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starsinthesky5 · 14 days

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drunk in love || joe burrow x reader

description: after a whirlwind of a few months, Joe finds himself being more open with the public about your relationship, which takes you by surprise.

a/n: im glad i could get this up in time! i think the tag needs to be filled with more positivity and the usual joey b content. we can push through :)

requested by the amazing and extremely talented @joeys-babe, you gave me great inspo! i have also learned that i loveeee writing little flashbacks into my fics just to add more context to the situation. when I’m writing it’s like i'm painting on a blank canvas, and i'm going wherever the brush takes me :)

warnings: smuttttt, language, angst

word count: 7.7 k

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The sounds of enthusiastic fans echoed as you and Joe arrived at the Fifth Third arena for Joe’s podcast taping. Joe had been asked by the Kelce Brothers to be a guest on their live podcast recording of New Heights since they were in Cincinnati, and who better to have on than the QB1? And Joe being the polite and respectful man he is, agreed to do it. You were a bit surprised he was willing to go out in front of a big crowd of people like this and just talk. He rarely did podcasts or lengthy interviews because of the anxiety they brought him and he didn’t like to share his personal life in front of thousands of people, so you were watching him like a hawk the whole night to make sure he was doing okay.

Right now, you both were sitting in the locker room while the brothers were doing the game portion of their podcast. You were snacking on some pretzels, offering Joe some since he hadn’t eaten anything since this afternoon, but he refused.

“Joe, you have to eat something,” you say while pushing a bag of pretzels towards him.

“I’m not hungry,” he mumbled while looking at the monitor to see what was going on in the arena.

“I refuse to believe that. We’re going to Woodys after and we both know that you drinking on an empty stomach will cause carnage,” you giggle expecting him to laugh as well, but he continues to stare at the monitor, seemingly lost in thought.

You look down and notice that he’s bobbing his left leg up and down and is picking at his fingers, an instant signal that his anxiety was slowly creeping in.

You quickly place your snack down, scooch your chair closer to him, and place your hand on his thigh, giving it a soft squeeze. He felt the light touch of your hand and stopped bouncing his leg before looking over at you.

His eyes met yours and you could easily tell that he was getting anxious by the way they turned a shade of deep blue. “Are you alright J?” you ask.

Joe stays silent for a few seconds before letting out a sigh, “Just a little nervous,” he quietly says causing your face to drop. “I haven’t done this in a while and I don’t wanna get weird out there if they ask anything specific, you know?”.

Joe was referring to getting weird if they asked any questions about his personal life. He never talks about his life behind closed doors and rarely talks about you in respect of your privacy. He was worried that they’d ask him about you or your relationship and wouldn’t know what to say or how to answer them. He never really threw the “girlfriend” tag around many people for quite a few reasons. One was that it was mostly implied that you were together, another being that he didn’t want people who may not have known about your relationship to bombard you with questions about him. He kept your relationship carefully locked away because it was the most important thing in the world to him and he was afraid that the world would rip it to shreds if you opened the door a little too much. He wanted to talk about you all the time, even telling you that he might not even be able to stop once he starts. But he just never knew when or how to talk about your relationship without making you sensitive to public discourse.

“You won’t get weird Joe,” you say as you rub his thigh. “It’s okay to be a little nervous, especially because this is out of your comfort zone. You are going to do great and I am so proud of you for doing this,” you say. “I’m gonna be right there, front row on the side. Orlando will be up there with you too. And I know Jason and Travis will respect your boundaries. Maybe they’ll just keep it all about ball,”.

He nods and grabs your hand and gives it a gentle kiss. “Thank you for being here,” he says, finally flashing you a genuine smile.

“I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else,” you say while pressing a kiss on his cheek. Joe puts his arm around your shoulder and pulls you in for a warm hug. He knew he’d be fine out there but couldn’t help but get a little nervous when he realized all eyes would be on him. Sure, in a football game, all 50,000+ eyes are on him, but that never bothered him because the game was his shield.

“If you feel flustered, give me a look and I’ll cause a distraction for you to run away,” you giggle against his neck.

He laughs and presses a kiss on your forehead, “My knight in shining armor as usual,”.

A few minutes and a handful of pretzels later, you’re sitting on the side of the stage while Jason and Travis introduce Joe. The crowd erupts as they say Joe’s name and the song choice for his introduction makes you laugh like a hyena. “Get the Gat” was playing, a nod to the era that truly started it all for Joe. He was scanning the crowd for you as he walked toward the stage, eventually catching you in the front row, just like you said, in your stunning white dress that highlighted your most precious features.

You gave him two thumbs up and mouthed “You got this,”. He gives you a big smile before walking up onto the stage and greeting the brothers.

Things were going pretty smoothly for him. They were talking to him about his injury and recovery, his questionable tweets about aliens that got the entire crowd laughing their asses off, and some playful football + rivalry talk between Travis and Joe. He seemed incredibly relaxed up there and you felt relieved, until they changed the subject to the one thing that Joe was worried about.

“So enough about ball,” Travis said. “What has Joey B been up to this off season. Where you been, Who you been with?”.

“Uh oh,” you whispered.

Joe laughed softly before saying “Just hanging around. Obviously training and getting better, some UFC events here and there, some boy's trips, spending time with family, but mostly spending time with my girlfriend,”.

Your eyes widen at his words and your mouth slightly falls open. He just mentioned you in front of god knows how many people, and so casually? What the actual fuck.

“Ohhh,” Travis smiles. “Is your lovely lady here tonight?” He asks.

“Yeah, she’s right there,” Joe smiles and points over to you, causing literally everyone in the arena to turn and look at you.

“Ayeee,” the brothers say in unison as the camera points over to you.

Your cheeks turn tomato red as everyone starts cheering and waving at you, and you flash a big smile in return even though you were completely freaking out internally.

“Yep, that's her. She’s the best person in the entire world. I wouldn’t be able to do any of this without her support and love,” Joe says as everyone turns back to face him. “She really knows exactly how to deal with me when I’m too in my head and always shows up for me no matter what happens. I owe a lot of how I am and how I handle things, to her” he adds.

“Awww,” said Jason.

“Especially with this injury. I seriously don’t think I would’ve been able to get through it without her. I was in a really tough spot, mentally and physically, and she really stepped up for me,” Joe says. You feel a shift in his demeanor when he says that. From relaxed and positive, to now a little tense and serious.

The wrist injury took a toll on Joe, and unfortunately your relationship. It took everyone by surprise when it happened as Joe was just hitting his stride after recovering from the calf strain. This was supposed to be his year and when that got taken away from him, he shut down. You tried your hardest to be there for him, and he appreciated you so much. But he needed to figure stuff out on his own which caused a bit of tension between you both. And all of it got too much for you to handle; you had to deal with his emotions, your own emotions, and help him recover on top of 100 other things that were being thrown your way.

Little arguments became common as they always would stem at the most unexpected times. Sometimes they would happen when you would check in on how he was feeling, they’d happen during a happy moment where one of you said something that didn’t land correctly, and sometimes when he would come and apologize to you for snapping at you, but you would become a child and remain stubborn even though you wanted nothing more than to curl up in his arms and let everything out.

Flashback to December

It had been a few weeks since Joe got surgery on his wrist. Ever since then, he’d been acting strangely and it was driving you insane. He was watching some film all day in his office so that he could help out at practice, so you’d hardly have seen him all day.

You got off the couch and decided to bring him a snack, some strawberries and bananas, and made your way up the stairs.

You made your way into his office, making sure that you weren’t getting in the way of anything. He was rewinding some footage with his left hand, but was struggling to do so since his dominant hand was in a cast.

“Here, let me help,” you say as you place the bowl of fruit down in front of him.

“It’s okay, I got it,” he says trying to grab the mouse, but he was too late as you already grabbed it and fixed it for him. You looked over at him and smiled, but in return got a loud sigh and an eye roll.

“Gee, I was just trying to help,” you replied.

“And I didn’t ask for any,” he mumbled, slightly irritated. Your face dropped at his tone but you decided not to push it.

“I brought you some fruit. You skipped out on lunch so I thought you’d be hungry,”.

“Thanks,” he says as he pushes the bowl to the side and goes back to the film.

You stand there for a few moments, debating whether or not you should leave him alone or talk to him. You decided to talk to him because this mood he’d been in was not welcomed.

“Is there something wrong? Does your arm hurt?” You ask as you rub his shoulder.

He immediately slams the mouse to pause the film and looks up. “What’s wrong is that you won’t let me watch the film for this week. I told you I'm not hungry and you’re bothering me,” he snaps.

You’re taken aback by his sudden anger, “I was just trying to help, Joe-”.

“And how many times have I said, I don’t need it,” he spit out.

Tears welled up in your eyes as you took a step back. “I’m sorry, I- I just wanted to make sure you were okay,”.

“I’m fine” He said, slightly shouting as he looked back over to you.

The tears in your eyes made their way down your cheeks as you felt more angry than sad. His attitude was unfucking called for as you were just trying to check in on him.

“You know what, fine. I’m done asking you if you’re okay and if you need something. I get that you’re hurt. I get that this is hard for you. But do not for one second think that I’m just going to sit here and take this bullshit. You’ve been acting like this for weeks, on and off. And quite frankly, it’s giving me whiplash,” you unload as more tears stream down your face.

“Y/N-,” he interrupts.

“No. Listen to me. If me helping you is bothering you, If I am bothering you, just say the word and I’ll stop. You don’t have to tell me how you’re feeling, and I’ll just stop asking. I love you, you know that. But I’m done acting like this is okay,” you spit out, tears running down your cheeks faster than a trackstar running a mile.

He stays silent for a few seconds so you take that as a response and nod your head. You leave his office, making your way into the bedroom and slamming the door shut. He immediately felt bad for yelling at you and making you cry. He fell back into his chair and looked up at the ceiling, thinking about how shitty he was.

You lay down on your side of the bed, crying into your pillow. A million thoughts flooding your head, and a million emotions flowing through your body. You felt bad for him, you really really felt bad for him. But you started to feel bad for yourself because of how he was acting around you. Did you do something to make him act like this? He wouldn’t talk to you much about how he was feeling, so you were in limbo.

You curled up into your pillow, a few tears still falling down your face as you heard the door open. Joe walked in and saw you laying on the bed, immediately feeling like shit because he did this to you. He walked over to the bed, crawling onto his side and gently rubbing your arm.

“Y/N?” he asked.

You didn’t look over at him and remained facing the windows.

He let out a sigh before saying, “I deserve that.”

“Listen, I am so fucking sorry for that. You didn’t do anything and I took my feelings out on you which was totally uncalled for. It’s just, I have alot going through my mind right now. But that is no excuse for me to do that to you, and you have every right to be mad. I’ve been putting you through alot lately and you’re just trying to help,”.

You turned over to face him and moved up. “So then talk to me, Joe?”. “I just want to make sure that you’re okay. I’m here, I’m always here,” you say as you wipe your tears.

“I know. And I’m so sorry. I just don’t want to burden you with all my feelings,” he says.

“You could never. We’re in this together, we have been since we first met. I want you to talk to me whenever you need to. Please, do not keep your feelings bottled up like that,”.

“You’re right,” he says as he pulls you into his arms, his hand rubbing your back for comfort. “I am so so so sorry for treating you like shit. You have been nothing but helpful and patient since the surgery and my dumbass can’t seem to fathome that,” he says.

“You’re not a dumbass,” you say as you look up at him. “You just have alot going on in there,” you say as you move your hand into his hair. “Just let me in and let me help you figure it out,” you whisper.

So that’s exactly what he did. He unloaded all of his heavy feelings, self doubt, and fear onto you. And instead of running out of fear or anxiety, you stayed. You stayed and you helped him just as you said you would.

End of Flashback

You were holding your breaths around each other for a little bit, but luckily you got through it. It was a bumpy few months, but in the end, you got through it together and came out the other side stronger like you always do.

“Seems like you got yourself a great lady,” Jason says, snapping you back to the present.

“I sure do,” Joe laughs while meeting your eyes, setting off butterflies in your belly.

“So what have you guys been up to, if you don’t mind sharing? I think the fans would love to hear it,” Travis says as the fans begin to cheer.

Joe lets out a laugh and runs his fingers through his hair, “Yeah, why not. Well, we’ve gone on a few vacations, watched a bunch of movies we’ve been meaning to for a while, built some legos, and she’s taught me how to bake,”.

