#their feelings are not all-consuming to the point where the grand reveal is almost ridiculous?

[jonsnoodlearms]

I have such a limited taste when it comes to fanfic and it's making life difficult

[writer-akihiko]

Thanks for doing the Paradise Lost story! It was so good that I felt like it deserves a sequel (if that is possible) and then branch out into different endings for each fallen angel (and maybe a glimmer of hope for Kira a.k.a Uriel x Reader). But I’ll leave it up to you to decide if you don’t like my suggestion

One With Tragedy - Yandere!Eichii + Yandere!Van + Yandere!Yamato X Reader X Kira PT2

PART 1

Ah I was waiting to post this! Endings are a definite must. Disclaimer: This is my personal characterisation of Eichii, Van and Yamato from Utapri as a Yandere. Actual Eichii, Van and Yamato would not do this; this is my take on how Eichii, Van and Yamato acts as a Yandere.

Warnings: Emotional Manipulation, Yandere Themes, Implications of Torture

It was a blur. There wasn't much that you could do, as your shoulders ached but you weren't sure why. The sudden feeling of panic settled in and that's when you ripped off the sheets. You were wearing a much more revealing garment than before, and being self-conscious, you pulled up the sheets to cover up yourself.

It brought you back to thinking, particularly about how you got here. It was mostly foggy, as you tried to remember why on earth those people from your dreams haunted you so. You thought those dream boyfriends were just a figment of your imagination, but the fact that they were way more than what you thought terrified you.

"Ah, our lovely YN is awake..."

"E-Eiichi!"

The demon made his way to the bed, dipping it as he sat on it. He scoffed, taking off the glasses. His dark purple eyes seemed mystical, somewhat incomparable to the Eiichi in your dreams. He was certainly a gorgeous man, but the horns and wings that were tucked behind his back snapped you out of the illusion.

Running a hand through his hair, he spoke. "Please, don't call me that ridiculous name anymore. It's Lucifer."

You'd be lying if you weren't slightly tempted by the handsome man. With some composure, you asked, "Were my dreams a lie then?"

It was what you wanted to know the most. Every night where you'd lie in bed, you'd dream of at least one of them serenading you as their ideal lover. You went along with it, dreaming of them even in the morning. They gave you a reason to look forward to the night, to be safe in the night… who knew they were the demons people warned you about in the night.

"Why would I lie to you, YN?"

You couldn't stand it. His voice was as sweet as he was in your dreams. He was the Eiichi you fell in love with, the Eiichi you thought never existed and was only a part of your lonely desire to be with someone.

"I may not be Eiichi, but I'm still Lucifer. The one who used the name Eiichi," He said, his clawed hands tracing your palms ever so slightly. His cold breath made you shiver, as he inched closer to you. His wings unfurled gracefully to the point you could be fooled that he was your Guardian Angel…

Guardian Angel…

"Where is he?"

Eiichi, no... Lucifer... was as smug of a lover as you remembered. He only hummed, his fingers trailing underneath his jaw as his head tilted towards you. "Oh... I wonder my darling~" He asked, his voice almost sarcastic as his wings relaxed, almost threatening you in a way.

You were angry. You were angry at the stupid demon at the foot of your bed for misleading you and taking advantage of every single feeling of affection and romance you had for him. You grabbed the pillow behind your back, the tears pooling at your eyes as you chucked it at him. "Where is he?! Just tell me!"

Eiichi dodged the pillow. He didn't say much, and you couldn't tell if he was truly angry with you. It sent shivers down your spine, the way how it seems as if he knew what your next move was, what your emotions and reactions were... It simply made every second of those dreams disgusting to you.

Green flames pooled when the pillow flew mid-air, as it froze. The lime-green flames took the shape of Yamato, except the Yamato you remembered wore much more casual attire and carried himself in an aloof manner. This Yamato was much more crude, despite the refined clothes he was wearing.

The pillow quickly burned away under his fingers, Yamato wiping away the ashes off his shoulder. "So what's the princess upset about? Lucifer, you didn't mess with her right?"

You let out a sigh of relief. Finally, someone who was reasonable-

"That's my job after all."

Never mind.

Before you could blink, Yamato pushed you to the bed, trapping you under his arms. You certainly had dreamed of the moment Yamato would be a little rough with you, but it was never under such… circumstances. His face was as wolfish as you remembered, perhaps more so with the tiny fangs protruding from his lips.

"Name's Azazel. Remember it darling," He teased. "You wouldn't wanna get burned like that chicken of an angel…"

You pushed him away. "Angel? Where is he?!"

Lucifer at this point was rolling his eyes at the repeated question. Yama- Azazel, was much more visibly irritated, cussing under his breath. "Uriel this, Uriel that… Why don't you ask about us instead? Your three dream boyfriends?"

You scowled. Sure, it wasn't everyday that you'd meet all the boyfriends you had in your dreams, but that was fictional. It didn't mean anything in the grand scheme of your desires. Uriel promised you-

"He promises to you were nothing but shit, darling. Don't you know?" Lucifer caught you off. Oh right… They're demons… of course they could read your mind. Who would've guessed…

Azazel nodded, green flames igniting his left hand as he swerved it around, causing you to be anxious that he might just set you and the sheets on fire. "Think about it… Why in the nine hells would Uriel, a high-ranking angel, help someone like you?" He scoffed. "You're gorgeous in my eyes, no doubt. But unlike us demons… Angels aren't supposed to have worldly desires."

Lucifer went on. "Uriel... Did you really know what he wanted? He knew your soul was pure..."

You nodded, remembering how Uriel revealed the purity of your soul.

Lucifer grasped onto your hand, his claws brushing against your palm in a comforting way. "He wanted it for himself... He wanted to consume it to maintain his power."

"Why do you think they send the corrupted ones to hell? It's because we eat corrupted souls and have evil intent... They do the same!" Azazel burst out, his flames almost reflecting his anger. "And they spin lies to get humans to trust them, for humans like you to fuel his own power. He's selfish YN, he always has been. One pure human won't change it!"

It was too much for you. Uriel… all he did was lie? Was it to condemn you to hell anyway? The memories somehow came back, of the tiny flirting and the little flits of affection from him to you, as he swore on his life that he'd reunite you with your sibling. As memory by memory passed by, it seemed much more bittersweet, and the melodic sounds of heaven he'd say turned to poison in your ears.

"Oh my sweet little YN, who made you cry?"

You didn't realise the tears that slipped past, as they rolled down your cheek. The hot trail was brushed away by a new face, the third person you would blush about at night, Van. The imaginary flirtatious lover cooed over your crying face, shushing your cries away. "There there… Your beloved Belial is here…"

Somehow, Van's... Belial's hug was comforting. You remembered what he told you when he suddenly whisked you away. You were meant to be saved by them. You were meant to be cared by them. Somehow, listening to Azazel and Lucifer reveal the truth about Uriel pained your chest. Did you really love him in that way?

"Don't fret YN... The lovers of your dreams..." Belial whispered in your ear. "They've become a reality. So relish in it, won't you?"

Caught up in your emotions, all you could do was cry in Belial's arms, with Azazel and Lucifer by your side. With your heart wrenched by betrayal, how could you have seen Belial's other arm, soaked in blue angel's blood with two pairs of pure white wings at the floor of your bed...

"You fall so easily, YN."

[jonnyparable]

Cottage Hills : The Red Chamber Part III

A Daring Heist Underway

Moguai :

"That's your grand plan? To dress up as a pumpkin? I ought to strike you down where you stand you fool."

Won:

"Now, now, calm down. Its autumn after all, and every year, this ridiculous town has a bunch of scarecrows exactly like this, sitting around the Harvest Fest. I've been able to just sit there for days now, and no one has been any the wiser. It is the perfect way to get into town discreetly. "

To his credit unfortunately, the disguise actually did work, and the townsfolk barely noticed anything out of the ordinary with one extra scarecrow among the many others at the Harvest Fest, apart from the fact that this particular one is particularly lifelike, which only seems to amuse them more. They've all since decided that it is, in fact, their favourite scarecrow this year, and have given it the name of Scrampy.

Raiding the Constabulary

Moguai:

"My God are they thick. You may have been able to fool those simpletons, but now what?"

Won:

"Just across the road from the Harvest Fest is the town's constabulary where my things are kept. I've been observing them for days now. My caravan is parked behind it in the yard. Posing as a harmless scarecrow, I've been able to observe the watchmen's schedules and plan the perfect time to break in! We go tonight! "

Moguai :

"Huh. That's a surprisingly good plan. Well done. But won't they notice that your things are missing after you've taken them?"

Moguai brings up a good point. Harris, in his ongoing investigations into Won, has been obsessively cataloguing and making an inventory of all the contents of the caravan, and putting them into boxes to be stored away as evidence. He's been trying to look for clues as to Won's true identity and his motives for his actions, as well as his connection to the town and the prophecy. So far, his investigations have led nowhere, and he still can't figure out who Won is, and why he'd want to come here to Cottage Hills and do them harm. Perhaps he feels guilty or humiliated that all this happened under his watch, and he hopes capturing Won will somehow redeem him.

Won :

"Don't worry about him. I've got just the trick to deal with that mustachioed menace. I'll swipe my precious apparatus from right under his big fat nose. You better concentrate on getting into the church and finding that manuscript. "

That night, Won finally makes his move after observing the officers' schedules while sitting as a scarecrow across the street all day, just like he said. He sneaks into his caravan when the officers are out on night patrol, and after finding all the things he needs, Won finishes the heist with one final flourish.

Won:

"Well...I suppose I won't be needing this caravan anymore. No time to be sentimental! INFLAMMO!"

Won sets fire to his caravan so that no one will be able to find any missing evidence. The fire soon rages out of control, and draws everyone's attention as they try desperately to put out the fire. But a magical fire like this cannot be so easily extinguished. Harris, out on his night patrol, rushes back to the constabulary.

Harris:

"How did this fire start!? Couldn't have been lightning! Its clear out!"

Officer on duty:

"I have no idea, Sir! It was all quiet and then all of a sudden , this blaze consumed all the evidence! We can't put it out!"

Won watches from behind a tree, revelling in the chaos his fire has caused. Watching the fire reminds him a little of his nightmares, and he can almost hear the woman's haunting scream, but with his ingredients now returned to him, those nightmares will soon be a thing of the past. Meanwhile, the fire causes the perfect diversion for Moguai to enter the church unseen...

Mew in the Pews

Moguai stealthily makes his way up the belfry, and into Carter's Orrery. He's able to sense the manuscript somewhere in the tower. But where? Won had blasted a hole in the church last year to try and find it but failed. Will Moguai be able to find it this time?

Moguai :

"Well, that buffoon wasn't wrong after all. The manuscript is definitely here somewhere. I too, can sense it... Hmm it seems to be coming from this corner here.."

Moguai feels a slight breeze coming from an old bookshelf in the corner. Could it be that there's a hidden room behind it? There's piles of dusty books in front of it, but Moguai can sense the power of the manuscript right behind it.

Moguai:

"These thieving peasants! Such a ridiculous ruse will not work on me. Return what you've stolen!"

Jumping up on a pile of books, Moguai investigates the shelf until he finds a strange and mysteriously mysterious novel that looks a little too out of place. He gives it a tug and lo, as dust is shaken from the rafters, the whole shelf slowly opens to reveal a hidden chamber within...

But as Moguai rushes in, he realises too late that he's not alone.

