sunshinyssr

[sunshinyssr]

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

☆ Short notice: The images that I used were not mine and belong to their respectful owners. I simply used them to create these collages. ☆

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

In the near distance, he saw a figure. The only men in his family around this height, many moons ago, were his boar alike uncle, the tall thin father. Presumably, now it is time for the youngest catch his older relative.

The boat gently rocked Jakob, as he was getting closer to the childhood island. Years ago, the mother got him out of the Paradise for a much safer place. Away from the father, the burden of being first to enlightened, in other words a dying sacrifice for a glorious day of the lake.

The circle is eating itself. Next victim drifting back after escaping in mother's gentle farewelling hold. Is the same fate awaiting her baby boy Jakob? Is he going to save the dark spirit, or die, as the rest of Eilander family watch the flame raising to the sky?

Mother's presence, her voice inside him cooed a sweet lullaby. A haunting song, luring by the familiar warmth. Caroline did love him, so is the rest of her children. The yearning for a higher understanding of the alchemy did not break her love for them. Instead, her husband got messed up the head.

The lake bloody in Jakob's dream. It was wailing, beckoning to restore lost essence. The dark figure sitting beside Jakob, gently hissed at the standing man in the distance. Before disappearing, mother's dark hand tucked red hair on the Jakob's head. Then a familiar to the heart tight grip bloomed in Caroline's firstborn.

The speed is growing, the island coming closer. Jakob almost hears David greeting from a far. A distance between the boat and smugly smirking brother is eating words, despite how much David trying to spill.

A step, then another and David helping Jakob get out of the boat. Even though Jakob can perfectly land himself. The handshake is brief, awkward smiles. The childhood memories hazing the head. Small hand of his siblings. Elizabeth, David, both of them looking at him. Now, David grew almost the same height. There's a bitter jealous feeling to see the youngest sibling taller than you.

How's Elizabeth, he says. The words about sister's new condition throwing Jakob back a little. Brothers grow closer because of the same gender, but to be honest, Jakob had a more profound bond with the baby sister, instead of baby brother. A gap in few years decided the fate of how close to brother could be after all.

Father, uncle and the grandma had this arrogant look at Caroline's alchemy hobby. Women shouldn't be smart, should be passively doting on their husbands, not drawing symbols on the walls. That's what young Elizabeth spilled to him back then. A barrier of being different from the mother and baby sister grew more in time. Still, he was a man and had words of Nicholas's stuck inside the head.

Behind the giant wood fence a house, Eilanders and the chapel where Caroline is waiting him to bring memories back to the lake. To stop lake's bleeding, as she whispering in son's dreams.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

The waves rocking her bare feet. The stillness of the air, distance sounds of water circling around the island, the sounds of fish making a move in the deepness does not bother her. Fingers brushing face. The small butterfly on the face ticklish, though Elizabeth is silent in her movement.

Tiny wings brushing against, making a glittering path on the cheek. After a while, Elizabeth swiped insect of the face. In the palm, a glittering butterfly crawling between the finger's joints. On nail to soft tip of a finger skin.

The vision of butterflies she saw back in the day before crawling in her red hair, as how the butterfly desperately searched a way out. The wings are fine, why is she holding on the ground?

Nearest place where Elizabeth put butterfly is hung by the cobweb. Sticky sensation clinging on the hands. Sounds of low buzzing, then an almost hearable pleading of insect to not spider come closer. The tiny struggling, web predator with his victim leaving all that unimportant in her head.

Mother's presence does not shake as it used to be. Low hissing on both Elizabeth's ears, Caroline's wrath upon the other Eilanders, shaking island. Air beside Elizabeth is different, yet somehow the same. Caught in between, Elizabeth living a normal life.

Stuck by the lake's force, mother's will to torture them in this Paradise Island until fated arrival. Someone's step coming closer. Wet soil gawking under the rough boots. Familiar voice greeting her. Through the darkness surrounding her ever since, the brother's presence is clear.

Elizabeth's body movement careful, more light. Jakob's face skin, a soon-to-be, not quite smile under her fingertips. Someone else behind him waiting. Elizabeth can not touch the mother's presence, only feel how her wrath fading in seeing two sibling meeting each other once again.

"Good to feel your presence again, brother"

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

The fish he caught this early morning looked rough as how he felt everyday on this island. Behind, in the light fog of early cold morning, a giant shadow of uncle passed by. The boar alike relative made disgusting sounds, then came closer. David felt a heavy thud. Groggy voice started a lazy conversation.

Fishing rod idly lied on the palm, as half opened eyes barely listened what uncle were spitting out. Suddenly, in between the words, David caught a familiar name. Name he heard a few times, though had a chance to see only briefly. Years ago, the firstborn son of David's father hurriedly were taken away by the mother. Caroline never made past the island's shores, but her son did. Now, uncle Gerard is telling how father wrote a letter to bring Jakob back.

To what? Uncle saw an oddly worried, unusually serious. The rough big hand almost made David fall into the water. The rod slipped from the palm light hold. A curse slipped past David's lips. Booming laugh almost made him to have wish for a stronger hand grip to strangle annoying relative.

Gerard promised to get a new one, or get the slipped one out of the lake. A weak smile, eyes rolling.

Letter. Yes.

Conversation got back to the letter. The arrival, as Gerard heard from the father, is soon. A few days pass an unknown boat would come to the shore. A heavy weight of the Gerard's manner of speaking were long gone, but David still lounged on the shore. Thinking of ways for a greeting a long parted older brother.

A lazy waves rolling, the melting fog in growing day's warmth. A few days later, he would do the same thing. That time, a tiny boat would get closer. A man would be sitting there. Beside him a shadowy figure.

Wind will take his yelling. Distance between the island and the boat, lake's waves consuming all the sounds. Despite that, David still be waving and smiling at the boat passenger.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

[sunshinyssr]

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

♡ the Lana del rey version of «Once upon a dream» has been in my head for months now, so it's kinda a songfic inspired by that. The shepherd's characterization maybe a little wonky, so yeah ♡

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

The psychic is dreaming.

