I'm not sure how long ago this ask was, hahah hopefully you're still up for this. :)
Prompt: 12. "You are all I can think about"
Gilturia as requested, with a Fantasy AU twist. 1.1k words
...
“Let me.”
Before today, Arturia thought her feathers were a gift of freedom. Few creatures had the luxury of liberating themselves from the soil and tasting the breeze and feeling it under one’s wings. They had been an honor; something she wore with the pride of a king with his crown.
Now, she saw them for what they truly were: a tether.
The elf’s arms snaked around her gingerly, like she could break at the slightest disturbance. She could feel his heat everywhere they touched: the warmth of his lap, his hands between her shoulder blades, his cheek pressed onto her hair. Her wings felt like lead, drooping down beyond the couch to the floor as if they meant to ground her there.
“I cannot. My oath–”
She felt Gilgamesh’s jaw clench as his fingers brushed the thick, tight band locked around Arturia’s throat. The metal was seamless, fitted so exactly that even if he tried, he couldn’t slip a pinky under it without choking her. When they first met, she told him it was a symbol of loyalty. If it were, it wouldn’t need the small ring attached to the back.
This…was a collar.
Bitterness creased his brow. Thousands of years, he’d spent upon this realm. He lived through the years when the elves had not yet established themselves in the great forest, when their kind used to war with the duergar, when houses traded mortals in exchange for coin. He’d spent centuries abolishing the slave trade within his own people, inspiring the dismantling of the practice across the plane, and it was not enough. It never reached where she hailed from.
A gasp escaped her lips as his fingers moved over her secondary scapulae, feeling where soft skin turned to feathers, where her kind branched off from that of the short-lived humans. It was unnatural, something no amount of evolution could have pushed a human to develop–more proof of the twisted circumstances that bound her to service.
Arturia pulled back, but he prevented her escape, locking his arms behind her.
“Gilgamesh.” Her fingers crumpled the fine fabric of his shirt. “You cannot have me. You know that.”
The elf king responded by drawing her closer to him than before, pressing her to himself so tightly the beads in her garbs imprinted marks onto his skin.
“Is it you that rejects me, Arturia?” he whispered softly, his lips ghosting over her ear. “Or is it your god?”
The man felt goosebumps pepper her skin and she turned away, concealing her countenance. If she meant to hide from him, it was a futile effort. While she could no longer see his face, with his chest pressed to her ear, she could hear the confession he hadn't yet put into words, hammering away at a quickened pace.
It was one of the few things she feared; that she denied. In the deepest depths of her heart, she hoped that his fascination for her and all his incessant pestering had been fuelled by disgust, or hatred, or something else. She hoped that elves were as shallow and self-important as their dwarven comrades initially made them out to be. But while the king that held her now had been vain, had been supercilious, had been wholly difficult to work with, he was also…more.
Gilgamesh had sown doubt where she once had unwavering faith. He’d bitterly challenged her ideals when others stayed quiet, pointed out flaws she chose to ignore, spoken into existence words she chose to swallow. All throughout their journey and even now that it had reached its happy end, the metal ring around her neck grew heavier and heavier, as if it could sense her heart beginning to falter. Meanwhile, the elf king planted himself firmly by her side, seeing not her mission, but seeing her.
It didn’t make sense. Those like her were born to serve their god. It was what they lived for. It was what they died for. They had no purpose other than what was laid out for them. She wasn’t built to feel anything other than what her god ordered.
But Gilgamesh insisted, placing his pointy ears at center-stage for her attention, and it was that persistence that made her realize that there was a life beyond the words of her creator. Gilgamesh infuriated her, made her laugh, made her shed tears. He pushed her so hard that all the feelings she deemed unnecessary broke free of their confines, and she was forced to face the fact that she was more than her duty.
“You do not want this. I am bound to his service–”
He cupped her chin in his hand and lifted her head til his burning gaze met her watery one.
“That is not an answer.”
He pressed his lips onto hers.
Gilgamesh didn’t care for the divine and all their whims. The woman in his hands had never turned her sword on anyone or anything without cause. Every day, she insisted she was nothing but a tool; an instrument of her god’s will, but he knew that wasn’t true.
“Don’t,” she protested weakly, feathers rustling as she pushed him away. “He won’t let you have me, Gil. I–”
He kissed her again, burying his fingers in her hair before her wings could take her from his embrace.
Arturia didn’t choose to be born a thrall, but she accepted that duty because she knew it would help people–people who didn’t deserve her, who would forever see her as an outsider because she was only half-mortal. Because she was born from the lust of their god’s supposedly perfect servants. Because she was an aberration. A mistake.
“Damn your god,” he cursed, his whispers tickling the fair skin of her collarbones as he left his marks. “I care not what he wants. I want this. I want you.”
“You cannot think that,” she objected, finding her hands had lost the strength to push the high elf away. His touch felt like fire, warm upon her skin in places she’d never been caressed. She thought she’d see her end without ever having known what it was like: to feel someone crave her, to feel someone lament as his mouth reached the band around her neck, to feel someone want more than anything to break her chains.
