#bandit answers questions

[aparticularbandit]

Girlfriends would be more fitting (bc honestly, look at Yasuke)

DEFINITELY.

Hey, look, he's the only one who dies, so like. Mikan's BIG mad. and Kyoko's upset, but she'll get over it. She never wanted a girlfriend in the first place. XD

[multiversalstarlight]

Is this blog still active?

It's active in the sense that I occasionally think about the thread(s) I have waiting in my drafts and want to answer them, yes, but it's inactive in the sense that I haven't actually responded to anything since last December, unfortunately.

That said.

Check again tomorrow because Agatha might drag me back into MCU thoughts and etc. and if it does, then this account might be more actively active.

...why do you ask?

EDIT: APPARENTLY I ANSWERED SOMETHING IN MARCH???? THIS IS NEWS TO ME, TOO.

[santi-blogging]

The pikmin followed me onto the ship. It then showed me this pair of sunglasses?

Buddy where did you find these?

[sketching-shark]

It's been a while since the last time I asked you Shark

But I have a new question:

What do you think about the retellings of JTTW, where Tang Sanzang proves to be able to stand up for himself or that he literally can also fight alongside Sun Wukong, Zhu Bajie, Sha Wujing and even Bai Long Ma/Ao Lie (who lately I've noticed has started to grab more fame and recognition, being more and more dynamic and part of the group than just being a simple background character)?

I think the most famous version of this kind of retellings is "The Westward" (I like the design of that Tang Sanzang)

PS: It's good to be back

Oh hey! Good to see you again too @wiings-kwami! And in regards to your question, while I fully appreciate that this is a very inadequate answer I guess that depends on how it's used asdfrweadf. TBH the idea that Tang Sanzang can fight back against or at least somewhat defend himself against yaoguai is a potentially really neat idea! As is in the og classic he is the second most static member of the pilgrim group, and this could provide an opportunity for him to be active and explicitly grown and change instead of regularly acting as the embodiment of the "damsel in distress" trope lol. THAT SAID, I can also easily see this being used to shove the monk into the role of "badass fighter" and keep him a static character that way...I know everyone makes fun of Tang Sanzang for crying and falling off his dragon horse, and while some of this is warranted tbh I feel like a more interesting story could be told by addressing WHY he's crying so much rather than putting him in the opposite direction as a stoic fighter. So at the end of the day and as with any other trope out there, I'd say making Tang Sanzang into a warrior monk is potentially a cool idea, but it's less about him being that and more about how it's executed.

[toonsforkicks22]

Will Donald Duck and Bandit Heeler meet in Default of our Stars?

They’ve actually met before the Rise arc happens.

They have a lot of things in common. And when the Rise arc happens, they both ESPECIALLY love-

[ifwebefriends]

My thoughts during “The Sign” [SPOILERS!!!!!]

ID in ALT

More thoughts under the cut

So I think most of us can agree that this is the best episode of Bluey so far. It was so emotional and satisfying in ways that are kinda new for Bluey. It answered so many questions while giving us a few new ones. I’ve been waiting for this episode for months and it did not disappoint in any way.

This is just a Chekov’s firing squad of an episode. As in a lot of stuff that was set up in earlier episodes all pay off in this episode. I kinda understand why people love soap operas now lol. I will say that this episode was a tad overwhelming for me in the best way possible. As in I had to pause and rewind every 30 seconds or so so I could emotionally process what was happening before moving forward (but that’s a me thing). There was just so much going on and I’m happy about that.

Now onto individual thoughts about specific things:

The callback to Baby Race (“you took your first steps in that house!”) really got to me because Baby Race was the first episode of Bluey that I watched and it immediately made me fall in love with it so it just got to me.

When Chilli said “Frisky and I came up here as teenagers to…um…think,” my mind started racing immediately with “what the FUCK happened at the Lookout?” “Who hurt Frisky and/or Chilli?” And I’m just so curious about what made Chilli say that line like that but we’ll probably never know what happened.

So yeah that scene at the end when the music was playing and Bandit ripped the sign out of the ground and Chilli tackled him to the ground ABSOLUTELY CHANGED my brain chemistry y’all. I can’t articulate my feelings any more than that.

I know some people were upset that Brandy ended up getting pregnant but I thought it was great for her! I’m happy for her! And I think that even though she got what she wanted in the end doesn’t negate the feelings she had about her infertility earlier. But I think we’re all wondering who the father is and I don’t know if the show really needs to answer that.

The whole message of “we’ll see” in terms of if something is good or bad is such a mature message that I never really thought of like that so I will be taking that philosophy forward in life. Congratulations Bluey, you managed to teach a 22-year-old childless person something new and insightful about life that I don’t think I’ve learned from another show.

I want to know more about what Bob was going through and feeling and why he went to India, but again, we’ll probably never know.

I just love how the wedding photos were beautiful but imperfect. Like of course we’re not perfect and nothing will ever be perfect but it’s beautiful and worth remembering anyway.

So many little jokes and moments were so funny in a mature way (I.e. “are we allowed to do that?” And Nana thinking there was about to be a baby announcement) were just so funny and memorable.

I think some people would say it’s a cop-out to end up not selling the house after building it up for 2 episodes but I don’t know, I think it works. I think Bluey and Bingo learned a valuable lesson and Bandit (and Chilli kinda) learned it’s not always about making their kids lives “perfect” in their eyes. Also I’m just personally glad they didn’t end up selling the house and I also kinda like that it wasn’t entirely their choice to keep it.

On a more serious note I think this episode has some interesting commentary on like gender roles and gender relations in straight relationships. In this episode Chilli and Frisky (both women) have to deal with their male significant others pressuring them to move with them far away from what they know and love. In the end they don’t end up moving and the men didn’t seem to have like malicious or selfish intent with it, they were just kinda basing their choices off their jobs instead of what’s best emotionally for their loved ones. But I think it’s interesting to have this conflict where gender is kinda brought up in a way (“because your husband is making you”). It kinda plays into the traditional idea of like men are the breadwinners and the family has to move with them regardless of what they actually want. And this episode kinda like deconstructs that and says “no, it’s not always about the job or money, it’s also sometimes about connections and emotional attachment.” And I’m not saying that you should never move or whatever, but really weigh your options. I just thought that it was interesting that this episode kinda touched on that.

So yeah that’s kinda the main thoughts I had on this episode if you made it this far thank you for reading my rambles and have a good one!

[aparticularbandit]

looking at fox breeds and found the Champagne Pink Fox, a extremely rare blonde fox with a natural pink tint to its fur and blue eyes. And despite basing my anthro Junko off blonde foxes, it does match her colorings and the idea of Standard Red Ryoko dyeing her fur to look like an ultra rare fox is incredibly funny to me

Please understand that foxes are, like, my favorite animal (after polar bears, which have been my favorite since I was a tiny baby Bandit and I'm not good about changing up favorites), and the fact that there is a fox variation that fits Junko as pretty much perfectly as this one does makes me so incredibly happy.

But also imagine that Ryoko wants to be as rare of a fox as possible to match her super rare raccoon bf so that they can be the specialist most rarest pairing in the whole world.

(Because they already are, but everyone needs to know that immediately.)

[alexanderwales]

Superheroes make a lot more sense in a world where there's a lot of crime. Not only is there more opportunity for heroism, I think having a work of fiction set during a transitional period is often the best way to go, because then any question about how this is at all sustainable can be answered with a curt "it's not".

