#I could never play this game it would break me.

[izzih22]

U should write a fic abt Paige crashing out and being upset over not winning any games and azzi comforting her

Built to Break

Note: I would crash out too if I was being coached by Chris😂😂

The locker room was empty when Paige walked in, but it didn’t feel peaceful.

It felt hollow. Loud with silence.

She dropped her duffel on the floor with a heavy thud, then stood there, frozen in the middle of the room. She could still hear the crowd echoing in her head, but it wasn’t cheers. It was disappointment. Booing. Silence.

Another game. Another loss. Another headline tomorrow.

“Bueckers can’t carry team alone.”

“Star rookie struggling to deliver.”

She tore the tape off her leg violently, each rip louder than it needed to be. Her whole body was buzzing. Rage. Exhaustion. Shame.

She had dropped 28 points, 7 assists, 4 steals. Played all 40 minutes.

And still…

They lost.

And it wasn’t even close.

She walked over to her locker and threw her water bottle against the wall. It exploded on impact, spraying across the tile.

Then her sneakers.

Then the stat sheet one of the assistants had left on her seat.

The paper fluttered to the ground. She stared at it. Her line looked good. Impressive even.

And yet they were 0–11.

Winless.

She braced both hands on the edge of the bench and leaned over, chest heaving. The fluorescent lights above hummed. The buzz in her head screamed.

She was so tired of carrying it all.

Being the face. The leader. The hope.

Doing everything she was supposed to and still walking into that tunnel every night with her head down.

She had never known this kind of losing.

And it wasn’t just losing it was watching teammates quit mid-game. Coaches freeze. Systems fall apart in real time.

She was giving everything and it wasn’t enough.

Her palms curled into fists. Her jaw clenched so hard it hurt.

She wanted to scream. To smash something.

But instead she sat down slowly on the bench, shaking, and buried her face in her hands.

⸻

She didn’t hear the door open.

Didn’t hear the footsteps at first.

It wasn’t until a voice said, “Paige…” that her head jerked up like someone had struck her.

Azzi.

Standing in the doorway in a grey hoodie and leggings, her bag still slung over one shoulder, eyes wide and soft and worried.

Paige blinked. Her breath caught in her throat.

“What are you—” her voice cracked, harsh from shouting and silence. “What are you doing here?”

Azzi took a cautious step forward. “I flew in this afternoon. I didn’t tell you because I didn’t know if you’d want me here after—”

“After another loss?” Paige snapped before she could stop herself. Her voice wasn’t aimed at Azzi, but it was sharp. Bitter.

Azzi stopped moving. “No,” she said gently. “After everything. I just wanted to be here. With you.”

Paige stood suddenly, pacing again, her hands going to her hips. “You shouldn’t have come. You don’t need to see this.”

Azzi frowned. “See what?”

Paige motioned to the mess the water, the papers, her torn jersey on the floor. “This. Me losing my mind. Me doing everything I can and still watching it fall apart. I dropped almost thirty tonight, Az. And we still got smoked.”

Azzi opened her mouth, but Paige kept going.

“I’m killing myself out there. I’m fighting for every possession, I’m in the gym until midnight most nights, I’m trying to lead a team that looks at me like I’m just some kid who got lucky. And no one else steps up. No one.”

She was pacing faster now. Her hands flailing a little. Her voice rising with every word.

“I talk to coaches, I rewatch every game, I adjust, I push. I carry. Every damn game, I carry them. And it doesn’t matter. We lose. Every time. And I—” Her voice broke. “I don’t know how much longer I can do this.”

Azzi was watching her closely. Quiet. Focused.

Paige looked like she was about to combust.

“I don’t sleep,” Paige said, laughing bitterly. “I dream about missed shots and broken coverages. I dream about being back at UConn where people cared. Where it mattered. Where I had you.”

Her voice caught again.

Azzi finally stepped closer. “You have me now.”

Paige shook her head. “No. Not like that. Not in the locker room after a loss. Not in my ear during huddles. Not when I need you in those seconds before the game starts and I’m trying to remember who I am.”

Azzi didn’t flinch. “Then let me remind you.”

Paige was still shaking her head, eyes glassy, trying to hold it in, trying to keep the heat boiling instead of letting it turn into tears.

Azzi didn’t ask again. She just reached forward, slowly, and placed a hand over Paige’s chest.

Right where her heart was pounding.

That single touch steady, warm, grounding, hit like a lightning strike.

Paige went still.

Her breathing hitched.

And then everything shattered.

Her face crumpled as a sob broke out of her throat. Her knees buckled slightly, and Azzi caught her, pulling her into her arms without hesitation.

Paige collapsed against her, arms tight around her waist, forehead pressing into Azzi’s shoulder. She was shaking with the force of it now not from rage, but from the crash.

“I can’t do this alone,” she whispered. “I can’t. I thought I could but I can’t.”

Azzi held her tighter. “You’re not alone. I’m here.”

Paige’s grip tightened like she was afraid if she let go, everything would fall apart again.

“I’m trying so hard,” she sobbed. “I really thought I could change things.”

“You are changing things,” Azzi murmured. “Even if it doesn’t feel like it yet.”

They sank down onto the bench, still wrapped around each other. Paige’s face was buried in Azzi’s hoodie. Azzi just let her cry no rush, no judgment. Only hands in her hair, soft murmurs, the quiet safety of being known.

Eventually, Paige’s breathing slowed. Her body stopped shaking.

Azzi looked down at her. “You did good tonight.”

“We lost,” Paige muttered.

“You didn’t.”

Paige looked up at her, tear-streaked and exhausted. “Don’t say that unless you mean it.”

Azzi smiled softly, brushing hair out of her face. “I’ve never said anything I didn’t mean to you.”

Paige closed her eyes. “Don’t let go.”

“Not planning on it.”

⸻

They didn’t talk much on the drive home.

Paige kept one hand on the wheel, the other resting on Azzi’s thigh not gripping, not fidgeting. Just there. Grounding. Her thumb moved in slow, steady circles like she needed to feel something real. Azzi never moved it away.

The city lights blurred past them in streaks of gold and red. The traffic hummed. But inside the car, there was only stillness.

When they reached the apartment, Paige unlocked the door and stepped aside to let Azzi in first, like she always used to. Muscle memory. Like nothing had changed.

But it had.

And yet… not this.

Not them.

Azzi stepped out of her sneakers and looked around the place, soft smile tugging at the corner of her lips.

Her UConn hoodie was still tossed over the back of one of the kitchen chairs from the last time she visited. There was a single scrunchie sitting on the bathroom counter. Her favorite brand of tea still had a spot in the cupboard.

Paige walked in behind her and let the door close with a quiet click.

She didn’t say anything. Just wrapped her arms around Azzi from behind and buried her face in her neck.

Azzi didn’t speak either. She just covered Paige’s hands with her own.

They stood like that for a long moment, the city muted behind the windows, the quiet stretching out between them like a blanket.

When Paige finally pulled back, her voice was soft. Rough around the edges.

“I know you don’t technically live here,” she murmured, “but it still feels like ours.”

Azzi turned around, her expression gentle. “You think of it that way?”

Paige’s eyes flicked around the apartment. The framed photo of them at nineteen sitting on the bookshelf. The pair of slippers Azzi had left under the bed back in February. The mug that Paige still hadn’t used since Azzi last did.

“Yeah,” she said simply. “It’s never not felt like ours.”

Azzi stepped closer, fingers brushing Paige’s wrist. “Even when I’m not here?”

Paige swallowed. Her voice broke again, quieter now. “Especially then.”

Azzi’s face softened. She touched Paige’s cheek, thumb grazing lightly beneath her eye. “You didn’t need to be strong for me tonight.”

“I didn’t know how not to be,” Paige whispered. “Until I saw you. Until you… touched me.”

Azzi leaned in and kissed her. Just once. Slow and steady and deep not because it was leading anywhere, but because it had nowhere else to go.

Paige exhaled against her lips like she’d been holding her breath for days.

And then she took Azzi’s hand and walked her to the couch, pulling her down gently, guiding her right into her lap. Azzi settled against her like second nature, legs folded to the side, head tucked under Paige’s chin.

Paige wrapped her arms around her like she couldn’t bear to let her go.

⸻

They stayed like that on the couch, wrapped around each other, the room dim except for the low streetlights bleeding in through the windows. Paige’s arms hadn’t loosened since Azzi climbed into her lap if anything, she was holding tighter now. Not like she was afraid Azzi would leave, but like she needed something solid to keep herself from unraveling again.

Azzi didn’t speak. She didn’t try to fix anything. She just let Paige hold her. Let Paige breathe through the heaviness. Let her be quiet.

Eventually, Paige shifted slightly, her hands still curled at the hem of Azzi’s hoodie.

“I hate how everything feels right now,” she said, voice low. “Basketball. My body. The pressure. The way people look at me.”

Azzi rested her chin on Paige’s shoulder. “But not this?”

Paige shook her head once. “No. Not this. This is the only thing that doesn’t feel like it’s slipping.”

Azzi nodded, her fingers brushing softly over Paige’s side.

Neither of them moved to get up. The clock ticked quietly in the background. The apartment smelled faintly like cinnamon from that candle Azzi left behind months ago.

Paige smiled at the thought and adjusted the blanket, shifted a little, holding Azzi tighter chest to chest, arms firm around her back, like the only thing she needed tonight was the feel of her girl breathing.

No fixes.

No pep talks.

Just this.

And for once, it was enough.

[kxsagi]

Just a question, lowkey who do you think you could realistically pull in blue lock?

okay so here's my completely sane, rational, definitely-not-delulu essay about isagi yoichi, the love of my life, the blueprint of boyfriend behavior, and quite literally the goat 🐐🙏

first of all, let’s talk about the obvious: isagi yoichi is peak human evolution. like god was mixing ingredients and just said “hold on, let me cook,” and then boom, isagi. he’s smart, determined, loyal, and somehow still acts like he doesn’t realize he’s hot. that man walks around with a perfect ahoge and huge thighs like he’s not everyone's crush. be so fr.

he is the embodiment of main character energy, but without being annoying about it. he’s just... quietly ambitious. like yes, he wants to be the best striker in the world and he’ll break you down mentally and tactically to get there, but he’ll also walk you home, carry your bag, and thank you for making him lunch with those soft little eyes. he's a killer on the field and a golden retriever off it. duality? mastered.

as my boyfriend, he’s unbeatable. he texts "good luck!" before an exam and sends a voice message after like, "you did amazing, i just know it." he tries to study with me even if he doesn’t understand the subject at all. he’d be so confused looking at a math problem, but still hype me up like, “you’re so smart, wtf. you're actually a genius.” like shut up yoichi 𝓲 𝓵𝓸𝓿𝓮 𝔂𝓸𝓾.

and the way he loves??? yeah no, that man looks at me like i hung the stars. he’s the type to get flustered when i compliment him, but will defend me like his life depends on it. he’ll remember tiny things i said in passing and bring them up a week later like “didn’t you say you liked that? i saw it and thought of you.” HELLO? THE STANDARD???

he kisses my forehead before every game like it’s a ritual and won’t leave until i say “good luck baby, you got this.” he thinks i'm his lucky charm and literally plays better when i'm watching. after the match, he’s sweaty and tired, but makes a beeline for me in the crowd like he hasn’t seen me in years. and then he hugs me with his whole soul and whispers “did i do good?” like he didn’t just score the last winning goal.

also? isagi yoichi would never make me cry unless it’s from happiness. he listens to me rant for hours, offers thoughtful advice, and then suggests we get snacks and watch a movie together to help me calm down. he’s the kind of boyfriend who wants to be my peace, and he is.

every time he looks at me, it’s with that same intensity he has on the field. like i'm the goal he’s chasing. i'm his dream, his support, his reason to keep growing. and that’s why he’s the goat. not just because he’s the tactical genius of blue lock, not just because he’s literally carrying japan’s future, but because he’s the boyfriend who'd fight the world for me and still ask if i'm okay afterwards.

in conclusion, isagi yoichi is not just the love of my life, he’s the love of everyone’s life (though he's mine). the best boyfriend, the sweetest soul, the sharpest mind, and the most loyal partner. respectfully, he owns me. and no, i will not be accepting criticism at this time. thank you 🫶🏻

[gav-san]

Soul Shanked 3/4

Main Masterlist Here

One Piece Masterlist

Soul Shanked Masterlist

Chapter Title: Ten Feet of Shirtless Chaos and Absolutely No Peace Length: 11 K+

Previous/Next

Taglist: @wontknowbetter, @sleepydang @flav1a0 @pleasantkittenpersona @heartsforseo

You sat at the edge of the palace terrace like a diplomat carved from marble. Back straight, hands folded, shoulders coiled so tight they might snap if anyone so much as exhaled too loudly.