Woman's Voice :

"Well, well well. Look what the cat dragged in! "

[doomedandstoned]

Top 10 Albums Of The 2010′s

~By Calvin Lampert~

I think it is safe to say that underground metal has enjoyed a period of unprecedented growth and popularity in the last 10 years. But when I am saying this I am not only thinking about the heavy underground; those adherents of the Sabbath sound and this whole new wave of doom metal bands. I am thinking of the fact that (underground) metal has undergone a change in image, too.

Though frequently maligned as hipster bands (or metal for people who don't like metal), acts like Deafheaven have brought metal to a whole new audience and raised awareness of the genre as a genuine form of art that does not just exist for its own sake; that metal fans only go for gore, beer and self-referential horn-throwing. Not that Neurosis and Godflesh haven’t been ambassadors of this mindset for more than three decades already, but it feels that the understanding of metal as art seems to have finally broken through to an audience outside of the traditional metal subculture in the past decade.

I think it is in no small part thanks to some of the bands on this list I have assembled (though I may have forgone obvious picks like Alcest and Deafheaven for more personal choices). And in retrospect, it should’ve been a list of bands rather than records, as most of the artists on this list would’ve have had a claim to a spot on here, with any record they put out. Take that as a hurray for consistency. So, without further ado, my picks for the best and most remarkable records of the decade.

10. Akhlys – 'The Dreaming I' (Debemur Morti - 2015)

The Dreaming I by Akhlys

I can’t help but wonder if Naas Alcameth of AKHLYS (also of Nightbringer, Aoratos and Bestia Arcana) set out with the express intent to create what is essentially a nigh perfect atmospheric black metal record when he started working on The Dreaming I. It damn sure feels like, each strum, syllable, and beat sits at the right place; the pieces of this nightmarish puzzle fit with an unsettling ease.

Photograph by by Kuba Leszko

The sound really does justice to the underlying concept of dreams and nightmares, as you’ll rarely find a record with such an impenetrable atmosphere. Once you hit play you’re soon enveloped by countless layers of swirling guitars, all at the command of Naas Alcameth, and he seems hellbent on suffocating you with them. The Dreaming I is about as close as you can get sleep paralysis-made-music. If you put off black metal as spooky noise made by a bunch hooded esoteric nerds you might’ve found your match in Akhlys. They are just that, they’re dead serious, and the results are impressive.

9. Elephant Tree – 'Elephant Tree' (Magnetic Eye Records - 2016)

Elephant Tree by Elephant Tree

I’ve observed myself growing increasingly apart from most stoner rock as of late, sometimes even antagonizing the genre. I’m afraid I’m just burned out on it and grown embittered, so a record from those genres ending up on my Albums of the Decade list should give you a hint of just how special it really is.

That is not to say that there haven’t been some real stoner rock heavy hitters this decade, such as Gozus Revival, Valley of the Suns Sayings of the Seers or Lo-Pans Salvador, but there’s something to ELEPHANT TREE's self-titled record that just so narrowly sets it apart from the others.

Photograph by Phil Smithies

What that is I am still not quite sure, and I had my fair share of relistens. Maybe it is the tasteful balance act of the production that makes this record so wonderfully ethereal but also ridiculously crushing. Or the sleek as all hell songwriting where every hook fires but the flow remains impeccable. Or the gorgeous harmonic interplay of Jack Townley and Pete Hollands vocals. Or maybe really just the sum of it all.

Whatever it is, Elephant Tree get it so very right and it is a true joy to behold such a well-written and fine-tuned record in a genre that has become all too prone to shoddiness and idle Kyuss worship. If there is any justice in the world, Elephant Tree will be looked back as a classic of the genre.

8. Oranssi Pazuzu – 'Värähtelijä' (Svart Records/20 Buck Spin - 2016)

Värähtelijä by Oranssi Pazuzu

So many have tried to do it. Countless chonged out Hendrix worshippers. Australian neo-psych darlings. But they all failed. Turns out the holy grail of psychedelia was dug up by a bunch of dudes in the frozen wastes of Finland when they decided to throw together black metal and almost every imaginable psych rock permutation under the firmament. Absolute insanity inducing balls-to-the-wall trippiness ensues.

ORANSSI PAZUZU is their name, ego-death squared in hyperspace is their game and Värähtelijä is the latest in a slew of attempts to smear your brain across the event horizon, and their most accomplished one so far. Think Hawkwind trying to interpret the soundtrack of Interstellar with a guy being spaghettified by a black hole screaming on top of it. Huge, plodding riffs and spacey synth fuckery abound.

Film by Shelby Kray

This madness extends to their live shows, yours truly (being completely sober) suffered a sensory overload when they launched into the crescendo of the album opener "Saturaatio" at Roadburn 2016. This band is taking things to the next level, and something tells me that Värähtelijä is just another chapter in an increasingly maddening venture.

7. Conan – 'Blood Eagle' (Napalm Records - 2014)

You can’t really draw a picture of the doom scene in the '10s without CONAN. And I do mean that in quite the literal sense, as seemingly every self-respecting doom fan seems to own at least one Conan shirt and you can’t really go to a gig without seeing one.

By all accounts the band probably could’ve retired years ago and just live off those rad merch designs. But Conan knows no rest -- always writing, always touring, always scheming. Thus the band has fed a steady stream of releases to a cult-like following over the years and narrowing down the output of such an important band to just one record is no small task. My choice eventually fell on the fan favorite, 2014's Blood Eagle.

Photograph by Sally Townsend

Conan had already pretty much established themselves as the emergent sludge-doom act of the decade at that time, but as we know they’re not one to rest on their laurels and Blood Eagle was just them driving the point home and the stake deeper, solidifying a grasp on the scene that hasn’t waned ever since, and they did it oh so righteously, by the primordial might of tonal displacement and drop F glory.

Conan might have the closest thing to a universal doom appeal because they speak to your baser instincts. Songs like "Foehammer" or "Total Conquest" seem like trebuchets aimed at the synapses of your reptilian brain, and I can’t help but admire these noble DIY barbarians, who so deservedly have carved out their place in the canon of the genre.

6. SubRosa – 'More Constant than the Gods' (Profound Lore - 2013)

More Constant Than The Gods by SubRosa

SUBROSA was one of a kind. If one band calling it quits this decade broke my heart, it was them. But before doing so they gifted us three outstanding post-metal records, whose folk and chamber music flourishes felt completely unique, intimate, and anachronistic in a genre dominated by more vast and spacious narratives. They reached inward rather than outward and did so with a no-parts-wasted mentality.

In a world rife with one-trick bands, SubRosa's employ of multiple vocalists and two electric violins felt natural and unabashedly non-gimmicky, and they would reveal the true potential of their sound on 2013's harrowingly beautiful More Constant than the Gods.

Photograph by Alyssa Herrman

More Constant is remarkable for its elegant and restrained way of instilling dread. Hardly any harsh vocals, the tempo never goes beyond a steady stride, just those horrific and yet also beautiful violins, plodding guitars, and downright poetic lyrics. And SubRosa seem to feel right at home on either terrain, be it the skin-crawling lead guitar line of "Affliction" or the grandiose outro section of "Fat of the Ram." One can only hope that SubRosa will return one day. A band that was truly novel, and not just a novelty.

5. Tchornobog – 'Tchornobog' (Fallen Empire / I, Voidhanger - 2017)

TCHORNOBOG is many things. Among others, a dark, ancient Slavic deity. In the world of music, a monolithic amalgamation of extreme metal, some Eldritch chimera of cavernous black, death, and doom metal. And the beast of one Markov Soroka, though him stating that the Tchornobog inhabits his head begs the question who might really be in charge?

Photograph by Nona Limmen

Soroka does indeed seem to be guided by spirits since he started the project at the age 14, and eight years of gestation and arduous work culminated in one of the most engrossing, all-consuming records I have come across this decade. Far be it from me to reduce Tchornobog’s remarkability down to the young age of its creator, but Sorokas ambition and execution of those ambitions could run circles around a lot of veteran extreme metal bands. The man is just flat out talented. And that is not even taking his various other projects (Drown, Aureole, Krukh) into account, or his curation work through his own label, Vigor Deconstruct.

As such, Tchornobog ultimately is, among many other things, a bright spotlight shining on a young man who has all the makings of being the next big underground metal mastermind. I’m sure you’ll be inclined to agree as soon as Soroka brings out the grand piano and saxophone on "III: Non-Existence’s Warmth (Infinite Natality Psychosis)" to perform what I’d like to call Lovecraftian Lounge Music. He must have a thing for Demilich too, judging from those song titles.

4. Hell – 'III' (Lower Your Head / Pesanta Urfolk - 2012)

Hell III by Hell

There is a subtle power in melodies, particularly melancholic and sad ones. Doom, and more specifically funeral doom, have long since sought to harness the power of the melody, but I think nobody has been quite as effective or moved me so profoundly with a simple plucked melody as MSW, the singular mind of HELL.

Just one minute into Mourn, the opening (and penultimate) track of Hell III), I am already instilled with a deep sense of melancholy, but also foreboding doom. However, few songs can just thrive from having a good riff or lead -- and there’s 17 minutes yet to go. I’ll spoil you and say that in this time Hell shifts between doom, black metal, neoclassical music, and dark ambient. That’s a lot of territory to cover and it becomes apparent that for how meticulously well crafted its individual parts are, MSW never loses sight of the bigger picture and the transitions between these different sounds are seamless.

Film by Billy Goate

At the danger of sounding like a huge fucking nerd, I really am more inclined to refer to "Mourn" and its follow up "Decedere" as movements rather than songs and if the songwriting doesn’t clue you in you’ll be persuaded by the time Decedere breaks out the operatic vocals and a flute accompanied by a string ensemble. And no matter if he’s performing a contemplative acoustic piece or pounding you in the ground with some absolutely hellish (the band name is apt as can be) blackened doom, MSW always manages to maintain an aura of grandeur. MSW is not just a great songwriter, he’s a veritable composer, and III is his magnum opus.

3. Mizmor – 'Yodh' (Gilead Media - 2016)

Yodh by מזמור

If whatever has come before was bleak, then Yodh is pitch fucking black. This decade hasn’t lacked in dark records (not even taking metal into account -- Mount Eerie's A Crow Looked at Me, Nick Cave’s Skeleton Tree, or The Caretakers Everywhere at the End of Time), but taking on existential dread specifically (and thereby becoming a vessel for it) MIZMOR's Yodh remains unsurpassed in its sheer effectiveness to instill said dread in the listener and is possibly the most harrowing record of the last 10 years.

Photo by Kento Woolery

As befits the theme, Yodh genuinely sounds like the work of a broken man. A miserable slab of glacial funeral doom and grimy black metal, but delivered with a brute strength and conviction that really suggests more defiance than self-pity. I’d be remiss to not point out ALN's incredibly varied vocal performance, ranging from wretched snarls and air-starved bellows to what I can only describe as pterodactyl shrieks, all carrying the same biting vitriol as the instrumentals.

Film by Shelby Kray

Yet for all its doom and gloom, Yodh surprises with occasional moments of tenderness and outright (if melancholic) beauty, too, such as the acoustic intro of "II: A Semblance Waning" or the massive main riff of "III: The Serpent Eats Its Tail" that feels like the sort of thing Pallbearer would’ve come up with if they had been more into Mournful Congregation than Warning.

All these things combined with thoughtful, introspective lyrics make Yodh into an incredibly powerful and downright visceral record, and if for you the main draw of doom metal lies its emotional potency (as it does for me) then Yodh is an essential listen. Let ALN shout down the very pillars that uphold your personal beliefs of life’s meaning.

