AnimeCon Harem Bonus: The Cosplaying Girls (Patreon)

Yikes, Jordyn thought to herself, idly worrying her tongue ring back and forth inside her mouth. There’s some really fierce cosplays this year.

The line of cosplayers waiting for pre-judging was already snaking back and forth through the enormous room and it was still growing, which seemed ominous to Jordyn. For many, the cosplay contest was AnimeCon’s main event, the crown jewel of the convention. It showcased only the best of the best in fan-made costumes, attracting cosplayers every year by both the prestige of the award titles and the generous cash prize. As such, the contest was allotted the largest panel room, a gigantic space that now featured a large stage, hundreds upon hundreds of folding chairs for seating, and a series of tables along the distant far wall where the judges and announcer sat.

Jordyn was crossplaying—cosplaying a character of the opposite gender—Dmitri Dhampir from HellState, a well-known character from a popular series. Assuming the look of a centuries-old master vampire, she had outfitted herself in posh, even decadent, if somewhat sinister Victorian nobleman’s attire. The blood-red coat made her one of the more eye-catching cosplayers in the room, and the cravat she wore, the dandy hat, and the spell circles sewn on the back of her white gloves showed off both Jordyn’s tailoring finesse and her exemplary attention to detail.

Jordyn didn’t like to go overboard like others did with the genderswap aspect of the crossplay—this wasn’t the Halloween-store ‘sexy’ girl version of something—because, in her mind, Dmitri Dhampir was perfectly sexy just as he was. Changing the stately dress pants to a miniskirt, or the dignified maroon vest beneath her coat to a bikini top would have lost the class Dmitri exuded. She had tailored each of the traditionally male garments to her very female proportions, of course, but she’d didn’t feel a particular need to show off her impressive body. That’s not tasteful. Not for my Dmitri.

After carefully straightening her long black hair, the only obvious difference between her cosplay and the character was... the color of her skin. While Dmitri Dhampir had the ghoulish pale skin of a vampire nightwalker, Jordyn—well, she was black. Or, at the very least, a light shade of brown she would call mocha, or even chocolate caramel, if she was feeling a particular craving. Thankfully, race had never been much of a barrier for Jordyn in the local cosplay community. Sometimes, she suspected it even lent her an exoticism that made her stand out from many of the other well-known cosplayers in the area.

“Hi! What are you from?” A chipper voice sounded out from beside her. Curious, Jordyn turned to meet her neighbor in line.

It was a petite girl with long, dark hair and excited, expressive features, cosplaying Blaire Bellefonte from EMRLD. The ensemble consisted of a simple sleeveless white crop top and tiny white short shorts, framed by a black coat-tailed vest which was buttoned closed beneath her bust, making it resemble a corset.

“Ooooh, you look so cool!” the dark-haired girl breathed appreciatively, clapping her hands. “Are you Dash the Avalanche, from TriGrave? The Humanoid Sandstorm?! Did you see—”

“Uhh, no, I’m—”

“Ah, wait. Big red coat. I get it,” the girl interrupted. She was younger than Jordyn, and very short—but with a pair of large breasts on a skinny frame that made Jordyn certain this overexcited chatterbox of a teenager found herself very popular with the opposite sex. “You’re... Dorian, from Devil May Care! Right? Am I right?”

“Dmitri Dhampir, actually,” Jordyn said in a bemused drawl, tipping her wide-brimmed hat. “From HellState.”

“Oh my God, that was gonna be my next guess! You’re so fucking cool!” the girl exclaimed, hopping in place. Her bust bounced in a way that suggested she wasn’t wearing any support beneath her cosplay top. “I’m Melanie. But, my friends call me Mel! But really, my friends call me Neko sometimes, because I’m so into anime, and I’m kinda like a cat. There was this—”

“Nice to meet you,” Jordyn said quickly, smiling. “Melanie’s a really pretty name.”