One of my favorite reasons for a period of criminality is when there's a big war with a lot of soldiers trained in the arts of violence and warfare, fed and clothed by the state, who then go back to economic inequality once the war is done, having learned everything there is to know about doing violence against other people. This is the explanation that I've always heard for the Golden Age of Piracy, which started in 1713 when the War of Spanish Succession ended and a whole bunch of sailors suddenly had nothing to do with their lives and all the skills necessary to rob ships.

So I've been doing some superhero worldbuilding, trying to get the worst possible crime wave in a world that's at least somewhat like our own, set a few years after the end of a major war in a country that decided not to transition it's soldiers back home, with drug problems, prohibition problems, rampant inequality, and as many other triggers as I can think of.

But I think there's a risk, if you do all that setup, to overshadowing the superheroes. If there's rampant corruption and a major war and income inequality, does it really make that much sense to focus on the fights rather than the root causes?

And I think this is an area where a rough understanding of criminality really hampers me, because I want a reconstruction of superhero stories, and not to dwell too much on why people commit the crimes they do. I do think having a lot of the bank robbers and bandits be ex-military helps in a way though, as it implicates the failures of their government more than having these just be fundamentally bad people that a fundamentally good person needs to stop.

Plus the wake of a major war is a great way to bring in a lot of the superhero kitchen sink, particularly with of technological efforts that were a part of the war.

[agalychnisspranneusroseus]

Genuinely feeling inspired by Wolf, E. (1982) "Europe and the People Without History" ch. III F.C.E., México 2005, (pp 97-130)

Trying to use my amphibia obsession to help me studying by applying concepts from my textbooks to worldbuinding analysis

[xi4oyan]

Hello, good morning or goodnight?

I have a request for you if it is okay?

Lmk/JTTW (you choose whatever feel better to write) X Isekai'd! Reader. Reader is from our world and whom watched/read multiple times lmk/JTTW, and so when they got Isekai'd, they decided to stay far away from the main cast, as to not disturb the story..., but they get to the shenanigans of the show/book and they become a little 'suspicious' to other, Reader act like a mysterious 'Oracle' seemingly knowing what would happen, they do stay in the back and now this is the story of how things happen??? Maybe have something about 'coming' back to their world? Oh! Could they be a mythology fan? Idk, I let you decide!

Hope you like ♡

You were never supposed to be here.

Not in the middle of lands that only existed in yellowed pages and glowing screens, nor among names that were merely words woven into ancient stories. But when the light shattered and the ground beneath your feet ceased to be solid, you knew that the impossible had torn itself open before your eyes.

And now you were here, in the world you had read and watched countless times. The universe of Journey to the West unfolded before you, along with the unsettling certainty that you should not interfere.

That’s why you stayed away.

The journey of the monk Tang Sanzang and his disciples was not yours to shape. Sun Wukong, Bajie, and Sha Wujing had their paths set, and any interference from you could be a disaster.

But the world is not kind to those who know too much.

Rumors began to spread. A traveler who belonged to no known kingdom, who whispered prophecies into the wind, predicting disasters and twists with impossible accuracy. People called you "Oracle" a name you did not choose, but one that was given to you like a crown of thorns.

You never introduced yourself to the protagonists, yet circumstances seemed to pull you into the threads of the narrative, as if destiny itself refused to be avoided. Small interactions became inevitable—a veiled warning to a merchant about an impending storm, a subtle piece of advice to a soldier about to make a fatal decision. Small deviations, yet enough to draw suspicious eyes.

And then, a pair of golden eyes finally met yours.

Sun Wukong was not one to accept unresolved mysteries. A king wise in his cunning, a warrior impossible to deceive. He watched you from a distance, like a predator studying its prey, trying to decipher what you were.

"Who are you?" he asked when he finally closed the distance between you.

And that was the question you feared the most. You were an echo of a world that did not belong here. A foreigner among legends.

But Sun Wukong was not someone who accepted evasive answers. He stepped closer, tilting his head slightly, his golden eyes glinting with challenge and curiosity.

"Why do you keep running from me?" he asked, his tone a mix of amusement and suspicion. "Always at the margins, always watching. You knew this village would be attacked before the bandits even arrived. How?"

You opened your mouth, but no answer seemed right. How could you explain that you knew this story better than the very land beneath your feet? That every detail, every movement of his, was already familiar to you from another life?

"Maybe I'm just good at noticing patterns" you tried, averting your gaze.

Sun Wukong laughed, a sharp, wild sound. "Patterns, huh? Then tell me... what will my next move be?"

The challenge was set. You knew him too well not to predict his natural impulse to test limits. And despite all the caution you had taken, you couldn't stop the quiet laugh that escaped your lips.

"You’re going to try to catch me off guard," you said, crossing your arms. "You'll move fast, trying to throw me off balance. But I already know that."

For a moment, there was silence. Then, in a blur of movement, Sun Wukong lunged. You felt the wind split around you, but already expecting the attack, you dodged by a hair’s breadth. He stopped just a few steps away, his expression flickering between surprise and satisfaction.

"Interesting," he murmured, a smile forming. "I think I like you, Oracle. Let’s see just how far your 'wisdom' can take you."

You let out a sigh, trying to ignore the sharp gaze studying you with renewed intensity. "It’s not wisdom, it’s observation."

"Ah, but observation is also power." Sun Wukong leaned in closer, his tail lazily swaying behind him. "And you seem to have plenty of that power. Maybe even too much."

The tone was playful, but there was a thread of seriousness behind his words. You weren’t sure if he was provoking you or probing your mind like a swordsman testing his blade against an unknown opponent.

"And what if I don’t want to play your game?" you asked, crossing your arms.

His smile widened, sharp and challenging. "Then you’ve already lost."

Before you could respond, he turned on his heels and started walking, glancing over his shoulder. "Come, Oracle. I have many questions, and you have some answers. Who knows? We might even have some fun in the process."

You hesitated. The wind tugged at your cloak as if urging you forward, whispering that you had already crossed the threshold—that there was no turning back now.

Sun Wukong didn’t wait. His steps were light but deliberate, each one echoing a thousand years of rebellion and triumph. You followed, not because he asked, but because something deeper—older—pulled you in his direction.

He led you through a winding path that skirted the village’s edge, where the trees grew denser and the world seemed to hush. The golden light of late afternoon filtered through the leaves, casting him in warm, shifting patterns of sun and shadow.

"Do you always walk like you carry the weight of fate on your shoulders?" he asked suddenly, glancing sideways without stopping.

You gave him a dry look. "Do you always talk like you're trying to get under someone's skin?"

He grinned. "Only when the skin is worth getting under."

You rolled your eyes, but your lips betrayed you with a faint smile.

As the trees parted, you saw a small clearing ahead, where the grass grew tall and wildflowers leaned lazily toward the sun. Wukong dropped to the ground with all the grace of a falling leaf and gestured for you to sit.

"So," he said, twirling a blade of grass between his fingers. "You know things you shouldn't. You speak like a scholar, fight like a shadow, and dodge questions better than demons dodge heaven’s wrath."

You sat opposite him, legs crossed, fingers absently brushing the ground. "And yet here I am, being interrogated by a monkey king in a field of flowers."

His laughter was low and amused. "You’re not what I expected. Most people either revere me or fear me. You look like you’re trying very hard to do neither."

"Respect doesn’t require worship," you replied. "And fear only works when I don’t already know how the story ends."

That silenced him for a moment. His golden eyes narrowed, the playfulness flickering into something more thoughtful.

