#i saw a few variants of this on my dash and thought it was fucking hilarious

[karamazovanon]

(im sorry)

[laketaj24]

Serotonin II

Author’s Note: Here it is! I am taking requests, and the taglist is open, drop your name under this fic or on this list if you are interested! This does have a prior part but can be read as a standalone.

Pairing: Colson Baker x Reader

Warning: Smut, breeding kink

Inspo Song: Bad Things

Part I

My MASTERLIST

Colson: Busy?

Y/N: Why would I be busy?

Colson: For sure ain’t been answering my texts 🥱

Y/N: You need something, Col?

Colson: You know you only call me Col when you’re half asleep or whimpering my name when you about to cum. Let me come over.

Tongue-tied, his messages left you baffled. They were a smooth variation of sexting mixed with pleading. Every message included a very Colson apology but a rebuttal that followed and reminded you why you couldn’t fall back in the same routine with him. It was easy to picture yourself back with him, nestled against his lean frame - listening to his voice as it rumbled against his chest as he rambled on. You saw it clear as day, but the truth of the matter was he didn’t do what you required to have you back in his life. Fucking you in the bathroom of some club like a whore, giving your body a fix, but your heart and mind still felt that hesitation when it came to Mr. Baker.

“Are you listening?�� Dana asked, holding up the soy powder milk for your nephew.

“I heard you clear as day.”

“You sure you didn’t just daydream the entire I talked about not feeding Jaylen after seven?” Dana placed the soy milk on the table and glanced down at her newborn. “If you’re not up to it, I can stay. I hate going out of town so soon after having him.” She tapped her soon on the back a few times and exhaled.

“We will be fine.”

“You say this, but I don’t believe you.”

“Why?”

“You’re head has been shot ever since you broke up with the delinquent.” She rolled her eyes. “And what pisses me off is Tyla loves him!” She whispered and turned her attention to the seven-year-old parked in front of the tv. “I mean worships him.”

“I know. Colson is good with kids.”

“Because he’s childish.” She added. “He’s basically a six variant of one.”

“You can’t say one thing nice?”

“His music isn’t shitty,” Dana added. “I will be back at eight for the both of them, and I swear not to do this again, just my boss needs me, and their dad is busy.” She lied. “So- I love you, sis. Call Eric!” Dana kissed your cheek and sprinted out the door without another word.

Eric, you hadn’t seen him since you left the club a week ago, and you barely responded to his texts. The ride home was awkward; the entire time, he talked about how much he enjoyed the night. And the only thing you could think about was getting bent over in the bathroom by your ex. Good date.

Auntie duty had started. Diapers, Tiktok, YouTube, and some weird pig cartoon lay ahead of you for the next nine hours. Jaylen slept peacefully in his playpen, unbothered by his mother's lack while Tyla consumed her tv.

Colson: I got food open the door.

Y/N: What door?

Colson: Your apartment door. It’s Chipotle.

Fuck, you were hungry.

Y/N: Leave the food on the porch.

Colson: I’m not a god damn door dash.

The abrupt knocking startled Jaylen, soo you took him in your arms and walked to the door, “Stay in the living room Tyla.”

“K,” She answered, not even looking up from her phone.

You opened the door revealing Colson in his pink hoodie and gray joggers. He held bags of food in his hand and garnished a big smile on his face, “You look good with a baby.”

“Why are you here?”

“You wouldn’t come to see me or invite me over, so invited myself over. Can I come in?”

“No.” Jaylen stirred in your arms, his plump little legs kicked, and you sighed. “I am busy today. That’s why I didn’t invite you over. I have to keep my nieces and nephews, and every time you are over here, you either curse too much or we end up fucking.”

“Watch your mouth.” He teased.

“How were you texting with all that in your hands?” You stared at him.

“You know I got talented hands.”

“Colson!”

Why? You grimaced inwardly before looking at your overly excited niece, she loved Colson, and you hated to admit, he might be an asshole sometimes, but he loved kids. He was a wonder with them. You slapped your face, disappointed there was not a way to hide the massive man at your door. “He can’t stay.” You answered before the question left your lips.

“Why? Please!” Tyla pouted her pink lips and threw her arms up in defeat. “We never see him anymore.”

“That’s your aunt’s fault,” Colson added fuel to the fire. “I won’t stay long.” He pushed through, entering your apartment to greet Tyla with a hug at her level and a sly wink to you. Kids were the way to your heart – and his, but he would not win you over with this bullshit today. Not at all. “You hungry, Tyla?”

“Yeah, ten minutes, and you’re out.”

“Damn.”

“Tiktok?��� she held up her phone and the ring light from her purple book bag. “Please.”

“Word, what are we learning?” He raised his brows to you and proceeded to make himself comfortable on the couch; she was ecstatic, immediately standing to do a dance and drag you over to learn it too. Tiktok had become the bane of your existence, but for Tyla and her half a million followers, she was golden.

One hour later and you were tired, you’d perfected the dance, and Colson had convinced her to let him skip the dancing and just be—it was all he had to do though, she’d get one million views just because of who he was, and now everyone would know you were with him. Your heart dropped a little thinking about the exposure while she edited the video next to both of you.

“Why is Uncle Colson never around?” Tyla never looked up from her phone; she just continued her mission of posting that sixty-second video and ruining your life.

“He’s not your uncle.” You corrected.

“That’s your aunt’s fault too.” He added.

“Don’t start with me.” The harsh whisper came out as a warning, waking baby Jaylen from his nap and making Colson chuckle in amusement.

“I like him; I want him in the family.”

“I want a million dollars.”

“I can give you that.” He said.

“And a loyal boyfriend who doesn’t text insta-sluts in his spare time.”

“Don’t use sluts in front of her damn; your mouth is outrageous Y/N.”

The narrowing of your eyes made him burst into laughter again. He was damn good at annoying you like he had it mastered.

The day passed quickly with him making eyes at you, caring for Jaylen while she styled Colson’s hair in four ponytails atop his head, garnished with bows, and she even attempted to give him edges. He didn’t care; as long as she was happy, he was good.

“You look a mess.”

“It’s cool.” Colson snapped a picture. “Been waiting forever to see if ponytail was for me or not; it’s a no.” He sat back on the couch while Tyla disappeared to your room for god knows what else. “You look good with babies, you know?”

“You’ve said that.”

“I meant it; you’re good with them too.” He sighed. “I thought about kids with us, like every damn day.”

“Funny.” You shrugged, and she appeared with your bright pink polish. “What’re you doing, Tyla?”

“Painting his nails.” She plopped down in front of him, and without hesitation, he held his hand out for her. “We did blue last time.”

“Yep.” He exhaled. “Don’t you want this?”

He didn’t have to elaborate; you knew what he was talking about, but a family was the last thing from your mind, no matter how perfect the scenario looked right now. “Do you?”

Colson smacked his lips. “We can talk later.”

“You leaving when they do.” You reiterated.

The door opened thirty minutes later without a knock or doorbell; Dana never announced herself. “I see he found his way back in.” Her mouth dropped as soon as her eyes met him. “Tyla just had her way today, didn’t she.” She laughed. “Oh god, she gave this man braids.”

“Your daughter is talented.” He laughed. “Might be a new look.”

“Ridiculous.” She held her laughter. “Ty, get up and come on, love; we have a long drive.” She took Jaylen from your chest and gave you a look. “How long is he staying?”

“Not long, sis, drive safe.”

“I will. Colson, you leave in ten minutes, or I’m sending our brother over.” She pointed to him.

“I’m not scared of Michael; send him.” Why did his arrogance only make you want him more? He looked to Dana, who, like him, was not bothered.

“I hate him.” She mumbled as she left. “I just fucking hate him.”

“It’s mutual!” Colson laughed as the door shut. “You’re gonna stay over there the whole time?”

“Aint no reason for me to be over there for real.” You thought of three reasons to stay where you were, the drop in his voice, the tension in this room that could be cut with a knife, and when he was alone with you, your willpower was nonexistent. “You have five minutes.”

“We aren’t going to talk about this, are we? You like being evasive and shit? That you’re new persona?”

“I have no new persona. This is me not playing into all the bullshit you bring when you’re with me. This is a wall.”

“I’m about to knock that wall over.” He smirked.

“Stay on your couch.” You warned.

Colson held his hands up, acting defenseless, “I wasn’t moving from this spot.”

“My sister hates you, you know that? She literally said that I would be better off leaving Cali before staying here with your toxic ass.” You found yourself pointing at him and wanting to knock that smile from his face. Colson liked to see you get feisty with him; he called that foreplay, and here you were dancing to the beat of his drum, pissed.

“How am I toxic? I stopped all that shit for you, every ounce of it.”

“Stop lying.”

Colson grinned at you, unwavering in his position and impressed that you were persistent in yours; your usual fights lasted about one day. You’d take him back, and everything went back to how it was before, but that changed nothing; you wanted him to change. “I am not lying to you. Come here.”

You walked over to him, taking his hand and allowing him to pull you down in his lap. Facing him, you admired all the little cuts he’d earned over the years in senseless fights or accidents. Your fingers traced over them before you cupped his face. What the fuck were you doing? Why were the two of you akin to magnets? Drawing one another in half of the time and then at the flip of a side hating one another? You placed your lips on him, parting his lips with your tongue and then flicking playfully over his teeth before he caught your bottom lip with his teeth and tugged. The slight pressure made you moan against him. He cradled your neck with one hand, not allowing you to escape him. Colson deepened the kiss, adding pressure and taking what little breath you had away. “I fucking miss you, Y/N.” He rasped.

"Don't talk.”You murmured back.

Colson didn’t listen; he never listened.  “You were good with them today.”

You growled, grinding your hips on him. “Shut up, Colson.”

“I want to talk to you, I want you back Y/N, shit. Like I am trying, I canceled recording sessions, appearances, and other shit all this month so we can figure this out. I don’t want to-,”

You stopped him from talking, gripping his cock through the sweats with one hand and kissing him to shut up.

“Stop.” In one fluid motion, your hands were by your side, and your eyes were on his, “We’re talking; I was not fucking other women. But I was entertaining them, and it’s no excuse. I know you’re hurt; I’m sorry. Like real talk, no joke – I apologize.”

“How do I know it won’t happen again?’

“I'll delete all this shit for you,” He admitted. “Fuck a platform.”

“You’re so dramatic.”

“I’m dead ass right now. Fuck it all. I just want you.”

“If it happens again, I am never taking you back, ever.”

