Idk it's just that why aren't more of you screaming about Wolfwood wearing Vash's glasses in Badlands Rumble to go kill the fucker that was reasonable for Vash being not so dead???
Like where's the hype for that? I need it
Look at him!!!!
Motherfucker thought the glasses were all he had left of Vash and wore them in his memory
Here's him figuring out that Vash is not, in fact, particularly dead
*giggles like a school girl* idk i just think he's neat
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Prompt 83
Danny… might have done an oopsie. It wasn’t a big oopsie, probably! He had panicked, it wasn’t his fault! It was their first time in Gotham seeing as his parents were banned for some reason or other, and he was on two hours of sleep after the plane ride!
It’s not his fault the three of them and this tiny child in traffic-light colors are now stuck in this uh, what did you call it again, digital world? It’s not his fault they’re stuck in this digital world with digital monsters! What was that reapmon? Oh, digimon, not digital monsters? Alright cool.
Of course Sam has already befriended the giant goth plant, that’s… not surprising actually. Tucker, you can be in heaven later, what is he supposed to do with this, how old are you? What is he supposed to do with this human ten year old whose adult-vigilante (wow did he wish he had one of those) is probably going to be freaking out?
No he can not just open up a portal back home, infinite realms, remember?! He has to figure out where they are and calculate how to get home!
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Baby Tears
He didn't understand.
The mute mutterings, the mourning eyes, the cold tears.
The black suits and gowns, the tolling chapel's bell, or the sadness on his aunt's face.
All this grief and heartache.
It confused him. His young, naïve, 7-year-old mind couldn't understand it at all.
Couldn't understand the weight and meaning of the funeral.
Or the not-funeral. The adults sometimes called it a memorial. Not that he knew the difference.
He's heard the people speak. Heard them whisper and mourn. Listened with only half an ear to the priest's honourings.
Words of empathy overlapped. A hymn of condolences, speeches, and formal utterances.
Above the lull and sway of confusing words, only one phrase had stuck to him.
"Missing and never found."
The service ended, and friends and family stuck around for one last vigil.
Little blue eyes searched the crowd, looking for the familiar face of his aunt. A man held his little hand, a friend of theirs, keeping him from wandering off.
He spotted his aunt back over at the memorial, littered with photos and candles. He nearly didn't recognise her usually chipper face behind the mask of thinly veiled tears.
The yellow boy tugged at the man's hand, wanting to go over to her. Blue eyes looked up when the man didn't budge.
"I'm sorry, little lad," the green man intoned, the sadness in his own voice muffled by the rain. "Your auntie just needs some space."
The boy's only response was a saddened pout, gazing over at his aunt again. At her despondent figure, kneeling above a picture of two faces he could hardly recognise anymore.
"Auntie Spheria," the little boy murmured that evening back at their home.
"When are they coming back?"
She had gone numb, frozen in her step. Halfway from reaching for the pan in the cupboard, dinner barely prepared.
In her limp silence, she didn't answer him. Couldn't answer him from behind the fresh look of heartbreak on her face.
The little boy's face fell. He had made her sad again.
Little feet trudged over to her side, and the young orb tucked himself under his aunt's arm, wrapping his arms around her waist. Giving comfort, while also seeking comfort.
The kitchen held its breath. A dreary silence.
A warm hand tucked the little boy closer, holding him as though to protect him from the weight of his unanswered questions. His aunt swallowed a sob.
He won't understand. The little boy wouldn't understand for a very long time.
That his mother and father have been missing for years.
And may never come back.
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