#bear flag kilt

[johnthestitcher]

Me taking a break at Hampshire Pride, 2024, Northampton, MA. Many people forget that I am handicapped. {PS - it took five or six Bear Flags to make the design go all the way around my kilt}.

[ectonurites]

btw HUGE shout out to the person i saw wearing a kilt but the pattern was the Bear Pride flag

[espys-art-stuff]

It has occurred to me that I should probably... publish more of the random, insane things that go through my head rather than keep them locked up in my private digital notebooks forever. So with that said, please have this thing nobody asked for,

PREPARE

FOR MY GREAT EUROSLANDER POST

(disclaimer obvious satire piece is satire)

Directory of Europe (as written by an ignorant US tourist)

BRITISH ISLES, aka the only places we care about (wait they're islands?? I thou--)

England: Harry Potter Land and so London, very Posh, quite barmy out innit, god save the queen King, I want to hop into a queue and buy some fish and chips and good english tea, *waves the union jack aggressively*

(i feel so bri’ish!!1!11 did i do the accent right [is speaking cockney])

Ireland: EIRISH ((does several bad (scottish)ireland imitations)) and so beer and drienk, my grendfather was born ‘ere so I understind everythin’ aboot this playce

N. Ireland: I understand nothing about this place

Scotland: Aye Laddie, kilts and bagpipes and castles and ACCENTS (we're so scottish)

(wait you guys sound irish--)

Wales: tbh we didn't know you existed until we looked up the funny nonsense words

what do you mean there are native languages spoken in ENGland that aren’t english

THE SOUTH (Boonies)

Spain: Mexico 2.0

wtf do you mean it's more similar to california, california speaks Only English, a spanish-speaking country could never be as advanced

Italy: PIZZA (and old people) (and fascists), florida if floridians ate proper food

Greece: boring ruins and so poor, none of this was ever significant

Portugal: tbh we thought you were a territory of Brazil

Turkey: Earthquakes and Muslims (terrorists) (barbarians) (Iran begins here)

THE EAST (Mordor)

Hungary: We know nothing about it except that it's led by that one guy all our Conservatives really like for some reason, but hey he's White and European and Will Smith did a dance video in Budapest so they’re probably fine, also LOL they must be Hungry

Russia: Very Bad And Mean, We Boycott You For 1000 Years :( (but actually we still buy all your stuff and want your tourist traps and money)

Ukraine: *waves flags* (we did not care about you before but you're White and European and frankly Russia just isn't playing to our interests anymore, so we'll back your war while we look the other way on all the ones in those Non-White Countries)

Poland and like 70 other countries: Witcher 3 and commies

THE WEST (Civilised Countries)

Germany: yeah sorry like 85% of us still think you’re nazis, you're sort of just screwed on that front

France: PARIS and EIFFEL TOWER and ROMANCE (and also rude people)

Belgium+Luxembourg+Switzerland: Alps and croissants and swiss cheese and yodelling (and also rude people)

The Netherlands: 67,342 people skipped over this country because "the netherlands" sounds like the sticks

(we later figured out you were the dutch and we apologized that you have to live out in the sticks)

Austria: The Sound of Music

THE NORDICS (Socialist Paradise/Hell, speaks Weird Shit)

Denmark: we thought it was in America (the Actual America, not the rest of it) like all other good companies are tbh, but LEGOS

(you mean nothing to us otherwise)

Sweden: The ones who will take us, but too liberal and socialist high taxes and immigrant for our tastes (ALL (nonwhite) immigrants are illegal) (enlightened Conservatives STAY OUT)

Finland: The forgotten edge of the world, everyone here lives with eskimos and polar bears

Iceland: Hawaii vacation but Cold and Exotic

Norway: So rich and socialist, but they're White and European and sell oil so we can't knock it tbh

Greenland: the USA definitely claims this. we just haven't taken it back yet because there are absolutely no colonies living on this useless rock

(however once we begin shipping all the illegal immigrants out like how our lord and saviour Ron Desanctimonious has shown us, we will require it once again)

tune in next time for my post where I do all 50 states of the USA and destroy half the world as a result

[scotianostra]

July 20th 1651 saw the Battle of Inverkeithing.

An army comprising Covenanters and Royalists fighting under the flag of Charles II.  For Clan MacLean the slaughter at the battle was particularly horrific - out of the original contingent of 800, some 760 clansmen were killed, including their chief, Sir Hector Ruadh MacLean.

Another battle that was basically a consequence of the English civil war, usually on opposing sides Royalists and Covenanters joined forces to try and stop English soldiers gaining a foothold north of the Fort. 

It was during the night or early morning of 16th /17th July 1651 that the troops of Oliver Cromwell’s New Model Army landed on the north shore of the Forth in the vicinity of Inverkeithing Bay. Whilst they had inflicted a heavy defeat on the Scottish army at Dunbar on 3rd September 1650, they had been thwarted by attempts to advance further into Scotland. Cromwell came to the conclusion that Fife was the key and by 20th July, 4,500 of Cromwell’s Parliamentarian force were dug in on Ferry Hills, whilst a Scottish force of a similar size had grouped at Castland Hill.

The threat of Scottish reinforcements coming from Stirling provoked Cromwell’s Parliamentarians to attack and force the Scottish infantry to retreat north towards Pitreavie Castle. On land close to the Castle, the Scottish infantry made a final stand but were soon overwhelmed by the more experienced Parliamentarians who had the additional advantage of cavalry. The Scots suffered heavy losses. This is sometimes known as The Battle of Pitreavie) and was the last major battle of the Wars of the Three Kingdoms in Scotland. From 1652, Scotland was wholly under control of Cromwell’s Protectorate.

In the heat of the battle seven brothers successively sacrificed their lives protecting The McLean clan Cheif, Hector after he sustained a mortal wound.

 As each brother fell, they called for another to continue protecting the chief with the words "Fear eile air son Eachuinn," or "Another for Hector." The call for help was answered seven times with the assurance "Bas air son Eachuinn," or "Death for Hector." 

The Seven brothers died knowing someone was ready to stand in their place. Despite their protection, Sir Hector did not survive his wounds. "Another for Hector" has become a call to duty and one of the mottos of the Mcleans. The Annals Of Dunfermline tells us 

"A rill", traversing the valley, also called the Pinkerton-burn, ran with blood for several days, and the appearance of the little mounds, or heaps of the slain, resembled a hairst field of stooks* of corpses."     

The cairn in the picture was erected on the 350th anniversary of the battle by the Clan MacLean Heritage Trust in 2001 and is on Castle Brae close to Piteavie Castle.

"Another for Eachuinn" was composed in 1894 by Duncan Maclean, Bard to the Clan Maclean Association of Glasgow, for the third annual gathering.

Another For Eachuinn.

Clans from the rugged Highlands, where the antlered stag is seen, Where the solemn hills in grandeur raise aloft their walls of green, Where the wild and dashing fountains fling their jewels in the air Where the lowly hut and shieling guard the virtue passing fair. Where the eagle from its eyrie looketh down on vales below Where the beauty of the heather bloometh with a radiant glow, Where dear mem'ries bright and golden dwell in corrie, glade and glen, Wreathing with a fadeless glory fearless clansmen of MacLean,

'Tis a story old, my clansmen, yet it thrills me to the core, And I fain would sing in numbers what our lads have done of yore. 'Tis no idle boast of valor, 'tis no empty tale—in brief— 'Tis a story of devotion of our clansmen for their chief; For our clansmen, ever loyal to the chieftain of their clan, Were prepared to rush to battle, win or perish to a man, And, should ere the slogan echo in our Highland vales again, All our clansmen, ever ready, still would follow Chief MacLean.

'Twas at Inverkeithing, Hector, some two hundred years ago, When the god of war was screaming, led his clansmen 'gainst the foe; With their pibrochs loudly playing, and their banners waving free, Sure our sturdy Highland clansmen looked the flower of chivalry; When the war was raging fiercest, and Sir Hector was sore prest, It was then that seven brothers, all in kilts and sporans drest, Dow'red the Highlands with a glory all—immortal shall they reign— Stimulating every clansman, and an honor to MacLean.

Clansmen, how these brothers perished in the thickest of the fight emblazoned, now in hist'ry, ever wonderful and bright— How they shielded brave Sir Hector from rough Cromwell's warlike men Is a proverb and a watchword prized in every Highland glen. Not a craven heart was 'mid them, as one fell another came, Proud to fight and die for Hector, while they blessed his honored name, Seven heroes! noble brothers, though they fell 'twas not in vain— Dying they but did their duty, and enriched the Clan MacLean.

Clansmen, all those sons were brothers, nurtured at one mother's breast, Prompted by devotion, gladly 'gainst the hounds of war they prest, Scorning danger, loving Hector, noble Chieftain of their Clan, Seven heroes, god-like brothers, fought and fell right in the van. Proudly did they rush to battle, and tho' grim Death laid them low, Yet their mem'ries cannot perish while the seasons come and go. We admire their dauntless valor, and we've thousands in our train Who would proudly guard our Chieftain, gallant Chieftain of MacLean.

Clansmen from the rugged Highlands, ye all bear an honored name, Shrined in song and deathless story, blazoned on the scroll of Fame, And tho' war no more is screaming and peace dwells in every hall, Emulate your worthy clansmen they but died at Duty's call. Cherish well our old traditions, guard and shield our honor bright, Fight and conquer every falsehood, spurn the wrong, cleave to the right, Keep untarnished all the glory, thrill Sir Fitzroy's heart again With a fealty all undying for the Chief of Clan MacLean.

[keystonewarrior]

Motherland Fort Salem

Just some observations, questions, fuzzy notions

1. Fantasy map has twenty nine states and the Cession, fantasy CGI flag has thirty pentacles*, all the live action flags are fifty star flags

2. Why is all the tech old? Box TVs, HMMWVs came out in the 80s, haven't seen a cell phone

3. Why is it the smallest witchdraft in years? Too many dodgers? Too many dispensations? Not enough momma witches having baby witches?

4. If Alder dies, does the Accord die with her?

5. Raelle's mom was Willa Collar, who was V. Collar? Raelle never mentions an aunt.

6. Can witches create a vacuum? Great way to defuse a popper, it busts but the sound goes nowhere in the vacuum, would render an adversary unconscious too

7. When Raelle met Scylla, I don't think she was playing hooky as much as being drawn away from an elementary exercise to a weapons range where real power was being exercised - it hints at her real power

8. I hope they never come up with a hokey stupid story about Raelle's scar, just leave it undiscussed

9. Writers could have done more with the Demerits bit, as well as employing Attagirls for good stuff

10. Raelle's momletters, when I was a new dad I wrote letters to my kid(s) up until about the time I became a single dad, they're still in a box, the kids can have them when I'm dead or when they have kiddos of their own

11. "Live a little" says the necro

12. Alder calls the Spree "agents of the end" akin to the true believers we must contend with in the likes of Pence

13. "Inability to vocalize can render a soldier powerless" was where I first imagined using a vacuum, but the writers went with a tech-response to cancel the sounds the witches make and gave the camarella (sp?) The dunelike weirding modules in Ep10

14. A draftee military is a mistake, ideologues and draft dodgers don't want to he there (re: Carlin and Hendrix) they become morale-sapping malcontents, a poison to unit cohesion and tend to get people killed.

15. Scylla says "I've been burned before" yeah, we've seen it, remember kids - do not do self harm, we love you and want you to come to us and ask for help and keep asking until you get it (don't join terrorist organizations either**)

16. Witches hollering at the witch boys reminded me of when I was at BCT and 1SG Hurley's daughter and a friend showed up in daisy dukes and bikini tops and the company got smoked for whistling and hollering (I missed all that, I had KP that day)

17. Hags at the Hague, seems appropriate, still rather disappointed there are male witches at all

18. Reveille, the Army magazine, it would make a fun fan magazine

18. Scylla's room is 243, my old battalion was 2/43

19. The Spree plan hinged on a kid who was defiant and showed initiative (like crashing a party) - that kind of person tends to make their own decisions (like not handing their love over from one master to another master) - so it should not have come as a shock to the Spree when Scylls defied them

20. "...or your future is bleak..." is not the kind of thing that inspires a great deal of faith in leadership.

21. When Adil and Khalida show up at the Army OP, why wasn't there a gate guard?

23. How will Tally's role among the Biddies affect Alder, since she knows (and disapproves) that Alder lied and puppeted President Wade "no more secrets" Tally said

24. "The Spree protect their own, we are nothing like you" says Scylla under duress, but I fear she may find she is expendable

25. Why did Scylla go back to the Spree? What happened to the defiant initiative taker? What will Quartermain do know that she knows of one of the safehouses? Did Quartermain leave a suggestion in Scylla's mind to go back to them?

26. Witch soldiers are strong because they allow themselves to feel pain and express emotions like sadness - they ought to be able to avoid a lot of the pitfalls common to male toxicity

27. Great people do not prey upon the weak, great people protect the weak and help them to grow strong

28. When one side says to you "now is the time you stop being complicit in their evil" and then immediately hand you a weapon of mass destruction so you can go and commit an act of evil is when you stop being complicit and begin to actively collude

29. Tarim fear capture of their songs by govts and armies, what about corporations (I hope nobody fears govt but then thinks corporations are okay) ostensibly, a liberal democracy is accountable to the people but a corporation is accountable to nobody

30. How tightly the Tarim must control every aspect of every individual's life to prevent one strong willed individualist from selling out their songs

31. Did the Swythe family own the Bellweathers?

32. I like some of the music, I really liked the dance scene at Beltane, I wish more guys had worn kilts, it'd be nice if MFS could afford Bear McReary to do some of the music

33. Can we shoot season two in more colors than yellow and brown? Is this done to contrast with the blue of Raelle+Scylla scenes?

34. Do Army witches get to retire? Is there a troops to teachers program? Are there Navy witches?

35. I'd like to see a little more development of the foreign witches, especially General Sharma (maybe that wasn't her name)

36. Old Box TVs, the day room, one TV and all the soldiers had to share

37. WADE 2020!

[fanofawesomethings]

Rise Part 1: Wild Hairs

A I don’t know how many part series for Rise of the Brave Tangled Dragons. If you don’t know what that is then this story will be really weird for you.

Another starless night, though it was impossible to tell. Fog densely thick dressed the highlands eight months out of the year like a cotton blanket. Without twinkling stars a grandiose lake had no reflection and without the paper pale moonlight the forests were dark. But there were faint whispers of lights, flickering here and there, just out of reach on a night like that. When everything was still the forest was quiet, so it was anyone’s guess what those mysterious lights are. It was a gray night, calm. Perhaps a little too calm.

