#and the seam of each segment would actually be another mouth

[solarflareanon]

Day 26: Vampire Squid Dragon

Over the course of drawing this, My thoughts on this dude went from "i should make a real eldritch lookin' dragon" to "it's late and i've drawn enough teeth for tonight".

[ignisnocturnalia]

Variks x Reader Relationship HC's

Gonna write you as a new light, apologies my God-slaying siblings

News of the Pyramids over Europa reaches far and wide, as does stasis

With this discovery, relayed by a veteran guardian, also reveals news of the Eliksni who instigated the riot at the Prison of Elders

Being freshly revived, there's not much you can make out of the hostility the other Guardians offer the alien

Curious about him, you make a bold request to be stationed on Europa to "monitor" him

Of course, Zavala denies your request and speaks of how important your guns would be here at home

While you say you understand, you're secretly trying to find your way around it

The Drifter

You heard about his escapades to the frozen planet, reasons unknown, but still able to slip through Vanguard sanctions

As usual, a Guardian siding with the Vanguard approaching you with a purpose usually isn't a good thing

"Somethin' you want, kid?"

His tone is carefully jovial, bordering neutral, but you're not foolish enough to think he actually trusts you

"I need to get to Europa."

He stares at you for a solid minute before sizing you up, an inquisitive glare settling on his face

"What's in it for me?"

Having been on Strike detail for months on end, you've got a sweet heap of glimmer and nothing to use it on; you know he doesn't care a lot for the currency, so you offer up your weapons alongside it

He gives you a lopsided grin as he takes the arsenal, waving off the glimmer and taking you to his ramshackle ship

Unsurprisingly, it's a quiet ride, your own Ghost unsure of your actions

Drifter gives you little warning before transmitting you off the ship, leaving you to fall flat on your ass in the deep snow

Despite being a little upset about this, you finally see your goal, the very Eliskni that brought new questions to the ice planet

Every step you take lands your foot in a fluffy sheet of snow, sounding out with a crunch you had never heard before

Soon enough, you've completely deviated from the reason you came to the planet, completely obsessed with the snow under you

The entire time, Variks has been watching you from the window of his base making a fool of yourself

Distantly, he realizes that he thinks you're cute like that

"Here to help, yes?"

You are COMPLETELY caught off guard, turning quickly on your heel before slipping on the ice and landing flat on your ass

A shadow falls over you as you look up to see the well spoken Eliksni towering over you, and you're immensely thankful for the helmet hiding your blush

He offers you one of his real hands, helping you up and you can't help but notice how his hunched form is hiding a solid 8" from his height

Bringing you inside, you slowly decompress from the outside chill and Variks formally introduces himself

You quickly take note of how each of his sentences are punctuated by insect noises, which are quite fun to hear

You explain your circumstances and even though you can only see his eyes, you can feel the confusion in the air

"You left the Tower.. to see me? Variks does not know who you are; you do not know Variks, yes?"

You're slightly disappointed but not surprised by his suspicious behavior, after seeing how other Guardians harped about him

You then remember something very important

"I don't have a ship to get back."

Your ship still sat in the Hangar, locked down until it was needed for use

Variks stood in front of you quietly before also noticing something unusual about you; your weapons were missing

"Stay. I will contact your Commander."

You immediately spring from your seated position, grabbing at his shoulder before he can reach the comms

He seems to understand your plead

You spend the next few days eating freeze dried food, along with MRE's supplied by another curious party on Europa

Variks doesn't join you until he's finished eating in another room, and the conversations you can strike up are limited

You ask him to teach you Eliksni

He appears shocked at first but eagerly obliges, now showing up to eat with you

It's been a good couple of weeks, and you've got a few phrases and words under your belt

Nothing translates directly, everything is interpreted based on the small word choice

Variks didn't know, but you had spent the last 3 days trying to figure out what the closest thing to "I love you" was in Eliksni

That night, when you both settle down to eat, you eye Variks with a renewed purpose

The fuzz in your brain dissipates as, astoundingly, he moves to take off his mouth cover

You can't help but stare at his revealed face not noticing how he fidgets a bit under your intense stare

"Apologies, (y/n). I did not mean to ruin your appetite."

It was now or never

Moving over to sit next to him, you shyly looked up to see he had yet to put the mask back on, instead looking at you with uncertainty

"Yu ne ze." You are my gift. I love you.

The Eliksni's eyes widen and his body stiffens and you worry for a second that you've made a mistake before he turns fully and leans into your face

"Ma yun ne."

His mandibles are often used to caress your face

You find yourself with gifts and trinkets waiting in your small room in the base

He has you spot check his weapons, testing them out and generally having a blast with them

Other Guardians have seen you on occasion, but very few have approached you to ask questions about the mysterious Eliksni

Variks loves it when you hold his hands, even more so when you pet his face

When you find out he can purr, it's one of the most sought after sounds during your intimate moments, and sometimes he will purr simply to indulge you

Even if you're an undead warrior, Variks still piles furs on to your shoulders to make sure you don't get cold during outings

You have had to fend off assassins, often at the cost of your life

This pushes you to accept the deceptive whispers of the Pyramid, carrying you all the way to the Exo Stranger's den

She reluctantly agrees to teach you because of your inexperience, and although neither of you say anything, you and Drifter make quick eye contact

Variks can smell the Darkness on you and is very disappointed, but he doesn't tip off that he knows

Instead, he uses it as an excuse to put you under house arrest

He catalogues every single symptom you have that could barely begin to resemble a sickness, encouraging you to stay inside until you're better

During the nights, you notice he holds you much more tightly against his body

You apologize for your zealousness regarding his safety

Your lessons in Eliksni continue, and soon enough you can hold your own in small conversations with him

Whenever you or Variks look at each other trying to figure something out, you both always ask about the question in your mind

Whoever is asked ends up sitting in the other's lap, but you've found that it's much more convenient to sit in his own

This exploration leads to daily petting or grooming sessions, giving way for more risque activity to take place

Nsfw 👁👄👁

Variks orients himself as a switch, but you can tell he enjoys being on the bottom a little more if his rapid breaths are anything to go by

Brushing and lightly scratching segments on his exoskeleton are immense green lights for him, especially adding just enough force to push into the seams between his limbs

He's very gentle with his teeth, but the red marks he leaves on your body are generous from the amount of fondling he carries out

He's perfectly fine with both of you being bare, so long as a heat source is nearby

This level of exposure allows you to feel every rumble, trill, and moan straight from his chest and you can't deny just how hot it is to have an entire alien making these noises because of you

