#rcdp

[makosokkaposting]

They practically have the same vibe.

[akampana]

28. Diartoria

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

thank you for the ask. I hope you are doing well.

-akampana

[akampana]

11. Emiya x Artoria

11. "Don't make me say it. I can't say the words. Pairing: Emiya x Artoria Tags: angst

“Em...Emiya?”

That name–that damned name–he swore it would always haunt him, even if he’d long cast it aside. It would always be there. Staining his father’s grave. Carved upon his Spirit Origin. Smeared all over her beautiful lips. He hated it. 

“You…Your True Name…it’s Emiya?”

He could practically taste the anguish in her words when she said them, each syllable feeling like a sword to his chest. Archer didn’t dare look her in the eye. The last thing he needed to see was whatever emotion she held there. 

Somebody tried to stop him as he made for the exit. Somebody else tried to talk him into staying. But he was out the door before Arturia could call him by “name” again. Cú–that damn bastard and his slippery tongue. Archer should have known better than to drink with that idiot. He knew his mouth tended to run when alcohol was involved. He was careless. He shouldn’t have– 

“Wait. Please.”

 A hitch in his step. A stumble. But Archer continued his headway through Chaldea’s halls with a rushed pace. No. No. Hell no. He wasn’t dealing with this. 

He felt Arturia's fingers circle his wrist. It had been so long since he had touched her. Many a lonely night, he'd longed for that same touch, trying and failing to find its comfort between every summon. Many of those nights, he realized all he'd ever known was sweat against the grip of his twin swords and blood on the tips of his arrows. She was a dream; a single, impossible dream. She had no place in his life of infinite nightmares.

"Shirou—"

A few eons ago he would be on his knees, but now, his spirit didn't even stir. She might have as well called another name and it wouldn’t have made a difference. If anything, it was anger that moved him as he turned to face her. After years and years of trying to outrun his demons she’d dragged him right back into their damned den. 

"That's not who I am, Saber."

Arturia felt the floor slide from under her, smooth tile replaced by stone and gravel that cut at her heels. All of a sudden, the fluorescent lights were a brown sky of cinders and smoke and when she breathed all she tasted was ash. She blinked and swords were at her neck. Eyes devoid of all life and color stared her down. She felt like she was looking straight into a black hole, helpless as it tore her apart inch by inch. She couldn’t move, couldn’t speak, couldn’t breathe. How could she, stifled by how glaringly empty the white haired vessel in front of her was?

The dull, metallic sound of gears turning filled the stale air between the two Servants. Unnoticed, a single tear slipped from her cheek, joining all those that had been spilled on the grounds of his nightmarish reality marble. She knew he was right. She need only look around for her proof. This place, this hill—if she squinted she could believe she was bleeding out on the fields of Camlann, her voice hoarse from grieving for her failures. If Shirou had taken the same path that she did, it was entirely possible for the man he became to end up here. 

Fresh salt welled up under her irises as she wept for the stranger before her. The hearth she once loved was but an empty fireplace now; the fire that once warmed her soul replaced by white ash. Maybe the other kings were right. She was a fool; a dreaming little girl clawing for delusions she could never achieve. 

As her tears fell, a bitter smile graced her face. "If you could just tell me, one last time, that it was real…that you loved—"

"I won’t. I can’t." Archer cut her off, pain shooting through his system like swords erupting from his flesh. A long, sharp ringing in his ear resounded as he looked down on the girl that changed his life several centuries ago. Her words haunted him like an echo, cyclically repeating till they left scars in the deepest recesses of his mind. Worse were her sea green eyes. He used to drink them up, but now he felt like he was drowning.

"Don't make me say it,” he grunted, lips quivering with every syllable, “I can't say the words."

Arturia’s tears ran dry before either of them said anything. Soon the orange sky had faded back into the white lights of the Chaldea halls. The knight swiped the back of her hand against her face. When he met her stare again, it had gone cold as ice, as if she’d discarded their warmth together with her tears. He realized at once she’d done what had taken him years to do: bury her feelings so far down there was no way she could ever reach them again. 

“My sincerest apologies for my earlier outburst,” she said stiffly, adopting a tone he hadn’t heard since they first met in that dark storage house. “Thank you for your answer. But…you are right. I should not have reminded you of your past when you’ve already cast it away.”

Why did it feel like his insides were being ripped out?  

Arturia dusted herself off, wearing that irritating soulless expression she liked to use with her knights. She gave him a soft, distant smile. “I hope you can forgive me…Archer.”

Part of him died that instant, the part that steadfastly hoped for the light at the end of the dark path, the reward he’d reap for all the suffering he endured, the warm welcome to paradise. He wondered if it was worth it to continue on his journey at all. She wouldn’t be waiting for him at the end. Not anymore.

[akampana]

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.

_____________________

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)

[akampana]

28 and/or 7 aa Beditoria mayhaps

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.

_______

Crying in Beditoria

thank you for the ask. :)

-akampana

[akampana]

YOU ARE BACK!!!! *Dances like dog when owner comes back*

~~~~~~~~

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. 

_____

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.

-akampana

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12 Acts of Kindness: Comforting Megan - Random Acts

For our sixth act in the 12 Acts of Kindness, staffer Jennifer was able to provide one very special little girl with an especially comforting gift.

For the sixth act in our 12 Acts of Kindness campaign, Random Acts development officer Jennifer gifted us with this touching guest blog about three kids whose Christmas holiday included some well-deserved comfort. 

Make sure to follow our blog closely over the next week as we document all the ways our staff are celebrating this year’s 12 Acts of Kindness — and if you’re feeling the itch to perform a sponsored act yourself, make sure to apply for funding using one of our handy Act Proposal forms here.