#akampana

[akampana]

the remotest possibility

[dingostrash]

Hi! ☺️ I’m the last Anon! (and I was also the anon from a while back with the rowboat thing not sure if u remember. ack I’m just really shy but the recent kirei Arturia stuff was also me aaa thank u for the blessings)

I love your art and your art style! These two have been stuck in my head cause of you hahaha I hope you like this!

OOOHHHHH I LOVE IT!! Thank you so much for this amazing gift 🙏 you have no idea how much I appreciate this! It looks so good! I'm going to look at this for the next several hours

And thank you, it always makes me feel over the moon when people say nice things about my art qwq

[has-gilgamesh-doneanythingwrong]

(I know we don’t really talk but you said it’s your birthday and I thought u deserved a card. Happy birthday! Hope you have a good one.)

WHOA THIS IS AMAZING

Awesome card design!!! Thank you very much, I appreciate this greatly!🥳🥳🥳🥳 Gilgablog will cherish this

Also that EA design on the cupcake wrapper is perfect, your art is very awesome !!

[leoposting]

☠ Bedivere?

☠️ angry/violent headcanon: I don’t think he’s the type to anger easily; he takes everything in stride, he’s gentle and calm, he genuinely wants nothing but the best for the people with and around him. However, if you do, somehow, anger him, you’d better be prepared for him to retaliate, and retaliate hard - all the more if his anger is fueled by grief, panic or (very rarely) hatred. Depending on what set him off, you can expect him to either give you the cold shoulder or get snippy, lash out at you for days and act petty, but he would never hurt you physically. The only time he’d even consider becoming physically violent is when he’s in battle, or when protecting someone important to him.

[akampana]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

I added another choice to this old fic to celebrate Valentine’s Day 2026!

Happy hearts day, y’all <3

[akampana]

Hi! Do you still write fics nowadays? I love your artoria x lancelot very much, the pairing isn't very popular, and I hardly see fic's based on them. But I love the whole forbidden love and shenanigans. And importantly, I really love your writing, so I'm curious if you're still active ...

Heya!

I still write, but sporadically. Actually, until maybe this last week, I hadn't really written anything for a long time (that I posted).

Thank you for saying that. It means a lot that the things I write have a positive impact on people. :)

I have been trying to get back into writing more, but the course I'm taking right now demands that I read hundreds of pages of text every day and write about the same, so it's difficult to write for fun when I have to do it for work/study.

Also, I kinda needed the break. While I used to write (here and on AO3) for fun and for free, the unsolicited criticism does get to me. I wanted to take a breather for my own mental health and take care of myself.

I'm doing better, but I do still have to work on remembering that if I write, I will be doing it for fun and for me. After all, I only started writing because 13-year-old me couldn't find the exact thing I was looking to read...so I made it.

As for Lancelot and Artoria stuff, Anon, I am right there with you on the forbidden love shenanigans, so under here is a drabble piece about yearning I made some time ago.

Voices chanted his name with unbridled glee amid a cacophony of cheers. Fists were in the air. Coins exchanged hands, singing as they clinked from full hands to empty ones. Every manner of man was pouring an ale, whether or not they lost the bets. Children were running amok in the chaos. Despite the mud caking their shoes, mothers were far too happy to scold them. 

Gawain and his siblings rode over to smack him in the shoulder, the volume with which he delivered his congratulations surpassing that of the crowd. Lancelot could still hear the bloke laughing as the First Knight steered his horse to the dais and tossed his sheath to his squire. 

There were flowers: petals catching the breeze, wildflowers pooled beneath his loyal steed’s hooves, wreaths looped around his lance, his horse, his shield, his wrists. A crowd had gathered in the field to praise him. He nodded to all of them, politely whispered hurried thanks, and snaked his now free hands under his helmet. 

Several more cheers resounded as the afternoon sun kissed his handsome features, but he paid them no heed. The visor, he might have worn for protection, but to him it was but a restriction–a hindrance–that kept him from looking up at the stands. If he could have gone without it, if he could have been granted more than glimpses of his guiding light, then perhaps today’s tournament could have been won far more swiftly. 

He lifted his gaze, mirth coloring his cheek as he found her eyes already on him. Pride shone through those lovely green orbs: pride that brought relief for his fatigued shoulders, pride that he would win a hundred more jousts for. 

She stood up to meet him, strolling past the canopy’s protection such that the sun struck her hair as she waited at the railing. Lancelot had never truly believed in what the church proclaimed as the higher power, but he could feel it in the sunrays illuminating her golden halo. He could see it in the pink across her fair cheeks. He could sense it in the warmth of her fingers as they caressed his chin. 

The knight could spend forever in this moment, frozen in time with naught but she, his light, and he, her faithful believer. He would give up everything to stay here. Fame, fortune, even the sword if that’s what it took. He needed nothing else.

If there was a heaven, it was here. 

“Sir Lancelot!” 

A different voice called out his name instead. A different set of arms looped around his neck. A different set of lips landed on his cheeks. 

“Congratulations,” a too-sweet voice chimed in, Guinevere’s beautiful face occupying the space where his king’s had been. “You have made your king proud. You have brought honor to Camelot, white knight.” 

Two steps away, Arturia gave him a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes; a smile that was practiced…manufactured. It was utterly unlike the one she was wearing just moments ago, so detached she could have been giving it to a stranger. 

The queen put her wreath of flowers atop Lancelot’s head. All around them, the crowd erupted into cheers louder than before. Someone took the flag of Camelot out for a spin. Men cried out in jealousy for the queen’s favor, women for Lancelot’s attention. Even children waved sticks around, proclaiming they’d be knights like Sir Lancelot the gallant. Like Sir Lancelot the courageous. Like Sir Lancelot, the perfect knight. Like Sir Lancelot, whose heart shattered as his king broke their gaze and retreated. 

The queen’s outstretched hand filled his vision. He kissed the back of it, like he must have done so many times before, as was custom. Queen Guinevere and Gawain rode by his side on his victory parade to the castle, both of them excited to partake of a feast in his honor. 

The entire way back, there were toasts being made. The entire way back, bards were singing his songs. Windows were lit. Streets were packed with people. Even the knights who had lost joined in on the fun. The banquet was no less lively. Jesters flitted across the hall. Wax dripped from the ceiling lights. Musicians spurred lords and ladies into dance. Wine spilled from cup to cup. 

Still, as seemingly every person that had been invited extended their congratulations, or gratitude, or words of admiration, all Lancelot could see was his beloved king across the table, too far away to hear, to reach, to touch. All Lancelot could think about was their silent moment by the dais and the ghost of her touch on his cheek. 

He was showered with gifts. Assaulted by questionable poems of praise. Promised crops. Promised ale. Promised dogs, horses, cattle. Promised gold. He didn’t care. He would give it all up to go back. He’d beg on his knees, he’d pray, he’d do anything to return to that one fleeting moment. 

The knight’s thumb ran over where her touch had been, Arturia finally, finally returning his gaze. 

He would give it all up. 

[akampana]

Giselle and Albrecht || Arturia and Diarmuid

[akampana]

it was Cú’s idea.