Haunting Me (Chap. 5)

Haunting Me: Y/N is a normal young adult living in New York, but little does she know that she’s a reincarnation of the long lost Bucky Barnes’ fiance from the 1940′s. What happens when she runs into Steve in 2012? Most importantly, what happens when she runs into The Winter Soldier?

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x POC Reader

Warnings: Mentions of racism. Flashbacks. Angst.

Since the little occurrence at the motel twenty four hours ago, you’ve been held in the Stark tower and interrogated by Alexander Pierce himself. He was convinced that you were working with Bucky and conspiring with him on multiple terrorist attacks, which was highly untrue. You had a perfectly clean record; you hadn’t even missed a single day of school until now, so the thought of you having anything to do with The Winter Soldier and Hydra was complete bullshit according to Nick Fury.

He was there the entire time as well, countering every little accusation that Pierce threw at you with hard facts. Every attack that had happened in the last few months happened while you were seeing by numerous people on the other side of the city. Hell, even your professor confirmed your whereabouts on those dates, but that didn’t stop Pierce from threatening you.

“I think we’re forgetting that she was kidnapped,” Fury spoke as he crossed his arms. “And held hostage for an entire day and a half. There were multiple witnesses that saw him not only chasing her, but abducting her as well.”

“Which is why I believe she knows something,” Pierce countered, peering over at you with a frustrated scowl. “Why on earth would Hydra’s top assassin go absolutely haywire and kidnap this random woman? Why her? What made him act that way?”

You rolled your eyes and took another sip of your coffee. You were beyond exhausted and wanted nothing more than to crawl into your bed and sleep forever. You hoped and prayed that Bucky would magically appear in your apartment, but you knew the chances were slim to none.

“Can I leave now?” you asked, your eyes staring at the metal table below you.

“No,” Pierce spoke briefly, before standing from the chair. Without another word, he left the room, slamming the door shut behind him.

“Look, kid,” Fury sighed as he sat in the empty chair across from you. He rubbed his temples with his fingertips. “Did the guy mention anything to you? Where he was going or anything like that?”

You shook your head, feeling the familiar burn of tears threating to form in your eyes. “No,” you answered, swallowing the lump in your throat. He didn’t mention anything. You both were pretty preoccupied before Steve popped up, but you completely left those intimate parts out. You didn’t exactly fancy talking about your sexual escapades with random people.

“Alright,” he nodded, giving you a tight smile as he stood from the chair. “We’re gonna have you fill out some paperwork and you’ll be on your way. I’ll send Rogers in here; he’s dying to talk to you.”  

You nodded, giving him a small smile. However, on the inside, you were screaming. You had so many bones to pick with Steve at the moment; you wanted all of your questions answered immediately.

A few minutes after Fury excused himself, the door squeaked open and you heard the familiar sound of a shield being set down against the floor. The sound of a chair scraping against the floor filled the room, followed by a deep sigh.

“Did you know?” you asked, avoiding his eyes.

After a long, pregnant pause he answered.


“How long?” you demanded.

“The entire time,” he admitted, his eyes filled with sadness. You scoffed.

“You knew me,” you confirmed. “The old me. Jane.”

Steve’s eyes lit up as soon as he heard the name fell from your lips. He nodded once again, sniffling softly. You looked over at him, expecting him to be in tears of sadness, but instead, you found him smiling. You looked down at the manila folder in his hands curiously, your eyes flickering back to him.

“What’s that?” you asked warily.

Steve placed the folder down on the table and gently slid it towards you.

“It’s your life, Y/N.” He replied. You inhaled deeply as you opened the folder.

Inside there was a giant older photo of you, smiling brightly. It looked as though it was taken in one of those old school photo booths from the Coney Island carnivals. Your hair was curled in the typical 1940’s fashion, your lips dark with the red lipstick you always wore. Your dress was a deep red with little white polka dots. Beside you was Bucky. He grinned that same dorky grin from your memory as he wrapped his arm around your shoulder and leaned his head against yours. He looked so happy and full of life.

