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good-wine-and-cheese · 24 days

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Gambling Apocalypse Tenma AU

As I rewatch Kaiji I inevitably end up wanting to combine show I like with other show I like and stuffing fav characters into show. So here we are.

This was uh going to be a short summary type thing but I accidentally wrote a novella about it sorry

This AU starts off with a much more depressive Tenma. After Tobio's death, rather than immediately pour his grief into developing a robot version of his son, he recedes into himself, psychologically paralyzed, likely turning to alcohol to drown out his anguish.

His mental state is taken as an opportunity within the Ministry of Science to have him ejected from his position; Tenma was never the most well-liked director, and there were those with ambition to usurp him that would jump at the chance. Not that he especially cares in his state.

He's eventually dragged out of his stagnation by Ochanomizu - who, inadvertently, becomes the very catalyst pushing Tenma to develop a robot replacement to his child. This was not what he meant by encouraging Tenma to fill the void left by his son.

...But, well, he is no longer the director of the Ministry of Science. His access to limitless government funds and resources for "scientific research" has been cut off, and this is a project he cannot finance on his own. He can't ask Ochanomizu for help, but...interestingly...a representative of a certain shady organization known as the Teiai Corporation reaches out to him, offering to finance and support his project. A sane and well-minded Tenma might think better of it, but grieving and desperate, Tenma accepts their offer and is able to create a robot in the image of his beloved Tobio. For a while, there's joy in his life.

But the bill, as ever, comes due: Tenma must pay up, and the very resources that had been at his disposal will certainly ensure that he will, or else. Of course, he doesn't have the money; instead, he is given a choice. He can relinquish the robot Tobio in order to wipe out his debt - the child is a sophisticated and powerful robot, after all - or he can participate in a certain illicit event hosted by the Teiai Corporation.

It's nothing major...just a four-hour gambling cruise with a collection of desperate, damned souls that were also swept into debt with Teiai. The conditions are simple: Those who choose to participate are given a chance to clear their debts wholesale should they win. And should they lose...?

Well...no one really knows what happens to the losers seized by Teiai. It's said that they labour away their debts under Teiai's watchful eye and are freed once their work has covered their debts, though it's rumoured that most perish before they reclaim freedom.

There's only one answer Tenma can give, of course; he's not willing to lose Tobio again.

Thus is Tenma's debut into the Gambling Apocalypse, where he must become cutthroat in order to survive; if he wants to see his son again, he must make choices that will doom the hapless to miserable servitude, with a nonzero chance it ends in their death.

He survives the cruise, but of course, it was hardly enough to clear his debt; the cruise was never going to be the end of it. Teiai doesn't let go of its victims that easily. He will be called on again: this is a weight that hangs over him, all while he returns to his son Tobio. The same hands that have pushed innocents into hell must now be the hands that can embrace his child.

He wants to protect Tobio from the truth and enjoy what peaceful moments he's allowed with his son, but it's difficult. It's difficult to be the parent of a child who cannot understand the danger that looms ahead; this "happy" home is not to last. Tenma angers quickly and easily. He turns that anger onto Tobio.

As Teiai's games become more and more vicious and unrelenting, as his conscience holds onto the last vestiges of thread that remain, Tenma even threatens, once, to give the boy in: it would all end, then; the debt would be clear and no longer would he have to endure Tobio's childish annoyances, his ungratefulness.

The next time that Tenma is beckoned, Tobio takes matters into his own hands. He does understand, now; and he would have, if only Tenma had bothered to explain sooner. If it's a debt that needs clearing, he will work. He will help his father clear his debts however he can. Of course, it's difficult to find work as a child; but a circus troupe finds amusement in the idea of a child robot, and takes him in. He is whisked into a certainly unpleasant working situation, but he remembers his father, and what he must be enduring. Tobio, also, will endure.

When Tenma returns, Tobio is gone.

All that held Tenma back from becoming something monstrous has disappeared. All that kept him going has disappeared. When he is called upon by Teiai, there is no knowing what sort of person might come out the other end; whether a monster clawing his way to freedom regardless of what actions he must take, or a desolate husk surrendering defeat.

There is still a light, however dim: Found by Professor Ochanomizu and rescued from the circus, Tobio - now Atom - is able to shed light on the situation which Tenma took great pains to keep hidden from his old friend. With time running out, Ochanomizu and Atom must do what they can to save Tenma - from Teiai, and from himself.

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UHHH and that's a wrap!!!! I couldn't quite decide which way Tenma would go after hitting Rock Bottom in this AU, and tbh it would really depend on the kind of mental state he's in at the time. On the one hand I like the narrative of Ochanomizu and Tobio racing to prevent Tenma from crossing a line (actual outright murder probably) - or having to pull him back into humanity (and yknow, his ensuing penance)

But on the other hand having him get sent to Teiai Evil Hell Prison would be interesting because a) there's a lot of narrative potential having Tenma faced with what Teiai is doing with the people that lose the games and b) need him to decimate the foreman at chinchirorin Kaiji style

Tenma's whole character is definitely a much different guy in this AU, he starts off pretty sympathetic, the guy you wanna root for, he just ends up having an inverse character arc where he gets worse instead of better. His conflict with "Tobio" is also kind of reversed, less about being unsatisfied with Tobio as a son and more not being able to handle the fact that he probably has intense PTSD now and isnt capable of coping with it in a way conducive to being a parent (or like, coping at all)

Anyway that's gambling apocalypse tenma!!!

