#yes im old enough to have a toddler im almost 30 | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

yoursweetinoccentdreams · 10 months ago

Text

That Pretty Red Dress.

Pairings: toji! x fem reader.

Warnings: too lazy to put this reader is like 25 and toji is like 27-28 OK OK and also MERRY FUCKIN CHRISTMAS (SORRY IM RLLLLLYY LATE I STARTED THIS AROUND XMAS SOO TECHINCALLLLYYY ITS STILL XMAS TIME OK ;-; SORRYYY)

Colors: Red and green regular text, Blue Is Toji and Pink is reader and white is megumi. (it rlly depends on what tumblr app color u have but the light default color is Megumi u got it)

There you were, under the Christmas tree decorating it with ornaments that were made out of blood red plastic, holding little Megumi in your arms while you each pick up the little decorations piece by piece .. in your pretty little red dress, that brought out your curves and big supple breasts that weren't yet filled with milk.

Toji falls in and out of his slumber as he hears little giggles and chuckles, he sighs getting out of bed putting boxers on and heading downstairs. You can hear Toji's HUGE feet plowing down the stairs as he makes his way over to you and Megumi, he kisses Megumi on his temple & then coming up behind you grabbing your waist pulling you in, & giving 2 kisses to your neck.

"G'mornin, you two are up early" "Toji... its 2:30 in the afternoon...." You chuckle sweetly as Megumi nods off to sleep in your arms. "Mama... i sweepy..." Here.. ill take him to sle- Toji offers, No.. babe i got it i have to uhhh... practice.... you say under your breath. You can feel Toji's stupid smirk as you turn your head from him it now settling in your head that you fucked up. "ill be right back let me put him to sleep." You run upstairs while humming a tune to Megumi, setting him down gently in his toddler bed. You dim the lights as you shut the door hearing those gentle little snores you have always loved so much.

You meet Toji downstairs as you walk up to him giving him a gentle kiss before he says, "...what did you mean by practice?... do you mean what I think you meant?? or were you just messin' around." His dark blue eyes linger upon yours as he doesn't take them off you. "oh.. um.. I meant it.." "So you really want kids?" You hesitate to reply to the question, "I mean.. yes but i don't think I'm really fit to be a mom I-" "Bullshit." Toji interrupts "Yer perfect, everything about you, yer already such a good mom to Megumi, i don't want to pressure you but I'm ready when you are.."

You swallow thickly always wanting a child but never thinking you were good enough to handle such a responsibility. "I'm 25 toji.. don't you think I'm too old?.. your ex wife was 20 when she had Meg..." "She doesn't matter to me anymore okay?... your fuckin beautiful.. how many times do I have to get that thru your thick fuckin skull?" Toji sighs, "Do I have to show you how beautiful you are?" Toji being toji he already knew the answer.

He kissed you deeply and- "Strip." he stated blankly, you could almost laugh in his face for being so stoic. You start taking your Dress off knowing to not to give him any backtalk. As your fully unclothed in front of him he grabs your waist and pulls you in for a kiss. "beautiful".. He whispers. He slaps your ass leaving little red marks on your soft supple skin. "beautiful" he has you straddling him as he picked you up and tossed you on the couch.

He takes his boxers off and slides them down to his ankles, as he cant help but admire you're glistening folds right before him. He kisses your lips before he lowers his head down to suck on your clit. "O-oh fuck Toji..." you moan out in pleasure as he licks and prods his tongue like a prancing reindeer. "Yeah? does that feel good princess? this pussy's all wet and sensitive fr'me... Perfect just how I like it."

You moan at his words like a pornstar "H-hah!.. D-Don't talk like that T-toji..." you plead. "What?.. is it too.. embarrassing?" He coo's, before you can say another word he stuffs you almost full with 2 fingers you wince at the burning sensation, "Shhhh" he silent's your moans with a kiss "Wouldn't want to wake Megumi... Now would we?" You shake your head " N-no..." You blush.

He fingers you with complete strokes, you cover your mouth with both hands. You look up at him with tears in your eyes as you are about to become overstimulated, "You're being such a good girl for me baby, cum for me" He grabs your breasts with the other hand and starts moving them around roughly. "fuck yeah... Gonna get you pregnant nd have these beautiful tits swollen with milk Yeah?, that's what Me and Megumi want... if yer ready wanna give it to us mama?" You could almost imagine having another child with the love of your life, considering Megumi mentioned wanting to have a sibling & you were ovulating so the timing was perfect.

"M-imma cum Toji.." You look down seeing a ring of cum around his fingers, you close your eyes shut thinking about how hes trying to overstimulate you on purpose as if you could feel him smirking at you. As your so close to your high, he fingers you faster, "I'm Cumming!" you're eyes roll back into your head as you try to hold on to something, Not being successful you end up trying to grab the couch, not noticing you're squirting all over Toji's hand. "Fuckkkk ma... that's it.. let go just like that.." "ohh my god.." you say trying to catch your breath. "Alright princess.. Yer.. okay right? " he blushes slightly turning his head acting like he's distracted (AWEE I LOVE SOFT TOJI) "Mhm...." You nod quickly.

Suddenly he gets up stretching his arms and waist, "Are you ready for me princess?" He asks in question,His cock growing painfully hard as he strokes himself aligning his cock with your slit. He looks deep into your eyes and thrusts in gently, waiting until he bottoms out inside of you to get you adjusted. "S-So full..." You whined squeezing ur eyes shut trying to adjust to the pain. "Good girl... takin me so well, fuck mama.."

He praises you as he thrusts into you willingly creating the perfect rhythm and going at the perfect pace. "A-hmmn, Toji! yes! fuckmefuckmefuckme!" You moan with a stream of curses flowing out of your mouth completely forgetting about the toddler upstairs sleeping soundly. Toji puts his hand around you're mouth as you can only be heard by muffled screaming and the sound of Toji's balls hitting your clit repeatedly. "You want me to get you pregnant yeah?, I love you so *thrust* fucking *thrust* much" *thrust*. You can feel yourself coming to your climax as you look down and alas, there's another white ring of cum forming at the base of his cock. "Toji!.. I'm gonna C-cum.. I cant!-" "NO you can.. cmon take it for me, baby.." He pounds you harder, lowering down on top of you as you wrap your legs around his waist trying to desperately hold on. He fucks into you ruthlessly as you nip at his neck and scratch at his back. "fuck... yer so fucking T-tight.."

"mmmm!" you moan to yourself by squeezing your lips together trying to not wake Megumi up. "Im cumming Toji!" You squealed as you could sense a familiar feeling of a knot being tied building up in your core, you gave Toji one more moan as you rolled your eyes to the back of your head squeezing around his waist and hugging him tightly as you reached your climax.

"Thatsss it....." He hisses kissing your neck, " you did so good for me *groan* Princess" He praises you as long ropes of cum spurt inside of you and he goes limp being perfectly satisfied. "M.. Sorry about your back Toji" You apologize willingly as Toji grabs a towel from a freshly washed and dried pile of laundry to cover you up.

