Any moment might be our last. Everything is more beautiful because we're doomed. You will never be lovelier than you are now. We will never be here again. Iphi | ♎︎ | She/Her | 20+
so apparently there's an alive ikevamp fandom on tumblr??? how am i only finding out about this now. me 7 years ago would be fanboying on here so hard every possible second about le comte my husband for eternity
also screenshots for context; this is from comte's route chapter 23 so beware of spoilers:
👉 Top Tier Ikemen Gift Exchange Sign-Ups: OPEN! [March 21st - April 4th]
Top Tier! Cybird Ikemen Gift Exchange is about to begin. Will you accept my and @pond-lilies' invitation? 😉 We hope to have S-pectular time together -- let's make it A-wesome if nothing else, as we have no intention to step anywhere near the D-ull tier!
How to sign-up?
#1: Make your own Fandom Tropes Tier List [Link].
#2: Fill out the sign-ups survey [Link] Remember to include your list!
Consider reblogging this post with your Tropes Tier List too 😉We're dying to know what your preferences are.
Event details below the cut! >:)
Participants
Fandoms: Cybird Ikemen Otome Games [all that we can accommodate]
OCs are welcome, but not required
Communication: Discord or Tumblr; in case of Tumblr -- have DMs enabled!
If you participated in either Mayday!Heyday OC Gift Exchange 2024 or Spill the Tea! OC Gift Exchange 2025 feel free to reach out to @lorei-writes to claim your OC form(s).
While we cannot guarantee your gift will feature an OC, we'd love to increase the chances of that and extend the invitation to the Ikemen OC community as well. >:)
OC Form
While there is some flexibility there, please make sure to provide the following information:
Full name:
Universe:
Pairing/Ship:
Important details (pronouns, age, likes, dislikes, anything you consider necessary):
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Backstory (summary):
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Reference links (OC works, masterlists, moodboards, etc.):
Gift Guidelines
Art: black & white artwork or clean sketch
Writing: 500-2000 words
Rating: T or below No AI 1 gift
Your gift may feature violence, suggestive themes, crude humour, blood, simulated gambling, strong language or suggestive themes. Sexual scenes should remain in the suggestive realm or be fade-to-black
Schedule
👉 Sign-Ups: March 21st - April 4th
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We will reach out to you with your giftee details and/or server invitation link during the Assignment Period. Joining the server is optional.
Q&A
Do I have to reuse my old OC form? [Past Mayday!Heyday and Spill The Tea! Participants]
No! You are free to submit a new one. If you don't have the old form available and would like to copy parts of it, I can access the file for you. However, you can also re-do it from scratch.
I am not sure if I will have enough information to work with an OC.
If you wanted to make an OC work, but came across any missing information, you can reach out to us. We will ask your giftee for clarification.
If it turns out that you can't work with the submitted OCs, that is fine too. We do not guarantee that any OC works will be created during the event.
I mentioned Midnight Cinderella, because many old time players still love it and I wanted to bring awareness to this game.
Please, please, please, if you were a MidCin player and feel comfortable working with the characters, do list them! If you have MidCin friends -- it is a huge favour to ask, but do let them know about us! We want to accommodate as many Ikemen games as possible, but given the general content of our blogs (and spam concerns), it isn't always easy to reach the players of the older titles.
If we can give you a chance to work with a MidCin chara, we will.
Would you assign someone a request from a game they haven't played and/or expressed interest in writing for that game?
No! During the sign-ups we ask for your preferences regarding preparing a gift, which includes selecting all the characters that you are willing to work with.
Other information we ask about includes what you plan to prepare (art or writing) or your preferences regarding creating OC works. We also leave a space for you to let us know about anything else you may consider necessary, e.g. tropes you are unwilling to work with or don't feel confident in.
Gifter-giftee pairs will be created with all that information in mind.
This is my story Bittersweet, originally written for the First Time For Everything Zine ( @ikemen-watch ), awesomely organized by @lorei-writes and @dicenete. Writing for this zine was a wonderful experience. It was nice to know that Lorei and Dicenete were there for me if I needed them and I loved having their support for the ideas I brought to them. I would absolutely do this with them again. Thank you both!
If you haven't yet, you can (and should) download the whole Zine here.
Title: Bittersweet
Characters: Shingen, Kennyo, Yukimura, and (briefly) Mai
Logline: Shingen takes two quiet rainy moments to think about time and mortality.
Bitter…
Nothing could chase the metallic tang of blood from his tongue. The acrid powders handed to him by a succession of healers and herbalists only compounded the problem. Sweet desserts never fully covered the taste of death in his throat. Even the softness of another’s lips beneath his own was just fleeting pleasure made more painful by the knowledge of mortality.
Mortality.
True, Shingen had always been aware that life was finite. He lived through wars, experienced the loss of loved ones, felt despair when his homeland fell. But he had never felt, down through the marrow of his bones, that his life would end. That he might not have enough time to revenge broken promises, retake stolen lands, or bring security to his people. He could no more avoid his own death than he could erase the flavor of blood from his throat.
Perhaps that was in fact what mortality was. Not death itself, but that first understanding that he must die, that realization of the inevitability of death.
Steady footsteps behind him, as another came to join him in the temple gardens. “My friend, you are soaking wet.” Kennyo’s words were dispassionate. Factual. His tone of voice, however, didn’t disguise his concern.
Shingen turned toward the monk, noting his friend was gesturing at the warmth and shelter of the temple. “I want to enjoy-” His throat constricted, as the words ‘the rain’ drowned into a thick cough. He swallowed the blood before it could surface and reveal his state.
But Kennyo was, as always, observant. “You’ll make yourself sick. Sicker.”
Had he told Kennyo that wet weather made his cough worse? Maybe once, when he was brushing off the man’s questions about the lingering cough. He’d explained it was only a reaction to weather, something to be endured, something that always vanished in the sun. Unfortunately, there was no more strength to deflect the truth. “Nothing will prevent that. I might as well take pleasure in the rain.”
It might be his final autumn rain. If it was, then he would at least savor the sight of the orange and yellowed leaves, glistening as droplets of water rolled across the surface, reflecting the light of the evening lanterns.
One such leaf detached itself from the branch and spiraled to the muddy earth below.
Thanks, leaf.
With a mental sigh, Shingen allowed Kennyo to shepherd him inside, and after shrugging off his damp cloak, accepted a cup of tea. It too, was bitter. “Is this your version of medicine?”
