#like lowkey i was either stopping here or writing a fully fledged fic

[watatsumiis]

ALL OF THE QUESTIONS!!!!!!! for ur ask game

Ohoho!!! excited beeps!!! Thank you so so much, im p excited to do this woo

Answers under the cut!

1. Who are your favourite character(s) at the moment?

I definitely have had some pretty strong Harbinger brainrot over the past few weeks (Dottore, Pierro, Pantalone and Capitano especially), but as always Ayato and Zhongli hold a very special place in my heart!! Yae Miko and Tighnari also got me going a bit feral right now ngl

2. Who are your least favourite character(s) at the moment?

There are definitely a few characters who I can't stand (female pyro vision wielders---) but I feel like that's more to do with how they've been written in the game, I feel like I could be convinced to like a lot of them once I've read some good headcanons and such!

EDITED LIKE 8 HOURS LATER BECAUSE I REMEMBERED HOW MUCH I HATE THE R/AIDEN SH0GUN YUCK YUCK YUCK DEFO LEAST FAV OF ALL TIME EVER

3. Which character(s) do you lowkey despise but can't stop thinking about?

SCARAMOUCHE he's a gross little rat and i want to pull his hair -- also same with Al Haitham i just grrr bark (dont come for me i defo dont actually hate either of them asdjkhksdfg)

4. Which character(s) do you identify the most with?

I have pretty strong connections with a few characters throughout the series, but I vibe really hard with Xiao and Gorou (if you couldn't already guess--) and sometimes Sucrose! There's also something about Albedo that's got me like. Hm. Nods. Same hat.

5. What are your favourite headcanons you've come up with?

My appearance headcanons for Capitano are definitely right up there - if MHY disappoints/diverts a lot I think I've come up with enough original content and ideas for him to just make my version a fully fledged OC.

I'm also pretty fond of a lot of my neurodivergent headcanons for certain characters (OCD Pantalone isn't something I've seen around but it's definitely something I incorporate into a lot of my writing with him).

OH ALSO Adepti being empaths !! That's a very special headcanon I hold dear to my heart, I dunno why I came up with it but I really really like it, especially with Xiao.

6. Favourite headcanons belonging to other people?

I saw a Pyro Delusion Pantalone headcanon the other day that was really really super cool, I'd never even considered him having a delusion until I saw that and it vibed!!

Generally I enjoy any trans or ND headcanons for characters too, even if they don't line up with how I view them/characterise them it's really nice to see such a broad range of ideas for one character!

ALSO DESI KAEYA MY BELOVED AUGH

7. Do you have any self-ships (romantic or platonic)?

So many. So so many. I have a variety of 'sonas' for various AUs/timelines (though the one that I've made the most content for is. An arranged marriage AU with Ayato jkdskjhgf) and I make a lot of varying content for them (which I probably won't be sharing here because I'm shy but just know. I love them.) with all different characters and different relationship dynamics, I've been shipping myself (or versions of) with fictional characters for years and it's a huge comfort to me and such a fun fun way to experiment with writing different scenarios and such!

8. Thoughts on alternate universes (AUs)? Any favourites?

I LOVE AUs so much i have about a million myself and I adore seeing the kinds of things others come up with !! A lot of my writing tends to be done in a non-canon AU where the events of the game havent/don't happen just to keep things simpler hfkjhsdgk

I'm always an enjoyer of modern AUs, but at the moment i'm holding a particular fondness for the 'Fatui adopt Kaeya AU', which lowkey may have slightly inspired the last fic i started working on ehe

9. If you were from Teyvat, where would you live?

Mondstadt!! It just seems chill and nice and there's such a wide variety of people there, the vibe seems accepting and laid back and it seems like lots of people from different walks of life congregate there! Failing that maybe Sumeru just because mmm pretty

10. What kind of Vision would you have?

Anemo, probably! That's the one i most commonly write my sonas with! Though I don't think I'd be entirely opposed to a Dendro vision in some cases too!!

11. What weapon type would you use?

Hmm I guess maybe catalyst? (something something not another god damn anemo catalyst short model boy)

12. Favourite fandom tropes/goofs?

One i always find funny is like. siblings with big age gaps getting along great (Albedo/Klee, Ayato/Ayaka, Jean/Barbara, etc) but ones closer in age constantly trying to MURDER each other (Diluc/Kaeya, and Aether/Lumine r the only ones i can think of rn).

I also love the found family tropes I see around, and the Nahida and Scara content I've seen recently have been top notch!

