#why yes I did listen to deliver us from prince of egypt while writing this

[mozart-the-meerkitten]

Been in the mood for angst, so here's a scene from The SOS Chronicles. Takes place pre-story, might come up sometime as a flashback or something. Features one of my main characters, Silvie and her mother.

Deliver Us

            Sasha took several deep breaths, trying to focus.

            The Enforcers were coming.

            They were not coming for her.

            They were coming for her daughter.

            “Silvie, come here, please.”

            Tiny claws pattered on the floor as Silvie appeared, her little furry brown head tilted to one side, her scaly tail swishing behind her.

            Sasha knelt down in front of her. “Silvie, bad people are coming. They are called the Enforcers. They want to take you away from me. You have to run.”

            Silvie blinked at her. “Hide?”             Sasha nodded. “Run first, then hide.”             Silvie took her hand and tugged on her. “Come.”

            Sasha’s heart twisted. “I can’t. I have to stay here.” I have to buy you time to get away.

            Silvie frowned and tugged on her more insistently. “Come.”

            Sasha shook her head. “You run. You hide. I-” she swallowed hard. “If I can, I’ll come find you, later.”

            Silvie’s frown deepened. “Scared?”

            Sasha reached up a hand and squeezed her daughter’s shoulder. “Yes. Mama is scared. And mama needs Silvie to run.”

            She had known, of course, that this day would come eventually. Silvie wasn’t like her. Sasha had learned early that she needed to hide who she was, to hide that she wasn’t under control like everyone else. Making different noises, dancing in the streets, singing and laughing loudly and screaming when she was angry and scared were all things she would be targeted for. She could not be different, so she wasn’t. She molded herself into the perfect Aguithan; obedient, quiet, never questioning orders, never questioning why she had to hide.  

            And then one night she’d been caught in the streets by an Enforcer, only being obedient, only coming home from work a little late…

            And she had been good. She hadn’t fought back, she let him have his way with her.

            She’d been told not to have the child that came from that. To get rid of it before it was born because all it would be was trouble.

            That had been the first time she had fought back since she was a kitten.

            She had kept her child and Silvie was born, small and precious and helpless and perfect.

            And like Sasha, but more. Silvie was louder and more excitable, hard to control, unable to pretend she could be controlled. And at five years old she was happy and full of life and Sasha was grateful every day that she had kept her little one.

            She had hid Silvie’s nonconformities for as long as she could, learning how to help her daughter stay calm and listen and understand.

            But it couldn’t last and she had always known that. And she had made peace with it.

            And if it kept her daughter safe, she would die.

            “No scared, mama,” said Silvie, patting her mother’s face.             Sasha smiled as a tear slipped from her eye. “No scared,” she wrapped her arms around Silvie and squeezed her tightly. Silvie let out a happy little purr.

            “Be brave, Silvie,” she whispered, stroking her kitten’s fur, wrapping her tail tight around them both, just for a moment. “Be brave.”

            “Brave,” Silvie repeated, purring louder.

            Sasha purred back, breathing in her baby’s scent, running her fingers over her daughter’s soft fur. “I love you. More than anything. I love you, Silvie.”

            Silvie’s purring reached a crescendo and she nuzzled Sasha happily.

            Her heart broke, and with a shuddering gasp, she pulled back. The Enforcers would be there any moment, she didn’t have time-

            She reached over and grabbed a little backpack that she had sewn and long kept ready for this day. “Wear this. It has food and water in it,” she said, looping it over her daughter’s back and shoulders.

            Silvie’s ears twitched and her nose scrunched for a moment, then her expression settled as the weight pressed against her back. She had always liked weighted things.

            Sasha pressed their foreheads together. “Run, Silvie. Run, then hide. Run outside the city. Hide there. Stay away from the Enforcers. They are big and mean, with black and red belts. They will hurt you if they find you.”

            “Hurt you?”

            Sasha’s breath hitched and she squeezed her eyes shut. “Don’t worry about mama. Run, Silvie, just run.”

