Concept of blasphemous au narrator I made today :3
As the man fulfilled his duty of registering yet another carriage misfortune, his palms lit up before his incredulous eyes. The quill of his right hand pierced into his flesh, drawing blood out of it; the fibers of parchment tied themselves to his left hand and made it grow bigger. This curse of the miracle ignited envy in every author of the man's town, but his narrow and dull brain could do nothing out of this transformation. Thus his fate will be to write for others, until his bones will give in.
One day two pair of arms sprouted out of the man's abdomen. To his superiors this was another blessing, bound to make him write twice as more than before. But those limbs were ferocious, they thrashed and hit everything in their vicinity. Restrained with red rope were these indomitable intruders.
The Penitent One is an agnostic/atheist guy whose parents force him to join the Brotherhood of The Silent Sorrow (as a family tradition). He doesn't know what he got into, but he can't give up neither.
El Penitente es chaval agnóstico/ateo cuyos padres obligaron a que se uniera a la Hermandad del Lamento Mudo (como tradición familiar). No sabe en donde se había metido, pero tampoco puede echarse atrás.
I was curious. I let the ropes go, and to my surprise the limbs were tender to me. Free from the wrath that greeted me days ago in front of my superiors. They were dragging on my arms like blind moles, trying to understand what was going on. It made me wonder if they were as clueless as I was, or if this was nothing but another cruel joke of the miracle.
Extra doodles. Rator getting a parchment cut off after finishing it + headshot and tyler sneak peak.
Stories of Heaven, Hell and its residents is more complex than at first glance seems possible.
Everyone lives in their self-pity, self-loathing, self-righteousness and whatever currently runs their boat. They are throwing blame at one another while refusing to look into a mirror and see the cracked facade and scarred soul.
But they are too stuck in their own problems and hatred to actually see past all of that.
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Decided to fully step in into this AU, but not continue the 'Main' that kickstarted this AU but rather post one-shots or 'short multichapter' stories if the story warrants it - ideas can be related or unrelated to one another
Rating: Mature/Explicit
Themes: (Inaccurate) Biblical Themes/Testament of Solomon - Mature themes - all tagged in works
This rewrite/AU is not born out of pettiness nor malice, rather frustration and sadness at great ideas in the show that are poorly executed or not really going anywhere.
Sabito stares on. He wants to see, it’s a little twisted, but he wants to know. He has to. If Giyuu will stoop and kill for the sake of his freedom, for the sake of Sabito’s.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
“Mercy…”
The words come from underneath the slight figure of a man who was nothing, but a whip receptacle a few days prior. There is no mercy in his eyes, they look cold and dead and full of hate for the man he’d gored just seconds prior. Supposedly, they had given him everything that he would ever need, everything he’d ever wanted. But here he is lips pulled back into a vicious snarl as Sabito stares on. He wants to see, it’s a little twisted, but he wants to know. He has to. If Giyuu will stoop and kill for the sake of his freedom, for the sake of Sabito’s. His hands are dyed red, covered in blood and bits of this man’s skin and flesh. It’s strange, he doesn’t look any different, not to Sabito at least. He is still untainted by the world. his skin looks soft and translucent under the dying light of the sun. His muscles are underdeveloped, but he looks well-fed. Just like all the members of the high court. Even with the snarl on his face, he is still beautiful, face round and eyes blue and icy and calm like the gems they would set at his feet. A body completely absolved of the sickness and death outside of the church walls. Sabito can say the same for himself, even if he doesn’t want to.
Nothing looks different, except for the blood dripping from the crisp, white linen of his tunic. He’s bathed in blood, from head to toe it drips down his hair and slides over his cheeks. Untamed grunts of exertion rumble up from his throat as he stalks toward the man crawling away from him. He continues to beg for mercy at his feet, but it falls on deaf ears. He’s completely one track minded. Searching for another opening the man’s leather armor to sink his knife into. Sabito sees the blood gushing from the bandit, knows where its coming from and his chances for survival. Giyuu doesn’t notice any of it, a death grip on the handle of the ornate knife Sabito had handed him before he left. He hovers over him, full of vitriol and a shiver runs down Sabito’s spine. He’d always regarded Giyuu as fragile. Even before this he had sent Giyuu to hide and sought to protect him, too keep him sheltered from the harshness of murder and blood. Giyuu never fails to prove him wrong, as he stands over this man, poised to slice his throat.
The moment he raises his knife Sabito plunges his sword into the bandit’s chest.