2. Pallbearer – 'Sorrow and Extinction' (Profound Lore - 2012)

Sorrow And Extinction by Pallbearer

Warning was the first band to try to bridge the gap between traditional and modern doom metal, and while Watching from a Distance might have a fair claim to be one of the saddest metal records out there, in my eyes it was PALLBEARER who took that formula even further and perfected it with their 2011 debut Sorrow and Extinction. To me, it’s a classic record in both senses. A landmark of post-millennium doom and a throwback to the days of yore, when Saint Vitus and Candlemass were in charge of bumming everyone out; while still maintaining the larger-than-life-feel and sonic heft of modern doom championed by bands like Yob or Neurosis.

Photo by Sally Townsend

But Sorrow and Extinction isn’t just some roided up epic doom sans the operatic vocals, Pallbearer are far too clever to suffer such a pitfall. Granted, Sorrow sounds huge, and while there’s plenty of the heavy stuff to go around what makes Sorrow so great is how catchy it is. There is no weak song on this record (admittedly there’s only five), and while most bands could only hope to one day write a riff as good as "Devoid of Redemption's" main theme, it seems like Pallbearer just comes up with them on a whim, and their ability to do so doesn’t seem to have faded three records into their career -- not even to speak of Brett Campbell's soulful lyrics and passionate delivery.

Film by Billy Goate

Then, of course, there’s the amazing guitar interplay between Campbell and Devin Holt, chiefly on the casket closer "Given to the Grave," whose second half essentially boils down to them constantly trading dramatic leads with each other like the world's most woeful ping pong game.

Sorrow and Extinction is not only a deeply moving yet utterly anthemic record, but also one that successfully marries the past and the present of doom. In that regard, it is a preciously rare and so far unsurpassed record.

1. YOB – 'Clearing the Path to Ascend' (Neurot Records - 2014)

Clearing The Path To Ascend by YOB

Writing about metal without resorting to superlatives is hard. Try to practice restraint in the presence of something whose very nature lacks restraint. I am definitely guilty of that lack of restraint; one has only got to scroll up again to confirm it. But luckily some records are so very superlative that I do not have to take that editorial high road and can fire all the “mosts” and “-ests” at will. In fact, they almost require you to use them. Clearing the Path to Ascend by YOB is one such record. Even among all these preceding superlative records it stands above and beyond.

Photo by Angelique Le Marchand

Clearing the Path to Ascend is so vast, it feels singular. It is one and it is all. When I think larger-than-life sound, Clearing comes to mind first. It has become the very benchmark with which I measure other records. Yob's big and beautiful only consists of four tracks, but they made each feel like a distinct part of a greater journey. "In Our Blood" opens with a recording of Alan Watts telling you it is "time to wake up," before the song slowly rises into a stretched-out draw and crash, eventually unfurling into a manic guitar line.

"Nothing to Win" feels like Yob's own take on Neurosis’ Through Silver in Blood. It is an unrelenting, steady 11-minute march down a highway of broken glass, utterly windswept and viciously hopeless. "Unmask the Spectre" seems to tread similarly bitter paths but manages to wrestle itself free into two grandiose spiraling crescendos.

Film by Billy Goate

The death knell of an album closer that is "Marrow" shouldn’t really need much of an introduction at this point. It still feels like I’ll see a link, post or share of it every other day. It has become an omnipresence in the doom scene, and deservingly so. Yob dials back on the gloom and shines all the brighter. "Marrow" is not just hopeful; it is downright ecstatic and by the time Mike Scheidt launches into the grand solo of the track (so very gracefully accompanied by a Hammond organ played by producer Billy Barnett) has ascended to a genuine sermon.

Though Clearing had its fair share of dark moments "Marrow" closes the record on a remarkably conciliatory note and I really think that speaks of Yob as a (metal) band. Call it a big move to offer closure -- a fitting end to such a big record. One that suits the title of ‘Album of the Decade,’ and embodies the spirit of metal that wants to be just more.

Calvin's Choice: 100 Best of the Decade

YOB - Clearing the Path to Ascend

Pallbearer - Sorrow and Extinction

Mizmor - Yodh

Hell - Hell III

Tchornobog - Tchornobog

SubRosa - More Constant Than The Gods

Conan - Blood Eagle

Oranssi Pazuzu - Värähtelijä

Elephant Tree - Elephant Tree

Akhlys - The Dreaming I

Clutch - Earth Rocker

Merkstave - Merkstave

Gozu - Revival

Chelsea Wolfe - Pain Is Beauty

Valley of the Sun - The Sayings of the Seers

Inter Arma - Paradise Gallows

Thou - Heathen

Om - Advaitic Songs

Bell Witch - Mirror Reaper

All Them Witches - Dying Surfer Meets His Maker

Horn of the Rhino - Weight of Coronation

Boss Keloid - Melted on the Inch

KALEIKR - Heart Of Lead

Jeremy Irons & The Ratgang Malibus - Spirit Knife

Woman is the Earth - Torch of Our Final Night

Weyes Blood - Titanic Rising

LINGUA IGNOTA - Caligula

Queens of the Stone Age - ...Like Clockwork

Messa - Feast for Water

Anna von Hausswolff - Dead Magic

Mamiffer - The World Unseen

Samothrace - Reverence to Stone

Primitive Man - Scorn

Fórn - The Departure of Consciousness

Khemmis - Absolution

Bongripper - Miserable

High on Fire - De Vermis Mysteriis

UN - Sentiment

Cult of Luna - Mariner

Slomatics - Future Echo Returns

MISTHYRMING - Söngvar elds og óreiðu

Dvne - Asheran

Earth - Primitive and Deadly

Mars Red Sky - Apex III (Praise For The Burning Soul)

The Midnight Ghost Train - Cypress Ave.

Panopticon - Panopticon - Roads to the North

Mare Cognitum - Phobos Monolith

Sólstafir - Ótta

Have a Nice Life - The Unnatural World

Furia - Księżyc Milczy Luty

Tardigrada - Emotionale Ödnis

Yellow Eyes - Immersion Trench Reverie

Stoned Jesus - Seven Thunders Roar

Höstblod - Mörkrets Intåg

Ulver - The Assassination of Julius Caesar

Zola Jesus - Okovi

Funereal Presence - Achatius

Wormlust - The Feral Wisdom

Daughters - You Won't Get What You Want

L'Acephale - L'Acéphale

40 Watt Sun - The Inside Room

Vilkacis - Beyond the Mortal Gate

Bossk - Audio Noir

Carpenter Brut - Trilogy

Sumac - What One Becomes

Death Grips - Exmilitary

Red Fang - Murder the Mountains

Lo-Pan - Salvador

Whores. - Gold

Truckfighters - Universe

Greenleaf - Trails & Passes

Bölzer - Aura

Monolord - Vaenir

Dead to a Dying World - Elegy

The Body - I Shall Die Here

Mutoid Man - War Moans

Neurosis - Fires Within Fires

Opeth - Pale Communion

Planning for Burial - Below the House

Triptykon - Melana Chasmata

Graveyard - Hisingen Blues

Saor - Aura

Windhand - Grief's Infernal Flower

Egypt - Endless Flight

Emma Ruth Rundle - Marked For Death

Deafheaven - Sunbather

Kadavar - Kadavar

Uncle Acid & the Deadbeats - Blood Lust

Vanum - Ageless Fire

Dai-Ichi - Dai-Ichi

Lord Mantis - Pervertor

Ne Obliviscaris - Portal Of I

Loss - Horizonless

Tome of the Unreplenished - Innerstanding

Elder - Lore

Witch Mountain - Cauldron of the Wild

Ahab - The Giant

Alcest - Kodama

The Dillinger Escape Plan - Dissociation

Sleep - The Sciences

[undertale-rho]

Underearth: Book 3 - Chapter 12

Frisk opened his eyes. He was back at the beginning of the hallway. Clenching his teeth, he advanced back through the hall. About half-way through, Sans appeared out from behind a pillar.

"Heya." he said. "You look frustrated about something. Guess I'm pretty good at my job, huh?"

What!? Frisk thought.

Before he could move any further, a great weight overpowered Frisk again, forcing him to the ground. This time, however, Frisk rolled out of the way of the bones that erupted through the floor. As soon as those bones retracted, hundreds of bones erupted out of the ground and raced towards Frisk.

Frisk, not catching sight of them fast enough, was cut up severely by them. His clothes heavily bloodied, his entire body in pain, especially his chest, which felt like it was melting, but he was still alive. The weight had also lifted. Pressing this, Frisk pulled the dagger and charged Sans. Once he was about twenty feet away, one of the stained-glass windows suddenly shattered as a massive canine skull rammed through it. After it had entered, Frisk saw a glowing red orb situated within its mouth. As soon as it could, it then turned to face Frisk, opened its mouth, and discharged the energy within the orb right at him. Not expecting this, Frisk didn't have time to dodge. Almost the moment the beam touched him, Frisk found himself back in the darkness.

Stay DETERMINED

The moment Frisk returned, he ran towards where Sans was hiding. Like before, Sans came out from behind the pillar and spoke.

"Wow. You look really pissed." he said.

Frisk didn't even bother saying anything, he just pulled the dagger and charged Sans.

The moment he did this, the great weight returned, though this time, the chitinous figure appeared in front of him, and the weight almost immediately disappeared. The figure then flipped around and threw Frisk up into the air, jumping up itself just before the spikes erupted from the ground. Once Frisk was in the air, the figure grabbed hold of him and pulled him to the ceiling. Once there, the giant skull from before erupted through one of the windows and pointed itself at Frisk, opening its terrible maw. When it fired, the chitinous figure launched Frisk, along with itself, towards the ground to avoid the beam.

Sans kept his calm, even though none of his attacks landed.

"Huh," he said. "Always wondered why people never use their strongest attack first."

"You're dead!!!" Frisk declared as he charged Sans again.

As soon as he got close enough to take a swing at Sans, Frisk took it. When he did, however, Sans teleported out of the way.

"What?" he said with his right eye winking at Frisk. "You think I'm just gonna stand there and take it?"

Frisk changed the trajectory of the knife to where Sans was now standing, though before the swing could hit him this time, Frisk was sent falling backward.

"Our reports show a massive anomaly in time itself. Timelines stopping and starting. Until suddenly, everything ends."

Frisk, not caring, charged Sans again when he stopped falling, avoiding the hundreds of bones Sans summoned to kill him with. Sans simply continued speaking.

"That's your fault, isn't it?" he said.

Frisk ignored this remark, taking another swing at Sans before being sent falling back to the beginning of the Hall again.

"You can't understand how this feels." Sans then said. "Knowing that one day, without any warning... it's all going to reset."

Upon hearing this, Frisk froze where he was. Sans, seeing this, caused a bone to erupt from the ground, aimed straight at Frisk's heart.

Before the bone struck, however, the chitinous figure re-appeared in front of him, blocking the bone with its arm. The moment the bone struck the figure's arm, the arm began melting into a lavender-colored liquid. As it melted, Frisk felt a similar melting sensation within his chest.

"Pay attention!!!" the voice hissed. "He's using Karma."

Frisk looked back at Sans. Swallowing hard, he charged him again, took a swipe then got sent backwards.

"Look," Sans started saying. "I gave up on the surface long ago. It just no longer appeals to me. 'cause even if we do make it out of here... we'll just end up right back without any memory of it, right?"

Frisk took another slash at Sans upon reaching him again, though Sans once again simply teleported out of the way and launched Frisk back to the beginning of the hallway.

"To be blunt... it makes it kind of hard to give it my all... or is that just a poor excuse for being lazy...? Hell if I know. All I know is... seeing what comes next... I can't afford not to care anymore."