            “You come?”

            Sasha opened her eyes and met her daughter’s bright, yellow-golden gaze. “I promise I will do everything I can to follow you, Silvie. Now run, please, run.”

            Silvie hesitated, then lunged forward and hugged her, tightly. Sasha choked out a sob and hugged her back.

            “Brave, mama,” said Silvie.             “Yes. Be brave my little one,” she pressed a kiss to her daughter’s mop of brown hair. “Now go, run.”

            Silvie pulled back and drew herself up, tiny, fluffy hands curling around the strap of her backpack across her chest, her iridescent tail twitching behind her. “Runhide. Run. Brave, mama.”

            “Brave, Silvie,” Sasha whispered, pulling a smile onto her face.

            Silvie nodded, then turned and dashed to the window. She gave Sasha an excited look. “Window?”

            Sasha’s smile turned real as tears dripped down the fur of her face. Silvie had always wanted to climb out the window for some reason, and often tried. “Yes. Window.”

            Silvie’s eyes lit up. “Window!” she pushed it open and scrambled out. “Bye, mama. Silvie brave!”

            Sasha pressed a hand to her mouth to stifle her sobs. “Silvie brave,” she whispered.

            Then, she took a breath and stood. She pulled on the mask she’d worn since kittenhood, hiding who she was, her emotions and fears. She would be a model citizen, obedient and quiet.

            (She would give Silvie a chance to escape.)

            Not five minutes later as she stood at the sink cleaning dishes, the Enforcers knocked on her door.

            “We’re here for the kitten,” they said.             “What kitten?” she smiled demurely, even as they pushed her away and searched the house.

            Of course they found Silvie’s things, there had been no time or point in hiding them. The Enforcers could smell her anyway. But Silvie was gone, long gone into the city and the night and the myriad of smells there. Her trail would be all but impossible to find. She would be safe.

            “Where are you hiding her?” they demanded, claws glinting in the dim light of her apartment.             “I’m not hiding anyone,” she said, truthfully.

            Their leader, a great brute with white fur and one patch of black on his scarred head, pulled out his gun and pointed it at her head. “Where is the kitten?”

            He was going to kill her, so Sasha smiled and bared her teeth, letting her mask drop. There was no point in hiding anymore. “Right here. I’ve always been right here, hiding under your noses,” she clenched her hands into fists and lunged forward, pushing her face towards his. “You think you can control us but you can’t. For every one you kill or take captive there is one like me who is hiding, ready to rise up and fight back,” her smile turned into a snarl. “You will never see us coming, not until it’s too late.”

            He snarled back. “Ignorant fool. Your rebellion will fall before it ever begins. Any schemes you’ve put in motion are futile,” he pressed the gun to her forehead. “And you will die here tonight.”

            She laughed, her eyes cold as ice. “But my daughter won’t,” she sneered. “You failed. You will always fail.”

            He pulled the trigger. She closed her eyes as the blast traveled through her and smiled as she thought of Silvie in the window.

Be brave, my kitten.

#the sos chronicles #silvie starchaser #silvie the aguithan #sasha the aguithan #my writing #my ocs #character death #is this good? who knows #but I like it #why yes I did listen to deliver us from prince of egypt while writing this #'hiding place' by josh garrels also has the exact right vibes for this and I listened to that too #usually I associate that song with oliver but here it works really well for silvie and her mom

[why-not-go-with-style]

Ineffable husbands not fully understanding the parental impact they have on Warlock. Maybe it’s not till after the apocalypse that they check in with him, maybe at school, and all the adults are just - “Omg you must be Warlock’s parents!!!! We’ve heard so much about you!” And it keeps happening everywhere they go (much to their absolute joy). Just lots of hugs for poor warlock

I need very little encouragement to write about Warlock’s shenanigans. Thank you for enabling me, anon, because this was a delight to write. I tried to have some fun with narration in this one.

