#me: spreads my dj music man agenda

[fazbearentertainments]

I'm back to spread the word that Music Man is a mattpat stan

E

[writingthingsisdifficult]

Oh my god they were roommates

You are forced to take over the monitoring of Loki. Snapshots from the life of being a god handler.

It’s weird how a phrase or sentence can inspire a whole story. In this case it was “A polished turd is a turd nonetheless.” This is what grew from it. The whole story is almost 13.000 words long, so I felt I had to split it into parts. I will post the next part tomorrow.

If you like it, let me know. Knowing that people enjoy my writing is what keeps me posting my stories.

Word count: 2051

Part 1

_______________________________________________________________________

Walking through the huge glass doors, you almost stopped and turned around. Any other time the music would at the very least have you tapping your toes, but not this time. Even the ridiculously expensive DJ could not turn your mood upside down.

You looked around the room. Of course they had cleared a space for dancing. Stark’s lavish parties always had lots of people dancing, and those who weren’t inclined to rock to the music could watch the night over the city through the massive windows.

The city looked like a twinkling Christmas ornament against the dark sky. Below, cars sped to and from, creating colourful lines of light in the raindrops on the glass. This was exactly how you felt. The calm rain washed the outside of the building while the loud chaos raged inside. Breathing in and out, you decided to hide in the corner, have one drink, and then head home to a date with Netflix and your pyjamas.

What on earth had made you think that attending a party filled with happy people would keep your heartbreak away? It hurt more than it should. Yes, Tommy was an asshole, you realised that now, but it was so hard to let go of the past two years. A part of you missed him, but you weren’t at all sure if you missed him or if it was just the lack of somebody there. You hoped it was the latter. If not, you needed to have a stern talking-to with yourself. In any case: procuring a drink was the next point on your agenda.

You shuffled through the crowd, wanting to be anywhere else, but you had said you would come, and you always kept your promises. You drew a deep breath and turned to the bar, where you bumped into Loki and his handler, Ben Reed.

Looking at them, you felt even more awkward with your plain, black skirt and blouse. Loki, like everyone else, was wearing black, but the details of his suit and the way he held himself made him look extra dashing and out of place. Standing next to Agent Reed, even more so.

If you squinted, you could just about make out the snakes winding and slithering over the lapels of his jacket, just barely visible when the light hit just right. Most likely sorcery, you thought, and felt bad for Ben, who looked no more than average compared.

“Good evening, Y/N,” Loki said with a polite smile. “Are you here alone tonight?”

“Yes.” Your reply was short and curt, and Loki knew better than to pry.

Agent Reed, however, did not. He looked you up and down. “What’s the matter, Y/N? You look like someone stole your toy.”

You pulled self-consciously on your skirt, slipping the heel of your shoes on and off. “Tommy dumped me last week,” you replied, surprised that it didn’t bring tears to your eyes, and hoping that the information would make him back off. You were in no mood to deal with him today.

You didn’t have anything in particular against Ben as such, it’s just that he had little to no compassion for others, and he had a little too much fun being a power hungry know-it-all. Okay, so maybe you had something against him after all. But you tolerated him because you were co-workers. And you liked being around Loki. Despite his closed-off demeanour and his violent past, he made you laugh with his weird humour and stories.  You wouldn’t go so far as to call yourselves friends, but you did enjoy his company at least.

“What?” Reed exclaimed without real feeling. “But he was such a handsome man. You looked so good together.”

You opened your mouth to tell him to kindly fuck off, but Loki beat you to it. “A polished turd is a turd nonetheless, Agent.” He turned to you and inclined his head slightly. “If you require my assistance, fair Y/N, I know several ways to maim and disembowel someone without taking their lives –“ He winked at you, but Reed frowned.

“Now now, Loki. You are still on probation, remember? Talk like that can get you in trouble.”

