Eren’s taken aback by the deafening sound of Izaya’s laughter. He was sure—positive—that once the blade connected with his stomach he’d not have to worry about any twists or turns. He should have hit somewhere vital. With just a moment more to spare, the brunette could have dragged the blade through his internal organs and deepened the bleeding. God, he wants to. He wants to feel the movement shake his arms and tense his muscles.
Instead, Eren finds his back against the wall. Part of him knows that from hereon out, he’s lost. He will still fight. He will always fight.
If he’s able to wake up. Tch. The boy bares his teeth, wanting to snap forward and tear his flesh apart at the second mention of Armin’s name and the association that follows.
He can’t move. He can barely breathe. He takes shallow breaths through gritted jaws, just barely audible in the silence.
A last resort—subtle twisting of his wrist, the one attached to the hand that holds the knife. Something to get Izaya to flinch, or step away from it. Anything.
It’s sad, honestly.
A beat. Two. Is Izaya going to retell, in great detail, how pitiful Eren is? It’s what he expects. When the other male doesn’t speak again right away, Eren is tempted to raise his own voice. What’s sad? Does he want to know what’s so sad? Does he care about Izaya’s perception?
Just as he opens his mouth to ask, Izaya continues. Of course.
Shots? Drugs? What the fuck is Izaya going on about? A life like Izaya describes is one Erens never even heard of. Routine… routine used to be the norm—back before the Titans came back. But, as a child, Eren had been ignorant to any and all attempts to wear away one’s own life. Even as an adult, he has trouble grasping it. If you’re going to commit, why wouldn’t you make it quick? That’s the whole point, isn’t it? To make an impromptu escape from being swallowed whole, or crushed, or devoured messily.
In any case, Izaya’s preaching to the wrong soldier.
He feels Izaya’s presence, as heavy as a thick blanket. He’s close. There’s still a blankness in his own eyes. Why isn’t he agitated, yet? Angered? All Izaya does is talk talk talk and Eren doesn’t give a shit. He hates him. Hates him.
“You can’t destroy me—“ he whispers lowly, underneath the steady stream of Izaya’s voice. He doesn’t care if he’s unheard. He knows it. He knows it.
When I took your best friend—
Ah. But there’s the rage. He feels it coiling beneath his skin like a snake. He wants to strike. He wants Izaya dead. Izaya destroyed Armin. Ruined his life and but the both of them through hell. For what? Amusement? His own skewed definition of improvement? Why does Izaya think he’s allowed to tamper with the fate of other humans? It pisses Eren off.
Embrace me now.
A knife slips past his sleeve and into his grasp before he jabs it forward, aiming for Izaya’s gut. It’s Bel’s knife—the one he swiped during an encounter sometime after the torture. It’s the very same knife he used to carve up the prince. With any luck, the blood that’s stained onto the blade will still mix with Izaya’s.
The first impact hit hard. Like a bolt of lightning slamming into the ground, the other boy’s weapon met with the informant’s stomach. For about three or four seconds, there was nothing, and then suddenly— there was laughter. He was amused. Amazed. The spark of hormonal imbalance, pain, adrenaline and even anger was so quick, so fast. Had he not been in the state of mind where he wanted nothing more than to slam Eren’s face into the ground, he might have turned on his heel and fled the scene. Instead, however, he made no effort to run and simply pressed forward to shove his weight into his victim, and his victim straight up against the nearest wall.
"Nice knife. Shame you don’t know how to use it." As he speaks, he brings both hands up; revealing a rather dainty looking wire that should be in a piano, but would better be used slicing someone’s flesh apart. "About three months ago I told Armin if he messed up, I would have your head. Unfortunately for you, he became nothing more than a parasite on a dog. I suppose if you’re able to wake up, you might want to thank him for that." Without furthermore words or explanations, he drove the string forward, aiming to bring it onto Eren’s throat in a choke like hold. Though it was obvious this wasn’t a killing blow, he didn’t care. So long as he was able to put it along the lining of the boy’s jugular, he’d have him. Any struggle. Any movement. Any anything besides sitting there and waiting to die would only spring back and cause further injury.
