#this might be the last dreamscape map I show

[arcadea-rpg]

[amjustagirl]

Chapters: one. ~ two. ~ three. ~ four. ~ five. ~ six. ~ seven.

Wordcount: 2.3k

Summary: Akaashi Keiji catches glimpses of another life in his dreams. He dreams of fields of endless gold, of constellation of stars that light up the night sky. He hears echoes of the birdsong in her laugher, the songs of the gods in the wind. 

(Loosely inspired by ‘Your Name’, aka Kimi No Nawa, featuring Haikyuu’s own pretty Tokyo boy)

Wordcount: 3.5k

Masterlist here

AO3 Link here

Author’s note: This fic is a little different from my usual work, so I’m a little nervous about publishing it. If you do like it, would love if you leave a comment / reblog / anything!

If you’d like to be included in the taglist, do drop me a msg/ask!

‘It’s rare to see young men like you buying flowers for their mother’, the florist comments offhand as she wraps his order of yellow chrysanthemums in paper. 

Akaashi smiles, accustomed to the friendly florist by now. ‘I guess I’ve always had a partiality for flowers’, waving to the florist as he leaves to head to Shibuya to meet Bokuto for Izakaya. He’s running late, but Bokuto doesn't mind, hooting good naturedly at the comedy show playing on the television in the rundown bar. 

‘Agaaaashi, you made it!’ Bokuto rises from his seat to give him a jovial fist bump. 

‘Of course I did’, he responds dryly. ‘Wild horses wouldn’t keep me from my appointment with you’. He spends most of dinner listening to Bokuto’s recent exploits both with the national team and MSBY. Excitement still sparkles in the older man’s eyes as he recounts each and every match he’s played in, and Akaashi idly wonders how it is that Bokuto seems to have managed to pack on even more muscle in the short span of a month, the last time they met up was to see Bokuto off at the airport for the World Cup. 

‘You should have continued playing volleyball in university’, Bokuto crows in between mouthfuls of yakiniku and beer and Akaashi shakes his head at the refrain he’s so used to hearing from his senpai.

‘I wouldn’t be able to maintain my grades if I wanted to take volleyball seriously in university, plus there’s no guarantee I’d even get off the bench’, he answers self-effacingly. 

‘But you have the best tosses, Akaaaaaashi!!’ Bokuto declares, his words slightly slurred, and Akaashi wonders if he should start to inch Bokuto’s beer away from him. After consuming far too much barbecued meat (Bokuto took the liberty of ordering twice of what Akaashi would normally order, waving his protests off by stating grandly that he’ll take care of the bill, he’s the one working after all!), Bokuto slips into a food-drunk stupor, happy to listen to his anecdotes of university life, and he takes the chance to ramble on about his advanced Japanese classical literature course that he finds far more fascinating than his class on modern literature to his best friend. 

They stumble out of the izakaya when the line outside grows far too long to be ignored, Bokuto draping a heavy arm over Akaashi’s shoulder, the red tint on the tips of his ears betraying his slightly tipsy state. As they stand at the traffic light patiently waiting for the light to change from red to green, Bokuto turns to him and grasps his shoulders in his large, warm hands. 

‘I’m really proud to have you as a friend, Akaashi’, Bokuto tells him seriously. ‘And I’m going to prove to you that I can be the best ace so you can be proud of me too’. The molten gold glimmering in Bokuto’s gaze fills him with far more warmth than any alcohol could possibly achieve. 

‘I’m already proud of you, Bokuto-san’, he answers, his earnestness resounding in every word of his short declaration. Bokuto beams at him in response and bounds across the pedestrian walkway in approximately three strides, ignoring Akaashi’s chiding to ‘look before you cross the road, even if you have the right of way!’

Many things may have changed since high school, but some things still stay the same.  

His dreams take a strange turn that night.

He’s back in the Fukurodani gym with his teammates, but it’s not accurate to say he’s with them - rather, he’s watching his past self from afar, seated on the bench, a wrist guard on his right arm. He doesn’t remember ever injuring himself enough to warrant a wrist guard at any point during his high school volleyball career, but it’s probably just another oddity of being in a dream.  

‘I wish your wrist was feeling better, Akaashi. I miss your tosses already’, the pout in Bokuto’s voice pronounced.

‘It’s just for a while - I’ll be right as rain tomorrow!’ he hears himself say cheerfully - but that doesn’t make sense either. No one in their right mind has ever described the way he speaks as cheerful, and the rest of his teammates glance over at him curiously. Then his past self awkwardly tucks his legs under the bench, ankles crossed almost as if he’d like nothing better than to fold himself away with all the cloth vests they use for practice – but that doesn’t make sense either, he doesn’t even know why he’s behaving like some fish out of water. While volleyball doesn’t come naturally to him as it does to someone like Bokuto-san, and there are times he feels like he’s struggling to swim upstream, his fingers still itch to toss a ball up into the sky in a perfect arc even now. 

‘I told you, I don’t get what you insist on waxing lyrical on him being a star you can’t help but follow,’ he hears her voice chime in his consciousness, inexplicable though her presence in this scene may be, he hears himself answer - ‘just be patient and watch’. 

Anahori, their substitute setter tosses the ball up in the air and it’s a good toss, he will give him that, but it’s still not quite as high a toss that Bokuto likes. Bokuto runs right up to the net to leap into the air, back arching to slam the ball to the ground with such force that it’s a commanding full stop punctuating any doubts about his place on the team as its captain and ace. 

‘You see! When he plays well, he's like a supernova, shining with a light so bright it almost blinds my eyes.’

‘Waxing lyrical again, Keiji-kun?’ He can hear her tease him gently. ‘Go on, carry on with your celestial metaphors’.

‘How about a shooting star then’, he replies, amused. ‘If a shooting star shot up from the earth instead of falling from the sky.’ 

‘You sound like you like the guy. Are you sure you don’t?’ She asks. ‘You sure sound like you do.’

What?!

His legs are tangled in his sheets when he thrashes awake, mouth open in a gasp for air. That was a new twist in his collection of dreams, the first time he’s dreamt of something other than that phantom girl’s life in months, but even when the dreamscape doesn’t even feature her, she still manages to invade his dream. 

Worse - his dreams are now edging into territory he hasn’t mapped out in years. His teenage infatuation with Bokuto-san died a natural death after he realised that he’d mistaken his admiration for the ace for romantic feelings. Besides, there was no way Bokuto-san would ever be in love with him, not when he’d chosen to devote the next decade of his life to his sport. So why are his dreams dragging him deeper into a labyrinth of memories that aren’t even his own?

‘Why are you squandering my pocket money in a maid café of all things’ he says, sounding uncharacteristically put out. But then again he would be annoyed if anyone managed to drag him into the pink and white monstrosity his dream has deposited him into.

