Till Dawn Music (tdm_kpop) twitter update: Tonight (02/28) 2:00 a.m. o'clock MBS Radio Till Dawn MUSIC 📻 Album 💿 【#FIVE】 Now on sale 【#SHINee】 Feature Article What you want to have in a person… If you can become your own only one day… If you can use super powers… etc etc. Talk & about 40 songs 3 hours of SHINee 🎶 【#radiko】 If you can listen nationwide 🙆🆗 #tdm1179 (trans: PYHForSHINee)
In a coffee shop two days before Christmas, Derek meets Stiles. Despite neither of them being interested in relationships, they spend an unforgettable evening together, but then part ways. During the following years, Stiles competes in the Olympics, Derek tours the world - and neither of them forget. Then twelve years later, two days before Christmas, Derek finds Stiles in that same coffee shop.
To Derek Hale hockey was everything. It was the only reason he even tolerated High School and if given a choice the only thing he would be doing for the rest of his life. Some called him driven others called him fanatic.
Derek called himself determined.
Only one day a random meeting with a strangely fascinating young ice skater turns Derek’s life upside down. A odd friendship blooms between them and Derek slowly comes to realise that his life isn’t quite as simple as he thought. There might be more to life than ice hockey.
“I have something that will finally spice up your utterly boring performance,” Finstock breezes directly over the insult, still manically grinning as if the gears in his brain can’t turn fast enough. Stiles is still a little concerned with that last bit. “You’re pairing up with Derek Hale.”
Or: where Stiles is a figure skater turned pair skater who gets teamed up with has-been skater Derek Hale, and neither of them are exactly pleased.
Stiles wants to win for America, okay? He wants to bone that constipated expression off of Derek Hale’s face on a bed strewn with American flags while Bruce Springsteen plays in the background and a bald eagle watches through the window with a single tear rolling down its cheek.
What do I do after a 3000 calorie binge ? I'm so disgusting and have no self control I don't know what to do with myself.
I get messages from people who have had a binge and they need help quite often - this should tell you that you’re not disgusting!! You’re human. Just because you had a binge doesn’t mean you’re destined to be large. It’s only one day and you will get through it.
I know u don't take prompts but like I had this in my head. Non - Kingsman Eggsy is with Merlin and knows some all the Kingsman, and some of what Merlin does. But he's a total secret badass and has to save their asses or something. Like the manor is like taken over or something and Eggsy is all ninja super seal. Babbling over. Thoughts?
Actually I am always open for prompts. Might take me a while to get to them but yeah always around for prompts.
But for sure, Eggsy is clever and would be able to piece together a lot of the little comments and hints Merlin leaves. And he knows the difference between a fighter who does it for exercise and one who does it to survive and when he watches Merlin work out it is definitely the latter. And he is proud for days when he gets Merlin on the mat.
And he brings lunches to the tailor shop for Merlin at the sad little shoebox upstairs that they both pretend Merlin works in. Only one day, he is whistling and not paying attention as he walks into the shop with Merlin’s Star Trek lunch bag that he had ordered online as a surprise and he only clues into the problem when a man puts a gun in his face.
4 men in the shop all with large guns and Andrew on the ground bleeding. Eggsy doesn’t blink, doesn’t even think, just throws the Spock lunch box at one of the men and tackles the one closest to him.
By the time Merlin and three Kingsman come bursting out of the change room, Eggsy has the bad guys subdued.
“I broke your Spock thermos,” Eggsy said sounding heartbroken. “Was vintage.”
The Kingsman stare at Eggsy in shock. Merlin had told them that his lad was a children’s football coach.
Merlin just hugs him. “It’s okay lad, I always liked McCoy anyways.”