You rolled your eyes. “Only if you rat on him, Ben. It’s not Loki’s fault you’ve no humour.” Turning back to Loki, you were smiling for the first time in what felt like ages. “Thank you, but no thanks. I greatly appreciate the offer, but Tommy doesn’t deserve another thought from me.”

“I wholeheartedly agree. Maybe you would like to accompany the Agent and myself? There is an empty table over there. What would you like to drink?”

You caught the eyes of the bartender, who sidled over to the three of you. “One rum and coke. With a lime wedge, please. Thank you.”

Holding up a finger, Benjamin nodded. “Beer.”

“And for you?” the bartender asked Loki.

“Brillet, please. Grande Champagne, if you have.”

A couple of minutes later, you were making your way to the empty table, just far enough from the biggest crowds to be able to talk, but close enough that you could zone out without it turning too awkward.

The evening turned out a lot better than you feared. One drink turned to two, turned to three, and the conversation flowed freely, only interrupted by loud outbursts of laughter. You even bobbed your foot to the music.

“Please excuse me,” Loki said, rising from the table. “Oh, no need to follow,” he added when Reed moved to get up too. “I just have to visit the restroom. Don’t worry. You’d know it if I tried anything.” He lifted his trouser leg slightly to reveal a sleek, black device. You knew they were monitoring him, but an ankle bracelet?  So many questions filled your brain.

Reed seemed satisfied, and lowered himself back into the chair. Once Loki was out of earshot, he blew out a loud breath. “Jesus! I’m so sick of this. Following his every move. That goddamn weaselly face of his… I swear I’ll go mental one day!”

You frowned. It couldn’t be that bad. “You don’t have to follow him, you know. I’m sure he’s –“

“Loki is a war criminal, Y/N. He’ll never be a good citizen; evil is in his spine. But I guess you’re too blinded by his charm to see it.”

That was unnecessary harsh, you thought. Since the invasion of New York you had never seen Loki do anything illegal, and you were a firm believer in second chances and judging by what people did rather than what they had done. Reed, on the other hand… Apparently he held grudges, and when he decided he didn’t like you, well, then everybody knew it.

When Loki came back, looking fresh as always, Reed got to his feet. “I’m sure you can keep an eye at him,” he said to you, nodding to Loki. “I’m gonna…” He didn’t finish his sentence, but ploughed his way through the crowd towards a beautiful redhead dancing on her own by the DJ booth.

“Wow, that was sudden,” you said with a smile. “Not that I’m sad he left.”

Loki nodded, a smug smile spreading over his face. “I’m afraid he doesn’t like me very much.”

You watched as Reed tried and failed to grab the woman’s hand. A giggle escaped before you caught yourself, and you turned back to Loki. “Why? I mean, there’s the… but you’ve been very well behaved after, and he wasn’t even stationed in New York.”

Loki sipped his cognac, watching Reed’s efforts with amusements. “Well, he’s not very good with the ladies,” he said as if that would explain everything.

You gestured for him to continue.

“Last month he asked out a colleague, Annette was her name, I believe, but she turned him down. Rather harshly too, I’m afraid.”

“Oh? How?” You felt curiosity grow in your chest. His luck with the ladies couldn’t have anything to do with Loki, but then you remembered his comment earlier.

Loki shrugged just as the woman was joined by her friends, taking Reed by surprise. You both snorted into your drinks. “She told him that she would rather go on a date with me than spend an evening with him.”

“Ouch.”

“That is the correct term, yes. Ever since, his behaviour towards me has been increasingly colder.”

“Not your fault, though,” you offered, swinging your glass a little too vigorously, sloshing the drink over the edge. “Ben is rude. He doesn’t understand – see?”

The redhead slapped him hard across the cheek and turned to her friends, who were all laughing. Fuming, he returned to the table, and you hastily tried to look like you hadn’t been watching.

“Come on,” he growled, gesturing to Loki. “It’s time to go.”