Bokuto’s happily seated across from him (or rather, his past self), exclaiming ‘ooh - isn’t the ketchup art on this omurice amazing, Akaashi? They managed to capture my hair so well!’, and to his horror his past self nods encouragingly and only laughs when Bokuto whines about not wanting to destroy this ‘piece of art the maids took so much time to create’ by eating the damn omurice. 

‘Don’t be such a killjoy, Keiji-kun’, she giggles. ‘Look at him, he’s having such fun, and besides, your day will reset so your money won’t be wasted anyway!’. 

Bokuto, distracted by the catchy beat of the J-pop song blasting over the speakers, is cajoled by a trio of pretty maids to join them on stage to dance along with them. He pops his hips to the beat of the music, throwing up cheesy hand signals with such gusto that it makes him (yes, present day Keiji) want to smile. 

But his past self evidently hasn’t lightened up yet, because he hears himself say crossly – ‘You do realise this is a waste of time when we could be doing something more useful like homework, especially since  Bokuto-san and I already spend most of our time training?’

‘Oh Keiji-kun, life is too short to be spent worrying like that. Because before you know it, you’ll grow into an old man who doesn’t know how to have any fun’.

‘I have fun’, he says petulantly, a faint sulk in his voice. 

‘Oh really? Then stop worrying and live a little. Maybe you should take a leaf out of your beloved Bokuto-san’s book – look how much fun he’s having!’

Bokuto clearly seems to be having the time of his life because now he’s prancing around the stage playing some silly game with the maids. 

‘I told you, I don’t think of him that way.’

‘And I’ve told you I’ve borrowed your skin for far too long to know when you’re not telling me the whole truth, Keiji-kun’, she sing-songs. ‘You wished for more time with him, didn’t you, so aren’t I doing a good deed by helping you figure out what Bokuto might like to do with you?’

‘Bokuto-san doesn’t have spare time on these things – and you’re just making an excuse to explore cafes in Tokyo at my expense!’ 

‘Two birds, one stone. Don’t be pedantic, Keiji-kun!’ 

The next time he’s back in one of those dreams, he finds his past self dressed in a blue yukata along the Sumida river, tugging Bokuto away from the takoyaki store. He remembers Bokuto dragging him away from the rest of the team on a quest to buy some snacks at the food stalls set up around the park, insisting that his stomach’s growling too loudly to wait until the fireworks display is over ‘come on, even you can hear my stomach at this rate, Akaaashi!!!’ – but that’s where the dream starts to diverge. 

‘If you queue for takoyaki, we’re going to miss the fireworks, and you don’t want to miss that, do you Bokuto-san?’ he says, hand firmly on Bokuto’s yukata sleeve. 

‘That’s right! But shouldn’t we join the rest of the team? They’ve got a spot by the river just over there!’ 

‘We won’t get there in time with this crowd – come on! If we hurry, I know the perfect spot to watch the display’, weaving his way through the crowd to shimmy up the trunk of a tree and settle himself comfortably against a large branch. 

‘Woah – Akaashi! I never knew you could climb trees!’ Bokuto calls, sounding impressed.

‘Well, don’t stand there, come join me!’ 

The tree creaks ominously as the larger boy scales its trunk, branches already heavy with red lanterns groaning in protest as he settles himself in the branch opposite Akaashi. And not a moment too soon, because a collective gasp ripples through the crowd along the river as the night sky explodes into rainbow hued fiery streaks.

‘It’s amazing, Akaashi!’ Bokuto hollers with his face tilted up to the sky. 

‘You’re amazing, Bokuto-san’, he says fondly, reaching over to bump Bokuto’s shoulder with his fist and the older boy beams at him, the sheer delight in his smile brighter than the fireworks in the sky. There is a sea of stars in his eyes, and Akaashi wants to shrivel in shame at the way his younger self looks like he’s mentally planning to pirate a boat to cross the straits to Bokuto’s heart. 

‘There is no way I’m going to do that’ he hears himself say, sounding mildly cross. 

‘Eh – it’s cute. ‘sides, doesn’t he look so happy’ he hears her say, sounding overly chipper. 

‘You could spend your time instead learning how to play so Bokuto-san won’t pout when you sit out of practice and you wouldn’t have to pretend you sprain your wrist every time we swap.’

‘Are you mad? Do you really think they won’t think something’s up when I can’t even do a simple serve?’ 

‘Fine. You have a point’, he answers begrudgingly. 

‘Of course I do. Come on Keiji, live a little. Enjoy your time with the lodestar of your life’.

‘Can you not say things like that?’ he says dryly. 

‘It’s your fault for reading so much Shakespeare to me!’ she replies with a grin in her voice.

He texts Bokuto the minute he wakes up. ‘Bokuto-san, apologies if this seems weird, but do you remember if we ever climbed a tree when we watched fireworks with our team?’ 

Bokuto takes a while to respond, but that’s to be expected, it’s his mornings are usually filled with practice and conditioning. But when he does respond, his text makes Akaashi’s brow curl. ‘Nope, but sounds fun! What’s up Akaashi!!’ 

Akaashi drops his head in his palms. Good to know he’s not losing his grip on reality at least. 

But his sleep for the following weeks continues to be filled with dreams in the same vein. 

He dreams of scenes that have never taken place in real life - him challenging Bokuto-san to ramen eating competition, the older boy winning handily of course, crowing like a child when he slurps the last mouthful of tonkatsu broth - ‘eh Akaashi, eat faster!’, him dragging Bokuto-san to the arcade near school, demolishing middle schoolers in endless games of dance dance revolution (there is no way he is actually able to move like that in real life) and losing far too much money in claw games - ‘Akaashi I really want that toy pleaseeee’ - and even he would admit it’s absolutely adorable if not for the fact that he can’t explain why these dreams keep invading his head like a wildfire that refuses to die. 

‘I honestly don’t understand you’, she says and again, why on earth is she in this set of dreams - she doesn’t belong in them -

‘What exactly do you not understand?’

‘If you like him that much, why aren’t you jumping at the chance to hang out with him? All you do is nag me about how I’m wasting his time, I’m wasting your time, but I don’t understand -  isn’t time meant to be spent on the people you love? Unless you’re confusing love with admiration, because yes, I get that you admire his talent, but you don’t seem to have all that much patience for spending time with him outside of school.’ 

‘I suppose I do like him, but…’

‘Finally you admit it, but I don’t like the sound of that word.’ 

‘It’s nothing’, he finally says, and she huffs in annoyance, clearly wanting him to explain but he stubbornly refuses to say another word. 

His past self is skidding down the hallway with Bokuto hot on his heels yelling ‘Akaaashiii you owe me a Yakisoba bunnnnn’ when he hears an almighty crash behind him. As he spins around, Bokuto’s sprawled on the floor, papers and books scattered around him. The older boy grimaces as he sits up, grabbing at his ankle in pain. 