“It won’t.” He whispered, loosening the grip on your hands.

You took advantage of the notion, moving your hand down to his cock, rubbing the hilt through his sweats again.

“Nah,” He gripped your hair, pulling you back, so your eyes met him. “It’s my turn now.” He pushed aside your shorts in seconds, and his fingers plunged into your pussy, curling for a moment and then spinning out of you. He placed his fingers on your lips, “Open up.” You didn’t hesitate to take his fingers, licking your own juices from them, and he tapped your face sending a slight pleasurable sting. “How you taste?”

“Ready.” You pulled him from the sweats feeling him jump at your cool hands, and stood up, wriggling out of the shorts before hovering back over him again.

Colson playfully tosses you on your couch, draping one leg to the ground. “Let me taste.” He whispered as he descended between your legs. Colson’s fingers brushed your swollen clit, before his lips latched on, sucking. You bowed from the couch, the moans and scratched to his shoulders done nothing but encourage. He lapped up your juices before diving his tongue into you and swirling around. You gasped, surprised and pleased as he worked.

“Col-“ You gripped his shoulders, lifting yourself from laying down, and he took full advantage, pulling you onto his face and fucking you with his tongue. Your body coiled, the jolts of pleasure popped around your body, and then you came. The white-hot energy surged through your body, and you panted, shaking, almost collapsing back on the couch. He caught you peppering the wet kisses from your pussy to your mouth.

“You good?”

“Better than.” You whispered, breathing heavily. “ Shit.”

“We’re not done.” Of course, you weren’t; his cock throbbed against his leg, waiting to ruin your life, and here you were still out of breath. Colson gently pulled you from the couch, sitting you in his lap, and he started once again with the kisses. You could taste yourself on his lips, and for some reason, that just made you wetter for him. He took advantage of stroking himself before he lowered you down on him. You took every inch, mouth slightly open and hair swinging the entire time. You pressed your breast against his chest, savoring the warm feeling of his cock inside of you, and then you started moving on him. Your muscles clenched around, gripping him with each stroke. Your clit rubbed against his pelvic bone; you took that added pleasure in stride biting your lip as it intensified every time your skin met.

Colson’s eyes were hooked on you, his fingers dug in your ass, guiding you up and down on his cock, urging you to keep going, and there was no way in hell you were going to stop. You could feel it building once again, this time bigger. “Hold it.” He whispered, knowing you were about once more. “Not yet.”

“Ah,” Impatience grew over you; you slowed your ride, winding your hips slowly, your eyes closed as you took over, fucking up into you, guiding your body to take more. “I can’t.” You whined as you fought to hold the orgasm back.

“Yeah, you can.” He slammed into you harder, knocking the breath from you, your toes curled, and you screamed as you shook against him. “I wanna feel that pussy shake around me when I cum; hold it.” He slapped your clit with three fingers, and your breath hitched. “Hold it.” His hand travels up your shirt to your bare stomach, and he kisses you once more. “Y/N.”  His hips rocked slowly, but then he started to fuck you quicker, the tip of his dick hitting your g-spot each time. You were a screaming mess, biting down on his shoulder. That done the trick he spasms against you growling. His warm cum triggered you. You came, sinking down and taking all of it. “Shit, you cheated.”

“You would’ve lasted forever.” You smiled lazily.

“Is that a complaint or a compliment?”

“Both.”

You wince, sliding off him, “right.” He rolled his eyes. “Now we gotta eat reheated Chipotle.” he stood up, fixing his pants. “Can I stay?”

“I guess.” You pulled the blanket over you, snuggling into your favorite place on the couch. He heads into the kitchen, and you reach for your phone, wondering what threat your sister had for you.

Meg: Are you still coming tonight?

This was not your phone; of course, it wasn’t. You unlocked the phone, clicking her name to look at the messages. But there is only red as Colson makes his way back into the living room. You throw the phone across the room, hitting the wall, and he stares at you. “What the fuck?”

“Take you and that Chipotle and get out.”

“Damn, what the Chipotle do?”

  A/N: One more part coming. I’ll drop it next week, I think! Thank yall for reading! Let me know what you think!!

Taglist: @taytayize123​ @ctrlszn @supernaturalvikingwhore @jae-writes-fanfiction @bigsisbria @placeoffreedom @kyla-queen @missdforever @gottatoxicattitude @bang-kim-bap @msreshel @blowmymbackout @titty-teetee @strawberry-skyes @mauvecherie @savageiz @bang-kim-bap @luci-her @littlelovebug98 @babyboy-cody @hellshedevil @daddyavesxx @crystalbaby12 @jeonsblackgf

commenters from serotnin who might be interested: @mgkmerchstyles @mayaslifeinabox

[thelightofthingshopedfor]

lol okay so I dashed off most of this the day of and then kept not posting it because I kept thinking I needed to add stuff, but then I ended up adding more stuff mostly in reblogs instead (should all be under the “my meta” tag if anyone’s curious) and now episode 2 is technically coming out tomorrow night in my time zone so obviously I need to just post this. bullet points of disconnected thoughts, some of which are probably at least slightly outdated by now but whatever, here you go

seems very possible Mobius left the tape with him on purpose because he figured Loki wouldn’t be able to resist looking at it

would have to check the timing but I’m pretty sure he started looking terrified as soon as Thanos came onscreen without really knowing the context (aside from the very basic outline of “it’s been several years and he reconciled with Thor”), which at least underscores that they weren’t buddies--Loki knew something awful was about to happen the second Thanos showed up sadly this is not true, the clip he sees first is him trying to stab Thanos, so...yeah it stands to reason that he’d know it was about to end badly no matter what

other people have mentioned this but I love that we got to see Loki just like...existing?? like I know he’s never been the protagonist before and seeing him as the protagonist has always been one of the things that’s excited me most about the show, but now that it’s here I’m just kind of struck by how HE’S THE PROTAGONIST so we’re getting all these emotions and little gestures and moments when he’s alone that we only got in tiny, sadly easy-to-overlook snatches before (and it also occurred to me that I don’t think we’ve ever seen Loki eat anything, which is something else that might change)

also his projection is fascinating, and so is the fact that he explicitly turned it around on himself, which seems relevant to all the theories about a lot of his other statements (”freedom is life’s great lie,” most of what he said to Natasha, etc.) being things that were drummed into him on Sanctuary rather than stuff he just came up with on his own, so that seems to cover a lot of the stuff he says in Avengers and here

on the other hand it seems unlikely we’re ever going to get confirmation that Bad Stuff happened to him on Sanctuary aside from what we already saw in Avengers, which is frustrating, although to be fair I also wasn’t expecting to see Loki crying about his family in the first episode (and the most I’m really hoping for, still, is that nothing will explicitly contradict the idea, so...we’re good on that thus far, I guess)

so the first half of the episode was...ehhh, I don’t know, but the second half was amazing. I know some people didn’t like that part either, but I felt like...okay, I don’t love him being humiliated so I would’ve preferred different framing for some of this BUT a lot of casual viewers still see Loki as a cackling caricature without having picked up on any of the stuff that very clearly showed otherwise, and this show wants to treat Loki as a person, someone worthy of audience sympathy, so they kind of had to go in hard and fast on that aspect to get everyone up to speed. like, yes, fans who’ve been paying attention know that Loki’s a person, that he’s wounded, that he doesn’t hurt people just because it’s fun for him, that he feels things very deeply, that he loves his family, but somehow the mainstream perception of him has missed like 85% of that, and the show’s just not going to have much impact unless it gets everybody on board with those very basic ideas. in terms of story structure it probably doesn’t make sense for this to be his lowest point, but starting from the bottom and eventually getting somewhere better is fairly standard, so at this point I can imagine tons of ways things could improve for him

yeah I do hate the whole Sacred Timeline thing, see also my posts about how much I loved that Endgame canonically (I thought) established multiple timelines where everything was fine, so yeah I’m pissed about that because it means those timelines were canonically pruned

like I don’t...hate it as a storytelling device? I just hate it for fandom reasons, and I’ve hated it in other fandoms when canon did something that seemed to open things up to all this incredible possibility and then went “actually no, we’re boxing it up again into this one specific Way That Things Happened” and for fanwork purposes it doesn’t matter all that much, I don’t think it’s actually that much harder to do AUs or go “okay well in this universe the TVA doesn’t exist, whatever” (in fact I wouldn’t be surprised if AO3 quickly develops a new canonical “not TVA compliant” tag for basically all Loki fic), but it is annoying that it’s now like “canonically, every AU is Not Allowed”, and if that ends up sticking as the status quo with the TVA considered good guys or at least a necessary evil then yeah, I’m going to be annoyed

HOWEVER

I don’t think that’s inevitable for a variety of reasons

this whole show is going to deal with multiverse shenanigans and so will Dr. Strange 2, so it seems completely possible that the end result could be a status quo of “there’s a multiverse actually and that’s fine” (...although yes, I’ll be doubly annoyed if the end result of this show is a restored multiverse of some kind and the end result of Dr. Strange 2 is condensing it back down to a single timeline)

the multiverse is a long-running comics tradition, which still seems to be the case even after...whatever event it was that collided a bunch of them and tried for a Highlander thing, look I wasn’t really following it and I know some characters ended up in other universes from where they started but I’m pretty sure we still have a multiverse of some kind

almost all the recent Loki-centric comics have focused on questions of fate and agency

Agent of Asgard in particular was about Loki eventually going “fuck you I won’t do what you tell me” and forging a new path (and, okay, it does seem like runs other than AoA have been the most influential here but again we’ve only seen one episode)

Loki, specifically, is an agent of chaos and change, like that’s his whole thing going way back to mythology, because sometimes stagnancy is death and chaos is healthy, and of course myth!Loki (and earlier versions of comics!Loki) is always responsible for triggering Ragnarok, which isn’t just the end of the world but is also a natural, crucial part of a cycle of renewal, and yes the MCU already did Ragnarok but that doesn’t at all mean they can’t play more with those ideas

Tom Hiddleston has brought up this specific point several times in recent interviews, that sometimes chaos is the one thing that's really needed

also, on Jimmy Kimmel the day of the episode, he kind of...planted a seed about the TVA maybe not being uncomplicated good guys because seriously what gives them the right to make these decisions for literally everyone

so at the very least I think it’s completely possible that things aren’t quite what they seem, and that for instance we’re supposed to discover that Mobius is consciously manipulating him to turn him into the type of tool the TVA wants him to be

also “the timeline wants to break free” shows up on a lot of merch, which does seem to indicate a free will vs. predestination theme

I’m not at all familiar with comics!TVA, although I understand they’re considered villains (although to be fair, so were the Skrulls, and at least thus far that’s been inverted for the MCU), but their whole thing reminded me of a few other entities in a way that could be relevant:

the tape running out was like the Norns cutting the thread of somebody’s life

Those Who Sit Above In Shadow in AoA (and also maybe whatever was below the God Quarry in Infinity Wars although I’m less familiar with that)

the gods in Cabin In The Woods, who were also kind of audience proxies in that they really just cared about the sacrifice being entertaining, which kinda seems like the only logical reason for the Timekeepers to prefer any given series of events over another

my personal hope for the series: the Timekeepers are ultimately the Big Bad and the rogue Loki variant is ultimately right in trying to wipe out the TVA (because sure I realize it’s maybe dumb of me but I still don’t want any Loki to be completely a bad guy!!); the major named TVA characters realize they’re the baddies actually and team up with a whole army of Lokis to take them down and GIVE US BACK OUR MULTIVERSE

[charmingturkeysandwich]

“Hope at Christmastime”: A CS Secret Santa Gift

Merry Christmas from your CS Secret Santa, @thislassishooked! I hope you’re enjoying a wonderful holiday season. From our exchanges, I decided that I wanted to do something from Killian’s POV that incorporated lights and decorations. And for some reason, I felt very strongly that I wanted it to be somewhat canon... so here you have it! 

