathfinder. So, eat up!”

Kadara Proper, 2130 Hours

The plates were left empty besides Ryder and Vetra, replaced instead by warm mugs of some alcoholic drink neither knew the origin of, and doubted they wanted to know. The conversation was still as engaging as ever, Vetra lauding Trivenia with stories of their adventures thus far in Heleus, of their contact with the Angarans and battles with the Kett. Ryder would chime in, when he could, but quickly found that his story telling skills were a little lacking compared to the adventuring smuggler, his sotires usually petering off into forced laughs and rushed changes of subject. Vetra was finishing a story.

“… and then, just to top it off, Wes said something really silly like ‘Eat this, you Kett bastard’, just something way over the top, and BAM, sent one round right between this bastard’s eyes. It was incredible.”

Trivenia laughed, looking Ryder over again, before standing up, gesturing to her guests to stay seated, saying simply “one moment” before practically running behind the counter. Vetra and Ryder were left alone, staring at each other. Ryder spoke first.

“I like your friend, she’s fun.”

“She is, isn’t she? Probably one of my favorite people in this town. Actually, definitely my favorite.”

“Do you come here often?”

“Not anymore. When we were still waiting for a pathfinder I lived here for a few weeks, just for the fun of it, wanted to see what outcast life was like. Not quite my style.”

“No?”

“No. As it turns out, I like to have actual air filtering and running water all the time, imagine that.”

“Yeah, imagine that..”

Ryder’s voice drifted away as he could sense the small conversation dying, his heart sinking as he tried to think of something to say. Dammit, Wes, come on! Think of something! She’s so much fun to talk to, to listen to, there’s gotta be some way to engage her in another topic. Maybe ask about her work here? No, she’s made it clear she’s trying to move away from all that. Her gun? Please, let’s not talk about guns for a while… dammit!

Before Wes could think of something to say, Vetra started talking.

“You know, Wes, this place reminds me of Omega a lot. My sister and I lived there for a few years. Low rent, always work, it was pretty good, all things considered. Most people think Omega is just this town of vagrants – people who want to live outside the rules, ‘shove it to the man’ as some humans say. But, for the most part, it’s just people with nowhere to go. This place is sort of the same way. Most aren’t living here because they hated the nexus, most are here because they didn’t think they had a voice. They were outcasts long before they were cast out. The only difference is, they might still have a chance at somewhere to go here.”

“What do you mean”

Vetra took a sip from her glass, staring out the entryway of the diner into the now-quiet  street, here eyes looking through the shroud of night out the building. After a few moments, she spoke.

“In the milky way, everything already had a place. The galaxy already had a rhythm. You went where you were needed, you knew what that meant. But out here… it’s a fresh start. We’ve just barely established two outposts in Andromeda, and there are tons left to set-up. After we get those up and running, once we’ve got a full government between the colonies that isn’t just The Nexus, these people might be able to get a home there. The biggest difference between here and Omega, is hope.”

Ryder laughed, taking a long swig from his drink before slamming it down on the table, a little more forcefully than was soberly necessary.

“Next you’re going to tell me I am that hope.”

“Well… yeah.”

Before Vetra could keep talking, Trivenia came back from behind the kitchen carrying a small, octagonal tube in here hand. Her steps made it clear that it was heavy, and by her smile Ryder could tell that it was special to her. She set it on the table before talking.

“Now, Pathfinder…”

“Please, call me Wes.”

“Alright, Wes.” A small Turian goading smirk. “This piece is really special to me. Without going into any details, she’s seen me through a lot, put down a lot of bad people. I’ve only just met you, but if Vetra likes you (and trust me, she does), then that’s enough for me. I’m getting to be a little too old to lug something like this around, but that one on your back, I’ll gladly take. So, I propose a trade. This…” she pressed a button on the side of the tube and it extended into a sniper rifle. “for that.”

Vetra gasped softly as she looked at the rifle on the table, the block printed words on the front reading “BLACK WIDOW MK.III”. Ryder stared in awe at a weapon he had only ever heard about, the geometric design beautiful in its own way, a bringer of death in the right hands. Slowly, he reached out to touch it, his hand softly brushing against the cold frame of the weapon.

“Tri… are you sure?”

“Of course I am. Like I said, I’m getting too old. Not only that, can’t have our pathfinder bringing out some stupid peashooter in the field, now can we? Lord only knows where the Turian pathfinder is, and there’s not even a peep about the Asari or Salarian one. Right now, you’re our only hope. And if that armor and your stories have anything to say, you’ve become quite the soldier. A long way from an Alliance Naval Officer – I’ve seen you all shoot, I know you’re horrid, no shame in it. This weapon deserves to do good work, to shoot the right bad guys and protect the good ones. It’s certainly not going to do that here.”

