#and apparently she had been wearing the snake lenses earlier too!!!

[rebelcaptain4life]

I JUST MET SOMEONE DRESSED UP AS CROWLEY AND I FANGIRLED OVER HER SO HARD

[1zashreena1]

I Am Having a Snuggle -10

18+, m/f, technically OCxDiego Jimenez [Power]

Summary: Princess doesn’t sleep much after her long distance meltdown. Soft Murder Panther to the rescue! Well, except for that one hard part.

WARNINGS: Ridiculous descriptions and ‘the code is more like guidelines’ outlook on grammar. Is it OOC if the character was given essentially zero development in canon???

FEELS. SMUT (aka The Good Stuff), the L word, plus size woman+fit man, soft!Diego (srsly disgusting and if you bring it up later he will stab you), coddled Princess, mentions of... The Belt*tm,  is a relationship happening?? apparently. Leftover high school Spanish.

A/N:  Princess took on a life of her own and has essentially become an OC. There are infrequent mentions of her description (specifically as plus size) and her actual name in later pieces (its Bicki). She started as self-insert so she looks like me (plus size, white, short, blue eyes, curly hair). If that is not your thing, I totally understand. And do not feel obligated to read this, I will not be offended!

I’m not a fan of “plot” so be aware that most of this series is just meandering through their relationship, angst-fluff-smut whiplash style. But with dick jokes.

Special thanks to @chelsfic for the shared Diego headcanons re: coffee preferences. ILY Mommy

TAGLIST: @chelsfic @symbiont13 @nicke0115 @bunnykjm @rosee-sensuelle @girlpornparadise @mandoplease @heresathreebee @xxsteph-enrixx @jetiikad @joalsglasses @mutantcookiesecrets @demoncatstone @squidlywiddly87 @lockedoutofmyotherblog @poeedamerons

You snap awake with a gasp. What woke you up? You lay there for a second, holding your breath and listening. With your vision being so horrible your hearing is a much more reliable sense. Its pitch black tonight, no moonlight breaking through the cloud cover. You don't keep any ambient lighting on while you sleep so you couldn't see anything if you tried.

There. A soft bang outside somewhere. Then another. It almost sounds like car doors. I wonder if the baby is sick again and First Floor Mark is taking her to the hospital?

Your worry is cut short when you jolt to full awareness because your apartment door is opening. You flip over to your back and dive for the nightstand. Glasses first, Smithfield 911 second. You sit up to brace yourself against the wall and hold the gun in your lap, fingering the safety. 

The door closes and you hear it being locked. 

With a heaved sigh you make sure the safety is on and wait. Heavy footsteps come ever closer to your bedroom and you can see the light of his phone before he appears in your doorway.

Diego freezes when he sees you sitting up in bed. Then he smiles. Wide and sparkling in the low light, you can't see them but you know the dimples are there.

"Princess, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to wake you." He greets you warmly, voice like liquid velvet, wrapping you in heated comfort. You can tell he is wearing most of a suit, the jacket is gone, but you have no idea what color. His collar is unbuttoned. That's not distracting at all.

You arch one brow and struggle not to smirk. "Damnit Diego, you almost got shot." You display the gun, barrel pointed to the ceiling.

He rumbles lowly at you, purring in pleasure, as he spreads his arms open. "Princess, that is hot. Come here, now!"

With a bark of laughter you drop the gun to the bed and launch yourself at him. He staggers back a step but catches you securely. You wrap all your limbs around him and squeeze. His hands cup your ass and he returns the gesture with enthusiasm. Diego turns his face into yours, you know exactly what he wants and you give it to him with no hesitation. 

His lips are soft but his beard is all scratchy tickles. You delight in the contrasting textures, moaning softly as you try to merge your bodies into one entity. His left hand climbs up your back to squeeze your neck right where you always carry all of your tension. 

"Ohhhhhh..." Your mouth drops open and you go boneless in his grip. He gives no quarter and shuts you up with his tongue while his groan vibrates against your chest. Your nipples respond with alacrity. 

He tastes like coffee and chocolate, maybe a hint of cinnamon. What the hell did he eat? You can't get enough of it. 

You never favored long bouts of kissing, makeout sessions were too intimate and your previous partners were more than happy to skip right to the main event. But its different with Diego. He doesn't drool on you and his mouth is consistently at least ten degrees hotter than your own. He always tastes like coffee and some outlandishly ridiculous flavored creamer. The instant a new variety of non-dairy creamer is released he has to try it. His child-like excitement over it is incredibly endearing to witness.

You sink both hands into his hair to pull him back. His eyes are huge and you watch with rapt attention as he licks his bottom lip. "Princess. Bed. Now." He croaks, nodding his own head like he's trying to peer pressure you into consenting. 

Completely unnecessary, baby. 

"Yeah." Your soft whimper is stupidly needy. Only Diego does this to you. Has this effect on you. You feel like the cover of a really bad romance novel. A strumpet. The ludicrous term makes you giggle. You gaspingly add another request, "But naked!"

