#and she is SO cringe she is SO soggy i literally hate her she’s my favorite girl in the world

[frogs-in3-hills]

“why aren’t there any soggy pathetic women in fiction. why is it only horrible depressed little men”

how soon we forget her…. ultimate miserable idiot lesbian….

[Image ID: Four screenshots of Nana Komatsu from Ai Yazawa’s manga, Nana, and the anime adaptation of the same name. Nana is a young woman in her 20’s with shoulder length pinkish brown hair. She wears very feminine, fashionable clothing. End ID.]

[artificialqueens]

Galactica, Chapter 58 (Group Fic) - TheDane/Veronica

A/N: Click here if you’re looking for previous chapters (or here if you’d rather read on AO3). 💫

Last Chapter: Katya found out she might be pregnant, the assistant network caught on to BDR’s latest paramour, and Violet was ordered to go home and rest.

This Chapter: Gigi’s new look gets the reaction she’d hoped for, the twins enjoy some one on one time with their respective partners, Courtney has a rain-soaked nightmare, Pearl looks (but doesn’t touch) and Katya stresses.

***

Courtney knocked softly on Ivy’s door, a smile on her face that had been there almost all day. Fame had thankfully left early, she and Patrick spending the evening at some fancy opera event at the Met, leaving Courtney to get ready for her date in peace.

Her first official date with Bianca. It was almost too exciting for her to comprehend.

“Hey Courtney, what’s up?” Ivy asked, looking up from her computer, beckoning Courtney inside.

“Well, I have a date tonight...and it’s really important and I need to look hot and...I thought maybe I could borrow something from the closet again?”

“Oh. Yeah, that’s fine. Um...let me just finish this email and then I’ll help you. Feel free to go have a look around, though.”

“Thanks.” Courtney bit her lip, sensing that Ivy was decidedly less enthusiastic about this than the last time she’d helped. She was probably in the middle of something important, maybe anxious about her own Friday night plans. Courtney felt bad, and would have told her to forget it if she had literally any other options. “I promise to be quick!”

“Yeah, no worries.”

Courtney kept her promise, pulling a short, royal blue dress with a high slit and a pair of strappy aqua shoes.

“Are you sure you wanna wear those shoes, Court? It’s kind of horrendous outside,” Ivy said, but Courtney shook her head.

“It’s fine, I’m just gonna be going into a cab and then inside. Thank you so much for your help!”

“No problem,” Ivy said, always gracious even when Courtney was obviously annoying her. “I hope you have a good time.”

“I’m sure I will!” Courtney exclaimed, taking the dress and shoes back to her own office to change, already feeling giddy with excitement, wondering what Bianca’s idea of ‘wining and dining’ would be like.

She took her time getting ready, freshening her hair with a curling iron she’d stashed in her desk and giving herself what she hoped was a sexy smoky eye. She kept an eye on the clock, knowing that Fame expected her to be in the office until 7:30. She chose a berry-colored lip gloss from the samples that Alaska had given her, and then stepped into the bathroom to get dressed, thrilled that the dress fit perfectly. She checked her phone and computer one more time before signing out, making sure that there were no last-minute requests from Miss Fame, and then made her way downstairs to grab a taxi.

She’s just settled into the backseat when a message came through that made her heart sink.

FAME: Dogwalker sick. Need you to walk Charles ASAP.

Courtney groaned, tapping on the glass partition to redirect the cab driver, and then texting Bianca.

COURTNEY: Still dealing with a work thing. I’m so so sorry, I might be a little late.

BIANCA: No rush. We can always push the reservation.

COURTNEY: I’ll tell you the second I’m on the way.

BIANCA: XX

Courtney knew that dog walking was an occasional part of her job, although it hadn’t come up yet before. However, she’d carefully read the 7 pages of instructions Violet left about him, knowing that Charles was Fame’s treasured companion and she would be toast if anything ever happened to him, and prepared for the time when she’d have to step up. She wasn’t terribly worried--after all, she loved dogs, and her own family had German Shepherds, so a big dog shouldn’t be any trouble.

But Charles wasn’t just big. He was massive, outweighing her by a hefty amount, first fighting her as she tried to put on the raincoat that he apparently hated, and then dragging her down the street so fast that she slipped on some ice, falling to her knees on the corner, immediately cursing herself for not listening to Ivy about those stupid shoes.

“Charles, sit!” Courtney was terrified that he would run into the street without her and get hurt, rain and sleet pummeling her face as she sacrificed her umbrella to grip the leash with both hands. As she tried to stand, a bus drove by, sloshing icy gutter water all over her. “Fucking shit!”

Charles, of course, paid no attention to her predicament, still single-mindedly bound for the edge of the park where he was trained to do his business. Courtney got up, shivering, and took him across the street, finding herself soon faced with picking up a steaming, human-sized pile of shit in the pouring rain. By the time they got back to Fame’s mud room and Charles properly toweled off (with him stepping all over her chest with muddy paws in the process), she was soaked to the bone and shivering like crazy.

She glanced at herself in the mirror, wincing at her soggy, lifeless hair and smeared eye makeup, knowing that there was no way she could show up for a date looking like that. She got out her phone, dialing Bianca’s number with shaking fingers.

“Hey, sunshine,” Bianca answered, and Courtney closed her eyes, cringing at how wrong that nickname was at the moment.

“Hi. Um...I don’t think I can make it tonight,” she said, trying her best not to cry.

“What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I just...I had a situation with Fame’s dog and I’m soaking wet and I look an absolute mess and I can’t-”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa...are you okay? It’s freezing outside!” Bianca exclaimed.

“Yeah...I just...I should go home, I can’t-”

“You’re not seriously thinking about getting on a train to the Bronx right now, are you? You’ll die of hypothermia. I can hear your teeth chattering, for fuck’s sake.”

“But I can’t go out, I look-”

“Okay, then we’ll stay in.”

“But you wanted to go out, and-”

“No, I wanted to spend time with you. I’m starting a hot bath right now. Get a cab, come over, I’ll see you in ten minutes,” Bianca instructed, and Courtney couldn’t help but feel a bit of relief that someone else was taking charge of the situation.

***

Gigi couldn’t stop staring at herself in the hallway mirror, her fingers gliding through her silky soft hair for the third time.

It was the most gorgeous deep auburn red, the color bringing out her freckles and playing up her grey eyes.

She looked like a completely different person, and she loved it.

“Looks like someones been to Juju’s.”

Gigi turned to see Symone leaning against the doorframe, a smile on her face, the adorable gap between her white front teeth stupidly charming.

“What gave it away?” Gigi giggled, throwing her hair over her shoulder.

“Just wait til you go shopping.” Symone grinned, her jeans slung low on her hips. “The underwear I have now is more expensive than any other clothes I have ever owned.”

“You got new underwear?” Gigi felt her eyes widened. “With like… With Sutan?” She bit her lip. Sutan had gone with her to the salon, him and Juju talking quietly while she was getting her hair washed by an assistant. They had obviously made the right choice, Gigi feeling like a superhero, but she couldn’t imagine any man coming with her to a lingerie store.

“Sure.” Symone shrugged. “It’s all ‘foundational undergarments’ and ‘French cut’ this, ‘t-shirt bra’ that. ‘You need a secure adhesive backless’. Where I’m from we just call those chicken cutlets.” Symone smiled. “For my first fitting, he asked me to wear high rise briefs and a seamless bra. I felt like my grandma.”

Gigi laughed, the tiny worry she had felt flare up already gone again.

“Do you want to cook dinner together?” Symone pushed out from the door, and Gigi nodded, this modeling thing already so much better than she had dared hoped for.

***

“Ah!” Violet moaned as Sutan pushed her forward, his body boxing her in and keeping her in place. They were in the kitchen, the counter digging into her hips.

“Hey gorgeous,” Sutan’s voice was low, his lips against her neck, his warmth breath tickling her skin. She felt him grab the edge of her skirt, hiking it up and over her knees, thighs and even ass as he pulled it higher and higher, pooling it on the counter, forcing Violet to hold it herself, his hand guiding her before he let go.

“Please-“ Violet groaned, his fingers digging into the fabric, every move she made exposing herself further.

“Please what?”

She could feel Sutan’s fingers glide up her outer thigh and Violet blushed, her core burning hot, her panties getting wetter by the second.

“Please-“

It felt absolutely filthy, and so fucking good, Sutan in complete control and Violet loved it.

They were both tipsy, their wine glasses and dinner plates in the sink, the dishes completely forgotten when Sutan had given Violet a quick kiss that had developed into so much more.

“Please what lovely eyes?” Sutan’s voice was silky smooth, nothing in his tone betraying the way his fingers danced over her ass cheek, nails scratching on skin, a fingertip sneaking under the lace.

“I-“ Violet swallowed. She felt like she was drowning, wanted to drown, wanted to disappear in everything Sutan was. “I-“

“Tell me,” Sutan whispered, his lips against her ear. “Or I might punish you darling.” He leaned forward, pushing her that little bit further, and that was when it happened.

“Ah!” Violet closed her eyes, a blinding pain shooting through her. “Wait! Wait wait wait!”

Her foot had gotten caught on an angle, and Sutan jumped backwards.

“Wait,” Violet took a deep breath through her nose, the pain already disappearing, frustrated tears welling up in her eyes. “Fuck-“

“Everything okay?”

Violet turned around to see that Sutan had taken literal steps back, his trousers still tented, his dick obviously hard underneath the zipper.

“Mmh,” Violet nodded, the delightful embarrassment from earlier replaced with something that felt a lot more like shame, her eyes focused on Sutan’s feet. “I-“

“Can I touch you again?”

Violet’s head snapped up, Sutan looking at her, a glimpse of insecurity in his eyes, almost like he was the one who had done something wrong.

“Please-“ Violet opened her arms, and seconds later she could bury her face in his neck, his arms around her, holding her tight, kisses pressed into her hair.

“I’m sorry,” Sutan murmed, his voice low. “I didn’t mean to-“

“I know-“ Violet smiled, the apology so unnecessary it was almost comical. “I know.”

