#as a fellow southerner I have Opinions

[razzberrydazz]

It's classism and racism, pure and simple. Christian nationalist (fascist) lawmakers and lobbyists cut up the south for fun and use the ignorance of people to grow their voting base of hate. A lot of the prominent hate preachers happen to be in the south. Hateful people like Greg Locke, Pat Robertson, James Dobson (of course hate preachers and christian-based hate groups aren't exclusive to the south, they just happen to have a big foothold here). Called the Bible Belt for a reason. And of course, their follower base usually happens to be white and virulently homophobic and Zionist.

The lawmakers who predominantly maintain power in these places are fellow white christian nationalists. Gutting the states' healthcare, education systems, infrastructure, so their voting base stays poor and ignorant and hateful and suffering. And then they make a scapegoat to blame it on - other poor people, who happen to be immigrants or not white nor christian or cishet or a combination thereof.

I don't want to have to move out of the South to get an improved quality of life and sense of safety. I want to be able to have that QOL and sense of safety where I live now - where I have community and good food and culture! I want there to be environmental protections to preserve the diverse and beautiful places we have here. I want my community to be able to afford necessities and healthcare. I want the hateful lawmakers ousted and the paradigm shift to be accepting of queer people so that they can live without fear for their lives. I want a lot of things.

Lawmakers in Louisiana can hold the diverse melting pot of New Orleans hostage by withholding vital funds to improve healthcare and infrastructure, all because they're so anti-abortion they're willing to ruin lives over it. Southerners are suffering, and the rest of the country points and laughs as if they don't have the same problems.

We shouldn't laugh at other people's suffering.

like you really aren't allowed to say shit about southerners until you have firsthand seen how people live deep in the appalachian hollers because it is fucking tragic. the poverty and the food desert and the lack of resources in general is so bad. the drugs. yall dont understand

[dried-mushroom]

Omg can you please write about Lee Russell being mean to you in front of Gamby as like a power display or something but then when y'all get home (y'all are like Secretly dating since you're just a teacher) he's all nice and romantic to apologize?

YIPPEE I found another lee Russell lover! don't judge please I'm Australian so I have little concept of American education. I hope you like it.

Warnings: Lil angsty and implied sex

Be mean to me

Lee Russell x reader (well Christine sucks so she's not in this story)

Life was pretty peachy as a history teacher in North Jackson high school, you were stuck teaching from a range of boring topics to your either half asleep, barely listening or teacher pet students, except you were sleeping with the vice principal, Lee Russell. You couldn't resist that southern charm radiating off his tongue when he spoke those words on your first day as a teacher, in the parking lot.

"Mornin' Sweetheart, are you lost? The names Lee Russell, Vice principal of this very high school and you're way too fuckin' pretty to be a high school teacher."

After taking a good look at the lanky man who called himself the vice principal, you couldn't help yourself, and after promptly introducing you to your fellow teachers, he briskly walked you to the janitors closet where you both spent all morning. Obviously, you both knew this had to be kept a secret, boss and employee dating is a no-go, although that did not stop you both from being affectionate when no was watching, sharing a peck when you went to visit him at his office or the grasp of his hand on your thigh under the table at meetings or after work, where it was safe to be yourselves and you could lay together watching borderline cheesy romcom movies whilst Lee critiques his heart out.

You sighed contently as the bell for seventh period rang, the mingled voices of your 6th period ancient history class rushed out the door to their next useless class and you could finally relax and start lesson planning for the next 45 minutes. You let your hands run down your thighs, smoothing out your new dress (this but more teacher appropriate). You brought this specifically for Lee, you knew of his love for colours, hence his usually eccentric clothing choices, you knew he'd love the pattern on you. You couldn't help but smile giddily and walk out of the classroom, you knew you could easily finish the planning later and you'd rather spend the last of the school day with Lee.

You swiftly walked down the hall to administration, smiled sweetly at Swift, because you knew how rude Gamby was to her for no reason, and she didn't deserve that, like Gamby seriously needs a reality check in your opinion.

"Afternoon Miss Swift, I hope you're doing alright and Gamby isn't giving you a hard time, I was hoping to see Mr. Russell, I had to discuss long service leave with him."

"Oh, thank you miss l/n, vice principal Gamby is albeit rude, but I think he's getting better, and of course let me get the door for you."

You knew she wasn't stupid, and you assumed she knew about you and Lee secretly dating, but it was better to come up with an excuse and be safe rather than sorry. Smith quickly opened to door and shut it behind you.

"Well, hello there honey, I was expecting you- and what's this? isn't this a pretty thing?"

He shot up from his desk chair and sauntered over to where you stood, he placed his hands on your waist and whispered in your ear.

"I can't wait to rip that off you gir-"

Suddenly the door swung open, and Lee jumped away from you, 'of course Neal Gamby, you had to come fuck everything up." you thought to yourself, now awkwardly fiddling with the hem of your dress.

"Russell. We need to talk. Why the hell are you here Miss. l/n? I thought Wednesday 7th period was your planning lesson."

Before you could reply to Gamby, Lee interjected,

"Exactly, Scram Miss l/n, I don't need nor want you here, I have better shit to do, plus what the fuck are you wearing? you look like a fuckin mess, pick a goddamn colour."

Your heart sank, an uncomfortable tightness sat in your chest as your face flushed in embarrassment. You knew Lee being a dick to you was only a ruse to throw off other teachers and admin but, fuck it hurt, it hurt so much to have him speak to you in that way. You nodded your head and headed to the door,

"Open or closed Mr. Russell?"

Gamby responded for him, responding in a curt 'Closed.' leaving you to silently shut the door behind you. You walked out of the administration office before your eyes welled with tears, but you waited until you reached your classroom until you broke, sobbing quietly at your desk. You just wished you and Lee could act like a couple instead of the cold shoulder act he'd be giving you. With the mixed signals and nausea swirling through your brain, you grabbed your left-over paperwork and bag before leaving. Usually, you and Lee would leave at the same time, but you couldn't bear to see him at the moment, all your hard work, making yourself pretty for him and resulting in him publicly humiliating you was just too much.

The short drive home eased you a little but when you had to walk up those steps of your shared home, it just brought back that sickly tension. You unlocked the door and set your handbag down (another reminder of Lee since it was an anniversary gift). You kicked off your heels and headed upstairs to your shared bedroom. You didn't bother to change and slumped into bed, fresh tears coming to your eyes, you didn't care whether you were quiet or not, sobbing yourself till you couldn't keep your eyes open.

Lee's POV:

He regretted the words as soon as they came from his mouth. He saw the hurt on your face, and he felt his stomach twist into a tight knot. He hated being a dick to you, hated it so much he hated himself for doing it. He realised he went way too far this time with you, and he really didn't want to lose you and couldn't help but fidget with his hands whilst blatantly ignoring whatever bullshit Gamby was bitching about.

"Sorry Gamby but I gotta run, not like you'd know what that is though. We'll talk about Brown tomorrow, now get the fuck outta my office."

Neal sighed, muttered some regurgitated insult but ultimately left. Lee rushed to grab his belongings and ran out the door, Smith tried to ask where he was off to in a rush,

"Sir, you can't just leave! where are you even going???"

When he pulled into the driveway, 'Thank God' he thought as he saw your car parked there. He got out, left all his belongings in the car, not a care. You were more important; you were the most important thing in his life. He opened the door and called;

"Shut the fuck up Smith, I can leave whenever the fuck I want and its none of your business where I am going."

Smith squeaked a reply, but Lee was already down the hall, he went to your classroom and groaned when he noticed a lack of you and your belongings. He ran to the parking lot, got into his car as soon as he didn't saw your car, without a doubt it was always parked next to his. He gripped the steering wheel tightly, knuckles turning white, he shakily exhaled, he knew he had fucked up and was hoping you were at home.