Dumbfounded, Ryder looked to Vetra who stared at him, before jerking her head in a clear “Well, go on!” gesture. Ryder reached behind him, removing his Initiative rifle from his back and handing it softly to Triviana, who smiled while looking the weapon over, stowing it expertly on the mounting plates of her soft armor. Ryder reached forwards, picking up the heavy weapon and collapsing it down into it’s smaller form, stowing it on his back, adjusting his shoulders as he got used to the new weight. The room was silent.

Triviana stood up quickly, rubbing her hands together in a very human motion before picking the plates up.

“Well, you two, it’s time for an old woman to go to bed, so I’ve got to kick you out. Visit again some time?”

Vetra and Ryder stood up to leave, turning around to answer in unison “Of course, Tri.”

Kadara Port, 2430 Hours

The moon shone eerily over Kadara, bathing the Tempest in a beautiful pale light, the reflective sections of the ship throwing a dance of colored light over the surrounding buildings. The port was only a slight bit quieter at night, the constant din from the music still omnipresent in the back of everyone’s mind, like a song which all were struggling to remember but never could.

Ryder sat, again with his legs dangling off the edge of the platform. He knew, in the back of his mind, that there was a severed head of a Kett not 30 feet away from him, but that was pushed out by the beauty of the landscape before him. Man, how much that would have freaked me out not 3 months ago…

In his hands was his new rifle, freshly polished and cleaned. A man of selectively fastidious nature (his weapons and armor were perpetually spotless, the same could not be said for his stateroom), cleaning the weapon had been the first thing he had done upon return to the Tempest, the smell of gun oil and mass effect fields becoming strangely soothing to him since his time in Heleus. Afterwards, the sound of a flying creature – he knew not which – had called him outside, and the view had kept him there.

His mind was empty as he looked at the mountains before him, but he found that the subconscious wandering of an amazed mind was enough to solve many of his problems – or at least bring him conclusions he had never reached before. He thought about the crew, how they had come together. How Lexi had come into her role as team doctor quite naturally – no matter how much she complained about the number of injuries the crew was able to sustain. How Suvi was finding divine beauty in their new galaxy, a faith in final resolution that few others on his crew or the Nexus could boast. How Liam was learning just what being explorers meant, coming to terms with his own displacement as well as the slow acceptance of others; his continual outreached hand a constant force for friendship within the cluster.

And then, there was Vetra.

Before Ryder’s mind could turn properly to Vetra, or rather tell him properly what he thought of her, the familiar soft stomp of an armoured Turian approached from behind, the familiar two-toned voice calling out.

“Out here again?”

“Yeah, I guess this place is just too beautiful to pass up.”

“You know, Ryder, you’re gonna have to sleep sometime.”

“After I finish enjoying this.”

“Fair enough.”

Vetra sidled down beside Ryder, not asking for an invitation. The silence between them was comfortable, of a silence between friends, but nevertheless pregnant with conversations that could be, though neither party felt capable of starting them. The closest thing Andromeda seemed to have to a bird flew overhead. Ryder spoke first.

“This planet is a hell of a place. Pirates, beautiful mountains…”

“Trade deals with no regulations…”

“That too.”

A short pause.

“This used to be my favorite place to come. I’d fly down here on a ‘borrowed’ shuttle, carrying enough to make a profit. Find an inn for a few nights, enjoy the scene. There’s something very… freeing, about being here. In both good and bad ways.”

“What stopped you?”

“All… this.” Vetra gestured at the Tempest behind them.

“I’m sure you’ll find time after all… this. Suvi estimates we’ll be out here no more than two more months before the Nexus reaches full viability… whatever that means.”

“By then, maybe we won’t need all this. If we’ve got a foothold in Heleus, an actual government and structure, who’s to say Kadara port needs to stay?”

“I’m sure they will. You said it yourself: people have built a life here. That’s not something they’re going to want to just uproot and move randomly.”

“I guess you’re right. I just love the idea of a new Heleus government.”

“Why, not fond of the old one?”

“No, I have no hard feelings against the hierarchy, or even the council. I just… In the Milky Way, everybody was classified by their species first: Turian, Human, Asari; and then after that people cared what you did or who you were. Maybe out here, with a bunch of mixed worlds, we can change that. Make a galaxy that’s truly communal.”

“You think it’ll work.”

“I hope so.”

Another pause. Vetra started again.

“When I was younger, working construction jobs for my sister, she and I found our way into some Salarian dominant space. They were all very nice, but the more I asked the more I got turned down. It was… heart breaking. Sid had to beg on the streets just to get food for her, and I practically starved. It took a few months before an old Salarian told me that Salarians don’t hire Turians. When I asked why, he just looked at me like I was crazy and walked away. That’s… that’s always stuck with me. It wasn’t big – I eventually found a job and Sid and I got off that rock – but the memory of his confusion, how shocked he was that I would question it? That’s stuck for a while. I don’t want the next generation to grow up with that.”

