#and i spent my most formative years pretty isolated socially so i got my accent from them

[altruistic-meme]

oh accents are fascinating! so do you say lawn like "lon" or con like "cawn," or secret third option?

UHHHHH

I think I say con like "cawn" lmao makes sense since it's pretty typical for southerners to draw vowels out longer!! and words in general, really

which is also fascinating to me bc like,,,, i don't normally have a southern southern accent, so actually I'm learning new things about the way I speak now djjajfkakd i guess I talk a little more southern then I thought

[beautifulterriblequeen]

I’m really intrigued by Rayla’s moonshadow assassin peers. I especially am interested in Andromeda because I think she is the only other girl in the group? Do you have any headcanons in how these teen/young adult assassins interacted? Do you think Rayla isolated herself from them because she was always iffy about taking a life? Also TDP finally colored their map and I know you live maps, find any new cool stuff? I especially love how there’s a frozen sea north and a spinning sea south, imagine the powerful Magic’s that channeled to make them.

Okay, so I jumped straight to the map, did 80% of it, and wandered away for a few weeks. I apologize, anon. Let’s get this going again:

I’ve got a few headcanons on the Moonshadow assassins! It seems likely that they hang out mostly with each other, when they hang out, to reinforce their teambuilding and to give them some socialization, since assassins tend to keep others at arm’s length. So I kinda figure they tend to roam as a pack on their evenings out in the village, if they’re not married to a non-assassin like Runaan is.

I think that could be part of the reason that Rayla might not have hung out with the others as much, too: Runaan wanted to be either training or at home with Ethari, so Rayla probably spent a lot of time doing those things just because he did them. And when Runaan was doing more serious training or missions, that’s when Rayla had her free time to run around the forest and make adoraburr friends. 

Runaan could’ve probably insisted that she do something more assassiny with her free time. Shadow an assassin, do more studying, practice certain prescribed skills on her own. But he didn’t. He let her play. Soft assassin is soft!

Listen, anon, I have a fun headcanon for you about Andromeda--and by fun, I mean it’s really angsty half a second after you start thinking about it. Ready? 

What if: Andromeda is Runaan’s half-sister. If they’re both Lujanne’s children by different assassin dads who kept dying in battle, but a Moon mage needs an assassin leader partner to defend Xadia with, and Lujanne knew her son Runaan wasn’t old enough to lead yet, so she burned through three or more husbands protecting him until Runaan was well trained enough to lead the assassins himself and had fallen in love with a mage who adored him and would be his partner in her place.

 Andromeda looks a fair bit like Lujanne, too:

Along with Runaan, they all have long hair, side tails bound in silver cuffs, and some form of braids. Andromeda’s hair is sectioned in front similarly to Runaan’s. Her accent sounds more British than Scottish, though she only has the one line: My eyes for truth. And Lujanne and Andromeda are the only two Moonshadow elves we’ve met who have medium blue horns, while Runaan’s are dark blue. Almost everyone else’s horns have purple or pink as their base color.

But then, see, Andromeda went on Runaan’s mission, and she died. Her spirit was the most aggressive in TTM, usually closest to Rayla with her sword out, as if she hated Rayla the most. If she had a vested family interest in Runaan’s mission succeeding, and then it went pear-shaped because of Rayla, that would make sense.

No matter if she’s related to Runaan or not, she’s wearing horn cuffs, so she was in a dedicated relationship of some kind, and that’s so sad. Someone’s missing her the way Ethari’s missing Runaan. :’((((

Anyway, it’s just a headcanon, but since you asked, there ya go.

Okay, on to my thoughts on the map, of which I have a normal and healthy amount:

The Map Border: 

Everyone doodles in the borders. I love to see what they put there.

Starting in the upper left and going counter-clockwise, the five human crowns are cool

Cornucopia swirls center left look like an homage to Cabbage Man from ATLA

Bait is staring at Evenere. his home? Or maybe he just wants to eat the dragonfly on its logo

Human defender has a beard. Hairagorn. He's very heavily armored but has no helmet. Long hair is braided to rest on front of shoulder, like the blond elf in the painting at the Moon Nexus. Old timey hairstyle?

He’s defending Katolis Castle specifically. I wonder if the little white building is kinda random or if it’s supposed to represent the Banther Lodge. Nah, I have a better guess: that’s where Viren grew up

The crack in the map looks meta. It's been repaired somewhat. Makes me wonder if it's an in-world map, whose, who ripped it, and who fixed it. Sir Phineas Kurst seems like the kind of guy to almost shred his really cool map

The star behind Zym's egg has seven points

The two ships on the southern waters are western and eastern respectively. Tidebound elves from Singapore? Jack Sparrow would be proud

There is land just south of the Dragontail, wonder what’s there?

The leaves around the human figure are small and numerous while the Moonshadow elf has fewer but bigger leaves

The elf is standing in the way of one of the six leaves growing out of the rune rose and that leaf's curly tip seems to have been replaced with a curl of the elf's very long hair

The human pose is more offense and the elf pose is more defense. But the elf has two swords, and one has some wicked hooks in it.

Elf has 4 fingers instead of 3 so whether it’s in-universe or meta, they were drawn by a human :DDD

The elf's braid winds around their horn and I think that's clever

High collar shirt under protective layer, bracers and elbow gloves, bare biceps, complex shoulder getup, ornate hair that's butt long and partly braided, two long slightly curving swords... horn cuffs too. This is a Moonshadow assassin in the same gear Runaan's got, poised to defend the Xadian half of the map as the human is poised to defend his side

The rune rose isn't a compass. It has a two sided pointer and six primal runes. Just decorative I guess. ;)

More lettuces on right center.

Maybe a portaling caterpillar on the center knot? Little bug pal, I see you

“The Five Human Kingdoms” lettered in red, “Xadia” in blue. Giving me Stratego flashbacks. Even the flowers on their banners are color coded

Banners in the corners are similar but Xadia has more fluttery tips

Thunder drawn all attacky top center, does he have anything to do with the Frozen Sea being frozen?

Compass rose under Thunder’s wing

Dick island near the compass. Well, Duren is the breadbasket of the human lands. A most excellent cartography joke! 10/10 would chortle wholesomely again

The Human Kingdoms:

Neolandia

Capital Eboreus seems to be a lake city below a mountain and I'm here for all the Lake Town refs. 

It's also the eye of the elephant shape

Not a lot of trees, mostly grasses or desert. Only borders Duren across a couple rivers/estuaries/sea channels

Heart shaped island next to elephant trunk

Land generally broken into several sections by sea/rivers 

If it’s rivers, they seem to generate from the capital’s lake and flow in several directions. And they say there’s no magic left in the western lands! ;)

But if there was exactly one source of freshwater in a desert land, it makes sense that you’d find a way, magical or mechanical, to spread that lifegiving water in as many directions as possible so your people can thrive so kudos to Neolandia’s ancestors/Tidebound elves/whoever managed that, it’s brilliant

I can and will make up explanations for anything on a map. I adore worldbuilding

Del Bar

Two named locations. Since Del Bar’s national symbol is a serpent, I guess Serpentongue is the capital.

Hinterpeak is a sweet name. Looks like Helm's Deep with that retaining wall. What’s it for? Are there dwarves in this land? Is it an Earthblood stronghold? Maybe it’s like the Mines of Moria, and the Earthbloods were chased out and/or killed inside and now it’s full of nasty orcses but someone left a MacGuffin down there so *nudges hero* Off you pop.

Nice forests around the southern mountain range but northern DB is more arid or grassy lands like Neolandia. 

Considering that crops grow well in Duren, which is farther north, I assume there is a massive meteorological gyre over the human lands, with a southern wind blowing down over the western realms and keeping them icy until the mountains of Hinterpeak block and divert them, protecting Evenere. The winds don't blow eastward without warming right up-- and causing thunderstorms in Katolis how about that-- because there is a warmer side to the gyre over Katolis and Duren, blowing tropical warmth and moisture north and providing rain for trees and crops alike. Most years, anyway.

How does the weather fail in Duren for seven years in a row, anyway? That seems like a Thunder issue. Unless it’s a Sunforge issue, which I’ll get to below.

Ahem.

Borders Neolandia, Duren, and Katolis across rivers, but most border is coastline.

