#valiantsword

[lifefcrged]

She had ridden with the others, flying across mountain side and skittering over ice with the vampires of the northern coven when they had chosen to break their solitude to offer defense and support to the remaining coven in their lands. It had seemed a simple enough decision on her part, though Lina and the others had attempted to persuade her to stay behind. She might not be merely mortal, but she was human, and the risk to her was great - but she countered their arguments with her own, reminding them that what harm may come to them, especially in the fight against Lycans, so close to daylight, was in this one, particular instance, more than what she might face. And that her healing abilities could come in handy there, more than ever.

It had been a reluctant acquiescence on their part, but it was a victory, and she would take it as such. Having to remain back, and not enter into the battle itself, had been agonizing, but she was quick to find those that had been injured, that were able to stagger their way out of the fray, and offer what help she could on the battlefield itself. Fortunately, she supposed, the battle itself was quick and the Lycans fled as Selene and her companions turned the tide of battle. The head of the Lycan leader remained on a pike in the middle of the coven floor -- she hoped that would not last long, and she was among the first to begin trying to assess the damage and losses of the fight.

The shock of a mortal, or so she seemed to them, amongst the members of the coven that -- as far as she knew, currently belonged to no one, was small. Too much else of consequence had happened this night for them to give it over much thought. She had helped to perform a triage of the wounded - those that could be helped with a stored serving of blood and a few bandages were relegated to others, and she made her way to those that had borne the worst of the injuries.

The man was a stranger to her, but that did not stop her from offering him a warm, if weary smile as she came to where he had been directed to sit. His wounds, like most of the vampires that had not been burned to a cinder, would heal, eventually, on their own, but his would take longer and given that he had traveled and fought with Selene, she would do what she could to hasten that process. The bag that she carried held traditional medical tools, as well as a wide assortment of herbal remedies and potions that she had learned to make in her time in the northern coven, but it also held a silver, needle sharp thimble that she withdrew, and a simple metal cup. "I'll take a look at your wounds in a moment," she assured him, settling lightly to kneel beside where he sat. "And tend to anything left after, but first, you'll need to feed." It's an easy and familiar movement, to place the cup on the floor between them, to settle the sharpened thimble onto her finger and pierce the vein on her wrist. She barely even registered the pain, other than the momentary heat of it, letting the blood flow into the cup until it was nearly at the brim. By the time she had wiped the thimble clean and reached to grasp the cup up to offer it to him, the small puncture wound had already healed. "It will help, I promise."

@valiantsword

[unityfcrged]

@valiantsword gets a starter.

"I would apologize for the accommodations," Chrisjen said with an irritated flap at the hotel room they were meeting in - no tell motel would've been too polite a descriptor, in her opinion. "If I thought you gave a flying fuck."

Dark eyes gave the surroundings one more annoyed once over before her focus pulled back to Arthur. "Should either of us currently be under surveillance, it seems that 'old woman sows belated wild oats with virile consort' sits better with voters than 'under secretary commits corporate espionage'."

[softersinned-arc]

@valiantsword said: ❝   you can’t be serious.   ❞

"Deadly serious, I'm afraid," Astoria reports, her voice and expression both grave. "When I was a little girl I was absolutely terrified of rabbits."

Another night courting death, and it feels less like danger and more like, well, a date: they stroll through the city, or a park, or a garden long after the sun has set and the streets become less crowded, enjoying the comfortable evening chill and waiting to see if someone takes another shot at them. She'd be irritated by their failure to draw out an enemy were she not enjoying the process quite so much. Arthur, always close by, was excellent company even before she gave herself permission to be as absurdly attached as she is, and now that they've had that conversation, it's only gotten better.

Then again, it means that there have been all too many moments when they really should have been targeted—the evening they spent in Volksgarten, wrapped around each other like teenagers, Arthur pressing her back against a tree while she slipped a hand under the hem of his shirt and forgot what they were doing there; or the night they spent sitting on a bridge in Aigner Park, feet dangling over the edge while they talked, so enraptured with their conversation that they'd completely lost track of time until the sun started to creep over the horizon. Or tonight, deliberately ducking down every poorly-lit alleyway and seedy backstreet, looking so like clueless tourists she's almost shocked that they aren't getting jumped.

And she's sure now that their cover holds: she looks the part of the enamored new bride, she knows, sneaking glances at Arthur when she thinks he's not looking, letting her lips curl up in a slow and sweet smile when he calls for her attention, even going so far as to slip her arm around his waist and her hand into the pocket of his jeans as they walked one morning. She practically shimmers with excitement when he calls her Birdy, at this stage. She sleeps well with company, she's learned, and she wakes morning after morning feeling safer than she thinks she probably should.