Frisk took another swing at Sans, who simply dodged it by teleporting up to the ceiling and holding on up there.

"Ugh, that being said..." he said. "you, uh, really like swinging that thing around, huh?"

Frisk simply looked up at him.

As the both glared at each-other, Sans eventually let out a sigh.

"Listen..." he said. "Somewhere in there, I can feel it. There's a glimmer of a good person inside you. The memory of someone who wanted to do the right thing. Someone who, in another time, might have been... a friend? C'mon, buddy, do you remember me? Please, if you're listening... let's forget all of this, ok? Just lay your weapon down, and... well, my job will be a lot easier."

Upon saying this last thing, Sans teleported back down onto the floor, then stretched his arms wide.

Frisk simply stood where he was, staring at Sans.

Maybe... Frisk thought. Maybe I should stop this.

Frisk's grip on the knife began loosening.

"To have come so far, only to throw it all away. What a waste."

something whispered into Frisk's ear.

Frisk's eyes widened. It was the whisper from the Citadel.

"Yes, young Human, it is I. I felt your LOV weakening, so I came to see what the matter was. You foolish child. Do you honestly believe that Asterian won't murder you as soon as you lay down your weapon? And for what? It seems that you have forgotten why you are doing this. Why you must FIGHT! Have you truly forgotten how your supposed friends were when you died? You started on this quest to get the power to protect them, yet here you are throwing that power away."

"I... I..." Frisk started to say.

Sans watched him carefully.

Frisk reaffirmed his grip on the dagger.

"I must see this to the finish..." Frisk said. "I'm sorry."

Once he'd finished, Frisk charged Sans and took another swipe at him. Sans simply moved out of the way.

"Welp," he said. "it was worth a shot. Guess you like doing things the hard way, huh?"

Frisk was then launched back to the beginning of the hallway, where a gauntlet of bones awaited him. As he fell, Frisk could see Sans's eyes glowing a bright red.

"Sounds strange," Sans started saying. "but before all this I was secretly hoping we could be friends. I always thought the anomaly was doing this 'cause they were unhappy. And when they got what they wanted, they would stop all this. And maybe all they needed was... I dunno, some good food, some bad laughs, some nice friends. But that's ridiculous, right? Yeah, you're the type of person who won't ever be happy. You'll keep consuming timelines over and over, until... well, hey, take it from me, kid. Sometimes... you gotta learn when to quit."

Frisk had once again made it through another gauntlet of bones from Sans and, upon reaching him again, taken another swipe at him. After missing again, Sans tried to throw him back to the beginning for another gauntlet, but the chitinous figure appeared and blocked the magic, just like at the start. Instead, Sans simply teleported to the beginning himself.

"That day's today." Sans said after reappearing at the beginning. "'cause... y'see... all this fighting is really tiring me out, and if you keep pushing me... then I'll be forced to show you my special attack."

Frisk made it back to where Sans was for another attack, but Sans simply teleported back to where he was standing originally.

"Fine then. Survive this and I'll show you my special attack!" he said after appearing back where he was.

As soon as Sans teleported, Frisk flipped around and started running back to where he had teleported to.

When he started running, great weight fell upon him again, causing him to nearly fall to the floor, where spiked bones erupted. After evading that attack, he was swiftly blocked by an array of bones that had erupted from the floor and were now rushing towards him. Frisk countered this one by having the chitinous figure pull him into the air. Once Frisk was in the air, Sans launched him back to the beginning of the room, where spiked bones had erupted. Frisk had himself thrown to the floor, where he pulled out the knife and sank it into it, stopping his downward descent.

In response, Sans reversed the gravity of Frisk, causing him to fall towards Sans. Along the way, bones shot from all surfaces, trying to stab Frisk as he fell by. Frisk, using the chitinous figure, moved out of the way of each before hitting them.

When Frisk approached where Sans was standing, his gravity reverted to normal, bringing him to the floor. Upon hitting the floor, he slid for a bit, protected from damage by the chitinous figure, stopping roughly twelve feet from Sans. Seeing where he was, Frisk quickly stood up.

When Frisk was on his feet, a giant canine skull appeared out from behind every pillar in the room, each one holding a glowing red orb of energy in its mouth. Once revealed, they all opened their maw, preparing to fire.

Frisk looked over where Sans was standing. He held his hand in the air. They both then once again stared at one-another for about a minute before Frisk charged. As soon as he did this, Sans thrust his hand down, and the great skulls began firing their beams.

In just a second, the entire hallway became one grand laser show. Frisk, being in the middle of it all, didn't seem to find the beauty in it. Nimbly dodging each beam, Frisk himself was beginning to feel tired. Eventually, the last few beams fired, and everything became clear again. When the beams finally ceased, Frisk found himself in the center of a giant cage of bone, the last few pieces falling into place less than a second after Frisk noticed what had happened.

"Congratulations. You fell for it." Sans said. "Say hello to my special attack. I know I can't beat you. The second you get the chance, you're just gonna kill me. So, uh, I've decided... that you're never gonna get the chance. Ever. I'm just gonna keep you in that cage until you give up. Even if that means we have to stand here until the end of time. Capiche?"

Frisk looked dumbstruck at the bones the cage was made of. After a few seconds of looking at them, Frisk pulled the dagger and began approaching one of the bones.

"You can't do anything, you know." Sans taunted. "That's summoned bone reinforced with karma and shield magic. You're trapped. The only way out is for you to finally quit."

Frisk couldn't just quit, not when he'd come this far. The whisper was right. He had to finish this. He was DETERMINED to finish this.

Sans simply watched, standing ever vigilant over this murderous creature. Frisk, on the other hand, simply went to the center of the cage and sat down.

The two then remained there for what felt like forever. Each one watching the other endlessly.

After what seemed like an hour, Sans's eyes began to wane shut. Another hour, and Sans had fallen asleep.

As soon as this happened, Frisk leaped into action. Having the chitinous figure be summoned, he had it charge the edge of the cage, where its eyes began to glow red, and where it sank its hands into the shield that connected the different bones of the cage. After a second, the shield shattered, and the figure was grabbing the bones themselves. Even though it was using magic to defend against the karma within the bones, its hands were still boiling as it pulled the bones apart, creating a bigger gap. After a few minutes, this gap was finally wide enough for Frisk to escape from.

Once outside the cage, Frisk approached Sans, who was still asleep. He drew his dagger and brought it straight down on Sans.

The very second before the knife made contact, Sans teleported to his right a few feet.

"Heh." he taunted. "didja really think you'd be able to—"

Sans was cut off by Frisk flipping around and sailing the knife straight across his chest.

Upon being struck, Sans collapsed to the ground.

Sans looked up at Frisk, then down at the gash, then back up at Frisk.

"So..." he said. "guess that's it, huh? ... just... don't say I didn't warn you."

Frisk then brought up his boot and smashed Sans's skull in with it. Seconds later, Sans's body turned to dust.

With the last obstacle out of the way, Frisk advanced towards the throne room. All he could think about as he walked was how heavy his chest was feeling.

Vengeance : Megalomaniac

Previous First posting First of this book Next

[rounstyle]

Is it the end for high heels?

In January 2014, the late Karl Lagerfeld organized a Chanel haute couture show in the mythical "Cambon Club". Under the direction of Cara Delevingne, the models descended the grand staircase to the sound of a string orchestra, each wearing creations in gossamer, tweed or organza. So far, haute couture. The big difference? Each model's outfit was complemented by custom sneakers, each pair costing about 3,000 euros and requiring 30 hours of work. But while the choice of shoes may have raised eyebrows, it also represented a radical step.

The trainer was welcomed into the rarefied and glittering world of haute couture. It is no longer a functional item to be hastily removed for the office or a party, but a real luxury shoe approved by Chanel.

Five years later, the phenomenon of fashionable sneakers seems to have reached a point of no return. Since their release at Chanel, sneakers have become crazier, clumsier and - in many cases - more expensive. The more showy and clumsy they are, the better. According to fashion research platform Lyst, sneakers accounted for four of the top ten fashion items in the fourth quarter of 2018. While sports brands like Nike and Adidas were the first to see the possibilities of sneaker fashion, luxury homes quickly realized the potential - both in terms of style and results. And these brands are experts in creating an accessory to covet.

Instagram is flooded with influencers - including Gigi and Bella Hadid and Hailey Bieber - who all proudly wear tight sneakers, with cocktail dresses, jeans and a T-shirt. The favorites are the Louis Vuitton Archlights and Balenciaga Triple S, which both sell for between 600 and 1,000 pounds a pair, depending on the iteration.

Serena Williams even wore her sneakers at the wedding of Prince Harry and Meghan Markle under her Valentino dress, not to mention her own wedding party. While sneakers would never have been considered an appropriate ceremonial shoe only a decade ago, attitudes have changed considerably. Dress codes have, for the most part, relaxed, allowing coaches to thrive in the workplace, in tandem with city wear and sports and leisure clothing.

"Generation X and Generation Y have slowly moved away from the heels, abandoning the sexist and discriminatory idea that women should wear heels to the office," says Morgane Le Caer of Lyst. It is perhaps no coincidence that the rise of the trainer coincided with the fourth wave of feminism and a larger public discourse on non-binary gender identities. "Luxury sneakers are a sign of our time and an evolution towards a more inclusive way of dressing," agrees Lucia Savi, curator at the Victoria-Albert Museum.

If the high heel is a patriarchal tool designed to slow down a woman, the rise of the fashion trainer is the perfect replica. Does this mean the end of the heels? Not quite. Today, our relationship with vertiginous shoes remains a complicated source of feminist debate. Often, the symbolism of the high heel depends on context and personal opinion. "It's a shoe for when you're on, for ambition, for magazine covers, red carpets, awards ceremonies, boardrooms, courtrooms, parliament buildings and debate desks," Writes Summer Brennan in her Book High Heel, published in March. "Paradoxically - or perhaps not - according to the 150-year-old fetish industry, it has also been consistently seen as a shoe for sex," she adds.

The relationship between heels and power depends on historical time and place. In fact, they were originally worn to convey masculinity. The heel was introduced to Europe from Asia at the end of the 16th century and was originally worn by men for riding as the heel held the foot in the stirrup during the climb. Associated in the European spirit with the military strength of Persia, the heel was enthusiastically adopted by men, and was only worn later by women and children. Louis XIV, who ruled France from 1643 to 1715, was one of the first to influence the heel. His ornate shoes were unsuitable for any physical effort - thus underscoring his power status.

Today, in some industries, heels are still part of the women's dress code. In 2016, Nicola Thorp, a receptionist in the UK, was sent home because she refused to wear high heels. But the incident turned into a scandal, prompting more than 150,000 people to sign a petition calling for a law that would ban policies on their heels in the workplace, and therefore a British parliamentary inquiry into the codes sexist clothing. So far, the law has not been changed.

Heels also remain the standard dress code for women on the red carpet. The Cannes Film Festival suffered a setback in 2015 after it was revealed that women had been excluded from film screenings on the red carpet for flouting the single heel rule and wearing flat shoes encrusted with precious stones. Actors such as Emily Blunt and Benicio Del Toro have denounced the festival's tyrannical approach to fashion policing, and in 2018 Kristen Stewart ridiculed the rule by walking barefoot on the red carpet.