You both did.

“What happened to me?” you asked, feeling the tears run down your cheeks.  

“In 1943, you were diagnosed with lung cancer from second hand smoke. You died six months later.” Steve replied, blinking away his own tears that threatened to fall.

The next photo was one of the three of you. Steve was in the middle, with you and Bucky on either sides of him, holding up what looked to be a birthday cake. You let out a small laugh at the sight of tiny, pre-serum Steve with a party hat perched on his head. The three of you looked as though you were laughing hysterically, enjoying each other’s company.

You flipped over to the third photo, which was a black and white picture. It was taken at the beach this time. Only, instead of Bucky or Steve, your arm was wrapped around a very beautiful and much younger brunette and vice versa. She was holding a lollipop in her hand, her head resting on your shoulder as she grinned. You squinted as you took in her features. She was familiar, but not enough to ring any bells.

“Who is this?” you asked, picking the photo up.

“That’s Rebecca Barnes, Bucky’s younger sister.” Steve answered, smiling sheepishly. “That was taken on the day you both met for the first time. Bucky took the picture.”

You felt your head ache once again, and this time, you didn’t fight it.


“Okay, dolls,” Bucky laughed as he peered into the camera and aimed it at the two of you. “Make sure you actually look this time, this film is expensive as hell.”

Usually, people didn’t lean in too close to you. They usually awkwardly stood beside as if they were forced by some invisible threat. No one liked taking pictures with colored people, and that instantly sent a wave of anxiety through you. But to your surprise, Rebecca scooted as close to you as possible and flung her arm over your shoulders. She rested her head on your shoulder and grinned.

You swore you felt your heart nearly fly out of your chest. Nevertheless, you found yourself smiling like an idiot at the camera.

“Okay you two,” he exclaimed. “On three!”

You both stood as still as possible as he pressed the button, causing the giant flash to temporarily blind you both. You giggled as you rubbed your eyes, trying to rid your sight of the little dark spots that swarmed your vision.

But just as you set your hands down, you felt Rebecca lean in close to your ear and cup her hands around her mouth, her eyes flickering over to Bucky as he fiddled with the camera.  

“I’m so glad I met you, Jane!” she whispered with a smile. “I’ve always wanted a sister!”

“Y/N?” Steve repeated, this time his voice was a bit louder. You blinked, shaking your head.

“I remember!” you breathed, peering back up at a highly concerned Steve as he stared back at you in confusion. “She told me a secret that day.”

“I know,” Steve chuckled as he took the photo from your hand and stared down at it. “You wouldn’t stop talking about it for days. It took you an entire week for you to finally shut up.”

You both let out a laugh, a genuine laugh that held no type of ill feelings or nervousness.


You found out a whole lot about yourself the past two years.

Your name was Jane Collins; you lived with your younger sister, June. You grew up in New York City with your family. You wanted to become an actress like your idol, Judy Garland. You absolutely loved polka dot dresses and worked at an ice cream shop named Lucy’s, where you met Bucky in 1939.

Out of all the things you couldn’t stand, you absolutely hated cigarettes. The mere smell of them made you automatically nauseous, which was so ironic, seeing as you ended up addicted to them in this life.

However, as you began regaining memories, you began to wonder if Y/N Y/L/N was even a real person anymore. Should you go by your new name in this life, or should you be Jane? You were so confused.

“Your life now is a fresh start,” Natasha told you one day as you both met for lunch. The sun shined down on her fiery red hair, giving you a perfect muse to draw later. “Sometimes it’s best to leave the past in the past.”

Those words struck you like a cord. She was right. As much as you wanted to be Jane for Steve, you weren’t that woman anymore. Sure, it would cause comfort for him, but you were you. You had to live in the moment and be who yourself.

Ever since you found out your true nature, Steve began bringing you around the tower more often. You quickly formed a friendship with everyone, especially Wanda, who was intrigued by your story the most. You began to think of the Avengers as a little second family.