Serpentongue probably got its name from the two river heads around it

Cluster of dead little cracks spawns a single river. Looks like someone cracked the tub and it drained away. I wonder how much of this landscape has been affected by the Mage Wars. Big watery basins have flooded and other spots seem dead. The lands may or may not actually touch depending on how deep some of these waterways are

Evenere

Looks like someone punched holes in the land with a giant pencil to make it a separate island. Broken outline with scattered islands

That Pawprint Isles has only four toes

Moon-shaped island is very crescenty indeed

Are these isles home to refugees or outcasts from Xadia? Listen, I want pirates and that sea looks pretty Caribbean to me

No capital city, hmmm what's that about? Is it underground, does it move? Maybe Fareeda’s capital is on the back of a world turtle and she’s constantly on tour around the island?

That arm of land ending in a peace sign, please can we get surfers

The hills emanating from that claw shaped headland look like something is sleeping under the island, hello yes I am here for giant immortal creatures please

Katolis

its capital is also called Katolis, the only human realm to use the same name twice

Weeping Bay could be a ref to the tears the humans shed after they reached the west. Or the Moonshadow elves as they left their forest for the east. Or both. Both, in this case, is bad but balanced

Boomerang island next to the Dragontail

The river the Dragaang rode on was going uphill

The watery slash in the land between Katolis and Del Bar is awfully straight. So is the one between Del Bar and Neolandia. I call magical warfare.

Katolis has a bunch of mountains in the east, part of an old natural border before the lava one appeared

Mt Kalik is probably volcanic. It's a standalone mountain and it's really tall. Rex Ignius maybe? Oh, probably not, I think I see him peeking on the other side of the map

The trees of Duren and Katolis are different then the western lands. Softer green, deciduous. And the land itself is yellower, warmer in tone

Forests centered on Mt Kalik

The Moon Nexus looks like an eye on a dragon head near the Dragontail, and Evenere looks like a severed wing (Yes I am still wondering where Luna Tenebris went, why do you ask)

Weeping Bay looks like the most natural body of water in the western lands

Three red little trees scattered around the Katolis map. Fruit trees? How very Moonshadow.

Duren

The only land border among all the human kingdoms is between Duren and Katolis. Maybe it used to be further south along the river?

Capital is Berylgarten, set on a lake. Beryl is a stone that’s usually green, blue, or yellow in color, very gardeny

Second smallest realm but the breadbasket of the human lands. Has several little forests and great tilled fields

Being a farmer in Duren is probably as awesome as being an assassin in the Moonshadow Forest; you do what you do for all your friendly kingdoms

Northernmost land is cold and craggy, named Skall's Hook along the sea

Third ship in the Frozen Sea is icebound and crushed. Looks western, indicating no possible passage

Lots of colored trees and shrubs as if fruitbearing, I keep comparing Duren to the Yakima Valley in Washington State

Where the lava reaches the Frozen Sea, it melts the ice next to Duren's mountains

Northern Xadia:

Lux Aurea

Most of the center lands of this map has warm tones for its ground. Maybe that’s because of the long reach of the warmth and light of Lux Aurea’s Sun Nexus, and only the lands that are just too far from it are truly cold and icy. It would explain why Duren is a breadbasket realm so far north--it’s just across the border from Lux Aurea.

If there’s anything to that, then I suddenly worry for the fate of all the human lands now that the Sunforge has gone dark. It’s early summer now in Xadia, and crops in Duren will be ripening soon... Unless the sun’s magic was helping them grow. This coming winter could be rough. Next winter, people will die. Unless they can purify the Sunforge again.

Also, I have to wonder if Duren’s seven years of famine had anything to do with Sunforge shenanigans. They’d have happened at Khessa’s command, and we know she despises humans. If she was responsible for all the struggles that humans had to go through without enough food for seven years, and then their desperate attempt to fix the problem by invading Xadia for a Magma Titan’s heart which extended and exacerbated the war, I can see why Aaravos might feel Queen Khessa deserved to die

The city’s shaped kinda like an Egyptian pectoral necklace on this map, and that’s super pretty and not at all ominous

Also that’s a lot of gold for a whole city and I wonder how they got it all

The Shiverglades and the Shards

These areas are north of Lux Aurea and seem cold but not very icy, even though the Frozen Sea is right there. More thoughtful glances at the Sunforge over this one. Is it warming the land, or not warming the sea? Both?

Shiverglades is a play on Everglades, so this is a cold swamp, which sounds super fun I’m sure. Permafrost, tundra maybe?

The Shards seem to be rock islands with ice mountains. Glaciers are cool. 

I wonder if something broke those islands off on purpose. Have I mentioned how much I enjoy worldbuilding? Yeah, well, I like world-wrecking, too.

Storm Spire

Has a good view on everything that happens for miles, including Lux Aurea, the Midnight Desert, the Shiverglades, the Black Tundra, the Uncharted Forest, and Drakewood. 

Defensible position, no other tall mountains nearby

Also able to alert others to danger, especially since Avizandum could teleport like lightning

The Midnight Desert

It’s pretty big! And it looks like it’s littered with ruins of columns and dead palm trees. Like something else used to be in that great space and then something Very Bad happened to it. Maybe there was one great city where all the elves could mix together, and then it got utterly obliterated and the elves all fled to their respective safe places around Xadia. A city of black stone, back when Aaravos wore a crown? Now pulverized to dust and surrounded by not one, not two, but three primal nexuses? Hmmm...

All the wisps could be heat from the sand, or spooky spirit hints, or just an ominous sign of danger from the snakes below, but the overall effect is that the land is unhealthy if not cursed

The oasis is marked, and it must contain a spring since it runs a river out to join the river that passes through the Moonshadow Forest

Also the actual oasis kinda resembles a blue lizard which is adorable and probably also terrifying

Moonshadow Forest

The Silvergrove is the only village marked in the forest, so in keeping with the other lands and general map legend rules, it’s likely the capital/central village for the Moonshadow elves

The village is marked by four round-roofed homes between two tall leafy trees that shelter and hide them. It’s a hybrid balance between the blocky manmade castles of the human lands and the actual forest around them, showing a blending with nature that even the Sunfire city of Lux Aurea did not embrace, with all its golden buildings

It’s a good-sized forest, and it kinda stretches thin to the east but there it tentatively connects to the Drakewood Forest

Moonstone Path to the west just chilling in the lava like a blank alignment chart. Moonstone Path is Chaotic Hot.

Southern Xadia:

Ruins of Elarion

Elarion is a city, and it’s been lost to the humans for a thousand years

The building outlines are squared-off towers like the more modern castles in the west, suggesting that humans in Xadia built for strength and defense as soon as they could. They felt vulnerable and created protections in their architecture. The three elven cities we see also play to their strengths, but those strengths include magic. Elarion’s humans had to find a different strength, and they went with craftsmanship and ingenuity

It seems to be the only human city from before the border was drawn

“Ruins” doesn’t necessarily mean no one lives there at all, but it’s been emptied of humans and no one else has maintained it since

It had a great position on a vast lake, with sheltering hills and easy sea access

Sea of the Castout

This inland sea has five inlets and outlets. It’s hard to be sure which is which with some of them, with the way the water is drawn on this map. But I’m kinda liking the idea that all the water swirlies are places where Tidebound magic has been placed over the millennia, so the water can do whatever it needs to do depending on circumstances. That goes for the human lands, too. Katolis backward river, you’re off the hook.

With a name like "Castout,” I wonder if it was some kind of universal toilet to flush away things you didn’t want--including humans--who might wash up near Elarion and start to build there. Yeesh.

The rivers that flow into this sea pass through or near the Moonshadow Forest, the Midnight Desert, the Storm Spire, Drakewood, and the Uncharted Forest. That’s a lot of drainage.

It’s pretty far from the Tidebound Archipelago, so maybe its name is referencing Tidebound elves who have left their home colony

Was this always a sea, or did something that Xadia wanted to forget get flooded and hidden in the depths?

The land around it seems open and hospitable. It could be a good place to build/rebuild in a time of peace.

The Far Reaches

Open grassland with low hills

Two of the hills look like giant boot prints

Several colorful trees which I hope are fruit trees

Bounded by two rivers from the Sea of the Castout

Looks homey tbh, great spot to retire to get away from everything if there were a war that really shook you up

Ocean Point

There’s a Star rune here, and it could mean many things

The closest other marked location is Elarion

If this was where Aaravos lived of his own free will, I can see why he’d take a shine to the humans. They were his neighbors.

If he is imprisoned here, it’s literally the furthest point in Xadia from the other elven realms, with the Moonshadow Forest being the closest one and Umber Tor not too much further but in a totally different direction. If they were trying to isolate him physically with a portable mirror to watch over him, that’s a good spot for it

Possible location that the cube is leading Callum toward? Portal to the Star Touch home plane? Aaravos’s seaside B&B? Trap street?