"Baby, I'm a sorcerer killer what makes you think I can't handle a couple of scratches?" You giggle at his remark as you try to stand to go check on Megumi but you fail, stumbling to the ground like a baby giraffe taking its first steps but lucky for you toji was there to soften the landing. Toji sighs in relief "Woah.. okay let me carry you what were you trying to do?" The only thing you can think about right now is the 2 most important people who mean the world to you, "I want to take a bath and check up on Meg." Toji clears his throat picking you up bridal style. "Alright..." Toji carries you upstairs to the master bathroom and sets you on the counter as he runs you a nice hot bath putting bath salts, bubbles, and a bath bomb, formed in the shape of the sun that smelled like warm vanilla sugar. Toji helps you inside the bath while he's goes to check up on Megumi who has changed positions but is still sleeping soundly, Toji notices the time and realises an hour and thirty minutes have gone by.

Toji meets you back in the bathroom as his deep voice says " Megs is still sleepin' he's gonna be hungry in a little while.. but for now enjoy your bath. Your heart flutters as the thought of you're Son and your husband checking up on each other every minute of the day. "Toji can you get in with me?" You ask him with pleading eyes. "No.. i just took a bath earlier." He grumbles. You go quiet for a minute or two you were about to clear the silence and speak up when he cuts you off and says "Tch.. Fine." He takes his boxers back off and he sits in the tub behind you cradling you and your stomach. "So... any names?" Toji asks, You smile as you rest your head on his chest and the two of you start coming up with that also means the word

Blessing

the end.

Quick A/N!: I KNOW THIS WAS SUPPOSED TO BE DONE SO LONG AGO BUT I HAVENT HAD ANY MOTIVATION TO POST IVE BEEN FOCUSING WITH WORK ETC BUT IM BACK (I think) SO I HOPE YOU ENJOY THIS ONE BUT ITS PROB GONNA FLOP

49 notes · View notes

expression-in-its-essence · 5 years ago

Text

The Goldfinch movie.

7 min 26 secs in : Why the fuck did they start the movie like that. Why didn't the explosion take place? Theo's mom's apartment? His anxiety? Also.. why do they keep cutting the scenes abruptly? They ain't tweets... No limit.. then??

8 min 2 sec in : Okay they went to the apartment. Audrey's sweater deserved more screen time. The lipstain on the mug in focus *chef's kiss* poetic cinema!

9 min 19 sec in : Do you see what I see? Tom Cable's face has a stark resemblance to Boris's face. Did Theo have a crush on him?

9 min 54 sec in : Mr Barbour's hand is shaking. I like that they put it in there. He was sick. Nice. (I'd imagined Audrey's apartment building entrance like they showed the Barbour's apartment building entrance. Wild.)

11 min 8 sec in : Don't shove it into his face that y'all are fancy okay? He's not used to that life style. He didn't have maids making his bed. ARE YOU GIVING HIM DRUGS, MRS BARBOUR? But you just glared at your husband for offering him the same sort of thing?? Oh God. Poor child. "it's perfectly understandable" my ass. You gave him meds just because your sleep was getting affected.

14 min 39 sec : Woah woah woah Theo wtf you're so smol how'd you do that? Also... Again. The frame of Theo and Tom standing close and Theo and Boris standing close when they kissed, Theo is wearing the same damn sweater.

16 min 58 sec in : Ayyyy Jeffery Wright!

20 min 33 sec in : "He drank a lot", Theo about his dad. Honey just wait up, you will too. (The grilled sandwich and the cute lil smile 😍 also this is the first time since the movie started that Oakes' voice isn't deep.)

23 min 54 sec in : Wizard of Oz poster, I see you!

24 min 19 sec in : I love how Oakes is expressing being caught off guard. Theo knows he did something bad and every time he's dealing with something he didn't expect to deal with, he's like OMG THEY KNOW ABOUT THE PAINTING AND IM FUCKED even if no one knows.

25 min 1 sec in : The glasses made a difference. He went from mature to cute. Angry bird to angry birb.

25 min 44 sec in : Another sweater? Or was this THE sweater of Audrey? (Off topic but Oakes is hella cute. I could murder anyone who hurts him.)

29 min 9 sec in : Pippa doesn't remember or doesn't wanna remember? There was something in her eyes that was hard to read. Also, why doesn't anyone say 'I'm sorry about your mom' to Theo? Do Americans not care? It's weird to see no response when he tells people that Audrey is dead.

31 min 17 sec in : "The Goldfinch, destroyed"? Then why is Theo upset. Good riddance. Oh yeah. I know why. It's Donna Tartt we're talking about.

32 min 39 sec in : Hobie just casually predicting the future. "It's only fake if you pass it on as an original". Theo's like, "noted, gonna do exactly that".

34 min 16 sec in : Why does Theo write like a five year old child? That's toddler handwriting! And omg all the Andy-prom-dress memes are making sense now. (Also did I mention that Mrs Barbour seems more selfish in the film than she does in the book. Like hey I'm putting up with this kid because he helps my kid. He's serving a purpose for me. What the hell.) (How old is Andy anyway? He looks younger than Theo. I think he's different. Didn't grow up like other kids. That was mentioned in the book right?)

35 min 20 sec in : Ayyy Hobie's earring!

35 min 49 sec in : He shopped for himself? Nice! Didn't know kids could shop without adult supervision in the West. (Because they can't in the East.)

35 min 50 sec in : Ayyyy Sarah Paulson! Damn she's hot. How can you dislike her? *heart eyes*

37 min 30 sec in : I can't bring myself to hate Luke Wilson since Skeleton Twins but SHUT THE FUCK UP LARRY! AUDREY DESERVED BETTER. Look at how Larry and Xandra are looking at the place like they're vultures.

39 min 34 sec : They got the airport scene right. STOP GIVING HIM DRUGS WTH IS WRONG WITH THE ADULTS IN THIS MOVIE!

41 min 12 sec in : Ayyy Popper!!!!!

43 min 27 sec in : It just dawned on Theo that he's alone. Oh god. My poor baby.

45 min 12 sec in : Let me take this moment to say that Ashleigh Cummings is pretty. And I finally get why y'all were pissed at the non linear storyline and the weird voiceovers. Guess I'd been prepared for that so it didn't really suck that much.

49 min 30 sec in : I'd imagined Boreo reunion like the Platt Theo reunion. In the day. Dang it. Also... Adult Platt Barbour was not supposed to be good looking? In the book?

55 min 34 sec in : Without context, none of it could make sense. Apologies to whoever didn't read the book beforehand. Crowley fucked this up.

58 min in : Ayyyy Finn Wolfhard! BORIS IS HERE AND IM SO EXCITED IDK WHY

1 hour in : It's such a Boris thing to leave the bag unzipped.

1 hour 3 min 20 sec in : Slumdog Millionaire's Jai Ho (2008) is playing in the background. The only song that I've recognized so far. Wow. Lets me know about the time setting. Nice.

1 hr 3 min in : Someone gif " That cost twenty dollars!" *Stare* "That would have cost twenty dollars!"

1 hr 8 min in : So Boris's room is exactly like I had imagined but Theo's room isn't. Boris just mentioned Kotku though.

1 hr 9 min 14 sec in : Isn't it hella hot in Vegas? Why are they wearing sweaters? Or does drug intake make you more vulnerable to the environment?

1 hr 10 min 15 sec in : Xandra Theo argument : gold. "Cocktail sausages that you like." I wanna laugh in Crowley's face. What was he thinking?? Omg I'm dying.

1 hr 11 min 17 sec in : The slap sound didn't work??

1 hr 13 min 53 sec in : I like serious Boris better.

1 hr 14 min in : The slum house Audrey dream thing was not in the book. That's an entirely new addition.