My question is why haven’t I seen any content with Dean in a Kindergarten Cop situation? Like, flesh eating shapshifter infiltrates school so Dean has to come in and be a sub for a younger aged class, maybe first graders to get a closer look into the case. Like, how freaking cute would it be to see Dean surrounded by a bunch of youngsters doing arts and crafts and teaching them different ways to draw dogs and stuff, like??? please??? And Sam strolling in one day only to him telling a story about his little brother Sam who is kind of a superhero and his sidekick Cas who likes bees and swordfighting?? I am all here for this type of thing.
teeth cut tongue poetry is property running or operating to silence’s existence used as a smile or a part, definition, form, the theistic argument applied to a welcome to all topics /
the condition is unlikely: unless therefore probably – to even have a will means willfully, lower, the characteristics of mannerism in the dice game, device, vice versus a full-length engineer’s perspective tending towards disorder of faith and conversion: that’s one day, only one, once in a lifemath
You see a sentence
written in cyrillic. Some of the letters are familiar. You see the
meaning shimmering underneath the surface. You almost grasp it, but it slips away. The letters on the page mock you silently.
You know this Czech word. You’ve already learnt it in Polish. It is not the same word. It is a grave insult. Your slavic friends are shocked and embarassed for you when they hear you speak it.
There is a sentence in
Croatian. There is a sentence in Serbian. There is a sentence in
Bosnian. They are all the same sentence.
You have to write about your day in Slovak. You spend the night polishing the draft. You fail your assigment. It’s written in Czech. You don’t know Czech.
P is not what it seems. You have to remember that.
The Croatian sentence
does not mean what the Bosnian sentence means. They both mean the same in Serbian.
That word has a diminutive. The diminutive has its own diminutive. The diminutive of the diminutive also has a diminutive. Nobody knows what the final diminutive of a word is. Some say the knowledge had been lost in centuries past and matrioshkas are the echo, the tangible warning left for us to remember. No living creature should hold the means of diminishing something into nonexistence. Others say you may still find some of them in old soviet textbooks, if you dare to look in abandoned schools of Chernobyl.
Someone is speaking to you. Is that a he or a she? You aren’t sure. It’s an abstract concept. Why does it have gender.
You see a word in a
dictionary. It has seventeen letters and only one vowel. You close the dictionary very carefully not
looking at the phonetic transcription. The shape of it haunts you in
your sleep. You wake
up face damp with tears, a bitter taste on your tongue. The clock blinks 3:03AM. You do not dare look up that word again.
This word means the
same thing in the five slavic languages you’re familiar with. You use
it in the sixth one. That word does not exist in this language. It never
did. There is now a word-shaped void in the fabric of this language.
The natives look at you uneasily. There is a new quality to the silence and your palms start to sweat.
H is not H. H is not H. H is not H. H is not H.
One day you flip through your dictionary. A page is missing. What was the word? You can’t remember. There is pressure building at the back of your head. The clock blinks 3:03AM.
You write my name
is in cyrillic. There are shadows dancing on the walls. They grow
longer with each letter you write down. It is not cyrillic you’re
using. You keep writing my name is. The shadows now bleed from
the tip of your pen. It’s irrelevant. You need to remember the right
N is not N is not N is
not N is not N is not N is not N is not N is not N is not N is not N
is not… If only you could remember the letters. The letters are important. What was it, that wasn’t N?
There are nine different prefixes
you can add to a verb to change its meaning. There are fifty three different suffixes you have to add to a verb to make it
work. In the end the only thing left of the original is a vague shape
of one of its middle consonants.
You can feel the anguish radiating from the verb’s mutialted form. A desperate sob escapes through your clenched teeth.
You’re so, so sorry, you didn’t meant to. You didn’t. It doesn’t matter.
You now read a text in
Russian. You’ve never learnt Russian. Why are you reading that text? The words burn your eyes,
the meaning searing your mind.
There’s a shot of vodka in front of
you. You don’t drink alcohol. You don’t care. All existence is
meaningless, your soul’s in eternal pain. A broken matrioshka lays at your feet. There is no salvation, she says boring into your eyes. You open your mouth to answer, but there is only a burst of harsh rustle. It dies in whispering echoes a moment later. Your glass is empty again.