#umataro tenma #long post #well that became a novel. sorry lmao #in my mind teiai's evil hell prison in astro boy verse would probably be quite a bit different than regular kaiji #like. fuckin. weapons manufacturing for teiai or something like that. or scary bad danger robots. horrifying concept #Tenma would be a valuable asset to them whether by giving up Atom or by losing in death game hell and being forced to work for em #and if he dies? they can just take atom #get him out of there.#I'm also thinkin of who Teiai would be represented by.....the snakey loan sharks u could easily put skunk in there.#but who is an evil fucked up sadist billionaire. theres probably someone who could be fucked up enough I just dont know offhand #and im allergic to mischaracterizing in AUs lol im not gonna make a slightly bad guy into an evil freakguy. so. Hyoudou is just himself.#if you squint this could be considered an 80s astro boy AU..has a cruise arc & not actually giving atom away #but man. that tenma LEAST of all deserves this fate lmao #do I want to write fic of this? yes. will I? not likely!#I can just smell it dude this would be some crazy fuckoff 100k shit I am not ready brother #also it would just be soooooo so so so so so edgy. I dont really enjoy writing intensely grim stuff w/ little to no respite #also tbh. I am too stupid. LOL. I cannot write clever gambles alas

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veganslenderman · 26 days

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Just got to season 2 in my second listen of The Silt Verses and. Ough. Catabasian Mason must be a steampunk lamppost, because he is gaslighting the living shit out of Faulkner.

#free my boy #yeah he committed several atrocities but he is also just a little guy #the silt verses #brother faulkner #they really went 'hey in case you forgot this is a story aboht cults'#here is a textbook example of Cult Leader Behavior

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darehearts · 5 months

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before work claims me for the day... good morning bbs ! 🫶🏻

#happy thursday! i hope you all are doing well beloveds!! i'm sadly #slowing down a lot due to work being super insane but i am soooo #eXCITED FOR THE WEEKEND! i'm getting a rose pink ombre and #a nice haircut this saturday! 😌✨ and sunday my baby brother and i #are going to go to a japanese restaurant for dinner. it's the little things!#i miss you all and especially Jim. my spy verse brainrot is SO REAL #i hope to channel that this weekend! ily~#tbd

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coleroz · 2 years

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Top: this is... based on some fic I skimmed a while back and can't even remember now, sry.

Middle: inspired by various (but no particular)fantasy/medieval aus, of which I am extremely fond.

Bottom: Discowing era Dick surprising Robin era Jason with a hug.

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byanyan · 3 months

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It was too bad there weren't more books on humans in Sigma Rhada.

That was to expect from a species that wasn't native to Eros, but even so, the lack of information frustrated him. Ardaka knew he could ask the human he had in his life any question that came to mind… But the answer he would receive was always going to be limited. Very limited. Byan's recent antics had told the kariian there was some sort of significant human-related event happening, but he also didn't want to just ask them about it. Not only did it ruin any surprise, Byan was… Avoidant at the best of times. Sometimes a liar at his expense. They would deny it, but they were often flustered, too. He knew the sort of thing they'd find difficult to answer. Something sentimental, heartfelt — he knew Byan struggled with that, and for good reason. He'd indulge himself with a question later on, but for now…

The recent gift was something of a statement. Something had prompted it. While he wasn't sure of what it was, it didn't take Ardaka long to decide to begin putting together a gift for his human companion. It seemed like humans had too many holidays for him to truly keep track of anyway, but he understood the sentiment. Kariians did have similar gift-exchanging holidays, sparse as they were. Something related to things that were dear to you in your life. For the little human to express that sentiment to him meant something. It warranted a reciprocation, and gladly.

In fact, sometimes it seemed like he was running out of excuses to give Byan things, flighty and perpetually-unsettled as they often were. There always needed to be a reason for it. Even if Ardaka didn't exactly have the context, this was still a good one.

The gift Byan had made was now a month ago. Maybe two. Aside from framing the portrait, Ardaka hadn't mentioned it. He, too, had taken time to compose what he'd wanted to give them now. The Hunter had needed time to think… But he also needed time to perfect it. Even with his cybernetic eyes having the ability to gauge exact distance, Ardaka had went through the effort of being exact. He didn't want to say 'Hey, stand still while I measure the radius of your skull,' so he opted to wait for Byan to be asleep to do it without the potential hassle of spoiling his intentions. Ardaka was neurotic and anxious to those who knew him well, but when he intended to hide something, there were few more adept than he was. Byan might've assumed the kariian had no plan at all before they came across their gift.

