#thymocosm

[rekant-aa]

@thymocosm​ / here

there’s no reaction similar to one’s stomach turning, and no grimace to sour her face. whatever reservations she might have are set aside quite easily, to be dealt with later or not at all. she steps closer, reaches for the cloth as though she’d like to take it, take over this part --- arrow’s done enough --- but stops, unwilling to grab at anyone without a great deal of permission. it might look like fear, but chiyo’s not programmed to be afraid. she’s programmed to be polite. 

her voice is soft, there’s no anger in it,  ‘ let me. ’

[hraunwyf]

@thymocosm

"how strict are the rules, really?"

does she have any business showing her face around here? nope. the business of demons is no business of hers, no matter the typical opinion held regarding her place among them; it's professional curiosity, really, an occult practitioner to an occult being. the actual protocols, she could take or leave. mostly leave. loki goes where she pleases, does as she pleases. even around little puffed-up hellions.

"the bones, the sigils, the candles, the latin. is it really all that exact, or is it just some sort of placebo to put human intent in the right place? because magic isn't actually all that complicated, even for them." it's a genuine train of thought, but a grin does slash her lips. "or, mr. crowley," she hums, the slight melody to it the barest bit mocking, "is it just polemically sent?"

[accesspath]

@thymocosm​ / from.

           “ why ? ” slow blink. challenging, “ when did you stop being able to take things for yourself ? ”

[quantified187-blog]

          white knuckles lose the tug of war match, his caffeinated dreams slipping away as with each sip. “i…” he trails off, knowing her move was to prevent him from consuming more. a defeated sigh, followed by wide eyed excitement. he came here for a reason, “penelope,” his hand rests on her forearm, “i think i found an authentic TARDIS from the third season of dr. who!” he flashes his master card, “quick, run a background check on the seller: drwhome in ebay.”

                                                              @thymocosm​ cont.

[firewalkd]

@thymocosm / here

     she’s early, on her way from one place to another, wearing a dark evening gown and a thin shawl thrown over the top, more to keep her covered while she’s out and about, than to stave off the cold. she likes the way it bites at her; the cool, midnight air, sinking its claws in. the wind never touches her in her dreams. laura reapplies her lipstick right before she lights a cigarette, and when she sees audrey, offers the open packet. she blows smoke and cold air over the bridge’s railing, out into the nothingness. her voice is low and smooth, already one strong glass of bourbon into the evening,  ‘ do you ever ask yourself why we never became better friends? ’

[goldticket]

@thymocosm​ continued from here.

Wonka smiles. Somehow, some way, by some magic, all smiles that worm their way onto Wonka’s face do not look warm or happy. His eyes flick swiftly–right, left–like one sure swing of an old grandfather clock. Breezy:

          “The meat inside my head. Why? What makes you think so?”

His gaze fixes not on her but at her, obtrusive and waiting.

[prodigil]

@thymocosm

‘  HEY..  YOUR  HAIR  looks  cool.  ‘  it’s  the  longest  sam’s  seen  it  on  her,  and  it  frames  her  face  in  rebellious  curls.  though  sam  didn’t  know,  if  her  former  cut  buzzed  close  to  her  scalp  had  not  been  of  her  will,  he  imagines  this  must  feel  sweetly  individual,  like  victory.  it  was  one  method  of  self  expression  that  had  always  been  dear  to  him.   he  jingles  the  keys  of  the  impala  and  places  them  in  his  jeans  pocket.   ‘  i’ve  gotta  grab  some  things  that  we’re  low  on.  you  wanna  come  with?  ‘   sam  thinks  the  air  could  be  good  for  her,  and  it  wouldn’t  hurt  to  share  lunch.

[kingmagician]

he’s a little anxious. part of it is that quentin is having trouble leaving the house, at the moment. the other part of it is that he’s got a clammy palm about actually asking eliot to take him anywhere or to go anywhere with him. this is all without touching on the closet thing, either; it’s somehow the last thing quentin is worried about. but apparently breaking into the underworld is one thing, but what if eliot doesn’t want to -

“ hey. um. ” hand scooping into eliot’s hand. “ can we go out ? just us, i mean. maybe get a bagel and go to the park, or go see a movie, or. whatever you want. as long as it’s just us. ” / @thymocosm