You spent your days attending school, trying to focus on your career and your studies. But no matter what, your thoughts always went back to the same man, Bucky Barnes. Where was he? Was he safe? You prayed he was.

Natasha had tried to set you up with a few men here and there, but you found yourself denying them each time. It wasn’t out of spite or anything, you just…weren’t interested. Truth be told, you weren’t interested in anyone else than a certain brown haired super soldier. You knew it was childish, but you didn’t care anymore. You wanted to see him again, and if that meant waiting around like a crazy cat lady, so be it. Steve tried to tell you how unrealistic that was, but you only responded by raising your fuzzy sock covered foot and giving him a gentle kick to the face, sending him flying off your couch.


You made your way up the final stair case in exhaustion. Your hands were occupied by your large, freshly dried canvas that you would be turning in for your final tomorrow. This would be your final project before graduation and you had to make sure it was perfect, even if that meant staying up until five am like you did the night before.

When you approached your door, fishing your keys out of your coat pocket, you froze.

Your door was open.

Sometimes, you tended to rush as you left and forgot simple things, but not once had you forgotten to lock your door –much less forgetting to close it. You gently pushed the door open, wincing as it squeaked loudly. That was the worst idea ever.

You peeked inside your darkened living room. Everything looked exactly the same; nothing was missing from what you could tell. You took a wary step into the room, setting your canvas down against the wall and pulling out your small stun gun that Tony had given you for your birthday this year.

You found it extremely odd that someone would break in, only to leave everything there and not take anything. You made your way into your bedroom, kicking the door open and peeking inside. Nothing. Not even the light was on. You turned around and made your way into the second room in your apartment, which was strictly used for your paintings.

Immediately, you began to panic. What if someone from school vandalized your paintings? You had an entire year’s worth of work in there; most of it was going into the gallery as well. You felt your heart race as you neared the door, which was slightly ajar. Completely not how you left it.  With a deep breath, you opened the door.

And you felt your heart drop into your stomach.

“W-What the fuck?” you breathed, your eyes filling with tears.

You watched as a very normal Bucky Barnes turned around and looked into your eyes. Instead of the cold, dead ones you came in contact with two years ago, you were faced with two lively, ocean blue orbs. They were beautiful, even more than you remembered.

“Hello, Y/N,” he spoke, his eyes staring into yours. 

You blinked, unable to form any coherent sentences.



Tag list of super awesome people!

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New York in the 1950s

From top to bottom;

1) Model Drusilla Beyfus, 1956. By Eve Arnold.

2) Manhattan,1953. By Werner Bischof.

3) Fashion model in front of “Devil in the Flesh” poster, 1950. By George Platt Lynes.

4) New York City food stand in the 1950s. By Ruth Orkin.

5) James Dean in New York City, 1954. By Roy Schatt.

6) Harlem, 1955. By William Klein.

7) NYC, 1950s. By Saul Leiter.

8) Street scene, 1955. By Elliot Erwitt.

9) Coney Island Photo Booth, 1953. By Raymond Jacobs.

10) Turkish bellydancer Nejla Ateş at The Latin Quarter night club, 1953.  Lou Walters had a rule that all his female performers, whether star dancer or chorine, had to wear pasties. By Yale Joel.

Slight Smut

1. "The skirt is suppose to be this short.“  15. "Well, you’re coming home with me whether you like it or not."  14. "Take. It. Off."  41. "You’re going out dressed like that?” HAPPY

It was a girls night out and I couldn’t wait to get to the bar. Even if it was just to sit in a booth nursing a Long Island Ice Tea, I’d be glad.

My outfit of choice was something cute, but not too revealing. I work a black tank top with a flowy black skirt (the kind you see girls wearing at the beach) that came just below the tip of my thumb and a cardigan.

It was quite comfortable. I checked myself out in the full length mirror and saw Happy standing in the doorway with his arms folded.

“You’re going out dressed like that?” He asked.

Oooh, someone was in a mood.

I looked down at myself, “There’s nothing wrong with this… I dress like this all the time.” I told him.