1 hr 18 min 26 sec in : The Welty Theo scene is awesome. The sound effects work. I feel suffocated. The ambulance noise fiasco is also nicely pulled off. (also Theo's Yellow bag was dirty af then how did it get all clean when he didn't even do anything to it?)

1 hr 20 min 57 sec in : Shhhh Potter.

1 hr 22 min in : Holy shit he got slapped twice!! Ouch! And Larry's audacity to tell Theo to stop with the crying?? Good thing he died. Asshole.

1 hr 25 min in : "You don't tell me a lot of things but that's okay". I see what you did there, Boris. Which was of course, I love you.

1 hr 26 min in : "Act normal" - Theo knows his way around drugs pretty well, doesn't he?

1 hr 30 min in : "No family No friends" line punched me in the face. (Also awww popchik's excuse was the last resort for Boris to make Theo stay.)

1 hr 31 min 17 sec in : That pause after "What do you have to tell me?". You can clearly see Boris struggling to hold something back. Which was of course, I love you.

1 hr 31 min 34 sec in : What the fuck is that music? Oh heyyyyyy they kissed!-- he fucking runs away?? Also what kind of a kangaroo runs like that? (Yes, the taxi driver watched. I don't have to wonder anymore.) (They didn't address why he took the bus instead of flying?)

1 hr 33 min in : I didn't imagine Welty's room like that at all. Also why doesn't Hobie seem happy to see Theo again?

1 hr 35 min in : Longer stretches of one storyline are kinda bearable. From drugs in storage unit to waking up beside Kitsey. We got Vegas and Young Theo. Nice. (Also, who the heck puts jewelry in shoes? Is Theo that dumb? And now I can't think of anything else than Boris piercing his ear for the emerald earring. Tumblr has fucked it up bad.)

1 hr 43 min in : They nailed the Kitsey Theo confrontation.

1 hr 44 min in : Ayyy Ozma of Oz!

1 hr 48 min in : I noticed it before but I wasn't sure... Now I am. Pippa has Welty's ring. On her finger. At all times. (also, is NYC always that noisy? Must suck to walk on the roads.)

1 hr 52 min 23 sec in : They nailed the Theo Pippa date. What's that song playing in the background? I want the name. It's almost like two hours and I still haven't seen Aneurin Barnard once. Why! (Jerome's mentioned in the movie btw.)

1 hr 52 min 51 sec in : Complained too soon. Boris is sat in the dark doing god knows what. My man Aneurin is here!

1 hr 53 min 37 sec in : BOREO REUNIONNNNNN - no don't look at me like that I only watched it thrice.

1 hr 56 min in : Boris saying "it's someone else" with a knowing look and Theo looking at him. The frickin yearning.

1 hr 57 min in : Boris is like you're unhappy, I'm here, we're both rich, let's f*ck. "We could"... What are you suggesting dude he's repressed!

1 hr 58 min in : "you unwrapped it and showed it to me." So many meanings. The heart, the love the soul... Wow. Good for you, screen play writers! ( It's kinda hilarious how Boris got mad at Theo for never quote unquote fucking opening it.)

2 hr 1 min in : I'm calling it. They're going to fuck up the Theo Hobie confrontation. They put it on the wrong time. And they also fucked up the text from the book.

2 hr 5 min 48 sec in : Even Platt is saving his sister's face. Also where did Todd go? Did he never grow up? I wish Mrs Barbour didn't use Theo like she did.

2 hr 7 min in : The frame where Boris is between Kitsey and Theo. Chef's kiss.

2 hr 10 min 54 sec in : *intense music playing* Boris put his leg up on the table and I burst into laughter THOSE ARE THE FAMOUS FUCK ME PUMPS.

2 hr 11 min in : AAAAA THE FOREHEAD TOUCH AAAAAAA (Theo just knows without looking that Boris is close enough to touch? Theo are you sure you don't feel feelings for him?)

2 hr 12 min in : Theo is so worried that I'm not sure if it's for Boris or for losing the painting again. Omg he just murdered a man. Oh god.

2 hr 14 min in : Theo is spiralling. In the movie they imply that Hobie played a part in him attempting suicide. So wrong. Poor Hobie. In the book that wasn't the case.

2 hr 15 min in : The transition of the Goldfinch into Audrey, wow. Also, is it the first time we're seeing her? The movie started so long ago that I've forgotten if I saw Theo and Audrey in the museum. Boris following right after Audrey? That's a subliminal message. Boris is here to rescue y'all.

2 hr 16 min in : No shit Boris is freaking out right now.

2 hr 17 min in : The diner scene. They're both crying. "Happy Christmas, Potter" - which was of course, I love you.

2 hr 18 min in : No don't you dare compare Audrey and Mrs Barbour. Audrey would never drug her child or use him for her benefit.

2 hr 20 min in : Poor kid bumps into his mom lol. I found it funny.

On the whole

The movie was nice if you'd read the book beforehand. The first hour was steak, The second hour was Korean BBQ and the rest of the twenty minutes were minced beef. If you get what I mean. Weird analogy. It could have been much better. But it was really very nice in some places. Most places I'd say.

I didn't like how the pop songs ruined the mood of certain moments. I didn't like how you couldn't hear the conversation over the music playing. For example in the engagement party when Platt and Theo talked. Or in the diner scene.

Both Borises killed the accent thing. They tried their best. Cut them some slack.

Oakes deserves an Oscar for holding up this movie on his smol shoulders. I was shook at how a kid could act that well.

Popchik deserved more screen time. I'm still pissed they didn't add the Popchik Boris reunion. But then they couldn't make it chronological, what were we supposed to expect anyway.

Ansel Elgort y'all. Theo sure improved his handwriting lol. Ansel's writing is nice. He was actually good in this movie. Better than he was in The Fault In Our Stars. The internet is just mean. The critics too. I will never understand the hate.

All in all, it could have been a better adaptation but it didn't suck as bad as everyone made it out to be. John Clownery should be punished nonetheless. Special shout-out to Roger Deakins for making it work.

#donna tartt #theo decker #boris pavlikovsky #finn wolfhard #oakes fegley #ansel elgort #aneurin barnard #the goldfinch #boreo

60 notes · View notes

spacednp · 7 years ago

Text

When You Wish Upon a Star

WATTPAD AO3

TW: NONE I DONT THINK besides swearing but that's legit all my fan fiction lmao wait I think I mentioned condoms once but again legit all my fanfics at this point

SUMMARY: PARENT PHAN TAKES CHILDREN TO DISNEY WORLD IM SO EXCITED TO WRITE THIS WTF

ADDITIONAL NOTES: p a r e n t p h a n i s m y k I N K

I DIDNT MAKE THE KIDS CALL PHIL DADDY BC THATS DANS JOB K? K

no but really Phil being daddy is too real

this legit is my favorite thing I've ever written asdfghjkl

WC: 3.7k

"Winne I swear to fucking Jesus if you don't stop moving for three seconds so I can put on your fucking socks I will fucking bash your head in you little shit," Dan hissed at the wiggling toddler in his lap. He loved his little girl, but she was also a brat, and that wasn't a good thing for the easily frustrated 30 something.

"Daniel! Watch your language in front of the children!" Phil chided his husband, covering their older child, Dillon's, ears.

"Papa, I'm seven and a half whole years old!" Dillon protested. "I already know all the naughty words!" Phil gasped at this and sent a glare at Dan that went unnoticed as Dan was preoccupied with the annoying little bundle of joy crying about not wanting the socks on.