13. Least favourite fandom tropes/goofs?

It's a common thing with a lot of games and characters where the fandom reduces them down to a core trait or two and act like it's completely canon, or take certain lines and such out of context and base their entire characterisation off of that - on a surface level theyre silly and fun but when it's literally everywhere

A few i can think of off the top of my head are like 'senior citizen zhongli' where he's reduced to nothing but a bumbling old boomer and the whole 'stalker/obsessive ayaka' bit.

14. If you could change anything about one characters design, who/what would it be and why?

I think some of the adepti should have more non-human traits (xiao deserves horns tbh) and as a general statement i'd love to see characters with facial/body hair and more variety in body types or at least skin tones! I understand it's not exactly like realistic but it would be nice

there was also an interesting detail with Zhongli's design that was fixed - he wore his vision backwards! I think it was super neat and an interesting reference to the fact that it's not a real vision, but sadly they fixed it :(

15. What's your favourite voice line from the game?

I know a lot of people joke about Zhongli's idle lines being really annoying (and while hearing the oSmAnThUs WiNe line 8 times in just as many minutes can get really irritating) but i find them kind of comforting - I play in English and really enjoy the cadence of his voice, it's super comforting to me, so most of his lines are big faves - I also find his 'disliked gift' line super funny where he tries to redirect the player by telling them stories ashkjgf

I also like how Kaeya teases you for standing around (though it kinda makes me wanna flick him), and Tighnari's "who ate a poisoned mushroom this time?" join line is fun!

Link to the ask meme!

#there are lots of other lines i like im sure #thanks so much for the ask this was really super fun!!!!! #general barks #ask memes

[curiosity-killed]

almost like memory

@bbtree first off: thank you so much <3 and also thank you for accidentally giving me an excuse to wander off into a Shallura genre I don’t normally touch (ngl I had to make myself stop bc otherwise I was never going to get it posted - so fingers crossed, there may be more to come!)

————

His colors are wrong. Under the fluorescent lights, everyone becomes washed out and green-tinged, like they're half-human, half-hologram. The group leader had apologized for it at their first session, explaining that the church didn't have the money to upgrade to the new system that illuminates most the city. Attendance has dropped off over the years, and now more people enter for these support groups than for Sunday services. If she had to guess, it's only the state funding for these groups that's even keeping the flickering lights on.

The lights aren't the problem with him. It's something deeper, bigger: his hair's too dark or there's something missing in his face or his green t-shirt is the wrong shade. He should be in black. She brushes the thoughts away with a shake of her head. This is the first time she's ever seen the man, and they haven't even met yet. Just another delusion, mixing streams. The doctors have assured her that it’s normal, that though she can’t remember it, she still has a past locked away inside her, and occasionally her subconscious might let a little slip through and muddle her new reality. He introduces himself as Ryou Kurogane, and it’s wrong wrong wrong. The intensity of her conviction is stomach-churning, nearly nauseating. She can’t get it to shut up. He smiles at her when it’s her turn to introduce herself, and she smiles back reflexively before she remembers to duck her head, let her hair fall in a dark curtain between them.

Words don’t come easily to her. She doesn’t know if that’s new or if it’s always been that way. The doctors weren’t much help; they don’t like to talk about her past at all, even if they know it. They say it isn’t conducive to healthy recovery, to establishing her new identity. 

