#who continued to worship a god across planes he didn’t even exist in

[thatgirlonstage]

The two nickels situation that is John Gaius and John AdventureZone (if i had a nickel for every guy named John who started a cult and then destroyed the world and killed everyone in it because his nihilism got way out of hand and he believed Only He Could Fix It so then he resurrected everyone in a new form to try and take another run at getting the concept of life right this time except as an unintended side effect the universe is now being eaten alive, I’d have two nickels, etc) has given me the thought what if Merle Highchurch interacting with the Ninth House and god. God. The sheer number of brain bleaching bad sexual innuendos he and Gideon would go through in their first five minutes of interaction

[lvlyhao]

『lifetimes; H.R』

one-shot; huang renjun

A/N: it’s been a hot minute since i posted the teaser but welp it’s finally here :] this has got to be one of my favourite things i’ve ever written so please give it some love!!

𝓖𝓮𝓷𝓻𝓮𝓼: not a lot of it but fluff (♡), angst (❆), fantasy (✯), author’s favourite (ツ)

𝓦𝓪𝓻𝓷𝓲𝓷𝓰𝓼: some mentions of death but nothing too explicit

word count: 2.8K

pairing: huang renjun x reader

disclaimer: the characters in the story below do not reflect real people or present real facts. this is purely fictional, and you may not copy, change, translate or repost my work in any way. all rights reserved © cherry-hyejin 2021.

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:

With chocolate eyes that dazzle golden under the light, he scouts the forest. The canopy is thick above his head and shudders every few seconds when some creature hurriedly passes by. The trees' branches sway in the breeze, and he can almost hear their rumbling under the chirping birds. The ever-so-green grass is dank under his boots, and he can still smell the rain that ended just a couple minutes ago. The Sun, though, seems to have no recollection of that. He is as argent as always, here in the Violet Woods. The place is dazzling, alive, and crisp; far too different from his own home, but also far less foreign. 

Graceful fingers reach for the periwinkle flowers just left from the tallest red oak, kissing their soft petals as he wonders where they are. Renjun is positive he's at the right place, and this is the right time. Noon, by the bush of forget-me-nots. He could only hope they hadn't misremembered this week's chosen spot. Knowing them, it's perfectly possible. Maybe he should head to the muttering roses, where they had met last week, and wait there instead...

Laboured breaths and feathery footsteps sound from behind him a second later, and he doesn't have to turn around to know it's them.

"You're late", he states, fierce gaze still burning in the flowers.

Renjun doesn't expect an apology, not really, but the mellow hand they lay on his shoulder is just as startling. Still kneeling, he twirls to face them at once, and he doesn't miss the dim look of urgency that paints their features.

"Y/N? What happened? Are you okay?"

They don't answer him. Instead, their lips curl into a small smile that Renjun supposes is meant to calm his nerves. It doesn't work very well, or well at all, and he stands up to his full height, holding their hand in his.

Both of their hearts beat loudly, wildly attempting to escape their ribcages. However, neither of them shies away from the proximity. Renjun and Y/N idly stand together for a second, basking in each other's warmth when they speak for the first time today.

"Father knows about you."

If the incoming information is anything short of shocking, he doesn't let it show. His keen, fox-like traits remain the same as he searches their eyes for something else—fear, rage, or any other emotion. Something that would tell him what to do now. 

Nodding slowly, he gently squeezes their fingers, waiting for them to continue. 

The way Renjun looks at them is enough to make Y/N's throat tighten in concern. From the palace, all the way over here, they've been trying to conceal it, but they no longer can. 

It's freezing cold, even against the strings of sunlight that filter through the trees. Its' grip is vicious, instilling into their body a form of despair they had never felt before. It is the dawning realization that their little world is shattering, and there's little they can do to save it.

"...And he calls you a filthy mortal."

Somehow, Renjun finds it in him to snort. Out of all the things he thought they would say, that was certainly not one of them, but it makes him happy. After all those months, they still manage to catch him off-guard. Will they ever stop doing that?

"Aren't you elves so kind?" he laughs, lifting his other hand to gently flick at their pointy ears.

Y/N simply huffs, dodging his fingers and escaping from his hold to pace around the trees.

Watching them in silence, Renjun thinks their race truly is something else. Elegant, breathtaking, stunning, unmatched, perfect. Sharp edges give way to soft curves that make him question the existence of all deities. Should he turn his face in shame? Should he go down on his knees and beg for forgiveness over sins he didn't commit? Should he declare them as his one redemption and worship them until his breath forever ceases?

Sighing dreamily, he thinks he, too, would be an arrogant bastard if he looked anything like an elf.

"Don't put that on us, Renjun. You, humans, have a terrible tendency to destroy and foul the space you occupy" Y/N turns to him. 

Placing their hands on their hips, they know they're falling into the usual routine: bickering about historical events between the two races until one gives up. That's how their rendezvous always begins, and they wouldn't have it any other way, but today something hovers in the air between them.

Doubts.

Renjun can't keep himself from speaking.

"He will banish you some time, Y/N. You know we can't keep this up forever."

He's right, and they know. Had it not been for the strands of sunshine dancing across their frame, they would have shivered. The thought of getting banished from their realm is terrifying. Y/N is still incredibly young for an elf—just over their 75 years—but they've lived enough to know how it goes for elves who get exiled. 

For an elf, banishment isn't being outlawed from your homeland. That is most indisputably sad, and Y/N would cry about it for some time, missing nature's presence from her forests. Although that's not the part of the exile that frightens them: it's the loss of immortality, their lifelines cut too short from straying from their hearths.

Death is no friend of the elves, as everybody knows. The mere idea of perishing from disease or poison is strange to their minds, if not altogether catastrophic. It's not normal, as it is not natural. It's almost reason enough to stop Y/N from making her offer, but the pink haze in their eyes wouldn't allow them to.

"Run away with me then", they mutter, slowly closing the distance between them and the boy once again. Something in Renjun's eyes shifts, and his pink lips part to speak, but not yet. 

"Protect me from the dangers of mortality. We could go south to the Cristalline Planes, Injun", Y/N stops in front of him. "Or, maybe even head west, since I know you've always wanted to see Wistful Shores."

Hope shines bright in their complexion, burning with such richness it nearly turns into despair. What they're doing is not asking—they're pleading, and Renjun nearly collapses to the ground at the honeyed tone in their voice. However, the glow of their fingers, smoothly tracing the shapes of his light robes, grounds him. Their touch is as delicate as the breeze, and it takes all of his self-control not to say "yes" right away.

"And let you give up on eternal life for me? That is possibly the most foolish decision I have ever heard of", he says, stoping their movements to lace his fingers between theirs.  

For a moment, everything around the two of them stills and fades into silence. The woods are quieter than ever before, and even the tree's lullaby comes to a halt. Nothing exists out of their eyes, embedded deep into the others'. 

His might just be Y/N's favourite thing in the whole entire world. The vibrant, sunny brown of his orbs reminds them of the goodness still left in mortals. They shimmer, sparkle and flicker with every bit of emotion Renjun feels, for they are too honest not to. It would be nothing short of a crime if they ever lied about his heart.

Y/N's are what he would describe as literal gateways. To where? Well, that, he will always argue. Some nights, when the stars are out, he could swear the entire universe is right there, before him. On other occasions, when what surrounds them are the glistening streaks of dawn, Renjun sees magic in its purest form. He could spend all of his life staring at them and still feel like there's too much left to explore.

"I don't think this foolish decision is yours to make, then", they decide, lightly squeezing his hands and glancing down to the ground. "I would rather live one more hour with you than one hundred lifetimes on my own."

There is a sharp intake in his breath as if a blade had buried itself deep in his stomach. It pains him just the same, he realizes. Hearing them say that and knowing they speak the truth brings tears to his eyes because he knows this is the point where he has to stop them. Stop them from wondering about the "what if's" and from asking that of him. Gods know if they ask again, he won't have the strength to decline.

"I, on the other hand, would like for you to live a very long, happy, fulfilling life," he remarks, hoping the shaking in his voice is not too evident. "And for that to happen, you can't be that much of an idiot, okay? Don't give that away for some human prince, Y/N."

"And what if that human prince is all I care about? What if he is my entire existence, and my one reason to sleep through the nights is to dream about him? What then, Renjun?" they challenge. 

It's rare to see elves speaking in any way that is not moderate, light, but the fire in their voice is nothing like he's ever seen. It's the same anger that fuels them to pull him closer, resting their palms on his warm cheeks and wiping away the tears he didn't know have fallen. 

"Then you must tell me what does that make me. What is this between us?" Renjun mutters, eyes closing with soft flutters. Guilt claws at his chest for not immediately putting an end to it but savouring the moment, feeling himself fall a bit deeper for the elf as each second ticks by.

"Love", Y/N simply states, sighing when his hands come together to hold the small of their back. "It's love."

"A part of me wishes you had not said that", he leans into their touch. "Had you said 'nothing' and stopped torturing me, my heart would have been broken, but I would have been fine. How can I be, now, when all you've just done makes me cherish you more?" he chuckles bitterly.

He knows what they're about to say, and he can't stand to hear it, so he continues talking, eyes indolently opening to scan their features.

"Things are different for us, Y/N. While you don't have to worry about succeeding the throne, that is my fate. To be a good ruler for my people when my own father dies. I can't leave them behind", Renjun breathes, hating the way their hopeful look melts into denial.

"You have a brother, you know? Leave him to rule. We've both seen what it's like to wear the crown, Injun", they grimace. 

It is true. Being part of the royal family means you grow used to many horrible sights and dark secrets. He can't help but wonder what it will be like to live all of that and not have you to keep him sane.

Shaking his head to dissolve querying thoughts, Renjun attempts to focus on something else that is not them. It's dangerous to be that close, feeling their own ragged breaths fawning over his face. He is just one touch away from all he has ever wanted, but one touch away is still forbidden. In that one touch lies his downfall.

As if hearing his prayers, the wind blows stronger, running through his silken, dark locks and messing up Y/N's. It backfires, though. The urge he has to resist now is to run his hands through their hair, pushing away all of the wild strands that frame their face, and he curses. Nothing could ever make this any less difficult for him.

"If Chenle ever becomes king, I pity the people that will live under his hand." 

He smiles, and Y/N realizes he must be attempting to make a joke. They wish they could laugh, but the conclusion behind his words hangs in the air. He won't change his mind, will he?

A sob leaves their body as suddenly as the tears come. Their vision turns misty, and the cold awareness that hits them is too much to manage. Wordlessly, Y/N falls to their knees, hugging their own body in attempts to calm the heartbreaking cries pouring from their lips. The pleasant spring evening turns cold and unforgiving, and the elf loses their bearings for a second, only to realize Renjun has dropped to the ground in front of them.

Neither of them dares to open their eyes when two bodies become one, and the only thing they know is each other. Fingers grasp at robes, armour and leather, and rough sobs blend together in utter heartbreak. Renjun pulls them so close he's not sure which limbs are his or whose tears he's tasting, but it hardly matters. This is where they end.

How much time they spend lost in each other's embraces is unclear. Neither Y/N nor Renjun knows, and they don't want to. Acknowledging time is dangerous here because it means accepting this moment won't last forever, and that is something they can't—won't do. It won't be so until they let it, right?

Wrong, and they know it. The Sun is going down.

When sobs have turned into whimpers and clutches have turned into caresses, Y/N takes the courage to pull away and look at him.

The prince's eyes are red and puffy, much like theirs, they imagine. His pale cheeks are stained with dry tears, and his pretty lips still tremble from the deep breaths. He doesn't meet their gaze until they call his name.

"Renjun", they call once more, admiring the blue hour lights shifting across his dashing features. "I—" Y/N gasps, and he's suddenly terrified of what they'll say. "I think maybe... maybe we should no longer meet. I can't bear to look at you and know you're not mine to take."

Just like that, his fears were confirmed. In his mind, he knows this is how it was supposed to go all along. This is for the best, he reminds himself, even if right now it feels like having your soul ripped to shreds.

"Don't say it like that, Y/N. I've always been, and I'll always be yours", he flashes a watery smile. "Perhaps just... in another lifetime."

The pain becomes too much to handle, and all they can do is close the space between them again. Their last and first kiss is salty, from the tears they both still shed and bittersweet, from the goodbye it speaks.

How poetic, they think, to say goodbye right by a bush of forget-me-nots. I'll surely never forget him.

"Go now", Y/N whispers as they part, "before I kiss you again and never let you go."

A heartbroken chuckle leaves his lips while he touches his forehead against theirs. 

"Remember me, Y/N", he begs, slowly dragging them to their feet. "Remember me like this, young and well, learning what the flowers you mark our spots with look like. Always see me like this: grateful and completely in love with you."

"How could I not, my prince?"

And in truth, how could they not?

To say Y/N never forgot about Renjun is a misunderstanding. They never forgot about him, and they never stopped thinking about him either. His are every emotion they've felt. Every split of every second in every day of their life was and is dedicated to him. His smile is all they see when they close their eyes, and his laughter sounds right by their side whenever they visit the forget-me-not fields. He lived in all of the things surrounding them, and even in the name of that corner right by the tallest red oak: Prince's Lair.

Likewise, his very soul was bound to Y/N from the day they met to the day he died, still in reverence of how much devotion it is possible to feel for someone. He grew older and eventually found a family, yes, and he even went to war. His eyes held visions he would never wish for anyone to see, but they were still his first thought in the morning and the last one in the night when he allowed himself to weep for their lost future. He got to see the most distant borders of many kingdoms, and he got to meet people in all of them. Yet, no creature on this Earth ever compared to Y/N—his Y/N.

Even at the tender age of 18, Renjun was wise. 

Aeons of praying upon the stars never changed their fortune, but maybe there is something else to their fates.

Y/N never stopped loving Renjun, and Renjun loved them until his days were over, but their paths never crossed again.

Perhaps in another lifetime.

[imaginesfora3]

First time for my man sakyo please? 🥺🥺🥺

Furuichi Sakyo: 

First Times: First time you and the character have sex. 

Sakyo thought he’d be woken up any moment now. 

This felt like a surreal dream, not reality, the feeling of your soft lips against his neck sending him to an entirely different plane of existence. He let out a surprised gasp as your teeth grazed against his skin, pulling away from your mouth so he could see your face; you were smiling up at him playfully, having sensed how much he enjoyed that, and he was starting to come to terms with the fact he wasn’t dreaming. This moment with you where you were stripping yourself of your clothing and he was quickly stripping himself of his, was very real. 

He can’t remember how long he’d loved you, how long he’d watched from the sidelines and thought about how perfect it would be if he was just someone else. Someone who could love and take care of you the way you deserved, someone worthy to hear your words of affirmation, to feel the touch of your skin, to be allowed to wake up to you each morning-- His hands, his life, were too tainted for someone like you to ever become a part of, and he couldn’t possibly be seen as a potential suitor when you had so more going for you. 

But he couldn’t resist you now that you were in his arms, fingers grazing across his bare chest just as your lips melded perfectly with his. He can count on one hand the moments in life that had him as excited as this, anticipating what might happen next with bated breath. Once the rest of your clothing had come off (Sakyo wished he could’ve done it, it would’ve been like unwrapping a present) he lays you gently down on the bed, wanting to savor this, to take his time with finally reaching a point he never thought he would. 

He still didn’t think he deserved to touch you like this, to worship you up close and personal, lips leaving a trail of kisses up your arm to your neck, traveling across your collar bones and going back down your other arm. He’s in love with everything about you, feelings amplified as he soaks in your natural scent and the sound of your quiet moans. He wouldn’t rest until he’d kissed almost every part of your body that he could reach, ignoring the sounds of your panting and your whines as you beg for him to do more. 

“You’re so beautiful I don’t know what to do with myself,” He whispered against your chest, gifting your nipple with a gentle kiss; you arched into his touch and he showed you a small mercy, mouth wrapping around the needy bud as he lightly suckled and listened for your reaction. You weren’t someone who didn’t already know what they want and you grab his free hand, placing it on your other nipple to get the maximum teasing effort out of him. He doesn’t argue against it, rolling it between his fingers while his tongue continued to work it’s magic, knowing you’d be fully prepped and ready for him when the time finally came. 

He wouldn’t let you touch him like he touched you, always pushing you back down and away so he could get at your skin, fingers dipping into your sensitive area and eliciting another series of moans from you. He didn’t want you to worry about him so in your head you decided it was a fight for another day, feeling lucky enough that you even managed to get in his room let alone in his pants. You weren’t about to push your luck further but hopefully after this, Sakyo would realize resisting you was a futile effort; if he loved you as much as you loved him, then you were meant to be together, yakuza be damned. Your thoughts might be a bit reckless but he deserved so much more than he allowed himself to have, with you now desperate to show him all that he deserved, starting with a mutually loving and supportive relationship. 

“I love you, Sakyo,” You whimpered as he pressed himself inside you, his forehead now pressed against yours. You were both sweaty messes at this point but the detail didn’t seem so important now that you were feeling so full, your legs wrapped around his waist as though you were afraid he’d run away. But he wasn’t going anywhere, not anymore, a reassuring thought as he began to move his hips with determined precision.

He hears you say those three little words to him over and over again, dick twitching each time you say it as he tries his hardest to hold himself back but you’re attacking every weak spot he had. You were proving to be one huge weak spot that he couldn’t account for, that he didn’t know how to counter, that would probably leave him struggling and breathless for the rest of his days. But he didn’t care about any of that, chasing this pleasurable high alongside you, wanting to see your beautiful face contort into one of pure pleasure as he threw you over the edge. 

God, did he love you. 

God, did he want to protect you until he took his last breath. 

“Sakyo,” You cried out, knowing you were going to come at any moment, “Please, kiss me.” 