Looking between them, you frowned. You weren’t at all ready to end the evening, and you were contemplating suggesting that you could take custody of Loki for the reminder of the night, but that probably weren’t a good idea anyway.

“Have a pleasant rest of the evening, Y/N,” Loki said, lifting your hand to his lips with a wink. Behind his back you could practically see smoke billowing from Ben’s ears. “Until our next meeting.”

It didn’t take long to finish your drink and call for a cab. The sudden stop to your talk with Loki reminded you that you came to the party alone, and that thought sent a wave of sadness and anger through you, and a short car ride later, you aggressively kicked off your shoes and stomped to bed without removing your makeup or clothes.

A week later you were sitting by your desk, trying to plot numbers into an Excel spreadsheet and not dying of boredom, when Miriam from floor three handed you a thick envelope. “You’ve got a mission,” she said before hurrying back to the elevator.

You opened the folder and pulled out a good pile of papers stamped CONFIDENTIAL in bright, red ink. Most of them contained notes and reports on Loki: his crimes and his progress, and you skimmed through it. As far as you could see he had done nothing to warrant suspicion the last three years, only minor pranks and general mischief, most of which, to be frank, you found hilarious.

The four last pages of the document contained a rough outline of a plan, and notes on Loki’s magic. A yellow post-it fluttered to the floor. When you picked it up, it revealed a time and location for a meeting. A quick glance at your calendar made you sweat. Tomorrow.

Loki was already there when you arrived, coffee in hand. Considering how he had treated the other agents (and to be fair, you couldn’t really blame him), you had decided to try to start on his good side, so you brought him a coffee as well.

“Morning,” you yawned, sliding the styrofoam cup over the table. It was too early to warrant a full sentence yet.

“Good morning, Y/N.” His voice was silky and suspicious. Clearly he hadn’t been informed of the change yet. You wondered if it was intentional, or if Agent Reed had just upped and fucked off the second he got the all clear.

Director Fury waltzed into the room moments later, followed by two agents you had never seen before. “Good. You’re both here. Please have a seat, Agent Y/N,” he added when you got to your feet.

Loki narrowed his eyes. “What the hell is going on, Fury?”

You swallowed, hoping your first task wouldn’t be cleaning up a showdown between the two. Because you were pretty certain it wouldn’t be pretty.

Fury smirked. “I have good news for you. Agent Reed resigned.”

You felt your face twitch as Loki leaned back into his chair and visibly relaxed. It was difficult to decipher his face, but you thought you could see a drop of relief in his eyes.

“However,” Fury continued, “I think you know we can’t just let you roam free. You have still to prove your allegiance. So I have assigned a new agent to keep you company.”

Nodding, you gave Loki a tight-lipped smile and a small salute with your coffee cup. Behind you the two agents tightened their grips on whatever weapons they were carrying.

Needing to diffuse the tension, you threw out your arms. “Tadaa. Could be worse, right?”

Loki remained silent, and you prayed he wouldn’t blow up. After a couple of uncomfortable minutes, he seemed to sink back in his chair. “Could be worse.”

Fury slid a folder across the table. “Good. That’s that out of the way. Do try to be a little excited, Loki. I thought you didn’t get along with Agent Reed.”

Loki caught the folder and read through the assignment. Once he was done, he groaned and rolled his eyes.

“We are in the process of finding a new apartment for you,” Fury said, ignoring Loki’s silent protest. “There is little in the vicinity of Y/N, but we will have a place ready within the next week or so.”

You looked at Loki, slumped in the chair, and Fury, oblivious to what was the real problem here. “Um, I have a suggestion,” you began, feeling all eyes on you and squirming in your seat. “If you need me to be closer… How about I move instead? It’s no problem for me to rent out my apartment. I have no sentimental ties to it, especially after…” You cleared your throat, shoving the memories of finding Tommy on your couch with some random chick to the back of your mind. What he had thought bringing her to your place instead of his own you didn’t know, but then again he had been absolutely sloshed. “Anyway, I’m sure it’s easier for me to move to the other side of the city?”