"Y/n baby, where are you? I'm so sorry about what I said."

The silence was nerve-racking, so after checking all the other rooms for you, he headed to the bedroom to check. There you were, peaceful and asleep, he couldn't have been happier. He walked across the room to the side to the bed you were facing, and sat gently on the bed, softly stroking your hair.

Your POV:

You slowly awoke out of a dreamless slumber to someone touching you. You flinched when you realised it was Lee, and you remembered everything that happened today. He felt your reaction and immediately pulled his hand away. He saw the tear streaks on your face and sighed,

"Y/n I am so fuckin' sorry; I should have never had said those hurtful things to you, you didn't deserve that, God, I don't deserve you. I didn't even mean them, I need you so much, and you do so much for me, and I take that shit for granted, please forgive me y/n, I love you."

You saw the raw emotion across his face and sat up, you could see the tears in his eyes, and you couldn't help but wipe the one away falling down his cheek with your thumb. You smiled softly and leaned into him,

"I forgive you Lee, and I love you so much. I don't think you meant it but what you said really fucking hurt, and this hiding our relationship is really hurting us, so please can we finally go public and not have to worry and hide anymore?"

"Thank you so much and fuck it! who gives a shit if you and I are together? whoever doesn't like it can suck my dick, I can't lose you honey."

You smiled, finally knowing you'd and Lee would finally be able to be yourselves without having hide and sneak around.

"You aren't losing me Lee; I wouldn't do that to you. Now kiss me, you idiot."

He didn't hesitate a second before crashing his lips into yours, your hands finding his neck before climbing into his lap. His hands sneaked around your waist bringing you even closer, you could feel his erection under you, and you couldn't help moaning into his mouth. He broke the kiss to whisper,

"Well now how about I make do of my promise from earlier?"

The End

I hope this was good! please leave comments or asks if you enjoyed :)

[fairy-verse]

The Horror in this universe makes me go mad man. Pretty big fairy... IUuhhUHuhuihIUYGUFdestDYfuygub <3 <3 <3 ... I'm personally really keen to know more about his background, such as: Members involved in the cave-in? Horror's opinion on Error? If the 2 met what was the initial impression / interaction like as I believed it was most likely Error who gave Horror the spot / semi job to patrol around the edge of his domain or was it Horror's own claustrophobia that made him leave? Did any other fairy try and help Horror with his trauma after he was saved? ... Sorry for the amount of questions being thrown at you but I am very very invested in his character (as well as his relationships) and would love to see his reference sheet one day! <3

Friends… The fairies that were unfortunately trapped together with Horror were his friends, good friends, fairies he’d shared meals with, fairies he’d taken steaming baths with in the deeper bowls of Error’s domain, fairies he’d shared nests with as they grew closer. Horror can recall memories of kissing one of them, a sweet one that had such a pretty laugh and always made such luxurious sets of armour… they’d been one of the wounded ones as the rocks and boulders came tumbling down, and they’d been the first to die. Horror wouldn’t know it just then, but it’d been a merciful fate compared to the horrors he faced. Fairies are good to each other, loving even in rivalry, but desperation and starvation can turn even the loveliest of fairies into something horrible, and so it came to be as Horror’s friends suddenly came down upon him, begging his forgiveness even as they caved parts of his skull in their attempt to eat him. He’d been the largest in the group, even back then, but nothing compared to what he was nowadays. He’d only been a little bigger… just a little… but that had been enough for him to be seen as a proper meal.

In the end, it was him who came to weep as he fed on them, keeping them alive but unconscious for as long as possible, but even after they’d turned to stardust, he tried to eat that, too… And then he was found. What a Horror he must have been to witness.

He can’t remember the name his mother gave him…

Horror never had much of an opinion regarding Error. He was their Winter Queen, King Winter, their leader, a pretty, prickly fairy with the brightest, bluest wings Horror had ever seen, and now he stood above Horror with a look of unconcealed distraught upon his face. Of course he’d be upset, Horror has not only confessed to eating his fellow fairies but was even caught in the act of feasting upon their stardust, too. A terrible act to commit, for now his fellow fairies will never be a part of the wind.

Horror expected no mercy, expected to be either cast out of killed for what he’d done, but Error did no such thing. His eye lights had lingered upon the jagged hole in his skull, upon his unnaturally bloated eye light, upon his chipped and broken bones, upon his malnourished body… He felt so ugly….

“Do you wish to stay in these halls?” Error had asked him.

“N…no,” he’d replied. “The rock… th… the… rocks…”

Horror hated being surrounded by cold, stony walls. These halls had been his home, had been his parent’s home, and he’d rarely left them throughout his life, yet now he hated them. He hated them. He hated them.

He hated them!

So, Error allowed him to leave. He allowed him to live outside but to stay within the domain itself and guard its southern borders, for that was to be his punishment. Mercy was the fact that he wouldn’t die, that he wouldn’t be forced to stay in the halls, but he’d still done the unspeakable. He’d still eaten the stardust of a fallen fairy, and thusly couldn’t be granted full mercy, yet Horror was glad despite his grief and anguish. He was permitted to stay outside, to go as he pleased by the southern borders of Error’s domain, and that is all he could ask for.

He was alone after that. None of his remaining friends came for him, none wished to approach, none wanted to take the risk of being eaten. It wounded him. Horror hadn’t wanted to eat any of his fellow fairies, he hadn’t wanted to do it. He wished he could tell them that, but his slurred and broken words made him sound dumb and primitive, made his desperate, engorged eye light seem far too eager when they came too close.

His pathetic whines as they fled from him made him angry… and terribly, terribly sad.

It was becoming difficult to remember things. It was becoming difficult to speak. His back began to hunch as he grew, the side effects of consuming other fairies kicking in. He couldn’t stand going hungry, he always needed to eat the second he felt his stomach twist.

Horror’s muddled memories of his first years in the forest by the southern border are… difficult to comprehend, but there is a light in the form of a golden begonia somewhere in them. He cannot remember her face, but he remembers the warmth she brought, and most importantly of all, the fresh fruits she gave him. A rare treat for a winter fairy to have in the middle of winter.

Few and far between did this flower come to him, but her very last meeting had been the most important one, for she’d brought with her a fairy. A weak, petite, beautiful summer fairy. Dust. She’d given him Dust to care for, and care for him Horror had done. He’d given Dust his bed, fed him with his food, kept him warm by always keeping the fireplace lit with the wood he’d chopped. It had felt so good to care for another fairy again, to have the company of one, even if Dust could hardly stay awake the first few days there.

Horror had prepared for him to leave once he recovered, had mentally prepared to be alone again, to be shunned by other fairies again… But Dust never left. Dust didn’t want to leave him, he’d said, and Horror hadn’t been able to keep himself strong just then, so he cried, and he cried and cried and he held Dust so close that he feared he might crush him, but the cold summer fairy in his arms only cradled his skull, and kissed his forehead so sweetly it did nothing to halt Horror’s tears.

The past is something Horror doesn’t wish to think of. He doesn’t want to ponder on how things would have turned out if past happenings had been different, because in the end, everything that has happened to him has led him to where he is now…

“Bunny?” Whispered Horror, afraid of disturbing his mate should he already have fallen asleep.

“Hm?” Replied Dust, sleepy, but still awake in Horror’s arms. He adjusted himself a little and nuzzled deeper into Horror’s chest, savouring the warmth he emitted.

“I love you,” said Horror, and held Dust ever closer to himself. “I love you,” he said again, the tremble in his voice poorly hidden. “I love you, Dust.”

“I love you, too,” said Dust only after a short pause. “I love you, too, Horror.”