How did they find it? First one of their knives had gone missing. In its usual place, a note to lure Byan elsewhere in the base, titled Humor Me.

From their backpack pocket to one room then another. Notes and riddles but nothing concrete until they come to the main room. There upon the table, not the knife but instead a sleek pair of gloves. They held the visual of being fingerless on first glance, but there was thin and resilient wiring that extended down to the fingers, meant to wind around them like rings. The note here read simply, Byan, then You'll figure them out. Then, Turn this over after.

Each knuckle held a divot like something was meant to come out, and the technical nature and feel of them left an implication that there was more to be garnered here. When Byan would put them on, including the wiring as intended, there was a subtle but painless undercurrent of electricity within. Only when they snapped their fingers did the note's promise come to fruition. Thumb to little finger, the power in the gloves hummed stronger. The nearest metal — a conveniently placed piece of cutlery — magnetized quickly to their palm. Snapping the combination again made them disappear, or even combo with another of the glove's features. Thumb to ring finger, a quarter of hard-light blades shot out from the divots atop the knuckles, similar in visuals to Ardaka's pink hard-light prosthetic. Warm like a sun-heated window-pane and as sharp as any knife. Thumb to middle finger, the hard-light took on an appearance more like plasma, and spread over like liquid across Byan's hands, moulding over them and effectively cutting off any sensation of outside temperature; they could have soaked their hands in acid then and remained perfectly safe. Thumb to index finger, the hard-light blades of the ring-finger snap extended and whirled into a circular shape, creating a small — but effective — shield.

When the note was turned over, there was another single sentence. Now where would I put a sword?

The room next to the training gym, naturally. Where he kept every blade, practically all of them too heavy for Byan to ever be interested in borrowing. Byan finds their knife here — among other things. The dagger is embedded through the next note, and into the neck of the training dummy. In the chest of the dummy is another blade — much longer than a dagger… And atop its makeshift head is a helmet, much smaller than those the Hunter donned.

The note didn't start with Byan's name exactly.

The gloves, the helmet, and the sword is for you. I admit, this might just be a convoluted scheme to get you to wear a helmet or a mask… But I know you'll find use in the gloves and the sword. Destructive use, I'm sure, but use nonetheless. I trust you'll do more damage with these than you will with a switchblade. Try not to get carried away when you're in here with any property damage, though..

It was a proper sword under that note, its hilt made of dense metal, the heaviest piece of the weapon. Consequently, had Byan discovered each trick to the new pair of gloves, the magnetized pull of it was powerful enough to draw it right into their palm, where it fit easily, hilt-first. The weight was far easier to manage than the swords the kariian used despite its weight, its edge so light it almost seemed it was only fit to cut, to slash but not to cleave.

That was, until another of the glove's abilities was active. The harmless plasma-y liquid that coated over Byan's hand would extend up the sword, where it seemed to ignite like a lit match to a wick. It turned the edge of the blade white-hot with the barest hint of the same pink that shared the energy of these new tools. Hot and deadly enough to slice through metal like butter. It also brought attention to a script carved into the surface of that blade, that glowed a vibrant hue instead of white.

The helmet, on the other hand, was a sort of two-piece helmet. A front-facing protective mask that could seal to an additional attachment, making it take on a look more similar to that of Talon's motorcycle helmets. If it wasn't obvious that it was intended for Byan — the armor was, of course, pink. Bright, bright pink.

An additional two notes were attached. One another letter, and another attached with more care, on a material more resembling cardboard than paper in its thickness. It was a sketch of Byan. There was no color like the picture the teen had made the kariian, but each line was obviously etched by a claw dipped in ink, loose and minimalistic in comparison. While there seemed as few lines as needed to make the portrait, the human's dark eyes conveyed an intense, mischievous emotion.

Thank you for your gift to me. Accept mine to you as well. They may be a little over the top, but I think you deserve something worthy of being called a real set of gear. Not just a toothpick, but something even I would use.

The words on the sword say 'vaxa osti a todivarr mûrû'. It's a saying in my language that would translate roughly into 'the edge to depend upon'. This blade doesn't have a name, but all great ones do. I hope one day I'll learn what it is.

Sukehiir vur ruure a ohhta. Koz khukh kharvas xot zar mrrar sukeh zqrry.

re: byan inexplicably leaving ardaka a christmas gift with no context.

