#akampana articulates

[akampana]

I know you know nothing about Tokyo Afterschool Summoners, but may I present you a wonderful crossover ship that is Tsukuyomi x Artoria?

tfw your harem game is so strong you pull people from other apps

[akampana]

Thoughts on an Artoria/Diarmuid/Bedivere/Sasaki quartet? Thoughts on Sasaki joining the harem?

wdym he's always been a part of it hahahaah

I tend to think of Kojirou being the loosest member of the harem. Think of it like...he's a part of the rather exclusive club but he doesn't always show up to meetings. because he's stuck at the gate *wheeze*

I say, predictably, that I am absolutely down for this quartet! I think its nice and balanced cause we got the mostly-suave-but-sometimes-tryhard-cool-guy Kojirou, Playful, flirty, enabler gentleman Diar, straight-laced serious gal Arty, and sweet, loyal Bedi.

this ship in particular makes me think of a University AU where Kojirou meets the Europeans through an exchange student program courtesy of his sword skills. The school thought their fencing varsity could benefit from being exposed to eastern technique.

As soon as he got there, he met Arty, who was his trial match and the reason he was made an honorary member of their little club. He met Bedi there too, who he learned later wasn't even that into fencing, he just really liked being on a team with his short, blonde, childhood friend. Thanks to him, Sasaki got affordable housing in an apartment near the university, where Bedi lived with his housemate and fellow scholar, Diarmuid. The rent was basically the shared electricity and water bill. Which was rather...odd. At least until he found out the house was owned by none other than the tiny blonde that first welcomed him. Who...apparently owned the one room the other two didn't enter while giving him the house tour.

tldr: kojirou moves in and decides they're in a poly relationship now.

[akampana]

Curiosity has been raised have you ever considered Arturia x Siegfried? Was just curious. Thank you!

“…Perhaps it’s best…we part ways.”

short answer? yes.

Long answer:

Before I was planning to go back to content creation again, I was looking for a new character to explore. That new character ended up being Cú Alter, because he came home in my main FGO.

But Siegfried was who I was going to go with. It was always gonna be him. I even had him in my alt FGO account and all, I thought he was supremely cool in Apoc, and I even had a buncha stuff I wanted to try with him.

Plus (Regarding Siegfried x Arturia), I really thought he and Arturia would get along well. They both selflessly carried similar burdens until their deaths. Except his was the burden of a hero, and hers was a knight-king's. I thought if they do get together, they could potentially be a great match. They'd treat each other with chivalry, there'd be a lot less chaos and more silent (and awkward) communication, and after tripping and falling while navigating their incarnation they find some sort of happiness for themselves.

They even had a cool conflict in my head, cause you know he's a Dragon Slayer and she's a literally made to be like a dragon. It's even in their attributes, its in her name. I even have this angsty headcanon that it's easy for Siegfried to hurt her by accident because of their attributes, but she says she doesn't mind, because she can't lie and sayitdoesn'thurtbuthedoesn'twanttohurtheratallandthisjustgiveshimanotherreasontokeepapologizingforbeingherebutshedoesn'twanthimtoapologizebecause--

Yeah. Just yeah.

thanks for the ask! ~akampana

[akampana]

"When was the last time you ate?"

Brain could have made it simple and have a chaldea gilturia, but nooo, it had to think up a possible sideplot of arturia stranded back in time to Uruk due to Morgan shenanigans and being her being helped by a king gilgamesh who had his eye catch the unusual locks of blonde hair escaping the cover of her hood.

Took me a long time, but here you go. :>

Sickness prompts 3 "When was the last time you ate?"

Caster Gilgamesh x Arturia Pendragon 2.6k

_______

Gold was the color of power. Every man in Uruk knew that. Silver may have been what they used to trade, but it was wealth in gold that truly represented prestige. It was what the people procured to place on their altars, hoping the gods would hasten their wishes. It was what they armed the most valiant warriors with, to remind them of the great honor and burden they selflessly took up for their cities. It was a most precious gift to the dead, a last pleasure before they were sent off to oblivion. Gold was precious. Gold was sought-after.

That their godly king sported spun gold upon his crown was only fitting. No one else had the same trait, not even the children of his concubines, who all took after the looks of their mothers. The population of Uruk largely had the same look: sun-kissed skin, dark eyes, darker hair. All of these were qualities that made them resistant to the temper and climate of the harsh land they molded and called home.

Although he no longer saw it as a dividing factor, his appearance kept the wise king Gilgamesh unique in the eyes of the masses. The lucky men and women that shared his bed marveled at his features. Eyes like gemstones, skin like sandstone, and hair the most brilliant shade of gold.

This never bothered Gilgamesh. As the years passed, he still learned the names of his citizens, still remembered their faces, the places where they settled in his great city. No two children were the same, and he valued each as their own person, even if they had their commonalities.

As the king looked over the crowd, he recognized those who tilled the east fields, the talented hands of she who crafted his headdress, the newest hire at the facility for making beer, and…

“Siduri,” the king called, knowing the priestess was never out of earshot. As she came up beside him, answering his call, she followed his crimson gaze down the ziggurat and into the market, where a small hooded figure walked alone down the crowded street. Every so often, it would hasten its step, pulling its dark cape lower over its face as some of his citizens turned their heads to follow.

The stranger was quick, maneuvering the busy paths like the wind was guiding their pace. However, even at this distance, Gilgamesh could see it begin to tire, suffering in that stuffy cloak while the sun was at its highest and simultaneously avoiding the attention of the passers-by.

“An intruder?” the priestess contemplated, knowing it was impossible for such to have passed the guards at the gate. Not without word reaching the king’s throne room first. The king had enacted safety procedures that should have prevented this incident decades ago. But while Siduri busied herself with finding information, Gilgamesh’s attention was taken by a small child, who’d tripped over her own feet right onto the hooded figure’s path.

Without missing a beat, the stranger bent down, helping the toddler to her feet and away from the passing carts of imports. The small girl, Mamitu, Gilgamesh recalled, began to wail, but her cries were ceased by the stranger’s gentle hands brushing the dirt from her clothes and cheeks.

Perhaps in an attempt to thank the figure, the child rushed forward, throwing her small arms around the stranger’s neck.

Suddenly, it was like the gods had frozen time itself. Sacks of grain fell from the limp arms of their carriers. Carts slowed as the beasts that pulled them were reined in to an abrupt stop. Laborers held their tools mid-swing, those on their three days rest paused in their leisure.

What emerged from beneath that dark cloak was a beauty no one had ever seen before. Her skin was lighter than undyed wool. Her eyes, like gems the goddess Ishtar would demand to have. And her hair...her hair was a river of bright, shining gold.

Siduri’s surprised gasp went unnoticed as the king’s feet pulled him forward. Messengers with tablets followed their ruler down the steps, but their words were lost to him. There was only one thing that occupied the wise king’s mind, superseding his kingdom’s affairs and the exhaustion that followed them, and she had finally returned his gaze.

She was gravity to Gilgamesh, drawing him closer as time once again resumed its rushed pace. The crowd parted for their king as he descended into the marketplace, traveling merchants moving aside, curious onlookers bowing as he passed. The stranger tried to leave, but she stayed rooted in place, for little Mamitu knew her king, and knew Gilgamesh would not bring such a beautiful creature to harm.

It was the child that connected their hands, for even at a fragile age, all knew that treasures belonged to their esteemed leader. Although the little girl fretted over the loss of a potential friend, a treasure such as this, with a charm so peculiar...it was only right to offer her to the king.

