#I wanted to to something more illustrative with this but I haven’t drawn in like a week so 🤷 coloured lines it is

[zorangezest]

it occurred to me that I have not drawn a Single image of frenzy smiling

[ssecond-hand-faith]

Bad bitch, queen shit, icon

[hobipobi]

Cracks In The Ice

Gepard Landau x Female reader

Summary: A frozen city. A guarded soul. A quiet meeting— where cold begins to crack. What will melt first: steel or silence?

I'm here once again with a one-shot.

Yes, inspired by Character.ai once more AHAHAHA Warnings: slow burn (?), NSFW in the end Words: 5.638

Belobog was always cold.

But today, it felt colder.

Not in the dramatic sense, not the kind of cold that bites through to the bone or howls in alleyways. This cold was quieter — pervasive, persistent. The kind that settled in the air like grief, numbing without pain. It whispered against buildings, swept across the cobblestones, and hung over the streets like a second sky.

Y/n hunched deeper into her coat, gloved hands buried in the thick fabric, scarf wound twice around her neck. Her breath rose in slow, ephemeral coils — pale ribbons that dissipated too quickly to enjoy. Snowflakes drifted down in slow spirals, catching on the tips of her lashes and the wool brim of her hat. She didn’t bother brushing them away.

The Silvermane Guard Headquarters loomed before her, stern and symmetrical, carved from stone the same gray-blue shade as the clouds above. Its sharp lines and flag-bearing parapets stood unyielding against the frost — a fortress not just of walls, but of principles.

She stared at it for a long moment, then exhaled.

“I swear,” she murmured, voice muffled beneath her scarf, “Serval owes me at least a month’s worth of drinks for this.”

A folder—thick, heavy, and filled to bursting with maintenance logs—was tucked under her arm. The paper edges were crisp, her gloved fingers damp where snow had melted against them. She could have handed it off to a courier, or even just dropped it at the front desk. That would’ve been the sensible thing to do.

But no.

Serval had insisted.

Correction: pleaded.

“Just drop it off for me?” she’d said that morning, hair still damp from the shower, eyes half-lidded with sleep. “He’ll ignore the notes unless someone explains them. I mean, I wrote margin comments and everything—”

“You could go,” Y/n had replied, nursing her own cup of coffee, voice dry.

“Yeah, but he listens better when it’s not me yelling.” Serval had grinned into her mug. “Besides, you haven’t met my brother properly, have you?”

Y/n hadn’t. Not really. Only in passing. Glimpses — a tall figure striding across the plaza in glinting armor, posture like iron drawn straight, voice low and unreadable when issuing orders. Every sighting had been like watching a statue move: all grace and discipline, none of it inviting.

Gepard Landau.

Captain of the Silvermane Guards. Defender of Belobog. Local icon of brooding restraint.

She’d seen the wanted posters in the bookstore windows — clean-lined illustrations of him in formal uniform, jaw set, gaze distant — almost heroic, if a little tragic. Always alone in the frame.

Now here she was, standing at the threshold of the Guard HQ, folder clutched tight to her chest like a child with a school project.

Gathering her resolve, she stepped inside.

The first wave of heat was jarring — sudden warmth against flushed cheeks and snow-slick boots. The lobby was stark but orderly, marble floor shining beneath yellow lights, banners of the Guard hanging high from stone pillars. A single desk stood at the center, manned by a young soldier who looked up from his ledger and blinked when he saw her.

She offered the folder wordlessly, watched his gaze flick from the seal on the document to the name scrawled in thick ink across the front. Serval Landau. Recognition sparked immediately.

“She sent you?” he asked, already reaching for the comm button. His voice was polite, but there was a curl at the edge of his smile—something between amusement and sympathy.

“Apparently it’s urgent,” Y/n replied, trying for nonchalance.

He waved her through with minimal questioning and gave her directions to the captain’s office. Fifth floor, east wing. Take the lift, then straight down the corridor until the hall narrows. Door on the left, nameplate in gold.

As she ascended, the building felt more like a cathedral than a barracks. Everything was pristine, purposeful — no clutter, no wasted space. Even the silence felt manicured.

By the time she reached his door, her fingers had thawed. But the nerves had kicked in.

She hesitated only a moment before raising a hand and knocking once, firmly.

The door opened almost immediately.

Captain Gepard Landau stood in the threshold.

He wore the full uniform: the dark silver armor lined with blue, pauldrons gleaming beneath the overhead lights. His blond hair was neatly combed back, a few loose strands falling across his forehead. His expression was unreadable — not stern, but still.

“Captain?” she asked, breath fogging softly in the air between them.

“Yes,” he replied. His voice was low, measured. Not unkind. Just… exact.

There was no flicker of recognition in his eyes, but no suspicion either. Only a quiet scrutiny, as if cataloging her presence for the record.

She held up the folder like a peace offering. “I’m Y/n. Serval sent me. She said you needed these reports before the next patrol rotation.”

He took the folder without a word, gloved fingers brushing hers — briefly, barely — and flipped it open with a soldier’s efficiency. His eyes moved quickly, reading in sharp movements.

“You’re her friend,” he said finally.

Y/n arched a brow, a wry smile tugging at her mouth. “She has a lot of those. I like to think I’m her favorite.”

There was the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth. Not quite a smile. But something.

“I’ll review these.”

“She also said you’d probably have questions,” Y/n added, stepping lightly into the room without waiting for an invitation. “And that I should ‘walk you through the parts that make you tilt your helmet in confusion.’ Her words, not mine.”

His gaze lifted. She met it. Steady. Curious, now — faintly.

A beat passed.

“…In that case,” he said, stepping aside, “you should come in.”

She did.

His office was exactly what she expected: immaculate, sparse, functional. A large desk dominated the room, flanked by high shelves filled with binders and military files. A topographical map of Belobog stretched across the far wall, red markers indicating patrol paths. A single mug of coffee sat near the window, steaming quietly, untouched.

Y/n tilted her head at it. “You ever actually drink that, or is it for morale purposes?”

He followed her gaze, then returned to his seat behind the desk. “I take breaks. I just don’t waste time.”

“Mm. No hobbies, then? No guilty pleasures like cheesy novels or off-key karaoke?”

“I read military history.”

“Scandalous.”

Something flickered in his eyes again. Drier, this time. A ghost of amusement.

Y/n leaned her hip against the edge of his desk and tapped the folder. “Page five — the notes for Unit 7-B might throw you. There’s an override code listed, but Serval rewired the matrix. Ignore the override.”

He flipped to it without hesitation, eyes scanning. “That explains the energy flux reported last week.”

Their hands met again as she passed him a post-it Serval had attached.

This time, their fingers brushed. Just briefly.

But neither of them pulled away.

His gloves were warm — soft leather over calloused hands. Hers were cold from the snow, her skin pricking with contrast.

When he looked up again, there was something different in his gaze.

Not interest. Not emotion. But presence. A shift.

Awareness.

Y/n offered him a slow smile. “Relax, Captain. I don’t bite.”

His response was quiet, almost dry. “Good. Unauthorized violence isn’t permitted in headquarters.”

That earned a laugh. Sharp, but warm.

And for the first time, he smiled. Just faintly.

Outside, the snow hadn’t stopped.

Y/n stepped out into the wind, wrapping her scarf tighter around her face. The air was sharp again — but it no longer bit. Her steps crunched softly on the frosted steps as she descended, the HQ standing tall behind her like a frozen watchtower.

She exhaled, breath curling skyward.

That had gone better than expected.

He was still guarded, still distant. Like the city he protected — reserved, cold, and shaped by discipline. But underneath the steel, there was warmth.

Just a flicker.

She could work with flickers.

She had time.

One snowflake at a time.

Two Weeks Later

Belobog's sky was the color of old bruises—dusky purples muddling with the exhausted blue of a winter twilight—and the cold had turned cruel in the way it always did when the sun began to vanish behind the skyline. It was the sort of cold that gnawed through wool and leather, the sort that clung to your bones no matter how long you’d been living in it.

Y/n had just finished prying apart a stubborn heating coil, knuckles scraped and soot streaked across her cheek, when the workshop door burst open with a metallic slam. The clatter of boots and labored breathing preceded the frantic voice that followed.

“Emergency on the Rivet Town patrol line—Unit 3 is down! Total system failure in one mech, coolant’s spilling, and—” The junior guard in the doorway wheezed like a rusted valve. “They need a tech. Immediately.”

Y/n squinted at him through the swirl of steam from the broken coil. “Can’t Serval—?”

“She’s mid-calibration downtown. System locked. You’re next up.”

Of course she was.

She sighed, dropping her wrench into the battered toolcase with a thud. “Tell them I’ll be there in five. And someone better warm up the rover unless they want a field tech turned ice sculpture.”

The ride through Belobog’s frozen arteries was a blur of passing lights and the occasional jolt of potholes beneath steel wheels. The transport heater wheezed ineffectually against the cold, and Y/n’s fingers stayed clenched around her thermos of half-drunk coffee more for warmth than caffeine. Snow swirled against the windows like a living thing, thick and wet and relentless. Her boots tapped in rhythm with the rattling toolbox at her feet, each bump of the road echoing the restless pace of her thoughts.

By the time they reached the patrol site just beyond Rivet Town’s edge, the light had all but fled the world. What little remained bled out in bands of gray and deepening blue, casting the snow-drenched ruins in a pallid glow. The mech was a hulking silhouette against the whiteness, half-submerged in a snowbank and bleeding mist from a cracked coolant valve like a wounded animal exhaling its last.

And there he was—tall, unmistakable even in the half-light.

