#WordCounter

[tathrin]

5, 6, and/or 19 for the fic writer asks? Thank you!

Questions taken from this ask game.

5. first sentence of the fifth paragraph of an unpublished WIP

Ahaha okay let's go take a look!

"That the elf would come for him, Gimli did not doubt; that the elf would find him was a certainty."

That's from the newest one I've started, I think, and it hasn't been posted or talked about anywhere yet.

6. the word that appears the most in your current draft

What an interesting idea! Unfortunately, the results are less interesting: my most commonly used word is all, which appears an apparent total of 1,385 times in the story so far. (Apparently wordcounter ignores "common words" but given that "all" wasn't ignored, I'm interested what the criteria is for "common" hmm.)

Second-most used word is Celebrimbor, which I suppose makes sense given that I'm literally calling this fic the "Celebrimbor Fellowship AU story." That appears 935 times—and Frodo comes in at third place, with 934! How appropriate that they're so well-balanced.

19. the most interesting topic you’ve researched for a fic

I failed to answer this one here, and I fear I'm still not sure I've got an actual most interesting topic answer, after so many years of looking-up-weird-shit...

So instead I'll give you the most recent one: what does the inside of a spider's body look like? (Don't click if you don't want to see.)

I did not enjoy this particular bout of research, tbh; but I am nothing if not dedicated to making sure the details are believable in my gimleaf fics! (You're welcome.)

What excellent questions to choose, these were a lot of fun (and very informative) to answer, thank you!

[seotoolsreport]

📝 New Tool: Word Counter.

Need to count words, characters, or spaces in your text? Our Word Counter Tool makes it simple and efficient! Perfect for writers, students, and marketers:

🔗 https://seotools.report/tools/word-counter

[blueseotools]

✍️ Count Your Words Instantly with Our Free Word Counter Tool! ✍️

Need to keep track of your word count for essays, articles, or social media posts? Our FREE Word Counter Tool helps you easily count words, characters, and even paragraphs in your text. Perfect for writers, students, and professionals!

✨ Why Choose Blue SEO Tools?

Completely Free 🆓

No Sign-Up Required 🙅‍♂️

Fast & Accurate ✅

User-Friendly Interface 🖥️

Take control of your writing and ensure your content meets any word count requirements!

💻 Try it now! 👉 Word Counter Tool

[onlinetoolsarena]

 Need a reliable tool to count your words on Tumblr?

📝 Look no further! Our Word Counter tool is here to simplify your writing process. ⚡️

✏️ Experience the convenience of accurate word count and unleash your creativity. Start using it now! 🌟💻

[toolhubforyou]

toolhubforyou.com, your one-stop destination for a wide range of online web tools to simplify your digital life. Whether you're a business professional, student, or simply looking for handy utilities, we've got you covered. Explore our collection of tools, including GST calculators, EMI calculators, QR code generators, word counters, and much more. Our user-friendly and intuitive tools are designed to make complex tasks a breeze. toolhubforyou.com is your trusted partner in harnessing the power of online tools for convenience and efficiency. Start optimizing your online experience today!

[insertdisc5]

scale of serre to isat what’s the scope of ts

isat

[airplanelanding]

Shen Yuan hated doctors. When he was a kid, he hated them because they were scary and always wanted to give him shots. Then, he got older, learned a bit more, grew a bit more, and found himself growing more neutral on them. They were a necessary evil.

Then, he fainted for the first time at seventeen, on his way home from exams.

After that, his life became nothing but doctors and tests and new medications. Each appointment made his resentment grow stronger. Every time, it was just a new doctor finding a new way to say he'd be sick for the rest of his life, the only treatment for his condition being lifestyle changes for symptom management and various attempts at medications that had a fifty-fifty chance of working or making him feel worse.

He grew tired as the years passed and his condition steadily grew worse. Symptoms and flare-ups that used to occur a few times a month, turned into a few times a week, turned into nearly every day. Things he used to do with ease turned into distant memories. Sports, dance, martial arts... Even grocery shopping, he found difficult by the time he was 24, the extended period of time on his feet and walking around something he was unable to handle anymore.

The minimization of his pain and suffering and struggling by doctors only made his resentment grow tenfold. "It's not that serious," or "it's not life-threatening," or a plethora of other ways they would minimize his illness, as if he didn't go from the Darling of the Shen's in Higher Society to a rumored recluse who didn't even leave his home to eat. As if he hadn't been forced to.

And sure, that resentment didn't just remain contained to being aimed at the doctors who never took him seriously and told him to just drink more water and exercise better, but Shen Yuan had little else to do anymore. So, he went online, he fell too far, and he became the infamous Peerless Cucumber. So what? Little else brought him joy anymore, gave him reason to live anymore. So what if he was a bitch to some shitty author?

He would forever defend his actions and words against the crime against literature that was Proud Immortal Demon Way.

He knows his logic is flawed. He had anger pent up for so long and he let it out against an un-involved source. In his defense, PIDW really was fucking terrible.

That's not the point here. The point is, Shen Yuan hated doctors. He hated them. And now, living as Shen Qingqiu -- given another chance at life only to fuck it up and get poisoned by Without-a-Cure -- he finds himself trying very, very hard to give Mu Qingfang the grace he never gave his doctors as Shen Yuan, and not fire undeserved vitriol his way despite the way the original owner of his body would have without a second thought.

Even now, as he sits on an overly familiar infirmary bed as Mu Qingfang stares at him with that overly familiar look of exasperation and concern, he reigns in the frustration simmering under his skin.

He bites the inside of his cheek and avoids worrisome eyes.

"Shen-shixiong pushed himself too far, again," Mu Qingfang says lightly, with careful, deliberate intonation.

It takes a painful amount of self-control and restraint not to scream.

He thought he was over this! He thought this was done! He left being sick, being weak, in his past life and still, still it fucking finds him again and haunts him.

Instead of screaming, he huffs through his nose.

Mu Qingfang frowns.

"If Mu-shidi could simply provide this shixiong with his prescription, this one would be most grateful," Shen Qingqiu says, with a tone so sickeningly polite it couldn't even begin to be mistaken for sincere. In his lap, his hands grip his closed fan with whitened knuckles.

"The medicine is not an end-all-be-all for your symptoms, Shixiong," Mu Qingfang sighs. "It can only do so much, you still must take care of yourself alongside it's use..."

Despite his words, he still summons his Head Disciple and passes along the prescription refill order to her, to take off to the greenhouse where it will be formulated and portioned out in the necessary doses.

"You should have come to me sooner if you were out," Mu Qingfang chides.