“Good.” Sutan pulled back, a hand in her hair tilting Violet’s head upwards so he could look at her. “Good. I shouldn’t have-“

Violet leaned forward, shutting him up with a kiss, her arms going around his neck as she held him tight.

***

When her cab pulled up in front of Bianca’s building, the doorman immediately rushed forward to open her door. She was fumbling with her credit card, fingers still stiff and cold, but he gestured for her to put it away.

“Ms. Del Rio is taking care of that,” he said, handing over some cash to the driver, then covering her with an umbrella and walking her to the lobby, where she was sent up in a different elevator than last time, directly to Bianca’s second floor, right outside her bedroom.

Courtney clutched her soaking wet jacket, trying to get her bearings when Bianca appeared around the corner, looking at her with concern and dismay.

“Omigod, baby, come here…”

Courtney barely knew what was happening as Bianca rushed her into the bathroom, helping her strip off her wet things.

“What the fuck are you doing in these shoes in this weather? And this jacket--why aren’t you in a winter coat?” Bianca asked, dropping it to the floor and then unzipping her dress, her voice gentle despite the scolding words.

“Th-that is my winter coat.”

“That’s not a winter coat,” Bianca informed her, pulling the dress down.

Courtney didn’t have the energy to protest, and besides, she was much more concerned with the dress.

“The dress isn’t mine, I think I ruined it-” she began, voice breaking, and Bianca looked it over while she stepped out of her panties and placed her jewelry on the counter.

“It’ll be fine, it just needs to be cleaned,” Bianca promised, leading her, still shivering, over to the jacuzzi tub, where a huge pile of bubbles was waiting for her. “I didn’t make it too hot, because I didn’t want to shock your system. But you can change the temp if you want.”

Courtney sank into the bubbles, the water silky and warm as a hug. After a few seconds, she finally began to feel her fingers and toes again, flexing them under the water, a sigh leaving her. She looked up, where Bianca was setting a remote control at the edge of the tub--which apparently controlled the jets and the temperature and even the lights. Courtney had never seen anything like it. She’d also put out a whole basket of bath products and lit a couple of candles.

“I’ll give you some privacy now,” Bianca said. “I left some towels and a robe on the warmer, and uh...if you need anything else, just let me know, okay?”

“Can you stay?”

It was embarrassing to admit, but Courtney didn’t want to be alone right now. Bianca didn’t make her feel weird about it though, simply took a seat on the ledge beside her, chatting about her trip, the trouble her staff had created while she was away, her voice soothing as Courtney leaned back against the terry cloth pillow with her eyes shut.

After she’d warmed up a little, Bianca washed her hair, strong and sure fingertips massaging the lather into her scalp as the other hand cradled her neck. She then helped her dry off with heated towels, and finally wrapped her in a warm fluffy robe while she ran a blow dryer through her hair. Courtney couldn’t remember ever feeling this cared for in her life, not even as a child, and if it wasn’t such absolute heaven, she’d probably feel ashamed at how much she enjoyed it.

She managed to swallow down a few mouthfuls of soup from the Chinese delivery that Bianca had ordered for dinner before her eyelids began to droop. Bianca noticed immediately, pressing a kiss to her forehead and then leading her to bed. She curled into Bianca’s arms, limbs growing heavy as hands stroked her back soothingly.

“Do you feel better now, angel?” Bianca asked.

“I felt better the second I walked in the door,” Courtney murmured.

“Yeah?”

“I guess there’s not really a door. The second I stepped off your elevator,” Courtney said, making Bianca laugh, her sleepiness causing her to be more honest than was probably called for, adding a whispered, “You make everything better.”

***

Pearl sat at a stool towards the back of the club, nursing a drink while telling herself over and over again that she was doing nothing wrong.

For one thing, she and Adore were over. Actually, fully over. And for another, she had no idea if Dahlia was even dancing tonight. She’d just come by for a casual drink...for the third time in 3 days. Just to see. Just to look.

And there was nothing wrong with looking, right? Even if she had lied to Trixie and Katya about where she was.

Pearl had already brushed off a parade of girls, tipping all of them, but saying no to everything else they offered, since she didn’t want to miss her chance of seeing Dahlia.

She was just about to give up, when one of the last dancers of the night came on, and there, there she was.

Dahlia was just as beautiful as Pearl remembered her, even more beautiful actually, since her costume for the night was the naughtiest sheer black teddy and lace panties, tiny little pink bows attached to the spaghetti straps of her top.

Her brown hair was styled in a delicate mess of brown curls, her plump lips painted pink, her eyes heavy and sultry, Dahlia looking like a sex kitten getting ready to go on the prowl.

Pearl swallowed as ‘Kiss It Better’ by Rihanna started playing, taking a big gulp of her drink.

Pearl hadn’t known if she wanted Dahlia to notice that she was there, hadn’t really thought this through at all, but when Dahlia dipped down on the pole, her ass beyond perfection, their eyes met across the room.

Pearl watched as Dahlia’s lips parted for a second, her eyes widening, but then, she smirked, throwing her hair over her shoulder.

***

“Mmh,” Raven moaned, her fingers in Raja’s long dark hair, her fiancée's lips on her neck, one of her hands up her top. They had been watching a movie on the couch, staying in just the two of them such a rare treat that they had even made popcorn. “Please-”

“Please?” Raja grinned, her long body on top of Raven’s under their blanket, their movie completely forgotten. “Are you being polite princess?”

“Fuck off.” Raven showed Raja’s shoulder, which only made the older woman laugh. “I’m perfectly polite.”

“Sure,” Raja smiled, shifting her knee so it slid in between Raven’s thighs, her skirt riding up to make room for Raja’s pant covered leg. “That’s what I love about you. How polite you are.”

Raven pulled on Raja’s hair, a surprised gasp leaving her girlfriend. She thrusted her hips, forcing Raja off balance and down in a messy kiss, teeth clacking, their lipsticks smearing, Raven taking charge.

***

“Just a few more minutes.” Trixie smiled, his open palm resting on Katya’s knee, his thumb rubbing up and down, trying his best to be comforting.

They were in the bathroom, Katya sitting on the closed toilet while Trixie knelt on the floor next to her, the elephant in the room the pregnancy test that was lying on the edge of the sink, both of them doing their damndest not to look at it yet.

He could tell she was anxious, knew that from the second she told him that she’d bought the test after work, even before she admitted that she was afraid to take it.

Trixie had always assumed that one day he’d be a father, and he was certain that Katya would be the best mom ever, so in his mind, this news was either amazingly exciting or slightly disappointing.

But Katya was another story, her clear terror making him dampen his own enthusiasm so that she felt safe to express herself. The last thing he wanted was to make her feel guilty for being scared on top of everything else. He knew, also, that there was a chance that she wouldn’t want this potential baby, so he prepared himself mentally to support her in whatever she wanted to do.

“I love you,” he offered softly, adding, “And it’ll be okay, no matter what it says.”

“Mmhmm,” Katya murmured agreement, though her eyes said that she didn’t fully believe him.

“Yo yo yo, where my bitches at?!” called out a voice, the slur telling them that Pearl had been drinking quite a bit.

Trixie assumed that Katya wouldn’t want to be interrupted during this private moment, but apparently, he was wrong.

“We’re in here!” Katya called, and Pearl’s heavy footsteps approached the door, pushing it open.

“This is a weird place for a party, dudes,” Pearl said, jacket hanging off one of her shoulders. “What’s going on?”

“Umm…” Trixie considered how to handle the situation delicately.

“I might be knocked up,” Katya said quickly, and Pearl’s eyes grew large, her mouth falling open.

“Wh-how?”

“Probably sex,” she answered, and all three of them laughed, breaking the tension just a little.

“So…” Pearl plopped down beside Trixie on the tile floor, and a rush of gratitude flooded his heart, relieved for the distraction, understanding why Katya called her in. That is, until she asked, “Have we thought about names? Cause I’d like to submit ‘Pearl Junior’ for consideration.”

“Pearl Junior?” Trixie scoffed. “Why, you’re not the father.”

“Come on! Little Pearlie J. P.J.?!”

“I don’t hate it,” Katya said, and Pearl cheered, giving her a fist bump. “But remember, I might not even be pregnant.”

“True, but you guys are getting married. It’ll be relevant eventually.”

“Not necessarily,” said Katya, gripping Trixie’s hand tighter. He squeezed her back in what he hoped was a reassuring manner.

“Yuh huh! That’s why we call you ‘breeders’!” Pearl insisted.

“But I just don’t-” Katya began, but was interrupted by the timer on Trixie’s phone.

“You ready?” he asked, taking both of her hands in his.

“No.”

“Well...remember, sometimes these tests aren’t 100% accurate. So whatever it says, it might not mean...” He reached out, catching a tear that had slipped down her cheek. “Babe…”

“I know. But I...can’t look.” Katya curled into his arms, burying her face in his neck. “You do it.”

Unfortunately, the stick was just out of reach, unless he let go of her, which he wasn’t prepared to do.

“Pearl, can you-”

“Sure.” Pearl snatched the test off the sink, looking at it, brow furrowed. “What the fuck does 11 mean?”

Katya’s head snapped up, reaching for the test while Pearl picked up the box.

“Why would it say 11? That’s so dumb, how do you know if...ohhhh.”

[iamwhelmed]

Win One, Have Two: Chapter Three

All right, there’s quite a bit of blood in this chapter, so warning for that. No, there’s no graphic depictions of anything particularly brutal, because I’m not even particularly sure I’m capable of writing that, but be warned about the blood. There’s a lot of it. Also, pay close attention to the OC introduced in this chapter-- he might be foreshadowing something... or someone ;)

You can also find it on AO3 and Fanfiction.net!

Summary: With Isaac gone and Ed sent away to train, the club struggles to find some sense of normalcy, but so do Suzy and Collin-- and the rest of the school; the monster attack on Mayview Middle has some interesting consequences. Isaac, meanwhile, struggles to atone for betraying his loved ones, and the mission is not without difficulty and pain, not that he was expecting any less. It's just more than he counted on.