Diego jumps into motion and takes two huge steps to the bed. You're already fighting with the buttons on his shirt and you don't quit as he lays you down on your back. There is only absolute faith that he won't drop you. 

The moment you're down his hands go to your cami, fingers sliding under the elastic band of the shelf bra and gathering the whole thing up to go over your head. You have to let go of him for a split second so he can fully remove it and that makes you whine unhappily. Diego tosses the shirt over his shoulder carelessly and smushes both of your breasts together to attempt a self-smothering. You laugh breathlessly until he latches onto a nipple.

"Ohhhhhh. Fuck. Yeah. Yeahhh." Nice porn moan, only practicing self-affirmation here. You still can't believe this works. The strong suckling sensations go straight to your cunt. No wonder other women always said they liked it. This is unique to Diego, too. He is the only person that your body has ever responded to in this. Sure, you liked your breasts fondled, squeezed, compressed utterly flat. But your nipples? No, they had some kind of epiphany the first time Diego sealed his lips around one and sucked.

You pet over his hair and he rumbles into your skin, the vibrations make your back arch. Your hands push on his shirt collar. You wanted bare skin earlier, now you need it. His hands disappear, then so does his shirt, but the attention to your nipple never falters. His sneaky fingers snake down over your stomach, he pauses to squeeze the squishy middle, then continue to your pants.

"No!" You yelp and Diego freezes. He releases your harried nipple to look up at you in puzzlement. 

With his brows drawn together he questions you, "Princess. What is--"

You don't let him finish. "Take your damn pants off right fucking now! I missed you, not your clothes!" You even sound frantic to yourself. Desperate. And you don't care.

He growls at you but straightens up and reaches for his belt. 

Oh god. His belt. Your gulp is audible. Its the same belt from that time he detained you on the jet. Spanked you delirious with it and then fucked you over a seat. All as punishment, of course, for sending a booty pic to Julio. You spent the next day on your belly while Diego torturously worshiped your ass. It was amazing.

His slow, evil smile confirms that he witnessed the entire memory play out across your face. That predatory stare never leaves yours as he opens the buckle and whips the soft leather free of the pant loops. He holds the belt up in the air, then drops it to the floor off the side of the bed. "Next time, Princess. We have the whole flight together. Maybe this time I'll make you keep count of how many times you come."

The threatening promise (promising threat??) makes you keen, high and piercing. Diego laughs at your obvious need, but he resumes stripping at a faster pace. You pop upright to get your pants off and complete the maneuver just in time to witness his cock achieve freedom. Before either one of you realizes it your hand is wrapped around him.

Diego collapses forward into you but catches himself on his hands before you get crushed. Not a bad way to go. You think. Crushed by hottest criminal sugar daddy with a heart of gold just for her. A beautiful obituary. 

You tighten your fingers around him; each one individually and in consecutive order, creating a rippling effect. He drops his forehead to your shoulder with a purr. You turn into his face to nuzzle up along his jawline. "Baby," you breathe, punctuating it with a long lick up the shell of his ear. "I missed you. So. Much."

His answering growl triggers violent shivers. He uses those wide shoulders to force you down onto your back. Planting one knee on the bed between your legs, he insinuates both hands under your ribcage and shoulders to slide you up the bed. His hands are so massive that they span the entire width of your back. That fact should scare you, instead you feel secure, even treasured, with how gently he handles you. He can be delightfully rough, you've been on the receiving end of that before. But right now is Soft Murder Panther hours.

He has to move up with you because you are not relinquishing that magnificent erection. 

"Princess," he rumbles directly into your ear, "Let go now or you will be disappointed later. I spent the entire flight thinking about every soft inch of you. Need to be inside you. Nowww." His confession ends in a breathy sigh as he begins pressing kisses over your entire face. 

You reach up to take off your glasses but he's already there, holding them by the frame around the lenses and not the easily bent arms. You blink back tears as you watch him stretch over to set them on your nightstand exactly how you do it. 

When he comes back you cradle his face with your hands, holding him still so you can just take this all in. His eyes search your face, looking for any hint of discomfort as he rests more of weight onto you. You nod gently and he gingerly, deliberately gives you the rest of his bulk. His presence drowns out everything else. All you know is Diego. Everything you ever wanted.

With minimal effort you guide him down until his forehead meets yours. He whimpers softly for you and your hands pet down his stubbled cheeks. This kiss is no less passionate than the wild ones earlier but somehow sweeter. You open your eyes to find him watching you, gaze unguarded and face completely open.

You stroke over his cheeks again, one thumb gliding along his plush lower lip. Diego nips your thumb, then engulfs it in his mouth to suck. Your moan is pure need, "Please, baby."

His hips roll and you feel the underside of his shaft rub the entire length of your labia. You arch and move with him this next time. The third pass lands the perfect angle and his thick heat spreads you wide. Your mouth opens but no sound comes out as you press your head back into the bed. He keeps pushing until you're completely filled. And then he pushes a little more. Just enough. 