Eastern Xadia:

Drakewood

Umber Tor looks to be the tallest mountain in all of Xadia, save possibly for the Storm Spire. It’s more traditionally mountainy, with a nice snowcap. Since it’s labeled, I’m guessing it’s the Earth Nexus, under which an Earth Archdragon sleeps

Also there’s a giant yellowish-brown dragon chilling next to the Tor. Yeah, he seems nice. Rex Igneous, I presume?

Or maybe not, since the neighboring forest is called Drakewood. Maybe this woods is just where a bunch of Earth dragons hang out? Ezran and Pyrrah flew off and returned with a crew of Sun dragons from somewhere, so dragons must have communities too

The mountains that edge the sea are shaped roughly like a stone dragon in flight

Drakewood seems to be the forest closest to Umber Tor, with both deciduous and evergreen trees, though there’s a huge swath of wooded land here, to the north and to the southwest. I wonder what the locals consider the border where the Drakewood becomes the Uncharted Forest and why. The way the evergreens are drawn almost looks like a border, a sort of kingswood set aside for a specific use. Rex Igneous’s best toothpicks?

Uncharted Forest

Okay this is a properly magical name, very mysterious. But uncharted by whom? People with charts? This might be a Sir Phineas Kurst name, which is outsidery, and it makes me wonder if the locals/neighbors have their own name for it, which the human explorer never learned, a la “Thunder” for Avizandum

Maybe “Uncharted Forest” just means no one ever turned those trees into charts though, old growth ftw

If no one lives here, will someone move here? If someone lives here, who are they? Earthblood elves? Moonshadow elves? Humans? This mystery, it calls to me

the trees are mostly deciduous and fill basically all of this whole section of land, up against the mountains and the rivers, so it seems very fertile land indeed

Earthblood elves could live here, but there is no city marked. Maybe because we haven’t gotten that far in the show, or maybe that’s the wrong sort of descriptor for how the Earthbloods live and organize. Maybe the whole forest is their city, like Pando, the interconnected quaking aspen clone forest

The northernmost part of this forest lies right between the Storm Spire and the Tidebound Archipelago, so it might get a regular flyover route for migration or messages

Yes, this forest is the most interesting place in Xadia to me, I desperately want to learn more about it

Black Tundra

Yeah this place isn’t ominous

Similar to the Shiverglades, but where that has shrubbery, the Black Tundra has single dead trees and creepy curving spikes. Scorched? Poisoned? De-magicked?

The water north of this area isn’t frozen, and with a lake to the south and a river and a moderate mountain range, the whole area looks like it would otherwise be decently habitable, but instead it’s cold and black

Is climate change a thing here, or will we get a nice horrible disaster instead?

Tidebound Archipelago

These islands have dotted lines around them, like they’re submerged at high tide, or maybe made of shifting sand that literally moves around like sand dunes across a desert, or perhaps they’re exactly at sea level with half their civilization in the air and half underwater or in cool bubbles, or maybe the islands actually float

Maybe the Tidebound elves even sank them on purpose for defensive purposes

The archipelago is about even latitudinally with the Storm Spire Lux Aurea, Berylgarten, and Eboreus so they probably get pretty nice weather

There’s no ice in sight here in any direction along Xadia’s east coast, so presumably the prevailing current is a warm one

do they have bridges connecting the islands? Ferries, animals who give them a lift across?

the islands have quite a bit of space on them. I wonder if there’s a big population, maybe a shifting population? Do Tidebound elves migrate up and down the coast like gray whales and return to the islands for certain holidays or social events?

This is probably the hub of the Tidebound elves’ culture, but the sea surrounds the whole land and infiltrates it with many rivers and lakes. The Spinning Sea and the Frozen Sea are pretty firm Do Not Enter signposts, but a determined Tidebound could get around either one if they wanted to

What I’m not seeing here is a city. Either it’s not been marked yet, or that’s not a thing that Tidebound elves have in their culture. If they don’t have a city, they’re possibly migratory in family groups, or maybe they stick to small villages like the Moonshadows do, but with even less central leadership

[inimene-skates]

Kodu [DenEst fanfiction]

Summary:  Tallinn, the 1990s. The first foreigners come to Estonia that has recently freed itself from the Soviet terrors. Mathias Kohler becomes one of those daring people while seeking inspiration for his book. Thrilled to find out more about Estonian punk culture, he stumbles upon one of its particularly interesting subjects named Eduard. What follows next is a story about trust and freedom, revolution and philosophy, love and culture. A story about the land where they found kodu – a home.

Link to AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15094802

Notes: After my rather prolonged hiatus I finally came up with something decent. I believe this world needs more DenEst since this rarepair is absolutely stunning. All the events in the fic are a mere fruit of my imagination; however, it is based on the events that really took place in the 1990s: the times when the USSR dissolved and Estonia regained its independence. At the time, the punk culture in Estonia was particularly popular.

I have previously posted this fic in its original language (Russian) here: https://ficbook.net/readfic/6731059

The main inspiration of the work comes from a song of the famous Estonian singer Ott Lepland "Kodu", you can listen to it here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mbyOx-1AGNg

There’s a lot of Estonian slang used in this story so please refer to the notes for translations. ___________________ Ma ei oska vene keelt — I don't speak Russian Tõmba nahhui, idikas! — fuck off you idiot Ime lahti! — same as previous Oota — wait Putsi — Estonians would use this word to curse if/when something goes wrong Vend — dude Lilla (also: pede) — fag Keppi mind — fuck me Mida sa tegid? — what have you done? Mul on nii kahju — I am very sorry 

Also, I tried to illustrate punk Eduard for you so take a look for a better reading experience! Enjoy!

_____________________________________

Mathias first saw him by Kadriorg. He was the one who the Dane caught his sight of from all six members of that frenziedly formed circle. Mathias could not be sure exactly why: perhaps, it was his hair with its part being tousled up and dyed unbelievably intense, almost acidic, pink, and making him look head up taller than the rest of the gang, even though, in reality, he appeared a rather short person. Perhaps, it was all a cocky look he gave the Dane with his mesmerizing eyes of cornflower color boldly fetched out by what seemed to be poorly blended blackish eye pencil. Or, perhaps, the reason could be the way he stood up front deeply inhaling the smoke of his self-made joint as Mathias approached him.

One way or another, Mathias knew for sure it is this fascinating man who would become the main focus of his next improvised interview.

“Tõmba nahhui, idikas!” One of the fellows standing straight behind the subject of Mathias’ attention and whose forehead was crossed over by an apparently fresh wound decided to move forward with an uncovered attack on a stranger. Mathias could not blame him. In Estonia, the land that tried to make it through the quite tough times, people like him, that is to say, people devoted to the punk culture could only hope for a better perception of their selves. That involved, for a kickoff, a better understanding of the origins and existence of their culture and, ideally, less or no condemnation of the bad habits that most of the punks had, according to the public.

In any case, Mathias knew he did not make any mistake by having chosen him. It seemed to him that the young Estonian himself was the leader of that offhand punk gang judging by how daringly he rebuffed his fellow gang mate with a clear and abrupt ‘oota!’. His frown vanished freeing space for a spark of interest. Hoary smoke disappeared into the soft blow of the April wind, not freezing yet not too warm. He was looking at Mathias and his astonishingly vibrant eyes revealed emotions rather opposite to the light dimming inside his body. To Mathias, it seemed like the tragic but, nevertheless, stunning fate of the Estonian folk itself was reflecting in the eyes of this young man.

“Ma ei oska vene keelt,” The Estonian breathed into the air thickened by the cigarette smoke and locked his eyes with the stranger. Mathias gave him a smile getting his message. In the scope of the latest events, he could not even ask for the opposite.

“Ma ei oska ka vene keelt.” The Dane felt that his Estonian language skills had just reached their limit. “English?”

Someone in this incredible company seemed to have started to be running out of patience. Someone else pocked the leader in his shoulder but he shrugged it off making it clear that the next poke would cost his fellow not a mere shrug but a punch. With the back of the hand. There was someone who smirked and spit on the gravel-inlaid road.

“No English, vend.” Here is where Mathias started losing his hope in the abyss of the language barrier. Up to the point when the Estonian himself restored it by giving it a chance to exist with a soft but clear, “Aber ich kann Deutsch sprechen.”

Mathias’ lips stretched in a wide smile of relief. He knew they would make it work from that time on.