Soft shimmering echo of their thoughts, combined both from the people they love and people who are always on their mind. Rubbish amalgamation of everything psychic saw after the day ended. A cacophony of voices ringing in the misty lavender space. One of them particularly loud, pleasantly echoing around. Through the mist of glimmering nonsense, they see a figure. Size, structure, and clothing are all changing, but the hair's color and the eyes are staying unchanged.

They do, in fact, know this figure. A soul through every universe psychic would stubbornly find and love. Striking silver tainted in the blood, iirises clouded in various emotion. Psychic's soft, elegant hands going through the shimmering, little fuzzy glitches surrounding the handsome face. The first emotion the man of their heart shows in a vivid dream is fear, then anger, and finally boredom. Maybe he tired to repeat the same cycle; maybe the meeting was off from the start.

One had fallen through fate's web; other were pulled out of the family embrace. Disgust is written all over, though the rough mechanic fingers tenderly cupping psychic's small waist in a light but bruising hold. Familiar warmth pouring into the dark dream, lighting the vivid lavender background in lucid red and purple splotches. A charming, yet haunting melody gently hummed into the psychic's ear. Is he the one who is humming it, or their partner?

Oh, they're dancing?

Step forward, step back, and the twirling. So close, yet so far. The star is psychic's eyes making it worse by putting false words into the silver man's mouth. Starlight, star bright, is deceiving its host, or is it wishful thinking of the universe whispering to an all-knowing psychic sweet white lies? They do know this man, who's leading in somewhat erratic moves. They walked with this man often in the psychic's vivid dreams.

The hand around the psychic's waist and the painted-in fading black fingers struggle to hold the shoulders of a silver-haired man. The person with the fear and anger is twirling them in fast, impatient moves. The amalgamation of words belonging to someone else who is cursed, doomed to be a forgotten abomination.

Something in the psychic's chest shuttering. The fallen star eye is usually throbbing silently, now aching, wishing to burst out of the eye socket. The hand intertwined, breaking the right dance hand position. Mechanic fingers should be cold, and yet the only feeling the psychic is getting is a warmth. A gesture right on the closed eyelid is massaging the sore spot. In this realm sounds are muted, but why is psychic hearing soft crying? Alongside the melody taking up the notes into a more sublime turn?

A sickly smelling warmth gushing into the throat, as the mechanic fingers help to ease the pain. Psychic gulps a disgusting taste of iron on their tongue. Something red drops on the ground. All his clothing was torn apart, with the bare body parts blooming in purple-red bruises. Light before limbs suddenly heavy, praying to be left alone. A fist of mechanic coldness leaves shadowy punches on the pale psychic's skin, but the only thing he is seeing is a pair engaging in a heartwarming embrace. A pair laughing and wishing to be around and never apart. In the dream, psychic always silent, not trying to talk. Talking in a dream may bring a horrible turn of events. A nameless ghost hungry to devour starlight easily could deceive through the shards of familiar embrace, images.

Using a loving image to capture a dreaming person, twist them to eventually harvest the crying soul. Psychic trying to yell a word despite this belief. The silver-haired man is smiling, and everything is fine for a second. The holding grip on the psychic's waist is gone. Before dream changing, they realized how the eyes of a silver-haired man were looking somewhere away, not directly at them, despite the charming, melancholic, accepting grin.

Blood in the throat is no longer an agonizing feeling. Psychic frantically gasping for sweet, clear air. Dying in sleep doesn't sound like the best idea to give up on life after all. Escaping the hell of the place they were before and having a comfortable chance to live the rest, or most, of their life is what the psychic is hoping to achieve. The pain the mechanical person has done to the psychic's conscience is but a shared memory through the star in the host's mind. Nothing more. A dream turning into a nightmare is a usual cycle when this person is visiting the psychic's realm.

For a whole silent minute, the psychic was left alone, wondering if it was time to wake up. The lovely lavender space is all their got until the figure morphs beside them. The same mechanical hand is taking psychic into a strong embrace. A tall, similar to someone who held them before, is indulging in the slow dancing.

Once upon a time, the psychic saw him. A guardian, a flock owner.

As much as the psychic wanted to be acquainted with this person, they didn't have a proper meeting. Even the psychic had a deeper connection to the cold metallic person, yet this man hugged them lovingly regardless of never knowing them personally, gently guiding them into another round of strange waltz. The difference in size and height made the psychic a little dizzy. A little too much for an amorous person to patiently take when a handsome man is dominating the lead role.

Every version of this person had a similarity. A long, silver, almost loose low ponytail and an armor crafted in memories of someone psychic never saw. An expression more mature than the previous version. If the mechanical person has gone through hell, this partner of the psychic's has met the end of times. A fierce gaze of dancing aurora is trying not to hurt the tiny, in comparison, partner's palms.

A deep connection between the tall man in armor and the pretty psychic continued romantic half-dancing, half-tightly holding each other. The same beautifully haunting melody echoed around. This time melody brought a strange, tense sensation. As if the rough nature of an armored, rugged posture didn't quite go well with the slow and deliberate psychic's nature. As if he didn't know how to properly be soft and gentle after the nightmare he used to live in.

One step and psychic felt a soft fur brush on the naked ankle. The loose black pants were chewed by two adorable white and black sheep. The rich laugh boomed up above the purple head. Psychic tried to shake the sheep. Black beads making a hypnotic stare didn't work on them, so the sheep stopped chewing. A white-and-black flock surrounded them at once. The tall man's gaze softened slightly as the flock picked on the psychic's flowy black fabric. Struggling to hold a proper dance posture and not be a puddle in the strong arms is too tempting for a psychic's smitten weak heart.

After the flock of sheep slightly interrupted the slow dance, psychic heard a barking and faint, unfamiliar voices. Memories through the heat of the suddenly open chest on the tall man's body flooded the dream's space. The kaleidoscope of faces and voices and how suddenly they came faded into the void.

The man in armor lifted a loose purple ponytail from the psychic's shoulder. Hand in the black fingerless gauntlet brought loose strands of hair closer to his face. Shepherd, not breaking a stoic eye contact, placed a kiss on the hair. Psychic felt his whole skin on the face burning as the man put the loose, faded pastel lavender ponytail back to the shoulder.

