#drawing other ships is an impossible challenge for me but this show just scratched my itch

[ayymrr]

brainrot

[gaiuswrites]

King of Cups || Chapter 4

Chapter 4: Page of Swords

Archive: ao3 | masterlist | three

Pairing: Din Djarin x fem!Reader

Summary: You attempt a new skill. Mando attempts to teach you.

Word count: 4.7k~

Rating: Mature

Warnings/tags: gun usage/mentioning throughout, mature language, pining, more dirty thots-ish, angst because why not, does this count as fluff? sure, gun kink if you squint w/o your glasses

Notes: As the reader (you/us) begins to become more familiar with Mando, his perspective starts bleeding in to the narrative, without a blocked off POV. Also, the reader’s past will start weaving (incoherently?) into the story as well. The large italicized chunks denote past tense interactions (which is probably obvious but who knows any more). Cheers x (gif credit: @djarinsgf)

A shot rings out.

Birds explode from the canopy with offended squawks, squalling in a winged flurry to scatter every which way until they recede again into the green, disappearing back into their hiding places. You groan. You thought you’d be better at this.

It’s not that you thought you were some sort of savant, you just didn’t expect to be this bad. Honestly, it’s embarrassing—you’re embarrassingly terrible— like statistically, you should have hit something by now, but you just keep missing—a crowded tree line in front of you, and not a scratch in sight—nary a singed branch nor a bullet holed trunk. It’s almost impressive how poor of a shot you are—and you would be, if you weren’t so damn exasperated with the whole affair. With a frustrated grunt, you throw your hands up, brandishing the weapon haphazardly.

“Careful,” Mando warns slyly, “you could hurt someone with that thing.”

“Yeah, well at least I’d hit something,” you grumble.

The kid had been fussy - almost unbearably so - in the weeks that followed your short stint on Bajic, and your party was itching for some time off the Razor Crest. After his third tantrum in a day, Mando decided to land on some unknown planet you couldn’t even spell to stretch your legs and take a breather.

You had almost sobbed when you saw him drag his menagerie of weaponry over. You knew what this meant, you knew what came next—his weekly, routine buff.

You think he’s doing it on purpose.

Ever since the first time, when you damn near had a conniption ogling him, you swear it’s like he’s doing it just to mess with you. He isn’t—of course he isn’t, rationally you knew that, in fact there was plenty of evidence to the contrary. He’s a Mandalorian—weapons are apart of his religion for kriff’s sake—but Maker does it seem intentional. Premeditated. It’s like you can feel the blistering ray of his gaze on you as he takes his time, roving a leathered hand over the bulge of the shaft—greasing it, stripping it, part by metal part…

It’s all in your head, you told yourself. It’s all in your fucking head and you need to get a grip.

Immediately you sprang into action, busying yourself with anything you could get your stupid, little hands on—in this case, being one of his many blasters.

“I wanna give it a go,” you said.

He let you, surprisingly. He hesitated, at first, his helmet tipping at a disbelieving angle. But he gave in—it took less effort on your part than you’d figured—and Mando conceded. He obliged.

How hard could it be? You thought.

Famous last words.

He’s parked there, settled on a throne of crates pushed flush to the Crest, slouched against the outer hull of the ship as he cleans, from the looks of it, every item in his arsenal—a front row seat to your pathetic endeavor and you’re failing—epically, ridiculously—shot after errant shot.

You line yourself up, scrunching your face in concentration as you bare the blaster in your hands. Maybe this time…

You fire off a round and an animal scampers scared in the thicket. Nothing. Another sublime miss.

You hear a noise come from Mando’s direction, something subtle like a blip of static through his helmet - Maker, he’s laughing at you - and you pivot around to him.

“What,” you ask, although it's less of a question and more of a griping pout. He replies with silence, that fickle language he's mastered to perfection all on his own, his focus pitched down to the bristled rod he’s driving in and out of his rifle, scouring out the residue from the inner barrel. “Ugh, what Mando?” you say, just shy of a whine, one hand slotted on your hip, the other dangling by your side, the pistol foreign and cumbersome in your grasp.

“Didn’t say anything,” he replies with a half shrug, his pauldrons shifting so imperceptibly you almost miss it. You pause, hurling him a look that misses him completely before you heave a frustrated sound.

“Fine, you show me how it’s done then.”

The T of his visor finds you. Its cold and unknowable as he rolls his helmet, tilting it up to you, hands slowing their ministrations to a rest. He’s wears a glare, carved into the steel hollow of the plates—unamused and smoldering—and with it, you feel small; microscopic and withering under his pointed gaze— suddenly too exposed in the open patch of jungled wilderness they’ve landed in and your mouth tweaks, teeth grazing the plush there. You assume he won’t do it. There’s no way he’ll rise to such obvious of a challenge, but he’s sighing—you can see it in the slant of his armor—and marching towards you before you can take it back, drawing closer and closer until Mando’s slated in front of you, expectant and postured and you forget— like the skip of a record, you forget why he’s even there— not a foot before you— and your eyes dance across his helm, flickering back and forth.

“May I?” he nods down to the pistol in your hand and you start - oh, shit - and offer it to him clumsily.

Mando squares off against the untamed green. The air lays hot and sticky around them. There is no trace of wind, no glimmer of breeze, and his cape hangs mute down his back. You’d never seen him fire his weapon. He surrounded himself with them, sure, always had at least two strapped to him at all times— probably even slept with one, you reckon— but you’ve never seen him use one.

With one solid movement, he cranes his arm, taking aim.

Now, you aren’t one to condone violence, but he just looks right doing it; an extension of himself with how natural it is, how innate— an added appendage, born unto him. The pistol looks good in his fist, like it couldn’t possibly belong anywhere else, the orange tips of his glove curling around the hilt, looping over that sensitive release.

He has practiced hands. Methodical. Sturdy. It’s sensual, to watch him like this. Pornographic even— sacrilege in a way. A part of you wants to look away and turn your gaze, grant him privacy as he handles the blaster— delicately, confidently. It’s intimate.

The pistol croons in his palm. She bends, supple and lilting. He knows just where to touch, where to stroke— she does anything he tells her. She melts for him.

Warmth pools in your mouth. Mando pulls the trigger.

He lands an impressive shot onto an impossibly narrow tree trunk nestled further in, and your features contort with amazement. Maybe you want to see it again—like a nosy neighbor peeping in through drawn curtains. Maybe you’re being reckless and smarmy, and maybe you know it. A Mandalorian’s got a gun in his hand and you’re prodding him - brilliant strategy, top marks - but your adrenaline is pumping something fierce and you feel yourself grow bold with each seize of your heart.

“Lucky shot,” you huff.

He pans to you, lolling his head, visor locked onto your face. Without flinching, without gracing you with a remark, he raises his arm and fires— doesn’t even have to kriffing look. The scorch mark sizzles - haughtily, jeering - no more than a few inches away from the first. You nearly choke on the arrogance of it— the lazy, smug performance— like he can’t be bothered with any of it, as if your taunts are all so beneath him.

You have to bite down on your lip to stop it from snaking into a wicked grin.

Mando offers the pistol back to you, flipping it grip-side up in a fancy flourish before striding - strutting - back to his post. You shake your head, a determined set to your jaw and you retake your aim, squinting in the hazy afternoon light, pulling the trigger— and nothing happens.

Again, click. Nothing, click after fruitless click. You make a face, pinching—

“Safety’s on.”

You flush, thanking the Maker that your back is towards him, and switch it down with your thumb. “Right,” you mumble sheepishly, wetting your lip. You align your sights, bracing yourself for the impact—

“It’s your stance.”

Three words.

Three words, the only solace Mando provides before devoutly returning to his work.

You wait for him to elaborate, to edify you— for any manner of sage advice— but the explanation never comes; he leaves you like this, marooned with three fucking words and you have to screw your eyes shut. This man is baffling— maddeningly unhelpful— infuriatingly sparse. It makes you want to howl and rip your hair out— and you whip around violently.

“What about my st-”

Your question comes scampering to a halt, tail between your legs, throat gone dry. Mando has planted himself directly behind you— standing so close you can see your reflection in his beskar, see the blush blurring your cheek under the alien sun.

“What uh, what about my stance?” you ask, mousier now, swallowed up by the sheer size of him so near to you.

“It’s not wide enough.”

You glance down at your feet before looking back up to him. “What do you mean?”

“Turn around,” he says.

You quirk your brow at him before he repeats himself. “Turn around and spread your legs. Hips distance apart.”

Fuck, he has no business sounding like that— like bourbon and smoke and iron tang—but you do as he says. You’re shakier than you want to be— you wish you could be cool and collected but you’re not. You’re anything but, and you’re nervous. Maker, Mando makes you nervous— it’s not just the weapon in your hand, it’s him— setting you off and giving you butterflies like you’re some sort of forlorn schoolgirl. You’re a grown woman, and this is what he’s rendered you to— jittery, molten mush. It’s embarrassing. Fucking mortifying.

You guess it’s the day for it.

He doesn’t touch you, but it hardly matters; you can sense him there all the same, a shadow in your peripheral. He leaves a thick breath of space between your bodies and with your back towards him, you can feel the waves of heat radiate off the bounty hunter, pulsing out out out from him and it’s almost intolerable— as if you’ve flown too close to the sun, waxed wings melting in pearled streaks down your spine.

You scuttle your feet open, parting just outside your hips.

“Arms up,” he says, and you hoist them into position. You’re sure you look as awkward as you feel, if not more, all the angles of your body feeling perfectly wrong and misplaced. “Relax your elbows,” he adds, and you do— you try to, at least.

“Too much. Somewhere in between.”

You try again, strengthening through your triceps and down your forearms.

“Better,” Mando gives. You think you feel him nodding approvingly behind you. “The important-”

Kriff, you panic.

You spin towards him, dropping your form and cutting him off with a humbled, worried look, throwing up barricades and hurdles— landmines for him to dodge. Or step on.

“Wait hey Mando, you don’t- I don’t want to take up your time,” you begin.

“You aren’t.”

“I’m serious, I don’t want to bother you with this.”

“You’re not.”

You blink.

“If you’re going to do this, you’re going to do it right.”

He speaks so plainly, unvarnished and matte— unflinchingly earnest in a way that gives you pause. It leaves no wiggle room for interpretation and you sigh, defeated, shoulders slumping as you haul yourself back around.

“Arms up,” he reiterates, but there’s no malice there; he sounds kind— untroubled. It always surprises you how mild he can be— Mando should be anything but, he’d have every reason to, but he’s calm. Patient. You wonder if he even realizes it, if he even recognizes the tenor of his own voice— how gentle it can be— under the helmet. Despite it.

“Think of your posture as firm, without tensing,” Mando explains. “Soften your knees, don’t lock them— same goes for your arms— don’t stiffen against the recoil, let your body absorb it.”

You mirror what he coaches, shooting him a curious, hopeful look over your shoulder.

“There. Good,” he says. “Now, which is your dominant eye?”

Your arms fall down to your sides. “My what?”

“Dominant eye.”

You give him a baffled look like he’s speaking another language - in all fairness, he is - and Mando emits another puff of air through his modulator, chortling.

“Eye dominance. We’re all either right handed or left handed. Eyes work the same— right eyed or left eyed. We favor one or the other— you’ll focus that one to aim.”

Oh, huh.

You still appreciatively, basking in the novelty of the information. “Really? I didn’t know that. That’s- that’s actually pretty interesting,” you muse. “Brains and brawn, huh?” You flash a cheeky grin back at him.

Mando grunts, nondescript and unaffected and robotic but he swears he can feel pink creep over his clavicle, tainting the tan of his skin concealed there.

He fits his gloved hand over yours, if only for a second, and you do your best to ignore the rough patch of his leather grazing against the thin flesh there. You try to ignore the chill that sweeps across the curve of your waist, how the peach fuzz prickles up, electrified and magnetized, as he unfurls your fingers from the gun, letting it slip from your grasp. He tucks it under his arm, keeping it pinned there with his bicep.

“Hold your hands out like this.” Mando shows you, creating an oval with his fingers— like a view finder or a scope. You mimic him, feeling like every bit of an idiot, but you don’t contradict him— you do as he does. “Now, set your focus out on a fixed point through your hands,” he instructs and you do, setting your sights on a gnarled tree branch.

“Got it?” he asks.

“Got it,” you respond.

“Now alternate closing each eye. The image should stay in the frame with one, and then shift out of it with the other.”

You frown, concentrating, and close the right before blinking over to the left— kriff, he’s right.

“Oh shit,” you mumble. “My left. It’s my left eye.”

“You sure?”

You check again, squinting through either eye, the tree bouncing in and out of the frame of your fingers. “Mhm. Yeah, my left eye keeps it centered.”

He makes a thoughtful sound. “Left eyed but right handed. Interesting,” Mando murmurs.

You glance up to him, dropping your hands. “Why is that interesting?”

“Not common. The brain’s typically wired the same way all the way down— one side of the body will be dominant. It’s not usually split.”

