Possessed of a Warrior's Spirit

"Mind, body, soul, and heart--I am a warrior. I fight for what is mine. I teach my children the way of honor. Rest, my friend. I will stand guard." -- Áedán mac Domhnaill. Very old. Very powerful. And very, very fond of sweets, beer, and laughing 'til he cries. His magic is as strong and as ingrained as the iron in his blood. ((RP blog for the brother of magiclikefire. Character belongs to Koji. I'm just playing with him. :D))

[magiclikeiron]

ghostsandabsinthe‌:

punkwatcher‌:

tellurianwitch‌

Miranda gave a watery smile at his refutation. No, he was too stubborn not to help. If only he was too stubborn not to die. Three thousand years was a pretty long time. His brother might have actually been too stubborn to let him die, though. His effort had spectacular and impressive consequence, but not the result he wanted.

…didn’t Ciaran say he had two brothers?

She looked up at Adrian as he stopped beside her. Of course. Nobody should miss this, especially… but Ciaran had already thought of that too. Sniffling, Miranda nodded and let go of his hand, disappearing with a soft pop. She pounded on Zoe’s door before simply letting herself in, calling out as she searched for the woman. She didn’t offer much explanation— “Ciaran needs you, get the baby”— before bringing her back to the others.

Then she was off again, finding Sean not where she left him but conveniently with Brandon. She might have looked a fright, appearing suddenly between them covered in dirt and oddly coloured blood with clean streaks where tears had smeared her cheeks. It likely gave an immediate answer for how things had gone once Sean had been sent back. 

“I love you, I’m sorry, we have to go now,” she said, grabbing both of them by the arm and taking them back. The surroundings had improved in ambiance a little, but only aesthetically. The mood remained dour, and it was unlikely to improve.

Sean had come back to a flurry of panicked texts from Brandon and decided the only thing he could do was meet the kid somewhere. At least they could be useless together. Except Brandon wasn’t completely useless and most of their time in the park near the Ross mansion was taken up with Sean quelling panic attacks brought on in his brother by little mini-spurts of visions.

But when Miranda showed up, precognition really wasn’t needed.

A mournful “No…” was all Brandon got out before they both reappeared in the desert, looking less like a desert now. Sean had been here only an hour ago. Brandon had been seeing this place for longer. Neither of them recognized the guy kneeling at Ciaran’s side, but the family resemblance and grief on his face answered that question pretty quickly.

At first, Brandon wondered what all these hyper-powerful people were doing standing around instead of helping. Then, slowly, he realized what that meant. He started to warble an apology, but Sean tugged him close to his side hard enough the kid swallowed it and coughed it back up as tears.

“You did nothin wrong,” he whispered against his little brother’s hair. “Come on. We got a chance to say goodbye.”

    Zoe frowns as there’s a knock on the door. Ciáran had a key and she hadn’t expected him back so soon, not when he was with his student. That’s when she hears the door open, and Miranda calling for her. A alarm bell rings in her mind as it dawns on her why it would be Miranda coming to find her instead of Ciáran. Her face blanches, and she goes over to where Oonagh was sleeping and gently wraps her in a scarf before following Miranda. She knew there was no time to waste, not with the sense of urgency in the other woman’s voice. A thousand questions race through her mind, the strongest one being– is he going to live?

     Immediately, she rushes to his side, fingers touching his side, which come back painted scarlet with Ciáran’s blood. Her lips curl into a grimace, and a hiss escapes between clenched teeth. “Oh you stupid fucker. What’d you do this time?” Cradling Oonagh gently in the crook of her arm, she sinks down to the ground beside him, and reaches out to smooth a hand over his brow. “Fucking shit. You told me–“ her voice breaks as her throat tightens, and she tries to swallow back the tears. When she finds her voice again, it’s hoarse with emotion, “You told me not again. I thought–” The previous thought dies on her lips, and she feels her blood start to boil, rage curling her hands into fists as she considers who might have done this. “I’m gonna fucking rip someone’s spine out, so help me God.”

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Zoe practically spoke his own heart in her farewell with her scolding and her desperation and her vengeance and her resignation. Áedán stayed close on Ciarán’s other side, almost afraid to draw back, as though what little lifeforce he’d restored to his brother would fade completely if he moved. He could hardly take his eyes off Oonagh. For all his own children he’d had over the years, she was his only niece, and he almost choked on that precious truth as it came up his throat in tears. She was too young to remember all this, blessedly, but also too young to really remember her father once she’d grown. He’d make sure she remembered. He’d make sure to stay in their lives as much as Zoe would let him, even if that was just checking in from a distance, watching for danger. He’d always been good at protecting.

He lifted his head out of his own grief then. As Zoe said her goodbyes, he looked around at them all, every expression reflecting identical emotion. In varying intensity, of course. The one with the face like armor must’ve been Adrian, he thought, and the sobbing boy with ink all up and down his arms, Trevor. He hated himself then almost more than Vitomir. He'd always been too stubborn to travel, too occupied to host visitors, too busy living to even meet all of these people Ciarán called his children. Immortality had made him lazy, made him complacent.