That morning the summer heat was especially blistering. The simplest chore would have anyone sweating even under shade. Once it got dark, the guards on lookout appreciated the cool night air. It was their duty to protect DunBroch and yet the cool air of eventful night made them too sleepy to work. One such guard fell asleep grasping his spear. He didn’t mean to sleep on the job. DunBroch has been invader-free for years. The kingdoms surrounding became allies, wars have ceased, and there was no need to for a sense of urgency that night.

Behind him the flock of sheep ready to be sheered in the morning slept. One of them had its head slumped on the wooden pen’s door. Suddenly its weight caused the door to swing open, startling it awake. The simple animal yawned but it spotted a lump of grass within trotting distance. It broke away from the others to take advantage of a midnight snack.

“Grrkkkkk.”

The sheep was stirred. It paused from taking a bite. The sleeping guard snored, making the animal think the noise it heard was him, and it went back to eating.

“Graaahh.” The same noise. That time the sheep was more suspicious. Spooked it darted towards the nearest cover, a wagon.

The night was still. Nothing in clearly was out of the ordinary. The sheep poked its head out.

“GREEE!” A roar—a monstrous roar—shook the ground.

In an instant every guard and every person inside the castle was startled awake. And the first thing they saw was a flash of bright red. An eruption of fire and rubble flew up. The entire castle heard the shriek of a sheep running for its life. The guards on the wall raised their spears, scurrying to see what attacked them. The guard down below watched the sheep, and then he watched it was swooped off the ground.

A creature with bright red scales shimmering like rubies against the glow of the fire. It grabbed the sheep its claws beneath elongated legs, flying with tiny wings. When it caught sight of the guard staring frills on the back of the creature’s head furrowed and it snapped at him from the air.

“MONSTAH!” The guard below screamed.

The other men saw it, briefly. Faster than it appeared it was gone, and no one saw where it fled, and yet they could still see the sheep floating in thin air and screeching with fear.

Another blast! That time it destroyed the stables, causing the horses, goats and remaining sheep to flee from the flames. The guards leapt from the castle walls and formed a secure circle on the ground, jutting their spears out in front of them. Archers drew their weapons and watched the sky.

“WHAT IS IT!?” A voice thundered down the halls of DunBroch’s castle. It was its king, Fergus, the famed warrior king, hero to many battles, bursting out of the nearest window, a sword firm in his hand and his chest bare—he threw sheet around his waist and charged outside without anything else.

“Sire, monstah attack!” One guard shouted down below.

“Monster? ‘Nother bear?” He asked himself, thinking of the only monster the warrior had seen. But he saw the carriage crackling under rising flames and knew no bear could do that, monster or not.

One of the horses bucked as a guard fought to pull it into the castle for its own safety. The sturdy stallion resisted once spooked, its flowing mane of black and white whipped in all directions. A plume of fire, like a red geyser of embers, blasted the castle door. The horse threw the guard to the ground and galloped away from the fire in a frenzy. That was when the monster touched down. Shaking the castle from its foundation with its landing, its talon stabbing the ground, the monster locked eyes with the fleeing stallion, and suddenly the horse was too afraid to move.

“Angus!” Fergus cried, for the horse was the prized steed to his daughter.

The warrior king darted, finding the nearest window big enough for him, and leapt through in a crash of glass. He charged through the fire like it was nothing to him; his skin felt the burn but he didn’t. Fergus threw himself in between the monster and Angus. The monster snapped its tail on the ground, its protruding fangs rose—a smile. With his sword drawn and over his head, Fergus met the beast.

“Ah’ll mek yur scales…into...boots…”

The flames cast light on the monster.

“It’s not possible. A dragon?” Fergus gasped. Like any of the land he only knew drawings of the legendary creatures, but there was no mistaking the beast in front of him. And then he saw that it carried cargo.

A rope tied around its thin neck and under its fat belly secured a saddle on its back between the wings. The dragon shivered and a small flag became visible. There were markings, eligible to the king, but he only needed to see the cartoonish drawing of a Viking on the red flag.

The monster snapped at Fergus while he was staring. He dodged, and the tips of the dragon’s fangs scraped his stomach. Fergus swung the sword but the monster was quicker to dodge. It whipped its tail and Fergus was thrown aside, letting go of the sword. The king was down but the beast’s aim wasn’t him; it turned back to Angus, licking its lips with a serpent tongue.

The guards hurried to their king’s side. They heard the cries of the stallion as the monster picked it off the ground. But because of its weight the dragon wasn’t quick enough to ascend. The archers fired, striking its body but not deterring it from rising.

“Cowerd! Fight me!” Fergus shouted, throwing his sword like a spear which stabbed the dragon’s belly, yet still not stopping it.

Finally Angus’ owner got to the castle walls. Merida was just in time to see her horse in the hands of the beast.

“Angus!” Without a second thought, Merida drew her bow. Taking out an arrow, aiming and firing took seconds. She inhaled. The world slowed down. Her breath slowed her racing heart as the dragon rose and Angus cried out in terror. Her horse’s safety was her concern but the expert archer would never forget the fundamentals to archery. The monster’s eye was her target. She saw it clear. Merida exhaled.

CRACK! The swift arrow soared across the night and pricked the dragon’s eye.

“CRAAAA!” It hollered.

Angus was dropped from the air and slammed back down without ease. Above the monster’s pain, Merida heard something snap in her horse.

The monster writhed in pain while in the air. Before their eyes its entire body turned blue, and suddenly they all understood why it evaded their sights. Once free of Angus, it was much faster to rise. It floated away from the warriors with haste, higher than the guards could throw their spears at; it looked to be the end of the ordeal. But the dragon was spiteful for its blindness. The scaly belly engorged, its entire skin bright red, and with a toothy grin the dragon spat a boulder-sized fireball straight at one of the castle’s towers.

“No! Elinor! Boys!” Fergus cried. While the blast did not hit the tower their rooms were in the flames were spread fast on the stone structure.

The flames kept Merida from going inside while the others down below rushed in. While everyone was concerned for the queen and the princes, only she saw the dragon slam its talons on the topmost tower. Merida watched it take a DunBroch flag away in its claws. She watched it disappear.

 Morning of a sleepless night came down like an anvil. The damage was great, too much to ignore and too big for anyone in DunBroch to sleep through without helping. Fires all over had to be put out. Accessing the entire damage had not ended even after dawn broke. Other dragons attacked the village and made off with countless sheep; the damage to the village was greater although no one was killed. When the castle fire was extinguished, King Fergus called his top warriors—eight kilt-wearing and weapon-adorned men—into the Great Hall.

The Bear King grabbed his stone throne by its armrests and threw it clear across the room; it shattered upon impact with the wall. He grabbed a chair and split it in two. He threw his sword, cutting the chandelier, and bending it in half.

“Fergus! Please do not make a mess of the Great Hall,” said Queen Elinor.

“Leave me be! Ah’m workin’ out ma issues!” Fergus grabbed another chair, tore the legs off, bit the seat, and shattering it into splinters on his good knee. He’d broken nearly every chair and stool in the room since last night.

Finally exhausted, but without a throne to sit on, Fergus slumped on the ground with his back on the wall. The warriors moved in closer instead of standing so far away. Unbeknownst to most of them, Merida was listening from the balcony.

“Dragons. Boggin’ Dragons!” Fergus wiped the sweat off his face.

“Think they’ll come back, Sire?” One warrior asked.

“Course they will, ya div! Dragons got bellies of hellfire, ther just waitin’ for the next time to gobble up our sheep.”

“Les hunt them down first!” Another warrior exclaimed with zeal.

“It is much more complicated than that,” said Elinor. “Fergus.”

“Aye, she’s right. Ah saw it. Berk’s flag.”

The men whispered with distressed. Merida on other hand didn’t know what it meant. A secret among the king and queen that the princess didn’t know about was rare.

“Thought they were neutral,” said a warrior.

“Thought they were a myth,” said another. “Ah mean dragon riders? Thas a great bedtime story.”

“Ain’t no myth. Way back one of them came here. A chief. ‘e asked for help dealin’ with a crisis on ‘is island. ‘e said dragons attack ‘is villagers and Ah laughed ‘im outta the castle. When he left Ah saw a boy holdin’ that flag off the boat. Ah recognize it anywhere.”

 “You don’ think they attacked us cause they’re angry?” A warrior asked.

“We do not know that for sure,” Elinor intervened.

“Course we know that! Bloody dragon ‘ad the saddle and the flag! They came back for revenge, and they’ll attack again I tell ya!” Fergus raged.

“Fergus! We should not act without considering all possibilities.”

 “They almost killed you, Elinor! If you and the boys slept through that fire you’d be dead.” His voice cracked with the disparaging thought.

The Queen breathed a sigh of relief for herself and her children. “I know. But what do you suppose we do? Send the men to fight an island of dragons?”

Some of the warriors looked nervous, knowing their king’s rash nature, while others looked pleased for the challenge.

"Nah. Ev’ry highland clan is fightin’ their own battles now they can’ help. I hafta ask an ol’ friend. But first. Merida! Come down lass I know yur there!”

The king knew his daughter well because listening in was the same thing he’d do. Merida hopped off the balcony, landing on top of her throne before planting herself down, something her mother would disapprove of, even then.

“You wan’ me to fight too, Dad?” Merida was quick to ask. With her mother’s newfound free spirit, her archery had improved tremendously, as well as her swordplay.

“Aye, ma fightin’ lass! But later. Ah need you to come with me. Ah’m gonna ask my ol’ friend, a king, for some help. Ah hear they face magic things all the time,” said Fergus.

“You’re going to ask Frederic? Fergus, the man has enough on his plate already,” said Elinor.

“But he’s got an army just sittin’ there. It’s our only shot,” replied Fergus. He turned to his daughter. “Frederic’s got his daughter back. Maybe if Ah bring ya ya’ll bond with ‘is daughter and guarantee us an army! Would ya like to do that?”

“So the only reason I get to come is cause I’ma girl?” Merida presumed, annoyed.

It was exactly the reason, and Fergus didn’t know how to respond, but Merida wasn’t being serious. Truth to be told, the princess was just as angry as her father. The sword slashes on her bed frame are proof. She wanted nothing more than to get justice for her injured horse and burned home. Where it would take her Merida hardly cared.  

“Aye I’ll come along. But you owe me, Dad,” she said.

“Ah! That’s ma girl!” He picked her up with a hearty hug.

The King, Merida, and a few others gathered their things and rode the prized boat of the kingdom. Thankfully no dragons attacked the following night. As a precaution, Elinor led the villagers into the forest where they would stay until Fergus and the others returned.

Journey by boat to the kingdom of Corona from DunBroch took a day. The winds were strong and the tide was in their favor, carrying them faster. Merida had never been on the ocean. The closest she’d ever been was sailing on DunBroch’s lake. The experience would be amazing as her first time if she weren’t busy in thought. She pondered a lot of things while on the journey. The dragon. The princess faced her own share of danger three years ago but a dragon before, and hardly one that changed colors. She thought about Berk as well. Fergus was preoccupied along the way so Merida couldn’t ask him, not that it would do much difference. The king didn’t know more than what he said in the Great Hall. Merida wondered where this journey would take them. The thought of war sent shivers down her spine.

In the afternoon the next day the sun bounced off Merida’s eye as she was on the deck. She saw the kingdom in the distance. Corona. Merida rushed to the very edge of the boat until her heels were the only thing touched the wood. The massive island kingdom was single upward-ascending mound with a mighty castle at the very top and a beautiful city below.

 Even in a city so large Merida and others managed to be the center of attention to everyone. The people were awed by a hulking man with a wooden peg leg, warriors in checkered kilts, swords on their backs and scruffy beards across their faces, and a young woman with wild orange hair. Word of the visitors reached the king before they even saw the palace.

  A few minutes in the city and Merida felt the buildings close in on her. She followed Fergus who seemed to know his way around, but without him Merida knew she’d surely get lost in a city where every house and building looked exactly the same. That day Merida discovered she didn’t like cities. Forests and rivers were the princess’ natural element.

Merida held in her distaste for the city. They were there on a diplomatic mission to ask for help; she didn’t want to be the cause of their failure. As it stood, there were many who looked at their weapons on their backs with apprehension, as though there had been conflict recently in the city. Merida kept her walk dignified but not too stiff. She faced forward but she could feel the eyes on her; it wasn’t much different from home but there were also whispers and mothers shielding their children from them.

They came to the foot of the castle. Merida stumbled on her next step, the ground bulged out. It was a design on the ground, a sun, which she guessed was the mark of the kingdom.

“Fergus!”

A regal man overlooked them from above. An older gentleman with ash gray parts of his hair and a mustache and beard, he was very proper, wearing expensive clothes and jewelry, and poised. Fergus’ face lit up. The bear king threw two Corona guards aside, raced up the stairs and swallowed the man in his arms, chortling with joy.

“Frederic! How ya bin, lad?” Fergus laughed.

“F-Fine. I remember—this part well. You haven’t changed a bit, have you, Fergus?” He chuckled, not showing how much Fergus’ hug hurt his old back. Merida guessed it was the king, the man they were there to see.

“Never!” Fergus dropped the king.

“My old friend, it’s great to see you again, but what are you doing here? Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?” Frederic inquired, a tad worried. “The last letter you sent me was when your princes were born.”

“Aye, Ah’m sorry, ol’ friend but Ah came to ask ya somethin’ important.” Fergus leaned in to the man’s ear and whispered. “There was an attack on DunBroch.”

“Hmm, I see. Please, come into the palace and we can discuss it at once.” The king noticed the man staying behind and more importantly Merida. “Is that…Merida? My, how she’s grown!”

Merida climbed the stairs and bowed in front of the man.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” she replied, keeping her voice poised.

“Don’t you recognize me? I suppose not. I met you when you were no bigger than my knee.” Merida couldn’t recall a thing about him. He turned back to Fergus. Why don’t we discuss things? Merida, feel free to walk around the city, unless you feel like accompanying us.”

“Ya’ found yur daughter, right? Maybe she’d like to meet ma Merida,” said Fergus.

“Dad,” Merida whispered a groan because her father wasn’t being subtle at all.

“My daughter is a free spirit. I’m sure if you search the city you’re bound to find her. You’ll know her when you see her,” said Frederic.

The two kings entered the castle by themselves. The warriors and Merida were left behind, sharing a look of disinterest to do any sort of exploring, but Merida knew as much from those dull warriors.

Music was being played in the distance. Flutes and guitars instead of bagpipes and lutes. Not that Merida was much of a music fan. Merida observed the area. Of course there wasn’t much to admire in front of them besides a city and passing, suspicious glances directed at them. But then a gleam of sunlight bouncing off a mane so bright caught her attention.

A white horse! Finally a glimpse of nature, an animal amongst the crowd of stone and people. It caught Merida and she refused to look away. A snow white coat and a rather commanding look to it, the horse seemed to be a palace horse, without a rider no less. Merida saw her opportunity for something fun to do.

