#apart from (redacted) | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

penumbra-mayhem · 4 months ago

Text

And All That Follows (ch. 3)

aka: Silence Slips From My Tongue, It’s the Only Thing I Can’t Hold In

Emergency pack meeting and Gabe’s funeral

Ch. 2 // ao3 // 3.9k words

(TW: grief, funeral, vomiting, mentions of car accident and drunk driving)

——————————————

Sept 4. 2017, 10:01 am

The pack den had been nothing special when Gabe first began renting it. Just a vacant floor of a small, rundown office building. There were only two offices in use—one for himself and eventually one for David—to manage Shaw Pack and Shaw Security business.

The rest of the space had been cleared of all desks and cubicle walls and ergonomic chairs; they’d been replaced by a clunky circle of assorted couches, ottomans, plush recliners, and beanbags. The gray, compacted carpet was smothered in various rugs, and a scattering of vintage lamps replaced the harsh overhead fluorescents. Gabe had also expanded and refurbished the tiny kitchen, recognizing how important communal eating was for pack bonding and cohesion.

Since he was a kid, the den had been David’s favorite place in the world, where he felt most loved and safe. For years, it was filled every other week with the warm rumble of his father’s voice. David always sat at full attention, taking in every word, every gesture. He’d then go home and emulate Gabe in the bathroom mirror, imagining the day he’d command that room with the same grace and power and love.

He had never hoped nor dreamed that that day would come so soon. But now it had, and David felt woefully unprepared.

The pack had just had a meeting the evening before. Nothing had changed, everything was just as it had been left and yet already the den felt different…colder. David picked his way through the space, switching on each light in the hope that the glow would bring some semblance of comfort. It didn’t.

Looming near the final beaded lamp was Gabe’s seat—an understated pinewood chair with suede maroon cushions and brass rivets. David avoided going near it for as long as he could, but eventually he ran out of lamps.

The closer he got, the further away the chair seemed. David grew frustrated as his heart began to race. It was just a chair. Sweat pooled in the crevices of his palms. It was just a fucking chair. His chest became unbearably tight. Just turn on the damn lamp. And the wasps. The wasps were thrashing in his stomach.

David barely made it to a toilet before he was heaving. Between the night before and the lack of any meal since then, it was a wonder he had anything left to throw up. His body shuddered as it tried to expel every frantic bug from his stomach.

Eventually they were gone, but then everything ached. His vision was swimming. His whole body was shaking. How the hell could he lead this meeting when he could barely even stand?

Somehow, David got himself into the kitchen. He filled a glass full of water and downed it, then filled and drank another. He knew he needed to eat. He knew it, but even the thought of food brought him close to throwing up again.

The den pantry was always stocked, Gabe had made sure of that. David grabbed the easiest food to digest—a pack of saltine crackers—and gave himself the goal of eating five. He managed three.

He was interrupted from his session of glowering at his fourth cracker by the sound of the den door opening. Staggering to his feet, he left the kitchen and watched as a tower of pink confectionery boxes shuffled into the room.

“Ash?” he croaked. Fuck, his voice sounded wrecked.

“Hey, David,” Asher called from behind the boxes. David rushed over and grabbed a few, revealing his friend’s face—smiling despite his evident exhaustion.

“What’s all this for?” David asked as he followed Asher into the kitchen.

“We always have food at meetings,” he explained, “I figured nobody would really feel like cooking, so I went to Roedersheimer’s before I got here.”

David gawked at the heaps of baked goods now spread out on every surface in the kitchen. He felt sick and couldn’t quite tell if it was from the guilt of Asher doing his job for him or the overwhelming sugary scent flooding the space.

“Thank you, Ash,” he choked out, “I’ll pay you b—”

“I’ve got you, David. You and the pack,” Asher insisted, a gentle hand on David’s shoulder.

David nodded. Speechless, he left the kitchen and wound his way to his office. It was a little thing, sparsely decorated and organized for maximum efficiency. Collapsing in his rolling chair with a groan, David checked his watch:

10:14 am

The usual early arrivers would be there soon.

