#God i wished it was Cash who died in the fire instead of his wife

[rottmntrulesall]

Just when Cash couldn’t get ANY shittier as a father

[itsalwaysyou-jw]

As promised, here is the sneak peek for Welcome Home, a WWII Johnlock AU inspired by Bandstand:

“Another shot of whiskey. Please.”

The bartender silently obliged, a man whose face was forgotten the moment he turned away. John consumed the fresh liquid in an instant, wishing the dulled sensations could kick in as rapidly as he could drink it. He twirled the empty glass along the sticky countertop. The air was thick with sweat, the murmur of voices like a wall of pressure against his ears. It was too much, all of it.

“What division?” said a voice two seat to his right. John’s head turned to see a gentleman with short, cropped blond hair. He was staring at his own glass as bone dry as John’s.

“Sorry?”

His head turned then and John was startled by how handsome he was. He had a long, narrow nose, a pronounced jawline, short locks of sandy blond hair, and blue eyes that were hooded with intoxication. John had always been a sucker for blue eyes.

“You’re a soldier right?” he asked, eyes darting to the empty glass. “I was, too.” John said nothing but simply continued to stare at the man. He seemed so much like himself if he were to be stretched taller and perhaps made a bit more handsome.

“Yeah,” he conceded after some time in silence. “37th division.”

His eyebrows moved together in thought. John had the impression that he’d reach his conclusions quicker if he were sober. “What is that- the Solomon Islands, right?”

“Yeah, and Bougainville.”

“Jesus. That must have been holy hell.”

John wiggled his glass as he caught the eye of the bartender to wordlessly request a refill. “Something like that, yeah.”

“How long ago did you get back?”

John considered the date, mentally scraping for a rough estimate of how long he’d been back home. “Just a couple weeks.”

“Ah.” He considered this and John prayed that he would stay silent this time. “Are you going to school? Or going for cash?”

He didn’t particularly feel like explaining to this stranger that he’d already been to school. That he’d love to go back and get his medical degree but he couldn’t. Instead, he just grunted “Cash. I need the cash.”

“Well find something quick. I have been to three funerals this month. Nobody’s talking about it because those guys came back fine a while ago.”

John’s stomach tightened, his mouth forming an impossibly hard line of tension. A fresh whisky was placed before him. He gripped the fresh glass until he was certain he could shatter it with his grip. “What happened?”

The stranger dragged his fingernails painstakingly along the filthy countertop, clumps of dried alcohol gathering beneath his already filthy, chipped fingernails. “They needed- They wanted a way to make it… stop.”

John threw his whiskey down his throat, suddenly desperate to get away from this horrible, suffocating prison. He threw down a note of payment, not even caring about his change- not even caring about anything at all other than escaping to fresh air.

“Find something quick,” the gentleman called softly behind him. “Godspeed.”

The second sneak peek from Chapter 2 with a small spoiler is under the cut. Also, tags.

(CONTEXT: John’s best friend in the Army was Victor Trevor, who asked John to check up on his spouse if anything ever happened to him. Trevor died beside John in the trenches and John is finally fulfilling his friend’s wishes.)

A thunder clapped with an unreliable beat in John's chest. The ordinary door seemed an overwhelming obstacle to approach. Behind this door was every tragedy imaginable.

Lead feet carried him to the threshold. Three breaths attempted to steady him, to centralize his thoughts, and his fist raised to rap thrice on the door. It was the soundtrack of his anxiety, the trepidation of the knocks loud in his ears. In the silence following his knock, he heard the echo of the sound rattle in his mind and there was no breath or time or awareness- there was only an eternity of silent expectancy.

Footsteps.

A lock undone.

The rotation of the knob.

Only paralyzing fear prevented John from running from this horror.

Then, in a moment, a woman. Yet not a young, vivacious woman as he’d expected, but an elderly woman with short, curly hair, a pointed face, and kind eyes.

He was helpless to do anything but stare at her. His mind was weighing the probability of this being Victor’s wife- but surely she couldn’t be. He’d described her as tall with full lips, black hair, and brilliant eyes.

“Can I help you?” she asked, not unkindly, after several moments of loaded silence. Her eyes were narrowed ever so slightly, though John felt no hostility in the stare.

“I-” John was suddenly speechless. He’d simply assumed knocking would be the hardest part. This continued necessity of courage was drawing him from sanity. “I was wondering- is Sherlock Holmes here?”

“Oh dear, I’m afraid he’s not here at the moment,” she said with her voice brimming with regret as though she hadn’t just set fire to John’s world with the smallest of words.

No. His mind rebelled against processing what she’d said. No. The world was spinning, the woman disappearing behind miles of blurred concentration. No. It couldn’t be.

“I’m sorry,” he uttered with unadulterated panic shaking his words. His eyebrows were touching on another, his arm steadying him against the brick wall next to the door. “Did you just- Did you say ‘he?’”

Her eyes grew wide, her mouth open and she was clearly equal parts confused and alarmed by the aggressive reaction to have seized him. He watched as she visibly scanned him for hints of the situation, her mouth moving with silent words as she scrambled for the proper response.

“Yes,” she finally said slowly. “Are you a client? Did you hear of him through his advertisement in the paper?”

Him. His. Sherlock Holmes. A man.

“Yes.” His throat was sandpaper, his muscles moving on their own to say the word with some ancient instinct to sink or swim in overwhelming information. “Can you tell me when h-he’ll be available?”