***

The Dowling family was, by most measures, rich. Any family in possession of such a garden which sprawled out for many paces across their estate is rich by at least some measures. As any self-respecting rich family they’ve had a whole platoon of workers, including (but not limited to) maids, cooks, bodyguards and drivers. Most of these are irrelevant to us, just as they were irrelevant to the Dowling family, nothing beyond things of convenience. However, as the reader would, no doubt, be aware, there was a pair of beings on Dowling’s payroll who deserve most careful attention. One was the estate’s gardener, and the other was a nanny.

Despite deserving the attention, they often found themselves lacking it. The other servants endowed them with nothing beyond friendly greetings and gossip-filled smalltalk, as they would endow all others who found themselves in the position of employment by the household. The two masters of the house, the American ambassador and his wife, couldn’t care less about what their employees did as long as they did their jobs, and their jobs, in the couple’s eyes, were to take care of the garden and take care of their child respectively. The garden blossomed, and the young boy grew, so the gardener and the nanny have found themselves, on most occasions, remarkably unsupervised by the human eye.

But of course every rule has an exception, even if it is, at first, not perceived to be such.

That is to say, when the nanny and the gardener remarked to each other that they were often unsupervised by the human eye, they left out one member of the household who was, as far as they were aware, decisively not human. Little Warlock Dowling, the supposed Adversary, Destroyer of Kings, Angel of the Bottomless Pit, Great Beast that is called Dragon, Prince of This World, Father of Lies, Spawn of Satan, and Lord of Darkness, has never once let them out of his sight for long.

The gardener and the nanny have agreed that such undivided attention from him must have been due to the fact that he sensed, deep inside, their ethereal or occult energies. What they have failed to recognise was the fact that a young child, by and large neglected his whole life by his parents, who preferred to have him in front of a TV screen and not in front of them, had simply latched onto the first pair of adults who seemed to not protest his company. And if said adults were slightly more... peculiar than others – well, young Warlock maintained, all the better.

There were many things he has noticed about Brother Francis and Nanny Ashtoreth. Some of the things he has noticed would amuse them were he ever to voice them out loud. Some would puzzle them. Some would – perhaps – fluster them, if delivered at the right time in the right tone of voice. But Warlock was blissfully unaware of what the right time or the right tone of voice might be, so he kept his thoughts to himself, and instead asked Nanny to tell him another story.

(Nanny told delightful stories. Still, it was, perhaps, for the better that his parents never payed Warlock enough attention to listen to him retelling one of them, because then the circle of staff associated with the Dowling household might have expanded to include a therapist).

In any case, the boy grew under watchful and not entirely human eyes, and if demon Crowley and angel Aziraphale had their secret meetings outside of the estate grounds, to compare notes and exchange smiles, Warlock was none the wiser. He learned to read, and to write, and to solve problems. His father signed him up for an elite school, and a driver was assigned to take him there in the mornings and bring him back again in the afternoons. The Arrangement (of which he knew nothing) worked just as expected – the heavenly influences balanced out the hellish ones, and on the whole, apart from a taste for violence in fiction and an altruistic streak outside of it, what the boy grew to be was remarkably normal.

(Too bloody normal, Crowley insisted, in the same tone of voice in which he would insist later that Aziraphale really should have listened to him back then).

It was midway through December, as dull as winters often are (the only part of Britain which got nearly enough snow that year, or any year, was Tadfield), when Mrs. Harriet Dowling approached Nanny Ashtoreth, after the driver has carefully off-loaded her shopping bags in the corridor to be picked up by the maid.

“Hello, dear,” Harriet nodded distractedly. Nanny Ashtoreth made the kind of face she always made when anyone but the only being allowed to do so called her “dear”. “I’m going to need you to go to Warlock’s parent meeting tomorrow, and then you’re free to go for Christmas. We will call you when we’ll need you back.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Nanny Ashtoreth said primly (and if she had no intention to leave the estate when the Dowlings were on their holiday in Egypt, or Hawaii, or whatever other place they have chosen that year, her employer had no business knowing it). “Have a terrific holiday.”

