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ihavemanyhusbands · 1 year

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a different one? okay!

So reader and hannibal are in a pre established relationship (reader knows everything and is happy to help cook) but they feel somethings missing, introducing will who gets aggressivly courted by both of them and thinks he has to choose who he wants but he doesn't, will is somewhat overstimmed/overwhelmed at being the focus of both of them but he loves it

-cat

GOD YES YES YES YES THANK YOU THIS IS JUST SOOOO PERFECT MWAAAA 😘🥹❤️ pls enjoy this was such a delight to write!!!

(thinking this might also go on my AO3 and potentially have a pt 2 🙏🏽😵‍💫)

Minors DNI. Lmk if there’s any warnings I should add!

“Beautiful choice, my love,” Hannibal said as you clipped on the pearl earrings that he’d bought you on a trip to Vienna.

You smiled, holding your hair up and presenting your throat so he could clip a matching pearl necklace around it for you.

“Pairs well with the dress, doesn’t it?” You asked, knowing well he loved you in satin, especially when so much of your back was exposed.

He let his amber eyes rove over you appraisingly, smiling in approval. It was the kind of look that never failed to spark heat inside of you. His fingers ghosted down your spine, and you suppressed a shiver.

“You look ravishing. How could anyone resist a temptation such as you?”

“Hmm, same goes for you, mon cher,” you said, kissing his cheek before turning back to the mirror to make sure everything was in place.

You glanced over at your husband’s reflection as he tried to tie his favorite crimson tie as neatly as possible. You sensed he might be a little nervous, which was pretty rare. Still, you understood why, given you were a little jittery yourself.

That night, you and Hannibal would be hosting a special dinner for a very special guest.

You’d heard plenty about Will Graham – stories of his unique brilliance, his quick wit, and all of his achievements in criminal psychology. More importantly, the flickers of darkness that sometimes broke through his cool demeanor. He had a lot of promise, your husband assured you. It would just require some thorough unraveling.

Seldom was Hannibal truly intrigued by someone, so that only made you more curious about him. The two of you had been happily married for some time now, but neither had ever been opposed to broadening your horizons. Tricky thing was, no one had really been worthy of your interest… until now.

“Here, let me take care of that,” you offered, your hands replacing his. “Is there anything I should expect from tonight?”

“Yet to be seen,” he said, watching your deft fingers at work. “You know you have free rein, right?”

You tilted your head to one side, smoothing his perfectly knotted tie. “Has it ever been any other way? For either of us?”

He chuckled. “Touché.”

A mere half hour later, the doorbell rang. You went to get the wine from the kitchen as Hannibal went to open the door. You could hear the deep timbre of Will’s voice as they approached the dining room, tone low and even.

You emerged from the kitchen moments later. The table was already set, a delectable assortment of food awaiting you. But you felt a different sort of hunger stir at the sight of Will Graham.

He was utterly gorgeous, with all knowing blue eyes, a chiseled jaw and a charming mess of dark brown curls you immediately wanted to run your fingers through. He reminded you of a marble statue, carved with the patient, loving hand of the finest artist.

His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed hard, taking you in as well. Hannibal clocked this too, of course, the ghost of a smirk on his handsome face.

“Will, I’d like you to meet my lovely wife,” Hannibal said as you handed him the wine bottle.

You extended a hand towards him, which he took.

“Pleasure, Mrs. Lecter. I’ve heard much about you,” Will said, pleasantly surprising you with a small smile. He seemed too serious for his own good otherwise, and it gave you a little hope of changing that.

You and Hannibal shared a look, and you smiled as well. “Pleasure’s all mine, Mr. Graham. I, too, have heard wonderful things.”

“Oh? Hannibal speaks highly of me?” Will arched a brow, eyes flicking over to your husband.

“Don’t seem so surprised, Will,” Hannibal said as he opened the wine bottle. “Have I not praised you in person as well?”

Will pulled out your chair for you, his eyes now snagging on all the exposed skin of your back. He seemed not to know how to respond to Hannibal’s words, much less his compliments.

“Tell us, Mr. Graham,” you prompted as you sat down, tilting your head back to look up at him. “Are you hungry?”

“Starving,” he said, taking his seat across from you. “And you can call me Will.”

“Marvelous. Then you can call me by name, too.”

Hannibal served the two of you before serving himself. The three of you clinked glasses in a toast before digging into the food.

You and Hannibal had made Osso Bucco with saffron-scented risotto, one of your favorite dishes. Both of you covertly watched Will for his reaction.

Usually, he was pretty stoic, the changes in his expression very subtle. On his first bite, he exhaled deeply, his eyes closing.

“This is delicious,” he said. “The meat is so tender.”

“You can thank my wife for such an excellent cut. I’ve yet to meet a finer butcher,” Hannibal beamed proudly at you. “I taught her everything myself.”

Will looked mildly impressed, taking a sip of red wine. “And you enjoy it? It can be a rather violent trade.”

You lowered your eyes demurely, a coquettish smile pulling at your lips. “Of course I do. I am no stranger to violence, Will. I spent my summers at my grandparents’ pig farm growing up.”

“Perhaps you’d like a demonstration sometime?” Hannibal chimed in with a mischievous smirk you had the urge to kiss.

“It would be an honor, Mrs. Lecter,” Will said, his gaze never leaving you. “You and your husband have kept me well fed.”

“It’s the least we can do. You are Hannibal’s closest friend, after all,” you said. “Though perhaps you’d like a cooking lesson or two?”

“How could I ever decline such a generous offer?”

“Good,” Hannibal said. “My kitchen is always open to friends, as you know.”

Will shifted in his seat, unused to such attention, especially from two people at once. That didn’t mean he wasn’t enjoying it, though. He looked at you both in turn, a shadow crossing his features momentarily. You understood how you must have seemed in that moment – two hungry wolves cornering a shuddering lamb. Or perhaps you were recognizing another wolf in sheep’s clothing.

After dinner, the three of you moved to the living room for a nice chat in front of the fireplace. You sat on the chaise, crossing your legs. Through the slit in your dress, Will caught a glimpse of the dagger you kept strapped to your thigh.

You trailed his gaze, unsheathing it and offering it to him hilt first. His nostrils flared at your boldness, lips thinning a little.

“His wedding gift to me,” you said, smiling adoringly at your husband. “Isn’t it beautiful?”

Will nodded, seeing his reflection on the fine blade. “Fitting of his bride.”

“You may use it whenever you like.” There was a not-so-subtle implication in your tone and in the dark gleam in your eye that made his cheeks color just barely.

Oh, you must have really gotten to him then. Hannibal’s smirk at the realization was positively feline, especially when Will looked to him as if for confirmation – or perhaps permission?

“Beauty is meant to be shared, isn’t it?” Hannibal said. “You know that better than most, Will.”

The beautiful man before you swallowed hard once more, squirming deliciously in his seat. His want was a living thing, crackling like fire beneath his skin. The best part was not that it was reciprocated, but that he wouldn’t have to choose between the two of you.

He recognized this as a gift.

“Yes, so you’ve shown me.” He handed the dagger back to you, his palm covering yours in what seemed like a promise. “I might just have to find the occasion for it. Perhaps Hannibal could give me some pointers.”

His restraint was admirable, truly. You couldn’t wait to unveil what was hiding under all that control. Your hunger yawned further open, reflected in your eyes. Hannibal squeezed your shoulder, and you rested your head against his arm.

“My, well something tells me we will all get along just splendidly.”

#hannibal lecter x fem!reader #will graham x fem!reader #will graham x hannibal lecter x reader #minors dni #hannibal fanfiction #hannibal blurb #will graham x reader #hannibal lecter x reader

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scart-t · 10 months

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"Bound by Blood: Diluc, Kaeya, and the Protective Sibling Trio"

Pairings: Diluc x Kaeya x Reader (platonic)

In the bustling city of Mondstadt, three siblings named Diluc, Kaeya, and Y/n shared a unique bond. Diluc, the eldest, carried himself with an air of seriousness and had fiery crimson hair that matched his determined nature. Kaeya, the middle sibling, possessed a mischievous charm, accentuated by his striking silver hair. Y/n, the youngest, had gentle eyes and a warm smile that brightened the lives of their siblings.

Together, the trio faced life's challenges, exploring the corners of Mondstadt and relying on each other for support. They ventured on thrilling adventures, overcoming various obstacles as a team, and creating cherished memories along the way.

One evening, as they gathered around the family table, Y/n couldn't contain their excitement any longer. "Guess what, brothers? I have someone special in my life. I've found a significant other!"

Diluc and Kaeya exchanged glances, their protective instincts immediately kicking in. They had always been watchful over Y/n, shielding them from harm and ensuring their happiness. The thought of their youngest sibling being vulnerable in matters of the heart stirred a mix of concern and curiosity within them.

Diluc's voice carried a note of caution as he spoke, "Y/n, it's important to be careful when it comes to matters of the heart. We don't want you to get hurt."

Kaeya leaned forward, his gaze fixated on Y/n, eager to learn more. "Tell us about this person, Y/n. We want to ensure they are worthy of your affection."

Y/n could sense the genuine concern in their siblings' words and expressions. With a reassuring smile, they replied, "I understand your worries, but there's no need to be overly concerned. This person is kind, caring, and brings me immense happiness. I trust them."

Diluc's stern demeanor softened, replaced by understanding. "If they truly make you happy, Y/n, then we will support your decision. Just promise us that you'll be cautious and keep us informed if anything feels amiss."

Kaeya nodded in agreement, his eyes reflecting brotherly affection. "We're here for you, Y/n. If you ever need our help or advice, don't hesitate to reach out."

Despite their strong bond as siblings, Diluc and Kaeya had always had a complex relationship. Their conflicting personalities and past disagreements often caused tension between them. They were like fire and ice, constantly clashing in their opinions and approaches to life. However, there was one thing that could bring them together: their unwavering love and protectiveness for their younger sibling, Y/n.

Y/n was the bridge between the two brothers, the common ground that they both cherished. No matter how deep their differences ran, when it came to Y/n's well-being and happiness, Diluc and Kaeya set their conflicts aside and united as a formidable force.

If Y/n needed assistance or found themselves in trouble, Diluc's serious and stoic demeanor would soften, and he would set aside his reservations about Kaeya. He recognized that their sibling's safety was paramount, and he would work alongside Kaeya to ensure that Y/n was protected.

Kaeya, too, would put aside his mischievous nature and playful banter with Diluc. He understood the importance of family and would push aside their disagreements to prioritize Y/n's happiness. Deep down, he recognized that their sibling's joy was something they both wanted to safeguard.

It was during these moments of cooperation that Diluc and Kaeya truly showcased their strength as a family. They would pool their skills, knowledge, and resources, combining Diluc's determination and Kaeya's resourcefulness to overcome any obstacle that threatened Y/n's well-being.

Though their interactions might still carry an air of tension, their love for Y/n was a unifying force that would always triumph over their differences. They would set aside their personal disputes and focus on supporting their sibling, knowing that together, they formed an unbreakable trio.

Through their shared efforts, Diluc and Kaeya demonstrated the depths of their love for Y/n. It was a love that transcended their individual struggles and reminded them of the unbreakable ties that bound them as a family.

As time went on, Y/n's presence continued to be the catalyst that brought Diluc and Kaeya closer. Their protective instincts grew stronger, and they learned to appreciate the unique qualities each of them brought to the table. Though they might never see eye to eye on everything, their love for Y/n helped them find common ground and build a stronger sibling bond.

From that moment forward, Diluc and Kaeya embraced their roles as protective older brothers, keeping a watchful eye on Y/n's newfound relationship. They respected Y/n's choice, realizing that love was a part of their sibling's journey. Together, they formed an unbreakable trio, ready to face any challenge life threw their way, and to support one another through every step of the journey.

#genshin impact #genshin imagines #genshin diluc #diluc x reader #diluc ragnivindr x reader #kaeya x reader #genshin kaeya

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dxy-drxxm · 5 months

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SYNOPSIS: Aspiring for perfection will always lead to disappointment.

CW/s: Fairytale based, hurt/no comfort, abstract and not an x reader, bitter ending, impostor syndrome (implied), this can be interpreted but its Furina/Focalors mostly (and my sona iykyk) lmaoooo, this hurts so bad Im sorry yall

In a tale as old as time, there resided a God.

The God that was fond of its lifestyle, and that played a role that it made on its own. Descending down to the land of mortals, it took on a face and decided to see what it's like to live as a normal being.

"Surely being a human won't be hard," the God said, and so it took on the appearance of a tailor, destined to create and tailor outfits in its image.

In their opening, not many came, but one customer often came. This customer does not speak, but they often buy something from the tailor— be it materials, equipment, or even the things they've knitted themselves.

The customer often has a peculiar eye, wearing and donning the ones they bought without much fuss. It's a wonder to the tailor with how they would use it till it was worn to its seams, the colors all putrid from its usage, and yet the many things the tailor can dig into is all witnessed from how they used it so often.

It was clear that the customer they've seen everyday enjoyed their works. So much so that they've always kept a memento of them should they be worn, and each time, it was one of the best threads it left.

The God had decided to do something for this customer, after seeing them season after season. And so, it weaved. Weaved, and weaved, and weaved— weaved till its hands became sore and bled into the tapestry.

