#transcribed from enderspeak

[the-phantom-ender]

Hermitcraft and the sun and the moon.

Grian is the sun, the brightness that can light up a day, the fun and play and energy. Be warry, though, because the sun may just burn if you do too much, push too far, as playful as the sun is, it can also be harsh.

Pearl is the moon, the darkness that coats the world, the calm night but also full of mischief. There are nights where the moon disappears and you see that the stars from the sky vanish as well, the moon holds just as much danger as the sun.

Gem is the sunrise, a new beginning. The time where flowers bloom and bird chirp and dew hangs undisturbed from the grass. Perhaps a lonely morning, perhaps a busy one.

Bdubs is the sunset, the end of the day. The time to wind down and rest as the sun slips down the horizon and you can almost see the moon. It isn't always calm and quiet, just the last edge before the dangers of the night.

[the-phantom-ender]

Grian draws in a breath, lungs filling with the icy approximation of air. The suits were really just crash test suits, there were no oxygen tanks, but they weren't dead, so Scar must have done something to them. The expanse of darkness was nothing new to him, really. He could only kind of pretend to be shocked by breaking past the outer ring of void. Past where you'd be returned to your spawn, taken 'home'.

There was no going back, now. They'd pushed through that layer and lived, and that meant they'd fall until there was no more falling to do. Maybe it'd be forever. Maybe they'd hit solid ground the next moment.

He exhales, fogging up the red tinted glass around his head. On the other side, he almost thinks he sees frost for a moment. It almost reminds him of an old friend. But he looks up and meets the gaze of Pearl, seeming almost serene falling through dead space. She offers him a smile, eyebrow quirked and head tilted to the side. He smiles back.

"You think they'll find us?" She says after a moment, voice quieted by a wind that doesn't really cause resistance. Neither of them need to clarify what 'they' means.

Grian shrugs, looking around," Nah, if they haven't spotted us yet, we're probably in the clear. Usually? Harder to tell. But here? Yeah."

Pearl hums, nodding along.

"They?" asks Impulse after a moment. No response is met.

The group falls in silence for a bit longer after that. Occasionally, something will pass- making one or more gasp in shock. But mostly, it's quiet.

"D'ya think we'll end up anywhere else before getting back to Hermitcraft?"

Grian shrugs again, looking at Scar," Well, I didn't make any plans."

"And you'd be the one who did, yeah," Scar concedes.

"So the world's- it's over for real now, right?" Mumbo says, voice just a bit hoarse.

"I mean maybe? Why?"

"Look up."

So they do. There's no light anymore, but there hasn't been for a long time. It isn't really... clear what he's getting at, honestly. The group turns back to Mumbo expectantly.

"Not quite sure what you mean there, buddy." Impulse hums.

He shies away from the eyes on him, just a bit," There's nothing new that's falling anymore. We've been falling slower than objects for- for a bit now and now nothing else is falling."

Sure enough: nothing else was falling. Anything that looked like it was was... on closer inspection, a distant star- or whatever it was that those were down here. No more items, no more blocks. Nothing.

"At least we had fun!" Scar says after a moment. A long, mournful, moment.

"It was a new experience. Stole a lot of clocks."

"I got pretty good at building!" Mumbo says, quite a bit proud.

"You sure did potato boy."

"Hey!"

Laughing to himself, Impulse adds"I stole Scars Willy Wonka shtick since he didn't commit."

"It was fun" Grian says, glancing at the friends he'd done so much with.

And now it was over.

[the-phantom-ender]

S. So. I reblogged this post earlier. And. And I wanted to see a fic for it.

But, uh... I'm very impatient. So I wrote it myself.

LISTEN. LISTEN. I KNOW I HAVE REQUESTS TO BE WORKING ON. HOWEVER, CONSIDER: PHILZA MINECRAFT.

Watson Phillips. That was the name he was going by at this point. He had his wings, practically useless by now, binded and pinned to his back. You could hardly see the bump left by them under the layers of clothing. It was uncomfortable, sure, but not bad. The ruler of this land was a Piglin, he couldn’t help but be reminded of… an old friend.

He sighed, waiting quietly for the event to start. And it did! Oh it did. He didn’t get much of a view of things when the first two gladiators went up to bat, being much to caught up in aiming the bow in his hands, quiver strapped over his shoulder. All he knew was that one of them, Lagius was it, lost miserably. Not that he would judge much, really.