There was always more time, after all. Later. Tomorrow.

Living forever had never been a goal of his life. Even when Ciarán showed up with eyes afire and held it out to him, all he could think was that those hands had been smaller once. Had once dug shiny stones from the river and offered them much the same way to his older brother. Look what I found. Look what I can do. Share it with me.

And of course he had.

Why should the seeker, the curious, the hungry be the first of them to fall? What was he supposed to do now without the spark that had driven them for so long? He didn’t know. He’d never had the answers. That had been Ciarán, from the time they were small until this very moment. Even now his little brother seemed relaxed and at peace, as though things had gone exactly according to plan. Or at least that he was utterly fine with the consequences of his recklessness. Áedán was far less than fine, but he could only blame himself for not being there as he had been in the past to temper that fire with stone.

As Zoe backed away, the others clustered in closer and Áedán looked round at all of them again. These were all his responsibility now, he thought, not just his niece and her mother. Whether they welcomed it or not. Whether they saw it the same way or not, he knew it in his bones. Blood of my blood. So before Ciarán’s adopted family got their turn, Áedán gripped his brother’s hand in his, their blood mingling like when they’d made oaths as children, and whispered a promise on that power.

“I’ll look after them. I’ll do better by them than I did by you.” He leaned down to kiss Ciarán’s forehead, half just to hide the sudden streaming tears. “And I will miss you.”

[magiclikeiron]

tellurianwitch‌:

luinnaur‌:

toextinguishtheflame‌:

Despite the swell of triumph he felt at finally fulfilling his promise of revenge from all those years ago, his opportunity to savor the feelings was exceedingly short lived. His could feel that the creature he’d unleashed was devoured, and his head snapped up at the thunderclap just in time to see Aedan land nearby. With his task completed, he saw no reason to linger when there were so many people now so singularly focused on him, and he quickly sank back into a portal to leave the area. Once he was gone, the darkness that had permeated the desert at last dissipated.

He could feel Aedan long before he heard or saw any sign of his older brother, and the firs thing to cross his mind was ‘Maan, he’s gonna be so maaaad.’ He still managed a weak smile at the threat that had Vitomir turning tail and running, and he looked over at the eldest Macdohmnaill with that smile still on his face. “Never a boring entrance with you, huh?” The wound he’d suffered didn’t hurt so much anymore, and some part of him knew that was a bad sign, but he tried to keep his focus on the moment and sticking to it. He didn’t want to think about how he wouldn’t see his kids, both those present and not, grow up to their full potential. He tried not to think about all the things he still had yet to accomplish himself, for all his years. Instead he just tried to focus on the fact that at least everyone he loved was safe; he’d managed to do that much right, at least.

Miranda set Adrian back on his feet and shuffled to her sensei, collapsing to her knees beside him, chest aching. Fuck Vitomir for the moment. She grasped Ciaran’s hand in both of hers, tears already slipping down her cheeks. She couldn’t do anything. All the power in the world and she couldn’t save him. “You old fool,” she murmured, squeezing his hand. “I never should have let you help me.” If she had sent him away after digging up Sean’s body, he wouldn’t have overexerted himself. He would have been able to fight Vitomir off.

Her breath hiccoughed, and she held his hand to her lips.

Áedán could almost hear the squeak of a mouse as Vitomir vanished. If Ciarán were even a tiny bit more stable, he might’ve just given chase then, reached his arm into that portal and dragged the kid out by his hair. But Ciarán’s energy was so weak, sometimes he thought it wasn’t there at all, and he darted across the space between them in a blink, on his knees and already pulling obsidian up from the cracked ground to slice open one palm and press it over the grievous wound.

Blood of my blood.

He closed his eyes, the chant—as always—sounding like their father’s voice in his head. The first healing spell he’d ever learned and the only one he’d ever needed. It was the basis of all others, even soul magic. Blood. Primitive and reliable. He pushed his own energy into Ciarán’s through the unbreakable bond of their shared DNA. And when it didn’t take, he didn’t pause, simply cut open his other palm and pressed it to the earth beside them, pulling geological power into him and passing it through. 

You’re the eldest, Áedán. I have no inheritance to give you beyond what you already have. Except this: protect your brothers.

He opened his eyes as they lightened from dark chocolate to tawny to molten gold. And still, nothing. For all the sparks he kept striking, there was no more kindling inside Ciarán to catch it. There was nothing. And little brother just smiled weakly up at him, his hand resting over Áedán’s over his mortal wound.

“Mo dheartháir...”

Ciarán’s voice was so quiet, but it fell like a dropped anvil and Áedán stopped pulling. Stopped everything, his head dropping low, breaths shuddering not with effort but with grief. For a half mile in every direction, the blank half-frozen desert had become a lush meadow, pure lifeforce drawn up from deep below the dormant surface. And Áedán’s hands still pressed to his little brother’s chest and the spongy grass.

