#damn this got away from me

[rhettabbotts]

what if i said dilf!rhett gets pissed after you send him pictures of yourself while he's out at the bar, then comes home and makes you ride the arm of the couch while he watches???

"been actin' up lately, haven't you whore? need to remind my little cowgirl who's in charge."

WHAT IF I SAID THIS WAS MY LAST STRAW!!!!

he asked you to watch the girls later than he usually does. he had a few old riding buddies in town and was going out for a few drinks. you happily obliged, not minding the extra time you got to spend with grace and ellie.

after bath and bedtime, you were laying on the sectional sofa that was in the middle of the large living room. you couldn’t stand to look at another post on instagram. you were uninterested in scrolling mindlessly through videos. you were bored. dangerously so.

your thumb hovered over rhett’s contact. going against better judgment, you clicked on it, opening a thread of texts between the two of you.

“how’s it going with the retirement committee?”

“very funny. it’s fine. i’m too old to be taking shots of tequila. how’s the girls?”

“they were angels as always. i kind of miss you right now☹️”

“i’ll be home soon”

“will this make you come home sooner?”

you attached a photo you just took. a risqué picture of your thigh. dress hiked up enough to show a peek of your lacy underwear - a pair that rhett had bought you.

the three bubbles appeared and disappeared several times. it made you nervous. you were afraid you had crossed a line. but then his text came in.

“i’ll be home in thirty minutes. that dress better be off when i come through the door.”

you tore the dress off your body like it was burning you. your body was on fire at the anticipation of hearing rhett’s truck turning up the drive. waiting for the crunch of gravel and the slam of his door. a smug grin settled on your face as you heard the telltale sign of his arrival.

his heavy footsteps fell on the wooden porch, matching the thud of your heartbeat. your breath caught in your throat as he opened the door. he was not happy, if the clenched jaw told you anything.

“hi,” you greeted him softly, hands placed delicately in your lap. you sat on your heels in nothing but your bra and panties.

rhett was silent. he kicked his boots off next to the assorted pairs of shoes that lined the wall. he tossed his jacket on the bench and rolled his sleeves up without a word. he pointedly ignored you, heading towards the kitchen to pour himself a drink.

the ice cubes clinked against the crystal glass as he filled it, pouring the dark colored liquor in before taking a long swig. he let out a hiss through his clenched teeth as the whiskey burned down his chest.

“you think you’re cute, don’t you? sending me a picture like that where anyone could’ve seen,” rhett spoke finally, voice deep and raspy with a hint of malice. he was reprimanding you and you hated to admit it made your thighs press together.

“i just missed you,” you pouted at the man that was approaching you.

“you’re a fucking brat, is what you are. thinking you can always get your way. do i need to remind you who’s in charge?”

rhett towered over you as he took his stand before your kneeling frame. his thumb and index finger gripped your chin tightly, roughly. he took another drink and your mouth dropped open on its own accord.

he smirked before leaning down to let the warm liquid drip onto your waiting tongue, forcing your mouth shut so you could swallow.

“couch arm.”

“what?”

“i want you on the couch arm. that’s all you get tonight. it’s either that or nothin’. take your pick.”

“but-“

“i ain’t arguing.”

you moved hesitantly, straddling the couch arm and positioning yourself comfortably. you felt a sting in your muscles as the arm spread your thighs wider than you’re used to.

“g’on,” rhett commanded, nodding towards you as he sat at the opposite corner, legs stretched wide and the drink still in his hand. “show me how much you really missed me.”

you started with a slow drag of your covered cunt against the material, biting back a moan as the cool leather of the couch created a dizzying contrast to the heat at your core. the leather became more slick with each pass, making it easier to grind into it.

you got lost in the feeling, closing your eyes and arching your back as you imagined it was rhett’s cock you were riding. breathy whimpered escaped your throat and your stomach knotted up at your impending release.

“daddy,” you whispered, neck craning to look at rhett. “can i please cum? i promise i’ll be good,” you pleaded.

rhett let out a mumbled curse before he started palming his hard cock, giving you a singular nod.

that was all you needed to pick up your pace, chasing that high that you desperately craved. it hit you hard and fast, your thighs shook and your mouth was agape with a silent scream. rhett groaned loudly as he watched you come undone.

it took you a few moments to settle. after you caught your breath, you just threw yourself back onto the sofa. your head landed in rhett’s lap as you looked up at him. the glow of the lamp brought out the greys at his temples and you could assume that he only had more because of you. not that you minded.

