#else lehmann

[postcard-from-the-past]

German actress Else Lehmann on a vintage postcard

[majestativa]

Are all these really selfless states? [...] Man is loving something of himself, a thought, a longing, an offspring, more than something else of himself; that he is thus dividing up his being and sacrificing one part for the other?

— Friedrich Nietzsche, Aphorisms on Love and Hate, transl by Marion Faber & Stephen Lehmann, (2015)

[mariacallous]

Writing for the Bulwark the other day Cathy Young asked a brilliant question: what on earth happened to the Intellectual Dark Web and its critique of the left?  

Go back to the 2010s, and all kinds of people, myself included, were wondering why leftists allied with the most fascistic versions of Islam, and why there was such screaming intolerance in liberal institutions.  All of a sudden we were told to accept that white people were inherently racist and that men could become women –  just by saying they were.

If you moved in​ leftish circles and refused to clap your hands and cheer the new orthodoxy, your career was over.

In theory the response ought to have been a liberal defence of democratic freedoms. And from many it was. 

But the “Intellectual Dark Web” - the melodramatic name came from a New York Times  piece from 2018 – was something else. It consisted of online celebrities opposed to progressive orthodoxy, who revelled in the joy of shocking the liberal bourgeoisie. 

The full list of its members ran: Ayaan Hirsi Ali, Glenn Greenwald, Sam Harris, Heather Heying, Claire Lehmann, Bill Maher, Douglas Murray, Maajid Nawaz, Camille Paglia, Jordan Peterson, Steven Pinker, Joe Rogan, Dave Rubin, Ben Shapiro, Michael Shermer, Christina Hoff Sommers, Bret Weinstein, and Eric Weinstein.

As you can see, it was a journalistic concoction, which did not hang together well. Genuine liberals, such as  Steven Pinker and Sam Harris were yanked together with reactionaries like Douglas Murray and Jordan Peterson.  

Meanwhile the self-aggrandising willingness of many of them to announce that they were  “heretics” and “dissidents” was ridiculous. No one is a true heretic, unless they are persecuted. And dissident is an honourable title you cannot in good conscience bestow on yourself – not that that ever stopped anyone.

But once the caveats had been made, you could say that these were people who were willing to attack progressive orthodoxies as they turned oppressive, and in 2018 had a kind of radical glamour.

All gone. Utterly gone. Many of those acclaimed in 2018 have become what they despised – or purported to despise. They are on the side of the enemies of liberty now. They threaten basic democratic freedoms. The alt right has turned out to be the far right, as perhaps it was always going to.

If you are looking for an immediate cause it is clear that Trump has done for them. When the crunch came far too many supposedly intelligent conservatives bent the knee and tugged the forelock, and engaged in an intellectual justification of dictatorial power.

In the process they showed that there are two ways of dealing with left authoritarianism. You can defend the values of liberal democracy, and ally with the many on the left who agree with you. 

Did the conservative members of the Intellectual Dark Web do that?

Did they hell. 

They produced arguments for tyranny, which the conspiratorial atmosphere of the alt right positively encouraged. In the process, they showed how a critique of the left can end up justifying the authoritarianism of the right.

If you paint the globalist elite as all powerful. If you maintain that progressives have the means to indoctrinate the young  through their control of the universities, schools and the mainstream media. If you further posit that they are guaranteeing their power by importing immigrants they know will vote for their centre-left parties, then a dictatorship is a justifiable response to such supernaturally powerful enemies.

Indeed, such is their supposed power​ of the "woke mind virus,​" overturning free elections is the only plausible response to a rigged system. 

If everything from immigration policy to the schools is a con played by progressive elites to ensure their control of society,  there is no other option available to the right. The 20th far right century used the justification that they were saving their countries from the communist menace. The woke menace serves the same purpose today.

I remember being interviewed by one member of the New York Times list, a media entrepreneur called Dave Rubin.

He could not get enough criticisms of the left. And indeed there was much to criticise. However, I pointed out that, if he was a serious man, he must be as willing to criticise the right. He assured the viewers he would.

Now he thinks there are “plenty of good arguments to make for voting for Trump,” even if he’s prone to “lying about everything.” 

How brave. How very, very brave.

Cathy Young records how principled people have walked away in disgust. Claire Lehman, the editor of the genuinely challenging online magazine Quilette, said that she had started out believing that the US liberals' claims that Trump threatened democracy were deranged. 

She assumed that warnings about Trump refusing to accept defeat  in the 2020 presidential election were also “hysterical nonsense”—until it actually happened. The invasion of Ukraine and the willingness of the US right to work for Putin were further blows to her conservative assumptions.

“It really made me reassess my priors,” says Lehmann. “I realized that I had had a blind spot on those two huge issues. So I updated my beliefs.” 

Others preferred to adjust the facts to fit their priors—or, Lehmann suspects, pretended to do so “because they don’t want to lose the audiences they built.”

Just so. Sam Harris added a second justification for intellectual cowardice  when he said that he was disassociating himself from the IDW label because of  other IDW figures’ embrace of Trump’s election-fraud claims. Some of  his former allies were “sounding fairly bonkers,” he concluded.

Indeed they were. But they had to. If they were not bonkers to begin with they had to learn to give a decent impression of bonkerdom, if they wanted to appeal to their audience. 

Jordan Peterson, a thinker who once had a few good arguments to make, now claims that covid vaccines caused more deaths than the “so-called pandemic,” and declares his lack of faith in every other vaccine for good measure. The podcast king Joe Rogan broadcasts vaccine conspiracism. As does a figure British readers may remember, ​​Maajid Nawaz, who was once a liberal Muslim who fought extremism and  now needs avoiding when the moon is full.

There’s a booming market for covid conspiracism in the US and beyond, and it pays to keep the customers satisfied. But, and perhaps I am being naive here, I do not believe cynics can do it. Like so many ideologues the alt-right ​must believe their paranoid fantasies as they tell them and  allow the mask to eat into the ​face  ​They cannot just pretend. ​They must believe. 

Young writes

“It may be that, because of the dynamics in today’s intellectual and political marketplace, any commentator, media outlet, or group that opposes the illiberal left but doesn’t explicitly oppose far-right Trumpian populism is in danger of being co-opted by it.”

And not only in the US. The next British general election will almost certainly take place near the date of the US presidential election. We have already had Boris Johnson and Liz Truss  announce their support for Trump, even though he is hugely unpopular in this country, and is a clear threat to Nato.  It would be politically mad for Conservatives to tie themselves to Trump in  an election campaign. And yet leading figures will do it for the same reason alt right in the US right do it.

First, they want the money. In the case of British politicians and journalists, the money American conservative lecture circuit provides. Second, they have talked themselves into a position where progressives are an enemy so dangerous that any measures are justified to bring about their defeat – including supporting a threat to the American republic and Western security. 

As someone who shared the critiques of at least some members of the intellectual dark web in the 2010s, I can make a fair prediction about what will happen next.

Whenever I wrote criticisms of the left, colleagues would say that the right would welcome and exploit all my arguments, and that was true. As someone once said, I think it was me, “the left looks for traitors and the right looks for converts”.  But, so what? A good argument must be made regardless of the consequences.

But then they made a further point. You should never listen to conservatives when they said they believe in freedom of speech, democracy and human rights. All they are concerned with is sectarian advantage.

It has been the historic achievement of the Intellectual Dark Web to prove that the sneering leftists were right all along.

[planetkiimchi]

the strings of fate | l.mk

no. 5 of my song collection (requested!)

featuring: mark lee x gn!reader, chenle

word count: 7351

warnings: arson, fire, burning, people die in the fire, death (funeral), rooftops (?) if you're scared of heights, there's mentions of nudity but not described, swearing, you'll probably hate me for this fic but idc

playlist: anaheim - niki; 10:35 - tate mcrae; psycho - jun; adelaide - johnny orlando; let me go - hailee steinfeld + alesso + florida georgia line + watt; after you - gryffin + jason ross + calle lehmann; haunt you - x lovers + chloe moriondo

summary — when mark lee, student council president of riize highschool goes missing, you’re the first suspect. as his best friend and well-known crush, you stood to gain the most from it. you’re also vice-president, and with mark gone, you’ve stepped up to be the president and predicted valedictorian. all eyes are on you, and one wrong move can send you to your downfall. but who’s that lurking in the shadows, tugging on the puppet-strings of fort irwin? the city is small, but you feel smaller as things go spiralling crazily out of control. OR mark loves you more than anything else in the world, but you're too broken to receive his love.

if you liked it, REBLOG it.