“Well he should be back- I’m sorry, are you quite alright?”

No, nothing was alright. “Yes. Please, when can I see him?”

She scanned his face for context of his reaction but found none. Instead, she answered with impossible sluggishness, “Tomorrow. He’ll be seeing clients at 2.”

“Thank you.” He was moving away and could no longer see her or the building or the street or anything in this world. All that existed was this endless dark tunnel and him, clawing his way out. His feet carried him down the street and he crouched down on the pavement when his feet were unable to carry him any longer.

What had Victor said? John wracked his mind, scrambling for the memories that were painful to recall.

“You got a girl back home?” John had asked.

Victor had smiled a mischievous grin and John had wondered why he looked like he had a secret. “I’ve got a special someone, yeah.”

“A wife?”

“We’re married, yeah.”

“What’s her name?” John asked, imagining what the Trevor household must be like outside the tragedy of war.

“Their name is Sherlock. Holmes- wanted to keep their last name.”

All the discussion of Victor’s partner and never once had he used any indication of gender. The conversations ran through his head on repeat in dizzying circles until John was mad with the repetitions.

How was this possible? Victor was married- to a man? How? Sherlock was… a man? But wasn’t Sherlock a girl’s name? He never had heard it, he supposed. A unique name for a unique woman, he’d thought.

That meant… Victor was… gay.

God. The hurt penetrated deep within him and consumed every trace of joy that remained in his wounded heart. How could Victor not have told him? He understood the dangers involved in revealing homosexuality in the military, but God, they were best friends. He was John’s one shining light to provide him with guidance through hell.

But had John not reciprocated the secrecy? Was John not guilty, himself, of disguising his own attractions in men?

John’s skin itched everywhere. He wanted to claw at every inch of himself until he bore the painful scars that he deserved. He longed to tear apart his skin until the pain inside him was free.

Instead, he pulled himself up, heaved a breath of city air, and forced himself onward. Ever the soldier, ever the war-induced clarity of action.

TAGS: @benzedrine-calmstheitch and @sherlockedcarmilla asked to be tagged in the sneak peek. @anchored-in-high-tide didn’t ask, but I think she’d like to know that it’s up. :) If anybody else would like to be tagged in future updates, reply to this post or send me a message. <3

[ambrosiaswhispers]

Me too for being curious about SethnKate prompts idea. I got one for you. Jane the Virgin au...Seth hijacks Kate's pregnancy. Poor Kate winks Seth is pissed till he meets his baby momma haha

Sweet, Sweet Anon… I don’t know if I came up with what you imagined, but @thespianreveur started discussing your prompt and it turned into a 12part RomCom piece. 1st one I’ve ever dared to write so babes, thank you for the challenge :) All the Ice Cream and Horchata for you. It’ll be posted on AO3 as well here.

Seth never planned on any of this: not the sweet little, virgin church girl, who’s got more attitude than people expect; not her moving in with him and his family and certainly not his baby she’s intent on having. He’s going to have to figure out how this woman and his child are going to fit into his life; does he even want them to?

“Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. Love never fails.”

AU so no supernatural stuffs. And we get to keep Uncle Eddie :)

Also fair warning Seth is completely the ‘King of Swearing" in this chapter. And Anon - if you read this: Man, I don’t know if this is what you had in mind, but holy crap I really hope you like it.

Prologue: Love is patient; Seth Gecko is not

He was pacing outside of the entrance to the city park trying to remind himself, that he wasn’t actually a suicidal person, he just occasionally did dangerous things, when he was younger. He was however giving some consideration to throwing himself over the bridge and into the oncoming traffic, because that felt pretty fitting for his current situation. He wasn’t supposed to be dealing with this shit. After going to prison and realizing that his life was going to be damn grind until he died, he made a responsible decision. He was fucking responsible! He made a good decision, but the fucking state of goddamn Texas and his bitch of an ex-wife and her friend had circumvented it. This was ridiculous. He didn’t need any of this shit.

.:.          

               Vanessa Styles was standing on his porch with her hands shoved in her pockets, looking like literal hell. In fact, if she hadn’t picked a fight with Richard immediately, he might have had a civil conversation with her, but she did pick the fight so he wasn’t civil.

               “What the hell do you want?” He demanded.

               “We need to talk.” She shifted on her feet and that made him nervous, because Vanessa was the picture of confidence even when she was rattled.

               Seth ushered her off the porch and into the driveway over by her car, away from his Uncle’s and his brother’s possible eavesdropping. “So talk.”

               “There’s no easy way for me to say this.” She bit down on her lip and covered her stomach with her hands.

               “You ain’t knocked up and if you are, it ain’t mine. I got snipped remember? I ain’t having no brats.” He folded his arms over his chest. “I got that shit tested too, I’m firing blanks. And the last time we fucked I didn’t even finish inside of you even with the condom on. I’m not stupid enough to…”

               “I stole your sperm sample.” She cut him off and explained in a rush, “My friend Sonja’s a nurse at the clinic where you had the procedure done and I remembered that you were required to give a sample before you…anyway, she had it delivered to my office.”

               He could feel roar in his ears. He’d never hit a woman before even if she threw the first punch, but the more Vanessa talked the more he was thinking about it.