The hold on the waist was again gone. Aftermath of a meeting, basking in a romantic lip touch done a handful to the psychic's heart. The elegant fingers painted in the soft lavender traced the last piece of a romantic gesture. Cindered sensation lingered on them for quite some time even after the flock of sheep and the owner were gone.

A pair of familiar hands returned to holding the psychic's waist. The third and final for today's dream guest was much bolder than the armor bearer and much more loving than the mechanical person. A name slipped accidentally. Pause was parted by the unclear answer. The same silver-haired man brought the psychic closer to engage in the one last dance session. Hand in hand, the psychic is holding on to the slipping sensation.

When the tight grip of a cold, mechanical person hazed the mind in all-consuming, painful grief. A fierce, tall man in armor brought a sense of tense hidden under the rough shell, but still love. In one of the million timelines, the psychic could leave all his worries by hiding between the monochrome wool and the wooden cabin walls, holding tightly the tiny wrists of children he never had a chance to know. Guarded by a wolf in the sheep den, they would leave together as the world around their forest eventually came to a gruesome end.

The setting where the shepherd's dream figure often took them was reminiscent of a dark, alluring tale. Once upon a dream, curious psychic let themselves feel it through the star's all-seeing eye connection. Oh, so tempting to stay in there, in the hold of strong, rough hands.

But there is someone who is holding safely right here. For now, the psychic doesn't need to look around through the vast stream of many more universes connected by the all-seeing star gift. Sounds, voices, and warmth united into the one. The roughness of the cold soldier person soaking psychic in blood. The harsh outside, yet deep inside, soft treatment of shepherd to tired psychic. A combination of all of them leading purple beauty to the last round of dream's waltz.

The rustling of a book's thin pages, a pen shuffling on the paper, or a keyboard's soft clicking. The heart pulsing in steady rythmn, sliding into the melody haunting the psychic through tonight's dream.

A step forward, a step back. Steady heartbeat, a hand tightly embracing the cold metal. The clothes are rustling. Muted words of appreciation, a look of pure adoration back-to-back. Psychic almost hearing how tall man laughing as he clumsily stepping on the partner's bare feet. No one to disturb, be it sheep flock or numbness of shared pain through the star connection.

And then a swift kiss on the lips with the phrase.

«Wake up, Ukiki.»

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

[sunshinyssr]

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

☆ Short notice: The images that I used were not mine and belong to their respectful owners. I simply used them to create these collages. ☆

♡ It's such a shame, that tumblr has such limited palette to prettily color text (why no yellow though?) ♡

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

ᡣ𐭩 Though he appears somewhat shy, strange things follow wherever he goes. ᡣ𐭩

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

ᡣ𐭩 His body is partly cold steel, and who's to say if he has a heart? ᡣ𐭩

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

ᡣ𐭩 He’s a free yet mischievous spirit who is hard to pin down. ᡣ𐭩

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

ᡣ𐭩 He’s reliable in a pinch despite being rough around the edges. ᡣ𐭩

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

[sunshinyssr]

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

AUTHOR'S NOTES:

♡ I love Eiden!!! This lovely, Adorable, Barbie, Silly Goober MC!! I also adore Aster and Morvay !! ♡

☆ OOC is inevitable and so on. Plus, main chapters are ongoing status, yeah. ☆

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

There was a time long ago on which Aster didn't allow himself to ponder too much. Regardless, when he sees the amount of effort the new Grand Sorcerer, the descant of his creator, puts into his clan members, something inside him dying to be reborn once again in countless new emotions. Is it how caring a master is essentially supposed to look? Naively believing he could let himself rely on the others?

He never had a chance to see a child version of the young master, so he can't fully picture a boy buried inside his ugly worries in a strong bully facade. Master is young. So, so young. This, presumably, youngster carries wisdom that Aster's previous master and the creator never tried to pick up.

Feelings of deep compassion, trust, and simply love are burning bright in the Aster's cold soul. Akin to those fireworks, his heart skipping beats. If only there were an opportunity to get to know Master before all the harshest of the world could pour on his teen years. He, nevertheless, is glad to see how Eiden himself is treating past hardships with the peace. This is how hardships shaped Eiden into the form that was loved and adored by all clan members, after all.

Would it spark the same loud, scary, flashy fireworks as this version of Eiden brought upon his calloused mind?

Eiden, though, nothing alike them. His soul is burning bright. Beaconing lost souls. Worn in passing centuries, or new, whose flame is still warm. Aster is not into romance, no. A pragmatic lifestyle doesn't allow being soft, youthful, or dreamy. This moment long ago left him. Empty, patiently waiting. Moreover, keeping the mansion for Huey always left it in a state of the endless need for perfection. If his master is so highly associated with the noblesse, he, as the most close first creation, must hold an equal status.

Only if Huey wasn't so absent, maybe he and Morvay wouldn't need a reason to be so desperate. Twenty years for immortal creatures made by essence is a short amount. Filled with the constant dealing with the arrogant people's bullshit, commanding the estate's workers, and raising three cute puppies and Morvay passed additional time in the Grand Sorcerer's absence. Until Morvay became too whiny, puppies big and noble people were disgustingly all about his riches.

Altars became a problem in the butt too. Places where magical clan descendants could hold it for a time being didn't bother him for a while. Although, not forever is the situation going to hold on a hanging string. Without Huey's strong essence, the growing dead zone could potentially eat all the Klein in a few years. Did it get better with Eiden's miraculous appearance?

Aster bit his lip. While lying on the bed that belonged to the said man, he didn't feel safe. No matter how much love he could keep for the new master's tactic for other clan members, slow essence control bothered all the rich people, ordinary folk, and forest inhabitants. All of them demanded an urgent solution method.

While Eiden's image as the new Grand Sorcerer grew, so did the Aster's appetite for how he could use the title on his behalf. Surely, Eiden is fine with Aster's exploiting his name. Why wouldn't he? Aster to him, but another clan member, right? All the guys who got laid under his mellow wings must get special treatment. Total harmony between both parties.