“You telling me my brain doesn’t work properly, Mando?” you quip dryly.

“You said it, not me.”

He holds the blaster out to you and you swipe it from him with a huffed snort, returning towards the tree line and stars your face hurts. Your face hurts and it’s burning with this asinine smile that’s digging mercilessly into your cheeks. It makes you want to massage your jaw, get the damn thing to relax. Honestly, it makes you want to give yourself a slap.

“Make sure to cross your center with it. Line it up towards the left.”

“Maker, do you think about all this every time you shoot?” you ask, mystified, as you fix your aim.

“Muscle memory takes over eventually. You’ll get there with enough practice.” Mando replies gruffly and you guffaw, loud and wonderfully ugly. You seriously doubt it.

After a series of very near misses— you are getting closer, you’ll give yourself that— your arms grow tired; the joints and muscles protest as you extend them out from your body, taut and tense— the gun dead weight in your wobbly hands.

Your shoulder smarts where you injured the tendon in the explosion. You roll it out, earning snaps and pops as it notches over the bone there. They told you you were lucky. They congratulated you - it’s not a complete tear! - and it’s on the mend well enough, but it’s weak. It doesn’t matter the weight of the object.

The longer you hold anything, the heavier it feels.

You suppose you could throw in the towel at any point, but the fact of the matter— as terrible and true as it may be— is you want to impress him. That awful, nagging feeling— you want to impress the Mandalorian. You want him proud of you— you want to be nice and shiny for him to admire, like one of the guns he polishes until it’s sparkling, until he can mount it on display and show it off. It’s absolutely nauseating— but you couldn’t stop it even if you wanted to, and you don’t. You don’t want to.

He isn’t blind to it. He sees the exertion, the tax— how beads of sweat congress around your temples, dampening the base of your scalp, butterfly kissing your skin with a sheen. A trail of wet salt, one lone pilgrim, ventures down the back of your neck, wandering lower and lower, past the hem of your shirt, disappearing into the soft valley of your spine where Mando can’t follow. His throat bobs rough against his cowl.

Transferring the pistol into one hand, you shake out the other, flexing through it and relaxing your grip.

“Wait,” he says and you cock your head back at him. Mando’s retreating to his pile of guns, rifling through the metal anthill before selecting something sleek and chrome. “Here,” you exchange pistols, giving him back the bulkier of the two. Immediately you feel the relief of this new one— it’s lighter and smaller, slighter in your grasp, too— and you turn it over in your hands, noting the way the nozzlelike barrel glitters in the sun.

You’d almost consider it pretty if it weren’t a literal killing machine.

“That’s a CDEF model. Lightweight, reliable, Dedlanite casing, standard issue for CorSec officers.”

You nod along, as if you have any clue what he’s talking about— you don’t. You really, truly don’t.

“Should be easier.”

“Mm,” you hum out in ignorant agreement, slotting your arms back up into position.

“Don’t put your finger on the trigger until you’re ready to fire.” You rest it against the slide of the barrel, hovering nearby.

Mando shifts closer towards you, the grass grinding under his feet as he takes a half step in to your backside.

“Breathe. Don’t hold it in. Let me hear it.”

Fuck, this feels like a sin; this small gap of distance he’s erected between you as tense, as strained and feverish, as whispered confessions in the dark. Like sneaking back into your parent’s house late at night— the morning moon peering down at you with a heavy lidded gaze— knowing, knowing, keeping your secrets to herself, pressing them to her chest, winking sleepily.

It would be so much easier, so much simpler, if he just put his hands on you. Placed your body where he knows it should be, force you into the shapes and positions he’s so intimate with himself, but he doesn’t. He draws it out. He respects your space and autonomy and it makes it worse. Your imagination fills the void separating you two, and it’s running wild and rampant and depraved and—

“Focus,” he utters, his voice no louder than a purr. You’ve never heard something so mechanical make a sound so deliriously smooth, and you have to suppress a nervous scoff. Focus, he says, as if he isn’t suffocating you with how close he’s standing— as if you aren’t enjoying it— as if you aren’t vibrating down to your very bones at the proximity of the bounty hunter—so close, you bet he can hear them, rattling and slapping against each other deep beneath your skin.

“Remember what I said about your posture,” he suggests quiet-like and murmured, without a trace of condescension there—a harmless reminder. You make the adjustment, fixing your shoulders down your back, and release the stress in your arms.

“Firm without tensing,” you respond under your breath—more for your sake than his— striking it from your mental checklist.

“‘Atta girl.”

No.

No no no, Maker, you feel it. You can fucking feel it—how something low and resonant spasms beyond your belly, the clench of your empty cunt at the encouragement—the heady praise of it all.

Atta girl.

He said it softly - rudely husky - just above a whisper, something tailored specifically for you—almost like it slipped from his lips and he didn’t even notice its passing. It meandered out of him, so easy—too easy. It practically sauntered.

You’re trembling— stars, you hope Mando doesn’t see it. It’s humid and muggy and yet you’re shaking as if it’s freezing, as if you’ve got icicled snot dripping from your nose, and your nerves go haywire, fraying in every direction as you sip in a whistled breath.

You can do this. You can do this. Focus.

“Take the shot,” he orders.

Focus.

Pressing into the slope of the trigger, you fire.

You gasp excitedly— a surprised, whooping laugh tearing through you and you whip around, giddy and beaming - bright, beautiful - a lock of hair sticking to your lip. It’s the youngest, the freest, Mando’s ever seen you; maybe the happiest, too, and his stomach twists at the sight, a tourniquet cinching around him, winding and coiling until he’s convinced it’ll burst. His fingers twitch, every instinct begging him— demanding him— to reach out and return the stray strand behind your ear alongside the others but you beat him to it. Deftly, you flit it away yourself instead, and he’s relieved.

Devastated, too. Gutted.

“Did you see that?” you ask, gleeful as a child.

He pries himself off you, dragging his gaze over your shoulder to where you struck the trunk, a coaled mark charred there into the bark, before returning his attention back to you. You meet his eyes, despite the blackness of his helm— you hold them, for a breathless, ageless moment, you hold him there.

“Not bad.”

He can’t muffle the jolt of his heart as it rumbles through his chest, breaking his mouth wide open into an aching smirk. He doesn’t know if you hear it. He fears you might.

He prays you do.

///

“Cooling vents,”

Metal scrapes against the table as you place the delicate bits down, deconstructing the blaster. The Mandalorian nods, silent as a specter.

“Gas refill valve,”

Another clunk.

“Actuating blaster…” You turn over a particularly knobby bulb before peeking up at Mando through your lashes, a wry grin tugging rosy and coy at your lips. “… thing-”

“Module,” Din corrects.

“Module, right, that’s what I said.”

He sits across the galley from you, arms folded over his chest as he eases back against the hull of the ship, overseeing as you take apart the blaster, the slender little thing he gave to you - he rarely uses it anyways - as you name the pieces and parts just like he’s taught you.

“Keep it,” he told you.

You resisted. You fought it, laughed it off incredulously— stubborn to the end— argued you wouldn’t even have a need for it.

“What am I gonna do with a gun, Mando?” you balked, and Maker he’d hoped you’d never have to use it, would never have to see a firefight in your damn life let alone be in the middle of one, but he wants you to have it— have a part of him, strapped to your hip— the closest he’ll get.

He’s selfish. Din is a greedy, selfish man. He wants to see himself on you, wants you to carry him around like a souvenir from something unforgettable— something irreplaceable— a memory like warm bathwater you dip into long after it passes, and he’ll take whatever he can get— just like you, hungry for anything you’re gracious enough to feed him. And fuck, if he doesn’t hate it— doesn’t want to bury that feeling, cold and lifeless, six feet under the earth. No ceremony. No elegies. Dead and gone, returning to the dust from whence it came, crawling back into the ribcage it sprung from.

Din said your name. Firm— gentle, too.

“Keep it.”

They’ve been at this ever since you managed to hit the target that first time. Hours have passed, dawdling by on the fat little legs of a toddler, plodding and slow. The sun had set, and winged bugs the length of your palm had taken up residency in the dark rainforest, making themselves known with a haunting tune, screeching and singing into the lush wood. After the child had tried making a pass at one, no doubt in the mood for a quick snack - isn’t he always - you had agreed to retire back inside the Crest.

You were so excited, your whole face lit up— like fireworks he remembered once, through the eyes of a boy in the summered night— and you wanted more; like a sponge, sopping up all you could, sucking Din in and ringing him out for it and fuck, he couldn’t say no.

He can’t say no to you.

You start prattling out questions about everything and nothing - what blaster do you prefer, do you have a favorite rifle, what’s the difference between plasma and gas charges, you have a flamethrower on your wrist? - and before long you get him lecturing, going on about weapon safety and trigger discipline and slide bites and ammunition rounds and gun brands and serial numbers and Din knows this isn’t you. You’re a borderline pacifist for kriff’s sake— he’s almost certain that if push came to shove, you’d rather lay down your life than take one. You’re no gunslinger, and you don’t hold any aspirations to become one.

But here you are, fist tucked under your chin and leaning in to him, hanging off his every word.

You have no personal interest in weapons. Frankly you’d be pleased if you never held a gun again in your life. No, and whether Mando realizes it or not, you want to know because it’s him. You want to know him. And maybe it’s because its the most he’s given to you since you stepped foot aboard the Razor Crest— almost a month, and what you’ve gotten from him today alone has been more than he’s given in weeks— not a door so much as it is a window into his life, an allowance, a glimpse behind the beskar. Its more attention, more words and insights, more tiny gestures and maybe you’ve been a little starved for it— maybe you’ll eat up any scraps Mando tosses with a calloused glove, molded and rotting, from his plate.

Even if it’s this, even if its fucking firearms.

You want to know.

It’s who you are: it doesn’t matter what someone’s passionate about, you’re interested in their interests. You care what they care about. If they matter, then it matters. It’s who you are, webbed and weaved into the innermost fabric of your being, and you can’t pretend to be anything else; you don’t know how to unbecome.

You’re splayed before him— a bleating heart, kaleidoscoping and blooming and twisting in his hands. If only you could pry open your chest— turn yourself inside out at the seams, spill yourself to splatter, sanguined and slippery right there on the deck. You’d do it, if you could.

Am I loving enough  Am I giving enough  Have I paid my debts  Am I worth this now, finally— Worth that which I offer, have I earned it back

So effortless, this vignette, seated here in his galley, dismembering a blaster and labeling the parts, terminology klutzy on your tongue— tripping over yourself just to get it out— looking to him for hints and clues, fluttering your doe eyes with cartoonish bats.

He answers. You laugh. He smiles.

The kid is in his pram, entranced by all the shiny baubles and bobbins just out of his reach - thank the Maker -  and giggles at their little game— happy, for once, just to watch.

You and me both kid, Din thinks. You and me both.

[bonsaiiiiiii]

100 Weird AU's? Yes.

So, I had these AU prompts on my phone for quite a while, and I was actually thinking about using them. And what better way to do it than using them with the Tracy's?

Reading and reading these prompts again (and under the gentle guidance of @willow-salix ) I thought that these prompts doesn't exactly match the brothers' everyday situation, but what if we push it past its limit? Yes, biting more that you can chew can be a little difficult, but I don't think it will be impossible. And that's where this challenge is born!

Get the Tracy's out of International Rescue's bubble and let them live an everyday situation as normal people! They can also be medieval nobles or even futuristic robots, the choice's up to you! You can choose from soo many things others don't even think about (and not even me, for a while)!

Many thanks to @tag2060 for the cover and @willow-salix for the support (both emotional and 'fic-ical'. I love both of you💚

NOTE: THESE PROMPTS AREN'T ALL MINE. I TOOK THEM FROM A GIRL I'M NOT IN CONTACT WITH ANYMORE, BUT I WAS TOLD I COULD USE THEM. ALL CREDITS FOR THESE AU'S GO TO HER, WHATEVER IS HER NAME (lmao). THE GOLD MARKED ONES (7, 11, 20, 23, 39, 47, 63, 64, 70, 83, 89, 91, 93, 96, 100) ARE ALL MINE, IN SUBSITUTION OF A FEW THAT WERE THERE, SO CREDIT FOR THE GOLDEN MARKED ONES GOES TO ME, BUT NOT EVERY ONE OF THEM.

NOTE²: SOME OF THE PROMPTS CONTAIN STRONG THEMES, LIKE DEPRESSION AND SEXUAL CONTENT. IF YOU'RE SENSIBLE TO THESE THEMES, DON'T DO THEM, NOBODY FORCES YOU IF YOU DON'T FEEL COMFORTABLE.

(ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ:･ﾟ✧(ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ:･ﾟ✧(ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧

To participate in this challenge, all you have to do is take one of the AU prompts from the list, one or more (or all) Tracy characters, and post your fic (can be a ficlet, or a series) under the tag #100weirdTracys and #100weirdAUs.

If you don't want to participate, please don't harass/bully me. I made this challenge just for fun, and I don't want for it to feel like something bad. In fact, I don't even regret doing this thing, even if it's strange.

