#wanted to draw a gilf what can i say | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

luvmxmh · 3 years ago

Text

dad fit meets grandmacore

ADRIAN APPRECIATION WEEK

Day 2: favorite outfit / fake dating

Pairing: Adrian Chase/Reader

Disclaimers: gender-neutral reader but is described with traditionally-feminine clothing, a police officer interrupts adrian and reader making out

Word Count: 1.8k

Summary:

“—can you call me Adrian now?”

You blink, trying to reorient yourself for a second. How in the Vigilante logic did the pain not register for him?

You know what? Fuck this.

Grabbing him by his collar, you kiss him intensely.

“Sure thing Adrian.” is the last thing you say to him before making your way out of the car.

Is your life a goddamn sitcom?

Author's Note: i have accepted the fact that i can never be punctual a day in my life (unfortunately). so um i'll be double posting day 2 & 3 within today and day 4 a little more later than that

Cross-posted on AO3

Black ops meetings often mean you have to dress professionally—or as professional as you can get without drawing attention from other civilians.

It’s not exactly an inconvenience to you. You’re a bit on the meticulous side of things when it comes to conjuring an outfit of the day. But it does feel like a two-person household whenever you assess your closet.

On one end of the rack, there are clothes dark enough to be worn by Harcourt. They’re your go-to for whatever the hell ARGUS assigns you to. That is, unless they’re sending you undercover.

Then here’s the clothes you wear that made some kids from your block call you… grandma.

You really shouldn’t get agitated over this. These are the stuff you like to wear off-mission. So what? It was either this, or vintage housewife—which you’re actually relatively impartial about. At first you thought it would be funny to wear your grandmother’s hand-me-downs, then you realized how comfortable you felt in them and that fanaticism for old people-esque clothes spiraled from there.

You’re glad the team never hangs out at Fennel Fields anymore. Their penne is gamey and you can’t risk being associated with Chase at his other job. The only exception might be Peacemaker, who’s known to be the object of Chase’s shameless admiration.

You’re quite glad you hang out with a posse of weirdos, because you don’t think anyone else will tolerate a thirty-something year old hanging around the block in what looks like some Golden Girl cosplay. You’re the agent usually sent for infiltration missions, so it’s ironic and you like it.

“Do they always look this suspicious in casual wear?”

Speak of the devil.

“No, Leota.” You sit down between her and Economos, “I’m just fifty-years-old.”

Economos sighs, “Yeah that’s just how they dress outside missions.”

“I don’t think even young grandmas look this young!” Smith exclaims, his gloved hand referring to you as you remove your sunglasses. It’s not even that dark out, but you went with it because summer solstice basically chose your outfit consisting of a floral head scarf, a cardigan over a button-up and long, breezy skirt. It just made sense to you to wear it today, tripping over air aside.

“I was half-expecting you to show up in clogs,” Harcourt quips.

Okay, wow.

“So I’m resident grandma now?” You grumble. You don’t want to admit you did almost wear clogs because you couldn’t find your more comfortable doll shoes from the rest. “Don’t answer that. It’s rhetorical.”

“I think you look great,” Chase says to you from across the booth, “If I were a grandma I’d think you’re super fashionable.”

Smith scoffs and elbows him, “Stop sucking up to them, dude. You look like a single father who’s sworn to only go after cougars now.”

“I’m not! And I don’t! I’m bisexual and I don’t discriminate against gender, race and even age. Hypothetically, if I was a GILF hunter, I would proudly say it.”

“I appreciate the compliment Chase, but never say GILF ever again.” You sigh.

Adebayo nods in agreement and resignation while Economos already has his face in his hands.

Harcourt rolls her eyes, “Okay guys, that’s enough.”

It doesn’t take long for your group to get comfortable (if they weren’t already) as your meals get served. Dinner is as mundane as usual; it’s probably to offset all the other non-civilian shit you do on (mostly) weekdays.

The restaurant sends a waitress to politely kick you out once they’re nearing closing time. Adebayo and Harcourt carpooled here together while Economos, Adrian and Smith have their own cars.

It’s too late into the night to catch a bus ride, and you’re certain your feet will kill you if you walk. You really should’ve biked your way here. You spot Chase fiddling with his pockets

“Hey,” you say when you approach him, “Is it okay if I tag along with? I don’t have a ride home, and I’m too anxious to wait at any of the stops here.”

“Oh, sure I don’t mind. Just—just hold on a sec.”

It’s your usual summer night, and you’re glad most of what you’re wearing right now are modestly appropriate for the chill. You lean back to Chase’s car, trying not to imagine what his muscles look like beneath his wool sweater.

“You look like a Golden Girl, you know.”

For effect, you try to pose like they did. Unfortunately, their signature poses would consist of four people. You aren’t four people in the physical sense, but right now you don’t think undercover identities could be relevant to the conversation.

“Is this a good enough impression.”

He blinks and you quickly drop the dramatic stance. How embarrassing. You pretend to rummage around the messenger bag you’ve slung on your shoulder. Not in a across-the-body type of sling of course, lest it disrupts your aesthetic.

You didn’t even confirm if he’s watched Golden Girls. Goddamnit. You try not to remember how strangely you’ve inflected the word ‘impression’. Goddamnit. Oh man. Goddamnit.

“Sorry, um. Forget I did that.”

As if on cue, he grins at you brightly, like you actually made him forget on command. What weirdos, the both of you.

“Well, I think you look cute. Even for a grandma.”

“You look great yourself,” you say, scanning his outfit, “Dad.”

He looks down at his shirt-sweater combo before looking back up to you, “Do I really look like a dad?”

“You kind of stand like one too.”

“I’m not posing.”

You laugh. “Scared you’ll embarrass yourself like I did?”

“Yes to the first half and no to the other half,” he says, “I don’t think it was embarrassing. Maybe a bit awkward for your angles, though.”

Once he finally finds his keys he opens the car door for you and you attempt to get in as gracefully as you can manage with your skirt on.

This would be the first time you have been inside Chase’s Sebring. “Your bat-mobile’s nice.”

“Dude.” He looks at you incredulously as he gets into the driver’s seat. “It’s the Vigilante-mobile.”

You shrug, “Same difference.”

“I don’t know what made you think that, or what even was your thought process behind that, but—”

Throughout the ride he gets into multiple tangents from what you started the conversation with. You can’t exactly complain. His enthusiasm rubs off on you, magnified by the jazz playing on the radio when he put a DVD in.