Shen Qingqiu does not deny this. Still, he argues, more childish than elegant. "Mu-shidi has been busy as of late with the illness spreading in town."

"I didn't know Shixiong was so selfless," Mu Qingfang replies, with the faintest hint of sass in his tone, "to ignore his own declining health in favor of the masses, which this one's disciples are more than capable of taking care of."

Shen Qingqiu purses his lips, but says no more. Mu Qingfang reaches for his wrist, and he wordlessly provides it.

After a moment, a soft sigh falls from the physician's lips.

"How long has it been since Liu-shixiong cleared your meridians?" he asks.

He already knows the answer, he's merely giving Shen Qingqiu a chance at honesty.

Shen Qingqiu does not take it.

"Let me guess, he is too busy, as well?" Mu Qingfang raises a pointed eyebrow. "Perhaps this one should go and find him, ask him if he is truly so busy as to neglect his duties to his Shixiong."

"You've made your point," Shen Qingqiu finally snaps, and his words come out harsher than he means them to. A little bit of that sharp, venomous vitriol spits out, frustration and resentment bubbling over the surface before he quickly tamps it back down and takes a breath. Calmer, he repeats, "you've made your point, Mu-shidi. This one will do better in future."

For what it's worth, Mu Qingfang appears to take no offense from his shixiong's sharp-edged strike.

"I surely do hope you mean that," he says softly. It makes Shen Qingqiu's chest grow heavy with a strange sort of guilt, the gentleness with which Mu Qingfang speaks those words. He can only avert his eyes and let his tense shoulders sag.

It is only then, once his defenses have dropped even minutely, that Mu Qingfang finally sets to work.

Cool qi pours into his meridians, but it is not uncomfortable or invasive like one may think. Instead, with it comes an unusual sense of comfort, relief, and refreshment. Like a drink of cold, crisp water at 3am after a nightmare that startled him awake.

Mu Qingfang's spiritual energy rarely feels like the foreign presence it is in his veins.

Never would Shen Qingqiu admit that out loud, though. Not even Liu Qingge's qi could bring him this level of comfort during their usual cleansing sessions. It is familiar and warm, but utterly different from Mu Qingfang's.

Not to mention, the precision with which Mu Qingfang navigates his spiritual veins, untangling and unblocking each point with little trouble. He struggles here and there, at the more aggravated spots, of course. Still, never once does Shen Qingqiu find himself in a place of discomfort.

It's hard, when Mu Qingfang finally finishes his treatment and retracts his qi and hand, to not slump down from the sheer relief Shen Qingqiu feels. His body is lighter, his breath comes easier -- hell, even his vision feels clearer. Mu Qingfang takes a step back and Shen Qingqiu allows himself the inelegance of stretching out his no longer aching limbs.

Mu Qingfang has seen him in worse states, a little relieved stretching is nothing to blink at. Once he's satisfied, Shen Qingqiu sits up straight on the infirmary bed and looks across the room, away from Mu Qingfang.

"Thanking Mu-shidi for his aid," he murmurs.

Mu Qingfang hums. Just then, his Head Disciple returns with his medication. Mu Qingfang accepts it from her with a few quiet words, before sending her back off to attend to the patients in her wing.

"This should last you longer than the last batch," Mu Qingfang tells him as he passes over the medicinal tea. "So you don't find yourself in another difficult position, should you be off the mountain when you typically begin to run low."

Shen Qingqiu accepts the prescription silently, his brows furrowed.

"Likewise this shidi will begin preparations for Shixiong's next batch early, so it will already be ready for delivery by the time you need it." Mu Qingfang pauses, hesitates. "Unless, Shixiong feels that this shidi is being too over-bearing?"

Ah, does his throat feel a little tight? Shen Qingqiu swallows thickly and exhales, staring at the small box of tea. He shakes his head once, almost imperceptibly.

"That is...acceptable," he mutters.

He does not need to look at Mu Qingfang to know he is smiling.

Shen Yuan hated doctors. Shen Qingqiu still hates doctors.

Mu Qingfang, however...

Yes, he can be infuriating at times, and a little patronizing even if he doesn't mean to be -- but that's just it. He doesn't mean it. He cares.

That's it. That's the difference. He wants to help not because it is his job, but because he cares about Shen Qingqiu. And yes, it was a long time before he was able to, but Shen Qingqiu can admit that now. Just like...just like he can admit the existence of the warmth that spreads over his chest when he sees Mu Qingfang's eyes crinkle with a smile just because Shen Qingqiu has finally let him take care of him.

He hates doctors, but Mu Qingfang is not just a doctor. He never has, and never will be, just a doctor.

Shen Qingqiu thanks him once more and takes his leave from the infirmary room, heart pounding against his ribs in a way he wishes deeply he could still ignore. Too many gentle, tender touches and quiet murmurs of concern have beat the ignorance out of him.

Ah, maybe one day, when he learns how to stop being a coward, he won't be just a shidi, either...

[motleyfam]

Living with a houseful of nocturnal crime-fighting vigilantes means that Duke’s come to expect a certain amount of solitude in the mornings—particularly on weekends, when even Alfred is rarely seen before ten—which is why he’s more than a little thrown when he enters the Cave at 6:30 on a Saturday to find Tim sitting up on one of the beds in the medical unit. He’s hugging his knees, forehead resting against them, keeping so still that for a moment Duke isn’t sure if he’s awake or asleep.

“Uh...Tim?” he says cautiously as he approaches the cot. “Are you okay? Do I need to call someone?”

“Nah…” Tim mumbles into his knees. “‘M fine. Just psyching myself up.”

“What exactly are you psyching yourself up for?” He takes in Tim’s unnatural pallor, the sheen of sweat on his face. “You didn’t get hurt on patrol last night, did you?”

Tim huffs out a breathy laugh. “Didn’t even patrol last night.”

Duke frowns. “Why not?” Friday night is prime time for the Bats; the entire night shift is on the roster (except for Steph, who thanks to some horrible luck with her college registrar was forced to take an eight a.m. sociology class on Saturdays).

“Benched, remember?” Releasing his legs, Tim tugs the sleeve of his oversized sweatshirt up just enough to reveal the gauze wrapped around his left hand.

Duke winces as it all comes flooding back to him. Three nights ago, he and Tim had been loading the dishwasher after dinner when Tim had accidentally dropped a salad plate. He’d tried to catch it mid-air, but the plate had hit the edge of the counter, shattering on impact and leaving him clutching a six-inch shard of broken china instead. The slice to his palm had required five sutures.