"I'm no wanna!" Winnie cried, flailing her arms about. As Winnie was still learning how to speak, she had a few quirks and speech impediments. One of those was "I'm". The young child never used "I", it was always "I'm". When loud footsteps filled the house as Winnie ran about, she would scream, "I'm run!", which neither Dan nor Phil had the heart to correct her on. Winnie was their only baby. They adopted Dillon when he was 5, so they missed out on all the baby years, which they didn't want to miss again, so Winnie was born from a surrogate. Now Dan and Phil loved Winnie a hellova lot, but she was a fussy little brat.

"Goddamn it Winnie!" Dan spat as he grabbed onto the child's foot in a vain attempt to still it enough to get her foot in the sock. Dan let out a frustrated groan as he shoved Winnie's foot into the pale colored sock. "Philllll," Dan whined as Winnie kicked her sock off and caused it to fly across the room. Phil smiled slightly as he crossed the room to pick Winnie up off of Dan's lap, setting her on his hip and looking down lovingly as his very frustrated husband who was leaning back into the couch, almost melting into it. Dan smiled up at Phil and blew a curly hair out of his pink face.

"Thank you, babe," Dan said as he stood up and whipped off his sweaty palms on his dirty black jeans (they were clean, and then they found out that Winnie did NOT like peaches).

"You're welcome, Bear. Go help Dil get packed and ready," Phil said as he plopped down on the couch Dan had left unoccupied, laying Winnie down next to him. "Looks like its a sandal type of day, huh Winnie?" He asked his daughter, causing the two year old to giggle, sharp blue eyes full of happiness. God, he was going to die when she got old enough to date, he just might have to buy a gun.

Phil somehow managed to get the squirmy toddler into some white sandals with little pastel flowers decorating them that Dan said were "too fucking adorable". The family was rushing about trying to get ready as it was the day of their first trip as a family, and just like every other basic non-American family, they were going to Orlando.

"Philly!" Dan cried from Dillon's room, sounding frustrated. Phil laughed lightly, looking down at Winnie.

"Looks like Daddy is having some problems with Dil, huh Winnie?" Phil asked his little daughter as he picked her up and walked to Dillon's room, the toddler just giggled the whole walk, like she always did. As Phil entered the room covered in dinosaurs (because "they're the coolest things ever!"), he was greeted by a flustered Dan and a suitcase full of dinosaur toys, some stuffed and some plastic. Phil laughed at the mess and his upset (but still adorable) husband.

"Oh dearuh!" Winnie exclaimed in her sweet baby voice, causing even the very frustrated Dan to crack a smile. Phil rubbed Winnie's back as he looked around for Dillon, only to find him angrily crossing his arms in the corner.

"Yes, Winnie, very oh dear," Phil agreed as he met Dan's eyes. "What happened?" Phil asked his husband. Dan just shrugged his shoulders and sighed.

"Dil is being difficult," Dan said, gesturing to the suitcase full of dinosaurs and the fuming child. Phil smiled weakly and set Winnie on the ground before walking over to Dillon and crouching down to his level and looking him in his anger filled sea green eyes.

"What's up buddy?" Phil asked, aware of Dan fangirling in the background, as he always did when Phil acted all "Dad like". In the end Dan was just Phil trash #1, in any situation.

"Dad won't let me bring all my dinosaurs," Dillon grumbled, pouting slightly.

"Okay, but you need room for your clothes, how about we just bring two dinosaurs?" Phil offered, knowing Dillon would try to bump it up to three and that they could compromise like that.

"Three," Dillon countered just as Phil thought he would, to which Phil pretended to be iffy on for a minute.

"Okay then, three," Phil finally said, standing back up to full height and looking down at his now smiley son.

"Thanks, Papa!" Dillon yelped, throwing his arms around Phil's middle/waist area. Phil let out a small 'oof!' before patting his son's head and letting him hug him. Eventually Dillon pulled away and ran to pick his dinosaurs. Dan quickly replaced Dillon, wrapping his arms around Phil, causing the older man to giggle and wrap his arms around Dan's waist.

"Thank you," Dan muttered into the crook of Phil's neck. Phil loved the moments like that, when he was reminded of the years before, like in 2009 when he held Dan in the train station, like in 2012 when he told Dan they'd stay together, just times when their bodies were pressed together, two people oblivious to the world and content and happy in each other's arms, two pieces of a puzzle that fit together perfectly, as cheesy as it was.

"You're welcome," Phil replied, enjoying the warm cinnamon smell of Dan's body wash. Eventually the boys untangled themselves from each other's arms and went back to packing.

"Philly," Dan said from where he was squatting next to Winnie who had one of Dillion's dinosaurs sticking out of her mouth. Dan quickly pulled the toy out of her mouth and tossed it to the side before Dillion caught of glimpse of what his sister was doing. The two loved each other, very very deep down. Dan and Phil knew it, but they also knew that if one even looked at something that belonged to the other, it would result in all out war, and no one had time for that when they were about to be stuffed together in close proximity for hours as they flew to America.

"Yes?" Phil asked as he folded Dillion's clothes and neatly set them in the suitcase. Most of which were tee shirts with various graphic designs on them, mostly dinosaurs. The prehistoric reptiles just fascinated Dillion, which always made his father's break into grin. After all, how could someone not find that adorable? It was near impossible.

"You have kid duty, I have to finish our packing, okay?" Dan asked as he made his way out the door, not really giving Phil an option. Little did Dan know, he had a shadow. A small, wiggly, sticky, chubby cheeked, little shadow.

"Ha, looks like you also have Winnie duty," Phil called after Dan, setting down the green dinosaur jumper in his hands to watch Winnie speed crawl after Dan. She could walk... kind of. It was more of waddling, so she mostly crawled around as her main method of transportation. Dan turned around and looked down at the tinny bag of giggles and put his hands on his hips, a stupid grin on his face.

"Where are you going, Winne poo?" Dan asked in a voice a little higher pitched and softer than his usual voice. It was the voice he talked to babies with, everyone had that kind of a voice.

"Wit Dadda," Winnie replied, still on all fours like a dog. Her pastel pink and white sported dress was flipped over so it showed her entire stomach and diaper, which made Dan wonder if they should of put shorts on under it. Dan decided it would be fine, it was only a two year old's diaper anyway.

"No no, Winnie poo, you gotta stay with Papa," Dan argued softly, gesturing to Phil who had gone back to helping Dillion pack and wasn't paying any attention to his husband or daughter.

"No no, I'm go wit Dadda," Winnie said, pulling herself up with Dan's still sticky and gross jeans that he really needed to change. She grabbed Dan's hand and waddled away, like she was trying to get Dan to come with her. Dan followed, like the good Dadda he was.

When they reached the stair case Dan scooped Winnie into his arms, and she didn't protest. She knew better. Both kids did. No one was aloud up the stairs without permission, which helped with the kids being safe and Dan and Phil being safe to do whatever they please in the privacy of their room. Plus, it was funny to watch the kids try and find a loop hole around the whole "no upstairs" rule, like "what if I have to pee and both the downstairs bathrooms explode". That one had to be Dan's favorite.