He only really came to be aware of what was happening when he was approached. And… then he saw a very, very familiar face. Watson almost froze where he stood, but covered his tracks with grace, saying he was more or less just focused on target practice. It was a lie, but not an unbelievable one. He rolled his shoulders, back aching.

The cameraman was Karl Jacobs.

There was absolutely no doubt in his mind. For one, his clothing was absolutely not time appropriate. The brightly coloured spiral hoodie did not fly anymore, no sir. For two: Watson knew what reincarnation looked like. This was the same face. This was different.

He decided that when this was over, he would get a chance to talk to Karl.

Watson lost his fight. He kind of threw it, in fairness. The other guy was drunk off his ass and he felt a little guilty fighting him. Also the zero gravity ruining his shot did him in a little. He was deadly on target with a bow, but if a person could easily side step because of how slowly it moved, there was really no point.

After that, he was content just… standing around. He got a little drunk at one point, but he sobered up quick enough that it may well have never happened. It was nice getting to know the rest of the people around, they all seemed alright enough.

Then he spoke to the Ran fellow. An enderman, surely, through and through. Had the same genetic mutation as… someone he used to know. Made the eyes green. Not very common, but not terribly uncommon, either. They carried themselves like anyone could come at them at any time. And considering everything going on, he might have been right with the caution.

“So… Ran, was it? Enderman name.”

He perked up, ears flicking slightly,” Yes. It’s common. You’re... versed in the culture?” “Eh,” Watson shrugged,” I’ve been taught some things by some old friends. Know a little of the language. I’m a little rusty, though.”

The two of them stuck by each other through a lot of the rest of the tournament. Warbling occasionally in a language others didn’t understand. Though Ran did comment, at one point, that the way he spoke it was very outdated. All he did was shrug and say that the guy who taught him might have thought it was funny. That seemed to be enough of that.

At the end, Ran managed to yank both of them out of the lava, keeping both from a rather unsavory death by fire. They stood behind a pillar, listening to chaos erupt around them. Jackie had won. And he was directed to… kill the cameraman. Oh no, absolutely fucking not.

Watson nudged Ran,” Hey, mate, when the kid goes to deal the killing blow to the camera man, is there any way you can just… blip over there and make sure he doesn’t actually die?”

“... Yeah, I can manage that.”

Ran delivered on his word, too. Before Watson knew it, Karl was behind the pillar with them and no one was the wiser. He lurched up, bewildered, clearly expecting to be anywhere but there.

“...What the honk?”

There it was.

“Ran, mate, if you don’t mind. I’d like to have a private word with him.” A shrug,” Alright. I have some… business to attend to, anyways.” A slight salute, and then he was gone.

Karl had tried to slink away, but Watson firmly grabbed his arm and forced him to stay. He threw a cloak over the man’s shoulders and snuck them out with the crowd. To his credit, he didn’t complain. It was… almost uncomfortable how resigned he was to this, honestly. Eventually, Watson tugged Karl around a corner and out of sight.

“How are you here, Karl Jacobs?”

“What?”

“Don’t play stupid, mate.”

“H-how…” Karl blinked, moving to hold his head,” How do you know who I- have I met you? My memory, um, it isn’t… the greatest. So. If I’m forgetting you, I’m sorry-”

“I, gah, do I really have to spell this out for you?”

“... Yeees.”

“I swear to gods if this is just because I binded my fuckin’ wings…” Watson sighed.

It wasn’t like he could just… take off the binding. He’d pinned them down pretty damn well, it’d take a while to unwrap things. Still, he supposed those were the most defining features about him. Unless… did he still keep that thing in his bag? It was old and busted by now, but he’d replaced it more than once already and didn’t wanna do it again.

He opened his satchel, rustling around for a few moments. A small smile grew on his face as he saw the edge of the green and white rim. With a flourish, Watson pulled out the bucket hat and placed it on his head. It fit better when his hair was longer. Waving his hands, jazz hands, he whispered out a little ‘ta-da!’

“PHILZA MIN-”

“SHHHH!” Watson hissed, shoving a hand over Karl’s mouth,” Not so fuckin’ loud, mate.”

A beat.

“Yeah, though. You died. A very long time ago. How the fuck are you… here, Karl?”

