akampana

[akampana]

the remotest possibilty

[akampana]

Hi, I'm the same anon who expressed their love for your writing and the rare pair, Arturia x Lancelot. I just wanted to thank you for posting that drabble—truly. I’m honestly at a loss for words trying to describe how excited I felt reading it. The writing is absolutely wonderful. I've read it over and over, and I still haven’t come down from the high it gave me. It’s so incredibly rare to find new fic for this pair—I haven’t seen anything in years. You really made my day by sharing that drabble. Thank you so much. <3

Always, I’ll be patiently looking forward to more of your work—or even just the occasional little update on your Tumblr. I hope everything in your life is going well.

Thank you for your kind words. 😊 It was my pleasure to share that drabble. I've been looking for a nice concept for Lancelot and Arturia for a longer story, hopefully I find one.

Thank you also for your well wishes I hope the same for you!

[akampana]

Yay welcome back!

12. Gilturia

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. 

She was gone.

[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]

happy birthday and welcome to HSR Cú!

not me forgetting doggo’s fandom birthday

Happy birthday, all Cú’s and ofc dear Setanta!

[akampana]

Little saber Diar 💚

[akampana]

i cant believe people have beta readers. my fic goes directly from my brain to being posted. if anyone else reads it thats up to god

[akampana]

Romantic confessions dialogue prompts

3 and 25 GilxArtoria.

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.

____

Thank you for the ask! :D

hope u are doing ok :)

-akampana

[akampana]

i see no one else. just you.

[akampana]

ZASSHU ZASSHU ZASSHU ZASSHU

[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]

🥺🥹🥹🥹

Been a while since i posted so here is some Gilgamesh x Arturia …either teaching her sumerian or doing some king and queen duties in the garden……i kinda thought to share the sketch and a greyish version why not

[akampana]

I gonna close request for the prompt thing, and release a few more before finding a new prompt list 😊

[akampana]

You are back!! AKAMPANA is back! 🩵🩵

I missed your art and your fanfics. I hope you are well, I send you a big hug <3333

:D

I am well! I hope you’re okay too.

And awww that’s really sweet. I missed making them. :) BIIIIIIGG HUUUUGGGG

[akampana]

a little taste of goodness

[akampana]

YES YES A THOUSAND TIMES YES

"If we ever meet again..."