               “…She was supposed to help me after hours…”

               “You knocked yourself up with my sperm?!? What the fucking fuck is wrong with you?!? Are you completely mental? Christ you railed for years about Richie being crazy, but this takes the damn cake.” He was yelling loud enough that anyone within a mile radius must have heard him. “I want no part of whatever…”

               “I’m not pregnant. I wanted to be; I wanted this for us.” She reached for his arm, but he jerked away from her. “I wanted us to be a family; build something together. But there was a mix-up.” She choked up, but at the moment he couldn’t care less.

               “What kind of mix up?” He was starting to calm down, if this was her just telling him that his potential kids wouldn’t be born, he was perfect fine with that. Some people were just too messed up to try and raise kids. Fuck his own father had been one of those people. Even his mother had just up and left one day and if it hadn’t been for Eddie taking him and Richie in…Vanessa didn’t answer, instead she started to fidget with her hands, “It ain’t a cocktail drink, Vanessa. Define mixed up.”

               “There was another girl at the clinic at the end of the night and the charts got mixed up, I didn’t even know it was your sample… and I inseminated someone else.”

               "What?“ He managed barely above a whisper. He clenched his fists at his sides and reminded himself again, that he didn’t hit women. He didn’t hit women; he wasn’t a wife-beater, even if she was his ex-wife, even if she… “Were you drunk? Are you using again?”

               “Seth, that’s not fair. It was an accident.”

               “Which fucking part was an accident?!? The part where you plotted with someone else to steal my goddamn sperm and knock yourself up or the part where you inseminated someone else?!?” What is wrong with you?”

               “Seth…”

               “No, you don’t fucking get to, Seth, me. Richie and me both did four years in prison, ‘cause you left us holding the bag! Eddie almost lost everything, because of it and I ain’t forgiving that. Get the hell off my property.”

               “This happened three weeks ago. She called me and she tested positive on a pregnancy test.” Vanessa held out a piece of paper with date, time and address on it in perfectly polished handwriting. “I’m so sorry.”

               He snatched the paper away from her. “Off my property. I’m calling a lawyer about this shit. You’re gonna wish to god, that you never met me.”

.:.

He hadn’t said anything to his Uncle or his brother when he came back into the house and for once in their respective lives, they opted to stay the fuck out of his business. He’d thrown himself under his car all night, tweaking and tinkering with the engine to try to distract himself. He’d got about an hour of sleep and when Eddie offered him coffee, he’d spiked it with whiskey before showering and hitting the road. Richie kept sending him texts, asking him if he needed help with whatever Vanessa had come around about. Every response one word to one letter: No, no, k, no, shutup, stop.

He paced by the entrance for the fourth time, he was already ten minutes late from when he was supposed to meet this woman. He’d done the math; he didn’t have a whole lot of extra cash, but he had enough to pay for her to…to deal with it. She didn’t need to go through the mess that his ex-wife had gotten her into. He was so angry, but he knew he needed to calm down. None of this was this lady’s fault: wrong place and wrong fucking time. He glanced up at woman passing by him pushing a stroller with a crying baby, and he felt lightheaded. This was not happening. He was not having a kid, but… This was right off a damn soap opera storyline; this was not how the world worked. He buttoned the top button of his shirt and straighten his tie; should at least look respectable, even if he wasn’t.

He trudged down the path, looking for the gazebo that was on the note. He got closer to it and the only person he could see was a really, young girl sitting on the bench. No… This could not be… Please God, we don’t fucking talk much, but if you could do me this solid…I swear, I won’t steal as much as a dollar for an entire year. She was looking off in the distance, soft brown hair resting on her shoulders, as she sipped from her water bottle, wind rustling her long cotton dress. She must have heard him approaching because she turned to face him and she pure girl-next-door.

He had rehearsed about hundred speeches on the way here, most of which were: calm, reassuring, not threatening and not rude. Unfortunately his mouth got away from him because the first words that he said to her were: not calm, not reassuring, could certainly be thought of as threatening and were unquestionably rude. “Jesus Fucking Christ, are you even fucking legal?”

She dropped the water bottle and jumped off the bench scrambling to her feet, grabbing an object that he identified as pepper-spray.

“Whoa! Whoa!” He put up his hands, “Don’t do that. I’m the guy you’re supposed to be meeting, I think.” The girl’s green eyes were full of uncertainty and he dug her note out of his pocket, holding it out to her. “See? This is you right?”

She kept her finger on the pepper-spray’s trigger, but leaned in a little to scan the not, then his face, before easing her grip on the self-defense device. “I don’t know your name. The doctor…Dr. Styles, she didn’t give… well, she said she couldn’t give it to me, because of confidentiality. I mean which is ridiculous considering…” She motioned to her stomach, before offering her hand to him. “I’m sorry, I’m Kate Fuller, well Kathryn actually, but everyone calls me Kate.”

Her hand was tiny, she tiny, and she was young. Why did she want to have a kid this young? And why hadn’t she done the old fashion way? He realized that he was still holding her hand and he was staring at her, probably scowling based on her reaction to him. “Sorry. I’m Seth, Seth Gecko.” He pulled his hand away and motioned back to the bench, “You wanna sit? This is kinda a lot.”

“Do you mind if we walk? I had to take the bus here; I’d love to stretch my legs.”

He nodded and she picked up her purse, slinging it over her shoulder and they started down the paved path. They walked in silence both sneaking glances at each, both trying to figure out what on earth to say. She sipped from her water bottle and stepped closer to him as a bike sped by them. He touched the small of her back for a half a second, while he switched their positions so he was closer to any oncoming people, bikers, or whatever else was in this park.