It became majestic, so majestic that no one would dare touch it! Alas, the regular took it and said their thanks, soon expressing, "Your works have been majestic, as they spoke to me."

"Spoke to you? How so?" asked the tailor.

"They share me many a tales," the customer answered. "So many whispered to me, it's a wonder of how you can weave them. And this one is one so special… One full of tragedy and grace… One I cannot use like the rest."

The God was offended. It had made this tapestry for the customer to use, and yet… The one it focused the most, they won't use it?

"Why? I've spent many years on such a special tapestry for you, and yet… You won't use it like the rest?"

"Nay, I am not fond of extravagant items. I simply desire for the simpler ones. Those who thirst after materials will soon tire themselves of it, and greed will simply overtake them whole."

The God wished it had known, but it found the idea almost absurd. How can one find such fondness on the ordinary things in life? And yet, the customer seemed to choose the worst of the worst— one that they deemed an abomination.

The colors were weaved into the darkest of black, with light maroon and soft touches of lilac adorning and mixing in between, and small dots of scarlet masking like stars in the sky, minus the glimmer. It found the tapestry horrid, but the smile of the customer caught the God off-guard.

"This is the tapestry I want, for the tale is unique. The hands spent on making a tapestry worth it's name is nothing towards the one made with mistakes, with loose holes and dead locks."

"But why? That's an abomination!"

"Abomination? Hardly! Your passion has been in it so much, it screams to me! That one you've put your best in has nothing— it only whispers, but its voice is hoarse."

.. Then, the God is silent. Still.

"As a tailor myself," the customer began again, placing down the gold as they paid for the tapestry they deemed to be a mistake. "You must cherish your first beginnings. This one is imperfect in your eyes, but it is perfect to mine, for the voice and passion weaved into contrasting colors shows that it is honest to itself. Honest to a degree, even to its owner."

"If you cannot see your creations with the same vigor, you may as well make everything like the one of gold a mistake. One not worthy of anyone's eyes but your own."

As the customer left, the God has pondered over what they said.

Truly, is passion something that they can't grasp? Is the tapestry they made something they wished to be rid of, despite the years spent on it?

Or is it just their senses, gnawing at it to stop… And yet, it didn't, for the sake of proving a point?

The God had no answer.

As prideful as one is, one must admit defeat. It's hand spent so long weaving it for seasons, that it in itself looked putrid to the customer. And why, if it truly cared, then it'd never go down the same road as before. It would have stayed the same as all others.

… Perhaps, the God knew that it's ventures to make the 'perfect' tapestry was one of lies. For it has faced prejudice, judgement, hurt… And loss.

The next day, the shop was closed. When the customer snuck in to see what drove for their tailor to close their establishment, what laid on their workspace was the tapestry it offered to them, all worn and ruined with scissors and burns.

But this time, the customer left empty-handed.

No one can take the perfect tapestry now. Not when it has met the ire of the God and lost what made it 'perfect' in the first place.

@.dxy-drxxm | do not republish, repost, or copy my works anywhere | 2023

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durotoswrites · 10 months

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When you see this, post 5 songs you actually listen to and tag 10 of your favourite followers/mutuals!

Thank you for the tag, @acediee ! I'm almost always listening to music, so I have a lot of favorite songs, but here are some that keep coming back to me in no particular order:

I can never give my heart - Rose Betts - Rose Betts's unique and lovely voice is one of my current obsessions. Heartbreaking lyrics and intense instrumentals, it's a relatable song of yearning.

If I'm being honest - dodie - dodie's soft vocals have been a longtime source of comfort for me. It's a soft song of cautious optimism that says "maybe you didn't choose me on purpose, but maybe I am worthy of love, from both you and myself".

You're not special, babe - Orla Gartland - (warning for clowns/mimes in the video, but honestly, the video is so fantastic and adds so much to the song). I love Orla Gartland's work, and this song really resonates with me and is a great pick-up. The title might sound harsh, but it's a song of acknowledging that we all go through our own heartbreaks, triumphs, and sorrows, and it's easy for other people to uncomfortably look the other way. That's why it's so important to find people in your life that you can depend on. Orla's character going from being horrified by this notion to acknowledging and embracing it is done so well in this video. It's also a legitimate bop.

Still into you - Paramore - I'm still into this song! It's a fun love song that celebrates the everyday blushes and smiles you can still share with your partner after years together. It's perpetually stuck in my head and it just gives me a burst of serotonin when I hear it. 🥰

If you know that I'm lonely - FUR - Besides FUR making hilarious music videos, their retro sound is so addictive. This song always has me coming back. The melodramatic angsty lyrics combined with the comedic timing of the video always hit me in the right way.

This barely touches the tip of the iceberg of the songs I love listening to. Techno, Celtic, electroswing, jazz, blues, big band just to name a few off the top of my head, and there are so many genres that I'm still learning about.

Snail's House, who focuses on kawaii future bass, is always fun to listen to, and my favorite song by them would have to be Ramune, which is such a fun mashup of satisfying sounds, blips, and melodies to keep you listening on repeat.

It would be a crime for me to leave mxmtoon off of this list. Her soft vocals and trusty ukulele always calm me down and I love the themes in her music. She's probably best known for Prom Dress, but among many of her other works, I really love Myrtle Avenue, particularly the slower version - it really hits differently.

I also love listening to video game osts, including the Mother Series, Animal Crossing, Octopath Traveler, Mana Khemia, and whatever gives me feels and is relaxing.

Tagging: @friendofbats, @cluing4looks, @joyfulsanctuary, @beck-a-leck, @hikamaus, @krosaceae, @lm-tomatito, @emeraldhazeart, @icefire149, @julikoloveszestiria, @quartzfox, and anyone else that I forgot! <3

#thanks for the tag!#music #tag game

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futurewife · 6 months

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hot takes on celeb worship hahaha. btw not about just thinking a celeb is hot or having favourite musicians who's music you enjoy. I mean look at this blog lol

lately I've become disillusioned with forming an identity around being a fan of a celebrity or a musician or something. when your entire personality is how much you elevate and worship another person. You just can't trust celebrities to not have a bad take or do something you don't agree with, or not share your values, cause you really do not know them, and then you end up feeling embarrassed by them. Sometime this week the allure really wore off lol. Guess I will just have to enjoy things like a normal person. I think giving celebrities too much of a visible, elevated voice was such a mistake when it's literally just some person at the end of the day often with no special qualifications or depth of education. My own existence is just as worthy of being present in and checking on updates of and tending to and living. I feel like when you become too obsessed with a celebrity you start fading out of your own life and devaluing your existence. I just think having a large part of your sense of self be dependent on a whole other human being can be treacherous. But media also manipulates us to want to participate in celebrity worship so I understand why people want to corelate themselves with celebrities, as if this will get them closer to them, their brand, their lifestyle etc. Kind of like brand fetishism.

I will say I love enjoying my little celeb men on a very romanticised, made up man constructed in my mind from scraps of detail, surface level but I hope to never ever think I have some kind of uniquely special relationship with them, or know and understand them, or that they are more than ordinary humans doing a job, that happen to be really talented and hot in their bodies and mannerisms LOL.

#delete later i feel like this could be unpopular lol #delete later #try stanning yourself and see what positive changes in your life you can observe.

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hopessolution · 10 hours

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ellensirena · 2 years

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Commit to what’s in you and what’s in you will liberate you

You’re a vast, multi dimensional creative being filled with infinite gifts, talents and abilities which yearn to be expressed through you and made manifest in the physical world.

When you commit to yourself, commit to letting what’s in you out of you into the world you are saying yes to soul, yes to life, yes to receiving all that you desire.

But…

If you deny what’s in you, suppress it, judge it, doubt it, ostracise and push it away, this creative energy and expression within you will stagnate like a pond of dirty water and eventually destroy you.

As our good ol’ pal Jesus once said - “if you do not bring forth what is within you, what you do not bring forth will destroy you.”

So I invite you today to take a moment and notice where you are not allowing yourself to play, to create, to express what’s in you with the world.

Where do you doubt yourself, tell yourself you’re not good enough, worthy enough, not safe enough to just be you and express your art, the music within you to the world.

Where are you judging yourself and your natural gifts, talents and abilities or telling yourself the bullshit story that everybody else is doing this stuff already, I am nothing special, who am I to do this.

YOU ARE SPECIAL. YOU ARE UNIQUE.

The world wants and needs what’s in you to be expressed, shared and circulated no matter how whacky tobacky it appears to be!

Your gifts are unique, your voice, your message, your vibe, your creative energy is all divine, unique, special and is completely free to express itself in whatever ways feel good and aligned for you.

You are a creative, artistic being and creator of your reality. A painter of creation.

Commit to what’s in you, giving it full permission to be expressed, get messy with it, dedicate time each day to allow yourself to express what’s in you, and when you commit to what’s in you, you’ll find it is the very thing that liberates you into living a fulfilling and divine life of love, peace, prosperity and wellbeing.

All is well.

Commit to you. Commit to your art. Commit to your msg. Commit to expressing your soul's unique gifts. Today and everyday.

The world wants and needs what you have within you.

Trust.

All my love & infinite abundance,

Ellen Sirena xoxo

P.s- when I refer to the term art I’m not referring to drawing and painting specifically but your unique way of playing and creating. Your art could be cooking, healing, teaching, inspiring, growing plants, looking after animals, building things, etc, it’s what comes naturally to you, what lights you up with joy when you’re doing it. Your art is your soul expressing itself in the world with joyful abandon.

To learn more about Ellen Sirena and her life changing work head to - ellensirena.com

#ellensirena #wealthshaman #abundance #desires #divinesupport #money #god #wealth #all is well

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hattiepins · 3 years

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Expectations

Zeke Yeager/Reader 18+ Chapter 1/??? Warnings: Alcohol mentions, explicit content a/n: I haven’t posted fic to tumblr in literal years so here’s me christening my new AOT blog with some Zekefucking. This fic will eventually have an actual plot, and I have it mapped out, but for now it’s just smut so have fun with it. I’m also on ao3 w the same @ if you prefer that layout better.

Zeke Yeager was an incredibly imposing man. The warriors were an intimidating group to anyone who had heard of them, but there was something special about him.

You had “met” several years ago, at work cleaning the imposing Marleyan government building that served as the warrior headquarters in Liberio. Most of the year it was filled with children hopeful that if they worked hard enough, dedicated their hearts firmly enough, and bought into the belief that they too could bring honor to their homeland, they could be worthy of inheriting a titan.

You liked children, and though it hurt to see them pushed into the grim roles they took up at the compound, you would occasionally share excited chats with them in the halls, rooms, or courtyards of the massive complex. You’d scrub the floors of the messes left behind by their muddy boots, or the walls of the grime that accumulated every week, and the candidates, being the chatty little kids that they were, would update you on their days. Who beat who in what race, how fast so and so could disassemble then reassemble a rifle. On a good day of work you were given a run down of everything.

On special days, though, the Marleyan warriors themselves would show up. A woman with unruly dark hair, a tall and disheveled scruffy man, and a blonde with a slicked back undercut all would often pass you by.

But Zeke Yeager? He always stood out to you the most. Anyone who could spare enough pocket change for a paper would know of the great feats of the beast titan and the man who held it. There had never been quite anything like him before in history, and his accomplishments on the warfront were praised as the ace up Marley’s sleeve in many battles.

In reality though, Zeke bore no resemblance to his titan, with there being no visual similarity between the terrifying monster printed on the front page of every news story and the warrior who controlled it.

He was tall, with a laid back posture that stood in stark contrast to his own mythic status. A legend among Eldians, and a fearsome specimen among all men, with his steely grey eyes and furrowed brow. He always looked as if he had something weighing on his mind whenever you spotted him, be it alone, or with his comrades.

You would absentmindedly toy with the hem at the edge of your own grey armband every time your eyes glanced over their red ones, not envying their lives as warriors but wondering what it must be like, being honorary Marleyans.

None of them ever noticed your presence, and why should they? You were the cleaning girl, a part of the scenery.

So then it comes as quite the shock when, tonight, as you head to the pub around the corner from the compound, Zeke Yeager recognizes you.

The place isn’t anything fancy, but it’s halfway between work and the run-down tenement you can afford to rent on a maid’s salary. You go here on your days off, when you want more than anything to just relax, have a drink, and listen to the gramophone at the bar play music that you’d never get to hear otherwise. It’s a surprise enough to even see Zeke here, but the way he reacts to seeing you has your heart seize up a bit in your chest.

He waves you over with his hand clutching his drink, calling your name with a voice just loud enough to be heard over the scratchy, poorly recorded music of the wax cylinder recording, his face plastered with a smug expression.

You blink slowly, as if closing your eyes will somehow remove him from the table in front of you and confirm that just a few sips of your drink have led to full on hallucinations. But you do not move.

Catching onto your nervousness, Zeke raises the glass of warm swill this poorly stocked Eldian pub calls drinks, swirling the liquid inside as he motions towards your general direction.

“Come on now, that’s your first drink of the night in your hands. I know you aren’t far gone enough to not recognize the sound of your own name.”

The volume of his voice is louder than you would like. A necessity, you know, for him to be heard over the sound of the gramophone, but still embarrassing.

