#maybe three?

[wetsandmemories]

I almost monthly think about that one dialogue between cassian and luthen when the second one says "eventually they'll hang us both" and andor replies "speak for yourself". it is the last time they see each other, and then, exactly a year later, they both die just a few days apart

[swan2swan]

And their theme is back!

[oneawkwardcookie]

The temptation to post two videos on the same day...

[starrattlerofprydain]

Oh yeeeah, I still have two videos I gotta edit

[themoonmothwrites]

Staying up too late doing shit all is apparently not a thing you get over when you have two kids

[grandapplewit]

An Anidalafox reunion snippet, from the fic I’m writing

The ship is silent, creaking in the cool breeze of the Dantooine night. The durasteel under Fox’s boot is unyielding and familiar. The rebel base wasn’t exactly welcoming, and he doesn’t want any surprises waiting for them in the morning.

Soft footsteps make him flinch, they’re not the solid march of a trooper, nor the pitter patter of young children, and he has the sinking sensation that he knows exactly who is at the door. The ships manifest coughs up a cloud of Kashyyykian earth as he drops it to the floor with a thunk. Standing, he brushes off his pants, still light and disorienting after over a decade in nanoprene and duraplast.

He turns. The sight of Padmé Amidala knocks the air out of him, just like it did the first time. She’s ethereal, even in ill fitting sleep clothes and ten years older than he’s ever seen her. The lines on her face exude the calmness and dignity her youth once kept from her on the senate floor. The gray in her hair catches the light, making her shine. She’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

He can’t look at her. She’s calm, and beautiful, and dignified, and everything he’s ever dreamt of... and the last time he’d seen her out of a dream he’d tried to put a blasted bolt through her head. Swallowing, he turns his head.

Her breath catches, and he can feel the desperation in her voice.

“Fox?”

He squeezes his eyes shut. There’s something in getting what you’ve always wanted that taints the moment bittersweet. Perhaps it’s the guilt clawing it’s way up his throat.

A soft touch startles him out of his thoughts. The pads of her fingers tracing their way across his jaw, pulling his face towards her. He’s never been able to tell her no, he doubts anyone could.

She gasps, slightly, when she sees his face. A gust of breath that smells of lemongrass and sleep. Her fingers trace the scars down his cheeks, mapping out the years he has been away from her. His hands hang useless at his sides, he shouldn’t be allowed to touch her, as it is.

She smoothes her thumb across the bags under his eyes, the one thing that hasn’t changed since the end of the war.

“Fox, will you look at me?” Her voice shakes, and something deep within him starts to crack. He squeezes his eyes shut tighter, clenching his hands into fists. The ship creaks around them, breathes mingling in the temperate air.

Her hands slide from his cheeks, as if to step away, and oh, his heart shatters. He moves forewords, his hands stopping halfway to her face as his brain chat he’s up with his body. He’s frozen, staring into her eyes, watching the tears start to well.

A smile graces her lips, just barely, and she leads his hands the rest of the way. Her skin is soft under his callouses, just as he remembered. She leans into his touch, a puff of a laugh escaping her lips.

“Padmé,” the word feels like honey on his tongue, heavy and decadent. He steps closer, resting his forehead against hers, fingers on the nape of her neck. He laughs a broken, needy sound, tears catching in the back of his throat.

The world catches up to him, and his knees hit the floor. There’s a sharp sound from the door, Swift footsteps fueled by worry. He presses his face into her stomach, wrapping his arms around her waist like a bar. A mantra of ‘I’m sorry, ni ceta, I’m sorry,” falls from his lips. A prayer and a damnation all at once.

Slim fingers thread their way through his hair as a calloused palm rests on his shoulders. The dust besides him is unsettled as Anakin drops besides him, burying his face into his neck.

“You did nothing wrong, cyare, nothing at all. The ones apologizing should be us.” Anakin’s lips brushing against his neck with every broken word. “I’m so sorry we didn’t come find you.”

Padmé makes a broken sound above him, settling to rest his forehead against hers.

“I love you.” Her tears brush wet against his cheeks. “I love you so much, and I have spent every day praying to all the little gods that I may see you again.”

“Please, stay.” Anakin turns his face to look at him, tears tracking rivers down his face. “Please.”

A sob rips its way out of his mouth, and he nods. “Mhi solus tome, mhi solus dar’tome, mhi me’dinui an, mhi ba’juri verde.” His hands find Anakin’s curls and pull.

“Mhi solus tome, mhi solus dar’tome, mhi me’dinui an, mhi ba’juri verde.” Their voices mingle in the empty spaceship, echoing off of the walls.

Fox shutters, trailing a line of kisses down Padmé’s face. She laughs into his mouth, their tears mixing together. Anakin presses his lips to his temple, stroking a hand up Padmé’s side.

“Come, our rooms will be much more comfortable than this,” Padmé smiles, wiping at her cheeks. He takes her hand, and together they rise.

[peachywise]

hmm it seems as if I've been playing video games for six hours

[jester-gestures]

i'm probably a subsystem but i've got...... idk actually..... maybe i have to think about it