But here this elf king was, selfishly claiming that which was owned by someone else.
“You are all I can think about, Arturia,” he declared, sealing his truth as he claimed her lips once more. “Night and day, it is you. Always. It will always be you.”
His ruby eyes shone with nothing but the raw, excruciating truth: he loved her. More than anything, more than anyone, he loved her.
The winged wonder cupped his face in both her hands, gently stroking her thumbs across his cheeks. Her heart pounded loudly against her chest. Her collar burned hot against her skin. Glowing gold tears welled up in her eyes. Did she want this? Could she want this?
Could she? She asked, feeling herself lean in.
Their lips had barely touched when her leash snapped taut.
Prompt: 28. "Your smile brings me so much joy."
Ship: Diarturia
Tags: Romance
As he stared into her eyes, brushing her blonde hair from her cheek, he wondered if she’d let him kiss her. She looked so beautiful like this, with the sun casting its golden glow upon her face and a lovely tinge of red dusting her cheeks. Her gaze was fond, and her smile soft. The Irish knight was half-convinced he was lost in a dream. He never had any luck with love, after all, and yet, here he was, so smitten .
Describing exactly what the Once and Future King meant to him was a challenge all on its own. There was no one quite like her, and no one with whom he shared the same connection. Theirs was an everlasting dance of blades made to the rhythm of steel on steel. When their weapons clashed, he felt like he was dancing on the clouds. When they were apart, it was like gravity itself drew them together till they clashed once more in a flurry of sparks.
Something in her green irises told him she could see right through to him; take the pages that were his life; read between his every line. He bared his soul to her unafraid, because he knew that with her there was no gavel nor jury that would damn him to a life on the run. There was only her, the regal knight who turned out to be so much more than just the chivalrous figure he met at the docks. He fell twice: for the king she became, and the girl she didn’t get to be.
He was sure the day he met her. He was sure now. She was the culmination of all the work he put in as a knight, the light at the end of the tunnel, the reward that awaited him for his service. He wouldn’t trade anything for the fire he saw in her eyes as they exchanged blows, or the laughter that erupted from his lips when she won, or the smile that graced her face when he claimed victory. She was everything he wanted. Everything.
Arturia’s lips tasted like a warm welcome after a long journey; her mouth, like an embrace before a hearth; her kiss, sweet as hot chocolate on a chilly night. As they parted for a breath, she cupped his cheeks and nudged her forehead into his fondly. She wore a delicate smile upon her face as he pulled her body closer. Diarmuid decided that very moment that he wasn’t losing her again, he didn’t care what impossibilities he’d have to overcome. He’d march up to Avalon and take her to his Tech Duinn, if he had to.
“What is it?” she asked lightheartedly, drinking in the soft chuckle that escaped Diarmuid’s lips.
“Nothing, my lady, I just…” the knight lightly touched the pad of his thumb to her lips. “Your smile brings me so much joy. I no longer believe I can continue on without it– without you.”
Diarmuid took a deep breath, distracted by the smell of her hair.
“I want you to come home with me,” he whispered happily for only her ears to hear. There was confusion in her eyes, but she stayed comfortably circled within his arms.
“What do you mean?” she asked him, stroking her thumb across his cheek. “We do not exactly have lives to live anymore.”
True, they were both Heroic Spirits after all, neither resurrection nor incarnation awaited them now that they were relieved from service. The knight chuckled again, feeling her grin against his mouth as he stole another kiss. “And yet, we have the afterlife, do we not?”
When they parted, Diarmuid dragged his finger down the curve of her lips until the corner. He had always been proud to be one of the few privileged enough to see her so happy. Not everyone could make her feel this way.
“This smile–your smile…” he professed endearingly, “brings me so much joy, my dearest king. No heaven awaits me in my father’s home without it. I would simply waste away.”
Arturia nearly glowed red hearing his words. She didn’t know where he’d found the courage to make such declarations without even a hint of hesitation, when every word was laced with the same truth: he loved her. He loved her so much, he’d denounce eternity’s paradise if it meant he wouldn’t be with her. She’d always thought maidens were being dramatic when they swooned, but she was just short of it herself.
After all, she too would find it terribly lonely, if she were to spend the afterlife without the spearman she grew to love. She didn’t know how Diarmuid could pull this off, nor if it were even possible to leave Avalon and leave with him to Tech Duinn. All she knew was that she wanted the future that he envisioned. They would have each other, forever, and that would be enough.
“Then yes,” she said at last, sealing the promise with another kiss. “I’ll go with you.”
_____
You can't tell me Aengus wouldn't kick down the gates of Avalon and ship Arturia off to Tech Duinn with an exclusive passport made by Donn, you just can't. HAHAHA
25. "I cannot stand you, and yet I also cannot stand to be away from you."
Gilart Modern Au.
…
"I do not appreciate being avoided, Arturia."
