RM777
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Kiriko does not shy away from the things she wants, but she does act coy, and obvious, and difficult, and any other adjective that best describes this stupid dance she's started with Illari.
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"What do you plan to do after your fight is over?"
Illari's voice is deafining in comparison to the silence that usually blankets them, startling Kiriko. She ignores the smudge mark newly minted on her drawing, and places her pen down to comprehend the question. "Uh. Go home?"
Illari shakes her head. "No, I mean—after you manage to free your community. What then?"
"Oh." She hasn't really put much thought into it, to be honest.
Through leveraging the fact she's now owed a favor and Illari's odd penchant for never telling her to leave, Kiriko weasels her way into 'hanging out' with Illari every few nights. There's only one stipulation — she doesn't ask questions.
Too bad they're both too curious for that rule to stay unbroken. -
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In which Jack decides to stay a little longer, and Illari can't help but have questions.
Series
- Part 1 of New Beginnings
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And fate must be the shittiest joker in existence, because Kiriko can feel it all in that instant — disbelief flooding her senses that gets drowned out by dread, thudding heart that steals the breath from her lungs and leaves her winded. She goes from level headed to total panic nauseatingly quick, and the fact that she can’t pinpoint why makes it ten times worse.
It doesn’t come as much of a surprise when Illari snatches her own hand back as if burnt, stricken look plastered on her face as she mutters in pure horror — “No.”
And Kiriko just smiles, combating the hopelessness swirling in her chest with a dash of optimism. “Nah, I think yeah.”
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Kiriko doesn't expect much when she teams up with Overwatch, and maybe that's her first mistake considering they're an ex(?)-exiled organization. This whole soulmate thing though? Maybe a little bit more interesting than she'd like.Illari likes the mundane. It feels nice to be able to exist without the excruciating weight of expectations for once. Her opinion on soulmates? Quite possibly the worst thing that could've ever come true.
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The point is, Kiriko is the one responsible for all of this, and here’s how things actually started—
Series
- Part 4 of Overwatch 2.5 (Oneshot collection)
Recent series
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Kiriko and Illari stumble through the path of love in the best ways possible.
- Words:
- 47,506
- Works:
- 1
- Bookmarks:
- 4
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A series of all my ONESHOT*** OW Fics :)
Here for people who only want to follow my writing for a specific fandom! Will not include NSFW
- Words:
- 69,984
- Works:
- 4
- Bookmarks:
- 5
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Alternative Universe/Canon Divergence and progressive story telling of post recall Overwatch, centered on Illari. Focus more on character development and various interactions than solely shipping, but Sunshrine is the end goal.
- Words:
- 12,569
- Works:
- 1
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A series for every single smut one-shot I post
- Words:
- 5,025
- Works:
- 1
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Series with all of my BG3 Fics
Here for people who only want to follow my writing for a specific fandom!
- Words:
- 30,883
- Works:
- 5
- Bookmarks:
- 5
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"What's this from?" Nancy asked.
"Hmm?" Robin sat up on her elbows.
Nancy ran her finger over the little scar again, holding on tight when Robin tried to wrench her foot away.
"This scar," she clarified. "You don't shave your legs, where'd you get this?"
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Robin reaches for her. She slides a tentative hand towards her, palm up, knuckles skimming over Nancy’s thigh, the tips of her fingers twitching ever so slightly.
Nancy stares. And stares.
She wants to tell Robin, don’t offer your hand to me. If I hold it now, I might never let go.
She wants to tell herself, religion has taught you to be merciful. So be that. Let her go. Don’t take her hand when you might rip it clean off.
or: Robin is Nancy’s safe place.
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An elevation neither of them can see the end of. Swinging and loose-limbed at the precipice. It retrocedes as the cuckoo clock brandishes its needlepoint hands like akimbo rapiers. And they're scared half to death. And they're there, casing fog with whale eyes, wondering if it drops further, not taking that crucial step back, not taking that stupid step forward, because there's nowhere else to be than where they stand, because it promises a taste of what is to come, because they want to be ready, as ready as anybody could be.
Because they want to matter today, wherein the grand scheme -- little does.
Or, Ana Amari is markedly old and grapples with the meaningless nature of that.
Or, Hana Song is markedly young and grapples with the meaningless nature of that.
Bookmarked by RM777
27 Nov 2025
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“Dr. Ziegler…” Baptiste shook his head, shifting his jaw in thought. “You remind me of someone. I can’t put a finger on it, though. It’s like I’ve seen you before.”
“Hah.” The surgeon shook her head as she turned to a sink, running hot water and scrubbing her arms down with harsh antibacterial soap. With her back to him, he couldn’t see her face - but he could pick up the way her shoulders drew a little closer to her ears, and her head ducked down slightly. “I’m a fairly standard specimen, I’m afraid. Blonde hair, blue eyes, rather the Swiss tourism stereotype.” She reached for a cloth and dried off her hands, then turned to him.
“No, there’s something about you,” he said after a moment, and then shrugged, stepping up to the sink to scrub himself down as well. Everyone had pasts. He didn’t like talking much about his, and until he could pin down where he’d seen her face, he didn’t want to pry more than that. Wasn’t polite.--
Jean-Baptiste Augustin hasn't been able to stay in one place for long with Talon always hot on his tracks. He finds work in an aid camp in Venezuela, and makes a friend.- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 4,266
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Collections:
- 1
- Comments:
- 6
- Kudos:
- 30
- Bookmarks:
- 7
- Hits:
- 201
Bookmarked by RM777
29 Oct 2025
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my voice will fade someday, but your wonder will forever stay by pyresque
Fandoms: Clair Obscur: Expedition 33 (Video Game)
01 Sep 2025
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The climb is steeper than Sciel remembers, and the metal groans softly beneath her as she ascends the final ladder. Her hand ghosts along rusted beams warped by time and ink, passing the old scratched initials—lovers used to come up here, the letterings long since faded with the oxidation.
She almost laughs at herself. What was she hoping for? That the room might still feel the same? That she might feel the same?
Then she steps inside, and the moment her eyes adjust—
“Sciel,” Lune says in a breath caught somewhere in between. Her guitar disappears in a flurry of chroma particles. “Of course you’d run into me up here.”
or, Maelle stays in the canvas and life goes on, just not as Sciel once imagined.