"You really *do* know how this all ends, don’t you?"

You looked away, letting your gaze rest on a single bloom swaying in the breeze. "I know the shape of it. But stories are like rivers. They follow a path—until something changes the current."

"And you," he said, voice softer now, "are the current."

You met his eyes again. "So are you."

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The air between you stretched taut with something unspoken—recognition, maybe. Or understanding.

Then Wukong leaned back on his elbows, smiling like the sun itself had whispered a secret in his ear. "Alright, Oracle. Let’s play this game of yours. Tell me what happens next."

You raised an eyebrow. "You won’t like it."

"Since when have I ever cared about that?" he replied.

You tilted your head, pretending to ponder his request with the weight of a thousand stars.

"Alright," you said slowly. "Next, you try to impress me with some exaggerated tale of your past heroics."

Wukong blinked. "Exaggerated? *Me*? I am the pinnacle of truth and modesty."

You snorted. "Sure. And I’m a silent monk."

"Then this is clearly a miracle," he said, placing a dramatic hand over his heart. "A monk who talks back? Truly, the heavens must be shifting."

You shook your head, but laughter escaped you before you could stop it. He beamed at the sound.

"There it is," he said. "That laugh. I was beginning to think the Oracle was carved from stone."

"Just trying to maintain the mystery," you replied, smirking.

"You’re doing terribly at it."

The breeze danced around you, the sunlight weaving gold into his hair. For a moment, he looked less like the fabled Monkey King and more like a boy caught mid-mischief, glowing with the satisfaction of making you smile.

"Tell me something, Oracle," he said, voice dipping a little lower. "Do you always hide behind riddles and half-truths? Or is that just for me?"

You hesitated, surprised by the shift in tone.

"Maybe I just like keeping you guessing," you murmured, suddenly aware of how close he’d leaned.

Wukong’s grin turned lopsided, his eyes gleaming. "You’re lucky I like puzzles. Especially the ones that talk back and smell like stardust."

You stared. "...Did you just flirt with me using the phrase smell like stardust?"

"I did," he said proudly. "Was it effective?"

You covered your face with both hands. "This is the exact chaos I was trying to avoid."

"And yet, here we are."

He plucked a flower from the grass and offered it to you with a dramatic bow.

"For you, my mysterious stardust-scented puzzle. May your prophecies remain vague, and your smiles frequent."

You took the flower with a reluctant smile. "You’re impossible."

"I am legend," he corrected with a wink.

You laughed again—louder this time—and in that moment, the world felt lighter. Maybe fate wasn’t something to fear. Maybe it was something you could laugh with. Or at.

Especially if it came wearing a golden crown and a grin too sharp to be trusted.

ִֶָ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ🐇་༘࿐

"Ah, there you are!"

Bajie’s voice echoed across the field, loud and impatient, like someone who had just lost a bet. The pig-warrior was trudging up the hill with the expression of someone thoroughly unimpressed by the scenery—or the company.

"Sun Wukong, you disappeared again! The master’s getting restless."

"He survived five hundred years without me. He can wait five more minutes," Wukong replied without even turning around. "Besides, I found something interesting."

Bajie’s gaze landed on you. He frowned. Then raised an eyebrow.

"Oh. *This* is the mysterious figure everyone’s whispering about? The one that speaks prophecies to the wind and appears from the shadows?"

You opened your mouth to deny it—but Wukong beat you to it.

"Yes. And she also knows when you’re about to steal Master’s buns again. Spoiler: he’s going to catch you this time."

Bajie paled. "How does she know that?!"

You crossed your arms. "I have ways."

"That’s witchcraft" Bajie declared, taking a half step back and making a protective gesture with his fingers.

"It’s observation," Wukong corrected with a smirk. "Or maybe enchantment. I don’t know anymore. I am enchanted, for sure."

"Here we go…" Sha Wujing muttered, appearing beside Bajie like a calm shadow.

Tang Sanzang followed closely behind, riding Yulong, the white dragon horse who stared with an expression of quiet judgment. When the monk’s gaze settled on you, there was a pause. He dismounted with serene posture and hands folded, as though he had long been pondering this inevitable meeting.

"So you are the Oracle," he said gently. "The one the villages speak of. The one who knows too much."

You felt the weight of the entire group on your shoulders—the inquisitive gaze of Wujing, Bajie’s suspicion, Yulong’s silent curiosity… and Wukong, beside you, watching with the gleam of someone who had already taken your side.

"I’m not a threat," you said firmly. "I just… observe."

Tang Sanzang nodded slowly. "Then observe by our side. But know this: the road we walk does not accept bystanders. All who travel with us are tested."

"Test number one" Wukong said, spinning on his heels, "survive Bajie snoring."

"Hey!"

"Test number two" Sha Wujing added calmly, "accept that nine out of ten stops will not have hot tea."

"Test number three," Yulong said, speaking for the first time and briefly shifting into his dragon form with a cruel smile, "learn to cope with the constant feeling that we’re all about to die."

You blinked. "...This sounds less like a spiritual journey and more like a cursed adventuring party."

"That’s exactly what it is" Bajie grumbled.

Wukong stepped closer again, leaning toward you with a gleam of pure amusement in his eyes.

"And yet, you seem like you want to stay."

You looked up at the sky for a moment, as if you could still see the world you came from hidden behind the clouds. Then your gaze returned to the group… and to him.

"Maybe I really am where I’m meant to be."

"Finally" Wukong said with a victorious smile. "Someone sensible in this group of lunatics."

"You are the worst of us all!" Bajie yelled, but by then you were already walking again—toward whatever chaos fate (or you) had in store next.

[yjhgvf]

Dump Truck: It's okay to ask for help!

Shape Bandit: You're not a burden.

Squiddy: Your feelings matter!

The Troublemakers, Trouble Truck, and Deci: Murder is okay. :)

I feel like any and all of them could be "murder is okay" depending on how they're feeling at the current moment

[pensthoughts]

Why do I actually need Knight!Van x Princess!Reader? Like r ran away and Van likes her a lot and r gets kidnapped by a group of bandits so Van goes crazy bout it. A few months later r gets away and finds Van, who drinks a lot because their dealing with the kidnapping. all upset and they kiss in front to their party.

a knight's vow | v.p

a/n: love love this idea! i incorporated some other ships into this just for fun so keep an eye out. i wanted to keep this under 3k words but i kinda went crazy because i was having so much fun lol. pairing: knight!van palmer x princess!reader summary: you, the beloved princess of your kingdom, have always been protected by your loyal knight. but when your life is suddenly in danger, the bond between you both is tested in ways neither of you expected. word count: 5.6k

van's only job as a knight was to protect the princess.

it was the first thing she'd ever been trusted with. the kind of honor that most squires dream of, and most knights age decades hoping to earn. and van—sharp-tongued, smirking van palmer, with a scar across her jaw and something feral always burning behind her grin—was chosen for it young. too young, maybe. the king had said it was because she was brave. lottie said it was because of fate. van didn't care what the reason was. all she knew was that she had a duty. a vow. protect the princess at all costs.

she was trained for war, for blood, for honor. she was not trained for you.

not trained for the princess with fire in her chest and starlight in her eyes. the girl who read books in secret corners and whispered to the castle cats. the girl who leaned against windowsills and sighed like the sky was calling her name. van kept her distance at first. watched from a step behind, silent, watchful. she did her job. she kept her sword sharp. she learned her habits. she patrolled the grounds. she didn't look too long.