He delivers plenty of foreplay, always giving you the option to back out of it

With your size difference, you have to work to move up and down his body when you're both laying down

One of his favorite things is when you drag your teeth along his neck or chest, no real threat of harm but an undeniable thrill for him

He may start slow, but towards the end? You're better off simply letting him take care of you the next day

Fluff

After particularly tedious days, you will pull him into your shared room and pepper his face with kisses

Whenever he wants to nap, he selectively chooses your lap so you can massage his back or his forehead

Following the official announcement of your relationship, Zavala finally submits and gives you full permission to stay stationed on Europa, at the price of lengthy field reports at the beginning of every month

Variks, of course, teases you while writing these papers

He'll correct a mistake you made way back in the paper, laughing quietly in the back of his throat as you fume at the obvious inaccuracy

Besides Vanguard papers, you've taken it upon yourself to make him a new arm

You decide to gift it to him once the Dawning starts

Note: I leave some of my handcanons open ended for more ideas, and yes, I am aware they are more like one shot/hc hybrids, but hey, take it as an invitation to ask me to actually write out the whole thing. I will not write out explicit nsfw unless asked, and if I am asked, it will always be gratuitous and extremely detailed ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) Finals are eating my timbs tho, so I'm currently attempting to study for these hellspawn

[emperorsfoot]

Personally, my favorite part of this chapter is when Adora tries to pull an Obi-Wan on Dak, then immediacy abandons it. 

A dented gray tray was slid into her cell via the slit at the bottom of her door. The guard banged on the heavy metal door twice just to make sure she knew it was there. Not that there was much else to distract Entrapta in her tiny cell.

“We got a treat for you today, Princess.” The guard taunted through the metal. “Fresh fruit! Only the best for a Princess!”

Entrapta looked down at the banged up gray tray. There was a plastic cup on it that said ‘”Froot”’ in quotation marks.

“That’s not how you spell ‘fruit’.” She informed them.

But the guard had already moved on to distributing the rest of the prisoners their meals. “Here, Your Highness, fresh froot for you too.”

“Actually, since I’m a King, the proper term of address would be ‘Your Grace’.” Corrected the nice one who encouraged Entrapta’s coping mechanisms during her first days here on Beast Island. “Arg! There’s a bone in my froot!”

The guard’s boots could be heard walking away as they laughed loudly.

Entrapta squeezed the ‘froot’ out of its plastic cup. It had the density of gelatin, was an uncomfortable shade of blue-green, and had bits of stuff floating in it that did not look even remotely like fruit. She didn’t really wanna touch it, not even with her hair, but the guards were not obliging enough to give her a fork or a spoon with her froot. Entrapta used a single strand of hair to cut the gelatinous blob into smaller, bite-sized, tiny cubes. Tiny food.

She ate two of the and slid the tray to the side to save the rest for later. That was the one meal she would be brought for the day. Entrapta would not be getting another until the same time tomorrow.

They would not come by to collect the empty trays for at least six hours.

She had been paying careful attention to their comings and goings. Noting when she could first hear them entering her block of the prison, how long they paused at each cell, the total length of time they spent in her corridor before all sound of them vanished. Entrapta had to hand write her notes, scraping them into the stone of her cell wall. But she was diligent in her data collection, and compiled everything into a conclusion that told her the guards would not be back around until it was time to collect the trays.

Entrapta had a six-hour window.

Cringing at what she had to do, she laid on the floor in front of the door of her cell. Her head pressed right up against the slit at the bottom that they slid the tray through.

Her hair slithered out the slit.

Thin tendrils inching their way over the floor to measure the width of the corridor. Along the seam between wall and floor to gauge the space between cells. Up the frame of her own cell door, searching for a lock to pick.

The corridor was narrow. Only a meter and a half wide. The space between cells was wider than she expected. The stone of the walls must be thicker than the acoustics of her block mates implied. The lock on her door was not an analogue barrel and tumblers lock. If her hair was feeling right, the lock had a keypad.

Fourteen buttons. Zero through nine, asterisk and pound, and ENTER and CANCEL. She ran a second tendril of hair around the small display screen above the keypad. A narrow rectangle, barely as long as the lock was wide. Too small for a seven digit code. No, it had to be four digits. A four digit code, with numbers zero through nine as options. That meant there were 10,000 possibilities for the code to unlock her cell.

Pulling her hair back into the cell, Entrapta sat up. Thinking. She was about to start narrating, taking her notes out loud. But stopped herself. She did not actually have her recorder, so there was no practical purpose to narrating what she was doing out loud. In fact, announcing her plans and calculations could end any escape attempt before it even began. Since sound seemed to carry so well between the cells. She popped another tiny cube of froot into her mouth instead, sucking on the gelatinous goop to keep from speaking.

She had six hours until the guard came back to retrieve the tray. Six hours was not enough time to cycle through 10,000 possible code combinations to unlock her cell, free herself, find an actual escape route when she didn’t even know the layout of the building, and get away.

But it was enough to at least start.

Like any good scientist, she began by eliminating the absurd.

‘0000’ nope. ‘0001’ nope. ‘0002’ nope…

…

Now that the Locked Room was open, Dak spent the vast majority of their time in it.

The first thing they did was wake up the large monitor array that took up almost an entire wall. But the computer asked them for a password before it would let them view anything on it. After punching in random keys and still being denied access several time, the hybrid became frustrated and turned their attention to other things. The Locked Room was full of so many interesting things! They didn’t need to waste all their time growling at a computer.

The bots were interesting. So much variety! Bots on wheels, bots on two legs, bots on six legs, bots on rolling treads. Humanoid bots, insectoid bots, spherical bots and cuboid bots! All deactivated. Dak found a humanoid one around their own size, and pulled it out to the middle of the floor to get a better look at it.

Gears and levers in the joints for movement. Thin wire circuits traveling down the spine from the head. Several interlocking discs for a vertebra. Curved carbon fiber tubing to form a ribcage and house a gyroscope that –presumably- kept it upright and balanced when it was activated. Dak was still young and learning, they didn’t yet know words like ‘vertebra’ or ‘gyroscope’. But they looked at the parts and imagined how they were supposed to work. They had a ghost of understanding of the machine, even if they didn’t have the words to explain that understanding.