“How can I deny you when you asked so nicely?” It was just as much for him as you, lips connecting once more as his thrusts start to hit that special spot inside you that has you seeing stars; he comes once he feels your muscles spasming around his dick, knowing he’d done his job right. He’s in a bit of a daze as he pulls out of you, feeling exhausted emotionally rather than physically as he slid back into bed beside you. 

You faced him with a content smile on your face, “That wasn’t so bad, was it?” 

“I never presumed it would be.” 

“You sure ignored every single attempt I made to sleep with you!” 

“...I noticed them,” He admitted, “You were just entirely too irresistible to me tonight.” 

A comfortable silence followed, Sakyo allowing you to cuddle up against him. You had no doubt that you’d be spending the night in bed with him, and that you’d get to wake up in the morning to the same handsome face, perhaps catching him off-guard by showing his body the same amount of love yours had received tonight.

“I really do love you, Sakyo.” 

“...I love you, too,” He seemed defeated now that he’d finally uttered those words out loud, knowing he could never take them back, knowing that now that you knew you wouldn’t allow him to surrender to his need to not get directly involved. 

He’d never admit it out loud, but he’s happy to see one of his biggest daydreams become a reality: having you fall asleep in his arms, comfortable, content, with a smile on your face. 

[recallingrealities]

Aligned - Chapter 4

Chapter 4: Revelations

Zelda x Reader (slight nsfw)

For Chapter 1, click (here)

As you reached the threshold of the forest's edge, you smile quietly, admiring the Academy as you brush the dirt off the soles of your feet. Replacing your shoes, you make your way back inside. It was upon re-entering its quarters that you remembered your first unholy mass was this witching hour. You had never been to one before, let alone participated in group worship - aside from the ancestors that occasionally surfaced to join you. You felt preceding all that the Goddess had just given you, it felt right to listen in gratitude to an oncoming sermon. What a powerful time to psiphon these overwhelming waves of serenity and gratitude, to return it to the Goddess in worship. It wasn’t yet close to darkness; however the forest had embraced you through late afternoon. You felt it appropriate to retire to your quarters for some much needed  rest before the long night's engagements. You had so much to feel thankful for, and though it didn’t always reside in you quite this way, you were grateful for the safety and honor you felt so powerfully in this moment. Your slumber came easy to you, drifting easily like quiet rippling mist rolling in, or perhaps a chorus of restful waves, retreating to the shore after a spectacular sunset. You had felt like you’d rested for centuries, and awakened with ease and tranquility.

As the moon pulled itself into the sky, you bathed to scarlet candles, adorning yourself with your ash silken robe, readying for the sermon. You left the door open, so the moon’s rays from the bedroom window could reflect its beauty in rippling rays upon the anointed waters. Sipping a warm cup of black coffee felt right after the relaxing rest of the blessed bath. You could feel your senses reattuning with your growing wakefulness, and attention to detail, as you made your face. Massaging soft, scented oils in your moist skin, you felt your senses awaken. Rosemary, notes of pomegranate, and warm citrus dewed your skin with an indulgent radiance.You applied light makeup, and ran a comb through your hair before dressing. The subtle movements you made, entranced your hair to curl in natural drying ringlets. You felt so at ease when your routine was drawn by intuition. It guided you in a way that felt delectable; like running your fingers across a silk ribbon or following a lover down a hall in the dark. The past few days had felt so magical, and you found yourself feeling particularly excited for the night’s worship. Though you didn’t think of yourself as illicitly religious, your dedication to the Goddess could be seen that way. In all reality, it was the deepest friendship you had ever known. Until you began to look at it is a relationship, you realized you hadn’t grown to love an overpowering being of control. Your reality had become humbled and tender at the Goddess you had taken time to understand and listen to. She had always yearned for you to see yourself as she did., with unconditional love.

 After slipping on your dark chamise, and a richly colored saffron tunic, you felt your fingers draw towards a rich Juniper overtunic. It had been one you yourself embroidered with fine golden thread upon the sleeves and collar. Twining ivy, ornate and caring was weaved with intricacy, framing the fabrics edge. You looked at yourself in the reflection of your cup before finishing the last sip. You could hardly recognize yourself, wondering if your closeness of presence to the Goddess today had transformed you. In all reality and in goodness of nature, you had given yourself permission to be you, and that was divinely beautiful - that of quintessence. 

You dawned a matching skirt, of rich wine to that of your undertunic. Your waist fashioned with a simple braided leather. 

Before you made your way to mass, you took a deep calming breath, conscious to surround yourself mentally with a vibrant white light. You felt it radiate from your center, before letting it permeate your every cell, surrounding yourself in a circle of pooling light. The outskirt, you envisioned vibrant violet flames, dissolving any negativity. Anything of ill intent that did not serve you or the highest good. This was one of the first things you had been taught to do, always. Anytime you remembered to do so, you followed this, and considered it not only a cleansing and purification cantrip, but a protective measure. It felt only proper before going to a holy… or unholy place.

As you entered the consecrated church, you found yourself unalone, other warlocks and witches alike making their way towards the building. You had been given directions, though now you realized they were hardly needed, as everyone in the entire coven, or of Magic in Greendale seemed to be traveling here. As you entered the church, you found a seat on the outskirts of the aisle in the front row. You wanted a bit of privacy, as not to draw attention. Also you yearned to be as close as possible as to not miss a word of what was to be spoken this witching hour.

You had managed to completely forget somehow that your High Priestess would be in front of you, leading the sermon. She was at a distance too close for it to be obvious you were entranced, but also close enough to witness her breathing between words. As she made her way to the front of the coven she cleared her throat, silencing the room as her presence always did. There she stood before you, rich copper hair in a few perfect ringlets, her skin like freshly cooled porcelain, or that like the moon herself. She wore one of her classic fashioned dresses, likely from the early 1900’s. The raised fabric extenuating her shoulders would have made your knees weak. You couldn’t lay your finger on what had you come undone in her presence so effortlessly, only that the Goddess had reminded you it was her will, her intention for you to unravel. At that you blushed, transfixed and content watching her blood red lips, forming each word as to address the coven. She mentioned you, and you quickly returned to reality becoming attuned to what she was saying. 

“Lillith has dawned our coven with not only a new statured and powerful witch for our ranks, but also our newest Professoress, Miss Y/N.”

She did not gesture towards you, which you were relieved, not wanting to draw any sort of attention during the hour of your Goddess. There were a few whispers amongst the students, but nothing Zelda looked scolding about. 

“She will have much to teach us in the times to come and I think it would be in your best judgement to listen to her prowess, and see what the Goddess is trying to show you.” 

She pulled her lips tight, as to shoot daggers at Dorcus. snickering amongst her sisters. The girl dropped her smile and straightened obediently.

 “This precisely, leads us to the subject of our sermon. Guidance by the Goddess’ will”. 

At that, the room hushed. With the group having been dedicated to the will of the dark lord for generations, all that was to come out of  Directrix Spellman’s mouth was unheard of. You found your stomach growing hot and curious with anticipation as to what the woman would say. Zelda held a hand to her tightened abdomen, gesturing with the other as she began to speak. 

“As you all know, this coven and generations of Witches have gone by not the will of our own, but the will of our- the Dark Lord” 

She corrected herself, not faltering at the alteration, but reminded of the Hell on Earth arth they had gone through.

 “In mind of the Goddess, we are reminded that her wisdom predates his very presence. For some of what he would’ve considered to be true, also falls into her will. The idea of life and divinity is that guided by the heart - of one’s innermost desires. Something I am sure many of you are familiar.” 

Nicholas Scratch looked at his feet guiltily, trying to hold back a flush as the three sisters giggled, knowing some of his past lustful inquiries.

 “Though desire was a facet aligned with the Dark Lord, something many of you-” 

she seemed to be referencing everyone but you

“Are familiar with. In exchange for power, and ability to act on your every desire, we gave him our will. Whereas the Goddess does not want our will. 

Though I dare not speak for her, I have come to learn she wants not our will for her own, but for us to understand our own will. Truth being a key, a gift to our natural success on the physical plane. To take the time to experience our emotions, our feelings, our darkness, and our loving vulnerabilities. It is the Goddess who wants us to feel and experience, to expose our desires deliberately and separate them from our shame. Our guilt.

In fear, we are spending our energies dwindling on our doubts. How our instincts could be wrong or go wrong - rather than executing our full energy, our complete power to that which we will.

As many of you know from our basic teachings, it is what we are trying to accomplish, and how much we believe in it that is aligned directly with magic, and helps to successfully execute a spell. The power of divine self, however, is a source of power ingrained in every single one of us. It has been with us since the moment we were born. We all have wants and desires do we not?”

Members lulled, but began to nod, it was as if something was clicking in each witch as she continued to speak. 

“Rather than begging the Dark Lord for his mercy and his power - our powers, the Goddess shows us that the power was already within us. We come from a bloodline dating directly back to Lilith herself. The very first witch in existence. Lucifer was a celestial. As unholy and as grandiose his powers were, they were not his own. But of the God he had so been damned by.” 

Zelda could hardly believe these words were even leaving her mouth, though she knew them to be true. She had followed the dark lord with such dedication and veracity - but even she knew there was truth to her words. 

“The Goddess does not physically allow us our powers - the Goddess shows them to us. She reminds us who we are: created in divinity. Given life by the very essence that is her own.

And she reminds us, that when we take out the fear and the doubt and the shame in our thoughts, that have been instilled genetically and societally by both the christian god and our Lucifer alike - when we stop wasting our energy on that uselessness - we become able to concentrate our life force, our magic, in its entirety, to our will.”

After a pause, several members of the unholy congregation stood, an eruption of clapping waved over the group coven many shook and nodded their heads in revelation. Zelda had felt her heart leap in her chest. A response this dedicated had never been expressed so directly in the teachings of the dark lord. This was speaking as it was about, directly to the hearts and the souls of the coven.

“Think about it.” she continued, pausing to place both hands on her podium. “Didn’t the dark Lord prey on your fears? Your biggest insecurities, the guilts that ate you alive? Imagine how much power he took from you. The magic he kept from you all because you indulged in fear and insecurity - that did nothing to serve you. Not once.”

As she continued, you felt as if she was speaking the truths of your heart. The Goddess had willed this. These were revelations you had had from years in private communion with the Goddess. Something when you had spoken about it in religious historical contexts, people looked at you as if you had three heads. Though they were mortals, and some left with a new perspective on life, this woman was speaking to you, sharing the wisdom that made up all you believed to your very core, to your center. You stood with the crowd, clapping silently with a warm smile on your face. She had glanced towards you once during the sermon, and though most would think it was at the intensity of her speech, you knew she became flushed at your visual approval. 

Though you had an undeniable attraction to her before now, in this moment it felt like you could love her. That with each gaining second you experienced her, a fondness grew in your spirit simply from her presence. You never would’ve thought someone could understand as you did. It had been such an isolating factor in your existence for so long. Though, something that made you feel especially tied to the Goddess, it was also isolating. You had stopped searching for confidants or even friends when you realized none of their presences or conversations satisfied you the way your growing understanding of the Goddess did.

As the sermon came to an end, it seemed the Coven was revitalized with new life. A bustling aura blanketing the crowd as they flocked to one another before making their way back towards the Academy. You dared not approach her there, but your eyes caught one another as you exited the building, not willing to speak to anyone but her. Once you made it back towards the school, you took your time down the halls to listen to the echo of personal revelations from both faculty and students alike. You quietly, unnoticed it seems, made your way to the High Priestess’s office. You gave a quiet knock before you heard her voice hum contently 

“Come in”

She had just unbuttoned the top button of her collar, and was leaning against her desk as she fired her cigarette hungrily. She must have thought it would be Sabrina, or perhaps Hilda to encourage her for doing such a lovely job. But upon seeing you, she stiffened - if only just for a moment. She straightened her posture, leaning back on her free hand before greeting you. You had no idea if she was being purposefully seductive, but you definitely blushed at the gesture. She raised an eyebrow to you questioningly.

“Good Evening Directrix”

You tucked a lock of hair behind your ear, leaning back on the door to shut it behind you

“That sermon was…-” 

You found yourself momentarily at a loss for words 

“Exquisite. If i am being quite honest with you” you said vulnerably “I’ve never heard anyone speak of the Goddess in the way I’ve known her before”

Your voice was quiet, almost trembling. She stood, taking a step towards you allowing a smile to surface. 

“I’m glad you deemed it acceptable”

Her words stung teasingly, as if she had not found impeccable pleasure in the earnestness of your compliment 

“I didn’t mean -” 

you began to clarify, before remembering, no shame 

“What I had meant-”

Before you could finish, she was dangerously close to you, lifting your chin with her left index. She exhaled a lungful of smoke, not in your face, but to encircle her form. Your heart was racing again, you now being unable to speak from her gaze 

“And who do you think I learned that from?”

 She questioned boldly, as if to reaffirm you in some way. To restore the vigor in words. 

She quickly turned away before reaching behind her desk to pull up your bag. She slapped a book against the table 

“You left your bag in my office. I wouldn’t be a very skilled Directrix if I didn’t implore the newest endearing member of my coven and academy. I was going to return it to you earlier, after I saw you in the Rotunda-”

she slipped the ornately carved journal back inside your back before handing it towards you 

“but you weren’t in your quarters”

You took a few steps forward, dumbfounded, hardly able to believe you had left something so important with her, let alone for several days. You had been so busy unpacking…

As you moved to take back your satchel and thank her, you suddenly realized how close you were to her. Your thighs were practically touching.

“How did you think I had learned such immaculate discoveries? To all of a sudden become so intimate -  with the Goddess herself? Requiring years of… dedicated council, and meditation I’m sure...”

Her words sent goosebumps across your body 

“Who would be capable of knowing such things, aside from yourself?” 

You realized now her lips were but a mere inch from yours. Her eyes traced you comfortably, as if they had so many times before. It was then, your will splintered. You couldn’t help but lean in and kiss her earnestly. A moan erupted, chorusing from your throats as you quickly wrapped your arms around her neck. She quickly gripped your waist, pulling your thighs together as she returned your kisses with devouring hunger. Her embrace was hard and tender all at once. Feverish, you would’ve sworn every inch of your skin was on fire as she touched you. You could feel her legs pulling you closer as she moved back to sit on top of the desk, pulling you willfully against her. You let out a desperate gasp before crashing into her; wet, needing kisses finding their way to the embrace of her mouth. 

After a few moments of desire, Zelda pulled away to whisper a quiet door locking spell. You took this opportunity to pull back just enough to look at her. Her eyes lustful and glazed with admiration for you. 

“I’ve never met anyone like you Zelda Spellman...”

When you pulled back, she took a steady breath, inhaling a drag of her still burning cigarette. Her fingers were only slightly shaking before she extinguished it in the ashtray beside her. 

“And yet the revelations of the coven were words of your mouth and not mine… and you are the one astonished?”

She then turned her full attention on you, giving you a look confounded and unnerving.

After she let that sink in for a moment, she touched your cheek, this time tenderly. She gazed into your eyes before pulling you to kiss her again,

 ‘Blessed be’.

[corinthbayrpg]

NAME. Ramses Runihura ( Apep ) AGE & BIRTH DATE. 3000+ & Unknown GENDER & PRONOUNS. Male & He/Him SPECIES. Rift OCCUPATION. Unemployed FACE CLAIM. Mena Massoud

BIOGRAPHY

( tw: death, murder, natural disasters ) To speak his name was to invoke chaos, misery, and strife. How much safer the ancient ones believed themselves to be as they whispered well earned titles instead through hushed tones. Lord of Chaos, World Encircler, Soul Eater. The monikers shifted in waves along the loose sands of time, each more devastating and horrifying than the last, yet veracious all the same. The mythos painted him in dashing colors as various reptilians throughout history, but always returned to the most shrewd and ineffable of all: the great serpent.

Apep, or Apophis as his mother once named him, cannot recall the moment of his creation, woven somewhere in the primordial threads of existence shortly after his brother’s rise as architect of all… Or so the endless droves of mortal supporters would eventually claim. The sun god who fashioned himself an entire universe purely for his own worship, how pretentious and it allotted far more credit than Ra deserved on even his best day. Amun and Horus were both absorbed into the overrated caricature at some point, disregarded for their contributions which eventually blended into credit undue for this golden god. Still the blind fanaticism continued and his brother’s ego grew with every passing century, solidifying Ra’s undeserved role as King of The Gods.

Where the citizens of antiquity adored and fawned over the sun god and his intolerable pharaohs, Apep’s impressive abilities were shunned and dreaded. Unlike his brother and fellow deities, no one worshipped at the god of chaos and darkness’ altar. They did not even deign him worthy enough to construct a shrine in his honor. Instead the world sprung fear and hatred of the one who directly contrasted their beloved patron of light. Solar eclipses, devastating natural disasters, and terrible storms were linked to his name. Not without merit of course, but Apep believed it justified for those who so blindly trusted the gods to care. If anything, he should have been praised for not cowering behind sanctimony and false benevolence.

Distaste and distrust turned humanity bitter. They made a yearly ritual of banishing his presence from their lands in which priests would build effigies of Apep thought to contain all of the evil and darkness in Egypt. The symbolism might have been considered flattering were they not burning the representation to protect against malevolence for another year, nor housing a secondary figure which was taken into the temple before being beaten, crushed, smeared with mud, and burned. From therein they narrated stories about Ra’s numerous and overblown victories whilst reciting useless spells which did absolutely nothing to quell Apep’s thirst for cataclysm. Even the dead were thought to require protection from his brutality in the underworld lest he swallow them whole, so they were often buried with spells that could ward him off.