It dawns to you how little you feel the time has passed when Chase parks by the curb to your apartment building..

“So… this is your stop.”

“I know where my house is, Chase,” you chuckle. “Nervous that the night’s ending?”

From what you could distinguish from his expression, he seems disappointed. His gaze remains fixed at the road, and you wish he would at least look at you as you take your leave. “Honestly, kinda. You’ve been great company.”

They orange glow of the nearby lamp post and the harsh shine of the moonlight paints a pretty picture on his face. Or maybe he’s just really handsome, you honestly can’t tell.

There’s a feeling in your chest that compels you to move closer to him—a leap of faith—, a tentative something that just feels right.

Just as you lean forward to press a chaste kiss on his cheek, he turns his head to you.

Chase looks as surprised as you feel. You probably look like a duck from his perspective right now.

You break the accidental lip-lock, ready to apologize when he dives in straight for your lips. He’s intense, probably out of practice but the way he’s holding down your thigh and your face right now is oh my god—

You wrap your arms around his neck, desperate to feel him closer. He caresses the space between your ear and your jawline as he cradles your face in his palms. It almost feels too intimate, like you’re rushing into this but you lost all care in the world when he kisses you with such fervor you forgot this isn’t what you’ve planned for,

Chase pulls away to catch his breath. You can’t say you blame him, but his flustered face leaves you breathless in a different sort of way.

“I’ve been—”

A series of knocks interrupt him, catching both of you off-guard. You look behind him to see a police officer. Motherfucker.

Even through the window, his voice is audible. “My God, what are you kids doing in there?”

Oh, holy shit.

“It’s alright officer, we're divorced.”

After that awkward confrontation with the officer, it leaves you in a weird limbo of a situation with Chase.

“So what do we—”

“Hey, I think I’ve liked you—”

“You what?”

Chase does this weird thing with his lips where it scrunches along his nose. It’s strange but you wait for him to say his piece.

“I think I’ve liked you for a while and I just wanted to let you know that. I know I’m not the best at expressing my emotions but you just… bring it out of me.”

“... seriously?”

“If I was being sarcastic, I think I would say it.”

You stare at him in astonishment, so he proceeds to say, “I was about to ask you earlier if we could hang out, just the two of us this time. Then that cop just had to show up to ruin the mood—”

“I’d love to!” you say, more enthusiastically than expected, “I mean, yeah. I’d love to.”

“Okay,” he nods. “Okay. Okay. That’s more than great.”

You place a hand on his shoulder, preparing to lean in to kiss his cheek— for real this time—as a way to say goodnight.

“Oh, and one last thing—!”

The first time, it sent your mind reeling because of how romantic (albeit a bit dubious descriptor you have to admit) it was. The second time he accidentally fucking headbutts you.

“—can you call me Adrian now?”

You blink, trying to reorient yourself for a second. Is his head made out of stone? How in the Vigilante logic did the pain not register for him?

You know what? Fuck this.

Grabbing him by his collar, you kiss him intensely before making your way out of the car.

“Sure thing Adrian!”

Is your life a goddamn sitcom?

You flop on top of your comforter (“—ow!”), burying your face in them. It’s not even past eight yet but you feel exhausted already.

Adrian’s (Oh my goodness, Adrian. That’s half of his government name that you could say now) probably still driving to his place. You hope he’s touching his lips, thinking about yours, like some rom-com scene.

Sitting back against your pillows, you put on your bifocals to continue your progress in candy crush, using solely your index finger to move the colorful candies. For all your denial, you do act like a grandma. And for the sake of fashion stereotypes (and your amusement), you hope Adrian acts a little like a dad too.

#acweek22 #my writing #peacemaker #adrian chase #adrian chase/reader #adrian chase x reader #vigilante/reader #vigilante x reader

34 notes · View notes

theyakuzaswife · 4 years ago

Note

Currently thinking about Overhaul’s absolute GILF of a dad. Currently thinking about flirting with his pop even though you work for him. Currently thinking about getting triple decker railed by pops. Will soon be thinking about Overhaul finding out you got destroyed by pops and losing his mind.

Oh my god forgive me mutuals and besties for the things I’m about to say. elaine dont judge me

So let’s get something out of the way first yeah? I was thinking about this for like half and hour and I’ve decided on something. You know this one drawing I did theorizing Pop’s body? Also please sexualize him

He may not even be buff at all, HOWEVER my horny dilf fucked brain is going to say he is so I can justify it 😾 point is, if he is still that buff at that age, I think he’d still have enough sense stamina left for a good fuck contrary to what I’ve said before. I literally live with a man who was required to always be fit and muscular for his job, and more than a decade and a half later, he doesn’t bear any signs that would let you think that since he’s gained more weight and stopped working out. THEREFORE if Pops still is that buff I imagine he is keeping it that way with fitness, and if he has enough stamina to work out HE 👏 CAN 👏 FUCK.

Now onto the actual ask. I feel like if you flirted with him, he would be oblivious at first. Has he had his fair share of women throughout his life? Yes. Had he flirted with and been flirted with on multiple occasions? Yes. But he’s an old man and he doesn’t expect a healthy, single, well bodied younger person such as yourself to want to be with him so he just thinks you are a particularly spicy person if that makes sense. However, the flirting eventually gets to the point he seriously has to consider if this is just your way of showing affection in general, or showing your fondness to him in particular. Maybe one day he decides to do a small flirt back to test his theory, and if you give a reaction he expects, then well... you may be taking your relationship to the next level.

Now, Pops is old, but he isn't dumb. In fact you could easily argue that because of his age he is smarter... I mean he's certainly smarter and more self aware than Kai at least, so when you start fucking, he is fairly wary. It isn't against you, but he's had people try all kinds of methods to kill him before. He's been shot at, people have tried to stab him, poison him, etc. He's a yakuza boss. This being said your first few times he's fairly wary of you. He still isn't totally convinced you are into him of all people, why not his son? His son is just as good as him, just more immature, at least in his eyes if only he knew. For all he knows, you could be an assassin and as soon as he gets you into bed, you'll turn on him and try to kill him. That being said, the sex is probably slow and vanilla at first so he can remain aware and alert, he's also the dominant in the 'relationship', no sub Pops here, and likely the top as well the first few times. However if you get to the degree that he can trust you, he will do different things with you. Like bottoming although he still remains in control, like allowing you to ride him. He also begins to let himself go a bit more, so after a while he's a lot more rough and fast. He might even be interested in trying his favorite kink with you: Shibari. He likes the creativity it brings and also the control he has when he has you bound. Let's time skip a bit and let's just say that after a while of your sexual relationship, he's a lot more rough. He loves to have you bound while he absolutely wrecks your body. It's safe to say your poor little body will usually be destroyed when he is done with you.

