#displaced shopping cart

[wifetomegatron]

i have this little worm in my brain that's obsessed with the idea of putting cybertronians in normal, everyday scenarios. to pluck these blocky, stiff characters and drop them into a landscape so smooth, so gentle, that they stand out like a sore thumb. a shadow across a monet painting : from far away nothing looks out of place, but the closer you look, the more you realise that this is absurd.

and yet i love first contact aus, where earth has established a semi-stable understanding with cybertron that assimilation has gone as far as mechs being able to roam around the streets and go unnoticed by the crowd of humans. that they can sit and dine in restaurants with their human partners or friends, nursing a glass of energon, while they catch up on each other's lives. where mass displacement and gravity adjusting machines are accessible so these bots don't destroy or ruin everything they touch in this little blue planet and instead learn how to adapt to it. to not only live but to live together : 

fortress maximus having breakfast with you in your shared apartment.

swerve shaking up drinks for human patrons at his bar.

rodimus walking his date down the street of their home.

ratchet and drift going through the christmas market. skids helping you with your jewellery by the vanity table. velocity pushing the cart while you shop for groceries.

it's ridiculous and makes little sense but it is also wishful thinking. and most of my thoughts consist of mourning the painfully tender slice of normalcy humans could have given these giant war-raging bots if given the chance.

how we can finally find a way to fit the sharp and unyielding edges of their armors against the curve of our open palms. so they can learn how to be finally grounded to the soil and not drift against the nothingness of space. word barf but i'm going insane.

give me the domestic bliss i deserve with my sixty foot tall alien husband or i will explode like confetti.

[thelampisaflashlight]

My HC brain is whirring today...

So assuming that the Ministry is pretty self-sufficient to a degree, it would make sense that they have livestock. Suppose that Mountain cares for the livestock as well as the orchards and gardens.

So every so often he has to go into town to buy feed. Most of the time the Ministry does orders for delivery, but sometimes it just doesn't happen and Mountain has to go pick it up. So he takes the beat up truck and goes into town to load up on corn and oats and other livestock specific feed. He often forgets how strong he is compared to humans or even other ghouls. So, he is always confused as to why the workers at the feed store stare at him wide eyed when he refuses help loading up and just hoists two 50lb bags of feed onto each shoulder without thinking much of it and just walks back to the truck as casual as you please.

I've seen some strong af folks walk into the barn and carry out that much and it is always like, "HOW" but also, "...Could you carry me like that?"

I max out at 75lbs. on one shoulder, albeit I have also done it with 50lbs. on one and 25lbs. but 100lbs. on both shoulders would probably result in me getting squished.

Mountain would be the customer we have to tell to use the carts because the other dudes in the shop feel like they have to do that now.

Like, "Holy shit, don't do that-"

Although, I could also see Mountain being the customer who works out the logistics of having to use a hand truck and going, "The handle for those ones are all the way down there, and I am all the way up here, so it'll hurt my back more to use this." versus, "It's only this many bags, and using the dolly would look/feel awkward because of the weight displacement and how few there are..."

He'd probably at least put the carts back in the right spot, ya know, instead of leaving them in the back lot...

Or by the side of the building...

Or in the parking lot...

Or right outside the door, thus blocking the exit...

I also feel like he'd be the customer that taste tests the hay.

The amount of people who do that... is not zero.

In fact, I think I have witnessed at least one person do so.

Mountain would eat an entire handful though.

[thebawdybaldurian]

Halsummer Day 1

Halsin enjoying Midsummer

It’s the start of Halsummer! A week of SFW prompts for our favorite Druid. I’ll be adding a NSFW version later tonight or tomorrow, but enjoyed keeping things a little tame. I even included a cameo of a character from a popular DnD show I’ve been wanting to write! This is a pretty Tav-focused story, but several of the other prompts will be more from Halsin’s perspective.

Background: Tav, Astarion, and Halsin are married and have two young twins. The trio has just purchased the home next door, now that they need more space than Tav’s small cottage can accommodate. They sold Astarion’s tailor shop to help pay for it, and he plans to reopen in the front of the house. Cazador’s former palace has been turned into a refuge for displaced tieflings.

Tav awoke from her trance hearing a loud, repetitive clunk that drove her out of bed. “What in the Hells is that?” She searched the cottage, finding it suspiciously empty. “Where is everyone?” She called aloud, expecting an answer. She heard giggling outside and grabbed a cloak to cover her thin chemise. The clunk was louder once she opened the front door and she skirted around the cottage to look for the source. She found Halsin in the wide alley between her cottage and the neighbor’s house, which they’d just bought to accommodate their growing household. The twins sat safely near the side of the house, playing with some toys as Halsin drove a pickaxe into the cobblestone. “What are you doing?” She yawned, shielding her eyes from the bright summer sunlight.

“Getting the new garden started,” he smiled, wiping the sweat from his brow.

“We haven’t even gotten the permits to tear up the alley yet,” she grinned, giving the kids a good morning kiss on the head.

“If some city bureaucrat wishes to come haul me down to the jail, they can certainly try,” he set down his axe to receive his own good morning kiss.

“We already drove one neighbor away from all the…noise,” she blushed as he gripped her buttocks tightly. “Not everyone can be swayed by your rippling physique and we can’t afford to buy the whole neighborhood…Good morning, by the way,” she smiled as he released her from his tight grasp.

“Good morning, my heart.”

“Were you up when Astarion left?”

“I was. He wanted to get a head start on his last minute orders since he’s closing at High Sun.”

“And yet he still hasn’t finished our Midsummer outfits yet,” she smirked, stepping back as he began breaking up stones again.

“You know how fussy he is about getting them perfect.”

“I know too well…so I’m assuming you already have a whole plan in mind for this garden?”

“I have a cart full of rich soil coming from the grove, so once I get all these stones up and dig out enough of this city dirt, I can start planting in the fall before the ground freezes. There will be thick hedges on either side so no one can just walk through and we can have…private time out here. There will be aromatic and medicinal herbs in vertical gardens to save space. I’m hoping to create a dark, damp corner to start some mycology growth, but I don’t know how they will fair in the city. Plants and flowers everywhere else,” he replied, looking over all the work to do.

“Quite ambitious for a man pushing 400,” she grinned widely.

“You make me feel no older than 200,” he growled at her.

“Just make sure to save some energy for tonight’s festivities,” she winked and headed back into the house.

Tav was performing at her first large festival since having the twins and was a little nervous. She’d been preparing for her performance for weeks, but still felt out of practice. She bathed and put on some loose clothing to do some intense stretching, practicing some of her tumbling as well now that they had more space. She brought out some iced honey tea for Halsin as he continued his work in the sun and took the kids in for a nap. She’d just begun precisely tuning her lyre when Astarion arrived home.

He was already dressed for the holiday, wearing a very short, leg-less garment adorned in flowers. It was bare in the back, showing off his now flawless, pale skin. He’d been dressing more freely since being transformed by Syma’s Wish spell. “That’s it then…last day in my old shop,” he went to the icebox to grab his own glass of honey tea.

“You certainly dressed for the occasion,” she teased, his backside peeking out as he bent into the fridge. “You really wore that all day? Bending over in it?”

“Of course,” he grinned, doing a little twirl. “I wasn’t doing any measurements and I sold ten copies of these before even getting to my shop. Once we get the new one open here, I might have to hire an assistant.”

“From dictating laws to dictating fashion trends…quite the turn for a forty-year old,” she beamed, giving him a long kiss.

“I had a lot of help,” he nuzzled against her. “I’ve never been happier.”

They kissed passionately, leaning against the kitchen table until they were interrupted by a stranger knocking on the window. “Take it outside, ha ha!” He laughed drunkenly, clearly already getting a head start on the festivities. He ambled away after taking a swig from a flask.

“So if the shop is officially closed, does that mean you’ve finally finished my costume for tonight? I’d like to make sure I don’t need to change up my set in any way,” she asked, closing the curtains.

“Oh, it’s been done for days. I just like making you wait,” he lied, having finished up the last finnicky bit before he’d gone to the shop.

They left the cottage and found Halsin stowing his tools for the day, needing to drop the kids at the Emerald Enclave, so Zevlor could watch them for the night. “We don’t have permits yet,” Astarion also teased, looking over the torn-up alley. “Though if any city inspectors see you looking like this…they might give us a break,” He gave Halsin a kiss.

Halsin let out a laugh and wiped his brow again. His tanned skin glistened with sweat, small spots of dirt smeared across his bare torso. He’d pulled his long hair until a messy knot, looking the very picture of a romance novel hero. “If it were me, I’d let him plant gardens across the entire city,” Tav stood on her toes to steal a kiss from him. “And whatever he wanted to put in me.”

“Save it for tonight, my heart,” Halsin growled playfully, gripping her tightly against him. “They are letting the maidens loose in the park to be hunted…what will they be doing with the overly amorous wives?”

“I’m sure we can think of something creative,” she purred back at him. “Speaking of…you’ve distracted me from trying on my costume. I am sure Astarion will have a few more adjustments to make.”

“Can you get the little ones up and fed lunch while I bathe? I want to get them over to the Enclave before the frivolities start spilling out into the streets.”

“Of course, my love,” she gave him one last peck on the cheek.

She followed Astarion to the front side of the house, which was still in the process of being converted into his new shop front. Piles of ready to wear garments sat stacked on tables, with various bits from the old shop scattered around. “I’ll take care of the kids,” he offered as they walked inside. “Why don’t you go try on what I left on the dress form?”

“Alright,” she nodded, heading to the small room that would serve as his sewing area.

Astarion went to the children’s bedroom, finding Ava already awake and sitting on the floor drawing. “You’re already up?” He knelt down to kiss his daughter’s head. “Did you get enough sun this morning?”

“Ya…want to dwaw so I woke up,” she replied, staring at the paper with the same intense focus as Tav did.

“You get your energy from the sun, darling, but you still need to sleep,” he mussed her long curls. “Stubborn just like your mother,” he laughed quietly.

They were so very similar that he sometimes forgot that his daughter was a dhamphir, conceived before he had been cured of his vampirism. They could only suspect her unusual thirst for sunlight instead of blood was due to the magically enchanted ring he’d worn before his cure. It had allowed him to walk in the sun through a blood bond with Tav and Halsin. He rubbed the small scar on the underside of his right ring finger, grateful that it might have saved his daughter from a life of bloodlust. “Why don’t you wake up your brother and I will take this to the table for you to finish while you eat lunch? I am sure Uncle Zevlor will have plenty for you to do at the Enclave,” he took the drawing from her to break her focus on it. She whined a little but got up, toddling over to her brother’s bed. She blew a loud raspberry into his peacefully sleeping face to wake him up. She still took after Astarion in some ways, he chuckled to himself as Shan woke up with an annoyed growl.

Astarion helped both kids into their chairs and gave them some cut up fruit to snack on while he prepared some cold sandwiches for them. He was still getting used to eating food again, so they had plenty of simple options in both houses for him. “Astarion!” Tav called from the other room as he set the kids’ plates down.

“Be good,” he looked at them before heading to his sewing room.

Tav stood facing the door with her arms crossed over her chest, both from annoyance and to cover the intense cleavage spilling out of her costume. It was made of embroidered lace, hugging her body with long trails of red, white, and pink roses. “You don’t like it?” He smirked, looking her over.

“It’s beautiful,” she uncrossed her arms. “But if I bend down, everyone is going to see my nipples slip out or what I had for dinner,” she laughed, flashing her backside at him.

“Then we should eat a fine meal tonight,” he teased, leaning down to plant a kiss on it.

“Astarion!” She protested.

“There are specific undergarments to wear under it…and a cover up for walking over to the park,” he grinned. “I just wanted to see it on you bare.”

He grabbed another box from under the table, containing the undergarments and a few other accessories as well. “Let me change then and make sure I can still move in all of this,” she looked everything over with a smile.

He returned back to the kitchen, Ava still too enraptured by her drawing to have eaten any of her sandwich. “Don’t make me take it away,” he put the plate over the drawing to interrupt her again.

“Da!” She cried, tears already beginning to fill her amethyst eyes.

“You aren’t giving your father trouble, are you?” Halsin walked in, freshly bathed and changed into new clothes.

“No,” she sulked, squishing a piece of the sandwich in her fist.

Astarion was a pushover when it came to the children, forcing Halsin and Tav to be the disciplinarians most of the time. “Thank you, my angel,” Halsin sat down next to her to help her finish eating the rest.

“Oooo pretty mommy,” Shan exclaimed with a last mouthful of food when Tav reappeared, fully changed and with her hair taken down.

The semi-sheer gossamer cover up was modest enough to wear in front of the children, the muted colors of her costume visible through the fabric. Her hair was curled and voluminous, a delicate crown of silk flowers threaded into some of the strands. She’d thrown on a bit of shimmery makeup to give her an ethereal, goddess-like aura. “Pretty indeed,” Halsin and Astarion both stared at her.