You gasp in a shuddering breath and your back arches off the bed while you clench down around him in waves. He groans long and low as he watches you come on him. "Ohh, Bonita. Good girl."

Your quiet huff of laughter dissolves into a moan as he sets a steady pace. Long, solid strokes so you can feel every glorious inch, an inexorable push on your cervix every time he bottoms out. Your fingers claw into his shoulders, clinging like your life depends on it.

He burrows into your neck to sear your skin with his beard, soothing the burn with soft licks and velvet kisses. "Princess. Diego's perfect little princess. Its good? Tell me." He pants, open-mouthed and greedy.

You nod into his hair. "Perfect. Is perfect. You're perfect." He shakes his head 'no', rubbing his face on you. His right hand reaches down, gripping your thigh with purpose. He pulls your leg up, wrapping it around his waist, the other follows of its own accord. His knees spread, widening his stance and shifting the angle of his thrusts. Incredibly, he manages to get deeper inside you. Without a conscious command your mouth opens to spill out pure desperation and mangled ecstasy. "Yes, baby. All of you. Give me everything…"

He drops frenzied kisses all over your face while you two share the same air. His tone turns emotional, raspier, "Want to. Please. Please, please, please let me. Take care of my princess, be better. Just for you. Please, mi amor." 

That's new. New and heart-wrenching. You can't decide if its being used as a pet name or a declaration. It doesn't matter, the agonizing emotion behind it still makes you seize up with pleasure. He moans in approval, moving continuously throughout your entire climax. Just as your back begins to loosen he accelerates his thrusts, driving you right back up into another orgasm. You realize the ringing in your ears is actually a noise being made by your mouth.

"Yes, Princess. Come for me. Let Diego please this pretty little pussy." I am never going to regret admitting that I love his dirty talk. You congratulate yourself for that moment of successful communication. Diego hasn't shut up since then and you are so very grateful. 

He sweeps hands down your sides to grasp your hips. Even at your current size 16 his fingers still curve around both your front and back. He makes you feel small and delicate, vulnerable and fiercely protected. Cherished. Loved.

He half kneels under you, pulling your pelvis into his lap. Every intense, short thrust hits your g-spot and makes your vision swim. Your trembling never stops, its just constant rolling pleasure. You reach up for him, needing to be joined together endlessly. The muscles in his arms ripple and contract as he scoops you up. 

He has you sitting upright in his lap, legs around his waist and your arms tight behind his neck. Your entire weight rests on his left arm under your butt, holding you steady while he thrusts up into you with abandon. The right arm climbs up your back for him to thread fingers into your curls and press your forehead to his. Your mouth hangs open while you sob in bliss. 

"Si, Princess. Dame uno mas, come for your Diego. Be mine." You have no defense for his fierce begging whispered directly into your face. 

"Diego. Diego, baby, yes I-I-" Your voice cuts out as your orgasm sends you into convulsions. He presses your hips down fast to his so he can pump his own climax deep with a gravelly moan. 

He collapses forward, both of you dropping to the bed like a stone, then proceeds to just lay on you and pant. After an undefinable amount of time, Diego rubs his cheek against yours. He is purring again, the deep vibrations rumble through your chest. You pet over his hair, scratching his scalp with your short, practical nails. His back arches and his hips roll; he's still buried deep inside you. "Princessss. Bicki. Mi amor." His sigh is content.

You kiss his temple. Murmuring breathlessly to him, "Love you too, Murder Panther." You nuzzle into his beard, relishing all the textures. His breath catches, then his chest heaves. He pulls back from you, extricating his limbs so he can flop onto his side next to you. Your head turns for a kiss and he is already there, sealing his mouth to your own languidly.

 With one last fleeting peck to your chin, he rolls you onto your side and pulls you back against him in one fluid movement. Your head is pillowed on his left bicep and you wrap his right arm up tight to your chest. The entire length of his body is spooned up behind you. Instead of being suffocating you find it soothing. His soft little snuffling snores lull you back to sleep.

I am having a snuggle.

[funkymeihem-fiction]

Strange Honey- Chapter 5

Danger.

All her instincts screamed of danger. Something new and terrible was standing in front of her, looming over her. Adrenaline coursed outward from its source, the glands behind her gut, which clenched tight and painful as her limbs began shaking, ready for the inevitable fight or flight that was sure to occur, with such a predatory force within killing distance. The animal part of her brain bid her to flee with all her might. It also bid her to evacuate her bladder and do whatever it might take to get away. Just get away from it.

