#and the whole process was so damn expedient I love it

[spiritofjustice]

I got my custom plushes of Abbot and Abbey today!!! They turned out so damn cute, I love them so much

#psy's no punctuation posts #mother 3 #abbot mother 3 #abbey mother 3 #yes I’m putting it in the tags. look at the beebs #they’re fucking huge too it’s so nice #i love themmmmm #and the whole process was so damn expedient I love it #was a nice thing to wake up to after the wack ass night I had

[swearyshera]

You have no idea how hands-shaking, looking-down-off-a-cliff scared I was to scroll down when Catra began to say sorry and got cut off. I had to take almost a full minute to brace myself cuz I was so afraid Glimmer would do the thing so many other protags have done where they just accept the apology for the sake of expediency or compassion or their own regrets or to focus on moving forward. Or to excuse away the apologizers actions as not their own because of manipulation or emotion. I've been waiting since Day One for this hoping it wouldn't be like those, especially considered canon didnt even attempt it and that left my love for this series feeling like it was missing a piece.

I could never expected it go this hard. Glimmer's grief and guilt and cold rage feels so tangible, and the sheer strength it feels like it took to both acknowledge and honestly deliver those feelings to Catra with no sugarcoating while not full-on attacking her with them and driving a wedge into the only refuge either of them have from Prime breaks my heart. Acknowledging Catra feels sorry but telling her flat out no apology or atonement could heal this, so if she feels sorry thats her own damn problem. A perfect interstice of emotional fortitude and frailty. I could never have dreamt of a moment this great.

Glimmer was always my fave in canon but this catapulted her into the fucking celestial firmament. The catharsis I'm feeling right now makes me feel like I could jump the goddamned moon. This moment alone is my favorite exploration of grief and forgiveness ive seen in a fandom like this since ATLA's The Southern Raiders. I cant wait to see your spin on the rest of this arc if its even a fraction this good. Thank you from the bottom of my heart for this and for this project. Thank you.

This was such a hard scene to write. I'd had some ideas written down for this scene for quite a while, and we almost got a scene where they discussed what they would say to Adora instead, but I thought it would perhaps be more impactful to tackle the subject of Angella head on.

I'm not completely oblivious to the fact that many people wished Glimmer and Catra had approached the topic of what happened to Angella in canon. And again, I'd never say that this blog is a 'fix-it' for the stuff people didn't like, but sometimes there's stuff that I wish had been in the show - this was one of those things.

But knowing I wanted to put in a scene and actually writing it are two different things. I was so nervous when this one went out, because I worried that people would react negatively to it (but you didn't, thanks everyone!). You're right that having Glimmer go "Oh, sure, don't worry about it" would have felt hollow and really undercut the whole 'Angella is dead' thing. But equally, if Glimmer had said "Sorry isn't enough, I hate you and will never forgive you", it would have been hard to reconcile that level of sheer hatred with them working together later on.

I chose Glimmer's words quite carefully here. I wanted to show that her opting to take her mother's actions as one of heroic sacrifice rather than a desperate last-ditch attempt to save Etheria from Catra's mistake was for her own benefit, not Catra's. Glimmer makes that choice to discard Catra's part in it every day because that's the only way she can manage her grief (especially when face-to-face with Catra), not because she wants Catra to feel better. And that rejection of the apology was not so much a "Your apology means nothing" as it was "Don't try and complicate the way I'm dealing with this." Sorry means she has to reconcile that Catra feels guilt. Sorry upsets her grieving process. She doesn't want it.

I'm so excited for everyone to see the rest of this arc, particularly how things develop through Corridors. We'll soon be seeing Horde Prime step up his manipulation of Catra's depression, and more about how that is affecting her and driving her to desperation. But we also get those bittersweet flashbacks, the reminders that Adora has always been on her side - even when they've been on opposing sides of a war. And finally, the climax of the episode where Catra saves Glimmer, and (at least here) leaves Adora with some chilling words. I always feel like I become a better writer with every episode, and I am so proud of some of the stuff you're about to see.

[hq-cuties-pls]

Tendou, Asahi, Bokuto, Lev and Kuroo while they are with their wife in labor? And the wives very angry, bc "hey, you put this child/these children into me, you jerk" (I love so much this situation. *_* x)) Pretty please? *little kitten eyes*

So I changed this up a little bit for variety and realism’s sake; I just had a class all about coping with labor and the stages of it, so a lot of this is from that. Also, every woman is different. This came out a touch softer than the anon anticipated, I think, so sorry about that??? Hope you enjoy regardless!!!~Admin Emma

Tendou

He remembered the suggestion in your labor class to walk, so he took you on a short lap around the maternity ward. You clung to his arm, and even if it hurt, he didn’t care. He couldn’t even imagine the pain you were in. You’d been extremely quiet so far, focused entirely on your labor. He wanted to try and distract you, maybe make you focus on something other than the pain, make you smile or laugh or just roll your eyes at him, but he couldn’t think of anything.

“____? Are you alright?”

Your grip tightened on his sleeve; your eyes squeezed closed, and you were drawing slow, careful breaths through pursed lips. He checked his watch–the contractions were getting closer together.

“Easy, babe,” he murmured, pulling you to a stop. “Come here. Just breathe… I’m here.”

He held you in what the nurse called the Slow Dance pose. He pressed in tightly on your hips, trying to match the intensity of your contractions, like the nurse told him. You put your hands around his shoulders and leaned heavily on him while he encouraged you to rock your hips. He would have to remind you later that you were a literal fucking rock star for taking a stab at natural childbirth. If it had been him, he’d have accepted all manner of experimental drugs if it meant he didn’t have to go through it.

“Satori,” you whimpered, your voice painfully small and broken. “It hurts so much, Satori. I can’t…”

“You can,” he assured. He couldn’t even try and joke, as much as he wanted to, if only to distract you. It broke his heart to hear you like this. “I know you can, ____. It won’t be much longer.”

Asahi

“Easy, ____,” he said softly, carefully helping you onto the birthing ball. He tapped on his phone a few times, setting an alarm for twenty minutes. “Alright, how’s this?”

“Better,” you groaned, carefully balancing on the ball. He watched you carefully, but you seemed fine as you gently rocked your hips. He put his hands on your shoulders, trying to be the support you so clearly needed but were too afraid to ask for, for some reason. Nearly a decade together and you were still so hesitant sometimes. “I’m sorry, Asahi.”

“What’re you sorry for, doll?” Asahi asked, digging his thumbs into that part of your neck that always made you melt.

“I’m being such a pain right now,” you said. “I feel useless.”

If it hadn’t been for the sincere regret in your eyes, he’d have laughed until he cried. Clearly, labor was making you a little insane; “Sweetheart, you’re having my baby. I couldn’t be happier right now!”

“But–”

“No buts,” he interjected. “You are doing amazing, and if anyone in this room is useless, it’s me. You’re doing all the hard work, and I will be here to support you, no matter what.”

You opened your mouth to respond, a small smile playing at the corner of your lips, before he felt the tension in your shoulders. All the air escaped your body in a hiss of pain and your hands curled into fists so tight, your knuckles turned white.

“Contraction?” he asked. You could only nod as you squeezed your eyes tight. “Alright, doll, easy. Breathe. Try and relax. Remember what the doctor said.”