“Did you rip your stitches or something?” Duke asks.

Another huff of air—the ghost of a laugh. “No, but I’m about to.”

At Duke’s puzzled look, Tim sighs and explains, “I uh, woke up about an hour ago feeling kinda lousy.” A shiver runs through him. “Like, feverish lousy.”

“Shit,” Duke says, grimacing. Regardless of how careful they are with cleaning and dressing Tim’s wounds, his immunocompromised state will always put him at an increased risk of developing infections. He’d had three last year alone.

“Yeah,” Tim agrees with a tired sigh. He looks down at his gauze-wrapped hand again and grimaces. “Just psyching myself up to deal with it. ‘M kinda nauseous.”

“So…just to check if I’ve got this straight, your plan was to come down here alone, cut your own stitches, debride an infected wound, and redo the whole thing—all while running a fever and trying not to puke?”

“Uh…” Tim rubs awkwardly at the back of his neck. “That about sums it up, yeah.”

There’s a beat of silence between them.

Duke lets out a heavy sigh. “Alright.” He heads for the sink. “Just give me a minute to scrub in…”

[griefabyss69]

Hours

Written for @steddiemicrofic!

[ AO3 ]

'TIME' wc: 485 | rated: T | cw: N/A

Steve's usual partner for a fundraiser is too hungover, so he goes to Eddie for help.

Eddie Munson is a reliable man for three things, and only three things: The band, D&D, and trying to run a record store. Anyone who's talked to him since '87 knows that on Saturdays, the store better be in deep enough shit a firetruck can't fix it before someone calls on him.

So why is Steve—Robin's best friend and Eddie's ex-I guess monsters fucked us up physio buddy—in his doorway looking like Eddie's gonna solve problems?

It has Robin written all over it. Except she's out doing a queer protest thing today—her typical Saturday—and Steve usually joins her on those, but he's here.

He's pleading with his fucking… aura, and with his big brown heartbreakers, and Eddie's in his worst sweatpants and a shirt stained with toothpaste and ketchup.

"You have five seconds, go."

"I need a partner for the Kiss-a-thon because mine is hungover," Steve says so efficiently that Eddie barely processes it.

"Okay?" he replies, wondering if Steve wants him to start up a fucking phone-tree or something.

"Do you—I mean. Could you—if you want. If it's… I know this isn't…" Steve looks nervous-sweaty instead of athletic-sweaty for the first time ever, as if this is scarier than a fucking Demogorgon.

"Time's up," he announces, just to be a dick, and starts to shut the door.

"Wait! It's for a good cause, I promise I won't slip you any tongue!" Steve says, angling to keep eye-contact with him.

Tongue?

"Tongue?" Eddie asks, pausing. Steve gently pulls the door back open, letting it swing out of Eddie's grip. "What?"

"I know this is a crime against your personal time or whatever, but Robin said you're my last hope—we're already a small group and everyone's partnered and it's for shit I know you care about, so if you're not too busy could you please consider—"

Eddie holds up a hand, silencing him.

"You want me to be your partner for the sock-hop-a-long?"

Steve squints at him, his mouth pursing like he's caught between a laugh and a scowl.

"Kiss-a-thon. Why would I need a kissing partner at a… whatever you said?"

Eddie sighs while his heart does something incredibly stupid.