Ryder paused, looking at Vetra to see that her visor had turned off, a clear echo of the pain from the past on her face.

“I never knew that. That sounds… awful.”

“I haven’t told anybody else, except you.”

“Well… thank-you.”

“For what, sharing an old sob story that explains an impractical aspiration?”

“For trusting me enough to share that.”

“Oh.” Vetra paused, looking at Ryder with momentary confusion and shock. “Well… yeah. Of course.”

“For the record, I like your idea.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. As the galaxy’s newcomers, Humans are constantly getting told by other council species to ‘wait our turn’ before we get serious say in galactic matters. And I can understand that we’re a little new and inexperienced. But, to me, it’s always seemed like that would give us a good perspective on things, a new take, help shake off some cob-webs, you know? I’d love to make a calaxy for all species, run by all species.”

“Yeah… wouldn’t that be something.”

Vetra took two breaths before she looked at Ryder, a small grin on her face, her tone quickly shifting from wistful to teasing.

“So, pathinder…”

“Oh man, here it comes”

Vetra’s laugh trickled through her sentence.

“Was that ‘Singularity Sailors’ I heard playing in your room last night?”

Though the moonlight prevented Vetra from seeing, Ryder’s face turned brilliant red at the question.

“It might have been, why?”

“You’re a Singular? Really?”

Immediately, Ryder took up the rallying call of his show and Vetra laughed as he defended it with passion and excitement.

“Look, the first series’ writing really stands up, despite it’s lack of special effects technology. And the second series? There isn’t really a better science fiction show on the vids to date! Its writing, its cast, its focus on character development and plotline over flashy special effects… it is the model that almost all sci fi vids are based off of now! Everybody from Captain Richard to Counselor Troiven, they all stand up as back ground characters. The third series, I’ll give you, is a little stale. But the fourth had some really compelling ideas and subplots, and the fifth did a fantastic job of exploring the prequel days before the original show! At the time, it was visionary, and now it is foundational! So, yes, I am a ‘Singular’, and yes, I do enjoy it!”

Vetra’s laughing had reached hysterical levels as Ryder finished, her lungs burning as she struggled to take a breath. Through the laughter she spoke.

“Wes, those vids were old when we left, not to mention now!”

Ryder’s face was still slightly red from consternation.

“Okay, fine, I got a little bored when I was a teenager, thought I’d watch it since everybody kept on spoofing it and making fun of it. Is there a point to all this?”

Vetra was still laughing, though it was dying down.

“Yes, actually. What if I told you I know a guy who has an unopened box-set of Singularity Sailors’ vid disks?”

Ryder’s head turned, and had he been a dog his ears would have picked up, instantly.

“What do you want me to do?”

“What are you willing to do?”

“Literally, anything.”

Vetra laughed, her tone now jokingly predatory.

“Well, then, I think I might get them for you, if you promise me I can hold onto this favor.”

“Vetra Nyx, I’ll do literally anything for you.”

“Promises, promises!”

As Vetra said it her head came out of the pool of laughter that it had been swimming in, her eyes noticing the mere centimeters that sat between hers and the Pathfinder’s face. Her tone was intentionally flirty, a tactic she had used with most of her closer clients. But with Ryder… with him so close… she questioned whether it mightn’t be actually serious. Ryder apparently noticed too because he quickly moved back to his position, nervously clearing his throat as he blushed furiously under his cheeks.

Silence again reigned between them.

Ryder spoke first.

“You know, Vetra, I was doing some thinking today.”

“That’s never good.”

“No, I promise you, this isn’t another ‘Let’s clean the entire tempest!’ idea. Actually, I was thinking about this crew.”

“And?”

“And how we’re getting along. And, I gotta say, I think you’re my closest friend out here.”

Vetra stopped to think about Ryder’s statement before speaking again.

“Where is this coming from, Wes?”

“I don’t know. I just… thought I needed to tell you.”

Vetra waited, staring at Wes as she counted down until the further answer she knew was coming arrived.

“Well, actually…”

Right on time

“I guess being out here, in this port, reminded me just how… alone, I am out here. I came with a family of three, myself, my sister, my dad. But Dad’s dead and Sara’s setting the record for waking up from cryo. We’ve got the crew, but most of them just work for me, if that makes sense. We don’t interact a whole lot, we don’t talk outside of work. But you, us? We hangout. We go get dinner. We talk about unified governments and whatnot. The worst feeling in the world was when I realized that it had been months since I last told my dad I loved him when he died. Since then, I’ve been trying to make a point to tell people what they really mean to me. So, thanks. For being my friend.”

Vetra smiled in her Turian way as she saw Ryder trying to make his statements heartfelt, the endearing nerdiness of his behavior and speech getting the message across where his words couldn’t. In due time, she responded.

“The feeling is mutual, Wes.”