“Uh…” Karl’s eyes darted around,” Would you… believe me if I said that I’m, uh, I’m on… business.”

[the-phantom-ender]

The Shadow Queen stands at the entrance of the Fairy Fort, locking eyes with a ragdoll. Lizzie looks at him, her stance protective, and almost looks through him. There's an arrow lodged into his shoulder, now, angled in such a way that it almost seems to point to the scar that stretches across his neck. Her grip tightens on her blade. Ren is away, this fight is all her own.

"Do... you ever miss it?" She asks, voice hushed.

At this, Grian tilts his head, interested, playful. In situations like this, she couldn't quite say she was used to him being playful like that. That had been a forever ago, however. They were different people now, perhaps in more ways than just one. He says nothing, but she has gained his intrigue.

"Flying, I mean," She continues at last, hiding the way her voice wavers with a breath.

All at once, his expression sharpens. It's dangerous and cold. She can't help but smile behind her terror, this was more what she was used to. "Why." He says, and it isn't a question.

She lifts her head, and with it, her wings. They catch the light just enough that it shimmers through their opalescent surface; colour shifting just slightly from yellow, to pink, to green. Around her, the light almost looks like a halo. The wings on her back are beautiful. They are useless.

"... I do." She breathes, unable to keep the waver from her tone. This is a weakness she should not be showing him, an exploitable flaw in the pristine veil of the Queen of Shadows. Lizzie is no longer looking into his eyes, instead above them. She is weak.

Grian takes a breath, hold on his weapon tightening. There's a stutter in his stance and she can't help but believe that in this moment, he's weak too. Behind him, a colourful set of wings rises, making him appear larger than he is.

"I'm not taking a deal."

"I'm not offering a deal," she says, voice thin," I'm offering a compromise."

He lowers his eyes, looking at her armor and weapons. She's stronger than he is, here. She knows that he knows this. "Okay. What is it?"

"If you leave me alone, at least until I am yellow, I will work to see if I can break the curse of this place that prevents us from flight. There's no rule against it as far as I can tell. I will try to find a way around." She feels lightheaded," If you walk away, I will try. This is not a deal, nor is it an alliance. It is just a compromise."

Her hands shake as they stand off. For some time, there's no response from Grian. He steps closer to her. He pauses. She couldn't read him if she tried, like this.

Grian turns away, and vanishes into the forest.

[the-phantom-ender]

Neither of them are royalty. Which, perhaps, is what makes the foundations of their alliance so odd.

Ren is a simple fisherman, pouting about the land in a lonely kind of way. Lizzie stays confined to her ring of trees where she can, only venturing out on occasion.

Neither of them are royalty.

Which is what makes it so odd, that Lizzie's first instinct with the sword Ren gives her is so very formal.

"Kneel, dog." She says simply, blinking at the tone in her own voice.

With the same vague sense of knowing, Ren takes a knee in front of her," Yes, my lady."

She doesn't know where she learned how, but she taps both of his shoulders, and with more grace than she's ever had in her life, goes," With the power I have, upon granting you my life in return for your loyalty, I dub thee Sir RenDog, knight of the oc-oh- the Fairy Circle."

He looks up at her, just above his glasses, as his eyes shift from yellow to green. And he nods before rising to his feet," So it is done."

... Neither of them are royalty.

[the-phantom-ender]

The Shadow Queen was not human. This was abundantly clear when faced with her almost ethereal appearance, a set of translucent wings perpetually at rest behind her. She was not of the human sort. she didn't subscribe to their ideals. Her folk, in fact, had some rules that differed wildly from those of people.

A promise was of major significance. In the heat of the moment, in the heat of how humans and those raised in human culture reacted, perhaps this slipped her mind. Perhaps it slipped her mind how promises were sacred, and how no one should take her gifts just as she should not receive hers. No one should have stepped foot into her domain but she did not warn them.

... Maybe she should have. Maybe, if she had, it would have saved her the knowledge that the people who stood in her circle broke all the bonds she knew, so ancient that she could barely fathom their start point. Maybe she should have turned them away, stayed on her lonesome. Yet she didn't.

Cleo was gone, after a promise of trust. There was nothing she could do to bring her back. Big B had broken that trust, leaving it severed by his own two hands. She wasn't sure where to stand, now, yet she was certain that the first of the two had begun to despise her. For all her ability, however, the Shadow Queen didn't... know. How could she have?

