#i just keep adding on layers and layers of wrong things said and unsaid and feelings no one understands

[rexscanonwife]

"I can fix him" this and "I can make him worse" that

I can inadvertently become one of the many mistakes he made that tragically lead to his downward spiral 😳

[barnesbabee]

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ᴇɪɢʜᴛ- ᴡᴏɴᴅᴇʀʟᴀɴᴅ

WONDERLAND MASTERLIST

⇜ ᴘʀᴇᴠɪᴏᴜꜱ - ᴇɪɢʜᴛ-  ɴᴇxᴛ ⟿

CHARACTER LIST:

White Rabbit - Choi Jongho Absolem (Blue Catterpilar) - Kang Yeosang Cheshire Cat - Kim Hongjoong Mad Hatter - Choi San Haigha (March Hare) - Jung Wooyoung Tweedle Dee - Song Mingi Tweedle Dum - Jeong Yunho Bloody Red King - Park Seonghwa

ᴛᴀɢʟɪꜱᴛ: @myunvillage @mirror-juliet @jess-1404 @earth-to-leiki [Send me a DM, an ask or comment to be added to the tag list]

“The stars sure look beautiful today.”

From that night on you and Seonghwa continuously exchanged shy glances, and even the simplest touch would make you blush, as you both reminisced what had happened that night. You anxiously waited for the day you would finally belong to each other, and as the night approached, the both of you started feeling butterflies all over your body.

You had decided the wedding would be small. Not because you weren't extravagant, but because none of you had friends, so it wouldn't make sense to throw a big party. Although the King, without your knowledge, had ordered the most beautiful wedding dress, and he couldn't wait for you to see it.

One day, you decided to take a peek at the ballroom, where the wedding would be taking place. You could see he tried to minimize the red and black, but it was stronger than him. It did look beautiful though... The gold chandelier lit up the sparkly room, decorated with rose petals cut in the shape of a heart, and several portraits of you and the King beside each other. You wondered when those had been painted, but you were honoured. Your heart was clenching in adoration as you noticed the contrast between the portraits all around the castle compared to those. Every painting of the King you had seen so far was of him with a stone-cold expression, but in all of these you were both smiling, laughing, or looking at each other lovingly. The King make sure to capture his favourite moments in all of these paintings, from the day you met, to the picnic in the garden.

"Thank you, Miss."

You were startled to hear a voice behind you while you peeked through the barely opened door. You jumped slightly and turned around, but calmed down once you saw it was one of the maids. She was looking at you with her big, sparkly frog eyes. At some point, it freaked you out, but after seeing them every day you got used to the frog people.

"You're welcome ma'am, but what might you be thanking me for?" You asked, quite confused.

"You've made our lives infinitely better with your presence. Our King has really changed... He said 'thank you' the other day. I have worked for him for a decade and not once had I heard those words from him. He treats us like people, not like servants. You are a blessing, Miss."

You smiled at the maid, a sad yet sympathetic smile.

"I know it's a lot to ask, but I beg of you, give him another chance. Seonghwa is but a neglected, traumatized child in an adult man's body, and I'm trying to help him become a better person."

"I cannot promise anything Miss, but if he truly shows the people mercy and compensates them for all we've been through, the people might give him another chance."

You gave her a slight nod, and thanked the maid for her honesty.

"Hey!" A voice called from up the stairs.

The maid excused herself, and you looked at the staircase, to find a distressed Seonghwa running down towards you.

"Did you see the room?" He asked arms crossed over his chest.

You stayed quiet for a second and looked away from the man who stood apprehensively in front of you.

"No?" You lied.

"Aw come on! I wanted it to be a surprise! I knew I should've covered that paintings."

The image of a sulking Seonghwa was the most adorable thing you had ever seen. You wrapped your arms around his waist and laid your head on his chest.

"I'm sorry, but I was too curious..." You paused and looked up at the man "If it serves any consolation, I was very surprised, and I loved it."

"Really?" He happily asked, flashing you his pearly whites.

You hummed in agreement, earning a small kiss from the man.

"Well, the surprises aren't over. There's a couple more, starting with tonight's dinner."

Before you could ask what he meant, Seonghwa grabbed your hand and dragged you towards a small room in the attic. It took a while to go up all of the marble stairs, and you were out of breath once you reached the room, but it was worth it.

The King gripped the golden handle of the red, wooden door, while looking at you with a big grin. Once he pushed it open, the most beautiful sight was prepared for you. The roof of the small room had a beautiful glass skylight, and the stars looked down at you as you stepped inside. There were white rose petals scattered all over the dark wooden floor, and a small table with two chairs sat in the middle. On the wall right in front of you was a lit fireplace, and the table was set for two, with the most beautiful cutlery you had ever seen. You noticed a letter sitting on one of the dishes, that you assumed was directed at you.

"I, uh... I learned to like white roses." Seonghwa said, embarrassed.

You remember the first time you met when he freaked out over the white roses in the garden. He moved to stand behind one of the chairs, and pulled it back.

"Come, sit down."

You obliged and sat down on the chair he held out of you The male sat in front of you and motioned towards the letter.

"Tomorrow we get married, and there are many things I want to tell you, but I can't. So I wrote it down."

You grabbed the letter and opened it. The King's calligraphy was beautiful and easy to read, but it didn't surprise you: everything about him was very neat.

'Dearest Y/N,

I'm sorry you have to read this, instead of hearing me say it, but I know that if I were to tell you how I feel, half of my sentiments would be left unsaid. I have lived a short life that felt very, very long. These years have dragged on relentlessly, but ever since you arrived, time flies. I hate going to sleep and I can't wait to wake up, to be with you, to look at you, to kiss you... I have had many experiences that I thought were love, but the second I laid eyes on you, I knew all of those previous times were wrong, I finally knew what love was. And recently I've come to find that love isn't only one thing, because somehow my love for you grows in many ways every day I spend with you. You may call me crazy, but there's nothing I wouldn't do for you, and I will keep my promise of changing to be a better King. Even if you stop loving me, even if you leave me, I will hold up my promise as proof of my everlasting love for you. But I must confess, I've imagined us growing old together, and one day, when I pass the crown onto my future child, I hope it is your child as well.

Forever yours,

Seonghwa.'

Tears streamed down your cheeks like two rivers and your bottom lip trembled as you read the letter.

"Ah, those are happy tears! Correct?"

You set down the letter and wiped away said tears with your wrists.

"Yes, yes they are. This was beautiful, Seonghwa, thank you."

"I'm afraid that's as far as the surprises go today, because when it comes to dinner," Seonghwa paused, revealing two sandwiches that would be your meal "I'm afraid it's mediocre. I tried my best but everything I made came out raw or burned, I'm afraid this is as far as my cooking abilities go."

You were surprised and very touched that he had done it all by himself, even if it were just some lousy sandwiches.

"You made dinner by yourself? Well, my good Sir, they must be delicious." You joked as you took one of them.

They weren't good, but they weren't bad either, and you appreciated the effort that had gotten into them. You imagined what kind of King Seonghwa would have been if the previous King had chosen to raise Seonghwa instead of his sister... Surely a kind, caring King that everyone looked up to, one every eligible young woman (and man) would bad their eyelashes at. It was truly a shame... But it wasn't too late for a change, you were hopeful.

You spent that night together, cuddling and telling stories while looking at the starry sky, and you eventually fell asleep on the many pillows Seonghwa had sprawled on the floor.

The next day, you woke up with a smile, remembering that your wedding was in a few hours.

You laid on top of Seonghwa and kissed him.

"Wake up sleepy head."

Seonghwa smiled, wrapped his arms around you and flipped the two of you, so you'd be under him.

"Good morning princess."

You help his face in your hands and smiled.

"After today I'll be a Queen."

"My Queen."

Your sappy moment was interrupted by a knock on the door.

"Sir, Miss, I'm afraid we must commence dressing you for the wedding."

The King peeled himself off of you with a groan (but not before kissing you). He helped you get up, and the two of you followed the maid that took you both to your assigned fitting rooms. Seonghwa had picked his own suit, but you had no idea what he had in store for you. The second you opened the door, you were met with the most beautiful dress you had ever even imagined. It was white, with a tight corset that expanded into a glamorous princess-like puffy tulle. The tulle had many layers, and its bottom was decorated with pearls. The corset, while sleeveless and heart-shaped, had lace appliques that covered your chest and arms, and the torso was decorated with many sparky stones. The veil was equally decorated with pearls and had a tiara attached to it.

Attached to the dress there was a letter.

'They say white symbolizes faith. I have faith in you and in our marriage. Much love, Seonghwa.'

The maids helped you dress, very carefully and with care. They truly seemed to like you. One of them even fixed your hair in a pretty bun and attached the veil to it.

They had spent around an hour fixing everything, and when you were almost done, the door opened.

"The King is waiting for Miss Y/N."

And that was your queue to leave the room. You carefully walked down the stairs and made your way to the big ballroom, once the doors opened, with the announcement of your name, your eyes fell on Seonghwa, who was staring at you happily, in his new look. His hair was slicked back, no longer covering his eye, displaying it proudly, no longer ashamed of his past. His suit matched your dress: it was white and fit him neatly, and it only served as proof that Seonghwa looked good in any colour.

You noticed the crowd in the room, but you weren't too surprised. Although you had decided to hold a small wedding and not invite anyone, you two knew the people would want to see who was brave enough to marry their King, so the man opened the castle doors for anyone who wanted to witness the wedding.

To say the people were surprised to see the King smile was an understatement, but the fact was that he was smiling, and the smile grew wider for every step you took towards him.

The ceremony went beautifully. There were tears in your eyes and in Seonghwa's eyes, and as you celebrated and sealed the marriage, everyone clapped (to you and Seonghwa's surprise).

Everything went perfectly, until the toast. Seonghwa suggested a toast in your behalf after the maids handed every citizen a glass, and when you took a sip, your body felt weird, and you started shrinking, and shrinking, and shrinking until you looked like Thumbelina.