Flanking you were your appointed chaperones: Sisca the Silent and Jai the Judgemental. Boa’s finest. Her favorites. Her blades.

They didn’t blink. They didn’t speak. You weren’t entirely convinced they breathed. Each held a spear that looked less like a weapon and more like divine retribution forged in steel. Both radiated the kind of calm that promised they’d vaporize Shanks without breaking a sweat. Or protocol.

Naturally, that only seemed to encourage him.

He lounged by the nearest pillar, leaning just enough to seem relaxed but not sufficient to trigger instant death. A perfect 9.8 feet away.

Shanks leaned against the balustrade like he owned the view, one boot hooked casually over the other, the picture of arrogant ease. The sea breeze played with his hair and the ends of his coat, catching on the amused tilt of his mouth like even the wind had a crush on him.

“You always this formal, sweetheart?” he asked, voice low and teasing. “Or is it just me?”

You didn’t answer. Not because you lacked a retort but because you couldn’t afford to play the game. Not here. Not with him playing with both of your lives. Not with Boa’s honor quietly weighing itself across your shoulders like a ceremonial yoke.

One wrong move, and Sisca would drive a spear through his lung faster than a heartbeat. One wrong word, and Jai would file the paperwork for your funeral,neatly, alphabetically, and in triplicate.

Still, Shanks smiled. Like a man who’d never met a warning he couldn’t charm his way past.

“Don’t worry,” he said, flicking you a wink. “I’ve had worse reception. Once got stabbed before the hello. This is practically a warm welcome.”

Sisca’s grip on her weapon didn’t so much as twitch.

You sighed, spine still iron-rod straight. “You were told this wasn’t a social visit.”

“I thought we’d multitask,” he said. “Politics and flirtation—two of my strongest suits.”

Jai inhaled sharply through her nose. You weren’t sure if it was disapproval or the prelude to divine smiting.

You turned your head just enough to meet his eyes. “You’re very confident for a man surrounded by women who could, and would, fold you like laundry.”

“Ah,” Shanks murmured, grin widening, “but I’ve always liked dangerous women. Especially ones who sit like they’re one insult away from murder.”

The mark on his collarbone glowed faintly, catching the dying light. And he was smiling, like a man born for slow-motion disasters and thoroughly delighted to be starring in one.

“You know,” he said, voice dipped in moonlight, “I like your name.”

You didn’t answer.

He glanced sideways at the guards. “Ladies. That wasn’t flirting. Just a compliment. Zero seduction, full respect. No stabbing necessary.”

Neither woman moved.

Not a blink. Not a breath. One of them might have narrowed an eye. Or maybe the light shifted. Or maybe it was divine wrath, quietly calibrating.

You remained still. Unmoving. Impeccable. If posture could kill, yours would be dragging his soul to the underworld.

Shanks, of course, looked like a man lounging in the middle of a dream he had no intention of waking from. Ten feet of glittering threat. Ten feet of controlled power. Ten feet of pirate emperor clearly thriving under scrutiny.

“I mean it,” he added, voice low. “Your name. It suits you.”

Silence.

Then, to the guards, gently, as if addressing a bear mid-nap:

“Still not flirting. Just being polite. Totally platonic appreciation of her identity.” He rubbed his chin with the back of his hand. His one hand. Easy, casual, the motion somehow cocky and graceful all at once.

Sisca’s knuckles flexed on her spear.

Jai inhaled. Once.

You didn’t move. But your eye twitched. Barely.

Shanks lit up like he’d been handed a personal victory. “Progress.”

You finally spoke, your voice as flat and cold as the marble beneath you.

“If you die, I still die. That’s the only reason you’re not impaled.”

He grinned, entirely unbothered. Possibly more pleased.

“So you’re saying… I’m protected by fate.”

You turned your head slowly. Deliberately. “I’m saying don’t push it.”

Sisca’s spear shifted forward by a single, terrifying millimeter.

Shanks immediately lifted his one hand in surrender, elbow tucked loose at his side like he was halfway to curtsying.

“Not pushing,” he said cheerfully. “Just standing. Respectfully. Handsomely. Supportively.”

You inhaled through your nose and began calculating the moral logistics of screaming directly into the sea. Would Boa fine you? Would it echo?

Silence.

He glanced back, chin tilted, that damn glimmer in his eye. “Do you always wear your hair like that?”

Your head turned just slightly. “You’re not allowed to compliment me, man-creature.”

“I’m not?”

“It counts as manipulation.”

He laughed, low and amused, like he’d just watched a nobleman trip down palace stairs. “Fair point. But I am allowed to say I’m glad it was you.”

Your jaw clenched so hard your molars filed a formal complaint.

“I wanted a quiet weekend,” you hissed. “Not to be soul-tethered to a sentimental pirate with seaweed for brains. I’ve adopted a glorified fruit peddler with a superiority complex.”

“Hey,” Shanks replied, utterly unbothered, “I’d make a terrible vendor. I’d eat the stock. Plus the hair causes riots. Pretty sure it’s a war crime in at least five ports. Seven if I style it.”

You groaned and dragged both hands down your face, smearing invisible frustration like war paint.

“Divine punishment,” you muttered. “That’s what this is. The gods got bored and picked me for enrichment.”

You fixed your eyes on the sea like it might swallow him whole if you stared hard enough.

It didn’t help.

Mostly because he wouldn’t shut up.

The guards were already tired of him.

“I have to say,” he murmured, casually leaning back against a pillar and crossing his legs at the ankle, “that’s an impressive spear. Subtle. Elegant. Bit terrifying. I like that in a woman.”

Sisca didn’t blink. But her grip tightened by exactly two degrees.

Then he turned to Jai, smiling with the patience of a man trying to charm a crocodile in formalwear. “And you. That stance? Flawless. I feel safer already. I think we’re really building something here.”

Jai blinked once. Slowly. Like an apex predator watching its lunch make too much noise.

You exhaled through your nose. Loudly.

Shanks tilted his weight, one-armed balance casual as a cat, and crossed his legs the other way.

“You know, I think I’m growing on them.”

“They’re deciding who gets to stab you first,” you said flatly.

He shrugged. One shoulder, one arm, all relaxed nonsense.

““Ah,” He said, all charm and chaos wrapped in sunburnt sea king energy “The classic affection-to-homicide pipeline.”

You said nothing.

He glanced again at Sisca. “Let me guess, former special ops?”

Silence.

“Silent type. Love that. Mysterious. Dangerous. Probably writes poetry in secret.”

Still no response.

Shanks beamed. “See? We’re bonding.”

You turned your head just enough to glare. “You’re antagonizing trained killers.”

“I’ve lost my arm and my ability to openly flirt,” he said, solemn as a monk. “Entertaining trained killers is all I have left. Unless you’re willing to bend the rules—”

Jai’s spear shifted. Sharply.

Shanks raised his hand, palm out like he was surrendering to divine judgment. “Flirting is off the table. I’m aware. Just being respectful. Loudly.”

You turned your gaze back to the horizon, jaw locked so tight it could cut rope. “If you get impaled, I’m not helping.”

“Good news,” Shanks said brightly. “We’d die together.”

That earned him something unexpected: Sisca looked at him.

Just a glance. Brief. But not blank. Something flickered behind her eyes, and she was clearly trying very hard not to show it.

You nearly slid off the terrace in pure, unfiltered despair.

Then, movement.

Both guards shifted. Subtly. Like the air had changed.

Sisca cleared her throat. “We’re due for a perimeter loop.”

You blinked. “You just checked the perimeter.”

“Regulation,” she said crisply.

Jai turned her head, fixing Shanks with a stare cold enough to halt blood flow. “Five minutes. Touch her, and I remove a limb.”

Shanks saluted with two fingers. “You’re both doing incredible work. Love the structure. I feel very safe.”

They turned and walked off. Slowly. Too slowly. Like they were trying not to smirk. Or listen.

You stared after them, slack-jawed. “…Did you charm my guards?”

Shanks tilted his head, all innocence and mischief, the wind toying with his hair like it liked him more than it should.

“Define charm.”

“…”

“Not on purpose,” he added quickly, lifting his hand again in mock surrender. “I just asked Jai if she was the deadliest woman on the island, or if that title still belonged to you.”

You blinked. Then slowly, deliberately, raised one hand to point at him. “That was absolutely on purpose.”

He grinned wider. “Maybe a little.”

“Stop. Talking.”

You hissed through your teeth, a sound somewhere between a threat and a prayer.

“Right,” he nodded, all mock gravity. “Silent admiration. Got it.”

You turned away before the guards returned and found you mid-yeet, launching a pirate emperor off the terrace in front of the royal koi pond.

You had once been a functional human being.

You rose with the sun. Drank your tea. Did your stretches. Negotiated trade deals. Smoothed over diplomatic fires. Once disarmed a bounty hunter using nothing but a rolled scroll and three precisely chosen insults.

But now?

Now you had Red-Haired Shanks, Emperor of the Sea, walking disaster, and your newly soul-bound curse, trailing after you like a golden retriever made of rum, grins, and catastrophic impulse control.

And the worst part?

He didn’t look bad doing it.

Never more than ten feet away. Constantly testing your ability to gauge exactly how long ten feet is.

A little later, in a valiant attempt to salvage a shred of peace and dignity over a quiet cup of tea, you finally managed to steal a moment alone.

The breeze was calm. The tea was warm. You were seated, upright, composed.

“Is that tea? Smells incredible. Or is that just your natural scent?”

His voice rang out behind you. Bright, chipper, and unmistakably cursed.

You flinched.

Missed your mouth.

And poured scalding tea directly down your front.

There was a moment of silence. A beat of disbelief. 

A horrified gasp. “Oh no. Was it my voice? Do I always have that effect? Is this normal? Should I warn people?”

