#lead bounder

[kingludoavarius]

I’ve been writing a long fan-fiction for The Adventures of Teddy Ruxpin called “Tweeg’s Journey”. I’m about halfway done and I’d love to know what fan-fic readers and fans of the show think of it so far.

This is meant to be a follow up to the original series, picking up after the last episode of the series. Tweeg has fallen on hard times and has reached the point where he is no longer happy being a villain. The only problem is that he doesn’t know how to be a good person. Reluctantly, he turns to Teddy Ruxpin. Little do any of them know that a mysterious force tied to the Crystals is rearing its ugly head and spells doom for our heroes. Can they come together and face this looming threat? Only one way to find out, and that’s to read Tweeg’s Journey.

[airyairyaucontraire]

This evening went to the Dungeons & Dragons movie and thought it was good silly fun. Michelle Rodriguez's fights were pleasingly Xena-esque and I found certain shades of Ulysses Everett McGill in Chris Pine's bard.

My favourite part of all was perhaps the little puppet cat person baby that the paladin pulled out of the big fish.

[fanfictions-i-cant-write]

What if Bilbo Baggins had wanted and trained to become a bounder as a tween(?)? Its well established that Bilbo had been adventurous as a child and after his parents’ death he became far more subdued and respectable. In becoming or training to become a bounder, he’d have satisfied the Took side of himself while also preparing for any potential adventures he may have.

What if, during the Fell Winter, a certain white orc on a white warg showed up with a large group of orcs and began raiding the smials? Now, young, reckless bounder Bilbo would most likely rally his other young bounder friends and go out to face the orcs, successfully driving them out of the Shire. Unfortunately, because of their injuries, the cold, starvation or some other event, Bilbo’s friends die during the winter.

Bilbo blamed himself for their deaths, for he was the one who rallied them against the orcs, led them out of the safety of the smials, and caused their demise. As a result, he laid down his weapons and swore never to do something so incredibly silly again.

Skip forward to when the party of dwarrow arrives on his doorstep. Already confused, overwhelmed, and a little angry, when Bilbo hears that Thorin is leading this group of thirteen to a dragon lair and likely their death, he remembers his past foolishness and punches Thorin hard in a moment of pure rage.

[a-lonely-dunedain]

what about mosspuddle of the bog :D

(for this ask game where you send in one of my OCs, and I give you a synopsis of what it would look like if they were the main NPC in a tutorial quest)

ooo ok! how about this:

you are in the Rushock Bog for an evening stroll (not dissimilar from the hobbit intro) Your character senses that they're being watched. They go to investigate a strange sound further into the marsh, and soon come face to face with a strange hobbit-lass. what's so strange about her? Well for one thing, she has leafy green hair, and despite the fact that she's standing waist deep in bog water, her clothes seem perfectly clean and bright. This, you guess, is probably not normal.

She tells you that she's glad she was able to get your attention, as you were about to walk into an ambush! Some dwarf brigands, calling themselves the Dour... Dour-Hams? Dour-Band? the Dour-something-or-others, have recently set up a camp in her home, and started robbing unsuspecting travelers. This, she tells you, simply will not do, and they need to be dealt with.

But she stops abruptly before you have time to discuss the matter further, "I hope you know how to fight, friend" she says "because it looks like the Dour-whatstheirfaces found us!" then there's a short combat tutorial. Mosspuddle will help in the fight, though indirectly. Aiding you by... summoning slugs and toads to help in the fight. Yeah, this is certainly no normal hobbit.

Anyway after the fight she leads you to her home where the Dourhands have set up shop. If your character was expecting a hobbit hole, they will be sorely disappointed (JRR Tolkien Voice: "but you see this WAS a nasty, dirty, wet hole filled with the ends of worms and an oozy smell-" ok it's not that bad, it's a bit like Gwindethrond but smaller, a little darker, and full of toads. Still, it's no hobbit hole!)

The little starting instance is over by this point, and you now have free-range of the Rushock Bog as your little tutorial area. Mosspuddle will have a few quests for you to finish before you drive the Dourhands from her home, such as stealing their weapon racks, filling their socks with spider nests, and tracking down and enlisting the help of her friend Dandelion the bog-guardian. You might also go to Needlehole for help, but the Bounders don't believe your tale of a strange hobbit lass living out in the bog. (They might still have some other sidequests for you tho)

Anyway once she deems the Dounhands have been sufficiently weakened by your efforts you, Mosspuddle, and Dandelion start another instance and prepare to finish them off.

But before you go in to drive the intruders out of the place, Mosspuddle stops you, seeming somewhat alarmed (your character also gains a Dread debuff). She says something isn't right, and there's a powerful presence here that even the three of you cannot hope to fight.

From your hiding spot in the nearby foliage, you catch a glimpse of a terrifying looking dwarf. He's talking to the other Dourhands, saying something about how he has business in Breeland and soon all of Middle Earth will burn and all the other scary stuff Skorgrim usually goes on about. He tells the dwarves in the camp to finish up their work here and then head east as soon as they can, and they all bow to him as he leaves.

Once you all are sure he's gone, you decide not to let these brigands go east to finish whatever nefarious scheme they have planned, so you go in and kick their asses. At the end of the instance there's a caged stone-troll you have to fight as a boss (because apparently, according to other quests in the area, the Dourhands were here to capture trolls for Skorgrim? not sure why here of all places but that's still canon to lotro so we're going with it!)

After that the day is saved and Mosspuddle has her home back (as well as a very big mess to clean up)! You, however, are burdened with troubling news of scary characters roaming through the Shire. You then bid Mosspuddle farewell and head to Little Delving to bring word of what happened to the Bounders (maybe leaving out mention of the Bog-Hobbit this time), and picking up with the epic line as normal.

Obviously this one works best with hobbits, and might honestly be a hobbit-exclusive intro lol. Also you would be able to return to Mosspuddle's home at any point later and see it all cleaned up without the Dounhand's mess in there

[fanficwriting1]

Your Hypnotic Words Chapter 2

Bilbo found himself outside once again, sitting on his front bench. The stars were out, shining brightly above him, and he felt the comforting murmur of the plants that surrounded him. 

The dining room window had been slightly cracked to help release the heat of having so many dwarrow within one room, so Bilbo found himself listening to the dwarrow inside. 

“What news from the meeting in Ered Luin? Did they all come?” asked a dwarrow.

“Aye.” came the rumble of the leader. “Envoys from all seven kingdoms.” 

“What did the dwarves of the Iron hills say? Is Dain with us?” Bilbo identified the voice of the bald, tattooed dwarf. 

There was a loud silence before the answer of “They will not come” sent the dwarrow into a raucous. 

The leader quieted them before continuing, “They say this quest is ours and ours alone.” 

Noise broke out once more, curses being sputtered and cries of ‘cowards’ and ‘gutless’ and many other things said by a language Bilbo couldn’t understand came. 

“They have a loyalty and oath to fulfill!” came the yell of the tattooed dwarf. 

“I cannot force them to come.” replied the leader, “This quest is one viewed as a folly. A fool’s quest. The lives sacrificed could be great. I’ve told all of you the potential cost of this quest and have given you the choice to leave; I’ve done the same with the envoys. It would not be honorable of me to neglect to share the same news of potential peril with them.”

There were grumbles. The conversation continued, speaking of signs.

There was the scraping noise of a chair being pushed back before the leader’s voice came, “If we have read these signs, do you not think others will have begun to read them too? Rumors have begun to spread. The dragon Smaug has not been seen for sixty years. Eyes look east to the mountain, assessing, wondering, weighing the risk. Perhaps the vast wealth of our people now lies unprotected. Do we sit back as others claim what is rightfully ours? Or do we seize this chance to take back Erebor?”

