Luna's Light
The stars above are making beautiful shapes for us, Dear
So there is nothing left to fear
The universe is speaking to us
You and me, we have so much trust
So, make the leap and I will catch you
Everything, our future, is right in view
Take the jump, it is far and wide
But you'll find comfort in the ocean's tide
Slowly ebbing, without much force
All affected by the lunar course
Dear Luna's face shines bright, My Love
Here on the beach with the stars above
Her bright face is alluring and begging our focus
But the only beauty we see is in us
You are my brightness, my balance, my truth
And all the while you bring me back to my youth
The connection is powerful, it can't be beat
You make my life perfect and complete
So in Luna's bright light, take me away
And in your arms I will forever stay
She is glowing, but she can be beat
And because of that, I will always be complete
Light shines bright in the darkness
That is you
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it's really annoying that people keep being like 'waaa the greens aren't sympathetic enough!' as if traditional gender essentialism, straight up sexism, obsession with power, righteous religious morality, selfishness and Conservative ideals should be made sympathetic. I love him but watching alt shift x and he off the cuff suggests that rhaenyras affair with harwin us the original sin of the conflict, and that it's rhaenyras fault that this all happened because she should have slept with someone who looked more like laenor and had kids with them. so first of all, suggesting that the problem with rhaenyras children is that their bastardry is too obvious and not the fact that they're bastards is so politics of him and it really gets to the root of alicent et als hypocrisy. is the problem here a problem of morality or of audaciousness? if it's a problem of morality, well I hate to break it to you but what rhaenyra did is only immoral by the standards of her fucked society, everyone involved was consenting and happy with the sitch, and is certainly not straight up inherently evil. we aren't actually Catholic here guys.
secondly! rhaenyra's kids father is not the reason, or original sin of the conflict and if it is then the greens are just straight up evil because rhaenyra has the backing of the King, has not been officially accused of any crime, and doesn't under westerosi political law lose her right to the throne because of it. if rhaes first three kids being bastards is the only problem with her ascent to the throne, then guess what, she has two legitimate children with daemon and through her line, which is the official line stated by the king and therefore the true line, if rhae was disinherited because of her adultery the next heir to the throne would be aegon the younger. so the greens are still wrong and their position is all obfuscation and arm flapping to hide the fact that alicent and otto and their hangers on just want power. they don't think that aegon the elder is the rightful heir, they just want to maintain power through him and that's the entire fucking reason the greens are the bad guys. and they ARE the bad guys. that doesn't mean they can't be sympathetic, but it does mean they are wrong. remember, otto was manipulating alicent to wrongfully sieze the thrown before rhaenyra had even had children. the conflict isn't about rhaenyras kids and if rhaenyra had only legitimate, blonde haired valyrian looking children the conflict would still have happened.
the greens are the bad guys. the conflict is about sexism. that's it. it's just about sexism. the whole conflict and story of the dance is about sexism, based loosely on a historical event that was about sexism. (matilda vs stephen). sexism is bad. sexism is the villain. the greens are defenders and upholders of sexism. the greens are bad.
rhaenys should have been queen over viserys, but sexism of the Lords of westeros prevailed. despite the fact that woman do inherit titles over their male relatives if they're next in line within the great and lesser houses. that is an injustice, and shouldn't have happened
viserys chose rhaenyra as his successor, and never ever wavered on that decision, especially never in any official capacity or away from the private sector. it doesn't matter what alicent suggested viserys said on his death bed, it wasn't in official capacity and so it isn't legal. rhaenyra is the next in line to the throne and absolutely should succeed her father, regardless of the status of her children. that is, unless you allow sexism to prevail and the point of the story is that you shouldn't.
no, the story isn't about rhaenyra being the best Queen ever and therefore inherently worthy of the throne. but it is about the fact that the only reason rhaenyra isn't crowned is becuase of sexism. becuase rhaenyra is a woman. rhaenyra should absolutely have been queen, without contention. if rhaenyra said it to be so while monarch, Jace should have been king after her. if youre bothered by jace's bastard status or think that should preclude him, maybe look at history and remember that Elizabeth the first was legally considered illegitimate her entire reign. and also, legitimacy is a made up thing and shouldn't effect people's lives, just like sexism shouldn't.
if you have a problem with the greens being portrayed as they are, then you have a problem with the greens. as you should. because they're being portrayed exactly as grrm wrote the conflict, and actually with a lot more sympathy then they originally had.
the basic facts and the entire moral point of the story, especially with how it pertains to asoiaf, is that the greens lust for power and sexism stole rhaenyras crown and caused a pointless war where both sides suffered immense losses and smallfolk and dragons alike were destroyed out of greed and folly. it isn't, oh yeah you're right women shouldn't be allowed to rule because they'll just fuck the wrong people and men will be uncomfortable with it, damn, these quasi catholics have some good points about oppression and lack of personal freedom of expression. the story is about how women within westeros have their entire lives ruined and defined by sexism, alicent included even though she's a propagator of it, and how that's wrong. it's not actually about sides, guys. it's just about sexism.
get a grip. you can like alicent as a character and still admit that she's on the wrong side. I do it all the time.