Ah, I almost forgot: this challenge will be over in December, so you have 4 months to choose a prompt and make a fic about it. On December I'll review all the fics, but I'll always be reblogging and reading during these 4 months lol.

If you want to tell me something, hit me up on DM's! I hope you have fun with those prompts and those bois!

(づ￣ ³￣)づ(づ￣ ³￣)づ(づ￣ ³￣)づ(づ￣ ³￣)づ

TO RESUME:

• Swearing is allowed.

• You can write as many words as you want!

• Oc's and muses can pop in too!

• Make sure to tag your fic(s) under the '#100weirdTracys' and '#100weirdAUs' tags, so that I can find them easily.

• Always tag or contact me if you need help with anything! I'll be more than glad to help you!

• If you decide to do the mature prompts (19, 90, just to state an example) please refrain from using a too mature language and don't go further than making up. I don't like that kind of language, so it would be peachy to just avoid writing so they make wild sex behind a bush. Any kind of very mature fic or language won't be read by me, I'm sorry. You can still use those prompts, but don't work their bed life too much.

• Any dialect or first language apart from english is more than welcome in this yard! I would love even to read snippets of foreign language in fics, as long as there's a translation near it, but you're not forced to write in another language. If you don't feel comfortable doing it just don't do it, even if I'm telling you. (For the record, I love Irish so much I could listen to a person speaking this language for hours and you won't hear me complaining).

• I will accept this challenge in whatever form it takes, be it a fic, a drawing, a song, etc. I’m open to anything and I watch everything that comes before me!

φ(．．)φ(．．)φ(．．)φ(．．)__φ(．．)

That said, you can find the prompts down here:⬇️

 #1 I saved you from drowning!AU

#2 I broke into your house at two in the morning because I was drunk and I thought it was my house!AU

#3 I am a door-to-door seller please buy something!AU

#4 I grabbed the wrong luggage at the airport!AU

#5 I know we hate each other, but a wedding would be more convenient for both of us!AU

#6 I accidentally poured you a love potion!AU

#7 I sent you 12 messages but you left me on read!AU

#8 I am your secret admirer and I leave you anonymous cards!AU

#9 Sorry, but I was first in line!AU

#10 We don’t know each other but let's pretend to be together because someone is bothering me!AU

#11 We pack up to do a funny trip but we end up in Bolivia without fuel!AU

#12 Locked in quarantine and we're bored! AU

#13 I do everything to find out the identity of this superhero and you try to mislead me because it’s really you!AU

#14 I got into a taxi just to find out it was already occupied!AU

#15 I called the wrong number!AU

#16 I got into the wrong car OMG I'm ashamed, but while you’re there why don’t you give me a ride!AU

#17 I found a wallet and my business is to find the owner and return it!AU

#18 I am a street artist and you complain that I play in front of your house at night!AU

#19 I caught you watching porn!AU

#20 We're two strangers that start chatting while waiting for the bus!AU

#21 Nosy and sloppy roommates!AU

#22 Old childhood friends who come back after years!AU

#23 I got shot to the arm/leg but you're there to save me and OMG ILY!AU

#24 We’re sitting next to each other on a plane and please don’t throw up on me!AU

#25 We accidentally switched phones!AU

#26 We are both contestants in a reality show and let's pretend to be together because the audience will ship us!AU

#27 I am a wedding planner and my ex’s wedding had to happen to me!AU

#28 I learned sign language to communicate with you!AU

#29 Professional model and novice photographer!AU

#30 Sorry I ran you over!AU

#31 We make out and then I find out that you are my roommate’s boyfriend!AU

#32 I’m quoting aloud the last book of a series and I’m spoiling you!AU

#33 It is a universally acknowledged truth that a bachelor with a large fortune must be looking for a wife!AU

#34 I am a Partisan and you are a fascist!AU(Italy during World War II!AU)

#35 I am the blood of the dragon!AU (Iron Throne!AU)

#36 Your dog is hitting on mine!AU

#37 I’m depressed and I decide to call a hotline!AU

#38 You are my soulmate but I am in love with someone else!AU

#39 Strange encounter at tattoo shop!AU

#40 On my mark, unleash hell!AU(Roman Empire!AU)

#41 I am an Elf, don’t look at me for ears I am ashamed of!AU(The Lord of the Rings!AU)

#42 Maybe my life should be more than just survival!AU(The 100!AU)

#43 I am an activist and I am trying to convert you to the cause!AU

#44 We are occupying the school but you are a spoilsport!AU

#45 All our friends are drunk and we're not!AU

#46 We’ve been together for three months and now you’re telling me you’re a werewolf!AU

#47 X has to go into a rocket to the moon and Y has to train X!

#48 Knight in shining armor and damsel in distress!AU

#49 We reluctantly team up against the zombie apocalypse!AU

#50 I’m a vampire and your smell is driving me nuts!AU(Twilight!AU)

#51 Monsters have attacked the Earth and the only way to save humanity is aboard giant robots piloted by two people who must maintain a mental union!AU(Pacific Rim!AU)

#52 My timer stopped as soon as I saw you!AU(Soulmate!AU)

#53 I need a lawyer and you are the best!AU

#54 I’m a Viking and I plundered your ship!AU

#55 I’m a classic dandy from the Regency Age and you’re just a silly girl from the lower middle class!AU

#56 I’m a policeman and you’re an intrusive journalist and I really shouldn’t give you any information about the new murder!AU

#57 You are a wannabe actress and I am a theatrical director who is losing patience and health!AU

#58 Due to a computer error, X and Y become college roommates!AU

#59 X wants to see the world of Y, how he lives and what he usually does, and ends up spending a night in prison!AU

#60 I attend the yoga course just to watch how flexible the instructor is!AU

#61 I am a bounty hunter and you are my prey!AU

#62 I am a secret spy and pretend to be your friend only to get information about your father!AU

#63 I discuss with you about a thing but you have in mind another!AU

#64 We are forced to be best friends just because our moms were best friends too but you're too bossy for me!AU

#65 We broke up but I never changed emergency contacts and now I’m in the hospital and they called you!AU

#66 I am an angel and you are a demon!AU

#67 I hit you on the balls during a game of paintball and oh my god I am so sorry!AU

#68 We live in a dystopian world where your partner is chosen by society!AU(Matched!AU)

#69 I’m a dragon trainer I’ll prove to you that they are peaceful creatures!AU(Dragon Trainer!AU)

#70 Date at japanese restaurant!AU

#71 You’re a cheerleader and I’m a punk and we live in two different worlds!AU

#72 I was a zombie and I was "re-animated" but you treat me like I’m still a monster!AU(In the Flesh!AU)

#73 I am your son’s teacher and I am calling to talk to you about his conduct, would he also come to dinner with me!AU

#74 I am an Achaean warrior and you Trojan and we are fighting the Trojan War!AU

#75 I met my asshole boss at the bar but I found out he’s pretty cool!AU

#76 It was not my intention to touch your ass, it’s just that the bus is crowded, it’s not my fault ok!AU

#77 I went fishing and accidentally fished a mermaid!AU

#78 I just committed a crime and I need to use you as a hostage!AU

#79 You’re the bastard who always parks in front of my door and in spite I’ll scratch your car!AU

#80 I accidentally went back in time and fell in love with you, too bad you’re a barbarian!AU

#81 I urgently need you to fix my computer but please don’t judge me for my chronology!AU

#82 I work on the cruise ship where you are spending your holidays!AU

#83 I'm out in the rainstorm without an umbrella because the weather forecast was sunny!AU

#84 I hugged the wrong person from behind!AU

#85 Celebrity on the run and ordinary citizen confused!AU

#86 Stuck in a ranch cleaning horse poop but it doesn’t matter because that cowboy is a badass!AU

#87 We got married in Vegas, but we’re total strangers!AU

#88 But, officer, I wasn’t doing anything wrong, I was just smoking a joint, want a hit!AU

#89 X is an astronaut and Y is a weird but funny alien that likes to scream, overreact and laugh!AU

#90 I slept with you for a bet but I loved it and I’d like to keep seeing you!AU

#91 I reveal to some friends that you wear boxers/underwear with green aliens on them but you're behind me and oh gosh total shame!AU

#92 Oops I accidentally entered a busy dressing room!AU

#93 You're a stranger but I keep crossing paths with you and I'm kinda confused right now!AU

#94 X is a medium and Y a ghost!AU

#95 X is a guardian angel and Y wants to die!AU

#96 X accidentally enters in a cat and Y has to rescue it from up a tree!AU

#97 X risks losing the house because Y’s company wants to buy the land!AU

#98 I’m an artist and I need a model do you want to pose for me!AU

#99 I’m not really sick but the new doctor is so beautiful that I found out I have a disease with an unpronounceable name!AU

#100 A strange job application!AU

φ(．．)φ(．．)φ(．．)φ(．．)__φ(．．)

If you find them more practical, I also have some photos down here with all the prompts organized:⬇️

That said, enjoy! Hope it brings you joy and makes you happy while you do it!💙💚🧡💛❤💜💖🖤

[mhornar]

A Defense of the Tau Caste System, Part 3: Caste Mobility

So in part 1 I talked about the overview of the Castes and the biological nature of their separation.  Part 2 focused on the history of the castes and how that influenced their modern social structures.  We also looked at the internal structure of the castes, and discussed what limitations it provided to rising on one’s own merits within the caste. Now we’re concluding by looking at the other traditionally recognized flaw of a caste system, it’s mobility, or lack therof.

Caste Mobility: So here's where we drift solidly into fan theorizing.  We've already discussed the wide population discrepancy between the Castes.  Fire Caste members serve only in the ground forces of the Tau military.  Air Caste members are so committed to orbital and space travel that they have developed physical variation from the basic Tau biology.  Water Caste members serve as diplomats and free traders.  The Ethereals are priest/bureaucrats.  Every one of these professional focuses represent a very small percentage of the total Tau population. Everyone not in one of these Castes falls into the Earth caste.  It's certainly probable that the other castes include civilian populations, but if so we're not told about them explicitly.  The Water Caste would certainly stretch easily into a similar role at home.  Social workers, marketers and shopkeeps would all benefit from the talents we are told are inherent to the Water caste.  The Fire Caste depends on the Earth Caste to develop and produce their weapons, armor, and drones.  However there are positions in that development chain that require consults with people from the field. We already discussed the “who pilots local transportation” when discussing possible Air Caste civilians. Even with those possible “civilian reserves” though, the professional Castes have one glaring weakness.  Where do they get more personnel if needed? Going back to the biology discussion, we are told by the codexes that the Tau have a strict ban on cross-caste children.  In looking at their histories we also discussed how that strict ban can't have been in place in the beginning as the caste stratification would have taken centuries or millennia to settle during the unification of the homeworld. In 1913, Germany had an estimated population of approximately 65 million people.  During World War I they sustained approximately 2 million casualties.  So in the process of fighting a single war they lost 3% of their population (primarily their young, male population at that).  During the war their total births per year cut in half by 1917.  By the 1930s though their population had returned to pre-war levels, and they had an entirely new population of soldiers.  This time their next war killed a total of 6% of their total pre-war population, without even factoring in their genocide against their own citizens. In the Warhammer 40k setting, casualty rates like those that Germany sustained are a feature, not a bug.  The Imperium regularly hurls crusades numbering in the tens of millions of soldiers at threats.  Space Marines kill thousands of enemy soldiers without taking so much as a scratch themselves.  For many of those factions “recovering from losses” is built in. Orks and Tyrannids simply make more of themselves, through spores and biomass.  Chaos recruits from among those trillions of Imperium citizens.  The Necron have huge galaxy spanning armies hidden away everywhere just waiting to be awakened. The Tau don't do that. They make more soldiers the old fashioned way, by raising children into young men and women and asking them to do the impossible.  When they send their Fire Warriors against a major offensive, what happens if they lose?  Hell what happens even if they win?  Losing an entire generation of German soldiers crippled their nation for a time, but they recovered militarily because all they had to do was wait until the next generation grew up.  They still had 65 million people who could produce possible soldiers.  If instead only 10 percent of the population were genetically allowed to serve in the military and a third of that population died in a single war (or even a single battle for something like Stalingrad) then Germany might never have recovered (especially if their enemies planned to exterminate their entire population if they surrendered, thereby denying them time to recover the natural way). The Air Caste is even more specialized.  What happens if a fleet of Hero class frigates and Colony class carriers is destroyed in battle.  It's not like you can pull your remaining crews off the front lines and tell them “all right guys, for the future of the empire you have to spend the next decade having as many babies as you can.”  I mean if you can get a cease fire...definitely do that.  But you need those crews fighting. Of course there is a huge population they can pull from which solves all of these problems.  The Earth caste is the vast majority of the population.  It has to be because they're doing everything else.  However we're explicitly told that it's the Fire Caste the provides the soldiers, and the Air Caste provides the spacecraft.  The Earth Caste are just civilians.  What if we inverted our understanding about Tau society a bit?  I've noted before that within each Caste there seems to be little class stratification and it otherwise seems to work like a professional track.  What if the Castes aren't instruments of genetic purity, and are instead primarily professional organizations? The Tau believe in serving the Greater Good at all cost.  They gladly lay down their lives in order to ensure that everyone in their civilization will do better as a whole.  While the communist analogy is overdone and inaccurate, the Tau do plan out their economy to a degree.  Children born into specific Castes receive education and training in the professions of their Caste.  We're told that Fire Caste soldiers are so good because they have been trained in the hunting strategies of the ancient nomads on their homeworld.  

