#is just keep writing my silly little poems and singing my silly little melodies | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

hizashiiis · 3 years

Text

Bakusquad + “Why are you awake” Part Two

PART ONE HERE

So here’s part two! Fun fact, the song Jirou plays you in her part is actually a song I wrote! I didn’t include any of the lyrics though because its lowkey really cheesy :/

I hope you like this! This one is for Sero, Mina, and Jirou.

Warnings: insomnia, depression kinda

Sero Hanta

- Sero is very much a hypocrite when it comes to getting enough sleep

- He’s constantly up at all hours, even sending you random texts if he can’t sleep

- But when you aren’t going to bed at a normal time?

- He’s so sad

- He looks like you kicked his puppy and then him in rapid succession.

- It’s crazy because he seems to just instinctively know when you’re awake

- Like he bolts up in his bed all, “they ain’t in bed. I’m abt to beat some ass.”

- He’s never sure if he’s right though, so he texts you a meme he made specifically for you being up too late

- It’s probably really cheesy and outdated, but the effort is there

- If you respond to it (because you will) he knocks on the wall between your dorms and talks to you

- Often, you both just stay up like that

Sero’s body is awake before his mind, moving him to sit up in bed before he can think. He was having a really intense dream; something about talking mice. He didn’t mind it, but he woke up as if he’d had a nightmare.

Faintly, from the wall beside him, he can hear low music playing, but he can’t make out what song it is. It’s coming from your room, though, so he’s concerned.

The sky outside is dark, clouds drifting across his windowed view of the moon. It must be pretty late; all the noise is gone, leaving nothing but static air, and the music. He leans over his bed to look at the time on his phone. It’s around 2 am. The song you’re playing ends, and he recognizes the next one. It’s on your sad playlist.

He sends you the meme, as well as an invitation for a hug as soon as it’s morning. You respond almost instantly, assuring him that you’re fine, you just couldn’t sleep. But he knows you better than that.

Knocking on the wall between you, he hears the music stop suddenly. He calls out to your wall.

“Mi amor? What’s keeping you awake?” He’s met with silence for a moment before your shaky voice responds.

“I’m okay. I just kinda got hit with some sad, y’know?” He does know. He knows that this happens sometimes. It happens to him, too. But he hates hearing your voice sound so lost. You almost sound hopeless, and he can’t bear it.

“I understand.” He places his hand up to the wall, wishing he could hold you. Unfortunately, you had both been told off by Iida for sleeping in each other’s rooms more than enough times lately, so he couldn’t just go see you. He opts instead for hugging a stuffed giraffe you had gotten him after the Sports Festival.

“Do you want me to distract you, or do you want to talk about it?” He asks, stroking the giraffe’s head as if it’s your hair, not knowing that on the other side of the wall, you’re holding a stuffed lion the same way.

“Distract me?” Your voice comes out only just loud enough for him to hear you, but he understands. He begins to tell you a story. He’s told it before. It’s about a great hero, one who fights crime valiantly, and his partner, also a fantastic hero. He ad-libs parts of it, making pretend villains say silly slogans, and recounting how the heroes save the day.

As he reaches the end, he hears you giggle a bit. “Oh? Did it work? Are you smiling over there, my sweet?” He calls to you, a teasing lilt to his voice.

“A little bit.” You respond, playing with your stuffed animal. “If you keep talking, maybe I’ll even smile more.”

He laughs, eyes bleary with sleep, but happy to talk to you the whole night.

Mina Ashido

- Honestly, she’s no better than you about staying awake

- She tries to sleep, but her thoughts are always racing

- Sometimes it’s thoughts of you, sometimes of new things she wants to try in training, or things she wants to see if she can convince her friends to do

- But she wants you to get adequate rest, even if it’s hard for her to do the same

- She used to get told off for sneaking to your room every night, but then Momo and Iida saw how much better you were performing in school on the days after she’d been there, and they started letting it slide

- It’s nicer for her, too, because she has someone to ramble to as the two of you fall asleep

Mina skipped down the hallway toward your room. It was a bit past midnight, and usually, you would be asleep by this time. It was well past lights out, and classes had run long that day, not to mention the endless exams that were happening at UA right now. So when she reached your door, she was surprised to find you watching a movie on your phone instead of snoring.

“Hey bug! Why are you still up, don’t you know what time it is?” She says, throwing a grin your way as she puts her blanket down next to you.

You shrug, yawning. “I could ask you the same thing, love.” She pouts at that, tossing her arm around your shoulder and pressing a kiss to your temple.

She watches you watching your show for a few minutes before saying anything. It looks good, she supposes, but she has a better idea of what to watch. “Scoot over.” She pushes you lightly, giggling as you scrunch to the side to give her more room. “Do you wanna watch something with me?” She asks, holding up her phone.

You look at her for a moment. “That is what we are currently doing, is it not?” You hold up your phone in return, showing her the paused screen.

“But I have a better movie!” She insists, unlocking her screen and shoving it above yours so that you can see her pick. She’s right, it is a better movie. You guys have watched the entire Studio Ghibli filmography, but even you know that her favorite, “When Marnie was There,” is the better option at this particular moment.

You toss your phone to the side, pulling her in to lay next to you. “Fair enough, bubs, I guess yours is better.” You feign reluctance, watching her excitedly press play and tuck the blanket in around the both of you. Her arm curls tighter around your shoulders, and she giggles as the opening credits start.

“Hey Minari?” You use her favorite nickname, looking at her through hooded, sleepy eyes. She hums in response. “Why is this one your favorite?”

Hearing the question, she pauses the movie, turning to look right at you. She’s quiet for a moment, thinking about her answer. “I guess because they remind me of us! Like I’m Marnie, and you’re Anna, and we’re having this great adventure together!” You feel your face heat at her words, thinking about the movie more critically now. Mina continues, “It’s like…” she pauses, finding the right words. “Like Anna is learning how her friendship with Marnie can make her feel more right, as a person. And I feel like that about you!”

You’re tearing up now, unsure how to respond. Mina is so many things, and being with you is that important to her? It’s a new feeling, but certainly a welcome one. You pull her down, giving her a kiss. And then another kiss. And one on her nose.

“Press play, Mina.”

Kyoka Jirou

- Lol u think she sleeps?

- She does, but not at night

- Were it not for classes, Jirou would be essentially nocturnal

- So you try to remind her to go to sleep

- Sometimes you’ll walk past her dorm at night, and you hear her guitar, softly playing her favorite songs

- Before you got together, sometimes you would sit outside her door and listen to her play

- Not in a creepy way, there’s just a little common area right outside her room and you like took a book there, you weren’t like ooh it’s late i think i’ll sit outside someone’s room and listen to them

- You aren’t Mineta.

- But anyway

- Now that you are together, Jirou thinks it’s really sweet that you listen to her play

- Sometimes she leaves her door cracked open so you can come in

It’s 4 o’clock in the morning, and the light is on in Jirou’s room. You had come out to go to the bathroom, but you noticed her guitar, and decided to stay. The soft strumming is pretty, and you’re glad to be one of the few people allowed to hear it.

Opening Jirou’s door just a bit more, you nod toward her desk chair in a silent question. She nods, so you go sit down.

She’s playing a song you don’t recognize, and the lyrics are sad. Even still, it’s beautiful, and your eyes seem to naturally close, taking in the melody of her voice. She used to tell you her voice wasn’t anything special, but she seems content now to let you listen.

The guitar resonates with the last few chords, and the ending note is held for three beats. When she’s finished, Jirou opens her eyes and looks at you, waiting for your thoughts.

“It was beautiful. Did you write that?” You ask her, your hands fidgeting with the urge to hold her own. She nods, but doesn’t say anything.

You don’t acknowledge the sad theme of the song. She’s told you before that sometimes sad songs are easier than happy ones. That the melody is clearer. You don’t mind. All her songs are beautiful, and they reflect her in them, and isn’t that what makes a piece of art?

“I have another one, if you’d like to hear it?” She looks nervous; something you never see on her.

“I’d love to!” Your exclamation seems to snap her out of the anxiety in her eyes, which narrow a little.

“Just…” She starts, looking away from you to adjust the capo on her instrument. “Don’t freak out, okay?”

Confused, you nod, and she starts playing.

The song starts out with a few chords repeating in a loop, and then she begins to sing. The lyrics are confusing to you at first, and you still aren’t sure why she’s told you not to freak out. But then she gets to the chorus, and it begins to make more sense.