“What?! You think so? No way,” Melanie retorted. “You’re really pretty. No, wait! I didn’t mean it like, in that way. Although, kinda, I did, but only if it’s cool. Your cosplay’s like, ten times better than everyone else’s here, and you’re gonna win this whole thing, for sure. And, you’re black! Or, you know, African-American. Have you ever thought about cosplaying—”

“Is this your first time at a convention?” Jordyn probably should have felt annoyed, or at the very least exasperated by Melanie’s endless enthusiasm, but to her surprise, it was just the opposite. She’s so BRIGHT and... animated. She’s having so much fun, in the way I wish I still felt at conventions. Before I was worried about how cringy I was acting. Haha...

“I was here last year, with my Dad,” Melanie answered, exaggerating a thoughtful look, scrunching her brows. “Which is weird. Because, he like, never visits me. But, I didn’t even cosplay back then, so it doesn’t count. Now, I’m eighteen, so I’m gonna go to, like, every single anime convention there is, now. All of them. Every year. I’m gonna live at cosplay conventions.”

“That’s pretty much what I do,” Jordyn nodded agreeably. “I go by Synn, that’s my cosplay name. This is my second year entering the AnimeCon contes—”

“Synn? That’s so badass!” Melanie gushed. “Synn. I want a cool cosplay name like that. Oh, man… what would I be? Reaper? Malefice?”

“Uh… you could be Neko?” Jordyn supplied helpfully.

“That’s perfect, Neko! People call me that.” Melanie’s eyes went wide, before the girl seemed to deflate with a heavy sigh. “You’re gonna win, though. Like, you have to. If you don’t win, I’ll start a revolution, or a riot or—or something, until you win.”

“Hell, yeah,” Jordyn allowed herself a small moment and released her inner geek, drawing the pair of prop handguns hidden in her coat and pretending to shoot them in the air. “Pew, pew!”

“Ohmigod you have guns?!” Melanie gaped at her. “That’s so fucking cool! Agggh! I’m so freakin’ jealous! I don’t think I’m anywhere near good enough for a cosplay name, or a web page or anything. I mean, freakin’ look at this.” The teenage girl plucked at her costume top, and a seam separated with the movement, exposing a brief triangle of pale breast.

“Whoa, uhh—careful,” Jordyn cautioned, quickly holstering her guns and leaning forward to smooth out the sections of fabric and cover the girl back up. On closer inspection, the Blaire cosplay looked… well, not shabby, but distinctly unfinished. “Did you... make this yourself?”

“Yeah! Well, I mean, sorta,” Melanie laughed. “I made it, and then my Mom fixed it. Mostly. I sat down in my car to drive here and I was like—OH, SHIT! Because some of the back’s still held together with just pins, and they were all jabbing me. Wait, I didn’t, like, bleed on the back or anything, did I?”

The girl turned around, pulling her long black hair up out of the way, and Jordyn was horrified to discover that the back of the Blaire Bellefonte cosplay was hanging in tatters. Two last panels of fabric were barely holding the outfit onto the girl’s body, by a single pin. Jordyn’s smile froze in place, and she began screaming internally.

“...Are there blood spots?”

“Uh, you’re… um. We’ve got a problem,” Jordyn finally managed. As delicately as she could, she pinched edges of fabric together and repositioned the pin as best as she was able. To her growing dismay, the now taut piece split another seam at the shoulder instead, and the entire garment began slipping free.

With a yelp, Jordyn dropped decorum and clamped her arms around Melanie just before the smaller teenage girl was rendered half-naked in the middle of the crowded venue. You’ve GOT to be kidding me…

“Ohhh, fuckmuffins!” Melanie giggled. “Thanks. I definitely felt that. Did I lose a pin? It felt like I lost an important pin.”

“Okay, hah, uh, help? Help!” Jordyn laughed, calling out loudly. “Does anyone have any safety pins or... anything? Small wardrobe malfunction, here!”

“I can spare one, maybe two,” a girl cosplaying a Soul Priestess from Shinobi Souls called from the behind them in line, stepping up. The girl’s face changed when she saw the problem, and she shrugged her long white sleeves back out of the way and rushed forward to help keep Melanie from exposing herself. “One or two pins won’t… this isn’t… where the hell are all of your stitches?!”

“Fletcher!” The girl called out after realizing their predicament. “Hey! Fletcher! You still keep a travel sewing kit for event emergencies?”

* * *

Yeah, of course we HAVE it, the longtime staffer everyone referred to as Fletcher thought to himself, digging through their half-emptied box that they’d grabbed the audio-video cables and spare microphones from. Question is... are there any pins left?