“I won’t be able to do as many flips as I planned, but Astarion has done it again,” she did a little twirl.

“Why don’t you two grab your favorite toy and I will take you to see Uncle Zevlor?” Halsin kept his gaze on Tav while helping the kids out of their chairs.

He embraced her at once after Astarion had guided the children into their room for a moment. “You are testing all of my self control,” he growled in her ear as he kissed and nuzzled her neck.

“Astarion will have your head if you rip off this one,” she giggled. “Just wait until you see me on stage.”

“The evening cannot come soon enough,” he added as Astarion returned with the kids, a wide smirk plastered on his face.

Halsin put the kids into their walking carriage so he didn’t have to carry them all the way to the Upper City. Shan had chosen to bring his owlbear plush and Ava had Clive Jr. He headed out with them into the early afternoon sun, eager to get back home to his beautiful wife. Several other couples had already dropped their children off at the Emerald Enclave, looking forward to the evening’s decadent mirth-making. “They are growing quickly,” Zevlor greeted them in his wing of the former Crimson Palace. Many of the tiefling orphans had gone to live in Reithwin at Halsin’s commune, but a few had remained in the city and Zevlor oversaw their care.

“Especially this one,” Halsin picked up Shan out of his carriage, Ava having fallen back asleep on the way.

“He will no longer be a little tree very soon,” Zevlor took him, surprised at the toddler’s weight. “He takes after his father.”

“I believe he is already taller than I was at his age,” Halsin covered Ava with a blanket so she could rest more. “Thank you again for watching them.”

“Of course,” Zevlor nodded, setting Shan down with a groan. “I am too old to enjoy most of the revelry.”

“We’ll likely be gone late into the night…but if they can’t sleep, you can always drop them home.”

“I am sure we will have a grand time,” Zevlor began pulling out toys for them to play with.

Halsin returned home after kissing the twins goodbye, already seeing festival-goers heading towards the park in scandalous attire. He could only imagine what Astarion had made for him to wear. Tav was doing some practice on her lyre when Halsin returned, a little extra blush in her cheeks. “She’s still nervous for tonight?” Halsin asked Astarion, whose cheeks were also blushed slightly.

“She is…I did what I could to…take her mind off things, but perhaps she needs a little more…reassurance,” Astarion grinned. “Then you can change and we can head to dinner.”

Halsin was quick with his reassurance, giving her voice a little extra warmup. He changed into the outfit Astarion had sewn, something similar to the one he wore, though a bit less revealing. The trio walked together towards the Helm and Cloak where they would be having dinner. They were stopped several times to inquire about their outfits, Astarion presenting them with business cards. They’d had to scratch out the old address, but Tav had already designed and sent new ones to the printers for him. They ate a sumptuous dinner and enjoyed a bit of dessert tasting off one another’s bodies, as the revelry got into full swing.

They headed towards the park after, where the festival was bustling and crowded. Alcohol flowed freely and was passed between mouths as vintners and brewers provided free samples of their fermentations. Tav accepted a few wine-laced kisses from her husbands, not wanting to drink too much before her performance, but enough to shed any last minute nerves. She left them near a prime spot by the front of the large stage and disappeared into the performer’s tent nearby to make her final preparations. She shed her cover-up, many of the other bards and acrobats inquiring about her outfit. “I’m afraid my designer only does costuming exclusively for me,” she beamed. “But he sells generic designs in his shop,” she handed out several more business cards to the disappointed artists. She secured her flower crown a little more and attached the silk epaulettes that attached to her shoulders and hips. They resembled white wisteria blooms and would shake beautifully when she danced.

She nervously waited at the side of the stage when her time slot drew near. A group of performers were doing an acrobatic number around the three maypoles that had been affixed to the stage. Two solo artists spun and contorted on the side poles, while a pair did a very sensual routine together on the center pole. Tav blushed deeply, spying Halsin and Astarion in the crowd, their arm around each others’ waists. They appeared to be very into the center performance, kissing and whispering to one another as the two performers put several new positions in their heads. Tav had been secretly practicing a few moves utilizing the maypole, but was no where close to the skill of these acrobats. The performance ended with a shower of not-so-subtle white petals that rained down onto the crowd and stage with a resounding climax of cheers. “Tough act to follow, darling,” Lucretious, the emcee, patted Tav on the back as she strutted on stage to make announcements.

Her voice boomed across the park as the Projecting Stones at the front of the stage amplified it into the crowd. “What a stunning and sensual performance by the Spinning Sisters of the Savalirwood!” Lucretious praised as the five acrobats left the stage. They all nodded at Tav as they passed, covered in sweat and petals that had stuck to their skin. “Well worth the journey from Exandria, if I do say so myself!” Lucretious continued.

“Chardonnay? Is that you? I never forget a backside,” a voice called from behind Tav as Lucretious reminded the crowd about the proper etiquette for voyeurism and consent during public activities of an erotic nature.

“Scanlan Shorthalt? Of all the people I expected to see!” Tav knelt down to greet the gnomish bard, giving him a peck on the cheek. “What are you doing on Toril?”

“I’m here with the Sisters,” Scanlan glanced back at the quintuple of acrobats heading to the performer’s tent. “I’m their manager.”

“Manager?” Tav asked. “So you’ve hung up your lute?”

“I have,” Scanlan nodded. “I’m a family man now. I have a wife and giant Goliath son to feed. The money was too good to pass up the invite.”

“I understand that,” Tav smiled, holding out her hands and showing off the two bands on both her ring fingers.

“I never thought I’d see the day and twice over!” Scanlan’s eyes widened. “Especially not after that night we had in Stilben.”

“How long are you here for?” Tav asked, hearing Lucretious wrapping up her announcements with some quick jokes. “I’d love to catch up…and introduce you to my husbands.”

“A few days. Those Planetshift Portals really screw with my insides. We can talk after, perhaps meet for dinner,” he replied as Lucretious announced Tav to the stage. “Good luck, Charddy!”

“Coming to the stage now, one of the heroes of Baldur’s Gate, a seductive songstress and contorter of clowns. Lady Chardonnay Brandywine!”

The crowd whistled as Tav walked on stage, doing a few nervous twirls and bows with her lyre tucked under her arm. All the nervousness ceased when she strummed her first note, imbuing the instrument with her magic. The thrill of the performance took over, her body moving almost instinctually to the rhythm of her music. She danced and sang, spinning around the center pole while a Mage Hand played her lyre. Halsin and Astarion stood beaming in the crowd, seeing that she hadn’t missed a step since becoming a mother. The love and passion that she held in her heart for them flowed into her performance, the crowd both enraptured and titillated. Occasionally moans could be heard in the crowd as couples let their inhibitions lower for the night. There was no shower of white at the climax of Tav’s performance, but an urgent high note as she fell into a split in front of the maypole, her chest heaving with heavy breaths.

She left the stage to cheers and whistles, the crowd becoming more rowdy after her set. “Dear Gods,” she grimaced, putting a hand to her groin. She may not have lost much of a step after giving birth to Halsin’s enormous son, but her hips weren’t what they used to be and she instantly felt it.

“As incredible as ever,” Scanlan clapped as she hobbled down the stairs.

“Just a little more weathered,” she groaned at the last step. “I have my own giant son now too.”

“You had a baby!” Scanlan exclaimed.

“Twins, actually,” Tav downed a mug of water waiting for her inside the performer’s tent. “Once you meet my husbands, you will understand.”

“I can’t wait. It sounds like you’ve gotten up to a lot in the past twenty years. A hero of Baldur’s Gate?”

“It’s a long tale,” Tav let out a loud sigh, fanning herself with her hand. “I wrote a play about it.”

“Well, wait until you hear about Vecna,” Scanlan laughed, grabbing them each a glass of wine. “It sounds like we might need to make this dinner multiple courses.”

[breitzbachbea]

❤️ for Gabriella and Charlie and 🧠 for Paddy and Tahir!

Thank you my beloved!!!! You're like. One of my bedrocks of serotonin <3

OC Emoji Ask Game

❤️ - What is one of your OC’s best memories?

Gabriella: Sometimes, when she is vulnerable and feels the demons knocking softly at the walls, she wants to tell you that one of her fondest memories are the first times she recalls Dolcetto calling her "Rella". The first time she and her brother bundled up and went on a walk in their neighbourhood to get groceries and both of them felt so important. Those memories that justify her giving up her life to join the world of her brother. But those aren't her best. This is the grief and loss and a displacement of love speaking that will never ever find room in Dolcetto again. She loves her brother; he loves his sister; but they are very different people. Therefore, her best memories are probably of nights out in gay clubs and kisses shared with young women her age after she left home to find Dolcetto and herself. Memories of her, drunk, telling another girl under tears how much in love she was with her childhood best friend. Feeling free and herself. And she does love the memories she makes with Fabio, a kindred soul in this depressing world. The nights they spent alone as friends and as lovers.

Charlie: Much like Gabriella, part of his best memories are an expression of grief and love lost. He does miss his father dearly; maybe not exactly the man that died and could never accept him, but the younger Connor Higgins. The Connor who skipped his piano lessons with him to play football. The Connor who was so cool and put together, but no buzzkill. The one who so clearly loved and knew his son. He sometimes gets take away and will stand in a dingy, warm and small shop and be hit with the feeling of this being the highlight of his entire month, because it was secret time spent with dad. But these memories are accompanied with rage and sadness and a deep, all-consuming longing. What he truly remembers most fondly is racing cars on his model track with Harry and other friends. He remembers fondly the trouble he caused at school, the defiance of standing up for himself that kept him alive throughout these awful years. He remembers the first roadtrips he took alone, no matter the terrible state of his dad's old Mercedes. Charlie's best memories are both of freedom and community, of figuring out who he is and indulging in what thrills him.

🧠 - What do you like most about the OC?

Paddy: I like the most how old Paddy is. He's by no means 'old', he's middle aged in 2013, but compared with the rest of their characters who are usually in their twenties, he's got a lot more experience under his belt. Moreover, he lived such separate lives. Magdy is 20 years older and Magdy has SEEN SOME SHIT, but Magdy spent most of his life in one place, working with the same family for three generations. Paddy grew up in Derry and lived there until he was in his midtwenties. He could have never imagined to leave Derry until part of his house was destroyed by an explosion. Then he left; over the border into the Free State, through the country until he made it to Dublin. Characters, like the reality of people they are modelled on, can change rapidly in very little time, especially in younger years, but when you have a character like Paddy, you really get to see the layers that make up the tree. I love to figure out the core of his character and how it manifests. I love to see what an older Paddy regrets, what part of the younger self are transformed. And the ghosts, fucking hell do I love the ghosts. And I love how Paddy runs. He could never have imagined leaving Derry; now he's deadly afraid to return. He goes quiet in the first chapter of the IP rewrite when he begins to talk of Ben's death. He runs from himself, he will push a cart for others until the end, but faced with having to do anything for himself, he will run off the next cliff. For a character that's such a bedrock to others, he is very, very empty inside.

Tahir: Oh baby boy. I again like his relative age gap with a lot of the other characters, being in his 30s in 2013. But what I like the most about him is how selfishly selfless he is. All he ever did was to meet expectations and to afford the promise of a better life for him and his family. He may not be a sentimental man, but his love for his sister is immense. He very much believes he owes his parents, who worked their asses off, that he works hard for them. A sense of duty and responsibility is at the core of his being and it shows in all of his interactions. And yet, yet he's not a machine. Yet he wants freedom - as much as he still adheres to expectations (his own) in his freetime and exploration of himself and keeps appearances, he does want something divorced from the expectations of his family. Yes, the courtship dance with Arielle still runs along known rules, but it's an expression of desire and love, somewhere along the axis of platonic and romantic, a self-expression of himself as a man with a beating heart. As much as he might seethe over that his relationship with Robert is functionally no different than the arranged marriage of his parents, it was his own choice. It was an acknowledgement of his needs and that he is indeed not an island - that he'd like to come home to someone at the end of the day. I really like the soft, vulnerable and so, so loving boy that hides under the steely husk of a man. Play Oh No! by Marina and the Diamonds.