[reginalucernis]

As you can see I've entered my Genshin era - I wonder when it'll end

In brief, I just wanted to do some warm-up before starting a big art (I hope it'll happen one day...) and show my headcanons just for fun, why not? And ofc I do not impose anything on anyone, this is just my personal opinion and blah-blah

I find Genshin char design quite entertaining. I like the devs try to rethink and use some national stereotypes, folk costumes, some ethnic motifs etc, but absolutely the same blank faces for all characters regardless of their sex and age are just killing me. So that's why I decided to diversify it a little, to estimate possible ethnic and individual differences (yes, all the nations in Genshin are fictional etc, but in fact all the national and historical prototypes seem to be quite obvious). OK LET'S GOO

Tortellini. First of all, I'm sure freckles really suit gingers. Dimples can also add some character to the image of a naive fool and a positive dude (although Tort isn't actually stupid, he's a straightforward simpleton 'cos of his young age - this fact is stated directly in the game, e.g. in Arle's dialogues). Speaking about the general features of the face, I should note the more pronounced angles of the jaw and brow ridges, thicker eyebrows, thicker neck, slightly larger chin - features that correspond to a more realistic facial structure and the difference between a male and a female face. Regarding the nose, the situation is a bit ambiguous: on the one hand, a curved nose is usually considered more Southern European or West Asian (including Arabic and Persian regions) but I once found information about two subtypes of curved noses a long time ago. Like, if the nose is curved in the upper part closer to the bridge of the nose, then this is usually the Asian type, if it's curved in the lower part closer to the tip, then it's usually European. Considering that I've met guys on the street with the latter type of a curved nose (which is also raised up) and their appearance corresponded to the "Nordic" type (light straight hair, light eyes, pale skin of a cold shade), let's assume that this is still a Northern European nose and everything is logical

Signora. Her facial features are slightly softer. She has a usual straight narrow nose. Her appearance is close to the type of a femme fatale, she is suited by slightly defined cheekbones and plump lips (I have nothing against symmetrical round "bow" lips which are trendy today, but I just prefer classic ones with a pronounced cleavage in the middle). Her head is proudly raised. Moles can complement the image: a mole under the eye can add some sophistication and elegance, while the one above the upper lip can add a bit of sensuality (for example, look at the photo of Nika Turbina - her story raises many questions, but her appearance is definitely memorable). In other words, quoting The Twelve Chairs by Ilf and Petrov, Rosaline is "a sultry woman, a poet's dream" :)

Dottore. On the one hand, his color palette gives the impression of albinism (although albinos among humans, unlike animals, practically do not have red eyes, but let's forget about it). On the other hand, his Sumeru origin directly asks to add something appropriate, so I decided to choose a hooked nose (yes, I love noses, the most diverse and memorable part of the face). His character and his actions are conducive to introducing a bit of "monstrosity" into the image: sharp facial features and teeth, withered thin lips, a greenish tint in the palette. Well, it turns out he's a true gremlin. I like the widespread headcanon about him having scars, why not - in general, the guy could both earn one in the process of experiments and receive it from his fellow countrymen. I decided to make him stoop a little, but this is a dangerous move. I mean the Doctor is bursting with aggression, determination and arrogance, he is a daring and self-confident person, and such a tightness doesn't fit him. However, his obsession with scientific research, poring over books and constant work on experiments can (probably) cause a curvature of posture. In the end, I decided that this man can straighten up normally if necessary, but he usually still slouches (just like my uncle :)). Or at least like Dead Space protagonist who is also stooped but still is quite a good fighter

Arlele. Here I didn't do much 'cos the developers have already given her a bunch of distinct features: crossed pupils, and black hands, and some patterns on them, and contrasting hair (although most chars have more or less monochrome or at least similar shades of their hair). In general, she's good the same as she is now. In comparison with Signora, her image is slightly more restrained and refined, her lips are slightly thinner, her eyebrows, on the contrary, are slightly thicker, and her cheekbones are less pronounced. The only major detail added is a slightly hooked, drooping nose. I don't know why, but it seems to be very French for me. Some famous French actors and actresses have kinda similar noses (e.g. Louis de Funès, Pierre Richard, Christian Clavier, Sophie Marceau, Laetitia Casta etc.) - well, at least I think so

By the way, I honestly wanted to diversify somehow emotions in my drawings, but all of the characters are smiling again - what can I do if the smiles suit these guys as well as nobody else: Tort has a half-friendly, half-self-confident smile kinda like 😼, Signora has a proud one, Arle has a cunningly condescending one, and Dottore has just a snide "ehehe"

Hooray, it's a Chinese wall of my text again - well, this time it has at least some sense

Have a nice summer everyone!! I hope to see you again before the autumn :)

P.S. hello to the old ones who has recognized the original album cover, it's been 19 years since its release, feel old yet?

[swordsandholly]

as a southern gal all i can think of is introducing the men to southern cooking and snacks like boiled peanuts, cracklins, fried okra, and all the other goodies and having them drooling (totally not projecting my cravings onto them rn)

As a fellow southerner 100000% agree. All I want is to make them a low country boil. They’re big boys, they’d eat you out of house and home.

I like to imagine how they’d react to a South Carolina hot dog (chili, mustard and coleslaw) bc I’m self indulgent.

Soap will try anything once. He’d like them, I think. I don’t picture him having particularly sophisticated tastebuds. The man’s a garbage disposal.

I think Ghost would haaaate the texture. He’s anti-coleslaw in my opinion (grounds for divorce frankly but to each their own) and the combination of all three is just too much for him. (Bonus points if it’s a NC red hotdog)

Gaz would be insulted that the hot dog chili is at all considered chili. He’d try it once to humor you but you’re never getting him near one again.

Price would consider it an affront to nature. An absolute sin. The man would refuse it outright until you refuse to make him cornbread ever again. He’d give in just to get you off his case.

[wingsoverlagos]

Lewisohn vs. Searle

Forget, for a moment, that I said I wouldn't clog up your dashboards with a million citation comparisons. I have found a quote that is so brazenly manipulated, I had to share it.

This quote is pulled from an interview of John Lennon conducted by Malcolm Searle on June 15, 1964, in Melbourne's Southern Cross Hotel. Lewisohn cites it twice (the other quote is below the cut - it's rephrased slightly, but the meaning is retained), and some kind soul uploaded it to YouTube.

Tune In 20-32 vs. interview by Malcolm Searle

Here's the quote as it appears in Tune In, a simple statement about John's immediate connection with Neil Aspinall:

It's a simple quote. Straightforward. In case the name "Neil" wasn't clear enough, Lewisohn emphasized that John was "talking about the Beatles' first and original full-time assistant."

This is incorrect. You can hear John's words at 7:52. Transcript [emphasis mine]:

Well, Neil – he’s our personal road manager, well he was in from the start. He went to school with Paul and George, and the other fellow, Derek, we’ve known for about a year, but he’s sort of one of those people that clicked soon as you meet him.

There's no room for error here. The person who John refers to as "one of those people that clicked as soon as you meet him" is Derek Taylor. Of his relationship with Neil, John simply says that Neil was around from the early days due to being a schoolmate of Paul and George. This is even more noteworthy when we look at how the rest of this paragraph in Tune In plays out:

There are no other citations for this paragraph - that footnote after "their protector" talks about Neil's relationship with the "road manager" title - so the only source we have here is a quote that's actually about Derek Taylor. For the record, I don't think Lewisohn needs to cite each of Neil Aspinall's personality traits, so long as they're established elsewhere in the book - if we have evidence of him being "sharp, blunt, mentally strong, bright, funny, opinionated, mouthy, loyal, honest" elsewhere in the book, that phrase can stand on its own.