The chase should have begun as usual, with the new money stalking down the hall, heels harshly clacking upon the tiles closely followed by the world-renowned tycoon in a similarly rushed pace. Neither would have run, of course, but all employees would know better than to get in the blondes' way lest they be trampled in their wake. The situation occurred so often, most personnel knew well to order the unfortunate intern down to the nearest tea shop and get a chamomile brew going. Their tiny, ever-serious heiress was the shop’s most loyal customer, after all, considering every visit Gilgamesh ever made resulted in her needing a fresh cup of relaxant.
However, as the intern would learn–cold tea in hand and a dropped jaw on his face–that routine would be broken for the very first time. Because for the very first time, Arturia did not come rushing out her door. Gilgamesh did not give chase. What greeted all the employees instead, was the chocolate color of Arturia’s dark wooden door as it calmly closed shut, locking them all out of the mysterious happenings behind it.
“I am not…” she started, voice low enough that no gossip mongers could hope to hear. The woman sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose, pacing the room like a fitness nut trying to get her steps in. It was doing little to help her nerves, but really, who wouldn’t be nervous when confronted with the golden-haired snob in fron of her? “It was not my intention to avoid you, Gilgamesh.”
The man’s only reply was a raised eyebrow and a piercing look that once may have infuriated her. Instead, it made her feel like whatever she had eaten that day decided to do cartwheels in her stomach. Not the best feeling to have when faced with the global superpower that Gilgamesh was, especially when he had his arms crossed over his custom Italian suit. He quite hated getting it wrinkled. If he was willing to crease the expensive fabric, she was truly pushing all his buttons.
The sharp inhale that preceded her words did nothing to steady them. “I must apologize. I…”
Her heartbeat cut her off, the sound of her own blood booming in her ears like a brutalized festival drum. He was the worst possible person to lose her words with– damn eloquent bastard and his hifalutin vocabulary–but she had no choice. Anything she tried to voice would surely come out in a string of nonsensical syllables only comprehensible to the minds of the insane. So, she stayed silent, desperately trying to weave words together that might make some semblance of sense. The ruby eyes staring her down, however, made even that an impossible task. Wonderful. They could haunt both her dreams and her reality. Absolutely wonderful.
His familiar footfalls drew closer till his fine leather shoes decorated her view of the drab, corporate-gray carpet. She hated those damn shoes. Those slacks. That stupid belt. He was never just dressed, always overdressed or underdressed–one more reason she should hate him, on top of the mountain of irritations he already plagued her life with.
The woman felt the older man’s finger brush the skin of her wrist, felt them twitch as they reached for her hand then change course. When she breathed, she smelt sandalwood and orange citrus–a scent she could only describe as sunny that she much associated with the foreigner. Before she knew it, his hand had journeyed up her arm and shoulder and his index finger was on her chin, lifting gently till she met his eyes.
The practiced swat she made at his wrist came half-heartedly. He didn’t flinch. She didn’t break their gaze. She just let it melt her, hoping the businessman wouldn’t notice her quivering lip or shaking knees.
“Do you wish for me to leave–”
“Yes.”
Her response was immediate. Uncalculated. She’d wanted so many times to be asked that very question that her answer came out like muscle memory. A twisted wave of relief washed over her. If she could be rid of him, she would no longer have to deal with these trifling feelings. No more cold sweats. No more heat in her cheeks. No more feeling like she couldn’t breathe.
But the very moment he took a step back, she felt fear stab through her chest like a knife.
“No. No. I…I don’t,” she whimpered, barely pulling her bleeding heart back together when she’d just tried to break it. Her words were weak. Arturia hated sounding weak. She spent so many years in this cursed industry fashioning her tone just to be taken seriously, and here she was sounding like she’d just finished a marathon without taking a sip of water. Pathetic, and yet it was all she could manage.
The man’s eyes flickered down to the lynchpin of Arturia Pendragon’s current state of mind: a delicate hand gripping tightly onto his palm, urging him not to take another step. He’s always wanted her to touch him like this. It seemed all Gilgamesh had ever gotten were business handshakes and the burning rejection of his advances. It almost felt like a dream. But in his dreams, it wasn’t anguish upon her countenance. In his dreams, there weren’t tears welling up in her eyes. In his dreams, she wasn’t shaking like a leaf.
“Then what is it you want, Arturia?” he queried, drowning in suspense.
It occurred to him suddenly that he had never seen her so fragile; like if he made one wrong move, she’d break. For the first time since he’d known her, she’d let down her guard; she’d dropped the mask she’d been wearing the day she inherited this company. It wasn’t his business partner he was looking at right now. Not an investor either. It was just her–the person he knew she was, who he’d only seen glimpses of in the cracks of her facade, yet fell for all the same.
“I don’t know,” she choked, her voice pitched high like someone had her by the neck. “I do not. I cannot understand–” a hiccup interrupted her before she could finish. Her knees went weak, and though he was there to steady her, it was to the window that she ran, swallowing stray sobs with hand over her mouth.
“Arturia–”
“Stop. Just stop–” she protested, swatting the man away as he came up behind her, to no avail. He stood over her, hands on the glass window like her strikes meant nothing to him, and watched her breaths gradually even out. It was agony to stand there, so close yet not permitted to touch her, hold her, or offer even the slightest comfort. How could it be, that even in this vulnerable state she had him wrapped around her finger?