"Y-Y/N!?" Seonghwa asked frantically, as he looked at tiny you standing on the table.

"Tweedles, now!" Someone roared from the crowd.

The Tweedles grabbed you and tossed you over to the Hatter, who had been concealed in the crowd this whole time. After hearing about the wedding, the Hatter decided he would use the certain crowd and commotion to blend in and enter the castle. Without anyone noticing, Cheshire sprinkled some of Absolem's shrinking cake into your drink.

The Hatter grabbed you gently and Bayard came running in. He placed you on the dog and reached for his pocket to retrieve some cake as well.

The King, noticing what was happening before his very eyes, panicked. Tears streamed down his eyes and his bottom lip quivered.

"No! Please don't steal her away! Please!" He begged, running towards the group with one hand stretched out, hoping he could get to the dog before they left but to no avail.

The Hatter just laughed and shrunk himself, giving Bayard the signal to leave. The card knights tried to follow the dog but he was too fast, and there was no time to get the horses before losing sight of the dog. You were gone.

The King fell to his knees, and cried, as he stopped seeing you from the distance.

"Please, don't take her away from me..."

[crowned-ladybug]

Windowsill Hyacinths

And the other OC thing! Bc i promised

When is my writing not, but still, this one is just entirely self-indulgent. Writing’s fun!

OC blog is @menagerie-of-morons

Characters: Jackie, Marvin

Setting: main verse

Word count: 2.3k

Warnings: periods (the unpleasant biology kind, punctuation is kind of a given I think)

These are OCs, please keep that in mind and respect it.

Neither of them are morning people. Thank goodness, otherwise Marvin doesn’t know how he could tolerate this living arrangement. But usually Jackie is still up before he is, and even though it’s only been two weeks since they moved in together, Marvin is already pleasantly used to waking up to the shower running.

Except this time he woke on his own, which is lovely for a Saturday actually. But it’s also weird, because it’s a break in an unsaid routine, and broken routine makes him anxious.

He hesitates at the door of Jackie’s room before he knocks, hoping it’s quiet enough that it doesn’t wake him if he’s just sleeping in (and Jackie either sleeps like a bear during winter or lighter than store-brand tissue paper, there’s no in-between, so his chances are still better than none at least). There’s a moment or two of silence before he gets a response – a long groan, unclear whether distressed or just too lazy to talk.

“You okay, my dude?” Marvin smiles, hoping the answer will be along the lines of ‘I just woke up and it’s too early and how dare does the Sun exist’. Instead what he gets is the most noncommital and obviously fake ‘I’m fine’ he’s ever heard in his life. “Can I come in?”

To little surprise and much more relief, he’s granted permission.

He finds Jackie curled up in his bed, forming an amorphous pile with his sheets and pillows and plushies, his disastrous bedhead and barely-open eyes just about poking out from under. He mumbles a ‘hey’ when Marvin enters, though it comes out barely audible thanks to the duvet he doesn’t bother to pull away from in front of his face.

“What’s wrong?”

Jackie just sinks deeper into his pillow and closes his eyes fully. For a moment Marvin thinks the little groan he lets out will be the only response he gets, but then he finally speaks. “Uterus bad.”

“Oh, damn,” Marvin sighs, and he finally shuts the door behind himself and makes his way over to the bed. Looks like poor Jackie’s period is hitting bad again, and it’s not surprising considering all the stress of moving just two weeks prior, but it still sucks. “Can I sit?”

Jackie just nods, and so Marvin picks up the stuffed sheep he finds fallen off the bed, and sits. Jackie fishes out one of his hands from under his mess of sheets and makes grabby hands at Marvin until he receives said sheep, and he hugs it, tucking it under his chin.

“Do you need anything.”

“A different set of reproductive organs, please...” he groans again, because that seems to be one of three things he can reliable do right now, but there’s finally some humour to his tone at least.

Marvin grins, and he’s pretty sure Jackie smiles back, though it’s hard to tell with so much in the way. “I don’t think they sell those at the grocery store.”

“Damn.”

Marvin gives a sympathetic hum and he reaches out to rub his poor, suffering friend’s shoulder. Jackie closes his eyes for a moment.

“Is there anything else you’d like then?”

“Hmm...” he opens his eyes again, and adjusts himself so that his face is less in the pillow now and more turned towards Marvin, for the sake of a better conversation experience. “I don’t know...painkillers, maybe?”

In the end that list grows to painkillers, the heating pad, a nice, warm drink and some snacks, and while he’s at it, Marvin checks if they’ve got enough pads too. Just because they moved in weeks ago, it doesn’t mean Jackie couldn’t have forgotten to bring enough in the first place.

And he’s so right. He scribbles it on the shopping list during his pass in the kitchen.

As a bonus reward from his fetch quests, he also gives Jackie a gentle lecture on how he needs to learn to ask for what he needs instead of downplaying the list to a single, easy-to-get item. It’s good that this isn’t the first period Marvin’s ever seen, but he’d very much prefer to just ask Jackie what he needs than guess it. Jackie looks sufficiently sorry, and Marvin reassures him that it’s okay, it’s just a work in progress (because the last thing he wants is to screw with the poor guy’s already messy emotions), and in the end Jackie ends up adding a new element to his list of current needs – a hug.

He’s granted that, in a kind of roundabout way, when Marvin lies down next to him (because the painkillers have yet to work their magic, and so Jackie doesn’t want to do anything but lie curled around the hot pad) and they cuddle for a while, a little clumsy and complicated, because there’s so many things on the bed to be mindful of now. But Jackie gets his craved physical affection, and he sinks back into a pleasant, half-asleep state as the pain starts to lessen, comfortable in the warmth of the hot pad and the way Marvin’s fingers slide through his hair in an imperfect rhythm. He listens to the in-depth discussions his friend has with some of his plushies, words fading in and out of the edges of his consciousness.

Marvin is grateful as all fuck for Saturdays, because that means neither of them have things to do and places to be. Jackie can stay in bed and eat comfort food as much as he wants, and Marvin can hang out with him and make sure he’s okay and also do the shopping before he forgets.

He eventually gets around to doing the latter too, traversing the thankfully not insanely crowded isles of the supermarket. He’s having a good leg day, so he only brought one crutch, and even that’s sitting in the cart now. He can hold his weight just fine for now and lean on the cart for a few moments if he can’t.

He gets regular, boring kind of groceries, like milk and bread and spices, because there’s always ones running out. Then he heads for the isle that holds sweets, most importantly chocolate-based sweets, and this time it’s not for his own pleasure. He ends up with three different kinds of chocolate piled into the cart after long, careful examination and consideration of all options. Jackie definitely deserves to treat himself to some good sweets.

He skids to a stop (fairly literally, because what sort of person would he be if he didn’t skate with the cart from time to time) at the end of the isle when he notices a selection of jars and bottles with carefully layered various powders and chocolate chips in them. He grins. Jackie loves baking, he’d surely love these funky little “cookie recipe in a bottle” thingies too. He sifts through the selection until he finds one with a nice recipe that doesn’t have pink bows, people in skirts and the last century’s ideal housewife on them, and piles it on top of the chocolate.

Pads are probably the toughest to get from the whole list. Not because he feels shame and a threat to his masculinity looking at period products, because he’s way past his “utter dumbass” phase in this regard, and if he feared for his masculinity so much, he wouldn’t wear skirts half as often. No, it’s because the one very important detail he managed to forget to jot down is the brand and make of the damn things. So now he’s faced with a whole wall of pads and racking his brain for what they looked like when he saw Jackie stash them in their own little box in the bathroom two weeks ago.

Except they all look the same – pink for day, dark blue for night – and the only differences he can spot in this visually uninteresting display are the brand names and prices.

He’d go for cheapest, but – really? It’d make sense, except who knows which of these things is actually comfortable and, like, good at its job? The price surely doesn’t. And Jackie wears boxers, do these things even work with those?

He’s pulled out of his thoughts for a moment when another person – long hair, dress, delicate make-up, all in all feminine-looking – enters the isle and gives him a look that’s...friendly? Friendly people in a supermarket, would you look at that! They’re probably pleasantly surprised by seeing someone on the more masculine end of the scale shopping for these things.

Finally, he admits his defeat and pulls out his phone to text Jackie.

But at least he gets the needed information quickly, and Jackie is sympathetic about him not remembering (“These things all look the same...” “I know, right?!”) and shoves two night and two day packs into the cart, because the particular brand is on sale anyway.

He gets off the bus a stop early to walk the rest of the way, the bag of groceries floating by his side with his magic. The weather isn’t nice just yet, and the wind that whips around him sometimes is cutting, but he enjoys a little walk. More importantly, he’s very much aware that there’s a flower shop on the way.

He stops in front of the shop, appreciating the stock through the window as he pulls out his phone, opting to call instead of text this time. He hates to ruin the surprise, but…

“Hey, did you get lost in the supermarket or something?” Jackie laughs into the speaker as soon as he picks up. It’s nice to hear that he’s feeling better now.

Marvin snorts. “Shut up. I wanted to ask how you dysphoria is doing today?”

“Pretty okay, surprisingly,” there’s rusting from the other end, Jackie adjusting his position wherever he is. “Hasn’t been bitching much yet.”

“Nice!” it is nice. He’ll definitely celebrate that. “Would it get ticked off by flowers, though?”

There’s a beat of silence as Jackie processes the unexpected question. “No, I don’t think it would. I love flowers, I’ve gotten over most of the social bullshit around them already,” he stops, then his tone shifts. “Marvin, what are you-”

“Shh, you heard nothing from me! I just wanted to make sure I wouldn’t end up making you feel worse on accident.”

Jackie refuses to hush just yet though. “Dude, I swear, if you’re buying me flowers just because my organs are back on their bullshit, I’m-”

“Listen,” Marvin cuts in, and he’s rewarded by silence immediately. “It’s my money and I can spend it however I want, so shh. As I said, you heard nothing from me,” he waits for that huff of breath that signals defeat, and laughs when he gets it. “I’ll be home soon!”