***

Only two things in this world could Mathias not stand – being bound to one place and the lack of inspiration. The prior was pretty hard to live with yet easy to handle. At least, for the man that made a living from writing articles for an independent publisher, finding himself in different points in the world to seek unconditional and outstanding events was quite a regular thing – later on, Mathias used them as sources for the new pieces of word art. He could not say that such activity earned him a fortune though; it happened to be just enough to make ends meet. Not that Mathias longed for more. Most of his time he spent outside the walls of his tiny apartment in Aarhus and in times of inspiration did not care much for a place to sleep or the food offered to him but was thrilled by a single fact of being somewhere new and uncharted. In the end, his every little adventure ended up with a new article sent to the publisher for editing – and off he went again as he found himself at the starting point of a circle of his life.

The inspiration was a completely opposite problem. Especially in the recent times. Although the nineties, the times of drastic changes in the unstable world, gave practically endless room for seeking inspiration, Mathias could not find a single place to plant his seed of creation. Everyone around him was making too much noise about the fall of the iron curtain and the collapse of the entire (post) Soviet bloc. But the Dane found it absolutely boring.

This was how Mathias ended up in Estonia. While the rest of the First World was enjoying the comfort and coziness of their apartments reaping the benefits of the post-industrial society and shaking their heads in disapproval of what was going on beyond the borders of the former Land of the Soviets, Mathias had got enough of this worthless pleasure. The decision was made out of the blue. The Dane visited his office the same day letting the boss know with undoubted valor that he was going to chase an ultimate breakthrough in the art of periodical writing in liberated Estonia.

So here he was, standing in the middle of a paved street road having his light scarf wrapped around his neck and put on the variety of decent tourist equipment: a backpack full of snacks and items he did not even recall, a fresh t-shirt, a new coat and a map with a proud ‘Tallinn’ printed at its top. However, this is where the tourist image of the young Dane came to its limits. Tourism as such was the last thing he sought in this cold land not yet recovered from the terrors of the last fifty years.

Mathias knew exactly what he sought. He sought people that were deemed yet not threatening but rather isolated. The young men wearing high boots and creating colorful masterpieces, that could easily beat up the most professional barbers in the art of hair styling, out of their hair. The young ladies changing the ‘right’ and ‘socially acceptable’ garments for the ultra-short skirts and combing their hair up in the chaotic shape to the point when even the strongest storm could not bother their cocky looks. People that could spit on the ground with no back thinking and drink themselves until they dropped in public, not really caring for anything anyone could say and leaving their feelings and thoughts live within the community of their own where no outsider was ever welcome.

Mathias sought them, the people with no right to be spoken of. The free folk of free Estonia, the folk that the rest of the society called punk, somewhat with disgust, somewhat with generalization. Mathias could not find peace unless he told their story to the world, the story shaped by historical, social and political events that had no equivalent anywhere else on Earth.

And so he went along the streets of Tallinn gathering the tiny pieces of the Estonian punk culture found in the words and faces of those who cherished it and allowed the Dane to take a grasp of it as of their souls and cores. Just when Mathias thought his journey was complete, he met Eduard. And oh, he proved the Dane wrong.

***

“Over here, vend!” A loud voice made Mathias almost let go of his camera, not because of the shock, though. It was more because of how familiar the voice seemed to him, that mellow, somewhat leisurely but also daring voice speaking German with a particular Estonian accent. “Out there, you hear me, vend? Putsi...” said the voice once again and the Dane looked back facing its source. Literally.

It was not the first time he and Eduard met by the Viru Gates. At first, he did not even hope for The Estonian’s consent to come and keep his promise to Mathias. However, here he was. He came to the spot every single day, first bringing some of his fellow friends along who had absolutely no command of German and therefore could not grasp the idea of the talks Eduard and Mathias shared. Soon enough Eduard found the presence of the gang members rather useless and started coming to their ‘usual spot’ by himself. Frankly speaking, Mathias was thankful for the opportunity to have conversations without the presence of any third parties around.

The reason for such an attitude was not really the fact Eduard’s pals did not give Mathias the same inspiration as Eduard himself.

Eduard was not tall. In fact, his height made the Dane look down at him every time they spoke. He was shameless, too. Although his voice revealed no impudence, it did not take the credit off his shamelessness. He was cold as the ice on the Tallinn roads when winter decided to remind the country of its long presence with the snowfall: it did not last long having melted in the early spring sun but as the twilight fell the puddles got deeply frozen causing Eduard to swear in his own language, totally incomprehensive for the Dane yet warm and sweet as latte in the cafe next to the Freedom Square. He was as plain as the rest of one million people forming the population of Estonia. Being one of them but also incredibly different from them, he left no room for comparison, the reason being hidden somewhere in the depth of his cornflower eyes dimmed with black makeup. He was conditional like apartment blocks of Tallinn’s Uus Linn, the New Town, reflecting in the lenses of his glasses yet careless and vibrant like the medieval houses of Vanalinn, the Old Town. Eduard smelled of salt of the Gulf of Finland that washed Tallinn’s shores and sweetness of infamous ginger caramel walnuts spreading the sugary smell all over the Old Town.

Someone might say he was perfect. Flawless. At a time, he was a mere Estonian guy, though, piercing Mathias with his cocky Estonian look and dictating him the rules of this cold land. Mathias did not mind. That was the reason he came here, after all.

This time the way led them to the park bench next to the Orthodox church at Toompea hills where the Dane, slightly amused, was observing Eduard drink out of the beer bottle and catching glimpses of every single passerby. At a certain point, Mathias even thought that he himself became a target for a part of those glances. However, The Estonian could not care less.

“How come you speak such perfect German?” Mathias broke the silence but Eduard did not seem to mind at all.

“My full name is Eduard von Bock,” he said watching his favorite beverage splash behind the dark green glass.

“Does not sound Estonian at all.”

“I come from the Baltic Germans folk. Well, half of me does. Not many of ‘em decided to stay after the occupation. The major part was returned to Germany by the Nazis. Back to the land of fathers where they were said they belonged.” Eduard slipped the glasses back onto the nose bridge where they also belonged. “But not my- what’s the word?” he cut the phrase short trying to remember the correct German word, “Ancestors. We all speak German. To not, like, forget our family roots or something. I don’t give a fuck about the roots, frankly. At least I can speak to you now. More or less a reason to have learned it.”

All this time the Dane was silently scrubbing the pages of his rather old but nevertheless priceless notebook with the tip of the pen. This is how the notes taken in this book usually turned into profound articles. His job was not to judge – he was there to listen, to comprehend, to write things down, to live them though and then to share them with the world. Judgment, in its purest form, was the readers’ job.

“Dare to tell me what you’re writing there all the time?” wondered the Estonian.

“Your story,” the Dane smiled. He could not ignore the change of emotions from amusement to understanding in Eduard’s eyes that followed after Mathias’ line and the way his lips stretched in a smile.

“’Course. You told me before,” smirked the Estonian and decided to finish his drink off. “I’m gonna be popular, ha. Life well spent.”

“Well, for purposes of confidentiality and protection of your personality I’ll have to change your name. For your own good.”

Eduard slipped off the bench carefully looking around to make sure no regular folk or law enforcement officer was watching and threw the empty bottle into the nearest wall observing it break into hundreds of sparkling pieces. Once again, Mathias did not say a word. Eduard put his hands inside the pockets of his leather jacket and, instead of taking back the seat next to the Dane, sat down straight at the cold sidewalk watching Mathias carefully. A sudden breakout of wind tousled his pink hair strands calming down as unexpectedly as it started blowing.

“You’re nice, vend,” he said.

“How so?”

“Well... you’re not from our folk but I guess you have our spirit.” Eduard started rummaging through the pockets of his clipped leather jacket apparently looking for a pack of cigarettes. “You don’t judge. You’re trying to understand us. Usually, all we’ve got is people spitting in our faces.”

“You spit back at them, though,” said the Dane pursuing no purpose of insulting him with those words or point at his imperfections.

“People are weird creatures,” Eduard replied finally feeling a thin body of a cigarette between his fingers and impatiently lighting it on. “They are living in this crap for decades and putting up with shit those idiots are doing to Estonia but can’t stand a view of someone who simply does not look like them. This is why I spit in their faces. Not because they wanna piss off my pink hair or something. I don’t give a fuck. I spit back because they don’t care about the freedom we gave them. Where have they been when we were trying to reach out for the world by transmitting signals via Finland? When we were crafting the self-made transmitters of mercury thermometers in order to receive the broadcasts from Helsinki and spread the freedom of speech? When we were breaking off the Curtain? Where have they all been? Ha, they simply tightened their grip on us as their own opportunity. They saw hope in us. The revolution. We are the cause of the first Song Festival of the Free Land. But now they seem to have forgotten this. Now they are all not worth an old song. This is why I spit in their faces.”