“I don’t understand,” she continued in a whisper, the tightness in her throat permitting nothing else. “I know I was meant to hate you but…I cannot.”
This time it was Gilgamesh who was robbed of breath, her words freezing him solid as she locked her watery gaze with his ruby one. Suddenly the hustle and bustle of the city outside went quiet. The office floor behind the door cleared in an instant. Planes paused in their voyage. Ships stopped at the harbor. Suddenly, it was only the two in the drab office room, suspended by their feelings beneath the stars.
The man’s heart banged heavily on the walls of its cage, crying to be acknowledged. “Do not try to vex me with–”
“I do not need you, but I do. I cannot stand you, and yet…I also cannot stand to be away from you.” she interrupted, searching his wide eyes for answers still just out of her grasp as he did the same. Her fingers were halfway to his cheek, occupying the few inches left between their lips.They were so close he could feel the heat of her skin; so close the gravity that had pulled him to her from the day they met demanded he lean in. Every word she said echoed through the crevices of his mind like a mantra, beckoning him forward til not even air dared keep them apart.
“I was not trying to avoid you, Gil, I just–”
Clarity. The sky above them seemed ever so vast, with galaxies dancing in a midnight space no longer stifled by clouds. All the stars aligned. All the planets moved to the beat. She learned to fly and he learned to fall, and for a moment there was no question in the world that needed an answer, no problems that needed solutions, nothing broken that needed repairs. There was just a man and a woman, finally seeing eye to eye, touching lips to lips.
“Do not keep me from you again,” Gilgamesh whispered as they parted for breath. For the first time, there was no rebuttal, disagreement, nor complaint, because Arturia finally understood.
18. "we have just met and yet it feels like i have known you for a lifetime." - Nebuchadnezzar II x Artoria
Prompt: "we have just met, and yet it feels like I have known you for a lifetime.
Pairings: Nebuchadnezzar II x Arturia Pendragon, slight GilArt
Tags: Mild Angst
Confusion wasn’t what he wanted to see when he first opened his eyes. The feat of magic that his feet stood upon was named after his dynasty, after all, he expected a warm welcome. However, it was the only emotion that filled the silence as he materialized, awkwardly followed by a triumphant greeting from the young Master that called him here. He berated the humble magus, spouted proud statements urging her to prove to him she was worthy of his presence and then–
“See, Saber? I told you using you as a catalyst would get us someone strong!”
The king turned his head, smirking at his new Master’s praise. What sort of swordsman could have aided his passage here? A worthy rival, perhaps? Ha! He doubted it. A soldier? Another ruler?
A breath, as he took in her small figure, the torturous gentle line of her cheek. Somehow, his eyes knew her every edge, her every corner, her every nook and every curve. Somehow, he recognized the constellations dotted across her porcelain skin, wherever it peeked out from that regal, foreign dress. Somehow, his fingers remembered the softness of her hair, longed to run through those hay strands, and never had the chance.
Envy latched onto him like a predator, tearing its ugly teeth into his neck. The ghost of her scent flitted through his memories, while presently she stood just far enough out of his reach. It made no sense why she starved him of her touch now when his memory reveled in her. Why did she hesitate to run to him? Why deter from their reunion?
Emerald eyes more beautiful than anything he's ever seen locked onto his, bringing the king to his knees before their stormy sea. He sank into the sand, bowing his head as he’d never done before as the violent waves came upon him. He knew then, that it mattered no longer what accolades he’d earned, what crown sat on his head, what achievements he had below his belt. He was just a man; a man who wanted to hear her call his name and taste the sound of it on her lips. He wanted her. He needed her. He craved her like no one else before.
But why?
"Gil—"
His eyes snapped open as their lips touched. No, that wasn't…he wasn't…
Her rejection burned against his chest like wildfire. He didn’t even realize he’d crossed the room to meet her till he felt her armored fingers on his skin and the rush of air rapidly filling the space she created between them. Anger burned across his cheek, smearing his—not his— body with a small streak of red. Then there was a vaguely familiar blade at his chin, held up by one delicate hand as she swiped the other against what remained of his kiss.
"Give me one reason I should not send you back to the Throne, Gilgamesh!" swordswoman warned, rage—so familiar on her face—igniting her countenance such that even their Master's commands did not deter her.
As his heart continued to beat for her, crushing itself against its unwilling ribcage in its adamant longing, the Chaldean king finally understood. Against all laws and logic the avarice of this body seeped into his very soul. Every part, every sliver of his resurrected shell thirsted for everything she was and will be. It was like Gilgamesh's ghost was breathing down his neck, clawing at his throat with jealousy.
"My name is Nebuchadnezzar II," he worded carefully, watching those damning green eyes search for answers within his amber ones. He wondered if she’d find them. After all, here he stood, lost as a navigator on a cloudy night. His body told him she was the true way. That all roads led to her. That she was the light at the end of the long tunnel, but he didn’t know why.