...

Her name was not the first he demanded of the woman, who wore clothes far too thick and in strange fashion. It was the third, for that the first two were wasted determining that she needed a translation spell to understand the words he spoke and ordering her to follow his servants.

Only when she had been washed and dressed did she appear before him in his busy throne room. Now that she was free of her stifling clothes, all could see her cheeks had hollowed. Her small figure showed signs of malnourishment that no longer existed in his kingdom.

She was not a goddess, as his people mistakenly believed. The divine did not hunger, but they demanded sacrifice nonetheless to feed their egos. She was human, weakened by a lack of sustenance, the hot weather, and the unforgiving desert that singed the shoes off of her feet. But still, she carried herself with pride, shoulders squared as much as she could manage.

She didn’t walk like the gods, who traipsed across the land with reckless abandon, caring not for what they may have crushed beneath their heels. Even escorted by guards, she glided through his ziggurat with a perfected grace, the kind that was practiced. The stranger never bowed, nor lowered her head as a sign of respect. All she offered was the same unyielding evergreen stare that challenged him enough to descend from his throne to meet it.

This woman was a king, just like himself. He didn’t know when or how she had come to be, but the moment their gazes met, he felt a connection that reached across time and space that told him that King Arturia Pendragon spoke the truth about herself.

“You would dare claim that title in front of our king Gilgamesh—” Siduri raised her voice, ready as ever to discipline the wayward tongue of the fair-skinned foreigner, but Gilgamesh raised his hand to still his priestess, for he could see what she could not.

This Arturia had spoken without a hint of doubt in her voice or slouch in posture. However brazen the claim, it was the truth.

“You are the ruler of this land,” the woman confirmed more than asked, noting the glares his followers sent her when she addressed him so forwardly. “If I could appeal to your kindness...It shames me to admit it, but I am in need of your aid—”

“Silence,” the king interrupted, gripping her chin and turning her head from side to side. The girl’s hands hovered above his wrist, hesitating to throw him off, her wide eyes flitting over to Siduri as if the woman could give her answers as to whether this behavior was normal in this country. She would not get her answers, however, for even the priestess thought it odd that he would openly touch a person who had not offered themselves as a concubine. Perhaps, in his more youthful days, but not now. After all, it was less his lust that even drove him to seek physical comfort these days, but necessity.

“You shall not make me an incompetent host in my own kingdom, Arturia Pendragon,” came his raspy voice as he observed her thin figure, the clothes of his time doing little to hide the fatigue she was suffering. “When was the last time you ate? You must think me so selfish a king, to not have welcomed one of royal blood such as yourself with any less than a feast.”

The small girl’s eyes widened at his words, surprise gripping her heart. She’d been toiling about how to convince him she was royalty, but she needn’t have. Gilgamesh read her entire history at a glance. Now that he’d said that, however, it seemed she could no longer tolerate being held so roughly, for she clasped her hands around his fingers and pulled herself from his hold.

“I have no such thoughts. You could not have known that I too, rule a kingdom of my own,” she huffed, the unhardened lilt in her voice telling him she hadn’t held her title for very long yet. “There are more important matters I wish to discuss, if you shall grant me the honor of your audience—”

“Matters more significant than accepting my hospitality? Are you so disillusioned that you think I could lend an ear to you when it is clear to all you are more starved than an exile wandering the desert?” Gilgamesh interrupted, still a little irked that someone other than him claimed to be a king as well, but he supposed whatever title she claimed was meaningless in his kingdom.

“That I look over my tablet at all is more than what you deserve, ruler of faraway Britain, for whatever power or influence you must have held in your land has no value here. In comparison, my attendants bring me much more pressing information that I must act upon. That I offer you even a wink of time for a welcome is proof of my generosity, and I prove it further by offering your respite, which you reject,” he continued, waving his hand dismissively. “As I have explained, you shall not make an incompetent host of me, and you shall accept my hospitality,” he said imperatively.

With that, he turned his back to his gobsmacked guest, taking his seat once more upon his golden throne.

“Answer me then, “King” of Knights. When was the last time you ate?” he repeated, enjoying the aggressive sparks igniting her strange green eyes as he gazed straight into them. How bold. “The accommodations Siduri will prepare for you will directly correspond to your answer.”

“Your hospitality is appreciated, King Gilgamesh, but I need to speak with your mages—”

Gilgamesh narrowed his eyes, a fierce glower in the orbs between his lids. Suddenly, there was a war brewing between their stares, a clash so strong those that did not share their title felt it unwise to interrupt. If she was the stormy sea, rushing past the shore with all its might, Gilgamesh was the tidebreaker, standing strong and immovable amidst her paroxysm.

Siduri called for her king, sensing his natural craving for relief to boredom sparking to life, but he was too entertained by this stranger to hear. Though she knew now this foreigner was far from divine, the little blonde stood her ground against the godly Gilgamesh without a hint of fear or intimidation. Under different circumstances, Siduri had no doubt this newcomer would not buckle, no matter how hard the wise king Gilgamesh pushed her. Alas, it seemed that the challenges she weathered to arrive in their great city weighed heavy on her sunburnt shoulders.

Arturia relented reluctantly, hoping that her concerns weren’t to be shelved and forgotten until this king’s whim pulled them back into light. In the next moment, she was being ushered away by some of the other servants, her eyes lingering on the man who sat contemplatively on his throne.

As soon as the emerald-eyed one was out of sight, Gilgamesh rolled his eyes. What a fool. If she really were a king, she would have prioritized her survival by just answering his question. How could she possibly hope to return to her time if she were dead?

Curious.

Gilgamesh stared down at his hand, the one that little Mamitu had locked with their golden-haired visitor’s, and remembered how hers felt. Callused and rough, like a warrior’s. He could tell at once hers were palms that were once soft as the pillows that sat on his bed, yet had been forced to blister against the hard hilt of a sword. Even if starvation had thinned what extended from that palm, he could see what remained of hard muscle. Trained muscle, with a stiffness that afflicted the backs of the farmers that tilled their fields. Certainly out of place for a woman that would otherwise have looked like a delicate white flower, which he would have preserved and kept beautiful in the comforts of a royal concubine’s room.

Then again, Arturia Pendragon’s conduct hardly matched the few he employed for his pleasure. Though he believed she’d look delectable in the thin linen he dressed his concubines with, her temperament told him he ought to have her dressed like the guards. Something else told him she’d still look alluring, the discord between her manner of dress and her beauty matching the dissonance of her kingship and her charming naivete.

“This one, Siduri,” Gilgamesh said later, lifting fine silk of blue and white from a selection of garments he’d requested from the merchant women of the loom. They had worked quickly, having long awaited the king’s commission for garments worthy of a queen. And though, for some, jealousy moved their needles, all knew none of them could match the allure of the foreign beauty they’d seen at the market. It must have been destiny at work, thought the weavers. Fate.

The fabric filtered through Gilgamesh’s fingers like the trickle of water from the two great rivers. He could already see the disapproving expression upon the foreign king’s face. No doubt this choice would upset her, for she had appeared in Uruk with clothes far too modest and thick. They hardly showed the strange beauty of her fair skin, with sinful freckles dotted across it like stars. Perhaps soon she would realize that such garments were impractical for the weather of his land, and the set she was offered before appearing at his throne room for the second time was a much better match.