“this poor couch,” you laughed, fingers tracing invisible shapes along rhett’s thigh.

“it should be burned,” he responded, a dry laugh escaping him as well.

“i really did miss you tonight. we missed our show,” you said.

“m’sorry, baby. i missed you too. but andy almost saw my phone and i don’t want someone lookin’ at my lady like that.”

“i’ll be more cautious with the nudes i send,” you joked. which earned you a little love tap to your thigh.

“you’ll be the death of me, girl.”

[egophiliac]

don't think I'm not still obsessing over 7-12

[cantpickyourgenre]

I believe Bobby is coming back from the dead because I think we deserve to live in a world where Kenneth Choi gets to act his ass off by playing a simultaneously relieved/joyous and angry/furious Chimney, who feels like he has to thank Bobby, but also scream at him until his throat is sore because it wasn't fair to make that decision! he's going to say they should have played rock, paper, scissors and Bobby will chuckle because he thinks he's joking like silly haha Chimney, but Chimney is like "no, we should have discussed it, you died and I didn't even get to say thank you. you died and I owed you a debt I didn't even know about. you let me carry that" and he has to wrestle with the guilt of knowing that Bobby would do that for him, not just theoretically, but actual concrete proof that Bobby would die to save him. which they all know on some surface level that they'd die for one another, but it feels like such a far-off concept until it isn't. but Chimney also has to deal with the gratitude because Chimney is also so incredibly thankful that he didn't die. every step of the way he wanted Ravi, Bobby, Buck, and Athena to commit crimes, because he loves his life and he wants to keep living it. he's so overjoyed that he got to go home to his wife and kid, and that comes with its own guilt because how can he be so happy to be home when Bobby DIED. does that make him a monster? that on some level he's HAPPY that Bobby did that? and now he has to FACE Bobby. so he tries to be the Before Chimney who gets people whimsical gifts, but how do you give someone balloons about choosing your life over theirs? and he spirals because he's different now and Bobby is here and he has so so much he wants to say but all of it feels contradictory and unfair and he would normally go to Bobby for advice. so he does. he goes to Bobby and he says "what would you do, if you were in my position?" and Bobby just says "whatever you need to say or feel, I understand" and that just makes Chimney even more upset because what he needs is for none of this to have ever happened. its like they all got a re-do, but kept the memories and the feelings and now he has nowhere appropriate to put them. anyway, Bobby lives and we get Chimney angst yay <3 forever and ever.

[fuupan]

drew these for heart pirates day and uhhhh ep1115

[fromcinder]

it takes a moment - just a moment - for dom to be transported back to that day. it's almost always the same dream, you see. one moment it's all routine and confident manoeuvres through the warehouse, preparing to quench aggressive flames. the next? oppressive black smoke, pushing in from all sides, abruptly ignites and burns orange from floor to ceiling. nothing can withstand heat soaring far beyond a thousand degrees centigrade. least of all the air in her tank, which cooks her from the inside out until the darkness sweeps in. merciful, merciful darkness.

when they found her colleague, who'd attempted to drag them both out of the flashover, his mask had melted to nothing and his turnout gear had come away with clumps of flesh. he'd been flash-fried to a crisp, but she'd been reborn. why? what made her so special? she lays and wonders every night when she's off duty, unable to distract herself with the steady snoring of her fellow firefighters. it's a heavy weight on her chest, like a malicious shadow intent on wrapping its fingers around her throat, squeezing and squeezing until...

hello, dominique. the firefighter's eyes snap open and lock upon eloise's features. it's weird hearing her full name, as most people simply refer to her as dom. she likes it, though. there's a soothing quality to the witch's voice. almost as relaxing as her baked goods. a little shaky and off-kilter, dom pushes a smile onto her face and saunters over. voice is a low, tired husk when she speaks. "alrigh', pet?" attempting to come off as less exhausted than she is, dom leans up against the wall while eloise unlocks the door. a laugh echoes in response to the question. "that obvious, eh? and here i was tryin' to be subtle." obvious sarcasm. dom bounces dark eyebrows. "you're a bloody angel, y'know that?"