Bilbo had to admit that the idea of leaving one’s home and wealth for someone to freely take did sound abominable. Especially if that someone was your enemy. Like a Sackville-Baggins.

He said nothing as Gandalf came out and settled next to him. They sat in silence for a few moments before he spoke. 

“Why do you need me, Gandalf?” he paused, “Actually, I know the answer to that. If you had simply wanted the stealth abilities of a hobbit, you could have gone and appealed to any Took or bounder, and they would have agreed quickly. Then let me ask you – what good could my abilities do for this group? You are well aware of the dangers presented by being in the presence of my thrall for too long, and if you wish for me to use my power, this group will inevitably fall.”

“Without you, Bilbo Baggins, these dwarrow will fail and all of Middle Earth will perish.”

Bilbo sat quietly for a long moment. “I do not presume to know of all your powers, but if foresight is one of them, then I’m certain you could find another path without me that will lead them to success.” 

Gandalf’s voice was grave. “I do not have such a power, but I can say that there is no route that can be taken without you that they will succeed.” 

“I suggest you find another. I will not come.” Bilbo stood, and left, unwilling to continue the conversation.

—

Thorin sat in the parlor, the group of dwarrow snoring around him, taken to sleeping in chairs or the floor - they were quite accustomed to such arrangements. He briefly startled at the noise of the front door opening, as the host walked into the front entry. He saw him peer into the entry, and seemed to miss that Thorin was still awake.

The hobbit sighed, and rubbed his eyes with a hand, dislodging his frames. 

“I’m afraid I was unable to catch your name.” Thorin said. 

Jolting, the hobbit looked at him, and Thorin was once again taken by the green depth of his eyes. Green was a color not often found among dwarves, and Thorin couldn’t help but compare it to the rare emeralds within the mountains that were sometimes found. 

The hobbit looked at him, unimpressed, and Thorin desperately wished he could backtrack as he recalled that the hobbit couldn’t speak, feeling heat crawl up to his ears. He coughed, trying to cover his blunder. “I apologize for our unceremonious arrival, I was unaware that Tharukun did not inform you.”

The creature gave a wave and shrugged, and before he could say anything else, the hobbit turned, walking away from the parlor. 

As soon as the creature was gone, Thorin groaned, rubbing his forehead in embarrassment. 

“His name is Bilbo Baggins.” 

Thorin felt twice as embarrassed as he found Dwalin looking at him knowingly, a smirk on his lips. 

“Atkât.” Thorin said, before trying to sleep, blocking out Dwalin’s laugh. 

—

Bilbo was miserable. His nose was on fire, his eyes watered horribly, he’d forgotten to bring his handkerchief, and he was incredibly uncomfortable, having never ridden a pony in his life. As he sneezed again, he groaned.

“Doing alright back there, Mister Boggins?” a light voice called.  

Bilbo rose his head high enough to glare at the young dwarrow who’d fallen back to ride beside him. 

“Not a very happy fellow, are you?” 

Bilbo groaned again. 

“Bilbo is a hobbit of few words, mind you,” Bofur shouted, to which he received a venomous glare from Bilbo. He hated that he couldn't retort. 

What had possessed Bilbo to agree and rush out the door this morning, he did not know, but he was thoroughly regretting it at this point. He had no previous inclination or intent to go on the quest, but when he rose that morning and saw the dwarrow gone, he’d been seized with some kind of worry and found himself rushing out his door, with a bag hastily tossed together, which led to him forgetting his handkerchief. 

When he had caught up to the company, Gandalf had looked far too pleased for his liking. He did not care for things that pleased the Wizard, and part of him was wishing that he had stayed back, simply so that Gandalf would not be looking so smug. And he wished again that he'd stayed at his smial as he found Fili and Kili on either side of him. 

"Have you been mute your entire life, Master Boggins?" Kili asked. 

"You're not supposed to ask things like that, Kili!" Fili hissed at his brother. "He can't even talk back to you!" 

"What am I supposed to ask then?" 

The brother's squabbling led to Bilbo's pony tossing its head, making Bilbo more uncomfortable than he already was.

He leaned forward on his horse, and reaching his influence to the two horses on either side, whispered, "Race ahead.", soft enough that it could be mistaken for a gentle breath. But the horses caught it.

He watched as the Princes nearly fell off their horses as they bolted, racing towards the front of the line. A roar of "Fili!" and "Kili!" came from the front of the line. 

Bilbo tried to keep an expressionless face, but couldn't quite disguise the small grin that spread across his lips, all the while unaware of the gaze of one of the dwarrow.

Notes:

Atkât - Silence

Bilbo's powers are largely impacted by his emotions and the control he has over those emotions. Being as he is, currently he does not have much control over his emotions, and the reasons for that will be explained later in the story.

[tintagel-or-cockleshells]

Tagged by @clottedcreamfudge, the bounder, because she knows I have a lot on this year and I’m pretty excited about it.

A fic idea you want to write (or read): So BFF Josefin and I swap fics twice a year for Christmas and birthdays. I’m excited to read my Christmas one (which she swears she has almost finished but her record is two years late, so, you know) because I specifically wanted a fic that was inspired by those dreadful DeviantArt manips of a pale girl with poker-straight black hair and a dark prom dress superimposed onto a picture of a gothic cathedral. I have an idea for a crime novel this year too about a quiz show, so we’ll see how that plays out.

A place you want to go: I’m hopeful I’ll feel safe enough for international travel this year! We’re thinking maybe France. Honeymoon-wise, we want to go to Iceland but maybe not straight after the wedding because that’s November.

A book you want to read: I want to read more Agatha Christie right now, we’ve rediscovered Suchet as Poirot on ITVx and it’s just lovely to sink into hideous murders.

Something fun you want to do: Design my library! We’ve literally just had an offer on a house accepted and there is enough room that I can have a library office. My fiancé bought me one of those green banking lamps for Christmas and that’s going to be the cornerstone of my new desk. And my parents will be so glad I’m finally shifting the thousands of books from their home to mine. Moving from a 2-bed to a 4- or 5-bed is going to mean SO much more storage!

Something you want to make: I am hopefully going to make my bouquet with fake flowers and a lot of help from @clottedcreamfudge, and potentially the wedding favours, but also I love miniatures and maybe I can start building the one I got in 2021.

A habit you want to start: “Resetting”, or tidying up last thing at night so you don’t have to deal with everything in the morning, and also moving more, which leads me onto my next thing…

Something new you want to try: Rollerskating or barre! Before lockdown I started doing adult ballet and loved it. It was really hard but I felt good afterwards. Hopefully covid will have calmed down enough I feel safe to do a class without a mask on.

Something you want to finish from 2022: House purchase and wedding planning! Mostly because although they are fun they are also expensive and draining! (Just need to get the rings, my shoes, the super secret surprise, and figure out what is planned for my hen do)

Something you want to keep doing: Not sleeping at night due to brain business/revenge procrastination/The Anxiety. (Last night I was up til 2.30am and I’m 32, I can’t deal with this like I’m 19 anymore).

Oh shit tags. Okay. I tag @hawkelf and @roxisangel and @combeferret and @frxworker8

[ozu-teapot]

In the Doghouse | Darcy Conyers | 1961

I watched In the Doghouse kind of in response to Leslie Phillips’ death earlier this week. I wanted to find a film of his I hadn’t seen before and it turned out to be a good choice as he’s very much the central character rather than being part of an ensemble as in the Carry On or Doctor films.

Phillips plays slightly against the type he’s best known for, the rogueish woman hungry bounder with his catchphrase of “Ding dong!” upon seeing a beautiful lady. Here he’s a thouroughly decent chap who still by reason of ineptitude, misunderstanding, or plain bad luck ends up in a series of mildly amusing situations.