He was pacing, his broad figure cutting a clean silhouette against the jagged landscape, the edge of his cloak whipping lightly in the wind. Even now, with frost clinging to the fringes of his armor and tension riding hard along his jaw, he looked like a statue—cut from ice instead of stone. Immaculate. Rigid. And very much out of place amidst the broken machinery and chaotic chatter of field guards.

He turned when she approached, and his eyes found hers almost instantly.

“I didn’t expect them to send you,” he said, voice low, steady. His tone didn’t carry surprise—only the faint strain of something restrained. Fatigue, maybe. Frustration. Concern.

“Likewise,” she replied, hopping out of the vehicle with practiced ease, toolcase clutched in both hands. “But if you want this mech back online before your squad freezes solid, I’m your best shot.”

The edges of his posture eased—minutely, like a shutter slipping open just enough to let a little warmth in.

“Do what you need.”

She was already kneeling by the damaged unit, muttering under her breath as she flicked on her headlamp and yanked the hatch open with a grunt. A hiss of escaping vapor greeted her, along with the sharp tang of coolant.

“Well, there’s your first problem.” Her fingers moved fast, confident. “Your emergency override was tripped and left half-engaged. Probably fried the failsafes and locked the circulation node. Coolant’s clogged to hell.”

She glanced back over her shoulder. “Who patched this up last?”

“Private Elron.”

Y/n froze. Blinked. “Is he twelve?”

There was a pause. Then—

“I’ll see he’s reassigned to something less… delicate. Counting icicles, perhaps.”

She snorted before she could help herself, the sound muffled by her scarf. “You joke, but that was a mechanical innuendo. That’s character development, Captain.”

“I did no such thing.”

“You absolutely did. Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone. Personal growth is nothing to be ashamed of.”

His arms folded across his chest, posture unconsciously defensive. But his lips twitched—just slightly. A ghost of a smirk that barely touched the corners of his mouth.

“You’re very persistent.”

She paused, knuckles deep in frost-slick wiring. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“It’s not,” he said quietly. “It’s… surprising.”

Her movements slowed, but didn’t stop. She looked up at him through the tangle of wires and steam, taking him in. Not the armor, not the command—just the man. Sharp edges dulled by wear, shoulders too straight for someone carrying that much weight. He looked exhausted beneath the discipline. Frayed at the edges.

“Not used to people pushing back?” she asked softly.

“Not like this,” he replied after a long beat. “Not with this kind of… familiarity.”

The words hung there, suspended in the cold like crystal.

She stood then, brushing snow from her thighs and pulling off one glove. “Well,” she said, voice quieter now. “I’m not just anyone. And I don’t want to be just another face you forget after a mission.”

Something flickered in his expression. Faint. Elusive.

“You won’t be.”

The repairs took time. Longer than she’d expected, but not for lack of skill. The systems were fragile, already compromised, and the cold didn’t help. Her breath fogged the air as she worked, fingers reddened and stiff but determined. Gepard didn’t hover, but he stayed close—silent, steady, a constant presence just at her periphery.

When the mech finally purred back to life with a quiet hum and flicker of panel lights, the sigh of relief that left her lips was mirrored by something softer in his eyes.

“Thanks to you,” he said, “we won’t have to retire this unit.”

“Happy to save your squad from unexpected snow-based combustion,” she said, popping her back as she stood. “I accept gratitude in the form of hot beverages and spa vouchers.”

He raised an eyebrow. “I can offer one of those.”

“Generous.” She chuckled, breath curling between them. “Careful, Captain. That almost sounded like a joke.”

He didn’t argue this time. Just looked at her in that quiet, steady way of his, like he was trying to map the shape of her presence in his world and not quite knowing where to place it.

By the time she packed up her gear and clambered back toward the rover, the snow had started again—soft this time, delicate and drifting. Gepard walked beside her in silence, hands clasped behind his back, his strides longer than hers but deliberately slowed.

“I’ll ensure your repair notes are included in the report,” he said as she reached the vehicle.

“Be sure to add a line about Private Icicle and his near-disastrous attempt at sabotage,” she called over her shoulder, grinning.

He nodded once. Almost smiled again. Almost.

“Y/n.”

She paused, fingers halfway to the door handle. Turned to him.

His voice dropped—no longer the clipped tone of command, but something closer. More uncertain.

“I’m not good with people,” he said. “Not in the way Serval is. I’ve always… kept things close. Too close.”

“I noticed,” she said gently.

He nodded once, jaw tight. “But I don’t want that to stop this.”

A breath. A beat. Snow gathered softly on his pauldrons.

“What’s this, Captain?” she asked, her voice barely above the wind.

He met her gaze, no helmet, no shield. Just the man.

“I don’t know yet,” he admitted. “But I think I’d like to find out.”

The rush of warmth that bloomed in her chest was ridiculous, sudden, and entirely welcome. It made the cold feel distant.

She stepped toward him, gloved fingers brushing lightly over the insignia on his chestplate—an almost reverent gesture. Not flirtation. Not a tease.

A promise.

“Then let’s take our time, Frostbite.”

He blinked. “Frostbite?”

“It’s cute. It suits you.”

A quiet groan slipped out from between his teeth, and she grinned. He didn’t smile—but his eyes softened, and he didn’t step back when she did.

A Few Nights Later — Outer Snowplain Patrol, 2300 Hours

The cold beyond Belobog’s outer walls was not merely a matter of temperature. It was an entity unto itself. It pressed in from all sides, seeped into bones, clawed at exposed skin with the sharp, vindictive touch of a world that had never been tamed. The wind howled low across the frozen expanse, threading through ruined trees and half-buried outposts like a whisper meant only for the dead.

Y/n tightened her scarf and adjusted the strap of her tool pack as she stepped out of the guard transport, boots crunching onto hard-packed snow. Her breath hung in the air like ghostly smoke, already beginning to sting her throat. She hadn’t been scheduled for this patrol. She wasn’t even technically on shift. But Serval had cornered her earlier with the subtlety of a brick to the face and an arsenal of barely-veiled guilt trips, ending with a text that simply read:

“Do it for me. Or your soldering station might have a sudden accident.”

So here she was.

To her mild surprise — and brief, traitorous spike of nerves — Gepard was already waiting near the outpost gates. He stood apart from the two junior guards prepping a sled unit, his silhouette sharp and unmoving beneath the heavy frost-stained lights. Even beneath layers of regulation winter gear, he looked every bit the Silvermane Captain: posture perfect, helm tucked under one arm, expression unreadable as he glanced her way.

“You didn’t have to volunteer for this,” he said without preamble, voice low but audible even over the wind.

“I didn’t,” Y/n replied, drawing closer. “I was guilt-tripped by your sister via seven angry texts and a thinly veiled threat of sabotage.”

That earned her something rare — the faintest breath of a chuckle. She caught the way his shoulders shifted, like he was holding back more of it than he allowed to show.

“Serval hasn’t changed,” he said.

“She’s the same menace with a bigger wrench,” Y/n agreed.

They exchanged no further words as they passed the checkpoint and began walking, boots carving fresh prints through untouched snow. The night stretched out around them, black and endless, the sky choked with cloud cover heavy enough to blot out even the stars. Wind swept across the plain in unpredictable gusts, carrying with it the groan of frozen trees and the distant, hollow screech of ice shifting against steel.

A kilometer in, they passed the last of the patrol buoys — soft blue lights blinking at intervals like artificial fireflies, each one dimmer than the last.

“You sure you’re alright with this?” Y/n asked after a while, breath puffing visibly between them. “A full patrol, in this mess. With me.”

Gepard didn’t look over. He kept his gaze trained ahead, methodical and unwavering. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

She shrugged, but it felt more like a shield than a gesture. “Well… I figured it’d either be comfortable or painfully awkward. Given everything.”

A pause. Then, “You’re unusually blunt.”

“I prefer ‘efficient.’”

He stopped walking.

The abrupt halt jolted her a little, forcing her to take a step back to face him. Snow clung to his shoulders like powdered silver, glinting faintly under the distant lights of Belobog behind them. His eyes searched hers — not harsh, not cold. Just searching. Measuring.

“You’re not wrong,” he said quietly.

That made her heart beat just a bit harder.

She held his gaze, her voice gentler this time. “Gepard…”

“I’ve been thinking,” he interrupted, eyes flicking down to the snow at their feet. “About what you said. That night near Rivet Town. About not wanting to be just another face I forget.”

A silence stretched between them, fragile and waiting. Y/n’s fingers tightened slightly around the strap of her tool pack, grounding herself.

“I couldn’t forget you if I tried,” he said. “You get under my skin. You always have.”

She blinked, caught off-guard by the honesty in his voice. There was no hesitation, no flinching away from the words. Just the weight of them — and the ache she hadn’t realized had taken root in her chest until now.

“We barely knew each other a month ago,” she said, half-choked.

“That doesn’t change what I feel when I look at you.”

The world around them narrowed to the sound of wind, boots in snow, and the steady thud of blood in her ears.

She took a breath — shallow, unsteady — and turned to face him more fully. “Then tell me. What do you feel?”

His jaw tensed. His shoulders squared.

“Frustrated,” he admitted first. “Curious. Guarded. Drawn.” He met her eyes, and there was something else flickering there now — something not soldier-sharp or duty-bound. “You challenge me in ways no one else has.”

“And you hide so much of yourself,” she whispered. “It’s like every time I think I’m close, you retreat. You lock it all away again.”

“I know,” he said — and this time his voice cracked, just barely. “It’s a habit I’ve spent my whole life cultivating. And for the first time… I hate it.”

The confession hit her like the cold — slow, painful, impossible to ignore.

