#vandrs

[dustoire]

@vandrs - [ vander && jinx ] [ CARRY ]:     having found the receiver in an injured/weak/unconscious state, the sender carries them in their arms to safety.

her vision is blurry with loose gunpowder and ears ring from tinnitus , when jinx comes to . bruised hands reach for her face , rubbing the dust out of her eyes , and it dawns on her ― she's being carried . a confused groan leaves her throat , and still - dirtied eyes squint up , trying to look past all the powder so she could figure out exactly who had dared pick her up .

the initial thought was sevika ― she'd begrudgingly come to her aid , bring her home if she was asked . or , if not sevika , then some other big tough guy silco trusted enough .

but when her vision finally focused enough , jinx flinches , blinks her eyes tight as if trying to will the sight away . but when she looks back up at him , she's convinced . he's obviously holding her , and he hasn't said anything , not yet . he's real . he's got to be .

“ . . . vander ? ”

[thceye]

@vandrs : i thought you left. people who aren't used to kindness ; accepting.

     𝗵𝗲  𝘁𝗵𝗼𝘂𝗴𝗵𝘁  𝗵𝗲  𝗵𝗮𝗱  𝗹𝗲𝗳𝘁  𝗳𝗼𝗿  𝘁𝗵𝗲  𝗻𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁  𝘁𝗼𝗼.     he  had  walked  out  of  the  last  drop  without  much  word,  but  despite  his  determination  to  head  home  and  clear  his  head,  he  found  himself  doubling  back  and  going  back.     walking  back  through  the  door  when  he  knew  vander  would  be  closing  up  and  no  one  else  would  be  around  to  interrupt  or  get  in  their  way,     "     yeah,  i  thought  i  had  too,     "     silco  admits  softly,  feeling  a  little  unsure  on  what  he  was  doing  back  here  and  unsure  if  it  was  even  a  good  idea  for  him  to  come  back.     he  didn't  trust  himself  around  vander  at  the  moment,  his  mind  racing  with  thoughts  and  desires  that  he  had  tried  so  hard  to  ignore.     except  it  was  getting  a  lot  harder  to  ignore  and  he  was  worried  that  he  would  act  on  it,  which  would  just  ruin  everything.     vander  was  the  first  person  who  actually  trusted  him,  who  actually  seemed  to  give  a  damn  about  him,  who  saw  him  for  him  and  didn't  treat  him  like  dirt.     if  he  allowed  himself  to  get     𝗿𝗼𝗺𝗮𝗻𝘁𝗶𝗰𝗮𝗹𝗹𝘆     involved,  he  would  ruin  everything.     he  always  ruined  everything.     silco  didn't  trust  himself  to  let  his  guard  down  enough  with  vander  and  not  ruin  the  one  good  thing  in  his  life  because  that  was  exactly  what  was  going  to  happen.     except  if  he  didn't  have  trust  himself,  he  had  trust  in  vander  to  help  guide  him  through  it  like  he  did  everything  else,     "     it  was  immature  and  rude  of  me  to  walk  out  of  here  like  i  did,     "     silco  admits,  brushing  dark  strands  of  hair  out  of  his  face  as  he  moves  over  to  vander,  green  eyes  flicking  over  him  as  he  resists  that  urge  to  run  away.     he  didn't  want  to  keep  running  from  vander,  maybe  he  wanted  to  run  towards  him  instead,     "     especially  since  i  didn't  really  want  to  leave,     "

[jinxdiff]

@vandrs liked this for a starter

POWDER hauled herself up onto the barstool , hands resting in her chin as she kicked legs back and forth. She waited for Vander's attention , eyes focusing on him.

' Wanna see somethin ?? '

[jt4lis]

@vandrs ﹕ ❛ one of us will betray the other. we both know it. so why are we still here ? ❜ xoxxo

it's   selfish   to   think   that   there   wouldn't   come   a   time   in which they were against one another.   becoming a   councillor,   having to suddenly deal   politics   when it's not something he's ever wanted.   he only wanted to   invent,   put magic in the hands of the people of not only piltover but   all   of runeterra.   and yet here he is,   standing before vander,   brows   furrowed   as he listens to him.   he doesn't   want   to believe it,   there could be some way to avoid it all but   at   the   end   of   the   day   they   would   fight   for   their   own   sides,   won't they   ?   ❛   because  i  choose  to   believe   that  it  doesn't  have  to  come  down  to  that.   ❜   hands clench by his sides,   their   relationship   had never crossed into much more than having sex,   occasionally   he thought to himself that there could be more but   …   it would be   messy.   vander no doubt wanted to deal with someone like him romantically.   it   would   be   foolish   to   think   that.   and yet,   whatever there is between them,   he wants to   protect   it.   ❛   is  it  really  such  a   bad   thing  to  want  to  hold  onto  this   ?   i  don't  want  to   betray   you     ⸻     i  don't  want  to   mess   this  up.   ❜

