#doadrabble

Who ever thought that Eren would befriend somebody like Jotaro? An extrovert and an introvert, roped together by the same string of determinism and willpower. When they first met, Eren had thought everybody was at the point of giving up--that he'd been the only one left who still maintained enough drive to fight back, to escape. His morale was slowly sucked away by everybody's insistence that retaliation was futile--until Jotaro came along, of course.

With similar goals and mindsets, it'd been impossible to stay away from each other. The encounters began as sharing minor life lessons. Jotaro was and still is a major inspiration. He picked Eren up and reignited the flame that had been drawn to slowly burning embers. 

A torture followed by a sign of camaraderie. A care for Eren's well-being. A gateway for the brunet to assume that they've reached the point where a mutual goal could turn into a mutual companionship.

So he began to treat him like a friend. It was too easy. Almost immediately the relationship shifted into something fun and--more significantly--secure. Eren had been at an all time low before Jotaro Kujo entered the scene. But his jokes, the fun at the elder's expense, and the all-around shenanigans he and Jotaro initiate--are why he's as mentally healthy as he is.

HPA is a struggle. He's confined in every since of the word, physically and emotionally. Jotaro is his respite. A steady presence to keep him grounded.

But there's more than that. Jotaro is... Jotaro.

A friend. An important presence. --More than that.

Likes marine life. SHSL Dolphin Enthusiast? That's actually pretty cool. He's never even seen one before but they have to be if Jotaro likes them so much.Eren has always been drawn to intellect--just not in an overt way. Eren himself is the personification of acting before thinking, so he has a deep appreciation of those who are able to formulate well-thought out plans.A sense of humor. A very bad one. A dork. Lets Eren climb on his back while they gallivant around the halls. A sushi eating contest. Sparring. Spar spar spar and Eren Jaeger is victorious!! And he's never felt like he's belonged in a social setting until he wound up befriending one of the less social students in the academy.

Now, as they share a dorm, Eren can keep an eye on his expressions and learn more through Jotaro's reactions. He's been watching the aforementioned a lot, lately. He's a lot more reserved than Eren and the soldier can't help but want to find out more. Dig deeper. If he has to make his own observations and adaptations, he will. Because it's always been easy to read the other. Natural.

It's always going to be easy. He has an unbelievable amount of faith in that. He wants the bond they share to last. To strengthen. To persevere, just as they would individually--but together.

Then, Irvin had died.

There was a scramble on his emotional state. He became unstable. He had to leave.

He moved into the dorm of the two antagonists, sleeping there instead of his own. His dorm with the silence that was deafening and the lack of presence to bring him warmth, comfort. The presence he himself had snuffed out...not expecting the prolonged absence...not expecting to be so alone. 

Why wasn't he back?

What did he have to do to bring him back?

Was he ever going to come back?

Did it even matter?

The series of questions slowly evolved into such, the feeling of apathy leaking into his mind. Tomorrow, he kept telling himself. Tomorrow, if Eren doesn't revive, he never will. 

But how many days had he been telling himself that?

One day? Two days? Three days?

He'd lost track.

Still, it seemed...lying here, on this extra dorm bed, gaze turned up at the ceiling in an emotionless stare, that Eren Jaeger would not be returning. Not today. Not tomorrow. 

Not ever.

All he could ask himself now was this:

Merciful. Kind. Compassionate. That's what he was. He was such a good boy.

Eren had passed on calmly because of him. 

Eren was in a better place because of him.

Eren would come back soon and things would go back to being normal and he would be forgiven--because it was all an act of mercy! 

cruelty noun callous indifference to or pleasure in causing pain and suffering

Atrocious. Inhuman. Wicked. That's what he was. He didn't deserve to live.

Eren had struggled until his last breath against his hands, grip on his wrists so tight there were bruises like lingering reminders of handcuffs, an iron chain between them weighing him down.

Eren had died with fear in his open eyes that were commanded to remain on him and him alone, cerulean colliding against turquoise until the latter yielded to stillness.

Eren might come back. It was likely that nothing would be the same--because he'd murdered him coldly and calmly. Because he enjoyed it. Because it was an act of cruelty. 

He'd done the right thing.

He'd done the wrong thing.

There was nothing to worry about.

That look would haunt him.

He was 

A monster.

A monster.

He was a Monster.

He was a Monster and everyone knew. Everyone knew what he had done and they knew why he did it.  

It was time to stop thinking. Time to toss out fear and fragility. He would not cry because he was strong.

Oh, whatever became of good ol' Kyouko? Well, she woke up yesterday. Had anyone looked at her MonoTwitter, they would have seen her few drowsily-typed messages. She felt like absolute shit, and having some wise guy play parrot only drained her will to get up, so maybe she could just play dead and go back to sleep. Apparently the system was forgiving enough to at least allow her this.