“It, perhaps, will be of help to stave off a throat infection.” Kennyo filled an incense pot and set it nearby. “As might this. Breathe.”
Nothing would help, but Shingen allowed his friend the illusion. For a long while, they sipped their tea in silence, as he tried to ignore the tightness of his lungs. Ignore the lump he could feel pressing him from the inside. It was no longer a matter of if, but when. “What is time?”
“Are you asking a philosophical question?” Kennyo settled himself on a prayer cushion, looking like … well, like the sage teacher he was.
“I might be.” He took one last gulp of that horrible tea, vowing to hunt down some Nanban sugar candy to replace the flavor. “I never considered the concept… before. At least no more consideration other than ensuring I would not arrive late for anything.”
“Time does not exist. We are all one moment, and yet all moments. One place, and yet all places.”
Trust Kennyo to jump right into mysticism. In another reality, Shingen would have enjoyed the debate, appreciated the game of parsing the theory out until the conversation turned into two friends sharing thoughts over tea or sake. But that reality was… before. “In that case… it was not a theological question. Because I am unable to stop thinking of everything in my life as before – and after.”
“What you are discussing is not time. It is simply your mind organizing knowledge.” Kennyo swirled tea around in his cup, apparently, and mysteriously, enjoying the flavor. “You have always been able to take the long view of things. To step outside of details; to understand the whole.”
True. Until now. Now the whole revolved around the moment when he stopped avoiding the knowledge that whatever lived inside his chest was killing him. When he accepted that he would not die honorably on the battlefield. He would not slip away peacefully, surrounded by a beloved wife, children… grandchildren.
Everything that followed that epiphany would be considered after. He wondered if this, the first autumn rain after would also be the last. Shingen closed his eyes and let his focus turn to the gentle thrum of rain on the roof, the warmth of the cup in his hands, the sharp aroma of incense… and the taste of bitterness in his mouth.
No. He refused to fill his after with despair. What would be the use in that?
If his end was in sight, he would be wise to take on Kennyo’s conception of time. Every day would be the last and the first. Every bitter would be turned to sweet.
Sweet…
“What the hell are you doing out here?” Yukimura’s exasperated tone trailed off when Shingen turned and gave him a look. A look that said, ‘I’ve known you since you were a skinny boy hitting out at the world with sticks.’ With a guilty expression, Yuki added, “My lord. It’s raining.”
Shingen turned his face to the sky as the spring rainfall cleansed the sleep from his eyes. When the first patter of water hit the roof, he had gotten up, leaving his lovely angel slumbering in their bed. He’d been tempted to wake her up, so they could enjoy a relaxing morning, cocooning safely from the elements. But the water called out, beckoning him to drink in its sweetness. He caught a droplet on his tongue, allowing the refreshment to slide easily down his throat. “I’m aware, Yuki.”
“You’ll get sick.” The threat was half a grumble, half an unspoken worry.
Before… he indeed would have. Shingen took a deep breath, reveling in the feeling of his lungs expanding. He stretched his arms outward, as if he could hug the sky to him. “I might. But I will get better.”
No matter how many times he explained to his Sengoku family that the voyage to… the future cured his disease, that the doctors in the future removed the ‘tumor’ and therapists taught him how to breathe unfettered again, that after years of sucking air through an increasingly small passage, he knew he was unlikely to die from a spring rain… they did not understand. Maybe it would only take time for them to accept his renewed health.
“That’s no reason to catch a cold.” For all his impetuousness, Yuki could be an old grandmother when addressing the issue of Shingen’s health… and his eating habits. “My lord.”
He reached over and ruffled Yuki’s hair, causing it to stick out all over, despite the rain tamping it down. “Give me this moment Yuki. I thought I would never see another spring rain. It isn’t cold out.” In fact, even the sun was visible, low on the horizon, rays threading through the raindrops. They gleamed on the petals of a budding rose, turning beads of water into shining gems. “And stop ‘my lording’ me. We both know you only do that when you’re annoyed.”
“I am not, my lo-.” Yuki broke off, looking like he wanted to slap his hand over his mouth.
“Caught!” He sent a smile of triumph to his young friend and was rewarded by Yuki’s obvious sulk. “Go back to the castle, Yuki. I’ll be inside soon enough. There’s an angel waiting for me.”
The sulk turned into a blush, then an awkward bow as Yukimura escaped.
Shingen laughed at himself. He likely shouldn’t have teased Yuki, but sometimes it was too easy. It always had been. At least where Yukimura was concerned, there never were any “befores” or “afters.” Yukimura lived in the now.
He cupped his hands together, collecting rain from the sky, filling his palms with clear cool water. Raindrops bounced on the surface of this miniscule pond, rippling outward. When he’d visited the future, during those long weeks of rehabilitation and recovery, he’d run across a poem that stayed with him to this day. To see the world in a grain of sand and a heaven in a wild flower, hold infinity in the palm of your hand, and eternity in an hour.* He could see infinity in the water, rippling to the edge of the circle, then bouncing back to center.
“Shingen?” The sleepy voice of his angel. She stood in the doorway of his quarters, her yukata loosely tied. “It’s raining.”
“So it is.”
“Come back to bed…?” She reached out to him, and he took her hand, squeezed it gently. Holding her… holding eternity in the palm of his hand.
“Of course, goddess.” There would be more spring rain in his future. This was only the first one in his restored life. The thought was neither bitter, nor sweet. It was neither. It was both.
Maybe that was what Kennyo had been trying to say all those years ago. Whatever moment he was in, if he stood still and simply breathed, he could see all the befores and all the afters, all the lasts and all the firsts, all the bitter and all the sweet. He could hold it all in one breath.
The introduction part was so depressing I was ready to bring my year’s supply of tissues. Shingen’s feelings, his desperate efforts to make peace between pride and illness, sense and sensibility in your interpretation became something I deeply resonated with. It’s such a pity his character is often reduced to a stereotypical playboy. Yet, there’s depth, there’s strength and there’s context. And I love how gently you reminded us of that.
The second part is…Let me just leave it here, ok? Occasions when writers incorporate poetry into prose with such care are rare, but that’s why we must cherish them.
“Come back to bed…?” She reached out to him, and he took her hand, squeezed it gently. Holding her… holding eternity in the palm of his hand.
Ikemen Sengoku | Naoe Kanetsugu x Mizusaki Mai | T | 1.9k words | ao3 link
It would begin with the hands.