He'd been rummaging through the dumpster for the better half of an hour, cautiously at first, then impatient. Isaac winced as he took the moment to heave another cardboard box out of the way to get to what was below it, pausing to skim over the address on the side.

Saint Joseph's Walk-In-Clinic.

It took him awhile to find the place, and even longer to locate the dumpster-- at the side and not the back-- but he was on no time limit, at least not a fatal one… he didn't think. Isaac took a deep breath and stood a little taller, as much as his bruised knees would let him, and pressed deeper into the mess of used band-aids, vomit-covered tissues, and candy wrappers. Quite frankly, he was surprised he hadn't unintentionally run a needle straight through his skin, yet. He'd been overly aware of every little disgusting piece of used clinic equipment, but that was the one thing he was yet to find- that, and the bandages he was looking for.

The tips of his fingers brushed against something soft and firm, like a sturdy cloth; he gripped and pulled.

It was indeed a bandage, and-- though it was covered in blood upon further inspection-- it would do just fine. Isaac cringed, doing his best not to touch the contents directly as he stuffed it all into his pocket.

Each step he took to approach the front was small, and nervous, and he continually glanced around to be sure nobody had seen him snooping (as they would probably assume the worst of him, even if there apparently wasn't a single needle in there). He peeked around the corner and waited for whoever had just pulled in to cross the threshold of the clinic, then pressed on to his next location-- a private sink.

Well, the next best thing was a water fountain in an otherwise abandoned park. There was a nicer one across the street, he'd noted, so he'd more than likely be left to his own devices. He pressed down on the button with his stomach and used both hands to run the bandages under the cold drinking water, rubbing his thumbs along the blood and watching as red caressed and floated into blue, becoming almost pink on its journey down the metal bowl and into the drain.

There was a lot of it, more than he'd counted on, but he was nothing if not stubborn. Pressing his lips together, Isaac leaned forward and rolled the bandages, squeezing the blood and cleaning them more forcefully, hands becoming rougher to rid them of as much as he could. He couldn't leave a drop behind or risk making his injuries worse. The last thing he wanted was to end up in an emergency room, trying to explain to a room full of cops and doctors just what had happened to him and why he was a handful of cities away from home. He took a breath. Relax, Isaac. We're not there yet. We're a month in and we've done a pretty good job looking after ourselves, right? Right.

And it had been just him; King C hadn't been much help since he left, hadn't spoken to him in a while, and when he had he'd tried to get Isaac to turn around- to go home. Why? Well, he hadn't much of a clue. King C hated Spender and hated the club and hated Doorman, so why he would possibly care that his "vessel" wasn't in the same town anymore was beyond him.

It wasn't like he was worried about him.

He pulled away from the faucet, holding the bandages to the side and wringing them as much as he could of the remaining water. Liquid came gushing out, mixed with whatever was left of the blood from before, and seeped into the grass and dirt at his feet. It wasn't until it was only hardly dripping that Isaac sighed and pulled the neck of his hoodie and his shirt down to take his injured arm out of its sleeve. Gross, but it's better than nothing, I guess. With a grunt, he began wrapping it around the abrasion on his upper arm, wincing as the soggy, sloppy bandage stuck to his skin like a freezing sticker and leaked what little water was left, wetting the rest of his limb and some of his torso. "Ugh… yuck." Yeah, that was a little harder to deal with than he'd anticipated, but it wasn't like he had a choice.

He had to keep moving. Isaac fixed his shirt and hoodie, then stuck his hands in his pockets, turning for the exit he'd mapped out on his way in. It'd happened to him before, in his time away from Mayview, that he'd gotten lost in an unfamiliar area-- he'd been out of the city maybe once or twice before, and that had been by plane. If he was going to keep from dying alone in a dense wilderness, it was in his best interest to keep an eye on the entrance. Something snapped behind him, and he blinked; it was also, perhaps, in his best interest to stay aware of his surroundings-- especially if he was being followed.

He glanced over his shoulder, saw nothing, and continued onward.

He was a man, yes, but she wouldn't have placed him any older than 19, 20. He certainly wasn't old enough to have a bottle of whiskey in his hand, or to be falling all over the place, hollering at innocent spirits doing nothing to him. He waved his bottle around, fumbling towards the small, helpless spirits as they floated along, no bigger than the size of his head, round with big beady black eyes and literal button noses. They moved away from him, but he grew closer each time they did. She hummed, and approached him cautiously. Smiling offhandedly to the spirits, she tapped him on the shoulder three times.

"If they wanted to hurt you, they'd have done it by now."

He whipped around to look at her, eyes wide, stumbling over himself because he'd lost a balance she wasn't sure he'd had to begin with. Broad-shouldered, she noted, lots of muscles, must have been an athlete. Football? Wrestling? It didn't matter, she was just curious.

"I-I'm n-not talkin' t' the trees."

"I know. You're talking to the spirits," she tilted her head "which I'm going to assume is the reason you're downing Captain Jack."

He dropped the bottle with a laughable start, eyes wide and mouth ajar. It hit his foot and popped to the dirt he'd made tracks in falling all over himself. He would be fine; she would make him fine. His lips wobbled, trying to get words out, failing, and his legs hobbled, trying to move away-- move forward-- she wasn't sure even he knew. "Wh… you can see-?" He cleared his groggy throat. "You can see 'em?"

"Yes, I can" she gave him her best smile, a familiar one, one she cringed to know she'd once used blindly, like a fool, to get ahead in a world she had yet to understand was full of evil "My name is Catriona, and if you'd like, I could help you with all of that fear you're harboring… if you help me"

She was waiting there at the bottom of the staircase for him, looking bored, umbrella in her backpack, sticking out, much like her. Max wished he could say he was surprised, but he never was. She glanced up at him as he started his trek down the stairs, and he nodded to her.

Zoey probably ignored their parting, but his dad waved and gave them a "hope you have a good day", which honestly never had an effect on anybody's day in the history of ever, but he and Isabel waved back like they always did.

It had been like this since Isaac left. Ed went off to go train, Dimitri was on the other side of town-- and Max seemed to be the only one constantly seething about their missing club mascot and that whole situation-- but anyway Isaac wasn't there, and so that left two, him and her. She was lonely (even though she wouldn't admit it for the life of her or her grandfather or, heck, Mister Spender), and he was in a never-ending state of concern, so they walked together, kept an eye on each other. Max was, after all, sure that Ed would literally slaughter him if he let Isabel go about being sad and mopey. Honestly, Dimitri did a better job at keeping her… distracted… than he did, but he figured the the long walk to school was the hardest hitter for her.

He knew what it was like to be alone in your thoughts for excrutiatingly long periods of time.

"How'd you sleep?"

Isabel laughed nervously and rubbed the back of her neck. "Umm, heh, uh…"

"Up late, then?" Max cocked an eyebrow, watching with some surmountable interest as her cheeks grew rosy.

"Oh, no… no… not really, no. Just talked to Ed for a little while and couldn't get to sleep after."

If he'd learned anything about Isabel, it was that she was an unreliable narrator, and that she absolutely, no question, stayed up all night talking to Ed.

He snorted and stuck his hands in his pockets, eyeing her in his peripheral, grin itching across his face- and if her glare was any indication, she could see it. "Oh I'm sure."

"Max."

"Isabel."

"Max" She grimaced, one hand hovering above her face as she inhaled, then running over it as she exhaled. "I was up for another reason."

"Why are you getting so defensive?" He chuckled and dodged the fist flying at his chest, ducking then sidestepping to get out of punching radius. She'd never hurt him, but he still didn't want to see how close she'd come to leave a bruise. "You were up late talking to your best friend! What's so hard to admit about that?"

"Because I'm telling the truth! He called me right before training started! We only had, like, an hour to talk! I was up late because- because-!"

He looked at her head-on, the best example of his irritating, mocking, maddeningly-sly grin to date on the brink of delivery, when he noticed her eyes had fallen elsewhere, and she didn't seem too preoccupied with him anymore. He dropped the smirk and looked over his shoulder, morbidly curious if one asked. It was rare to knock the fire out of Isabel so squarely, so cleanly, and he had to admit he was almost dreading whatever lied over his shoulder.

He swallowed hard when he saw it-- Isaac's face. He'd forgotten that Suzy's posters were splayed all over the city, that she wasn't planning on letting anybody forget Isaac O'Connor, and all at once he was reminded that he did, indeed, have something to be distracted from, too.

He bit his tongue, then sighed, slowly, softly, low enough to not be heard. "Do you think he's okay?"

"Who cares?"

Max started; he hadn't been expecting quite that response.

He turned back to her, eyes wide, mouth open and not working, to see that she'd long since directed her gaze to the sidewalk ahead of them, or maybe the school in the distance. She was icy, and nonchalant, like she hadn't even known Isaac, like those darkened, narrowed eyes of hers had never even seen him before. "He betrayed us then left on his own to get attention. He made that choice," she shrugged, turning her head away so he couldn't see her face anymore "as far as I'm concerned, he can stay gone."

Right. Of course. They weren't close in the first place. Why should he expect her to worry about him? As it was, he had no idea why he was giving himself gray hairs-- he was even less familiar with the kid. Still…

Max turned to the ground, eyes narrowing, hands clenching dangerously around the straps of his bag.

He'd been right. He was being followed. From the length of his trip from the park to the empty highways alongside dense forests-- he was in a scope he didn't want to be in.

Isaac winced, landing roughly on the soles of his shoes, falling onto his rear so hard he could feel his tailbone nearly break. He covered his mouth before he could react-- no sound. If somebody heard him, they'd find him; if they found him, they'd turn him in-- but before that, they'd get hurt.

After all, Isaac turned his eyes from his torn up jeans and the equally as torn legs beneath them to the monster hovering over him.