His words forever imprinted in the broad handwriting of the Dane on the pages of his slightly worn out notebook got carried away by the rising wind. Mathias could see with the corner of his eye that Eduard frowned attempting to keep the cigarette lit.

“Jeez, I’m starving. You, vend?” The Dane sarcastically mimicked Eduard with his own nickname watching the Estonian sit on the freezing cold stones of the paved road and have absolutely no worries for the fate of his balls. Mathias genuinely thought that today’s meeting with this shameless young Estonian had come to its end and Eduard would refer to other plans to justify the unwillingness to follow the Dane. However, he did not expect a smile that appeared on the Estonian’s face at that moment.

“Is it on you, then?” he breathed raising up from the sidewalk and Mathias watched his German words disappear into the thin air.

“If you promise to meet me tomorrow at the same spot.”

There was a moment of silence, and Eduard allowed himself to finish his cigarette and give Mathias his verdict.

“Where are you staying?” asked Eduard suddenly giving Mathias an impression that he tried to escape giving promises.

“Anywhere,” he said shrugging. “I don’t need much.”

“That’s dope,” followed the reply and Eduard put the cigarette up by stepping on it. “From now on you’re staying at our condo. I’ve got a room all by myself. If you promise to buy food for everyone, I’m not gonna charge you a kroon for rent.”

Mathias beamed.

***

“Aight vend, here are my boys. Guys,” this time Eduard spoke Estonian addressing his young fellows, “This is Mathias. He’s with me.”

“Here guys, I brought a new dick to stick in my asshole tonight.” Someone in the corner of a great living room made himself heard and the room burst with laughter. Eduard rolled his eyes letting the confused Dane know with the gesture that there was nothing to pay attention to.

“Anyway, from right to left. This is Taavi, he’s joined us recently. We sorta keep an eye on him.” The Estonian pointed at the youngest, to Mathias’ thought, dweller of this spacious flat, and he welcomed the guest with his middle finger. “This,” Eduard stepped over what seemed to be a lifeless body whose soul had definitely departed this cruel world, “Is Erkki. Don’t bother him, he’s a busy man.”

The Dane gave the body whose name had just been identified as Erkki a suspicious look.

“And... what’s so important that he’s doing?”

“He’s thinking of the fate of the Estonian folk,” Eduard concluded seriously shrugging his jacket off and moving on to the next members of his gang. “This is Aare. He got us this condo so his rent share is less than the others’. Here we have Jürgen. He’s got a brain bro, nice working brain. It only works when he’s sober, though. And finally, this is Urmas. Urmas lives for the sake of two things – songs and girls.”

Mathias really had to take his time to get used to the new environment as well as the new housemates who he intended to spend quite some time living with. In reality, there was something more to this excitement he felt in his chest. He was thrilled to realize that the inspiration he was longing for had finally found him here, in the very heart of the punk community that resembled a family more than any other company he had ever seen.

Mathias simply could not believe his own happiness. One shall not lose himself in a dream. One cannot come to the new county, meet such a precious person there in a few days of time and, to sum everything up, blindly trust this person with his own life by accepting the very first offer to come and stay with him and the entire gang of people with the indefinite background. As much as he wanted to, Mathias knew nothing about them. He did not know their reasons to live for, the air they breathed, the sources of their inspiration and ideas or the things that made their lives worth living. Here was where experience came to place. The experience that had the power to distinguish dreams from reality.

Mathias spent the entire night writing. He wrote about the flags decorating the walls, the posters revealing the lines that were banned from use not that long ago. He wrote about the music he could not perceive by himself and sought his new neighbors’ help in order to understand the solid meaning of the lyrics. Mathias wrote about him, about this Estonian sitting on the floor with a recently lit cigarette and his eyes closed in tiredness and a simple wish to face his thoughts. He wrote about Eduard who reached out for the Dane trusting him back, just like Mathias trusted him once, letting him into his little personal world as well as the enormous world beyond the boundaries of his soul. He wrote about his cornflower eyes, his unbelievably calm yet highly inflammable spirit that made Mathias’ heart skip a beat from time to time.

“What are you writing about now?” Eduard spoke and his dense voice reminded the Dane of the cigarette smoke he let through his fingers.

“Urmas lives for the sake of two things – songs and girls,” smiled Mathias and the Estonian gave him a skeptical look.

“Oh yeah, that’s super important. Almost everyone in this room likes girls, you know.”

“Almost?” the Dane asked him back noticing the unease that went through the Estonian’s body as he inhaled the bitter smoke in his lungs particularly deeply.

“You know what they call me? Lilla,” said Eduard avoiding the eye contact. “It actually means ‘violet’, like, a color, you got me? But that’s not really the point here, vend. They use it to insult someone who doesn’t like girls. It means ‘a fag’.”

There was a certain degree of tension settling down in the air after he became silent. At that very moment, Mathias did not feel like joking anymore. Instead, this feeling was replaced by chilling shiver going down his spine, the feeling that usually possessed his body in times of anticipation or shock. The Dane could not say for sure which one of the two feelings prevailed. However, he immediately drew a picture of what could happen in the streets of post-Soviet Tallinn to someone who Estonians called lilla. Someone who could be prosecuted for being lilla not that long ago, if not worse.

“Listen, I can omit this if it makes things better–”

Eduard immediately frowned his blonde eyebrows letting the smoke out of his chest.

“Yea, sure, go ahead if you wanna rid me of my dignity! Not for toffee. I let you in my life, I let you tell my story so do me a favor and tell it right!”There was a sort of anger in his voice but Mathias had no doubt it had nothing to do with the Dane himself but rather with the experience Eduard had faced in a lifetime. “I am not ashamed of who I am. I don’t give a fuck about what those assholes say and what meaning they give to this lilla word. I don’t give a fuck if they’re gonna find me, stab me in the chest or break my ribs. I won’t run. Because you cannot escape from someone who is everywhere. You cannot escape from yourself. It makes no sense! I am not afraid. I am who I am and I’m not alone. Right now we have to hide from the idiots in the streets but I swear to you, the day will come and we will let ourselves be heard. The revolution is not over yet, vend. We are still fighting and we will not stop until we get what we want or die trying.”

Eduard put up his unfinished cigarette leaving it in the common ashtray and stood up to start walking towards his room. He did not even give a chance for the Dane’s disarray to settle by giving him a brief line: “Are you coming or what?” Mathias followed him right away grabbing his stuff from the floor and vanishing behind the door to Eduard’s room until next morning.

***

In the next few days, Mathias’ good old notebook got filled in with notes to the cover. He even managed to find the ways to communicate with the rest of Eduard’s second family (not without his help, of course) whose thoughts and memories he also imprinted in the paper. Mathias tried to grasp every single little moment, every detail of their lives as well as Eduard’s brave and somewhat wise thoughts that came out of nowhere from time to time. Once it happened to him after the Estonian offer him a self-made joint.

“Do you want to die healthy or happy?” asked Eduard raising his eyebrows at Mathias’ refusal to his offer and explanation that smoking does no good.

“You think that dying both happy and healthy is not an option?” he parried. Eduard rolled his eyes inhaling the smoke and letting it out of his deeply smoked lungs.

“How do you even see this, ha? I know no one who would die because he had too much health. We all die. Someone dies from aging, others from injuries or accidents but anyway, everyone dies from an inability to handle certain effects. Everybody is given a particular amount of energy upon birth. Since that moment, we die every day because our bodies slowly give up the energy we were given. And then it gets replaced by exhaustion and tiredness. You simply haven’t felt it yet. But go out there and find, let’s say, a fifty-year-old dude. Ask him a question. Ask him out for a drink tonight and he will refuse. Because it is you who can drink all night long and then wake up at seven in the morning and go waste your life in the office or whatever like nothing happened the night before. He can’t do the same anymore because his body has let go of too much energy in all the years. One day we all come to this thought and then there’s nothing we can do. And so we let go. And as you see it has nothing to do with smoking.”

Mathias gave him a sly smirk but in his mind, he could not help but agree with the fact Eduard’s words did not lack reasoning.

“You’re way too smart for your 22, aren’t you?”

“It’s as easy as pie, vend,” the Estonian shrugged. “Don’t tell me you’ve never thought about that. There’s nothing too smart about it. It’s just who we are.”