Gilgamesh already knew what she would like to discuss at dinner that evening. It was easy to infer she would like to be restored to her proper place and time. He’d already spoken to the mages, although his knowledge of magecraft was more than enough to tell him her request was possible. They could even send her back to the exact time that she vanished from her homeland, if they could gather the required materials for such a demanding spell. The gathering of which, he inferred, would take at least a few months. Perhaps even a year.

In the meantime, he could claim her repayment for such a heavy favor.

The wise king smirked, seeing Arturia uncomfortably stride into the dining hall in the blue and white dress of his choice. Beguiling, she was, and she did not even appear to be aware of that fact. He couldn’t wait to tell her what would become of her request and what he wanted in return. He was quite decided on the latter.

There was an empty space next to his throne that he would like her to fill.

_____

Hope you enjoyed this lil thing!

-akampana

[akampana]

I would like to test your imagination, Akampana.

In your chaldaea, you have Arturia with all her harem.

- What would happen if Arturia were to disappear to save the Master?

- What would happen if Arturia Alter was summoned soon after?

To me, Arturia Alter is a form of protection for Arturia the original. If she appears, it is because Arturia is no longer able to fulfill the role she has given herself. She can no longer live for her ideal. Her light went out shortly after she disappeared. Alter is just there to make sure that Arturia's legacy doesn't disappear, that no one hurts her, to prevent anyone from tarnishing that ideal and it doesn't matter if she has to go against that ideal. She is the opposite and all who look at her see the beauty of the light that has been lost, just to remind them that the sacrifice of Aturia was a terrible loss.

To me, Alter loves Arturia and seeks to protect her from those who try to harm her. If they were face to face, they would disagree with each other...but Alter would keep a low profile and make sure no one tries to hurt her. Like a twin sister whose character is simply opposite.

In FSN, Alter was forced to appear because of corruption, but this should never have happened. So she obeyed the orders she was given, already because she had to, but in the end, because she wanted to protect Sakura because she felt the young woman's distress and since Arturia could no longer assume her role, she tried to replace her.

I personalize Alter's intentions a lot, but by doing so, Alter is a meaningful character for me and not just a king who has lost his ideals.

If Arturia were to disappear, Alter would answer the call of the summons to replace her, just until Arturia returns. When the king returns, then everyone will appreciate the beauty of her light and Alter will fade away so as not to tarnish it. She will not disappear, not as long as the Master needs her, but she will make sure to fade away and wait for the time when she is no longer needed.

-Fate Inspiration

(I must admit I love Arturia Alter, so forgive me for this personalized question.)

(@fate-inspiration in that case, I hope you'll forgive me too, for such a personalized answer hahahaha!)

Featuring the Harem, Ritsuka, and Saber Alter

4.6k~ words. hurt/comfort, angst

___

“What the hell do you mean, ‘she’s gone’?” the mad king grunted, eyes hollow and voice as low as thunder.

Ritsuka whimpered like she’d been shot through the chest, tears welling up in her large yellow eyes. Their strong master folded in on herself, the girl’s chattering knees no longer able to hold herself up.

But it was not fear that made humanity’s savior sink to the floor. It was not fear that made her grip onto Diarmuid for support as he caught her. It was not fear that made her cry into Cú’s shoulder when he knelt to her level.

It was grief.

“What the hell do you mean, ‘she’s gone’?” Alter echoed, because he was the only one able.

No words came to the lips of the outspoken pharaoh, who stared blankly into space as his back hit the cold wall and he slumped to the floor. He’d forgotten he was a god-king, a ruler meant to be above all else, for now he sat on the level of dogs, and he felt no disgust.

No words came to the handsome French knight, whose sword clattered to the ground beside him as his armored knees clanged against the floor. He lurched forward, bracing himself on his hands like an animal as tears began to well in his eyes.

No words escaped his loyal comrade, who choked on his grief as saltwater streamed down his face freely. He said nothing, only stood there with the pain in his heart weighing down his shoulders.

No words came to the Nameless one, who turned and left without any destination in mind. Anywhere but here, he wanted to be. Anywhere but here.

And no words came to Gilgamesh, who stood in quiet agony, his tongue burning with the need to laugh, to cry, to rage into the stormy gray nothingness outside. Every inch of his skin felt like it was on fire, smoldering for her touch, blazing to feel the locks of her hair as it slipped through his fingers, and above all, aching because he knew that was no longer possible.

Twice, it was a Holy Grail War that brought them just close enough to touch before forcing them apart. Then, by fate, she was once again in his life, this time long enough for him to love her, to cherish her, but only just. When he left, humanity saved, her kiss was the last he felt. It was supposed to be a bittersweet goodbye. A memory for him to cherish as Gilgamesh returned to drift in the Throne.

He shouldn’t have been summoned again.

“In—In Chaldea,” Ritsuka sputtered through hot tears as Mash joined the two Irish knights in their embrace. “In Chaldea, she…she tried to help Da Vinci and I escape, but—but—”

Then Cú Alter too was brought to his knees, his tail shaking in agitation as he begged their Master to continue. Diarmuid couldn’t say anything to calm him, and neither could his blue-haired other self, for both were just as distressed, barely able to keep their wits about them as they awaited Master’s explanation.

“He got her. He got her card, he—” Ritsuka cut off, digging in her skirt pocket before shakily pulling out what was left of the proof of Arturia’s Spirit Origin. It was nothing but a ripped, rumpled pathetic scrap, the only evidence it had ever belonged to her being the shade of blue engraved into its surface.

The mad dog scooped up what was left of the card and unfolded it carefully. It didn’t even come up to half. None of them could see her face, the section cleanly sliced off with a blade.

Someone else left the room. The rest didn’t even know who. They couldn't be bothered to focus on anything but the Spirit Origin of their Arturia lying in tatters, together with every memory she made with them in Chaldea. It was all gone. All gone.

“Who?” Diarmuid asked, his tone deceptively calm. If any of them bothered to look, they would have seen his sclera darken as his glamour fell. They would have seen his tears run black and his teeth grow sharp in rage. “Who got her?” the knight asked, revenge gripping his thrice broken heart.

Ritsuka wailed into Mash’s shoulder, hiding her shame in her teary-eyed Shielder, no longer able to continue. His hands now empty, the Child of Light met Diarmuid’s eyes, mirroring the rage within them with a bloodlust of his own. Master had to give them an answer, else their anger would find another place to let itself out.

Mash answered in her Master’s stead, holding Ritsuka steady as she rubbed circles into the ginger’s back.

“It was a priest, he called himself…Arturia…Arturia called him Kirei. K-Koto—”

Red locked with red. For once, the Lancer and the Archer’s thoughts aligned, and both were thoughts of blood.

“Kotomine Kirei,” they said simultaneously, the syllables spat out like they were filth; filth that deserved to be churned into pieces and incinerated with hellfire till not even ash remained.

Cú could already see it, the mocking face of the one who killed his first ever Master, the one who forced him into service. He could see that damn priest and that damn grin and that damn bloody aura laughing at him like a crazed hyena, taunting him; reminding him that he was nothing but a tool meant to follow orders. He remembered that despicable room beneath the church, those poor orphans. He could see Kirei’s dark silhouette, laughing as this time there was nothing Cú could have done to spare Saber because he wasn’t there, not this time.

Sirens began to blare as the room charged with mana, but both Master and Mash knew there was nothing that could be done. So they could only watch, as the blue beast charged, up off the ground and straight into the one other Servant in the room who knew that sadistic priest.