(One must note, unlike Mrs. Dowling who was too preoccupied by directing the maids to note anything, that much like “nice”, the word “terrific” used to have an entirely different meaning, and Nanny Ashtoreth has lived through enough years to know it. On a completely unrelated note, the only person to enjoy the upcoming trip will have been little Warlock, but that is a story for another time).

The next day, at one in the afternoon precisely, a big black car pulled up to the gates of Warlock’s school. Nanny Ashtoreth stepped out of it and followed the displayed signs towards Warlock’s classroom, while simultaneously waving her hand at said signs to make them point in all manners of different directions (for she had to stay on-brand). There were stairs, and glass walls, and motivational posters (which she considered changing a tad, but ultimately decided that it would be a bit on-the-nose). The school was exactly what one would expect from the kind of overpriced education facility demon Crowley has once earned a commendation for. It was probably for the better (worse, technically, which in Hell’s books was, of course, better) if the Antichrist were to grow up surrounded by spoiled brats. He needed a reason to hate humanity, after all.

Nanny Ashtoreth made her way to the classroom and greeted the man at the door with a polite but tight-lipped smile. He glanced down at the paper in his hands, scanning across the surnames.

“Afternoon, ma’am. You’re here for..?”

“Warlock,” she said. “Warlock Dowling.”

The man did a double take, looking back up at her from where his pencil skimmed down the list. Nanny Ashtoreth, perhaps because she had been simply observant, or perhaps because picking up on negative emotions was practically in her job description (no, the other one), could almost feel the disapproval suddenly radiating off him. She quirked one eyebrow up and held his gaze from behind the darkened sunglasses.

“You’re his mother, then?” the man asked, feigning a smile in that impeccable way only teachers can. “Adrien Franks. My pleasure.”

“The pleasure is all mine, Mr. Franks,” nanny nodded, offering her hand when he didn’t. “However, Mrs. Dowling is unfortunately busy today. Antonia Ashtoreth to your service.”

The man’s demeanour changed within seconds. Nanny Ashtoreth was left to watch in almost bewildered fascination how his polite smile morphed into a friendly grin as he grasped her hand in his.

“Oh, do excuse me!” he exclaimed. “I just thought – I probably shouldn’t have. My mistake. Are you his nanny, then?”

“That’s me,” she nodded, squinting at him. “I wouldn’t have thought you’d know of me.”

“Oh, we do,” the teacher shrugged, stepping aside to let her inside the classroom, a surprisingly quiet place without the children. There were parents (or substitutes) already inside, but they elected to eye one another suspiciously instead of socialising, as any self-respecting rich people do when surrounded by other rich people. “We get the kids to talk about their home life, to get to know them, you understand, and Warlock barely mentions his parents.”

“I wonder why,” Nanny Ashtoreth muttered. Somewhere far away Harriet Dowling dropped a wooden clothes hanger on her foot and swore.

“Yes, well, it happens. Unfortunately,” Mr. Franks sighed. “Fortunately, however, for Warlock at least, he has you.”

“Me?”

“Well, you, and the gardener – Brother Francis, was it? Warlock never stops going on about you.” Mr. Franks put the list of surnames on one of the desks, then walked back to her, clearly happy to get to break the silence. “I’m glad he has people like you in his life. He seems to look up to both of you greatly.”

“Is that so?” the nanny hummed, noncommittally. She wasn’t sure whether that was something a young Antichrist should be doing – looking up to an angel, Satan forbid! – but she was going to keep her comments to herself until she could discuss it with the said angel in the privacy of the gardener’s cottage. (Aziraphale, of course, would find it rather distasteful that the boy would even think of looking up to a demon).

“Oh, absolutely,” the teacher nodded with enthusiasm. “Of course, he has a bit of an imagination on him, Warlock, so some things he says are... a bit funny, at times, but that’s not what matters. What matters is that there are people in his life taking such good care of him. You’d be surprised how often his classmates feel ignored at home.”