Although the film is a comedy it has some moments of pathos particularly the scenes featuring Esma Cannon. So often a “dotty old lady” in other comedies but here a lonely woman finding it difficult to say goodbye to her ailing dog. There’s also a hint of a romantic attraction towards Phillips’ newly qualified vet from Hattie Jacques’ RSPCA officer. Hattie rarely got to play a romantic lead though and unfortunately when Peggy Cummins turns up and puts a spanner in those particular works we feel Hattie’s sadness as she resigns herself to  just being the good friend. Unfortunate for Hattie but Peggy’s involvement (her last film role) along with that of Fenella Fielding were another couple of reasons I decided to watch the movie.

[aduelbetweenkingdomsafreshstart]

ADBK: Reflect Bounder

Epithet: The Reflecting Wizard

Voice Actor: Eric Bauza

Tribe: The Machinations

Biography: Now here's a Machine whose malice is as true as he is funny-looking; unlike the Jinzo brothers, whose fate was sealed by mind control, this former student of Exodia had evil intentions from the beginning.

He was created to be a teacher himself, hoping to teach trap spells to those serving in the Convent. However, Reflect Bounder had always resented this task, seeing it as beneath him due to his high powered processor.

So, he tried taking over the Convent by reflecting the attacks of those who tried to defeat him, casting special wards to prevent Magic spells from being cast. However, Reflect Bounder was defeated thanks to Black Luster Soldier, who used a diversion to distract the caped robot and had the Spellcasters destroy him from behind. They scattered his body parts to the nearby forest, but these did not go unnoticed. A Spellcaster named Akakieisu discovered the remains, and took them to his home in the village of Dragon's Keep to be repaired.

The two stuck around for a while, creating dastardly schemes to gain power and prestige. After Akakieisu cursed Lupus (a.k.a. Wolf Axwielder) to become a lycanthrope, the traitorous duo moved to the Wasteland of Empty Thoughts, where they met the Perfect Machine King and his Machinations.

Although Akakieisu was nearly killed and forced to flee into the Bog of the Undead Hordes, Reflect Bounder willingly joined the Machinations due to his unique reflection abilities. He works alongside Jinzo as his second-in-command, often leading troops into battle on his behalf.

[outfitterhimalaya]

12 Days Everest Base Camp Trek

 Everest base camp trek 12 Days

Embark on a life-changing adventure with the Everest Base Camp Trek - 12 days. This trek is renowned as one of the most popular in the world, taking you into the breathtaking Khumbu region of Nepal. Prepare to be amazed as you journey to the base camp of Mount Everest, the highest mountain in the world at 8,848 meters. Along the way, you will be immersed in the rich Tibetan Buddhist culture of the local Sherpas, adding a spiritual element to your experience. This 12-day trek is a perfect blend of awe-inspiring nature and cultural exploration.

12 Days Everest Base Camp Trek

The Everest Base Camp Trek, which spans 12 days, offers a unique opportunity to reach the base camp of Mount Everest. The itinerary has been thoughtfully planned to include ample acclimatization days, ensuring the safety and well-being of trekkers. Throughout the journey, an experienced local guide will lead the way, accompanied by a team of knowledgeable crew members.

The Everest Base Camp trek, which spans 12 days, takes you through various villages and ancient monasteries such as Khumjung and Thyangboche. Along the trek, you will also have the opportunity to hike up to the Kalapattar viewpoint, where you can enjoy breathtaking panoramic views of the Himalayas, including the majestic Mt. Everest.

Embark on the incredible Everest Base Camp Trek and witness breathtaking views of the world's highest Himalayas, including the majestic Mt. Everest, Mt. Lhotse, Mt. Cho Oyu, Mt. Makalu, and many more. This 12-day trek takes you through stunning glaciers, snow-filled rocks, and bounders, offering an unforgettable adventure in the heart of the Himalayas.

The 12-day Everest Base Camp trek has gained popularity over the years, starting from when British Surveyor Sir George Everest first observed and mapped Mount Everest in the 1850s. The base camp itself became even more renowned after the successful expedition of Sir Edmund Hillary and Tenzing Norgay Sherpa to the world's highest peak in 1953.

The 12-day Everest Base Camp Trek begins in Lukla and takes you through various stops including Phakding, Namche Bazar, Tengboche, Dingbuche, Dughla, Lobuche, and GorakShep before reaching Everest Base Camp. The return journey follows a similar route back to Lukla, where you will then fly back to Kathmandu.

There are many trekking program that includes Everest base Camp and some of them are the Everest Base Camp Trek, Everest high Pass Trek, Everest Chola Pass Trek, Deluxe Everest base camp trek, Everest Base Camp And Island Peak, and Everest Base Camp Trek by Road.

Itinerary of the trek

Day 1: Fly from Kathmandu to Lukla and Trek to Phakding

Day 2: Trek from Phakding to Namche Bazaar

Day 3: Rest Day at Namche Bazaar for acclimatization

Day 4: Trek from Namche Bazaar to Tyangboche

Day 5: Trek from Tyangboche to Dingboche

Day 6: Rest Day at Dingboche for acclimatization

Day 7: Trek from Dingboche to Lobuche

Day 8: Trek from Lobuche to Everest Base Camp via Gorakshep

Day 9: Trek to Kala Patthar and trek to Pheriche

Day 10: Trek from Pheriche to Namche Bazaar

Day 11: Trek from Namche Bazaar to Lukla

Day 12: Fly from Lukla to Kathmandu

[dragon-heisters]

Session 31, 1 Apr 2023: "This is some Tracy Emin type shit."

Suggested talking points: the price of the pathfinder rule book (ridiculous), hooray for the DM's sister - she found a copy at a local bookshop for an actually decent price! We’re all super excited for Pathfinder, which lets pretty much anyone have a familiar or animal companion, which can even be a severed head or severed hand. You don't want an angel though.

No Hazel or Pfenig tonight, so we must soldier on without them. We’ve found the vault, so we chuff off home for a long rest as we got battered by a Displacer beast last time. Nuri levels up both Hazel and Pfenig, and we’re off…

The party wake up at Trollskull Alley and descend the stairs; Nuri notices that Thessalie is absent. He asks around, but no-one seems to have seen her today. Lif says she has been acting strangely, talking to herself. Vervain is in the taproom, however, and has been chatting with Pfenig. He’s been filling them in on what they’ve missed.

Well, we didn't need Thessalie anyway. Or the Stone of Golorr, not any more. (That's definitely not going to come back to bite us.) We go back to the mill and go down the stairs; there is a large set of double doors with dwarfish runes carved into them. Nuri can read them given time, if no-one else speaks it…? No? Okay. He casts Comprehend Languages as a ritual. “The three keys, bring them forth!”

Ah fuck, we forgot the dwarf. Oh, no we didn’t, hurray!

We get the shaved dwarf to hold the beholder eyestalk and the dragon scale, and ask him to wait for us like he’s some sort of taxi. He agrees. Vervain shares their Eyes of Night ability, giving everyone 300 feet of darkvision.

The doors open to a huge chamber; twelve sets of double doors line the walls. Hazel gives the room a cursory glance for traps. “Looks fine to me.”

60 feet above us are bridges that span the columns in the centre of the room; they all look to be in pretty shitty condition. Engraved on the double doors are images of dwarves in heavy armour.

No traps on the floor. Nuri casts Detect Magic as a ritual and does a circuit of the room, approaching each set of doors in turn to see if there is any magic around or behind the doors. Aside from us and the items we carry, there is no sign of magic in the room.

He picks a set of doors at random. We go up to them and Hazel checks them for traps. 10. “Oooh! Average.”

No sign of traps on the doors. No keyhole, either. Hmm. Pfenig gives them a push; nothing happens. Vervain leans over him and pushes them open.

There is a staircase leading up, and next to it is a fresco of dwarves battling goblins. It is... oddly alluring... As we approach, everyone but Hazel makes WIS saves; ah fuck.

