#free short read

[author-a-holmes]

Did I turn the cover for 'Whatever Happened to Madeline Hail?' into an advent calendar, just so I could use it to share more of my worldbuilding?

Yes.

Yes I did...

So, let's talk a little bit about 'Whatever Happened to Madeline Hail?', and the world it's set in, the Fey Realm of Arbaon. It's a prequel short story to my upcoming series, the Fey Touched Trilogy. It's over 11.5k words and is technically considered a 'novelette'.

First Fey Touched Fact of the day...

After the Fey fled the mortal realm, they stayed sealed away for hundreds of years. It's only around 30-40 years prior to the start of the Fey Touched Trilogy that the Fey have begun to reestablish contact with the mortal realm.

[stil-lindigo]

ARTISTS FOR PALESTINE 🇵🇸 - On the 6th and 9th of March, I'll be doing art requests on stream with other notable artists to raise money for Operation Olive Branch and the PCRF.

I'm incredibly lucky to be counting quite a few big names in the roster, including known Jesus and Odysseus enthusiast @wolfythewitch, the extraordinary fanartist @denimcatfish, and the incredibly talented @troubledminnesotan, as well as Lilypichu from OfflineTV.

You'll be able to watch the streams on the day of the event either on my twitch channel here, or via the links provided by the artists below.

Lilypichu

Cuptoast

Akairosu_

Sevvanto

Wolfythewitch

[maturiin]

“During the day Ennis looked across a great gulf and sometimes saw Jack, a small dot moving across a high meadow, as an insect moves across a tablecloth; Jack, in his dark camp, saw Ennis as night fire, a red spark on the huge black mass of mountain.” (Brokeback Mountain by Annie Proulx, 1997)

[chasingwhitebunnies]

Headcanon that Merlin keeps notebooks and writes down everything - everything - he wants to show and tell Arthur whenever he comes back

It starts off as a project. He writes down important moments, things he knows he will have to inform Arthur of if when he comes back, but one day, Gwen tells him a joke and he can’t help thinking it would have made Arthur laugh. It was a bittersweet realisation, so he wrote it down to share with Arthur whenever he saw him

Slowly, more jokes were added, and anecdotes, books he wanted to tell him about, plays and music he was sure Arthur would enjoy, and eventually films and shows

Sometimes, he writes when he particularly misses him

He keeps these notebooks on a large secondhand bookshelf, and tries to keep them in chronological order, although the earlier ones aren’t in the best condition after a thousand or so years, but he’s enchanted them to stay legible

It becomes a habit. He decides, subconsciously and superstitiously, that once he has filled the bookshelf, Arthur will return. Merlin does, and Arthur doesn’t. He buys a second bookshelf, and then a third

Finally, Arthur is back and Merlin excitedly showing him his collection and telling him there’s so much he has to share. Arthur is amazed, “you wrote all of this for me?”

Merlin realises suddenly how overwhelming it must seem. “It made it easier, not being able to share all these moments with you. It felt like I was sharing them with you in a way. It was like I was writing you a letter.” He shakes his head. “But you’re here now, it’s silly! You don’t have to read them at all. I can go over them and pick out the important parts, the things you’ll need to know and—”

Arthur stops him. They go through each book together. Merlin hadn’t realised how many good moments he had forgotten over time, and he gets to relive them with Arthur at his side, both chuckling along as Arthur asks questions, “you did what?”

They aren’t all nice stories. Merlin winces as they get to the wars. Arthur holds his hand as he recounts each loss of a friend, and Arthur hates to see Merlin grieve, but he’s glad that he made friends throughout his life because he couldn’t bear the thought of Merlin being entirely alone while he waited for him

But even if he wasn’t always alone, he was lonely. The notebooks proved as much, and sometimes Merlin still panicked if he woke up and Arthur wasn’t close. Eventually, Arthur slid into Merlin’s bed beside him, only to keep him calm. It was the best Merlin had slept since- well, he couldn’t remember

Sometimes one of them would wake up with nightmares of the wars and battles and deaths and wounds, and the other would hold them until they fell back to sleep. Merlin kissed Arthur’s forehead one night without meaning to and froze, but Arthur had only burrowed deeper and fallen asleep with a soft smile

“So that was the last book,” said Arthur as Merlin finished the final page

“Yes, I wrote that the night before you came back,” said Merlin

“I’m all caught up,” said Arthur. “There’s nothing more to say.”

“No, no more to say,” Merlin agreed absentmindedly

A silence fell over them. Who moved first, it was impossible to tell, as if they had both decided in the exact same moment that it had to be now, and they kissed, pulling each other close

“I love you,” said Merlin once they eventually parted

“I got that,” said Arthur, gesturing to the pile of notebooks surrounding them. “The longest love letter in history,” Merlin laughed before Arthur added, “I love you, too”

Edit to add: the last show Merlin wrote that they watched together was Heartstopper, thanks

[bishy437]

Send me a pairing + two emojis and i’ll draw them in those expressions

ex: 😒🤭 + Sangcheng =

[stormsthatrage]

Have a Bleach extended-winter-war time-travel-fix-it idea. In this AU Kaien's death happened before the whole turn-back-the-pendulum arc. (Yes, another Bleach time-travel AU, I know, shut up.)