"Let go uppie!" Winnie sung, waving her chubby arms around in glee. She loved uppie, well, she did when it was somewhere she wanted to go, if Dan or Phil picked her up to go to her bedroom for sleepy time, she threw a fit. Their daughter was as much of a night owl as her fathers. Dan remembered one occasion when he picked her up in the store because she threw a temper tantrum (Dadda didn't get her the candy), and it only made it worse. Dan was so angry that he yelled at his daughter, but regretted it the second her saw how sad it made her. He was so tempted to just buy her the damn candy because he loved her so much, but he held strong, until later that night when he cried in Phil's arms. He couldn't help it, he loved Winnie an awful lot, and seeking her unhappy physically hurt him. She was his baby.

"Yay, uppie!" Dan cheered, wondering how in God's name he was going to pack for both he and Phil and watch Winnie to make sure she didn't get into anything she shouldn't be in. He knew he'd forget something, he just hoped it wasn't watching his daughter, he had no idea how he'd be able to explain to Phil how Winnie managed to swallow a condom. That would traumatize everyone involved, including Dan.

"Are you sure we have everything?" Phil asked for the millionth time. Dan nodded, trying to fiddle with his keys to lock the door. It was hard when you had a wiggly child and about a thousand bags in your arms. Okay, it was two bags, and Phil and even Dillion were carrying more, but still, they weren't carrying a Winnie.

"Yes, love, we have everything," Dan assured his husband.

Turns out they didn't have everything, in the rush to get packed and ready quickly, they forgot toothpaste. Now, since they were spending a week in Florida, they needed toothpaste. So, after hours of kicking and screaming and embarrassment from the flight, Phil had to go to a nearby Walmart and buy some toothpaste. Dan was at the hotel with the kids while Phil went, mainly because there was no way in hell Phil was being left alone with them that moment. Phil loved his kids and was even more patient with them than Dan, but the man needed a break. Even if it was just for 15 minutes, he enjoyed it. It was rare that he was the one who got a break, usually it was Dan before he actually murdered one of their kids.

Phil rushed through the rows upon rows of shelves, many of which were filled with things that seemed less than useless. (Seriously America? Who comes up with a stuffed animal that turns into a demon faced beast when you press a button?) He kept his head low, hoping he wouldn't be noticed by anyone. Usually he loved the fans and didn't mind being recognized and taking a few pictures with them, but he wasn't looking very great at the moment and would rather there not be dozens of copies of a photo where he had greasy hair and stained jeans on covering every social media cite.

Phil finally made his way to the personal hygiene area and scanned the shelves for the toothpaste he and Dan typically used. He found it and grabbed it, making his way to check out. He almost got out of the store without being recognized, until Maria behind the counter wanted a picture. Dammit. The fact that he didn't manage to go the entire shopping trip without being noticed bothered Phil, nevertheless, he took the picture with the girl and gave her hugs. She asked how Dan and the kids were and Phil said they were great and then he left, head down in embarrassment. He probably should of showered and changed before leaving the hotel, but he didn't.

Soon enough he was back in the hotel room, happy to find both Winnie and Dillion happily asleep in their shared bed. They had gotten two twin sized beds in the hotel room and hoped Winnie and Dillion would be okay with sharing, and thank goddess they were or else Phil might just cry. He walked towards the bed of his sleeping children and kissed each of their foreheads lovingly.

"Good night," he whispered to the sleeping forms as he turned to the door. He jumped a little to see someone standing behind him, but soon saw the curly fringe that belonged to his husband and felt relief fill him. Dan had his arms crossed across his chest and a loving smile across his face.

"They were very tired from being little shits for so long," Dan said, gesturing to their children on the bed. Phil giggled a little bit, Dan wasn't the most poetic person. For a boy who knew more words than anyone else Phil knew, he sure seemed to have his favorite words, which were just profanities.

"I'm sure they were, must be hard to embarrass your parents for hours on end," Phil said with a yawn. It was only eight in Florida, but in London it would be one in the morning and it had been a very long day. Dan soon joined Phil in his act of yawning and cursed at Phil for making him tired, though Phil knew it was just Dan being difficult and his words had no vicious intent.

"Let's go to bed," Dan said, giving Phil no real choice and dragging him to their bed. Phil shook his head and pulled out of Dan's grasp.

"Pajamas first," Phil ordered in a hushed voice (suddenly remembering that his kids were sleeping and not wanting to wake them), gesturing to his tight jeans. Dan, on the other had was already in his pajamas and looking very comfortable. Dan rolled his eyes and plopped down on the bed, quickly getting comfortable and tucking himself under the sheets.

Phil walked over to he and Dan's open suitcase (they decided to share because in all honestly neither knew which clothes were even his at that point, but hey, "what's mine is yours" and other shit that comes with marriage) and flipped through the mess of clothes until he found some pajamas. He didn't even bother going into the bathroom to change because his kids were fast asleep and it wasn't like it was anything Dan hadn't seen already. As he pulled off his shirt in one quick motion he heard Dan give a low two toned whistle from their bed and he just rolled his eyes. You'd think that after years of marriage Dan would give up on that cat calling, you'd be wrong. The boy was a massive flirt and since he was married Phil received all of Dan's flirting needs. Sometimes it was sexy but most times it was bloody annoying. Phil quickly shuffled out of his pants and pulled on his pajama shirt and pants before running over to check if the door and all the windows were locked. Once satisfied that they wouldn't be brutally murdered, raped, and/or kidnapped in their sleep, he crawled into bed next to Dan.

"Night night you sexy motherfucker," Dan muttered as he laid his head on Phil's chest, earning a snort of laughter from Phil.

"Night night," Phil replied, wrapping an arm around Dan's waist while using his other hand to pull the blanket over them both. Lots of sex, drugs, and death happened in hotels and Phil quite honestly had to force himself to not think about that to ever sleep in one. Having Dan next to him made it a little better, but bottom line hotels were disgusting and Phil hated them.

Slowly but surely Phil drifted off to sleep, happy that the next morning he and his beautiful family would enjoy the day at Disney World.

"Philly, I shouldn't have read all those Disney horror stories last week, you were right, I'm fucking terrified of this goddamn ride and holly shit I swear that robot just moved," Dan said in one breath, scooting as close as possible to Phil while squeezing his husband's hand so hard it hurt both parties. Phil meanwhile, was only half paying attention to Dan as he was terrified himself, but only because one of his kids, Dillion, was three rows away and he didn't want to lose his. Now, Phil wasn't all that over protective, okay, maybe a little, but any responsible parent would be afraid when their child(ren) could be in harms way, and his baby was so far away! God, Phil was going to have such a hard time sending either of his kids off to uni.

"Love, you'll be fine, they're supposed to move," Phil said, reacting over Winnie and patting Dan's knee with his free hand that wasn't caught in the death grip of a very terrified man. He stretched himself up a little to get a better look Dillion, who seemed to be having a blast. Winnie was laughing her head off in Phil's lap (it was the only way she'd be aloud on the ride and Phil knew the first chance Dan got he'd throw her like a grenade at the first thing that moved) and Dillion seemed to be screaming the lyrics to "It's A Small World". Phil was really happy his kids were having fun, but he still worried. He wished Dillion could of just sat closer to his fathers but nooo he was too cool for that. The little shit.

Eventually the ride was over and Dan was shaking too badly to hold Winnie, so Phil just set her down and told Dillion to hold her hand. Dillion was going to refuse but Phil gave him the "I swear to God if you don't do what I told you, you're grounded until you go off to uni" face and he obliged.

