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manyfictionsmusings · 3 years

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Pull Me Like A Ripcord

Summary:

This story takes place immediately after the events of X-Men Apocalypse, where Peter decides against going back to Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters, despite seeking his father’s attention prior. This fic will just be growing and “mutating” as I write but promising lots of Dad/son angst, hurt/comfort etc.

Chapter 1: AfterEffects

As naïve as it was, Peter had hoped Erik would somehow realize he was his son, now that idea seemed cold and stupid. Why would Erik magically know who he was? He wasn’t Charles, a mind reader, and this wasn’t a fantasy kingdom where the orphan got his father in the end of the story.

Peter pulled his legs up to his chest, or at least he would have if he could have moved his shattered knee, the pain, coupled with the emotional turmoil of the long day sent him easily to tears. He wasn’t used to losing, he wasn’t used to being physically injured. The finale of the Egyptian battle had seen the x-men triumph, but Peter himself had lost…lost another chance to connect with Erik, if only he’d been able to get the better of the Immortal it might have impressed his father enough to take note of him, but instead if it hadn’t been for Raven’s distractions, the Beast’s strength and his own father’s shift in loyalties, he would have been just another victim in the note book of Apocalypse.

Peter drew a shaky breath, trying to force the events to wash over him, normally things didn’t bother him, but the last few months he’d changed, the others here at the school, or what was left of the school…he didn’t want to call them family but that’s what they felt like to him. It scared him and it was too much to hope for, he’d been disappointed to many times to open up like that. Which was why he’d told Beast to take him to a regular hospital in Cairo and he’d make his own way home once he was healed.

Beast had had his reservations about it, leaving the scrawny, pale kid who’d been with them since he’d saved literally everyone at Xavier’s school for gifted youngsters seemed a shitty way to repay him, but he’d finally consented to it, only after Peter had gotten angry and started yelling.

He felt lonely now, in the hospital bed, with an oxygen tube in his nose and his injured leg casted and hoisted by a sling, a thousand miles from anyone he knew, but the pain was reminding him of his failures as one of the x-men and the isolation served to remind him why he didn’t bother with people, especially his father.

They always left. Or were never there to begin with.

He deserved this.

“You don’t deserve any of this, Peter.”

Peter jolted, startled for only a second by the gentle voice, there was only one person it could be, to know what precisely he was thinking. He hurriedly wiped tears off his face before Charles came any closer.

“I told Beast I was fine. I don’t want anyone wasting any more time on me.”

“Beast didn’t tell your secret, but I was worried about you, Peter. You think I was going to just leave Egypt without you? I wouldn’t leave here without any of you.” Charles stepped closer, softly he took his hand and squeezed gently. “You all mean so much to me. I owe you my life, Peter.”

He removed his hand and crossed his arms. “I didn’t do anything, if…if Erik hadn’t stepped in, we all would have been killed-including you.”

Charles glanced towards the monitors attached to the young man, before his eyes roamed across the physical state of Peter, in contemplation. “It was a group effort; it took all of us.” He finally spoke after a moment of hesitation. “I know you seek his attention and yet you’re afraid of it…Lehnsherr is coming back with us to New York, he’s going to help me rebuild the institution.”

Peter glanced up, his eyes reflecting a youthful hope the professor hadn’t seen for some time. “I thought he left.”

Charles shook his head. “It’s a way to…perhaps earn his attention, little by little anyway. What do you think? Will you return with me?”

Peter grimaced. “I’m not in great shape professor, encase you haven’t noticed. I might swing in when I’m up and around.”

Charles raised an eyebrow. “I know all your pains, I’m sorry. I put your life in such horrific danger-”

“I came along on the mission of my own free will, no one forced me,” Peter interrupted.

Charles gripped his shoulder suddenly with an assertive intention. “Let me oversee your recovery, Maximoff, please, it’s the least I can do. I won’t leave here until you agree to be transferred to a hospital in New York, preferably close to Salem Center. You don’t have to be bothered by anyone from the school. But knowing you aren’t in Egypt would put my mind at ease.”

Peter sighed, he was feeling it again, the warm sensation that made him relaxed and somehow extremely uncomfortable at the same time. Family was something he would never be able to hold on to. He was going to mess it up, he knew that. He could already feel the threads slipping between pale, desperate, grasping fingers. But in the meantime, Charles cared about him enough to hunt him down in one of many Cairo hospitals, and he’d checked in under an alias. The professor cared enough to come back, or had he never left in the first place? His caring nature was beyond consolation to Peter’s broken, cold body, so comforting in fact he felt tears welling up again!

He sniffled and hurriedly wiped his brow before their return, nodding. “I’ll come with you.”

Professor Xavier had kept his word, medically and financially he’d arranged for everything to be taken care of, transporting Peter from Cairo to New York. He’d also arranged for him to have his own private room in Sheeran Hospital—a private hospital in upstate New York, forty-five miles from the current disaster of Xavier’s school for gifted youngsters.

Over the next two weeks physically Peter’s injuries slowly healed but mentally he felt wrecked beyond compare. He started having reoccurring nightmares that he couldn’t run; his ability had been fractured when the monstrosity had snapped his leg like a twig under his boot. In the dream he was trying to run away from someone, his first thought was that it was Apocalypse but a couple nights later he realized it was just a shadowy figure, one he could never outrun. Each time he fell, immobilized as pain shot through his leg, the sound of his own bones crunching reverberated in his ears, just as it had that day.

The nurses had unfortunately taken note of his mood, though Peter hadn’t put much effort into hiding his grim attitude, he’d slipped in a snarky remark about getting some extra drugs for an overdose. The nurse didn’t find his dark humor amusing and Charles suspiciously showed up the very next day.

He didn’t say much at first, just sat near Peter’s bed, looking out the enormous rectangle window that looked west, on a glowing sunset. “You have a good view though,” he finally spoke.

Peter pursed his lips. “I do appreciate your hospitality Professor, but I’m fine, you don’t have to check in on me. Just... really bored here you know, I don’t think I’ve ever stayed in one place this long…it’s wearing on me, I feel weird being at this speed.”

Charles turned his chair to face him, hands in his pockets, yet concern on his features. “Must be very uncomfortable to be forced to slow down. How’s physical therapy going?”

Peter avoided the older man’s gaze for some reason and snorted. “I mean it’s slow, I’m not the patience type or a patient for that matter…”

Charles nodded. “But the sooner you’re hobbling around, the sooner I can get you out of here.”

“And take me where?” Maximoff snipped with his signature deep-set frown.

Charles chuckled, “You’d be surprised what several telekinetic mutants can accomplish when it comes to construction. The east wing is already rebuilt, for now we’re using it for sleeping quarters. It’s a little crowded but…”

“…Anything is better than the smell of hospital?” Peter finished, trying to keep his mind in constant motion—moving from thought to thought. He didn’t know how much the professor knew about what he was thinking but Xavier had already noted his inward conception about seeking Erik’s attention in Egypt, so his guess was he was an open book, but Peter’s thoughts could be about as fast as his movement when we wanted them to be. “Well sounds like I need to hit therapy harder, if you’re actually going to get me out of here.”

As much as Peter didn’t intend to be shambling around a cramped wing in the school, Charles’ visit served to kick him in the butt about getting out of Sheeran soon, regardless of where he went afterward. And if he was being honest, he had never planned to go back to the school, though he also wasn’t ready to face his reasoning for not returning there.

No one was going to miss him, well not the one person that mattered, because he couldn’t even see Peter for who he was. A new plan had quickly formulated—get his leg in good enough shape to slip off before Charles came back for him and circumvent the entire situation altogether.

The nightmares continued to plague him, as day after day he added a little weight to the tender broken leg, between tears and a lump that had formed on his lip from how many times he had bit it to deal with the pain, he started making it all the way through the routes the therapist had set up for him. Once he realized he could make it to the end of the routine he had to mentally stop himself from trying out his true speed. He continually checked himself, forced himself to be normal, move slowly. He embraced the pain wholly, promising himself a whole box of Lemonheads when he got out of here.

A week and two days after Charles’ visit, Peter decided he was going. He’d woke up from his worst nightmare by far, clutching his throat, covered in sweat, his heart was beating hard enough his chest ached. His leg was throbbing with shadow pain from Apocalypse breaking it, only in this dream he hadn’t been saved before the giant mutant had slit his throat and tossed him aside like trash. His father hadn’t even noticed or cared.

Peter swallowed painfully, still tracing his fingers across the smooth, blanched flesh of his neck as he slipped out of bed. His x-men costume had been lost somewhere in the shuffle, or maybe the professor had taken it, either way Charles had been kind enough to replace it with his current pajamas and a change of clothing. Not the usual silver tinted clothing but considering he still wasn’t up to his Quicksilver speed, it seemed fitting to pull on the dark blue jeans and faded orange hoodie. Peter sighed in comfort at the velvety worn state of both items as they contacted his skin, though he tried to ignore how billowy the clothes were on him, he’d lost a significant amount of weight since Egypt—which the nurses had been lecturing him over—but what could you expect when there was only hospital food and no snacks to be seen.

Next Peter attempted to calm his silvery hair, by brushing his fingers through it repeatedly, which only seemed to make it worse. Between the wild shock of hair and the dark rimmed eyes, his reflection looked ghostly, coupled with the dim hospital lighting.

Peter exhaled calmly before grabbing the only items that had made it back with him from Egypt, his googles and his earphones, he stuck one of the foreign crutches under each armpit and silently slipped out of Sheeran Hospital…

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canyouhearthelight · 3 years

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The Miys, Ch. 133

Whew. I finally get a chance two queue chapters and add to my buffer! Yayyy me! Kind of long author’s note, feel free to skip to the readmore.

Seriously, though, I managed to only work 5ish hours of OT this week instead of the 25/wk I’ve been clocking the last several weeks. It’s been a ride, for sure. Thank you for bearing with me through this frankly-insane time.

@baelpenrose and I have had more chances to write together in real-time, which considering both our schedules and living 3 timezones apart has been a delightful miracle and I will never take it for granted ever again.

@anotherusrname and @the-raven-fae have been very encouraging of my efforts to work less, which - it turns out - has been a huge concern for oh, my entire family... Sorry I worried you all. :( I’m trying to do better! Swear I have vacations coming up!

@charlylimph-blog has just been... such a support. She literally texts me every night at 10pm my time to tell me to take my most important medications. Sainted Eldritch Fae cannot be appreciated enough, and somehow I have two.

Final shout outs go to @snickerfritz, @just-a-pastel-bunny, and @eldritchmoths for love-bombing my inbox recently. Seeing anyone speed-run through this story lets me know that I’m not wasting my time.

Don’t forget to check out the podcast!! AhhhhH! I want to scream in delight each time a new episode is released!

Focus, I told myself, breath coming in short pants. It was easier said than done, with sweat dripping into my eyes while I constantly tried to pay attention to where I was safe to move to without putting myself in the line of fire. Seeing the incoming hit, I ducked and pivoted to my left -

“Oof,” I grunted as I took a blow to the ribs. I managed not to be winded or fall, but I was pretty sure something just broke.

A voice taunted me. “You have got to get better at keeping your guard up.”

“I am,” I panted. “My ribs are a lot tougher than my face.” Refusing to be distracted, I jumped back from the next hit and started circling wide.

“And I hit harder than your sister.”

Yeah, well broken ribs are for bitches, I thought to myself. It wasn’t like I hadn’t had a broken rib before. I was fine. Out of reflex more than forethought, I pivoted my leg and bent my knee to absorb the shock of the next hit - this one to the thigh. Grabbing the offending leg, I held tight around the calf with one arm before shoving upwards on the heel with the other, dropping him onto his back.

Unfortunately, the kick to the chin I got as a result also landed me on my back.

Like an exceedingly annoying ninja, Arthur sprang to his feet before holding out a hand to help me up off the floor. “You should have expected that.”

I scowled and rubbed my jaw. “Why am I sparring with you again?”

“Because Tyche’s busy and I’m the only other person willing to actually hit you hard enough to teach you anything.”