“You said he was dead!” screamed the spearman, baring his fangs like a feral hound as he tackled the blonde king to the ground. One of his hands was at Gilgamesh’s throat, nails digging painfully into the skin by his jugular. His other was a fist. And every second, his knuckles came back bloodier, every second, the king saw red and more red, but Gilgamesh didn’t stop him. Gilgamesh didn’t do anything at all.

“You both went to Fuyuki to check, you both checked the fucking records, I know you fucking did—”

Something, someone ripped the blue beast off of the king, groaning as Cú elbowed his way out of the hold and back to gripping Gilgamesh’s collar. They slammed against the wall, each ruby-eyed Servant with equally crossed eyebrows and snarling lips.

Suddenly, both the remaining Knights of the Round Table were faced with the same truth that had been haunting them ever since they reunited with Arturia in Chaldea: she had lived short lives without them that had fundamentally changed her, when she joined the Grail Wars. Suddenly, the long history they’d spent serving King Arthur felt insignificant compared to the short weeks she lived as a Servant. Suddenly, they felt like strangers, neither recognizing the name Kotomine Kirei, nor knowing his significance.

And Cú Alter, who’d never known Arturia in any past life or past War, despaired silently, like a flower wilting in the dark. Because this priest, this monster, had stolen away the person who’d made his twisted heart beat and Alter didn’t even know who he was.

“Enough, Cú!” Diarmuid yelled, looping his arms under his fellow Lancer’s shoulders before yanking him off the blonde. But even as he tackled the man to the floor to subdue him, the Irishman understood he only knew half the situation. Kotomine Kirei was naught but a piece of data to him. A representative of the Church, according to Kayneth’s records. Arturia…neither Arturia nor Gilgamesh or even Cú had discussed at length the man’s role in the Fifth Holy Grail War. None of them ever saw the need to…because he was supposed to be dead.

A stray elbow collided with Diarmuid’s nose, finally collapsing the glamour that had kept him looking human. Then, it was a Fae fisting Cú’s hair and forcing him onto the floor, sharp fingernails ripping into the latter’s scalp like little knives.

“Calm yourself, damn it!” the fae yelled, voice distorted, gravelly, and somewhere deep in the uncanny valley. “This will accomplish nothing, you know this, Child of Light, we ought to—”

“—Ought to what?” seethed Lancelot, his thumb rubbing the hilt of Arondight as he contemplated shoving it in his chest. The sword couldn’t possibly break his heart, when so many times already it had been cut to pieces. But maybe it could help with the pain. After a lifetime of regretting never telling Arturia how he really felt, after years of fighting by her side in Chaldea to earn her trust, and later…her love, it had all come to naught. She was gone, her Card lying in tatters in between that devilish Cú Alter’s claws.

“What is it we ought to do, Diarmuid?” the knight spat, his voice darkening as his armor faded to black. The sound of Arturia’s laughter began to echo in the chambers of the poor Frenchman’s mind. Shrill but melodic. Ugly but beautiful. A comfort and an annoyance. A contradiction. He was losing himself, he knew it. He’d been mad before. Several times. He’d gone years without wit, waking up with a clarity only to find months had passed while he was trapped in his own thoughts. But now, he could feel those same thoughts ensnaring him once again, wrapping around his chest as gently as Arturia would caress him.

“Hope? Pray?” Lancelot huffed, the wrinkles between his brows deepening as he began to growl. “I did that til the day I met my death and no matter how much I begged, groveled on the ground like a starving, suffering slave that never brought her back! I—”

"Lance!" Bedivere seethed, his face wet with tears as he grabbed his comrade's wrist. In the background, Ritsuka continued to wail, exhausted and grief-stricken by the double loss of Da Vinci and the King of Knights, but Bedivere could only hope Mash's comfort was enough for the moment.

"Pull yourself together!" the knight urged, though he himself was falling apart at the seams, "Do you believe our king would want this…this discord between us all? We should be relieved our Master didn't come to harm. Our king made a noble sacrifice."

Bedivere wanted to believe his own words, but he knew his expression said differently. Even if he'd delivered that sentence with conviction, he was aching. Lancelot was aching. Even Gilgamesh, even Cú bloody Alter, both he'd never understand, were aching.

As he looked around the room at his defeated Master, his desperate friend, the tattooed blue beast kneeling on the floor, the blue beast pinned under a catatonic fae, the hollow-eyed, arrogant king, and the two that couldn't bear being in the room, it finally sank in.

Arturia had been their keystone. The one thing holding them together. She was the reason he and Lance could stand each other. The reason Cu and Nameless only bickered, never fought. The reason Ozymandias no longer existed in loneliness. The reason Alter resented his existence less. The reason Gilgamesh, of all people, became more than just a tyrannical arse.

Without her, they were strangers. Maybe even enemies.

"Summon her," Gilgamesh suddenly ordered, his imperative tone escaping through his bloody split lip.

"W-what?" Sniffled the distraught Ritsuka as Berserker spun to face the Archer, hope coloring his dark ruby eyes.

"Summon her, Fujimaru Ritsuka," Gilgamesh repeated, approaching his Master with a hastened step. "Arturia loved you. She was loyal to you. Ask, and she will answer your call."

Ritsuka's tears became waterfalls. "B-But she…her records…her card—"

"Summon her," Gilgamesh urged, desperation lacing his imperative tone. Several pairs of eyes were now on the Master, each in a different state of distress. "Every catalyst at your disposal is already present."

Galahad's shield. The sword hidden in Bedivere's arm. Her First knight. Her rival in the Fourth Holy Grail War. Her enemy in the Fifth, and the one who chose to protect her. The remains of her Spirit Origin, held in her newest love's claws. And of course, Ritsuka Fujimaru herself, who made Arturia believe her story had not yet come to a close.

Mash's shield was on the ground the moment Ritsuka held out her hand. Because Gilgamesh was right. Everyone Arturia ever loved was here.

"Heed my words, Arturia Pendragon, King of Knights," she shouted, blue light sparkling off the shield and illuminating the hope going around the room. Magic surged throughout the small metal quarters, filling every servant's veins with adrenaline as the blue orbs began to spin.

No words left the Servants' lips but it was as if they could hear each other's hopes, their desperation, their need to be reunited with the one person who could make them feel whole. All eyes were on Mash's shield, praying for the light to shine on silver sabatons, wishing for the vibrant blue of her battle dress to come forth.

"My will creates your body. Excalibur creates my destiny," screamed Ritsuka, voice hoarse as she altered her summoning chant. Arturia had to come back. She had to. "If you heed the Grail's call and obey my will and reason, then answer my summoning!"

Gold dust. Gilgamesh had never thought the color could look lovelier. Metal boots. Bedivere could still remember how they clanged on the stone floors of the castle, how his heart would beat in anticipation for her arrival, just like it was doing now. A midnight dress. Lancelot gave a quivering smile. He’d always said she’d be beautiful in black. He did. He…he did.

Ritsuka’s grin wavered as she sighed. That was a familiar chin. A familiar face. She’d done it right? Arturia had come. Right?

Diarmuid didn’t have an answer for his Master. He stumbled forward, forgetting his glamour, because he knew that face, that soft chin, even if there was no blush coloring her cheeks.

Free from the former’s grip, Cú sat up, scrambling towards her. He didn’t care that her sword was black. He didn’t care that she didn’t even turn his way.

His Berserker self still kneeled, red eyes holding onto hope as he clutched Arturia’s ripped up class card in his hands. But it wasn’t royal blue that filled his vision. It was the same midnight black as his tail, the same red that stained his chest and face. The hay-colored strands of hair he so loved to run his claws through, they were different. As if…altered.