“No, I don’t think I would,” Nanny Ashtoreth muttered, throwing a glance around the room. The teacher gave her an awkward smile.

“Or perhaps you wouldn’t,” he conceded. “In any case, Warlock is a good kid, Ms. Ashtoreth. Thanks for looking after him. You and Brother Francis both.”

He sounded sincere. It was, in nanny’s experience, hard to find humans who would be so sincere, especially amongst the teachers. She would never admit it, but there was something about people who cared so much for children who weren’t their own which made her if not soft, then at least somewhat hopeful about the human race (and wasn’t it ironic that they were talking about its untimely demise?).

“I will pass your thanks onto him,” she said, seriously. And then: “I think the children are back from lunch. Shouldn’t we start?”

Adrien Franks looked at the clock, then at the door. He knitted his eyebrows together when he saw the kids flooding in through the doorway, their voices filling the room in a way that would have been impossible to miss (and yet). He shrugged to himself, decided that he must have been terribly engrossed in the conversation, and took his place at the teacher’s desk.

He watched, almost unintentionally, how little Warlock’s eyes lit up at the sight of his nanny, and how he barged into her, wrapping his thin arms around her waist. She gave him an almost-smile and petted his tousled hair as he babbled about something Adrien could not hear over the general commotion of the room. He looked over the surnames list (which was now inexplicably on his own desk), decided that enough adults were present (some could stand to learn that not everyone in the world will wait for them), and cleared his throat to announce the beginning of the parents meeting.

Yes, he decided. Warlock Dowling was in good hands.

(It was probably for the best that he didn’t say it out loud, though).

***

I’ve had a whole another scene planned out, with Aziraphale this time, but the fic was getting a little long (and the scene wouldn’t quite fit, frankly). If someone wants to see it though, please notify me, for I would love to write it!

#good omens #ineffable husbands #aziraphale #crowley #warlock dowling #nanny ashtoreth #brother francis #who is barely mentioned but shhh #allie scribbles #allie does prompts #very slowly but i promise i’ll get to tbe rest of them!!

[chloeofgondor]

11 Questions Tag

tagged by @lesbian-asajj a lifetime ago, cheers me dear

Rules:

Post the rules

Answer the questions given to you by the tagger

Write 11 questions of your own

Tag 11 people

If you had to watch only one movie for the rest of your life, what would it be and why?

Prince of Egypt, without a shadow of doubt. I. Love. This. Film. The animation, the score, the writing, and the characters are all of such a high quality and each scene carries such raw emotion from the very first moments of Deliver Us to the closing credits. Did I mention the soundtrack because GAWD I could (and pretty much do) listen to that all day everyday.

Alternatively the first Spy Kids movie because it’s perfection and fulfils my nostalgic tendencies. 

Which character from what movie/book/show/other do you relate to the most?

Ripley from Alien. Everything has gone to absolute shit, the xenomorph has killed everyone but she still goes back to save Jones the cat. 

What’s the thing you like the most about yourself?

I had a haircut not long ago and i’m kinda digging it What’s something you do to relax?

Listening to movie soundtracks or musicals, I find it really calming. Or i’ll play a game/watch a movie i’ve already played/seen a billion times before, idk i find it quite comforting. Do you think it’s easy to make friends?

Hahahahahahahahahahahahanotatallhahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha Do you play an instrument?

My voice is an instrument of torture so i’d say yes What would be the title of your biography?

Read Something Else What’s your MBTI type?

INFP What is your favorite quote? (from anything)

“I wish it need not have happened in my time," said Frodo. "So do I," said Gandalf, "and so do all who live to see such times. But that is not for them to decide. All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given us.”

When’s the last time you felt loved?

I looked up from my phone the other day and my dog was just sat down, looking at me and I felt so loved in that moment and I ended up crying because he’s so adorable and I love him so much he’s my son What’s your ideal life?

Me, living in a bungalow, curled up on a sofa under a pile of blankets while it rains outside, with a bunch of dogs around me, ideally with someone who loves me. Africa by Toto is playing softly on a loop and I am completely calm and content.