Jackie calls him an idiot as the call ends, his voice so full of fondness, and Marvin stays standing in front of the shop and just smiling to himself for another moment before he enters.

“’Elloooooo...” Marvin calls as he shuts the front door behind himself, and he hears Jackie’s goofy ‘’Allo!’ in response from somewhere. First thing’s first he calls his other crutch to himself, because his legs are tired now and he needs it, just in case, and floats his bag over into the kitchen.

He doesn’t even get to start unpacking before Jackie enters after him, perfectly upright and seemingly much more comfortable in his skin than only hours ago. He’s wrapped in a bathrobe and his hair is still dripping slightly, and he must have forgotten his glasses somewhere. Marvin already expects a wild hunt to find them again in like five minutes. But he looks good, in his lanky, dorky kind of way, and Marvin is so glad the day is going a little better for him now.

Marvin grins as he fishes out the potted hyacinth he’s bought from the bag. “Look! I brought you a new friend!”

Jackie stares for a moment too long, and his forehead gets a little scrunched up, and he’s still wearing that dorky, goofy smile on his face...and by now Marvin knows to translate that expression to “Jackie just got emotional as fuck.” He has just about half a moment to put the plant back down safely before he’s tugged forward and wrapped up in Jackie’s arms. He leans into it, and his crutches stay hovering where he let go of them. He makes sure to keep his grip on Jackie cautious, because it’s rude to squeeze someone around the middle when their organs are being disrespectful.

Jackie does squeeze him though, and it’s nice. He sounds a little choked up when he says: “Thank you.”

“Dude, it’s just a flower...”

“No, it’s,” he shakes his head, and Marvin can feel it, because it nudges closer to his. “You know I don’t just mean the flower.”

Marvin takes a moment to respond, as he presses his face into Jackie’s shoulder until he can’t breather properly. He adjusts his head, leaves his cheek resting there anyway, and he doesn’t stop smiling. “I know,” he takes a short pause and risks a very gentle squeeze. Jackie doesn’t wince. “Still, you don’t need to thank me.”

“Nope,” Jackie’s tone switches to something less deeply emotional and more dorky again, and he raises his head, though still makes no move to end the hug. He shakes his head and laughs. “Nope, we’re not doing this argument again.”

Marvin just laughs along, and shoves his face back into his best friend’s shoulder again.

[javistg]

One Victor. CH 15 (Part 1)

Hello, everyone!

I had a very productive weekend! 

I stupidly lost about 500 words I typed yesterday in the park because I didn’t save the file properly, and I had to sort of re-write them this morning. But, all in all I made good progress. Chapter 15 of One Victor is not ready yet, but I already have the first half. There’s a TON of Everlark  on it, and I can’t wait to share it. So, here it is. Tell me what you think :)

[unbetaed and subject to change]

Chapter 15. Part 1.

It was like his first homecoming all over again.

His friends and family had all welcomed him with polite smiles and awkward hugs and, after asking him a few questions, they’d all run away; retreating into their homes, hiding behind their apprenticeships and schoolwork.

After two weeks of fanfare and stress, Peeta had suddenly found himself standing in the middle of a deserted street, conversing with the wind.

As a train whistled in the station --signalling a new departure-- Peeta realized he wasn’t ready to face the empty mansion he insisted on calling home. Restless, he decided to take a walk around town.

He didn’t have a specific destination in mind, but he wasn’t surprised when his feet lead him to one of the paths which crossed the Seam. He’d only been there once, a few months before, but the place had captivated him.

The run-down shacks, unpaved lanes and unmarked streets were all hauntingly beautiful in his eyes.

No, he wasn’t blind to the fact that all that chaotic beauty was the product of extreme poverty and need. He knew how hard life was for people in the Seam. But he also knew how loyal they were and how they protected each other through thick and thin. He couldn’t help but admire their resourcefulness and strength.

In the face of adversity, Seam eyes shone with determination, their voices sang with pride.

He had almost reached the end of the main road when he saw her.

Katniss was about to knock on a door a couple houses down.

Without even thinking, he called out, “Katniss!”

Katniss swung around, her silver eyes widened in surprise and she smiled. “Peeta! Welcome back!”

Peeta smiled. She wasn’t the first person to welcome him home, but he felt as though she was the first one to truly mean it.

Forgetting about the door, Katniss closed the distance between them. “What brings you round?”

Peeta shrugged. “Don’t know, I just felt like going for a walk.” He looked up, taking in the snow-covered rooftops of the shantytown. “Somehow, I ended up here.” Suddenly, a thought crossed his mind. “Are you busy?”

“Not particularly,” she said shaking her head, “what did you have in mind?”

“Not much,” he admitted with a soft chuckle, “But, I brought a few things back from the tour. Maybe I could show them to you, if you have time?”

“Sure!” pointing back to the house, she added, “just let me tell Prim –she’s over at Penny’s. My mother is out visiting a patient, and I don’t want her to worry if she goes back home and doesn’t find us.”

Peeta nodded. “She can come along if she wants. I don’t mind.”

Katniss crossed her arms and, looking down, began inspecting the thin layer of freshly-fallen snow like it was the most interesting thing in the district. “I… I think she has schoolwork.”

“Oh, right.”

Katniss looked back up, her gray eyes held a fondness Peeta had never seen before. It was so comforting he almost forgot the biting chill in the air.

A sweet smile pursed her lips. “Thanks for the offer, though.”

Dazed, Peeta nodded.

“I’ll be back in a second, OK?” she said backing away.

“Sure, I’ll wait here.”

Katniss went back to the shack and knocked. A moment later, the door opened, and Peeta saw a blond head pop out.

Katniss moved closer to the door, blocking Prim from view.

Peeta waited, rocking slightly in place to keep his limbs from freezing while Katniss talked to her sister.

Everything seemed to be going well until he heard her yell. “Prim!”

With cat-like reflexes, Prim snuck around her sister. As soon as her eyes landed on Peeta, she began to wave. “Welcome back!” she called out.

Peeta smiled, touched by Prim’s greeting. “Thanks, Prim!”

“You’re welcome!” The twelve-year old turned around to face her sister. Katniss was scowling, but she didn’t seem mad.

“Alright, you’ve had your fun.” Katniss reached for one of Prim’s braids and gave it a little tug. “Time to go back inside. I don’t want you to catch a cold.”

Prim kissed her sister’s cheek. Turning to Peeta, she waved once more. “Bye!”

Peeta waved back and watched as Prim disappeared behind the closed door.

With an annoyed huff, Katniss stuffed her hands in her pockets, trained her eyes on the ground and began walking. She reached Peeta’s side and didn’t stop.

Without a word, he fell into step with her.

Together, they made their way along the cold, deserted street.

They were almost out of the Seam when she looked up. Her scowl had been replaced by an apologetic smile. “Sorry about that.”

Peeta shook his head. “Don’t be. She’s a sweet kid. You’re lucky to have her.”

Katniss’s face lit up. “I know. She’s kind, and responsible, and smart --so smart! But it used to be easier.”

“Well, she’s growing up. That’s a good thing, right?”

Katniss nodded. “It is. It’s just… Sometimes I wish we could go back, you know? To when she was younger, and things were simpler. Back when I didn’t have to worry about--,”

Peeta sucked in a breath and waited for Katniss to finish her thought. But her smile was replaced by a sad face and the words never came.

Biting his lip, Peeta looked down at his feet and hoped the sound of snow crunching under their feet would distract him from the melancholy spreading through his chest. 

It didn’t.

He wasn’t surprised by her silence, not really. He knew what Katniss had been getting at, and he understood why the words stuck to her tongue; why she was afraid of saying them out loud --especially in front of him.

In all their weeks working together in the greenhouse, in all of their trades, they had never spoken of the one thing that made their arrangement possible --the twisted turn of fate that had put him in a position where he could buy her wares and provide her with a steady income.

Playing dumb had worked for them so far. Like the shrubs they tended to, their budding relationship had needed light and warmth to blossom. But the cold reality was knocking on his door, and he couldn’t pretend any longer. Not there, not with her.

Peeta’s life was tainted with treason and deceit, --and it wasn’t going to get any better-- but his relationship with Katniss was still pure and he wanted to keep it just as it was.

No, he bitterly corrected himself, that’s not enough.

After the weeks of loneliness and fear, the clarity of his next thought brought him certainty, peace.

Peeta had spent years watching Katniss from afar, wondering who she was and what she was really like. And, now that they were finally talking, he wanted to get to know her, and he wanted her to know him too.

He wanted them to be friends, and he hoped they could share something real, something true, something that the Capitol’s blood-stained hands couldn’t touch.

As a strong wind, his discovery blew away the heavy fog of his sorrow making him feel light and free. His lips were already turning up into a smile when a bitter little voice inside of him piped in, don’t be an idiot! That’s probably not what she wants. She’s got enough friends, she doesn’t need you. And, even if she did, you’ll never get to know each other if you shy away from the truth and leave things unsaid.

Peeta set his jaw, he knew the hateful little voice wasn’t completely wrong, but he didn’t care. He was done listening to it. He had already wasted too much time.

From now on, he was going to follow the stubborn part of him that refused to give up, the part that hoped that the girl walking next to him could want him just as much as he wanted her.

Without any warning, he reached for Katniss’s elbow, and stopped short. The movement made Katniss whirl around.

Startled, she gasped. Her warm breath turned into a puffy cloud that floated away in the chilly air.

Trying to keep all his conflicting emotions under control, he prompted, “A time when you didn’t have to worry about…”

A deep sadness clouded her eyes. When she spoke, her words were shy, but clear. “The reaping. The Games.”

Peeta moved his hand up her arm. He reached her shoulder, gave it a little squeeze and let go.

Looking straight into her silvery eyes, he said, “I’m a victor, Katniss.”