You nodded as he pressed his hand against your coccyx, trying to apply counter pressure. He rested his forehead against the back of your neck, trying not to let his heart break at the soft sounds of pain you made. He wanted to fall apart–he was ready for the anxiety to overtake him any minute, but he couldn’t. He had to be your rock–your pillar–because you were doing to hard part.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity (though it probably felt longer to you) he felt you relax. He wrapped his arms around you, holding you tight, and whispering what a good job you were doing. It may have been nonsense and gibberish, but it seemed to comfort you a little.

“You can do it, ____. I have faith in you.”

Bokuto

You were having what the doctors called “precipitous labor.” He wasn’t 100% sure what all the technical jargon meant, but you’d come in for a labor evaluation less than an hour before and you were almost ready to push. The nurses said that fast labors like this were extremely uncomfortable and could be incredibly intense, and Bokuto hated that you had to go through it, even if it meant it would be over faster.

You were on constant monitoring, so you couldn’t wander too far from the labor and delivery room. At the moment, you were balanced on a birthing ball with your face buried into the bed. He sat behind you, pressing the spiky plastic ball they’d given you into the small of your back. It seemed to be helping a bit, but he’d never felt more useless than when you let out a tiny sob of pain into your pillow. You’d been crying softly since your contractions became regular, and he wished he knew what to do.

“Kou,” you whimpered, raising your tear-stained face from the sheets.

“What is it, babe?” he asked, ready to spring into action. “What do you need? You need to switch positions? Should I stop what I’m doing?”

“No, just…” You bit your lip, your eyes squeezed tight in intense pain. He hated this–the doctor couldn’t even give you anything for the pain. You were too far along in your labor. “Can I have a hug, please?”

He had to grin at that; “Sure thing, babe. Whatever you need.”

He wrapped his arms around you, careful to avoid touching your belly–you’d told him that any pressure on it was too uncomfortable. He held you as tight as he could while maintaining pressure on your lower back. He could feel the moment you were racked with another contraction, and he tried to encourage you to relax a little bit, otherwise he knew it would be worse.

“I hate this,” you cried, holding your pillow to your face again. “Why does it hurt so much?”

“It’ll be all over soon, babe,” he tried to reassure you. “Then we’ll be parents. We’ll get to hold little Akio soon. Just a little bit longer.”

Lev

You’d had a plan, damn it. Every book, every anecdote, every class had said that walking, changing position, and moving around were best for expedient labor. So you’d planned on waiting to go into labor naturally, putter around your house until the last possible second, and go into the hospital.

Sadly, babies tended to ruin any and all plans, and unforeseen complications came up which meant you had to be induced early. The procedure had left you bedridden on constant, internal monitoring (which was just the pits, and you could confirm that). So now there was nothing to do but wait out the inevitably long, painful labor.

Bless your husband. He was trying, but you were cranky and in pain and there was nothing you could do.

“Fuck you, Lev! This is your fault!”

“How is this my fault!?” Lev asked helplessly, trying (and mostly failing) to dodge the pillow you threw at his head.

“You put your mutant spawn in me!” you exclaimed. “You just had to be freakishly huge! You just had to laugh when your mother proudly proclaimed you weighed 5 kilograms when you came out! We just had to do this naturally!”

“You’re allergic to pain meds, babe,” Lev said. You scowled when you saw his eyebrow cocked at you.

“You’re a jerk, Lev,” you sniffled, burying your face in your pillow. The nurses had already told you in no uncertain terms that you shouldn’t be screaming.

“Hey,” he whispered, suddenly near your ear. You shrank away from him as you felt another contraction coming on. “I know this sucks, but it’s not going to last forever.”

“Yes it is,” you whimpered. “I’m going to be in labor for the rest of my life. I’m going to die in this fucking uncomfortable bed.”

“Hey, where’d your big pillow go? I thought we packed it.”

“It’s in my bag, Lev, where the fuck else would it be?”

With some effort, he got you rolled on your side with your big maternity pillow supporting your legs and your huge stomach. It was getting so late and you were so tired, and you still had such a long way to go. You wanted to hit him, but his long fingers in your hair stopped you. You hated him at the moment, but he was being so sweet.

“I’ll see if I can’t score you some ice chips or something,” he said, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Try and get some sleep, babe. You’re a bit cranky.”

“A bit cranky?” you snapped. “If I was able to get out of this fucking bed, I’d knock you on your ass for that!”

You figured he realized his error, because even as fast as he was, you’d never seen him scurry like you did in that moment.

Kuroo

You’d learned early in the whole laboring process that the best way to go forward was to just stay calm. During your earliest contractions, you’d been ready to have a panic, because nothing was ready and you felt so grossly unprepared. But then, you’d sat on the couch, and Kuroo’s colossally fat and incredibly sweet geriatric black cat, Gumball, curled in your lap for a little nap, and something about it had calmed you. It had been the middle of the night, and you didn’t even feel the need to wake Kuroo up.

About six hours later, you’d decided to go to the hospital, you still had this odd serenity about you. Your doctor and nurses asked you if you needed anything for pain, and you just shrugged. You were fine, at the moment. You parked on the birthing ball, rocking back and forth, casually reading your book.

Kuroo, on the other hand, was a mess.

When he’d woken up to find you in labor, he had that panic you’d managed to not have earlier. He’d been ready to whisk you off to the hospital at that exact moment despite the fact that you were still very early and he was still wearing the bright pink Tokyo Disney pajamas you’d gotten him as a joke for his last birthday. Every contraction had him fluttering around you like a fussy mother hen, and his bed hair was even worse for the number of times he’d raked his hand through it.

You were dragged back to your present situation but a particularly intense contraction. You curled around yourself, whimpering quietly. The doctors said you’d passed pretty much passed straight through active labor and were heading into transition labor, so it would be more intense.

Poor Kuroo’s heart couldn’t take it anymore, it seemed.

“Babe!? You ok?!? You need anything? What can I do!?!”

“Tetsurou, please, it’s just a contraction,” you said once it passed. He rubbed soothing circles on your lower back, pressing his heel on your tailbone like he’d been taught. “Oh please never move your hand from my back, though. That feels amazing.”

“Whatever you need,” he replied. He was clearly exhausted and anxious–he looked like a stiff breeze might knock him over.

“What I need is my husband to survive long enough to meet his son,” you said sardonically, gently running your fingers over the back of his head. He practically purred as he leaned into your touch, leaning heavily on your shoulders. “You should sit and have a little rest, doll.”

“You’re the one in labor,” he sighed. “When did you get to be the supportive one, here?”

“You don’t have to sleep,” you said, ignoring his question. “I know you won’t be able to.”

“I just feel pretty useless.” He dropped his chin to rest on top of your head, gently caressing your rounded belly. You winced, but didn’t say anything. “I’m not used to being helpless in crises. I sort of thrive on action, you know.”

“Oh yes, my hero,” you shot back with a roll of your eyes. “Alright, action boy, if you want to make yourself useful, see if you can’t get the nurses to score me some ice chips or a drink of water, yeah? And fish my chapstick out of my bag for me.”

He smirked, shot you a mock salute, and returned to his full height; “You got it, babe.”