Dak set their bag of –technically stolen- tools next to the bot. They were keeping them in a tool bag now. Heavy utility canvas sewn around an aluminum frame. As stable and sturdy as a metal toolbox, but a lot easier and more comfortable to carry around. Through trial and error, Dak had also figured out which tools were meant for what jobs, and when they needed something, they didn’t just pull everything out and make a mess. They took out what they needed for what they wanted to do.

At that exact moment, Dak wanted to take the bot apart and see exactly how all the pieces fit together.

Whenever they removed a segment or arm, or disconnected a delicate segment of wire, or unscrewed a tiny screw, they set it aside very carefully. Arranging everything they removed next to the bot in the order they removed it. After Dak was done taking it apart, they wanted to be able to put the bot back together again. It wasn’t just senseless destruction they were after, they wanted to understand.

Imp fluttered into the room. The little deamon flew circles around the hybrid, squawking and chittering down at the young Horde clone.

“Go away, Imp.” Dak commanded, trying to sound like the heir to a Queendom everyone kept telling them they were. “Can’t you see I’m experting?” They meant ‘experimenting’. Dak’s vocabulary was still a work in progress.

With a screech of frustration, Imp landed next to Dak’s tool bag and opened his mouth. It was the voice of Dryl’s Horde Captain that came out. A recording from earlier that morning when the Captain was putting her troops through their paces. ‘Heads up, ladies! This ain’t not mountain spa aerobics class, I wanna see some real Horde training!’

“Don’t want to.” Dak informed the deamon, as they –very carefully- slid a disc of the bot’s spine out from the rest of the column. Figuring out this broken robot was way more interesting than learning to march, and different ways to stand, and how to put your feet when holding a weapon, or how to hold a weapon. Now, if they would let them take apart the weapon in question instead…

Displeased by the young hybrid’s continued disinterest in becoming a true Horde clone, Imp jumped on top of the robot Dak was working on. Placing himself between the hybrid and anything the hybrid might want to dissect next. He opened his mouth and repeated the last word again. ‘Training, training, training.’

“No!” Dak snapped. “And you can’t make me!”

That, unfortunately, was true. Unlike Baker, whom had placed herself in charge of making sure young Hordak Second of Their Name, Heir to Dryl’s education. She was determined to make sure Dak knew how to read, and write, do basic arithmetic, knew the borders of their Queendom, and the names of all the significant settlements under their rule, knew what was actually mined in the mines of Dryl, and why said mines were the basis for the Dryl economy. When Dak became board, or frustrated, escaped from their lessons, or refused to attend them at all, she would just pick the small clone up and throw them over her shoulder like a sack of flour. Imp had seen her carry four heavy sacks of flour at once –two on each shoulder. Dak was equivalent to one of them.

Imp, however, was half the hybrid’s size. Imp could not pick Dak up and carry them to the Horde Captain of Dryl for training. And the Horde Captain of Dryl hadn’t quite figured out yet that she had the authority to force Hordak Second of Their Name to train same as any other soldier. She was still under the impression that angering or displeasing the child would anger or displease the child’s… ‘father’ (another Etherian word, real Horde clones did not have ‘fathers’). For fear of angering Lord Hordak, she let Little Dak do as they pleased –even if they pleased to take all the tools out of the vehicle hanger and never return them.

“Get off my thing, Imp.” Dak commanded.

The little deamon hissed. He would never dream of hissing at master like that. But Dak wasn’t master. Dak was barely even Horde! The way things were going, they were not going to become true Horde anytime soon. Those multi-racial Etherean natives marching in the courtyard were more Horde than Hordak Second of Their Name was.

Dak just hissed right back at Imp, matching the little deamon’s tone and pitch. Not intimidated at all.

Imp blinked at Dak for half a second. The clone meeting his challenge with one of their own. Then, Dak’s hair coiled itself around the little deamon and plucked him up off the bot the hybrid was working on. Imp screeched in protest.

Dak set the deamon down on the floor behind them. As close to the open door as their hair could reach.

The moment Imp was no longer bound up in inexplicably prehensile hair, he jumped back into Dak’s way. Landing on the carefully arranged pieces the clone had already removed from his project. They went scattering to all corners of the room. Cylinders and screws rolling beneath consoles, carbon fiber ribbing bouncing under tables, important tiny pieces getting lost in the dimly lit room.

Dak uttered a rude word that Baker would have been mortified to learn they knew. They snarled at Imp, a wordless feral snarl. Sharp white teeth bared in anger. For half a second Imp thought the little hybrid might attack him, and he smiled. Finally, Dak was acting like a true Horde. Attack. Fight. Kill if you can. Be a predator.

But Dak did not attack Imp. Instead, the hybrid dove after the scattered pieces. Reaching their hair under consoles, coming out with more dust and neglected debris than pieces of robot that they wanted. They crawled under a table, looking for more pieces.

All the while, Imp flew circles around the room, squawking and screeching for the Horde clone to abandon what they were doing and go down to the yard where the Captain would drill them in marching, stance, and basic combat.

“Go away if you’re not gonna help!” Dak shouted up at Imp from under a table. Their head banged the table they were under and everything that was on it went clattering to the floor too. “Now look what you-!”

“New project log, Day one- one? Right, first day of a new project. Day one.”

Both Dak and Imp went silent at the voice. Imp recognized that voice. How could he not? She was practically cohabitating with master at the end. Both never leaving the lab. Dak had never heard that voice before, and they inched closer to the device that had fallen from the table. Picking it up, they held it in their lap as they listened.

“One of my new mining bots unconverted what I believe to be a First Ones disc in the mines.” Announced the voice. It was high in pitch and nasal. Female. And very energetic sounding. “Preliminary examinations show that it is still functional and running off of some internal power source. I hypothesize that studying this disc might be the key to making ancient and modern technology compatible!”

Dak switched off the device and picked up another one. They pressed the PLAY button on that one and a different recording of the same voice began to speak. “Log, Day 104 -105? Eh. The last experiment hit a few bumps, but it was not a total failure. I made some important discoveries. The disc is way more powerful than I ever imagined. With a few adjustments, I’m sure the next experiment will be a success!”

Looking up at Imp, Dak flashed the deamon a questioning look. “Mother?”

Well, yes. That was the Princess’ voice and everyone was calling her the hybrid’s ‘mother’. To spite the fact that clones did not have ‘mothers’. So, yes, the voice on the recorder was Hordak Second’s mother’s voice. But Imp was not about to confirm that and risk distracting the hybrid even further from their training. ‘Training, training, training.’

“I don’t want to!” Dak snapped.

