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spyvstailor · 4 years ago

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GRAVEYARD DIRT & SALT

CHAPTER FIVE: BENNY

“South Carolina abouts they have this critter called a 'Boo Hag', said to be a skinless sort of vampire and they like to ride you to death and steal your breath. If they like you, they keep you alive, sucking your air, sustaining themselves. But if they don't, if you struggle or make them angry, they skin you and wear your skin. Just walk around like they wear pants or such. But they can't stay riding you forever, they gotta be home and in their skin before sunrise or they become trapped forever without skin.”

Please support me, I’m still out of work because of COVID, so anything you can toss my way can really help. I’m going to need to feed my kitties soon! Reblog this if you can’t donate to please support a nearly starving author!

Read the newest chapter here below the cut if you want, since ko-fi can be unreliable!

Chapter Five: Benny

When everything went to hell, Benny had been at the top.

Maybe he still was? He had no idea how Vegas handled the swarms of the dead.

Probably no better than Atlanta.

God, what a fucking hole in the ground to be caught undead in. Why had he even agreed to come here to the middle of Satan's nutsack to make a deal?

By the time he waded through the packed streets, filled with fleeing idiots, days had passed and the wave of infection had spread.

When he made it to the edge of the city, it was almost completely overrun.

And his private helicopter, that last hope he had of leaving Georgia, was useless, no pilot. So, he was wading his way through the land of good ol' boys and peaches, heading home.

Because what else did he do? Just stay stuck in Georgia with the undead on his ass? Forever? The idea seemed to tickle him. It was divine retribution for all his sins. This was hell. He was in hell. Well, thanks but no thanks. He'd take his chances back in Vegas with his well-stocked warehouse and his penthouse in The Golden Rose.

God, he missed The Golden Rose. Melody's pretty little voice chirping 'Hello, welcome to The Golden Rose', every time he passed through the lobby, or the weird night gamblers bellying up at the bar around two in the morning, sipping on complimentary Flash-bang's, the signature drink created by Bruce behind the bar. Sure he had more employees than Melody and Bruce, the others, the late-night workers who always were just a little bit off, but friendly enough. The kids fresh out of school, old enough to work at the casino, who tried too hard to impress the boss. Sven in the kitchen, who never seemed to leave, always yelling at him for coming down and making those 'nasty little sandwiches' as he called them, the open-faced ones made with peanut butter and sliced bananas on plain white bread, the sandwiches Valerie had gotten him hooked on when they were first dating. They were her favourite midnight snack and they had fast become Benny's too.

Valerie.

Ten years. Holy fuck had it been ten years?

Plucking at a stretchy beaded bracelet he wore, Benny snapped it hard and shook off his thoughts of Valerie. They didn't do him any good in this new society.

From where he sat. Perched on the railing of the bell tower, looking down across a darkened Georgia, barely peeking over treetops that surrounded the convent, Benny exhaled.

Annie had given him the stink-eye at their new spot, full of bird shit and leaves and any kind of crap that the winds blew into the little tower, but Benny had sat her down gently onto the bearskin rug and the sleeping bag on top of it and promised her they would clean it up in the morning.

He didn't tell her what he was thinking, he didn't tell a lot of people what he thought, no one wanted to hear his bullshit. His old man used to say 'if I want your opinion, I'll beat it out of you' and he meant it.

The truth was, the trouble on the wall, the nun dying, had reminded him how dangerous it was. He had become too soft and spoiled lately, the dead were thinning out and he had forgotten what it was like when the outbreak first happened when it was really bad.

They were safer in the tower, should anything happen to the gate, there was a heavy church door to open and a narrow ladder to climb before anything could get at them.

And, sitting on the trapdoor that led to the ladder, Benny knew Annie was safer here than anywhere else.

It had been a long, long time since anyone had relied on Benny and he took his job seriously. Nothing would happen to Annie as long as he was alive and kicking.

During his flight from Atlanta, he had somehow wound up arm in arm with Annie and her mother Laila. They had sort of run across each other and just kept running in the same direction.

Benny had immediately liked Laila, she was tough as hell and he had to admire that about her. Not that he knew much about her or the kid, they weren't real big on talking and he also had to admit he liked it that way.

But Laila had his back and he had hers and they made a good team, but when she went out one morning to scrounge for breakfast and never came back he didn't think for a second the dead had gotten her. He knew her, she was a survivor.

Something else happened.

So he stuck around the area, hoping he'd find something which would let him know where Laila had gotten off too. And somehow, sticking around the small town, he wound up running into that marine and that Grayson kid, and when the kid started talking about men taking his sister, Benny started thinking. He wasn't a gambler by nature, despite him living in a casino in Las Vegas, but he would bet everything he had that when they found these men, he would find Laila.

And Jesus, if he didn't also kind of like that marine.

Not that he'd ever admitted that out loud. Admitting you liked someone, admitting you wanted to be someone's – what? Drinking buddy? At his age? Embarrassing.

But he liked him just fine. The Cajun was a tall puppy dog, but there was something about his optimism that balanced Benny's nihilism nicely.

On the wall below, three nuns kept vigil over Sister Mary Patrick's body. They couldn't retrieve her until morning, so they kept a quiet, mindful watch.

And just like those nuns, Benny would keep a silent watch over Annie all night long, he would sleep when she was old enough to take care of herself.

Sitting by the nuns' water pump in their convent yard the next morning, he watched Annie as she brushed her teeth, brushing his own with the travel toothbrush he kept in his jacket pocket. He liked to travel as light as possible, gun, bullets, knife, toothbrush and tube of toothpaste, and while he'd never admitted it, reading glasses for emergency reading, because fuck if he wasn't getting old.

He noticed the marine traveled with a goddamn apartment on his back and that was just fine for him. Marines were trained for distance and roughing it, they were pack mules. And just as dumb.

He needed more bullets for his tidy little Springfield, come to think of it.

“She's a good kid,” someone said from his left. It was a male voice and not Grayson's.

Benny ignored the marine for a moment, not wanting to chat about the fucking weather or some bullshit, spitting his toothpaste foam into a bucket of water to be dumped over the wall with the rest of the handwashing and face washing water.

There was a nun's body being buried out behind the church right now and he didn't feel like jibber-jabbing.

“We did our best last night,” the Lieutenant said, easing down beside him on one of the folding chairs the nuns had set up around their water source. For what? Water pump gossip? Maybe.

“Dead nun though,” Benny replied, sipping at some water to rinse his mouth.

The marine was quiet beside him, gazing out across the dewy lawns.

“I didn't mean to put the squeeze to you,” he began. “Yesterday in the church. I know you don't like talking about yourself.”

“Sure you did,” Benny returned.

Withdrawing for a moment to regroup, the marine went on, “fine. I did a little, but...it's hard trusting people nowadays, yeah?”

“Hard to trust people before this bullshit,” Benny shot back.

“Fair.”

There was a tension to the marine that told Benny he was gearing up for something, angling to reach for something during the entire conversation.

“You got something to say, don't pussyfoot,” he said calmly.

“Not that I don't believe you, but I want a reassurance that you're not trying to fuck us on this deal with the copter,” the marine said.

Benny nodded. “Yeah, I thought you'd think that. I wouldn't blame you. But it's real.”

“Well, we go in smart then,” the man stated.

“We go in smart,” Benny agreed, stretching out his legs and resting them on another chair across from him.

Beside him the marine remained seated, quiet in the growing daylight.

“We done?” Benny inquired.

“You ever hear about the boo hags?”

“The what?”

“And the moral of this story is...?” Benny prompted.

The Lieutenant shrugged, folding his arms. “Nothing really, I just think about the Boo Hags sometimes.”