#haikyuu #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu scenarios #tendou satori #azumane asahi #Bokuto Koutarou #lev haiba #Kuroo Tetsurou #scenario #gumballlives2k5ver

[gulescamisade]

Betty Crocker Headquarters:  Arrival

JADESPRITE: -She drifts -- or rather nyooms down toward the lakehouse encampment, green glowy gooing her way through one of the walls and looking around for just about anyone that's in sight.-

DIRK: -HE'S HERE. just sitting around the living area with his leg bouncing restlessly. he glances in jadesprite's direction when she oozes in.-

JADESPRITE: dirk!!

JADESPRITE: everyone

JADESPRITE: we need to go

DIRK: -OH GOOD. AN EXCUSE TO STAND UP. he does that.-

DIRK: What's up?

JADESPRITE: somethings happening at the hq

JADESPRITE: terezis there

JADESPRITE: i think this might be our chance

JOHN: -stands up- 👀

ROSE: -She's fiddling with her needles. The creepy ivory quills she got from deep down on LOMAT. She's going to be using them pretty soon, it seems, might as well be ready.-

ROSE: You mean already?

JADESPRITE: -she nods- we should head there now

JADESPRITE: im sure shes going to need our help

JOHN: -isn't terezi supposed to be dead??? but now is no time for questions he has BEEN ready for action.-

JADESPRITE: where is everyone else? we should get everyone

URSAIS: -SHE'S HERE TOO. Bear rumble.- should i rally th' troops? they're on standby.

ROSE: Some injured, but I suppose most of us are... around the area.

ROSE: Do you have a large bell we could ring to summon them? Communicators would probably tip them off.

JOHN: i have an airhorn.

JOHN: :D

DISCIPLE: -her eyes peek from atop a shelf-

JOHN: -he really wants to use the airhorn.-

DIRK: Use the airhorn.

JOHN: yesssssssss.

JOHN: -....-

JOHN: -dramatic pause-

JOHN: -HOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOONK.-

DISCIPLE: -YOWLS!!!-

DIRK: -🙏-

JOEY: 8D

JOEY: should we come up with a battle cry?

MITUNA: WH47 7H3 FUCK

LATULA: -well shit an airhorn wakes her up-

MEULIN: -YOWLS FROM SOMEWHERE-

LATULA: SH1T DUD3.

LIFERA: -FUCKING POWER LEAPS DOWNSTAIRS- W)(AT'S )(APP-ENING??

JOHN: (ehehehehhehhehehe.)

JOHN: put up your dukes! it's time to fight!

LIFERA: GLUB???

PENNY: -GROGGY AS SHIT. Walks in.- ugh????

ULFURA: -She's currently outside, just feeding and petting this GIANT ASS DRAGONFLY. Her precious...-

HEITOR: -probably fiddling with the electricity or something-

URSAIS: -texts her and everyone.-

ULFURA: !!

URSAIS: -i really need to think of a cool name for this little abnd of rebels but for now you're just URSAIS'S CREW.-

ULFURA: -SHE IS OKAY WITH THAT NAME!!!-

ULFURA: -At this message, she runs to the lakehouse door and all but KICKS it open.-

ULFURA: WE'RE GOIN'???

PENNY: -squints at everyone...-

HESONY: =He's just been looming in a corner this entire time but was currently ourside on self-appointed guard duty. Since they arrived, he has been uncharacteristically quiet. Best not draw any unnecessary attention to himself and all that.=

URSAIS: we'rRe goin'. and we'rRe gon bring the pain. t' wherRe the fightin is thickest. -glances at dirk.-

ERIDAN: -was watching Sunny this whole time from his brooding place in the ice cream truck. Yeah he knows that color and name bruh. He knows it.-

MICEXA: -She's already paying attention to all this... and heading out to tell Sunny what's up. ANOTHER FACE ERIDAN CAN RECOGNIZE, INCIDENTALLY.-

MICEXA: Hey.

ULFURA: YEAAAHHH!!! LET'S DO IT!!! -jumps and PUNCHES THE AIR.-

ULFURA: SHE'S ALL READY TO GO!!!

ERIDAN: -He's reading all about it on the Alternia newsfeeds, don't worry.-

ERIDAN: -taking this time to change back into his combat gear. Good thing he's outside.-

HESONY: Hey. =he replies, his expression softening a fraction.= Are we moving again?

MICEXA: Yeah.

MICEXA: To the HQ.

JOHN: are we gonna go grab jake? my dad? -IF THEY WERE BRIEFED ON A PLAN...john might've just forgotten it.-

HESONY: =stares like she just grew an extra head= What.

JOHN: -forgive him-

JADESPRITE: it seems like terezi is going to try to get them out

JADESPRITE: but of course if they need help we will help them

JADESPRITE: right?

ROSE: Death really doesn't take the way it used to, does it?

JADESPRITE: no, it doesnt

JADESPRITE: theres definitely something different about her, though

JOHN: lucky for us! -laughs nervously-

JADESPRITE: ... -glances around like maybe she shouldn't have said that-

JADESPRITE: either way, we need to get moving

JADESPRITE: -floats toward the wall-

DIRK: -just grunts about that and tries to raise his voice over everyone's excitement- Ok, I need some of you to stay here and watch the injured. The rest of you follow Jadesprite.

DIRK: ... Like, through the door.

MICEXA: Yeah.

MICEXA: ... This is it.

REDGLARE: -STARTING TO STAND TO LEAVE ANYWAYS-

JOHN: -just starts shuffling towards the door even though he's a doctor....-

JADESPRITE: -schlorps through the wall on that note!-

PENNY: .... so whos stayin?

JOHN: -NOTHING TO SEE HERE.-

DIRK: -points at rose's white board of THE INJURED.- If you're on this list, you're not going.

DIRK: That means you, Redglare.

HESONY: =he laughs, shaking his head= We're going towards the people who want to kill us...

HESONY: =he patted her shoulder and squeezed it.= Okay. We don't stop.

REDGLARE: -STOPS AND STARES DAGGERS AT THE WHITEBOARD-

ROSE: -...one dagger-

MICEXA: -she reaches up to cover his hand with hers, her grip a little tighter.-

MICEXA: You don't leave my side.

REDGLARE: >;|

DAELOS: -Also not too happy about this arrangement because he's on that list.-

REDGLARE: -SITS LOUDLY-

PENNY: what about Riley?? shes sure as fuck not going.

DIRK: Of course she's not.

DIRK: -LOOKS AROUND SUSPICIOUSLY... is she trying to sneak away...-

HESONY: Wouldn't dream of it.

PENNY: -SHE BETTER NOT BE-

DEREK: -walks in- Dont worry I locked her in the bathroom.

HESONY: =also dropping eaves on the people behind them=

PENNY: ... -sNORTS-

PENNY: good deal.

ROXANNE: Good call. -At Derek, yes shes totally been here.-

PENNY: I uh.

PENNY: (God damn it.)

PENNY: I can stay and watch her.

PENNY: and the rest of you folks. nobody get any crazy ideas.

JOHN: -where's kankri? john wants to make sure he stays behind with his tiny knife and otherwise complete lack of being able to defend himself, but also one more hug would't be bad...-

PENNY: -LOOKS ESPECIALLY AT REDGLARE-

KANKRI: -Hes certainly staying behind to take care of people, he knows he and his little knife would be useless on this type of mission.-

MICEXA: .... -sighs a tightly held breath before glancing at the dragonfly.- \|/e should start boarding up.

REDGLARE: 3xcus3 m3?