"I'll do it. Lemme go gussy up. Not all of us have your natural perkiness," he says, muttering the last part.

~~~

Looking into Steve's eyes makes the noise, the people, and everything fall into static.

Only after a shower-coffee and an explanation was Eddie hit with reality. He's sweaty-nervous now, hoisted by his own dickhead petard, but he's got no regrets as Steve winks at him and leans in, giving him something dry and chaste and soft.

By the time the hour is up, Eddie's counted all of Steve's teeth and there's spit everywhere. Eddie thinks he's in love. They laugh breathlessly, still hanging onto each other, and Eddie's lips are numb by now, but he still gives Steve another kiss.

"So, when's the gay-sex-a-thon?"

[kabr0ztrousers]

A guilty fem reader who cannot take her eyes or hands off her cow hybrid step moms large tits?

I just love titties man

Kabr0z Writes Episode 85: Mommy Milkers

Find the rest of the Kabr0z Writes anthology here!

CWs: Mild fauxcest; breastfeeding;

A/N: In the wake of a little fanmail and a little sleep deprivation, I'm gonna take 🪽 anon's advice to heart and make this one a little shorter.

Still plenty of focus on some lovely tits, and I'm not talking ornithology

##########################################

She held you so close. Her heartbeat thumped in your ear, through the soft flesh of her breast and the cable-knit of her jumper. You lay on her, head resting against her chest. More than the warmth of the embrace, the oasis of calm after a long day. Her perfume filled your senses: light, floral, summery despite the bitter cold outside.

Your stepmother stroked your long hair, smoothing it against your back as her nails traced the curves of your scalp and your neck. She was always very physical in her affection, gently mooing as she held you to her breast, lulling you into a doze. You nuzzled into her, wrapping your arms around her as you yawned into the plush warmth.

“Aww, somebody tired?” she mooed softly into your ear

You nodded a little, eyes drooping as her jumper pulled up from under you before coming back down over you. The warm light of the sitting room took on a pale cast as it filtered through the off-white wool.

She was so warm. Braless breasts either side of your head surrounding you with pleasant heat. She shifted around you, positioning an erect nipple at your lips. You opened your mouth obediently, taking the fleshy nub into your mouth

“Good girl, drink up now”

You murmured your assent as you started to suck. A gentle hand held you to her, sweet milk dribbling into your mouth as you squoze her tit, coaxing it out. You drank greedily, sucking harder as she mooed over you, holding you tenderly as she fed you.

Your eyes grew heavier. The warm skin and soft wool cushioning you, the sound of her braying just audible over the sounds of her breath and the comforting metronome of her heart.

Gradually, you fell to a deep sleep

########################################

So that's 300 words of gentle fauxcest breastfeeding. Which may or may not be the first time anyone has typed that sentence.

Something, something, send a request. There's 85 of these suckers, you know the drill

[marv3l-drag0ns]

mens tits.... only hairy mens tits can save me now....

[stump-not-found]

alright im just straight up keeping a progress bar on my blog desc now . good fucking lord

expect the progress percentage to go down . i'm extremely unwell

[degenerateshinji]

CHAP 3 OUT AAA THEYRE SO CUTESY

[jetii]

Event Horizon

Chapter Thirty-Seven: Awoken

Chapter WC: 6,660

Chapter Tags/Warnings: this one is a bit of an ouchie and i wish i could say it's going to get better but...

A/N: I had a 3am revelation on Sunday and ended up restructuring all the beats for the battle part and moved them around, and then rewrote basically everything, so this chapter is a lot shorter than I teased previously. It just makes more sense this way, you'll see what I mean next week.

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter | Join the Taglist | Masterlist

Duro, 20 BBY

Your eyes flutter open, squinting against the sun bearing down on you, and you take a deep breath. Slowly, your senses return to you. First the smell of dust and stale air that permeates Urdur, tinged with blaster oil and caf. Then the taste of it, thick and dry, coating the inside of your mouth and settling in the back of your throat.

Finally, the weight of a body pressed against yours registers. An arm is draped over your hip, and a leg is tangled with yours. There's a warm puff of breath against the back of your neck, followed by a low, contented sigh.

You freeze, your mind racing to catch up with your body. The worn metal roof of the watchtower brings it all rushing back to you.

Rex.

He's asleep, his arms around you, holding you close, his face buried in the crook of your neck. Somewhere during your rest, the two of you shifted positions. Your head is on his bicep, and he's pulled you back against his chest, his body curled around yours protectively and his nose buried in your hair.

A shiver runs down your spine as the full weight of the situation dawns on you. Rex is practically wrapped around you, and the sensation is...intimate. More so than the night before.

This isn't him comforting you, or holding you while you cry. It's not him keeping watch while you sleep.

This is Rex clinging to you. This is him needing you. This is him being vulnerable with you.

And the realization fills you with a sense of calm, a gentle warmth that spreads from the center of your chest outward. You can't remember the last time you felt like this, if ever. Like you're safe. Like you're home.

Rex lets out a soft snore and buries his face in your hair, and you bite back a laugh, trying your best to keep still. He'll wake in an instant if you move, and you don't want him to pull away.

So you lie there, reveling in the warmth of his body and the feel of his arms around you. In the way his chest rises and falls against your back. In the rhythm of his breathing. In the quiet, peaceful intimacy of the embrace.

You don't remember falling asleep. You don't remember much of anything, really, the events of the past several hours a blur of tears and exhaustion and the weight of his touch on your skin. But you do remember the way Rex looked at you, the way he held you, the way he whispered promises to keep you safe, the words that spilled from his mouth and wrapped themselves around your heart.

It was everything you wanted to hear, needed to hear.

It was everything.

Well, almost everything.

You have a sneaking suspicion that the word he called you was something more than a mere nickname. It's the reason why you didn't push him further about the translation, why you gave up so easily. It was the right thing to do. The honorable thing. And you knew he'd tell you if and only if he was ready.

Deep down, a part of you knows the answer already. The truth has been written on your hearts for months, and you've both been too afraid to admit it. Too afraid of what the confession might mean. But the war has made liars and cowards of the both of you, and it's time for that to change.

And so you decide that, once Rex wakes, you'll do something about it.

For now, you close your eyes, focusing on the steady rhythm of his breathing, the feel of his chest rising and falling against your back. You press yourself further into his embrace, and you let yourself imagine a galaxy where the two of you aren't Jedi and clone, where the war doesn't exist. Where this isn't a stolen, secretive thing, tucked away in the shadows and the quiet corners of the galaxy. Where this is everything, and the two of you can simply be.

It's a selfish fantasy, and a dangerous one. One that could never truly be. But in this place, on this dusty, forgotten world, in the fading light of the morning, you allow yourself to pretend it's real.

You drift back into sleep and the safety of the fantasy that's haunted your dreams for weeks now. The field, the grass, the warmth of the sun on your skin, and Rex, standing beside you, his hand in yours, a gentle smile on his face.

It's not as vivid as it appeared to you in the depths of the Force, the details faded and blurred at the edges, but the feelings remain. The warmth, the safety, the joy, the peace. The overwhelming sense of belonging.