She... knew for Ren. That was because he was a terrible liar. And lying while being terrible at it was arguably much less offensive than being good. Big B had her fooled.

This was not good. At all. She still chose to protect Big B in the end, as it was her duty and he now had a flaming target on his back. He was still someone she devoted herself to. The three of them, The queen, the knight, and the shamed man, all had bonds tied to one another, like it or not.

She, as much as she tried, could not shake the feeling of a promise being broken. She, as much as she tried, could not draw any power from this.

What can one do when a faerie breaks all her own rules?

[the-phantom-ender]

last night i saw a post that was like "doll grian but make it last life" and i cannot for the life of me find it again but i have spare time on the bus so like. thoughts.

---

Mumbo has sewn his friend Grian back together before. The two of them have known each other for some time! Or- at least he believes they have, memory is a fair bit odd in this place. He's sewn Grian together before because Grian is a reckless man and all considered Mumbo is much more cautious (bearing in mind the situation, at least). He isn't the best at sewing, but he has experience.

Some of the others also appear to have some experience with this. In the same distant and far-off sort of way Mumbo does.

He can't say he's ever had to sew his head back on, though. Grian's button eyes have a sort of light to them, generally, and it is wholly missing at the moment. He tries to pretend that he isn't bothered by this but he very much is. They don't have a proper needle, either, so they have to make do with something wooden- as iron is a finite resource at the moment.

It pokes bigger holes than he wished it did. Impulse is making sure the string stays untangled. Martyn, with life to spare, is looking around. Perhaps there's some spiders around, just in case the string runs out. Jimmy is- well mostly just pacing, actually.

Mumbo tries to make quick work of it- he does! But keeping in mind putting things back the right way and in the right place and not using too much string and not losing any stuffing and- it's- oh dear it's a lot! Quite a bit! And he can't help but cringe slightly when looking at the difference in thread. It looks like a scar. Which... it very well is.

He finally ties off the stich and pulls it taut. The silence lingering in the South grows heavier in that moment, weighing on all those there. Mumbo bites his lip, despite himself, backing off just a bit.

Finally, there's a slight stur from Grian's form. With a start, he sits up straight, black button eyes shimmering with a scared and confused yellow.

... Ah, right. That's how this game went.

[the-phantom-ender]

sad flower husbands/empires time? sad flower husbands time.

What if Scott actually doesn't fully remember 3rd Life. That is, he remembers facts but he doesn't remember the emotions.

Because maybe Jimmy wasn't supposed to be in Empires. He is, after all, an odd choice for this world of builders. But perhaps Scott couldn't stand the thought of everything ending, so... he made a deal. A deal with a certain... being. A deal that cost him the emotional memories of 3rd Life, leaving behind nothing but the dry timeline. So he "remembers"... but he doesn't really remember.

But it's okay. He doesn't regret it. Because Jimmy is here, and Jimmy is alive, and it doesn't matter if Scott feels nothing when he looks at the Pufferish, and it doesn't matter if Xornoth just stands there, staring at him in silent mockery (no need to torment the one who gave him a foothold in this world), and it doesn't matter if the Codfather always looks so disappointed in him.

Scott paid a fair price, he thinks. And yet... somehow, when he looks at the poppy in his hand, something twinges in his chest. Not a memory. More... an instinct.

This feels right, he writes, not really knowing why. And he walks away from the box of wool and string and wonders if maybe somewhere, watching, there's another version of himself, waiting with a box full of exorcised-and-sacrificed memories, for a day when the power of the demon fails.

Maybe.

-🐦

FOR FREE??? sobs??? yells??? oh my god???

also just. listen. the parallels between the idea of like... scott making a deal with xornoth out of a desperation to protect the person he loves and ren making a deal with the red king to do just the same thing? mwah. mwah!

anyhow. i felt a little inspired so now you get a stack fic.

This feels right Ink touches the note, engraved and permanent so long as it isn't written over. This feels right. Why? It... doesn't matter, not here, not now. Not when war is surely brewing. He doesn't have time to wonder why. He can't stick around to watch the shipment be received by the Codfather. He doesn't know why. He just knows that it hurts.

[the-phantom-ender]

There is a world that is confined to a border. This world is empty now, nothing at all, but it was once everything at once and more.