REDGLARE: Who 1s th1s wom4n. D1d w3 just... coll3ct h3r.

REDGLARE: -GLARES AT PENNY WOW-

JOHN: -SQUEEZES HIM FOR STRENGTH.-

PENNY: ;)

PENNY: from the dump specifically.

KANKRI: -John so help him dont you be reckless.-

PENNY: hi. Im your new nanny.

JOHN: -He's going to be as nonreckless as you can be while you smash people with a hammer and use magic wind powers.-

KANKRI: -J o hn.-

HESONY: =he nodded giving her shoulder one more squeeze. No more promises of living through this. That only ever brought back luck.=

REDGLARE: >;I

URSAIS: -MOUNTS THIS DRAGON FLY like it's no big deal.-

MICEXA: -Well, she's going to do her best to make sure it's true, even if unspoken. She heads for the dragonfly.-

MINDFANG: -Also she is ready to brawl, she even did some maintenance on her arm even without your help Hesony. Now it probably wont fall off while she fights.-

ULFURA: ALRIGHT COME ON GET YOUR FANNIES ON BOARD!!! -gestures aggressively at the many rows of carrying seats on this dragonfly's butt.-

RUFIOH: -Waiting outside for people to gather... he's anxious as he shuffles his wings but. Didn't come here to sit on his ass. As much as he would like to. Shit's scary...-

ROXANNE: -Climbing on board with no time to waste, shes got important people to save.-

HESONY: =yeah, but i bet that piston still sticks, Wolfchow=

JOHN: -While he's huging people, Dirk and Rose also get a squeeze b4 they board. Wait? Is that Rufioh? Also hugged? Meulin? Hugged.- be safe you guys!!!  

LATULA: -HUP. She's climbing on-- she got used to the dragonfly a while ago, slinging out her rifle as she takes a seat.-

LATULA: 41ght!!!!

JOHN: -he's very liberal with these warm hugs.-

MEULIN: -HEY SHE IS HERE, peering out from around the lakehouse.- AH--

MEULIN: EVERYONE'S GOING?

MEULIN: -snugs JOHN!!-

MICEXA: -climbs RIGHT ON BOARD. It's possible she's ridden something similar before at some point as well... but either way, she's not hesitating to get a move on.-

URSAIS: -sitted near the front.-

JOHN: -after he's done spreading his love around, he hover into one of the farthest seats cuz tha back of the rollercoaster is always the most fun.-(

LIFERA: -She runs out and climbs on board, too, also toward the back. She figures they're going to need people watching the butt.-

JOHN: B)

HESONY: =clambers on=

SOLLUX: -And he, meanwhile, finally drags himself out of the lakehouse. His appearances have been infrequent, but he's here now, quiet as he navigates awkwardly toward the dragonfly and then floats himself into a seat.-

SOLLUX: -MAY HAVE SAT ON SOMEONE??? We just don't know.-

URSAIS: o//o -SUDDENLY HAS SOLLUX IN HER LAP. jk. or not???-

SOLLUX: -hello-

SOLLUX: -is this what seats are supposed to feel like???????-

URSAIS: -....clears her throat. casually picks him up and places him into the seat next to her instead.-

SOLLUX: .... 0h.

URSAIS: safety first 'n all.

SOLLUX: ...

ROSE + DISCIPLE ALSO: -OH IF EVERYONES CLIMBING ON THEN THEY ALL GET ON THERE-

SOLLUX: -slowly rests face in hands.-

SOLLUX: -there's no other choice. he's going to have to die today.-

DIRK: -you son of a fuck-

HESONY: =pondering how this crew has survived for so long=

SOLLUX: -LOOK BITCH-

DIRK: -no fuck you-

DIRK: -ANYWAY HES ALSO HERE. AND THE REST OF THE ONES OF MINE GOING.-

JOHN: -WAVES AT THE REST OF THE GROUP!!!-

JOHN: -the ones staying behind, i mean.-

[[ WHAT AN EXPEDIENT PROCESS. Once everyone going is on, Ulfura eyeballs the whole troupe. ]]

KARKAT: =is here=

ERIDAN: -Hi everyone. This fish is here. Most people probably don't know who he is??? He's just a guy sitting here with a big gun in his lap, half his face wrapped up in scarf.-

ERIDAN: - >> -

KARKAT: =SOME DOUCHE=

ERIDAN: -Yeah, true.-

ULFURA: -climbs the dragonfly and gets on the upper part of its back, grabbing reins and settling in up there.-

ULFURA: WE READY??? GIMME THE WORD!!!

ROSE: As ready as I can possibly find myself, yes.

JOHN: heck yes!!!

JOHN: let's try our best everyone. -anime voice on purpose-

JOHN: -the only way to respond to this horrifying situation is to be INCESSANTLY CHEERFUL.-

SOLLUX: (i swear t0 g0d egbert.)

JOHN: (ehehehhe. get fucked.)

RUFIOH: }:o

RUFIOH: -gonna be flying with the gang off to the side... Gives the dragonfly a pat though. Wishing it the best of luck and a safe flight.-

URSAIS: go ahea' and kick off, pupper.

URSAIS: we got a lot a shit to do an little time t' do it in.

ARANEA: -does rufioh mind if she joins him? her wings are getting strength back but she figures she needs them for the battle... so she's giving them a stretch!-

[[ The dragonfly flickers its wings in buggy acknowledgement. It feels so FRESH and reassured now. ]]

RUFIOH: -He does not mind at all. Side eyes Aranea.-

DAELOS: -stares through the window in the rain at her. he wants to slay their enemies alongside her again. :(-

ARANEA: -reaches dramatically for daelos with her heart...-

ULFURA: YEAH!!!

ULFURA: LET'S DO THIS!!! COME ON FLAP FLAPS!!! -tugs the reins gently and nudges the dragonfly with her communing powers-

ARANEA: ::::) -at rufioh-

DAELOS: -just be as ruthless as possible for him-

ARANEA: -SHE WILL-

ULFURA: HOLD ONTO YOUR BUTTS!!!

[[ The dragonfly suddenly lurches, kicking off from the ground, and its wings start flapping wildly to take them up into the sky. Takeoff and landing is the hardest part. ]]

RUFIOH: -pchooooooooooo time to fly!-

URSAIS: -This part always makes her a little queasy. She doesn't like being off the ground. ʕ灬￫ᴥ￩灬ʔ-

ERIDAN: -scrunches up his face at the wind buffeting his hair. He thinks he smells rain on the horizon...-

JOHN: -basically uneffected-

[[ They rise into the sky quickly, if not weaving side to side a few times between the wind and the dragonfly adjusting to its new weight. It soars above the treetops, higher into chillier air. The pressure and wind aren't super comfortable, but Ulfura keeps it from going too high. They're on the way, headed straight for Golden Valley. ]]

ROSE: -Twirling those needles in her hands, thinking. Working off nerves. This... really is happening. The flying doesn't bother her-- it's everything else. It's the fact that she can't even fathom seeing something useful with her powers, or the fact that she can hardly conjure a spark. She just focuses on breathing. Deep breaths. Think. Don't get impaled by a fork.-

ROXANNE: -Is probably sitting next to Rose, because its unlikely she would let anyone else take the seat next to her daughter right now.-

ROXANNE: -And she also glances at her with a touch of concern, but unfortunately most of her expression is just determined sternness for what is to come.-

JOHN: -YELLING to be heard above the wing flaps and buffeting air.- SO! I DON'T THINK. I KNOW THE NAMES OF LIKE ...75 PERCENT OF YOU. YOU WANNA LIKE...TELL ME THEM? -he has his own ways of working out his nervousness.-

HEITOR: NO

JOHN: WELL I MEAN. OKAY. THAT'S VALID. IF YOU WANNA BE A DICK ABOUT IT. ANYBODY ELSE?