As Ichigo and Kisuke are planning to go back to the past, Kisuke makes sure to emphasize to Ichigo that they have to protect Shiba Kaien. Apparently, it's of the utmost importance.

Ichigo doesn't know exactly how Kaien's continued well-being plays into saving the future. Kisuke never really explains it, or gives him a straight answer when he asks. But Ichigo knows that the Shiba Clan-Head carried a great deal of political power, and Ichigo also knows that Kaien -- according to Kukaku and Rukia -- was highly competent, incredibly noble, and fundamentally kind. It's not exactly unintuitive that a person like that could be important to bringing down Aizen.

So Ichigo listens, when Kisuke tells him to protect Shiba Kaien. He memorizes how Kaien died in the original timeline. He's attentive as Kisuke reiterates for the thousandth time that Aizen will keep trying to assassinate Kaien until he succeeds. He takes notes when Kisuke hypothesizes about what Aizen's various assassination attempts might look like -- poison during a meal, hired assassins at night, an ambush during a mission.

Ichigo ingrains the assignment into his core: protect Shiba Kaien, because if Kaien falls, the mission fails.

So when Kisuke slips a paralytic into Ichigo's tea and places Ichigo in the middle of the time-travel kido array and drains the entirety of his own spiritual energy to activate the array, a sacrifice that Ichigo never would have agreed to--

Well. The first thing Ichigo does when he arrives back in the past, numb and alone and only able to function by focusing on the duty that is his purpose -- is track down Shiba Kaien.

After all, if Ichigo is going to kill Aizen -- and he is, no matter what it takes -- he needs to keep Kaien alive.

Ichigo goes straight to the Shiba family grounds. In true Shiba fashion, they accept him immediately as family. They tend to his wounds and give him a meal and welcome him home. They let him get away with his weak excuses and explanations, and they defend his presence to the rest of Soul Society.

Kaien, in accordance with everything Ichigo has heard about the man, personally takes the newest addition to the family under his wing.

Ichigo's plans to deal with Aizen take shape around his need to keep an eye on Kaien.

Ichigo, instead of running as far and fast as he can from the Shiba clan, accepts the offer to live in the Shiba compound. He gets to know every clan member and retainer, subtly vetting for traitors. He sleeps in a room near Kaien's, allowing him to both guard against assassins at night and place warding runes around Kaien's door without having to worry about being caught somewhere he has no business being.

He joins the Court Guard in the 13th division instead of the 5th, because the only real way to protect Kaien on a mission is to be there with him. Ichigo knows that if there's an ambush, or if the mission details have been tampered with, he'll be more than enough fire power to get Kaien out of it. And it's easy to always get paired with Kaien; Kaien -- reliably taking every opportunity to hover around Ichigo that he's offered -- does most of the work, leveraging his status as lieutenant and Ichigo's combat ability to keep them together.

Ichigo finds himself frequently taking meals with Kaien and Kaien's friends. Kaien always invites Ichigo, and Ichigo accepts so he can subtly check the food for poison.

(Ichigo does not tell Kaien about Aizen. Ichigo is still unsure what Kaien's role is in the whole fight, and in the meantime, telling him about Aizen is a sure way to get him killed.)

Things heat up. Ichigo prevents both Miyako and Kaien's death, killing Metastacia before it can hurt anyone. Ichigo's shadow war against Aizen gets more intense. Ichigo sneaks out regularly to dismantle Aizen's illusions, destroy his labs, and attack his network of power, slowly weakening him.

Ichigo waits for the assassination attempts against Kaien, but they don't come, even several weeks after Metastacia fails. Ichigo takes it as a sign that he's got Aizen distracted.

Things continue for a while. Ichigo falls into a strange routine.

(And Ichigo tries not to break, seeing so many of his loved ones alive and unknowing of him. It is agony, to be around Shunsui, who is not his mentor, and the Visored, who are neither visored nor pack.

But the worst is when Captains Urahara and Shihouin catch on to his war against Aizen. He finds himself working with them as allies.

Allies. Mere allies, instead of --

Well. Not that it matters anymore.

All that matters is his duty.)

Time passes. Aizen weakens. There are no attempts on Kaien's life yet.

And then Aizen's web has unraveled enough for Ichigo to attack.

It's a long battle. It's a bloody battle. It's a very public battle.

Ichigo wins.

And it's only after it's all over -- after Aizen's crimes are revealed and Soul Society is at peace and the future is saved; after Ichigo finds himself still alive and adrift, with nothing left obligating him to keep going and everything telling him to give up; as Kaien refuses to leave Ichigo alone and escorts him to regular appointments with Unohana and forces him to talk about the truth of his past --

It's only then that it clicks.

Ichigo is whispering secrets about the future into Kaien's chest, Kaien's arms wrapped tight around him, when Ichigo confesses that he messed up, that he put the Shiba clan in unnecessary danger. Ichigo tells Kaien about his death in the original timeline. He talks about how Kisuke told him that in this timeline, Aizen would try and kill Kaien again if the first attempt failed. Ichigo promises desperately that he never would have sought out the family -- would have kept the danger far, far away from them -- if he hadn't thought he had to watch Kaien's movements so closely.

And Ichigo admits that Aizen never actually tried again. Ichigo admits that he and Kisuke miscalculated, that Ichigo brought danger to the Shiba's doorstep for nothing.