You know where hunting strategies derived from wide open plains might not be useful?  On spacecraft boarding parties, where the field of battle is three dimensional, cramped and subject to a wide array of environmental dangers.  The folks who probably would have a natural understanding of those environments?  The Air Caste.  Yet for some reason, it's Fire Warriors who do this job.  Most navies, when faced with the challenge of boarding enemy ships, landing on beaches and otherwise fighting at sea developed some form of specialized marines.  So why did the Tau, arguably the best space navy on a per capita basis (god I loved my Tau fleet in Gothic), decide they didn't need this? What makes more sense is that people born into the Air Caste population are chosen and trained as marines, given the Tau's standard battle gear, and inducted into the Fire warriors for service in space.  Being asked to leave the traditions of your birth family to take up a new family for service to the Greater Good is precisely the kind of sacrifice the Tau have been trained to make.  Over generations this would also breed new capacities and skills into the Fire Caste and make them more effective in their own assigned roles. A Fire caste child who shows no knack for combat, but who has the gift to create amazing music would be wasted as a common soldier.  Why would the Ethereals simply throw away a gift that would stand out exceptionally amongst the Earth Caste, merely to fill a private's slot in a unit of Fire Warriors.  How does that serve either the Greater Good, or the Ethereals' planning.  Especially if that child would end up later having children who might also not fit the mold of the Fire Warrior, creating a cascading effect over time. If large numbers of casualties are sustained or expected to be sustained, why not draw replacements from those amongst the Earth Caste who show a potential for the Fire or Air fields.  By the time you have finished training them, they will be Fire or Air Caste, not Earth.  They might still have relatives in the old Caste, but their family will be in their new one. The response of course is that none of the Codexes or other material say that this happens. Now obviously that's why I said we'd be hitting fan theorizing here. My response though is to once again point out that the Codexes are largely written from an outside point of view (and are also almost entirely focused on the military forces).  An outsider sees the Tau Castes and sees an inviolable wall, because to the Tau once you cross that wall you don't go back.  Your service to the Greater Good means letting your old life go and becoming your new self. This theory is also interesting to me because it might in time allow the other species of the Empire to be drawn into the Castes.  A Fire Warrior could, in the end, be a Kroot, Human, or Vespid just as easily as it could be a Tau. So in conclusion.  The Tau Caste system would likely seem oppressive to those of us who grew up in upper or middle-class American or European society, with the privilege to believe that we could be anything we wanted when we grew up.  To the Tau however it is a valuable part of their society, offers the freedom to climb as high as your abilities take you, and may even allow for Caste mobility in service to the State.  Most importantly though, it is how they determine who among them will offer themselves in direct service to the Greater Good, and to the Tau that is the greatest honor they desire.

[amiandthechaos]

Title: Riders

Words: 2.6k

Ship: Pansy x Ginny (horseback riders au)

dedicated to @golden-queen-writes <3

“So, which one is yours?”

Ginny turned around, startled. She thought the stable was empty, but apparently she has missed the other small girl who sat in a corner looking at the horses.

Ginny blushed. “Mine?”

The girl got to her feet and walked over to Ginny. She had long, shining black hair which was pulled back by two clips in the shape of horses. Ginny instantly fell in love with them and planned to ask where she had got them, but the girl spoke first.

“Yes, your horse. It must be one of the new ones, because I hadn’t seen you here before.” The girl had an accent that Ginny’s mother would have called ‘poshity posh’, and judging by her clothes and demeanour, Ginny could tell that was true.

“N-none of them,” Ginny said shyly, twirling a strand of red hair in her finger. “I don’t have a horse.”

The girl looked taken aback and then narrowed her eyes at Ginny. “Then why are you here?”

Ginny shrugged. “I like to look at them. I always make my mum stop the car when we drive by so I can look at them for a while.”

Ginny turned back to the big, beautiful creatures in front of them. They were resting calmly in their stalls, some eating, some scratching their heads against the wood, some simply standing there quietly.

“Oh,” the other girl said after a moment. “Then you’re going to love looking at mine, come.” She grabbed Ginny’s hand unexpectedly, making Ginny jump, but she followed as this girl dragged her to the far end of the stable. They stopped in front of the last horse, which was dark black, tall, and unbelievably gorgeous.

“This is Stella,” said the girl. “My dad got her for me when I turned six, and she even has the same birthday as me!”

Ginny forced her eyes away from the mare to look at the girl, who was staring up at Stella with big, proud eyes.

“Wow,” Ginny exhaled. “You have your own horse.”

The girl nodded. “Just the one for now. But dad says that if I get really good at it, I can have more. Stella will always be my favourite, though.”

Ginny looked from the mare to the girl and back. They were quiet for awhile, merely admiring Stella’s impressive beauty.

“I’m Pansy,” the girl said as she offered her hand firmly to Ginny.

“Ginny.” They shook hands and Ginny saw a mischievous glint in the girl’s dark eyes.

“Alright Ginny,” Pansy said with a smirk. “Want to go for a ride?”

.

Ginny returned many times, but she never ran into Pansy again. She did hear of her regularly, the girl was famous in the business, winning every children, teen, and young adult major competition internationally, so Ginny thought she had decided to move abroad for good. She never forgot that first encounter, though, or the wild ride that followed, which prompted an hours-long search for two little girls who sneaked out with a horse unsupervised.

“Your mother tells me you've taken a liking to this one,” Henry, the hostler in this place, told Ginny as he stroked the long neck of the horse between them. “He's a beauty.”

Ginny nodded as she also pet the soft shiny brown hair. “Yes, he's definitely the one,” Ginny said.

After years of part-time jobs, miserable prize money in competitions, and putting together every last penny her family could afford, Ginny was finally ready to get her own horse. She had been getting by with horses that weren’t hers, but if she really wanted to make it to the Royal Ascot, she had to have her own.

“You’ve got great taste.” Henry handed Ginny the reins. “Why don’t you watch him while I go settle the payment?”

Ginny nodded and handed Henry the envelope with the money. “Thank you so much, Henry.”

Ginny was about to mount her own horse, Arnold, for the very first time. Her heart thumped with excitement at the thought of all the things she would be able to do and learn now that she had Arnold by her side.

“What is the meaning of this?”

If Ginny would have thought harder about that voice before turning around, she might have recognised it. It was still the same extravagant high-pitch voice, only this time it sounded angry. Pansy stood there, looking very different from what Ginny remembered. She was almost the same height as Ginny, but the heels of her riding boots might make them equal. Her hair was short now, not even touching her shoulders, and she was wearing the kind of makeup Ginny associated with movie stars.

“Pansy!” Ginny said with a smile.

But Pansy wasn’t smiling, in fact she was downright scowling at Ginny, her arms crossed over her chest and her hips thrusted to one side. “What are you doing with Sir James?”

Ginny frowned. “Sir James?” she followed Pansy’s gaze to the horse next to her and Ginny laughed. “Oh, you mean Arnold? I just bought him!”

Pansy’s mouth fell open. “What? He’s the best jumping horse in the stables!”

Ginny shrugged, now really starting to get annoyed by Pansy’s attitude. “Yes. And now he’s mine.”

“Unbelievable,” Pansy exclaims and shakes her head. “I go to France to train for a few months every year and when I come back this place is always falling apart!”

“Excuse me but-” Ginny started but Pansy interrupted.

“So you’re a rider now? I guess that ride we took when we were children really inspired you no? That’s cute.” She started walked towards Ginny, eyeing her up and down.

Ginny felt her face heat up with anger. “I was a rider way before you showed up,” she snapped, pushing her long hair out of her face so she could give Pansy the dirtiest look she could munster.

Pansy laughed, a cold and somehow pleasing sound. “A rider without a horse. How old are you now? Eighteen? They say you only really start practicing when you do it with your own horse. So good luck with that.”

Pansy was right in front of her now, her dark eyes shining with amusement.

“When did you become such a bitch?” Ginny shook her head in disbelief. “Are you afraid I’m going to steal your crown now that I have my own competition-regulated horse? Because maybe you realize that that’s the only thing keeping me from beating you.”

Something flickered in Pansy’s eyes, but it was gone far too quickly. Ginny wasn’t just saying that to spite her; she knew she was very good, but this sport was for people with money who could get the gear, the land, the competition fees, and of course the horses. Ginny had only ever competed with other people’s horses and in very local events, but she had been a favourite since the first time she entered an official race.

Pansy smirked, her shiny red lips drawing Ginny’s full attention for a second. “I’ll see you on the tracks, princess.”

The way she spoke the last word send shivers down Ginny’s spine, and Pansy had walked past her before she could think of an appropriate response. She stomped down her foot in anger and started muttering to herself about how she would made Pansy Parkinson eat dirt, when Arnold nudged Ginny on the back with his muzzle. Ginny turned around and started petting him, smiling despite everything.

.

Ginny had almost lost count of the number of races where she had competed against Pansy. Almost was the key word, though, because Ginny could still remember that she had won twenty of them, while Pansy had only managed fifteen. Their animosity grew with each passing event, and if Ginny had thought that Pansy was a bitch before, she had clearly not been prepared for the way she was now. It got to the point where everybody else knew how much they disliked each other and would disappear if the two of them were practicing on the tracks, or caring for their horses on the stables, or even drinking water in the same vicinity.

But Ginny was winning and no one could take that away from her, not even Pansy.

The last few events of the season were approaching fast, and Ginny was training harder than ever. For weeks there was nothing in her life but riding, eating, and barely sleeping, but she loved every second of it. She was up before dawn every day to take care of Arnold and be the first on the tracks so she could practice jumps as well as speed, and then she was usually the last to leave each evening.

The night before one of the final races she was still in the stable at nine and for a moment considered just staying there until the next day, maybe she’d sleep better on the hay than on her own bed, especially after having to do the dishes that inevitable awaited her at home. She had missed to many of her chores lately that she was sure her brothers had left her every single dish, fork, and pan as dirty as they could.

“Leaving already?”

The familiar voice startled Ginny, and she spun around to find Pansy at the entrance, leaning against the wall and still wearing all her gear while she chewed bubble gum.

Ginny scoffed and threw her bag over her shoulders. “I do have a life outside of here, unlike some people.”

Pansy had the nerve to laugh, all white teeth and rose lip gloss. “Don’t be silly. I don’t have a life because I’m serious about what I do. You don’t have a life because you literally can’t.” She blew out a pink bubble of gum and then pulled it into her mouth, popping it with her tongue against the roof of her mouth.

Ginny stomped closer, narrowing her eyes at the other girl. “Must be easy not having to care about anything else because daddy handles all,” she challenged, feeling her blood boiling. “Daddy pays your bills while you ride. Daddy hires the help and the cooks while you ride. Daddy sells you to dukes and princes while you ride so you can have a safe future when you get too old for the only thing you’re decent at doing.”

Ginny realized immediately how far she had gone. Is not like things hadn’t gotten bad and dirty before, but never so fast. Pansy seemed taken aback for a split second before she pushed herself off the wall and closed the distance between them, her impossibly dark eyes dangerous. Again, her boots gave her a slight height advantage on Ginny, but that didn’t scare Ginny. Pansy had stopped chewing, her mouth closed tightly as she seized Ginny up, as if figuring out the best way to make her hurt, and Ginny knew that they could hurt each other, but she still wasn’t scared. If Pansy wanted a fight, that’s what she would get. Ginny dropped her bag to the floor.

For a moment everything was quiet and Ginny could only focus on the building tension between herself and Pansy, wondering how it would finally break. Maybe with an insult? Or straight up punching?

Then Pansy spoke, low, soft, and dangerous. “I don’t do princes.”

And Ginny was suddenly very scared.

Pansy leaned in before Ginny could process what was happening, but it became clear within a few seconds that Pansy was kissing her, her glossy lips soft and warm against Ginny’s, and Ginny didn’t know what to do because she had never expected something less in her life. Her heart thumped rapidly inside her frozen chest, and then probably because she wasn’t moving, Pansy thought it safe to raise her arms and wrap them around Ginny’s neck. It had been the right call not to put her hands on Ginny first, because she would have thought it was an attack. Not that this kiss didn’t feel like an attack, but a far nicer one than what Ginny had anticipated.

So nice in fact, that Ginny had started kissing back without really noticing. Her lips moved against Pansy’s and her hands had settled on her waist, feeling the expensive fabric of Pansy’s jacket. Ginny could feel all their pent up emotions pouring out into the kiss as it got faster and deeper, their tongues moving together swiftly and both of them pulling the other impossibly closer. Pansy’s hands lowered down to the front of Ginny’s flannel button down and bunched the fabric in her fists with a strength and desperation that made Ginny burn from the inside. And also, she tasted like cherry lipstick and bubblegum.