Gilgamesh reached her first, caressing her cheek in his palm as he always did. Because it was the King of Knights, wasn’t it? It couldn’t be anyone else. He couldn’t mistake her face. Her skin. Her ey—

“Arturia?” he voiced, speaking before his thoughts could catch up.

But it was not evergreen irises bursting with life that met his fiery stare. All he saw was drought and wilt, as if a meadow had gone far too long without rain. They stared at him hauntingly, emptily because there was nothing behind those eyes that would bring warmth to her gaze.

“Arturia” shoved him off coldly, rejecting his touch and pointing her darkened Excalibur at Diarmuid before he could attempt to step any closer.

“What is this?” the newly summoned Servant demanded, unaware of the despair she caused in them all as she searched the summoning room. “You do not appear to be my Master. Do not presume you have the right to use my real name without my title, nor do you have the right to place your hands upon me.”

And though it was Gilgamesh whom she had shoved away, although it was Gilgamesh that felt the cold sting of her armored backhand upon his wrist, it was Diarmuid that dropped to the floor once more. This Arturia…her eyes had met his for no longer than a split second, then they were gone. She had no reason to hold his gaze.

“Hey,” the blue Lancer attempted, grabbing her wrist as she moved away and missing. “Shortie, wait—”

Cú was given the same fate: a glare and nothing more.

Finally, her gaze landed on Ritsuka, the Command Spells on her hand seemingly more important than the silently grieving men around her. “You are the one they call a Master? I have come by your bidding. Artoria Pendragon Alter, Saber Class. You understand the fate that awaits you, and until then, you may command me.”

Alter.

That’s when the tattooed, forcefully changed version of Cú finally realized it. Just as he was not the same person who stood crying hot tears as he begged shortie, shortie, shortie, it was not their Arturia that stood before them.

It was someone else.

The tailed man crumpled into himself, clutching the remains of Arturia’s—his Arturia’s—card to his chest. Cú Alter had thought nothing could ever hurt more than the curses upon his body, the blatant, burning rejection Gae Bolg had for this hated form. He was numb to any and every sword that pierced his flesh in the heat of battle. But this? He felt like he was being eaten alive, consumed by hellfire that burned souls and not skin. Because there was no pain that existed in this world greater than loss. And no ache greater—he thought as Artoria Alter spared him a split-second glance—than a reminder of that loss.

He should have never let himself feel.

“Arturia,” Ritsuka said, ignoring her end of the contract in favor of gripping the woman’s arm. “It’s me, Ritsuka, do…do you remember? Look everyone’s here for you, we’ve got—we’ve got Bedi and Lance, here too. And E-Emiya, he was here earlier with Ozy. Do you remember them?”

The Master gestured to the two knights, who stood with mouth agape as they stuttered forward. She hadn’t reacted, hadn’t even blinked to any of their names. Artoria looked behind the short ginger girl, her gaze first landing on Shielder, then the traitor, then the fool.

“So you summoned them as well, Ritsuka,” she said, her voice like ice, warmth completely absent from her yellow eyes. “I underestimated you, Master. If nothing else, those that used to be of the Round Table are skillful swordsmen. An appropriate addition to the roster you displayed here.”

Roster? Did she think Ritsuka had them all assembled to show off?

“My king—”

“Arturia,” Ritsuka interrupted before Bedivere could start sobbing, “Do you remember?”

Saber Alter grew impatient with her new Masters questions, the odd conduct of the Servants that surrounded her, and most of all, the pathetic expression upon that blonde Servant that dared touch her face. She knew what it was, she’d seen it on Guinevere whenever her queen had looked at Lancelot. Alter had no bloody idea why it was there, when she’d never even met these Heroic Spirits before.

Suddenly, the lizard-like monstrosity she noticed earlier stood up to leave, a bitter expression upon his face, but not before Saber Alter got a glimpse of the rumpled card piece he held onto so tightly. Particularly, the unmistakable shade of blue across it. “Her” favorite color.

Ah, now she understood.

Alter could have picked anyone to confirm her suspicions, but she found her eyes traveling back, barely landing on her former knights and the Irish heroes. All of them looked at her with a longing. Not for herself, but for someone she believed was an entirely person, a noble fool who suffered under the weight of her dreams and her people’s expectations.

Alter answered her new Master just as the imposing Mesopotamian’s ruby eyes began searching hers, and she did the same to his. There it was again, that sickening, soft expression that flooded the eyes of those afflicted with affection. It was undeniable now. Alter had erred in assuming these heroes were all gathered such that Ritsuka could make a good show of her army.

Every single one of these Servants was here because they loved Arturia Pendragon.

“Whatever it is that you speak of, I do not,” she muttered, breaking the King of Heroes’ gaze along with his heart. “For I am not her.”

For the second time in all history, Gilgamesh’s knees hit the floor.

…

Later, when Ritsuka had managed to pull herself together enough for a welcome, Saber Alter sat down with her new Master at the cafeteria. Her eyes rested on the corner table, which, though occupied by her knights, the Irish Lancers and a white-haired Archer, seemed terribly empty, like there was a person meant to fill the space next to the red-clad one. Neither the golden one nor the gloomy lizard made another appearance.

Such devastation. Artoria Alter wasn’t aware her other self could hold this much power over so many Spirits of great renown. She could have used this kind of loyalty and support in Camelot.

“I’m really sorry about earlier, Alter. We shoved our expectations onto you without warning,” Ritsuka apologized, placing some junk food in front of the new recruit. Alter could tell the Master still struggled to look at her face without tearing up, but she respected the strength the ginger displayed.

“Banish the thought, I have already forgotten it. There is no use in dwelling on the past,” the Servant said dismissively. “It seems, however, that my presence will disturb your ranks much more than you anticipated.”

Ritsuka nodded, offering her a solemn smile.

“Arturia saved me, but now…”

She looked around the room, a crease between her eyebrows appearing as EMIYA met her gaze then looked away.

Ozy appeared by the door for a brief minute, but only to give himself enough time to accept the tiny king was gone. Then he left, grievously, muttering that he should never have tried to find another happiness when he’d already found that in life. A worried Nitocris trailed behind, knowing the pharaoh was heading to his pyramid. Ozymandias was going back to his habits in his initial months in Chaldea, which was to spend his hours reminiscing about the past, alone.

“Now, I’m scared she left a hole so deep I can’t possibly fill it in. No matter how much I try,” the Master continued, sighing into her crossed hands. “I just wish the guys wouldn’t blame themselves.”

“And why would they? That seems quite witless on their part. To fall in battle protecting you should have been an honorable end for Saber. I have no doubt she thought of it as such.”

Ritsuka winced at her bluntness, but even the blue Arturia had a tendency to come off a little harsher than she meant to. She knew instinctively Alter meant her no harm. It was just a simple inquiry.

“The reason Arturia was still with me then, when we were all terminating the Servant contracts was because, well…” the Master said quietly, “they didn’t want to be without her. So, she said she’d go after everyone else, so she could see them off.”

Artoria tried not to cringe. It seemed her other self must have changed quite a bit, if she was accepting such strong feelings from these different spirits. Then again, it was difficult to deny that once, a little girl had dreamt—in passing— of finding a prince. A prince, however, not several.

“You know Gil, the-uh, the one with the red eyes and the blonde hair? He was the last of them to see her,” Ritsuka mumbled, twiddling a piece of the blue Arturia’s card between her fingers. “I think that’s why he reacted so rashly when you came.”