but everything went wrong when she started to fall for you.

it didn't happen all at once. that would've been easier. no, it crept in slow—like sunlight through thick curtains. little things. the way you would sneak bread to the birds and then pretend you hadn't. the way you always always said her name softly, like it was a secret. the way your laughter could disarm an entire room, including van herself.

and then it wasn't just about guarding your body—it was about protecting your dreams, your sadness, your freedom. van started to ask questions. what made you happy? what did you want? not what was expected of you, but what did you want?

the answer, every time, was the same: i want to see the world.

you spoke of it constantly, like a fairytale. of forests that stretched forever and rivers that whispered. of cities you'd only read about. of songs you wanted to hear sung by the people who made them. of horses and stars and taverns and dusk. but your father—the king—would not allow it. could not. he had already lost one daughter to freedom. he would not lose another.

jackie.

the name was only whispered in these halls now, like something haunted. she had been the older princess, the perfect one. graceful, sharp, beloved. and then one day she was gone. the king said she was kidnapped. some in the village said she ran away. either way, her body had been found the following winter, deep in the woods, cold.

the king never recovered. he locked the castle down. the youngest daughter was not allowed to leave the gates. the guards doubles. the walls grew higher. no more freedom, no more loss.

but van had seen what it was doing to you. the slow fading of your smike. the way your fingers clenched when you looked at the map in the war room. the way you stood too long on balconies, like you could walk off the edge and become something else entirely.

so van made a choice.

it was a night like any other—the moon was high, the halls quiet. you had been quiet all day. barely touched your food. hadn't said more than a few words. van had walked back to your room, like always, and stood outside the door. and then, as the clock struck two, the door creaked open. you stood in a cloak, lantern your hand, eyes wide.

“i don’t want to be here anymore.”, you whispered. "i want to see the woods. just for the night. please, van. just once."

van hesitated. just once. just one night. that's what she told herself, anyway. but the truth was, she'd never been able to say no to you.

so she nodded. told you, “go. just for tonight. i’ll meet you by the river bend. before dawn.” she watched you go, heart in her throat, adrenaline pounding in her chest like a war drum. she shouldn't have. but she did.

by the time she reached the river... you were gone.

no sign of a struggle. no sound. just the open door, the scattered hay, and the heavy silence that followed. van called your name once. then again. then louder. she ran through the nearby woods until dawn, calling it into the dark.

you never came back.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

you should’ve known it wouldn’t be that easy.

the air was cold when you stepped into it—freedom biting your skin with its first breath. the stars looked brighter away from the torches. you kept one hand tight around the map van had drawn for you, the other on the pouch at your side, packed with little things: a slice of bread, a copper knife, a silver ring you weren’t supposed to have taken. you told yourself you were coming back. just a night. just one.

but deep down, you weren’t sure.

the woods had always called to you, like a story half-read. you’d dreamt of them your whole life, drawing trees in the margins of every dull history lesson, pressing your face to the glass of your tower and imagining yourself lost beneath the leaves. so when your boots finally met the mossy earth beyond the palace gates, you wanted to cry. you almost did.

you weren’t brave. not like jackie had been. you’d always tried to be—but people coddled you, swaddled you in silk and rules, like you might crack if they looked at you too long. all your life, people had spoken to you in hushed tones. except van.

van, who told you when your hair looked stupid and made you laugh until you snorted. van, who walked a step behind but never acted like you were breakable. van, who smuggled sweet rolls into your room on festival nights and called you dumbass in the same breath she covered you with a blanket. van, who never looked scared when you did. who you trusted more than anyone. who you liked more than anyone.

maybe it had started the night you’d snuck wine from the kitchens and passed her a cup through the secret library door. she’d stayed with you past midnight, telling you stories from her training days, her voice hushed but her eyes so bright. maybe it was before that. maybe it was the first time she made you laugh so hard you dropped a glass and she helped you clean it up like it was nothing, like it didn’t matter that you were royal and she was not.

you liked her. you knew you did. you just didn’t know what to do about it. so you kept it hidden. smiled too long. lingered too close. remembered every word she ever said to you and replayed them alone, again and again and again.

she said she’d meet you at the river bend. she said she’d follow.

but she didn’t come.

you waited longer than you should’ve. and when the cold crept in, you kept moving. you thought she might catch up. you thought maybe she was giving you space. you thought she trusted you to handle it.

and for a little while, you did.

until the snap of a twig made you freeze mid-step. until something rough closed around your mouth and yanked you backward off your feet. until the map flew from your hand.

until everything went dark.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

one job. she had one job.

she’d whispered it to herself so many times it had become something like a prayer. a chant in the back of her throat, behind her teeth. on long rides, across foreign towns, when sword-tips scraped her ribs and villagers slammed doors in her face—she would mumble it like a vow, like it could undo what happened.

she was supposed to protect you.

and she failed.

it had been 6 months. twenty six weeks of searching.

and you were still gone.

no ransom note. no signs. no body.

which meant maybe you were alive.

which meant maybe you were suffering.

she rubbed at the back of her neck, her calloused palm scraping a sunburn that had never properly healed. her armor hung loose around her frame. she hadn’t eaten more than dried fruit and barley in days, hadn’t slept more than a few hours at a time, and when she did—it was the same dream every night. your face. that expression you’d had when she told you yes. when she promised you a way out. the way your smile cracked like sunlight through leaves.

god. she should’ve gone with you.

she should’ve known.

when she’d helped you sneak out that night, she thought she was being romantic. thought she was being brave.

you’d clutched your traveling cloak with trembling hands, looked up at her like you were about to cry and said, “i don’t want to be here anymore.”

and she—idiot that she was—had said, “go. just for tonight. i’ll meet you by the river bend. before dawn.”

she hadn’t kissed you. hadn’t let herself. you were still the princess and she was still a knight and this was still the kind of love they’d cut heads off for. but god, she’d wanted to. she’d wanted to since the first time you laughed at one of her dumb jokes, since you threw a pillow at her head in the drawing room and said, “you make me feel like i’m not a prisoner.”

she’d never felt more dangerous.

more herself.

but she’d gotten to the river bend too late. the grass had been trampled. your footprints stopped in the dirt.

and then nothing.

“van.” she heard a voice say, snapping her out of her thoughts.

she looked up sharply. natalie stood in the doorway, arms crossed, hair wild from the rain.

“you’re gonna drown in that bottle if you keep this up.”

van blinked at her tankard. she hadn’t realized she was still holding it. she set it down, ignoring the way her hand trembled.

“you don’t have to stay,” she muttered.

“good,” nat said, stepping inside anyway. “because i’m not here for you.”

lottie followed, robes trailing behind her, looking like she’d just walked out of a stormcloud. her eyes landed on van, solemn.

“she’s still out there,” lottie said.

van swallowed. “don’t.”

“you think i’d lie to you?”

“i think you say what people want to hear.”

lottie tilted her head. “and you want to hear she’s gone?”

the words landed like a blade.

natalie shoved a stool toward her with her foot and collapsed into it. “she had another vision. thought you’d want to know.”

lottie moved toward the fire. “it wasn’t clear. but it was… hopeful. a return. a flame that didn’t die out. a voice saying her name.”

van closed her eyes.

she didn’t believe in magic. not really. but she believed in you.

and she believed in the way her chest still ached like your absence had carved a hollow in her ribs.

“she would’ve come back by now,” van said quietly.