The crowd lets out a laugh as he says that last thing. You were surprised at how he was being an open book right now and you didn’t know if you should be concerned at this newfound openness or ecstatic, but you were sure as hell enjoying it in the moment.

“You heard it here first, Joe Burrow knows how to bake!” They announced to the crowd.

“Yup, it’s really not as hard as it looks,” Joe shrugs.

You let out a laugh when as says that. It really wasn’t that hard, but Joe was certainly not a pro baker as he was implying.

Flashback to a few weeks ago

It was a rainy evening in Cincy today, causing you and Joe to postpone your plans to walk around the neighborhood this evening. You were bored out of your mind, contemplating if you should take a nap or do something productive, but nothing sounded fun until an ad popped up on your phone for new cake pans which set off a lightbulb in your head.

“Cinnamon Rolls!” you said out loud as you just got an idea of what you could do for the evening.

You quickly walked over to the kitchen and started pulling out everything you needed to make your famous Cinnamon Rolls, which happened to be one of Joe’s favorites, but Pumpkin Pie remained number 1. Joe was probably playing video games or watching something upstairs so you’d get to surprise him later with the delicious dessert.

A few minutes later, you were in the zone and were starting to make the dough when you heard Joe come down the stairs.

“Hey Babe, whatcha doing?” He says, a slight bounce in his step. He must be feeling good today, and rightfully so. He deserved to feel loose and cheerful after the past few months.

“It’s a secret,” you giggle as you start making the liquid mixture.

He raises his brows at you before examining the surroundings, eventually putting the puzzle together and realizing you are making Cinnamon Rolls.

“Well, Can I help?” He asks as he walks over and hovers behind you, placing his chin on your shoulder.

You stop mixing the Milk and Butter and look back at him, “You want to help me bake?”.

“Why are you saying it like that?” He asks as he begins pressing warm kisses on your neck.

You stay silent for a few moments before taking advantage of his offer, “No reason. Here, let me show you how to make the dry mixture,” you say as he flashes you a big smile.

You spend a few minutes getting Joe situated with all the dry ingredients and then go back to your task. You peek over at him every few moments and although he’s making a huge mess, he seems to be doing just fine. Once you both were done with your mixtures, Joe insisted that he would make the dough in the mixer. So once again, you taught him how to use the mixer and left him to it as you started making the Cinnamon Sugar Filling. He was doing very well for someone who’s dominant hand is still not at 100%.

“Joe, this looks great!” you say as you look over his shoulder, rubbing it as you inspect the dough.

“Yeah?” he asks, feeling proud that he was doing good for his first time baking.

“Mhmmm, just the right consistency. Very impressive for a rookie,” You tease.

The next half hour passes by as you finish prepping the rolls. You roll out the dough and spread the cinnamon mixture across the sheet and Joe helps you roll it back up to cut the buns out. You place them in the fridge to rise and Joe takes responsibility for making the icing, so you pull over a barstool and watch him figure it out.

“You’re doing great babe,” You smile as he begins mixing the ingredients while carefully looking at the recipe.

“This isn’t so bad,” He says looking back up at you. “You wanna taste it? I’m almost done,”.

“Okay,” you say as he dips his finger into the icing and puts his finger out to you. A huge smirk appears on his face once you realize what he is implying.

You pull his finger closer to your mouth and make direct eye contact for a few seconds before wrapping your lips around the sugary tip. You swirl your tongue around his finger, taking in all of the sweet icing. You both still hold eye contact, which makes you feel hot all around as you know how you are making him feel by doing this. A few seconds later, You take his finger out of your mouth and give him the same smirk he gave you.

“Was it good?” he teases.

“Soooo good,” you purred. “Very warm, sweet, and delicious,” you say as Joe walks over to you. He grabs your hand and pulls you off the barstool, causing you to let out a squeal. “What are you doing?” you giggle.

“How long do the rolls take to rise?” he asks as he lifts you onto the messy counter, flour now covering your sweatpants.

“About an hour. Why?” you ask as he starts to kiss your neck.

“Perfect. I think I need an hour to eat my favorite dessert,” He whispers in your ear before rubbing your upper thigh.

You don’t follow what he’s saying, “I didn’t make pumpkin pie silly,”.

“I’m not talking about pumpkin pie,” He says while coming back into your view, his eyes filled with hunger and desire, and his fingers untying the strings of your sweatpants.

End of Flashback

You were incredibly smiley and cheery for the rest of the recording and kept playing back everything Joe said about you. It warmed your heart that he felt a little more comfortable opening the door, even if it was just the slightest bit, to show fans your love for each other. But you were so curious as to what changed his mind. A million thoughts were filling your head, and it also didn’t help that he looked so fucking hot. Although he was wearing a comfy, laid-back fit, he looked mouthwatering and you were trying so hard not to jump at him. The extra few pounds of muscle he gained from his training this year was showing and that messy bedhead look he was sporting was filling your head with unholy thoughts the entire time.

Once Joe had wrapped up his appearance, you headed back to the locker room area to find him.

He was talking to some Bearcats coaches when you found him. No stress was apparent on his face and he looked like he was just fine. You let out a relaxed sigh as you leaned on the door, letting him have his conversation without any interruptions, but he immediately felt your presence and turned around. He mumbled something to the coaches and then they walked away.

“You didn’t have to do that,” you say while moving off the door.

“Yes I did,” he says as he walks over to you, immediately pulling you closer and capturing your lips in a deep and thorough kiss. One hand cupping your face and the other sliding down your waist. You both were literally making out in the locker room and anyone could walk in at any time, but he didn’t care. He pulls away after a minute, leaving you a little breathless.

“Cherry Lip Gloss,” He says. “My favorite,”.

Joe loved your Cherry Lip Gloss. You remembered the moment when you both had your first kiss, he immediately pulled away from you and you didn’t know why until he told you how amazing you tasted and he had to let you know.

Flashback to a few years ago

You and Joe just got back to your apartment after your bowling date downtown. He parked the car in the parking lot and you both were sitting inside, wishing that the night would never end. He turned over to face you, a million thoughts flooding his head. A few being that you looked absolutely enchanting and he really really liked you. You both had been on a few dates so far, each one better than the last, and tonight felt like a dream.

“Did you have fun?” He asked as he stared deeply into your eyes.

“Best date ever,” you smiled. You were feeling a little nervous after tonight's date, only because you realized that you really liked him and that it wasn't just a spur-of-the-moment feeling, and you didn’t know if he really felt the same way. Was he just looking for a girl to have on his side who would take care of him during the season and be good enough to hook up with? Or did he want a girl that he could have a genuine and meaningful relationship with?

He let out a deep breath and said, “You look really pretty by the way,”.

A blush crept up your face, “Thank You,”.

He kept staring into your eyes as you both remained silent. He moved closer to you but you couldn’t process it because you were caught up in your own thoughts. Was he waiting for you to make a move? You both haven’t kissed yet and every date felt like it would end with a kiss, but it never did. You were all in your head about how he felt about you and you didn’t know what to do, so you thought that it would be better to just go inside and avoid the awkward moment.

“I should probably go,” you say while staring into his deep blue eyes, but before you can grab your stuff, Joe leans in and captures your lips in a gentle kiss. You stay absolutely still for a few seconds before he suddenly pulls away.

The blank look on his face fills your stomach with anxiety. Did your breath stink? Did he not enjoy it? Was it a mistake? You felt like hiding in a corner somewhere and never coming out.

“Your lips,” he says. “Is that Cherry?”.

You pause for a few seconds and say, “Yeah,”.

“I love Cherry,” is all he says before pulling you back over to him, and completely attacking your lip with sloppy and eager kisses. You feel him grin into the kiss which immediately gets rid of your wandering thoughts.

“You taste like love,” he says in between kisses.

End of flashback

He presses another kiss on your lips which snaps you back to the present. “You did great out there,” you told him. “They loved you,”.

“Yeah, it felt natural and easy,” he says as he leans back in for another kiss.

Before you could ask him about his sudden change of heart about wanting to not talk about your relationship, a team member came over to tell you both that you’re allowed to leave and go over to the bar and that everyone would join you there in a little bit. Joe nods, wrappinh his arm around your waist, and leading you both out to the car. This newfound PDA was a little weird for you as you were walking through crowds of strangers and Joe seemed to not care. You decided not to push the subject just yet, it would be better to wait till you were alone so you could figure out what was going through his head.

The after-party had a stereotypical College party vibe to it, and it being in a College Bar was definitely adding to the mix. Loud music and laughter, numerous cans of beer scattered across the room, and groups of people playing darts or beer pong. You felt like you were transported back to College and were drunk on nostalgia, and maybe something more.

Joe was standing next to you, one hand firmly gripping your waist, and a beer can in the other, as you were extremely focused on the game of darts in front of you both.

“Andddd, Bullseye!” you yell as the dart hits the middle of the board.

“Great Job, Y/N. I taught you well,” He says as you feel his hand migrate down to your ass, giving it a soft squeeze.

“That you did,” You say as you look back up at him. Here he goes again with the PDA, not that you were upset at it. You loved it, but you were also just as confused. You watched him take another sip of his beer before breaking off to go greet a few more people. You watched as he was conversing with a group of people before he looked over at you and motioned for you to come over.

“And this is my girlfriend Y/N,” he says as you join his side, his hand once again around your waist. You had no idea who he was introducing you to and were even more surprised that he was just tossing around the “girlfriend” tag so casually in front of people that he seems to have met for the first time. A few minutes later, you wrap up your conversation and decide to talk to Joe about what all this was about.

“Hey Joe?” you say to get his attention.

“Yeah? What’s up?” he responds.

“You wanna over there for a bit? I need to talk to you about something,” you say as you point over to the semi-secluded barstools in the back of the bar. He nods and you lead him over to the stools and sit down with your drinks.

“Is everything alright?” he asks as he rubs your thigh.

“Yeah, everything is fine,” you say as you place your hand on his. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay,”.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” he questions.

“Its just, before the podcast you were getting nervous about them potentially asking you about us, and they did,”.

“Yeaahh,” he drags out as he nods his head.

“And when they did, you seemed to be just fine and were like an open book. Not to mention the out-of-the-blue PDA you’ve been showing all night,” you giggle. “I just wanna know, why the sudden change of heart? You know I don’t mind not being so open and public with our relationship, I hope I didn’t make you feel like you had to say or do something,”.

Joe looked deeply into your eyes for a few seconds before responding. “These past few months have been pretty hard for me, and us. You know that best,”. You nod in return, now feeling a little queasy at the mention of the rough moments you had.

“And it gave me a lot of time to think about life,” he adds as he interlocks his fingers with yours.

“I’m tired of acting like you’re not the reason why I can do most of this, aside from actually playing football. You always know exactly how to handle me when things get too chaotic, you know how to calm me down, you help me with literally everything, but most importantly, you put up with all the bullshit that being with me brings,”.

“Joe,” you whisper.

“Wait, I’m not finished. You’re the most important person in my life, and it’s time I make that known to everyone. I realized that I have no reason to be worried about what others will think, I love you more than anything and people need to know that. These past few months have shown me that I need you more than I need anything and the thought of you not being by my side freaks me the fuck out. Fuck their opinion. Fuck their comments. I love you and I chose you. Opening the door just a little will not hurt and if anyone has a problem with it, screw them,”.

You felt like crying as he said all of this to you. Not tears of sadness, but tears of relief. You were relieved that his feelings towards you hadn’t changed, as odd as that sounds. There were a few negative thoughts about your relationship that piled up in the back of your mind over the past few months, but you never confronted them out of fear. The injury did a number on you both and you were scared that you’d lose this special thing you had to something that wasn’t in your control.

“I love you so much, Joe. I’m not going anywhere,” you told him.

“I love you more. And good, I think if you did I wouldn’t know how to function,” he says as he pulls you off the barstool and closer to him, slowly pressing his lips against yours. His lips tasted like your cherry lip gloss and beer, a familiar mix that you would often call ‘drunk in love’. He told you during your first kiss that the cherry lipgloss you had on tasted like love, and the beer was already intoxicating itself. A mix of both felt like you were well, drunk in love.

You were caught up in a heated moment in the dimly lit corner of the bar, not caring who saw you or who cared what you were doing. Your tongues tangled in your mouth as his hand navigated to your waist, holding you tightly. He lightly bit your bottom lip, causing you to moan into the kiss. His hands continued to wander around your hips, slowly moving down to your ass. He gives it a few squeezes, pushing you deeper into him. You pulled away from his lips and said, “Do you wanna get out of here? I’m all for being a little more open, but I think we should finish this one away from public view,” you wink.