Rolling my neck, I tried to relieve some of the tension that was setting in. “It’s not like aliens are going to know Terran hand-to-hand combat,” I pointed out as I took my stance for the next round. This time, his movement was a lot more fluid, which told me he was going for grappling instead of striking.

The kick I almost took to the face told me that his stance was also a lie.

There wasn’t any time for trash-talking, this time around. I could barely find time to breathe as he aggressively attacked, although I barely managed to avoid him actually touching me. I wasn’t an idiot - if he got a hold of me, I would be waking up from a forced nap with a sore throat. However, after what felt like an eternity and was probably only about five minutes, the odds of keeping it up were dwindling. My heart was pounding in my ears, my lungs were searing with the effort of trying to keep up with it, and there wasn’t a chance in hell that I had enough stamina to outlast him. The man ran a 5k a day as a warm up. Even more humiliating, I had spent the entire time running and dodging without even a chance to mount a counter to any of it.

Finally, I was spent. Every time I tried to raise my hands, they shook so badly that there was no chance of landing a hit, even if I had the opportunity. My legs were trembling, my knees burned, and the broken rib felt like someone was twisting a hot blade into my side. Feeling defeated, I dropped my hands and squared my feet up. The blow to the solar plexus was unsurprising, as was the chokehold he put me in as soon as I doubled over. Unfortunately, it wasn’t the first time this had happened while sparring with him - or even with Tyche.

I was so frustrated. No matter how much I sparred with either of them, I felt like I hadn’t gained any ground. The whole point to training so hard was to prove that I actually could defend myself. Councilor or not, the thought that I was going to be shoved in the back of the Archives in the event of an attack was insulting. Not only that, it was even more insulting than the time I had round-the-clock guards. No one else had to put up with this, why did I?

“Tap out, Sophia,” he warned me. He wasn’t squeezing yet, but he had his arm locked tightly enough that I couldn’t get my head out. When I silently refused, he sighed and applied pressure, pissing me off even more.

I’m not helpless, I growled at myself. The anger at myself and the frustration with the situation flooded my mind, and I started pulling against the hold with my legs.

“You’re going to break your neck,” he grunted as he leaned the opposite direction. I may not have had his stamina, but I could also leg-press nearly five-hundred pounds. He could let go, or lean back, no other options.

Spots were floating in front of my eyes when I felt his posture change, and as soon as I felt it, both my arms swung up. Assuming I was going to hit his face, he leaned back even further…

Right into the path of my cupped hands, which hit his ears hard enough to bruise both my hands.

“Ow, FUCK!” he shouted, the pain of his ruptured ear drums distracting him just enough that I was able to pull my head free.

As soon as I stood, he reached up to one of his ears, only to pull his hand away and see blood. “Son of a - “ he stopped when he realized what happened. “Huh. That… that is a pretty neat trick.”

Oh, just you wait, I thought to myself.

Sure enough, as soon as he tried to shift his weight for another assault, he stumbled. Trying to compensate, he made it even worse and ended up falling flat on his back. Dropping his head to the mat in defeat, he splayed his limbs out to try to gain some sense of equilibrium. “Oh that is cool,” he muttered, obviously for my benefit since he couldn’t exactly hear himself.

I managed to get him to his feet and drag him to the corridor as the medical transport arrived - there was no way I was going to try to walk him to a medbay. Once his eardrums were restored - along with his internal balance - Arthur stood and stared me down. “That was a dirty trick, Sophia.” Without warning, I was suddenly pulled into a crushing hug. “I am so proud of you. Do that, a lot of it.”

“Can’t breathe,” I gasped.

He released me, stepping back. “Right. The rib.”

I tried to wave him off. “It’s just a broken rib. I’ll be fine.”

“Medbay.” He gestured around the room. “Stop being stubborn.”

“You’re overreacting - “

“If you trip and fall, which you will, you can puncture a lung.”

“Hasn’t happened yet.”

“It’s been broken all of ten minutes. Medbay. Now.”

I glared at him. “If you think this is the first broken rib I’ve had, you’re insane. It’s not even the fiftieth.”

“Stop reminding me that I can’t go back to Earth and kill someone who is hopefully dead anyway. You made me go to the medbay for some broken teeth after the fight with Jokul. Also, with your luck it’s a miracle you haven’t killed yourself by breathing, and I am not going to be the one who’s next up on Tyche’s shit list. Go. Medbay. Now.”

I opened my mouth to argue again, but was cut off by swearing and Arthur literally just picking me up and dropping me in the closest berth. With exactly zero shame, he pinned me down by my shoulders and hips while one of Noah’s avatars held me down from the other side and scanned, then healed, my broken rib - both of them, it turns out. Finally, they both let go of me. “Can I leave now?” I asked petulantly.

“Only if you tell me the eardrum trick so I can figure out how to use it on other species.”

Sliding off the berth and to my feet, I ran a hand through my hair. “Easy. You just cup your hands so there aren’t any cracks between your fingers, like this.” I demonstrated. “And then try to clap your hands through someone’s head, right over the ears. Force of the air ruptures the ear drums, and the trauma reaction kills their spatial sense and balance.” When he tilted his head at the simplicity of it, I shrugged. “Women’s self-defense classes.”

“Ah,” he nodded. “Speaking of women and self-defense, we have got to get you more in the habit of striking and blocking with your legs. Pretty sure you’d kick like a horse if you tried.”

“If I kick you, I’ll break something.”

“Your legs are a lot tougher than you think - “

“I meant something on you,” I clarified, staring at the ground.

I didn’t look up, but I could hear the savage grin in his voice at what he said next. “Oh, we have got to try this.” When my head snapped up, sure enough, he was smiling. “If you can land a kick on me, I won’t even be mad if you break something. But that’s not what I meant.”

“You want me to test it on someone else?” That wasn’t exactly a better option.

He rolled his eyes. “Maverick literally does calibrations for a living. Pretty sure he’s got something that measures impact force. Then we do the math from there.”

“I feel like I’m on an episode of MythBusters,” I grumbled as we headed out of the Medbay and back towards my office.

“I know!” he agreed enthusiastically.

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#the miys #found family #aliens #apocalypse #humans are weird #humans are space orcs #humans are space fae #hfy #self defense #science fiction #sci fi #original science fiction #original sci fi #original writing #my writing

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the-impossiblegirl11 · 3 years

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Take me back

*Intro to The Night We Met begins*

Peters POV

No. Any song but this one. Please. My heart starts to clench, and I feel stuck where I’m standing. No. She’s gone. She’s gone. Why this song? Why now? My hands start to sweat, and I’m transported back to that day. The last day I saw her smiling.

——————————————————————————-

“Peter you have to hear this song I sang background for it’s so beautiful. Promise you’ll listen. In fact, get up. Now. We’re going to dance to it.” You say determinedly with a small smile

“Here y/n/n? what if someone walks in? if the guys come in, they’ll never let up on the teasing.” You frown at peter and give him a look making him cave instantly

Peter takes your hand, and you ask Friday to play the song in your room speakers. He looks at you and smiles.

You are smiling for the first time in a long time in your favorite outfit. A band tee, one of your many flannel shirts with leggings and your blue high-top converse. You looked so happy and carefree. This is how he’d always remember you.

He looks down as offer your hand to him with a small curtsy “Would you care to dance kind sir?” he nods “I’d love to my fair lady” and bows to you.

I had all and then most of you Some and now none of you Take me back to the night we met.

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to do-haunted by the ghost of you. Oh, take me back to the night we met.” You sing along in peters ear “Pete listen. It’s so beautiful. Let’s always appreciate the beauty of life from now on okay?” you say to him resting your head on his shoulder

You two sway to the song for a while and peter listens to it and tears up a bit.

“Who taught you to dance baby?” peter asked you smiled softly and whispered “Dad. He’d let me stand on his toes as he took the lead. He used to twirl me like a princess listening to the best songs. He taught me to enjoy music.” You say and whisper “I miss him. I miss dancing with him at two in the morning. I miss him dancing terribly to bachata or singing loudly in my ear.” Peter smiles at you and kisses your head.

Peter had been so busy lately he’d been neglecting you a bit. He’d been trying to balance being SpiderMan and Peter Parker that he forgot the third part of himself. You. After Mr. Starks passing you had been going to school every so often so you could spend time with Morgan and Pepper.

He hadn’t seen you much, only when you stayed in the compound. Peter looked at you and realized you had smiled so much that night, but it was a kind of tired smile. Something was wrong. Every cell in his body could feel it.

Peter wasn’t prepared for what came next though. After a moment of scanning your face you relent and speak.

“Peter, I have a condition called AVM. It’s located in my brain. It’s inoperable. It’s wrapped up and nestled pretty deep so, in other words I’m a ticking time bomb. I’ve opted not to try anything that would cut my life shorter. Who knows? I may live until I’m 90? Let’s just enjoy the rest of our lives together.”

Peter drops his arm from around you and faces you with a broken look “Why tell me then? If you don’t know how much time is left, why tell me?! You know I can’t lose anyone else y/n. We lost your dad a few months ago. I just thought losing Mr. Stark was making you this way now you’re telling me I may lose you too?” Peter heads for the door immediately closing it on you.

That was the last time he saw you awake.

_______________________________________________

Meanwhile back at prom

Peter was on his knees in the middle of the dance floor and started to sob. A crowd started to form around him, and the whispering started.

‘I heard his girlfriend was sick and told her he didn’t want her if she’s dying.’

‘I heard he was there when she died.’

‘I heard she died because he told her he loved someone who wasn’t dying.’

‘I heard she had a seizure, and her body couldn’t handle it.’

‘I heard that the blip made her that way.’

‘I heard she helped write this song for HIM.’

‘I heard he told her to die, and then she did.’

Ned and MJ had heard the song playing from outside the hallway and had ran to find Peter- immediately finding him in the middle of a crowd in a ball crying. They pushed the onlookers away and went to gather an inconsolable Peter.

“Peter get up. Please don’t do this to yourself. Y/n wouldn’t want you crying like this. She loved you so much. Don’t do this.” Ned says “Pete if my wife could see you, she’d tell your baby ass to get up and remember her happy. Get up.” MJ says to peter.

Suddenly Peter looks up and out at the dance floor seeing a lone figure curtsy and reaching out to him. It’s Y/n. Y/n in the dress she’d picked out months earlier for the prom. Dressed in her favorite blue converse.

And then I can tell myself What the hell I'm supposed to do And then I can tell myself

“Peter come. It’s our song. I requested it months ago. I’m glad they’re playing it.” The ghost you say with a smile. Your hand out waiting on peters. Peter lets out a shaky breath. This isn’t real. You’re gone. He saw you take your last breath. And yet you’re here. In your favorite shoes- in your prom dress.

 Not to ride along with you

I had all and then most of you Some and now none of you

Everyone around Peter gasps as they look at the scene unfolding as if they see what he sees. He looks at Ned and MJ and they are in shock. “Y/n? is that really you?” MJ whispers brokenly looking at you with tears in her eyes grabbing Neds hand. They see her too? They see her too. Peter races to you elated that this is somehow real.

“Peter I’ve missed you so much. I’m here for you. You need closure. I’m here until this song is over. It’s a good thing I requested it 4 times then. Come on now you owe me a proper dance.” You say with a smile “Would you care for a dance kind sir?” Peter smiles at you

“I’d love to my fair lady.” He says with tears in his eyes and wraps his arms around you “I miss you so much y/n. How can you be so okay with this?” he whispers in your ear you smile and whisper back “I’m in the arms of my first love. My only love. I’m getting a chance to say goodbye. Until the day I see you again. I’m with dad again Pete. I’m happy. I just want you to be now.” He nods and grips you as if you’d vanish any second.

Take me back to the night we met I don't know what I'm supposed to do Haunted by the ghost of you

Oh, take me back to the night we met

Peter cries against your shoulder and ear “I’ll always love you. I promise I’ll try to be happy again. I love you. Thank you for doing this.” You start to hum in peters ear along with the song.