Frustrated, the Imp’s eyes fell on the recorder in the hybrid’s talons. They wanted to hear their ‘mother’s’ voice. Fine. Imp would give them their mother’s voice. Imp had the Princess’ last recording. He had the forethought to grab the latest recording before he followed Scorpia out of the Fright Zone.

Fluttering out of the room, Imp left to retrieve it.

Dak was still trying to collect all the scattered pieces of the robot when Imp returned. Listening to random recordings out of order. “I don’t get what the big deal about the Dryl Orb is. It’s just a Rover. One of my predecessor’s less than benevolent inventions. I’ve never even had to use it. Not since the mines made the transition from slaves to my bots. The bots are so much more efficient! They don’t need to take breaks for meals or to void their bowels. They do need to recharge in shifts, but I’m hoping my research on First Ones tech will change that! First Ones power-“

Imp switched off the recorder and placed the new one in the clone’s hands. He opened his mouth and threw Dak’s request back at them. ‘Mother.’

Blinking in confusion at the deamon suddenly encouraging their curiosity, Dak looked at the new recorder in their hands. They pressed the PLAY button.

“Ethrian-Horde Cloning Project, Day 3 -2? No, 3.” The same nasal female voice announced. A voice that Imp just confirmed belonged to their mother. Princess Entrapta of Dryl. “The fetus is developed beyond what I believe to be the final stage of gestation in an average pregnancy. The clone now resembles an infant seven months out of the womb. Fascinating! At this level of rapid growth, I hypothesize that it will enter puberty by the end of the week. Full adulthood by the end of the month! Hordak will have a new body sooner than I originally projected!”

Dak paused the recording, looking up at Imp. Confusion and incomprehension rolling across his face. “I’m Hordak.”

Reaching a hand out to the clone, Imp pressed the PLAY button again.

“Ethrian-Horde Cloning Project, Day 4. Yup, definitely Day 4. The clone is entering its pre-adolescents now. I have never been very good at guessing people’s ages, almost as bad as I am at forming connections with other people. But based purely on physical appearance, I would place the clone’s physical age at between eight to ten years. At this rate, Hordak might have his new body before the end of the month! I hope he likes it.” A longing sigh. “He’s always so concerned with perfection and success. He’s so brilliant, but he allows himself to be handicapped by frustration. He’s too focused on results and not the process. I wonder if Hordak would think differently if he wasn’t so concerned with proving himself to his Brother. It almost reminds me of myself back when my moth- back when my predecessor was alive. Striving so hard to earn the approval of someone who doesn’t see you as an individual, but an extension of themselves.” Another sigh. “I just want him to be happy.”

The recording lapsed into silence. That was the last audio file in the recorder’s memory. That was the last entry.

Dak blinked at Imp, still not understanding. “But… I’m Hordak.”

‘Clone.’ Imp repeated in Entrapta’s voice.

“I don’t know what that means.” Admitted the hybrid. It was a word no one in Castle Dryl had used around them. They learned quickly, but they still needed to be exposed to information to learn it.

Imp scanned his audio banks for something that could explain what a clone was to the young hybrid. Even just the word ‘copy’ would be helpful. After all, that’s all a clone was, a copy of the original. Obviously, Dak wasn’t a perfect copy since they possessed very distinct Etherian traits. But the native DNA was negligible, the majority of Hordak Second appeared to be from Lord Hordak. They were a copy.

But Imp had no such relevant or helpful audio file. So, he just repeated the word back at Dak as if the repetition would spark understanding. ‘Clone, clone, clone.’

Dak quickly became frustrated with the deamon again. “Go away if you’re not gonna be helpful!”

They grabbed another recorder at random and switched it on. Going back to searching for their lost robot pieces while their mother’s voice played s background noise for their work.

“Princess Alliance Membership, Day 1: While I am grateful to Glimmer, Bow, and Adora for saving me from my own bots and the corrupted First Ones disc, I must admit that I am apprehensive of… mingling with a large group. Connecting with and understanding people has never been my strong suit. I fear I will not thrive well in a group setting. I function much better on an individual, one-on-one basis. Or alone. I like being alone. I’m better off alone. Bow seems nice, and he at least has a basic understanding of science and the importance of First Ones tech. Adora is a little more difficult-“

Dak paused the recording, tapping the button with their hair. They stared at the recorder. ‘Bow’ and ‘Adora’. Those were the names of the intruders! Did they know his mother? Were they friends? According to her recorder, in her own voice, she was trying to connect with them. Maybe they could tell them more about her. Maybe they could tell them what a ‘clone’ was. And, if Dak wasn’t Hordak, maybe they could tell them who this other Hordak was.

Adora and Bow had been taken to the dungeons. Dak knew how to get there. They discovered it during one of their early hunting games with Imp.

…

Adora was starting to feel pressure on her collar bone from her arms being suspended above her head for so long. Both she and Bow were chained up in a lower basement of Dryl castle shortly after their apprehension by the occupying Horde forces.

Chained up in a lower basement of Dryl that did not look like a basement at all. The lighting was dim, there were chains drilled into the walls and ceiling –like the ones that held them- and there were smaller alcoves to one side with barred off gates. Cells. In short, this was not a basement. This was a dungeon. A real dungeon. Not a ‘spare room’ like Bright Moon’s first prison cell they used to hold Shadow Weaver. Or even the hastily constructed Moon Shadow prison Glimmer ordered be built. This was a real, an established, an old jail. Possibly as old as Castle Dryl itself. Built right into the foundation.

Really threw the history of the Queendom into question. After all, Salineas, Plumeria, and the Kingdom of Snows didn’t have jails or prisons until just recently when the need arose for them. Yet, Dryl had an old and creepy looking dungeon.

Adora pulled on her chains for what might have been the hundredth time. There was very little slack and the more she rubbed the metal against her wrists, the more she chafed.

“How are you doing over there?” She tried to crane her neck to see around her own arm to where Bow was similarly strung up. His own chains suspending his arms above his head like hers were. Adora had a bit of a higher tolerance for this kind of treatment. Being raised in the Horde, they conditioned their young people to be able to tolerate all sorts of treatments that would be considered ‘inhumane’ by any other Queendom in Etherea.

Bow, on the other hand, did not share her upbringing or her conditioning. “Oh. You know. Hangin’ in there.”

At least he was still optimistic and positive enough to make jokes.

“Just waiting to hear your escape plan.” Bow announced.