The answer, unsurprisingly, was no. All but one of the needles was missing, as well, and he cursed himself for not remembering to restock the whole thing. It wasn’t his job, or anyone’s job, really— it was something they’d started keeping around just to be thoughtful—but, still. He wasn’t paid to pour in all the effort he did to make events like the cosplay contest work out, either, but he loved to do so.

Adjusting his spectacles with the press of a finger at the bridge of his nose, Fletcher grabbed the tiny sewing kit and made his way over towards the commotion. There he saw a flailing teenage girl, neatly pinned between a black girl in a Dmitri cosplay on one side, and a short-haired Soul Priestess on the other. To his surprise, he recognized both of them.

Synn’s Dmitri Dhampir didn’t seem like much at first glance, but the longer he looked, the more regal and natural the outfit seemed on her. There was something dark and graceful in her posture and movements, a sort of presence or bearing that lent synergy to the cosplay she’d chosen. Sometimes, a character seemed to be meant for someone, and after putting the outfit on, it became more than just a costume.

The Soul Priestess cosplay that Liz wore this year also wasn’t as eye-catching as her usual outfits, but the craftsmanship and fine details in her robe’s emblem, and the accessories she’d worked up out of craft clay and paint were remarkable and spoke of the girl’s dedication to the character. She was also one of the few well-known cosplayers who seemed to remember him every year, and she always made a point to stop and chat him. Damn, this year I really need to ask her out for coffee or something after the con.

“Afternoon, Synn. Hey, Liz,” He greeted the girls as he stepped over, waggling the little travel sewing kit. “What’d you guys do?”

“Oh, you know. The usual,” Liz chuckled. “Competition looked tough, so I thought I’d just sabotage all the other cosplays first.”

“One of these years, we’re going to make a rule against that,” Fletcher said, quirking his lip at her.

“You know me?” Jordyn asked, surprised.

“I follow your page online,” Fletcher nodded, offering Liz the sewing kit. “Loved your Metrazoid outfit. Nice Dmitri, too, by the way.”

“Thank you,” Jordyn smiled, surprised.

“It’s really not that bad, is it?” Melanie grinned, wriggling awkwardly in the grip of the other two girls so she could meet Fletcher. “I mean, worst comes to worst, I can just hold it in the back with one hand, like this, see—” She straightened, one arm twisted behind her... and her straining top immediately separated in the front.

Pale, beautiful breasts spilled free, pink nipples on free display. Near-perfect rounded shapes, perky, but with a certain weight to them that Fletcher admired in stunned astonishment for a full second before a startled Jordyn could jump forward to smother the girl into her red coat.

“—Whoopsie,” Melanie yelped. “Um…”

“Whoa. Sorry, I… uh, sorry,” Fletcher felt his face going red as he pointedly stared off in the direction of the ceiling. Those were... deceptively large. “Do you need any—”

“Fletcher!” Liz squealed, sending him an accusing glare for having simply witnessed the sight. “We’ve got it under control. Get outta here!”

“S—orry ‘bout that,” Melanie squeaked, at least having the good sense to finally seem embarrassed.

“There aren’t even any safety pins in here, Fletcher…” Liz growled. “What’re we supposed to do, sew her into this while she’s freakin’ standing here? We’ve got a contest to audition for!”

“Uh…” Torn between advising the cute young newcomer hidden between the girls to realistically let go of her… overly optimistic dream of competing in the contest this year, or jokingly just offering them a stapler, Fletcher was just about to speak when yet another person intervened.

“Uh, do you… need any help?” A timid voice offered, and a girl with fluffy pink hair wearing a pink-and-red sundress tiptoed over from the front, giving up her spot in the line. “I-I can sew, um, I’m pretty fast.”

“Please,” Jordyn asked, grateful for the help. “Even if it’s just, like, a quick and ugly fix.”

“Okay, I’m going, then,” Fletcher jerked his thumb back towards the pre-judging table. “If there’s any problems, just holler, alright?”

“Alright!” Liz agreed. “Now get outta here, you perv! And, thanks!”

“Thank you for the sewing kit!” Jordyn called.

