Welcome to my fishbowl! I post my (ramble like) headcanons and imagines here.
I really like crossover and AU, so I mostly write about those. Some fandoms that I write for are:
- Twisted Wonderland
- Stardew Valley
- Genshin Impact
- Project Moon stuff (Lobotomy Corp, Library of Ruina, etc.)
I'm familiar with quite a lot of anime, so I sometimes write those too.
Feel free to ask me about anything! I don't really do requests but if you have some brainrots you want to share then come on in :)
Masterlist:
Stardew Valley
Mail Carrier NPC
Stardew Valley x The Great Pretender
Fruit Vampire!Farmer
Twisted Wonderland
MC coming back from TWST to a zombie apocalypse world
The other night husband and I were watching a documentary about the yeti where they were doing DNA analysis of samples of supposed yeti fur, and every one of them came back as bears.
Anyway, the next night we watched a thing about some pig man who is supposed to live in Vermont. People said it had claws and a pig nose but walked upright like a man. Now, I happen to know that sideshows used to shave bears and present them as pig men. So every piece of evidence they gave of this monster sounds to me like a bear with mange.
So now the running joke in our house is that everything is bears. Aliens? Bears. Loch Ness monster? Bear. Every cryptozoological mystery is just a very crafty bear.
Bears. They’re everywhere. Be wary. Anyone or anything could be a bear.
As the OP of this post, I’m going to threaten that if this gets to one million notes by the 10 year anniversary on 1 June 2026, one year from today, I will get a lower back tattoo of the loch ness bear monster.
Ochako-chan. It's okay, y'know? I did whatever I wanted in life. And because I love you, Ochako-chan… I want more for you... for you to do whatever you want, and more!
Boku no Hero Academia E171: More - Himiko & Ochako
At Toba aquarium in Japan, after closing time, some clever little otter pups help their grandpa tidy up their toys. As a reward, he gives them ice cubes
there are too little project moon and twst crossovers but i think yuu being a lobcorp agent is WAY FUNNIER than just a random person from project moon
Yuu, seeing an overblot for the first time: wow. babys first qliphoth undeterred facility breach. kinda nervous. *deadpan*
Ace, confused as fuck: Yuu what the fuck are you talking about
also the explanations about abnormalities gotta cause havoc because god knows if the cast meets a he above (or waw above if its malleus) theyre fucked. this is also considering that theyre HARDCORE NERFED by qliphoth deterrence (most especially apocalypse bird and white night because HOW THE FUCK)
even funnier if yuu has like a waw+ ego suit. like youre telling me you SURVIVED THAT SHIT??? AND LIVED TO TELL THE TALE??? (even funnier if it's paradise lost or twilight. yk. the worst two alephs? thus far? funny as hell). or better yet, a COLLECTION of ego suits.
yuu is suffering less in twst and they question how ane why. on cue. the horrors known as the city. yeah they would not want to be there or get yuu home atp.
mind you thats not even explaining the lack of work ethics, the frequent deaths, and the plaguing nightmares many things cause there. especially during book 7 if yuus dream is a thing. from one hell (war) to another (lobotomy corporation). in hell we truly live. lament
I've always loved this idea and your ideas are sparking my neurons!! The cultural differences would be so huge, like imagine the horror stories that they could tell, "ah yes that was the day where nothing there wiped out half of the safety team!" If it does go to the direction of yuu having a dream there are so many ways to go, like a work day with no deaths or a dream where they decided to work at a different company or for like an association and whoever is there has to break the news like..hey... You actually work at evil murder monster management sim place, not like much of any of the other corps would be better, but hey, id much rather be apart of WCORP then impossible to survive monster management sim.