But before she could speak, a shriek of wind carved across the trees behind them.

Gepard turned sharply, eyes scanning the darkness. “Storm’s coming in. Fast.”

She felt it too — the sharp sting of sleet against her cheek, the taste of ice in the air.

“We won’t make it back to base in time,” he said. “There’s a patrol shelter about a kilometer east. Not far.”

She nodded, already adjusting her pack. “Lead the way, Captain Frostbite.”

He didn’t even argue this time.

Fifteen Minutes Later — Patrol Shelter B-9

The shelter looked like a forgotten relic: a squat steel cube half-sunken into a snowdrift, partially buried by years of neglect and storms. Its door groaned as Gepard forced it open, and the interior greeted them with stale air and the metallic stench of frozen rust.

Inside, the space was barely large enough to stand side by side. A folding cot leaned against the far wall. A portable heater hummed weakly in the corner, already devouring the last of its fuel cell. Emergency rations were stacked on a shelf above it, each one stamped with Silvermane insignia and expiration dates that danced a little too close to obsolete.

They peeled off their outer layers with stiff fingers. Snow melted into puddles around their boots. Y/n’s gloves slapped wetly against the cot as she sat, rubbing at her arms and blinking away the sting of windburn.

“Well,” she muttered, voice dry. “Cozy.”

Gepard was unfastening his armor piece by piece. Even beneath the thermal undershirt, he looked broad, solid. Flushed from the cold, damp hair curling slightly against his temples. He caught her looking.

“Something wrong?”

“Nope,” she said, a little too fast. “Just… observing the rare and elusive Off-Duty Gepard.”

He tilted his head. “Are you always like this with people you’re interested in?”

The air turned leaden. Her heart leapt.

She swallowed. “Did you just admit you’re interested in me?”

“I did.”

No hesitation.

No retreat.

Just that voice — low, steady, warm in a way it had never been before. It struck something deep in her chest, somewhere between relief and something that felt too much like longing.

“Say it again,” she breathed.

He stepped forward.

“I’m interested in you, Y/n.”

And when his hand reached out — slow, uncertain — she met it. Fingers brushed. Then curled. And the moment their hands locked together, the tension between them snapped taut like a wire.

“Then stop looking at me like that,” she whispered, pulse skittering, “if you’re not going to do something about it.”

A breath passed.

Then he surged forward — not with recklessness, but inevitability.

The kiss was not tentative.

It was a clash. A release. A storm of heat and restraint giving way, all at once. His mouth found hers with desperate precision, and she met him just as fiercely, her back slamming gently against the cold steel wall. His hand found her jaw, tilting her face with reverence, even as his mouth moved over hers like he’d been waiting far too long.

When they broke apart — panting, dazed — their foreheads stayed pressed together. His eyes fluttered shut.

“I’ve been trying not to want this,” he said hoarsely.

She leaned into him. “Then stop trying.”

And when he kissed her again, it was slower — not gentler, but deeper. Purposeful. A promise, unspoken and undeniable.

Outside, the wind screamed on. But inside, the storm had shifted.

The heater in the corner of the shelter hummed with a soft, almost apologetic persistence — its coil barely enough to thaw the breath from the air, but somehow enough to make the space feel less like a bunker and more like somewhere human warmth could survive. Outside, the storm clawed at the earth in relentless gusts, the frozen world beyond the reinforced walls forgotten in the quiet that settled around them.

Forgotten — because nothing else mattered anymore.

Gepard kissed her again.

It wasn’t careful this time. Wasn’t questioning or restrained. No, this wasn’t a kiss that asked for permission.

It was a surrender.

A confession.

A claiming.

Y/n’s breath caught at the back of her throat, stuttering against the pressure of his mouth as he guided her backward with quiet insistence. His hand, broad and calloused, found the curve of her waist, fingers splayed as if to ground himself — or her — as if he didn’t quite trust the world not to fracture beneath them. The other hand, roughened by years of battle and frostbitten patrols, cupped her cheek with the gentleness of someone who had long since forgotten how to be gentle — but was trying anyway.

The cot behind her creaked in protest as she sank down, guided by his weight, the worn frame groaning beneath them. But the sound was distant, irrelevant. Like the storm outside. Like the war beyond the doors. Like everything that wasn’t him.

Her hands rose without thought, finding the hem of his shirt, the fabric still damp with melted snow and battle-sweat. She hesitated only long enough to feel the heat of his body through it — then slid her hands beneath, fingertips tracing the hard lines of his abdomen.

He stilled.

Just for a breath. Just for a beat.

Not in refusal — never that — but with the quiet, unspoken reverence of a man who hadn’t been touched like this in a long time. Maybe ever. He stared at her, eyes a tumult of restraint and disbelief and want.

“I’ve imagined this,” he admitted, voice barely a whisper. Fractured. Raw. “More times than I can count.”

She looked up at him, her voice low, aching with everything unsaid. “You think too much.”

A breath of a laugh. Then a nod. “I know.”

He helped her pull the shirt over his head.

What she saw beneath stole the air from her lungs.

Years of disciplined training had sculpted him — not in the way of vanity, but in the quiet, utilitarian grace of a soldier. Lean muscle wrapped his frame, taut and capable, like he was carved to bear the weight of others before himself. Scars traced his skin in pale, silvery patterns — faded battles, ancient wounds. Near his ribs, one looked fresher than the rest, still pink at the edges.

She leaned in and pressed her lips to it.

Gepard inhaled sharply, fingers flexing at her hip as if the contact burned. His body trembled once, barely contained.

“Y/n…”

“You don’t have to carry all of this alone,” she murmured against his skin. “Not tonight.”

His breath caught. Not from cold — from something far deeper. A breaking point. A dam cracking wide.

Her coat came next, discarded onto the floor without ceremony. Then her shirt. The cold brushed against her skin for a moment before his hands replaced it — warm, reverent, wandering the line of her waist with a tenderness that bordered on desperation.

His lips trailed down her neck, soft at first, then deeper, more urgent. Each kiss left behind heat, a promise, a silent plea. He moved lower — collarbone, shoulder, the gentle swell of her chest — until she was gasping, her hands threading into his hair as her hips arched toward him of their own accord.

This wasn’t just desire.

It was months of tension that had lived unspoken between them — buried under duty, sarcasm, awkward silences, and longing stares when they thought the other wasn’t looking. Every place he touched her felt like a declaration.

That she wasn’t just Serval’s friend.

That she wasn’t a distraction.

That she was his undoing.

His hands were shaking when he reached behind her, fumbling with the clasp of her bra. Not from nerves — but from restraint stretched to its final thread.

And when it fell away, when her chest was bared to him in the dim amber light of the shelter, he didn’t look away. He didn’t rush. He stared — as if seeing something sacred. As if he had spent too long believing he didn’t deserve moments like this.

“God…” he breathed, reverent.

She cupped his face, dragging her thumb along the edge of his jaw. “Touch me.”

His hands found her again — slowly, carefully — cupping her breasts, brushing his thumbs over her nipples until they peaked beneath his touch. She gasped, her back arching into him, and his mouth followed.

Warm lips closed over her, gentle and exploring, then with more hunger. He sucked, slow and thorough, teeth grazing just enough to make her cry out softly, thighs twitching under him. His other hand worshipped the twin peak, drawing circles that left her trembling.

When he finally pulled back, her skin was flushed, her breaths shallow and uneven. Her eyes — heavy, pleading — met his.

Gepard rose just long enough to strip the rest of his clothing. One boot at a time, then his pants, boxers — every layer peeled off with an almost painful patience. Until he was bare before her, breathless and beautiful in a way that only a man stripped of every defense could be.

He was strong. Solid. The kind of body built to withstand war — yet still human. Still vulnerable. His cock hung thick and flushed between his thighs, twitching as her gaze trailed down.

She swallowed. “You’re gorgeous.”

He gave her a crooked, almost disbelieving smile. “So are you.”

Then he was kneeling between her legs again, hands skimming over the curve of her thighs. Her pants followed, underwear next — soaked through with arousal.

When his fingers brushed the slickness between her folds, her hips jumped, a sharp gasp escaping.

“You’re already wet,” he whispered, voice rough. Like it hurt to speak.

“For you,” she said, barely able to breathe. “For this.”

He groaned — a low, broken sound — and kissed her again, harder now. Desperate. His hand slid between her thighs again, fingers parting her folds, one thick finger sliding in with maddening slowness.

She moaned, her walls clenching, and he added a second, pumping rhythmically. His palm rested against her mound as his thumb found her clit, circling with excruciating care. Her body arched, trembling, thighs clamping around his wrist.

“So tight,” he breathed, staring down at her. “I need you.”

“Then have me,” she said, voice rough with need. “Please.”

He didn’t hesitate.

He lined himself up, cock thick and heavy against her entrance. Even now, even trembling with restraint, he paused — eyes locked on hers.

“You’re sure?”

She reached up, cradling his jaw. “Don’t make me beg, Captain.”

He groaned, forehead dropping to hers — and then he pushed in.

It was slow. Agonizing. A stretch that burned and filled, inch by inch, until he was fully seated inside her, buried to the hilt. She gasped, nails digging into his back, overwhelmed by the sheer size and heat of him. He held still, trembling above her, a litany of curses whispered against her shoulder.

“God… Y/n…”

“Move,” she begged. “Please.”

He did.

The first thrust was cautious. The second — deeper, stronger — rocked her against the cot. He found a rhythm quickly, building with each snap of his hips. Every movement dragged a sound from her throat, her hands gripping his arms, his waist, anything she could find.