After the session, Ryou – not Ryou, wrong wrong wr— stays to help the group leader fold up and stack the chairs along the side. She finds herself lingering, reluctant to leave. She doesn’t know why, exactly, just that there’s something drawing her to stay. To keep close to him. She’s fussing with the water cups, flimsy little biodegradable things, when she hears him step up close. “Hi,” he says. She startles at how close his voice is, and when she turns, he raises his hands in apology. There’s something not quite right about them. They’re too similar, identical creases in his palms. She shakes it off. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” he says. “You’re Romelle, right?” Somehow, the name the doctors gave her sounds even more wrong in his voice. Her lips twitch up in what’s meant to be a smile but comes out closer to a grimace. “And you’re Ryou,” she says. It doesn’t sound better in her voice either. “That’s me,” he says, pushing his hands back into his pockets. His shoulders curve in with the motion, as if he’s trying to narrow himself, bend himself into a smaller space. He’s taller than her. She’s not sure why it surprises her, except that she thinks he wasn’t always. Isn’t always. That makes no sense at all. It’s not like their heights could change. “Sorry, you just – you seem really familiar,” Ryou-not-Ryou says. “I – uh wanted to say hi.” “Oh,” she says. Surprise ripples through her – and relief. It’s a foreign thing, distant, as if from someone else. “I uh – I’m – I’m sorry, I was in an accident a few months ago and don’t remember – much.” The words stumble out of her mouth, tripping and falling over each other all out of order. She winces when they land, regret rushing through her before she can shut herself up. “Oh!” Ryou says. “I – I know how you feel.” She stares, waiting for the second half of whatever joke this must be. “I was in an accident, too. Amnesia, everything before is just – blank,” he explains. It seems almost too perfect to be true. How could they wind up with the same story? But there’s nothing but sincerity in his voice and gaze, and something deep in her chest says he wouldn’t lie. Not about this. Not to her. “Oh. That’s – I’m sorry,” she says. He gives a little shrug with his left shoulder as if to brush off the apology. The smile he offers her doesn’t reach his eyes, just pulls up one side of his lips. “Sounds like we’re in the same ship anyway,” he says. A funny way of saying it, but she manages a smile in response. There’s something worming up her chest, words half-formed in her throat. “Do you wanna get a bite?” He looks almost surprised by his own words, as if he hadn’t meant to let them escape. She feels the same when she answers without a conscious decision. “Yes.” They wind up in a little diner half a block down from the church, a quiet little Akubari place that uses an outdated waitstaff model, the kind that would have been popular when Allura was young. It’s all blank, but she spent hours researching them one night, watching videos of their jerky movement and listening to recordings of their little trills and beeps, in case someone brought up nostalgia for them around her. They haven’t yet, but when they do, she’s ready. She’s prepared with a whole set of pretend memories so she’ll have a chance to connect with this future stranger, a chance to imagine a shared experience. He orders tea and grilbeck with mango and she settles on water and a thick yellow soup. Learning – relearning – her own tastes over the last few months has largely been too daunting a task to expend much effort towards; she's grown used to the food that's cheap and easy, sandwiches and pre-packaged dinners. She's not sure she likes them exactly, but figuring out how to live without a past, without an identity or network or any kind of supporting structure, is exhausting enough that sometimes she just wants something to be easy. Food is a simple enough opportunity for that. “I don’t think I’ve ever tried Akubari,” she remarks. At least not in the last three months. Maybe the other her, the past her, had. “One of my neighbors is from Akubara, actually,” he says. “They kinda got me hooked on it.” There’s a sheepish tone to his voice, as if he’s almost embarrassed by the admission. It makes her smile, her nerves inanely assuaged by the description. She doesn’t really have neighbors – or, well, there are people who live in the apartments beside and above and below hers, but they don’t talk. She’s seen maybe two of them out and about in the building all told. “I’ve heard their food culture incorporates a great deal of sharing,” she says. “Yeah! Drufbila just showed up at my door one day and ushered me in to the dinner table like I was their cousin or something,” he laughs. “Their mom kept fussing over whether I was eating enough, of course.” She breathes out a laugh at that, struck by the image of the great tentacled Akubari prodding him to take just a little more of each dish. Next to their towering, amorphous forms, his lean frame probably would seem underfed. It warms her to know someone, at least, is looking out for him. Weird. She shakes the thought away, disguises it as amusement. “What about your neighbors? Any nosey grandmas there?” he asks, leaning his cheek on his hand. The motion curves his body towards her, shoulders and waist twisted as if to block out the few diners sitting in the rest of the restaurant. His attention is a gentle thing, like sunlight or — Ridiculous. The sun hasn’t been seen through the smog here in decades. She’d have to have been off-planet to have an idea of what sunlight felt like, and surely, then, someone would have been there after her accident. No one traveled alone, not that far. If she ever had, there would have been someone to notice her missing, someone to seek her out. “Oh, no,” she says. “I’m afraid my building mostly keeps to ourselves.” “That’s a shame,” he says, a sympathetic twist to his lips. “Can’t help with–” He flicks his hand up in a little gesture towards his head, and she shrugs. “It can be a little lonely,” she concedes. Before he can ask more, their food arrives on the creaking arm of their servant and is slid onto their table in three jerky