But luckily, she was trained beyond such primal thoughts. Logic and manners bid her to stay her course, even in the face of the unknown. Even though she was trembling, which was quite beyond her control, she made herself stay still. It would do her no good to panic, especially after it had taken such coaxing to even get the entity to show itself. Although, what a form it had chosen…

And he certainly did not seem to be shy now. Jamie slunk low once more, circling and slinking around her, still chortling to himself with that dry, scraping, buzzing sound from earlier. The soft hush-hush-hush of crackling straw was faint with every one of his movements, moving around her like a hyena closing in on some unlucky wounded calf. The faint yellow glow of his eyes occasionally clicked or focused, and the open mouth of his mask remained wide open and grinning. Mei could not help but wonder what was inside of that gaping mouth, if it wanted to devour her.

She cleared her throat, and her voice was more quavering and shrill than she wished it was. “H-hello Jamie. I-it’s so n-nice to meet you in…in person.”

He laughed again, swerving back to stand in front of her and bend back down to her level, still seemingly gleeful at her visit. He leaned close, and the stench of moldered hay was almost overwhelming. “Hello, Mei. Mei. Out here again.”

“Y-yes. Ahem. Although I’m afraid I can’t stay very long. But I j-just wanted to speak, um, face to face?” Her eyes darted to his grinning mask. “So to speak.”

“Faces? Yes. Speak, out here with me. Nice sweet girl. Don’t worry.” He reached out as if he wished to touch her, but drew back at the last moment, spindly fingers curling inward.

His method of speech was strange and halting, seeming to blurt things out too suddenly, and his tone went up and down in strange places, becoming questions in the middle of sentences or dropping to a rattling or giggling growl at the end. It was impossible to tell much from his inflection. He had told her not to worry, but she could not gauge his sincerity at all. She couldn’t help but worry.

“You sent that bee to contact me, didn’t you? To introduce yourself?”

“To show you.”

“To show me the pictures in the attic? The ones Mr. Rutledge drew when he was a child? May I ask why?”

He swayed back and forth in front of her, and her eyes moved to and fro to watch him, like a snake being charmed as he thought about his answer. “Drawings. Little boy. He’s gone now, but I remember.”

Mei looked up at him with a startled blink, straightening her glasses. “You remember? You said that before. Is that what you meant when you said that you were remembering? Drawing with Mr. Rutledge as a boy?”

“Yes…NO. More. Before the boy.”

“You remember…” The talk of ‘remembering’ made her jolt a little, and she remembered something as well. Her equipment. She was here to record this Jamie, to secure her discovery with physical evidence. But she also didn’t want to scare him by moving to retrieve it so suddenly. So she held up both hands where he could see them, which caused him to tilt his head curiously as she went to undo the straps to her bag. “Listen, Jamie. I’m going to get something so I can record you, okay? Just going to get it out of my pack.”

“Reeee-cording?” Jamie echoed. “Recording?”

“It’ll play your words back to me. It’s like…I guess it’s a bit like putting a drawing on paper, but with sounds. Is that okay with you?”

He didn’t answer, just standing there as stiff as the scarecrow he was pretending to be. Mei’s eyes darted, but after a moment she carefully maneuvered the pack off her shoulders and onto the ground. Praying silently that nothing was broken, her groping hand found the shape of her phone and she drew it out… The screen was cracked on the lower left side and her heart dropped, but it lit up and responded to her touch, bathing her face in harsh blue light.

Jamie uttered a strange noise, between a hiss and a shriek, reeling back and taking a step back towards his field, and Mei nearly panicked.

“No! No no no, it’s okay. See? It’s just a phone. I guess you might not have seen one like this before? Mr. Rutledge certainly doesn’t use one. It’s just a phone, and it lights up.” She held it up again, the electric blue light almost drowning out the yellow that he emitted. But he took a hesitant step forward and relief almost flooded through her that she hadn’t scared him away. “It’s fine! I’m just going to use it to record you. Okay?”

“Phone drawings pictures…” His eyelights clicked as they focused on the glowing screen, and he muttered as if trying to recall a word. “…Photograph. Photo. So pretty.”

“Hm?” She turned the phone back around, and saw he must have meant the picture on her home screen, a photograph of her looking excitedly up a the camera while bottle-feeding a baby goat wearing a Christmas sweater. “Oh! Um. Thank you. It’s a silly picture, but it was sooo cute.”

“Sooo cute!” “So you know what photos are? Then…how about I take your picture?” she asked, perhaps a bit slyly. Perhaps he would agree to it all so long as he understood that it was non-threatening. “You just stand there, okay? And I’m going to take your picture and then I’ll show it to you.”

He didn’t answer, merely tilting his head again with a soft rustle. She guessed that was as good as any affirmation, and lifted the camera up. The lighting wasn’t the best, but now was no time to be picky and she didn’t want to scare him with the flash. She lifted her phone, waited for it to focus, and then clicked the button. It beeped and she eagerly looked down to see how this new evidence was turning out… only to find that it had not turned out at all. The picture she had taken was absolutely distorted, streaks of brown and two yellow lights that were smeared in all directions, as if he was moving rapidly in many different ways all at once.