If you look to one end, to a place where magic and sacrifice run rampant, a place built on runes on pages and carved into metal, you find Winter. It is cold there, always cold, and the eyes of a dog turned wolf gleam. Red as blood and cold as ice.

On another end, you find a place forged from greed and guilt, an owed servitude and a dept that can never truly be repaid. Here is Summer. It is a sweltering desert and smells of gunpowder and false promises. No place is as renound for death as the desert in summertime.

When you see the castle on one side, you have reached Autumn. It is built on the promise of protection, of a bond formed from the instant the world began. It is doomed to fall like leaves from a tree, but time is as fleeting as those who live it, is it not?

You know Spring before you see it. It smells of sweet bouquets, of the flowers that bloom all along it waving softly on. There are two homes beyond it's wall and a pond in its center. They meet in the middle. It's peaceful, safe. Or you believe there was a time it was.

There are other places, sure. Winter meets Summer with a swarming pack of wolves, now running wild with no leader. Fall and Winter intersect in a plush castle. There was a time it might have been white, but it's now charred black.

There is a world that is confined to a boarder. The world is empty now, but once...

[the-phantom-ender]

Bdubs looked up at the moon, big and bright and huge before him. He turned his head. There was the moon, still. Smaller now, less full. His home, the place he'd set up shop!

The world was ending. That's what everyone said. But Bdubs? He didn't believe it, not really! Moon's big, so what?

Besides, it wasn't like the moon would kill him, anyways. Other people? Sure, maybe other people! So maybe it was good of them to leave (because they'd really mostly left by now)! But it wouldn't kill him, never him.

He was kinda shocked when Pearl decided to leave with Boatem, y'know? Didn't she feel it too? Because the moon was a lot of things but it was pretty... well y'know. Moon-y. Mysterious but magical and also always super pretty. Eh... that wasn't what that thought started as. Aha!

But once again, he looked at the moon. He'd never seen it so close before. And it was getting close- he knew that, he did. He just also knew it wouldn't hurt him! His pets, though? Ah... Lulu, maybe in another life!

As the world shook beneath his feet, as the temperature rose, Bdubs stood and smiled up at the sky, drinking it in. This was the end of this world, maybe, but not the end of him! Not by a long shot.

After all, he was the one who turned night to day.

[the-phantom-ender]

The world ended a million and a half years ago. maybe, parallel to you, it still is ending. But now... you're here. Did you do something wrong? The sword... it separates a soul from a body. Right. It never said it destroyed the soul. Just... moves it. Separate. Not gone.

Did you make the right choice, doing this? No, no, you must have. You saw the destruction the reflection of someone who was almost your brother caused.

Maybe this really is somewhere new. Maybe it's a dream. A way to put a restless soul to ease, to make a world as perfect as you desired. Whatever the case: you get the sense there's no going back.

[the-phantom-ender]

okay okay as requested by @redwinterroses herself, i give you the story of the crawdad that ate the pearl, a folktale within the cod empire (under the cut, because. story.)

Gather around, kids, and listen good, y’hear? Now you fries know fine and well all them human stories about peril and danger and whatnot, yeah? Now listen up for just a minute as I tell you a tale from our own kind. It’s an old, old story, and I’m sure you’ve heard all yer parents mention it. But, but, let me be the first to tell ya’ the old tale proper because it’s somethin’ you small fries can learn from.

Have you ever heard yer parents say they felt like that ol’ crawdad that swallowed a pearl? You’ve said it before? Not knowing what it meant? Well stick me in a salad and call me seaweed, alright.

Well. I’ll tell ya’ that there story since you kids don’t seem to know it in and of yourselves, alright? Good, good. Settle down, all of you.

A long, long time ago, much longer ago than any of you were livin’ on this here world, the world was ruled over by animals and the like. Some were more clever than the others, the bugs were particularly stupid. But some of the bugs went on to become some of them fae folk, so they didn’t all stay stupid. Don’t go tellin’ none of them Overgrown folk I said that now, y’hear? But there were lots of sorts of folk livin’ in the world way before us.

Our folks, the cod, were well known for swimmin’ round and givin’ warnings to those that weren’t so savvy with the waters and all that. And they were real kinds of careful with them who could be on land and in water both, and them folks with shells. Freshwater pearls were all kinds a’ valuable back then, and they still are now but it was more so back then on account a’ the animals weren’t such savages and had to wait for the clams and oysters and muscles to die proper before takin’ their pearls.