He’d led a few pack meetings before, when Gabe had been ill or caught up in something he couldn’t get out of. But those had been different. Those hadn’t mattered. Not like this at least. What David said, what he did, would directly affect the future of the pack. He needed to appear strong. They needed an Alpha. They needed Gabe. David was neither. He had no idea how to be an Alpha, and he certainly didn’t know how to be his father. He’d only been Beta for two years. And that was a completely different role, with different expectations and responsibilities. How the hell could he—

His spiral was interrupted by a small knock. Looking up, he saw Asher leaning in the doorway of his office, holding a donut and a scone: maple-almond, David’s favorite.

Whenever Gabe and David had a particularly early gig or meeting, the former would always stop by Roedersheimer’s beforehand and buy a chocolate croissant and a maple-almond scone. David would always protest the treat at first, declaring it was too early for something so sweet. But in the end, he could never resist.

“I can’t,” David admitted weakly as Asher walked in and placed the scone on his desk, “I-I don’t have the stomach for it.”

“You’ve gotta eat,” Asher countered softly. He sat in the chair opposite David and took a small bite of the oreo-pistachio-cinnamon monstrosity he called a donut.

David’s stomach twisted. His eyes darted between the scone and Asher and the wastebasket in the corner. He clenched his jaw; Asher was right. David reached out a hand, grimacing at how hard it shook, and grabbed the scone.

It tasted like the sun rising.

The wasps were confused, stirring up at the food, calming in Asher’s presence. But despite the unsettled feeling in his gut, David kept eating. He had a job to do, and this was part of it.

Asher eyed him over his donut, a small smile on his face.

——————————————

Sept 4. 2017, 10:58 am

People were still filing in. David stood near the door and addressed them as they entered, just as Gabe used to do. He was surprised by how many people had been able to come on such short notice; nearly the whole pack was present. Even Tank, who slipped in quietly and hid in their usual corner, hoodie drawn over their face.

They’d hoped no one had noticed them, but David had. He saw them and the large bandage covering their cheekbone. He breathed deeply against the worried sting that sight brought.

At 11 am, David moved to his usual low-backed chair beside Gabe’s seat and sat down. Everyone looked at him. In that moment, he was certain his tan skin had suddenly turned clear and everyone could see what a wreck he was inside.

When David spoke, he put as much strength as he could behind his words, “I understand that an emergency meeting can be quite disruptive to your lives, especially on a Monday, so I’m appreciative of everyone being here today. As I believe you all know by this point, last night my father was killed in a car accident. He was struck by a drunk driver. Although I have not received a full autopsy report yet, I have been informed that after an initial assessment it appears he died instantly. I say this to hopefully provide some relief and assurance that he did not suffer; he may not have even known the car was coming.”

The new information on how Gabe had died coursed through the pack. Some looked relieved, others enraged. Murmurs rose around the circle, allowing David to take a deep breath before continuing, “I spoke with a funeral home this morning. I’ve arranged for the service to be held this Thursday. You will all be sent the information for that day as soon as I’ve finalized the arrangements, which should be later today or tomorrow. I promise you all, this does not mean the end of our pack. Although his death was unanticipated by us, it was not by Gabe. He had planned extensively for any situation in which he could no longer serve as our Alpha.”

“Are you gonna be Alpha now?”

All heads turned to eight-year-old Jamal as his mother shushed him. She apologized, “I’m sorry David, he doesn’t understand.”

David could have thrown up on the spot. His insides burned, his mind recoiling at the thought of anyone replacing his father. It didn’t matter if the kid didn’t know any better. It didn’t matter that he didn’t understand. Nobody understoo—

“It’s alright, Leila,” David assured her, his tone calm despite the swarm in his brain. He dropped his gaze, breathing slowly. They had to choose a replacement. They had to. Too much time without a leader, and the pack could come undone.

“We will vote after the service, during our next scheduled pack meeting,” he declared.

“That’s in two weeks,” Christian immediately protested, “We can’t wait that long. We should just do it now.”

A faint snarl reverberated from the back of the room. All eyes locked onto Tank.

“Do it now?” they hissed, voice acrid with repugnance, “Gabe’s body isn’t even in the fucking ground yet.”