But he hadn’t moved at all, standing placidly before her. She tried again. Click. More streaks and blurs, and what vaguely might have been his smiling mouth. It seemed that getting picture evidence was not going to be so easy after all. She turned it to video, and was greeted once more with nothing but a distorted warp field around his form…which dissipated when she aimed the camera away from him. But focusing on him was going to be impossible. This might be harder than she’d thought.

And Jamie seemed to be growing impatient while she stupidly fumbled with her phone. He rocked back and forth on his broken-parts peg leg and his bare foot, watching her. His glowing lenses clicked down occasionally, and she noticed he kept looking at the stained red part of her shirt. That was fine enough. Perhaps he was curious, or worried. What was not fine was when he started to reach out one filthy leather glove, stretching long fingers towards her wounded ribs.

“Red.”

That was a little too much, and Mei lowered her camera and shied away, taking a step back. “Oh! Y-yes, it’s red. I told you, I fell down and scratched myself pretty bad, I’ll have to clean it up when I get back.” She bit down a bit into her lower lip, curiosity lifting its head. He seemed so interested in its color. Maybe it was unusual to him? “Jamie, do you have any red? Are you like a human, where you can bleed? Red?”

He thought for a moment, lifting one gloved finger. Then pointed down to the ground, staring straight at her.

She looked to where he was pointing, but saw nothing. Just the dry grass. “Oh, is that…Sorry, are you trying to show me something?” She tried looking, adjusting her glasses and leaning closer, but still nothing. Grass and dirt. “I’m sorry, I don’t see anything.”

“Red.” He pointed down again.

The grass was definitely not red, and that prickling and unpleasant feeling was back. Something that told her that this topic was not something she wanted to pursue further. Not with…him. So she just nodded. “Okay. Maybe I can look another time! H-how about you tell me about yourself, Jamie? Maybe you can tell me what you are, first? Since you’re not a human, do you have a name?”

“Jamie.”

“Yes, but- I mean your other name, the name of what you are? Your species? Or, maybe you can tell me what you’re doing here? How long you’ve been here?”

“A…long time. Waiting.”

That got her attention. So he had a purpose- some sort of goal. “Oh? Can you tell me what you’re waiting for, Jamie?”

“To be over. No. Over?” Once again, the scarecrow seemed to be having a bit of trouble getting his thoughts in order, and the apparently challenge of verbalizing them. It jerked to one side, head rustling as it turned, looking up at the darkening sky as if searching for words that it could not find. “Over. Over. Under? No…!”

“That’s okay,” she said, trying to be soothing as she saw his frustrations grow. She definitely did not want him to become upset. “That’s okay, we can talk about that later, all right? It’s fine. Has it been a while since anyone has been out here to talk to you?”

He nodded, wrapping long, long arms around himself in what might have been a rather pathetic gesture if it had been on anyone else. Even then, despite his frightening countenance, she felt a tinge of pity. Even if he was unnerving, she could recognize loneliness when she saw it. Perhaps that was even an explanation as to his strange behavior and manner of speech. Maybe it had been so long that he’d forgotten how to talk to people.

“That’s a shame. Both you and Mr. Rutledge are out here so far away from everyone else, and you’re not talking to one another. Is it okay if I ask why?” She almost reached out to him, but thought better of it, clutching her phone instead. “When was the last time you spoke to him?”

Jamie thought things over once more, then leaned down with one arm, holding out one hand somewhere above his knee, wavering a little. “Little boy. Little fat boy.”

Instinctively, she narrowed her eyes at the insult, scolding before she could stop herself. “Jamie!”

He looked somewhat taken aback, the lights cutting off as he ‘blinked’ at her.

“I’m sorry, it’s just…we shouldn’t say those sorts of things about someone. That’s rude.”

“That’s rude,” he echoed, clearly not understanding. “That’s rude!”

She shook her head, deciding to let it go. He was having trouble using his words enough, and now was no time to spring a lesson on manners on him. Again, she could not risk upsetting him. For her research, and for her own safety. He was just a little too interested in the concept of her blood for her to let her guard down. She still had no idea what she was dealing with, and unfortunately, he did not seem to be able to answer her yet.

‘Yet’. He was still talking to her, able to speak and form sentences and he understood humor- albeit a warped form of it that made her a little uncomfortable. Maybe he just needed to be socialized with more, and then she could get more out of him…maybe even find a way to record him somehow or get evidence of his existence out to the proper academic channels. And if this Jamie had been out here for almost half a century, alone, maybe the poor thing would appreciate having company again.

It would do neither him nor Mr. Rutledge any good if she suddenly had news vans and paranormal investigators sweeping across the farm like locusts, disturbing the way of things here. It had taken her so long just to coax him out of the flowers, and he seemed to… like her? In his own strange and maybe slightly disturbing way. It had been cute when she had known him as a bee, or a scribble on a paper, or a flower on a windowsill. But the gangly scarecrow, if that even was his real form or just another one of his affectations or guises, had to be approached carefully.