We all roll pretty good for once. Pfenig thinks the artwork is crass; Vervain has seen better. DM: "This is some Tracy Emin type shit." Nothing bad happens, yay!

As luck would have it, every other door in the room is false; we happened to hit on the right ones first time. Ha! (Nuri: "Told you the others only slowed us down.")

Joe copies and pastes us up the stairs, and we push our tank (Pfenig) up ahead. The hall we find ourselves in has high ceilings and more pillars. There are 3 archways on the left, and Vervain spots an area of damage to a mural about halfway down the wall. The mural is of dwarves doing... something. They go and have a closer look; the dwarves are in heavy armour and look as if they’re off to battle.

Nuri and his genasi eyes take a look. It looks to be a different artist than the fresco downstairs. He makes an Investigation check; worse than Vervain's. The crack in the mural looks deep and dark. He presses his nose up against it and gets hit in the face with a pseudopod - Initiative time!

Hazel retreats into shadow and shoots the thing, remembering from last time we fought black puddings that they’re hard to hide from. 20 damage!

DM, annoyed: “You sir, are a cad and a bounder.”

Pfenig next. The DM asks if he is going to heal the poor little pudding. He casts Shilfkgjldfhgklhjh instead, but is too far away to do much on this turn. He moves up and gets ready for the next round.

Nuri has a faceful of black pudding. “Not this again.” He Creates Bonfire underneath it, doing 11 damage and forcing a DC15 DEX save. It rolls a 6, which comes out the other side as a 3. Good to know…

Vervain Sacred Flames it. They could do Spiritual Weapon but they don’t want to use the spell slot if they don’t need to. "We’ve got Hazel, we’ll be fine."

The pudding hits Nuri, rolling a 20 and dissolving his armour; joke’s on the DM because this happened last time and he never replaced his armour, so all it does it make his jacket look slightly cooler.

The pudding slops off toward Hazel, and Nuri gets an attack of opportunity - it hits for 6 slashing and 2 fire damage. The pudding splits into two puddings, and Vervain swears a lot.

(Pfenig arrives in person, he’s escaped from his party and come to join us!)

Hazel shoots and hits for 22 damage and gets the how de do dis one one of them. "It bursts and splashes on the floor and it’s gross." Hazel smiles unnervingly.

It’s Pfenig’s turn - he does Symbiotic Enti- no wait, he wants to save that. He runs up and hits it with his Shilsdkldfhjlhh, “Giving it a jolly good pasting. Have that, ya bastard.” It’s looking… grubby, like it’s losing its integrity.

Nuri’s turn and he casts Bonfire under it again. How de do dis! “It kind of… boils, and there’s a smell of burned farts.”

Nuri is looking a little worse for wear; Vervain does him a Cure Wounds at level 1; 8 HP back.

Vervain spots a door at the far end of the corridor; they get Hazel to check it for traps. She finds none. Vervain manages to push the door open. Behind it is treasure!

We did it, we won Dungeons and Dragons. Nuri starts calculating how much we can carry. The DM asks us if we’d like to go in and investigate the gold. Uh oh; looks like we haven’t won quite yet.

There are five urns; inside them we find the following:

Urn 1: 5 tourmaline worth 100 gp each & 200cp Urn 2: Ring of Warmth, 10 gold rings worth 25gp each, and 650 gp in coins Urn 3: 250gp Urn 4: 33 blue quartz worth 10gp each Urn 5: a 9 inch tall statue of a dwarf worth 250gp and weighing 10lbs.

Probably not even Lord Neverember knew about this room; we don’t think this is part of the hoard. We can just pocket this. We can fit some in our loot satchels, and Nuri’s lamp; we do that.

We have a look at the bridges; these are suspended over the room below and are in, quote, “Shit condition”. We send Pfenig across first and wait to see what happens to him. We think about sending him over with a rope but we only have 50 feet of it; we could tie two together but it’ll be long enough then that if he does fall he’ll still hit the ground. We decide to just tie the one rope around him, and Vervain holds the other end. He'll be on his own after the first 50 feet or so. Vervain casts Guidance on him and he edges his way across.

DM: “Stop right there and make a Dexterity check!” He rolls a 6, and even Guidance isn’t going to help that.

Pfenig as he plummets 60 feet to the ground: “And that’s how Pfenig dies.”

Vervain makes a STR save, a 15, and manages to save him. Phew! He takes a little bit of damage as he reaches the end of the rope, but not as much as if he'd hit the ground. Vervain drops him the last five feet and he comes back around and up the stairs.

We all heard a thunderous crash from the northern end of the room as this happened; sounds like one of the other bridges collapsed. Pfenig has a look on his way back up; it did.

How to cross the gaps? Vervain has a decent jump distance, and Pfenig can change into something that can jump. Vervain goes first and flings one end of their rope back for Hazel; the other two make it under their own steam.

We approach the adamantine door on the other end of the bridge. We get Hazel to check for traps; 23! Eyyyyyyy. She finds no traps. Vervain pushes it but nothing happens.

Pfenig makes an Arcana check to see if it’s magical; a 9. He thinks it probably is. Nuri or Pfenig can cast Detect Magic; Pfenig does, and sees a faint aura around the door. It’s transmutation magic. (If only we had a transmutation wizard.) We all look at each other, stumped.

Nuri: "I could set it on fire…?"

Vervain makes an Insight check; they think that if one of us was a dwarf the doors would open automatically. Oh - duh. They trudge back down the stairs to go and get the dwarf.

He’s drunk. The door opens for him anyway. Great! We are going to have to babysit this guy now though.

The chamber beyond is 20 feet high with frescoes of more dwarves and an anvil on a plinth in the centre of the room. Nuri investigates the fresco. “Shall I do my Wisdom Save now?” He's fine, nothing happens.

Pfenig spots some dwarven runes on the anvil. We push the dwarf forward.

“It says let the hammer fall and the anvil ring,” he slurs.

Who’s got a hammer?

Pfenig looks at the fresco. It’s of a blacksmith, and handily there is a removable hammer. Behind it are more runes.

“Oi, Thunderbuns!”

The dwarf shuffles over. “Let hearts be lifted and battles won.”

Pfenig lifts the hammer with his very small Strength score and brings it down “in a big wobbly arc” on the anvil.

CLANG!

DM: "Can you all hear it? You didn’t cover your ears or anything?"

Oh no…

We all get ten temp HP!

We call it there, so we can think about how we are going to get back over the bridge without using too many of our daily skills. Next session will probably be the last one, so let's make it good!

[mycatatemyroadmap]

Moody clouds dapple Blair Valley in stripes of light and shadow. The view is from the Marshall South Home Trail, a path that leads to the derelict mountaintop homestead of author Marshal South. He lived there with his family from 1930 to 1947, writing gloriously about his solitary life while also struggling against the harshness of its arid reality. Looking back over the valley, you can just make out the solitary Bounder in the distance. No one else was parked at the trailhead when we arrived. We drove down about five miles of dirt road to get there from our campsite. (at Anza-Borrego Desert State Park) https://www.instagram.com/p/Cp25znFORG2/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[moorheadthanyoucanhandle]

WHILE STREAMERS WATCHED THEIR FLICKS BY NIGHT...

Merry Christmas Eve Eve everybody! The Phoenix Film Critics Society...

...of which Your Humble Narrator is proud to be a founding member, recently announced our 2022 Award winners. As always, some of the winners--like Best Actor--reflect my voting, others don't, but there are a lot of movies worth seeing on the list.

A few other odds and ends...