[dystini]

Indycar Driver Lore

Indycar Driver Lore Masterlist

George Dario Marino Franchitti

Birthdate: May 19, 1973 Hometown: Bathgate, West Lothian, Scotland Residence: Scotland Height/Weight: 5′ 9″/172lbs

Rookie Year: 1997 (CART)

Team: Ganassi (advisor)

Follow him on: Instagram Twitter

Career Stats

CART 1997 Hogan Racing - 22nd Overall 1998 Team Green - 3rd Overall 1999 Team Green - 2nd Overall (lost the title on a tiebreaker) 2000 Team Green - 13th Overall 2001 Team Green - 7th Overall 2002 Team Green - 4th Overall

Indycar 2002 Team Green (Indy 500 only) - 44th Overall 2003 3 races with Andretti Green Racing - 25th Overall 2004 Andretti Green Racing - 6th Overall 2005 Andretti Green Racing - 4th Overall 2006 Andretti Green Racing - 8th Overall 2007 Andretti Green Racing - 1st Overall 2008 Chip Ganassi Racing (Only competed in an exhibition race) 2009 Chip Ganassi Racing - 1st Overall 2010 Chip Ganassi Racing - 1st Overall 2011 Chip Ganassi Racing - 1st Overall 2012 Chip Ganassi Racing - 7th Overall 2013 Chip Ganassi Racing - 10th Overall

NASCAR

Sprint Cup 2008 Chip Ganassi Racing - 49th Overall (partial season)

Nationwide Series 2007 Chip Ganassi Racing - 95th Overall (partial season) 2008 Chip Ganassi Racing - 35th Overall (partial season)

appointed Member of the Order of the British Empire (MBE) in 2014

is lefthanded

currently serves as advisor/diver coach for Chip Ganassi Racing

started go-kart racing at age 10

won more than 100 races and 20 Scottish, British and World karting titles

raced in British F3 in 1994

made a cameo appearance as a racing driver in the 2001 film Driven

appeared on the US television shows Late Show with David Letterman and The Late Late Show with Craig Ferguson three times each in the late 2000s and early 2010s

voiced a Scottish news anchor and a male tourist in the 2013 animated film Turbo, for which he provided technical consultation

served as a television co-commentator and driver pundit on Formula E's world feed since its inaugural season in 2014

is a member of the "Brat Pack", an international group of CART drivers composed of Dario, Tony Kanaan, Greg Moore and Max Papis, who shared a desire for enjoyment, attending all-night parties, discussing life and staying in close contact with one another

Prior to the 2000 CART season, Franchitti was hospitalised after a crash during pre-season testing at Homestead–Miami Speedway; part of the car's suspension hit his head, and he sustained displaced fractures in his left hip and pelvis, and multiple minor brain contusions

sustained an anterior stable compression fracture of the lumbar vertebrae in an motorbike accident during a trip to West Lothian in April, 2003

requiring season-ending keyhole surgery to strengthen his back, missing the second half of the 2003 season

had a minor left-ankle fracture in 2008, after a crash in a NASCAR Nationwide race

Before the season-ending 2011 IZOD IndyCar World Championship at Las Vegas Motor Speedway, Franchitti led Will Power in the championship standings by 18 points. The race was abandoned following a 15-car accident on the 11th lap that involved Power and caused Wheldon's death, meaning Franchitti won his fourth championship win; his third in succession.

suffered a concussion and two spinal fractures, plus a fractured right ankle in the second to last race of the 2013 season

retired from competitive driving in 2013 after doctors advised him his most recent injuries and those from previous accidents put him at risk of permanent paralysis and brain damage in the event of another major crash

Iconic/memorable moments

Shopping at Target with Dario Franchitti and Scott Dixon IndyCar: Scott Dixon, "We got hosed again" by Will Power IndyCar Dario Franchitti and Scott Dixon Interview (part 2) RACER: Franchitti, Kanaan, Dixon Prank 20yr old Teammate Dario Franchitti and Scott Dixon, part 1 Dario Franchitti and Scott Dixon, part 2 3 motorsport legends compete at Goodwood Revival! | Goodwood Revival Special IndyCar drivers Scott Dixon, Dario Franchitti robbed at Indy Taco Bell RACER: Dario Franchitti ALS Ice Bucket Challenge Thank You Dario Dario Franchitti: A hacksaw to Tony Kanaan’s bike Dario Franchitti: People think I have OCD Dario Franchitti: Royal Automobile Club Talk Show in association with Motor Sport Dario Franchitti: Regrets NASCAR move? Behind the Bricks: Dario Franchitti, Part 1 Behind the Bricks: Dario Franchitti Part 2 Dario Franchitti: Five weeks of my memory lost in crash Dario Franchitti: Devastated by Dan Wheldon's death Dan Wheldon Memorial Service, Part 3

Dario Franchitti Press Conference 11 in 11 with Dario Franchitti Dario Franchitti gets pied 2012 Indianapolis 500 Finish - Dario Franchitti Wins (Interviews Included) RACER: Robin Miller Dario Franchitti and Tony Kanaan IMS Tire Test 2013 Dario Franchitti Press Conference Drivers React to Wheldon's Death Road to the Championship: Close Competition 2011 Indycar Toronto - Will Power and Dario Franchitti controversial incident Dario Franchitti is 2010 Champion Dario Franchitti Indy Means Everything Concussions in Racing: A Case Study - Dario Franchitti & Dr. Stephen Olvey Dario Franchitti: Garage full of Ferraris, Porsches Dario Franchitti: Lack of recognition in Europe is disgraceful Dinner with Racers Episode 59: Dario Franchitti Greg Moore At 20, with Dario Franchitti, Paul Tracy, Max Papis, Mike Zizzo, and Marshall Pruett. Dario Franchitti - McLaren AUTOSPORT BRDC Award winner 1992 Remembering Greg Moore: Champ Car’s Brat Pack having the time of their lives Dario and Greg Moore and Seibkins in Elkhart Lake

Dario Franchitti book Romance of Racing (out of print, can be found used, although not cheaply. Try your library)

The "Brat Pack" Max Papis, Tony Kanaan, Dario Franchitti, Greg Moore

Dario is now a senior member of the paddock, an advisor for Ganassi and coach, often more like a father/uncle figure, to their new young drivers. But in his youth in the 1990’s he was a wild child, a member of Cart’s “Brat Pack”, prone to staying up all night partying yet still winning races. He almost won the championship in 1999 but lost in the finale only to be told after the race that his best friend, and fellow member of the “Brat Pack”, Greg Moore had died.

He made the switch to IRL which became Indycar, in 2003, although injuries and recovering from those injuries kept him out of the car most of that year. He recovered and then began the epic prank era at Andretti Green races with his teammates on the way to his first Indy 500 win and his first Indycar championship in 2007. He decided to give NASCAR a try in 2008.

(We don’t talk about the NASCAR year)

He came back at Ganassi in 2009 and proceeded to win three championships in a row (and two more Indy 500s) while becoming the elder statesman of the series. But all of this success was not without sorrow and near disaster. The loss of Dan Wheldon hit him hard. He and his former teammate were still close friends. Another crash and the subsequent injures forced him into retirement in late 2013

He is a prime example of why we don't leave decisions on their fitness to race up to the drivers anymore, suffering more than his fair share of injuries in his career (see list above) and continuing to race when he definitely should not have.. One might call it a lack of survival instinct, which to be honest, most drivers lack, but Dario lacks it to an alarming degree. He is at risk of permanent paralysis and brain damage in the event of another major crash, yet still races vintage/historic cars on occasion, particularly at Goodwood.

I would be remiss not to mention his Scottish accent, thick dark hair that is silvering at the temples and still fit physique. He’s lost none of the charm of his youth and perhaps gained more now at the age of 50.

Fanfic Lore

Paired/grouped with the “Brat Pack” Originally comprised of Dario, Tony Kanaan, Greg Moore and Max Papis. Various later iterations included Scott Dixon, Bryan Herta, Dan Wheldon and sometimes Marco Andretti.

paired with Will Power during the height of their rivalry though they’ve became very good friends since Dario was forced to retire

sometimes used as supportive dad figure for younger drivers (sometimes as more of a “Daddy”)

Dario and TK

More Dario and TK

Even more Dario and TK

Brat Pack

Dario and Dixon

[mareastrorum]

WIP Wednesday: TF&TS (Shopping)

Here is a scene from an early chapter of a longfic I am working on.

Fanfic Summary: Mollymauk Tealeaf survived the encounter with the Iron Shepherds, but a short time later, a spirit had begun hunting him, claiming that he stole his body. This Campaign 2 AU begins with Episode 26 and continues on from there.

This fanfic will be posted on AO3 starting hopefully by Friday 7/28.

Shopping wasn’t terrible, but it wasn’t fun either. Just a chore Otis never paid much mind to beyond getting it done. The Tombtakers had usually left Tyffial and Cree to handle that; Tyffial always seemed to know where to find the good stuff, and Cree insisted on making sure that Jurrell didn’t talk Tyffial into buying a bunch of extra crap. Jurrell had always shown up with something anyway, so who knows how much there would have been if Cree hadn’t tagged along.

But shopping could be fun when money didn’t have to be spent doing it, and even better when the owner didn’t intend to give up what Otis was shopping for.

So when the Nein insisted that Otis stay in the Run while Lucien was out cold, obviously that meant that the halfling would stalk the group all the way back to Zadash. Obviously. Lucien would give them an earful otherwise. And since the Nein planned to use the Iron Shepherds’ cart and horses, that meant Otis needed a way to keep up. After getting a solid three hours of sleep and hiking back to the Run, the halfling’s first stop was checking the news on Jagoda Uttolot. That half-orc bastard was somewhere in the Savalirwood on another hunt, so that meant his collection was closed until he got back.

Otis made their way to the west side of town, then snuck into the woods to circle around the Uttolot’s menagerie. It was partially a zoo and partially a holding area for any live beasts Jagoda had caught for the family to sell. There was good money in trading the hides and flesh of Savalirwood monsters, but there was more in keeping certain beasts alive. Of course, that meant the Uttolots had spent an awful lot of money and resources on building pens to keep the monsters locked in until they were ready to be transported. Which was great, because they usually sucked at keeping thieves out.

It did not take Otis too long to sneak past the giant fence enclosing the section of forest the Uttolots had laid claim to. Most of the trees had been cleared and used to construct more fences, and the grid structure was easy to navigate. As expected, there were barely any guards. Sure, there were plenty of valuable beasts that would be worth stealing, but they were usually noisy as fuck, and most people didn’t want to risk getting caught to then risk getting eaten to then risk getting stabbed and then…

Well, yeah. Most people.

Besides, Otis wasn’t after the more expensive ones. Riding something like a hippogryph all the way to Zadash would be awesome, but there was no way they were going to sneak a flying mount out, and the halfling preferred that they be able to return to the Run and show their face eventually. Eventually.

Otis briskly wandered the enclosures, peeking in at what there was to be had. Whatever the halfling picked, it needed to be suited to travel the forest quickly and hardy enough to fend for itself if theygot in a fight. Horses were alright for the first, but shit at the second, which is why Otis was here. Also, horses were boring.

The first potential mount was a panther, though the halfling was disappointed to see it only had four legs and no tentacles. Oh, man, it would have been so cool—so cool—if it had been a displacer beast. Then again, Jagoda probably had to sell any live ones super quick because they were so difficult to contain. And Cree would probably be mad if they showed up on a panther. So nah.

Otis continued on until they found an elk of some kind, though it had an extra set of limbs and bark-like skin instead of fur. Those things were fast! Sure, they looked slow, but they had long fucking legs. And no one with any sense picked a fight with something that big. Zoran was a living example of that. But now that they thought about it, riding an elk as a halfling was going to be a challenge, no matter what barding Otis put together.

One enclosure over was an axe beak. Not as tall as the elk, but it rushed about its enclosure pretty quick. It didn’t make much noise beyond clacking it’s beak. Clack clack. It vaguely reminded Otis of Tyffial—birds were always mean. Otis would prefer not to have to kill their mount for being a jerk.

Next was a boar. It looked tame enough. Fucker was big too; taller than Otis. They vaguely recalled that Lucien and Cree had said they were more dangerous than the bears in these woods, but Otis never ran into any. Really though? It just looked like a larger, hairy pig with curved tusks that looked almost like swords.

The boar stared at the halfling with its black beady eyes. Otis stared back, baring their teeth as they giggled. It did not move, did not twitch, did not falter.

Otis shivered and moved on. Nope. Something was wrong with that thing.

Growling rumbled from the next enclosure. Otis didn’t even have to approach the barrier to see a massive, hulking wolf peeking out at them, sniffing hungrily at the air and licking its chops. Nope, nope, that was an easy no. It was definitely going to try to ea—

“HeHEheheHEH.”

Otis perked up and looked around. The same snicker sounded from the enclosure on the opposite side, so they snuck over.

Inside was a golden, spotted dog with a thick neck, humped shoulders, a fluffy tail, short black legs, and teddy bear ears. It snickered again as it paced side to side, sniffing at the gap in the gate with its tongue hanging out the side of its toothy maw. A hyena. Big brown eyes looked at Otis curiously. “HEheheHEheh.”

Otis gasped. It was perfect.

Within minutes, a giggling halfling and a snickering hyena had made off into the woods long before the next guard patrol wandered by.

“HeheHEHEheheh.”

[nataliesnews]

What day is it 18.10.2023

 A couple would wait for people at  the border with Gaza and take them to hospitals in Israel for treatment.  Now they are amongst those kidnapped. 