Lyrics, in essence, are a poem, and this one is a love poem. Her thoughts, written out, are so sweet and loving, that you’re sure you don’t know what to think. She sings elegantly, like someone who’s never known how to dance, and yet is waltzing perfectly across a shining floor.

She finishes the song with a declaration of loyalty, and you realize your eyes are watering. She looks at you, waiting for your thoughts.

You say nothing. You don’t know how to say anything, so you stand, cross to her, and pull her into a hug. She’s not usually one for physical touch, but she holds you tightly.

“It’s about me, right?” You laugh, leaving a kiss on her calloused fingers. She rolls her eyes.

“Obviously.”

She smiles at you, pulling you to lay on her bed as she puts her guitar in its case, taking the capo off the strings. “You should sleep. It’s like, morning now.”

“You should too.” You retort, still holding her hand.

“No.”

#mha fluff #mha x reader #mha imagines #sero x reader #sero hanta #sero hanta x reader #mina ashido #mina x reader #mina ashido x reader #jirou x reader #kyoka jirou x reader #mina ashido fluff #sero fluff #jirou fluff

182 notes · View notes

springtimebat · 3 years

Text

Dream Child (A Poem)

She’s dreaming of big, strong carpenters again;

Of regal kings, of chivalrous lords,

Of strongmen and circus boys

Offering her all their toys;

My dreamchild spins silver with her tongue

Blows dandelions across

As we dip warm hands into a cold breeze

My little water baby

I set her adrift on a waning sea

The lake bobs up and down

Sets apart the wood

My little water baby

Spins a tale that stinks of pulp

She sews gold droplets into my ears

Ink drips out of her mouth

Her nose, her mouth, her ears

And I bathe in it

It washes over me

As my darling sits back in her boat

And wishes for impossible things

It goes on like this for years

As we sink into our stuck frames

Until I remember what my mother said once

You should use common words to say uncommon things

“Are you brave enough to venture out with me?” I ask,

“On this sunny, Sunday afternoon?

While you write silly poems and silly lines?

As you craft recites until recites leave us with no room?”

My Darling smiles

Stretches in the silly, Sunday sun

And I can see her bones shift as she sighs;

Her eyes are wide and open,

Her voice is melodious and high;

“My songs,” She says, “Are silly, silly songs; written for silly little loves.”

"And as I sit across from you, with your eyes so full and your mouth transfixed, I have decided I will not stop."

"I will continue with my castles in the air, my love, until we’re all but dust. For the air will never tire of me, nor forever will you."

Phantasmagoria

A phantasmagoria in a human flesh

Cloaked in blues and hues

Of white, and eyes that twist and flux in heavy, fallen light

My Darling, my water baby,

My dreamchild

She skips along our ocean reeves,

She curls along our air,

Strolls through our smoke,

Her eyes honest and fair

But most importantly, she makes sure she stops

And waits for me to catch up

Her peculiar little paragon

Almost always at her side

She leads me on

Trips me up

And sings to me the sweetest songs

To get me back up again

“You know I only jest,” I say

And the leaves flow in schools above our heads

My water baby disregards this

Her feet transcend into flippers on our ocean bed

“You know I only jest and you know I cannot stand it.”

I sigh and raise my eyes to the skies’ setting shades

The stars are lamps that can’t hold a candle

To my beauty here on earth

Fallen stars are eyesores

They’re just simple pieces of candle wax

My darling wanders their plain of dreams

And her shoulders pace and relax

She herself knocks them out the heavens

It is my dreamchild herself who holds hearts and minds in waiting fingertips

“You know I only jest my dear,” And I speak with a harsher tone,

“You know I won’t be ignored.”

“For you ventured out with me on this silly, Sunday afternoon, knowing exactly how it would go.

You have ventured out with me so many times, leading me with puppet strings;

Entranced me so many times with your unearthly angel glow.

In my heart of hearts, separate from my own chest,

Thoughts of you lie,

Mossy and bedridden and thumping.

They twist and alter me; leave me lovesick and longing.

They long for you and only you; I am hopeless and dreadfully unwilling.

Do not shun me because of this, for you yourself twist and alter, unwilling even as we speak.

For I still wish for you to perch upon me as you once did, full of whispers and lucid sleeps.

Yet here you are again, and again, and again, mocking me on our ocean, on our riverbed.

All that’s left of our primes is your castles in the sky.

So I jest to keep the flame going,

To rile you up so bad,

As I know now you despise me,

For all the things I’ve thought and said.

Now all that’s left are your silly songs;

Your rhymes, your lines, your hums,

All that’s left for me to live on,

Are your silly little love songs.

For, as you can tell,

I am a silly little love

Whose own love has moved on

Has moved on to up above

She left her silly little love

To hover in between

His eyes full and mouth transfixed

Wandering their old stomping grounds

Thinking of what could have been.”

My love, my darling, stopped to stare

Stopped to roll her eyes

“You and I both know you’re still in your prime.

As a matter of fact, so am I.

We’ll always be stuck in our prime

Stuck in the portrait above the pipeline

Hung up to be forgotten by many

Hung up to be a place for cries

Of lost loves and lost days is our painting

Up in the gallery skies

We’re here to be judged and studied

Here to be catcalled as we row

More to the point

I’m here with you

To wander your wastes

Your spoils

I love you so it doesn’t matter

Yet you think you walk alone.”

Outside eyes of glass stop

Wander over oils and brushstrokes

Gaze at blades of grass

They stay there for a while

Watching the still image pulsate

Twitch on the canvas

They feel eyes glare at them

They feel invisible people

Glaring at them as they wait

Two figures

Two little dots on a page

Grip wooden oars

Lay motionless

Together

In an endless loop

On a river bed

A pond

Reciting memories

Reciting songs

And as their observer walks away

They swear bickering can be heard

27 notes · View notes

ghostiesblog · 3 years

Note

happy 100 followers!!!!!!!!! could you write a small flarrie secret admirer drabble? if not that’s totally ok!! congrats again!!!

Thank you anon!!! This is NOT a small drabble lmao I have no concept of doing anything in moderation. Might even edit it a bit in a while and post it on ao3. Thank you for the awesome prompt. Here ya go:

I'm not magical, I can't read your mind

Pairings: Flarrie | Warnings: none

There’s a rose on Flynn’s desk. There’s a rose on Flynn’s desk. And she has no idea who put it there.

Well- she does know who put it there, she knows that it’s Nick’s job this year to distribute the Valentine’s Day roses and messages, a school tradition that Flynn normally despises and mocks to no end. But someone must have bought the rose, addressed it to her and handed it in and Flynn absolutely cannot fathom who would do that for her.

Definitely not the person she wishes this was from. But now is not the time to think about that.

Almost frantically, she scans the rose for an attached message, or at least an indication about who the sender is.

Nothing. In fact, it looks like the cardboard tag has been ripped off, leaving only the corner with her own name, attached to a piece of string.

“Ooh”, Julie says, waggling her eyebrows, when she spots Flynn puzzling over her flower. “Who’s this from?”

“No idea”, Flynn says, dragging her thumb across the jagged edges of the destroyed tag. “No idea…”

Later in the hallway, Flynn tries her best to stealthily transfer the rose from her backpack into her locker. She fails, obviously, because she when she looks around she catches Carrie blatantly staring at her from a few feet away.

“What?” she snaps, irritably. Yes, Carrie has very clearly been trying to be nicer to both her and Julie, but Flynn is still weary of this new found peace.

She also might be a bit annoyed simply because she got a rose and it isn’t from Carrie.

Immediately, something in Carrie’s posture changes and her face scrunches up.

“Nothing”, she says. “Just wondering who’s stupid enough to send you a rose.”

Flynn feels like she’s been punched in the chest. “What’s that supposed to mean?!” she says incredulously.

“Don’t you hate valentine’s day?” Carrie asks and now Flynn is just confused. Why does she still remember that?

“It’s anonymously”, Julie chimes in unhelpfully. “From a secret admirer”

She sings those last words teasingly, like she’s done all the way through English lesson. Like she has any room to talk with the songs Luke and her write about each other on the daily.

Carrie raises an eyebrow, seemingly unimpressed.

“Someone sent you a rose and didn’t even write their name? That’s so stupid.”

“It’s not-“, Flynn starts and then breaks off. Why does she suddenly feel defensive over this anonymous sender?