‘Bokuto-san, are you ok?’ he cries, running back towards the older boy. 

‘I might have twisted my ankle. Argh this is bad - prelims are just next week!’ Bokuto groans, clutching at his ankle desperately. 

‘Don’t worry. You’ll be fine tomorrow, trust me’, his past self says with complete certainty, and flags down a passing student to call for a teacher. 

‘Look what you’ve done now. Are you happy with yourself?’ he hears himself say accusingly. ‘Everything might reset tomorrow, but look - he’s hurt himself today. Is this what you’ve been trying to prove to me?’ 

‘I’m sorry, Keiji’ he hears her say, her voice watery. ‘I didn’t think -’ 

‘Of course you didn’t, you never think about the consequences of your actions, do you?’ he says, glass shards in his words. 

His dream fades to black. He never hears her answer. 

His sleep remains relatively undisturbed for the next fortnight, just in time for his mid-term exams which he aces, even his course on classical Japanese literature. He’s relieved of course, because his final year grades matter most when it comes to recruitment, yet there’s a part of him that’s buried deep between ventricles and pumping flesh that childishly wonders what his dreams are going to show him next.

His wish is answered when he opens his eyes to an ocean of stars, white pinpricks of light against the vast tapestry of the purple night sky. His head is pillowed on tufts of grass and the wind whispers against his feet.

The sight takes his breath away. 

He’s a born and bred city boy, and he knows from experience it’s near impossible to see stars in the city sky amidst light pollution and masquerading satellites.  

‘Is this your way of apologising?’ he asks, his voice wry. 

‘Is it working yet?’ he hears her ask, an uncharacteristically timid note in her voice. He laughs, a fond sound, and he can hear her huff a breath through her mouth. ‘I am sorry though, Keiji. I never meant to hurt him’. 

‘It’s fine, no damage done. Besides, I was thinking about what you said.’

‘Me? About what? I know I’ve said plenty to you so far’, she says curiously. 

‘About Bokuto-san’, he supplies, and she stays silent, waiting for him to go on. The stars twinkle down at him, and if he closes his eyes, he can imagine the galaxy reaching down to lend him its infinite strength. ‘You were right about how…I felt about Bokuto-san. I thought what I felt for him was something more than it really was - now I’m starting to realise I just admire his strength, and I don’t see our paths ever converging, especially if he’s going to chase his dreams of going pro all the way’. 

‘You don’t have to chase someone else’s light when you’re brilliant in your own right’, she says gently. 

‘Thanks’, he answers thickly, as if the word feels a little awkward in his mouth. 

‘So -’ she pipes up, and he can tell she’s trying her best to paper over the sudden lapse of silence. ‘Will you tell me stories about the stars, Keiji?’

He laughs fondly, raising a hand to catch the stardust from the sparkling constellations overhead. ‘I could tell you the story of Andromeda, chained to rocks as a sacrifice to satisfy the cruel demands of the sea monster?’ 

‘Ugh no gory stories, I want a happy ending!’ 

‘It has a happy ending, I promise. Just be patient and listen, okay?’ 

Akaashi wakes up before his past self can finish telling the tale of Persues’ rescue of Andromeda from the jaws of defeat. It’s barely three in the morning, but he knows it’s futile to try to go back to sleep. He wanders to the window, and wonders whether the lone star hanging in the cloudy sky is merely a satellite in disguise. 

Against his better judgment, he dials Bokuto’s number. 

‘What’s up, Akaashi!’ he hears the older man mumble sleepily, sheets rustling. 

‘Was it obvious I had a crush on you in high school?’ he asks plainly. If seeking closure is what he needs to end this slew of dreams, then he’s going to do it, never mind the embarrassment thick in the blood in his veins.

‘Huh?’ 

Akaashi’s pretty sure he can hear Bokuto blink rapidly. ‘A crush on you’, he repeats, and for good measure he adds - ‘sometime in your third year of high school’. 

‘Ehhhh…’ Bokuto’s voice trails off over the phone. ‘You did?’ 

The sigh that trips out of Akaashi’s mouth is worn, weary. ‘I did’, he confirms, embarrassment writhing in his belly. 

‘But you stopped right? Just before I graduated? You started becoming distracted after Spring High and I thought you were just worrying about university entrance exams.’

‘I suppose.’ And Akaashi should really get a grip on himself but his dreams have been doing a number on him so to his horror, he starts to ramble. ’ It’s probably the lack of sleep, but look - this sounds really stupid but I was having a lot of really weird dreams and I don’t understand what’s happening but I’m hoping getting this off my chest helps me get some more sleep and I hope you don’t think I’m completely weird and don’t mind still being my friend -’

‘Woah, ‘kaashi, slow down! You’re overthinking again - what, you think I’m not going to be your friend anymore?’ Bokuto booms, laughing widely. 

‘Uh. I don’t know?’ 

‘Relax! I’m flattered, but I think it’s a good thing we never went out! You were already so stressed dealing with me in high school Washio used to joke about your hair falling out, but I’ve changed! Now I’m just an ordinary ace!’ 

‘Bokuto-san, I don’t think anyone would call you ordinary’, Akaashi interjects, rubbing circles against his temple. 

‘You know what I mean!’ Bokuto laughs, the sound so round and boisterous that it makes Akaashi quirk his lips up in affection. 

‘Yes, Bokuto-san. Anyway, sorry for disturbing your sleep.’ 

‘Anytime, Akaashi!’ They bid each other goodnight, and the relief he feels after the call settles on his chest like a blanket, and he falls back to sleep. 

Taglist: 

@1tooru @kageyamakock @animeflower26 @underrated-fruit-tarts-official

[words-writ-in-starlight]

Jame/Tori. 12 and 16. Happy Birthday! Wishing you a year full of understanding medical professionals.

SAME!!!  Anyway, last night I was reading God Stalk out loud to my partners, because we are all very adorable, and I almost paused the chapter to wax adoring about Jame and Tori because Jame made an idle comment about not understanding how someone could decide not to support their brother, no matter what their brother did.  So you get to go first.

12) What first changes when it starts getting serious?

The first thing that Jame notices as a change, a real change, isn’t something anyone else would notice.  Tori kissed her, and didn’t run--kissed her, and held her face between his beautiful scarred hands, and rested their foreheads together like they did when they were children, like she was safety to him again, and that was--that was new, but she didn’t really think of it as a change.  Everyone else sees it as a change, but not Jame.  She thinks that Tori might not see it that way either.  It wasn’t a change, it was a return to the right shape of things.

The first thing she notices as a change isn’t until a few nights later, when she collapses in a chair and falls asleep.  The dream is pleasantly nonsensical at first--a nightmare, but a real nightmare, which is a relief, of dancing in the Res aB’tyrr in front of the randon council, while her feet bleed and her balance slips on the slick tabletop.  She realizes she’s dreaming when she stumbles, but dances on as if a puppet on strings, until finally the dance ends, and she bows, and takes her bloodied feet and her weariness up the stairs to the loft.  

