#self:ira

[gravitysrainbow-1x1]

 journal entry #1

@scasonofthevvitch​

Ira hunched protectively over the tattered journal sitting open in his lap. He thumbed carefully through the brown, aged pages with gentle care, afraid that one wrong move might cause it to crumble or tear. He bit his bottom lip, sighing with eyebrows pinched together as his gaze cared for every scripted, forbidden word in his ancient, weathered journal. ‘I know I ought not to write of him here; should my parents or prying siblings find it, it would be the end of it. Of us. 

But I must. Memories fade over time, and I want none of this to fade, but writing doesn’t fade. Ink may lighten, and pages age over time, but to let my beautiful experiences with Sebastian fade into extinction because fear kept my quill from touching paper would be an inexcusable sin to our love.

Love, yes. I love him. I have had many helpful people in my life, but no one can begin to rival Sebastian in the way his caring and compassionate soul has touched mine. And should someone find my blasphemous writings, what did you expect? I’ve known the gorgeous man since we were both small lads. The forces of heaven and Earth could not separate us. If something pricked his thumb, I’d pull out the thorn. If I wept, he’d comfort me. There is nothing that we would not do for each other, and I’ve not experienced such genuine thoughtfulness from any other. It was inevitable that I’d fall for him; no, it was fate. Heaven forgive me if I am wrong in my judgement, but I care not. To ignore it would be a blasphemy to my soul, and I aim to be true to myself and no one else.

Call it a sin if you will, but whatever others may name it, it is love. When he looks at me with his kind, dark eyes and his cheeky smile, I have never felt more seen in my life. So forgive me please, Lord, if you are synonymous with love, you must understand that what we have is pure of heart and good in nature...’

Sighing, Ira smiled tiredly, his fingers loosening against the journal’s pages as he leaned his head back and rested comfortably in his memories. Keeping Sebastian alive and remembered distracted him from his reality, and even in moments of pure disappointment (and sometimes terror) - his lover still comforted him in the aftermath within the confines of the ghoul’s longing imagination.

[gravitysrainbow-1x1]

Drabble: Ira

@thefvrious @scasonofthevvitch​ //idk what this drabble is I just felt like writing some random point in Ira’s past so here you go bye love you sorry I write sad things so much XD

No sleep for four days. 

Ira stared absently at the brick of the building in front of him, his gaze following the lines of cement between the bricks like they were an elaborate maze with a prize at the end. 

There was no prize. Time was meaningless. His existence, impossible. 

His hunger, insatiable, and always growing.

Three nights in a row he’d been caught in a graveyard, trying to dig up the recently deceased. They thought him to be a gravedigger, but he was much worse than a thief. No one understood that what he did was a means to avoid preying on fresher sources. Not that they’d ever take that well, either. 

His appetite growing, his stomach started to twist and turn painfully. He felt weak, yet, he was stronger. He was exhausted and his body ached for rest, but sleep never came. He felt stiff and slow, but in the blink of his eye, he was in a new place. Brief moments of clarity were lost until he’d come back and find himself stalking a small, lost child into an alley. He was not so starved that he couldn’t stop himself from making the truly gruesome, impulsive choices yet, but he was not far off if he didn’t succeed in digging 6 feet of dirt fast enough to get something to sustain him for a while. 

“Sebastian, would you love me still if you found me now?” He whispered softly to the wind, his quiet heart aching. His eyes closed, and his lips trembled, the fading memories dredging themselves back up to the surface like the swarm of high tide in a black ocean.  “Was I a fool for loving you, a witch? Was I naive to think - to hope - you’d find me? Did you look for me like I longed for you?”

“Or was all of this, all of our love, out of our hands?” Ira lamented on the questions he’d asked an empty sky again and again and again. His chance for answers had long passed. Even if he had lived to see old age, as rare as that was at the time, Sebastian would still have been long dead.

And here he was. Looking exactly the same at his best; a rotting corpse at his worst. 

Hunger roared in his belly, demanding his attention once again and he cried out as he recoiled on the ground. His eyes shot open, black spreading through the whites like an infection as his hazel pupils became a sickly, pale yellow. 