It happens like this:

First, the words leave his lips, "Kisuke" and "miscalculated" in the same sentence. Hearing himself say it lays bare the absurdity of its premise.

Then, Kaien draws away slightly, to look Ichigo in the eyes. Ichigo sees, plain on Kaien's face, a terrible, damning gratefulness.

Then, Kaien says -- fierce and defiant in the face of what could have been -- "I am so glad you came home."

And it clicks. At last, Kisuke's final manipulation reveals itself to Ichigo's eyes.

The emotions flash through him: the sting of betrayal; a flavor of love that bursts across his tastebuds as hurt; a familiar brand of exasperation that, a split second later, has his knees giving out under the weight of old pain made fresh.

Kaien catches Ichigo before he hits the ground and holds him as he shatters. And Ichigo can barely breathe through the knowledge that Kisuke would have been so smug to see them.

A sob rips itself from Ichigo's chest, and it's followed by another, and another.

Ichigo's older cousin holds him, in the home of their family, through it all.

_________

THE END except not really.

This must immediately be followed by a whole arc where Kaien, much to his own dismay, finds himself trying to hook Urahara up with his little cousin.

After all, Future-Urahara sent Ichigo to the Shiba clan. Future-Urahara tricked his little cousin into bypassing his own self-destructive tendencies to seek out family and love and support. Clearly, Urahara would actually be good for Ichigo.

And, you know, Ichigo clearly loves Younger-Urahara, judging by Ichigo's whole... well, everything, whenever the two interact.

(This whole matchmaking endeavor is made easier by the fact that 1) Kisuke is already infatuated, fascinated, and not a tiny-bit madly in love, and 2) Yoruichi is also, from the other end, trying to set Kisuke up with Ichigo.

This whole endeavor is made more difficult by the fact that 1) Ichigo is in denial that he loves this younger Kisuke since he never thought this younger Kisuke could also fall in love with him, 2) Kisuke is in denial that he loves Ichigo because that is a Shiba and he himself is a creepy low-born ex-assassin mad-scientist, and 3) neither Ichigo nor Kisuke know what it looks like when someone is interested in them.)

Poor Kaien. He succeeds eventually, but not before witnessing truly legendary social ineptitude.

[transformers-earthspark]

Apologies for my recent radio silence. I've had a lot on my mind lately.

This post isn't Earthspark-related at all, but please read it.

I need to take a second on this blog to acknowledge some things going on in the world. I should not have stayed silent on this blog before, but I'm trying to fix that now.

Genocide in Palestine + how you can help Palestinians

You can buy e-sims for people in Gaza here. Anything helps.

Click here daily to help generate funds for Palestine. It's free and takes less than a minute.

Here's a list of where you can donate to help Palestine.

(If there's anything I should add to this section, please let me know.)

-----

The KOSA bill, what it's going to do if passed, and how you can help prevent it from taking effect

KOSA will essentially erase anonymity from the internet by requiring people to upload their government ID or other form of identification to any social media site, as well as restricting resources and information on LGBT rights, history, racism, and more. This bill will censor the entire internet and destroy privacy while violating First Amendment rights and potentially putting minors in danger.

This also could very well mean the end of Tumblr, and I'm not exaggerating here.

Tomorrow KOSA could be passed in Senate, and from there it will need to pass in the House of Representatives before being signed into law by the president. It's not doomsday yet, but it is a dangerous situation-- and here's what you can do.

StopKOSA.org provides you with a template email to send to your representatives. You can leave it how it is or edit it to say what you want, and then send it from their website.

The website also allows you to call your representatives and gives you a template of what to say.

BadInternetBills.org, run by the same people, takes action against KOSA as well as other bills like EARN IT. At the time of posting this, over 356,000 people have signed this petition.

Additionally there are several petitions on change.org to help stop KOSA. Here are a few of them.

STOP KOSA

STOP THE KOSA

Stop Kosa

Save Humanity, Oppose KOSA

STOP THE KOSA ACT

(Again, please let me know if there's anything I should add.)

-----

One last thing-- The evolution of AI images and video.

I don't really have anything good to say. AI is evolving fast and changing the world as we know it. We are adapting, but nobody knows how this really is going to end up.

A few quick points:

AI images are not art. That's all. AI "artists" who genuinely claim to have made something of their own just by typing a prompt into a generator will be blocked. (Which has been in my rules for a while, but I still think it needs to be said.)

I recommend Glaze for artists who don't want their art being scraped and used for data training. Especially with the recent rumors of an upcoming deal between Tumblr and Midjourney. There's also a similar program called Nightshade (haha, earthspark reference? anyone?🦉) that I haven't tested myself but have heard good things about.

-----

That's all, I suppose. Reblogs are good, if you don't mind.

Spread the word about KOSA. Contact your representatives. Sign the petitions.

Support Palestine if possible. Donate if you can. If you are unable to donate, make sure to do your daily clicks.

Stay safe and take care of yourselves. ❤️

[just-french-me-up]

"Oh, you enjoy that thing? That's embarrassing!" youre the one's that embarrassed, not me. Sounds like a you problem, really

[luck-of-the-drawings]

OH ARTHUR BENNETT.. such a gorgeous and intriguing character. terribly burdened by a GRUESOME set of crimes, his light suffocated by a HEAVY century of GUILT. so tragic, so dark and broody, and yet PAINFULLY awkward in any social setting ever

[mattodore]

you can break, throw yourself away, leave it behind. and, if you need to, you can break me too. you can disappear, but please just take me with you when you go.