It’s her brother’s study, at the top of the stairs, and he’s there, sitting in the chair by the fire with one leg crossed over his knee and frowning in concentration, and he blinks at her as she stumbles through the mirror and lands clumsily on the floor.  She braces herself to watch horror flicker over his face--sees the moment of instinctive alarm--and then he asks, “What are you wearing?”

“What?” Jame asks, blank, and then says, “Oh.  It’s a dancer’s costume.  What are you doing?”

Tori’s lips twist briefly and he says, “Trying to sleep.”

“Are you hiding in here on purpose?”

He looks uneasy, almost--apologetic.  “I just need some rest.”  And then he hesitates, and then Tori says, “You can stay.  There’s another chair.”

“What?” Jame repeats.

“I can keep us both here for a while, I think,” Tori says.  “You look tired.”

Jame is nodding before she thinks it through, and collapses in the chair across from Tori--the dreamscape can’t manufacture pain or weariness the way the soulscape can, but she is tired.  She hasn’t slept in days, and she’s all too aware that she’s as likely to wander out the door into a disaster as she is into a restful night.  And Tori’s study--the dream he’s made for himself, a shelter from visions and souls--is warm and quiet, with the fire and the old chairs, and with her brother.  It’s--nice.

Tori offers her a faint smile, and takes his foot off his knee and stretches his legs out in front of him, mirroring her, so that their ankles cross in front of the fire.

16) When the zombie apocalypse comes, how do they cope together?

I genuinely do not think they would bat an eye at a zombie apocalypse.  They essentially grew up in one.  Honestly I think they would be THE clutch people to have in charge, because they are very good at this, before Jame and Tori were dancers or fighters or leaders or soldiers or anything, they were dealing with the undead.

The first thing Jame, in northern Tagmeth, does upon seeing the first haunt in the Riverlands is to sit down with a map and every report she can barter, beg, or borrow, and draws out the advancing line.  She gathers her people and gives them exacting instructions, on how to kill the dead, and she sends a letter to Mount Alban that simply says I need help, cousin, meet me at Gothregor, and she sends out scouts for one week.  At the end of the week, she rolls up her maps, tells everyone to pack everything they want to keep, and takes her people south.

She arrives at her brother’s doorstep unannounced, and the Knorth Kendar are getting used to the way their Highborn do things but also they hate the way their Highborn do things.  It’s not really right for their lordan to show up with every single one of her people in tow and demand to see her brother now.  But, then, most of them have served their lord for years now, and they know that hard-eyed silver stare, and no one stops her from storming out to the barracks where Torisen is going over their census with Rowan.

Tori is already looking at the door when Jame opens it, and he says, “Jame,” and Rowan says, “Lordan,” and Jame says, “I have bad news, and I think we’re the first ones to get it, so we need a plan if we’re going to save our people.”

And Jame thinks it says something kind, about her brother, that even at his worst, he cared about their people to the point of desperation.  And he’s not at his worst anymore, and so she’s not surprised when he gestures to the chair at his other side, facing Rowan, and says, “Of course, what happened?”

[ben10daily]

happy day 6 of gwevin week! this fic is written for the prompt of the day: camping. possibly my favourite to write, haha. thanks again to @brooken-gwevin-weeks for organising the event!

title: you paint dreamscapes on the wall words: 1,703 summary: kevin levin doesn’t play well with others. au.

In the two and a half weeks that Kevin had been attending Forever Camp, he’d made it his sole purpose to be the best at everything. He was a poor kid with a stepdad who looked straight through him, and if nothing else that had made him deeply competitive by nature.

So he ran the fastest, and climbed the highest, and pushed harder than anyone else. Kevin tied knots around knots and made a s’more that could melt hearts.

And then the camp across the lake had a bed bug infestation.

All of a sudden, swarms of kids he’d never met before were throwing sleeping bags down in their cabins, fighting over chairs in the dining hall, and, worst of all, competing for his spot as the Camp Champ. And the two people causing him the most aggravation were the Tennysons.

Ben Tennyson was a little chump who thought he was tough. A kid who tailed Kevin around like they were friends for no other reason than Kevin personally shoved him face-first into the mud-pit during tug-of-war.

Kevin beat him at games and stole his dessert, but he still couldn’t shake him.

Gwen Tennyson, on the other hand, was another problem altogether.

-

Day One:

Now dealing with an extra twenty campers to entertain, the counsellors decided to forgo ice-breakers in lieu of tiring them all out as much as possible. That meant one thing: obstacle course.

Kevin was thrilled at the opportunity to assert his dominance so early on. The kids who knew him didn’t even bother to compete anymore. He stood at the head of the line, hands on his hips, and shifted his weight from foot to foot impatiently, ready to show the rest of them how it was done.

He almost jumped out of his skin when a hand yanked at the sleeve of his t-shirt.

“Can we go first?”

She was shorter than him, this interloper he didn’t recognise, with bright red hair and a mischievous little grin on her face. Behind her stood a scruffy brown-haired boy with both arms crossed petulantly.

“No cutting,” Kevin said with a scowl.

“I told you he looked like a jerk,” the boy muttered. Kevin wanted to hit him, and maybe he would when the counsellors turned around.

The smile on her face dropped, and the girl frowned up at Kevin as she tried again. “Please? We got here late because someone,” she glared sidelong at the other boy, “had to go the bathroom. The line’s super long already, and we want to see who’s faster.”

“I’m faster,” Kevin said automatically.

The girl stared at him, and he stared back, and what ensued was a staring contest that lasted all of five seconds before the girl’s friend jabbed her in the side with his elbow.

“Come on, doofus, he’s just showing off.”

Kevin sure didn’t like that. At the far end of the course, one of the older kids raised a whistle to his lips and blew a screeching note that signalled for the first runner. “I’ll show you who’s showing off.”

He took off like a shot, running up the starting ramp and balancing his way along the wooden footholds. He pushed himself to speed up, swinging wildly across the monkey bars, dropping and running again, climbing the thick rope netting and landing on the other side without hesitation. Then the hurdles, the tire crawl, and straight through to the finish line.

Kevin’s chest was heaving when he finally stopped running, but he turned on the counsellor immediately for a read-out of the stopwatch. One minute and seven seconds, a personal best. He looked back at the starting point with a wide smirk.

The two new campers were still at the front of the line, and nobody seemed to be in a hurry to get past them. From the looks of it, they were now arguing over who would go next.

The counsellor blew on his whistle, and Kevin watched as the boy ran forward, scaled across the wooden walkway, and dropped almost immediately from the monkey bars, right into the soft mud below. No upper body strength. Figured.