She wrapped her legs around him, ankles locking behind his back, drawing him deeper. Their bodies met over and over, slick with sweat, burning hot despite the frost clawing at the shelter walls.

Every thrust a reminder that they were still alive. Still capable of feeling. Of wanting. Of choosing each other in a world where choices were often stolen.

“Gepard—” she gasped, head falling back. “I’m—close—”

He grunted, reaching between them again, fingers circling her clit with purpose now. “Come for me.”

She shattered.

The orgasm crashed through her like a wave, her body convulsing around him, hips lifting off the cot as she cried out. He groaned, the tight grip of her walls enough to pull him over the edge. With a low, ragged moan, he spilled into her, hips stuttering as he pulsed deep inside, warmth flooding her.

And then he collapsed — like he’d been holding up the weight of the world and finally, finally let it fall.

They stayed like that for a long time.

Breathing. Tangled. Quiet.

His arms came around her, holding her close, his heart still racing under her palm where it rested on his chest.

After a while, she broke the silence with a tired, cheeky murmur. “So… is this going to be awkward when we get back?”

He huffed a quiet laugh into her hair.

“No,” he said, voice low and sure. “We're going to make this work.”

2025 © hobipobi — do not repost or translate my work. Likes, reblogs, and comments are welcome.

[theresattrpgforthat]

Character Friction: On “Asshole Characters”, or Shitty Little Guys.

A while ago I floated a few thoughts I had about “asshole” characters in the Indy TTRPGs community. I floated these questions because I had been listening to this interview between Klaus von Hohenloe of The Dungeon Newb's Guide and The Panic Table. In particular, Klaus mentions that some games don’t allow for player friction, and in games where this is the case (cough D&D cough), it culminates in a horrible experience for all involved.

To illustrate, I’m going to talk about some experience I’ve had with my own play groups.

Art from Last Fleet, by Vicentius Matthew.

It might be shocking to hear, but I’ve played D&D once or twice. I remember being in a campaign with two players who wanted very different things from that game. Player A wanted to bring their character on a deep emotional journey, while Player B wanted to act as strategically as possible in pursuit of their character’s benefit, often to the detriment of other members of the party. My own character wanted to track down leads to a mystery that mattered to her, but not really to anyone else. This often led to frustrating moments where characters might not communicate as much information to the party as they might have otherwise, and in other cases one character’s actions could pull the entire party’s journey off-course.

The three of us all played together in a completely different game, three years later - Last Fleet. Let me tell you, the character interactions were completely flipped on their heads. Player A got a dramatic emotional arc around an NPC who was integral to the main plot. Player B got to pursue their own agenda, often in ways that worked against the efforts of other PCs. As the GM, I was given tools that actually encouraged both of these moments: both pushing Player A to wrestle with their relationship and implicating Player B as a suspicious person very early on.

A basic move from Last Fleet.

There are a number of reasons this worked in Last Fleet and not in D&D. One, Last Fleet playbooks often encourage players to keep secrets, work against the benefit of the crew, and fuck up their relationships with each-other. Two, Last Fleet has something called the Pressure mechanic. This is both a resource and a time bomb: you can mark Pressure to improve your chances of success, but hit your cap and your character has to do something to relieve their stress - and that choice is usually rather detrimental to the ship.

Finally, Last Fleet’s a different kind of story. You’re not playing heroic adventurers fighting monsters and clearing out dungeons. You’re playing the last desperate strains of humanity, fleeing an alien threat that has the power to infiltrate your fleet and resemble the ones you love most. Last Fleet is all about how a high-stress situation can lead people to making poor decisions, and, should you desire, it can also be about how people are sometimes forced to rely on each-other in order to get through a harrowing situation.

When I compare these situations, I don’t think we had bad players at the table: we just had the wrong kind of game for the story that the players wanted. I suppose I haven’t necessarily played enough D&D to say that it can’t allow for compelling, flawed characters - what I like to call “shitty little guys” - but I certainly don’t think it’s a play culture that accounts for the diversity of player goals.

More to the point, I find myself really drawn to playing flawed characters - both with them and for them. I love my over-perfectionist superhero in MASKS who lashes out when her friends don’t meet her standards. I adore my Thirsty Sword Lesbian who doesn’t know how to flirt or how to process emotions. I’m having so much fun watching play-testers pick up their various monsters in Protect the Child and demonstrate each character’s struggles when it comes to relating to a kid. I think it’s fascinating that in Changeling: the Lost 1e, a Fairest is rewarded with a discount when they use their Contracts of Reflection to spy on people that they love.

Contract of Reflections, Equinox Road Sourcebook, Changeling the Lost 1e.

I’ve personally seen the most leeway for character friction in PbtA games, like Apocalypse World, Urban Shadows, and Apocalypse Keys. When I brought up the question in the Community post, I asked folks for other examples of playing Shitty Little Guys. Their interpretations were really interesting, and far broader than my initial scope.

@nebmia mentioned that by giving your characters “unpleasant” abilities, it will incentivize them to use those abilities in unpleasant ways.

@goblincow has a lot of thoughts about creating little guys who aren’t just horrible, but are also in horrible situations - which gives license for the players to endanger their characters in the pursuit of mischief.

@airkseablade brought up Tenra Bansho Zero, and how it uses something called an “Emotion Matrix” to randomly determine how a player character might react to meeting a new person, as well as “Fates”, which are goals that each player is rewarded for playing towards, but mostly based on group consensus.

@willknightauthor talked about Wraith: (The Oblivion?), and how each archetype available to players has a part of themselves that pulls them towards darker choices.

It turns out that we really like playing characters who are mean-spirited, greedy, and struggling to get what they want, and we have a lot of different ways to make that happen. It reminds me of a common piece of advice given to writers when they’re writing a novel - you want a character who’s flawed, because those flaws can be used.

In games like Trilogy or TSL, you might want those flaws because you want to see your character overcome them. In games like Mothership or Cairn, you might want those flaws because then it makes it easier to push your guys through a meat-grinder. In games like Hillfolk or Apocalypse World, you might want those flaws because you want to see just how much well-meaning or desperate characters can fuck each-other up, given the right circumstances.

So what’s the point of all this? What am I trying to get out of this?

When I hear stories about horrible players, the experience I’ve had at my tables makes me want to approach these “trouble” players with a bit of grace. Perhaps these “trouble” players simply want something that is a challenge to provide in a game like D&D, but in Mothership, Urban Shadows, Apocalypse World etc., they might find their choices welcomed and encouraged. And if you've found yourself being accused of being a "trouble" player because you like to a cause drama, perhaps these games might be more up your alley than you think!

Consider playing a game with horrible guys who suck today!

[ckret2]

If you were to want any scene in your fic drawn (that you haven’t drawn yourself. Your art is amazing btw) which would it be?

You can give multiple answers! This is not a trick at all. Totally not planning anything!

someone asked a while ago and i was like "fuck if i know, anything would be great!!" but SINCE THEN i've thought about it so i have some actual answers by now

I wanted to draw the girls summoning a demon but ran out of time

i really wanted to draw Bill menacing Gideon in his bedroom—peak manipulative creep

Bill's harrowing nightmare being interrupted so Bud Gleeful can try to sell him a car

one of Bill & Ford's physical altercations. Maybe the one where they end up covered in eggs

i've never actually drawn his cultist, she deserves to be illustrated

those are the top ones that occur to me, here's some more i thought of while glancing over the chapters:

the moment after his haircut when he sees himself in the mirror and his mood switches from >:D to D8

I've always wanted to draw something for chapter 9, but since the entire chapter is just bill & ford sitting there talking, i never came up with anything i feel like is interesting

bill having a showdown with shmebulock

bill being caught after nearly falling out the window on summerween

bill hollering at waddles to free him, while waddles doesn't care

Dipper terrified about what Bill might be up to after "escaping," just in time for him to find Bill in the saddest most pitiable state he's ever been in

some of Ford's fight with Journal 2

I also write a lot of the jokes & humor imagining how they'd work if they were in the show, so they're very visual... without visuals. so any joke you think would work drawn out would be appreciated

[markbandanawitts]

A Full English Translation of Mine Yoshizaki’s 47 Question QnA 🔥🔥

— Near the end of the 11.5 Guidebook, Yoshizaki sat down for an exclusive interview with Shonen Ace (The magazine that serialized Keroro Gunso), where he answered some personalized questions about himself

I’ve translated all of them along with giving some context to certain media references in this w attached links. he’s talks exactly how you’d expect lmao

Q1: Yoshizaki-sensei, people often seem to think you’re a woman.

I guess it’s because my name reads as “Mine.” When I chose it, I only had the image of Ryuta Mine in my head. But judging by Keroro’s behavior, I think it’s pretty clear I’m not a woman (laugh)

Q2: What was the first manga you bought?

I had my uncle buy me one copy each of Kiteretsu Encyclopedia and Obake Q-Taro. I used to borrow Doraemon from a rental bookstore.

Q3: Do you still have them?

Nah, even if I did, they’d be unreadable by now. I reread them so much they fell apart.

Q4: Do you have a favorite place to read?

I haven’t been reading too much lately, but I love to in a quiet, cozy café.

Q5: Has anything recently made you feel like you’ve been tricked?

Actually, yeah. Not too long ago, a friend took me on a small trip. We hopped on the highway and drove quite a bit, and I had no idea why we were going where we were; but it was fun, so I didn’t think much of it. Later, when I got home and watched the episode of Kamen Rider Hibiki that I’d recorded that morning, I realized the episode was filmed in the exact spot we had visited! My friend hadn’t said a word! It caught me completely off guard, but honestly, it kind of made me pretty happy too.

Q6: Is there a character you look up to?