“My granny used to tell me about this guy she knew from Corpus Christi, used to hate wearing pants. He wasn't crazy or anything, just said they were too hot and itchy, so he'd walk around in his boxer shorts everywhere.”

Around them, the nuns went about their morning routine, chores, and preparing for their morning mass after burying their fellow nun.

“Well,” Benny said. “Maybe he was a little crazy, I guess.”

Annie came to him and climbed into his lap, watching the activity around them quietly. It was a strange sort of calm to the morning, despite the funeral. It felt like the soft morning's Benny had at his grandparents, warms sunlight, peace, and quiet before the hectic activity of the day. It brought him back home to a home he mourned every single day of his life, a home he had only fleetingly as a boy before it was replaced with the boozy smelling mornings of his parents home.

“Mornings like this feel like my Mamere getting ready for church,” the Lieutenant said. “She used to sing when she was getting ready in the mornings, and she'd sing,

There's a land that is fairer than day,

and by faith we can see it afar;

for the Father waits over the way

to prepare us a dwelling place there.”

In his lap Annie rest her head against Benny's chest, listening to the marine as he sang in a fine, deep baritone. Benny knew the song well, it was his grandmother's favourite. When she finally came and took him home, to his real home with her and his grandfather, away from the chaos of his mother and father's lives.

They were the only people who ever really loved him.

The hymn brought back memories of Sunday mornings dressing for church, of Sunday evenings with the smell of roast chicken and his granny's baked apples, sweetened with brown sugar, butter, and cinnamon, sticky and warm.

He didn't live with them long. They were hit by a drunk driver and killed two years after he moved in with them. Benny went back to the chaos and Edna and Merle were buried in Oak Grove.

At the sound of the gentle singing, a few nearby nuns gathered in closer, curious, and quiet. Raised Baptist by his grandparents at least, Benny joined in with the marine, singing only very, very faintly, as though he were doing it for his granny and no one else. He would sing in a voice only barely above a whisper.

It was Annie who joined in the singing, almost eager and happy to do something that wasn't fighting and surviving.

In the sweet by and by,

we shall meet on that beautiful shore.

In the sweet by and by,

we shall meet on that beautiful shore.

We shall sing on that beautiful shore

the melodious songs of the blessed;

and our spirits shall sorrow no more,

not a sigh for the blessing of rest.

In the sweet by and by,

we shall meet on that beautiful shore.

In the sweet by and by,

we shall meet on that beautiful shore.

To our bountiful Father above

we will offer our tribute of praise

for the glorious gift of his love

and the blessings that hallow our days.

“My granny used to sing that one too,” Benny finally admitted, in the stark silence at the end of the song. “Yours lived with you?” He asked.

The Lieutenant nodded. “Yeah, my grandparents raised me.”

“Where were your parents?” Benny asked.

“Due to circumstances beyond my control, nowhere in sight,” the Lieutenant replied, a grin in his voice. “My ma was hospitalized most of my young life,” he added in a more serious tone. “The man who impregnated her was...not important.”

“Pump and dump?”

“Of sorts, not really given permission for it though,” the Cajun finished tentatively.

Benny felt his blood chill a little. “I get you.” He said, not wanting the marine to have to open up old wounds.

“You?”

“I lived with my grandparents for a while, yeah. My parents were...selfish pricks, they lived in Galveston.”

“I get you,” the marine repeated his own words. Easing back in his chair, the Cajun asked, “where you from? Where'd you grow up? You said you lived in Forth Worth?”

“My grandparents lived in Fort Worth, so I guess I moved between there and Galveston mostly.”

“What happened to the twang? You lose it or hate it?” The Lieutenant inquired.

Benny chuckled. “I haven't lived there for years.”

“Can never really shake the twang though, yeah?” The Lieutenant teased.

“I guess not. You? I know Cajun when I hear it, but where you from in Louisiana?”

“Eunice.”

“Eunice? That's...down south, isn't it? Way down the bayou,” he mocked the Lieutenant's accent, prompting the marine to laugh.

“Yeah, yeah it is.”

“Annie,” he turned to the kid in his lap. “Why don't you head inside the infirmary, okay? I'll be right there to get you set up for the day.”

The girl slipped down to the ground and nodded, heading obediently for the building where Grayson was already getting his shit together.

Sullen, a little pissed that he was forced to face things he had buried long ago in Texas, Benny remained quiet for a good long time. Long enough that eventually the anger dispersed.

Benny sat still and silent so long that eventually, it was just him and the Cajun, who remained, squatted down on his haunches, resting.

“We're running on a very short timeline,” Benny finally said to the man.

The marine nodded. “Yep.”

“That girl, if she is still alive, won't be so young and vibrant if she's with these men, I can tell you that right now. Feel like with no law, men will become animals, women will become prey.”

“What's going on in that tiny bird brain of yours?” The Cajun asked.

“You need to stay here and train up some of these damned nuns, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Think you could trust me?” Benny asked suddenly, turning away from the middle nothing he was staring at and pining the Cajun with a look.

For a good long while the marine eyed him back, blue-grey eyes hard and scrutinizing. At rest the man's face was regal, but villainous, betraying his genuine kindness, at rest his face was the face of a man you didn't want to fuck with.

“Yeah, I think so.”

“You're going to have to know so,” Benny urged.

“Alright, I know I can trust you.”

“It might be riskier, but time is important, isn't it?”

“What's your plan, fancy man?”

“When I was poking around the church earlier, I spied some priest shit, a get up for a proper man of the Lord. Might give me a pretty good shield, might get me close enough to those men if I can find them, to get inside their group.”

“Espionage?”

“Whoa, slow down there Bayou-bred, that's a big word for you.”

The two men hushed up as Grayson began to head over towards them.

“Fuck off, Grayson!” Benny shouted.

“Fuck you, assclown!” Grayson snarled back, veering off in anger towards the wall and the gate.

“That kid is going to murder you in your sleep some night, paon.” The Lieutenant mused.

“Ah well, he's a good kid, needs toughening up. Mouthy little fuck though.”

The two men settled a little again, their ruffled feathers smoothing out in the tranquility that followed the exchange between Benny and Grayson.

“You could get yourself killed ducking in on a group like a priest. If they find out you're not or if they happen to find out what you're up to.”

“I know,” Benny replied. “But I'm good at it.”

“Good at it?” The Lieutenant asked.

Benny smiled. “Getting into places I shouldn't be as someone I'm not.”

The Cajun was quiet, before sighing. “Okay. Cut the shit, what the fuck are you?”

“I'm goddamned good at what I do. You just worry about these nuns. When I head out, you need to do one thing for me. You just need to trust that whatever happens once I leave this convent, I'm not going to fuck you over. Annie will stay here, she'll be my guarantee that I won't let anything happen.”

“Okay.”

“You tell anyone you need that I ran off in the night, just not Annie. You tell her I'll be back. You need to do this for me. Can you do this?”

“I don't like handing the reins over, but...you're right. Time is important and these nuns can't be left alone. Splitting up might be the best bet for everyone. I'll play my part.”

“Pact?” Benny offered, holding out his hand. He knew it was childish, but he wanted God (if there be any) to witness his honesty. For once in his goddamned life of other names, other faces, he wanted some higher power to see his bluffing ass telling a truth.

The Lieutenant leaned back a little, before saying, “brothers. It makes you blood. You don't cross blood.”

“Brothers,” Benny swore, the two men shaking hands firmly.

Releasing hands, the two men sat back a little, trying to look like two men just sharing a conversation, as Mena poked her head out of the convent cloister and started their way.

“We meet up tonight, dead of night when everyone is asleep, in the back room of the church,” Benny said softly, hurrying before Mena could join them.