“This form tells me I am a Caster, though without this masquerade, I would present myself as a Ruler. As King of Babylon, that class ought to have been more fitting, but I suppose I should not complain of the power a body from the Age of the Gods grants me,” he explained.
She tensed like a string pulled taught. The lines between her brows moved as she sought in him a lie. He wondered how it would feel to know her eyes in a gentler light, without mistrust or apprehension or even anger. He wanted to see in her gaze the kind of potent longing like that of his wife for her homeland. He wished for a day he was no longer at the sharper end of her sword.
Meanwhile, the shorter king’s fingers faltered on her grip, dissuaded by vexation. A body from the Age of the Gods? What could he have possibly meant by that? She’d never known Gilgamesh to joke, but the alternative was to believe this man told the truth, and there was no conceivable way the King of Heroes would ever permit this to happen to him, even in death.
Impossible. It had to be. This “Nebuchadnezzar II” spoke like him, moved like him—she pursed her lips—acted like him, and yet…
Arturia looked deep into his eyes, discerning if this truly was not the supercilious king that she once decided the fate of the world with. Eyes like amber struck with sunlight stared back at her just as intensely, dilated black circles drawing her in with a strange gravity Gilgamesh’s snake-like, ruby gaze used to have.
No matter how tempting her prejudice was, slowly, her sword sheathed itself, and she turned to her shell-shocked Master with a hesitant nod of approval. Then, she made for the door. The woman king could permit a lookalike if it meant another strong ally for Master’s cause, but that didn’t mean she had to stay here, or anywhere near him for that matter. Especially when that lookalike thought he could get away with handling her. She could apologize to Master for her conduct later, but she would not stand another minute in this room.
“Arturia.”
The Earth stopped turning.
Nebuchadnezzar didn’t even realize he’d spoken ‘til the sound had left his mouth. He voiced it with such ease it was like his tongue had yearned for eons to call out her name. Now her eyes clashed with his again, and though it had only been seconds since their gazes last met, it felt like a long-awaited reunion. His heart beat faster, harder, in his chest. He couldn't breathe. He wanted her to stay.
But she, with her eyes wide as dinner plates and a quivering lip that tasted like disbelief, ran.
Run, she did, for the most grueling months Nebuchadnezzar had ever lived. Ritsuka offered to help, but he was a proud king, the architect of Babylon's most prosperous city, a god to his own people. Requesting her assistance reduced him to common folk.
Besides, he ought not to have such troubles as those of the heart. He put his hand over his chest, trying to soothe it in vain. How humbling to think an organ the size of a fist could cripple him so, especially when this body didn't even belong to him.
Nebuchadnezzar was by no means weak. However, considering this demigod shell hijacked his own sense of being twice now—with Enkidu and now with Arturia—whispers of thought entertained the notion he wasn't entirely himself, not anymore. Perhaps he was someone else, someone with borrowed feelings so strong they persisted long after their owner entered his tomb.
Nonetheless, even if they were borrowed, they were undoubtedly real.
Just when he was about to retire for the evening, he heard the familiar commotion that accompanied Master's return from a successful mission, and felt the overwhelming rush of feelings that was her.
Once again, their eyes locked in a dance of ice and fire. Once again, she turned immediately away, rushing down the hallway to avoid him. Once again, he contemplated giving chase, only this time, he gave in.
"Leave," she insisted, trying in vain to get him back out her door. "Your presence is unwanted here, King of Babylon."
Her words stung like a whip, but they were nothing compared to the hurt of being shunned for weeks on end. He’d had enough of that.
"I did not believe you a cruel king when we met, Arturia, but if you must avoid me when I have done nothing to warrant your ire, then I have grossly misjudged."
She stopped suddenly, the wrists he held in his hands going slack before she tore them from his grip. Though she put some distance between them, he felt relief that she no longer fought to drive him out.
"Don't," she hissed, her green eyes igniting as she glared up at him. "I never gave you my true name, Nebuchadnezzar. What on God's earth makes you assume you have the right to use it?"
He didn't answer.
Arturia inhaled sharply, massaging her temples as she tried to manage her temper. Perhaps she was being cruel. Part of her knew she was being irrational but really, there couldn't be anyone in the world who understood how she was feeling because how was she to treat someone who lived in Gilgamesh's body?
And the kiss? Where had that come from? They were strangers so far removed in time that weren't blessed to be enemies in a Grail War. It wasn't Nebuchadnezzar who harassed her with promises of marriage. It wasn't Nebuchadnezzar who waited ten years to do it again. It wasn't Nebuchadnezzar who smiled so gently after their battle, telling her he had fun as he faded to nothing. He was merely the inheritor.
The older king gave in, his irate gaze faltering in the heat of hers. A long, hard breath danced across her eyelashes, as he once again dared to venture into her personal space. She took a step back. Another. And suddenly, she was between the wall and a familiar face with a different name.
"Why do you know my name? And…how?" she interrogated, searching his golden eyes. They were distracted, every so often fluttering down to her mouth. She couldn't even tell if he'd heard her, the bastard.
