bakerstreet | 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.

I can't explain this aesthetic

michael corleone | the godfather

paul atreides | dune