“Tank,” David interjected. It was less a condemnation and more a tranquilizer, his tone clear and commanding. Tank huffed but settled back down, lowering their head once more. Everyone’s attention returned to David.

“You all know that choosing a new Alpha is a serious undertaking. I do not want anyone to feel pressured or rushed in this decision. I am still pack Beta until another is chosen. I will handle all legal, technical, and leadership matters until our next meeting. Then, we will vote,” David decreed. When no one objected, he continued:

“In the meantime, if anyone has any need for counseling, I am in contact with a local therapist. I will send you all their information and can assist with setting up meetings. I’ll now open the floor if anyone else would like to say anything or has any questions.”

Silence.

David should have expected so. He was in a room full of people in states of shock and disbelief, neither of which typically inspire much conversation. He was at a loss, though. He’d done what he was supposed to, what he’d planned, but now what?

David glanced at Asher, who gestured with his eyes to the kitchen.

“Alright,” David concluded, “As usual, there’s food in the kitchen, gluten-free and dairy-free on the round table. Please eat, stay as long as you need. If any of you would like to speak with me individually, I’ll be here for the next half-hour. Meeting adjourned.”

——————————————

Sept 4. 2017, 11:45 am

Seeing that nearly everyone had trickled out, David got ready to leave. The day ahead was completely full, and he’d already had to stay at the den longer than he’d anticipated. As David stuffed his belongings into his shoulder bag, a voice reached out from behind him:

“David.”

“Not now, Tank,” he muttered over his shoulder.

They bristled, “You said if we wanted to talk to you, we fucking could.”

Dammit.

Tank tested David more than anyone else did. But they were right, he had said that. And as much as he was their friend, he was also their Beta. He was responsible for them, just as he was for everyone else. Sometimes even more so, much to his frustration.

He took a breath to placate himself before turning around and asking, “What is it?”

They faltered, David’s composure an unexpected response. Their verdant eyes locked onto their boots as they mumbled, “I’m sorry if I got blood on anything at your place last night.”

Of course. It wasn’t anything important, just another waste of David’s time. Why couldn’t they understand that he was monumentally busy?

“I don’t care about blood, Tank,” he grumbled, grabbing his bag and charging towards the door.

“Is there anything I can do? To help?” Tank blurted out, “Please, David, I-I wanna help.”

David’s breath caught in his throat. What was it? The way they were standing? The way they looked at him? The way they said his name? It was so subtle, he couldn’t tell, but something about Tank in that moment reminded him of Gabe. And that brief resurrection of his father stung in a way he didn’t know how to respond to. So he did the only thing he could and walked out without a word.

He heard Asher call out after him as he left. David knew he should turn around and apologize. He knew he was being unfair.

But he also knew that if he tried to speak, there was no telling what would come out of his mouth. Maybe he’d apologize. Maybe he’d cry or scream or throw up. Or maybe he’d hurt Tank, kick them while they were already down. That final possibility scared him more than anything else. It was something he couldn’t risk.

Tank was left frozen, unshed tears turning everything into a haze. “See, I told you,” they whispered, “He doesn’t need my mess.”

Milo opened his mouth to speak, but Asher beat him to the punch:

“No, hey, that’s not it. David just…he doesn’t know what he needs. He doesn’t know how we can help. And he doesn’t know how to say that. So, we just need to figure out what we can do and just do it. Okay?”

“...okay,” they mumbled, unconvinced.

“How’s your cheek holding up?” Asher asked, “That fall must’ve been nasty to need stitches.”

Tank’s eyes flit to Milo. Before he could explain, they replied, “It’s fine. I’m fine.”

“Good. I told David I’d pack up the food, so if you want something, come grab it quick,” Asher said before heading to the kitchen.

When he was out of earshot, Tank whispered to Milo, “Thank you.”

“Of course,” he whispered back, “Your secret’s safe with me.”

——————————————

Sept 7. 2017, 7:33 pm

Gabe was buried near the ocean, at a large cemetery with towering redwoods, lush ferns, and beds of pine needles and clover. The site reminded David of camping trips.

Following shifter funeral traditions, David had prepared a large feast for the end of the service, the smell of which wafted through the trees with the remaining hints of sunlight.