The warriors were uptight and ridiculously suspicious, surely they would object to their princess going off in a stranger’s city. But Merida decided not to leave without giving notice.

“I’ll be right back okay,” Merida whispered the smallest squeak, tiptoeing away slowly. Of course the warriors didn’t hear it, and when they looked away for a second they turned back to find their princess was gone. Merida heard them cry out in the distance.

Already she felt herself nearing lost. But the expert animal hunter focused her mind on clues to follow the white stallion. Hoof prints she found on the ground, they were fresh too. She knelt down on the floor to trace the direct they traveled in, unaware of the stares she got from being on the ground. Merida followed the trail, exhilaration for the first time since arriving.

“Scuse me!” Merida ran through the smallest gap in between two people as she ran full sprint.

The ground was different than the forest floor, but Merida felt strangely happy running on the stone. The hard impact as her soles touched down sent shockwaves up her body. Merida ran faster.

She turned the corner and saw the tail end of her target of pursuit rounding the corner. It was so close! Merida practically pranced to make sure it didn’t get away. Suddenly she felt grass prickled her ankles. She had caught up to the horse in a park. There was a small pond, one or two square foot of grass, and a single apple tree that had a signed nailed to the trunk that read “Maximus’ Tree”. The white horse happily ate an apple from the branch.

“So you must be Maximus,” asked Merida, startling him. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.”

The horse had a mouth full of apple, in the midst of chewing. He was confused at the stranger. But because he didn’t show signs of fright, Merida stroked his mane.

“Yur a grand horse, but what’re you doin’ here all by yourself. Where’s yur rider?” Merida asked.

The horse shook his head.

“Don’t got one, eh? You mind if I give it a run?” Merida asked as she jumped on Maximus’ back in a single bound before he knew what she asked.

The horse didn’t appreciate its feeding time being interrupted. He bucked once, a strong one, but Merida gripped the saddle tight, with a single hand no less. Maximus realized she wasn’t like the other who jumped on his back without his permission before. He bucked harder, Merida hung on. Again—the same results. Merida knew how to tame an unruly horse. He was angry then; Maximus dropped on his backside, fell on his side with Merida still on his back, and rolled over swiftly like a dog. For half a second Merida was suffocated under his weigh—it was enough to make her let go.

“Ey! What’s with you!? And I thought Angus was prissy brat when I got him,” barked Merida.

“Max!”

The horse was startled stiff. A young woman storming towards him gave him cause for alarm. As she marched, her bare heels scraped the ends of impossibly long hair that had already been tied and combed and wrestled for what looked like several hundreds of times. Her eyes were gorgeous emeralds, but Maximus backed up to the tree. The woman caught up with him, standing with her arms crossed and her foot tapping. He started to sweat like a cornered animal.

"I saw that. Now don’t give me those sad eyes. I saw you roll over on this girl, it’s rude. You apologize to her this instant,” she demanded.

Maximus neighed.

“I don’t care if she interrupted your lunch, she was just being nice. Apologize or no baked apples for a month.”

Maximus grumped. He trotted to Merida and neighed what she assumed was an apology. Merida didn’t think much about the insult, and rather then she couldn’t think about much at all. Unlike Maximus’ reaction, she was captivated by the golden sheen radiating off the young woman. She was absolutely beautiful. Merida was stunned into silence, not noticing how much she was staring or that she was still on the ground.

"Are you all right? Sorry about Max, he can get a little grumpy when he’s eating, or sleeping, or just doing anything in general, but he can be a good boy,” said the woman offering Merida a hand.

The princess’ hand moved on its own to take the offer. The woman’s hand was so soft; Merida felt her hand flinch, something the woman noticed too.

“Everything okay?” She asked.

“Yes! Sorry…I mean is…don’ worry ‘bout it I’m fine. My horse gives me a fight like that when I try to his oats,” said Merida.

“You have a horse? But…?” The woman examined Merida. There wasn’t anyone like her in the city so it made it easy for the woman to come to her own conclusion. “Oh! You must be new to the kingdom!”

“Yes. Me and my father just arrived.”

 “That’s amazing! We haven’t been getting a lot of visitors lately. There was this big thing a while back and it was all like crazy but Corona is so much more better now, back to its beautiful self. I’ve lived in Corona for a while now so if you got any questions feel free to ask. I can even give you a tour of the palace if you want. I’m sort of free since my friend is away,” she smiled.

Enamored, Merida’s tongue got caught for a moment. “That...sounds nice, but I not a fan of cities and I’ve seen enough palaces. There any forests around here?”

“Are you kidding? The forest is the best! Come on come on! I can show you my favorite spot ever!” The woman tugged at Merida’s arm.

The offer was tempting to the already forest-starved Merida, but she hesitated. She was supposed to meet Frederic’s daughter, the princess, soon—the reason for her coming. It would be rude of her to keep a princess waiting. But Merida also considered how long her father and the king would be discussing things which would take some time; not to mention Corona’s princess wasn’t in the palace, so whose to say she wouldn’t be in the forest. Merida’s favoritism thoughts led her to agree.

“That would be grand!” Merida cheered.

The woman pulled on Maximus’ ropes to wordlessly tell him they were going for a ride. He had to comply. She jumped on and extended a hand to Merida who happily took it. To be in the backseat of a horse was rare for the princess.

 “My name is Rapunzel,” she said.

“I’m Merida from Dun—Broch!” Rapunzel snapped the whip and Maximus took off, startling Merida.

Maximus was undoubtedly faster than Angus. At his fastest, Angus was still gentle and Merida never had an issue holding on with him. But she could tell it wasn’t Maximus’ full speed and yet she dug her nails in the leather saddle to hang on. A bump! Merida almost lost her balance; she wrapped her arms instinctively around Rapunzel.

“Hang on,” said the woman.

“Ah! I’m sorry!” Merida blushed.

“It’s okay. I thought you said you had your own horse,” teased Rapunzel.

“Angus has more manner than this one.”

Maximus snickered.

“Well we gotta hurry. I technically need to be somewhere in a bit. My father has an old friend over and I have to say hi real quick. Let’s go Max!”

Merida braced her hold around Rapunzel’s waist. Maximus grinned as he exploded with speed. He charged through the city, around people and obstacles without faltering. They were coming up to a wall with a low hanging archway—only a tiny opening. Merida thought the worst, but there was no way the horse would risk a narrow space like that, or so she thought. But Maximus didn’t stop or turn.

“Hey…Max…?” Rapunzel stammered, oblivious to his intentions too. “You’re not going to…jump that…right?”

The horse ignored his rider. Rapunzel tried to turn him, but Maximus was focused. When it was obvious that Maximus was going to jump through the small gap, Rapunzel grabbed Merida’s hands. Merida couldn’t enjoy the sensation while she braced for it.

Maximus leapt. The two young women closed their eyes. His speed propelled him and his riders swiftly through the gap. The impact of his landing sent shiver down their spines. He didn’t miss a step to continue running afterwards; his speed was impaired for only a brief second. Merida and Rapunzel hadn’t opened their eyes yet, Maximus laughed.

“You’re going on a diet after this!” Rapunzel snapped when she opened her eyes.

There weren’t as many people and obstacles then. On horseback, and with the fear of hitting something gone, Merida saw the city zoom by her. It was hard to concentrate on anything as everything she saw was gone in a second. And yet, Merida didn’t mind the city as much anymore. It was brief but Merida could smell stovetop bread as they passed a bakery. She spotted an array of colors from a mural on a wall. Maximus’ speed caused a group of wind chimes to sound like chirping birds. She still preferred the forest, but Merida didn’t completely dislike the city then.

Out of the city a single bridge connected the peninsula to the mainland. A sea of forest farther than the eye could see with not a single spacious opening in sight. When they were under its shade, Merida smelled lavender. Sunlight poked through the coverage in pockets of gold warmth. It was the same yet different at the same time to the forest outside DunBroch. For one example, none of the trees had arrow holes in them from being Merida’s target dummies.

They stopped in front of a massive oak tree with a gaping mouth at its trunk. It looked like something had either struck it from the outside or something came out of the inside to split it open. A tiny path of grass and flowers was already growing inside.

“I found this tree a while back. It’s a little scary, not sure what made this big crack, but now it’s a house to whatever wants to go inside. Like these plants,” said Rapunzel. “Do you have forests like these in Dombrack?”

Merida giggled. “It’s DunBroch. Done-Bru-hh. All our trees are lanky. If yur lucky to find a big one like this it’s far. Not really for climbin’. But when we got mountains close by. There’s nothin’ like watching the sunset from the highlands.”

 “I’d love to see it. I love nature. Sometimes I sneak out of the city just to smell the grass here. And the best part is climbing.” Rapunzel clung to the giant trunk and started to climb. “You coming?”

Rapunzel wasn’t aware at what she instigated. Merida rolled her sleeves and with a charged she kicked off the ground and grabbed hold, higher than Rapunzel. She gave the other woman a smug look.

“Oh, it’s a race you want?” Rapunzel grinned. She had the confidence of someone who had experience climbing tall object too.

Merida and Rapunzel had a close race to the top. The split trunk created a fork in their climb with the two young women each taking their one side. Indeed Rapunzel was a nature climber. Merida was more used to climbing on rocks than bark but she didn’t miss a step. It was exhilarating! Merida never had anyone her own age to compete against, and Rapunzel was a worthy opponent. Their tree was taller than all others; Merida got hit in the face by the top of another tree on the way to top. She lost sight of Rapunzel; Merida climbed with a burst and grabbed the very top of the tree. It was a thin piece but sturdy nonetheless. Rapunzel came up not two seconds after, seeing Merida already waiting for her.

“Beat you,” Merida laughed.

“You win this round, Merida,” Rapunzel pouted playfully, “but I’ll have the true victory!”

Merida helped her up. The two young women laughed together. From way up, Merida felt the warm sunlight meet with the cool air, a nice complimentary. Behind her were hills Merida was eager to see for herself, and in front of her was the city so far yet still so big. A calming sensation drifted into Merida’s body. She never loved tranquility, finding it boring when there wasn’t something to do, but for once she didn’t mind sitting down and watching the sky while doing nothing or thinking of nothing.

“In DunBroch you stay up here for too long you’ll catch a cold. The highlands can get really cold at times. But ma mum always says ‘there’s no such thing as bad weather, only bad choice in clothes’.”

“Your mom sounds funny.”

“She used to be a bit of a know-it-all but she’s gotten better. What’s yur mum like?” Merida asked, innocently. The question, however, caused a shift in Rapunzel.

The young woman stared off into space, lost in thought. A little blue butterfly landed on her golden hair and she smiled as it crawled around before taking off again.

“That used to be a loaded question. Now it’s really clear to me. My mom’s a kind, gentle woman,” answered Rapunzel.

Merida was afraid she may have asked a heavy question, but a shining smile soon returned to Rapunzel’s face. She returned to her happy self. The feeling passed on to Merida who never saw a more beautiful smile than on Rapunzel.

Down below, Maximus munched on a patch of grass. It wasn’t the glamorous snack he envisioned he’d have that day but it was something. As he munched, defeated, something spooked the horse’s sharp ears. He analyzed the area. The forest was quiet that day. Too quiet. The birds had stopped chirping, everything was unusually silent. Maximus felt a rumble under his hooves. The horse sniffed the ground. He didn’t expect to find anything because he was startled at the ground he sniffed. A flare, like a floating ball of blue fire, tickled his nose.

An ember with what looked like tiny hands patted his nose while he was frozen by confusion. Unbeknownst to him, it was a will-o’-the-wisp. Its tiny makeshift arms pointed towards the forest. Maximus didn’t know the meaning. Without anything more the wisp vanished.

The rumble came again and it was close. He started neighing, loud, but the two couldn’t hear him with the distance between them. Maximus kicked the bark, but that was even less helpful.

“I like your bow,” said Rapunzel, unaware of everything down below.

“Thanks, I made it maself. Back home I’m the best in all the land. No one can shoot a target as good as me,” boasted Merida.

Rapunzel giggled. “I don’t know much about archery myself. I showed you this secret place, now you have to give me something in return. I love learning new things. So you teach me archery. Will you?”

Merida had never been more excited to teach someone her ways. “Sure. Taught my brothers a thing or two and they can’ sit still to save their lives. Think you’ll be a better student?”

“Oh I know it. How about a demonstration of the so-called ‘best in all the land’? I…bet…you can’t…hit…hmm…ah! That’s bald tree over there. You hit that and I might even give you something special: like an apple for the teacher.”

The significance an apple went over Merida’s head. Her teacher was only every Elinor and Merida seldom felt the need to give her an apple for all the dull lectures. Rather, she was interested in the competition.

Merida did her best to plant her feet firmly on the splintered bark. The breeze was lively but on her side then. Her fire hair fumbled freely behind her head; Rapunzel couldn’t stop staring. Merida drew an arrow, pulling the hawk feather fletching to her cheek as she inhaled. A dangly bare tree branch was her target some meters away. The world faded around her. She exhaled and let the arrow loose; Rapunzel’s heart skipped a beat when she did.

The arrow soared gracefully. Rapunzel was on the edge of her seat to watch it. Merida was confident it would hit it. But the winds changed, steering the arrow slightly to the right. It vanished under the brush. Merida sighed, her moment to show off was ruined. And then the forest screamed.

An earsplitting roar stung their ears even as they clapped their hands over them. The trees rustled and then one toppled over. The ground shook down below, a rapture that traveled up the bark to them. And then a tower of fire erupted into the air. Flapping mighty wings what looked like miles long, something rose from the forest floor, its wide mass knocking even more trees down. It was a grotesque monster. Mud brown scales with a body covered in tiny hairs, its snout was long and narrow with a stout nose at the end, its tail was fat with a ball at the end, red patterns on its thighs like slash marks, and its chest was broad as if it had muscles. It watched the two women.

Merida drew an arrow out of apprehension.

“What is that!?” She inquired.

“I don’t know, I’ve never seen it!” Rapunzel said. “We have to get down, now!”

Merida withdrew the arrow. The two tried their hardest to climb down fast. The air ruptured—the beast flapped its wings towards them. The entire tree shook. It swiped its battering ram-like tail against the top of the tree, splinters zipped across the forest floor. Merida and Rapunzel shut their eyes and hung on tight; it was like a hurricane hit them with powerful wings. Maximus cried out for them. The tree shook once more. Merida looked up to meet the eyes of the beast who’d grabbed onto the bark; the strong tree supported its enormous weight, and it started climbing down towards them.

 “Rapunzel, we gotta jump!”

 “What?! Are you—?” Rapunzel looked up and saw the same thing Merida did. “Okay let’s jump!”