The likelihood of Kai finding out is low, but not none. Unless you try to get Pops into a romantic relationship, he will treat your relationship professionally publicly, and sexually privately. He makes it fairly clear he doesn't want this to be a thing people know about, even his son. However, I did say the chance he finds out isn't zero. Cue the trope of Kai walking by his room, and hearing you two going at it. Of course, Kai isn't a total virgin and knows things about sex, so he immediately has his theories when he hears you two. The small, low occasional groans of his father and the mewls of you, although he doesn't know it's you specifically, with a chorus of wet slapping on skin and a creaking bed. He tries to make up things at first, maybe it's not his father at all and it's some random underlings wanting to have a spicy scene by using the Boss's bed, so he opens the door open slightly, and his suspicions are confirmed when he sees his old man railing you into the next day. He would immediately shut the door, and for a moment he is just there in shock. He doesn't even know how to process it, so he just leaves. He doesn't mention anything to either of you. Not only because the sheer idea of such a conversation is mortifying, but also because he doesn't want to even know anyways. He's just going to keep what he saw to himself, although the image will be engraved in his mind for a lifetime.

#shie hassaikai #pops mha #boss mha #mha pops #mha boss #hassaikai thirst #mha x reader #mha #bnha

18 notes · View notes

tomiyeee · 4 years ago

Note

2, 5, 7, 13, 17, and 20 (you gave me so many lol)

under cut cuz it’s long(er than usual)

2) What do you like most about the series?

hm. if im honest, im not entirely sure! i think at least part of what got me hooked and why the series has remained so entertaining for me is just the sheer ridiculousness of it. the faces and animations, the whole concept of an ancient alien race whose society revolves around racing cars...it’s great! i don’t mean this in a bad way or that i dont take any fan content seriously, i just find it amusing looking at my content of it and thinking “man. this from a kids’ show about cars.” makes it much easier to enjoy what i make and not take it all too seriously. im just here to have fun!

5) Favorite & least favorite car(s)?

mm i answered already but i realize those were only acceleracers cars sooo…

fav: markie’s stingray..i always say this but it’s vanilla flavored..it’s so pretty

least fav: gosh all these cars are so ugly it’s hard to pick just one...i’ll just go by teams lol

wave rippers - alec’s truck is so bulky and ugly and boring *graffiti’s on it in vr chat*

street breed - side draft is such a stupid name

road beasts - moto-crossed. what the fuck?

dune ratz - kadeem i love you but...sir ur car…

scorchers - red baron. the fucking. driver has to bend over just to see out the vehicle, how is this a car

7) Favorite scene or line?

vert house scene in BP. i’ve probably watched/listened to BP at least twice as many times as any of the other movies. nolo isn’t in this scene but i like vert too and he looked cute and had nice voice acting so it’s in second place. what can i say, i cant stand action and eating lunch in the cafeteria and talking to ur dad at home is about as far from action as you can get :)

13) What ships do you like (if any)?

i have them all listed on my blog but i wanna talk about some of em that have been on my mind a lot anyway:

vertnolo - tbh i can’t see either of them being very romantic, esp with each other. they aren’t so much boyfriends as they are just friends who like to kiss lol. this ship is almost purely self-indulgence which im a little embarrassed about sometimes but hghhh. i love vert and i love nolo and instead of loving both of them individually, why not love two boys with one ship? :)

banjee/kadeem - they had very cute exchanges in world race and i would’ve loved to see more of them!

banjee/ez/skeet - damn banjee how come i let you have two boyfriends AND a girlfriend? they seem to be canonically very good friends, and i love the idea of the three of them getting into trouble together...or rather banj/ez getting into trouble and skeet being reluctantly dragged along. he seems the least willing to break rules but they are all ride or die for each other

tork/tone - this may not have worked out in canon and there’s not much to work off of there anyway in terms of dynamic so i don’t draw it much, but rival team leaders are always an interesting ship in my experience lol. plus they both desperately needed some character development so hey they have that in common!

dad wheeler/tezla/gelorum - the dilf/gilf/milf dynamic. they are all exes.

lani/vert and karma/nolo - platonically, they both feel like they have a sibling-like dynamic and their aesthetics fit together very nicely. vert and lani have some stuff in common and get along fairly well and karma seems to look after nolo quite a bit. i don’t have a lot of solid ideas for either of them, but seeing/thinking about them interacting makes me really happy :D

17) If you could design a realm of your own what sort of theme would it have?

well i’ve already answered for my flower/forest/fairy-themed aesthetic and fish and stars are already taken...what other aesthetics do i have..?

this is very vague but i really like seeing vibrant pink color palettes. im better at designing stuff thru drawing than text but i dont feel like drawing rn so ig just something that looks like either this warm pink sort of palette or this purple-ish one. like a sort of..sunset realm? not sure about the track or obstacles, i just want it to be pink and pretty. ooh or a crystalline realm!! maybe even combine the two!

20) What would you like to see/have seen in a continuation?

i want the drivers to beat the shit out of tezla. i really loved the parts of ult race where the two teams worked together and made amends, but it’s sad that we didn’t get to see much of that dynamic until the very end, especially since it’s kinda drowned out by all the action (i get it’s the finale, but also...i hate action). i would love to have seen more of those new relationships and how they would work out in different situations. like more of what we got to see of the characters’ interactions throughout the series, only this time its without them all being ~2 secs away from strangling each other.

the characters working together and building completely new dynamics between each other as the series progresses..maybe certain characters become unexpected but very good friends whose personalities complement each other in unexpected ways! maybe there are new conflicts that arise between the characters that stem from their personalities/backgrounds/etc. themselves rather than some arbitrary team rivalry! ooohh there’s just so much potential here!!

#ask #hw #ask game

4 notes · View notes

silver-lily-louise · 5 years ago

Text

Planes, Trains, and Portalmobiles

‘Y’know, there’s a lot more standing around and waiting than I thought there’d be.' Magnus shrugs. ‘Why do you think I haven’t bothered with planes before now? Compared to a portal, they’re horribly inefficient.’

Post-Canon. On their way back to Alicante from a trip to Scotland, Magnus and Alec decide to take a few Mundane modes of transport for once. There are... mixed results.