Cash on Demand--Last week I was shown this 1961 gem I had never caught up with, a no-kidding Christmas movie from Hammer Films! It's available on DVD; I highly recommend. Peter Cushing plays a joyless bank manager, cold and critical toward his employees, who gets his Christmas Eve ruined when a suave bounder (Andre Morell) tells him that his cohorts are holding Cushing's wife and son hostage while he plunders the vault at the provincial branch. Cushing, unsurprisingly, is great--despicable at first, gradually shading into sympathy as his desperation rises--and Morell is sensational, in maybe the best role he ever had, as the sinister yet curiously charismatic thief.

Richard Vernon nicely leads the small ensemble that plays the branch employees. It's a gripping, imaginative caper, though of course it's just one more variation on the Scrooge story, with the robber serving as a felonious Ghost of Christmas Present.

Something From Tiffany's--Two guys, played by Ray Nicholson (Jack's kid) and Kendrick Sampson, buy jewelry at the title shop as Christmas presents for their respective lady friends (Zoey Deutsch and Shay Mitchell). One's a pair of earrings; the other's an engagement ring. A mishap mixes up the gift bags, and wackiness ensues. I was recently pointed toward this romcom, streaming on Prime. It's very undemanding, but it's inventive, Zoey Deutsch makes a sweet heroine and her costars, including the great Rose Abdoo as the Tiffany's clerk, are pleasant company. And it seems like it's a cut above most of the Hallmark Christmas movies.

American Murderer--A stalwart FBI man played by Ryan Phillippe searches for fugitive Jason David Brown, who was on the Ten Most Wanted List at the same time as Osama bin Laden and Whitey Bulger for killing an armored car guard here in Phoenix in November of 2004. As Phillippe talks to Brown's family and acquaintances we get his story in flashback (it's often different from what they're telling the agent). I'm late to the party on this true-crime drama released earlier this year, written and directed by Matthew Gentile and available on various streaming platforms. Don't let the poster fool you into dismissing this as a routine action flick; it's an absorbing feature debut for Gentile, a tense, believable piece of work, full of disturbing scenes that feel like something you'd witness as a passerby. Soap actor Tom Pelphrey plays Brown as a tightly-wound obsequious hustler, sort of a coked-up Eddie Haskell. Though he worms his way into the house and bed of his single-mom neighbor (Idina Menzel) and plays video games with her son, and though he can still get over on his own siblings, his Mom (Jacki Weaver) has long since recognized him for the callous creep he is. But even he isn't prepared for the psychic weight of murder, and Gentile gets across this internal horror impressively. It's worth checking out, maybe after Christmas.

[justtshirts]

Pop nsync dvd volume

#POP NSYNC DVD VOLUME HOW TO#

#POP NSYNC DVD VOLUME MOVIE#

For that I will always be thankful to the makers of Pump up the Volume, and I suspect it'll stay my all-time favorite for years and years to come! Naturally, I rank this one a must-see film, with a 10 out of 10 rating. The film taught me I could use my words to make a difference, and for the past ten years I've been doing just that as a journalist and newspaper editor here in central Israel.

#POP NSYNC DVD VOLUME MOVIE#

On a personal note, I have to say that I hold credit to this movie for a lot of who I am in my grown-up life. Also look out for a very very young Seth Green (Austin Powers, Without a Paddle) as one of the students that helps spread Harry's tapes across the school. Look out for Samantha Mathis's powerful role as Nora DeNiro, Hunter's female admirer, and one of the only people around him that know he's behind the controversial broadcasts. For grown-ups, it serves an interesting conflict about the bounders of democracy and the part the media plays in each and every one of our lives.

#POP NSYNC DVD VOLUME HOW TO#

For the younger ones, it teaches how to stand up for what you believe in and try to right society's wrongs. But can a voice be heard without its owner taking responsibility to its actions? The notions and ideas which arise upon viewing Pump up the Volume are intriguing and fresh until this very day, 16 years after its initial release. As Mark, he tries to keep a low profile and doesn't blend in with the ongoing events, but as Harry he feels he must take a stand and speak up his thoughts and ideas. When stumbling upon information concerning illegal steps his school has taken regarding problematic students, things start to get out of control. Upon gaining fame and listeners, Hunter adopts a pseudonym, one "Happy Harry Hard On" which brings messages of freedom of speech and thought to his fellow classmates at school. Luckily, his parents buy him a ham radio in order to keep connected with his friends back east, and Mark finds a unique way of passing time by transmitting his thoughts about the suburbs and the lousy life of 1990 teenagers, using his ham radio as a local broadcast device. The days are the early nineties, when internet was probably considered radical science fiction at best, and Mark finds himself all of a sudden pretty lonely in the new school. The story presents us Mark Hunter (a then young and extremely talented Christian Slater), a teenage high school student that moves with his parents from the big city to the suburbs, when his father gets a new job as an educational consultant for a middle-America region. This genuine masterpiece doesn't only teach us about leadership and the ability of one individual to make a difference in the world it is also a triumph of the human spirit in general and of the youth over decadent grown-up ideas specifically. Upon viewing the film for the first time as a ten-years-old kid back when it was released in cinemas, I remember feeling profoundly moved by the main lead and the events his character sets in motion. Media Format : Color, NTSC, DTS Surround Sound, Letterboxed. Pump up the Volume (1990) is perhaps one of the most inspiring films that ever found their way to the celluloid forum. Product Dimensions : 5.3 x 7.5 x 0.62 inches 3.2 Ounces.

[thebadgerclan]

Abducted

Pairing: Kaz Brekker x sister reader

Requested by Anonymous

Summary: Kaz doesn’t need a plan, he’s getting his sister back...

The note arrived at the Slat with a single drop of crimson blood staining the paper.  Mister Brekker, it read.  As I’m sure you’ve noticed, your dear sister has yet to return home to you.  My men made quick work of kidnapping her, the poor girl struggled like a fish on a hook, she ought to learn better.  There are two ways she will be returned to you: either when you give me the 3 thousand kruge you stole from my men, or when her body is in a box.  Which eventuality comes to pass is entirely up to you.  I give you 2 days, Mister Brekker.  Yours sincerely, -Pekka Rollins.

Kaz shattered the glass he’d been drinking from against the wall, making Jesper jump.  “What do we do, boss?” he asked, but Kaz was already moving, holstering guns and sheathing knives, tucking lockpicks into his sleeve and taking his beloved crow head cane from its place next to his desk.  “What the hell do you think I’m doing?” he replied, eyes wide and voice frantic.  “I’m going to get my sister!”  Kaz limped down the stairs, Jesper following close behind.  “Shouldn’t we make a plan first?  It’s not safe to go barging into the Emerald Pa-”

“I don’t give a fuck about a plan!  That bastard has my sister!  The man who killed my brother has my baby sister, and he’ll kill her too if I don’t get her back!”  Kaz was yelling now, voice carrying through the whole of the Slat.  Jesper knew there was nothing he could do to change Kaz’s mind, so he nodded.  “Alright.  Is there anything I can do?”  “Make sure Nina’s ready when we get back, in case she’s hurt.”  “Alright boss.”  Then, just as Kaz was exiting the Slat, he added, “No mourners.”  “No funerals,” Kaz replied grimly, setting out into the night.

***

The rope binding your wrists was rubbing away at your skin, but Pekka didn’t care.  You were bound to a chair, wrists tied behind you, ankles tied to the chair you were seated in, a few wounds on your arms and legs.  But other than that, you were unharmed.  Pekka looked at his watch, chickling.  “I do hope your brother gets that money to me,” he mused, as if you weren’t even in the room. “I would hate for Y/N Brekker to be found floating in 5th Harbor.”  You struggled uselessly against your bonds.  “He won’t bend,” you bit out.  “Kaz is smarter than thay.”  “You’d best hope so,” Pekka laughed, kicking the chair, making you startle.