Passion raises when a fly of a human traps themselves into his regard. It is his character. To be a greedy little shit, as the Morvay says. Aster is not blinded by love for riches and feels awkward about overwhelming emotions.

Too much to carry for a tired, lonely familiar. Eiden may not have as firm a grip on finance as the little vampire has, for sure, but he gets the importance of the money income. Have deranged it sounds: He is using someone who basically got thrown himself around job to job to barely survive. Well, the puppet he uses has a stronger moral compass yet allows being used.

What a guy, truly. Aster hums. His opinion in time on Eiden all existence morphed from a "stranger with a familiar essence" to "Master Eiden, of course we could do that. Leave all to me and my second pair of hands to do all the heavy work." or "We love you, Master; please don't overwork yourself."

Aster feels changing on the outside, in the circles of high society.

The same rich people took advantage of young Eiden, while Klein's wealthy nobles practically kissed his cute, nice vampire legs. Those rich families reaching him to see new descendant. Wanting to take him, exploit him, rip every piece of the magical inheritance. The amount of work Asters goes through at night is usually doubled down now. Years later, Eiden's figure, known to the general public all the sorts of an applications, letters, invitations, etc., were coming to his address. Anyone who has money wants Grand Sorcerer in some way. Which is exciting, but also greedy Aster doesn't want to share his most precious treasure with others.

Inside, a new sun, whom both he and Morvay started to adore, made his way through a line of scattered pieces of a previously full clan. He could work as the psychiatrist on the side. Klein continent does not possess knowledge of that profession. Aster only heard it for the first time when, drunk on wine, Master broke down on small, meaningless tragedies in his past life. Earth, after that evening, immediately became a miserable, awful place in Aster's heart.

Master's sweet blood is ricking in untamed essence, only if approximately close enough. Oh, Aster is close enough. He adores picking on young, inexperienced sorcerer. Adore to playfully laugh at his pathetic tries to control the essence.

Droplets of Master's elegance passed him by almost in all the physical body image. Aster is not sure if Eiden is his son. They are different, at the same time, dear to a heart essence brewing in the veins, blood is indeed smells painfully familiar.

Perhaps, he was also made by the hands. As was he, Morvay and that unknown creepy stranger, Rin. And the last one had the audacity to capture and hold in hostages his play toy! Kidnapping is not enough, but he dared to impersonate the Master Huey's voice with the essence and fool them. The nerve of that jerk!

Same-different two coin sides, Huey and Eiden, don't favor him into drinking blood. Shame, Aster would love to taste creator. Go high on pure essence. Is it better to consume simply saying contained essence? Aster has an answer: No, sadly. Don't get him wrong. He adores youthful master as the next guy; still, a vampire can dream. This is where his greed has limit.

As the first, the creator and original master left them; he doesn't want the second to accidentally fall into the same fate. This time—by his own fangs.

Loneliness surrounded him all the time before Master took pity on him or got tired to hear the small whiny vampire pleading with him for a companion. A tiny, cuddly pile of flesh named Morvay was roughly shoved into his arms. After that, Aster got to know real headache. Headache sticking impossibly close to New Master, sweetly making a conversation. Bare legs tangling in the air as the Morvay's hugs make Eiden happy.

Ah, that's right.

He, and that perverted dumb incubus, were planning to say goodbye for a night to a master before some horny thought broke all the innocent plans. Aster finds himself idly fidgeting with the brown strands. Eiden, under his touch, shivers as the very strong pull is made. Exposed neck skin alluring. Aster wants to put his sharp teeth into it. Instead, he just yawns. Some speckles of dry blood show on the edge of the fangs.

Three men under the lamp's dim light taking their sweet moment before night eventually would tear them apart. Eiden would surely fall asleep right after their, his and Morvay's, departure; Morvay would fly away to feast on. That would leave Aster going on a night walk to hunt down a horny menace. For now, in the momentary bliss, Aster is basking in the master's essence.

Them three, lying on the bed. Eiden's room has an imprint that is undeniably his: tons of crumbled paper, sheets of unused cloth, gifts from clan members. All that came with the man of the hour, carefully listening to the dumb incubus. Before, this was the room where Aster rarely decided to be around. Master's old bedroom found a new owner. As his pets found new light to follow. New warm light brought a sense of life into the previously pristine room. Huey didn't stay much in the mansion, preferring to travel. Sometimes alone, sometimes with the set of different companions.

"Aster, what's the matter?"

Eiden's voice stirring him awake. A heap of thoughts leaving away. Brown eyes always making sure to take efforts and time to see what's wrong. Aster felt himself blushing now. Warm, sickly feelings consuming his small form. Right from the perfectly manicured toes to the pink head. He never in the slightest felt a wish to grab a creator in the cuteness aggression. Eiden is doing this too easily for Aster to be an uncontrollably messy hugger, a bully, a shapeless mass only made to endlessly adore him.

Hands itching to hug, to pinch, to kiss every inch of Eiden's cute, serious face. Instead, he chuckles. Morvay, like a cat, looking at him. Then, picking up on the usual slurs. Morvay is more clingy than him; that is a true constant. As someone who dealt together with the Aster all those years away from Master's dear to the heart essence, he understands Aster like nobody else. Aster knows mischief lights dancing in the black irises. He also fights the same cuddly demons. When Aster carries some dignity, Morvay lets himself be free. Some jealousy stirs in his small body. Jealousy, though, always on a leash, unlike someone's clingy ass.

Eiden grins as the tail of the incubus is wrapping around the master's ankle tighter. A small huff, even though muffled by Eiden's question, doesn't leave itself unnoticed. Hoarse voice doesn't really bother Eiden that much, but Aster made a small scratch on the to-do list in the mind. Some honeyed tea?

"Nothing, master." Aster hugs Eiden's shoulders, while Morvay keeps laying on the bottom half of the body. "Thinking, how much influence you give to the clan members, but barely making progress on the essence control."

Eiden's cheeks puffing a little, some grumblings coming out of the thin lines of kissed-to-bruised lips. It was Morvay's fault for practically showing himself on the master. Though, the neck also needs healing. Dark spots, blood drying itself. A metallic taste of blood lingering slightly inside the mouth.