Adora had no such escape plan. “Uh… I did have a plan before we surrendered.” She confessed, recalling her spur-of-the-moment, impulse idea that she chose not to implement. Draw her sword, transform into She-Ra, grab the child that claimed to be a six-day-old Hordak, and use them as a hostage. ‘Let us go or else your Horde Princess gets it!’ “You wouldn’t have liked it though.”

“What about now?” Bow asked.

She gave her chains another tug, already knowing the action wouldn’t achieve anything. “I don’t suppose you just so happen to have a lock picking kit hidden in your bracer?”

“Do you have a lock picking kit up your sleeve?” The archer shot back.

The answer for both of them was ‘no’. A lock picking kit was not something either of them even carried on them at all. Never mind in such a convenient place as their sleeve or arm guards.

Adora nodded, expecting as much. “Then we wait until they come get us. They’ll think letting us stew down here, chained up uncomfortably and denied food will soften us up for interrogation. When the guards come to get us and bring us to their Captain, that’ll be our chance to escape.”

“They have your sword.” Bow reminded her, as if Adora needed the reminder. His bow and his trick arrows he could always make more of. But there was only one Sword of Protection.

“We can get it back at some point during the escape.” It sounded more like Adora was making a promise to herself than trying to reassure Bow. That sword was more than just a weapon and the thing that made her She-Ra. “They wouldn’t stash it in the armory. The local occupying Captain will want to keep a close eye on it until she can turn it over to the real Hordak, or Entrapta. She’ll either lock it in her office, or else keep it on her. I’ll have to find her during the escape.”

“So, when the guards come to get us-?” Bow’s question was cut off when they head something thin and metallic crash on the floor. Clattering loudly in the dark.

They both peered through the dim room to the wall on the opposite side. The lighting was bad and the stone was naturally dark. But they could just barely make out the rectangular opening of what might have been an air vent, and peering out from that air vent was a pair of glowing fuchsia eyes.

“Hi.” They heard a child’s voice call through the mostly empty room. “I’m Hordak.”

Through the dark, they watched the figure of a child climb out of the vent, using that long mohawk of hair to let themself down from the tall height. The movement was measured and purposeful. The hair, and the body it was attached to, moving almost the same was Entrapta would move if preforming the same action.

The figure and those glowing eyes drew closer to Adora and Bow. They might have seemed more like Entrapta climbing out of an air vent by their hair. But stalking through the dim light, just the outline of a person, with glowing eyes on the pink-red end of the spectrum, was very intimidating. That was all Hordak right there.

Then they came under the beam of one of the poorly maintained light fixtures and it was once again clear that they were just a small child. No older than ten years –at least in appearance- younger than Frosta, even. They sucked on a tendril of hair as they stared up at Adora and Bow.

The pair blinked down at them. Not sure what to make of this sudden appearance.

“Hi.” The child said again.

“H-hi.” Bow stammered back.

There was a beat of silence in which the three just stared at one another. Adora and Bow not being able to do much else than just gape at the child that was an amalgamation of Entrapta and Hordak. And Dak just sucking on their hair as they studied the two intruders.

Then, “Did you know my mother?”

“Your mother?” Both Bow and Adora echoed in unison.

“You mean Entrapta, right?” Adora asked. She needed the clarification. She still did not believe that this child that looked ten was only days old.

Dak nodded. “The Princess of Dryl. I’m her heir, but I’ve never met her before.”

Upon hearing that, Bow’s eyes welled up with sympathetic tears. “You’ve never met your mom before? I can’t even imagine never knowing one of my dads!”

Adora, however, was unmoved. She spent her entirely life without parents. Only discovering that she might have had some very recently. This year, in fact. Many Horde soldiers grew up with out parents. That was just the way the Horde was. That was the way Hordak made it. Why should things be any different for Hordak’s… live-child? Instead, she pounced on the opportunity the child just gave her. “Yes.” She confirmed. “We were friends with your mother. She was a member of our Princess Alliance.” A strategic pause. “Before she was taken by Hordak and corrupted by evil.”

“I’m Hordak.” The child reminded her.

Clamping her mouth shut, Adora had to do some quick thinking to avoid alienating this child that might be their best shot at an easy escape attempt. They kept insisting that they were Hordak. Yet they knew nothing of Entrapta, or much of anything else from all appearances.

“But…” the child began, self-conscious and unsure, “…there is another Hordak.”

Reaching into a pocket of their overall, they pulled out one of Entrapta’s recorders.

“I wonder if Hordak would think differently if he wasn’t so concerned with proving himself to his Brother.” That was Entrapta’s voice. Listful, and longing. Like she wanted better things for the Lord of the Horde.

“Mother is talking about the other Hordak.” The little Hordak informed them. “What’s a clone?”

It was all Bow and Adora could do to blink.

“Uh- a clone?” Bow thought that was only theory. He didn’t think it was actually possible! Then again, if anyone was going to make viable cloning possible and successful, it would be Princess Entrapta of Dryl.

Young Hordak nodded and rewound the recorder a little bit. “The clone now resembles an infant seven months out of the womb. Fascinating! At this level of rapid growth, I hypothesize that it will enter puberty by the end of the week. Full adulthood by the end of the month! Hordak will have a new body sooner than I originally projected!”

“What’s a clone?” They asked again.

“Did she say Hordak will have a new body?” Adora echoed.

She took another look at the child. A harder look this time. A child that insisted that they were Hordak. Young. Too young to be Lord of the Horde. But almost identical to Hordak in appearance. Exactly what Adora imagined Hordak might have looked like as a child. Pointed ears and glowing eyes. Vertical nasal cavity, like a bat’s or maybe a skull’s. Talons on the ends of the fingers instead of the nails. A new body for Hordak.

Except there were inconsistencies.

The eyes were the wrong color. Hordak’s eyes –the real Hordak’s- were red. A neon or primary red. A true red. This child’s eyes were more of a fuchsia. A vivid pink that dabbled in under-hues of purple before returning to its parent red. The hair was longer and thicker. Hordak had a mowhawk of thin blue hair. This child also had a mohawk of blue, but the texture was different. Thicker, fuller. And it was prehensile. This child’s long mohawk could be used as an extra limb. That was definitely not a Hordak trait.

They couldn’t be a new body for Hordak. They had to be a forbidden love-child.

“A clone is a copy.” Bow supplied an answer to the Little Hordak’s question. “It’s what you call when you made a new person that’s exactly the same as an existing person.”

He hoped that explanation made sense. Bow wasn’t sure how much of the world the child –the clone?- understood of the world. Only being several days old.