Read it on AO3, or below!

~oOo~

‘Y’know, there’s a lot more standing around and waiting than I thought there’d be,’ Alec comments, readjusting the straps on his rucksack for the seventh or eighth time. Magnus shrugs. ‘Why do you think I haven’t bothered with planes before now?’ he points out, managing to add a surprisingly high dose of disapproval to his quiet words. ‘Compared to a portal, they’re horribly inefficient.’

The line moves up, and Magnus turns to him more fully, frowning a little. ‘You still have the passports, right?’ ‘Yes, Magnus,’ he says, fondly exasperated. They’ve been in this line for less than twenty minutes, and he’s given that same answer three times already. He leans closer, dropping his voice low enough that it’s only for his husband’s ears. ‘Not like you couldn’t conjure another couple if I had lost them, anyway.’ Magnus gives him a half-hearted glare. ‘True, but I might make a mistake if rushed,’ he insists. ‘What, like, put your real birthday or something?’ Alec says, his lips twitching up into a small grin. ‘I already think you’re pushing your luck claiming to be thirty-seven, by the way.’ Magnus smirks. ‘Hm. Afraid of being seen with a partner so much older than you?’ he teases, reaching out to straighten Alec’s collar. ‘Whatever will the good people of Edinburgh Airport think?’ Alec just stares at him, barely suppressing a laugh. ‘Everyone we know is fully aware that I married someone who’s started counting in centuries,’ he says, his tone ringing with exaggerated patience. ‘But sure, ten years would make me self-conscious.’

Whatever reply is undoubtedly forming on Magnus’ tongue is lost as they reach the front of the line, Alec producing their tickets and passports with an easy smile. Ordinarily, he’d let Magnus take the lead in situations like this, especially with things that require a little deception. But he hasn’t missed the tension in how Magnus is holding himself, nor the way his eyes dart to each unexpected sound. Alec doesn’t want to give him anything else to be nervous about. Or, for that matter, for his anxiety to be noticed by any airport staff and arouse suspicion.

Thankfully, it’s not too much longer until they’re actually on the plane. ‘Aisle or window?’ he asks, stowing his rucksack overhead. Magnus had insisted that they fly first class, which means that their seat is a duo, rather than the usual trio. Alec’s grateful for that now – they’ve got enough to think about without having to be mindful of a random Mundane sitting right next to them. ‘Aisle,’ Magnus says decisively. Alec had expected that, knowing that being hemmed in gives Magnus less space to wield his magic if he needs to. ‘Okay,’ he says, taking his window seat and settling back into the comfortable padding with a quiet sigh. Magnus snorts. ‘How are you so calm?’ he asks, taking his own seat. ‘It’s not like you’ve been on a plane before, either.’ Alec shrugs. ‘Thousands of Mundanes use them every day,’ he says. ‘And statistically, they’re incredibly safe. I was probably in way more danger walking around New York, especially while I was glamoured and invisible to traffic.’ ‘You have a point,’ Magnus admits.

Alec doesn’t miss how his husband still doesn’t relax, though. ‘It’s gonna be fine,’ he says quietly, reaching across to squeeze Magnus’ hand. ‘You know that, right?’ ‘For the most part,’ Magnus says, wearily. He gives a small, frustrated smile. ‘I’ve just… grown used to being in control of my own transport,’ he says. He gestures vaguely around them. ‘I’m not in control of this. I wouldn’t know how to be, without jeopardising the whole operation. And I know that it’s ridiculous to be anxious, but I also don’t know how my magic reacts at high altitudes, without proper connection to the earth – if we get into trouble, I don’t know if I can keep us safe, or – ‘

‘Well, that’s what the parachute is for,’ Alec says, cutting off Magnus’ increasingly-agitated tirade. Magnus looks at him, stunned. ‘…Alexander,’ he says carefully, ‘you are aware that planes don’t come with parachutes as standard, right?’ ‘Of course I am,’ Alec says, rolling his eyes, though carefully keeping his soft, reassuring smile in place. ‘That’s why I brought my own. Why else did you think I needed a carry-on?’ Magnus’ eyes briefly do their best impression of dinner plates. ‘You - Where the hell did you even get a parachute?’ ‘The Gard armory’s pretty well-stocked,’ Alec says, shrugging. ‘Even with some of the more obscure stuff. And there’s no metal in the mechanism, either, so the airport scanners would have just thought it was a bunch of fabric. A blanket or something.’ He smiles, a little pleased that he hasn’t lost the ability to surprise Magnus just yet. ‘So, if things go wrong when we’re up there, hold on to me and we’ll get out,’ he says simply.

Magnus just stares at him for a few moments longer, shaking his head silently as a voice over the intercom welcomes them aboard. ‘Nephilim,’ he says eventually, sounding practically awed in his disbelief. But when he settles back in his chair with a quiet, breathy laugh, he doesn’t look quite so nervous.

And when the seatbelt signs turn off a short while later, and a quick shimmer over his fingertips apparently confirms that his magic is under control, he relaxes completely, returning Alec’s smile with an honest one of his own.

***

The flight takes about ninety minutes, and by the time they’ve disembarked, collected their luggage (which is mostly for show, because travelers without luggage might draw Mundane attention) and are standing on the right platform at Heathrow’s train station, it’s mid-afternoon. The train pulls up from the right-hand-side, and they board. They’re promptly asked to show their tickets; but once that’s done and the conductor moves on, they’re practically alone, the rest of their carriage almost empty. (When they booked the tickets, Magnus said something about super-off-peak, which Alec still doesn’t see the point of. Surely the train runs the same no matter the time of day?)

Magnus leans against Alec’s shoulder, letting his eyes drift closed. ‘Perhaps it’s the adrenaline comedown, but I’m suddenly exhausted,’ he says, stifling a yawn. ‘Remind me why we had to get up at such an ungodly hour?’ ‘I asked you that this morning, and you said it was all part of the experience,’ Alec reminds him, letting his voice turn a little husky as he quotes his husband. Magnus huffs in displeasure. ‘I do not sound like that, Alexander,’ he protests. ‘Yeah, you do.’ ‘Hm. Do not,’ he argues, closing his eyes.

Alec chuckles. ‘Are you seriously going to sleep through this part?’ he asks. ‘What happened to experiencing Mundane transport?’ ‘I’ve been on trains before,’ Magnus points out, lazily waving a hand and throwing up the barest shimmer of a ward, just around their seats. ‘You can appreciate it enough for the both of us,’ he suggests. Alec snorts quietly - but Magnus really must have been tired, because he’s already asleep.