ㅤwaking up to a treasure hunt for their own knife was not how byan expected their day to start. and yet, here they were, barely awake and stumbling from room to room still clad in their pyjamas and intense bedhead, squinting at each note and trying to solve the clues without an ounce of caffeine in their system as of yet. part of them was tempted to step away for a moment to make some coffee before continuing to pursue the odd little search, but their curiosity to where this was going had them telling themself 'i'll do it after i find the next part' with each note they picked up, all the way to the base's main room.

stuffing the now-solved note into their pocket, byan approached the table with interest further piqued by the sight of more than just another note this time. it wasn't the knife that they were trying to track down, but they were some pretty cool looking gloves. a bit simple for their taste at first glance but, sliding the note closer and reading it over, there was an implication that they were more than they appeared. undeniably intrigued, the teen snatched one of the gloves off the table and lifted it toward their face, turning it over as they surveyed it more closely. there was something more here, upon closer inspection, even beyond the odd wiring which ran along the fingers, though they couldn't quite figure out what. knowing the sort of tech ardaka had and worked with, however, there was an excitement buzzing in the back of their head at the possibilities.

after a few further moments of study only to come up empty-handed, the only conclusive next step to figuring them out, as the note clearly intended for them to do before proceeding with the hunt, was to put them on. slipping their hands inside each of the gloves, impressed with how perfectly they fit, byan wasn't sure of what to expect, but the sudden sensation of an electrical undercurrent, painless as it was, earned a faint start regardless. ...okay, so there was definitely something more here.

it took a bit of playing around to figure things out. from simply touching the table and the note to closing their hands into fists and slipping them into their pockets to even just clapping their hands together, nothing seemed to cause anything interesting to happen. ...until they snapped their fingers absentmindedly while trying to think up some other way to get the things to activate, that was. the hard-light blades popped out first, earning yet another startled jump and a wide-eyed stare that melted into a thrilled excitement in a matter of seconds. oh, that was so much fucking cooler than they were prepared for. turning their hands to admire the warm pink blades, a wild grin took over byan's features as countless fun and kickass uses for such a thing began to flood their mind. experimentally, they snapped their fingers again, and the weapons disappeared just as suddenly as they'd appeared. god, it was so goddamn cool.

fully forgetting about the entire idea of making coffee, far more awake now than they had been in trying to follow all the previous notes, byan snapped their fingers a third time, this time catching their ring finger and their middle finger without really thinking about it. to their continued surprise, a second feature revealed itself, their hands now coated and seemingly protected by the same hard-light as before. while less exciting than the weapon function, there was no doubt that this would prove useful as well. more than that, though... there was no way these gloves had a different feature activated by each finger... right? obviously, it had to be tested, so they snapped their index finger next, revealing the gloves' shield capability — also not as cool as hard-light knuckle knives, but unquestionably handy considering how much more often they found themself being shot at these days. then, finally, they snapped their pinkie finger last and watched in utter bewilderment as a piece of cutlery they'd barely made note of across the table was sucked straight into the palm of their hand. —okay, so that was pretty neat. they definitely found the coolest part of the gloves first, but they couldn't say that had complaints about any of the features. all of them would absolutely be getting use in the future.

although tempted to keep playing with the gloves and all their capabilities, a glance at the note still laying on the table reminded them that they weren't done yet — their knife was still missing, after all. deactivating the gloves' functions with another snap of their fingers, byan dropped the fork back to the table, trading it for the note which they finally turned over. 'where would i put a sword,' huh? now that was an easy one.

ㅤshoving their way through the door to the room which sat next to the gym — the room they liked to think of as the 'sword shed' for all the weapons it housed — the teen flicked the light on and found they didn't have to search very far for their knife. they were, however, drawn to a pause by the sight: the knife pinning the next note to a training dummy's neck, a (very pink) helmet atop its head, and another weapon, one they hadn't seen before, embedded in its chest. this was... a lot more than just the gloves. overwhelming, in a way, as they started to get a better idea of what the point of luring them all the way here was. still, byan padded quietly through the room on socked feet, approaching the dummy and reaching for their small blade. a quick yank was enough to pull it free and, folding it closed, they pocketed it while their eyes slowly scanned over what appeared to be the final note.

despite themself, they couldn't help but smile a little as they read. as they suspected, the items were all intended for them — a convoluted scheme to get them to wear a helmet and mask, he said, but something told them that the whole thing was just as much to give them a gift without them being able to refuse it. ...something they couldn't deny that he'd done a damn good job of, considering how goddamn awesome the gloves were on their own. they might not have been great at accepting gifts given to them with express intent to make them happy, always struggling when handed proof that someone knew and understood them so well, proof that someone cared enough about them to go out of their way to bring them things they'd like, but even they had a hard time saying no when those gifts were sickass weapons.

breathing a soft snort of a laugh through their nose at the comment about the destructive use they were sure to find in the gloves and sword, byan folded the paper once they finished reading and tucked it into their pocket alongside all the notes which came before it, their eyes drawn to the sword sticking out of the dummy's chest. a hand extended toward it, but froze about a half-second later as a more fun idea came to mind. remembering the gloves' magnetic ability, and having already suspected that it might come in handy if they were ever disarmed in a fight, the teen glanced down at their still covered hands with interest. then, after a moment or two of recalling which finger combination did what, they used their thumb and pinkie and held their hand open, outstretched toward the weapon. almost as if it was the full intention behind the design of both pieces of equipment, the sword tore free of the dummy's torso and snapped directly into the palm of their hand, hilt first. fuck, that was awesome. fingers closing around it, byan tested the blade's weight, turning their hand over this way and that, and then gave it a few experimental swings. it certainly held some decent weight, but it was nothing compared to that of ardaka's weapons, which they were unable to hold for more than a few moments, if at all. this one... it was chosen, if not outright made, with them in mind, and they weren't sure how to feel about it.

