no way oh my god


Prize your luck, Mr. Haxby.

anonymous asked:


Instead of tell you……….how about I show you, nonnie?

The first time you fall in love with her, she’s only a concept, a landmark, a goddess. I was not elected to watch my people suffer and die while you discuss this invasion in a committee! Your planet is one of ash and you hope to lead your people into the legacy that matches that of the phoenix, but you are weary, and you are alone in a galaxy that wants to meld you, your planet, into something you do not and cannot support.

But there is this Queen made of durasteel with lips coated in paint the color of blood and you stand a Duchess formed of lilies and think I want to be her.

When you meet her, you are astonished by this woman. She is young; that much is still visible through her facepaint, her features are still sculpted more by youth than by time. (Of course, you do not know her age for certain but figure there cannot be more than a decade between the both of you.) When you meet her, you are technically on equal footing, both of you the rulers of your own planets, but still–there is a whisper of a fluttering at the bottom of your stomach.

There are pieces of your heart that still lie within the grasp of a blue-eyed man on Coruscant, but your soul inside yearns for a place to rest. In the warmth of her brown eyes, and in the gravity of her voice, you sense a formative wish in the back of your mind. It would be an honor to see her smile.

The Duchess and the Queen; you both are a powerful set of friends. People still do not know what to do with you and fear her lack of reverence for political systems that serve themselves instead of the greater good. She chides you for your boldness; you sigh exasperatedly at her that Oh, believe me, I am still holding back, my dear.

But, you are one of a privileged few that has seen the young woman behind the paint, the headdress, the elaborate wear. She is made of sunshine itself; stars yield to her gravitational pull. Her hands have reformed her home for the better and she is beloved by many.

You, however, are not. You cannot escape people’s beliefs about your home, and to be honest, you are much happier in your own home than among eyes that refuse to listen to what you want to achieve. But, she does. Every time. She listens, and her eyebrows furrow with a particular type of focus that pulls apart your resolve as if you are nothing more than an old and tired rope. Her lilting, rolling accent–her accent, not the one crafted in a mortal body with the power of immortal spirits–entrances you. And your heart settles inside your chest with a rare moment of silent peace when she gives you the honor of a smile. 

It takes your subconscious to let you know the true nature of your feelings. It comes in a dream as light as air; for all the power you hold, your dream is remarkably earthly and humble. It is nothing more than an image; your mind taunts you with the divine honor of combing your fingers through her miles of curls.

(There’s a very real instance when a handmaiden loses her comb and you volunteer yours. She sets her head in your lap and you detangle her damp curls for nearly an hour. When she dozes off, there is an ache settling between your lungs where warmth should be.)

You love her

And unlike the love you stole from a boy’s peace of mind nearly a decade ago, you give this love to her without ever expressing it aloud. You remain her close friend and give her all of your trust; for years, you watch the Senate bow to the power of her intellect and the swelling of her heart and dream what it would be like to call her yours.

The galaxy pulls itself apart in a war you cannot understand and the both of you stand in separate islands, but for all the universe, you cannot quite bring yourself to demean her. Her with her quizzical gaze who is still trying to fix things, still trying to do things for her people, still pushing forward.

You watch her in her Senatorial Apartments in a rare visit to Coruscant as she practices a speech. When you realize she’s trapped herself in an invisible love you did to yourself a decade ago, you promise to keep her secret. Because, ultimately, you are not a bad person, but she is better than you. And she does not deserve the conflict your love would bestow upon her.

So you offer your friendship and your time and your patience and resign yourself to dreams. There are bitter and selfish moments when you bitingly thing I could love her better and you stare back at the man that held your younger affections that will always have a spell on your resolve and wonder but would her love be as doomed as this? 

And you stay silent. And go home. And focus on your people. And dream of her eyes. For her birthday, you send her lilies to give her green stuck in a planet where durasteel grows better than anything organic. It’s not a life resigned to the wings, because you deserve more than that, but there’s a key in her hands she does not know she owns. Just in case.

(You do not know there’s a tugging affection in her heart for your laugh, your smile, your eyes. You do not know she stares a little too long at you in confusion. You do not know she thinks of so many similar things as you.)

anonymous asked:

Hi, different anon. You ARE a great writer. And you deserve all the awesomeness that ppl happen to rain upon you. And you story has totally impacted the fandom in a really great way and you should be aware of that! Cheers, Cic!!

OH MY GOD. Different anon, you are a jewel. I’m amazed at people’s capacity for kindness– that means you anon, you’re like walking around exploding the kindness meter just for kicks. I can’t tell you how much it means to me to have you say that I’ve brought some happiness to the fandom; that’s exactly what I hoped for, but didn’t dare hope for, but felt compelled to try for after TFA. The fandom has brought so much happiness to me and now so have you. Thank you, DA, so very much. 


today I found the origin of this gif

needless to say I was not disappointed 


All of a sudden, out of the middle of the trees in front of us, a thin, high, trembling voice struck up the well-known air and words: “Fifteen men on the Dead Man’s Chest Yo-ho-ho, and a bottle of rum!” I never have seen men more dreadfully affected than the pirates. The color went from their six faces like enchantment; some leaped to their feet, some clawed hold of others, Morgan groveled on the ground. “It’s Flint, by –!”

Some nerd: Pete Wentz is 100% completely heterosexual

Me: Okay, that’s cool. But did you know that he and Mikey Way dated? They dated. They were boyfriends. For real. In real life. Did you know that fact? It’s a nifty one.


“She went to visit your papa.”

oKAY BUT everyone would be at least double as upset with him because Gracia is an unarmed housewife and also Maes’ wife and everyone knows that they’re literally made for eachother and that she’d never kill him but Roy ‘burned her to death’ despite the few evidences there are and that’s just??? not to mention that he technically ‘turned Elicia into an orphan’