               portum’s  weather  is  one  of  the  things  about  the  town  eloise  enjoys  the  most.   the  sun  touching  her  skin,   the  soft  breeze  coming  from  the  shore  moving  the  skirts  of  her  dress,   the  silky  strands  of  her  chocolate  hair  …  everything  about  it  was  soothing,   it  put  a  content  expression  on  her  face,   it  filled  her  with  a  calm  she  felt  with  few  other  things  in  life.   that’s  why  she  loved  to  walk  to  the  bakery  every  morning,   without  rushing,   enjoying  the  beauty  and  the  buzz  that  surrounded  her.                 arriving  at  the  bakery,   though,   her  mood  shifts  slightly.   the  sight  of  dom  parked  outside  gives  pause,   and  the  feeling  of  pure  worry  settles  in  the  pit  of  her  stomach.   she  manages  a  gentle  smile  nonetheless,   as  she  approaches  her  business’  entrance  and  proceeds  to  open  it.     “  hello,   dominique,  ”     the  greeting  is  as  gentle  as  her  smile,   hands  working  the  locks  diligently.     “  you  look  tired,   bad  night ?  ”     she  never  beats  around  the  bush  when  it  comes  to  it,   to  the  difficulties  dominique  has  to  sleep,   they  both  know  each  other  for  a  long  time  already  to  lie  to  each  other  with  fake  pleasantries.

[voidedtea]

[ID in alt]

my pieces for @strawberrij's thespius fashion zine!! quite the endeavour and adventure that turned out pretty neat i think :]

special thanks go to @ratchetclankarecute for posing/cloth references + the bulk of the image descriptions! that first image would Not have happened without them <3

[schrodingerspsycho]

I love the idea that all the Thunderbolts love to mess with Bucky because he doesn’t know anything about memes/modern slang/pop culture. And sure, Yelena, Ava, and Bob are all catching up on everything, but they know way more than Bucky does. Somehow even Alexi knows more (he might know the most, actually).

But then one day they’re all hanging out and someone makes a joke about stealing Bucky’s arm, and he says “you’re worse than the raccoon,” and they’re all just like. “What.” And he realizes that the one thing he has over the others is that he knew the original avengers.

So he starts dropping the craziest lore about them at random times, always something that they would have no way of verifying. Sometimes it’ll have something to do with whatever conversation they’re having, and sometimes it’ll be a complete non sequitur. He’s even left the room immediately after telling one of these stories on a couple occasions, and if it’s to heighten the air of mystery or because he couldn’t keep himself from laughing the others will never know.

At first they’re all convinced that it’s all bullshit, but then one day they’re on a mission with Ant-Man and Ava mentions something about it to Scott, and he confirms that yeah, whatever Bucky said is 100% true. Now they don’t know what to believe, and that makes it ten times funnier for Bucky.

At some point John tries to call Sam and ask him to clear things up, but he quickly realizes that Sam isn’t going to give him anything. If he even responds, it’s only to tell an even crazier story.

Of course Bucky knows that Natasha is off limits, and Yelena will call Kate to confirm or deny if he says anything about Clint. But eventually he’s told so many stories about all the others that he starts to lose track of everything he’s said. He blames it on his memory being damaged by hydra.

He only stops because Alexi, who believes every single story without fail, started spreading the stories to the press and Pepper sent them a cease and desist letter.

[tmos-time]

just remembered i can draw gay people

[candyheartedchy]

I think I just discovered a repressed fictional crush and I’m not sure how I should feel about it.

[jangmi-latte]

what the fuck

[dahlia-tourism-board]

Fun fact, I'm a sports girly. So usually when I enter a fandom, I like to ruminate on which sports my faves like to watch. But thinking it over, I truly don't believe anyone in the Redacted Verse cares at all about watching sports.

At most, the Damn Crew watches the Superbowl every year, but mainly to watch the Half Time Show and critique the commercials. Damien and Gavin have the most fun picking apart all the different ads and bantering back and forth, but they all have fun just hanging out.