 Merida squeezed Rapunzel’s hand. Maximus read their signs and positioned himself to catch them. Merida could feel Rapunzel’s hand start to tremble. With a firm grip on her, Merida pulled herself and Rapunzel down. The intelligent steed caught their riders and blasted through the forest.

The beast let out a sour cry when its prey escaped.

"That was just like the things that attacked DunBroch. Maybe they’re dragons too,” said Merida, grabbing tight to Maximus’ ropes.

 “A dragon? Like a real dragon? Mother always—I heard they were just imaginary,” said Rapunzel.

“Thought so too! Come on, Maximus!”

The horse put more speed into its gallop.

Rapunzel was relieved to see the monster wasn’t behind them. But then she became confused because the monster wasn’t behind them. She heard its wings flapping. Above them! It sailed across the air like a serpent wiggling on the ground, and it only had gray eyes for them.

"We have to turn around! It’s following us, we’ll lead it back into the city if we’re not careful. Who knows what this thing will do?”

“We can’ outrun it forever!” Merida protested but seeing the argument.

 “We won’t have to. Follow that river,” Rapunzel pointed to a thin brook. “It’ll take us to a ravine, we can hide there.”

Maximus steered towards it like he already knew where to go from there.

“And then there’ll be a dragon on the loose. No. I’m not runnin’ from this, I’m gonna fight.”

Rapunzel was shocked and was ready to argue but an explosion nearly tipped them over. A fireball the size of a cart struck the ground. The dragon fired another one, Maximus evaded, embers flew everywhere upon its impact.

 The dragon was seemingly relentless. The fireballs thundered as they exploded craters in the ground, deep and so none of the embers spread to the innocent forest. It kept its distance because of the trees. Maximus was guiding himself; Merida turned back with an arrow ready and fired. The silver-tipped arrow struck the dragon’s paw but bounced off its dense hide. Left with nothing else to do, Merida cracked the horse’ ropes.

  The amber walls of rock hid the canyon Rapunzel spoke of on the other side. Sadly, there were no openings for them. The young woman realized she only remembered being swept away by the tide and nothing else.

“Oh no. I’m sorry, Merida, I didn’t know there was no way to get in,” said Rapunzel.

  “It’s alright. I think this’ll do fine.” Merida jumped off the horse. “Get her out of here.”

“What are you doing?”

“I’m gonna fight.”

Maximus shook his head.

“Look it’s the only way. And I’m not gonna go toe-toe with a dragon. I’ll knock it out and clip its wings just like a bear,” proclaimed Merida.

Rapunzel got off the horse, stood by Merida and held her hand.

“If you’re going to fight I’m fighting too,” she said.

“Nothin’ doin’. You don’ even have a weapon.”

“You think I came unprepared.” Rapunzel searched the folds of her dress and pulled a frying pan, black with soot like it had been used earlier that same day, brandishing it with in hand, cocky. “Never leave home without it.”

It was clearly meant to be her weapon, but for the life of her Merida couldn’t take it seriously.

“You gonna fix him some eggs after?” She joked.

“Eggs of victory, for us!”  Rapunzel didn’t detect the sarcasm in Merida’s voice.

The loyal steed would not leave his riders’ side. Maximus scoffed the ground beside them, ready to fight as much as they were.

For a second the sun was eclipsed. The dragon circled the skies like a vulture assessing its prey. They were hesitant to move in the slightest. Merida noticed it flew faster than when it was chasing them—it let them run away. This dragon was a natural hunter with a sadistic mind; Merida pressed her elbow closer to Rapunzel. The air became noticeably hotter. Smoke sprinkled down. They heard it snarl, a crackling fume like an alligator growl with a stronger throat.

Four spruce trees were turned to woodchips beneath it. The dragon shook the earth with a plummet straight down from the sky. Neck lowered, back arched, it crawled and any tree unfortunately in its path was knocked down with leisure like toothpicks. They saw its gleaming eyes watching them. To it, they were cornered by the canyon walls and Merida couldn’t help but see it that way too.

 “Okay, what was your plan to fight it?” Rapunzel asked with the side of her mouth.

“I…I didn’ have one,” replied Merida. Rapunzel couldn’t turn her head, but Merida felt her eyes judging her.

“So you were going up against a dragon with a wing and a prayer. You sound like someone else I know.”

“I’m open to ideas,” Merida countered.

“Oh I have a great plan. It’s…involved…” Rapunzel searched for anything in the area to give her the perfect plan.

The dragon was halfway to bridging the gap between them.

There were trees. And trees. And more trees. Excluding the dragon and the canyon walls, everything in front of Rapunzel was delicate wildness. Merida pushed the thinking Rapunzel back until they hit the amber rock. Deep in thought, Rapunzel bumped her head on the hard wall. It hurt. Rapunzel rubbed the spot on her head, without realizing an idea was slowly forming because of it.

"Max, do you think you could run really really fast around it?” Rapunzel asked. The horse of course could but he didn’t see the reasoning. “We need to get it angry, really angry. We’ll lead it to charge right into the rock, and hopefully it’ll knock itself out.”

“That’s…that’s genius,” Merida paused, awestruck. “You could make general thinkin’ like that.”

“But it’ll only work if we can be super obnoxious. Can you be obnoxious, Merida?”

“Ask ma mum.”

Merida reached her hand ever so slowly. It was sweet revenge that Merida happily pinched Maximus’ backside. She intended it to be the signal for him to start running for the sake of the plan, but the horse flew away in terror; Merida believed she found a weakness to the palace horse.

The dragon spat out a fireball that sailed far too slow to strike Maximus. Dodging another blast gave him a surge of vigor; Maximus escaped. As it turned to follow the horse, Merida fired an arrow which pricked the inside of the beast’s nostril. The steel eyes beamed at the archer who waved playfully back. Maximus crushed the very end of the scaly tail under its hooves. Miraculously, the dragon groaned. Caught between the two, it snapped its tail to deal with the enemy behind it while its front concentrated on the two, but not for long.

The two women separated. Merida fired another arrow which almost struck one of the silver eyes; thus the dragon turned its attention to her. Rapunzel undid one of her braids, tied it to the end of the skillet, and whipped the frying pan across the plain with enough remaining it punt the pupil of the other eye; Merida was momentarily swooned by the amazing length of Rapunzel’s loose hair. The dragon targeted Rapunzel then.

While Rapunzel ran and reeled her weapon back in at the same time, the dragon sprinted. Maximus appeared and zipped in front of it; the dragon snapped its jaw at his tail without stopping or changing direction.

“Over ‘ere, beasty!” Merida’s next arrow bounced off the brown scales. Neither of the two’s attempts got the dragon to turn away from the other woman. Merida’s heart sank to her feet.

Rapunzel ran faster than she thought she could. She heard the snarling louder and louder behind her but she didn’t look back. The trees were her aim, to hide amongst the forest, but she feared she wouldn’t make it in time. The dragon’s shadow coated her, she could see it under her feet. With its maw opened wide, bearing two rows of serrated teeth, Rapunzel closed her eyes in despair. The dragon snapped! But it missed. Maximus scooped Rapunzel off her feet and raced back to the wall.

“Oh my gosh, thank you, Max. No diet, ever, I promise,” Rapunzel sighed.

Merida could feel her heart starting again.

On four legs, the dragon could barely catch up with Maximus then. The horse led it in circles, just out of reach of its snapping jaws. But suddenly Maximus squeezed between a row of trees standing in alignment, a straight line that restricted him from evading. The dragon stopped then and they all knew what it would do next. Maximus would never be able to dodge a fireball; he gave a burst of speed to escape quickly. Claws buried in the ground, the dragon opened wide enough for both sides of its jaw to touch the sky and the ground at the same time, and with a malicious roar stuck its head out and…nothing. A tiny cloud of smoke puffed out of its throat.

Maximus stopped because of how dumbfounded he was. The dragon rattled its head, as if confused, trying to reach for the fire in its stomach. It coughed smoke but not a single ember. Everyone was staring at it and somehow it seemed the dragon knew they were, for the hairs on its body stood on end. A powerful roar infused with bellowing rage. The beast charged.

“Max, like we discussed. Straight at the wall,” said Rapunzel.

The horse burst out of the brush. The monster destroyed the trees in its pursuit. In its anger it traveled faster, each step crushed the earth.

“Merida! Get it’s eye!” Rapunzel called out.

A moving target was nothing to the archer. Merida had an arrow at the ready before, but she did not yet aim. Seeing Rapunzel in danger put Merida in a state of panic. Inside her chest her heart was pounding which made her restless; her toes were fidgeting in her shoes. The dragon’s stomps startled her heart with each one. Merida wasn’t in the right state to fire an arrow, so she had to recompose herself. She exhaled through her nostrils and focused her mind to listen to the stream of air fill her lungs. Rushing wind like smelled of pine and dirt. The pattern on her bow bumped the bottom of her fingers, she stroked them. She raised the bow. Her big silver target was bobbing but she would have to force it to stay still. It had to be still. Still. She exhaled through her mouth. The muscles in her fingers relaxed and the arrow was loosed, striking the beast in the center of the eye she had missed before.

At the same time, Rapunzel threw her frying pan. Her aim was impeccable to hit the other eye.

The dragon charged blindly. Merida leapt out of the way, Maximus steered away. It was exactly as Rapunzel envisioned it. The dragon slammed head first into the rocks that were steadfast against the beast. They were blown away by the force of the collision. A colossal crack expanded more than where its head struck. The dragon was motionless, its head appeared to be stuck inside, and it fell with a thud. It was defeated.

“Wooooo!” Merida cheered.

Maximus cantered in triumph. Rapunzel took Merida’s hands and they two danced in circles with glee.

Up close the beast was admittedly impressive. Under the sun the brown scales cast a gleam like jewelry and they were tough; Merida knocked on them with her a light tap and she felt her skin get scratched. It had to be several feet long, too many to count. The wings were like a bat’s, only twenty times the size and width. Merida had never seen such huge muscles on an animal, but it was a dragon, different rules apply, she thought.

"The boys back home’ll never believe this one. Probably shouldn’ mention it to my mum, huh?” Merida grinned.

“Not unless you never want to come back here,” said Rapunzel.

“Yeah, she’d probably put me in a lock and key.” For some reason Rapunzel laughed nervously with Merida’s joke.

“Okay…how are you going to do this?”

“Think we can use yur hair to tie his wings shut?” Merida snickered.

“No way. You got poofier hair than me, why not yours?”

“All have you know my hair is as wild and untamable as the highlands themselves. It’s the pride of DunBroch.”

Rapunzel laughed. Merida smiled—she liked the way Rapunzel laughs.

Suddenly the tail whipped in every direction. It slammed into Merida and Rapunzel and sent them flying, doing the same to Maximus on the other side. The dragon awoke. It shook the injury, its head was spotless, but then it launched into the air and away into the canyon it went. Merida and Rapunzel barely got up before they knew what had happened. In half a second the entire dragon was gone. Neither them nor the horse knew what to make of it.

Sunset over the city was a beautiful sight to behold. Every color still shined bright even as the sun slowly faded over the horizon. Musicians had even started playing more; of course the melodies they played were smooth to fit the hours as people went into their homes to enjoy dinner. Except for Merida, Rapunzel and Maximus, everyone wore a tired smile. The two women and the horse had an expression that was just tired. When the excitement of besting a dragon fell, the fatigue of running around all day set in along with the trip back to the city which lasted from morning to afternoon with how far they got. The sun was halfway gone by the time they made it back to the castle.

The warriors weren’t where Merida last left them. One of two things she guessed happened. Either they went looking for their princess in the city or they were inside the palace.

“Bet my dad’s got an earful to give me,” Merida groaned, stretching her limbs after the long trip.

“I thought you were said yur dad was fun,” said Rapunzel.

“Yeah, but the whole reason he wanted me to come was cause I had to meet the princess. I was supposed to get chummy chummy with her. It was his idea. Sounds sneaky, but I did want to meet the princess.”

“Princess?” Rapunzel was puzzled.

“Merida, where ya bin, lass?”

Fergus and Frederic did not come out of the palace, as Merida expected them to, and they also didn’t look like a pair of kings coming out of discussing important matters. Her father was missing his bear skin cloak and his collar was messed up. Frederic’s combed hair was ruffed and though he swung his hand to correct it a few strands stayed out of place.

“Dad, what did you do?” Merida groaned.

“We descussed it, ruled things over, and celebrated the plan over a pint. Even got Fred to have some too,” laughed Fergus.

“Dad? Look at you. I didn’t know you could get wild,” said Rapunzel.

“Ahem—only when there’s company over. I see you’ve met Princess Merida already. We were hoping you’d meet in the palace, but we couldn’t find you, or her,” Frederic chuckled.

“Princess?” Rapunzel repeated, gawking at her.

“Dad?” Merida gasped, staring back.

“Is that yur daughter? Ma gosh! She’s the spittin’ image of Arianna. ‘Cept the hair. She got it crazy too. Bet she makes a fuss to when ya want her to cut it,” laughed Fergus.

Merida and Rapunzel were bewildered by the person they’d met hours ago like it was the first time. The person she was with the whole day was a princess? It was a question shared by the both of them.

“Member when ya told me Arianna was pregnant. Ya know, lass, if ya turned out to be a lad we’d ’a married ya to Merida,” said Fergus.

“Dad!” Merida snapped at his side, her face was redder than her hair. Rapunzel’s cheeks were flushed as well. The blonde princess’ embarrassed face only made Merida more embarrassed. She was frantic to change the subject. “Dad, did you get anything settled?”

   “Aye, we got help. It ain’ much but it’ll do,” said Fergus, grasping Frederic’s hand in triumph.

“Joking aside, Fergus, I hope you know what your getting your men into. If the rumors you told me are true, a fight with Dragon Riders is nothing short of suicide,” said Frederic.

“Dragon Riders?” Rapunzel was the odd one out of the conversation.

“Highland men don’ run away jus’ cause of wee dragons! Berk’ll pay for attacking us,” Fergus snarled, cracking his fists. “Ah’ll make books outta those dragons!”

Frederic cleared his throat. “You’re both probably tired. You are more than welcome to stay in the palace, I insist. Those three hundred bedrooms have to be good for something.”

Fergus yawned with his jaw seemingly dislocated wide open.

So much was happening around Rapunzel as she was being pushed into the background at the same time. She took Merida’s hand, seeking answers. They had a ways walk to where their rooms would be; Merida had plenty of time to explain to her what happened and what was going to happen.

[ameryth74]

Louis **** Title Generator Tool

** **** it 

LOL.... go!