But the inconsistent nature of fashion trends means that once a trend is in the mainstream, the pendulum of taste oscillates in the opposite direction. The proliferation of sneakers certainly means that a heel revival is at hand. Not surprisingly, there are signs that fashion designers are moving away from the sneaker trend in the last few weeks of fashion. Demna Gvasalia, Balenciaga's creative director and the man who pioneered luxury dadtraining, did not include a single style of sneakers in her recent fall/winter collection for the fashion house.

While we are moving away from the trend of luxury trainers, Beth Goldstein, an analyst of footwear and fashion accessories at the NPD Group, says that accepting trainers in a formal setting is a sign of a long-term lifestyle change term for women. "I don't think it's a fad, it's been too long for that - consumers are prioritizing comfort for their busy lifestyle, and athletics as fashion continues to evolve. The growth trajectory will naturally slow down, but sneakers will remain the engine of the market." According to a 2018 study by Mintel, U.S. buyers aged 18 to 34 are the most likely to buy shoes because they are comfortable (37%).

"Comfort, functionality and interesting details are without a doubt the same as the feeling of dressing for others," says Natalie Kingham, Director of Fashion and Purchasing at Matches Fashion. "The flat shoe has gone further and further, whether it's a clompy boot, embellished, or a sportier version of the sandals." Kingham adds that even for customers who wear heels, the demand is for lower and more comfortable styles. "It's interesting to note that the majority of our heels business has grown to 90mm and less, and that many new shoe brands like Wandler, or those with a new creative direction like Bottega, don't have a heel over 90mm in the ur collection." A high-end shoe brand that Kingham favours is Gray Matters, which has low heels, "almost like a collector's interior with sculptural details such as spherical heels."

Savi thinks we'll never let off steam completely, but the relationship evolves. "The role that height has played in various cultures of the world goes back centuries, and I don't think it will fade quickly. The stiletto heel could turn into something else, where size will always play a role."

Men's heeled shoes have invaded the runways and red carpets in recent years

In recent years, men's heeled shoes have invaded runways and red carpets, giving an idea of how the company's relationship with heels could change again. Brands such as Gucci, Calvin Klein, Saint Laurent and Balenciaga feature heeled boots and shoes in their collections, often adding bold sequins or prints to models.

In 2018, Italian luxury designer Francesco Russo launched a line of genderless stilettos, available in Italian sizes from 35 to 45. "It's not a polemic, it's not political," the designer told Vogue. "It's just the way society moves forward." I think it is our duty as a people to produce products to meet the world." The limited edition collection has been so popular that it has become a permanent part of the brand's offering.

The Brooklyn-based Syro brand is another brand that upsets the traditional symbolism of heels. The company sells male-sized heels and boots to its male, trans and non-binary customers. The styles are chic and promote a fluid sense of style. The brand's stated manifesto is to promote 'diversity through visibility' and 'empowerment by the community'.

Maybe that's the point. Instead of banning high heels, they should be freed from the expectations and social norms imposed on gender. So they're just a pair of shoes. In the end, wearing them should be a matter of individual choice. After all, one person's patriarchal or physical oppression can be a powerful liberation for another.

[thisisasupergoodidea]

alright, this took forever because i kept getting sidetracked, but here it is. the universe ive slowly been building up. it took so long to write. its so ridiculously lengthy. i almost want to apologize to you if you read it oh my god 
the main story in this universe is project four, in which four people meet Death and tag along on its quest to convince a space wyrm not to eat the world. the death figure, kymoyef, evades capture for nearly 1000 years following the event that takes place in the four cities, observing people and steadily learning about the world as it stores energy for the big confrontation. as an energy being in the form of an object, kymoyef struggles with applying the concept of personhood to itself, but the four people who insert themselves into its business help it understand who it wants to be
kymoyef’s companions love to ask questions and tell stories, one of which is an old folk tale about morality that they know as the four cities. in it, a godlike character asks kymoyef to visit four corrupt cities and raze them to the ground should their corruption be confirmed, so that the seeds of new civilization can be sown in their place. kymoyef goes to the first three places and, finding vanity, enmity, and apathy, destroys them without question. but upon reaching the fourth city and encountering suffering and hopelessness, kymoyef begins to question whether any of these people truly deserved erasure. it refuses to complete its task and instead goes into hiding to plot against the godlike character. kymoyef reveals that this tale is (generally) true 
then i began fussing over details and ended up developing a plot within Sorrowstone, the city of suffering and hopelessness, where i show up close just how depressing it is through the perspective of a newcomer named rin. he joins the camp (which has no name historically since no one remembers it really existed) to escape his past and soon realizes that his stay would be permanent. the endless labor, the bleak and isolated environment, the meager food and supplies, the rampant depression of every other person in the camp - all of this combined prevented anyone from being of sound mind enough to leave. rin sees one death and promptly decides he has a duty to write down everything he observed, whether anyone would ever see it or not. that is the sorrowstone account 
ok. back to the top. one of the four protagonists, caforleh, absolutely loves hearing stories and using them as inspiration for his own grand tales. i really wanted to feel justified in brainstorming for a completely separate project that had nothing to do with project four, so i clapped my hands together and declared that caforleh occasionally works on a piece of fiction that is my project inheritance, in which generation after generation of a particular lineage of siblings are all cursed to the same fate. in their lives, only and always two children will be born, quite often twins, and one will die by the actions of the other at some point. the most recent siblings are separated at a very young age after the murder of their mother, but years later one dies all too suddenly and the adults involved are sent into a panic trying to hide it from the other sibling. magic shit happens and basically you have the dead ones consciousness in the body of their sibling, not realizing theyre dead yet technically alive again, and the living ones consciousness is bound to a piece of paper in a wizard’s pocket. and everyone’s trying to run away from a cult faction that wants their leader back, but surprise, the living sibling was their leader. its a convoluted mess 
in the background of this mess i found a nice little home for the magic pendant, a story that is literally just my 11th grade spanish project. a guy has a cool magic pendant. some magic dude steals it. the guy and his friend get a magic knife from a magic squirrel and kick magic dudes ass. so magical. i took that and pumped in extra details that made me happy, and now its officially enough of a story to be included 
once more to the top. within the world of project four, one of the regions is plagued by a deep rift that scarred the land when scientist daiah’s experiment went horribly wrong. it swallowed several cities and poisoned the people and land around it. the survivors call that area daiah’s shame and send excommunicated criminals there to die as punishment. what they have yet to discover is that the rift is truthfully a tear upon their plane of existence, acting as an opening into an adjacent plane where pure energy resides. the land and people lost in the experiment fell into this other plane perfectly intact, but being that the two planes were never meant to interact in this way, were shortly infected with unknowable ailments. people slowly lost their sanity, their agency, anything that made them who they were. they either became husks or sought violence to distract themselves from their own pain. and the only freedom was to be killed, for time affected nothing in this plane. no one could grow old. the sky never moved. plants absorbed strange air and gnarled into bloated bastardizations 
this is the reality that the protagonists of project dark souls ripoff fell into. wayrain had been traveling with a known criminal through daiah’s shame in the hopes of reaching a region beyond it, and his friend cadmor was secretly a member of law enforcement tasked with making sure the criminal died there. when this was revealed, the three fought and all of them stumbled into the rift to be spat out in the desolate climate of the lost region. i was heavily inspired by dark souls in creating all of this, so honestly just imagine the opening scene of whichever dark souls game and you’ve got the idea of it. wayrain and cadmor have to navigate this sickly area that theyve hardly even heard stories of while also dealing with dangerous people, feeling betrayed by one another, and creeping afflictions. much like rin and caforleh, wayrain takes to learning as much as he possibly can about the surroundings and compiling it all into journals. he travels ceaselessly and does his best to uncover every last mystery, from lost libraries to unmarked graves. cadmor battles his imitation morality as he eases into another role of leadership. the two will clash several times but ultimately reconcile before kymoyef shows up to assess the condition of the rift 
and project fire girl is kinda out of place because it feels entirely standalone, but its actually the origin of most of this stuff, so im hoping i can find a way to squeeze it in somehow. its about a person who wakes up in a fire with no knowledge of how she got there and wanders around aimlessly dealing with the destructive repercussions of her mysterious fire powers, which she can barely control. i know. its sort of like frozen but with fire. but hey spoiler alert: she’s actually a wizard scientist (you can tell i really like my wizards and scientists) that, alongside her cousin, did awful experiments on people in the name of magic science, imbuing them with different forms of magic just to see what happens. and she gave herself fire powers because why the hell not. but the internal flame was so painful that the trauma of it elicited amnesia. she regains these memories in time by meeting the people plagued by the consequences of her actions. not knowing shes the one that did this to them, they work together with her and carry out a plan to expose the other wizard scientist. in the final confrontation, she admits that she regrets what shes done even if the academic community learned a lot from it, and allows herself to be imprisoned 
yeah. like i said, project fire girl was the first narrative in this universe, which came from a dream where she was taken in by an old couple and their adopted daughter and awoke in a bed of bright petals, only to realize that she accidentally set the house on fire in her sleep, killing the whole family. the imagery was so vivid that it stuck with me. project four originated from one of my old minecraft worlds that i unfortunately deleted by mistake and then tried to rebuild. but i couldnt remember what the old build was called so i called it arenos, and that became the first region. once i decided that fire girl was gonna be set in some mountains and that those mountains bordered arenos, i was officially on my way to creating what is now this world. and then more detail happened and kymoyef happened and the concept of the four cities being parallels to the four regions in the world sounded neat but i got carried away and wanted to try to recreate the four cities in minecraft, and only did sorrowstone, so i started to think of what depressing shit went on in that place and wrote a little bit about it 
the dark souls ripoff is, of course, a blatant ripoff of dark souls, but its also a combination of A) another neat dream i had that was just two people traveling on horseback through cold morning fog and being ambushed - one was killed and the other crawled to a nearby basement and hid for an eternity, until the landscape had entirely changed hundreds of years later - and B) a totally separate dream where two people were traveling on horseback through cold evening fog, trying to reach some uncertain destination after having to leave their entire lives behind because they were magic. i was like “i’ve just added two more regions to my world. what if this region has a big rift in it - oh, what if this person hid through the rift incident that sent them to an alternate plane - no wait, what if these other characters were traveling through the rift area and fell in?” 
project inheritance was first called dark souls ripoff 2 because it deals with souls being portable and consumable and the two siblings have to deal with increasing insatiability for souls to keep themselves alive after having their consciousnesses ripped from their bodies. but this story was originally gonna be a text adventure game with like seven hundred endings (im exaggerating a little) testing your ability to forgive and manage your bloodlust. i know. its like a bootleg undertale. i cant have an original thought even if that thought happened two years before the popular thing happened 
thats about it i guess. thats the beginners guide to my utterly incomplete creative endeavors. i have some other ideas that would be neat to pursue but they dont belong in this particular universe as of right now. i might find a way to make them fit. i might not

[adventk-blog]

                                              — ARE YOU WHO YOU WANT TO BE,

        introducing LEE JAEHWAN, a MUTANT, under the moniker of TINK — and currently a believer of NEUTRALITY. age ( twenty-five ) and gifted with the ability of FAIRY PHYSIOLOGY, they are currently working as FLORAL SHOP EMPLOYEE. 

WE ARE SO MUCH MORE THAN STORIES, 

Gold has always been Jaehwan’s favorite color.

It sparkles and gleams, its precious metal counterpart nearly priceless—there wasn’t anything stopping him from favoring it. Silver and bronze were nice, great even, yet they didn’t have the power and finesse that gold holds. Seeing anything painted with gold—made of gold—it wasn’t something the eye could look away from.

It sings of magic. It pulses with divinity.

Gold commands the attention in the room, and that’s what Jaehwan wanted to be.