Of course they go to watch Huxley's games, but that's different for them. It's about having a bit of school pride and cheering on their friend who they know works so hard to be good at what he does and Damien watching Huxley wreck his opponents and wishing it was him instead

But yeah, I don't think anyone is cracking open a cold one after a long day and watching The Game

[rolameny]

important: le guin's final word on k/s, from searoad:

Antal nodded lazily. Sunlight did not suit him as night and shadow did. He was sallow, and looked as if he needed dusting. He lounged in the lounge chair; what else can one do in a lounge chair? But he wore German health sandals over white socks, and there was a hole in the toe of one of the socks. There is a sort of self-assurance, a masculine carelessness of the body, which is lovable in the young because of their beauty; past youth, it becomes mere insolence and flaunting—beerbellies under unbuttoned florals, grey chest hair sticking through mesh singlets, toenails poking out of socks. Take me as I am! But why should I? What I want is hidden, is mysterious, is chaste—the shirt buttoned, the coat buttoned—shadows. There may be things amiss, grey hair, a lame leg, age and sorrow, who knows, blindness even, but such things are themselves shadows. Indeed my hero may have holes in his socks, may have holes in his shoes, may be barefoot; but he does not, in a lolling self-satisfaction lie looking at the unshapely toenail that pokes out of the hole in his sock. Pride forbids him. The hero's quality is pride, not self-satisfaction. Pride relates to the other. Pride is Lucifer's relationship to God, and mine to my old age and death. I will not serve! says the proud devil, and I say I will not collude. So I looked away from Antal's toenail with anger. He had shamed me. [...] Antal stared, not at Rosemarie, only at me. "You watch it?" he said. "You watch television?" I didn't answer. Books were all Antal and I had in common, except a bit of sex and heroism. Whereas Rosemarie and I had everything in common, even Antal—everything except books. I was not going to let him try to shame us for our commonness. "The one I liked best was the one where Mr. Spock had to go home because he was in heat," I said to her. "Except he never, you know," she said. "They just had a fight over the girl, him and Captain Kirk, and then they left." "That's his pride," I said, obscurely. I was thinking how Mr. Spock was never unbuttoned, never lolled, kept himself shadowy, unfulfilled; and so we loved him. And poor Captain Kirk, going from blonde to blonde, would never understand true love, would never even understand that he himself loved Mr. Spock truly, hopelessly, forever. Rosemarie didn't try to answer. Antal, scornful of our media babble, lolled, eyes closed behind his dark glasses.

[jayktoralldaylong]

You know who they did the dirtiest in Arcane? Apart from Vander that is.

The answer is Mel. My baby girl lost her two boyfriends and I'm tired of pretending like I'm okay about it.

She gave everything to their dream.

"She wanted to use them." YES! At first! At first she thought they were a great investment. Then she came to love them with more sincerity and more care than many other relationships in the show. Sure some of the toxic things she'd learnt from her home tended to seep into the relationship, but she did everything she could to prune that away.

She loved them. She poured everything into their dream. Everything into helping Jayce get rid of Heimerdinger when he wanted to ban the research that could help Viktor, everything to help them both vote for peace and make the council decision unanimous. Everything to get back to them, after getting kidnapped! 🥺 After going through every version of hell, she immediately gravitated to where she would find them, 😭 find the only loves that had ever accepted her without necessarily demanding anything in return.

And Riot just took that away. And I'm tired of acting like I'm okay with it.

I'm tired of everyone saying Mel deserves better than Jayce and Viktor, tired of people shipping her with people she's never met (especially when the aim is just to give her someone who is not Jayce or Viktor), I'm tired of the strong independent black woman stereotype following Mel around when it's the LAST thing that she wants when she only just learnt to be soft with Jayce and open with her heart once again. I am tired of people calling her a manipulator as if her character arc ended there, as if she did not unlearn toxic love and traded it for the gentle bond she then had with her two favourite scientists.

I'm tired of people not acknowledging that she had to leave Piltover, not just because the Medarda family needed her, but also because her boys were gone. The family she had finally made for herself, the family she was willing to abandon her family name for. They're gone and I don't think Riot will ever be kind enough to give them back to her.