“So the last time you and he talked, he was a little boy? That must have been a long time ago. Has anyone else come to see you since then?” she asked, leaning back very slowly as he bent down to look at her again. She just needed to keep her cool. Nothing to be afraid of. He was a little spooky, but nothing to be afraid of. Yet.

“You’re here,” he pointed out, mask still smiling widely as ever. “Mei.”

“That’s true. Still, that’s an awfully long time to be alone. Are you okay out here, on your own?”

He looked at her more sharply, the glass lenses of his masks clicking. And for a moment he seemed…Well, she wasn’t entirely sure. He seemed affected by such a simple question, maybe even a little choked up. “Sweet sweet girl, Mei. No, not alone. Look. Look!”

His gangly form moved so quickly that she almost didn’t see it. There was a blur of dull color, almost like when she was trying to take his picture, and then he was suddenly behind her, and leaning down with his arms open. She froze up, body going stiff as a corpse, and her eyes widening behind her glasses. The stench of old straw was thick enough to choke her at such close range, and there was something else behind that…some other smell she couldn’t yet put her finger on. And she could not stop to wonder, as his arm looped around her almost as if to embrace her, but not touching.

A gloved hand rested in front of her face, spreading trembling digits. She did nothing, said nothing- fairly sure that even her heart had stopped beating. There was a faint buzzing sound in her ears, and she wondered if he was laughing at her again. But then the buzzing got closer, and it was accompanied by a yellow and black striped body that landed on his outstretched fingers. Then another, and another. For a moment, she thought them to be bees, but a quick glance proved otherwise.

They were too long, too shiny, and too dangerous looking. Wasps. Several of them, clinging to his glove. He was holding a hand full of wasps right in front of her face.

“See!” he gleefully whispered behind her.

Bravery in the face of the unknown was one thing. At least there, there was some uncertainty. But she knew what wasps were. She knew what wasps did, and this time she couldn’t stop herself. She screamed, jolting backward, felt her hurt back brush the front of his tattered overalls. So she jolted forward, almost into the wasps, and then finally managed to duck and stagger out from under his spindly arms, spinning in a stupid little circle as she fled to a safer few steps away.

Jamie just stared at her, and with his masked visage and lack of expressions, she had no idea if he was angry, or amused, or offended, or anything else. He slowly stretched back upright, still holding the wasps clinging to one hand, skittering over him with their skinny little legs moving their striped bodies all over. Fortunately, he did not offer them to her again, and seemed perhaps a little confused if anything.

“Mei?”

“Y-you scared me, is all. Those are wasps, and I don’t want to get stung.”

“No. No, they won’t. My friends. Your friends. Mine yours.”

“So you’re ‘friends’ with insects around here? The bees and wasps and flies and everything? M-may I ask how?” Her nerves were still shot from having a fistful of wasps almost pressed against her nose, heart still thudding. “And…you won’t let them sting me, right?”

“Sweet, nice, never! Tell them not to.”

“Well that’s…that’s good to know?” she answered nervously. Honeybees were one thing. Wild wasps were entirely another. “I guess I’ve never met anyone who can talk to insects, much less ask them to do things. I know you can speak to the bees. In fact, I bet there’s so much we can learn from you, Jamie. About the bees and everything else. I was learning all about the honey around here, too. If you asked Mr. Rutledge’s bees to pollinate these sunflowers, you m-”

“NO!”

Yellow blared bright in her vision, blinding her. He was suddenly in front of her again, and she nearly fell right back on her rump. But he lifted out of her face a moment later, limping a few steps away to face the field of sunflowers. The wasps crawled up and down the stitches on his arm.

“Those…are mine…” he said. And for once it was not a string of words trying to escape him as he got his thoughts in order, it was a full sentence with clear intent and meaning, downright threatening.

Mei dared not say anything for a long while, and her voice was a little watery when she spoke up again. “I…I’m sorry? I can give you back the flower you gave me? I didn’t mean to try taking one before, I didn’t know…”

“No. No, that one, for you.” He turned back upon her, seemingly cheerful again. Hobbling back over, he once more slouched down to her level, his masked visage grinning. As she watched, one of the wasps crawled into the stitched hole that was his mouth, and did not emerge. He took no notice, his echoing voice continuing. “Only for you. Not him.”

“Y-you mean Mr. Rutledge? I don’t understand, Jamie. Why is it you’re so angry at him? You said he was just a little boy when you met.”

“Not a little boy. Not anymore. Big. Dangerous.”

She frowned. “Well he is quite a bit larger than a lot of people. And he’s not what I would call friendly. But he’s been as kind as he can be to me, since I arrived. He’s a lonely man, but he’s certainly not dangerous.” She paused, biting into her lip. “Er…is he? Dangerous? Why would you say that?”