The clock is screaming.
Somehow, he understands. He understands as well as he did the other night before the clock struck 12.
Time is up.
Is this it? Will Izaya come after him, fueled by bloodlust and revenge like any other student? Eren welcomes the attempt. As he said: no one here is truly living. The resort was a breath of fresh air. And now it’s gone and Eren is suffocating.
Finally. Finally. He wants to see Izaya. Feel him as he did on the last day of the year.
The halls creak. Darkness creeps along the creases of the walls and engulfs the young soldier. He slows his pace and shifts his stance, turning his head back to glance at his “heart.”
Killing wasn’t something he necessarily ever cared for. During the school year, all about eight to nine months of it; he’d only killed two people. The rest? Had all been by another’s hands, manipulated from his tongue with sweet words of promises and dreams. He had made some blows. He had thrown some knives. But he’d always tried to ensure that the blood in which spilled, would never be on him.
It was a terrible act, really; conniving people into hurting another or themselves- but it was what he did, how he lived. Even before Hope’s Peak and the demand to murder, he’d pushed people around. Ruined them. Broke them. Snapped a girl’s reputation in half and with his ever-so persistent bullying and made her change schools. Though he was only eighteen, had he continued on in Ikebukuro; chances were, he would have caused suicides, turned others on one another and ruled the city.
Unfortunately, his future wouldn’t come. He was stuck in the academy. Closed in behind the walls. All sanity he had, or never had but convinced himself to possess, was slowly crumbling apart. He was mad. He was angry. He was hateful. He was lethargic.
Like a disease latched onto a sickly child, he stood behind his metaphorical body; his gaze coming into rhythm with the slow, yet alive beat in his chest. He remembered what they’d said to each other the other day. He remembered the emotion and the understanding that they’d been able to convey. But he didn’t care. He didn’t feel. As an apathetic person, he never revealed in truth. It just wasn’t a part of his systematic functions.
"It’s sad, honestly." The silence they stood in was finally snapped, cracked and given the weight of a icy, dull tone. For a moment he remained where he was before finally pressing forward, one pace at a time. "The brain is known to be the controlling factor of a human’s life. We go our whole lives thinking that it controls us and empowers us. The reality of that, however, is a complete lie. Thousands of humans a year kill themselves without even knowing it. They’ll go out on a night they feel sad, take a couple shots, perhaps dabble in some drugs. They’ll wake up in the morning, feel the same sadness they felt just twelve hours ago and repeat what they did. Everyday. Every week. Every month. They redo their acts. They will follow the same routine. Eventually, in their age, something inside their body will face a great impact and cause them to die. They’ll leave this world thinking that fate despises them, that fate hates them. What they don’t know is they did it all to themselves."
He paused, now standing but a few inches away.
"All humans suffer from one thing and one thing alone. Loneliness. The pain that is filled within their chest. Their chest in which is their heart. Heartache is the number one killer in the world. Heartache destroys in the deadliest of ways. Heartache can truly never be something a human gets over. When I told you I was your heart, I meant it because I knew I would destroy you. I knew eventually that I would kill you. When I took your best friend, I struck your soul harshly. When I let Bel go after you that night, I knew you would become scared and hateful. When I let Armin put his hands around your throat and suffocate you, I knew you would wake up and realize the person you thought you knew wasn’t really what they seemed. When I let you move on and find someone else, I did so knowing that nothing lasts forever. But no matter where you go, no matter what happens, you cannot escape me."
"So embrace me now, because this is the last chance you’re getting."