This is a season 1 mostly compliant one-shot in which Killian is a fisherman in Storybrooke, and he meets Emma and Henry a few times. Intrigued and oddly hopeful because of Emma’s fiery spirit, he embarks with her on a Christmas quest for bringing about joy.

It’s not pure fluff and leaves some to the imagination, but I felt like it stayed true to their kind of dynamic. I really, really hope you enjoy!

I know I’m a little early, but I’m sick as hell and worried that tomorrow I might not be conscious, so here you have it on Christmas Eve Eve :)

@cssecretsanta2k19

---

It was an odd feeling, being half in love with a woman you’d practically just met. But it had been years, decades, lifetimes, probably, since Killian Jones had encountered such a fierce, witty, engaging, interesting, and bloody gorgeous woman like Emma Swan.

He’d been living in Storybrooke, Maine… since forever, really. His brother had been in Storybrooke General since his accident years before – still alive, of course, but the doctors continually warned Killian against having any kind of hope that their lives would ever return to the normalcy of Granny’s for breakfast in the off-season and hard work lobster fishing the rest of the year.

It wasn’t just that Emma was the liveliest woman he’d met in ages, she was simply the liveliest being, as if she somehow was part of a totally different, vibrant world.

Storybrooke was… fine. It was safe. He made a living. The people were well enough – he enjoyed talking with Miss Blanchard, the teacher who often read to the coma patients in her spare time. Archie was kind and generous, if not a little bit condescending at times, but his dog was sweet and always made Killian smile. Even Dr. Whale was all right – understanding about the phantom pains from the loss of Killian’s hand that he couldn’t even remember.

But Emma? She was pure magic.

Rumor was she was the mayor’s son’s biological mother, and little Henry had dragged her from her home of Boston to Storybrooke because he was so damn miserable. It made sense. Regina Mills was possibly the least nurturing person he could think of in the whole of Storybrooke, and no one ever really understood why she decided to adopt a child. Henry was wonderful, though – Killian had always thought so. Precocious, inquisitive, kind… many traits he can now attribute to nature versus nurture.

The fist time he spoke with Emma happened to be while she and Henry were walking along the pier one afternoon. Emma’s brows were stitched together in worry, her voice low as she spoke to her son, the boy clutching a large children’s book and never breaking eye contact with her. It felt intrusive to even witness the exchange, but alas they were in his way, and there wasn’t much he could do to avoid them when he needed to get all of his supplies back to his ship without somehow losing another limb.

“Excuse me, love, Master Henry,” he mumbled breathlessly, twisting to the side to pass them by without knocking either of them in the head with something large and possibly rusty (when was the last time he’d gotten a tetanus shot? Did they even offer them at the hospital here?).

“Hi, Mr. Jones!” Henry called excitedly, rushing past his mother and following Killian onto the Jewel.

“How’s your day going, lad?” Killian asked after hefting the pile of supplies onto the closest surface. The boy looked happy, as usual, but seemed to have an extra glint in his eye.

“Henry, what the hell!” Emma shouted as her boots stomped onto the ship, her blonde curls now mangled from the seaside breeze.

“Don’t worry, I know him! This is Killian. He’s Captain Hook.” Henry said it so matter-of-factly that it didn’t even cross Killian’s mind to be offended about the possibly jab at his handlessness. The way Henry was talking you’d think he was just reading from a biography.

“Kid, what did I tell you about that? Operation Cobra is for you and I only, and, like I said, it might be time to take a little break from it.” Emma’s eyes were full of concern, genuine worry for her boy, but also fear. He knew that well enough from his vague recollections of the accident(s) that scarred him and rendered his brother near lifeless. What was she so afraid of?

His attempts to quell her worry were for naught, as she wasn’t about to trust a single hair on his body. “Love, the lad and I are great friends, aren’t we Henry?”

“I’m not your love. And Henry shouldn’t be running on board the boats of near strangers when I’m hardly trusted to keep him breathing let alone keep him from being kidnapped by Peter Pan.” Emma snapped.

“Mom, he’s Hook, not Pan,” Henry corrected, his tone that of an exasperated teenager despite the boy being no more than ten or eleven.

“I don’t care who he is, I’m not letting him be the reason I’m never allowed to see you again, Henry! You know if your mother knew that you ran onto some dude’s boat who apparently you thought was a pirate under my watchshe’d have me jailed. Again!”

“It’s actually a ship here, love,” Killian couldn’t help himself from pointing out, his amusement at her fiery attitude entirely inappropriate for what was clearly a very strong emotion she was experiencing. But it was simply so foreign to him, a person having… feelings. Beyond despair, anyway.

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Mo-om,” Henry chastised, though it wasn’t clear if he was offended by her language or embarrassed that she wasn’t quite a fan of Killian’s… sass.

(Killian hadn’t remembered a single other moment in his life where he’d said something so… unfiltered. Damn.)

“My apologies, love, I’m not sure what’s come over me. I’m usually much more polite. Henry, we all know your mother – Mayor Mills, that is – would look for just about any reason to throw this lovely fireball out of our town permanently. Emma is right to worry. Now how about you two go about your way and I’ll show you more about fishing the next time that Regina approves it?’”

“So, never?” Henry mumbled, rolling his eyes and walking toward the gangway. Emma turned to follow him, but Killian wanted one last chance to apologize.

“I really am sorry, love. I can’t imagine you’re having an easy go of it here in Storybrooke and I just wanted… well, I just wanted you to know that there’s at least one more person on your side than you thought.”

Emma finally looked back at him, incredulous, and Killian suddenly felt quite naked. Reaching to scratch behind his ear, he clarified: “Me, I mean. I’m also on your side.”

She rolled her eyes yet again, but a spark came alive in the smirk she shot back at him. “Good to know, pirate, but I’m not your love.”

From that day, he’d had numerous minor interactions with the Mills/Swan duo. He saw them at breakfast at Granny’s one morning, and Emma refused to so much as look at him, while Henry excitedly told him all about the website he’d used to find Emma (he glossed over how he stole his teacher’s credit card, a fact that Emma still appeared to be quite peeved about). The following week he saw the two of them at the playground that Killian passed on his way to his ship. He re-introduced himself to Emma, as she was yet to actually acknowledge she knew his name, but she only responded with some variant of, “OK Pirate,” which had led to her and Henry laughing like fools for at least five straight minutes.

About a week before Christmas, he finally ran into Emma without her son, and while he’d thought that was something he was hoping for – an opportunity to get to know her without her hiding behind Henry – he realized something awful. That fiery spirit in her – the one he so admired – was dimming. This town, it was getting to her. Was she doomed just like the rest of them to live forever without a happy ending? Or even a happy middle? Was this safe, sweet, seaside town nothing but dashed hopes and broken dreams?

“Uh, Miss Swan?�� he asked, cautiously approaching the bench she was sat on, her blonde hair whipping in the breeze, her hands tucked tightly into her flame red jacket.

“What,” she called back, not even looking at him.

Even their non-conversations previously had been some type of banter, some kind of force in his dreary life, but today, she seemed defeated.

He didn’t know much about the world – didn’t really care enough to participate most days – but wasn’t this seasons supposed to be the one where you believed even more strongly than ever that everything might just end up being all right?

“Can I sit?

“It’s a free country.”

“My purpose in sitting with you is to speak to you, and while I could talk at you, I’m actually hoping you’ll talk back. Is that a reasonable wish or shall I keep on moving?” With great effort, he kept his voice light and teasing, when in reality his heart was breaking right along with hers. From what he understood about her life, Henry was new to it, but had nonetheless become its center. He couldn’t imagine what it would be like to have had hope dangled in front of your face only to possibly have it snatched away.

Instead of snapping back at him, she slowly lifted her head, swept her hair to the side, and patted the seat next to her. “Why would you want to talk to me?” she asked, her eyes once again trained on her feet.

“You look like you could use a friend.”

“I don’t have any friends.”

“You could. I’m here,” he offered.

She exhaled deeply, shaking her head and gripping the bench at either side of her legs. “I don’t know what I’m doing here. I have no right to Henry… I had him young and gave him up for his best chance. And, as usual, I was wrong. And as usual there’s nothing I can do about it now. I’m fighting a losing battle. It’s not like anyone can defeat Regina.

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that. You’ve certainly gotten under her skin.”

“Yeah, making it all worse for Henry. I’m just being selfish here, aren’t I? Wanting my son back because he says his rightful mommy is an evil queen? I’m sure that’s something a lot of kids his age feel. I just… I just wanted to be wanted, I guess.”

Killian let his right hand graze the back of hers as he shifted slightly closer to her. When she didn’t flinch away, he allowed his hand to fully rest on hers, squeezing ever so slightly.

“You’re not making Henry’s life worse by being here. Believe me, Emma. I know you don’t know me and I don’t know you, but I have eyes. Henry has always been a bright spot in an otherwise lightless town, but since you’ve arrived it’s like he’s a whole new kid. Confident, excited, hopeful. And don’t discredit what you’ve done for everyone else. Miss Blanchard seems happy to have a roommate. Ruby loves when you visit with her at the diner. Granny seems to think of you as a surrogate granddaughter. Our world was black and white and you brought us color, love.”