Dak looked thoughtful. “Mother was making a clone of the other Hordak.” They mused out loud. “I’m Hordak.” A pause. “Am I… a copy?”

Adora opened her mouth to answer.

But Bow got to it first. “Oh, no, little guy, no.” He assured the clone. “You’re you. You’re your own person, and you don’t have to be like Hordak if you don’t want to. You can be whatever makes you happy.”

The clone perked up. “Mother wanted Hordak to be happy.”

That just confirmed it for Adora. Entrapta and Hordak were lovers. She might have made a clone for the evil Lord, but this kid wasn’t a clone. They weren’t an identical copy, they were a combination. They were a love-child. She looked at Bow, to see if he was having a similar reaction to all this information that she was.

He looked thoughtful, but not shocked or mortified. “Um, Little Hordak,” he began, “where is Entrapta –your mother- where is she?”

Little Hordak frowned. “Scorpia left to rescue her.”

“From Hordak?” Adora asked. It seemed like she managed to get through to Entrapta at the end there. That the Princess did not want to activate the portal after all. Did the change of heart cause a fall-out between the lovers? Did Hordak punish Entrapta for siding with She-Ra instead of him? She wasn’t there when Catra and Hordak activated the portal.

“From some place called Beast Island.” Dak supplied.

“Beast Island!” Adora was horror struck.

“What’s Beast Island?” Bow asked, concerned.

“It’s a penal colony.” She explained. “At least, I think it is. It’s an island in the middle of Growling Sea. There’s a prison compound on it and that’s where the Horde sends its enemies that need to be taken out of play but can’t be killed. Like political prisoners, or…” or Hordak’s lover that had fallen out of the evil Lord’s favor. Adora lowered her eyes, wondering if any of this would have happened if they hadn’t left Entrapta behind in the Fright Zone in the first place. Making a promise to herself, Adora swore not to leave Entrapta behind again. “We have to rescue her! Little Hordak-“ she quickly decided she did not like that name “-uh, Dak, if you help us get out of here, we’ll rescue your mother!”

“Scorpia already left to do that.” They reminded her. “She left he here and left.”

“Then we won’t leave you here.” Adora decided on the spur of the moment. Besides, Hordak’s child –and presumably his heir- might be useful for getting into secure Horde facilities. “You can come with us. We’ll rescue your mother together!”

“Adora!” Bow was mortified. “They are a child! A very sheltered child from the looks of it. You can’t just take them from their home and drag them half-way around the world to a penal colony!”

But Dak and Adora were ignoring him. The hybrid’s long prehensile hair reached up to Adora’s shackles. The tiny hair follicles reaching into the inner workings of the locks. Turning the tumblers until they heard a click. Adora’s chains fell open and she dropped to her knees. Everything had fallen asleep while in her suspended position, and her whole body felt like pins and needles.

She grinned at the child. “Thanks, Kid. Now can you free Bow. We need to get my sword back and then we’ll rescue Entrapta.”

…

[ravenmorganleigh]

By

Lindsay King-Miller

Apr 9, 2014118

The dental hygienist pulls the horrible gum-stabbing implement out of my mouth, gestures to my wedding ring, and asks, "Are you married?" I'm happy to mumble "yes" (after two years, the excitement surrounding my wedding has yet to fully wear off), but at the same time, I already feel uneasy. I know what the next question will be: "What does your husband do?"

"Actually, I have a partner, not a husband," I say, a little awkwardly, and not just because my tongue is slightly numb. "She works with computers."

"Oh, of course!" says the hygienist, only slightly flustered. "That's nice. I have some neighbors who are – well, they're the nicest people."

I encounter some version of this conversation on a regular basis, whether from hygienists, baristas, or my students, and I've never figured out a foolproof way of approaching (or better yet, avoiding) it. Each time, I have to decide whether to out myself, potentially opening the door to homophobic vitriol or awkward subject-changing, or to lie by omission, refusing to correct the misconception and allowing my conversational partner to continue assuming that I'm straight.

Ever since I came out, I've identified as a femme — a queer woman who dresses and presents in a traditionally feminine way. I love pink and ruffles and stockings and lipstick and high heels and nail polish and cleavage and basically everything that has ever been arbitrarily coded "girly." I love jewelry. I wear skirts and shave my legs. I don't, in short, look very much like the prevailing stereotype of a lesbian.

I am a queer woman and I'm not interested in hiding that fact, but it's often challenging and complicated to try to be visible in public as queer. The cultural presumption of straightness is deeply ingrained, and many — perhaps most — people assume that everyone is heterosexual, despite any cues to the contrary. I've had people glance at my wedding photos — two women holding hands wearing white silk formalwear — and ask, "Oh, is that a friend of yours?" Queer people, particularly queer women, have to work hard to show up as queer in the course of their day-to-day lives. My partner, who is far too butch to ever be described as my "wife," who has a fauxhawk (the gayest of all haircuts) and several tattoos based on Indigo Girls lyrics and rides a motorcycle and wears bow ties, still gets mistaken for straight on a regular basis. But femme women, who don't offer the expected visual cues of queerness, fly even further under the radar, often ending up stranded in the mists of what queers sometimes refer to as "femme invisibility."

Queer visibility is your basic double-edged sword. People who are read as queer tend to face more overt discrimination and hostility, while those of us with fewer obvious subcultural signifiers can slide by without much confrontation. This doesn't, however, necessarily mean that we feel safer. As an invisible queer, it's easy to wonder whether the person treating me with courtesy would switch to contempt if he or she knew that I'm married to a woman. I'm out to my family and friends and anyone who Googles me, but in day-to-day interactions with casual acquaintances or strangers, I'm always paying attention to the shifting algorithm in my head: Will I get an opening to out myself? Is it inappropriate to mention my partner in this conversation? Have we known each other long enough that it's weird I've never mentioned being married? If I use my partner's (fairly gender-neutral) name, will this person assume I'm talking about a guy? Do I want that to happen?

I wouldn't necessarily mind people not knowing I'm gay, but I don't like being thought of as straight — in the same way that I don't mind people not knowing I'm a writer, but it would be awkward if they assumed I was an extreme skateboarder, because that's so far removed from the reality of my life. But there is no blank slate where orientation is concerned; we are straight until proven otherwise. And if you've never seen how dramatically a conversation can be derailed by a casual admission of homosexuality, let me tell you, it gets awkward. Even if the person I'm talking to is totally pro-homo, we have to take a detour so that they can apologize for accidentally referring to my partner as a man and explain that they absolutely think gay marriage should be legal everywhere before they can get back to ringing up my latte, cleaning my teeth, or taking my pop quiz. And if they're less open-minded, the stiffness and scowling tend to make me want to flee the room.