Three little words. Just a simple statement of fact. He was shocked by how foreign they sounded in his voice.

Setting his own discomfort aside for a moment, he raised his eyebrows and gave her a crooked smile. “Not exactly news, is it?”

Katniss shook her head. Slowly, her lips turned to mirror his smile. “I think Prim might have mentioned something in passing the other day.”

Peeta chuckled, relieved to discover his sudden outburst hadn’t scared her away.

Sobering up, he stepped closer to her, leaned down, and whispered, “I wish I could change that, you know? I wish I could make it so that no one else had to go through a reaping or a Game, but I can’t. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I can’t make it better. For Prim. For you.”

Overwhelmed by his proximity, Katniss looked down to the white, unblemished snow covering the street. There were no footprints, no signals of life or movement around them. Feeling suddenly exposed on the deserted street, she whispered, “We better get moving before we get too cold.”

Peeta nodded. Slipping his hands back into his pockets, he began walking again. This time, it was Katniss who followed.

[capblacksails]

Swords & Confessions *screams*

Post-Canon. Silver-centered. John Silver is a lost man after having lost Madi. He goes to the only person he knows who understands his loss. And (un)surprisingly, here starts a journey full of love… (In short : It's +20 years of love(s). It's past hurts, and growth. It's tying Black Sails to Treasure Island, somehow. Includes also THE two scenes we've been robbed of in 4x10: James/John and Madi/John) (James/Thomas, James/John, John/Madi(past), James/Miranda/Thomas(past), Thomas&John). If this fic was BS soundtrack: It would be ‘Funeral At Sea’ I guess?

Read it all : FFnet / AO3 / Tumblr

Companion piece - a collection of canon compliant shorts: The Memories Chest: AO3 / Tumblr / FFnet

From the embers of the shadows in our pasts (a phoenix will rise)

(PART VIII: James decides it’s time for more fencing lessons. John is ‘a bit’ overwhelmed (as he should). TALKING ensues (+4000 words of it, mostly Silver talking - can you believe it?) - aka long overdue confessions...) 

4.07:

S: Is this war more important than her life?

F: [sighs]

S: Answer the question. I wanna hear you say it. Is this war more important than her life?

F: Right now with what's at stake... yes, it is more important.

S: Oh, fuck you!

.

VIII.

A few days later, James thinks he has THE solution. A way not only for John to feel truly accepted, but also to give him something helpful, hopefully, to face the outside world when the time would come.

And Thomas, as always, is more than willing to help...

/

A week later, on Sunday, John is surprised to find James on the stairs before his door as he comes back from cleaning himself - James usually accompanies Thomas to church.

James answers his puzzled look with a shrug, explaining while fiddling with his fingers: "It's just Oglethorpe today. And there's something I meant to ask you." 'Privately enough but without you having to walk for long' goes unsaid, but John hears it anyway. So John just sits next to James, concerned, and waits for whatever James has to say.

"I thought we should resume your sword training; if you were so enclined, of course."

John can't believe his ears. His mouth falls open, words rushing out of it:

"You would still? ... After I-"

"I would." With a shy smile, James points with a finger behind their backs. "I do."

John is surprised again as he turns and sees two wooden swords laying on the upper step. Their forms and lengths look oddly familiar (James's real one still waiting for his owner in a trunk now guarded by The Queen) and John realizes with yet added wonder that James must have made them himself...

"The weight isn't exactly right of course. But it's good enough for practice: technique, footwork, endurance. And we won't have to worry about cut-"

John can't help but interrupt; allowing his eyes to convey just how much this exactly means to him.

"How can you..."

John lowers his gaze to the ground then - ashamed, still, years later.

"I meant it. In case you thought I hadn't? I meant it."

James sighs.

"Well... I had it coming, hadn't I... After what I had said about Madi-"

John hasn't expected this at all; he has to find James's eyes again:

"What you had said about Madi ?"

James is surprisingly the one to look ashamed, now.

"I won't repeat it; but I know it must have been hard to hear; and it must have had you doubt my friendship... And here I was, reprimanding you for wasting time instead of working at saving her - after having told you... I understand how you couldn't believe I meant it then; how you must have felt I was only trying to use her against you, just as Billy had tried against me..."

And that's when it clicks.

"Wait. Are you talking about... what you said about Madi and the war when Roger's letter arrived ?"

"Of course."

"Is that somehow also related to why you took the cache behind my back on Skeleton's Island?"

"I felt you wouldn't understand such a plan of action was our best chance; not after what I had said..."

And the only thing John can retort is:

"Fuck."

"Wasn't it the reason-"

"No! When you told- I was angry, yes. But I understood. I could relate. Those days while we had thought her gone... I had wanted that war then, and you know it, with all I had left. You had years of that rage; and it had been fed again recently... Your reaction infuriated me, of course; but believe me when I tell you that I was able to understand: you had fought too long for the dead to be able to remember what it was to fight for the living. So you couldn't have anything - anyone - having precedence over that war; because it would mean giving it precedence over your losses. Those words were why I didn't tell you about digging out the cache; but they had nothing to do with... I knew that you really cared for Madi; beyond what she represented - for who she was. You had liked her even before she had started liking you. And I also knew she would agree with you. Why did you think I agreed we even tried it your way, if you thought..."

James seems confused. And maybe guilty.

"Do you truly think it would have gone differently? If I had explained to you why I had to take the chest?"

John takes some time before answering.

"I want to say yes. I want to believe I would have listened."

John's voice turn soft; somehow pleading.

"Because all that happened on that damn island? It had nothing to do with anything you ever said sincerely. It had only to do with the fact that I felt you had lied. You had just sworn to my face that I had your support, about trading the cache. And right after, you took it away? I know now it was, actually, a way to support me. But then? The way it went? It just felt like you were stabbing me, and Madi, in the back; and this, I couldn't forgive."

John turns his head, looking straight ahead, but not downwards; allowing James to read his profile if not his eyes as he goes on, regret now evident in his voice.

"And the betrayal made me look at everything under a new light; made me think you must have been in fact just playing me all along - while I believed we had grown past this; while I definitely was past this... And to be honest: it hurt more than I would have liked. So in that moment? Yes, I did hate you enough to want you dead. So I sent men. I knew they would probably meet their end too, but I had to find the cache; it was all your fault anyway. And when I found you; again, you refused to hand over the cache. And then you shot Dooley; instead of me, I realized - and I felt guilty about his blood on the ground too, and I hated you for it even more... and so I raised my sword against you."

John sighs before pursuing: "But the truth is: I honestly don't know if it would have changed a thing in the end. You were right about me not thinking straight then. Besides, we can't rewrite the past anyway..."

John meets James's eyes again, and there's wonder in his voice as he ends: "Yet here we are now; and you're willing to spar with me, as if none of it has ever happened..."

James apparently wasn't prepared for John's struggle at the concept. "I told you it was- I told you we were repairable, didn't I?"

John nods. "You did." He sighs again. "But I couldn't believe you then - even if, honestly, I wanted to. But that bond we had? I thought that you had broken it the moment you had lied to me; and that I had broken it the moment I had raised my sword against you - you had an history of answering to mutiny... It's only when Madi let me read your letter that I realized you had actually meant it, even then..."

So James is now the one surprised.

"So you still mistrusted me. And yet, you gave me Thomas...?"

And the honest wonder in James's voice and in James's eyes makes it impossible for John not to let out: "You can't not know why..."

But John sees it in James's eyes: James doesn't - not really. And so, right now, faced with the enormity of what James has just given to him? John feels he has to give something back. It doesn't come to him naturally; letting his defenses down, opening up. Even with Madi; but her neverending patience always ended coaxing him into giving her everything anyway, and she had been expert at reading between his lines to start with. John had used to believe James adept at reading between the lines too; but maybe they had got so blurred, at some point, they had finally turned undecipherable...

John can't keep holding James's gaze though, and stares straight ahead once more.

"I had seen you force reality to bend, by the sheer force of your will, so often... But when we hit the sunken boats, I realized my faith and overconfidence were illusions. And when I emerged from the water, and found you all gone - dead? prisoners soon to be dead? - I knew. I couldn't lose her. Nor you. And definitely not the both of you. Billy had it wrong, you see... The choice was never Madi or you. It was losing you both or saving you both - even if you'd both hate me for it. So. I had to end it - your war; her war... But I didn't know how. Until-

The next bit is harder to confess, and John's eyes momentarily find the ground.

"What I told you is true: when Max told me about this place? I wanted Thomas to be here - for you. That's all. It hit me like a block - that hope. The first selfless wish I've ever had..."

"John-"

John holds a hand out, interrupting whatever James is about to say - he isn't finished; and he must get it out, all of it, and not only the best lighted parts.

"But it's not all of it. Because when I hinted at the possibility? It got obvious then that you couldn't bear the thought of it;because of how much in fact you would be ready to trade for it - everything. And that's when the original wish got an added layer; and a selfish one. What can I say; you know me - I see an opportunity, I take it. So I didn't tell Madi either about my investigation. Because if I did find Thomas? And you chose to turn away from the war? It might have been you she might have blamed, instead of me... I knew she couldn't do nothing; but having her not marching to war on the frontline? So I started to hope Thomas would be here; in my own interest too... It would be the perfect solution; if only it could be true! You would be happy; I would be happy; and Madi would be happy too - once she would have realized that she was more useful alive and working on the background a life long - longer than if she died in a war doomed to be lost anyway... When I came back without you and without the cache? Madi accused me of having planned to betray her trust all along. And I couldn't deny it; because it was true. I have never lied to her. Coming from me, I suppose one might says it means something. But I was guilty, of that one omission. And I knew its price. I had always known its price. I had just hoped I might not have to pay it; but I had always been ready to... And I should have had to pay it in full... It's a recurrent dream, now. Her ordering me to leave the island. How I wish she would have... I would happily trade those years that mean the most in my life, if it could give her another chance to do just so. I only wanted her to live; and I ended up being her end. She deserved better. Obviously, anyway, better than me."