The shock in her eyes at his words was enough to both warm his heart and enrage him – it’s not as if he was saying anything that should be surprising to her. Who in her life had made her feel so worthless and how soon could he stab them through the heart with his hook?

You know, if he had one.

But her shock wore off as a bit of mirth seemed to take its place. “Now, I can’t take credit for all of that. Granny likes the money I spend. And Mary Margaret… let’s just say I’m not the one fucking her, so I’m definitely not the reason for the extra smiles.”

“Miss Blanchard!” he gasped theatrically, clutching his heart and hamming it up.

“Oh yeah. You might be the native here, but I know all the secrets, friend.”

“So tell me another.”

“Hmmm. Granny’s lasagnas are frozen.”

“No!” This time he was actually shocked. That crazy loon…

“Oh, yeah. And her nonfat pizza crust? Definitely still has fat.”

“That’s it. I’m calling the health inspector.”

“You know, we don’t have one. I think you’d have to call the sheriff,” she chuckled, flipping her hand over on the bench so her palm was against his.

“Hmmmm, think I have an in with her? I’ve heard she’s a spitfire.”

“I don’t know. Depends on the day you approach her. I’ve heard she has mixed feelings about you, Jones.”

“Oh, so you do know my name,” Killian teased, adjusting the fringe around his hat with his stump.

“I tend to remember the people who try to annoy me to death,” she deadpanned, but he caught the ghost of a smirk at the corner of her lips.

“What if, insteaed of annoying you to death, maybe you let me help you?” Killian offered,  absolutely no clue what exactly he could offer her when she wasn’t wrong about the futility of fighting with Mayor Mills.

“Hey now, I’m no damsel. No one saves me but me,” she said, pulling her hand from beneath his and tucking it back into her jacket.

“Easy, love. I’m well aware that you’re more likely than any other person in this god forsaken town to actually have some success at anything.”

“You been reading Henry’s book?” Emma turned fully toward him for the first time since he sat, her cheeks red and her eyes dancing with cautious amusement.

“No, I haven’t had the pleasure. Why?”

“Well. According to his book, I’m here to save everyone. Bring back the happy endings.”

“Oh? And where exactly have they gone?”

“The Evil Queen – Regina, actually – has ripped them from you. But I, the daughter of Snow White (Mary Margaret) and Prince Charming (the former coma patient she’s been banging) am the  ‘product of true love’ and therefore can break the curse.”

“Damn, you should sell that shit to Disney. You’d make a fortune.”

“Hah. Maybe I should. It’s about the only way I could ever afford to fight Regina the real way, you know with lawyers and money and not … magic.”

It struck him at that moment how true Henry’s story actually rang. Sure, there was no way it was actually real, but hadn’t Killian himself thought countless times how full of life Emma was, how she seemed magical in a world of nothing but ordinary hopelessness? Even if he didn’t believe Henry’s story… scientifically, or what have you – he believed it in his heart.

Emma might not be an actual princess, but she definitely had the power to save. And he’d do anything he could to help her.

“It’s the season for magic, you know?” Killian pointed out, gesturing vaguely toward the wreaths haphazardly hung on the lampposts that led back to main street.

“Are you going to help me achieve a Christmas miracle, Killian?” She reached back toward him and took his hand, squeezing as her eyes sparkled with a plan.

“I’m damn well going to try.”

Together they stumbled through the slippery streets toward Granny’s, armed with an idea and the hopes that Ruby would facilitate their ridiculous plan to bring Henry as much joy as possible, even if Emma couldn’t directly be involved.

“So, you’re telling me you want me to let you decorate the shit out of this place, just so Henry sees it?” Ruby questioned, her one eyebrow nearly touching her hairline, her face so skeptical.

So Killian jumped in. “Listen, Ruby, you know damn well fighting with Regina never ends well. We just have to give the kid some hope. Believing in even the possibility of a happy ending is a very powerful thing.”

“Are you sleeping with Mary Margaret now, too, because damn that girl gets around.”

“Ruby!” Emma shouted, smacking her on the arm.

“What? Have you seen him? If Mary Margaret isn’t taking her chance with him and you’re not interested, then hello sailor, fancy taking me for a ride?”

“Ruby, fucking focus yourself. Can you help us? And by help us I mean literally offer free decorating service that will likely increase your tips?”

“Oh, fine. For Henry.”

“For Henry!” Emma and Killian repeated, scurrying off to whatever store they could find that carried Christmas lights, tinsel, blow-up polar bears, and any other kind of purchase-able holiday joy.

Once they’d filled three whole carts, they rolled them back to Granny’s, sat down to sip hot chocolate until close, and then went to town, covering every surface with glittery tinsel, jingle bells, reindeer, elves, and pretty little lit-up presents. Killian borrowed a ladder from the short pharmacist so he could string icicle lights across the courtyard outside and Emma filled the big windows at the entrance with those giant bulb style lights of all different colors. At some point after 2am, Ruby texted Emma that the electricity bill was going to be something she’d have to take up with Granny, but Emma just laughed and Killian said he’d pay it and they kept decorating until about 5am when Granny appeared to start baking in preparation for the morning crowd.

“I’m not even going to ask,” was all Granny said to Killian as she entered her now Christmas paper-wrapped front door and Killian’s heart definitely grew two sizes or more when his eyes traveled over to Emma, carefully arranging the Hallmark Disney castle on the ledge next to the table that Henry and Regina often sat at when they stopped there before school.

It was a losing battle they were fighting, Killian was sure of it – nothing in Storybrooke ever led to winning for anyone who wasn’t Regina Mills. But one look at Emma and all he wanted to do was keep fighting, keep trying, keep hoping that one day their world would be full of happy endings again.

Someday.

[bladeedge25]

Hunter and the Hare

MY BELOVED

The Hare encountered the Hunter when he joined some friends for a party at their cabin, it was an eerie moonless night and they were alone in the middle of the forest. The Hare or his given name Rider Variant, was sitting outside to get some fresh air from the smoke that is being made by his friends’ smoking. 

 He notices a figure walking through the forest and it seems familiar to the 26 year old, the figure is taller than Rider’s 5’8 by nearly two feet and he is muscular with what seems to be a wolf pelts covering his shoulders and eyes. At first Rider thought it was a person just on their way back to their cabin but the nearest cabin besides his friend’s is probably four to five miles away.

It didn’t take long for Rider to notice the bloody blade the man brandishes and he turns to warn his friends but not before his ears pick up something. A blade soars through the air and Rider narrowly avoids being hit in the skull by the deadly weapon, “Not gonna lie… that was terrifying!” the man chuckles as he heads inside to warn his friends.

Outside the Hunter looks to the retreating form of the man and he is stunned, “My beloved… in this life… it must be fate?” he begins to hum a ditty as he turns towards the cabin with a smitten look on his face. His beloved is here, he’ll get him no matter the cost… no one will get in his way, all those who try to steal his precious Hare will face his wrath. Rider get inside and finds one of his friends passed out by the door, “Ya ever see any crazy looking dudes around here?” the white haired man asks in a calm tone as his friend climbs to his feet. “Dude relax… the nearest place is for like miles… no creepy killer weirdos ‘round ‘ere!” Rider gives his friend a skeptical look as he leans against the door.

Outside the Hunter looks to the drunken fool talking to his beloved, AND HE IS TOUCHING HIM! His little Hare is looking around warily before he leaves the drunken fool to his own devices. The one who caught his ire exits the cabin and drunkenly stumbles towards the bushes, a perfect opportunity for him to punish this beast for touching what is his.

“You will never lay another hand on my beloved you animal…” the Hunter wraps his hands around the man’s throat and he lifts him into the air. The Hunter is a good 7’0 feet in height and his grip is ironclad, the man thrashes in terror as he tries to free himself, two twelve seconds pass before an audible snap can be heard as the man goes limp and his arms drop lifelessly to his side.

Rider feels a shiver go down his spine as he heads into the living room to find his friend Ryan, “Hey Rider buddy, ya seen Frank around… I need his keys so I can get some more beer?” Rider feels as if a piercing gaze is on his back but before he can answer the lights in the cabin go out and Frank chuckles. “Probably just the old generator… usually happens sometime… I’ll check it out!” with that Ryan leaves and Rider is left alone but the feeling from before has left him.

Another person who have touched his beloved, “Filth… all of you!” Ryan barely has any time to react before he is lifted by his arm and thrown into a nearby branch that pierces his chest. His screams are loud enough to be heard, “My little Hare is scared and alone… I must get to him before someone else does!” the man says to himself as he leaves Ryan’s lifeless body to hang, the branch that pierced his chest split his ribs and blood bursts forth profusely.

The scream that pierces the air gets Rider’s attention and he runs outside to go check it out, “Frank… Ryan!” the man looks around for his friends before running to the generator shed to check there. The further he gets from the cabin the more the terror rises, the feeling of dread from earlier returns as Rider trips over something. When Rider turns around his eyes wide a bit as Frank’s soulless eyes stare back at him.

“Why… Why… am I not surprised… is it the fact that I nearly got killed by a knife, there was definitely a killer outside!” Rider quashes down his panic and notices the strangle marks around Frank’s neck. The killer definitely has bigger hands and is taller than most people… that much is sure, another chill rushes down Rider’s spine as he turns around and spots the figure lurking in the distance.

The shock from finding Frank leaves but is replaced by the terror from the killer being so close by, “It was him… I gotta find Ryan and leave before he kills us too!” Rider rummages through Frank’s pockets before grabbing his keys and continuing his dash to the generator shed.

A spike of anger goes through the Hunter as he watches his little Hare retreat, “He… wants to… leave me… but why my love?” the Hunter looks to Rider as he runs in the direction of the man he killed earlier. He trails behind his beloved silently and waits for him to reach his destination.

Rider stops reaches the generator shed and he goes pale at the sight, Ryan is impaled on one of the branches and his ribs are protruding from his chest. “The amount of force used to get him up there had to be tremendous… this is... ?” a snapping sound catches the man’s attention and he turns just in time to avoid being hit by a hatchet.