“Sounds like a coward to me”, Carrie says with a sickly sweet smile before turning away. “See you in music”, she calls and disappears down the hallway.

“What has made her revert back to demon today?” Julie says, sounding as confused as Flynn feels.

Flynn doesn’t expect any follow up after the rose on Valentine’s Day. It has been fun coming up with more and more wild theories with Julie and the band (the latest being that it’s a ghost who has fallen for Flynn when they saw her setting up the lightshow at the Orpheum), but to Flynn at least it is clear that that was the end of it.

So when she finds a small envelope on her desk the next morning, it takes her a bit to figure out what’s happening here.

Inside, she finds a small piece of paper with, curiously enough, words clearly written by a real typewriter on it.

To: Flynn

I’m sorry I’m a mess,

But you simply make me speechless.

I couldn’t let you go without a note,

After I trashed the first one I wrote,

So let me just say, though this is nothing new,

I seem to have hopelessly fallen for you.

When Carrie catches Julie and Flynn pouring over the poem during lunch while walking past their table, she scoffs.

“A bit cliché, don’t you think?”

Flynn scowls and hides the note with her hand. “Go away Carrie”

“The meter’s off”, Carrie says haughtily before stalking off.

“How did she spot that so fast?” Julie exclaims incredulously.

The next note shows up in Flynn’s bag while she’s working on a Spanish presentation with Nick and Carrie.

Roses are red,

Violets are blue,

I like your music,

And your rapping too

“Now that’s just tacky”, Carrie says, while spying over Flynn’s shoulder.

Flynn rolls her eyes.

Flynn,

No poem today, just wanted to say that your smile made my day.

“They’re not even trying anymore, are they?” Carrie mocks.

With your gentle soul and your kind eyes,

You chase away the clouds in the skies,

Never met a person, so loyal and strong

And anyone who had you, would be a lucky one.

“Skies? This sounds ridiculous!”

Flynn curses the fact that Carrie keeps seeing these.

I’d write you a song, but no melody is beautiful enough to fit you.

Even Julie calls that one cheesy but for once, even though she sits right there with them, Carrie has nothing to say.

Flynn looks on confused while Carrie scribbles into her notebook with a pinched expression on her face, pen gripped so tightly that it looks like it might break any second.

“She needs to finish this new Dirty Candy song by tomorrow”, Nick explains.

“Yeah and I hate everything I write the second it’s on the page!” Carrie growls, clearly completely lost in whatever she’s dealing with.

I try to tell you every day,

But you just take my breath away

These rhymes seem silly and never enough

Forgive me, I am blinded by love

“Coming on a bit strong there.”

And she’s back.

Hi Flynn,

I think I’m giving up on the rhyming- It’s a bit strange, isn’t it? Also I swear I’m not a stalker! Just a girl who likes you a lot and is too scared to tell you.

You looked so pretty at the dance yesterday, and you were awesome as a DJ- you always are.

“Surely you must be fed up with this nonsense by now?” Carrie asks, when Flynn passes her on her way out of the classroom, the newest note folded neatly in her hand.

The thing is- Flynn is annoyed. But not exactly by the letters. Her secret admirer is sweet and earnest, seems to love music as much as Flynn and all of her friends do and the little poems always brighten her day.

What’s annoying is that she still can’t figure out who this mysterious person with a crush on her is. And that the person she wishes it was is intend on mocking the whole thing to the best of her abilities.

Every time a new note shows up, Carrie is there, ready to tear it into pieces with pointed words and vicious critiques.

Flynn tries to not let it affect her too much. Otherwise, Carrie has been perfectly civil, friendly even and it feels like a bit of their old friendship is restoring, slowly, piece by piece. And what she says about the letters is mostly directed at this person that none of them really know, not at Flynn herself.

It still feels personal, somehow.

Flynn,

I had a bad day today, but you were really nice to me. It made it all a bit better. Thank you.

It’s when Carrie one day snatches one of the notes right out of Flynn’s hand to call it “embarrassing”, “awkward” and “clumsy”, that something in her just snaps.

“You know what Carrie”, she says, loudly, almost shouting it even, “can you, for once, just keep your unnecessary comments to yourself?”

Almost immediately, Carrie’s arrogant smile falls and Flynn uses the moment of surprise to steal back her piece of paper.

“You’ve been so mean to this person. I don’t know what your issue is here but I need you to back off on the attitude. I might not know who this is from, so I don’t even know if I like whoever is writing these but I like the letters.”

Carrie looks absolutely shocked, completely frozen in place, her jaw clenched tightly. Good.

“Yes, they might not be perfect”, Flynn barrels on, “but they’re honest, and raw and so, so kind and I can tell that they come from the heart and isn’t that the most important thing?!”

Without waiting for an answer, Flynn picks up her bag that she leaned against the lockers when she discovered the note and brushes past Carrie. She knows she’s a bit too worked up, but it has been a trying week.

Only a few moments later she realizes that she saw tears forming in Carrie’s eyes.

In Spanish class, Flynn notices the glaring absence of Carrie in the seat in front of her and a little bit of guilt starts building up inside of her. She has no idea what’s going on, but something clearly is up so after their teacher finally lets them go, Flynn goes on to try and find Carrie.

The music room is one of the first places Flynn thinks of and sure enough, she can hear gentle piano notes and Carrie’s voice singing very quietly drifting through the slightly cracked door.

Before barging in, Flynn stops short when she recognizes parts of the lyrics. Is that- one of the poems she received only a week ago?

Slowly, she tiptoes into the room. What she sees is Carrie, cross-legged at the piano, bent over her notebook full of scribbles that she’s clearly reading from and that somehow contain parts of the poetry that has been a big mystery to Flynn and all of her friends for so long. Just now Carrie’s singing the words that are undeniable not just poems, but song lyrics, and she has added onto them and-

Flynn doesn’t understand anything anymore.

“Carrie!” she says, before she can stop herself. Carrie flinches and bolts away from the piano, the chair clattering down to the floor in the process.

“Flynn”, she breathes, looking terrified.

“I-“, Flynn stutters, “What’s going on? Is this some kind of prank?” She doesn’t think she could take that.

“No!” Carrie yells and immediately winces at her volume. “No, I would never do that to you”

“Then why-“, Flynn is getting more confused every second, “you wrote those? I thought you hated- the notes, I though you hated the notes”

To her horror, Carrie is now actually crying.

“I do hate the notes, I mean I feel so stupid, you hate Valentine’s Day and then I send you a rose, but I just- I like so much and I didn’t know what to do and I wanted to tell you but I couldn’t and then I wrote you those notes but they always sounded so stupid to me”

Carrie is full on panic rambling now and Flynn is barely processing all this new information that is thrown at her.

“I just couldn’t stop myself and then you said you actually like the notes? But I know you’d never like me, as a person, I mean I am awesome as a performer but horrible as a friend, let alone as a girlfriend and-“

“Carrie-“, Flynn tries to intersect, “Carrie!”

Carrie stops and finally looks at her, wide eyed.

“I do like you, as a person”, Flynn says. Her heart is beating out of her chest but she is not letting this go.

“I- what?” Carrie looks as confused as Flynn felt just a minute ago. “You do?”

“Yes”, Flynn says and now she can’t stop the smile on her face, “I really like you. Actually, I always wished those notes were from you.”

Carrie blinks. “You. Okay. Okay. Um- I really didn’t-“

Flynn laughs. “Deep Breaths Carrie.”

“I don’t really know what to do with this now, I’m not good at all this”, Carrie says, waving her hands around but she’s smiling too now, wider with every moment.

“How about a date? Milkshakes?” Flynn asks and she doesn’t even feel afraid anymore.

“Yes”, Carrie says, her eyes sparkling with happiness. “I’d love that.”

#jatp #julie and the phantoms #flarrie #flynn jatp #carrie wilson #fic #writing #prompts

9 notes · View notes

who-is-olivia · 4 years

Text

Who Is Olivia?

Harry Styles x OC

Harry proposes during the recordings of Made in the AM. [4.2k]

Genre: fluff

Warnings: none

A/N: hello! fine line is on the way and i think i might have a creative meltdown when it arrives, so i'll just keep posting whatever i please with all the beautiful content harry's ever brought to light. this chapter is a throwback to old school 1D fanfics, bringing the boys back because i'm soft and i miss one direction =) enjoy xx

August 2015

“And you will find me... in places that we’ve never been, for reasons we don’t understand, walking in the wind” he sings in the booth for the 8th time, then stands quietly for a few seconds to give her a clean cut spot. “How’s that?”