You squeeze your eyes shut, and the picture slowly crystallizes around you. The colors come into focus, and the sun seems warmer, the light brighter. You can feel the grass brushing against your ankles, the coolness of the wind on your cheeks.

You can feel Rex.

He's beside you, his arm around your waist, his chest pressed against your back. You can feel his breath tickling the back of your neck, his lips moving against the shell of your ear as he murmurs your name.

“Rex,” you exhale. The word is barely more than a whisper, and it escapes your lips unbidden, the ghost of a sigh. You turn and look up at him.

Your eyes meet, and he smiles, the expression tugging at the corners of his mouth and crinkling the corners of his eyes. His face is illuminated by the morning light, and the sight is breathtaking, the warmth and joy radiating from him filling your heart with a love and affection that threatens to overwhelm you.

"What are you doing out here?" he asks with a tilt of his head, his tone teasing.

"I don't know," you answer. You look over his shoulder, trying to find some clue, some other detail that will let you know where you are and how you got here. But there's nothing. Just the two of you, surrounded by the vast expanse of golden plants stretching as far as the eye can see. "What are you doing out here?"

"Trying to find you," he says. "I was worried about you."

“You don’t have to worry about me,” you reply automatically, and he snorts.

“I know.”

You share a smile at the familiar words, and you take a step closer into his warmth as a light breeze picks up, scattering petals across the ground and swirling around you. The air is sweet and fresh, and the scent of flowers and grass is heavy in the air.

His hand trails from your shoulder to entwine your fingers together, a shudder running down your spine at the sensation of his bare skin against yours.

He’s not wearing gloves, you realize, and your brow furrows. But the words you dreamt before fall from your lips anyway.

"I’m glad you found me,” you murmur on cue, and his lips curve into a lopsided grin.

Just as before, Rex’s free hand reaches up, capturing a strand of hair fluttering in the breeze and tucking it behind your ear. His touch is gentle, the calloused pads of his fingers tracing the curve of your cheek and jaw.

“I’m always going to find you. No matter what," he promises, repeating the words that have been branded on your heart since the first time they were uttered. The effect is the same, a surge of warmth and love spreading through you and stealing your breath away.

You want to reassure him that you’ll always find him too, but the words die in your throat. This is where the vision stopped the last time you experienced it, and the idea of losing him again, even if it is just a dream, terrifies you.

You’re unable to stop yourself from looking around again, trying to find some landmark, some familiar sight. But there's nothing. Still, you can’t shake the sense that there’s something about this place that’s as familiar as it is alien.

The wind rustles the plants around you, the grass bending and swaying with the movement. You look down at your feet, and you notice for the first time that you’re not wearing your white robes. Instead, you're dressed in a simple tunic and pants you’ve never seen before, the fabric soft and worn. Rex is similarly dressed, his armor replaced by a short-sleeved shirt and pants secured at the waist by a belt.

Something doesn't feel right.

Your hands drift down to your lightsabers, and the realization hits you like a bolt of lightning.

They're gone.

Panic rises inside you, a sudden dread threatening to consume you, and you take a deep, shuddering breath. Your fingers fumble for the weapons, frantically searching for the familiar comforting weight, the cold metal, but the only thing they find is empty air.

You try to reach out with the Force, but it's like trying to catch smoke. The usual ease and flow is gone, replaced by something impenetrable and solid.

"What is it?" Rex asks, his voice breaking through the haze, and you look up at him. There's a confused frown on his face, his brows knit together and his eyes clouded with concern. You shake your head, struggling to find the words. "What's wrong?"

"My lightsabers," you manage, a tightness forming in your chest. "They're...they're gone."

Rex doesn't reply. He just looks at you, his expression unreadable. You wait, watching him, hoping he has an answer. That he can explain why you're not wearing your robes, why you're not carrying your lightsabers, or where you are, or what's happening. But he doesn't.

Instead, his expression shifts, and the emotions that flood his features threaten to drown you.

Regret. Fear. Despair. And something else. Something deeper, something darker, something you know well.

“Wait,” you breathe, your eyes widening. “No. No, not now.”

Your pleas fall on deaf ears as the world around you begins to fall away. The bright colors bleed from the sky, and the sun dims, the warmth and light fading into darkness. The grass fades from gold to black, and the breeze turns cold, a chill that settles in your bones.

You cling to Rex’s hand, but the tighter you hold, the faster the scene dissolves.

You try to call out his name, but the words won't come.

You can feel him, his fingers squeezing yours, his voice echoing in the distance, a frantic, desperate plea for you to stay, to not let go.

You fight. With every ounce of strength left in your body, you fight. You hold onto him, the pressure almost unbearable, the pain threatening to tear you apart.

But it's not just the pain.

There's fear. And sadness.

And loss.

So much loss.

You feel the ground underneath you tremble and shudder. You feel the earth crumble beneath your feet. You feel the heat and the burning and the crushing and the breaking.

Try as you might to stop it, you can’t hold back from lifting your head up and watching as the dark sky opens. Streaks of light, burning fire and molten metal and a thousand screams. A flash of blue, the outline of a ship. The explosion. The death.

You're frozen in place, your heart in your throat, and Rex is screaming, shouting your name.

You try to call out to him, to tell him to run, to get away, but the words won't come.

Then, there's nothing.

Only silence.

You shoot up with a gasp, your heart hammering against your ribs.

Your chest is tight, the air in your lungs replaced by the weight of panic. It’s too much, too heavy, and you rip Rex’s arm off of you and scramble to your feet, blood pounding in your ears.

You need to move. To get out. To escape the darkness and the heat and the ash and the dust.

"I can't...I can't..."

A hand shoots out, grabbing your arm, and you spin and lash out. Rex grunts as the heel of your palm slams into his chest, sending him flying backward toward the far wall. His hold on your arm doesn't lessen, and the momentum drags you with him, the two of you crashing into the duracrete together.

"Hey, hey, hey, hey," Rex soothes, his hands reaching out, and you fight, trying to twist out of his grasp. He pins you to the floor, his weight settling on top of you. "I've got you. I've got you. Just breathe. Focus on my voice. You're okay. I'm right here. Just breathe. In and out. There you go."

The familiar tone and the pressure of his body are a comfort, and you let out a choked gasp, tears stinging the corners of your eyes. You try to push him away, but he doesn't budge, his grip on your arms firm but gentle.

"Don't," he pleads, his voice soft and low. "Don't push me away. Please."

His eyes search yours, and you stare back at him, trying to focus on his words. The pressure in your chest eases, the weight lifting slightly, and you close your eyes and take a deep breath, the scent of his skin filling your lungs.

"I'm sorry," you mumble. "I didn't...I didn't mean to. I just..."

"It's okay," he breathes, and the panic subsides, the fear and desperation giving way to exhaustion and shame. Rex sits back against the wall, pulling you with him, and his arms wrap tightly around you. "It's okay. You're safe."

"I'm sorry," you whisper again, the words muffled by his neck. "I didn't...I didn't mean to...to hurt you. I'm sorry."

"I know," he murmurs, and he rubs your back, his touch gentle. "It's okay. I'm not hurt."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah."