A shudder passed through his gangly body, and the insects clinging to him went buzzing off in all directions, one of the wasps circling around her head before it flew away. She winced and shut her eyes, though they sprang open again a moment later when there was a very brief pressure atop her head. The lightest touch of a filthy glove, pressing down and then lifting away. He had just patted her like a dog, seemingly trying to be comforting despite her feeling very much the opposite of comforted.

“Won’t let it happen to you. Mei. Keep you…safe.”

“Let what happen to me? Jamie, please, if I’m in danger, you have to try and tell me why.”

“Don’t believe them...”

“You mean Mr. Rutledge? Don’t believe him about what?” Frustration and alarm was starting to take over her nerves, only precariously held in check. “I don’t know what you’re trying to tell me. Please, can you try and elaborate? Does Mr. Rutledge want to hurt me? Should I leave?”

“No! No don’t leave!” He whirled around on her once more. “No! No, keep you safe. Don’t leave.”

Despite his frantic reassurances, a quick glance past him and up at the sky belied that she did actually have to leave. The sun was down and the night would soon truly be upon her. Already the last rays were starting to fade from orange to purple, and there was absolutely no way that she intended to stay out here after dark. No matter the scarecrow’s intentions, she couldn’t even fathom the thought. His glowing yellow eyes were already looking more and more eerie as the shadows grew darker around them.

Problem being, she was no long sure if she would be safe back at the house either. Jamie either wouldn’t or couldn’t tell her what the threat seemed to be, or why he was so at odds with Mr. Rutledge despite acknowledging that he had only known him as a young child. And even though he was not the most gentlemanly of people, she had a hard time imagining him as the sort that would lure young women to his farm and then feed them to his pigs….Right? Surely not…?

She took a deep breath, clasping both hands. “Jamie…If I go back to the house, will I be safe?”

“Yes. Yes, safe, don’t worry.”

“Okay. Then I’m going to head back, but-” she held up a hand when he started towards her, as if alarmed about the prospect of her leaving. “But! Just back to the house. I’m going to come back as soon as I can. Hopefully soon. I’ll come back. But for now I need to wash all this blood off m-”

“Red.”

“Yes, red. I need to wash off and clean up these scratches. And then I’m going to look into some things. And then maybe next time, you and I can have more time to talk and you can tell me more about you, and Mr. Rutledge, and your flowers, and everything else. Because I’m going to be safe, right? You’re sure?”

“Sweet, safe, Mei.”

“Okay. Okay.” She inhaled deeply, trying to soothe her frazzled nerves. “Then…Have a good night, Jamie. I’ll be back soon, okay?”

“Soon.” He said it firmly, both a demand and a promise., tilting his masked head one way and then the other.

She nodded one last time, then shouldered her bag and started off on a brisk pace back across the field and back to the footpath that would lead her back to the house. One last glance back towards the sunflowers saw that Jamie was already gone, though she couldn’t be sure where. Her head was buzzing with thoughts. She had come to get evidence and answers, and was leaving with uselessly smeared blurry pictures and more questions than ever.

Jamie hadn’t exactly been forthcoming, but she couldn’t blame him. He was not a person like her, seemed to have trouble getting himself in order, and had earnestly seemed to be trying to converse with her, as much as he could. But she still had no idea as to what he was, or what the interference was when she tried to get him on film.

Plus, there was now the concern that he seemed to think Mr. Rutledge was dangerous in some way. The odd entity seemed intent on keeping her ‘safe’, but she had no idea from what. And something about not believing them? Although he had said ‘them’, which was confusing in itself. What wasn’t she supposed to believe? And what exactly were Jamie’s methods for keeping her ‘safe’?

And she reached the outskirts of the farmhouse proper, there was another important question.

How was she supposed to get back up to her room?

Both doors opened to the main hallway, and she could see the blue glow of the TV playing through the window. The screen doors were not exactly quiet, and the wooden doors had squeaky hinges. He would definitely see her try to sneak in if she tried to use the stairwell. He didn’t lock the doors at night, so maybe it was better to just wait and try to sneak in after he had gone to bed? Although…that would be hours from now, and her ribs hurt and she felt awfully exposed out here, wrapping her arms around herself and looking about in a rather lost way. Even if the room wasn’t technically hers, it was a sort of safe haven for her, and she wished she was inside it. Maybe then she actually would feel ‘safe’.

She paced out in the backyard, trying to sort out the mess inside her head as the dark closed in around her. The nightly chorus began their song; crickets and frogs shrieking from the direction of the half-dried pond, and somewhere an owl was hooting. The fireflies were also out in force, their tiny yellow lights blinking all over, mimicking the little pinpricks of light where the dazzling stars were starting to appear one by one in the sky.

It would have been a lovely evening if she wasn’t stuck outside in it.

Something buzzed, and she waved a hand against any errant mosquito. But it wasn’t the keening whine of a bloodsucking pest, it was the buzz of a flying insect. A bee? The little insect flitted past her, then hovered in the air, and she frowned. It was not a bee, but a wasp. Likely sent after her by her watcher in the fields.