Ginny tightened her grip on Pansy’s waist and began pushing her back, not really sure of what she was doing until the back of Pansy’s knees hit the hay bales and they both went down, Ginny falling awkwardly on top of Pansy and finally coming to her senses as she did it.

She pulled away and scrambled to her feet, hitting Pansy with her elbow by mistake.

“Sorry,” Ginny breathed out, her chest rising and falling rapidly.

Pansy sat up on the hay, looking more disheveled that Ginny had ever seen her, even though her face was totally composed. She stared up at Ginny for a moment, eyes searching her face, and then she started chewing her gum again.

Ginny frowned, her confusion breaking through her previous shock at what she’d done. How in the world had Pansy kept her gum while kissing without Ginny noticing?

“We shouldn’t have,” Ginny said, trying to keep her eyes away from Pansy’s mouth. She ran her hands through her hair, trying to think clearly.

Pansy stood up. “And why not?”

“Because…” Ginny backed away one step. “Because I don’t like you.”

Pansy’s lips twitched. “It didn’t feel like it.”

Ginny’s cheeks felt hot. “Well...I…” Ginny needed a reason, she just needed it. “I like boys.”

One of Pansy’s eyebrows rose so high, Ginny was sure it was mocking her.

“We’re rivals!” she almost shouted, her brain finally falling back into a logical place. They were rivals, always trying to best the other, and hating each other for far too long for it to be just a phase.

Pansy took a step towards Ginny, and this time Ginny didn’t back down. “Do you really think that I’m going to let you win just because we’re kissing behind closed doors? Come on princess, you know me better than that.”

Ginny felt her pulse quickening again, and her eyes betrayed her and fell on Pansy’s pink-smudged lips.

“And I know you too. So I’m confident that we’ll remain just as rivalrous as ever, perhaps even more.” She reached up and took a strand of Ginny’s hair between her fingers, looking at it with a small smile. “But if you don’t think you can handle it, I understand.”

Ginny played with Pansy’s words in her mind for a long time, or perhaps just a second.

“Shut up and spit the gum,” Ginny snapped before Pansy did as she was told.

Ginny grabbed Pansy’s head and crashed their lips together, flushing her body against the other girl and ignoring the way she could feel Pansy smirking.

Neither of them stopped to say a thing or even breathe for what felt like days, but as much as she was enjoying this, Ginny couldn’t let herself get too carried away. After all, a few minutes ago Pansy was nothing but her enemy.

She reluctantly broke the kiss and looked into Pansy’s blown pupils.

Pansy brushed Ginny’s hair away from her face. She seemed to be understanding what going through Ginny’s mind, because she smiled and it felt private, secretive.

“Alright Ginny,” Pansy said as she took Ginny’s hand and started leading her towards the horses. “Want to fo for a ride?”

[aod4909]

Get to know me tag

Tagged by @cynicalsims ♥

1) Rules: tag 9 people who you would like to know better: @itsoceansecret, @sparkybooom, @sweetxsie, @lyrea, @pixelddump, @my-simension, @nisukiye

Relationship status: In a polyamorous relationship with my bed and pc

Last song I listened to: Do I Wanna Know? by Arctic Monkeys

Last book read:  Wolf Winter by Cecilia Ekbäck (loved it!)

Favorite color: Purple 

Top three shows: House M.D. , Black Sails,  s1NgLEs

Top three characters: Now this is just impossible to answer ok?

Top three ships: Another impossible one but Shakarian’s on top

2) Rules: BOLD the statements that are true for you! 

APPEARANCE:

I am 5'7" or taller I wear glasses I have at least one tattoo I have at least one piercing I have blonde hair I have brown eyes (Hazel brown..?) I have short hair My abs are at least somewhat defined I have or have had braces

PERSONALITY:

I love meeting new people People tell me that I’m funny (idk why) Helping others with their problems is a big priority for me I enjoy physical challenges I enjoy mental challenges (depends on my mood and how exhausted I am) I’m playfully rude with people I know well I started saying something ironically and now I can’t stop saying it There is something I would change about my personality

ABILITY:

I can sing well I can play an instrument I can do over 30 pushups without stopping I’m a fast runner I can draw well I have a good memory (look I can walk you through a number of games from memory, drown you in random facts or go on about how weird, disturbing and fascinating the human body is -especially the brain- I swear if I didn’t faint every time I saw blood I would have become a neurologist or a biologist or chemist if our educational system was worth shit... but I might forget your name even if we know each other since elementary school and talk every day) I’m good at doing math in my head (againd depends... I can do insane calculations at times like when playing games or general computer stuff but I will use my fucking fingers to count a moment later I DON’T FUCKING KNOW HOW MY STUPID BRAIN WORKS AT TIMES) I can hold my breath underwater for under a minute I have beaten at least 2 people in arm wrestling I know how to cook at least 3 meals from scratch I know how to throw a proper punch

HOBBIES:

I enjoy playing sports I’m on a sports team at my school or somewhere else I’m in an orchestra or choir at my school or somewhere else I have learned a new song in the past week I work out at least once a week I’ve gone for runs at least once a week in the warmer months I have drawn something in the past month I enjoy writing FANDOMS ARE MY #1 PASSION I do or have done martial arts

EXPERIENCES:

I have had my first kiss I have had alcohol I have scored the winning goal in a sports game I have watched an entire season of a TV show in one sitting I have been at an overnight event I have been in a taxi (?????????????? WHY IS THIS A QUESTION ?????) I have been in the hospital or ER in the past year I have beaten a video game in one day I have visited another country I have been to one of my favorite band’s concerts

RELATIONSHIPS:

I’m in a relationship I have a crush on a celebrity I have a crush on someone I know I have been in at least 3 relationships I have never been in a relationship I have asked someone out or admitted my feelings to them I get crushes easily I have had a crush on someone for over a year I have been in a relationship for at least a year I have had feelings for a friend

MY LIFE:

I have at least one person I consider a “best friend” I live close to my school My parents are still together I have at least one sibling I live in the United States There is snow right now where I live I have hung out with a friend in the past month I have a smartphone I have at least 15 CD’s I share my room with someone

RANDOM SHIT:

I have breakdanced I know a person named Jamie I have had a teacher with a last name that’s hard to pronounce I have dyed my hair I’m listening to one song on repeat right now I have punched someone in the past week I know someone who has gone to jail I have broken a bone I have eaten a waffle today I know what I want to do with my life I speak at least 2 languages I have made a new friend in the past year

[simplysickandtired]

Get to know me tag

I was tagged by @pottery-sims. <3 And this is going behind a cut because it’s LONG. :)

1) Rules: tag 9 people who you would like to know better.

I never tag anyone because I don’t want anyone to feel left out so please if you’d like to do this consider yourself tagged by me. :)

Relationship Status: Forever engaged.

Last Song I Listened To: I was getting down to James Ingram’s “Just Once” because I’m cheesy like that.

Last Book Read/Listened To: One of  the Rotten Ralph books because I just came back from coloring Easter eggs with my niece and nephew.

Favorite Color: Changes all the time. 

Top Three Shows: This is impossible to narrow down. I guess I’ll go with shows still in production. Haha. I really got sucked into This Is Us, Schitt’s Creek is fucking hilarious and I recommend it for anyone looking for a mindless comedy, and RuPaul’s Drag Race. No need for an explanation. It’s just the best.

Top Three Characters: I’m not a character kind of girl. Lenni from Ghostwriter, Veronica Mars, uhhh... Charlie from It’s Always Sunny?

Top Three Ships: Nooooo. They are all soap opera ships that no one cares about. 

2) Rules: BOLD the statements that are true for you!

APPEARANCE:

I am 5'7" or taller

I wear glasses

I have at least one tattoo

I have at least one piercing

I have blonde hair

I have brown eyes

I have short hair

My abs are at least somewhat defined

I have or have had braces

PERSONALITY:

I love meeting new people

People tell me that I’m funny

Helping others with their problems is a big priority for me

I enjoy physical challenges

I enjoy mental challenges

I’m playfully rude with people I know well

I started saying something ironically and now I can’t stop saying it

There is something I would change about my personality

ABILITY:

I can sing well

I can play an instrument

I can do over 30 pushups without stopping

I’m a fast runner

I can draw well

I have a good memory

I’m good at doing math in my head

I can hold my breath underwater for under a minute

I have beaten at least 2 people in arm wrestling

I know how to cook at least 3 meals from scratch

I know how to throw a proper punch

HOBBIES:

I enjoy playing sports

I’m on a sports team at my school or somewhere else

I’m in an orchestra or choir at my school or somewhere else

I have learned a new song in the past week

I work out at least once a week

I’ve gone for runs at least once a week in the warmer months

I have drawn something in the past month

I enjoy writing

FANDOMS ARE MY #1 PASSION

I do or have done martial arts

EXPERIENCES:

I have had my first kiss

I have had alcohol

I have scored the winning goal in a sports game

I have watched an entire season of a TV show in one sitting

I have been at an overnight event

I have been in a taxi

I have been in the hospital or ER in the past year

I have beaten a video game in one day

I have visited another country

I have been to one of my favorite band’s concerts

RELATIONSHIPS:

I’m in a relationship

I have a crush on a celebrity

I have a crush on someone I know

I have been in at least 3 relationships

I have never been in a relationship

I have asked someone out or admitted my feelings to them

I get crushes easily

I have had a crush on someone for over a year

I have been in a relationship for at least a year

I have had feelings for a friend

MY LIFE:

I have at least one person I consider a “best friend”

I live close to my school

My parents are still together

I have at least one sibling

I live in the united states

There is snow right now where I live

I have hung out with a friend in the past month

I have a smartphone

I have at least 15 CD’s

I share my room with someone

RANDOM SHIT:

I have breakdanced

I know a person named Jamie

I have had a teacher with a last name that’s hard to pronounce

I have dyed my hair

I’m listening to one song on repeat right now

I have punched someone in the past week

I know someone who has gone to jail

I have broken a bone

I have eaten a waffle today

I know what I want to do with my life

I speak at least 2 languages

I have made a new friend in the past year

[themelancholicmess]

GET TO KNOW ME TAG

Rules: tag people who you would like to know better (and answer the thing)

Thanks @fucking-space-boy​ ❤️

Relationship Status: Lonely

Last Song I Listened To: Listening to music right now, and it’s Incomparable by Monsta X playing at the moment.

Last Book Read/Listened To: uhhh I should finish the books I started lol I think I answered the same books before, George Orwell’s 1984 and Leigh Bardugo’s Six of Crows. Favorite Color: Purple Top Three shows: I used to watch so many shows, but rn I only follow Game of Thrones, The 100 and The Walking Dead, so I’ll go with these. Top Three Characters: Impossible to pick Top Three Ships: At this point I just ship my faves with happiness and love (wrong shows to follow I guess)

2) Rules: BOLD the statements that are true for you!

APPEARANCE:

I am 5'7” or taller I wear glasses I have at least one tattoo I have at least one piercing I have blonde hair (naturally) I have brown eyes I have short hair My abs are at least somewhat defined I have or have had braces

PERSONALITY:

I love meeting new people People tell me that I’m funny Helping others with their problems is a big priority for me I enjoy physical challenges I enjoy mental challenges I’m playfully rude with people I know well I started saying something ironically and now I can’t stop saying it There is something I would change about my personality

ABILITY:

I can sing well I can play an instrument I can do over 30 pushups without stopping I’m a fast runner I can draw well I have a good memory I’m good at doing math in my head I can hold my breath underwater for under a minute I have beaten at least 2 people in arm wrestling I know how to cook at least 3 meals from scratch I know how to throw a proper punch

HOBBIES:

I enjoy playing sports I’m on a sports team at my school or somewhere else I’m in an orchestra or choir at my school or somewhere else I have learned a new song in the past week I work out at least once a week I’ve gone for runs at least once a week in the warmer months I have drawn something in the past month I enjoy writing FANDOMS ARE MY #1 PASSION I do or have done martial arts

EXPERIENCES:

I have had my first kiss I have had alcohol I have scored the winning goal in a sports game I have watched an entire season of a TV show in one sitting I have been at an overnight event I have been in a taxi I have been in the hospital or ER in the past year I have beaten a video game in one day I have visited another country I have been to one of my favorite band’s concerts

RELATIONSHIPS:

I’m in a relationship I have a crush on a celebrity I have a crush on someone I know I have been in at least 3 relationships I have never been in a relationship I have asked someone out or admitted my feelings to them I get crushes easily I have had a crush on someone for over a year I have been in a relationship for at least a year I have had feelings for a friend

MY LIFE:

I have at least one person I consider a “best friend” I live close to my school (tho I finished a long ago) My parents are still together I have at least one sibling I live in the United States There is snow right now where I live I have hung out with a friend in the past month I have a smartphone I have at least 15 CD’s I share my room with someone

RANDOM SHIT:

I have breakdanced I know a person named Jamie I have had a teacher with a last name that’s hard to pronounce I have dyed my hair I’m listening to one song on repeat right now I have punched someone in the past week I know someone who has gone to jail I have a brother

iI’m tagging @featureless-spy @photosofdal @cattce @ultranicolet and @stealinghoneyfrombees (and whoever wants to do this, I tag u)

[simalienn]

About Me Tag

I was tagged by the lovely @madeyesims Rules: Tag 9 people who you would like to know better.