“I’ll be twenty next month.” She muttered looking down at her feet, and then up at him, “You kinda asked me if I was an adult before, and I am. I’m nineteen, but I’ll be twenty next month. I’m actually studying to be nurse; I’m in my second year for the four year program, it’s an honor’s program.”

She was apparently a little talky when she was nervous, it would have stuck him as endearing if he wasn’t trying keep himself from freaking the fuck out.

“So you were planning on carrying someone’s kid to pay for college?” He assumed, because that was the only thing he would think of that would explain why a nineteen year-old would volunteer to get knocked up in the least fun way possible.”

“What? No! I went to clinic for a pap smear and a check-up.”

“God she royally fucked up. She had to be high.” When he got done with Vanessa, she was gonna wish she’d never heard the name Gecko.

“Wait, you know Dr. Styles?”

“She’s my ex-wife and she’s soon-to-be an ex-doctor, when I’m through with suing her ass. After I get a lawyer I can have him call you. I’m sure that money would help you with your college fund.” He shoved his hands in his pockets, “You didn’t notice when she…I mean, I’m not trying to get into your business or anything, but I can’t imagine her doing that felt like a normal check-up.”

“I was so nervous about the whole thing; I just closed my eyes and put my earbuds in.” Her cheeks flushed as she admitted. “I just wanted to get on birth control…”

He barked out a laugh without meaning to and apologized, “Sorry Princess, I’m not laughing at you, really. If you knew anything about me, you’d know that I ain’t ever gonna judge someone for wanting to be safe, but still get laid. Before I got snipped, I wouldn’t cum in a woman even if I was wearing a condom. So you wantin’ to be able to have some safe fucking fun in college…”

“Oh my god! Stop!” She interrupted, five-alarm-fire blush all the way to her ears.

He thought she’d been blushing about the fact that she hadn’t been paying attention during her appointment, but based on her reaction he was guessing that he was wrong.

She massaged her temples in slow circles, taking slow breaths, “I went to the clinic to get on birth control, because I have the world’s worst cramps and I’m tired of it. I am not having f’ing fun as you so crassly put it. I don’t even have a boyfriend.”

Oh god, he really stuck his foot in his mouth. He was honestly terrified of where this conversation was going because it almost sounded like, she was a virgin. Surely there was no way that an almost twenty-year-old was still a virgin, not looking like her. Fuck he was a shallow asshole. “Relationships aren’t exactly a pre-req for sex.”

“Listen, just because I’m a virgin that doesn’t make me naïve about things.” She growled, before she continued in firm, but sad voice. “I decided a long time ago that I wasn’t going to swap bodily fluids with reckless abandonment, and that I was probably going to wait until I was married to have sex. And now I…” Her eyes filled up with tears.

He reached out for her on instinct, he hated when women cried. He was reason too many times. “Look I’m not judging you one way or the other. I’m not trying to be a bastard or anything; this whole thing is just a lot for me to deal with.”

“A lot for you to deal with?” She scoffed, before moving away from him abruptly and started to quickstep up the path.

He grabbed her arm, before she get anymore distance between them and pulled her back closer, spinning her back to face him. “Whoa hey, slow down.”

She turned her head away and threw-up all over the walking path and…his shoes. He managed to grab her hair to keep it out of her face, thankfully. He let her finish coughing and helped her off the path to a bench. “Here sit down.” He made sure she was settled then wiped off his shoes in the grass before plopping down next to her.

“Is that how you figured out about…about it.” He hesitated.

She rinsed out her mouth and spit next to the bench in the most ladylike way she could manage, before nodding. “I don’t get sick very often, so I thought maybe the pills were bad. I went back to the clinic to ask about it and Dr. Styles gave me the pregnancy test. I just didn’t think things liked this actually happened.”

“Yeah you and me both.” He reclined against the back of the bench and glanced at Kate, really giving her a once over. She was pretty, but oh hell she was so young. He felt kinda like a lecher and given the circumstances it was just gonna be awkward around her the entire time. What was the rule here? He didn’t even figure the conversation was going to be this long or really much of anything to be honest. He expected the conversation to go as follows: I’m Seth, sorry my ex-wife is a psychotic drug addict that inadvertently knocked you up when she meant to knock herself up, here’s the money for you to take care of what you clearly didn’t want to happen, and have a nice life. He’d already made an ass out of himself and it would be nice if he could manage the rest of this conversation without making it any worse. Who the hell gets knocked up as a virgin without the actual fun part?

“So why kids?” Her voice cut into his thoughts and she mirrored his posture on the bench, looking into his eyes. He must have jumped, because she clarified, with a comforting tone. “I mean, why did you decide that you wanted to have a child now?”

“I don’t.” He answered honestly.

“Wait what? I’m so confused. If you didn’t want a child then, why…”

“I had a vasectomy when I was twenty-five, right after I got out of prison and the clinic made me give a just-in-case sample. I guess some guys change their minds; I didn’t. Vanessa decided that we were gonna start a family without asking me. So this whole thing is just a big fucking mess.”

“Oh.” She was fiddling with her hands again.

He wasn’t sure what she was ‘oh’ing about, because it could have been the ‘I don’t want kids’ thing, it could be mix-up part, and then of course he just told her that he was an ex-con, so there was that. He might as well get to it and rip the bandage off. Let her off the fucking hook. “You don’t have to.”

Kate arched her eyebrow at him, “I don’t have to what?”