Above him, the girl was clutching at her stomach in a fully belly laugh, pointing at her friend as he crawled out of the pit covered head to toe in sludge. Until the whistle blew a third time, and she finally took her turn.

She was fast, really fast, and unlike the boy she had a surprising amount of muscle to back it up. In what felt like no time at all, she was in front of him, hands on her knees as she gasped for breath.

Kevin looked at the counsellor, heart beating fast, and the older boy grinned knowingly at him.

“Fifty-nine seconds.”

-

Day Two:

Kevin watched as the two Tennyson kids pelted each other with scrambled eggs over breakfast. They seemed to fit right in almost immediately amongst the other campers, in a way he never had. Not that he wanted to.

Instead, he cornered one of the other kids, J.T., to ask what their deal was, and found out a whole bunch of useless things. They were called Ben and Gwen, and they were cousins. They fought a lot, about pretty much everything, and for a while Ben had been going around telling everyone he had superpowers.

That afternoon, they did trust exercises. Ben dropped Gwen at every opportunity, until the counsellor interceded and split them up. Kevin refused to even take a fall.

-

Day Three:

The cousins faced him together during a hostile game of dodgeball, as the last three kids on the court. Kevin’s team sucked, so he’d used them as human shields for the better part of the match.

Ben and Gwen were both quick on their feet, ducking and dodging away from all the balls he lobbed across the court. If they were smart enough to work as a team, he might have been in trouble. But they ran across and around each other instead, even trying to shove the other one into Kevin’s line of fire. And still he couldn’t hit them.

Frustrated, he pitched the ball with all his strength, just as Gwen stumbled over one of the dropped balls from earlier. She would have taken the hit right to her pretty face if Ben hadn’t leaped forward dramatically, letting the dodgeball crack him across the head. Like some kind of hero. Idiot. Loser.

Ben spent the next fifteen minutes with the camp nurse, just to check for a concussion. When she finally released him with a clean bill of health, Kevin overheard Gwen talking to him outside the office.

“So, did that dodgeball knock out what’s left of your brain, dweeb?”

Ben scoffed and pulled her into a playful headlock. “What I think you mean is, ‘Thanks Ben, for saving my nerdy little life’.”

-

Day Four:

Kevin shoved Ben’s face into the mud during tug-of-war. For showing off during dodgeball, but mostly just for fun.

In retribution, Gwen splattered him neon green from head to toe during balloon painting that afternoon. After three showers, when he’d finally scrubbed the remaining paint from his hair, it started to seem a little funny. Neither of them could be forced to apologise.

-

Day Five:

Gwen smoked him on the track during warm-ups, and then again on the soccer court when he refused to pick either of them for his team. Not his best decision, actually, because that left him with Cooper Daniels who feigned an injury fifteen minutes in just to avoid playing.

Ben tried to sit at his table during lunch.

“Get lost,” Kevin told him, which seemed to have no effect.

Ben used a fork to launch mashed potatoes at the next table over, and maybe Kevin laughed but some things were just patently hilarious. That didn’t mean they were friends.

-

Day Six:

“The map says we have to go this way.”

“You’re holding it upside down.”

“Did you just throw our compass into the lake?”

Gwen and Kevin spent five hours lost in the woods during a scavenger hunt.

It got dark outside while they were walking in circles, and she was leaning really close to him, even after insisting only babies were scared of the dark. They didn’t hold hands, no matter what the rumours said. He didn’t tell her about his real dad when they were sat back to back on a rock waiting to be rescued. Well, nobody could prove it anyway.

-

By the end of the week, Kevin was reaching the end of his tether. He was sick of Ben Tennyson breathing down his neck, and sick of following the back of Gwen’s head when she sprinted past him on the track field.

And then, like the sun emerging unexpectedly on an overcast day, a call came through that all the bed bugs had been fumigated safely. The camp was clean, and it was time to say goodbye.

Kevin looked on at the noisy campers filing back into their waiting paddle boats with a summer’s worth of luggage in hand. All sixteen of them were rowing back to their own side of the lake in pairs, shrinking into specks in the distance. Good riddance, he thought.

Ben and Gwen were the last ones left on the dock, and Kevin watched them stoically as they waved goodbye to their temporary cabin-mates.

Until, as if sensing his gaze, Gwen turned and caught his eye. He looked away first, unwilling to get caught in another staring contest, but she ran over to him anyway, fishing something small out of her pocket as she approached.

Kevin scowled at her. “What do you want?”

“Give me your hand,” she said, and when he didn’t move a muscle she reached out and grabbed his wrist herself.

“Hey!” Kevin snapped, but she ignored him, wrapping a slim pink and blue plait of thread around his arm and tying it off with a flourish. “What’s this?”

Gwen smiled at him when he yanked his hand back to study the gift.

“It’s a friendship bracelet, stupid,” she said, like he should know better. “Let’s race again next summer, too.”

[oh-mother-of-darkness]

Jason’s breath puffed out in front of him as a cloud of steam that floated off into the Gotham evening. Despite a hat, gloves, and thick jacket, he shivered in the snow. The block-long walk to his safehouse felt like hours. 

Jason hated the winter. The snow turned the crowded city into white nothingness. It muted all the sounds and flattened all the shapes until it felt like wandering through a dreamscape: empty and silent and monochrome, while time blurred around him. It was too quiet. It was too still. 

It was too cold. Jason’s bones felt like ice chips splintering apart inside him. He couldn’t feel his hands, his feet, or the tip of his nose. The rest of him ached from fighting and freezing— one or the other, or both.

He climbed quickly in the back window of his safehouse, desperate to get into the warmth. Jason sighed as he made it inside, where the heating blasted away the snowy air from outside. Home. Finally.

His dog ran across the room and bounced off his legs in greeting. “Hey, Mia,” he muttered, bending down to pet her. He shed his winter gear and set his coffeemaker to brew in three hours. Then he walked across the room and collapsed into bed. He flicked on the electric blanket, pulled another five on top of him, and went to sleep. 

Hours later, he awoke to the smell of coffee. Mia was still asleep, curled into the back of his legs. She snored softly. It made Jason smile. 

For a few minutes, he debated getting up at all. It was warm in his bed, and three hours suddenly didn’t seem like enough time to stay in it. 

But he had work to do. Jason climbed out of bed, nudging Mia gently aside, and groaned as he walked to the coffee pot. Time to start his crime-fighting day. 

First, his weapons. Jason lay out his guns and knives, cleaned them carefully, and packed them back into his gear. Second, security. Jason checked his cameras on the back entrance, the side window, and the front. 

At that point, he received a shock: his little brother was sitting outside his front window, facing the camera and looking half-frozen. Jason jumped back in surprise. What was Damian doing here? He wasn’t supposed to know about this safehouse. How could he have found out?

His family had a nasty habit of tracking him down. Jason wondered what it would be this time: was Damian grounded and sneaking out? Did he and Bruce have another fight? Did he want help with a mission?