Superstition keeps her from questioning it. Something about the mouths of gift horses. Tonight her fingers are laced into his, and the expression she wears when she looks his way is the same one that made the concierge at the current hotel ask her, in uneven and accented Italian, if you always stay so in love after being together for a while. She tries not to give over too much time to daydreaming about clearing out room in the bathroom off her bedroom back in New York for whatever he uses to keep his hair that soft. She fails miserably.

And, hell, maybe it was a fluke. Maybe it was a wild coincidence, a particularly violent mugging that would have done irreparable damage to any other set of tourists. Either way, tomorrow, they go after the book, and she finds she's actually excited at the thought of it. It's so much less frightening to not have to do this alone.

(She wonders sometimes why she bothered spending so many years on her own, before she remembers that it's not always like this with someone else. This is because it's him. She tries not to think too much about that, either.)

"You're the one who said you wanted to know me better. Now you know my deep, dark childhood fear." The street is slick from rain, and she hardly notices, enamored as she is with the company instead. "I got over it by the time I was about five, for what it's worth. After that it was normal things, like axe murderers. And, after I moved to London, Tories. Your turn." She tugs lightly at his hand, stops in the middle of the alley they'd been wandering down, raises her eyebrows with a mischievous grin. "Unless you want to distract me."

[dutyfcrged]

@valiantsword sent a meme. ( modern. )

“ when i’m in a crowd i just want to melt away and yet, when i’m alone it’s somehow worse. ”

Ben found himself considering Arthur's words for a long moment before speaking, mulling over his thoughts as he stared out at the people bustling along in the streets below the suite's balcony, thumb dragging back and forth over the handle of his tea cup. "I'd never considered myself someone prone to jealousy, to envy," he spoke, finally, gaze wandering over the sidewalks and their occupants. "Before all...." His words trailed off, but he knew he didn't have to finish that thought for Arthur to know what he was referencing. "I used to find myself ..." His head tilted as he struggled to find the right word. "Grateful, I suppose. For the way most of them could just walk through life, cushioned from the worst of the things the world had to offer. That they didn't see the monsters lurking in the shadows. For all that it made my job harder, it made me feel that ... everything that I had been through, everything I had chosen to do to keep them safe... that it was worth it. That there was a reason for it. Now, I find I begrudge them, their naivety. The blinders that they wear."

"When I'm down there, their voices, their laughter, it grates against raw nerves, but when it's quiet?" His gaze flickers towards Arthur, watching him. "Alone is worse," he said softly.

[masterwcrk]

Arthur ( @valiantsword, moved for beta editor )

was it stupid to think about all the times he'd stood with clary beneath the stars? so many different lifetimes. so many different places and yet she made his heart beat erratically every time. good thing she didn't have super sensitive hearing or he'd have a lot of explaining to do.

the cigarette comes up to his lips before he can say anything in response. didn't matter how badly he hurt the point was he'd be okay. all he needed was the time to shove all those messy emotions back into a box so they didn't see the light of day. the last thing arthur ever, ever wanted was to hurt clary, which meant he needed to do a much better job of being less messy.

" don't worry yourself over these old bones, fy ngolau. too many years means too many thoughts stuffed into my head, " arthur exhales one last plume of smoke before tossing the rest of the stick on the ground and stomping it under foot. clary's company meant he didn't want to keep doing it in front of her. " i'm fine. i'm always fine. "

at least until she was gone again, anyway.

" what's on your mind? "

she's seen so many wonders in all her lifetimes - architectural miracles carved from the earth as if by the hands of the gods themselves, acts of bravery that would earn anyone a place among the stars - & yet staring at him she's always struck by how he stands out even amongst all those collective experiences. he means so many things to her & she can never voice them because each & every lifetimes has played them like two tops unleashed to spin next to each other before rocketing off in separate directions when she ultimately succumbs each lifetime & he stays steady & stalwart.

it's not fair, especially not in this lifetime where her obligations don't keep her from his side. the yearning might break her, but she's determined to keep it to herself. he doesn't need to be burdened with her heart when she knows it only has but so many beats.

exhaling, she's ready to tell him she's fine, if tired - the words are already on her lips but she can't make them come out this time. she tries, god she tries, but all she manages is a tired hum before shaking her head. ' you know, technically I'm older than you, ' the redhead finally teases him. ' at least, I have older memories. does that count? so I suppose I could use that to justify worrying as I do. what's troubling you? '

[conciergefcrged]

@valiantsword​ sent a meme.