“Your skirts too short.” He grumbled, walking around me.

I rolled my eyes to the ceiling, “It’s supposed to be this short.”

He shook his head.

“Look Hap, if you’re trying to pick a fight, it won’t work, so just lay off.” I said, grabbing my bag.

I left him standing there, seething.
We were having a good time, drinking and telling raunchy jokes when one of the girls paused.

“Who is that?” She asked, dreamily.

I looked up and saw my Old Man stalking his way to my table.

“Shit, it’s my Old Man.”

“Ahhh, shit. I bet he’s awesome in bed.” Another commented.

“You have no idea.” I muttered, getting out of the booth.

“Let’s go baby girl, time to go home.” He demaned.

I gaped at him, “No Hap, I’m not!”

“Well you’re coming home with me whether you like it or not.”

He grabbed my purse from my seat and my hand, practically dragging me from the bar.
I threw my purse on the table when we got home. I was so pissed off that I wanted to punch something.

I even stomped my way to the bedroom, Happy close on my heels.

“Take it off, baby girl.” He said, taking his shirt and shoes off.

“No.” I told him, watching his muscles ripple.

He got all in my personal space, “Take. It. Off.”

“No.” I said, squinting my eyes.

He growled, pinning my arms behind my back as he walked me backwards to the bed.

There, he sat and put me over his leg, my bottom high in the air.

I wiggled and kicked, “Quit it Hap. I mean it!”

He lifted my skirt and landed a sharp slap to my pantie clad behind.

I gasped, wiggling more. “Not funny!” I fussed.

While keeping my hands pinned, he pulled down my skirt and panties.

“Who’s laughing?” He asked.

Another sharp slap to my bare bottom had me flinching. It stung, but it felt good in a way.

He slapped me a couple more times, then rubbed away the sting. Slowly, he dipped his finger into me, spreading the wetness all over me.

I moaned into the comforter as he pumped his finger slowly. He added a second finger, wiggling them.

“Hap, please.” I moaned louder.

A sharp slap, “Please what baby girl?” He fingered me again.

“Please, I need you!”

He flipped me over onto my back and loomed over me.

“You’re damn right you need me, baby girl.” He said, right before he kissed me.

Jealous sex with Happy was an experience I will never forget.

This photo was taken on Booth Island (Google Map), looking into Pleneau Bay, Antarctic Peninsula. This is where polar explorer Jean-Baptiste Charcot overwintered in 1904 during his French Antarctic Expedition. He was known for sitting on the ice drinking wine and eating cheese - awesome dude. Left here are the remains of a cairn and an observatory, where a break in the “window” perfectly frames Mount Francais, named for Charcot’s ship. There is also an “F” scratched into the sheer rock which leads up to the cairn. 

There’s a story about this photo. When I took it, I could not tell what the orange object was to the right of the fur seal. I squinted, tried to zoom in on it and decided it must be a glove. Only when I got back to the ship to edit did I realize it was the remains of a penguin, sitting perfectly on the rock, possibly eaten by this very fur seal.

The other part of the story is about this day in particular, which stands out as the craziest of my season. It was the 2nd to last trip and the weather had been simply horrid. 4 days of cancelled landings, blizzards, hurricane-force winds. We saw a brief break in the weather and decided to make a go for it at Booth Island, with the agreement among the staff, crew and bridge that if the winds picked up over 45 knots we would hear blows of the ship’s horn and leave shore immediately. I hopped in a Zodiac to be a driver for the operation (with a quick trip to shore to take a few photos), and winds quickly picked up. 45 knots, 50 knots, 55 knots. You can see in this photo that we had 2 anchors down, which is rarely done. It was the only way our bridge team could hold our position. Within 45 minutes, the ship blew its horn but it was so windy none of us could hear it. We knew what had to be done though. The shore team herded our guests back to the landing site and us drivers prepared to shuttle them back to the ship, with waves crashing up to our bows and the type of wind that slices right through you. Goggles on, balaclava up, not a single sliver of skin exposed.