[4rew1nd]

@vandrs     ﹕     who taught you how to patch a wound like that?

through   his   own   recklessness   he'd   managed to cut himself badly,   the glass cup he'd dropped and immediately shattered and started to pick up,   hissing   in pain when he'd grabbed pick up shards in a rush   (   mostly   because   he   felt   bad.   )   blood rushing to the surface of the palm of his hand as he   tended   to it,   using a disinfectant and wrapping it with gauze,   applying pressure.   he'd only raised his head to look at vander upon hearing the man   speak   up to him,   a   sheepish   smile on his face as he sat down on one of the stools right in front of the bar.   considering he wasn't   technically   from this alternate universe,   it made sense that this version of himself might not know how to patch wounds     ⸻     everything seemed so   calm   …   without   violence   in their lives.

it's hard to imagine a life   without   it,   a version of zaun where all of them could be   happy   but he was slowly adjusting.   shrugging his shoulders a little,   a breathy little laugh escapes from his lips.   ❛   oh,   i   taught   myself,   i've  uh   …   been  in  some  tight  spots  before.   ❜   how could he explain that usually he was   fighting   people,   running a group called the   firelights.   ❛   sorry  about  the  cup,   i   …   feel  like  i  woke  up  on  the   wrong   side  of  the  bed  this  morning.   ❜   an   easy   excuse as he tried to avoid the fact that waking up in this universe,   going about the life this current universe's ekko leads   disoriented   him.   much less the relationship he had with jinx    ⸻    powder.

[officrnolen]

[bitch-mittxns]

" come on! open your eyes! "

Vi  could  vaguely  hear  Vander's  voice  Coaxing  her  to  come  around  ,  her  head  pounding  against  the  cold  concrete.  So  much  for  teaching  Powder  some  new  skills  ,  Vi  had  underestimated  how  slippery  everything  was  from  lingering  showers  of  rain.  Jumping  in  head  first  with  her  usually  cocky  behaviour  ,  Vi  had  hurled  herself  up  the  side  of  the  building  with  ease  ,  but  it  wasn’t  until  she  tried  to  cross  the  gap  overhead  that  she’d  come  across  an  issue  ,  finding  herself  falling  from  the  jump  she'd  made  dozens  of  times  before  ,  falling  to  the  ground  below. 

❝  I'm  -  fine  ❞ ,  she  coughed  ,  letting  her  eyes  flutter  open  ,  body  aching  all  over  but  from  what  she  could  feel  ,  no  real  damage.  ❝  Powder  tell  you  what  happened?  ❞ ,  more  than  likely  -  even  though  they  had  a  pact  to  keep  their  training  a  secret. 

[silklies-moved]

@vandrs ; i’m unarmed — for mel !

she doesn't fear the man before her, familiar with the man who had the title of hound of the underground. since she was young, she was always taught to not show fear, be the wolf ⸺ even now, there isn't any fear but instead curiosity, intrigue. head tilts as she looks at him, studying the man before her, claiming to be unarmed and he's correct, not able to see signature gauntlets anywhere in sight. this is good, the correct move forward. still yet, mel can't help but wonder what led the man here, to this point in which he was willing to speak to her ⸺ the head of the council. to make some sort of peace offering ? she isn't sure. ❛ very well ... what have you come here to discuss ? you must understand people being unsettled, not many have ever come face to face with the infamous hound. ❜ musing, a sly smile graces lips, golden eyes flickering with interest as she watched him.