Everyone else, even Ekko sort of has a family to fall back to. Mel has successfully lost everyone. The fact that Lest is the closest person to Mel left says way too much about how awful this whole situation is.

And I am TIRED, I am so sick and TIRED, of people acting like she did not love Jayce and Viktor. I am so sick and tired of people acting like Jayce did not love her. It probably hurt him too to leave her behind.

The tragedy of them is that Jayce knew Mel still had the chance to refind her feet, but Viktor had only ever had Jayce, and Jayce would NEVER leave Viktor alone. And it hurts that Mel probably wished she could have gone with them, because now she has to start everything from scratch and barely anyone in the fandom acknowledges that side of her pain and I HATE IT!

(Jayce might have been created for Viktor in League Lore, but Mel was created for Jayce. 🥺😭 Mel was created to love Jayce and they took her baby away.) #HappyHare(Mel)WhereHaveYouBuriedAllYourChildren?TellMeSoISay😭

[timothyslucy]

i know we never got to see it for either angela or nyla when they had their babies, but i've always had this headcanon that whenever someone at mid-wilshire welcomes a new member into their family grey starts roll call with a picture of their little one, along with the standard criteria next to it, ya know, height/weight/length/etc. and then everyone does a drumroll at their tables as he does a dramatic name reveal, and i just hope that one day in the future we'll actually get to see him do so for tim and lucy. it would be so cute. 🥹🫶

[penumbra-mayhem]

And All That Follows (ch. 1)

aka: Let's Mitigate This Blast Radius Before It Gets Out of Hand

Alpha Gabriel Shaw dies and everything falls apart.

Ch. 2 // ao3 // 1.9k words

(TW: death, car accident, grief)

EDITS: small grammar stuff, formatting, and new title (formerly known as The Fall of an Alpha, but i hated that name so i chose a new one)

———————————————

Sept 3. 2017, 11:04 pm

Between the raging storm outside and the blaring tv in front of them, they barely heard the knock at the door. It was only on the second attempt did they notice, and even then it could have easily been dismissed as thunder.

Milo gave David and Asher confused glances. “You guys expecting anyone?”

David shook his head. Asher shrugged; he paused the game and tossed his controller behind him as he said, “I’ll get it.”

Milo stretched out in the newly available couch space, calling out, “Could you get more chips while you’re up? We’re almost out.”

“Get them yourself!” Asher retorted as he padded down the hallway, “Unless you’re too short to reach!”

“Oh fuck right off!”

Asher chuckled as he reached the front door. He didn’t bother looking through the peephole before answering, but as soon as he saw who it was, he wished he had. It would’ve given him a moment to steel himself.

An officer was standing in the hallway, her dripping face starkly grim. Asher recognized her as a shifter from a neighboring pack.

“Evening. Beta David Shaw lives here, yes?” she asked.

Asher tightened his grip on the door handle. “Uh...yeah, he’s um my roommate.”

“Is he here now?”

“Can I uh, ask what this is about?” Asher replied, his voice cracking slightly.

“There’s been an accident.”

It felt like the ground gave out from underneath him. Like a blast of thunder had gone off in his chest.

“Hey, Ash, who is it?” David called from the living room.

Asher ignored him. “Gabe?” he whispered, eyes wide.

She gave him a small nod.

“Is he…just tell me, is he dead?”

She shifted her weight uneasily before nodding. “Yes.”

“Come in.”

He moved aside to let her in, closing the door behind them. “He’s uh, he’s in the…um...follow me,” Asher said breathlessly. His feet were like bricks as he led the officer down the hallway.

Milo and David looked up to see a very pale Asher hurry across the living room and practically cower in the corner.

“Who was…” the words died in David’s mouth as he and Milo looked over at the officer standing in the doorway to the living room, rainwater trickling down her coat and pooling at her feet.

David stood, an edge of authority in his voice as he spoke, “Officer. What can I do for you?”

“Beta Shaw, please, have a seat,” she replied.

He stayed standing. “What’s going on?”

“David…” Asher pleaded.

David’s eyes shot over and met Asher’s—they were already red and glassy. He lowered himself back onto the couch, then looked over at the officer as dread climbed into his chest.