"Shut up, shitty vampire." Morvay bares his not-too-much-sharp teeth. Tail stop wrapping around Eiden's ankle, instead slapping on the bed sheet. "He's trying, and it's you who is asking too much. Right, Master?"

"Look who is talking." Aster snorts. "You lazy, dumb incubus, you need to do more work and not jeopardize my connections by sucking whomever!"

Eiden shows himself right in between. Warm Palm stops Morvay. A careful gaze thrown to Aster immediately stops all the action. Always the same. If you ever need a tie or middleman between sides, call the descendant of the previous Grand Sorcerer.

Going against his creator, the true master is part of the whole day's agenda. Is there something inside him left devoted to Huey? Day by day, it's hard to find an answer. Especially on a winter's night. Surrounded by Eiden's radiating warmth. Especially when Eiden is saying so simply, yet so profoundly. Touching Aster's heart, closed for good, with his simple words. Not laced, not hidden, not riddled.

"I am trying." He says with a shy smile. Adorable arch of the lips addressed to fuming Aster. "Magic may not be my super strong part, but I have you and others, don't I? And the Morvay also works hard on the stuff you ordered, no?"

"Young Master, you are so caring. Making me shed a tear." Morvay pretends to wipe his eyes.

There are a few times when Aster has an agreement with the dumb incubus. Blooming love blinds both of them in that moment. He hugs bare shoulders even tighter. Free palm gently pats on the vampire head. If Aster could purr, he would right at this moment. But he can't, so a vampire can only squeak in the soft warm delight. Light chuckles haunt his burning-in-love ear tips.

"Can't believe, I am once in agreement with this dumbass." Aster murmurs silently. "Master practiced to be all buttery, or is it all that old fox influence?"

All Eiden's face morphs into the long face of a barely hidden sourness. Call the devil and he arrives. Well, for Master's sake, Aster hides the fact that old fox did in fact go through the night in the mansion on many occasions without Eiden knowing that.

Old members feel each other's presence due to having high control over essence. Eiden didn't know that, apparently. That's where he should learn to see through a clan member's unique essence trail, or a pile of the blankets right beside the nearest fireplace would hide a surprising sour secret.

"Don't tell me he is somewhere around?" Eiden almost whines.

Determined brown eyes telling Aster a different story. Eiden is ready for a conversation with that old fox despite all the theatrical noise he puts into it. What a cute, determined master he has, if he is ready to go against Huey's most bitter clan member.

"No. Calm down, Master. He's not here" Morvay knowingly chuckles. As the younger counterpart of the Huey's immortal magical familiar, he also felt an old fox's essence trail. "Right, a shitty vampire?"

Morvay immediately picking on Aster's mischievous glance. By how Eiden crinkled his eyes, he solved the riddle. Nothing goes under Master's nose, or it simply Aster became too densely soft? Old fox's last words on that particular topic started a rage word rent in him.

From whose house is the call coming? Aster remembers the Kuya in awe for a Huey. Same-different vibration often coming into view as the Eiden having a variety of the situation with the old fox. He may hide his words under the lace of sarcasm, arrogance, and pity as much as he wants. Play a tricky old spirit causing a young mind to go further into madness; it's not Aster's business in the first place.

Aster, who is a vampire created by the previous Grand Sorcerer, knows better than to push around when you can take it and use it as much as your heart desires. So, that's why he praises Eiden in the high, on the first sign, with pity words of a sarcastic appreciation instead of Kuya's arrogant bullshit.

"Master, isn't it too late for a healthy night's sleep? Humans need seven to eight hours, right? Because tomorrow morning, I recall you having a writing practice with the local priest? Oh, how Olivine would worry on your behalf if he saw those prominent eye bags?" Aster slightly raises his voice while gently smiling at Eiden. Morvay also gives a quick series of head shakes. His tail lazily wrapping around the ankle once again.

"Yeah. You're right" Eiden says with a small yawn. He doesn't make a move to hush two leeches off him, though. The beauty of his slim, bare body captured under their loving embrace. "Are you going to let me go anytime soon?"

"Dumb incubus, let go." Shoulders look so empty when Aster releases them. Morvay also makes a protest sound. He is much taller than a vampire but behaves like a child whose toy was taken away. Cloth, earlier thrown away, picked by two guys. On the corner of the eye, Aster catches Eiden's half naked body slipping under the blankets.

What a naughty, master, huh? Made them leave, while not bothering properly dress himself?

Door creaking quietly. Painted sharp nail of the incubus holding it.

"Goodnight, master." He says to before leaving the room for good. Damn incubus, however, fumbling around by playing with a doorknob, not trying to close the damn door. He can't allow Morvay once again flee to fed on some nobleman he has an agreement with in the near time. Is that scumbag doing it on purpose? Purely to piss him off?

Shuffling sounds of the blanket put on the Eiden's sleepy frame beckon them to lay together under it. He stops all the raging words. Right beside Morvay is cursing under his breath. Poking out the covers, Eiden's face murmurs a phrase. Somewhere up, Morvay shakes his head as the Eiden's hand calls them. There's a place for another two people; that's how Aster interpreted the gesture. Incubus eagerly returns back to the waiting master.

"Master, I beg you to not encourage this lazy scumbag to avoid his duties." Aster huffs. Small hands on the hips, lips curved in a pouty expression. Morvay, from his place right on the Eiden's body, showing his tongue. "Put that thing away, you perverted idiot."

"Leave it, shitty vampire." Morvay hisses, to be quickly shut down by Eiden's fingers touching tiny horns peeking through the strands of hair. Aster feels the same jealousy. Only this time it came with a surprised pair. He...actually is liking how lovingly other clan members, even including dumbass incubus, are treated.

"Yes, Aster. Come here" The sleepy voice of Eiden's is touching his heart in a sweet, mellow way. Blanket on the other empty side to alluring, so is the master's soft, kind face expression.