After a few rides where Phil and Dillion went on alone while Dan stayed on a bench nearby with Winnie, the color started to come back to Dan's face and they could go on a few more rides as a family. Then, Dillion and Winnie managed to get their fathers to get some ice cream eam (or 'i cweam', in Winnie's case), and they stopped by a nearby Dip-n-Dots cart.

"Winnie Pooh, you like your ice cream?" Dan asked, holding the now empty spoon Winnie had just taken a bite off of (Dan was feeding her because Winnie didn't really understand the concept of hot and cold yet, or spoons for that matter). Winnie nodded eagerly, a trail of melted pink ice cream falling down her cheek that Dan quickly whipped away.

"I cweam!" Winnie exclaimed, clapping her somehow-sticky hands to show her excitement. "Yum!"

Dan smiled affectionately at his daughter and felt a cold kiss on his cheek from Phil. "I swear to got Phil if you got fucking ice cream on my cheek I'm getting a divorce," Dan said, a smile on his face because there was no way he'd actually divorce Phil. He turned to his husband who had a huge grin on his face.

"Ops," Phil said, licking his thumb and rubbing it on Dan's cheek where he'd just kissed him. Dan scrunched his eyes in disgust.

"Ewie, 'pit!" Winnie cried, slapping her hands over her eyes in disgust.

"Exactly Winnie, 'ewie 'pit'," Dan replied, pushing Phil's hand away from his face and replacing his thumb with a napkin, like that would magically make the DNA on his face disappear.

"Stop with the PDA!" Dil said from across the table. "You guys are gross!"

Both Dan and Phil laughed at that, because somewhere down the line they'd become the gross couple that's always hugging and kissing in public with two adorable kids that were messy as hell. At that, was the dream. They were living the dream, a wish they wished many years before, before they even met, and as they say in the land of dreams, "when you wish upon a star, your dreams come true".

#Dan and Phil #phan #phanfiction #parent!phan #fluff #Daniel Howell #amazingphil #phanfic

26 notes · View notes

palaveritas-blog · 8 years ago

Text

Woman in Space

I spent a week on Maui as a solo traveler (for most of the time, anyway. Friends were staying nearby, and I rendezvoused with them a few times.)

Traveling alone isn’t a sad thing, and doesn’t usually bother me until I encounter the fences our society erects against women who are alone. The Puritans, suspicious of women who lived and went alone, used to mollify their fear of unaccompanied women by exiling them to the outskirts of villages, and perhaps accusing them of witchcraft, and horrifically executing them.

Today, people still deal with the “problem” of women alone in their space by hiding or ignoring them. Restaurants aggressively try to hide you, either pointing you to the bar, or seating you in the very back by the kitchen. If you’re lucky, they’ll ask you first if you’d like to be seated in the bar; but most of the time, they’ll just direct you there without asking. Waitstaff from certain cultures will utterly ignore a woman seated alone, perhaps infected by the latent assumption that she’s a prostitute, or that no respectable woman could be in an eating establishment unaccompanied by a man and children. The frosty reception is amplified when the woman is fat, older, or not conventionally attractive. Couples and families with children are served first, even if they came in after you did. I even found a diner in Oregon who seated families with children first, making me wait until the lobby had been emptied of these more important customers. I asked the hostess why people who’d come in after me were seated first. She shrugged. “We’re a family-friendly place,” she said. “Children get cranky when they get hungry. We want to make sure they get fed soon. Don’t you?” Ah yes. How dare I, lone woman, insist on being served before the children. I gave her menu back and walked out.

On flights, I’ll sometimes be asked if I can change seats, because a couple or family neglected to book their own adjoining seats ahead of time, and now want to make it my problem. “No, I need to sit here, by the window,” I’ve lied in the past. “I’ll get nauseous if I don’t sit by the window.” The flight attendant usually backs off when I mention nausea. I don’t get sick. But I do prefer a window seat, which is why I book one in advance. Larger parties should take the trouble to do the same, instead of expecting me to yield--once again--to their sense of entitlement. I don’t yield. It shocks the parties who’ve demanded that I move. People have come to expect that a lone woman yield to them; they still hold to unexamined tribal hierarchies: the child-producing members of the tribe are entitled to have their needs met first, and the old maids are expected to help fulfill those needs. You can watch as people almost comically fail to process it when one of the old maids simply says “No. No, I’m not going to do that. No, you can’t have my share. No, I’m not going to give this up for you.”

Excursions offer their own barriers. “We need a minimum of two people,” several private boat charters told me. I’d have to pay for two people to charter a private snorkel boat. I went on a large-group snorkel cruise to Molokini, where I struggled to find a seat. Larger parties blocked off seats with their towels and bags. I finally moved someone’s backpack to sit down, and a couple who wanted that bench glared at me the entire time. “Why doesn’t she yield to us? Do we have to say something? Doesn’t she know that as a couple, we’re more important than some lone, middle-aged woman? Look at her, thinking she deserves that seat while we stand.” I didn’t yield. The “camera guy,” who putters around the boat in SCUBA gear while we’re anchored at Molokini, and takes pictures of passengers to sell to them later, takes zero pictures of me. Only families and couples are captured.

I get to my favorite beach early in the morning. I find a perfect spot in the shade, and set up my chair. Few other people are there; a few older folks are exercise-walking the length of the beach. By 10:30 a.m., the beach is filling up. A family arrives, multiple children yet the woman’s pregnant again, unfurling their blanket less than a foot from my chair. I look like I’m part of their group, but they don’t greet me or ask, “Hey, do you mind if we sit over here?” It’s like I’m not even there. There’s no concept of “personal space” when you’re a woman alone. Your personal space is considered a lending library, to be checked out and used when people with more power and privilege need it.

From the beach, I move on to lunch and shopping at an open-air mall. I’m again directed to the bar without an inquiry into my seating preference; “No,” I say. “A booth please. In the main dining room.” I browse shops. Shop employees follow me intently and suspiciously with their eyes, but say nothing. I’m the demographic likely to shoplift--alone, quiet, focused, unencumbered by kids. When larger parties enter, the employees are chirpy and friendly. The larger parties buy nothing, but I buy a small painting I like. They’re still friendlier to the mom and grandma with kids.

Walking down the street, larger parties walk three or four abreast, blocking the entire sidewalk. I used to yield to this when I was young; I used to walk around them, even if I had to enter the street or walk in the gutter. In London once, I had an unpleasant time dragging my suitcase into a rainy gutter, where it tipped over, because three women who were walking abreast wouldn’t make way. That was many years ago; I wasn’t 30 yet. Now, I bust right through parties who don’t yield enough sidewalk to me. I knocked a shopping bag out of a young Asian woman’s hand one time on Pine St., after she and her friends walked in a solid wall formation and wouldn’t yield a path for me on the sidewalk. I plowed right through them like they weren’t even there, and I didn’t turn around or apologize. I don’t walk in the gutter for people anymore. I’ll walk right through any party who acts like a lone woman isn’t enough to move for. In the airport, I plowed through a party who was blocking the entire walkway to the restrooms. I yanked my rolling laptop case right through them, running over some feet. Two women with giant mega-strollers were blocking the front door at Trader Joe’s, talking, oblivious to anyone trying to get in. I kicked the wheel of the stroller so it would move over, and put my arm out to push aside one of the women. I didn’t even look at them. There was gasping. Too bad. Next time, get out of my way. I no longer give people generous advances in respect. There’s no credit available here. You’ll get the same respect that you show me, and not a bit more. I’m not interested in your approval. If you show me no respect, you’ll get no respect in return.