Jaehwan, my special boy, his mother croons. One of the three, it was something that he was told constantly—so much to a point where there’s no way he couldn’t be special. He excelled in almost everything he tried—soccer, drawing, and even a little bit of acting. He was exceptional, the jack-of-all-trades.

But whatever he tried wasn’t enough and he didn’t know what enough was.

High school came and went without much trouble. He was the star of the musical theatre clique, and many believed he was well on his way to becoming a starred actor. But theatre to Jaehwan was nothing more than a drama-filled hobby wrapped up in a glittery package. Sure, it was nice; sometimes stressful. But Jaehwan was striving for something of real gold and tacky glitter was not going to cut it.

He spends a year floundering, nineteen years of age with little direction, before he starts going to a community college. Classes are fine, almost boring to a point where he barely tries in them. The results in multiple harsh tongue lashes from his parents. They couldn’t have their special boy with these grades.

Little did they know just how special he was.

Jaehwan was in his third year of college now, the year where people are pressing him about what he’s going to do for the rest of his life. It was also the year where Jaehwan stopped giving a fuck about what anyone else said. He, now a business major after rolling a die to choose one, couldn’t give a flying fuck about what people thought about him because– well, he was Lee mother-fucking Jaehwan, and he was great and there wasn’t anyone else that would tell him otherwise.

However, junior year was another hellhole in on itself. Plagued with sickness, he was annoyed by the fact he couldn’t go and let loose with whoever he wanted. No one had a single clue as to what was going on, but some days Jaehwan was riddled with so much pain and agony he couldn’t even move. It was pure agony that had Jaehwan question everything he had ever done or ate.

But then the dust started.

He thought it was dandruff at first– the what is later to be known as his pixie or fairy dust. It came off mostly in his hair, especially when he shook his head, off in gentle waves that were beyond alarming to someone who prized every cell of his perfect body. But then he noticed how it glittered gold and didn’t look a damn thing like dandruff at all. It was all very confusing, and hiding it was difficult considering it was summer when it started and hats made his skull sweaty.

The first time he wakes up as a tiny ass fairy it was after he blacked out at a party. The last thing he remembered was that he was just about to start getting busy with this hot chick, but everything after that was a blur. But not only is he stark naked, he’s barely bigger than a phone, and honestly the only thing that he had the power to do at that moment was to panic like the world was ending because he was pretty sure the whole world was literally ending.

At some point he had passed out again, only to wake up again to his full frame, feeling different. He gets dressed quickly and over the course of time, he pretends nothing had happened at all. He hoped that by ignoring it– It was just a dream, he lies to himself– that it would go away. But of course, that’s not how life was going to play it.

The transformations happen more suddenly– often without warning, yet almost always happening when his emotions run high. He doesn’t quite know what to do at all when they happen, really, especially since he can’t talk so how is he supposed to get help when he can’t communicate his panic? Jaehwan doesn’t quite know how he managed to keep it a secret from the family, but it was a blessing that Jaehwan was going to keep as long as he could.

His wings took a while to come, but when they did– oh god did they hurt. It was worse than that time he got stung by the same wasp three times when he was seven– worse than when he got that stress fracture in his foot at rehearsals in school. It didn’t quite help that he was also puny when they decided to make their grand entry into his life, so the only thing anyone could hear would be the loud shrill of a bell.

–

After the fall of the foundation, Jaehwan wasn’t exactly shocked ( because of course it was terrible ) but also shocked by how venomously his family reacted to the news. He remembers choking on his morning cereal at his father’s words, damn mutant scums. He had been planning on revealing his secret to his family now that he had somewhat of an understanding of it– he was actually pretty excited for it. Yet once the slurs and threats of how they didn’t belong came, that idea quickly shriveled up and died a terrible death. Feeling unsafe in his own home, Jaehwan panicked, packed a bag, and found a little hovel of an apartment to live in for the time being.

He likes to tell himself that he chose to move out rather than run away.

THERE IS FLESH AND BLOOD BEHIND THESE TALES, 

++ bright, confident, outgoing, witty == dramatic, emotional, loud, mischievous – –  obstinate, sensitive, unforthcoming, vain

Lee Jaehwan thinks his shit doesn’t stink, and it’s true because his everything now smells like some mixture of roses, honey and sunshine. His confidence is nearly unbreakable– impeccable for someone who ran away from home out of fear. He knows he’s adorable, and he will use that to his advantage if the opportunity presents itself. He’s quite theatrical, sometimes acting like a one man show and loves to be the center of attention. Some would describe him as childish, but Jaehwan simply thinks he’s being fun.

Showbiz aside, Tink can be very friendly and empathetic towards those he’s close to, but he doesn’t really show that side too often and you have to be very important for that to be the case. He doesn’t show his soft and gooey insides to just anybody.

Sometimes assholey, Tink can be downright ridiculous, often getting carried away with either himself or with reacting to whatever just happened. He’s volatile, easy to rile up in one way or another. Tink  sometimes has a terrible flirtatious streak, although he doesn’t necessarily see that as a bad thing. He loves to talk, after all, and he himself is his favorite topic.

Yet under the brazen mask of drama and pizzazz, Jaehwan is much calmer and more mature than one would’ve ever expected him to be. He’s never really taken seriously– which he supposes is his own fault, but how could people not believe him the first time? Jaehwan has a secretive edge to him, and a terrible habit of bottling up every negative emotion or trouble. He doesn’t like to display his dirty laundry, so to speak, and will do almost anything to upkeep his bedazzled image.

AND EVEN MONSTERS CAN LEARN TO WEEP. 

fairy physiology–

Tink is your favorite little blonde Disney diva brought to life. His mutation primarily involves the ability to shift between two forms: his default human and a little 11.5cm tall fairy. Upon transformation, his hair goes from its current color to a platinum blonde, and his already pointy ears get even pointier. Wings like a bee’s protrude from his back, allowing him to fly around. He’s also extremely dusty, and sheds off the magical golden fairy dust upon movement, although this seems to just be contained like dandruff in his human skin.

APPLICATIONS :

enhanced condition

Some of Tink’s physical abilities are above the human norm, but only by a little bit. He has faster reflexes, speed, and agility, as well as a dash of better dexterity and durability. Out of his senses, his sense of smell and hearing are the two that are boosted a pinch.

fairy dust generation

Tink gives off dust like a dog sheds its fur.  While in his fairy form, every single movement gives off the dust, leaving a trail of the sparkling gold. However, the magical golden dust is somewhat contained to his scalp while he’s in his human form, and is not quite as prominent. The dust has a drug-like qualities, giving those affected an extreme high– as if they’re crossfaded to hell and back– if enough dust is consumed, inhaled, or absorbed through contact. Once down from the high, the user typically will have a hangover-like symptoms. Tink is immune to his own dust.

flight ( through wing manifestation )

When one has wings, one can fly. He has similar speed and dynamics as to wasps or honey bees.

connection to nature

It’s hard for him to explain, but whenever he feels outside he just feels…whole. He can sense the “moods” of plants, and plants in general will be more responsive towards his tender, love, and care.

fairy glow

As a fairy, Tink quite literally glows like an off-white Christmas light. It’s magical, and quite useful in dark places. Only thing is that the glow turns to red when he is angry or frustrated.

LIMITATIONS :

as a fairy, Tink can only talk in a range of bell tones, making communication sometimes difficult. not to mention annoying considering how much he loves to talk

he has no partial forms

it is exhausting to transform, and transformation between forms can range from mildly uncomfortable to extreme pain without any warning

clothing does not transform with him

can sometimes be difficult to maintain fairy form, and can be prone to sudden transformations if emotions run extreme

enhanced condition is similar to those of peak human condition ; does not effect his mental capabilities, and only effects some physical attributes

dust generation cannot be turned off and happens continuously

while slowed and limited to a specific place, still happens when human and can be noticeable to those observant enough

unknown to him, his fairy dust has addictive qualities like alcohol and/or nicotine depending on the victim

fairy glow can put one at a disadvantage when it comes to being stealthy

due to his connection to nature, eating an extensive amount of meats will make him sick

seeing withering plants will make him inexplicably sad

applications are dimmed some when he is in his human form

flight and fairy glow are only accessible when he is in his fairy form

THREAT LEVEL TWO.                            04+ BRWN, 02+ RSLNC, 04+ INTLCT, 06+ WLLPWR, 02+ FGHTNG, 06+ SPD        

[nancygduarteus]

How Trust Shapes Nations' Safety Rules

When I moved to China nearly two years ago, one of the first things I bought was a bicycle. I live on a university campus, where everyone rides, and the bike was cheap: $17 for an ancient Five Rams cruiser, with a lively color scheme of teal and rust. I used to cycle to work when I lived in New York, dodging tourists and threading in between delivery trucks. But the moment I pulled out onto a street in China, it became clear that this was going to be a different experience.

In New York, the key to road safety is predictability. Make eye contact with drivers, so they can see your intentions. Use hand signals when you want to turn. Avoid sudden, erratic movements—if drivers can see where you’re going, they’ll be less likely to hit you. The first time I use a hand signal in China, angling my arm leftward to show a truck driver I am about to turn in front of him, he looks to see what I’m pointing at, while accelerating. Every time I make eye contact, other cyclists and drivers barrel right on through, instead of letting me pass in front of them. Eventually I adapt to a new reality, learn the new rules, and I discover that they are as simple in China as in the United States. Actually, there’s only one rule: Ignore everyone.

When I am out on my bike, I am responsible for the area immediately around me, maybe 12 inches in every direction. The rest of the road is not my problem. I do not make eye contact with other bicyclists or motorists hurtling toward me, unless they are in my 12 inches. By not looking at them, I am making it their problem to not hit me, which of course they don’t. The drivers do the same thing. We are an army of high-speed somnambulists, purposefully behaving as though we are the only ones on the road.

It feels ridiculously dangerous, riding around those first few months—also, no one, me included, is wearing a helmet, although my excuse is that I haven’t been able to find a bicycle shop that sells them. But it becomes more and more evident that this is a normal, accepted level of risk here. Once, during a typhoon, I look out of a swimming taxi window and see ten cyclists casually skimming through the ankle-deep runoff, impervious, as if disposable ponchos were armor.

It’s easy to feel as if safety has a universal definition. Freedom from want, freedom from fear—aren’t those what everyone means when they think of safety? Perhaps, but the routes through the world to that state of being are circuitous and varied. Smoke alarms, for instance, have been required in every American bedroom since 1993. We rarely think about them, except to grouse when they go off while we’re cooking. France, however, only began requiring residential smoke alarms in 2015. Switzerland, rated the safest country in the world in 2015 by one consumer-research firm, has not mandated them at all. There is not a simple, one-way progression from a state of nature to a state of safety. Even within nations, there are fundamental divisions about how we want to deal with risk.

* * *

Deciding what dangers to avoid sounds like a supremely rational process, on the face of it. You calculate the risk of an event (house fire, bicycle crash), the probability of the bad outcome (death), multiply them together, and get a number that tells you how likely the worst-case scenario is. Then you decide how you might defend against it. Get a smoke alarm. Wear a helmet.

The truth is, though, that at this point a number of things come between us and a rational decision. Over the last half century, researchers have uncovered systematic biases built into how we decide. These heuristics usually bring us to a good-enough solution swiftly, which may be one reason they’ve stuck around. But sometimes they generate peculiar errors.