He playfully shakes his head and lets out a laugh, “Deal,”.

He grabs your hand tightly and leads you through the bar, giving it a few squeezes as you make your way outside.

“We didn’t tell anyone that we were leaving,” you said as he led you down the street to the Car.

“We’ll be fine,” he reassures you as he opens the car door for you.

He gets you situated before going around and getting inside the driver’s seat. You couldn’t wait to get home and finish what started in the bar. Once he got on the highway his hand navigated to your upper thigh, rubbing it up and down, softly caressing your exposed skin. You were already on edge from your heated makeout before and his hand being this close to where you needed him most was driving you insane.

“Did I mention that you looked absolutely sexy tonight? This white dress is really making me feel things,” Joe says.

“You’re such a tease,” you giggle.

“Hm?” He questioned, acting oblivious.

“You know what you’re doing, Burrow. Got me all flustered from earlier and now this,” you say as you pat his hand that’s on your thigh.

“How did I get you flustered?”.

You sit up in your seat and say, “Well for starters, you looked like walking sex tonight, even if it’s a laid-back fit kinda day. Something about you in all black makes me insanely horny. Secondly, your talking about me caught me off guard but my stomach was fluttering the entire time. And then that makeout earlier at the arena and in the bar? Yeah, I’m this close to literally passing out,”. You fall back into your seat for dramatic effect as Joe playfully rolls his eyes.

“Well then, maybe I should do something about it,” he says while looking over at you for a second.

“What are you proposing?”.

“Just lay back and relax,” he says. So you do as he says, knowing exactly where this would lead, especially because it wasn’t the first time.

His hand moves to part your legs, and then slowly moves higher up your thigh until his fingers are teasing the edge of your panties. He moved them to the side as you let out a quiet whimper because of the newly exposed skin meeting the cool air of the car. His fingers parted your folds, finding your wetness and sliding easily inside you. The feeling was intense, the rhythm slow and gentle as he explored the depths of your desire. You arched your back, pressing your body closer to his hand, needing more of his touch.

“Joe, Fuck,” you moaned as you felt pleasure overcome you.

His fingers moved in and out of you, a familiar sensation building with each stroke. Heat and pure ecstasy were coursing through your body, your breath coming in short gasps as you reached the edge of pleasure. Joe’s thumb found your clit, circling the sensitive bud and sending you fully over the edge.

“Ohhh,” you moaned as you threw your head back into the headrest.

You spent a few minutes catching your breath and he slid his fingers out of your core and up to his mouth, cleaning up the mess on his hand. “Sweet,” was all he said, flashing you a smile.

You laugh and say, “Can’t wait to get home, It’s your turn,”.

He looked over at you, pure lust in his eyes as he gripped the wheel strongly and pushed on the gas pedal a little harder. Once you got home, Joe parked in the garage and quickly pulled you out of the car, eagerly leading you through the halls of your home, not even giving you a moment to take your shoes off.

“Joe, slow down,” you giggle, slightly holding him back so he stops.

He turns around and stares into your eyes for a few seconds, then eyeing you up and down, before tossing you over his shoulders and leading you up the stairs. “Boy, someone is excited,” you laugh. He leads you into your bedroom and gently tosses you down against the silk sheets of your bed before slipping your heels off. He then kneels in between your thighs and captures your lips in a messy kiss.

You slide your hands into his messy curls and pull him closer, if that was even humanly possible, as he starts to fiddle with the straps of your dress. A few minutes later, both your clothes are now on the floor and you are back to making out, ignoring the fact that his boner was poking your thigh. You would never get enough of his lips, so soft and plump, very easy to get lost in. He pulls away and presses a few sloppy kisses around your neck before moving down your body.

You stop him before he goes further, “Wait. I told you that it was your turn next,”.

“You don’t have to, Y/N,” he smiles.

“Mmmm, too bad,” you say as you move out from under him, allowing him to lie back against the headboard. Once he gets settled, you straddle his hips and press a few kisses around his face, then kiss your way down his perfectly sculpted body. You reach his hard-on and wrap your hand around it, giving it a few pumps as pre-cum was beading at the tip.

You looked up at him, making intense eye contact, as you wrapped your soft lips around the tip of his cock, feeling him twitch in pleasure. You start to move your head back and forth, going deeper each time as sounds of pleasure escape Joe’s lips.

“Shit, you feel so good,”.

You continued to bob your head up and down his shaft until you felt him getting closer. Your hands gripped his thighs as you took him deeper and deeper, nearly choking up. His breathing became more erratic as you sucked him harder and faster. He slid his hands into your hair as started to buck his hips into your mouth, a sure sign he was about to cum.

“Fuckk,” he moaned as you felt hot spurts of his cum filling your mouth, making sure to swallow every drop. You slowly release him from your mouth and look up at him with nothing but love and adoration.

“You’re perfect,” you whisper, wiping the spit and salvia off of your mouth.

“And you’re amazing,” he says as he pulls you back on top of him. You let out a soft laugh before kissing the tip of his perfectly sculpted nose. “You still up for a little more?” you ask him.

A huge grin appears on his face, “Always,” he whispers as he moves closer, once again kissing you passionately. You break away to put each of your legs around him and he grabs your waist while moving down to lie back against the bed all the way. You leaned down to press a final kiss on his lips before lining up his cock with your slick entrance. You slide down his length, soft moans leaving both your lips as the feeling of fullness feels like you’re coming home.

You begin to move your hips in a slow, sensual rhythm. Your hands rested on his chest and your fresh manicure left a few marks as you dug your fingers into his tan skin.

“Fuck,” he moaned. “You feel so fucking good,”. His hands moved up and gripped your waist, helping you move back and forth to ease the soreness that you were definitely feeling by this point.

“Yeah,” you moaned.

“Faster Baby,” he whispered. You nodded and picked up the pace, riding him faster and harder. You could feel the tension building in his body, his muscles tensing beneath you as you moved with a steady, relentless pace. Joe started to buck his hips into your slick lower half, making you throw your head back in pleasure. Your breathy moans and sounds of skin slapping against skin filled the room.

“Shit,” you moaned as he continued to pound into you.

“You’re doing so good,” he whispered. You looked back down at him and smiled, he never missed a chance to praise you. He looked absolutely fucked out; his lips were red and swollen from the many kisses you shared, his hair askew, and a content grin on his face. The next few minutes passed by blissfully as you continued to ride him into oblivion. You leaned down, pressing your breasts against his chest, and started to bounce back onto his cock while moaning sweet nothings into his ear. His hands wrap around your back, pushing you closer and closer to his warm body.

“Fuck, I’m so close,” he moaned.

You whimpered in response as heat was building in your belly. He picked up his pace and continued to pound into your core as he felt your walls start to tighten around him. The pleasure became too much for you, so you bite down on his shoulder to muffle your screams.

“I’m cumming, Fuck,” he moaned. You felt his hands around your waist again, tightly gripping your plush skin, as you felt him shoot his load into your core.

“Y/N,” he groaned.

You lifted your head out of his shoulder and pulled him in for a sloppy and needy kiss to stifle his moans. You were once again lost in his lips so you didn’t even realize it but he somehow managed to flip you over so now you were laying back against the bed. He moved one of your legs around his waist and ruthlessly thrusted into your core to help you find your pleasure. Your whole body shaking as he pushed you deeper and deeper into the bed which each thrust.

“Come on Baby,” he groaned. You were so fucked out and the alcohol from earlier was finally in full effect so you had zero thoughts in your head. You just felt your boyfriend pounding into your core and the pleasure building inside your sore body.

“Mmph, Joe,” you whined as you felt the increasing wetness between you both. Breathy moans escaped your lips as you finally felt the rubber band in your belly snap, causing waves of intense and deep pleasure to wash over you.

“Fuckkk,” you whimpered. Joe gently collapsed on top of you, making sure he didn’t crush you with his weight. He pressed a few kisses on your neck as you remained in your high.

“Joeee, Fuck, you’re so good. It’s so good,” you moaned as your orgasm came over you. You spent a few minutes coming down from your intense high and held Joe close against your body. He whispered sweet nothings into your ear, telling you repeatedly how much he loved you like it was a sacred prayer.

You felt him press a kiss on your cheek before slowly sliding out of you, causing you to shrudder at the loss of contact. He went into the bathroom to grab a towel to clean you up before getting in bed; your body was too sore and tired to get up to wash off the sweat and cum.

“Thank you,” you said as he turned off the lights and got into bed next to you.

“No need to thank me, Y/N,” he chuckled.

“God damn, that was a workout,” you laughed as you turned over to face him.

“My favorite workout,” he smiled as he pulled you into his side. You rest your head on his bare chest as he plays with your messy hair for a few moments.

You looked up into his eyes and saw nothing but love and warmth. “I love you, Joe,”.

He moved his hand down to your face, cupping the side and caressing the soft skin of your cheek. “I love you so much, baby. I’m glad I get to show the world how much you mean to me. It’s you and me, forever,” he says before leaning down and pressing a gentle kiss on your lips.

“Always and forever,” you whisper against his lips. You moved back down to his chest and snuggled closer to him. You look back up for a second and see Joe falling asleep, a smile still present on his face. He was happy, you were happy. Everything was perfect.

—The End—

#joe burrow #joe burrow x reader #joe burrow fic #joeburrow #joe burrow imagine #nfl imagine

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impatient14 · 2 months

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Some of this anti-Oscars discourse is justified, and I totally agree that we need to be cognizant of how institutions manipulate the public into being complacent and maintaining the status quo, but (in most cases) it isn't fair to attribute an interest in the Oscars to some sort of personal character flaw. Sure, there are problems with the Oscars at the industry level too, and it isn't ideal that people put so much stock into what is essentially a very expensive, politicized, popularity contest, but have you also considered: Joy? People love movies and the actors that bring to life some truly human stories that can challenge the very institutions that we recognize as problematic. Should we be talking about the Atrocities? Yes. And we should be talking about them in a variety of arenas and mediums. And it definitely would have been nice if more celebrities had acknowledged what was happening in Gaza.

And, personally, I don't mind people tagging discourse about what's happening in the world to remind people of what they're choosing to escape from for a moment (though it has the potential to be triggering and detrimental to some people-especially those actually experiencing the trauma), but if I want to celebrate art and look at some pretty dresses for a few minutes while I disassociate for a mental health break, I shouldn't be fighting an urge to hate myself in the process. Shitting on people for taking a moment out of this insanely traumatizing life we live day-to-day isn't helpful to your cause, because attacking someone's chosen method of self-care doesn't do much to motivate productive behavior in someone simply taking a moment to breathe.

#oscars #academy awards #96th academy awards #gaza #free palestine #israel

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strangesmallbard · 6 months

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OKAY i’ve gathered my post-mockingjay thoughts. common thg discourse speedrun:

“gale is the true villain/gale killed prim” - gale is a child soldier who, like katniss and peeta, was used by adults in power to achieve their political goals. his desire for vengeance on the capitol isn’t a viable strategy to free the districts or promote long-lasting peace, but he’s not a strategist. he’s a justifiably angry 18 year old kid who endured an oppressive regime—and coin put the tools for destruction in his hands, knowing he was too young to fully comprehend their long-term consequences. then coin used his tools to kill prim. katniss understands he did not pull the trigger, but she also can’t exonerate him and this fact devastates them both. to frame gale’s story as a corruption arc + pin prim’s death on him just misses sooo much.

“gale = violence, peeta = peace” - related discourse, but this really oversimplifies both characters. see above for gale’s motivations. peeta, meanwhile, chooses to exit the arena. and this is not a peaceful path. every day was likely a brutal struggle. but what i don’t like about this discourse is the moralistic binary it imposes on these characters. that’s just, frankly, boring as a discussion topic. stepping into the meta-narrative, it is suspicious to equate blonde, blue-eyed peeta with Goodness and Wholesomeness, and gale with Being Brutishly Violent. i don’t think this aspect is present in the books, but it’s certainly common in fandom.