But there are a few specific phrases here that do warrant a citation. First, that bit about Neil "[getting] along very well very quickly" with John, also with George, and "to a lesser extent" with Paul. That explicit differentiation of one of the core three from the others needs supporting evidence. So too does Lewisohn's assertion that "John made sure Neil was man enough to stand up to him." This isn't a nebulous claim, so why doesn't Lewisohn tell us how John "made sure" Neil was "man enough"? Surely he has evidence for that and isn't just spit-balling?

I'm not a Neil Aspinall expert--I know he kept to himself, mostly, and perhaps that led the people around him to be close-lipped about him in return. But surely someone this close to the Beatles, someone in the inner circle - surely the Beatles said something about him that's worth quoting, rather than a manipulated quote about Derek Taylor followed by a bunch of uncited editorialization?

Tune In 17-35 vs. interview by Malcolm Searle

Audio clip at 3:08. Transcript, emphasis added to quoted phrases:

Ringo we met in Hamburg. He was playing with another group, and, y’know, we thought we liked his style but we’d only just got up the other drummer so we couldn’t do anything about it, but when we got the chance, we did.

Unmarked omission, and the word order in the first sentence is re-arranged ("Ringo we met in Hamburg" vs "We met Ringo in Hamburg")

Sources:

Lewisohn M. 2013. The Beatles: All These Years Vol. 1: Tune In. New York (NY): Crown Archetype. [ebook]

Searle M. 1964 Jun 15. Intervista John Lennon in Australia con Malcom Searle. Uploaded 2019 Feb 9, 8:44. Accessed online 2024 May 14. Available from: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OVpX7Xuz09I

[ineffablefate]

Getting it all out...

I've been feeling strange and I just want to write it down so that it might stop bouncing around in my skull so much. I've been checked out and numb while also feeling anxious, helpless, and grieving deeply for the world.

I am overwhelmed with too much information, distrustful of almost all of it, intensely annoyed at the constant barrage of opinions, disagreements, demands, and incessant reactivity of my fellow humans. I feel disenchanted and disillusioned with myself, wondering if my former mystical experiences that fueled so much of my spiritual convictions were not simply weed-induced delusions of grandeur.

Intrusive thoughts goading me to commit senseless and spontaneous acts of violence have been at an all-time high, and my meditations and prayers seem to bear no fruit. My inspiration remains blocked, my desire to connect with others feels stunted, my hope for the future is bleak, and a sense of our collective impending doom lurks firmly on the horizon. It seems everyone else also senses this, but so few have the courage to stop what they're doing and truly band together to face it, to make any organized effort to stop it without devolving into useless and unhelpful arguments with each other.

My voice feels small and inconsequential in a sea of chaos, my wisdom is tired and worn out, and the old trick of letting go seems like a Sisyphus circuit that inevitably leads to hopelessly pushing the boulder back up the hill from the bottom again, for lack of anything else to do.

This is the darkest of it. There are glimmers of light and laughter and joy and romance and discovery with my partner. Moments of peace and short-lived reminders of growth, remembering this is as much a ridiculous comedy as it is a grave tragedy.

And on the surface, in the present, in my personal life, almost everything is great. I have an amazing woman who loves me dearly, wonderful friends and family who adore and support me, decent health, many gifts, the privilege to take a two month vacation through Europe.

And yet my own country seems to be barreling toward a second Civil War shamelessly instigated by its own political system while funding inhumane conflicts as well as providing aid to alleviate the damage done by them. The planet at large seems to be on the brink of a nuclear World War. Profits of large corporations are at an all time high and yet small businesses and lower class families are struggling to survive. A sane, humble, or wise leader is nowhere to be found, and instead we are force fed ego-driven, politic-pandering, mentally unwell old men who spew intentionally divisive rhetoric at every opportunity.

The National Guard is being called out to quell the overwhelming crime of some cities, dispatched in national paranoia to guard our southern border, and almost everywhere I look I see nothing but arrogant, fearful, self-righteous hypocrites demanding peace and respect in disrespectful tones of conflict, anger, and pride.

I know. I know. "It's darkest before the dawn." "This too shall pass." "It gets worse before it gets better." Too often I fear we are already in hell, and the devastation of it is such a slow burn that the build up itself, the long drawn-out stupidity, the stubborn refusal to shift course, the constant dangling carrot of hope and redemption is a clever part of its torture.

I only pray this fear is false. It may very well be that all these terrible things must come to pass, as a way of evolving the minds and hearts of humanity through intense suffering. I do intend to keep singing and dancing and laughing and loving and forgiving and letting go as I push my boulder up this hill. But God how I ache for us to drop all this nonsense and enjoy heaven on earth together. How deeply I wish we could just skip all the oncoming tragedy and senseless slaughter and havoc and pain. Haven't we all already suffered enough?

Whatever may come, I love you all. Despite all of this, I am somehow, someway, still doing well. And I'll push through. We all will.

May Love bless you.

Peace.

[askbeannuts]

I got to work with the leader of that new Shaymin Guild recently. They're very nice, very smart and is “articulate” the right word? Well, either way, they needed some assistance with a guild base of operations and we settled on Yggdrasil first and foremost, but their concerns were response times too, I could get behind that mindset, but I didn't want to waste resources or spread myself super thin with multiple sites, instead I suggested a squad system, like older exploration guilds, except the teams station or live in areas away from the guild, it's what I was doing!

They took my suggestion to heart from the looks of it, but made some modifications, considerations for small sub-bases? So one in each section of the skies… it sounds doable, but would take years beyond them to set up correctly I'd bet… not to mention running them all would be a nightmare in my opinion. I think my squad system works effectively enough but maybe a mini base idea isn't bad either… ah, but I got sidetracked! 

Unlike our guild, which had huge numbers now, they were still getting off the ground and receiving a request to follow up on a prior abduction case in the Southern Isles was odd, but exciting considering it was our first proper teamup.

The Shaymin Guild's Guildmaster and their “Co-Guildmaster”, a Smeargle, accompanied a few members of my Guild, and myself of course, on this trip. We returned to an island sparsely populated, where in the recent past an outlaw, attempting to extort a small-time merchant during a resource collection trip with their child, took that child hostage. Initially, we were able to find and bring the child to safety, but never found the outlaw. Apparently they ran off to set up a trap for us, but never came back… the child mentioned weird wind-like sounds and rumbling not long after and then my team arrived. We weren't skilled at exploring dungeons like this, simplistic as it was, it ended up being a “one-floor” dungeon, but the team decided against investigating further. While it was a simple cave bearing random berries and fruits on occasion along huge vines and bushes and whatnot, we didn't want to risk it back then. 

The Shaymin Guildmaster gave it the title “Berry Caverns” when we ventured in and the team with me took note that the small cave paths were different than they remembered… The dungeon had “shifted” recently. The reason we were investigating this place again was because of a report of strange voices coming from behind a wall… maybe a “Wild”, we weren't sure at the time, but dread did fill my and my fellow Guildmaster's hearts at the idea that… the dungeon shifted when we rescued the child back then… and the missing outlaw…

We found the spot, a huge hole where a vine reached down… this was supposed to be a wall, it wasn't far from where we found the child-and that path was now a wall with bushes growing various weird berries… I’ve explored dungeons before, mind you, both before and after the Cataclysm… just… this new way things worked was weird, I’m certain if a dungeon had a dramatic change with someone inside, who happened to be in the “right” spot, they’d get flung out by an intense wind… at least that’s how my parents described them.

My thoughts aside, we carefully took the time to climb down this vine, following it in the hopes of finding this “voice” alive still. It was a long climb-and walk-downwards and we didn’t have those new “Pin” things the Research Guild came up with yet, and were still carrying around hunks of metal on our necks like charms, and they worked… But I could feel it. This place was dense with that Miasma, why? I asked that at the time, but my question was answered immediately… The massive amount of Miasma we passed through was like a “door”... once we passed through it, the environment we found… was devoid of it. It left us all speechless… a massive tree was growing underneath this dungeon!