Some who weren’t so savvy with the waters didn’t realize how important them freshwater pearls were, though, and would just gobble ‘em right up with the rest of the stuff in the shell.

-I said they weren’t savages, fries, not that they weren’t animals. Animals eat animals, that’s how it goes.-

And so sometimes folks who do stay in the waters won't know ‘cause the old wise cod wont tell ‘em otherhow. The cod weren’t the smartest there was but they were clever for the fish and that was well more than enough. So they warned folks plenty ‘bout how the pearls meant somethin’ and how they had to be protected and whatnot.

So once a crawdad who was a little less clever than the cod stumbled upon a muscle. And them crawdads have claws like a lobster so this little fella checked to make sure it wasn’t still livin’ and cracked it open. It went on eatin’ all the insides -no I don’t know if crawdads eat the insides of muscles, it’s an old story. Sit back down- but it went on eatin’ all the insides of the muscle not payin’ any mind at all to the shiny pearl that popped up and out, treatin’ it just like any old food.

And then a particularly old and clever cod came a’ swimming by. The cod stopped and watched the crawdad for a moment before swimmin’ up to ‘em and going,” Mind yerself ‘round that pearl, crawfish, it’s worth a lot more than your snappy little claws.”

But the clever cod was just a little too late in his speakin’ because just before he spoke up, the crawdad had swallowed the thing without a care in the world. Of course, hearin’ the cod’s call of concern, the crawdad turned around, stalky eyes wide and worried.

“How much is it worth, Mr. cod?” they asked, scuttlin’ around like that’d get the pearl out of their stomach.

“Plenty more than something to just go ‘n swallow.” says the old cod, turning away from the crawdad,” On account ‘a the fact that most muscles die natural ‘cause of their shells, and most a’ the ones that die don’t have pearls. Cost you more than yer snappy claw, like I’ve told ya’.”

So the crawdad looks down all dejected-like and goes,” Well how was I s’posed to know all that?”

“You couldn’ta.” says the cod,” not less someone told ya or you asked. All you knew was that you knew ya’ could eat the stuff in a muscle and no one told ya’ that you couldn’t eat all of it.”

And that’s the story.

… Well what d’ya mean ‘what’s the moral’? I thought it was all kinds a’ obvious. Listen fingerling- yeah I know ya’ ain’t a baby I’m teasing- listen fry, the moral’s all subjective and such, yeah? But it’s simple enough to just say that sometimes you’ll come upon somethin’ that means a lot more than you figure. Maybe it’s some kinda fancy event that you came underdressed for, maybe it’s just that you passed up what ya’ thought was lapis only for it to be diamond.

It’s a story. Run along now, all you, go find your parents and bother them. Tell ‘em you got told told the story about the crawdad and promise ‘em real well that you’ll be very very careful with things that you don’t know much about. Shoo now, go on, have a good day.

[the-phantom-ender]

Unlike a Watcher, a Listener is human until proven otherwise. Often, a Listener isn't even aware of the fact that they are one. Not until it's too late, not without intervention.

Listeners are aware but not conscious. They see through the lens of human error and hear others out. A Listener has a great capacity for compassion. They are also... followers. Consistently so. They follow and listen and speak but do not comprehend the vastness of all things. It's all people, to them.

To you.

[the-phantom-ender]

i did an audio of red rot in the style of a statement! i... struggled a lot with this but i hope you enjoy regardless!! just to be clear: you dont need to know jack about t.ma to understand this work dont worry dfkjhgf

[the-phantom-ender]

Scott was not jealous of the people who could fly, he didn't need to fly. His wings were damaged and he couldn't if he wanted to! And that was fine, it was fine with him. He could walk perfectly fine. Or he just... wouldn't leave Rivendale! It was fine.

Pearl bringing him an elytra did give him... a few ideas, though.

empires fic? empires fic. empires fic with my prosthetic wing hc. please enjoy the fic, let me know what you think!!

[the-phantom-ender]

Scott has never made a flower crown before. He isn't sure why it comes so effortlessly. He isn't sure why the warmth in his chest when thinking of Jimmy comes so effortlessly, either.

hello flower husbands enjoyers. i am speed.

uuuh. i hope you enjoy the fic its been a while since ive written something this soon after something happened! which uh. might be a curse because it means im posting it at like. just a terrible time.