Alec looks out of the window, surprised to find that they’re already surrounded by greenery, despite having left London a relatively short time ago. Apparently, England’s not quite as rural as Alicante, but it’s a damn sight less urban than New York. His gaze flicks up to the scrolling banner above the doors, the one that declares which stops are coming up next. Their stop, Guildford (which, for some weird British reason, is apparently pronounced ‘Gill-furred’, instead of by saying the words which actually make it up) is pretty far along the list.

Magnus’ breathing is slow and rhythmic, now, and Alec feels tiredness tugging at his own awareness, like it’s trying to pull a comforter over his thoughts. But they can’t both fall asleep in public, no matter what the alluring quiet and warmth of the train carriage is saying. He ought to activate a stamina rune. Unfortunately, his stele’s in the pocket that Magnus is currently lying on top of; and he doesn’t want to wake his husband up, knowing that he didn’t sleep well last night.

I’ll grab it in a few minutes, he reasons. He’ll let Magnus sleep a while longer, and then make his attempt, just in case he wakes him irreversibly. He can make it a few more minutes.

He jumps to attention as Magnus’ phone goes off, reaching for a seraph blade that isn’t there – before gaining a little awareness and settling back down, glancing around to check that he hasn’t inadvertently made a scene. Thankfully, the only person close enough to have noticed his reaction is his husband, who extinguishes the dim sparks at his fingertips, raising a seemingly-amused eyebrow at Alec’s jumpiness before answering the offending cell phone. ‘Hello?’ ‘Magnus, w… ‘l are you?’ Alec catches through the speaker. ‘You sh… Gilf… ‘ly’n hour ago.’ ‘Ah,’ Magnus says, looking over at the scrolling banner – which now says The next station is Portsmouth Harbour, and Alec’s stomach drops as he realises what must have happened. ‘It seems we’ve taken a little detour. We’ll get off at the next station and portal straight to you as planned.’ He pauses, Ragnor’s reply lost in his grumpy tone. ‘Yes, all right. See you soon.’

Magnus hangs up, turning to Alec and giving him a sheepish smile. ‘It seems that we’ve missed our stop.’ ‘Looks that way,’ Alec mumbles. ‘Well, no matter.’ He snaps his fingers, apparently unfazed. ‘There. Two tickets for Portsmouth Harbor. Problem solved.’ ‘Great,’ Alec says, attempting a smile of his own. He sits back in his chair, looking down at where he’s unconsciously started fiddling with his wedding ring.

Magnus is too well-versed in his brush-off tactics to let him get away with that, though, and Alec soon finds his face gently pivoted towards his husband with a careful hand. ‘Alexander, is everything okay?’ he asks, his brow furrowed in soft concern.

‘Yeah,’ Alec says. ‘I mean it,’ he insists, when Magnus tilts his head as if to say come on, now. ‘Everything’s fine. It’s just…’ He sighs, one corner of his mouth twitching up into a rueful smile. ‘It might not have been. I didn’t mean to fall asleep, I’m sorry.’ ‘It’s okay,’ Magnus says, his frown deepening a little in confusion. ‘You fell asleep first. Which means it was my watch,’ Alec points out.

At that, Magnus rolls his eyes, heaving a long-suffering sigh, though a gentle smile tugs at his lips. ‘It wasn’t your watch, darling,’ he says. ‘We’re not on some… quest through dangerous territory. You fell asleep on a train. It happens.’ ‘We’re still out on our own in public – ‘ ‘Which makes it a little embarrassing, especially since we missed our stop, but not dangerous,’ Magnus says firmly. ‘You saw me put up a ward before I fell asleep. I doubt your subconscious would have let you sacrifice your alertness, otherwise.’ ‘Magnus-‘

But he’s silenced by his husband holding up a finger to his lips, just shy of touching. ‘It’s good to let your guard down sometimes, Alexander,’ Magnus says softly. ‘It’s good to feel safe.’ He flashes a small, teasing smile. ‘Especially when you’re with me.’

Alec’s stomach twists again, but this time, it’s a warm, fluttery sensation, and he relents. ‘Okay,’ he murmurs – and he hums a little in contentment as he’s rewarded with a kiss.

They get off the train, their magically-adjusted tickets not giving them any problems at the gate, and they quickly discover that Portsmouth Harbour is a fairly literal name for this station – it’s practically on the water. ‘Those seagulls are huge,’ Alec says, as they wander through the streets to a quieter area, trying to find a safe place to glamor and portal without visibly disappearing. ‘Disproportionate,’ Magnus agrees. ‘A tiny country and a tiny stretch of water, and they’ve practically got albatrosses? I can’t say it makes a lot of sense to me.’

It’s not long before they’re ducking into an alleyway, and Magnus twirls one hand, calling a portal. His other hand reaches out to Alec’s, and he orders, ‘Hold on,’ like he always does when he knows their portal destination is new to his husband.

They step out onto a rolling expanse of green – large enough that the clouds above them cast the soft outlines of shadows, slinking across the grass like ships going by. Ragnor is there waiting, standing before them with a raised eyebrow and a small smile. ‘Took you long enough,’ he comments. ‘Oh, shut up,’ Magnus says lightly, stepping forward and embracing the other warlock briefly. They hadn’t seemed like those sort of friends, at first – both from what Alec himself had seen of them, and from what Clary and Jace had told him. He’d mentioned that casually to Magnus, once; and Magnus had thought for a second, before quietly explaining that he’s just found himself doing that more often – reaching for a hug, or accepting one – since Ragnor’s apparent ‘death’.

Which… yeah. Alec can definitely understand that.

He’s pulled back to the present moment as Ragnor extends an arm towards his impressive house, at the top of the hill and not too far from where they’re standing. ‘Shall we?’

Ragnor’s home proves to be pretty much exactly what Alec expected. With the eclectic furniture, old-world charm, and shelves of copious books and artifacts, it’s similar in a lot of ways to Catarina’s home, and to Magnus’ loft before it was Alec’s, too. Or, actually, if he’s being honest, for the first few months after. It was only in the process of moving their lives to Alicante that Magnus had insisted Alec assist with ‘a long-overdue redecoration.’ Magnus, he’d protested, we don’t have to, I like your place the way it is- But that’s exactly it, Alexander, Magnus had interrupted him. It’s our place. And if it’s going to feel like our marital home instead of my bachelor pad- (Alec had smirked at the phrasing, and had received a withering glare) - then it needs your input, too. Now: couches facing northwards, or east?