You stared down at the wet, steaming mess. Then upward, toward the heavens, as if appealing directly to whatever deity was clearly trying to humble you through long-form emotional comedy.

You briefly considered drinking the rest just to speed up divine judgment.

Behind you, Shanks hesitated. Then padded forward with exaggerated caution. Like you were a wounded animal and he was the world’s most insufferable veterinarian.

“Okay,” he said softly, “not a compliment this time. Just an observation. You’re very composed under extreme tea trauma.”

You didn’t answer. Just plucked a napkin from the tray and began blotting your dress like a corpse preparing itself for burial.

“I have water,” he offered, holding up a flask. “Possibly. It might also be sake. Or really brave juice. Would you like to gamble?”

You turned your head just enough to stare at him with pure, exhausted fury.

Shanks winced. “Okay. Not the time for jokes.”

He scratched the back of his neck with his one hand, then awkwardly mimed offering a second before realizing, again, that he didn’t have one.

“Right. Just the one hand,” he muttered. “Still getting used to the dramatic pause when I go for the other.”

You sighed, shoulders drooping, dignity trailing away like steam from your tea-soaked lap.

“I was alone for three minutes,” you said, voice hollow. “Three.”

“That’s on me,” he said sincerely. “I sensed the peace and got jealous.”

You looked back down at your tea. Lukewarm now. Ruined.

“…I despise you.”

Shanks sat cross-legged beside you, entirely too comfortable for a man who just verbally ambushed your afternoon and indirectly baptized you in boiling oolong.

“Yeah,” he said, nudging his shoulder against yours. “But I’m growing on you.”

You stared down at the dripping mess. Then at the heavens. And seriously considered drinking the rest just to speed up divine judgment. You picked up your cup again, stared into its depths, and quietly whispered, “Please drown me.”

If you so much as dared to stretch in your own yard, he’d be there.

Perched on a bench. Ten feet away. Unblinking. Uninvited. Unstoppable.

“Wow,” he murmured one morning, eyes fixed on you like you were a rare comet or divine omen. “Do all the warriors here bend like that, or are you showing off just for me?”

You promptly collapsed sideways into the grass and didn’t get up for a full minute.

Not because you were injured.

Because your soul needed time to reboot.

From somewhere disturbingly nearby, his voice drifted again, chip-cheerful and ruinous.

“Careful. If you keep moving like that, I might have to throw my only hand  in marriage.”

You screamed into the lawn. Quietly. With dignity.

Sort of.

Reading in the library?

Impossible.

He sat behind you quietly humming, hand tapping books, watching the sunlight catch in your hair like it was the grand finale of a celestial event.

Every time you turned a page, you could feel him watching. Not leering. Not even flirtatious.

Just warm. Focused. Like a man who had discovered his new favorite hobby was you, sitting still and trying not to scream.

You made it halfway through a paragraph.

Then launched the scroll across the room with the emotional control of a goat on a cliff.

From somewhere behind you came his gentle, infuriating voice:

“That one must’ve been a tough read, huh?”

You considered throwing him next. Preferably out the nearest window.

At dinner?

You dropped your chopsticks. Twice. Because of his humming.

The first time, you brushed it off. The second, you stared at your own hands like they had personally betrayed you.

He picked them up both times, smiling like you were starring in some tragic romance where the heroine had been bested by wood and song.

As he handed them back the second time, he leaned in and whispered, “If I’d known chopsticks were the way to your heart, I would’ve started humming years ago.”

You stared at him like he’d just confessed to a war crime.

He stared back, looking unreasonably pleased for a man with one arm and zero shame.

You ate the rest of your meal with a fork.

From the dessert tray.

Alone.

In a separate room.

With the door locked.

And a chair wedged under the handle.

But Shanks' worst trait wasn’t the bad one-arm puns and unmanned one-liners.

He just talked. Constantly. With that maddening, wind-in-your-sails voice. Like he hadn’t trespassed, soul-bonded himself to you, and turned your carefully structured existence into a cursed honeymoon with color commentary.

You were an envoy. A negotiator. You liked things calm. Predictable. Quiet.

Now he sat across from you at meals grinning, polite, one leg swinging like a bored child with no grasp of war crimes. While he complimented the oils, the stars, or how “fascinating” your face looked when you were trying not to throw him out the nearest window.

It was getting to you.

You were chewing too loudly. Breathing weird. Sweating from existing.

Meanwhile, he looked like he’d just stepped off a wanted poster and onto a luxury resort flyer titled “Surprise! It’s Your Problem Now.”

One evening, walking the inner path with your ever-silent guard a few paces behind, he glanced over. 

“You know… if it weren’t for the deadly tether curse, this would kind of feel like a romantic getaway.” He said, casual as sin.

You choked on your own breath. “Don’t say things like that.”

He held up a hand, palm out, innocent as a storm cloud. “Just trying to break the tension.”

“The tension exists because of you!” you snapped. “You scaled a wall, broke into sacred grounds, and committed a forbidden bonding ritual that rewrote my soul!”

He had the gall, the utter, seafaring gall, to smile.

Like he hadn’t metaphysically hijacked your future and turned your destiny into a sitcom with no laugh track.

Your soulmark pulsed.

Warm. Smug. Traitorous.

Shanks tilted his head, the breeze catching his hair like he’d paid it to. Still smiling. “To be fair, I asked the wall for consent before I scaled it.”

You gawked at him. “You are impossible.”

“I’m consistent,” he replied brightly. “That counts for something.”

Your soulmark flared again. You slapped your hand over it like it owed you money.

“Stop agreeing with him!”

Shanks looked delighted. “See? Even fate likes me.”

You considered throwing him off the balcony. And briefly mourned that you’d be yanked right after him like an angry, cursed kite.

You wanted to scream. Or faint. Or punch a shrub. Possibly all three. In that order.

Then, like it was nothing, he plucked a flower from a nearby hedge and offered it to you with the absentminded ease of a man who had never once faced a consequence in his life.

You took it.

Paused.

And hurled it, with deadly precision, straight into the koi pond. The splash was divine.

The look on his face? Transcendent.

“Symbolic,” he murmured, deadpan. “Bold. Rebellious. I respect it.”

You turned and stormed off so hard you hit the tether. It snapped taut with a jolt that nearly yanked you backward. Shanks just called after you cheerfully, “Teamwork makes the soul-work!”

You screamed into your sleeve.

The koi pond rippled in sympathy.

He laughed.

That night, flat on your back on your designated side of the room, because tether, you stared at the ceiling and whispered into your pillow,

“He’s going to kill me. I’m going to die. Not from swords. From exposure. Exposure to a feral, unrepentant pet male creature.”

Across the dark room, entirely too awake, his voice drifted softly:

“You breathe really loud when you’re thinking.”

You shrieked.

The guards groaned in unison from their post just inside the door.

And Shanks?

Shanks just laughed.

Low. Warm.

Utterly delighted to be alive. Utterly delighted to be here. Utterly delighted to be yours.

Your downfall started with a twitch.

Barely anything. A flicker at the corner of your mouth.

You were seated at the edge of the courtyard, clinging to your last scraps of dignity and a lukewarm cup of tea, while Shanks lounged ten feet away under a cherry tree, hurling berries at a squirrel and losing every round.

He was humming again.

Some quiet, sea-worn tune that didn’t belong here, low and unpolished, a melody born of open water and wind, but somehow, it didn’t feel out of place. Like it had slipped through the cracks of this refined world and decided to stay.

Like him.

You did not notice.

You were drinking tea.

Not listening.

Definitely not watching him stretch in the sunlight like some maddeningly relaxed, gilded menace.

His coat had been tossed over a stone bench, long-sleeved and worn. He stood barefoot in the grass, back to you, shirt wrinkled and only half-tucked. He moved like he had all the time in the world. Slow, fluid, and entirely unbothered by the weight of your silence.

You did not look up when he rolled his shoulder, or when he tilted his head just so, like he was listening to something only he could hear.

You were an envoy. A diplomat. A professional. Your fingers wrapped delicately around the porcelain cup, posture perfect. You were not distracted by the way the sunlight caught the edges of his hair like a halo of rust and fire.

Or by the line of muscle just visible beneath the hem of his shirt when he reached behind his neck with his one arm, spine arching in a lazy stretch.

You certainly didn’t notice the way his hum dropped into something deeper, rougher, ust before it faded out entirely.

He didn’t speak. Didn’t look at you.

Just stood there, soaking in the morning warmth like a creature made for summer.

And you?

You sipped your tea. Calmly. Carefully.

And told yourself that your heartbeat hadn’t changed at all.

Then he said, almost to himself,

“You ever notice squirrels don’t like sharing? I offered him half. He judged me. Like, visibly. With his little squirrel eyes.”

You didn’t mean to react.

But your lips twitched.

Just a little.

Too little to matter.

His head turned, slow and triumphant.

“Was that a smile?”

You narrowed your eyes. “It was a spasm.”

“A very pretty spasm.”

“Die.”

He grinned and leaned back on his elbows, sun catching in that ridiculous red hair like it had been personally blessed by the gods for the sole purpose of testing your restraint.

“I’m just saying,” he said, all casual mischief, “if you laugh, I won’t report you to Hancock.”

You hissed like he’d insulted your bloodline. “I am not laughing. I’m surviving. Barely. You’re not a soulmate. You’re a feral pet I am unable to return who follows me like a leased beast.”

He looked radiant. Absolutely thriving on your suffering.

“I’d wear a real leash,” he said brightly. “If it’s you holding it.”

You made a noise so undignified even the birds paused.

One of the guards flinched.

A squirrel launched itself off the balcony like it wanted no part in what was unfolding.

Shanks, meanwhile, looked like he’d just won a chest of gold, a festival, and your eternal suffering all in one.

Utterly victorious.

You didn’t move. You couldn’t. You were frozen between outrage, embarrassment, and the overwhelming urge to commit leash-related violence.

The next time your composure broke, it was a full-blown near-snort.

He’d been telling the guards a story. Something about a crewmate, an exploding pie, and a very poorly timed sneeze.

You were meditating. Not listening.

Until he said, “—and then the chef yelled, ‘It’s not seagull! That’s my wig!’”

You slapped a hand over your mouth.

Too late.

Your eyes widened at your own betrayal.

He turned. Slowly. That stupid, knowing twinkle in his eye already dialed up to unbearable.

“…You liked that one.”

“I pity-laughed,” you hissed. “Because your crew sounds educationally unsupervised. It’s the same as patting a dog on the head when it defecates on itself.”

“Still counts.”

You spun away sharply, tea sloshing over the rim of your cup like it, too, was trying to escape this conversation.

Your soulmark pulsed.

Warm. Smug. Traitorous.

You slapped a hand over it like it owed you money. “I swear to every god listening, if this thing glows again, I’m sawing it off with a spoon.”

Behind you, you could practically hear the grin.

You stared at the koi pond. Peaceful. Serene. Full of fish who didn’t speak, flirt, or forcibly bind themselves to your metaphysical existence.

You briefly considered diving in headfirst and letting the koi raise you.

You would be their strange, furious sibling. They would accept you. They would understand.

Then his voice, soft, amused, carried over the garden again.

“Y’know, if you do go in, I’ll probably have to follow. We’re kind of tethered.”

You didn’t turn around. You just raised your teacup in a silent toast to the sky and whispered, “Release me.”