Oh, definitely Saeki-san (laugh)

Q7: Keroro’s gotten really popular. Anything about that make you happy?

Hearing that everyone involved with Keroro is having fun working on it is what makes me happy.

Q8: On the flip side, anything tough about it?

It seems like working on Keroro is also kind of exhausting (laugh)

Q9: If you could be any character in Keroro, who would you choose?

Maybe Poyon-chan. She seems so nice and fluffy.

Q10: Who would you like to live with?

I’d say the new characters, Alisa-chan and Nevula.

Q11: Why them in particular?

I feel like we could have a nice, quiet time in an old Western-style mansion.

Q12: Is there any invention from Kururu that you’d want?

Oh, definitely that one thing for making Gundam models!

Q13: What’s your favorite part of the manga drawing process?

Definitely when it’s finally completed (laugh)

Q14: What’s the toughest part?

Getting started (laugh)

Q15: What do you think of the illustrations in the first volume of Keroro?

What do I think? Well, it was my best effort seven years ago. There's something beyond just thinking "it's bad." Especially for Keroro, since I challenged myself to break my previous style and start from scratch, so there are definitely some awkward parts in there.

Q16: When do you draw the cover illustrations? At the beginning, in the middle, or at the end?

The inking is random, so it varies every time.

Q17: Do you pay attention to differentiating characters?

Sometimes I intentionally try not to differentiate them visually. I make their personalities distinct, so that can create a sense of difference. I’ve even tried going against silhouette theory a bit, which is directly reflected in characters like Keroro.

Q18: Which is more fun to draw, Keronians or Earthlings?

Keronians’ round eyes are a hassle, and Earthlings have too many lines... It’s a toss-up (laugh)

Q19: What about secondary characters? Which ones are fun to draw?

Every character becomes lively as soon as I draw them, so it's fun. To me, they’re all waiting in line to be drawn!

Q20: Any tips for drawing something you’ve never seen before?

Draw with your eyes closed!

Q21: Do you do anything to improve your drawing skills?

Since I started working, not really. I draw every day, so whatever I’m bad at stays bad, which can be a bit of an issue.

Q22: When creating a manga, do you start with the characters, story, or setting?

The theme. Something that instinctively feels like "that's it!" The rest comes after that.

Q23: When do you come up with story ideas?

I thrash my ideas around, trying to come up with something, and eventually, once I reach the mandatory state of resignation, it comes to me (laugh)

Q24: Which takes more time, storyboarding or drawing?

Storyboarding!

Q25: If you had to sum up the feeling of struggling to come up with storyboards in one word?

Ugh.

Q26: What’s something essential while you work?

Coffee, probably.

Q27: You’ve never taken a break from publishing, but do you ever want to? If so, when?

I always feel like I want to! Every single time, no matter what!

Q28: When do you usually draw your manga—morning, afternoon, or night?

My schedule is all over the place. I live on a 25-26 hour cycle, so when my timing is off, it tends to mess things up for a lot of people. It makes planning pretty difficult too.

Q29: What’s your favorite manga that you’ve drawn so far?

Definitely Keroro Gunso.

Q30: Do you think you’re better suited for one-shot manga or long series?

Considering the amount of ideas on my brain when working on Keroro storyboards, I think I’m better suited for long series.

Q31: Are you currently thinking about your next manga project?

Ideas come and go, honestly. Right now, I’m putting all my effort into Keroro!

Q32: Do you like your own manga?

When it comes to Keroro, I like it without hesitation.

Q33: If you were an editor, what would you tell yourself?

“You can take a three month break if you want.”

Q34: Are you comfortable with drawing manga in front of people?

I’m totally fine with it! But in reality, I usually work alone, holed up in my workspace.

Q35: Do you do anything for your health?

Not really… It’s bad… I feel like I’ve been sending out SOS signals lately (laugh)

Q36: Do you have any stress relief methods?

I never considered myself to be stressed, but recently my eye started twitching, and apparently, that’s a sign of stress. I was kind of surprised when I found that out!

Q31: There are 24 hours in a day, but how many hours would you really want?

48 hours would be great!!

Q38: Is there anything that influences your manga drawing?

I’m most influenced by the general atmosphere of the world around me.

Q39: How would you describe the feeling of racing through Okutama on your bike?

Yahoo!

Q40: Anything that’s stuck with you or left a strong impression recently?

The insurance commercial with soccer commentator Matsuki has really stuck with me… As for things, I’m obsessed with the NSF100 motorcycle— I want it so bad!

Q41: A memorable quote that’s stuck with you?

“Ramen is long and delicious!” (I have literally no idea what he’s referencing here my bad guys)

Q42: Since getting your cat, Mac, has your life changed?

My lifestyle hasn’t really changed, but it feels like my heart’s OS has been upgraded by about three versions!

Q46: Do you like traveling?

I like it, but I haven’t gone anywhere recently. If I could, I’d love to go with all my friends.

Q43: What’s the most wasteful thing you’ve ever spent royalties on?

Royalties, huh... (laugh) The other day, I saw a Keroro bath towel in a UFO catcher machine, and I had to get it. I ended up blowing ¥2,000* and still didn’t win it. I wonder if my royalties will cover that…

*this is like $14 😭

Q45: What are the things you love the most?

The Earth, my wife, and Mac (my cat).

Q46: What’s the most shocking thing you’ve experienced?

When I first moved to Tokyo, I saw an elementary school kid at Yotsuya Station wearing a backpack and smoking a cigarette. I thought, “Wow, Tokyo’s scary. Maybe I should just go home.” But I’m glad I didn’t because I became a manga artist (laugh)

Q47: What does drawing manga mean to you?

It’s about making people happy. That concept hasn’t changed since I was a kid making hand-drawn manga for my friends in elementary school.

Anddd heres my impressively terrible scans of those pages just in case anyone wanted the source

[jichanxo]

how different is your creative process between writing and drawing (and in which areas)? do you have a different approach in each artform? if you have an idea, you first think how you'd write it or draw it?

This is definitely going to be long so. Cut.

Just to preface, obviously both writing and drawing are a form of art, but I tend to use the word “art” when I mean illustration or drawing, so that’s what I’m going to do here. And of course a disclaimer that I’m only speaking to my subjective experience.

Tbh I don’t think my approach to both is that different from each other, which is odd, because I’m used to thinking of them as very different processes. Probably because the mediums themselves are so different. But like with my writing, I tend to improvise. Feel it out, see how things go, throw ideas at the wall. I would probably say that I’m more willing to experiment with/scrap my art than my writing. Probably because I’m more confident with my art than my writing, so I find it easier to make judgments like that, or because I’ve made so much that throwing stuff away when it isn’t working is very easy. I get a bit more precious about my writing. I always want to keep it or at least try to adapt it into something less bad, lmao. I’m also just not as confident in my ability to judge what writing is worth keeping or worth permanently deleting. I just haven’t polished that skill for writing as much as I have for art.

With regards to planning my art – I definitely do sometimes, because I consider art my Serious Hobby, which means I do like to have a go at more serious projects as opposed to just improvising all the time (a contrast to my writing where my only “serious project” is senseific, and I fell into that by accident). The things I plan out are the idea/s I want to convey, and what imagery would express that. (like this IW art, and the second one in this umineko post) Or sometimes the imagery gets stuck in my head and I work from that. (yagami’s hair clinging to his neck here)

I actually find that planning too much can be detrimental to my art process. That is to say, not in terms of figuring out ideas/themes, but doing too much drafting. I find it very difficult to do things like clean lineart unless I’m having a Weirdly Good Art Moment, so I just don’t. Hence a lot of my art is very sketchy. I’m just not good at capturing the same looseness with “proper” lineart than with my sketches, so I keep them. Not worth fussing over. This is what works for me.

(even in this, and the first image here, you can see a lot of breaks and incomplete looking lines. not to say necessarily that this is a bad thing of course, but you can see that even in what I consider my “polished” work, I won’t use “proper” linework, but instead a high quality/detailed sketch. I imagine some other artists would have their proper linework stage after these sketches, but i choose to stop here)

this probably reads like I’m talking myself down, but that’s not really what I’m meaning to say – my point is that I don’t figure out details even for my bigger pieces, and that with drawn art I have a better time judging where my time is best spent. I don’t think I have a strong understanding of my writing by comparison, so I can’t decide how to play to my strengths or anything like that, I just have to see how i go.

For writing, either it’s “i’m in the mood for it” or “i’m not in the mood for it”. For art, it’s “today is a good day/bad day”, “today’s a painting day”, “today feels like masking”, “today I just want to sketch”, “today I’m too loose for what I want to work on”, “today I’m too stiff”. You can see the difference in my ability to judge, yeah? So a big difference is to do with just my own (relative) inexperience with writing as opposed to drawing.

I think the other major factor is the differences in the mediums themselves. A fanfic is sequential. There’s a change in time. Illustrations are by nature a single moment in time. Big difference there. Of course, there are comics and animatics and other art that’s both drawn and sequential, but since I don’t do a lot of that, just count that as exceptions for now (and in a way, those are kind of like a combination of writing and illustration, aren’t they?) I find there are some ideas that are conveyed easier or better through writing, and others where the better option is art.

So to answer your last question, often ideas come to me pre-packaged as a “writing idea” or an “art idea”, rather than having to decide that separately. In the case that a sequence is better conveyed with a visual element, that’s when it’s comic time. The gorillashipping comic is a great example of this. The punchline is at its best when it’s not explained in words, and the expression of the final panel does all the heavy lifting. I pitched this idea initially in words (as a joke on discord), but the comic version has more punch.

