Not Mine
drabble, 601 words, established SnowBaz
I thought one day I’d look in the mirror and see the Mage staring back.
But this is one of those Things I Don’t Think About. AKA Things I’ve Thought About Once and Then Swiftly Pushed Down Into a Pit Deeper Than The Well Agatha Once Got Trapped In.
Thoughts that are Not My Problem.
Baz thinks about it. I see him sometimes, frowning at his jawline in the mirror like his father’s jowls are going to show up without permission or warning. Then he’ll dart a look in my direction and the fear will hover in the air between us. He waits for it to land, forgetting I’ve had quick reflexes since that time the Humdrum sent a hoard of buttercries my first week at Watford. I swat this thought away just as easily, even without being able to call the Sword of Mages. Hyah! Take that.
(I’m pretty sure if I were still in therapy my doctor wouldn’t consider mentally karate-chopping intrusive thoughts a sign of progress but her last notes called me “markedly improved” and she let me go without setting a follow-up appointment, so. Thbbft.)
Although, if I’m being honest, maybe it’s less a factor of repression that I don’t spend a lot of time thinking about whether or not I will one day look like the Mage. Because, honestly, I’m too busy seeing how I look like Gran. Or Grandpa. Uncle Jamie.
My mum.
Gran made me copies of her old photo albums and I lose myself in them sometimes, seeing all the ways I connect to this person I never got to meet. Her eyes. Her shoulders. Her hair.
Her freckles.
She smiles in her photos; the Mage never smiled. Not really. Sometimes he’d try, like he thought I needed his face to show that expression, but it was never his.
I smile. I have smile lines. Baz likes to trace them. Mostly when he thinks I’m sleeping but sometimes when I’m awake. He’s got them, too. No jowls, though. I don't even think not yet after that statement because I don’t think that’s the way he’ll end up looking like his father.
(My bet’s on the silver hair.)
(Mmm.)
Not every son looks like his father. And I realize that’s not something I get to choose. Maybe one day I will wake up with a terrible moustache and Baz will hold me down before I’m even completely alert just to shave it off so I can’t see.
Which is silly.
But that’s love.
Love is the way Baz fears I might one day look in the mirror and see the man who nearly killed me. The man who manipulated me, abandoned me. The man who was meant to be my father but never ever deserved that title.
Love is the way Baz worries over the things I can’t. He holds that fear outside me. He’s ready for the day when it lands.
But I don’t think it ever will.
Maybe this is less a Thing I Don’t Think About and more a Thing That’s Not Mine.
This face is mine. These wrinkles are mine. These freckles, moles, shoulders, eyes … mine.
So is Gran. Uncle Jamie.
Baz.
I don’t look in the mirror and fear. I see. That means—
“Mmm,” Baz hums, coming up behind me, his arms wrapping around my middle as he hooks his chin over my shoulder. He catches my eye in the mirror. “What’s that brain of yours thinking?”
I smile, spinning around so I can kiss away the furrow digging between his brows. “Nothing,” I say. “Nothing at all.”
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John D. Bad is so hardcore besties with Augustus, but they also hate each other in a way.
Also they both work at gamestop and that's how they know each other.
The Chosen actually also worked at gamestop before (mentioned it in trails of the Chosen, so this isn't even a hc), but I think he got fired. I need my fave NEET boy to stay a NEET
Also I fully agree that The Chosen doesn't really like John. He tolerates him mostly for Augustus. John on the other hand wants The Chosen to like him so fucking bad. Which also makes him jealous of Augustus because him and The Chosen get along so much better and he can't figure out what he is doing wrong.
My JDB hc/thoughts.
Oh 1000% agree, John fucking LOVES chosen, he thinks he’s so fucking cool (and hot probably-) and he wants to be his friend (and maybe boyfriend or at least duck buddy— he’s begging here) so fucking bad, he’s tried everything and chosen just resigns him to “the guy I talk about katanas with”
John is so fucking jealous of Augustus it’s crazy— like he’s besties with him— but also hates his guts cause he wants to be Chosen’s friend
Very unhealthy, very possessive and weird- just how I like my John d bad headcanons!
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human.
early access + nsfw on patreon
more backstory that i wrote up for patreon heh:
Simon and Tommy had a complicated relationship as brothers.
At a young age, Simon basically wrote himself off as a lost cause, and did the best he could to make sure at least Tommy had a chance to be a functioning human being. After all, Tommy was the gentler brother, the dreamer, the one who looked like their mother (who'd walked out on them years ago to escape their father). But Tommy got bitter, got sick of the one always being protected, being babied. He lost respect for Simon, for the way he wouldn't fight back, and in a twisted way, grew closer to his father as a way to learn how to be powerful, strong. It backfired, and Tommy got wrapped up in some bad business.
Simon's kid brother died while he was deployed. He got the news in the letter, and it broke him in a big way. In the story timeline, it was years and years ago but it still hurts like hell whenever Simon thinks about him.
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(content warning: blood)
Sewed Up Heart
[ID: A Trigun comic done in grayscale with red accents. First, an anatomical heart gushes blood, forming a puddle which shifts into Vash's coat. Vash's gloved hands can be seen sewing up a tear at the hem.
Vash raises his hands, which are now bare and covered in blood. He looks sweaty and distressed, and he raises his coat to his face and cries into it. His clenched hands rip the sewed portion apart, and the red thread leads to a heart whose own stitches are tearing apart. The background gets darker and darker, and the red looks brighter and starker against it.
Then the background returns to white, and brown-skinned hands using embroidery scissors snip a red thread. Wolfwood holds up Vash's repaired coat, grinning proudly, and does a happy thumbs-up in Vash's direction. Vash lifts his head, seeming distant.
Wolfwood holds out the coat. As Vash puts out his hand to take it, the cloth is replaced so Wolfwood is dropping a sewed-up heart in Vash's hand. Vash rubs the coat against his face with a teary smile. End ID] ID CREDITS
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