Another moment of clarity lost. He woke again in the face of screams. Blood dripped from his hands and jaw, his mouth full of something fleshy and warm. 

Again and again and again. Trapped in a vicious cycle, stuck in a living hell. Death would have been a kinder fate. 

[gravitysrainbow-1x1]

Roots.

@scasonofthevvitch

Ira’s footing slipped underneath him and he stumbled. He hit the side of a tree, hearing something pop out of place in his shoulder before he fell into a puddle of mud the night’s rain had left behind. He cried out, not in pain, but of the miserable, taunting hunger that twisted inside of his stomach like a pile of starving snakes had nested there. He’d made it to the Grimm’s stable, where he was supposed to meet Sebastian the night before -- but had been unable to make it. He hoped that his love would have realized something was wrong and wait for the next night, but without contact, this was a wild guess.

“𝔇𝔢𝔭𝔩𝔬𝔯𝔞𝔟𝔩𝔢 𝔠𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔱𝔲𝔯𝔢,” the shrill voice of a woman hissed unexpectedly. Not who he wanted to hear.

Ira panicked and looked up to see a cloaked woman standing in front of him. Beneath her hood, he made out the sharp features and dark hair of Sebastian’s mother, Cecily. She glared at him with piercing green eyes that tore through him to his soul, and a cold chill crawled down his spine with a shiver. “𝒀𝒐𝒖 𝒕𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒅 𝒕𝒐 𝒓𝒖𝒏 𝒂𝒘𝒂𝒚 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒎𝒚 𝒔𝒐𝒏, 𝒂𝒇𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒎𝒚 𝒇𝒂𝒎𝒊𝒍𝒚 𝒉𝒂𝒔 𝒅𝒐𝒏𝒆 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓𝒔,” the witch said, disdain and anger dripping from every word as she moved to stand over him, “𝑾𝒆 𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒆𝒅 𝒚𝒐𝒖. 𝑾𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒘𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒂 𝒈𝒐𝒐𝒅 𝒇𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒅 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝑺𝒆𝒃𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒂𝒏 𝒕𝒐 𝒉𝒂𝒗𝒆. 𝑪𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕𝒍𝒆𝒔𝒔 𝒕𝒊𝒎𝒆𝒔 𝒘𝒆'𝒗𝒆 𝒖𝒔𝒆𝒅 𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒎𝒂𝒈𝒊𝒄 𝒕𝒐 𝒈𝒊𝒗𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒇𝒂𝒎𝒊𝒍𝒚 𝒂𝒏 𝒂𝒅𝒗𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒂𝒈𝒆. 𝑫𝒐 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒌 𝒊𝒕 𝒘𝒂𝒔 𝒂 𝒄𝒐𝒊𝒏𝒄𝒆𝒅𝒆𝒏𝒄𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒚 𝒉𝒖𝒏𝒕, 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒄𝒂𝒎𝒆 𝒉𝒐𝒎𝒆 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒂 𝒑𝒓𝒊𝒛𝒆 𝒄𝒂𝒕𝒄𝒉? 𝑻𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒚 𝒉𝒂𝒓𝒗𝒆𝒔𝒕 𝒘𝒂𝒔 𝒃𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒇𝒖𝒍? 𝑻𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒏𝒐 𝒉𝒂𝒓𝒎 𝒄𝒂𝒎𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒘𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒗𝒆𝒍𝒍𝒆𝒅 𝒂𝒇𝒂𝒓? 𝑻𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒘𝒂𝒔𝒏'𝒕 𝑮𝒐𝒅'𝒔 𝒘𝒊𝒍𝒍. 𝑻𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒘𝒂𝒔 𝒖𝒔! 𝑻𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒘𝒂𝒔 𝒎𝒂𝒈𝒊𝒄!”

Petrified, Ira wrestled himself up onto his knees. The fear in him coiled around his throat, suffocating the words he needed to say, but couldn’t get out. His plain pants were soaked to the bone, mud clinging to his fingers and bare feet. Dried blood stained the white, loose-fitted tunic he wore, which clung to him wherever the fabric met wet skin. Cecily took one last step forward before she bent down near him. When he recoiled and tried to retreat from her, she grabbed him sharply by the jaw, digging in her claw-like nails to force him to make eye-contact with her.