"I'm sorry."

"I know," he repeats, and he presses his lips to the top of your head. "I'm not mad."

You nod half-heartedly, and you bury your face in his shoulder. You're shaking, your whole body trembling, and you focus on the steady rhythm of his breathing, the comforting weight of his arms around you.

Rex doesn't speak, his fingers running along your spine, and the silence stretches out between you, heavy and thick. You can't bring yourself to break it, the thoughts in your head swirling and churning, a whirlwind of guilt and fear.

"Bad dream?" he asks after a while, his voice barely more than a whisper.

A breathless, humorless laugh escapes your lips, and you nod. He hums, and you take a shaky breath, steeling yourself for his inevitable questions. But they don't come. Instead, he continues stroking your back, the repetitive motion soothing.

"The vision," you admit quietly, your voice thick, and he nods, his nose bumping the crown of your head. "I was...there was...there was something."

"Something?"

"Something...I don't know," you murmur, and you close your eyes, trying to recall the details, but the memory remains out of reach, slipping through your fingers like water. "I don't remember. I just...it was..."

"Okay," he soothes, and his hand moves up to tangle in the hair at the base of your neck. "You're alright."

"I'm scared," you breathe. You turn your head slowly toward the window and peer out, squinting at the clouds starting to form in the distance. The sun is still shining, but the wind is picking up, rattling the old panes of glass. "Something is going to happen. Soon."

"We're prepared," Rex reminds you, his thumb tracing the ridge of your ear. "We're ready."

"I know," you murmur, and you lean back against him, letting out a sigh. "But I'm still afraid."

"I know," he echoes. "Me too."

You sit in silence, watching the sun begin its descent across the horizon. The shadows lengthen, stretching out across the dusty ground, and the air is filled with the soft murmurs of the troops, their voices muffled by the thick duracrete walls.

You can feel Rex's eyes on you, but you don't look at him. You can't. If you do, you're afraid of what he'll see. Of what you'll see.

Because it's not just the visions that frighten you.

It's the feeling.

The sense of impending doom that lingers at the edges of your mind, a shadow looming just beyond the light. A darkness waiting to swallow you whole.

You shiver and wrap your arms around yourself. You don't want to think about it, not yet. You want to stay here, in this place, with him. Just for a little while longer.

"Whatever it is, we'll deal with it together," Rex murmurs, tightening his hold on you. "I promise."

"Rex..."

"Do you trust me?" he interrupts, his tone serious. You pull back to meet his gaze, his eyes locked on yours, burning with a fierce determination that melts the ice forming around your hear. Your lips part wordlessly, and when the words don't come, his head dips closer. "Do you?"

"Of course I do," you reply, your voice barely more than a whisper, a hoarse rasp in the quiet of the room. "More than anyone."

"Good." The corner of his mouth quirks upward, a small, half-smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes. "We're going to get through this."

You sigh and close your eyes. Rex pulls you closer and wraps his arms around your shoulders, his chin resting on top of your head.

For a second, everything is okay.

And then, in the distance, an alarm sounds.

The two of you are on your feet before the first note of the klaxon echoes across the city, the hairs on the back of your neck standing on end. The warmth, the lingering sensation of his touch, the peace, it's all gone, replaced by the sharp, bitter taste of adrenaline.

Rex is the first to the window, bracing one hand on the sill while the other forms a fist and scrubs furiously at the dust and grime coating the glass. You hurry over to join him, strapping your belt around your waist. He mutters a curse under his breath and pushes hard, and the panel opens with a squeal of protest. It dislodges completely and falls into the street below, shattering against the stone.

A gust of cool, dusty wind blows into the room, carrying the smell of smoke and the acrid taste of blasterfire. Rex leans out, his jaw clenched, his expression grim. You stand beside him and follow his gaze, craning your neck to try and catch a glimpse of what's going on.

So far, you don't see anything on the horizon, but that means little. There's no telling what could be coming for you. Or where it's coming from.

"I can't see anything," Rex says as he scans the area. He pauses and glances over at you. "Do you feel anything?"

You look down, closing your eyes as you reach out with the Force. The faintest hint of an energy tingles at the edge of your awareness, and you follow it, tracing the invisible thread through the air and out of the watchtower. There's no life on Duro to guide you, and it's difficult to detect anything through the veil of the darkness that blankets the planet, but you manage to push through the haze, focusing on the faint pulse of energy in the distance.

There's a disturbance in the Force, an uneasy stirring in the atmosphere, and you recognize the feeling immediately. It's like reaching out to grasp the cold durasteel handle of a weapon, the smooth, unyielding surface biting into the flesh of your palm as you pull, and it's accompanied by the metallic taste of blood and the smell of scorched metal.

"Droids," you murmur, your eyes shifting behind your eyelids. "Marching through the valley. Heading this way. They killed the scouts."

This time, the curse Rex bites out is louder than the others. His hand grips your arm tightly, and he gives you a gentle tug.

"How many?" he asks. You open your eyes, and his gaze meets yours, hard and resolute.

You frown and concentrate again, probing the endless void. It's hard to get a sense of the size of the army, but you can feel them moving through empty streets and fields with a singular purpose. Tanks and speeders and droid transports and walkers, all rolling towards the city in a tidal wave of metal.

"Hard to say," you answer after a pause, shaking your head. "Thousands. They're too far away. Too spread out."

"Alright," Rex sighs, and the hand on your arm squeezes gently before letting go and returning to the window sill. "That's not ideal."

"No," you agree quietly.

Your mind races, trying to make sense of the situation, and your gaze wanders out the open window again, drifting up to the sky. The warble of the shield has evened out some, stabilized by the efforts of Dash and the team in the city below, and you breathe a sigh of relief. At least something is going right.

"We have some time before they reach the city," you murmur. "An hour or two."

He lets out a relieved sigh. "Good."

"And the shield generator seems to be holding."

"That's good," Rex repeats quietly, and you glance over at him to find him watching you carefully. You swallow, the intensity of his gaze sending a flush creeping up the back of your neck.

"What?" you ask softly, and he shakes his head, a wry smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"Nothing," he replies. "You just...look better."

You arch an eyebrow.

"Well, thank you," you snort, rolling your eyes. "I'm flattered."

"Not like that," he huffs, and a faint pink hue appears on his cheeks, spreading down his neck. "You...you look more like yourself. More...alive."

"Oh," you say, a surprised laugh escaping your lips. "Well, I...that's good, I suppose. I feel better, at least. Thanks to you."

Rex ducks his head, rubbing the back of his neck.

"It was nothing," he mutters. "I was just...I was worried about you. That's all. I couldn't...I couldn't watch you go through that. Not again. And especially not now."

"Well, I appreciate it," you say, and the corner of his mouth twitches. "Thank you."

His eyes dart away from yours, and he clears his throat, looking out the window again as the flush on his neck deepens. He scratches the stubble on his chin and shrugs.

"It's my pleasure, sir," he replies, his tone light, teasing. You can't fight the smile that spreads across your face, and he looks at you again, his eyes bright. "Always happy to do my duty."