“So… hello Mr. Wolf… umm… crap!” Rider ducks under the approaching arms and makes a mad dash for cabin, “Sorry… not gonna die tonight!” so the chase begins. Rider cuts through the brush and sees the car in the driveway, “Just need to get the car and I can get some help… AAAAHHHHH!” metal jaws clamp around the man’s leg as he gets near the car.

A bear trap holds him in place and he reaches down to begin prying off when he spots the guy in the distance, “Fuck!” moments pass in what seems like hours before Rider frees himself and hops into the car and speeds off. The further he gets from the cabin, the calmer he gets as well… the calm is sort of unnatural… the road and the forest seems to blur together. Weird… he feels… weird.

The same scenes… road… forest… road… forest

His body feels pleasantly numb… but he feels no concern.

He takes his eyes off the road for a minute… darkness.

It doesn’t take long for The Hunter to find his little Hare after he left, the potent neurotoxins on his traps always leave anything trapped by them disoriented and on the verge of unconsciousness. When he reaches the site of the crash he finds his beloved pulling himself from the wreckage with great difficulty. He leans down and pulls the smaller man into his arms as he struggles weakly in his grasp but soon stops when he feels the warmth of the larger man’s chest, the Hunter soon begins to sing a song.

Forgive me my love, These wounds they were never meant for you, I will hold you gently in my arms, So don’t you run away,

I wish to keep you safe forevermore,

But soon you’ll run away from me,

I wish that you would stay,

There is no one more perfect for my love to be,

Please forgive me my love,

These wounds weren’t meant for thee, I wish to hold you in my arms,

So… please… don’t… run...away… from… me

The gentle song soothes the frazzled man into a light slumber and Hunter begins his trips home, he walks faster because he feels elated by the fact that his beloved is finally in his arms. The four and a half miles to the small cabin passes by in a flash when the Hunter thinks about his prize.

Rider wakes after some time and his mind is a muddled mess, what happened to him… why is everything so hazy… what was he doing? A man comes forward with a bowl of water and a washcloth, he seems vaguely familiar but Rider can’t place his finger on it… his head is throbbing like crazy. “Are you okay my love?” the man asks in a gentle tone, again something about his voice feels familiar but all Rider sees is hazy in his mind.

“Love… what?” Rider looks to the man and something in him puts the pieces together… this guy wouldn’t be calling him that if they didn’t have some connection. “What do you mean by my love?” the man puts a hand on his forehead and brushes his hair off the bandages covering it.

Confusion crosses the man’s face before he gives Rider a gentle smile, “I call Love because we’re together… you were in a terrible accident and I thought I had lost you, you think you may have amnesia though?” the man doesn’t seem to be lying and his face shows nothing but concern so Rider accepts his answer.

A person that loves him and is nursing him back to health wouldn’t lie to him, his memories are hazy and his thoughts are slow… but something tells him that the man in front of him is someone important… maybe? “Are you okay my Love, do you need something to eat… you have been asleep for three days so I think so?” the man says as he scampers off to grab something from the kitchen.

At first glance he can tell that his lover is at least a foot taller than him, he has broad shoulders, a chiseled jaw, a massive chest, his hair is honey brown and he wears sweats and a black undershirt. The man is the very definition of handsome and Rider blushes.

When Hunter first saw the man stir he suspected that he would remember everything and try to run, which would result in him having to hurt the man he loved again. The moment his eyes opened they looked a little hazy and uncertain, but when his eyes landed on Hunter he looked relieved yet confused by the place around him.

When he called Rider love it sparked recognition in the man’s mind and the gears began turning, the thought of his beloved running away after all his trouble started to eat at him and he braced himself for the rejection. “Are we in love or something… like engaged or married?” with a curious yet adorable tilt of his head Rider started to search his memories but nothing came up.

“You and I have been married for a short time, we came here for a nice vacation but when you went to grab some supplies you veered off the road and crashed… I found ou a few hours later… I thought I had lost you?” Hunter watched the smaller man for a reaction. He turned it over in his mind until his expression softened, “That explains a lot… god I feel like hell!” that sparks concern in Hunter and he runs off to get him some food.

This stroke of luck has given Hunter the chance to have his beloved forever, truth be damned… this is a sign that he was meant to have the man as his own. The soft smile on his lips feels nice and he comes back with a bowl of stew just for his lover, “Your arms are still sore and shouldn’t be moved around so much so let me feed you okay?” with a small nod Rider agrees and opens his mouth as Hunter holds out the stew for him to eat.

He may not have his memories but Hunter doesn’t care because he knows the man doesn’t need them, all he needs is Hunter and Hunter needs him. The two chatter amicably for hours, it’s a little slow at the beginning due to Rider still being sluggish from his injuries but it soon picks up and before long the clock in Hunter’s home strikes midnight. “It would seem it has gotten quite late my little Hare, I think it’s about time you get some rest?” the pet name causes another spark in his lover’s memory, again Hunter waits in anticipation for outcome.

Rider laughs… it catches Hunter off guard and he can’t help but look confused, “I think it is Mr. Wolf!” the man chuckles as he looks to his husband with a playfully mischievous grin. “I call you that right? It just seems so familiar!” the innocent way he says it makes Hunter want to scoop him up and plant kisses on his face, so he does. Rider squirms in his hold as he laughs because of the affection.

It goes on until his beloved tires himself out and he lays his head on Hunter’s chest as he lets out a sigh of relief, “Tired my little Hare?” the man nods and yawns while getting comfy. Hunter begins to rub slow circles in his lover’s back as he begins singing a gentle song.

I hold you in my arms tonight,

Please never leave me my sun so bright,

Oh little Hare I search for you far and wide,

Just to have you here by my side

Just me and you in the here and now,

What if you remember the dangerous how,

I worry you may not love my after that,

Even after the love and laughs we shared by the fire we sat

The Hunter is a man of chance, he’ll wait and wait for his prize to come, he’ll take his chance and get what he sets his mind to. The Hunter knows what he wants… he will always get his prize.

[dzamie-oc]

Smaugust 09 - Smoke

A squad of four humans is determined to raid and slay the sinister dragon Wysteria. With modern equipment, how could they fail?

1796 words, cw: death, guns

Four people stood at the entrance to the dragon's lair. Artemis in blue, Aura in yellow, Tobias in red, and Cecil in white. It wasn't the middle ages anymore, of course, and they faced a foe who knew that, as well. The structure was ornate on the outside, depicting Wysteria as a proud dragon and her array of kobolds in a series of relief carvings. Inside, however, was the workings of a dragoness who could use her breath weapon to great effect. A ventilation system that could awe engineers twenty years in the future, a confusing grid of similar rooms, and a fast and efficient variant on a typical intercom system. Its only weakness was a near-complete lack of doors, instead relying on offset walls to hide the scaly mistress of the fortress. The quartet of aspiring dragonslayers steeled themselves before their assualt.

Artemis flicked on his comms. "Alright, we're going in. Gear check, everyone. Goggles?" A chorus of yeses. "Piercing rounds?" Aura and Cecil replied in the affirmative. "Explosive? Got mine." Tobias gave him a thumbs-up. "And most important. Masks?" The four of them brought their gloved hands to their faces, ensuring that the gas mask each of them wore was tight on, letting no unfiltered air into their mouth or nose. It didn't matter how smart you thought you were, how resiliant you thought you were, or how well you thought you knew the building layout. Once she had you, it was over.

"All clear, then. Remember: we have air tanks, but the best way to live is to never lose the mask in the first place. Now then, on three..." The humans' attention moved to the door, and they tensed, ready for the dash in. "One... two... three!"

Artemis kicked the door in, snapping a couple of its hinges, then ran in, the other three close behind. Intel had been very good to them; getting to Wysteria was a direct path, no exploring and backtracking needed. All the squad had to do was get in, take out any of her scaly guards and helpers in their way, shred her scales and blast her to bits. It wasn't pretty, and the blue-clad man had correctly guessed that he'd have nightmares for months after their first job, but it was damned effective, and that's all that mattered against a dragon.

A couple rooms were cleared easily - the kobolds who didn't run fast enough earned a nice dirt nap. After that, the visibility started to worsen. Wysteria's breath weapon was pink, and that was the color the air began to turn as they hurried deeper into her lair.

"Behind us, sir!" Aura cried out. They spun, seeing something flying through the air towards them. A burst of rifle fire nicked it well before the projectile could come close, and with a loud explosion, it detonated. Artemis braced himself against the shock, and was pleased to see his squadmates did as well. Cecil threw a few more rounds down the corridor, in case the thrower had any more funny ideas, but they were soon back on pace.

Tobias went on the comms. "Hey, you guys hear a hissing?" she asked, "intel didn't say anything about nagas. Our girl's supposed to be kobold and kobold only."

Cecil slowed and turned his head to listen, then swore loudly. "Air tanks! They got mine."

"Right. Pressure check, guys. I'm at... aw hell, I'm zero in a few seconds," Artemis reported."

"Same."

"They got all of us- FUCK!" Tobias was on the ground, hand to her face. In front of her, the floor tile had sprung open, and a kobold, with one knife in her shin and one plunged towards her head, crouched before her. It was dead before it could even think to swing again.

Artemis crouched by her; Cecil and Aura brought their guns up, scanning for more aggressors. "Toby, did it get you? How are you doing?"

"I'm dead. Go."

"Hey," Artemis said firmly, "Johann patched up my eye, and he got that knife out of Aura's heart. You're not dead."

"No," Tobias said, letting her hand fall away. There was no blood, but the front of her gas mask had been severed. It couldn't have gotten all the filters, but... "I'm dead. Go." Tobias pointed onward.

Artemis followed her hand. It wasn't where Wysteria was. It wasn't where they came from. He sighed. "Toby... get yourself home, before it gets into you. We'll press on."

"Yes, sir." Tobias said. She stood, limping a little from her wounded leg, and hobbled off in a fourth, unrelated direction. Artemis got back up to his feet, too.

"Do we retreat?" Cecil asked. "We're down one now, no backup air. They land another hit like that, lucky or not, and I don't think we're getting out alive."

Artemis watched helplessly as Tobias, barely wounded, wandered to her death. "I... we don't have longer on. Take down Wysteria, and the kobolds should surrender fast enough." He gestured towards where the dragon would be, where the pink smoke billowed and they would need their visors to see even such a large creature. "Right now, we're best off making sure she has as little time as possible to prepare for us. Keep your eyes peeled for more tricks, but we're going after her."

Aura fired a round at a glimmer of scales, the resulting explosion rewarded with a yip and a crash, followed by seeing a dazed, possibly dead kobold fall across the door. "Agreed. We can't flee or fight if we wait here to be surrounded."