A/N: My contribution to the First Time For Everything Ikemen Fan Zine, organized by @dicenete and @lorei-writes at @ikemen-watch! It's nice to write for ikesen again! It's nice to write for Kanetsugu again! He's such a rich and fascinating character, and I enjoyed writing this fic! Title and all italicized lines are quotes from Xunzi: The Complete Text, translated by Eric L. Hutton. Contains violent and suggestive imagery. Dividers by @/saradika-graphics.
People’s nature is bad. Their goodness is a matter of deliberate effort.
It would begin with the hands.
Pale, slender, fine-boned pair of delicate hands beating with blood and volcanic rage, fingers like treeroots filamentous enough to gain a glimpse of the reddening skin of a strangled neck. Or feel the weight and texture of a cleaver, or a sword.
Kanetsugu had learned early on that bodies were tools as much as vessels of consciousness. Hands, in particular, dexterous and capable of many functions. From a ruler a wave of a hand could determine the fate of a kingdom. A farmer’s hands, worn down from constant toiling, sunburnt and smudged with earth, could grow crops to feed an entire region. A scholar could spread his teachings by writing down his observations and insights.
Hands from a samurai, though exercising their loyalty to a master, could end a life.
Tools are not inherently evil. Only those who have the capacity of rational thought can be capable of evil, and goodness.
Bodies, however, are tools and vessels of consciousness, which have the capacity of rational thought; therefore, bodies are capable of evil – and goodness.
Deliberate effort, then, is required to achieve goodness.
Discipline and control would be key to this process.
It would begin, then, with the hands. And then the countenance. And then the elocution. And then the mind.
And then, finally, the heart.
Kanetsugu might not be a good person but at the very least he should fall for the illusion that he could become one.
In every case where people desire to become good, it is because their nature is bad. The person who has little longs to have much.
Mizusaki Mai was incapable of malice, whether by thought or by deed. She could not leave alone a person in need, nor could she wish someone genuine ill.
Xunzi would have found her an outlier to his assertion. Her goodness never seemed a product of constant, deliberate act; it was as if she was born with sunlight in her veins, her heart pure and radiant, unsullied in spite of the war. An ideal to Kanetsugu’s mind. An unreachable, untouchable, sacred thing, to Kanetsugu’s heart.
Sometimes, he found it hard to look at her directly, for fear of going blind.
It was strange, to meet someone who – despite not being the one who would carry out an execution – would feel despair upon the death of the person harming her.
She didn’t belong here. She didn’t belong in this world of blood and betrayal and cruelty and monsters that roam the lands in two legs and fine clothing. Monsters like him, with capable hands that kill and maim, long fingers that could enclose the circumference of a neck.
She must return to her home, to the place Sasuke described as peaceful. It was better that way. Mai had never worn the cloak of a villainess well.
And yet.
And yet.
Among the features of Heaven, none are more dazzling than the sun and moon.
“Are you finished with your business?”
Kanetsugu made no hint of acknowledgment but looked askance at Mai, who was dragging her index finger along the edges of a manuscript. It was a different text today, curiously enough: Xunzi, he recognized after glancing at the familiar phrases.
A stone lodged in Kanetsugu’s throat; he swallowed it as quietly as possible.
“I found this in the school’s library,” Mai continued as he settled on his seat, heedless of his silence. On the desk documents laid scattered across the surface, Mai’s reading precariously dangling on one corner. But she went on, “They allowed me to take it home. Listen to this: The gentleman is the ultimate in virtue. He makes himself understood without speaking. He is loved without yet bestowing favor. He inspires awe without showing anger. His orders are obeyed with such diligence because he is vigilantly steadfast.”
Kanetsugu closed his eyes. Breathed once. Opened them. “That’s Xunzi you’re reading.”
Surprise lit Mai’s face. “Oh! You’ve read this already, I should have known.”
Yes, he had read it before. Committed its words to memory, emulated its virtues, tried – tried – to embody its goodness.
He was still a work in progress.
Then: a lengthy but thoughtful stare from Mai that Kanetsugu ignored, followed by a faint smile that gave his fingers pause.
“You know what I think? I think when Xunzi wrote this, he was thinking of you.”
It took everything of Kanetsugu to control his body from wincing.
“You know I wasn’t alive during the time he wrote that, right?”
It was Mai’s turn to ignore the flat skepticism that coated Kanetsugu’s tone. “Ultimate in virtue, makes himself understood without speaking, loved without yet bestowing favor, inspires awe without showing anger, and most of all, obeyed with such diligence. This is practically you, Kanetsugu.”
Oh, if only.
“Then you also think that I have an inherently bad nature, just as written by Xunzi.”
“Well, I don’t believe that at all,” she dismissed without missing a beat. The speed of her response caught Kanetsugu off-balance; it sounded as if she had already drawn conclusions to his character. Kanetsugu didn’t know what to make of it. “That’s where I disagree with him.”
“Oh?”
“I just believe every person has goodness inside them,” she said, her gaze trained on the text. Her fingers migrated from the edges of the paper to the columns and columns of characters, as if feeling the intent of each word. “People aren’t born bad; it’s their environment and experiences that shaped how they become.”
“You sound so sure of this.”
“I get how being a good person is a conscious choice and a constant effort, but why would someone think that people are innately bad? I don’t think that’s fair to everyone.” A heaviness weighed down Mai’s features, and her hand on the page halted into a fist. She murmured, with a startling heartache, “I don’t think that’s fair at all.”
Documents forgotten, Kanetsugu stared at Mai. His eyes had widened, the shock lighting up the inside of his body like drinking cold water and feeling it flow down to your stomach. Mai finally lifted her head at him, and a rueful smile graced her lips, as if self-deprecating. As if she knew very well that this period of war did not look kindly to her beliefs.
She really was different from him. So much light, but he couldn’t look away. All of a sudden, Kanetsugu wanted to touch. Maybe he could gather her light and swallow it for himself, and maybe that goodness would cleanse him.
He wanted to tell her: You are so radiant, I’m going to go blind if I look at you for another second.
He wanted to tell her: How are you so good? So kind? You are what I aspire to. You are like a hero to me. Even if I don’t deserve it.
He wanted to tell her: Look at me. Look at me. If you thought everyone had goodness in them, then I, too, would already have goodness in me. Would you still think of me that way once you see who I truly am?
Would you still look at me the way you do right now, once you see my utter monstrosity?
For the gentleman’s cultivation of his heart, nothing is better than integrity.