“Blood of my blood,” he choked, then laughed to keep from sobbing. “I’m supposed to be there when you do stupid things.”

[punkwatcher]

tellurianwitch‌:

luinnaur‌:

toextinguishtheflame‌:

Vitomir’s frustration only grew as the little cadre of interlopers proved themselves more and more formidable, and he was baffled by how the longer bookworm he knew had managed to dupe a group that would fight so fiercely for his sake. It just didn’t make sense to him that so many people would be willing to risk their lives for his, and that inability to comprehend it only served to further fuel his rage. With each strike of his blade that was parried away with a shield or sword, the more furiously Vitomir struck back to attempt to overpower it. He picked up his speed and power and found Ciaran infuriatingly ready to match. Before long they  both had become little more than streams of energy, clashing and breaking apart at insane speeds, with Vitomir noting he was beginning to lose ground.

At first things had seemed so serious and dire, but as his incantation from earlier continued to do its work and he gained ground on Vitomir-with no small amount to help from Trevor making his father so damn proud-he found himself grinning from just being able to take part in such a good fight. He took his time and landed several blows past Vitomir’s defense, leaving his mark but not yet eager to go in for the kill and end it all. For just a moment he was able to step outside of himself; away from the horribly twisted thing that had become of he and Vitomir’s relationship, away from the terrible creature that had been manifested in that hatred, away from his kids struggling and scraping by. For just a moment he was power and it felt good to ride that high again for the first time in centuries. He’d known it was a risky move to completely do away with the barrier between soul and body; to multiply his power by several more times than he truly had the capacity to hold anymore, but it didn’t matter. In that moment, he was free, he was alive, but only for a moment.

Then, like a balloon popping when filled with too much air, all at once the fires of his power burned themselves out, and he went from moving at breakneck speeds with perfect control to barely being conscious and his power evaporating as though never there at all. This sudden ceasing to be rippled through what he’d shared with Adrian and Trevor, and it did not go unnoticed as Ciaran felt icy cold and searing pain pierce his abdomen and work its way up his torso. His gaze dropped down and he found himself impaled on Vitomir’s blade, the initial area of impact frozen over with the ice quickly spreading. Then he was being thrust at the ground and slammed into it, leaving a small crater in his wake as he looked up to see Vitomir standing above him with cuts all over him but an all too satisfied grin on his face. 

It was hard to focus, harder just to stay awake, but his thoughts immediately went to worrying about what would happen to his kids if he couldn’t stand to defend them. 

Miranda managed to punt the thing into the side of the crater, giving her enough time to inhale and for floating shields to pop up around her as it came back with a barrage. Thanks, Trev. His work was high quality and her enemy’s aim was… dwindling in its accuracy, even as it launched towards her. 

“Little annoyance,” she hissed, voice cutting through the air like a razor through porcelain. She gathered herself, drinking in power until she could feel her atoms, and opened a hole in her array of shields to let it in, the shadows around her growing and meet it head on. She caught it like a web, surrounded it completely, feeling it batter against her insides… and crushed it, ripping with claws and teeth until there was nothing left but fullness in what should have been her stomach.

And… lacking. But that wasn’t here; it was on the surface world. Something was very wrong. Where there should have been the bright blue light of her teacher stood a dwindling glow, flickering as it shrank.  

She ripped herself out of her shadow, heavy black mist trailing after her. No… Her feet launched her forward, trailing black and gold and orange ichor from her mouth and hands, midnight blue and black veins and shadows creeping over her skin, but then she shot upwards instinctively. Something was falling, and it needed to not hit the ground. Arms outstretched, swooping down to lessen the force, the weight sending her back the ground, landing in a cloud of dark fog that shot up and billowed outward.

Trevor’s teeth were grit so hard he couldn’t feel the pain in his jaw anymore. He hadn’t blinked in what felt like full minutes, but in the end he just couldn’t keep up with the two duelists. Even with the extra magic in him, even with everything he pulled in from the air around him, his eyes were only human and they were moving like gods.

But his eyes were wide open to see the killblow and he screamed. A word vaguely like “no” but with a few extra vowels, extended into something shrieking, disbelieving. Leela gave a protesting yowl of her own as she was ripped disjointedly backward into the warlock’s arm as Trevor scrambled up, fell to his knees, crawled a few feet, and staggered back to his feet, running straight for his impaled father and the man standing over him. Not knowing what he was going to do when he got there, but feeling like every line of ink on him had caught on fire and he just didn’t care.

Adrian felt the power leave him like a solid gutpunch in a barfight, and almost immediately began to plummet back to earth. It was strangely peaceful, freefalling. In the rush of survival instincts and panic fear, his higher-brained functions had no time to register. He couldn’t lock anything into his memory, couldn’t draw conclusions from the sudden withdrawing that felt like the end of his da’s hugs for some reason. He was just falling. Chaotic and tumbling. Screaming. 