***

Anyone who saw Kaz knew he was on a mission, and stepped out of his way.  He was boiling with rage, and beneath it, fear.  You were the only family Kaz had left, he’d lost Jordie, he refused to lose you too.  The Emerald Palace came into view, and Kaz strode in like he owned the place.  He kept one hand on his cane, the other on the hilt of a dagger.  He had no idea where you were being kept, and Kaz knew he should have listened to Jesper, he should have planned this out.  But his baby sister was in danger, and Kaz refused to let you remain in danger.

“Sir, you can’t be here,” a bouncer said, but Kaz drew the knife, the blade glinting in the light.  “I’m here to see Pekka Rollins,” he said, voice low and dangerous.  “He should be expecting me.”  “Mister Brekker, I-” but Kaz thrust the knife forward, lodging it just below the bounder’s sternum.  “Where.  Is.  My.  Sister?”  “I.. I don’t know!” the bouncer gasped, blood staining his shirt.  “B-but Pekka d-does.”  “Then where is Pekka?”  “H-his o-o-office!”  Kaz twisted the blade before retracting it, ensuring the man wouldn’t live another hour.  

Kaz slipped through a door meant for the staff and ascended the stairs as quickly as he could with his bad leg.  His heart was pounding, he could hear his pulse in his ears, and when he reached the landing, he drew another knife.  He wouldn’t resort to guns unless he had to.  Quietly, he opened the door, creeping along the corridor and into Pekka’s office.  The door was ajar, and light spilled into the hall, and Kaz slipped inside.  

There you were, tied to a chair, wrists behind you, completely immobile.  Your eyes widened when you saw your brother, and you opened your mouth, but Kaz held up a finger, silencing you.  Hope rushed through you.  Kaz was here, your brother was here, you were going  to be alright.  There was a single guard in the room, but the idiot was distracted.  Kaz gestured for you to duck your head, and you did, and Kaz threw the knife.  He wasn’t nearly as skilled as Inej, but the knife found its target: the back of the guard’s neck, and he fell to the ground.

“Kaz,” you whimpered, and your brother rushed forth, untying your bonds and helping you to your feet.  You threw yourself into his arms, and Kaz held you tight, fighting back tears.  Kaz the brother might cry, but Dirtyhands didn’t, he’d save that for when he was alone.  “Oh Saints, Kaz.”  “Shh,” he comforted, rubbing his gloved hand over your back.  “I’ve got you.  You’re safe, Y/N, I’ve got you.”  You were the only person whose touch didn’t repulse him, you were the only one who he would ever hold in his arms.  

“Come on, we’re getting you home.”  Kaz threw open the window, not caring about leaving a trail, and helped you onto the roof.  As he climbed out after you, he realized he’d forgotten to bring rope, but you held your severed bonds in hand, and Kaz smiled.  “That’s my sister,” he said, tying the pieces together enough to get you to the ground.  He scaled down first, spotting you on the way down.  Once you were both safely on the ground, Kaz removed his coat and draped it over your shoulders, taking your hand and leading you through Ketterdam’s streets back to the Slat.

Nina was waiting by the door when you arrived, concern on her face.  “Oh, thank the Saints,” she said, bustling you upstairs and into yours and Kaz’s shared room.  Your brother hovered protectively by your side, keeping a hand on your shoulder as Nina assessed your minor wounds.  He turned away while she helped you change, but as soon as you were clothed, he was at your side again, holding your hand as she healed you.

“She’ll be fine,” the Heartrender said.  “Just stay with her, she’s shaken, afraid.”  “I will,” Kaz nodded.  “Nina,” he called after her.  “Thank you.”  “You’re welcome, Kaz,” she said, lifting her skirts and going back downstairs.  Your brother sat next to you on your bed, pulling you into his arms, holding you tight against his chest.  “Fuck, Y/N, I was so afraid,” he said, letting a few tears fall.  “I thought… Saints, all I could think about was Jordie.”  

What few memories you had of your brother were hazy, you were only 10 when Jordie died, the fever from forepox blurring the memories of yours, Kaz’s, and Jordie’s illness, but you knew that was what claimed his life and nearly claimed yours and Kaz’s.  You leaned further into your brother’s embrace, crying yourself.  “I was so scared, Kaz,” you said.  “I was just on my way home, and I got jumped.  T-they held knives to me and threatened me, and-”  “Shhh, I know, Y/N, but you’re safe now.  I’ll protect you, Y/N, I will always protect you.  That’s a promise, a vow.”

You nodded, letting yourself break down.  Kaz squeezed your shoulders, rubbing your back and shushing you gently.  “I’m here,” he whispered.  “You’re safe, I’ve got you.  No one will hurt you again, Y/N.  I promise.”  It was a shit promise, really.  Death was almost always a moment away in the Barrell, the trick was avoiding it.  But Kaz, along with Inej, Jesper, and the rest of the Dregs, had taught you well, and he knew you could protect yourself.  But right now, you needed to feel protected, and Kaz hell bent on protecting you.  He’d do that until he died, and that was a promise he knew he’d keep.

[justforbooks]

When it was first published in 1963, The Group rapidly became a book that everyone read without wanting to admit it. Its frank descriptions of sex, contraception and breast-feeding as they affected a group of eight female graduates in 1930s America caused such a scandal that the novel was banned in Australia as an offence to public morals. Norman Mailer, a man whose own writing did not shy away from graphic depictions of the sexual act, dismissed The Group in the New York Review of Books as "a trivial lady writer's novel" infused with a "communal odour [that] is a cross between Ma Griffe and contraceptive jelly".

The book's author, Mary McCarthy, was not expecting such a furore. In spite of her status as one of America's leading women of letters, a writer with a reputation for acerbic insights and penetrating prose, she found that the intellectual, liberal circles in which she moved were quick to disparage her bestseller as little more than a superficial potboiler. At a dinner party in New York two months after its publication, the 51-year-old McCarthy burst into tears when a fellow guest admitted that he did not like the book, and when her close friend, the critic Elizabeth Hardwick, wrote a mean-spirited satire in the Partisan Review, McCarthy was hurt and puzzled by the betrayal.

For years afterwards, McCarthy received letters from irate readers accusing her of a "perverted outlook on life". She was shunned by her former university contemporaries, many of whom felt they had been mercilessly pilloried in the book. Despite the fact that The Group went on to top the New York Times bestseller list for almost two years, the experience was still raw enough for McCarthy to admit in a 1989 newspaper interview shortly before her death that she thought The Group had "ruined my life".

And yet it is for The Group that McCarthy is best remembered. Although many critics, like Mailer, argued that her earlier, less well-known works showed greater promise – her first novel, The Company She Keeps, published in 1942, or the autobiographical Memories of a Catholic Girlhood – The Group would become more influential than any of them. It had a lasting impact on subsequent generations of female writers, many of whom were struck by the candour and veracity of McCarthy's prose at a time when such things were simply not openly discussed and especially not by women. "She talked about the things you knew," says the award-winning biographer Claire Tomalin, who first read The Group as a young married woman with small children. "It all rang true. She opened a further door into brutal frankness. There was something so crisp and clever and bold about her writing."

McCarthy did not shy away from the discomfiting or the indiscreet. In one early scene, the sexually inexperienced Dottie Renfrew gets fitted for a Dutch cap after a one-night stand with a self-confessed bounder. In a later chapter, the eager-to-please Priss Hartshorn is shown struggling to breast-feed her newborn baby in order to test the new theories of motherhood espoused by her paediatrician husband. For Tomalin, and others like her, such scenes spoke directly to their own experience.

The timelessness of McCarthy's subject matter has prompted Virago to republish The Group next month for a new audience. On rereading, it becomes immediately apparent that McCarthy's characters confront many of the same issues as their modern counterparts: sex and contraception, career and marriage, love and lust, fidelity to one's husband versus loyalty to one's friends and the attempt to carve out a place for oneself unconstrained by the gender limitations of previous generations.