How astonishingly naïve. Darkness, like its sister death, could not be subdued by mere carvings and prayers.

None saw purpose through the god of destruction’s perspective, not even those who shared in his divinity. Too often whilst attempting to challenge his brother did he find himself in combat with the other celestial beings protecting Ra–– who, frankly, didn’t deserve their loyalty. Every night as the sun travelled across the sky, human text claimed that Apep’s roar would fill the air and he launched his persistent attack. Ironically, more often than not he discovered himself across from Set, a youthful harbinger of chaos whose true nature could only be subdued for as long as he remained beneath Ra’s forceful thumb. The deities rested on opposing ends of the spectrum, where Set harnessed his true disposition and relied upon morality, Apep remained a force for pandemonium and could not be reasoned with.

It was written that Apep’s movements often resulted in earthquakes, and his numerous battles with Set were thought to have created the origin of thunderstorms. How deliciously poetic and twisted, until Set inevitably became corrupted by his very nature and no longer wished to serve Ra in his army against Apep. Just as the great serpent predicted, none were immune to their own penchant for carnage and his fellow chaos lord plunged into the darkness alongside him. The pair considered themselves to have a… mutual understanding of sorts from then on. Loathed by the people of Egypt and the world, cast out in the sacred texts and admonished for simply adhering to what they were. What they had always been.

Yet mankind were weak, dispensable, and quite unimpressive in the grand scheme of the cosmos. Their opinions meant little when the greatest enemy, Ra, still held the lofty throne and continued to exist as a pain point. Unfortunately, such fixation on the King of The Gods undeniably led to Apep’s downfall and became his undoing. The trap was admittedly laid quite carefully, and were he not so arrogant as to assume his brother’s moral obligation then perhaps he might have been able to avoid its snare. Caught by his brother and thrown unceremoniously into the veil between worlds without method to escape or wield his power, the god of darkness lingered in the clutches of oblivion.

From inside of this schism he began to plot, turning over any opportunities with the sort of cunning only found in the most cold-blooded of snakes. Despite no longer acting as the devourer of souls within the underworld, he still maintained a bond and audience alongside Hades. Another pantheon, another overlooked pillar of divinity, the pair had long since bonded over the villainous mantles bestowed upon them in direct contrast to their louder, brighter siblings. The lord of death began to whisper words of chaos and destruction from the Grecian realm, it was decided then that direct vengeance against Ra could be placed aside while there were other ways to infiltrate humanity. If anything, it provided ample room for his brother’s difficulties to grow. Ra could weaken himself in time as Apep punctured holes in the world.

Thus he whispered back instructions for a being of his own creation and the method through which it could be done. Hades, as all loyal companions do, began to spread the word of such power throughout the Greek world and soon enough the mischief spread into additional pantheons. Some were repulsed by the notion of this new being, but far too many were taken with its purpose and possibility. They deemed them cubi, humans turned immortal and cursed with the ability to devour souls. Unknowingly fashioned in Apep’s own likeness, of course.

As the first fledgling incubi and succubi began to wander the world, consuming souls and magic, causing ruination in their wake, the primordial god bided his time. He witnessed their numbers grow and then dwindle in harmony with the empires of mankind, but in truth felt nothing towards their existence at first. They were simply a means to an end, a method in which he could enact chaos from within this unholy confinement. Eventually they began to die out entirely, bitten by those infernal shapeshifters and reduced to a pitiful count.

No matter, the dawning of a new age came and with its arrival stemmed the unanticipated crack in an already delicate prison. The veil seemingly tore and eons of patience finally paid off; Apep discovered freedom in the hastiness of his escape. Noticeably weakened from three millenniums spent housed in the limbo between divinity and the mortal plane, he pressed forward into the human world with every intention of regaining his former glory and strengthening what little army of immortal demons were left. The cubi meant nothing to him whilst trapped, but now that he actively rejoined the playing field? Well, they might just be his ultimate tool in destruction.

Everything he did now would culminate in the pursuit of the intentions Apep had possessed since birth… Ensure the crumbling of Ra’s empire and plunge the universe into unending darkness.

PERSONALITY

+ ambitious, independent, cunning - narcissistic, wicked, merciless

PLAYED BY MARTY. PST. She/Her.

[shieldofgod]

Saying Goodbye

Castiel (scarrd-wings) and Samandriel ( @actually-my-name-is-samandriel​) sing for their almost extinct species, in After the End.  They’re two of the last angels left alive in all Creation, and God is dead.

Samandriel: Samandriel nodded. "Yes. I think that'd be the best way to do it. We should do that last then so that we don't have to carry them around." He grinned at his brother. "Ready to go?"

Castiel: Cas nodded, setting his empty mug aside, and got to his feet. "So long as you don't fly too fast, I can stay close enough to fly myself." And it would feel good to stretch his wings as an angel, as well. It had been quite a long time since he had relatively unfettered flight.

Samandriel: Samandriel nodded again. "I can definitely do that, brother." He petted him gently. He stood watching him.

Castiel: "All right. You lead, I'll follow," Cas said, stretching ethereal wings behind his back and letting himself really enjoy the lack of distortion prickling across his metaphysical senses. Mostly, he tuned it out, both the presence and lack thereof, but right now, he just let himself feel it. "It'll be pre-dawn over there."

Samandriel: The angel called down the hall for Adam to let him know that he was going out with his brother for a few hours and not to worry and then, making sure Castiel was ready, took off slowly for Greece, careful that his brother could keep up.

Castiel: Cas was quick enough to follow, stretching out his wings to hook feathers into the ethereal planes and even if it wasn't fast, it felt incredibly good to fly without the weight and static of Father's body hindering him. The last time he'd flown any real distance like this had been in the last universe, and the stretch and beat of wings, angelic flight, was like a balm.

Samandriel: Samandriel hadn't done much flying in a long time. He'd taken off for a mountain top when he'd been still struggling intensely with the loss of his species, but beyond that, he hadn't done much that didn't involve errands, flying for flying's sake. He reveled in it and relished every bit of wind that whipped through his vessel's hair.

Castiel: Being lighter than anything was good. They aimed for Greece and drew it out as long as possible; Cas basked in the sensation of being as insubstantial as he could ever be, tied to a vessel, feeling each new hook for his feathers and bending the metaphysical currents around himself in an elegant sort of way that predated man, or war. When they landed in Greece, on the top of a cliff, it was the depth of pre-twilight and with no moon, the stars above brilliant and numerous with no manmade light to dull or blot them out.

Samandriel: Samandriel was grinning ear to ear by the time they landed. It was wonderful to fly like that and he had not felt so angelic in a long time. It was very liberating. He giggled a little as they landed, letting his wings still remain unfurled and present. It was a beautiful night, very dark, but with his own eyes, he could still see quite well. Every part of him felt light and full of joy. It reminded him of the day he and Castiel had sung together on a mountain top.

Castiel: Cas looked up, taking in the stars and the drifting trails of the energies of creation, not yet spent. Father's thumbprints. Looked out over the sea and the healthy plethora of elementals, dancing along shore and water, playing freely, shifting their forms between wisps of light and the forms of animals. Took a deep breath and hummed out a few notes in his own voice, drifting harmony, and again felt the keen and aching realization that for that moment, there was only one angel's voice.

Samandriel: Samandriel felt a tiny jolt in his heart when he heard those notes and joined in in his own voice. The stars seems so bright and the sky so vast, like eternity was spilling out before them.

Castiel

Cas huffed a laugh at that, with his borrowed lungs, but mentally shrugged to himself and sat down on the rock towards the edge by the sea, high up. And sang. Soft, at first, just notes instead of words, shivering down his frame both physical and metaphysical for hearing his brother's voice, the melody to his harmony. And then went from notes to sing higher, two songs at once but both perfectly matched, half the layers of his voice for one, and half for the other; above, the song of the first light Father created. Below, as ever, ​Holy holy holy, the Lord God Almighty,​ who was, and is...

...and is to come.

No longer. God was gone, and the last of His power resided beside of him in the form of his brother and near-twin. Out to sea, the elementals slowed, stopped and listened; all around, all of the things only angels could see slowed, stopped and listened.

Samandriel: Samandriel felt a surge of feeling overwhelm him as his own voice swelled, answering his brother's and singing with it, both voices twining as though one voice, the music of one, unimaginable instrument that none had heard of or seen. Among the last of their kind, nearly all others and gone, and here they were, singing, continuing to exist and be what angels were. The muse couldn't help but wonder if there were any others but then who might here them. Together in the beginning, together in the end. He wove more songs with his brother, of the stars and of things that were new and green.

Castiel: It was an aching sort of feeling; poignant. Pleasure and pain, exaltation and lamentation as only music could ever be, something ethereal and beautiful. Cas didn't have to whisper, not singing with his brother, and so he didn't; sang out loud enough to reach the heavens above. Not his universe or his Heaven, but raised his voice enough to swirl with his brother's around the wreckage of Father's throne, around the silent ash of the Host, stirring sweet and joyful and sorrowful, all at once. He let his brother choose the direction of their songs, all while maintaining the reverent call to worship God, even if God couldn't hear them anymore.

Samandriel: Samandriel sang loud and fiercely, as if to let all things in creation know that the time of the angels was not over yet, not even if they were among the last remaining. It reminded him of the days of the war, how he'd sung on his own on Earth, for all to hear as the battle raged on upstairs. It had been difficult at times, to keep his strength, to still let his voice be heard, to try to drown out the din and let some part of the universe still sound as angels were meent to sound, joyful. Now he had his brother to sing with him, to be strong for and to keep him strong. Heaven's hosts may have fallen into silence, but he was less alone than he had been then, and though it was devastating, it was not time for despair. Perhaps now was time for rebirth and growth. He continued to sing, loud and true, weaving melodies that lamented and remembered and rejoiced and expressed admiration for all that had been. He thought on what he'd said to Adam about discovering what it truly meant to be an angel outside of the act of simply being of that species. This was what it meant. There was no question now.

Castiel: Samandriel was alternately making him smile and breaking his heart, all at the same time. Where his voice was the brighter, fiercer and clearer one, Cas's was always the one under it, nuanced and layered, the undertones of grief and regret, of joy and what it meant to sing before war. Of watching stars being born, of fish on shorelines, of species beginnings and endings. Wove the undernotes and sometimes matched the overnotes, soaring crescendo and softened decrescendo. He sang along, vessel's eyes sliding closed at the rush of feeling, made no less intense by having a physical form to feel it through, as well as the pure emotion of simply being what they were. This part which no one but another angel could understand, what it meant to sing and feel creation hum back on bands only the Host could ever hear, glorifying Father's creation with their voices. And singing for all of the voices silenced.

Samandriel: Note upon note in a song that made the universe and all that was in it want to stop and listen. It was eerie and mystical and almost alien all at once, and beyond measure, it was beautiful. Samandriel's heart sored with the music, though there was pain and longing too, coupled with great loneliness, far greater than most could understand. He felt all of it in his soul. He was overwhelmed by so many emotions at once, grief, joy, pain, elation, most of all he felt free. As his thoughts wandered while he sang, he found himself wondering if his daughter would be able to hear his true voice without pain, as Adam could, whether it was something one could be learn or adapt to or whether it was simply a genetic capability.

Castiel

Cas wove in more notes as Samandriel let his heart soar; that was the thing about angelic voices, he could hear every emotion in his brother's voice, and knew every single one of his were on display. There was no hiding the joy of singing again, as he was made to do long before he became a soldier. Nor any of the ambivalent ache of no longer being a soldier. Nor any of the aching sorrow, for the loss of a Father he did not ever really know the heart of. Nor the loneliness and grief, for the loss of all of those voices he sang and fought and loved alongside of. Nor any of the wistfulness, the gentle hopes, the great fears.

Nor the exquisite understanding of the beauty of all things.

He wove the undernotes and with it their names, one by one, starting with Michael's, then Lucifer's. Raphael. Gabriel, and an echoing cry of the Messenger's perfect call they once responded to with ​gloria!​, long ago. In their creation order, one by one, no thought to time at all; the names of angels, even their fallen, who were all once one Host.

Saying goodbye.

Samandriel: As they sang, the pain of the emotions he'd been going through with the loss of the Host was easing. It felt good to have so much of what he was feeling on display without having to say a word. That was the wonderful thing about his true voice. He couldn't hide how he was feeling in it. He joined in the remembering of names with his brother. It was a relief to be giving them a proper lamentation and the pain actually felt good.

Castiel: Cas did not leave any out. Not the ones who cut him in battle, not the ones who fought by his side, and not the ones who never fought at all. And even though he had not resolved all of his feelings, he didn't leave Naomi out, either. Not so much for what she became, but for who she once had been, with two siblings she had not asked to be pulled from the sides of no more than he had asked to be pulled from his brother's. Named each, one at a time; some, his tones warmed and ached harder. Some were more ethereal and distant. But all of them were once one choir singing, joyful, for love of God and all things which God made.

Samandriel: Samandriel felt his heart ache too as the names were listed, as for his brother, some more than others. He felt strange when Naomi's name came up. He still hadn't forgiven her, nor was he necessarily over wanting revenge, even with their numbers being so few now. But he was glad to still have her in the list. It helped though, to include her, to see her as just another angel like all the others, not as some kind of horrible being with so much power over him still. It was the first time he'd really felt like he was taking back the power she had over him.

Castiel: Twilight bled into the sky, and still the angels sang; thousands of names, to go through. Sang as the sky brightened and shifted, another day in Father's garden; birds awoke and the nocturnal animals moved to sleep, and still they sang and sang, each name. Castiel left out only the living; Balthazar's name, not in the list. But he left in his native-universe counterpart's name, who even if he did not agree with him on many things, deserved marking there as well. And wondered again, some, that his Samandriel had been left behind and how much that must sometimes ache.

Samandriel: It didn't seem like a lot of time had passed, yet soon the sky was growing light and morning was coming, yet still, Samandriel felt the need to continue to sing. He, too, felt some strange emotions for Castiel's name, wondering how much that must hurt for his native-verse twin. His heart felt lighter than it had when they'd begun, as if he's sung some of the pain away.

Castiel: The light had come almost full force, by the time they finished the last name, which was this universe's Castiel. From there, this Cas slipped from singing to humming, winding down to something softer and more ethereal, feeling more emotionally drained than anything physical at the moment. Not a bad feeling, though. Just a sort of settling, of the weight in his borrowed chest, acceptance of a quiet sort. Completely unaware of the tear tracks left behind. The tones of his voice softened, but brightened from their mix of lamentation and celebration, sometimes more or less, to something meandering which called to mind the dawn and the break of light and color into the sky.

Samandriel: Samandriel followed suit, gradually letting his voice wind down as well. He'd been crying too, though he hadn't been any more aware of it than Castiel had been. The brightening song, lifted the other angel's spirits some, from the heaviness of the lamentation and remembrance of names. He sang now of the coming of light to the sky, of creation, and of Father.

Castiel: Cas kept accompaniment, though not with words, letting his voice hum notes instead, a softer sort of compliment. Watching the Mediterranean sky burn gold and the seas turn slowly blue; little wonder he had felt so comfortable here, where the bandwidths of colors were close to his own, and soothing just the same. He didn't stop humming to pull off his shirt and let loose his wings, letting the new sunlight from the east hit them and warm them some.

Samandriel: Samandriel spread his wings too and went to the shores, where he undressed, still singing and danced in the waves and let the sand spread through his toes. He danced amongst the waves, starting to feel giddy and joyous. The water felt good on his wings and he was feeling very free.

Castiel: That made Cas laugh in his borrowed voice, even as he kept humming along in his own. Rubbing his salt-tracked face, and watching his brother play, still just barely in range.

[dailyaudiobible]

02/12/2020 DAB Transcript

Exodus 34:1-35:9, Matthew 27:15-31, Psalms 33:12-22, Proverbs 9:1-6

Today is the 12th day of February, welcome to the Daily Audio Bible I am Brian it's great to be here with you as we move through the center of the week and toward the back half. And we will continue in the book of Exodus today with the drama that is taking place in the desert - God giving the laws, people building golden calves and worshiping them and claiming they were there Redeemer, broken covenants, all kinds of stuff happening as we watch the turmoil of something new being created. And that something new is the culture surrounding God's chosen people. So, today Exodus chapter 34 verse 1 through 35 verse 9.

Commentary:

Okay. We have a really interesting contrast between old and new Testaments today that will help us understand the Bible, the story that we’re telling here, but will also help us look at our own lives and understand some things. So, Moses has been a top Mount Sinai he's come back down with some newly freshly hewn tablets of stone with the covenant upon them and when the people see Moses his face is glowing, it’s radiant. He's been in God's presence and his face is radiant. So, the people are kind of freaked out about that and he puts a veil over his face because of this radiance. This veil, this particular one in this particular story is a really important piece for the apostle Paul. He talks about it and essentially his conclusion is that God gave a perfect law that subsequently was read through a veil, which is how the people much later in the New Testament times could miss that God incarnate, was among us and miss it to the point of killing him. So, let's pause here for second. We’re reading through the book of Exodus, lots of rules and regulations and stipulations and instructions. All this kinda stuff is going on. And, so, we can read some of these instructions ago, like “I don't like. I don't even…how do you…I don’t even know how I can obey that command. It's such a strange thing.” And that's us kind of reading our modern culture into an ancient text. These people all understood what was going on. But what we often miss and what the apostle Paul claimed that the Hebrew people were missing, this veil, is that underneath the rules, underneath the law, is the spirit of the law - a reason that the stipulation should exist and that way for that stipulation to point back to why it exists, right? So, that’s sort of confusing but let's just take a stop sign because this applies today. The spirit of the law of a stop sign is that if you indiscriminately drive through intersections you will one day kill somebody or yourself. If everybody just knew and paid attention to that then we would always slow down and we wouldn't need the law or the sign. But since we drive all kinds of places that we don't necessarily know or understand we know that a stop sign is informing us for our own safety and everyone else's safety to stop. If you forgot that or if you forgot the reason or if you were never told the reason, then you would question the rule and maybe ignore the stop sign to your own peril. What God is doing in the book of Exodus as He begins to lay out these instructions and organize his people in a certain way is to initiate in every rule and regulation something that points back to who they are and who He is. It's being woven into the culture so that all that they do is centered around being the chosen people of God, a nation of priests to minister to the world to show all of the nations who have given themselves to the lesser lower false gods who the most high is. And, so, all of the things that they're being instructed to do is baking this into their culture so that they are constantly reminded. Okay. So, that's this spirit of the thing. But if we ignore the spirit…the reason for these things and just look at these rules, yeah, we can look at them and go, “what…like what…what a strange rule for an ancient people”, but we can see that over time they lose this plot and it becomes about focusing upon and deciphering and dissecting exactly how to obey these rules. This is the veil that Paul’s talking about - the letter of the law, obey the rules, find the perfect way to obey the rules as opposed to the spirit of the law, why these rules exist and what their purpose is, because their purpose is to order life in such a way that everything reminds us of who we are because the world will take that away from us. And these rules are here to show us who God is because there are many competitors.