And then he wasn’t anymore. He’d lost his sword somewhere in the fall, but he didn’t care, heart thundering too loud to even hear his own panting breathing as he looked back at Miranda and saw her looking surprisingly normal again, though mirroring the look on his face. Horrible knowing trepidation.

[magiclikeiron]

Áedán mac Domhnaill had felt sick to his stomach all day. Like a dog before a big storm. He couldn’t eat, couldn’t focus, kept staring off into the middle distance like trying to see across the world.

By lunch he’d realized it was Ciarán. An hour later, after much varying intensity, the feeling had escalated from discomfort to a rush of panicked adrenaline—the kind that only came from life or death situations. The kind that big brothers felt when their little brothers were doing something incredibly stupid.

He’d bolted from his fight club without a word, barely slowing long enough to focus and create a portal to the nearest vicinity of this feeling. He’d never been good at aiming with his emotions—or aiming in general. But at least Ciarán had stopped moving now. And started being a dumbass.

Áedán tumbled out of his portal ten feet off the ground, swearing as he wobbled his landing, trying to orient himself on the globe and locate his brother. There was going to be extra hell to pay after the initial scolding for making him travel this way. Now, at least, he was close enough to shift into a golden eagle—massive, deadly, and most importantly: fast.

He’d been so close, he’d think later, numbly.

He could see them. The crater, the frozen shell over the aching desert. The remnants of a battle. Miranda. A few other bright spots of light. His idiot brother. And that dark child who was even more of an idiot, somehow. In the midst of gathering himself to land, he felt it. Ciarán’s light flicker almost to nothing. Like a candle in a harsh wind, sputtering and then barely embers.

Foregoing a normal safe landing, he shifted back to human form in midair and dove for the earth. A lightning bolt pulled toward him from the overcast skies, like it was drawn to his anxiety, and he absorbed the power to launch himself at the ground like he’d been launched from a cannon, landing hard enough in a half-crouch that he created his own, brand new crater, shattering through the several feet of ice, turning it to powder and tinkling crystal that hovered briefly in the air as if confused, before rocketing out away from the epicenter.

He locked eyes on the sword protruding from his brother’s gut and the hand holding it, gaze tracking up to the pasty face staring back at him. He’d never done subtle very well. Entrances least of all. He hadn’t expected to sneak up on this guy. He didn’t want to.

“I told you a very long time ago: if you hurt him, I’d kill you,” he growled, some of the remnants of thunder crackling under his words. “Did you think I was fucking around?”

[magiclikeiron]

Grief of the Immortals [Áedán & Ciarán]

[magiclikefirea]

Ciarán couldn’t even remember the last time he’d visited the world Áedán mentioned. What he did remember was the first time. Barely 14, the two of them had tried their hands at portal making. Their father was pretty good with them. Ciaran, always the overeager, tried his best to make a portal. He was trying to make one from a well near their home back to their bedroom, but what he succeeded in doing, quite accidentally, was tearing a rip in time and space to a whole other world in entirely.

Much like the kinds he still made as an adult, with far greater proficiency, he made one that gave a clear view into the other side. Aedan, in his curiosity and brashness, decided it was his brother who should take the first foray into the uncharted territory with some very enthusiastic encouragement. Cairan felt his brother’s hands on his back, and then he was tumbling into the portal into lands unknown.

It seemed like everything had stopped growing. He looked around cautiously and could find no signs of life; wild, civilized, or other. After a few minutes of exploration he turned to the portal and gestured for Aedan to join him. After exploring the expanse, and being certain that nothing else was there, the two brothers claimed it for their own. If no one else was going to use it, they would. It would be their little secret. no one would know, not even their younger brother. No, this was just for the two of them. From that point forward, whenever they needed a chance to talk privately, to get away, that was their go to spot. Ciarán more often than not in later years would retreat to the mansion he built on teh site of their childhood home, but every now and again he’d get a call from Aedan, or Aedan himself in teh flesh, and they would meet and visit their spot and have a chat.

Ciarán took to calling the castle An Tearmann. There was evidence that the place had once been inhabited by many powerful beings at some point in the past , but they had since seemed to have moved on. Perhaps they found another place, perhaps they’d made one. Either way,the castle was theirs.

Bringing his thoughts back to the present, Ciarán opened a portal to the spot and let his brother step through first before following and closing the portal behind them. The portal let them out into the throne room and Ciarán held up his hand as a bottle of The Scotch materialized in it. He took a long drink, then handed it to Áedán.

[magiclikeiron]

Áedán had never quite reached his brother's level of portal-making. In a pinch, he could tear a hole in the air and hit the correct dimension, if not always the exact spot he'd been aiming for. It had been a great source of amusement for his little brother in their youth, especially when Áedán's portals spilled out into midair. When he was younger, it had stung his competitive spirit, but nowadays who cared? Ciarán had always been the explorer, the adventurer—even way back then. Ciarán had been the one to find their little sanctuary, so it had only been fair that Ciarán be the first to set foot in it.