“Thanks, person!” Melanie added, peeking over the edge of Jordyn’s coat to see Stephanie threading a needle.

“Thank you, go away now please,” Liz waved him off.

Seeing that the small incident was… probably in good hands, Fletcher exhaled slowly and shook his head, striding back up the line of waiting cosplayers towards the pre-judging booth. Liz looked amazing like always, and he secretly hoped she’d win something, but he’d already spotted a lot of other strong contenders this year. There were countless other veterans cosplayers who regularly attended AnimeCon, some of them even famous across the entire coast.

Sara Star herself had camped out in front of the panel room at noon today to be one of the first in line this year. She was decked out in an absurdly intricate Vampire Princess Marcilla costume—a flowing red and black dress, horrific and beautiful like she’d stepped out of someone’s fantastical nightmares. There were even newcomers here that Fletcher didn’t even recognize, like the phenomenal Magical Doll Himari towards the end of the line, or this hulking giant of an Ogre King here beside the Bosatsu cosplayer.

Amazing. This thing’s huge. Wonder how he figured out how to build all of this? And, how he got in here? I bet he can’t see a thing. Fletcher was just stopping to admire the detail on the sneering visage of the enormous Ogre when something about the Bosatsu standing next to the Ogre caught his eye.

“Excuse me, is that a khakkhara?” Fletcher asked, gesturing towards the metal staff the large man dressed as a Buddhist monk was wielding.

“This is the shakuj? of I, Bosatsu of the Six Paths!” the cosplayer arrogantly declared, jangling the metal rings of the staff in indignation. The monk’s face fell at reading the words ‘AnimeCon Staff’ on Fletcher’s shirt, and he quickly lowered his voice to a normal speaking tone. “Er, that is—I’ve already taken it to the weapons and props check.They put the safety band down here, at the bottom.”

“May I?” Fletcher smiled politely, opening his hands, and the cosplayer quickly passed the staff to him.

This is no prop, Fletcher discovered, hefting the thing in admiration. Six rings, representing the Six Truths of a bodhisattva. Doesn’t look like a flea-market imitation, either. Wonder if he realizes this one’s from India, and definitely not the kind from China or Japan?

“It’s very nice,” Fletcher commented, handing it back to the robed Monk. The Bosatsu cosplayer was fat, wore glasses, had shaggy brown hair, and a scruffy beard that was spreading from his cheeks to his neck.

“Yes, yes, thank you,” the Monk hurriedly bowed in relief. “Peace be with you, friend.”

“Try not to be too loud with it,” Fletcher cautioned, and he continued on towards the judging table to watch the proceedings. Sounding staffs were originally carried to warn small animals and insects out of the monk’s path, so that no life—no matter how small—was trodden upon. The thought of a boastful, haughty cosplayer flailing one around didn’t sit well with Fletcher, but he supposed that must have just been how the character acted in whatever anime the guy was from.

After all… convent Sisters don’t normally have gatling guns, either. Or show quite that much skin, Fletcher thought as he passed by a heavily-armed girl wearing a Nun’s habit. Instead of a traditional black cassock, the rest of the outfit was rather revealing lingerie that seemed to be patterned into the shapes of overlapping crucifixes. You really never know what kind of characters will show up at AnimeCon.

At the front of the hundreds of rows of chairs set up for the audience, a single one of them was occupied, by a scowling young Chinese girl who was watching the auditions. She looked bored, annoyed, and was impatiently tapping a foot. When Fletcher had asked her earlier what she was doing there, she’d insisted that she was with Foxy.

Foxy. Fletcher frowned, crossing his arms. He wasn’t sure why Nick had insisted that Foxy take his place as a contest judge—fairly evaluating dozens upon dozens of different costumes based on their accuracy and effort wasn’t something just anyone was able to do. With different cosplays ranging from embroidered ballroom gowns to the carefully molded plastic armor of a futuristic Inferno Marine, this wasn’t something as simple and straightforward as a beauty pageant or popularity contest.