“Let’s always appreciate the beauty of life Peter” you whisper and start to untangle yourself from him. “It’s not your fault I died Peter. Life is unpredictable and it was my time. So live your life I’ll be waiting for another dance Peter.” You kiss him on the lips and walk to the exit “Remember me Parker.” you whispered as you disappeared

I had all and then most of you Some and now none of you

Take me back to the night we met

I don't know what I'm supposed to do Haunted by the ghost of you

Take me back to the night we met

Peter lets go of the breath he was holding “Take me back to the night we met.”

——————————————————————————

I’m sorry if this is trash guys. I haven’t felt really inspired lately. I guess that’s depression for you. I’m truly sorry. I started so many stories and they just end up not being posted or finished because I don’t know what to do with them. This is the first one I thought of that came out somewhat decent. Again sorry. I hope to write about things I actually know. I may write about a Hispanic bisexual character. Who knows? Give me input please. If you hate it or love it tell me! I won’t take it to heart much.

#peter parker #peter parker x reader death #peter parker x stark!reader #peter parker x reader #sorry guys #Spotify #i dont even know

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needtherapy · 3 years

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open always petal by petal (ch 1)

Song Lan knows his only passenger, Cao Huan, is more secrets than truths, but he's still the best passenger Song Lan has ever had: paid up front, self-sufficient, and silent.

It shouldn't matter that Cao Huan plays the guqin like his heart is broken.

It shouldn't matter that his smiles light up the darkest corners of Fuxue's passageways.

It shouldn't matter that he makes Song Lan curious, curious in a way he hasn't felt in years.

It's just an ordinary transport, a regular fare, a mostly-honest way to make a living. All they have to do is get from Sichuan Station to Caiyi Port. The galaxy may be a dangerous place, but Song Lan is very good at his job, and this should be an easy two-week trip.

The rest doesn't matter. It doesn't.

READ ON AO3

Notes: Rated E for Explicit. Title from e.e. cummings' poem "somewhere i have never travelled,gladly beyond". Thanks to @cirilien, @coslyons, @treemaidengeek and tucuxi (AO3) for the beta reads!

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3

⋆ Day 0 ⋆

The papers are fakes, Song Lan thinks, but damn good ones. It’s really only the feel of the paper—a bit too clean, a bit too smooth—that tips him off. The ID badge is probably fake too.

He examines the man standing in front of him. He’s handsome in a patrician sort of way, if a bit too thin, and nearly as tall as Song Lan himself, dressed in graceful Eastern Sector robes that rustle the way only real silk does. They’re a far cry from Song Lan’s utilitarian jacket and comfortable shirts and pants in shades of constant black, only a small step up from the uniform he used to wear.

Song Lan wonders why this obviously wealthy man would need forged travel docs. He doesn’t really care, of course. Everyone has their secrets. But he doesn’t need trouble with the Goldlighters. It’s already tricky enough to be unaffiliated without drawing the attention of the galaxy’s most powerful economic cultivation guild.

With a sigh, Song Lan fishes the comm out of a pocket and holds it to the tiny neural node on the side of his head.

[Why the fake name?] the comm speaker asks in a cheerful, melodic voice that still twinges painfully in his chest. It’s been five years. He should really get the damn thing re-coded.

Instead of being offended, the man—supposedly named Cao Huan—tilts a wry, weary smile at him.

“I had hoped to be anonymous a little longer,” he says, his elegant accent denoting excessive amounts of privilege and education. “If you require my real credentials, I can produce them.”

Song Lan shrugs and shakes his head. As long as the man is legit, he can call himself whatever he wants, but now Song Lan has another question. Frowning, he lifts the comm again.

[Why not just travel on a Goldlighter transport? You’re headed for Caiyi. It’s a major port. You know it’ll take two weeks to travel through all four sectors in my ship? The trip might be more dangerous than on a sanctioned vessel,] Xingchen’s voice asks.

Song Lan is under no illusions about his typical fares. There’s usually a good reason they want to travel without questions, and usually a good reason they choose Fuxue. He might be unaffiliated, but he’s not cheap. The galaxy is a dangerous place, and he’s very good at his job. In ten years, he’s only lost one person. It was, however, the only one who mattered.

“I am returning to my family after...some time away. I am in no hurry,” Cao Huan answers, with an edge that Song Lan takes to mean the topic is closed.

Well, he’s happy to take the man’s money; he paid extra to be the only passenger. Song Lan shrugs again and motions for Cao Huan to follow him on a very short tour: kitchen, guest bedrooms, sonic lavs, the foolishly indulgent bath, infirmary, bridge, engineering, cargo bay, plus half a dozen corridors that serve as storage, computer terminals, short-term passenger seating, and whatever else Song Lan needs them to be. He’s even strung up hammocks in emergencies.

[Make yourself at home,] he says with a nod and quick, slanted smile.

“Thank you Captain Song,” the man says with a wide, genuine smile that starts in the corner of his mouth and spreads, opening like a flower across his face. It surprises Song Lan in a way he can’t quite articulate, as though neither of them expected today to hold any need for smiles. “I have been told you are the best pilot, and I look forward to the journey.”

Song Lan finishes prepping Fuxue with supplies for the two-week flight, plus extras, because it’s always better to plan for the worst. He checks to make sure his one luxury—six skeins of outrageously expensive qiviut yarn—is carefully stowed in waterproof cases. Having warm socks and something to do with his hands in the long dark expanse of space is worth any price. Cao Huan busies himself with loading his own gear, waving Song Lan away when he offers to help.

“Commander Song! Commander Song Lan!”

Song Lan turns at the familiar voice calling a half-forgotten title, but it takes him a minute to recall the person: Ouyang Ju. They had served together some ten years ago in the war that brought down the Wen High Chancellor. Fat lot of good that had done.

“Man, it is you! Haven’t seen you in ages,” Ouyang grins, slapping Song Lan on the back. “How’s it going?”

Song Lan tries not to flinch. He has never understood the need people have to touch each other when they’re talking. It’s annoying. He smiles and tips his head, the universal motion for a polite and disengaged fine, and hopes he won’t have to elaborate. It’s not that he doesn’t like using the comm. He would just rather not use it.

Alright, maybe it’s that he doesn’t like using it.

The man’s face twists with sudden, embarrassed recollection, and Song Lan knows what’s coming next.

“Sorry to hear about your partner and...everything,” the older man says with an apologetic grimace. “He was a great guy.”

[He was,] Song Lan acknowledges, giving in to the blasted voice box. [Thanks.]

“Hey, I’m XO on the Goldlight Ren,” Ouyang nods at the huge transport vessel resting in the nearby docking bay, just visible through wide banks of windows designed, Song Lan assumes, to show off the might and power of the ships that travel here. Nothing like Fuxue, who might be ninety meters if he squints just right, can be flown by a single person, and only requires a landing pad.

“Anything you ever need, you tell me, okay? I owe you.” Without waiting for a response, Ouyang strides away, whistling a fairly dirty bar song.

Song Lan watches him go, wishing it was that easy, wishing he could reduce the war to favors performed, a series of tit-for-tat exchanges that balance to zero instead of a perpetually-red loss column.

Wishes are pointless. Only the road ahead matters.

Song Lan sees his new passenger idly poking through a bag, head dipped away, back turned, and something about his posture rings a distant alarm bell in Song Lan’s mind. He has flown the route from Sichuan Base to Caiyi Port hundreds of times in his life. It should feel exactly the same as every other trip. And yet this time, he senses trouble brewing, and he does not like it.

⋆ Day 3 ⋆

Other than the unexpected music, it’s almost like flying alone. Cao Huan seems to have a sixth sense for knowing where Song Lan will be and avoiding him. He only occasionally catches glimpses of the tall man, white robes swirling behind him as he disappears through doorways or around corners.

It suits Song Lan just fine, and he laughs to himself about his initial concern. Cao Huan is the best passenger Song Lan has ever had: paid up front, self-sufficient, and silent. Song Lan finishes his first sock less than two days out of port, a record.

The only place he consistently runs into his passenger is in the kitchen. After the third day, it occurs to Song Lan that, as strange as it seems, it must be on purpose. Song Lan gets the definite impression that Cao Huan waits for him to arrive before he eats, as though it’s some ceremony he wishes to observe.

There’s no good reason for it, but Song Lan starts to eat his meals at the narrow kitchen table too. After all, there’s no reason not to, either. He just doesn’t usually eat in the kitchen. He’s grateful to discover that conversation is not the reason Cao Huan prefers company; meals continue to be quiet, peaceful affairs.

“Captain Song?”

Cao Huan’s voice startles Song Lan into dropping the knife he’s using to stir his...whatever this goop is.

“My apologies, but...will you join me for tea tomorrow morning? It is not as enjoyable to drink tea by myself.”

Without meaning to, Song Lan looks at the cabinet that contains the “tea” and “coffee,” thinking, it’s never enjoyable to drink that swill, and Cao Huan laughs.

It’s only a laugh on the barest technicality, a soft huff of air, but it changes things so profoundly, Song Lan has trouble staying on his feet. Suddenly, Cao Huan is a person, not a passenger, not a potential problem. The word no forms in his head even as he feels himself nodding.

Cao Huan smiles and inclines his chin, pleased, and Song Lan finds himself smiling back. He doesn’t know what’s wrong with him. He’s not usually so soft-hearted. Xingchen was the nice one, he reminds himself, and look how that turned out. The cruelty is the only way he can snap himself out of the whispering camaraderie, a pointless train of thought, and back into his role as captain of a ship, nothing more.

[Captain, your attention is required.]

As if to punctuate the computer’s notification, an alarm sounds—unexpected, as this part of space should be smooth and easy sailing. Song Lan grimaces, shrugging apologetically.

“I’m coming,” he signs to the computer’s security camera, before running back to the bridge.

It turns out to be nothing major, only a debris field. Either a small ship had a catastrophe here or a large ship dumped trash. Neither option is particularly heartening. Bad enough if ships are carelessly leaving obstructions on a primary transit route, worse if a ship has been attacked and destroyed here where it should be safe. He knows the Joint Senate is doing its best, and Hanguang-jun, the new chairman, is by far the best leader the four sectors have had in decades, but it’s hard to protect everyone.

There’s no signs of life anywhere after three scans, and Song Lan steers them out of the mess before he resumes course and autopilot.

He doesn’t go back to the kitchen, though.

It isn’t wise, he tells himself, to think of passengers as anything but temporary. Even if they seem nice, even if they’re friendly, they always reach their destination and move on. That’s what he likes about flying transport.

Like clockwork, at 8 pm the music starts. The first night on the ship, Song Lan had thought he was going crazy, hearing the eerie twang of an instrument he didn’t think still existed outside of private art collections.

But no, his passenger had been seated in the mostly-empty cargo bay, eyes closed, playing the guqin. An actual wooden guqin. The music had echoed through the hold, wrapping its notes around Song Lan and reverberating in his chest. He had listened with a mix of disbelief and reverence to the beautiful melody flowing from the fingers of the obviously skilled musician. He listened, in fact, until Cao Huan lifted his hands off the strings and sighed, a long, plaintive sound of grief that piqued Song Lan’s curiosity more than was healthy, and he’d hurried away before Cao Huan noticed him.

The next night had been the same, the music winding into access shafts, around the bridge, even through engineering.

Which Song Lan knows, because he tried all of those places to escape it.

Tonight, though, he gives up. If he is going to be treated to an impromptu concert by a master musician every night, he may as well enjoy it. He knits on the catwalk over the cargo hold and listens, wondering if the song has words, wondering what it means to Cao Huan, wondering how long you had to practice to make the guqin sound like an ocean of sorrow.

⋆ Day 4 ⋆

Evidently, Cao Huan had not been referring to Fuxue’s stores of tea.

He had his own.

Song Lan tells himself to stop being surprised that a man who carries a guqin and can afford a private transport would have a jar of aged white tea that smells like honey and the summer sun. He sits at the table across from Cao Huan and watches him gracefully pour tea, holding back his draping sleeve with one hand.

Cao Huan notices Song Lan’s raised eyebrows.

“You must think me overly indulgent,” he says, pouring his own cup. “I am not particular about many things, but I do enjoy good tea. I am fortunate that it is something my...my family can provide.”