Hoping Fury would at least consider it, you glanced at Loki through the corner of your eyes. His back sat straighter, and he had moved to the edge of his seat. Maybe it would be a bearable arrangement after all.

“I’m sorry,” Fury said. “We have no one to relocate in that area. But…” He suddenly got a sly look in his eye. “Loki. You have a spare room, do you not? That would make it much easier for us.”

“What? Absolutely not!” His face clouded over, and you could practically sense the fire in his eyes. Okay, so this wouldn’t be easy after all.

What followed was a staring contest that would have even the testosterone filled tomcat slinking away to hide under the stairs. But eventually Loki inhaled and rubbed his temples. It looked like he mouthed “Fine,” but other than that he gave no indication that he was okay with the arrangement.

“So that’s decided. How soon can you move, Y/N?”

Feeling slightly dizzy from the power display that just played out, you hesitated. “Uh… whenever, really. Depends how much I have to bring with me.”

Part two

_______________________________________________________________________

Tagging the peeps who have shown interest: 

@80percentmarvel @tardis-is-mine @schwarzwaelder-kirschtorte

[especially-heinous-ada]

A Police Gala pt. 1

Hey, guys! This is the first fanfic I’ve ever written, and I am super excited to share it. It is a Barba x reader. I’m sure it could use some work, since I’m new to this, but darn it, I am proud. Please be gentle with my feelings. Lol. I plan on doing a part two, as well. Please enjoy!

picture cred: http://beloves.storenvy.com/products/17819987-gold-v-neck-sequin-backless-mermaid-prom-dress-formal-gown

Some soundtrack, if you’re interested in the vibe I was going for.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZJpGHR6ofus -- Luck Be a Lady

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=i-ZUXQuFcnw --  New York, New York

The October air was crisp and refreshing as a gentle breeze billowed down the street. The sun had gone down for the night, but New York City was brightly lit by storefronts and streetlights. Everything glimmered and glistened off the damp ground. Wet, splashing footsteps reverberated through the street. Men and women young and old scurried about, trying to reach their destination at the city’s signature, ever-hurried pace. Nearly drowning in the noise of the hustle and bustle were the clacking steps of ADA Rafael Barba’s dress shoes.

He wove in and out of the crowd, attempting to avoid puddles. The last thing he needed was to get his expensive, three-piece suit sopping wet before reaching his destination. The rain had let up but he still carried his umbrella, just in case. He took a deep breath as he approached the entrance.

“Mr. Barba,” one officer nodded, motioning him to go inside. Rafael nodded in acknowledgement and entered the building. Once he was inside, he could hear music playing in the background, stifled by the chatter of many police officers, city officials and fellow prosecutors. After checking in his jacket and umbrella at the coat check, he scanned the room, looking for the bar. It had been a long day. In fact, it had been a long week, and now that it was finally Friday, he needed some Scotch, now. Especially if he was going to be forced to mingle. He finally spotted the bar and crossed the room like a man on a mission.

He sat down before calling for the attention of the bartender.

“Scotch, please.” He said, a female voice mirroring his. He looked to his left in surprise, and she to her right. Rafael gave a half smile and extended a hand.

“Rafael Barba, A.D.A., Manhattan,” he introduced himself.

“Y/N.” You replied, putting your hand in his. “Mucho gusto, abogado.” A gorgeous smile spread across your face and Rafael’s heart nearly skipped a beat.

“Dónde está tu acompaῆante?” He asked.

“No tengo nadie.” Was your simple reply.

“Really?” He exclaimed, his surprise making him slip back into English.

“Really.” You gave an amused smile in response.

“So what are you doing here? You don’t have a date and no offense, but you don’t exactly seem like the type to enjoy these political events.” He remarked with a glance up and down your slender figure. 