Wes leaned back, looking up at the alien sky filled with alien stars, content at getting his message across. A part of him wanted to say more, wanted to tell Vetra more than just things about friendship, but there was such a mass of intentional and unintentional distractions pushing against it that he was able to primarily contentedly look up. Vetra followed suit, enjoying the world without the bluish purple tint of her visor in the way. The two threw their hands back, supporting their weight as they looked upwards. Vetra’s right tertiary finger found Ryder’s pinky, quite by mistake (she told herself), the contact electrifying for the both of them. Suddenly that deeper part of Ryder’s mind which he had kept quiet so ardently flared up, yelling at him all the wonderful traits of his best friend in Heleus, shouting to him to move further, see where this connection could go. Vetra’s mind had a similar voice, though she had been largely unaware of it until now, traditional Turian stoicism silencing it more effectively  than Ryder’s simple distractions. However, the two stayed where they were, their hands touching, their minds reeling at 100 kilometers a second, and the world seemed to turn just a little bit faster.

    Hey guys! Sorry it's been a while since I posted. I actually graduated University last Friday!!! So, it's been a little hectic leading up to that. Anyways, this one is a lot of fluff with some movement in the end. I'm justifying to myself that part of the slow build is giving the characters time to come together on their own, but I'm so unfamiliar with this timescale in writing that I don't know whether I'm moving too fast or too slow. Feedback would be wonderful, and I hope you guys enjoy!!!

PS - If you couldn't tell, "Singularity Sailor" is this universe's Star Trek, and bears an unsurprising number of similarities.

#fics #fanfiction #Mass Effect #andromeda #mea #me: andromeda #vetra romance #mass effect vetra #vetra nyx #vetra x ryder #Ryder #male ryder

[tardisheart134]

Beast to your Beauty

Word Count: 2,790 (approximately)

Link to AO3: (x)        

Summary: In celebration of the live action remake of Beauty and the Beast ~

Castiel has been eyeing Dean and all his ruggedly handsome good looks for some time, but he buries his feelings.  If Dean knew what he was thinking he would laugh at him surely.  Cas can’t help but hope there is a softer side to Dean beneath the surface.  Meanwhile, self-loathing and sometimes abrasive Dean, watches as Castiel - real life angel - selflessly helps others and spreads love and acceptance wherever he goes.  There is beauty that radiates from deep within him and calms Dean’s restless heart.  Would fate help them lose themselves long enough to find each other? 

They were working on a skeleton crew as it was because of the weather advisories but someone had to be there.  Castiel lived within walking distance of the office so he didn’t mind to stay a bit longer.  He went around checking on others and helping them meet their deadlines so they could get home safe.   

It had started snowing around 3 PM and then it got dark shortly after that as the snow clouds moved in to cover the sun.  Cas watched the last of them bundle up and slide through the parking lot to their cars. It was almost 7 PM when Castiel finished up the rest of the pressing assignments.  A dull headache plagued him from staring at the computer screen for so long.  He hit the lights, getting ready to head home himself, when Dean Winchester stepped off the elevator.

“Dean, what are you still doing here?  You live the furthest away, you should have been the first to leave.”  Dean could tell that Cas was genuinely worried because his eyes flared blue and his brow scrunched with worry.  

“No, it’s okay.” Dean said.  “I knew it was too late, I’m just gonna crash on the couch in the break room.  Dean couldn’t help but be flattered by Castiel’s concern.  “I just came down - I think I left a cup of noodles in my desk.”  

Cas wrinkled his nose and cocked his head to the side.  Dean wondered what had him so deep in thought.  He was beautiful when he was concentrating.  

“What about you? - I didn’t know you were still down here working - last to leave?”  Dean gestured at Cas.

“Well, I don’t live too far - just at the bottom of the hill there’s a path that leads through to my apartment.  I was just about to walk home.”

“Oh.”  Dean nodded.  They were both quiet for a moment but neither were in a hurry to leave each other’s presence.  

“Look…” Cas looked down, scratching the back of his neck.  “Why don’t you come home with me?”  Castiel looked up at Dean and then away again.  He’d had a crush on Dean for a while - but this had nothing to do with that.  It wouldn’t be right to leave Dean helpless here without a decent meal or a shower, not when his home was so close.  “My home is not much to see - it’s fairly small but I’ve got a shower and a fireplace and homemade chicken curry soup in the fridge…”  Castiel was trying to convince him but Dean hadn’t objected.  

“Okay.”  Dean said.

“Yeah?”  Castiel’s eyes went wide with disbelief, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

“Yeah...just let me grab my coat.”  Dean disappeared into the office.

Castiel felt giddy like he’d asked Dean on a date and Dean accepted.  He tried to remind himself that was in fact - not - what happened.  Dean was stranded and simply taking the help that Cas offered, nothing else. (The thought didn’t help to quiet the butterflies in Cas’ stomach though.)