I got my first set of 10 guests in my boat, reversed out from shore and began the journey back to the ship. We were soaked immediately, huge swells, I could barely keep my tiller straight, not to mention maintaining my balance. I saw legitimate fear in the eyes of a few of my guests. It was difficult but I was focused and calm, the only thing I needed to do was get these people back to the ship safely. The most difficult part of a Zodiac ride in poor weather is the gangway approach, where you pull your boat up to the side of the ship, next to a metal structure with stairs. As I approached 3 times, the wind and swells spun my boat around so I was facing in the completely wrong direction. Any way, we finally made it, safely, and I got a big cheer from my guests as they hurried up the gangway and into the warmth of the mud room. 

Arnell, one of the able-bodied seaman who mans the gangway grabbed me by the shoulders to give me a warning for my return trip to shore, he said “Lauren, you must go slow into the wind.” I knew this, but I had also never driven in 55 knot winds, gusting up to 65. The drive back to shore, with an empty Zodiac, straight into the wind was fairly terrifying and I knew that I didn’t have the experience for it. I did make it back to shore and swapped out with my Expedition Leader so he could continue shuttling, which was the smartest decision I made this season. 

Quite the adventure though. When all the staff were safely back on the ship there were plenty of hugs and high-fives to go around.


Hey friends! I’ll be at Emerald City Comic Con in sunny Seattle this weekend with my good friend and studio/house mate Abby Howard. We will be sitting at the Periscope Studio Island of Booths at Booth 1214. I’ll have stickers, postcards, pins and live sketching at the table, so I hope to see as many of you as possible! I’m also excited to say we’ll be seated right next to Erika Moen, who I will be speaking with on the Freelance Like a Rockstar panel:

-PANEL: Freelance Like a Rockstar
March 30, 4:00pm – 4:50pm, ROOM 2B
Do you fantasize about being self-employed but you just don’t even know where to start? Shh, shh, little friend, no more tears – this group of seasoned pros is here to share their hard-won knowledge with you so you can freelance like a rock star, too.

Bronycon Response Breakdown

So I’m going to highlight the fine examples of why vendors are upset and nervous to complain about anything, and I didn’t make any of it up because you guys can see it clear as day out in the open the very same attitude we’ve been getting the past few years.

The best part is, they removed the original post.

But I have it reblogged so it’s stuck there, sorry pal, you’re not going to hide your asinine attitude that easily.

So let’s take a look at this trainwreck of a post and the unprofessional and often degrading tone it uses in response to vendors with legitimate complaints:

  •  Unfortunately, the “deafening silence” that you mentioned was simply that the changes that we are working on behind the scenes haven’t been finished yet.

I’m bolding those little condescending terms and words they shouldn’t have used. Sarcastic quotations and using the word ‘simply’ is an attempt to minimize the issue and make it seem like we’re the ones making a big deal over this and that it’s ‘not that bad’.

  • A lot of the problems reported to us for 2015, both anonymously and otherwise, relate to things that are either completely unrelated to us or completely out of our control.

Nice job throwing away your responsibilities and blaming the brunt of it on others.

  •  Yes, the lighting in the Artist Alley was dimmer than the rest of the hall, but there was little that we could have done about that.

More like: you were too fucking lazy to bother to find a solution to that, like investing in, oh, I dunno, some cheap lamps or strings of lights or something. A quick walmart run, 3-4 floor lamps? That’s not that hard or expensive. And it would have already made a world of difference. Also you should have checked the lighting ahead of time, you should have made your artists aware that that area would be dim, then they could have maybe had a chance to prepare some alternative lighting in their booths or something. 

  • We could have removed several booths to add in spotlights, (an actual suggestion made to me), but that would have been at tremendous financial cost to us and at the loss of having to kick out a few vendors.

“See this is the ooonly solution we had but you guys don’t want that, dooo yoooou? You guys WANT to have more booths right? So let’s just threaten you with the one thing you don’t want and pretend it’s the only solution so you get off our backs about it! Because clearly we’re just thinking about you guys.

