Home was never quite a thing for Matija, in fact, the idea of home eluded and taunted him. Four walls, a bed, and access to semi stability is all he had really needed (and wanted) but it was never quite home to him -- no matter how much they tried to make it for him.
Sure, he had started to view them as his fathers but they werenāt really his fatherās. Humans cannot really parent a someone like him, and most likely, cannot quite parent a displaced young adult who had appeared at their doorstep, begging for a job or an apprenticeship and nothing to offer in return but hard work and food. But they couldnāt replace his parents, both of his mothers whose faces and eyes had slowly began to fade in his memory.
He tried his hardest to keep their voices in the front of his mind, but as time passed and he adjusted to Felonde of Aeonia, they began to fade altogether. It had upset him, angered him -- and he had cried a few times at thought of losing their memory and their warmth.
Matija did his best to feel comfortable in a country that desperately tried to fend off the Church and desperately tried to integrate every person out there that sought freedom and acceptance. Yet, he always felt like he sticks out like a sore thumb -- he was different, right? Just an orphaned child who did his best to survive until he could leave, just an adult to avoid because his village had succumbed horribly to an illness.
And home was pulled out from underneath him, kept him blindly searching for what it could mean. He would feel jealous of patients, of strangers, who easily fell in love and started families, happily talking about their homes, and sometimes, he would feel ill instead of angry. Jealousy is not a kind emotion.
But then Aston comes in, with his bright and lovely brown eyes, loud voice, and boisterous attitude. And Matija had never wanted to be around someone so bad, no matter the circumstances -- the distrust he felt towards both Aleks and Aston. But Aston was made up of smoke and mirrors, half lies and wry smiles bouncing off every once of them, putting those who wanted to get close to him off. He was deceitful, he was angry. Just like Matija.
And Matija wanted to get through those smoke and mirrors, strip them down and face whatever was left.
And he did -- briefly for a night. There was someone different in his bed, someone who was genuine and honest, somber expressions with smoke wafting in the night air and honest conversations.
Matija worked through those cracks in the mirror, chipping away until he found AstonĀ beneath it all -- a victim of something so much bigger than they.
But when their limbs intertwined and sheets entangle, whispered passions and promises -- Matija wonders --
wip: blood upon the altar
characters: aleksandra
warnings: mentions of child abuse
word count: 343
Aleks only knew how to survive through lying ā it became a compulsion, a habit, and a necessity if it meant being able to rest easy at night, if it meant being able to eat for the night. She never intended it to become a natural part of who she is because she had held out hope that Tsvetan and his husband would come back for her and that they would be able to be a happy family. Even under torture, she would never admit to how she used to dream of the day they would all leave this place of hell and she could call them her dads in public. The day that they had left, her dreams were shattered into a million pieces and she never quite knew how to recover from that. Commander Lazar had taken joy in telling her that they left, and it was entirely because of her.
Aleks had never meant to feel so angry, she had never intended for her heart to break the way it did. But she wasnāt angry in the way other people were ā no it just sat in her stomach and it burned. It burned until it could no longer burn, and all that left behind in its ember and soot was nothing more than shell who could not quite breathe correctly, who could not bring herself to accept the idea that family was something she could ever have. And she learned to accept it, because she waited and waited for them to come back and tell her that Lazar was lying to her.
And what Aleks does not understand is how Aston can so freely express himself, how the words can fall from his lips without a second thought. He does not apologize for how angry he is, he doesnāt mute himself like she does. And Aleksandra envies him for it, she hates him for it.
Because she had to learn to survive by muting herself, her survival depended on quick apologies, passivity, and shutting herself down.
cw: angst, typical canon things: mentions of child abuse, child neglect, and violence but none on screen.
Aleks is laying on Adrienneās bed, the soft mattress is a relief to her aching back and she stares up at the flat, cracked ceiling. The footsteps of the apartment above them have become something of a white noise in the dying, humid heat that threatens to suffocate her.
She closes her eyes briefly and draws in a deep breath, hoping that her lungs would finally work properly -- but at some point, they just never did and the humidity only got worse. The days are agonizingly hot and she silently curses Aeonia for its location, wishing she could just go back to the cold winter of Edhel. But she can no longer back to the Church, she cannot face her boss without feeling the heavy weight of shame.
She would have been the first to have been ensnared by a vampire, and she would be a disappointment to everyone around her. But Aleks wonders, in some masochistic fashion, if at least Aston is worried about her.
Pain strikes her heart at thought of him -- he isnāt a bad guy at all, but she hated him. She hated how casual he was, she hated how he could easily smile, how he brushed off every cruel word she spoke.
Would he be disappointed in her? How easily she became liquid at the touch of a vampire, how warm she felt when Adrienne smiled at her? Would he at least be somewhat proud of her?
Itās been two months since he went back to Edhel, itās been two months since Aleks made her choice to stay Felonde. She knows her absence will cause the seas to burn, and blood to fill the cobble streets but sheās selfish and she will stay.
When she opens her eyes again, Adrienne is kneeling on the bed and her head hurts and eyes burn. Blonde hair curtains both of their faces and their fingers intertwine as the vampire lays down next to her -- her free hand playing with Aleksā hair before brushing across her face and lips. Itās then Aleks realizes that she had started crying at some point.
Finally, Adrienne presses a chaste kiss to her cheek before peppering them all over in a shallow attempt to get her stop.