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it's not often you get to see a sleepy suguru.
it's not like he's not tired – he's fucking exhausted; the dreams just don't seem to like him all that much. but he's usually toughing it out, trying to seem as composed and put-together as possible. the dark skin underneath his eyes betray him, though.
so you don't really know why today is different. is he just more tired? have all of the sleepless hours caught up with him? or is it just you; could it be that your body is the most comfortable place to rest his heavy head? or is it your perfume that's soothing him to sleep?
or is it the fingers in his hair?
he doesn't really let others play with his hair too ofter either. satoru and shoko had been the only exceptions but that was before you came along. satoru uses his hair as a stim, something to play with when he's bored. suguru has taught him manners though – a few slaps against satoru's fingers and chest to remind him to be more careful. and shoko is just more likely to brush a strand from his eyes or help him tie them up in a half-assed bun whenever his own hands are full with whatever.
you like playing with hair, always have and always will. it's relaxing and it's fun and it's calming and you love it. when you first met suguru, his hair was the second thing you noticed about him (his keen purple eyes being the first). an irresistible itch burned in your fingertips everytime you saw him, everytime he wore his hair down. it just looked so pretty and soft.
he takes very good care of his hair, you know that much. specific shampoos and conditioners, masks and all – he's all in. and nobody bats an eye. not that they should but satoru definitely gets made fun of because of his stupidly expensive collection of figurines and shoko gets teased for her silly mug shelf – and yet, neither of them ever comment on the bottles and tubs of fancy products that lay on his bathroom counter.
his hair also smells good. the compliment always hangs on the tip of your tongue but stays hidden in fear of coming off too weird. too creepy. but he doesn smell good. even with closed eyes and ears and you'd find him in a crowd. you wonder whether he knows that.
as you grew closer and closer, the now scorching itch only doubled in need. you never did gather the strenght to outwardly ask him – if you could play with his hair? if you could caress it? comb through it? it was an accident.
a simple gloomy friday afternoon: you're both lazing on your couch, staring at the screen. it's funny – you find yourself muffling your already quiet bursts of laughter, suguru alongside you. he's sitting close by, closer than usual. you don't ask him about it.
he asked to come over; something-something about being sick of his own apartment. you understand that, so you tell him that your home is his home (you'd tell him that even if you didn't understand). you hear the faint smile when he thanks you over the phone.
even when he looks like he hasn't slept in months – he looks good. you can tell he's overexaggerating his smile a bit but don't say anything about it, rewarding him with a grin of your own. his eyes flick to your lips and how they curve and he thinks about how warm it feels to look at you. maybe he's not exaggerating anymore.
your arms open wide, inviting him into you and he obliges, as always. he smells good. as always.
his hands lock behind your back and your behind his neck. your hearts meet and they greet each other with a fastened beat, eager to be in sync – to feel each other again.
he pulls back and the corners of his eyes crinkle when he smiles. he's not doing it anymore and you're happy to relieve him even if it's for mere moments.
he's wearing a sweather and his hair is down. he has lip gloss on; you try to think whether he's more of a mint guy or more of a shea guy. it remains a mystery.
and now you're on the couch with two cups of warm tea waiting for you on the small table. he smells good. he's so close. he snickers at the screen and you can't take your eyes off of him. it's the same small crinkle of the eyes and the faintest pink tint on his cheeks.
you know he knows that you're looking at him. you've been told to have a staring problem and he's just an observant guy. it's a terrible match. or a perfect one.
he doesn't say anything though; instead he leans his head back and little to the side against the headrest (he's even closer now) and you find yourself shifting an inch aswell. perhaps magnets are involved? the iron in your blood pulling you together?
no, that can't be. you'd have to be polar opposites for that to work. warm-blooded and cold-blooded? would that work? you're getting too poetic and he's looking at you now.
it's an accident. it slips out on its own. you smell good. caught off guard by your own comment, you're about to apologize when a hand on your thigh almost makes you suffocate on the words stuck in your throat.
he laughs and it feels so good. he thanks you. he means it, you see it in his tired eyes. he likes the way you blush.
turning his focus back to the tv, you try to collect yourself. a deep breath in and a deep one out and a deep one in and a de—
a weight on your shoulder. he smells so good. he's so close. you peek down, curious as to whether this is a dream or not. but suguru's head is in fact laid on your body, sinking a bit more into you by the second. a deep breath in and a deep one out.
seeking for a more comfortable position, you snuggle closer to him. it's hard to focus but you're making it your sole mission to make him feel safe. your arm curls around his body, his shoulder, and rests right by a flock of his hair.
his cheek is now smushed against the top of your chest and the weight of love doesn't seem as bad as everyone keeps telling you. his hand finds a place around your waist; loosely – as if he's the one who's afraid to scare you off. silly.
his breath against you feels right and the butterflies in your stomach refuse to calm down. so you do what you always do when you get nervous – completely on their own, your fingers caress his hair. just smoothing over it at first but before you know it, they're combing through a strand and twirling the ends between themselves.
you wanna apologize, again, but the soft little grunt that emits from the man keeps you from doing so.
don't stop.
+ this is for @twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat just bc it feels right
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