She slapped away his hand before it could cup her cheek, banishing the confusing memory of the King of Heroes' goodbye from her memory. She knew she couldn't possibly have harmed him, and yet Nebuchadnezzar stared at her, betrayed, with her knife through his chest.
"I don't know," Nebuchadnezzar lied.
Every inch of his very existence screamed her name at him whenever they touched, loud like war and just as deafening. It was like his body demanded he speak it, her foreign moniker a mantra maddeningly echoing in his mind. But it wasn't Nebuchadnezzar's voice that spoke it, it was—
"Then I see no reason we should associate at all—" she started and stopped, her back hitting the wall as Nebuchadnezzar held her in place. Before she could retort he was cupping her face, forcing her to witness the grief she'd just inflicted.
"Have some empathy," Please. He hadn't said it, but she could hear it in his voice.
"You—"
He cut her off with a breath, trying not to lose himself in her scent.
"When I first laid eyes on you it was as if I had waited several eons to see you again. I had my ambitions, my accomplishments. If I wished for anything it was more power and now that seems so terribly foolish because you exist. I was never a stranger to life's great luxuries. I never wanted beyond my own ambitions, and yet one infinitesimal moment with you in the same room made me feel as if I had nothing."
He stroked her cheek with his thumb, bittersweet nostalgia flooding his senses. Arturia stiffened, then relaxed, recognition and confusion in her eyes.
"I was…" he sighed, mirroring her vexation "jealous of the dress that touched your skin, the floor beneath your boots, the air that left your lips—imagine how I felt when the name you spoke was not mine."
Arturia bit her lip til it went pale, her eyebrows knitting as she stared into the unfamiliar gold shade of his eyes. Gilgamesh's were red.
"How can you claim such things?" she asked, struggling to comprehend what she was hearing. Arturia had never been the most in touch with her feelings."You do not know me, Nebuchadnezzar."
"Don't I?"
Two words, and all her common sense jumped out the window. A hitch in her breath. She feared staring at his eyes too long. She feared he'd see her waver. She feared she'd believe him. Because if what he said was true…what did that mean for his body's original owner?
"We have just met," she reasoned weakly, her voice a mere whimper.
"We have just met," he repeated, in that familiar voice yet unfamiliar tone. "and yet it feels like I have known you for a lifetime.”
She pursed her lips, pulling away from his touch. "You haven't. He hadn't. You couldn't possibly—"
His lips landed on her fingers. It was such a slight and gentle touch, she wondered if she would've minded letting them find their original target. Slowly, she untangled herself from him, weaving herself out of his arms.
"We are strangers, you and I. You must understand," she said, detaching her hand from fingers that tried in vain to keep her.
His heart wrenched in his chest, clawing for her retreating figure, but his head kept him in place. Deep down, he knew the heated longing he felt wasn't truly his. Even if it were, he doubted he had the right to act on it, not in this form. Alas, she'd doomed Nebuchadnezzar to live his second life jealous of every mongrel that dared seek her attention.
Like hell.
Arturia spun back around, her hand gently wrapped in his.
“I do not wish to be strangers, Arturia,” Nebuchadnezzar declared with conviction. She stared back at him, lips pursed and jade eyes unsure. The king released her slowly, dreading that she’d run once more, but she stayed where she was, her mind still warring with itself.
Arturia looked down at the fingers which only moments before were in his hold, then back at his eyes. They were gold, like honey struck by sunlight. Meanwhile, the neo-babylonian king drank up the sea in her gaze. The expression she wore was one neither he nor this body’s original owner had ever seen before.
Nebuchadnezzar smiled softly to himself. They wouldn’t be strangers for long.
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I've always wanted to write these two. Ain't nothing I love more than confusing feelings ahahaha.
-akampana (im alive btw, law school just made me busy for a bit)
7. There isn't anything I wouldn't do for you.
Ship: Beditoria
Tags: romance, tragedy
The moon wept often these days, hiding its grief behind countless clouds that did nothing to stop its tears from falling down. There was only one witness to the sky's misery tonight. She stood on stone, watching the heavens as cold droplets cascaded down her cheeks. Bedivere had never seen his king shed tears, but if the world ever let her cry, he believed she’d look as she did now: like a widow bent over a grave, in dire need of a warm embrace.
“I have come, my liege. You were looking for me?”
She was rigid in the way she turned to face him. It was a practiced motion, drilled into her head along with stiff upper lips and straight backs. Bedivere didn’t quite like it when she treated him this way; it made the mere inches between them feel like miles; made her feel unreachable though she was barely within his grasp. Arturia wasn't this cold when she started her conquest of Britain, but she grew ever distant since the throne tightened its clutches. Gone were the warm nights they'd laugh over meal and mead. He missed those precious times quite terribly.
"Bedivere, I require something of you."
“I shall deliver with most haste.”
His beloved king looked at him with wide eyes, the surprise on her countenance making her green irises look as vast as the seas. A short breath left her lips.