5 months ago — if i could, i’d freeze this moment, make it my home

“Mark?” You peeked into the room, footsteps resounding in the hollow space. Mark had promised to meet you at the auditorium, but he wasn’t there, leaving you stranded in the middle of the school in a dark room with only the dark red seats to keep you company.

As you turned to leave, you heard a muffled sound that sounded suspiciously like someone landing on the carpet floor. You looked behind you just in time to see Mark removing his mask, breathlessly calling after you, still clad in his Spiderman outfit.

“Just as I thought I’d been stood up,” you told him.

“Nope. In fact, I would have been early if someone hadn’t tried to mug me on my way here. It took some time to get changed and wrap him up in spiderwebs before I dropped an anonymous tip to the police station.” As he spoke, Mark reached into his back pockets, which were luxuriously deep and could seemingly fit as many things as Doraemon’s bag.

“I brought you the book you said you wanted,” Mark said as he pressed it into your hands. His smile was contagious, and you couldn’t fault him for having a heart of gold. It wasn’t his fault that he wanted to make things right, so you forgave him for it.

“Aren’t you gonna get changed?”

He blushed and made some vague motions with his hands before settling on, “Yeah. If you could just- turn around?”

You turned around swiftly, lips pressed together as you tried to ignore the hot blush spreading across your cheeks. You fiddled with the book in your hands, the thumping of your heart making it difficult for you to hear when Mark told you he was done.

He gave you a thumbs-up, and you saw his mask hanging out from the open pocket of his bag. You walked over to him, tucking the mask inside and zipping the pocket up before reaching up, tiptoeing slightly to reach his head, and smoothed out his hair.

He shook his head slightly and wiped the sweat off his brow with a grin. “Better?”

“Better.”

“Since we’re already here, why don't we take advantage of the projector and watch a movie?”

You hesitated, shifting your weight from one foot to another. “I’m a little busy,” you said, rubbing the back of your neck as you thought about the countless assignments you had piling up.

Mark smiled disarmingly and extended his hand, shooting webs from his wrist. They reached the control room, hitting the “on” button. The screen blinked on, showing the default screensaver. “I didn’t mean it as a question, more like an invitation. I know you’re still not over Chenle, so I thought this might cheer you up.”

You were given little choice when Mark slipped into one of the back seats, procuring popcorn from his bag like a magician, patting the seat beside him as he projected his Netflix account onto the screen, and “Little Women” started playing. You couldn’t lie, you had a soft spot for that movie, and seeing it playing was all it took for you to cave in and slump into the seat next to him, dispelling all thoughts of work from your mind.

“Are you supposed to be using your student council pass to get access to the auditorium for a movie?” You asked curiously, reaching for the popcorn.

Mark passed you the box with a dismissive shrug. “If they didn’t want me to take advantage of it, they wouldn’t have given it to me. Perks of being liked by the teachers, I guess.”

That was Mark Lee for you. Handsome, smart, popular—well-liked by both the student body and the faculty. He was perfection in a nutshell, and his heart was yours. You only regretted never being able to give him the same.

3 months ago — you’re all i want to, want to know

Dangling your feet off the rooftops, breeze soft against your skin as you watched the sunset. Yellow waves of light washed over the red sky, turning it gorgeous shades of orange and pink and purple, if you squinted hard enough.

The sky was a vast expanse of intangible matter, the whispers of the wind calling out to you. Instinctively, you reached out for it, hands grasping at thin air. It felt like it was just out of your reach, and you leaned further, hands outstretched…

You forgot that you were on the rooftop, stomach rising to your throat as you fell from the building, scream caught in your throat which was squeezed so tightly you could barely breathe.

Every second of the fall was torture. You could feel the air rushing past your face, hard enough to chafe but not dense enough to cushion your fall. Your hands flailed about, scrabbling for something to hold onto, desperately searching for holds to grab onto, until you felt a tug on your back.

Mark lowered himself to your height, and you found yourself swinging like a pendulum from the top of the building while Mark leaned into his pants like he was going rock climbing with his friends for leisure, fully trusting his webs to hold him up.

“You good?”

You nodded, gulping nervously. Don’t look down, don’t look down, don’t look down…

Mark seemed to sense your fear, one hand wrapping around your waist reassuringly. The concrete touch of his arm against your back calmed you, and you inhaled deeply while staring straight into his eyes, refusing to look down for fear of how high up you were.

“You know, if you wanted to swing around town, you could’ve just asked.”

Your face dropped as you glared at him, your grip around his torso never loosening even for a second. “Ha ha, very funny. Please bring me back up before I throw up.”

“My pleasure.” Both of you shot up suddenly, and you almost collapsed in relief when your feet found hard ground again, but you made sure to move far, far away from the edge that time.

“I think I’m happy just staying here,” you said cautiously from the middle of the roof, as far away from all the sides of the building as possible. You knelt down to feel the ground, afraid that it wasn’t sturdy enough, before falling into a cross-legged position with a grunt.

Mark bent down to sit beside you, guiding your head onto his shoulder as he rubbed your back comfortingly. “I know it’s scary, but hey, the sunset’s worth it.”

Its beauty was almost comparable to Mark’s.

2 weeks ago — i can tell you mean it when you kiss me slow

Your hand tightened in Mark’s as he ran gleefully towards the ferris wheel, dragging you along behind him as he stood in line for the ride.

Autumn was all around you, in the air as auburn leaves drifted past on a breeze, gently gusting over your hair and leaving you feeling chilly but not cold. The crunch of your footsteps against the ground, the smell of apples all around, the earth heralded the third season of the year.

Mark’s figure was stark against the rest, dressed in all black against the neutral tones of fall, taller than everyone else. Mark was your rock, and sometimes he seemed a little larger than life.

The queue moved slowly, but Mark kept you entertained with silly jokes while it inched forward, and you found yourself lost in the sound of his laughter. It sounded muffled to your ears, like you were hearing it while you were submerged underwater. How could you bring yourself to hurt someone like him?

Your knuckles whitened as they gripped the side of the carriage tightly when you boarded the ferris wheel, eyes staring straight ahead—anywhere but down—while you fought to calm your racing heart.

“It’s not too scary if you look at me, right?”

You had to admit that he was right. If you focussed only on Mark, the world disappeared into a blur of white lights and cloudy skies, and the ground felt solid under your feet.

It was a reassuring thought to know that Mark had your back. So when you reached the top of the wheel, sky-high above the rest of the world with no weight on your shoulders, and Mark kissed you, you kissed him back.

You kissed him like your heart didn’t belong to someone else, like you didn’t care if it hurt him. Because you selfishly wanted his heart, even if you could never reciprocate his love for you.

1 day ago — but please don’t ask me, the answer’s no

You woke up in Chenle’s bed, his hands tangled in your hair while you wrapped your arms around him. The blanket was at your feet, having been kicked off in the night. Chenle’s breathing was peaceful, and the steady rise and fall of his chest pulled you out of your trance.

Chenle had done nothing to Mark, yet he had unknowingly hurt him again and again. You kept coming back to him even after you had broken up, slipping into his arms after shitty decisions late at night, clothes strewn over the floor as you willingly hurt yourself again and again.

To Chenle’s knowledge, you were single, and it was true—to a certain extent. You didn’t love Chenle, and he didn’t need to love you either. You had come to a mutual agreement that he would keep you warm on lonely nights, and there would be no questions asked.

In the mornings, you would leave, and there would be no expectations of breakfast or loving words when you woke. 

And so, you became a ghost of yourself, hovering in spaces just long enough for you to be seen before vanishing again, never happy or satisfied.