What would be great, I think, is if I could hire some kind of old-timey town crier to precede me into any room I enter, shouting "Lesbian coming! Lesbian coming this way!" and possibly ringing some kind of bell. Then everyone would already know before our interaction commenced, and they could be pleasant or horrible as the spirit moved them, but at least we'd be communicating from a place of honesty and I wouldn't have to worry about whether I'll inadvertently reveal myself.

Unfortunately, town criers are hard to come by these days. That's why many people choose to make the statement sartorially, with clothes and hairstyles and accessories that communicate queerness to anyone paying attention. This is difficult to do, however, while remaining true to my female-bodied, feminine-gendered self. An apparent visual mismatch between physical sex and gender presentation (a woman in short hair and motorcycle boots, for instance, or a man in lipstick) is one of the clearest ways of communicating queerness, but it's not really my style. And the queer signifiers that dofeel natural for me are not necessarily appropriate for all occasions. I love to pair a flowery dress with some battered Doc Martens, but that's not really within the purview of a "business casual" dress code. Emblems of "alternative" subcultures, like visible tattoos and facial piercings, also sometimes double as queer signifiers, but are similarly off-limits. Basically, what most easily reads as queer is transgression – whether transgression of gender norms or of mainstream fashion. If I don't want to wear a tie and I don't want to show my tattoos at work, there aren't a lot of ways for me to break the rules, so I just end up looking straight.

Still, I try to communicate my identity in minor (and some major) ways when I can. I love my haircut — long on one side, buzzed to a quarter inch on the other — which has been adopted by a certain segment of the alternative-straight-girl population but is still primarily popular among lesbians. I know it's pushing it as far as what's appropriate for business, but it's important to me because it makes me look both feminine and a little bit queer.

But the fix for femme invisibility on a large scale isn't for all the ladylike lady lovers to trade in our lipstick for crew cuts and our seamed stockings for Chuck Taylors. What we need is a total makeover in the way the world associates presentation and sexuality. We need everyone to stop assuming that normal means straight and queer means strange or subversive or weird. We need a world where appearance isn't automatically linked to orientation — where everyone agrees that feminine women might be gay and masculine women might be straight and anything in between, and until you ask, you'll never know. We need to be able to approach each other as entirely new and unique people, making no assumptions but open to whatever interesting and awesome things we might find out. Gender and sexuality are not the same thing and are expressed in all manner of complicated, nuanced ways. None of us should have to worry that one part of our identities will negate another. We should be able to exist visibly in all our complex and fascinating glory.

[aureus-ignis]

When I was young, I fell in love with the Pokemon series. I loved the RBY and GSC games, I watched the anime on TV every weekend, bought the movies, played the TCG, and collected the PokeSpe manga zealously. But as the years went by, the newer Pokemon games failed to hold my interest, and I soon stopped following Pokemon entirely. Last year, the generation of Alola was announced, and after watching a few trailers, I found myself drawn to the music. The adorable Rowlet also caught my eye, and on top of that, it seemed like the story was going to be interesting. A conservation society full of nice people dressed in white that looked strangely sinister at times? Hell yesssss. So I decided to buy the game... and then I fell deeply in love. Once again I was in Pokemon heaven (or hell).

So when Mei asked me if there was any series we could cos together that'd be fun and simple to do, I suggested Gladion and Lillie, since their costumes are fairly simple (c o u g h). She agreed, and that was the beginning of it all.

I started working on stuff around mid-June this year. People who know me know that accuracy is pretty high on my list of priorities, and I was determined to get the not-very-logical hair of Lillie and Gladion as good as I possibly could. Lillie's problem, of course, was the thickness. She has two insanely fat braids that had to be made up of almost all the hair on a normal human head, yet somehow still has a thick wide mane of loose hair behind her. So I had to spend time wefting as many extra rows of fibre into the wig, and then crafting removable bases for the braids from batting and more wefts.

Testing!

Batting base WIP HAHAHA

And the final result was worth it <3 <3

Next was Gladion. When it comes to the subject of pulled back hair, I've gotten to the point where I can ONLY accept lacefront. Anything else is too fake for me. For me, cosplay has always been about portraying the characters as if they were real, no matter how zany and strange their designs may be. I wanted the hair to look almost as though it grew on me. I ripped out almost the whole front to get rid of the fringe, and sewed in longer wefts, adjusting the direction of the hair to the left so that they would comb back naturally. Then ventilating hell began

Darkness, my old friend, we meet again. ;___; My hooking skills have improved since I first started ventilating, but it's still a long, tedious process. School started before I could finish, and I had to work on everything else too...

The realization that his uncut wig looks like Mercy from Overwatch HAHAHA

But as with Lillie, the final result was worth it <3 <3 <3

With regards to his costume, I'd actually had the hoodie and pants tailored because I ran out of time. I'd wanted just the base made so I can do the rest of the details myself, but the tailor forgot and did everything for me... and ended up messing up the accuracy. It was a disappointment, so much so that after STGCC was over, and we planned to have a shoot at the end of the year... I decided to remake everything from scratch. I'm terrible at patterning, really, and Gladion's biggest problem was THE STUPID GRAVITY DEFYING HOOD. Ultimately I couldn't get it to look exactly like the original (because I didn't want extra seams and all, but it was close enough. And the second time round, all of the holes were in the correct areas HAHAHA.

I'd made his first waistpouch myself, but for some reason, despite my careful measurements, the size turned out far too large the first time. So I had to remake the whole thing a second time. The hardest part is sewing the damn thing together, because I'd had to put two layers of hard inferfacing for each piece and sometimes the needle just wouldn't. Go. Through. OTL In version 2, I had more time, so I paid more attention to getting the shape accurate. The stupid thing tapers towards the bottom and has a curved side. Even more stupid, the strap goes from FAT TO THIN TO FAT for some reason. But I succeeded!

New VS Old

Next was the Z-ring. Gladion's official art doesn't have one, but he obviously wears one in-game. I felt that it was important, because Nanu gave it to him. So I had to dig out references from the game screenshots 8D;;

This is how a lot of my prop drafts look like. ALGEBRA IS MY FRIEND.

Also crafted the Z-crystal thanks to Pythagoras' theorem 8D; I used liquid quartz to glue the clear acrylic sheet together without leaving traces.

