𝐑𝐄𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐃 / bungō stray dogs x reader anthology

𝐟𝐲𝐨𝐝𝐨𝐫 𝐝𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐲𝐞𝐯𝐬𝐤𝐲 ✧ 𝐛𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐮𝐦𝐚𝐧

March 11th 2020 / Religious References / 800 Words

✧ ｡ﾟ✐.*ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* ✎｡:*ﾟ

The difference between them was so subtle yet so obvious, after all, if one was supposed to be God then the other would have gladly adorned the role of Satan. Unfortunately, life wasn't that simple; their never-ending dance was certainly some form of indicator at that.

That dance in which they wove around each other like partners in some grand ball, never to touch, never to wind their fingers within each other, or to feel that sweet embrace of trust and warmth of another human. For she saw herself as no better than the devil, like Lucifer, cast from the heavens above into hell to rot and rot she did, as did nearly everything she loved as she clung to it so desperately only to watch it crack beneath her fingers. The lost paradise she longed for.

And yet he longed for a paradise not yet found, one he deemed himself worthy of creating as though he truly was some kind of god. A god who would create a new world as he despised this one; for the simple those sins disguised as gifted.

How ironic it was, for them to be entangled in such a dance. After all, each knew that if it was with any other person they would despise it as much as they let on they did. How they lied! A silver tongue adorning each as they insulted the other, each enjoying horrid this waltz of blood and tears.

How she wondered what it was like to have such trust and faith, how she longed for such a simple life, as too imagine and love, and yet here she stood, in a world that begged for an ignorance she could not give. Perhaps she should do as he did and attempt to change the world. And yet why should she? This world cast her out like an unwanted animal! This world beat her and tore her heart to shreds! This world was so very cruel, and yet so very beautiful.

She knew it was beautiful, she had seen those small acts which God dearly loved to ignore, those small acts of kindness which were overlooked for a larger picture. How frustrating it was, she wished she could find that book simply to burn it before his eyes. Allow those small acts here and there, a lost wallet returned, an umbrella lent in rain, a compliment, small things from strangers to which she cherished. She wondered if they had ever graced his presence.

And if they had he had no inclination of the fact, he had no clue of those acts! For all, he could see was a world he hated! And how blinding that hatred was, truly it was miserable. It was miserable to lie and wait for those rats to come crawling back and he was no better, a simple man attempting to pull strings of a God long dead. How he was pathetic, yet he would never admit it.

He would never admit his own humanity, he was above that, he was above being human, of laughing, of crying, of breaking, of healing, of living, of wishing, of creating, of wondering, of being jealous and being faithful. He was above all of it and that was his own decision, no one else's. As though being human was such a sin that if he dared to touch it he'd shatter and die a thousand deaths, only to be at the mercy of hell, never able to witness the details in the art of humanity out of the simple fact he couldn't look closely enough to see them.

She didn't deserve to be human, to laugh, to cry, to break, to heal, to live, to wish, to create, to wonder, to love, to be jealous, to be faithful. And no one ever said she was undeserving her humanity, it was the simplicity of having a shred of pride, of hope of love in one's self, as her humanity lay as a child's toy, abandoned for a life of the adult who saw nothing but a greyscale world, free from the wonders of colour and life.

But even if neither of them believes it; that they were both simply human. She was as much human as he was for they were of flesh and bone and blood. They were not the devil, nor a god, if only they knew. If only they knew both of that fact and of that small red string tangling them together. Perhaps then they would dare the other to indulge in their own happiness. Perhaps then, they might understand the beauty of that thing called humanity.