Two letter words:

There are 107 acceptable 2-letter words listed in the Official Scrabble Players Dictionary, 6th Edition and the Official Tournament and Club Word List:

AA, AB, AD, AE, AG, AH, AI, AL, AM, AN, AR, AS, AT, AW, AX, AY, BA, BE, BI, BO, BY, DA, DE, DO, ED, EF, EH, EL, EM, EN, ER, ES, ET, EW, EX, FA, FE, GI, GO, HA, HE, HI, HO, ID, IF, IN, IS, IT, JO, JU, JY, JZ, KA, KI, KO, LA, LI, LO, MA, ME, MI, MM, MO, MU, MY, NA, NE, NO, NU, OD, OE, OF, OH, OI, OK, OM, ON, OP, OR, OS, OW, OX, PA, PE, PI, PO, QI, RE, SH, SI, SO, TA, TE, TI, TO, UH, UM, UN, UP, US, UT, WE, WO, XI, XU, YA, YE, YO, ZA

Two letter contractions: I’m, I’d

Four letter verbs:

abet, abut, abye/aby, ache, alit, ally, ante, arch, aver, avow (10).

baby,  bach, back, bade, baff, bail, bait, bake, bald, bale, balk, ball, band, bang, bank, bant, barb, bard, bare, barf, bark, base, bash, bask, bate, bath, bauk, bawl, bead, beam, bean, bear,    beat, beck, bede, beef, been, beep, bell, belt, bend, bent, bere, best, bias, bide(archaic usage), biff, bike, bilk, bill, bind, bird, birl, birr, bite, bitt, blab, blat, blaw, bled, blet, blew, blip, blob, blot, blow, blub, blue, blur, boak, boat, bode, body, boff(vulgar usage), boil, boke, bomb, bond, bone, bong, bonk, boob, book, boom, boot, bore, born, boss, boun, bowl, brad, brag, bray, bred, brew, brim, buck, buff, bulk, bull, bump, bung, bunk, bunt, buoy, burl, burn, burp, burr, bury, bush, busk, buss, bust, busy, butt, buzz (117).

ca-ca, cage, cake, calk, call, calm, came, camp, cane, cant, card, care, carp, cart, case, cash, cast, cave, cede, cere, chap, char, chat, chaw, chid, chin, chip, chop, chow, chug, chum, cite, clad, clam, clap, claw, clay, clew, clip, clog, clop, clot, cloy, club, clue, coal, coat, coax, cock, code, coif, coil, coin, coke, comb, come, comp, cone, conk, conn, cook, cool, coop, cope, copy, cord, core, cork, corn, cosh, cost, coup, cove, cowl, crab, cram, crap, crew, crib, crop, crow, cube, cuff, cull, curb, curd, cure, curl, curr, cuss (90).

dado, daff, damn, damp, dang, dare, dark, darn, dart, dash, date, daub, dawn, daze, deal, deck, deed, deem, defy, deke, dele, demo, dent, deny, dial, dice, died, diet, dike, dine, ding, ding, dint, dirk, disc, dish, disk, diss, dive, dock, doff, dole, dome, done, doom, dope, dose, doss, dote, dove, down, doze, drab, drag, draw, dray, dree, drew, drip, drop, drub, drug, drum, duck, duel, duet, dull, dumb, dump, dung, dunk, dupe, dusk, dust, dyke (75).

earn, ease, echo, eddy, edge, edit, emit, envy, espy, etch, even, exit (12).

face, fade, fail, fake, fall, fame, fard, fare, farm, fart, fash, fast, fate, fawn, faze, fear, feed, feel, fell, felt, fend, fess, fete, feud, file, fill, film, find, fine, fink, fire, firm, fish, fist, fizz, flag, flap, flat, flaw, flay, fled, flee, flew, flex, flip, flit, flog, flop, flow, flub, flux, foal, foam, foil, foin, fold, fond, fool, foot, ford, fork, form, foul, fowl, frag, frap, fray, free, fret, frig, frit, fuel, full, fume, fund, funk, furl, fuse, fuss, futz, fuze, fuzz (82).

gaff, gage, gain, gait, gall, game, gang, gaol, gape, garb, gash, gasp, gast(obsolete), gate, gaum(US), gave, gawk, gawp, gaze, gear, geld, gibe, gift, gild, gill, gimp, gird, girt, give, glad(archaic), glom, glow, glue, glug, glut, gnar, gnaw, go by, go on, goad, golf, gone, gong, goof, gore, gown, grab, gray, grew, grey, grid, grin, grip, grit, grow, grub, gulf, gull, gulp, gush, gust, gybe, gyre, gyve (64).

hack, haft, hail, hale, halo, halt, hand, hang, hare, hark, harm, harp, hash, hasp, hast, hate, hath(archaic), haul, have, hawk, haze, head, heal, heap, hear, heat, heed, heel, heft, held, helm, help, hent(obsolete), herd, hewn, hide, hike, hill, hint, hire, hiss, hive, hoax, hock, hoke(slang), hold, hole, home, hone, honk, hood, hoof, hook, hoop, hoot, hope, horn, hose, host, hove, howl, huff, hulk, hull, hump, hung, hunt, hurl, hurt, hush, husk, hymn, hype, hypo (74).

idle, inch, iris, iron, isle, itch (6).

jack, jade, jail, jape, jazz, jeep, jeer, jell, jerk, jest, jibe, jilt, jink, jinx, jive, join, joke, jolt, josh, juke, jump, junk (22).

kayo, keek(Scots), keel, keen, keep, kept, kern, kick, kill, kiln, kilt, kink, kiss, kite, knap, knew, knit, knot, know (19).

lace, lack, laid, lain, lair, lake, lamb, lame, land, lard, lark, lase, lash, last, lath, laud, lave, laze, lazy, lead, leaf, leak, lean, leap, lech, leer, left, lend, lens, lent, levy, lick, lift, like, lilt, limb, lime, limn, limp, line, link, lisp, list, live, load, loaf, loan, lock, loft, loll, long, look, loom, loop, loot, lope, lord, lose, lost, loup(Scots), lour, lout, love, lube, luck, luff, luge, lull, lump, lure, lurk, lust, lute, lyse (74).

mace, made, mail, maim, make, mall, malt, mark, marl, mart, mash, mask, mass, mast, mate, maul, maze, mean, meet, meld, mell, melt, mend, meow, mesh, mess, mete, mewl, miff, milk, mill, mime, mind, mine, mint, mire, miss, mist, moan, moat, mock, moil, mold, molt, moon, moor, moot, mope, moss, move, muck, muff, mull, mump, muse, mush, muss, must, mute (59).

nail, name, near, neck, need, nest, nick, nigh, nill(obsolete), nock, nose, nosh, note, nuke, null, numb (16).

obey, ogle, oink, okay, omen, omit, ooze, open, oust, over (10).

pace, pack, page, pain, pair, pale, pall, palm, pang, pant, pare, park, part, pash(Austral), pass, pave, pawn, peak, peal, peck, peek, peel, peen, peep, peer, pelt, pend, perk, perm, pick, pike, pile, pill, pimp, pine, ping, pink, pipe, piss(vulgar), pith, pity, plan, plat, play, plod, plop, plot, plow, plug, pock, poke, pole, poll, pond, pool, pore, port, pose, post, pour, pout, pray, pree, prep, prey, prim, prod, prog, prop, puff, puke, pule, pull, pulp, pump, punt, purl, purr, push, putt (80).

quad, quip, quit, quiz (4).

race, rack, raft, rage, raid, rail, rain, rake, ramp, rang, rank, rant, rape, rase, rasp, rate, rave, raze, razz, read, ream, reap, rear, reck, redd(dialect), rede(archaic), redo, reed, reef, reek, reel, rein, rely, rend, rent, rest, re-up, rice, rick, ride, riff, rift, rile, rill, rime(archaic)/rhyme, ring, riot, rise, risk, rive, roam, roar, robe, rock, rode, roil, rolf, roll, romp, roof, rook, room, root, rope, rose, rout, rove, ruck, ruff, ruin, rule, rush, rust (73).

sack, said, sail, sale, salt, sand, sass, sate, save, sawn, scab, scam, scan, scar, scat, scud, scum, seal, seam, sear, seat, seed, seek, seel, seem, seen, seep, sell, send, sent, sewn, shag, sham, shed, shim, shin, ship, shit, shoe, shog, shoo, shop, shot, show, shun, shut, sick, side, sift, sigh, sign, silk, silt, sing, sink, sire, site, size, skew, skid, skim, skin, skip, slab, slag, slam, slap, slat, slay, sled, slew, slid, slim, slip, slit, slog, slop, slot, slow, slub, slue, slug, slum, slur, smut, snag, snap, snip, snow, snub, snug, soak, soap, soar, sock, soil, sold, sole, solo, soot, sorb, sort, soup, sour, sown, spae(scottish), spam, span, spar, spat, spay, spec, sped, spew, spin, spit, spot, spud, spur, spurn, stab, stag, star, stay, stem, step, stet, stew, stir, stop, stow, stub, stud, stun, suck, suds, suit, sulk, sung, sunk, surf, swab, swag, swam, swan(brit), swap, swat, sway, swig, swim, swob, swop(brit)/swap, swot, swum, sync (155).

tabu, tack, tail, take, talc, talk, tame, tamp, tang, tank, tape, tare, task, taut, taxi, team, tear, teem, tell, tend, tent, term, test, text, thaw, thin, thud, tick, tide, tidy, tier, tiff, tile, till, tilt, time, tine, ting, tint, tire, toil, toke, told, tole, toll, tomb, tone, tong, took, tool, toot, tope, tore, torn, toss, tote, tour, tout, tram, trap, tree, trek, trim, trip, trod, trot, trow(archaic), true, tube, tuck, tuft, tune, turf, turn, tusk, twig(Brit), twin, twit, type (79).

undo, urge (2).

vade, vail(archaic), vamp, vary, veal, veer, veil, vein, vend, vent, vest, veto, vide, view, vine, visa, vise, void, vote (19).

wade, waft, wage, wail, wait, wake, wale, walk, wall, wane, want, ward, ware(archaic), warm, warn, warp, wash, waul, wave, wawl, wean, wear, weed, ween, weep, weet, weld, well, welt, wend, went, wept, were, wert(archaic), wham, whap, whet, whid(Scottish), whip, whir, whiz, whop, wick, wile, will, wilt, wind, wine, wing, wink, wipe, wire, wise, wish, wisp, wist, wite, wive, woke, wolf, wont, wood, woof, word, wore, work, worm, worn, wove, wrap, writ(archaic) (71).

x-ray (1).

yack, yank, yard, yarn, yaup, yawn, yawp, yean, yell, yelp, yerk, yeuk, yock, yoke, yowl, yo-yo(informal), yuck (17).

zero, zest, zinc, zing, zone, zonk, zoom (7).

IT IT IT IT IT IT IT IT IT IT IT IT IT IT IT IT IT IT IT IT IT IT IT IT IT IT IT IT

(yes there are 28 ITs)

[thefun41]

Next up is Lesbian!Maya This one was definitely a challenge! I’ve drawn Maya a few times but I think this one is the best so far!

I’ll be blabing under the cut but in the meantime look forward to Gay!Klavier (hopefully) on Wednesday!

Edit: I have been informed that this is not the flag currently used. :/ I was wondering why kept seeing a pink one, just not where I was looking.

(Warning : rage and bitching below)

*deep breath* OH BOY! OH GOLLY AHH JEEZ Like DAMN was this a challenge. This took me an entire week!!! Other then Sebastian (because of that jacket) all of the pride requeswts have taken 3 days or less. During those 3 days I research an outfit, make a sketch, normally have a goofy side image to post before it because my brain is hyperactive, obsess over how to pose them and make the final image. Not this time!!! Even though this was an incredible struggle there was a lot that was learned by this… experience. 

So let’s break it down. 

Struggle #1 : Which flag are we using again? On the Ace Attorney Amino, the requester requested a Lesbian Maya. Here is the issue, in my research I have found a lot of lesbian pride flags and narrowed it down to 2. The lesbian pride flag which is  purple one with the black triangle and the battle axe (which was used) and lipstick lesbian, which is this pink one (see above). Now this bodes the question : What’s the difference? Well as far as I can tell, The purple one came first and is generally an umbrella flag for lesbians, while the pink one was made spicifically for a lesbian subculture : lipstick lesbians. There is a stereotype that lesbians are “masculine”, lipstick lesbians are very comfortable with their femininity, in fact very “girly” and seemed to be underrepresented sooooooo they have their own flag and subculture, kinda like the opposite of gay bear that we covered last time.  It seems like the Pink flag overtook the purple one in popularity OR whoever made the pink one was just better at marketing, who knows. Now the requested went with “a regular lesbian” so battle ax flag it is. Also battle axes are cool, so there’s that.  

Lesson learned : the LGBTQ+ community is waaaaaaay bigger then I thought with subcultures and whatnot. Knowlage is half the battle! 

Struggle #2 : Fashion is hard guys.  Picking the outfit took at least 2 days, and then I changed it at least a half dozen times. there are 3 issues I had (lists within lists, listception) : Maya’s limited style,  using the colour pallette with my messed up, self-restricted viewpoint, and Maya’s age. First Item, off the top of my head, I believe Maya is only seen in 5 outfits, her usual outfit, iris outfit for a moment, a waitress outfit for an hour, a red dress in that one promotional image where the case is super fancy, a white suit outfit thing for soundtrack stuff and a conductor uniform??? Out of the ones I can rememer, mostof thesse are dresses. When debating on weather or not I should put her in a dress I decided no because (as far as I can remember) she’s always ion a dress. and then my brain went nuts with questions.

Why is she always in a dress? is that sexist? It is a problem? What’s wrong with with her always being in a dress? Why do I want to really get her out of a dress? Am I sexist? why do only women were dresses? Is it the hips? Why don”t men wear dresses? Can they? They don’t really have hips so they can’t really wear skirts. Wait a minute men do kinda wear dresses, I mean kilts and kimono’s exist. would the bulge be an issue? Would men emphasize their bulge like women emphasize their breasts? Can men look good in dresses? Can any man look good in a dress? Can I put Edgeworth in a dress and make him look good? I’ve seen a ton of Phoenix in dresses but why not Edgey? … So yeah a lot of useless questions taking up my time for no reason. The point is I purposely designed an outfit with pants … this obviously did not happen. I had this idea of a cozy look in a cute sweater but this leads to the next issue. The issue with this cozy look? It’s too simple.Yes that look is cute but it’s not for me, it’s for the person who requested it. Any it’s entirely possible that this person may have seen the other works from this pride project and the outfits I made for them and then they just get Maya in a sweater? It’s a cute sweater but it didn’t seem fair. A similar issue happened with Phoenix but the solution to that was just to open his shirt and BOOM, extra layers and thus a more complex look. Now maybe the the OG requester wouldn’t mind but I just couldn’t do it, I feel like I needed to give her an outfit with more effort into it. And thuys Maya went back into skirt, now this lead to the third issue : Maya’s age. I found a lot of nice outfits, outfits that would look great on Maya! … When she was a teenager. Now maya is most definitely a full grown women and not a child. Now weather or not I pulled off the 28 year old Maya will be discussed later but nonetheless, all of those cute outfits I found? Out the window. I was so indecisive that I just asked my brother to pick one. Honestly? I really liked what he picked, and I confirmed with my dad that, yes, you can put this outfit on a almost 30 year old. The scarf ended up being omitted in favour of her magatama, otherwise we ended up with the same problem as before, it’s too simple. this time with a few days of work under our belt so there was no way I was going to start over. The solution to this was a nice floral pattern based on a cherry blossom. this makes it more visually simple. I think it looks pretty! After all that work I do like the end result. 

