Tag Archives: sirpercivalofcamelot

sirpercivalofcamelot:

iamthefirechild:

She couldn’t stop herself curling into his arms. It felt so safe there, just as if nothing could hurt her again, despite knowing how false that was. She sniffled, gracelessly, and didn’t say anything for a moment. It did help. A little. The desperate, tearing despair that had driven her up to the tower was gone, anyway, slashed through the way sunlight slashes through stormclouds.

“You don’t understand, Percival,” she whispered back, but it didn’t have the force of earlier protests. “You don’t know what I am. The things I am … you shouldn’t care so much. I’ll hurt you, I won’t even mean to, I’ll just want too much and hurt you.”

Percival half shook his head, half nuzzled closer. “Nothing would’ve hurt me more then you going through with that. I’m not a fool, Summer. I can imagine lots of possibilities.” It felt so absurd, so out of place, but he felt himself giggle between tears. “I’m very big, and very strong.” He sighed. “You can tell me what you’re so afraid to tell me whenever you’re good and ready, dammit. You should know that I’m ready, though.” He breathed her in and out, trying to calm himself, but couldn’t keep from imagining what might’ve happened had he not come when he had, and sobs wracked his body. He pulled her closer to him and further from the ledge. I’m going to hold you for as long as I can…

“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.

sirpercivalofcamelot:

iamthefirechild:

She wanted to argue with him, but he believed so strongly in what he was saying it was hard to. And he didn’t know enough, he didn’t know she had magic. It would be hard to argue with him without revealing that. Nevertheless, she wrapped her arms around her shoulders, shaking her head. Soft wisps of loose hair flew around her face. “I am a liar. There are things you don’t know, things you can’t know. I don’t deserve it, Percival, I don’t.”

He moved to put his arms around her gently, resting his head on her shoulder. He almost whispered, “You are my dear friend, you are my dear, dear friend. There is nothing you could say or do to make me stop loving you, there is nothing you could say or do, nothing anyone could say or do that could make me stop caring about you, there is nothing that could ever happen to make me be okay with you feeling like this…” As he spoke he felt his own tears spill over, and his own arms begin to tighten around her, carefully and slowly. “There isn’t anything in the entire world, Summer. There isn’t anything. I’m so sorry.” He just wanted to fix things, there wasn’t anything that could keep him from wanting to make it better.

She couldn’t stop herself curling into his arms. It felt so safe there, just as if nothing could hurt her again, despite knowing how false that was. She sniffled, gracelessly, and didn’t say anything for a moment. It did help. A little. The desperate, tearing despair that had driven her up to the tower was gone, anyway, slashed through the way sunlight slashes through stormclouds.

“You don’t understand, Percival,” she whispered back, but it didn’t have the force of earlier protests. “You don’t know what I am. The things I am … you shouldn’t care so much. I’ll hurt you, I won’t even mean to, I’ll just want too much and hurt you.”

sirpercivalofcamelot:

iamthefirechild:

“Don’t, don’t — ” she tried to stop him, but the words kept spilling out of him, and she flushed hotly, guilty and wretched. “Percival, don’t please. It’s not you, it’s me, I’m … I’m a bad person. I’m a liar, and selfish, and horrid. I don’t deserve to be here, I don’t deserve to be cared about. You can’t — I was born broken. You can’t fix me. Nobody can fix me.” She gulped, and the tears she’d been trying so hard to hold back started to slide hotly down her cheeks.

“I’m alone, and I’m supposed to /be/ alone.”

Percival frowned deeply, and looked right into her eyes. “No. You are an excellent person. You occasionally lie, you can occasionally be selfish, I don’t care. You do more good than bad, and even if you didn’t, it wouldn’t matter to me. You are wonderful Summer. You deserve love and comfort and joy and protection and even if you didn’t I would still give it to you. Because I want to.” He began again to move forward, but remembered she still may not have wanted him to. Water began to gather in his eyes, as well. “I want to, Summer. Can I hold you?”

She wanted to argue with him, but he believed so strongly in what he was saying it was hard to. And he didn’t know enough, he didn’t know she had magic. It would be hard to argue with him without revealing that. Nevertheless, she wrapped her arms around her shoulders, shaking her head. Soft wisps of loose hair flew around her face. “I am a liar. There are things you don’t know, things you can’t know. I don’t deserve it, Percival, I don’t.”

sirpercivalofcamelot:

iamthefirechild:

Summer slipped her hand from under his. Why /now/? She blinked, and a tear rolled down her face. “I don’t — no thank you, Sir Knight.” Carefully formal. Deliberate distance. She couldn’t bear to let him — any of them — in again and be hurt again. They’d forget about her, soon enough, like always. “Can you please just let me alone to die?” she mumbled.

Percival grimaced as he placed his hand back in his own lap.

image

“I’m sorry I wasn’t here when all of it- happened. I’m sorry it happened at all. I’m sorry I didn’t stop it, you know I wish I had, you know I wish I could’ve!” He held his head in his hands. “…I, you, you’re cared for, Summer,” he looked back up at her. “I’m so sorry. I knew it was hard, and I knew you were hurt, but I didn’t know what to say, and I came up here to tell you about the picnic, and you were standing there, and I hadn’t- I hadn’t realized it was this bad, I am so, so, sorry… What can I do, what can I give you?”