Before anyone could say anything in sheer amazement, the Shaymin Guildmaster acted, anxiously telling us to contact both the Research Guild and the Landorus Guild’s leaders and get them here as fast as possible. That request reminded me of why we were originally here as well, and we discovered a-thankfully-unconscious outlaw, it appeared they had fallen down here when the dungeon shifted slightly and injured their leg so much that they weren’t walking or climbing out for some time. They survived off of whatever fruits and berries grew down here and the juices they could get from them for hydration, I’d imagine… it’d been nearly two weeks since then after-all… that’s how often dungeons were shifting of late…

After making sure a communication was being sent, we nervously left the Shaymin Guildmaster and their co-leader there, to escort the outlaw out. At some point, hours later it seemed, the Guildmaster and Co-Guildmaster of the Shaymin Guild came out to talk with us. They figured the path we took led us to a spot directly above where the Beanstalk’s vines branched out, the dungeon was underneath one of these points, allowing us to venture that deep… we weren’t in Berry Caverns anymore at that point. Knowing that, it was a sheer miracle that the only thing broken on the Outlaw was a leg…

After a few days of discussing how we’d go about documenting this, the leaders of the Landours and Research Guilds showed up… and we once again ventured back down there…

It was decided I could document the discovery in my own journals, including an image that was drawn at the time… though what we discovered after this point, I was asked not to disclose, but what I can say is that a new push to find these types of dungeons and study them was what likely led us to venturing into the Lands Below for the very first time… 

Though, I remember the issues it caused when we started just… digging up holes everywhere when no dungeon was found to be linked to the beanstalk in Yggdrasil… urgh… the sinkholes we created still bother me to this day…

An Excerpt From: "The Founder’s Book: Xerneas Guild"

[antiradqueef]

(not directed at you, directed at that one anti endo)

Bro imagine being so batshit pissed about pro endos just existing that you not only crosstag and get mad when people who use said tag (understandably) get pissed, but you block anyone who tries to correct you and you also need to get the prosecutor to handle the situation which only adds more fuel to the "prosecutors are scary and always angry and aggressive and can't recover from it" stereotype, only further fueled by the red text which was played off as "i like the color red" but we all know that's bullshit

credit where its due, i was the one who blocked them. they wouldnt really reason with me or anything and i was getting burnt out so i blocked. i DID, however, get a lot of evidence of them being abelist (like they claim they arent) and now im gonna use this ask as an excuse 2 compile that.

(↑ screenshot)

sanism.

(↑ screenshot)

refuse to believe this isnt them lol, calling people delusional is abelist and offensive to people with delusional disorders. in your pursuit to hate endos you inadvertently trashed on pwDID AND pw delusional disorders.

(↑ screenshot)

unreality, use of "yall" scares me that they might be a fellow southerner (/hj)

(↑ screenshot)

not "giving a fuck" about pwDID solely because of an opinion they hold... pretty abelist.

(↑ screenshot)

calls me dumb for "not knowing how persecutors act", apparently they always act rude and only rude and we HAVE TO let them and thats not demonization at all!

(↑ screenshot)

sanism again.

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sanism again

SO! i am aware not all anti endos are like this! i am IRL friends with some chill anti endos. i would love to have a respectful discussion someday.

buuuut if anyone ever asks u how anti endos are abelist you can show them this. ofc it doesnt reflect on them all but its pretty obvious why someone would feel uncomfortable there.

[herenortherenearnorfar]

For @undercat-overdog more Baby Gollum AU, featuring penguins, an aquarium, and solo-parenting.

Halacormen is not Alqualondë for political tensions. Still, it’s a Teleri town, and Celebrimbor is… Celebrimbor. So he’s sat out this parenting expedition, leaving Alyahtar alone with a squirmy pingwin of a child.

(His child, in the sense that it was his responsibility, and he had made it—her. Most likely. There is a debate to be had.)

The pingwin are what they’re here to see. That’s what the small ones, the hobbits who brought about his end, called them, and the atrocious ruralism has stuck.

Alyahtar prefers their proper title, quesslingwë, given at the time of the first scientific treks south path the lightless lands. His opinion bears astoundingly little weight on Western shores. Some people go out of their way not to listen to him. If not for Celebrimbor he never would have averted that bridge collapse.

Their wagonfull of travelers is getting close to the coastline now. Maitamië stops charming their fellow passengers (a baby is always charming in Valinor—and if her teeth are arrowheads and her irises too big for her eyes, well, there have been rumors of the fate of orcs) and starts gasping at the approaching edifice of the Fisherman’s City. It’s an impressive sight, the great domes bubbling out of the icy southern sea, the long silver walkways looping out into the wavy blackness. From above there are said to be patterns, the long frills of a tail, interlocking scales, an impression of a fish viewed through murky water. From below, one sees a stranger sight, the moveable nets and hanging baskets of an entire modular, sea-set hatchery. They anchor oysters to thick braided ropes and culture their own kelp garden past the horizon. Deep on the ocean floor, they keep sea urchins and log-like, slimy creatures dubbed sea cumcumbers (another hobbitism). By all accounts it’s a clever operation.

Alyahtar is not about to test Ossë’s patience, so recently extended to such delights as “letting him on boats” and “ letting him wade at the seashore if he agrees to be slammed in face by every wave” to deep water exploits. The temptation would be too great and his old colleague does not have remarkable patience.

No, they’ve come come to see the pingwin, and those are conveniently on land, along with the rest of the aquarium.

Maitamië shakes his arm. “Birds,” she points, directing his gaze for the hundredth time to a pertinent bit of wildlife. In this case, a group of fat boobies swooping out over the rocks to their east. A nesting ground, based on the streaks of droppings painting the dark stone white as the towers of Gondor.

“Yes, they’re quite common along the coastline. Certainly more so than mammals, current company excluded.”

His seatmate, a tiresome weaver from just south of Alqualondë, who loves canvas and his five daughters, two of whom live in the city they’re destined for, chuckles knowingly. Like he thinks Alyahtar counts himself among the mammalian order. A frustrating misconception, but one that’s better uncorrected. Sauron is not the most uncontroversial of figures in this land, but he’s not recognizable. Centuries behind helmet and wolf-mask and changeling guise have granted him an anonymity wretched Finrod Felagund can only dream about.

“Big birds,” Maitamië says in fairly coherent Quenya, directing his attention to a cormorant above. She follows it up with a garbled, half Westron, “They eat fish and I eat fish and I eat them.”

He brushes her wispy hair, already tangling in the brisk sea breeze, back from her face and wipes her runny nose. They’ve had to remove most of her beloved jewelry for this trip, the air gets too chill in the far south, and without jewels she’s antsy. “Larger diving birds do eat fish—not all seabirds though. There are some scavengers along this part of the coast, along with some insectivores and waders.”

It’s delightful how she drinks in new information. There’s a hunger to her every movement in the world, as if she knows that she spent centuries starving in the dark and has decided to make up for lost time. They’re not certain how cognizant their ghostling is of her last life—there seems to be knowledge from before, but awareness is hard to gauge with a toddler.

Maitamië’s dragonfly eyes narrow fractionally. “Insectivore?”

“They eat bugs.”

She shrieks, little hands grabbing the wind—she’s lost her gloves again. “I eat bugs!”