ERIDAN: -No. Giving John the cold shoulder. Don't look at him, motherfucker...-

JOHN: -He has his eyeballs on you Eridan. All over you.-

MICEXA: ... -does she even want to yell above this wind...-

HESONY: .... =well he sure isn't going to be an ass! He glanced up to see a flying human. Okay. He will accept this.= ....Hesony. =He says, in his regular voice.=

MICEXA: -side eyes Sunny like pls-

JOHN: -HE IS FLYING WITH EVERYONE ELSE CURRENTLY. ON THE BIG BUG.- HEY...SUNNY? SUNNY? OKAY. NICE TO MEET YOU! I AM JOHN.

HESONY: =EXCUSE only FRIENDS call him that. Whatever=

HESONY: Greetings, John.

MICEXA: -gosh.... she loves this grumpy doofus-

MICEXA: MICEXA NESHEN. PURSUANT SEAKRAIT.

JOHN: COOL. EXCELLENT. THANKS FOR HELPING. -

MINDFANG: -John do not thank them for anything.-

MICEXA: -just sort of softly grunts at that.-

JOHN: - He doesn't know these are the peeps that fucked up his friends otherwise he might be less friendly. -

HESONY: =Anything for Terezi's friends, no matter how ungrateful they are.=

HESONY: No problem. =he says instead=

ERIDAN: -gazing at these legislacerators. Saying nothing. Sipping tea with just the look in his eyes.-

[[ Below them, they'll being to see signs of smoke and fire, and the vague sounds of explosions and weaponry through the buffetting wind. In patches where they can see, it looks like there are scattered Alternian troops fighting little scads of rebels. The further they go, the more fire there is. Looks like quite a few things blew up down there. ]]

MICEXA: -why's this bitch got an in flight beverage...-

LATULA: -SHARP INTAKE-

LATULA: sh1t dud3 th4t lookz pr3tty n4sty.

URSAIS: - EL SQUINTO-

LATULA: no off3ns3 but 4r3 your p33poz gonn4 b3 4bl3 to hold out?

JOHN: - promptly shuts up at this point. he's totally stoked and not sick/scared-

[[ The dragonfly sways here and there to try to avoid the plumes of smoke. It's likely Ulfura is guiding it around them; bugs tend to react badly to signs of fire. ]]

URSAIS: - bracing herself- worRy bout yerRselves.. we'rRe used t' this. shit.

URSAIS: an' stay brRave.

SOLLUX: -he doesn't seem to react much there next to Ursais... just tilted his face out toward the outside of the seat, almost like he would be looking down at the ground if he could see.-

[[ They fly over lakes and green landscape -- it would be beautiful in just about any other circumstance, but today, the serenity of the landscape only seems to be feel cold and empty for the reality of what's happening below. ]]

JOHN: -equips Zillyhoo. It makes him feel better, even if it does put chanting voices in the back of his head.-

JOHN: -zi-hi-hi-hilly hoo~-

URSAIS: -ʕง•ᴥ•ʔง-

HESONY: =Same, Sparky Jr. Cept he has eyes. You dont. Neener neener neener.=

SOLLUX: -LET HIM BROOD IN PEACE, TEREZI'S OLD FRIEND GUY. JEEZ.-

ARADIA: -by sollux cuz you don't get to brood alone-

DIRK: -ha, that gives him an opportunity to brood alone too. YOU CAN'T STOP HIM HE'S IN CHARGE.-

SOLLUX: -oh so now YOU'RE in ursais' lap???-

SOLLUX: -CUT IT OUT GOD-

DIRK: -he might as well straight up be doin the thinker pose he's so contemplative right now-

ARADIA: -where am I...I am everywhere...-

SOLLUX: -just hoping she's flying alongside him tbh-

SOLLUX: -just out there smiling and being a creep-

[[ As they fly along, they'll finally start to see it breaching the line of the trees. The headquarters turned into something almost fortresslike, and empty expanse instead of trees -- water surrounds the building on all sides, centering it in a huge lake. Sticking out of the water nearby is a giant silhouette-style statue, but instead of the businessman it used to be, it's in the shape of )(er Imperious Condescension. ]]

[[ The building has been rebranded, of course. Instead of the original spoon, there's a bright red trident. ]]

ROSE: -eyes that silouette. plz...-

JOHN: :/

DIRK: -squints at all this. that's where they're being held... they're so close he thinks his heart is about to jump right out of his chest. he's never not anxious, of course, but the possibility of him or anyone dying here has never felt more real.-

QIRIN: How charming. ^_^

DAVENFORTH: Qirin please

QIRIN: =SHE'S KIDDING=

ARADIA: 😊

JOHN: okay if we win or finish early can we all mutually agree that needs to be heavily vandalized or blown the fuck up.

LIFERA: -just staring at this statue. It's ridiculous, but also... it's so huge. It looks like the way the Condesce feels -- larger than life, the figure that's loomed over her since she hatched. And now...-

DAVENFORTH: -Puts a hand on Lifera's thigh-

LIFERA: -She sort of jumps -- but only just barely, and looks over at Davenforth. She doesn't smile this time, but she acknowledges him.-

ERIDAN: -He more or less feels the same as Lifera about seeing these real actual headquarters. But with knowing NO ONE, he refuses to voice it. He fixes his eyes on the building, determined. Hopeless.-

QIRIN: =You stop that=

DAVENFORTH: -Squeezes gently. It's all cake baybe, we got this.-

QIRIN: =Get your pessimism out of the optimist club=

MICEXA: -yeah they're probs gonna die-

QIRIN: =what the fuck did i just say?=

ROXANNE: -Why do all you new people always assume we're going to die.-

MICEXA: -LOOK MAN-

HESONY: =because it HAPPENS that's why=

ROXANNE: -Nuh uh. No one is dying this time either, nope.-

HESONY: =thats what he said last time then terezi bit it=

[[ From closer they can also begin to see ships on the lake -- most of which appear to be Alternian in nature, but also some that aren't. There's a lot of pirate-style fighting going on down there. Boy howdy. ]]

MINDFANG: -Nice.-

JOHN: -HE JUST WANTS TO GET OFF THIS DRAGON FLY AND START FIGHTING. It's like ripping off a band aid.-

JOHN: -Hhhhhh-

QIRIN: =Patience, my padawan=

ULFURA: I'M BRINGIN' US IN CAP!!!

ULFURA: -she's starting to weave this dragonfly even more now, to avoid any lines of fire they may ultimately end up in. They're beginning to do a slow circle around the headquarters building.-

URSAIS: ya did grReat now, pupperR.