We judge how likely something is, for instance, by how recently we’ve seen it happen. The psychologists Daniel Kahneman and Amos Tversky call this the availability heuristic. On the one hand, it can generate a patina of reassurance that blinds us to real dangers. We regularly put our lives in the hands of doctors, whose image in our minds is of benevolence and healing. However, recent research has suggested that medical error may be the third-most common cause of death in the United States—in part, it seems, because while medicine is indeed capable of wonderful things, preventable human errors are not as well controlled as they are in fields like nuclear power.

The availability heuristic can also lead us to worry about things that almost never happen, just because we can imagine them so vividly. Less than one fatal shark attack has occurred per year in the United States over the last 50 years. Airlines have focused nearly superhuman attention on making flying one of the safest things you can do, and pilots often joke that the most dangerous part of flying is the drive to the airport. Still, plane crashes are some of the most visible and damning of dangers, body parts and luggage shredded and scattered across the ground in a bizarre parody of arrival, and shark attacks are re-created and broadcast regularly, always available to our memory. Fear of both is pervasive. The availability heuristic might have been useful when humans only saw things happening in their physical vicinity: If you saw an attack, or an accident, you might be next. But we are now geographically and temporally separate from much of what we witness.

These and other mental shortcuts can complicate the process of deciding which dangers actually matter, and accounting for them—the grand human task of colonizing the future, as risk scholar Arwen Mohun, author of Risk: Negotiating Safety in American Society, puts it. Still, if deciding on the specifics is difficult, then the history of danger—the domestic variety, the kind that can strike you down in your daily life, on your bicycle on the way to the grocery store—reveals a growing expectation that we should protect one another through the tools of society.

* * *

On my bicycle, for many months, I manage to avoid any clear evidence of danger. I whisk along under the colossal banyan trees that line the campus roads. I mount a basket above the Five Rams’ front wheel and screw to the handlebars a length of metal piping to hold my open umbrella when I ride through typhoons. It is amazing how disaster continues to avoid me. I’ve gone my whole life believing it is around the corner, ready to leap the moment you let your guard down. The other shoe is resolutely not dropping.

My bike gets me places faster. I can go grocery shopping and ride home with apples bouncing in the basket while I studiously avoid looking at anyone else on the road. I am still not wearing a helmet. I’m getting something out of this risk, too—the freedom of leaping on my bike without thinking, the joy of the wind in my hair. Maybe the world is not as dangerous as it seems. (Some psychologists hypothesize that humans have a personal-risk budget: When we make ourselves safe in one way, we allow ourselves more risk in another. Buy a safe car, drive it faster. Go skydiving, pack an extra parachute.)

Still, as the months pass, it becomes clear that while I may have the freedom to behave like a maniac on the road, there are other downsides to this local culture of risk. It’s no secret that the air quality in China leaves something to be desired. Nearly every day, the load of particulate matter in the air outside my house exceeds the healthy maximum set by the World Health Organization. Inside, like many anxious foreigners, I’ve rigged a set of air cleaners. In every room they whirr, fans pushing air through HEPA filters that accumulate a thick gray shag of particles: the invisible made grotesquely visible. I never turn them off. Some seasons, for days at a time, I don’t leave the house without a pollution mask, its soft white muzzle expanding and contracting as I breathe.

There is also the matter of food safety—avoiding foods with contaminants, whether solvents or bacteria. In China a number of serious scandals have made people wary of food; in one, melamine was mixed into baby formula to disguise the watering down of milk and boost profits, sickening hundreds of thousands. At customs and immigration in the Hong Kong train station, big placards warn travelers returning to the mainland that they can take only two cans of baby formula per person. In one recent 12-month period, 5,000 people were arrested for smuggling baby formula into the mainland from Hong Kong, where safety is more stringent.

In the United States, similar events about a hundred years ago led to institutions that keep us safe today. Upton Sinclair’s description of wildly unsanitary meatpacking plants provoked the passage of the Pure Food and Drug Act of 1906, listing foods and medicines that could not be adulterated. The act wasn’t perfect, and more scandals provoked change. In 1937 in the United States, children died screaming in pain after their parents gave them a cough syrup that turned out to contain diethylene glycol, added by the manufacturer to dissolve the syrup’s active ingredients. It wasn’t even illegal: The syrup, invented after the 1906 Act, was not on the list of regulated medicines. More than 100 people died, and the more rigorous Food, Drug, and Cosmetics Act was passed in the aftermath, in 1938.

Incidents of this kind have fallen precipitously in the last 20 years, though the few that still occur are well publicized, says the sociologist John Lang. In general, we are justified in handing off the responsibility for making sure our food is not poisonous to other people. “For me as a sociologist, it’s what happened starting in the Industrial Revolution when we decided to split up who does what job,” Lang says. “So it’s no longer my family growing my food, and harvesting my food, and preparing my food.” In return, we are supposed to be the best we can be at whatever profession our freedom allows us.

But the minute others start to fall down on the job of safety, we decide we need to take it on ourselves. And that is exhausting. By the end of my first year in China, I feel as if I am a one-person FDA. I buy all my food from a Costco-style grocer an hour away by bus that claims to use a hazard analysis and critical control points (HACCP) protocol for food safety, which in the United States is required for many food companies. It still isn’t easy. After a text-message feud with a delivery service I use to spare myself the bus ride to the store—over the absence of the bar-code tracking sticker that provides information on the origins of the eggs—I’m frustrated and surprised at myself. This is what it has come to. This is my life.

I describe my experience bicycling, and filtering air, and buying food, to Lynette Shaw, a sociologist at the University of Michigan who studies how we decide what is valuable. She laughs. It sounds like a situation with low social capital, she says. What’s missing is trust.

* * *

The Organization for Economic Cooperation and Development defines social capital as “the links, shared values, and understandings in society that enable individuals and groups to trust each other and so work together.” The 1916 paper in which the phrase “social capital” first appears presents it even more simply: “goodwill, fellowship, sympathy, and social intercourse among a group of individuals and families who make up a social unit.”

This is the idea that you and the members of your community are more or less on the same page—that you agree on the rules and that they matter. The sociologist Robert Putnam and colleagues, who helped bring the concept of social capital to prominence in the late 20th century, compared the regional governments of northern and southern Italy in the book Making Democracy Work. They found that the governments that functioned best—adopted budgets on time, made loans to farms, answered their mail promptly—were those of the northern areas that had historically been ruled by their inhabitants. In the south, Norman rulers had imposed order from above in true autocratic fashion in the Middle Ages: To question orders from the nobility was sacrilege, and rules were inflicted, rather than instated. In the modern era, these areas were far less orderly.

History may have shaped the regions’ modern allocations of social capital. “Collective life in the civic regions is eased by the expectation that others will probably follow the rules. Knowing that others will, you are more likely to go along, too, thus fulfilling their expectations,” Putnam writes. “The least civic regions are the most subject to the ancient plague of political corruption. They are the home of the Mafia and its regional variants.” It’s every man for himself (and those close to him) and against outsiders—you can’t trust the government to do what’s best, so you come up with your own ways around, more often than not based on a profound mistrust of others.

This unlocks, for me, the story of the rules of the road in my new home. People cut me off because they do not trust me to let them by when it’s their turn. To signal one’s intent is to ask to be taken advantage of. In societies with low trust, there isn’t much incentive to, for instance, abide by clean-air laws, or follow regulation to make food safer. People do not trust that others will do it. And in both cases, it’s cheaper not to.

But even within a society, Shaw says, different groups can have vastly different expectations, and nowhere is that clearer than in the political spectrum. Progressives feel that the single most important thing—the moral purpose of a government—is the prevention of harm. Conservatives also care about preventing harm, but they draw the line around a smaller number of people, and they emphasize the importance of personal agency. Which is more dangerous, the mistakes of private individuals or companies, or the mistakes of the government? Which is more dangerous, a terrorist, or a gun in the hand of a private citizen? A government that can see all our secrets or one that flies blind? A border that admits everyone or one that admits no one?

* * *

On the evening of November 8 in the United States, I am on a bus in China. I have just been to the American clinic to get a flu shot. I interrupt the ever-present dialogue of risk—Do I trust the Chinese vaccine manufacturer? Was it properly refrigerated? Will I experience side effects?—and check my phone. At this point I am not really surprised by the results of the election. All I feel is the dull clang as the gate slams closed on one version of reality and we progress, one minute after another, into a new and unknown future.

In the weeks that follow, I realize that many of the things I took for granted about my own country are not as simple as they seem. America, the mirror I held up against my new home in a daily attempt to diagnose the things that bewilder and frustrate me, now seems like an alien place. All bets are off, all expectations thrown to the wind. As I strap on my pollution mask against the particulates from the factories and coal-burning power plants, pumping out picture books and zippers, pumping out money and carbon, I wonder whether, in coming to China, I have stepped into America’s future, not its past.

Most people do not realize just how deeply their expectations run, nor how profoundly they believe that they are universal. It is existentially shattering to find that this is not the case. These divisions about what we want our government to do have always been there, but they have led us to a peculiar place. “Human beings have been trying to figure out how to get control over the future probably since they’ve developed a sense of time,” says Mohun, the historian of risk. With regulation, with control, we have been able to reach ahead and pluck our fate from the hands of chance—with trade-offs that make some people uneasy. “The question now is whether the trade-offs are worth it to people who have power,” Mohun continues. “The regulatory state is really under question.” For want of trust, something valuable was lost, I hear over and over again in my head. The benefits of civilization are un-reapable by isolated individuals.

Several mornings in a row in late January, deep in thought, I pass a man piloting a backhoe at high speed down the main road of campus, a dozen garbage bags mounded in the scoop, a jury-rigged garbage truck. I feel a swell of desperate fondness for my country, where this would probably not be tolerated, and for this other one, on the other side of the world, where people forge ahead in the most unpredictable circumstances. On my bike, I smile at him. He, on his roaring yellow steed, breaks into a ridiculous grin.

We are all bicycling in China now. The week of the inauguration, I buy a helmet.

This post originally appeared in the Virginia Quarterly Review.

from Health News And Updates https://www.theatlantic.com/health/archive/2017/11/safety-regulation-psychology/544439/?utm_source=feed

[ionecoffman]

How Trust Shapes Nations' Safety Rules

When I moved to China nearly two years ago, one of the first things I bought was a bicycle. I live on a university campus, where everyone rides, and the bike was cheap: $17 for an ancient Five Rams cruiser, with a lively color scheme of teal and rust. I used to cycle to work when I lived in New York, dodging tourists and threading in between delivery trucks. But the moment I pulled out onto a street in China, it became clear that this was going to be a different experience.

In New York, the key to road safety is predictability. Make eye contact with drivers, so they can see your intentions. Use hand signals when you want to turn. Avoid sudden, erratic movements—if drivers can see where you’re going, they’ll be less likely to hit you. The first time I use a hand signal in China, angling my arm leftward to show a truck driver I am about to turn in front of him, he looks to see what I’m pointing at, while accelerating. Every time I make eye contact, other cyclists and drivers barrel right on through, instead of letting me pass in front of them. Eventually I adapt to a new reality, learn the new rules, and I discover that they are as simple in China as in the United States. Actually, there’s only one rule: Ignore everyone.

When I am out on my bike, I am responsible for the area immediately around me, maybe 12 inches in every direction. The rest of the road is not my problem. I do not make eye contact with other bicyclists or motorists hurtling toward me, unless they are in my 12 inches. By not looking at them, I am making it their problem to not hit me, which of course they don’t. The drivers do the same thing. We are an army of high-speed somnambulists, purposefully behaving as though we are the only ones on the road.