He sighed heavy. Why him and why this nice girl, who never asked for any of this crap. “Have it. You don’t have to have it. It wasn’t your choice and it’s not like you planned on it. I know I sure as hell didn’t.”

She bit her lower lip and turned the little opal ring on her finger as she started nervously, “Um… I don’t think I could not have it. I mean God’s got a plan for every person and…” She trialed off, because he must have been making a hell of a face, he knew his jaw was unhinged. “What?”

“You’re a church girl?” He concluded, although it sounded like a question. Oh he did not like where this was going. How busy was that road? Playing in traffic was starting to sound like a good idea again. She couldn’t be serious. This whole thing was a mistake. You didn’t just have someone else’s child out of guilt. She didn’t even need to feel guilty. Him not having children was not going to be a loss to the world at all. Shit like this just did not happen; this was the plot of a lifetime movie, not real life.

“Preacher’s daughter, actually” Kate informed him.

“Fuck me.”

.:.

“You mind running that by me one more time?” Richie eyebrows were arched as he looked at Seth over his glasses, “You take one too many shots to the head, when you were in the yard, Brother? ‘Cause repeated head trauma can affect a person years after the fact. You’ve got to have some of this wrong.”

“I’ll tell you what he’s got wrong, he’s got his head so far up his ass that forgot to go to fuckin’ work.” Eddie was wiping his hands off on a rag. “Seth, you were supposed to be running the garage today. You can’t leave Justin in charge he’s got more rocks in his head than a quarry.” Eddie looked between his nephews and demanded, “Okay, what’s going on?”

“Seth knocked up a teenager.” Richie volunteered.

“I didn’t knock up a teenager!”

“But she is pregnant and it is yours.”

“Yes, but I didn’t touch her. Hell I never even looked at her until today.”

“Now hold the fucking phone!” Eddie pointed at Seth, “Let me get this straight, your girl’s the reincarnation of Mary of Nazareth, which makes your dumb ass Joseph. ‘Cause that’s the only way it any makes sense for her to be knocked up with your kid without you touching her.”

“She’s…not…my girl.” Seth ground his teeth together.

“That’s not really the important part of this conversation, Boy.”

“His psycho ex, Vanessa, hijacked the sperm sample that he had stored when he got snipped, knocked another girl up with said sperm, and the little Madonna is a preacher’s daughter so she’s hell-bent on having his demon-spawn citing moral reasons.” Richie explained, before looking at his slack jawed Uncle and angry brother. “What; is that not accurate? Oh yeah, I forgot the part where she needs somewhere to live, because she goes a Christian college and they aren’t going to let her stay in the dorms anymore.”

Seth reached for the bottle of whiskey in the freezer and poured three shots, drinking one immediately and refilling it. “Yeah that’s about the long and the short of it.”

“Where’s her family?” Eddie took one shot from his nephew and passed the other to Richie, who slid it back to Seth.

“In some little podunk town in rural Texas about four hours from here, she’s studying to be a nurse.” He took the offered shot and started to pour another, but Eddie stopped him.

“And do they know about this situation?” Eddie pressed, still holding the bottle hostage.

“I don’t know.”

Richie pipped in, “How don’t you know? Weren’t you with her all day? You left the house at ten and it’s almost seven.”

Seth tried to get the bottle back from his Uncle again, “I dropped her back off at her dorm about noon. I needed to think. Can I have that?”

“No.” Eddie roared. “You left her alone?!?”

“Yeah.” Seth didn’t see the problem, he needed time to think about the whole ‘I want to have your kid, even though I don’t know you from Adam’ thing. She hadn’t argued when he dropped her off, she hadn’t been crying or anything, and he gave her his cell phone number, just in case.

“Out of my house until you’ve got that girl with you, you dumbass.” Eddie pointed to the door. “And call a damn taxi, you ain’t driving after drinking. You’ve got a kid to think about.”

“Fuck me.”

.:.

Guys I’ve never really done comedy. I really hope you all enjoy this. Love to my Loves!!

[7r0773r]

Angels by Denis Johnson

Of course Pittsburgh was colder and wearier than Oakland, but it wasn’t any filthier. What it seemed to lack that Oakland had was a sky. By day it looked like old newspapers had been pasted over the sun, and after dark the universe ended six feet above the tallest lamp. There were no dawns or sunsets in Pittsburgh; there were no heavens in which they might occur. (p. 18)

***

He rested with his back flat against a building, and had the sensation of lying down when he was standing up. The streets swung back and forth like a bell. No doubt about it, it was a dizzy life. Something was missing here. When he was dry, he believed it was alcohol he needed, but when he had a few drinks in him, he knew it was something else, possibly a woman; and when he had it all—cash, booze, and a wife—he couldn’t be distracted from the great emptiness that was always falling through him and never hit the ground. (p. 37)

***

Holding the can of beer between her knees, she took an amphetamine capsule from an envelope in her shirt pocket—a Black Beauty, courtesy of the youngest of the Houston brothers—and chewed it slowly. She’d gotten so she liked to break them up with her teeth, liked the bitter taste, the black taste—it was black beauty, wasn’t it? All I eat anymore. 