pushes. Her soup nearly slops over the lip of the blue bowl with the motion, and she has to steady it with her hands. Finished, the robot gives a happy little beep, and he reaches out to pat its head. “Thanks, bud,” he says. The robot rolls away with a contented little three-note trill. He turns back to her with a little smile and lifts his fork. “Bon appetite,” he says. “Buen provecho,” she answers, from somewhere she doesn’t quite recognize. He grins, still, and she can’t bring herself to question it when that smile is so unmuddied, so clear and easy. “You wanna try some?” he offers, gesturing to his plate with the fork. Orange glaze covers the blue of the grilbeck meat, turning it almost green, and mango slivers stick out of the flesh like oddly colored spines. It’s pretty, in its own way, even in the yellowish light of the diner. “Sure,” she agrees. “Want some of mine?” They wind up with the dishes in the middle of the table, snagging a bite from each plate with equal frequency. It feels…familiar. Comfortable. Like this isn’t the first time they’ve done this. She recognizes something in his expression when he takes the first spoonful from her soup and cants his head, considering. She’s seen that look before, seen the thoughtful way he savors the bite before swallowing and giving a thumbs up. Partway into their meal, conversation resumes once more, and comes back to them as easily as sharing. “Yeah, I have Doctor Honerva, too! That’s so weird,” he says. “How have we not bumped into each other at her office?” She shakes her head and licks a bit of mango glaze off her bottom lip. His gaze drops to follow the motion, just briefly, before flitting back to meet hers. A flush starts, warm pleasure rising in her cheeks. “It’s quite a coincidence,” she agrees. Maybe that’s where she remembers him from – maybe she’s seen him in passing and those memories have become conflated with those locked away from her. “Maybe we’ll see each other now that we’ve met.” “I’d like that,” he says. There’s a warmth to his gaze, a steady sincerity in his tone, that makes her duck her head. This is the longest she’s spent with anyone aside from her doctors since waking to a cold white room three months ago. It’s getting to her head, surely. She’s not sure she minds. “Me, too,” she agrees, meeting his gaze. The moment stretches between them, soft and welcome. She could make a home in this moment, in the gentle way he looks at her, in the pleasure in the soft curve of his lips. For the first time in months, she feels warm. Safe. A four-note beep announces the robot’s return, breaking apart their quiet. They split the check and head to the door. It’s started raining, the drizzly kind that leaves the whole city stinking of wet concrete. For once, it doesn’t bother her. It’s barely a footnote next to the chapter that this evening has become. He pauses outside the door, hands back in his pockets, shoulders bowed inward. “I’m down that way,” he says, nodding in the opposite direction of her apartment. “I’m afraid I’m the opposite way,” she says. Do his shoulders slump? Maybe she’s just looking for signs now. “I – I’d really like to see you again. If you want,” he says. He bites down on the inside of his bottom lip, watching her intently. Warmth flushes through her, up to the tips of her ears. She smiles and only barely keeps it from beaming. “I’d quite like that, too,” she admits. “Here, why don’t we trade numbers?” At that, he seems to light up from within. He straightens out, broad shoulders squaring back into their full breadth, and he pulls his phone from his pocket immediately. Surprised delight radiates through his entire being as he unlocks it and flips through to the right screen. Watching him through her lashes as she does the same, she can’t suppress the feeling that this, for once, is right. This is what is meant to be. Somehow, impossibly. They trade numbers and say farewell with smiles, and when she glances back over her shoulder as she walks away, she catches him looking back as well. They both laugh, as if at themselves, and give a little wave before continuing on their way. When she gets home, she’s greeted by a grave-like apartment and her treatment unit sitting ready on her end table. She stands in her doorway, considering the machine. It’s simple, easy to use. Back at the hospital, there’s a much larger version, but this one was specifically designed for home treatment. She’s supposed to use it every night, to help her brain heal. It always leaves her feeling numb, grey. Like it strips the color from her day and replaces it with a fresh coat of waiting-room-off-white. Normally, that isn’t much of a problem. Her routine is simple and largely emotionless. Painting over it is like laying a layer of grey over ninety other layers of nearly the same shade. Today, though – she wants to keep today. She wants the gentle gold of his attention, the soft grey of his eyes. The colors aren’t quite right – but at least there are colors this time. There are shades and hues she doesn’t know she’s ever seen or felt. It’s not what the doctors told her to do, but she doesn’t want to sacrifice them this time. She doesn’t want to cover up the silver flecks in his eyes with matte. The unit is tucked neatly in her bathroom cabinet, and she settles into her blankets with a strange feeling of satisfaction. That night, she dreams impossible things. She dreams of space, unfurling in feathery nebulae with tendrils curling purple and red around newborn stars. She dreams of machines, great ships and weapons that soar through the edges of the universe. She dreams — of him. His warm eyes, his fierce dedication. His hands, one flesh and one metal, cradling her jaw like something precious, like something to be adored. His lips are soft when they press against hers, his heart beats steady and strong against her palm. His voice aches when he speaks, a single word that is a prayer, a plea, a promise – “Allura,” he says. “Allura, Allura, Allura.”

#shallura #allura #shiro #voltron #vld #voltron fic #my writing #THIS WAS SO FUN TO WRITE HOLY SHIT #like lowkey i was either stopping here or writing a fully fledged fic #so this is #(tentatively) #a pause but not an end