P Migdal Nofim and its residents were harnessed in absorbing the settlers from the south who came to live with us during this period.

Despite the difficulty and pain of the evacuees, they make sure to appreciate and shower us with compliments for the caressing welcome that takes care of all their needs by the residents of Nofim, their families and volunteers.

It warms the heart to see the new friendships formed between the old tenants and the evacuees,

as well as their participation in the various activities held by us

This is how conversation goes nowadays. You meet someone....How are you....The answer is ...Like everyone

 Thoughts that come.....Those who spoke of transferring Arabs....today half a million Israelis....the number given on the tv....have been not transferred but displaced and kibbutzim, moshaviem are emptied and people are being asked to come and milk the cows which otherwise will die in pain. Towns are also emptied. 

We keep hearing from politicians when asked who will take the responsibility.... they say after the war and that is if the one most guilty and his wife have not fled to join their cowardly sons. And that the great leader is having a wonderful time today meeting the leaders of the Western world. 

For the first time in my life I feel old and useless. I am suddenly having such difficulty getting on and off the bus. 

 A cynical sign. ''There is a new nomination...Benjamin Netanyha is the minister for makes the connection between his wife and the government' 

 I have been each night at six at the demonstration opposite the home of Herzog calling for the emphasis to be placed on bringing our captive families home. Not once has he come out to us. I wanted to go to town to have a poster made but first had to draw money. I use a fake phone number for my credit code but when I opened it I found the numbers absolutely confused.  I then also saw that I had been getting weird messages on the Nofim networks. Then I found an invitation to a wedding as if it was new .The wedding took place three months ago.  I realized the same thing had happened yesterday but I thought it was a glitch. Phone numbers have disappeared.  Two nights ago there was a backup and since then I have had problems. I have an iPhone.   I wonder if anyone else has the problem. I sat on a park bench and a man started talking to me.  It turns out that his wife writes for TOI.  He knew nothing about the nightly protests now taking place. I also told him about the olive harvest but he said he didn’t want to be somewhere where the settlers would attack him. I am going to contact his wife and ask if she knows about these happenings and also what is happening on the West Bank

I just had one of the ladies, Mazal, from Ashkelon in for tea ...she is 89...... and she said that she is overwhelmed as to how she has been received here at Nofim. .

For some reason I am exhausted as I did little today besides to go to the centre. So many shops have little wagons outside and people are asked to put things in for soldiers or for those  who have been evacuated. And this evening to the demonstration but I feel wiped out. Young people are standing with the carts and then taking the goods to a centre where I would like to help but you have to be on your feet the whole time. The people are doing what the government should be doing. All the money that they have given to the religious should go to the people of the South and Lebanon. 

In the lift one of the older ladies broke down and started crying......she has two grandchildren  in the army. All I could do was hold her but tomorrow I will go and see her. And I keep thinking of Irit and Yaakov....their daughter's wedding was to be on Friday. 

With all my feelings of humanity....we are giving Gaza water.....Without any of the hostages being returned this should not have been done. 

[displacedshoppingcarts]

Mr. Blue Sky. Whitehall, Ohio

[bumbleklee]

shopping for baby

masterlist | 1k prompt masterlist | discord server | pregnancy series

pairings: diluc, kaeya, childe and zhongli x female!reader (separate)

warnings: pregnancy

diluc

he secretly adored shopping with you for the twins. after crepus passed away, diluc was left with a large sum of money that he didn’t know what to do with. showering you and his babies was the best way to spend it. 

“Everything has socks attached,” Diluc said, holding up a pajama set with footie pants. He had taken you to Fontaine for a week to pick up clothes and goods for your twins and you were going a little overboard.

“Well, obviously,” You remarked, rolling your eyes. “Do they have that in another color?”

As you searched the racks of the boutique, Diluc sighed. He wasn’t concerned with the amount of money you were spending, rather the fact that he just didn’t understand anything when it came to babies. Like why did pants need attached socks? And why couldn’t he put your babies in their cribs for a month? And why were you buying so many blankets for the twins if the babies couldn’t even sleep with them?

You shoveled two more onesies in your basket and grinned at Diluc. Unlike him, you were ecstatic to be shopping for the twins. Filling their closet with adorable clothing and finally setting up their nursery meant your little ones were arriving shortly.

“Shouldn’t we buy them different clothes?” Diluc asked, eyeing the many matching sets in your cart. “Like what about this?”

Diluc held a puffy pink dress to you, his cheeks darkening. “That’s perfect,” You assured him, “Do you like it?”

He nodded, “I think it’s cute.”

You took the dress from Diluc and held it against your swollen stomach. The twins were seven months now but still tiny in your belly. “She’s going to outgrow it so fast,” You said solemnly. The dress was a newborn size and while you would put your daughter in it so often, there was no doubt in your mind she was going to quickly get too big for it. “But we should still get it.”

After a while more of shopping, Diluc paid for the clothes and even offered to haul the bags back to your hotel. “We’ll buy furniture in Mondstadt,” He told you, “I don’t think anything else will fit in the carriage.”

You hummed and leaned into Diluc’s side. He rummaged through the bags, smiling to himself as his fingers grazed outfit upon outfit for your twins. When you looked at the expression, you had never seen Diluc so at peace.

“This has been an amazing day,” He admitted to you, glancing up at your glowing face. “You’re going to have to tell me how to button all these snaps though.”

kaeya

like his brother, he adored shopping for your daughter. he wanted to spoil her as much as he spoiled you so when you gave him the a-okay to start purchasing items for your baby, he quickly went overboard. 

When you arrived home from work, you were met with yet another pink dress laid out on the couch. Kaeya was awaiting you with puppy-dog eyes, excitement radiating off his body. When he saw you, he instantly lit up. “Look what I found her!” He beamed, “And it’ll match that little pink sweater I got her yesterday.”

You sighed and tried to smile through your annoyance, “Kae, not everything had to be pink. What if she doesn’t like the color pink?”

Kaeya rolled his eyes at you, “She’s a baby, love. She won’t even know what pink is.”

You couldn’t stay mad at Kaeya for long. He really was doting on your unborn baby like never before and you would be a fool to displace his admiration. Plus, the clothes he was picking out were adorable (even if they all were pink).

“Did you pick up pajamas like I asked you to?” You questioned, moving the dress so you could scoot into Kaeya’s side. You felt his abdomen tense up and he nervously chuckled, turning his head away from you.

“That’s what I went for today,” He said sheepishly, “But as you can see I got distracted.”

You sighed again and hid your head into Kaeya’s chest, “What am I going to do with you?” Your fingers traced his bicep and a smile creeped onto your lips, “Let’s go together next time.”

“Deal.” Kaeya’s hand found yours and he fiddled with your fingers, “Lisa is knitting us some clothes, too. Maybe they won’t be pink.”

“That would be a delight.”

Kaeya pressed a kiss to the top of your head and leaned back against the couch, pulling you close. Shopping for his daughter was a dream come true. Everytime he bought a new article of clothing for her, he would only imagine how adorable she was going to look in it. He couldn’t wait to meet her.

childe

it took you a month to convince childe that he didn’t need to handcraft all of your nursery furniture. not only would it be way too time consuming, you weren’t sure if you even trusted him with a hammer. 

With Childe’s family so far away, you weren’t going to be receiving any baby items secondhand. Because of this, you and Childe spent a few weeks collecting whatever your son would need to live comfortably and safely.

Thankfully, money wasn’t an issue on Childe’s mind so you traveled to Mondstadt and back to buy what you needed. Childe let you make the big decisions, choosing to hang around with his wallet instead. Following the start of your sixth month pregnant, you finally bought a bassinet. It was the perfect size for your bedroom and the color even matched your walls perfectly.

“Childe, look at this,” You beamed, showing your boyfriend the furniture. You pressed down on the pillow, “This is perfect.”

He raised an eyebrow at you, “Don’t we have one of these already?”

“No, we don’t,” You rolled your eyes, “This isn’t a crib, honey. It’s a bassinet.”

Childe shrugged his shoulders, “Same thing.”

“It’s not!” You complained, your hands on your hips. Childe just shrugged his shoulders and grinned at you. In the midst of your playful argument, a woman walked by with a toddler. He was teary-eyed and frowning, tugging on her arm.

“I want a toy!” He cried, trying to plant his feet into the floor.

“You have so many,” The woman said calmly, “We need to shop for your brother today, so stop throwing a fit or you can’t have any ice cream after dinner.” You heard the woman sigh as the boy only protested louder, his face twisted into a pout.

Childe nudged you and reenacted a dramatic, horror expression. “That’ll be us soon enough.  Wipe that smirk off your face,” You scolded your boyfriend, “Just help me move this thing.”

zhongli

it was zhongli’s turn to be riddled with anxiety. he wanted the best and only the best for his baby girl but was terrified that he wouldn't be able to provide that for her. 

Zhongli was clueless when it came to shopping for his daughter. You felt you had to hold his hand and lead him around the boutiques and stores in Liyue. Besides Qiqi, Zhongli didn’t have much experience with children, nonetheless babies, so he heavily relied on your knowledge.

But when you had a busy work week, you sent Zhongli to the store with a list of essential items and hoped for the best. Luckily, Hu Tao was able to go with him and even though she didn’t have much information either, she knew more than Zhongli.

“You look pale, Sir,” Hu Tao teased as Zhongli stared at the list clutched in his hand. “It’s just baby supplies, how hard can it be?”

Zhongli nodded, “Of course. It’s just things for my infant. Although Y/N didn’t write any brands down and there’s quite a few types of strollers.” He looked overwhelmed at the selection so Hu Tao rubbed his back.

Hu Tao looked at the list over Zhongli’s shoulder, “A crib should be easy to get. They’re over there.”

She led Zhongli to the corner of the store and pointed to the selection of cribs. You wrote down both a bassinet and a crib but Zhongli couldn’t tell the difference, at least not from the boxes. He examined the different styles of cribs before choosing an inexpensive one. “Is this good enough?”

“Probably,” Hu Tao shrugged.

After the crib, there was still so much more to go. Your daughter needed clothes, diapers, bottles, blankets, and so many other things. And they all had 100 options each. He wanted only the best for your daughter but was suddenly overcome with worry that he would pick up the wrong item.

Eventually, Zhongli gave up. He bought the crib and a few other items and solemnly went back home to tell you about his failure.

[imeverywoman420]

Theres instagram accounts for every vice like drinking and driving and leaving ur shopping carts in the wrong places and i love them. Theyre like gang alcohol gang cart displacement enlightened Booze cruiser vs Big Water sober drivers cause 80 percent of accidents

[uwingdispatch]

Blooming

Blooming

Notes: Bodhi Rook/Reader, everyone lives au, post-rebellion, hurt/comfort, chronically ill/disabled reader, domestic fluff

CW: chronic anxiety/PTSD, implied chronic pain, implied physical intimacy

Ao3 Link

★★★★★★★★

You’re in the living room curled up with a cup of tea and your tooka-cat when he comes through the door exhausted, immediately taking his work clothes off and throwing them in the wash. You can sense the stress radiating from him even before Red chirps something about “bad mood” and “grease problem.”

So you wait until he’s in the kitchen checking on his slow cooker to say, “No hello for me today?”

Bodhi lets out an audible sigh. “This droid came in today,” he says, making his way to join you on the couch. “leaky oil valve, but nobody said a word about it so we found out the hard way. The droid panicked and lost control of his motivator, so now there’s black oil all over the shop. Never been so thankful for that little locker room, but I’ll be washing it out of my hair for ages.”

He sits down on the sofa where you’ve been resting and draws you toward him, displacing the tooka before running a hand through his hair, still damp from trying to wash it at work. He’s wearing just his favorite pair of soft lounge pants, and you rest your head on his warm chest. He smells like the herb-y soap he keeps at the shop and, yes, oil. But his heart—you can hear its quickened pace, the stress of a bad day perhaps sparking anxiety.

“It’s not so bad,” you say. “Give me a minute.”

You get up and retrieve a weighted blanket from the linen closet before returning to him and his open arms. Wrapping the blanket around the both of you, you cuddle into Bodhi, nose to nose, and you run a hand down his arm, fingers lightly tracing the lines of his tattoos—a touch you know he finds relaxing.

*

Bodhi told you this first tattoo was spontaneous. It was the second day of a holiday fair in town, the first year you were in Chandrila. Things had finally started to quiet enough that only a few units were still out there trying to take care of Imperial remnants, and the two of you were adjusting into a civilian life. It was dusk and the streets were glowing with bright lights. Families were beginning to gather their tired children and head toward transportation home. Local food carts rolled out their dinner menus and there was live music in the park—finally a feeling of safety was settling in—a safety that had eluded you for years. When you walked past a tattoo shop advertising holiday specials, Bodhi stopped and went in.