“suzanne collins is a spineless centrist for killing coin” - throughout the book, coin is positioned as snow’s counterpart. like snow. she uses katniss for propaganda and, perhaps, fears the power over public opinion she wields. it’s very likely that coin would also prove authoritarian—especially bc she seizes power with no election. in that context, killing her is definitely not centrist lmao. but i think suzanne collins was less interested in promoting one political perspective over another than completing katniss’ character arc. and katniss wanted to kill coin, for killing prim. it’s her very first premeditated revenge murder. and that’s complex innit.

“snow and coin are two sides of the same coin (lmao)” - yeah, i think collins was going for this perspective. however, i do think its interesting that katniss’ info about coin is based on her own observations and second-hand assumptions; we never learn coin’s internal motivations from her pov. meanwhile, we also know that katniss is an unreliable narrator. while i don’t think snow lied about coin + the capitol bombs, i do think he constructed that narrative about her motivations to confuse katniss—to have the upper hand one last time. in that way, i don’t think coin’s mystery is a deficit, but rather a useful characterization tool for katniss. but i’m also saying: alma coin novella when

“wait, when did rue become black?” during her first character introduction idiot

#thg #yell.txt

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gatheringbones · 2 years

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[“…. the needs of adult-industry workers will never be adequately addressed as long as those workers are seen as exploited victims. The rhetoric around this conversation too often paints the performers themselves as less-than-human caricatures who have no sense of the risks their job involves.

Long-term performers have more awareness of the health risks of their jobs and the kinds of regulations that would increase their on-the-job health and safety than anyone outside of the industry (as opposed to the kinds of regulations that would further drive the industry into secrecy and away from the already limited reaches of legal accountability). This is one of the arenas in which feminist sex workers are fighting for visibility—in the battle to separate the needs of consenting sex workers from the needs of trafficking victims—people who are actually being exploited and coerced. Until these kinds of distinctions are made in the public discourse, it is unlikely that they will be reflected in public health policy, the law, or social, anthropological, and biological research.

The amorphous monolith we call “pornography” is just a microcosm reflective of, and influenced by, the attitudes toward sexuality held by society as a whole. The queer and feminist movements’ most powerful rhetoric has always been that of freedom of choice and self-definition. Sexual desire and sexual identity are absolutely essential to the freely defined self.”]

lorelai lee, from Cum Guzzling Anal Nurse Whore, from the feminist porn book: the politics of producing pleasure, edited by tristan taormino, constance henley, and celine perreñas shimizu, 2013

#Lorelei lee #tristan taormino #currently reading

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haggishlyhagging · 11 months

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The images of woman as object, not as active agent or creative autonomous subject, ensure that women remain on the outside, that women's voices are not heard. As history describes the doings of men, as fine art is the art created by men, as literature is writing produced by men, and as classical music is that composed by men, so the science, the news, the art, the literature, the music of today is that produced by men. The patriarchs are adamant that this should be so. The conductor, Sir Thomas Beecham, pronounced, “There are no women composers, never have been, and never will be.” John Ruskin confidently declared “No woman can paint.” And Swinburne claimed that, “When it comes to science we find women are simply nowhere. The feminine mind is quite unscientific.” Virginia Woolf's ponderings on the (im)possibility of ‘Shakespeare's sister’ who might have wanted to write, characterize the position of women in the creative sphere. As Tillie Olsen illustrates, in her now classic text, Silences, woman's voice has been absent from the world's creative arena for centuries. Unfortunately, it seems as if it still is.

But why are women so silent in the scientific, professional or creative spheres of life? The traditional reductionist argument, rehearsed earlier, is that women are somehow unable to think, to paint, or to write because of affinity with nature and lack of intellect. Or is it rather that we are not allowed to, through the systematic exclusion of women's work in the public sphere, or through the maintenance of women's work in the home the maintaining of women as servers, as the 'angel in the house', rather than as active creators of artistic discourse? Is it that women are producing creative material, but it is being systematically ignored? For there are many who profit from the reification of the male creator and the simultaneous reduction of women's creativity to the sphere of childbirth, as this extract from a misogynistic male critic illustrates:

A few years back I read a neo-feminist's approving review of another neo-feminist's book. The reviewer said that she agreed with the author that for a woman, a career is more creative than being a mother. That puzzled me: without having given much thought to it, I had assumed that about the closest the human race can get to creation is when a woman bears a child, nurtures him, and cares for him [sic]. (Himmelfarb, 1967: 59; my emphasis)

If women can believe that childbirth is unsurpassable as a creative act, perhaps they will put down their pens and their paints, cease thinking and continue breeding. Is it a coincidence that the male pronoun is used to refer to the product of female creativity? Is it as creative to produce a female child? Or is this yet another comment produced without having given much thought to it?

The reason for women's absence on the world stage of creativity is not biological inferiority, nor an absence of desire to create beyond the realms of the family. The real reasons for the silence are not very difficult to discern; nor are the effects. Take the case of art, as many feminist scholars recently have, rewriting the history of art through a feminist prism. Our Old Masters and masterpieces - the art which fetches astronomical prices, elevating the artist to an almost godlike status, his creativity seen to be drawn from some higher power - are all the work of men. The history of art is peopled with men, not women. The male artist is the hero; the female artist is invisible. The woman is present only as the object of the artist's gaze, to be consumed, to be frozen and framed, to be possessed. Feminist analysis has identified the way in which women's voices and women as active agents have been suppressed; the way in which women are destined 'to be spoken' (in Lacanian terms) rather than to speak. It is the same process that silences talent, as recent texts on the 'forgotten' women artists, scientists, or authors has shown. It is produced by a systematic suppression - a systematic oppression - achieved by promoting and validating the work of men whilst ignoring, or denying the existence of, the work of women.

Whilst women writers from Aphra Behn to Mary Wollstonecraft have been rediscovered by feminist literary scholars and feminist publishers, many others have not. Many women never had the time or opportunity to publish - and their voices will never be heard. Many women remain silent, following in the painful footsteps of our foremothers who never have the time or legitimacy for reflection and creation. It is moving to consider how many brilliant voices have not been heard, how many brilliant careers have been thwarted. As Olive Schreiner reflected:

What has humanity not lost by suppression and subjection? We have a Shakespeare; but what of the possible Shakespeares we might have had who passed their life from youth upward brewing currant wine and making pastries for fat country squires to eat, with no glimpse of freedom of the life and action necessary even to poach on deer in the green forests; stifled out without one line written, simply because of being the weaker sex, life gave no room for action and grasp on life?

In addition to marginalizing women, and ensuring that we cannot find a voice with which to declare our anger, our desperation, or our fears, the images can be seen to have a more invidious function in that they objectify women. They ensure that we have few role models to turn to for inspiration. We expect to be confined and constricted. We expect to serve men. Is it any wonder that we despair, that we cry out, that we are mad? And if the woman herself was not treated as mad for daring to be creative, she may have been driven so by the restrictions upon her. It is an insidious double bind: women who do attempt to create may be vilified for their talent, and for their temerity in daring to speak out. Whether a woman's creativity is an expression of inner conflict and turmoil, or merely a desire for self-expression, it is in danger of becoming the tool which condemns, a centuries-old process, as Virginia Woolf eloquently shows:

.. any woman born with a great gift in the sixteenth century would certainly have gone crazed, shot herself, or ended her days in some lonely cottage outside the village, half witch, half wizard, feared and mocked at. For it needs little skill in psychology to be sure that a highly gifted girl who had tried to use her gift for poetry would have been so thwarted and hindered by other people, so tortured and pulled asunder by her own contrary instincts, that she must have lost her health and sanity to a certainty. (Woolf, 1928: 48)

The feminist martyrs, diagnosed as mad, 'treated' by patriarchal experts, and (often) destroyed by their own hands, have fuelled arguments that madness is protest, an expression of thwarted creativity. And within a culture which refuses to recognize women's creativity (except in the area of motherhood) it is argued that its frustration leads to madness. Phyllis Chesler opens her book, Women and madness, with a testimonial to four such women, Elizabeth Packard, Ellen West, Zelda Fitzgerald and Sylvia Plath. In her description of their madness as 'an expression of female powerlessness and an unsuccessful attempt to reject and overcome this state', Chesler argues that the experiences of these women symbolize the oppression of women's power, women's creativity - an oppression with fatal consequences (Chesler, 1972: 16). Her argument - that the inability of these women to express themselves, their silencing by men, has led to their madness and their suicide - has obviously struck a chord in the hearts and minds of many women. Their icons and heroines are women like Sylvia Plath, women seen as victims of the individual men who thwarted their intellect, as well as victims of a society which sees women, not as active subjects, but as objects. When we read Plath's words, ‘Dying/Is an art, like everything else./I do it exceptionally well,’ a chill hand clutches the heart: although many would like to emulate her creativity, they fear the fate that befell her. We must, however, be careful not to glorify these women, raising them to the status of martyrs, for, as Tillie Olsen demonstrates, suicide is rare among creative women. What is undoubtedly more common is the slow creeping frustration, the inability to think, to breathe, to work at anything other than the daily grind. For women's creativity is not frustrated only by the structural barriers provided by the male-dominated academies and universities, and the male publishing houses, but also by the lack of time. For if male writers such as Hardy, Gerard Manley Hopkins and Joseph Conrad can share this experience described by Conrad, how must it be for the woman whose main task is the care of her children, her husband, her home?

I sit down religiously each morning, I sit down for eight hours, and the sitting down is all. In the course of that working day of eight hours I write three sentences which I erase before leaving the table in despair.

It is no coincidence that 'in our century as in the last, until very recently, all distinguished achievement has come from childless women' (Olsen, 1978: 31). How many women can find time to await the visit of the muse in moments snatched between children and housework? It is a wonder that Jane Austen managed to write - hiding her papers under a blotter in her parsonage drawing room - by snatching a few lines, a few thoughts, when the scarce moments of solitude were upon her. How many others must have given up, despairing, angry and defeated?

Even those women who manage to ward off the angel in the house, and can find a room of their own, may be remembered chiefly for aspects of their personal lives, their work forgotten, and their creativity reduced to voyeuristic intrusions on their sexuality. As French says:

Whether a woman had a sex life, what sort of sex life it was, whether she married, whether she was a good wife or a good mother, are questions that often dominate critical assessment of female artists, writers and thinkers. (French, 1985: 97)

The critics who pore over men's work with an academic glee, hardly noticing their personal lives, seem unnaturally interested in the woman creator's personal habits and especially in her sexuality. This allows the creative woman to be presented as unbalanced, unnatural, and certainly not representative of women. Thus, 'Harriet Martineau is portrayed as a crank, Christabel Pankhurst as a prude, Aphra Behn as a whore, Mary Wollstonecraft as promiscuous' (Spender, 1982: 31). Sylvia Plath, one of the foremost creative women of the late twentieth century, has been similarly treated. Biographers, commentators and critics seem more interested in her adolescent sexuality, her relationships with men during her college years, and her marriage, than with her work.

That a woman who produced brilliant poetry could also be sexual is seen to be a peculiarity. That she killed herself allows her to be seen as mad, and thus as not a normal woman. This over-concern with her sexuality and sanity detracts from her work, and is an insult to this gifted poet, and to others who might follow her. The message to women is clear - dabble with the muse, attempt to enter the male world of learning, of thinking, of creativity, and you may pay the highest price.

-Jane Ussher, Women’s Madness: Misogyny or Mental Illness?

#jane ussher #female artists #female mental health #female oppression #female erasure #female creativity #female voice

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ratatattouille · 4 months

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Watching TBOSAS while knowing what's happening in Palestine is a severe mindfuck. Like, how the Capitol continually frames the children trapped in cages as feral and savage, and when one child is taunted with food and retaliates against her torturer, she is shot and killed and the children are further villainized. Like how the narrative about the children from the districts is that they're savages, but the footage shows the children burying each other, weeping for each other, holding each other while they die. Like how the Capitol audience gasps when the child tears down the flag, but not a moment before--when children were being grotesquely murdered in front of their eyes.

Palestinain toddlers holding their shaking siblings. Old survivors adopting orphaned children. Men and women with their families wiped out, doing all they can to keep other people's families alive. Dying with them when another bomb hits. Writing poetry, singing songs, cradling kittens and dogs with their limbs blown off.

Like how the rebel attack is seen as unjust violence, but not the occupation of Capitol "peacekeepers" toward everyday citizens. Not the systemic starvation of the people in the districts. Resistance as savagery and occupation as order. Everything the rebels or children do to survive is unprovoked violence not arising from the circumstances they've been forced into.