Aster sighs. Eiden's face is too cute for him to keep on resisting. Hurriedly put up again clothing sheds once more. On the right side he buried, on the left side Morvay gently purrs. Two hands tenderly cradle both of them as the two different weight-height figures nest inside. Aster feels shivers running on Eiden's shamelessly naked parts of the body.

Before going into a needless sleep for a night creature, he reckons Eiden saying something, but doesn't quite comprehend what was said in the cozy night darkness. Only the warmth of the familiar essence leaking into the air. Feeling him to the fullest, as he never felt so for long.

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[sunshinyssr]

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Disclaimer: I do not practice tarot reading, nor can I interpret the real session. Just an amateur who loves Rusty Lake, wasted potential of Emma and Ida as the sensible characters in their own game. Tarot-related topics I know, and what got me hooked is watching one particular vtuber and searching for information on wild sides of the internet.

Please, if any information is gone/written/interpreted wrong, leave a comment so I know which thing.

On the sunny summer day, Emma was in a hurry to leave the house. A large shadow consumes a small tent in the yard. Her new relative-in-law residence, beside the room shared with the husband. Ida came back suddenly as she carved herself into the heart of Emma's older brother. Years prior, a redhead woman stayed in the yard, made a tarot reading session, and vanished. Tent raised their pointy head months later after marriage back in a cold winter day. She did make it back home. Not alone, but with a boy in her belly. A little younger than Emma's lost son. Leonard inherited his father's warm smile and the same body physique as Samuel back in the days. Nothing from his mother, not a little thing. Ida's beautiful dark ginger curly hair and shiny dark eyes, her elegance, are all completely swallowed by Samuel's image.

Marriage comes naturally when two whipping-for-comfort souls make a pact. What could Emma possibly know on topics related to newlywed happiness? Brief childhood ended when growing stomach day by day made her afraid. What if this out-of-the-blue child will grow into something horrible? Blur moments of the creation Emma's can't put it together. One moment, flower breeding turns her the one who got bred. Truly, a strange turn of the events.

Motherhood lasted a few wonderful years, and yet, here she is looking on a rapidly growing boy. Nephew of hers, sunny boy. Wonder, delight to poor old granny, to murky aunt, to isolated cold uncle. Sunny Delight loudly reciting voodoo knowledge in mother's tent. Emma rushes away from the giant side of the house. The atmosphere inside slowly strangling her year by year. After bearing a child, she most certainly saw a figure in the house's walls. In the windows by night, and lingering presence of the unnatural shadowy projections.

Shoes of the young lady clicking all the way to the tent. Pale, sickly hand removes tent's canopy. Air full of sweet aroma smoothly fills her nostrils. A loud sneeze breaks the boy's cheerful voice. He and his mother, Ida, waiting on Emma to speak. Voodoo dolls lying on the table between them. One torn apart, another sewn in the belly. Emma slightly disgusted by this. She knows enough to avoid them. Piece of you on it, and this doll can be used for awful deeds.

"What's wrong?" Ida's smooth voice slightly broken by accent. Leonard also asks how aunt is feeling herself on this beautiful sunny day. Emma cringes.

Fault doesn't lay on his shoulders on behalf of his relative disappearance. Shameful guilt eats Emma alive seconds, minutes, and hours as Leonard shapes into a young man. How glad is she to know that despite all the mythical, magical, whatever-you-call-it, inheritance hasn't made his mother learn mind reading, besides crystal ball and cards. Then, Emma would perish; second, Ida learns the truth behind gloomy eyes, carefully watching Leonard's steps.

"Nothing, everything is fine. I came to see how you two are doing today." her own voice broken by crippling sadness of mourning.

Still, Ida's shiny dark eyes taking her moment by moment as Romani woman continuing teaching son magic things. Leonard, the smart little boy, smiles at how Ida pats him on the head at every right answer. Dolls still laying there on the table. Seems it Ida doesn't trust touching, rather guiding on how they were used in old rituals.

"Son, go now." Sweet aroma messing with sleepy brain. Emma yawns. "I need to discuss an important matter with your aunt."

Leonard leaves. Before, he smiles once again at two women. Noisy steps of the only child in the Vanderboom estate faintly signaling his departure. An unwanted frown appears on Emma's face. She rubs her forehead. Tiny web of the wrinkles slowly taking over. Young. She once again needed to know how young and how grief was toying with her body. Bony arms, pale skin, constant lines on each side of the mouth, hair put up in order to look presentable, and voice. Oh, god. Her voice is so unpleasantly scratchy.

"Sit here." Ida tosses cards. The table is empty, and she is waiting for the arrival of the distressed guest. As Emma sits comfortably, Ida shuffles the card deck. Dolls securely packed in the box right behind the redhead fortuneteller.

"Thank you. Little Leonard, a wonderful child. Still, is it safe to teach kids these things?"

"No. Under my guidance, he is safe as long as he is not interacting directly."

"If you say so."

Silence lays as Ida shuffles an old pack of the cards. Drawings made in old style, perhaps even older than the first owners of the house nearby Lake. She patiently waits, while the woman with the dark ginger curls mutters a mantra under her nose. Twilight in the tent slightly torn by the flickering light of a burnt candle. Sweet aroma lulling Emma into a dreamscape. Rowdy bang sound made by card deck breaks syrupy-coated illusion. Three cards lying right in front of Emma and one. Ida, with a surprised face, catches the extra right after it falls on the table.

"Interesting." Ida murmurs. Dark eyes flickering between cards on the table and one that had fallen down. Four in total. "Self-reflection? Son?"

"Yes."

To be precise, Emma doesn't need help from another side. She is perfectly fine with searching for her own son. Somewhere, her baby Frank also feeling scared. A mother's duty is to avoid all possible distress falling into a child's hands. What should a mother do if the son is far away? Not receiving vague future reading. Still, Emma patiently nods. Fingers gripping tightly on the fabric of the dress. Numbness, awful tickling sensation in them doesn't draw her attention. Guilt, her usual friend, once again eating, soaked in never-ending sadness, head.