And then came the moment that undid you.

Late evening. Opposite sides of the same room. The air was soft with the scent of rain, earthy and clean, like the whole palace was holding its breath.

He was on the floor with an old scroll spread across his lap, mumbling as he read. You hadn’t realized how often he talked to himself until now. Quiet little nothings, half-thoughts and sea-worn mutterings, like the words kept him company. Like silence wasn’t something he was built to trust.

You were pretending to read something, anything, not watching him tilt his head like a curious crow, not watching the furrow of his brow as he traced some ancient diagram with a single, careful finger.

Then, still completely focused on the scroll, he frowned and said, perfectly serious:

“What’s a ceremonial frog bowl? And why does it have four steps?”

You didn’t giggle.

You burst out laughing.

It hit like lightning. Sudden, bright, straight out of your chest before you could stop it. Loud and real. The kind of laugh that unhooked something in your ribs. You clapped a hand over your mouth instantly, eyes wide with betrayal at your own joy.

Across the room, he looked up.

Slowly.

His eyes met yours, startled, but soft. Gentle.

And then something else flickered behind them.

Not smug. Not amused.

Devastated.

The kind of devastation only hope can bring.

It nearly broke you in half.

You stood so fast your chair wobbled. “I’m going to meditate.”

“In the hallway?”

“I need…” Your voice cracked. You cleared it. “I need air. More air.”

He didn’t follow. Didn’t speak again. Just smiled.

And somehow, that was worse. So much worse.

“I’ll be waiting,” he said softly. “Always.”

You left before the soulmark could flare again.

Before the rest of you did.

You slipped behind the nearest pillar, heart hammering against your ribs like it was trying to break free. You clutched your glowing hand like it was bleeding, like you could somehow smother the truth pulsing beneath your skin.

“You cannot do this,” you whispered.

The words tasted desperate. Fragile. Like if you said them enough times, they might become real. Like sheer willpower could undo destiny.

“You cannot fall for him.”

But your soulmark disagreed.

It stayed warm. Steady. Bright.

As if it already knew.

As if it had chosen long before you ever had the chance.

You pressed your back to the cold stone and squeezed your eyes shut, trying to breathe, to think, to remember who you were before all of this. Before him.

And Not in a rush. Not in a blaze. But in that slow, inevitable way waves claim the shore. Over and over. Until the sand forgets it was ever anything else.

Something inside you, quiet, traitorous, unbearably tender, had already begun to unravel.

The Den Den Mushi buzzed.

Benn sighed, pulled the receiver off its hook, and turned the volume dial all the way down before answering.

“…What.”

Shanks’s voice came through, distorted but still far too cheerful for whatever ungodly hour it was.

“Benn. Benn. Listen. I did it.”

Benn pinched the bridge of his nose. “Gods. What.”

“She smiled.”

“…You woke me up for that?”

“No, no. You don’t get it. It wasn’t just a smile. It twitched first. Right corner. Like she was trying not to. Benn, it was transcendent.”

Benn groaned, adjusted the snail again, and lowered the volume another notch. Just in case it could still offend his ears.

“Was she choking?”

“No! I was mid-battle with a squirrel.”

“…You picked a fight with a squirrel?”

“He was judging me, Benn. I offered him berries, and he looked at me like I’d proposed tax reform.”

“This is why these women call us animals,” Benn muttered.

“Bold language from a man who once declared war on a garden party.”

“They set fire to my coat, Shanks.”

“Semantics.”

Benn sighed harder. “Does she still refer to you as her temporary man-pet?”

“Yes, but she said it with feeling.”

“Feeling like.., contempt?”

“Feeling like possessive contempt. There’s a difference.”

“Yes, but she twitched! Then she glared. Then—then, Benn—she told me to die. Like… fondly.”

Benn set down his pen and slowly turned away from the mountain of reports he’d been trying to finish for the past three days.

“Shanks.”

“Yeah?”

“It’s four in the morning.”

“Time zones are a social construct.”

“You are whispering into a snail about a woman who actively wants to launch you into orbit.”

“She smiled, Benn.”

Benn stared into the middle distance. He could feel his eye twitching. Somewhere in his soul, a vein burst.

“You’ve fought admirals with less emotional investment.”

Shanks’ voice softened. Honest. Wrecked.

“…But none of them had her laugh.”

A pause.

The Den Den Mushi blinked once. Twice. Mimicking Shanks’s dreamy, far-off expression.

“…She laughed?” Benn asked. Immediately regretted it.

“‘Ceremonial frog bowl.’ Classic. She exploded, Benn. Tried to pass it off, but I saw. Then she bolted like I’d proposed marriage. Beautiful.”

Benn reached for the nearest blanket and dragged it over his head like it might protect him from whatever spiritual contagion this was.

“You’re the worst long-distance girlfriend I’ve ever had.”

“You love me.”

“No.”

“You’re going to help me write her a love letter.”

“I’m muting this snail.”

“I already picked a pen name. Very tasteful. Red-Haired Regret.”

Click.

The Den Den Mushi sighed. Loudly, passively, like it, too, was exhausted, and went dormant in the kind of theatrical silence reserved for cursed romances and doomed friendships.

You were getting comfortable. Way too comfortable. That’s why it happened.

On your so-called “fresh air stroll,” you made the fatal mistake of thinking out loud.

You and Shanks sat beneath the garden arbor. Guards nearby. Watching. Pretending not to listen. Absolutely listening.

The sun hung low over the gardens. Your chaperone, Jai, stood just far enough away to ignore anything subtle and hear everything.

You sat prim and dignified on the stone bench. Shanks lounged beside you, shirt slightly open, posture criminally casual. Menacingly comfortable.

You cleared your throat. Twice. “Can I ask you something?”

He turned to you instantly, expression softening like you’d asked him to stay forever. “Of course.”

You looked anywhere but at him. “It’s… about the differences. Between men and women.”

A beat.

“Darling,” he said, voice like velvet sin, “I thought you’d never ask.”

Your soul flatlined.

“I meant minor biological differences!” you snapped. “Anatomical reference! Like—a battle map!”

He chuckled, dark and delighted. “Even better. You want me to describe our physical differences like a tactical field?”

“That would be acceptable,” you said, with the dignity of a woman praying for death.

He leaned in, just slightly. Arm draped over the back of the bench. Voice low. Dangerous.

“Well then… my shoulders are broader. Years of swordwork. Chest is flatter, though I’ve heard it's very comfortable to lean against.”

You twitched violently. Somewhere behind you, a guard coughed judgmentally.

“My voice sits lower,” Shanks continued, undeterred. “Rumbles more when I whisper—”

He growled, just to prove it.

You stared straight ahead, radiating the kind of heat normally reserved for volcanic eruptions.

“That’s not—,” you managed. “That’s flirting.”

“Can’t it be both?”

“No.”

He hummed, pleased. “But you’re still listening.”

You stood so fast that the bench screeched in protest. He rose with you, leisurely. Unbothered. Like temptation on vacation.

“I could draw you a diagram,” he offered innocently. “Or show you in person. Purely educational.”

“You are a menace.”

He leaned in, just enough. Voice low, velvet-soft.

“And you are adorable when you’re curious.”

You nearly launched him off the nearest cliff with sheer indignation.

But your soulmark pulsed. Warm.Content. Betrayer.

And your mouth, traitorous, foolish, weak, was dangerously close to smiling.

“Oi, quiet down, it’s the captain—”

“He survived another day?”

The Den Den Mushi clicked to life mid-laugh.

“Put down your drinks, gentlemen. History was made.” Shanks drawled, smug enough to curdle milk, charm a snake, and bankrupt a monastery. “I’ve got a status report from the front lines of romance.” 

He then, shamelessly, launched into a dramatic play-by-play like a romantic war report.

On the other end, Yasopp wheezed. “She what? She asked you to describe your body like a battle map?”

“She did!” Shanks beamed. “Said it like she was ordering a strategic report. Full dignity. Absolute panic in her eyes.”

“Gods,” Lucky Roux muttered between bites, “and you answered?”

“I leaned in,” Shanks said proudly. “Gave her the full velvet voice. Told her my shoulders were broad from years of swordwork. The works.”

Benn’s voice cut in like static, low and done. “Did you say that out loud?”

“’ Course I did.”

“Why,” Benn groaned. “Why are you like this?”

“She twitched, Benn. I saw it. Full system shutdown. Red ears. Twitchy fingers. It was beautiful.”

“You’re gonna get us all killed,” Yasopp cackled. “Wait. Boss—wait—what’d she say?”

“Told me that’s not anatomy, that’s flirting.”

“And you said?”

Shanks grinned. The Den Den Mushi mimicked the expression with idiotic devotion.

“‘Can’t it be both?’”

The crew howled.

“I offered to draw her a diagram,” Shanks added helpfully. “Purely educational.”

“You’re not a man,” Benn muttered. “You’re a walking incident.”

“I’m an academic resource,” Shanks corrected. “She was curious. I was helping.”

“You were preening.”

“Semantics.”

A pause.

Then Benn again, dry and on the edge of despair. “…She didn’t hit you?”

“No,” Shanks said, absolutely thrilled. “She almost spoke to me willingly.”

Silence.

Then, pandemonium.

“She’s cracking!” Yasopp howled.

“She’s snapping!” 

Limejuice hooted.

“Into love,” Shanks sighed dreamily.

“Into homicide,” Benn snapped. “How long until Hancock throws you off a balcony?”

“Two days,” Shanks said. “One if I use finger gestures.”

Yasopp was crying. “Please. Please tell me you made finger gestures.”

“You didn’t—”

“I did! I labeled the chest ‘elevated terrain.’”

“YOU’RE GONNA DIE,” the whole crew screamed in unison.

The call ended with the unmistakable sound of Benn slamming his face into the table.

Boa Hancock was furious.

Not irritated. Not mildly put out.

Furious.

She stormed in tight, echoing circles across the palace floor, the click of her heels like warning bells before a siege. Her robes billowed behind her like war banners, her glare sharp enough to cut marble.

“He’s charming,” she seethed, like the word itself was a disease. “Like a bard with a sword and no impulse control.”

“Empress—” one guard dared, before being silenced with a single, withering glance.

“Dangerously charming,” she went on, ignoring the rising tension in the room. “Worse than any warlord. Worse than flattery. Worse than men who try! He doesn’t even try! He just smiles like he’s entitled to happiness!”

She spun on her heel like she meant to decapitate fate itself.

“And the worst part? He’s getting results.”

You stood nearby, hands folded, soulmark glowing like a smug torch under your sleeve.

“I haven’t encouraged him,” you muttered, a bit too defensively. “He just… exists like that. It’s his natural state. An ape without violence. It’s not flirting, it’s zoological observation. I can’t help it if the absurdity is… oddly compelling.”

Outside the door, Shanks whistled something chipper. Possibly a sea shanty. Possibly the soundtrack to your downfall.

“Yet!” Hancock whirled on you, hair fanning like a snake ready to strike. “You laughed yesterday.”

“I choked on my tea.”

“I saw teeth.”

“It was a wince.”

“It was a giggle,” She accused. “A feminine lapse of judgment. Next comes the touching.”

Your mouth opened. Nothing came out.

She pointed. “You let him sit under the arbor.”

“I didn’t let him. He follows me like a lost parrot with abs.”