The Lieutenant nodded.

“Gentlemen,” Mena greeted in the high toned, pretty magnolia blossom voice of hers. Pure sugar, pure south. “Good morning.”

“Why Miss Mena, you're as pretty as a bluebell this morning,” Benny teased, mocking her southern accent.

She offered him a stern, but sparkling warning look, the corners of her mouth lifted a little like a cat. She looked like she was grateful for the teasing distraction, grateful because otherwise, it was pure mourning and fear that remained should she not have anything to distract her from it. “You may mock me all you want, Mr. Malone, but I lost one of my flock last night and I'm not in the mood. Now, we've buried the poor woman, and we were promised training. The sooner the better, I think.”

“Are you thinking of staying? You and Annie are very welcome to.”

They had gotten the nuns started with whatever makeshift weapons they could find and while the Lieutenant gave them a rifle handling and maintenance crash course, Mena had once more sidled up beside Benny as he stood in the shadows of the eastern side of the church, watching the chaos, while idly thumbing through a small bible he had found in the church.

“You're thinking of the wrong man,” he replied, motioning with his head at the marine. “He's probably yours for life though.”

She smiled. “We love having you here, Mr. Malone. All of you.” She hesitated, before adding, “I sort of forgot how boring convent life can be until you all arrived to shake things up. Granted, we suffered a loss, but...I think we're stronger with you and the Lieutenant and even Annie and Grayson. We're no longer cloistered, we're a community center, a...a home.”

He opened his mouth about to say something, before considering it, finally he relented. “I know a nun's faith is sacred to her, but...why did you become a nun? You seem...unhappy with your lot.”

“I wouldn't say unhappy,” she replied. “I'm ungrateful in a small way. I became a nun to help people. Work missions and aid the poor and those most unfortunate. I suppose, I just...never felt like I was helping much here. Feel sort of immured behind these walls.”

“Immured?”

Before Mena could answer his question, the Lieutenant joined them, easing against the church for a rest in the shade.

“So?” Benny asked him.

“Well, they don't like the idea of hitting anyone, seem hesitant, but I think when push comes to shove they know how to do it.”

Scoffing, Benny turned to Mena. “What about you, debutante? Wanna fight with the others?”

Mena laughed. “I'm afraid I don't care much for fighting.”

“You need to learn how,” he went on.

“I know how to throw a punch, Mr. Malone,” Mena argued gently.

Inhaling calmly, Benny scooped the nun up easily in one move and had her stomach perched on his shoulder as she dangled over it in shock, her legs and knees digging into his chest in shock.

“So you're telling me,” Benny began as Mena struggled to be put down, trying to maintain her dignity while being treated like a sack of flour, “you know how to prevent being carted off by someone like this?”

“Mr. Malone, please?!” Mena shouted, panicked. Her ever calm facade breaking into a sort of girlish embarrassment. Shrill and just a little tremulous.

“Don't break the nun,” the Lieutenant warned with a small grin.

Sensing the rest of the nuns' attention and maybe wanting to cheer them up just a little with a distraction from the death of Sister Mary Patrick, Benny perked a little more, hefting the woman on his shoulder as she squirmed.

“Are you kidding me?” He demanded loudly. “I'm two steps away from giving her a noogie. This is fun. I'm going to hold her down and snicker-snag on her if she can't break away.”

“Don't you dare! Put me down!” Mena shouted as the rest of the nuns began to notice the noise and started wandering over towards them curiously.

“Look at how small she is,” Benny laughed. “I could toss her over the wall into a pile of leaves like a little mouse. Hey, give me a hand, I want to try playing keep-away with this shrimp.”

“Are you seriously bullying me right now, Mr. Malone?” Mena demanded, still draped over his shoulder, her veil fluttering to the ground, all dignity lost. “Lieutenant, please?”

“I can't step into another man's training ring,” the Lieutenant lied. “It's not courteous.”

“Courteous?!” The nun hollered.

“Think if I put her down and follow her she'll lead me to her pot of gold?” Benny asked, spinning with the nun.

A stray knee from the poor nun hit Benny in the mouth and he reeled back a little, blood drawn.

“Alright, play time's over, kids,” the Lieutenant stepped in, moving to take Mena from Benny.

As soon as the Cajun set Mena right again, kneeling to get her veil for her, she was puffing up like a little ruffed grouse and twirling around to poke at Benny in the chest.

He was too distracted by the taste of blood on his lip to notice.

Behind them the nuns that had gathered were all trying to conceal their amusement at the scene, a few of them giggling into their veils, some turning their soft laughter into mild coughs.

“Serves you right,” Mena stated. “The indignity!”

Benny, idly licking at his torn lip, grinned and held his hands up. “Hey, okay. Put the guns away, shrimp, you win.”

“Blood has been drawn, no harm done,” the Lieutenant said. At Mena's sharp look, he amended that statement to a soft, “maybe?”

“I am an Abbess,” Mena snarled, whirling on Benny again, her little finger pointed at him like a rifle. “I deserve a modicum of respect.”

“A what?” Benny asked, pocketing his hands. “Hey, don't get mad, country mouse, you said you could handle yourself, and boy, did you sure prove me wrong.”

“I,” Mena began, a little louder than her normal soft-spoken Southern belle coo. She stopped short and seemed to inhale, calming herself. “I...will not let you goad me into a fight, just to prove myself capable, Mr. Malone.”

“One punch,” he pushed. “Just one solid punch and I'll leave you alone.”

Mena was quiet, still trying to smooth her habit and veil back into place after her manhandling.

“It might give you back a bit of that lost dignity,” Benny added in a whisper, leaning towards her.

“Sock him, Mother!” One of the older nuns shouted.

“And just like that the teachings of peace and forgiveness of Christ have been forgotten,” Mena murmured.

“If you punch him then he'll stop being a bully,” another nun suggested.

“I don't think Sister Mary Patrick would approve of this,” another nun pointed out.

“Like it nothing, she'd love to see this cheeky man popped in his cheeky face,” yet another nun added.

“I will not,” Mena declared. “We are not animals and I refuse to hit a man without due cause.”

“He just picked you up like you were a duffle bag, just hit him in his pretty face and get it all over with,” Sister Mary Agnes, one of the few nuns Benny could tell apart suggested. “I would,” she added, before crossing herself quickly in a form of silent absolution.

“Aw,” Benny gushed. “She thinks I'm pretty. Come on, Abbess, just give me one solid punch and prove yourself capable. Come on,” he went on, “I know there's an animal concealed under those robes of yours, let the lioness out.”

“Lieutenant?” Mena asked.

The tall man sort of took a thoughtful step back on one foot and considered it quietly, before he answered with a simple, “hit him.”

Mena was quiet, sizing up Benny for a bit.

He could see her small hands curling into fists at her side and tightened his jaw to take the hit.

Instead, Mena's hands relaxed and she shook her head, turning to Annie who was watching.

“We don't hit people who don't deserve it,” she explained to the child. “A lady must always take the high road.”

“As short as she is, the high road would be the best option,” Benny murmured.

Mena leveled her chin almost indignantly, still looking at Annie.

“Good for you, Mother,” Mary Elizabeth said. “Remember Matthew 5:39. But I say to you, do not resist an evil person; but whoever slaps you on your right cheek, turn the other to him also.”

“If he keeps taunting her I'll show him both cheeks,” one of the older nuns grumbled.

Benny laughed to himself. He didn't know much about each individual nun yet, but he knew he liked the older nun with just that one sentence.

“We are not a boxing club,” Mena went on. “Though we will train to defend ourselves, senseless violence is never the right path. Despite how much a man may want to be hit by a lady.”