Oh, Song Lan thinks, his family must be tea merchants, which does explain quite a bit, and he feels a little guilty for judging the man on appearances. He wonders if it’s flash-cloned or actually soil-grown, and he peers into the cup, considering the color and shape of the leaves he can see, as though they will give him an answer.

“It is soil-grown,” Cao Huan answers Song Lan’s curious thought, and smiles when Song Lan looks startled. “It is the obvious question. Unless you were seeking your fate in the leaves?”

Song Lan snorts, and Cao Huan laughs again, again that soft exhale that feels more intimate than raucous laughter. It highlights faint lines around his eyes and softens his usually-tranquil angular features with a hint of playful teasing.

“Perhaps you do not believe in fate? Or perhaps you do not believe tea can tell the future. It is considered a noble art, Captain Song. Could so many fortune-telling market grannies be wrong?”

Song Lan laughs, a sadly rusty sound, he thinks with an internal wince, and shakes his head. The man looks pleased.

“Captain Song, may I ask a nosy question?”

Sometimes when people say things like that, they mean I am going to ask a nosy question whether you like it or not, but Cao Huan sounds sincere. Song Lan considers. With a sigh, he finds the comm.

[You may ask. I can’t guarantee that I can answer.]

The man’s mouth twitches in an almost smile. “That is fair. It is only...I noticed you signed to the camera yesterday. Do you…” he pauses, seeming to reevaluate his question, which is good, because Song Lan has frozen.

He forces himself to relax. Hand sign languages are no longer illegal, but he still can’t stop the fluttering fear from pooling in his gut.

“Does the computer understand your hand signs?” Cao Huan finishes, and Song Lan practices breathing normally.

[Yes. It’s easier to sign than find the comm sometimes, especially if I’m in a hurry,] he says through the little speaker, only a little defiantly. He won’t let this man shame him.

“Would you prefer to speak this way?” Cao Huan asks, lifting his hands and signing as he speaks.

Song Lan just stares at him.

And stares.

And stares until Cao Huan’s eyebrows raise. “If you would rather not…”

“No, I do prefer it,” Song Lan signs hurriedly, not wanting him to withdraw the offer. “It’s just...unusual to find someone who knows hand signs these days.”

The High Chancellor had been a paranoid and suspicious man, and he had outlawed the use of hand signs decades ago, fearing them to be the language of bandits and assassins. He wasn’t entirely wrong; hunters and thieves did use the signs, but so did countless others. His replacement, who preferred to be called Xiandu, wasn’t much better. All in all, almost thirty years passed before the current Joint Senate legalized them again after Xiandu’s death three years ago. In so many places around the four sectors, the sign languages that correlated to the spoken languages have been lost entirely.

Song Lan had learned the sign language after Xingchen died five years ago, after he was left for dead, after he decided he was done with the future. His teacher was a wizened old woman on an unaffiliated space station, Rogue Sky, and she was most likely one of the High Chancellor’s feared bandits. Song Lan hadn’t cared then and he didn’t care now. All he knew was that she’d refused to let him wallow in misery, no matter how much he felt he’d earned it.

Song Lan still takes her snowflake cakes whenever he’s near Qinghe space. It’s the least he can do.

Cao Huan nods in acknowledgement, still signing as he talks. Even though it’s unnecessary, Song Lan finds he likes watching, the words and motions blending together to make something wholly different.

“I have always loved languages. This one is particularly beautiful and unique.” He grins suddenly, eyes twinkling with mischief, and the expression turns his face brilliantly luminous. “Plus, it was an appealing novelty to learn something forbidden.”

Song Lan’s first reaction to the man’s captivating smile is an unwelcome surprise. Instinctively, he covers his embarrassment—which he hopes has gone unnoticed—with something he’s more familiar with.

“I did not have the luxury of enjoying the novelty,” his fingers cut angrily through the air. “I was taught illegally on an unaffiliated station by a former bandit, but it was better than never speaking again.”

Swiftly he stands and goes back to his room to berate himself. He isn’t sure which is worse, yelling at his passenger or feeling a knee-buckling surge of desire for him. He has no business doing either.

Song Lan flops on his bed and stares at the ceiling, at the sword that hangs above his head. Shuanghua, Xingchen’s pride and joy, the sword he brought with him when he joined Song Lan’s crew, the sword that couldn’t save him in the end. Couldn’t save either of them. The guilt throbs in his gut, as familiar as the vibrations of Fuxue’s heart, and he sinks into it. This is an emotion he understands.

[Captain, do you need assistance?] his computer asks, and Song Lan wants to laugh. It seems that even Fuxue thinks he’s being a moody child.

He shakes his head and signs to the camera. “What would you do if I did? I’m the captain and the crew.”

The computer is silent, the question apparently having stumped the AI.

[Zichen, do you want to talk about it?]

“No,” his hands say emphatically. He’s not an expert, but he’s pretty sure it’s not going to help to get a psych eval from a computer that’s using his dead partner’s voice.

“Captain Song?”

And now Cao Huan is on the other side of the door. Why can’t everyone just let him sulk in peace?

“Captain Song, I profoundly apologize. It was a terrible, insensitive thing I said, and I am so sorry. It is not an excuse but...I have not been around...people much lately. Evidently I am still quite bad at it. I will not disturb you…”

Song Lan yanks open the door.

“It’s nothing,” he signs slowly, calmly. “I overreacted.” Song Lan smiles ruefully. “I’m not around people much either. Thank you for the tea.”

Cao Huan blinks in surprise, and his face shifts through a series of expressions Song Lan doesn’t recognize before landing on careful neutrality.

“You’re welcome. I...I would be happy to share tea with you every day. If you wish.”

He looks like he’s considering saying something else, but he doesn’t, just nods his head once and goes. Song Lan doesn’t exactly watch him walk down the passageway, one fist resting on the small of his back, but he doesn’t not watch him either.

⋆ Day 5 ⋆

Song Lan is amused to discover that Cao Huan is insatiably curious about everything on Fuxue. It’s not hard to believe he’s been isolated for a while. He is unfailingly polite, and still mostly avoids Song Lan, but occasionally, Song Lan finds him in the oddest places: staring at the engines, examining at the computer core, meditating on the catwalk, sorting through supplies in the infirmary. Song Lan wonders if he’s bored.

He finds Cao Huan on the bridge one day, running his lithe musician’s fingers over the flight panel, murmuring something to himself. Song Lan knows as soon as Cao Huan is aware of his presence. He doesn’t startle, exactly, but he stiffens and steps back slightly. His face, when he turns to Song Lan, though, is tranquil and uncomplicated.

“My pardon, Captain,” he nods, and steps to the side as though he intends to move past Song Lan, but for once, Song Lan is curious.

“Were you talking to Fuxue?” he asks before Cao Huan looks away.

Cao Huan’s neck flushes, and he shrugs. “I have heard these Jian-class AIs have distinctive personalities, as it were. I prefer to err on the side of caution.”

Song Lan doesn’t understand what he means, but Cao Huan is still blushing, the tips of his ears turning a distracting shade of pink, and it makes him want to know.

“I don’t understand,” he says, and Cao Huan sighs.

“I was introducing myself,” he explains. “It seemed courteous.”

Song Lan can’t help his smile. He wonders if Cao Huan introduced himself to Fuxue with his real name.

“Yes, Fuxue is somewhat unique,” he agrees. “My...my partner was a gifted tech, and he gave her more autonomy than is customary since we flew alone so often.”

Cao Huan nods. “So I gathered. She tells me about him sometimes. Is her voice…” he pauses, noticing the look of surprise on Song Lan’s face. “Is that strange?”

Fuxue talks to Song Lan, and of course, she used to talk to Xingchen—one of the reasons, Song Lan suspects, that his ship is so unusual. Talking to Xingchen for extended periods of time would make anyone a bit odd. But as far as he knows, the ship has never spoken to any other passenger, much less talked to them about Xingchen. He can’t decide why Fuxue would start now, whether it’s a bug in the programming or something about Cao Huan specifically.

“Yes,” Song Lan acknowledges. “She still manages to surprise me sometimes.” He smiles up at the camera in the corner of the room and adds, “Don’t make trouble, my love.”

“I believe she likes the music,” Cao Huan says, stepping around Song Lan and moving into the passageway. “I apologize again for intruding on your bridge.” He smiles, a minute flicker, and Song Lan catches his sleeve impulsively, probably foolishly.

“You are welcome on the bridge any time,” he signs swiftly, before Cao Huan can leave. “Whether I am here or not.”

Cao Huan considers for a moment and nods, his smile a little wider, a little more genuine, and Song Lan doesn’t regret his words at all.

⋆ Day 7 ⋆

“How did you learn this?” Cao Huan asks one day, touching the toe of the sock Song Lan is knitting.

They are sitting in the two bridge seats, and Song Lan is working through a heel turn, shaping the rows to reinforce the curve. He finishes the section before he sets down the sock to answer.

“I learned when I was a boy. I grew up with scrappers, and there was a lot of downtime.”

Cao Huan is silent, rubbing the soft wool between his fingers, and Song Lan wonders why he bothered to ask.

“Would you like to learn?” Song Lan asks, and Cao Huan shakes his head slowly.

“Yes, but I am not certain I will ever...I do not know what my future holds. There may be no point in learning.”

He sounds so bleak and disappointed, dozens of questions pop in and out of Song Lan’s head, and he firmly shuts them behind a door. He isn’t going to intrude on this man’s private life.

“There is always value in learning something new,” he signs instead, and Cao Huan smiles ruefully.

“You sound like my brother,” he says, then snaps his mouth closed and hides the expressiveness of his face behind the neutral mask Song Lan is beginning to recognize, even if he’s still not certain what it means.

“Mm,” he agrees, one of the few sounds he can still make. To his surprise, Cao Huan laughs.

“Now you truly do sound like him. He is not a man of many words, but he is very eloquent with noncommittal sounds,” Cao Huan explains when Song Lan looks puzzled.

“You’re close?” Song Lan asks, and the shuttered expression returns.

Still, the man answers after a pause. “Yes, we were, but...he is gone now, living his own life. I am proud of him, but...it makes going home seem...different.”

Every word is reluctantly spoken, as though giving shape to them makes them dangerous. Song Lan vows not to ask any other questions, but Cao Huan keeps talking, and he can’t very well tell him to stop, either.

“Home used to mean people, but...they are grown or changed or…” his eyes close in obvious pain, and Song Lan wants to tell him to stop or distract him with a starboard nebula, but there’s nothing, just this palpable misery.

“Or gone,” he finishes. “Home is only a place now. It should be enough but…”

Song Lan understands this much at least.

“It’s too quiet.” He finishes Cao Huan’s sentence, and he means that home has always been Fuxue, but it no longer hums with love and laughter and Xingchen. It is the same place it was five years ago, but...it isn’t.

Abruptly, Cao Huan leans forward and squeezes Song Lan’s knee, his face softening in sympathy. It’s only a brief touch, but Song Lan’s body reacts like the brush of fingers is a line of electricity, both sharp and crushing, nothing like he expected, not that he could ever have expected this particular cataclysm. Has it been so long, he wonders, since someone touched him with kindness?

He stands, covering his sudden need to escape by hunting through one of the storage bins for a bigger set of knitting needles and a chunkier-gauge yarn. He sets them on Cao Huan’s lap.

“You may as well learn,” he signs with an easy smile. “We still have a week of travel left.”

Cao Huan laughs in disbelief when Song Lan shows him how to cast the yarn onto the needle, but he turns out to be a quick study, which Song Lan should have expected, given his dexterity with the guqin. Song Lan admits to himself that he likes the way the man’s face lights with the satisfaction of meeting a challenge, even more the way he brandishes a square of fairly smooth rows with such pride.

The quiet stretches out like a lazy cat, broken by the sound of clicking needles, and it settles serenely over Song Lan. Usually on transports, he is busy every waking moment, herding children, answering questions, sometimes even preventing bloodshed. He could get used to this uneventful kind of trip.

As if the gods have heard his thoughts, a piercing blue alarm sounds. Not an environmental emergency. Blue is an enemy attack.