“Whose blood is that?”

               “Oh,” Raymond’s lips pinched, tilting downward as he glanced down, a little too nonchalantly, at the still wet pools and streaks of blood that stained his jacket, vest, shirt and probably a fair portion of the suv’s interior.   Well, at least he’d be keeping the various cleaners he employed busy.  “I’d say, about ten percent Marcus, two percent Dembe, thirty percent yet unknown assailants and whatever the rest of that adds up to is mine.”   His voice sounded strained beneath the coating of dry humor.  “I was hoping that you might be able to lend a hand in making sure what’s left where it belongs might stay there.  I’ll triple whatever number you have in mind, I’m well aware this is all rather -- last minute.”

[lifefcrged]

@valiantsword

Just follow me. Follow my voice.

[embalmic]

@valiantsword || 100 nonverbal prompts || accepting!

∗ 52﹕ sender takes a [ punch / stab / bullet ] meant for receiver .

Laura's heels make an echoing clack down the alleyway as she makes her way out of the club towards her car leaving behind a group of girls from work that are way so drunk that their already annoying personalities became outright fucking unbearable by the third round of overly sweet drinks that she decided she'd pass on. One beer in and an hour of her time wasted, she was completely sober and ready to run.

She hears the footsteps behind her, gives the source a cursory glance over her shoulder and gets that gross feeling in her stomach when she sees the guy. Her keys are gripped tighter, woven between her fingers until her knuckles fade to a porcelain white. When he matches her steps that pick up speed, her eyes roll to the cloudless sky overhead and she decides, "Fuck it.."

"What the fuck do you WANT," she's not quiet about it. Nothing about her seems dainty. Besides her size. She's got that going against her by miles. Doesn't matter. The way she stands there..you'd swear she was six feet tall. Even tells the guy to go to hell when he demands she fork over her purse. (Do you know how hard it is to replace your license these days? Fuck the DMV.) But that's what gets her him launching himself at her. And that's what ends up with her and a guy a set of shoulders and a head higher than her in an outright..fistfight.

She's taken her fair share of punches (she's losing but she's not gonna admit that) when she's managed to crawl up onto his back (go down fighting), a fist in his hair and one punching as hard as she can into his neck when he backs up and slams her into a wall so hard the world goes black for a second. She feels the pavement under her knees and then it all stops. There's two voices and she turns her head to look up, licking the blood off her lip to see another guy's come along and shit he takes a punch square in the jaw for her before the asshole decides he can't fight a man and is swinging trying to back off towards the exit.

"Mother fucker," she wipes the back of her hand across her mouth and drags herself up onto her knees looking up at the guy who stepped in and the other trying to escape. "Yeah? What now, asshole? Christ.." God damn, now the adrenaline's gotta start wearing off. And that guy's gonna have at least a shiner for helping. "I...uh...you can..um.. I think he's gonna piss himself."

[ofbloodandbullets]

@valiantsword sent a meme.

“Please! Shoot me! Shoot!“

There was a time when she would not have hesitated. A time when guilt and grief and loss had not been so heavy a weight around her neck, inescapable. A time when her dreams were not filled with the images of her hands coated in the blood of Lykon, a time when muffled, gargled screams of the drowning did not haunt her whether her eyes were opened or closed. What if it was the last time?

Her hands did not shake. She could not decide if that was a blessing or a curse. Her lips pressed thin as her finger pulled the trigger and she could taste the blood inside her mouth as teeth cut through the inside of her cheek as she watched the bullet cut a bloody swath through Arthur and the man that had held him hostage in an attempt to escape from the field of carnage that he had wrought in his attempt to escape.

She did not flinch when she fired the second, and the third. It took only moments for the impacts, for the guttural and inhuman sounds from the man they had hunted to fall into staccato breaths that gargled into silence. She did not look at him again as she hurled herself to Arthur's side, wrenching him free from the tangled hold of the corpse beneath him, bloody fingers wrenching the shirt to tatters as she waited. Watching. Counting the seconds as she stared, jaw clenched, willing the wounds to heal.

[lifefcrged]

She'd felt his weight shift in the bed beside her, his arm extricated from around her, had dully registered the sound of his phone ringing, and some part of her sleep muddled brain had recognized that he had stood, slipping out of the bedroom before answering the call in a hushed tone to keep from disturbing her. She had intended to stay awake until he came back to bed, but either she had been more tired than she thought, or he'd taken longer than she expected - in reality, it was probably both. By the time that she'd stirred again enough to realize he was still gone, most of the warmth had leeched from his pillows. Sliding into a robe and tucking her feet into her slippers, she made her way out into the hallway.

