bakerstreet | I can't explain this aesthetic

I can't explain this aesthetic

for disciples who love their messiahs too much;

Prophets. Kings and queens. Saviors of the world. Superheroes. Revolutionaries. Magical girls with enough kindness in their hearts for everything in their outstretched arms - and the very universe itself. There are some people that are more than people; they are pure light, forces of nature with a cause and a higher calling singing in their bones. That whisper may not be of their own choosing, but something they answer and they will not turn away.

Yet they must turn away from someone so they may face that abyss.

There will be those that follow, those that align themselves with the person who symbolizes their belief. They see the change, the shift in the tide of nature that swirls around this person. Still, there is always one disciple above all who will do anything...not always for the cause, for the person behind it. To them, that pinpoint of light and inspiration in human form is the name of God on their heart. It's an earthly love. This makes it no less worthy. But:

The path rarely ends will for prophets, royalty, dragon slayers, or girls in pretty sailor suits. Though change is a constant, there are parts of the grand design that will leave those who bring it bloodied and broken on the ground. And even for those messiahs who survive (and they rarely ever do, for others must tell their tales), there is no "end." There is only duty, and the duty cannot be found in another.

( for there is nothing crueler than loving and being loved by a prophet )

HOW TO PLAY
♠ This is the ultimate in forbidden attraction memes, for those who love those who should be beyond love.
♣ Comment with your character and preferences. You may also want to note if your character is more likely to be a "prophet" or a "disciple," though most could be both. Given how canons are, though, a lot will probably be the former.
♥ Comment to others. Please respect preferences, as there may be some possibilities for smut.
♦ Meme inspired by the tumblr page of okayophelia, especially their "they blink and reality shivers," "disciples who love their messiahs too much," and "nothing crueler than loving and being loved by a prophet" tags.

PROMPTS ( taken and slightly modified from "Lessons on Loving a Prophet" by Jeanann Verlee)

One.
You know how this ends. There’s nothing you can do to change it, so make peace with it now. Ready your hands for the callus, shred the cloth for bandages, prepare the rosaries.

Two.
When you meet them, outside the grocery, along the boardwalk, beneath the overpass, you will not know what they are. They will be neither be too charming nor too handsome, not thunder, not polish.

Three.
The day you fall in love, their mouth will spill your name. They will repeat and repeat. They will not touch you. They will watch your hips, study whatever ample you have, will ask to watch you dance. When you turn to leave, they will use your name like a choke chain.

Four.
They will call you miracle. Your face will unravel. This is their magic. When they beg you promise, say yes.

Five.
When they offers his lips, take them. Take their arms, their throat, take their toes when they offers. Gorge. Swallow everything whole. Gag. Vomit. Swallow more. Do not hesitate. No time for polite, or coy. Take.

Six.
When the minions call you whore, nod.

Seven.
They will tell you of the others. How those others went crazy in their sleep awaiting their return. Do not flinch. Do not doubt your thickened fingertips. Stand upright. You promised.

Eight.
When you find them in their room, thrashing the sheets, pressing their palms into the walls, howling, their face a river...close the door. This is how they make wine. Leave them in his sorcery.

Nine.
When they explains that they cannot love. That they will never be yours alone. When they tell how the meek, the gluttons, the tempted, the proud are their angels, do not mourn. Smile, feed them, wash their hair.

Ten.
They are a king among thieves. The leeches will hollow their skin, the crows reduce them to bones. Their own heart will empty them. Allow for them to bleed. Be ready with tourniquet and prayer.

Eleven.
In the dry burn of dawn, after the last of the lashes, the thorns and the spittle, when their limp body is laid at your feet, remember the night you loved them, the ember of their eyes and the way the words came like honey.

Twelve.
You were made for this.

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[ likely the object of devotion, but if you want vice versa, let's talk. info/permissions in journal. ]

[ too full of terrible purpose to ever be the devotee. permissions in journal. ]

[Either role is fine.]