“You’re almost hitting the note, but it’s not quite yet” Olivia comes over to the booth, “If you put more pressure in it you might find the best placement, come on, do it again”

He rubs his frown in stress, it’s late and he’s tired, having Oli press him is not helping at all. “Don’t we have a take already?”

“We have, but you can do better”

“Come on, love...”

“Trust me, you can do better-“

“Can we take 5?” he asks Julian, who just shrugs. It’s already late, it makes no difference. However, Olivia doesn’t take it half as well as him.

“What’s wrong?”

“I’m bloody exhausted, that’s what, and having you... diss me every two takes is not helping”

“You think I’m picking on you?” she asks skeptically.

“I’m just saying you don’t criticize Liam or Niall half as much as you do me” he fires back in frustration. Instead of lashing out as he expects she will, Olivia waits for him to calm down and then spells it out for him.

“The only reason I push you is because I want you to give your best. If you want someone to pat your head and shower you in compliments, you’ll sound fine, but fine is also mediocre” he nods in agreement, letting his head fall embarrassed. At the comfort of that position, he almost lets his eyes close but he knows once he does that he’ll probably fall asleep. “We’re almost there, just help us out”

“Alright... I’m sorry” he replies with a small sigh and so she pulls him to a hug, letting him rest his head on her shoulder as she strokes his back.

“Forgiven” she leaves him with a small smile and a quick kiss, “Don’t forget to put pressure on it”

Julian starts the recorder once again, signaling to him that they’re rolling before playing him the playback. “And you will find me... in places that we’ve never been, for reasons we don’t understand, walking in the wind”

Oli waits for a couple of moments before grinning, “I think it’s the take, come out here”

After Zayn left, making the fifth album was insane. The four of them kept pulling to completely different artistic directions, Julian could barely help them with the singles so little he could give some coherence to the album. That’s when Oli decided to step in.

Harry knows he pales in the shadow of her abilities as songwriter, virtuosi and producer altogether so he willingly gave her the helm. At first, the other lads were uncomfortable with her command, fearful that this was one of Harry’s things he does for love, but surely enough Olivia proved herself to be very experienced. Harry always wanted to be an entertainer, but he never truly endeavored to become one before the X-Factor, however Oli’s been almost genetically programed for that, studying music ever since she could talk, studying every part of the process and also rubbing shoulders with generations of rockstars. She’s the woman for the job.

For their luck, Oli and Frank have been touring across America keeping track of One Direction’s leg in there, often making shows in the same city but a few days apart. To keep up with the recordings, she’s been making an extra effort, dedicating almost all her vacant hours to the album. As they often record in hotel rooms, it at least offers a place for them to pass out after endless hours of work.

“Check it out” she places the heavy headphones over his ears so he can hear the mix with the guitar base. Her whole equipment lies on the bed and over the tables, it’s the best she and Julian could assemble... at least it gets a really great sound.

“That sounds really nice” he smiles at her.

“See? I told you”

She takes all the material they recorded and starts mixing with Julian at their improvised studio. At some point, Liam and Louis decide to participate, leaving Oli free to rest after long hours of work. She curls up in the bed and immediately blacks out, making Harry feel a bit guilty – through all his hissy fits about exhaustion he never once considered how tired she must’ve been feeling, as not once did she bring it up. But now there’s no point in apologizing, he just lays behind her and spoons her back, holding her like a big teddy bear through deep slumber.

He wakes up hours later with her still unconscious in his arms. It takes a moment for him to realize where he is, getting up without moving her the slightest he notices Julian and Liam still glued to the computer. At the balcony, he finds Louis and Niall sharing a beer and laughing while the sun creeps up the horizon, so he decides to join.

“Morning lads”

“Morning, Romeo” Niall pokes.

“What’re you up for?”

“Trying to come up with something, we’re still missing a couple tracks” Louis explains, taking a gulp of beer. “You’ve got anything?”

“I always do, just don’t know if it could make it to the album” he mentions while resting his back on the railing. He keeps a writing journal full of poems ever since the band started, and in it he keeps great ideas that never saw the light of day. Recently, he wrote one that feels very personal and very cheeky... just thinking about it makes him laugh. “I don’t know if you’ll like it, but I have a really great one”

“How does it go?”

“It’s silly...”

“Why?”

“‘Cause I just play around with Oli’s name” they raise their brows, ready to mock him. “One of these days she was telling me something about alliterations or something like that, and I just played around with the phrase-“ he blushes, “‘I love Olivia’, because the L sound just bounces off. So I wrote a song for her that went I live for you, I long for you, Olivia, I’ll be now idolizing the light in your eyes, Olivia... see? It bounces off”

“S’ a bit on the nose, don’t you think?” Niall comments skeptically but Louis is thoroughly entertained. “Using her name on the song, it’s not very subtle”

“We’ve got songs with names on them” he argues, playing with the glass bottle. “Don’t see why not”

“We better tell Liam about it-“

“Tell me what?” the man himself walks through the door to join his bandmates with a bottle of his own.

“Harry’s got a cool song for the album but it’s got Oli’s name on it” Niall explains.

“Is she cool with that?”

“She doesn’t know yet” Harry clarifies.

“Well, is it a good song?”

“It’s not done yet, but it has potential” he insists while noticing how much their confidence as a group has grown over the past few months. They embark on his idea without even hearing the full song, although they’ve been rewarded for their trust time and time again. Harry came up with some great compositions this time around, taking all his experience with the band and Olivia in consideration.

“If you want, you can make a demo when we get to London and show us what you’ve got. I think we booked Abbey Road for a couple of days”

“Alright, I’ll give it a go”

Before they start the British leg of the tour, they get a couple weeks off schedule which give Harry some time to finish the melody before actually recording it. The last shows of the American leg take place fairly close to New York, so he and Oli get to go home ahead of everyone else. Sadly, one side effect of touring for three months in a row is an empty fridge, making them drag their already exhausted bodies out of the house for their meals.

“Do they need someone for the orchestras? I know a guy who can help” Olivia tells, holding her Starbucks cup in one hand and Harry’s on the other.

“Thanks love, but we’ll record the rest in London”

“Oh, right! I forgot... shit, I’ve got to book a flight” she gets ready to fumble for her phone but he holds her wrist.

“I’ll get a private one, just chill, I’ve got this” he soothes, pulling her hand to his lips then smiling amicably.

She smiles back but it immediately flips into an irritated growl. “For fuck’s sake”, he turns around and notices a couple paparazzi snapping at them. When they notice they’ve been caught they lose all decorum and just harass them.

“Harry, how’s the tour? Are you taking a break?” one of them asks, shoving the camera on his face.

“Hey, back the fuck off-“

“Oli, don’t” Harry holds her closer, taking the sunglasses from his shirt and handing them over so she can at least cover her face. “Let’s get a cab”

“Have you been talking to Zayn?” another one asks.

“Would you please let us through? We just wanna walk” Harry pleads politely.

“Sure man, I’m just doing my job” a third one steps out of the way, helping him and Olivia reach a cab and leave the streets for good.

“77th with Central Park West, please”

Olivia watches the paparazzi stay behind as the taxi speeds by, “Where are we going?”

“It’s a restaurant beside Central Park, I went there the other day, thought you might like”

She smiles, “Look at you, all local and stuff”

“I’m looking forward to at least a year of vacation, might as well learn my way around”

“Oh, thank you, by the way” she returns the sunglasses which he stores in his shirt once again.

They disembark at Central Park, being faced with an enormous queue outside the restaurant they were set to enter. In spite of it, they decide to walk around anyway. The park is a couple blocks away from their apartment, a purposeful decision as Harry appreciates extensive morning jogs when he sticks around. Although they come from polar opposite backgrounds, they both grew accustomed to New York and truly built a life in the city.

“A little blue bird told me that we’re recording at Abbey Road next week... is it true?” she taunts.

“Yes...” she celebrates discreetly, “You’ve never been there?”

“No, never! I always wanted to record something there”

“And Uncle Paul never took you?” he mocks.

“Very funny” she scowls in return, pushing him away.

“You know, it’d be crazy to go to Abbey Road with a Beatle...” he pulls her back, “What do you say? I give you the Road, you bring the McCartney?”