It’d been five years. Five long, dragged out years since the school’s doors had opened and released the remaining students. Personally, Izaya hadn’t thought he’d make it. During his duration in the academy, he had died a few times, been killed by both himself and a few other people. What had been said, was that those who had perished withing the walls, hadn’t been able to come back. When everything was done and over with, for some reason, they had stopped living. Their bodies had fallen to the ground. Their breathing had stopped. Everything about their existence had left them, vanished into thin air. Some, oddly enough, had hit the floor and shattered into immediate bones or dust. Others, not quite as strangely, had merely keeled over and sported all the wounds that had initially broke them in the first place.
For one reason or another, his own shell hadn’t done either of that. In the time that the dead students had finally taken their last stand, he had stood there on both feet, as alive as ever. Maybe it was because he had first died by killing himself. Or maybe it was because God had a cruel way of toying with a man who pretended to be him.
Whatever the reason was, it didn’t matter. Those days were over. The mysteries and questions as to why he hadn’t the same fate were gone. All that was left now were the memories, the isolation. The loneliness. The everyday doubt and reminder that he was a success and someone else wasn’t.
He’d left an important person in his life back in the hellhole. Because of the destiny that had been received, he had made empty promises. All the talk of leaving the school and going to Ikebukuro, maybe even traveling together for awhile before settling into his own hometown, were gone. Dissipated as if they never existed. The nights of rolling over in bed and being greeted with the warmth of someone who, in a sense, relied on him; were nothing but the feeling of what might be nostalgia now. Everyday that was spent looking over papers, were nothing but a harsh reminder of a world that would now never be.
At first, he’d thought he could deal with it. After awhile, he’d realized it was growing harder with each passing day. Sipping a cup of tea had started to made him think. Sitting in his chair and leaning against his desk began to make him realize. There would no longer be a second chance to rely on. There would no longer be a few hours, maybe a few days wait for the revival of a companion. Their release had been the last strike. The doors opening had been their game over. Because of their longing to get out, they’d all lost people important to them.
He lived with a curse now. Sure, he’d gained freedom and his home, but was it really worth it? The one time he had actually been able to stand someone for longer than a week had been ripped out of his grasp. He couldn’t take that back now. He couldn’t turn the hands of time and live in the past.
So he did the next best thing he could. Under the pillow on the left side of the bed, he kept a picture taken from the cheap, plastic camera someone had given him for Christmas during the school year. Every night, he’d insult it, tell it that it was ugly and that it was a horrible housewife who was a terrible excuse of a prince. He’d laugh at it, pull the pillow away and remind it that it had a stupid purple tone with a pathetic royal color. And soon after, he’d grow a sour expression, roll over with his blanket pulled over his head and think to himself, so only those who were in his mind could hear—
Anger. Annoyance. Blinded rage. Irritation.
All of the above emotions could be felt from Eren Jaeger as he stood five feet away, fists clenched and teeth gnashed. The boy had figured everything out. The schemes. The lies. The manipulation. The promises. The lack thereof of completing those promises. The ruining of his best friend. Each and every detail of every exact situation and play through that had been made, had been confessed, admitted. He’d told him what he’d done. He’d sent him all the messages and pictures. He’d revealed in the fact that he’d lied, said there would be happiness, hopefulness and had known there would never be such a thing. He’d killed the boy, no, tortured him. By the blond of his hair, he’d dragged him to the pool, where there— he’d slammed his face into the water and kept him under until no more struggles were made. He’d slaughtered Armin, murdered him in cold blood.
And for what?
A laugh? A moment in which he could shake the smaller’s corpse around and question what he was feeling just for the fuck of it? Ha. No. Never. There was more to the meaning, more to the equation. He’d wanted to spite a person. He’d wanted to proudly present them the head of their ex-lover and then promptly maul it of its identification and dignity. He’d wanted to watch a proud, pleased face fall and crumble into an expression of shattering hope. And he’d done just that.
It’d taken about five whole seconds for the rattling of the grief system to rise. Eren’s emotions had wavered, tumbled, and then in a surprisingly amazing way— sparked up to scream a horrible roar of agonized anger. He’d shouted at the informant, hissed a threat that had been uttered by so many people.