“she can’t,” lottie said. “not yet. but she’s alive. and she wants to.”

two days later, the king summoned her.

van stood in the throne room, every joint aching, armor still caked with dust, and listened as he spoke the words she’d dreaded since the moment you vanished.

“it’s time we end the search.”

“your highness,” van started, “please—”

he held up a hand.

“i have given you time, van palmer. more than any other knight. i’ve seen your devotion. but the nobles are restless. the people grow anxious. we must prepare for a new heir, and you…”

he paused. his gaze was tired. pained.

“you are dismissed from duty.”

the floor didn’t fall out from beneath her. she wished it had.

van bowed her head. she didn’t cry. not in front of him.

but when she stepped outside the gates, stripped of her sword and her sigil and the last purpose she had left—

she didn’t go home.

she went to the tavern.

she hadn’t seen natalie so often since training years ago. but nat had a knack for finding the places no one looked. she showed up in shadowed doorways, bruised and unbothered, always smelling like smoke and booze, always leaning too far into her cups.

they made a good pair. a terrible one, too.

“you ever think about leaving?” van asked one night, staring into the fire.

natalie arched a brow. “and go where?”

“anywhere.”

“without her?”

van didn’t answer.

nat clicked her tongue. “you’re too loyal, van. it’s going to kill you.”

van looked down at her hands. “it already has.”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

you don't know how long it's been now. at first, they kept you tied. hands bound, mouth gagged, eyes blindfolded. they moved camp constantly—never more than a day in one place. you tried to run once, and they let you get a few paces before knocking you to the ground. after that, you didn't try again.

you learned their names slowly. you weren't supposed to, but bandits aren't as careful as they pretend to be. mari—short tempered, sharp eyes. misty—too eager to please. akilah—quiet, but dangerous when angry. you learned their footsteps, their rhythms, who would leave you water and who would curse when they looked at you.

the worst part was how quickly the cold became familiar.

it sank into your bones, rough and clinging, until the memory of warm baths and thick blankets felt like a story someone else had lived.

and they didn't even treat you like a person. not at first. they treated you like currency. a prize. a bargaining chip, maybe. or a ghost.

and they hated how you watched them—like you were trying to understand. like you weren't supposed to be smart. they hated it more when you started talking.

"why am i here?" you asked on the second morning, voice hoarse from sleep and fear. "what do you want from me?"

no one answered at first. then misty, all too cheerful with her ruddy cheeks and too-bright smile, said, "you should be honored. do you know who you're replacing?"

akilah gave her a look. "shut up, misty," she said, sounding slightly sympathetic.

but it was too late.

you latched onto the word like it was a lifeline. replacing?

"replacing who?"

they didn't answer.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

you didn't meet shauna right away.

it took four days before they brought you to her. four days of sleeping on damp ground, waking to boots kicking your ribs, water splashed in your face, and barked commands. you kept thinking van would find you. that this was temporary. you pictured her riding through the trees, red hair flashing like a flag. you imagined the way she'd yell when she saw you, how her voice would shake with fury and something else. something closer to relief. she'd grip your shoulders. she'd call you dumb. she'd kiss you.

she'd bring you home.

but van never came. and on the fifth day, they brought you to the cabin,

shauna sat by the fire with her back to you. she didn't stand. didn't speak.

"she's here," mari said.

still no reaction.

"do you want us to leave her tied?" misty chirped.

that finally got her attention.

shauna turned slowly, eyes landing on you with something colder than anger. she studied you like you were a cracked mirror—too broken to be useful, to familiar to throw away.

her voice, when she finally spoke, was low.

"she's too soft," she said. "she won't last."

you wanted to speak. to say i'm not soft. but your tongue stuck to the roof of your mouth.

shauna looked away. "get her cleaned up."

they didn't. not really. but they loosened the ropes, left you a cup of water, and dumped you in a corner on a blanket that smelled like mildew and ash.

you didn't speak to shauna again for a week.

it was mari who gave you answers first. she came to throw you a heel of bread one night and lingered in the doorway, arms crossed.

"you really don't know, do you?" she said.

you stared at her. "know what?"

she smirked. "about jackie."

the name hit hard.

you sat up straighter. "what about her?"

mari tilted her head. "your sister. everyone thinks she died running from some animal in the woods, right?"

you nodded slowly. "yeah, that's what townspeople say."

"cute. and fake. she didn't run from anything. she ran to someone."

your heart skipped. "shauna."

mari grinned. "ding ding ding.""

she walked closer. crouched in front of you, eyes glittering.

"jackie left everything—her crown, her kingdom, her future—because she wanted to be free. wanted to be with someone who saw her. she found that with shauna. for a while, anyway."

you swallowed. "what happened?"

mari's grin faded.

"she died."

"how, though?"

she straightened up. "that's not mine to tell."

you didn't sleep that night.

later, when shauna finally broke her silence, it wasn’t out of kindness.

it was because you asked her the wrong question.

you were tired. you hadn’t eaten properly in days. and she’d sat near you by the fire, knife in hand, carving something into wood. you couldn’t help yourself.

“did you love her?”

the blade slipped.

she didn’t look at you for a long time.

then: “she was my whole fucking world.”

silence stretched.

you wrapped your arms around your knees. “i miss her.”

shauna’s eyes finally met yours.

“don’t say that,” she said quietly. “you didn’t know her. not like i did.”

“but she was my sister.”

shauna’s face crumpled in the flicker of firelight—just for a moment. then the walls came back up.

“she was brave,” she said. “not like you.”

you flinched. “you think i’m weak?”

“i think you’re soft. same thing.”

“i think i’m alive,” you said, biting back the shake in your voice.

shauna laughed once. a hollow sound.

“only because they brought you to me instead of killing you.”

you started watching her after that.

and she watched you too.

not with tenderness. not with cruelty either. something else. something like recognition.

some nights, she’d speak to you like you were her ghost. jackie’s echo. a shadow on the wall. she’d pace the cabin, muttering memories into the smoke. “she hated tea. always said it tasted like boiled grass. made me drink her share when we visited the old healer in farhold. i said she was spoiled. she said i was a sucker.”

you never interrupted. you just listened. every word, every story, you swallowed them like air.

maybe you weren’t jackie. but you were something.

and she let you live.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

the fire’s dead again.

van hasn’t bothered to stoke it. she’s just sitting in front of the cold hearth, slouched low in the armchair she dragged from the castle storage before she was stripped of her title. it’s too big for the little cottage she was given after the king's funeral—some sorry compensation from the council, a reminder that service didn’t mean much when you failed at the one thing that mattered.

protect the princess.

she rubs at her face with one hand, the other still curled around a half-empty bottle of plum wine. it’s too sweet, the kind she never used to touch, but it’s what natalie brings over and she doesn’t care enough to argue anymore. her boots are still caked in mud from the morning’s rain. she hasn’t moved since dusk.

she can still hear your laugh in the back of her mind, muffled and soft, like it’s been soaked in water and buried under time. your voice saying her name. the last time she saw you—gown fluttering behind you, barefoot in the grass, cheeks red from excitement as you whispered about stars and oceans and freedom.

then you were gone.

and van has been bleeding ever since.

the door crashes open, wind howling through the entryway as natalie stumbles in with zero grace and even less concern.

“you look like shit,” she says, kicking the door shut behind her.

van doesn’t even flinch. “thanks.”

natalie tosses her dripping cloak over a chair and grabs a glass from the table without asking. she pours herself a generous serving of van’s wine and drains half of it in one go.