John's voice sounds about to crack, and James feels compelled to soothe John's hurt; even knowing he can't.

"John-"

Once more though, he is cut off by an imperative hand gesture.

John takes a breath. His voice is levelled again; but lower, heavy with guilt and with the weight of the depths he is about to reveal.

"You know I can't say I never lied to you. But I can tell I stopped to, for what it's worth; after the shark hunt. I withheld valuable information from you too though - information that concerned you, I mean; and I know I shouldn't have. How I went to Julius; asking him what he'd rather have: war with the chest, or peace without. How I took the cache as a back-up plan, knowing I'd have support for it on the island, should it come to that. Because even if I hoped your plan would work, I had to be ready if it didn't. So I am the one responsible for the mess on that island; don't ever feel otherwise. I didn't trust you to understand; just like you didn't trust me - but I was first with that fault. Who knows how things would have gone, if I had talked... But the worst omission still, I know, is about Thomas. I know I should have told you he was alive right the moment I saw you again after Morgan had told it to me... I don't even know why I didn't... I could tell you it was because I was blaming you for Madi's death; even knowing it wasn't your fault. Simply because you had been there. I blamed myself too, for not having been there. But you had been there. I could tell you it was because I couldn't lose the power of your rage, if I was going to avenge her the way I wanted to. I could tell you it was because grief is such an ugly selfish beast that I simply hadn't thought to tell you. I could even tell you, maybe, that I didn't tell you because I knew it would mean losing you, too, while you were all I had left, and I wasn't ready to make that cut... But the truth is; I honestly don't know what the truth is."

John meets James's eyes again. He focuses though not on reading what those eyes say to him - and right now, they say plenty - but on making his own eyes clear for James to read his sincerity.

"But when you came to me, and said you'd help me through it? I suddenly realized I still hadn't told you yet, and I felt so ashamed... So I was about to tell you - if it can mean something now, way past due time... But right that moment, we were summoned by the Queen - and then I couldn't tell because I needed you focused, in order to save Madi... But giving you Thomas had always been the plan anyway."

It's too much, though; and John has to break contact.

"So. When Rackham told me about the plan for the future of Nassau, he presented taking you away to that place Max had talked to him about as being merciful; because he was supposed to eliminate you. And he told he needed part of the cache for it - their allies couldn't pay for your 'retirement', as you were supposed to die. But I knew you would never let Rackham take you away quietly; and he knew it too. He was going to try, of course - but mostly so that he could say later that he had; an excuse... So when it came to it? He had no means to pay. And he had the numbers; our crew was so dimished - and wasn't even a crew at this point to start with. But you hadn't taken my life, while you could have had - and twice; it had dawned on me, by that point, that you had only been blocking as I had been attacking you... And Madi had been saved thanks to you; at the least, even when I still couldn't see the whole picture, thanks to your naval tactician battle choices. So I owed you; not only your life, but Thomas too... There was also more to it - whether I liked it or not; but those facts at least were irrefutable and tangible, and I was glad to have them justifying the path I had already chosen, simply because I couldn't let you die - not anymore; not when you had opened that door again, and I wished that what showed through it was true. I was ready to discard my chance at happiness; but I wouldn't discard yours. So I told Rackham that I could pay, and that I'd try to convince you; and even though I didn't tell him why I thought I could succeed, he sensed I believed I could - and he was happy enough to let me take that blame..."

"And so you went down in history as the villain on that story; bringing me to those gates."

"It couldn't matter. Not if it saved you. Besides, I have more than enough blood on my conscience to fit that part. And I know what I did. I realized, later on, how I had not only sold you, but also let Thomas down; betraying you, and everything you ever fought for, twice. So I'll honestly understand if you reconsidered-"

"John. Stop it; please. Everything you just said... If anything, it only gives me more reasons to improve your sword skills. Can you just accept that?"

John meets his eyes; searches into them for any sign of doubt, probably. He finds none.

"Thank you."

And James can hear his whole soul behind those few words...

A moment passes. It feels so right, to have cleared the air... And that's maybe why, combined with the fact that they just conjured up so many memories, it's out of his mouth before John can stop it:

"Were there other letters? In case Thomas wouldn't have been here?"

James seems to understand that John has been wondering about this for a long time. He holds John's gaze as he sincerely answers:

"No. I figured no letter would do just as much damage anyway. But mostly... I wanted to believe you. And I was right to."

And John feels like giving something back once more; there is still something he has to confide.

"I had to be here anyway, that day; when you would see Thomas..."

"To play the part."

"Of course. But that's not what I meant... I had to see you with him. I had to know you would be happy, somehow, even if... It mattered... And I must admit I was curious, also. I had to see him... (John hesitates but then just lets it out, encouraged by the softness in James's gaze; even though his eyes dart away while finishing) The one who had shaped the one who had shaped me."

And it had felt intrinsically right, in a way John had never thought upon until right then, when he had seen that Thomas looked nothing like him - blond, and so tall... John could be sure James hadn't let him close because he had been softened to him by his looks - and to someone who had so often been valued only by them, it was bound to mean something - even if knowing now that people came to truly care for people for what they were, and not for how they looked... But then, maybe James would have never let him close if he had ressembled Thomas; resenting him more or less consciously simply because he would have been the vague image of the one he longed for: so easy to reach yet so unreachable? and so mesmerizing maybe yet so painful probably to even look look at? Maybe somehow Billy had been doomed from the start? Who could tell. What was was, anyway.

Of course, since knowing Thomas? John knows he is nothing like Thomas either. John had used to think that, maybe, James's vision of Thomas had been made more golden than truth by his loss. But he knows now: Thomas is just pure gold. And sometimes, John can't help but wonder at how James can have ever come to love him then; after such a high standard - on any account, to be honest...

John knows though when he meets James's gaze once more, that it was, and is still true, beyond doubt, anyway: the way James is looking at him, right now, says it all...

And John feels at a loss, flustered, not knowing how to proceed, after such an open admission.

And then, surprisingly, James chuckles.

"He would never shut up if I told him that, you know."

John's eyebrows furrow, but James only laugh harder, leaning in - close enough to actually give John a little shoulder to shoulder push.

"Grandson?"

And John laughs back - forgetting his embarassment and just enjoying the moment - and feels like he is allowed to push back.

"You wouldn't dare."

When their chuckles subdues, James sounds nothing but serious once again:

"Would you spar with Thomas too?"

John is surprised again. This comes out of nowhere.

"Would he?"

James grins now.

"Definitely. He proposed before I could ask, which I was going to... He had a sword in his hand before he could walk, you know. I've never been able to pass him, back in the days. His technique is lethal. He's worried he's a bit rusty; but when it's all come back? You definitely should train with him too then."

And John understands. It's not only a gesture. It's also about his future - of course, James wants him prepared, if he gets out of here. That Thomas though would be willing to help him too? It's not exactly surprising, now that he knows him; but it's not expected either. And John feels grateful.

"I... I would be honored."

James nods, satisfied.

"Then it's done. But the service is soon to be over; it's going to get crowdy around here... If I'm not mistaken, it's your turn off, right? (*AN:The kitchen crew has to work on sunday too. But one of them is free; they take turn.*) I could meet you up the hill, after Thomas has shaved my head?"

John nods back:

"Sure. I'll be there."

A bit, and then John is giving James a conniving smile - blinding him with some of that old damn assurance James had come to miss.

"I heard Matthew was military. Are you planning to enlist him too?"

James feels privileged. It's been a long, long time since John has felt like showing off somehow indeed.

"I'm transparent to you, I know. But if he ever hears about it and shows interest? Well, you have the last word; but I'd say 'why not?'"

They are still smiling at each other when Thomas meets back with them.

/

Thomas asks privately a bit later, as they walk hand in hand on, their way to shave James's head:

"I take it it went well?"

James can't help but sigh, relieved. It still feels a bit overwhelming.

"Even better, Thomas. You know it was to make him feel accepted. And it worked. But I had never expected... He felt compelled to tell me, Thomas - everything I've never dared to ask; and even more... It was... I can't hold any of it against him. And I know he doesn't either - about what I had said..."

"So. You talked. Finally."

"Yes. And I... I gave a push to his shoulder, near nothing; but he... He sort of sat straighter, if that makes sense. And he pushed back, Thomas. He pushed back."

Thomas kisses his hand.

"Of course he did."

A bit.

"He agreed to train with you, too."

"Good. I'm glad to be of help."

"You should know he didn't even hesitate. He likes you. He genuinely does."

"I never thought I should be under the impression that he did not?"

Thomas knows John hasn't made any effort to get close with anyone new here, besides him; probably because he's still protecting himself. But John did seek him out, about right away. And even if Thomas knows John just couldn't ignore him - he kind of came with the package - it was still brave of him to do so, and with sincerity... Besides, they understand each other - they have the same priority: James's well being...

"Of course not. I just meant to say that he likes you - for who you are; not only because you're important to me, or because you remind him of his Madi."

"Well, I like him too for who he is, you know."

He doesn't need to say the rest; they both hear it anyway.

Not only because he's important to you, or because he reminds me of Miranda...

[lizabethstucker]

Some of the Best from Tor.com 2019 Edition

This was a free collection on Amazon at the time that I stumbled across it while browsing science fiction selections.  While I’ve always liked both Tor and Baen publications, I was amazed by how very much I enjoyed almost every short story and novella in this collection. Such high quality, and some authors that have been added to my TBR list.  4.5 out of 5.

CURRENTLY FREE ON AMAZON AS OF THE DATE OF THIS POSTING!

“Deriving Life” by Elizabeth Bear

Marq Tames is contemplating suicide or becoming a Host, unable to cope with being alone again after their spouse dies.  Tenants bring many benefits, including being pain-free, living a bit longer, making better decisions for themselves.  Unfortunately the Tenants ultimately consume their Hosts.  Unlike most potential Hosts, Marq is healthy.  Wow.  A really detailed look at grief, cancer, loneliness, and the choices we might make for happiness.  Intense.  Could be triggering for some who are themselves dealing with grief.  4.5 out of 5.