“Your enthusiasm is appreciated, but I have not even told you what it is, my loyal knight.”
The one-armed warrior bowed, hand on his chest. He pretended her last three words would not haunt him in his sleep. Too often, his thoughts landed on her as he lay unto his cot, tossing and turning upon the furs. He worried much during those evenings. It had been so long since last he saw her smile or laugh. Most times, her eyes were as stormy as the tempest that raged above.
“It matters little what you require, only that you require it be done, my liege,” he answered, “There isn’t anything I wouldn’t do for you.”
It was like time had stopped between them as their eyes clashed, the vibrant green of hers glistening amidst the torrential rain bearing down upon knight and king. He saw her breath hitch at her throat; watched as drops of water fell from her cheek down the skin of her neck to her collarbones. The slightest shiver shook her shoulders and his cape was upon them, warmed by the heat of his back and the burning fire of his love for her.
“Do you mean that, truly?” she asked in a whisper, letting her most loyal knight usher her inside and near the hearth. If they weren’t mere inches apart, he’d have missed it. It was a blessing then, that the storm brought them this close, enough that he could feel her breaths on his skin and smell the lilies in her hair. No sky but this dark and grey one would ever bear witness to the knight’s hand wiping the salt from his king’s cheek, or his lips voicing words he wished he had the right to say at the altar.
“I do.”
…
No, Bedivere agonized within himself, his one arm raised high above his head. He couldn't do it. He would not. Never. The weight of the holy sword bore down on its weeping wielder, as if sensing his unworthy hand at its hilt. Before him, the lake water seeped into his boots and washed the blood from his thighs. The ringing in his ears signaled death’s tempting beckon but louder still, was the weak voice of the king he so loved, begging him to do as she asked.
“Bedivere, take my sword. Listen closely, go through this forest and over that blood-soaked hill. Beyond, you will find a deep lake. Throw my sword into it.”
Her words cut deeper than swords of their enemies; hurt far more than the metal impaled into his body. How could she ask this of him? He would not do it. He could not. Bedivere would not be the end of her. He refused. All their enemies had fallen, there were none left to stand against her. This could not be where their story ended–he wouldn’t let it be.
“Do not betray me with lies, my most loyal knight.” her voice said, staking him to the pyre with every word, but she could abuse him all she wanted. He did not care, he’d rather burn in hellfire, have the world curse his name than accept her fate. King Arthur would not fall today, nor ever, even if it meant he’d spend his life rebuilding Camelot brick by bloody brick. He would never let go of this sword even if it killed him.
“If you meant your words, Bedivere, then do this for me…please.”
Shame colored his cheeks red. He’d promised that so many years ago he couldn’t believe she remembered, and now those damn words haunted him like the ghosts of their allies.
“Why?!” the knight screamed into the darkening sky, the words of the person he loved most breaking his very spirit in half. Knuckles turned white as his fingers crushed the hilt in his fist. Loyalty demanded he cast Excalibur far into the depths, but love demanded he didn’t with equal, damning force. Never in his life did he ever have to choose. Now, the one person he cared about was at death’s door and he was the only one refusing to let her enter it.
Hot tears streamed down his face as he took a step back, then forward, his hand still hovering unsteadily above his head, Excalibur in its grasp. This wouldn’t have happened if he were strong enough. If he were just as strong as Lancelot, then Mordred would never have–this would never have–
The knight fell to his knees. If this lake did not drown him, then his tears would. Nothing could ever soothe the pain that gripped his heart at the realization of his lack. He was weak, so terribly weak. Far less capable than anyone else on the damn Round Table. Every single day that passed, he felt more unworthy of his title. The only thing that kept him by her side was…loyalty.
Loyalty.
A guttural cry escaped his lips, the sorrow in his voice making the sky weep at last. Camelot’s final knight drew the holy sword back, standing with quivering knees and a bloodied chest. A final tear left his lashes and he cast the blade forward with all the strength he had left, breaking his heart in the process. Before it touched the water, a hand shot up from the depths, brandishing the sword once then dragging it beneath the surface together with any hope for King Arthur’s life.
Empty, the knight returned to his dying king, heart bleeding with every step he took. He watched her drift off to a deep sleep, one from which she would never wake. As he gathered her in his arms, his own life slipping away, her last words of thanks echoed in his mind.
“Rejoice, Bedivere, for you have done your king’s final task.”
Truthfully, he admitted, his tears falling to her cheek as he hugged his beloved king closer, he wished he could have done more.
Diarmuid would probably do a good job of it, probably break out the corny but acceptable typa romance there, maybe even slow dance with her too the sound of his own voice
Cú would do it in the most embarrassingly sweet (and terribly public) way possible.
Lancelot doesn't "serenade her", but sings to her very softly songs that used to be sung in their halcyon days when they're alone doing errands.
YOU ARE BACK!!!! *Dances like dog when owner comes back*
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I mercifully ask for prompt 1 wither Berserkerlot w Arturia.
Hypoxia
Warning/TW: this work contains choking, angst, and very heavy themes, it is below the break.