Hi hello, so glad I'm not the only one with this plot bunny! I like the direction of Yuu having a dream where they're back at the L Corp but all of their team agents are still alive :)))) and then in the middle of the dream realize that no, their team is dead and then SOMEONE started speaking and suggesting that this dream can be a reality if Yuu wants it :)))
Also also Yuu in chapter 6, seeing the S.T.Y.X facility and going "ah shit here we go again" :)))
mondstadt celebrated the return of the grand master, you, however, welcomed home your husband | pairing: varka x spouse!reader | established relationship, gender-neutral reader, fluff, reader yearns and misses him a lot (it’s actually just me writing my thoughts), reunion, yearning | wc: 2.2k
DIRECTOR’S NOTES — a little something before tomorrow’s update; i could be wrong about how long he had been away
Varka could have had anything he wanted in the world. Riches, glory, power, everything an ordinary mortal like him could ever dream off, but he didn’t. He chose not to and this act of sacrifice led him to his expedition in Nod-Krai in which he had to spend years away from his home—from you.
But now, he’s coming back.
Of course, the city of Mondstadt, having caught the news of his return, have carefully and excitedly planned for a celebration to happen. Thus, the usual silent and peaceful air turned into something electrified with the rustle of banners and bustling chatter of the citizens, whispering and talking among themselves—oftentimes of the grandmaster, of how long he had been away, of what would happen now that he’s here. Before, the only thing Knights of Favonius, stationed at the mainland, have received are reports of his status and the elite knights, while the citizens could only wonder about the whereabouts of the man himself.
It would be no wonder that some would even speculate whether he’s still alive or not, and even then, what use would he have if he were to return now since they already have the acting grandmaster, Jean, already performing his duties. It was an inevitable thing to have such whispers, though it had never fostered into anything, only remaining as fleeting murmurs carried away by the wind.
Every corner of the city was not spared with silence and just as the citizens have been waiting with bated breath for the day, for the culmination of their efforts, you, too, cannot sit still at the simple thought of Varka, finally, coming back.
It’s been a long time since you have last seen your husband. It’s been three years now and the only kind of communication, interaction, or way you feel his presence is through letters with souvenirs, trinkets, or anything that he thinks you will like. Letters that can never be a page or less than two, letters written with that messy script of his with occasional blobs of ink that have dripped on to the paper, letters that will end with those three words of his affection for you and signed with ‘Your Beloved, Varka’.
It is no understatement to say that you lent a great hand in the preparations for the expedition team’s return. From the hanging banners, the decorations all over the place, the cathedral looking for helpers, literally anything you can get your hands on. If you were even given the opportunity, you would have built a statue of his honor. It was no news to everyone that you were ecstatic no matter how much you try to appear calm and composed in front of them. You cannot sit still at all.
You were simply everywhere and doing everything all at once, and this is evident by that fact Lisa had to come to you and tell you to take some time to rest or else, you wouldn’t even get to see the day that he will be here. You couldn’t even say no to her, knowing how scary she can get—she even threatened to tell Jean to ban you from helping. The thought of it was ridiculous but it was not impossible, so for the last few days leading to the day of celebration, you sat in your home or outside; you played with the children who each, but all the same, told you of how excited they are to see the grandmaster again and have him train them—by which, they mean chasing him with a sword while he pretends to be scared.
You simply love and miss your husband, the love of your life, Varka. It was hard not to—only an insane person wouldn’t, or maybe you just adore him a lot. Either way, this ache was strong and this ache was making you lose your mind at each second he’s not here.
The day comes and as early as dawn, people are already coming out of their homes, looking forward to the day ahead. The streets are alive with a palpable energy, the kind that only surfaces during festivals. Albeit, it was still different—this was no ordinary festival, after all. Children dart between the legs of adults, their laughter as bright as the streamers that now adorn every lamp post and awning. The smell of fresh bread and roasting meat wafts from Good Hunter, where Sara is already working twice as fast to accommodate the influx of orders. Even the cats, those independent creatures of the city, seem to sense the shift in the atmosphere, finding sunny spots along the route where the crowds will gather, as if they too wish to witness the grandmaster's return.
“I’ll give you a discount since I’m in a great mood today!”