deciding it easier to not think too much about it right this moment, to focus instead on how cool the thing was, byan found themself with another question in mind: if their suspicion was right, that the gloves and the weapon were meant to work together... did more than just the magnetic ability affect with the sword? maybe it was a silly thought, some wishful thinking, but they couldn't help but to feel like something was off. something about the blade, how lightweight it was in comparison to the hilt, almost seemed like it was missing something, even if it was clearly functional as is. even if it turned out they were wrong, it couldn't hurt to try, right? no one was here to witness it if they only made a fool of themself.

eyeing the sword and giving it some thought, byan activated the gloves so that the hard-light coated their hands again, just to see. lo and behold, it appeared their guess wasn't so out there after all — blinking, they watched as the strange liquid-like substance ran up along the sword's blade and seemingly heated up, far hotter and much more deadly-looking than the hard-light blades of the gloves themselves.

ㅤㅤ" whoa... "ㅤthe display earned a genuine gasp, their eyes shining as they stared on in awe. alright... everything had been cool so far, but this officially took the cake. a few more experimental swings were given, these even more satisfying than the last with the way the blade glowed and how the heat that emanated off of it, and byan couldn't resist — they had to try something a little more with this one, it was too fucking cool to just turn off without a proper test. thus, turning to one of the other nearby training dummies, they squared up against it, pointing the end of the sword at its chest. practically vibrating with all their excited energy but still trying to look cool, even if they were the only one in the room, the teen readied themself and then let loose a violent swing, cleaving the dummy neatly in two. the torso dropped to the floor with a dull thump, and they couldn't contain the broadest, toothiest grin their face was capable of forming as they looked from one piece to the other. it was only then that, in raising the sword again, they caught a glimpse of what appeared to be an inscription. must've been too distracted by the white hot edge of the blade to notice it before, they figured, pulling the weapon closer to their body to inspect. the script looked like it was probably kariian, which felt like the obvious guess, though they certainly couldn't read it themself, much less translate it. curious as to what it might say, but admittedly somewhat afraid to actually ask when they'd see ardaka later — both because they'd rather not acknowledge the gift if they could help it and also out of an odd sort of fear of all the endless possibilities which could potentially hit too close to home in all sorts of ways — byan again decided to put it out of their mind, deactivating the gloves and setting the sword to the side in order to lay their attention on the final piece of this weird but amazing gift: the helmet.

grasping the armor between their hands, they wrenched the helmet off the dummy's head and drew it in for a closer look. unexpectedly, there seemed to be another note attached, drawing byan to an almost hesitant halt as they pulled the paper and the much thicker, almost cardboard material carefully free. ...that seemed intentional, like they weren't supposed to notice it until they went for the helmet. like they were supposed to find it last, like ardaka knew the helmet would be the least interesting item of the three. and to his credit, he was right — even looking at it now, byan could tell that it wasn't as decked out with cool features as the gloves or the sword, it was literally just a helmet with a protective face covering. ...which, okay, yeah, it was probably about time they had one. at least he got it in pink, that way they might be more inclined to wear it. they'd try it on later, though. maybe when they actually needed it.

setting the headgear to rest alongside the sword, the teen's attention shifted once more to the items which had been attached to it, a slightly wary look etched into their features. ...this felt like it was going to be the really meaningful part of the whole thing. the little treasure hunt and the gadgets had all been fun, set up in a very deliberate way to make sure they were enjoyed to the fullest. it was something they appreciated, though they wouldn't say it, because it made it easier for them to follow along without question, without any overwhelming concern that they were going to get slapped in the face at any point by anything emotional or serious. it was an ideal way to give them a gift, and they had to give ardaka credit for it, even if the realization that he knew them well enough to put together such a scheme in the first place was a bit... frightening, in a way. it was a show of how close they'd allowed themself to get, how much they'd allowed themself to be seen. and this, the final piece in it all, was sure to be the one where ardaka finally allowed himself to express his feelings, as he was so fond of doing. oh, he was good; he knew exactly how to do all of this, didn't he? ...it was stupid how nervous they felt, standing there alone in the weapon room, with nothing but a note in their hand. —well, a note and...

drawing in a steady breath, byan flipped the thicker of the two sheets over first, freezing up at the revealed image. it was... them. even the most cursory glance made that much clear, despite the simplicity of the drawing. —it wasn't even simple, it was merely minimalistic, with great care still clearly taken with each line. did he...? —he did. not only did he draw them, a portrait in return for that which they drew of him, but he did it in his own unique style with his own favoured tools: his claws. these were no lines drawn by pens or painted by brushes, there was something too different about them, the ink had flowed off in such a unique way... it had to be his claws. despite themself, despite the tightness in their chest, despite everything, looking the drawing over forced another smile across their lips against their will. he nailed the expression, okay? that was it. it wasn't like they found it really sweet or meaningful or like they planned to display it in their room like they'd noticed he'd done with theirs, or anything! ...there was a pretty good shelf in their closet that they could set it up on though, so they'd see it at least once a day without it being obvious...