The light was on in his office, shining out into the hall, but she didn't hear him speaking to anyone still. She made a brief detour, before slipping into the office, a soft rap of knuckles against the door frame before heading towards the desk, setting one of the two fresh brewed cups of coffee down in front of him and leaning in to press a soft kiss to his forehead. "What's happened?" Quiet concern, but not alarm, tinted her sleepy question. "Is everyone all right?"

@valiantsword / post desi + william encounter.

[affcgato-archived]

♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥

you know I don't think we've ever had a single ship, you should enlighten me /j

[softersinned-arc]

@valiantsword / plotted starter.

"Morning, sunshine." She could swear she hears a muffled groan on the other end of the call, and Astoria stifles a laugh. Her one complaint about Arthur's near-constant presence (in her life, in her hotel rooms, in her house, in her bed, in her bathtub...) is that he's thrown her sleep schedule absolutely and entirely out of whack, and she is not so evolved that she doesn't appreciate the turnabout. Fair play, and all that. "Did you get any sleep?"

The elevator would cut off her signal, and she's having too much fun to end her call too early, and so Astoria takes the stairs at a leisurely pace while she listens to Arthur as he gets out of bed, shuffles around the hotel room. Thank god he went for the sixth floor instead of the sixteenth, though she supposes she should thank the medical convention that's filled every hotel in the city to bursting. She gives herself a moment's rest at the landing for the fourth floor, and she stretches luxuriously as she does.

"You miss me yet?" she asks, and then she lowers her voice conspiratorially. "What are you wearing?"

The cell signal isn't great here, either, but she could swear she hears him laugh, and it makes her glow. Quite literally, it makes her glow, her joy at the sound lighting her up like a little sun under her skin, and she wonders idly if there's a patron saint for not being seen doing unintentional magic in swanky hotels in the age of the internet and viral videos. Back to the stairs, and to making idle small talk, and then she gets to the room and she lets out a pleased sigh.

"I arranged with a friend for a surprise," she says, quietly enough that he won't hear her in the hall. The job that took them to different countries has gone shockingly well, which means she can surprise him now, and she knows better than to take advantage of little miracles like that one. Hence hauling her bags up five flights of stairs while holding a phone to her ear and trying not to sound out of breath, or look anything less than perfect. She hunches over, checks her distorted reflection in the small metal placard with the room number on the wall next to the door.

Astoria straightens, and she wonders for a brief moment if she should have showed up in nothing but a trench coat and heels, but, well, it's a bit too late to change her mind on that. "It should have arrived by now. Do me a favor, älskling, and open the door?"

[nursc-a2]

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾                    @valiantsword​  asked:    “It would certainly be hard to feel worse.”

❛    don’t say that.   ❜     christine tutted, raising a finger to her temple.    for a woman who dedicated her entire adult life to science, she was a big believer on all sorts of curses and luck, especially bad luck.     ❛    you just put a sign around your neck, asking the universe to prove you wrong.   don’t come crying to me when i’m proven right, i always am.   ❜      overconfidence is blunted by glimmering smile.    she only really meant half of it, and it was up to him to figure out what was true and what was not.

humor is only slightly dimmed by worry when she adds in a gentler tone.    ❛    come on, what can i do?   ❜    

‘an offer from a gentleman’ prompts

[masterwcrk]

@valiantsword, 

moved from here because of being forced into beta editor.

    there are two certainties whenever clary comes back into their lives.  first, arthur remembers what heartbreak feels like.  that, in turn, reminds him why he closes himself off to the world around him.  centuries have turned his emotional skin to leather and being reminded that thorns can still wedge beneath is enough to bring him to his knees. the second, of course, is a conversation with nicky on all the reasons why this time arthur should take that leap to put his heart on a silver platter.  to this, arthur will most definitely deny he understands a damn thing the knight is talking about.

           i lost the capacity to love centuries ago, arthur always winks and pats nicky on the chest.

     every time she’s gone arthur lists all the reasons, to himself, why he should’ve said something.  most prominent among them is to finally know one way or another.  that way he could celebrate or move on, depending on the reaction.

     it takes a second too long to turn the knob once his hand lands on it.  it takes a few extra seconds beyond that to push the door open, both thrilled and dreading the face ready to greet him on the other side.

     clary is more beautiful every single fucking time.  it always boggles arthur’s mind that he could fall even deeper and more hopelessly in love but he does.  her radiance make him stop to watch the way she moves around him once the deadbolt is shut once again.  he takes in the way the lights glint off her hair and the feel of her very presence upon his skin, eliciting gooseflesh until a tingle shudders down his spine.

     the reaction is so visceral it brings a few unexpected tears to his eyes.  maybe one day he’l be brave enough.

                 one day.

     her voice brings a tired smile to his lips.  it’s easy to forget the tears when he looks up.  the immortal can’t help but reach out to gently cup clary’s cheek; allowing himself one physical reminder that she’s really here.