Lesson learned : Stop. Over. Thinking. Things. And for the love of god sketch it out. Just looking on google and imagining on the character  sometimes will not cut it. If I don’t get it relatively quickly, doodle, draw and scribble some more.  

Struggle #3 : Why can’t I draw women?? I am one?!?! Like seriously, why, it makes no sense. Well actually it does make sense because I am fairly sure I can count the amount of women I’ve drawn with one hand. It’s a simple measure of practice. I was foolish to think that simply drawing human’s would be enough. sadly that is not the case. Men and women are built differently and of course I failed to accommodate… many many times. The amount of times I have modified maya and changed her proportions is unreal. One thing I do all the time is make the abdomen too long and I have no idea why this is. Her face! I have no cluw what went wrong the first dozen times but it just didn’t work! I wish I could explain why but it just didn’t look right. you”ll notice that she doesn’t have lips even though she does in her new design, It’s because I have never been able to draw lips. Ever. Not once. Does she even look like an adult? I can’t even tell anymore. She is a little thicker then her concept art but making her look thinner just didn’t work out. Her arms, I had to hid them since the preportions were all off, the hands were held together in front of her checkl and they were too lanky and there was nothing I could do to make it look good and don’t get me started on her hands please don’t. If I didn’t cut off her legs I would have issues with that too. Her breasts, how on earth do you shade those??? Does not compute. DOES NOT COMPUTE!!!  So yeah the struggle is real. The solution? Trial and error. Just keep trying until it looks good. Play with your strengths. A friend of mine told me that she reminder her of Tina from Bob’s Burgers… ok? Sure. So after all that while I do like the end result I also see what can be improved, and sadly we have reached the limits of my skill at this time. 

Lessons learned : Practice practice practice. I don’t draw enough women, I need to draw more women. I can’t quite comprehend how cloths fall on the chest area and obviously looking the mirror is not a solution. What is the solution? Drawing naked people. … No seriously. Once I learn proper anatomy and human proportions and how muscles distribute over the body not only will I have a lot easier time drawing these characters I will also be able to figure out how clothing would fall on their bodies and i’ll have a easier time shading. Right now I’m drawing and shading clothing without knowing WHY it’s folding like that or why the light is hitting this area. Of course I’ll be doing this for both men and women because as started before, they are built differently. do you know what I also can’t draw? Children. I am NOT applying this to the kiddies. That’s weird and gross. The kids will have t deal with being freaks. I’m cool with that.

Struggle #04 :  Life How did we break 3 fuses at my house while I was at work? Why did it effect half my room upstairs, the computer setup that is downstairs and the WiFi on the main floor when the thing used to blow the fuse was in an upstairs room across the hall. why did no one fix it until the next day? Why just leave it like that? Why did I sleep in until 1 when I’ve been consistently waking up at 9? I had things to do what gives? Why did I accept a split shift the next day when I’m exhausted? Why do I get super stressed out when I set an alarm that I can’t sleep? Why am I spending 3 hours writing this when I never bothered to put this much effort in school work? How have I not punched someone yet?

Lessons learned : Don’t rely on anyone but yourself. Do what you can with the time allowed. Pat yourself on the back for not resorting to violence. How to change fuses. Writing this is very therapeutic.  Did you last this long? Who knows! All I do know is that yes this was a struggle but I plan on learning from this. Next up is Gay!Klaver and I’m REALLY looking forward to it!

[aestheticvoyage2018]

Day 278: Friday October 5, 2018 - “Boxing Bears”

We drove to ABQ down that I40 from Flag and arrived a little late but settled into our Airbnb quickly before getting AC gussied up and off to her rehearsal and dinner.   For this third wedding of our wedding run, shes actually a bridesmaid for one of her co-workers.  And so I had to entertain myself for a few hours, not invited to the festivities.   What to do, what to do?  In ABQ - its about the beer.   So I found a good couple of breweries that Id never been to before - started at Boxing Bear where I enjoyed a few pints while getting some Friday work done...Green Chili Fries for sure.   Yes, yes, in NM you gotta have Green Chili.   Then I ran my errands and landed at the Kilt Check.  Heres to he who raises our spirits...and his kilt.  AC met me back there.  Long ass day, where we spent most of boxing like a couple of bears, ourselves.  But we managed to make up and be good to end the night.   

I really liked Boxing Bear, and their logo.  I had been thinking about decorating our Yeti with stickers picked up along the way, and so I collected a sitcker and put it on.  Sticker #1.  Its on its way!

Song: Tom Waits - Picture In A Frame

Quote: “Here we are, trapped in the amber of the moment. There is no why.” ― Kurt Vonnegut

[johnthestitcher]

Me in my Bear Flag Kilt, Chicopee Pride 2023, Chicopee, MA. Happy PRIDE!

[emthetimelady]

There! Right there!

Summary: Some people is trying to figure out the hard question: Is Thomas Sanders gay Or European? (Part 2 of Legally Blonde AU!) Warnings: Gays. Other names for gay? You might scream bc they all are so gay. A/N: I had so fun writing this bc... Thomas is so gay and this is just for fun. Honestly I don’t know where this is going xD  List of the people in: Roman - Elle Logan: Warner Patton: Emmett Virgil: Brooke Thomas: Mikos  Tayln: Enid Bonus: Joan as Carlos  Tags: @mewsicalmiss @treehouseart @irish-newzealand-idian-dutch

Patton looked at himself in the mirror. He looked so smart, professional like he should be. He took a deep breath. Maybe the others would think he looked good too. He walked out to the room and tried to seem normal. 

“Woah a total hottie alert!” “Patton you look sharp.” “Wow Patton is that you?” Patton smiled. “Roman took me shopping.” Speaking of him, Roman Sanders was just getting into the room. He just knew it. He knew that whenever the bend and snap failed, the guy had to be gay. So when he had tried it had failed. If he now only could get the others to believe so too. “Thomas couldn’t have had the affair. I just did the bend and snap in front of him, and nothing. Clearly he must be gay.” He was so passonate but the other was confused? How? It was just simply real logic! “He did leave a ranbow flag in my house once” Virgil agreed. “Wait wait wait… You want to out this man on the stand?” Logan asked from the behind. “That’s crazy! You can’t build a legal strategy on a bend and snap. We need a defence, not a dance move.” “So you think he perjured himself but you can’t show it? You know, if you’re wrong we look desperate and homphobic.” “But if he’s right-” Virgil started. “And I know I am!” Roman argued just as Thomas got into the room. “There! Right there!” He pointed and everyone looked at him. “Look at that tan well-tended skin. Look at the killer shape he’s in. Look at that that bright smile. Oh please he’s gay, totally gay.” “I’m not about to celebrate, every trait could indicate. A totally straight expatriate. This guy’s not gay, I say not gay.” “That is the elephant in the room, Well is it relevant to assume, that a man who wears parfume is automatically radically fey?” The others joined in. “But look at his coffied and crispy look” Patton pointed out. “Look at his silk translucent socks.” “There's the eternal paradox. Look what we’re seeing.” “What are we seeing?” “Is he gay-” “Of course he is!” Why did they even talk about it? It was obivious. “- Or european?” It seemed like a light was over all of their heads. “Gay or european? It’s hard to garuentee, Is he gay or european?” They all turned to a confused Logan. “Well hey don’t look at me!” Logan defended himself. “You see they bring their boys up different in those charming foreign ports. They play peculiar sports.” “In shiny shirts and tiny shorts!” They all pointed out. “Gay or foreign fella? The answer could take weeks. They both say things like "ciao bella" while they kiss you on both cheeks.” “Of please!” Roman sighed. “Gay or european? So many shades of gray.” “Depending on the time of day, the french go other way.” Logan said. “Is he gay or europan?” “There! Right There!” Tayln pointed out. “Look at that condescending smirk. Seen it on every guy at work. That is a metro hetero jerk. That guy's not gay, I say no way!” They all turned to Tayln.  “That is the elephant in the room. Well is it relevant to presume that a hottie in that costume-”

“Is automatically-radically-” “Ironically chronically-” “Certainly pertin'tly-” “Genetically medically-” “GAY! OFFICIALLY GAY! OFFICIALLY GAY GAY GAY GAY” Thomas kissed a girl’s hand. “DAMNIT! Gay or European?” “So stylish and relaxed.” “Is he gay or European?” “I think his chest is waxed.” He didn’t understand why he would look at Thomas chest but he was right. “But they bring their boys up different there. It's culturally diverse. It's not a fashion curse.” “If he wears a kilt or bears a purse! Gay or just exotic? I still can't crack the code.” “Yes his accent is hypnotic but his shoes are pointy toed.” Virgil finally pointed out. “Huh.” There was some silence. “Gay or European? So many shades of gray.” “But if he turns out straight I'm free at eight on Saturday!” “Is he gay or European? Gay or european? Gay or Euro-” “Wait a minute!” Patton suddenly broke. “Give me a chance to crack this guy. I have an idea I'd like to try.” “The floor is yours.” Callahan said. “So Mr.Sanders… This alleged affair with Mr. Virgil has been going on for...? “2 years.” “And your first name again is...?” “Thomas.” “And your boyfriend's name is...?” “Joan.” he coughed directly after that. Long and painful. “I'm sorry! I misunderstand. You say boyfriend. I thought you say best friend. Joan is my best friend.”

Well. They did try.

[magdalenagay]

“The big spectacle of Pride—the parade, the parties, and the other affiliated events—is always inspiring, because the right to public pleasure is so hard-fought for queer people. But in recent years, maybe since the nationwide legalization of gay marriage, in 2015, triumphalism has outshone much sense of political urgency. Alternative events, eschewing the support of corporations and law enforcement, have sprung up, emphasizing the movement’s unfinished work—work that largely involves protecting queer people who aren’t white and wealthy. In some cases activists have openly clashed with mainstream Pride, such as when protesters blocked the path of Washington, D.C.’s 2017 parade and forced it to be rerouted. In other cases, they’ve simply thrown their own anti-assimilationist march.

This year, the establishment festivities went digital because of the coronavirus pandemic. So the Queer Liberation March was the only major real-life outpouring for Stonewall’s anniversary in New York City, and it built explicitly off the Black Lives Matter protests of the past month. The march, in fact, began a block away from the park across from City Hall, where those activists have set up a camp. On Sunday, that camp—decked in colorful umbrellas, signs, and graffiti—felt like a replacement for typical Pride street fairs. Makeshift booths offered hot food, radical literature, and sunblock, all for free. On the fences were posted information about the accessibility of nearby bathrooms, phone numbers to lobby lawmakers regarding the death of Breonna Taylor, and a picture of RuPaul next to the words Police Brutality, Sashay Away.

At the march itself, many chants and slogans were familiar from other demonstrations after George Floyd’s killing. But visually it read as a gay fashion party at which each person’s duty was to stand out. Protesters flaunted bright-pink handbags, billowing floral blouses, black leather-ish hoods, kilts, and stilts. There were bare bodies, too—hard and soft, cis and trans. Flesh has always been a key component of the Pride experience; in 1970, at the first Pride in Los Angeles, the Reverend Troy Perry described “a mass of muscle calculated to turn everyone on.” The spectrum of bodies on display Sunday offered a reminder of the purpose of turning people on: to grab attention for one’s message, to preach sex positivity and body acceptance, and, yes, to show pride.

What did the marchers want? “Defund the cops”rhetoric abounded, as did verbal and visual tributes to black trans people failed by the American justice system. A large effigy memorialized Marsha P. Johnson, the influential veteran of the Stonewall uprising whose 1992 death, activists alleged, was insufficiently investigated by the NYPD. Signs mourned Layleen Polanco, the New York ballroom-scene fixture whose 2019 death at Rikers Island led to the disciplining of 17 correctional officers for misconduct. The focus on black trans people, especially transgender black women, points to a coherent and morally urgent way forward for the queer movement as a whole. Trans people of color experience disproportionate rates of violence, incarceration, and poverty. Defending their lives involves attacking the various structural bigotries—political, cultural, economic—that also bear down on the rest of the LGBTQ population: racism, sexism, homophobia, transphobia.

The question of how to support black trans people also demonstrates the risks of getting too cozy with corporate America. Pride sponsors such as Verizon, FedEx, and AT&T fly rainbow flags while also donating to conservative politicians who demonize anti-racist activists and work to roll back trans protections. ​​​It’s true that Pride’s business-world backers do contribute materially to the queer movement, including by helping throw spectacular parades and parties around the world every year. But on Sunday nothing felt lost in the lack of ticky-tacky souvenirs with bank logos on them, or block parties where participants pay a cover charge while also being subjected to wall-to-wall vodka ads. Instead, the joy of gathering en masse was bolstered by the energy of having clear purpose. Pride isn’t cancelled, read one sign. It’s refocused.

Such refocusing, of course, is not without peril. For some participants, the Queer Liberation March ended with being pepper-sprayed or arrested by NYPD officers, who can be seen on video running into crowds that had been milling about. Crackdowns like these, so characteristic of the past month of protests, evoke what happened in 1969 at the Stonewall Inn: a riot against police harassment. The defiance, danger, and burning need behind that historical event has been only a hazy memory at recent Prides, but maybe now that will change. Standing along the protest route, on the edge of the Occupy City Hall camp, I glanced down at one point and saw the anarchy symbol stenciled on the pavement. Next to it someone had graffitied this: I think there is hope for us in that an ‘us’ even exists.”