Further examination showed him two things. One, although Damian was facing Jason’s camera, he was not looking directly into it. He might not know it was there. Instead (and second), he was staring intently at the windows of the building across the street. Jason recognized the setup. Damian was on stakeout. 

And he just happened to be on Jason’s doorstep? It seemed too good to be true, so for awhile, Jason left him there, expecting Damian to crawl in himself at any second. 

He never did. After forty-five minutes— Jason logged his notes and marked his map in the meantime— he decided that Damian must be for real. He had no idea Jason was there, no knowledge of the safehouse, and no plan to bother Jason at all. 

Excellent. Jason gathered his tools and prepared to sneak out the back. Before he went, he took one last look at his camera. 

Damian really did look miserable— every bit as cold as Jason had been hours before. His cheeks were bright red, and he huddled inside his cape. His boots dangled off the window ledge, kicking in the darkness. He looked pathetic, and it was starting to get to Jason. 

….Fine. Jason pulled back his curtain. Damian’s back was inches from the window, which Jason unlocked quietly and slid open. He only had one shot at this. 

“Hey,” he said, sticking his head into the snow. “How’s the stakeout?”

To Damian’s credit, he managed to swear quietly, even as he jumped so hard that he almost fell off his ledge. Jason grinned. Perfect execution. Damian never heard him coming. 

On the ledge, Damian corrected himself and swung around, knife in hand. When he saw Jason, the shock on his face turned indignant. He lowered his knife. 

“Todd? What are you doing here.”

“I live here,” Jason told him. “Sometimes. Come inside.”

“I have to watch that building.”

“You can see it just fine from inside my window. C’mon. It’s warm in here.”

Jason moved aside as Damian slid through his window and shut it behind him. Mia didn’t even twitch in her sleep. So much for his guard dog. 

“Here,” said Jason. He pulled the wad of blankets from his bed without disturbing the puppy and threw them at Damian. “You look frozen.”

Damian bundled himself in the blankets until he looked less like a kid in a cape and more like a shapeless mound of fabric. He nodded in thanks while Jason poured himself another cup of coffee.

“Want some?” he offered.

“No.”

“Tea?”

“Please.”

“I have oolong, black, jasmine, or chai.”

“Oolong.”

“Monkey picked?”

“Fine.” 

“Did you eat?”

“A few hours ago.”

“Are you hungry now?”

Damian considered it. “Yes.”

“I’ll make food.” Jason threw on an extra sweater and walked to his pantry to take inventory.

“Vegetarian,” Damian reminded him. 

“Got it.” Jason made enough mac and cheese for both of them— the good kind, from scratch, since he had a guest to show off to. While Jason worked, Damian settled cross legged in front of the window and stared outside while he sipped his tea. They didn’t talk. Twenty minutes in, as Jason carried over a bowl of pasta, it occurred to him that Damian might not have been alone in the snow. 

“Is Bruce out there?” he asked. 

“Across town, at another possible drop-off point.” 

“Oh. Good luck to him, I guess.”

“Were you going to invite him in?”

“I hadn’t decided. Eat your food. Here—” Jason scooped Mia from his bed and dumped her in Damian’s lap before he handed over the bowl. “Have a dog.” 

Mia immediately fell back asleep in Damian’s lap. Damian looked thrilled. He held his mac and cheese carefully above her as she snored and he kept watch on his building. When he was finished, he set the bowl aside and stroked her back instead.

Mia woke up and rolled over for a belly rub. 

“Does she have any treats?” Damian asked.

“Yeah.” Jason retrieved the bag from its shelf and tossed it over. Damian fed Mia a treat while he rubbed her belly. 

“You will be a fine dog,” he told her. “Once you grow. Good girl.” 

“You’re one to talk.”

“Shut up. Do you like her?”

“I’m not giving her to you if that’s what you’re asking.” Jason flopped back onto his bed. “Yeah, I like her. She makes me feel… safer? Not because she’s going to protect me or anything— I mean, she could try, but she’s tiny. It’s more like… she’s peaceful. It makes me feel peaceful.”

Damian nodded. “Titus makes me feel safer too.” 

“Titus could probably defend you in a fight.”

“Of course he could. I trained him to do so. I could do the same for Mia too, if you like. Train her, I mean.”

“You can help,” Jason decided. “But she’s not going to the Manor.”

“Fine.”

“So you’ll have to come here.”

“Acceptable.” 

“Are Wednesdays okay?”

“Yes.” 

“I need to go.” Jason grabbed his hood from the dresser and swapped his sweater for his work jacket. “Crime to fight and all that, but you can stay if you want.”

“Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it,” said Jason as he climbed out the window. “As in, ’don’t mention to Bruce that I have a hideout here.’ You’d be doing me a solid.”

“I won’t.”

“Wednesday, then.”

Jason dropped down into the snow.

-------------------------------

@wingedskyes said:

Jason + winter maybe? Please and thanks. Also, happy holidays! 😁

Anonymous said:

Fic prompt Damian eating vegetarian food with the bat boys 🦇

Anonymous said:

Jason & Damian bonding over something completely unrelated to their childhood trauma. Dogs, movies, yo-yoing, etc

[catpella]

Alhaja’s Faith

This is a story about Alhaja Khalesh, one of my GW2 characters.

Alhaja Khalesh stands on a spear of rock and surveys the land spreading out before her. It has been a dark featureless mass during the night. As the sun crests the horizon, golden light spills across the land below. It shifts to reveal that it is not a boring plain, but a long expanse of sand and stone, varied in coloration and expression in a way that many people may not expect of the desert.

She turns to her left to see the city on the horizon with its with high towers and spires, radiant in the dawn's splendor with light reflecting off of the golden domes so brightly the eyes hurt to look at it, as though a second sun is there. This is the Kodash Bazaar, largest marketplace in Vabbi and center of trade, wealth, and of course, power. It is where her family is from. Now that the sun is up, a musical song begins ringing from its walls, the sound of Lyssa's priests and priestesses invoking the dawn rites.

This is Elona. Land of the Golden Sun.

As the realization comes, it all goes dark, and then she wakes up in her own bed. She is in Divinity's Reach, the heart of Kryta. But her heart is still in Elona and her eyes are still full of the afterimage of the gilded city.

Alhaja had never been to Elona, the land of her ancestors. Yet she knew this is what she saw in her dream. Though she doesn't ever know when it shows: if this is the Elona of the past, or if this is Elona as it is now. Contact has been cut off for so long that no one knows what Elona looks like right now. The Order of Whispers has some contacts with their parent order to know about how Elona is, and rumors are some operatives have slipped over, but no one in her family has ever been.