I tag @justkeeponsimming @pixel--simmer101 @waffles-yo @rambunctioussimmer @afishsimming @bratsims @mizspiffysims @mysimhideout @mccraylegacy @simaroosimblr

Relationship Status: Foreverrrr Alone..

Last Song I Listened To: The walking dead theme song?... I just woke up and I can’t remember what the last song I actually listened to yesterday was... But I know I was watching the walking dead before I went to sleep last night so... 

Last Book Read/Listened To: 13 Reasons Why by Jay Asher 

Favorite Color: Turquoise 

Top Three Shows: The walking Dead, Orange is the new black, Orphan Black.. (so hard to pick just 3..) 

Top Three Characters: This is impossible to answer, so I’m just going to go with the first 3 TV characters that come to mind - Darryl Dixon (TWD), Derek Morgan (Crinimal Minds, Effy Stonem (Skins) 

Top Three Ships: And My Brain blanks... I guess I’m just not shipping anyone really at the moment or maybe there are just too many... 

Rules: BOLD the statements that are true for you!

APPEARANCE: I am 5'7" or taller I wear glasses I have at least one tattoo I have at least one piercing I have blonde hair I have brown eyes I have short hair My abs are at least somewhat defined I have or have had braces PERSONALITY: I love meeting new people People tell me that I’m funny Helping others with their problems is a big priority for me I enjoy physical challenges I enjoy mental challenges I’m playfully rude with people I know well I started saying something ironically and now I can’t stop saying it There is something I would change about my personality ABILITY: I can sing well I can play an instrument I can do over 30 pushups without stopping I’m a fast runner I can draw well I have a good memory I’m good at doing math in my head I can hold my breath underwater for over a minute I have beaten at least 2 people in arm wrestling I know how to cook at least 3 meals from scratch I know how to throw a proper punch HOBBIES: I enjoy playing sports I’m on a sports team at my school or somewhere else I’m in an orchestra or choir at my school or somewhere else I have learned a new song in the past week I work out at least once a week I’ve gone for runs at least once a week in the warmer months I have drawn something in the past month I enjoy writing FANDOMS ARE MY #1 PASSION I do or have done martial arts EXPERIENCES: I have had my first kiss I have had alcohol I have scored the winning goal in a sports game I have watched an entire season of a TV show in one sitting I have been at an overnight event I have been in a taxi I have been in the hospital or ER in the past year I have beaten a video game in one day I have visited another country I have been to one of my favorite band’s concerts RELATIONSHIPS: I’m in a relationship I have a crush on a celebrity   I have a crush on someone I know I have been in at least 3 relationships I have never been in a relationship I have asked someone out or admitted my feelings to them I get crushes easily I have had a crush on someone for over a year I have been in a relationship for at least a year I have had feelings for a friend MY LIFE: I have at least one person I consider a “best friend” I live close to my school (Not that I go there anymore because I’m old, But I live close by to the high school I did attend)  My parents are still together I have at least one sibling I live in the united states There is snow right now where I live I have hung out with a friend in the past month I have a smartphone I have at least 15 CD’s (No idea where they are though..)  I share my room with someone RANDOM SHIT: I have breakdanced I know a person named Jamie I have had a teacher with a last name that’s hard to pronounce I have dyed my hair I’m listening to one song on repeat right now I have punched someone in the past week I know someone who has gone to jail I have broken a bone I have eaten a waffle today I know what I want to do with my life I speak at least 2 languages I have made a new friend in the past year

[multifairyus]

Tagged by: @quasarbar 1) Rules: tag 9 people who you would like know better.  Relationship Status: Single Last Song I Listened To: Mask Off, by Future Last Book Read/Listened To: The Hammer of Thor, by Rick Riordan Favorite Color: Coral, probably. I like warm colors and pastels!  Top Three Shows: How to Get Away with Murder, America: The Story of US Magic Kaitou 1412 (Can’t think of favorites, so here’s some favorites of different genres!) Top Three Characters: IMPOSSIBLE  Top Three Ships: I generally like canon ships (I include “fanon” LBGT ships as canon since the forced heterosexuality is irritating) so I don’t think this would be very interesting…Inuyasha and Kagome were my first true ship though.  2) Rules: BOLD the statements that are true for you! APPEARANCE: I am 5'7" or taller  (I’m 5′2 on a good day…) I wear glasses I have at least one tattoo I have at least one piercingI have blonde hair I have brown eyesI have short hair (But shrinkage is very real. Stretched out I think I could have a cute bob now? Southern humidity prevents me from getting it professionally straightened to see.) My abs are at least somewhat defined I have or have had braces PERSONALITY: I love meeting new people  People tell me that I’m funny  Helping others with their problems is a big priority for meI enjoy physical challenges I enjoy mental challengesI’m playfully rude with people I know wellI started saying something ironically and now I can’t stop saying it  (Are inside jokes with yourself just Internal Memes?) There is something I would change about my personality ABILITY: I can sing wellI can play an instrumentI can do over 30 pushups without stopping I’m a fast runner I can draw wellI have a good memory (Queen of Jeopardy over here people. It’s weird though, because I would fail an objective, multiple choice test about facts of my friends’ ad families lives, but I could write an amazing essay on any of them. Similarly, I don’t remember people by their names and faces, but rather by having a specific experience that makes me bother learning your name and face. It’s weird.)I’m good at doing math in my headI can hold my breath underwater for under a minuteI have beaten at least 2 people in arm wrestling I know how to cook at least 3 meals from scratch I know how to throw a proper punch HOBBIES: I enjoy playing sports (I did the 100m and 300 hurdles and sprints in high school) I’m on a sports team at my school or somewhere else  I’m in an orchestra or choir at my school or somewhere elseI have learned a new song in the past weekI work out at least once a week I’ve gone for runs at least once a week in the warmer months  I have drawn something in the past monthI enjoy writing (If you know my old tumblr handle, that’s the same as my ff.net one…) FANDOMS ARE MY #1 PASSION I do or have done martial arts EXPERIENCES: I have had my first kiss (Yes and no? I haven’t had one sober, which I feel really counts…) I have had alcohol  I have scored the winning goal in a sports game (5th grade basketball, foul shot) I have watched an entire season of a TV show in one sitting I have been at an overnight event I have been in a taxiI have been in the hospital or ER in the past year  I have beaten a video game in one day I have visited another country (China in the 11th grade!)I have been to one of my favorite band’s concerts RELATIONSHIPS: I’m in a relationship  I have a crush on a celebrity  I have a crush on someone I know  I have been in at least 3 relationships I have never been in a relationshipI have asked someone out or admitted my feelings to them I get crushes easily I have had a crush on someone for over a year  I have been in a relationship for at least a year I have had feelings for a friend(damn i guess im just a stone cold biotch lol) same lol MY LIFE: I have at least one person I consider a “best friend”I live close to my schoolMy parents are still together (not sure if they should be, but they are) I have at least one sibling (3! Two older sister and a little brother.) I live in the united states (From California, college in Louisiana) There is snow right now where I live  I have hung out with a friend in the past month I have a smartphone (Samsung, unapologetically)I have at least 15 CD’sI share my room with someone (I live on campus lol) RANDOM SHIT: I have breakdanced I know a person named Jamie I have had a teacher with a last name that’s hard to pronounce (Found out mid semster that I was saying it wrong lol) I have dyed my hair I’m listening to one song on repeat right now  I have punched someone in the past week I know someone who has gone to jail I have broken a bone I have eaten a waffle today I know what I want to do with my life  I speak at least 2 languagesI have made a new friend in the past year I tag: @a-socialbutterfly @elementsunbound @blackasacrow @nudes4nae @space-crows @gallade-x-treme @izzy20505

[krisrampersad]

My Discoverie Columbus Lost and Found from New World To Old LettersToLizzie Sneak Preview

Dear Lizzie,

I discovered Columbus when I was about four years old and then I lost him again to rediscover him one fine sunset, his parts cut up and scattered across my world and yours, the way he cut up our continent and our peoples that became Your Majesty’s Empire.

Early explorations

I still remember the expression on his face. Pa looks baffled. So far, he is able to answer all my questions that end-of-July morning - the kind of morning that begins with sunshine warming the weathered unvarnished wooden gallery, bathing it in soft light and lending a calm cosy to the holiday feel. But every farmer’s daughter knows – if she took the time from the more pressing global inquisitionings – a day like this could brew thunder and torrential rains by mid-afternoon.

I must have agitated him, this early morn. He asks me to bring him a cigarette – his brand, named after an avenue in the city - and a box of matches.

I hand him a Three-Plumes match from its yellow box, a product of Trinidad Match Limited since 1887, it reads. I could read. Before that it was just a yellow box with red markings, and the dark red scratch sides. Reading material was scarce in rural Trinidad so I had taken to reading anything I could find and that usually was the packaging of any item. I would later learn that 1887 was the year Parisiens began to lay the foundation for the Eiffel Tower; and that Britain passed the Act to unite Trinidad with Tobago as it celebrated the golden Jubilee of Queen Victoria, just like your recent jubilee celebrations, and ours, Liz.

Pa scratches the match against the side of the box like my sister would, some years later, do a scratch lottery. It flares over the edge of the cigarette and flickers out, leaving a light stream of smoke behind it. He put it to his lips, leans back, closes his eyes and draws hard on the tobacco that has soothed many a shamanistic and other agitated spirits for millennia. It has also attracted as gold many-a-pilferer, marauder and cutthroat pirate to our parts from yours, as you well know, Dear Liz.

It is rare discovery for me as a child - Pa at home at this time of a morning. He is usually long gone by the time we are up, usually awake from 2 am. We would know from his deep coughing, caused by a head cold he caught working as a forester in his younger days which would hasten his end of days. By peek of dawn he would have already left for the vegetable garden or to the market to sell its produce that was our main source of income.

Now, facing the onslaught of curiosity, he is perhaps wishing he had kept this routine and head out early as I bounce around him in the early morning trying to get answers for these enormously challenging thoughts of universal import that collide like meteors in my child’s mind.

“So how did Columbus discover Trinidad?” The question pops into my head and pops out of my mouth as questions tend to do from near-four year olds. I am conjuring up a pale man in fancy pants, frilly shirt and embroidered waistcoat with funny wavy white hair dripping down to his shoulders as I had seen in my sisters’ history book. Reading material was often limited to their text books and I would take sneak peaks, thumbing through them to see the pictures. They open-up the windows of my imagination.

In my child’s mind, Columbus is now unfurling - from over our island and pulling onto his ship - an enormous sheet bellowing out with the wind. I had watched many times as Ma or one of my sisters made our beds, shaking out a freshly washed bed sheet. It would bellow out, before settling on the bed. The process of covering and uncovering and surely discovering too, was a normal household routine. 

Though he never complained nor showed annoyance, it is the kind of question that probably made Pa, the object of my incessant questioning, wish I was in that place where all precocious youngsters are sent so someone else would answer their impossible questions about how the world works - school. I am not yet enrolled in any of the illustrious British-styled public schools – the legacy of your Governor Lord Harris and subsequent governments, Lizzie - which were sure to offer the answers to these impertinent thoughts of an infant. The closest ones are just about a mile in any direction to one of which I was destined to walk to and from, sometimes barefooted, over the next seven years – tall punishment for a few questions – talk about how curiosity kills the cat, as schools kill curiosity!

Ma calls out to me. She ladles out boiling cocoa from a big iron pot resting on the mud fireside with a metal kalchul which she bought from Mawah in Princes Town. She would go to the town just to chat with Mawah’s mother, leaving me to wander around looking at all the curiosities in this shop that seems to have everything, including the traditional wooden kulcha, and flat wooden dablas used to turn roti on the chulha, dhal ghotnis of all sizes – wooden swizzle stick with zig-zag edges on its round base and the biggest enamel basins and iron pots one could imagine.

The utensils for its preparation might have evolved, but not centuries and several languages and cultural adaptations could alter cocoa, the pre-Ice Age plant, more than 21,000 years old, and its primordial connections as food of the gods across world cultures. Even European botanists could find no better substitute than to translate its value - Theobroma (Theo/god; broma/food) and the echo of its ancient MesoAmerican/Caribbean, pre Olmec, preMayan roots: kakaw with slight variations in inflections: Theobroma cacao. Today, its most common global identification as chocolate still echoes its ancient primordial resonance. Once Columbus helped Europe discover it, there was no turning back. Cocoa now covers some 17 million acres of global soil, with nearly 4 million tonnes produced every year. It has become the foundation of Swiss identity, and a catalyst for the centre of social interaction in kingdoms far and wide. A global strategy for the conservation and use of cacao genetic resources as the foundation for a sustainable cocoa economy now guides an International Cocoa Organisation, an international network of cocoa producers and International Cocoa Genome Sequencing Consortium who meet annually to upgrade strategy, redefine directions for the future of chocolate, its by-products and co-industries.