The quiet hum of cicadas and insects hum through the forest and the glitter of the setting sun highlights the blood caked on Giyuu’s face. He turns to look at Sabito, eyes full of admiration and relief as blood pools at his muddy feet. The heat is stifling and the air is wet as they continue to appraise each other. Giyuu is the first to reach out.
“Sabito.” there’s so many emotions mixed into his name. Giyuu always says it like he’s tasting it. “Are you hurt?”
Sabito remains quiet. Letting Giyuu grip him tight around his bracers. He hadn’t expected the calm collection in Giyuu’s voice. He’d expected him to turn on him, clutching his knife and throwing around excuses and demanding to go back to the church. Demanding that they both repent and live out the rest of their lives as good vassals and icons. In the name of the holy lady.
He’s been with Giyuu almost all of his life and its unsettling how little he truly knows about him.
Giyuu runs a cloth, a torn piece of some part of his tunic, to Sabito’s body. Cleaning blood from his wounds. So gentle and warm as he looks at Sabito with concern his eyes, such a turn from the natural born killer he’d seen just a few moments ago.
“His shoes. Take them.”
Giyuu looks reluctant to stop, but he does as he’s told, removing the shoes from the lifeless body of the bandit. Even as his now barefeet drop with a heavy thud to the ground Giyuu still seems unphased. As if he this man was another bump in the road. Giyuu turns back to Sabito with stomping about in his new boots.
“How are they?”
“Fine. A bit tight. But they’ll do,” Giyuu says standing close to Sabito’s side “we can buy some that fit me when we make it home.”
There’s another moment of silence. The blood of this bandit begins to return to the earth. Sabito breaks it. He has to know
“You don’t want to bury him?”
“No.” Giyuu spits, anger rising again. He holds his knife with a grip so tight his knuckles go white. “Anyone who tries to hurt you will die, horribly. What you did for him was far too kind and I hope, in death, he was thankful for the mercy you granted him. He would never have gotten it from me.”
Sabito feels heat pool in his chest and stomach as he looks at Giyuu. His look of aloofness replaced with deep-seated rage and a desire to harm. How far Giyuu has fallen. From the symbol of purity and piousness, born to repent for others, to a heathen willing to take the life of a man who looks at his retainer the wrong way.
All for me.
The thought disturbs him. In truth, the idea that he may be the reason for Giyuu’s corruption bothers him, if only a little. Sabito takes him by the wrist, leading Giyuu deeper into the forest. Giyuu follows, he can see the questions forming in his mind, but he doesn’t say anything. Only pads along quietly.
Giyuu is killing for him, but he didn’t ask for that. He squeezes Giyuu’s hand and a switch flips as he drags him further away from the path. Giyuu should have stayed in his hiding place, Giyuu should have done as he was told, it's the first time he’s really seen Giyuu disobey him and the most terrible time at that.
He can feel Giyuu grow anxious behind him as he stomps further and further into the woods. The heat in his chest keeps growing, he doesn’t understand it. If its anger or love or lust. Giyuu perpetually makes him feel and it's never straightforward. Giyuu runs right into his back, still caked in drying blood and wrist caught in Sabito’s vice grip. He doesn’t turn and he doesn’t let go of Giyuu’s hand.
“Don’t do it again.” Sabito grits out and Giyuu doesn’t make any noise. Not a single sound. And he doesn’t pull away from Sabito either. Sabito moves to take another step forward.
“I cannot,” Giyuu says, steady and warm as he cuddles and clings to the threadbare shirt on Sabito’s back. “and will not make any promises.”
The heat in his chest wanders up again. He goes forward, this time following the direction of the path. Giyuu is beautiful, even spattered with blood, but he’s an idiot all the same.
“I can take care of myself. And I can take care of you.” Sabito marches along. Listening for the sound of rushing water. “Don’t do it again.”
Giyuu nods along, listening and comprehending, but ultimately doing whatever he likes.
“Giyuu,” Sabito says, a little harsher this time, “Don’t do it again, understand.”
He hums, acknowledging Sabito once more, trying to keep pace.
“I don’t want to lie to you,” Giyuu breathes, “Sabito.”
The red finally rises in Sabito’s face. Giyuu always says his name like that. Exclusive, letting it roll off his tongue. Sweet and just for him. He looked down at the wrist in his hand, completely red with blood and hooked around the knife used to defend Sabito’s knife.
He can’t say that he’s happy, but its nice that Giyuu refuses to lie to him.