[gntlets]

the right angle. you're only occasionally a huge brat on purpose, so you twist the advice around and try to make sense of it. but you think your form is good, and your aim with a punch is almost always true, and you've beaten grown adults two or three times your size. how important can it really be? ❛ i guess so. ❜

when you try again, it feels different. you feel more secure; there's a shield up in the context of your own arm to protect that hard head of yours, but the reverse is also true. your fist strikes out, but everything feels off from this lesser tried position, as if your punches don't carry the same destructive weight when half of you is finally bothering with self-defense. ❛ maybe i should just take my chances. ❜ look up at him, can't quite hide the admiration that glitters behind your eyes this time. ❛ i've never seen you need to block. ❜ because tangling with vander is like tangling with fate. pointless. ❛ i can take a hit as well as you can, anyway. ❜

inspiration offers its own punch. turn to face him with a faint smile, bounce onto your toes before you rock back onto your heels, square your shoulders. lift your fists toward him. ❛ want to test me? ❜

he chuckles, shaking his head as he drops his own fists and steps into the doorway. “ that's a good point, ” he replies, his smile amused as he crosses his arms over his chest and leans in the doorway. “ but remember: a punch is only as strong as the right angle, ” he says, passing along a hard learned lesson he himself took way too long to learn.

it wasn't hard to see himself in the girl. in the pressure put on her from the world around her, the g r i e f in her very bones. the will to fight that he'd chosen to bury for her benefit. for powder's. for the lanes. the fight was never going to end, and they were unlikely to win. he'd chosen to make sure that his girls were o k a y . as safe as they could be. and could grow to be the next line in the fight. hopefully they'd be smarter about it. hopefully they'd lose less.

“ you'll get a better one punch if you can block until you get the right angle, ” he continues. nodding towards her to try again.

[thceye]

@vandrs : flower ; sender places a flower behind receiver’s ear. nonverbal prompts ; accepting.

     "     𝘀𝘁𝗮𝘆  𝗳𝗼𝗰𝘂��𝗲𝗱,  𝗷𝘂𝘀𝘁  𝗴𝗿𝗮𝗯  𝘄𝗵𝗮𝘁  𝘄𝗲  𝗻𝗲𝗲𝗱  𝗮𝗻𝗱  𝗹𝗲𝘁'𝘀  𝗴𝗲𝘁  𝗼𝘂𝘁  𝗼𝗳  𝗵𝗲𝗿𝗲,     "     silco  reminds  him,  the  awe  of  seeing  this  big  fancy  piltie  houses  had  quickly  wore  off,  the  more  they  entered  and  stole  from,  the  more  he  just  kept  thinking  they  all  looked  the  same.     pitlies  really  had  more  money  than  sense  and  no  personality,  their  homes  showed  that  and  if  they  were  going  to  help  provide  a  better  life  to  people  in  the  undercity,  they  simply  just  had  to  take  what  they  needed  first.     their  idea  for  the  lanes  had  so  much     𝗽𝗼𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁𝗶𝗮𝗹     and  even  though  it  meant  sacrificing  their  days  of  rest  from  their  mine  work  to  do  jobs  topside,  it  would  all  be  worth  it  to  see  more  of  their  people  fed  better  and  taken  care  of.     that's  what  all  this  was  for,  all  the  hardwork,  all  the  planning,  all  the  arguments  and  fights,  it  would  be  worth  it  when  their  ideas  actually  become  reality.     the  nation  of  zaun.     it  was  going  to  take  a  lot  more  than  a  few  smuggling  jobs  and  a  few  strikes  in  the  mines  to  make  that  a  reality,  but  it  was  the  starting  of  a  revolution,  a  huge  change  for  their  people  and  he  was  just  grateful  that  he  had  vander  at  his  side  making  it  happen.