[thecallofthedeep]

susan sontag - regarding the pain of others

[author-a-holmes]

Second Fey Touched Fact;

Madeline Hail is a fey from the realm of Arbaon. Centuries ago, Fey fled the mortal realm when the vampires began to lose their minds, attacking fey indiscriminately. A Fey called Bridget Elestov created the realm of Arbaon as a safe harbour for the remnants of her people to hide in safety.

[carinasibila]

PICK A CARD Love Reading (April 2024) ~ Singles How to Increase Your Chances in Love Watch on YouTube / Instagram / TikTok Disclaimer: Only take what resonates and leave the rest behind. I am only posting this reading on profiles I’ve listed on my Linktree (linktr.ee/carinasibila) – all other profiles that might post it are fake. Decks used in this reading: Rider-Waite-Smith Tarot Blue Bird Lenormand* Original Kipper Cards** PILE 1 Ace of Pentacles, Heart*, Gift** Back of the deck: The Devil The cards suggest for you to change your expectations regarding romance. You seem to have slid into the expectation that a romantic partner will be handed to you. However, you shouldn’t solely stick to making wishes – do your part and actively create situations that make it more likely for love to come into your life. PILE 2 Justice, Clouds*, Judication** Back of the deck: III of Swords In order for you to increase your chances in love, the cards urge you to stop expecting to be hurt in a relationship. Recent painful experiences have distorted the way you’ve been looking at potential partners, leading to you prematurely disqualifying them. Get to know potential partners without fear but still act with prudence – this will make your search for love much more fulfilling. PILE 3 II of Cups, Birds*, Lovers** Back of the deck: III of Pentacles If you want to meet a new potential partner, the best you can do right now is to do some “networking”. Get together with people you’ve been wanting to catch up with anyway (likely friends you haven’t seen in a while), especially if they have many acquaintances – there is a good chance one of those acquaintances will turn out to be the romantic partner you’ve been wishing for!

[hypnotherapy-blog-blog]

The Black Bag - Part 1.

The Black Bag.

Rob Hadley

Introduction.

When I wrote The Black Bag I had it in mind that many of the people likely to read it would already have a knowledge of Tarot. However, that’s proved to have been a miscalculation. I have been pleased to see many readers have a curiosity about Tarot, but not much familiarity with it.  As a result, I often suggest readers step into this journey with a Tarot deck at hand.  It will help you see the cards mentioned, and to participate in a manner that gives you a deeper connection to the story.  Each reader, does after all, have their own relationship to the cards. Indeed each card relates to each reader differently. As you make your way through these pages, perhaps you will have insights that will make the story unique for you.

My intent is for you to enjoy these pages, and maybe pick up a few ideas along the way. I don’t propose for an instant that any given card has set or established meanings. My own view is that context is everything. The cards tend to match up with your own particular situation and can have very different meanings at different times. I hope you’ll enjoy this journey. Feel free to reach out to me and let me know your own experiences.

My best wishes as you embark on this journey,

Rob Hadley

Vanbc1963@yahoo.com

The Black Bag

By Rob Hadley

C.2024

It is fair to say that the one person you least expect to see following your mother’s funeral is your mother. Yet, as Grahame Bickerton stepped out of the small chapel and into the daylight and looked across the well tended gardens he was shocked to find himself staring at a figure in the distance that bore an unmistakeable resemblance to the very person he had just witnessed being extended that last of human dignities.

The coffin had slid silently away behind the curtain in the funeral home, and he’d been shocked to find himself craning to see the final glimpse as it moved irresistibly into the cremation chamber. And yet here, across this beautifully laid out garden there seemed to be someone that could be his very own mother sitting in mournful contemplation by one of the gravestones, their back to him.

Grahame felt a hand on his sleeve and turned.  It was the only other person that had been at the service. An elderly woman with a cane, bent almost double, the result of some form of spinal deformity.  The woman spoke to him gently, her eyes moist with tears.

“I will miss you mother,” she said. “I feel your loss.”

“You’re very kind,” said Grahame trying not to be too dismissive but wanting to pull away and see the woman in the distance more clearly. She’d got up and was walking away.

“I used to work with her you know, at the college. Geography,” she said. “She spoke of you regularly.”

“Geography?” replied Grahame, completely lost.

“I teach Geography at the college. We used to have tea together often,” she continued.

Grahame didn’t wish to be rude and turned and tried to catch sight of the person in the garden, but she was hurrying away.

“If I can help,” she said, “you can find me at the college.”

Grahame pulled away and started walking across the gardens leaving the old woman staring after him as he strode away.

“Poor man,” she said to herself leaning on her cane. “He’s obviously terribly upset.”

Grahame hurried across the lawns in the direction of the woman he had seen. Soon he stopped. The crows were rising from some trees by the seat the woman had been sitting on but was gone from view now. It was almost as if she’d never been there. He walked on, but after a few moments realised it was no good. He couldn’t see which way she’d gone.

“Christ,” he muttered, then thinking more clearly calmed himself.

“I have to get a grip,” he said to himself. “This is ridiculous, I’m a bloody engineer, dammit.”

With that Grahame dismissed the notion that anything out of the norm had happened. He was obviously overreacting.

