Where Can I Read Subway Surfers: 2 Books In 1 Online Free?

Bright and excited: Saori Hayami is the voice behind the lead in 'Raven of the Inner Palace' Season 2. Her performance is one of those things that instantly anchors the show — calm, refined, and quietly expressive. She has this way of making even the most subtle moments feel loaded with history and emotion, which suits the courtly, mysterious atmosphere of 'Raven of the Inner Palace' perfectly. If you watched Season 1, you’ll notice she reprises the role with the same poise but with a touch more emotional nuance in Season 2. I found myself paying more attention to the small inflections this time around; Hayami-sensei really knows how to sell a look or a pause through voice alone, and that elevates scenes that on paper might seem straightforward. Honestly, her casting feels like a peace-of-mind promise that the character will stay consistent and compelling — I’m genuinely happy with how she carries the lead this season.

I get that reaction all the time, and my instinct is to slow down and actually listen. First, I validate: 'That sounds frustrating' or 'You don’t have to pretend you like it.' Saying something like that out loud takes the heat out of the moment for a lot of kids. Then I pivot to tiny, manageable steps — not the whole program. I might ask, 'Pick two problems you want to try, and then you can choose what comes next.' Giving choice feels like power to them, and power reduces resistance. If the complaint is about boredom or repetition, I try to connect the work to something they care about. Sometimes I translate an IXL skill into a mini-game, a drawing challenge, or a real-world scenario: turn a fraction problem into pizza slices or a speed challenge with a timer. If it’s about difficulty, I’ll scaffold: show a worked example, do one together, then hand the reins back. When tech glitches or confusing wording are the culprits, I’ll pause the activity and walk through one item to model how to approach it. I always celebrate tiny wins — stickers, a quick high-five, a note home — because it rewires their association from 'boring chore' to 'I can do this.' At the end of the day I try to keep it light: sometimes we swap to a different activity or I let them opt for a creative learning task that covers the same skill. The goal isn’t to force affection for a platform but to help them feel capable and heard, and that small shift usually makes the next complaint quieter. I like watching them surprise themselves when frustration becomes curiosity.

My kid used to groan every time I said 'time for math' because the school was pushing those repetitive online exercises—sound familiar? A big part of why kids say they hate IXL is not just the problems themselves but the tone: endless skill drills, point chasing, and a sense that mistakes are punished instead of useful. What helped in my house was swapping out chunks of that practice for alternatives that actually respect how kids learn and stay fun. For basic skill practice I leaned on 'Khan Academy' for its mastery pathways—the immediate, friendly feedback and short video hints made a huge difference. For younger kids, 'SplashLearn' and 'Prodigy' kept things game-like without shaming mistakes; they rewarded exploration more than speed. When the goal is deep conceptual understanding, 'Zearn' (for math) and 'Desmos' activities let kids play with visuals and trial-and-error, which is way better than repeating the same algorithm 20 times. Beyond apps, I mixed in hands-on: number talks, whiteboard challenges, and project-style problems where the math had a real-world purpose (budgeting, building simple models). That combo reduced resistance—less eye-rolling, more 'can I do another?' moments. Teachers and parents can also change the context: offer choices, set growth goals instead of percent-perfect goals, and celebrate process instead of only points. It took some trial and error, but the classroom vibe shifted from survival to curiosity, and that made all the difference to us.

If you want a straightforward path to drawing Deku, I’ve got a go-to routine I use that turns messy scribbles into something recognizable without overcomplicating things. I start with basic shapes — an oval for the head, a light cross for eye placement, and a rectangle for the torso. From there I block in the hair mass; Deku’s hair is spiky but rounded at the tips, so I sketch loose zigzags and then refine them into clumps. Next I break his face into thirds to place the big, expressive eyes typical of 'My Hero Academia', adding the signature forehead scar and freckles. For the body I think in cylinders: neck, shoulders, arms, then add his school uniform or hero costume as simplified shapes before detailing. Shading is minimal at first: flat shadows under the chin and around the hairline. For guided material I like a mix: a short YouTube step-by-step for pacing, a Pinterest step-layer image for reference, and a DeviantArt or Tumblr breakdown for pose ideas. If you want specific practice drills, I do 10-minute face studies, 5-minute hair clump sketches, and then a single full-body pose once I feel comfortable. That combo — structure, focused drills, and reference layering — is what finally turned my scribbly Deku into something I’d actually post. It’s honestly so satisfying when the eyes start to feel alive.