“Ah, the pigeons!”
“How long until we see them?!”
Today just feels so right and perfect.
There is a sea of familiar faces and excited chatter as soon as you step outside and walk along the streets. People greet you, pat your shoulder, offer kind words and knowing smiles—some have even teased you, pushing you into a flustered state with their words. They understand, perhaps better than anyone, what this moment means for you. You’ve been a part of their community long enough that your yearning has become woven into the fabric of their own anticipation.
Not far away, the gates of Mondstadt stand open, welcoming, waiting. Beyond them lies the path to the rest of Teyvat, the path Varka took so long ago. And then—
“They’re here! They’re coming!”
Immediately afterwards, the people gathered at the sides so as not to block the pathway, and there, on the horizon, you see them—the expedition party emerges from the distance like a dream given form and cheers soon erupt, yelling, shouting. It drowns out the sound of your own heartbeat, your own breath, and your own thoughts.
The procession slows as it reaches the gates. The crowd takes this moment to press closer, voices calling out greetings and blessings.
“Grandmaster Varka!”
“Barbatos bless you all!”
“Look! Do you think one of them is Captain Kaeya’s horse?”
Though you, too, are glad to see the elite knights return, knowing how much of a strong foundation they are to the city’s military prowess, your eyes only seem to look for one and one person only. You watch him, eyes warm with affection, a smile tainting your lips, and your shoulders relax at the utter sight of him, basking in all this glory and celebration.
(Beneath it all, you are relieved—relieved, not just because he’s returned, but because he’s here and that through all your prayers and desperation, he is unharmed. He is alive. The mere thought of it crashes through you like a wave, sudden and overwhelming, and you realize that you had been holding something beneath your ribs all this time—something cold and sharp and terrible, a fear you never allowed yourself to name, a dread that lived in the space between heartbeats, in the silence between letters, in the hours past midnight when the bed felt too large and the world too quiet. You had carried it so long it had become part of your breathing, part of your waking, part of the way you moved through days without him. You had grown so accustomed to its weight that you forgot it was there at all.)
He's dismounted now, his great horse being led away by a young squire who looks absolutely starstruck. Varka pats the boy's shoulder with a laugh you can hear even from here, that booming, infectious sound that has always made your heart swell. He looks around, taking in the banners, the decorations, the crowd of familiar faces, and you watch as recognition dawns on his features, one by one.
Many have approached him already, though you still remain on the sidelines, not wishing to interrupt this tender moment. You know the extent of his longing for his homeland, having to endure the battlefield every single day; his letters have told you so.
"Grandmaster!" A young knight pushes through the crowd, his face flushed with excitement. "Welcome back, sir! Could I—could I possibly ask for your autograph?"
Varka laughs again, clapping the young man on the shoulder hard enough to make him stumble. "Slow down, soldier! I'm not going anywhere. We'll have plenty of time for autographs and training and everything else. But first—"
Through the chaos of celebration, through the sea of bodies and noise and color, his eyes easily find yours. Albeit he tries to approach you, only to be intercepted by one person to another, and you cannot simply help but laugh at the sight, waving him off and telling him to deal with that first. He could only mutter a silent apology while scratching the back of his head, turning his attention back to entertaining everyone who comes to him.
"Grandmaster! The children have been practicing a song for weeks!"
"Sir Varka! My tavern has saved its best cask for tonight!”
"Welcome back, old friend!"
He’d greet them warmly, genuinely, but his attention would keep on drifting, keep wandering, keep settling on you for a few moments as if he was trying to reassure—or remind—himself that you’re still there waiting.
You don’t know how long you’ve been standing there now, underneath the shade and away from the crowd that have gathered and drowned him with their relentless inquiries and excitement. He was not spared a single moment, perhaps even accumulating all their energy, returning it back to them tenfold. Varka, through all of it, was a man who loved his people with the same ferocity he loved anything—wholly, without reservation, with every piece of himself he had to give.
