lukewarm take of the evening: y'all care too much about being ""outdated"". fellas this smp moves inhumanly fast. it is ok to CHILL holy shit CHILL. y'all are like "(posts BANGER ART) super late guys sorry" friend i am hitting you with a blanket i am snapping you with my metaphorical towel WHAT DO YOU MEAN SORRY. "(posts BANGER FIC) rip this is outdated now" WHO CARES???? I LOVE YOU, OK. ohhhh woe is us as the fandom at large for having MORE HAPPY PILLS ARC CONTENT oh no how outdated!! how could you be writing speculative fiction about how forever felt during happy pills :( slash SARCASM!! WHAT DO YOU MEAN!!!! THERE ARE SO MANY BANGER ARCS, WHAT, YOU THINK WE'RE COMPLAINING????? FOR GETTING MORE OF THE CONTENT WE LOVED????? oh no we're past the period where everyone thought green gay ninjas were like Dead Dead, my work is now outdated and noncanon :( WDYM. GIMME. A BANGER IS A BANGER IDC IF IT TAKES THREE MONTHS. you think rome was built in a day?? fuck you, baltimore, GIMME. my ass has been cooking a goddamn backflipo family fic since july when it was ALREADY outdated do you think i fear god??? "oh no, you're making an edit of slime's (attempted) egg murdering spree?? how could you, that was months ago it's irrelevant" SAID NO ONE EVER.
save your wrists kidlings ok carpal tunnel is no joke. CHILL!!!!! CHILL!!!!!!!! TAKE YOUR TIME SHEEEEEESH OK LOVE YOU <3
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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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