“Don’t, don’t — ” she tried to stop him, but the words kept spilling out of him, and she flushed hotly, guilty and wretched. “Percival, don’t please. It’s not you, it’s me, I’m … I’m a bad person. I’m a liar, and selfish, and horrid. I don’t deserve to be here, I don’t deserve to be cared about. You can’t — I was born broken. You can’t fix me. Nobody can fix me.” She gulped, and the tears she’d been trying so hard to hold back started to slide hotly down her cheeks.

“I’m alone, and I’m supposed to /be/ alone.”

sirpercivalofcamelot:

iamthefirechild:

She wanted to laugh. She wanted to cry. Now, /now/, they think of her, when she’s finally decided she can’t take it any more, when she’s ready for there not to be any more pain, any more anything?

She dropped to sit on the edge, arms shaking, and just stared at Percival. “A picnic,” she said, finally. She choked on a hysterical laugh. “Don’t play, Percival. Sir Knight.”

Percival started when she suddenly sat. He shuffled over to sit next to her, albeit further from the ledge. His brow lowered and he reached to rest his hand on hers. “Yes, a picnic. But if you’d rather, you and I can have one right here instead.”

Summer slipped her hand from under his. Why /now/? She blinked, and a tear rolled down her face. “I don’t — no thank you, Sir Knight.” Carefully formal. Deliberate distance. She couldn’t bear to let him — any of them — in again and be hurt again. They’d forget about her, soon enough, like always. “Can you please just let me alone to die?” she mumbled.

sirpercivalofcamelot:

iamthefirechild:

Someone called her name — Percival. She wobbled, and grabbed at the stone, heart pounding. Falling was different from jumping. Jumping was a choice.

“What is it, Percival?” Her voice trembled, forced through an aching throat.

image

“Gods, that’s a long drop. I hate heights.” Percival looked back up at Summer. “Not really anything. Gwaine and I and and a few others are going on a picnic and we wanted to invite you. Can we speak elsewhere? I’m going to soil myself, watching you stand on the edge like that.”

She wanted to laugh. She wanted to cry. Now, /now/, they think of her, when she’s finally decided she can’t take it any more, when she’s ready for there not to be any more pain, any more anything?

She dropped to sit on the edge, arms shaking, and just stared at Percival. “A picnic,” she said, finally. She choked on a hysterical laugh. “Don’t play, Percival. Sir Knight.”

sirpercivalofcamelot:

iamthefirechild:

image

The walls of Camelot weren’t very high. Not for what she was planning. She stood on the tallest tower, looking down, and it didn’t seem nearly far enough.

But no one would care. No one would even notice.

She took a deep breath, and climbed up on the edge, ready to jump.

“Summer! I’ve been looking for you!” He paused. “That’s not a brilliant place to stand.”

image

Someone called her name — Percival. She wobbled, and grabbed at the stone, heart pounding. Falling was different from jumping. Jumping was a choice.

“What is it, Percival?” Her voice trembled, forced through an aching throat.

⊕ [do it for the funny]

sirpercivalofcamelot:

Pros:

  1. They’d both really enjoy it
  2. the foreplay would be hilarious
  3. the subsequent stealing of sheets would be hilarious
  4. the morning after would be hilarious

Cons:

  1. the morning after would be really awkward 
  2. the whole thing would probably be awkward
  3. those aren’t necessarily cons, really.
  4. all of the teaching you’d probably have to do

“But teaching Percival how to do the sex would be so much fun!”

Red String of Fate [ooooooohhhhh *waves arms*]

6. Our muses are destined to be each other’s eternal rebounds

oh god. *dies of giggle*

It was a stupid argument. It was /always/ a stupid argument, and it never mattered, because it would happen over and over. And every time, she would end up at Percival’s door, mead in hand, eyes red.

He never really asked what happened. She didn’t think it was because he didn’t care, but, well, he didn’t care about that. It didn’t matter; what mattered was her. She never asked him, when he showed up on her doorstep in the same manner.

They would sit together, and drink, and talk about anything other than what had brought them together. Most times, it ended up with the two of them in bed together, and in the morning they would look at each other, and away, and not say anything.

What was there to say? They weren’t ‘in love’, the way they both kept looking to be. It was more than that. And less than that. It was a home, a safe place, where the expectations were different and nobody needed to impress anyone else.

sirpercivalofcamelot:

iamthefirechild:

“I do like the power of a crossbow, but I had rather be able to have a few shots in the air at once,” Summer agreed. “Will you send to the kitchens, or shall I? I won’t be long packing.” With a slight smile, she added, “Please put an extra shirt in your saddlebags. Just in case.”

“I’ll send.” He lowered his eyebrows in concern. “An extra shirt?” He pursed his lips. “Are you concerned about the smell?”

“No!” That hadn’t even occurred to her. “Just that if you should get hurt, a clean shirt will be handy, after all. Or if it should rain, dry clothes?” It just seemed like a sensible thing to her. She shrugged and darted off to cram a pair of breeches, a spare shirt, a simple, nice gown, and a lot of useful odds and ends into a saddlebag. Then she changed clothes and ran back down to the stables, arriving breathlessly.