You pried yourself from Chenle’s hands, slipping into your clothes, running your hand through your hair in the mirror before rinsing your mouth and washing your face quickly. You left no traces of yourself behind, save for the guilt-ridden kiss you left on Chenle’s cheek with a sad smile.

Mark didn’t know what had happened when you met him that morning, reaching out to envelope you in a hug when you stiffened, pushing him away with a grimace. “Don’t- I don’t want to do this to you, Mark.”

He raised his hands in surrender, but you could have sworn heard his heart shatter, the pain in his eyes too much for you to bear. You turned towards the school, firmly avoiding his gaze as your lead-filled limbs brought you further and further away from him.

now — in a perfect world, i’d kill to love you the loudest

mark: can we talk? mark: i feel like there's something you're not telling me mark: i'm always here for you, you know mark: even if just as a friend

(i don’t know if that’s enough for you)

The messages he left on your phone burned a hole through your pocket. You didn’t want to answer them, but you didn’t want to ignore him either, so you opted to climb into a cab and asked it to take you to an isolated area just out of town. It was close enough for Mark to go to, but only as Spiderman. If he took any other form of transport, he would arrive too late.

you: 📍live location you: come over you: please

“Y/n?” Mark was in his Spiderman suit, eyes shielded by the mask. You couldn’t decipher any of his mixed emotions, but you saw his fingers twitch slightly before he reached out to touch the fence that separated you, hesitance laced in his voice. He sounded unsure, afraid even.

“Are you okay? What are you doing out here?” You had never heard Mark scared before. To you, he had always been the brave one, the one who walked first in haunted houses and killed insects while you screamed and leaped away. He wasn’t afraid of heights or those he fought against, and he seemed to shrink in front of your eyes when he was afraid.

“Can you come over to this side?”

Mark scaled the fence and dropped silently in front of you, cautiously moving towards you as his hand reached to pull his mask off.

“What’s going on?”

Mark felt somebody grab his hand, pulling him towards them with his face away while they held him in a chokehold. He felt a needle poking into his neck, injecting anesthetic into his bloodstream. He went limp in his captor’s arms, and was gently laid on the ground while his captor reached for their phone and stopped the recording.

“I’m sorry,” they whispered as they anonymously sent the video of an unmasked Spiderman to the news station they could count on to deliver their news the fastest.

but all i do is live to hurt you soundless

Mark came to in a dark room, hands tied behind his back. He tried to move his feet, and found that they were also tied to the legs of the chair. Defeated, he slumped in the chair, breathing heavily as he surveyed the room. It was small and empty, and he was the sole occupant inside it.

Welcome, Mark Lee. I hope you make yourself at home. With that, the speakers crackled and went quiet.

Chills ran down Mark’s spine as he heard the voice playing. Where were you, and why couldn’t he remember anything? His mind was foggy and he couldn’t remember a thing, except for your text. He remembered receiving it, and going to a shady, isolated place….

Could someone have kidnapped you and taken your phone to trick him? The idea of it caused his throat to seize, heart thumping painfully inside his chest.

The clanging sound of a door opening startled Mark, and he strained to see where the door was. He heard metal grating against the floor and the thump of footsteps, coming face to face with a masked silhouette. The white of the mask was a stark contrast to the dark cell, and it was the only thing Mark could make out.

A spoon clattered to the floor as the silhouette knelt down and set a tray of food on the floor, the water in the cup sloshing out at the impact. The silhouette’s voice sounded robotic when it spoke.

“I will untie your hands, and you can reach down to take your food. This will last you until tomorrow, so ensure that you don’t finish it all in one sitting. If you struggle or try to escape, just know that you won’t like the consequences.”

Mark’s hands felt numb, and he winced at the feeling of pins and needles as the blood gratefully rushed to his wrists, and he rubbed at his sore shoulders. He bent down gratefully to take a bowl of rice and meat from the ground, and when he sat up again, the masked person had vanished like a wisp of smoke.

say you see i’m lying, babe, and let this go

Mark was going insane. An entire day of silence was enough to drive a man to the brink of insanity, but Mark was just barely holding on. He had estimated the length and width of his cell, tried to write it down and realised that the best way was to write it in his food; hopped around, trying to stand up, and fell multiple times; and was growing bored.

He counted the seconds it took for him to breathe one full breath, then held his breath for as long as he could, then glanced back down impatiently at the analog clock he had found on his food tray.

If it was telling the right time, then 12 hours had passed since he had first woken up in his cell. He had fallen asleep in his chair during what he hoped was nighttime, but woken up with a crick in his neck that had been irritating him the entire day.

It didn’t feel like daytime, although it was supposed to be past noon, simply because there was no natural light filtering into the cell, and the only way he could see was by the light of the clock’s hands and numbers, and the dim light coming from what he assumed was a corridor outside his cell.

Mark drummed his fingers against his lap and rubbed the back of his neck tiredly. He had eaten breakfast when he woke up, then lunch just after noon, but his water was running low and his parched throat itched.

It was odd, he thought, that the food that he had been given actually wasn’t that bad. It was simple, but the meat wasn’t as hard as he had expected, and he had been so hungry that he had scarfed it down in one go.

He was just about to risk hopping over to the door of the cell and yelling for help when the speaker that had scared him the night before suddenly crackled to life.

Fort Irwin is a little small for mysteries, but the latest case of Spiderman had everyone puzzled. Mark Lee, 17, was reported to be missing yesterday evening. According to reports from 35.7Hz Radio, the unmasked Spiderman circulating on the internet is exactly the same boy that has gone missing.

However, the hero was spotted swinging by a Target today, persuading a teenager to return the goods they had shoplifted from the store. Has Mark simply run away from home but felt obligated to continue enforcing the law, or has he been kidnapped?

And, more importantly, if Mark Lee has gone missing, then who is his replacement Spiderman?

Mark’s heart dropped as the speaker went silent. There had been a video of him being unmasked in his Spiderman suit? But he hadn’t even worn it in the past 24 hours—oh. Mark looked down at himself to check that he wasn’t wearing it anymore, finding his own clothes on his body.

Odd. He had only brought his phone with him when he went to find you, and he never wore his regular clothes under his suit. However, the clothes that he was wearing were definitely his—they even smelt like the laundry detergent his mum used when she washed his clothes.

If he was wearing his own clothes, then where had his Spiderman suit gone? He craned his neck to the side to look for it, immediately wincing in pain when he felt the burning pain sear through his neck. He had completely forgotten about his stiff neck.

He rubbed his neck, and the door creaked open, the masked silhouette standing there. “Good afternoon,” they said casually, picking up the empty bowls and cutlery from the floor. Mark had been bored enough to stack them up, so it was an easy task for his captor to collect the items and place them on the tray.

“If it were a good afternoon, I would be at home doing homework,” Mark snapped.

i can never promise you tomorrow

“Watch your tone,” his captor said. “I could kill you if I wanted to.”

“They’d find you,” Mark said, but he wasn’t very sure that they would.

“I don’t need to set my hands on you to drive you crazy. In fact, you’re already halfway there,” the silhouette sneered, and Mark could hear the contempt in their voice. He shuddered at the thought of going crazy, knowing that the boredom would surely drive him to do things he never would if he were in the right frame of mind.

“You should show me your face.” It was a weak attempt, but Mark didn’t want to hear anymore about his future loss of sanity, and he wanted to at least be able to identify the culprit if he ever got out alive.

“You’re changing the topic. And I don’t think I will,” the captor said. They grabbed the back of Mark’s chair and forcefully turned him around, facing him away from the door as their footsteps retreated out of the confines of the cell.

Later, the clang of a metal tray on the ground informed Mark that his food and water had been replaced, and he found that it had come with a chamber pot.

‘cause i have yet to learn how not to be his

Chenle’s hand traced lazy circles over your back until you turned to face him, legs intertwined in his.

“How are you- what do you think of the… y’know, the Mark situation?” He asked hesitantly. It was crossing some boundaries, that was for sure. Your and his relationship was meant to be free from emotional baggage, romantic gestures, and only meant as a way of comfort for both of you.