Alhaja had always had her Elona dreams. The exact nature of them can vary. Sometimes, it's historical dreams of battles in Elonian history – from the times of the Primeval Kings to the fights against Abbadon's minions. But usually, they carry no meaning. She goes to sleep, and wakes up in the dreamscape in a part of Elona that she can walk around and explore. She's walked through the Kodash Bazaar, the Gardens of Seborhin, Kamadan, and the Fortress of Jahai, learning their streets and seeing the lives of their people. She's hiked the wilderness to rediscover ruins like the First City of Fahranur, or to see sunrises and sunsets over plains she's never walked in life.

She used to tell people about the dreams, when she was a girl. Visions of Elona were cool, right? She couldn't imagine where she was getting this knowledge from, so it must be from a god. Given the family history, and their possession of family journals and artifacts touched by Kormir Herself, she'd assumed they were Kormir-sent.

It turned out that telling folks wasn't really a good plan. Everyone thought she was crazy. Her parents were concerned enough to take her to some of Divinity's Reach's best (most expensive) healers to get her checked over for delusions. Had she been cursed? Mesmer-tricked? Was she delusional because of an illness? The healers told her parents she was fine and just making things up for attention. Or, at best, she was having the normal creative dreams of any child and was just claiming she was Gods-touched.

Her siblings didn't believe her, either. And the rest of the family – the aunts and uncles and cousins and all the other innumerable part of a started whispering insults or pity about her. So by the time she was 10, Alhaja stopped telling anyone but Fadhira. Fadhira faked interest really well and it was nice to get the words out, even to an insincere audience.

When she was 14, she'd gone to a Priestess of Kormir and confessed that she thought she was seeing visions of Elona, and that they were sent by Kormir. The Priestess had been intrigued by her claim and had been willing to listen to her describe her visions in detail. Unlike anyone else that Alhaja had told, was the priestess was willing to research her claims further before judging them false. So she'd found old maps of Elona and writings about battles, and held them in her hands while Alhaja described anything she'd seen about the topic.

The testing had revealed that Alhaja had a surprising amount of accuracy in her description of places, though the ones of past events were less accurate. The priestess hadn't ever asked her for details about Kormir's history, and she'd always wondered why. After all, shouldn't a priestess of Kormir want to know about Her mortal life? But at the same time, she understood that her family's collection of journals by Sunspears who had walked with Kormir into Torment itself might be a reason to not ask – that was a way she could have learned those details, wheras there were few maps and histories of battle in her family, and so those would be more likely to come out of her dreams.

In the end, the priestess had not given her full-hearted support to Alhaja's claims, as the young woman had hoped. Her response had been more measured in nature. The woman had said that it seemed as though Alhaja had an accurate amount of knowledge, and may well have been experiencing retroactive dreams of areas or events. But there was no indication that these were divine visions from any of the Six. The priestess had finally provided the distraught teen with a piece of advice that Alhaja had originally rejected, but found she was taking to heart more and more these days.

“In the end, does it matter if your visions are from the Gods or not? If they are true, or they are not. Seeking to find if they are true has brought you this far. And you will continue to seek the truth of them, will you not?”

Alhaja had agreed that she intended to keep finding out about her visions. “I'll go all the way to Elona and prove that I've seen it,” she'd told the priestess.

“Then you are doing Kormir's Will in the world, my dear, whether or not She has set you on this path or if you have chosen it in your heart,” said the priestess. “May your heart ever burn with the fires of your quest.”

“Even when everyone tells me I'm wrong?”

“It is easy to seek something when nothing is in your way, but harder to look for truth though many may oppose you. Always remember, there is no higher virtue than the search for truth.”

That had been told to her over ten years ago, and Alhaja still remembered it. It wasn't the only good advice she'd gotten from the woman, either. She'd gotten advice about first crushes, about friendships, all the other innumerable little concerns of a teenager's life, and she'd never been made to feel stupid for asking about any of it. Even though the priestess probably had more important people and concerns to think about.

The other memorable incident she remembered was when she'd had a fight with her family over the direction her life would take at 17. They'd gotten her training in controlling her magic and learning useful abilities, but hey wanted her to join the trading business. She wanted to serve the people and go on adventures, like the Sunspears had done; but Fadhira had enrolled in the guard already and she had been allowed because she was descended from the Istani branch on her father's side. Her parents wanted Alhaja in the trading side because she was double-Vabbian, and any protest that she wanted to be an elementalist or an adventurer or a guard was ignored.

(It sounded very stupid when Alhaja explained it to people outside of the Khalesh family, but there was a strict hierarchy of bloodline within them. There was a tendency to racially generalize any species as the same, but it wasn't true. There was at least one type of sub-grouping per species. She knew Charr cared about if they were Iron or Blood Legion, even though to her they were just Charr. The decrease in humanity's prominence should have led them all to unify as human, but humans cared about their continent of origin.

Some groups, like her circle of Elonian expatriates, took it even farther. They preferred Elonian descent to Canthan or Tyrian, but within the group it mattered which province your family came from, and if you had Sunspear lineage or not. Alhaja' and Fadhira's mother was Vabbian, wealthy descendant of one of the last Great Princes. Alhaja's father was Vabbian as well. So merchanting was in her blood, they told her, and that's what they were going to do. But Fadhira's father – lover of Alhaja's parents – was Istani and Sunspear to boot, so she got a pass.)

It was the unfairness of this grouping that had sent her to. Feeling torn about what to do, she'd asked about joining the priests' order. Alhaja dreamed of Elona, of desert sand and stone under the hot sun, and of striding far and wide across the continent and later the world. It was a dream she couldn't achieve as a stay-at-home merchant, and it was less likely to be achieved as a priest (although they did get to travel to smaller settlements). But if she had to clip her dreams for some other life path, she didn't want it to be becoming an aspect of familial legacy – she could live it with being her faith.

But the priestess had shaken her head and told her that she would not take the young woman's petition. Furthermore, that she would recommend against it if another asked her opinion. Alhaja would be joining to run away from her familial obligations first, and not because of her genuine faith, and that was an unacceptable way to go to the service of the gods. When Alhaja protested that she knew she'd be happy in Kormir's service, the priestess said that she had a sense of how it would go. Alhaja would be happy at first, and then chafe to go out and be free again.

“The quest in your heart will not be denied or quieted by obedience,” the priestess had told her, face somber under the eye-mask. “Not to your family, and not even to the Gods.”

“I want everything I do to be in Kormir's service,” Alhaja had said. Wasn't that the point of existing? Of her quest?

“Do you remember how I told you to do that?”

“Of course. The highest virtue is seeking the truth and this is how I serve Kormir. But would I not seek truth as her acolyte?” Alhaja had pressed.

“You would seek it better in the world as you wish,” the priestess had said.

“That's what I think. But my parents don't think so,” Alhaja had said with a sigh. Maybe she could join the circus…

“I believe one day you will come to be an acolyte in Her service,” the priestess said. “But I do not think the time is now. I sense that you must follow the quest in your heart, and then build your devotion to her in the hearth that remains.”

