#imagine writing the lyric but the ten thousand suns in my chest

[fanchonmoreau]

Up around Lake Michigan where we met I said I have no regrets I didn’t know anything. But the 10,000 suns in my chest I have just one left I have one left. 

The Bengsons (married couple Abigail and Shaun Bengson) perform ‘The Lucky Ones’ from their musical of the same name. I saw this just over two years ago at Ars Nova, and it’s a searing work about childhood trauma and how sometimes the only person you can heal is yourself. I still think about it often.

I miss theater so much. 

[vaguekiwi]

Whom Shall I Fear?

@tony-is-my-daddy​ posted this and my brain fucking broke down.

Whom Shall I Fear?

Pairings: Tony Stark x Peter Parker

Summary: 1 Samuel 16 - 17 but it’s Starker. (David in Saul’s Service, David and Goliath.) Tony is David and Peter is Jonathan and I have so much to say about this but I’m gonna put it at the very end.

Characters: David:Tony Stark, Jonathan:Peter Parker, Saul:Richard Parker (background unnamed Samuel, Goliath, and Merab.)

Word Count: ~2000

Other Inspiration: Sight by Sleeping at Last

Warnings: Biblical crossover/speculation, safe for work, not safe for church, hint of homophobia, inappropriate use of Biblical concepts/language

When they met, they were both still young.

There was a new attendant in the king’s court. He had dark hair and his neck was curved toward the instrument, so Peter could not see his face. But he handled the lyre carefully, almost reverently, as he played.

Peter itched for the man to turn his face, longed to see the rest of the full jaw in his view, wanted to see the colour of his eyes. Eyes which captured the lyre with an earnest focus, eyes which Peter was sure enamoured anything and anyone they looked at.

“Peter!” Peter started at the sound of the king’s voice, but was glad he did not sound angry or resigned.

“I apologise, my lord king.” Peter bowed when he addressed his father. He could feel those eyes on him now, fought the urge to turn.

“Peter,” King Richard straightened himself and waved his son in, “come, meet Anthony.” So Peter faced the musician who stood to bow.

Peter could see immediately that he could do more than play the lyre. His frame was strong and his eyes - Peter had been right - were bewitching pools of brown; traces of green and gold flashed in the man’s gaze as he looked Peter up and down.

“A warrior, too,” King Richard sighed as Peter shook Anthony’s hand, “yet to truly prove himself in battle, but that time will come. I find his songs… soothing.”

Anthony finally spoke, his cadence rough and gaze never leaving Peter’s face, “I am fortunate the Lord has blessed me with such a gift, my king.”

“Yes, thanks be to God.” The king mumbled, then shook his head. “To think your talents were being wasted so— herding sheep! It is good you have come here, Anthony.”

“I am grateful to be here, my king. And grateful too, for the beautiful instrument you have provided me.”

The king mumbled at that, and made a motion that he should continue playing. So Anthony sat down again and lifted the lyre.

Peter knew he had effectively been dismissed, but he lingered outside the door. He pressed his back to the wall and listened to Anthony’s music. He wondered why his cheeks were warm, and what the stirring in his stomach meant.

—

Anthony’s music did more than soothe the king. It stopped any temperamental episodes all together. The entire castle grew to welcome the sight of the young man with the lyre who could keep the king’s demons at bay.

He was not there all the time. He often went home to his family. Said tiredly that he needed to look after his father, help his brothers, and of course continue to watch the sheep.

When he was not there, King Richard became paranoid and angry. He threw things and spat heresy. The rumours troubled him; the ones that said King Richard had lost favour with God, that God had sent prophets to anoint a new king. Peter didn’t know whether to believe them or not, he just continued to pray for forgiveness for his father.

Then Anthony would return with his lyre, always carefully tuned and polished, and he would play to ease the king’s heart.

He sang too, beautiful homilies of faith and wonder; stories about far-off lands and battle glory. It was because he sang that Peter first got to know him.