But at the end of the day, Chenle and you had dated once. Even if you had hated him for a while after the breakup, and he had ignored you for a good couple of months, he did still care about you, although he didn’t know how to—or whether he should—show it.

“I’m dealing with it,” you responded curtly. The truth was, it hurt more than it should. You were being investigated by the police, and when they found the last texts you had sent to him, it didn’t help your case much. The best you could do was to defend yourself, telling them that you had really only been in a bad place and wanted a friend to comfort you.

What they forgot was that he was still your best friend, and even if you didn’t love him back the way he loved you, he was still important to you. You didn’t want him to come to any harm, though it might seem differently to some.

You were, after all, vice-president on the student council. Now that Mark was incapacitated, you were the acting president. Besides, Mark’s crush on you had never been a secret, and half the student body thought that you had taken advantage of his crush on you to get rid of him.

His parents were the most worried, and you could barely look them in the eyes, knowing that you might have been the reason that Mark was missing. They didn’t suspect you, fully trusting you as Mark’s friend, but you didn’t want to let them down if the police found that you had led the kidnapper to Mark.

Mark’s exposed identity was also an issue. You and his parents had known since he decided to create an image for himself, but he had always wanted to keep it private for two reasons: he believed that good deeds did not need to be rewarded, and he was shy.

He didn’t want people to think of him differently because he was a “hero”. You admired him for that, but you also hated him for it. That he could be so noble and righteous, and you hated the jealousy you felt when you saw him walking around school and waving at everyone.

Superhero student council president Mark, who was only missing a lover in his otherwise perfect life.

this city will surely burn if we keep this as it is

Riize Highschool has been set on fire. 5 bodies have been recovered, and the number of injured individuals is 36 and counting. Authorities are working with the school to investigate the source of the fire. It is suspected to have been an arson attempt.

Mark’s mind ran wild with questions. Who could have tried to set the school on fire? Why? What was going on in the world, and why had his “replacement” not done anything about it?

His hands itched for something to do. The cell seemed to grow smaller by the day, the space constraining him and shutting him in. If he couldn’t escape soon, he would explode, and all the parts of him he’d tried hard to keep hidden would be on display for all to see.

He tried to pull his legs from the metal chains strapping him down for the hundredth time, pushing away from the back of the chair until he lost his balance and fell face-flat on the floor.

Blood dripped from his lips from where his teeth had torn skin, and he tried to push himself up from the floor. But the exhaustion and the weight of the chair on his back combined made it difficult, and his arms quivered from the effort.

He lay on the ground, breathing unsteady as he wondered if it was really better to be left in there alive or to leave the world peacefully.

i'd give anything to stop time

Mark missed being able to walk. He missed the sensation of sun on his face, of light reaching his eyes, he missed the freedom of not being trapped in isolated boredom the whole day. He missed his family and his friends, and most importantly, you.

He missed the curve of your neck and the warmth of you when you leaned into him on a cold day. He missed the way your waist felt in his on the rare occasions you let him hold you, missed your smile when you laughed at a silly joke on your phone.

He missed the way your face lit up when you saw him, missed sending you texts between classes, he missed everything about you. And he realised that lately, you hadn’t even felt like friends anymore.

Mark. You have fifteen minutes to leave this cell. You have been given all you need to leave, and I suggest you do it quickly.

Oh, by the way, your beloved Y/n is also trapped here. If you don't rescue them and leave in time, you can imagine what will happen.

Mark couldn’t tell what was going on in the cell, but it seemed to him that he could smell gasoline and smoke. His head whipped towards the door, seeing a flash of silver in his peripheral vision. A pair of wire cutters lay on the floor near the door of the cell, and he lunged for it, hands shaking as he tried to cut through his chains.

It was hard work, and his arms were tired and sore, and he struggled as he tried to free himself. When the second chain finally snapped, he dropped the wire cutters on the floor as he leaned back, spent.

But the reminder of you in danger spurred him on. He stood up shakily, fumbling for the key on the floor, and his trembling fingers only made it more difficult to unlock the door. As soon as he did, he stepped out into the hallway.

Smoke drifted in slowly, illuminated by the lights along the corridor. He couldn’t tell where it was coming from, but it was getting thicker by the minute.

“Y/n!” He yelled, voice hoarse from dehydration and misuse, desperately hoping that you would answer.

He almost collapsed from relief when he heard your voice. “Mark?”

“I'm coming! Please just keep talking, okay?”

“Okay.”

He ran down the hallways, your voice keeping him company as he searched for you.

“I miss you. I’m tired. I want to go home. Mark, we’ve all been worried sick while you were gone. I hate the responsibility you shoulder even more now that I know what it feels like, and I can’t believe you had to go through all of that. You’re insane for holding out for this long and I’m so glad you’re alive. Most of all, I miss every part of you. I’d give anything to have you back.”

“You sure about that?” The proximity of Mark’s voice filled you with relief. You turned towards the sound of his voice, and the blindfold over your eyes was the last barrier before you got to see him again. You heard the creaking of the door hinge and felt Mark’s hands land on your shoulders before he wrapped you into a hug.

As soon as he removed your blindfold, you were taken aback by how exhausted he looked. Dark circles were prominent under his eyes, his face gaunt and the cheekbones that used to be covered in a soft layer of fat seemed like a thin layer of skin over bone. His body, which used to seem taller and bigger to you just a week ago, had grown skinnier. He wasn’t taller, but somehow his body proportions looked off. He was smaller, taking up less space.

The outgoing, cheerful, popular Mark was gone — he had been replaced by someone a little awkward and unsure of himself, having grown used to living in fear.

You were in no place to comment on his appearance, however. Neither of you were in great shape; you were trussed up and your wrists were red from struggling against your bonds. Your ankles were bound tightly with rope, and it was clear to Mark that you had not been meant to stay there for long.

“We have to get out of here.”

“Yeah, no shit. Do you have a map or something? What’re you gonna do, navigate us out of here?” You were taken aback by Mark’s tone, and hurriedly amended your statement.

“I know there’s something in this room that you’re supposed to take. I was told that I would be able to get us out. Can you search the room?”

Mark scanned the room quickly before his eyes landed on you. Without a word, he knelt down in front of you, searching your pockets thoroughly. Your jeans pockets were empty, but there were a few surprises hidden in the thick folds of your hoodie.

“Got it,” he said triumphantly. He opened up his hand, and in his palm lay a few crucial items. His phone, car keys, and a sticky note.

“These are my car keys… how?” While Mark looked between his car keys and his phone, the gears in his mind whirring as he wondered how it could be, you snatched the sticky note from his hand and read the message aloud.

“Drive home, and never come back. Your car is outside. Leave.” The note ended on that threatening note, messy handwriting trailing off into a scrawl scratched across the page. Smoke drifted into the cell and you grabbed Mark’s hand.

“Run!”

As if on command, you saw the pathway lighting up. At the end of the corridor, a door opened up into light and with it, freedom. You ran toward it, the fire lapping at your heels. Although it hadn’t touched you, you could feel the blistering heat of it on your back, and the first thing you could think to do was flee.

The signs of freedom continued to greet you in the form of Mark’s car, and you ran over to the driver’s side while he unlocked the doors.

and drive around anaheim at sun down

Mark was blinking furiously, shielding his eyes from the sun with one hand while you sped off, unused to the influx of light. Luckily, you hadn’t been in darkness for long, so you adjusted quickly enough to be able to drive safely.

You sat in silence like that for a while, and Mark leaned across to stare at the building, watching it go up into flames.

You said nothing as you turned on the highway, heading towards Anaheim. It was your hometown, and though it was a little out of the way, at least no one you knew would be there. For the time being, both of you needed some peace and quiet.

When the main road branched off, you took the first exit, finding yourselves next to a grass field. You shifted the car into reverse, parking along the side of the road and turning towards Mark.

“C’mon,” you gestured to him over your shoulder and went outside the car, feet sinking into the ground as you laid back onto the grass.