Sometimes Eduard got lost somewhere in town having left Mathias his set of keys to not let the Dane find himself trapped in the apartment (and to allow him to get outside and do some grocery shopping just as agreed). The other day the Estonian would develop certain melancholy which only he could perceive and express by the unwillingness to leave the bed listening to J.M.K.E. and lighting up self-made joints one by one all day long. Mathias just let it be. Very soon both of them started to realize that their lives would have never taken any other direction. The nights they spent being half the time among the other gang members, half the time with each other made their souls collide to the point when they no longer felt that the usual night routine satisfied them both.

That night Eduard made sure the door to his room was locked. He simply did not want a single soul to distract him from the lips that tasted too sweet to Eduard’s thinking. He was the one to take this first step towards being even closer than before and, having made sure the Dane was eagerly reciprocating his insistent, almost demanding kiss, allowed the impossible to happen. The Estonian let him come too close, break through the layers of smeared makeup, pink hair and cocky words to reveal a vulnerable soul in his core. He let the Dane know him as deeply as no one had ever dared to even try to get to know him before.

After all, there was no difference between their bodies rushing together, willing to feel each other’s skin. Eduard lay open and naked in front of Mathias and the Dane contemplated his chest surge heavily, fingers stroking down the ribs, his skin covering some decent muscles underneath, his bluish veins revealing themselves as the Estonian tightened his grip on the Dane’s shoulders, their hips tenderly colliding and making their desires look so obvious. Mathias reached out for his neck caressing it with endless kisses and let Eduard’s hands touch the Dane’s body wherever he wanted. And oh he did just that. He was barely breathing, brushing his fingers against Mathias’ back in slow, soothing movements that trailed down to his hips, found the way to his chest and finally rested on his warm neck. All the differences between them did not matter anymore. There were no boundaries, no history, no culture or politics – anything that would draw a fine line between people in the outside world. In Eduard’s world behind the locked door there was nothing that would remind either of them of the different lives they used to live, though.

So Eduard allowed Mathias to get even deeper under his skin. He allowed the Dane to lock his arms around his body causing Eduard to let out a choked gasp and words whose meaning remained a mystery for Mathias. He allowed him to watch the Estonian arch his spine, to tangle his fingers in Eduard’s hair, to gently put their arousals together shifting the fingers in a soft yet intense touch. A whispering ‘keppi mind’ escaped into the distance between their lips filled with the thick, moist, almost burning hot air and Eduard squeezed Mathias’ waist with his legs letting him in, letting him come closer, letting him thrust into his body, making his insides burn. As they were melting together, the Estonian forgot his own name; he was calling Mathias by his instead for the first time since the very moment they saw each other by Kadriorg. That moment was enough for him to realize that perhaps they would not be a one night stand – and so he got lost in a long, open-mouthed, moist kiss as his body trembled in sweet relief...

As soon as the morning came, Mathias made himself clear about their fate. For the reasons that left the Estonian completely flabbergasted and set him off track, the Dane announced his departure later this evening. His job in Estonia was done and he did not see any other reasons to stay there any longer. At least, this was what Mathias said. He did not even give a single chance to either of them to let things sink in leaving Eduard alone with his bare soul hanging out of his body, shattered and broken into million pieces.

Of course, that was enough for Eduard to throw Mathias out of the condo together with all the stuff he brought in. He did not really incline to any mercy, say any last words or threat him with serious consequences should Mathias ever decide to come back. The Estonian simply did not see any merit in this. Was there any merit in this situation at all?

“Mida sa tegid?” was the only thought that rushed through his mind as Eduard was falling into an unconscious sleep. The regret filled his heart – the regret of having approached the Dane in the first place. If only he had known.

***

“East or West, home is best,” said the infamous expression. Some people praise it as the absolute truth. Others are always ready to challenge its meaning. One way or another, everyone perceives it in their own unique way.

For some of us, home is a place where we first saw the light of day. Indeed, those of us who find such place home contribute to its everyday life in order to make it at least slightly better for themselves as well as the others. For some of us, though, place of birth has nothing to do with home. It is a place that sets such people at a starting line of a lifetime creating numerous challenges and obstacles that make them wonder whether they are actually calling a right place a home. At that point, they wander along in their thoughts seeking a home where their hearts would settle.

Mathias had been running away his entire life. He fled each and every place that bore a threat to him – a threat of becoming attached to somewhere or losing himself. That night, while walking down the streets of the Estonian capital the Dane raised his head to look up at the roofs of two towers forming Viru Gates. Their usual spot. The spot where he and Eduard used to meet. The place that divided the present and the past, split the buildings of the New and the Old Towns as well as two young souls.

“What am I really doing here?” he was thinking. Lonely, lost, having his heart left somewhere in Kadriorg on a cloudy day in April. Standing in the country that used to be foreign to him but seemed to have become something so much more in the end.

Mathias could not tear his glance off the place where the Estonian, whose essence itself smelled of smoke and sweet caramel, waited for him every day the same hour. The paved road broadened in front of him in its medieval glory. The rows of colorful, almost toy-like houses framed the road leading to the place where the Town Hall Square tower proudly winded to the sky. Tiredness and weird thoughts occupied the Dane’s mind and he went through the Viru Gates once again, facing the void of a very familiar spot.

That night he seemed to have lost his ferry ticket to Helsinki, deliberately or accidentally, for he urged to reunite with the light of the cornflower eyes dimmed with the shadows of black makeup, the scent of the hair freshly dyed acidic pink and warmth of the spirit Mathias would never trade for anything in the world.

“Mul on nii kahju,” he whispered as Eduard surrounded him by tightening embrace of his shivering arms.

“Lilla.” That single word was everything the Estonian could say in return, too happy for the sentimental greeting. Mathias did not mind. After all, it was the Eduard he met by Kadriorg. Eduard he never wanted to lose anymore.

***

“Everyone, listen up! I’ve got my contact with the publishing! It means that my book will be translated and printed!” The Dane came back to the apartment on the seventh heaven. The loud cheers followed the announcement, someone in the familiar corner even left out a cheeky comment about all the work Mathias had to do to earn some decent sex that night. That, in return, was followed by a sound ‘ime lahti’ coming from one of the bedrooms revealing Eduard leaning on the door frame and smiling widely.

Surely, Eduard had other ways to express his happiness with the news: that is to give Mathias a particularly deep kiss – behind the closed doors of his room, of course.

“So, does it mean you came up with a final title after all?” Eduard asked exhaling some bitter smoke from a cigarette he reached out for after their lips parted.

“Guess so.”

“Dare to tell me what it is then?”

“Kodu. Home,” replied Mathias. “’Cause this story is about you, about me, about every one of us. About people of this small imperfect land where revolution is still raging. But we’re gonna fight through it, for our home, for our happiness... don’t you think so?”

Eduard just smiled.

[offoxesandotherstrangeanimals]

OC questionnaire, part 2

@hautecreep (you asked for it)

2. Do you have a personal favourite among your OCs?

Yes. That’s still Devon. My post-apocalyptic genius dictator with the puppy eyes and otherworldly streak. He’s the most detailed and complex OC I’ve ever made and I miss playing him very much. Jacob here on this blog is a close second, though. Followed probably by Sasha.

I dreamt Devon. My friend at that time felt left out by some RPers in a group, so I suggested we should make our own RP. During all that brainstorming, one night, I had a dream where I saw a dark-haired young man in what appeared to be a hotel room high above the city, and outside, behind the windows, the world was burning.

That’s how Devon was born. He’s dear to me. I miss him.

I used to do a huge 30 day challenge for him, with graphics and all, so I will not spare you with details about my darling psycho prince ;)

Here are some of the questions to describe Devon (although I’m pretty sure nobody really wants to read this XD )

Age? 42 by the time of his death. Date of Birth? December 24th,  year 9 Hair color? Dark brown. Eye color? Dark green. Skin color/nationality? Caucasian / born in the territory of the former USA Accent (if any)? Devon considers strong accents as a lack of education, so he always pays attention to his pronunciation. Although he doesn’t talk much, anyway. Height? 170cm Weight? Weight can change over the years. Let’s go with body type. Skinny. Tattoos? He despises tattoos. However, in 42, he gets one by William personally, located on his left forearm. It says “Follow who will follow you”. Piercings? He got his ears pierced as a dare in 22, trying to connect with the older students at the University. Needless to say it didn’t work and they just made fun of him. Shortly after, he became employed at one of the virus-research-laboratories where he found the vaccine for the stage 2-virus. Birthmarks? No significant ones. Disfigurements? None. Scars? Several lighter scars on his forearms and chest.