clearing their throat, ignoring the uncomfortable tightness that had extended up into it from their chest, byan turned the final final note over and covered the portrait with it so they could stop thinking about that, too. having braced themself for some really mushy, emotional comments about them, about his decision to set up this whole experience for them, and about the gift they had left him several weeks ago, it came as quite a surprise when reading through it... they didn't find it that bad. there was still some weight to it, of course, but nothing nearly so intense as they were expecting. he even balanced it out with a comment about their knives being toothpicks to (playfully) exasperate them, and left a translation for the inscription on the blade so they wouldn't have to ask him in person — and that, too, was far more tame than they had anticipated. if they were to guess, the part of the note written at the bottom in kariian, the one part they couldn't read, was probably the bit with the most emotion in it, which... again, they had to give him credit. if that guess was right, that meant he effectively left them able to maintain their comfortable ignorance, unprepared to handle words too kind or heartfelt, while also being able to express those things as he preferred to. it was clever, and they would be ignoring it for the time being.

he got them. he fucking got them. he figured out the perfect way to give them a gift perfectly tailored to them without having them turn it down and take off, the perfect way to get them to actually accept and (potentially) wear a helmet and/or a mask, and the perfect way to give them something heartfelt, as well as a (presumably) heartfelt note without freaking them out. he was truly a worthy adversary. ...or rather, a worthy friend. or... something closer to family, maybe.ㅤㅤ—maybe.

smile gentler than they'd ever admit to, than they'd ever allow anyone to see, byan kept the last note neat and flat against the portrait beneath it and proceeded to collect both the helmet and the sword. although they had the full intention of coming back to mess around a little more seriously with the gloves and the blade in a while, they wanted to tuck everything else safely away first. —so that if ardaka came in later, he wouldn't see it all still there and comment on it, obviously! not because they wanted to keep it safe, or anything!! ...but also maybe so they could finally get that cup of coffee and have a few minutes to process the strange and somewhat overwhelming morning they'd had before they started stabbing and cutting more dummies in half.

ㅤwhen they left the room, items bunched together carefully in their arms, it was on light feet, hair bouncing with each step, and a warm, happy smile still firmly intact.

#apexulansis #━━ ˟ ⊰ ✰ answered: ic ⋮ i am a vulture that feeds on pain.#━━ ˟ ⊰ ✰ verse: space orphan ⋮ a legend in my own mind.#somehow this ended up both longer than i meant and not as in depth as i wanted? i got lost a few times i hope it's all coherent lmao #ugh & i'm sorry it took me so long to get to i just wanted to make sure i answered when i had the right amount of energy for it so i could #do it justice bc this is so fuckign goOD i kept just rereading the ask bc it's so PERFECT and cute UGH #point is? best christmas ever. coolest gifts they've ever gotten hands down. they'll be using these CONSTANTLY from now on.#......okay tbf he might still need to remind them about the helmet #they have such like. grossed out little brother 'ewww don't be nice to me wtf' energy i stg

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sallytwo · 8 months

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SAm!!! you can't believe how hyped I am about the dovewing pmv you're making!!! the more wips I see of it the more I'm like "waogahah this is gonna be the best thing ever".. like the warrior cats community is not ready for this. *I'm* not ready for it

THANK YOU SO MUCH THIS MEANS SO MUCH TO ME… i’ve never done a project this big like i’ve been spending every spare hour on this and it makes me sooo happy to see that other people are looking forward to it. whenever i get to critical of my art i just think that like… i’ve been staring at this for hours upon hours ofc i hate it but for people who have never seen it it’s exciting.. they don’t see every mistake like me. anyway IM SO EXCITEDDD it should be done by the end of the week :)

#i finished the super long interlude i was soooo worried about it but i switched styles and LOVED how it came out…#i’m finsihing the second to last verse now (my brother says he hates me / and satan is his master) (obv about ivy)#and then i just have a little 4 bar instrumental which i have a simple design for then the last verse.. which is longer #but since i’ll eb close to the end i think it’ll be fine

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charlottedabookworm · 1 year

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for the and I didn't like the ending: perhaps a 5+1 thing of the people around Art!Aegon noticing how touch starved/messed up he is? like the failed hug scene with Leanor.

Alternatively, the moment where Viserys suddenly becomes viscerally aware that his son only cares about him in a "professional" sense tied to his identity as king and Aegons "responsibilities" as a prince but could not give any less of a fuck about him personally.

this maybe got away from me a little lol

also i have no idea how coherent this is but it's officially Late here so I'm going to bed enjoy people realising that actually egg might be thought starved the poor boy he's still running away for most of this

(0)

The thing is-

The thing is that now Egg has noticed, he cannot stop noticing.

