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[yidhra-thedreamwitch]

more things to torment @yidhra-thedreamwitch

[yidhra-thedreamwitch]

a ‘gift’ to @yidhra-thedreamwitch 

[yidhra-thedreamwitch]

@yidhra-thedreamwitch

[yidhra-thedreamwitch]

Aesthetics

aesthetic meme: list your muses aesthetic. anyone can do this, list your muse’s aesthetic from tastes, smells, outfits, and sceneries. add as many subjects as you like, it can help with people tagging you in aesthetically pleasing things towards your muse!

Repost. Don’t reblog.

TASTES: wine, vanilla, chamomile tea

SMELLS: jasmine, fresh linen, petrichor, ozone

SIGHTS: kaleidoscope of blue butterflies, a cloud of white feathers, a cracked face of a porcelain doll, random splashes of paint on a canvas, the aurora borealis

SOUNDS: the soft susurrus of sheets shifting on a bed, the tinkling of silver bells, a muffled orchestra, the scraping of claws over one another

SENSATIONS: the uncertain state between being awake and asleep, the first touch of water to a dry throat, feeling regal when one is certain of what they’re doing, overwhelmed at the experience of a masterpiece, the cold aloofness of a star

OUTFITS: silk kimonos, dresses in an array of colors as varied as the sky, a swirling shift of shades not yet discovered, costumes of many places/times/people

BODY: tall and willowy, flawlessly pale with impossibly long jet black hair, her claws betray how deadly she can truly be, brown almond shaped eyes that seem to know too much

[yidhra-thedreamwitch]

Send me a •3• and I will put my playlist on shuffle, write down the first line of five songs and give it to your muse as a poem from mine

[yidhra-thedreamwitch]

Yidhra raises her eyebrow at Leia’s clear discomfort. Stuffed toys coming to life is hardly an uncommon wish in the dream world. She’s not quite sure what has Leia so perturbed by the idea, but Yidhra won’t press for information.

Yidhra nods her head, “That certainly sounds achievable. If you wish for it to appear and disappear at will, you may have to recreate a few of the steps we’ll discuss. We shall have to see.”

She suddenly sits, a plethora of pillows arriving underneath her to make comfortable seats. “You will need to be comfortable. This could take a while to manifest.”  

Teach Me? || Yidhra and Leia

[yidhra-thedreamwitch]

Yidhra leans down to get a closer look at the drawing. She can see the sentimentality in the detail. There is a great deal of love that has gone into getting down everything that she could remember, including the uneven patterns of the wool. 

She taps a claw against her own lip in thought. What Leia asks for isn’t impossible. Especially with her clear attachment to the object, this should go very well indeed. Depending on what it is exactly that Leia wants. 

“Forgive me, for I’m not sure if I fully understand. You wish for this thing to act as if it were alive? Without the limitations of needing food and drink, I’m assuming?” 

Teach Me? || Yidhra and Leia

[yidhra-thedreamwitch]

The prayer startles her so much that Yidhra literally ripples in surprise. When her skin has settled, she turns away from the forest of mushrooms populated with ladybug people. 

It’s not so much words as it is intent that’s being directly spread through her being. She can feel who it is, the general idea of what Leia wants. It surprises her deeply. 

There’s a part of her that is excited to take on such a complicated project with an apt pupil. Another part preens at being prayed to, when she hasn’t been mentioned in devotion for several centuries. 

She glides away from the dream, shedding the exoskeleton she’d adopted for blending in. It’s more than easy to step from the dream directly into Leia’s house. The door has been left open for her. 

“If you don’t mind my dear,” Yidhra says as she swirls up a set of indigo and lavender clothes , “would you clarify what it is, specifically, that you want? Prayers tend to get lost in translation in the ether.” 

Teach Me? || Yidhra and Leia

It had been a while since Yidhra’s last visit and lesson for Leia, and even longer since her Mistress went off on Business… Somewhere.

She’d been letting her last lesson sink in – lock itself into her long-term memory. Her “Survival” memory.

But the longer her Mistress is away, the more nightmares Leia seems to have. She’s not sure if her mistress just can’t access her, can’t sense them from so far away, or is just Busy With Other Matters. Sometimes she prays at Her altar, and it seems to help, for a while. Leia’s not sure if her Mistress hears them and acts on them, or if just the act makes her feel better. 

But she’d like something else to help keep them away– At least, until her Mistress returns.

It’s hard to fall back asleep when the world is so bright.

So one night the very tired owlgirl comes in from hunting and scavenging and kneels, instead, in front of Yidhra’s altar.

“My Teacher,” Leia prays, slipping into old scottish celtic as she focuses on her drawing of her tutor, “I would very much like to resume our lessons, when you next have the time to leave the land of Dreams. Last time you taught me to make thing set upon the walls… Could you, perhaps, teach me to make something I can hug, and hold, and carry with me, Madam Yi?”