+++

It was mid morning several weeks later when Grahame received the call from the car dealership. The fall sunlight cast the city in a flat light that lacked the warmth of the summer so recently ended. He stood looking out of his meagre office at the glass towers of the downtown core and the cranes that perched beside every spare inch of buildable space.

How very different those offices were from his own. From the office beside his he could hear his boss shouting down the phone at one of the project planners. The congestion on the road today was holding things up for everybody. He was well aware that they were pouring concrete on several projects today, and with those cement trucks stranded in the unexpected traffic chaos caused by this morning’s power outage there was sure to be hell to pay. As luck would have it none of his teams were pumping today, so while the atmosphere in the office would be toxic, it didn’t directly affect any of his people.

He’d been lucky, pacing himself lately. The recent death of his mother had forced him to scale back some of his work commitments. As the executor of the will there were assets to be disposed of, taxes to pay, and all the administrative chaos that accompanies the end of life. And that brought him back to the phone call. It had been the dealership he’d taken his mother’s old Town Car to.  She’d loved that vehicle, but it had no business being on the road with gas prices the way they are today. Getting rid of it had been the only thing to do, and yet in spite of his having thoroughly cleaned the vehicle before leaving it at the second hand car lot, the manager had called and informed him that they’d found some old playing cards and some journals when the car was made ready for sale.

“We didn’t want to toss them out,” said the manager. “They may be something you want.”

The manager had sounded awkward. He was aware the car had been Grahame’s mother’s vehicle, being acquainted with old lady. He’d been servicing the car since he’d joined the dealership over a decade previously.

A phone slammed down in the cubicle beside his and Grahame winced. Did the workplace have to be so toxic, he wondered. Looking at his diary he could see he didn’t need to be here at present, and if he were to walk the dozen blocks to the car lot he could get away early and then slip home to work the rest of the day from there.

He placed a file into his brief case and made for the door. His boss was already on the phone to the next project manager, wringing his hands and looking intently at the screen of his laptop and chewing his lip, a nervous habit he’d nursed every day since Grahame had joined the company. He nodded as he made his way out of the building but went by unnoticed. As he walked out across the car park he felt the sun on his face and a sense of relief in his heart. It was good to be out of the cramped office space.

He loved the city, and being part of the construction trade he was enjoying the fruits of a building boom, but it wasn’t lost on him that he worked for a small consultancy firm, and the glass palaces of downtown were far from his reality. The firm he worked for may be part of the construction team, but he was under no illusions about the work. Twice in the last year his boss had been forced to ask his staff to wait a week for their wages, and if his suspicions were correct, it would happen again. In the hierarchy of the building trade, the company he was working for was not what anyone would describe as a highflyer.

He walked smartly across town, the sound of horns blaring a fitting backdrop to the stationary traffic. Another set of lights up ahead had blown out and a crew was struggling to get their vehicle to somewhere they could work on the switchgear.

Grahame tuned out the sound of the city. He thought of his mother, and that he’d only seen her three times in the year prior to her death. They’d had dinner back in April, and then he had driven out to the cottage in mid summer, and then Rose had told him she was going in for some tests. She seemed unworried about it at the time, and he hadn’t really thought much of it.

Deconstructing things later Grahame realised that Rose had suffered in silence for some time before having these tests run. Indeed by the time pancreatic cancer was diagnosed it was already far advanced. She had suffered briefly, and Grahame had visited, but soon after that last time she had succumbed, slid into a coma and within two weeks had died leaving a great chasm in Graham’s life. A chasm he promptly filled with his own guilt for not being a better son, and more available to his mother.

He was being too hard on himself, but that was nothing new.

+++

At the car dealership the manager had placed the collection of journals and other bits and pieces in a large envelope for Grahame to collect.  He walked into reception and the young lady on the desk reached beneath her desk and passed it to him, recognising him from previous visits. Grahame thanked her and took the package, then decided he’d walk home through the park.

There was little point returning to the office today. He didn’t feel up to working, and the traffic chaos of the morning would soon be merging with the afternoon rush hour, as people tried to leave work early to beat the rush.

Taking a moment to sit in the sunshine he stopped at a park bench and opened the package. It contained three journals, all closely handwritten in his mothers handwriting, and one small black bag. He drew this out and inspected it. Inside he found some cards, but not the playing cards you’d expect an old lady to have should she find herself compelled to get into a game of gin rummy. These were altogether more colorful, and well used.

He inspected them and realised that these were tarot cards. He had no idea his mother had an interest in tarot. While not something he had any knowledge of, Grahame recognised some of the symbols on the cards as he rifled through them. He found the cards strangely puzzling, feeling rather like he’d discovered something secret. He slid the blag bag back into the envelope continued his journey home. They were a mystery he would examine further at a later date.

As he walked he lamented the fact that he had few of his mothers belongings, even though he was her sole heir. The reality was that his small modern apartment was hardly a suitable venue for an ancient armoire, or dining table for eight people.

When he emerged out of the far side of the park he was only a couple of blocks from his apartment. Walking to work today had been a good choice, even here the traffic was log jammed.

+++

The loss of his sole surviving parent had forced something of a pause in Graham’s life.  It was a moment in which he was compelled to take stock and look at where he was.