“I see,” Alter replied, roughly ripping open one of the many chip bags that sat between her and her contractor. She liked this…potato chip. There weren’t such delicacies in her original time, when it wasn’t uncommon to go hungry during harsh winters.

Ritsuka looked like she wanted to keep the conversation going, but after all the emotional turmoil she’d gone through, the poor girl did not seem to have the words.

“Master.”

“Hm?” the girl hummed, not taking her worried eyes off the far table. There were a couple of snacks before the group, all of them untouched because they were Arturia’s favorites. EMIYA must have been cooking while he was away, distracting himself from his thoughts with his hobby. A hobby that made him extremely compatible with Arturia because of her appetite.

Now, however, there was no one that dared partake.

Cú was leaning onto EMIYA, twiddling with a french fry. It was unclear who was comforting who, but just the fact that Archer let the blue beast remain there was an obvious sign of distress. Even Lancelot and Diarmuid sat facing each other without argument, when they pissed each other off so often. Bedivere was still crying.

“The hole that she left…you are sure you cannot fill it?” Alter asked. There was a rather angry expression on her face, but Ritsuka could tell it wasn’t for her.

“...Yes?” the Master answered truthfully, although the question was quite odd. “I don’t think anyone else can fill that space, honestly. They changed her in many ways, and she changed them. I think they all figured out some way to fit together, and now that she’s gone, it’s…well I guess it’s kinda like a puzzle with one piece missing. Her piece.”

Saber seemed to think for a while before replying. “Then the solution is obvious.”

Suddenly, the new Servant stood up and walked quickly away.

“A-Alter?!” Ritsuka called out, but something told her that regardless of form, Artoria was just as stubborn and bullheaded as always. Nothing could stop the Saber when she set her mind to something.

Artoria plopped down right next to EMIYA on the far table, fitting in the space between the Archer and the end of the bench. She didn’t seem disturbed by the multiple wide eyes staring at her like she’d grown a second head. Bedivere suddenly stopped sniffling. Diarmuid finally took his eyes off the blank space on the wall.

The gothic-looking woman pointed to the fries that sat untouched. “I shall have that. There is no sense in letting food go to waste.” she droned monotonously, staring up into EMIYA’s faded eyes.

Wordlessly, he nodded his head. Someone else pushed the plate in front of Alter, who immediately began inhaling the meal like she’d been starved for a few days. In a record few seconds, the dish was empty, and she was pointing to the second platter.

EMIYA gave her the cookies. Then the croissants. The tarts. Each one she finished, his heart felt a little lighter. By the time she came to the last dish he prepared, Lancer was smiling. He was smiling too. It was bittersweet, but a smile nonetheless.

Ritsuka watched the scene unfold silently, right up until Artoria Alter finished the last plate of snacks and EMIYA went back to the kitchen to cook up something else.

The new Servant looked so odd amongst the knights at the table, her dress so gloomy in contrast to what the others had on. She was awkward as the guys tried to strike up conversation. Too terse. Too rigid. But none of them left, even after the second batch of EMIYA’s cooking had come and gone.

Alter obviously wasn’t a perfect fit. She would never be. But she filled in the gaping hole her other self left just enough for it to be bearable. She closed the emotional gap just enough to pull the others out of the dark. Today, the knights. Tomorrow, maybe, the kings.

Ritsuka kissed the small, torn piece of Arturia’s card in her hands. She'd keep trying, but she didn’t know if—when—she didn’t know when the King of Knights that they knew would come back. She didn't even know if there was a chance they could restore her memories and records. They'd figure something out. They had to.

But in the meantime, she thought, glancing once more at Saber Alter.

This was enough.

___

hope you liked it ;) sorry it took so long

-akampana

[akampana]

I've always thought that Lancer class servants due to being agile and light on thier feet must be excellent dancers. In your opinion who would win a dance off Diarmuid or Cu ??

hi :)

It would be close but...Diarmuid. Aside from legend, something about him being a dual-wielder has always had me hc-in he's ambidextrous, which in turn also translates to him not having a dominant foot.

Doesn't mean Cú's gonna make it an easy fight though, that dance-off's gonna last for at least a week.

[akampana]

How would Arturia react to someone actually burning Irisviel for a better servant?

[I didn't know how to answer this properly so i just wrote it haahahaaha. enjoy!]

The Worst Thing

703 words.

____

Arturia knew the ‘why’.

It was just the reality of being a tool. A tool couldn’t choose who used it, or what that “who” did with it. It was not the tool’s choice to be bashed onto a nail when its owner couldn't find his hammer. Nor was it the tool’s choice to find itself between a child’s drooling tongue and teeth. A tool didn’t have a choice at all. It was just a thing. A disposable, insignificant thing.

Servants may have had thoughts, feelings, skin and bones that knew how to feel pain, but in the end, they were still just tools. They could be utilized, cherished, polished til they shone in the light, or they could be discarded.

Arturia had started this quest to save humanity on a positive note. Her former enemies became allies. Her allies became friends. She was given a second chance with her knights, a second chance with her former masters, a second chance with her. As her Servant family began to grow, she’d thought—she’d really believed—this incarnation was a blessing.

Until a few months went by, and the Servants’ beloved Chaldea began to crowd. Until she began to bump shoulders with people in the hallway. Until Master realized his roster was rather…abundant.

Then, the knight-king saw this incarnation for what it truly, cruelly was: a privilege.

The more modern Servants were the first to go. She hadn’t seen Hans since Master disappeared with Shakespeare and came back with blue gems. There was no longer any melodic chanting of “Christine, Christine,” as she passed through the musicians’ corner. Mordred had been looking for Jekyll for months before he finally sat down and sighed to himself. Then suddenly, Marie Antoinette was without her usual posse. There were only three Cú’s instead of four. Two, now.

Servants started counting down their days when Master began smiling, carrying green, glowing cubes in his arms. Diarmuid, sweet, loyal Diarmuid, had gotten on his knees and confessed to Arturia out of fear he’d never get the chance to express his true feelings. That was last month. He was gone now.

The day he disappeared was also the day she began to fear, to really, truly fear. Because the next Servant that Master burned was Fionn. And it was gold prisms that Fionn left behind.

Arturia didn’t even get to say goodbye to Gawain; didn’t even get to apologize. She knew it was her fault that he had to go. They filled the same niche. It was only a matter of time before Master realized that was the same case for Mordred. And even if Arturia didn’t have the best relationship with Mordred, her son had friends for once. Her son lived. Her son loved.

Arturia loved too. She squeezed Irisviel’s hand tighter. Held her closer. Whispered sweet nothings on every occasion—scratch that—it mattered not whether there was an occasion. She kissed her knuckles, picked her flowers, brought up the better parts of what she remembered from the Fourth Holy Grail War. Maybe her efforts would go unrewarded. Maybe none of them really mattered, but the king pushed on regardless. It was almost like a prayer. Like she was buying them more time with the gifts she brought back home from victorious battles.

Then, Saber was fielded more, to fill the space Gawain left. It was fine, she told herself, panting from her eleventh Excalibur. As long as she kept securing victories…as long as she kept Master satisfied…Irisviel would still be there. She could bring back irises this time. There were irises in the field. Irisviel loved those flowers—

It didn’t matter.

There was a shiny golden prism in Master’s hands when Saber exhaustedly turned up at the command room. But only when she looked around, when she saw Illya, EMIYA, even Kiritsugu, down on their knees as Master beheld his prize, did a tear fall from the king’s eye.

