edited: ✓ | 5/23/2020
trigger warnings: blood, mention of rape.
The reader's ability here isn't really relevant, but I guess the ability I had in mind for this was Through the Looking Glass, where she can momentarily turn intangible.
"I saw the angel in the marble and carved until I set [it] free."
- Michelangelo di Lodovico Buonarroti Simoni
—
You're a living nightmare contributing to this reality. And yet, you're awake, fully conscious, not wanting to admit that it was you that was the problem, not wanting to admit you were the corroding component to this functioning society.
You despised yourself.
You stared at the faded moon in the dark sky, veiled by diaphanous patches of grey clouds; the cool reflected light melted in your eyes, fading in the blurring patches of (eye colour), grey interweaving with (eye colour), enfolding, spreading, diffusing, merging. The slightest of movements feels like proof of your inevitable disappearance, where it would be revealed that you were just a watery figment of an overactive imagination, and your shadow was just an extension of the darkness cast from a hanging tree.
The bellows of a car engine burn your ears. A plangent scream twisted with hysteria. Followed by the piercing yelp of a gunfire embedding into your temple. High pitched wails of women and the low grunting of men mingling in the dark alleyways, the vitality of their youthful skin connecting with the moon above; but it was enough to drive you mad, was enough to make you invisible in this chaotic crowd of debauchery.
Run; you better run.
"Get up." A low voice. A kick to the side that sends you reeling, blood singeing your tongue. "You're going to have to do better than that. You want to die?"
"I—"
Another blow to the rib. They crack behind the fragile, scarred skin.
"To you, it must have seemed like I was waiting to hear some excuse," The pitched lilt to his voice exposes his dissatisfaction, disappointing falling into cruel sadism. Blood pours down your chin. "I'm sorry for giving you the wrong idea. Get up."
He will kill you.
Your arms tremble, muscles screaming behind the tattered skin as you hobbled in pain. Saliva and blood dribbled past your bottom teeth. One stray trail of crimson trickles from your nose.
Too slow.
Dazai, in cold anger, knees you in the stomach.
"Are you going to listen to me?" He inquires, a flash of a blade evident in his voice. You weakly nod, your head throbbing and pounding as panic begins to voice their raucous hell.
Demons. All around you. Whispering the songs of being an angel, before they turned around and their wings would expand, elongate, blacken; drip as though stained with tar, before flaring out to take the shape of the bottom of a coat. Demons. All around you. Promising the ecstasy of eternal sleep, where the wine-red event would spread out into a puddle of blood on the ground.
YOU ARE READING
𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐇 𝐃𝐑𝐈𝐕𝐄 | dazai osamu *EDITING
Fanfictiond. osamu x reader ONE-SHOTS | The death drive, known as Todestrieb in German, is the drive towards death and destruction; such are aggression, compulsion, self-destructiveness. And you, the love of his life, the fragile sparrow bone in his calloused...