Out of all the solutions we could have suggested, our solution is to kick you out. Why are you so afraid of communicating with us? Dhuur I dunno.”

  • We charged $290, knowing that those booths bringing in more (islands, corners, endcaps) would cover the difference.

Let’s just make bullshit assumptions and raise a price based on nothing more than placement and assume it’ll make up for the costs of one small factor in the overall cost of what a vendor has to spend to sell at the convention. Let’s just totally disregard that they have to make up the difference not just for table cost, but hotel, food, supplies, and whatever high priced added fees they might have had to spend on top of that.

  • I’ve had several people ask why we didn’t use the PA system and instead used bullhorns. That is also simple: the BCC does not have a PA system.



Amplifying microphones aren’t that costly. Get your shit together. Bullhorns are blunt, loud, sudden, and can cause a lot of stress because of this. It’s a very forceful, loud method and it only makes it feel like we’re being herded around or rushed out. There are PLENTY of ways to amplify your volume that don’t include bullhorns. Hell, whistles would have been less degrading than that.

  • I want to address a common misconception. Our department does not put vendors first. It can’t. We put the attendees first. Without them, there is no BronyCon. Then comes our vendors.

VENDORS ARE ATTENDEES. HIGH PAYING ATTENDEES, IN FACT. I’m so glad you see us as LESS than normal attendees even though typically, Vendors are supposed to be almost as important as staff because they are technically staffing a HUGE part of your convention.
Who’s more important, the guy who spent 60 dollars to attend or the one who spent 600 to not only attend but sell, advertise, and bring in more attendees looking for things to buy? What the hell is your damage that you would flat out say your attendees and vendors are completely separate things?! We attend, we spent a hell of a lot to attend, and we are VERY important to your regular attendees. 

Other conventions treat vendors much like sponsors because that’s exactly what we are. We’re another type of sponsor who proves you guys with an important aspect of any convention: Sales.

  • This does not mean that you should be treated like second-hand citizens. If you are treated poorly or even harassed, it’s vitally important that you report that. We cannot fix what we don’t know is broken.

More like you don’t fucking bother to so we’ve given up telling you. When you talk to us like this, we don’t feel like we’re being treated like people at all. We don’t feel like we even remotely matter to your venue. 

  •  I think the biggest point to address here though is the fear that has seemingly come from nowhere over the past few years. I can think of no rational reason why it has cropped up.

No, you don’t say that. You just don’t. you’re basically saying the problem is invisible. If it’s been over the past few years, it’s NOT ‘seemingly out of nowhere’ as you so shitily put it.

And then you continue on by listing a bunch of unrelated reasons that have nothing to do with complaints. Including this little gem:

  • It shouldn’t be due to us being on power trips, as we obviously gain nothing but heartache and pain from this position (the death threats are a bit much, but luckily have been few and far between). Hmm, that was a bit melodramatic, wasn’t it? We are honestly baffled that this fear exists.



You should feel SORRY for us bronycon staff because we just go through so much for you guys ;n; booohoooooo

it’s not like we sit here trying to make ourselves seem like the ones having problems and that you guys are at fault for it

Gee, why would that make you afraid to talk to us? I dunnoooo!”

  • When it comes down to it, we here at BronyCon can only do our best with the limited time and resources that we have at our disposal.

You’re not doing your best at all. Otherwise you wouldn’t be making shitty responses like this.

  •  If you are lying to make yourselves seem better, it hurts everyone involved.

what the fuck


So now you’re accusing vendors of lying about feedback to ‘make themselves feel better’? Even though it’s been pointed out that we feel the need to lie about feedback because you react like this every time? Where we get walls of blame shifting, self victimizing, and then we get told we’re just hurting everyone else by it? You just go on and on about how we’re being unreasonable and unfair and that’s about all you’ve ever done and THAT in itself makes us afraid to bring anything else up to you. 

  •  If you aren’t setting yourself up to make more than you are spending, we CANNOT be held to blame.