And maybe Alec had gone along with it just to appease his husband, at the time. But these days, he can’t deny that there’s a certain comfort in coming back to a home he’s had a hand in shaping.

Across the room, now, Magnus is looking at a painting hung in the stairwell, out of Alec’s eyeline, and shaking his head. ‘When will you get rid of this thing?’ he asks, with no small amount of distaste in his expression. ‘It reeks of a narcissism that doesn’t become you.’ ‘I will get rid of it when – or, more likely, if – it stops being useful,’ Ragnor says, holding a cup of what smells like very good coffee out to Alec, and returning his smile of thanks before pointing at a seat, silently inviting him to make himself comfortable. ‘Especially since you insisted I get rid of my wall of fire,’ he continues, glancing back at Magnus. ‘Because it was a ridiculous drain on your resources, and beyond superfluous once Valentine ceased to be a threat,’ Magnus scoffs, summoning his own drink before collapsing into the seat next to Alec’s like he owns the place. ‘If you’re not careful, you’ll end up with this place looking as tacky as Lorenzo’s,’ he adds, pointing accusingly at their host with his free hand.

Ragnor glares at him. ‘You ought to take that back whilst you still can, Magnus,’ he warns. Magnus raises his eyebrows, his mouth shrugging irreverently. ‘Or?’

But Ragnor doesn’t answer him directly. ‘Tell me, Alexander,’ he says, a wicked shine seeming to spark in his eyes. ‘Did your husband ever regale you with the story of the weekend he spent in Tuscany with Signor Simoni? How he ended up –‘ ‘All right,’ Magnus says loudly, huffing out a disgruntled breath. ‘All right, comment withdrawn.’ He glowers, though the effect is somewhat lost when he’s peering above his cup of tea. ‘Blackmailer. I try to look out for your good taste in your dotage, and this is how you thank me?’

Alec chuckles, not too bothered by the loss of a promised story. They’ve hosted Ragnor enough times by now that he has a general idea of how this evening’s going to go, and so he’s fairly certain he’ll get to hear it anyway.

One excellent roast beef dinner and several glasses of honeyed wine later, he’s proved exactly right.

***

The night they spend at Ragnor’s passes quickly. The three of them while away most of it talking, and when they eventually turn in, Ragnor’s guest room is inviting and comfortable, from the wooden floors that are warmer than they ought to be to the cool cotton sheets that are almost as soft as Magnus’ preferred silk. The magic that hums around them, guarding the house, is different, of course – it’s a little less heady, quieter and more distant, yet more persistent than the wards around their own home. But just when Alec is beginning to wonder if it’s too different for him to be able to fall asleep, Magnus rolls over and semi-consciously wraps an arm around his waist, his breathing evening out against Alec’s neck moments later.

A more familiar hum seems to resonate within Alec at the possessive gesture, and he smiles, closing his eyes. He sleeps the whole night through, peaceful and undisturbed.

The house comes to a sleepy start after the late night, and they partake in an indulgent ‘Full English’ brunch before deciding to make the most of the sunshine, going for a walk around a few of the meadows and small stretches of forest bordering Ragnor’s own land. Alec walks a little in front, taking in the fresh air and occasionally thinking of practical uses for what’s growing around them. The small flowers underfoot, he’s pretty sure, are birdsfoot trefoil, and he knows that Catarina sometimes combines the darker petals of that with powdered adder scales, to make an infusion for patients with particularly stubborn fevers. The treeline nearby is fairly yew-heavy, and Alec’s thoughts drift once again to the fanciful idea of taking up bowyery someday. After so long refining how to use a bow, he guesses it’s pretty natural that he’d catch some sort of interest in how they’re made. He’s heard that old mundane bows were often made of yew wood, so perhaps that’d be a good material to work with; providing he avoided prolonged, long-term exposure, the kind that used to poison traditional woodworkers.

When he isn’t busy daydreaming about craftsmanship that he definitely doesn’t have the time for right now, he listens to what Magnus and Ragnor are discussing as they walk along. Right now, for instance, they’re debating the usefulness of platinum cauldrons – Ragnor claims that they’re a trinket and a fad, whilst Magnus is preaching the merit of their unique and subtle inert energies during the potion-brewing process. Sometimes, when they get like this – bickering over magical theory, neither willing to give an inch – Alec wonders how on earth they ever managed to live together. Maybe he ought to ask Catarina about it sometime.

They eventually turn back towards the house, Magnus linking arms with Alec as they walk. ‘I hope we weren’t boring you,’ he says, more indifferently than Alec suspects he feels. ‘I do worry about leaving you out, sometimes.’ Alec leans a little closer to his husband in reassurance, nudging Magnus’ ribs affectionately with his elbow. ‘Are you kidding?’ he says. ‘You know I find all that magic stuff interesting. Especially when you’re the one talking about it.’ He grins. ‘Though, I gotta say, I think Ragnor has a point about moose antlers being more potent than reindeer.’

Magnus looks at him in sheer offence, apparently speechless in the face of such betrayal. Ragnor chuckles, clapping Alec on the shoulder. ‘I knew I liked you for a reason, Shadowhunter.’

***

In the evening, they take their leave, thanking Ragnor for his hospitality before stepping through their portal. It takes Alec a moment to notice, because the world looks different at night, but they end up in the exact same alleyway they portaled to Ragnor’s from. ‘See?’ Magnus says, as they step out into the streetlight and the last remnants of dusk. Across the water, orange lights flicker from where the coastline curves round, like stars at the horizon. ‘Our train mishap was helpful, as it turns out,’ Magnus continues, linking his arm with the one Alec isn’t currently using to drag their suitcase behind them, the wheels rumbling quietly over the sidewalk. ‘This is far closer to the ferry port than I would have been able to portal us before. We won’t even have to call a cab.’

He’s right; it’s a very manageable walk to the ferry port. The city is quiet at this time – though a New Yorker’s perspective on that is always a little skewed, Alec will admit – but they do pass a couple of dog walkers, among others. And when they run into a third group of young people, laughing raucously and moving in herds, Alec raises an eyebrow. Magnus shrugs. ‘College town,’ he says by way of explanation, gesturing to a building nearby – one that bears the same purple livery as several others they’ve passed tonight. ‘And eighteen’s the drinking age here, so they’re not limited to the secrecy of frat parties.’