Okay. Now we zoom forward into the book of Matthew today and what do we see besides Jesus on trial, instigated by the religious leaders, the keepers of the law. And, indeed, Paul's analogy would be right. They were veiled, they were worshiping the law. They were worshiping the rules and the power that came from that and missing that God was before them in person. Okay. So, you can go, “that's pretty cool. That…like…that’s…that's an understanding that connects some dots. That's helpful. What does that actually mean for like my life though besides just a…like an understanding?” I mean when you think about your faith, certainly yes, more of God's presence and…and a deeper…deeper relationship. But how is it that we often think that that could be achieved? Don't we look for the rules to follow? Don’t we look for somebody who…who appears to know what they're talking about to tell us what we’re supposed to do to get God on our side? And then often we’ll get into communities like that and we’ll find that there's differing opinions about different ways of obeying these rules. And, so, we get doctrine wars because it would be much too scary if we have something wrong. We’ve gotta defend what we think we've got right when underneath it all, no matter what rules we’re trying to obey, when underneath it all, there's the spirit of why they exist. And they exist to remind us who we are and to who the most-high God is. When we lose the plot here then we’ll go to battle with one another over the rules and then we’ll start resembling Pharisees and Sadducees. And we can get so enmeshed in this that all we’re focusing on is everybody else's sin and wrong and maybe missing that God is standing right in front of us, or maybe even worse, criticizing what God is doing in somebody else's life because it doesn't measure up, or fall in line with our own lives. It’s a pretty start picture we’re looking at in Matthew today. Jesus, God incarnate, stripped, wrapped in a purple robe and beaten senseless. If humanity can do that to God then, yeah, there's a veil. We’re not seeing clearly. And isn’t that what Jesus kept saying throughout the book of Matthew, “I’m looking for those with eyes to see.” And what our eyes are seeing in the book of Matthew is humanity doing the lowest, lowest, basest animal thing we will ever see described in the Bible, an attempt to kill God. So, we need to practice grace and mercy toward each other to love each other as ourselves to begin to remove this veil. We need to understand that the rules that God would give us are there to lead us to Him and they flow from wisdom. They are wise. But it's not about the rule, it's about the reason for it. The reason is to bring us and remind us in everything in every way who we are and who God is because if you hadn't noticed it gets confusing in the world. These rules are not because God needs control of your or anyone else's life. God is most high. He is all powerful. Everything flows from Him. He doesn't need control, He has control. And often the rules or the disciplines of our lives are intended to show us that, that we aren't in control. That's an illusion. The religious leaders of Jesus time were a little freaked out that Jesus could get too much momentum and upset this tenuous power share that was going on between Rome and the Hebrew people. They didn't surrender to God. They crucified him. And the sad thing is you can read it and go like, “I would never do that”, but we are all capable, especially when we lose the plot.

Prayer:

Father we’re trying our…our very, very best to stay focused in here and really, really receive from You the instructions that Your word gives us because we need that. It's murky to live in the world but try to not be of it. It's complicated as You well know. And we confess we lose the plot every day. We forget who we are and who You are all of the time. It can happen many times in a day because so often we’re just reacting, we’re just reacting to whatever comes our way, as opposed to this deep sense of abiding wisdom and the guidance of Your Holy Spirit, which helps us to not be reactive. Come Holy Spirit. May we see the voice of wisdom crying out from every corner of the globe at every intersection. May the veil be removed from our eyes so that we might see clearly Your kingdom in this world and our place in it. And we ask this in the mighty name of Jesus. Amen.

Announcements:

dailyaudiobible.com is the website and it is ,home and it is where you find out what's going on around here, what's burning around the Global Campfire at any given time. So, yeah, stay tuned and stay connected there.

What is immediately going on around here is that the tomorrow is departure day. Tomorrow we will get on the big plane and start flying across oceans making our way into the land of the Bible where we will be meeting for the first time as…as the group in a few days in Ashdod by the sea in ancient Philistine, a fortress city by the Mediterranean Sea that's now a modern city in Israel. And that's where it all begins for the pilgrimage. And, so, as I’ve been saying for a couple of days, we’re raising the canopy a prayer over this and we’re not gonna. I mean, I’m doing the asking and I'm asking you to pray for us. We’re gonna be praying for us too and we’re gonna be praying for you too because that's just part of the rhythm of…this community is a community of prayer and man, we do that…we do that well. We do that well. And, so, I'm asking to raise a canopy a prayer over everything about this that has to happen to pull off an adventure like the one we’re gonna be on. So, we want to pray specifically for travel, vehicles, stamina, health, jetlag, technology, patience, long-suffering, everything that we would need to go across the world and travel together as a family for a couple weeks. That's what we’ll need. So, thank you for your prayers over that.

I've mentioned several days this is a virtual community and this is…even though we will physically be there in the land of the Bible and many of us will be there physically, we’re taking you along. I don't go anywhere without the Daily Audio Bible. It’s like attached to…to my life. So, we go everywhere together and that helps me, especially when I have to travel alone to not be lonely, but we’re going together. And, so, if you haven't…if you’re not following say for example the Daily Audio Bible Facebook page or Instagram, this is a good time to do that, you can find all of the links in the Community section at dailyaudiobible.com because we’re gonna posting things and posting pictures and videos and stuff as they happen. And, of course, I'll be sharing what we’re doing each day on the Daily Audio Bible. You can be there as it's happening to just see the different places that we’re talking about as we move through the Bible. And then next Saturday, it's the…it’s the 22nd of February we’ll be doing a live broadcast from the Sea of Galilee. Kinda gets us near the halfway point of the trip and we just debrief, we get together, but turn the cameras on for about an hour and…and just…and go live. And it just allows us interaction. The time difference is weird because we’ll be doing that at night and back in the United States it will be…it will be daytime. So, for example, we’ll be doing our live broadcast at 7:30 PM on the 22nd but back in Nashville here where I live, that’ll be 12:30 PM. So, just like lunchtime or that would be like 1:30 on the East Coast and 10:30 AM on the West Coast of the United States. And I don't have a time difference calendar in front of me right now, but all you have to do is just kinda Google the difference between where you are and Tel Aviv, Israel and find the hour difference and then you can kinda work it from there and that's when we'll be going live. So, make plans for that.

If you want to partner with the Daily Audio Bible you can do that at dailyaudiobible.com. There is a link and it's on the homepage and I thank you profoundly for your partnership. If you’re using the app, you can press the Give button in the upper right-hand corner or, if you prefer, the mailing address is PO Box 1996 Spring Hill Tennessee 37174.

And, as always, if you have a prayer…prayer request or encouragement, you can hit the Hotline button in the app, or you can dial 877-942-4253.

And that is it for today. I am Brian I got a lot of packing to do so I’m gonna go do that. I love you and I'll be waiting for you here tomorrow.

Community Prayer and Praise:

Hi my name is Rodney and I was listening to the podcast and I think it was the 29th, I’m a little behind, but there was a young lady who had been dating someone for a while and they broke up and she just can’t seem to…to experience freedom from that relationship. And from someone who was in many relationships and hung onto them out of fear or out of loneliness when I should’ve been hanging on to God and realizing that He has my best in mind or connecting and fellowshipping with other believers, that cost me significantly, significantly and a lot of other people as well. So, I would encourage and just pray that you experience freedom if that’s what God wants you…I guess you never know if you will end up with this person but for right now it’s…if he’s with somebody else I just pray that you will experience freedom and joy and use this time for the good that God has for you, working on yourself, enjoying life, growing closer to Him, enjoying time with other believers. God loves you. God loves you and we love you and just pray for you that you will have joy in your heart. Amen.

Good morning Daily Audio Bible family my name is Vera and I’m new this is my first year I started in January due to Diana Davis, my sweet sister. I just wanted to let you know because I know all the prayers that have gone up for her and her family, her dear sons Michael and her…her dear son Elijah, but she has gone home, has gone home to be with our Lord Jesus. She’s totally healed now. Praise God and there will be a celebration for her life there because she’s impacted so many people. I just felt like you all needed to know because you have all prayed for her so much and the family and I know you all love her so much. She is a dear, dear friend and a dear, dear sister for all of us and she loved you all so much but like I said, she’s gone home to be with our Lord. And I thank and praise Him all that He’s done in her life and worked around her during this time. It was very hard, and I just thank you all for your prayers for her and I know Michael will probably let you…talk with you when you can. We love you all and…and thank you for your prayers and God be with you. Thank you, Brian and Jill for all you do because it really impacts so many people’s lives.

Good morning DAB family it’s Thursday, January the 7th. Today I want to pray for those who are trapped in religion that is not a knowledge of the heart of God. And my prayer is for freedom within the…within the framework that God has provided through His word. So, here goes. Heavenly Father my prayer today is for all of those who have been brought up in religious institutions where service to a ritual is followed as the way to your heart. Father, we know in Your word that You have set forth boundaries, guidelines, rules even for our own benefit, for our own protection out of Your love, but Father that is not the way to Your heart. So, help us to love You passionately and freely and with all of our heart soul, mind, and strength. Bring us together Father and help us to love you as little children should love a father and I pray this in Jesus’ name. Amen.

Good morning Daily Audio Bible family this is Becky in Orlando. I would like to brag about my Lord Jesus Christ this morning. 11 years ago, I want to share the story with you for all those that are new listeners and perhaps those that have not heard my story. 11 years ago, I became a Christian. I was raised an atheist and I married somebody who was a believer. We were unequally yoked and he used to give me stories about Jesus and I would fall asleep to every one of the stories but I…we went to church and I enjoyed listening to the music and I liked watching the sign language interpreter because I had a background in sign language. And…and then I started thinking during of his church services about how…and afterward…how maybe that…maybe God caused the Big Bang and I started thinking about all this. I had been also told at 35 years old that I needed my…my baseline mammogram and I put it off I procrastinated and during that year while I was procrastinating and thinking about the big bang theory at all that good stuff I had a tumor that popped out of my hand then I needed to get my gallbladder out and then when I finally went in for my baseline mammogram at 36, guess what? They tell me that I had breast cancer. And I was so scared and I was all by myself with my husband in a state in Florida that I didn’t have any family in. And, so the morning before my surgery I asked at church, I asked my husband can we please go down and pray with the pastors, I’m really scared. And I’m going to tear up right now because I’m so thankful. I went down with the pastors, they put their hands on me. In my head I was praying to God and I thought, “oh my gosh. I said I’m so sorry if I…if you’re there and You are there and I haven’t believed in you all these years and I…

Dear DAB family calling from Europe wishing you a blessed 2020. I’ve just finished reading and listening to Brian’s wonderful words from seventh February. Brian you spoke about acquiring wisdom better than promotion. And you know what, this is where I am now. I had my year’s review with my boss who was asking me about promotion and moving along and the words I could only think of that came out of my words were “I need to train myself in God’s words and deeds.” I need to do a part-time schooling in that area. I’m not ready for a promotion. Also, I’ve been thinking __ what’s foolish in me __. Brian, that’s exactly what I had in my mind since January. Thank you very much and God bless you and family. I pray for Diana Davis and her boys. Thanking William for giving us news of his mother. Although it doesn’t look good, the Lord is asking us to continue praying and we’ll not cease. Harold, you’re my running buddy in Christ. I do very long runs twice a week and early in the morning around 530 you’ve been trying be it cold, snow, or rain. And you know what? I concentrate the first 5K of my running to God, listening to DAB and praying. I’m so elated afterwards that I do not see the time pass and finish my runs with praises to our God. I will put you in my prayers. God bless you all. Amen.

Hi Daily Audio Bible friends this is Leslie from Washington state and I’m calling today with a confession and a request for prayer. I recently got back from vacation and while I was on vacation I feel like I just did not put Christ first. This is my second trip through the Bible and like Brian says that each trip through really changes you. And I didn’t like who I was on vacation when I didn’t bring Jesus with me and bring them into my daily life. I still listened to Daily Audio Bible, but I did so in a halfhearted kind of perfunctory way – “I’m like having trouble sleeping, so I’ll just listen.”. Anyhow todays Scripture about the three servants really hit me hard. I defaulted to the third servant attitude again, where I’m motivated by fear of punishment instead of reaching and striving for God and due to morality and obedience for its own sake instead of for God’s sake. Anyhow friends, I’m facing a lot. I’m dealing with daily stress including a sick cat who I just can’t get away from and is crying in the background, my apologies. Anyhow, I’m sorry Lord, and I wanted to confess before my DAB family that I have failed, and I want to do better tomorrow. Thank you for changing me so profoundly last year. In Jesus’ name. Amen.

[bevioletskies]

summary: Peter and Gamora have been married for five months, so really, it’s about time they go on their first date.

(This fic takes place after everybody wants to rule the world.)

word count: 3.3k | ao3

Gamora, despite being the former princess of the Titans, was never one for a life of luxury and whimsical fantasies. She lived on a modest ship, rotated between the same three white tank tops and two pairs of pleather leggings, and only indulged in sweets when her teammates felt like it. Even thinking back to the excess of her too-public wedding made her shudder in silent disgust; the amount of gold, the cakes and pastries, the cheek kisses and high-pitched shrieks of fake excitement across the room, it all made her stomach turn. However, as she sat in the large marble tub (it was gold-plated!) of her hotel suite at the Xandar Prime Plaza, soaking away the ever-present ache in her muscles and the insistent buzz in her brain, she had to admit - there was something about a good bath that almost made it feel like it was worth compromising her values.

She flipped idly through the Galaxian Gazette, enjoying the way the gently fragrant bath oils eased their way into her dry, cracked skin. The latest society dinner of her nightmares was to start in an hour, but she never needed much time to get ready, so she was perfectly content to stay right here for at least another twenty minutes. That is, until the door burst open.

“Peter!” she exclaimed, nearly dropping her newspaper into the water in surprise. “You need to knock.”

“Honey, I’ve seen you naked at least - ”

“Not the point,” Gamora interrupted firmly. “Is something wrong?”

“I can’t find my tie. Y’know, the one with the little spaceships - ”

“Oh,” she groaned, tipping her head back to stare despondently at the ceiling like it had personally wronged her. “You had me thinking it was an emergency. And it’s in the front pocket of your carry-on.”

“It was an emergency,” Peter insisted. His eyes flickered briefly to the newspaper. “Find anything interesting?”

“A small mention of our successful diplomatic trip to Baluur, but they misspelled your name,” Gamora said, clicking her tongue in disapproval. “The letters section is intriguing. I assumed people wrote in with problems, maybe ones we could attend to, but it’s mostly just...expressions of sentiment. Fluff pieces.”

“Can I see?” he asked, moving to sit on the edge of the tub. She angled it so he could read over her shoulder, watching his expression change while he scanned the pages. “I mean, they’re nice. It’s romantic.”

“You would think so,” she snorted. “At least they’re a sight better than the direct mail we’ve received. The ship still smells like burnt hair, and it’s been at least a week.”

“What can I say? People love a prince,” Peter grinned.

“I’d call it more of an unhealthy obsession...and you’re not a prince anymore, Captain,” Gamora retorted, sinking deeper into the bathwater out of petulance. Though she’d meant it as an insult, the huskiness of her cadence made Peter shiver.

“I’ll leave you to it, General,” he said, teasing, brushing a kiss on the crown of her head and saluting her on the way out the door. Gamora rolled her eyes at him, but couldn’t help but look back to the letters, thinking back to the letters Peter’s mother had written to him while she was in the hospital, and wondered in a sort of silly, whimsical, fantastical way, if Peter would ever write a letter for her.

Dinner was the usual mind-numbing affair for the Guardians, who had become more accustomed to fistfights and all-out brawls than polite society and “how are you”s. Peter and Mantis were the most experienced with social gatherings, but still, both of them were itching to get back to the world they’d known for far shorter but far better, the world where they were heroes and not gods. It was a compromise, though; working alongside the Nova Corps meant showing up alongside the Nova Corps, and when they were called to a week-long series of conferences and meetings and dinners on Xandar, there was no saying no.

Peter and Gamora were making customary rounds as a couple, something they were still getting used to. After all, they’d been married for five months but truly together for two, and their public appearances had been pretty minimal when they were living on Ego together. It was one of the rare times where Gamora was more nervous than Peter, her fingernails digging welts into the crease of his elbow while they walked, desperately hoping no one wanted to talk to them. Unfortunately, they weren’t so lucky.