“And yet it happened!”

A servant dropped a tray in the distance and sprinted for their life.

“Do you know how many good women I’ve seen fall because of pretty men with red hair and decent shoulders? Too many!”

You clenched your fists. “I am not ‘falling.’ I am holding up the emotional stability of this nation on my back.”

“Then why,” Hancock growled, stalking closer, “is your soulmark glowing like a lovesick firefly whenever he says your name?”

You looked down. Your hand was lit up like a festival lantern.

Outside, Shanks could be heard whistling again. Cheerfully. Possibly shirtless.

Your eye twitched.

Hancock snapped her fan open like a weapon. “He must leave.”

“I tried!” you hissed. “I tried to exile him! He just waved and unpacked! He doesn’t even have a pack!”

“He’s trespassing!”

“He called it a diplomatic nap.”

Hancock paced in agitated circles. “He’s smiling too much. That’s how it starts. First, it’s harmless humor. Then, favors. Then marriage. And by the time you realize he’s rearranged your entire life, you’re helping him pick curtains!”

You blinked. “Curtains?”

“Love is an ambush!” she declared, stabbing her fan into the floor. “And you’re walking directly into the trap.”

You glanced toward the window. Shanks was helping one of the guards rehang a wind chime. He gave you a lazy salute. The chime made a lovely sound.

Your heart fluttered.

You crushed it mercilessly.

“I will not fall for him,” you said, clutching what was left of your composure. “I am a proud, stable, intelligent woman.”

From somewhere just beyond the door, Shanks shouted cheerfully, “You said it, sweetheart!”

Boa Hancock didn’t blink. Didn’t breathe.

She just turned, ever so slowly, eyes glowing with the kind of rage usually reserved for divine smiting.

You felt your soul leave your body as amusement escaped you.

“…He has excellent hearing,” you whispered.

“You just laughed.”

“I gurgled.”

“You blushed at his joke about squirrels.”

“It was a biological malfunction.”

Hancock narrowed her eyes. “You’re defrosting.”

“…What?”

“Your mental defenses,” she said coldly. “You are rapidly defrosting. I give it four days before you start braiding his hair.”

You looked genuinely horrified. “That’s slander.”

“You’ll ask him to sing,” She continued mercilessly. “Then you’ll start singing back. And by the gods, if he builds you a bench, I will have no choice but to launch both of you into the sea.”

The soulmark on your hand pulsed again.

You slapped it.

Hard.

“Get it together,” You hissed at yourself.

Hancock crossed her arms, glowering. “You’re banned from arbor strolls. And poetry.”

“Fine.”

“And no more questions about anatomy.”

Your face turned bright red. “He exaggerated! I was curious for educational reasons!”

“Oh, he educated you, all right.” She hissed.

You groaned and covered your face. 

“I hate everything.”

Hancock sighed, sweeping toward the door. “Come. We’re training until you can recite every war crime in history without flinching.”

Outside, Shanks was whistling something suspiciously romantic.

You kicked the door shut behind you.

A sanctum of solemn texts, forbidden histories, and dust older than the concept of shame itself.

No laughter echoed here. No innuendo dared linger beneath the petrifying gaze of the ancient librarian. An immortal presence whose eyes had watched empires fall and whose sighs could flay ego from bone.

Somewhere behind you, in a distant alcove, Shanks was valiantly trying not to whistle.

You could feel him. Lurking. Orbiting. A cursed moon tethered to your dwindling patience by fate and mutual legal consequence.

But no flirting, no matter how persistent, could survive the death-glare of the librarian, a woman whose soul had fossilized into passive-aggressive silence sometime before the Void Century.

You were not avoiding the inevitable moment he’d make you smile again.

You were reorganizing. Respectfully. Heroically. As any noble scholar would.

The scrolls were misfiled. The chaos was offensive. The alphabet deserved better.

Which is how, entirely by accident, you found it.

A scroll. Stuffed behind Forbidden Marriage Lore: Volume VII – Emergency Binding and the Unwilling Heart.

Which, in hindsight, really should have come with hazard tape and a licensed chaperone.

You unrolled it, mildly intrigued (and absolutely not emotionally invested), fully expecting some dusty Celestial ramble about dowries or noble inbreeding rituals.

“Coital Harmony & Male Anatomy: A Primer for Warriors and Necessary Evil.”

…Pardon?

You read the first line.

“Though rarely encountered, the male form is functional, if external and often inconvenient.”

There were diagrams.

Hand-drawn diagrams. With arrows.

Labeled pressure zones.

A full-color cross-section titled: “The Battle Stance.”

There were instructions. Warnings. At least two footnotes referencing something called an “emotional dismount.”

You stared.

You recognized one of the positions as something a human might survive. The rest would require divine assistance, three spare joints, and a forgiving chiropractor.

The angles.

Labeled. Measured. Wildly optimistic.

You blinked.

Then blinked again. Still there. Still real. Still color-coded.

“…What is that?” you asked aloud, genuine confusion in your voice, as though the scroll might answer and explain itself.

You had questions. So many. Too many.

Then a voice. Low. Warm. Too pleased.

“Foreshadowing.”

You turned. Slowly. Like a woman facing fate, or maybe just a deeply stupid ghost.

There he was.

Shanks leaning too close, against a shelf like a smug demon cosplaying a scholar, one brow raised, eyes twinkling with absolutely criminal delight.

Your soulmark pulsed. In protest.

“Studying up on me?” he asked, the smirk audible.

You shrieked. The scroll launched skyward in panic.

He caught it, one-handed, like the world was a reflex test and he’d been training for this exact nightmare.

“I’ve heard of this one,” he said cheerfully, already unrolling it. “The infamous Karma Kuja scroll. Thought it was destroyed.”

“Why would you sneak up on me?!”

“To see what made you scream like that,” he grinned. “Worth it, by the way.”

“I am horrified!”

He beamed. “Same thing.”

You lunged for the scroll. He held it aloft, flipping it open like a cursed cocktail menu.

“Which part confused you?” he asked sweetly. “The angles? The Sacred Spear of Lineage?”

“I don’t want to know what that means!”

“But you do.”

You reached again. He lifted it higher.

You groaned, pointing in scandal. “Why is it outside the body?! That seems vulnerable!”

“It is,” he agreed. “That’s why men are emotionally unstable.”

Your finger shot to another section. “And this part…‘rising to meet the occasion’?”

He gave you a look that should require permits in six kingdoms. “That means exactly what you think it means.”

You shrieked. Again. Louder.

He offered the scroll back, far too pleased with himself. You accepted it with tongs.

“If you ever want a live demonstration, purely educational—”

You hurled the tongs at his face. He dodged. Laughing.

You slammed the scroll shut like you were sealing away an ancient evil, shoved it into the shelf, and slapped a fresh label over the entire section:

Man-Creature Delusions – DO NOT ENGAGE.

You tried to forget.

You really did.

You scrubbed your hands. Shoved the scroll back under Diplomatic Rice Offerings: A Study. Stormed into the garden with diagrams burned into your memory like divine punishment.

Unfortunately, ten feet is not enough distance to escape Shanks.

“I’m not thinking about it,” you muttered. “I’m not thinking about his shoulders. Or spears. Or—ugh—rising occasions.”

You walked directly into a pillar.

The guard didn’t blink.

That afternoon, you made another fatal mistake.

You turned to the guard, stoic, veteran, terrifyingly calm.

You cleared your throat. “Hypothetically… if someone asked about male anatomy…”

She blinked. “You mean the bits?”

You flinched. “Please don’t call them that.”

“They’re mostly external,” she said helpfully. “Hang like ceremonial bells. Or sad gourds.”

You stared. Unblinking.

“Occasionally they rise,” she continued. “That’s how you know the male’s ready to engage.”

You squeaked. “Engage… what?”

She gave you a look. Flat. Direct.

“Copulation.”

You shrieked.

Shanks leaned on the balcony, hand over his heart like he’d just witnessed a sunrise.

“Adorable,” he murmured.

That night, you lay in bed, glowing faintly, face buried in your pillow, chanting softly to yourself:

“He is a soul parasite. He is not a spear god. He is not a spear god.”

From across the room came a smug,  “You okay over there?”

You screamed into your pillow.

Breakfast arrived with you exhausted and Shanks glowing like he’d just had eight hours of sleep and a dream about victory.

You stared into your rice like it might offer divine wisdom.

Shanks sat across from you, looking disgustingly well-rested. Smiling like a man with no remorse.

“Morning,” he said, all warmth and no shame.

You didn’t answer.

He reached for a slice of melon. Bit in. Chewed thoughtfully. “Still thinking about the scroll?”

You choked on your rice.

“I’m always available to clarify,” he added helpfully. “Civic duty.”

“Eat your melon.”

He did. Slowly.

Then, far too innocently, “For example, did the scroll mention that during arousal, the sacred spear can actually—”

You slapped a hand over his mouth.

He blinked. Pleased.

The guards didn’t flinch. They’d evolved past caring.

“If I hear ‘sacred spear’ one more time,” you growled, “I will throw you into the koi pond.”

He licked your palm.

You shrieked, tripped over your chair, and hit the ground in a tangle of limbs and vengeance.

Shanks leaned forward, chin in hand, grinning like a devil on vacation.

“You’re adorable when you’re violently flustered.”

“You’re a soulbound menace with dimples!”

The guards sighed. Loudly. In sync.

A squirrel stole his melon.

And your soulmark? It glowed a little warmer.

The traitor.

Shanks convinced the guards, again, to let him walk beside you. Not behind. Not ten paces back. Right beside you.

He’d worn them down with a lethal mix of compliments, pirate charm, and somehow teaching one of them to whistle like a songbird.

You didn’t bother arguing. Not this time. You were too tired.

Too many sleepless nights spent thinking about sacred spears, gourd metaphors, and why that cursed scroll had so many labeled angles.

And now… Now you’d snapped.

Mid-walk, arms folded, face burning, you turned to him.

“You’re lying.”

He blinked. “About?”

You waved vaguely at his general person. “The… layout.”

Another blink. Then a slow, infuriatingly pleased smile.

“I assure you, darling, I’m alarmingly real.”

“You said things move and shift and rise like tidewater. That can’t be right. That’s not science. That’s theater.”

“It’s biology.”

“It’s performance art.”

He tilted his head, voice dipping. “Would you like to verify that?”

Your eyes narrowed. “Don’t tease me.”

“I’m not.” He raised his sassy, sassy hand. Gentle, dangerous, and unmistakably smug. “If you’re that skeptical, I’ll let you check. With your own hands. Medically.”

You stared at him. “You want me to examine you.”

“For educational purposes,” he said solemnly.

He gave you the most outrageously innocent look in recorded history, like a temple acolyte caught with a flask of rum and the high priest’s daughter.

“Like a physician,” he added. “Or a sculptor with very important questions.”

You glanced around. One guard was chasing a feral chicken off the dining table. Another tripped over a bench.

 No one was looking.

You narrowed your eyes like a general preparing to inspect enemy territory.

“No tricks.”

“None,” he said, placing a hand over his heart with mock solemnity.

“No flirting.”

“I will be as stoic as a temple statue.”

You gave him one final look. The kind reserved for disasters about to unfold. Then sighed, long and weary, like a woman willingly stepping into battle for the sake of science.