A curious noise left her lips as she examined his state. His skin lacked color; pallid and grey, corpse-like in the way dark veins snaked across his complexion. There was a gap of skin missing from his right cheek, revealing the tissue and muscle beneath, his teeth glinting through the small, growing hole. The whites of his sunken eyes had turned murky black, and his once-hazel pupils glowed a sickly yellow. “𝑾𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒂 𝒅𝒊𝒔𝒈𝒖𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒚𝒐𝒖’𝒗𝒆 𝒃𝒆𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒆. 𝑰 𝒘𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒅 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒅𝒆𝒂𝒅, 𝒃𝒖𝒕 𝒘𝒉𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓 𝒔𝒂𝒗𝒆𝒅 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒇𝒓𝒐𝒎 𝒎𝒚 𝒘𝒓𝒂𝒕𝒉 𝒉𝒂𝒔 𝒔𝒖𝒔𝒑𝒆𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒅 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒊𝒏 𝒂 𝒇𝒂𝒓 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒔𝒆 𝒇𝒂𝒕𝒆. 𝑵𝒐𝒕 𝒒𝒖𝒊𝒕𝒆 𝒅𝒆𝒂𝒅, 𝒃𝒖𝒕 𝒄𝒆𝒓𝒕𝒂𝒊𝒏𝒍𝒚 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒂𝒍𝒊𝒗𝒆, 𝒆𝒊𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓,” Cecily commented, tossing him away from her hand as she pulled out a small satin cloth from her pocket to wipe away her fingers like he was a leper. Ira finally spoke, the words releasing from the cage they’d been trapped in. “Please, please, I’m begging you, Cecily - whatever you’ve done to me, release me from it! I attacked my mother! I bit her and tore out a piece of her shoulder! What have you done to me? I’ll do anything you ask of me and I won’t tell a soul!”

“𝑨𝒏𝒅 𝒉𝒐𝒘 𝒘𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒓𝒆𝒑𝒂𝒚 𝒎𝒆 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒓𝒆𝒍𝒆𝒂𝒔𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒇𝒓𝒐𝒎 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒄𝒖𝒓𝒔𝒆? 𝑾𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒖𝒆 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒑𝒍𝒂𝒏𝒔 𝒕𝒐 𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒂𝒍 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒐𝒏𝒍𝒚 𝒔𝒐𝒏 𝑰 𝒉𝒂𝒗𝒆? 𝑻𝒐 𝒅𝒆𝒏𝒚 𝒎𝒚 𝒇𝒂𝒎𝒊𝒍𝒚 𝒐𝒇 𝒂𝒏 𝒉𝒆𝒊𝒓? 𝑰 𝒘𝒐𝒏'𝒕 𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒐𝒘 𝒔𝒖𝒄𝒉 𝒅𝒊𝒔𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒑𝒆𝒄𝒕. 𝑻𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒊𝒔 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒑𝒖𝒏𝒊𝒔𝒉𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕 -” a moment of hesitation caught her in her words as her lips curled between her teeth in contemplation - “𝑼𝒏𝒍𝒆𝒔𝒔 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒅𝒆𝒏𝒚 𝒎𝒚 𝒔𝒐𝒏’𝒔 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆. 𝑩𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒌 𝑺𝒆𝒃𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒂𝒏’𝒔 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕 𝒔𝒐 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒉𝒆 𝒎𝒂𝒚 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒍 𝒊𝒕 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒘𝒐𝒎𝒂𝒏 𝑰’𝒗𝒆 𝒄𝒉𝒐𝒔𝒆𝒏 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒉𝒊𝒎.” Ira’s breath caught in his throat, suffocated by the witch’s demand. His trembling hands raised up in submission, tears welling in his eyes as eyelids fluttered to try to keep it together. “No, no. No! Anything but that. I can’t do that. I can’t hurt him. I love him more than anything on this earth! Please, Cecily, mercy-”

The wind around them picked up, howling through the tree branches as Cecily took her hand and struck Ira across the face to silence his defiance. Instinctively, Ira tried grabbing her, but a quick movement of her hand sent a gust of wind to intercept him. His back slammed against the tree behind him as Cecily began to laugh as he fell to his hands and feet before her again.

“𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒈𝒆𝒕 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈! 𝑩𝒆 𝒅𝒂𝒎𝒏𝒆𝒅 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒂𝒏 𝒆𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒕𝒚 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒇𝒆𝒂𝒔𝒕 𝒐𝒏 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒃𝒖𝒕 𝒇𝒍𝒆𝒔𝒉 𝒕𝒐 𝒔𝒖𝒓𝒗𝒊𝒗𝒆. 𝑪𝒐𝒎𝒆 𝒏𝒆𝒂𝒓 𝑺𝒂𝒍𝒆𝒎 - 𝒏𝒆𝒂𝒓 𝑺𝒆𝒃𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒂𝒏 - 𝒈𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒍, 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒕𝒐𝒘𝒏 𝒘𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒉𝒖𝒏𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒃𝒖𝒓𝒏 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒘𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒏𝒅,” Cecily hissed through her teeth, her green eyes lit with anger and fury. “𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒏𝒐 𝒕𝒓𝒊𝒂𝒍𝒔 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒎𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒔. Only death.”

When the boy began to lift himself back up to his feet, a look of defiance flashed in his eyes. He cried out for Sebastian, hoping, praying that he was near to hear him, but before he could get out his name again, Cecily snatched him by the neck. “𝑵𝒐𝒘, 𝒏𝒐𝒘, 𝑰'𝒍𝒍 𝒉𝒂𝒗𝒆 𝒏𝒐𝒏𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕,” Her green eyes glowed, and she mumbled incoherent words under her breath as she shook her head in disapproval at what he had just tried to do. Ira felt a piercing pain at the base of his lips. One hand tried to pry himself free from her grip, while the other fled to his face, startled and fearful as the pain spread like wildfire across his mouth. He tried to cry out when he realized that a black needle took its time to stab through his skin, carrying a thick leather thread through his lips until it reached the end, sealing his mouth shut. When it was finished, the witch threw him away from her, wiping away his filth in her handkerchief again and scoffed as she watched her abomination claw pathetically at his sewn-together lips. His muffled cries fell on deaf ears, and she pointed into the darkness of the woods. "𝑳𝒆𝒂𝒗𝒆, 𝒈𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒍. 𝑨𝒏𝒅 𝒏𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒆 𝒃𝒂𝒄𝒌! 𝑶𝒓 𝑰'𝒍𝒍 𝒇𝒆𝒆𝒅 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒊𝒏𝒕𝒐 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒇𝒍𝒂𝒎𝒆𝒔 𝒐𝒇 𝒉𝒆𝒍𝒍 𝒎𝒚𝒔𝒆𝒍𝒇."

[the-halfoftheabused]

Not Just Snow Falls; self-para

"That's str-strange. The thermostat says it's 70 degrees, but it might as well be cold enough to start sn-snowing in here," Isaiah could not stop shivering enough to get the words out without stuttering as he hit the small, electronic box on the wall in hopes that brute force would somehow get the heat to turn on. 

"It's not that bad in here. You're so sensitive to the cold. Come here, I'll keep you warm," Ira replied easily and happily as he came up behind him, wrapping his arms around his shoulders with a warm blanket. He held onto him, hanging off of him in a way that allowed him to turn his head to stare up at his face with a playful look on his face.  A smile lifted on his lips as he tugged him towards the living room. "Let's make some hot chocolate and curl up on the couch with every blanket that you have, then. I don't have anywhere else to be except here with you."

---

A guttural scream broke him from the pleasantness of his memories.

"괴물!" A korean woman wailed over a corpse she struggled to gather it with freezing hands stained with red. Sharp spikes of ice protruded from the chest of the dead body, but, blackened fingers and blue lips indicated was more likely that he had died from frostbite before he'd even taken the injury. The icicles had been insurance to make sure that there were no survivors this time. There could be no loose ends. 