Dean appeared with his jacket.  They were quiet as they made their way down the hill.  Snow flurried around them and was packed solidly beneath their feet. The moon was full and it reflected off the ground making the whole landscape glow.  

Castiel hit a patch of ice.  He landed on his back and slid about three feet down the hill.  He hit the ground hard, punching the air out of his lungs, but he laughed through it.  

“Cas!”  Dean crouched over him - his face all concern until he saw Castiel’s broad grin.  “You okay?”  Dean helped him to his feet and dusted the snow off his back, the white powder forming a cloud around them.  Cas hadn’t even tried to take a step yet, when he slid again.  Luckily Dean caught him, holding him steady. “Here - hold onto me -”  Dean offered his arm to Cas and they walked the short distance arm in arm.  Cas’ heart beat loudly in his ears, he told himself it was from the fall and not because his fingers were tangled with Dean’s.  

The apartment was warmer than outside, but only by a little.  Castiel clicked on a few lights and then turned up the heat.  

“The heat’s not so great - I usually build a fire.”  Cas shrugged apologetically.

“I’ll do it.  Where is the fireplace?”  Dean looked around the small room with brick walls painted a cream color.

“In the bedroom.”  Castiel pointed towards the hallway.  Dean moved to the small pile of wood by the back door.  “You don’t have to - I can build it…” Castiel moved to take the wood out of Dean’s hands.  

“No really - it’s good - least I can do…”  Dean grinned lopsided at Cas which made him feel both like he was flying and falling simultaneously.

The apartment was cozy, small.  No dining room.  The living room was wall to wall book shelves and a small flat screen tv mounted on the wall opposite the kitchen.   Only one recliner across from the tv with a table next to it a stack of books on the other side.  

No couch.  

Castiel started heating the soup on the stove.  Dean went to the bedroom. More books.  He found the bin of kindling and went to working on the fire.  No couch only one bed.  Dean’s heart fluttered.  He was muttering to himself trying to gain control of his runaway thoughts.  Castiel only invited him here because of the weather, not for any other reasons that Dean fancied. It was out of the kindness of his heart.  Still he thought - it was kind of hot - trapped in the snow with a cute guy making him soup.  When he walked back into the kitchen, Cas handed him a beer.  “Soup will be ready in a few minutes.  I just cleaned the sheets earlier this week.  You can take the bed...I can sleep in the recliner.”  

“Dude! There is no way I’m taking your bed - after all you’ve done.”

“What have I done?”

“You let me come home with you - you’re feeding me dinner - I’m drinking your beer - You rescued me...I’ll sleep in the recliner.”

“I’m not gonna sleep in the bed - while you - my guest sleeps sitting up in a chair.”  

Castiel stirred the soup before taking a swig of his beer.  

Dean rubbed his face - exasperated.  He decided to change the subject.  “So - do you like to read?” Dean asked sarcastically - clearly knowing the answer by the sheer amount of books in the room.  

“I do...I just finished this series…”  Castiel lit up and Dean couldn’t help but smile back at him, he was so cute when he was talking about something that he liked.  

“...How did you know I liked to read?”  Castiel looked up at Dean for the first time putting the lid back on the pot of soup.

“It’s a little obvious…”  Dean gestured around the room.  

“You’re making fun of me, aren’t you?”  Cas’ face turned somber and he looked down.

“No - no - really I’m not - I just think you’re cute when you talk about books.”  Dean smiled at him.  Castiel cleared his throat.  He wasn’t expecting that.  “Tell me more…” Dean said grinning up at him.  

Castiel ladled out his soup and buttered two slices of bread.  Dean was sitting cross legged in front of Castiel’s recliner.  

“You don’t have to sit on the floor - I can.”  

“I’m good here.”  Dean said taking the plate from Castiel.  “This smells delicious.”  Dean warmed his hands against the warmth of the bowl.  Castiel sat down next to Dean on the ground, both of their backs  leaned against the recliner.  Castiel flipped through the stations on the tv.  He was going so quickly Dean wondered how he could even tell what was on.  Dean stopped him when he passed up Beauty and the Beast on the Disney channel.  “What?” Castiel questioned.  “You want to watch Beauty and the Beast?”  Castiel’s words dripped with skepticism.

“Yeah. Don’t you?”  Dean asked indignantly, like it was the coolest thing in the world for grown men to like fairy tales.  

“I like the movie...I just didn’t think that someone like you would…”

“Someone like me….?  What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I don’t know...you’re like one of the cool kids, like a jock...I didn’t expect you to geek out over a fairy tale.  That and you’re a guy.”  

“What do you mean by that Cas? You’re a guy too and you like the movie?”

“Yeah but you’re like a guy’s guy, you like football and manly stuff, that’s just not me…”

“Well you can like more than one thing...you don’t have put so many labels on people Cas.”  