Though no longer a formal currency as it was used in mesoAmericans - about 100 beans could then get one a finely handwoven shawl - with increasing scientific evidence that it reduces high blood pressure and can positively impact cancer and cholesterol rates, I’m sure, Liz, that you concur with women the world over who testify that this remains one of god’s essential provisions of heaven on earth.

To the steaming cup of fresh cocoa, its oil already forming a film around the edges of the cup, Ma adds a touch of bliss. She tilts the condensed milk can into a bluey-green enamel cup, stirs it and hands it to me.

‘Careful, it hot!’ she warns, nodding in Pa’s direction. Ma is not one for much words.

I walk back to the gallery tentatively. The oil, temporarily disturbed, returns to curl around the edges of the cup. The aromatic steam of cinnamon, clove, bayleaf, nutmeg and cocoa drift out and up. You would agree, Dear Lizzie, in that moment, it is not difficult to understand why Europe turned half the world upside down, raided east and west, and went to war for the likes of this.

I hand the cup to Pa and run back into the kitchen. Ma hands me a smaller version of the same bluey-green enamel cup, with own serving of ‘cocoa tea’, though that in itself may violate indigeneous practice that reserved enjoyment of cocoa for ritual use only by men who fought nations for the privilege - the second of four Anglo-Dutch wars was fought over cocoa, in England’s favour, in the 1660s and on which the wealth of the likes of the Dutch East India Company was founded then trading its primary wealth in cocoa beans. As was most other pleasures of primitive planet-of-the-apes type cave-men, cocoa, too, was considered toxic for women and children.

Not so in our wooden dwelling. Ma had spent most of the night grinding the chulha-parched cocoa, adding cinnamon and bayleaf and grated nutmeg, Taking handfuls of the ground cocoa, moist with its own oils, between her palms, she had lovingly moulded them into oval shaped balls. They are already hardening this morning and by tomorrow, before boiling, we would have to grate it on the grater Pa made from pounding holes closely together with a nail onto a piece of galvanise, bending it into a semicircle, and nailing its edges against a short, flat piece of wood.

The still lingering aromas of last night’s cocoa production hang on the wooden floors and walls of the entire house and spill out to envelope the village in the way the porridge from The Magic Porridge Pot had crept out of the house in that Enid Blyton book I would later read.

Pa didn’t seem to think I am violating any gender taboos, either, when I reappear with my own cup of steaming cocoa, which seems to me, on hindsight, a very patriotically appropriate way to commemorate one of the last Discovery holiday days Trinidad and Tobago would know. Indigeneous to Trinidad, the Trinitario is one of the world’s three main varieties of cocoa – a unique offspring of our geo-botanical connections with the South American mainland as a more resilient, higher yielding and natural hybrid of the two others – Forastero and Criolla. For Your Majesty’s information, our cocoa might be old world Americas, but had produced another New World hybrid - the cocoa panyols, an ethnic group of intergenetic mixes between native peoples and other migrant streams who joined them here – Your Majesty’s people, Europeans, Africans, Indians and others.

On this July 31 morn both Pa and I are unaware that it would be some years yet before Apple computer technologies would name its application programme interface (API), cocoa.

The steam from his cup of hybrid cocoa is beginning to subside. Pa takes a sip, inhaling deeply its aroma. I have never seen him this relaxed.

 “Why he not up yet? Wake him?” I ask Pa, nodding in the direction of my brother’s room, hoping for chance at an excursion to visit some other part of Trinidad on this holiday. As my brothers and sisters grew older, our wooden house was expanded over the years: a room added here, a corner boarded in there, and this was a new room my brothers and his friends added at the end of the gallery.

Pa’s answer triggers the steam of questions from my condensed milk-sweetened, cocoa-lubricated tongue.

As he had every Sunday afternoon, my brother had routinely polished the silver angel with its transparent plastic pink-tipped wings perched on the bonnet of his baby blue Cortina taxi the day earlier, before he also lathered the entire car, and himself, to be covered in white soap suds. Sometimes he would cover his whole face and head in suds and try to scare us. He succeeded once when he sneaked up on me. I screamed so loudly, that I stumbled over a root of the enormous chenette tree in our yard in trying to run away from him as he looked like a jab jab from a Carnival band.

Native to our part of the world, the chenette tree, like cocoa, also predates Columbus by thousands of years, and its fruit is known in various pronunciations as genip across South Central America and the Caribbean. The more melodramatic injections into its nomenclature occurred when European botanists wrapped their tongue around its sticky pulp. Discovered for Europe in Jamaica and named by Patrick Brown as he had 103 other genera in the mid-1700s, Brown, an Irish botanist who worked as a doctor across the West Indies also produced A Civil and Natural History of Jamaica until our oh-so-inhospitable-to-Europeans clime sent him a-packing as it has a few others, like the man who invented television whom we will discover later. Brown gave chenette its botanical name, Melioccus bijugatus which was subsequently described and placed in its soapy genus group by Dutch-born Austrian, Nikolaus Joseph von Jacquin who has an orchid named after him; had Mozart teach music to his children and named a couple of his pieces after them, and in honour of whose work in the Caribbean, Austria in 2011 issued a special commemorative silver coin issue.

The Spanish dubbed it limoncillo/mamoncillo in some of their territories. Contented to translate rather than rename, the English called it Spanish lime another characteristic misnomer as it is, Liz, most unlike a lime or lemon, as an apple is from an orange. I believe this is the origin of the application of the Trini word ‘lime/liming’ as a pasttime of ‘doing nothing’ or hanging out with friends. The towering chenette tree in our yard was a village icon. A piece of wood nailed to its trunk formed a bench and under its soothing cool became the district’s social hub – for liming, all fours card games and even serious meetings; informal craft groups; Hindi, Bhajan singing and other classes, and village events planning – all right in our front yard. That might be also the original meaning of the word community leadership, until it was endowed with other connotations decades later.  

I did not know any of that technical stuff, then, nor that chenette was a fairly substantive source of calcium, carotene and phosphorous, when as children we sucked the pulp or roasted the seeds, and so indelibly stained our clothes much to Ma’s displeasure. We noticed too, that its stickiness restricted our tongues, but that it also had a constipation effect, also to Ma’s displeasure. She would have to spend sleepless nights as we complained of stomach pains from having gorged too much, though she made sure she had adequate supplies of seina leaves to administer when necessary to relieve constipation. I hear on the grapevine, Liz, that roasted chenette seeds are now gaining currency as a treatment for diarrhoea.

Loved and hated, the tree contributed substantially to our chores as we had to daily sweep up masses of its constantly shedding leaves. Our water copper, used to boil sugar at one time in the once thriving sugar industries, but now serving as our fresh water reservoir, had to be protected from its droppings as it sat directly under the tree. My younger brother and I would splash around in its massive bowl on weekends before emptying it, scrubbing off any moss that had accumulated around its edges and then refilled it with fresh water and covered it with galvanise.

“Why he not up yet,” I ask again, growing impatient as the beautiful day seem to be slipping away.

 I am curious as to why my brother is not stirring in the room in the gallery. He is usually up and out while it was still dark, in the predawn, to take villagers in his Cortina to their workplaces in ‘town’, Princes Town - named, Lizzie, as you know, for your grandpa George V and grand uncle Edward after they visited as princely lads. It was known as Kairi to the native peoples who find Columbuscrawling up our coast, as indeed was the entire island, when Columbus was doing his discovering, until Spanish Catholic missionaries gathered them around a church and school and renamed it Mission. At the time of your grandsire’s visit, Lizzie, it was then little more than a few scattered shacks with the church and school set up by Spanish Catholics. A later school and church, set up by missionaries from your then North American colony – Canada - will conjure up the old name, Iere, but shortly after their visit, it was proclaimed Princes Town, a name it still holds.  

It must please Your Majesty to know that the two poui trees the Princes planted in the yard of the Church of England in the town also still stand, 134 years later. So far they are winning the battle to resist the giant tropical termites whose Queen, leading her colony of nymphs and soldiers, are constantly waging war, threatening to make a meal of the princely pouis.

Princes Town itself has grown into its name, and out of it too – maybe ready for city status even, if the powers that be would take note - as it is now aggressively edging off what used to be the lush tropical rain forests described by your writer-traveller, Charles Kingsley who, At Last, made it here for A Christmas in the West Indies in the latter half of the 1800s. It must have been his writings that brought your grandsires here; and certainly too, geological reports of the 1850s eruption of the mud volcano at what the Spanish had labelled Devil’s Woodyard that had also attracted Kingsley. The indigeneous people’s had long worshipped at it for its connections with the mysterious underworld that provided the trees, fruits and roots that nourished them. The boggy soil and forested district did not deter Kingsley continuing the journey to Devil’s Woodyard, but your grandsires were waylaid by the pomp of planting of the pouis, as you may know since it is part of the Royal lore.

Princes Town now continues to encroach on the once-canefields that provided the raw materials for the sugar, molasses and rum factories that augmented British waistlines and coffers. You may want to know, Lizzie, that this town, named for your grandsires, has done the empire proud, with reputedly the highest numbers of drinkers in the country – one of your Empire’s enduring legacies in these parts from the practice of paying estate workers near rumshops - but that’s for another letter, to come.

But it was not rum in my Pa’s cup this July morn. I’ve never known him to be excessive with the bottle, but he didn’t abstain either. He is drawing patience from the aromatic, freshly brewed cocoa in the enamel cups Ma bought from the lady in the store crammed with enamel and other household paraphernalia in Princes Town. Ma and the lady would stand for hours chatting away in Bhojpuri while I wander around the overstocked shop.

Though they never spoke the Trinidad-adapted Indian language, nor Hindi, to us, both Pa and Ma could read and write Hindi. They could both read and write only a smattering of English and by that were defined as illiterate. So this conversation on this morning about our Discovery with my Pa is in your mother tongue, Liz; which Pa and Ma had adopted for us, though it was not their mother tongue, in which, if I may humbly point out, Your Majesty, versed as you are in one of some of the European languages, might yourself be considered illiterate.

The oil from the cocoa hangs on to the top of Pa’s lips, forming an artificial moustache on his hairless face and head. It made him look funny and a laugh is trying to force its way through the many serious questions on my lips. I held it back - the laugh; it is the questions I can’t stem from pouring out.

I have never known Pa to have hair on his face, nor head either. The baldness makes him look stern at times. Villagers call him The Sheriff and sometimes I knew why. His grey eyes would blaze right through you when his lips tremble and his voice raise in anger. In those times I know not to ask the questions about how the world works that popped into my head and onto my tongue as somethings more perplexing must be troubling him. Like how he would feed his family because someone had crept into the garden that night and stole all the crops he had nurtured over the last months which he hoped to sell so we could have what household things we need. I’d bite my lip to keep the thoughts in, then.

Not now. This mild morning, sipping his home-made cocoa, he is as mellow as the Eastern spices in it. 

“He not going to work because it is a holiday today,” he is answering my question about my brother’s late-sleeping, while I try to suppress my giggle over the milk-moustache over his upper lip. An unusual quiet hang over the village, serene, without the routine morning bustle of people getting ready of school, for work. Few others are stirring, taking advantage of this ‘holiday’. My mind is on high drive.

“What holiday?” I ask, perked.

“Discovery Day.” He even seems a bit happy, then, to be home to sagely field the curiosity of his youngest daughter; you will understand anew, Liz, as you have a couple lil great grand royal ones around that age now added to your household.  

“What is Discovery Day?”  The questions keep popping out of my head, spilling onto my tongue and out of my mouth, even before I know they are there.

“It is the day Christopher Columbus discovered Trinidad.” Pa had never gone to one of the British-type schools but he always knows all the answers, it seems. And though he could not read any of the storybooks, which are my presents on birthday and Christmas, he could talk about any topic under the sun, I thought, and he could recite the whole Ramayan in its strange Sanskrit or Hindi text and explain the strange parables in the lines as villagers often called on him to do. And he could study any Whe Whe chart with their strange Chinamen faces and letters and tell what number would play at the man they called ‘the banker’ who functions from a secret place because Whe Whe is illegal and police is always searching for the law-breakers like him.

Pa was no longer with us in the mid-90s when the post-Independent Trinidad and Government introduced a legal machine-driven version of the game which licence operator through a selective process. The traditional version, still illegal, has remained popular; the official version has the audacity to often complained that it takes about fifty million $TT (five million Great Britain Pounds) away from the State every year! Maybe if he was still around with the million-dollar jackpots we could win a million or two; or I could have won him a million or two. Here’s how.