[yidhra-thedreamwitch]

‽- ❖ "How do you see me, or think of me?"

She considers this. “I see you as an untapped potential. Mixed with some...measures of naivety that I hope don’t lead you to regret anything.” 

[yidhra-thedreamwitch]

send me a ❖ + a question and my muse will be forced to tell the truth.

[yidhra-thedreamwitch]

She hears the doubt in his tone, and frowns up at him. With sharp movements she pulls something out of the man’s chest. It had been hidden in all of the blood and twisted clothing. It looks like a toy that children wave to make noise, but the hands that ‘clap’ form strange square shapes, and some things are etched into the sides of it. She strips some of the soiled cloth and wraps it around the device to keep the ends from hitting each other. She tosses it at him with a huff. 

As she rolls up the body in tarp she says, “I haven’t heard screeching like that since the Lady Abyss suffered from a cosmic nightmare equivalent of what can only be translated as a ‘hangnail’. It was most distressing. Keep it if you wish, but I wouldn’t shake it. Even I can’t tell if he only meant to incapacitate you, or cause your blood to boil from the noise.” 

When she’s finished, she stands up, wiping her hands on purely theoretical clothes, before she’s suddenly back in her extravagant garb. 

“I’ll avoid pointing out the redundancy that I’m not ‘normal’. I wasn’t sure where you were, I thought it would be best to start here. I prefer speaking in person rather than as a disembodied voice.”

She raises an eyebrow at the sheet of plastic, and looks back at him. She does her best not to show it, but she’s amused by his annoyance and insistence to clean up her ‘work’. It’s very rare for anyone to be so upfront with her.

Well, far be it from her to suggest that she lets others do her dirty work anyway. 

Gone is the opulent robes, in its place is something she’d seen in Mirror’s closet that had been covered in paint and gun oil stains. She grips the man’s wrists, and easily tugs him over to the tarp. 

“I was doing you a favor you know,” she mildly says, letting the body land with a heavy thunk. “He was lying in wait for you. And he had a weapon. It’s what compelled me to attack him.” 

[yidhra-thedreamwitch]

She raises an eyebrow at the sheet of plastic, and looks back at him. She does her best not to show it, but she’s amused by his annoyance and insistence to clean up her ‘work’. It’s very rare for anyone to be so upfront with her.

Well, far be it from her to suggest that she lets others do her dirty work anyway. 

Gone is the opulent robes, in its place is something she’d seen in Mirror’s closet that had been covered in paint and gun oil stains. She grips the man’s wrists, and easily tugs him over to the tarp. 

“I was doing you a favor you know,” she mildly says, letting the body land with a heavy thunk. “He was lying in wait for you. And he had a weapon. It’s what compelled me to attack him.” 

@yidhra-thedreamwitch || continued from (X) She rolled her eyes, “As if you couldn’t talk her into selling you her own skin and make her think it was her idea all along.”

Yidhra glanced at the corpse, and resisted the urge to nudge it over with her foot. “And if you don’thave a spell or concoction to dispose of the body and get rid of the stains, then Fear has equivalently been occupying the fairy daydreams of young children this whole time.”

She flicked her claws, letting the blood splatter onto the body until they stopped dripping. “You don’t seem particularly surprised about this scenario. Were you expecting to walk into the tail end of a murder?”

Johnny shrugs with a flat expression. “Maybe not from you, but I’ve been away for a long time, and you learn to get comfortable with all kinds of unpleasantness down there. ‘Course, the owner, not so much.” He growls softly, frustrated at the mess. “I’ve got a tarp. I’ll go get it, and you can do the honours.”

He doesn’t know if she will, but Hell, it’s worth a try.  He stumps off into the back and brings it back, laying it down with kicks of his feet to spread it.

[yidhra-thedreamwitch]

Yidhra watched as Leia’s hand came close to the image. “I would avoid that,” she cautioned, “my magics will only last as long as you can accept the level of ‘reality’ I grant to the picture. Smell and touch are two of the hardest senses to fool. Sight is the easiest.” 

She smiled as Leia came over and recalled the image. “It is lovely,” Yidhra complimented. She carefully took Leia’s hand in hers, mindful of her claws to not cut the skin. She placed Leia’s hand against the blank part of the wall. 

“Concentrate on what you’re seeing. The hardest thing for any artist is to translate what is seen in the head onto their medium of choice. Trace your hand where you want it to go. Envision the design, and move accordingly. As you do, try to imagine the texture of the glass and the metal. I said touch will be one of the hardest senses to fool. Your window has accomplished sight, let’s see how you are with tactile illusion.” 

Quiet Queries || Yidhra

Leia looks around, wide eyed, then closes her eyes and shakes her head.