ULFURA: -SHIMMERS... but quietly.OF COURSE SHE DID GREAT.-

[[ The dragonfly SWOOPS, knocking at the mainsail of one of the Alternian ships on its way around with some of its legs. It rattles everybody a little. ]]

DIRK: -(mccree voice) whoa there- =swears under his breath=

[[ The dragonfly finally swoops down to the platform entrance of the building -- it's almost a tight fit for such a big fucking bug with wide wings, but it manages. ]]  

[[ It lands with an even bigger rattle. ]]

[[http://stmedia.startribune.com/images/10011821%201gmills100114.JPG]]

#frangibleairedale #technetronicTactician #effluentBalatron #tenebrousThorns #grizzledRevolutionary #apostolicChronicler #gyratingeonian #trojanabstruse #coralcaliph #pennyLane #felicitousVicissitude #pinnacledSuasion #cruciatusanathema #transienttutor #gladiateCarnifex #circuitousgrievance #gnarlycradz #ardentcupid #twofoldacrimony #aerugotourBillon #cranktankerousGeneticist #coltishdaedalian #academicgeniality #temulenceGenetrix #artifactualAnnihilation #tenaciousgodliness #weatheringQuerist

[brishu]

My Week At Sea - Part 1

I can’t remember whether President’s Day gave us a three day weekend in Greensboro, North Carolina. We sure as hell didn’t get a whole week off, but New York schools do so this year we took a cruise with my parents.

No matter how far in advance you try to book a flight for that week, the quoted fares will send you into a tailspin of regret, forcing you to relitigate all of the decisions you ever made that delivered you to this moment as a budget-conscious person. You might even start rehearsing your explanation for why this is probably a good year to skip the February trip somewhere warm. Maybe the polar vortex won’t barrel through the Northeast this year. Maybe we can get the girls wall to wall playdates so they won’t miss frolicking in the sun so much. But while you refine your excuses, your hand has already extracted a credit card or two and the people who run Kayak nod like the borderline abusive paramour who knows you’ll answer his texts every damn time. Your laptop itself might whir in a way that sounds a lot like, “Mmm hmmm. Thought so.” If only the airlines maintained their own schedules as scrupulously as they adhered to that of the New York City public school system.

So what are you really doing when you wail to your parents about how expensive Presidents’ Week trips are? Maybe, maybe you’re bemoaning your well-traveled spouse’s mathematically tenuous expectations. But lo and behold, it “occurs” to them that that week would be a great opportunity to spend some time with their delightful granddaughters. And waddya know? They’re friends with a travel agent! And as long as you don’t look too unflinchingly within, or excuse yourself the flinch through self-deception too insidious to monitor, you’ve been furtive enough about the whole thing to keep your dignity intact.

Five months later the Out of Office reply is on and you’re on a 7 AM flight to Miami, encouraging your kids as passive aggressively as possible to forgo the in-flight entertainment and take a damn nap. But when you’re eight or six and your parents enforce draconian screentime restrictions, you ain’t gonna waste three hours of untrammeled access to a large movie library on shuteye, no matter how wise or mathematically sound your handsome, loving father’s advice is. I read a book. Between naps.

Day 1

We landed in Miami flush with optimism for the week ahead. My parents were waiting for us in baggage claim. I took the girls’ stuff so they could run into their grandparents’ arms, an airport ritual they’d been performing since they were ambulatory. Watching my mom and dad’s faces during the interval between launch and collision always made me feel like my nachas/tsuris account with them was finally balancing out.

A mild comeraderie starting fogging around baggage retrieval. The airline was sending mixed messages about which carousel would convey our luggage and people were subtly jockeying, not to be first to get their stuff, but first to have the straight dope on location to share with passengers as if that established some sort of heirarchy. I was happy to smile and offer grateful thanks to another dad who seemed keen on attaining the certainty that would finally deliver him from 10 minutes inter-carousel limbo, and realized that if I knew first, I would not want anybody lavishing gratitude on me. I wondered if this distinction was formed as some kind of private rebuke of the other dad, though I was glad to oblige his emotional ambition, maybe provide him with some social momentum so he could spend his vacation accumulating validation and even new friends, patronizing as all that was. But it was him who was chomping at the bit to be town cryer. It occurred to me that us vacationers wouldn’t be revving up so much at the outset if we weren’t bracing for a few unpleasant moments we’d have to fend off or minimize, protecting our experience from anything ruinous or memory-souring.

The boat itself shoved off from Port Everglades in Fort Lauderdale. We rode a transfer bus with a father and his grown son and daughter, all from Toronto. They were very nice and fascinated by real live New Yorkers. I forgot both men’s names quickly but Barbara was easy to remember, sporting a Til Tuesday-era Aimee Mann hairstyle with stars shaved into the sides. The punk rockness of her haircut combined with her genuine warmth and gladness made me feel like she knew exactly who she was and she liked it very much, which I liked too. Still, I was afraid to veer any conversation away from banalities.

By the time we got to Fort Lauderdale, I realized that my private observations were lapsing into probative NPR-speak, luxuriating in my own bafflement in the groggy upward lilt I associate with people whose comprehension lags a hairsbreadth behind their speech. Like I was trying not to miss my own bus.

Standing between us and the boat (you’re supposed to say ship but every jolly reminder of this stiffened my resolve to call it a boat) was a processing facility that seemed designed with the mandate, “Think Ellis Island, but bigger and with less craftsmanship.” “So, hollowed out Costco?” “This guy gets it!” All sorts of heirarchies were enforced within the hangar: Gold, Platinum, Emerald, Diamond, Diamond Plus and Pinnacle Club each had their own dedicated service areas with varying calibers of expedience and hand sanitizer. I asked someone where I should go if I was Linoleum Status, and then I felt bad because he was obligated to act amused even though he probably wasn’t. Or maybe his smile was from sending us to the back of the longest line. We had been up since 4:30 and had deviated slightly from our strict kale and broccoli-based diet by feeding our daughters jelly beans for breakfast. So while I was careful not to catch myself trying too hard to maintain perspective, as that tends to trick me into thinking I’m teetering over a lake of despair and that the only way to relieve this emotional vertigo is to plunge right the fuck in, I was eager to get onto the boat and start consuming. The whole process wound up taking about 15 minutes.

I don’t want to belabor the zeal with which Royal Caribbean goes about bolstering its revenue, nor even refer to it as greed since some of the money they grub has to support their massive scale of employment before funneling to a handful of bean counters in the C-Suite. But from the bombardment of promotional emails I started getting after signing the waiver for the onboard zipline to the army of soul-stealing photographers swarming the margins of every potential memory we had from boarding to debarcation, the relentless attempts to upsell lent the entire cruise the feel of a sterilized, Eurocentric souk.

So, experiencing only the downside of fame, we fled the pre-boarding papparazzi and made it to the gangplank. Setting foot onto the ship felt like it should feel momentous. So I took a picture of my parents and daughters.

This was the moment of transition from the cold grind of work and school to a carefree, sun-drenched week at sea. Just a few more steps and the fun we’d been anticipating for months would start happening! In real life! Or maybe it’s just a pavlovian response to a relative with a camera, now embroidered with the wonder of how widely the record of this moment would be publicized and digitally appreciated.