“still raining?” van mumbles.

“no, i’m just committed to the wet dog look,” natalie deadpans. “also, you really need to get out more.”

“i don’t want to get out.”

“yeah, no shit. that’s why i’m here.” natalie plops down across from her and props her boots on the table. “you hear about the party?"

“don't care about the party," van replies.

"it's for ben. you like ben."

van snorts into her cup. “ben’s the reason i’ve got a roof over my head. doesn’t mean i want to drink stale cider in his honor.”

natalie gives her a long, level look. “you might want to reconsider.”

van blinks. “why?”

natalie shifts, setting down her glass with unusual care. she doesn’t meet van’s eyes right away. her voice, when she speaks again, is quieter than van’s used to hearing it.

“lottie had a vision.”

van’s body stiffens, the room suddenly feeling too quiet, like the wind outside took all the sound with it.

“what kind of vision?”

natalie draws in a slow breath. “she came to my place this morning. said she hadn’t slept all night. said she was shaking for hours. like… she couldn’t speak, couldn’t move. just kept whispering the same thing over and over.”

van leans forward, her voice cracking. “what thing?”

natalie looks her in the eye. “she’s coming home.”

the words hit like a punch to the chest. van’s breath leaves her in a shudder. her hands tremble, barely noticeable, but she hides them anyway.

“you don’t know that’s what she meant,” she says, but it’s weak. she already knows it’s a lie.

natalie presses on. “lottie saw a crown. a girl with gold in her blood and dirt on her feet. she said she saw a forest and fire and a wolf crying in the dark.”

van swallows hard. “that could mean anything.”

“it could,” natalie agrees. “but it doesn’t. not this time.”

she leans forward, elbows on her knees. “she saw you, van. not the knight. not the armor. you. she said it felt like… like a wound healing too late. like the moon pulling the tide back in.”

van can’t speak. her throat’s gone tight, a strange pressure building behind her eyes. she bites it back. she’s so tired of crying.

“it’s been almost a year,” she whispers.

natalie nods. “i know.”

“she’s probably—” van stops herself. she’s said those words before. they always come out wrong. they always taste like ash.

but natalie just says gently, “she’s not. you don’t feel it?”

van blinks down at her boots. her voice is barely audible. “i feel everything.”

they sit in silence for a while. rain tapping against the windowpanes like fingers. the wind a low moan across the hills.

natalie nudges the wine bottle toward her. “if lottie’s right… if she’s really coming back, don’t you want to be there?”

van stares at the fireless hearth. at the ghost of your smile in the back of her mind.

she thinks of the way you used to look at her when you thought she wasn’t paying attention. the way you always asked her questions no one else cared to answer—about the sky, about how far the sea was from the castle, about whether she thought it was possible to love someone you weren’t allowed to have.

she stands.

“i need to get cleaned up.”

natalie smirks. “so you are going to ben’s.”

van tosses her a look. “don’t make me change my mind.”

she pulls on her cloak, still damp from last week’s storm. her hands are steadier now, moving on instinct. her chest is tight, but it’s not the same kind of ache. it’s something brighter. fiercer. like the moment before a blade meets skin—sharp, burning, inevitable.

she doesn’t say your name.

but it’s all she’s thinking.

you’re coming back.

you’re coming back.

please be real.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

you can’t remember the last time the stars felt close. not like they did at home, on the castle balcony, where van used to point out constellations with one hand while the other hovered nervously at your back, not quite brave enough to touch you.

here, in the middle of the bandit camp, they’re cold and far away. there’s smoke in the air, laughter from someone’s flask echoing off the trees. you’ve stopped asking when you’ll be let go. you’ve stopped believing it’ll ever happen.

and shauna… shauna watches you with that same unreadable look every night. like she’s waiting for something. like she’s weighing a scale that keeps tipping the wrong way.

she sits beside you now, closer than usual. the firelight flickers across her face, makes the years and bitterness look heavier. her hands are calloused. a scar slices through one of her knuckles. she smells like pine and steel.

“you remind me of her,” she says.

you don’t have to ask who she means.

you’ve heard the stories in pieces. from the others—misty, who has no tact; mari, who rolls her eyes but clearly still mourns; even akilah, who once drunkenly whispered, “you smile like jackie. it’s freaky.”

you found the locket in shauna’s tent, pried it open when no one was looking, and saw the miniature portrait.

jackie taylor.

your sister.

the locked confirmed the truth. she ran. for love. for shauna.

“she wasn’t delicate,” shauna says, pulling you out of your thoughts. “everyone thought she was. but she was fire. no one ever saw it but me.”

you glance at her. her eyes are glassy but sharp.

“i’m not trying to replace her,” you say quietly.

“i know.” shauna’s voice is dry. “but they were.”

you follow her gaze across the camp, to where misty is arguing with crystal over firewood. to where mari sharpens a blade like it’s therapy. they look at you too much. like you’re something broken they can fix. like maybe if they keep you long enough, jackie will come back in your skin.

“i didn’t ask for this,” you murmur.

shauna nods slowly. “neither did she.”

for a long time, the only sound is the crackling fire and the low murmur of the woods. shauna leans forward, picks up a stick, pokes at the flames like they personally offended her.

“she died in my arms,” she says suddenly. “we were trying to leave that winter. didn’t make it far before the storm hit. i begged her to turn back, but she said—”

her voice catches.

“she said she’d rather die free.”

you stare at her. “and you think i’m her.”

“no,” shauna says, and for once she looks directly at you. “i think you’re braver.”

it stuns you, the way your heart jumps. the way it hurts to hear that.

“i shouldn’t have kept you,” she adds, voice barely above a whisper. “i knew it the second i saw your eyes. you looked at me like i was your jailor.”

“aren’t you?”

shauna snorts. “not anymore.”

you blink. “what do you mean?”

“i mean,” she says, pushing herself to her feet with a quiet groan, “you’re going home.”

your breath stutters. you stand too fast, dizziness tilting the trees sideways.

“why now?”

shauna doesn’t answer right away. she stares into the fire for a long time, like she’s trying to see something in it. maybe a memory. maybe jackie.

then she finally says, “because you deserve to be more than someone else’s ghost.”

and with that, she walks away.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

the castle hasn’t held a celebration in months. not like this.

banners fly from the towers, wine flows like water, and the ballroom is filled with laughter that doesn’t quite reach the edges. people are trying—they raise glasses, smile a little too hard, tell stories with too much volume. but it’s all stretched thin, like the walls themselves are holding their breath.

van’s been holding hers since she put on her best clothes, the ones lottie insisted she wear. a crisp tunic, polished boots, a dark cloak that still smells faintly of smoke. her armor is long gone—stripped from her along with her title—but she stands like she’s still wearing it, stiff and alert, a hand near her belt even though there’s no sword there anymore.

she shouldn’t be here.

but lottie had the vision. and when lottie has a vision, van listens.

now she stands in the corner of the ballroom, pretending not to scan every face that walks through the door. her jaw’s clenched. her fingers drum restlessly on the side of her wine glass.

she hasn’t stopped thinking about you.

eleven months. eleven months without your laugh, your teasing questions, your dumb cloak that always trailed in puddles. eleven months of wondering if she failed you, if you hated her for letting you leave, if you died blaming her.

ben gives a speech from the dais. something about renewal and hope and the future of the kingdom. he doesn’t mention your name.

he doesn’t have to.

every person in the room is thinking about you anyway.

van steps out onto the balcony when the clapping starts, the air too heavy inside. she needs space. she needs—

“van?”

she turns.

and you’re standing at the top of the stone steps, framed by torchlight and stars, with your hood down and your hair tangled and your mouth parted like you weren’t sure she’d be real, either.