Your intention for this night was to not go home alone. That being the case, you wore a glimmering gold dress that clung to your every curve just perfectly—your favorite man magnet. In Rafael’s eyes, it was as if the gods themselves had dipped your figure in liquid gold. He tore his eyes away and took a sip of Scotch to calm himself.

“I, uh…I’m a donor. When precincts need remodeling or new patrol cars and can’t afford it, they call me.” You responded, peering to the bottom of your glass and giving it a swirl before finishing it off. “Can I have another please?” You requested of the bartender. The bartender poured you another immediately, Rafael noticed. It was eye-rollingly obvious he was infatuated with you—not that Rafael could blame him. You took the drink in hand and adjusted your position on the bar stool.

As you crossed your legs, Rafael noticed your color-coordinating sky-high stilettos. You tossed your wavy tresses and he was entranced by the image—you reminded him of the sexy female lead in a Hollywood movie. Between your outfit, hair, and flawless makeup, you looked like candy-coated danger, and he suddenly felt himself craving something sweet.

“A donor, hm? I always assumed our generous donors were all old men with political agendas.” Rafael retorted with his signature dry wit and a matching sideways grin.

“Not all of us. Some are young-ish women who also have political agendas.” You responded with another amused smile.

“Young-ish?” Now it was Rafael’s turn to be amused. “You don’t look a day over 30.” You laughed.

“And yet, I am. I appreciate the flattery, but I’m already donating to the DA’s office; you don’t have to butter me up.” Rafael shook his head.

“I mean it.” He insisted, as a change of songs caused a momentary quieting of the room. Chatter continued for a few moments before the DJ began to play the next song.

“Ah, Sinatra.” As the sounds of the big band era spread throughout the room, you began to tap a beat on the bar counter, until you couldn’t hold it back anymore and had to sing. A few lines later, you looked over and found Rafael raising an eyebrow in surprise. You blushed, embarrassed. “Sorry, I’m a sucker for Ol’ Blue Eyes.”  

“No apologies needed; you have a beautiful voice.” Rafael said. You chuckled in response.

“My grandfather taught me to appreciate the classics,” you said wistfully as a faraway gaze crossed your face. Did she just ignore my compliment? He wondered.

“Would you like to dance?” Rafael blurted out without thinking, extending a hand automatically. You couldn’t help but smile impishly.

“I most certainly would.” You replied, taking Rafael’s hand. He led you out to the dance floor, attempting to give off an impression of regality and confidence, though he wasn’t entirely sure he succeeded. How does one dance to Sinatra? Swing? He suddenly wished he dusted off his dancing skills more frequently than once or twice every couple years.

The two of you reached a location on the dance floor with a satisfactory amount of room and Rafael stopped in place. He took your hands in his and gave his best attempt at leading the dance as another Sinatra song started. Whoever this DJ was, they were certainly a fan of his. As the two of you moved, Rafael recognized the song and began to sing along.

“I wanna wake up. In a city that doesn’t sleep. And find I’m king of the hill, top of the heap—” Pleasantly surprised, you smiled and joined in.

“These little town blues are melting away. I’ll make a brand new start of it, in old New York.” Both of you smiled and laughed as you twirled around singing.

“If I can, make it there. I’ll make it—anywhere! It’s up to you, New York, New York.” As your singing became more enthusiastic, Rafael noticed some of the other guests watching, but he found himself not caring. Let them stare, he thought. After all, here he was, singing and dancing with easily the most beautiful woman at the whole gala. He hoped they were envious, he thought with a wicked smile and devilish little gleam in his eye.

You hadn’t had this much fun in a long time, you thought as you twirled around the dance floor, led by Rafael’s strong arms. He had a very pleasant singing voice—a fact which you hadn’t been expecting. You locked eyes with him as the song’s climax drew closer. They were a striking shade of green and they glittered in the light as he sang. His smile seemed lighthearted and carefree, unlike his serious and guarded expressions from when the two of you were seated at the bar. As Sinatra belted the final notes, he gave you one last twirl and dipped you low, with an arm behind your back for support.