“Captain, General, what a...surprise that you’re both here,” one particular dour-looking man sniffed, completely stone-faced. “After the last incident, I wasn’t expecting Nova Prime to invite you back.”

“Nova Prime loves us, Councilman,” Peter said, his mouth tight, his syllables sharp. “I hear we’re a hit with everyone’s kids.”

“Speaking of children - ” another pair of pinch-faced diplomats came sauntering up to them, practically circling them like they were prey; Gamora instinctively took a step back. An army of soldiers, she could handle. Politicians, less so. “There’s been talk lately.”

“There’s been talk since the day we married,” Gamora said coolly. “Talk means nothing.”

“You must know how it looks to people,” the other diplomat added. “The sudden marriage, the death of your fathers - ”

“Thanos was never my father. He was a man who made the mistake of calling himself such,” Gamora continued, colder still. “Now if you’ll excuse us.” Without another word, she took Peter’s hand and led him away toward the bar, in need of a strong drink to drown out the whispers, or rather, the snide comments that some people felt far too bold about making to her face.

“Almost makes me miss the days where the most ‘duties’ I ever had were just...flying into the capital and hanging out with my people. At least they didn’t try to tell me my marriage isn’t real,” Peter sighed, sinking into a barstool. He waved the bartender over, calling for two of something with a kick.

Gamora knocked back her drink in one go, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “I know this sounds strange coming from me, but you can’t blame them, Peter. No one believes our marriage was a product of love, and no one cares to listen to the fact it was the reverse. It’s natural for them to question our legitimacy. I know I would.”

The tightness in Peter’s shoulders went slack as he nodded in reluctant agreement. “Yeah, I guess. And I guess it doesn’t help we don’t do much outside of Guardians work, either. Y’know, dates and stuff.”

“Peter...just because I can see what they see, doesn’t mean we have to prove anything to them,” Gamora said slowly, setting her glass down. “We agreed that our new lives were about helping others, not about us being put up on pedestals all over again. The worship your people had for you, the fear my people had for me, it’s over. Feeding into their gossip means feeding a vicious, unrelenting beast.” She paused to glance over her shoulder at the prying eyes she could feel lingering on her back, the eyes that immediately turned another direction the moment she looked at them. It was far more people than she wanted to ever look at her, period.

“It’s not about that,” he promised. “We just...we did our whole relationship backwards, right? And there were all these things we did together that felt like dates, but weren’t really. Hanging out in the gardens, reading my mom’s letters together...hell, our engagement party was kind of a date, once we stopped thinking about what it actually was.” He took her hands in his, held them flat against his chest so she could feel the steady beat of his heart beneath her palms. Gamora briefly remembered the day she’d held his hands like this while he was bleeding out in her lap. She shuddered. “Look, we’re on Xandar, we don’t got any galaxy-saving to do this week, so let’s just have a nice dinner out, you and me, without all this fake diplomatic crap.”

“That actually sounds kind of pleasant,” Gamora admitted, cracking a small smile. “Tomorrow, then?”

“It’s a date,” Peter grinned in return. “Our first real date.”

Right away, Peter and Gamora decided to keep it far more casual than the glitz and glam of the previous night, where they’d been wearing ties and cufflinks, earrings and stilettos, when they were more accustomed to worn cotton T-shirts and leather jackets with suspicious holes in them. Peter also chose a much calmer venue, one that didn’t involve sky-high columns and polished tile; instead, it was the quaint little restaurant they’d visited during the opening week of Mantis’s outreach center, small and cozy and decidedly intimate.

“This is much better,” Gamora said, relieved, once they were sat at their table. A small tealight flickered between them, harshly illuminating the planes of their faces. There was a long crack running along the surface, from Peter’s left thumb to Gamora’s right elbow. The tables were so crammed together, she was certain if she ducked her head a little too fast, her forehead would hit Peter’s, and she could feel their knees brushing together with every move they made. It was perfect. “I know you thrive with attention, but I certainly don’t.”

“Honestly? I was getting kinda uncomfortable, too,” Peter admitted. “And you also know I didn’t like how my people worshipped me for...I dunno, existing. Feels good to be actually doing something now. Something real.”

“Right,” she said abashedly. “I shouldn’t act like you’re immune. None of us are.”

“But for now...we get to be ourselves, ‘cos you know what? No one’s looking,” he grinned, gesturing around them. She glanced around, and indeed, there was no uncomfortable chill through her spine, no hairs sticking up on the back of her neck, no sweat breaking out on her brow that told her someone wanted to scrutinize her for all the things they thought she was and wasn’t. “So let’s order some food. Somethin’ real messy ‘cos we can.”

Twenty minutes later, Gamora was making her way through a hearty bowl of pasta, hand over her mouth to stop herself from laughing too much while Peter recounted the anecdotes Yondu had told him about his Ravager days as inappropriate bedtime stories. It was still strange for her to think about how different their lives had been less than a year ago, oblivious to each other’s existence, and oblivious of what they were capable of. She didn’t want to remember the time where her only significant interactions with others were being dragged into training sessions and being told that she and Nebula were to hurt each other until they were raw.

She liked this far more, the surprising ease of their conversation, the steady warmth of their presence. It wasn’t just Peter, though she loved him, of course, but how much she revelled in the companionship of the entire team. There was something genuine about the way Peter and Rocket snapped at each other during frosty mornings when the Milano’s engine froze over, or Mantis’s enthusiasm for cooking despite being sort of terrible at it (and the way Drax bluntly told her it was awful, while Groot grinned through the stomach pain). It was a stark contrast between their private lives and public lives, and she hated to think what would happen if the lines were ever blurred.

“Don’t look now, but I think I see a camera.” Gamora didn’t know her heart could sink so much at the sound of Peter’s voice, an itch beginning to form in her throat from the temptation of wanting to turn around. “Crap, how did they - ”

“Another patron, most likely,” she said, slowly setting her fork down. “We should leave quietly. No need to make a scene.”

She spoke too soon, however - or perhaps too late - as Peter was getting out of his chair, advancing on the offender with a camera that looked dangerously professional (and expensive). Sometimes, she forgot how intimidating he could look when he wanted to be, his wide shoulders hunched forward, his stride long and thundering against the old wooden floor. His fists clenched and unclenched reflexively, momentarily forgetting that his Celestial powers were long gone.

“Hey,” Peter barked. “You mind not starin’ at my wife? I know she’s really something, but - ”

“Captain Quill.” Click, click went the camera; the photographer, or more accurately, the paparazzo seemed to have no shame. “You’ll forgive me for not listening to you.”

“Doubt it,” he snapped. “Leave us alone, we’re just tryin’ to have a quiet night out.”

“You two are so strange,” the other man said, letting out a tittering laugh. He lowered his camera somewhat so his beady eyes could meet Peter’s. “Pretending that killing two warmongers absolves you of killing millions of innocents. Pretending your marriage wasn’t just a scheme to distract everyone from your crimes against the galaxy. Pretending your allegiance with the Nova Corps is deserved.” He stood, towering over Peter. “Think about how many of your people are dead, your highness. Think about the dozens your precious wife killed by her own hand before you even met.”

“That’s it!” Peter roared. In one swift move, he pinned the man down, pressing his elbow into his throat until he was gasping, splayed out across his table and startling his companion. Everyone else let out shouts of surprise, scattering immediately, while a waiter went running into the kitchen for the owner, and the hostess went running for the phone.

Gamora shot out of her seat, running to grab Peter by the arm and yanking him back. “Enough, Peter!” she shouted. “I’ve already told you, this gets us nowhere. Leave him. He doesn’t deserve our attention.”

“You’re a clever one, your highness,” the man sneered, though his spite was lost in the hoarseness of his voice, sitting up and straightening out his shirt collar. Gamora wordlessly pulled Peter away from him fully, pressing a generous amount of units into the owner’s hand when she emerged from the kitchen, red in the face.

“My apologies,” Gamora said awkwardly, though sincerely, bowing her head. When the owner merely glared at Peter in a way that made even Gamora wince, the two of them left, shamefaced and shivering in the chilly Xandarian night. 

Peter barely heard a word out of Gamora during the rest of the week, aside from their obligatory duties, and he couldn’t blame her. He had apologized in the ride back to the hotel, the elevator ride to their room, and while they brushed their teeth side-by-side in the bathroom, but she still snatched up a pillow, shoved it into his chest, and informed him that the couch was his.

In his opinion - and probably Gamora’s - his temper was one of his biggest flaws, one he found irrationally difficult to control, and it certainly got him in more trouble with her than he wanted to admit to. He was getting better, though, and Gamora’s temper, too, was levelling off as they grew together, and he wanted to prove that he wasn’t the overly-sensitive, tantrum-throwing boy he’d been when she first met. He was a changing, if not necessarily a fully changed, man. It was hard not to be after all they’d been through.

Knock knock. Gamora let out a long, arduous sigh. At least he was learning. “What do you want, Peter?” she called through the bathroom door. It was the last evening before they finally got to leave Xandar and journey off to their next mission, there was one more self-congratulatory charity event starting in about two hours, and she was having another well-deserved bath.

“Got the Galaxian Gazette for you.”

Gamora stared down the length of the tub at her toes peeking out through the water. “Come in.” Peter did so immediately, pressing the newspaper into her outstretched hand. He sat opposite her on the window nook. “...is there something else?”

“Saw something interesting in the letters section, thought you might wanna read.” He shrugged with all the subtlety of Groot attempting to tiptoe to the Milano’s fridge in search of cake. Still, Gamora decided to entertain him and flipped to the aforementioned page, scanning until she found what he was talking about, and oh, it was very clear what he was talking about.

To my wife,

I remember our first date like it was yesterday (or at least, as of the day I’m writing this). In short, it was terrible, but when you’re you and I’m me, I guess it’s inevitable. I would say that our next one will be better, but that’s too optimistic, even for me.

I also remember our wedding - your dad didn’t bother showing up, and my dad was following us like a shadow. We argued through our first dance, and your brother started a huge fight before the song was over. You know what, I’m starting to see a pattern.

Anyways, I’m pretty sure they charge by the word for these things so I’ll keep it short: we may have married for power, but I would do it all over again for love. Instead of me apologizing for the thousandth time, let’s try this again. But this time, you choose what you want. All I want is you.

Love, your captain

Gamora felt the corners of her mouth twitch, daring her to smile. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to give Peter the satisfaction, though when he put his broad hands on her shoulders and gave her a gentle squeeze, massaging the heels of his palms into her shoulder blades, she was about ready to forgive him for anything and everything.

Gamora tilted her head upwards to meet his gaze. “We’re practically still children, Peter. What are we doing here, pretending we deserve a seat at the table?”

“Hey, you deserve it more than anybody.” He moved around to sit in front of her, his expression painfully earnest. “We talked about this. You saved billions of lives, helped kill two genocidal maniacs. The entire galaxy is safer ‘cos you decided to do somethin’ about it. The rest of us were pretty much just along for the ride.”

“Don’t downplay your contributions,” she insisted, lifting her hand to his cheek. “We’re a team, are we not? There’s no room for doubt.”

“Did you hear yourself two seconds ago?” Peter teased. He placed his hand over hers; her fingers were still slightly damp from the water, warm to the touch. “Anyways, I guess we’re never gonna get peace and quiet unless we go to the most remote planet in the universe, so we gotta just...learn to live with it.”

“Says the attention-seeker,” Gamora retorted, though she leaned in to kiss him anyway. “It’s time we focus on ourselves. We don’t let the press, the public, or anyone else trick us into thinking we deserve less than what we want. Because we do. We do, and we will.”

“You should do big speeches more often,” he murmured against her lips, letting out a quiet grunt of protest when she pulled away. “Speaking of what you want...any ideas for our second date?”

Gamora smiled then, almost impish, and Peter felt his heart melt all over again, watching her move backward in the tub so her back was against the wall, her silhouette backlit by the large window, the water sloshing precariously over the edge. She smirked. “We have at least another hour before we have to get dressed, and I believe this bathtub is big enough for two.”

Peter laughed, reaching to pull his T-shirt over his head. “I’m starting to think I should always ask you first.”

[ladylilithprime]

for the lil kiss prompt thing, #37 with wincestiel? if you’re cool with that?

37. It’s-the-end-of-the-world kiss

I folded this into a semi-sequel to Amethystium, a five-part mini-series written for Sastiel Love Week a couple months back, bringing Dean into an established Sassy dynamic for happy Wincestiel fluff. Hope that’s okay!

THE NICE THING about their Retirement-capital-R was the ability to just relax everything. Relaxing their bodies came easily enough, though it was easier for Sam and Dean than for Castiel given they’d had a head start. Relaxing their minds was a little more challenging, but there were plenty of things to divert their attention around the cabin and the roads to elsewhere and back. At first, once Castiel had joined them, Dean had tried spending even more time out on the roads to give Sam and his mate time to themselves, but that had only served to make all three of them more anxious.

Spending time together, all three of them, led to the gradual relaxing of boundaries that had seemed so very Important before and now just seemed silly. No one was around to care if Dean was more affectionate and touchy-feely than he usually acted, and Sam had always been happy to hug his brother and his mate whenever they wanted. Castiel was the least familiar with casual affectionate touch, but he was also the one with the fewest bad habits, and once he had been assured and reassured that his touch was welcome, not just with his mate but with Dean as well, then he could frequently be found cuddling up to one or both of the brothers at any given time.

Given that two of the three were an official pairbond and that people had been assuming Sam and Dean had more than just brotherly love between them for years, other physical boundaries slowly fell by the wayside. Where once Dean had quickly backed out of the room whenever he accidentally walked in on Sam and Castiel engaged in more carnal cuddling, now if he happened upon them he either settled in to wait or, as became more frequent, was invited to join in. That became Sam and Cas occasionally starting something while Dean was sitting with them and quickly pulling him into the middle. The day that Castiel boldly sat down on Dean’s lap and kissed him while Sam watched with a fond smile was the day Dean stopped pretending he wasn’t just as much a part of Sam and Castiel’s relationship as the two of them. The day Dean joined the pair of them on the couch and kissed first Castiel and then Sam full on the lips before settling back to watch whatever movie they’d picked this time earned him two beaming smiles and a lot of fun after the movie was over.

Sometimes all three of them travelled the roads, exploring the places the brothers had known in their youth and showing Castiel the joy their lives had held, inviting him into it. Sometimes it was just Sam and Dean who went, retracting old haunts and rewriting memories together where they had been apart. Sometimes Castiel would go with Dean alone, or with Sam alone, and show them wonders that existed before their time, shedding the boundaries of their human forms and making love within the heart of a star or playing tag across the wheel of a galaxy. It could have gone on forever like that, an eternity of blissful communion between the three of them celebrating their mutual love for each other in as many ways as they could imagine. It was Heaven.

And then, one day, the trio had an angelic visitor.

"Dean and Sam Winchester, Heaven has ne--” The unknown seraph was abruptly cut off when a flying pillow struck her full in the face. Given that the usual response from either of the two former hunters would have been to fire a gun or throw a blade in response to an uninvited intruder, a pillow was getting off lightly. The seraph, however, was not as familiar with the Winchesters as some other angels, and so reacted simply with a puzzled, "What?"

"Fuck off, feathers, it's Thursday!” Dean said cheerfully from where he had been mapping the planes of Castiel’s chest with his tongue. When the seraph made no move to depart, he added pointedly, “You know what happens on Thursday? Me and Sammy lay Cas here out on the bed and worship him until he's boneless."

"...It is Monday," the discomfited seraph said awkwardly.

"No it isn't,” Sam said from his place next to Castiel’s waist where he had been nibbling at the jut of hipbone before they were interrupted. “If it were Monday, it would be Dean's turn to be worshipped."

"Sam's day is Saturday," Castiel piped up “helpfully”. The seraph shifted uncomfortably.

"....It is Tuesday?" she suggested, only to be met with three glacial stares and a chorus of, "THERE IS NO TUESDAY."

“We’re retired!” Dean continued, glowering at the seraph. “Joshua said we were done! Raphael said we were done! Cas got kicked to the curb by that feathered douche for doing what the rest of you should have been doing helping to stop the freaking Apocalypse from happening early and now you want to drag us away from him for some--”

“Please,” the seraph broke in desperately, her voice catching. Dean shut up, startled, and both Sam and Castiel slowly sat up to look at her. “Please,” she said again. “Most of us agree that you have all three done enough and should be left to your retirement, but the situation is dire. Joshua would not have sent me if our need was not great.”

“Joshua sent you?” Castiel said, tilting his head to one side as he studied the seraph before them.

“Why?” Sam asked, frowning slightly. “Why now? Why us?”

“I don’t know,” the seraph answered, a hint of frustration entering her voice. “I don’t know what Joshua thinks you three can do that we are not already doing.”

“What’s going on?” Dean asked seriously, folding his arms. The seraph had Sam and Castiel’s attention now, so chances of ignoring this were slim to none. “And who are you anyway?”

“Hannah,” the seraph answered, causing Castiel to go still. “To put it most simply, Heaven is collapsing. When Gabriel was killed by Lucifer, the pillars of Heaven linked to his Grace started to collapse as well. No one noticed at first because Michael and Raphael were... busy. When Michael and Lucifer became trapped in the Cage, Raphael was left to rule us alone. Instead, he tried to reopen the Cage.”

Sam flinched hard at that, causing Castiel and Dean to pull in closer to him in quiet support. “I’m guessing it didn’t work out the way he hoped?” Dean asked for them. Hannah shook her head.

“While his efforts to open the Cage did have an effect,” she said grimly, “the result was that the Cage collapsed inwards with two of the three remaining Archangels inside. Now there is only Raphael to shoulder the weight of Heaven, and he is failing. Naomi wanted to seek out Metatron and the angel tablet in hopes that one or the other would possess the key to our salvation, but Joshua insisted on sending me to you.”