On the futon, she looked peaceful.
Awake or asleep, Mai retained that glow about her, a vigor that shimmered with each movement. Even now, stationary in her slumber, the very rise and fall of her chest, covered by the blanket, something misted out of her, flickering like fireflies in the summer night.
Kanetsugu wanted.
To touch, or to taste – whichever gave him recourse. What would it feel like, if he curved his roughened palm over her cheek? What would she taste like, if he laved his tongue across the shell of her ear?
Kanetsugu wanted.
He knelt over her prone, oblivious form, his shadow cast by the lamp behind him. From this position he could no longer trace the details of her lashes, or the freckles that emerged from her prolonged exposure to the sun. He could still outline the plump of her lips, the sheen of it, slightly parted to let the air flow as she exhaled.
Slowly, Kanetsugu descended. His body inclining forward, a hand bracing just a brush’s distance from her temple. His face hovered over hers, the ends of his side-fringe prickling Mai’s skin – her face twitched – and Kanetsugu watched.
So close. So very close, Kanetsugu watched.
Like this, he could take in the air she breathed. Could count the flutter of her eyelids – Mai must have been dreaming. It seemed like a tranquil dream. For a fleeting second he wondered if he was part of it. He probably wasn’t.
His skin warmed by her even breaths – Kanetsugu swallowed.
Xunzi once wrote, with ironclad certainty: The way that goodness works is such that if you do not have integrity, then you will not be steadfast. If you are not steadfast, then you will not embody goodness. And this – this – threatened to unravel everything Kanetsugu had carefully worked for: that katana-edged control forged from the force of his monstrous rage and loathing, the appearance of integrity, of goodness. As an atonement, perhaps. Or a way to justify his continued existence.
Mizusaki Mai was an anomaly. Her heart was already like the sun that burned with blinding radiance that even when Kanetsugu turned away, the sheer brilliance of her light would edge into the peripheries of his vision.
He had tried to curb himself of worldly wants. Disciplined them into mantras preached by ascetic philosophers, uttered fervently under his breath. They felt like a curse, sometimes.
Ritual is that by which to correct your person.
And yet, he would always look back.
When you are enlightened, then you can adapt to things. To transform and adapt in succession is called Heavenly virtue.
He would always, always, look back.
How could he not?
It had always begun with the hands.
His free hand, trembling, traced the arch of her brow. Sloped down her cheek, ghosted along the corners of her lips; swanned over her neck, settled on its pulse, alive, beating. Mai sighed in her sleep, and an onerous weight seized Kanetsugu that he snatched himself away. Stood spine-rigid, the whip of his robe harsh and crackling against the quiet room.
He had to turn himself away. Had to spare her from his monstrosity. She did not need to bear the burden of his past. Let her stay pure and light, pristine, untainted by his yearning.
Heaven does not speak, but people infer its height. Earth does not speak, but people infer its thickness. The four seasons do not speak, but the common people anticipate them. These things have such constancy because they have utmost integrity.
Integrity meant consistency of ritual. Ritual, then, meant the exercise of discipline and control through deliberate effort. Through rituals Kanetsugu would attain integrity, and to live with integrity was to live with goodness.
He must not succumb to his weakness or his selfishness.
He must strive for discipline, for control of his actions; to maintain his temperance, that calm, impartial countenance of the man Lord Kenshin would always rely on like a finely honed blade.
He must. He must.
Kanetsugu left the room with nary a glance behind. Mai slept on, left in his chamber alone and safe from the enormity of his want.
The gentleman knows that whatever is imperfect and unrefined does not deserve praise.
Kanetsugu had learned early on that bodies were tools as much as vessels of consciousness. Hands, in particular, dexterous and capable of many functions. From a ruler a wave of a hand could determine the fate of a kingdom. A farmer’s hands, worn down from constant toiling, sunburnt and smudged with earth, could grow crops to feed an entire region. A scholar could spread his teachings by writing down his observations and insights.
Ok, why does this part look like an excerpt from a book written by some Pulitzer Prize winner?
Archi, I want to say so much about your writing, but I’m afraid my own words may be too scant and poor in comparison to yours — rich, deep and exquisite. In all honesty, I’m struggling to explain what kind of storm I got in my soul while reading this. How can one write so poetically? How can one understand so deeply yearning, despair and hope?
The moment I read the first quote, I was like, “It’s interesting that Mai would most definitely disagree with such phrasing.” And I started squealing when my guess was proved to be right throughout the story. You’ve incorporated Confucian philosophy into Kanetsugu’s backstory so perfectly well that it became both a brush to paint the man’s character and a driving force to push the narrative forward.
What killed me indeed was your love for Kanetsugu and how it was reflected in your writing. You managed to make him so real, so relatable with all his inner struggles and vulnerability. I understood his every thought, every emotion as if we shared one heart and one mind. The feeling was close to cathartic because…well, imagine you could take one’s hand and share the warmth through the touch of your fingers. This is what I felt when listening to your Kanetsugu.
This is my contribution to the First Time for Everything zine organized by @lorei-writes and @dicenete at @ikemen-watch .
Like for many others, participating in a project of this scale was a first for me as well. All the contributors worked so hard, Lorei and Dice were so dedicated and put in so much effort to make this happen. It was pretty inspiring to see everyone work together for this . I learnt a lot, made mistakes but had fun throughout the process. I wish I could have done more but there's always a next time. I'd love to be part of something like this again <3.
If you haven't seen the zine yet, you can download it for free here. Both desktop and Mobile-friendly versions are available. Do take a look!
Thank you again for organizing this, @lorei-writes and @dicenete.
I’ve known your blog for so long, can’t believe this is our very first interaction 😭
This is so cute! Kenshin looks absolutely relaxed, resting on Marie’s shoulder. Her facial expression is a mix of worry and gentleness. Silent longing is expressed through her body language with her hand stopped only a few inches from the warlord’s face. And bunnies, so many bunnies. Phew, I want to say so much more about all the details you hid, but I don’t want to be annoying. This is a wonderful work, and I’m so glad it became part of the zine.
Elbert’s gaze is literally piercing my soul. Come on, man, I’m not beautiful enough to become part of your collection, so back off 😄
On a more serious note, your art style is so lovely! I’m still struggling to understand Ikevil, but Liam is one of the few villains I’m always happy to see on my dash. That’s why I find it a real blessing to be able to see an artwork made with so much love and understanding of a character like him. Poor boy, he’s shaking with anxiety and exhaustion but still is strong enough to keep smiling. I really like the expression on his face. Desperate yet kissed by inspiration.
