DT

[ the jumper ]

essokinesis ;; an ability to transform one’s reality—or another’s. applicable to one who travels between realities.

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[ a jumper ]

Mun & Muse have moved over to a new account—this will remain as an archive for personal use. Thank you for following if you do!

I’M SORRY. I THOUGHT WE WERE LIVING IN AN EQUAL LIFE WHERE MEN AND WOMEN CAN ASK EACH OTHER Reciprocally AND THE MAN DOESN’T HAVE TO AAASSSSK. Also how do you break a hip old woman?

OMG, I need to make one fine. I’ll do it later on though—might do something first that’ll mess that up (not something too big, don’t worry).

ALLISON ARGENT INDIE ROLE PLAYERS

teenwolfindierplist:

Reblog to be added to the LIST

teenwolfindierplist:

Would anybody be interested in a mini pairing game in which we the team choose two of those interested, tag you both in a scene and you choose whether or not you would like to rp it?

where else can you buy well-made and well-fitting bras tho?? i’ve tried other places and they don’t last as well? if that makes sense

I buy mine at Burlington? XD They last long for me.

//SHAKE IT TILL YOU BREAK IT YOO

*shakes once—breaks hip* Tu culpa. When am I getting a starter from you, yo.

dude looking at their catalogues make me feel like i’m looking at porn. i just want to buy some underwear and maybe cute sweats not stare at seductively posed A+T

Listen those ladies work-out and work for their bodies and they have to deal with self-scrutiny on levels that not a lot of people have to deal with—for that I salute them. Totally. Rock-on. I still do not want to buy a $40 bra that I’ll most likely wear for a total of ten minutes to a few hours before I take it off.

On a rather random note (also good afternoon to ast/est-ers), Victoria Secret ads are up there with tampon/maxi-ad ads on the discomfort level. Yes, I want to buy a $40 braq and gyrate in it.

+ incertusinsanus

incertusinsanus:

image

It reeks and he’s tired and Allison doesn’t even say hello - which, hey, rude, woman.

"Good morning to you too," He greets through a grimace, brows pulled down and face creased with the expression. Curtly, his gaze flits through the group around Allison, before settling on the girl - or, woman, rather -herself. It’s too early to smile. Beneath most of his running gear, he’s damp with the sweat he worked up, and it’s just beginning to cool. A Lot Earlier makes him wonder how long they’ve been out, and makes him glad that Allison didn’t do what she planned.

Because yeah, no.

It’s not exactly ideal, an immediate call the third day of his return, but it’s what he does and what he’s used to so he’s not exactly surprised. Beacon Hills is what its name stands for - although taking on the name Night Vale would be more suited. 

The elk’s seen better days, by far. It’s a canvas of wounds, rather than a case: like something hadn’t been brave enough to make the gut wound bigger to get more, dig deeper. 

"Young, but not stupid," He notes, encroaching on her space. One of her guard dogs gives him a look, and he returns it with the Art of Brows (you can find your local classes at the abode of one Derek Hale; must have prior experience), but his attention flows mainly between woman-and-elk. The men are the bare minimum of distraction. “Whatever it was did it here, so."

It’s summer, and the school trails are empty of classes. Granted, kids still wander around, but not that he’s seen so far. Stiles isn’t a stranger to the route, took it a few times last year when he came home then, when Scott would go with him (which brings to mind the question as to him and Allison - are they a thing? Not a thing? Up and down like two dollar whores on a Friday, these two), but it’s remote. Vacant on typicality.

Then again. Anyone coming across it would think different. An unfortunate death of a cute elk with the almost-freshly shedded antlers. Some mauling, minor, nothing to think about. But he’d rather keep things like this in the knowledge of someone like Allison - and similar company.

"Are you trying to imply you think it’s a pup?" Stiles wishes in idle that he had thought of sunglasses in tandem to his iPod; it’d be easier than squinting to see her. “By the way? Love how you called me first.” He doesn’t  not really. He likes her well enough, but, he could’ve been sleeping. “And not Scott.” Or Derek, but they try not to put them in the same distance. Things are fine, they are, but left alone?

It’s like putting cocks together (and not the fun kind).

   ”Great way to start the day.” She holds a hand up, and a man with hair braided back—with a name that takes away from the ruggedness years have worn into his skin—drops a set of gloves. “Thanks, Gary. Take the others and go south. At least a mile. Then fan out.”

She pulls the gloves on, the others hasting in their steps towards their ATVs, and looks down at the elk. It’s not odd to see one this south but it’s—Allison looks down to cheek—he’s too alone for his own good. It’s all the makings of a new ungodly headache. She should’ve moved to Seattle when the offer was still there. 

"Let me sing you the song of your people—the Swiss," Allison grunts as her hand digs deep into the bloody mess before them. Flies, gnats and other nasty things haven’t begun to propagate too much. She feels for a moment and the last word leaves her mouth rather lamely, "—psalm."     

And not Scott.

     Switzerland with Russia’s balls, actually.

"First, yes—and let’s leave a margin of error there, just in case—I think it might be a pup." Her voice is drowned out by the rev of the ATVs, and she stops until the last of them is over the hill and gone. "Second, kidney’s still in tact. Liver too."

image

. She shouldn’t stoke—or try to stoke—the flames but,

"And Scott was snoring like a congested bull. No way to wake him up," Truth be told they hadn’t done anything.

    Drunken-things though count as romantic-non-plantonic-situations—you have to be in the right frame of mind for it to even count as that. She’s convinced herself as much but when she thinks back to the previous Tuesday and how they wasted her shower gel? Oh, she really ought to call Lydia and vent about this.

"Plus, I haven’t seen you in a while. Plus-plus, I swear," She pulls a glove off, newly-freed hand covering her heart above her v-neck top, and solemnly proclaims, "I’ll buy you the first drink of the day."