Back turned to her, Genesis turned his head and narrowed his shining eyes as he focused on the screaming woman. He did not flinch at the korean word for 'monster' anymore than he did when it was screamed in english at him. He'd heard it in so many languages now that it'd become nothing more than a whispering of white noise in the background of his deadly playtime. He turned to face her, a flicker of sorry in his thoughts. This would be her last moment in this world. He could not fathom what it must be like to hold your dead son in your arms and stare at the very monster that had taken his life and so many others before him. He never would be able to understand it. It was a concept that chilled him to the bone once upon a time, but steady, repetitious violence had made it easier to be the Arctic creature lurking in his own deadly blizzard than to worry over such frivolous things when she would be dead soon enough and forgotten in a day. The armored half mask wrapped tightly around his jaw not only served to hide an identity that was already lost and forgotten to the world, but also kept words of genuine apology and despair for his actions from leaving the lips of the heartless ice metahuman that the world had come to fear. 

Thin tubes of blue that ran through his suit like veins glimmered as they churned an unknown coolant-like fluid throughout his body. He let the moment linger, as he did with a few of his last victims, and watched her quietly. They both knew that this was her death. There was no reason to rush things. 

Tears froze against her skin as soon as they trickled from her eyes. Trembling, slow fingers brushed away the hair from her lifeless son's face as she lowered her head to leave a soft kiss on his forehead. She sobbed once before looking up at her death again. A fire had been lit in her as she starred at the ice demon that had come to ruin her home and her life. "You li-live terrible life," she shook over her broken english, but a passion in her words kept her speaking. "So much anger. So much violence. Blood. Why? Why do this? Why take my son? This world is no good without my son and your anger in it. Please, kill me now so I can be done with the cold you've brought to this land and be with him again."

His eyes glowed at her words, and a trickle of frost crept up the side of his head as he drew closer to her slowly like a predator preparing to attack its wounded prey. His footprints left in the snow quickly filled behind him until he came to a stop and crouched down in front of her. He starred at her, silent, and looked down at her son. 

Behind his mask, he mouthed the words _'I'm so sorry'_ as a spike of ice skewered her through an already broken heart. 

---

"You look so pale today. Paler than usual. Are you sick?"

Slender fingers brushed across the stubble of Ira's jaw line, warming the natural cold his skin had acclimated to being regularly. "I might be," Ira replied, a smile tugging at his lips as he moved closer to the man sitting beside him and gently rested a hand on his thigh, "Does lovesick count?" He laughed, trying to pay mind to the default cold that his powers tried to implement instinctively. Bouts of isolation in the past had tricked his body into thinking that it wasn't necessary to keep itself warm anymore.  Now, it took a degree of mental effort for the frozen meta to keep his frost at bay to let the handsome, tattooed man close. After a few seconds, it became easier, and he let his cheek sink easily into the palm of his warm hand. Eyes closed, a soft sigh of relief escaped his pale lips. Ira never spoke of how _important_ he was to him, but he never needed to. His body language was more vocal than his muted, shy words could ever be.

---

"Were there any survivors?"

The question did not register with him at first. There was something absnet in the soft glow of his eyes, lost in the safety of his memories. 

"I asked you a question. Answer me."

Ira blinked rapidly, looking up and around as if he'd forgotten where he was.The loud roar of jet engines firing up alerted him to his location. A slow, steady and constant beep from his suit's monitoring equipment quietly chirped in the background. He focused finally on the suited man seated in front of him with a laptop open on the table beside him. His arms were crossed, and an air of irritation radiated from his sharp facial features. Alexander was not pleased. 

Taking in a deep breath, Ira reached up behind his head and unclasped the locks that sealed his face within his mask. When they released, wisps of cold air visibly escaped as he pulled away the mask and breathed freely without the restraint. He did not answer right away, trying to give himself a moment to adjust to the release. 

The delay caused Alexander to react impatiently. He flung a gloved hand forward, aggressively snatching his jaw within his tightening fingers to make him look him in the eyes. "You know how I feel about having to repeat myself. Answer me. Did you let anyone live? I need every person in that compound dead to prove a point." Another vendetta settled by his obedient soldier.