“hey,” you say, so quietly.

the glass slips from her hand and shatters on the floor.

it’s loud enough to draw attention.

gasps erupt behind her. one by one, the partygoers fall into stunned silence, their heads turning, their eyes widening.

it spreads like fire through dry grass—noblewomen pressing hands to their mouths, guards half-reaching for weapons before freezing in recognition, servants stumbling in place, stunned.

“it’s her,” someone whispers.

“the princess.”

“no, it can’t be—”

“oh gods, it’s really her—”

and before anyone can speak again, you’re running.

van meets you halfway.

you crash into her chest and she catches you like it’s instinct. her arms lock tight around your back, your cloak flares out behind you. she lifts you off your feet for a second. you’re shaking. so is she.

“i found you,” you breathe.

“you came back,” van says. “you came back to me.”

her voice cracks.

you hear a few more gasps from inside the ballroom. someone actually drops a tray. then—

applause.

it starts hesitant, awkward.

then it grows.

thunderous clapping shakes the ballroom floors. cheers rise like a tide. someone shouts your name, and another shouts van’s. there’s crying, even from people who’ve never spoken to you. you were gone for almost a year. your face was etched in stained glass and prayers.

you were a ghost.

now you’re here.

van presses her forehead to yours, whispering over the roar, “you okay with this?”

you nod against her, just once. “as long as you’re with me.”

she takes your hand. pulls you through the doors.

the crowd parts like waves before you.

people bow. they fall to their knees. a court lady starts sobbing.

and through it all, van stays right beside you. her grip never loosens. not once.

lottie steps forward from the front of the room, her eyes glassy, her smile warm. natalie stands behind her, stunned for once in her life, a half-drunk goblet forgotten in her hand.

lottie says, “the vision was true.”

you offer her the smallest nod of gratitude. she dips her head in return.

ben looks like he’s seen a ghost. you don’t stop to speak to him.

instead, van leans into your ear. “come with me.”

you let her pull you past the crowd, through a side door, down a hallway that’s quieter, darker. the celebration fades behind you, muffled by stone.

she pushes open a smaller door—a forgotten sitting room near the old library—and guides you inside.

you both stand there, finally still.

“i didn’t know if you were dead,” van says, not looking at you yet. “or worse. i didn’t know if you hated me.”

you shake your head, stepping closer. “i thought about you every night.”

“i looked for you every day.”

she sits on the arm of an old velvet chair, gripping the edge like it might anchor her.

“i got stripped of my title,” she says. “when your father gave up the search. he said he was sorry, but that i’d failed.”

your eyes blur. you go to her, falling to your knees in front of where she sits.

“you didn’t fail me.”

“i let you go.”

“you let me dream.”

she meets your gaze for the first time since the ballroom.

“you were the only one who ever treated me like i was more than a precious thing in a glass case,” you say. “you let me want things.”

“i loved you for it,” van murmurs. “gods, i still do.”

you reach for her hand. slide your fingers between hers.

“i think i always loved you,” you whisper. “i just didn’t understand it yet.”

the quiet stretches between you.

then van leans forward, forehead pressed to yours.

“i don’t want to miss any more time with you.”

“you won’t.”

she kisses you again, softer this time. reverent. like a vow.

and for the first time in what feels like forever, you both feel like you’re home.

💌 taglist: @callsignwidow, @freakyjorker, @imlike-so-gaydude, @yellowjacketsslvt69, @moonwateraura, @gracynparsons, @casualclamturkey, @crainalley0227, @auroraseddie

[askbandit]

The X

This has been a long time coming.

I've thought of many ways of sharing this story publicly, but I've recently decided that it's better to just get it out there now and revisit adapting it into a game, comic, or video later. I really miss answering your Bandit questions and I want to get back to it in this new year. With all that being said, here's the summarized story about Bandit and how he got his signature X.

--

Our story starts with the Elsen that has No Fear in Zone 2, that fellow who ripped the pages from the books and sold one of them to the Batter. There was no "Bandit" back then, just a troublemaker by the name of Varik Fassad. Varik was always a greedy smart aleck, but what's important is that he was (and still is) fearless. When a Zone gets purified, all life is immediately pulled into the Nothingness to die. Elsens pulled into the Nothingness will become overwhelmed and burn out, but Varik did not. His lack of fear prevented him from burning, and because he no longer had a use in the game, he effectively had free reign from then on. The X comes as a physical representation of his connection to the Nothingness after purification. It's a part of him, he's a part of it. His disconnection from the story of OFF when he enters the Nothingness is also why he's able to enter other games/has an awareness of the fandom. He has no restrictions.

--

Now that all of that is out of the way, keep a look out for this blog's next pinned post to see what will happen now that the X story's been told. If you all have any additional questions about his backstory or the X, I will now be accepting those types of questions on my main, @doughguts-art . I will be reblogging any questions I get here too for archival purposes.

[threecowsusingthistoreadcomics]

Part 2 here!

The solstice project!!! Me and @banditblvd teamed up to answer the question everyone’s obviously been asking since Wild Life: what if Mumbo and Skiz were small??? What if they were just little guys??? Itty bitty???

Jokes aside, this was so much fun, and I think it genuinely improved my skills as an artist by a landslide. Bandit is such a cool artist, and I’m thrilled that I got the experience of working with him!!! (His stylization and speed,,,, ough,,, and I’ve been stealing character design details from this project because they’re So Good) .

It is in fact the Winter Solstice and anyone who says otherwise will be put into Time Prison ( i. have had a headache for the past 2 1/2 months. bandit thank you for being incredibly patient while my brain has beaten me up :] ).

[usoppsstar]

🦀"Meeting Granny" Fatherhood Luffy drabble pt 2

S:This is how I imagine Dadan and Luffy's daughter meet for the first time

Tw: Tiny bit of angst/fluff/ just a drabble/ spoilers if you're not at Marineford; there might be mistakes🦀🦀🦀

Pt 1

***🦀***

The mountain bandits stand there in shock as you and Luffy casually make your way down the trail, a huge smile on his face as he continues to wave. The baby on the floor turns her chubby body around and reaches forward with short arms and grabby hands.

“Pa-pa!” she stutters the way a baby does,and Dogra and Magra have to stop Dadan from flipping onto her head again. Her mind was reeling as she tried to process the information that was slowly piecing itself together.

“Luffy!? Wha-?! Who-?!” Dadan just stares with her mouth open, words failing to make their way out. What was Luffy doing here all of a sudden? Who was that woman and why did the kid just call him papa? All the questions storm in each of the trio’s heads as you and Luffy finally walk up to them.

“Papa!” The little girl says more urgently as you both walk up to her. Perhaps she was waiting for you two and was tired now.

“There you are, button! Did you have fun exploring where papa grew up?!” Luffy asks her cheerily as he picks her up under her armpits. It's right then, when Luffy hoists her up onto his forearm that the dots connect. With their faces side by side, there was no doubting it. This little girl is Luffy's daughter. The realization only gets clearer for them when they look over at your face as you frown at Luffy, most likely for encouraging your one year old daughter to wander around a forest by herself. Dadan watches the three of you interact before finally finding her voice.