“It's always been my dream,” Benny added playfully.

“I'm gonna hit him for you,” the Lieutenant broke in.

Laughing, Benny backed away, hands up. “Okay, I wanted to get hit, not knocked out today.”

This seemed to break up the gathering, nuns moving off, heading back to their training.

Mena, still a little fired up, remained for a moment.

“No hard feelings, Thumbelina,” Benny said. “I just wanted to see your form.”

“I'm sure you felt enough of my form while I was riding high on your shoulder,” she returned a little bitterly, before walking off.

Benny sidled up beside the Lieutenant, still grinning. “She was real mad.”

“Yeah.”

“Has kind of a temper.”

“Yeah.”

“I kind of liked it.”

“Easy now.”

“Don't tell me you've never thought of picking her up,” Benny went on. “She's so fucking small.”

The Lieutenant smiled. “I mean, I could.”

“Hell yeah, you could. You could pick me up, big guy.” As they walked off, heading for the infirmary, Annie following behind, the fancy man added, “but don't ever fucking try, because I will lay you out.”

Chuckling, the Lieutenant opened the infirmary door for the shorter man and said, “you could never, little fancy man.”

Inside the infirmary Grayson sat on his cot, reading a well-thumbed copy of some real crime book, looking bored and still angry.

“Hey kid,” Benny greeted. “You need to learn some fighting too or do you think you'll pull some karate moves out of your ass when the time comes?”

“Could kick your ass,” the kid grumbled.

“Want to give it a try?” Benny offered sincerely. “See what you got?”

“You have, like, thirty years on me, think I'd win, grandpa,” Grayson replied.

“Only one way to find out.”

“You think you'll be ready to head out tomorrow morning?” The Lieutenant asked the kid, playing his part perfectly to Benny's delight. At least the marine had a poker face. “We have to get to that airfield before noon if we want to find proper camp before dark.”

“I was ready two days ago, what have you two been doing?”

“Keeping these nuns safe first and foremost,” Benny said. “You know, about eleven lives versus one? Using our brains.”

Grayson glowered at him.

“Can the shitty attitude, we're trying,” Benny went on firmly.

“Tomorrow,” the Lieutenant said firmly, breaking up the tension, “we will continue on the hunt for these men. Right now, I have to head out to get something for dinner for all of us.”

“Not taking your life partner with you?” Grayson asked.

“Surprisingly progressive, kid,” Benny mused, folding his arms. “I don't even think it's an insult.”

“More observational than insulting,” the Lieutenant added.

“You could do worse than me,” Benny teased.

“Could do better too, paon.” The marine retorted dryly, offering Benny a small grin as he grabbed up his rifle. “Don't kill each other while I'm gone, yeah?”

“Can I hang him from a flag pole again?” Benny asked. “Seems to be the best way to take the bite out of him.”

“Fuck you, Benny,” Grayson growled.

“That is no way to speak to your elders, son!” Benny replied.

“Come on, kid. Let's head out for a hunt.” The Lieutenant said, stepping in calmly.

Grayson jumped up, eager to finally help, but couldn't resist grumbling, “don't call me 'kid', old man.”

“Don't call me old, son,” the Lieutenant murmured, ducking out of the infirmary after the boy.

Alone in the infirmary now with Annie, Benny inhaled and turned to her.

“You like those two?”

She shrugged.

Looking at the child in his care, Benny wanted to say something to her, to emote. But emotions were never his thing, once he opened that pandora's box they wouldn't stop. So he reached out and ruffled her hair, the two puffs on top, at least.

He liked the kid, he really did. Hell, he could almost admit to himself that he loved her and if it wasn't for circumstances and his fucking weak need to be helpful, he wouldn't be leaving her at the convent.

There were mornings, before they ran into the marine, that he would wake up from light, cautious sleep, to find her sitting up and watching him.

She never said much, and he always wondered what was going on in her undeveloped little noodle, she didn't even really speak much even when Laila was with them. Horrors, he assumed, something that kept Laila on edge and wary of their surroundings, haunted the two of them and when Benny found the mother and child, or rather when they had found him, they were almost feral.

He assumed it was something to do with the wedding ring on Laila's finger, of the way it took Annie months to finally take his hand without him telling her to.

She kept close to him now, she had lost her father – as far as Benny knew, and now her mother and the child was wafting on the breeze, drifting around with no moorings. Nothing to tether her to safety and comfort, but for him.

And Benny hated that it had to be him that poor girl relied on. He wasn't reliable, not to people who loved him – at least. He had cut his moorings a long time ago, or...maybe they had rotted with Valerie. Moldering in the grave with his beautiful wife, her cold hands clutching the last strands of the rope that had kept him from drifting.

He didn't mind being tethered by Valerie, he liked it even. Whenever he'd go off and come home, he had a home to come to. She would be there, bright and smiling, her flower garden always in bloom, it seemed, even in the cold Rhode Island winters, when the wind came across the Atlantic frigid and cruel.

She had died in the winter, or the early spring, rather. March. The witches tit of a month, the cold, brown spring.

Valerie wanted to be buried, not cremated, so they had to wait another month before she could be buried.

Benny was gone long before that. He had left the night she died, just walked away.

He liked the poetic idea of their beautiful home and everything in it rotting with his wife, like the idea of her garden drying up and withering. No one deserved her things, or her garden or even dare come near anywhere she had walked.

If he could, he would have built a stone wall, higher than the one that kept them safe at the convent, wider than it needed to be, all around Rhode Island. He would have kept everyone from that state. It would become a shrine to Valerie. His angel. Patient and sweet and everything he didn't fucking deserve.

So with no option to do any of that, he burned Rhode Island from his mind, it didn't exist in his world. It was a crater, with his wife dead in the center.

Everything he owned, everything that remained clinging to him when he walked away, was thrown into the ocean to fucking disappear. Except for his wedding band, wrapped like a napkin ring around a rolled-up photo of her, that he kept in his sock, secured by the knife strap he wore.

When he began to feel too alive, he would torment himself, like a form of self-harm, only instead of cutting his body, he wounded his soul. He would unroll that photo and wear that ring and he would feel every moment of sorrow all over again.

Was that healthy? Was grieving like that right? No. He knew it was sick.

But life was fucking sick, because she was good and he was not, and she died, starving to death because the cancer that had started in her uterus had swept viciously through her body, into her stomach and everything she ate, would be thrown up, black and diseased. And she withered fast, like a rose when the frost touches it.

But she didn't wither fast enough not to suffer.

And even now, with the fucking infected, or the dead, whoever you asked, when they ravaged and tore people apart, he somehow lived. At first, he wanted to live, it was human nature to fight to survive.

Valerie wanted to live too, and she died. So he would live for her if only to eat all the pain he couldn't eat of hers.

And then he had Annie and Laila, and while they were never anything more than people surviving together, Benny had formed an attachment, the first kind of real attachment to the two of them. He had begun to re-weave that tether that had rotted away from Valerie and then one morning, Laila was just gone.

She had left a note, she always did when she went out on her own to scavenge.

But she never came back.

And Benny felt another tether begin to rot.

He was a man struggling to hold on to a handful of sand in a wind storm.

So he held Annie's tether tight because he knew she held his just as tight.

Yes. He did love the child.

He wished the world was better for her, but he thanked the chaos and the randomness of numbers that he had her, and if these men had Laila, if she fell prey to them, he would get her back if she was alive and he would hand over the tether that Annie held that connected to him, back to her mother.

But he was still stunted and fucked up emotionally, so all of this, loving the kid and wanting everything for her, came out in a hand rubbing the top of her head. Because Benny's parents didn't hug and Benny didn't know what to do with a child, he and Valerie had never had one and they never talked about having one. And then she died and he had never been around children except when he was one.