After all, as one of the larger anime conventions in the country, the stakes for this contest were pretty high. AnimeCon had three prizes and seven awards to distribute among the best cosplays here—and with hundreds of entries, competition was fierce. Many of the up and coming ‘cosplay famous’ competitors had spent months planning, designing and constructing costumes with the specific intent of taking a title or a ranking here. With the added legitimacy of an AnimeCon Best of Show or Judge’s Choice on their cosplay resumes, they were more likely to be invited as a guest at smaller conventions, where they could continue to pile up their achievements and fame, until they were considered a cosplay authority.

Which, of course, led to the darker side of cosplay, where eking out a win no matter the cost was becoming prevalent. Trying to bribe contest judges, manufacturing controversy and inciting drama, canvassing for sympathy votes, backstabbing old friends, leveraging social connections against one another, digging through old online accounts in the hope of exposing any dirt on their rivals… the cosplay community was an ugly business, sometimes.

“Alright, next,” Foxy dismissed the girl in front of them, a girl dressed in a Japanese school blazer and wearing a multi-colored wig. Each of the judges were supposed to take notes on which outstanding costumes made an impression on them... yet Foxy’s legal pad still remained blank.

Next to approach the judging table was a heavyset girl wearing a modified black-and-white Chinese cheongsam, while a pair of rounded black animal ears poked out from her dirty-blonde hair. As one of the few entrants who wasn’t conventionally attractive, Fletcher was very interested in whether or not Foxy would judge her fairly and remain without bias.

“Okay, could we have your name, the character, and the series first,” Joe, the first judge, asked. With dark hair, a neatly-trimmed goatee, and what he joking called his ‘hipster glasses,’ he was an old hand at judging these contests, and longtime friend of Fletcher’s. The third judge was Ghost Wine, a petite young Filipino woman who, like Fletcher, was known by her internet handle rather than her given name. She was wearing her Killer Corps cosplay from Shinobi Souls, but had twisted the mask around so that it rested on the side of her head.

“Umm, my name’s Megan Green, and, I made a Pandape gijinka,” the overweight girl said, clearly nervous. “Pandape, from Monster Battlers.”

Ah, Pandape, Fletcher finally recognized the outfit. The more he looked at it, the more clever he thought it was—and although it might not be a flattering thing to say, she’d chosen the monster that perfectly suited her body type. In addition, while the Pandape monster itself was a rather simplistically drawn thing and difficult to translate into an interesting dress, she’d approximated its patterns and markings well with the qípáo-style cheongsam dress. The Chinese style of it naturally seemed to evoke the appropriate image. When the large girl slowly turned so the judges could see her whole outfit and Fletcher saw her panda eye make-up, he was convinced that no one could pull off a better Pandape. It definitely works. Sure, there’s some clumsy seams, but—

“Sorry, next,” Foxy interrupted with a bored expression.

He didn’t even give Joe or Ghost a chance to say anything, Fletcher frowned. Ghost Wine had still been in the middle of jotting down her thoughts when the contestant was abruptly shooed away, and she turned to shoot another annoyed look at Foxy.

“O-okay. Thank you,” Megan mumbled, walking away in dejection.

* * *

In no time at all, Jordyn, Liz, and Melanie discovered that the pink-haired newcomer was fast at sewing. Jordyn was helping cover Melanie with her elegant red coat, while Liz held the panels of the Blaire cosplay in place against Melanie, and then Stephanie was running the needle back and forth through the fabric at alarming speed.

Stephanie pushed the needle point through the fabric with one hand, then immediately pulled the needle, drew the thread, and flipped the needle point around in one quick motion with her other hand. Without pause, she’d push back through and repeat the process with her opposite hand. If Jordyn hadn’t been paying close attention, it would have looked like this girl was simply flossing the thread back and forth through the fabric—but, no, a line of stitches was in fact steadily creeping up the cloth on Melanie’s back.

“...What kind of stitch are you using?” Jordyn asked, shocked by the skill she was seeing. There was apparently no need to work on the garment inside-out, so that seam excess was hidden afterwards—the two panels of fabric were simply joining together magically at the edges. As Stephanie moved upwards, the stitches pulled tight and seemed to disappear.

“Looks like some kind of blind stitch,” Liz observed, appearing just as surprised. “You’re fast.”

“It is,” Stephanie gave them a nervous laugh. “I think? It’s a kind of blind stitch. My mother called it, um, a right-handed invisible ladder stitch. B-but, I’m, uh, I’m not sure what you call it when I’m alternating back and forth between a right and left-handed one, like this. It should hold okay, though!”