You’d already had several tattoos at the time, but his skin had been unmarked—by ink, at least. The war, though—his chest and abdomen showed evidence of the shrapnel he’d taken on Scarif, and there were ways in which, even though years had passed, he was still adjusting to the synthskin prosthetic he’d received after his leg was crushed from the knee down in that same blast.

He’d mentioned tattoos before, but never a plan, so it was a surprise to you when you ended up in that shop with him. There were a few artists setting up with clients, but the shop was surprisingly unbusy—perhaps because they’d just opened their doors for the night. When Bodhi told the first available artist—a Twi’lek woman in her late thirties—what he had in mind, she was eager to get started.

He pulled up an image on his datapad for her. The image was a flower—a huge blossom that he said was native to Jedha, specifically to the area in and around where he grew up.

“Spontaneous, huh?” you said.

“Mostly,” he replied

Bodhi took off his shirt so that the artist—she’d introduced herself as Nori—could print a stencil onto the muscle of his chest. A few scars were still prominent there, and when Nori asked if he was looking to cover them up, he said, “Not really. I think this is more about healing.”

“Bodhi, that’s enormous,” you said. The stencil stretched from his shoulder down over his collar bone and across the left side of his chest into his sternum.

“If you hate it—”

“No, it’s amazing, I just want you to be sure.”

“Yeah,” he said. “It’s time. To move forward.”

“Okay,” Nori said, her accent hinting at a childhood on Ryloth, “this spot—” she indicated the sternum, “will be quite sensitive. But you are clearly not a stranger to pain.”

From your own experience, you knew that this tattoo would take a while, so you asked Bodhi if he wanted you to stay. “No, love,” he said. “That’s okay. Go enjoy the fair for a bit. Buy something you don’t need. Come back in a couple of hours. I’ll be fine.”

You glanced at Nori and she said, “The technique I use is a bit old-fashioned, but it shouldn’t be more than two hours, maybe three if we need to take a break. Don’t worry, he’s in good hands.”

“I don’t doubt it,” you said, walking out the door, knowing he’d probably been planning this in his head for weeks, if not longer

*

Tonight you feel him trying to catch his breath from panic, “Do you want a cup of meiloorun tea?” you ask. “Can I do something for you?”

“Just stay here,” he says. “Be with me.”

“Okay,” you say.

You run your fingers through his hair and he closes his eyes. It’s so often that this is in the reverse, that you are feeling on the edge of losing your mind and Bodhi is here to ground you, to bring you back to the present with just a small touch. And while you hate to see him this way, you’re glad you can provide him with that same comfort.

You’re brought out of the moment only when your little C1 droid comes into the room with a cup of tea for Bodhi. The droid he’d brought home to help you has become quite taken with him as well, and he can’t help but smile as he places the cup on the end table to cool.

“Thank you, Cilvie,” he says. “You’re going to put Red out of a job.”

The droid came with the designation C1-1LV, but she seems to appreciate the nickname. She chirps and scoots out of the room

With your fingertips, you trace the inked star map up Bodhi’s arm, land on the blossom on his chest. “This,” you whisper, tapping the tattoo, “was a good day.”

“It was,” he says. “A brilliant day, really.”

*

When you returned to the little tattoo shop, the sun had fully set, and Bodhi was just sitting up from the reclined chair where Nori had just finished working on him.

“What do you think?” she asked you.

“It’s beautiful,” you said, wanting badly to run your fingertips over every delicate line. But Nori hadn’t even applied bacta yet—the area was still very much tender.

Bodhi made his way across the shop to a mirror and for a moment you wondered if he regretted this decision. Then he broke out in a smile that was undeniable. “I can’t thank you enough,” he said. “Truly. This…this was what I needed.”

“It was my pleasure,” Nori said. “And I hope to see you both again.”

After the requisite—but quick—bacta treatment and exchange of credits, you and Bodhi left the shop. You bought dinner from a food cart and took it to the park where you stayed for a few hours, on a blanket in the grass, just listening to the music.

“I’ve been thinking,” Bodhi said. “And you can say no, and I won’t be upset. But…would you want to get a proper place together?”

“Oh, wow,” you said. “I…of course. I’d like that.”

Bodhi immediately took your hand, interpreting your hesitation as displeasure. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have sprung this on you.”

“Bodhi, you surprised me, but I want this for us.”

“Really?”

“One hundred percent.”

“Thank the stars,” Bodhi said. “Come here,”

He took your face in his hands and kissed you, your lips meeting his with an almost desperate need for closeness, not caring at all who might be watching in this crowded park under a clear sky. Your hands came to rest at the back of his neck where a few tendrils of hair had come loose from the knot where they’d been secured earlier.

“I may have already made an appointment to see a place in that neighborhood you like. To rent, of course. I don’t think we can afford—”

“Bodhi,” you said. “We can figure out the details tomorrow. Right now I just want you to kiss me.”

*

Tonight, Bodhi folds you into his body, pulling you close before running his hand down your arm. He lifts the hem of your shirt ever so slightly, his fingertips tracing up your spine, tender despite the callouses his hands bear from years of mechanical work.

“There have been worse days,” he says. “I don’t know why this is getting to me.”

Tucking his hair behind his ear you say, “You’re allowed to feel your feelings. Not all bad days look the same. And I bet that roast you’ve had in the slow-cooker all day will fix things, just a little.”

He lets out a breath of a laugh. “You put a lot of faith in a roast, love.”

You touch you nose to his, your palm over his heart—over his blossoming tattoo—and you tell him that your faith isn’t in the roast. “It’s in you,” you say. “Always in you.”

You lie there for a while before Bodhi takes a deep breath and insists he get up to check on dinner. When he returns, he has a heating pad. “For your back,” he says.

“How did you know?” You hadn’t mentioned the spike in pain today, not wanting to make him feel like he had to take care of you on top of everything else.

“You winced when I got up from the couch.” Bodhi bends to run his fingertips along your jaw, tilts your head toward him. When he presses his lips to yours he says, “You know, I still can’t believe you’re real sometimes.”

“I never know what to say when you say that.”

“You don’t have to say anything.”

He returns to prepping dinner, the tooka-cat at his feet already begging for scraps. “When were you going to tell me you made bread?” Bodhi calls from the kitchen.

Cilvie chirps to tell him she helped.

“Of course, little one,” he says. “And it’s still warm in the machine.”

“It was a surprise,” you say. “I had a feeling you might need something comforting tonight.”

You close your eyes, letting the heating pad soothe your back, and think of that beautiful tattoo on your partner’s chest. The one that had supposedly been spontaneous, that evening at the fair. He’d later tell you that this blossom was from one of a few flowering plants that managed to thrive in his hometown, despite the climate. And you couldn’t help but look at this man who managed with everything he’d been through to hold not just himself up but you as well—you looked at him, palm against his chest, and you said the words you were thinking aloud: “Like you.”

Tonight, if he allows you, you will remind him again of his beautiful strength. And of the strength he does not need to have, because you are here to steady him when he is tired, when his equilibrium is shaken. Neither of you have to survive difficult days alone.

★★★★★★★★

taglist: @waterpancakeao3​, @zinzinina​, @princessxkenobi​, @maul-ologue​, @operation-spot​ (let me know if you’d like to be tagged in future posts)

Thanks so much for reading! I hope this brings you some warm comfort.

Re: tattooing, I do know that a tattoo as large as the one Bodhi gets in this fic would take much longer on present-day Earth, but I figured that in the GFFA tattoo artists have access to technology that makes it go pretty fast. Even if they’re “old fashioned.”

[wizard-spells]

shopping cart displacement

[carminite-wyrm]

A Sunless Skies!AU fic, Part 1

So I've...ended up writing a fic for my Sunless Skies x Hermitcraft AU. At first it was meant to be just like, a ficlet, but it's kind of spiralled a bit into a multi-parter fic. So here's the Part 1!

Again, credit to @redstone-sun for the FL!AU that kickstarted my inspiration for the Sunless Skies!AU!

Ren and Doc, brave Co-Captains of the Octagon Van, seekers of secrets and conspiracies, have for once, decided to take a brief vacation from their adventures and accidental incidents in the High Wilderness. Their vacation of choice? A few days at the most desirable holiday destination in all of Albion: Worlebury-juxta-Mare.

An idyllic holiday spot, where nothing is amiss, and nothing can go wrong. Right?

(Spoilers for Sunless Skies lore!)

The admission passes for a weekend stay at Worlebury-juxta-Mare had been a gift from the Boatem Crew, after a series of incidents that were probably best to never be spoken about again, on both groups’ parts.

Specifically, Scar had handed over the admission permits with a wink, tipping them out of his top hat with a dramatic gesture, along with a pamphlet.

“Should be fine for a weekend stay, gentlemen! I’ve heard that they even sell genuine rubbery lumps there, tastes just like it does back in London, apparently. Haven’t tried any myself, admittedly.”

And with that parting note, the Boatem Crew had set off from their rendezvous, leaving behind Ren, Doc, and their horde of semi-displaced goats.

A few weeks later, they had finished finding decent homes for the goats across the entirety of the High Wilderness, with a few exceptions who were still very much at home onboard their locomotive. And finally, the two could head off to their first vacation in several months.

“So, Worlebury-juxta-Mare.” Ren commented, staring at the cursive writing on one of the passes, and checking the pamphlet’s travel details with the map in front of him. “Have you gone there before?”

“Nope.” Doc replied, most of his focus upon repairing his mechanical arm after their last goat drop-off resulted in a very close call with some of Albion’s native wildlife. “It’s…off to the east, isn’t it?”

“Past London, yeah. Not close to the Avid Horizon, though.”

“That’s good to hear, I don’t think they’ll be happy to see us again so soon after that one, uh, incident.”

“I thought we agreed to never speak of that again.”

“True.”

The journey to the holiday destination took a little under a fortnight, with the last of the goats willing to leave rehomed on the way. The one remaining goat ended up being named Vigenere, and appointed as the Octagon Van’s noble mascot, screams and all.

The island that Worlebury was located upon was shrouded in mist, which slowly parted to reveal a quaint-looking town, with multiple other locomotives docked at the port, and the faint outline of amusement park rides in the distance.

“Well, it certainly looks like what the pamphlet described.” Doc said, as their locomotive was guided to a docking station.

As they stepped onto the wooden planks of the docks, they followed the signs leading them to a sizeable queue in front of the main gates of the station. A few signs, all in the same fanciful cursive as the passes that they carried, directed visitors either to the queue for those with passes, those bringing supplies, those waiting for regular entry, and workers. Right by where all the queues began, they could see a bright turquoise banner for a Swaggon Inc. stall, set up in what looked like a cart, and selling all manner of knickknacks to the passing visitors.

“Suppose that’s us.” Doc pointed at one of the shorter queues, patrons in fine clothing and clearly of noble or wealthy backgrounds murmuring among themselves as their passes were checked and stamped.

As they waited, an official suddenly wandered by, stared at them for half a second, before making a ‘come over here’ gesture. Curious, the two headed over, and the man held out a hand, the badge of a government representative clearly affixed to his lapel.

“First time in Worlebury-juxta-Mare? Excellent, excellent, right this way then.” He said, a businessman’s grin fixed upon his face as he shook their hands in greeting. “I’m a representative of the Bureau of Entertainments, and I’d like to welcome you to our fine port. Now, I know queue jumping is a little uncouth, but well, for fine gentlemen as yourself, I am certain you would rather be enjoying the sights rather than mingling with the proletariat for hours.”

Ren and Doc shared an awkward glance, silently comparing their practical, but significantly less extravagant, attire with the shining emerald suit the official was wearing. Over by the admission pass queue, one of the women’s hats looked more expensive than all of Doc’s prosthetics combined, and Ren knew for a fact that Doc had not spared any expense with his equipment or materials for that.

“Uh, thanks? We do have passes though.” Ren held up the aforementioned two items.

“Consider this a courtesy for your first time visiting. We are, of course, absolutely certain that you will be returning guests, after all.” The man smiled at them, before showing them to a door that had a brass plaque with the words ‘Fitting Room’ etched onto it. “Now, there is a dress code, so please do step inside and let the good Couturier find you a suitable outfit.”

With only the slightest amount of hesitancy, the duo stepped into what turned out to be a sizeable room that had all manner of clothing hung up in the wardrobes and racks that lined its walls. The Couturier took one look at Doc’s labcoat (missing a sleeve after it was ripped too many times by him using his mechanical arm to physically fend off the creatures that attacked their locomotive), and Ren’s combination of overalls, tinted goggles, and a ragged red shirt, seemed to grind his teeth in silent outrage, and stalked over to one of the racks.

“Pick an article of clothing you imagine suits you, and I’ll…figure something out to match it.” He said shortly.