- Pride Can’t Go Back to What It Was Before -  Spencer Kornhaber (The Atlantic)

[bravehardts]

Day 6 - Edinburgh: History and Haggis

Lo and behold, we were awarded with another beautiful day here on what we worried would be a rainy and cold vacation. I hope this doesn't jinx our luck but today was the warmest and clearest day yet. Traveling up The Royal Mile from our hotel, we met our close friends Brendan and Esther Cooney at a breakfast place called Hula Juice Bar for avocado toast (so California) and porridge (so Scottish). It was great to catch up and see some familiar faces this faraway from home. After cajoling a couple of passerbys to take our picture together outside, we parted ways and wandered further up towards the most popular attraction here, Edinburgh Castle. As we approached the castle, the crowds kept getting more and more dense. Fortunately we had purchased our tickets beforehand so we could skip the queue and print them right away. We passed through a large stadium that is hosting the "Military Tattoo" during festival season--on display was a giant military jet suspended above the entrance and a navy helicopter. As we would soon learn in the castle, Scotland is VERY proud of their military, both past and present. Walking up towards the castle, we were transported back to medieval times (not the restaurant, but similar). This would be the third castle we visited, and by far the best! The layout was winding and asymmetrical--probably an advantage for any invading hordes, trying to conquer the castle. Perched high on a hill, it also has a huge tactical advantage. It could likely only be attacked from one side, since the other sides are steep cliffs overlooking the city. As our friends advised us, we headed straight to the top of the castle (which is a series of independent buildings, all part of the greater structure). We entered an area to view the Scottish Crown Jewels, after seeing a series of historical mannequined recreations. No pictures were allowed in the room with the Crown Jewels--but there was a sword, a scepter, and a red velvet crown, just as you would imagine from British royalty. There were some other types of jewels but Alex was already antsy so we didn't get to spend too much time in the final room. We visited various other areas of the castle, though it was already starting to get packed with throngs of international visitors and tour groups. Of note, we visited the "Great Hall", decorated with swords, muskets, and armor (YES!), the War Memorial (no pictures allowed), a quite stunning indoor memorial to Scottish soldiers, navy men, nurses, etc. It felt like a small cathedral, and was very moving to see all the different divisions of the Scottish military's honored deceased. Other attractions were Mons Meg--the largest cannon of that era, that could fire a 300 lbs. cannonball 2 miles; the Prisons of War Exhibition--recreations of prison cells from various eras of the castle (definitely in Allison's wheelhouse)--St. Margaret's Chapel, the Dog Cemetery, and at least three military museums (including the National War Museum). If we had spent the time to really read every sign, look at every artifact (swords, medals, rifles, kilts, helmets, gas masks, machine guns, flags, etc) we would have been there for HOURS. But of course we didn't, because first of all Alex can't read, and second of all after you've seen 50 swords they all start to look the same. But I was pleasantly surprised by the bagpipe soundtrack blaring the "Last of the Mohican's" theme song, which I didn't realize was either 1) an original Scottish bagpipe song ripped off for the movie, or 2) a really great song from the movie that is cool to play on the bagpipe (will look up an answer shortly--and more on that song soon). A quick side note--we grabbed lunch within the castle at a delightful cafe. As it had one of the only bathrooms in the area, I wandered down the stairs to take Alex, and noticed the longest, most miserable line of women I have even seen, waiting for the Lou. I've seen happier people in line at the DMV. Heading out of the Castle, we passed by absolutely massive lines of people waiting to buy tickets. We were lucky to have entered the castle first thing in the morning, and clearly it would only get more and more crowded during the day. Walking back down The Royal Mile, the crowds did not get thinner by any means. And top of that were throngs of street performers with terrible costumes and loads and loads of youngsters handing out flyers for various "free shows" during festival week. We powered through these masses of people--a nightmarish sea of activity for folks like us who don't love big crowds too much. Eventually we got back to the hotel, for a little rest and Lego Star Wars. For the afternoon, we planned to grab another Hop On Hop Off bus pass, and move around the city. Sitting on the open top of the bus, the sun was fully out and actually getting uncomfortably hot. This bus tour did not cover as much area as the one in Dublin, but the traffic was so thick that it took forever to get anywhere. But the sights of hilly Edinburgh are so stunning from almost any spot in the city, I would call it a good choice for us to get our bearings and see more of the city. We decided to get off the bus at Grassmarket, an active area of pubs and restaurants not too far from our hotel. The first pub we went to told us that we could only have a kid inside if he ate a "full meal" (liquor regulations I guess). The second we tried was more lenient--as long as he had a snack, that was fine. And have a snack we did! The pub was called "The Last Drop" (love it!) and we had a cozy little area in the back. Alex had mac and cheese which he annihilated. Allison had a vegetable broth soup. I went all in and tried the Haggis with Neeps and Tatties--because how could I leave Scotland without trying it? For those who only know Haggis as a joke in "So I Married an Ax Murderer", it is apparently banned in the US because it contains an ingredient not allowed to be put into our food: Sheep lungs. Oh, it also has sheep heart, liver, and is cooked in the stomach. That being said--it was pretty good! Not good enough for me to eat the whole thing, but the Neeps (mashed turnips) and Tatties (mashed potatoes) were just great when drizzled with whiskey cream sauce. The haggis itself was like a hearty thick paste with some spice to it. I could see getting used to it, but of all the exotic things I've tried, lungs is a new one on my list, and a little hard mentally to get past. I also tried a local beer--Innis and Gunn Lager. Tastes like a lager, and not much more to say about it. We hiked back to the hotel, staying on Cowgate (far enough away from the busier streets to be sane) and crossing under bridges, before ascending the hill to our hotel. There are loads of bridges around here, but no river. They just cross between hills and over streets far below. Before dinner, I took Alex to the little pool in the basement of our hotel. The small pool was a big hit, as would be expected. And finally, we took a nice long hike to our dinner restaurant, The Fisher House--the best meal we have had so far. The fresh seafood was fantastic--Alex devoured his sole (I helped him polish off the squid ink gnocchi), Allison fell in love with her lobster and scallops, and I went batty for my Panang curry with shrimp and fish. Also, a fried octopus appetizer started things off with a bang. Alex finished the meal by using Allison's lobster claw to crush any remaining food items in sight.. As we walked back to the hotel, there were still loads of people out--the setting sun was beautiful on the stone monuments and statues around the city. The festival attractions (pop up restaurants and bars, bands playing all around the city) were making us regret not having a babysitter so we could go out on the town. Oh, and we walked by a street band again playing the "Last of the Mohicans" theme song on Bagpipe, but this time with a full drum set and electric guitar. I loved the jam, and so did Alex! While I write this in our dark, quiet room in the back of the hotel (with Alex trying to fall asleep), we are so close yet so far away from the bustling city life that will surely be drinking, dancing, and doing whatever else there is to be done here, all night. No regrets though! This was a hugely busy day for us, and tomorrow we get to fill in the gaps of our Edinburgh experience. There are so many historical buildings, winding streets, mysterious closes (the walking alleyways leading from the streets), that even a week wouldn't be enough to see all that this amazing city has to offer.

[scotianostra]

July 20th 1651 saw the Battle of Inverkeithing.

An army comprising Covenanters and Royalists fighting under the flag of Charles II were defeated whilst attempting to throw back a Cromwellian invasion force. For Clan MacLean the slaughter at the battle was particularly horrific - out of the original contingent of 800, some 760 clansmen were killed, including their chief, Sir Hector Ruadh MacLean.

It was during the night or early morning of 16th /17th July 1651 that the troops of Oliver Cromwell’s New Model Army landed on the north shore of the Forth in the vicinity of Inverkeithing Bay. Whilst they had inflicted a heavy defeat on the Scottish army at Dunbar on 3rd September 1650, they had been thwarted by attempts to advance further into Scotland. Cromwell came to the conclusion that Fife was the key and by 20th July, 4,500 of Cromwell’s Parliamentarian force were dug in on Ferry Hills, whilst a Scottish force of a similar size had grouped at Castland Hill.

The threat of Scottish reinforcements coming from Stirling provoked Cromwell’s Parliamentarians to attack and force the Scottish infantry to retreat north towards Pitreavie Castle. On land close to the Castle, the Scottish infantry made a final stand but were soon overwhelmed by the more experienced Parliamentarians who had the additional advantage of cavalry. The Scots suffered heavy losses. This became known as The Battle of Inverkeithing (sometimes The Battle of Pitreavie) and was the last major battle of the Wars of the Three Kingdoms in Scotland. From 1652, Scotland was wholly under control of Cromwell’s Protectorate.

In the heat of the battle seven brothers successively sacrificed their lives protecting The McLean clan Cheif, Hector after he sustained a mortal wound. As each brother fell, they called for another to continue protecting the chief with the words "Fear eile air son Eachuinn," or "Another for Hector." The simle call for help was answered seven times with the assurance "Bas air son Eachuinn," or "Death for Hector." The Seven brothers died knowing someone was ready to stand in their place. Despite their protection, Sir Hector did not survive his wounds. "Another for Hector" has become a call to duty and one of the mottos of the Mcleans.

"A rill, traversing the valley, called the Pinkerton-burn, ran with blood for several days, and the appearance of the little mounds, or heaps of the slain, resembled a hairst field of stooks* of corpses." -- Annals Of Dunfermline.

The cairn in the picture was erected on the 350th anniversary of the battle by the Clan MacLean Heritage Trust in 2001 and is on Castle Brae close to Piteavie Castle.

"Another for Eachuinn" was composed in 1894 by Duncan Maclean, Bard to the Clan Maclean Association of Glasgow, for the third annual gathering.

Another For Eachuinn17 p15 Clans from the rugged Highlands, where the antlered stag is seen, Where the solemn hills in grandeur raise aloft their walls of green, Where the wild and dashing fountains fling their jewels in the air Where the lowly hut and shieling guard the virtue passing fair. Where the eagle from its eyrie looketh down on vales below Where the beauty of the heather bloometh with a radiant glow, Where dear mem'ries bright and golden dwell in corrie, glade and glen, Wreathing with a fadeless glory fearless clansmen of MacLean,

'Tis a story old, my clansmen, yet it thrills me to the core, And I fain would sing in numbers what our lads have done of yore. 'Tis no idle boast of valor, 'tis no empty tale—in brief— 'Tis a story of devotion of our clansmen for their chief; For our clansmen, ever loyal to the chieftain of their clan, Were prepared to rush to battle, win or perish to a man, And, should ere the slogan echo in our Highland vales again, All our clansmen, ever ready, still would follow Chief MacLean.

'Twas at Inverkeithing, Hector, some two hundred years ago, When the god of war was screaming, led his clansmen 'gainst the foe; With their pibrochs loudly playing, and their banners waving free, Sure our sturdy Highland clansmen looked the flower of chivalry; When the war was raging fiercest, and Sir Hector was sore prest, It was then that seven brothers, all in kilts and sporans drest, Dow'red the Highlands with a glory all—immortal shall they reign— Stimulating every clansman, and an honor to MacLean.

Clansmen, how these brothers perished in the thickest of the fight emblazoned, now in hist'ry, ever wonderful and bright— How they shielded brave Sir Hector from rough Cromwell's warlike men Is a proverb and a watchword prized in every Highland glen. Not a craven heart was 'mid them, as one fell another came, Proud to fight and die for Hector, while they blessed his honored name, Seven heroes! noble brothers, though they fell 'twas not in vain— Dying they but did their duty, and enriched the Clan MacLean.

Clansmen, all those sons were brothers, nurtured at one mother's breast, Prompted by devotion, gladly 'gainst the hounds of war they prest, Scorning danger, loving Hector, noble Chieftain of their Clan, Seven heroes, god-like brothers, fought and fell right in the van. Proudly did they rush to battle, and tho' grim Death laid them low, Yet their mem'ries cannot perish while the seasons come and go. We admire their dauntless valor, and we've thousands in our train Who would proudly guard our Chieftain, gallant Chieftain of MacLean.

Clansmen from the rugged Highlands, ye all bear an honored name, Shrined in song and deathless story, blazoned on the scroll of Fame, And tho' war no more is screaming and peace dwells in every hall, Emulate your worthy clansmen they but died at Duty's call. Cherish well our old traditions, guard and shield our honor bright, Fight and conquer every falsehood, spurn the wrong, cleave to the right, Keep untarnished all the glory, thrill Sir Fitzroy's heart again With a fealty all undying for the Chief of Clan MacLean.

[mooncookee]

QUIVER

You see the soul drips low down where the dirt holds and lip licks upside trees and rubs it's scent up in the leaves so every bee passin' flags its tale. In frets and waggles, tails a kites lets                                                     or a dragonfly drags, they sing out in trails of Halle-lu-jah stretches up, up to heaven' but the land; sees it. Land, it never forgets. No, see? The land never forgets.

It breathes in frequencies sometimes only wolves can bear. Now and then a cat or two might howl but hounds, they just too house broke, cozy, may a' bit too lazy for caring. Some ground just stares; some rumbles like mountain claws strummin' on drum skins. Some been rubbed too much.

 I'm told it growls like that at Shiloh and Antietam, And Vietnam's a locomotive hauling coal down where they stokin' Hell. So they tell. Well it's that kinda hum across the tracks as Quiver Lane backs up to Bayou Self.

Once it crossed there but Betsy or Audrey washed it out; maybe was a hurricane

way 'fore storms got names. No one cared to build it back or cared not to. True that.                                                                        

When Emmalite Petit came to name it Quivers for the way the silver willows shiver in the silver light of night everything changed.

Tragedy and Misery, ain't they so the loudest, overstaying cousins? And seems we never see the sunshine when they visit.   Poor Lita (her prayer given greeting) lived beneath a concrete cloud of loud and overstayin' cousins. They raved a regular hoedown, throw-down, hootenanny, fais do do with a neon rainbow and a disco ball. And I mean cousins, uncles et al. Damn Murder, Curser, Fever and Famine fired it up and washed it blue down there with Deluge.                                                                                        

First her Baby, gone. Her Daddy then her ‘nother Baby, husband, husband, baby, Mama; all lost quick as windblown sand.

 Some say Curser was first to sup. Before Choctaw pushed the Houmas through, before people were more than The People, angels and demons had drama there. In that, I'm told, can't be a winner. Seems Quiver Lane began to quiver long fore Lil’ Lita came for dinner or every time.                                                              

She came like plagues o' Moses. "Note-he-damn-us" speculated they's a Moses lain in every sack of sins.

So said, Lita lived as one or all those "Horsemen," well “Horse-folk,” that head banger gang, jammin' down till the World chokes, spokes broke in sections docking the earth in kinda pocky way clips. Cousin, you catch my crazy pills; lauded Lord seen the Devil’s daughter in a bonnet livin’ as the Mistress of the Quivers. I can't say. Maybe she's the lucky millionth shopper

straggled up, she, falling out the sack; register ding, clang and drawer slip, clap; balloons fell, politicians kissing black beauty baby hexes like bubble blowers whistling.

lucky Medusa, heaving chest, epistles of perdition Panavision in her sweat.                                                          

 Y’all know evil needs a witness, accepting victims’ just objects, directly. God knows Narcissus always came as the main idea. Ain't nobody plays that sorrow fiddle like him.

Maybe Emmalite's his sister?

 Lil' Lita came from Texas by the Sabine Pass. Her folk ran a trawl fleet, had plenty grass for cattle and passe blanc, they say. No verifiable pedigree, a Gypsy privateer, a Mescalita bruja here and here. Clearly an Andalusian heiress in that tree, more than half Moor-ish. She was Venus, trapper by trade so they say.