They were grown now and though Ciarán was still better with portals, Áedán saw no issue with stepping through first. As familiar as entering a home. He was about to complain that Ciarán had forgotten the most important part until the amber liquid appeared. The elder warlock's eyes lit up. It had been a long time. Both for visiting this place and tasting The Scotch. He took it gladly, draining a few long gulps with a satisfied exhale afterward.

“When the earth quakes, you go where ground is solid,” he stated with a decisive nod.

Even though his world had not been the one tipped on its axis, Áedán still felt the comfort of this place like a tangible thing. Rather than approach the issue head-on, he scanned the room and grinned a little, pacing a short distance.

“Remember when you broke Ma's favorite crockery? We spent a full day in here trying to put it back together before she got home.”

[magiclikeiron]

Áedán x Miranda x Ciarán

[magiclikefirea]

Ciarán roared happily along with the crowd once the hold had been locked in, moving past his brother excitedly to get a closer look. While he didn’t know what the boy had done to make Liv attack with such ferocity, he certainly enjoyed the show. 

Moments later and it was all over, and Ciarán roared along with the rest of the rest of the crowd. Ciarán smiled brightly, nearly as proud of Liv as if she were his own student; but she wasn’t. At that moment, a brilliant idea sparked in Ciarán’s mind. He turned to Áedán, a mischievous glint in his eye that would have been all too familiar to the elder warlock. “Hey, your girl’s pretty good. Of course, she’s nowhere near Miranda’s level, but…” He knew his big brother would take the bait; the unspoken challenge hanging in the air between them.

[tellurianwitch]

As first impressions went, that was a hell of an impression. Small though she may have been, she probably could kick anyone’s ass and they’re thank her for the privilege. Was she plain old human? How could that be? There was a buzz of energy in the room that wasn’t just the excitement, but it was hard to differentiate a source, especially standing between Ciaran and his brother. And speaking of which…

“Psh, yeah well,” she scoffed, still watching, “A boa constrictor and a tiger still know how to kill each other in their own ways. Doesn’t mean they’re not both lethal.” Hang on… She glanced at her sensei. “Whoa, I’m just here to watch. I’m a lover, not a brawler.”

[magiclikeiron]

Áedán made every effort to appear the more mature brother and contain his knee-jerk reaction to take the challenge immediately while simultaneously grabbing little Ciarán into a headlock. Instead, his eyebrows lifted. Arms still folded, he set his weight back infinitesimally, gaze shifting from his eager little brother to the less eager student, judging her worthiness.

He could practically smell the magic leaking off of her. In his experience humans her age couldn’t build up that much in the way of stores. But that didn’t mean much in the ring, other than maybe increased strength and stamina. Both of which were only half the battle. And he was confident Liv had the training and skill to make up the difference. Not to mention, Miranda’s reluctance would be a serious blow against her chances. Of course, Liv was already one bout in, and though it might’ve been nothing but a warm-up, it’d still siphoned off energy. Not to mention, Liv hadn’t met this girl let alone seen how she moved. What a perfect teaching moment.

Áedán covered a sudden grin with his hand, turning to look back at the ring with a long, exaggerated hum of thought, stroking at the scruff along his jaw in contemplation. Inside the impromptu cage, his protege had already finished her brief celebration, focusing past cheering fellow students to search for her teacher. Soon they’d all be looking to him to set up the regular bracket. 

“Alright, little brother,” he said at last, turning to face Ciarán again. “I’ll bet you dinner. My apprentice against yours. Loser buys for everyone.”

Obviously they were all going out after this to get to know one another better. You didn’t just drop by the dojo and then skip off again after shedding a little blood on the mats. Especially if you were Ciarán’s prize pupil. Grin unhidden now, Áedán moved closer to Miranda, slightly blocking Ciarán out of the conversation. Completely on purpose.

“Up to you. But if you step into that ring, it’s pure physical prowess. Any magic you use, it stays inside, understand?” He tapped her sternum twice to clarify his point. The lightest touch and it’d still resonate through her bones. “That means use it to stay on your feet as long as you like, drive your fists harder and faster, whatever you need to do. But any attack I deem weaponized, match forfeited. You set fire to any part of my dojo and you’re buying dinner.”

He glanced between his two guests again, the seriousness that’d grown in his moment of firmness devolving back into a boyish competitive smirk as the idea really settled into his mind. Then back to Miranda with a jerk of his head:

“You think you can handle that, follow me.”

And then he turned to make a path up to the ring. The crowd had already started to settle, even more so at the sight of him and what he meant, though the place was by no means quiet. If she followed, they’d be in for a treat. If not, life would go on.