Cecil nodded. "Yes sir, ma'am." The three pressed on. Just a few more walls to wind around.

Suddenly, a blast of hot air slammed into them from the side. Cecil slid through the door to the next room over, but Aura and Artemis hit the wall, jarring his senses. Heart pounding with adrenaline, the man quickly got up, noticing with a twinge of dread that Aura failed to get up, just twitched weakly on the floor. Alive, he could tell, but unless Cecil showed back up, he'd be taking her on alone. On the plus side, he knew exactly where the dragoness was.

"I'm a little impressed. I actually had to step in!" Wysteria's voice was a low rumble; as she spoke, more thick, pink smoke fell from her jaws. Unfortunately for her, that just gave Artemis an excellent target. He swung his gun up, took aim at that fountain of smoke, and squeezed the trigger.

Nothing happened. He looked down. Jammed? No, his weapon didn't jam. He'd managed to run out of ammo taking out kobolds earlier. He reached for another mag, but stopped when he saw the kobold beside him. It watched him, the smuggest of smiles on its face, as it casually juggled a few magazines in its scaly hands, tossing them almost as high as his chest, before catching them all again and scurrying off.

"Don't look so low, human," the dragoness mocked, "I hear males of your species often have trouble shooting all their shot too early."

Artemis looked around. His thoughts went to Aura. Even if she couldn't fight, he could still use her weapon to fight, himself. However, when he looked back down towards her, he saw a blood-chilling sight. Aura had begun to shrink, golden scales appearing on her skin, and her face was gradually lengthening, like a snout. "A-aura?"

"Aw, he's grieving," Wysteria said without a hint of pity or concern. "Here, tell you what, silly human. No harm, no foul, right? You still haven't shot me, so I'm willing to allow you to take this... Aura of yours and flee. You're outnumbered one to... well, let's not get into details, and hopelessly outgunned. I do so wish that you'll take me up on the offer."

Silent, a little dumbfounded, he scooped Aura up in his arms. She was more kobold than human now, and light enough to carry, but if there was a way for Wysteria to do it, there had to be a way for someone to undo it. He turned and walked out of the room. Following the map he had used to find the dragoness, he now used it to find his way back out. A left, a right, two more lefts, straight a few times, and then left again.

As he rounded the last corner, he was relieved to see Johann in the med bay, waiting to tend to the squad's injuries. The doctor gestured for him to lay Aura down on the observation table, and for him to sit for his own examination. Artemis shook his head. "Doc, focus on her. I hardly got a scratch." Johann stared at him, then slowly shook his head and turned his attention to the golden-scaled kobold.

Artemis walked out of the room and into the freight elevator. He tapped the number for the dormitories, and waited as the spacious car ascended. Finally, the opposite door opened, and he stepped out as pink smoke billowed in. Wysteria blinked at him, then smiled. "Oh, don't you look nice now."

"How do I get Aura back to normal?" Artemis demanded. His voice sounded a little odd. Clearer than how it had been muffled when he first entered her lair, but still different from his usual voice. "I know you have to know!"

"Is your mask on tight enough?" she responded, "because you're making rather strange assumptions."

The man squinted at her. He reached up. His mask was still there. A little bulkier... longer, perhaps, and it pressed on his nose more comfortably than he thought it had been, but still there all the same. "Answer me, dragon."

The dragoness's smile widened into a sharp-toothed grin. "Strange, I would have thought you'd have taken it off when you dropped Goldie off. Oh well, I'll play along for a bit longer." At Artemis's sharp glare, she rolled her eyes. "Well, fine. I would tell you, but the spellbook with that information is being stolen. Bring the book AND the thief back to me, and I'll give you what's desired."

Artemis tilted his head, curious. "Is being stolen? Not was stolen?"

"The thief is a human clad in white. My other kobolds are trying to slow him down, but that's all they can seem to do. He's armed with a rifle of some kind, so be careful."

Artemis nodded as she spoke. "Alright. So, grab the thief, bring him back, and you'll tell me what to do about Gol- about Aura? Simple enough. Anything else?"

Wysteria smiled and blew a blast of pink smoke at him, just to tease him. "Oh, he's a good deal taller than most humans are, you'll think. But that's all. Mind your tail, little silver one."

[rudolf-rokkr]

fuck your ugly-ass runes

I’m frustrated with people who want “their” cultural symbols handed to them on a silver platter. They want to “reclaim” things that were never anything except Nazi symbols, like the 12-spoked black sun or the symbol of a Nazi volunteer militia, yet they can’t be bothered to figure out what runes Vikings used. Nazis say “here are the symbols of our ancestral heritage (that are a bunch of crap we made up) and you all go “give it back!” When it comes to the runes they took 1,500 years of tradition and steamrolled it. It could never have been any other way. Nationalism is the enemy of culture. They cannot coexist in harmony. Nationalism is piss on the graves of our ancestors.

I keep seeing people say that they want to reclaim the runes, but you can’t reclaim something that was never yours. And if your conception of the runes is coterminous with Nazi use of them, then it is shallow, superficial, not worth saving, the death of tradition with a few half-rotten specimens preserved pinned under glass.

I know it’s hard when you don’t know who you can trust. We wouldn’t be in this situation without wolves in sheep’s clothing sneaking lies between a handful of facts to distract you (Thorsson/Flowers). We have a lot of work to do uprooting the deceit that lies at the core of modern heathen reception of the runes. Now’s a good time to start. Since the part of the problem that’s most active on everyone’s mind regards visual perception of symbols of Norse and Germanic culture this is gonna focus on that, with lots of pictures.

~ Get excited, kids, it’s runology time ~

Nazis didn’t take “runes,” they took an aesthetic more or less from the Gallehus horn.

This one particular object has runes that happen to appeal to their sense of aesthetics and as a result became “the” runes, and all of you people fell for it. They’re into straight lines because there were Nazi philologists who thought runes were the original writing system that the Mediterranean alphabets ripped off (echoing Johan Bure in the 16th century). The straight lines reminded of their origin in ancient rock carvings (rather than the truth, that their origin is in the (Semitic) Phoenician alphabet via something else like Latin, Greek, another Italic alphabet, or perhaps even with direct influence from a Semitic source). They were considered a symbolic mystical system first, that later achieved some utility as a writing system. The pristine geometric shapes reflect their archetypal mystical nature (specifically within the “Ariosophical” (racist) Armanen system of runes based on a “hexagonal crystal structure”). And I guess these blocky slabs are “manly” or something.

So yeah, it relates to an actual inscription but it’s just an aesthetic. I know this because I can do this:

These are Latin letters that “look like runes.” The only problem is, they don’t. They look like one inscription that reads “I, Hlewagastiʀ Holtijaʀ, am a huge fucking bigshot who drinks out of gold.” The non-runologist part of me is glad his shit got stolen and melted down.

Most of this goes for the other widely-visible variant -- the same thing but with thin lines (like tawido at the end above). Those are somewhat better represented in the runic corpus but it’s not because that’s what runes “are,” it’s because it’s easier and not everyone is a professional. I’m still gonna attack the idea that these are in any way prototypical. In fact I believe that for most (but not all) rune-carvers rounded runes were the prototype, and when this wasn’t adhered to it was for stylistic or utilitarian reasons.

Runes that don’t follow this aesthetic -- which is most actual runes -- will not even be recognized as runes by most people.

The rest is long and full of images so I will save your dash but the punchline is that if you want to save the runes from Nazis the first step is knowing them -- not as the Nazis conceived of them but as they exist in the wild, because then you realize that what was taken was nothing compared to what we rob ourselves of by falling for imposter “tradition.”

If runes had been used continuously they would probably be about as different from Latin letters as Greek and Cyrillic scripts -- that is, no inherent stylistic differences, just different inherited underlying shapes. I mean, look at early Latin script:

(Lapis niger)

(Duenos inscripion)

(Lapis Santricanus)

This beautiful text here is Gothic, the precious lovechild of runes and the Greek alphabet. The result of adapting to new contexts and new challenges.

The reason runes aren’t as diverse in appearance as Latin is because there just isn’t as much of them. If they were used for writing long texts they’ve probably have developed minuscules and all sorts of other variants. But even within the much more limited corpus we see that runes can be:

soft

(Tune stone)

(Möjbro stone)

regular and professional

(Vadstena bracteate, this btw is typical of bracteates which by numbers are most of the elder futhark corpus)

curvy:

(Björketorp runestone -- notice even the m (#6 on 3rd line), d (there’s a bunch of them), and k (#7 on second-to-last line) runes have curves).

minimalist

(HS 12, staveless runes)

stylized

(Kragehul spearshaft; we can file the Gallehus horn underst “stylized” as well, the goldsmith was trying to be fancy and fucked up so he had to squeeze the last bit in)

(Bramham Moor ring, drawing by Georg Stephens)

chaotic

(Ribe skull... yeah, literally a piece of skull... with what’s believed to be a charm for a headache)

tiny

(Saltfleetby spindle whorl... an invocation of Óðinn, Heimdallr, and Þjálfi(?))

There is a huge amount of variation of each rune

(From Texts and Contexts of the Oldest Runic Inscriptions by Tineke Looijenga)

they even borrow from other futharks

(Stentoften stone; the circled runes are both reflexes of *jērą (at this point, *ār) but the second is an ideograph for ‘harvest’ that is not contemporary to the stone)

(Ög 43, that’s an elder futhark d-rune in a younger futhark inscription (1st on second line); image manipulated to make it more legible)

I mean look at this badass

(Rök stone... standard early short-twig and then BAM! Elder goð damn futhark in the 800′s (bottom and leftmost line)! I mean the carver doesn’t know how to use it properly but damn. And then that’s not enough so then the cheeky bastard breaks out MULTIPLE PATTERNS OF CIPHER RUNES (top and third line of tunes from the top. )

they can have serifs

(Malton dress pin)

they keep up with the times

(AM 748 I b 4to, The Third Grammatical Treatise from c. 1300-1325... an essay by Snorri’s nephew that talks about how to write in runes, by the way, I’ve been shoving this down people’s throats for years and can’t get anyone to care)

or go their own way

(Codex Runicus, from about the same time as the previous, this doesn’t look very out of time to us now but everyone was writing like in the image immediately above at the time)

I mean, guys. And don’t not click the links, please. I’m begging you

(Lbs 1349 4to)

(Lbs 636 4to)

(Huld, ÍB 383 4to)

and like not to toot my own horn or anything but

nobody is seeing this and thinking “white nationalist.”

ek iafnuel skrifa i litlum stǫfum sem ek bio til ek jafnvel skrifa í litlum stǫfum sem ek bjó til ‘I even write in minuscules that I invented.’ Can you tell I really love Gothic script? Would love to see what others would come up with, what would pick up and spread, what variants would coexist.

