✦ Altars & Outcasts ✦

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Ilya Rozanov moved to Boston for three main reasons:

1. It wasn't Russia 

2. There was a strong – and discreet – magical community 

3. There were pride flags in nearly every business window on Google maps

The strongest reason is too significant to list and would rank as number 0 if anything. That reason being his best friend, Svetlana, had moved to Boston too.

It’s all been a culture shock, to say the least, but Ilya’s starting to find his footing. His English is passable but he's still struggling with it more than he'd like to admit. For now, he’s painting translation runes onto the base of his throat every morning but he plans to get them tattooed soon. As soon as he can afford it. All his savings went to getting out of Russia and paying up front for three months of rent in his new apartment.

Svetlana advised him to lay low at first. It boils his blood to not immediately get to work in arcane society but deep down he knows she’s right. 

His first day in Boston is spent with Svetlana, shopping and bartering for essentials like a bed and a desk. She makes sure he eats and has at least a week’s worth of food before giving him the space she knows he needs to decompress after uprooting his life. He’s eternally grateful to her, not just for the help, but for knowing he needs space and giving it to him.

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His second day in Boston is completely reserved for setting up a new altar and warding his apartment.

His altar back in Russia was tiny and portable. It was just a prayer card with twine wrapped around it, dried flowers tucked through the strands and hidden in his wallet. When he was younger, he’d dedicated his altar to Valerius, the god of strength, thinking that was what he needed most. As his pride eroded, he crafted a new altar that’s been with him for the last few years. 

He takes the prayer card out of his wallet and looks at the image of Sezja, the goddess of protection.

In a lot of ways, he feels he still needs her. But he knows this time of change for him will require a new altar. He’s spent a lot of time while he was orchestrating his escape from Russia to think of who to send his offerings to for this new chapter of his life. 

Since he doesn't own a single piece of furniture that isn't already in use, he assembles the altar on the counter for now with prized possessions he brought from home. He places an old notebook down first. It’s filled with everything from sketches of old spells and runes to all the angry words he couldn’t say out loud. To protect it, this journal stayed on his person at all times ever since his mother gave it to him thirteen years ago. Now he has a door he can lock and a perimeter to set wards around.

So the journal acts as a sort of ceremonial mat for the rest of the items. He adds a plastic ring that he’d gotten from the first boy he had a crush on. The boy had been fucking with him but Ilya kept it as a reminder of when he learned very quickly that it was safer to be seen crushing on girls. Then he adds a shot glass he stole from a club in Moscow. It’s always been easiest to hide behind being the life of the party.

He takes the prayer card he got at the apothecary while out shopping with Svetlana yesterday out of his wallet and adds it to the altar – Sowedin, the god of outcasts.

Svetlana had frowned at him when he told her his choice but he didn’t defend it to her, didn’t have it in him to yet.

He digs out his pocket knife and shears off a lock of hair as both an offering and a bit of a ritual. In almost every practice, whether it be religious or spiritual or cultural, cutting hair holds significance. To Ilya, it feels like freedom and independence at last.

He ties the lock in a piece of twine and puts it on his altar.

Looking at it, a real altar displayed proudly in a place that belongs to him, makes him feel the payoff of Sezja’s years of protection. The gods don’t really speak to witches the way one might expect, but Ilya thinks She understands why his altar has changed. He thinks She might even be happy for him.

A warmth curls around his heart and he breathes the energy in and out.

He feels his lips tug up at the corners into the first genuine smile he’s felt since he doesn’t know when.

With the altar set up and an offering made to Sowedin, Ilya gets to work on the wards for his apartment. Svetlana helped him with some for his first night, but he wants to be thorough.

He spends hours meticulously reading spells and tucking rune paper into the corners of cabinets until he finally collapses into bed and passes out.

✦ ✦ ✦

Waking up on his third day in Boston, Ilya thinks that Svetlana would already be disappointed in him. The first thing he feels when he’s conscious again is hunger and he realizes he accidentally skipped dinner last night.

He wonders if no longer making regular offerings to Sezja means he’s not even protected from his own mistakes.

So he grabs some food and eats standing at the counter since he doesn’t have stools yet, and spends the whole time staring at his new altar.

He texts a picture of it to Svetlana.

Svetlana: it’s perfect, ilyusha

He wants to say something back, but he takes the coward’s route and simply likes the message before pocketing his phone.

Suddenly the apartment is much too quiet and empty. He grabs his keys and goes for a walk with absolutely no intention to go to the apothecary. He tries to hold tight to Svetlana’s warning to lay low.

He walks pretty much directly to the apothecary.

He doesn’t necessarily need anything right now, aside from a complete stock of basic supplies which he can’t currently afford. No, he’s not here to buy anything today. He just wants to absorb the arcane.