Fandom: Ikemen Vampire
Pairing: Isa Cortez (OC) / Arthur Conan Doyle
Guest Appearances + Mentions: Theodorus Van Gogh, Osama Dazai, and Dawn Zhao (OC)
Genre: Slice of Life, with a lil Romance
Warnings: none
Prompt: First Time for Everything
Word Count: 1465
(a/n): This piece is my contribution to the First Time for Everything Ikémen Fan Zine hosted by @dicenete and @lorei-writes. I came in very late, but I decided to toss in an idea I've had about a secondary OC named Isa Cortez, who is an acquaintance of Dawn AND found her way to the mansion. How? Guess you'll have to stick with me in Muted Serendipity to find out!
Don't forget to check out the Fan Zine! It has amazing stories and art across all Cybird Ikemen Series games. I am absolutely honored to be among such wonderful, talented individuals.
“CHEERS!”
Arthur and Isa clicked their glasses for the 4th time that night, celebrating a successful day of case solving for the city of Paris. Isa and Arthur had somehow become Paris's unexpected sleuths for small-time crime. Today, they uncovered a fraud scheme within the casino that Dazai frequented, where counterfeit tokens were being used to collect winnings. The owner had asked them to handle it, wanting to avoid the local authorities' involvement in their operation.
That said, Arthur and Isa were able to root out the ring of fraudsters (including several staff) and felt their success needed a celebratory drink at the local pub.
Arthur leaned his elbow on the table, recounting how impeccable Isa's skills were. “I cannot get over how head over heels that bodyguard was for you! I do believe you could have had him eating out of your palm if you had more time…”
Isa, leaning back comfortably in her chair and nursing an already almost empty glass of brandy, smiled at the notion. “He was rather adorable, wasn't he?” She scrunched her nose in humor and snickered, remembering how the guard kept smiling like a fool at her.
A laugh escaped Arthur like a deep rumble. “Isa, my dear, any man worth their salt would be at your beck and call if you sang sweet nothings into their ear like you did tonight.” He took a swig of his gin and tonic, enjoying the lingering burn down his throat. “Tell me, O Mistress of Mystery, how in the bloody hell did you learn to talk so seductively?”
Isa tilted her head, considering her words with care. “You learn early that people hear what they want to hear. I just… give them the version that gets me what I want.”
He eyed her, yet not without praise. “Yes, well, your silver tongue helped us find the rats infesting that decrepit lot.” He lifted his glass only to find both it and Isa’s empty. “Damn, out again. Hé, l’ami! Deux verres de plus! (Hey friend! Two more glasses!)” he called to the owner of the pub, who happily acknowledged the request.
“Attendez, ils ont terminé pour la soirée (Hold it, they’re done for the night),” a voice behind Isa spoke above the chatter, stilling the owner’s hands.
“Oh, here comes Theodorus, the wet… blanket! Yes, wet blanket. Here to ruin our fun.” Arthur pouted, loudly placing his glass on the table.
Isa let her head fall back over the chair, looking up at Theo as if he’d been flipped on his head. “Are you here to ruin our fun?” She spoke in an almost childlike manner, with a pleading expression in her eyes.
Theo, in turn, stared blankly at the Latina. “... You two do realize that because of your shenanigans, I have had to listen to Dazai whine for an hour.”
Isa and Arthur both raised their eyebrows in confusion.
Theo sighed and flatly said, “You didn’t know he was at the casino, did you.”
They shook their heads.
“I don’t know what you idioten (idiots) did, but the casino has to be shut down for a few days. Which means—”
“—Dazai will be stuck at the mansion moping the entire time,” Arthur finished, hand covering his eyes in dismay but accidentally slapping his face instead.
Theo crossed his arms, now glaring at the two of them. “And I will not listen to his woes any longer. So, get your drunk asses up and let’s go.”
“Whoa whoa whoa!” Isa nearly shouted, raising her head too quickly and making her vision falter. Once it was less shaky, she looked up at Theo. “One… We are not drunk.”
“You just slurred your words,” Theo countered.
“No she didn’t!” Arthur chimed in to defend his counterpart. “She did not slurp her words!”
Both Isa and Theo stared at Arthur, then looked at each other.
“Okay, maybe we are drunk,” she relented.
*~*~*
Outside the pub, Arthur and Isa sat on the ground with their backs to a stone wall. Theodorus had left them to find a coach that would take them all back home… and get away from their idiocy for a bit.
While they waited, they joked and laughed.
“Hey,” Arthur said while trying to control his giggle, “care to wager which of us will remain sober longer?”
Isa snorted. “You mean which of us will pass out first?”
They laughed hysterically, both of them leaning on each other for physical support to stay upright.
She spoke first, “I didn’t take you to be a lightweight, Arthur.”
“How dare you insult me.”
Laughter overtook them once more, Isa holding her stomach as the ache set in. “At least my sentences make sense!”
“Darling, you can barely hold yourself up!”
“Can too!” She began to stand, but Arthur held onto her arm. “Let go! Imma proof—prove? Imma prove it to you!”
He did not let go. “Absolutely not, love. Now, sit down before you hurt yourself.”
Reluctantly, she did.
Finally, a lull of silence fell between them. The night was quiet with only the sounds of the pub behind their backs resonating through the stonework and the subtle flow of water from the Seine sloshing against the walls of the river only a few feet away from them. Isa looked up, the sky above her plastered with stars—so many that dizziness crept in.
“Hey, can I tell you a secret?”
Arthur glanced at her from the corner of his eye. Her head was tipped back lazily with her eyes closed. She looked peaceful. “Sure, love,” he said quietly.
She inhaled. “I've never drank before.”
Arthur failed at stifling his snicker. “Wow, you are drunk. But, if this is your first time being drunk, you must have had weak alcohol in your time.”
Isa was still. She spoke slowly, making sure her words were coherent. “No, not ‘I've never been drunk before’. I have never had alcohol until today. Ever.”
He froze.
“In my time, I went to plenty of parties.” Her mind went to the memories she had of her present day, in 2026. “It's where I'd network. Cozy up to people that could help me bolster my music career. I'd smile, laugh, say those ‘sweet nothings’ to get where I needed to go.”
Arthur could feel his pulse rising, listening to her story. It was both intriguing… and sad.
“But, there was always alcohol. Wine, spirits… you name it. Everyone was drinking.”