It is custom for shifter funerals to take place at sunset. The transition from day into night is chosen as an acknowledgment of both the individual’s passing from life to death and also their nature as a shifter—a being whose core is continually in flux and whose body flows between two forms.

Having a funeral on the edge of daylight also allows for vampires to be in attendance, which was important at Gabe’s funeral; there were quite a few he’d befriended over the years. The size of the crowd and the magnitude of Gabe’s impact was staggering. It felt like all of Dahlia was gathered around the open grave. Even the officiant, a sonal energetic named Sunyi, had known him.

She greeted each party as they joined the group. David stood at her side, enduring the inundation of tearful condolences with a stoic face and numb gratitude.

Frank and Deborah Talbot were some of the last arrivals, having just flown in earlier that afternoon. They were accompanied by their daughter Madelyn and her husband. Each embraced David, commending him for the service, the location, the music, the food.

David was clinging to his composure like a lifebuoy. His body was stiff, his words brief and stilted. He felt so ashamed of his behavior, acting so standoffish to the people who were the closest thing he had left to family.

He watched as Frank walked over to his son and crumbled into his arms, tear tracks glistening on his dark brown skin. Asher held him tightly, sending his mother a tender smile over Frank’s shoulder. She smiled back until it broke and she hid her paling face as it flooded with tears. Madelyn rushed from her husband’s side and embraced her mother.

Milo broke away from the crowd, his mother on his arm, and greeted them. Colm stood at a slight distance, reserved and quiet.

“Maribel,” Frank croaked, reaching for Marie. She embraced him, equally grief-stricken.

As the rest of the mourners found their place around the grave, Tank nestled themself into the back of the group, determined to not draw attention to themself. This wasn’t about them or their feelings or their stupid bandaged face. It was about Gabe.

Once everyone had gathered, Sunyi spoke, amplifying her mellow voice so everyone could hear:

“Alpha Gabriel Elias Shaw was better known as Gabe by everyone in his life. Although he was highly accomplished and deserving of every title awarded to him, he rarely used them. He once told me that he’d rather gain respect through his actions than through his name. And he did just that. Gabe was a man who led by example. He worked tirelessly to build his pack and his greater community. Fiercely protective, deeply empathetic, innately curious, Gabe was a man who sought to understand and support everyone he encountered. He was never quick to judge, though his morals were resolute and guided him always towards justice and peace. Believing in the power of words, Gabe rarely had to show how formidable his wolf could be. He was a man with a deep well of patience, kindness, and wisdom.

Gabe took on many forms beyond just human and wolf. He was one of the founders and Alpha of the Shaw Pack, which under his leadership has grown to be one of the most prominent wolf packs in the region. He was a man of service, devoting his free time to volunteering at the Dahlia branch of the Haven for Empowered Domestic Abuse Survivors. He was a passionate guitarist, as well as a talented and renowned, albeit sometimes experimental, chef.”

Faint laughter traveled through the group as people recalled the many unusual (and occasionally downright inedible) meals that Gabe had concocted when he’d been feeling culinarily adventurous.

Sunyi continued, “Gabe was a loving husband to his late mate, Amelia, and a dedicated father to his son, David. He was a dear friend and ally, which is evident by the sheer number of people in attendance here this evening. Gabe’s family and I extend our gratitude to you all. Thank you for gathering and honoring Gabe with your presence, your words, your silence, your mourning, and your celebration. I now invite anyone forward who would like to share any memories or thoughts about Gabe. With your permission, I will amplify your voice so everyone may hear.”

David could feel every gaze shift to him. He should speak. He was expected to speak. He was the Beta. He was the son. His hand clamped around his speech in his pocket, crumpling the paper.

He couldn’t do it. The buzzing in his head was so loud it paralyzed him. Everything he’d prepared to say felt meaningless. How could he possibly put to words what his father had meant to him? His father who was like the Sun, holding everyone together, lighting the way, providing warmth and life to everyone in his presence. David’s feeble attempt to speak would just disgrace Gabe and his memory.

Suddenly, he heard someone else speaking. David realized Asher had begun to share a familiar, endearing tale involving Gabe falling out of a pickup truck. Everyone knew the story; it was one Gabe told all the time. Despite this, the crowd erupted in bittersweet giggles, like it was the first time they’d heard it.