The entire wagon is grinning at her, the fools. Healthy child development is no laughing matter. “Yes, they’re very high in protein. Worms and snails, midges, crickets, mayflies…”

The low recitation of invertebrates, along with a gentle rocking, quiets her wriggling. Curled in his lap like this she feels like a project; the closest comparison for this weight is the pressure of a lap desk and yards of chainmail atop it to loop. Wolves never ran so small, nor Celebrimbor so hot. Neither ever tried to take his earrings out of his ears just to see what would happen—at least not in public. He is constantly monitoring curious hands and frustrated teeth.

One last hill and the gates of Halacormen are before them. With the ocean as a wall, they put little into actual gateage, but there is a waist high silver fence ringing the premises to deter the neighbors, who’d otherwise break in and gorge themselves on fish.

Visible past the bright walkways and domes and lighthouses of the city, is a rocky beach, a low, flat expanse of perfect pebbles. It goes on for about two miles and all up and down it birds nest. When Halacormen was first constructed, it sat on a more disfavored end of the beach, too close to the aggressive cliff dwelling birds, not suitable in the character of the rocks provided.

Over the next few centuries the presence of mass amounts of sea life, as well as the soft hearts of elves, changed the game. Now the pingwin nest as close to the city as they’re allowed and beg shamelessly for scraps. In an effort to contain a burgeoning nuisance species the city officials sectioned off the nesting ground. Now tours must be monitored and there’s an associated aquarium, with, he’s been told, many excellent examples of sealife.

“Fish?” Maitamië coos, pointing at the gleaming spires of the mariner’s town. Alyahtar redirects her hand (gloveless once more) to a low slung grey stone building curving along the seaside.

“Fish,” he confirms.

They part ways with most of their travelling company at the entrance to the city, another bit of evidence that mercy is real. A few stick the course, including a young taxonomist from Tirion with an audacious goal of categorizing all living things based on their relative balances of the three humours (air, water, and fire), as well as a quiet fellow in woodland green who has been giving him odd looks.

The remaining band trudge along the rocky path to the pingwin, Alyahtar at the back as his child insists on walking on her own two legs (short).

“Fish first, or birds?” he asks when they finally arrive. Celebrimbor has been all about presenting choices, lately.

“I want fish!” Her Sindarin is better than her Quenya, perhaps because she hears fewer dialects of the former. They’ve been attributing her productive verbal delay to the linguistic variety of the West. It should even out in time. “And frogs! And squid!”

“I can only guarantee you the fish, but our cephalod prospects are good.” He crouches in front of her, furs dragging in the gravel. “Remember, we look with our eyes, not our teeth.”

“Mnnaph.” To demonstrate, she takes his hand (gloved, someone has to model appropriate dress) and gums it, pointedly not biting down.

Alyahtar passes her a piece of jerky to chew on, one of his bracelets to fidget with, and slides her little hand into his. “We look with our eyes and do not touch at all. These are demonstratory fish.”

“For science,” his scrap, his little concretion, their gift of grace, says. She learns very fast.

They step inside the dark aquarium. The exterior is built sturdy, to weather storms, but inside it glows with as much glass and light as a Vanyarin cathedral.

Light refracting through water makes everything blue, a deep, pure color that brings to mind newborn stars. He rather wishes he had his husband to share the shade with—it would make a beautiful gem.

The cold southern waters don’t sustain the brightly colored coral dwellers of Alqualondë or the large pink salmon of Oromë’s inland lakes. This is a place for deep water oddities, three foot tooth fish, giant squid, black and white toothed whales. Only the smallest, shallowest specimens fit in this building.

With a shriek, Maitamië drags him to a tank of mackerel, swarming like birds. The flash of scales as they swim past in perfect synchronization sends her into paroxysms of delight, throat bobbing like a pelican. “Glem, glem. Ada, look!”

They are, he must concede, very good fish. Parasite free. Healthy. The people here know how to do at least one thing well.

They move past the exhibits on bivalves, crustaceans, and sea urchins with minimal incident, the tanks being too high for her to get her hands inside them. Someone will have to wipe sticky handprints and several licks off the glass after they go, but that’s a problem for other people.

At the squid they run into trouble. It seems that some of the elves of the institute are interfering with the animals. Doing this around a three year old ought to be a crime, in Alyahtar’s opinion.

He catches Maitamië by the scruff just as she begins to run. “Look with our eyes, tadpole.”

One elf is stripped down to breeches and diving amid the while a partner stands above her at the lip of the tank. Two more are at the base of the tank for backup. Two dozen sluggish squid, a forearm long at most, swirl in the water around the diver, who is occupied securing a loose mesh netting between the two sides of the aquarium, dividing it, and the squid population, in half.

Maitamië, still trapped in his arms, leans forward and shouts at the nearest person. “Why? Why!”

Instantly, all of them smile, dopey in the way Valinorean get around infants and echoes of the forbidden east. The one elf whose hands aren’t full jogs over.

“Hello! You’ve caught us at a bad time, we’re trying to split our squid.”

Alyahtar inclines his head politely. “Yes, I can see that.”

Wriggling like a worm, Maitamië asks again, “Why?”

“Why, please.”

The elf doesn’t balk at the demand, or the teeth Maitamië is showing. That’s some kind of testment to his character. “We’re doing an experiment to see if we can reduce rates of intrashoal violence among the squid along the coast. We’ve been seeing very high levels of mortality before spawning, which may be a result of contamination spilling out from Avathar.”

They’d passed by that tainted place on their journey south. It hurt just to look at, ached to be in the vicinity of. It weeps, like an old wound unhealed. Unsurprising that the pustulence might sicken other lands.

“What are the symptoms?” he asked, suddenly curious.

Their guide glances briefly at Maitamië. “Ah. Aggressive in-group cannibalism. We expect some level as they get big enough… but this is driving population collapse.”

Maitamië looks back to him. “They’re eating each other when they shouldn’t,” he tells her.

“Look with your eyes,” she agrees.

Alyahtar bounces his hip, shifting his lanky surprise so she sits more securely. “I’ll keep this one out from underfoot then. But if you have any papers…” It’s always good to see a well executed bit of mending, the world made better. It’s almost as good to see an obviously botched job because then he and Celebrimbor can fix it themselves.

“We don’t expect the results for a few years,” the elf (young, probably not in charge) says. Then, in a lower voice, “But if you write to the head of the marine reparation program he loves to talk about the process.”

The pleasure of finding a new corner of research to meddle in gets him through the dogfish, the cod, the hake, the speckled pink skates. When they finally emerge into the brisk summer air of the pingwin hatchery Maitamië collapses into entirely new contortions of joy.

“Bird! Bird! Gwin-bird!” A fearless pingwin squawks at her and she makes a miserable retching noise back.

“Hands to yourself and stay on the path,” he warns. Tourists around them are going so far as to put hands on the pingwins, who, being accustomed to interaction, preen in response. Some local girls, obvious by their otterskin capes and greased limbs, are playing in the surf, splashing each other and their avian friends.

Two of Ulmo’s nereids, wearing a blubbery guise, are sunning themselves on a guano stained rock. One of them sees Alyahtar and makes a rude gesture.

Maitamië clutches his wrist. “Look! A baby.”

Sure enough, in one of the low rock burrows is an early hatching nestling. It hasn’t opened its eyes yet but it has a thin coat of fuzzy feathers. As they watch one of the parents waddles up to deposit food in its open mouth.

“A papa and a me-gol,” she whispers in wonder.

“What?!”

“You’re the big one and I’m me.”

Sometimes, he wonders… and then he puts his questions to the side. “You are what you are,” he agrees, and watches fondly as she mimes regurgitating krill into a baby’s mouth.

This is a perfectable thing. This is a wound that is healing.

There is no better work to do.

[cowpokeomens]

I feel like Folio and Jolly would like southern accents the most. Folio because he just seems like the type honestly lol. Jolly would as well because it's so different from his own. I think he would love it and want to know all the southern slang.