The sun had set on the drive there, and you could see the moon peeking out from behind the clouds, the small visible crescent shyly waving at you. You grinned back in response and felt Mark plop down next to you, one of his arms snaking under your neck and settling on your shoulder.

to teach my mind to put you first

Even if it was Mark’s hands around you, all you could think of was Chenle’s lips on yours and his hands in your hair, and not a single thought your restless mind conjured up was of Mark.

You wanted to rip the grass from the soil and scream into the void. Why couldn’t you just love him back? After all that Mark had done for you, all he had sacrificed for you, all he had given up just for a sliver of your heart? Why did your traitorous heart despise him so?

Perhaps it was because you didn’t deserve him, and despite all the selfish greed you harboured, you knew deep down that Mark deserved so much better.

here you are, a hero

Mark had grown comfortable next to you, breathing quietly as he let loose of every muscle in his body. He could feel every knot filled with tension dissipate, could feel the pain of every cut and bruise on his body finally sinking in, almost as if he’d been too scared to register it.

"Mark-"

"Y/n-"

"You go first."

"No, you."

“I want to kiss you” was his confession, blurted out like a bad choice from the depths of his subconscious, said aloud before he even had time to think it through.

“I’ll try hard not to make this feeling a crime,” he said as he cupped your face in his hands and kissed you tenderly, tears falling silently down his cheeks.

You knew you were only putting salt on the wound when you kissed him back, claiming the parts of his heart you had known were yours all along. You knew he liked you, and you hated hurting him but you never wanted to lie to him. You didn’t want Mark to think you loved him when you didn’t. Though you’d done so much to him, you didn’t ever want Mark to have his heart broken by someone who told him they loved him when they didn’t.

Not with all of their heart, at least. You did love Mark, platonically, but the important parts he wanted were the ones he couldn’t have, the ones that belonged to someone else.

You could feel Mark’s sadness piercing through your heart, his tears saltier than the dead sea. He was so genuine, so raw with his hurt as he kissed you, you almost caved and told him you could give up on Chenle. Almost.

But you couldn’t- you couldn’t do that to him.

you wanna be my new home

He pulled away, and as you stared at him, the pale yellow glow that emanated from him seemed to grow brighter before it faded. Mark, your guardian angel, who had fallen from glory and had been reduced to naught but a shadow of his former self. Everything that had made Mark stand out was gone.

And it was all because of you.

You had first started to want to know how to make Mark's webs synthetically when he first used his powers on you for target practice. His webs were long and unwieldy, and uncomfortable to use. You had been curious to see if you could possess those powers too, perhaps better than Mark.

The point where your intentions went from harmless to harmful was when you were about three-quarters of the way through the process. Mark had told you that he had won a scholarship that you had been eyeing.

It had been a tiresome period of jealousy for you, constantly feeling outdone by Mark. Him getting the scholarship you wanted had been the tipping point for you, and you were jealous that it seemed like Mark had the perfect life, while you were always competing with him. Sick and tired of it all, you had decided to give him a taste of his own medicine.

“Your turn,” Mark said, interrupting your thoughts. “What did you want to say?”

“It was me, a week ago, that knocked you out and kidnapped you. I had been planning it since you had gotten that scholarship I had wanted, and by the time I realised that I wasn’t upset with you any more, it was too late. You had been gone for 3 days and I didn’t know how to let you leave without anyone figuring out that it had been me.

“I wanted to come clean, yet I was scared of the repercussions. It took me a few days to come up with a plan to get you to ‘save’ me so you wouldn’t suspect me, and I would burn the place down so no one would ever know.

“I wanted to live your life, Mark. I wanted to know what it was like to have everyone adore you, to be at the top of the world, carefree and loved. I was sick of hiding in your shadow, I wanted to know what it was like to be a hero, to no longer settle for second best.

“But after experiencing it? I don’t think I want that life. It’s not for me. The amount of pressure you must have been under every day of your life is not something I envy. I understand now why everyone admires you. You’re worthy of that, and I’m not.”

Your palms were clammy with sweat, unsure how he would react. “I’m sorry for all I did. I hope now you understand why I would never be worthy of your love. And I hope- I hope that you won’t love me anymore in ways I can’t return.”

You didn’t know what you had expected from Mark, but it definitely wasn’t acceptance, much less his forgiveness.

When he said, "It's okay," you looked at him in confusion. What was he talking about?

"What you've done is in the past. We're both here now, aren't we?" At that, you understood. It was because he was Mark Lee, angelic and purer than you could ever hope to be, with a heart bigger than the universe. Only he would be able to forgive you after everything you had done. You nodded, and when you stood it felt like your feet were weightless against the cotton candy clouds soft under your feet.

but baby, let up

By then it was getting late, and the sun was starting to set. Mark had been silent for a while, and though it worried you, you had other concerns. The most important one at the moment was how you were going to get back home, because you were still stuck on a little road in Anaheim when you lived all the way in Fort Irwin.

It was late at night and Mark’s phone was dead, so you handed him your phone to ask him to navigate. It was an unfamiliar place and you couldn’t wait to be back in the comfort of your home, and you wanted to get Mark back to his parents as soon as possible.

Deep down, maybe you wanted to prove that their trust in you wasn’t misplaced, wasn’t unwarranted. But when you slipped your phone into Mark’s hand, it was freezing cold, and when you turned to look at him, it sent shivers down your spine.

“Mark?” He disappeared before your eyes with a sad smile, fading into nothingness while you grasped at him in a panic, refusing to believe that he wasn’t real. Your attempts were all futile as your fingers met with cold air until all that was left of Mark was your memories and regret.

i won't ever recognize these roads

You sped back after that, unsettled and afraid. If you hadn’t saved Mark, then your guilty conscience wasn’t cleared after all. How long had you been hallucinating him? Had Mark ever been real, or was he simply a figment of your imagination? How much of your reality could you trust?

Your foot on the accelerator never let up, speeding across the highway with a sinking feeling in your stomach. If Mark was real all along, and you had kidnapped him, but he wasn’t there with you, then there could only be one possibility…

'cause i am lost, but not in you

“Chenle,” you managed breathlessly while Chenle looked at you in horror. He was dressed in pajamas, as if he had been about to sleep, and you knew you were a mess.

Your wrists were red from struggling against the bonds that you had tied for yourself, an effort to make your kidnapping look real to Mark. Parts of your hair had been singed in the fire, and you smelt strongly of smoke and sweat. Your clothes were stained brown from the wet soil of the grass fields, and your shoes were falling apart.

“I think I killed him.” You wished the revelation would hurt, but Chenle slamming his door in your face hurt you more. You sank to your feet, defeated, back against his door as you sighed.

Perhaps it would be better if you ceased to exist, too. At least in hell you would get the punishment you deserved.

epilogue.

The sky burns bright like ochre, burnt umber streaks like autumn. As if on cue, as the coffins are lowered side-by-side into the earth, thunder rumbles across the sky. The sky weeps as if haunted by memories, harbouring the guilt of the murderer and the pain of their victim.

The land sings its heart out, crickets chirping and nightingales drifting by as the sky darkens. Chenle tightens his grip around the chrysanthemums in his hand as he watches the disfigured silhouettes descend.

He doesn’t know what to do. Mark Lee had been a friend of his. Granted, not a close one, but a friend nonetheless. And to think that his fuck-buddy had killed him in cold blood was a burden he wasn’t sure he wanted to bear.

He breathes in and sighs. Even if he loved you, it was too late to change the course of things. All that had happened would have happened some way or other, and all he could do was try to right things in his own way.

Chenle watches on in silence as the families of the bereaved pay their respects. He’s hidden under the shelter of the umbrella, drawn to his eye-line so no one can make eye contact with him. He observes silently as the families mourn their loved ones, not knowing that the two best friends hadn’t been kidnapped, but that one had killed the other.

When you had showed up at his door, Chenle had the fright of his life. Your pants were dotted with blood, tears streaming down your cheeks. When he heard what you had done to Mark, his first instinct was to deny it. He slammed the door in your face, head spinning, stunned by your confession.

There was nothing else he could have done.

He could not have stopped you, headstrong as you were, heading back the entire way to Mark’s deathbed, where you hugged him tightly as flames enveloped you, burning away all traces of your guilt.