There’s so much potential, and it has been some time since she has been allowed freedom, much less allowed – or encouraged! – to unbridle her creativity. 

And she has enough of it that, when suddenly given freedom, it’s a little overwhelming. Too many thoughts at once.

After a moment, though – and several grounding breaths – she looks around slowly, eyes sharp and bright and calculating. 

“I can bring plants inside and paint, myself,” she murmurs under her breath, to herself, before saying louder and clearer, to Yidhra, “Can… Can we put, um… A window, by the sink, and counter? And, um…” 

She reaches out to the image just created, but hesitates and retracts her hand slightly before looking to Yi and asking, “How… real, are these constructs…?”

[yidhra-thedreamwitch]

She rolled her eyes, “As if you couldn’t talk her into selling you her own skin and make her think it was her idea all along.” 

Yidhra glanced at the corpse, and resisted the urge to nudge it over with her foot. “And if you don’t have a spell or concoction to dispose of the body and get rid of the stains, then Fear has equivalently been occupying the fairy daydreams of young children this whole time.”

She flicked her claws, letting the blood splatter onto the body until they stopped dripping. “You don’t seem particularly surprised about this scenario. Were you expecting to walk into the tail end of a murder?” 

“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?”

[yidhra-thedreamwitch]

Yidhra’s eyebrows raise, and she watches the spittle fly to land at her feet. Well, that didn’t go as expected. Yidhra reaches a little bit for Mirror’s dreams. Just enough to get a glimpse, and with such a vehement reaction, whatever’s bothering her is at the forefront of her mind. 

She only sees a bathroom soaked in red and a great deal of issues involving death and the afterlife. Yidhra restrains herself from sighing aloud. Perfect. Her hand at trying to be a Messenger of the Father and it’s to one of the many who feel that their life would be better suited for trading places with one of the dead.

She can’t manipulate any dreams in this state. At least not towards the intended recipient. She blinks when she hears the click of the gun clicking. This time Yidhra actually does sigh. The woman is going to ruin her own hideous wallpaper before she does any damage with that thing.

Perhaps diplomacy is lost in this situation. Best to take a more...straightforward approach.

Between one blink and the next, she’s gripping the thing by the barrel, and moving it up until it points at the ceiling while Mirror is still holding it. 

“....I am not here to hurt you. Or to come bearing tidings from the Father,” she says to test the effect her words have while Mirror is so deeply influenced by the bracelet. 

Well that’s certainly worrying. Yidhra almost drops the deception around herself, just to see what it is the young woman is witnessing. But they don’t have time for petty curiosity. 

Besides, Yidhra will more than likely see it in her Nightmares tonight.

She rapidly thinks of the best way to handle this situation. Being honest might quell her fears, or raise more questions that she does not have the time to answer. The woman might not even be able to understand her at this stage. The distortion of the bracelet was meant to drop all illusions, including auditory.

Stars only knew what the woman was seeing and hearing.

Rather than waste time trying to explain what she is and why she’s here, Yidhra nods her head. After she gets the bracelet back, she’ll reveal what she really is and start making reparations to the woman’s psyche. 

[yidhra-thedreamwitch]

DREAM ||slightly nsfw

@yidhra-thedreamwitch​ submitted:

The smell of stale cigarettes and bad beer is almost foul enough to curdle milk. But the two of them are making the most of it. Sixth slam of the best whiskey in the house [which is a step above god-awful] and he finally asks her, “How’d you swing this then, love?”

“Owner owes me a favor,” she answers, tossing hers back, “gave us the whole place to ourselves for a night.”

“Oh really,” he asks with a raised eyebrow. He looks at the scratched counters, stained pool tables, and a bloody jukebox that hasn’t seen its heyday in four decades. “I’m sure he’s weeping buckets at the loss of revenue.“ 

She snorts, thankfully after she’s already swallowed her drink. Her hand suddenly goes out to cover his, running her thumb over his dry skin. 

"There’s, uh, always been something I’ve wanted to do on top of a bar.”

It’s not that he’s not interested. The idea of the indulgence and the filth of it is actually hitting him in all of the right places quite nicely. But he wouldn’t be who he is if he didn’t give her shit about it. 

“Seriously? Here? Sure you wouldn’t be more comfortable in the back alley? Or inside of a skip?" 

She looks unimpressed but also like she sees right through him. Clearly there’s a damned good retort she’s about to reply with, but it flees her mind when she catches sight of the opening door.

"Shit,” she swears with quite the emphasis, jumping off of the stool. He moves an instant later, ready more for some sort of hellhound or lamia, rather than the group of thick browed thugs that are all trying to simultaneously squeeze through the door.

“Hey, um,” and that tone of voice is one that he’s very familiar with. It means they’re hip deep in shit and she forgot to mention to bring shovels.