David wanted to crawl into the grave with Gabe and smother himself in soil.

And, in a sense, he did.

The rest of the funeral was a blur to David as he lost himself to the buzzing, to concentrating on not crying and not throwing up.

David didn’t hear Frank Talbot’s words—watery and hushed, despite Sunyi’s amplification:

“Gabe founded the Shaw Pack because he believed in the strength of community and the necessity for shifters to have a pack. He always said that a pack is more than just a bunch of wolves. It’s a family. It’s where you turn to for everything, the good, the bad, the ugly. The Shaw Pack extends beyond just Dahlia; it has members across the country. Gabe weaved people together with bonds so strong that neither distance n-…sorry…that neither distance nor death can break them. That was the beautiful thing about him. He brought people together. He made us feel less alone, and in that he dispelled our fear, eased our pain, and emboldened us to be our truest selves. I will…sorry…I w-will miss him d-dearly…”

David didn’t hear when Marie spoke, her prepared eulogy trembling in her hands:

“The author bell hooks once wrote: ‘Our mourning, our letting ourselves grieve over the loss of loved ones is an expression of our commitment, a form of communication and communion.’

She reminds us that grief ties us to those we have lost. Death causes the transformation of a relationship, not the loss of one. Gabe’s death does not take away that connection each of us has with him. Gabe remains a leader, a friend, a father, a husband, a kind and caring man. We will continue to look to him for guidance and strength. His memory will echo in our minds, as his presence and his actions will continue to ripple through the world for years to come.

bell hooks also reminds us that grief is to be experienced openly and in community. When we grieve together, we ease the burden. We strengthen our relationships in communal commiseration. We find Gabe in each other, through our stories of him, through our longing and our remembrance. To hide our grief is to hide our love for Gabe, to hide how deeply he affected our lives. When we share our grief, we affirm the positive impact he made; we keep Gabe’s spirit alive, and we keep each other’s spirits alive. To grieve is to live. So I will grieve in Gabe’s honor. I will live for him, as I do for all those we’ve lost.”

David didn’t hear the praises and memories from the countless people who loved his father. He didn’t hear the whispers of concern and support as people passed by him. He didn’t hear when the band began playing Gabe’s favorite song:

One morning I woke up and I knew // you were really gone // A new day, a new way, and new eyes // to see the dawn // Go your way, I’ll go mine and // carry on // The sky is clearing and the night // has cried enough // The sun, he come, the world // to soften up // Rejoice, rejoice, we have no choice but // to carry on…

It wasn’t until the end of the service that David resurfaced, when a wail erupted from someone nestled in the back of the group.

The Howl had begun.

The crowd rippled as people shifted into their wolves and started howling. David shifted as well, but when he opened his maw, no sound came out. His voice was locked in his throat, held back by shame and wasps and crumpled paper and disgrace and soil and the ever increasing belief that no matter how hard he tried, he would fail everyone.

28 notes · View notes

bigcats-birds-and-books · 4 months ago

Text

Books of 2025: February Wrap-Up.

As it turns out: Rereading your own novel manuscript twice (once for the original NaNo and once for the most-current-frankendraft) dramatically slows down the Reading Published Books train, which is fine! I had fun on all fronts! And I did a bunch of knitting, too, and everything I read this month was Good, Actually :D

Photos and/or reviews linked below:

THE LANGUAGE OF THE NIGHT - ★★★★★ Essays on writing, science fiction, and fantasy! Wound up loving this, per my Le Guin Usual, had to bust out the flaggies to mark passages. My favorite chapters were "Introduction to City of Illusions" (which I must track down a copy of immediately), "Talking about Writing," "The Stalin in the Soul," and "The Stone Ax and the Muskoxen."

METAL FROM HEAVEN - ★★★★★ Y'all this was SO FUCKING GOOD. It's pitched as for fans of Gideon the Ninth and The Princess Bride, because it's about messy lesbians and one in particular's quest for revenge against the industrialist who had her entire striking family killed. Personally, I'd also throw an Arcane comp in there for the class warfare and aesthetics and weird magical substance. Significant review linked, PLEASE go check this out, it was very excellent.