[magiclikeiron]

Áedán x Miranda x Ciarán

[magiclikefirea]

“And yet the women are always out of both your reach and league, big brother. Must make it a little bittersweet.” Ciarán grinned right back at Áedán and gave his head a quick tilt in Miranda’s direction. “This is Miranda, the one I’ve been telling you about. She’s been bugging about bringing her around, so I figured it was time I got around to it. I see I picked quite the exciting night to do so.”

He looked past his brother to see the fight, recognizing Liv pounding the snot out of some poor bastard he almost felt sorry for. He’d been by a few times already and seen her fight, but never with such fury. He briefly wondered what had been done to incur it before deciding he’d ask later and turning his attention back to the meeting taking place.

[tellurianwitch]

When Ciarán said he was taking her to meet his brother (finally), this wasn’t exactly what Miranda had in mind. But in a way, it was kind of better. It shower a lot more about who he was and what he did than sitting around and doing the whole “so what do you do” blah blah blah. Plus who didn’t like a show? Especially one with as enthusiastic an audience as this.

She tore her eyes away long enough to size up whoever made the comment–hello, family resemblance– and smile before an ‘oo!’ dragged her attention back. A few more second of watching and, okay, she was being rude. She gave Áedán a toothy grin. “She’s got moves,” she noted, nodding at the blonde in the fight. “You teach her?”

[magiclikeiron]

Áedán made a noncommittal noise with a tilt of his head, unwilling to admit his little brother might be right about that. The first guest had been Ciarán's love, which made her fair game for meaningless flirting and little else. And this one seemed to barely notice he was there. Rather than find offense, Áedán grinned. This was his little kingdom, after all, and he did enjoy admirers of it.

“Well, as impressions go, it's better than dragging mats back to storage and mopping up bodily fluids,” he answered his little brother with a wry smile.

Which, typically, was how most evenings ended up when they closed at normal hours. A crowd jostling for a better view and the students expending a little energy was more exciting. He'd always said expressions of violence were good for the soul. Repression only led to ulcers and serial killers. Sometimes both. The elder immortal went from proud to bursting when Miranda noticed Liv. Hard not to, but still.

He crossed his arms and turned to stand on the other side of his brother's student, facing the ring once more.

“Yes, that one's mine. Been together a good few years now. I'll introduce you when she's not choking the life from some upstart kid.” She'd half-tripped the boy to his back, half-tackled him there, and it didn't take long for her to wrap her arms around one shoulder joint and his neck, squeezing tight, leg across his torso and heel digging in to lock her into her grab. She may have been tiny, but muscle stood out in her small arms and the students hadn't nicknamed her the White Python for nothing. “Which...shouldn't be long now.”

[deodomuique-deactivated20171004]

Gemmalyn Crosby

[magiclikeiron]

Áedán x Miranda x Ciarán

Facing the roaring crowd now—that had all of its attention fixed on the fight— Áedán spotted the face he could pick out of any mob. A woman stood close enough to his brother to have come with him. With a curious quirk to his lips, Áedán dropped down the steps to the ring and nudged his way through the crowd toward them. Behind him, the boy had both arms up, blocking sharp little rabbit punches against his forearms that forced him back and back and back.

“I’m beginning to enjoy this pattern of yours, little brother,” Áedán said as he arrived, grinning. “Much as I enjoy your visits, they’re even better accompanied by beautiful women.”

[magiclikeiron]

Lessons Taught and Learned

It was fight night. The dojo had been cleared, all equipment to the walls to make room for the fenced ring and the mob. The first bout of the night was always important because the master chose the combatants. Everything after that was challengers and their rivals and brawling until every student wore bruises and grins. But the first fight had ceremony. Especially when the master’s most proficient student and business partner was one of the chosen. Especially when the master stood by her at her edge of the large ring.

Liv eyed the grinning boy at the other side as he bounced from foot to foot. And then winked. Her usual confident ease had tensed into pursed lips. She actually looked a bit sick. Áedán pretended not to notice as he carefully wrapped her tiny hands.

“You’re not doin’ me any favors, old man.”

“I know no one wraps tight enough for you and you can’t do it yourself, so—”

She yanked her hand back. “Not the tape, fucker.” She jerked her head. “Why him.”

Áedán glanced over his shoulder, all innocence. “Why not him?”

Liv just leveled a glare up at him. She knew her teacher missed nothing. Couldn’t have missed the way the young arrogant fighter had been trailing her. The comments that had been made. The chaos that ensued when he’d dared touch her and she’d broken fingers. And still he didn’t give up. But she refused to give him the time of day. This was a confrontation she did not want. Didn’t want to touch the douche even if it was to drive her knee into his ribs.

“I don’t need you to protect me,” she said, emphatic.

Áedán’s eyebrows rose. “I won’t be involved in what’s to come.”

Liv sighed. “You know what I mean. I don’t need your intervention. I don’t need to ‘teach him a lesson’ or whatever’s in your head.”

Áedán seemed to think about that. Mulled it over as he reached down to lift her hand again. She let him, studying his face with a frown as he finished wrapping carefully. He didn’t speak until he had and Liv muttered thanks under her breath as she stretched her fingers.