What is their family history like? How does it affect them? How do they feel about their family? How does their family feel about them?

Devon’s parents were both academics.

Two years before Devon’s birth, his father Henry James Devon, a young and promising biologist, got a travel authorization to teach at Oxford University in England, where he met and fell deeply in love with Elizabeth Derwen Lloyd, a Welsh grad student working on her doctorate, a beautiful and warm-hearted woman.

An intense and passionate relationship evolved quickly; and when Elizabeth got pregnant, it caused a massive scandal that forced Henry to move back to the US. He could, however, take the pregnant Elizabeth with him after a short and unglamorous wedding. Her family never forgave her that she left them for her professor who had gotten her pregnant; they broke with her completely, but the love to Henry was too strong and intense for her to let him move back alone. This is why Devon never met or talked to anyone of his mother’s family and grew up isolated from them.

Elizabeth was already diagnosed schizophrenic, but the disease was treated and well medicated and generally under control until she gave birth to the boy Charles (named after Charles Darwin by his father) only a few months after she had moved to the US with Henry.

The lucky days of the little family ended very soon; Elizabeth developed a severe postpartum psychosis and killed herself only a few days after Devon’s birth. His father never recovered from her death and the loss of his love, and blamed Devon for her death for the rest of his life, turning into a bitter and cold tyrant who was almost never seen smiling again.

Although Devon never experienced physical violence and abuse in his childhood, the cold and distant attitude of his father had a strong impact on the young Charles and caused an early and severe personality disorder. His father, although at first fascinated and proud of his prodigy son, blamed Devon for the death of his mother and treated the boy coldly and in a hard and strict manner right from the start, forbidding all social contact to children of his own age, forcing a strict schedule and diet on the child (he didn’t know about chocolate and ice cream until he meets William). After he lost his wife, the love of his life, no holidays or birthdays were ever celebrated in the house of Devon again.

Henry Devon remained the only attachment figure in young Charles life and resumed being a disappointment. His only interest in his son was of academic, scientific nature. He never appreciated or encouraged him as a person and showed his anger and hostility openly; he never hid that he was blaming Devon for his mother’s death and never hugged or comforted his son or showed other signs of affection, which also lead to the severe antisocial, sociopathic tendencies and the social awkwardness Devon would show for the rest of his life.

Due to this emotional abuse, Devon started to hate his father early, which – combined with his sociopathic tendencies, his lack of morals and empathy – culminated in murdering Henry Devon by exposing him to the virus in the year 23.

What were they like as a child? What was their favorite toy? Favorite game? Playmates? It’s not surprising that, as a child, Devon was quiet and introvert, always a bit strange and very different from other kids. He was an outsider, a little sensation, a freak. Being gifted with unique intellectual abilities and having other interests, Devon was never among kids of his own age. Therefore, he didn’t have any playmates. His father didn’t encourage the boy to make friends, either. On the contrary, the strict schedule he set up for his son as well as keeping him away from normal activities, even prevented Devon from meeting other kids.

With his mother completely missing in his life from the earliest days, and his father being cold and distant, his behaviour towards his son nothing but emotional neglect, the lack of other family members or friends that could have been an influence, Devon could never develop a sense of basic trust or even the most basic social skills.

Devon’s father got rid of everything that could remind him of his wife, including photographs and toys she had chosen before Devon’s birth. Therefore, all of Devon’s early toys were chosen by his father, the educational value the only selection criterion. Devon soon found Rubik’s cube and similar toys boring and too easy and spent the rest of his childhood mostly in libraries, lecture rooms and laboratories.

Devon’s father (and Devon should share this opinion later) considered games and toys a waste of time. However, he did enjoy drawing anatomical and scientific sketches to a certain degree, when he started his studies in biology, which – as strange as it seems – would probably be the most child-like behaviour he showed.

Where (and when) did they grow up? How did they view it as a child, and did that change as they matured? How do they feel about the place now? Devon wasn’t born in EQ 1. He moved there in 21 with his father, enticed away to work at the Viral Research Center after the second outbreak of the virus, when people started to panic and scientists weren’t able to find a vaccine or cure.

Devon was born in EQ 2 and spent his first years there, growing up in his father’s apartment in close vicinity to the campus of the university the professor worked at and where the young Devon soon studied himself.

He didn’t like it at home. Although it was a rather large and comfortable apartment in a well-situated area of the quarantine, it was a cheerless, quiet place – and not a home. Devon’s favourite spot was his father’s library where he would spend many hours without talking at all, lost in his books and escaping from the cold atmosphere in the apartment and the coldness of his father.

Later, Devon tends to block out the unpleasant memories of his early years that were characterized by his father’s coldness, loneliness and the constant feeling of being an outsider and not belonging anywhere. He never returns to this place and tries not to think of it, at all.

Things didn’t get much better at home at first, after he moved to EQ 1 to start his work at the Viral Research Center. The tension between him and his father increased, since Henry Devon had to give up his renowned job at the university to now live in his son’s shadow. Outside their apartment, Devon first experienced respect and admiration for his successful work. It was the first place he’d been treated not only as a curiosity and abomination, but as a scientist and a great with hope. He was needed and publically adored after he had found the vaccine for the virus’ second form. This, of course, started Devon’s deep craving for control and power and adoration, but it also lead to Devon’s strong attachment to “his” Quarantine, and his massive efforts to make EQ 1 the biggest and most powerful quarantine on Earth.

Where did they learn their abilities? Devon’s extraordinary intellect and genius mind show early in his life and his father, a biology professor himself, nurtures his son’s talent as best and early as possible until he realizes that Devon surpasses him. Devon attends university at the age of seven, studying chemistry and biology at first, doing his first doctorate in organic chemistry when he is nine, his second doctorate in molecular biology and genetics when he’s ten. The prodigy is then allowed to study medicine as well, graduating as a Medical Doctor in an exceptional case at the age of 13.

If they have an income, where does it come from?  Devon starts working in the government’s viral research centre when he is 12, at first under strict control and restrictions. After he creates the vaccine for the mutated virus, he is given his own department and laboratory in the research centre. Devon becomes Director of the Department of Health and Science in 26 and one year later, in 27, Director of the Quarantine and holds this position until his death.

Do they have a job? Do they like it? How do they feel about their co-workers? During his whole life, he is a passionate and obsessive scientist, spending most of his time in laboratories, first in the viral research laboratories, later in his own lab. There is no clear barrier that would separate his professional from his private life. He enjoys spending time in his laboratory and with his research and experiments on genetics (cloning and creating artificial organs and manipulating DNA).

However, he hates people. He hates his co-workers when he works at the viral research centre and due to his young and tender age and his lack of social skills, he’s avoided and frowned upon, laughed at and even feared by the other scientists and co-workers. Later, he avoids working together with other people, having only one lab assistant at a time to support him after he becomes Director of Health and Science. He makes sure they’re not too bright and smart but still helpful and qualified enough, looking for weak and dependant personalities that can be easily controlled and influenced. Over many years, Eric is his lab assistant until he dies in the year 40. Devon goes along as well as possible with him since Eric usually doesn’t question his Director who he adores, being obedient and submissive enough to be controlled by Devon and William.

Why do they have their resources? How long have they had them, and how have they served the character over time? (Ex. Contacts, money, political power, fame, etc.)

Devon created the vaccine for the mutated, second form of the virus in 22. This made the young prodigy acknowledged and famous over night. Although he’d already been well-known in the scientific community this results in enormous popularity all over the world and people start calling him their “Saviour” – a feeling that Devon soon starts to like.

As a consequence, he starts manipulating the virus on his own, creating another mutation, the third and deadliest form which he sets free on purpose in 23 - of course after he created a reliable vaccine. After his scientific and political opponents and rivals are eliminated, he introduces the new vaccine to the public. He is the only person who knows the formula and keeps it secret. Devon manipulated it in a way that the serum is only potent for one year, which guarantees him full power and control over basically every living being on this planet (except those who are immune). He uses this not only to become Director of Health and Science and later Director of the Quarantine itself, but also to control the whole population of his Quarantine.

Devon provides the vaccine only to people who proof themselves worthy, useful and loyal – the most effective way to control the whole population and eliminate his enemies. He scotches every other research on the virus or the vaccine he created to ensure he is the only one who can produce and provide it.

He also makes a fortune by selling the serum to other rich Quarantines or private persons all over the world. Often enough, however, those deliveries fail – not only because of unsafe and dangerous transport routes – but also because Devon ensures the vaccine never arrives.