The thing is that once, so long ago that his breath catches in his lungs, he'd been raised with a dozen sisters who would run their fingers through his hair of a night. He'd had rough hands curl around his arms daily as he'd trained with George and the boys, and he'd pressed shoulder to knee with Wet Stick and Back Lack in narrow alleys as they'd hidden from nobles with lighter pockets.

Once, a lifetime ago, Art had had Tristan's arm slung around his shoulders as they both laughed. He'd had Blue's tiny body curled at his side of a night, his nephew-son ever-haunted by his father's death. He'd had his sisters and his knights and the Mage rolling her eyes at it all even as she shouldered past him to deal with whatever it was he was being a baby about.

Once.

He hadn't noticed.

But Helaena does not like touch and he is used to this, he can understand it, and Aemond has already deemed himself too old for the casual touches of childhood. His nephews are affectionate, yet never with him, and it leaves a lump in his throat. His father... he does not think his father has held him since he still toddled.

And Egg has never been his mother's favoured child, even when he was her only child.

(How hadn't he noticed?)

Cold flame licks at his shoulders and his chest aches as he remembers the warmth of Ser Laenor's arm. The burning-scalding-warmth of another's touch and he-

Aegon aches.

It aches.

(When is the last time he touched someone outside of the training yard?)

It burns and-

He presses himself into the corner of his rooms, walls tight against his shoulders, and wraps his arms around his knees in a bare semblance of a hug.

It's cold.

(1)

"Like this, Jace."

He frowns, teeth tugging at his lips even as he allowed his uncle to prod his limbs into place with quick, there-and-gone touches. "It feels odd."

Qȳbor Egg grins. "It will, but-" his uncle pokes him in the chest, pushing against him in a way that would have seen him falling before, and then pulling away. "See?"

His eyes widen. "I see," he says, nodding, even as he glances down at his feet. They don't look that different, so how-

"Prince Aegon!"

He flinches, ducking his head as Ser Criston Cole's voice barks across the courtyard.

Egg rolls his eyes, but stands straight nonetheless, his grin fading as he walks towards the knight.

Jace's frown widens as he watches his uncle walk away.

"We should hug him," his brother says, curling into his side the way he always does, and he can hear the matching frown in his words. "He looks sad."

Aegon always looks sad, Jace thinks, even when he's happy. Instead, he shakes his head and curls his arm around his brother. "Qȳbor doesn't like hugs," he reminds his brother. He wishes he did.

He doesn't like that he's so sad when there's nothing they can do to help.

"I know," Luke says, mournful, and his fingers tangle in the tail of his tunic in the same way he does with muña. "He's like Hel so we're not allowed to hug him unless he hugs us first."

His brother sounds about as happy with it as Jace feels.

Their uncle really looks like he needs a hug.

"Come on, valonqar. Let's go and find kepa, maybe he'll let us ride on Seasmoke with him."

(2)

"Aegon!"

His goodbrother blinks at him. "Ser Laenor?"

He winces, clasping his hand to his chest theatrically in the way that always has Rhaenyra and their boys smiling. "Come, cousin," he continues in Valyrian as the boy's lips twitch. "Call me Laenor, if I can convince you of nothing else."

"Oh?"

The raised brow and sharp look that Aegon gives him is so Rhaenyra that he could laugh. Instead, he places his best encouraging smile upon his lips and moves slowly closer. "The boys are begging for us to spar again, this time when they can watch."

Aegon pauses.

Something that Laenor recognises but cannot name flickers across his eyes, leaving him with the sinking feeling of diving deep on Seasmokes back, fires flaring on the beach below, the wind whirling around them as they fall-

"Qȳbranna?" He reaches out, slowly, resting a hand on the boy's shoulder.

His goodbrother flinches.

It is the barest of movements, undetectable but for the fact that Laenor can feel it, and he opens his mouth-

"Well, Leanor," Aegon says, clapping him on the shoulder and moving away swiftly. A smile on his lips like he hadn't- "We cannot leave Jace and Luke waiting."

Seasmoke roars distantly in his ears.

Mayhaps, Aegon is simply like Helaena, in that they both abhor unwanted touch. It would not be uncommon, after all. Perhaps Aegon simply dislikes touch that he does not initiate.

Watching his cousins' hands shake subtly, remembering the barest of instants where his goodbrother had leaned into the touch before pulling away, Leanor doesn't think so.

(3)

The words leave his lips as soon he thinks of them.

"Is Aegon angry with me?"

Helaena turns, her eyes clear and sharp, and the confusion is so clear upon her face that he relaxes before she speaks. "Why would Aegon be angry with you?"

Aemond slumps in his seat. "I do not know," he says carefully, sounding each of the words out like how Mother says he must. A Prince must not mispronounce his words or one would think him a simpleton. "He simply-"

"Valonqar."

"He doesn't hug me anymore," he bursts out, too loud and too angry and Mother will be so disappointed. Egg already is disappointed in him because: "I know I shouldn't have said that about Jace and Luke and I apologised to them but lēkia is still mad at me and-"

Gentle fingers wrap around his wrist.

