Tag Archives: sirpercivalofcamelot

sirpercivalofcamelot:

iamthefirechild:

“Just for that I should make you wear a dress,” she threatens. Tapping a finger on her mouth, she asks, “What is it you think I’m going to ask for, you muscle-bound swordslinger?”

image

“…Well, how should I know? The phrase is just, generally associated with a certain context, and, even if it weren’t, I mean, you can be a little nuts… not necessarily in a sexual way, I don’t mean, I just, not that I don’t trust you…”

Very, very deliberately, she lowers her voice to a sensual purr, batting her eyelashes and reaching out to trail one hand down his bare arm. “Why, Percival, what kind of woman do you think I am? I would /never/ take advantage of you. You’ll come /willingly/.”

sirpercivalofcamelot replied to your post:sirpercivalofcamelot replied to your post:”My Muse…

[When did that happen?]

There’s a series of asks on Mordred’s blog where it happens. I’m never quite sure of their timeline. I got sulky and tried to break them up, and I’m not sure if that’s part of the standard timeline or if I made another au over there.

I have this idea that there’s a timeline where Summer just is passed about among the knights like a favourite sword or something.

ø

sirpercivalofcamelot:

iamthefirechild:

sirpercivalofcamelot:

13: My muse has to live out one fantasy for your muse.

“Uh oh.”

“‘Uh oh’? What’s that supposed to mean, then?”

“Well, don’t you see the slight smirk on my face? I’m not entirely opposed to it, just… a little bit nervous, and I think that’s justified.”

“Just for that I should make you wear a dress,” she threatens. Tapping a finger on her mouth, she asks, “What is it you think I’m going to ask for, you muscle-bound swordslinger?”

sirpercivalofcamelot replied to your post:“My Muse is obliviously standing underneath the Mistletoe, will yours kiss them?” OF COURSE

[I KEEP LOSING TRACK OF WHICH PEOPLE HE’S KISSED AND WHICH PEOPLE HE’S BANGED AND WICH WERE IN AUs AND IT GETS SO CONFUSING AND FRUSTRATING AND I NEED A CHART]

Make a chart then. I mean, /I’m/ not objecting. Theirs is a strange relationship anyway, and since apparently she’s breaking up with Mordred (idek) … 

sirpercivalofcamelot:

iamthefirechild:

She let him lead her down from the tower; let him help her gather up her few things: some books, some dresses, her small physician’s gear. Her voice shook still when she asked, “What will the King think? I can’t just — ” She faltered to a stop, staring down at the cloak in her hands, and the tears rose up again, closing her throat. I don’t belong here. This isn’t — my family — no one cares. No one will care. She sat down, hands fisting around the fabric, despair rising up again.

“Arthur? He’ll understand.” He tried to draw a laugh. “Merlin will make him, no? But if you’re uncomfortable with it we won’t.” He lowered his eyebrows in sincerity and concern. “Just know the option is open to you, along with any other support you feel would help.” He saw her tears begin to fall, so put an arm around her shoulder and buried his face in the crook of her neck as they walked. “Please, just, tell me what you need. I’ll get it for you.”

“I’m not,” she sighed, “uncomfortable. With moving. Only — I won’t be welcome. I won’t. I can’t — how do I even say this? I’ve no part in the Court, Percival, you know that. I’m not one of the Queen’s ladies, I’m not use to the King, I’m — I can’t be a knight — I’m nothing but a foreign noble’s daughter, floating about the edges of Camelot.” She crumpled the cloak harder, embroidery digging into her hands.

“Percival, you can’t — there’s nothing. I’m broken, I was born broken. Unwanted, unlovable, undesirable. Unneeded.”

sirpercivalofcamelot:

iamthefirechild:

Blindly, drowning in his loyalty and caring, Summer held on to Percival. She didn’t have either the heart or the energy to say no, to tell him that she couldn’t quite believe him. He believed, so strongly, all she could do was nod, helplessly. “It’s not your fault,” she managed to say. And, “If you think it will help.”

But the drop behind her still beckoned.

Percival slowly began to get up, taking Summer’s hand. “Come on, we’ll have your things moved right now. You’ll have the guest knight’s room, right between Mordred’s and mine, we’ll find another one of those elsewhere.” He didn’t think pointing out all the things he’d done wrong would help, so ignored her first statement. “Everyone will be glad to be closer to you. I’ll carry your favorite things myself, is that alright?” He knew this problem wasn’t going to vanish with a few kindnesses. Percival would quietly inform Mordred and the other most trustworthy close friends of Summer of the requirement for continued support. There was certainly more he didn’t know yet, but he reassured himself that it would come in time. And whatever it was, it would not rob him of his friendship and loyalty. “Watch your step, this tower’s always been a bit rickety.” Releasing her hand, he rubbed the tears from his own eyes before holding her face and wiping her’s away gently with his thumbs.

She let him lead her down from the tower; let him help her gather up her few things: some books, some dresses, her small physician’s gear. Her voice shook still when she asked, “What will the King think? I can’t just — ” She faltered to a stop, staring down at the cloak in her hands, and the tears rose up again, closing her throat. I don’t belong here. This isn’t — my family — no one cares. No one will care. She sat down, hands fisting around the fabric, despair rising up again.

sirpercivalofcamelot:

iamthefirechild:

“You shouldn’t, you shouldn’t,” she couldn’t stop repeating, through her own sobs. He held her tighter, but she didn’t want to protest; the feeling of being safe was far too welcome. She wished with all her heart she could believe that this would last beyond his fright at her desperate idea, but past experience told her differently. Once he was past the immediate fear, things would go back to the way they always were, and she would be alone again.

Still.

She clung to him, to that strong body wrapped around her own, and cried until her nose was red and her throat was raw. “Why?” she managed to ask, somewhere in there.

“Because you are my dear, dear friend. You will always be.” His eyes were shut tight. “You are good. You are loved. We’re going to move you to my side of the castle, okay? You can get a room right by all the rooms of your friends. I have been so afraid, so afraid of my own guilt at not being there, afraid of what I hadn’t done, afraid of how you might feel, and I was selfish, selfish, I’m so sorry, my friend. You are good, beautiful, my friend.”

Blindly, drowning in his loyalty and caring, Summer held on to Percival. She didn’t have either the heart or the energy to say no, to tell him that she couldn’t quite believe him. He believed, so strongly, all she could do was nod, helplessly. “It’s not your fault,” she managed to say. And, “If you think it will help.”

But the drop behind her still beckoned.