Final result! I'm pretty happy with it =>

Before STGCC, there was one more segment that I worked really hard on. After we'd decided to do SuMo together, I thought of making a Nebby plushie for Mei to carry. Yes, Pokemon Center had already released their Nebby plush by then, but... For one, it's smaller than life-size. For another, the shape looks more like a sunflower than a starry cloud. I didn't want it to look like Lillie was just carrying a toy; I wanted to give the impression that Mei had an adorable, soft, beautiful real-life Cosmog. But how on earth would someone with very terrible patterning skills make a 3D cloud plushie that could be dyed for Nebby's distinctive gradient colouring, and still be nice and soft to hug?

The answer is, I struggled.

Set up a spraying booth to airbrush the gradient on. Due to a problem with shipping, I couldn't get my compressor in time, so I ended up having to splurge on compressed air cans, which were horrendously expensive oTL.

BUT LOOK AT THE FINAL RESULT. LOOK AT HIM. <3 <3 <3

Let it also be known that I tested to make sure he could fit inside Mei's bag the moment I finished the base HAHAHAHAHAHAHA-----

So that was part 1 of Project Alola! We went to STGCC together and met lots of Pokemon fans (quite a lot of people were very happy to see Nebby, in particular XD), and Laki offered to come shoot with us as Moon since she already had the costume. We then planned to have our shoot at the end of the year during my holidays.

As mentioned, I'd already planned to remake my entire costume and waistpouch, but aside from that... I had the mad idea that I wanted to make a Silvally prop. It's something I'd considered for STGCC too, but I was really short on time then, and Mei told me to FINISH EVERYTHING ELSE FIRST THEN DO IT IF YOU HAVE TIME.

The problem is... Silvally's official size in the Pokedex is 2.4m. That's 80cm taller than myself. )o) Sure, I could scale him down, make a tiny lap plushie like all the other cosplayers, but what would be the point? Although I'd never cosplayed from the Pokemon series before, I'd always thought that if I were to do so, I'd want to make life-size Pokemon so that it'd look like I actually have a Pokemon partner, and not just a Pokemon toy. But I'd thought then that my projects would be starters like Pikachu or Charmander or Cyndaquil, or maybe one of the Eeveelutions. Not a giant horse-dog like Silvally ^^;;;

I had to consider the fact that my house isn't very big and I'd have barely any space to keep him. I had to consider how I'd be able to transport him, and how to construct him so that I could take him apart. I also had to consider the amount of money I'd be spending on him, because honestly, cosplay is not a cheap hobby. Materials in Singapore are especially expensive. As an unemployed student, I'd be splurging a lot if I decided to go ahead with this crazy project. When I told this to Mei during one of our dinners out, she suggested just making his head and taking halfbody shots so no one can tell that he has nobody. Like a hobby horse, except it's a hobby Silvally.

Good idea.

So when school finished, I started drafting him out, and the basic paper draft itself took like three giant sheets of patterning paper taped together HAHAHA.

The base

Honestly, even though I had an idea of how I'd make him, I wasn't completely sure if it would work. As I've said repeatedly I really, really suck at patterning. I can never seem to envision where to cut darts in a piece of EVA foam to get the shape I want, so half the time I was just taping drafting paper on and folding and taping excess parts off, then that that up for a trial-and-error pattern.

With paper mache and paper draft pattern for the mouth.

That's how large the whole thing is 8D'

Apart from the making of Silvally, I'd also spent time searching for reference pictures and sketching storyboard ideas for our shoot. I went to check out the our shoot location (Sentosa Island) a few weekends back, so that we could decide where exactly we wanted to shoot. In hindsight, there were a lot more shots I could have planned to bring out the personality of our characters more, but oh well ;w;

The shoot itself went pretty well, for the sun was quite kind to us, and hid under clouds for most of the day. Sei's working style is quite different from mine, but she was very gracious and did everything I asked of her. Sakami and Greg were wonderful helpers, and some of my best memories from the day include our hilarious videos, and the shenanigans with the Pokemon.

I've already thanked my wonderful team mates, helpers and photographer in another post, so I won't go into details here. But everyone was very kind and obliging, and listened to all my ambitious plans, allowing me to be a bossy director. I'm very, very grateful to all of them.  

So now, a bit of reflection on Silvally, and the whole project.

The patterns for Silvally weren't perfect, and I messed up a lot. The final result was definitely far from what I had hoped for. Most noticeably, the top of the head is bumpy holey because I ran out of gesso to fill and sand. But the proportions also came out a bit off, and the neck piece patterning failed on the right side. But when I finished painting... I felt very, very happy. I'd gotten some small bouts of joy when I finished each stage of the crafting process, when I looked at what I'd done, but looking at the final product was just.... incredible. It wasn't as beautiful as it could have been, and I still regret all the imperfections that are so obvious to my eyes, but....I was so excited. I couldn't wait for the shoot.

Perhaps it was partly because I hadn't really been sure if I'd be able to make things work, so the success tastes that much sweeter. Some of my friends had told me I was crazy. I kept asking myself if I were crazy. All that money and time and pain sunk into a project that I'm not even getting paid for, with a success rate that seemed really low. My mom telling me straight out that I was 'too ambitious'. Was it worth it? Would it have been better to make a smaller, much more perfect prop, than an actual sized, flawed one, with half the effort and money? Cosplay is already an indulgence, but had I crossed the line into foolish waste zone?

When I looked at my completed Silvally, the answer didn't hit me like Mjolnir. I still don't know if it was the right thing to do, or if I was an irresponsible child wasting the money that could have gone into feeding me better food.

But it made me happy. So happy. I nearly cried as I stood there for a few minutes staring at him. He was truly a labour of love. I spent hours spraying gesso and paint because I love Silvally. I spent days sanding until my arms want to fall off and my eyes are dying from dust because I love Gladion. I spent hours cortorted in weird positions with a paintbrush trying desperately to stay within the pencil lines, sweat dripping into my eyes, because I love this art. Sure, the process itself was often painful; I suffered multiple burns from hot glue and a hot iron and cut my fingers open way too many times. I still hate hand-sanding with a burning passion because it's tiring as hell and I get blisters on my oversensitive skin. But the thought that all of the suffering helps to build the final piece of art that I envision makes me grit my teeth and soldier on.

Cosplay is my art, something that I would put 500% of me into. Whether the crafting of insanely large props, or the preparations for the shoot, or the styling of my entire team's wigs, or the endless sewing adventures on plushies.

Because I love it.