“Anthony, are you alright?” He found the young man bending over a desk, a quill rolling between his fingers, lower lip tucked into his mouth.

“Prince Peter,” The shepherd looked up and their eyes met, and Peter wished they hadn’t. He did not want to feel surrounded the way he did by that gaze, like there was pressure on all sides and he was held down by it. Like he desperately needed to come up for air, but could not unless the strength and assurance in Anthony’s gaze gave such permission.

It was a strange feeling of authority, between prince and subject. But it also felt right.

Then Anthony turned his worried gaze back to the paper and he sighed in exasperation. “I am having trouble writing,” he admitted at length, “the words don’t come as easily as some might think.”

“What is it about?”

Peter stepped further into the room, wanting to thumb away the anxiety creasing Anthony’s forehead.

“Fear,” Anthony chewed his bottom lip and anxiously rubbed the fingers of one hand together so flakes of ink fell to the top of the desk. Peter looked down at the paper, the jumble tight print against the page.

The wicked advance against me to devour me, the armies besiege me, war breaks out against me.

There was no music written to the lyric, but Peter could imagine it easily. Could hear Anthony’s lilting voice while his fingers strummed the lyre.

Peter spoke, and put his finger to the top of the page, “if it is about fear, then what is it that gives you strength when afraid? Write about that.” And so Anthony put his quill to the page again and scrawled

The Lord is my light, whom shall I fear?

Then he went still and looked up at Peter.

“It’s… difficult to write, my prince. With someone watching… like this.”

Peter took several steps back which were too big, putting more distance between them than they needed. “Of course, I’m sorry.” He said and turned away. The wicked advance against me, armies besiege me. What did that mean? What did Anthony, the shepherd with the king’s favour, have to be afraid of?

Before Peter left, Anthony called:

“Thank you, Prince Peter.”

And so that became routine. Short moments in the afternoon sitting in an abandoned office; Peter prompted and Anthony’s words flowed. And come evening Peter snuck to the king’s chambers and listened for the finished song.

—

 King Richard was right, Anthony did eventually have cause to prove himself in battle.

Peter watched from afar with a trembling lip as Anthony shed the armour he’d been given.

Anthony cast aside his sword and declared the Lord was with him. It was a haughty sentiment, Peter thought, when in theory the Lord was with all of them.

Peter watched the musician push his way to the front lines with only a sling and five smooth stones in hand. Peter turned away, feeling a deep loss at the prospect of his friend’s death. The man who had brought peace to the king’s tortured mind.

The army jeered. King Richard shook his head sadly.

Peter thought of the tales of heroism which had been borne from Anthony’s mind - and what a brilliant mind it was - and sent a prayer for the Lord to protect His servant.

Afterward, when Anthony held the enemy commander’s head aloft, when their army roared and their foes retreated, Peter looked cautiously to his father. They could hear the chanting from here:

Richard has slain his thousands

And Anthony his tens of thousands!

A thinly-veiled insult to the king, if ever there was one.

King Richard’s face was unreadable as he turned to an aide. “Bring the shepherd boy to me.” He ordered.

And Peter thought God must be weary by now of his prayers.

—

But the king did not kill Anthony.

Peter was waiting outside the tent when he emerged. Blood still stained his hands and his clothes were still torn, but now a handsome purple mantle had been draped over his shoulders.

“Anthony!”

“Prince Peter.”

They stood just a bit too far apart from one another, a setting sun casting them in golden light while the cheers of victory and scent of sweet wine filled the space between them.

“My father…”

“He did not hurt me,” Anthony shrugged off the mantle and trudged away. Peter hurried to follow him.

“Are you alright?”

Anthony took them away from the festivities, toward the back of camp and to the seclusion of the streams and veld beyond.

When they were too far for anyone to hear them, but probably still in sight, Anthony said: “Our lord king has asked me to stay with him. To advise. To lead your army.”

“That is a great honour,” Peter said, even though his heart clutched with worry, “your family will be proud.”