Comics are also great for when you want to avoid explaining context, and for when you want to force the reader to take a specific pace. Here’s the example I’m thinking of.

The visual space dedicated to the fighting forces you to take time to process, and that time is important for the buildup to the punchline. This wouldn’t work as well if we cut this down to, say, the four panels of the last example. So yeah, timing. And then my other point – context – why are these two fighting? I don’t know. Where are they? I don’t know. It’s not necessary for the joke. The same is true of the gorillashipping joke. How did the relationship between kiryu and kaito happen to make this even remotely possible? I don’t know. But I don’t need to explain it in a joke comic. With writing I find that it feels more necessary to make context clear to the reader so they understand what’s happening, but with illustrations, it’s a lot easier to skip over that. Obviously this isn’t impossible in a written format, but that’s just my personal opinion.

Admittedly I think this second example is doable with just pure writing (replace all the panels with descriptions of the fight that take long enough to simulate the time it takes for the reader to digest the build up, then make the punchline a wham line, yknow), but it varies on a case to case basis. Also I would not want to write fighting. Lmao. I’m not… any good at that. So I guess it is also just in part about playing to strengths.

Anyway, enough comic side tangent. I’ve already started talking about it there, but was going to do a comparison between writing and art as mediums. The main thing, I find, is that they have different strengths. More than strengths/weaknesses though, the mediums themselves convey some things with ambiguity, and other things with detail.

Like I first mentioned, time: it’s easier to convey the passage of time with writing than with illustration. And like I said before with comics – conveying context – because an illustration captures a single moment in time, it’s a lot easier to avoid context entirely, while it’s harder to avoid in writing. I’ve drawn kuwagami cuddles before, and there’s no background, nothing discernable as to the lead up or any other detail. And that’s great! I don’t want to have to invent a plausible reason for them to end up hugging. I can just do it, right? But sometimes it’s the context that makes things significant, so you do want it there. A better job for writing. Writing allows you to be detailed with your context, while illustration leaves it ambiguous. Different strengths. You just pick which best fits the situation.

It’s a similar case for a lot of different factors – they're conveyed differently through both mediums, and depending on your idea, some results are more desirable than others. Rather than explaining, it’s probably better to do a direct comparison. (If it makes any difference to your curiosity, I did the drawing first then the writing. You’ve caught me on a good art day, what a nice sketch…)

I’ll try not to talk too much because I think the comparison and table say enough, but you can see how, despite depicting basically the same thing, these two things feel pretty different from each other. The mediums do different things. The mood of both is similar, but not quite the same. It’s these differences that inform the choice of mediums instinctually. (but again. points at disclaimer. as is true with all “rules” about art, none of these are absolute. you can make an illustration that conveys a strong context. you can write fic that favours describing facial expressions and leaves the intended emotion ambiguous. i’m generalising to make a point here.)

I guess the other thing is that it’s pretty easy to do writing in bed on my phone compared to my art setup, lmao. Convenience and timing also play into it probably.

[qi-mera]

I wonder if I should add my illustrations to my fanfictions? Then again, it would mean extra work (there’s some characters I haven’t drawn yet) and I’m not even sure if Squidge allows pictures to be uploaded.

On one hand, I’d like to give readers something more rewarding than just the text, since my fics are rather short. On the other hand, I don’t want to stress myself out. Unfortunately I’m stuck in the mindset of “I have a deadline to hand in an assignment” I’ve had since school. It sucks when that bleeds into my hobbies, especially when there is no actual deadline.

[alagaesia-headcanons]

When shipping Orrin/Murtagh, do you ever feel the need to just... give in to their alcohol abuse tendencies? I wanted to do a drabble with them but halfway their communication problem turned into retreating, moping and drinking :(

Oooh that idea has a lot of interesting possibilities within it. Of course, it’s perfect for angst, and I think there’s great potential to develop it into a meaningful resolution.

I definitely encourage you to keep going! I don’t feel like the characters relapsing into alcoholism to some degree has to halt the progress of your story, especially when writing Murtagh and Orrin. After all, the ways that both of them made mistakes with alcohol in the past is one of the many interesting overlaps between them. The way their communication issue led them back to drinking is an interesting concept in itself. It’d be a cool approach to illustrate what emotions they’re most vulnerable to and what makes Murtagh feel the need to drink versus what makes Orrin feel it. What parts of their relationship are most affected by these struggles? Do they try to keep it hidden? Do they ever drink together?

That has a lot of potential to shift the situation and explore their dynamic from an entirely new angle. Would Orrin first suggest it, or would Murtagh? How exactly would they interact in that kind of state and how would they feel about it afterwards? That could lead them to reveal or confess things they were avoiding and kickstart proper communication. Or on the other hand, if their drunken distress feeds into each other and makes their pain and misunderstanding even worse, it could make them realize afterwards that they need to deal with things directly before they break something that can’t be fixed.

Alternatively, maybe one or both of them realize what the other is doing without ever seeing them drink. Since they both had past experiences with alcohol abuse, they could be particularly conscious of the signs. Maybe Orrin notices the glint of a flask tucked surreptitiously in Murtagh’s pocket even though he’d never seen him carry one before, or he sees tiny drops of red staining the sleeve of his shirt. Maybe Murtagh notices the smell of Orrin’s breath through the heavy perfume trying to disguise it, or catches him bringing his goblet away with him when dinner is finished.

Realizing that the other is also struggling can spark deep empathy and concern. Perhaps that earnest care and desire to help can overpower the feelings that caused the communication issue to begin with. Or the worry and urge to help make it clear that their own drinking habits are harmful and need to be addressed. It could provide a lot of motivation to open up and work through hard things together once they see how much they’re both hurt by such miscommunications. And breaking their habits and recovering together could ease so much shame and fear and show Murtagh and Orrin the value of support that they’ve never had quite like this.

So much potential! I really hope that was helpful or inspiring in some way, and I hope it wasn’t overbearing or anything. I just adore chatting about ideas for the two of them. If you do finish the fic, please please PLEASE send me a link, I’d fucking LOVE to read it!!!!!!

(If it’s of interest- I haven’t really felt drawn to show them falling back to their alcoholism during their relationship, but it’s more because I don’t tend to emphasize substance abuse in my own writing. On an individual level, I find it somewhat uncomfortable to write in depth, and I’m not fully confident in my ability to depict it well. It’s a very interesting theme and I’ve enjoyed plenty of stories that deal with it, but writing it myself is a different beast I’m not always up for.

Within my own story, I work through the alcohol abuse they demonstrate during canon in the first part and bring it to a resolution before they meet. Orrin overcomes his brief but brutal descent into alcoholism during the first few months after the end of the war as part of his journey to properly process his grief for the loved ones he lost. In my headcanons, Murtagh’s drunkenness was more isolated and extreme incidents, also very unhealthy, but not consistent in a way that led to dependency. That makes it easier for him to overcome, facilitated by the fact that he simply has no alcohol to drink in his isolation. By the time they meet, they both have a resolve to not drink if they can avoid it.

For the most part, they’re pretty good for each other in that way. They want to support the other’s resolve to stay sober and don’t want to undermine that with any temptation, and that tends to keep them from initiating drinking together. (Though that doesn’t always keep them away from other unhealthy behaviors...) I’ve written a conversation between them where they first talk about that part of their past. In a certain way, it helps alleviate some of their shame and fear of judgment to know that they’ve both made similar mistakes. They empathize with that struggle and would never condemn the other for it.

Although, all this has made me consider some ways having struggles with alcohol come back up might play a meaningful role in the story, so I definitely want to give that more thought!)

[ash-and-books]

Rating: 4/5

Book Blurb: In award-winning author Kristen Kiesling and illustrator Rye Hickman’s YA graphic novel The Harrowing, a psychic teen hunts potential killers until she discovers the boy she loves is her next target.   Rowan Sterling should be worrying about normal teenage things like attending college and whether her best friend Lucas is maybe more than a friend. . . . Instead, she’s having terrifying visions of blood and violence. As the premonitions increase in number and intensity, Rowan seeks her father’s help, but instead finds herself drugged, kidnapped, and sent to a mysterious facility called Rosewood. It isn’t long before Rowan discovers Rosewood isn’t a boarding school or an asylum: it’s a training center for teens with special abilities who are known as Harrows.   Harrows can view the actions of would-be murderers before they commit crimes, and the scientists at Rosewood believe it is their duty to use the Harrows’ powers to make the world a safer place. When they are apprehended by a Harrow, imminent criminals, known as imcrims, are captured and indefinitely detained in a state of sedation. At Rosewood, the Harrows are taught how to identify, track, and apprehend imcrims.   Rowan is immediately drawn to Rosewood’s mission; after all, she lost her mother to a random act of violence two years prior. However, some of the other Harrows question the treatment of imcrims—how can it be ethical to imprison people who haven’t actually done anything yet?   Empowered by the skills she’s acquired and ready to change the world, Rowan returns home, but when she reunites with Lucas, she has a vision of him shooting a man in cold blood. Now Rowan is questioning everything she learned at Rosewood—she refuses to believe Lucas is capable of murder—and sets out to protect him from the Harrows.

Review:

When a teen discovers that she has psychic powers she is tasked to hunt down potential killers...until she finds out that her best friend and the boy she is in love with is her next target. Rowan Sterling has always been different and she's wanted nothing more than to be a regular teen and go to college with her best friend, whom she might have a crush on.... yet she's been seeing strange and terrifying things ever time her hand touches someone. Rowan knows something is wrong with her and so her father sends her to a mysterious facility called Rosewood. At Rosewood, they'll train her along with other teens with special abilities, and her mother also went there before she was murdered. Rowan begins to use her ability to stop killers... yet is it ethical to treat these people and capture them if they haven't even done anything yet? She begins to question everything when she touches her best friend's hand and sees him shooting a man in cold blood. She firmly believes that Lucas isn't capable of doing something like that and will do anything to protect him. What is right and what is wrong? Can she save Lucas? This was a really unique and interesting story. The moral questions it brings up is really interesting and the story was so fun to go along with. The artwork is really nice and I loved how everything wrapped up!