Alcohol. When I was in my 20s we took a family cruise with my parents, brothers, cousins, aunts, uncles and grandma. The onboard drinks were a ripoff so we went to the duty free shop, bought bottles of bourbon, vodka and kahlua and, with milks and juices ordered from room service, ran a bar out of our stateroom. This was pre-9/11 and smuggling was much easier so we also made beer runs at every port of call. But now all duty free purchases are held until you debark. Wanna drink, gotta pay the ship. So my father bought the four adults on the trip the Premium Beverage package. This presented a fairly obvious quandary. Do I do my damndest to make sure Dad gets his money’s worth? Or do I exercise caution to avoid being even more unpleasant company than I already am? Predictably, I opted to sprint across the emotional minefield I’d first glimpsed in the Miami airport, honoring my father’s financial commitment on my behalf and hoping that eroded inhibitions would only make me that much more charming and fun. I finished my second margarita on the way to lunch.

The Allure of the Seas features three main dining rooms, 15 different restaurants and cafes plus a few snack bars and one doughnut kiosk I learned about one day too late. But upon boarding, only one dining venue was serving food and definitely not doubling as a nautical porn location: The Windjammer. Or that was the name of the always-open poolside buffet when I was in my 20s. It had since graduated to the Windjammer Marketplace, and I am sure that many cruisegoers appreciated the connotations of wider variety, enhanced freshness and the Milton Friedman Chicago School of economics. Our blood sugar was not quite at grumpy levels, but it was low enough that I worried whatever auspiciousness I had been drumming up was about to get overtaken by hostility toward entire teams of shipmates who stood between me and the food. Writ large, this first encounter with so many hundreds of fellow passengers, representing so many different ages, body types and origins, all unified by the overfed western version of hunger had the potential to arouse contempt. We all have reserves of generosity and good will toward our fellow man, it’s just that we also have moments when these reserves are inaccessible. Or, in my case, trying too hard to access them makes me feel so artificial that my resentment toward my surroundings is compounded by my inability to generate good will toward them. But, maybe because I was afraid that feeling too much antipathy this early in the trip would not bode well for the prospect of continued heavy drinking, summoning smiles for every beefy red-stater handling what were rightfully my nacho tongs was nearly effortless.

At every pass between the buffet and our table (usually for another glass of water, in my defense), the line to get into the international temple of all you can eat poolside cuisine grew longer, and announcements began issuing in three different languages to please enjoy your food and then get the fuck out so somebody else can sit down. I couldn’t help wondering how many liberty-loving Trump voters responded to authority-impelled courtesy by remaining at their tables until dinnertime. Did anyone onboard know Cliven Bundy? But I had seen enough signs of friendliness among the array of diners there, polite deference to wheelchairs, help with utensils, that a climate of decent manners did seem to govern the Windjammer Marketplace and perhaps the entire boat. Everybody seemed to understand that we all have more fun when we’re nicer to each other. And a lot of them were even drunker than I was.

Cocktails in hand, we vacated our table and went to see our staterooms. We did not expect our luggage to be delivered for another few hours, but we could change from our morning in New York clothes into the bathing suits we’d carried on. Just after we’d changed, our stateroom attendant came to introduce herself. She was a stout Trinidadian woman in her 50s named Adeline. She told the girls to call her Addy. In a bigoted way that I fear no amount of enlightenment or sensitivity training will ever cure me of, I saw Addy as a type more than as a thinking, feeling person. And in this blithe relegation, I wondered if her relationship with the girls would be colored at all by the way they might associate her with some of the West Indian nannies they’ve known their entire lives. Would they warm toward her in ways kids from the sticks might not? But conversely, would Addy prefer to keep her interactions with guests perfunctory, with just enough warmth to engender greater generosity at end of the week tip time? Did it serve anything whatsoever for me to be so delightfully sensitive that I broke through the typically transient cruiser-attendant relationship to foster something more meaningful, or would I merely succeed in creating more confusion in service of my own moral vanity? Did I give a shit either way? Yeah, I guess. Maybe it was time for another drink.

My mom had a friend who had cruised on this vessel months earlier and she said the one show you do not want to miss is Oceanaria, a Cirque du Soleil type diving show, presumably enough  unlike “O” to perform without triggering a lawsuit. The show was so popular that by the time we sought a reservation, the only available timeslot was Night 1 at 10:45 PM. So will you please nap now please? Maybe after we go swimming. I see. So I accompanied them to the pool area and, responsible adult that I am, I waited at least 20 minutes before pursuing drink number seven. Whoo!

OK so you can’t actually swim in any of the pools. But who can resist the appeal of a chlorinated soak rife with incidental contact with obese strangers drinking sugary cocktails through straws while singing along to reggae songs whose lyrics they don’t know? The rational mind assures you that diabetes is not contagious but you still equate acceptance with osmosis and no matter how fictitious your worries are, you just know that something here is doing you damage. But what about the kids? They are joyous and unfatigued, so you owe it to them to smile and pump your fist every time they run through a candy-colored sprinkler. Now is not the time to teach them to raise their search for validation to a standard higher than getting wet. Sell that smile. You know you’re not supposed to be at war with your more jaundiced perspective while you’re on vacation, but if you are, at least win. Maybe all this running around will increase the odds of a nap. Maybe my parents can come take over for me lest I claim all this happiness for myself. And can’t I just cut ahead of all these multi-ingredient drink orders to get another plastic tumbler of whiskey? Whoo.

What finally pries the kids out of the pool is Muster, the mandatory survival drill that compels all passengers to the emergency station where a designated crew member would spirit us to a 237 person lifeboat. Take that, Godzilla. Our station was in the Silk Dining Room. My wife pointed out that photographers were poised in the lobby in front of a backdrop of the balustrade from Titanic, yet one more reminder that too much thought was ill-advised. Familiarity > Meaning.

After Muster we gathered on our room’s small balcony to wave goodbye to the Floridians who had come to the pier to bid our voyage bon. The horn sounded, the boat set sail and the waving grew wavier. Trying to get with the program, I thought that was very nice of the people at the pier and nothing more. Nothing whatsoever.

We were now at sea. And while I refused to call the ship a ship, I became a stickler for maritime directions. I don’t know what accounts for such inconsistencies, but by 6 PM the fore, starboard, aft and port views were all landless. The vastness of the Atlantic Ocean or Gulf of Mexico or Caribbean Sea or whatever was terrifying in a good way. Thrilling. And feeling dependent on the vessel and her crew, and recognizing how casually at ease I was told me that, for all of the blundering attempts the Royal Caribbean corporation made at invading my conscience, they succeeded where it really mattered, winning my trust in their nautical competence and banishing all worries the mighty sea presented.

At 10:45 PM, further mastery of water was on display at the boat’s Aqua Theater. Our kids normally get up at 7 and go down at 8. Today they got up at 4:30 and wouldn’t go down til midnight. I presumed the show would go one of two ways: either luster would be lacking or we would bear witness to muscular specimens whose notable skill was drilled into them by authoritarian regimes who had destroyed their capacity for joy whereby it could be argued that we were no better than party officials sitting there on our asses, too sluggish to express appropriate appreciation for the amazing feats these exploited acrobats were performing, quiet hatred seething justifiably from the stage. Instead we were treated to 30 minutes of soaring, splashing joy. Whatever behind the scenes cynicism governed the performance, I was too dazzled to contemplate. Plunging from 3 meter springboards, 10 meter ledges and even 15 meter perches, I joined the crowd in roaring approval, according the divers full dignity for their show. More than once a woman behind me said, “I’ll take either one of those!” And our sleep-deprived girls were so invigorated by the performance that even my mother’s guilt for booking us so late was relieved. As I downed my umpteenth drink, I felt my duties as a son were fulfilled on all fronts.