“That’s so neat! Do you sew cosplays for a living?” Melanie was interested, trying to squirm and twist her neck to see what was going on behind her.

“N-no, no,” Stephanie flustered, adjusting her glasses. “Nothing like that.”

“Stay still, Blaire,” Liz admonished. “This girl’s like a human sewing machine. You want her to accidentally sew this right into your skin?”

“That’d actually be really cool,” Melanie giggled. “I’d be like Molly, from Nightmare on Solstice. Sexy, and with just, like... stitches going everywhere through my skin.”

“I’m… going to slow down,” Stephanie laughed, paling slightly.

“You’re almost done, though,” Jordyn pointed out, glancing up the pre-judging line ahead of them. The four girls had been slowly shuffling along together every few minutes as the line advanced. “We might actually get this put back together in time. Which is… crazy, right? You can’t start with pieces of a costume way back in the line, and then just arrive at the front with it finished.”

“Hey, it’s not that bad, it wasn’t in pieces,” Melanie huffed. “I resemble that remark!”

“You mean resent?” Jordyn asked.

“No, no,” Liz rolled her eyes. “She does resemble that remark.”

“O-okay,” Stephanie said, tying off her thread and snipping it. “That should hold this part. I think.”

“We’ve gotta at least pin the front closed, or something,” Liz pointed out. “Turn around, girl. Let’s see the damage.”

“I’m Melanie. But, everyone calls me Neko,” Melanie insisted, whirling around to face them. Her top was hanging open where it had split along a seam in the front, and the insides of her breasts were visible, making themselves obvious with a bounce. “Hi!”

“Uhh, where is your bra?” Liz demanded, looking at Melanie as though she was insane.

“Blaire doesn’t wear a bra,” Melanie replied, blinking. “I don’t think…?”

“Yeah, well—this is a convention, not some sleazy no-pantsu cafe!” Liz retorted, shaking her head. “Will you close up a bit? Mishin-chan here can probably fix the front in a flash.”

“Machine-chan?” Melanie looked towards the pink-haired girl holding the sewing kit.

“Uh, hi,” Stephanie gave her a weak smile. “Mishin, it’s, ah, that’s Japanese for ‘sewing machine.’ I’m Stephanie, actually. Um, could you—?”

“Oh! Yeah, sorry!” Melanie tugged the front of her Blaire Bellefonte costume closed… or, tried to. With the back of her cosplay now sewn properly, the previously loose top had become substantially more restricting. Her boobs were now squashed together, creating a deep line of cleavage still stubbornly visible in the gap. “Hnnng. Okay. S’gonna be tight, but I can... suck it in.”

“Ugh, I hate you,” Liz hissed, glaring daggers at the ditzy girl’s large breasts before turning to Stephanie. “Don’t be too careful sewing up the front. A couple pin jabs never hurt anyone. Anyways, the line’s moving a lot faster, now, and I don’t see anything else here I can do. I’m going back to my spot.”

“Thanks for your help,” Jordyn called, and she watched the girl dressed as a Soul Priestess wave a backward hand in acknowledgement as she walked away.

“We still have that pin, if you need to just pin part of it and go,” Jordyn said, plucking the pin from the brim of her hat where she’d stuck it for safekeeping and glancing in the direction of the pre-judging table. “Your spot in line up there’s almost at the front, now.”

“Oh, it’s okay,” Stephanie replied, pulling the bottom of Melanie’s top together and fastening it together in a flash with a bevy of quick stitches. “I was just in line with—well, I don’t think I’m going to compete. I’m mostly just here with my… uh, for my friend.”

“You’re not going to compete?” Melanie asked. “But, that’s so crazy! You’re Machine-chan, you’re probably the best sewer in all of AnimeCon!”

“She means to say seamstress,” Jordyn corrected, wincing. “I’m sure Mel—uh, I’m sure Neko here doesn’t mean to call you a sewer. Because, a sewer is an underground pipeline for sewage.”

“Uh, yeah! That’s what I meant,” Melanie nodded emphatically. “Seamsteress. What’s your cosplay, Machine-chan? Your dress is cute.”

