Yuri Katsuki, the first half of this show:
what did i do to deserve Viktor Nikiforov
Viktor Nikiforov, in his head, this entire time:
I came to Japan for Yuuri Katsuki because he pole danced half naked, cha-cha-ed with me with a tie on his head, dry humped me while begging me to be his coach, probably saved me from oncoming desolation and depression, my life, my love, my-
The fate of the Petropavlovsk is finally known, if not her full story. She had been buried in the ice for several seasons, and was only made buoyant again by a runaway reaction in her oxygen plant. The explosion that resulted from this led to her discovery by the American outpost on Attu. What they found in the wreck has never been made public, and the fire which unfortunately followed erased all evidence of what the doomed warship brought back from Mars.
Kismet Clarke’s illustration for the Post does show several interesting features of the wreck, including the loss of her outer impeller to the grinding sea ice. The rather overbuild planetary gear mechanism is partially visible. Also of note is the minimal damage to he heat funnels and relatively lightly built upper works, indicating a landing rather than a crash. Of course, the article did not discuss the dream plague, and even now such things are not discussed in public.
Another illustration for Spacecraft of the First World War. Happy New Year!
He bounces his leg, A LOT. Lots of finger tapping, fist clenching, finger and toe wiggling. Severe RLS that affects most of his body. In short, he’s a twitchy guy.
He likes cats and birds, cause they can have very spastic movements, and he relates.
He’s prone to irregular speech patterns, including repeating words and phrases. Not quite a stutter, cause it’s not phonemes he gets stuck on, but notice how in the pax video, he repeats “you all thought I was gone!”
He cracks any joint that makes noise, over and over. Chews ice, grinds his teeth, skin picks.
If you can get him to shower, he’ll stay in too long with nearly-scalding water. Very raw and red afterwards. Somebody help this man relax, please.
Arien: *sun rises* Fingolfin: *marching from the grinding ice, rocking those blue & silver banners. marches with his followers to Dor Daedeloth* Orcs: *flee because the sun is spooky* Fingolfin: *standing outside Angband* … hmmm. Fëanor probably got killed coming here - you know, what. Let’s turn around. Maedhros: … halp. Fingolfin: Hey, I heard the sons of Fëanor are right over in Mithrim. Maedhros: … pls halp. Fingolfin: *marches off to Mithrim with his company*
Company of Fingolfin: *very salty about the sons of Fëanor* Sons of Fëanor: *trying to blame dad* Fingolfin: You guys went along with it though. None of you came to help us. Celegorm: OK but would you have tried to stop him? Fingolfin: Yes, because I’m not an asshole. Curufin: Neither are we! Fingolfin: Yes you are. Celegorm: Seriously dude. Chill out already. He’s dead anyway and Maedhros was kidnapped by Morgoth. Fingolfin: Called it. Amras: So you forgive us? Amrod: Pls. Fingolfin: omg no. Get out. Sons of Fëanor: *divides the Noldor* Other Noldor: Do you forgive us tho? We’re srsly sorry. Fingolfin: No. Fingon: … I can fix this. *goes off to rescue Maedhros*
Morgoth: … lel. They’re divided. Sauron: So very fortunate, for us. Morgoth: Stupid assholes gonna get wrecked.
Between the land of Aman that in the north curved eastward, and the east-shores of Endor that bore westward, there was a narrow strait, through which the chill waters of the Encircling Sea and the waves of Belegaer flowed together, and there were vast fogs and mists of deathly cold, and the sea-streams were filled with clashing hills of ice and the grinding of ice deep-sunken. Such was the Helcaraxë, and there none yet had dared to tread save the Valar only and Ungoliant.
I, too, dislike it: there are things that are important beyond all this fiddle. Drinking it, however, with a perfect contempt for it, one discovers in it after all, a place for the genuine. Beans that can grind, ice that can melt, syrups that can taste like hazelnut if they must, these things are important not because an
Italian-sounding nomenclature can be put upon them but because they are useful. When they become so over-used as to become flavorless, the same thing may be said for all of us, that we do not slurp the smoothie we cannot understand: the barista holding on to the counter or in quest of something to
eat, customers pushing, a wild author taking a stroll, a tireless CEO under a Seattle rooftop, the immovable counter twitching its formica like a horse that wants some tea, the pastry fan, the failed magician– nor is it valid to discriminate against “corporate documents and
mix CDs”; all these phenomena are important. One must make a distinction however: when dragged into prominence by half-baristas, the result is not coffee, nor till the coffee snobs among us can be “gourmets of the milk and cinnamon station”–above insolence and triviality and can present
for inspection, “imaginary cocoas with real milk in them,“ shall we have it. In the meantime, if you demand on the one hand, the raw material of coffee in all its rawness and that which is on the other hand genuine, you are interested in coffee.
These long valleys are carved out of Iceland’s basalts by ice and were filled with water when the sea levels rose at the end of the ice age. Back then, thick sheets of frozen water covered the island (an emerged portion of the mid Atlantic ridge where America and Europe are separating further from each other), flowing into a glacial sea. As the ice melted, two opposing forces contended to shape the modern landscape. The sea level rose some 130 metres, drowning many river valleys worldwide, such as Sydney harbour and the Rio de la Plata estuary. The long thin valleys where the sea now sits once contained rivers of grinding ice.
Salty: waking in sweat-soaked sheets, the grind of ice between your teeth, a gray sky on the horizon, the smell of her hair after a day spent in the ocean, old leather-bound books in the attic, anger creased between your eyes.
Everybody that Finn visited in his Astral Projection was lonely.
Mr. Fox remains in a state of depression, his subconscious is more aware than he is but he still remains alone because he can’t break free. Every time his subconscious wants to say or do something he’s restrained himself because of trepidation even though that means he lives a truly unfulfilling life.
Likewise Bounce House Princess is alone because of her anxiety, her fear of others keeps her in a safe haven because she is afraid to deal with others. Her house is her comfort zone, and she has her own panic room built out of paranoia. Other than that she has a regular job to clock in and out of; the daily grind.
Ice King’s loneliness is probably the one with the longest history, he tries his hardest to fit in with others but he lacks the self-awareness to realise when he’s being a jerk. It’s the crown controlling him, he wants companionship but he’s just unable to ever change his habits enough so that he’s genuinely likeable. He has his wizard friends for now, but that doesn’t suddenly cure his loneliness.
Marceline seems to impose loneliness on herself, as an immortal she’s seen far too many faces come and ago given she has a healthy memory unlike Simon. Even with friends, she still feels the sense of relentless passing time. As though she’s a fixed point in a river with endless torrents running past?
The Space Lards mother gives birth to a baby, and they’re both surrounded by fellow Space Lards. But I’ve always figured that you come into this world alone, and you leave it alone. As a baby, before you’ve truly become cognisant you still exist as a single vaguely self aware being, not guaranteed love from others (see Finn The Human).
Grob Gob Glob Grod is the leader of their Martian Super Society, and benevolent leaders take on a special kind of loneliness when they have to choose what’s best amongst a set of difficult choices. GGGG is endowed with power, and as a responsible being they sacrifice their own existence to prevent the extinction of countless others. A burden only for them.
And there’s Finn the Human. Not quite the last known human anymore. His uniqueness as the last surviving member of his species is gone, no longer the lone representative of the suicidal human race. Who knows how he’ll cope with his father’s return?
jonghyun: i really like chesnut makgeolli (ie: rice wine). the place that i drink chesnut makgeolli often, it’s so sweet that it doesn’t taste like it’s alcohol. it tastes like that flavored ice cream grinded. it’s so sweet. (source: thatcoolcatmeow)