[Well... this calls to me for obvious reasons...
Leader of a tribe of desert nomads, attuned to artifacts that confer godlike powers at the cost of tanking various stats. More info here. No sex prompts please.]

Darius into D&D in a similar role/background as his main line? Prompt of your choice?

The Prophet (and those either brave enough or foolish enough to travel with him) were far from the desert they called home. But they didn't have much of a choice. His tribe had gathered five of the six pieces of the Armor of the Spectres. Four of which were attuned to him, the fifth they were trying to delay adding for as long as possible. The sixth piece was rumored to be with the leader of the Dogs in the north.

Unfortunately, going there was going to take them extremely close to the Ministry capital. Even with the deadly plague, Dog territory was still an active war zone.

The Vengeance and The Promise had left to scout hours ago. They still had the mountains for cover, but it was better to be safe than sorry.

"I'm beginning to get concerned. They should have been back by now." The Mystic thought about casting a sending spell, just to check in.

"...I am too. I think..." The Prophet paused, straining to sit up, and looking into the darkness. "I think we're being hunted."

There was a hunt going on but not for Kuro. The Ministry didn't know they were there yet. In fact, what they were hunting was a higher priority than even the armor in some ways. These things were about to cross paths if only because they were heading right into the oncoming Ministry.

Darius was starving, rare for one of his kind at his age. He could go days without food and water. He had done that while running and not sleeping. What walked into the Kuro camp was a man in a high ranking Ministry outfit but dirty and torn at this point. The exhaustion showed but the height and appearance said one thing... he was one of the mixed breeds the Ministry was creating, human, elf, and Blackbird only knew what else. The canary yellow eyes didn't really fit any common race nor did the intensity of magic and mental ability he carried.

He was not here for a fight. He was not here to harm anyone but if he was assaulted then he would fight back. Though he had fled in a random direction, his goal location was the same, with the Dogs by way of a stop along the way. He had simply gone the wrong direction and found the wrong gang.

No sooner had The Prophet attempted to detect magic, that magic was right on top of them.

The Mystic pulled the Prophet protectively into his arms as a spectral bird sprang to life between them and the intruder. It didn't attack. The Guardian of Faith was more of a shield spell than a combat one. It also emitted just enough light they could get a look at what they were dealing with.

The emblem of the scarlet cross clearly visible on his lapel made their blood run cold. But the state of that uniform, the intruder's haggard appearance, any expression or surprise - it all made them second guess who was really the one being hunted tonight.

"Stop. Stay back." The Mystic ordered. "Who are you and what do you want?"

The Prophet switched to detecting thoughts.

"I don't have to do anything." The vocal rebellion was furthered by the way he simply walked past the guardian. He wasn't hostile nor did he have any intent to harm. He knew magic. Knew enough that this wouldn't harm him unless he decided to harm someone himself.

"Food." That was the first thought but he paused staring back the way he came from, concentrating. He was scrying on the people chasing him but without a focus and without the time. He was far beyond most people in magical ability. It was why the Ministry was so intent. "And for you to leave."

That command to leave came, accidentally, with magical weight and purposefully with a tone of urgency. By the time he turns back to the ones speaking there is a sooty black owl landing on his shoulder but it's not normal. The bird is the size of a large hawk and has eyes that feel unnatural when under its gaze.

Despite the magic imbued in the request, both the Mystic and the Prophet were unaffected. They didn't flee. Though, they did stand, with the Mystic supporting most of The Prophet's weight.

"An enemy of the Ministry is an ally of ours." The Prophet attempted to persuade the stranger to at least pause. If someone was after him, then they would need more information before making themselves scarce.

Fortunately, he also heard the other man's exhaustion loud and clear. There was leverage in that. If not, this may very well become a battle of wills.

"You have information. We have rations..."

The owl picked at the red cross on the man's collar as if it would dispose of it if it was possible. Darius was focused on the people before him. He can feel the presence and see it in the weaker man's eyes. Afterall, he had spent some time assisting with the search. It was a familiar feeling.