He freezes.

Helaena squeezes gently, her hand a grounding brand of heat, before she pulls away. "Aemond, valonqar - Aegon is not angry with you, I swear."

He isn't? Then- "Why doesn't he hug me anymore?"

His mandia's eyes flicker closed and she looks like Father does, when something reminds him of the old Queen.

"If you ask him for a hug, he would be glad to give you one," is all she says, though.

All he has to do is ask?

(But Mother has said he's too old to be asking his brother for hugs, Aegon has duties after all, he doesn't have the time to be pandering to him anymore)

"If I ask, Aegon will hug me again?" The words feel small on his tongue. Wrong. He shouldn't need to-

"I promise"

(4)

The temperature in King's Landing may never reach as bitterly cold as it does in Harrenhall, but the storms are something that Harwin has yet to become used to.

Within less than a candle's width of time, clear skies have turned black with an endless downpouring that turns packed mud into slippery pits. Harwin feels nothing but relief when he calls the rest of the training session off, desperate to be both warm and dry once more, when he notices a figure that hasn't joined the rush to leave.

"Your Highness?"

Prince Aegon startles and slips in the sludge beneath their feet.

He winces. "Sorry, my Prince," Harwin says, reaching down to help the mud-covered boy to his feet.

The Prince eyes him, gaze flickering from his hand to his stance, and then takes a bracing breath that has his eyes narrowing slightly.

Laenor had mentioned something about this, had he not-

And then Harwin is pulling the Prince to his feet, holding firm until the boy has his feet beneath him just as he would for any of the younger Princes.

"My thanks, Ser Harwin," Prince Aegon says and his gaze is still fixed on his hand. There's a rough edge to his voice, like Luke after a nightmare, and Harwin-

"My Prince, are you-"

Thunder crackles above them.

Harwin startles and his feet slide beneath him; he releases the prince so the boy does not take a second fall in the mud. For a heartbeat, he flounders, until he finds his legs once more.

When he looks up, Prince Aegon is already halfway to the door.

(+1)

Rhaenyra has never been close to her half-brother.

She hadn't wanted to be when he was younger. Not when he was borne of Alicent and her father's betrayal. Not when Aegon lived when so many of Rhaenyra's other siblings didn't - not even Baelon, who was so small, who her mother had died for, who had died anyway. She had burnt her brother's pyre, Rhaenyra had thought all those years ago, and she had no need for another.

She had been a grieving child, angry at the world and those who should have known better, and she had taken it out upon the children by simply ignoring them.

She has been trying to be better, now, because her sons inspire her to be better, and her siblings deserve better. Aemma Arynn had died trying to give her father a son and the man hardly acknowledged him. Any of them. And Alicent-

Her childhood friend had always thought their customs queer. And now all of her children are so obviously Valyrian, with all those same queer customs...

No, her siblings deserve better. She has much to make up for and there is much she can never make up for.

Laenor and Harwin- she loves them, but men can be dense at times. They've discussed their meetings with Aegon, his odd reactions to touch, and both men recognise it is different to Helaena but they do not understand.

Rhaenyra does not wish them to.

They do not see what she does in Aegon and that is, perhaps, a good thing. Their boys do not see it either, only that their qȳbor is not fond of hugs, and Rhaenyra loves that they do not know this feeling.

It is memories of a time long past that have her gathering her heaviest cloak, one that has not seen use since her marriage, before she wanders the halls of the Red Keep to find her errant valonqar.

"Aegon," she murmurs as she finds him, staring out at King's Landing proper.

"Mandia?" He turns and-

She drapes the cloak upon his shoulders with a solid thud, watching with amusement as his eyes widen and he stumbles with the weight of it. Her lips twitch.

Her fingers clasp the cloak closed carefully.

"I have a cloak already?" Her brother asks, his face twisted in the same confused expression that Jace uses.

Rhaenyra stands beside him, a fingerwidth away, and stares out at King's Landing as he was. "None so heavy as this one," she says with quiet assurance. The only winter since Aegon had been born had been a mild and short one, even his winter clothes were light. "The weight may help."

He falls silent.

"You- I-"

"Tell me of my sons' lessons."

Aegon does.

(And if he ends up drifting closer, until their shoulders barely brush, until he can lean into her just the smallest amount-

there is no one but the two of them on this covered rampart to know it)

#and i didn't like the ending verse #my fic #didn't expect this to go like it did #but i was thinking that actually rhaenyra probably didn't have much interaction outside of maids n stuff #for a good year or two #what with her best n only close friend marrying her father her brother being born a #and then daemon going off to war and rhaenyra having to go on her husband hunt #she definitely knows how it feels to be a little skin hungry #aegon's situation is different obvs but she relates best of any of them (cos helaena knows but isn't comfy doing anything cos touch)#anyway rhae/laenor/harwin are one big poly coparenting mess that gets even messier when daemon/laena come back to kings landing #ask #hotd #legend of the sword #thiefinwhite

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