Day 2

I was out of bed early to run laps around the 650 meter track that wrapped around Deck 5.

I sweat buckets in 30 degree weather, so in the Tropics it seemed extra wise to get going before dawn. Didn’t matter. Between the heat, humidity, alcohol, shortchange of zzzz’s and onboard climate of sloth, three miles and a little work at the gym was all I could handle. Ashamed of my effort, I sulked back to our stateroom where my wife and kids were now awake and spoke to them as though my body’s newfound shortcomings were somehow their fault. Later that day my wife pointed out the donut kiosk so for the rest of the week, I went there after exercising and returned to our stateroom the picture of civility.

With no port of call on Day 2, all 6,100 passengers and 2,200 crew members were together and ready to…. well, that depends. I know that judging people says more about you than them, and that a crowded cruise ship is a great place to subscribe to Will Rogers’ credo that strangers are just friends you haven’t met yet. And there were certainly people around me who knew how to survey a crowd and then mingle into it successfully.

Sometimes I see a group of people yukking it up and I think of a passage from the Great Gatsby: Forms leaned together in the taxis as they waited, and voices sang, and there was laughter from unheard jokes, and lighted cigarettes made unintelligible circles inside. Imagining that I, too, was hurrying towards gaiety and sharing their intimate excitement, I wished them well. But these groups took delight from the heights they attained, whereas other groups laughed loudly and called it a good time no matter how funny anything really was, reveling in comedy without humor. I was not guaranteed entrée into either clique, and even if my private pomposity was as defensive as it was discerning, the boat groups felt boorish to me. So I dumped the kids on my parents and retreated to a quieter area of the boat, choosing my book over people.

The dimensions of the boat were such that port and starboard stateroom corridors were more than 100 meters long. Later I learned that you could always go to a deck that featured one of the boat’s “neighborhoods” and walk through that instead of a Shining-like hallway. But I did notice that the superstition applied to decks did not apply to room numbers:

A funny thing about thinking is that the wider you cast your thoughts, the less significant your personal affairs become. But the ego, never fully banished, can’t help but notice that recognizing your insignificance is a fine mental feat, so while you’re transcending your petty concerns, you’re touting the transcendence you’re achieving. Am I alone in enjoying the deftness with which I self-negate? Maybe there’s a paradox named after a suicidal philosopher that describes it better than me. But during moments alone, pondering the ocean and sky, questioning whether I’d like to see myself as more consequential or less so, I wondered if it wouldn’t be wiser to build a strong divider between material and spiritual concerns and spend the rest of the week focused on material good fortune. So what if I sensed spiritual poverty at every turn, from my shipmates’ difficulty returning a friendly wave to well-wishers to the hundreds of children I’d seen holding ice cream in one hand, an entertainment device in the other, crying their faces off? Who am I to judge? I’m probably worse because not only do I object to so much, I hone my fucking objections. Yes, I was enjoying the joy my unjaded kids were experiencing, and the nachas that was bringing my parents. But what did I want for me? Weren’t insistent anxieties like these exactly what I was supposed to be vacating for the week? On the flipside, how does one enjoy the ocean and sky without listing toward the existential?

Day 3

Made it a wopping 4 miles and change on the track, much of it with the sun well above the bristling skyline of Cozumel, Mexico.

The cruise company sold all sorts of onshore excursions, from swimming with dolphins and sea turtles to tequila and chocolate tastings to visiting the Mayan ruins in Quintana Roo. Ace researcher that my wife is, she found an escape from the rampant gringoism that was just a taxi ride away from the port. My parents and children wanted to take advantage of a less crowded boat so they stayed onboard while we went off to Playa Palancar.

It would have been lovely if I hadn’t spoiled it. The details are unimportant, but, attributing nothing to my masturbatory tussles with significance, I made a big deal out of something insignificant and that started an argument from which no winners emerged. I suppose the reasons why my difficulties relaxing were so acute they fucked up my wife’s relaxation too merited some kind of examination. But, possibly by astrological fate (Libra), I felt caught between attempting to solve an issue and dropping it altogether. Getting to the bottom of what the hell was the matter with me seemed thornier but more rewarding, while moving on felt like shirkery. I don’t think I ever made a decision one way or the other. My wife swam out to the floating platform (that’s her in the photograph) and I read my book. By the time we caught a cab back to the pier, peace had been restored and the rest of the day was fine and maybe even relaxed. OK, the argument was about fish tacos.

That night the kids slept in their grandparents’ stateroom while my wife and I had a reservation at the Comedy Club on Deck 4. You know, the Comedy Club. Across the hall from Jazz Club.  When the biggest George Carlin and Eddie Murphy ruled stand-up comedy, nobody paid much attention to the learning curve of a comedian. But in the current heyday of Louis CK and Chris Rock, it’s gushed into our consciousness that there’s more to the art than good jokes, and that one minute of solid material seems to take hours of work in small clubs, where even the big boys sometimes bomb. I don’t know whether this greater familiarity with the risks involved in stand-up comedy has trained audiences to be more supportive of those poor, vulnerable people onstage, or spoiled the magic of sausage-making. But either way, I figured the comics who got this gig would be seasoned professionals who knew how to work a room. And they were and they did. Opener and headliner alike got laughter from the room and they harnessed it and killed. It’s worth noting that Trump jokes were conspicuously absent. The only borderline political moment was when the headliner mentioned “participation trophies” and a few audience members roared approval (this is a right wing trope that has convinced a huge segment of America that poor people aren’t entitled to the same representation as rich people). I didn’t let it bother me (too much). The biggest laughs came from jokes about very specific cruising behaviors and when I saw that the participation trophy folks laughing just as hard as I was at some of the nonsense onboard, it actually gave me a great feeling of hope. As long as people believed that cruise ships were the perfect place to splurge on jewelry, elitist libtards and Bible Belt morons could unite in mockery of them.

Day 4

At sea due to arrive in Falmouth, Jamaica the following morning. Not much of note except it was National Margarita Day. I had grown sick of my anthropological pretensions and was not keen on observing people in pursuit of some great insight on human folly or spiritual deviation. I just wanted to observe NMD and spend time with the kids after being away from them the prior day. If I fell into the stupor that was de rigeur onboard, look out below.

But I’m realizing that, while I had a lot of fun throughout the week, it’s harder for me to write about the nice times in an interesting way. Muddling through my difficulties throughout weeklong Caribbean vacation is a tough enough ask of a reader. But what’s readworthy about the enjoyable parts, where I didn’t feel confused or conflicted?

That morning after breakfast I played shuffleboard and minigolf with my daughters. Even the boat’s minigolf course hardly seems noteworthy. The ice skating rink, the carousel, the zipline and rock climbing walls, I found myself wishing I was more familiar with deprivation so I could be wowed by those features. But I didn’t feel guilty about being non-plussed by them either. Just happy to be with my family and, at this point, looking forward to getting back to my book, which I already knew I would miss more than the cruise when it was over.

And I also wasn’t going to feel guilty about enjoying an hour alone with said book, a Spotify playlist I love, and said holiday’s honored beverage.

#to be continued #cruise #Presidents Week #royal caribbean #Allure of the Seas #Cozumel #fort lauderdale #Vacation #Supposedly Fun #Cruise Ship #Love Boat #Dysfunction #Neurosis