“Cas?” Dean turned to look at Castiel, raising an eyebrow in question.

“I don’t know either, Dean,” Castiel said apologetically, visibly shaking himself out of his thoughts. “I was only a soldier, and my history of doubting my orders from Heaven was both extensive and well-known. If I was ever told about the Archangels being the literal Pillars of Heaven, I don’t remember it.”

“I don’t think it was something well-known, even by the Archangels,” Sam offered. “Otherwise, don’t you think Michael and Raphael would have known Gabriel was alive until....” he trailed off, unable to bring himself to voice the thought, until he died to save us from Lucifer.

“But that still doesn’t answer the question of what we can do that all the other angels can’t,” Dean pointed out. “I mean, yeah, we’re awesome, but we’re still just human. Or mostly human,” he added with an apologetic squeeze to Castiel’s shoulder.”

“You two are the best of humanity, our Father’s most cherished creation,” Hannah answered him, drawing their attention again. “Dean is the Righteous Man, with a will greater than the Archangel Michael. Sam was meant to be a reflection of Lucifer, and yet his soul outshines the Grace of angels. Castiel may have been only a soldier, but he had more heart than any other angel; Michael and Raphael and Naomi may have believed that to be a failing, but he was brought back from death while other angels were not, so perhaps....”

“Perhaps he was just what God wanted angels to remember you were supposed to be?” Sam suggested, finding Castiel’s hand with his and gripping it tightly.

“Perhaps,” Hannah agreed, and smiled faintly. “Regardless, only Joshua can tell you what you want to know. I have told you all that I can.”

“Give us a sec,” Dean said with relative politeness, tugging gently on Sam and Castiel. The three huddled up together, creating the illusion of privacy. “So, what do you think? Cas, is this Hannah chick on the level?”

“I didn’t know Hannah personally, though I knew of her,” Castiel said. “She has a reputation for being loyal and honest, and she served with distinction when called upon, though she was was not one of the ones sent against me during the Apocalypse.”

“Okay, good angel,” Dean agreed. “Sam?”

“This is way outside of anything we’ve ever read lore-wise,” Sam said with a slight shrug. “Gabriel didn’t say anything about it, and he seemed pretty convinced that his brothers thought he was dead. Still, it’s Joshua asking, and the last time he wanted to talk to us....”

“I hope this will not result in my desire to consume another liquor store,” Castiel said dryly, causing Dean and Sam to snicker faintly. “But as you say, it is Joshua.”

“Once more unto the breech, dear friends?” Dean asked, raising an eyebrow. He didn’t look the least bit surprised when Sam grabbed him and kissed him, just pulled Castiel close to kiss him next, then watched fondly as Castiel kissed Sam in return. “Should we put on pants first?”

“I doubt anyone’s going to care much up here,” Sam said with a shake of his head, though he was still smiling. Castiel narrowed his eyes and reached up to stroke back Sam’s hair, his fingers brushing against the feathers clipped into the soft brown locks. The next moment, all three of them were clothed, making Dean snort and Sam chuckle. “Show-off angel.”

“Bite me,” Castiel deadpanned. “Shall we go save the world now?”

“If we must,” Dean heaved a mock-sigh and got up off the bed. Sam and Castiel followed suit, and the three turned towards Hannah. “Ready when you are, I guess.”

“Thank you,” Hannah said sincerely, looking at each of them in turn. She opened the door to the cabin’s bedroom, the doorway glowing before filling with the familiar view of the Cleveland Botanical Gardens. Dean straightened his spine and led the way through, followed by Sam and Castiel.

They had work to do.

[artificialqueens]

Crossing pt. II (Katlaska) - Sebald

A/N: [3444 words] Sex is sex, the rest is just noise. But maybe Justin likes the noise.

If there is one thing Justin prizes more than good sex, it is a good night’s sleep. Sleep, he has long realized, is a luxury. He knows this to be true for most people—students, overworked minimum wage laborers, parents, white collar professionals, you name it. For internationally known drag queens, even an hour-long nap on a plane ride is a blessing, never mind that Justin has to contend with leg space fit only for people of Kenya Michaels’ stature. Hotels are fine—more luxurious than his own bed, certainly, but before he can really indulge himself in the fresh sheets, his alarm is ringing and he has to pack and leave for the next city, the next country, the next continent. It is only at home that he gets to have pure, uninterrupted sleep. Sometimes he’d marathon it even: get up at one o’clock, take a long piss, have dry cereal, put on The Golden Girls, and pass out on the couch for another five hours.

It is too early to be past noon, he can tell by the soft light filtering through the charmingly ugly floral curtains his grandma had given him last Christmas. Justin buries his head under his pillow and blindly reaches out for his phone to turn the alarm off, but when he brings the offending device to his bleary sight, there is no alarm to put out.

He huffs and tosses it to the other side of his bed, ready to be pulled back into sleep, but instead of the soft thud of the mattress, he hears the phone flopping down on something very firm. Whipping his head, and instantly regretting it because of a crick in his neck, he sees Brian rubbing his chest where the phone hit him.

Oh, right.

“Sorry,” Justin croaks, voice raspy with sleep. He gently pats Brian’s warm chest and rests his hand there. Brian lets him.

Katya had a gig with Jackie Beat down at Precinct last night, and Justin had come out to see the show. They hadn’t seen each other since they’d slept with each other a week ago, and hadn’t really talked apart from a few texts. (Few texts being Brian linking him to stories of alien sightings, and Justin sending back pictures of quick alien doodles he’d made after dutifully reading every link.) Truthfully, he hadn’t planned anything by coming out last night, just genuinely wanting to have a fun night out, watching a drag show instead of performing in one. If it had been any other queen, he still would have come.

Of course, if it had been any other queen, he probably would have ended his night alone at home, or perhaps with some rando from the club. But Katya saw him in the audience and beckoned him backstage, and what Justin had anticipated to be a quick hello turned into, well, a quick blowjob—which is a good greeting in itself, isn’t it? What better way to convey warmth and welcome? He’ll add it to Alaska’s glamtr0nian mythology, sex as platonic greetings. Katya went on to do her second set completely blissed out and untucked beneath her ugly flared skirt, and Justin watched from the wings with an amused smirk and the musky aftertaste of her cum in his mouth.

“Good fucking morning to you too,” Brian grumbles, finally reaching out to turn his phone alarm off. Justin has half a mind to whine about the alarm on his day off, but before he can open his mouth, Brian’s already wrinkling his nose and offering an apology. He offers an unglamorous morning sight��hair sticking out, fabric marks on his cheeks, dried-up drool at the corners of his lips, his sleep-swollen eyes squinting at the earliness of the morning. Justin holds back his laughter, knowing he’s not such a welcome vision either.

It’s been some time since he’s had a hookup at his house. Usually it would be at a hotel. The last guy he slept with on this bed was a steady boyfriend. He needs a refresher for morning-after etiquette. Food, he thinks. He should offer food.

“I don’t have any food,” he announces, realizing he’s existed on takeout for a week. He reaches across Brian to retrieve his phone, thinking of having something delivered. “I think I have orange juice though.”

“I might have to bounce in a bit, actually. Hence the alarm,” Brian says, trapping the arm that was reaching across his torso. Justin gladly obliges and clings to him in a half-embrace. He is certain that he hears a note of apology in Brian’s voice, as if he truly regrets turning down the rather sorry offer of orange juice for breakfast. Brian stretches his arms over his head, and Justin stares unabashedly. They are at once soft in the morning light and firmly muscled under the pale skin. “Trixie’s boyfriend’s friend apparently told her that I stood him up, and now she’s demanding I rectify her damaged reputation as matchmaker by seeing the date through.”

“It’s a date now, huh?” he teases. Brian rolls his eyes. “Last week it was just a hookup.”

“Whatever. I’ll take him out to lunch, jack him off, delete him from my phone, and go to my yoga class. It’s really just to get Trix off my back,” he says. He sits up against the headboard, leaving Justin’s elbow resting near a suspicious tent under the covers. Justin makes no effort to move, keeping his arm looped around Brian’s waist. Smirking up at Brian, he waits for a go signal, but Brian just smirks back at him and then brings a hand to scratch Justin’s head. “How about you? What’s Her Majesty up to on this blessed Sabbath?”

All right then, maybe Brian’s saving it for Trixie’s guy. Not desperately horny enough to pursue the matter, Justin instead closes his eyes and cozies up to Brian’s hand. If he keeps this light massage up, Justin is going to conk back out of consciousness. “I’m meeting up with Cory. He’s dragging me to this gym where he got free memberships because he’s dating this girl who works there.”

“On a Sunday?”

“Sundays are the best day to go because literally no one else is there,” he replies matter-of-factly.

“Oh, so you’re a gym rat now, Joanne?” Brian teases, lightly trailing a hand across Justin’s bicep. “Giving me that insider info.”

“As if.” Justin rolls his eyes. “I just tag along with Cory, and I think he’s just going ’cause his girlfriend has Sunday duty. He did that with his last girlfriend too. She was a sommelier up in Wilshire, and he would go there all the time to see her.”

“Cory’s always dating someone,” Brian observes lightly, the way one talks of the weather. Justin feels him moving his hand away, so he reaches out for his wrist to keep it on his head. Brian obliges, continuing to run his fingers through Justin’s hair.

“Don’t I fucking know it. He’s always waving it in my face and calling me an old crone,” he scoffs.

“But you’re always dating too,” Brian counters, rubbing lightly behind ears now. If it didn’t feel so good, Justin would complain about being petted like a dog.

“Sure,” he allows. He does date around quite a bit. He’s a Pisces who needs constant companionship, sue him. “But not nearly as much as him.”

Brian tuts. “Ah, but that’s a statistical impossibility. There are more blonde, tanned girls in LA than there are tops. Cory’s bound to date more people.”

“But see, I’m not geographically limited to LA. And I still lose to him,” he says with an exaggerated pout, making Brian laugh. It’s a nice sound, isn’t it? The haze of the morning light must be putting a filter over his eyes, because Justin suddenly finds it quite pleasant to watch Brian’s dry lips stretching over his stunningly white teeth. And then to delight in the roughened edges of his smoker’s laughter too? Justin really needs to wash the sleep out of his system.

“Maybe you’re just bad at dating,” Brian says sympathetically, tapping Justin’s nose. Justin glares up at him. “It’s okay. I’m terrible at it. I still get laid every other night.”

“Well, you don’t care about dating,” Justin reasons. In the time he’s known Brian, he’s never known him to date anyone. At first he’d thought it to be because of the demands of the job—it’s not easy to see someone when you’re constantly travelling. Justin has learned this with Aaron, and then again with Alex, and Carlos, and Kevin, and Jeremy. He wonders sometimes if it’s really his career getting in the way of his relationships, or if it’s just him. To protect his ego, he chooses to believe it’s the former. Still, most Ru girls manage to see other people. Some steadily, and others sporadically. Brian’s a rare case among them, never dating around. “Or am I making false assumptions?”

“No, you’re right. I don’t really see the appeal. Maybe once upon a time, when I was a baby gay, I wanted that whole romance extravaganza. Monogamy and slow dancing and all the works. The whole music video romance, you know? But now I don’t really see the point in it.”

“Really? And yet you tortured me with that unending Lana Del Rey playlist in Aspen?” Justin complains incredulously.

Brian holds up a finger in indignation. “I won’t have Lana slander, not on this good Sunday morning, no ma’am. Don’t speak against the lord herself. I’ll never stick my dick in you again, I swear to god.”

“He that is without sin, let him first cast a stone,” Justin says grandly, smirking up at Brian. “I’m not the one worshiping at Lana’s feet and then denouncing music video romances behind her back.”

It’s amusing how quickly Brian springs into animation, his sleep-encrusted eyes suddenly turning bright and sharp with a presence that commands Justin’s full attention, even if he has absolutely no interest in Lana Del Rey. Brian grabs his shoulder to get him to listen, completely unaware that he’s already caught Justin hook, line, and sinker. “You’re getting it all twisted. Lana isn’t commodified romance, really, she’s—”

Justin squints dubiously. “She’s a successful radio act, how is that not commodified?”

“Fine, okay, but at least she operates within pop culture as this brilliantly unachievable ideal that is very self-aware of its own ideality. Her music, her whole brand, it’s not going for realness. It’s not deceptive, you know what I mean? It’s drag, it really is. That’s why I love her. But romance, real romance”—here he puts air quotes around ‘real’—“it’s a joke.”

An impassioned defense of Lana Del Rey’s artistry isn’t exactly standard morning-after fare in Justin’s experience, but he find himself a willing student. He sits up finally, his interest piqued. “What do you mean?”

“I dunno. At some point I just figured romance isn’t real. It’s a whole manufactured spectacle designed to maintain this whole order of—well, the patriarchy obviously, but also probably some more complex and insidious societal riggeries and giggeries that we haven’t even yet caught on to. Because they’re so effectively run by the big guys, you know?” Brian says. Justin nods, even though he doesn’t fully agree, and lets Brian continue. “Romance blinds us and forces us into compliance with…” his hand fans the air as he looks for a word.

“The world order?” Justin offers dryly. He wonders if he should have saved this conversation for some other time, when he’s not still half-asleep.

Brian points at him and nods. “Hashtag thatpart. Capitalism, globalism, the whole she-bang. I don’t know how, but I’m sure romance is part of the mechanism somehow. We just gotta Winston Smith ourselves into the truth, Joanne.”

“Girl, you’re gonna have to help me out here. Is that the 1984 guy?“

“The very one,” Brian says, nodding.

Thank god Justin was a good student, reading all his assigned texts and turning in all his book reports. Let it never be said that basic education is useless. He scrunches his nose, trying to remember the novel. There was Big Brother, doublespeak, and lots of illicit sexual activities. And weren’t there also rats? Or was that A Clockwork Orange? What else? “How did it end again? Didn’t he go back to sucking Big Brother’s dick?”

Brian frowns. "Okay, yeah, he did. But he was tortured into compliance. You’re missing the point.“

“No, okay, I do get what you were saying: romance makes robots out of us, and love isn’t real.” Justin looks up to Brian for confirmation, which Brian gives with a nod. “Can I suck your dick now?”

His question goes ignored as Brian careens full speed down his socio-philosophical train tracks with no end in sight. He flaps his hands quickly, as if his monologue is powered by kinetic energy. “Or no, maybe it is! Or love is—okay, yes, that’s it, I think love is real, but romance is manufactured. Romance is the institutionalization of love, like… like Drag Race is the institutionalization of drag! Or like Catholicism is the institutionalization of the socialist sort of spirituality that Jesus preached!”

“Who told you to bring Jesus into my home?” Justin laughs. “I’m not having it. Is this what you do with all your guys? Is this a guerrilla tactic, educating the unenlightened masses one hookup at a time?”

Brian cackles, head thrown back, eyes wrinkled, teeth catching the light. “This should be how the revolution starts. Can’t get more grassroots than this.”

“I’ll pass it on to the next guy I suck off, comrade. We’ll get Bernie into office yet,” Justin promises solemnly, closing his eyes and bowing his head a fraction. He brings a fist up to his heart and intones gravely, “Unhappy the land that is in need of heroes, but love, like war, always finds a way.”

Brian bursts into a wheeze that possesses his whole frame. Justin was going for a laugh, but even then Brian’s full-body flailing impresses him. Being a comedy queen by trade, Justin takes to laughter like Tinkerbell to applause, and to him Brian is the Platonic ideal of an audience—open and generously receptive. And those perfect damn teeth don’t hurt either. If all he has to do is pull stage play quotes out of his ass to send Brian into irrepressible laughter, then he’ll gladly resurrect his theatre education and put it to good use. He allows himself a cackle as well, glad to join in with Brian.

“See, that’s the type of love that I’m advocating. Free and unburdened by societal expectations,” Brian says easily, likes it’s the simplest, truest matter in the world. “None of those tired old romantic tropes. Just love and sex for all.”

“Do you really mean that?” Justin inquires. “You don’t really sleep with everyone, do you?”

“Only because there isn’t enough time in the world, mawma,” Brian laments jokingly. Of course. And then he looks at Justin with a knowing grin. “I do have some time to spare before I absolutely have to leave though. You down for a quick round?”

Justin doesn’t realize that he was hoping for a serious answer until Brian shrugged it off kiddingly, but maybe that’s his problem. He’s always looking to ascribe meaning, always looking to pierce through the pleasures of the skin into—the soul? The heart? Whatever trite concept he imagines to connect people beyond just sex. Theoretically he understands free love, and can perhaps put it into praxis, as evidenced by the voluminous ledger of men he’s slept with, but if he’s being honest, he’s just an old romantic. All this no-strings-attached sex he’s having is less a choice and more a second resort until he finds someone more permanent. But maybe it would be healthier, smarter, worldlier to adapt Brian’s mind-set. To stop looking at sex as a means to an end but rather an end in itself.