He had recently ended a fruitless relationship of eighteen months. It had been a perfunctory affair, neither very passionate nor disastrous, but lacking in so many of the things he felt his life needed.

They’d found each other online, were both ‘self actualised professionals looking to share all life has to offer,’ according to their dating profiles, but were neither very self actualised (he still wasn’t sure what that meant) nor very willing to share very much. He’d decided he didn’t really trust the person he was dating, and realised she didn’t trust him either. They’d decided to ‘have a two week break’ two months ago and he hadn’t heard from her since.

Surprisingly he didn’t miss the woman either. It was as if the relationship had not really happened at all. And he felt no compulsion to reconnect.

If he were quite honest with himself it was much the same with his job.  He’d been working as a project manager for several years, and it paid reasonably well. While his job didn’t excite him, it provided security enough for him to live in the city, pay a disturbingly high proportion of his income in rent, and to own a car that he could drive at barely 20 miles an hour anywhere he chose. And then pay a fortune for parking. Like the relationship, his job didn’t fill him with passion either.

Grahame was gradually coming to the conclusion that there were patterns emerging in his life that didn’t fill him with joyful expectation. In his mid thirties he had expected something more of life. Was this really it?

These were Grahame’s thoughts as he walked alongside the stationary traffic and glanced at the frustrated drivers in their little tin boxes. Just a few blocks from home Grahame watched an episode play out before him.

A driver in a Jeep was blowing his horn at a car in front. The yellow haired woman sat in a little pale blue convertible, studiously ignoring the increasingly insistent honking. Judging by the body language the young lady had not had a good day, sitting arms crossed and lips pursed determined to ignore the blaring of the horn behind.

“Hey lady,” came the voice. A tee shirt clad young man, physically toned and cocksure, leaned from his car window and called to her.

Finally having had enough, the young woman, her hair tightly curled up in a bun, turned in her seat and shouted back at the man, “For god’s sake! I have a boyfriend!”

She then turned and sat, arms folded defiantly in the stationary traffic, red faced and flustered now with her eyes locked on the licence plate before her. At that instant a gap opened in the lane beside her and the jeep bucked forward and pulled alongside her for a moment as vehicles shifted in the Tetris game of traffic flow.

“Lady, I just wanted to tell you,” said the man, a little more gently now, “You have a flat tire.”

Taken aback, the young woman checked behind her to see that the traffic was not moving, and then stepped out of her car to take a closer look. She wore a smart pencil skirt and lemon blouse, the picture of propriety. She came back a moment later and sat behind the wheel looking perplexed.

She seemed nonplussed for a moment, and then composing herself turned and politely addressed the man in the jeep.

“Can you help me fix it?” she called across the traffic lane.

The young man lit up a cigarette in a slow languid style, and then said, “Like you said, lady. You’ve got a boyfriend.”

The traffic shifted and the Jeep advanced progressing up the line of cars.

Grahame, abreast of the little convertible looked at the woman, and saw the tears welling up in her eyes. He guessed she’d maybe not fixed a tire before. And with so many cars around she would be stuck blocking traffic before long as the tire deflated. He knew that on any other day he would have gone with his old habits and just not got involved, but today was just a little different.

“Would you like a hand?” he asked softly.

“That would be so kind,” said the woman, relief spreading across her face. Suddenly she didn’t seem quite so prickly.

“Just pull in to one of the spaces up here,” said Graham. “I live a block up the road, I’ll help you change the tire. Just let me go up to my apartment and change out of my office clothes. I won’t be more than five minutes.”

“That’s so kind of you,” said the young woman. “You’re like a real knight in shining armour.”

“Well, not really. But I can change a tire.  Give me five minutes and I’ll be back.”

With that he left her and hurried toward his apartment.

+++

Grahame hurried along the street, the sound of construction crowding in on him after the quiet of the park.  That poor woman, he thought. Some men really could be thoughtless.

He hurried into his apartment, tossed the envelope carelessly onto the coffee table, as if by reflex turned on the kettle to boil water for a cup of tea and went to his bedroom. A moment later he’d got out of his work suit and pulled on a pair of jeans and a sweater.

He turned and was about to hurry down to the street to help the woman change her tire, when he noticed the envelope had spilled its contents across the surface of the coffee table.

Not wanting to keep the woman downstairs waiting, he casually glanced at the table. Cards were slewed across the flat surface in an arc. It looked almost artistic. One card lay face up.

Grahame glanced at it, and then retrieved his keys and made for the door. As he stepped out of the elevator on the ground floor, the front door of the building opened and his neighbour, old Mrs. Willoughby entered the vestibule.

At that moment there was a terrible crashing sound from outside. Mrs. Willoughby turned and looked out at the street, a startled look of shock on her face.

Grahame rushed to the door and stared out to see what on earth had happened. Cars were stopped now, honking and people climbing from them and rushing back down the road. It took only a moment for Grahame to realise the sound had come from the building site on the next block, just by where he could see the woman’s car pulled over.

He hurried toward the car, and as he got closer realised this was the centre of the commotion. The woman was standing back, leaning against the siding at the edge of the construction site. He hurried to her side.

The little blue convertible was wrecked. It lay smashed beneath a series of scaffolding poles, looking as though it had been speared in some ghastly hunt.

White faced and shocked the woman stood back, shocked but unharmed, against the siding.

“Good god, what happened?” he said to her after he’d pushed his way through the crowd.