     “ well, “ his touch lingers but eventually arthur forces himself to pull back.  one, so he doesn’t make it awkward and two, so he can untie sheaths and holsters.  no matter how old he gets, the way the damned things press against his hips never gets easier.  “ as planned as it could.  we had to improvise a little because there were more bodies on the inside than we were lead to believe. “

     speaking allows him to get a handle on his emotions.  “ how’s it going with the journals? “

the way he touches her holds a reverence she's only ever felt traces of before, & she tries not to let her thoughts linger on it. each page of these journals are so meticulous, outlining each of her lifetimes as many remember them. the earliest entries are from Andromache's memories, then the rest are Nicky, or Joe. the one sole entry she knows belongs to Quynh without having to see the original handwriting had hurt as if the loss had happened recently & not so many lifetimes ago. but there are no entries from Arthur, not that she has noticed. she doesn't remember any of them ever being in his handwriting, & now that she's on the final book, it seems strange to her that the member of the guard she gravitates to the most would have had such a reserved presence from this process.

she's... trying not to linger on that, either.

' here, let me. ' guns are something new. she remembers her way around pistols to some degree, but even those had only been in the last two lifetimes. it takes her a moment to shoo his hands away, but eventually she manages to ease the mess of sheathes, holsters, & hardware inside of them off of him & set them aside to be cleaned later.

' so what I'm hearing is that something can still surprise you, even after all this time, ' the redhead teases. ' less exciting than your day, I assure you. ' there's only so many times she can read accounts of how they had found her just after she had fallen into some sort of commitment or another. each time, crossing paths after she had been married off or had already started some sort of family that kept her from traveling with them. what makes it worse are the notes that the only lifetime that hadn't happened, she hadn't crossed paths with them at all - that journal had been from her own memories, a lifetime later.

' it's... hard, ' Clary admits carefully, taking the moment to move out of his space & busy herself with making drinks for the both of them. ' I've never had the agency the rest of you have enjoyed. reading these really drives home how different my experience has been. ' & her age. that had been another change - each lifetime, finding her older, & older. something feels pivotal about this lifetime, though. in her experience, that's... not always good. the last time she had had this feeling had been before she had set aside her role as oracle & ended several lifetimes of prophecy. this time, the end might be a little more definite.

she's going to have to tell him eventually. maybe. there's a part of her that knows that will only bring more pain, & that's what keeps her from speaking the words. ' will the others be back tonight, or is it just the two of us? '

[vxctorx]

🌿

@valiantsword

Send 🌿 to accidentally get caught under the mistletoe with Victor.

  ❝—Well, this is rather awkward.❞ The electric blue seas trapped within the gilded frame of his eyes grow alight with boyish mischief as he regards the other. Despite the euphonious sigh of laughter which leaps out from the confines of his chest, he seems scarcely displeased with their current predicament. ❝—I am not in the habit of offering kisses to complete strangers. I suppose I shall have to learn your name, first.❞

[inkpromise]

CONNECTION: Drystan Carey Pendragon, House of Pendragon, Britain

sir thomas malory wrongfully translated his name as tristan in le morte d'arthur and also romanticized his life with the addition of iseult ( who'd never lived at all ). what the story did get right was that drystan was a knight who pledged his allegiance to the family of fictional camelot.

what none of the legends tell you is that the king did, in fact, survive the battle of camlann. he, " guinevere, " and " lancelot " carved a corner for themselves in the world of immortal intrigue, mainly by giving people a safe haven away from the rules of the congregation.

drystan takes it upon himself to make sure their kingdom remains safe. he spends his life collecting information and using it to their advantage. an advantage of allowing the pendragons enough cushion to operate towards the ideal of equality.

part of that means making friends where arthur refuses to, such as with someone like gallowglass de clermont.

they have bonded over the lengths they've had to go in order to protect their respective families. they've also bonded over sword fights, whiskey, and music through the ages. when they need somewhere to vent, there's always somewhere neutral they can meet up