So he tousled her hair and thought to himself that maybe someday he'd be able to express himself to someone else.

Maybe someday Rhode Island would exist on his maps again. Maybe Valerie would finally rest in peace because he could move on and grow and learn to be a human being.

Or maybe he would die trying to get Laila back to her mother and that girl back to her brother and maybe there would be no lesson for him to learn, no more room for him to grow.

Maybe Georgia would become to Annie what Rhode Island was to Benny. Not because of him, he didn't assume the child held any love for him, she was only clinging to him because she was lost, no perhaps she would bury Georgia behind a wall, because of her mother, because of her father, because of the dead and because every day she woke up, she had to see a corpse.

No child should ever have to live in a real nightmare.

Or.

Or maybe someday, Annie would stitch Georgia back together, maybe there could be hope for her future. The dead were thinning out and maybe her mother would return and maybe she'd find happiness, though he knew she would still have nightmares about the dead, he had nightmares about the dead, about Laila and Valerie and Annie, all roaming across the wastelands of his dreams, their eyes cloudy, milky with rot, because the cornea's had no blood flow, their fingertips turning black, their skin waxy and bloated.

Since it had begun, Benny had seen too many children among the dead, small forms, corpses that hungered, but never seemed to eat, only tear and shred and maim.

The thing was, the dead or the infected didn't make very loud sounds. They shuffled and they slogged, their feet dragging, but they didn't moan like the movie zombies, they would give off mewl-like moans. Something almost like the air just rising up from their bloated bellies. It was soft enough to miss if you weren't listening for it. And it wasn't often like they were sleeping and then would moan or when they mimicked and exhale of air. They were near silent forms moving like manifest destiny towards eternity.

Beside him, Annie was very much alive and he would make sure she stayed that way. Benny was nothing if resourceful and he could use those resources to the best of his ability.

If brute strength and survival were what the Lieutenant did best, Benny's abilities were subversive action and artful manipulation.

#novel #support an author #Graveyard Dirt & Salt #zombies #sorry it took me a while to post my friends and supporters i had some mental health set backs due to being laid off and jobless #but im back!

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lawrenceop · 5 years ago

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Holy Land Retrospective - Day 1

A JOURNEY OF FAITH: INTRODUCTION

One year ago, on the feast of Divine Mercy, I made my way to Heathrow airport after Mass, for my first pilgrimage to the Holy Land. This journey, organised by 206 Tours, was an answer to my prayers. Until recently I did not feel ready nor worthy to walk in that place where “the Word became flesh and dwelt among us” (Jn 1:14). But shortly after I returned from studies in Washington DC, I felt this yearning to see the Holy Land, and so I prayed for the opportunity to go, and I left it in God’s hands. Two weeks later, an email arrived inviting me to serve as one of a team of spiritual directors on a unique pilgrimage to the Holy Land in the company of Jim Caviezel, and led by the wonderful Fr Donald Calloway MIC. Truly, God is provident, and his generosity exceeds our asking!

Divine Mercy Sunday 2020 was the 28th of April, and I flew out on a night flight after a rather gruelling round of questions at the airport. At one point, I did not think I would be allowed to board but I kept clutching my Rosary and saying prayers silently. I entrusted all to Jesus who, it seemed to me, had arranged this pilgrimage for me at this opportune time, just after the Easter Octave.

On this nine-day pilgrimage, I took 1453 photos on my phone, and I shared the best of these on Facebook as we went. I often find that this is the best way to share my experiences with my family and friends. I also had my DSLR camera with me, and I took 1416 photos with my camera. I have been sharing these photos on my Flickr page, posting on liturgically appropriate days. For example, on the feast of the Annunciation (25 March) I shared this photo of the site of Mary’s house in Nazareth where the Word became incarnate in Our Lady’s womb.

Now as the liturgical anniversary of this wonderful pilgrimage comes round, I wanted to relive those days; to give thanks to God and Our Lady for this trip; to remember the places we saw, and the people I met; and to reflect theologically and spiritually on this pilgrimage with the aide-memoire of the photos I took. It shall be a novena of sorts.

For, in what follows, for the next nine days, I will post no more than nine photos a day (sometimes fewer), and I will choose photos taken on my camera only, and which I have not already uploaded to Flickr. Clicking on the link for each photo (links are all in red text) will take you to the Flickr page where you can see the photo in larger sizes. This exercise is meant to help challenge me to look at the entire photo collection again with fresh eyes. I hope it will help you, too, to see the places associated with Christ and the mysteries of our salvation. Thank you for joining me on this journey of faith.

ARRIVAL IN THE HOLY LAND

I arrived at daybreak in Israel, on the Monday of ‘Low Week’. The drive to Jerusalem took about an hour, and my eyes soaked in the landscape before me, the topography that Jesus had also looked upon; the dusky green foliage; a field heavy with wheat and ripe for the harvesting (cf Lk 10:2). And we went across hills and through rocky ravines, going from the seaside city of Tel Aviv to the ancient hill-top citadel of Jerusalem. As we approached the words of Psalm 48 resounded in my mind: “His holy mountain rises in beauty, the joy of all the earth.Mount Zion, true pole of the earth, the Great King’s city! God, in the midst of its citadels, has shown himself its stronghold.”

Green wooded hills gave way to white stone as various dwellings and buildings were perched on the hills, and soon, I saw banners with the lion of Judah on them: we had arrived in the Holy City of Jerusalem. But, above all, that first morning in the Holy Land, I noticed the light, as photographers are wont to do: as the sun rose, the skies turned pale blue, and the light grey clouds were tinged with gold and orange; it seemed to me a divine light, full of promise.

We didn’t have anything planned until the evening, so I had the whole day to explore. Tired from the flight, but too excited to sleep, I went and had breakfast in the hotel – the food, throughout this pilgrimage, was delicious and healthily Mediterranean, with many salads, fresh produce, and honey from the comb. And then, I went to explore this most ancient and unique of cities: Jerusalem, the abode of peace! My first stop was the Holy Sepulchre, and I went without any cameras. It’s important, where possible, to just be present in a place, to look and observe, and take in the experience through every sense. Only on subsequent visits would I use my camera to transmit what I had first contemplated.

PHOTO 1: This was taken from the rooftop of the Christian Information Centre, just within the Jaffa Gate, which was about 10 minutes walk from our hotel. From here, one has a panoramic view from the edge of the Christian Quarter. We are looking at the complex that constitutes the church of the Holy Sepulchre, and beneath the large dome is the Aedicule, which is the structure that enclosed both the Empty Tomb of Christ as well as the spot where the angel had sat upon the stone which had been rolled away from the opening of the tomb.

Now after the sabbath, toward the dawn of the first day of the week, Mary Magdalene and the other Mary went to see the sepulchre. And behold, there was a great earthquake; for an angel of the Lord descended from heaven and came and rolled back the stone, and sat upon it. (Mt 28:1-2)

Looking at the Holy Sepulchre from this angle, I notice that the church is flanked by two minarets, and to the right of this shot, the Temple Mount with the Dome of the Rock is prominently visible. As always, the three Faiths which regard Jerusalem to be a sacred site, are always present and very evident; the three photos I have chosen for this day demonstrate this. And yet, here, in this photo, beneath this dome that crowns the Holy Sepulchre, is the centre of the world. For here, through the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ, the Son of God and universal Saviour, all creation was redeemed and is for ever transformed.

He is the head of the body, the church; he is the beginning, the first-born from the dead, that in everything he might be pre-eminent. For in him all the fulness of God was pleased to dwell, and through him to reconcile to himself all things, whether on earth or in heaven, making peace by the blood of his cross. (Col 1:18-20).