When the authorities found you a day later, the forensics seemed to match up to logic—the unknown killer had killed both of you, burned you to erase their footsteps, and you two had huddled together in fear during your last moments.

He kneels to the ground and weeps with the sky, umbrella dropping to the side as the downpour drenched him and the earth as if they were one. His sorrow would melt into the soil if it could, but as it could not, it remained heavy in his heart.

Onlookers would see a grieving boyfriend, crying for his lover and friend. It was not far from the truth, but nothing they thought would come close to what had really happened to the unhappy dead.

If only they knew the truth.

fin.

if you liked it, REBLOG it.

[mymindcreatedthis]

So people have been sending me requests. I love the requests but I need to make this post because people are sending me some requests for players I don’t write for everyone else is fair game. I do not write fan fics for the following:

1. Korbin Albert

2. Megan Rapinoe

3. Ashlyn Harris

4. Ali Krieger

5. Alisha Lehmann

6. Hope Solo

7. Carli Loyd

[farewell-persephone]

more new-to-me movies I've enjoyed recently:

1. The Villainess (2017 writ./dir. Jung Byung-gil, writ. Jung Byeong-sik). This film dares to ask, "What if John Wick were a Korean lady with more than a few shades of Kill Bill, plus some Hitman thrown in for good measure?" and the answer is, "It would be pretty fucking sick, that's what." The titular "villainess" Sook-hee gets run through the wringer; it's impossible not to root for her when the movie lets her go apeshit about it.

2. The Green Knight (2021, writ./dir. David Lowery). "Is this really all there is?"

"What else ought there be?"

3. In Bruges (2008, writ./dir. Martin McDonagh). Pitch-black Irish hitman comedy with one of the nastier deaths I've seen in a movie. "Fuck, man, maybe that's what hell is. The entire rest of eternity spent in fuckin' Bruges."

4. Burn After Reading (2008, writ./dir. Joel & Ethan Coen). Another Coen black comedy in which no one knows what's going on and everyone is being distinctly uncool about it. Probably the most hilarious instance of someone getting shot in the face that I've ever seen. Don't think too hard about it all.

5. Heathers (1989, writ. Daniel Waters, dir. Michael Lehmann). Yet another black comedy. All the childishness, abuse, and indignities of ephemeral 80s teen movie relationships satirized to murderous levels. J.D. is fun to hate, I'll give him that.

[broken-mirrors-binding-magic]

FicTober: Day 9

Prompt #9: "I wouldn't do that if I were you." Original Fiction: Broken Mirrors Series Rating: T Warnings: Implied abuse

Characters: Gilbert Lehmann, Alice Sweeney, Firmino Amello Ships: N/A

Gilbert eyed the new boy from across the room, he could tell that he didn’t want to be here. He knew the other kingdoms didn’t have the same tie to their royals as the Sweeney and Lehmann of Ephariel did, but he honestly didn’t understand it until he started following Alice to the other kingdoms on her trips to royal gatherings. He couldn’t believe that some of the other royal families treated their servant clans as expendable toys to be used, abused and tossed away. His fists clenched when he recalled the look on Alice’s face when the boy was ‘gifted’ to her in the cage that still sat in the room with him. The boy hadn’t said much outside of telling Alice and him to stay away from him, and honestly, it was getting on his nerves. He hated watching how upset Alice looked every time she tried to help the boy only to receive an insult thrown at her.

His eyes widened when he watched the boy try to swing at Alice, “Hey, I wouldn’t do that if I were you! She might be nice, but I’m not! You hurt her and I’ll break your arm!”

Gilbert kept his eyes on the boy but crossed his arms when Alice waved him off, “Gil, relax. He’s new and scared. I don’t know what they did to him in Atadell, but he’s entitled to not trust me and see me as a new enemy. If it’ll make him less scared to be able to take a swing, so be it.”

“I’m your guard, I’m not going to le-”

Alice rolled her eyes, walking by him, “Gilbert, I’m not asking. Now, I’m going to see what I can grab from the kitchen, keep him company.”

Before Alice slipped out the door, she quickly shot him a glare, “And be nice, or else we won’t have our weekly sleepover!”

A snort caught his attention as the boy finally glared at him, “What are you, her dog?”

Gilbert returned his glare, puffing out his chest, “No, I’m her best friend! And her personal guard! I’ll be head of the royal guard one day!”

He frowned as the boy rolled his eyes, “So you’re a glorified show pony until she gets bored of you.”

“Don’t talk about her like that! I don’t know what your problem is! She’s done nothing but be nice to you!”

Gilbert felt his anger rise when the boy waved him off, “She’s a royal, no different than any other. She’ll brand me and then I’ll be just another toy until I’m not useful anymore. You’re not special because you’re higher on the pecking order of servants here.”

“I choose to serve her! It’s the highest honour in my family to be the personal guard to the heirs of the Sweeney Clan! Even before they became the rulers of Ephariel!”

The boy scoffed again, “So you’re from a long line of pets.”

That was the last thing Gilbert needed to hear before he lunged at the boy, only to be pulled by the back of his shirt.

“Gilbert! I said be nice! Go stand outside while I get him settled into his room!”

Gilbert gave Alice a pleading look, he hated disappointing her, but turned a quick glare at the new boy, only stopping when Alice gently pushed him out of the room.

[wolfsbane-archive]

Book Reviews with Elvira!

Clement told me the other day that he's called some Ravissant friends in Bern who have mailed us volumes four and five! They don't have the other volumes we're missing, so he is still searching so that I can read as many of them as I can. The books should come next week, so I will read something else in the mean time. I'm not sure what, though!

Journal d'une Sorcière, Volume Trois

The third journal in the series covers Angèle Chausson's life from 1801 to 1815. It does cover somewhat Napoleon, and touches more on the French Revolution than the previous book, despite being notes from afterwards, while the previous book covers the time span of the Revolution. Like the other two books, it includes a great many drawings and diagrams. It also includes notes from an interview she did of Adelaide Lehmann!! The two are very good friends now, but they first met through Isolde Vanderwolven.

This book also discusses in detail the occurrences of Rosenacht (something I believe Clement wants to explain himself, either in a post or a letter). The interview describes the occurrences at Schakal-Burg up to that night, including open threats to Adelaide and her brother from Theobald and... the other one. I am sorry. I do not like to speak or even write his name (a topic for another time). But it is very interesting to hear what caused Rosenacht, especially when the only discussion of it in most vampire circles is very often lies made up by Arnulf and Theobald. Adelaide states very clearly that it was not the work of vampire hunters. She is very brave for that.

I very much enjoyed this book. it got more into the politics of magic and vampirism than previous books, a trend I was told by Clement continues in later volumes. Angèle Chausson, Adelaide Lehmann, and the other Ravissants are all very politically active. They were actually the first to speak up for me, despite most not even being allowed inside Schakal-Burg. The only Vanderwolven who will talk to them is Isolde, who very much enjoys the company of her sister-in-law. Elsebeth I have been told is much too nervous around Adleaide for unclear reasons.

The rating for Journal, Volume Trois is going to be a 9 out of 10 teeth. It was slightly less detailed in terms of the magic side of things than the previous book, but Angèle offers many many good insights into vampiric politics.

I am not sure what books I should read for the time being. Clement has just gotten a copy of the new book So You Want to Raise a Human by Neil Lawrence and Andromeda Lioncourt, but Jihei's book The Invisible Twilight, about the vampire Goto Taisei has been sitting on my nightstand waiting to be read for several months. I would also like to read Rosenacht by Adelaide Lehmann. Which one do you all think I should read? Or should I just wait for my books to get here?

Hugs!!

Elvira

[ask-sebastian]

Levels and Pizza are a must for me but I've been going through Garrix, Avicii and Daft Punk for the past 10 minutes trying to decide what else, so I've given up.

Take four, for now.

And because I can't help it

[ll-underestimated-ll]

Handwriting Comparison/Details of the Gang

Prince Lehmann

Leo's personal writing tends to be small quick, cursive, letters blurring together without t's crossed and i's dotted in order to save space - habits from times of limited paper and ink carried forward to make sure if he needs to burn it then it won't take long. If he's the only one reading it then it needs not be legible and he can even fall back on a bit of 16th/17th secretary script within it.