Doc immediately gravitated towards the rack of coats, finding a white coat that was almost like his labcoat except with all its sleeves, and also made in the fashion style of decades past. The Couturier seemed to calm down upon seeing his choice, and immediately busied himself with providing the rest of a three-piece suit to accompany it. Off to the side, Doc saw Ren contemplate a lavish velvet-lined hat, before putting it down and flicking through a selection of dress shirts and blouses.

Fifteen minutes later, they had finally shoved Ren into a tailcoat set, much to the relief of the Couturier, who had seemed close to sobbing after the twelfth time that Ren had thought the chosen attire did not suit him.

“I still think the fur coat would have looked better.”

“It looked like someone had stitched together a bunch of rats, Ren.”

Ren sighed dramatically, before immediately lighting up once again as they finally made it into the port town proper, and spotted the wide variety of shops and amusement park games that lined the streets.

“Oh, there’s a stall for the rubbery lumps that Scar mentioned!”

And with that, the hours whirled past as they visited shop after shop, Ren gleefully taste-testing several shops’ worth of tea variety before ordering a few caddies for them to take with them. At one point, Doc swore there was something more wormy than earthy in a particular cup of tea, staring suspiciously into his cup before setting it down. There was something…just a bit odd, besides the fact that the mists really were vaguely corrosive and causing their clothes from the fitting room to slowly disintegrate and unravel as time went by.

But, on the other hand, Ren did seem to be having a good time, and the shop with a wide array of elaborate tea sets, and other porcelain objects, was quite enjoyable to wander through, even if the screams from the nearby donkey ride was a little disconcerting.

Wait. Screams?

Doc whirled around, to where the donkey ride was. No, he must have been mistaken, it seemed like nothing was amiss, though his mechanical eye did focus upon an odd reddish stain that seemed to shimmer in and out of view. He blinked, and the stain was gone.

Huh, his eye probably needed a little bit of a tune up once they were back on board the Van.

“Hey, Doc, want to get some candyfloss?”

He turned away from the donkeys, to where Ren was tugging him over to a stand with multicoloured sticks of candyfloss. Still perturbed, he absently took a bite out of the pale green spun sugar that Ren had purchased for him.

It was sweet. A bit almond-bitter, if he thought about it for long enough.

Their hotel resort room was actually quite comfortable, considering they were essentially visiting for free. The Department official had said that their stay would be the equivalent of their usual pass, just without needing the actual pass, for some reason.

Ren tugged awkwardly at his clothes as they settled for the day, the fabric already looking a bit threadbare. Doc simply huffed, sitting down in one of the armchairs with relief after a whole day of walking and running around.

“They sure weren’t joking about the mists.” Ren joked, looking out at their beachfront view. “We’ll probably be lucky to get to midday tomorrow before we have to leave because our fitting room outfits are in tatters.”

“I thought we already saw everything today?” Doc eyed the bags of souvenirs that they had acquired, and the stack of cargo receipts he was dreading having to file away at a later time.

“There’s an art exhibition tomorrow, and we still haven’t seen the beach.”

“Hm, alright.” Doc sighed, sinking further into his armchair. “I’m going to be honest; I’m looking forward to being back on our locomotive, my eye’s been seeing some strange things and I think it might need a tune-up.”

“Probably isn’t anything serious, Doc!”

“I hope so.”

Roughly eight hours later, Doc was deeply regretting everything as the sky above the beach shimmered and doubled, the sight of an idyllic foggy day overlapping with scintillating tendrils of unsettling light. Off to the side, Ren was attempting to skip stones along the sea of mist, which quite frankly wasn’t working on account of the ‘water’ not being water in the first place.

“Ren, I think we should leave.” He said, catching the other man’s attention. “I’m…The place is starting to look a bit weird.”

“Ah, is the eye giving you that much trouble?”

“No, it’s-“

“Eh, we can always come back later, we still have the tickets Scar gave us.” Ren shrugged, and the two of them slowly made their way back to the dock. As they stepped back out onto the wooden platforms that formed the dockside, Doc blinked as the double vision he had been experiencing slowly cleared up, fading away almost like mist on a windy day.

An hour or two later, and Doc held up his mechanical eye to the lightbulb above his workstation, frowning in consternation. There didn’t seem to be any faults with the eye, and he even swapped it back out again with the spare, to compare the two. For all intents and purposes, his eye was perfectly functional, down to the polished glass lenses within it.

“Well, Doc? How’s the eye?” Ren poked his head into the tiny room that housed most of Doc’s tools and other equipment.

“It…seems to be working as normal. I don’t get it, I swear it was glitching out whilst we were in town, but there’s nothing wrong with it! I even pulled it apart to check if some of the internal pieces had corroded or fallen out of place, but it was all fine!”

“Huh, weird.” Ren shrugged. “So, you up for heading back in to the town, or do you want us to go? We did manage to get quite a bit of souvenirs, anyways.”

“Honestly? I think we ought to go, there’s just something not right about this place.”

“Hm, maybe something about the mists is making your hardware go a bit haywire? They do have a corrosive effect, even if its mild enough to only affect fabrics.” Ren nodded. “Anyways, I’ll go tell the crew to get ready to set off.”

“Uh. Captains?”

The two turned, to see one of the crewmembers looking at them with barely hidden panic on their face.

“Yeah?” Ren raised an eyebrow.

“Vigenere. The mascot. We can’t find them anywhere!”

[vampiresuns]

Look After Your Dead, Part 2 | Prologue, Part 4

✴︎ LOOK AFTER YOUR DEAD, PART 2 ✴︎

4.9k words. In which Anatole’s past catches up to him. CWs: Discussions of memory loss and amnesia, feelings of depression and inadequacy. There’s also a lot of talks of displacement, land and family. The writer gets a little too close to existentialism.

This piece introduces some of my ocs for the first time in an official rewrite: say hello to Leonore Kaur, the dastardly counsellor with a penchant for drama, Octavia Rei, the coffee wench by day and playwright by night, roommate of Milenko, and Sabine Rei, her younger sibling, all friends of Anatole.

Featured Radošević-Cassano: Valerius, Milenko, Vlad and Louisa (mentioned).

Other Lore: The ‘Antiqullan’ range is the furthest west end of the Bulan Mountains, were the country of Altazor, featured in Secrets of An Ancient Moon, is located. Louisa is Altazoreña, making Anatole a first generation Altazoreño.

With this piece we reach the last instalment of Anatole’s prologue, however, there’s one more step before the Routes begin: All characters featured here will come back in an interlude.

What to catch up with this series? You can do that here.

Some people couldn’t help being anything but themselves. It did not mean they were rigid, immutable or incapable of change or growth. No person was that way, and those who refused the inherent mutability of life were bound to break. Instead, these people had who they are, whatever they are, as their guiding horizon — a certainty, a principle they could not betray, a truth they couldn’t deny. When their true self called, they had no choice but to answer. Who they are meant to become is bound to unravel, and once it begins manifesting, these people cannot run from it. 

The self can only be repressed for so long. It’s latency is temporary, and these kinds of people understand that. They cannot wear masks, they cannot be anyone other than themselves, whether it was for better or for worse, and their past was bound to catch up to them sooner or later. Anatole was such a person.

It didn’t matter he didn’t remember who he was, because it all existed within him and no matter how much he ran from it, no matter how much circumstance prevented it, his potential would meet him sooner or later. Unknown to him yet, that time was drawing to a close.

Julian had broken into his shop again, which Anatole did not find as surprising as he could’ve. Portia treating him too comfortably, with Nevivic names, was. The way they both pronounced things lingered behind them as Portia dragged him to a nearby alley. Alone in front of his front door, Anatole realised they both pronounced his name ‘Anatoliy’.

Like his father had done the day Anatole had told him that was his name now. 

A father. Had he had a father? Where was he now? In a faraway land or dead by Plague like so many in the City? He felt a ripple of his own magic bubbling inside him, he could feel the warmth of it lace with his fingers. Faint and weak, like a newborn opening their eyes, something told him he had a father. If he concentrated enough he could feel a magical tether pulling him to somewhere. With a frightened heart, he realised this wasn’t the first time in the last three years when he had felt such a tether, but this was the first time the headache wasn’t stronger than the magic. 

Noon chimed over the City and Anatole, realising he had forgotten the Masquerade announcement, had to let it go. 

In the Heart District, a man called Vladislav Elyseo Radošević would grab the arm of his wife, a woman called Louisa Aureliana De Silva, and with tears in his eyes he’d tell her he could swear he had just seen their son standing right in front of him. Somehow. 

✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎

The announcement was a lot. Nothing bad happened during it, but Anatole couldn’t shake the feeling he had been there before, in a past he couldn’t remember. This time, he did flirt with a headache when he tried. Whatever magical thread that pulled to him before had seemed to grow into a tree, and the many languages and words of the people in the square hit him all at once.

As soon as he could, he retreated into an emptier corner by the cooler shadows of the marble pillars around the square. A tall person covered with a cloak, their scent myrrh-heavy was also around the corner. They seemed to want to avoid people at all costs, so Anatole gave them berth: sometimes you just wanted to be left alone to your own devices.

Away from the flock of people he began realising how much he had pushed away on the last days, because he had not had a moment to himself. 

With every breath the scent of Myrrh reached his nose. Recognition hit him all at once. He turned his head to the stranger. 

“You were guarding my shop the other morning.”

“I tried to warn you.”

When Anatole spoke again, the stranger turned. He followed them all the way into the market, but when he lost them, he began looking around him, not sure how he ended up in the market at all. Distracted, he collided into a cart as he turned around himself. Someone offered him a hand to stand up — a man with thick black hair that reached his shoulders, pulled away from his face in a half-bun, sparkling dark brown eyes and an easiness to his voice when he spoke, as if the entire world was his friend. 

“Whoa, my guy, you took a pretty nasty fall, are you—” 

The man went completely silent, his mouth hanging half open as Anatole stood before him awkwardly. He cleared his throat.

“I know you just helped me stand up, but are you alright?”

“I’m, I’m, sorry I must be seeing things because you look just like—”

Somewhere behind him, a willowy person with fair skin and purple eyes, short hair accompanied by someone who looked a lot like them but with long, curly hair walked towards the man.

“Hey, Leonore, what happened?” The one with curly hair asked, while the willowy one looked at Anatole and dropped everything they were holding. 

“Holy shit. Holy shit. Anatole?”

The man who helped him stand, Leonore, shook himself. “It’s okay, Sabine, my guy here just fell, and I’m sure this is a very whacky coincidence since Anatole is d—”

“But my name is Anatole,” he said. Everyone looked at each other in silence. Anatole didn’t know what was happening, all he knew is that these people knew him, he knew nothing of them. He felt one of Asra’s cards tug at him in his pocket. 

“Excuse me, I’m afraid I don’t know who you are and I, I— I have to go.” Before anyone could stop him, Anatole sprinted back to the Main Square.

The first time he felt that pull of recognition, that thread to be followed had been with his own name after he woke up from his ‘accident’. He had tried to ask Asra about it, but he couldn’t remember a time where the magician even tried to address the question. Anatole had asked him about that too, and satisfied with the truth in Asra’s words that it wasn’t about Anatole himself why he couldn’t tell him, he stopped asking. Whatever answer would either never come to him, or he would have to get it himself.

The second time was with Asra himself:  he knew nothing of why or how Asra had become someone important to him, but he knew his was a well-loved face. 

Then it was his aunt, Antupillán, until it was one little thing on top of each other forming a figure which stood in the fog, slipping through Anatole’s fingers every time. His headaches always made him recede, go back to the safety of a cool room with little light coming in. Now, he felt himself in the middle of the fog as Leonore’s face materialised in the same way the magical imprint that he had felt before the announcement, unknowingly connecting him to his parents, almost did earlier that day. 

Anatole was a single boat in the fog, the sound of water around him as the oars moved him towards the direction of that figure standing in it. Like the people of a forgotten town in the Antiqullan forests who themselves had forgotten the name of everything around them, until they became completely still. Anatole rowed forward as names fell back in place and life compelled him to begin again. 

“So you’re Aelius? I’m Leonore Kaur! Medea is also Vesuvian so I could show you two around if you wanna. You don’t mind if I call you my guy, do you, my guy?”

“No, not at all, Leonore Kaur. Though ‘Anatole’ also works, you needn’t just call me by my first name.”

“Leo is fine.”

“No, no, I will use your full name, always, at all times.”

✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎

During one of Asra’s travels, Anatole had seen a doctor behind the magician’s back about his memory. The visit was mostly unsatisfactory, except by some referrals and some exercises for when he felt he could almost remember things, but then couldn’t, and the other many moods of the standard amnesiac. Not that the Doctor had called it that, but Anatole had to make a little light-hearted fun at his own condition. It was like his attention and hyperactivity issues. He was going to coexist with it either way, so he better barter with them like old friends. At least on the days they weren’t awfully frustrating.