“Except for you.”
“... Except for me.”
He readjusted himself, feeling his legs go numb on the hard cobblestone. “How did you manage to never drink when everyone around you did?”
Isa hummed, a sound so simple yet crystal clear. “You can't drink if you're talking. And if I needed to, I'd just misplace my glass and grab a new one, like I was getting a refill.”
A proud grin flashed across his face. “Clever girl.” He paused before asking his next question. “Why then? Why the whole charade?”
She huffed, already feeling the weight of her answer. “I refuse to let someone take advantage of me in situations like a party.” She had said it with such a finality to her tone; a resolve that stood strong. “I need my mind clear to make smart decisions.”
“... Forgive me, love, but that's not what happened tonight. You're drunk… with me.” His voice was low and dark as he gazed down at the young woman next to him. “You made the conscientious decision to consume alcohol, rendering you vulnerable—what you fear. Why?”
She smiled sweetly. He noticed her cheeks were rosy, but unsure if it was from the intoxication or their… discussion. “Because I'm safe with you, Arthur.”
“That is a lot of trust you are putting in me, darling.”
“Well,” she paused, a glint of mischief growing in her eyes, “it's more like I trust you understand what the consequences of your actions are.”
“... I don’t follow.”
She smirked with confidence. “Basically, if you try to pull any funny business with me, you will answer to Dawn.”
Arthur felt a sensation akin to a stone dropping in his stomach. His face sobered up quickly as he recognized the danger he could be in if he made one wrong move.
“And you and I both know that she will skin you alive, mount you on a wall, and then put a plaque up that says ‘World's Easiest Kill’.”
He sighed, leaning his head back against the wall with a thunk. “She would, wouldn't she?”
Isa nodded. “But, like I said, you know what's up.” She gazed at him sincerely. “That doesn't mean I don't trust you. Because I do. I trusted you with my first time being drunk.”
She leaned close and left a chaste kiss on his cheek.
Shao-wei, what have you done? Now I want to see more of Isa and Arthur’s interaction on my dash. Their couple’s dynamics is just a *chef’s kiss*. Mutual respect, playful banters, admiration. Also…maybe I imagine things, but Isa is so beautiful in her sadness. As if there is something in her past that makes her be so cautious and selective with her words, yet Arthur is the one who can make her forget the pain and just be herself. Oh, they deserve each other 😊
Even wickedness faces times when a blanket and a warm tummy of one’s favourite pet becomes the only source of happiness. Roger looks so content and relaxed, it’s contagious. I also want to notice how beautiful night is in your works. Serene sky covered with myriads of stars. The silhouettes of fluffy trees that serve as a barrier between the world of dreams and the world of sins. Lulling Moonlight. These are all nothing but tiny details, but it’s tiny details that create the whole picture. Marvelous work!
Masamune x OC (Yuzuki Fukuzawa (Hana)); 1st person POV; Fluff; Audacious Masamune; Sickness doesn't stop tornadoes; Yuzuki the Doc
This work is one of my contributions to First Time For Everything Ikemen Fan Zine organised by me and @dicenete ^^ You can learn more about the project on @ikemen-watch >:3
The brush in my hand is but a pretence; I can hardly focus on the very fine, very blank piece of paper laid out on the table or the serious, stern depths of the inkstone. They all fade away at any rustle or the slightest creak sounding from behind the partition screen. My eyes drift towards it despite my best intentions; if they could, they would pierce through the paper, but I do not think it would be appropriate now. What I said is still too fresh in the air, the briefest of gusts stirring the unrest still present in it. I do not realise when I raise or rush forward, the fabric of my kimono clinging tightly to my legs.
“Where are you going?” I ask, although not without strain. The solid wood my hand clutches feels almost reassuring.
“To play with the pots in the kitchen, like the little-wee-lad that I am.”
“Masamune…” I groan and I cannot for the life of me tell what frustrates me more:his attitude, the fact that I have very much earned it, or the unhealthy flush on his face that I cannot ease. His eye looks doll-like, his cornea a piece of smooth, almost lifeless glass. The blood must be tearing through his veins, his skin pale and barely able to subdue the throbbing vein on his neck. I have seen him sick and hurt before, but… never like this. Never this exhausted and weak.
“What?”
“I am sorry. For yelling and… everything.” I hang my head. My hand hovers awkwardly in the air, just a centimetre, no, half a centimetre short of grasping Masamune’s sleeve. His fingers clasp around it, however, rough and scalding my skin with unbearable heat. It is still better than the comfortable nothing.
“Yeah, well, ‘pig-headed, glorified can opener’ and ‘did you poke out the reminder of your reason with that crescent’ were new. You had me at the ‘wannabe housewife with three spoiled children’, though.”
The hint of amusement in his voice only deepens the pit of my guilt. My back slumps, his chuckle tickling the back of my neck. Somehow, in a second when I’ve blinked, he’s closed the space between us. Even sick, Masamune smells of spice and of wind, and I cannot help but nuzzle into his chest. The issue is, the rapid beating of his heart does anything but soothe me. I wrap my arms around his waist.
“To my defence, your pages can cook for themselves,” I mumble out. “They should. It’s probably contagious.”
“Not so worried about yourself, huh?”
“Not in the slightest.”
A laugh rumbles through his lungs. They sound clear, I suppose. I’m not exactly certain. It’s not the best position to check.
“After seeing you in action, I’m sure they will.”
The light push to my shoulder tells me to step back. I loosen my grip, but I do not let go entirely. I know better than to grant him a chance to run.
“I don’t think I am wrong to worry, though. Don’t get too cocky.” The words slip from my lips before they fully register in my mind. “Strain yourself while ill with flu, and you will wreck your heart. And sorry, tiger, but I can’t open you up to install a pacer in those conditions.”
“A pacer?”
I meet his gaze head on.
And pounce.
“An artificial cardiac pacemaker is a device implanted into a patient to stimulate the targeted chambers of their heart into contracting, which is to say, it forces their heart to still pump blood at the right rhythm.”
Ha. His lips form a curious “O” now – equal parts endearing and promising. I do not give him any ground to recover.
“That is, assuming it’d still be any good.” I shake my head. “Sometimes the best you can do is replace the thing entirely.”
“You can replace hearts in the future?”
Hook, line, and sinker. I’ve got you, Masamune Date. Yuzuki Fukuzawa vel “Hana” 1, unruly cats 0.