“No Dean - I didn’t mean it like that - jeez…”

“Yeah...sure whatever…”  They were quiet.  For all the books Castiel read, he was completely inarticulate when it came to his own story.  He wanted to open his mouth to explain how cool it was that Dean was into fairy tales and football. He wanted to explain that he didn’t mean to assume that Dean was a certain way just because of stereotypes.  He wouldn’t want someone to judge him that way.  He worked out the phrasing in his head several different ways but it all ended with him confessing his undying love to Dean and he’d already put Dean off.  No need to embarrass himself further.  Instead, Castiel slid closer to Dean, letting their shoulders rest against each other.  He could feel Dean relax against him and the tension gave way as they lost themselves in the story

Castiel opened the drawer to retrieve a long sleeved t-shirt and sweatpants that he handed to Dean.  “Seriously, I’ll be fine in the recliner.  I can sleep comfortably anywhere.”

“Dean - I’m not letting you sleep in a chair.  You’ll sleep in my bed and that’s final!”  Cas raised his voice- surprising himself with his own ferocity.  

“Fine.”  Dean said - eyes radiating mischief.  “On one condition…”

“What’s that?”  Castiel eyed him cautiously.

“You sleep in your bed with me.” Dean watched Cas as he tried to mask the mild panic welling up in him.  It was a loaded question and Castiel could tell that Dean meant it any way that Cas might take it.  

“Come on...we’re both adults.”  Dean tugged on Castiel’s elbow - making him lose all train of thought.  “We can be mature about this - share the bed - like two grown men.”  

Castiel looked away fearful his eyes would betray him.  “Well, it is a big bed.” Cas said not trusting himself to look back at Dean.  

“It is.”  Dean nodded his head in agreement.

“And I have memory foam..”  Castiel took a step back.  “I guess it would be really silly not to.”  

“Ah - memory foam - it’s settled then…”  Dean said smiling.  He was flirting with Cas and Cas was taking it well - he needed to calm down.  

Dean pulled the t-shirt over his head and reveled for a moment at how the shirt smelled like Cas - like firewood and spice and the crisp winter air.  Everything seemed to smell deliciously of Cas.    Dean folded his clothes neatly and placed them in the chair. (If he’d been been at home they would have been strewn everywhere an article of clothing in every room.)  He walked into the kitchen to find Cas standing in similar clothes over the stove.  Cas handed Dean a mug of hot chocolate with a peppermint stick poking out the top.  He followed him back to the bedroom and they both sat on the floor in front of the fire.  They talked and laughed until the mugs were drained and the fire started to die down. Dean stoked it adding another log.  “Read something to me, Cas.”

“Like what?” Cas scoffed.

“I don’t know - pick something - read me your favorite -.”   

Castiel retrieved a well worn copy of King Arthur from his bedside table.  Dean settled in beside him shoulder to shoulder.  Cas was momentarily distracted as Dean licked the length of the peppermint stick.  He read until a contagious yawn escaped Dean’s lips followed by one from Cas.  “Come on, we should get some sleep.” Castiel helped Dean to his feet.  Dean stumbled against him.  

“Which side of the bed do you sleep on?”  Dean asked.

“Doesn’t matter to me - you pick.”  Dean crawled into bed landing pretty much in the middle without picking a side.  He figured Cas would chase him out of whatever side he actually wanted to sleep on. The bed dipped with the weight of Cas as he laid beside Dean.  He was careful to keep space between them even though they’d been leaning against each other most of the night.  It took Dean forever to fall asleep as they both tried not to disturb each other.  

“Dean - are you awake?”  Cas nudged him under the blankets.  Dean blinked an eye open.  “The power’s gone out - I put another log on the fire - but I’m freezing.”  

“Me too -”  Dean reached for Castiel’s arms opening them and crawling inside.  “You don’t mind do you?”

“No.”  Castiel could barely make his mouth work.  Dean nuzzled into his chest under the ruse of keeping warm.  Castiel stroked Dean’s back.

“Thank you for inviting me over. I would have frozen to death in the office with the power out.”

“Oh sure. I’m glad you came - I’ve had my eye on you for a while.”  In Castiel’s sleepy state his  guard was down and he was saying out loud the things he’d spent months repressing.  “You had your eye on me?” Dean questioned.  He pulled out of Castiel’s arms just enough to look at him.  Tufts of his hair were sticking up and his face glowed in orange and red hues from the fireplace. Dean couldn’t help but think how beautiful he was like this.  “Yeah - you caught my eye.”  Cas tried to hide his grin but failed.  “I thought you were interesting...and ruggedly good looking…”

“Really… is that so?”  Castiel could hear the laughter in Dean’s voice.  He nudged a knee at him playfully.  He left his knee resting between Dean’ thighs like it always belonged there.  A few moments passed - and then Cas could feel Dean’s length growing hard against his knee.  Dean’s face went flush as he tried to twist out of Castiel’s arms.