You grabbed him by his empty sleeve, spun on your heel, and hauled him behind the nearest garden wall. The stone radiated sun-warmth. The shade, at least, was cool. Vines rustled. Birds chirped with suspicious enthusiasm.

It was private. It was quiet. It was cursed.

You turned to face him, jaw tight, dignity dangling by a thread. “Disrobe from the waist.”

He blinked. Actually stunned for once. “You are… aggressively curious.”

“Pants. Off.”

“Say please.”

You took one deliberate, threatening step forward.

“Right, right. No jokes. Educational purposes,” he muttered, already undoing his belt, far too smoothly. Like he’d rehearsed this moment in a mirror. Twice.

“You know,” he added, tone maddeningly light, “most people at least buy me a drink first.”

You didn’t flinch. You were a scholar. A researcher. A vessel of cold, clinical detachment. Mostly.

Until he dropped his trousers. You stared. You froze. Your soulmark gave a single, deeply unhelpful pulse of warmth.

“…It is external,” you whispered, horrified. “That’s real?”

Shanks looked absurdly pleased. “Told you.”

“It just… hangs there. Like a… a like a cursed sea cucumber.”

He laughed, quiet and delighted. “That’s a new one. I’ve heard sword, spear, divine scepter—”

You pointed, scandalized. “It moved.”

“It does that.”

You stepped back, as if it might lunge.

“You said it rises? Like tidewater? How is that structurally sound?”

“Well, there’s blood flow, and you know, internal works.”

You threw your hands up. “Why does it have texture? What biological function does that serve?”

“Grip?” he offered, far too helpfully.

You covered your face. “I’m going to die.”

“Do you want to touch it?”

“I already regret everything.”

“Just for science.”

You hesitated. Then, slowly, reached out with two fingers, like you were poking a jellyfish.

It twitched.

You shrieked.

Shanks doubled over laughing, hand on his knees. “You poked it like it owed you money!”

Mortified, you turned and stormed off, tripping on a vine, face blazing. Behind you, laughter echoed like a curse.

He called after you, smug and singsong, “You touched it! You can’t un-touch it!”

“I DID IT FOR SCIENCE!” you shouted over your shoulder.

“And I thank you for your service!”

You walked faster. Soulmark burning. Dignity in tatters. Somewhere in the distance, a squirrel fell out of a tree. Possibly in shock.

Behind the garden wall, Shanks pulled his trousers back on, still grinning like a lunatic. The soul tether hummed like a pulled string.

 “I think I’m in love,” he murmured.

“…She what?” Benn stared.

“Touched it,” Shanks repeated, grinning like a man who had personally invented chaos and filed the patent.

“Two fingers. Like she thought it might explode. Then she screamed.”

He radiated smugness like the sun. If the sun were deeply unhelpful and endlessly pleased with itself.

“Was this voluntary?”

“She requested anatomical clarity. I provided a... hands-on educational opportunity. A handy, if you will, for those of us lacking.”

“You’re gonna get stabbed by Hancock.”

Shanks raised a finger. “Not if she’s impressed by my commitment to science.”

Benn exhaled smoke like a man preparing to witness war crimes. “One day, you’re going to die stupid. And I won’t even blink.”

From nearby, Hongo muttered, “That was textbook malpractice.”

Lucky Roux yelled from the galley, “Did she faint?!”

“No,” Shanks said, practically glowing. “But she walked away suspiciously fast. Didn’t insult me. Accidentally activated the tether limit.”

He kicked a boot onto the table, soulmark faintly aglow beneath his collar.

“Gentlemen,” he announced, uninvited, “I am winning.”

Yasopp shouted down from the rigging, “Did she slap it?!”

“Nope,” Shanks called back. “She poked it. Like she was testing a hot bun.”

The deck erupted in cheers.

Someone passed grog. Someone else had already started a sea shanty-in-progress titled The Brave and the Blushing.

Hongo groaned. “You’re a menace to medicine.”

Benn stared into the middle distance, dragging a hand down his face. “Stop harassing the poor girl. She’s got enough on her plate without you parading your cursed anatomy like it’s a diplomatic credential.”

“You do realize this means she’s thinking about it,” Yasopp added, swirling his drink. “Constantly.”

Shanks’ grin faltered, shifting. Less pirate. More poet.

Smug melted into something quiet. Soft.

Benn looked up. The Den Den Mushi had gone still.

“I know,” Shanks said.

The crew erupted again.

You lay in bed, face half-buried in your pillow, eyes wide and haunted.

You’d done it.You’d touched it. Disobeyed Boa Hancock and all reason.

For science. For research. For medicinal clarity. Because you were a too-curious person on a woman-only island.

And you were never going to recover emotionally.

“It twitched,” you whispered into the void.

Your soulmark glowed gently under your palm, mocking you. Amused.

Your brain had been spiraling for hours, trapped in an endless, sleepless loop of trauma and unwanted fascination.

It was real. It was external. It moved. It had… texture.

You screamed silently into your pillow again.

Somewhere in the storm-wracked shipwreck of your chest, a thought tried to surface, traitorous, horrifying.

 “…It was kind of interesting.”

You kicked the blanket off like it was responsible. Rolled over like a thundercloud with regrets.

“I touched it like a fish,” you hissed. “A cursed, blushing fish.”

You vowed, then and there, hand over your soulmark and dignity leaking out your ears. That you would never speak of it again.

Until, of course, you remembered it five minutes later.

Which you did. Loudly. In the middle of lunch.

Thank the gods there were only a few days left.

Because if this kept up, Hancock was going to kill you. And honestly? Fair.

The sun sank low, bleeding warmth across the horizon. It bathed the cliffs of Amazon Lily in molten gold, gilding every vine and carved pillar in light. The sea lapped gently at the island’s edge, glittering like it was trying to mimic the sky.

Inside the palace, everything held its breath.

The kind of stillness that came before storms.

Shanks moved quietly through the corridors, his boots soft on stone worn smooth by generations of queens and warriors. He didn’t belong here, and he knew it. He felt it in the way the guards tracked his every step, in how the vines seemed to lean away from him, in the subtle thrum of the soulmark beneath his collarbone, pulsing like a ticking clock.

Two weeks. 

That had been the limit. The early stage of the curse. The distance clause. Ten feet or less, or they’d both collapse. If one of them died, the other followed.

It had been laughable at first.

A game.

He’d treated it like a tethered flirtation. Testing the limits with winks and terrible jokes, watching you flush, fluster, hurl scrolls and fruit like weapons.

But now…

And now, only two days left.

Now the bond felt less like a joke and more like a hinge. A door he hadn’t known he’d been waiting to walk through.

And on the other side, You.

The truth was simple, impossible, and already carved into him.

He couldn’t be happy without it.

Without you.

His steps slowed as he neared the garden wall. The wall with the vines where you’d poked him like cursed seafood and fled like a scandalized saint. He could still hear your shriek ringing off the stone. He could still see the sharp line of your back as you marched away, soulmark glowing like it was preparing to file a formal complaint.

He touched his own mark without thinking, fingers brushing the low warmth beneath his collar. It pulsed, soft, steady, unrelenting.

A quiet tether.

And he wasn’t sure he was selfless enough to let it go.

But the truth curled low and constant in his chest, a weight he carried like treasure smuggled too long. He wanted to steal you.

Not just your laughter or the way your eyes lit up when you were annoyed. Not just the sharp little scowls you threw like daggers or the way your soulmark flared when you were caught off guard.

No. 

He wanted all of you. Wanted to keep you. Wanted to kiss you until you forgot you hated him. Wanted to tangle your fingers in his and never explain it. Wanted to take you far from Amazon Lily, from rules and threats and thrones and scrolls and curses,and wanted to make you his.

And he knew how that sounded. He was a pirate. A war criminal. A flirt. But this? This wasn’t charming. It wasn’t teasing. It was greed. The kind you don’t recover from if you don’t take what you want and hold it close..

He tilted his head to the sea, jaw tight, breathing like it hurt because it did. Because the more he thought of letting you go, the more he thought of keeping you about doing something irreversible.

Of saying your name like a vow. Of slipping his hand beneath your soulmark and pulling you in, closer, tighter, and never letting the world take you back.

He was trying so hard to be good.

And then he heard your voice, and like a man caught in a siren’s pull, he was helpless to resist. He hadn’t meant to linger, hadn’t meant to listen. But he was a pirate. And pirates took.

Your voice drifted to him behind a curtain of vines, low, thoughtful.

“He’s… kind. Strange. Not what I imagined. Less like a beast and more like… a companion. Like Shakky’s man-creature, but less irritating.”

For a woman of Amazon Lily, it was practically a love confession.

He couldn’t wait to hand-deliver that insult to Rayleigh like a gift-wrapped curse.

Across the chamber, Hancock’s voice floated out, cool, measured, just this side of cutting.

“Remarkable progress. But tell me… did you tame him, or did he tame you?”

“I just mean—”

Boa cut in, sharp as a blade and twice as merciless.

“You imagined a monster. He’s worse.” A pause. A breath. “A man who knows how to say the right things. A true viper, waiting with poison and promises.”

Your laugh followed, not the brittle kind you used when he teased, but something gentler. Wary. Almost unwilling.

“Maybe he is taming me.”

“He’s time is almost up.” Boa snapped. “So get it together.”

He closed his eyes.

The soulmark beneath his collar flared, quiet but firm. Not pain. Not fate.

Just there.

Steady. Glowing.

He should have left. Should have turned away, should have honored the privacy you deserved.

But then Hancock’s voice followed,a little softer like she was soothing your feelings.

 “It’s best we remove him as soon as the tether ends. Quickly. Before that sickness settles. If you fall in love, it will be impossible to leave him.”

Love Sickness.

Usually it would only affect an Amazon Lily Empress, but who knew what soul mark would do to you.

His heart clenched.

And then your voice, softer than it had any right to be, like a secret you hadn’t meant to speak aloud. “Yes. I think it would end that way if given enough time.”

His heart jumped.

Boa didn’t argue. She only sighed.

Shanks’ hand found the stone column beside him, gripping hard. Anchoring himself. Trying, failing, not to move. Not to react. Not to feel like the world had just shifted underfoot.

Because now?

Now he knew you were wobbling on the edge of affection. You were as good as afflicted, and he had a moral duty.

And something inside him shifted.

“Don’t tell him,” Boa said sharply. “Or we’ll never be rid of him.”

That did it.

Not in some grand, swashbuckling, wine-smashed-against-a-wall kind of way. But in the quiet way. The irreversible kind. The kind that undoes men like him.

He pressed his palm to the mark beneath his collarbone.

And he walked.

One hand steady over the soulmark, feeling it burn. Not from the curse, but from the truth trying to claw its way free. Every step vibrated with the tether’s pulse. The ten-foot pull. The weight of what bound them.

He stepped onto the moonlit terrace.

His boots touched the sacred stone. And the mark snapped.

Not in pain. Not in punishment.

But like a ribbon loosening a bit

He staggered, caught himself. The glow beneath his collar dimmed to a slow, steady shimmer. Not gone. But waning.

Time was running out.

He stood still for a long moment, staring out at the sea. The wind pulled through his hair, cool against his skin. He breathed it in like a man preparing for battle.

A door opened.

He turned. Not quickly. Not startled.

Just hopeful.