Last summer, I visited a famous waterfall that’s usually mobbed by tourists. I got there around 7:30 a.m., though, and was the first one there. I find that early mornings of tourism are much more rewarding and pleasant for a lone woman traveler. I sat and enjoyed the fountain’s roar and rainbow-shot mist in the fountain’s green, cool alcove for some time before a young couple arrived. “Could you take our picture?” they asked, extending their phone to me. “No,” I said, returning my gaze to the waterfall, treating them with the same indifference they’d show me if they didn’t want something out of me. They hovered there a few seconds in disbelief. The woman gaped. “You can’t just take our picture?” she sputtered. I shook my head, and waved them away with my hand without looking at them. The man with her steered her away before she could scold me for not doing her bidding, mumbling, “We’re sorry to bother you.” I’m not here for you. I’m here for myself. If I were with a partner and kids, you would never presume to bother me; you would think I was too busy, too important to accost. Guess what: I am too busy, and too important to accost. Solo women are not free labor for you. We are not here to make your trip more special.

I’m on a flight to Dallas, for a business trip. The woman across the aisle from me wants to go to the lavatory, but has a toddler with her. She reaches out and pokes my shoulder while I’m reading. “Hey, would you mind watching my kid while I go to the bathroom?” She didn’t ask the man sitting on the other side of the toddler; she looked around for the nearest woman. It doesn’t matter if you’re a complete stranger as long as you have tits, apparently. “Take the toddler with you,” I responded coldly. “I’m not here to babysit for you.” “OK whatever!” she spat, with bitter laughter. “Obviously you don’t have kids!” No, I don’t. I didn’t want them, and chose not to burden myself and the rest of the planet with them. I am not designated drop-in childcare for you just because I’m a woman. Just because I’m a woman alone doesn’t mean I’m waiting here for some stranger to assign me unpaid labor.

I went to church for some ten years, when I still believed in that bullshit. There were two developmentally disabled parishioners there, and I noticed something over the years: married parishioners speak to older single women and the disabled parishioners the same way: with condescension, with commingled pity and revulsion, with stiffly forced tolerance, with icy smiles. There’s the same pained smile, the same wearied, impatient disappointment if their targets answer the question, “how are you?” with anything but the word, “fine”. The disabled parishioners were valued for their free labor, and nothing else; the same with the church’s ineligible “old maids.” Childcare, coffee service, kitchen cleanup, Altar Guild, photocopying...that is the realm of the spinster at church. She is never a thought leader of any kind; she is never assisted. She carries 10-gallon buckets of baptismal font water to the sink to empty by herself, while the important marrieds glad-hand and chit-chat in the narthex, ignoring her. She stays until midnight cleaning up after Maundy Thursday service, because the more important families “have school the next morning, you understand.” She’s invited to events where she can work and donate, but her labor and money are all that interest church leadership.

A member of the Vestry who typically ignored me approached me once after services. She is going to ask me to volunteer to do work, I said to myself. Sure enough, she said, her eyes glittering with artificial warmth, “A little bird told me you’d be interested in volunteering in the daycare!” “Your little bird was misinformed!” I chirped, borrowing the same insincere gleam, and walking away from her. It was like that for years: marrieds don’t acknowledge you unless they need some work done. I volunteered to cook and serve at The Lord’s Supper, a weekly dinner for the poor of the community. At the end of each evening, after all the diners had left, and all the cleanup was finished, the two married couples who volunteered with me would go to a nearby pub for drinks and snacks. I was never invited. All social events were for families and couples.

As it turns out, Jesus didn’t give a shit about me giving up my Saturdays to clean communion wine stains out of tablecloths or count out wafers or scrape candle wax off floors. Jesus did not bring me a husband or even so much as a friend with benefits; he didn’t give a rat’s ass about my prayers. 2.2 billion fools all over the world pray to Jesus, but just like his followers really only seem to hear your voice if you’re male, married, or have kids, he really only hears the voices of a couple million or so whom he happens to know well already. He just keeps on doing the usual: blessing the same people over and over again, the white, able-bodied, attractive, and rich. I left his house and his people. I don’t do free labor for anyone but my closest friends and family anymore.

Wow, what a bitch, some of you are thinking. You could just be a little nicer to people. You could just try to be less adversarial, and not assume that people are intentionally ignoring you or relegating you to a lower class. Oh, but I did that, and yes, they are. For more than 20 years, I did that. Volunteering to be the candlelighter at weddings, and decorate the reception hall, and serve nuts and coffee at receptions, because that was the highest post I’d ever be allowed: never asked to be a bridesmaid, and destined never to be the bride. Volunteering to arrange flowers and hem veils and bridesmaid’s dresses. Volunteering as a babysitter for friends as they started to have kids. Volunteering at church. Buying literally thousands of dollars worth of wedding and baby and child birthday gifts; even flying to other states to attend the birthday parties of one-year-olds. Making cake toppers for the weddings of smug couples who would later tell me it seemed like I was “spinning my wheels” and “still in a holding pattern” because I wasn’t married and child-burdened myself.

And then I noticed something. No matter what I did, no matter how much care or trouble or elegance or expense or patience or brilliance I put into whatever I offered, it just wasn’t good enough. For ten years or so, I’d get a new invitation at least once a month to a child’s birthday party...from people who couldn’t ever be bothered to remember when my own birthday was. I was laid off from work for several months about 15 years ago, and when I told people at church about this, and asked if I could send them my resume for open jobs in their companies, no one would even let me email them my resume. The wife of one who declined to look at my resume for an open position at his company (for which I was well-qualified, actually) ran into me while I was working the church copy machine. She casually mentioned to me that it was too bad I wasn’t having much luck finding a job, but said that was probably because people in my profession were “a dime a dozen.” So I hustled on my own, and got hired at another company within four months of being laid off. So much for the welcoming arms of the church community; when you’re a single woman over 30, “community” is something you pay into for others, not something you’re allowed to draw from. For the coupled-up, it’s natural to accept the labor and works of a solo woman, but it’s somehow too awkward, expensive, and troublesome to return those efforts in kind.

That time I served nuts and coffee at a friend’s wedding reception, I remember one moment about it vividly. A college classmate of my friend’s and mine chatted when she came over to the coffee table. Seeing that I was slacking off at my volunteer duty by chatting with an acquaintance, the groom’s aunt surged up to the table. She jerked back the lid of a silver coffee pot and shoved the pot at my nose, nearly splashing my face with coffee. “This coffee pot is almost empty. Perhaps you could do as you were asked, and make sure there’s enough coffee and nuts?” She slammed the pot back onto the table and stalked off, relaxing the muscles in her face from the contemptuous rage reserved for undefended, unknown young women to the festive felicity she saved for her nephew’s friends and family. My acquaintance slunk away, embarrassed by the incident. I felt guilty. I’d been letting my friends down! I walked back to the kitchen and started a new pot of coffee immediately.

Today, I’d have a different and far less obsequious response. Well, today, I wouldn’t volunteer for such duty at all. “Thanks, but I’m busy. I think you can hire people to do this,” I would respond, knowing now what I didn’t know then: solo women who do favors for marrieds and families are not rewarded, with respect, with equal labor in kind, or with greater intimacy with the friends they serve. Today, I do favors for myself, and I reward myself.