She stepped forward, her voice stern but not unkind, “Beta Shaw. About forty-five minutes ago, Alpha Gabriel Shaw was in a car accident. He died on the scene.”

David had never really known grief before. Sure, his mom had died, but he had been too young to really know what was going on. A few distant relatives and pets had died over the years, too, but none of that had seemed to really affect him. The deaths of his grandparents had been sad, but not debilitatingly so. He'd begun to think that maybe death just didn't affect him that way. He thought maybe he just wasn't built to grieve.

It was instantaneous. It felt like shifting—a full and all-encompassing transformation. Grief ran like magic through his bones, warping his core and leaving him unrecognizable. Those in the room felt it—Asher especially. He almost reached out, almost said something, but David was already talking, his voice cavernous:

"Thank you, officer, for informing me of the situation. Where is his body now?"

The officer blinked in surprise, but quickly composed herself. "The coroner has taken him to the nearest morgue."

"I assume they'll want me there to confirm his identity?"

"Yes, but you don't have to go imme—"

"Can you take me?"

She furrowed her brow. "Yes, sir."

David moved to grab his coat, and Milo shot up. “David, wai—”

“Stay here, both of you. Don’t tell anyone what’s happened. I’ll call for an emergency meeting tomorrow morning,” David commanded, “I want to avoid as much panic as possible.”

And with that, he left, pushing through the doorway and into the hall. The officer took a deep breath before following.

Milo sank back down. The two heard the front door open and shut.

For a minute, they didn’t speak. The storm swelled outside, rattling the windows of the apartment. The pause music on the tv played over and over at a low volume.

Staring blankly at the wall opposite him, Milo mumbled, “We’ve gotta tell Tank.”

“We can’t. You heard David,” Asher croaked from his corner.

“David’s not in his right mind,” Milo retorted, his eyes beginning to burn, “Gabe is like a father to Tank.”

“…was,” Asher whispered.

Milo locked eyes with him, silently pleading.

"I...I'm going to the bathroom," Asher replied before hurrying down the hallway. He couldn't say yes, but he wasn't going to stop him. Especially when Milo was right. They needed to tell Tank before they heard it from anyone else or, god forbid, at the pack meeting.

Asher closed the bathroom door and leaned his weight against it as sobs tore through his body, robbing him of everything—sound, breath, strength. He slid down the length of the door to the floor in a silent, heaving heap as his mind spun.

He gave himself five minutes.

———————————————

Milo pulled out his phone, groaning in frustration as he struggled to read his screen, tears flooding his vision. He wiped his eyes with one hand as he pulled up Tank’s contact with the other.

Tank was somewhere loud; he could hear it through the phone.

“Miles, what’s up?” Tank all but shouted.

“I need you to come to Ash and David's,” Milo rasped.

“What? Wait-wait, gimme a sec,” Tank said. He could hear them pushing through a crowd, then the sound of a door opening and slamming shut, followed by the shush of rain. They must have moved outside.

“What’s going on? Are you hurt?” Tank asked.

“No I just…I need you here. Now.”

He could hear the panic in their voice. “...I can be there in twenty—no, fifteen.”

“No! Don’t speed. Please, Tank, drive slowly. It’s late, it’s raining, it’s not—” Milo held his phone away from his mouth for a second as a sob slipped out, “It’s not safe.”

Tank must’ve heard it. Their words shot out of their mouth as they strode into the rain, “Is David there? Ash? I swear, Miles, if you’re hurt and not telling me—”

“Tank, please,” Milo begged.

“Okay! Okay, I’ll be there soon.”

“…we’ll leave the door unlocked. Drive slow.”

Once they hung up, Milo put his phone on the coffee table. He bit his clenched fist as tears pooled in his eyes and his chest convulsed.

————————————————

Everything was happening too quickly; David couldn’t keep up. One minute he was getting into his car, ready to follow the cruiser in front of him to the morgue. The next, he was looking down at a shrouded body, being asked if he was ready.

Ready? Fuck no, he wasn’t ready. He wasn’t ready for any of this. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Gabe wasn’t supposed to die suddenly, in his prime, leaving his 24-year-old son to pick up the pieces. Leaving him an orphan.

Orphan.