People were looking up, staring at a crane’s hook and some chain suspended seventy feet above the road. A man with a hard hat came barrelling out of the building site and rushed to the car. By-standers were already photographing the wrecked car, and posting them to social media on their phones.

“Was anyone hurt?” the workman was asking in panic, looking around wildly.

“Are you ok?” Grahame said, steadying the woman with a kindly hand.

“I’m ok,” she said rapidly. “I’m ok!”

She was white faced and shaking. Grahame turned to the assembled crowd and said, “Does anyone have some water?”

A bottle was developed and passed to the woman.

Grahame turned to the crowd and asked, “Who saw what happened?”

Several voices piped up. Grahame looked at the man in the hardhat and said, “Are you the foreman?”

He nodded nervously.

“Thank god no one was hurt,” he replied. “You’d better get these people’s statements. The police will be along soon. It’s going to make things a lot better if people are able to describe it.”

The foreman nodded and corralled the witnesses while Grahame turned back to the woman.

“You’re going to need a cup of tea, aren’t you,” he said gently. “Let’s get you out of here and calm things down.”

Grahame handed his card to the foreman, and one of the witnesses.

“When the cops show up can you let them know she’s at my place up the road,” said Grahame.

There was sympathetic nod and Grahame and the woman pressed their way through the crowd and made their way down the block to his apartment building.

+++

Grahame made the tea as his frightened guest sat in the open plan living room.

“You didn’t tell me your name,” said Graham, wanting to keep the woman talking.

“I’m Sunshine,” she said. “And that’s my mother’s car.”

“Oh, dear,” he said. “It’s a very nice little car. Well, it was. How did you come to be unharmed? I mean, it looks like a hell of a mess.”

Grahame poured the tea and placed a cup and saucer before Sunshine.

“I stepped out of the car to look at the tire, and that’s when it happened,” she said. “There was just this rush of air, and a terrible sound. Like bells ringing, and then those scaffolding poles all around me.”

“What a thing to happen,” Grahame said.

“I guess,” she replied beginning to calm down. “I could have been killed.”

She sipped the tea, her hand still trembling. That was when Sunshine started sobbing.

+++

The statement to the police, a visit from the foreman and an exchange of documents all took time and Sunshine seemed to go through the process in a daze. She was glad to be somewhere quiet and safe, and Grahame remained largely quiet in the background as the questions were asked and answered. It was a terribly unfortunate accident, but as the police officer pointed out, no one was hurt. The insurance companies would sort out the wrecked car which was now safely off the road. The construction company manager said the company would be up to their necks in investigations, but seemed co-operative, almost as upset by the whole situation as Sunshine was herself.

“That could have been my own daughter,” said the manager as Grahame had shown him out. It happened that he knew Grahame from the local planning department meetings that he’d sometimes have to attend for his company.

“Terrible thing,” he’d said. “I’ve never seen anything quite like it. Those clamps don’t just fail.”

“Thank heavens no one was hurt,” echoed Graham.

+++

At length the police officer left, and they found themselves alone in the quiet apartment. Noticing the journals and the tarot cards on the table, Sunshine asked, “What’s this?”

“Oh, it’s nothing.  Just some things of my mother’s,” replied Graham.

“Don’t you see it?” said Sunshine, looking at the upturned card.

“What do you mean,” said Graham.

“You don’t think it looks like all those scaffolding poles that fell on my car?” said Sunshine as she picked up the card.

Grahame stared at the card. The Eight of Wands.  He wondered what it meant.

“I suppose,” said Graham.  “It’s really not my thing,” he added and then as an afterthought said, “I’m an engineer.”

Sunshine looked at the card once more, and then at Grahame trying to find the link between not being able to see the visual connection and being an engineer. She failed.

“I wonder what made you turn over this particular card then,” she said. “Probably something subconscious.”

“I didn’t pick that card.  I mean, I just left some things on the table, they just fell like that, and then I came down to help you.”

“And that was before you heard the crash,” asked Sunshine with newly sparked curiosity.

“Yes,” replied Graham, noticing for the first time how the image in the card did look a little like the scaffolding poles.

“That’s quite the coincidence,” murmured Sunshine.

“Oh, I doubt it,” said Graham. “There’s probably no end of these cards look like falling scaffolding.”

His voice trailed off as he realised how he sounded. Sunshine picked up the cards and started shuffling them.

“So, your mother’s into tarot?” asked Sunshine.

“No. Well, yes,” stammered Graham.

“I see,” said Sunshine.

“I mean she died,” said Graham. “And these were among her things. I should sort them out.  I don’t really know anything about the cards.”

Sunshine looked at the journals, and then asked, “Were you close?”

“Not as close as I wish we had been,” replied Graham.

“So, you never knew she was interested in Tarot?”

“Never had a clue,” confessed Graham.

Sunshine turned the cards over in her hands and then said, “You’re lucky then.  This gives you a chance to get to know her through the cards.”

The words hung in the air. 

“What do you mean,” asked Graham.

“Look at these cards,” she said. “You can see they’ve been well used.  These are quite old. Well used. Your mother must have been adept at the cards. Can’t you see it? There’s a lot of her in these particular cards.”

An awkward silence fell between them as Grahame thought about this. It was true, the journals and these cards were like a voice reaching out across the abyss of death. They were a connection.