"Stop," you laugh. You give him a gentle shove, and he catches himself, his hand gripping the windowsill and holding himself steady. "I'm trying to be nice to you."

"I know," Rex chuckles. "I'm sorry. You were saying?"

"Never mind," you snort, crossing your arms over your chest. "Now I'm annoyed again."

"That was fast," he muses. "I thought it would take longer."

"Hey!"

Rex laughs softly, the warmth in it filling the room, and you shake your head and look down at the floor. You know what he's doing. He's trying to make light of the situation, trying to distract you from the dark thoughts that have plagued your mind for the past several days.

It's working. But of course it is. It always does. He knows you too well. He knows exactly what to say and how to act to make you smile, to make you laugh, to lift your spirits. And despite everything, despite the uncertainty and the threat that looms on the horizon, he's still trying. He's still taking care of you. And you appreciate it more than he'll ever know.

You lean out of the window and squint, peering down at the streets below. You can see the clones moving through the alleys, heading toward their designated positions along the wall, and you can feel the nervous energy in the air, the sense of anticipation. The battle is coming, and everyone knows it.

"Are the defenses ready?"

"As much as they can be," Rex answers. "We're as prepared as we're going to be."

"I guess we'll see what happens, won't we?" you sigh.

Your comm beeps in the pocket of your outer robes, still slung on the floor from where Rex discarded it in his haste to comfort you, and you duck back inside the watchtower.

You pull the device out and press the button on the side, the familiar blue glow illuminating the room as the holographic projection of Snap flickers into existence. He looks like he's about to speak, and then his brow furrows, his expression shifting from one of concern to confusion.

"Uh, General?" he asks, his voice slightly distorted.

"Hey," you greet him with a tired smile as you straighten, folding your robe over your arm. "I'm here."

"Are you...okay?" he asks hesitantly. He looks between you and Rex, and you realize with a start that you're standing a bit too close. You take a step forward, the heat rising in your cheeks, and Snap arches an eyebrow. "I mean, I know that's a stupid question, but..."

"It's fine, Snap," you assure him with a wave of your hand. "I just woke up."

Snap's eyes dart to Rex again before settling back on you, and a smirk forms on his lips. You shake your head and sigh, running a hand over your face.

"So, what's going on?" you ask, deciding to ignore the knowing look on his face, and his smirk disappears as quickly as it appeared.

"Oh, right." Snap clears his throat. "We have incoming. Lots of it. One of our scouts made it back, said the rest of his squad was wiped out by the clankers. We're guessing at least a legion."

"Great," you sigh. You glance over at Rex, who's listening intently, his face set in a hard line. "I was able to get a read on them. Looks like there's a lot of walkers. And transports. Maybe a company or two of tanks. They're coming in from the west. We should see them soon."

"Copy," Snap replies. "I'll update the commanders. We're setting up now."

"Good. Be careful," you warn. "No heroics, alright? Stick to the plan. Your boys are the last line of defense. I'm going to join the 882nd outside the gate."

"Yessir," he nods and snaps off a salute. "They're not getting through us, General."

"I know," you smile, a burst of pride swelling in your chest, and his expression softens. "Keep me updated. May the Force be with you."

"Right back at you," he says. He looks over your shoulder and smirks again. "And you too, Rex."

"Thanks," Rex drawls, his tone dry, and Snap grins before his hologram fizzles out and disappears. He lets out a sigh and steps away from the window, turning to face you. "We should get going.”

"Yeah," you nod, and you look down at the robe in your hands, your thumb running over the woolen material. The idea of putting it on suddenly seems daunting, the weight of your responsibility heavier than ever.

"Here," he murmurs, his voice soft.

He takes your outer robe from you and holds it up, and you slip your arms through the sleeves, the heavy material settling across your shoulders. You turn around, and his brow furrows in concentration as he does the clasp and smoothes out the creases in the fabric.

"How are you feeling?" he asks quietly, his eyes searching yours. You bite your lip and shrug, avoiding his gaze. "I mean it. Are you alright?"

"I'll be okay," you reply after a pause, watching his hands move. You feel a bit ridiculous, being fussed over like a child, but you can't bring yourself to argue. You know he needs the distraction, and the truth is, you're not complaining. "I'm ready for this."

"Yeah? You sure?"

You look up at him and raise an eyebrow, the corner of your mouth quirking upward.

"You don't believe me?"

Rex hums and gives you a small smile, his fingers moving from your shoulders to the lapels of your robe, the movement almost unconscious, his focus seemingly elsewhere.

"I didn't say that," he murmurs after a moment. His gaze is distant, unfocused, and he continues, "Just...promise me something."

"Anything," you say without hesitation.

His eyes dart up to yours, a flicker of surprise passing through them at the swiftness of your reply, and his fingers pause on the fabric of your robe.

"If it gets bad," he begins, his words measured and deliberate, and he licks his lips. "If it's too much, or if you can't... Promise me you won't lose yourself."

You open your mouth to respond, but Rex cuts you off, tugging you a step closer and holding you by the lapels. His gaze bores into yours, and his voice drops an octave, a low, husky murmur that sends a shiver down your spine.

"I'm serious," he rasps. "If it happens, if you start slipping, I want you to stop. Stop and take a breath. Don't go there. Just come back here, to the tower, and we'll figure it out together. Alright?"

You stare at him, dumbfounded, your heart racing. He's asking you to do the impossible, and he knows it. But it's clear that the sight of you in the throes of your vision had shaken him more than you'd realized.

You hesitate, and he lets out a sharp breath through his nose. His grip tightens, and his jaw clenches, his eyes darkening.

"Promise me," he repeats, his tone insistent, pleading.

For a brief, fleeting second, you consider lying. Consider telling him what he wants to hear, that you'll be okay, that you can handle it, that you won't lose yourself, that you're not scared. But the words die in your throat, the lie burning a hole in your heart, and the truth spills out instead.

"I can't make that promise," you admit, your voice hoarse. "You know that."

"Try," he says softly. His hand moves from your lapel to your cheek, his thumb stroking the soft skin under your eye, and you bite the inside of your cheek to keep from gasping. "Please. For me."

You nod slowly and let out a shaky breath, swallowing against the lump forming in the back of your throat.

"Okay," you whisper. "For you. I'll try."

Rex stares at you for a minute, his eyes darting between yours, searching for any hint of a lie. Finally, he lets out a soft sigh and leans forward, pressing his lips against your forehead. Your eyes flutter, a pleasant chill running down your spine at the warmth of his touch, the softness of his lips.

All too soon, he pulls away. You look away to avoid his gaze, blinking away the sudden moisture gathering in the corners of your eyes.

His helmet flies across the room and into your awaiting hand, and you hold it out to him.

"Here," you murmur. "It's time."

"Thank you," he replies quietly.

He holds your gaze for a heartbeat longer before he slips the helmet over his head, and you watch as his features disappear, replaced by the blank stare of a soldier's visor.

Without thinking, you reach out and grab the front of his chest plate, pulling him forward and wrapping your arms around his neck. He stumbles, his hands shooting out and finding your waist, and the two of you nearly fall over.

"Careful," Rex laughs. "You're going to knock us both over."

"I'm sorry," you mumble. "I just..."

"It's alright," he soothes, his arms circling your waist, and his fingers gripping the fabric of your robes tightly. "I get it."