The rear-view mirror returned her face to her, cavern-cheeked and bug-eyed, and when she drew her lips apart she looked into the image of canine hysteria, the teeth yielding a purple tint from days on end of red wine. Almost like a physical reality, somewhere in the upper left quadrant of her chest there lurked true knowledge of what she was doing; and in the remaining three-quarters of her psyche the word on chemical abuse was Fuck You. A person needs pills for the world and wine for the pills. Anything further I’ll let you know. (p. 106)

***

Wearing long trenchcoats, carrying shotguns and rifles, men on horses rode along a dirt road, passed into a forest, and made for a cabin in the clearing. Burris wished he could engage himself in their story—a story of men with guns, exactly like his own, except that nobody going to the movies ever guessed the essential, gigantic truth of it, which was that these men would trade everything they had for one clear minute of peace. (p. 128)

***

It wasn’t the punishment that hurt—it was the punishment’s failure to be enough. (p. 141)

***

The beat of things, their steady direction, had dissolved into nothing—this room wasn’t happening then, it isn’t happening now; maybe it’s a dream of what’s going to happen or what will happen never. The sound of her own voice injures her like a shock of electricity through her ears, but screaming herself to hoarse exhaustion is the only reprieve from breathing. 

She looked up out of her voice and saw the angel.

He will have ears like a cartoon of organic growth. he is yellow with light but covered with mobile shadows, animated tattoos. His face kept changing. His voice will come from far off, like a train’s. His body is steady and beautiful and hairless, the wings white, incinerating, and pure, but the head changes rapidly—the head of an eagle, a goat, an insect, a mouse, a sheep with spiraling horns that turn and lengthen almost imperceptibly—and the entire message had no words. The entire message will be only the beat and direction of time. Yes is Now.

The angel who says, “It’s time.”

“Is it time?” she asked. “Does it hurt?” He will have the most beautiful face she has ever seen.

“Oh, babe,” The angel starts to cry. “You can’t imagine,” he said. (p. 157)

***

And while he paid no attention to what he feared, it happened. Slowly the time had been transformed, in the usual way that the passing of an evening transforms a street corner and a place of simple commerce there, like this gas station. And then abruptly but very gently something happened, and it was Now. The moment broke apart and he saw its face.

It was the Unmade. It was the Father. It was This Moment. 

Then it ended, but it couldn’t end. Now there was a world in which a man got into his blue Volkswagen, thanking the attendant as he did so, and closed its door solidly. It was a world in which one fluorescent lamp arched out over the service station, and another lay flat on the pool of water and lubricant beneath it. It was a world he might be lifted out of by a wind, but never by anything evil or thoughtless or without meaning. It was a world he could go to the gas chamber in, and die forever and never die.

There was some daylight now. He looked through wire mesh, intended to withstand the heat of a blowtorch, at a world awash in a violet peace. He felt as if his feet had found the shore. This is your eternal life. This is for always. This happens once. (pp. 158-59)

***

That he might spend only three weeks in prison now seemed one of the worst parts of his punishment. It was inside the level, uniform dailiness of these surroundings that the wonder of life assailed him. Minute changes in the desert air, the gradual angling of supposedly fixed shadows along the dirt as the seasons changed, the slow overturn of all the familiar people around him—they spoke of a benevolent plot at the heart of things never to stay the same. But on the streets events jumped their lanes. Everything turned inside out, flew back in his face, left him wide-eyed but asleep. He’d never known himself on the streets. It was here at the impossible core of his own accursedness that they were introduced. (pp. 177-78)

***

“Talking Richard Wilson Blues,” he said. “By Richard Clay Wilson.” And he read in a Baptist sing-song:

I felt like a man of honor and substance, but the situation was dancing underneath me— once I walked into the living room at my sister’s   and saw that the two of them, her and my sister,   had turned sometime behind my back not exactly   fatter, but heavy, or squalid, with cartoons moving across the television in front of them,   surrounded by laundry, and a couple of Coca-Colas   standing up next to the iron on the board.   I stepped out into the yard of bricks and trash and watched the light light up the blood inside each leaf, and I asked myself, Now what is the rpm   on this mother? Where do you turn it on?   I think you understand how I felt.

I’m not saying everything changed in the space   of one second of seeing two women, but I did start dragging her into the clubs with me. I insisted   she be sexy. I just wanted to live. And I did: some nights were so sensory I felt the starlight landing on my back and I believed I could set fire to things with my fingers— but the strategies of others broke my promise.   At closing time once, she kept talking to a man   when I was trying to catch her attention to leave. It was a Negro man, and I thought of black limousines   and black masses and black hydrants filled   with black water. I thought I might smack her face, or spill a glass,   but instead I opened him up with my red fishing knife   and I took out his guts and I said, “Here they are,   motherfucker, nigger, here they are.” There were people frozen around us. The lights had just come on.   At that moment I saw her reading me and reading me   from the end of the world where I saw her standing,   the way the sacred light played across her face.

Right down the middle from beginning to end my life pours into one ocean: into this prison   with its empty ballfield and its empty preparations. If she ever comes to visit me to hell with her, I won’t talk to her.  God kill you all. I’m sorry for nothing. I’m just an alien from another planet.

I am not happy. Disappointment lights its stupid fire in my heart, but two days a week I staff the Max Security laundry above the world on the seventh level, looking at two long roads   out there that go to a couple of towns. Young girls accelerating through the intersection   make me want to live forever, they make me think of the grand things, of wars and extremely white, quiet light that never dies.   Sometimes I stand against the window for hours   tuned to every station at once, so loaded on crystal   meth I believe I’ll drift out of my body.