“He’s probably busy” she laces her arm around his, “Uncle Jim used to say Paul and Ringo only show up if there’s a wedding or a funeral... let’s see which one comes first”

“Let’s see” he looks down, his mind immediately sinking deep in thought.

They’ve talked about getting married, they agreed to it months ago but they never made a move to officialize it. They didn’t arrange a party, invite their friends or consult a register office — hell, he didn’t even buy a proper ring. For a moment he frets she might think he’s given up, they’ve been living in good graces for three years straight, the only reason they’re not properly married yet is... inertia. Maybe, with the stars aligning and time on their side, he can come up with something.

“What is it?”

“Hm?”

“You got all quiet all of a sudden” she rests her chin on his shoulder, “What is it?”

“Just random things in my mind”

“Yeah, no shit!” he chuckles, “Mind to share?”

“Have you ever written songs about me?”

She frowns, “Not exactly... I usually write about what I feel, and you’re usually the cause of that but it’s way more complex than that. Feelings are a mix of all the baggage you have from life and a catalyst, something that makes you express that. Sometimes that’s you, sometimes it’s not”

He sighs, sometimes she’s humiliatingly clever, “That’s very... fancy”

“I know” she holds on to his hand, holding another over her eyes as the sun hits them directly. “Have you ever written songs about me?”

“All my songs are about you in some way, shape or form, I don’t even have a fancy answer for that” he takes his sunglasses off again and places them over her face, she mutters a small ‘thanks’. “And it’s a bit weird ‘cause I always want people to relate to the songs but I feel like they’re too specific, might as well just slap your name in the title” he suggests almost as an internal joke with himself.

“I think you’re not getting this right”

“Yeah?”

“Take Uncle Paul for example: he wrote a bunch of songs with names on them and people still relate to it. Like Michelle, Dear Prudence, Sexy Sadie...”

“I think they listen to it more like made up stories than like autobiographies”

“Maybe, but you see, these songs have a clear subject and yet everyone can be touched by the lyrics. When you hear Dear Prudence do you think about Prudence Farrow locked up in her room at an Indian meditation camp?”

“I didn’t even know that story” he admits.

“Exactly, and you don’t have to! ‘Cause when you hear Dear Prudence you understand it’s about going outside, enjoying the day and feeling good about yourself”

He ponders, maybe his song can make its way to the album like that: being based on this incredible experience he lives every moment they’re together but still describing something everyone goes through, “Yeah, it feels like that”

“See? And he’s not talking to you, he’s talking to Prudence” she points a finger on his face to prove a point. “The best art makes you feel personally addressed, even if there’s a name between the artist and the listener. You can quote me on that”

“Alright, clever clocks” he pulls her to a hug and presses a playful kiss on her lips, which extends to this sweet contact in the middle of Central Park. This last album has been challenging, it’s pushed Harry so hard he sometimes feels he’s not up to task as a singer, a composer or a producer. And having her beside him’s helped him realize all the things he can do as well as what he can be better at. He breaks the kiss but keeps his forehead pressed against hers. “Thanks, love”

“I can tell when you need a pep talk”

“Really?”

“Yeah, my left nipple starts aching” he laughs between them and curtly gropes her left tit.

“This one?” she pushes his hand away.

“Stop it!”

Their domestic week ends too fast, soon they’re back in London to record the rest of the album. Her words help him finish the song without any insecurity holding him back, in fact it inspires him so much that as soon as he gets to London he walks into Cartier and buys her engagement ring. He chooses a delicate one in rose gold with flowers engraved on it and a small diamond nestled between the carvings.

Today is the last day of recording at Abbey Road and he decides this is the day he’ll propose. However, to do it right, he’ll need a plan:

“Lou, keep her busy in studio 1” he instructs, gathering the four of them on a circle with their arms around their shoulders, almost like a football team, “mess up as many takes as you can-“

“That won’t be hard” he mocks.

“Liam and I will record the strings and the vocals at studio 3, remember, you have to stall her there”

“We get it mate, keep her in studio 1” Niall sighs tiredly.

“Right, when I call her up, you wait outside the hallway. I’ll play her the song and ask, if she says no... please, pretend like it never happened-“ Lou smacks the back of his head. “Ouch!”

“Stop saying that, focus!”

“Alright!... when she says yes, you can bring it on” they all nod excitedly, “Don’t forget to bring Frank up!”

“We’ve got this” Liam hypes, putting his hand in the middle so they follow. “3, 2, 1-“

“We push!”

The plan gets into motion when she arrives at the studio, leaving her coat at the door. She starts taking pictures of the lobby to send her Uncle, but as soon as she crosses the security Louis comes over and drags her to studio 1.

“Come on lass, we’ve got loads to do!” he pulls her by the hand playfully.

“Calm down, I can walk!” she groans but jogs behind him nonetheless.

While she’s busy recording Lou’s uncannily messy vocals, Harry and Liam greet a violinist that plays the sheet music for the chorus and the outro. They’re recording and mixing at the same time, hurrying to get a decent enough base for the vocals with what they’ve been working on for the past couple of days, skipping through compressors and equalizers just to get something done.

At the hallway, Niall is returning from the restroom when he catches Olivia sneaking out studio 1 to look for Harry.

“Oi! What’s up?”

“I can’t take this anymore, if Lou messes up one more time I’ll hit him with my shoe” she pulls her braids out of her face. “Where’s Harry?”

“I... I don’t think he’s here yet” he messes up the last few words. God he sucks at lying, and his hard accent doesn’t help one bit.

She frowns suspiciously, “You sure?”

“We can call him later, come on” he pushes her frustrated self back to studio 1, “we don’t have all day”

Few more hours pass and Niall replaces Louis in the recording booth to give her a break, they know he’s got the best intentions at heart but it’s not working a treat. Harry steps into the booth to record his vocals in one go, it doesn’t sound great but he can work on it better if they actually decide to put it on the album. He’s got a lot to prove with this song: for once, he has to prove himself as an artist that can make something incredibly specific and still relatable; and then prove himself to the band, even if it’s probably their last album he wants to be relevant in it. His songs were never really taken seriously, neither were Zayn’s, and he doesn’t want to thread the same path as him.

At last his input is enough, they get great takes and start mixing it together with time to spare — that is, until Louis rushes inside: “Lads, come on, she’s not buying it! Tell me you’ve got it”

“We’ve got it!” Liam replies enthusiastically but Harry holds him back.

“Wha- No! I-I haven’t got anything!” his heart starts racing as it never did before, the prospect of the big moment being so close terrifies him. “I’m not ready for it”

“Of course you are! Mate, you’ve been together for ages, this is just one more step” he encourages, holding Harry by his shoulders.

“Bloody hell... what if she says no?”

“She won’t say no!”

“What if she does?!”

“Then nothing changes! You keep on living your life just without a ring and a wedding date” Louis argues, crossing his arms casually as he tries do play it cool. “Now, can I call her in?”

Harry takes a deep breath and nods, Liam’s hands slip from his shoulder with a friendly pat. “You’ll be great”

They leave the studio with encouraging looks, leaving him alone and anxious in the vast studio. He pats his jacket to find the box safely stored inside his pocket, one more time he takes a deep breath. This is happening. The silence seems to extend for ages when the door opens again, this time for Oli to sneak in. Once he sees her it dawns on him what is about to happen, but he doesn’t panic... instead he feels at ease.

“What are you up to?” she tip toes inside and sits on his lap, pressing a quick kiss on his lips.

“Just checking this demo”

“Hmm, quite the professional!” she mocks, looking at the tracks. There’s too few of them, only one vocal track and three instrumentals. She’s about to mess with it when he holds her hand.

“Before you play... just bare with me, it’s not ready yet, it’s just a demo –“

“It’s okay Haz”

“– I know, but it just might not reach your standards...”

“Harry... look, I know how hard you’re working on this, I’ve watched you learn this bit by bit for years. I had a lifetime of learning what you learned in five years, don’t be harsh on yourself” she strokes his hair with a humble smile, as if she’s begging him not to torture himself about it. “Now, may I?” he nods in response so she hits the space bar.

The metronome count starts and a simple violin chord plays before Harry’s vocal kicks in blasting around the room’s sound system. Although she loves every piece of him to the bones, there’s something special about his raspy voice that gets her weak in the knees. She listens to it keeping her eyes fixed on the ground to better focus on her hearing. The first couple of verses are a bit weak, but she won’t say anything to an already nervous Harry. The following ones sound a bit better until it comes to the pre-chorus.