     𝗺𝗼𝘃𝗶𝗻𝗴  𝘁𝗵𝗿𝗼𝘂𝗴𝗵  𝘁𝗵𝗲  𝗵𝗼𝘂𝘀𝗲  𝘄𝗶𝘁𝗵  𝗰𝗮𝗿𝗲,     only  taking  what  would  be  useful  for  them  and  only  taking  enough  that  the  pathetic  rich  piltie  who  owned  this  place  probably  wouldn't  even  realise  what  they  were  missing.     he  couldn't  believe  that  people  actually  lived  like  this,  all  this  luxury  and  they  would  no  idea  that  what  they  were  taking  was  missing,  meanwhile  people  in  the  undercity  was  starving,  scraping  together  as  much  food  as  they  could  to  try  and  feed  their  children,  forced  to  work  in  conditions  not  meant  for  any  man  and  dealing  with  air  so     𝘁𝗼𝘅𝗶𝗰     that  if  they  didn't  choke  on  it  then,  the  sickness  from  it  would  eventually  get  them.     it  was  like  the  reminder  he  needed  to  keep  fighting,  to  keep  doing  everything  that  they  were  doing  to  finally  give  their  people  what  they  deserved.     moving  back  to  meet  up  with  vander  at  the  window  they  had  crawled  in  through,  shaking  his  head  at  the  vase  of  fresh  flowers  on  the  table,  despite  the  fact  that  their  intel  said  the  owner  of  the  home  wouldn't  be  back  for  another  week.     what  a  waste.     looking  him  up  and  down  when  he  heard  him  approaching,  seeing  the  full  bag  and  nodding  his  head,     "     c'mon,  this  place  is  making  my  skin  crawl,     "     but  before  he  could  move  to  leave  the  window,  vander  had  picked  one  of  the  flowers  from  the  vase,  snapping  the  stem  to  a  shorter  length  and  slipping  it  behind  his  ear.     green  eyes  look  up  at  him  with     𝗮𝗺𝘂𝘀𝗲𝗺𝗲𝗻𝘁     and  he  scolds  him  for  being  ridiculous  sentimental,  that  they  don't  have  time  for  this,  that  they  need  to  get  moving,  go  back  home.     except  he  doesn't  removes  it,  not  until  he  has  to  and  when  he  does  remove  the  flower,  he  presses  it  carefully  between  the  pages  of  his  notebook  to  keep  it  for  as  long  as  possible.

[teawithmagician]

Warhammer 100 Challenge, pt 2

I took up Dragon Age 100 Challenge and turned it into the Warhammer 100 Challenge. Each drabble for each key is 100 words or less. So here go drabbles 16 to 30:

16. Water

Little Horus flowed like water. In the strategium, he mediated between captains, his voice smooth, disarming. His resemblance to Horus was a power without force. But alone, his thoughts swirled.

Water was life, but also destruction—floods that drowned worlds. Aximand felt that. He’d flowed with Horus’s rebellion, but each step eroded him.

He’d be what the Legion needed: adaptable, relentless. Yet in his quarters, he traced a Cthonian glyph for “peace” in spilt wine, a fleeting wish for stillness. Water could not rest; nor could he.

17. Earth

Garviel Loken held like the earth. His heart bore the weight of loss, yet he withstood for those who followed. He was no leader like Horus, no fire like Abaddon—he was the soil that nurtured, the stone that endured.

In his dreams, he saw Cthonia’s caverns. They called him home, but Loken refused: he was Terra’s soil now. His brothers’ betrayal had shaken him, but he’d rebuild, brick by brick. Garviel Loken, the last Luna Wolf, was Earth—the ground where hope grows.

18. Fire

Ezekyle Abaddon was fire. His rage was a furnace, forging the Black Legion out of Horus’ sons. He burned for glory, his yearning a flaming pyre; but fire destroyed as it illuminated—Abaddon’s pyre was Horus’ funeral.

Aximand’s presence could temper him, but never douse. Fire needed fuel, and, without fuel, Abaddon would burn himself.

When he led the Black Legion, he saw Cthonia’s forges, their heat the dragon’s cradle. The true child of fire, Abaddon embraced it as his future. He’d burn until nothing remained, and the galaxy would kneel before his ashes.

19. Air

Tarik Torgaddon was air, a restless wind. His laughter lifted spirits, his jokes eased tension. In the Mournival, he balanced Abaddon’s fire, Aximand’s water, Loken’s earth—and made sure they wouldn’t kill each other.

But the air could turn tempest. Tarik’s loyalty to Loken made him defy Horus. He’d die for it, but the thought didn’t slow him. Life was motion, and Tarik was its breath.

In his final moments, Tarik laughed at Erebus’ face, “You’re not worth the air I breathe.” The Mournival wind was gone, but it returned withthe eastern breeze, whispering of brotherhood to the Earth he loved.

20. Alone

Corvus Corax was alone. Sanguinius’s warmth, Guilliman’s reason—they were distant now. Corvus had always been there for them, but had they been there for him?

Claws flexed, itching for purpose. He remained loyal, but Terra felt a universe away. Corvus’s visions whispered he’d end alone, a ghost in the dark. He accepted it, but the weight pressed hard.