You gesture stupidly at yourself with your pointer finger, and he nods, brows raised and mouth smiling with pursed lips as if he’s trying to stifle a laugh at your blatant confusion.

He, in turn, gestures for you to take a seat next to him at the small booth he holds for himself in the corner.

“You’re the cleaning girl, right?” He says.

And for as awkward as that introduction is, it doesn’t stop you from joining him.

“How did you know- where did you learn my name?” You drum your fingers against the base of your drink, still slightly nervous.

“I’m observant.” He takes a sip of his own drink.

“That, and you’re more well known than you’d think. The Grice boys talk about you sometimes. The younger one, Falco, is pretty damn fond of you, actually. Says you’re a good listener. Likes talking to you. His brother’s the one set to inherit my titan.”

You stare at him, a little shocked to hear that the candidates even remember you beyond simple hallway chatter, let alone that a warrior has actually taken note of your reputation with the children.

“Falco’s a good kid. Colt too.” Your lips quirk up into a small smile, thinking about the two blond boys, always polite and courteous. They even bothered to get to know you by name, and always seem to ask about your day before telling you about their own.

“You’re quite the conversationalist for someone who the government pays to mop floors and dust shelves all day.”

You tense up, and suddenly, for a moment, a sense of sudden clarity and fear grips you. Is this an interrogation? Does Zeke Yeager think you’re a spy because you’re too chatty with the candidates? You knew this felt off, there’s no way that he’d invite you here just to ta-

“If I’m honest, I noticed you first because I was shocked that a pretty face like yours would be working scrubbing dirt. Didn’t put a name to said face until Colt started bringing you up almost just as often as his little brother. But I’m a good listener.”

He smiles, repeating your name with a soft smile as if testing out the sound of it.

“It’s a pretty name. Suits you. I try and keep things professional at the compound. Lots of eyes and ears. Granted there’s definitely a few in this place right now, but we don’t have to worry about them.”

You lift your head with a start, eyes scanning the bar, all a sea of patrons with worn clothes and grey armbands. None of them stand out as being particularly unique. None accept the man with the red around his arm seated across from you. He sticks out like a vibrant wine stain against white cotton, and though the patrons know better than to stare, you catch them sneaking “coincidental” glances his way.

Their eyes rest on him, then flicker away to observe the much less interesting rest of the bar as if it’s merely chance that they managed to get caught looking.

You let your gaze wander over all the faces in the crowd, trying to see who he might be referring to. To see who could be watching.

“Shit, could you be a little less obvious, sweetheart?”

The sudden affectionate name has your heart flutter in your chest in a way you absolutely were not expecting, and as you turn your gaze back to him, an embarrassed flush creeping its way across your cheeks, you see his smirk grow. He’s smug, but you suppose he has all the reason in the world to be, with all his accomplishments.

Zeke, you thankfully come to realize as your conversation progresses, is not here to report you to the higher ups for something or another, nor does it seem that anyone in the bar is particularly interested in your chatter.

You do, however, find that Zeke Yeager is not only a very powerful presence, but that he’s very handsome. It was something you didn’t particularly notice at the compound, mostly because you tried to avoid being in the way of your superiors in the warrior unit, but also because the stories you’d heard of the beast titan’s strength painted the man as a brute.

Instead, you find yourself enthralled by him. He has beautiful hair, and his beard is kept very nicely trimmed. The way his grey eyes light up when he learns you two share a similar taste in novels has your breath catching in your throat.

You list off your recent reads, only to find that he’s also read most everything on the list. He says he’s an avid reader, especially when they ship him out. It helps him keep his mind off of the fighting to think of smaller problems than wars.

“I couldn’t put it down.”

You find yourself raving about your latest literary obsession.

“The way the whole town just watched her descent into madness was so painful to read, but I wanted to know why they hated her in the first place so badly.”

You have long since finished your drink, but the conversation with Zeke ensures that you absolutely do not want any more. The last thing you want to do is slur your speech in a conversation about your shared interests, and especially not when those interests are shared by a very handsome man.

“The reveal of how her daughter was framed had me glued to every word. And the ending!” He leans back in his seat, like he’s processing it all over again just speaking about it.

“Lighting the whole town on fire… they say revenge is a dish best served cold, but reading about her walking through the burning streets…”

“Brilliant.”

His smile is captivating.

You remind yourself that this man is an honorary Marleyan, and you are just a regular Eldian who is lucky enough to have enough pocket change at the end of the month to even buy those novels.

But for as much as Zeke insists that you are well known at the compound for being a great conversationalist, you find that the same compliments the Grice boys have paid to you apply tenfold to him. You don’t want to stop talking.

When the bar closes, you don’t say your goodbyes and head home. Instead, you find yourself continuing your conversation in the streets of Liberio, walking the cobblestone roads at what must be at least two in the morning. Your conversation never has a single slow moment.

You don’t think the slightly intimidated feeling you get while next to him will ever fully subside. He is, after all, much larger than you, and you feel dwarfed by him as you walk side by side, looking up at his handsome face. You’ve switched conversation topics through nearly a dozen different novels now, and your ideas bounce off one another perfectly.

He mutters how your theory about a plot twist and it’s possible connection to the yet unreleased next book in the series might be one of the best ideas he’s heard, and his little smile while he does so is captivating.

“You’d serve better as a critic than a cleaner, you know.” He says with a laugh.

And you smile, because for a moment, by Zeke’s side, you almost forget it’s Liberio’s streets that you’re walking, and that you can’t hope to aim too high. All that exists for now is the two of you, and the words you share.

As you walk under the lamplight through deserted streets, you take notice of the way he scratches his ear when he’s thinking, but more specifically your eyes fixate on his hands themselves. They’re big, and you purse your lips imagining how little your hands would be in his. He admittedly dresses like an old man, and while his wardrobe is nothing fancy, it doesn’t hide his impressive stature.

His broad shoulders and military status imply an impressive body under the loose fitting coat he wears, and you feel like a repressed schoolgirl just looking at the exposed skin of his neck and how the muscles there tense when you bring up some narrative choice or another that you both didn’t enjoy. Your cheeks flush as you watch him take a drag of his cigarette, holding it between two thick fingers.

He seems to take notice of your stares, but says nothing to discourage you. In return, you catch him eyeing you a few times too, but unlike you, he doesn’t get flustered when you notice him clearly staring.

It’s still fairly chilly out, and your warm coat doesn’t do your body any favors, but that doesn’t stop his glances.

When the two of you cross a bridge, you find yourself staring up at the moon and how it’s surface reflects on the wide river below. Zeke leans over the rail, taking yet another drag of his cigarette, and you cautiously reach out a hand to his. He makes no move to shift away from you as you lock your arm in his.

You continue your walk like that, the feeling of closeness making you far more flustered than you should be. It’s only proper for a man to escort a lady by the hand when it’s so late. But you’re no lady, you’re a maid. And Zeke’s glances are growing far from proper, even as the topic remains firmly on literature.

When he invites you up to his apartment to see his books, you both know you won’t be doing any actual reading. But you let him lead you through the streets and up countless flights of stairs regardless.

He turns the key in the lock, and you enter, following his lead in kicking off your boots and hanging up your coat by a hook on the wall. You barely have time to take in how nicely furnished the home of an honorary Marleyan is before he has you pressed against the door, closing it shut with the weight of both of your bodies against it.

You gasp at the impact, and run your fingers through his soft blond locks as he presses his lips to yours in an open mouthed and greedy kiss. His lips are soft, and his breath is hot against you as he pulls away.

“Do you want to-?”

“Yes. God, yes.” You pull at his coat, hoping he’ll get the message, and he does.

He shrugs it off, and then his lips are against yours again. Your touch traces down along his back, grabbing fistfuls of his shirt until it comes untucked from his pants and you can slide your hands underneath it, feeling the warmth of his skin.

He fumbles with the buttons of your own blouse, before tearing it off of your shoulders as he unfastens the last one, and you can hear his breath catch in his throat as his hands move to touch you.

His mouth parts from yours to get an eyeful of your body, his fingers trace the edge of your bra, watching how your chest heaves against the constraints of the lacey garment with every breath. He groans, the sound guttural in his throat, and fuck, you need him. He brings his lips to your neck, kissing and biting his way down to your collarbone.

“Can we please get this thing off?” His thumbs hook at the straps of your bra.

“Marley’s greatest warrior can’t figure out how to unhook a bra?” You smile as you reach for the clasps.

“Bigger things on the mind right now, sweetheart.” His tongue runs against a spot at the base of your neck that his teeth just bit at, soothing the skin.

“Oh?” You drop your bra to the ground, and he is quick to grab a handful of your breasts, teasing lightly over your nipples. You moan as he slides his hands down your torso, stopping as he gets a handful of your ass, kneading at it with a grin.

“You enjoying yourself there?”

He hums as he presses you further against him and lifts. You let out a startled whimper, your legs wrapping around his hips and hiking up your long skirt in the process. He lifts his head from your neck and looks down at you, hunger in his grey eyes.

“Trying to figure out if I can even get you to the bedroom, or if I’m gonna have to fuck you right here against the wall.”

Zeke grinds his hips against yours, and through your soaked panties you can feel him strain against his trousers. He’s so horny it hurts, and he hisses at the little bit of contact, bucking against you.

“Fuck, baby, need you to decide.”

“B-bed.” You wrap your arms tighter around him and wiggle your hips just enough to get more of that delicious friction. Zeke doesn’t have to be told twice as he carries you to his bedroom and practically throws you into his mattress. It’s soft as a cloud, and you feel yourself sink into it, pulling your skirt from your hips, letting it fall in a pool at the edge of the bed.

Still situated at the side of Zeke’s massive king size bed, you spread your legs, your stockings and your panties all that’s left on you. You circle your clit through the fabric, and watch as his Adam’s apple bobs when he swallows, his eyes fixed on your clothed pussy like a hungry animal. He makes quick work of his own clothes, undoing the buttons of his shirt and stepping out of his trousers, stripping to his boxers.

Your cheeks flush as you take in the sight of his bare chest. He’s toned in the way only a warrior could be, and there’s a small dusting of blonde hair that trails from his bellybutton to somewhere below his waistband. He towers over you, imposing and arousing at the same time. He looks like a marble statue, beautiful and powerful and perfect. You can see the outline of his bulge against the grey fabric of his underclothes, and he palms himself lazily, his eyes clouded with lust behind his glasses.

“Anyone ever tell you it’s rude to stare?”

You scoff. “Could say the same thing to you.”

He smirks, and you want nothing more than to kiss him. For a moment it looks like he’s about to do just that. Instead, he sinks to his knees between your legs.

“What are you-?”

“Gotta get you ready for me first, babygirl.” He says, hooking his fingers under your panties and pulling them down, letting you kick them off your legs.

“Are you joking? I’m already soaking, you don’t-“

You’re cut off by the feeling of his hot breath against you.

He runs his fingers against your folds, and you bite your lip before he shoves two thick fingers inside. The noises you make as he hooks them inside you have him painfully hard and straining against his boxers, but he knows what he wants. He pulls his fingers from you, earning him a whimper.

“Fine. I can be transparent here.” He groans as he kisses at your inner thigh. “Just wanna bury my face in your cunt, nothing else to it.”

You whimper as his lips circle your clit, the burn of his beard between your thighs coupled with the feeling of his hot breath against you has him having to hold your hips in place to keep your squirming down.

“Z-Zeke, I-”

“Hm?” He releases your clit from his lips but licks slow stripes up between your folds now.

“Too much.”

He teases the tip of his tongue against your hole, his moans the only response. You feel his grip on your hips tighten as he pushes it inside of you. His mouth works against you, making you grind against his face.

“Fuck, baby, you taste so good…”

He’s a madman as he devours your cunt, and you have full confidence that Zeke could make you cum with just his tongue. Instead, he opts to do otherwise, spurred on by the delicious sounds you’re making. You cry out as he circles his lips back around your clit and plunges two thick fingers inside of you.

You can barely think as he curls them into you, fucking his fingers into your weeping cunt while his tongue laps at your clit.

“I’m- I can’t-”

“You can.” He adds a third finger, and the stretch is so food, so filling, as he watches you fall apart. “Good girl, my pretty little slut, come on.”

His tongue never ceases for long, even as he speaks. “Come for me.”

You’re falling apart under his touch, cries and moans spilling out of your mouth as you cum into his. You clamp your thighs down around his head as he keeps fucking his fingers into you, running his tongue desperately against your little bud as you writhe beneath him, only stopping when he feels he’s had his fill of your taste.

He lifts himself up and pushes you further into the bed, letting your head rest on the pillows as he leans on his side next to you.

“You’re a quiet little thing whenever I pass you in the compound. Never knew you could be that loud.”

You’re panting, still coming down from your orgasm.

“Never been fucked in the compound.”

“We can change that.”

Your pussy clenches around nothing and you whine. “Can we start with here first?”

His beard is wet with your slick as he grips your jaw and pulls you in for a kiss. You can taste yourself on his tongue, and you moan as you tug at the waistband of his boxers.

You remove your lips from his to look down at the shape of him, still straining against the fabric.

“Zeke, please…”

He sits up on his knees at the end of the bed, hovering over you, thumbs toying at the elastic.