Just like the others before, it was bloody, and it had teeth in its eyes the length of one of his arms, with one mouth that spanned nearly half of its lower horizontal length, filled with ectoplasm and disconnected sharp teeth, and skin that was perpetually melting somehow, like its body was made of slime. It moved forward on four claws on either side, each individual one the length of his upper body.

He pulled back with one hand, raising his other to spout off some electricity, something! Anything! But only a small ball of lightning sparked in his hand, dying just as quickly as it lived. He grunted. His powers were dying, and he had some idea why. Glancing down at his stomach between moments where he used his legs to propel his body backwards, he could catch a glimpse of the deep, open wound in his abdomen. It hurt like nothing he'd ever felt before, had his lower body sore and his exposed skin stinging, burning, flaring and dying the more he pressed on.

The monster swung at him, and he only just missed the impact of a claw at his face.

Isaac pressed back some more, and more, until his back was against a tree, and the only place left to go was right or left.

He set one hand, gently, at his open wound and grimaced.

Right or left? If he went right, he'd be running straight into the city, potentially leading the monster into innocent civilian territory. Not only would that lead to the potential deaths and injuries of dozens of people, but he had a feeling whatever organization Spender worked for would have to step in… and if he got caught in that…

Left. There was only open road for miles, and it would take him about fifteen minutes to get to a city, and therefore leave his wounds unattended to for a longer period of time, but he had a chance to lose the monster and get to safety and get to the next town.

Yeah. Left.

He should have made the decision quicker- just a second, just a moment, and he might have gotten out of the way in time.

He went to move just as the monster's claw came down on his head, on his face-- on his eye. He was lucky enough to miss the brunt of it, but it still grazed him, left his eye bleeding, left him worse than before.

"Augh!" He fell forward, but caught himself on one hand, using it to push himself back on his feet again, and he bolted. The monster screamed after him, and he heard its claws digging into the ground, pulling grass apart and making hills and holes behind him as he ran. He choked on the air and pressed one arm to his abdomen, holding it there and keeping as much pressure on it as possible.

He had to get away.

Afternoon patrol had been uneventful, much like usual, and thus Max was quick to go for his backpack upon entering the clubroom with Isabel and Dimitri.

The three of them hadn't spoken much-- er, Max hadn't spoken to the two of them much. He would have been lying if he said he wasn't still harboring some irritation at Isabel for earlier, for brushing Isaac off like that, for being so-- so-- he grimaced and swung his bag over his shoulder with malice, like it'd been the one that'd done him wrong.

"Why don't I walk you home today, Iz?" Iz, not Izzy, like Ed called her. Max had noticed the difference in Dimitri after the first week or so of him joining the club again. He was cool, sometimes unreasonably chill, and that was just another one of his quirks. He was yet to assign a cute short nickname to Max, but Max had the sneaking-- call it crazy-- suspicion that "Max" was too short a name to cut a pet name from. Not that he wanted one.

"Sure!" She smiled at Dimitri as they both came to a stand after bending down to grab their things, and both waved, said their goodbyes, and left before Max could even catch up with reality. His mind was elsewhere, and as it usually had been, it was difficult to pull that rope back from the edge of the very open sea. He felt distant, almost, like his mind was somewhere out there, outside the barrier, and his body was stuck in Mayview. He hadn't been able to get his mind off of it, off of the monsters or off of Isaac or much of anything. It was really too much stress for a twelve-year-old, but there wasn't exactly anybody to pin the blame on. There was nobody for a parent to go yell at, nobody to wag a finger at, because he wasn't stressing over homework, or about an unfair test grade, or even about an exam worth way more than was reasonable for for his grade-- he was thinking about ectoplasm and blood in the halls, and the broken look in Isaac's eyes last time he'd seen him, and the how's and why's and the secrets he was keeping and--!

"Max?"

He snapped back to reality, to Mister Spender standing over him with a warm, awkward smile, and a hand waving in front of his face. He turned pink, and Spender stood up straight, hand dropping to his side. "Why haven't you left yet? Afternoon patrol is over, Max. You're free to go?"

"Oh, uh… yeah" He looked to the floor, one hand at the side of his neck, fingers nestling into the warmth of his hoodie. "I wanted to ask a question."

Spender seemed relieved, the furrows of his brow unfolding and the concern in his smile fading until it was just his regular happy-go-lucky grin. "Of course! I am a fruit tree of knowledge-- both historical and paranatural! I am here for your picking!"

Max cleared his throat. "Well, one, I'm going to need you to never say that to anyone, ever again, that was really weird."

"Oh."

"Two," He glanced away. "Have you forgiven Isaac for what he did?"

Spender didn't move for a moment, and then he sighed.

Max watched him out of the corner of his eye as he slumped over to his desk, hoisting himself up onto it and plopping down with a heavy body, and maybe a heavy heart. Spender was the only one who would talk to him, for real, about Isaac, the only one who would openly discuss efforts to find him, to bring him home, and it was for that reason Max wished desperately he could tell him Isaac wasn't in the city anymore, that he was looking in the wrong place. But he couldn't, not unless he wanted to cause trouble with Doorman and stab Isaac in the back while he was at it. He let himself look at Spender then, and see the man slumped over, elbows on his knees. He raised his head and smiled at Max, and even though he looked defeated, it was some comfort. "I knew Isaac would come around, I never had any doubt. Isaac is…" He ran a hand through his hair, which looked a little more unruly than usual. "Isaac is confused, but he's a good person at heart."

Max nodded silently; he didn't need to voice his agreement for Spender to know he felt the same.

Spender exhaled, and his voice dropped low. "I just hope that he's okay, wherever he is."

"-- and I literally blew up the target!" Isabel ran a finger under her nose, beaming at the impressed, awed look on Dimitri's face. It was a rare sight to see; after all, Dimitri wasn't one to be surprised by much of anything. He always had an ongoing game of chess going on somewhere in the back of his mind, was constantly thinking and predicting and acting a certain way, so the rise of his brows and the smile sneaking up on him was especially gratifying for her to set her eyes on.

"Nice! Man, I used to be able to hold my own against you, but I'm not so sure I could now.."

She laughed and raised one hand, smacking Dimitri in the back harder than normal, but enough that she knew he could take it. He wasn't a wimp, never had been. "Hah, it would be interesting to see how rusty you are. Maybe we should test this theory?"

His smile turned sly. "I still bet you can't pin me."

"I bet you I could."

He snorted, and their arms brushed together. He was leaning into her, and she leaned back, but he just as quickly pulled away. She would have done the same, but he spoke, and his voice was deeper than usual, and slower, though it rang just as cool to the ear. "You're right, we should certainly test this hypothesis… say, after school tomorrow?"

She grinned. It'd been awhile since she'd had company over at the dojo, which had become glaringly apparent to her after Ed packed his bags and hauled them over to Master Hashimoto's. She supposed she'd never really had much of a need for other friends, not with him around, not when she had a practically built-in friend at her hip in school and right next door at home. She wondered, against her better judgement, whether or not Ed felt the same, if he missed her like that… if he'd already made some friends at the new dojo.

With a shake of her head, she straightened up, nose in the air. "I'd say that sounds like a fine time for a duel!"

"Great!" He took a few steps ahead of her "It's a date, then."

And that was where he cheeks decided, spontaneously, to combust and/or become cherries, she didn't care which. She couldn't see his face from the angle she was at, and even so, her heart gave her one heavy, forceful pound- or leap, she wasn't sure. It hadn't done that before. All because of the word "date"? Really? She shrugged it off and took a slow jog to catch up with him.

The sink was full of red, full of blood-- his blood.

Isaac grinded his teeth and pressed his tongue as firmly as he could to the roof of his mouth as he pulled the bandages he'd earlier stolen from the walk-in clinic dumpster from his arm, hissing as he pulled each agonizing inch off of his skin. Every fiber of his being wanted him to huff, to whimper, to slam his head against the wall to ease the pain, but he couldn't. His eye had hurt, but it hadn't been deep; he took care of it by tossing water at it for a good minute, and though it still stung, it wasn't nearly as bad as the gash in his lower stomach.

He let out a gruff, feral grunt as he pulled the last of the bandage from his arm, lifting his shirt up for the first time since he'd cleaned the wound to put some pressure on it.

It hadn't stopped bleeding.

He exhaled and bent over the sink, glaring down at the stained drain with such disbelief in himself and his situation it was hard for him to even fathom that he was bleeding out in a gas station bathroom. Bandaging his wound would not be enough to take care of it-- he had to do something else.

He pulled his head up to look at himself in the mirror, trying not to stare too long at the dark circles under his eyes or the pale, dead blue that used to be bright like his thunder. He eyed the toilet, then turned around to look at more than its reflection.

The handle on the side was old, and rusty, and tilted to the side when it should have been sturdy and straight, jutting out of the side. He had a feeling it wouldn't work if he tried to flush the toilet, looking at the handle the way it was, but it might have been some other use for him. It was, after all, the perfect length. Isaac, are you sure you want to do this? It's unsanitary. It's disgusting. He sighed.

It was the only choice he had.

Well, if he was really going to do this, he needed a few things. Isaac glanced at his hoodie, which he'd discarded to the floor after he cleared it of the blood that'd soaked through his shirt; it wouldn't have done him any good to walk around in a bloody jacket all the time-- his shirt could get as covered as possible, it meant nothing, but the hoodie would catch attention. Careful not to disturb his abdomen any more than need be, he reached down and tugged it back on.

"I'm telling you, I can't handle so many students at once!" Spender gestured around the empty blackness that was his room, BL floating above him the way she always did, legs crossed like she wasn't placing the world on his shoulders-- his world. He didn't usually lose his cool with her, in headquarters, but what she was suggesting was far too much to ask of him, far too much to ask of anyone. "I'd have to hold classes in the auditorium! I-- I can't keep up with all the homework! All the tests!"

BL sighed, setting her chin on the back of her fingers, elbow on her thigh. "I wish I could tell you there was another way, Rick, but…" She looked at him, or he thought she did. "Perhaps Doctor Zarei will be willing to take some of those students off of your hands?"