“Please believe me, don’t you see the things you mean to me oh! I love you, I love you, I love-I love- I love Olivia”

“Wait” she frowns at the computer, then the chorus progresses.

“I live for you, I long for you Olivia-“

“Oh my god...” her eyes turn to him in a bolt, he only smirks with those cheeky dimples of his and hugs her waist closer.

“... I’ll be now idolizing the light in your eyes, Olivia. I live for you, I long for you, Olivia-”

“Oh my fucking god...” he laughs at her reaction, covering up her mouth in a struggled gasp. “You didn’t!”

“I did!”

“When you’re gone and I’m alone you live in my imagination, summertime and butterflies all belong to your creation. I love you, is all I do, I love you...”

She chokes a bit at the lyrics, and that is the moment Harry chooses to get the velvet box from his pocket and show it to her. “Oh, come on...” she cries absolutely overwhelmed at the sight of that beautiful delicate ring. She was successfully fooled, in no way would she ever imagine that the sound he was working so hard on was for her and that it was also his proposal... still, all she can do is smile and cry at the same time.

“I think I’ve said it all already, but still” he starts, her reaction causing him to tear up a bit. “You said you wanted a ring, a speech and an ugly cry”

“I did, didn’t I?” she tries to say through a sob.

“Will you marry me, love?”

“Yes! Of course!” she cups his cheek earnestly and kisses him with all she’s got, leaning into him gently but with the sheer will of a hurricane. She breaks the kiss only to wipe her own cheeks and leave a strained chuckle, “I swear to you, one of these days you’re gonna kill me”

“No way, who’s gonna finish the album” to that, she can only roll her eyes. “May I?” he takes her hand.

“Please” she watches him slip the delicate ring on her finger, astounded by his attention to detail. “It’s so beautiful... everything Haz, seriously, the song is...” she huffs, absolutely speechless. Harry smiles in satisfaction, lacing her hips as she hugs his neck pressing herself completely against him, feeling his love irradiating from every pore.

“I meant every word” he whispers, cupping the back of her neck and showering her with small pecks on the cheek.

“She said yes?” they both turn to the door and find Liam, Niall, Louis and Frank lining up at the frame waiting to come in.

“Of course she did!” Harry answers smugly.

“She said yes!” Lou screams, sparking a big celebratory mayhem of champagne popping and flying paper around them. “You should’ve seen his face when we left, he was totally passing out”

“He was shaking” Liam adds.

“Thanks mate, cheers”

“Were you stalling me today?” she points to Louis in accusation.

“In my defense, I was told to stall you for the whole afternoon”

“Can’t believe you were all in it... how long have you been outside?”

“We got here when the music started, I gotta say... it’s really good” Lou compliments, handing them plastic cups of champagne.

“Really good” Niall joins, “We should put it on the album... I mean, if you’re ok with it”

“I’m more than ok with that” she laughs.

“Than that’s it! Just missing another three songs” Louis mocks.

“Can we take a break? Just got engaged, if anyone noticed" Harry shrugs, his inner egomaniac begging the attention to turn back to him.

"Cheers!" they join cups in the center an down the content of their cups merrily, then doing it again this time with Harry and Olivia crossing their arms to do so.

A/N: and that's it! just a small taste, i've got more stuff cooking, adore you has been driving me crazy all week but i'm still figuring out how it makes me feel and how it can become a story... you'll see xx

Check more at masterlist

159 notes · View notes

amygdalagustd · 4 years

Text

"The softest echo could be enough for me to make it through" - Bandito, Twenty One Pilots

Music is so sacred for me. The one things that connects all the messy parts of my soul and somehow ties them together to form a human. All my experiences, good or bad, seem to have this one thing in common. It's meaning hides in many different moments. When I went to see my ex for the last time and sat in the train crying with bts on repeat, my love yourself her album in my lap, because I knew that bringing it with me would give me comfort. When I'm at my most depressed and I listen to truce in the hope that tyler can convince me to stay alive. When I'm so filled with rage and the only thing that keeps me from hurting myself is listening to outro tear on repeat.

But also, when I go to concerts and feel like living in the most beautiful thing that ever happened to me. When I listen to not today to motivate myself to do the scary thing. When I'm singing songs around a campfire with friends in ths summer. When someone wants to talk about about music with me and my heart just lights up. When a new bts album drops and I get to live in it for 2 weeks or so.

It's when I write a song to express all the nastiness that lives inside my head, tears falling on the paper and angry scribbling, and than it's the catharsis of singing that song at the top of my lungs.

It's the little things. Listening to a song while waiting on the bus. Humming a melody while working. Sharing songs with your friends.

It's in the people that make the music that always end up being my heroes. It's in their posters on my walls, their words in my notebooks, their voices in my headphones. The distant companions of me and my journey. In a way, I sometimes feel the closest to them, because they are the only ones that can still get to me when I'm almost completely gone.

It's not something I can find words for. I wrote in an earlier journal:

"Maybe it's silly of me to want to capture music in words. Music isn't made to be captured in words, music is only made to be captured in music. "

And I believe that. I also once wrote, in a poem about music:

"I know I'll never completely understand you, but that's okay. We still have a lifetime to get to know each other."

I love that too. The idea that no matter what happens, there will always be new songs to listen to, to write, to experience. There will aways be old songs to rediscover in new light. There will always be new ways to listen to music, to grow with it, to be inspired by it. There will be music, always.

So yes, the softest echo could be enough for me to make it through, over and over and over again. I don't know where I'm gonna end up in the future, but I sure as hell know one thing: I'll be listening to music.

#twenty one pilots #bts #music

3 notes · View notes

dfroza · 3 years

Text

Today’s reading from the ancient book of Proverbs and book of Psalms

for September 30 of 2021 with Proverbs 30 and Psalm 30, accompanied by Psalm 9 for the 9th day of Astronomical Autumn and Psalm 123 for day 273 of the year (now with the consummate book of 150 Psalms in its 2nd revolution this year)

[Proverbs 30]

[The Mysterious Sayings of Agur]

These are the collected sayings of the prophet Agur, Jakeh’s son—

the amazing revelation he imparted to Ithiel and Ukal.

God, I’m so weary and worn out,

I feel more like a beast than a man.

I was made in your image,

but I lack understanding.

I’ve yet to learn the wisdom

that comes from the full and intimate knowledge of you,

the Holy One.

[Six Questions]

Who is it that travels back and forth

from the heavenly realm to the earth?

Who controls the wind as it blows and holds it in his fists?

Who tucks the rain into the cloak of his clouds?

Who stretches out the skyline from one vista to the other?

What is his name?

And what is the name of his Son?

Who can tell me?

[A Pure Heart Is Filled with God’s Word]

Every promise from the faithful God

is pure and proves to be true.

He is a wraparound shield of protection for all his lovers

who run to hide in him.

Never add to his words,

or he will have to rebuke you and prove that you’re a liar.

God, there are two things I’m asking you for before I die, only two:

Empty out of my heart everything that is false—

every lie, and every crooked thing.

And give me neither undue poverty nor undue wealth—

but rather, feed my soul with the measure of prosperity

that pleases you.

May my satisfaction be found in you.

Don’t let me be so rich that I don’t need you

or so poor that I have to resort to dishonesty

just to make ends meet.

Then my life will never detract from bringing glory to your name.

Never defame a servant before his master,

for you will be the guilty one

and a curse will come upon you.

There is a generation rising that curses their fathers

and speaks evil of their mothers.

There is a generation rising that considers themselves

to be pure in their own eyes,

yet they are morally filthy, unwashed, and unclean.

There is a generation rising that is so filled with pride,

they think they are superior and look down on others.

There is a generation rising that uses their words like swords

to cut and slash those who are different.

They would devour the poor, the needy, and the afflicted

from off the face of the earth!

There are three words to describe the greedy:

“Give me more!”

There are some things that are never satisfied.

Forever craving more, they’re unable to say, “That’s enough!”

Here are four:

the grave, yawning for another victim,

the barren womb, ever wanting a child,

thirsty soil, ever longing for rain,

and a raging fire, devouring its fuel.

They’re all insatiable.

The eye that mocks his father and dishonors his elderly mother

deserves to be plucked out by the ravens of the valley

and fed to the young vultures!