They reach the ferry port soon after that, and board quickly. Magnus finds a quiet corner to surreptitiously banish the suitcase, and then they head out to the stern of the top deck. The boat begins to move towards Caen, the water rushing loudly below them, and Magnus’ arm is warm around Alec’s waist as they watch the city lights grow distant across the sea.

He wakes to a heavy weight on his chest, smiling fondly even before he opens his eyes. At home, Magnus might be justified in calling him an octopus; but when they’re sleeping away from the loft, his husband gains a certain charming clinginess of his own.

Alec turns his head to the left, gazing out of the porthole. Neither of them had wanted to be underwater – or in a windowless room that might make them feel as if they were – so they’d paid the extra for a glimpse of the outside world, and at this moment, Alec thinks it might be among the best decisions they've ever made. He breathes slow and steady, a sense of calm washing over him, and watches as the dark orange clouds twisting across the violet sky gradually shift into a brighter hue.

Magnus shifts, his breath tickling Alec’s chest a little as he yawns. ‘Good morning,’ Alec says softly. Magnus rolls off of him, stretching and sighing heavily before curling back in, planting a light, smiling kiss to Alec’s shoulder. ‘Morning.’ Alec turns his head back towards his right, deciding that watching Magnus watch the sunrise makes for a better view than watching it himself. His husband is beautiful in any light, but something about the blue and gold of dawn makes him look soft and ethereal - like a really good dream, but one that Alec’s somehow gotten lucky enough to hold and taste and keep.

‘Hey,’ he says after a few long, quiet moments, drawing Magnus’ eyes back to him. He flicks his own gaze briefly over his shoulder. ‘Nothing against air travel or trains, but I think that this one might be my favorite,’ he says with a small smile. Magnus chuckles, the laughter creasing kindness around his cat eyes as he reaches up, tenderly brushing Alec’s hair away from his face. ‘Mine too,’ he agrees.

~oOo~

#malec #malec fanfic #shadowhunters #shadowhunters fanfic #shtv #shs #food cw #alcohol cw #mine #btw don't eat birdsfoot trefoil or adder scales!!! I made that up lol #it's not actually a fever remedy

35 notes · View notes

coolweliveinasociety · 4 years ago

Text

Piece 1- In the Beginning, there was Art (Egypt)

This piece is a portion of a series of a cave art called The Cave of Swimmers, detailed further in the following blurb: “the remote Cave of Swimmers is located at Wadi Sura in the mountainous Gilf Kebir plateau of the Sahara, in southwest Egypt near the Libyan border. Its name translates as "the Great Barrier".

I wanted to begin with this piece because of the explorers that got to find and claim this artwork, and what the implications of that are as we continue to discuss influences throughout the rest of this exhibit. The Cave of Swimmers was discovered by land surveyors László Almásy and Patrick A. Clayton, who speculated that the meaning behind these artwork are about the evolving climate situation of Egypt and how what once was once a dry desert was becoming more temperate, hence the swimming people.

What I would challenge you to consider is who gets to interpret these ancient relics, and why? Why do these interpretations have value? For context, I’m merely a college student that has done research from experts and done my best to condense it into digestible and thoughtful content. But what would these people have to say about their artwork for themselves if they could?

This briefly intersects with societal implications in the idea that we love to ascribe meaning to anything and everything in today’s day and age, and probably always have. But how accurately can we assess the meaning of drawings in ancient civilization, truly? Take a second to ponder this with me: What if the artist just loved to swim?

#http://www.bradshawfoundation.com/africa/gilf_kebir_cave_of_swimmers/index.php

1 note · View note

spamzineglasgow · 5 years ago

Text

(HOT TAKE) Quarantine Phenomenology: The Curious Case of Daddy Conte, by Denise Bonetti

‘Teenage by design’? SPAM founder and editor-in-chief Denise Bonetti, tapping into her Italian roots, takes us on a whirlwind journey around the lustful theme park that is meme space in the time of quarantine. For many, especially those who aren’t on the frontline as key workers, self-isolation is thrusting us back into a rude adolescence. Having exhausted our usual channels of recursive entertainment, where better to look than to the political (yes, wybi?!) heroes of meatspace to fantasise the intimacies and reassurances we’re otherwise deprived of.

(CW: sexually explicit references)

> Comedian Dan Sebree tweeted that this whole quarantine situation is the closest any of us millennials will get to retirement. The joke is funny because it’s most likely true: the idea of people in my age bracket (mid-20s to mid-30s) ever retiring seems like a fairytale we tell ourselves to keep our boomer parents happy, something we play along to because frankly it’s easier than sharing the extent of our doubts in the future. (Find someone in their 20s who can say ‘when we all retire’ without a shred of irony).

> Sebree is right, most of us are playing retirees now. 80% of your salary to repot your plants, make sourdough, and fend off waves of existential dread here and there: not too shabby - if you used to have a stable job, that is. Things obviously aren’t so chill for quite literally everyone else: NHS workers, shopkeepers, supermarket employees, people on zero-hour contracts (which make up around 9% of all the UK workforce under 25), gig economy workers, freelancers by choice, people whose employers can’t be bothered putting them on payroll, and have therefore decided for them that they’ll have to be freelancers - the list goes on.

> Yet beyond the retirement vibes, there is a stage of life that seems even more appropriate to represent the mood that this pandemic isolation has been creating. We are feeling manic and depressive, anxious and idyllic, bored and obsessive; we have been dying our hair and we’re allowing social media challenges and email chains to make a comeback ( 😩). We’re raging that we’re being told how & when we can go out, and we want to see our friends like our life depended on it. I hate to be the one to break it to you, but we’ve all gone back to being teenagers. (For some of us, the transformation is even more literal: everyone who’s had to move back to their parents tag yourselves.)

> In ‘Glitching the Collective Mind’ a three-part essay published on SPAM a few months ago, Dan Power noted how ‘spending too long online (or rather, too long outside of the real world)’ can easily give way to ‘feelings of melancholic or manic absurdity’ by way of ‘saturating the mind’ with the infinite possibilities of content. In the same essay, Power reflects on the nature of the virtual space this content is localised in, what Grafton Tanner has called the ‘virtual plaza’: a non-place through which ‘we drift and consume, lulled by the saccharine tones of muzak’. Power argues that what the ‘non-local’, ‘homogenized’ structure of the virtual plaza takes away is precisely that something around which the occupants can build a sense of identity: ‘When the features which distinguish one place from another are removed, stable sense of belonging and understanding are removed with them’.