Casting a nervous glance at the window where the TV lights still flashed, she lowered her voice. “Jamie, it’s okay. I’m fine, see? I’m safe. I just…I guess I just need to wait until I can get back inside, since I broke the trellis to the window?”

The wasp buzzed closer to her, and she reeled back. Halting in the air, it spun in a circle, flew a distance off, then turned and waited on her. Sighing, she followed. It led her towards the back porch, to the back the house, and where one of the shrubs was still a little flattened on one side where she had landed on it. Oof. Hopefully Mr. Rutledge wouldn’t notice that?

The buzzing sounded again by the broken wires of the trellis, and then there was a different noise. A sort of rustling? It sounded like leaves in a breeze, but there was no breeze tonight. No relief from the stifling heat. And it was constant, almost like something was moving in the flowers? It was hard to tell in the dim light, but after a few moments of inspection, she realized that there was nothing moving in the flowers. It was the flowers themselves, moving.

Before her very eyes, the morning glory vines were shifting. Slowly, but surely, they were moving on their own. Slithering up as a living thing, their gnarled vine roots clutched at the broken wires where her foot had gone through, weaving themselves over each other. She watched, wide-eyed, as they spun themselves thicker, cheery little blue flowers dragged along for the ride. The metal wire of the trellis had been dragged back into place, reinforced with the vines, and now gave her a path back up to her window.

Well, that was…admittedly, a little wondrous to behold. It seemed that Jamie, whatever he was, had more tricks up his sleeves than just insects. Shaking away her awe, she looked for his latest messenger. It was only polite to thank him, after all.

“Jamie? Where are you? I mean, where’s your…You know. If you can hear me, thank you.”

There was a buzzing noise somewhere down by her feet. She almost jumped a little, but clicked on her phone. She was standing in the flattened area where she had fallen, and there was the wasp from before…standing with its head and antennae waving furiously, inspecting and circling around a collection of dark speckles on the dirt, right where she had landed. Blood. It had found where her blood had seeped into the ground.

Red.

She almost could hear him saying it, though she shook her head clear and stepped away quickly. Mounting the once-broken trellis, she began the laborious process of climbing. To her surprise, it was easier climbing up than climbing down, and the wires- now reinforced and knitted with morning glory- held fast. It was a bit of a squirm to get onto the roof proper, and it scraped her ribs and made them hurt, but with one last heave, she pulled herself up, carefully standing and throwing out both arms in a balancing act as she walked the slope back to her window.

Tossing her bag inside with a little thud, she hefted herself up and crawled through. It was just as she had left it, with her lamp glowing a warm welcome and the cold bowl of dinner noodles right where she had left it. With a relieved sigh, she took in a shuddering few breaths. Safe. Well, not entirely safe. The gifted sunflower was still bright and cheery as ever in its vase full of water, and she could swear that somehow its very presence meant he was still watching her.

A pang from her ribs reminded her of more important matters, and she headed for her bathroom, clicking on the pink-tinted antique light above. Rifling through her medicine cabinet, she came upon a collection of cotton balls, peroxide, and slightly out-of-date anti-infective creams. Hiking up her bloodstained shirt and bra, she examined herself in the mirror.

Owch. No wonder it had been aching all evening. The scratches were worse than she’d thought, and her entire side was smeared with crimson. Wetting the cotton and wiping it away, she saw the telltale magenta marks that were sure to deepen to blue and purple bruises as the blood settled beneath her skin. Nothing to be done for those. Instead she focused on the jagged cuts, hissing a breath as the foaming ichor cleaned over the open pink beneath.

Slapping on an entire collection of band-aid adhesives over the worst of them and splashing her sweaty face with water, she peeled off her ruined t-shirt and tossed it away, pulling on her fresh pajamas. Even that made her feel so much better, no matter how chaotic her thoughts. She returned to her bedroom, grabbing her cold bowl of noodles along the way, pulling out her notebook and her collection of drawings, and her cracked phone with the useless blurred photos. Snatching up a pencil, she began writing, going over their questions and conversations as best she could remember, while it was still fresh.

With her chopsticks in one hand and her pen in the other, she started recording the night’s happenings. And there had been quite a few. She had been left with more questions than answers, more confusion, and more danger than before. This farm was a veritable treasure trove of discoveries to be made, and she had barely scratched the surface. She just hoped that as she dug, she wouldn’t find murdered chickens or deadly buried secrets along the way.

He had promised to keep her safe, but from what? Could Mr. Rutledge be trusted? Then again, could Jamie? She knew so little about either of them. What else did Jamie know, and what was he ‘remembering’? What was Mr. Rutledge hiding from her? She would need to get information out of both of them. Carefully. She still had a lot to do.

Glancing up, she eyed the sunflower on her dresser, listening to the faint thrumming base of the television playing in the den below her, barely audible over the shrieking choir of the summer night.

Starting tomorrow, it was time to start digging.