Its continuing relevance is one of the book's most extraordinary attributes. When Candace Bushnell was advised by an editor in the early 1990s to write "the modern-day version of The Group", she responded with Sex and the City, a collection of confessional essays about a group of female friends that spawned a multimillion-dollar TV series and film. "The Group reminds us that not much has really changed," writes Bushnell in the foreword to the new edition. "It's a book I prize, not only for its blistering satire, but for its technical elements, including McCarthy's brilliant use of the soliloquy, her pacing and razor-sharp descriptions."

For Hilary Mantel, whose most recent novel, Wolf Hall, won this year's Booker prize, The Group is "absorbing, funny, painful… a beautifully managed novel… I consider it a masterpiece". For AS Byatt, it was "the energy and brio of the storytelling" that first caught her imagination. "Also, the hard-headed descriptions of sex and contraceptives were cool and funny. I think the area in which it most affected my own work was its precise candour about sex." Byatt adds: "I didn't (and don't) think of The Group as a 'feminist novel'. It was a novel about a group of women from which most feminists could learn things – about moral and emotional traps set by society, for instance – but its intention was literary, storytelling, shocking rather than forwarding a cause."

Although McCarthy repeatedly distanced herself from the idea of being a "feminist" writer (she once described feminism as a cocktail of "self-pity, shrillness and greed"), her insistence on seeing women as they truly were, rather than how society wanted them to be, was in its own way revolutionary. The Group was published at a time of considerable flux in America. It was the year that Kennedy was assassinated, a time when the myth of the contented domesticity of previous generations was beginning to be challenged. A few months before it came out, Betty Friedan had published The ­ Feminine Mystique, a sociological study that brought to light the lack of fulfilment in women's lives based on the results of a questionnaire sent to 200 of her university contemporaries. Friedan called it "the problem with no name": the nagging dissatisfaction that lay at the heart of many women's experience despite a gloss of financial security.

McCarthy's novel was set in 1933, but it dealt with precisely the same issues that Friedan had identified. In The Group, the female characters set out to make their own way in Roosevelt's New Deal America, only to discover that they are just as economically and emotionally dependent on men as their mothers were. They believe in romantic love even though it costs them their independence and their idealistic, liberal politics come to nothing when the novel ends with the outbreak of the Second World War.

It was the women's submissiveness that most enraged Norman Mailer, who claimed that McCarthy's novel was fatally diminished by the fact that none of her characters has "the power or dedication to wish to force events", while conspicuously missing the point that it was precisely this enforced passivity that McCarthy wished to highlight.

In this, she was undoubtedly informed by her own life. By the time The Group was published, McCarthy had been married four times – her second husband, the literary critic Edmund Wilson, refused to allow her to keep her own bank account and, according to McCarthy, had her committed to a psychiatric hospital against her will, claiming she was "hysterical". McCarthy had endured a troubled childhood – both her parents died in the 1918 flu epidemic and she was sent to live with a great aunt and uncle, whom she later accused of having violently beaten her on a daily basis.

It was when McCarthy won a place at Vassar, the single-sex, liberal arts college in Poughkeepsie, New York, that she rapidly set about reinventing herself. Vassar represented academic success and an escape from her difficult upbringing, but in spite of her ferocious intelligence, McCarthy never felt she was fully accepted into the socially elite milieu in which she found herself. She came to rely on her intellect to win her friends, but it rewarded her with admiration rather than acceptance and she was left feeling like an outsider.

The status of outsider is arguably what minted McCarthy's reputation as a writer. Her early short stories and essays display her incisive critical eye and an ability to record every detail with unflinching accuracy. "She felt she had a kind of obligation to tell the truth as she saw it," says her son, Reuel Wilson. "She was a very meticulous chronicler of the minor details of everyday life: what people ate, what they wore, what they drank."

McCarthy's detractors criticise her for concentrating on the outward ephemera of her characters' lives rather than giving them psychological depth, but in The Group her ability to convey a personality with the precision of a single phrase is deployed to devastating effect. Self-important Norine Schmittlapp, for instance, is described as living in a squalid apartment that smells of "soured dishcloth". "Bedding with her… must be like rolling in a rich mouldy compost of autumn leaves, crackling on the surface, like her voice, and underneath warm and sultry from the chemical processes of decay."

For McCarthy's Vassar contemporaries, many of whom appeared as recognisable characters in the novel, it was difficult not to feel that old scores were being settled. To them, McCarthy's satirical tone seemed perilously close to naked contempt – as though having failed to assimilate she was now determined to retaliate. In Seeing Mary Plain, Frances Kiernan's 2000 biography of McCarthy, several of McCarthy's former Vassar classmates are quoted as being unhappy about their portrayal. One of them claimed that McCarthy was "trying to make up for the fact that she always felt socially inferior".

McCarthy was stung by the fallout at first, insisting that her characters were composites. But a year after The Group's publication, she told the New York Herald Tribune that the book had indeed resulted from "putting real plums into an imaginary cake". By that stage, it was clear that the unintended consequence of the novel's popularity was to cement the outsider status McCarthy had been so keen to shed. Although The Group brought her a vastly larger audience, its publication resulted in McCarthy being rejected by both the Vassar classmates whose social poise she envied and the highbrow artistic friends whose intellect she admired.

Was it worth it? McCarthy would no doubt have quarrelled with the premise of the question – in 1984, five years before her death from lung cancer, she was still feisty enough to declare: "To be disesteemed by people you don't have much respect for is not the worst fate." Her later works and her 26-year correspondence with the political theorist Hannah Arendt did much to restore McCarthy's reputation as one of America's leading intellectuals. But in spite of all her brilliance, or perhaps because of it, McCarthy never quite fitted into the group she wrote about. She became her own woman and that, no doubt, was just how she would have wanted it.

Daily inspiration. Discover more photos at http://justforbooks.tumblr.com

[auguriium]

@niveusveritas

The limited vastness of what Touya has set to call home for now, of the mysterious thing that is the mirage Island that shelters him and Reshiram, and also N along Zekrom who desires nothing but to make up for the time the two dragons have spent apart - as if their bond born from fight did not matter when there was something stronger that bound together with a connection so similar to love, in a way someone could understand perhaps. One that transcends familiar, filial or anything; one could not live without the other, fights and disagreements would happen beyond the lifetime Touya himself has and can expire when his journey settles into whatever the future lends them in a world shrouded in uncertainty and the loom of danger at the hands of Team plasma and it’s now vice grip on the world’s entire force. It was a small place, in a way. But big too - offering to unexplored caves with friendly pokemon that, at least and because of the twin dragon’s influence, see Touya as just one more of them and either let their big curiosity lead to approach the ex champion, to the skittish ones that kept their distance or were completely indifferent about him. And Touya appreciated it so much, many places could have hostile pokemon, territorial ones that at the mere sight of humans or pokemon that did not belong there send them in a rampage that anyone would rather avoid. Under the shelter of the low light of crystals that feed off Zekrom’s magnetic electricity that naturally their large and stoic body exudes, Touya gazes upon them like a miniature display of stars - how curious that their color could change depending which dragon resided within these caves; as when it had been only him and the tired Reshiram, the color of the crystals were of a dull but alive crimson remanent of beautiful fires the white feathered dragon was able once to spit. Now them no more than a gentle ember and smoke - truly tired and wounded, and whatever the Team plasma did to them enough to drain the ancient dragon’s greatness to a halt and long need to rest, yet Reshiram’s stubborn to revert back into their orb to speed up the process; as he’s tried to tell them, but Reshiram never gives a reason why, and Touya being the kindhearted fool he is, settles with that. Sulking, of course - but nothing he can truly push them to when the dragon did not want and instead just lay in the large makeshift bed of leaves and soft grass and shed feathers managed to be built by Touya, tied with Serperior’s vines and some of now Zekrom’s aid with their raw strength to move bounders and other heavy materials around so the space for reshiram is a proper one for healing... If only suspiciously also with space for the other dragon too, but it was for the best even with the stink eyes Reshiram shots back at Touya whenever he is no help shooing Zekrom. A memory rises upon the bed of crystals like stars, and Touya befalls in a small memory. True, he may not have his phone anymore but considering the starting of snow melting means one thing, spring is nearing, and so is... Valentine’s day. But— It’d be impossible and stupidly risky to ask so suddenly the twin dragons if he can go to a region and bring snacks. Oh the anger that it’d stir on Latios is enough to send a cold shiver through his spine and.... maybe. It was better for the best that such thing to be avoided. Yet, the idea and ache inside his heart is there. N probably has seen it in his travels happen, so this time he may have a grasp of the day itself or just it’s little and silly ritual of chocolate giving... Touya can help but sulk pathetically where he lies at the entrance of the cave, not too far from the gentle crackling of the makeshift fireplace keeping him from freezing entirely, Reshiram’s shed plumes always stashed and used as warm blankets along some of Zekrom’s stronger scales that have been a great source of crating tools, sturdy tables and other things. The former Champion even allows himself one moment to whine softly about the predicament - but... Maybe he could still just give him something else.