His writing outside of that changes completely depending on who he's writing to and the context he's contacting them under. Formal social letters are typically written with a fountain pen and narrow round-hand cursive with minimal flourish - as he attempts to put across a sense of authority, and professionalism while maximising legibility regardless of reader. Simultaneously precise yet flowing. Although, those to know him well have picked up that his mood upon writing such correspondence can be accessed from the flick of the descending part of letters. Sometimes intentionally but also subconsciously the last one of a sentence will be more harsh, more sharp, in indication of a foul mood.

Memo's written with the intent of providing instruction to others who are outside of his inner circle, and therefore not to be trusted to understand a tidier form of his personal handwriting tend to get written in all capitals. This was not always the case however and has been a more modern change of practice for him.

Beyond this he will change up how he writes to fit expectations of an audience.

Danny / Fish

Danny writes in what to some would appear a very neat cursive, and to others - a very lazy scrawl. He learned to write from a mix of his time at a workhouse and from Leo. Both of which had an influence on him towards writing a touch small and condensed - something that was then compounded on by his writing surfaces often being quite small. He learned both pitman and gregg shorthand initially for taking notes when eavesdropping and as a result peppers it into his writing in place of words. (He prefers gregg since he doesn't have to concern himself with line thickness and it flows more similarly to the rest of the cursive he's writing in). This is especially prevalent if he doesn't know how to properly spell a word.

When he writes something he wants to make sure someone else can read he makes a conscious effort to make his lettering larger and more legible - but it still remains in cursive.

Wart

Has been improving since he woke up due to Leo wrangling him and Lachlan into tutoring from a ghoul! (So, over the last 3 years).

If you get him to write out by hand I think he's got that child's cursive going on. Where the letters are all rather large and evenly spaced as he's having to deliberately think about what he's putting down still and can't just do it on instinct. It's simply not something he has an interest in utilizing if it's not writing insults on walls in blood. In which case he is going with all capitals as it easiest to do.

Lachlan

Has improved far quicker than Wart. Partially because computers hate him so if he wants to write up notes or messages it's far easier to do by hand. He now writes with a very slanted cursive where the ascenders and descenders of letters are far longer than the main body and interfere with the lines both above and below. He thinks it looks very pretty. (Wart fucking hates it passion because it makes reading it when he's asked to type things very difficult.)

[haljathefangirlcat]

Nibelungensage (& Adjacent) Music Masterpost

Or, what happens when you already have a full (if loosely-based) opera cycle to listen to and, in the great tradition of objectively-flawed-but-still-iconic animated classics from your childhood, still ask, "Thank you. But what else?"

Part 1 of Hopefully At Least More Than One to come. Genres range from rock/metal to folk to techno to Stuff I Wouldn't Really Know How To Classify. Can't guarantee all of the songs listed here will be to your taste (after all, not all of them are to my taste, either) but some are, imho, real bangers.

Nibelungenlied (full album) - German Oak

The Song of the Nibelungs (full album) - Wotan

Die Nibelungen (full album) - Årabrot

Drachenblut - (full album) Mystic Circle

H​ô​rt m​î​n Sagen (full album) - Angur

Wigant (full album) - Stainless Steel

Nibelung (full album) - Siegfried

Balmung - Siegfried

Rheingold - Siegfried

Siegfried - Siegfried

Drachenherz - Siegfried

Die Treuewacht - Siegfried

Am Isenstein - Siegfried

Hagen Von Tronje - Siegfried

Hagen the Cruel - White Skull

Kriemhild Story - White Skull

The Killing Queen - White Skull

The Terrible Slaughter - White Skull

Etzel - White Skull

Attle and Bleda - White Skull

Sigurdlied - Faun

Brynhilds Lied - Faun

Brynhildur Táttur - Faun

Dragon - Corpsepain

Hagen Von Tronje - Corpsepain

Nibelungenlied - Wergeld

Der Ring des Nibelungen - E Nomine

Nibelungen - Nico

Siegfrieds Song - Julian Lehmann

SGFRD Dragonslayer - Feuerschwanz

Brunhild - Saltatio Mortis

Brunhilda - Dziewanna

Hagen Von Tronje - Saxorior

Das Hildebrandslied Teil 1 - Menhir

Das Hildebrandslied Teil 2 - Menhir

Hildebrandslied - Transit

[delfiore]

Do you write for any of these

Deyna castellanos

Vicky losada

Laia aleixandri

Aitana bonmati

Jana fernandez

Bruna vilamala

Nuria rabano

Lea schuller

Klara buhl

Katrina gorry

Charli grant

Kyra Cooney-cross

Courtney nevin

Chloe logarzo

Chloe kelly

Alex chidiac

Gulia gwinn

Sarah zardrasil

Laura feirsinger

Marie hobinger

Missy bo Kearns

Sofie lundergaard

Alisha lehmann

Emily fox

Trinity rodman

Ashley Sanchez

Sophia smith

i love rodman and smith so maaaaaybe? everyone else i'm still getting to know.

i just recently wrote a fic for aitana so check that out if you'd like!

[silverfoxlou]

Too Many Songs, Not Enough Hits: Pop Music Is Struggling to Create New Stars

Execs say that a deluge of new music — and the difficulty of influencing TikTok's algorithm — has made building an audience harder than ever for new acts.

M Muni Long’s “Hrs & Hrs” is giddy and impassioned, a contemporary R&B single built on the sturdy framework of classic soul ballads. Muni Long released the track last year on her own label, Supergiant, and it climbed to No. 16 on the Billboard Hot 100 at the end of January, giving the singer her first hit and an opportunity to partner with Def Jam.

There’s a sense around the music industry right now — from managers to marketers to A&R executives — that stories like Muni Long’s are few and far between in 2022. “It’s a bigger and more level playing field, and everything is getting lost,” says Chris Anokute, who co-manages Muni Long. “Everyone’s an artist, but almost nobody’s breaking.”

There are many ways to judge — and argue over — what “breaking” means today; label executives tend to use streaming numbers as a barometer, while most managers prefer to look at ticket sales. But the number of new acts vaulting into the top 10 of the Hot 100 has declined precipitously in the last few years. From 2001 to 2004, over 30 first-timers cracked the top 10 annually. In 2019, however, only 15 first-timers reached the top 10, and 2021 had the lowest number of new entrants this millennium: just 13.

The drought has some managers and label executives worried. “All of my industry peers are having this conversation: What’s next?” Anokute says. Others use more colorful language to describe the current landscape. It’s “abysmal,” according to one A&R executive turned manager. “The market’s dry as fuck,” declares a veteran major-label A&R executive who requested anonymity to speak candidly. “There’s less and less shit working. The front-line label business, signing new artists, is in trouble.” “I can honestly say right now that nobody — nobody — knows what’s going on,” another longtime major-label A&R says.

Insiders have plenty of theories about why the market for new artists has become more difficult. Chief among them: a deluge of new music. It has become so easy for aspiring artists to release tracks that songs are hitting streaming services by the hard drive-full, making it harder for any single tune to stand out amid the glut. “Due to the sheer number of things coming out, songs that were shoo-ins for being hits five to 10 years ago now have to fight to see daylight,” says veteran producer Warren “Oak” Felder (Usher, Demi Lovato). Even the biggest record companies are taking notice — “If there are 80,000 tracks a day being uploaded on major [digital service providers], then [major-label] market share is going to be diluted by default,” Sony Music Group chairman Rob Stringer told investors this summer.

In addition, the reach and influence of once-powerful mediums like radio and late-night TV have also declined. (“A No. 1 radio song doesn’t mean fuck anymore,” laments one longtime A&R executive.) Managers say that even marquee streaming playlists don’t have the commercial oomph they had just a few years ago. (“Now, just because you’re in a top 10 slot on a big Spotify playlist, it doesn’t mean your audience is growing,” one manager says.)