PHOTO 2: I met some of my fellow pilgrims from this large group (we were about 240 in total!) in the Holy Sepulchre, and they wanted to visit the Western Wall next so I went with them. Here, the monumental stones impress upon us the grandeur and antiquity of Jerusalem. In fact, everywhere, we walked upon ancient slabs of stone, and I was always aware of the history of the city, and I wondered how many millions had walked those same paths as I was now on; who else had seen these buildings and pilgrimaged to these place? In places like Jerusalem it seems like all of humanity has passed through it, and I am humbled – aware of my paucity in the face of the enormous procession of people who have been here over the millennia. The stones of the Western Wall were already here when Jesus came to the Temple; when he came here as a boy and was found teaching in the Temple they were just a few decades old. Looking upon these walls, and indeed, upon the walls and gates of Jerusalem, such as the Jaffa Gate which I entered every day, I would think of these lines from Psalm 122: “I rejoiced when they said to me, “Let us go to the house of the LORD.” And now our feet are standing within your gates, O Jerusalem... For the peace of Jerusalem pray, “May they prosper, those who love you.” May peace abide in your walls...”

PHOTO 3: The various ‘Quarters’ of Jerusalem run into each other, and although we approached the Western Wall through the Jewish Quarter, we returned to the Jaffa Gate through the Muslim Quarter and via the Holy Sepulchre at the heart of the Christian Quarter once more. Here is a typical street scene taken in the Muslim Quarter, although it was less crowded than usual. Shops line the street, with shopkeepers calling out like sirens to entice you in. But what caught my eye was the texture and size of the stones beneath our feet, and the way the bright sunlight was filtered through the awnings above, and the patterns of shade and dappled light on the ground.

The Lord is your guard and your shade; at your right side he stands. By day the sun shall not smite you nor the moon in the night. (Ps 121:5-6)

"For love of my brethren and friends I say: "Peace upon you." For love of the house of the Lord I will ask for your good." Amen. (Psalm 122:8-9) Tomorrow: DAY 2 - Gethsemane and Ein Kerem.

#Holy Land #retrospective #reflection #travelogue #faith #photos

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justjessame · 4 years ago

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Put Me In Coach 10

I blinked, I swear I must have blinked because it was THE DAY. Graduation day. I felt like I’d counted down since the first day of school, so how did I miss the last two days?

Negan woke me with a phone call as the sun had just peeked above the horizon. “Morning, Amara.” I smiled at the gruff tone of his voice. He must have just woken up. “Just think, princess, tomorrow at this time we won’t need the fucking phone to have this conversation.”

I settled back into my pillows. “Maybe we should keep them fully charged, just in case face to face is awkward.” His laugh was as low as his voice. I hummed. “I get to wake up in your bed, with your naked skin pressed against me, and I am fairly certain that I will think I’ve died and gone to-”

“AMARA!” Fuck. “Mara, open this door right now.” For fuck’s sake.

“Hang on, Negan.” I put the phone against my chest and opened my locked door once I’d extradited myself from my bed. “What is the emergency, MOTHER?!” I could feel Negan’s laughter through the phone vibrating my chest.

“Today’s the day, sweetheart.” And behind her stood the maid of the week, carrying a huge tray. “Breakfast in bed.” Or it would have been if I’d been allowed to stay in bed. “Come on, say goodbye to Mr.-” My glare stopped her. “Say goodbye to Negan, we’ll see him later.” Yeah, WE.

“Bye, Negan.” I said, rolling my eyes as my mother ordered the maid to clear a table and round up two chairs. “I’m having breakfast beside my bed, apparently.” I turned away and stage whispered, “tomorrow I get to have YOU for breakfast, right?”

His laughter carried me through. Through breakfast with my mother. Through a forced spa day that I salvaged by inviting Eric and Mary along last moment. Look, it was my fucking graduation day, if I allowed myself to be tortured into hair and makeup, then I was taking my two best bitches along for the ride.

By that evening, mere hours before walking across the stage to be handed our diplomas, we were once again in my room getting ready together. I wondered, as I watched Mary tease Eric about Steven and going away for school if it would be the last time.

“Shit, I think we’ve triggered Amara’s nostalgia button.” Eric’s eyes met mine in the mirror. He came up behind me and bent down to snuggle into my back. “What’s got you looking so sad, Mara?”

“Is this the last time we do this?” I glanced around, knowing I’d be packing my room up. That I’d be moving with Negan to a different school from the two of them. I was trying hard not to look at the downside, but I loved these two assholes. “Get ready for a major thing in my room?”

“Course not,” Mary answered, cuddling into my other side. “We’ll do it when we graduate from college, different rooms, but all together. We’ll do it again when you marry Coach.” I felt my eyes go wide. “Not soon, you dumb slut, but eventually. And then when Eric calms his dick down enough to pick one, we’ll do it again then. And one day, a VERY long fucking time from now, we’ll do it when I win an Oscar.”

I laughed and so did the two of them. Jesus. I was going to miss this. The two of them and me. “Texts,” I demanded, my hands grabbing one of each of theirs. “Calls, and texts, constantly.”

“Like you needed to fucking command it,” Eric rolled his eyes. “How am I gonna get that pic of Coach’s dick if I don’t stay in touch?”

Graduation itself wasn’t all that memorable. Negan in a suit was a highlight, as was the announcement that he was leaving the faculty to move on to a new opportunity. His eyes met mine in the crowd of my fellow students and he mouthed ‘I love you’. And then, it was over, and caps were tossed and we were off.

My parents insisted on driving me to dinner. A small concession, since Negan and I were leaving together. I listened as my mother babbled on and on about this person’s kid and that person’s embarrassment. When she mentioned Eric’s name I looked up.

“Why didn’t you tell us that Eric had been made Valedictorian?” Oh right.

I shrugged, my gown still covering my dress, best to leave that surprise until there were witnesses. “I guess I take for granted how smart he is.” And Mary and I had tried EVERY bribe we could to get the programs to read ‘ERIC SULLIVAN-VALEDICTORIAN’. We even tried to get Negan in on it, but to no avail. The three gift bags holding Mary, Eric, and Steven’s gifts were on the floorboards, handles up so when the car stopped to let the valet park, I grabbed them in one swoop and started to get out.

“AMARA.” Fuck, what now? “The gown-” Oh right. Here goes.

I unzipped the cheap polyester graduation gown and slipped it off and tossed it into the car. Silence. Shit. “Let’s go see if our table is ready.” I tried for perky, but when I looked up I saw Mom’s mouth gaping.

“Where’s your dress?” She gasped and I felt Negan’s heat press up against my back.

“Found it,” his hand wrapped around my waist and pulled me tighter against him. “Amara, you look-” I felt exactly how he thought I looked, it was pressed against me. “Edible.”

“I really have a taste for a buffet.” I shrugged and his lips touched my cheek. “Later?”

“Not much.” He whispered, staying right behind me.

“Why would you need to eat at a buffet later?” My mom was muttering, trying NOT to draw attention to her scandalous daughter and her scandalous daughter’s date. “He really does look like a pit-boss.” Jesus, kill me now.

“Mrs. Kendall,” the host had found her in a crowd. My mom,the leader of the pack. “We have your table waiting, and I believe part of your party has already been seated.” Thank fucking god.

Eric and his family were seated. Mary and hers were seconds behind us. Then Steven and his. Once seated, Mom assuring us that she’d taken care of our orders, we settled into the faux casual conversation that came naturally to the Kendalls and anyone unfortunate enough to dine with us.