So she's inevitably awake again, but she doesn't feel any better than she had the morning before. In fact, in a way she feels worse. The redhead sits up with a wobble, still getting used to living. Unfortunately, unlike last time, she remembers absolutely everything that had gone down. The trial, the execution, everything. Wow. You fucked up.

Her head is pulsing and her body aches like nobody's business, Once she regains balance, she places her hands on her knees, staring with a vengeance at the rune-engraved ring on her finger. It's absolutely fascinating how she's able to somehow regain her soul after losing it time after time. It led Kyouko to wonder if it was even her soul at all anymore, and if maybe it was just some replica for some dead person who shouldn't even exist any more.

Her crimson eyes flicker around the austere, white-lit room, searching to regain her senses. Everything seemed so empty now, and it was surprising how suddenly someone who formerly didn't regret anything was able to question everything. Did she deserve to be alive? She'd wrecked more lives then she could count on one hand, so why was she this 'lucky'? Maybe she wanted to stay dead. This wasn't a way to live, being manipulated into becoming the opposite of what you fought with your entire self to be. This place exploited her weaknesses, and she'd lost whatever shred of faith lie dormant within her. This was her never-ending judgement for what she'd done in her past. The balance was tipping. Nothing could ever truly make sense again.

Nevertheless, she couldn't linger in the infirmary forever. Running her fingers through the length of her ponytail, her hand tangled in strands of red. Yanking her hand away, the ribbon slid free of its knot. More importantly, there was a light thud on the mattress, and its source- her father's rosary. She gazed at it for a while, unable to find words. That object meant so much and yet so little to her. It was the last remaining reminder of her faith, that hope for redemption she once held.

You're never getting out of here. You can't die. Time to move on.

There was a long pause, before a hiss of air slipped through her fangs. Kyouko reached up and redid the ribbon, rising into a standing position. Her mind wasn't going to allow her heart to win, no matter how many times she perished and how long she would be imprisoned. She'd fight on alone, and she didn't need to understand why she did what she did. All she needed was to do it. If she screwed up, there was no one to blame but herself.

Without a needless word to utter, she turned a blind eye to her family, to God, to all that had ever dared to influence her sense of right and her wrong. She walked out of the infirmary without a sound, gently slamming the door behind her. The rosary remained there where the dead would go to. All of that was dead to her. That was then, this was now.

Of course, death had sucked the first time. No one wanted to be told that they were weak and worthless enough to die by being forced into an empty abyss for an indefinite amount of time. This all over again.

However, guess who isn't the victim this time? Ah yes, Miss Murder herself, Kyouko Sakura. No, executions were never pleasant- they were mean to be a dose of your own medicine, after all! This time she wouldn't be escorted kindly to the boundary between the school and the afterlife, she'd be thrown in on her ass! Hahaha!

Well, after that whole episode, she hadn't only been convicted by a court of her 'fellow' students, she'd convicted herself. Congratulations, you bought yourself a ticket straight to hell! Good luck getting God to forgive you now!

Now that she had an endless expanse of time to dwell on it, she was entirely to blame. If she'd truly been strong or powerful like she claimed herself to be, she wouldn't have lost her grip on reality the way she had and she wouldn't be in this mess. Whatever, give it a week. You'll be back, good as new. 

Speaking of good as new, Mondo should have returned by now. She's taken a while to think about him. Wow, sure he got on your last nerve, but he really didn't deserve what you did to him. Yeah, like he'd forgive you. Well, at least he could run on back and be that damn hall monitor's pet again. Kyouko wanted to chuckle, to feel something other than regret, but now it seemed impossible.

The void she now resided in was empty and devoid of sound, but the redhead embraced the purity of the silence. There's no reason that she'd have any illusions of her family now. She didn't even deserve that. After all, her family had thought she was nothing but a liar and a Witch. That was why she was here. She felt weighed down by everything, even though death was supposed to take that burden off your shoulders. You shouldn't be forced to deal with your problems once you're done for. That's life's problem.

The Witch slipped the pitch black ribbon from its knot, her blazing red hair slipping gently down to her waist. The bronze rosary that had been her father's clattered at her feet, metallic sounds resonated until it settled.

With a mind set on moving forward, her heart wanted to stick to the past. It wanted her to suffer, and it wanted her to believe in her own worthlessness, her own psychopathy. It wanted her to trust that she was nothing but a Witch, it's all she ever was, and all she would ever be.

No, that was one of her only redeeming qualities while trapped in hell on an endless loop- she wouldn't let her heart win, not even once. She knelt down, retrieving the rosary and balling into her fist, the pressure alone probably capable of crushing it. Her hand went above her head, trembling with hesitation, before her eyes overflowed with the flood of emotions that overtook her. Inhaling sharply with a shaky breath, Kyouko threw her hand forward and pitched the rosary with all of her strength into the darkness. 

It disappeared from sight, and she never heard the distant clang. It was gone. Sure, it would still be there whenever she was revived to play this game of taking and losing lives again, but for now this was a symbol, her guidepost.