You stood at the far edge of the terrace, breathless, uncertain of what he’d heard. Of what he knew now, and what he might do with it.

 Of course he’d followed. He always would.

Wind threaded through his hair, brushing strands across his brow as he watched the tide slip low on the horizon. The sea mirrored the sky in molten silver; the cliffs burned gold as the sun retreated.

You sat beneath the terrace eaves, half-curled in the roots of the garden’s oldest tree, back tense, hands resting on a scroll you hadn’t read in hours. From his vantage, he could see it clearly. How the breeze tugged at your hem but not your focus.

You weren’t reading. You were waiting.

He approached, footsteps soft over crushed stone, each one tugging tighter at the thread between you. The soul tether that had bound him long before either of you admitted it. As he passed, his fingers brushed lightly against the back of your skirt. Not to startle. Just to anchor himself.

You didn’t look up.

The orchids were in bloom, thickening the dusk with scent. Vines curled around the lantern tree like watchful arms, casting dappled light across your skin.

He saw your eyes flick toward his hair. Still bright, even in the fading day. You pretended not to notice. But you always noticed.

He stopped just short of you, standing at the edge of sacred light.

“Shouldn’t you be packing?” you asked, voice clipped. Half a joke. Half a dare. Like if he smiled, you’d survive it.

He didn’t smile. “There’s only one thing here I want to take.”

Your jaw tightened. The ache behind your eyes sharpened. You closed them and exhaled, like someone bracing for cold water.

“That’s not your choice.” You say quietly.

“Maybe not,” he said. “But I’ve made it anyway.”

You looked up.

He stood in the threshold between lantern light and shadow, coat loose at the shoulders, collar undone. No grin. No bravado. Just the brutal stillness of a man who had already made up his mind.

You rose slowly. “You said you weren’t here to start a war.”

“I lied.” It didn’t land like a threat. It landed like a truth, quiet, and crushing.

Your mouth fell open and he struggles not to bite you.

Before you could retreat, he stepped closer. “I heard what you said. To Hancock.”

Your spine went rigid. “You were listening?”

 “I was hoping,” he said, another step closer, “and now I’m done hoping.”

You stood frozen in that strange, suspended space between fight and surrender. He didn’t touch you. He didn’t need to.

“I came here to behave,” he murmured. “To follow the rules. Give you my best. But I’m not a hero. I’m a pirate. And pirates take what they want.”

He tilted his head, eyes locked on yours. “And I think we both know what I want.”

Now you saw it, the faint tension along his jaw, the crease at his brow that came only with danger. Or honesty. And he was both.

“If you never want to see me again,” he said, “say it. Say it now. Make it hurt. I’ll go.”

The silence stretched. Your pulse thundered. But no words came.

You didn’t want him to go.

A breath above cracked the stillness.

“Red-Hair.”

You looked up.

Boa Hancock stood on the high balcony, wrapped in imperial silk, her gaze cold as the night tide. Arms folded. Voice layered in thunder.

“You presume too much.”

Shanks didn’t flinch. “Maybe,” he said, eyes on you, making you blush. “But I’d rather beg your wrath than walk away empty-handed.”

“She is not foolish enough to belong to you.”

“No,” he said softly. “But I’m foolish enough to keep trying.”

You turned, heat rising to your cheeks. The scroll slipped from your lap, forgotten. Your soulmark pulsed beneath your skin.

The Empress’ gaze lingered on you. Then him.

“Be careful, Red-Hair,” she said coolly. “I won’t forgive such candor.”

With a final sweep of her hair, she turned and vanished into the palace above.

The moon hung low, a blade drawn clean across the sea. Its reflection trembled on the water like a warning left unsaid.

The palace held its breath.

Even the guards, exceptionally vigilant due to Boa’s new orders, had grown complacent. dulled by the stillness of two long weeks. They had mistaken peace for surrender, forgotten he was as wily as he was charming.

Shanks moved barefoot through the inner halls, his coat trailing like a whisper across stone. His shirt hung open, salt still clinging to his skin from a late swim meant to calm him. It hadn’t worked. The glow of his soulmark, your soulmark, flickered low and steady beneath his collarbone, like it was holding its breath.

He didn’t rush. Every step felt like a promise unraveling.

His fingers grazed the walls as he passed, as if to apologize to the island itself for what he was about to do. He’d sworn to respect their terms. To stay within bounds. To give you time. But time had become unbearable.

And you had given him so much hope.

He stepped into your room like a tide returning.

The air was warm, thick with the scent of jasmine and rain-polished stone. You lay curled on your side, lost to sleep, cheek against the curve of your hand. The soulmark beneath your palm beat in rhythm with his own. He watched it, watched you, for what felt like hours in the span of a minute.

You looked soft. And it broke him.

This wasn’t how he’d imagined it. Not how a love like this should begin, if it was actual love and if he hadn’t simply lost his mind to longing. But it was the only goodbye he could bear to give, one that was selfish, cruel, and entirely within his control.

Hancock had triples the guards after the terrace incident. He didn’t blame her.

But it didn’t matter.

His Haki rolled out gently, like a lullaby. Not sharp or punishing. Just… absolute. A blanket of silence settled over the palace like sleep.

No alarms. No footsteps. No one to stop him.

You didn’t stir when he knelt beside you, didn’t flinch when he touched your arm and gathered you against his chest. His embrace was careful. Reverent. As though you were something divine, he had no right to hold.

But he held you anyway.

A thief and a guardian both.

And then he moved you over his shoulder.

His pulse roared in his ears as he carried you through marble corridors strung with moonlight, past murals of queens and legends, past the inner sanctum where Hancock once vowed she’d never let him win. Past every line he’d be warned not to cross.

He crossed them all.

Outside, the tide welcomed him with foam-flecked arms. The dinghy waited where he’d hidden it, tucked against the rocks like a secret too dangerous to name. When his foot touched wet sand, the soulmark beneath his collarbone burned bright. On his shoulder, you stirred faintly. He patted your thigh. 

Your lips parted, your brow creased. “...Shanks.” You sighed dreamily.

He faltered.

The sound of your voice, still asleep, nearly undid him. He should have stopped. Should have laid you down, whispered a truth, and let you go. But he was already knee-deep in the one sin he could never regret. Wanting you.

He pressed his cheek against your temple, the night wrapping around both of you like a shroud.

“I’m sorry, love,” he whispered. “But it’s not kidnapping if the universe agreed.”

Then he stepped into the boat, settled you across his lap, and pushed off into the tide. The oars moved silently through silver water. The soulmark tether glowed between your skin and his, a thin, radiant thread stretched taut between fate and rebellion.

You didn’t wake.

Not yet.

But you would.

And when you did, he would be there, waiting to face whatever came next.

Likely, your wrath.

[wlwsoccerfics]

The Hidden Injury(CaitlinFoordXSisterReader)

Warning: injury

Summary: you pull through an injury during national Camp. Mostly cause it's the Last Game of the Break and cause you enjoy playing for your country with your older sister Caitlin. You played for Arsenal together as well. But it was still Special. Back at Arsenal you can't ignore the pain anymore...

You got hurt last week during a Matildas Game. The tackle was hard and your Leg was hurting quite badly. Yet you still got back up quickly. Which surprised everyone cause the tackle and your fall looked quite nasty. Spoiler alert, it was! But you played it cool. Even though the pain was killing you.

So first thing you did when you were alone in your Hotel room after that game was drown some pain Killers and cry. Cause honestly you never felt pain quite like that.

You managed to hide the pain though and it felt alot better after a few hours. So it slipped your mind at some point.

You made it to the first few days of Training without feeling much pain. It was a little discomfort, nothing more really. Today it was Game day.

"are you excited for the Game against Liverpool?" Your sister asked while you put on your Football cleats for the Last practice before the Game tomorrow. Liverpool was interested in signing you. But Arsenal wanted to keep you and you wanted to stay after playing for the Academy.

"yeah i am. How about you?" You asked Caitlin. Offering her a small smile.

"i am looking forward to kicking their Asses!" Your sister replied and grinned softly.

"that's the Spirit!" You told her. Chuckling softly.

"our Star Girls gonna score some Goals!" Katie stated, referring to you and Alessia.

"well i for sure gonna try!" You told her. Smiling a bit.

"yeah me too! Gonna try my best!" Alessia answered.

The Game started five minutes ago and you passed the ball to Lessi who scored in Minute 2. So you felt really confident that things would go well. Oh Boy you were so very wrong.

It took around 15 more Minutes before Shit went down the Hill for you. You were lightly tackled by a Liverpool Player. You didn't really See who it was. That light tackle was enough to make you Fall and hold your Leg, crying in pain. Not being able to get Up. The Player kept apologizing, which you couldn't really hear and honestly it wasn't her fault. This was on you.

"y/n! Oh my god! We need a medic!" Katie yelled. Your sister kneeled down in front of you.

"It will all be okay, little sis!" Caitlin whispered out. Gently stroking your back. Her big sister mode was in full Swing for sure.

"this Is all my fault!" You sobbed out, sniffling softly.

"No it's not." Kyra stated.

"yes there is. I got hurt during our last Game with the Matildas." You admitted.

"oh my...was this when you claimed how find you were after that hard tackle and jumped back up?" Your Steph asked. You nodded your head softly.

"guilty!" You sobbed out. The medics arrived and Caitlin explained to them what had happened, while Leah was saying soothing words to you.

A few minutes later you were at the medics room and they did a Check up. Saying that you needed an X-ray cause it could possibly be fractured. So when it was half time your sister and Alessia were subbed off and went with you.

You were getting your X-ray while your sister was pacing around in the waiting room. Alessia tried to get her to relax.

"Caitlin, it all will be okay. She is a tough Kid!" Alessia stated. Which was true. You were just 17 years old but very resilient.

"But she is my Baby sister and i hate seeing her in pain!" Your sister said softly and looked at Alessia. Alessia gently pulled her down in the Seat next to her.

"i totally get that. And we all hate seeing her in pain. But she got this!" Lessi replied. And in that very moment a nurse appeared to lead the two into a room where you sat with the doctor.

In the room, Caitlin gently took your hand while Alessia sat next to you to squeeze your other hand gently. You may only be Caitlins sister by blood but got the entire Team of Sisters in the Arsenal girls and it wasn't any different at the Matildas. Something which you liked alot.

"so i talked to your sister already, she has a Leg fracture. So we will put her Leg in a brace. It was small. Now it's a bit bigger cause someone decided to Power through..." He stated and you started biting down on your bottom lip.

"so no surgery?" Caitlin asked. Kissing the top of your head.

"No, but recovery is gonna take up to 3 months!" He explained. You sighed sadly.

"hey it's okay, kiddo! We got you! The entire Team will He there for you." Alessia said.

They all indeed were there for you, every step of the way. Which you very much appreciated. And you were quite thankful for that.

Two and a half months later you were allowed to Play again. But Renée was making sure you wouldn't overdo it and just let you Play for the last 20 minutes of a Game. It was a start in the right direction for you again.

One Thing was for sure. You wouldn't Play down an injury ever again.

[legendofmorons]

Written in the stars (forever on loop) chapter fourteen - little dark age

Pairing: pre poly! Chain x reader, Wind & reader

Rating: T

Summary: while you and Hyrule finish the dungeon with only three major 'could have been better' points the others are left trying to stay calm.