"With all due respect, that's not the point!" He deflated, but he wasn't out of steam just yet. The entire situation was a mess, a complete and utter garbage dump of a mess, and it was too much for him to clean up on his own. "Couldn't we just get rid of their trauma? I am well aware there are more than a few agents with the ability to" he motioned flatly "make all of this go away."

"Are you suggesting we" she closed in on him fast, her bandaged, expressionless face within centimeters of his own "wipe their memories?"

Perhaps he'd spoken out of turn. He swallowed hard, fingers twitching at his sides as he did his best to not look away, because looking away meant backing down, and at this point he'd come too far. "...Yes."

BL watched him, examining him, and he felt like a small child, fresh and scared of the paranatural world, for the first time in a very long time. Then she pulled back.

"Hmm," her fingers tapped at her chin, and she might have been looking up at the void around them and not down at him "You raise an interesting point! Er, I mean, we can't… we can't do that… but interesting point!"

He sighed in relief, then realized he'd been denied and shook his head "Wait! Why not? If we could truly wipe their minds and reverse the effects on them-!"

"Agent Day needs those minds. Not to mention the ethical and moral concerns we would have…" She waved a hand "Either way, I don't think the Cousinhood weirdos would take too kindly to essentially wiping the slate clean before they had a chance to investigate themselves" She sighed "... though I'm doing my best to fend them off. I'm afraid that's all in Agent Day's hands, now."

"She's already interviewed everyone there is to interview!"

"And what if they just so happen to remember something else?" BL shook her head. "It's best for everyone if we negotiate with your principal and find a way to integrate paranatural lessons into the general curriculum. It'll be fun!" She clasped her hands together, visibly bouncing in the air. "It'll be like we have our very own Spectral Academy! Hoo hoo!"

He ran an exasperated hand through his hair, slicking the already-perfectly-groomed strands back. "And what will we do about their parents? Their families! They could-- as it is they could already be spreading sensitive information to the outside world!"

"As much as I don't like it, we'll have to resort to" Her face split open, revealing teeth and the ever-so-watchful eye sitting between both sets "scare tactics!" Her face bandaged together again, and she continued unpertured. "We'll have to tell them the truth! Tell them what will happen to their children, and to their faithful mentors," she gave him a pointed look "if words gets out about their abilities" Experiments. Interrogations.

An all-out war between spectrals and non-spectrals.

Spender exhaled; he'd lost this fight, but maybe not the war. "There's still the issue of student-to-teacher ratio. Even with Zarei's help, we'd still be drastically outnumbered! It isn't even just the students we're dealing with here-- we'd have my own peers in these classes. Those numbers are just too high!"

"And for the moment you'll have to deal with them, I'm afraid. We'll find agents to help you, I promise. All it will take is some time--"

"I don't have time!" He knew he was yelling, that she was his authoritative figure no matter how long they'd known each other, and he was out of line and disrespectful, but he was truly at his wit's end. "Isaac is still missing, my club and I have searched the entirety of Mayview, and the threat of the monsters returning places Isaac's disappearance in a very, very concerning place! Time is the one thing I don't have!"

BL watched him, silently, motionlessly, for a moment, and usually the realization, the reality of his outburst might have hit him, but all of his body was so wired, so filled with energy and fear that had no place to go, that he didn't care. Her body language slackened, her shoulders fell, and she sighed.

"While I… regret the situation with Isaac O'Connor, and I am deeply worried for him," her nonexistent eyes met his "this situation is more important, and it needs to be your highest priority" He deflated again, limbs going slack, and he was surprised he was still standing on his wobbling knees "I have other agents working to find the monsters. We haven't heard back from them yet, but we will. For the moment, I need you to focus on your day job."

"But--!"

"Richard."

His words died in his throat, and the way she was looking at him, how calm she was, told him that there was no room for dispute, no matter how he felt, no matter what he did or said to convince her to see his way of things.

They both fell silent, and his fists clenched.

He awoke with a start.

His hair was slick with sweat, and his glasses wouldn't stay on, no matter how many times he raised his trembling hands to keep them in place. He shivered; the room seemed colder than it had been when he first laid down. He stared down at his lap, hot hands running along freezing skin, even though it felt equally as warm to the touch.

"Richard." He raised his head. Lucifer peered at him from his reflection in the mirror, wings looking tight. "Are you all right?"

"... Yes."

Lucifer clicked his tongue. "Liar" though he sounded gruel, his face seemed soft, calm, kind.

Spender dug his head into his hands.

There was only one worker on duty. Isaac pulled the hood over his head, over his eye-- over his face. That would make his job easier. All he had to do was hope no family on a road trip wandered into that particular gas station to make a beeline for the restroom; he'd been the only customer in there in the last hour, the mess of blood would definitely get him in a hospital at best, handcuffs as worst.

The employee was playing some crossword, presumably not allowed to use her phone during hours. She looked bored, occasionally fixing her ponytail even when there wasn't a problem with it. She popped the gum in her mouth, then sucked it back in and continued chewing, tilting her head to the side, hoop earrings swaying with the motion. The phone rang, and her brown eyes widened. She all but leaped at the line, picking it up, answering "Yes, this is Gas-Your-Way! How may I help you?" with the best cutesy customer service voice he'd heard in maybe ever. That was good. She was distracted.

Isaac made his way over to the front as she went to answer the phone, nabbing one butane lighter from the rack just below the register before sliding to the back where the probably-wildly-unhealthy gas station foods sat-- coffee, slurpies, candy bars, hot dogs and other meats on a rolling grill, but his eyes fell upon the napkins stacked together by the tops and straws and condiments. He ripped a few away, enough to feel like he was holding an oven mitt, and sped his way back to the bathroom.

He locked the door behind him, walking to the toilet, setting the lid down, and plopping down atop it. It was flimsy as heck, and he was one-hundred percent sure it wouldn't break beneath his weight. He took his hoodie off, then discarded himself of his shirt. Yes, the floor of the bathroom was disgusting and covered in unidentifiable liquids, but at this point he'd already been through worse. With the stack of napkins in one hand, he placed the broken toilet lever, holding onto only one side of it. The other, he snapped open the butane lighter, using his thumb to ignite a small flame. Here we go.

He held the toilet lever over the flame, watching the metal heat.

It took some time, time he couldn't account for (could have been ten minutes, could have been fifteen, or maybe even thirty or an hour), but the metal finally glew red, bright, and so very hot. Isaac inhaled. He had no room for doubts. Without a second though, he pressed the metal to his open wound and held it there.

He screamed. It had been a month and more since he'd last thrown his head back like this, grinded his teeth and fought back a flood of tears like this, and the pain had never been physical. It was excrutiating, hot, heavy, bright, furious pain. It was a million times worse than the wound in his abdomen, a billion times worse than the pain in his eye, and it spread through him like wildfire. It was as though every inch of him was being burned alive by scorching metal, by fire, by blue, deathly pain. He screamed some more, and when he was out of breath those screams died and became whimpers, tiny sounds that had him bending over, shoulders shaking. He would not cry. He would not cry.

There was a knock at the door, and it might have startled him had he not been heaving.

"Sir? I'm sorry, are you okay?"

He tried to open his mouth, but it was dry. The employee paused on the other side of the door, but he could feel her anxiety from there.

"O-okay! I'm gonna go call 911! Please just sit tight, okay? Help will be here soon!" He heard her patting around in her pockets, then a muffled curse as her footsteps, hurried, drifted away.

Quickly picking up his shirt and his hoodie, Isaac unlatched the lock and pushed the bathroom door open just a smidge. The Employees Only door was shutting just before his eyes, and he took that as his cue to carry his weight out the door before she came back. He took one last glance at the blood-soaked bathroom, mumbled an apology-- to who, he wasn't even sure-- and took his exit out the front door of the gas station.

[intotheventures]

Deflating themattress... again.

Before reading, see my recent important note about the troll impersonators I wrote a few hours ago.

“Shallow Badassery”

“He never adequately explains what he means by this. He seems to mean the Reaction Commands…”

There’s also the various forms, and his base outfit which is “cool” for the fanboys. Just saying, there’s a reason KH became associated with Hot Topic after the release of KH2. There’s shallow badassery in other games like you mentioned but KH2 is the worst about it in my eyes. Also he does millions of unrealistic flips in each aerial combo (admittedly some of the added abilities in KH1FM involved flips too).

“Again, never defines [pandering] other than anything fans would like, particularly yaoi baiting. To which I’d say to post anything from 3D between Sora and Riku.”

There is nothing in 3D that comes across as “this ones for you, yaoi fans!” like the SoRiku bait in KH2, not even the tea party scene. They were fairly quiet before KH3 was released. You’ve used pandering as a buzzword yourself. I do like this next sentence as it proves the yaoi fandom became what it is today following KH2:

“they THRIVED in the years since 2006!)”

“Bad Characterization (OOC/Idiot/Mary Sue Sora, Emo Riku & Roxas, etc.)”

Which are all true.

“His charges against Sora are either that he’s OOC by being cockier and more aggressive and taunting toward opponents (show Sora’s cocky-ass victory quotes from the Coliseum in KH,”

“That’s the power of the Keyblade!” and “Nothing to it!” aren’t really what I’d call cocky, he’s allowed to be a little showoffy in a tournament, in story based cutscenes, lines like “Aw, we only get to stomp on a few of you?” come across as cringy and OOC.

“or his threats to opponents like “After I finish you, he’s next!” to Axel and Marluxia)”

Justified after what he found out. That’s different from outright taunting them. See my Dialogue Comparison upload for more details.

“that he’s dumbed down because he does stuff like bang on a computer (show any dumb moment in 3D or KH3, or moments where his friends basically make fun of him for being dumb)”

What 3D moments compare to him thinking Mushu’s shadow is a Heartless or thinking Ping is a girl? He was not this dumb in previous games, or later ones.

“or a Mary Sue because he solve too many problems in Disney worlds (show him doing so in literally any other game. Yeah, this charge against Sora may be the most ridiculous one.)”