It feels ridiculously dangerous, riding around those first few months—also, no one, me included, is wearing a helmet, although my excuse is that I haven’t been able to find a bicycle shop that sells them. But it becomes more and more evident that this is a normal, accepted level of risk here. Once, during a typhoon, I look out of a swimming taxi window and see ten cyclists casually skimming through the ankle-deep runoff, impervious, as if disposable ponchos were armor.

It’s easy to feel as if safety has a universal definition. Freedom from want, freedom from fear—aren’t those what everyone means when they think of safety? Perhaps, but the routes through the world to that state of being are circuitous and varied. Smoke alarms, for instance, have been required in every American bedroom since 1993. We rarely think about them, except to grouse when they go off while we’re cooking. France, however, only began requiring residential smoke alarms in 2015. Switzerland, rated the safest country in the world in 2015 by one consumer-research firm, has not mandated them at all. There is not a simple, one-way progression from a state of nature to a state of safety. Even within nations, there are fundamental divisions about how we want to deal with risk.

* * *

Deciding what dangers to avoid sounds like a supremely rational process, on the face of it. You calculate the risk of an event (house fire, bicycle crash), the probability of the bad outcome (death), multiply them together, and get a number that tells you how likely the worst-case scenario is. Then you decide how you might defend against it. Get a smoke alarm. Wear a helmet.

The truth is, though, that at this point a number of things come between us and a rational decision. Over the last half century, researchers have uncovered systematic biases built into how we decide. These heuristics usually bring us to a good-enough solution swiftly, which may be one reason they’ve stuck around. But sometimes they generate peculiar errors.

We judge how likely something is, for instance, by how recently we’ve seen it happen. The psychologists Daniel Kahneman and Amos Tversky call this the availability heuristic. On the one hand, it can generate a patina of reassurance that blinds us to real dangers. We regularly put our lives in the hands of doctors, whose image in our minds is of benevolence and healing. However, recent research has suggested that medical error may be the third most common cause of death in the United States—in part, it seems, because while medicine is indeed capable of wonderful things, preventable human errors are not as well controlled as they are in fields like nuclear power.

The availability heuristic can also lead us to worry about things that almost never happen, just because we can imagine them so vividly. Less than one fatal shark attack has occurred per year in the United States over the last 50 years. Airlines have focused nearly superhuman attention on making flying one of the safest things you can do, and pilots often joke that the most dangerous part of flying is the drive to the airport. Still, plane crashes are some of the most visible and damning of dangers, body parts and luggage shredded and scattered across the ground in a bizarre parody of arrival, and shark attacks are re-created and broadcast regularly, always available to our memory. Fear of both is pervasive. The availability heuristic might have been useful when humans only saw things happening in their physical vicinity: If you saw an attack, or an accident, you might be next. But we are now geographically and temporally separate from much of what we witness.

These and other mental shortcuts can complicate the process of deciding which dangers actually matter, and accounting for them—the grand human task of colonizing the future, as risk scholar Arwen Mohun, author of Risk: Negotiating Safety in American Society, puts it. Still, if deciding on the specifics is difficult, then the history of danger—the domestic variety, the kind that can strike you down in your daily life, on your bicycle on the way to the grocery store—reveals a growing expectation that we should protect one another through the tools of society.

* * *

On my bicycle, for many months, I manage to avoid any clear evidence of danger. I whisk along under the colossal banyan trees that line the campus roads. I mount a basket above the Five Rams’ front wheel and screw to the handlebars a length of metal piping to hold my open umbrella when I ride through typhoons. It is amazing how disaster continues to avoid me. I’ve gone my whole life believing it is around the corner, ready to leap the moment you let your guard down. The other shoe is resolutely not dropping.

My bike gets me places faster. I can go grocery shopping and ride home with apples bouncing in the basket while I studiously avoid looking at anyone else on the road. I am still not wearing a helmet. I’m getting something out of this risk, too—the freedom of leaping on my bike without thinking, the joy of the wind in my hair. Maybe the world is not as dangerous as it seems. (Some psychologists hypothesize that humans have a personal-risk budget: When we make ourselves safe in one way, we allow ourselves more risk in another. Buy a safe car, drive it faster. Go skydiving, pack an extra parachute.)

Still, as the months pass, it becomes clear that while I may have the freedom to behave like a maniac on the road, there are other downsides to this local culture of risk. It’s no secret that the air quality in China leaves something to be desired. Nearly every day, the load of particulate matter in the air outside my house exceeds the healthy maximum set by the World Health Organization. Inside, like many anxious foreigners, I’ve rigged a set of air cleaners. In every room they whirr, fans pushing air through HEPA filters that accumulate a thick gray shag of particles: the invisible made grotesquely visible. I never turn them off. Some seasons, for days at a time, I don’t leave the house without a pollution mask, its soft white muzzle expanding and contracting as I breathe.

There is also the matter of food safety—avoiding foods with contaminants, whether solvents or bacteria. In China a number of serious scandals have made people wary of food; in one, melamine was mixed into baby formula to disguise the watering down of milk and boost profits, sickening hundreds of thousands. At customs and immigration in the Hong Kong train station, big placards warn travelers returning to the mainland that they can take only two cans of baby formula per person. In one recent 12-month period, 5,000 people were arrested for smuggling baby formula into the mainland from Hong Kong, where safety is more stringent.

In the United States, similar events about a hundred years ago led to institutions that keep us safe today. Upton Sinclair’s description of wildly unsanitary meatpacking plants provoked the passage of the Pure Food and Drug Act of 1906, listing foods and medicines that could not be adulterated. The act wasn’t perfect, and more scandals provoked change. In 1937 in the United States, children died screaming in pain after their parents gave them a cough syrup that turned out to contain diethylene glycol, added by the manufacturer to dissolve the syrup’s active ingredients. It wasn’t even illegal: The syrup, invented after the 1906 Act, was not on the list of regulated medicines. More than 100 people died, and the more rigorous Food, Drug, and Cosmetics Act was passed in the aftermath, in 1938.

Incidents of this kind have fallen precipitously in the last 20 years, though the few that still occur are well publicized, says the sociologist John Lang. In general, we are justified in handing off the responsibility for making sure our food is not poisonous to other people. “For me as a sociologist, it’s what happened starting in the Industrial Revolution when we decided to split up who does what job,” Lang says. “So it’s no longer my family growing my food, and harvesting my food, and preparing my food.” In return, we are supposed to be the best we can be at whatever profession our freedom allows us.

But the minute others start to fall down on the job of safety, we decide we need to take it on ourselves. And that is exhausting. By the end of my first year in China, I feel as if I am a one-person FDA. I buy all my food from a Costco-style grocer an hour away by bus that claims to use a hazard analysis and critical control points (HACCP) protocol for food safety, which in the United States is required for many food companies. It still isn’t easy. After a text-message feud with a delivery service I use to spare myself the bus ride to the store—over the absence of the bar-code tracking sticker that provides information on the origins of the eggs—I’m frustrated and surprised at myself. This is what it has come to. This is my life.

I describe my experience bicycling, and filtering air, and buying food, to Lynette Shaw, a sociologist at the University of Michigan who studies how we decide what is valuable. She laughs. It sounds like a situation with low social capital, she says. What’s missing is trust.

* * *

The Organization for Economic Cooperation and Development defines social capital as “the links, shared values and understandings in society that enable individuals and groups to trust each other and so work together.” The 1916 paper in which the phrase “social capital” first appears presents it even more simply: “goodwill, fellowship, sympathy, and social intercourse among a group of individuals and families who make up a social unit.”

This is the idea that you and the members of your community are more or less on the same page—that you agree on the rules and that they matter. The sociologist Robert Putnam and colleagues, who helped bring the concept of social capital to prominence in the late 20th century, compared the regional governments of northern and southern Italy in the book Making Democracy Work. They found that the governments that functioned best—adopted budgets on time, made loans to farms, answered their mail promptly—were those of the northern areas that had historically been ruled by their inhabitants. In the south, Norman rulers had imposed order from above in true autocratic fashion in the Middle Ages: To question orders from the nobility was sacrilege, and rules were inflicted, rather than instated. In the modern era, these areas were far less orderly.

History may have shaped the regions’ modern allocations of social capital. “Collective life in the civic regions is eased by the expectation that others will probably follow the rules. Knowing that others will, you are more likely to go along, too, thus fulfilling their expectations,” Putnam writes. “The least civic regions are the most subject to the ancient plague of political corruption. They are the home of the Mafia and its regional variants.” It’s every man for himself (and those close to him) and against outsiders—you can’t trust the government to do what’s best, so you come up with your own ways around, more often than not based on a profound mistrust of others.

This unlocks, for me, the story of the rules of the road in my new home. People cut me off because they do not trust me to let them by when it’s their turn. To signal one’s intent is to ask to be taken advantage of. In societies with low trust, there isn’t much incentive to, for instance, abide by clean-air laws, or follow regulation to make food safer. People do not trust that others will do it. And in both cases, it’s cheaper not to.

But even within a society, Shaw says, different groups can have vastly different expectations, and nowhere is that clearer than in the political spectrum. Progressives feel that the single most important thing—the moral purpose of a government—is the prevention of harm. Conservatives also care about preventing harm, but they draw the line around a smaller number of people, and they emphasize the importance of personal agency. Which is more dangerous, the mistakes of private individuals or companies, or the mistakes of the government? Which is more dangerous, a terrorist, or a gun in the hand of a private citizen? A government that can see all our secrets or one that flies blind? A border that admits everyone or one that admits no one?

* * *

On the evening of November 8 in the United States, I am on a bus in China. I have just been to the American clinic to get a flu shot. I interrupt the ever-present dialogue of risk—Do I trust the Chinese vaccine manufacturer? Was it properly refrigerated? Will I experience side effects?—and check my phone. At this point I am not really surprised by the results of the election. All I feel is the dull clang as the gate slams closed on one version of reality and we progress, one minute after another, into a new and unknown future.

In the weeks that follow, I realize that many of the things I took for granted about my own country are not as simple as they seem. America, the mirror I held up against my new home in a daily attempt to diagnose the things that bewilder and frustrate me, now seems like an alien place. All bets are off, all expectations thrown to the wind. As I strap on my pollution mask against the particulates from the factories and coal-burning power plants, pumping out picture books and zippers, pumping out money and carbon, I wonder whether, in coming to China, I have stepped into America’s future, not its past.

Most people do not realize just how deeply their expectations run, nor how profoundly they believe that they are universal. It is existentially shattering to find that this is not the case. These divisions about what we want our government to do have always been there, but they have led us to a peculiar place. “Human beings have been trying to figure out how to get control over the future probably since they’ve developed a sense of time,” says Mohun, the historian of risk. With regulation, with control, we have been able to reach ahead and pluck our fate from the hands of chance—with trade-offs that make some people uneasy. “The question now is whether the trade-offs are worth it to people who have power,” Mohun continues. “The regulatory state is really under question.” For want of trust, something valuable was lost, I hear over and over again in my head. The benefits of civilization are un-reapable by isolated individuals.

Several mornings in a row in late January, deep in thought, I pass a man piloting a backhoe at high speed down the main road of campus, a dozen garbage bags mounded in the scoop, a jury-rigged garbage truck. I feel a swell of desperate fondness for my country, where this would probably not be tolerated, and for this other one, on the other side of the world, where people forge ahead in the most unpredictable circumstances. On my bike, I smile at him. He, on his roaring yellow steed, breaks into a ridiculous grin.

We are all bicycling in China now. The week of the inauguration, I buy a helmet.

This post originally appeared in the Virginia Quarterly Review.

Article source here:The Atlantic