With that enigmatic comment, the priestess had left for services, and Alhaja had slunk home. The next morning, the priestess called on her parents right after dawn. Alhaja had considered eavesdropping before thinking of the shame she would feel when the priestess caught her at it, and so she stayed in her room, staring into the rising sun, and praying to Kormir with all her heart. Two hours later, she was summoned to the family room and told that she would be allowed to become an elementalist and follow her own path.

(She never knew what argument was used to convince them. Her priestess wouldn't tell her, and neither would her parents. She was so grateful for the success that it didn't matter how. Being told she could follow her heart was unchaining, liberating.)

The priestess was dead now, and Alhaja couldn't reach out to her for advice anymore. She knew other priests of the Six but no one had been such a comforting, serene presence as that one. The priestess could have pushed her off as a foolish girl, like the healers and her family. She could have told Alhaja that it was the word of her God in hopes of getting the family to donate more to her abbey. She could have tried to get her parents to surrender Alhaja as a new acolyte. She didn't have to befriend her and encourage her to follow her quest and seek the truth in her heart. But she had.

And what did Alhaja have to show for it? Sometimes she felt like she was still a 13-year-old with dreams no one believed. She had a job free of her family, an enrollment in the Order of Whispers, and she had the freedom to pursue her quest to find the truth of Elona – if she had time outside of paid work or Whispers duty. She'd hoped working with the Order would be her ticket to the homeland, especially with her family's name, but she wasn't noticed enough to have the ear of anyone who might be able to aid her in that. Sometimes it felt like she was just in stasis, a holding pattern. Was this all there was to life? If this was what she was going to have, maybe she could just join the priesthood.

But the priestess, normally so rational and not given to flights of fancy, had sounded convinced that there was more for her to do. Maybe she'd had some vision of her own, a contact with Her that told her to fight for Alhaja. Or maybe she'd abandoned reason for a moment for faith and intuition of her own to reach that conclusion. (Kormir's realms were knowledge and truth, but not all knowledge was achieved at the end of rational thought; some truths could only be felt in the end – that was faith.)

Alhaja would continue putting her faith in the Gods, and continue serving Kormir by seeking out opportunities to pursue her quest. She would make it to Elona one day, and find the truths of it and compare it with her dreams and her heart. She just had to hold fast to her faith to sustain her – even when will and spirit failed.

But by the Six, she hoped it was soon!

[afoolsingenuity]

Shattered Minds // It Was Brilliant, I Didn’t Want To Put It Down

Shattered Minds (Pacifica #2) – Laura Lam

Published: 15th June 2017 Source: Netgalley Genre: Sci-fi, Thriller My Rating:

She can uncover the truth, if she defeats her demons.

Ex-neuroscientist Carina struggles with a drug problem, her conscience, and urges to kill. She satisfies her cravings in dreams, fuelled by the addictive drug ‘Zeal’. Now she’s heading for self-destruction – until she has a vision of a dead girl.

Sudice Inc. damaged Carina when she worked on their sinister brain-mapping project, causing her violent compulsions. And this girl was a similar experiment. When Carina realizes the vision was planted by her old colleague Mark, desperate for help to expose the company, she knows he’s probably dead. Her only hope is to unmask her nemesis – or she’s next.

To unlock the secrets Mark hid in her mind, she’ll need a group of specialist hackers. Dax is one of them, a doctor who can help Carina fight her addictions. If she holds on to her humanity, they might even have a future together. But first she must destroy her adversary – before it changes us and our society, forever.

I knew I wanted to read this book as soon as I had finished False Hearts last year. I don’t think this book even had a title at that point. I just knew I had to read it. I then promptly forgot about it until I saw the cover on Netgalley so instantly requested. I’m glad I did because Laura Lam in an author I don’t think got anywhere enough attention with that first book, False Hearts, and so I am determined to try again with Shattered Minds.

I will begin by saying this is a sci-fi read. The world it is set in is meant to be some kind of utopia where murder has been eradicated and there is meant to be these great lives for folks. Pacifica is meant to be an ideal place to live and the company, Sudice, has created this brilliant way for people to go into these dreamscapes and satisfy their urges in their dreams rather than in reality. It is obviously all a lie and completely flawed, but that is where we’re at with this book. Shattered Minds is also a standalone book, as is False Hearts, they are set in the same world and there are references to things mentioned in False Hearts in Shattered Minds but you don’t need to read one to enjoy the other (I love when that happens).

I was completely absorbed from the first page with this one, much as I was with False Hearts. I just didn’t want to stop reading at all and it was because I was intrigued by all these characters you are introduced to. I actually didn’t expect that as at first I didn’t understand how Carina was going to play a major role as she was a Zeal addict (Zeal is the drug used to take folks into their dreamscape) but I soon came to care about her and it was swiftly explained how this addict was going to play a pivotal role. And I really liked Dax from the get go. He was so calm and together in the book and I loved that he knew exactly who he was and what he was working towards. Even Roz, the villain of our story, was a brilliant in her emotionless way as you completely got she was being rational and logical (mostly) and that’s what motivated in her crazy way. I mean, I loved to hate Roz and I love when you feel strongly for an antagonist, it makes you care more what happens at the end.

The story in this book is brilliant and I don’t want to reveal plot details but Carina ends up joining a group who are trying to shine a light on the crimes Sudice has committed. Sudice for too long has accumulated power and basically has control over Pacifica as it is this giant corporation with it’s fingers in all the pies. And I loved it was a total David and Goliath type storyline where this tiny group tries to take on the big guy and it’s utterly brilliant. You’ll be cheering for them the entire time and won’t be able to help yourself.

It did make me a little uncomfortable the attitude to addiction in the book but it really showed how flawed a society Pacifica was and it kind of shines a light on reality as well. They were happy to leave Zealots (the Zeal addicts) to slowly kill themselves by getting lost in their dreamscapes and essentially starving themselves as they forget to care for their basic needs until they simply die. And people were swift to believe that only those with criminal tendencies are the ones who will be susceptible to becoming addicted as Zeal itself shouldn’t be addictive. I know that in reality we are swift to ignore things which make us uncomfortable (like those who are homeless and people begging on the streets) and easily assume that it’s their own fault, to invent that they are addicts and criminals. It may not be intentional that this book shines a light on a few flaws, but I certainly felt it did.

Essentially, this is a totally brilliant book you need to check out. This one is very much shining the flaws on society for me and it is an addictive read. Also, did I mention that Dax is transgender and a main character and the love interest in this book? No? Then you have another reason to read right there. I could list lots of reasons, really. It’s an awesome read and so addictive with these brilliant characters. You should really just check it out.

What’s the last book you read where you hooked from the first page? Anyone else read this or anything else by Laura Lam?

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