ODD THOMAS - ★★★★ Reread, to go with my own manuscript-rereading (this book was an Inspiration for my project, as was WtNV). I still love Odd so much. Fucked up, weird, funny, tragic book--if you've ever been curious about Koontz, try this one.

WHEN WOMEN WERE BIRDS - ★★★½ Received this in my nature writing subscription box, started it without meaning to on a random Tuesday, accidentally read the first three chapters because it sucked me in. Parts of this REALLY hit right for me and parts of it were just Meh--definitely depended on the particular Variation on Voice. The opening chapter is the author receiving her mother's journals, collected over a lifetime, and they're all blank. If you like memoirs, and feminism, and environmentalism, and birds, and writing, and Mormonism, or any combination thereof, check this out! Short little book, does neat stuff with white space.

Under the Cut: A Note About ~*★Stars★*~

Historically, I have been Very Bad™ about assigning things Star Ratings, because it's so Vibes Heavy for me and therefore Contingent Upon my Whims. (Example: I don't like that stars are Odd, because that makes three the midpoint and things are rarely so truly mid for me)(I have hacked my way around this with a ½, which is really only applicable for me at ★★★ and up). Here is, generally, how I conceptualize stars:

★ - This was Bad. I would actively recommend that you do NOT read this one, no redeeming qualities whatsoever, not worth the slog. Save Yourself, It's Too Late For Me. Book goes in the garbage (donate bin).

★★ - This was Not Good. I would not recommend it, but it wasn't a total waste or wash--something in here held my interest/kept my attention/sparked some joy. I will not be rereading this ever. Save Yourself (Or Join Me In Suffering, That Seems Like A Cool Bonding Activity).

★★★ - This was Good/Fine/Okay/Meh. I don't care about this enough to recommend it one way or another. Perfectly serviceable book, held my interest, I probably enjoyed myself (or at least didn't actively loathe the reading). I don't have especially strong feelings. You probably don't need to save yourself from this one--if it sounds like your jam, give it a shot! Just didn't resonate with me particularly powerfully. I probably won't reread this unless I'm after something in particular.

★★★½ - I liked this! I'll probably recommend it if I know it matches someone's vibes or specific requests, but I didn't commit to a star rating on Goodreads. More likely to reread, but not guaranteed.

★★★★ - I really enjoyed this!! I would recommend it (sometimes with caveats about content warnings or such--I tend to like weird fucked up funny shit, and I don't have many hard readerly NO's). Not a perfect book for me by any means, but Very Good. This is something I would reread! Join me!!

★★★★★ - I LOVED THE SHIT OUT OF THIS, IT REWIRED MY BRAIN, WILL RECOMMEND TO ANYONE AND EVERYONE AT THE SLIGHTEST PROVOCATION (content warning caveats still apply--see 4-star disclaimer). Excellent book, I'll reread it regularly, I'll buy copies for all my friends, I'll try to convince all of Booklr to read it, PLEASE join me!!

#books of 2025 #books #the language of the night #ursula k. le guin #metal from heaven #august clarke #odd thomas #dean koontz #when women were birds #terry tempest williams #also. just realizing.#it was both the le guin book AND the williams book that referenced abortion and roe v wade.#which. hits significantly differently in this the year 2k25.#ouch lmfao #anyway! i really did read all good things this month!! just. slowly.#and my own nano wasn't actually bad tbh #and my own frankendraft actually has pretty damn good spots #and i think i have IDENTIFIED WHERE IT FALLS APART #and i think i KNOW HOW TO FIX IT #we're having a great reading month all around it just. doesn't look like it on the shelf lol #i really did mean to put the binder and the nano notebooks next to the books for photo purposes but i forgor #(also i say frankendraft affectionately but. girl she's a mess.)#(it's like. partially a polished fourth draft but 2/3 a messy third. and it's all in one manuscript currently (printed))#(i threw in the towel at a weird spot of revisions back in [TIMEPOINT REDACTED] so i'm left with a messy in between draft)#(it is. fitting. because the working title is IN BETWEEN.)

7 notes · View notes