“Yes. Other organs too.” I nudge him towards the futon, which is to say, where he currently belongs… I might have hurried, however, as Masamune clicks his tongue in disapproval. His breath feels hot on my ear.
“Kitten…” he almost purrs, voice low and thrilling in the — currently — worst possible way.. “Don’t think you can distract me. I still want that tea.”
“I’ll brew you some,” I protest.
“We both know you’re helpless in the kitchen without me. I’ll be back with a pot, and you can tell me all about replacing hearts with a hot cup in your hands.”
He taps the mole on my chin (one of the many) and I… I fall for it. A shameless, careless fledgeling, I fall for it! The next moment I can feel his hand cover my mouth, and the azure of his eye consumes the darkness of the room, or for that matter, useless mind. His hair tickles my cheek. He is close… Close enough for time to become molasses and… And those sweet, dangerous lips of his never truly reach me, but the awareness that we are separated by just his palm still weakens my knees.
“Be right back, kitten. Although I guess I’ll make you purr another time.”
The tornado is out.
Unruly cats 1. I? I have completely lost. Fuck.
Want to read more works like this? Download our zine directly from itch.io [link]! All our contributors are extremely talented people and we gave this project our all!
I loooove how cozy and warm I feel every time I delve into this story. This is a rare case of ‘show, don’t tell’ writing, when a reader is not only told but also given an opportunity to see with his own eyes how mutual respect, comfort and trust exist in a relationship between two lovers. I have to admit, you’ve managed to trick me. When I read the beginning of the story, I got a little nervous, affected by Hana’s anxiety. Really, I thought it would go way darker. I was glad I made a mistake, though! The ending brought a smile to my face.
Lorei’s writing 10. I? Completely at loss of words. Yey!
This was my piece for the First Time For Everything Ikemen Fan Zine from @ikemen-watch.
So many amazing artists and writers contributed to this zine and it's 100% free so please check it out!!
I have such a soft spot for Ikerev. It was nice to go back and draw this world and these characters. I still love Edgar to this day 🥺
Originally, I wanted to do the prologue scene where Jonah handcuffs Alice (iconic scene and Jonah is not clowned enough for it tbh) but the urge to put Egdar front and center won out. Jonah still made it into the finished product though! Drawing this made me want to get back to drawing ikerev again but the fandom is so dead these days *sigh*. There was this AU comic I never finished, maybe I'll pick that back up.
Anyways, for a zine about first times, ironically, this was my first zine. I got a lot of valuable experience from this and even though this was Lorei and Dice's (the mods) first zine, they did amazing!! They radiated so much love and passion for this project. I feel like it's been a while since there was a community project like this, I'm so glad those two decided to step up. A huge thanks to them for organizing this and thank you for checking out our zine!
Lily, you’re my hero! I’m so happy you’ve decided to work with such difficult material. Ikerev is not considered to be the most favourable among other more ‘fresh’ Ikemen games (what a pity!), and it’s getting less and less popular with every passing year.
When I saw your art, I thought, “Wow, is it a screenshot from the game?” Your sense of color is mind-blowing! Alice’s costume is designed down to the smallest details, it looks even better than the original. And poses, those bloody poses! A running pose is one of the most difficult ones (in my opinion) as you need to draw movement that remains paradoxically static. You’ve done it flawlessly!
(a/n): This piece is my contribution to the First Time for Everything Ikémen Fan Zine hosted by @dicenete and @lorei-writes
It was such a lovely experience. Thank you so much for the opportunity ♥3♥
Don't forget to check out the Fan Zine
“Keep your chin up, cara mia,” Leonardo instructs with the brush in his hand.
“Sorry, it’s hard not to look down at Lumiére. He’s just so cute.” Ronnie pouts, gazing down at the sleeping feline again, and gently rubbing its black fur.
“You’re doing it again.” He chuckles, walking towards her. He fixes her pose and gives her cheek a gentle pinch.
“Sorry, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t like your hands on me.”
“Naughty girl,” he snickers.
Ronnie chuckles, then sighs contentedly. The sweet smell of the flowers around them wafts to her nose, a familiar scent she has missed. “I’ve missed this place.”
He hums. “Me too. It looks exactly how it did when we left for our honeymoon five years ago… somehow.” She laughs again. “Now stay still, just like that.” He presses his brush against the canvas in swift and smooth strokes as he works on the portrait. “Good girl.” That makes her cheeks flush with a soft shade of pink, a smile fighting its way across her face. “Lovely shade…” he murmurs.
Leonardo grows quiet as he studies her face, her gentle expression, soft brown eyes, and warm yet teasing smile. After a moment—once her expression has settled into him—he says, “You know, cara…You’ve changed remarkably little since the day we met.”
She snorts. “We don’t change the way humans do, tesoro,” she says softly, “but the way we settle into ourselves… that does.”
He notices how calm she is with him, how natural their banter is, how inevitable they feel, and how he does not fear the passing of time since they are together.
“...Curious,” he murmurs to himself.
“What is?”
He hesitates for a moment, brush hovering over the canvas. “When did you know?”
She tilts her head to one side, confused. “Know what?”
“That I was the one you’d endure eternity with?”
Her cheeks blush ever so softly, and that almost shy smile that he adores creeps across her face. He feels the urge to recreate that hue.
She thinks for a moment, the memory unfolding as if it had happened yesterday. The sound of the river, the distant market noise, the smell of freshly baked bread, the sweet tobacco clinging to his clothes, the cacophony of laughter, the bustling people, the flapping of bird wings, and the light, frantic stir in her chest. The Oporto of three decades ago comes to life once more.
They were walking along the Duero River; the streets were alive with vendors, laughter, and overlapping conversations. But this time, their loud voices did not bother Ronnie at all, perhaps because she was too focused on what Leonardo had to say. She always listened to him, especially when he rambled about the things he loved. This time, he was talking about humans, and there was a gentleness in his tone and a twinkle in his golden eyes that had her staring at him in awe and wonder. She tightened her grip on his arm, smiling softly at how passionately he spoke about those creatures. Were it not for his insistence on her giving humans a chance, she would have never gotten out of the comfort of her book-filled chambers at her family’s manor in South America.
“You see, humans aren’t defined by their worst instincts. They’re defined by the moments when they choose to—” He stopped abruptly, his expression shifted from admiration to focused. He let go of his companion and crossed the street without much of a word.