Uh yeah you can, if YOU set up the hall like shit and made it hard for vendors to set up, then that’s money THEY lose because of YOUR mistakes.

  •  If you pay for the cheaper booth package that doesn’t come with as much and isn’t in a premium location, you shouldn’t be surprised that it doesn’t come with as much and isn’t in a premium location.

Way to talk to us like we’re a bunch of morons.

  • That’s like ordering a hamburger a la carte and being upset when it doesn’t come with fries, a second patty, cheese, bacon, and a milkshake. Just because the meal really should have the stuff included with it (because let’s be real, it’s way better that way!), that doesn’t mean that the restaurant should just eat the costs and give you the extras. (Pun unintended.)

Yeah cuz that’s real professional, let’s just make this a joke even though it’s supposed to be a serious issue.

Because clearly 600 dollars is the same as a cheeseburger.

I’m so glad that this whole thing is just a big joke to you. I’m so happy having my business compared to cheap fast food. /sarcasm

  • Most of the major problems that we have been facing have been due to the fact that we have been employing a small-con solution to a big-con problem

Oh you mean that thing we’ve been complaining about for years?

  •  Please have patience and please have faith. And for the love of Celestia, please make sure that you actually read your emails. You can’t complain about lack of communication when you refuse to communicate with us.

Yeah because emails is how we’re supposed to communicate at con when we have no fucking clue where to go when we’re trying to set up. 

Or like, maybe we think we have everything we need from your emails but by the time we get there, there are a ton of things you failed to mention or didn’t account for, such as where the hell we were supposed to load our items in. Or that the bullhorns were distressing. Or that the lighting was too dim. 

Clearly, this is all our faults for not reading everything you sent in your array of haphazard, poorly worded emails that never give all the info in one go. 

I have never had a convention send nearly as many spread out emails to vendors as Bronycon does. Most other conventions are short and sweet. I get maybe 3 emails max and they provide everything I need to know and do. 

Many of us vend at other conventions just fine. We read our emails just fine too. We have no problems with other conventions. 

But no, it’s clearly us. Not you. We’re just lazy and don’t read all your emails so it’s only on our heads that we missed something.

  •  I apologize for venting, but that is one of my absolutely biggest pet peeves. We do our best to get to the hundreds of emails we receive each week (sometimes each day), but inevitably some will slip through the cracks.

Yeah way to make it personal. You don’t do that when you’re trying to be professional and consistent. You don’t tell your vendors that they are essentially annoying you with your little ‘pet peeves’. This is supposed to be a business arrangement, keep your personal shit out of it.

  •  tl;dr I am tired of “tl;dr”s. If you can’t be bothered to read it all, then how can you say that you care about the contents?

Was this necessary at all? Or was this just trying to throw in a funny quirky sassy quip to what was supposed to be a professional response?

  • With that, I am finally allowing myself to pass out. It’s well past 4 in the morning and I have class at 11 with a meeting before it… ZzZzZzZzZ

Oh yeah you poor thing, staying up all night for us, you shouldn’t have, we just waste SO much of your precious time.

And there you have it. A nice big summary of why Bronycon’s treatment of vendors is absolute garbage and why a good deal of us were stressed beyond reason working with them. Because they don’t want to work with us. 

They just want us to work for them.

We who are to them, considered less than a common con attendee.

I’m gonna be at Heroes Con this weekend June 19-21! Come say hiiiiii 

I’ll be at booth 1007 in Indie Island with my new book Lemon & Ket, a reprint of ERIS, some little prints, some big prints, a tiny sketchbook zine ‘Noodles’, and a witch zine that folds out into a poster! I’ll be tabling with other Charlotte native Ryan Cecil Smith this year and that’s cool too! he’s cool!! 

I’m also doing commissions again this year. They can be of whatever but I really like to draw people as wizards! If you def want a commission and wanna contact me ahead of time to reserve your spot (I can only do so many of them in a day!) then email me at with deets of what you’d like.

I’m really excited, Heroes is the best because it’s HOME. <33