“I thought you’d never ask,” he says readily, letting the matter go. As his mouth takes in Brian’s length, he wonders why they’d spent so much time talking nonsense.

~~~

An hour into what Cory promised to be “bro bonding” at the gym, Justin already wants to die. His biceps feel as though they are aflame after Cory militantly forced him to do cable curls. And then Cory pretty much left him alone after that, opting to do some unnecessarily intimate spotting for his girlfriend on the bench press. Such a straight dude, Justin thinks.

He walks over to them, intending to just sit down for a second and watch as he lets his arms regain locomotive will. Kiara, the girlfriend, smiles up at him, and he is appalled by how casually beautiful she manages to look, even drenched in sweat. She is quite short, which is normal for Justin, who towers over most people. But what she lacks in height, she makes up for in muscle—solid, firm, meticulously sculpted. This she carries with her leonine air. Despite the disparity of their height, she seems almost larger a presence than Cory, who himself is taller than Justin.

“You’re way too gorgeous to be settling for Cory,” he comments, settling down on the floor and stealing Cory’s thermos, earning him a light kick on the shoulder from his brother.

“Trust me, I know,” Kiara plays along, but then she looks up at Cory with such a warm laugh as she pushes the weights up steadily. Cory returns the laugh with the easy, unbothered assurance of someone in love.

“Don’t listen to that idiot,” he says. “He probably hasn’t gotten laid in a year.”

Justin sputters for show, hastily withdrawing his mouth from the lip of the thermos. His jaw drops in mock offense. “I got laid this morning!” he whines, fully aware of how his last syllable is drawn out in the grating manner that Cory hates.

“Using your dildo doesn’t count as getting laid,” Cory retorts. Kiara just laughs at them, shaking her head as she finally gestures for Cory to take the weights off so she can sit up. “You’re such brothers.”

“Whatever, I totally got laid,” Justin insists.

“Good for you,” Cory beams proudly, carefully placing the weights back on the rack and handing Kiara a towel. “Do I know the unlucky guy?”

“Yeah actually,” Justin says, deciding that it’s all right to kiss and tell. If he’s gonna commit to the whole carefree, casual sex thing, there’s really no reason to be all coy about his sex life, even if it’s around his brother and her girlfriend. “It’s Brian.”

Cory looks at him blankly, in the way he often does. “Who the fuck is Brian?”

“Katya, sorry.”

“Oh. I like her,” Kiara pipes up cheerfully, and then, cheekily, “And you, of course.”

“Thank you,” Justin says with a huff of a laugh.

Cory settles down on the bench beside Kiara, but his eyes are on Justin. He rests his elbows on his thighs and clasps his hands, looking rather serious for Justin’s liking. Cautiously, he asks, “Are you a thing? Like with Sharon?”

Was he being a concerned brother? It’s a little endearing, Justin finds. He smiles reassuringly. “No, we were just fooling around.”

Cory raises a skeptical brow but says nothing more, grabbing his thermos from Justin’s grasp and tossing it back with impressively large gulps. Once upon a time Justin would have dismissed it as an aggressive display of masculinity, but after his own little session with the cable curls he’s sure he was lapping that water up like a man stumbling through the Mojave. Kiara snags the thermos from Cory, even though her own water bottle is sitting right by her foot. She tips her head back and finishes it up, and then races Cory for the bottle on the floor. They squabble a bit, holding each other back playfully, but Kiara eventually lets Cory have the first sip, sitting back and watching him fondly.

Again Justin is afforded entry into their world of easy touches and effortless interactions. For a moment, it makes him doubt his decision to trod the path that Brian’s on. The path of skin and sweat and cum and thank you and goodbye. But just as quickly as doubt flutters through his new resolve, he dismisses it, because he knows it’s not all easy touches and sticky smiles, really. He’s been there countless times, and they all slipped through his fingers like a shaft of morning light. Gaga really was on to something with “Perfect Illusion,” he thinks with a chuckle.

[careergrowthblog]

From research to the classroom:  roadblocks, resistance and blind faith.

In my work I regularly have the opportunity to talk to groups of teachers and leaders about ideas from research and research processes themselves. It’s a continual source of surprise to me how different the levels of engagement and awareness can be from one audience to another.  In some places, there’s a high level of awareness of recent books, discussions and concepts emerging from research studies, cognitive science and the wider world of sharing across the teacher community. Other places feel isolated and I’m the one telling most of the people, for the first time, about Hattie, Willingham or Rosenshine or Nuthall.  Usually people have heard of Carol Dweck – but not always, and quite often they’re not aware of the debates around growth mindset interventions. Very often most people have heard of Dylan Wiliam – but it’s not always the case that they know what he’s said beyond something about ‘AfL’ – whatever they think that might mean.

Given the gaps in knowledge and practice I see quite regularly, it’s also a source of frustration that out in the edu-sphere people are busily dismissing or demonising excellent ideas about teaching, seemingly oblivious to the fact that there are classrooms all over the place where these same ideas would be a Godsend to the students and teachers muddling their way through a relatively bad experience.

If good ideas are going to find their way into the classrooms that need them, then we might need to be more conscious of all the potential barriers.  Here’s a list:

No Engagement.

There’s research?  Lots of teachers remain oblivious to the range and nature of the studies that are undertaken into the effectiveness of the things they do every day.   There’s a long way to go here just to get people into the discussion.

Managed well enough with out it.  This is true of lots of great teachers… it’s only a problem when this turns into… ‘therefore, research can’t be important’.

Not looking for it.  It can be that a school’s circumstances are so challenging or so comfortable that people just don’t look up and see what’s going on around them. They run entirely on recycling institutional knowledge, sometimes to good effect; sometimes not.

Not had time.  It’s so common to find teachers hungry to learn but where their workload or CPD systems just don’t support serious research engagement.

Resistance

But it’s nothing new…. Some people get wound up by anyone promoting ideas they already know about because it feels they’re saying the ideas are new (even if no-one is saying they’re new).   So what! Old ideas can be new to many… what’s the problem?

But there’s a lot more to it.  This can become a holier-than-thou spiral: claims of superior understanding and appeals to more subtle thinking. Learning is complex; we study elements of it and promote ideas around them.  But if someone decides to focus on anything specific it allows people so say we’re missing the big picture: eg “retrieval practice is not just about learning isolated facts”. Nobody thinks it is!

But whatabout….: What about relationships; what about my particular EAL students; what about drama; what about early years?  Do we need a global caveat? : Not all ideas apply equally to all students in all subjects in any given discussion. There are some generally useful ideas but who is claiming universality? And nobody is leaving you out by just talking about what’s relevant to them.

But that doesn’t apply to my subject. Why would it? Year 8 art; Y11 chemistry; Y3 creative writing….are poles apart. Can we not apply our filters without roadblocking the discussion with obvious false comparisons?

But it’s all driven by ideology. There are people who resist anything supported by political figures they oppose. Some even literally think promoting good instructional methods is tantamount to supporting indoctrination; people who carefully separate instruction (bad) from “education” (good). As if this isn’t its own bizarre ideology.

But you can find a study to tell you anything.. The ‘anything goes’ brigade. Research can be conflicting but not at the level where we sweep all research aside and do what we feel like.

But, I once knew a student who… Exceptions! My son didn’t need X; I knew a girl once who learned by doing Y; some do perfectly well without Z. If we’re looking for good bets to improve outcomes for the many, our counter-example exception anecdotes don’t add up to much. We need to do better. At the same time, it’s pretty weird when people refuse to accept that exceptions do exist.

But, in my experience …. Let me stop you there. Teachers aren’t researchers. Let’s share our experiences for what they are. Some insights are powerful but let’s not extrapolate too far. Your story of how well a class performed could say more about what they already knew than about anything you did. Caveats abound.

The Punk/Maverick/Liberator delusion: The tedious idea that some folk just operate on a different plane where they are the true educators outside the establishment machine.

Problematic Engagement.

Sometimes it’s not resistance that’s a problem; it’s the way ideas are promoted.

Time lag discovery: Someone comes late to the party, promoting an idea unaware that there’s been a huge discussion about it already, refining or even debunking it. (Eg 2018 event introducing people to learning styles. Eg Finland/Singapore = Utopia)

Ideological tunnel vision: there are people out there (eg Epiphany Learning) promoting student-centred learning as deep versus teacher-centred learning as shallow. Conversely others are determined that students should never work in groups or make choices.

Hero worship: Hattie said it; Sir Ken Robinson said it; Dweck said it; Willingham said it…… Even great people change their minds or refine their thinking. Their work isn’t gospel.

Vested interest. If your company or twitter handle is called Flight Paths, Visible Learning UK or Mindsets Inc, it’s going to be hard to hear opposing voices.

Surface reading. The Rosenshine graphic is laminated and on the classroom wall next to your ‘The Power of Yet’ poster. You’ve not read Rosenshine or Dweck – but reckon you’ve got the gist of it and you do most of it already anyway.

Data literal: Hattie says X has an average effect size of 0.65 and Y has 0.43. This means when I do X it will have more impact than if I do Y; in fact we should all do X instead of Y. (Yup, I’ve heard this exact case being made).

Checklist Killer. Rosenshine is ace. Here’s your readymade 10-point lesson observation checklist feeding into your annual review.

Presenting ‘did no harm’ as ‘it works for me’. Teachers do not usually undertake systematic evaluations of their strategies. We do something we like or something we’re biased in favour of; kids do well … q.e.d. “It works for me”. Truth is often that there is not nearly enough evidence to support a cause-effect claim. ‘Do what works for you’ is basically a license to live evidence free and promote all ideas regardless.

Presenting ‘it’s an engaging enrichment activity that people like doing’ as ‘its an effective general teaching method’. There all kinds of experiences that are rewarding and lead to learning – at least for some. They can be high on the ‘feel good factor’. But this doesn’t mean they are a good bet in general. They are icing on the cake; they have their place. But they are not cake. It’s folly to pitch icing vs cake. Eg, yes, in a Y5 class some kids can successfully teach themselves something by reading about it for a project activity ; most will need to be taught directly to fully understand it. Role-play might add a dimension to an area of learning – but it’s unlikely to go very far in exploring a whole curriculum.

  None of this means we just bow to the Research Gods. We should discuss, debate and evaluate. Let’s do that with some open-mindedness and some readiness to address the complexity and nuance. But let’s also remember the classrooms where basic things aren’t going so well and they need simple, effective and actionable tools. Let’s not get in the way of those ideas getting through.

  From research to the classroom:  roadblocks, resistance and blind faith. published first on https://medium.com/@KDUUniversityCollege

[cameiotmagazine-blog]

The Wizard Film Fest Review Day 2

There are rumors about this one. There were horrific warnings about this one. They were blind - all the women who would come up to me - their eyes milky white, and they would whisper to me, "Do not dare to enter this for you shall not return." I thanked them for their advice but I am a film critic, and I didn’t get into this job because it’s easy. I got into it because I like movies and I like to write about them. The film they were warning me about was by Iriethana Arcanegrin, who is one of the first female directors I had encountered at this festival. Her film was called:

"The Beauty and Mastery of a Fearful and Horrifying Wind: Ill Omens".

Long title, but as long as the title was, the thing they had all warned me about was the length of the film. As a film critic I am capable of a lot. I mean I’ve seen in one sitting both the extended edition of "The Hobbit" and the extended edition of "Lord of the Rings". But this movie is a long one, and it wasn’t even clear how long the movie would be. The pamphlet said it was x^2*240. I really wasn’t sure what that meant. My guess is the movie was very, very, very long.

 It began with a tracking shot of a young man in the woods. This lasted for five minutes. As we got closer and closer on this young man’s eyes, inexplicably the movie stopped. The lights came on, and the critics and the fans shuffled out. I’m sure of what happened. I was really unsure too but I guess five minutes was good. The young man walking through the forest was really beautifully done and it was an intense little short film. I walked up to the bar waiting for the next movie to start when Iriethana Arcanegrin came out to get a drink.

“So what did you think”, she said in a thick Ukrainian accent.

“Well, um.”

“You thought it would be longer, right?” she said as a faint smile came over her.

“It is not an unwarranted reputation,”  Iriethana said.

“Really.”

“My last movie, "The Prepositions of the Ingenious World on a Dangerous and Unknown Plane of Existence", for me earlier, at say four years ago, is still playing. I check in there every once in a while. The critics that were watching it have formed a Society. There’s talks of worshiping me as a god, but I put an end to that pretty quickly.”

“Well, that’s certainly one of the stranger things to come out of this  week… So, so why so short?”

“Well, I like to think that the thing is a layered piece that you return to over and over again,” said Iriethana Arcanegrin.

She said that as she walked backwards, wriggling her fingers and making ghost sounds, when the bartender came up from behind the bar.

“Madam Iriethana Arcanegrin, your drink,” said the bartender.

She walked forward and picked up her drink, and then once again walked backwards making ghost sounds and wiggling her fingers.

The festival has been showing mostly very artistic films, but sometimes when you’re at one of these you crave a little action. Fortunately the next one I saw was full of action. There was so much action that at one point the entire screen was filled with blood for over 10 minutes! Just blood with a bunch of different shades!

"Happy Fun Day" from Choi Dong-Woo

The movie starts in an action movie 101 way with a violent cold opening that has little to nothing to do with the main guy, a very good looking Korean man. The man’s head explodes, and then another man’s head explodes, and then a third man’s head explodes. You don’t why – no context, no nothing, just exploding head after beautiful exploding head, to the point that the exploding heads start to resemble a Jackson Pollock painting of different shades of blood. It’s the single most violent thing I’ve ever seen.

Then for a half hour the movie turns into a romance where the main wizard romances another wizard - a female one romances a girl wizard. And then a guy comes in and his head gets blown off, and another person’s head gets blown off. Really it’s a very head-blowing-off sort of picture, full of just beautiful violent imagery after violent imagery. The violence becomes so endemic of the film that in the end nothing occurs but violence, and violence becomes disturbing for its lack of violence. You become sensitized to the very nature of non-violence. The movie ends of course violently. The movie started violently; the middle was violent. I couldn’t even really tell you what the plot was, what anything was, but I left it with a Recommend.

What does Kurt Cobain have to do with magic? Nothing, probably, but one wizard was born in the 90’s, and he just really wanted to make a movie about Kurt Cobain, so who am I to judge? Not me, I really wanted to see a Kurt Cobain movie made by a wizard. The movie was called:

                         "Kurt Cobain as Seen Through the Eyes of a Wizard".

It was a simple, beautiful movie in a lot of ways, and in a lot of ways it was very experimental, because it seemed to be actual footage of Kurt Cobain, somehow mythically obtained. But the credits finally confirmed it to me. There were no actual actors in this. They were all transformed mice that the wizard, Loran the Mighty, Big fan of Nirvana, had made to look like the late great rocker.

Loran the Mighty, Big Fan of Nirvana, was also apparently a fan of improv in movies, because most of the dialogue related to cheese of some sort – where is cheese; how to get cheese; what has happened to my beautiful mouse body; what are these new sensations I felt?

There was a beautiful speech near the end where the mouse that was turned into Kurt Cobain said, “I was once a proud mouse, and now I am a filthy man animal. What are these horrid appendages that have grown from me? You cruel and unfair being of evil. Return me. Return me.”

So I gave it a Recommend.

I left, expecting to see the Aztec-inspired lobby that I had seen in my days here. An odd sensation - I opened the doors that had previously opened onto the Aztec lobby and I was once again in "The Beauty and Mastery of a Fearful and Horrifying Wind: Ill Omens", and the young boy who was walking through the woods now came upon a house. He opened the house to see who were clearly his parents, and as I sat down, I found I was at the bar again as if nothing had happened. I spied the director Iriethana Arcanegrin across the room. She was holding a drink. She shrugged and walked away. After that happened several more times I came to realize that that movie would continue on for the rest of my life. At random points in my life I will somehow be watching that movie again.

All in all, I would say it was an exciting cinematic experience. Simon made friends with a bunny, so I have a pet bunny now. I named her Penelope.

[burntfingers]

My Talk With God, and How He’s a Space Nazi

I promise, crossed my heart, that this story actually happened. I also need to remind you that I never promised that ANY of this will make sense. I’m gonna have to do this in bullet points.

My second cousin was dating this guy, Brad. At the time I became aware of Brad, it was nearing Christmas time. So I was invited up to Brad’s house to hang out with him and my cousin, who I hadn’t seen in almost 10 years. I went up to Maryland to the house, and right away, I noticed a problem. The house was so damn out of the way that if you wanted its location you had to do geocoordinates. But I arrived safe and sound. My cousin was not coming until the next day, so I got to talk to Brad a bit. Here’s what I found out:

- He was super fucking racist. I gotta get that one out of the way. He legitimately thought that anyone not white (or “Germanic” as he insisted any white person was) was on a lower tier of the evolutionary scale. Lowest on the scale were black people. He refused to refer to other races by anything other than pejorative terms. This pretty much was the foundation of his entire character.

- He thought he was god. Not like, the monotheistic god-with-a-capital-g, but more that he thought he was descended from Odin. (He insisted it was spelled “Oden”) so he of course insisted that his demigod status have him a higher plane of existence than everyone else on earth, and that it allowed him to pass through time warps and allowed him to see Vikings in visions. He also believed that this made him the best guitarist on earth, but that’s another section of the story.

- He was somewhat obsessed with Vikings, in case you didn’t already get that. He paid a lot of money to have runes tattooed into his arms, but they were so poorly done that they looked like they were done with green sharpie. He also worshipped Odin, but did so in a bizarre way. Whereas most people who make burnt offerings (I’ve gotta go off of various books, I don’t know anyone else who does…besides my dad when he grills) will insist on buying a live animal, slaughtering it, and ritually preparing it. Our friend here would just have his mom buy him a butterball turkey, and he’d go out and burn it on an altar. Also he’d talk about how amazing his religion (Asatru) was, due mostly to the fact that, in his understanding, it encouraged wanton destruction of lesser races, subjugation of women, and a lack of personal responsibility. REAL charmer right there. He also would parade about the house in a cheap Viking costume, and whenever he passed a mirror, he’d flip his shoulder-length hair and scowl into it, as if he were trying to intimidate his reflection. He also had his parents buy him a meter-long sword. Yes it was real. Yes it was sharp. And yes, he thought it was the greatest thing ever. He would often tout it as the “Greatest home defense weapon ever,” to which I’d reply “Yes but wouldn’t you have a problem swinging a meter-long blade inside a house?” His response tied into the next point.