Song Lan jams his needles into the yarn and tosses the whole bundle into the corner before turning to the screens, grabbing the yoke with one hand and snapping the comm headset onto his neural node with the other.

Where? he asks Fuxue through their mental link, and Xingchen’s voice relays the coordinates through the overhead speakers: 403 225 687.

He enlarges the image. Junk pirates. A mini-fleet of five. It could be worse, it could be Red Robe mercs or Goldlighters or soldiers of any major faction, but he isn’t looking forward to a run and gun. He scours the sector for a nearby...anything. There’s an asteroid field and two tiny stations, one in either direction, all so much further than is particularly helpful. He makes a decision and changes course, doubling back on the pirates and surging past them.

[Cao Huan, we have pirates,] he says via the comm. [We’re going to try to outrun them first.] He doesn’t bother explaining what the other option is.

“Give me tactical control,” Cao Huan says, calm and insistent, and even though he has no reason to think this man has ever even flown a ship before, Song Lan flips on the secondary pilot display and unlocks the manual gun controls.

[Fuxue is adapted for neural node. You’ll have to shoot manually, but it might at least scare them off,] he explains.

Cao Huan grins. “Or I might surprise you, Captain Song.”

He does, of course. Song Lan is busy avoiding the pirates’ attacks, so he can’t watch as carefully as he suspects he'd like to, but his new co-pilot seems to be racing through calculating targeting coordinates like he’s half computer. Interestingly, he isn’t aiming to destroy, only damage, and he knocks out the first two ships’ navigational cores with single, identical, virtually impossible shots.

Fuxue is easily faster than one of the ships, and Cao Huan clips its starboard wing, only dislodging the thruster, before they pull away. It’s enough to send the forty-meter ship spinning out of control in the opposite direction.

The last two though...they’re a problem. The smaller of the two has an expert pilot and gunner, and Fuxue takes several hits. One explodes against the side of the lifeboat bay, others destroy sensor arrays and scatter pieces of shielding into space. They’re going to have to do something drastic or they aren’t going to survive this.

[Rolleram?] he asks Cao Huan, not entirely sure if he’ll understand, but he nods once and waits for Song Lan to turn.

Song Lan rolls Fuxue in an arc and flies directly at the larger ship, avoiding a few shots before dodging around the ship on its right side, swooping down, using the ship as a blind. With a hard bank, he brings Fuxue up on the other side of the big pirate ship. The smaller ship is right in front of them, a perfect shot.

[Now!] he yells, but Cao Huan has already fired the phaser cannons, and without even looking, Song Lan knows he’s calculated Fuxue’s path and the pirate’s trajectory perfectly.

[Target disabled,] Fuxue confirms. [Nice shot, XO.]

Cao Huan’s mouth tips in the corner. “Thank you, Fuxue,” he says.

Song Lan shakes his head at them both. Since when did the passenger become his executive officer, and who thanks a ship’s AI?

But there’s no time to celebrate. The last ship, the largest ship, is less agile than Fuxue, but more heavily armed and is throwing everything at them in a last ditch effort. With a jarring lurch, Fuxue shudders, and Song Lan grimaces.

[Port wing…]

[Yes I know,] he snaps. He only barely has enough rudder to pivot Fuxue, pure luck more than anything. They won’t survive one more impact like that.

“Wei Drop?” Cao Huan suggests, and Song Lan snorts.

[Play dead?] No one who has ever seen the Wei Drop is fooled by it twice. But even as he derides the idea, he realizes it might work. It’s going to have to. Cao Huan is a good enough shot, and they don’t have a lot of choices left.

[Fine, but if this doesn’t work, you owe me a ship,] he says, killing Fuxue’s engine, shutting down all the systems, and letting his ship slowly start to drift oh-so-subtly in a circle.

It works. He can’t believe it works, but the pirates stop shooting, probably reluctant to break their new salvage any more than necessary, and coast toward Fuxue.

When Fuxue has made a full rotation, when Song Lan can almost see the attacking crew through the shielded fore windows, he looks at Cao Huan, who nods.

It happens so fast, the two of them working in unison to flip on all the power, stabilize Fuxue, take aim, and fire twice. At the last second, the pirate ship banks, trying to escape the shot, but they’re too close, far too close, and instead of disabling the wing or navigation, or whatever Cao Huan was aiming for, the ship explodes in a blinding blast of nuclear white light.

The last thing Song Lan thinks, the last thing he has time to think before the shockwave hits them, is Xingchen is going to be so mad about his ship.

#the untamed #cql #mdzs #mo dao zu shi #lan xichen #song lan #lanlan #space au #in which there is knitting and space battles #tea and music #and both of these wounded men get to heal a little #Kristina writes tiny stories #this one is medium sized

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larissaloki · 6 years

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This is my first installment on a rare pair ship M’Baku x Tony x Bucky. A/b/o verse. M’Baku is an alpha same asBucky and Tony is an Omega. Updates for this will be slow but if you like this fic leave a comment and I’ll see which of my stories get the most interest. Once I’ve finished my walking avengers fic I’ll focus on another.

@thoughtfulbreadpolice @seven-oomen @im-tops-bottom @winteriron-trash here you go!

Sharing is caring-

~~~~~~~

Humming Tony checked his phone for any message from Pepper, nothing major really was sent to him. Just a few meetings reports, condensed down enough to get just the important details across. He idly skimmed them, asking Friday to make a note once landed and settled in a private room, to go through them more fully. For now, the notes looked promising for their expansion in China and Japan. Both cities with a lot of people could benefit greatly from clean energy. They were in midst of negotiating of setting up the system there to help make their cities greener.so far Japan surprisingly was much more eager to join in.

Which leads to Tony’s little field trip that he’s on now. T’Challa and Shuri have asked him to help introduce Wakandan tech to the world. Not that T’Challa needed the help really, but it looked good to the council and the press that the two were working together. Of course people where still weary and where calling out for the king to be weary of Stark due to his past business, but it wasn’t enough of an outcry too cause to much damage to their stocks.

After T’Challa’s declaration to open the boarder, many had been skeptical as to what Wakanda could offer the world. T’Challa had a plan though. He had brought buildings and was doing work right now to share technology and open trades. The first to establish trades was Tony. Well, more T’Challa was the first to reach out to him. Understanding that Tony wanted to make the world safer and cleaner.

The trade was under a few conditions though, any plans Tony had involving tech and materials from Wakanda had to be approved by T’Challa and his council first before being implemented. Seeing as the primary material was Vibranium, it was no wonder the King was anxious about how it would be used. One of the other stipulations was that Tony had to visit the country and learn about Vibranium, work with it in a controlled environment that could cope with any mishaps. Learn from Princess Shuri how to safely transport it and such.

Tony had all but launched himself at his car shouting down his phone to prep a jet and replying back to T’Challa that he was on his way that instant. Tony was eager to learn, eager to see the genius mind behind most of the modern creations in Wakanda. He wanted to see with his own eyes the country that could better the whole world.

At first, Pepper had been furious at Tony skipping out on a meeting but, once learning the purpose of his trip she had calmed and assured him she would cover for him. Seeing the major benefit of Tony going just as well as he had.

Smiling to himself, Tony leaned back in his luxurious seat sipping some flavoured sparkling water Tony allowed his eyes to close. Above head, the intercom pinged as the pilots’ voice came across.

“We are fast approaching Wakanda Mr Stark, about 5 minutes before landing-“

The plane rocked violently as something hit it. Above the seats, oxygen masks fall for the passengers. Tony slowly makes his way towards the nearest chair, the rock in and shuddering of the plane making hi nearly fall over several times. Of all the times to leave his suit behind, fully believing he wouldn’t need one and also partly because he was in that much of a rush to the plane in NY that he had forgotten it.

Now, Tony was regretting leaving it behind in the compound.

“Please don’t crash, please don’t crash…” Buckling himself into his seat, Tony fumbled for his phone calling for Friday for information on what happened. He barely heard two words from the A.I before the plane took a sharp downward turn, it threw him back into his seat with a curse as he accidentally dropped his phone. The Omega clutched at the armrests of the chair, he had a bad feeling in his gut that no one was alive in the cockpit of the plane. All Tony could do was hope and pray either he survived the fall or received a quick death.

Tony had a thought as to what could have possibly of hit them when the plane began to tumble over and over, shuddering and jolting as it hit things in its decent. The next few moments where a blur for the Omega, he wouldn’t have been able to recall them if he tried. All he recalls is intense terror than a sharp pain to his leg and side before everything goes black.

~~~~~

M’Baku was watching the young Omega princess work on the newest broken Alpha white boy, also known by the children below as, White Wolf. At first, before M’Baku had earned his place among the tribes, he had been sceptical of the teen Omega genius. After seeing her work in person though, he was willing to admit he had been wrong in his judgement.

She had worked near relentlessly on trying to remove the triggers for the Winter Soldier. After a few tense months, Stark had sent information on his BARF, notes on it and how he made it. To see if it could help them. He had even given them details on how to contact Helen Cho. An expert on squishy science. Together they had come up with theories which Shuri had adjusted and altered her machines and such to make these theories work. Slowly she worked through Bucky’s mind; with his permission; to undo the power of the trigger commands. Rendering them useless.

Shuri has just finished the last command after weeks of working on it. They took breaks between each word and tried it to see if it affected him. So far they have been successful. After this last word, Bucky could be taken out of Cryo completely, allowed to slowly be let back among others to get used to life again.

Next, to him, T’Challa stood silently, observing the procedure. Despite the success so far he refused to left guards drop in case anything set back their progress. He won’t relax until this is completed. Around the room is 5 other Dora Milaje as well as them. All placed out of the way but able to move at a moments notice.

Above Barnes is a hologram of his body and brain which Shuri is looking at as she works on another screen. Carefully moving and directing her machines that are attached to Barnes’ head.

It’s a tense 2 hours before Shuri finally sighs and shuts down the machines with a pleased grin. Turning the princess nods at her brother.

“I’m done brother, your broken white boy I finally fixed. Though I do like this one, can I keep him?”

“No Shuri, you can not, I dare say Roger’s wouldn’t be pleased.”

Pouting, Shuri takes off the tabs that are connected to Barnes as he wakes up, blinking confused for a moment. T’Challa moves to stand by the chair/bed, watching Barnes carefully.

“How do you feel?”

Licking his lips Barnes seems to look down at his lap. “Better, I don’t feel so…tense” nodding, T’Challa starts to recite the words he had memorised by heart now. Barnes tenses as he always does when they do this part. However, apart from the initial tensing, there was no reaction. They waited a few moments but when Barnes felt no change, he looks up in wonder yet gratefulness.

“Y-You did it…”

Puffing up proudly behind her brother, Shuri comes closer now satisfied there’s no danger. “You’re all clear. The Winter Soldier cannot be used as a weapon ever again.”

“So he’s completely gone?...”

At this Shuri pauses as if considering her next word carefully. “We are not entirely sure, I believe experiences are still in there, memories. Things that will bleed over to you. Such as skills, but you have free will now. Think of it as a merge? We only really removed the triggers.”

“Thank you, truly” Barnes looked between them all gratefully. The sump where his left arm was is wrapped up with a dark rich blue cloth to hide the area from scrutiny. Barnes was truly indebted to these people who have not only, given him a safe haven to rest and relax but they have helped him become him again. Whatever he was now. He knows he’s not the Bucky from the 1940’s anymore. No matter how much Steve wished for him too. He was also no longer the Ghost Assassin of Hydra.

He had the freedom to become him again. Choose who he wanted to be.

And he had every intention of not fighting again for a long as he could help it.

M’Baku looked him over from his place by the wall still. He and Barnes haven’t interacted much due to him being mostly in cryo and the fact that too many Alphas around at once had made him skittish. What he did now he had gotten through stories from others. He had heard about the smooth charming Brooklyn Alpha from before the war. The Alpha that could charm a fish out of water effortlessly, who could make Betas and Omegas alike, swoon on the dance floor.