He did, but it felt really overdone in KH2 for some reason, probably because he wasn’t learning anything alongside them. In KH1 and COM he learned morals and he grew as a character, but is static and one dimensionally in KH2. See my recent copy and paste of “HHH is the game”’s post on KH2 vs KH1 Sora.

“As for saying Riku and Roxas are “emo”, just go in length to explain how regret, depression, fear and anxiety works, especially in the case of Roxas who finds out that his life is a lie.”

The writing surrounding them wasn’t good, you’ve admitted Riku was emo when in the form of Ansem, yet now you’re denying it.

“Misogyny toward Kairi”

You’re an SJW. If I was a MUH SOGGY KNEES I would hate KH3 Kairi, I don��t.

“she did have more personality and development not having to do with Sora than in KH3”

She was static in KH2, she had potential but it wasn’t realized.

“escaped on her own”

Apparently you watched a different version of the Saix scene than I did. They didn’t even have the decency to show us how she escaped from Axel, who was so pathetic at that point.

“(she has no such excuse in KH3, where she is kidnapped while holding a Keyblade, and also KILLED twice which is notably worse than kidnapping)”

I never denied she was done dirty in KH3, difference being she went down fighting, and Kairi’s bad treatment doesn’t take away from her good moments.

“and that seeing her panties was not something you were supposed to do and no impact on the plot, plus her skirt is just as short in KH3 so she is still being “used for fanservice”.”

Her KH3 skirt has no zippers though…

“Also, she did not “get shit done and save everyone”, she just believed in her heart that Sora would survive to get shit done and save everyone.”

Basically the same thing.

“In KH2, she actually did get shit done and save people.”

Would have been nice if she didn’t have other glaring flaws to hamper that. She could have done that without being flattened or kidnapped twice.

“Too many KH-original characters”

“He says too many characters were in KH2 who “had no personality / low screentime” or “were useless”. Which apparently wasn’t the case in KH3, despite having more than double the amount of KH-original characters, many of whom are widely considered to be shafted.”

KH3 had this problem too, never said otherwise, too many OCs is one of my gripes with modern KH, but it’s a carryover from KH2.

““Cringe” Dialogue”

Quotations weren’t necessary, those KH2 lines ARE cringe.

“Just reply with any of the “cringe” dialogue from literally any other KH game.”

No examples? I’ve shown over a dozen from KH2 but you haven’t shown one. Hmmm….

“Convoluted Plot”

See “Too many KH original characters” above.

“Cloud’s Side Story”

KH2 was where it truly got bad. Also vanilla KH1 > KH1FM, and this is a reason why.

“Filler Disney Worlds”

The post he links to was made out of spite, the views don’t seem that genuine…

“ You can also mention how most of the world visits had relevant story reasons for being there, a motivation for Sora to visit them, as opposed to just dicking around in them for no given reason.”

The revisits had no reason.

“Only Agrabah, Halloween Town and Pride Land are fairly pointless”

And Atlantica, and Land of Dragons…

“but if people consider them fun to play through then that’s all that truly matters.”

You could say that for any game, even KH3.

“KH2 Atlantica”

“It’s an optional world. You can skip it if you want.”

Skipping it doesn’t make it not suck.

“And let’s be real: the musical rhythm mini-game is no less cringey than the later Mario Party-esque board game of BBS, virtual pet raising element of 3D, or Corona dancing minigame and “Let It Go” in its entirety in KH3.”

At least those examples didn’t have their own crappy songs (Finny fun? Really?). So KH2 Atlantica is still worse than those.

Then khtrinityft”w” closes off with an unfunny image of Sora with the caption “You gonna cry?”. I have nothing to say to express my contempt of that awful writing that I haven’t already said before.

[stillinstyle]

Nano Day 6.2

Outside the storm had quieted to a mere downpour. Gentry bounced (and Nate trudged) upon the massive patch of field into which Gentry had somehow carved a long, clean line, swollen with mud and rainwater. Gentry grinned proudly as he gestured toward his handiwork. A line of people had formed at the head, all waiting their turn to dash into the mud and slide all the way down. Boys were whooping and laughing, and the girls stood to the side, mostly, clustered around a gold-studded umbrella that must have belonged to Gloriana while they twittered and egged the guys on. “Come on,” Gentry said, as Michael Starrise skidded down the trench, sending a spray of water behind him. “This is pretty impressive.” “Very,” Nate said drily. “I can’t wait to write about this in your college recommendation letters. ‘Gentry Villiere may be roughly the height of one of Santa’s elves, but he is as impressive of ten men twice his stature.” Gentry punched him in the shoulder, maybe a little harder than he needed to. “You’re just mad about your sweater still.” “Not ‘just’. You interrupted a very hot date I was about to enjoy with Abigail Adams.” “I’ll send my apologies to her memorial,” Gentry said. “Now, you have exactly twenty seconds to pout, at the end of which either you will join the fray of your own volition or I will push you into it.” “I truly hate you.” “You love me.” “I love you, but in the most hateful way possible.” “Time’s up,” Gentry announced, and Nate took off and let Gentry chase him around the scene three times before he finally jumped into the mud. Nate was laughing by the end of it, Gentry noticed, and pride swelled in him. No one was a better at friends than him.

***

It didn’t take long for the mud slide to expand out in either direction, until the entire field was a sodden, soggy, muddy mess. Tart, who joined them after practice, produced a ball, and the game had evolved from slipping and sliding into a full-blown, shirts versus skins game of “get the ball and try to avoid being tackled for as long as you can” the rules of which Gentry loudly and enthusiastically created as the game went on. “That’s three points!” he shouted decisively over the groans of the shirts team. He was the skins captain, because like most straight boys, Nate had noticed, he had absolutely no qualms with being shirtless, or pantless, or anything-less. This was another straight boy quality Nate had never understood and never been able to emulate in spirit. “Gentlemen, gentlemen, come on. We’re men of honor. We acknowledge that leapfrogging over two grown men is worth three points at least, right?” Nate was doubled over and grinning, hands on his knees while he tried to catch his breath. Even with all his pouting and protestations, he loved this - being outside, running and tackling and catching and panting, the burn in his legs and his lungs. He had always had a competitive streak, and in the last two years, since coming to the Academy it only grown more fierce. When it came to sports, he might not have been a soccer star like Tart, or a gymnast like Gentry, but something about it still resonated in him. There was something primal about it, a deep, pounding instinct to step onto the field of battle and win. If he thought about it a little, Nate would have to admit that he was addicted to victory. If he thought about it a little more, he would have to admit there was more to it than scoring more points than his opponents. Sports was something he was supposed to reject twice over - once as the studious bookworm his friends gave him no end of grief over being, and again as a certified, card-carrying closeted gay boy. He wasn’t sure how much of the reason he liked sports was because he just liked sports, and how much was because he was trying to prove something. That he was just as manly as anyone else. That he was just as normal. “All right, all right,” Michael Starrise said, snapping Nate out of his thoughts. “We’re like forty points behind here. How do we catch up?” Gentry looked out over the field and studied it with an intensity he had never applied to a textbook. Or any book, for that matter. “Oh geez,” Tart muttered, wiping the rain from his face. Nate followed his gaze until he saw what Tart had. Lark had joined the girls, standing under an umbrella of her own, arms crossed, her hair pulled into a curly ponytail. She was smirking at them. When she noticed Tart’s gaze, she made a show of cheering for the other team. “Got it,” Gentry said. All we have to do is get possession of the ball, tackle their flank guards, take it back to our territory, and then carry it to their goal zone. That’ll be like ten points at least. Maybe more, depending on how much panache we can manage.” He looked at Tart. “You’re gonna have to run interception, Tart, and then get the ball to me. Can you do it?” “Definitely,” Tart nodded with new determination. Gentry assigned roles to everyone else on the team - Nate was on Flank Tackling duty with Michael Starrise - and they broke with a loud grunt and moved to assume their positions. Across the field, Michael’s older brother Rafe spun the ball on his finger smugly, a crown of water spraying out around it. Lark gave another cheer for the shirts team, and Nate could all but hear Tart growl. Gloriana - the designated Master of Ceremonies - blew the whistle, and everyone took off. Nate imagined that the scene must have looked very much like a recently kicked pile of ants. Bodies blew around with no direction in a stampede of pandemonium. Rain pounded on Nate’s face as he ran through the field. He had to put every ounce of concentration into keeping his balance, and even then managed to slip and fall three times. His eyes were trained on his target, a bony sophomore named Tristan Lott, so he didn’t know the source of the screams of delight and horror until after it was too late. Gentry had managed to punch the ball out of Rafe’s hand and launched it across the field to where Tart was waiting, wide open. Just before it fell into Tart outstretched hands, though, a figure darted in front and snatched it. The rain made everything too blurry to see in real time, but once Nate had had a chance to shake the water out of his eyes, he saw Tart standing there, empty handed and mouth agape, as the ball streaked across the field, cradled in Lark’s arms. She zipped left and right, ducked and jumped and didn’t slip even one time as she darted from one side of the field to the other and back, her wet ponytail bouncing back and forth the whole time. The shirts team exploded in cheers, the skins in groans, and even Gloriana clapped and hollared - gracefully, of course - in delight. As their team regrouped, Lark swaggered up to them, the ball propped under her arm. He knew Lark had just humiliated their team, but in that moment, as she stomped across the field with ten Gentrys worth of confidence, he worshiped her. “So close, Big Man,” she said, checking the ball at Tart, who caught it at the exact moment it pounded into his stomach. “If you’d caught it, I might have gone out with you. Too bad. I don’t date losers.” Before Tart could think of a response, she turned around sharply, spraying them all with water from her ponytail, walked off the field, picked up her umbrella, and left. “Wow,” Gentry said, eyes trailing her as she left. “She is a nightmare.”   “She’s wonderful,” Tart breathed. Nate looked at the ball, sitting sad and forgotten in the mud, and sighed. He hated losing.