(if you are the requester of this, and do not read such themes, please feel free to drop another ask.)
Ship: Berserker! Lancelot x Arturia Pendragon
Tags: Angst, regret
Prompt: "1. I can't pretend anymore."
Arturia had long lost count of the times they ended up this way: one of his knees between her thighs, his hand locking her wrist to the floor, his fingers around her throat, the weight of his body pressing down on her, his eyes staring into hers like they were drilling holes into them.
The burning of her lungs no longer felt painful, it felt familiar. She knew, even as she choked out his name, that her efforts would only ever anger him. There was no reasoning with a Berserker, after all, and she had never been equipped by the same hypnotic charm Ritsuka used to calm him down. Both Master and the Round Table decided to separate them when they realized Lancelot was never lucid when Arturia was around. She, particularly this version of her, was the trigger to his shotgun, and there were bound to be casualties whenever they met.
“Lan…ce…” the king croaked, dragging her nails across the black metal at her neck. Dark spots waltzed across her vision to the sounds of her whimpers. Her consciousness was hanging by a thread, and yet the only thoughts that filled her head were of the dark-haired knight in front of her. He looked older. His hair was longer than she remembered from their time in Camelot. He used to keep it so short before…before everything.
Arturia’s lips turned blue as the excommunicated knight tightened his grip. The darkness was beginning to cloud her vision, her imagination filling in the gaps. He used to love riding. She remembered so clearly the way he held the reins, encouraging his horse to run faster as they raced through the kingdom. His skill as a rider was in large part what made him so formidable at jousting. Lancelot would always attribute his victories to her blessing of course, which was often in the form of a blue ribbon circled around his wrist. It always made her so proud to have such a champion in her roster and such a friend by her side.
“Lan…”
The Berserker roared at her, baring his teeth like a rabid dog. Arturia recalled how brightly he used to smile. When they were younger, she’d wondered how victory tasted on the handsome man’s lips. Tavern girls seemed to enjoy its flavor so much. Of course, she never voiced those improper thoughts. Such were not fit for a king. The girl in her, however, suppressed til she was naught but a memory, wondered all the same. She’d felt his kiss on the back of her hand for years, of course the thought crossed her mind.
Arturia tasted iron as the black knight began eerily rambling her “name”. It occurred to her that she had been fighting him off, but as usual, he was stronger. He had always been. Once, when they were sparring, she admitted her insecurity at not being the mightiest despite her sitting on the throne. Smiling, he told her, “Your job is to protect the kingdom. Mine is to protect you. If you were stronger than I am, I would be doing my job quite poorly.”
Since that day he’d injected himself into her life like poison, and there was nothing she could do but let him drag her to her demise, agonizing all the way down. Maybe the fall of her kingdom was inevitable. She’d sent it spiraling out of control when she brought the Frenchman into her service. Arturia should have turned him away. If she had, she–Gwen would never have fallen for him. She wouldn’t have chased him out into France. The throne wouldn’t have been empty, and Mordred would never have had the chance to start a coup.
“Lancel…ot.”
The woman thrashed as air rushed through her lungs. Lancelot snapped to attention like he’d just been reset, then shuddered as he drew a breath. He blinked and his eyes were different, the snarl upon his mouth dropping into a small grimace. Meanwhile, Arturia coughed into her hands, curling to the side like a fetus.
“My…king?”
The salt lining her eyes finally fell. It had been so long since she last heard that voice. It was hoarser than she remembered. All that time he spent screaming her name must have taken a toll.
Her tired hands cupped his face, deja vu granting her a vision from back when they were younger. Lancelot had defended her just like this, tackling her to the ground and taking arrows to his back. He shouldn’t look so concerned. Did he not know he swayed the hearts of many? How could she resist if he stared at her like that?
“I am deeply sorry, Lancelot,” she whispered, her throat straining as she spoke. Berserker softly brushed his fingers over the bruises on her neck, unaware that it was he that had left them. Panic began to build in his weary eyes, like it did when he was still her sworn protector. Back then, she thought he was only carrying out his job, she never imagined what Ritsuka so clearly pointed out.
He loved her despite destiny tearing them apart.
The mad warrior gently swept away her tears with his thumb. Arturia bit her lip, stifling her regrets before they could overwhelm her. If only she’d known his true feelings in life. They could have been so much happier. Instead, they died estranged and miserable and came back on opposite sides of a Grail War. Here in Chaldea, with how much they both hurt, their friends tried to keep them apart. Part of her believed she should bury her own feelings once more and pretend she’d never felt anything for her first knight but the other…
“I can’t pretend anymore…” the king whispered, pulling his lips to hers as she admitted the truth the girl inside of her had always known.
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thank you for reading. as usual angst is what gives me life mwahahaha
i hope you guys take care. The pandemic may be on the decline, but it's still out there. Pandemic or not, I wish you all good health.
yes, I am not dead haha. I went to law school. Still in here. It's going okay, except I have like zero time now for hobbies XD. I mostly spend my free time sleeping, but I really miss writing and doodling.