Pa liked to bet on my dreams. He said I had ‘straight dreams’ and would even send me to sleep in mid-afternoon so I could tell him what I dream for the evening betting session, as the Whe Whe banker ‘opened the bank’ morning and evening. As he didn’t scoff at whatever my overactive imagination churned up in my dreams, he made me confident of dreaming. I guess he neverthought I would make a career of this dreaming thing. He would ask me for a number to bet on and would always place a bet on my choice saying I gave him straight wins. That made me warm inside, like freshly boiled cocoa tea sweetened with condensed milk. When I helped him win a bet he would give me a five-cent coin; or if it was a big win, a shilling, which I popped into the wooden piggy bank that did not look much like a pig. He had made it for me with the small slit at the top to throw in the coin and a wedge at the bottom that twisted out to let the coins drop out. With those savings, I could buy myself whatever I wanted for Christmas or anytime, no questions asked. As I began to read, ‘anything’ was almost invariably story books, of course, like The Magic Porridge Pot. Even before starting school, I was already an avid listener to my sisters reading to me, and to unending epic romances Pa would roll out night after night, mostly from some secret store in his imagination that none of us can remember, though it was a childhood experience that none of us can forget.

I guess he thinks that his last answer, ‘Discovery Day’, would quell my questionings. He lights another Broadway. I know it as his favourite brand because he would send my brother or sisters, and me when he thought I was old enough to walk the road alone, to Ganesh, the village shopkeeper, to buy. On days when market sales were good he would buy a whole carton. We would know to ask for DuMaurier, instead, only when Braodway was out of stock because the sales van only came into the village once a week.

Though smoking tobacco seems now to be more identified with the Frenchman, Jean Nicot de Villemain, (hence nicotine) who took it to the French court in the mid 1500’s after Columbus introduced it to Europe following his discovering it on his first voyage in the region the natives called Haiti, but which Columbus called Hispaniola, my father was participating in a 7000-year old kingly shamanistic tradition of the Caribbean and the Americas -  a tradition now practiced by nearly two billion people across the globe, despite an intensive and powerful anti-smoking lobby. One can sniff new tensions in the air as recent research and development suggests smoking as a potential cure for high blood pressure, asthma and tuberculosis. A new odourless, tasteless white protein extract from its leaves promises to be every masterchef’s dream ingredient as a salt-free, fat- and cholesterol-free low-calorie substitute for mayonnaise and whipped cream and can take on the flavour and texture of several foods and beverages.

Oblivious to all of that, engrossed in inhaling, Pa is unaware that smoking tobacco was considered - by the people who first inhabited our soil before Columbus and his bunch decimated them - a divine gift. They believed its exhaled smoke carried one's thoughts and prayers to heaven. Pa looks the part, shamanistic, dreaming and relaxed as if communing with some higher authority as he ease back on the wooden bench he had made with his saw, chisel and smoothing plane. I had gathered up the chippings that fell of the plane and put them in the fowl coub, as we called it, behind the house. My fowl pet had just had chicks – eight little yellow delights that I would feed on scraps of left over roti and rice while talking to them about the unfolding mysteries of the universe. I had a pet goat too, that I untied and took to graze on roadside grasses on evenings. There was much to do, but first I had to finish with this inquisition.

I absorb his answer: ‘Today, Discovery Day, was the day Christopher Columbus discovered Trinidad.’ Something did not fit there. My chick’s mind isn’t sure what it is. I know Christopher Columbus from the picture with the three triangle ships in my sister’s school book. Once, when I am visiting some relatives, one of their children had a Ladybird book about Columbus. He is in fancy pants and long shoulder long white ‘hair’ which I would later learn was a wig that fancy Europeans and massa-like Trini people in courts and the Parliament like to wear. In the picture book, Columbus’ shirt is bellowing in the wind. He looks soft and effeminate as European men in their garb of that era. His three ships of varying sizes are on the sea behind him. Black haired, wide-eyed, brown people are peering at him from the bushes. Maybe it is they who discovered him; not he discovered them. That’s how thought pop into my head and out of my mouth.

“So how Christopher Columbus discover Trinidad?”

My question brings Pa back from where he had gone with the warm cocoa inside him and the cigarette already nearly half done. 

He looks at me. “You would know all about that when you start school.” It did not cross my mind that he did not have an answer and that the question was baffling many others more than my own child’s mind.

Pa calls out to Ma. “You ready?” That is his cue for her to accompany him to the garden – having for the morning, already finished washing the clothes of all of us, prepared breakfast and made lunch too, cleaned the house and washed the dishes.

My rare morning discovering our Discovery with my Pa at home is over. I scramble up to accompany them to the garden, not waiting to be asked; secretly hoping that might get some more answers.

The giant bedsheet bellowing out from over the island and collapsing on Columbus’ ship settle in my mind’s eye, before which also swirls experiences of cocoa, chenette, and tobacco, all of which predated Columbus’ discoverings, and the eastern spices and we who came thereafter.  

When the sun rose that July 31, it was only the dawn to a near lifelong quest for my holy grail – knowledge of it all, and uncovering the puzzles of the discovery of Trinidad that was before Columbus discovered then. It has taken me to many parts and through many sunsets.

Even though Discovery Day has been wiped off the calendar, he still haunts the landscape, and is stamped on national emblems inspiring the false knowledge that marked his own Discoverie, and mine.

 One fine sunset, then another, then another, I gathered and pieced together the skeletal knowledge in the bones he had scattered all over the Caribbean from Puerto Rico through Cuba, Santo Domingo, across Jamaica and your colonial archipelago to Trinidad, from Mexico to Argentina, and the Americas and across in Europe through Barcelona and Seville and Italy, Portugal, and Spain, as discovered, too, Columbus’ own bones. Scattered in pieces and fragments in which he cut up our land and our history and our Discovery in the blood soaked soil still violently echoing in the bones of ghosts in their sleep-walking dreaming state they tell one story. But for me gathering the pieces, like our collective story, they spoke to me of the yet undiscovered El Dorado, at treasure trove of buried knowledge echoing down the ages even now, through little known corridors and crannies, the knowledge bridge from Columbus to us that can soothe and calm like cocoa balm when cocoa is no longer god, nor king, but you still a Queen, Your Majesty, Dear Lizzie.  

****

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Feb 26, 2014 This Demokrissy series, The Emperor's New Tools, continues and builds on the analysis of evolution in our governance, begun in the introduction to my book, Through the Political Glass Ceiling (2010): The Clash of Political ... http://ift.tt/1vYaD4K Envisioning outside-the-island-box ... - Demokrissy - Blogger Feb 10, 2014 This Demokrissy series, The Emperor's New Tools, continues and builds on the analysis of evolution in our governance, begun in the introduction to my book, Through the Political Glass Ceiling (2010): The Clash of Political ... http://ift.tt/1vYaD4K Demokrissy: Futuring the Post-2015 UNESCO Agenda Apr 22, 2014 It is placing increasing pressure for erasure of barriers of geography, age, ethnicity, gender, cultures and other sectoral interests, and in utilising the tools placed at our disposal to access our accumulate knowledge and technologies towards eroding these superficial barriers. In this context, we believe that the work of UNESCO remains significant and relevant and that UNESCO is indeed the institution best positioned to consolidate the ..... The Emperor's New Tools ... http://ift.tt/1vYaD4K Demokrissy: Cutting edge journalism Jun 15, 2010 The Emperor's New Tools. Loading... AddThis. Bookmark and Share. Loading... Follow by Email. About Me. My Photo · Kris Rampersad. Media, Cultural and Literary Consultant, Facilitator, Educator and Practitioner. View my ... http://ift.tt/1vYaD4K

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[kickstarter-promotion]

Another Amazing Kickstarter (Your Photo World Map by Mapew —Kickstarter) has been published on http://crowdmonsters.com/new-kickstarters/your-photo-world-map-by-mapew-kickstarter/

A NEW KICKSTARTER IS LAUNCHED:

    mapew stands for “maps from east to west”, a geographic way of indicating a complete coverage of something. Here it stands for full passion and quality of the maps produced in the mapew project. It is pronounced as “map you” to emphasize that the maps are not just hanging on your wall to show some geographic information but to deliver a message or show something which is important to you.

Putting pins on the map or scratching the places away from it are the common ways of showing your guests where you have been in your life. But is this really personal? Where are you on these maps? Where is the evidence that you really been to these spots? 

Instant photos are a beautiful way of capturing moments of your travel and having them in your hand … well … instantly. However, one problem remains: Where do you want to put them? The classic places are an album or the refrigerator door. But is this really a great way of displaying your travel pictures? 

So how about bringing maps and your travel photos together?!

Your support is needed to make this idea come true and to kick-start the mapew project! By pledging for this campaign you will get the offered maps with a special Kickstarter discount well under future retail price (-10%). If you are one of the early ones to pledge you even get the maps for more than 40% off (see the Early Bird rewards). 

 The Giant Photo World Map from mapew gives you the opportunity to place yourself on the map by putting your picture of your travel destination in the according area on the map. Can you collect photos from all places around the world?!

The Giant Photo World Map has a size of 2m x 1m (79 inch x 40 inch) and includes 190 photo boxes.

To locate the countries on the map easily, the photo boxes include the names of its containing countries

  It is impossible to have all details of earth in a map made of boxes. However, the location of the boxes were chosen with the highest precision and largest number of prominent features (seas, bays, peninsulas etc.) realizable for this condition.

The photo boxes are of size 2×3 inches, which is the standard size of the ZINK photo sticker papers used by the major instant cameras and printers (e.g. Polaroid Snap and Zip, Prynt Case, LG Pocket Photo or HP Sprocket)

    The maps of mapew are not just ordinary, but created in a novel way or include information not existing on any other map. One of those maps is the “One Line – One World” map. This map is a unique representation of the world, because it is made by only one single line. The reason for drawing this map was to deliver a message: In times of war and political tensions, we should remember that we are part of one and the same world and thus are all somehow connected with each other. It shows a world where borders are connections, because they shouldn’t be seen as a separation but as a link between countries, cultures, and religions.

This world map is drawn with a single line, connecting Melbourne (Australia) with Oslo (Norway), Seoul (South Korea) with Abuja (Nigeria), La Paz (Bolivia) with Paris (France) or New York (USA) with Baghdad (Iraq). And in the special Kickstarter edition, every backer will have his / her name as part of the line on a limited digital high-resolution version of the map.  

The original “One Line – One World” map is of size 187cm x 86cm (73,7 x 33.8 inch)

     An own font was created to fulfill the “one line” criteria

The font, landmasses, symbols and country borders are all part of one and the same line

For this Kickstarter campaign, a digital limited edition of the “One Line – One World” map will be produced: It will include the name of every single backer and all of the names will be part of the line! The names will be located along the border of the map one after the other.

      The posters are printed on eco-friendly (FSC certified) paper in high resolution with inks that won’t fade over the time. The size of the “One Line – One World” poster is 187cm x 86cm (73,7 x 33.8 inches). The size of the Photo World Map poster is 200cm x 100cm (79 x 40 inches).

The posters will be shipped 2 – 3 weeks after the campaign, so that you will receive them between second week of April and first week of May. They will be rolled and delivered in tubes. 

For more updates and information visit the facebook page or follow on twitter.

You really love this map and would love to have it, but you don’t really get how you can do that? Then here is an explanation just for you: Kickstarter is not really a platform like amazon or ebay, where you just buy what you like. Kickstarter is more about helping each other to realize awesome projects. You can help in different ways, for instance by sharing the project with friends or by pledging an amount of money of your choice. It doesn’t matter if it is 1€ or 10 000€, every cent is very welcome. To thank people for their donations, project creators (like me) give away special rewards. This can be the actual product itself they produce in their project or any other funny and personalized reward. In the list of rewards you can choose which one you like most and pledge the money of the respective amount. If the project does not raise the indicated funding target within the given campaign time, nobody who pledged for the project will get charged. Only if the goal is reached the project becomes alive, you get your reward and the project creator (me) is very happy to see that so many people like the project. More information are available on the FAQ page of Kickstarter.

– “Does anyone know the capital of Bangladesh? ….. Nobody? …. OK Joseph, you can tell us!” –  

Hi, I am Joseph, the creator of mapew, and this was my Geography teacher from high school. One could argue that knowing the capitals of the world is not really a proof of geographic knowledge. And I absolutely agree! But this little example shows at least that I was always passionate about geography-related topics – and about the basic medium for geographers: The Map!

I had a large world map hanging on my wall when I was a kid and I made it a quest to remember the names of the cities on it (Yes, also cities like Petropavlovsk-Kamchatsky). I also started to draw own maps with the age of 6 (mostly fantasy maps) and this passion never really vanished. If I have time, I am still drawing maps for fun. But I came to realize that I might even be able to transform my passion into my profession. This is the reason why I started the mapew project, to see if people would like my work. As a master graduate of geo-informatics, I have gathered more experience over the years in the process of producing maps (digital or printed). With this professional knowledge and my passion for map-making, I see myself well prepared for this challenge!

INFORMATION PROVIDED BY Kickstarter.com and Kicktraq.com VISIT PAGE SOURCE