One hand had instinctively gone to his bicep to brace yourself, and you were impressed with the surprisingly hard muscle beneath the expensive fabric of his suit. As you remained in the dip, you watched his gaze dart between your eyes and lips a few times, and you thought he might kiss you. It would have been easy, given the proximity of your faces. Your bodies were so close, you could smell his cologne—an intoxicating, and surely expensive, aroma. After what felt like forever-in-a-moment, Rafael straightened and pulled you up with him. You found herself rather disappointed that he hadn’t kissed you, as a new song began.

“That was fun. I’ve been an ADA so long, I almost forgot what fun was.” He joked, flashing a charming smile. You felt her heart pitter patter. “If it’s not any trouble, can I have another dance?” Out of habit, you checked your watch and realized you had someplace to be in the next ten minutes.

“Oh, sh-- Is that the time? I’ve got to split, actually.” A flash of disappointment crossed his face, though he tried to hide it.

“Ah. Well, thank you, anyway, for the dance.” He said with an understanding nod. He turned to walk away, and without thinking, you grabbed him by the forearm.

“Wait!” You said. Rafael turned to face you, his face confused. “Just a second.” You said, grabbing a piece of receipt paper and a pen from your clutch. You scribbled your first name and number on it and slipped it into the breast pocket of his suit, giving it a reassuring pat. “That’s my personal number. Feel free to call me the next time you need a dance partner. And absolutely no discussing work.” You smiled with a wink, allowing your hand to linger on his chest for a few extra moments. Rafael grinned and gave a single chuckle.

“You’ll be my first call.”

You couldn’t help but grin back at him. How was he so damn suave? You gave him a little wave before turning and walking away, making sure to put a bit of extra hip movement into your walk, in case he was watching as you left. And with the way you looked in this dress? He definitely was.

[encensibiza]

Encens 2017

3 days of continuous worship in Ibiza.

In October 2016, God woke me up on just another Tuesday morning. Luke, He said, three days of worship in Ibiza. And that was it.

The words hung in my mind for a second and then dropped, sweeping away the night and throwing back the curtains onto a world of diamond cut clarity. Three days of worship in Ibiza. It rattled through my head again as I burnt my porridge and struggled to comprehend why I had never thought of this before. I told my wife. She looked at me wide eyed, silently nodding as it dawned on her as well. We hadn’t long returned from a prayer trip to Ibiza and we knew what God had said out there too. I pulled on odd socks and a t-shirt that clashed and stumbled out to the car. Three days of worship in Ibiza.

The vision played out before me throughout a distracted day. God was speaking. Something simple, excellent, without agenda, in the opposite spirit, no vip, no billboards, no big lights, just authentic pursuit of Him, cascading with creativity, art, music, totally Jesus focused, heaven bent upon transformational spiritual business, uncompromisingly Ibicencan and all baked in glorious sunshine. Three days of worship in Ibiza.

I promptly and embarrassingly did very little. The world crowded in, my confidence lapsed and for 2 months I flirted with an idea too big for me. Christmas rampaged through routine and then festively dissolved into that strange no-mans land of lost time and cold meats before the New Year. It was on one of those long, meaningless days I picked up my bible and turned to Jonah. And God spoke again.

Luke. About Ibiza. I wasn’t joking.

I paused as conviction flooded in. Jonah legged it from the task in hand and it really didn’t go too well. I felt God raise a fatherly eyebrow.

It wasn’t a joke.

There was clearly no escaping this. But God, I protested, how? I mean, how? I don’t live in Ibiza, I’ve no professional contacts, I wouldn’t know where to start….

Message Sara, He said. Share your heart with her. A week later she Skyped in from Ibiza. Luke, she said, we’ve been planning a worship event for the last few months. In October I had a dream about you at the event here. What you shared of your vision is worded exactly the same as our vision. I think the Holy Spirit is speaking…..