“Luffy! That's you isn't it!? What're you doing here!? Who are these people?!” she shouts as she gestures wildly, her afternoon randomly bombarded with familiar and unfamiliar faces. Luffy just looks up from where you're both picking leaves out of your daughter's thick hair, and laughs heartily.

“It's been a long time huh? It's so good to see you guys!” He keeps trucking, completely grazing over Dadan’s questions. Dogra and magra don't seem to notice because they're quickly ready to walk over and greet him, happy after not seeing the boy they helped raise after so many years.

“Luffy! It's good to see you too-!''They're about to say before they both come to a rough stop behind one of Dadan’s arms.

“Hey! Forget all the pleasantries dammit! Is this your kid!? And is she the mother?! Someone answer my questions!” She demands before huffing and puffing while you all look at her, even the baby who has her tiny hand in her mouth. Luffy just blinks at her before humming.

“ Well,this is my baby, and this is y/n. We made her because we're together and had se-!” He explains with a hand on his chin before being cut off by a tiny voice.

“Granny??” Your daughter asks curiously while pointing at her, and then turns back and looks at the both of you. Dogra and magra smiles but Dadan just sputters helplessly.

“what!? I'm not your-?!” She tries to correct her but Luffy just laughs out loud.

“Yeah you can call her granny!” Luffy casually encourages his child. Dadan tries to deny her new “grandchild” again but when everyone just starts laughing and talking away, she just sighs and smacks her forehead.

“Let's just go inside and eat.” She groans and Luffy cheers as you all walk inside behind her.

***

After a full day of talking, laughing, and catching up at a large party the bandits decided to throw, everyone has started to wind down. Luffy took off with you, who dadan found out was not Luffy's wife or something but a member of his crew that has been with him romantically for a long time, into the forest to show you his, Ace, and Sabo’s old treehouse. The rest of the mountain bandits have either gone off to continue drinking at the pub in the village, or are passed out from partying so hard. Dadan herself is sitting at her chair by the window, a cigarette in her mouth but not lit, and your and Luffy's baby fast asleep in her arms. She didn't want to take her of course, but Luffy plopped her in her arms with a smile and took off, similar to his grandfather. Only, dadan knew you'd both be back for her this time.

“Yur a spitting image of your father y’know that?” She grunts softly while lightly tracing over your daughter's features. Just like luffy, she had hair as black as ink, big round eyes that naturally search for friends and adventure, and a shade of skin that's loved by the sun, a little darker than her dad's but still similar. She guesses she can thank your genes for that richness in hue, that and the thick curls that protect her little head.

“ They're soft as silk.” She thinks to herself as she gently tugs at a coil, watching it stretch before bouncing back into a tight curl. She could tell you took good care of her hair, from the way it shined she knew it was moisturized, and the way she could easily comb her fingers through it without waking her up. There wasn't a tangle in sight. She had never tried to force Ace, Sabo, or Luffy to tame their unruly hair. Shit, she hardly knew how to do more than French braid the thick hair on her own head because she was never taught how to take care of it. The same wouldn't be able to be said for this kid though, because she was a well taken care of baby. Everything about her was smooth and soft, everything, down to the little hands and feet she crawls on. Ace had been the same way when garp had first dumped him on them, so soft that even a dangerous gang of bandits like them couldn't stay angry at him for very long. Until he got older and turned into a little demon anyway.

Unlike Ace, Sabo, and Luffy, and even her own bastard parents that had left her to fend for herself so long ago she could hardly remember how it happened anymore, she would grow up with you two in her lives. You'd both be beside her so there'd never be a moment where she'd have to ask what her parents were like, and who they were. She'd never be chucked into the arms of a couple of mountain bandits and left behind to make her own way. The little girl in her arms would grow up happy. Dadan could see it as clear as day, as if it were all playing out in front of her right then.

“Shit.” Dadan huffs with a wobbly voice, feeling tears burn at her eyes. It's right then that you and Luffy come back.

“Yeah I'll go get her!” He shouts before jogging over to dadan’s window. You thought it'd be cool for you both to spend a night in Luffy's childhood home, but he suggested inviting the bandits onto the sunny with the rest of the crew. That way Sanji could make something better to eat with the things you both hunted today.

“Dadaaan! Come back with us to-!” He shouts as he jogs but stops and slows down once he sees his sleepy daughter. He smiles and leans onto the frame.

“Oh she's out huh?” He laughs a little while playing with a coil of her hair. He gazes at her happily for a moment before he hears a sniff and glances up. Dadan sits there with her face pinched up in a frown, one trembling hand holding your baby and the other covering her face.

“Luffy.” She says his name quietly and Luffy just watches her silently, his hand still gently petting his daughter's hair.

“Yeah?” He responds in his normal tone of voice, waiting patiently for her to speak her mind. Dadan just breathes shakily for a second, steadying herself, before speaking up.

“You take good care of her, got it? Don't you ever leave her alone, or-. If you let anything happen to her I'll kill you.” She cries with tears streaming down her face. She's trying to sound hard, but her voice is somehow still gentle towards the child she took care of for so long. She acts as if it for your daughter's sake but she wonders if she's just trying to protect her heart from the same hurt she felt when Ace was killed. Luffy just looks at her with wide eyes, not at all offended by her threat, before grinning brightly.

“Of course!” He laughs, and they all have a party even grander than the first on the Thousand Sunny.

***🦀***

A/n: randomly finished this! Thanks for reading!🦀🦀🦀

🦀Taggies: @triangularz ; @cookieswithay ; @stoneaf

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[thydungeongal]

I genuinely don't understand what y'all mean by "ok to kill enemies." Everytime it comes up I feel less and less confident I am following the conversation.

D&D kind of has, as part of its DNA, the idea that combat will eventually happen in the game. To that end, throughout the history of the game there have been many different types of guy that in the text of the game have been presented as like almost self-evidently okay to kill simply because. While different editions of the game have tried to move away from some of the more overtly problematic portrayals of this (basically saying that certain types of humanoids are okay to kill because they look funny and live in caves is kinda fucked up), the truth is that pretty much every attempt to look for a suitable Boogeyman that player characters can kill without any iffy ethics about it is going to end up really weird.

Anyway this is why people will often look for types of guy to present as enemies where characters can engage in no-thoughts-head-empty lethal sports with them without anyone needing to have a "wait a minute, are we the baddies?" moment. Demons and the undead are pretty easy to go for here.

My personal favorite approach is to just accept the fact that D&D kinda sucks with black-and-white morality and instead of making the conflict in the world about clear good and evil teams make it about different groups of people with different goals. Orcs can be present but they're no longer "the evil guys it's always morally okay to kill because of biotruths" but instead just some guys who might sometimes have violent disagreements with other people.

Anyway a lot of this stuff doesn't mean anything and as said not engaging with games as texts on this level isn't really necessary to enjoy them. But for me at least it can often elevate gameplay. When bandits aren't just some guys who decided to become evil criminals some day but actual people whose banditry is a response to something going on in the world and their lives, it suddenly makes the conflicts in the world a lot more real and grounded (and sometimes killing those bandits can be the right thing to do, but sometimes negotiating with them or even cooperating them can be the right thing to do. Basically, once you start thinking about all the different types of Guy that inhabit the worlds of D&D not just as game tokens that player characters can hit to make XP come out [although that is also fine and dandy as a playstyle] but as living thinking creatures with actual goals, the types of narratives the game starts to produce also expands a hundredfold.)

Anyway I'm not sure if that answers your question because I went on like a bunch of tangents. But it was also kind of a vague question.