When Lucy Grey refuses to call her home District 12 and Flickerman keeps trying to get her to call it District 12. When she humanizes her culture and heritage and history, refusing to let it be replaced with Capitol narratives.

This movie was made in the US of A, in a time when the US of A is killing Yemenis for aiding Palestinians, and financing Israeli forces.

Interesting how Dr. Volumnia Gaul interrupted the kid grieving the loss of other kids to talk about the loss of one Capitol kid who died of injuries from the rebel attack, railing on TV about how they are dedicated to justice for their children. She unleashes poisonous snakes into the arena of innocent children that had nothing to do with the attack as "retaliation" or "self-defense."

"Do you condmen Hamas?" "We are not targeting children, we are targeting Hamas." If a terrorist enters a highschool, do you bomb the highschool? In America, I doubt the answer is as straightforward in public discourse.

So absurdly chilling how most Americans will watch the movie and think, "just like how the Middle East treats its children." We've already been seeing such discourse on the internet. It is an allegory of anyone and everyone but them.

Palestine is not the only arena. The US has Hunger Games (TM) chain in multiple countries. It is a global franchise. An American wrote these books as a critique against her own country, and for all its millions, not one of her books has been truly understood by the masses that love them.

Let's talk about how hot Snow is. Let's talk about how smart the game system is. Let's talk about whether or not we would survive. It's speculative fun, and I'm not above it. I enjoy speculating about fictional worlds, but we cannot afford to stay there. Not at such a time.

It's so interesting to me how the spirit of revolution is alive in the world, but many people won't hear it. Because American culture is so brutally individualistic and consumeristic, that most people there can only think of themselves and each other in fictional narratives, which must fall in line with their identities. If they identify as heroes, no narrative that contradicts that is acceptable. Same thing with the Capitol. Katniss and Sejanus got nowhere by shouting at the audience what monsters they are. Because it just isn't something they can understand because they've never felt like villains. Or monsters. They're just citizens. Just consumers. Just people. Normal. This is typical of the elite, oppressing class. There is no inner change without self-examination. Criticism of the upper-class, characterized as violent and malicious, is not allowed. It is threatening. Any critic is automatically viewed with suspicion. Because they are not policed, they do not self-examine, and thus think they are blameless. Any critic is someone who wants harm to come to them, rather than someone who knows them. They're so self-absorbed, they cannot imagine the world works differently than how they experience it. Their identities are tied to brands. Brands are like family. They demand their loyalty and money. Convenience is their divine right. Ease is their divine right. So whatever provides these things, the exploitation of other dirty people for example, is not bad. It must be justice. That distance from those "dirty people" further allows them to delude themselves and get away with it. The poor are poor because they're bad. Poverty and violence are punishments. They don't happen to just anybody for no reason. Good things happen to good people.

America prospers because it's people are virtuous. The white elite prosper because they are virtuous. The colored people, the people of the global south, perish because they aren't as smart, aren't as good, aren't as moral. So what happens to them, war, death, disease, theft, occupation, is really their fault.

Now, thanks to social media, we can see the atrocities happen live and watch people debate about it. Comment. Give us their opinion. The kids are still in the arena. They're still dying and burying their dead.

But unlike Lucy Grey or Katniss, there's no home they're going back to. At least, not for a very long time.

#thg #tbosas #palestine #free palestine #amerikkka #us politics

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brother-emperors · 1 year

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What interests you most about the pazzo conspiracy? I've been reading up about it and all the forces at play are so fascinating and also the long chain of events that leas to it. Have a good day!

the biggest thing is probably that I hate the medici family with the force of a hundred suns exploding at once lmao

but also! I love the interconnected dialogues on tyranny that happen between the conspiracies! it's interesting, especially when you get into the reception of it.

Conspiracy Literature in Early Renaissance Italy, Marta Celati

there is something very revealing in a failed conspiracy, in how the people who maintain their hold to power choose to invent the narrative, and who they employ to create the propaganda. the resulting art and literature people create about an event, on an event, discoursing on it, is equally revealing and complex.

April Blood, Lauro Martines

with the pazzi specifically, it's sort of how the medici have gotten away with basically everything they ever did. public reception of them to a casual enthusiast of art or history tends to lean positive, you'd be surprised how many assassin's creed fans have strong opinions on the matter even though that's a game, although it does have a place in the arena of historical reception and fiction and how it reflects/informs a casual audience's opinion on the event. (pour one out for my twitter notifications when my handle was 'francesco de' pazzi apologist' jesus fucking christ)

April Blood, Lauro Martines

the pazzi are a recognizable strike against them, and it's all the more fascinating to me how they persist (whether positive or negative, nbc's hannibal uses the pazzi thematically, i medici [the show]......exists, assassin's creed does as it does, etc) despite how thoroughly lorenzo de medici tried to erase them while simultaneously celebrating his own triumph. pazzi portraits were probably altered or destroyed. there was also a fresco of their bodies commissioned for the public to see. (botticelli got the commission for the pittura infamante)

April Blood, Lauro Martines

and also the literature commissioned after the conspiracy was obviously propaganda* to paint the pazzi in a bad light, some of it fucks hard.

*most art commissioned was propaganda in one way or another

Conspiracy Literature in Early Renaissance Italy, Marta Celati

April Blood, Lauro Martines

in summary: I hate the Medici, and I like the Themes™

#lorenzo de medici and octavian augustus are the same to me #shdhghghhh i quote these two books often but if i start going into the medici it's like. that's a twenty page event #anyway these are good books if you're interested in conspiracies/conspiracy lit in the renaissance #long post #ask tag

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fatehbaz · 1 year

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The Caribbean entered modern history “as the pawn of European power politics, the cockpit of Europe, the arena of Europe’s wars hot and cold,” wrote Eric Williams almost a half century ago [...]. Indeed, Shalini Puri and Lara Putnam argue that military operations and the political culture of militarism make for the coherence of the region [...].

Certain zones -- including Guantánamo, the subject of the collection by Don E. Walicek and Jessica Adams -- have borne special, enduring burdens in this regard. [...] The Caribbean moved into the twentieth century on a major martial note. In 1898 the United States intervened into the armed Cuban anticolonial struggle against Spain, [...] and taking on the imaginary white man’s burden. For North Americans, the many consequences of this speedy and “splendid” war included the appropriation of Cuba’s Guantánamo Bay (1903) for use as the republic’s first overseas naval base. [...] Diana Coleman, for example, locates the symbolic significance of the base and prison in a deeper past, a history that goes back to the 1893 Columbian Exposition in Chicago. [...] Walicek’s essay establishes that the very embeddedness of Guantánamo in an imperial past has been erased by official discourse. He notes that even before the post-9/11 war on terror, Haitians and Cubans seeking asylum found themselves detained in Gitmo. [...] Examining visual representations, Esther Whitfield emphasizes the struggle of local artists to show Gitmo, against the cliché as a “no man’s land,” to be a place inhabited by people. [...] The greatest physical expansion of Gitmo came during World War II, a period of profound militarization across the Caribbean [...]. Also set in wartime Trinidad, Rita Pemberton’s essay plays up the paradox of food scarcity and insecurity in the midst of Yankee-sponsored prosperity. [...]

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Meanwhile twenty-first-century Caribbeans have had to deal with a nominally novel form of warfare, the U.S.-led “War on Drugs.” This campaign, Deborah Thomas recounts, pushed Jamaican security forces to invade the Kingston community of Tivoli [...]. How residents have remembered this “Tivoli Incursion” and how their memories expose doubtful feelings about sovereignty in Jamaica is Thomas’s central concern. [...]

Grace Johnson focuses on the early twentieth-century U.S. occupation of Haiti, stressing [...] the way these women played a central role in the protests that eventually led to the end of the occupation. [...]

Vieques also serves as the setting for Daniel Arbino’s piece on the violent history of the U.S. military presence and the protests that led to the demilitarization of the little island in 2004.

Don Walicek brings awareness to the landing of British paratroopers and marines in Anguilla in 1969 after leaders on the island declared “independence” from St. Kitts and Nevis. Little known outside of Anguilla, this British Invasion (“Operation Sheepskin”) reminds us that in the age of decolonization tiny Caribbean societies too were caught up in militant struggles for self-government. Unlike the case of Anguilla, the U.S. invasion of Grenada in 1984 has been the subject of numerous studies [...]

---.

Two other essays concerned with Trinidad also center on music.

Jocelyne Guilbault insightfully links the anxiety about armed violence to the increasing use of militarized policing at the large soca “fetes” that define the island’s Carnival season.

And Louis Regis (recently passed) turns away from the insecurity of soca fetes and toward the texts of songs to examine the treatment of military issues in calypso and soca across the twentieth century. Dealing with a massive discography, Regis stresses a range of themes, showing how lyrics have moved from warning women about predatory policemen, to condemning the U.S. invasion of Grenada and pleading for peace. [...]

---

Text by: Harvey R. Neptune. “A Force in the Field: Recent Interventions into the Military History of the Caribbean.” New West Indian Guide. Online publication date 3 June 2020. [Bold emphasis and some paragraph breaks/contractions added by me.]

#caribbean #abolition

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souryogurt64 · 1 year

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ryan stayed out of the public eye for so long that I think he's getting mythologized almost, like people can't remember him being shitty or making bad music like brendon so his reputation got scrubbed clean

I also noticed a lot of the hashtag stan ryan ross posts only has pictures of him from when he was in panic and none from the 15 years after that lol. he kinda became a concept and not some guy anymore

Yeah I joined in like 2013 when TYV had died not that long ago and everyone hated Ryan so much it was unreal and now there's been a slow but complete 180 over the last decade. There were still stans but most people didn't like him. I think this is pretty justified, people's view on addiction has softened a lot and I think Brendon has gotten way, way less popular and Ryan has smoothed things over with a lot of people like Pete and I also think that it has come out that Ryan was being impersonated by Shane online and wasn't saying unhinged bigoted things

But people are kind of delusional about what actually happened to Ryan post-Panic, this is from a review the cowriter of Pete's book wrote and I think it should be mandatory Panic at the Disco discourse required reading lol

"Last month, as I stood in a half-filled Austin, Texas, dive bar watching Ryan Ross, Jon Walker and the rest of the Young Veins fumble and fuss with their vintage guitars and organs, I couldn't help but feel a bit sorry for them. When Ross' girlfriend (the Like's Elizabeth "Z" Berg) began crawling around onstage, attempting to hook up her guitar pedals for him -- because, as Ross would tell me later, he had "forgotten" his -- I somehow felt a lot worse.

After all, this was Ryan Ross, the same kid I had watched stalk the stage at a sold-out (and very loud) arena in 2006, the same brilliant boy-child who had written one of my favorite albums of 2008. I had such high hopes for him. The sky truly seemed like it was the limit. But then, he left Panic! at the Disco, posed precariously close to a plate of well-manicured cocaine in a now-infamous photo and disappeared into the hills of Hollywood with Walker to work on a record that would presumably never see the light of day. Either Ross was getting truly terrible career advice, or he had fallen victim to the same thing that had snared so many before him: ego. He had believed the hype, had squandered all that potential and this Austin gig -- and a thousand more just like it -- would be his penance.

It was, for all intents and purposes, over for him."

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infinitysisters · 1 year

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“Once upon a time, when politics were more evenly divided among the elite and less central to their identities, the residents of these affluent bubbles signified their social status through the material symbols of conspicuous consumption: European luxury cars, expensive golf club memberships, and brand name private schools for the kids.

But then the great cultural revolution arose on the campuses of the nation’s designer colleges and universities that served as finishing schools for America’s elite. Suddenly, there was a new language with which to display one’s elite educational pedigree. Any ordinary American could object to “racism,” but only a special kind of baccalaureate conferred upon its holders the specialized vocabulary of “white supremacy,” “black bodies” and “the carceral state.” Deploying this lexicon and ostentatiously displaying the opinions they represented became the new signifiers of gentility, cosmopolitanism, and social superiority. It was the dawn of the Great Awokening.

But like all status signifiers, this refined vocabulary exists in a competitive market. It has to evolve to hold its value. As each political posture goes mainstream, its value depreciates as an indicator of one’s rarified status. New, even more avant-garde positions are needed. Mere police reform isn’t enough — we need police abolition! Not only do we think it’s fine to be trans — we salute our own daughter for going on puberty blockers!

