seen from United States
seen from China
seen from China
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seen from United States
seen from Costa Rica
seen from Japan
seen from United States
seen from Russia
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seen from United States
seen from United States
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[text] Could you be anymore dramatic?
@yidhra-thedreamwitch || Send my muse one of the following texts
[text; morphe-yes] I mean, probably, if I put my mind to it.[text; morphe-yes] not my fault you sent me some bullshit fucking dreams[text; morphe-yes] what did you call that last one...‘Fuck you Johnny’?[text; morphe-yes] and you wonder why I’m so bloody mad
✿
send me a ✿ and i’ll generate a number :: Hug around waist
He’s been smoking and looking pensively out into the middle distance all night. It’s the solstice, and he has to have a few words when the hour’s just right - a minute too early or too late and the incantation won’t give him what he needs.
He hears the sound of someone coming up, but they’re far too early, and he shoots a dubious look behind him only to lock eyes on Dream. Not who he was expecting.
“Come to admire my arse or the sunset, then?” He asks around the cigarette, even as she approaches the hand-rail at the look-out with him.
“We have business to attend to, Constantine,” she points out.
Johnny shakes his head. “Not tonight, okay? I’ve got a date booked in already and I doubt the two of you will get along,” he says. Yidhra shoots him a look, but then nods, gaze sliding from his face and back out toward the horizon with him.
He can’t resist the opportunity, even though he expects repercussions. Takes half a step in closer until the sides of their hips touch, and slings an arm around her casually. Keeps his eyes fixed on the sunset as though he’s oblivious to the dirty look he gets, and then steadies himself for the strike.
“He had it coming.”
“Yeah, I’m sure I can tell that to the bloody landlady, then. Who really cares, after all, it’s just my fuckin’ lease, right?”
Send me ┼ for my muse’s reaction to walking in on your muse
13. Having sex with someone
Mirror’s tired, sore and more bruised than she expected for one day of crime fighting. She’s also short because the guy who hired her lied about how much money he had.
‘Grumpy’ doesn’t begin to describe it. She opens the door to her house and hears noises, completely done with today and everything that it’s brought. The noises sound far too happy for her liking. Especially if she isn’t apart of it.
She rounds the corner of her entryway and looks, unimpressed, at the pile of limbs on her sofa.
“Look I know I shouldn’t leave my door unlocked, but this is my- YidHRA?!!?!??!!?!? I’M SORRY - SHIT- SORRY WHY ARE YOU IN MY HOUSE??”
She bolts right back out the door and slams it closed behind her.
“What the hell is going on in my life!?”
✔
Send me ✔ and I will bold my preferences for your muse!
My muse(s): the demon Constantine
Do I know your muse(s): yes | no | a little | tell me about your muse
Setting: our verse | my verse | your verse | modern | alternate universe | other
Pre-established relationships? yes | no | depends on the relationship
Possible relationships: friends | classmate | co-worker | roommate | family, real or adopted | dating or blind date | married | friends with benefits | unrequited love | lending a hand | teacher - student | rivals | allies | partner-in-crime | enemies | protecter - guarded | business partners | spy - infiltrated | manipulator - manipulated | star-crossed | first meeting | other
I’m in the mood for: fluff | angst | horror | romance | humor | crime | hurt / comfort | action | supernatural | slice of life | crack | dark threads | light threads | any genre | multi-para | shorter para | one-line | any length | plotted threads | unplotted threads | other
Feel free to: message me ooc | message me ic | tell me your ideas | write a starter | answer one of my opens | send a meme | reblog this with your preferences - let’s find common interests!
☠- for an angry text ✘- for a text that was meant for someone else ツ- for an envious text ➳- for a fearful text
Text messages from my muse to your muse
☠- for an angry text [text:morpheyyess] what the fuck was that dream about[text:morpheyyess] I thought this was supposed to be part of a deal[text:morpheyyess] what the shit happened in my brain
✘- for a text that was meant for someone else [text:morpheyyess] just want you to know John, I fucking hate you
ツ- for an envious text [text:morpheyyess] so you just have free roam of your own realm, then?[text:morpheyyess] just do whatever you want to whoever you want?
➳- for a fearful text[text:morpheyyess] but seriously if you don’t like the intel just say so?[text:morpheyyess] rather than planning to do whatever you’re planning to do to me?
➳- for a fearful text
Text messages from my muse to your muse
➳- for a fearful text[text;morpheyyess] there may be a slight flaw in our plan[text;morpheyyess] which is that you’re going to kill me when I tell you the news I got
'rough touch'
the generated outcome will be used for a small drabble scenario or starter19: Your muse grabs my muse’s wrists.
He’s got his teeth bared, twining his fingers through the fabric of the dream she just sent him-- or maybe this one came on its own. It’s remarkable craftsmanship and he isn’t sure whether this is actually him getting his claws stuck into whatever it is dreams are made of... or if this is just part of the illusion.
The sense of destruction as he tears open the hole is breathtaking. Residing in Hell gives you a certain appreciation for carnage but he’s rarely been provided much opportunity to getting stuck into harm like this.
He senses her there a moment later, just outside of his periphery.
“Yidhra.”
“Constantine. Stop.” He ignores her. Why would he give this up? Tears a little rip and coils the mess around his finger in sparks. It’s her realm, and he’s destroying a little part of it, all on his own. Glorious.
The next thing he feels is her hands wrapping around his wrists, and he snarls, reacting like a trapped animal, the glamour of a human face all but gone and leaving the dank, rotting flesh of his frame, claws and fangs and the apple of evil in his eyes.
“I told you you needed to stop,” she says, her hands are manacles and she keeps getting taller as she towers over him, barbed wire hair wrapping around her ankles, gravel spilling from her lips. “Leave, now.”
He hisses, pulling away from her now, struggling to escape her grasp. Johnny yanks as hard as he can and she releases his hands, sending him tumbling away.
His back hits the floor, and he’s panting, sweating, looking up at a dark ceiling, sheets still tangled around his legs.