Soft quiet moments like this, M’Baku could only see a shy quiet man who just wants to be left alone to live peacefully. It’s not until he smiles that M’Baku gets a glimpse of the person from those stories. The endearingly soft smiles that make you warm inside when the smile is directed at you. Prompting you to smile back. The puppyish look in his blue eyes as Barnes tilts his head as he talks. Even that ridiculously soft brown hair that practically begs to be petted. A few times M’Baku had to refrain from reaching out to touch the fluffy strands. It was simply unfair. Since his wife who had died a few years back, leaving him and their children, M’Baku hadn’t so much as glanced at another. But Barnes was somehow changing that.

Another that had caught his interest was the Omega, Stark. The first time he had seen him in a video conference, M’Baku had to psychically bite his tongue, lest he says something stupid. The smaller man had been Devine to look at as he worked in his lab in the video. Soft dark brown hair gently curling at his ears and neck. Goggles pushed back on h forehead so he could see them, molten chocolate brown eyes had looked at them inquisitively, but M’Baku could see a spark of mischief as well. Just seeing his face and arms had been torture enough but the moment Stark had stood to retrieve something off screen giving them a glimpse of his ass and legs. M’Baku had to cough to cover for the small groan that had escaped. Going by Okoye’s small smirk. He hadn’t been too successful at hiding it.

For days after that video conference, Starks plush ass and perfect legs had been on his mind and starred in his dreams. He just wanted to grope at that ass and possibly bite it to leave his mark. The jeans Stark had been wearing had shown off all those delicious curves leaving M’Baku wanting.

Upon learning that T’Challa was reaching out to work with Tony on more future projects, M’Baku had none too subtly been bugging T’Challa to introduce him to Stark. He wanted to meet the genius. Perhaps try his hand at Wooing his into his bed. After looking up the man, M’Baku could agree that the man needed a god damn break from shit. Both Stark and Barnes just needed a break from shit life threw at them. And what more perfect way than in the middle of nowhere in Wakanda?

Grinning M’Baku pictured the Stark heir trying to climb a tree. Unaware that the room was looking at him oddly when he started chuckling to himself.

T’Challa was the one bravest to step forward. “M’Baku? What’s so funny?”

“Huh?” Coming back to focus, M’Baku looked around to see the stares and grinned. “Was just imagining T’Challa in crocodile-infested waters,” his grin grew wider at Barnes look of alarm, a few of the Dora looked mildly alarmed as well but stayed still as Okoye and T’Challa shook their heads amused. Shuri grinned outright at him, “did you yet him in?”

“Shuri please…” T’Challa groaned at his sister. Before any more words could be shared the palace shook slightly, a boom from a distance could be heard. Alert T’Challa ran to the nearest window, looking outside. To the distance just inside their borders, they could see a plane crashing down towards the trees and rivers below. M’Baku managed to catch a glimpse of the name on the side of the small plane. Stark.

Immediately, T’Challa shouted out commands for people to be sent to check the wreckage for any survivors. Also for someone to find out who had shot down that plane.

#larissaloki #marvel #tony stark #bucky barnes #james bucky barnes #m’baku #t’challa #shuri black panther #shuri #Silveriron #M’Bony #M’Baku x Tony x Bucky

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kienova66 · 6 years

Note

I’m a sucker for Momma!May and Jemma and your fics are so beautiful!! Could I request a sequel to the Momma!May and pregnant Jemma fic please?

Anon: Sequel to the Momma!May andpregnant Jemma fic?? It was sooooo cute. --

She doubted that Jemma had meant to fall asleep on the sofa,but May couldn’t help but smile at the sight of the younger woman curled up onthe couch in the common area, the television playing some random movie in thebackground. Ever since she had been let in on the little secret between thescientists, she couldn’t help but feel overly protective of Jemma, knowing howworried she was about the tiny person she was growing. It had been weeks sinceshe had performed the ultrasound for her, and Jemma seemed to be more at ease,having entered into her second trimester. She wasn’t showing much yet, hersmall frame often covered in slightly baggier clothes, but May could just makeout the swell of her stomach if she looked hard enough.

Unable to stop herself, she crossed the room, strokingJemma’s hair back from her face before pulling the throw blanket down andlaying it across her. She stood back, watching her sleep for a few more minutesbefore retreating back towards the fridge for the drink she had come in to get.

Daisy chose that moment to come skittering into the room, alook of panicked concern on her face.

“Daisy?” May asked, keeping her voice low so as not to wakeJemma.

“Where’s Simmons?” Daisy queried.

“She’s napping on the couch,” May replied, taking in theworry on the younger girl’s face. “What’s wrong?”

“Its Fitz. He… he got hurt on the mission. They’re bringinghim in now on the quinjet but they need to take him straight to medical. Jemmashould be there,” Daisy explained, moving to wake Jemma.

“I’ll bring her,” May interjected, grabbing Daisy by thewrist. Although things had been going well, Fitz and Jemma hadn’t told anyoneelse about the pregnancy as far as she knew. They both had been carefullyhedging around the topic and often strayed away from anything dangerous, butneither had brought it up with anyone else on the team. Daisy nodded, facegrim, before she quickly left the room. Sighing, May moved back to the sofa,crouching down and placing her hand on Jemma’s shoulder. “Jemma,” she murmured.It took her a moment, but Jemma slowly woke up, blinking tired eyes up at theolder agent.

“May,” she breathed, sitting up with a slight wince, herback aching. “What’s going on?”

“Jemma, I need you to try and stay calm for me, okay?” Maystarted, her voice steady. Jemma’s eyes instantly widened, concern scrollingacross her features.

“What’s wrong? Where’s Fitz?” Panic quickly ebbed intoJemma’s tone as she threw the blanket off, standing up quickly only to staggerslightly to the side, dizziness suffusing through her.

“Hey, hey, deep breaths,” May instructed, wrapping her armaround Jemma’s shoulders as the younger woman did as she was told. “I don’tknow much yet, but I know that Fitz is hurt. They’re bringing him into medicalnow, okay?” Despite her best efforts, Jemma started crying almost instantly,nodding as May kept an arm around her.

“I told him not to go,” Jemma blubbered, trying to cover hermouth to stifle her sobs. “We’ve… we’ve been talking about quitting and he saidwe would talk more when he got home and oh God.”

“Jemma, let’s see how bad it is first, okay? He might justhave a couple scrapes and a bump on the head,” May soothed as she slowly guidedthe younger woman out of the room and toward medical. Jemma chewed on her lipas they went, trying to tamper down her emotions as one hand strayed to herstomach, pressing there dragging the material of her shirt against her skin.May glanced down, easily able to see the swell of Jemma’s baby bump now thatshe was curling her fingers around it, trying to steady herself. They made itto the ward after a few minutes, but Jemma seemed to panic the second she sawgurneys and medical equipment laid out.

“I… I need to sit down,” she muttered, knees nearly givingout as May hastily got her into a chair. The young woman closed her eyes,trying to breathe as her hands shook.

“Jemma, talk to me, what’s wrong?” May pressed, crouching infront of her. Jemma didn’t answer. “Are you dizzy?” A nod. “Nauseous?” Anothernod. “Do you think you’re going to be sick?” A pause followed by a shrug. Daisychose that moment to come in, the medical team not far behind her. “Daisy, graba trash can.�� May instructed. Her protégé didn’t pause to question it, duckinginto the medical bay and returning with an empty bin which she carried over tothe specialist.

“The plane is just touching down Jemma,” Daisy said, eyesroving over her best friend, seeing how pale the other woman was. Daisy didn’tmanage to say anything else before Jemma was bent over the garbage can,retching.

“Shh, you’re alright,” May whispered, pulling Jemma’s hairout of her face. “Let it out, its okay.” Glancing up, she looked directly atDaisy. “I need you to meet medical and get me a status report. Now.” Daisy gavea quick nod before bolting down the hallway towards the hangar.

May felt like it took forever for Daisy to get back,bounding alongside the medics with Fitz on a stretcher between them, bloodstaining his skin. He was pale but breathing on his own, hands and leg red buthis chest and head looked unharmed.

“Got shot in the leg, they’re worried it hit the artery,”Daisy hissed, trying not to alarm Jemma who was still leaning over, trying tocatch her breath against the nausea that is swimming through her. May gave adecisive nod, watching Daisy go into the exam room with the medics.

“He’s alive Jemma. He’s breathing and he’s alive. He’sunconscious but he’s in good hands, okay?” May said, stroking Jemma’s back. Ittook a few moments but the biochemist eventually sat up, her hands shaking asthey pressed to her stomach again.

“I felt the baby kick for the first time today,” Jemmamurmured, breath hitching as she fought against the tears that wouldn’t stopfalling. “Fitz had already left and I didn’t want to text him if he wassomewhere that he needed to concentrate on the mission. But all I wanted to dowas tell him. Its all I want to do. He has to be okay.” May felt her chestconstrict at how tiny the words sounded, Jemma looking terrified and defeatedall at the same time.

“Fitz is going to be so mad he missed it,” May smiled,taking Jemma’s hand in her own.

“He said we should tell people when I started to feel it,”Jemma chuckled, blinking her tears away. “You… you know how nervous I’ve been.I just… I wanted to make sure things were alright before we told anyone elseand… well, I was so sick that I haven’t gained that much weight yet and it wasjust easy to keep it to ourselves. Its been nice… sharing this with just him.And you.”

“I’m sure he’s excited to tell people though, hm?” Mayteased, trying to keep Jemma distracted for as long as she could. Jemma nodded.

“He’s wanted to tell Daisy since I got into the secondtrimester. And Coulson. And Mack and Yoyo as well if I’m honest. He wants ourfamily knowing. We… we haven’t even told our parents yet,” Jemma confessed,eyes welling up again.

“You know who we should find a way to tell? Bobbi andHunter.” The suggestion caused Jemma to laugh, shaking her head.

“They don’t even know we’re married,” Jemma said, wiping ather eyes. “Bobbi would probably want to do something ridiculous. Hunter… I canonly assume his comments will all be of a lewd nature.”

“Still. Would probably be funny,” May smirked, wrapping herarm around Jemma’s shoulders. “I’ll find a way to get in contact with them onceFitz is awake.” Swallowing hard, Jemma looked down at the floor.

“What… what if he doesn’t wake up? I… I don’t know if I canhandle that again,” she confessed. Instantly, May was transported back to thelast time Jemma had sat at Fitz’s hospital bed, still so young and naïvetowards the world. Before she had been undercover. Before she had been toanother planet. She had never seen Jemma as terrified as she had been the lastfew days of Fitz’s coma, the younger woman spending hours crying in hishospital room, not willing to say anything to anyone but instead withdrawinginto herself. She had been worse after Fitz woke up, if May was honest. Jemmahad wandered around the base like a ghost, trying to appear overly confident ofher best friend’s impending recovery. It had nearly broken her to watch himstruggle until she had taken herself out of the equation.

“He’s going to wake up Jemma,” May insisted. “If you thinkthat man is going to miss one more second of your pregnancy than he has to,you’re crazy.” The smile she earned was weak, but she would take it. “You know,Coulson and I knew you two would end up together from the first day we broughtyou onto the Bus.”

“You did not,” Jemma argued.

“Yeah, we did. I took one look at you two kids and said‘Phil, we can’t have these two running around. They’re just going to make hearteyes at each other and yell about science. They can’t handle the field.’ GuessI was wrong about the field part. But the lovey-dovey crap and you two yellingabout science? Think I did alright on that one,” May teased. Jemma huffed,leaning into the other woman as she closed her eyes.

“I just need to know he’s alright.”

“I know.”

They stayed in the hallway for another agonizing hour,Coulson wandering down halfway through, dropping into the seat beside May.Jemma was drifting into unconsciousness by then, her body exhausted.

“How’s she doing?” He questioned softly, eyes flicking toJemma.

“Tired. Scared. They’ve been through enough Phil. They’rejust kids still,” May replied, carding her hand through Jemma’s hair.

“They’re going to quit, aren’t they?” he stated, not reallyneeding her confirmation.

Jemma nearly bolted when the medic and Daisy came out awhile later, her hands trembling against where she was gripping May’s arm untilthe doctor explained that Fitz was going to bit a bit woozy for a while, stillbeing heavily medicated with pain killers, but that the wound to his legshouldn’t leave any lasting damage. Jemma collapsed into May’s chest, sobbing,as May shushed her gently, unable to stop herself from pressing a kiss to theyoung woman’s head.