Also I mean it’s not like you even need to use runes to write in runes

(Ciphers in AM 687 d 4to, the earliest copy of the Icelandic Rune Poem. Along the bottom are villuletur, a substitution cipher. Conveying information but preventing most people from accessing it was always an important part of runes)

shit, you don’t even have to write anything (link to instructions on how to spell using rune kennings)

Here’s the thing. Nazis are idealist essentialists, they believe in the “original” “unpolluted” archetypal proto-form of things. Runes have never been any of those things. Runes have always been artists trying to one-up each other, nerds trying to push the boundaries of weirdness, young punks scrawling graffiti, and at least later on also moms carving shopping lists so dad doesn’t forget that little Sigríðr needs new gloves. Stop holding yourself to a standard that doesn’t exist because you found it in a book by some crypto-fascist masquerading as a runologist. From the second person to carve runes on, there were no prototypical runic forms -- carvers saw a variety of related symbols standing for the same thing, formulated their own idea of their own prototype of it and how to use it, and deployed it in combination with context plus willingness to put in time and effort. The beauty of runes is -- like all writing -- is their infinite potential for creative expression.

This post makes heavy use of resources from Arild Hauges Runer, which goes uncited above because Arild mostly collects sources from elsewhere, but it would be wrong not to credit him for all his work.

[paullicino]

How I became Agent Mulder

Holy fuck it’s been a hard year.

This began as me writing about a curious parallel. Then it turned into something about writer’s block, about work, then about how the last year has been really difficult for me, then about immigration. Then it became all too self-indulgently biographical and died on its arse, causing me to have to slice into it like a coroner cutting his way toward some bizarre cause of death, trying to understand the corpse in front of him. I don’t know what it is now, beyond the strange dripping of disconnected words wrung out of a wet cloth that I have been twisting for months.

Here, I think, is the story of how I became Agent Mulder, among other things. It features three reasons I was bullied, two plot twists and one impressed girl.

I can always measure how tough things are by how easy it is for me to write. When the going’s good, the words cascade like a waterfall. It’s quantity over quality, but that’s okay, because you can always boil away what’s bad, distill down to the best. It also means that things get finished.

When the going’s bad, I’m left with a collection of miscarried messages, I’m surrounded by abandoned attempts to express and connect. The drafts fester like corpses, haunt me like ghosts with unfinished business, reminding me that good writers are disciplined and consistent, while this one has a mind made of fog and swamps, struggling some days to get even three different things done.

I think about work a lot lately. Work and drive and dedication. So here’s a tale all about that. It starts twenty-three years ago, in September 1994.

I was fourteen and about to start what would be a difficult year of school. Some things would get better. Some things would get worse. There would be less of the chronic bullying that had characterised my first two years, that had driven me to the margins and made me feel dreadful about myself, but I would start to struggle and then fail with my work. I wasn’t used to failure and I didn’t know it was normal. Everything so far had taught me that failure was bad and that bad people were failures.

I was also bad at being anything but myself. In a small town in one of the most conservative corners of England, this really wasn’t the way to behave. I was making all the wrong cultural choices, reading old books (too boring), watching political comedy (too weird) and listening to Queen (too old and, criminally, too gay). There were plenty of people ready to remind me how wrong I was and I spent far too long trying to get those people to like me. I didn’t know how to ask for help or even what help to get. I ended up sharing many of the things I liked with nobody but myself.

Relief of a sort was on the way. That September, the X-Files arrived in Britain. To some people it was a bizarre and baffling new idea, but I understood everything about it immediately. I’d grown up harvesting the Paranormal subsection of all my local libraries (which qualified as “non-fiction,” so was available to all ages), and I’d already borrowed all the encyclopaedias of UFO sightings, Arthur C. Clarke’s Mysterious World and endless florid literature on haunted houses, unexplained disappearances, lost civilisations, spontaneous human combustion and how John F. Kennedy might really have been killed. The X-Files felt like something made by a person with one eye on my reading list.

For a while, I think I wanted to be David Duchovny. I’d cross-referenced those library books with each other, trying to work out which ghost sightings and weird cryptids were credible or bullshit (most of it was bullshit). The cool and capable Agent Mulder did this too, but he was far better at it and had a theory for everything, a theory often too good to share. Not only did he know it all, but he was somehow relentless, impervious. Nothing seemed to get him down. Oh, to be so dedicated. To be so good at something. No matter what, he forged ahead, stoic and independent, everyone else be damned.

He made weird things cool. Pop culture stumbled sideways and UFO sightings became mainstream news, ghosthunters appeared on TV people really thought an alien autopsy video had been leaked. I wrote “FBI” in my wallet in thick, heavy letters just to make a girl laugh (it worked) and suddenly people gave a damn that I knew nonsense about aliens. The X-Files became the perfect antidote to the Spice Girls and a difficult year became not quite so difficult.

Time passed and I struggled a lot, beginning the jagged journey down the fucked-up path I’ve taken to get to the present. I was not relentless or impervious, nor had I learned how to be dedicated. Everyone else was better at studying, better at socialising and better at getting good jobs. I was still dealing with failure and bounced through life like a pinball, still more aware of what I wasn’t than what I was. I had no vision of what I might be. Everything was too expensive, too far, too hard or really not for somebody like me, someone who’d failed to become either cool or capable. When you have one less degree and one more suicide attempt than most people you know, your options seem limited. I certainly forgot about the X-Files and I would later say it was a passing diversion. Only recently did I discover an old photo of my room clearly showing the poster below.

Much happened. I went through periods of working extremely hard, or of working and studying, or of working and studying and scraping pennies together. There was a lot of making up for lost time, a lot of second chances, even a few examples of me being able to ask for help. I tried to catch up educationally, financially, experientially, working at all hours of the day or night, dogged and driven and inarticulate in my frustration.

I wrote a lot. It was the best way to communicate. It was the only way to communicate. It was also my therapy and my trade and, I believed, my only calling. My words weren’t always good but I threw myself into it. Every week I had something to say, for free or for money, as if there was nothing else to do. Perhaps there was, but I didn’t see it. I saw words and their purpose and their power and I’ve always believed they’re one of the most extraordinary tools that we have. I just wanted to be better at them.

Twenty years after watching that first episode of the X-Files, I decided I had to escape England. I thought about pinballing around the world, just trying to drink up so much of anything else. I went to Canada, almost on a whim, and this year decided to ask the country if I could make that choice a permanent one. Plot twist: Like so many people applying for Permanent Residence, I have had to leave the country for an indeterminate amount of time while that application is processed. I don’t know when I’ll be back.

To the surprise of many, the X-Files began filming again, shooting in the same city I was living in, the city in which it began. I’d ended up living in the old X-Files set, and idle curiosity had me return to that show, filling in all the episodes I’d missed, following the arcs I’d lost.

I found a new, very different Agent Mulder.

It was easy now to understand why so many people championed his partner, the infinitely patient Agent Scully. Not only did she display a wide range of skills and competencies, she was also the only person who did not seem to be constantly enraged and frustrated by the man she had to work with. Mulder, viewed with the eyes of an adult, was infuriating.

Even worse, he was me.

The first character trait I could reliably ascribe to him was his throbbing impulse to forever dash off by himself. The amount of times Scully shouts some variant of “What the fuck are you suddenly doing?” in the first two seasons must be in the high double digits. This is further compounded by just how bad Mulder is at explaining what he is thinking, what he hopes to achieve or what the justification is for anything. It’s no wonder that Skinner, his boss, perpetually looks on the verge of a combination aneurysm-embolism-total emotional breakdown. Mulder is about as communicative and comprehensible as a cactus.

Can’t you forgive him? Dogged and driven and inarticulate, he just wants to work, he has to work, as if there is nothing else to do. Nobody understands him, his theories are often too good to share, this must surely be why he cares about very little else. Mulder is content to sleep on his sofa every evening and never seems aware that calling his colleagues at all hours of the night or day, or explaining himself after the fact, is perhaps not the most socially or emotionally sensitive behaviour.

You have to watch quite a lot of the X-Files to get a broader picture of this man, to ever know that he’s a fan of Elvis or baseball, that he has few plans for where he’s going in life, that he shares many of the things he likes with nobody but himself. In the rare moments where his frantic pace slows and where he’s deconstructed by other characters, they call him antisocial, wholly inward-facing and a workaholic. His work and drive and dedication is also an obsession, his independence is also his loneliness.

This year I only slept on my sofa once. I made more of an effort to communicate with people in person and to better articulate what was inside me in more ways than just this, than just writing. I did this in part because I saw what Agent Mulder was good at and what Agent Mulder was bad at. I saw that I had become one of my childhood heroes, but I also saw what that person was as an adult and what their life had become. It was eerily familiar and, when the all that work and drive and dedication was stripped away, there wasn’t enough left.

I find it very hard to accept that my life isn’t what it was thirty, twenty or even ten years ago. I keep feeling that time is an elastic band that will pull me back to some previous state of being, that it will undo everything I have tried to achieve, tried to become, and return me to something I’ve been working so hard to get away from. “This is where you should be,” it will say, with a wag of its finger, as it returns me to being broke or unpopular or directionless.

Here’s the second plot twist: I liked being Agent Mulder. I knew how to throw myself into the present, how to bury myself in work and how to always have something to do next. It was often a necessity, but it was also a familiarity. It was a metric by which I could judge myself. It may look bad from the outside, but from the inside you see how everything works perfectly. Maybe I do want to change a little, but I don’t think I’ll ever want to stop, even if I knew how, and I think my stubbornness has taken me places reasonable behaviour never would.

It’s only in times like this, when I can’t do the work and when I struggle, when my frantic pace slows, that I’m not so sure what else I have to turn to. I suppose that’s something I can try to figure out in 2018.

I hope this new year is a reset of sorts. The current one really needs to go in the bin. The future, I hope, is out there.

[exotahu]

The Bronycon 2017 big text post!

This is the longest thing I ever write but here is my of the 2017 Bronycon.

Lets get to it. 