Arturia knew the ‘why’. Rare prisms were a precious resource. They were flexible. Surely they could help Master in his mission to save humanity, maybe even better than a Servant ever could.

The knight-king’s knees hit the floor, her heart shattering with the impact.

Arturia knew the ‘why’. She just didn’t understand it.

-------

thanks for the ask! :)

[akampana]

So if this is back in town then this “ if there’s nothing going on between the two of you, you don’t mind if i ask her out on a date, do you? “ for the Main paring

“The main pairing” wait so its..the ot3, but thats not a pairing cause there's three so its..diarturia/gilart? Wait. but then which one. But if its not…going by how many posts i make is it cutoria? BUT which cutoria? Alter? Lancer? Idk bruh bruhhhhh i think too much anw im really sorry if i got the ship wrong, hope you enjoy what i did here regardless -akampana

hell if i care__________

Words: 1.6k.

Characters: Cú Chulainn Alter | Berserker, Artoria Pendragon | Saber, Cú Chulainn | Lancer

Tags: Pining,

_____________________________________________________________

There was very little that interested Cú Alter. He liked fighting, food…fucking, he guessed, though he was still trying to figure out if that was Medb’s influence or not. All three were things he knew the other Cú’s enjoyed as well, so in the very least there was consistency. Master had ordered—asked, he corrected himself—that he at least try to find things he genuinely reveled in, claiming it would at least make his summoning a little less of a pain.

Ritsuka had suggested he study his peers to explore the dual status that came with his alteration. That meant observing the knights, the kings, and the one other person currently in Chaldea who shared his duality: the King of Knights. The first felt quite insufferable. He detested the second. The third…the third, he struggled to gauge.

At first, it was Master’s words that drove him to invite himself to one of her sparring sessions. He thought that would be all it took to understand that anomaly of a king. One interaction was all it took for him to judge the Fenian knight and his showy lord, after all.

Instead, he found his curiosity growing every time their weapons clashed. He’d come right back to her, day after day, irritated to no end that no matter how much they fought, he never felt satisfied. It was annoying, this need, like an itch that he couldn’t scratch no matter what he did. Eventually, her knights didn’t even bat an eye at his imposing, gloomy presence while he waited for his turn to spar.

Even now, when he knew the exact rhythm of her footsteps, the timing between her swings, the technique she used to steady her breathing, he didn't know what to think of her. Hell, it was difficult to discern why he even bothered. But it couldn't hurt to have something else to alleviate his boredom, he contemplated, bringing Gae Bolg down in a forceful arc.

Arturia Pendragon wisely parried, sword singing as it scraped along his staff. She cast his spear aside like she was throwing a line, launched into a pirouette and aimed her shining weapon. The sword flashed menacingly, reflecting the fluorescent light like moonbeams on a lake, but Cú stood ready to meet it.

The flat of her blade clanged onto the hard black shell that encased his palm, surprising his tiny opponent. It was clear the blonde king had intended to finish their duel with that last trick, as now, she was wide open.

To the human eye, Arturia had only been in the air for a second. Gravity should have pulled her feet to the floor in a blink. But for Servants, especially seasoned warriors that knew battle better than their mothers, that short second was a generous amount of time to turn the tides.

The short monarch groaned as his heel met her abdomen, the quick blow a pain much more brief than the realization that she’d been kicked out of the sparring circle.

Alter tossed Excalibur back to her before she was even on her feet. He wondered why she didn’t take the blade with her. If she had, she might have at least dealt some damage to his hand.

“Don’t leave your holy sword lying around. Ain’t no good ever come from that.”

Arturia caught it like he hadn’t intentionally chucked it just a little too much to the right. The grace in which she did so was bloody infuriating.

“It was my loss,” she admitted reluctantly, for her competitive nature refused that line to be delivered with humility. “Why inflict a wound out of bitterness when I can earn my point back?”

Her sword danced in a flashy arc, showy enough that he could tell she was provoking him, yet simple enough to know she wasn’t doing so out of malice. There was a smirk on her features that he would admit looked prett—pretty detestable.

“What,” he questioned as she re-entered the circle, sword at the ready. A mildly offended tone took over his usually monotonous voice, “you think I can’t take a little scratch?”

“That is not what I meant, Cú,” she said, her tone shifting the mood away from lighthearted banter.

Slowly, she lowered her sword, the magical armor that covered up her body dissipating into gold dust like it did whenever she was fighting Diarmuid. He grimaced when she offered him an open palm. What was she going to do, kiss the back of his hand like a knight would do to a pretty little maiden?

Cú looked down, intending to push her fingers away and get right back to sparring, and then he saw them: wide, deep scars that must have cut right to the bone, their edges too smooth to have been carved by an ordinary blade. The marks looked faded. They must have been sustained since she was younger, perhaps not too long after she pulled the holy blade from the stone.

“Excalibur may not be barbed as your spear is, but it is a blade that never dulls,” she said, breath hitching as the much taller servant grasped her hand and pulled it up to inspect it further. His claw-like thumb traced over the mended skin uncharacteristically gently. Arturia did not expect this kind of tenderness from the crass, severe demigod she’d come to know.

“It would be a shame to claim victory in the next round if I left you with an open wound while you’ve only given me bruises.”

“The hell makes you think you’ll win the next one?” the man snapped, red eyes leaving her scars for the wide black circles inlaid in her maddening gem-like irises. ‘Twas a costly mistake, he would tell himself later.

“What makes you think I will lose?” Arturia smirked, excitement flashing across those damn emerald eyes. Oh, he hated them.

There was still very little that interested Cú Alter. But yes, he thought, heart beating like a rabbit’s with her sword at his neck, she was one of them. The most unbearably vexatious one, he told himself. The kind that got under his skin. The kind that sent shivers down his spine all the way to the tip of the back appendage behind him. The kind that he knew would once more compel his feet to take him back to the sparring room the next day. Back to her.

How...annoying.

__________

“What?” Alter snapped, wondering if he had misheard. Surely he must have, else none of what Lancer had just said would make any sense. For a reason that escaped him, he felt like he was suddenly forced on the defensive, like his peppier self had decided to attack him out of nowhere.

The bluer one of them elbowed him at the side, oblivious to his tense shoulders. For the first time that afternoon, the man took his eyes off Saber, who was sparring against Lancelot. Her style was as agile as ever. Against the towering Lancelot, she looked like a flitting bird, gracefully flying in between Arondight’s slashes.

“I said, if there’s nothing going on between the two of you, you don’t mind if I ask her on a date, do you?” Lancer repeated, similarly tearing his gaze away from the King of Knights with reluctance as he slung his arm over Alter’s shoulder.

The Berserker shoved him off roughly, suddenly feeling suffocated by his other self.

“What the fuck happened to you and that red Archer, then?” he asked, the monotony of his gravelly voice masking the sudden, unexpected emotions festering in his chest.

“Ehhhh…” Cú shrugged, “Sometimes he’s in the mood for me, sometimes he isn’t.”

Lancer’s statement was so nonchalant, the spikier Hound of Ulster wanted to kick him right where it hurt. But he didn’t, because he couldn’t understand why the statement irked him so much.

“Do what you want. Hell if I care,” Alter spat.

There really was nothing between them, Cú realized. As far as he could tell, the King of Knights was just one of the objects of study Master had suggested. That and a rather frequent sparring partner. Nothing else.