“Go see your boy,” she murmured once Jemma sat up, hastilywiping her eyes before darting into medical, leaving May, Coulson and Daisy inthe hall.

It didn’t take her longer than a few seconds to find hisbed, dropping into the chair next to it as she scanned his face, looking forany signs of pain. Aside from the bandaging she knew would be bound around hisleg, Fitz didn’t look any worse for wear. She wanted to tell him so manythings, but she wasn’t sure where to start.

“Fitz,” Jemma whispered, taking his hand and holding itagainst her chest. He took a moment to open his eyes but once he did he lookedat her, a smile playing around his lips. In the end, it was simple to pick whatto say first. “I felt the baby kicktoday.” She watched his expression turn into one of awe, his hand snatched backout of her grip until he could press it to her belly.

“It kicked?” he questioned, blinking down as if expecting tofeel it for himself.

“Yes,” she replied, grinning at him. “You probably won’t beable to feel it for another couple weeks yet because the baby is still smallbut… I felt it. It felt like little butterfly wings.”

“Like… like a little t-rex flailing its tiny stubby arms?”The mental image would have been enough to send her into a giggle fit, but theaccompanying movement Fitz added sent her reeling, laughter echoing around theroom as he flicked his hands near his torso, imitating the dinosaur in question.She felt tears pool at the corner of her eyes, both from relief and mirth,unable to stop them from pouring down her cheeks as she dropped her head to hisshoulder.

“Please…please don’t scare me like that again. The baby andI can’t lose you,” Jemma murmured, feeling his hand come up to stroke her hair.

“M’sorry,” he yawned, a sloppy kiss being pressed to thecrown of her head. “Should tell Coulson I don’t want to work anymore. Want tostay here and be with you.”

“You want us to quit?” she asked, watching him nod in reply.

“Gotta tell everyone about the baby. Then we can move toPerthshire.”

“That simple, hm?” she smiled, lifting her head just enoughto see him bob his head again.

“I love you. S’simple as that,” Fitz grinned. “You okay?”

“Yes, May took good care of me.”

“She’s goin’ t’ make a good grandma.”

#fstag #fitzsimmons #aos fanfic #agents of shield #leo fitz #jemma simmons #melinda may #momma may #hurt/comfort #baby fic #future fic #writing #fanfiction #prompt fic #asks #replies #Anonymous

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austinpanda · 5 years

Text

Bangor Bound, Ch. 8

Here’s where we are now: I’ve accomplished my three goals for today, and I’m still concerned, as Zach is concerned, about the fact that we don’t have a place to live yet. Allow me to explain in greater detail.

This morning I wanted to take out the trash and recycling. Zach took care of that while I snoozed, the lovable butthole. Second, we wanted to throw away an exercise bike. Throwing something away when it’s large, awkwardly-shaped, and heavy, is difficult when you live on the third floor of a building with no elevators. But the exercise bike had four feet upon which it rested, and two of the feet were casters (wheels). It was a recumbent bike and it was designed to be picked up from one end, and moved on those casters like a wheelbarrow. Once we got it down all the stairs, which just took a bit of slowness and care, it was easy to wheel it out to the dumpster. I should have put a sticky note on it, saying that it works. We’re not getting rid of it because it’s broken; we’re getting rid of it because we don’t want to move that shit 2,200 miles, and, more importantly, we want to get actual bikes once we’re in Bangor. We want to get fat-tire bikes and ride them in the snow, and ride them to the store, and ride them everywhere, and get healthy, and live for a hundred years.

The third and final chore was installing The Great Divide™ pet net barrier thingy! To cut a long story short, it is done. It was pretty easy to install, and it fits nicely. There are some gaps, and I will address those. I’ve already purchased a couple of disposable litter boxes pre-loaded with litter and placed one in the floor of the back driver’s side. I’m beginning to wish my kitty had the capacity to appreciate how much money and energy I’m spending making sure he’s as comfortable and chill as possible for this three-day car trip. I’m starting to feel like I’ve accomplished something here. This is some seriously first-class kitty transport, complete with restroom facilities! That’s the last I’ll bitch about that.

Now it’s about 9:30 in the morning, my three icky outdoors chores are complete, and my thoughts turn to our house hunt.

Our house hunt is going poorly, I would say. Or perhaps I should say it’s going wonderfully; it just hasn’t produced a new home for us yet. And I have to admit, and you’re going to probably spit out your coffee and yell at me at this point, but I haven’t made any phone calls yet. We’ve been doing it online. Look, here’s the thing: we both hate making phone calls. It takes time to work up the courage. It’s embarrassing! It’s one of those shortcomings for which the only solution seems to be, “How about just stop being a pussy and DO IT, m’kay?” But that solution has produced mixed results.

Here’s what we do. We find a place that’s in our price range ($850 or, preferably less), allows cats, and has washer/dryer connections. The only other qualification is that it has to be as un-murdery as possible. We don’t want to live in a terrifying, shoddily-built apartment that’s just going to make us sad. We want a competent dwelling. We want something clean, with no bugs, and no windows that are half in one room, and half in the adjacent room, because the people converting it from one house to several apartments just did not give a shit. (Yes, we’ve seen this.) Another thing these people do is carve out a bathroom by putting a few walls around a toilet and shower, but they don’t extend the walls all the way to the ceiling! It’s like a bathroom stall in a gas station, but it’s your home! You’re pooping out loud, for everyone in the place to hear, FOREVER!!!!!

Anyway, once we’ve found the place that meets our requirements, we use whatever mechanism that website provides to contact the landlord and/or apply to live there. If there’s more than one way to apply, without calling them, or more than one way so submit information to them, without calling them, or more than one way to nag them, without calling them, we do it. So far, we don’t have a place, and the Cumberland Street apartment has been rented to someone else. We’re down from three possibilities to two.

So the search continues. Zach and I, despite having heroically done a combined three things already this morning, are going to dedicate the rest of the day and tomorrow to searching like mad, online, for a place to live.

If that doesn’t work…

...then next week we start calling places. And that means mostly me doing the phone calls, because of Zach’s speech impediment. Also, we start looking for an extended-stay hotel, or some super-cheap weekly efficiency apartments. Because, and this is hugely important, we really, seriously, absolutely MUST have a place to drive TO once we get to Bangor. Since we’re using the pods, our stuff will come later, and be brought to a Bangor U-Haul place, and we can direct it to our new home once we have one. But we literally have to have a place, even if it’s a temporary one, to drive to. We need a bed and a bathroom and something resembling a kitchen.

Ah, friendos, I grow nervous. Zach now fears that he left his job too soon, and that our lack of employment will prevent us from getting the kind of place we want. My thoughts were always, “How about we just offer them a pile of money, in the form of a few months rent in advance, instead?” But we haven’t had many opportunities to make that offer yet, because we’re here with our pile, and they’re there with their employment demands. We’re working on it, and we’re working hard.

But! You know me, I can’t give ten negatives without at least a head-fake toward something positive. From within this cauldron of dog shit that is my current existence, a genuine gold nugget has emerged. A wonderful thing happened, and I have my sister to thank for it.

I read Stephen King’s book “Doctor Sleep,” a few months ago, and thought it was fine. It’s the sequel to The Shining; little Danny Torrance all grown up and alcoholic. Then I saw a trailer for the movie, which is coming out on November 8th, and I thought, “Maybe I should listen to that audio book again. It had a couple of cool parts in it.” Then I listened to the book a second time, and fell in love with it. I’ve talked about it online already; the book has such heart, such an amazing capacity for kindness, such beautiful, supportive relationships. I just loved the shit out of it. So, I recommended it to Stacy. And she read it! And she liked it, and said it had a lot of heart! And she got Dad to read it, and now he likes it!

This morning I got an email from dad which just contained a link to the second trailer for the movie Doctor Sleep. I’ve already seen it a dozen times, because at this point, I’m a fan, but it’s awesome to know he’s into it too. My dad, who had trouble liking me because of insufficient sports, is enjoying a book I enjoyed. And Stacy digs it too. I’m like Moses over here, bringing my love of this Stephen King book to the whole of humanity. Hope you accept Doctor Sleep into your life. And I hope the movie is very good.

#movingtobangor #bangor #bangorbound

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healthyeating43-blog · 5 years

Text

Will a high-protein diet harm your health? The real story on the risks (and rewards) of eating more protein.

New Post has been published on https://dietguideto.com/awesome/will-a-high-protein-diet-harm-your-health-the-real-story-on-the-risks-and-rewards-of-eating-more-protein/

Will a high-protein diet harm your health? The real story on the risks (and rewards) of eating more protein.

Will protein help me lose weight? Should I eat it at every meal? Could too much damage my kidneys? At Precision Nutrition, our inbox is filled with questions about the pros and cons of feeing more protein. In this article we’ll defined the record straight, so you can finally separate the facts from the fiction.

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What are high-protein diets? What does the evidence say about high-protein diets and health? Does protein source matter? How much protein is right for me?

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If you’re a fitness pro, or interested in geeking out with nutritional science :P TAGEND

We’ve given you some “extra credit” material in sidebars throughout. Check out our advice for fitness pros at the end.

Why protein?

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Protein is one of the three main macronutrients that builds up the food we feed.( The other two are fat and carbohydrate .)

Protein itself is made up of amino acids.

Amino acids are the building blocks for most stuff in our bodies. They’re like Legos that can be broken down and re-assembled in different ways.

Unlike extra fat( which we can store very easily on our hoboes and bellies ), we don’t store lots of extra amino acids. Protein is always get use, recycled, and sometimes excreted.

If we don’t get enough protein, our body will start to plunder it from components that we need, such as our muscles. So we have to constantly replenish protein by eating it.

We need protein.

Protein is so important that without it, we die or become seriously malnourished.

( This protein-deficiency illnes is known as kwashiorkor, and we often see it in people who have suffered famines or who lives on a low-protein diet .)

All your enzymes and cell transporters; all your blood transporters; all your cells’ scaffolding and structures; 100 percentage of your hair and fingernails; much of your muscle, bone, and internal organs; and many hormones are made of largely protein. Hence, protein enables most of our bodies’ functions.

Put simply, you are basically a heap of protein.

No protein , no you.

How much protein do we need?

Short answer: It depends.

Let’s look first at the present Recommended Daily Allowance (RDA).

The RDA for protein is 0.8 g/ kg( 0.36 g/ lb) — the more you weigh, the more protein you need :P TAGEND

A 150 -lb( 68 kg) person would need 68 x 0.8, or about 54 grams of protein a day.

A 200 -lb( 91 kg) person would need 91 x 0.8, or about 73 grams of protein a day.

That generally works out to about 10 percentage of daily calories coming from protein.

However.

RDAs were originally developed as a route to avoid malnutrition — to represent the minimum quantity of a nutrient we required to not die( or get sick ).

“You’re not dead” is not the same thing as “You’re kicking ass.” The RDA for surviving may be different than what is necessary thrive.

The RDA is also a very general recommendation. It doesn’t take other things into account, such as :P TAGEND

How much total energy( i.e. calories) we eat or need Our carbohydrate intake When we feed the protein Our biological sex Our age How active we are What activities we do How “eco-friendly” various protein sources are

The Institute of Medicine( US) suggests a huge range in individual protein requirements — from 0.375 g/ kg to 1.625 g/ kg body weight( 0.17 to 0.74 g/ lb body weight ).

In other terms, our hypothetical 150 -lb person might have protein needs ranging from 26 to 111 grams per day.

Well that constricts it down nicely, doesn’t it !?

Let’s take a deeper look: Amino acids

Protein in our food is made up of many different building blocks, or amino acids.

Most people focus on Recommended Daily Allowance( RDA) for total protein, but they don’t think about how much of each amino acid they might need.

If your diet isn’t differed enough, you may be eating enough total protein, but not enough of a specific essential amino acid.