“Hm? Leonardo?” She stood there for a moment, confused and wondering what had just happened, before trailing behind him. He strode towards one of the vendors, the one who was selling birds. The cage was cramped and rusty, and the poor creatures were fluttering their dull feathers in panic, evidently stressed. She frowned, lip twitching in contempt, not at the birds but at the vendor.
“I want to buy them all,” was all Leonardo said.
Ronnie blinked in surprise, having expected him to lecture the vendor and demand the avians’ release—but instead, he paid for them.
As soon as the vendor handed Leonardo the first of the caged birds, Leonardo opened his palms, setting it free. He did the same with every one that followed—and every single time, her heart fluttered.
Leonardo’s soft chuckle brings her back to the present. She smiles at him, eyes crinkling with joy.
“Back then, you didn’t look back at me. You didn’t look at anyone. You only watched the birds flying away in the sky with an expression so gentle that it made my heart quiver.”
“Cara mia,” he whispers, walking towards her.
“Only when the birds were out of sight, you turned to me. Do you remember what you told me?”
He nods once. “I said, ‘If people were only what they do when desperate, then none of us would be worth saving. That choice… that’s what defines them.’” He smiles. “I meant it.” He cups her cheeks ever so tenderly, rubbing his thumbs on them.
She leans into his touch. “I know.”
“Didn’t know that simple moment stayed with you all this time.” He exhales softly, the sound almost resembling a laugh. “You’ve always seen me so clearly, haven’t you?” He leans his forehead against hers. “I think that somewhere along the way, that’s what made me fall in love with you, Ronnie,” he whispers, breath tickling her smiling lips, before claiming them with a loving kiss.
Leonardo pulls away, eyes closed, and exhales: “I couldn’t have chosen a better wife than you, amore mio.”
Her cheeks blaze at his words, and she giggles contentedly as her hands find purchase in his shirt, pulling him in for another kiss.
Lumiére, who feels trapped between the two, jumps off her lap and stretches meowing once.
Leonardo stares down at his beloved pet. “Heh, tired already, little one?” The cat simply turns around and calmly saunters towards the manor.
“Maybe we should continue tomorrow,” she offers, finally getting up and stretching her weary limbs.
He teases, “Hope you can stay still tomorrow.”
Smirking, she fixes the collar of his shirt and says, “Who knows, I might surprise you.”
Surrounded by tender banter, laughter, and the sweet aroma of the flowers, the painting remains unfinished—yet as inevitable as their love story.
🌸 Masterlist 🌸
If you like my writing, please consider buying me a ☕ (You can find the link in my bio)
Where should I start…this is art in its purest form. The gift to use words not as an ornament to boast but rather as a weapon to build meaning. I’m stunned by the way you set the tone for the narrative with the very first words, by your ability to make me feel as if I were sneaking up on a couple of lovers in the middle of a very intimate conversation. Leonardo from your pen is the Leonardo I fell in love with back in 2019. Wise, patient, loving, warm. Ronnie is an absolute treasure, and I want to know more about their life together as vampires. The bird scene is the epitome of writing, so deep and symbolic I had to take a pause from reading and catch my breath. Thank you. You broke my heart and healed it with your talent.
I’m a little bit late to post these, but here are the submissions I submitted as a contributor for the First Time For Everything Ikemen Fan Zine. The full zine is free to download at @ikemen-watch.
My first submission took a long time to make because of a slighttt overestimation on my part on how long it would take to draw Crown. At first there was going to be only Alfons, Liam, Jude, Ellis and Roger until I wanted to draw the rest of them (also because I would rather draw the rest of Crown than to make a background). It very fun to draw this, especially Alfons and Rogers interactions. The artwork is meant to depict Liam winning poker against Crown for the first time.
My second submission is young William and Victor jumping roofs for the first time. This one was nice and easy to make compared to my first submission but it still needed some time to make.
I was also one of the cover artists! I decided to draw William for the cover because he ‘s the poster boy of Ikevil and also one of my faves.
Overall I had a lot of fun being a contributor, I would definitely be a contributor again if there’s another zine in the future.
First things first, let me thank you for your hard work. Among all three arts presented, there’s not a single one done only half-heartedly, whether we talk about shading, color palette or depiction of emotions. Every character looks so lively, so real, so authentic. Small details like Alfonse's middle finger are a total jam😂 And William…well, the way you draw him is just perfect. Proud, beautiful, extremely dangerous, especially with that half-cheerful, half-mad smile of him. Thank you again for sharing your talent with us!
To the Top Tier and beyond! Fandom tropes, assemble!
Lorei from @lorei-writes and Lily from @pond-lilies would like to invite you for a truly SSS-pectaular event... which also may be a little silly 😏 Will you help us get it off the ground? Let us know if you'd like to participate!
Cybird Ikemen Gift Exchange: INTEREST CHECK! [Survey Link]
Participants
Fandoms: Cybird Ikemen Otome Games [all that we can accommodate]
OCs are welcome, but not required
Communication: Discord or Tumblr; in case of Tumblr -- have DMs enabled!
If you participated in either Mayday!Heyday OC Gift Exchange 2024 or Spill the Tea! OC Gift Exchange 2025 feel free to reach out to @lorei-writes to claim your OC form(s).
While we cannot guarantee your gift will feature an OC, we'd love to increase the chances of that and extend the invitation the Ikemen OC community as well. >:)
Theme
It's a secret... But we'll give you a clue: tier maker is a part of it 😏What do you think will it be used for?
Gift Guidelines
Art: black & white artwork or clean sketch
Writing: 500-2000 words
Rating: T or below
No AI
1 gift
Your gift may feature violence, suggestive themes, crude humour, blood, simulated gambling, strong language or suggestive themes. Sexual scenes should remain in the suggestive realm or be fade-to-black
Schedule
👉 Interest Check: March 13th - March 20th
✿ Sign-Ups: March 21st - April 4th
✿ Assignment Period: April 5th - April 10th
✿ Check-In #1: May 16th
✿ Check-In #2: May 30th
✿ Posting Period: June 7th
Altogether, you will have over a month to prepare the gift.
In case of any questions or issues, don't hesitate to reach out to @pond-lilies or @lorei-writes! Please let us know your thoughts -- we'd love to host you to the best of our ability ^^
chronic illness sucks. i was a dreamer who believed i could do anything. i was a kid with so much potential for greatness. i promised myself i'd never let anything break me but being in pain every day for years on end breaks you. It breaks you over and over no matter how many times you reshape yourself to something new. a dreamer is all i have ever been. who am i without the dreams that keep being stolen from me