"Be careful out there," you murmur. "Please."

Rex nods, and his grip tightens, his arms crushing you against his armor. You return the gesture, burying your face in his neck, breathing in the scent of his skin. It's all so familiar, and yet, at the same time, it's new. This isn't the first time the two of you have hugged, not even close. But this feels different, somehow. Like it's the last time you'll get the chance.

"I will," he replies. "Don't worry about me."

"You know I will," you huff.

"I know."

Rex pulls back and rests his forehead against yours, his hands cupping your face, the tips of his gloved fingers tangling in your hair. He holds you there for a moment, his thumb rubbing slow circles across your cheek.

"We're gonna be okay," he breathes, his voice barely more than a whisper. He takes in a deep breath before his hands slide down your arms and fall away. "Besides, I owe you a drink, remember? I can't miss that."

A breathless chuckle escapes your lips, and you nod. "You do. Or was it dinner?"

"Both," Rex replies with a huff of laughter. He steps away and moves across the room toward the hatch, pulling it open to reveal the ladder leading down into the tower below. "Whatever you want."

Your smile widens as you approach the ladder and peer down, and you pause for a moment, considering. You look back up at him.

"Whatever I want?" you echo, a mischievous grin spreading across your face. "You sure about that?"

He chuckles and shakes his head. "Within reason."

You hum and take a step onto the first rung of the ladder, holding his gaze. Your teasing expression fades, and your smile falters as you think about what might happen, the battle waiting for you outside the walls. A faint, wistful smile plays across your lips, and you tilt your head.

"Dinner would be nice," you say quietly, the tone of your voice leaving no room for doubt about the true meaning behind the words. You take a deep breath, your heart fluttering in your chest, and you swallow thickly, forcing yourself to continue. "And a drink. Someplace quiet, maybe. Just the two of us."

Rex goes still. A soft noise hisses through the modulator of his helmet, a sharp inhale that's quickly cut off. You wait, watching him carefully, waiting for any sign that he understands.

He doesn't react, though, and a wave of disappointment crashes over you. You look down and turn back to the ladder, a lump forming in the back of your throat. It's not his fault, you know that, but the rejection still stings.

You take one step down before you hear his voice. It’s soft, hesitant, and it takes you a second to realize he's said your name. Not the title you've grown accustomed to hearing from his lips, not the usual respectful distance that separates the two of you, but your name, spoken in a way that's never crossed his lips before, that’s never been spoken outside of your visions and dreams.

Your hand stills, your grip on the cold metal tightening.

"What is it, Rex?" you ask, forcing the question past the lump in your throat.

He doesn't reply right away. You can feel him standing there, silent and motionless, watching you, his presence a tangible thing in the air. It's as if time itself has stopped, the entire galaxy hanging in the balance as he decides what to say, and you find yourself holding your breath, the pounding of your heart deafening in the sudden silence.

Finally, his voice comes, barely audible, but loud enough for you to hear.

"That's a very dangerous thing to ask," Rex finally replies, his voice low and rough. "For both of us."

You swallow thickly, nodding.

"I know."

The two of you stay like that, suspended in time and space, neither daring to move. There's no turning back now, not after what you've said, today and every day before, and there's no going forward, either.

He's not wrong. Not about any of it. What you're suggesting is risky, dangerous, and reckless. And if you're caught, if word of it ever reaches the Council or the Senate, the repercussions could be severe.

But you're tired. You're so tired. And the war is taking its toll on both of you, and there's a part of you, a part that's getting bigger every day, that just doesn't care. That's tired of following the rules, tired of worrying about what's right and what's wrong, tired of holding back.

The rules, the expectations, they all seem so small, so petty, so insignificant compared to the weight of everything else. Compared to the life you could have, could be living. With him. If the two of you would just stop being so stubborn and scared and just give in.

The decision has already been made, and the two of you know it. The only question left is whether or not he'll admit it. Whether or not he'll allow himself to hope. To dream.

Rex remains silent. The seconds drag on, your grip on the ladder growing tighter with each breath. Your heart sinks, and you bite your lip, the pain sharp and bittersweet. You pushed too far, said too much, and now he's gone, lost to the fear and doubt that clouds his mind. The disappointment is overwhelming, and a lump forms in the back of your throat.

You sigh and close your eyes, a resigned smile tugging at the corner of your lips. It's okay, you reason with yourself. You understand. The war, the responsibilities, the uncertainty, it's a lot to deal with, and the last thing he needs is the added complication of a relationship with a Jedi. With you.

You don't blame him. Not for this, or for anything else.

You just wish it didn't hurt so much.

“Alright,” you finally say, the word little more than a sigh, and you force your smile to widen into something more believable, trying to ignore the ache in your chest. “Well, I guess that answers my question. Good to know, at least. We can pretend this never happened. Like we always do. No harm done. Right?"

"Wait," Rex whispers, and the soft, pleading tone of his voice steals the breath from your lungs. "No, not...that's not what I..."

The commlink on your wrist beeps loudly, the shrill tone shattering the fragile silence, and the two of you flinch. Rex lets out a harsh sigh, and you glance down at the device, your heart sinking as the display flashes with an incoming call. One of the 882nd’s commanders. The timing couldn't be worse, but there's nothing you can do. You're needed. He's needed. The battle is waiting, and there's no turning back now.

"Looks like they're ready for us," Rex says, looking away.

"Yeah," you mutter, and he takes in a shaky breath. "Guess so."

You don't have the words, the strength to say anything more, and you can't bring yourself to look up. If you do, you'll break. And right now, you can't afford the distraction. The stakes are too high, the consequences too great. Whatever conversation there is to be had will have to wait.

"I'll see you on the other side, Captain," you murmur.

And with that, you drop down into the shadows below.

taglist: @cyaretra @kindalonleystars @totallyunidentified @lovelytech9902 @frozenreptile @etod @puppetscenario @umekohiganbana @resistantecho @dindjarins1ut @tech-aficionado @aynavaano @burningnerdchild @ihatesaaand @lolwey @chocolatewastelandtriumph @hobbititties @mere-bear @thegreatpipster @lordofthenerds97 @tentakelspektakel @notslaybabes @ayyyy-le-simp @mali-777 @schrodingersraven @megmegalodondon @dangraccoon @heavenseed76 @dreamie411 @sukithebean @bunny7567 @lostqueenofegypt @anything-forourmoony @9902sgirl @jedi-dreea @salaminus @heidnspeak @gottalovehistory @mrcaptainrex @maniacalbooper @burningnerdchild @yoitsjay @julli-bee @moonychicky @sonicrainbooms @dustmusings @webslinger-holland @marchingviolist @deerspringdreams @cw80831

[not-poignant]

y'all i have written 12 chapters this month. highest wordcount this year so far woohoo! it'll be a break now so i don't end up in burnout land.

and probably some editing

[fivie]

lmao due to my chronic inability to stfu it looks like I'll be splitting UMW chapter 25 so uhh may be updating much sooner than expected 😂

I'm a menace and if I had an editor they'd try to kill me with hammers. They'd probably say that the entirety of what is about to be chapter 25 isn't even necessary and could be brutally cut down or excised. Kill your darlings, they'd say. But I have no editor. I'm wild and free on AO3 and I'm making it everyone's problem.