Hearing Portia describe the Court for him was nothing like that. He shuffled Asra’s deck as he listened, pulling the same cards in rotation: The Lovers, The Hermit, The Tower upright, The Fool, the Queen of Wands, and then Death reversed, Justice reversed, The Tower but reversed this time, Temperance reversed, the Hierophant and the Six of Cups reversed. Over and over again, no matter how many times he shuffled them. 

He couldn’t have explained anything that Portia was telling him now —all the different Court departments and how they were interconnected, who did what and all the gossip she could fit during their ride back to the Palace— but the moment he said it, he knew it, somehow. He shuffled again. The Lovers, The Hermit, The Tower, The Fool, the Queen of Wands, Death, Justice The Tower and Temperance all reversed. The Hierophant seemed undecided in his position, sometimes becoming horizontal without Anatole touching it. 

A card without meaning. A card undecided as Portia mentioned how the Consul’s real name was Valeriy, but everyone called him Valerius like it should be pronounced in the Vesuvian common tongue.

“I had no idea until I saw it on a record! ‘Valeriy of the Cassano of Vesuvia’. With how he acts you’d barely know he is a Cassano, right?”

Portia continued to talk as Anatole shuffled again, determined to do a reading for himself. To what end? He couldn’t say. He just hoped he didn’t pull the same cards as he had been pulling for most of the ride. Portia went on, saying how Consul Valerius was the most important, which didn’t mean he could not pay attention to the others. Anatole did not need Portia to tell him the Consul was the second most important political figure in Vesuvia. 

He shuffled the deck the last time, then cut it. “If the Countess is incapacitated, the Consul rules in absentia, right?”

“That is correct! Wow, I didn’t think I was such a good teacher,” Portia said with a delighted laugh. Anatole smiled softly, as he pulled three cards.

The Hermit, reversed. He had lost his way. But why? When? The Ace of Swords. Maybe he’ll find his answers, maybe he is finding them. Anatole frowned at the cards, he hasn’t found shit. Or perhaps he wasn’t seeing clearly yet. As the carriage came to a halt, he pulled Strength, upright. Only it wasn’t from Asra’s deck, but from his own deck, the one which had belonged to his aunt. In it, a figure cradled a City against their chest, like a nurturing sort of Atlas, as light came from behind them mimicking a golden halo. Strength was focused, unwavering, wise, compassionate. 

How the hell had this card gotten mixed with Asra’s? That was a question for later. 

Had Anatole pulled one more card, he would’ve pulled the Hierophant again. 

✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎

The Countess looked at ease, wonderful in the afternoon light as she played the pipe organ. This would be fine, he thought, as Portia introduced him to the weirdest goddamn people he’s ever seen. If you could call them people — Volta, Vlastomill, Vulgora and Valdemar all looked and felt too off. Somehow the too open eyes, the moist skin, the despairing pulls or the sharp teeth weren’t the worst part: it was how their words made Anatole feel.

They triggered his magic, making his stomach drop. Not only were they lying, there was a threat in their words too. Magic that felt like a sharp note reverberating on every wall, on every new word they uttered. 

The only one who still felt human enough was Consul Valerius. 

Anatole had never seen a ghost, but he had read some accounts of necromancers and animancers about the sensory experience of encountering certain presences. It depended on the inclination of the magician, the story with the presence and why some of them may or may not feel like something meant to be encountered. Fate as something one could take or leave, as events which happened regardless of whether one wanted them to happen or not — ghosts where like the truth, Anatole remembered reading from one of them, not up to accommodate one’s expectations. 

Seeing someone who made the same facial expression you did out of shock had to be like seeing a ghost. There was always something terrifyingly vulnerable about recognising oneself in others. Unlike the other moments of recognition Anatole had had through the day, this time, something screamed inside of him, making his head throb. From between the Consul’s feet, Antu scurried towards Anatole.

Antupillán, who followed Anatole like a guide and a support animal. Antupillán, who did not let people who did not know him be near him at all. Yes, he was a friendly and curious Raccoon who engaged with the world around him, not always heeling by Anatole but always close enough. But there was a difference with engagement and sitting by someone who made Anatole’s head throb when he spoke.

He better have an explanation. 

It only got worse. Portia introduced them, but the room had fallen still, the tension palpable as the rest of the Courtiers watched the scene with morbid interest, except for Volta who just looked anguished as she muttered this was all very wrong. Quaestor Valdemar was staring unblinkingly at Consul Valerius, asking him ever so casually if there was anything that was the matter. The Countess looked between them in confusion, and tried to pry anything out of the Consul but he was not speaking. He just stared at Anatole in abject horror.

And was that panic in his voice when he spoke? Very faint, under the viciousness of his words as he demanded an explanation for the presence of such an offensive display? He was motioning at Anatole, rage and fear intertwined as he asked the Countess what sort of sick joke was this. 

The Countess could not explain with anything else than how she had encountered Anatole, as she looked and sounded at loss. 

Once again, his new found automatic pilot habit kicked into place. What he meant to do, was ask the Consul what was so offensive about him, letting him know he did not appreciate the tone or the sentiment from someone he did not know, so if he could please speak clearly. 

What he did instead, though Antu tried to stop him, sounding apologetic and concerned —Why on earth? Anatole half thought in the background of his mind— was walking forward, with a lost and open expression to him, as he screamed at himself to stop. He couldn’t stop. 

Like he was staring at himself from a distance, as if his own ghost was possessing his body. “Valeriy—” 

But the Consul threw him the contents of his glass of wine. “Don’t you dare call me that, you witch.”

The Countess made everyone leave. She dismissed the entire Court without a second thought. The moment they were alone again, Anatole broke down into tears he couldn’t explain. Although the Countess was surprised at first, standing there awkwardly for a moment, she approached Anatole with gentleness, rubbing his back. 

He wasn’t crying about the Consul, not really. He was crying about his fucking headache, and the powerlessness he felt. He knew he oughtn’t push himself into remembering, but he felt it would be all much easier if he did. Recovery was not a smoothly paved road, Anatole knew this, but right then, it was hard to accept. 

“What the hell were you doing with him?” He asked Antupillán, angry and confused. 

The Raccoon didn’t answer. 

“I’m sorry, are you acquainted with Valerius?”

Anatole couldn’t answer that beyond an: “I don’t know.” He didn’t have any explanations, not even to himself. All he had was these unshakable certainties which were starting to materialise, without any mercy for his growing migraine. But he could not speak them yet, he could barely understand them. 

He apologised again. The Countess told him it was no trouble. Her words did not have judgement, just honest, tender concern. 

He felt Antu’s paws slide into his hands.

I must protect my Anatole, like my Anatole has protected me, he said.

Anatole sighed, wiping his tears away with the corner of his sleeve. A corner that wasn’t wine-drenched. “You better have a good reason not to tell me, Antupillán.” 

He grabbed his familiar, plopping him onto his lap. Antu continued to hold his hand. 

“I really am sorry, Countess.”

The Countess looked at him with fondness. “From what I’ve known of you, I think there is little which could make me change my regard for you, Anatole.”

She paused, looking like there was something else she wanted to say. “Why don’t we start by fixing your clothes? Such pettiness in a single Court. Whichever was your connection to the Consul, I am sorry it went sour, but I’m not surprised… he is an acquired taste. I have already taken the liberty with your wardrobe, so please, tell me what would you like and spare no expense.”

“You don’t need to. I really can spell the stains away… though I’d still need a shower.”

“Let me, as your host.”

“How about a compromise?”

“Do tell.”

“Using my own wardrobe as a canvas, we take items from it to replace them. They might not be courtly, but I have always been fussy about clothes. I think it matters what one wears.”

The Countess laughed. “I knew I was right in making you my friend.”

“On one condition.”

“Estate it.”

“You’ll let me pay you back.”

“Humble as ever. Very well, our side project will have to wait, as Portia will escort you to your chambers. Your own garments will be returned, but I think you must allow me to choose an outfit for you. I have the perfect one in mind… I do hope you change your mind about paying me back, you are my guest of honour. You could be more selfish, if you like.”

He smiled at her but did not say anything. Antu jumped out from Anatole’s arms as he stood up to spell-clean his clothes. The Palace staff who did the laundry did not deserve to work extra because of some Courtier’s tantrum. Placing his hands over his chest, he took a deep breath, moving his hands away from him slowly as he did.  In front of his and the Countess’ eyes, the wine left his clothes, floating in the air like blobs Anatole gently deposited in the glass. 

When he took all the stains out, he took a drink from it.

“Can I ask you something else? Do you know what wine this is, beyond well, red?”

“I could have it checked. It’s not from the Palace’s own cellar, I’m afraid the Consul brings his own from his own private cellar in the Palazzo Cassano. That is his family’s seat. From what I understand, the Cassano have been in hold of the Consulship for almost 500 years.” 

Now that he heard the name again, Cassano, he felt like someone had hammered a silver plate which set a mechanism in motion. The words had the same feeling around them as the word ‘Balkovia’ did — home, holding hands with ‘unattainable’. Could it be that he was wrong? That home wasn’t unattainable because the gaping void of missing memories inside him meant he couldn’t reach it, but rather, than he hadn’t remembered yet?

There was only one way to know. He’d face the Consul again. He would as soon as he could.

✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎

There had been a jewel with his change of clothes. An emerald necklace that had traces of Asra’s magic. Traces so strong Anatole could almost pull his friend back to him. He wanted to follow its guiding pull, but it wasn’t a good idea to do it when everyone was roaming around in the Palace still. He waited, and when the halls went quiet he stole out of his room, following Asra’s magic imbued in the necklace until a fountain in the gardens.

He let it drop into the water, watching it fall as the light caught on the faces of the gem, amplified as if the water itself was glimmering. He ran his palm over the water. The magic felt like his own until it stopped: the liquid now a mirror, showing Asra at the other end. 

When Asra noticed him he looked surprised, full of pride and relieved to see him. His laughter was like music, like the sitars of street musicians from other corners of the world. His praise felt warm to Anatole, Asra’s eagerness always did, even when the magician felt like he had said too much —like right now, by calling Anatole a man of light, and a man of words. 

His eagerness to see his friend won over his apprehension. Or perhaps, seeing his friend like he once remembered him, with his Prussian blue shirt with cream white bishop sleeves and ochre yellow pants. “Was it Rumi who said silence is the language of God and everything else is poor translation? Well, you might be the one exception to the rule.”

“If I did this, I did it in silence.”

“Light speaks through you, Nana Banana—”

“Do not call me that.”

“—It always has.”

Anatole wouldn’t have been able to anticipate the turns their conversation would have. It was heavy, filled with the request of honesty, and talk of the things Anatole had gone through. They talked about Nadia, once she had been Asra’s friends, even if he know claimed they were strangers. Anatole asked about justice, and if he could trust her that way. 

“I want to but—”

“But you have a duty to Vesuvians?” Asra said, less heavy than when he was talking about Nadia. Instead, he sounded resigned, like he was starting to let go of a fight he fought out of habit, not because he should or because he’d win it. 

“Asra the City needs justice, but not that justice.”

“I somehow knew you’d say that. You can take the boy out of politics, but not politics out of the boy.”

Anatole blinked. “Was I like this before? You promised to be honest.”

“I did,” the magician sighed. “You were. You were a beacon of hope in a hopeless situation.”

“Well, I most certainly have not been feeling like a beacon lately— I feel, misplaced. Like I know and I don’t know at the same time, like—” Anatole told him everything he had omitted before. Him speaking like he was on automatic pilot, like he could see himself from afar only both the speaker and the spectator were him. He was honest about pulls of magic he had felt through the years but never followed, afraid he’d get lost. He told Asra about the Consul, about so many things he had spoken to the Countess like he knew things he had no way of knowing. Not to that level of depth.

He told him he felt like he had been dead before and now he was being born again, only he didn’t know what kind of living he was supposed to be, while somehow walking with more hope and purpose than he’d suspect himself having. 

He only noticed his eyes welling up with tears when Asra got blurry. “I want to find out myself, but I need to ask: I was not born here was I?”

Asra’s voice was barely more than a whisper. “No. No, you were not… is there something else on your mind? I didn’t think this was the turn the conversation would have.”

“Neither did I…” Anatole dried his tears again. “I’m so fucking tired of crying in front of people.”

“Yeah, you’ve always hated that.”

“Did I know the Consul.”

“Oh, Nana I really can’t answer that. I know I promised—”

Antole took in a sharp breath. “Then answer me this: I was never your apprentice before, was I?”

“Nana, I can’t—”

“Answer the damn question. You promised.”

“No, no you were not. You approached magic differently than I did, but you sometimes made mine look like a joke.”

“Don’t depreciate yourself to compliment me, that’s not how it works. If I can’t do it, then neither can you.”

Asra raised is hands in surrender. “It was, and is still very impressive.”

“Alright, I have one more question. You told me I had an aunt right? Paris, Paris De Silva… Asra did I have parents? Asra I need to know this.”