For the elite, keeping up with the Joneses means committing oneself to ever more radical activist agendas. The fading memory of Gender Studies 201 is no longer sufficient in this cutthroat arena. The business executives, lawyers and doctors of America’s SuperZips are compelled to hire DEI consultants to bring them and their employees up to speed on the new revolutionary etiquette. They enroll their children in country day schools that instruct kindergarteners in the fallacy of biological sex, providing them with a head start on the other kids they’d be competing with for a Stanford admissions slot.

This radical grandstanding is a new thing among the educated elite — or perhaps an atavistic thing. But scratch a centimeter deeper and you’ll find the same elite that’s always been there, and this, too, has become a hallmark of today’s political left. The contempt for the masses, with their vaccine hesitancy and their latent fascism. The abiding reverence for credentialed experts. The disdain for political dissent and the pathological need to control the public discourse. It’s all still there, just dressed up in revolutionary drag.

The children of the ruling class have colonized the left, and are using its moral language to malign the broader American public as a bigoted, ignorant, dangerous mob. To protect the “vulnerable” and “marginalized” from this threat, they demand the ideological allegiance of every elite political, cultural, and media institution; the social and professional ostracism of dissidents; and the enforcement of speech codes both online and off. “Social justice” has become both a status signifier for the American establishment and a tool to discipline the rabble.”

- Leighton Woodhouse

#society #politics #luxury beliefs #class hiding behind race #america #the west #ideology as religion #secular pieties #wear your flair #no cost religion #parasitic religion #bullshit #wtf happened to the left #moral exhibitionism #Leighton Woodhouse #nailed it #culture

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deirdreskye · 2 years

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If we're gonna start duking it out over transmedicalism in the public spectacle discourse arena I'm gonna have to go on one hell of an apology tour for all of my posts where I said "theyfab"

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londonstrategicpartners · 9 months

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Trafalgar Square: Bridging Heritage and Modernity

Nestled in the heart of London, Trafalgar Square stands as an enduring symbol of the city's rich history and vibrant contemporary culture. This iconic public space transcends its geographical coordinates, serving as a living embodiment of London's dynamic evolution over centuries. From its historical genesis to its present-day relevance, Trafalgar Square continues to captivate both residents and tourists, encapsulating the essence of London's journey.

Historical Roots: Genesis and Transformation

The tale of Trafalgar Square commences in the early 1800s. Conceived as a tribute to the Battle of Trafalgar—a pivotal naval victory in 1805 led by Admiral Lord Nelson against the combined French and Spanish fleets—the square was christened in honor of the battle and as a homage to Lord Nelson's legacy. Architect John Nash, renowned for his grand designs, was instrumental in shaping the square's layout. Central to the square's design is the awe-inspiring Nelson's Column, crowned by a statue of Admiral Lord Nelson and flanked by four majestic lion sculptures crafted by Sir Edwin Landseer—a powerful representation of Britain's strength.

Trafalgar Square's evolution transcends its commemorative beginnings. The mid-19th century witnessed the construction of the National Gallery on the square's northern flank, transforming it into an artistic haven housing a treasure trove of European paintings. This artistic infusion added another layer to the square's significance.

Cultural Hub: A Gathering Ground for All

Beyond its historical and architectural appeal, Trafalgar Square's true allure lies in its role as a communal space that brings together diverse individuals. It is a canvas where history harmonizes with contemporary culture. The expansive square has borne witness to a tapestry of events, ranging from political rallies to cultural fiestas.

Arguably, the most iconic of these events is the annual New Year's Eve celebration. An international crowd converges here to usher in the new year with a dazzling fireworks spectacle, framed against the backdrop of Trafalgar Square's iconic features. The atmosphere is charged with an undeniable energy, encapsulating a sense of global unity and festivity.

Beside the New Year's Eve tradition, Trafalgar Square hosts an array of cultural affairs, spanning music festivals to avant-garde art installations. The Fourth Plinth, initially designated for an equestrian statue that never materialized, now serves as a rotating exhibit for contemporary artworks. This ever-changing display transforms the plinth into a modern-day creative platform, reflecting the fluid nature of art and culture.

A Symbol of Cohesion and Expression

Trafalgar Square's importance extends beyond mere festivity. It has stood as a podium for expression and catalyst for change throughout its history. Its open expanse and central location render it a prime arena for public dissent and discourse.

Significantly, Trafalgar Square has been a nucleus for protests, demonstrations, and assemblies. These range from workers' rights rallies to movements against apartheid, underpinning the square's role as a locus for unity and free expression.

Safeguarding the Legacy: Conservation and Tomorrow

Given its integral role in London's identity, preserving Trafalgar Square's heritage is paramount. Recent years witnessed extensive restoration efforts, ensuring the square's historical integrity while integrating contemporary amenities to enhance public experience.

This restoration endeavor was a collaborative endeavor, uniting architects, historians, and conservationists. The aim was to maintain the delicate equilibrium between historical significance and modern functionality.

Looking ahead, Trafalgar Square's legacy as a guardian of London's past, present, and future is secure. Its adaptability to changing times while retaining its core essence speaks to its enduring significance.

In Conclusion

Trafalgar Square transcends its geographical confines to encapsulate London's soul. From its origins as a tribute to Admiral Lord Nelson's triumph to its present-day role as a cultural nexus, the square stands as a living embodiment of London's evolution. It has been a stage for history, art, culture, and activism, personifying the multi-faceted identity of London. Trafalgar Square's legacy as a symbol of unity, expression, and unyielding importance ensures it will continue to grace the cityscape for generations to come.

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tangleweave · 2 years

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Language Barrier

Fictober 2022 - [ Prompt 24 ]

{ Fanfiction: (Marvel’s Agents of SHIELD) x (A Princess of Mars) }

( featuring @voice-of-barsoom’s Dejah Thoris )

“Agent Coulson… I require a moment of your time, when one is available.”

The SHIELD agent glances up from the tablet in his hands and casts his gaze towards the copper-skinned woman standing in the doorway to his office. The twin creases lodged firmly between his eyebrows suddenly smooths out, and the glower he’d been directing towards the report in his hands seems to all but vanish as he deactivates the readout. Very nearly, he smiles, though such an expression would carry with it a certain wry quality. “Don’t you have a standing invitation to interrupt me, Dr. Thoris?” he asks, and he realizes as the words come out that there’s a quality to them which he hadn’t quite expected to include – one of chiding playfulness.

But the furrows that had vanished from his brow seem to appear in hers, in turn, at his inquiry. “There is a gulf of difference between a moment of free time and an interruption in duty,” she returns, her tone somber and earnest. “I should not wish to cause disturbance in the commission of your task… though, I would also add, neither should I wish to be your reading device, to behold such a grim countenance.”

He sets the tablet down on his desk and offers an expression that is both conciliatory and apologetic. “One of the things that they don’t warn recruits enough about in Academy. This job ages you, especially when you climb this high. Victories seem fewer, obstacles are more pronounced. Successes are private and failures are public. You read a whole lot of bad news, wishing day after day that you’d catch just one break.”

Dejah shifts and steps more fully into the office, meeting his gaze with understanding in her own. “You describe the truth of leadership,” she murmurs. “Take comfort, Agent Coulson, that your compatriots share in your distaste for public failure, and they will surely raise a cup to the private triumphs when they come. And know that on Barsoom, it is no different. The citizenry is quick to anger and to judge, especially when they lack pertinent information which would grant them greater understanding.”

“Your Voice of Barsoom would seem to suggest that’s less an obstacle for you than it is for us,” Coulson returns, keeping his voice carefully neutral. “Isn’t it obligatory to share all?”

“Not always. In negotiations, such transparency is to the benefit of all involved… but in many other arenas of discourse, there are things best left unspoken and unaddressed.” She takes hold of the edge of the desk and plants herself there; the Earth’s gravity has taken its toll throughout the day, and she feels the need to hold herself up on more than just her legs. “The Voice is a journey of emotion and nuance. It is a tongue, a language unto itself. And there are times when it is prudent that it remains silent.”

Coulson tilts his head at the warrior queen. “Gotta say, you seem to do quite well with the spoken word alone,” he remarks. “Someone give you an English dictionary?”

It’s her turn to chide through a playful tone. “Though it may be culturally impolite, you would do well to consider my age, and realize that even without this device…” She shifts her wrist, indicating the bangle surrounding it. “…I have had ample time across decades to learn the nuances of your language. There is beauty to be found in it, despite how staggeringly incomplete it is.”

“Incomplete?”

“You value descriptors for physical traits. For objects. Even for behaviors. Yet you lack an appropriate lexicon for the emotional spectrum. You have so many words for anger and sadness… so few for affection. The word ‘love’ means many things simultaneously. So many that it is hyperbolic. I could say I love the clothes I wear – and in the next sentence, I could say I love you.” Her breath hitches in her throat just at having permitted the phrase to depart her lips; she corrects for it by leaning into her frustration with the subject at hand. “These cannot possibly mean the same thing or carry the same weight, yet one needs only observe your society for a matter of minutes to know this singular word is applied to an appalling breadth of concepts. It is too much to be satisfied with a single word to describe it. The Voice would at least offer opportunity to share the nuance. It is clarity of meaning.”

If the agent had noticed the splinter in her demeanor, it doesn’t register on his features or in his affect, both of which remain placid. “Your ringing endorsement of the Voice notwithstanding, the simple fact is humanity doesn’t have it.” He shrugs. “And I’m the first to admit words are a rough way to communicate… but they’re all we’ve got.”

“And what if words are not all you have?”

He blinks at her, allowing momentary silence to swell the space between them. “I take it we’ve arrived at the reason you wanted a moment of my time.”

She draws the smallest portion of her lower lip between her teeth, not even enough for him to ever notice, but enough for her to chew on in order to temper her metal as she dips one hand into the pocket of her lab coat and withdraws a 10 ml blood collection tube. Within is not the red fluid he might have expected, but instead a clear solution, and across the glass is writing in her native language, unintelligible to him or anyone on his team.

“The Voice of Barsoom,” she says, by way of explanation. “When I was young, the Tharks would force-feed it to their young to grant them language skills. They believed it would have the same effect upon…” She presses her lips together and swallows the sudden lump. “…him… and they were correct. Since then, I have done considerable research on the origins of the Voice and how it works.”

“I’ve read it.” Coulson arches an eyebrow at her as he leans forward, hands clasped together. “Mycelium. Essentially spores germinate in the brain and unlock potential for a sort of empathic telepathy.”

Her lips twist into a careful smile. “For you to claim to have reviewed my research and then reduce it to such base terms would suggest you were not entirely thorough in your readership, Agent Coulson.”

He raises his eyebrows at her. “Not to put too fine a point on it, Dr. Thoris, but I’m not even the seventh smartest person aboard a plane of seven agents. Bioscience is Simmons’ department. But I can at least make an educated guess here.” His eyes flash to the vial in her hand. “That would allow whoever receives it to hear the Voice?”

“In so many words, yes. The spores are drawn from my own blood and have been isolated into a saline-based nutrient-rich suspension. It needs only be absorbed into the body by either ingestion or injection. The neuromycelial lattice begins to form across the brain within mere minutes once ingested. Less, if injected.”

She holds it out to him. An offering for his inspection. After a moment, he reaches out to take it, his fingers brushing momentarily against hers. Her breath hitches again, and she catches hold of her next thought before it spills forth. It is not for just anyone.

He inspects the label, though the symbols and figures upon it are as foreign to him as the markings adorning Chitauri armor, and then he scans the fluid itself, as though hoping to see something floating within. There is no visible particulate matter, however, and his gaze flickers back up to her.

“Is it safe?”

Something inside her quivers. She manages to keep it from manifesting tremulousness into the coy smile she offers him in return. “Is anything?”

~*~

#fictober22 #fictober 2022 #24 #muse: coulson #voice-of-barsoom #dejah thoris #drabble

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mzemo0 · 2 years

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International Tongue Supports Palestine, Hates Normalization!

Israeli steps have recently accelerated in consolidating public normalization with a growing number of Arab and Islamic countries. Since many Arab countries no longer see “Israel” as their enemy, yet their indispensable ally in their war against people and seizing the future of peace, technology and innovation.

While some Arab governments continue to normalize with the occupation “state”, there are Arab countries and positions that have rejected normalization with “Israel” as it entails beautifying and legitimizing the existence of the occupation in Palestinian land.