“Yeah? You want me to fuck you?”

Your little nod is all he needs, pulling his boxers off. You watch as his hard cock springs free of confinement and slaps itself against his stomach. It’s big, and you’re practically drooling at the sight. He crawls over you, lining himself up with your hole, rubbing the tip over your clit. He smirks, watching how you whine and writhe at his teasing.

“You have to beg for it, sweetheart. Let me know how much you want it.”

He fists his cock, leaking precum all over your slit as he drags the head up and down your folds.

“Fuck, Zeke, please fuck me. Need you so bad, just please...”

He grips your hips hard, lines himself up with your hole, and bottoms out in one quick thrust.

You moan and he curses under his breath. It’s so much, all at once. The stretch is much more than his fingers prepared you for, and it’s overwhelming, even with how wet you are. It’s a little painful, but it hurts so good.

“F-fuck, move, fuck me, please. Please, please, please, please.”

He pants into your shoulder as he follows your request. Zeke grabs both of your wrists in one hand and pins them above your head, kissing and sucking at your neck, leaving little purple marks.

“So pretty like this, letting me fill you up so good. Gonna leave my mark everywhere I can on you. You gonna come to work with your neck all marked up from me? Huh?”

You pant and grind your hips against his as he pistons in and out of you. “Y-yes.”

“Gonna advertise to every soldier there that you’re mine? My little whore? You like being fucked like this?” He pulls back out all the way, only to thrust back in at just the right angle that has you seeing stars.

“Yes!”

“You know how long I’ve thought about this? Wanted to just p-pull you into a supply closet and fuck you til you forgot your own name, ‘cuz hell, I didn’t even know it back then, but now…”

He traces his hand down to your clit, and starts to rub circles against it.

“You’re perfect, you know that? F-Fuck... Perfect for me. Fit me so good, god, you’re so tight.”

“Zeke, s’too good, I’m gonna-”

“I know, baby, I know. Me too. Come for me, it’s ok.”

He captures your lips in a hungry kiss, and the closeness is not enough and too much all at once. You can’t tell where he begins and you end and suddenly your orgasm is washing over you in waves as you scream his name. Your arms struggle against his grip and he relents as you cream around his cock. You grab at his back, nails sinking hard into the skin, and you swear he’s letting off steam as your fingers scratch down his back in ecstasy.

Zeke fucks you through it, thumb still playing with your clit as he hammers into you, hips snapping against yours at a rhythm much less even than before.

“Beautiful. So fucking beautiful with my name on your lips and my cock in your cunt.”

You whine, still barely coherent and too fuckdrunk to think as he pounds you hard enough to make the bedframe creak and the headboard slam against the wall.

“G-good girl, you like being a good little-fuck- good little cocksleeve for me?”

“Yes, yes, yes, fuck.”

You’re so overstimulated it hurts. He keeps hitting just the right spot, and while he’s still toying with your sensitive nub, you can tell he can barely hold his focus. He removes his fingers from you and buries his head in your shoulder. His beard is rough against your skin as he lets out a few last thrusts into your cunt, his grip on your hips enough to bruise.

Zeke pulls out and fists himself a few more times, panting before he empties his load on top of you, white ropes of cum shooting out of him as he finishes onto your stomach. Zeke collapses, panting, by your side. He pulls you against him and kisses the top of your head.

You practically purr at the affectionate gesture, and lean into his touch.

He sighs, removes his glasses, and carefully places them on the bedside table, relaxing into the comfort of the bed.

His eyes are closed, and as you snuggle closer to him, you can feel his heartbeat slowly start to return to normal along with your own.

“I think now’s the time I should ask where your bathroom is so I can clean off?” You breathe out, tracing figure eights lazily against the muscles of his chest.

He lets out a tired laugh. “You’re not at work. No cleaning right now. You can afford to be a little messy for a while.”

You hum, unwilling to admit you’re fine either way. You guiltily realize you enjoy the feeling of his cum on your skin, and, instead of admitting that embarrassing thought, you kiss him again.

You whisper against his jaw. “I should go home soon, just-”

He claims your lips in his again to shut you up. “Stay.”

You lay by his side on the same pillow, faces inches from eachother.

That night, you stay. You fall asleep in his arms, and everything somehow feels right. He feels right.

You hate going home to your shitty apartment after that. And Zeke hates seeing you go.

Every week you repeat it all like routine.

Zeke is always there at the pub. You always end up in an endless conversation before following him home, and leaving the next morning to prepare for your afternoon shift.

It only takes one month of this torture for him to ask you to move in.

“Would make it easier. Better than me pretending it’s a coincidence I’m there almost every time you have a day off.” He mutters into your shoulder, as he holds you close.

It’s the easiest decision you’ve ever made.

You laugh at how his beard tickles your skin, pressing yourself further into him, to which he responds by wrapping an arm around you tighter and smiling that smug grin against your skin as you card your fingers through his blond locks and whisper “I figured it wasn’t a coincidence by the third time it happened.”

He kisses you, and cradles your cheek in the palm of his hand. For what feels like the hundredth and the first time, you drift off to sleep in his arms.

You never return to your old apartment, even to grab your things. Zeke has the same books as you, and his bed always was nicer. He buys you much better clothes to make up for what little loss of wardrobe you went through.

You can’t aim too high in Liberio. But with him, you feel like you’ve started over on a clean slate.

And for a time, though you never put a name on it, Zeke Yeager is yours.

#zeke x reader #zeke yeager x reader #me strolling into aot reader fic tumblr like hello I am new in town #I wrote this in an insomniac daze #aot x reader #snk x reader #this will have a plot later but for now I am just sitting here hoping it's both comprehensible and people will like it

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airi-p4 · 3 years

Text

Thursday

Inspired by the song “Jueves” from La Oreja de Van Gogh.

Pairing: Lukanette

Warning: Major Character Death, Tragedy, Terrorism

AO3

_______________________________________

Since the school course started, Marinette forced her daily schedule to change. She started waking up earlier, despite her usual bad sleeping habits, never failing to ride the same metro every morning.

Being earlier than rush hour gave her the freedom to take a seat and look at her surroundings. Not that there was much to see outside, being inside dark tunnels, but her eyes enjoyed much better the vision she usually had in front of her, across the carriage: the boy with blue hair and summer sky colored eyes that had stolen her heart at first sight.

Everything was for a boy. An unknown boy. And if it had never been easy for Marinette to control her feelings when it came to her crushes: how was she supposed to talk to a stranger she knew almost nothing about? Only one thing was certain: how she felt was perfectly real.

Eventually, from staring at him daily and secretly observing and studying the little pieces of information she could get, she learned little by little a bit more about him. His name: Luka. His major: music. His destination: one station before hers. His prefered seat: the one in front of hers, across the carriage but that faced backwards instead of sideways. He seemed to be protective of the seat facing his in front of him, as he didn't let anyone take as long as there were other available ones.

In his seat, he would usually yawn at the glass window, sleepy, with his earphones on and humming a song Marinette couldn't recognize. His guitar case laid between his partly-opened legs, protecting it, and he usually closed his eyes, probably to focus on the music, Marinette assumed. Marinette loved the sight of his profile when he faced straight: his strong manly features, his sharp eyes, his thick brows, his pierced ears and his colorful untied shoes.. The tattoo on his arm never failed to catch her attention either. He was glowing in Marinette’s eyes.

She usually found herself staring, and reminded herself she had to hide her obvious looks, not to be found out (not so) secretly admiring his beauty. But she kept failing to talk to him.

'Maybe If I was prettier or clever, or if I was special or magazine worthy, I could draw the courage to talk to him' she usually thought in a deep sigh.

There were times when they exchanged looks, and it felt like time stopped for an instant as her heart skipped a beat. Whenever that happened, embarrassment always made her look away, sinking between her shoulders, and the second after his gaze was already looking somewhere else. Marinette felt her heart rate unavoidably intensifying every time he blinked or directed her a short gaze, forced to look away to hide the embarrassment projected in the redness on her cheeks. ‘He must think I'm weird or silly…' she usually thought.

There were times when the boy scribbled on his notebook. Marinette liked to look at his focused face and to peek at his handwriting, but she also enjoyed looking at his long fingers and black painted nails holding the cheap blue inkjet pen that he spun on his fingers when it stopped writing. She loved how his hands got tainted in blue from running them over the paper and it made Marinette emphatically smile. 'Cute'

When she was feeling down or inspired, it was her turn to scribble on her sketchbook. The sight of the boy whom she dreamt about daily activated her creativity for new designs. Sometimes, she even lost track of time while drawing and cursed later in regret for another missed chance to talk to him.

The conclusion she reached everyday was the same: the ride was too short. 'Eleven minutes of heaven', her best friend Alya teased her.

What would he think if he knew she always wore her makeup and her most beautiful clothes just for him?, she wondered. Did he notice her little makeup and hair styling changes? Or her now black painted nails? Or how she wore a necklace with her name on it in wish he would call it for her someday?

All her courage and efforts to catch his attention wasted by her shyness. No progress ever made. No words ever exchanged- only silences between them.

Just like this, the days repeated, every day on the same metro train. Station to station, like seasonal migrating birds, the seasons passed by… And now it was almost Spring- the blooming season: perfect for love.

And now it's Thursday, March 11th, and Marinette has set her determination: 'Today I'm talking to him. Today I'm making him notice me!'

That Thursday she woke up even earlier than usual. She put on her prettiest skirt and some natural makeup and walked to the metro station near her house. She could have ridden at least two of the previous metro trains, but those weren’t the ones she wanted to ride. She would wait until the boy of his dreams appeared. And after a few minutes, he was there: earlier than usual, just like her, as if destiny was telling her: ‘today is the day’. There was something special in the air, she could sense.

Looking at the boy from afar, Marinette could see how he sat down and stared at his phone, probably checking the time. A metro arrived shortly after, calling for his attention.

Marinette’s body was stiff. ‘Good thing I came earlier, I wouldn’t have met him otherwise’ she thought, ready to get in the first car. But, surprisingly, he didn’t move an inch, and just as it came, the metro train left. ‘Why didn’t he get on it?’ she wondered, seeing how he had clearly missed it on purpose.

As she stared, she noticed how he was discreetly looking at his surroundings, as if he was looking for somebody, waiting. The thought of him possibly having a partner saddened her, but she hadn’t woken up early just to give up yet.

In what seemed an instant, the next metro to arrive was the one both of them always rode. This time, he stepped on it leaving a resigned sigh. He moved to the usual platform and got in the car they always shared. Marinette got in from another platform and rode another car. She could see through the glass door between cars how he had sat at his usual seat, while the one in front of him and her usual one across the aisle remained empty, along with some other seats closer to the door. Another sigh left his mouth and his aura seemed to have changed to a colder color. When he connected his earphones to his phone, Marinette knew it was her time to move. After a little shake from the moving vehicle, she armed herself with determination, and moved to Luka’s car to sit in front of him, looking at the floor. She knew where to sit when she noticed his unique untied sneakers and the designs she had already studied so much. “Excuse me” she mumbled while sitting down.

The closeness of the seats made Luka instantly notice her. And if she hadn’t been looking down in embarrassment, she would have seen the relieved smile on his face, as he went back to humming at the glass, happier.

The girl’s eyes continued gazing at the floor, flustered for her unusual boldness and noticing his eyes on her, making her feel smaller, her tiny body trembling like a newborn puppy.

Wanting him to notice her, she bravely made a first attempt and moved the tip of her flat shoe to slightly touch the tip of his high shoe and waited for his reaction- a reaction that never came. His foot stayed immobile, as if he hadn’t noticed her touch.

Disappointed, Marinette tried a bolder move. She then moved her other foot to touch his, this time touching it from the side and waited again for his reaction. Nothing. Then, she used her other foot to catch his in between them and waited. With no answer coming from him, she wondered what was making him so distracted and finally looked up at his face.

He was staring at her, eyes opened in surprise. Luka was clearly noticing her touches, she realized, yet he didn't react. Was it on purpose or because he didn't know how to act, that was yet another mystery.

Marinette jolted in surprise and broke eye contact immediately, retiring her feet and placing them under the seat, temperature increasing as her cheeks turned deep pink.

‘What are you doing Marinette? Talk to him. He noticed you! It’s your chance. Call his name’

The metro vibrated as it reached the first of the three stations before his final destination and Marinette had to use her feet to keep her balance in place, stretching them a little in front of her. Luka had done the same and one of their feet crashed, resulting in Marinette partly stepping on him.

“I’m sorry!” she panicked, moving her foot away and covering her face with her hands.

“It’s ok”, he answered, offering her an emphatic smile.

It was the first time she heard his voice properly and it sounded just like she thought it would. Deep and kind, quiet and magical. She could melt at his sound.

‘Now’s your chance, Marinette’ she told herself. And somehow, she managed to gather the courage to take the opportunity the sudden stop had granted her to try to speak again. But her bravery vanished the instant the doors opened and an unexpected loud crowd got into the car- tourists.

Marinette sighed in defeat and looked at her feet again.

Moving his gaze to look at his unusual surroundings, Luka noticed an old couple standing next to the door. Being the gentleman he was, he called for their attention and offered them his seat, which they thanked him in some foreign language.