Ira's eyes winced and he opened his mouth to take another breath to answer. "No. No one lived," Ira answered, his voice raspy and underused as the air coming up from his lungs thawed the cold that had sucked all of the moisture from his mouth and throat during his prolonged silence. The jet cabin became noticeably colder the longer Alexander tightened his fingers around his face. Only once had Ira burned him from his cold for grabbing him so, but the occasional bruises that appeared on his jawline made it perfectly clear who had won. "The woman you wanted killed is dead. No one escaped."

"Good," Alexander released him, and sat back down in his seat across from him with a pleased smirk. He reached up above him and pressed a speaker button that lead to the pilot. "Let's take off. Our business is done here."

Ira's sullen gaze had fallen to the ground until he heard Alexander's words. He looked up immediately. Too fast, actually. He took notice. 

"We're going home," Alexander nodded, acknowledging the question that was burning in his pet's eyes. His lips tightened, annoyed at the urgency that still remained in Ira's heart about his brother. It had become a chore to keep them separated from each other. Isaiah had kept something alive in him that left his ultimate weapon with a weakness he could not mend or remove. The only solution he'd been able to come up with was to speed up his plans to create an urgency for his products and weapons in other countries with Ira's plague of frost. Far away from alluring pull of Isaiah that his monster could not help but gravitate towards.

"I have news for you," Alexander started, reaching into the warmth of his coat jacket to pull his phone out of an inner pocket. His long fingers danced across the screen for a moment as Ira looked inquisitively at him with an attentive stare. He held his breath; news for him was rare.

Sitting forward, Alexander extended his phone out to show Ira a picture.

"Isaiah's moved on from you."

Ira's warm breath slowed, catching in his throat, and the curious light in his eyes vanished. His dark pupils went dull. In the picture, Isaiah had taken a shameless selfie with another man pressed up close to him for the picture. A new tattoo that he hadn’t seen before was visible on his arm indicating the picture’s newness. 

Clearing his throat in the silence, a satisfied smirk tugged mercilessly at the corners of Alexander's lips as he continued, "He found someone that was right for him once you stopped being a distraction. He has no memory of you anymore to keep him sad. He can start the family he's always wanted now."

Ira didn't say anything. The only thing that could be heard that indicated a reaction from him was the increasingly fast beeping from the heart rate monitor  connected to his suit trilling in the background.

"I told you this would happen. Years ago. Didn't I? You were the one who made this harder for yourself by trying to take something that wasn't even yours to have," Alexander rolled his eyes as he pressed a button and turned off the phone screen to stop Ira from starring at it any longer. "Don't you understand, yet? The monster in the story doesn't get a happy ending unless that happy ending is slaughtering my enemies. It's all about perspective, you see."

"You serve me. I protect you from the world damning you for what you've grown to enjoy. All I've ever wanted from you is to accept that you are something far from human - in return for my protection. Release your anger and punish the world for not accepting you for what you are," Alexander stated, turning his attention now to the laptop where his soldier's vital signs flashed on the screen as a hurricane grew behind his face and above his neck. 

"You can't lie to me - or yourself - anymore. Isaiah is no longer an option for your pathetic admirations. I am all that's left for you and I am all you'll need. Accept it."

[the-halfoftheabused]

In plain sight; self

Evil loves to hide in plain sight. Why? Does it find some kind of sick satisfaction in the fact that it can hide so effortlessly from the world? The world is inherently mistrusting, yet, it can not see a mass murderer for who he is in a vast sea of faces because we’ve been trained since we were babies to not point fingers and  that we’re ‘innocent until proven guilty’. This is proven by the fact that the very monster -  known for blanketing the roads with his icy monoliths so sharp that any person crossing its path would find themselves skewered upon its frozen blades - could sit in a booth of a small, quaint cafe without so much as even a mention that his cold, dark eyes seemed familiar. Only a handful of skilled photographers and a few surveillance tapes that survived his arctic demolition had ever gotten a good look at the creature. Clad in human skin and clamped tight in a skillfully designed temperature-regulated lightly armored suit, his mouth and nose were hidden beneath slates of soft metal of an unknown origin.  Tubes that emitted a soft, blue light from the translucent substance that whirled within them laced through the suit, supplying him with a constant circulation of cold humidity that he then could use to intensify his natural disasters. The only skin visible on his body was the space between the bridge of his nose and his forehead. In the full force of his power, his pupils succumbed to a milky galaxy that swirled in unison with every reflexive power move he made. 