Magic hovers in the air differently here than it did in Russia. It used to feel like electricity the way it was harnessed and diverted with complex wards. Here it feels like ocean spray, cool and refreshing, oscillating through the air. 

He’s staring at a row of herbs without seeing them. Too caught up in the sensation of the magic feeling almost like humidity, especially strong within a shop like this, that he doesn’t notice the man watching him.

The man approaches him nervously and clears his throat. “Hey. Uh, you’re new here?”

Freckles.

Ilya blinks, shaking himself out of his reverie. The translation runes are working, but he’s still a little confused about the statement that’s been directed at him phrased as a question. “Yes,” he says in return.

The man gestures around them. “I shop here a lot. Just wanted to introduce myself. I’m Shane.” The man holds his hand out.

Ilya looks at it, then back into Shane’s eyes.

Ilya’s not too proud to admit to himself that the man is gorgeous, but he’s realizing that his runes can only translate words. He’s baffled by the casual offer of touch. Especially in an apothecary. He doesn’t know if this guy has an ability transmitted through touch.

He nods and offers his last name only, “Rozanov.”

Shane blinks and then blushes. “Right.” He drops his hand. “Sorry, I’m bad at… this.” He doesn’t elaborate but Ilya knows what he means. He keeps trying. “Do you have a focus?”

“Not really.” Ilya feels a little bad being so closed off. In truth, he wants nothing more than to be part of this world. To start talking to this magic user about theory and practice for hours. But it’s dangerous. He doesn’t know who he can trust yet. “You?”

Shane laughs wryly and the sound piques Ilya’s interest. There’s something dark to it, but the energy is gone after a blink. “I guess when it comes to ability I’m a bit of a general practitioner but I have an interest in blessings.”

The word catches Ilya off guard and he can’t help the disbelieving laugh that puffs out from his lips. “Blessings?”

Shane’s lips turn down at the corners. “Yeah. You have a problem with that?”

“No, no problem. Just…” Ilya gestures vaguely. “It’s a very imprecise magic. I’ve never heard of someone who focuses on it. I’ve only heard of it as a hobby.”

There’s a calculating look in Shane’s eyes as he stares into Ilya’s. He seems to decide something, steeling himself. “Look at my aura.”

Ilya bristles. “I can’t–”

“Yes, you can.” Shane’s voice is oddly neutral.

Ilya’s shaken. It’s not that being able to see auras is an uncommon ability. Most people can learn to do it. But there’s only one way to assume that a stranger can and that’s if you can sense that they have enough of the arcane within them to be able to do it inherently.

That is not a common ability. Who the fuck is this guy?

Ilya takes the suggestion and focuses.

His first glimpse of Shane’s aura is a royal blue emanating around him. That’s what most auras look like. It’s underwhelming until Ilya realizes what he’s seeing isn’t the outside edge. What he’s seeing is the way Shane’s aura is strengthening itself to keep out Ilya’s.

Bright blue clashes against amber around them.

Ilya immediately understands that he’s finally met someone on his level, if not above it.

The realization fills him simultaneously with fear and relief.

Shane offers Ilya his hand again. “You’re not alone.”

Ilya thinks of his altar to the god of outcasts and tries with all his might not to cry. He shakes Shane’s hand. “How do you… What is your–?” He has no idea where to start this conversation.

Shane seems ecstatic to have broken through to him. “Do you like parks or libraries?”

Ilya can understand that there seems to be a lot they can talk about and that they shouldn’t just stand in a store the whole time, but he’s once again confused by the translation and wondering if he’s missing something. “Sure.”

“Cool.” Shane nods, finally remembering to release Ilya’s hand. “Maybe we can, I mean, it doesn’t have to be right now. But if you want to talk more, maybe we can meet at a park. Or a library.”

Ilya forces himself to not be charmed into making a stupid decision. “I’ll give you my number.”

Shane blinks. “Right.” He looks at the floor for a second and then pats his pocket and pulls out a phone. He hands it to Ilya.

Ilya smirks as he swipes it open. “You should really add a code.”

Shane nods. “Yeah, you’re right. I should. I will.”

Ilya cannot figure out what this guy’s vibe is other than a bit naive. If this is an act, it’s a convincing one.

He calls himself from Shane’s phone so he has his number. “I’ll see you around.”

Shane nods, “Right, because we both shop here.”

Ilya throws him one last confused look before walking out of the shop. As he steps out, movement catches his eye through the window and he sees an employee trying to hang something.

Then it unfurls and Ilya is momentarily struck dumb by the visual of a pride flag hanging in the window of an apothecary in Boston.

He moved here for three reasons and it’s entirely too tempting to wonder if Shane could be the fourth.

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End Notes

listen i dont usually like to have more than one WIP at a time but have you considered it's spooky season