Noticing his actions, Marinette also stood up to offer her seat to the old couple, and she was thanked too.

The train was packed and the loud youngest tourists weren’t especially careful about their surroundings, pushing people to gain some personal space or move through the car. Being small as she was, Marinette was close to being crushed between the back of the seats, the door, and a group of young large immature men.

Marinette closed her eyes, scared, as one man was jokingly pushed towards her. But, to her surprise, he didn’t bump on her- Luka stepped in the way to protect her, and she was now secured between his body and the space between the door and the seats.

“Stop being rude, where are your manners?” Luka coldly glared at them.

“Sorry, dude”, the young man said, and he got angry at his playful friends, who kept stupidly laughing.

The fear in Marinette’s eyes became surprise and shyness at noticing her position and how close the man of her dreams was to her. She could smell his ocean scented cologne and her eyes couldn’t stop staring at his beautiful face features from close up, as he angrily glared at the rude youngsters.

“Are you ok?” he asked again, taking one step back, to leave her some space to breathe.

“Yes!” she jumped at the question. “Thank you...”

“You’re welcome” he smiled.

The redness on her face became more vivid and she looked back at her feet again to hide it. When the men finally took their leave, Luka tried to take another step back to give her more personal space. But something stopped him: Marinette finally drew the courage to shyly grab his jacket.

“Lu-” another jolt marked the arrival to the second station. The agitation of the train made both of them lose their balance, holding onto each other to keep their steadiness. Marinette’s face was buried in his chest as he used one of his arms to keep her safe and the other hand grabbed one of the pole stands.

“Are you ok?” he asked again, releasing her from his hold.

Surprised, she grabbed his jacket once again “Yes” she finally said, whispering his name, stuttering. "Lu- Lu- Luka…"

Her eyes were strongly shut, and she was trembling, but she was refusing to let go of his denim jacket no matter how embarrassed she was. After a two seconds of silence, he called her with a relieved sigh.

“Marinette”

Her startle was felt by him through his jacket as she raised her face up to stare at his eyes. Both of them had glowing pupils, filled with a hope that didn’t come unnoticed by Luka- an emotion that determined and secured his next steps. He moved his hand to hold hers and she let go of his clothing to squeeze his fingers instead. “Marinette” he repeated. And her heart skipped a beat, rhythm intensifying, melting in his blue eyes now fixated on her.

The doors closed again and the metro resumed its march. One station left.

“You noticed me…” Luka whispered, caressing her hands with his thumb. His face showed a relieved smile that made Marinette understand at last. She squeezed his hand stronger, confirming his words.

“You noticed me…?” she returned his words back to him, with a shy smile and expectation on her face.

“Always. I don't know you, but I already missed you” he replied, smiling softly. “Everyday, ever since I first saw you, I've been riding this train, wishing to see you every morning, despite my bike being cheaper and faster”

Marinette’s eyes glowed in awe and joy. “I’ve been waking up earlier every morning so I could ride this train and see you, even if this means I have to wait for 20 minutes in front of the school gates…” she confessed.

Luka's smile widened and left out a sigh. “What have we been doing all this time?” he asked rhetorically, moving a lock of Marinette's hair to take a better look at her face. The girl awkwardly giggled, embarrassed for not having been able to tell him her feelings and encountering this happiness earlier.

“I like you” he finally said, taking one of her hands close to his lips so he could kiss her knuckles while staring at her eyes.

Marinette smiled and brought out all her determination to stand on her tip-toes and give him a soft kiss on his cheek. “I like you too”.

Another turbulence marked the final destination arrival as they hugged again to keep their feet on the floor. The train finally stopped, and its doors opened.

Not wanting to separate, they exchanged sad looks and he moved his head down to give her one final last kiss on her lips. An action she quickly mimicked when he started to pull apart, causing him to smile widely.

“See you tomorrow” he whispered, reluctantly crossing the door. Marinette nodded shyly and stayed by the door, cheeks red and waving at him with a soft smile on her face, one he also had for her in return.

“I can’t wait for tomorrow...” she whispered, trying to process everything that happened. ‘He likes me back! I’m so happy I could die’ she thought, internally squealing.

And that's exactly what happened.

The deadliest terrorist attack in the city. A cataclysm that wiped all traces of life of the metro passengers on the next station- Marinette's destination.

Irremediably, Marinette was one of the hundreds of fatal victims. But her soul was happy, because before she died, she had given Luka everything she had: her first and last kiss, her last blush, her last sigh, and the last thought on her mind. Instant death with the sweetest sensations.

_______________________________________________

AN: The song "Jueves" is a tribute to the victims of Madrid's terrorist attacks from March 11th, 2004.

#my fic #lukanette fic #songfic #airipyon #airip4 #fic: jueves #tragedy #bittersweet fic #fic: thursday

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nerdygaymormon · 4 years

Text

A Letter to Elder Hamilton

Elder Hamilton,

Greetings!

I’m the stake executive secretary in the Brandon Florida Stake. We met this past Sunday when you & Elder Carter interviewed me as part of the process of finding the next stake president.

When he was leaving, Elder Carter said to me, “You really impressed us. We talked about you quite a bit.”

My response to him was, “Thank you for telling me that. You guys were tough on me.”

He looked surprised, and commented, “We ministered to you.”

I’ve been thinking about how differently we viewed the same interaction. I decided to write a letter to share my perspective and a bit more about my journey.

From my perspective, it felt like I experienced 2 different interviews done back-to-back. The first half was rough. You were asking very probing questions, one after another. I realize we were in a time constraint and weren’t having a proper conversation. I can see how the same questions could be intended as trying to get to know me and my background better. I’m not trying to say you did anything wrong, but I think our perceptions of the interaction were different.

You are someone in a position of authority. Upon learning I’m gay, you asked if I always adhere to the Law of Chastity, was I ever inactive, do I have a recommend, and am I worthy. I thought perhaps you were trying to determine if I should be released.

When I spoke briefly about why the temple can be a hard place for me, there was a shift in your body language, your face became softer, you replied that you could understand that. It’s that moment that I felt like you saw me as a person and felt my humanity.

The second half of the interview had a different tone. You asked how I felt about my calling, how do I help other LGBT members, what I’ve learned from my stake president. For me, those were questions that sounded like you wanted to know me rather than focusing on am I following the rules.

At the end you thanked me for sharing that I struggle and do my best and carry on, that you can tell I’m impacting people, thanked me for being visible, said you wish we were meeting in person so you could give me a hug, that’s when it felt like ministering because I could feel your love and that you cared.

As I think about it, I’m certain this difference in perception is because the interview was such where you asked questions but didn’t respond to the answers I gave. That didn’t give me any context for why you were choosing to ask the next question and the next one.

I am very honest with my stake president, he can ask me anything and I’ll help him understand, and I’ll also share what I struggle with. Part of what makes that work is I know he loves me and trusts me and cares for me and will help me. I hope the same is true of you and Elder Carter, but we didn’t have a chance to build that rapport. You asked questions, I answered.

I’m glad the things I said were heard, that you felt something for me. At the end, I felt love come from you and that was important for me. And I do thank you for those very kind sentiments, I wrote them down, they are meaningful to me.

I want to share with you, an important moment in my journey. In 2015 gay marriage was made legal across the USA. In November, the Church implemented a new policy about gay couples and their children. That hurt. It felt like the Church was so wary of people like me that even innocent children associated with us were poison and had to be cut off. I let God know how hurt & upset I was about this.

I heard a voice say that if I want to leave the Church, that’s fine, but if I’m willing to stay, there is a special work for me to do.

If I stayed, I would: * Help young gay Mormons accept themselves * speak to leaders and help them understand better * speak to youth of my stake about being gay * share my story as a gay Mormon

I knew staying came with a cost, but if I could be part of these things then I would pay that price.

I didn’t understand then how these things would happen, but I felt strongly this is what the Lord wanted me to do and I showed faith by staying.

Almost immediately my calling changed, the stake president said the Spirit was insistent that I have this new calling so that my unique viewpoint could be heard.

In time I came to see that by doing the work of my new calling, stake executive secretary, it opened up the ability to do the work that I’d agreed to do with the Lord.

Looking back at my notes from 2015, it’s amazing how specific the things were that the Lord said would happen and how all of them have occurred on a scale much larger than I imagined. I haven’t been trying to force these things to happen, instead I’m where the Lord wants me and His work follows.

For example, I don’t go out of my way to meet and talk with Seventy and Apostles. When they come to my stake, they find me here doing my calling. I don’t always bring up that I’m gay, it’s not always relevant to what’s being discussed, but when I’m prompted to share, the reactions are interesting.

Sometimes I can sense their unease and it takes time to break that down and have them see me for me. Other times there’s an immediate outpouring of love and caring. Sometimes I get invited to visit them when I next go to Utah and then we have more in-depth conversations and I’ve even developed friendships with a few of them.

While many wonderful things have happened over the past 5 years, it’s been a difficult road. I had a mental health crisis. I was suicidal and needed professional help. I stayed in therapy for a year working on a number of things such as low self-esteem, internalized homophobia, social anxiety disorder, and these all had root in my experience as a closeted gay man in the Church.

I have my struggles, and have my strengths. I try to do good. I’ve had hard times, I’ve been blessed. I spent a lot of time in the closet and it feels much better to be out and honestly answering questions, even if they feel probing or reflexive.

I get asked many inappropriate questions. I hear little comments made about me. I know some people have pulled the stake president aside to ask if he knew his secretary was gay. It’s easy to question the motivation of people asking questions, especially if they haven’t indicated they’re a friend or ally.

I want to believe you were genuinely curious and this is why you asked the questions you did. I hope you understand why I didn’t recognize that until half-way through the process.

I did feel genuine warmth and love from you at the end of our interview. I’m glad that Elder Carter said something to help me understand that my answers to the questions were heard and appreciated. I wanted to be understood but thought I was being judged, that is until you responded to my answer about why the temple can be a hard place for me.

I’ll pray for you in your ministry, and hope you’ll pray for me.

Your friend,

David

#Kevin S. Hamilton #tumblrstake #queerstake

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azenta · 3 years

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descriptions of 3s sense of arrogance, elitism and separation from others vs 4s interpretation of it are very superficial. can you explain more in depth why both types share those traits? thank you

Let's first off highlight the main difference that makes both of those type become elitist, arrogant and doing anything in their power to feel different, which is as follow:

• 3s become arrogant and elitist because they will think of themselves and act as if they are better and worthier than other people, as a counter-phobic measure to cope against their feelings of being ordinary and bland.

• 4s become arrogant and elitist because they will think of themselves and act as if they are more unique and authentic than other people, as a counter-phobic measure to cope against their feelings of normalcy.

3s => Classical vanity. Tho, not as inclined to degrade people, more focused on enhancing the self itself. Lost into a maze of mirrors. Everyone and everything becomes a reflect of themselves, a way to measure where they stand. Everything is an opportunity to set themselves apart, to show their talent, their competence, how much whatever they do, they excel compared to other. Contrary to 4s, 3s want to show how whatever happens, they stand strong and how remarkable they are even in the shittiest circumstances. Tho, it tends to make them delusional about their actual competency, because they tend to act on circumstances without considering their true capacity. They get delusional about their weaknesses because they can't acknowledge their real self, as they are now, as it is imperfect and so, unworthy. Therefore, they get lost in their ideal self and forget about their real self, creating huge gaps between both and bringing reeking self esteem issues. This can lead to narcissistic mechanisms as a way to avoid facing their real flaws, and thus accentuate the elitistic tendencies.

4s => Contrary to 3s, they actually use depreciation, of others AND the self, as a mean to gain worth. Even a shitty trait make them worthier, because of how they actually twist that trait to emphasize their authenticity (aka their worth) and point out some sort of hypocrisy or inauthenticity within other people (worthlessness). It is a game of how much they "authentically and truthfully" embrace that ugly trait, when everyone else "hypocritically" deny their ugliness, making everyone else "brainless sheeples" to 4s eyes. That paradoxically paints other as lesser than the 4s, which therefore sets them apart all while glorifying their worth. It also very often brings 4s into using the role of a Martyr, in the sense they adore to portray themselves as the unluckiest, most depraved wreck of a human, victim of their environment, and of their circumstances. Because it makes them terribly special ; they are so special the world turned against them and continues to do so. This however leads them to wallow in their shit and therefore impede their growth, as their flaws are also their assets and where ironically their worth lies. This doesnt miss to set them apart from other as they don't miss any occasion to highlight by criticism how other are being horrible hypocrites and how they are authentic to acknowledge their ugliness in comparison.

So, on one hand we get 3s that set themselves apart by their greatness and 4s by "their" tragedy (the tragedy of their flaws, of their life, of whatever honestly).

From that point, you can see a common line as to why it leads them to set themselves apart so much from other and therefore make them elitists.

In both case, the root of their thinking patterns make them believe they are shittier and unworthier than they are. But, to survive, human beings need to feel they have a worth and "higher utility", and 3s and 4s feel devoided of it. Therefore, 3s and 4s to survive embraced a fighting stance against their fears (cp), which leads to those thinking patterns of seeing and seeking to see themselves as either greater or more unique than they feel they are. They literally put themselves on some sort of pedestal as a way to feel they are worthy, that they are special, and that they arent actually low and unworthy like their inner voice say they are.