A few survivors had seen Generis’ eyes and lived to tell about it, but not one could claim to see his true eye color. Wanted posters were left with vague descriptions. Once or twice, the man in the cafe would make eye contact with an individual long enough to send chills down their spines, but, they left confounded and unsure why they found him so unsettling to lock eyes with. 

Perhaps, it was the young, attractive, Asian man sitting beside him that distracted all from seeing the creature that treated their city like his personal stress ball.  Ira turned his head to look at Isaiah while he thoughtfully read the cafe menu. His cold, distrusting eyes softened immediately. His tensed shoulders relaxed and his hand squeezed his tightly underneath the table. It was as if the way he looked at the man, he took all of his hateful intent at the world, somehow translating all of that negative energy into a love so pure and genuine, not a soul could even begin to put two and two together. 

It could be argued that the creature picked this man to be with as a means of slipping love on as a clever disguise. In fact, it was argued that that was the fact -- but a stronger meaning prevented Ira to succumbing to such thoughts. Did he find enjoyment in how little he was noticed, or was there more to it than that? The answer hides in the details. As vicious as this evil could be, there was something that resembled love in the way he handled the man beside him. 

Hands that had been soaked and stained red no more than half a day ago were clean now. Ira reached up with one hand, gently touching Isaiah’s jaw to guide his head to look at him. A gentle, happy smile spread across his face when they locked gazes, and he leaned in quick to give him a soft kiss on the lips.

Even monsters want love.

@hymn-less

[the-halfoftheabused]

Before Breakfast Gets Cold

self: ira

@herwhxsper

 His cold breath caught in his breath, suffocating him for a few seconds longer than the last time had. When his breathing slowed to a be nothing more than a faint wisp of frost, each exhale he expected to be his last but he would never have that luxury. The only luxury he was allowed was his fortress of solitude; something he once pretended to have as a child who had owned  enough Superman comic books to make a small fort out of them. His only hobbies he enjoyed included light reading, and decimating whole sections of cities with ice. Otherwise, he slept, and he waited.

Ira's tundra of a presence was such a force uncontained that he had no immediate neighbors. Apathy rested in his eyes, but a blizzard of ferocious emotions was trapped in the space behind his face and above his neck. He didn't care about the child he'd given hypothermia, or the neighbor's dog who had frozen to death. They all cleared out, eventually. The building attendant had been paid a great deal to say that the AC was on the fritz. Not a soul in the building had enough smarts to realize that it was their city's terrorist's den. There were just a couple of floors in the building that were dirt cheap, as long as the price was paid with the cold.

A creek at the door caught the frozen boy's attention, and he lifted his head a little in response. Alexander, he assumed. There was no one else who visited him unannounced. Even the deaf and mute girl sent to replenish his fridge and tend to any unnoticed flesh wounds knocked three times before she entered.

"Ira -- "

The sound of the voice that spoke his name was familar, but not what he expected. He froze immediately, heart slowing to a near stop as his breath caught in his throat again. He held it, certain his exhale would only bring his death.

"Ira, it's me. Hey."

The intruder moved in front of him now, trying to speak words to him that he couldn't hear, and in his peripheral, he knew who it was. His freedom was standing in front of him, and he couldn't even recognize it. Ira's absent stare looked straight through Isaiah into the snowstorm raging behind his eyes. "Ira, please-"

Useless. There were cameras on him. A memory raised up from the depths of his twisted mind, sending silent screams of his love through his skull so violently that the only indication of his internal pain was from a flinching head jerk and a few startled blinks.

"Ira, I don't want to use my powers on you. Please. Just listen to me!" Isaiah pleaded, but forced his voice to demand the action out of him. Finally, the cold man raised his head, his frozen breath he'd been holding since his uninvited guest had entered his cell exhaled his light blue-tinted lips. He shivered, uncertain of whether or not he'd just died and gone to heaven with the angel present before him. No, that wasn't right. There wasn't a doubt in his mind of where he belonged.