7 notes · View notes

viralhottopics · 8 years ago

Text

Neil Gaiman: I like being British. Even when Imashamed, Im fascinated

The books interview: The award-winning author on his new book of Norse mythology, Brexit and being an Englishman in New York

Neil Gaiman wanders into the Crosby Hotels colourful parlour in lower Manhattan looking like the Platonic ideal of himself. Hes all wild hair and gracious manners, dressed in a lived-in black wool coat, which he keeps on throughout. He loves this hotel, he says, not least because the concierge writes a comic about Houdini with the former concierge.

Gaiman started out in comics, reading them as a child and eventually writing them too, including his famous Sandman series. So does this happen to him often, his very presence tempting out underground comics enthusiasts all over the globe? I wish I could say yes. It would be a much more interesting and sort of Pynchon-esque world. But no, its just here.

Gaiman looks a little tired. He has just come from feeding breakfast to his toddler youngest son, the progeny of his second marriage to the singer-songwriter Amanda Palmer. (He has three children with his first wife, Mary McGrath.) His creative life is a whirlwind of projects. The television version of his 2001 novel American Gods is to air in the US in April. He has also been at work on an adaptation of his 1990 collaboration with Terry Pratchett, Good Omens, for Amazon and the BBC, on which he is serving as showrunner. Meanwhile, there is the matter of writing books, the latest of which is Gaimans retelling of Norse myths in the straightforwardly titled Norse Mythology, out this week.

It has clearly been a struggle to find the time. I would look up every now and again and go, OK, I have a week. Good, I will retell a story. These are drawn from the 13th-century source texts for many Norse myths, the Prose Edda and Poetic Edda, which he first read in his 30s, after absorbing the superhero stories inspired by them in Marvel comics as a child growing up in West Sussex. With such a haphazard schedule, it has taken around eight years to write the book, the idea for which was first floated by his American editor at Gaimans birthday lunch in 2008.

Listing all of Gaimans achievements could fill a book on its own. In addition to the comics, he is the author of novels for adults and children including Neverwhere, The Graveyard Book and The Ocean at the End of the Lane. He has written original screenplays and seen his work adapted by others, too, such as the 2009 stop-motion version of Coraline. He has been nominated for and won countless awards, including the Hugos, Nebulas and Eisners.

An illustration from Neil Gaimans The Graveyard Book

Gaimans love of Norse mythology surfaces frequently in his work, not least in American Gods, which captures a battle between Odin and Loki. But in embarking on the retellings in Norse Mythology, Gaiman found himself faced with new limitations, as much information about the gods is missing. On Greeks and Romans, for example, we have scads of stuff, but the Norse werent writing it down, he explains. They were telling the stories, so everything we have was written down after the event. The holes and the contradictions that result from the oral tradition presented creative choices, but he felt an acute responsibility to be faithful to the traditional versions.

I have to play fair with the Norse scholars and I have to play fair with kids who pick up the book and read it and think they know the stories. And so I may add colour, I may add motivation, Id go and put in my own dialogue. I may draw inferences, he says. All that stuff Im allowed to do, but I feel like Im not allowed to just go, OK, theres a patch of canvas missing here. Im going to draw something in

Even so, Gaimans personal sensibility is apparent in the text. His affection for Loki, for instance, shines through: Loki is very handsome. He is plausible, convincing, likable, and far and away the most wily, subtle and shrewd of all the inhabitants of Asgard. It is a pity, then, that there is so much darkness inside him: so much anger, so much envy, so much lust.

Gaiman attributes his love of Loki to his novelists eye. You always end up fascinated by who changed, and how they change, because the engine of fiction is who are you at the beginning of the story and who are you at the end. Thor, bless his heart, has no narrative arc: he is the same person all the way through. He is not the brightest hammer in the room, but hes good hearted, and you know he will die at the end, but he dies the same person hes been all the way through. In contrast, Loki is both the devil and the saviour of the gods. Almost every story where theyre in trouble, its because Loki got them into it. Also, an awful lot of the time, hes the only one smart enough to get them out of it.

He declares a real joy in passing these things on. Its like being given something that belongs to humanity and polishing it and cleaning it up and putting it back out there.

Gaimans enthusiasm for myths also extends to the Egyptians and the Greeks. He can reel off similarities between ancient stories, and says he doesnt just tell the stories, he feels them on some emotional level. The glory of some of these myths is that they feel right, he explains, although he also concedes that every now and then youll hit a myth and go, No, I cant really get behind that. Really, we get licked out of the ice by a cow? OK, if you say so. (Hes referring there to the myth of Audhumla, which he includes in Norse Mythology, despite his scepticism.)

As Gaiman wrestled with these stories, he says, he had no idea he was writing a topical book. But then, as political events unfolded in the second half of 2016, he could not help but draw parallels. For me, it was Ragnark, he says, referring to the apocalyptic end of the gods. It begins with a long winter, continues with earthquakes and flooding, and then the sky splits apart.

The view that Brexit and the election of President Trump have brought about chaos and even a sense of impending doom is widely held, but Gaimans version of it is particularly eloquent. I remember the 80s and the nuclear clock and the cold war and Russia and America and [thinking] I hope you guys dont press buttons and it would be very nice to not live in the shadow of everything ending, he says. But at least at that point, what you were scared of was just one action. Now one is scared of the accretion of a million actions and a million inactions.

He says there is a strange kind of magical thinking afoot and tells me about waking up the morning after Brexit in a hotel in Scotland and checking the result, then having that sort of moment at the end of Planet of the Apes where Charlton Heston sees the Statue of Liberty … I was going, Oh, no. Are you really

Gaiman has, in recent years, divided his time between the UK and the US, but he is not an American citizen and has fallen off the electoral roll in the UK, so he wasnt able to vote in either the Brexit referendum or the US election. Im frustrated not being able to vote over here, he says. Im like, well, I pay lots of taxes to the US and the UK, but I dont want to become an American citizen. I like being English. I like being British. Even when Im ashamed, Im fascinated.

Indeed, he clearly is. He does a very good imitation of the cab drivers he encountered in London leading up to the Brexit vote, who seemed to believe that, ultimately, the thing they were about to do was of no consequence: The EUs not going to let us go … . Regarding the Trump vote, he says: At the end of the day, what I think was being voted for was change. People were saying Were fed up and were not being listened to, and unfortunately that wasnt being offered by the other side. The appeal of Bernie Sanders was he was standing up there saying This thing is fucked, and the problem with Hillary was she was standing up there and saying Things are good, theyre getting better.

Genuine worry furrows Gaimans brow, but he has plans to respond to current events. His following is huge, including 2.5 million people on Twitter and the millions who read his books and his blog and watch his television shows. He intends to use that platform to highlight the plight of refugees. He hopes, too, to double down on his longstanding activism to promote freedom of speech. I wrote an essay on my blog in 2009 called Why Defend Freedom of Icky Speech?, he says, Which just becomes more and more timely. I have a 14-month-old son, and a four-month-old grandson. I have no idea what kind of world theyre going to grow up in. Im going to do my best with the time and the intellectual effort remaining to me to do whatever I can to give them a good world, he says.

Ragnark, as Gaiman writes in Norse Mythology, is of course the end of something. But there is also what will come after the end, he adds. In his version the sun comes out. Something glitters in the grass. The gods children find a set of golden chess pieces waiting for them. They arrange them on a board, and then one of them makes a move. And, Gaiman concludes, the game begins anew.