However, a suggestion that he had to make a deal here was not sitting well. He had enough of deals and pacts and being manipulated. The tone comes with a hint of displeasure.

"I can still outrun them for several days. Can you?" There's not threat in those words but it is a verbal line in the sand. He was not making deals with anyone, for any reason. He'd go hungry, starve to death, first.

"I don't have to..." The Prophet replied, his voice stronger than it likely should be. It carried weight that his physical body definitely didn't have. Blue crystal sparkled in the light of the Mystic's Guardian of Faith.

Depending on when Darius left the Ministry, he may have heard multiple rumors. Some as old as seven years ago, when The Prophet first put on the armor and stopped an entire Ministry army in its tracks. Some, weeks old at most, spoke of a blunder in the desert with multiple battalions failing to even scratch The Prophet. The Council for the Preservation of Body and its Vice Chair was humiliated.

He started to laugh at the man before him. He definitely needed information if this was his behavior.

"You should." This time there is a darkness in tone and a slight shake of the head. He risked stepping closer. He still wasn't out to do harm so that faith bird remained neutral. "I breached my pact with the owner of your trinkets because I no longer appreciated being forced to serve them."

His voice was barely a whisper at this point but cold, confident, and rebellious. "The pathetic underlings from the desert are not what comes on my heels."

It appeared intimidation wouldn't suffice either, and from the next bit of information, they both immediately understood why.

The Mystic gasped. "You're one of their acolytes."

"Were." The Prophet corrected, though it hardly mattered. This was a man who likely served under the Vice Chair for the Eradication of Magic, or perhaps even the Minister, personally.

If that didn't betray his magical prowess, the fact he claimed to breach a pact with the Blackbird certainly did. No one simply walked away from the Pact of the Grave. The Mourner tried. Hell, The Mourner was still trying.

If he was that powerful, The Prophet could think of only one person they would dare send out to recapture him. The same person who captured his successors, The Fighter and The Faith. The Vice Chair of the Council for the Eradication of Magic himself.

"And he's right..." the Prophet conceded, glancing up to the Mystic. "We should."

He breathed an audible sigh of relief. While he wanted free of his servitude, he didn't wish harm to come to anyone else from it. He had run into the Prophet accidently, or perhaps under the guidance of his new patron. It could be either at this point.

"I am not unaided." He clarified but he's in need of rest. Walking away wasn't exactly the description he would have put on the current push and pull over his very being. It was more like being the rope in a spiritual tug of war in which he was trying to pull the rope toward one side againt a mountain.

"Rest and food." He repeated that request. "You can prepare for travel."

It would take some time to clear up this encampment and he could commune and rest. He didn't exactly trust the Prophet but he would take a pair of eyes watching while he rested to get his strength back. He'd be back to his dangerous self with an hour or so of rest, some food and water. The people chasing him were working on the assumption that they would run him to weakness. Weakened they could capture him but with rest he wouldn't be so easy to collect.

"You'll want to recover your scouts." He spoke more in certainty than the qustion it should be.

Neither was the Mourner, technically. But The Blackbird held its beholden in its talons with a very, very tight grip. (Something The Mystic was only starting to realize once he made his own pact.)

The Prophet nodded.

"They're already on their way back." The Mystic confirmed, looking to The Prophet. "If we're going to travel, you need to rest too. Conserve your strength."

The Prophet acquiesced to that as well. Though, he did look to the stranger first. "Do you have a name?"

michael corleone | the godfather

paul atreides | dune

Maedhros | The Silmarillion | OTA

The Prophet - D&D OC

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Suppose they need to meet first.

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thomas shelby | peaky blinders

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Takaoka Sho | Glass Heart

Gojo Satoru | Jujutsu Kaisen

vil schoenheit | twisted wonderland | m/m 16+

Reno | VII Compilation

easthies / witch hat atelier

Suzaku Kururugi | Code Geass | ota

Sakurai Keiwa | Kamen Rider Geats | ota