*Thanks Netgalley and ABRAMS Kids, Amulet Books for sending me an arc in exchange for an honest review*

[hibiscera]

for the artist ask game, 2, 5, 17! :]

2. 5 favourites of your own work?

Ooh, let's see!! I'll just link to the posts hehe but!!

One Two Three (Higurashi Spoilers!) Four Five Bonus Six :3

5. Anything you haven’t drawn yet but want to?

OOH hmm, quite a few things! First off, proper full CrowMoth art LOL 😭 Zatanna/Etrigan and Zatanna/Jason Blood.

There's a lot of DC characters who I need to draw in general who I WANT to draw. Like my takes on the other Amethyst characters or the Monster Society of Evil!! The rest of the Marvel Family and some proper Captain Marvel/Shazam art!

There's still a lot of Transformers Animated art ideas I have on the back burner. Earlier this year I REALLY wanted to draw some Ratchcee properly but never truly got to it. God and I want to draw Yoketron meeting Bulkhead and the Dinobots so bad, that was always a big one.

I know I've drawn Higurashi before here and there but... I really do want to draw more Higurashi art in general. There's a certain scene from the 6th arc that really stuck in my head and I want to illustrate.

And then there's my long list of merch ideas I still need to draw. 😭

And my friends OCs... I have to much gift art I want to draw. OTL

17. What inspires you?

Man, SO many things. Any piece of media I read or watch or play, I'll probably get SOMETHING out of it. There's new ideas to get from everything! Nature too, I feel like I turn to it a lot when gathering refs and inspo.

Of course there's ones I always go back to. Paper Mario and Higurashi are big ones for me as far as writing inspo goes, when it's about more technical story things like structure and such.

And I have to shout out Metroid specifically for creature design, even as a little kid I was drawing Metroid monsters absolutely ENAMORED with them, and for me it's my go-to inspo for alien and creature design.

But most of all, what inspires me to create is just... sharing the things that make me happy with other people! I struggle a lot to communicate with others... and art is a big part of how I try to and how I interact with the world. The connections make me very happy, and also just being able to realize my ideas for me.

And of course, my lovely friends who support me. 🥺💖

[mmx-code-crimpphire]

Brief Post on the AU's Origins

This isn't really a headcanon, but a post about how the AU came to life. How I just wanted a short little comic, to making this into a full blown AU.

NEW CHAPTER ON AO3!!

I believe some of you are wondering how that progressed. I’m sure I covered this before, albeit briefly, but if I haven’t, I’m happy to bring it out. I've only told a few people about how it came into existence and I did write it at least once in the info box on a sprite animation I made back in 2018. And, that's where it starts, and that's also when I barely joined the fandom.

I wanted to have a crossover made for Classic and X, considering, at the time, I had the information of the two not being so directly connected to each other, and I was ALL OVER THE PLACE for the ship at the time (who am I kidding, I still kinda am lmao). I am one of those who headcanon they definitely are connected directly, and it should be that way imo. Since, in the classic games, at least some of them, Zero was in the process of being made. Especially Megaman 2: The Power Fighters. It may or may not be canon to the timeline. I say it does but idk how other people feel about it.

Though, I consider that canon, so- take that with what you will.

Anyway, ever since I knew of this happening, I wanted a crossover between the two games so bad. See how Rock and Roll react to X and Zero being from the future. How X and Zero's love influenced other., That kind of thing. Especially considering how that's also how Rock and Bass became shipped in my little circle lmao. I think I'll post another headcanon soon, possibly.

I drew a couple pieces pertaining to this, planning out how some scenarios could go, including a cover to the comic. Which I haven't posted anywhere, unfortunately, and I thought I did. But I didn’t. I also did a redraw, which I might also post but I'm not sure where I put it or the og, as it's all drawn traditionally.

Though, after all of that, this was also before I made the blog in November 2018. And the name was gonna be "The Love and Loveless". Yeah. Doesn't sound like a fitting title at all, does it? As a romantic writer and illustrator, if the story has romance at least half predominantly in the story, I naturally make a romantic title to it. And I didn't like it. I'm also one of those artists that come up with things on the spot and I usually like them. They mostly stay as they are, but sometimes, even after I like the first idea to come to mind, I'll change it eventually. And this was one of thoses things where I didn't like the first thing AT ALL and needed to change it.

So, for the next couple weeks after the title was first thought of, I thought about what the better title could be, and then my thought process went like this as I stimmed: "Hmmm… X is blue, Zero is red.. though mine is black armored. Hmmmmmm. Maybe something with 'Code' in it. Since the story does revolve around them more heavily in it. Ruby and Sapphire, maybe. Nah, too long. Crimson and Sapphire is definitely too long… …Waaait- Crimson. Sapphire. Crimpphire. Code: Crimpphire!! That's it!!"

And that's how the title became as it is now! Not only does it revolve them as a pair, but also as individuals and how their connection made them feel as one. How they supported each other as well as took care of themselves. They indirectly taught each other to do what they can to fight the evil in the world, albeit it was mostly Mavericks for a time. They became each other's heart and soul.

Though- back on topic, sorry lol you get the idea

I loved the title then so I decided to change it to that when I made more fan stuff to accommodate the comic. Though, as the month progressed (this is from September to October btw, right around the start of being in the fandom still), I thought about what X and Zero could do with the Command Mission crew at that point, then it escalated what could happen if they had a beach trip and then took the train home (you can thank the "Spirited Away" track "The Sixth Stop" for this lmao, along with a fanart of X and Zero resting on a train by themselves IT'S SO CUTE!! If I find the link I will put it here), and my mind just went BRRRR and made a little script out of it.

And it.. well - progressed into something way more than just a Classic/X crossover comic. I thought about what other scenarios can happen, especially during X5, so I started making the script for Zero and Dr Light's Deep Conversation. And it became the demo for this AU.

Then it escalated into what if I made this entire thing into an audio drama??? And that idea seemed to work- except I was dealing with a lot of problems behind the scenes, that I felt overwhelmed, and from then on by this post here, I decided to not make it into a full on audio drama anymore. But it's still been a huge process but I think I finally found an outlet that can work for this.

Especially since I haven't done it in literally over 15 years.

I DECIDED TO MAKE A FANFIC OUT OF IT!! And then audio dramas, comics and a few tidbits of art are gonna come out of that!! It took me this long to consider it but I think I'm finally doing it!!

Sorry this also turned into a full on announcement on what the AU's direction is gonna be, but I'm just excited to bring it out!!

That's how the AU became a thing and I'm glad it has with the friends I've gained over the years and it's great to have them!!

I'm glad you all came to see this and it has fed you well so far and I hope I can FINALLY give you a cohesive story I wanted to share since day 1!!

Hope you enjoyed reading!!

[morphids]

Ok so I have two requests ideas, you can choose to do one or both if you like :3

The first request: CaitVi x reader where they’re in a poly relationship but the reader becomes a little insecure because they’ve been spending more time with each other and leaving the reader out sometimes (whether this is due to work or maybe as they’re on dates). They don’t realise this at first but when they do they feel bad and try to make it up to the reader. Basically a bit of angst to fluff and it can either be based on the show or a modern au ❤️💙

The second request: Sevika x reader where the reader is talking to Sevika about their current hyperfixiation druring their break or something and she acts like she’s not interested in listening, but then she’s like “no wait continue” when she hears the reader stop. They can be in a relationship or not but still have feelings for each other and haven’t confessed yet 💜

Hope you like my ideas!

thank u for requesting my love! as i dont have much experience with poly relationships, didnt want to risk not doing it justice so as an autistic person, i went with sevika x hyperfixated!reader, hope thats okay!!

reader has a hyperfixation on nature, specifically symbiotic relationships between species im sorry if that’s not what you wanted/find interesting!! i hope you enjoy <3

Sevika x Hyperfixated!Reader

cw: fluff, established relationship, domestic/soft sevika, smoking, angst??? idk reader gets a bit in their head, ambiguous setting, r is gender neutral.

wc: 750 sorry its a lil short

——

The illumination of the room was dim, two mellow oil lamps on either side of the room brightening up the space ever so slightly. Sevika was sat comfortable on her chair, further away to the wall than you, hands grasping a book which lay stable on her lap, her eyes grazing through its sentences.

You glanced over at her, lifting your head from your own nature book rested on the dining table that you had been studying, found neglected deep in a decrepit library you had passed through, and took in her features. She was more at ease than usual, tension relieved from her brows as the ambience softened her face. Shoulders slackened, as she would lift her hand to puff on her cigarette in short bursts, before eventually letting the smoke ripple through the air.

“Guess what I’ve just found,” You spoke, eagerness coating your voice as you grew excited from new facts you had read in your book,

“Yeah?” She answered, eyes still pointed at the pages she held, the response working as a cue that you were to continue on with your sentence.

“I’ve found another symbiotic relationship between species! Crocodiles and the bird species Plovers.”

“After they feed, crocodiles will lay on the riverbanks, hold their jaws open to signal the Plovers to enter their mouths,” You read on the paragraphs from the book, switching between the drawn illustrations of the crocodiles and the birds, before continuing, “The bird will then sit inside their mouths and pick out the remaining food stuck on their teeth!”