However, this time, his eyes find you again, and you see the silent question there: Can I come to you now? Please?
You nod, laughing warmly, and he starts toward you, and this time, the crowd lets him. People have stepped aside, making way for him and leaving the man alone, understanding that this moment—this reunion—belongs to the two of you first. His boots strike the cobblestones with familiar rhythm, each step bringing him closer, closer, until he stops before you.
Up close, you see the changes the years have wrought. New lines etched at the corners of his eyes, evidence of harsh sun and harsher conditions. His hair is longer than you remember, but still styled in the same way that he always does. But more than everything, his eyes.
Archons above, his eyes.
They are the same eyes that looked at you on your wedding day, full of wonder that someone like you could love someone like him. They are the same eyes that crinkled with laughter when you made silly faces to cheer him up after difficult days. They are the same eyes that, even in his hastily scrawled letters, you could feel looking at you across impossible distances.
And now they are looking at you from only a breath away.
“Hello, my love.” He says, and his voice falters on the last note.
The sound breaks something in you. You surge forward, closing the remaining distance between you, and his arms—those strong, warm arms you have dreamed about for so many sleepless nights—wrap around you and pull you tight against his chest. You bury your face in his chest, breathing him in, feeling his heartbeat against your cheek.
"I'm home," he whispers into your hair, his voice thick with emotion. "I'm home."
You can't speak—despite the amount of times you have practiced in front of the mirror on what to say to him, despite the amount of daydreaming you have of this moment, despite having prepared yourself—silence, brought by so much emotions and feelings, has lodged itself in your throat. Words are inadequate, useless things when faced with the enormity of this moment. So instead you cling to him, your fingers gripping the front of his shirt as if he might disappear if you loosen your hold even slightly. He holds you just as tightly, one hand cradling the back of your head, the other wrapped firmly around your waist, anchoring you both to this moment, to each other.
Eventually, reluctantly, you pull back just enough to look at him. Your hands come up to frame his face, your thumbs tracing the new lines, the beloved features that have haunted your dreams. He leans into your touch, his eyes fluttering closed for just a moment, as if he, too, cannot believe this is real.
"I missed you," you manage to say, your voice barely above a whisper. "I missed you so much." And the tears you’ve been holding at bay finally spill over, just a little. You don’t wish to embarrass yourself in front of him and already make a mess. You told yourself repeatedly that you wouldn’t cry or do anything stupid, but it seems like that was thrown out of the window.
Varka immediately panics. This legendary warrior, this grand master who has faced down monsters and braved the harshest conditions Teyvat could throw at him, looks utterly and completely terrified by the sight of your tears. His hands, which have held swords and shields and the weight of an entire expedition, flutter helplessly at your sides as if he has no idea what to do with them.
"Don't—please don't cry," he pleads, his voice cracking in a way that would be comical if you weren't so overwhelmed.
He fumbles for something and ends up pulling a handkerchief from his pocket. He dabs at your cheeks with a gentle clumsiness that only he possesses, his brow furrowed with such intense concentration you'd think he was back in the battlefield rather than wiping away tears.
"Please don't cry, my love," he murmurs, his thumb catching a tear at the corner of your eye. "I can't bear it. I could face any enemy and it would be less terrifying than watching you cry."
From his words, a wet laugh escapes you, and his face lights up like sunrise. Before you can say anything else, he leans in and presses his lips to your forehead—soft, reverent, lingering—as if you are something sacred, something worth crossing entire nations to return to. When he pulls back, his eyes are bright with unshed tears of his own, holding only affection, adoration, love for you and you only; and he smiles at you like you are the answer to every prayer he never spoke aloud.
“Welcome home, Varka.”
he better come home at my first 10 pull (i only have that much)
great. a chivalric order has started nesting under my porch & theres no way i can afford a warlock to come clear it out so i guess now ive got to deal with men-at-arms swearing oaths of valor right outside my window at 4 am every morning