Every day, you need this much of these essential amino acids:

14 mg/ kg of histidine 19 mg/ kg of isoleucine 42 mg/ kg of leucine 38 mg/ kg of lysine 19 mg/ kg of methionine+ cysteine 33 mg/ kg of phenylalanine+ tyrosine 20 mg/ kg of threonine 5 mg/ kg of tryptophan 24 mg/ kg of valine

Of course, you don’t need to spend hours in your kitchen with an eyedropper of lysine answer, carefully calibrating your intake.

Just eat a variety of protein-rich foods and let nature do the rest.

What does a high-protein diet look like?

People often assume that “high protein” means “low carbohydrate”. In fact, you can eat more protein without building any drastic changes to other things in your diet.

Many types of diets can be considered high-protein. “High protein” is a bit of a relative concept; there’s no clear rule.

The average protein intake for adults in the US is about 15 percentage of calories coming from protein.

The Institute of Medicine suggests that up to 35 percent of total calories is an OK proportion of protein for healthy adults.

And most researchers would say that once you get more than 25 percent of total calories from protein, you’re in “high protein” territory.

Here’s what high- and low-protein diets might look like for a given meal.

The upper tolerable limit( UL) of something tells you how much you can eat without having health problems.

Currently, there’s no established UL for protein.

Does that mean you can eat as much protein as you’d like without any negative side effects? No. It just entails researchers haven’t figured it out yet.

But we do know that eating up to 4.4 g/ kg( 2 g/ lb) body weight didn’t cause any short term health problems in clinical studies.

Let’s take a deeper look: Calculating maximum protein

The Institute of Medicine suggests that high protein uptake, where about 35 percent of your calories comes from protein, is safe.

What does that mean in grams per kilogram body weight( or g/ lb body weight )?

Say you’re 74.8 kg( 165 lb) and reasonably active. You need about 2,475 calories per day to maintain your weight.

If you get 35 percent of your total energy intake from protein, you’d be eating about 866 calories from protein each day.

1 gram of protein has 4 calories. So 866 calories is around 217 grams of protein per day.

That’s about 1.3 grams per pound of body weight, or 2.9 g/kg.

Will eating a high-protein diet hurt me?

For years, people have been concerned with the safety of eating too much protein.

Will eating too much protein explode my kidneys?

How about my liver? My left femur?

The most common health concerns of feeing more protein are :P TAGEND

kidney injury liver injury osteoporosis heart disease cancer

Let’s explore these.

Claim: High protein causes kidney damage.

This concern about high protein and kidneys began with a misunderstanding of why physicians tell people with poorly functioning kidneys( usually from pre-existing kidney disease) to a eat a low-protein diet.

But there’s a big difference between avoiding protein because your kidneys are already damaged and protein actively injury healthy kidneys.

It’s the difference between jogging with a violated leg and jogging with a perfectly healthy leg.

Jogging with a broken leg is a bad idea. Doctors would probably tell you not to jog if your leg is broken. But does jogging cause legs to break? No.

That’s the same thing with protein and kidneys.

Eating more protein does increase how much your kidneys have to work( glomerular filtration rate and creatinine clearance ), simply like jogging increases how much your legs have to work.

But protein hasn’t been shown to cause kidney damage — again, just like jogging isn’t going to suddenly snap your leg like a twig.

High-protein diets do result in increased metabolic trash being excreted in the urine, though, so it’s particularly important to drink plenty of water to avoid dehydration.

Verdict: There’s no evidence that high protein diets (2.2g/kg body weight) cause kidney injury in healthy adults.

Claim: High protein causes liver damage.

The liver, like the kidneys, is a major processing organ. Thus, it’s the same deal as with kidneys: People with liver injury (such as cirrhosis) are told to eat less protein.

Yes, if you have liver damage or disease you should eat less protein. But if your liver is healthy, then a high-protein diet will not cause liver damage.

Verdict: There’s no evidence that high-protein diets (2.2g/kg body weight) cause liver injury in healthy adults.

Claim: High protein causes osteoporosis.

Eating more protein without also upping your fruit and vegetable intake will increase the amount of calcium you’ll lose in your pee.

That finding made some people think that eating more protein will cause osteoporosis because you’re losing bone calcium.

But there is no evidence that high protein causes osteoporosis.

If anything , not feeing enough protein has been shown to cause bone loss. Bones aren’t just inert sticks of minerals — a significant proportion of bone is also protein, mostly collagen-type proteins.

Like muscle, bone is an active tissue that is constantly being broken down and rebuilt. And like muscle, bone needs those Lego building blocks.

Women aged 55 to 92 who feed more protein have higher bone density. So eating more protein improves bone density in people most at risk of having osteoporosis.

( Eating more protein plus adding resistance training: Double win for bone density .)

Verdict: High protein diets do not cause osteoporosis, and actually may prevent osteoporosis.

Claim: High protein causes cancer

Unfortunately, we still don’t have conclusive human surveys on the sources of cancer and the role of protein.

There are studies that asked people how much protein they ate over their lifetime, and then looked at how often people got cancer. The research proves a connection between protein intake and cancer rates.

But these studies are correlational analyzes and don’t prove that protein is the cause of cancers. Plus, some researchers have gone so far to say that surveys relying on topics to recall what they eat are basically worthless because human memory is so inaccurate.

A big part of the proposed cancer and protein connect comes down to confounding factors, like :P TAGEND

where you get your protein from — plant or animal how you cook your protein( i.e. carbonized grilled meat) what types of protein you’re eating( e.g. grass-fed steak versus a hot dog)

And so on.

In other words, we can’t say that any particular amount of protein causes cancer.

Verdict: Limited evidence that protein causes cancer; many other confounding factors.

Let’s take a deeper look: Protein and cancer

A study from 2014 looked at protein and cancer hazard. It was widely misinterpreted as proof that eating a lot of protein caused cancer.

First, it was actually two analyses, one asking people questions and following them for years; and one that fed mouse a high-protein diet and implanted them with cancer.

With the human study, researchers looked at people’s self-reported protein intake and their rates of cancer over the following 18 years.

They found that people aged 50 -6 5 who ate diets high in animal protein (>= 20% of total calories) had a 4-fold greater danger of dying of cancer over the next 18 years compared to people who ate a moderate quantity of protein( 10 -2 0% of total calories ).

( Just so you get an idea, smoking increases your risk of cancer by 20 -fold .)

Then, it gets more interesting, because for people over 65, eating more protein lessened cancer danger by more than half. In summary:

Eating more protein from 50 -6 5 years old was associated with a higher danger of demise from cancer, but over 65 years old that association was reversed.

The second part of the study is where people genuinely misunderstood what the study had proven.

Researchers fed mouse a high-protein diet( 18% of total calories), then implanted cancerous cells. They found that the high-protein diet increased tumor sizing. This is not a astonish, since protein increases IGF-1( an anabolic protein) that stimulates growth in pretty much all tissues, including cancerous tissue.

Higher protein diets stimulated cancerous growth in mice.

So, while feeing more protein might increase the size of existing tumors( depending on what treatment someone is undergoing), this study does not show that high-protein diets cause cancer.

Claim: High protein causes heart disease.

Eating animal-based protein daily is associated with an increased risk of fatal coronary heart disease( 70 percent for men and 37 percent for women ), whereas plant-based proteins aren’t linked to higher rates of heart disease.

This suggests that where you get your protein from may matter more than how much protein you eat.

However, just like cancer, the link between heart disease and high-protein diets is from questionnaires rather than a double-blind randomized examine( the gold standard in research ).

There are many confounding factors. For one, consider the type of animal — does seafood cause the same issues as red meat, for example?

We don’t yet know the whole story here.

Verdict: Limited evidence that protein causes heart disease and the source of protein is a major confounding factor.

Let’s take a deeper look: Protein source

A new analyze in the Journal of American Medical Association (JAMA) appears not only at protein uptake, but where people got their protein from.

More than 131,000 people were asked :P TAGEND

how much protein they eat; and if it came from animals or plants.

This study took over 35 years to do( starting in the 1980 s ).

What they found :P TAGEND

Eating more animal protein was associated with a higher risk of death … if you were also doing something else that was a risk factor.

Such as :P TAGEND

smoking being overweight not exercising drinking alcohol history of high blood pressure low intake of whole grains, fiber, and fruits and vegetables

Eating more plant protein was found to be associated with lower risk of early death.

What does this entail?

You might guess at first glance that you should eat less animal protein, since this study seems to say that animal protein is bad for you.

But there’s more to it.

If you’re doing everything else “right”, then eating more animal protein doesn’t seem to be a problem.

Likely, it’s not the animal protein on its own but a lot of lifestyle things that come with eating more animal protein.

For instance, this study began in the 80 s. At that time, virtually every physician told their patients to eat less fat and meat, and to avoid eggs.

So if you were a somewhat health-conscious person, then you’d likely be feeing less animal protein compared to someone who was less health-conscious( or if you ran against your doctor’s advice) — but you’d also likely be engaging in a bunch of other health-supporting decisions and activities.

The problem with these types of studies, called correlational studies, is that you can never be sure whether the associations are caused by one onto the other or if they’re simply happening at the same time.

Protein quality matters

Most people to be considered how much protein, but they don’t suppose all that much about the quality of the protein they’re eating.

There are huge differences in the chemical makeup of a dedicated protein source, and how valuable that protein is nutritionally. The higher a protein’s quality, the more easily it can give your body the amino acids it needs to grow, mend and maintain your body.

The two big factors that make a protein high or low quality are:

Digestibility:

How easy is it to digest? How much do you digest — and absorb and use?

Amino acid composition:

What amino acids is it made of?

A high-quality protein has a good ratio of essential amino acids, and allows our body to use them effectively.

Amino acid composition is more important than digestibility.

You can have way more protein than you need, but if the protein you’re eating is low in an important amino acid( known as the limiting amino acid ), it causes a bottleneck that stops everything else from running( or at least slackens things down ).

High-quality proteins have more limiting amino acids, which means the bottleneck is lessened and our bodies can use that protein source better.

Let’s take a deeper look: Measuring protein’s worth

Scientists use many ways to calculate protein quality, or how well we might digest, assimilate, and use a devoted protein.

Here are a couple.

Protein Digestibility Corrected Amino Acid Score (PDCAAS)

PDCAAS is calculated using a ratio of limiting amino acids and a factor of true digestibility to give you a value that lets you know how much of a given protein is digestible.

The higher the score, the higher the quality of protein.

PDCAAS is the current gold standard for evaluate protein quality, but there are a few other protein quality scoring methods that we cover in the Precision Nutrition Level 1 Certification program.

Indicator amino acid oxidation( IAAO)

When we don’t have enough of a particular indispensable amino acid, then all the other amino acids, including that indispensable one, will be oxidized( i.e. essentially wasted) rather than utilized for stuff like repairing tissues.

It’s kind of like a squad athletic: You can’t play without the goalie, so all the players sit around twiddling their thumbs, even though they’re all great players in their own right.

But if we’re getting enough of that particular amino acid, then we won’t assure all that oxidation. We have a goalie and the rest of the players can play.

So, you want the IAAO score to be low, indicating that all your amino acids are doing their jobs to rebuild you.

Thus far, the IAAO method seems like a very useful way to judge the metabolic availability of amino acids from various protein-containing foods, and to determine total protein requirements for all kinds of people.

New assessment techniques like IAAO are giving us a more precise idea of protein use, which means that we may see recommendations change in future.

Most likely, on the basis of these recent findings, the RDA for protein will increase — i.e. physicians may tell us to eat more protein.

“Complete” and “incomplete” proteins

Back in the day, scientists used to talk about “complete” and “incomplete” proteins.

If you had a plant-based diet( i.e. vegetarian or vegan ), you were told that you had to eat a mixture of incomplete proteins( i.e. protein from a variety of plants) at each dinner in order to meet your needs.

We now know this isn’t true.

As long as you eat a mix of different protein sources, you’ll get all the amino acids you need. No need for mealtime protein algebra to make sure you’re getting all your amino acids.

That being said, many plant-based sources are less protein-dense than animal sources. So if you choose not to eat animal products, you’ll have to work a little harder to get more protein from a wide variety of plant sources to make up the difference and meet your protein needs.