Political Positions Against Normalization From Mesopotamia, Iraq records a historic day in support of Palestine and Jerusalem, and the collective position of more than 270 Iraqi parliamentarians, who voted in favor of a law criminalizing normalization with “Israel”. It is a position of victory for Iraq first, then Palestine and Jerusalem second. It also sends a message to the Palestinian people, that Iraq refuses to sell Palestine at a cheap price, and will remain side by side with Palestine, supporting the rights of its people, and criminalizing any form of relationship with “Israel” at all times.

As for Kuwait, it seems that the government and its people are strict in boycotting sporting and commercial dealings with Israel, as the Kuwaiti authorities continue to ban the entry of ships carrying goods to and from Israel into Kuwait’s territorial waters.

Kuwait has emerged as the most Arab country and people whose positions cause concern, confusion and curiosity of Israel, its officials and institutions, especially Jewish think tanks and media.

For his part, Tunisian President Kais Saied Al-Amal included the criminalization of normalization in the new Tunisian constitution issued in the Tunisian Official Gazette on June 30, 2022. In the preface to the text, he referred to “the Palestinian people’s right to their stolen land and the establishment of their state on it after its liberation with its capital, Jerusalem.”

Palestinian Salute to International Positions Against Normalization of Sports

A noticeable increase in the number of those who reject sports normalization with the Israeli enemy, with a new group of Arab athletes and solidarity activists from the region joining the ranks of the heroic boycotters who rejected the discourse of “sports for the sake of sport” and “sports above politics”. This record that many international sports associations and institutions did not stop repeating until the trumpets of Arab normalization adopted it and those chasing after some material and moral profits.

With their withdrawal from a number of international tournaments and competitions, the Kuwaitis Muhammad Al-Fadhli, Abdul Razzaq Al-Baghli and Muhammad Al-Awadi, the Jordanians Musa Al-Qutb, Muhammad Al-Saud, Mahmoud Al-Khatib, Ahmed Al-Borini, Muhammad Farhan, Ahmed Al-Batoush, Maysir Al-Dahamshe, Abdullah Shaheen, the Lebanese Aquilina Al-Shayeb, the Algerians Ibrahim Sarqama and Ahmed Touba, in addition to the Iranian Women’s Hockey Team, emphasized one fact that the arenas for resisting normalization with the Israeli colonial and apartheid regime are numerous, and that sport, with its popularity, is on top.

We salute the official and popular stances following the insistence of the President of the Tunisian tennis champion Ons Jabeur that her team participate in the Women’s World Cup in Helsinki – Finland from 2-8 February 2020, despite her prior knowledge that the lottery placed it in the same group as the representative team of the Israeli colonial system.

Let us pressure on the Arab sports bodies to raise their voice against the hypocrisy of these Western sports bodies and dominate them, and to demand consistency in policies, and thus the exclusion of Israel in order to end the occupation, settler-colonialism and apartheid regime that has prevailed for more than seven decades.

As the Egyptian squash champion Ali Farag said: […] We were never allowed to talk about politics in sports, but ,suddenly, it is allowed now. As long as it is allowed; then people may look at the oppression happening everywhere in the world. Palestinians are going through this persecution for the past 74 years. […] As long as we can talk now about Ukraine; then we can talk about Palestine as well.

Cultural Boycott The Price of Normalization: Arab Cultural Works Decide to Exclude Artists Who Were Involved in Normalization Works

As awareness of Israel’s oppression of Palestinians grows, more and more artists from across the world are joining the cultural boycott. Support for the cultural boycott and cancellations of performances receive very significant media exposure in Israel, showing ordinary Israelis that there is increasing opposition to Israel’s denial of Palestinian rights.

Many high-profile artists have cancelled events in ‘Israel’

Top artists including Elvis Costello, Gil Scott-Heron, Lauryn Hill, Faithless, Marianah, U2, Bjork, Zakir Hussain, Jean-Luc Godard, Snoop Dogg, Cat Power, and Vanessa Paradis have cancelled performances in ‘Israel’ or declined to perform there. Despite offering large sums of money to international artists to defy the cultural boycott, Israeli promoters complain that it is becoming increasingly challenging for them to attract famous artists.

Thousands of artists from across the world now support the cultural boycott Thousands of artists and cultural workers have signed public statements in support of the cultural boycott. In 2015, more than a thousand cultural figures in the UK signed a cultural boycott pledge. BDS-related initiatives have been launched in Montreal (Canada), Ireland, South Africa, Switzerland, Lebanon, and the US. Distinguished cultural figures who have endorsed the cultural boycott of Israel include the late Stéphane Hessel, Holocaust survivor and contributor to the Universal Declaration of Human Rights, Chuck D (pictured left), Roger Waters (pictured above spray painting apartheid wall), Talib Kweli, John Berger, Arundhati Roy, Iain Banks, Judith Butler, Junot Diaz, Naomi Klein, Ken Loach, Alice Walker, Angela Davis, Mira Nair, Mike Leigh and many others.

#Palestine #palestinian #human rights #cultural boycott #culture #cultural rights

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slimeinnocence · 5 days

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The Globalized Border as a Concept and Design

Mario Ramirez-Arrazola November 5, 2022

The “Border” is both a conceptual and material artifact with no exact designation of which epistemological force has reign. Despite its abstract and vague conceptualization, it has a widespread allure to the general public. Of course, within the United States our interaction with “the Border” is mainly abstract and political, with many of us perhaps never coming into contact with the Border in our entire life; and even further, because of this politicization there is a common spatial designation of “the Border” in correlation with, to be exact, the border which the United States and Mexico share in our southern region. There are, of course, a multitude of “Borders” throughout the globe, and it is an aspiration of this text to bring these to light, creating a globalized discussion on the Border. But, for obvious reasons (one of these being anecdotal, the simple fact that I am Mexican-American and have confronted discourse with the Border quite frequently) there is a special focus on the United States-Mexico border within this text.

As an example, we can begin to visually analyze the United States-Mexico border for its face-value implications, being cognizant of the fact that, though the Border represents a logistically unitary artifact, it can differ from place-to-place. In the United States, stereotypical visual imagery of the wall probably relates to Donald Trump’s “visions-for-the-wall,” in which the Border constitutes a gigantic, mundane, and securitized force… But the wall must also act iconographically, as a representation of the newfound nationalist sentiment within the United States. Removed from these typical representations are zones of the border which are more closely aligned with Hooverville-like visuals. And, as always, there is a constant propagandic battle to depict the Border as stable and highly-defensible, a fact which is constantly proven illusory through phenomenon which are so simple that they prove somewhat surreal in relation to the “threatening” force the Border tries to instill: catapulting humans and items across the wall; makeshift ramps which propel entire vehicles across the border; ant-farm-like tunnel networks beneath the surface to penetrate the above-ground securities of the border, novel ladders, and so on. There are layers to these nuanced forms of representation, in (I believe) the same rhetoric which can be seen in the communal disgust towards Brutalist structures: too withdrawn from passion, too big and too much of an “eye-sore,” too lifeless and devoid of color, too rigid and violent… The Border would be typically taught to be a “construction,” both in its origination but also in the way it manipulates the surrounding community. But, as I hope to have shown here and later on, it also reflects, and it is the job of the designer to navigate both of these arenas.

As a great example of this “constructive” effort, Harel Shapira conducted a typical yet exemplary analysis of the United States-Mexico border within the framework of an interaction between rural and infrastructure studies. In “The Border: Infrastructure of the Global,” Shapira hones in on Adobe, Arizona, a rural town that is located at close proximity to the United States-Mexico border. In general, Shapira seeks to describe local community reactions to border politics, as well as the interaction between national security technology and a community. Shapira critiques infrastructure scholars for long being obsessed with the urban, and vice-versa, as primarily set forth through the metric of cosmopolitanism and globalization. However, she points out that within rural spaces the notion of “globalization” operates much more differently. For the residents of Adobe, globalization means that you can’t go into Mexico to get your teeth cleaned without a passport. It means that every time you want to go to the grocery store you need to pass a checkpoint. It means having to negotiate your relationships to a security and surveillance apparatus. It means that suddenly your identity, as a citizen, as According to Shapira, Adobe is a “made up” name to protect the privacy of the community members. This article is among a collected volume of fellow articles for a Public Culture issue which was dedicated to urban studies and infrastructure. Adobe, Arizona is not “urban,” (whatever that word truly means), but it is certainly “rural.” It is obvious, and only recently taken as an ailment, that architecture has been interested in urban spaces for so long. Contemporary thinkers such as Rem Koolhaas have pressured architecture to pay more attention to the rural. This is particularly interesting as borders, in their political and infrastructural form, are usually located in rural spaces.

As is typical of many rural American-towns, Adobe has a history of an industrial-boom and its subsequent infrastructural implications—the town seems to have centered around mining. This economic base eventually withered away, but the town did not reawaken under stereotypical globalized economic forces of cutting-edge technology, rather the “business” (if you can even call it that) that revived Adobe was the border. The border, as an infrastructure, is highly visible to local community members; Shapira wants to remind us that borders have a history, and in Adobe they only interacted with the border “as an abstract political and jurisdictional reality…” up until very recently, “... As a longtime resident recalls: For as far back as I can remember, people from these parts were going back and forth across the border. Hell, wasn’t even a border to really cross. You’d walk into Mexico without knowing it.”6 Adobe is a town which is still reeling from the implications of Operation Wetback (1954); many contemporary border strategies and politics, to Shapira, did not stop illegal immigration but diverted much of this flow into Arizona; maybe, here, Adobe “benefits” from another form of globalization but one which is “underground,” mainly to do with aiding illegal immigrants which cross through rides, housing, or stashing drugs for further trafficking, and so on. Shapira notes that, for a town lacking in economic opportunity, the compensation to help these illegal activities is enticing.7 As well, with the border comes a multitude of various “national safety” technologies, further implicating that the materiality of a border goes far beyond a simple wall.8 Previously untouched desert has been cut by new roads. A whole array of military infrastructure has been built, including watchtowers, fences, prison facilities, and checkpoints. Enormous semi-trailers filled with giant concrete slabs move in and out of Adobe. The border patrol speeds up and down the nameless dirt roads, and a ninety-eight-foot surveillance tower juts out of the ground, its ominous red lights providing Adobe its first ever semblance of a skyline. New installations support wireless communications in places that still don’t have telephone poles. Old cattle guards have been moved from their arbitrary location at the outskirts of ranches to the international border. Once meant to prevent the movement of animals, they now act as barriers to the movement of people. Vietnam-era landing strips from nearby air force bases have been reused as material for building a wall along the border; remnants of the war on communism, they are now refashioned for the war on terrorism.

Briefly, in terms of the political climate in this area, Adobe’s residents act in an almost ironic fashion—they are certainly annoyed, or at least have an interest in illegal immigrants, but they are more worried about the state’s securitization efforts and what this means for their personal freedoms. Haslan points out that the local community members speak in typical rhetoric when referring to undocumented immigrants that pass by, but these are usually not politically charged. Some residents speak of giving help to “illegals” as much as they do of pulling out guns on them. A seventy-year-old woman sheltered a “wetback” for five days in her home until his broken leg healed. For Adobe’s residents, illegal immigrants are a “nuisance” but not a problem. It’s not that they take away jobs or that they don’t speak English. It’s that they leave trash everywhere and that they don’t turn off water hoses after they finish drinking from them. For the most part, residents help illegal immigrants. Many leave water bottles in their backyards, and almost all offer them phones to make calls. A particular situation incited political discussion which perfectly frames the relationship between Adobe and the border. A Boeing representative dropped off legal paperwork in April, 2007 to the town librarian, Lisa. They had a five-day window to read the documents and to give their input, which they failed to do because of the rushed nature of the entire ordeal. Shortly after, a “ninety-eight-foot tower with beaming lights hovered over them,” apparently in efforts to further securitize the border—the residents were subsequently furious. Haslan takes account of a plethora of interesting critical comments by local community members as a result of the extension of the border.

[...]