Something of meaning and for N to remember him by... Ah, so long the other is unaware of his predicament and not ask before he blurts anything out his betraying tongue, Touya just lets himself drag a long sigh out. one that wins Reshiram’s hum that oddly feels like an amused chuckle that Touya absolutely takes offense with. But doesn’t give the dragon the satisfaction about it despise the even stringer sulk that paints his visage, or his arms cross as if it somehow will shield his heart from being heard so plainly by the dragon who he shares such a deep emotional bond, feeling each other’s hearts and pains. “ I just wonder... If he would like anything I try to make, as there’s no way I can get chocolate for him. “ He says, quiet and for reshiram to hear knowing N’s been on his long walks as of usual. Having now also the task to plant and pick new berries and other edible food for Touya to cook later with — which is his favorite part for all the sparkly eyes of anticipation that orchestrates behind him when the whiff of beautiful scent waffs from his cauldron while making soups and stews for everyone. —  But reshiram lacks answer beyond the usual words that echo in his mind “ be true to yourself. You already know what to do. “ which... absolutely does not help. Sure, it's the honest way to, but then the next part is to kick his buzzing feelings off so he can actually get off the cool comfort of the cave’s floor and Reshiram’s shed feather his hands hold onto. What a predicament the Former Hero and champion is right now. Is valentines even a thing anymore with team Plasma’s governance? Not that he’d even comply if they somehow banned it for the sake of it. That’d just pick on the stubborn challenging spirit within Touya and go for it anyways.

[ Niveusveritas || Touya thinks too much about chocolate he can't obtain sdFDJÑSFDKF ]

Beneath the hazy skies that shroud the mirage islands it's almost impossible to count the stars or admire the moon as he once had while traveling with Zekrom. But, oddly, he finds the lack of shimmering light speckled across the cast unknown to be more captivating than a typical picturesque night. But if he were being honest, he, admittedly, had never paid much attention to the sky when he had been soaring through it with the dragon of ideals largely because his mind had been elsewhere. Wondering where Touya was. If he was safe. If he was doing well. Those were questions he had the answers to now, even if those answers weren't as reassuring as he would have liked for them to be. Both Touya and Reshiram were safe, that much - at least - he was overjoyed to know. But he couldn't even begin to claim that they were doing well. Yet, he was happy to be reunited with them once more. Being with Touya makes him feel, ah, it's difficult to describe but the emotion itself doesn't seem to come from a place of logic or reasoning, but he imagines being with Touya makes him feel the same way being with Reshiram makes Zekrom feel. Or rather, he knows it does, given the fact that the dragon's feelings mix so freely and vividly with his own. Which is why, despite the distance currently placed between them, he can still feel a wave of excitement and comfort that washes over Zekrom as they enjoy the downtime night allows them to pester Reshiram without too many consequences.

The sensation makes his lips curl into a smile as his shoes crunch softly over the dewy grass, and the cacophony of an array of Pokemon fills his ears. Despite their initial fear, the creatures that call these islands their home have largely grown used to his and his oversized and overexcited friend's presence. He can often hear them chattering amongst themselves, and while most are still too leery to draw close, they don't flee from him either as they once had. They speak of things that are easy for him to grasp. About their days, about the foods they're interested in, about the island itself and the weather. Their conversations are a far cry from the countless he had overheard while traveling from city to city in search of Touya. Those were more difficult for him to relate to. Especially with Team Plasma's rise to power. But it makes him wonder, too, how much time he's been on this island, completely severed from the outside world. He doesn't and can't know how things are going, though he doesn't imagine well based on the various chirps he's caught wind of from the migrating Pokemon. But, for right now, all he wants to do is remain here with Touya and ensure Reshiram has a peaceful recovery.

But, despite the time that's passed, it's little more than a blink for him to calculate the exact date and minute of the current hour. Formulas are, after all, something he's always had a talent for. Numbers come naturally to him. He scarcely needs to think before putting together a complex equation. It's what his mind often finds occupying it when he goes off on one of these late night walks. But that comes with it's own set of spiraling thoughts as well because, oh, it's nearly Valentine's Day. His knowledge of the holiday isn't as concrete as it should be simply because it's something he only found out about while exploring the various regions. Pokemon had little need for a day to express their devotion to their families, as it was something they did every chance they had. He supposed humans are the same, though he's not entirely certain. His lips curve in visible thought, and his brows wrinkle as he mulls over it a bit more. Wasn't it tradition to give gifts on that day? So, shouldn't he give Touya a gift? After all, his relationship with the trainer is similar to Zekrom's relationship with Reshiram and he's near certain Zekrom would give Reshiram a gift if they learned of the holiday.

What; however, could be possibly give to Touya when they were currently stuck on an island in the middle of nowhere? Subconsciously, he lifts his hands to ruffle his hair, his eyes catching sight of a small Taillow napping on the branch of a nearby tree. Without thinking, he excitedly approaches the sleeping bird. "Excuse me!" The sound of his voice is enough to send the poor creature tumbling out from his nest with a loud squeak as it glares at him for disturbing its rest before flying off with a huff that N absolutely hears loud and clear with a slight flinch. Right, so maybe asking wild Pokemon in the middle of the night for gift ideas wasn't the past plan he's ever had. But if he wants to get Touya something he has to act soon. "Zekrom..." he mutters to himself before promptly turning back around and heading back towards the cave that's become their home away from home. Surely the dragon will have an idea, and he knows Reshiram isn't likely to disclose his question to Touya when doing so will only result in less sleep for them. Though, his haste doesn't earn him any favors, and, once he gets absorbed in something, he often loses track of everything around him so how late it is doesn't occur to him until after he's rushing back to the cave and excitedly shouted, "Zekrom, I need assistance assessing what the best gift to give Touya is!" until he's standing in the mouth of the cave with a very sleepy dragon peering over their fluffy counterpart staring at him, and he doesn't even notice he's disturbed the sleeping duo because, well, he's too busy looking Touya dead in the eyes to actually process their presence despite how intensely he can feel Zekrom's innocent amusement bubbling up within him as he turns his head to laugh sheepishly. "I mean...the assistance in assessing...a new formula I recently deduced to calculated how the Pokemon of this island react in various situations." He stumbles over the words as he speaks, choosing not to address the fact that he might very well have woken up the entire island in his newfound excitement to plan the perfect 'surprise' gift for the trainer right in front of him. Ah, surprises were indeed difficult.