“Remember how I said the owner owed me a favor? I meant that I thought he’d be in jail way longer than just five hours.”

One of the men who’s got more beef on him than a skinned cow manages to break through. After that there’s no more talking. 

It’s just fists and broken glass swinging through the air. It’s a few blows to his face and sternum, but a great deal more dealt out to their noses and ribcages. It’s the sharp crack of bones and the smell of blood. He moves like a scruffy underdog that knows a thing or two, while she moves like a sodding dancer. 

It’s really, really hard not to get distracted when she vaults over goons like she’s a kid playing leap frog, with a grin that could light up this shitty city block from its perpetual bleakness. It also doesn’t help that she’s wearing the fitted black jeans that are practically painted on and-

Ow. Okay. Less ogling. More-avoiding-getting-teeth-punched-in-ing.

Soon it all becomes a blur of adrenaline and the visceral satisfaction of watching someone’s face contort under your fist. He must have gone deep into the head space of blood lust and survival instinct, because one second he’s making one poor bastard’s future dentist insanely happy, the next she’s wrapping her legs around his waist and is taking the edge of the bar against her back.

He has a stunned moment where he wonders where the bruisers went, but then she’s doing something to his neck with her tongue and teeth that makes him very much not care anymore. She’s murmuring something in his ear that he can’t quite understand, yet his fingers dig into the cheap wood by her hips anyway.

They’re getting in each other’s way by trying to take off the opposite person’s trousers simultaneously. He growls about her impatience, and she laughs in his face at the hypocrisy. He gets impatient enough that he uses the literally damned strength he was given and rips the stupid jeans open down to her crotch.

The way her breath whooshes in startled and unrestrained arousal makes it worth the new pair he’s definitely going to have to get her. 

There’s no more talking after that. Just the sounds of the both of them in an empty shithole bar, engaging in something as primal and thoughtless as the fight they just got done with. It’s unrestrained thrusts and grinding, mixed with more biting than is likely healthy. It’s pure and raw and not at all tender, but it’s what the both of them thrive in.

The climax is a winding and burning coil of tension in the both of them. It tightens until they’re both going mad with it, until all that’s left is just to—–let go. 

All that’s left is the fire. 

It spreads down the counter from the paths of his fingertips. The bottles explode in flash-heated glass and flaming alcohol. The acrid smoke of burning rye and cheap plastic climbs up his nose. It doesn’t block out the scent of charred meat.

She’s crumbled to ash underneath him by the time he realizes what’s happened. It would be better if she slipped like sand between his fingers, but ash clings to what it touches. He’s covered from neck to groin in flaky grey. 

He collapses as a wave of dizziness washes over him. The fire licks its way up the walls, cracking open the ceiling while the pipes go molten. The music player in the corner splits in half from the heat, the strings inside of it wailing from the strain. 

No. It’s just screams.

It’s hard to tell if they’re coming from him or the gaping faces taking shape in the smoke. The ground trembles, fissuring to show a place that isn’t as warm as fire, but burns more than the sun.

The ghosts are being sucked down, and he feels the gravitating pull of it. A black hole would lead to nothingness, which is infinitely preferable to what is waiting underneath. 

One of the wisps takes the shape of her terrified face, and he wakes up before he can reach for it. 

       He comes to, shaking. He can find her, he can find her down–                                             it was a dream.

                                     It was a goddamn DREAM.

      “You— bastard, you utter bastard,” he mumbles, rubbing         at eyes stinging with the acrid smoke or… or just tears.          Down below you fucking forget how these fucking things          can make you fucking feel.  Forget how real they seem,         deep into something primal in you, something that just eats         you up and all you can do is submit to it, LOST in those depths.

        Except this isn’t some fucking random flex of his subconscious.         His dreams are custom made, tailored and delivered for him.         By the Dream Witch herself. He’s going to fucking strangle her. 

[yidhra-thedreamwitch]

Rules: Spell your URL out in song titles then tag 10 people!

Tagged by @thedemonconstantine

Young God- Halsey

In Our Bedroom After the War- Stars

Dreams- Beck [unintentional but hilarious]

Hello- Adele

Renegades- X Ambassadors

All We Do- Oh Wonder

Thousand Eyes- Of Monsters and Men

High Hopes- Kodaline

Exile Vilify- The National

Drink the Water- Justin Cross

Re: Stacks- Bon Iver

Everybody Wants to Rule the World- Lorde

About Today- The National

Marked Man- Mieka Pauley 

Which Witch- Florence and the Machine

Is There Somewhere- Halsey

To a Poet- First Aid Kit

Charon- Keaton Henson 

How to Disappear Completely- Radio Head 

@mirrorheroineforhire @moonlightandoldbooks @adramelekh [hehe] @shadowbirdsitu @trickypagan and whomever else feels like partaking!