“Coach Negan,” Eric’s voice, and I was drawn out of my happy place where Negan’s hand had been playing with the bare skin of my back. “You’re getting out of town too, huh?” I bit my lip. They’d known the day after he showed me. “Wherever will you go?” His eyes were twinkling and I bit back a laugh.

Negan’s smile was evident in his voice. “I had a job offer.” He mentioned the school and my mom shot me a look. “It was too good to pass up.” I looked up at him and smiled.

“Aren’t they too freaking cute?” Eric practically squealed, causing other tables to look our way. I couldn’t have planned it better.

“Kiss me.” I whispered and Negan’s grin grew.

“Thought you’d never ask.” And his lips met mine and the room hushed. Of course, I could have just gone deaf from the actual fucking NEED I felt for him. He pulled back and rubbed my nose with his. “I love you, princess.”

“I love you too, Coach.” I winked and we refocused on dinner.

Eventually the noise level rose back up. Our table wasn’t the focal point for long and we actually started to loosen up as a group. Present time came and Negan handed Eric the bag for me.

“You should know,” I said, as he started to reach inside. “Negan helped pick it out.”

Mary’s laughter was musical as Eric’s eyes widened in happiness. “You got me a fucking crown.” He perched it on his hair, and Steven, proving he was totally boyfriend worthy, fixed it so it sat just right.

“Haven’t you tried to convince me that you are a QUEEN our entire lives?” I asked, taking a sip of my water. “Figured a queen must have a crown.”

“This is why you’re my favorite.” He smirked as Mary smacked him. “I can have TWO favorites.”

My parents had given everyone a gift certificate for dinner. I got a pair of diamond earrings from Mom, the matching bracelet from Dad, and when Negan pulled a small box from his suit pocket another gasp went around the table. Not a chance, I rolled my eyes at their idiocy. The diamond necklace made the trio complete. I kissed him and he whispered just loud enough for me to hear “soon”. My stomach clenched and sighing I pulled away.

Mary had gotten me a gorgeous dress. Eric, the gift I both couldn’t wait to see, and almost wanted to open in the ladies’ room, just in case. Ripping off the wrapping paper, I heard Negan choke on the drink he’d taken as he saw what Eric had gifted me with. That little shit. A gorgeous platinum frame, with a blown up copy of the photo I’d sent him of Negan’s happy trail.

“Let’s see,” my mother urged, and I shook my head. I’d kill him. Stone cold dead.

I put my hand over the picture and held it up for her inspection. “Isn’t it the most wonderful FRAME, Mom?”

“Hand it here, the light is bouncing off it at that angle.” Fuck. Really?

“I’m afraid I’ll drop it,” please Jesus a bone. “I’ll show it to you at home.”

“Just pass it down the table, Mara.” She rolled her eyes and I wondered how many glasses of wine she’d had.

Down the table meant the frame would pass Negan, Eric, Steven, Mary, Dad, and then make it to Mom. Fuck. “Break it and I’ll promise you oral sex on demand from the moment we leave until the day I fucking die.” I offered Negan, but the devilish smile on his face told me he knew he had that already. Damn it.

And so, I watched as EVERY SINGLE FUCKING ONE, except Dad studied my hot as fuck boyfriend’s abs before it made it to Mom’s hands. And each and every one of them, from Negan on down, made a comment that could be taken in a very innocent, or very fucking dirty vein.

“The craftsmanship of this is very good, quality, but I think a couple more hours under the heat would have made it harder.” Fuck Negan.

Eric, not to be outdone, “I don’t know Coach, do you really have to screw with perfection on the off chance it gets better?”

Steven was a quick study and offered this gem. “Silver, I’m sorry platinum ages so well, doesn’t it?”

And Mary, my ovaries before brovaries, winked at me and said. “Damn, these background pictures are looking close enough to touch or taste.”

Dad barely glanced at it, but then again, his meal was clearly more interesting. And then Mom. “It is a lovely frame.” She squinted. “What is this background? Some sort of mountain range?” She brought the frame closer to her face. “Why that looks just like-” And then she sat the frame down and I could see her trying to decide who to glare at first. “Put your gift away, Amara.” And the frame came back down the table, ignoring the other side with my friends’ families.

“You’re in trouble,” Negan whispered, hot against my ear. “How did Eric get that picture, Amara?” Shit, he didn’t mean with Mom.

“It was the least risque one I had.” I muttered back. “Need I remind you of the night of the cilantro?”

His chuckle vibrated my chair. “You win that one.” His hand was on my bare back again. “I want you, princess. Now.”

I bit my lip. “I think I need to excuse myself, Mom.” She met my eyes and nodded. “Dad,” he glanced up with another nod. “I’ll be back in a moment.” Or an hour.

I stepped outside of the dining room and waited. A few minutes passed and then Negan walked out. “Your mom was glaring at me the entire time I was standing up from the table, sweetheart.” He was grinning. “Looks like I’m in trouble too.”

“Come with me.” I took his hand and walked to the end of the hallway. Opening the door, we were on the dock. “Remember when Mom wanted to do dinner on a boat?”

“And you shot her down?” He smiled, tugging me closer to him. “Vaguely.”

“Wanna have dessert on one?” I tilted my head up and his grin was bright.

Now, I have to admit, when I asked to have dessert on a boat, I clearly meant sex. I meant sex in one of the below deck rooms, but sex was very high on my expectations. Negan, however, decided that sex below deck in a comfortable bed or on a sofa was too blase. We were going to have an entire night in a bed. Let’s celebrate.

And that’s how we ended up on the bow of the boat, him pressed against my back and me looking for all the world like a really strange figurehead. The skirt of my dress was already indecently short, and when he bent his knees just right, well, you get the picture. And we were in that position, fucking quietly and slowly, when my MOTHER and FATHER showed up.

“Amara? Is that you?” Please go away. “Honey, what are you to up there doing?”

Negan chose that moment to hit THAT spot and I had to bite my lip hard to stop from making a sound only dolphins would understand. “We’re,” I was breathless and strangely not anywhere near out of the mood. “Reenacting that scene from Titanic.” Call me fucking brainless, but he shifted again and I lost my entire mental functions.

“Titanic?” Negan’s lips were touching the shell of my ear and I had to swallow a moan. “Like my-”

“OH MY GOD!” Eric, of course, with Steven. My night is complete. “What are you two up there doing?” You know, because you’re at just the right angle, is that your phone?!

“You two look so darling up there,” my mom was saying, and I shit you not, drew her own phone out. “Let me take a photo, so you can have it forever.”

Sure, of us screwing on a boat that doesn’t belong to us, on graduation night, during dinner. Fuck. “Don’t worry, Mrs. Kendall, I’ve got it!” Eric’s voice rang out. “I’m sure the angle from here is MUCH CLEARER.”

Negan bit into my neck slightly as he rushed over taking me breathless along with him. Fuck. Shit. “Damn, sweetheart, I think-Fuck.” Yeah, no shit. He held me as we both got our breath back, me assuring Mom we’d be in to say goodnight shortly and throwing Eric such a death glare that he should have keeled right the fuck over.

“See you inside, PRINCESS.” Eric offered over his shoulder with a wink. UGH.

Negan was cleaning me up once our audience left and I was trying desperately to not toss myself into the man-made lake. His laughter made me look down. “You do know that Eric saw not just your dick, but your dick in action, right?”

He nodded and looked up at me. “He definitely did, but fuck if I don’t want a copy of it.”

I found myself laughing. I swear I was surrounded by crazy people. “Thank god for Mom’s wine intake.” I offered as he stood and kissed me. “Otherwise she might have asked why you weren’t screaming you were ‘king of the world’.”

“Gotta save something for home.” And our laughter rang out across the lake.