Thursday:

We met at Bill's house so we could travel down in two groups, since we had too many people to fit in one car. (8 of us, Me, Andrew, Justin and Ethan in one car, Kyle, Bill, Nick and Josh in another.) We managed to pretty much stay together and stopped at the same gas station together. It was the good-hot dog speedway. They only had two left and everyone looked at me like I was crazy for wanting gas station hot dogs. I ate those two and asked if they had any more. They totally did. I intended to eat a couple more but NOPE. Everybody else decided to try the gas station hotdogs and doubled up. Oh well, it was kinda funny. The next stop was Baltimore. There was crazy construction in the city, atleast around our hotel. Slowed us down a bit. Justin really had to use the bathroom, so he jumped out of the car in still traffic and went into a nearby subway rather than waiting until we got to the hotel. As soon as he did, traffic moved, like we thought it would. It was easy to direct him from there to the hotel though. They had the special keys, but there wasn't a wifi password this year. I'm a Marriott member so I got free wifi anyway though. We hung around for a bit and went to get our badges. Went pretty quick for us basic pass holders, only like 45 minutes. Not bad at all. Deposited our con things at the hotel. Went to Dick's Last Resort. Nick decided he wanted to arm wrestle me for some reason. I won. Of course the waiter saw this so he challenged me. I lost pretty quick, he was large. Might have been better had I not planted my elbow on the goddamn laminated menu, but what can you do? The funniest part was when he brought our drinks, he brought one. Left the others at the station thingy. I got up and got just mine. Then everyone else slowly did it. It was funny. Managed to place a Pokemon on the gym there too. Didn't last that long but was nice anyway. Then we went to Fells Point. Everybody went to a ramen shop but I decided to go to the bar trot early. I was the only one to actually sign up for it in our group. The original company running the bar trot apparently closed. I didn't know there wasn't to be one until a month before, and then I noticed a new company doing it but it was definitely very last minute for them. There were only two bars participating, neither of them being the admiral, which seemed kinda lame. However the Admiral, being awesome as it as, participated ANYWAY. They had the themed drink including the Great and Powerful Trixie. Drank a fuckton of it. They also had a Pinkie Pie and Applejack themed drink that I saw. Then the bartender made a Rainbow Dash drink by combining them all. It was fuckin' awesome. We then went to the Soundgarden because apparently it's just right there and back to the hotel for bed.

 Friday:

 I got up relatively early, think I actually got almost 8 hours of sleep. Decided to bring my bad Derpy cosplay. Product of a 3$ costume store clearance wing/ear/tail set and a shirt photo transfer. I actually went to opening ceremonies because A. I woke up for it on time, B. I didn't want to just book it to the vendor hall.  It was neat, maybe I'll try to do opening ceremonies again. After that, I got to meet up with a group of people from a Scisetdaily (a really cute Sciset tumblr askblog thingy) discord server I joined, which was really cool. We hung out and ate some con food before we split off to do other things. I went to the vendor hall at this point and wandered. Bought one of the cool engraved lighters. It has Princess Luna on it. I also got some 4de plushies (Specifically Fluttershy and Trixie), a fantastic JoJo shirt and some a couple Cutie Corral plushies. Specifically the comic universe reverse world princesses. Apparently its their last year doing cons : (. Comics hadn't been set up yet so I held off on that. Then I bought an absolutely adorable Derpy playmat. Also I got to see something neat. The MyLittleTies booth had A VR demo for the occulus rift where you could wander around Ponyville. It was really cool, even though I had to take my glasses off I could still see well enough for it to be cool. And yes I totally want an occulus rift for this reason.... Sad my computer won't support it. It was sort of disorienting, but I'm sure if I used VR more, I'd get used to it. After this I went to the hotel and deposited my things and headed to the Fursuit photoshoot with a couple friends. Next was the CMC VA panel which was cool. I like the VA panels. I kinda just wandered around again after that before going back to the main hall. I was going to watch the comic creators panel, but the adjacent room had a tesla coil set up and i really wanted to watch them go. Ultimately ended up watching the tesla coils go cause I needed to charge my phone and that is where an outlet was. Caught the end of the comic panel though. I hate when two panels I want to see conflict. Ate some more con food and did a bunch of wandering. Went back to the hotel and switched to a normal shirt and prepped for bronypalooza. Hung out in the other room and played some splatoon2. Really wanted to see Vylet. His set was fuckin awesome. Other acts were really cool too. A lot more electronic music than usual for that early in the night. Then I did something different. Rather than stay at the palooza, I met up with everyone and went to the Anthology 6 panel. Fuckin hysterical. Everyone else went back to the hotel and I went back to the palooza to catch Silva Hound's set. Then went back to the hotel and went to sleep.

 Saturday: Decided last minute to bring my Chrysalis cosplay. Ran into the guy I met at an Otakon a few years back, which was cool. I went to the vendor hall first. The comic booth had a box of variant covers for 5$ each. I dropped 60$ on comics. Then I found a Madoka playmat. I also got Bill to grab a movie playmat for me when they went to the vendor hall day 1. I got like 3 mats. I mostly just wandered and observed. Saw a dakimakura that was real funny bud I didn't want to drop 100 at that time. It was a cartoon-y chrysalis laying on a fuzzy pink background and that fuzzy pink background was Fluffllepuff. Next I got to meet up with the cool people from the internet again and we went to the Kelly Sheridan and Kyle Rideout panel as one big group. I thought of a q&a question but by that point the line was to infinity and I knew there was no way, perhaps another time. Once that ended I grabbed some food and went to the crystal arena. Bill and Josh wanted to see how the game had changed and see what the game was like now. They were running a novice tournament that was 10$ you got a deck to play with and two packs and at the end. It was neat learning the game again. It sounds like it really became good. They streamlined it a lot. Went to another fursuit photoshoot. Then we went back and got ready for palooza. I stayed the entire time this time. Really liked Michelle Creber and BlackGryph0n’s set. Chilled out and sat for one of the acts with Andrew and Ethan, needed to save my legs which were super sore. It was fantastic. Got to see Garnika, he's probably my favorite of all the regular artists there. I bought one of his shirts. Although I heard this might have been his last Bronycon? Infinite sadness if thats true. This is about when Kyle and Josh showed up. I also got a message that the fire alarm went off at the hotel. Everybody there had a clusterfuck, Justin slept through it. Turns out someone was vaping or smoking or some nonsense. then Andrew and Ethan returned in time for the end of Garnika's set and Alex S. Was a great time.

 Sunday: Waking up was a bit rough since I hadnt gotten to bed until like 330-4. I wanted to go the VA panel but it was at 10 am (Goddamn who DOES that) but I was way to tired to get out of bed on time. I caught the end of it though! Then I went to the vendor hall. I was trying to avoid buying prints, but guess what. Bought so many goddamn prints. Again. Fuck. Oh well. I've tetris'd my walls before and I can totes do it again. Was trying to buy other neat things. I did too. I got a lazer etched geode slice and an edge lit acrylic pane. I really just hung out in the vendor hall with various people and looked at things. Also Nick got me a commission from an artist named Baron Engle. It's Lapis and Peridot as ponies in his style. Really fucking cool. Also bought another glass. Fluttershy this time. Was hoping one of the bands was gonna be at the Bronypalooza table but they weren't. Also had a print ordered to be shipped to me cause one of the print places printer broke. (There are certain booths that will sell art on behalf of the artists that can't be there.) Also bought a little digital nametag thing. It's pretty cool. I gotta get a cord to hook it up to the computer though. Wandered the con a little bit then deposited stuff at the hotel. We went to closing ceremonies after that. Ran into Garnika on the way there which was neat. Before it started we were playing music and everyone was just kinda goofing around. Closing ceremonies were cool. They said they were short 219 from their 33000 charity goal. So they asked the crowd if they could do that and SO MANY people got up to give them money (myself included). Turns out they made like 1200 $ They were then 10 short from 34k, and someone gave them 10$ We got our annual group photo and then headed to the Inner Harbor for some food and to play some Pokemon Go. Went to Bubba Gump's Shrimp Co. Place remains to be fucking fanstastic. Shrimpers Heaven is the best. While we waited for a table we managed to find a whole bunch of cool pokemon, Even did a Machamp raid. Found a fuckin Sandshew, Totodile and Mantine as well. Those are all things I've never seen around here ever. The Bronycon gym was blue so we couldn't do it yet decided to try later. I also evolved my first Gyrados. I decided to do it down there because that's where I essentially started my game. Went around an played some more Pokemon after dinner. The bronycon gym had changed but unfortunately the game broke real hard, we managed to get it down after a half hour of error-ing out a game crashes. Then we should have had it but it turned yellow in the clusterfuck. And no one had it in them to stand there for another half hour of broken game to beat one Blissey. We went back the next day but it had once again turned blue so we never got on it. Then we all went back to the hotel and watched the newest Rick and Morty while packing. Got our shit together and slept.

 Monday: We got up and hung out before loading vehicles. Checkout and hotel exiting was pretty easy. Decided to hang around in the inner harbor for a bit. Got lunch at an Irish pub in the pavilion. Yay for pub burgers and vodka cranberries! Then went to do a raid. A bunch of us went to get ice cream, but I went to the bigass Barnes and Noble instead. I had been looking for the Daring Do books at the con but no one had them. Barnes and Noble had one of the ones I was missing. After all that we walked back and headed out. We tried to stay together but traffic was nonsensical so it was hard. Unfortunately a rock flew up and cracked Kyle's windshield. Minor but still annoying. We  met up one last time in Wilkes-Barre at a Sheetz. I got some 2 for a dollar hot dogs and they were not good. After hanging out some they left about 15 minutes before us. We thought it'd be funny if we managed to pass them since they had such a ridiculously long head start and guess what? We totally did. It was funny. Got home after that.

 Overall:

             It was a good fucking time. Usually is. Bought some neat stuff. Got to meet some cool people from the internet. (Honestly, if any of y'all are reading this, even though it wasn't for that long at any given point you were all cool to meet and hang out with. I hope we get to again sometime.) It's honestly been a while since I've done that. It's funny, despite having done this the last 5 years, I don't feel at all burned out. Though next year, I think I'm going to do something different for my usual con photography. I'm going to shoot everything in black and white. (I accidentally left my camera in black and white mode for my first shot) I want to see how that makes things different.  

 (Also as always my memory is pretty butthole, and I essentially wrote this twice, so there might be errors and things I missed or got in the wrong order.)