But, the aspiration here is not to shed light on the concept of a Border within the area of discourse concerned with social justice—this level of identity politics is not nuanced enough to develop our interactions and reactions with the Border. Though this area of discussion is certainly interesting and salient, it is no longer efficient to cast light upon those subjected to the authoritarian grasp of the Border within these terms because they cast these subjects as monolithic, rudimentary, and passive. If we look at the Border through the discourse of aesthetics and art we can gain a more interesting and salient image of these in interactions. This may then lead to speculative designs which either disintegrate or make empathetic both the concept and reality of the Border. However, to further muddle this investigation, the aesthetic interrogation of the Border is an immediately odd question to ask. This is because the Border, as is colloquially apparent to the general public, acts to such a functional extent that it is void of any aesthetic ambition. The Border is almost too infrastructural in nature to be thought of as an architectural project; certainly functional, but not designed with any aesthetic aspirations in-mind—this distinction needs to be nuanced. Through looking contemporarily, in an almost case-study fashion, we can see this unity between form-and-function become transgressed by those individuals with a stake in the matter. Further, as will be detailed in this essay, the Border has a deeply conceptual aspect—many aspirations towards designing or dissolving the Border are visible only through ideas.

The Border presents one of the most enriched set of ontological and epistemological scenarios as specific to our postmodern condition; it would be a fault to not speculate our interactions against such a force. I hope to introduce a survey of contemporary Border-discourse, starting with an introduction to theory and idea of a Border, compounding this analysis with its socio-political integration as an object through history; for this section of case-studies I wish to present on Richard Serra’s Tilted Arc and Duchamp’s Door. I then wish to initiate a conversation on the conceptualization of the Border as either an architectural or infrastructural artifact, as well as introducing infrastructure studies scholarship—I will integrate the Centre Pompidou and Adobe, Arizona as case studies for this point. We will then begin to initiate a contemporary discussion on the aesthetic status of the Border, with a specific focus on the United States-Mexican border, as well as more conceptual and ontological efforts—case studies here include Teddy Cruz’s Psychogeography and Ron Rael’s Seesaws. This discussion will then turn global, integrating comparative case-studies to help nuance the battle against the Border. Borders do not necessarily imply a political or authoritarian presence; architects deal frequently with borders, as one can make an obvious link between something as simple as a wall, or a constructed division in general, and its subsequent function as a border; architects attempt to subvert this function of a wall, such as the open floor-plans of Le Corbusier and the De Stijl (breaking open the “box”) free-form plans of Mies van der Rohe. An adequate and simple definition of a border is that the object demarcates space, but it’s up to the localized political, societal, economic, cultural climate to dictate the particular grasps and implications of the Border. To open a discussion on the Border, an act of estrangement is particularly efficient. As will be later made apparent through a discussion on contemporary infrastructure studies, perhaps one of the most debilitating characteristics of Borders is their ability to function nearly invisibly; it is not difficult to begin deconstructing the Border, it’s a highly penetrable, spectacle-like, and surreal object. For example, contemporary American sculptor Richard Serra was commissioned by the United States General Services Administration to create a sculpture that could be placed within an open courtyard space in front of the Jacob K. Javits Federal Building in Manhattan, New York. Serra was quite brutal and uncourteous with the space allotted to him, acting unrelenting with his standard style—the final work was a tilted “solid, unfinished plate of COR-TEN steel, 120 feet (37 m) long, 12 feet (3.7 m) tall, and 2.5 inches (6.4 cm) thick.” But, of particular interest besides its intensely abstract and postmodern allure in contrast to the surrounding classical architectural style was its stark placement literally “in the way” of federal employees getting to their place of work. This annoying barrier, mixed with the impenetrable and aesthetically detached object, made for a growing sentiment of hatred towards Tilted Arc. In Ironically enough (or, maybe not so much) is that then-president Donald Trump made an assertive act in 2020 which required commissioned works to reflect “historically significant Americans or events." Further, he required “lifelike representations of people, not abstract or modernist representations.”

In 1989, the site-specific object was removed by a public vote. Acting as food-for-thought, the Border here is stark and impassioned though not impermeable; the people here chose not to be demarcated by space in the way which Serra deemed artistically fit. Some people could deal with the annoyance, but could not deem it aesthetically viable (even, in a fiscal sense, as their “tax dollars” went towards paying for such a work) because of its mundanity. But, we can become quite malleable and experimental with the concept of the Border. Semiotically, dealing with the concept of a Border is destined to be riddled with cultural complexity. This is because the object not only demarcates space but is an object that demarcates in general—the entire premise behind the Border-object is to directly create an “other.” The Border, especially now, is ingrained within our culture and society in an “ordinary” or “given” fashion; though, with slight nuance depending on our political alignment (either disgust and contempt or sincerity and security). Marcel Duchamp’s Door, 11 rue Larrey (1927) presents a simple yet provocative avenue of analysis to nuance our conceptual basis surrounding the Border. Again, Duchamp’s project is quite simple; perhaps it is not even a “project” at all. He commissioned a carpenter to create a “solution” to a corner in his Paris apartment which was the transition between multiple different functions (or, spaces) of his household, as well as allowing more space to be saved. Whereas this cross-section would necessitate the construction of two-doors, Duchamp instead opted for a door directly at the right-angle intersection between the two rooms… This creates a novel phenomena where the singular door can close off two rooms.

As Americans, this may seem purely quirky, but it disturbs a uniquely French proverb, the saying that a door “cannot be closed and open at the same time.” Lydie Sarazin (Duchamp’s girlfriend) stated the following: “But people have forgotten the practical reason that dictated the necessity of this measure and they only think of it as a Dada provocation.” at the time) stated in her memoir that in May, 1927, she walked out of Duchamp’s restroom and was seen naked by his brother-in-law, it was after this incident that the singular-door was constructed—Bernhard Siegert states the following. With respect to the proverbially binary circuit-logic of the door, Duchamp’s door, which can be simultaneously open and closed, is justly paradoxical. If one space is opened, the other is automatically closed. Duchamp’s paradoxical door is thus always simultaneously open and closed. The door quickly acquired the reputation of being a “Dadaist provocation,” but the door was not in the least dysfunctional. To the contrary. The door in the Rue Larrey processed and stabilized differences: between public and private, between naked and dressed, between woman and man; it regulated the traffic between the passage of a look and the passage of a naked body so that both passages mutually and automatically ruled each other out.

I posit that one of the most concrete and genuine frameworks from which we can analyze this dichotomy between aesthetic and function can be understood best through our conceptualization of the Border as either an infrastructure or an architecture. There does not seem to be, within the contemporary state of architecture as a discipline, an integration or appreciation of infrastructural technologies, networks, or systems on a wide-scale.21 Infrastructures which reside within a built environment seem to be afterthoughts, somewhat “left aside” to those more interested in the functionality and logistics of the built space rather than its design or aesthetics: contractors, engineers, and so on. These infrastructures are, roughly but not limited to: electrical wiring, plumbing and water, antenna and internet cabling, ventilation and air-conditioning, trash and its subsequent disposal, water fountains, hand-sanitizer stations, etcetera. These crucial components of a building are almost “too functional” to be depicted in an aesthetically pleasing manner. But, I believe that we have already encountered a project which weirdly, or maybe tellingly, what seems to be “hip” nowadays is to let the “guts” of the interior space come out. The “guts” here are the various infrastructural capacities of the building in question. This is showcased in a variety of different functional spaces: clothing stores, restaurants, university buildings, and so on. There is an almost postmodern allegory to this phenomena. Though, I may certainly be wrong, as I have mainly experienced architectural discourse through the history of technology. Though canonized as “high-tech architecture,” a remnant of speculative and utopian architectural projects from the Cold War era, the Centre Pompidou represents an obvious connection between infrastructure and architecture. One can appreciate this relationship innocently, as the building itself is an iconic statement designed specifically to not hide any of the internal systems which make a building hospitable—scaffolding and framing, HVAC, plumbing, electrical wiring—are all propped up unapologetically.

The Centre Pompidou represents an aesthetic framework from which to analyze infrastructure, but what about the political implications of infrastructure? Discourse on infrastructure only became recently institutionalized as a genuine “discipline” within academia and scholarship. Though infrastructure has an interesting etymology and has certainly been the topic of various discussions, we can pinpoint Susan Leigh Star’s 1999 article titled The Ethnography of Infrastructure as a starting point. Star’s entire article if fascinating, but the “tenets” of infrastructure she lays out are emblematic enough to give a general overview on the “character” of infrastructure: embeddedness, transparency, reach or scope, learned as part of membership, links with conventions of practice, embodiment of standards, built on an installed base, becomes visible upon breakdown, and is fixed in modular increments not all at once or globally. Arguably the most interesting and problematic feature that Star identifies is the notion that infrastructure is “visible upon breakdown,” meaning that, usually, infrastructure remains “invisible” to the human experience. This is, of course, generally true, but a fervent critique was aimed against Star that depicted her analysis as not encompassing those cultures and societies which confront infrastructure in a blunt fashion—these rebuttals are primarily from scholars which study the Global South, research here generally suggests that actants are quite cognizant of infrastructural systems because of their fragile (not always in some “failing” scenario, the topic can become quite nuanced) relationship with these technologies. This era of infrastructure studies that was ushered in was completely dominated by inquiries that were framed within political, social, and cultural discourse—infrastructure was the emblematic form of technology for which to understand the world because of its highly nuanced (almost postmodern) interactions with actants.

We have seen the Border depicted on a multitude of conceptual levels, first conceptual, then aesthetically, and finally infrastructurally/politically. We can look towards contemporary designers and artists in their attempt to grapple with such a nuanced built object, a desperate attempt to understand how to work with, or against, the Border, both in its concept and ontological reality. There are a multitude of interesting contemporary examples to take survey of to further expand our theoretical and historical fervor which should, in the end, translate to an attempt to speculate and implement a design of the Border. The examples I wish to integrate are quite ontological and political in-scope, to help underscore the materialized realities and potential of Border-thought. Ron Rael is a leading designer within this avenue of border-design, and many of his creations can be appreciated in a novel and innocent sentiment. Rael is best known for his Seesaws, a project which was located directly at the United States-Mexico border, the Anapra zone to be exact. A see-saw is placed through the metal-slits of the wall with a jointing-mechanism at the center, making it so that local community members may interact with members across the border in a playful fashion. These sort-of subversions are not passing to Rael and his studio, but something which requires strenuous analysis—in his Borderwall as Architecture: A Manifesto for the U.S.-Mexico Boundary, Rael unleashes a fury of possibilities to make humane the boundary between these two cultures: Bicycle and Pedestrian Wall; 27 Cactus Wall; 28 Dam Wall; 29 Hydro Wall; 30 Fog Wall; 31 Wastewater Treatment Wall…32 The list goes on.

For Rael, though the boundary presents obvious philosophical and theoretical implications, it still remains intensely real, authoritarian, and materialized. Poetry, philosophy, and quirky anecdotes are integrated into the analysis, but the real-world implications are the most important references. The work is critical in the most typical sense, not remaining only reactionary but genuinely trying to extend design-practices and possibilities which completely subvert our typical understanding of boundaries; a sort of “why not?” is asked. Vestiges of the original authoritarian rule are introduced when the wall has been turned into a bicycle pathway; turned from steel into shrubbery; contributing energy to local communities by way of solar panels; acting as a net for a volleyball game… Teddy Cruz (a contemporary of Ron Rael), on the other hand, seems to still reserve potential for stylistic and “aesthetic” elements within boundary-thinking, in the exact same spaces in which Rael finds functional designs. I believe this is because Teddy is cognizant of the lostical and authoritarian reign of the border, but wants to find ways to not make the surrounding community members monolithic (here, Chicano and Latino people).

Though Cruz seems to be arguing for a functionalist perspective, he means this in somewhat of an ironic way. His design practice constantly recycles local material and items, what others would consider “trash,” to get a sense of the local milieu; his studio collages and thinks artistically about the surrounding environment. His San Diego infoSite project is the most salient Here. Teddy Cruz’s San Diego infoSite is a commissioned work of ephemeral architecture that was inserted within existing strategies of cross-border recycling. The temporary structure combined salvaged materials with elements related to recycling processes—such as truck beds used to transport crushed cars to recycling plants—and dynamics of transit and transportation. This is all to say that, even in these desperate situations, there still remains tension between function and style; Rael and Cruz’s work shows an interaction, a soothing resolution, between both of these diverging phenomena within the context of a tense political and material situation. We can begin to take stock of what this estrangement has allowed us to speculate about the Border on multiple levels: Borders, with enough public engagement and distaste, can be destroyed; Borders are transient and vapid. An object that’s seemingly pretty heavily “set in stone” but which also has quite contradictory implications; Borders function both on a highly conceptual and ontological level. The resolution between these two realities is contested; Borders are not inherently authoritarian—through application we can take advantage of the design implications which arise from the simple demarcation of space.

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