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bakerstreet2024-03-31 03:48 pm
newsockfeeling) wrote in bakerstreet2024-03-31 03:48 pm
They blink, reality shivers
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 explain 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.
Maedhros | the Silmarillion | OTA
paul atreides | dune (2021 + 2024) | m/f
thorntail ("tav") 🐉 bg3
adam . hazbin hotel . m/m + lute shipping, ota otherwise
Dorian Pearl || Antiquarian/cosmic horror
vox. hazbin hotel.
ashley graves / the coffin of andy and leyley
cleina | original character | f/f
millions knives | trigun stampede
i hate us for this
the words cling to the back of his throat - sticky, sickly, an almost but not quite (he is always almost but not quite) snarl caught in the softness of his palate, probably the only soft parts of him
(isn't that what you'd said, once? moons sinking and rising and sinking again beyond the sand dunes sloping gently like the half curls of your lashes, the way you skimmed fingers over the blackwhiteblack piano keys each note like knocking down the knocks of my spine, towers and towns and whole cities knocked down too, falling, edges burning like pale filaments of wings)
as vash brings his arms up in a swing, like whiplash of sapling tied back in spring, sprung, with the sight of his gun pointed at the shining marbled brother of his. NAI, he calls, clinging to what he knows (he doesn't know) and what he believes (oh, he believes), the childhood name like a call to a haunting brought back again and again, as though he could bring him (bring them both, bring them all) back again, put the fallen stars back in their places in the skies all the flowers and blades of grass crushed under their knees to sway up towards the artificial sun once more.
vash is good at believing. even now, with the ruins of another town falling to pieces around them, sending smoke and dust of a hundred thousand lives scattering in the air, he believes, but all in the wrong directions like a compass laid upon a magnet line, swinging aimless and focusing on all of the false mirages.
nai has always known where to set his sights. it is vash, always, who can't look away. it is vash, always, almost but not quite, who tears himself to pieces over these fleeting fickle distractions.
he doesn't shoot him; he never does, he can never bring himself to let the blood really be on his hands, seeping in between his knuckles and under his nails to fester black and dirty, even if he steeps himself in it much like the red coat that flies behind him. always a coward, who only knows how to take the credit in the aftermaths. ]
Persephone | Myth
Lessariel | OC | OTA
john irving | the terror | ota
( More likely disciple tbh, but open to either role! )
Richard Plantagenet | Requiem of the Rose King
The Nerevarine | The Elder Scrolls III: Morrowind | OTA
wilma clements | original.
fyodor dostoevsky / bungo stray dogs
yae miko ✦ genshin impact
Sister Imperator | Ghost
sansa stark — asoiaf / game of thrones.
Grantaire | Les Miserables | ota: the stronger your convictions the better