“Cas - I’m sorry - I - uh…”

Castiel tightened his grip around Dean’s waist drawing him closer and cupping his face.  Dean thought - hoped - that Cas was going to kiss him.  “Dean - can I ask you a question?”

“Yeah, sure…”  Dean rasped.

“Is this - is this happening because you like me too - or is this just because of our proximity?”  Castiel smoothed his hand down Dean’s side.  Dean relaxed at Castiel’s touch, letting himself melt against him.  “I like you - Cas - a lot.”  

“Really?”  Cas seemed to genuinely question it.

“Yeah...I’ve had my eye on you for a while too...surely you’ve noticed.”  

“Well, I hoped - but I’m realistic.”  Cas went back to stroking Dean’s back lazily.  “I can be the beast to your beauty…”  Cas said grinning against Dean’s throat.  Dean smiled back pulling Castiel closer still.  

“Wait - I think - you’ve got that backwards…I’m the beast to your beauty.” Castiel gave a confused look.  “No you’re the good looking one - I’m definitely the gnarly looking, awkward, bookish loner…” Castiel said it all like that was final.  Dean couldn’t wait for Cas to kiss him any longer. He pressed a gentle, almost unsure, kiss to the corner of Cas’ mouth.  “You’re the beautiful one.  You worked selflessly today getting everyone out the door safe - while I sat upstairs feeling sorry for myself.  You’re thoughtful and kind and your blue eyes are so beautiful they leave me breathless…I’m abrasive and headstrong and bulldoze over anyone who stands in my way…”  

“No - “ Cas said.  “That’s not true...you’re beautiful…and strong and you fight for what you believe in...I’m just a doormat...you’re the beautiful one”  

“No you are…” Dean said rocking into him as it became clear that no one was going to win this fight.  They were snowed in for two days without power but luckily they had plenty of firewood and each other to keep warm with.

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[shirlleycoyle]

Uber’s Paid Sick Leave Policy Is a Perpetually Moving Goal Post

For years, Dhruv has been a full-time Uber driver in New York City who has structured his life, including his diabetes treatment, around the 60-hour workweeks he needs to make ends meet. As the coronavirus pandemic crushed the city, he felt increasingly unable to safely manage his condition while driving for Uber, pushing him to give up his main source of income and risk being unable to afford his daily medication.

"My diabetes means coronavirus, any virus actually, puts me at much higher risk for getting a severe case and dying just like that," Dhruv told Motherboard. "For me, the choice was to risk rationing or risk dying. Uber closed its [Greenlight Hubs] before even giving us hand sanitizer. Of course, I stopped driving right after. No masks or dividers, but we got an email wishing us luck in staying safe and making them money. If Uber thinks its offices shouldn’t stay open, then why should we?”

When Uber first rolled out its sick paid leave policy on March 7th, Dhruv thought applying to it would be a waste of time, anticipating that it would be a nightmare that ultimately wouldn’t last him long. Dhruv considered applying for unemployment benefits in New York because in 2018, the state's unemployment insurance appeal board ruled three drivers—along with others who were "similarly situated"—could claim unemployment benefits. Despite that ruling, however, drivers have complained that the process is being actively sabotaged by Uber and individual claims are dragged out to last months. In the end, neither he nor any driver in his network began the sick paid leave application process and instead kept driving or self-quarantined themselves. Dhruv continued to self-quarantine, borrowed money from family members to stay afloat, and began applying for unemployment benefits. Motherboard is only using his first name because he fears reprisal from Uber.

It’s understandable why Dhruv and others have not bothered applying for Uber’s sick pay program. In the month since it was introduced, the policy has changed multiple times in ways that have excluded the very groups who need sick paid leave the most while increasing the documentation required to receive compensation. Uber did not respond to Motherboard’s request for numbers about how many drivers have been infected with Covid-19 or provided with sick paid leave, but a driver lawsuit seeking an expansion of Uber’s program alleges the company has only paid 1,400 drivers out of its approximately 2 million US drivers. Uber has confirmed elsewhere that more than 1,400 drivers have been infected, with at least one death in the United States, one in Brazil, and another in London.

Initially, Uber required proof of a positive test or exposure to someone who was diagnosed with coronavirus, but testing was widely unavailable unless you were significantly wealthier than an Uber driver. After pressure from driver advocacy groups like the Independent Drivers Guild, which sought expansionary changes from the ride-hailing giant and appealed individual denials of claims, Uber announced on March 15th that you might qualify for sick paid leave if “personally asked to self-isolate by a public health authority or licensed medical authority” or if your account was caught in one of Uber’s mass suspensions meant to limit outbreaks on the platform.

By March 24th, Uber had backtracked on its policy changes by changing eligibility and documentation requirements. The rule promising sick paid leave if you had a doctor's note to self-isolate due to pre-existing conditions or high at-risk demographics (e.g. immunocompromised individuals and seniors) was amended to only apply if you were asked to self-isolate “due to your risk of spreading COVID-19.”