#coach negan x student #negan x ofc #The Walking Dead #Smut

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sunlightdances · 8 years ago

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lately

Pairing: Dean x Female Reader (Third person, Dean POV) Rating: M Warnings: Smut, angst, temporary unhappiness? I don’t know if that’s a real warning, but if you don’t want to read something that will at least partially bum you out, probably avoid this? Summary: Anon requested: “a Dean POV where Dean is watching the reader (doing research or whatever) and he imagines how life could be if they were not hunters. Some angst or fluff about Dean wanting out of the hunter life.” Author’s Notes: Okay, full disclosure, Dean looks super angry in this gif but also contemplative, which is mostly what I was going for. Also: this is in Dean’s POV. Just a reminder. Song used for inspiration is “Lately” by Dan + Shay.

I've been thinking bout us And I know the going is rough And it feels like a little too much Maybe I don't say it enough

Dean watches from across the room and smiles softly at that little crease that appears between her eyes. It’s not often that it shows up - just when she’s particularly curious about something.

Not to be creepy, but -- well, he watches her like this a lot. Whenever there’s a quiet moment, which, let’s be honest, there aren’t a lot. He watches her and lets himself get lost in “what-ifs” -- what if they weren’t hunters? What if they could just have that normal, all-American life? What if they didn’t have to worry about demons and vampires around every corner?

When he really lets himself think about it, he thinks about her in a white dress. That’s usually when he stops himself, because there’s no point. It’s not like he can’t see it ever happening. He knows plenty of hunters that get married, but he can’t see it for them. Plus... he’s still stuck thinking that he’s not lucky enough to get to keep her forever.

“You’re staring.” She murmurs, not looking up from the book in front of her as she scribbles something down in a notebook.

“Am not.”

She snorts. “Give me two seconds to write this sentence down and then I’m going to kick your ass.”

Dean grins, his heart picking up its pace like it always does when she smiles, and especially when she gives it back as good as he gives it - the banter between them one of the first things that made him attracted to her.

“C’mere.” He says, quietly, pivoting his chair away from the table slightly.

She rolls her eyes, but gets up anyway, stretching in a way that has her shirt rising up her abdomen and his breath catching. She moves to stand in the vee of his legs, smiling down at him softly as his hands find the sides of her thighs, softly running up and down her legs.

Dean urges her to sit astride him, her legs dangling off the armrest as she sits sideways on his lap. His right arm bands tight around her waist to keep her steady, and the other rests across her knees, drawing small circles on the tanned skin there. “You’re working too hard.” He tells her, and she scoffs.

“We’ve only been researching for an hour. You just hate researching.”

“I mean... yeah.” Dean says, earning him a light smack on his chest. “You ever think about what life would be like without all this?” He asks, his thoughts escaping him.

She angles her neck to look at him, her eyes concerned. “I guess so. Why?”

Dean shrugs. “No reason. Just-- sometimes I... sometimes I really hate this life. Not-- not you, or Sam, or Cas. Just... the way that we live. Sometimes it gets so tiring.”

She’s quiet long enough that Dean starts to fear that he’s said the wrong thing, that she’s going to get up and leave and never come back.

“I think about a different life sometimes, but I don’t wish for it.” She says after a while, her hand lacing with his draped over her legs. “If it weren’t for this life, I would have never met you. Or Sam. Or Cas, or your Mom.”

Dean sighs. “That’s not--”

“I know that’s not what you meant, but... Dean, there’s no point in wishing, is there? As much as I want sometimes to just get some rest and stop saving everyone all the time... I kind of love it, too.”

Dean knows she’s right. He tried quitting the life once, and it came right back to find him. Maybe there’s no point. “For just one day I wish I didn’t have to worry about losing you. That’s all I’m saying.”

“Hey.” She says, tugging on the front of his shirt to get him to pay attention. “I worry about that too, you know. But without it... what would we even do, Dean? Go get a job somewhere? Maybe that would be fine for a few weeks, but we’d go stir crazy.”

Dean sighs again. “I know. I just... I can’t help thinking that there’s only one way this life is going to end for you and I. Any chance I can take to get you out of it, I want to do that.”

“That’s enough.” Her voice is hard, and fierce. Dean’s taken aback for a minute. “I’m here with you, okay? And there’s no way I’m going to go live some boring-ass nine to five life without you. So if there’s a way... we’ll think about it, okay? But I’m not going without you or Sam. So whatever plan you think you have to get me out of this life, you better forget about it.”

Dean stares at her and for the millionth time wonders how the hell he ever got lucky enough to meet her and convince her he was worth her time. He doesn’t think too long about it though, because he’s more concerned with making sure she knows where his priorities are.

He leans down as far as he can to capture her mouth in a hard kiss, the kind that makes her melt into him. God, he’s such a goner. “I just want you.” He tells her raggedly when they break apart. “For as long as I can have you. I want you.”

Her eyes well up with tears, and that’s the opposite of what he wants, so he kisses her again, trying to tell her without words what he’s feeling. He hoists her up so she’s straddling him, and with better access to her neck, he presses hot kisses up and down the elegant column of her neck, hearing her sigh of pleasure above him.

“Dean.” She breathes, and it’s like goddamn music to his ears. Her hands find their way to his hair, and she tugs a little bit too hard, but it has a jolt running through him.

He pulls her shirt off as she works on his buttons, and when they’re skin-to-skin, it’s his turn to groan as he feels how warm she is against him. Her hair tumbles down her back and he takes a minute to admire how she looks on top of him, her body warm and pliant against him.

Her mouth comes back on his a moment later, a muffled groan escaping him when she deepens it immediately, her tongue tangling with his. He lifts her up slowly, working at the button of her jean shorts. She tilts backwards away from him in order to give him more room to work, and he starts talking to her, trying to make her as out of her mind for him as he is for her.

“You’re so gorgeous, baby. Have I told you that lately?”

“... Think so,” she says, trying to concentrate as he lays kisses along her chest.

“You are. You’re so gorgeous, you make me so crazy.”

“God, Dean, stop teasing.”

He lifts his hips to grind into her slowly, and her head tilts back, a low groan escaping her. It’s up there with the hottest things he’s ever seen her do, and he can’t resist repeating the action a few times until her grip on his shoulder is so tight it borders on painful.

“Want you to use me to get yourself off.”

“Jesus Christ, Dean.” She exclaims, lifting herself off him long enough for him to work his jeans over his hips.

“C’mon, sweetheart. I want to see it.”

When she sinks down on him, Dean swears he sees stars. She’s so tight and so hot, and so, so perfect. He groans with every thrust, biting his lip so hard he’s worried he might draw blood. She moves over him so beautifully, and he truly wants to see nothing but this for the rest of his life.

“Dean-- please, Dean.” She says breathlessly, and he increases his tempo, his hand reaching down in between them to press over her clit with enough pressure to set her shaking.

“God, honey--” Dean chokes out, thrusting up into her erratically as she slumps over him.

They stay like that for a few minutes before he stands on shaky legs, grabbing their clothes and walking to the closest bathroom to get them both cleaned up. He says a prayer that Sam and Mary both went to the grocery store.

“For the record,” she says as she watches him get dressed from where she’s perched on the edge of the sink, fixing her hair, “If that kind of life was in the cards for us, I’d want it. But... any life with you is good enough for me.” She tells him, and something clicks into place.

He abandons his flannel and takes her face in his hands, kissing her gently. “It’s more than good enough for me, too.”

Have I told that I love you That you're funny that you're sweet And I love what's outside and everything that's underneath Have I told you that I miss you every second I'm asleep And I love the way you smiling when I kiss you in my dreams

#dean x reader #dean x you #spn reader insert #prompt fic

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