Just my opinion as a fellow Southern girlie

Thank u for this I have thought about nothing else for 24 hours straight

[mtndeworpheus]

hiiii what's ur favourite boygenius song who's ur favourite boygenius member. I love them, by the way. Boygenius

i love the boygenius! boysgenius.boydenius. boypen-nevermind

all opinions are temporary and could change any second because i am a fickle bitch! yeehaw!

THE RECORD HAS GUTTED ME. THOROUGHLY. i can't rank songs properly because i feel so much about everything i listen to but Without You Without Them and Cool About It make me want to peel my skin off and cry until i can't breathe :) yay! thank you boygenius!! i love you, the boys genius!!!

i feel like i don't have a favorite member!!! but i discovered Phoebe first and as a fellow Southern California native, she always speaks directly to my soul and i gotta give it to her. like Lucy, Julien, I'd do anything for you but Phoebe understands my specific brand of Californian melancholy

you have to answer the same questions now 🥰🔪

[dailykoreanpop]

ATEEZ Members Accused Of Singing Offensive “Curry” Song — KQ Entertainment And MBC Respond

Fans have mixed reactions to the company’s response.

Recently, a video went viral of ATEEZ members singing a controversial song. Their company has since responded.

The song in question is the infamous “Curry.” The “Curry” song was released by the K-Pop duo Norazo over a decade ago and became a hit in South Korea. Still, “Curry” is undeniably controversial and problematic. The lyrics and choreography harmfully stereotype South Asian culture. Even the original MV depicted the duo wearing brownface.

Shanti, Shanti / Yoga, Fire / I love hot curry

— “Curry,” Norazo

Three years ago, SEVENTEEN‘s Wonwoo sang “Curry” in an episode of the group’s popular variety show Going Seventeen. At the time, Norazo’s Jo Bin issued a statement about the song since he witnessed criticism directed toward Wonwoo. He captioned his social media post, “The writing I wrote is not intended to encourage disputes. I wanted everyone to be comfortable. Sorry. You have no choice but to close the feedback window. The opinion window can be a place of controversy with each other! May everyone see us with understanding and love. We will definitely grow in a good direction!”

Norazo are not racist and do not insult religions! I’ve heard from people of Indian descent today that curry is not a part of real Indian food. The reason why I ended up working on the song without checking the facts was because I lived in Korea while knowing false information about the history of curry, so I was taught to think, ‘Curry is Indian food!’ As a result, I did not realize what the words I used to express India as a homeland actually meant and how sacred they were! This was surely my mistake!

All we wanted to do was let it be known that curry is a delicious food that anybody can enjoy through our Norazo style! I want to say that we didn’t write the song with the intent to put anyone down or cut down the culture or tradition of a precious country!

From now on, we’ll be sure to be singers who make and sing songs with proper information! We apologize to people of India and Southern Asia who were hurt by this! And lastly, just like us, our hoobae singers didn’t know it could be conveyed that way!

We hope that this song, which was ignorant about another country’s tradition, will not hurt our hoobae singers who are on their world tour while loving the fans and cultures of other countries!

— Norazo’s Jo Bin

Despite this, “Curry” has continued to be sung and disappointed idols’ fandoms. In April this year, STAYC‘s Sieun and Sumin were criticized for singing the song.

Now, ATINYs are disappointed since two members of ATEEZ sang the offensive “Curry” song. ATEEZ is considered by K-Pop fans to be one of the few groups that are not problematic or have a history of partaking in offensive behavior and cultural appropriation.

A behind-the-scenes video from MBC R <IDOL RADIO> was released yesterday. In one moment, San is dancing and singing “Curry.” Fellow member Yunho can be heard offscreen singing along softly as he was the one to bring it up originally. According to ATINYs, he commented that “DJ San sounds like shanti,” which triggered San’s singing.

The clip went viral on TikTok with 111.9K views at the time of writing. ATINYs were shocked. Some commented that Yeosang even appeared to recognize that something was wrong.

So, ATINYs quickly took to social media, including Twitter and the b.stage app, to contact the members and their company, KQ Entertainment, about the problematic nature of the song. Some have pointed out that Seonghwa previously mentioned “Curry.”

Within 24 hours, KQ Entertainment responded to ATINYs’ concerns. The company shared a thread via Twitter, explaining that their artist(s) had “unknowingly hurt” ATINYs with their actions. So, KQ Entertainment apologized on their behalf and promised to educate.

The fandom has had mixed reactions to KQ Entertainment’s statement. Many fans would like the artists themselves to address the matter.

MBC Idol Radio Korea has also released a statement regarding the video. The company took responsibility for not editing it out originally.

Hello, this is Idol Radio. In the behind-the-scenes video released on July 8, a scene with the “Curry” song was included. We apologize for the inconvenience to viewers around the world regarding the scene. Although it was not our intention, we feel deeply responsible for not being able to catch it during the editing process. We will be aware of this issue so that it does not happen again in the future. We will continue to think about better content to repay your interest and support for Idol Radio.

— MBC Idol Radio Korea

Additionally, the video containing the offensive scene has been taken down. The members also did not post via b.stage after their concert.

Credit: Koreaboo 

[sebastianinjapan]

June 5 - Musashi University

Today was really awesome as we had the opportunity to directly engage with Japanese university students who were all one way or another interested in the English language. What I really personally got out of this was truly how different the world views between us and them were. But our activity today focused on breaking down those barriers, and while we may view the world differently it has continued to reinforce the most important aspect of this study abroad for me which is that we are all just human. Being able to engage with people my own age (the specific individual I spoke with was 21, my age) I was able to understand that we share many of the same attributes and potential worries about the future (particularly about job hunting). I will say that my peers and I had to mainly carry the conversations with our Japanese counterparts, but this is understandable as they are still English learners. In our lecture we learned that some Japanese English learners will undersell their abilities as to not stand out, so I wonder if being with native English speakers pushed them further in their shells or allowed them to come out. Another point of strain came from one of my fellow peers who was unable to read, and attempted to scold me for asking “How do you identify yourself” which was the question we were tasked with asking each other. I guess we provided our peers a front row seat of how easily Americans can get into disagreements. I didn’t let this bother me though and after I made it clear to her that she was wrong, I continued with my question. The campus itself was incredibly small (relative to UF) but had a nice nature area and a goat pen!

Academic Reflection

While we had no readings today, we did have a lecture and activity we did with our Japanese peers. The lecture was on identity, which is a much belabored topic back home so I didn’t get much out of it. An interesting point however came from discussion of Latin American English learners, and particularly how they are stereotyped in the classroom. While I don’t have much memory of this, I’ve been told that in my youth Spanish was my primary language as that was the tongue my mother spoke to me in. However, once I entered school (as well as issues with my father) my language quickly shifted and I “forgot” my Spanish. I wouldn’t be surprised if I was victim to some sort of stigmatization which hastened that transition.

During our activities after we broke the ice and introduced ourselves, we were asked to discuss the future based on questions surrounding “national borders”. This is an interesting question to pose to each group as Japan is a lone island with no borders, and fairly strict immigration policies while the United States has a fairly loose border with Canada ontop of a mounting issue along our southern borders. The response from the Japanese students was unsurprising as they wished to remain closed off as a means of protecting their own cultures and traditions. While this is understandable for such a distinct culture and people, in the United States which was built on the concept of being a “melting pot” this conflicted with our own opinions. Personally whether we wish to keep a national border on the American continents or not, I believe that they will break down naturally. While another set of questions that other groups engaged with dealt with climate change, my answer ultimately tied into this issue. As the climate worsens in South America, more and more people will begin to flee for the United States. When this occurs we will be faced with two options, one being to let them in or commit horrible crimes to keep them out. I’m not quite sure what the country will choose to do and it will likely depend on which side of the political pendulum we are in and who is president. However, for the Japanese as an island country realistically no one will be jumping on boats to start a life here as issues worsen, but I do have faith in the Japanese as they are incredibly resilient and willing to accept change (technologically speaking) to adapt.