However, this means everyone is either seen as a threat to their greatness or uniqueness OR an opportunity to make them shine, which leads to elitism. And elitism is literally putting yourself in a Special category that sets you apart, this is why it makes them kinda inconsiderate and arrogant as a result. People become a reflection of themselves instead of individuals of their own. Of course, this is unconscious! 3s and 4s are still humans being craving affection and relations, but their fears ironically push them away from people because of how much they are lost and absorbed into their need for some form of value.

They set themselves apart because if they don't, it makes them feel this feeling of insufficiency they fear and fight so much.

I hope it answers your question. If you need some clarification, don't hesitate to ask for it. Despite my slowness, I will answer it sooner or later lmao

#ask #3s #4s #enneagram #en #elitism

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independentartistbuzz · 3 years

Text

7 FROM THE WOMEN: RED FLOWER LAKE

Red Flower Lake is lush, heady electro-pop. Aloe vera for our dried-out hearts. Sweeping melodies and understated yet complex soundscapes. These songs are open doors to a relationship: two people who know each other about as well as two humans can, singing to the other, about each other, offering a brave and heartfelt depiction of the territories they have survived and navigated together. It’s all here: intimacy and distance, heartbreak and ecstasy. Vulnerability, insecurity and courage.

1. What have you been working to promote lately?

It feels like I have been working on promoting a lot lately (internally and externally). Things like honesty, clear communication, empathy, patience, naming emotions, opening my heart, peace in my family, etc, etc.

But that’s not quite what we are talking about. ;)

I have been working alongside my husband to promote our EP Three Truths as well as an exhibit of our multi-media work at the Torosiete museum of contemporary art - a virtual museum unlike any other. Our exhibit just opened at the end of October and will be open for all of time - as long as there is internet.

Our EP Three Truths consists of three songs, Heart is Breaking, Baby Don’t Go, and Brave. The first two were written when we had super young kids (about 8 years ago).

When we were first considering releasing some songs this past May, we weren’t sure which songs to begin with. We were pretty tired of Heart is Breaking and Baby Don’t Go but also felt like they were worth something, belonged together, and like they might be the beginning of a story. We figured we would see what mixing one of them would do and take it from there. We sent out Baby Don’t Go and after trying a couple different mixers, we landed on Mike Pepe through a family friend named Kelly Musgrave at Linear Management. He did his thing and we actually got inspired enough to completely redo the vocals which was pretty satisfying. I had started voice lessons several months earlier and felt like I had more to offer the song. Once the energy was back in Baby Don’t Go it was pretty exciting to see what some mixing would do to Heart is Breaking. Deciding to release those particular songs really felt like the end of a pretty challenging time. It has been nice to have them out in the world where people might be able to relate to them giving voice to an experience that is painful but also real. I don’t know how many emotions we get away with leaving unturned but I appreciate a song that can help me reflect on a feeling.

Heart is Breaking was the kind of song that was so of a moment, it didn’t feel worth it to try and enunciate the words better or change what I was unsatisfied with after hearing it mixed. I am curious whether that choice will actually impact my satisfaction long term but, so far, I have found it both surprising and amusing that putting something out into the world that is a little bit vocally unfinished doesn’t bother me at all.

As for Abel’s vocals though, they are straight from the heart. They are also his original vocals. I remember when I first heard them I felt a lot less significant as part of our musical duo. He just put it all out there and it sounds so good. Heart is Breaking speaks to the experience of wanting love even though it seems to always end in heart break. An experience that, as a young parent, felt very prevalent.

Brave to me is all in the title. My setup is such that if I want to play around on the keyboard with a feeling I’m having, I still need to pull up ProTools and title the session - even though I don’t know what I am going to play which is the case a lot. Often when I am sitting down to play music, it is to explore something in my mind and on my heart and in this case I wanted to be brave about that exploration so I titled the song Brave. Brave is about sticking around and being present to see what is true even if it is scary.

All of the songs I write are deeply personal. In the past, it has sometimes surprised me that Abel would even touch the material, considering how blatant it is but I’ve learned that I’m not the only one in the relationship that sometimes feels paradoxical and complex feelings.

Having made music together for such a long time now without releasing any of it, we are both really excited to share more of the story and more of our music. It feels like an epic tale that is still revealing itself in real time. Three Truths feels like the beginning of a bigger message - this first message being “Damn this is hard but relationship is sort of like that sometimes”.

2. Please tell us about your favorite song written, recorded or produced by another woman and why it’s meaningful to you.

Sade’s Smooth Operator. There are a lot of songs and a lot of reasons why to pick them but this one pulls me right back to a time in my life when not a lot of things were easy but at that moment, the house was warm, the whole family seemed happy and there was an abundance of food. I was maybe 5, my family was living with my great aunt and her daughters who were at least ten years older than us. We were all still getting used to living together and my family was still getting used to living in Va after moving from New Mexico. When Smooth Operator came into my awareness, it was the day after Thanksgiving and there was a bounty of leftover mashed potatoes, peas and onions in cream sauce, and stuffing that needed to be eaten. While we formed those leftovers into little balls and baked them, we were introduced to that song. I think we may have listened to the whole album a couple times through but we named our food creation after Smooth Operator and it is one of the special happy memories I have from an amazing but also pretty heavy childhood. Throughout my childhood from then on, Sade was a voice I leaned into. I remember one night my twin sister and I lay down in the dark of her empty room in middle school and listened in consecutive order through Diamond Life, Promise, Stronger Than Pride, and Love Deluxe on our tape player to the light of a big moon. One of my all time favorite nights.

Smooth Operator felt like a warning. Like watch out girls, they’re everywhere. The first song of their first album. Her voice was always my reference. I wanted my voice to sound like hers. I wanted to make songs like hers - with a point, with heart, and with a voice you want to listen to. Smooth Operator is our family anthem, made so by a moment we all recall fondly - an odd anthem perhaps but my family is as odd and as amazing as they get.

3. What does it mean to you to be a woman making music / in the music business today and do you feel a responsibility to other women to create messages and themes in your music?

Having an opportunity to use my voice as a woman at this time feels very special and important and I hope that I am doing my part in honoring the power of the feminine, and the important work of keeping it real in all my relationships at all levels.

I work to be authentic and express as clearly from my heart as I can. Making music - making art, is a way for me to connect with my emotions, my inner wisdom, a way to express those feelings, ultimately it is a way to communicate something that means something to me. I recognize that this is a potentially self indulgent process and I pray that my purpose of honoring the human experience and reminding us of our power is conveying.

It is important for me to be super honest because there are so many feelings I have felt ashamed of and wouldn’t even admit to in the past that I am now realizing are actually just part of a human experience. Honoring and expressing my truth thus far has been a thousand times more empowering than the results have been of hiding from my truth as a result of believing I should be ashamed of my feelings and for believing in my worth - what I know is true in my heart. Denial of my truth has wreaked havoc in my life and it isn’t worth another moment of time to feed or encourage such disempowering paradigms.

I recognize that we all have a lot to heal from and a lot of healing work to do individually and collectively. I think a large part of that healing work is around being brave enough to honor our feelings, identifying their source, and getting empowered to speak/know/honor our truth - a truth that is both unique and valid.

Perhaps if we are able to honor ourselves in this way, we will be able to hear each others’ truths with compassion, recognizing ourselves in each other's struggles.

A big step for me in my healing journey has been accepting and being willing to hear and honor my own truth. No more wars - internal or external. When I am not fighting myself, I am one less person who is fighting themselves and that is extremely motivating. I think all of my fighting ultimately comes from internal conflicts so I might as well start with that and find some way to work that stuff out. I have been working on not making other people the bad guy but, if I see ‘bad guy’ out there in the world, to note that I see a reflection of parts of myself I still am in a healing process with.

I am not sure what the depths of our world’s healing will entail but I know my responsibility is to my own healing and it is empowering to own that responsibility. I pray we all honor ourselves like the magnificent and unique creations we are and honor ourselves like we are somebody’s child who adores us. Even if we can argue that our parents did not or do not love us, there is still and always will be immense love for each of us in the vast universe and from our mama earth. We are worthy of our best life. In fact. I think it is the only sustainable future.

My responsibility is to honor and stay true to my truth.

4. What is the most personal thing you have shared in your music or in your artist brand as it relates to being female?

All of the songs I write are extremely personal and expose my deep internal struggles. But I am okay with being a voice and a sound. Being an image has not been easy. Learning to embrace my face, my body, my movement, my inner style, etc, feels much more exposing and personally challenging. The entire world of what is sexy, what is beautiful, what is inspiring, what is useful, etc. has been out of reach for me since forever. I find that the more I turn toward my spiritual truth, my spiritual purpose, toward awe and gratitude for the children in my life, the more permission I have and the more energy I have for exposing my physical person on a true and personal level. What feels beautiful, what feels empowering, what feels good and right?

I have in the past, been absolutely disempowered around beauty and sex that I feel like only now am I getting access to any answers internally about what is beautiful, empowering and what feels good for me. I am a mother and it is important to me that the children in my life have examples of real women and men in their lives who are empowered and strong and honest- not because of our physical form but because of our clarity in purpose and our open hearts.

I know the sexiest thing a person can do in my heart/ mind is their inner work, get straight with themselves about what they are doing here and live and breathe their purpose.

On the level of the eye, I think playing with what my spiritual guides have to say to me at any given moment feels the most appropriate and fun. I’d rather be in a conversation with them about physical expression than with old paradigms of sex appeal and survival on this physical plain.

5. What female artists have inspired you and influenced you?

Oh my goodness, So many. I really believe that the unapologetic art of all women throughout time has molded me as part of the collective creative conscience. Art begets art.

I come from a family of bohemian artists and I would be remiss in not honoring them particularly and their absolute influence in my life. Their authentic expressions have absolutely shaped and inspired me and I am so grateful to each of my family members for their conscious participation in living their best lives.

My highschool teacher and friend Zap McConnel reinforced and added to what my family already inspires in me. She was my first real mentor and example outside of my family in living a life of integrity and breaking the molds of our boxed beliefs.

And Beatrice Ost. She has been part of my family for a long time but it really wasn’t until her grandchildren connected with our kids that we became better acquainted and, just as kids tend to do, through our children we have been led into a most beautiful and inspiring relationship of collaboration and inspiration. We wouldn’t be where we are now without her and really everyone in the world. The ripples are real.

6. Do you consider yourself a feminist? If so why and if not why?

I consider myself a feminist because I believe in the unique and essential wisdom of the feminine and its absolute importance in the balance of life. I could also consider myself a divine masculinist but that movement is really in conjunction with the healing of the divine feminine. It is for all of us to heal from this woundedness - not just women.

There is no denying that women have been oppressed for millenia - longer than any other human group except children - and it feels important to me to keep raising the collective awareness to the long lasting effects of oppression that continue to weigh on the lives of everyone. If mama is oppressed, everyone is oppressed because if mama is oppressed she does not have the power she needs to stand up for what she knows in the depths of her heart - to care for the hearts of her family and that kind of pain and injury is passed down a long way.

I have been considering the narrative of our media history around witches - how they have been conveyed so terribly in our social history. I am interested in those stories from the witches’ perspectives. I’d love to hear the backstory of Ursula the deep sea witch in The Little Mermaid. It seems to me that she may have wanted to say something to someone… An easily identifiable sentiment for most human beings at this point. There can be no more pretending how much we have all suffered because of fear and domination. I don’t think we need to gender specify suffering generally but just like with race, it is true that there are some significant stereo types that have been disempowering for a long time.

We are still living in the antiquated world of shame about menstrual cycles for God’s sake! It’s bonkers. I can attest that this particular gift has felt like a burden in this worn out world of 9-5 schedules and limited sick days and - if any - and our basic needs for survival are not cared for enough so that we don't even know this immense gift as an honor. But as we each recognize our person as an immense gift and when we honor ourselves and each other as such, we change the world.

I am a feminist and a masculinist because I strongly believe that each of us as individuals needs to feel empowered as part of something larger than just our individual egos. Each of us is essential and honoring our unique gifts will and does heal our world in deep and profound ways. Each of us knows something, has a purpose here that needs to be respected by everyone. Men and women both would benefit from honoring the feminine in all that is and vice versa. It is a balance and as long as the balance is off there will be a need for feminism. And just as much there is a need for honoring the divine masculine. It truly is a matter of balance - one that needs support internally and externally as individuals and as a collective.

7. What was the most challenging thing you have had to face as a female Artist?

The most challenging thing I have had to face as a creative being is myself. My own pride and jealousy, self doubt, and a need for external approval have kept me from taking risks, whether it is going into action or taking a nap. Everything I did or didn’t do was based on what I thought somebody else might think which gave me very little room for actual self expression. Giving myself permission to exist independently of other people’s approval and trusting the creative flow has been a matter of challenging oppressive systems - both external and the ones and the ones in my head that I have defended as part of a fear based world. As I continue to grow wiser and my body becomes more of an ally for my heart rather than a sculpture project, I find myself in battle with old paradigms around self image.