[Four Mysteries]

There are four marvelous mysteries

that are too amazing to unravel—

who could fully explain them?

The way an eagle flies in the sky,

the way a snake glides on a boulder,

the path of a ship as it passes through the sea,

and the way a bridegroom falls in love with his bride.

Here is the deceptive way of the adulterous woman:

she takes what she wants and then says,

“I’ve done nothing wrong.”

[Four Intolerable Things]

There are four intolerable events

that are simply unbearable to observe:

when an unfaithful servant becomes a ruler,

when a scoundrel comes into great wealth,

when an unfaithful woman marries a good man,

and when a mistress replaces a faithful wife.

[Four Creatures Small and Wise]

The earth has four creatures that are very small but very wise:

The feeble ant has little strength,

yet look how it diligently gathers its food in the summer

to last throughout the winter.

The delicate rock-badger isn’t all that strong,

yet look how it makes a secure home, nestled in the rocks.

The locusts have no king to lead them,

yet they cooperate as they move forward by bands.

And the small lizard is easy to catch

as it clings to the walls with its hands,

yet it can be found inside a king’s palace.

[Four Stately Things]

There are four stately monarchs

who are impressive to watch as they go forth:

the lion, the king of the jungle, who is afraid of no one,

the rooster strutting boldly among the hens,

the male goat out in front leading the herd,

and a king leading his regal procession.

If you’ve acted foolishly by drawing attention to yourself,

or if you’ve thought about saying something stupid,

you’d better shut your mouth.

For such stupidity may give you a bloody nose!

Stirring up an argument only leads to an angry confrontation.

The Book of Proverbs, Chapter 30 (The Passion Translation)

[Psalm 30]

A song of David. For the dedication of the temple.

I praise You, Eternal One. You lifted me out of that deep, dark pit

and denied my opponents the pleasure of rubbing in their success.

Eternal One, my True God, I cried out to You for help;

You mended the shattered pieces of my life.

You lifted me from the grave with a mighty hand,

gave me another chance,

and saved me from joining those in that dreadful pit.

Sing, all you who remain faithful!

Pour out your hearts to the Eternal with praise and melodies;

let grateful music fill the air and bless His name.

His wrath, you see, is fleeting,

but His grace lasts a lifetime.

The deepest pains may linger through the night,

but joy greets the soul with the smile of morning.

When things were quiet and life was easy, I said in arrogance,

“Nothing can shake me.”

By Your grace, Eternal,

I thought I was as strong as a mountain;

But when You left my side and hid away,

I crumbled in fear.

O Eternal One, I called out to You;

I pleaded for Your compassion and forgiveness:

“I’m no good to You dead! What benefits come from my rotting corpse?

My body in the grave will not praise You.

No songs will rise up from the dust of my bones.

From dust comes no proclamation of Your faithfulness.

Hear me, Eternal Lord—please help me,

Eternal One—be merciful!”

You did it: You turned my deepest pains into joyful dancing;

You stripped off my dark clothing

and covered me with joyful light.

You have restored my honor. My heart is ready to explode, erupt in new songs!

It’s impossible to keep quiet!

Eternal One, my God, my Life-Giver, I will thank You forever.

The Book of Psalms, Poem 30 (The Voice)

[Psalm 9]

I’m thanking you, God, from a full heart,

I’m writing the book on your wonders.

I’m whistling, laughing, and jumping for joy;

I’m singing your song, High God.

The day my enemies turned tail and ran,

they stumbled on you and fell on their faces.

You took over and set everything right;

when I needed you, you were there, taking charge.

You blow the whistle on godless nations;

you throw dirty players out of the game,

wipe their names right off the roster.

Enemies disappear from the sidelines,

their reputation trashed,

their names erased from the halls of fame.

God holds the high center,

he sees and sets the world’s mess right.

He decides what is right for us earthlings,

gives people their just deserts.

God’s a safe-house for the battered,

a sanctuary during bad times.

The moment you arrive, you relax;

you’re never sorry you knocked.

Sing your songs to Zion-dwelling God,

tell his stories to everyone you meet:

How he tracks down killers

yet keeps his eye on us,

registers every whimper and moan.

Be kind to me, God;

I’ve been kicked around long enough.

Once you’ve pulled me back

from the gates of death,

I’ll write the book on Hallelujahs;

on the corner of Main and First

I’ll hold a street meeting;

I’ll be the song leader; we’ll fill the air

with salvation songs.

They’re trapped, those godless countries,

in the very snares they set,

Their feet all tangled

in the net they spread.

They have no excuse;

the way God works is well-known.

The shrewd machinery made by the wicked

has maimed their own hands.

The wicked bought a one-way

ticket to hell.

No longer will the poor be nameless—

no more humiliation for the humble.

Up, God! Aren’t you fed up with their empty strutting?

Expose these grand pretensions!

Shake them up, God!

Show them how silly they look.

The Book of Psalms, Poem 9 (The Message)

[Psalm 123]

A Prayer for Mercy

A song of the stairway

O God-Enthroned in heaven, I lift my eyes toward you in worship.

The way I love you

is like the way a servant wants to please his master,

the way a maid waits for the orders of her mistress.

We look to you, our God, with passionate longing

to please you and discover more of your mercy and grace.

For we’ve had more than our fill of this scoffing and scorn—

this mistreatment by the wealthy elite.

Lord, show us your mercy!

Lord, show us your grace!

The Book of Psalms, Poem 123 (The Passion Translation)

0 notes

stargazerinmoksha · 7 years

Quote

it’s strange to think about how people can change us with a slight interaction– i’m not feeling too well, could you maybe write a poem for me? she asks while disguising her leukemia under an anonymous face. i did not know her at all, i was just a poet that was more worried about facing tomorrow without my ex– life changes my perspective in such a tragic way. did you really have to take her? i may not be here for much longer, but your poetry has helped. i sleep a little better, she whimpers into her crossed arms as her head sinks into featherless pillows– everything feels vulnerable and fragile nowadays. you’ve been silent ever since that day. did my words truly alter your life in some way? it hurts to know that my words were amongst the last passengers that came crashing down in your train of thought. i wish that we could’ve been real life friends, i would have visited you everyday. i’m pretty bad on the piano, but i know the melody to trey songz’s i can’t help but wait– i think you would have loved it. i wanted to be by your side, i wanted to hold your hands– a reminder that you’re not alone, i’ll join you some day. you’ve been the topic of many poems, the reflected moonlight doesn’t show on my eyes– would you like to know how i came up with the name? because when i was down and high enough to reach the face on mars– i read your request and heard your cries for help. the pain that you have endured, how could i not make sense of the night afterwards? routine is healthy for humans, it gives us order in this chaotic universe. so when i’m coming down from my high, i think about you and sleep arrives. how can i smoke when you’re on your last breath? how can i love if i’m just a flaw waiting to be unveiled? they say that pressure creates diamonds– they never left your bones. and it isn’t just a few hundred poems dedicated to you because you’re gone and i am here waiting for any sign that you did make it. it seems that way, the stars won’t grant any wishes tonight– but if they did, i’d ask for them to trace your lips into a constellation. you are not alone, you just feel lonely. you aren’t unloved because i loved you. you aren’t forgotten, you are remembered. the thin line smile that you held will be a secret home– to all of my poems. have you ever hated any part of yourself? if so, may i tell you a story? it starts out like any love story would. boy meets girl, and the world just stops spinning on the days that they meet under those stairway hugs with those silly teenage glances. you never really know where to run, we once painted hearts where the empty would sleep, we used to love until black holes would give way to life and if it didn’t work, we’d try again tomorrow. the years went by and we made our fair share of mistakes, we dig ourselves a bigger hole– the coffin will never be big enough for our secrets. and then you’re alone again, happiness that’s water pressured into the back of your skull– i spray painted her smile in between my thoughts and my worries, you break and break some more, you run away from priorities and never think about the consequences of depression and drug abuse– i will never amount to much, but my poetry has a place for my readers. you became one of those silent readers. you became a guiding star inside of my self-hatred. i am blind to my own achievements, i am bound to hell and there’s no way back, but if redemption does exist– you are the wonderful angel that’s waiting to grab my hands. of course i still think about you, silly. although we were strangers, although i may not have known you past three anonymous asks, i still consider you a special soulmate of mine. one that i can’t kiss. one that i can’t hug. one that i can’t hate. one that won’t leave. one day, i’ll sing songs with you and we’ll finally figure out that the moonlight did not reflect from my eyes, but rather yours.

i can’t give you the world, but i can give you enough poems to keep that smile warm ∞

#reflectedmoonlight #prose #poetry #stream of consciousness #spilledink

186 notes · View notes

dfroza · 4 years

Text

Today’s reading from the ancient books of Proverbs and Psalms

for Wednesday, September 30 of 2020 with Proverbs 30 and Psalm 30 accompanied by Psalm 9 for the 9th day of Autumn and Psalm 124 for day 274 of the year

[Psalm 30]

A song of David. For the dedication of the temple.