" -- You're free," Isaiah said to him again, making an effort to keep within Ira's gaze as it tried to nervously dart away. Strong, but gentle fingers grasped his cold face which warmed instinctivly to avoid hurting him. He was quiet, eyes searching the other's face as he processed what he was saying to him.

Ira was misty-eyed, underused facial muscles visibly struggling as he offered Isaiah the best smile he could give him. "I made you breakfast this morning," he whispered to him before burying himself as deeply into Isaiah's arms as he could.

[the-halfoftheabused]

Damnation; Ira

@orchidwrites

timeline: following his destruction of his church

I can no longer apologize for my brutalities. I am unable to sustain the emotional energy required for guilt. I have no reason to feel shame for my deplorable actions following the ruin of the home of my faltering faith. With the collapse of the eloquent, divine figures of each fallen pillar and the shattering of old tapestries frozen solid from my wintry wreckage, my hope lies buried beneath the rubble upon the corpse of a murdered priest who wasted his time and sealed his fate pitying a demon with delusional aspirations of angelic status again. What a silly creature I was, hoping I could achieve redemption in the eyes of God as an angel, when I was beginning to struggle with the simple concept of humanity. 

There is no reason for me to deny myself anymore.  I still feel the swaying swell of grievous guilt from time to time, like now, but I don’t have to concentrate on it for long. I’m kept busy. Blood is my anesthetic. The hurt I can cause distracts from my own. Ruining others numbs my awareness of my own decay. The sheer volume of screams pacify the troubled thoughts in my head.

It’s only when it gets quiet that I begin to feel those feelings once more.

I am grateful that I am allowed to never let it get quiet again. It can be as loud as I want it to be. 

I like it best at volumes that are defeaning.

[the-halfoftheabused]

beautiful things; i r a

                 timeline: sometime between the first time Isaiah forgets Ira and their second time          dating

It’s an odd feeling to have to relearn something. 

I’m not talking about factual information, or skills applicable to life. Although, I admit that I need to brush over the ancient pile of notes I took in my anatomy classes in college. More or less, they sit in the bottom drawer of my desk collecting dust. Out of sight to stop reminding me of the future I lost. But I digress -- having to relearn something that is taught over a person’s early lifetime is a daunting task. Parents instill love in their children at a young age. They’re taught to care about the environment, about others, about the world. Most importantly, they’re taught to love themselves. 

But what is one to do when the concept of morality is weaponized against them? 

I can’t protect anyone. Only one person is safe from me, and even then, the threat of losing him ruins me. Kindness is not a virtue that I can accept for fear that the fool who takes pity on my lost soul will be ruined, too. I am the cause of so many to part from this earth, but I only grieve the hearts broken by merely being within my proximity. I am not nearly as deprived of sleep because of it as I once was, learning that it is for the best interest of myself next poor, innocent fool that I learn to hate. 

I have fallen. I accept the shackles that will chain me to my eventual fate in the burning cold of the pits of Lake Cocytus. I won’t drag anyone else down with me. I’ve destroyed enough, and I know that this is only the beginning of the destruction that a greater force will have me leave in my wake. 

My morality is compromised, and still, he tries. He is a beautiful thing that I don’t deserve. I fear that my endeavors in mimicking cruelty that I’ve learned won’t be enough to keep him away for much longer. Even when he is only present in the same room as me, I feel human again --- well, no, that’s not true. I don’t; not with his divine presence in my toxic vicinity. But I feel like I’m capable of feeling human. The muscles in my cheeks tire from the rare, involuntary smiles he manages to summon onto my otherwise apathetic face. My chest hurts at times, like the small, underused organ lying dormant in my ribcage was stirred with a beat or two that would surprise me. Warm life comes back to my cold body like a flickering candle resiliently defying the odds and staying lit against a harsh burst of icy wind. 

I want to protect that flame with every fiber of my being. 

But a darker force wants to snuff it out.

                                You are not human. You do not deserve such a beautiful thing.