Alternatively, the Phantom of the Opera appears in my mirror one day and i follow him to his lair where he sings for me in the luscious voice of Ramin Karimloo and I forsake my life otherwise and stay with him forever because honestly i would be perfectly happy to be taken away from this state of existence if it meant i could listen to Ramin singing Music of the Night 24/7

My questions!

How was your day?

What’s a movie you watch when you need a pick-me-up?

What’s a song you could fight to?

Do you have any pets/do you want any?

If you could live in any fictional world where would you pick?

What is your favourite quote? (I’m stealing this question because it’s cute, ok?)

What’s your favourite season?

What’s the first show/book/film/game that you fell in love with completely? (i.e. Pirates of the Caribbean was my first real obsession and still has a place in my heart)

Do you have any irrational fears?

What’s your favourite smell?

What’s your opinion on mint chocolate?

I tag @solarsystemus @ohboyitshadoy ma boii’s, @justacalgarykid @uncharted-delight @keynilla @queen-of-tombs @comeonrafe @prodevsqvodlicentia @nathantheamazingdrake2 @aluesora and @ifalltheyearwereplayingholidays

Feel free to ignore!

[dfroza]

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

for june 8 of 2021 with Proverbs 8 and Psalm 8, accompanied by Psalm 81 for the 81st day of Spring and Psalm 9 for day 159 of the year (now with the consummate book of 150 Psalms in its 2nd revolution this year)

[Proverbs 8]

[Wisdom Calling]

Can’t you hear the voice of Wisdom?

From the top of the mountains of influence

she speaks into the gateways of the glorious city.

At the place where pathways merge,

at the entrance of every portal,

there she stands, ready to impart understanding,

shouting aloud to all who enter,

preaching her sermon to those who will listen.

“I’m calling to you, sons of Adam,

yes, and to you daughters as well.

Listen to me and you will be prudent and wise.

For even the foolish and feeble can receive an understanding heart

that will change their inner being.

The meaning of my words will release within you revelation

for you to reign in life.

My lyrics will empower you to live by what is right.

For everything I say is unquestionably true,

and I refuse to endure the lies of lawlessness—

my words will never lead you astray.

All the declarations of my mouth can be trusted;

they contain no twisted logic or perversion of the truth.

All my words are clear and straightforward to everyone

who possesses spiritual understanding.

If you have an open mind, you will receive revelation-knowledge.

My wise correction is more valuable than silver or gold.

The finest gold is nothing compared to the revelation-knowledge

I can impart.”

Wisdom is so priceless that it exceeds the value of any jewel.

Nothing you could wish for can equal her.

“For I am Wisdom, and I am shrewd and intelligent.

I have at my disposal living-understanding

to devise a plan for your life.

Wisdom pours into you

when you begin to hate every form of evil in your life,

for that’s what worship and fearing God is all about.

Then you will discover

that your pompous pride and perverse speech

are the very ways of wickedness that I hate!”

[The Power of Wisdom]

“You will find true success when you find me,

for I have insight into wise plans that are designed just for you.

I hold in my hands living-understanding, courage, and strength.

I empower kings to reign and rulers to make laws that are just.

I empower princes to rise and take dominion,

and generous ones to govern the earth.

I will show my love to those who passionately love me.

For they will search and search continually until they find me.

Unending wealth and glory

come to those who discover where I dwell.

The riches of righteousness and a long, satisfying life

will be given to them.

What I impart has greater worth than gold and treasure,

and the increase I bring benefits more than a windfall of income.

I lead you into the ways of righteousness

to discover the paths of true justice.

Those who love me gain great wealth and a glorious inheritance,

and I will fill their lives with treasures.”

[Wisdom in the Beginning]

“In the beginning I was there,

for God possessed me even before he created the universe.

From eternity past I was set in place,

before the world began.

I was anointed from the beginning.

Before the oceans depths were poured out,

and before there were any glorious fountains

overflowing with water,

I was there, dancing!