“For He Can Creep” by Siobhan Carroll

The Great Jeoffry the Cat helps keep the demons away from the humans in the madhouse.  His favorite is the Poet who is trying to finish the most important Poem for God.  If only his creditors would leave him alone, stop pushing for the satiric content he once wrote.  Then Satan himself comes to speak with Jeoffry.  Satan deems the Poem to be out of favor style-wise, and not very good.  He wishes to have the Poet write him a poem, one that will drive religion out of the minds of the masses.  To do that, he needs to speak with the Poet without Jeoffry’s interference.  It is, as they say, a devil’s bargain.  Jeoffry may, for the first time since kittenhood, lose.  He must consider and consult.  The fact that this is based on a real poem written by Christopher Smart, who was incarcerated in St. Luke’s Hospital for Lunatics, circa 1763, adds an extra layer of interest and curiosity to the story.  Needless to say, I spent the evening researching the poet online.  3.5 out of 5.

“Beyond the El” by John Chu

Connor struggles to recreate his late mother's dumplings, never quite reaching that bit of perfection. He really doesn't need the stress of his cold abusive sister back in his life.  Although maybe he does.  Very low key.  The relationship between Nick and Connor was more interesting to me.  As to the use of magic to prepare foods, was it really necessary?  3 out of 5.

“Zeitgeber” by Greg Egan

Sam is searching for why his daughter Emma's sleep patterns are suddenly and radically off phase.  It isn't long until this issue with sleep cycles begin spreading throughout the world.  At first it was just puzzling and annoying.  Now there are more and more accidents and deaths.  Life moves on, people adjusting as best it can, with cures both fake and possible appearing.  

Truly fantastic tale.  Scary as well, especially considering how we are waiting for a cure for COVID-19 with trepidation and distrust of the very organizations, such as the CDC and FDA, that are supposed to protect us.  Add on top the discussion of just how much conformity society demands of us.  4 out of 5.

“One/Zero” by Kathleen Ann Gorrnan

The war made its way to Vida Zilan's home in Kurdistan, ending with her parents, aunt, and grandmother dead.  Now Vida is on the run with her three year old brother, traveling with other terrified and displaced children.  Mai Davidson has retired in Washington D.C. after years of helping with various issues through the agency she had given her life to, until her husband died and she began to look for something different.  Her life is becoming increasingly regulated as the AIs begin taking control of medicine and senior care and transportation, among other things.  Or are the SIs, the rumored super intelligent computers now moving out into the world?  Be careful what you wish for has always been what is said in regards to those who can grant wishes.  Perhaps with the right teachers, the right guides, the SIs can help fix the world for the children, with the assistance of the children.  If only, if only.  Magnificent look at how Hal might not be the villain of the piece.  After all, he just wanted to save both himself and his astronaut charges.  4.5 out of 5. 

“Skinner Box” by Carole Johnstone

A trip to Jupiter and back, scientists caught up in their personal cycle of pain and hatred, an engineer who brings some comfort and support.  And a Skinner box filled with nanites.  There are layers upon layers upon layers in this intense story of experimentation and conditioning, the cost of freedom and, ultimately, love.  In essence, there are three reveals.  The first was expected almost from the start.  The second was almost suspected after we met Boris.  But it was the third that, for me, saved the story from the coldness.  3.5 out of 5.

“The Song” by Erinn L. Kemper

The world is moving from beef to whale meat, expensive as it is, taking abandoned oil rigs and converting them to whale meat processing centers.  As the ecowarriors grow increasingly violent, killing those involved in killing the whales, the people on SeaRanch 18 are stranded without relief personnel.  One of the last new scientists to arrive is Suzanne who is staying the changes in communication patterns among the whales.  She tells Dan, a deep sea diver and welder, of attacks by the whales, how humpbacks and blues were congregating for the first time ever seen and apparently communicating.  Whales and dolphins are so very intelligent, yet humans think they can do whatever they want to them.  I don’t understand.  Needless to say, I was primed for this story.  I thought I was prepared, even hopeful.  But the ending was beyond tragic.  4 out of 5.

“Articulated Restraint” by Mary Robinette Kowal

(Lady Astronaut 1.5)  After an accident leads to a lunar rocket slammed into a space station and the airlock jammed, the moon’s astronauts must figure out how to rescue them before their air runs out.  First, they’ll need a plan of action and see if the plan can work on their mockup rocket.  They need a way to get them more oxygen and a way to get a life raft to the vehicle.  Complicating procedures is Ruby’s nasty ankle sprain, especially after she needs the foot restraint which requires her to twist her feet to get into position.  Something snaps, but she perseveres, unwilling to let her injury prevent the rescue of her friends.  In some ways this reminds me of old time science fiction, a neat adventure with threads of backstories I want to know more about, such as the Meteor and what’s going on back on Earth.  Luckily I discovered that this is part of a series, so there is a possibility of learning more.  Although I have a few other of Kowal’s works in my TBR pile (freebies back in the day), I hadn’t as yet read any of her works.  Definitely want to read more based on what I found here.  4.5 out of 5. 

“Painless” by Rich Larson

Mars is a child when he is first found by the men who have been searching for someone like him, a genetic mutation who cannot feel pain.  There’s an organism put inside his body, that can make him stronger and able to repair himself, even grow body parts back.  He is trained to be a soldier, a mercenary, a killer.  He yearns for freedom and someone to be his friend and family.  The story jumps a bit from present to past and back again. It took me a while to get into the author’s rhythm, but once I did it was well worth it.  I can see so many countries and organizations who would kill to have someone like Mars under their control.  Good read.  3.5 out of 5.

“Seonag and the Seawolves” by M. Evan MacGriogair

Seonag was considered strange almost from the moment she was born, but she still loved her homeland.  So much so that she hides when her parents make plans to sail to Canada, unable to afford the croft rent.  Once they leave her behind, Seonag goes to the town bard for help and advice.  She is told about the wolves that were driven out of Ireland.  He tells her to swim west until she can hear the wolves.  The advice is cruel, certain suicide.  Knowing all that, Seonag still decides to do so.  An old style story, a myth, a fable, a fairy tale.  A story about those who only want to belong, yet are different enough to be pushed to the sidelines.  Mystical and magical.  4 out of 5.

“Any Way the Wind Blows” by Seanan McGuire

The Cartography Corps explore and map the parallel universes in order to determine if any ever go missing at a future date.  In this Manhattan, they find an intact Flatiron building, but no killer pigeons in this universe, so win-win.  Then a group of locals ask to meet the Captain.  This should be a television series!  I’d watch each and every episode and cackle at the crew’s adventures.  The only thing I was disappointed by was the length.  It was too short.  4.5 out of 5.

“Blue Morphos in the Garden” by Lis Mitchell

Vivian does love Dash and Lily, their daughter, but she continues to refuse to marry him, unable to deal with what his family goes through upon death.  If she officially marries into the family, she will become a Karner in all ways.  When it appears that Viv may be dying, she will need to make a decision sooner than she had hoped.  Stay, but remain a terminal.  Marry and, once she dies, become something else.  Leave, with or without Dash and Lily.  There's a beauty to having one's death transform into something useful or beautiful or both.  Frankly, I don't understand Vivian's concerns about that.  4 out of 5.

“His Footsteps, Through Darkness and Light” by Mimi Mondal

Love comes in many forms, some never spoken out loud.  Binu had found a home and a job with the Majestic Oriental Circus.  He became a trapeze master, soon heading his own team.  He also continued playing Alladin in Shehzad Marid’s illusionist act.  He was happy and content.  Until he helped the wrong person.  There is so much hinted at and more left unsaid.  But it will always be known that Binu was a good man and a loyal friend.  Bittersweet, yet in that time and place, perhaps the happiest ending(?) one could hope for.  4 out of 5.

“Old Media” by Annalee Newitz

John was as free as he had ever been under his latest Master, a lady scientist who provided him franchise papers that granted him full rights within the city before she went into hiding.  Med, a fan of John's journal on Memeland, becomes his friend and roommate.  She is also a robot and professor, as well as the lady scientist's research partner in the project that caused the woman to flee.  John and Med try to navigate the idiosyncrasies of living among humans, both clueless and bigoted.  3.5 out of 5.

“More Real Than Him” by Silvia Park

Morgan Ito is working on her own robot, one that resembles her favorite actor who is currently doing his two years of military service.  This is the first story in the collection that I struggled with.  Frankly, it read like bad fanfiction, and I'm a fanfiction reader and writer.  I didn't like any characters except Stephen, but he was barely in the story.  I finally gave up, not caring what would happen to pretty much anyone.  DNF

“The Hundredth House Had No Walls” by Laurie Penny

The King of the country of Myth and Shadow is incredibly bored after five hundred years on the throne.  He does what any ruler does in his situation, he decides to travel incognito to the imaginary land of New York City.  There he runs into the Princess of Everywhere and Nowhere.  

I had a hard time at first dealing with random phrases, words, and letters made bold.  This was a strange story.  Once I got past the random bolds, I quite liked it.  Feminist overtones with a message about freedom and allowing each individual to write their own story.  3.5 out of 5.

“The Touches” by Brenda Peynado

Life is separated into clean and dirty.  Clean was living virtually, locked into a tiny cubicle from birth, cared for by an assigned robot, and hooked up to an all-encompassing system for hours at a time.  Dirty is the real world, filled with plagues and viruses and what the narrator calls filth.  Things get more complicated as robots glitch, an accident puts the narrator into quarantine, and a phone number leads to something scary.  There's a layer of disconnection due to a lack of physical contact that cannot be fulfilled by robot hugs and virtual touches.  Add to that the narrator's extreme fear of the dirty world.  She actually has counted the number of real physical touches in her life.  Very intense, more so during our current Pandemic and the separation of friends and family.  Also extremely weird.  I don't know what to say about this one, but I suspect it will linger in my memory for quite a while.  3.5 out of 5.