By creating and holding back the serum Devon becomes not only incredibly wealthy but soon the most powerful, most famous and influential man in the world, Director of the only Quarantine that is producing the vaccine. However, although he loves the worship and adoration and dependency of the inhabitants, he is publicity shy and avoids meetings and large crowds of people and becomes some sort of recluse.

Do they, or have they in the past, had a mentor? What was their relationship with this person, and how has it changed since then? Devon’s mentor was actually his father, nurturing his son’s talents and his intellect, paving the way for Devon to get the best education possible. First, this is because of pride, because he can show off his prodigy son, and because he can bathe and shine in Devon’s light as well; later, after the pride has turned into pure envy and hostility, it is only because of his sense of duty.

Devon never feels the slightest spark of gratitude, the feelings of disappointment and inadequacy outweighing the thankfulness. Devon suffers from his father’s coldness and emotional rejection and the blame Henry Devon is laying on his son for the death of his wife. In his early years, the boy constantly tries to impress his father, tries to gain his attention and approval and love. But after failing again and again, after getting nothing in return but hostility and jealousy, he gives up, his own feelings towards his father alternating between sadness, disappointment, disgust and hate. Devon finally kills his own father by exposing him to the virus. What sort of education have they had? Do they want more? Devon’s father took his son’s education in his own hands, as soon as he noticed the unique abilities of the child. After teaching the boy himself for a few years (especially in biology, chemistry, math, Latin and Ancient Greek; he almost completely neglected social sciences and humanities), he arranged that Devon could officially attend the University at the age of 7, after he realized that there was now nothing more he could teach Devon.

Devon achieved his first doctor’s degree in organic chemistry when he was 9, his second in molecular biology and genetics at the age of 10, his third as a Medical Doctor when he was 13. After this third doctorate, he completely dedicates himself to his own research.

In this respect, Devon got the best possible education on his field; and thus, he never wants more (as other subjects don’t interest him in the slightest).

The whole challenge is here: x

[charlottebent-blog]

Booby Charts

I’ve always been a moaner. Even before this illness I’d like to think that I had perfected the art of whining - never more content than when I’m drinking coffee and having a moan. My current complaint is the weather. It seems that overnight Manchester has made a bitter transformation. Having sunk into a depressive winter I can’t help but feel like I’m living in the Day After Tomorrow, tackling common folk for the last tin of tomato soup in the corner shop. As I seem to have lost all ability to regulate body temperature, I daren’t wear less than two pairs of slipper socks due to risk of contracting frostbite and losing a vital limb. Leaving the house, I have difficulty detaching myself from my hot water bottle. As I reluctantly tear myself away from it’s toastiness, I seriously debate how socially acceptable it is to carry the hot water bottle around with me, tucked under my t-shirt as if bearing a child. I decide against this in fear of a) having someone congratulate me and comment that I look like a whale/hippo (it’s safe to say any remark made about my body shape is taken critically) and b) fear that the hot water bottle falls out unexpectedly in a public place i.e. tram station platform, and I am required to explain its circumstances to a bunch of strangers. Nothing spells out crazy like a brown, fluffy, heated object falling from your body.

Arriving at the clinic, I am greeted by Paula thanking me for the bath set I gave her (something, in hindsight, I regret or should’ve filled with some sort of acid to avoid future appointments/mental prodding).  As she peers at my hair I’m suddenly overly conscious that I have forgotten to brush my hair. Although I refused to brush my hair for most of my teenage years, I now take great pride in remembering to brush my hair a minimum of two times a day (having learnt that I spent the best part of 5 years with my hair resembling a knotty, dishevelled, squirrel mating hedge). Paula asks me how my Christmas was. I tell her it exceeded expectations and she appears just as thrilled as I was to hear about my newly padded bottom. I also inform her of being able to eat out with minimal mental meltdown. Looking pleasantly surprised, Paula asks how I came to the decision to eat out that night. So I tell her. You do it. You grit your teeth and try not to let the voices sink you. You eat. Not because it’s fuel or medicine. Not because that’s what people do. But because you love your sister more than you hate food. And when you fear the unknown, you find reassurance in the form of a sisterly hug in the toilets of the restaurant.

In an effort to improve the mood, I tell Paula that I have rediscovered my laughter. Never have I laughed so much than in the last week, primarily at my Mum’s participation in family games, which with the addition of wine is only made more entertaining. My particular favourite being her Canadian accent that sounded like a Pakistani cowboy. What’s funniest is that her efforts are genuine, meaning that you find yourself trying to contain your laughter at her adorably, pathetic yet deadly serious attempts. Similar to watching a child’s first piano recital, as they play 1 out of 8 notes to ‘twinkle, twinkle little star’ correctly - just enough to uphold their determination and pride.

Over two years of mental distortion and mistaken identity, means that I don’t know myself anymore. I don’t know which thoughts are mine. It’s not as if my thoughts are broadcasted in my voice, whilst Shanna’s are projected in a high-pitched elf like tone. They’re undistinguishable. Paula asks me what the negative thoughts are. So I tell her: greedy, worthless, self-hatred, disgust. Asking if I’ve ever used these words ordinarily, I nod. 'Yes, my dog is greedy’. I sense that this is not the response she expected. She makes me consider whether I should ask my friends/family if they also experience these thoughts, in order to indicate that the negative noise is not mine. Although fairly certain no one has snuck in, I examine the room in search of my nearest and dearest. After 10 seconds with no appearance of familiar faces, I put Paula on the spot. 'What makes you feel worthwhile?’ She hesitates as I watch her mentally gather her reply, carefully scanning her answer before speaking, to ensure there is no mention of food/exercise.  

'Family, friends, work, dog, social life’. Recognising that she has carefully selected all things I can relate to, she reaches for a piece of paper and a pen. Paula draws two circles next to each other, I resist chuckling at her drawing that closely resembles a pair of breasts (a very wobbly, crooked pair at that). The circles (or boobs) are transformed into two pie charts, one chart has a large segment dedicated to body size/weight, the other chart is labelled the similarly, but has a smaller segment.  The pie chart represents life. Of course the boob with the larger body shape section is mine, she explains that at the moment I prioritise this over pretty much everything. Essentially to reduce this I need to eat (shocker) and increase the other aspects of my life. She questions what I enjoy. I don’t know. I don’t know whether it’s what I like, or what Shanna likes. Rather than dwell on this Paula suggests that I add a new aspect, something I have not already got on my boob/pie chart. My misfortunate relationship status is an ongoing joke in my family. Therefore, when Paula asks whether I’d like to meet someone I, naturally, laugh. I inform Paula that there’s more chance of me eating a tray of cream cakes than finding a boyfriend. Eager to divert the conversation, I decline the prospect of adding something else into my life that will most definitely go wrong. With the silence growing increasingly awkward I am forced to remember my previous failed relationships. Memories flash of hopelessness and isolation as I urge for Paula to say something, anything.

Sensing my desperation, Paula questions my future. Do I want children? Do I balls. All I see on facebook is boasts about chavvy, bratty toddlers, with a pair of horrifically drawn on eyebrows as a pitiful excuse for  a Mother. It’s safe to say that the only kind of baby I’m broody for is a food baby. Having made it evidently clear that I would rather snog a pigeon than have a screaming, bloody being extracted from me, she says that I must have some plans for the future. No. If there’s something I don’t need it’s more structure, more organisation. I have enough bizarre routines to abide without having to consider what I’m actually going to do with my life once I get it back to its previous, sane (ish) form. If I make plans I fear unaccomplishment (spell checker is telling me this isn’t a word, but I feel it should be therefore I am sticking with it). If I fail to meet my goals it’s more negativity, another aspect that I cannot control. Feeling I have more than outstayed my welcome, I hop onto the scales in a bid to leave sooner (I’m also aware that my dog has been left for over 2 hours and has recently showed signs of urinary incontinence). Learning that I’ve lost more weight this week than any other week ever, I get the feeling that I won’t be leaving as soon as I’d hoped and prepare myself for a kitchen flooded with dog wee. Apologising, I explain how the  multiple milkyways and twixs I’ve eaten haven’t worked their magic. She looks concerned and threatens an appointment with Milky Julia. In an attempt to avoid a dietician about as qualified as a McDonald’s employee, I make a move for the door and come to a mutual agreement that I have one week to show progress.

Whilst exiting the comforting warmth of the clinic, Paula comments on how effective the anti-depressants appear to be i.e. I managed to speak without producing a single tear. As I am released back into Arctic conditions, I account the weight loss to excessive shivering and prepare myself for more teeth-gritting and food-eating.