The reaction? Nothing but chortles of redefined laughter. Nothing but the pounding of a new found adrenaline pumping its excitement into his veins. The soldier wanted to destroy him? Good. That was exactly what he wanted, exactly what he craved. Had there been any other reaction but the power of a man’s vengeance, he would have been disappointed, maybe even appalled. But now, he was happy. He was in bliss. The ecstasy of absorbing another’s misery was was too much to handle, too much to intake. Part of him wanted to bite into his own lower lip, chomp his teeth into it so hard it busted and bled all over his chin. Another part of him desired to await the impact of an attack, to fall onto the ground and simply embrace the nails and hits of a madman as if they were lovers.
Lovers. What a funny term. Perhaps he was in love with the other boy. Perhaps deep down, he longed to capture his heart, pull it between his fingers, nip the very tip of it and shred it like a hungry animal. Haha. Of course, though, that was all only a rush of his high. He knew he didn’t have feelings for Eren. He knew he didn’t think of him any higher than the typical human being. Though he did adore him for possessing such ability to convey and show his true self, there was nothing more but the admiration a God would give his creation. The love a creator would pour onto his monster.
"You’re going to kill me?" His tone that he spoke with was soft, coated in a charming venom that dripped like orange paint from his tongue. "Is that how you feel you should treat someone, Eren? If you kill me now, you’ll be no better than I am. Fighting fire with fire burns your hands, leaves scars that the whole world can see. You’ll reach out to grab an item, maybe even a plate to feed yourself with and everyone will see your marks. They’ll ask you, in slight concern, what happened? How ever did you come to get such awful scars? And how will you answer? How will you respond? Will you lie to them? Will you say that you simply picked up a hot pot of water and dropped it on yourself? Or will you tell them the truth and say that you gouged a man of his life because you wanted to take revenge?" He leveled his stare, his red sneer coming to terms with the blur of riled, turquoise waves. "What kind of man will you be? What kind of path will you choose? If you take my life now, you’ve simply proven that you can’t handle stress. That you’re weak and pathetic. Is that who you want to be? Thousands of people do the same things you do, and they all end up in either one of two places. Jail. Or in the ground. Karma is a horrible game, and just because you believe hurting a person who may or may not be villainous in your eyes is right, does not mean she will."
"All in all, we are equals. Each and every one of us. You are no higher than I, and I am no higher than you. So go ahead, Eren. End me. Bring me the demise you so dearly clench onto. Just remember, by doing it; you gain nothing. Nothing but the title of a beast."
☢Headcanons - Send a word and the mun will write our a response of how it relates to their character.
☢Truth or Dare - We all know how this one works, don’t just overrun it with dares! There’s a truth part to it y’know!
☢Ask My Character/Mun - Ask the character anything, they are even allowed to break the fourth wall. Even send questions to the mun, this can help to know them better!
☢Drabbles - Give the muse a prompt and they may write a short drabble on it.
☢Party - Was this a good year for you? Why or why not?
☢Fireworks - Did you learn anything this year? If so, what? If not, why not?
☢Champagne - What is one thing you found this year that you enjoy?
☢Cake - What was the sweetest moment you’ve felt this year?
☢Time - What is something you wish you could take back that you did this year?
☢Celebration - What is something that you like to do when you celebrate things?
☢Resolution - What is your New Year’s resolution?
☢New Years - Free Question
"Nothing looks better on you than it would on me."
"I look better in the clothes you’re wearing right now."
Prepare to sit down at one big table with the rest of your classmates and eat.
izayalogy replied to your post:Special delivery! A pair of knee-high socks and pretty, black panties just for you! Best wear these! Merry Christmas!Bursts out laughing.
"Maybe Izaya can use them next time he plays dress up."
"They would look better on me, than they would you.”