“Thank you,” Stephanie laughed, carefully working the needle back and forth up between the imposing shape of Melanie’s melons, which were straining against their sudden confinement. “I’m—well, I was a Flamituff, but I ended up giving part of my costume away to someone else who needed it.”

“Flamituff?!” Melanie exclaimed, bouncing slightly. “Ohmigod, I love Flamituff! She’s so fuckin’ cool!”

“Flamituff is really cool,” Jordyn agreed. “Wish I could’ve seen it when it was complete. I was going to try to do one of those Monster Battlers dresses for next year. Gijinka, right? I’m going to make an Obsydeon outfit.”

“Because you’re black?” Melanie asked, her eyes going wide and clamping a hand over her mouth.

“Yes, Melanie. Because I’m black,” Jordyn replied, rolling her eyes. “It’d save me all that white body paint trying to be a Solar Bear, you know?”

“I’m so sorry,” Melanie breathed. “I just—sometimes I just open my mouth, and things come out, before I can stop them! I have, like, no filter.” The dark-haired girl was fidgeting now as her cosplay became more constraining. Her nipples were even partially visible, straining against the tightening fabric as though trying to bore their way through.

“Obsydeon is another one of my favorites,” Stephanie said with appreciation as she continued up Melanie’s seam like a slow-motion zipper, pulling the Blaire Bellefonte outfit together with the quick motions of either hand.

“Steph?” a guy’s voice called over. “Your spot in line’s up almost up.”

Jordyn looked up to see a cosplayer in a Darkmask outfit approaching them, the familiar grinning skull helmet held in his gloved hands. Lovely green eyes, nice jawline. Old-fashioned side-parted brown hair. Tall, good-looking, and... familiar.

Though she’d never learned his name, she was passingly acquainted with his group from several past AnimeCons—this guy, the rowdy little latina, that frigid-seeming ice queen, and a couple of other dudes. They happened to take pictures of each other every year, and she was sure they’d chatted once or twice.

“Oh! Uh, I’m not, I don’t… I don’t think I’m going to compete, after all,” Stephanie gave him a sheepish look. “Not this year. No one can even tell who I was supposed to be, anymore. B-but, if I have another minute, I can fix her costume so she can go up, at least.”

“...Lance, right?” Jordyn smiled, ticking a gloved finger in the air towards Brian.

“Yeah, hah,” Brian gave her a small wave. “You used to do Camus, from Metrazoid? Your Dmitri looks really great.”

“Thank you!” Jordyn tipped her hat towards him, feeling extraordinarily pleased that he’d remembered her as well.

“I’m gonna head back up, then,” Brian told Stephanie. He spun the Darkmask helmet between his gloved fingertips and flipped it back onto his head in a single motion. “Will you be alright?”

“Yes,” Stephanie affirmed, nodding. “I’ll find Kelly! We’ll watch, and, um, take pictures when you go up. Good luck!”

“Who was he?” Melanie whispered with a goofy grin, just moments after Brian turned to make his way back up to the front of the line. She tried to turn away from Stephanie to follow him with her eyes. “He’s cute!”

“He’s my—um. Well, he and I… I have a big crush on him,” Stephanie admitted, her delicate features blushing red. “His name’s Brian.”

“Well, you have excellent taste. He was definitely one of my con crushes last year,” Jordyn praised, watching Brian as he walked away. And... I love the way his new outfit sticks to him everywhere this year. “Ah. Uh-oh, looks like he dropped something, though.”

“He what,” Stephanie seemed to freeze.

“Hope it wasn’t his convention badge,” Jordyn leaned out further to look past the line of people. “Oh. It’s some little wooden thing?”

“...I’ve got to go,” Stephanie tucked the needle into the upper hem of Melanie’s cosplay. “S-sorry. You’re just—um, it’s mostly done, if you just pin that through as it is, it should be fine, for now. Don’t try to bend over, and you’ll be fine!” Then the breathless pink-haired girl was gone, hurrying up the line in Brian’s direction.

“Sure, thanks,” Melanie called, experimentally tugging at the restored costume blouse and then adjusting her bust beneath it. “Seriously. Thank you so much, Machine-chan!”

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