Air inside filled with aroma, and the outside of a tent is slightly chillier. Cold breeze are making her spine shiver. Dead arms of the magic taking Ida right now as the helpless puppet. Small light casting shadow behind redhead woman. Or is it simply Emma's imagination playing tricks? Connection with a child made without man defiantly falls into category "supernatural, otherworldly deities". Simple idea of the plastic dictating her whole life choices child's play on contrast of a Frank's birth.

Ida turns over the first card. In the picture, a man is pinned by sharp swords. He lay there, motionless. Ida hums, then another card lays beside the image up. Another man in the picture struggling to hold a bunch. Emma can't quite tell what he is holding. Sticks? Huge, nicely shaped sticks?

Ida's serious expression is everything she needs to know: Not right. Bad omen. Mouth slightly open and half-squinted eyes. Longing, hopefulness, and sweet feelings fade out as Ida takes shaking hands in her warm embrace. Emma sniffs. Something tells her the next line is going to be awful.

Deep down, she knew.

"I'm so sorry." Ida let's go one hand to address what meaning is in the combination. "Ten of swords is a sign of the ending, hitting rock-bottom, Emma. You're done. And ten of wands telling of how much sorrow you are taking on shoulders. These two combined are not a pretty couple usually. In some way they can bring rebirth, a chance to start a new."

Emma backs away. Apologetic sparks in Ida's eyes can tell hope is still there, somewhere. On what cost start new? Giving up on abandoning all her powers in search of a dear-to-heart son? No, as the mother she would never do that. Emma bites tongue. Wishing nightmares doesn't do best to future reader person. Ida but a messenger in between. Who also happens to be an earth guardian of the young Leonard. Closest one.

Popped on her own card shows the face of a moon. Next to the struggling man and dead man pinned to the ground, she is looking way out of the picture. The fourth card hides under cover next to revealed neighbors. Death or the Devil can be there. Lack of knowledge and intuition is something Emma bets on an unknown card.

"Moon may show that you caught in someone's tricking nature. Secrets be reviled under her gray light." The moon on the picture looks at land far away from. Starry sky captured Emma's tired mind, and yet Moon carved an empty spot next to them. "Moon guides your both sides. To heal and mourn, to confront. Face your fears, Emma."

Next card frightens her. Man upside down, all alone, hanging on a tightrope. The man in the picture is too serene, playfully snickering. Not Death, nor Devil. Unknown scares more than the ugly face of the death or devil.

"He and Moon's gaze may ascend your spiritual way. Growth is important, so is healing. Lead unnatural forces show signs, Emma. Frank will maybe be spared by a higher force if only you gave your will to them." Ida's voice laced with adoration to an unnatural invisible force.

"You're talking nonsense, Ida." Higher powers gave her precious son and so easily took him. Is it time to trust again? After countless tries, she doesn't know. Giving up on everything is a way she's not afraid to take. If only this choice gave her a chance to obtain Frank again into her arms. See how he looks at her, talks, and laughs.

"No. See the Moon and The Hanged Man telling you to trust in spiritual growth. Shying away from supernatural higher beings will not uncover hidden evil and give clear signs to what and who is deceiving you." Card's silent shuffle, shuddering her insides, as Ida calmly talks about higher mysticism. "With wands and swords, a The Hanged Man tells you to step back, release the unnecessary, and seek help beyond yourself, Emma"

"How much picture could change message." Emma thinks carefully before resuming. "If instead of a The Hanged Man there was the Devil or Death? Are they bad omens?"

To her surprise, Ida lightly chuckles. White teeth became visible to frustrated Emma. Fortuneteller takes two cards from the deck. One with a red-skinned devil and another with a horseman skeleton. Red manicured fingers tap on devil.

"With the wands and swords, the Devil is still telling you to let go of the heavy burden you carry. The grim end is near; that is true, and yet you still can change fate. The Moon combined with him enforcing a spiritual growth, self-reflect." Warmth in Ida's tone made Vanderboom's blond woman flutter, solely for a second.

Devil returns back to the deck. Skeleton horseman, after hearing so many praises, perhaps, also not the bringer of the bad luck? Red manicured fingers tap on Skeleton's heavy gray helmet.

"Scary on the first sight, things may bring good news" Ida smiling: "Death combined with wands and swords has the same message of letting go, receiving help from above, and positive reflection of your life choices. Death also can provide a new cycle, the end of the past one and the road to the new. Moon with him doesn't disagree. All signs clearly picturing a past to self-reflect, road to new without the heavy weight of the past burden."

"Thank you, Ida." Emma is smiling. Not in degree as how redhead fortuneteller. Frank may be far away, not right here beside. Despite all, she feels closer to him than she ever felt after all those years of fruitless searching. Whenever elegant, soft palm, she's holding, perhaps, doesn't belong to the small brown-haired boy in the round glasses at all. Nevertheless discarding all the weight she put on in a kind of a black mourning robe.

Five years is such a long time. By this moment he has reached the eleven-year point mark. As if deities under whom Vanderboom's living would allow her to easily part with growing sorrows. Sick mind whispering her thoughts of the bad nature, leading to eventually a gruesome end. Unknown deities hide in plain sight. The fortuneteller Ida Reiziger blind to see signs. Emma is sure this beautiful woman will meet her end as gruesome as the rest of the Vanderbooms previously met.

Under a compassionate gaze, tired Emma raises the tent's curtain. Fresh breezes are clearing fog by sweet aroma. Goodbye to Ida seems hollow. Voice with an accent of the new relative by marriage sends Emma to a merry, light way.

Four images circling at the back of her blond head as she takes her seat opposite the yard where the tent is. Yesterday, she had a thought of creating a picture. Canvas, tools, all that left. Brush, color by color. Letter to Frank securely waits for him. Torn apart by higher deities, to meet him again someday in the starry night sky. Clear as now, but much darker. Ida may follow her visions of the bright future and may even escape the cruel plan for every Vanderboom of this house.

Emma painting her last picture. Letter on its own way, and she's ready to depart.

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[sunshinyssr]

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On the last day of November, Moomin gives him a pair of funny-looking socks. Threads of brown and green yarn are sticking out here and there. Not the best work, but Moomin somehow looks proud. 