Roll forward 10 months and I find myself arriving at a villa in the middle of the Ibicencan countryside. The preparations had been extensive, the emails literally server crippling, the prayer at times quietly desperate. People were flying in from all over Europe. There was a buzz on social media. Money had been sown, time had been sacrificed, expectations were high. We had DJ’s, worship leaders, creatives, artists, prophetic ministries all on board. And I had no idea what I was arriving to. But this was happening. For better or for worse, Encens was happening.

I stepped into a courtyard of olive trees and peace descended. Unbeknownst to me, I had just crossed the threshold. The setting was startlingly beautiful and reassuringly authentic; flagstone floors and white walls leading us through into clean, rustic spaces beyond which a tree laden garden unrolled itself in lush green diversity. It was a venue as perfect as I had imagined, more so if possible. However, as wonderful as it was, the event that proceeded to play out amongst the vines and terraces proved the more heavenly comparison. The next three days I can only describe as the nearest experience to Heaven on Earth that I have ever witnessed. It’s going to be impossible for me to recount every detail but let me try and summarise.

On Thursday we prepared the site together, a group of international strangers that became family within minutes. Different strengths and gifts were deployed and encouragement and joy began spreading through the trees of the garden, resonating between the white walls of the finca. Creativity began to unfurl, ideas caught the breeze and impossibilities became journeys. We used what we had and discovered that we had so much more than we thought. We worked hard and with unparalleled peace beneath a cloudless ocean. No rivalry, no complaints, no self, no strain. The garden sang with the sound of skilful fingers and wise decisions as it gradually transformed into a sanctuary, a haven, a home. Unashamedly bohemian prayer spaces sprung up beneath the trees, lined with exotic rugs and furnished with patterned cushions. Festoons and fairy lights clambered amongst the palms, dripping glowing beads over the flowers beneath them. Inside the villa, many hands turned a master bedroom into an intimate space for prayer, lovingly decorated with drapes, lights and scripture. The entrance to the finca became a sweet shop, tastefully built around a cast iron Singer table and trellis. In the outer reaches of the garden, a simple wooden cross was planted and hidden amongst an orchard of ornamental trees, waiting unobtrusively for those seeking a moment of quiet reflection. A scrap heap of wooden pallets and metal poles became a gold mine of essential resources, including a rustic DJ booth and a truly critical electrical earthing cable. As dusk encroached upon us, the venue rang with the arpeggios of creative minds set free in the purity of Spirit led expression and all pulsing to the indescribable delight of unity.

Into this righteous soundstage came the children of God. The Friday morning sun had barely begun to lift the dew before a solitary flamenco dancer, with arms raised heavenwards, launched Encens with the dignity, passion and devotion of a dance worthy of a King. Voices began to rise as we drew swords with our instruments and declared war over the island in song. DJ’s stepped up, laden with musical class and spiritual ingenuity, stirring us to dance to the Lord without shame. Prophetic words arose, joyful prayer was released, spontaneous songs lifted us higher in ever evolving revelatory repetitions. Art was being created and exhibited around the site whilst children danced, coloured and drew in the shade of the terrace. The catering team, smiling and busy, served up relentless coffee, pastries and cake to hungry volunteers and guests taking shelter from the strengthening sun. And into this whirlwind of worship, adoration, joy and service came the presence of God; completely peaceful, strangely tangible, inexplicably wondrous, and all consumingly addictive. I understood the psalmist better than I ever have before when he said ‘better is one day in your courts, than a thousand elsewhere.’