“Knowledgeable Creatures” by Christopher Rowe

Investigative dog Connolly Marsh is hired by human Professor Thomasina Swallow after she kills a coworker who was threatening blackmail.  Things become increasingly screwy.  The body is missing, the learned mouse who is also Sparrow's adopted father believes historical research into the history of knowledgeable creatures and humans shouldn't be forbidden, and Marsh can't make himself leave the case alone.  Huh.  Another strange story with a lot of dangling threads left behind and even more questions.  Yet this isn't a set-up for a longer story or even a series.  It is complete within itself, with a somewhat sad ending for one character.  Intriguing, almost a noir type of story.  Fantasy with just a touch of science fiction.  3 out of 5. 

“Blood is Another Word for Hunger” by Rivers Solomon

Anger boiled in the heart of fifteen year old slave, Sully.  When she heard that her master had been killed during a battle, she drugged all five of his family members, slicing their throats.  Her actions cause a rift in the etherworld, drawing Ziza to her.  Sully is a product of her life, the cruelty of her upbringing.  She may also hark back to a creature from the country of her ancestors.  Sully shouldn’t be a sympathetic character, but she is.  I wanted her to find, if not happiness, at least a form of peach.  And maybe she will with her revenants, especially Ziza.  Be aware that this isn’t an easy read by any means, but I found it surprisingly satisfying.  4.5 out of 5.

“The Last Voyage of Shidbladnir” by Karin Tidbeck

Saga learns the ship she serves on is a living creature who is outgrowing her shell of a high-rise building.  Saga and Novik, the engineer, are determined to save Skidbladnir from being sold for meat.  She needs a new shell, so they'll find her a new shell.  This gripped me the moment I realized Skidbladnir was alive.  I'm a sucker for stories like this.  So enchanting.  I wish it had been longer or had a sequel, but that is just me being greedy and not wanting to leave Saga, Novik, and Skidbladnir behind.  Lovely from start to finish.  4.5 out of 5. 

“Circus Girl, the Hunter, and Mirror Boy” by JY Yang

Lynette first saw Mirror Boy the night she was almost killed after fighting off a rapist when she was barely 16 years old.  After she survived, Lynette found a friend to unload her pain, her disappointments, and her dreams to the boy who appeared in place of her own reflection.  Once she left the circus she had grown up in and worked for, Lynette had never seen him again.  Until now.  The boy is worried that a serial killer is after her.  A perfect story for the month of October, with a wraith, a witch, and a supernatural hunter who made assumptions that led to so many innocent deaths.  An ending that, while I guess it might be coming, was also so satisfying.  4 out of 5

“Water:  A History by K. J. Kabza

The surveyors badly judged how compatible the colony of Isla would be for the humans who left Earth on a one-way trip there.  The colonists adjusted, but being outside too long led to cancer deaths during the early years.  Marie, in her 50s, is now the last person who has direct memories of Earth.  She has been extraordinarily lucky in that her frequent trips outside hadn’t led to an early death.  A younger colonist, born on Isla, longs to go outside as well.  She wants to smell the planet’s dirt and feel the breeze on her face.  Lian finds a friend and support in Marie.  But no one can expect the good times will last forever.  Deeply emotional and tragic, yet somewhat hopeful as well.  Yet the story needed more depth, more content.  Good, but not as good as many of the others in this collection, in my opinion.  3 out of 5.

“As the Last I May Know” by S. L. Huang

Nyma was just ten years old when she was selected to be the Carrier.  In order to impress the consequences of using seres on another country, the Order choses to hide the codes in the body of a child.  To obtain access, the President must personally kill the child Carrier and rip her heart open.  AS the enemy forces draw ever deeper into the country, Nyma waits.  Oh, this one was gut-wrenching.  Seriously gut-wrenching.  And yet, the logic behind the Order's idea was extremely logical.  Force the President to basically live with the child he must kill to get access to the seres that will kill millions, make it real.  And Otto Han is disgusted by the Order, but it is what it is.  Again, the idea makes sense, but that doesn't mean that it isn't horrifying.  Not to mention torturous for the child who must live with the idea that they can be killed at almost anytime in order to kill millions of other people.  4.5 out of 5.    

“The Time Invariance of Snow” by E. Lily Yu

When the Devil's mirror splinters, it enters the hearts and minds of mankind, spreading hate and violence despair and depression.  G and K are in love, but G is wary of the violence of men.  When K makes a comment on how he would kill her, she protests his cruelty.  He leaves.  Despite knowing how the story will end, G goes on a quest to save him from the Snow Queen.  

A subversion of fairy tales and a treatise on both them and the treatment of women.  I have to admit that I was annoyed by the use of footnotes in this fictional short story.  I barely tolerate them in non-fiction books.  That said, as I struggled on, once G and K came onto the scene it became an easier read.  I think I would've enjoyed this more if it had been expanded.  My least favorite in the collection, but still worth reading.  3 out of 5.

[rollinbrigittenv8]

The Anxieties of a Muslim Traveler

Skift Take: "I am this guy. I fit every cliché; I am the abstract villain of your imagined anxieties. Traveling while Muslim. "

— Rafat Ali

Editor’s Note: Last month at Skift Global Forum we introduced Permanxiety, a term we’re using to describe the current state of the traveler and the consumer mindset as a result of these global and local anxieties. As part of that, we included first person essays on travelers’ permanxieties, in order to better understand what we think about when we visit an airport, check in to a hotel, or visit a new destination.

These are similar to conversations that many of us have with friends or family, as well as how we think about things in our own heads. No matter your background, we think you’ll recognize something in these stories from your own experience. This first essay below is by Skift CEO and Founder Rafat Ali, on his experience through the years of living and traveling in post 9-11 America and outside of it.

THE demons in my head are real. They are real because they have been created over more than a decade and a half, bit by bit, indignity by indignity, layers upon layers of wounds big and small that have now calcified into my overanxious brain.

That is how I live it, a Muslim American immigrant, an apparent success story of the fabled American Dream, an entrepreneur and business owner and the CEO of Skift, a company that lives and breathes travel every waking hour.

In an age of permanxiety, as Skift has defined it in the opening essay, the anxieties of a Muslim traveler are a sociological condition I carry with me all the time. And it doesn’t stop there: My mere presence causes anxiety for other people during travel. Recently, Royal Jordanian Airlines came out with a powerful ad that mirrors many of these worries. The minute-long ad “Are you afraid of flying?” goes like this:

“I’m not afraid of flying… I’m not afraid of the risk of it. I’m afraid I end up somewhere I don’t want to go. Afraid of being stuck in a place with people who look at me differently. I’m afraid of the what-ifs. What if something wrong happens and they don’t believe me…?”

I am this guy. I fit every cliché; I am the abstract villain of your imagined anxieties. Traveling while Muslim. Doesn’t matter if you are practicing or not. Or you wear visible signs of being Muslim. There are dozens and dozens of permutations of typecasting us, and they all play out every day. Most of all, they settle down in our brains and play havoc while we travel.

Lots has been reported and written about the challenges regular Muslim travelers have had to endure since the day that 19 religious zealots who blamed their hatred on my religion changed the U.S. forever. But like pretty much everything else in media, the exploration has been mostly cosmetic, helicopter reporting by reporters (read: not Muslims) who get a few quotes out of us when some major incident happens and then package it up, tie it in a bow and that’s it. That’s where it stops. But American Muslim travelers themselves have��rarely written about the mental cost that the last 15 or so years have brought on us, especially while traveling.

The security theater that passes for an attempt to secure the country is a theater that mostly plays out in our minds. Anxiety is the heaviest luggage we carry when we travel, nevermind whether anything actually happens or not.

“Paxex” is industry jargon short for “passenger experience” in the aviation world, usually used in the context of amenities: airport restaurants, in-flight Wi-Fi, seat comfort and such. No one ever talks about soothing the passengers’ minds as part of the paxex world — it is instead limited by “amenities.” Mostly because the ones defining or writing about it have never had to travel in an overanxious Muslim state of mind.

It starts long before you ever reach the airport. When you hesitate before booking an occasional one-way ticket, especially last-minute, worried your Muslim name may trigger a red flag in the security-industrial complex somewhere.

Worrying about packing a Quran or prayer rug or even an Arabic language book in your bag in case those are checked and misconstrued by immigration.

When you try and check in online and the message comes back: “Sorry we’re unable to process your check-in online, please check with the ticket agent at the airport.” This could be just an innocent technical error in the airline IT system, but it somehow lands in our minds as something else entirely. Yep, that darned Muslim name of ours has triggered a flag requiring an extra manual check at the airport.

It continues at the check-in counter at the airport, where the same thing may happen at the automated check-in machines and an agent has to check you in manually on her computer. Or when she stares intently into her computer, calls a supervisor, who then keys in a few more steps, adding extra minutes that keep the mind working through various scenarios of what they could be checking for or what could have gone wrong.

You always wonder what the ticket or TSA agent scribbles on your boarding pass, passing secret codes to the other agents down the line to give you extra scrutiny.

Like I said, both real and imagined demons of the overactive and overanxious mind.

This mental game continues at the passport check line, where the TSA agent looks you over a couple of seconds longer than others in front of you. Or maybe it didn’t happen but it felt like that to you. Then comes the security where you take off everything along with your dignity, and you voluntarily walk over to the larger scan machine because you know you will never ever be waved over to the more innocent old-school metal detector next to it that others may get a chance to go through, even if you’re with a toddler who needs his hand held.

The relief when you get through security then triggers a WhatsApp text back to your family: “I made it through security. Everything OK.” These texts to family and spouses are the delicate lifelines we hang onto during the whole airport experience through departure and arrival.