āItāll be okay,ā Adrienne whispers hoarsely.Ā āI promise.ā
Aleks stares up at her, the humid heat burning every inch of her body -- the exhaustion of the years of ice and anger, she can still vaguely feel the bruises left behind from failures and emotional weakness -- and she cannot believe this vampire. How she is here. How unholy it is for Aleks to simply be in the same room as a vampire.
And how much she just wants to stay.
With her own free hand, she lightly grips at the back of Adrienneās head, grasping at her soft blonde hair and pulls her down into a soft kiss.
And if this is unholy, then by the gods, Aleks will gladly burn with the rest of Aeonia.
warnings - horror, death mention.
characters - aleks, aston
spoiler alert
(....)
Aston says something, his voice echoing off the walls but she ignores him as she takes strides towards the circle and picks up the skull. She turns to face him, holding it out towards him and he avoids looking at it.
āIs this how we all end up?ā Despite how hard she tries not to let it, her voice cracks.
Aston stiffens.
āDead?ā
āThis is how weāll all end up if we donāt figure out āā Heās unable to complete his sentence as Aleks continues to walk away. She doesnāt want to listen to him, she doesnāt want to hear the quiver in his voice and see how on edge he is. If she does, she will start to feel afraid herself ā and she doesnāt want to. The entire mission will come to a standstill if she does, and finishing this mission is utterly important to her, regardless of what they might see and find. She is empty and nothing more than a monster, after all. A monster, a demon ā a weapon. Aston is slowly trailing after her.
Last night, she had figured something out ā the missing puzzle piece to it all. Yes, it is Iara heās trying to bring back, but sheās not Luna. Luna ā or Sariel, really ā was the monster in her nightmares, angry at the fate she had chosen for herself. Angry at the world and she thrashes at Aleksā rib cage and screams within her subconscious, scratching at the walls late at night as she froths at the mouth for the perfect revenge. She canāt believe it took her so goddamn long to figure out, and there was another thing to that dawned on her.
Aston and Sparrow. The way they whispered to each other, the way he carries himself ā hunched and guilty ā and she knows that she will die tonight. Itās something she has prepared herself for the last few hours. And quite honestly? Sheās ready to die now.
She stops and studies the walls nearest to her ā and another door that leads further into the torture chamber. There are deep, bloody claw marks ā acts of desperation to escape whatever happens to them in this room. And a presence lingers, and it is heavy.
cw: angst, guilt complexes, canon typical stuff for altar
Freedom is a word that easily falls from their mouth, whenever they are asked why they decided to become a pirate -- moreso, a captain. They give a grin, a wink, and offer a hand to any curiously lovely rich woman who looks at their ship with curiosity and slight envy.
Sparrow knows they long for the same grand escape upon the seas and away from escape from expectations and needs of families, the puppeteers of their futures -- all to make sure honor remained a thing among the elite. If they are to marry one who lives on the seas, it would be a drab Navy member instead of a pirate, who is only thrill, lies, and self discovery.
A self respecting woman would never step board a ship with a pirate who has questionable morals.
And when times changed, simply offering an escape towards those women had to end as elite hid themselves in the far corners of Felonde, weary and wary for their own lives as damnation only gets closer to Aeoniaās borders. They all know the Church will never keep their promise.
But still, Sparrow offers any curious soul a way out -- an escape on the blue waters that seem like they never end. Itās the only way they can still feel as if theyāre fulfilling their disgraced role - after all, the one who creates life cannot let people die so easily. But they did.
And they continue to do so.
Their ship feels as though it is a prison of red wood, white sails, and taunts them with an ideal they can never quite reach. Freedom.
Freedom meant seeking for forgiveness from a woman long dead.
Freedom meant ending the bloodline they overlooked.
Freedom means time finally making sense.
Freedom means self-forgiveness, but Sparrow cannot forgive themselves for what had happened.
They find freedom or something close in Michaās arms, where years of anger and hurt only simmers to a quiet whisper when she speaks to them. Night time, the sirenās song is only lulling and barely tempting. And Micha became their definition of freedom, regardless of how weak and easily frayed it can become.
Because freedom was never something a god could experience in their existence.
for NaNo, iām working on both completing and editing early chapters of Altar -- hereās an excerpt from todays edit!
"Hey, welcome back! Got our keys, we're on the third floor." Aston waves the golden cards in front of her face -- the hotel's name is written in silver decorative font on the side. "Also got a message from the big guy to not get too comfortable." Of course. She definitely will not.
"Won't be hard for me, so I assume it's for you."
Aston gives her a little shrug and goes ahead of her as she trails slowly behind. How can he be so comfortable with their situation? Part of her does find it unfair, heās so casual with everyone while she just wants to go back to Headquarters and curl up in her room small room, and pretend that Felonde ā Aeonia in general ā isnāt as lovely as she thought it was. She doesnāt know why her hopes coming true was more scary than them being dashed.
Most of all, she hates Aston for being so carefree, she hates how free she feels within the confines of this beautiful hotel ā and how people can go about themselves without any extra concerns or worries. Women are dressed lavishly, men speak so freely and theyāre all so happy. She feels under dressed, unprepared, and definitely like she doesnāt belong in her drab uniform of navy blue. Aleksandra unconsciously tugs at her top, the cotton suddenly feels rough, even with her blouse.
āYo, Aleks, hurry it up!ā Astonās voice is loud and almost echoes through the hall.