It is an interesting time to be alive and I have lots of hope for us as a collective as I continue to break my own belief systems because if I can do it, it can be done. Breaking out of old and limiting beliefs, considering new paradigms, recognizing my inner/outer calling and prioritizing that calling beyond all else has been liberating and empowering. My dream is that all our dreams come true. I know my heart is based in love and that all the struggle has been for learning. This knowledge has helped me come to terms with trauma but I would say I think oppression is systemic and the more we can break free of our own excuses and reasoning to defend oppressive systems, the more swiftly and easily we will transition to a new world. I am more than happy to be inviting in a paradigm of inclusivity, kindness, inquiry, compassion, and honesty. An undeniable breath of fresh air from so many oppressive paradigms past and present.

Listen to “Three Truths”

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tilting-at-windmills · 4 years

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"I know just how you feel--I've felt just the same way when that happened to me, and it really hurt. You should be able to say how you feel even if others don't always necessarily think it's appropriate--as long as it's truly from the heart. You should never go against what your personal moral compass says, even if that goes against the commonly accepted morality of all of your close family and friends and anyone you respect. I don't want to know what you should feel--I want to know what you do feel." The INFP's dominant Fi is an introverted judgment (Ji) function, meaning the top priority for INFPs is full, deep, robust, profound definition of precisely what values the user finds instrumental to the essence of his personal identity and that which he finds to be fundamentally "good" or "bad" at its root core. But it's more than just good or bad; on a grander scale, the INFP is concerned with the very essence of Good and Evil, Meaningful and Not Meaningful, Sacred and Not Sacred. This duality becomes central to the moral philosophy of many Fi dominant types. Fi users believe there is a definite moral order to the universe (meaning that it is inescapably true that some things and some ideas are inherently more valuable, more virtuous, and more worthy of positive evaluation than others), and that the only way we may catch a glimpse of this sacred ideal is by allowing ourselves complete and total connection and understanding with our emotional responses and the way they reflect that which upholds the internal "essence" of moral goodness as we understand it subjectively and individually. One INFP friend calls it "The uh oh feeling" when his Fi (bolstered by Si) somehow "senses" almost immediately that a new person is up to no good. For Fi, standardizing ethics collectively misses the point by blunting the individual's unique identity and influence so much that the real significance is lost. Morality for Fi is not something that anyone else can tell you how to approach: it's something you just have to look inside and feel for yourself. Morality is too complex and nuanced, reasons Fi, to be marginalized by approaching it from a collective standpoint. It's too dependent upon the essence of the individual and his personal impressions, too subject to that individual's experiences and understanding to even be approached (or worse, insisted upon) by anyone else. As soon as you try to design moral philosophy that works the same way for more than one person, you've ruined its inherently individualistic nature.

INFPs often have a distinct habit of letting resentment and negativity build up toward someone until they're so incredibly upset that they can't help exploding into a Te-rundown of precisely everything you are doing wrong and why it's simply not acceptable in moral terms they can justify (Fi.) At least two INFP friends have told me that when they focus on explaining and resolving their grievances routinely and calmly before they have time to bottle up and fester into huge issues, they find themselves much more able to maintain the deep one-on-one connections they invariably must form with others, and to reach even greater personal understanding and empathy as a result. Auxiliary: Extroverted iNtuition (Ne) As an auxiliary function, Ne grants INFPs both an awareness of and concern for how others perceive them, and the ability to explore, create, experiment, and play with new combinations and possibilities for different approaches and ways to change and recreate what they see around them, with an eye on how these exploratory outings will affect the perceptions and emotional states of others. This is a crucial factor in the INFP's ability to apply Fi's uniquely individualistic values to an externally observable context in a way that both captures the attention and admiration of others and allows him to translate his inner passions into forms that others can understand, identify with, and appreciate. The INFP needs Ne in order to spread the message of his ideals to an audience that will listen: Ne is the bridge by which Fi's vision can be forged into the creations that serve as external representations of the INFP's identity. "No need for greed or hunger / A brotherhood of man / Imagine all the people / Sharing all the world." --John Lennon, "Imagine" Ne often ends up expressing itself through artistic and creative endeavors: This penchant for interpreting and rearranging patterns of external phenomena frequently results in a particular knack for manipulation of language and its ability to say just the right thing to convey precisely the value or feeling the INFP wants to express, in a way that makes that feeling real for others. Indeed, INFPs are quite often found among novelists, musicians, graphic artists, screen writers, and all other forms of widely recognized creative expression by which the purity of their internal worlds (Fi) can be expressed externally (Ne). At their best, INFPs are principled, idealistic, playful, creative, and deeply empathetic. Without the aid of auxiliary Ne, the INFP may become frustrated at the conflict between her intense desire for self-expression and her inability to translate the ideals she strives to live by into a medium that will touch the souls of others in the same way they define the meaning and purpose of her own life. INFPs, because they show the outer world their flexible Ne side more readily, will appear much more open and accepting on the surface, and indeed they will remain that way as long as their interactions with you remain relaxed and enjoyable and do not require getting into serious ethical analysis or put them in any uncomfortable situations which might make them feel morally conflicted. They will appear flexible now (Ne), and steadfast later (Fi). They are generally open to all sorts of new experiences and connections between different experiences--they love to get at the heart of the people's true character by finding and comparing the ways in which different individuals have different unique "flavors", each offering its own special kind of meaning, and they love to observe the connections between different individuals in this regard. They may come off as rather reserved at first, but it doesn't take too long before they will at least open up Ne to you and relate to you on a surface level--this usually happens in terms of discussion about some common interest, such as art, philosophy, music, etc...anything that will seem interesting and noteworthy to the collective of people the INFP deems worthy. Inside, however, they are far more rigid and unyielding in terms of the extraordinarily high ethical standards they place on themselves and anyone they consider close enough to be a trusted friend. When you become close to an INFP, you are accepting a responsibility to uphold the high personal standards that define the INFP's entire self-image and existential philosophy. INFPs will offer only the very best ethical treatment of their friends and loved ones, and they expect no less in return--if you cannot fulfill this sacred bond to the same level they hold themselves to, you should not commit to such a close relationship in the first place. Tertiary: Introverted Sensation (Si) For INFPs, the tertiary relief function Si is consulted in order to provide them quick reference to the real feelings and experiences that have affected them profoundly in their past experiences. Fi+Si doesn't consciously say, "Ok, the last time this happened it caused a negative emotional reaction for me; therefore I will avoid it now"; Fi simply instinctively begins to experience the terrible emotional state Si has associated with whatever negative experience, and panic and dread take over, forcing the INFP to escape this situation at all costs, for fear of being forced into that state again. Fool me once, shame on you--fool me twice, shame on me. I have seen INFPs who, once they begin to develop Si, start to pay very close attention to possible contaminants which could taint the purity of their physical bodies in the environment around them. They'll become extra careful to check food to make sure it hasn't gone bad, has the right nutritional content, etc. Some of them either insist on seeing a doctor more often than necessary, or become distrustful of doctors in general and avoid the experience, if they've had some negative past experience with doctors or medication (as, unfortunately, a fair number of INFPs have.) When applied positively though, it gives them a grounding into something real, something they can hold on to that they know will always be there for them because it always has been--this can be instrumental in leading the INFP into the spiritually aware and comfortable state she desires. Development of tertiary Si helps the INFP connect her physical health and the needs of her body to the emotional and spiritual health upon which Fi is so heavily focused. As INFPs learn to pay more attention to Si, they will learn what conditions and surroundings are likely to lead them to better physical health, and recognize the enormous effect this will have on their emotional and spiritual health. As Si improves, they will appear to take a page from ISJs in their refusal to work under conditions that "don't feel right" in that they aren't conducive to promoting the calm, relaxed, and emotionally aware state under which their creative juices can flow most freely. Most importantly, however, Si serves as a voice of caution and experience to help avoid the Ne trap of getting so lost in creative exploration that the INFP forgets where his comfort zone is and repeats the same painful mistakes again and again. INFPs with strongly pronounced Si will appear less naive, more world-weary, and perhaps a little bit more cynical--but it's generally for the best, as repeated negative experiences with being too trusting too quickly will teach them. Inferior: Extroverted Thinking (Te) For INFPs, Te ideally provides an objective counterpart to Fi's value judgments by allowing them to consider the importance of accomplishing real goals through real functional external world systems. This is very difficult for many INFPs to process because forcing any sort of cooperation on others for the good of a larger system (Te) is often seen as tantamount to destroying the right to express one's personal individuality at all costs (Fi.) This moral dilemma plagues many INFPs. Te will, on occasion, pop out and result in the INFP blowing up and telling everyone in painstakingly objective detail how poorly they are living up the expected standards of their responsibilities. It kills the INFP to do this, because she wants so badly to respect others' right to personal individuality and self-expression, but ultimately she must recognize that some people will not voluntarily cooperate and must be forced to change for the good of society as a whole--nay, for the Good of Good itself! As far as I can tell the line of reasoning goes something like this: "You are not performing your moral duty to me as a friend (Fi), and every time I have been in a positive working relationship in the past (Si) it has followed certain standards (Te), and while I hate to do this, you are threatening my right to personal identity here (Fi) and thus I must explain to you objectively and very, very bluntly how your behavior cannot be tolerated (Te)." The real issue for INFPs struggling with inferior Te is the conflict between Fi's idealistic, highly personalized individualism and Te's somewhat Machiavellian ends-justify-the-means, get-it-done-at-all-costs attitude. Ultimately, once Fi, Ne, and Si are satisfied, an INFP nearing total maturity should be able to recognize the value in the idea that sometimes, unconditional promotion of individual freedom of expression is simply not practical from a resource management standpoint, and that in order for society (or any other organization) to function meaningfully as a unit, some degree of personal individuality must, at times, be sacrificed. Nonetheless, INFPs remain distrustful of any suggestion that people be "forced into boxes" or otherwise compelled to conform in any way that violates their sense of freedom of choice or private identity. As Te begins to balance this attitude, INFPs will gradually realize that actually creating the ideal utopian world they envision so naturally will require paying some attention to practical considerations, namely some form of objectively impersonal evaluation, and that this doesn't have to conflict with their ideals--it can, in fact, support and assist them in their quest to set all things right with the world. And even if they never really find perfection, at least they'll have some degree of measurable success to point to--and that may be the only way to feel content in a world which will never truly live up to the perfectly harmonious ideals that Fi lives for.

#infp mbti

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dustedmagazine · 4 years

Text

Dust, Volume 6, Number 3

Matthew Shipp and Nate Wooley

We shoehorn another Dust into the end of a wintery month, putting politics, a global pandemic, bad weather and the final season of Better Call Saul aside to concentrate on the ever overwhelming flow of new music. This month spans the usual gamut of obscure but worthy genres, from free jazz to crunk to extreme noise to yet another take on Pachebel’s Canon. The clear star this month, though, is Matthew Shipp, who gets two slots for two different collaborations, and so commands our cover image. Writers include Bill Meyer, Jennifer Kelly, Ray Garraty, Ian Mathers, Justin Cober-Lake and Jonathan Shaw.

Lao Dan / Paul Flaherty / Randall Colbourne / Damon Smith — Live at Willimantic Records (Family Vineyard)

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It’s a long way from China to Connecticut. But this quartet bridges the distance so masterfully, you would not know that it’s not only the first time they’ve played together; it’s the first time that alto saxophonist, bamboo flute, and suona player Lao Dan played in the United States. The musicians bring a combination of deep knowledge and fresh potential to the encounter. Saxophonist Paul Flaherty and drummer Randall Colbourne have been playing together for decades, keeping the free jazz torch lit in times and places around New England where no one else knew what the fuck they were doing, let alone appreciated the fact that they were doing it. Lao Dan may be half their age, but since he’s spent his musical career playing in China’s major cities, he knows the experience of playing in an uncomprehending environment just as well. When he plays alto, he certainly sounds well acquainted with the conventions of free jazz, matching Flaherty’s growls and cries with aplomb. And while the moments when he plays traditional Chinese instruments sound distanced from free jazz convention, he finds space and rhythmic footing to make real contributions within the fertile matrix of force and rhythm laid out by Flaherty, Colbourne, and double bassist Damon Smith (at the time a Massachusetts resident, since relocated to St. Louis).

Bill Meyer

demitasse — Perfect Life (Bedlamb)

Perfect Life by demitasse

demitasse is the quiet alter-ago of Buttercup’s Erik Sanden and Joe Reyes. Though there are a couple of lo-fi rockers here, the main tenor is tremulous, emotive and rather lovely, with spider silk melodies that look wispy but turn out to have a fair amount of tensile strength. Take for instance, “Coming Out Wrong Again,” a gently delivered slip of a song framed in the barest frame of strumming, in a well-weathered voice with creaks in the corners. And yet, as it rolls on diffidently, the tune picks up momentum, and the chorus wreathes the title phrase in harmonies in a way that might remind you of Carissa’s Wierd or its successor Grand Archives. Which is to say, in a way that seems inevitable and right. In the more amplified parts, the singer picks up a bit of Jonathan Richman’s whimsied warble and drums kick through scratchier, more aggressive guitar playing. “Free Solo (for Alex Honnold)” (yes the rock climber) is perhaps the brashest and less constrained of these cuts, imbued with the muffled mania of its title character and approaching Chad VanGaalen’s whacked out tunefulness. The title cut, like most of the album, celebrates small lapidary moments – the singer’s dad cutting his hair— and their weight in memory. There’s a resonance to the smallest sounds here, and a significance in elliptical lines. demitasse is a small cup of wonder, just sitting there on the kitchen table in the midst of life itself.