The word made a desert of his mouth. He was alone. Entirely. His last safety net. His last pillar of support. His last corner to hide in. Gone.

David was bare, flayed open for the world to see. He’d never felt so exposed, and it made him panic. But there was no time to panic. He was still the Pack Beta. He still had a job to do. And for as long as he could, he’d throw himself into it, fully. So David chiseled a hard look onto his face and nodded.

The sheet was pulled back.

Everyone always said David looked like his dad. He took so much pride in that comparison. But in that moment, he saw no resemblance. He didn’t have an out-of-body experience, seeing himself on the table. He didn’t spiral at the sudden realization of his own mortality spurred by the likeness of his dead father.

Because that wasn’t Alpha Gabriel Shaw, revered Founder of the Shaw Pack.

That wasn’t Gabe, loyal friend and loving father.

The body before David was just a man, battered and broken beyond repair. It felt wrong to claim this husk as his father, felt like a lie.

But David had a job to do.

“Yes, that’s him.”

————————————————

When sound returned to his body and his sobs were no longer silent, Asher muzzled them with a frantic hand. He couldn’t let Milo hear. He had to be there for him. Once his self-allotted time was up, Asher rose on shaky legs. He pressed a washcloth to his face. He straightened his clothes. He smiled.

Leaving the bathroom, Asher went down the hallway into the kitchen and began to heat some water. He pulled down mugs. He got out tea. He waited. He poured the water. He wiped his tears. He smiled.

The mugs clinked in his hand as he carried them into the living room. He set them on the coffee table. He placed one tea bag in each. He sat next to Milo. He smiled.

“You get ahold of Tank?”

“Yeah,” Milo croaked, “They’re coming over.”

“Good. That’s good.”

He smiled.

————————————————

After ten minutes, Milo’s phone began to buzz.

Asher removed his arm from around Milo’s shaking shoulders and grabbed the phone off the coffee table, handing it to him. Milo cleared his throat before answering.

“Tank?”

“Is he dead?!?”

Milo could hear the storm on their end, along with cars rushing past them. Were they still driving? He prayed to whoever or whatever would listen that they'd at least pulled over.

“Wh-what?” Milo stammered.

“I saw his fucking car, Milo! Smashed up in the middle of the fucking intersection!! Is Gabe fucking dead?!?”

Asher gaped at Milo; Tank wasn't on speakerphone, but they were shouting loud enough for him to hear.

“ANSWER ME MILO!”

Milo glanced at Asher, who was vehemently shaking his head no. Not now. Not this way. Wait.

“…yes, he’s dead—”

“And David?!”

“David wasn’t in the car. But Tank, I need you t—” Milo was cut off as the line went dead, “Tank? Tank?!?”

Asher grabbed Milo's arm.

“They-they hung up," Milo whimpered, "At least I think they did. I hope they did…oh god." He called Tank again. It went to voicemail.

"Fuck!" he yelled, throwing his phone across the room.

Asher rubbed the heels of his hands into his eyes, scrubbing away the hot tears before they fell but no doubt turning the lighter patches of his skin a blotchy red. He put his arm back around Milo as he fished out his own phone from his pocket and called Tank.

Voicemail.

He hung up and tried again.

Voicemail.

Milo growled and stood up abruptly. He grabbed his coat and moved towards his phone.

“Wh-where’re you going?” Asher stammered.

“To Tank’s place,” Milo replied, picking up his phone, “You stay, in case they come here.”

“Milo, it’s still really bad out there, maybe you should wai—”

“I’ll have to call one of Colm’s old coworkers, find out where the crash was.”

“What? Milo—”

“I need to drive by it. Maybe Tank’s still there. Or maybe,” Milo’s breath caught in his throat, “maybe they crashed too. I don’t know. So I’ll drive by there on my way to Tank’s. I’ll text you when I get there.”

Milo was out the door before Asher could speak. Alone, he crumbled, sobs overtaking him once more.

[10yearsofdnp]

April 20, 2015: And just like that, Japhan 1.0 comes to an end 😭 thank you all so much for joining me on this nostalgia journey! As I'm sure you know, though, there's so much more to come! We're only 4 months into 2015 after all 😉🏠🇬🇧