As I looked out from under the stage canopy, I witnessed prayer happening spontaneously, friendships being etched into reality, laughter, tears, hugs. There was freedom and yet somehow, there was order. Nothing was chaotic, irreverent or inconsiderate. Liberty hadn’t arrived at the expense of self control and conversely the rotas hadn’t compromised the flow of the Holy Spirit. People were free to sit, to kneel, to recline, to swing in hammocks, to bury themselves in the prayer rooms or to launch themselves in wild abandon to sampled preachers bellowing over tech house. God’s people, many hurt by oppressive religiosity and pulpit dictatorships, were allowed to breathe. Some took tentative steps into the forests of freedom, unsure, waiting for orders that never came. Others simply ran into His arms.

At night, the villa hummed to the sound of passionate song, tuned to the devotion of hungry worshippers who seized whatever instrument they could find lying around and subsequently lifted up praise in Spanish, Portuguese, Catalan and the language of Heaven. At 6am I fingerpicked my way through gentle love songs as three of us reverently spent time with Jesus whilst the sun rose over the pine shrouded hills around us and exhausted friends slept beneath heavy rugs. Fresh coffee brewed in the kitchen as a silent congregation began to arrive and take their seats on the cushions. Tiredness was gnawing at my flesh but my spirit was totally indifferent. Being with Him was too tempting, too precious, too sweet. Sleep became an afterthought, His presence became a necessity.

Backs were healed, strongholds were dismantled, futures were cemented, pasts were erased. A young lady arrived because she heard the music and was curious. She left that evening, prayed for, encouraged and declaring it was the best afternoon she’d ever had. Elsewhere, the pool became a temporary baptistery and communion arrived, served typically without a trace of religious formality, with the promise of healing for all who needed it. Above us an eagle caught the thermals and the wind rushed through the trees in gusts of praise. Creation, it seemed, approved.

Three days in, the gathering thundered to a close. With a cry as loud as we could muster, we raised our voices in a roar of victory and adoration, hands clasped tight together, tears flowing freely as we chose to believe our God for the impossible. Salvation, redemption, restoration and hope for Ibiza. The last chord rang out, we gathered to de-brief and then exhaled, letting the intensity of the weekend sink in. I looked around dazed at the emptying site. What had just happened?

It’s a good question. I know what happened in the natural. I saw the Kingdom of God in its righteousness, peace and joy unleashed upon a consecrated people. But behind the scenes, we believe in faith for the spoils of war to be gathered in. 2 Chronicles 20 describes the famous victory of Israel, orchestrated by God over a soundtrack of worship by those trusting in His power to bring them victory. We know that worship is the forerunner, the act of faith, the only true response to God’s plan for Ibiza. We believe the strongholds and forces behind this island’s economy and culture are being shaken, redeemed, dismantled and laid waste. We believe the oppression of the people, the corruption of the politics and the mentality of greed are all sliding on turning tables. Worship and celebration are the obvious predecessors to those who walk by faith and not by sight, believing that restoration is coming for Ibiza. Enemies will turn against each other in wild confusion. The blessings will be gathered by those whom God has redeemed. Our worship has simply heralded what we’re believing God is doing in this place. And He’s worthy of all the praise.

So we rest together, blessed, totally full, satisfied, excited and hopeful. Three days of worship in Ibiza. I’ve been overwhelmed by the labour, skill, organisation and hospitality of the Ibicencan team. I’ve been astounded by the unity of churches and believers, not only from across the country but throughout the world. I’m at a loss to describe the love and compassion on display between people who may have only just met. I’m inspired by the anointed musicians, singers, DJ’s, artists, dancers all of whom followed the leading of the Holy Spirit with such humility, wisdom and grace as He wielded each individual’s gift for His glory. And above all, I’m in awe of my God who planned, enabled and delivered a moment of history beyond anything I could have conceived and somehow found the grace to let me join in with His plans. Three days of worship in Ibiza. What really happened? I believe our Heavenly Father inhaled the incense of our praise and worship deep into His mighty lungs, pausing just a second to savour the sweet aroma of His redeemed people. And then, with ultimate authority, absolute finality and total sovereignty, He roared His righteous decrees over the land.

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