New? Seems like. But didn't his friend of years know how Snufkin doesn't hold in high regard new stuff? With a determined face and shining blue eyes, Snufkin can tell what thoughts behind an unexpected gift. 

"Did Moominmamma knit them in darkness?" Jokes go out in the chilly autumn air, and no one laughs. If not mamma, then who?

Few ideas come to mind. No, not them. A stupid smile spreads on cold cheeks.

"Mamma said best to give you now."

"Did she?" In the backpack they go. There's still room for another unexpected gift. Snow under light boots melts into a watery mess. Still, Snufkin waits. He could go. And...

"She taught me. Whole summer I spend working." Frustration is written all over Moomintroll's body. Years ago, Moomin would have stamped his feet, but now only shrugs. "Hope you'd like them.".

"Of course. What friend would I be rejecting them?" On the other side, if this was not about friendship, Snufkin with a polite smile would leave knitted gifts in some ways. Like dragon, who was caught long ago. Sometimes, Snufkin wonders where that last representative of his kind? 

"Thank you?" Moomintroll confused, "Guess, see you at the spring?" 

Bittersweet words are never easy. Moomintroll sighs. Snufkin sees paws are rubbing against each other. House behind Moomin rises a red roof. Somewhere inside, parents, tiny mymble ready to hibernate. Moomin needs to be there. 

Snufkin takes paws in his warm handshake, then gently hugs his surprised friend. Why does this goodbye feel different? It's that the spring would never stretch her green fields? Meltwater would never flood the river? Birds forever silent, mourning?

No. 

There's always gonna be time. On a carpet of shimmering greenery, they will look at the stars at night. Counting every each. Spring tune willl stir up sleepy valley. And birds will sing alongside.

Right now, they're parting ways. Heart light, boots wet, and in the backpack, carefully packed with the other few belongings, soft worm socks.

His back was smaller and smaller. Snow keeps falling, and the footprints soon cover a thick layer of white coldness.

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[sunshinyssr]

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Your name is Laura Vanderboom. You are an average-height woman with medium blond hair paired with striking blue eyes. Anyone's thought on them usually either "Laura, why long face?" or "That creepy girl once again acting scary." Most of the time you were in a dream state. Swimming in dark water or walking in the inhabited Forest. Black hungry souls aimlessly sealed to wander. Are you one of them or destined to rule? Time will tell, but between them and you, an ordinary girl had way more chances to obtain ascension.

To rule, to harvest, to guide.

"Be reborn," that's what you wrote once upon in the notebook. School pen emphasized word ascension two times. Someone's gum flew right into your locks. The pen fell down, as did the notebook. Right before you, bully girl loudly showed drawings.

You heard a laugh. A youthful mind may play this as a tragedy. You were hurt. Just a little. Drawings you made contained Rose. Behind her tall, shadowy figure. Antlers poked selling of the paper. Gross children were laughing at family tragedy.

Where did she go? Will you see her again?

You don't hold teen, school years much closer to heart. Blur time imitating watercolor slipped in the past. Not much after mother's sudden disappearance. Notebook may tell an ugly fairy tale of Rose coming out of the lake's water. You drew almost unconscious states of her thin, malnourished in some way face, pale skin.

Eyes

Her eyes were glassy, dark, and stale. You drew a dress in which the baby was carefully wrapped. Baby didn't shed a tear. Dark dress paired by ginger hair and you. Blond-haired, blue eyes. Before walking away hand in hand with the ghost of the past, she did have a conversation. Lake, house, and relatives. You had the appearance of one of the brothers. The resting place, which you won in newspaper, was nearby Faithful Lake.

But you didn’t know that.

Mental health and fishing are the right thing for a woman who's heavy on medication.

Mother only told about the lake and house, spared names and places. But, maybe in some mysterious way, you already knew the truth. The notebook of yours also contained bird. Regular parrot. You named him Harvey. Why? This you didn’t know. One look at him and the name Harvey immediately popped in your pretty blond head. Parrot chirped back. Your heart was full for a moment. Harvey was present from someone you also knew.

Misters. Yes, two of them. But only one is allowed to see his human form. You knew another existed as a partner. One can't take on the lake's will. Maybe, once you rule, another as a helper can come in handy.

Yes. You saw him. In dreams. He stood tall, looking at your laying corpse. What was his name? Detective?

Mister ominous sigh of doom watched every step you took. Black dots, loud bird screeching. Black bird and round mister in round glasses. These two guided you through life right before years of independence.

Start of the second and third decade of your life with much the same confusion as the teen and childhood. But mister and bird vanished into thin air.

They never ever existed? Didn't they? Right.

Only things in your notebook, wise owl, on the page next ― ominous crow. Harvey was also there. Why wouldn't he? You didn't know how long parrots can live, and it never bothered you. Harvey as one stable thing guided through a long way of never-ending depression cycle. His chirping made your empty heart heavy. Maybe, so long ago, you shared a laugh with Rose and this kind of happiness he, a parrot, brought to you?

Then newspaper happened.

You knew Bob. Walk in the park, conversation, a tree, and robin. Bird flew away, but he never left. Before him, you never felt an urge to be sweetheart. Visions of the lake, birds, and sacrifices are usually not a topic of discussion between lovers.

He did love you.

Bob's eyes sparkled in happiness. Happiness of the factory worker after hours of work because women of the heart were holding his hands. Allowed to indulge in warm embraces. You knew how much he loved and cherished. Nevertheless, in the owl nest, you said goodbye.

He didn’t look much devastated. Just sipped his coffee.

Did you ever feel a small percent of his tragedy? Of course not. The day Rose left, your heart also became stone, and your mind flooded in the darkest visions.

Samsara. Cabin.

House. Cage.

Harvey, Egg and Song.

Wait, what were you doing?

Notebook in the hands of a very tired woman. Blond hair has grown much since you came here, but dress exactly the same. Not even a trace of decaying, unlike your insides.

Prozac, a medicine that you used to take, didn’t make much difference.

Routine. Feeding Harvey, preparing food, drawing, and listening to classic music. The weather outside the house, where you're preoccupied, stayed sunny.

Spring 1964.

In the notes was written. "Can I eat Harvey's egg?"

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