Even before one mountain had been sculpted

or one hill raised up,

I was already there, dancing!

When he created the earth, the fields,

even the first atom of dust,

I was already there.

When he hung the tapestry of the heavens

and stretched out the horizon of the earth,

when the clouds and skies were set in place

and the subterranean fountains began to flow strong,

I was already there.

When he set in place the pillars of the earth

and spoke the decrees of the seas,

commanding the waves

so that they wouldn’t overstep their boundaries,

I was there, close to the Creator’s side as his master artist.

Daily he was filled with delight in me

as I playfully rejoiced before him.

I laughed and played,

so happy with what he had made,

while finding my delight in the children of men.”

[Wisdom Worth Waiting For]

“So listen, my sons and daughters, to everything I tell you,

for nothing will bring you more joy than following my ways.

Listen to my counsel,

for my instruction will enlighten you.

You’ll be wise not to ignore it.

If you wait at wisdom’s doorway,

longing to hear a word for every day,

joy will break forth within you as you listen for what I’ll say.

For the fountain of life pours into you every time that you find me,

and this is the secret of growing in the delight

and the favor of the Lord.

But those who stumble and miss me will be sorry they did!

For ignoring what I have to say will bring harm to your own soul.

Those who hate me are simply flirting with death!”

The Book of Proverbs, Chapter 8 (The Passion Translation)

[Psalm 8]

For the worship leader. A song of David accompanied by the harp.

O Eternal, our Lord,

Your majestic name is heard throughout the earth;

Your magnificent glory shines far above the skies.

From the mouths and souls of infants and toddlers, the most innocent,

You have decreed power to stop Your adversaries

and quash those who seek revenge.

When I gaze to the skies and meditate on Your creation—

on the moon, stars, and all You have made,

I can’t help but wonder why You care about mortals—

sons and daughters of men—

specks of dust floating about the cosmos.

But You placed the son of man just beneath God

and honored him like royalty, crowning him with glory and honor.

You ordained him to govern the works of Your hands,

to nurture the offspring of Your divine imagination;

You placed everything on earth beneath his feet:

All kinds of domesticated animals,

even the wild animals in the fields and forests,

The birds of the sky and the fish of the sea,

all the multitudes of living things that travel the currents of the oceans.

O Eternal, our Lord,

Your majestic name is heard throughout the earth.

The Book of Psalms, Poem 8 (The Voice)

[Psalm 81]

For the worship leader. A song of Asaph accompanied by the harp.

Sing with joy to God, our strength, our fortress.

Raise your voices to the True God of Jacob.

Sing and strike up a melody;

sound the tambourine,

strum the sweet lyre and the harp.

Blow the trumpet to announce the new moon,

the full moon, the day of our feast.

For this is prescribed for Israel,

a rule ordained by the True God of Jacob.

A precept established by God in Joseph

during His journey in Egypt.

I hear it said in a language foreign to me:

“I removed the burden from your shoulders;

I removed heavy baskets from your hands.

You cried out to Me, I heard your distress, and I delivered you;

I answered you from the secret place, where clouds of thunder roll.

I tested you at the waters of Meribah.

[pause]

“O My people, hear Me; I will rebuke you.

Israel, Israel! If you would only listen to Me.

Do not surround yourselves with other gods

or bow down to strange gods.

I am the Eternal, your True God.

I liberated you from slavery, led you out from the land of Egypt.

If you open your mouth wide, I will fill it.

“But My own people did not hear My voice!

Israel refused to obey Me.

So I freed them to follow their hard hearts,

to do what they thought was best.

If only My people would hear My voice

and Israel would follow My direction!

Then I would not hesitate to humble their enemies

and defeat their opposition Myself.

Those who hate the Eternal will cower in His presence, pretending to submit;

they secretly loathe Him, yet their doom is forever.

But you—I will feed you the best wheat

and satisfy you with honey out of the rock.”

The Book of Psalms, Poem 81 (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)