Uber narrowed its eligibility requirements once again by April 1st, restricting sick paid leave to those with “written documentation” showing the driver either had COVID-19 or was suspected of having it, along with additional requirements demanding “a description of your suspected risk of having COVID-19 and spreading it to others.” Uber also updated its policy to explain what documents did not qualify:

As its original April 6th deadline for claiming sick pay approached, it was becoming clear that drivers were struggling to get help, facing prolonged delays unless they told their stories on social media or to major news outlets. On Friday, Uber announced that it would be returning to its earlier policy of allowing drivers with preexisting conditions to apply for sick paid leave and would accept a doctor's note explaining a preexisting condition that put the driver at a higher risk of complications from coronavirus. Furthermore, Uber promised it would go back and review past claims it rejected and approve those from drivers with preexisting conditions.

While Uber's new policy expands coverage, it again adds new restrictions that might hurt its drivers. Uber hasn’t restored the eligibility of drivers in groups with a higher risk of serious illness (e.g. seniors) or drivers who may have come into contact with a confirmed case of coronavirus. It has also introduced a “maximum per-person payment” that puts a cap on sick paid leave. This "maximum payment" depends on the city and its average earnings but is a departure from early policies that paid out based on an individual driver's historical earnings.

“We are expanding eligibility to include drivers and delivery people who have been told to individually quarantine because they have preexisting conditions that put them at a higher risk of suffering serious illness from COVID-19,” Uber wrote in a blog post explaining the changes. “Because this will mean more people are eligible than under the old policy, we’ve chosen to establish a maximum per-person payment to make this new policy more sustainable.”

For some drivers, these changes aren’t enough. In New York City, Uber’s changes still don’t take into account the effect of its quota system that locked drivers out of the app and lowered earnings for many drivers. Aziz Bah, an organizer with the Independent Drivers Guild, told Motherboard that he’s helped drivers apply for sick paid leave and watched them receive as little as $200 despite spending more than 60 hours a week in their car to hit Uber’s strict quotas.

“The payout was based on your weekly average earnings for the last six months, right? Well, the lockout meant some drivers only had a chance to actually get rides for two or three days, even if they spent the rest of the week driving around,” Bah told Motherboard. “Drivers feel that it's arbitrary and unfair, they know they are being shortchanged, but they also feel like they just gotta take it and be quiet because this is the little help they'll get."

Ramana Prai is a London based Uber driver who the company offered £200 (~$250) in sick paid leave. Since coronavirus coverage picked up in February, he slowly reduced his driving and eventually stopped driving on March 20th. On March 22nd, he was diagnosed with coronavirus and self-isolated until April 3rd. Prai doesn't expect to see government relief grants until June, which means as the primary source of income in his household, he has two options familiar to many drivers at this point: drive to put food on the table and risk getting sick (again) or stay home and starve.

“I’ve been driving for six years. Uber has taken at least £10,000 in commission from me each year! They take 20 percent of my earnings, then offer me £200,” Prai told Motherboard. “I don’t understand how they can take £60,000 from me, then offer nothing when I’m in need. How can I provide for my partner and 2 kids with this? My employer has let me down.”

Uber’s new policy change that expands eligibility is a move in the right direction, but it shouldn’t be removed from the proper context. For the past month, Uber has dragged its feet on claims and narrowed eligibility criteria so severely that, by its own count, only 1,400 drivers have been paid. It has dropped some of its new requirements, imposed new ones, and reframes this shift as an attempt to keep the policy “sustainable” which suggests there will be future changes.

This is the same company that has for years cut driver wages down to starvation levels, began last year to lock out drivers from its app to reverse its period of investor-subsidized exponential growth, and has weaved a path of destruction through the world’s cities by worsening pollution, traffic, public transit, and urban mobility. Sustainability means profitability, which Uber is no closer to achieving, but wants investors to continue believing despite its disastrous post-IPO performance. That means improving its balance sheet by hoarding cash during the pandemic, but also minimizing costs fighting to keep workers misclassified as contractors so the taxpayer picks up traditional employer costs like health insurance, unemployment, and disability benefits.

Instead of helping its workers through this pandemic, Uber’s real coronavirus response is to try and make permanent its refusal to properly classify and compensate its app-based employees. In a desperate letter to the President, Uber CEO Dara Khosrowshahi asked the federal government to pursue a “third category” classification for Uber drivers that would provide minimal employee benefits, while allowing the company to still treat its workers as contractors. Khosrowshahi took to Twitter to celebrate the CARES Act’s passage in the Senate, and for good reason. The pandemic offers Uber, and every other gig platform, a chance to finally write into federal law a business model that states like California and New York have been beginning to challenge.

Uber’s Paid Sick Leave Policy Is a Perpetually Moving Goal Post syndicated from https://triviaqaweb.wordpress.com/feed/