- He wanted to start a kingdom…in Maryland. You heard that right. The end goal of this would-be demigod Viking was to buy up a ton of land in Maryland, declare independence from the United States, set up a little nation devoid of racial minorities and/or socialists, and call it “Ascalon.” He wanted to have a castle, tons of statues, and a guard unit called…the High Guard. Creative. Basically he wanted to go to Europe (Never Africa or Asia, for reasons you already know) and adopt up young male orphans, and train them as his brainwashed soldiers. (Literally his plan was to get them, preferably younger than 6, and raise them on a steady diet of Ayn Rand, swordplay, and hate speech) Also he wanted to institute gladiatorial combat as the primary form of capital punishment. What merits capital punishment in the (Allegedly) Libertarian Monarchy of Ascalon? Murder, rape, theft…and Socialism. That’s right, in this “Free society” simply preaching in favor of socialism could land you in the ring across from Robbie the Rapist, and you’ve got to fight to the death. Of course, I was like “Don’t these ‘utopias’ usually get…shot?” but I guess I’m just a cynic. - Now you’re probably imagining this guy as someone who is a.) 14, b.) playing Call of Duty, and c.) Rather scrawny (or fit, if he were really trying to fit into the stereotype of a Viking) Our friend was none of those. He was 20, spent all of his time playing Viking death metal on guitar, and had, by his own admission, never worked out a day in his life. He was 5'7" and 250lbs, and had rarely left his parents’ house, due to a crippling fear of people. He had long, wispy hair, which he fancied made him more Viking-like, and he admitted that he wore the same shorts for weeks at a time, but that was only when he wasn’t trooping around in the dime-store Viking costume.

- He played guitar, and idolized Viking death metal. Now that’s no crime in and of itself, but having your millionaire parents buy you $200,000 in guitars, amps, and cables and only playing one of those guitars IS a crime of some sort. And if it’s not, it should be. This kid’s first guitar was a $2,000 Eric Clapton Stratocaster, and he made his parents go through thousands of dollars until he settled on a guitar he liked. He even had a Gibson Les Paul…signed by Les Paul (Who is dead, btw) which alone is worth a fortune. This feeds into his plan for world domination, trust me.

- So his kingdom? How did he plan on funding that huge land grab? Obviously that was one thing his parents WOULDN’T pay for. So he had a plan that involved taking over the music industry, the video game industry, and eventually, the world. Basically he wanted to start by creating a game that he described as a cross between “Minecraft and Morrowind” that would be infinite and self-aware. All geekiness aside, such a thing is impossible on modern hardware. He wanted to make the game with 5 people, and he said it would make millions of dollars in a few years. Then he’d use that money to build studios in every major city in the Caucasian-dominated world (Sorry, he hated that term, he’d prefer “Germanic”) and make Viking Death Metal the dominant genre of music in the world. This is because he was pissed that “Black people music” had become the dominant style in the world, i.e. hip hop, pop, and dance music.(He SURE didn’t say “black people” but I’m not gonna repeat what he said) That being said, he viewed metal as the whitest genre of music ever to be recorded, completely ignoring the fact that metal came from rock, which came from blues, which came from the soul and gospel music of…you guessed it, black people. So he was screwed either way. But that didn’t stop his racist megalomania one bit, because he planned on using the money garnered from his game and record company to buy up his kingdom in Maryland, and build a castle. And THAT is where he was gonna use his sword for home defense. So finally, we get to my visit with him. I visited and stayed for five days, much like a National Geographic journalist studying a maniacal dictator, and my cousin came. She showed up, smiling, happy to see us both, and with two GIANT boxes of cookies in hand. She was instantly berated by him for letting the cookies go stale. Then they went upstairs, and I didn’t see them for the rest of the day. Apparently that was because he was busy sulking that bread products, when exposed to air, tend to get a bit stale. So then, the next morning, I decided to be a good guest, and offer to help my cousin make breakfast (Brad wouldn’t be down until 12, she said) so we made some devilled eggs. He came down, pulled a face, and I didn’t see him until late that night, considering that he was sulking some more, this time because he didn’t like the smell of eggs. Then he finally came down at 10pm, and got in a fight with his mother, because she caught him mocking his father’s mannerisms. (His father had recently suffered a stroke) The next day, his friend Rich showed up. Rich secretly disliked Brad, and we both knew it. That night however, I decided to sleep in the attic, because there were real beds there. I did so, and regretted it immensely. Brad and my cousin were having VERY loud sex below me, and I spent the rest of the night covering my ears and getting very little sleep.

The next day, I woke up closer to lunch time. My cousin had prepared burgers, freshly ground and grilled, and Brad complained and told her that she sucked at cooking and shouldn’t do it anymore. His mother called him out on it, and he responded that “Encouraging the weak is a socialist value.” and continued to pontificate that it was “Crucial to the survival of our race” (He basically called everything that he liked “Crucial to the survival of our race” Be it a political cause or a videogame) he then continued that he idolized Anders Breivik, the guy who shot up and bombed a youth camp in Norway, because “The people in the camp were socialist Labour party members who were poisoning the youth.”

After I realized that I had had enough of this guy, I decided to pack my bags, and go home. After the visit, I cut off communication with him, and deleted him off Facebook and all other social media. Videos and photos of him still exist, somewhere, trying his best to look tough. So where is he now? After being dumped by my cousin, the last I saw of him was that he was advertising himself as “Lead Philosopher at Ascalon” and posting pictures of the night sky with emo quotes about how nobody loves and/or understands him.

Some god.

[careergrowthblog]

From research to the classroom:  roadblocks, resistance and blind faith.

In my work I regularly have the opportunity to talk to groups of teachers and leaders about ideas from research and research processes themselves. It’s a continual source of surprise to me how different the levels of engagement and awareness can be from one audience to another.  In some places, there’s a high level of awareness of recent books, discussions and concepts emerging from research studies, cognitive science and the wider world of sharing across the teacher community. Other places feel isolated and I’m the one telling most of the people, for the first time, about Hattie, Willingham or Rosenshine or Nuthall.  Usually people have heard of Carol Dweck – but not always, and quite often they’re not aware of the debates around growth mindset interventions. Very often most people have heard of Dylan Wiliam – but it’s not always the case that they know what he’s said beyond something about ‘AfL’ – whatever they think that might mean.

Given the gaps in knowledge and practice I see quite regularly, it’s also a source of frustration that out in the edu-sphere people are busily dismissing or demonising excellent ideas about teaching, seemingly oblivious to the fact that there are classrooms all over the place where these same ideas would be a Godsend to the students and teachers muddling their way through a relatively bad experience.

If good ideas are going to find their way into the classrooms that need them, then we might need to be more conscious of all the potential barriers.  Here’s a list:

No Engagement.

There’s research?  Lots of teachers remain oblivious to the range and nature of the studies that are undertaken into the effectiveness of the things they do every day.   There’s a long way to go here just to get people into the discussion.

Managed well enough with out it.  This is true of lots of great teachers… it’s only a problem when this turns into… ‘therefore, research can’t be important’.

Not looking for it.  It can be that a school’s circumstances are so challenging or so comfortable that people just don’t look up and see what’s going on around them. They run entirely on recycling institutional knowledge, sometimes to good effect; sometimes not.

Not had time.  It’s so common to find teachers hungry to learn but where their workload or CPD systems just don’t support serious research engagement.

Resistance

But it’s nothing new…. Some people get wound up by anyone promoting ideas they already know about because it feels they’re saying the ideas are new (even if no-one is saying they’re new).   So what! Old ideas can be new to many… what’s the problem?

But there’s a lot more to it.  This can become a holier-than-thou spiral: claims of superior understanding and appeals to more subtle thinking. Learning is complex; we study elements of it and promote ideas around them.  But if someone decides to focus on anything specific it allows people so say we’re missing the big picture: eg “retrieval practice is not just about learning isolated facts”. Nobody thinks it is!

But whatabout….: What about relationships; what about my particular EAL students; what about drama; what about early years?  Do we need a global caveat? : Not all ideas apply equally to all students in all subjects in any given discussion. There are some generally useful ideas but who is claiming universality? And nobody is leaving you out by just talking about what’s relevant to them.

But that doesn’t apply to my subject. Why would it? Year 8 art; Y11 chemistry; Y3 creative writing….are poles apart. Can we not apply our filters without roadblocking the discussion with obvious false comparisons?

But it’s all driven by ideology. There are people who resist anything supported by political figures they oppose. Some even literally think promoting good instructional methods is tantamount to supporting indoctrination; people who carefully separate instruction (bad) from “education” (good). As if this isn’t its own bizarre ideology.

But you can find a study to tell you anything.. The ‘anything goes’ brigade. Research can be conflicting but not at the level where we sweep all research aside and do what we feel like.

But, I once knew a student who… Exceptions! My son didn’t need X; I knew a girl once who learned by doing Y; some do perfectly well without Z. If we’re looking for good bets to improve outcomes for the many, our counter-example exception anecdotes don’t add up to much. We need to do better. At the same time, it’s pretty weird when people refuse to accept that exceptions do exist.

But, in my experience …. Let me stop you there. Teachers aren’t researchers. Let’s share our experiences for what they are. Some insights are powerful but let’s not extrapolate too far. Your story of how well a class performed could say more about what they already knew than about anything you did. Caveats abound.

The Punk/Maverick/Liberator delusion: The tedious idea that some folk just operate on a different plane where they are the true educators outside the establishment machine.

Problematic Engagement.

Sometimes it’s not resistance that’s a problem; it’s the way ideas are promoted.

Time lag discovery: Someone comes late to the party, promoting an idea unaware that there’s been a huge discussion about it already, refining or even debunking it. (Eg 2018 event introducing people to learning styles. Eg Finland/Singapore = Utopia)

Ideological tunnel vision: there are people out there (eg Epiphany Learning) promoting student-centred learning as deep versus teacher-centred learning as shallow. Conversely others are determined that students should never work in groups or make choices.

Hero worship: Hattie said it; Sir Ken Robinson said it; Dweck said it; Willingham said it…… Even great people change their minds or refine their thinking. Their work isn’t gospel.

Vested interest. If your company or twitter handle is called Flight Paths, Visible Learning UK or Mindsets Inc, it’s going to be hard to hear opposing voices.

Surface reading. The Rosenshine graphic is laminated and on the classroom wall next to your ‘The Power of Yet’ poster. You’ve not read Rosenshine or Dweck – but reckon you’ve got the gist of it and you do most of it already anyway.

Data literal: Hattie says X has an average effect size of 0.65 and Y has 0.43. This means when I do X it will have more impact than if I do Y; in fact we should all do X instead of Y. (Yup, I’ve heard this exact case being made).

Checklist Killer. Rosenshine is ace. Here’s your readymade 10-point lesson observation checklist feeding into your annual review.

Presenting ‘did no harm’ as ‘it works for me’. Teachers do not usually undertake systematic evaluations of their strategies. We do something we like or something we’re biased in favour of; kids do well … q.e.d. “It works for me”. Truth is often that there is not nearly enough evidence to support a cause-effect claim. ‘Do what works for you’ is basically a license to live evidence free and promote all ideas regardless.

Presenting ‘it’s an engaging enrichment activity that people like doing’ as ‘its an effective general teaching method’. There all kinds of experiences that are rewarding and lead to learning – at least for some. They can be high on the ‘feel good factor’. But this doesn’t mean they are a good bet in general. They are icing on the cake; they have their place. But they are not cake. It’s folly to pitch icing vs cake. Eg, yes, in a Y5 class some kids can successfully teach themselves something by reading about it for a project activity ; most will need to be taught directly to fully understand it. Role-play might add a dimension to an area of learning – but it’s unlikely to go very far in exploring a whole curriculum.

  None of this means we just bow to the Research Gods. We should discuss, debate and evaluate. Let’s do that with some open-mindedness and some readiness to address the complexity and nuance. But let’s also remember the classrooms where basic things aren’t going so well and they need simple, effective and actionable tools. Let’s not get in the way of those ideas getting through.

  From research to the classroom:  roadblocks, resistance and blind faith. published first on https://medium.com/@KDUUniversityCollege

[cameiotmagazine-blog]

The Wizard Film Fest Review Day 2

 There are rumors about this one. There were horrific warnings about this one. They were blind - all the women who would come up to me - their eyes milky white, and they would whisper to me, "Do not dare to enter this for you shall not return." I thanked them for their advice but I am a film critic, and I didn’t get into this job because it’s easy. I got into it because I like movies and I like to write about them. The film they were warning me about was by Iriethana Arcanegrin, who is one of the first female directors I had encountered at this festival. Her film was called:

"The Beauty and Mastery of a Fearful and Horrifying Wind: Ill Omens".

Long title, but as long as the title was, the thing they had all warned me about was the length of the film. As a film critic I am capable of a lot. I mean I’ve seen in one sitting both the extended edition of "The Hobbit" and the extended edition of "Lord of the Rings". But this movie is a long one, and it wasn’t even clear how long the movie would be. The pamphlet said it was x^2*240. I really wasn’t sure what that meant. My guess is the movie was very, very, very long.

 It began with a tracking shot of a young man in the woods. This lasted for five minutes. As we got closer and closer on this young man’s eyes, inexplicably the movie stopped. The lights came on, and the critics and the fans shuffled out. I’m sure of what happened. I was really unsure too but I guess five minutes was good. The young man walking through the forest was really beautifully done and it was an intense little short film. I walked up to the bar waiting for the next movie to start when Iriethana Arcanegrin came out to get a drink.

“So what did you think”, she said in a thick Ukrainian accent.

“Well, um.”

“You thought it would be longer, right?” she said as a faint smile came over her.

“It is not an unwarranted reputation,”  Iriethana said.

“Really.”

“My last movie, "The Prepositions of the Ingenious World on a Dangerous and Unknown Plane of Existence", for me earlier, at say four years ago, is still playing. I check in there every once in a while. The critics that were watching it have formed a Society. There’s talks of worshiping me as a god, but I put an end to that pretty quickly.”

“Well, that’s certainly one of the stranger things to come out of this  week… So, so why so short?”

“Well, I like to think that the thing is a layered piece that you return to over and over again,” said Iriethana Arcanegrin.

She said that as she walked backwards, wriggling her fingers and making ghost sounds, when the bartender came up from behind the bar.

“Madam Iriethana Arcanegrin, your drink,” said the bartender.

She walked forward and picked up her drink, and then once again walked backwards making ghost sounds and wiggling her fingers.

The festival has been showing mostly very artistic films, but sometimes when you’re at one of these you crave a little action. Fortunately the next one I saw was full of action. There was so much action that at one point the entire screen was filled with blood for over 10 minutes! Just blood with a bunch of different shades!

"Happy Fun Day" from Choi Dong-Woo

The movie starts in an action movie 101 way with a violent cold opening that has little to nothing to do with the main guy, a very good looking Korean man. The man’s head explodes, and then another man’s head explodes, and then a third man’s head explodes. You don’t why – no context, no nothing, just exploding head after beautiful exploding head, to the point that the exploding heads start to resemble a Jackson Pollock painting of different shades of blood. It’s the single most violent thing I’ve ever seen.

Then for a half hour the movie turns into a romance where the main wizard romances another wizard - a female one romances a girl wizard. And then a guy comes in and his head gets blown off, and another person’s head gets blown off. Really it’s a very head-blowing-off sort of picture, full of just beautiful violent imagery after violent imagery. The violence becomes so endemic of the film that in the end nothing occurs but violence, and violence becomes disturbing for its lack of violence. You become sensitized to the very nature of non-violence. The movie ends of course violently. The movie started violently; the middle was violent. I couldn’t even really tell you what the plot was, what anything was, but I left it with a Recommend.

What does Kurt Cobain have to do with magic? Nothing, probably, but one wizard was born in the 90’s, and he just really wanted to make a movie about Kurt Cobain, so who am I to judge? Not me, I really wanted to see a Kurt Cobain movie made by a wizard. The movie was called:

                         "Kurt Cobain as Seen Through the Eyes of a Wizard".

It was a simple, beautiful movie in a lot of ways, and in a lot of ways it was very experimental, because it seemed to be actual footage of Kurt Cobain, somehow mythically obtained. But the credits finally confirmed it to me. There were no actual actors in this. They were all transformed mice that the wizard, Loran the Mighty, Big fan of Nirvana, had made to look like the late great rocker.

Loran the Mighty, Big Fan of Nirvana, was also apparently a fan of improv in movies, because most of the dialogue related to cheese of some sort – where is cheese; how to get cheese; what has happened to my beautiful mouse body; what are these new sensations I felt?

There was a beautiful speech near the end where the mouse that was turned into Kurt Cobain said, “I was once a proud mouse, and now I am a filthy man animal. What are these horrid appendages that have grown from me? You cruel and unfair being of evil. Return me. Return me.”

So I gave it a Recommend.

I left, expecting to see the Aztec-inspired lobby that I had seen in my days here. An odd sensation - I opened the doors that had previously opened onto the Aztec lobby and I was once again in "The Beauty and Mastery of a Fearful and Horrifying Wind: Ill Omens", and the young boy who was walking through the woods now came upon a house. He opened the house to see who were clearly his parents, and as I sat down, I found I was at the bar again as if nothing had happened. I spied the director Iriethana Arcanegrin across the room. She was holding a drink. She shrugged and walked away. After that happened several more times I came to realize that that movie would continue on for the rest of my life. At random points in my life I will somehow be watching that movie again.

All in all, I would say it was an exciting cinematic experience. Simon made friends with a bunny, so I have a pet bunny now. I named her Penelope.