She wasn’t even too desirable, after all. Who would tolerate that stupidly chivalrous, abnegating nature of hers? Why would anyone want to be treated the way she treated her knights? She was too damn merciful in her justice, fond in the way that she looked at her loyal subjects, and even those who sinned against her.

Even physically, there were others that were more beautiful. Arturia was built like a wooden board, hardly shapely compared to someone like Medb with her perfect proportions. She was tiny too, so small that her hand looked dwarfed in his. Her skin was littered with scars. Her face was plain, her hair a boring, common blonde, her eyes, her...her eyes—

“If you say so, lizard boy. See ya,” Lancer suddenly cut through his thoughts, strolling towards the sparring field.

Before Cú Alter knew what he was doing, he'd grabbed his other self by the wrist tight enough that he whipped around.

"Oi, oi oi, what the hell do ya think yer—"

This time, Lancer was the one cut off. Cú recognized the look in Alter's eyes. He'd seen it before, in his own eyes when he met Ferdiad, when he looked at Emer for the first time, Archer when they fought, and...'turia...

It was the look of complete and total infatuation.

The blue spearman inhaled sharply. Exhaled. Then, he extracted his wrist from the Berserker's firm grip.

"You're a real piece of work," he said, plopping back down beside his altered self. "Dumbass."

They made enough of a commotion that they caught Arturia’s attention. She stood, eyebrows knit, leaning just enough to look past Lancelot at them both. No…not at them both.

Alter didn't reply. He was too lost in Arturia's green, green eyes to notice his other self ever said anything.

Lancer knew exactly what that was like.

[akampana]

Rarepair anon here! It isn't an Artoria ship, but it is a Gilgamesh one. He and Achilles make for a really fun back and forth imo. They would be so contentious and keep trying to one-up each other at first, but steadily they start to see the better qualities in each other as well (Gil's habit of trying to push those around him to do better, Achilles' prowess and good humor, etc). Lowkey bonding angst too of "My beloved companion died because of my hubris :')"

OHOHOHO~ interesting! Haven't actually thought of this before but but but I can totally see it, especially the angsty potential. Something I kinda had gripes with apoc anime is that they didn't really showcase the darker side of Achilles' life and the complete lack of Patroclus in general. (Which we also see with Heracles and iskandar/hephaestion, but I digress) And in FGO, I get he's the kind to let bygones be bygones but a little more angst around Hektor would be gr8.

He and Gil bonding over losing their closest companions seems like a really warm and likely scenario. Imagine like if they were having dinner with Iskandar or something and the big guy brings up his sorrow over Hephaestion, Achilles and Gil accidentally lock eyes cause they're both famous enough for everyone to know they experienced a similar grief.

[akampana]

Ok I'll bite between Diarmuid and Cu who's the better dance partner?

It depends on the audience. ;)

Regarding the Ballet AU:

Diarmuid was Arturia's first dance partner. they danced together growing up and eventually joined the same ballet company.

As a duet, they're phenomenal. They're a perfect "flower and frame". As her partner, Diarmuid does everything to complement her dancing, providing the support for Arturia to execute more complex and complicated shapes. Whenever they dance together, the viewer's eyes never leave her, because the whole duet it's almost as if she's a flower blooming. They're enchanting to watch.

Cú became her partner after she transferred to the company he was in. Almost immediately, the director noticed there was something different about their duets. They never shared the stage. They competed for it. Every single time they locked eyes, it was electrifying, almost palpable, which made all their dances just a tad bit more intense. When they starred opposite each other, it was obvious they were counterparts.

So which is more beautiful, complements or equals?

[akampana]

Pana can I get the ranking of your favorite Artoria ships 👁👁

you do realize how difficult this is for me to answer right? asdjfaskldfprr i have no idea where to start there's SO MANY FACTORS AAAAAAAAAAAAA

so anyways...

[akampana]

(emerges from a very long dive in the blog)

This is a good blog. With a very good artist and a very good writer that make very good works about a very good Character.

Now, initial impressions aside, may i ask about other servants opinion on this whole Arthurian-cetric net of relationship? Like, what of Iskandar or other servants like Medea and Medusa that have memories of Arturia before all this? Is it maybe a domino effect? With the more people falling for Shorty Arty, the more people get smitten by her? Is the whole Chaldea gonna worship her in the end?

Awww thank you for your kind words! :")

Iskandar and Arturia have a complicated relationship, but they are definitely on better terms in Chaldea. He thinks the whole harem situation is pretty funny, because she's basically making up for all the loving she must have missed in life. He's kind of like her older uncle, and gives her unnecessary advice she would have rather not heard.

He wasn't really surprised about Diarmuid, since the guy had basically took one look at her and decided he loved her. Nor was he surprised about the Gilgameshes. He was surprised about well...everyone else. He doesn't get the hype himself, but she's happier, so it's all fine in his book.

Medea still keeps up her dress-up shenanigans in Chaldea, and for some reason Saber can't seem to escape them. In fact, the harem pretty much considers her an ally. Also, apparently Medea has come to be quite wealthy amongst the servants. Something about commissions for lingerie, the rumors say.

Medusa and Arturia actually still hang out. It's...nice to have someone to talk to about their (good) memories of the Fifth Holy Grail War, especially when more familiar faces had begun to pop-up in Chaldea. Arturia of course, was rather affected by Muramasa and Ishtar, but poor Medusa was reminded of Sakura everywhere she turned. Melt, Lip, Parvati, Kama, even BB. She couldn't really talk with her sisters, and although talking to Arturia had been awkward at the start, they're friends now.

Rather than a domino effect, I'd say it's sort of like a very exclusive club that's reaching capacity. I'm not sure its gonna grow soon, because man the harem's collective aura becomes quite intimidating, especially around new dudes and dudettes that they think might catch Arturia's attention. Poor Achilles barely even breathed before a very bright light was shoved in his face and he had to go through an interrogation. Guy just wanted to say hi.

[akampana]

BRUH HAVE YOU SEEN THE WAY SHE CRADLED HIS CHEEK IN THE MOVIE I *'WJXJJAKo£×£$€×£@ 😭😭😭 I CANT WITH THESE TWO THE MOVIE KILLED ME

I KNOW RIGHT AND HER EXPRESSION RIGHT AFTER UGHIKNGLKDNGAPHGNADFFG I WAS IN TEARSSSSS

[akampana]

Hey, have you considered song fics?

I have, but I don't usually write songfics. I haven't found a song that perfectly suits a certain emotion.

I do however make character and ship playlists, sometimes suggest songs to listen to, and write fics inspired by songs. :)

I'll consider it though, just have to find the right song to write to.

[akampana]

heya I'm gonna slow down on the content for a bit cause I'm drawnig in stress but

im a little shyyyyy to share all my rolls and stuff but...

90 SQ, Arjuna spook, Luvia, and FINALLY Carrot boi. I'm so happy 😊. At least I can go about my work knowing I got the Cú's a new green doggo friend, got my first ruler, and got Cu Alter's reluctant emo bestie an upgrade.

Also last week, I had my little brother lend me his luck and boom:

First ever k-scope and my favorite constellation. :) I been lucky.

[akampana]

vanilla chai — do you have any hobbies that your followers don’t know about? or any hobbies that you once had, but stopped doing?

i used to be a competitive swimmer, like a bunch of medals and all that jazz. never made it past regionals though. nowadays, my skills are put to use being a slightly better skin diver than most tourists at the beach (and recovering their dropped items HAHAH) and for leisurely laps whenever I feel like exercising. 😊

i guess it's kind of a hobby now, yeah. ty for ask!

ask meme