Picking up a pencil and trying to copy Deku's poses is honestly one of the most fun ways kids can learn how bodies move. I started by breaking his silhouette into simple shapes — a circle for the head, ovals for the torso and hips, and thin lines for the limbs — and that alone made a huge difference. For small hands, focusing on the gesture first (the big action line) helps capture the energy before worrying about costume details from 'My Hero Academia'. After the gesture, I like to add joint marks at the shoulders, elbows, hips, and knees so kids can see where bending happens. Encouraging them to exaggerate a little — stretch a pose or tilt a torso — makes copying easier and gives a cartoony, confident look. Using light lines, erasing, and redrawing is part of the process, and tracing is okay as a stepping stone if it's paired with attempts to redraw freehand. Give them short timed exercises: 30 seconds for quick gestures, 2 minutes to clean up, and one longer 10-minute pose to refine. Pairing this with fun references like action figures or freeze-framing a 'My Hero Academia' scene makes practice feel like play. I still get a rush when a sketch finally looks alive, and kids will too.

I get asked this kind of thing a lot in book groups, and my short take is straightforward: I haven’t seen any major film adaptations of books by Hilary Quinlan circulating in theaters or on streaming platforms. From my perspective as someone who reads a lot of indie and midlist fiction, authors like Quinlan often fly under the radar for big-studio picks. That doesn’t mean their stories couldn’t translate well to screen — sometimes smaller presses or niche writers find life in festival shorts, stage plays, or low-budget indie features long after a book’s release. If you love a particular novel, those grassroots routes (local theater, fan films, or a dedicated short) are often where adaptation energy shows up first. I’d be thrilled to see one of those books get a careful, character-driven film someday; it would feel like uncovering a secret treasure.

Picking up a book labeled for younger readers often feels like trading in a complicated map for a compass — there's still direction and depth, but the route is clearer. I notice YA tends to center protagonists in their teens or early twenties, which naturally focuses the story on identity, first loves, rebellion, friendship and the messy business of figuring out who you are. Language is generally more direct; sentences move quicker to keep tempo high, and emotional beats are fired off in a way that makes you feel things immediately. That doesn't mean YA is shallow. Plenty of titles grapple with grief, grief, abuse, mental health, and social justice with brutal honesty — think of books like 'Eleanor & Park' or 'The Hunger Games'. What shifts is the narrative stance: YA often scaffolds complexity so readers can grow with the character, whereas adult fiction will sometimes immerse you in ambiguity, unreliable narrators, or long, looping introspection. From my perspective, I choose YA when I want an electric read that still tackles big ideas without burying them in stylistic density; I reach for adult novels when I want to be challenged by form or moral nuance. Both keep me reading, just for different kinds of hunger.

If you're hunting for a laugh-out-loud spin on 'Dune' or a silly retelling of 'The Time Machine', my go-to starting point is Archive of Our Own. AO3's tag system is a dream for digging up comedy: search 'humor', 'parody', 'crack', or toss in 'crossover' with something intentionally absurd (think 'Dune/X-Men' or 'Foundation/Harry Potter' parodies). I personally filter by kudos and bookmarks to find pieces that other readers loved, and then follow authors who consistently write witty takes. Beyond AO3, I poke around Tumblr microfics for one-shot gags and Wattpad for serialized absurd reimaginings—Wattpad often has modern-AU comedic rewrites of classics that lean into meme culture. FanFiction.net still has a huge archive, though its tagging is clunkier; search within category pages for titles like 'Frankenstein' or 'The War of the Worlds' and then scan chapter summaries for words like 'humor' or 'au'. If you like audio, look up fanfiction readings on YouTube or podcasts that spotlight humorous retellings. Reddit communities such as r/fanfiction and r/WritingPrompts regularly spawn clever, comedic takes on canonical works. Personally, I get the biggest kick from short, sharp pieces—drabbles and drabble collections—that turn a grave sci-fi premise into pure silliness, and I love bookmarking authors who can do that again and again.