*Bleachers*

“You have no manners,” Nate said, annoyed. Gentry snorted through a mouth full of nachos he had just stolen from Nate, the pilfering of which had sparked Nate’s accusation. “Manners? Nate, my buddy, my brother, my sweet, naive, purveyor of Austen novels and all and sundry Regency era culture, I know more about manners than Fitzwilliam Darcy could ever have hoped to know. I don’t blame you for now knowing, because you have not had the horrifying, very much adulterated pleasure of knowing Aurora Villiere, but trust me, I know about manners.” Even the word manners was enough to make Gentry cringe. He knew manners, the kind of manners that needed to be cataloged in hardcover books with broken spines and studied under the bony weight of a spindly finger and warm, dry breath pressed against your neck. He knew manners, and he rejected them. “It’s my expertise in the rules of manners that equips me so boldly to break them.” Nate sniffed and ate another nacho. Nate pulled his phone out and checked his e-mail again, then, finding nothing new since the e-mail he’d received three hours ago promising to increase the size of his member, clicked it off and put it back into his pocket. Tart nudged him with his shoulder. “You’ll get it,” he said with cemented certainty. “Stop driving yourself crazy and watch the game.” “What, like you’re watching the game?” “I am very much watching the game,” Tart said. Gentry waited three seconds, counting down until Tart spoke again, right on cue. “I mean, it’s just crazy that football is the National Pastime when It is literally just thirty seconds of action, followed by like five minutes men in tights huddling around each other, rinse, repeat. At least soccer is fast-paced.” “I think baseball is the national pastime, actually,” Nate offered. “Whatever,” Tart said. “They’re both about as exciting as a routine dorm inspection.” “Do I need to remind you that you are the only reason we came?” Gentry piped up. “You. Thomas Amos Robert Todd Juniper the Third.” He shook his finger at Tart angrily. “I had big plans for tonight. We were supposed to break into the chapel and climb up to the bell tower to hang my poster, remember?” “We’ll still do it,” Tart insisted. “After the game. I promise.” Gentry was not satisfied. “I spent the entire week painting that bed sheet. It took me three whole days to perfect the zits on Duncan’s grotesque, bulbous nose. I missed Zombies Alive for that.” “That’s your fault,” Nate offered. The traitor. “You exaggerated the zits.” “Well the nose is true to life,” Gentry said. Nate nodded. “Instead, someone heard that a certain demonic siren of a girl was coming to the homecoming game, and just like that, all my plans got thrown out with the trash.” “We will still do the banner,” Tart said. “You know, I think your anti-football animosity is actually just thinly disguised anti-Rafe Starrise animosity,” Gentry went on, reaching for another nacho. Nate slapped his hand away, and Gentry shot him a feigned look of betrayal. “Probably unfounded, though. If Lark doesn’t like you, she definitely doesn’t like that guy. Yesterday he asked Theo Banks how ink comes out of pens. Plus, he smells hardcore like Axe spray. Like, the extra-douchey scent.” “And yet,” Nate said, looking down at the bottom of the bleachers, where Lark was leaning over the railing, ponytail blowing in the October breeze and cheering as Rafe Starrise posed. “And yet,” Tart echoed. “That doesn’t mean anything,” Gentry insisted. “He’s the quarterback. Everyone cheers for the quarterback. Plus, he’s not even that good.” “He’s scored like eight times,” Nate pointed out. “But it’s the Homecoming game. That doesn’t count. Everyone knows you pick the worst team to play against in the Homecoming game. You have to set up a guaranteed win, or else all the big budget school donors start bitching, and then the school doesn’t get that jumbotron Headmaster Brakes has been talking about for the last three years.” “I would ask how you know so much about fundraising,” Tart said, “but I guess I already know the answer.” Gentry groaned. He had spent the whole summer standing next to his father, nodding like a puppet and talking to rich old white ghouls. ‘Oh, yes, of course I think the alligator sausage crisis in Louisiana deserves immediate attention, and I know my father does too. He’ll be the very best governor that’s ever existed.’ And then just grinning like an idiot while they write out a twenty-five thousand dollar check. “The bastard’s gonna win, too.” “Unfortunate,” Nate said. “So unfortunate. The Baudelaires know nothing of misfortune compared the minorities of Louisiana once they realize they have a literal plantation owner running the state.” The crowd exploded in cheers as Rafe completed a ninth touchdown-winning throw. Tart’s shoulders slumped. Gentry shot a dirty look at Lark. He was getting a lot of Dirty Look practice tonight. He bounced from one foot to the other and blew into his hands. There was something so unendurably dull about watching football games in the bleachers. It was so still. “I’m gonna go get my own nachos,” he announced suddenly, more for an excuse to move than anything. “And I will be bringing back nothing for you, Nate, because you are acting very selfish tonight.” “Hot chocolate, please,” Nate said back, not taking his eyes off the game. Gentry glared at the profile of his face, and the way his messy brown hair fell in his stupid, nacho-hoarder eyes. “Fine,” he said. “But you owe me at least three episodes of Zombies Alive.” He pushed his way to the steps before Nate could turn down his terms. The next episodes, he knew from people’s posts on Facebook, were going to be particularly bloody. Nate was gonna hate them. It took a long time for Gentry to make his way down to the bottom of the bleachers, what with all the obligatory fist pounding he had to engage in on the way down. It was a hard life, Gentry thought, but someone had to bear the burden of the people’s love, and it wasn’t like Nate was gonna do it. His thoughts turned to the Lost Boys, the other two of which, Gentry thought mournfully, were a mess. After two years of starry-eyed crushing, Tart had reached new levels of obsession with Lark Clarentine, an obsession that Gentry found it fully impossible to understand. She drove Gentry crazy with the smug, superior way she trotted around the school, and Tart drove him doubly crazy with the dopey, moon-eyed way he let her jerk him around. The worst thing about it all was that Gentry knew that Tart’s determination wasn’t going to let up until he either won Lark over or died trying. Gentry knew which one he was putting money on. And then there was Nate, and Nate’s big revelation. That, Gentry told himself, was too big to think about. He ordered nachos and three hot chocolates, then slipped into the shadows on the far side of the bleachers before pulling the flask out of the pocket of Tart’s letterman jacket. He’d grabbed the jacket on the way out - he liked the way it smelled, like Tart’s soap and deodorant, the way Tart smelled when he hugged him - but the flask had been premeditated. It was the only way he was going to get through three hours of mind-numbing Lark talk. He made sure to put extra in one cup, and pressed his thumb into the cap so he’d remember which one it was and give it to Nate. When he turned around, he ran full-on into Duncan Blank. One of the cups - the one with the extra alcohol, Gentry noticed, because of course - fell to the ground and exploded, spraying warm chocolate milk and Bailey’s all over the ground and narrowly missing Gentry’s pants. “Dude, what the fuck?” He demanded, glaring up at Duncan, who had grown taller over the summer, Gentry noted sourly. Duncan was glaring back at him with narrowed eyes. “Jesus, Blank, do you always have to be where you’re not wanted? Actually, come to think of it, I guess that’s everywhere.” Gentry wanted to pat himself on the back for that one. “Sorry,” Duncan sneered. Gentry did not think he was sorry at all. “It’s hard to see things below eye level. You might consider high heels next time.” “Probably your huge potato of a nose blocks you view,” Gentry retorted. “You know, I know your family’s dirt poor, but I’m sure you can find some kind of charity that’ll bankroll a nose job. There’s gotta be dozens of nonprofits that specialize in helping the deformed.” “Very clever,” Duncan snapped. “It must have taken you a long time to come up with that one. How much of your free time do you spend obsessing over me and my nose?” “A proportional amount.” Duncan narrowed his eyes and sniffed. “What are you doing down here, anyway, Villiere? Is that alcohol I smell? On school grounds? That’s grounds for expulsion, if I remember the handbook correctly.” “Found someone to teach you how to read?” Gentry asked. “Color me impressed.” “Awfully bold to someone who could have you kicked out of school.” Gentry laughed. “Kicked out of school? Blank, I am not you, okay? My mother did not have to come here and give Headmaster Brakes a blow job to try to get me in here.” Duncan clenched a fist and growled, and Gentry smirked. He loved winning. “You probably jerked off in a building named after my grandfather. If you even can jerk off. Have they dropped yet?” The more Duncan’s hands shook, the more powerful Gentry felt. “Huh. Well, just wait a couple of years, buddy. You’ll get there someday, maybe.” “What about your little buddy?” Duncan demanded. “All I have to do is find something on him. Do you think Brakes will have to think long about kicking him out?” Gentry felt his ears start to turn hot. Duncan was talking out of his ass, Gentry knew it, and anyway Nate was as clean as they came. Duncan could hire Olivia Pope to find dirt on Nate and she’d come up empty-handed. Except… Couldn’t risk it. Couldn’t leave Duncan unchecked to go snooping into Nate’s secrets. Besides, with nasty little beta males like Duncan Blank, intimidation was the most effective. Gentry popped the lid off one of the cups of spiked hot chocolate and dumped it over Duncan’s head. “Go find a teacher now, Duncan,” Gentry said, stepping back and surveying his work. Duncan was spluttering, and pawing at his eyes. His hair separated into matted clumps as the hot chocolate soaked into them. “My advice, though, would be to head home and take a shower. I know it’s not your habit, but you should make another exception for this one.” Duncan’s eyes blazed with pure loathing, and he started shivering as the chocolate soaked into his ratty old t-shirt in the chilly October night. “You asshole,” he spat quietly through chattering teeth. “I hate you.” “I consider that one of my best qualities,” Gentry said as he strutted past him, then turned around, to dig one last knife into Duncan. “You tend to drag people down when you like them. Ask Lark.” He walked away, leaving Duncan Blank shivering beneath the bleachers, then took a deep, satisfying sip from the remaining cup of hot chocolate. “What’s got you looking so happy all of a sudden?” Tart asked when Gentry returned to the bleachers. Gentry shrugged. “I guess football is more fun than I thought.”