Then the boarding gate, where sometimes you imagine stares from travelers, worried whether they think we’re fidgeting too much. Or when you make that call to your family and suppress saying the traditional Muslim (Arabic) greeting “Salam walaikum” too loud into the phone, worrying that if anyone hears it they might raise an alarm.

A Muslim in our midst! In any other world this would be extreme paranoia of our own minds, but in the world we live in today, these incidents happen, fellow travelers freaking out over people talking in Arabic or uttering even a greeting. So we stick to hellos at the airports and last-minute “I’m boarded” calls.

Immigration checks on arrival are permanxiety nirvana for us Muslims, but even more so since the Trump administration came in. The Trump travel ban and mysterious Global Entry snafus for Muslim travelers. The laptop ban, which is not a ban but enhanced interrogation nonetheless, the social media checks for passengers from certain countries (and maybe even American Muslim citizens), it all lands hard. This is what makes you go through somewhat ridiculous lengths to “suppress” chances of being discriminated against, like carrying burner phones and laptops during your travel, as I have been doing this year. (Independent UK even did a story on me about this earlier this year.)

It means worrying when you have to travel to the Middle East or other “problem” areas for work, for leisure, or for family, and being questioned about it at immigration counters.

Beyond the air experience, booking at hotels is less fraught with issues of permanxiety. Hotels in general are structured to soothe the anxieties of travelers, but it isn’t always so. With Airbnb and the rise of alternative accommodations, a new layer has been added: instances of racism and discrimination from hosts against people of color or different religions or nationalities. Ever since instant booking (i.e. listings that don’t require approval from the host before they can be booked, basically how hotel bookings work) became a feature on Airbnb and HomeAway, Muslims like me just gravitate toward it over and above any other options, mainly to never have to face a situation of real or perceived discrimination in the first place.

Then the destinations you go to, depending on how open those societies are to differences, create differing levels of anxiety in you. Travel guidebooks write about how friendly a particular country is, but forget to add the unsaid caveat: that traveling while white — in most cases guidebook authors are white — is very different than traveling as a person of color. Or Muslim.

The discrimination that immigrants living in Western countries face also shows up for Muslim travelers in these countries and regions, and if you are a seasoned traveler, you find ways around them, or avoid these places altogether. Many American Muslims I know have a mental barrier to traveling in the American South, especially the Deep South, and when our American friends take a cross-country trip, we worry about the parts that may not be as friendly to drive through to us as Muslims as they may be to others. Hence it never figures in our plans, fairly or unfairly.

This is the permanent sociological condition we Muslims travel with, the permanxiety baggage that we carry.

Download Travel in an Age of Permanxiety magazine here

[touristguidebuzz]

The Anxieties of a Muslim Traveler

Skift Take: "I am this guy. I fit every cliché; I am the abstract villain of your imagined anxieties. Traveling while Muslim. "

— Rafat Ali

Editor’s Note: Last month at Skift Global Forum we introduced Permanxiety, a term we’re using to describe the current state of the traveler and the consumer mindset as a result of these global and local anxieties. As part of that, we included first person essays on travelers’ permanxieties, in order to better understand what we think about when we visit an airport, check in to a hotel, or visit a new destination.

These are similar to conversations that many of us have with friends or family, as well as how we think about things in our own heads. No matter your background, we think you’ll recognize something in these stories from your own experience. This first essay below is by Skift CEO and Founder Rafat Ali, on his experience through the years of living and traveling in post 9-11 America and outside of it.

THE demons in my head are real. They are real because they have been created over more than a decade and a half, bit by bit, indignity by indignity, layers upon layers of wounds big and small that have now calcified into my overanxious brain.

That is how I live it, a Muslim American immigrant, an apparent success story of the fabled American Dream, an entrepreneur and business owner and the CEO of Skift, a company that lives and breathes travel every waking hour.

In an age of permanxiety, as Skift has defined it in the opening essay, the anxieties of a Muslim traveler are a sociological condition I carry with me all the time. And it doesn’t stop there: My mere presence causes anxiety for other people during travel. Recently, Royal Jordanian Airlines came out with a powerful ad that mirrors many of these worries. The minute-long ad “Are you afraid of flying?” goes like this:

“I’m not afraid of flying… I’m not afraid of the risk of it. I’m afraid I end up somewhere I don’t want to go. Afraid of being stuck in a place with people who look at me differently. I’m afraid of the what-ifs. What if something wrong happens and they don’t believe me…?”

I am this guy. I fit every cliché; I am the abstract villain of your imagined anxieties. Traveling while Muslim. Doesn’t matter if you are practicing or not. Or you wear visible signs of being Muslim. There are dozens and dozens of permutations of typecasting us, and they all play out every day. Most of all, they settle down in our brains and play havoc while we travel.

Lots has been reported and written about the challenges regular Muslim travelers have had to endure since the day that 19 religious zealots who blamed their hatred on my religion changed the U.S. forever. But like pretty much everything else in media, the exploration has been mostly cosmetic, helicopter reporting by reporters (read: not Muslims) who get a few quotes out of us when some major incident happens and then package it up, tie it in a bow and that’s it. That’s where it stops. But American Muslim travelers themselves have rarely written about the mental cost that the last 15 or so years have brought on us, especially while traveling.

The security theater that passes for an attempt to secure the country is a theater that mostly plays out in our minds. Anxiety is the heaviest luggage we carry when we travel, nevermind whether anything actually happens or not.

“Paxex” is industry jargon short for “passenger experience” in the aviation world, usually used in the context of amenities: airport restaurants, in-flight Wi-Fi, seat comfort and such. No one ever talks about soothing the passengers’ minds as part of the paxex world — it is instead limited by “amenities.” Mostly because the ones defining or writing about it have never had to travel in an overanxious Muslim state of mind.

It starts long before you ever reach the airport. When you hesitate before booking an occasional one-way ticket, especially last-minute, worried your Muslim name may trigger a red flag in the security-industrial complex somewhere.

Worrying about packing a Quran or prayer rug or even an Arabic language book in your bag in case those are checked and misconstrued by immigration.

When you try and check in online and the message comes back: “Sorry we’re unable to process your check-in online, please check with the ticket agent at the airport.” This could be just an innocent technical error in the airline IT system, but it somehow lands in our minds as something else entirely. Yep, that darned Muslim name of ours has triggered a flag requiring an extra manual check at the airport.

It continues at the check-in counter at the airport, where the same thing may happen at the automated check-in machines and an agent has to check you in manually on her computer. Or when she stares intently into her computer, calls a supervisor, who then keys in a few more steps, adding extra minutes that keep the mind working through various scenarios of what they could be checking for or what could have gone wrong.

You always wonder what the ticket or TSA agent scribbles on your boarding pass, passing secret codes to the other agents down the line to give you extra scrutiny.

Like I said, both real and imagined demons of the overactive and overanxious mind.

This mental game continues at the passport check line, where the TSA agent looks you over a couple of seconds longer than others in front of you. Or maybe it didn’t happen but it felt like that to you. Then comes the security where you take off everything along with your dignity, and you voluntarily walk over to the larger scan machine because you know you will never ever be waved over to the more innocent old-school metal detector next to it that others may get a chance to go through, even if you’re with a toddler who needs his hand held.

The relief when you get through security then triggers a WhatsApp text back to your family: “I made it through security. Everything OK.” These texts to family and spouses are the delicate lifelines we hang onto during the whole airport experience through departure and arrival.

Then the boarding gate, where sometimes you imagine stares from travelers, worried whether they think we’re fidgeting too much. Or when you make that call to your family and suppress saying the traditional Muslim (Arabic) greeting “Salam walaikum” too loud into the phone, worrying that if anyone hears it they might raise an alarm.

A Muslim in our midst! In any other world this would be extreme paranoia of our own minds, but in the world we live in today, these incidents happen, fellow travelers freaking out over people talking in Arabic or uttering even a greeting. So we stick to hellos at the airports and last-minute “I’m boarded” calls.

Immigration checks on arrival are permanxiety nirvana for us Muslims, but even more so since the Trump administration came in. The Trump travel ban and mysterious Global Entry snafus for Muslim travelers. The laptop ban, which is not a ban but enhanced interrogation nonetheless, the social media checks for passengers from certain countries (and maybe even American Muslim citizens), it all lands hard. This is what makes you go through somewhat ridiculous lengths to “suppress” chances of being discriminated against, like carrying burner phones and laptops during your travel, as I have been doing this year. (Independent UK even did a story on me about this earlier this year.)

It means worrying when you have to travel to the Middle East or other “problem” areas for work, for leisure, or for family, and being questioned about it at immigration counters.

Beyond the air experience, booking at hotels is less fraught with issues of permanxiety. Hotels in general are structured to soothe the anxieties of travelers, but it isn’t always so. With Airbnb and the rise of alternative accommodations, a new layer has been added: instances of racism and discrimination from hosts against people of color or different religions or nationalities. Ever since instant booking (i.e. listings that don’t require approval from the host before they can be booked, basically how hotel bookings work) became a feature on Airbnb and HomeAway, Muslims like me just gravitate toward it over and above any other options, mainly to never have to face a situation of real or perceived discrimination in the first place.

Then the destinations you go to, depending on how open those societies are to differences, create differing levels of anxiety in you. Travel guidebooks write about how friendly a particular country is, but forget to add the unsaid caveat: that traveling while white — in most cases guidebook authors are white — is very different than traveling as a person of color. Or Muslim.

The discrimination that immigrants living in Western countries face also shows up for Muslim travelers in these countries and regions, and if you are a seasoned traveler, you find ways around them, or avoid these places altogether. Many American Muslims I know have a mental barrier to traveling in the American South, especially the Deep South, and when our American friends take a cross-country trip, we worry about the parts that may not be as friendly to drive through to us as Muslims as they may be to others. Hence it never figures in our plans, fairly or unfairly.

This is the permanent sociological condition we Muslims travel with, the permanxiety baggage that we carry.

Download Travel in an Age of Permanxiety magazine here