[chapelcrows]

In praise of Ethel Cain. -from a fellow North Florida girl.

Tumblr seems like the most appropriate place to sing my praises for Hayden, so here is what I have to offer:

I was first introduced to the allure of Ethel Cain through the track Ptolemaea, which, in my futile opinion, is by far the most freakish and enticing way to discover Hayden’s music. I was incredibly disturbed- the drone of flies above an assumed dead corpse and the monotone, borderline demonic monologues had me fearful in a way I’d never felt before while listening to music. 

It hypnotized me. 

I’d never had quite the experience with an artist like I did with Ethel Cain. Immediately I went and did a listen-through of Preacher’s Daughter, and my god was I astonished. 

My first note- this is easily one of my favorite albums of all time, and easily the best album of 2022. Such an underrated, incredible album that showcases masterful southern gothic storytelling and luscious vocals + production.

My second note- The story of Ethel Cain and Hayden’s overall themes resonated with me in a personal way that rarely ever does in media. The overlap of Hayden/Ethel’s life and mine is incredible. We’re both from North Florida, raised by southern culture, Christian fathers, church on Sunday, and typical ‘hick’ activities. Of course, divergence exists in some places- but overall, there’s a great relatability between Hayden’s music and my life (something I found great comfort in). What may seem like the baseline for a southern gothic horror film to some- small backroad towns, rundown chapels, wood plank walls, scraggly moss-covered oaks, suffocating humidity- is a source of comfort for me. It reminds me of home, of where and how I was raised. It felt as though Preacher’s Daughter (and the rest of Ethel Cain’s discography) was written for girls like me. 

I could ramble for hours about how much I’m in love with the music of Ethel Cain, but I’m sure I’d lose the attention of whoever is taking their time to read this (thank you, by the way!).

Hayden, I love you. Your art means the world to me. I hope maybe I’ll run into you in St. Augustine one day. 

@mothercain

-a fellow North Florida girl.

[wutbju]

The cruelty is the point, friends. Never forget that.

A colleague at Furman said to me yesterday, "It's so obvious that this whole thing at BJU is being cooked up in Bob Jones III's living room."

I couldn't agree more.

This is no different, my dear friends, than what happened in 1957. Do you know the story?

Billy Graham attended Bob Jones College in Tennessee. He hated it. Too many rules.

He left and attended Florida Bible Institute. When he left Bob Jones, Sr. yelled at him and said that he'd never amount to anything.

But eventually, BJU claimed him and bragged on him as their own. They were all cozy.

Until 1953.

In 1953 at his Chattanooga Crusade, Billy Graham personally and physically pulled down the ropes racially segregating his audience. He told two ushers, “either these ropes stay down or you can go on and have the revival without me.” The head usher resigned in protest, and the Chattanooga papers were silent on the matter.

Throughout the following weeks, Graham downplayed the move, but the ropes never returned for that Crusade. Within three years, President Eisenhower would ask Graham to convince Southern clergy to soften their ecclesiastical segregationism.

In February 1956, Graham was the leading story on the front page of the fundamentalist Sword of the Lord, with a passionate defense of him from editor John R. Rice. Graham sat on the Sword “cooperating board” with a Who’s-Who list of fundamentalist power players: Richard Clearwaters, M. R. Dehaan, Bob and Jack Shuler, Pat and Bernie Zondervan, and both Joneses. Only 20% of the twenty board members were from South of the Mason-Dixon line.

But by July 1956, Graham was off the Sword, condemned for being too “worldly” and too “inoffensive” and was starting his own publication with Carl F. H. Henry, Christianity Today. A year later, Graham had Martin Luther King, Jr. open a New York City crusade event in prayer.

And it was all over at that point. That's when BJU, inc. "separated" from Billy Graham. BJU alone coded "segregation" as "separation." Do you get what that means?

We were sold a bill of goods by the Bob Jones family. When we were told to "separate" from evangelicals, underlying that story was racial segregation. It's a white supremacist story we were told, all cloaked in religious language. It was never religious. It was never about separation. It was always about miscegenation.

And the vitriol Bob Jones, Sr. and Bob Jones, Jr. spewed at Billy Graham in this time is astonishing. I have 209 documents from just 1957 related to BJU and Billy Graham, and I don't know where to start for this brief overview. Look at what a current BJU student said in March 1957 -- right after Bible Conference:

Dear Fellow Students:

You and I know that the situation here in Bob Jones University is unbelievable. Our parents do not know it or they would not have sent us here.

Instead of a Christian institution where we are taught to love God, His Word and His people, we are being fed on hate and misrepresentation day after day. We are being brainwashed and you know it. We cannot think our own thoughts or make our own decisions. We cannot even pray fora a Christian leader like Billy Graham whom God is using so much.

The so-called "Bible Conference" was mostly one prolonged smear campaign against Billy Graham. Some of the speakers said things they knew were untrue and we knew it too.

The student attached an article from Bob Jones, Jr. about Billy Graham. I've got the whole thing, of course, but just look how it starts:

A San Francisco Telecast of Liberal Opinion on the Forthcoming Graham Crusade

By Bob Jones, Jr.

Bible-believing Christians who condone Billy Graham's unscriptural modernistic sponsorship should have their eyes opened as to the true facts in regard to the Billy Graham can1paigns by an article which appeared in the OAKLAND TRIBUNE on Tuesday, December 17, 1957.

These same gullible Bible-believing fundamental Christians, strangely enough, seem to have been as deaf to Dr. Graham's innuendos and jibes at Fundamentalists as they have been blind to his fawning attitude toward modernists, infidels, and Unitarians. Slowly but surely these folks are becoming less gullible and the scales have fallen from the eyes of many. This article should increase that number.

Bob Jones, Jr. is petulant and ugly in just these first paragraphs -- cruel to his fellow Christians. He's name-calling. He's angry.

Let's be blunt. He's acting like a malignant narcissist. And the family business lets him rule the roost just like it did with Senior. It's a family trait.

III is acting exactly the same right now. All you Boomer and Gen-X BJU graduates, you remember how Third would have tantrums. Lots of us in the Fine Arts department, at least, have been the recipient of those tantrums. Remember them? Remember how you'd sweat and break out into hives? Remember how small you felt? Remember how you were numb for days after (a sign of trauma, my friends)?

You've probably blocked it. But you need to remember it.

That rage is documented as part of a personality disorder. History proves that Senior did it. Junior did it. You see it up above. And many of us were the target when III did it. You know that.

The entire organization of Bob Jones University for the last century is built on this rage. This irrational, frightening, brutal rage is what fuels Bob Jones University. You cannot detach BJU from this megalomania. You can't.

So if Pettit has been the recipient of that rage from Bob Jones III and his toady John Lewis, why are you surprised? You were too. Why are you defending Pettit now when he has profited off this rage for his entire public career?

I know why. Fundamentalism loves powerful men, and we were taught to defer to those powerful men. So when an affable Pettit says, "THEY ARE RAGING AT ME!" (and no doubt they are), we good little fundies all run to his defense because he's a powerful man too.

But when a sexual assault victim says, "Chuck Phelps put me up for church discipline!" what do we do? When a 300-page document says, "Jim Berg did not follow the law for mandatory reporting," what do we do? When Bob Jones III rages at us, what do we do?

Stop doing that. Wake up.

The cruelty is the point at Bob Jones University. It always has been. Face it, friends.