Jesus Christ, your doors close and open, you touch the Maniac Drifters, the Fireaters,   I could say a million things about you and never get that silence. That is what I mean by darkness, the place where I kiss your mouth,   where nothing bad has happened. I’m not anyone but I wish I could be told   when you will come to save us. I have written   several poems and several hymns, and one   has been performed on the religious ultrahigh frequency station. And it goes like this. (pp. 191-93)

***

He was in the middle of taking the last breath of his life before he realized he was taking it. But it was all right. Boom! Unbelievable! And another coming? How many of these things do you mean to give away? He got right in the dark between heartbeats and rested there. And then he saw that another one wasn’t going to come. That’s it. That’s the last. He looked at the dark. I would like to take this opportunity, he said, to pray for another human being. (p. 207)

***

It was Fredericks’s understanding that the prisoners had a story: that each night for months, at nine precisely, a light had burned in a window in the town, where the men on one cellblock’s upper tier could see it and wonder, and imagine, each one, that it shone for him alone. But that was just a story, something that people will tell themselves, something to pass the time it takes for the violence inside a man to wear him away, or to be consumed itself, depending on who is the candle and who is the light. (p. 209)

[yorkshirewerewolf]

THE YORKSHIRE WEREWOLF'S TALES OF THE UNEXPECTED, UNEXPLAINED OR UNTRUE YOU DECIDE ? (Parental guidance recommended)

Let me take you back in time. The year was 1865, and the world was shocked by the news of tall hat wearing American President Abraham Lincoln was assassinated while judging the forerunner of “America’’s got Talent” ( he would bang on a large a gong if the act was shite) at a theatre somewhere in the States. But this was not the end of the the President. Documents and a photograph album found in the loft of a recently renovated cottage situated in the east coast village of Hornsea would shed a light on an amazing episode, up until now hidden from public view. Our story begins when Mrs Jemima Mulkinshaw, 82 the owner of “Cheese Cottage” near Hornsea contacted me, the story teller, with her frankly earth shattering claims. The following are the actual words spoken by the old person but transposed into words on a word processor document for your benefit. “ The builder found these documents hidden in the roof. Probably by my Father, who I am certain never wanted me to find them, in fact he wrote on the folder ” Don’t let my ‘effing daughter see these here documents". I have read and studied the contents of the file, and I have had their authenticity confirmed by a former antique expect who wished to remain anonymous, the star of many BBC TV series, like “Tat in the Attic, Antiques autopsy” and an episode of “Lovejoy”. The contents alter history as we know it. Here begins the stunning story. It was 1865 again, and Abraham Lincoln, tired and frankly pissed off with being President, wanted out. He couldn’t abdicate as he wasn’t British and his vanity stopped him from just saying I quit, so he contacted an old wrestling buddy ( Lincoln had won 300 wrestling matches and only lost two) Andrew Roake, who was head of a shady government agency specialising in relocation of witnesses. Abe poured his heart out according to the document, and basically needed to escape being a husband, a family man and the first Mister of America. Andrew came up with a plan; he would hire an out of work actor to fake an assassination while Abe was in front of lots of audience members. Then they would smuggle him out of the country to start a new life in Australia. It would cost a few dollars but clever Abe had stashed tonnes of confederate gold and silver in secret location’s so dosh was not a problem. So the scene was set, and John Wilkes booth resting actor carried out the fake murder, and the body of the 'dead’ president was exchanged with a lookalike corpse while Abe was swiftly extracted from the area and arrived at the docks were the tea clipper 'HMS Bell’ and its crew waited to set sail for the new new world of Australia. The ship’s cargo was made up of food, water and a shit load of gold and silver. As Abe watched from the crows nest as the ship set sail he wrote “….as I spied the land of the free slowly fade into the horizon I had tears in my eyes as I realised I had not laughed this bloody hard in years! Good riddence America and G'day Australia !” For the rest of the world Abraham Lincoln had died a hero of the people, unfortunately in the confusion, John Wilkes Booth failed to escape and went on the run. 12 days later, he was was shot by Mr Boston Corbett a Union soldier and great great grandfather of Harry Corbett the puppet master of sooty and sweep fame. Then fate would deal a mighty blow. A massive storm at sea battered the HMS Bell and the ship was thrown miles off course. Then the main sail was ripped from the mast and the ship was dead in the water. With no other options Captain Kirk gave the order to abandoned the ship. A cry of “women and children first!” went up. As there was only the cabin boy Harry Otter and the mysterious Lady fanthorpe (who was in fact abe in disguise) the two boarded the lifeboat along With A chest containing everything abe could shove in it. Due to the weight, no one else could fit in the small boat and swiftly Abe cut the ropes, leaving an angry mob shouting abuse as Abe forced young Harry to paddle faster. The cross dressing ex president and the bemused cabin boy watched in horror as a mini typhoon pulled the ship down into the doldrums and a watery death awaited all the crew. Lloyds of London received this telegraph message; “++++ URGENT+++WITNESSES SAW SHIP SINK+++STOP+++ALL CREW SUCKED OFF+++STOP+++BY STRONG WIND+++STOP+++THE BRAVE CAPTAIN WENT DOWN ON THE BELL+++END” 31 days later, Abe found himself on a beach. His small boat had finally ran a ground on dry land. He had managed to survive on meagre rations. And after 5 days at sea, abe found Harry rummaging through his trunk. “ YOU AIN’T NO LADY MISTER, I DO BELIEVE SIR THAT YOU ARE ACTUALLY MR LINCOLN WHO I BELIEVED TO BE DECEASED, SAY