I praise You, Eternal One. You lifted me out of that deep, dark pit

and denied my opponents the pleasure of rubbing in their success.

Eternal One, my True God, I cried out to You for help;

You mended the shattered pieces of my life.

You lifted me from the grave with a mighty hand,

gave me another chance,

and saved me from joining those in that dreadful pit.

Sing, all you who remain faithful!

Pour out your hearts to the Eternal with praise and melodies;

let grateful music fill the air and bless His name.

His wrath, you see, is fleeting,

but His grace lasts a lifetime.

The deepest pains may linger through the night,

but joy greets the soul with the smile of morning.

When things were quiet and life was easy, I said in arrogance,

“Nothing can shake me.”

By Your grace, Eternal,

I thought I was as strong as a mountain;

But when You left my side and hid away,

I crumbled in fear.

O Eternal One, I called out to You;

I pleaded for Your compassion and forgiveness:

“I’m no good to You dead! What benefits come from my rotting corpse?

My body in the grave will not praise You.

No songs will rise up from the dust of my bones.

From dust comes no proclamation of Your faithfulness.

Hear me, Eternal Lord—please help me,

Eternal One—be merciful!”

You did it: You turned my deepest pains into joyful dancing;

You stripped off my dark clothing

and covered me with joyful light.

You have restored my honor. My heart is ready to explode, erupt in new songs!

It’s impossible to keep quiet!

Eternal One, my God, my Life-Giver, I will thank You forever.

The Book of Psalms, Poem 30 (The Voice)

[Psalm 9]

A David Psalm

I’m thanking you, God, from a full heart,

I’m writing the book on your wonders.

I’m whistling, laughing, and jumping for joy;

I’m singing your song, High God.

The day my enemies turned tail and ran,

they stumbled on you and fell on their faces.

You took over and set everything right;

when I needed you, you were there, taking charge.

You blow the whistle on godless nations;

you throw dirty players out of the game,

wipe their names right off the roster.

Enemies disappear from the sidelines,

their reputation trashed,

their names erased from the halls of fame.

God holds the high center,

he sees and sets the world’s mess right.

He decides what is right for us earthlings,

gives people their just deserts.

God’s a safe-house for the battered,

a sanctuary during bad times.

The moment you arrive, you relax;

you’re never sorry you knocked.

Sing your songs to Zion-dwelling God,

tell his stories to everyone you meet:

How he tracks down killers

yet keeps his eye on us,

registers every whimper and moan.

Be kind to me, God;

I’ve been kicked around long enough.

Once you’ve pulled me back

from the gates of death,

I’ll write the book on Hallelujahs;

on the corner of Main and First

I’ll hold a street meeting;

I’ll be the song leader; we’ll fill the air

with salvation songs.

They’re trapped, those godless countries,

in the very snares they set,

Their feet all tangled

in the net they spread.

They have no excuse;

the way God works is well-known.

The cunning machinery made by the wicked

has maimed their own hands.

The wicked bought a one-way

ticket to hell.

No longer will the poor be nameless—

no more humiliation for the humble.

Up, God! Aren’t you fed up with their empty strutting?

Expose these grand pretensions!

Shake them up, God!

Show them how silly they look.

The Book of Psalms, Poem 9 (The Message)

[Psalm 124]

A Pilgrim Song of David

If God hadn’t been for us

—all together now, Israel, sing out!—

If God hadn’t been for us

when everyone went against us,

We would have been swallowed alive

by their violent anger,

Swept away by the flood of rage,

drowned in the torrent;

We would have lost our lives

in the wild, raging water.

Oh, blessed be God!

He didn’t go off and leave us.

He didn’t abandon us defenseless,

helpless as a rabbit in a pack of snarling dogs.

We’ve flown free from their fangs,

free of their traps, free as a bird.

Their grip is broken;

we’re free as a bird in flight.

God’s strong name is our help,

the same God who made heaven and earth.

The Book of Psalms, Poem 124 (The Message)

[Proverbs 30]

These are the collected sayings of the prophet Agur, Jakeh’s son—

the amazing revelation he imparted to Ithiel and Ukal.

God, I’m so weary and worn out,

I feel more like a beast than a man.

I was made in your image,

but I lack understanding.

I’ve yet to learn the wisdom

that comes from the full and intimate knowledge of you,

the Holy One.

[Six Questions]

Who is it that travels back and forth

from the heavenly realm to the earth?

Who controls the wind as it blows and holds it in his fists?

Who tucks the rain into the cloak of his clouds?

Who stretches out the skyline from one vista to the other?

What is his name?

And what is the name of his Son?

Who can tell me?

[A Pure Heart Is Filled with God’s Word]

Every promise from the faithful God

is pure and proves to be true.

He is a wrap-around shield of protection for all his lovers

who run to hide in him.

Never add to his words,

or he will have to rebuke you and prove that you’re a liar.

God, there are two things I’m asking you for before I die, only two:

Empty out of my heart everything that is false—

every lie, and every crooked thing.

And give me neither undue poverty nor undue wealth—

but rather, feed my soul with the measure of prosperity

that pleases you.

May my satisfaction be found in you.

Don’t let me be so rich that I don’t need you

or so poor that I have to resort to dishonesty

just to make ends meet.

Then my life will never detract from bringing glory to your name.

Never defame a servant before his master,

for you will be the guilty one

and a curse will come upon you.

There is a generation rising that curses their fathers

and speaks evil of their mothers.

There is a generation rising that considers themselves

to be pure in their own eyes,

yet they are morally filthy, unwashed, and unclean.

There is a generation rising that is so filled with pride

they think they are superior and look down on others.

There is a generation rising that uses their words like swords

to cut and slash those who are different.

They would devour the poor, the needy, and the afflicted

from off the face of the earth!

There are three words to describe the greedy:

“Give me more!”

There are some things that are never satisfied.

Forever craving more, they’re unable to say, “That’s enough!”

Here are four:

The grave, yawning for another victim,

the barren womb, ever wanting a child,

thirsty soil, ever longing for rain,

and a raging fire, devouring its fuel.

They’re all insatiable.

The eye that mocks his father and dishonors his elderly mother

deserves to be plucked out by the ravens of the valley

and fed to the young vultures!

[Four Mysteries]

There are four marvelous mysteries

that are too amazing to unravel—

who could fully explain them?

The way an eagle flies in the sky,

the way a snake glides on a boulder,

the path of a ship as it passes through the sea,

and the way a bridegroom falls in love with his bride.

Here is the deceptive way of the adulterous woman:

she takes what she wants and then says,

“I’ve done nothing wrong.”

[Four Intolerable Things]

There are four intolerable events

that are simply unbearable to observe:

when an unfaithful servant becomes a ruler,

when a scoundrel comes into great wealth,

when an unfaithful woman marries a good man,

and when a mistress replaces a faithful wife.

[Four Creatures Small and Wise]

The earth has four creatures that are very small but very wise:

The feeble ant has little strength,

yet look how it diligently gathers its food in the summer

to last throughout the winter.

The delicate rock-badger isn’t all that strong,

yet look how it makes a secure home, nestled in the rocks.

The locusts have no king to lead them,

yet they cooperate as they move forward by bands.

And the small lizard is easy to catch

as it clings to the walls with its hands,

yet it can be found inside a king’s palace.

[Four Stately Things]

There are four stately monarchs

who are impressive to watch as they go forth:

the lion, the king of the jungle, who is afraid of no one,

the rooster strutting boldly among the hens,

the male goat out in front leading the herd,

and a king leading his regal procession.

If you’ve acted foolishly by drawing attention to yourself,

or if you’ve thought about saying something stupid,

you’d better shut your mouth.

For such stupidity may give you a bloody nose!

Stirring up an argument only leads to an angry confrontation.

The Book of Proverbs, Chapter 30 (The Passion Translation)

0 notes