A raven landed on his shoulder, its caw breaking the silence. Corvus smiled faintly. “You’re enough of a company to me,” he murmured. But the bird flew off, leaving him to the night.

21. Hero

Vandred clawed for control. The void beyond roared—enemy ships closing, their lances primed. Talos needed time, his men facing annihilation. A hero? Me? A hero of murderers, traitors, cowards.

“Yield, worm,” the Exalted hissed. Vandred’s lips twisted, spitting blood onto the deck. “Sosnul by ty huitsa, bratets.” He seized the command throne, ceramite grinding.

“Talos!” Vandred roared, voice cracking through vox. “Go, now!” His will surged, wrestling the daemon back. The Exalted writhed, its claws raking his soul. You are nothing, it snarled. Vandred laughed, bitter and broken. “I’m enough to spite you.”

22. Yin and Yang

Fulgrim was perfection; Konrad was the opposite.

Konrad watched Fulgrim, and his heart stirred with desire not for flesh, but for the light. Konrad craved Fulgrim’s purity and hated it; he wanted to reach out to touch his cheek and to tear that beautiful face away.

Fulgrim, oblivious, clapped Konrad’s shoulder. “Brother, your terror serves us well,” he laughed. Konrad gasped, visions flashing—Fulgrim’s fall, his madness. He wanted to warn Fulgrim, but words choked in his throat.

23. Friends

Ezekyle Abaddon and Horus Aximand were friends.

Abaddon’s gaze lingered on Aximand’s face, so like Horus’s, but softer. Aximand’s hand was on Abaddon’s shoulder. The touch burned, but Abaddon grunted, turning away. To name it was to ruin it.

Aximand felt it too, his hearts quickening when Abaddon’s rare smile broke through. Aximand wanted to speak, to confess, but Cthonian pride silenced him. They were friends, not lovers—yet the line blurred.

On Istvaan, they killed side by side. Afterwards, they stood apart.

“Good fight,” Abaddon muttered, eyes avoiding Aximand’s.

“Always,” Aximand replied, voice tight.

24. Silence

Alastor Rushal was condemned to silence.

“Quiet as ever, Raven?” Sevatar taunted. Alastor's thoughts went round and round: betrayal, darkness, chains. A hand holds a knife, another hand forces his mouth open. There’s pain, and there’s blood, and there’s lust born of hate.

Alastor’s eyes were locked on Sevatar’s scarred face. The First Captain’s cruelty fascinated him, but Alastor’s desires would shame his old legion. He would use the same knife to geld Sevatar; and he would make Sevatar watch him eat.

25. Challenges

Mortarion lingered in the apothecarion. Blood stained his lips, phlegm rattled in seared lungs—a constant, gnawing pain.

Unlike Sanguinius, who breathed freely, Mortarion’s every gasp was forced. He found pride in endurance and taught his sons to do the same, but alone, coughing crimson, he cursed his pride. Exhaustion crept in—he envied his sons, his brothers, their painless lives.

“I would give my soul just to be free of this,” Mortarion snarled, coughing blood again. Nurgle listened.

26. Storm

Talos Valcoran staggered, nails raking his own face.

Cyrion’s voice cut through, “You’re a fool. It’s chasing ghosts!”

Talos’s eyes, black as Nostramo’s night, glared through the pain. “I see truth,” he spat, blood trickling from his nose.

Cyrion sighed, stepping closer. He caught Talos as he swayed, helping him to the floor.

“You’re killing yourself.” His hand rested on Talos’s shoulder. “Let it go, just once.”

Talos laughed, bitter. “And abandon them? Never.”

“Stupid,” Cyrion said, but his grip tightened. Talos leaned into it.

27. Blue

Corvus Corax stood under the azure skies. Sapphire ocean lapped at white cliffs, cerulean flowers swayed in the breeze. The campaign had ended, but Corvus lingered, his black armor stark against the blue.

He imagined a life here: a man, not a shadow, waking to this endless blue. “If only,” he murmured.

A raven circled above, its cry sharp. Corvus’s eyes hardened. He was born for the dark, not this fleeting blue. Yet the longing lingered.

If only…

28. Music

The music swelt through the dust, pure and haunting. Saul’s helm was off, forcing the melody through the vox felt like a sartiliege.