The rise of TikTok has complicated matters, too. The platform has become a hit-maker — helping Em Beihold’s “Numb Little Bug” and Nicky Youre’s “Sunroof” climb the charts, for example — but it’s an unpredictable marketing tool, less susceptible to manipulation and less responsive to star power than other platforms. Engineering a viral moment is akin to walking into a corner store and emerging with a winning lottery ticket. “There doesn’t seem to be any rhyme or reason to what breaks there,” says Justin Lehmann, who manages Aminé and Khai Dreams, among others. “And without breaking there, it’s difficult to say what else can cause a big moment to happen for anybody.”

Taken together, all these factors mean that seizing — and then holding — the attention of the music-loving masses is that much more challenging. “It used to be that you released an album, got Rolling Stone to review it, got on tour, got on late-night TV, and that was how you broke,” says one senior executive at a major label. Even if luck was a factor, the path was clear. “It was four or five things. Now you need four or five things a week, or at least a month, or else your streams don’t go up.”

“These days, the recipe to break is like 45 ingredients long,” says Nick Stern, a longtime manager (Metric, Djo). “It’s harder than ever to be a new artist.”

Some acts are still able to connect on a wide scale. This year, music executives point to Steve Lacy’s bright yet mopey “Bad Habit,” which recently topped the Hot 100, as evidence that the music industry can still create big moments for new artists. (Though Lacy’s career began seven years ago, with The Internet, and his first solo album in 2019 had already earned him a Grammy Award nomination.) Others brought up the heart-on-sleeve Americana sensation Zach Bryan, whose robust streaming numbers helped drive his triple-album major-label debut to No. 1 on Billboard’s Top Country Albums chart; he has doubled the size of his headlining spots from 6,000- to 15,000-capacity venues since May.

Jonathan Daniel, founder of Crush Management (Sia, Lorde, Panic! at the Disco), believes that characterizing the current music industry as “abysmal” for new artists is “a little crazy.” Still, he acknowledges that “it feels more difficult to break without a true mainstream. Everybody’s feed is siloed, and in a way, that’s awesome — you have unlimited choice. But it makes it harder for something to be mainstream.”

Many of the sources who spoke for this story believe the music business needs to reposition itself to adjust to this new reality. “If you take away stars, major labels have to shift their thing,” Daniel says. “They’ve always been a filter for that. If you remove that — say there are no stars and everyone has their own cult followings — what does the major label do?”

It appears that the majors have already been trying to answer this question. Stephen Cooper, Warner Music Group’s outgoing CEO, told a conference in September that the major had “reduce[d] our dependency on superstars” and instead prioritized building relationships with “artists at the beginning of their career.” Speaking with investors this summer, Stringer emphasized that Sony Music’s purchase of the distributor AWAL in 2021, combined with Sony’s indie powerhouse The Orchard, will help the major enjoy “a bigger proportion of the net that’s being cast for content.” Universal Music Group has spun its distribution and artist services division, Virgin Music Group, into a stand-alone entity.

But major labels are not the only ones that will need to adapt. “The way people measure success across the board is not correct,” argues Connor Lawrence, co-founder/COO of indify, a platform that helps independent artists find investors in return for a portion of their streaming income.

Lawrence points to the 24-year-old Hojean, whose catalog of wistful, R&B-flecked pop songs is earning around 140,000 streams a day; the singer was recently able to sell out 500-capacity rooms around the country on tour. “He’s not an artist that everyone’s going to know,” Lawrence says. But even if Hojean never becomes a household name, he may still be able to enjoy a “sturdy, solid career” through his recordings.

In the future, the definition of “breaking an artist” may have to shift. “It has become so fragmented where and how people discover music and become fans of something,” says Ben Blackburn, who manages girl in red. “The metric needs to change if you’re going to correctly judge success.”

[lovethelifeyoulive123]

The Rachel Daly/Millie Turner break up rumors are running rampant now😬 word is that Daly is already dating somebody else.

Look Rachel Daly is going to do Rachel Daly things🤷‍♀️ I’m not sure why people are surprised by this. She has a pattern and she’s pretty much sticking to it. Some people are just not built for long term relationships.

That being said my money is still on Alisha Lehmann as the next in line😂😂

[likeohmygodawesome]

Heathers, a 1989 American teen black comedy film written by Daniel Waters and directed by Michael Lehmann, is a cult classic that has stood the test of time. Its dark humor, witty dialogue, and satirical take on high school culture have made it the ultimate 80's movie.

Set in the fictional Westerburg High School, Heathers follows the story of Veronica Sawyer (Winona Ryder), a smart and popular teenager who becomes disillusioned with her clique of friends, all named Heather. The Heathers are the most popular girls in school, but they are also cruel and manipulative, using their status to bully and humiliate their peers. When Veronica meets the rebellious and mysterious JD (Christian Slater), she is drawn into a twisted plot to take down the Heathers and expose the toxic culture of her high school.

One of the reasons why Heathers is the ultimate 80's movie is its depiction of teenage angst and rebellion. The film captures the disillusionment and frustration of a generation of young people who were grappling with issues such as social inequality, consumerism, and the fear of nuclear war. Heathers presents a dark and cynical view of high school culture, where popularity and conformity are valued above all else, and where individuality and nonconformity are punished.

The movie's sharp and witty dialogue is another reason why it has become a cult classic. Daniel Waters' script is full of memorable lines and clever one-liners that have become part of the movie's cultural legacy. Lines like "What's your damage?" and "I love my dead gay son" have become iconic and are still quoted by fans today. The movie's dark humor and satire are also evident in its portrayal of the Heathers, who are depicted as shallow and cruel social climbers who are more concerned with their status than with the feelings of others.

Heathers also has a strong visual style that is quintessentially 80's. The movie's costume design, hair and makeup, and set design all reflect the fashion and aesthetics of the era. The Heathers' signature outfits, with their shoulder pads and bright colors, have become iconic and are still referenced in popular culture today. The film's use of color, particularly its use of red, is also notable and adds to its overall visual impact.

Finally, Heathers is the ultimate 80's movie because it has become a cultural touchstone that continues to resonate with audiences today. The movie's themes of teenage rebellion, nonconformity, and the struggle for individuality are still relevant today.

[the-road-from-calvary]

☕️ + The other Ventrue on Tumblr

I believe my primary thought is that I can certainly feel some relief at the return of Seneschal Motisi to the dash, that perhaps some of my responsibility for representing may be further diffused between us.

Prince Lehmann: I respect Prince Lehmann's ability to hold his domain, his sense of humor, and his childer. Sometimes listening to him can be something of a bitter pill, of course, but that is a often a consequence of speaking to one's elders: just as so often, my words are things the fledglings do not want to hear, there are times I do not wish to hear what he says. I listen, of course - no matter how bitter the pill, the experiences of one's elders are worth hearing, if nothing else.

Seneschal Motisi: As stated above, I am glad for her return. She does, of course, have rather direct authority over my place in the city. I count myself fortunate in that I can find that a positive situation. Obviously, trust is what it is among our kind, but I am comfortable that the bulk of the things I will see myself used for, I will not resent. It is no small thing. I very well could have found myself much more lonely than I did, when I arrived here.

Mr Mczyne: It is gratifying to see him come into his own. Speaking to him does sometimes feel like we are speaking different languages, but it is worth the effort to attempt to ensure that I am not misconstrued when speaking to him - that I do genuinely wish him well. I would not say I am proud of him - it implies some manner of responsibility on my part, and his growth is all his own. But it is gratifying to see nonetheless.

Mr Morel: A newer acquaintance. It is interesting - he is very nearly my contemporary, though he obviously had no diversion similar to my own. A fascinating reminder how paths might diverge when they began at the same time - if not the same point - and a reminder that I am proud of what I have made of myself. I do not yet know what to make of him.

Pemgin Briars: By some definitions, Pemgin Briars would be counted as my closest cousin - however distantly, we share a progenitor to our line. Certainly, I sometimes push her, but it is born primarily of a wish to see her succeed - in whatever ventures those may be. Family feeling is what it is, of course.

I know there are more of us on here than just this - the polls show that often enough. But I do believe this is everyone that I have seen active on my dash in this last week, and I apologize if I forgot anyone.