You felt your excitement build, enthusiastically word vomiting about this relationship, “The crocodile will not eat the Plover, it’s a mutually beneficial relationship where the crocodile gets its teeth cleaned, helping ward infection from the raw meat, and insects resting on its skin,”

“Yeah,” Sevika interjects, in between your words,

“And the Plover gets free food! Plover’s are basically tiny, flying dentists in the bird world and they charge exclusively in left overs” You chuckled, amused by your own jest.

“That’s really interesting, darling,”

“It gets even better,” you continued, “Then if the Plover senses movement or sudden sounds of potential danger, like other predators, the Plover will use its warning call which the crocodile heeds to return into the water and get away from threats! How amazing is that?” You were beaming, eyes glimmering as you read through the pages.

Finally turning your head to look at Sevika’s reaction, noticing her eyes still glued to her book as she didn’t respond before realising you had kinda just kept talking and not thinking you may have been irritating her, with your useless factoids. The pull on your lips dropped slightly, biting the inside skin of your lip as you thought that she probably could not care less about this, reading her own book full of her own interests.

You began to enter your own head, remembering all the times people had been dismissive or simply not listened as they had their own thoughts going on, oftentimes making you feel like a silly burden for blurting out such things. Tilting your head back to your book, Sevika’s voice broke out through the silence,

“Why did you stop talking?”

Looking back at her, her face was turned to you, brows lifted in curiosity,

“I just… figured you weren’t listening or, I don’t know, didn’t want to hear about it,” You muttered, tone loaded with your unease, as you fiddled with the dried skin on the rims of your nail beds.

Sevika looked over at you for a few seconds, before her features slackened and she closed her book, folding the edge of the page as a placeholder, before getting up and walking closer to where you sat at the table.

“I’m sorry,” She sighed, sitting next to you and wrapping her built arms around your shoulders, “I promise I was listening, was just enjoying hearing you talk about it,”

You looked up at her, meeting her eyes tentatively as she lifted the corner of her lips to smile at you, “I was just kinda thinking how if we were the animals you’d be the Plover,” she chuckled, pressing her lips to your forehead.

You gasped, mouth slightly ajar as your own lips tilted into a small smile,

“Ugh, you’re probably right, too.” You sighed, not impressed.

“Don’t stop talking about that stuff just because I’m not responsive, okay? It’s cute when you ramble,” You fell into her hug, her hand rubbing at your back, before grabbing the side of your face and bring your lips together into a gentle kiss, aware of the way you might still be feeling.

You grabbed onto her, pressing your lips closer against hers.

“Thank you,” you smiled,

“I also found the dentist thing quite funny,”

——

[hopebertrand]

Making and Media Pitch Deck

Introduction

I’m a communication designer, and I particularly enjoy drawing simple but complex drawings such as zentangles. I am from Rotorua but originally, I grew up in West Auckland. Now I’m back and can’t wait to design things like websites, posters, billboards, and tote bags. I started my design journey in 2018 doing the DVC (design visual communication) subject at school, which focused more on architecture and technical drawings. I loved this so much and achieved top in my year in 2019 and 2020, but when we started to go more online, I found I much preferred using my pencil and paper. I switched to taking the design subject in the start of 2022 because I was drawn in by graphic design, and though I’m still a sucker for a technical drawing of something 3D, I haven’t looked back. In saying that, I definitely still get technical with some of my drawings, and I’ll be surprised with myself if at least some of my designs don’t involve some sort of building being incorporated. The same goes for Adobe Illustrator, I’m hoping I get to play with that again in my studies sometime soon. In saying that, I definitely want to get out of my comfort zone and push my limits to become better as a designer!

Rationale

My 2 posters were based off of my original political poster quote “I’ve seen that sort of philosophy before” as well as the idea that since moving to Auckland, I’ve noticed that most days feel indistinguishable. It feels like I’ve been living the same day on repeat as most days I’ve had the same things on my mind, and it all seems to blur together. I’ve shown this in my poster by changing the opacity of some words to help ‘blur’ them together, while overlapping a lot as if they’re all connected. I also inserted a drawing of my friend looking up as if it’s me thinking all these thoughts.

[sheltershock]

It occurs to me now that we’re past February 22nd in 2024, which means it’s been an entire year since I started a little fan-comic project… that I never finished. I quit somewhere around June for a number of reasons and I even posted some wips on my blog for it, but I never said anything about stopping. I still have no idea why anyone would reblog those. But even if I didn’t finish it, I think it made me a better artist.

I would set up my phone camera to take my own reference photos, but I didn’t have a tripod or anything so I’d prop it up with things I had on hand and try to get the angle as close as I imagined it. I think drawing poses I was making myself helped. I set my expectations super high though. I’d never done a comic before, even though I wanted this to be really good. I had set that standard for myself. But starting out I didn’t even draw the borders for the panels! I just starting drawing stuff and thought “oh I’d draw the box later.” I figured it out pretty quick, don’t worry. I even drew blueprints of the rooms the characters would be in and drew in little “cameras” to properly visualize how the background would look from specific angles.

I started paying more attention though to comics whenever I’d see them. Seeing how the panels flowed and how they were cut. Mine looked nothing like that but I wasn’t even planning on drawing the boxes so yeah that checks out. I did a second attempt on a different comic that I would have never finished because it would be way too long- but I had more fun coming up with ideas for panel layout. Having the different shapes and flow tell the story. It was cool. I really liked it.

I’d been thinking every couple of months of going back to that comic project, actually finishing it. Once I opened it up and almost immediately died of cringe. The earlier stuff was nowhere on par of the later stuff, so I’d thought I’d have to redo it. But actually, with how terrible the layout is, I’d have to redo the entire thing anyway at the foundation. I like to think I’d make it better.

But I haven’t drawn people in months. I’m scared to honestly. People are complex and complicated, I don’t want things to look bad. And I don’t know how to color, but I want so badly for my stuff to be in color. None of the stuff on my blog is in color, just black and white with no shading or with like a cream aura to it. I’m worried about getting back into drawing again. But I want and have been meaning to. I want to draw my own characters and nice little illustrations and I’ve been wanting to make a new pfp for months. The one I have now is one I had done back in October of 2022 and that took so long because I wanted it to be good.

I want to, I really do. But it’s hard to sit down and knowingly make something that’s going to look horrible in a couple of weeks or even days. It’s not impossible, but it’s hard.

[aro-comics]

Growth (Part 3)

Growth, 3/3 - And … with that, we finish off yet another series 🐸🐸 I hope y’all enjoyed the ride, I know it’s been a long wait for this, but I really wanted to take my time and craft this comic and what I had to say with it (and also take my time with these last few greenhouse scenes haha).

I don’t think the ways in which amatonormativity affects us has been explored as much, since our awareness of the topic is so new. Or at the very least, I haven’t seen much discussion and I feel like we’re all just taking stabs at it atm. So here’s my take, it’s something I’ve reflecting on for quite some time, and I hope you’ve found it interesting too.

Also, this is less relevant to aromanticism, but I wanted to sign off on this: I know growing up I really clung to the idea of finding the *right* relationship, romantic or not, to be this kind of … magical key, to fixing many of my personal problems. But as I’ve learned through my own experiences, sometimes all you really need is the time and space to rest, to recover, and the will to try again at the end of the day (or the next morning, or whenever your strength returns).

If love and relationships have been the key to your healing and growth – fantastic! I’m genuinely so happy for you, and I think that is beautiful. But to anyone that needs to hear it, you can be fine too without. Your growth can be something that you shape and lead, and for what it’s worth. I think you will find at the end of the day the path you carve for yourself will be beautiful in its own ways, too.

Image Description:

Slide 1: Celia shrugs “Overall, I think it’s just that society puts a lot of emphasis on celebrating growth in relation to romantic love.”

Slide 2: “It’s all too common for me to hear people talk about how someone became nicer after they’ve found “the one”, how much better they are with a lover than without”

A younger Celia is shown studying as she listens to her parents converse. They say:

“You remember [redacted]?”

“Yeah”

“Yeah, he finally got a girlfriend and its like he did a complete 180 as a person. He’s so much nicer and more patient now …”

Slide 3: Celia says “ – and as an aro, I just … wish that there was just as much focus, and celebration, for the ways people grow in the absence of romance, or any kind of relationship.”

Slide 4: “Because that family friend was wrong.”

Slide 5: “I did grow, past the lack of confidence and the so-called shyness, all of these traits that supposedly I would have gotten as a part of falling in love.”

A pot of ferns is drawn growing, unfurling, reaching towards the top of the panel.

Slide 6: “I became strong, confident. More patient and kind and understanding than I had ever been, all of these traits that supposedly would have been the rewards of love,”

Celia sits in her gardening attire. From her hand floats a fern unfurling, with sparkles in the background.

Slide 7: “Except I didn’t fall in love. I wasn’t motivated by any person, romantically or platonically or otherwise. And as much as I wish it was because I embraced self-love … it actually wasn’t either.

I grew because I had finally been given enough space to heal from what had been hurting me back then. And because I wanted to.”

Slide 8: “People love to say that everyone eventually blooms in the presence of “true love”, but I’ve always disagreed. Celia is illustrated talking to a blank person, from which a speech bubble shows a flowering plant. Celia says “I don’t agree”.

Slide 9: Back in the greenhouse, Celia is shown watering plants as the sun shines behind her. “In nature, not every plant flowers.”

Slide 10: “And those plants are no less beautiful for it.”

Shot pans out into the wider greenhouse, an array of nonflowering plants depicted around Celia as she stands with her watering can. The afternoon sun pours into the building, illuminating her and her surroundings.