[coolkidzcooltrips]

After three trips, I have learned 7 important life lessons Scotland teaches. I only have to put them in practice at home, as well. I cringe at myself for complaining about the rain, when in Scotland I find it part of its charm and have stopped obsessing about it. I could drink tea as if I was a camel heading to desert for a couple of months, while at home I can’t open my eyes without coffee. Everything is better fried, why do I then stick to steamed, … Haven’t I learned?

Number 1 Life Lesson Scotland starts with

‘I hope it doesn’t rain,’ said a colleague when I mentioned heading on a trip.

She was met with silence on my side. I was so taken aback with her statement, I couldn’t find an appropriate response.  No rain in Scotland, I thought?

‘Well, there so no chance it won’t rain,’ I finally manage to say. It might have sounded a bit condescending.

I didn’t mean it. But Scotland without rain? It’s like scones without sultanas. I actually don’t like them, but without them it’s plain bread.

Rain is part of Scottish charm. That’s what it’s all about. Moody weather.

I get it. We too go on trips and hope it doesn’t rain. When we go to Spain. I’d be pissed if it rained in Cordoba. The first time we visited Scotland, I was bothered by the amount of rain, because Ireland a year ago was all sunshine 7 days straight. But that was an anomaly, which a week in Scotland managed to rectify. 

Rain is a great teacher. When you are ready to listen, it tells you to: 

Stop obsessing with things you can’t change

Will it rain? Yes.

When? Who knows.

Either way, there is nothing I can do about it, except walk in my wellies and wear a rain coat.  Don’t even mess with the umbrella.

Seize the moment

When we followed a path from our car to the beach, I looked up at the brilliant sun and only a few fluffy clouds marring the blue sky. How much time do we have? I wondered as we threw the blanket on the white pebbled beach and the kids scattered their plethora of toys all the way to the sea.

The sea too looked inviting. Enough for us to roll our pants up to the knees and waddle inside, holding our breathes as the cold seeped through.

It hit me. If I enjoy this second, not worry about what comes after, but am present – feel the sun rays, feel the sea, listen to my kids squealing with joy, hold hubby’s hand, then it doesn’t matter.

If you learn one thing in Scotland is to seize the moment.

You see something you like, stop and enjoy it, now, because the rain, the tide, the wind something might come in the next second and it will be gone.

Don’t focus on the negative

I could be bothered with rain. I was bothered with rain.

Last year we were driving when there was a downpour. We were in a car but suddenly the trip – to the beach – made no sense at all. I was all: ‘Stupid rain, and I actually like you!’ As if I was a jilted lover.

The kids were restless in the back and the mood was suddenly gloomy, you couldn’t tell where the outside ended and the inside began. Then we spotted a cafe next to the road. We pulled over and rushed in, to be greeted with the smell of warm soup and freshly baked scones.

The rain from then on, was a perfect excuse to indulge in tea and baked delicacies.

I stopped focusing on why rain sucked and rather focused on the good side.

Non rain related lessons

Enough with the rain. Let’s continue talking about food.

Eat Breakfast All Day

If your favorite meal is by any chance breakfast (mine is), then in Scotland you will learn a take-it-with-you-home lesson. In most places – the Scottish breakfast is served all day. Yes, you read it right. All day.

That means you can have and should have breakfast for lunch.

We stopped at a small village pub at around 1 in the afternoon. I scanned the menu and imagine my (silent) screams of excitement when I saw I could have breakfast for lunch.

I was only too happy to order: a plate of scrambled eggs, black pudding, sausage, bacon, mushrooms, baked beans and tomatoes, accompanied with slices of toast and a pot of tea. I risked a heart attack right on the spot, but it was worth it.

Having had breakfast for lunch once, I am never ever going back to sticking with scrambled eggs only in the mornings.

Fried is always better

When in Rome, the saying starts. It also goes for when in Scotland, do as the Scottish do.

Drink tea. If you like hubby don’t like black tea, be sure to order: ‘Fruit tea.’ Don’t just say a pot of tea, please.

Eat fish and chips – our kids love it. They hate fish but that isn’t about the fish, right. It just shows how fired is always better. Inspired by this, we served them fried mushrooms a few days ago – they loved it. And you, guessed it, they hate mushrooms.

Who cares about cholesterol, heart attack and all that, when fried just tastes better.

Nature is Magnificent

We live in a city. My dealings with nature are reduced to weekends, or looking up at the sky while walking to work, wondering if I need an umbrella.

But Scotland, though it has two great cities Edinburgh and Glasgow and a lot of smaller ones and lovely villages is 90 % Nature.

And wow, does this Nature take your breath away. I forgot I was literate when I stood in the misty Glen Coe. There were no words coming out of my mouth, just sounds until I was silent. Not bothering. Just taking it all in.

How lucky we are to live on such a diverse and beautiful planet. Standing and observing nature at its most magnificent, always makes me ask myself – why do you worry. Aren’t all my worries so meaningless.

A week in the wilderness of Scotland for me is the equivalent of an intense class of meditation, with no pressure.

Realizing what counts

Finally, my favorite lesson Scotland taught me was I don’t need much. I don’t need museums, though there are plenty of those there. I don’t need expensive dinners. I don’t need sun blasting. I don’t need two suitcases full of clothes…

I need my family. I need tea and biscuits. And I need vast soggy moors that invite us to explore. And white sand beaches that seem to belong in the Caribbean.  I need days to be long, but with no schedules and plans. I need to touch the water, feel the wind, hear the pebbles crunch beneath my feet and my daughters’ laughter when they run towards the sea…

Not much, you wonder after my whole tirade? Hm, you are right, that is quite a list. Maybe Scotland ruined me for any other place. Or has it made me realize what is truly important? Without my family not even magnificent Scotland works.

7 Life Lessons Scotland Will Teach You After three trips, I have learned 7 important life lessons Scotland teaches. I only have to put them in practice at home, as well.

[betwixt-these-pages]

Secrets of a Reluctant Princess by Casey Griffin Publication Date: March 7, 2017 Publisher: Entangled Teen

Blurb:

At Beverly Hills High, you have to be ruthless to survive…

Adrianna Bottom always wanted to be liked. But this wasn’t exactly what she had in mind. Now, she’s in the spotlight…and out of her geeky comfort zone. She’ll do whatever it takes to turn the rumor mill in her favor—even if it means keeping secrets. So far, it’s working.

Wear the right clothes. Say the right things. Be seen with the right people.

Kevin, the adorable sketch artist who shares her love of all things nerd, isn’t exactly the right people. But that doesn’t stop Adrianna from crushing on him. The only way she can spend time with him is in disguise, as Princess Andy, the masked girl he’s been LARPing with. If he found out who she really was, though, he’d hate her.

The rules have been set. The teams have their players. Game on.

Purchase Links:

Google Play | BAM | Chapters | Indies | Amazon | B&N| Kobo | TBD | iBooks

About the Author:

Casey Griffin can often be found at comic conventions on her days off from her day job, driving 400 ton dump trucks in

Northern Alberta, Canada. As a jack of all trades with a resume boasting registered nurse, English teacher, and

photographer, books are her true passion. Casey is a 2012 Amazon Breakthrough Novel finalist, and is currently busy

writing every moment she can.

Website | Twitter | Facebook | Goodreads

Giveaway Information: 

One (1) winner will receive a signed copy of Secrets of a Reluctant Princess + a Tiara!

Find the giveaway RIGHT HERE!

Quick Reasons: Adrianna/Andy has a super entertaining, snarky, vibrantly-written voice; this was a roMESS if I’ve ever read one; that director is absolute slime; lots of angst and drama; the hilarious banter between the characters is SPOT ON; I could literally “see” each of these people in the pages

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insta-love

entertaining

devoured it

purple prose

HUGE thanks to Casey Griffin, Entangled: Teen, Chapter by Chapter, and Netgalley for sending me a free digital ARC of this title in exchange for an honest review! This in no way altered my read of or opinions on this book.

Hear ye, hear ye! On behalf of the Porcelain Princess (toilet thrones now 25% off at the door!) I present to you….my review! And what a grand thing it shall be, because… Wait, wait, cut. Okay, sorry penguins–my fingers got away from me. I just couldn’t help myself! But this is a great way to start off–because this book? FILLED with snark, attitude, and just the right amount of teenage drama and hysterics. Seriously, if you’re looking for an entertaining read with a HUGE personality, you need to pick up this one–I promise it won’t let you down!

Having skimmed a few other reviews on goodreads, I can tell you it seems a majority of the readerly population was a bit… put off? by Andy/Adrianna’s attitude and personality. HOWEVER…this was not the case on my end. I really enjoyed how snarky and strong-willed she is. While there were, admittedly, a few moments I cringed over (her decisions are, as the rest of humanity, rather flawed in some instances) I ADORED how much voice and spunk Casey Griffin managed to shove into each and every page. I found myself giggling aloud, dropping my jaw at some of the twists, and even raging alongside Andy as the world seemingly fell apart around her. I was thoroughly and immensely amused by her antics and her reactions to everything happening, and loved how much “growth” I saw in her throughout the read.

The plot is fairly predictable in some places–I mean, it IS a YA Contemporary Romance, after all. There are bound to be a few tropes and cliches along the way, right? But Casey Griffin managed to tell this story in a unique and inventive way, in my opinion–the “Bathroom Business” and ensuing reality TV show turned roadside disaster made this a quick, entertaining read. The focus on “being true to yourself” really helped to tie the story together in a seamless, engaging way, as well.

In the end, I proclaim this an enthralling, snarky, angsty read! I cannot wait to see what Casey Griffin delivers in the future–the amount of unique voice and personality she packed into these pages has me begging my liege for more. If you’re seeking a quick, witty read with a ton of attitude, look no further than this one! Just promise not to drop it in the toilet, okay? Soggy pages are not good for reading.

Blog Tour, Giveaway, and Review: Secrets of a Reluctant Princess Secrets of a Reluctant Princess by Casey Griffin Publication Date: March 7, 2017 Publisher: Entangled Teen…