IT AIN’T SO?” Abe wrote that it was this exact moment that made him feel a failure, a fraud, a film flam man etc.That the truth spoken from this innocent chubby young child…hell’s bells that kid is so fat…. Abe fired the small Derringer pistol; both bullets hitting poor Harry right between the eyes. Thank’s to Harry, Abe managed to survive the ordeal (he wrote later that he tasted of lamb?). Now, washed up on an unknown island, Abe used up all the strength he could muster, dragging his trunk up the beach before hiding it in a cave. He then reluctantly changed from the ladies outfit into a ships crew uniform he found in the boat and ventured inland. Soon he was met by a young woman smoking fish near a cottage by the sea. Abe assumed this was commonplace as tobacco products might be hard to find in the new world “TIS this Australia sweet lady?” She puffed on her Clay pipe then replied “'Tis it buggery, this is God’s own country, Yorkshire! You yanky Twatt! ” Abe wrote how shocked he was by this revelation. Miles away from the new world of his dreams and his vast fortune lay at the bottom of the sea. The woman he was conversing with was Gertrude Mulkinshaw, a spinster living alone in “Cheese cottage”. Abe introduced himself as “John Smith” a sailor who had jumped ship and was on the run from the American navy. They began to talk and soon found that they had a lot in common. Both had wooden false teeth, Gertrude was All Yorkshire woman’s wrestling champion (undefeated). She said she made a living making curd cheese and smuggling opium and absinthe from France. Although she was not a conventional beauty, over the coming months,Abe and Gertrude fell in love and after a year they married in Hornsea Parish Church. They had a daughter and continued to live in the secluded cottage. Twenty years passed, and a strange American traveller turned up on the doorstep of “cheese cottage”. He was invited in by a suspicious Abe as Gertrude and her daughter had gone to Whitby to sell some cheese and opium at the local market. The man handed Abe a letter of introduction. It was from his old friend Andrew Roake . Inside the envelope was a newspaper clipping from the Hornsea Gazette, the local newspaper. It featured a sketch of Gertrude and Abe attending the Hornsea women’s wrestling competition, which was won by Gertrude. In the letter, which was attached to the clipping, Mr Roake had summised that Abe could have survived the sinking of HMS Bell and was alive and living here, in England. If it was Abe, Roake asked if he would he be kind enough to help the person delivering this letter who was another of his clients who wished to start a new life. Abe asked the stranger his name “ I am, Mr president sir, William H Bonney, better known as the outlaw Billy the kid.” Billy went on to tell a familiar story. He too had become sick of all the bullshit going on around him and had paid Andrew Roake a large amount of stolen cash to relocate him before some young buck tried to shoot him. Billy then dropped a bombshell. Roake’s intent was not honourable. The double dealing son of a bitch planned to blackmail Abe or reveal his true identity.These two infamous men sat drinking warm beer, eating Yorkshire curd tarts and exchanging tales from their previous lives until Gertrude arrived home., Abe was ready to introduce his new friend and reveal his secrets. Earlier, he told her, the two men had gone under cover of darkness to the beach to retrieve Abraham’s trunk hidden all these years from the cave. Then Abe told his wife the truth about his real identity. At first she thought he was smacked off his tits on opium but when he showed her the contents of the trunk, documents, medals and shit loads of gold and silver coins. She believed. It was during that night the three of them agreed a plan. Billy would telegraph back to Roake saying it was all a case of mistaken identity. For this, Abe would split his treasure 3 ways. All of them were in agreement and the documents were hidden by Abe whilst the remaining items were burnt. With his share of the loot, Billy travelled to Kingston upon Hull and bought a tavern in the city centre naming the hostelry “ye old Bonnie Boat” Abe and Gertrude ended the drug smuggling business and opened a factory in Hornsea making curd cheese in bulk. Gertrude would go on to write several books one of which “for the love of cheeses” would become a best seller in Wales. Abraham Lincoln or John Mulkinshaw as he became knownlocally , became a philanthropist, funding many charitable ventures, especially setting up a school for ship’s cabin boys in memory of “Chubby Harry”, his savory saviour. The opening of school was tainted by inference in the local press that John was under the influence of narcotics when he cut the ribbon at the ceremony. The newspaper headline was “HARRY OTTER AND THE PHILANTHROPIST STONED?”

Jimima Mulkinshaw, the alleged daughter of Abe, herself never married instead becoming a prostitute. This was not her own choice of employment but unfortunately she misspelled 'werehouse’ on her place of work form. On here retirement she moved back to cheese cottage and it was during the renovation this family secret came to light. She produced the final piece of the jigsaw; this photograph shown above. It shows an elderly Abraham greeting William outside cheese cottage on Abe’’s 100th Birthday, Abe was awarded a medal from Queen Victoria for services to the opium trade and he was ironically given the “Golden Teet Owl” medal, the highest award given to someone who was “a right good Yorkshireman!” Both men had lost their American drawls and had full Yorkshire twang. William was still the proud owner of his Public House had also been working part time as a hired hitman. Andrew Roake never attempted contact either men and legend says he used his vast, ill-gotten wealth to buy a remote island where he set up home with a french ex assassin Dwarf. This was this last meeting of the two old friends…

Postscript. Sadly, the expert who authenticated this collection events was arrested for making fake copies of dvds (mostly box sets of the BBC TV series 'Lovejoy’) and is serving 5 years in prison. I therefore submit this tale for your delectation and for you to decide it’s validation.

Copyright 2017 The Yorkshire Werewolf