"Do you know why I've always been a warrior?” he said, voice quiet. “Do you know why I'll never stop?”

She’d heard many reasons over their time together, but still Liv shook her head hesitantly.

“Because there will always be those who won't listen to words, Liv. And when they rise up, there has to be someone there. Someone else who doesn't use words.” He shook his head. “It’s not a lesson for him. It’s a lesson for you. It’s not me protecting you. It’s you protecting yourself.”

He straightened to his full height again, Liv watching him with an inscrutable frowning expression of speechlessness. Áedán took a step back, looking her over with pride.

“But if you’re in a listening mood, do something for the old man, will you?” He met her eyes, his own twinkling just a bit. “Do more than break his fingers this time.”

Liv still said nothing, but she nodded once, a shallow bow. Áedán nodded back, moving away from her and toward the center. The combatants came together and smacked the backs of their right hands before backing off again.

“No hair-pulling, no biting, no crying,” Áedán intoned with smooth practice. “Wins for submission or knockout. Do not continue fighting after either. I’m not your ref but I will intervene. Understood?”

“Yes, master,” they barked in unison, still focused on each other. As they should be. Áedán smiled, pride shining through.

“Good. Fight.”

His tone was casual to the point of boredom as he stepped between them, headed for the fence. As soon as he passed between them, the fight was officially begun. The young man smirked at Liv.

“How about if I win, you and I—”

With a half-feral growling cry, Liv took a running leap up off the ground, propelling herself high enough that the downward punch caught the pushy jerk at the top of his temple, smacking him straight to the ground despite being a good foot and a half taller.

Áedán didn’t look back as he walked, but he did smirk. 

[yynneessmons]

[ryat-assassin-deactivated201308]

So I used to be a martial artist

I started going to the dojo when I was in sixth grade. It was a very masculine environment; there weren’t a lot of other girls there but the male senseis who ran the place were great guys and they genuinely loved having female students because we were such a rarity.

Now back in sixth grade I was tinier even than what I am now, and now I’m only 5’2. Then I was probably even under 5’0. I mean I was a squirt of a kid. But I loved to fight; I loved to be in the ring, I loved the adrenaline rush and I loved having punches hurled at me. It was fun for me. Our dojo did full-contact sparring, which was pretty brutal. These were the only rules:

you must wear a mouth guard and gloves

no hits below the belt

That’s pretty much it.

Anyway every Thursday was Fight Night, where all we did was spar each other. And on my First Night Sensei Diven—who has since passed, bless his soul—paired me up with this really cocky and assholish brown belt to show me the ropes a little. This brown belt kid was bigger than me by a lot; he must have been at least six feet and twice my weight. But man was I excited to get into the ring! I had a fight boiling in my blood.

Now, Sensei Diven was not a stupid man and he hated high-ranking kids that showed a bad attitude. This kid had a bad attitude. So he must have seen the evil gleam in my eye from a mile away and decided it was time for a little improvisation.

Anyway, Sensei yelled, “Start!” and I leapt into fight stance and the other kid didn’t even put his hands up. He was laughing at me, sneering, the whole nine yards. “I’ll give you a free one.” he joked, and he slapped his side. “You barely weigh 100 pounds and you’re a girl. So go ahead, little girl. Hit me.”

And I hit him. I cocked my leg up as high as it would go and roundhouse kicked him right in the ribs with all of my might and all of the contempt I felt for his stupid cocky face which was covered in ugly-ass freckles and his nasty-ass braces. And I heard a crack. Like a real snap! sound. And the kid has a look of surprise on his face like it was nobody’s business, and then he goes right to the floor like a sack of potatoes.

Now, Sensei Diven leisurely strolls over from the group of black belts who are laughing their asses off at me, the tiny little white belt, sending my Goliath to the floor. I mean they’re laughing so hard they look like they’re about to pee themselves. They think it’s a game. And in his great booming voice he hollers:

“Brown Belt! Why are you on the floor? Do you not see this white belt has been assigned to fight you?”

And meanwhile he is just crying. I broke one of his ribs.

And Sensei Diven just squats down next to this poor kid and whispers, “Don’t you know that women are made of pain?”

[thecolourfreedom-blog]

I AM SCREAMING.

[crazyladyofcats-blog]

Such a badass.

[angrygirlcomics-prime]

oh my god best

[ajhebard]

“Don’t you know that women are made of pain?” might be one of the most powerful, accurate descriptions of women ive ever heard.

[bridiekate-deactivated20131110]

[magiclikeiron]

Grief of the Immortals [Áedán & Ciarán]

[magiclikefirea]

Ciarán couldn’t bring himself to turn from Áedán's gaze when his brother's eyes met his with the same warmth they'd always held whenever they laid upon him. He lacked the strength and the will to protest when he was pulled by the arm and just let himself be led out of the dojo. He did his best to give Liv a weak smile to acknowledge her subtle show of compassion before he was turned away to walk with his brother.