> Although Power could not have predicted this current weirdness, I am interested in his linking the internet’s hypertrophic, endless-scroll format, eradicated from any sense of place as we know it, to its capacity both to strip us of our identity, and to reduce us to a melancholic, manic mess - a passive, wide-awake anonymous content-consumer, lying in bed between waves of anxiety. A teenager who is grappling with their identity because they’re not quite sure where their emotions are coming from - literally and metaphorically.

> Critic Amanda Hess has recently written in The New York Times about the comfort of playing childhood video games during the lockdown. ‘It’s not so much that I miss my childhood’, she writes as she becomes re-obsessed with her 11-year-old self’s favourite game, Myst, ‘as that I feel seized by it’. And I, currently taking a break from a 12-hour The Sims 2 Bon Voyage build-mode marathon to write this, can only confirm such claims.

> I’m sure the fact that we gravitate towards this simple kind of pastime has a lot to do with the fact that no one can be arsed engaging with highbrow content during such traumatic times. (Let me take a break from following the dead count on BBC News by watching Battleship Potemkin, said no one ever.) However it’s not only that we’re drawn to accessible content, it’s that we are drawn exactly to the kind of activities that our teenage selves used to be into. (Otherwise, explain why The Sims 2 is having a resurgence - sixteen years after its release [!], and not either of its two successors.)

> If nostalgia is generally understood as originating more in the disappointments of reality than in the draw of the object of nostalgia itself, then the grimness of the pandemic is also to blame for the current millennial vintage trends. As Hess observed elsewhere, the quarantine has forced us into lockdown with the very devices designed to amplify our obsessions, cranking up that very fixative impulse that makes adolescence the curse and blessing that we all know.

> In Italy, where the full lockdown has been going on for over 5 weeks now, the signs of this 30-going-13 epidemic are in full swing. Everybody knows about Italians competing with each other on who can sing the cringiest medley of 00s songs from their balconies. But there’s something even more beautiful that the Italians are doing, and The Answer May Shock You. Platonic love has infiltrated every corner of Italian social media, and the object, I tell you, is no one other the prime minister Giuseppe Conte.

> Just like teenage love, the obsession is platonic socially-distant just as much as it is carnal. ‘Giuseppe Conte’ has reportedly been amongst the most searched terms on Pornhub over the last few weeks. Spurred by sheer investigative rigour I decided to carry out further research on the platform, and can confirm that the PM-themed content abounds. The material itself varies from adorably chaste, SFW picture montages of the prime minister (‘ITALIAN PRIME MINISTER GIUSEPPE CONTE MAKE YOU CUM HARD’, as uploaded by user TheMinisterOfLove), to the literal hour-long speeches that the PM has delivered to the senate, to more visually explicit heart-reacts to the government’s directives (‘HUGE CUMSHOT WHILE LISTENING DADDY GIUSEPPE CONTE’).

> Pornography aside, the memes have taken over the Italian gram and Twitter. It all started when influencer and entrepreneur Chiara Ferragni regrammed to her 19.5m followers a post by the Instagram page @daddy.conte back in March, erroneously crediting it to @lebimbedigiuseppeconte (Giuseppe Conte’s Little Girls) - now two of the most popular hormone city pages dedicated to the PM. The content is genuinely too much and too good for me to present exhaustively, but I need to show you some favourites so you can get with the vibe (all from @daddy.conte):

[‘Italian daddy locks his girls home’]

[’From today, I declare your smile illegal’]

[’There’s a smile underneath that face mask’]

[’hey baby’ / ‘daddy come to me, my parents aren’t home’ / ‘WHAT’]

[’don’t you dare get close to my girls’]

[’who wants a goodnight story?’]

[’Hi gorgeous, if you’re reading this it’s because i’ve been trapped in a wormhole the only way for you to free me is to stay home until 4th April please do it there is no time i know you can save me baby’] [lol at how quickly this has aged]

>The spinoffs quickly proliferated, I’m talking dozens and dozens of pages devoted to the PM’s fatherly aura and classic good looks - most of them with not a huge amount of followers; a sort of decentralised, massively participatory network of adolescent erotic surplus. Some of these pages specialise in things like the PM’s smile or dimples (for the more faint of heart), inscribing the phenomenon in that Renaissance love lyric convention of praising the object of love’s beauty through a catalogue of their body parts.

>A similar sexy/cute type veneration also seems to have developed radially around other Italian political figures such as President Sergio Mattarella, however predicated on a completely different set of desirable traits. Conte’s cult is all about a sort of sub/authoritarian kink power dynamic: ‘Dom daddy tell me what to do’. (Problematic? Potentially. However, wholesome? Absolutely). Mattarella’s cult is inevitably linked to the Italian President’s political function, that of protecting the Constitution, coordinating the three branches of government while heading none. A sort of hands-off grandaddy figure there to break up fights, if you will. Combined with his sweet mannerisms, the result is more of a GILF, sitting-together-on-the-porch kind of desirability, as hinted at by the following meme: (@lebimbedisergiomattarella)

> As a testament to this systematic linkage between quarantine and teenage emotional turmoil, the same dynamic of desire has also developed around political figures in the US. Foremost examples are New York Governor Andrew Cuomo (who we now think might have nipple piercings), and Kentucky Governor Andy Beshear - a ‘clean-cut sex symbol for the coronavirus age’ according to this Salon article explaining how ‘his calm and empathetic leadership’ (read: wholesome daddy energy) have thousands of thirsty people in self-isolation lust after him (via memes, of course).

> The ethos of memes in general is already teenage by design (hypertrophic, impulsive, obsessive, thriving on a sort of possessed desire towards repetition that I refuse to compare to masturbation). But there’s something special about the dreamy, sublimated, Platonic, cute-aggressive nature of these memes in particular that makes them the epitome not only of #quarantinevibes, but also of the virtual plaza’s mood, more broadly. Quarantine has exposed and legitimised, exacerbated and normalised, the internet’s power to make us regress into horny, anxious blobs. And memes like these are the very crystallisation of that ambivalent process.

> Analysis aside, we love a meme (always already), and we love a femme fandom moment. We stan the birth of a wholesome masculinity mythology for 2020. I can think of worse Internet Utopias. Now back 2 The Sims.

Text: Denise Bonetti

Lead Image credit: @onlyconte (Instagram)

Published: 17/4/20

#essay #essays #Denise Bonetti #masculinity #memes #meme #Giuseppe Conte #Italy #sexy #quarantine #coronavirus #hot take

0 notes