Jennifer Kelly

Duke Deuce — Memphis Massacre 2 (Quality Control Music)

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After the viral hit “Crunk Ain’t Dead” Tennessee rapper Duke Deuce dropped a full tape which got endorsed by Lil Jon, Project Pat and Juicy J. These Dirty South legends jumped on the remix of “Crunk Ain’t Dead”, a song that is literally supposed to slaughter strip clubs all the way up from Memphis to Canadian border. Crunk’s been leading zombie-ish life, being if not fully then almost dead for years. It’s hard to predict if Memphis Massacre 2 will spur a wave of neocrunk but even if it won’t, it will remain a gutsy punch to the soft rap belly. The slower songs on the tape, like “Trap Blues”, are weaker efforts as they are lost among same-y Southern rap ballads.

Ray Garraty

Arto Lindsay / Ken Vandermark / Joe McPhee / Phil Sudderberg—Largest Afternoon (Corbett Vs. Dempsey)

Largest Afternoon by Lindsay/Vandermark/McPhee/Sudderberg

After decades of frequent partnership, Joe McPhee and Ken Vandermark have attained the level where they are being recruited for dream teams. Astral Spirits recently released Invitation to a Dream, a specially commissioned meeting between the two multi-horn players and pedal steel guitarist Susan Alcorn. And now comes Largest Afternoon, by a quartet comprising McPhee, Vandermark, drummer Phil Sudderberg (Marker, Spirits Having Fun, Vibrating Skull Trio) and guitarist Arto Lindsay (DNA, Ambitious Lovers, his own bad self) at the behest of the record label / art gallery, Corbett Vs. Dempsey. If you’re hoping for a combination of free jazz and Brazilian pop, keep your dancing shoes in their box; this CD documents a first-time, no-net encounter. On the rare occasions when Lindsay opens his mouth, it’s to emit strangled phonemes; by comparison, his utterances with DNA seem positively Dylan-esque. But if you want to hear feedback squaring off against soulful reed-song, valve-pops peppering amp-coughs and interactions between percussion, strings, and wind that verge on the tectonic, Largest Afternoon will make your day.

Bill Meyer

Jason McMahon — Odd West (Shinkoyo)

Odd West by Jason McMahon

Odd West delivers extremely soft focus (bordering on new-age-y) instrumentals plus effected vocals from a one-time Skeletons mainstay. The main instrument is acoustic guitar, pristinely recorded and glossed with a radiant glow. McMahon, a jazz-trained guitarist, learned to finger pick for this record, and there’s something a bit studied about these cascading bouts of iridescent sound, a bit too perfect, a bit too glassy and calm. “Ambisinistrous” ebbs and flows in minor key fret flurries, McMahon all alone with the guitar and sounding rather good at it. “Sunshine for Locksmith” floats “lahs” and “ahs” and lullaby “wooh-ooh-oohs” over its placid surface, tilting golden dust-moted rays onto all natural motifs until it seems too good to be real. By the end, I’d give a lot for a string squeak or even a stray false note. It’s like the old descriptions of heaven in Sunday school, too pretty to seem like somewhere you’d want to live.

Jennifer Kelly

Donovan Quinn — Absalom (Soft Abuse)

Absalom by Donovan Quinn

Donovan Quinn has been a mainstay of the Bay Area’s hand-made, lo-fi folk-psych-rock scene for almost two decades through the Skygreen Leopards with Glenn Donaldson, in New Bums with Ben Chasny (who also plays here) , in the one-off Fuckaroos with Sonny Smith and Kelley Stoltz and on his own in the 13th Month. Regardless of project, you can count on him for hazily soft-focus not-quite-rock, not-quite folk songs, that drone like VU outtakes wreathed in patchouli smoke, edgeless and adrift and whispery. That’s more or less what he’s doing here, with a variety of SF-adjacent talent in tow, not just Chasny and Elisa Ambrogio but Papercuts Jason Quever and underground songwriters Eric Amerman and Michael Tapscott. But it’s Quinn’s show, really, with Quinn’s soft unhurried voice, his loosely coalescing arrangements of guitar fuzz, drums and chamber strings, his subtly off center way with lyrics. “Satanic Summer Nights,” sings urgently of “a game with no rules,” but it’s not quite that; rather it’s a game where the rules are buried like power lines under enveloping clouds of free-form smoke, feeding structure and electricity into what seems like a passing daydream.

Jennifer Kelly

Matthew Shipp String Trio — Symbolic Reality (Rogue Art)

Pianist Matthew Shipp, bassist William Parker, and violist Mat Maneri have a lengthy shared history, but Symbolic Reality is their first recording as a trio in 20 years. In its early years, this combo was the chamber music outlier of Shipp’s constellation of ensembles. But now the classical and jazz elements mix in his music like the eggs, flour and milk in your best cake batter. While it’s true that Maneri’s microtonal bowing still sets this apart from any other Shipp group, giving the music a unique pungency, the viola’s lack of auditory bulk is at least as important in defining the group sound. The presence of a third musician who is neither loud and nor chord-oriented induces Shipp to throttle back his attack a bit, which makes Parker’s foundational architecture stand out in bold relief; and the vinegary slurs in Maneri’s playing elicit a blues feeling that doesn’t often come to the fore in Shipp’s playing.

Bill Meyer

Matthew Shipp and Nate Wooley — What If? (Rogue Art)

Pianist Matthew Shipp and trumpet player Nate Wooley know how to surprise, creating both compositions and tones that get to weird places. The two have worked together before, but recent release What If? marks their first work as a duo. Shipp provided the composition, but it's clearly a two-man answer to the question. The artists touch on some more typical jazz modes, trading leads or letting Wooley play a melody over Shipp's broad chords. More intriguingly, they feed off each other's moods. Wooley doesn't shy from abrasive sounds, and on cuts like “Ktu,” Shipp matches his grating approach. “The Angle” plays with jittery space; Shipp's chords largely traded in for flutters that go with Wooley's reserved blips. Highlight “Space Junk” puts all the musicality and the enjoyment of the odd together. The duo plays a few moments that sound trad, then go for something avant, then turn somewhere new as ideas and moods run away from them. At times Wooley sounds like he wants to soundtrack a casual night out, and at times he wants to smash it; both of them find the whole enterprise entertaining. The “What if?” question remains open-ended, but the answer comes very specifically from these two artists, and it's more than sufficient for whatever's been asked.

Justin Cober-Lake

Sightless Pit — Grave of a Dog (Thrill Jockey)

Grave of a Dog by Sightless Pit

Sightless Pit is a collaboration among three significant names in contemporary heavy music: Lee Buford, of the Body; Dylan Walker, singer for Full of Hell; and Kristin Hayter, who records under the name Lingua Ignota. Made over two years at Machines with Magnets, the songs were shaped, executed and revised whenever one or two of the artists could get to the studio. It’s thus a sort of experiment in asynchronously generated music. Grave of a Dog (an unfortunate title) is likely best appreciated with that unconventional approach in mind —n ot a set of songs by a band so much as an ongoing, sonically mediated conversation among like-minded creators. Not surprisingly, the record really lights up whenever Hayter’s remarkable vocals move into the music’s foreground. She’s an unusual talent, with a big voice that can do drama, intimacy and lunacy to equal effect, and a compositional intelligence that grooves with Sightless Pit’s sound-collaging sensibility. “Kingscorpse” is a stirring combination of melody and power electronics, and the record’s solemn, fragile closer “Love Is Dead, All Love Is Dead” lets Hayter show off the full range of what she can do with her instrument.

Jonathan Shaw

Solar Woodroach — 7 Perversions on Pachelbel’s Canon (Nilamox)

7 Perversions on Pachelbel's Canon by Solar Woodroach

From the start of “How the West Was Won,” most music fans would be able to identify (if not necessarily name) the source material Solar Woodroach uses here even without the album title. Yes, Pachelbel’s Canon in D, one of the most overexposed pieces of music ever used, is getting dug up and sent shuffling our way again, this time from some enigmatic figure or figures known as Solar Woodroach. The best clue there, it must be said, is that the label is listed as “Nilamox,” also the name of whatever ex-Severed Heads man Tom Ellard is doing these days. But Ellard, or whoever, has more than just necromancy on their minds during these 7 Perversions; sometimes stretching and smearing the composition past the point of immediate recognition. But whether it’s the slow-motion glow of “Decomposition in D,” the mini-swarm of synthesized voice bits in “The Canonisation of St. Pachelbel,” or the eventual return of something like the original in the closing “The Pachelbel Spirit,” 7 Perversions proves, perversely enough, both that our takes on the Canon (or canon?) could be more inventive, and that there might be more life left in those standards than we give them credit for after an umpteenth listen. It’s a cheekily satisfying listen, maybe especially if (whisper it) you still enjoy the old Canon a bit too.

Ian Mathers

Rafael Toral / Mars Williams / Tim Daisy — Elevation (Relay)

Rafael Toral / Mars Williams / Tim Daisy :: Elevation :: (relay 027) by Relay Recordings

Interstellar Space. My Goals Beyond. Other Planes of There. The list of outward-bound jazz records that invite the listener to draw a bead on the furthest cosmic reaches is a long one, and despite the relative humility of its title, Elevation makes a similar request. The album’s three tracks are all named after cloud formations, and even in their most subdued moments the three musicians involved treat gravity as a negotiable notion, not an immutable law. Portuguese electronic musician Rafael Toral joined up with Chicagoans Mars Williams and Tim Daisy for just one day, during which they played one concert in a suburban library and the recording session yielded this CD. Daisy’s a highly accommodating drummer, and much of his playing on this record disperses beats and tones like a spray of cloud-born moisture. Williams balances incendiary blowing guided by the anything goes spirit he nurtures in Extraordinary Popular Delusions with little instrument forays that infuse this music with the spirit of A-list types like Sun Ra’s Arkestra and the Art Ensemble of Chicago. And Toral draws pure electricity into flashes and stretched bolts that illuminate “Stratus,” “Cirrus” and “Altostratus” from without and within. Keep your eyes and ears on the sky.

Bill Meyer

Tribe — Hometown: Detroit Sessions 1990-2014 (Strut)

Hometown: Detroit Sessions 1990-2014 by Tribe

This disc collects post-break-up material from the long-running Detroit cultural collective Tribe, a pan-arts organization led by saxophonist Wendell Harrison and trombonist Phil Ranelin. During its 1970s heyday, the Tribe organization put out jazz records, published monthly magazine covering black culture, collaborated with dance and theater groups and taught music in Detroit schools. This collection picks up after Ranelin moved to Los Angeles and the Tribe name had been retired. Still Harrison continued to preside over multidisciplinary creative coalition, tapping into a vibrant Detroit scene for Afro-centric visual arts, theater, dance, music and literature. Handclapped, percussive “Juba,” for instance, documents Tribe’s connections to modern dance; you can intuit movement in its chanted, panted, grunted and foot-stomped rhythms. The two spoken word pieces, “Marcus Garvey” and “Ode to Black Mothers,” showcase the works of Mbiyu Chui, a poet, pastor and founder of the Black Christian Nationalist Movement. The music, too, is very, very good, from the swaggering big band swing of “Wide and Blue,” to the smouldery sleek piano grooves of “Hometown” (Harrison’s wife Pamela Wise on keys) to the Afro-Caribbean polyrhythms that animate “Ode to Black Mothers.” Detroit was in about as bad a state as a city can be during the period this music was recorded, but art and pride and resilience run through every track.

Jennifer Kelly

Various Artists — Back from the Canigo: Garage Punks Vs Freakbeat Mods Perpignan 1989-1999 (Staubgold)

Back from the Canigó: Garage Punks Vs Freakbeat Mods Perpignan 1989-1999 by Various Artists

Perpignan is the southernmost French city, nestled in a curve of the Mediterranean just before it turns south into Spain. It also the unlikely headquarters of a Gallic garage rock scene centered around the Limiñanas, but incorporating another dozen or so bands represented on this compilation. (The Limiñanas themselves are absent, just to be clear.) The two oldest bands — Les Gardiens du Canigou and the Ugly Things — are the most vital, both rough-rocking outfits fond of wheedling organ fills and much indebted to the Troggs. “Baby I Don’t Want to Drive” from the Ugly Things has the grit and swagger of Wimple Witch’s “Save My Soul,” while Les Gardiens turn in a truly unhinged live cover of “Gloria.” Some of the younger bands follow this example closely. The Vox Men and The Feedback, for instance, pursue the exact same sort of screaming hedonism. However, others diverge. Beach Bitches take a day-glo, 1960s garage energy into joke-y surfy directions; their “Walking in the Jungle,” intersperses novelty record animal cries with banging drums and blasts of molten guitar. Les Buissons bustles and blares with a fully-orchestrated sound, James Brown doing battle with a community marching band and flop-haired psychedelia in “Buissons Theme I.” The whole comp is immensely enjoyable in a what-decade-is-it-anyway manner. It’s probably not what you picture when people say, “south of France,” but it rocks pretty hard.

Jennifer Kelly

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