“Prince Peter,” Anthony stopped now and turned to face him. He rubbed two fingers together, they watched flakes of dried blood sift off and settle to the ground.

“Prince Peter, I fear I am an enemy of your father.”

Peter glanced furtively back to camp before asking, “Why do you say that?”

“Have you heard that another man was anointed by the prophets? To be king in your father’s stead?”

“Yes.” Peter was conscious of his heart racing in his chest. He had a suspicion of what Anthony would say next, he did not know if he was afraid of it or wanted it to be true.

“Peter, I cannot lose a battle.” With the honorific prince cast away, Peter felt like his own skin had been peeled back, like Anthony was looking down at something raw and something secret. Anthony shook his head and kicked his foot into the desert ground, “I can go up against a ten foot tall general without a sword and still win… apparently.”

Peter whispered: “If you are the man the rumours are about, then the king will want you dead.”

“Or he will want me leashed,” Anthony replied, “he has already offered your sister’s hand. A fine home. A title. He is already afraid of me.”

“There is good reason to be afraid of any man with the Lord’s favour.” Peter mumbled, and then gasped when Anthony stepped forward. He put one hand on the small of Peter’s back and the other on the side of his neck, Peter could still smell the blood on it. The stench of sweat flooded his nostrils and they were very close like this, pressed flush against one another.

“Are you afraid of me, Peter?”

Peter didn’t completely understand the question, but he understood what was happening. He understood the danger of it, the horror of it. He understood that anyone could look down on them from here, and if not recognise them they could recognise the sin of two men so close.

His voice shook, “This is an abomination, Anthony-”

But Anthony only held him tighter, “The Lord is my rock, my protection, my Saviour. I can run to him for safety. He is my shield and my saving strength, my defender.” They were his own lyrics, his breath hot on Peter’s neck as he growled them out, “the world cannot touch me, Peter. Not unless He wills it. And He won’t, His plans for me are grander than this one battle.”

They were both quiet, Peter’s breath was hoarse but he let himself hang in Anthony’s grip, pressed his chin into his palm.

Again: “Peter… are you afraid of me?”

“If the Lord has chosen you to be king, then whom shall I fear?”

Anthony smiled, and it was genuine. It was happy. It was born from goodness and patience, from peace, joy, and love.

And Peter reached for the soft woollen britches which Anthony wore, torn at the knees and along his thigh from the battle.

“May I worship my king?”

Anthony growled. It was a sound that sent a spike of heat through Peter’s whole body. That made his head white with electricity when their lips met.

“Only if I may reward my servant.”

--------

Notes from Grace:

Okay, there’s SO much potential to this story. Everything I have written here is before the Bible actually mentions David and Jonathan making their covenant together. Like after this, there’s chapters on King Saul hunting David, Jonathan helping him to escape, Jonathan manipulating and lying to his father to protect David, Saul lowkey realising they’re in love so lying to Jonathan and accusing David of stealing his son away and corrupting him. There’s this actual dialogue:

**David: Your father knows very well that I have found favour in your eyes

Jonathan: Whatever you want me to do, I’ll do for you

Jonathan: Don’t be afraid, my father Saul will not lay a hand on you. You will be king over Israel, and I will be second to you.

And these actual verses:

“So Jonathan made a covenant with the house of David, saying ‘May the Lord call David’s enemies to account.’ And Jonathan had David reaffirm his oath out of love for him, because he loved him as he loved himself.”

“Then they kissed each other and wept together — but David wept the most”

And David being on the run and Jonathan straight up sneaking away from his dad to meet up in a secret liaison like who can possibly say that wasn’t gay as hell?????

And Saul offering David two of his daughters’ hands in marriage and David being like “... nah.” while ‘affirming covenants’ with Jonathan left and right.

But this is all I wrote. If anyone’s into it I would encourage/welcome you to continue it and would love to be tagged in any such continuation.

**(I use an NIV Bible for 99% of my Bible needs)