The silence was broken by the chirp of Sunshine’s cell phone.

She looked at the display and then said, “Mother. This might be a little awkward.”

___________________________________________

If you've enjoyed Part 1 of The Black Bag I ask that you follow my Tumblr and reblog it. To read Part 2 simply go to my Patreon HERE.

Many Thanks

RH

[bi-writes]

the fact that no one really reads longer fics anymore makes me not want to write them ever again 😃

[bl-inkstone]

changed my tune so fast just bc of youtube autoplay lmao ok here have some sagau diluc thoughts

the player, diluc thinks, is an incredibly endearing being.

he's come a long way from the curt and wary attitude he used to put on around the traveler (and by extension, you), and today is one of those days where he finds himself privately thanking whatever powers there may be that allowed your paths to cross, with him staring at the reflection of you hidden deep within the traveler's eyes in the wake of his fight with the abyss that fateful night in mondstadt.

as one of the first people to have their constellations manifest in the sky of teyvat, diluc is more than aware that the fact that you still choose to ask for his company in your (or, well, the traveler's) journey is a gift he must treasure deeply. he knows that it is your presence in this world that gives vision bearers a chance to become something greater than they presently are. he also knows that he is no longer as impressive of a companion in battle as he used to be from back when the sky wasn't as bright as it is now (when the world you knew was smaller and he was still a figure that you could look to and proudly call "your main").

but you always come back to him. when he least expects it, you invite him back to your party and diluc can't help but privately think, privately wish, that it's because you're as fond of him as he is of you.

standing in silent prayer while you bestow upon him artifacts that thrum with divine power is an experience he can never tire of. the claymores you give him, the food he eats, all the materials he needs to reach a breakthrough in his capabilities... he understands that you aren't teyvat's creator, but this world and everything in it seems to exist just for you. you, the provider, the sustainer, the beloved of all. sometimes, diluc feels that everything he has and ever worked for have all been for the sake of one day meeting you.

he's not a religious man by principle, and he loathes people of absolute power. the only exception to this, however, is you. he's not foolish enough to believe you're some omnipotent, omniscient being that lords above all. no, you're not like that. he knows this because the longer he journeys with the traveler and feels their bond strengthen, the faint whispers he used to strain himself to hear grow clearer and clearer until finally, one day, he hears you.

you're both nothing and everything he thought you'd be. you view the world of teyvat with so much awe and joy that it's infectious, and he finds himself smiling more often than not to the privilege of finally hearing you. the traveler always looks at him with an understanding smile when diluc slows down in their travels to listen to you. he lives for the moments when you talk to yourself or to someone else (a companion of your own, maybe? from your place beyond the stars?) because this is how he learns. your favorite food, your favorite nations, your favorite "characters" and more. he holds every morsel of information you unknowingly give close to his chest where all his affections and wishes hide. he likes to think that this way, he can be closer and better for you.

but he knows he's not the only one who hears you, and it is the traveler that is closest to you out of all them. even so, diluc harbors no ill will to the avatar you chose to see and travel the world through. you're so fond of the traveler, and how could he ever come to loathe anything graced by your love?

he knows how to play nice. it helps that most of your other chosen are people he can find himself enjoying the company of as well. diluc understands that as much as he wants to be the sole holder of your attention, the world does not function that way. he's willing to extend an olive branch so long as they can all work together to keep you present in teyvat. he can worry about his more aggressive competition later when they aren't at risk of being caught in such an unsightly state by you — all that matters to him, right now, is how to keep your gaze on him for just a little longer and keep you from leaving him again.

it's a daunting thing to be so close to your grace. you take diluc to lands he'd never thought he'd visit again, to ruins of civilizations long past, domains with unimaginable horrors and have him run, claymore and vision burning at his hip, into fight after fight at your command. it's tiring at best and painful at worst, but you always take care to heal him and his companions before leaving, and you always lead them somewhere safe to rest until teyvat brightens and you come again.

his current companions (his "supports", he inwardly preens) rest and talk amongst themselves once they feel your presence leave. it used to be something they, your chosen, would panic over, but now that they've gotten more used to you and all the signs that pointed that yes, this is your will, they've grown to be able to tolerate the harrowing chill that comes when your warmth leaves them. diluc leans back on his chair in front of good hunter to observe them. they're all people he's come to grow fond of in time: diona was prickly, yes, but ha become pleasant to be around once they grew past their misunderstandings. the young master of the feiyun commerce guild, xingqiu, was also a reliable companion both in and outside of battle, and for all his faults, venti has proven himself to be a devout believer, unwilling to be a burden to you or the party you've guided him towards.

under normal circumstances, he never would've met and forged such strong bonds with these people. if not for your own interference, he never would've bothered getting to know any of them at all. though he may have his own gripes and complaints at times of how their dynamic works when you're not around, diluc is still fond of them. he's grateful for the opportunity to grow close to people again, and traveling the world alongside them and the traveler has become one of the few things he's begun to look forward to outside of his duties as "diluc, master of dawn winery." when the day is done and he can sit and relax with them in the tables in front of good hunter, he can rest in the company of others who understand the near-maddening pull in his chest that draws him to try and get closer, closer, to you.

it's days like these where diluc quietly thanks whatever it is brought you to them, and prays that one day, he will no longer have to search through the traveler's eyes to see you.