Asra was quiet for so long, Anatole thought he wasn’t going to reply at all, but before he could get angry Asra steeled himself and spoke again, looking directly into Anatole’s eyes. “You’ll tell me to stop the moment you get a headache, alright?” Anatole agreed. “You did, Nana. You do—”

Anatole heard footsteps and ruffling leaves behind him and turned away from Asra. “There’s someone. I’ll find you again. I love you.”

Without thinking, Anatole drew his hand over the water, making a closing motion and Asra dissipated before he could say anything else. He stood from his spot at the same time a voice he didn’t recognise asked him if he had, perchance, found a self-refilling quill around the fountain. 

“I’m so sorry to disturb you, it is that I finally broke from a very long writer’s block and funnily enough I lost my quill— Anatole?”

As the stranger said his name, Anatole felt one of the heaviest waves of sadness and grief he had ever felt from someone. The man standing before him was dressed head to toe in black, his chesnut curls moving very lightly with the breeze. He snapped out of his shock with a panicked look in his eyes, walking past Anatole fast enough that he could break into a jog as he muttered to himself, frenzied and confused, that this couldn’t be happening again. Anatole tried to help him, but the stranger jumped back as his eyes swelled with tears. 

The man broke into a run, leaving Anatole alone and confused with no other option than going back to his room. 

✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎

Once he was alone in his room once again, he cried. He cried until he couldn’t breathe. There was a gaping hollowness inside of him. Something locked away for reasons beyond his comprehension. He stared at his shaking hands, flexing his fingers, trying to anchor himself with the moment. What had happened to him? What had happened to him that he saw people he couldn’t know in his dreams, and friends in the faces of stranges? What had happened to him that one day he had nothing but a mismatched language, latching on his tongue as he asked Asra —who was unable to understand him— a thousand and one questions the magician could not answer. So many questions he could choke on them.

To speak, to exist in language is to exist, and what was he if he could not be spoken? If the faces his hearts conjured for him turned him in horror? If strangers like the man in the fountain walked away from him like he was some unspeakable thing walking on this earth? 

If he laid on the floor and closed his eyes, he could feel the earth calling him, but not how it called the dead. If he focused enough on desintegrating into the earth, he could feel his veins open up and flourish until it carried him back to a city he has never been in before and even further than. It carried it to forests where lakes within lakes lied, and it carried him through the desert into flowers which bloomed despite its dryness. Like a stream turning into a river running to the sea, he was born in the high of the mountains, and the city of the wells surrounded by forests and marshes. 

One thing he knew: Something had happened in Vesuvia. Something had happened to him, in Vesuvia. Something that made part of the flourishing blood of his open veins pull in the middle of the City, layers and layers down into the Earth like a beating heart underneath the floorboards, foreshadowing an encounter which was meant to happen. Anatole could only rise up to meet it.

Even if right now he felt lost and broken he would. His name was the name of the sun, and the sun always rises. He would be spoken, and he would find what happened to him and this City which had cradled him into existing. His blood flowed here for a reason, and he would find out that reason.

Some people can’t help to be anything but themselves. They will do anything in their power to speak that self into existence, even if they spent the rest of their lives on it. When he stood up from the floor to wash his face and go to sleep, he knew he’d find the truth about what happened that night in the Masquerade. He knew because he knew the secret of his own self was intertwined with it, in the same way he did not need Asra’s confirmation to know he had to have known the Consul.

Perhaps he was the figure in the fog, and it was time to reach it to light long forgotten lanterns.

[lordrethandus]

Daily Writing Challenge 2021 Day 10

Sleepless ( @daily-writing-challenge​ )

World: Warcraft

The gangway stretched out over the pier before dropping onto the wooden platform with a heavy smack. A chorus of footsteps rocked the old galleon as a hundred Kaldorei stepped out from the darkness. Still covered in the ashes of their beloved home, and kin, they shuffled down the gangway with barely a word spoken among them. Stormwind residents gathered to stare at the latest batch of Teldrassil survivors corralled down the docks. Displaced, starving, and in mourning, the Night Elves kept their eyes on the ground, their voices in hushed whispers, and their faces soaked with dirty tears. All but the Tideclaws.

Sayuune looked no better off than the rest of them, but she kept her head held high. A month at sea didn't do her any favors; it had been days since she had access to drinkable water, and nearly a week since she had something solid to eat. Her exhausted eyes were bright with hard headed determination, and her face was as still as stone, yet she staggered and stumbled with every other step.

Her daughter Nodas was faring better, but not by much; her stomach growled loudly and often, while her hungry gaze was fixed on the bands of mercenaries and sellswords who otherwise ignored the flood of incoming refugees. They went about their business in gilded armor and glimmering steel, with swollen coin purses swinging freely from their waists. Surely a few of them wouldn't notice if some of their riches went missing.

"Hello! Hello hello!" Humans descended upon the shuffling crowd pushing or pulling large empty carts. One such creature approached Sayuune and Nodas with an uncomfortable twinkle in his grin. The opulent rings adorning his hands could only mean one thing - merchants seizing an opportunity to prey on the less fortunate. "You need gold! I need moon elf items my collection! We trade be happy!" His Darnassian was awful, but clear enough to understand. Sayuune saw other refugees trading in what little rags they had for copper and silver coins, desperate for a bite to eat and drinkable water.

The last thing Sayuune wanted to part with was her bramblestaff; not only was it a priceless family heirloom, it was one of the only things she had left of her husband. Reluctantly she raised the staff for the merchant to inspect. "How much will this get me?"

"Mom?!" Nodas hissed, her eyes flaring. "What are you doing?!" She squeezed her daughter's hand to get her to quiet down.

"We need food."

Unsurprisingly he ripped them off. A staff easily worth thirty thousand gold was traded for less than three. "What choice do I have…" When they reached the front of the line, Nodas was relieved to find a fellow Kaldorei sitting behind the desk, but Sayuune wasn't so easily pleased.

"Ishnu-alah, sisters." His dull yellow eyes scanned them both with a most unusual scrutiny. "My name is Lieutenant Armin Ashquiver. I'll need your names."

"Sayuune Tideclaw and Nodas Tideclaw." The mother proudly stated; they could take her home, her belongings, even her family, but their names would forever be theirs. He scribbled down their names in silence, adding them to the long list of poor displaced souls now forced to live in this strange and hostile city.

"There's a soup kitchen at the camps you'll be staying in. Courtesy of His Majesty. That should hold you over for the night... but don’t expect much. Most of the crops are headed straight to the warfront." He looked up at Sayuune. "Plenty of jobs out there for a steady income, but they're filling up fast. I know you're tired, but I'd recommend looking before nightfall." He pulled out a piece of paper and planted a red stamp on the bottom. "Enjoy your stay in Stormwind City."

The goopy slop poorly masquerading as soup was a grievous insult to the Kaldorei people, but it was still the best meal she's had since Teldrassil. Nodas ate more than her fair share and fell asleep before their tent was even made, but that hardly mattered to her mother; she was just happy her daughter was finally resting. Sayuune, however, couldn’t rest. Once the tent was built around her snoozing daughter, she departed to the streets of Stormwind to find work.

Shop by shop, street by street, she was hit with disappointment again, and again, and again. Day in, day out, sunset to sunset.

"Sorry we're not looking for applicants right now!"

"I'd love to give you a job but I'm full already!"

"I can't hire you right off the street!"

"A buddy of mine across the city might be interested in extra help."

"Sorry, but we can't - what will my wife think hiring a woman like you?"

"Can't hire an elf around here. I got my reputation to uphold… you understand, right?"

"Yeah babe I can hire you, heheh… how much for the night?"

"You're filthy! Beat it vagrant!"

Two weeks of searching. Two weeks of asking. Two weeks of nothing.

Every time she was turned away, the fake smile and forced persona was whittled down. Nightfall came and went, leaving her exhausted in the Mage Quarter courtyard. Her feet were screaming for rest and she could no longer ignore them; she found the nearest bench and almost collapsed onto it with a well-earned sigh of relief. The gold she earned selling her most prized possession was almost all gone; determination was turning into desperation, and if she didn’t find work soon, her daughter would begin to starve. For now her search would have to be put on hold until the shops reopened in the morning.

A woman eased herself down onto the bench beside Sayuune. Her fragrance was alluring but she couldn't recognize the scent, her silk clothes looked as expensive as the jewelry covering her hands and fingers; her painted nails were quite long, almost impractically so. She made Sayuune feel like a vagrant more than anyone else she's met in this abysmal city. "Hard time finding work?" The stranger asked with a seductively soothing voice. Sayuune was compelled to meet her gaze, but her words caught in her throat the moment she was confronted by her striking beauty; if she wasn't a Highborne, she could fool Sayuune.

"I…" Her timid mutter stirred the stranger to smile, her dark purple lips grinning from ear to ear.

Sayuune didn't notice the woman's hand until her nails traced the base of her chin. "Stunning, aren't I? There isn't a man alive that can resist my delectable charm. The dead ones aren't immune to it either." Sayuune wanted to pull away from her grip, but she felt paralyzed… mesmerized. "But look at you… these high cheekbones… these full lips… these glimmering eyes. You're quite the looker yourself, honey. How long do you plan on wandering these streets like a beggar when you can rule the underground scene like a queen?"

"What… do you…" It was difficult to speak when she gazed into her eyes, almost feeling like she was lost in a sea of swirling quicksilver.

The stranger's smile only grew. "I want to help you get back on your feet. I help run a little organization that's in serious need of gorgeous and flexible women like us. Interested?"

"An escort service?" That was enough to pull Sayuune out of her trance to rise to her throbbing feet. "I can't do that. To even approach me like… I can't. I have a husband I'm waiting on to return from the war… a daughter that looks up to me…"

"A shame." Her tone suddenly changed, as did the frigid expression on her face. "While you wait on your doting man, you and your daughter starve." She rose, towering over Sayuune in her jade heels. "Should you come to your senses, seek out the ugliest worgen you come across in Old Town." An uncomfortable grin spread across her lips. "Tell them Momma sent you." Before Sayuune could speak, Momma tossed a coin purse at her chest. "That's how much my girls can earn in a night. Sleep on it."

Sayuune watched as the elegant woman turned and strode off, presumably to another potential recruit. She waited until she was gone before opening the coin purse. "Impossible!" Her eyes went wide. "Three hundred gold?! She's lying…!" With that kind of income most of her problems would be over. Her and her daughter would eat better than they ever did; her husband would bring back two to three grand every two months… she could out earn that within weeks! Within days!

"No…" Sayuune closed her eyes and shuddered. "To betray Vilaron like this… I couldn't! How could I look him in the eyes if I… sold my body...?"

The journey back to the refugee camps was unbearably long. Her imagination played cruel games by asking her questions she didn't want the answers to. "What if Vilaron doesn't make it back in time before we starve to death? What if this woman already approached Nodas? What if she is being used by one of her 'clients' at this very moment?! What if she refused and they killed her?!"

Sayuune ignored the burning ache in her feet from sprinting back to the camps, darting through alleyways and ducking through corridors to get back to her daughter as quickly as possible. The soft glowing campfires down the hill only hastened her steps until she was almost gliding down the path to reach her tent.

She swung open the drape with an audible gasp, and her fears were put to rest; Nodas stirred in her hammock and mumbled under her breath, her feet blackened and calloused from wandering the streets as well -- yet her face was still wet with tears from crying herself to sleep. As Sayuune caught her breath and quietly approached her, she noticed the crumbled scroll still in her grip. Gently she wiggled it free from Nodas' hand, pulled it taut between her fingers, and read the distinct Darnassian letters neatly sprawled across the parchment.

To Sayuune Tideclaw and Nodas Tideclaw,

I regret to inform you the Sentinels recovered the body of your husband/father Vilaron Tideclaw. He will be delivered within the month so you can send him off properly.

Elune will grant us justice.

-L. Armin Ashquiver

Sayuune only made it halfway through the letter before she was blinded by her tears. The shock of this news hit her in waves, crashing against her composure like the tide against the cliffside; she wanted to scream at the top of her lungs, wishing he left with them when Teldrassil burned. Wishing she could go back in time and save him.

Wishing she was dead.

Yet Sayuune endured - she had to. With a sharp inhale and a weak sniffle, she swallowed her anguish for her daughter's sake, stepped out of the tent, and wrapped her arms around herself. Others receiving similar news took it worse than she did; their screams carried across the farmland and over the pointed tents, filling the air with sorrow so palpable she could taste it every time she licked her lips.

Nodas is all she has left of her beloved Vilaron. She is willing to die for her, now more than ever; if she can lay down her life for her daughter, surely she could lay down her dignity as well. What choice did she have? “What choice do I have...” Every day she spends wasting her time looking for honest work, her daughter goes hungry. "For Nodas… no price is too great…"

With a slight grimace on her face and a shiver up her spine, Sayuune braced herself for the hardship she would endure in the unknowable future.