The composer had poured her heart into this piece, and Saul felt a pull, a near-love for her passion, her fragility. He imagined her—flawed, human, her hands dancing over strings. His hearts quickened; oh, to love her, even in memory!

“I am above this,” he told himself. His voice lacked conviction.

29. Heal

Garviel Loken was an open wound. Tarik’s laughter, his easy grin—all gone forever on Istvaan III.

Loken’s feelings were always a maze, but Tarik’s loss was clear: an empty void where his hearts had once been. He knelt in Titan’s chapel, the Emperor’s light dim. “I miss you,” he whispered: to Tarik, to the past.

“I miss you too,” he knew Tarik would say. And through pain, warmth rose.

30. Drowning

He gripped the railing, ceramite creaking under the gauntlets. “Ezekyle,” he whispered, “you’d have me follow you into damnation?”

He staggered, breath hitching, as if the void itself pressed against his chest. Love for Abaddon was a current pulling him toward rebellion. But Mournival was not just duty. Mournival was brothers.

“I cannot choose,” he growled, slamming a fist against the bulkhead. He knew full well he would choose Abaddon over and over again.

To be continued...

[fire-emblem-birthdays]

[jt4lis]

@vandrs     ﹕     you were worth waiting    /     maybe when jayce is coming back into himself post s2 xoxo

after   everything   he'd   been   through   it was only a matter of time before he'd start feeling any   semblance   of himself.   it was a rocky start,   suddenly overindulging in alcohol,   trying to use sex as an   escape.   he didn't deserve to be   alive   when viktor had died,   pushed out before the anomaly could consume the both of them     ⸻    leaving him to feel lost,   without   purpose,   guilt riddled because maybe   both   of them could have escaped it.   it was rough.  there were days of not wanting to leave the bed,   wondering why he was   alive,   mind wandering so far that he even   contemplated   taking his life like he'd nearly done almost a decade ago.   it was a slow journey of getting back to a good headspace,   trying to   rehabilitate   himself,   not just mentally but physically which eventually proved to be a good thing.   he eventually began to feel like he had   some   use in his life again,   even if at first all it was fixing little things within the last drop.

the hands that cup his face and make him look at the other are warm,   calloused   from a lifetime of work but there is a   gentleness   behind him.   he isn't sure why the words spoken by vander make tears   prick   his eyes but it does,   lips pulling gently into a small smile as he breathes in.   was he   really   worth waiting for   ?   to watch him be miserable,   not like himself     ⸻    no longer the   golden   boy,   the man of progress.   just   …   jayce talis,   a   man   seeking   for   something   new   in   life.   as he blinks,   stray tears roll down his cheeks,   trying to cover up whatever sadness that might linger by letting out a huff of a laugh.   ❛   you're  such  a   sap.   you  know  that,   right   ?   ❜   despite the   teasing   nature of his words,   the tone is soft,   gentle as he reaches up and cups his own hand over one of vander's.   eyes slide shut,   leaning into his touch and sighing softly   …   content.   ❛   i'm  glad  you   waited   for  me.   ❜

[demoninthewoods]

This week I took a hike from Boxholm to Vadstena. It is 110 km / 68 miles and I walked it over three days.

In many ways a fail: I brought a hammock and thus naturally walked past perfect tenting spot after perfect tenting spot... Despite being June it was extremely cold and raining most of the time. I broke my phone on the last day. The pilgrim shelter (which is ALWAYS open) where I was supposed to sleep on the third day was locked leading to a planned walk of easy 32km turn into 48 km on that day in the rainstorm. But looking through my camera roll it was a great success. It really is a beautiful path. A lake that stretches to the horizon, forest, a mountain, gothic monastery ruins, so many berries to eat, flowers in bloom, iron age burial mounds, friendly horses, and you pass (read: stop at) an ice cream place every day. I also learned I'm able to walk 12 hours a day with my pack with little to no problems. Will consider walking this trail again in the future.

[alizardjae]

Hmm, unless someone knows otherwise by now, I'm gonna tentatively put forth the theory that the human Lythian characters' names have to do with family or place of origin. Clanne (jp official romanization Clan) is obvious enough, Framme (jp Fram) could be from "from," and Vander (jp Vandre, last syllable rhymes with "ray") from "Van Der," a prefix for a family name indicating place of origin.

[the-aesthetic-weasel]

Does what is says on the tin

Spatřeno někde mezi Litomyšlí a Poličkou

@cedule