As they exited the building, Ciarán took a deep breath before looking over at the elder. “Where are we going, Áedán?” Even though he was questioning his brother’s motives, he did not miss a step, moving alongside him with his head hung low.

[magiclikeiron]

Áedán knew his brother better than possibly anyone. He knew that staying put was exhausting him. Facing his grief, taking the brunt of it--this wasn't his little brother's way. But if he wanted to feel it this time, Áedán knew how to deal. Because he always felt it.

"First: We're going to get a drink. Then you're going to open a portal and we're going to spend the whole day in that world you tripped into when we were children."

Of course, he hadn't exactly tripped so much as Áedán had pushed him, which was why he said it with a half-grin. It faded back to a neutral sort of smile as they walked on.

"And you're going to tell me everything about this boy I never got to know."

[crasssh-deactivated20150513]

[magiclikeiron]

Grief of the Immortals [Áedán & Ciarán]

[magiclikefirea]

When the hug came, as he knew it would, Ciarán barely lifted his arms in reciprocation. He was just so exhausted from it all. Too many tears shed, too much wallowing in sorrow. It was the sort of thing that usually made him run, change names and lives and escape from the pain. An immortal’s life was too long to always carry all the burdens of it. Sometimes you had to leave them behind and start over. This time, however, he didn’t have the luxury of hitting the reset button, not with so many people left to anchor him where he was, so he was forced to bear the full weight of his pain and let it crush him while he tried to find the strength to stand again. The ordeal had left him too drained to do much, even at the sight of his brother’s own pain.

He didn’t even vocalize his answer to the next question, just nodded with his head leaned against his brother’s in a silent confirmation. The one thing to find solace in all the tragedy was that Sean’s last breath had been the monster’s as well. Justice had been served, even though the cost had been too high.

[magiclikeiron]

They had such very different ways of handling life and loss and mortality in the face of agelessness. He was a rock, his brother the wind. Áedán would sit and stubbornly weather anything that assailed him, while Ciarán would simply lift away and disappear for a few decades before drifting back in with a new name and a new perspective on life. Áedán couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen his brother so weighed down by grief and the image stung him.

He hadn’t had to take care of his little brother in a very long time.

Drawing back enough to look him in the eyes, study the sad, sad blue for a moment, Áedán clapped Ciarán’s shoulder gently, and drew back further and said a soft: “Come on.” He turned to yell for Liv to find the tiny woman already standing a dozen respectful feet away, waiting. “Watch things for me?”

She only nodded, arms still crossed, only her eyes giving away her sympathy for whatever was wrong when she glanced at Ciarán. Áedán gave a quick nod back and took his brother’s arm, headed for the door.

[magiclikeiron]

Grief of the Immortals [Áedán & Ciarán]

[magiclikefirea]

It was odd for Ciarán to be going to see Áedán this time around. Not that he’d ever felt his brother wasn’t someone to confide in and seek comfort from at times of tragedy, he had not always been so readily available. Yet there he was, concern all over his face.

"It came back."

He knew that no further explanation would be needed, at least not immediately. Áedán had been the first person Ciarán went to seen the last time Abaddon had made a muck of things. Even so, there was more that needed to be said. Another oddity for him  was the fact that, this time,  he had news that would actually impact his brother personally.

"…Sean is dead."

There would be no cushioning the blow, so he saw little use in making a production of the telling. It was also starting to get easier to say the words, much to his disdain.

[magiclikeiron]

It.

In one long inhale, Áedán’s entire stance changed, widening, tensing. Ready to fight. Ready for anything. Everything. And just as quickly, it all deflated. Sean? The magical-born brother? The one with the big manic grin and talented fingers? The one who’d laughed so hard he’d tipped straight off his chair and landed with his guitar cradled to defend it from impact like it was his child?

Áedán flinched into a frown, almost as if he’d been smacked without understanding why. He hadn’t gotten a chance to love the boy. Had hardly known him. Somehow having only that slim glimpse made the pain of absence all the more intense. But this was one of Ciarán’s children. Taken from him by a beast.

“Ó, deartháir, tá mé mar sin leithscéal.”

He pulled his little brother in by one arm, the other coming around an instant after. Embracing him there for a moment, he spoke his next priority over Ciarán’s shoulder.

“Is it gone?”

[magiclikeiron]

Grief of the Immortals [Áedán & Ciarán]

Áedán mac Domhnaill was not naturally a restless person. Even as a child, he'd been content almost anywhere so long as his family was safe. So it was always immediately apparent when he was not at ease. He didn't smile nearly as much, stalking the dojo like a lion with a thorn in its paw.

"Hey, old man, your brother's--"

He already knew as soon as he heard the door open, pivoting on one foot and cutting between a student and the bag in front of him. Without looking, he deflected the already flying punch and kept walking, expression stormy with worry. 

"What's happened?"