  (II)

 Down from Paradis a way the Old Spanish Trail snakes through the Texaco Woods. Inertia notwithstanding, curves are angular where that old road bends by the tracks and bends back a time or four. Man, DAMN, that was one alive drive. No, don't try those moves at Big Bear, no. Ask me how I know?

 So, the first knee coming from Paradis, Lita’s mausoleum gloats 'neath an oak grove.

Mère Brigit de Saint Asile, splayed in headstones, snaggle-toothed from the shiny rails, with a ditch mote, a throat bouquet of cattails and poison ivy commanded, a dead man's curve from any poet's axis. A swamp hugged close, old road to tracks that smacked blood wet, stains sustained since skirmishes of Yank incursions shucked, ghost rehearsals from Boutte to Des Allemands.

Older ground, this mound raised by the hand of man, built by bodies gone to mulch, a human humus mushed under hundreds on hundreds of autumn's silts. Floods sipped slippin' the baser stones to tilt in neglect, 'cept lichen love. Yet seldom did molesters linger. Centuries of cypress centurions, elders, priests and voodoiennes spit blasted blasphemous echoes and imminent offenders bent on infecting this umbilical age where souls are directed, selected and nakedly effected and tweaked past sec by the Conscious Constant Conscience Collective till they caress the nexus of perfection. Poor Lita‘s cache was stashed in a crypt like only city seen. Marble Venus reigning supreme over meager crosses, slaves and Cajun tenants, protestants, names scratched unless a body was a veteran.

 The black top ridge the bridge to Quiver Lane crossed tracks at are maintained by Santa Fe Railways on the civil side. The bayou banks can't be tamed. To its own travail, alone it wanes. It assimilates, ate by relentless quest of the prevailing Green to digest, jail and swallow every life, not sailing pass a snail's pace past the veil of tales.

 Some places birth a craving for belonging. I belong there. I learned to swear there,                                                                

was snared by the noose tobacco set. My first drunken crash there after Uncle read me Lovecraft there. I woke wet. We skipped for crawfishing on pretty new spring days, lunch meat and Bunny Bread, that pink mayo pickle spread, four finger bag of weed and a six o’ Dixie. What a day made; laying nets in a knee deep maze up to the first grave. Voo was a swamp "Fred Astaire." I was a true Scooby Doo.

 I felt connected. My first love was laid there.                                                        

We buried my Colinda in the Mom Brigit's breast. No other love tested more than a genuflecting peasant maid weighing fragrances passed in wake of her Queen's carriage. Stressing, up she peeked, a speck in shadows of divinity. That old road led me out on, a life of asphalt sped, gone, minstrel vagabond so long it's all I ever did since I turned back on this compost heap, love's keep, womb of every torch song.

 My class of '81 summoned, thirty-five years running but for them I come. I wonder why, true though, I never could deny our passion. When we took life in shots, chased with pitchers at Tolano’s. We had a world to make.

 Me, I just careened from ditch to ditch like it's me buried by the Quivers. No I deliver as I wither juke to honkey tonk, useless bitch of windy whispers. Till I listed, sunk and sprawled, depraved raving “kinda been” kissing the base of my true love’s grave. I bowed my gaze prostrate so to evade her name engraved by chisel. A blitz of banshees pulling train, crumbled by the strain, I crawled scratching three X's by the gate on Lita's marble vault pleading she would put me down, already nothing wasting air, better fare prepared as mushroom food or maybe that's too good.

 I should… I would but once I promised not to "should" myself. Still, shame laid lame, gasping breaths between grass roots. I wept. "Why me's" pelted till my ears burned red. I quivered in prayers to who knows who.

 "Madame Petit accept my humble suffering as sacrifice. By gluttony, greed and lust, I'm pinned by sin, an empty wraith in waiting, a soulless puppet painted live. I pray my worthless carcass lay a worthy crust to feed the inevitable Green lacing the gates of your Everlasting After.”

 Shotguns slam on Heaven's tin walls, clap of Atlas shaking this world off. Tossed by the blast wave reality whiplashed!

 Peace of the morning, peace of the dawn, peace of the dusk, trust is cruel quiet.

 I wasn't crying anymore, standing more or less, I smelled the musk of Bayou Self.

An ass drawn wagon crossed the bridge carrying six oyster sacks, a six pack of field hands

and six kindling stacks of dried fig twigs. A sickly girl’s grey pony led three chomping keen colts: a big red, an ice white and onyx black sweat gleaming fiery beast. Two tuniced, kilted dudes duked; blue steels, shields whacking, shrieks of deep dread jolts “blue screen” hacked my psyche. Pangs of fresh grief vigorously split me.

 A jug of berry sherry beckoned swig. My sweet Colinda, cherry plucker lolled, bent butt against the trestle rail. My first kiss again conjured up in home sewed halter and faded cutoffs

baring all I knew of truth. I sighed. Honey haired, hazel eyed, mine, giggling on the Quivers side. I knew I had died and raced embracing her with no step took, track jumped or cross tie straddled.

My Colinda, swarthy now calico long dress in bonnet, brunette, black eyes, pupils fire.

Love as always a puny liar.

           "Allons danser." Lil Lita grabbed me. We two stepped. A death of quiet                                                                        

only broke by creaking wood and creosote stink.

 Come to think, I never two stepped. Pickers never learn to dance. Sixties Cajun kids were forbidden, so I was not blessed to know her French addresses. Fancy me this dead man's chance.

We parleyed and danced and dance.

 Bless you; Ma'am Petit you be? Life for me was tired and old. If I’d be so bold

Please bestow me once more to hold my Colinda? Then to dust or mold or as you'd have me.

 "Chere," she said. "Colinda's me. No simple peace and death’s not free

Chere, we have scores and prophecies. A thousand first loves you and me span.

I was Lilith to your Adam.

 A hundred thousand maids you ruined. Who could ever love as I do? Spun out countless loves found tombs, dead in the womb as I sang lullabies. I brewed my fear beer. Stirred you here

Through waste and wander savoring every maid you plundered. Hate begets a viral Eden. Evil needs no truth to seed. Fear and hunger, pain and greed ripened drips in misery.

 Hero here alas you settle, finally, quite a hefty debt. Here you left, Colinda bled, red washed dress on a slave girl grave. Sweating fatherhood for fame let your name escape her blame. At last my final pica’s set my Casanova minstrel, convinced, sorry victim in your head, sped millennia and parried any collar, cross or retiarius’ net.

 But see this land, it never forgets. It pressed a bed of want in you that blooms like sumac in the rain. You came. Your only bet was plain. But here the game is mine, you swine

and markers called. You’re out of time. I'd feed a million trillion flies on your flesh and spread your soul like chewy tricks as treats on chilly demon children’s Halloween.

 But see, my pride, I got to ride. These fine three anxious steeded knights and I have deals to seal and seals to peel while you here feel the pain of every death since you've eluded me.” She chuckled, eyes blazing licked her lips. “But that too was your dream I guess. You always were my favorite pet and here see, this land don't forget."  

                                                                     (III)

Black is white to where she left me. Agony a soothing choice. Infinity times three;

tormenting claws and jaws forever stripping, split my atoms, sip and spit me. Buckets left to catch my wet screams. Seamless, moving troubadour’s tool ghoul re-jeweled to phantom’s whispering shrill banzai Mojave dry.

 Sorry now I'm such a bummer. I'm just a strummer not your savior but if you care for your creator make your peace cause Lita's coming.  

https://www.reverbnation.com/dwaynestromain/song/30163760-quiver-rvbntn

[gaylemccoy972-blog]

The Italian highlanders who may have Scottish roots BBC News

Thousands of Italians emigrated to Scotland in the 20th Century, but it seems that 400 years earlier a group of Scots may have settled in a village in the Italian Alps. So local legend has it And there are plenty of signs to suggest that maybe, just maybe, it's true.

High up in the mountains of northern Italy, just a few kilometres from the Swiss border, the people of the tiny village of Gurro speak a strange dialect, incomprehensible even to the other villages in the same valley.

They have peculiar surnames, and the women's traditional costume features a patterned underskirt that looks suspiciously like tartan.

One possible explanation is that their forefathers include a unit of Scottish soldiers the Garde Ecossaise who served the French King, Francis I, and were defeated with him at the Battle of Pavia, near Milan, in February 1525.

The story goes that while trying to make their way home the Scots stopped in Gurro, where they got snowed in for the winter. Many locals believe they never left.

I've heard talk about this story since I was a child, says Alma Dresti, who was born and bred in Gurro.

I know it's probably at least part legend but I like to believe in it and I do think there could be some truth in it.

I like to imagine those strapping young soldiers trying to return home, stopping here, and liking it so much they stayed even once spring had come.

One tale describes how the Scottish visitors stole girls from the next village, celebrating their trophy brides with big parties before waking the village priest at dawn to legalise their unions.

Alma says this could explain a custom peculiar to Gurro, in which receptions were traditionally held before the marriage ceremony and weddings took place early in the morning.

This tradition of having the wedding lunch one week before the actual marriage continued until the 1950s, she says. My parents, who got married in January 1951, did that they had a big party with all their relatives a week before the wedding, then returned to their family homes, and then a week later got married at 6am in church.

Now 95, Alma's mother could once be found on a sunny bench passing the time of day with other women, all wearing traditional dress, including the tartan underskirt. Some have the surname Patritti, which they believe is derived from Patrick.

As we walk along the steep cobbled streets, Alma's youngest daughter, Sabrina, points out to me an unusual architectural feature some of the buildings have wooden supports under the windows, positioned to form what looks like the St Andrew's cross. And she says some consider Celtic-derived words in their dialect to be a sign of Scottish origins.

Especially the way you say 'yes'. It's 'si' in Italian and usually, in other dialects, you just change it a bit, like 'shi', she says. Here it's 'aye'. They actually switch the accent so it's more 'ayee' than 'aye' but it sounds like the Scottish way.

There are plenty more fragments of apparent evidence that locals can list. One is a typical folk song with words indicating nostalgia for the sea, although 500 years ago the people of Gurro would never have travelled far enough to see it. And there is a fisherman's knot that must have been taught to the mountain folk by men who fished.

Image caption A traditional underskirt (centre) on display in the village museum

All this so impressed a Scottish amateur anthropologist, Lt Col Gayre of Gayre and Nigg, baron of Lochoreshyre, that he embarked on his own investigation.

His book, The Lost Clan which bears little trace of the disturbing racial views he became notorious for concluded that the people of Gurro most likely could claim Scottish descent, and in 1973 he symbolically adopted them into his own clan.

Silvano Dresti (no relation of Alma's it's a common name in Gurro) recalls an unforgettable party that was thrown to celebrate. There was a lot of excitement and the whole village was decorated with Scottish and Italian flags for the occasion. Being affiliated to a clan made us proud, he says.

Silvano remembers the kilted Scottish baron and bagpipers, and VIP guests including Oscar Luigi Scalfaro, who would later become president of Italy. A BBC Scotland television crew captured it all on film.

Media playback is unsupported on your device

Media captionLt Col Gayre arrived with a piper and unveiled a plaque to commemorate the occasion

Silvano was 18 at the time. I was a bell ringer, he says. I'd learned the Scottish anthem, Scotland the Brave, which I practised playing on our church bells up in the bell tower.

Alma Dresti remembers that the preparations began long in advance, with people cleaning, tidying, weeding and planting flowers.

Image caption Some parents dress their children in tartan on special occasions

Throughout the summer, groups of men and women gathered in the mountains above the village to practise old folk songs that they performed on the day, she says. She was 21 and her first daughter, just two months old, was the youngest villager in traditional costume that day.

It was such an emotion to watch the procession from the church square the baron, the mayor, all the guests and the bagpipe players. It was so different. I still get goosebumps when I think back to it.

Her husband, Adriano Dresti, who was a village councillor at the time, has equally fond though perhaps hazier memories.

We had a party in the municipal offices with the baron. There was an immediate feeling of kinship. He brought three or four crates of whisky! he laughs.

The bar in the village had always been called the Scotch Bar (it's now the circolo degli scozzesi the Scottish social club) but after the ceremony the bond with Scotland was consolidated.

Silvano Dresti took up the bagpipes, though he is keen to specify that he plays the easier Italian variety, the baghet bergamasco.

Image caption Sylvano Dresti learned to play an Italian version of the bagpipes

His brother, Giorgio, once dropped in on the Gayre family at their home, Minard Castle, near Inveraray. When he said he was from Gurro, they welcomed him in, Silvano says.

Silvano has not visited the castle but will never forget the moment he finally made it to Scotland. His eyes mist as he remembers getting off the coach before crossing over the border from England. The guide explained to us, 'Over there that's where Scotland begins'. It was then and there that I felt some emotions rise up inside me that I really can't explain Scotland I remember thinking, 'This is the land they say we come from.'

Stepping off the bus in Edinburgh, he heard the sound of bagpipes. I followed the sound through the streets until I reached the spot in front of a big store where there was a bagpiper in his kilt and finery. I already felt moved by the sound of bagpipes, but to be in the kingdom of Scottish bagpipes under the castle that was so powerful.

Image caption Gurro's Scottish social club (the bar) is situated opposite the church

A new Gaelic connection was made when Sabrina Dresti, Alma and Adriano's daughter, paid a visit to northern Scotland and fell in love with Sam MacDuff.

Could the story they so fondly embrace in Gurro convince a sceptical Scot?

Well, at first I thought it was a joke, Sam says. But when I read about it, I think it's possible, it's at least plausible that there might have been some roots.

Sam says his uncle, an academic at Edinburgh University and a genealogy and local history enthusiast, did some research of his own. He looked into some of the claims about the names and historical side and I think there is a reasonable amount of evidence that it might in fact be based on a certain element of truth, he says, cautiously.

His mother-in-law remembers the reaction in Gurro when news of the engagement was announced. There were jokes like, 'Your daughter's going back to her roots, so now we have a real Scot and it's not just a legend any more!' Alma says.

Visiting Scotland for the wedding was a moving experience for Alma and Adriano. It felt a bit like a return to our origins, says Alma. I think that all humans are happy to discover their origins and know they belong to a group. I felt at home there. I'd love to have confirmation that our story is true.

Adriano says they looked for evidence, but to no avail. We went to the baron's village. We even went to an old graveyard to see if we could find some names that resembled ours. We didn't find any that were similar but the emotion of that day was nice anyway.

Keen for her wedding to reflect what she regards as their shared Scottish heritage, Sabrina convinced Sam to wear a kilt. Yeah, for the first time in my life! says Sam. He did it mainly for me, laughs Sabrina, but also for this tradition.

All pictures of Gurro taken by Katia Bernardi

See also: The most Scottish town in Tuscany (2011)

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Read more: http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/magazine-40865981