Warnings: cursing, hypnosis/ mind control, loss of reality/ delusion, fae magic, violence, mild injury, Canon typical horror (dungeon and mind control so like... Silent realms from SS?)

Other: Reader does use force to knock Hyrule out. This is a bad situation, and there is no good choice. This will be discussed and handled later in the story. I am NOT advocating for violence against loved ones, but within the context of the story and situation, it makes sense. If I missed anything, please let me know.

Previous masterlist next

To skip Hyrule's POV where he experiences being mind controlled and a loss if reality stop reading at the First ☆ line break and start after the Second ☆ linebreak

(Hi! While this is still a solid T rating chapter, there are several heavy topics. Please be sure you've read the warnings. If you would like to read a summary of the chapter so you can continue the story, see here.)

-------

This dungeon is nothing but a maze. A death trap hoping to claim lives.

Hyrule is not aware of anything except for some phantom voice that doesn't seem to exist outside his head.

Your grip on his hand is the only reason he's still moving.

Scrapes, bruises, and scabs litter your bodies, and Hyrule's ankle is not in better shape.

Your shoulder still aches from the hit that the last trap gave you.

How your boys do so many dungeons you'll never know. Each and every dungeon you remember playing through and enjoying feels like a betrayal to each and every member of the chain.

You don't know how long you can keep going or how long you have been here.

Every once in a while, you hear faint whispers on pet names, but you don't know what the pet names are... you only know that they are pet names.

Honeybee

Your mind feels as if some outside force is ever baring down on it.

There's another whisper of something you can't make out, but know is a pet name. The voice is masculine and dances at the edge of your hearing. Sometimes it sounds like two or three voices if you're honest.

Dearest

There's a rumble as the tile Hyrule steps onto starts to shake.

Fear races up your spine as every experience with rumbling floor tiles up until now flashes through your mind. From the Zelda games to the movies you know, they never mean you are in for a fun time.

You shove Hyrule forward with wide eyes.

Rumbling floor tiles are never any good.

Each tile rumbles more and starts to fall.

You huff a short explitive and pull Hyrule into a run and through the doorway into the next corridor with less than a second to spare.

Trinket

You pull him a little further into the corridor. There are no immediate traps.

You take a deep breath.

Sunshine

Every almost understandable whisper is a dagger to the heart.

Your mind thrashes against grief and the overwhelming magic.

"Where are they?! I can hear them!" Hyrule whips his head around quickly and it cracks loud enough to make you wince in sympathy.

"Hyrule," you say with little actual hope.

His ears twitch.

"Hyrule, we need to take a break," you urge as best you can.

"I have to find them!" He cries desperately.

You don't -

You need a break. Just five minutes.

"Hyrule!" You snap as you tug at his hand a little, "For the love of - just sit down for five minutes! You're scaring me!"

The words are sharper than you mean them to be, but you mean them. He is scaring you, and a five minute break would be amazing.

Honeybee

Hyrule looks at you, his eyes hazy as ever. "Honeybee?"

You don't have it in you to think about that name and all the strange emotions it stirs, so instead, you just squeeze his hand.

Whispers scratch at your mind, and you push them away. No reason to dwell when the air feels cruel.

"Can we just take a five minute break?" You ask him in a softer tone.

"Why do I hear two of you?" He asks as he tightens his hand in yours.

"I don't know," you say softly, "but I need a break, and you probably do too."

"Something is wrong," Hyrule manages weakly, "Isn't it?"

You nod, "It is. Hyrule, please just sit down with me."

"I have to find you," Hyrule says desperatley, already starting to float away.

"I know, but please, just sit down with me," you say as you tug at his hand.

You sit yourself against the wall, pulling your knees up towards your chest.

Hyrule stumbles, but his eyes stay on you, which is good.

He sinks to sit down beside you with his legs stretching out towards the other wall.

You sigh.

"Five minutes?" Hyrule asks you softly.

"Five minutes," you echo back.

He looks at you, brows knitting.

"What?" You ask him.

"You haven't been screaming for help... have you?"

"No," you say softer, something thick in your throat.

He just frowns, shoulders starting to fall. "You don't hear anyone, do you?"

"Just you."

Hyrule blinks, but his eyes don't open again. He seems to be losing himself again.

"Don't trust your ears, honeybee..." He tells you softly.

"Okay?" You frown.

Nothing is making any sense, and you are the only person here with a clear mind.

Hyrule starts to lean over so his head rests against you. He slumps against you.

Firefly

You swallow hard. Your attention tears between the whispers and your goal. You can't give in.

The whispers hurt. Not just your heart but your mind.

Whatever the whispers are is bad, and it isn't to be trusted.

"Hyrule?" You ask.

There's no response.

"Hyrule?" You ask again, swallowing down the mounting fear.

Hyrule is still breathing. His chest rises and falls, but he isn't responding.

Has he really fallen asleep this hard and this fast?

"Hyrule!" You call, squeezing his hand where it relaxes against your own.

There's a haunting laughter that echoes and warps around the room.

Magic surges around you. The air feels like brambles.

A figure emerges out of the wall of all places, tall and slim and almost glittery in the flickering torch light.

They are pale enough to compare to printer paper.

Dove

They look a little like they might be a vampire from Twilight.

"He can't hear you, little one," the figure smiles in a way that makes your skin crawl.

Your entire being screams that this being is not anything but danger.

"What do you want?" You ask with your best attempt at a steady voice.

"I just can't quite figure you out. Your friend here has such deep mourning that getting into his mind is easy -"

You swallow. "You're in his mind?"

"I am. You have all sorts of misery, little one, but no clear path into your head. I've never met a mortal who mourns that is difficult to control."

"You're controlling him?" You ask tightly.

Fear and protective anger both well up in near equal measure.

First of all, how strong does this person have to be to control a whole iteration of the Hero's Spirit?

Secondly, Hyrule is not a toy. He's a person. No one deserves to be controlled and have their grief out on display! Especially not someone who is on their third quest to save people.

Besides, full and extensive memories or not, Hyrule is both your soulmate and someone who tries to help you.

"If you weren't here, I could be so much more gentle in my approach, but I do adore a challenge," they smile at you.

"What do you want from us?" You ask again, protective anger winning out against the fear but only by about five percent.

The fear is still absolutely there.

"What I want from all mortals. I want power."

"This isn't a dungeon then?"

"Not in the typical sense. Don't worry, little one, I'm generous. You will find yourselves facing a test soon enough."

"A test?"

"Yes. Rest up, you'll need it," They smile before their form fades into mist.

That is -

Why do all evil dungeons have weird evil bosses?

You don't like any of this.

Darlin'

Hyrule still sleeps soundly beside you, slumping against you. His breathing is steady, at least, a tempo to measure time with if nothing else. A reassurance that you aren't alone...

What kind of test could there possibly even be?

Your body begs for rest.

Your eyes are heavy.

Angel

You are finally resting after who knows how long in this twisted escape room from hell, and your body demands sleep.

Sleep is not a good idea right now, and you know it.

So, you close your eyes and tell yourself you won't sleep you will just rest your eyes for five minutes.

Resting your eyes for five minutes is okay.

Right?

There's no danger here just now...

This is fine.

This is... a great ... idea.

...

Your eyes fly open.

Beloved

You definitely woke up just from sleep.

whoops?

You look over and find Hyrule is still asleep at least.

You shift around, feeling your sleeping limbs wake up with protest.

Lacing your fingers through Hyrule's again, you resign yourself to whatever it is that is going to happen.

"Oh, Hyrule," you sigh as you rub your thumb along the back of his hand.

"Hmmmm?" Hyrule mumbles, still almost certainly asleep.

"I promise I'll get both of us out of here alive," you say as you lean your head back against the wall.

As soon as the words leave your mouth you feel bad...

"Mhm," Hyrule mumbles as a familiar feeling settles into your being.

Magic.

Hyrule's magic as he accepts your Promise, warm and safe, but also quite the shock.

Oh.

Oh no.

You told him you won't make him promises, and you just did. You didn't think about it, but you still did something you said you wouldn't.

Oh, he is going to be so mad.

Also, you now have a fae Promise binding you and your actions.

So...

That's a thing.

"Shit," you groan.

How you're going to pull off getting both of you out alive is well beyond you.

You'll just have to figure it out.

Sweetheart

All you have to do is focus on your goal. You just have to keep going until you get out.

-------

Sky is usually a fan of Hylia, but right now, he is about ready to shake her until she fixes things.

He watches the group around him as they all try to ignore the seconds ticking by and the glaring lack of two members who should be here.

Wild is busy stocking up on meals for when they can't cook for whatever reason.

The act is really just a whole excuse to stress cook, but of all the coping skills, getting partakes in it is on the healthier end.

Warriors and Legend are busy sharpening their blades for the moment.

Four and Time are staring off into the distance.

Sky himself is carving his second animal about the size of his fist. He's hoping to capture the likeness of Spooky.

Twilight is currently helping Wind untangle the mess of blond curls the youngest has.

(Sky would bet a high amount that Wind got his hair this bad on purpose, so Twili has something to do other than pace.)

"How long has it been now?" Legend asks tightly.

"Thirty-six hours, twelve minutes, and twenty-four seconds since Epona got us," Time says automatically.

"How long do we wait before we take things into our own hands?" Warriors frowns.

"How do you want to do that?" Four asks with a brow raise as his gaze snaps to the captain.

"Guys," Sky cuts in as kindly as he can without being a pushover. "We have to trust them. Hyrule has done enough dungeons to help (Y/n)."

"You guys just don't have any faith," Wind calls from his spot on a log.

"We got lotsa faith, kiddo, it's jus' the waitin'," Twilight explains as he works on pulling out what appears to be a rock of some sort.

Sky dosen’t want to even imagine how that got there.

"I don't know how you aren't worried," Legend says.

"Of course I'm worried," Wind says sharper. "I am so worried that they'll get hurt."

"And what if they die?" Wild asks shakily, "That's not easy to come back from."

"They won't die," Wind says with an eyeroll.

"How can you be sure?" Four asks tightly.

Sky isn't nearly as hopeful as the sailor, but he dosen’t want the kid to lose hope.

"(Y/n) told me none of us die," Wind says as if this information should be well known.

"What?" Four blinks.

"When did they say that?" Warriors frowns.

"How can they even know?" Legend asks.

Sky just stops, trying to recall when and how that topic might have come up between you and Wind.

How can you know?

"We love ya optimism, Wind," Twilight says in that tone that adults use to set up painful conversations. "But ya gotta know that bad things happen sometimes."

Wind crosses his arms, "You're all too willing to throw the towel in on them, and that's real shitty."

"Didn't they say you told them no one dies?" Wild asks, voice straining. "Future you?"

"Future- what?" Time asks.

"They did," Wind says with a nod towards Wild.

"What are you talking about?" Four asks.

"I'm... also a little lost here," Sky admits.

Warriors and Legend share a look, something they do a lot since everyone found the faerie circle.

"While they were gone, they tripped through a portal and met future me," Wind says with a grin, "I was awesome, of course. But I told them no one dies on this adventure."

"That's... you could have been lying," Time frowns.

"I'm not a liar," Wind says evenly.

"We know tha'," Twilight says, "It's jus' - it's hard t' believe the bes' sometimes."

"It's not my fault you're all quitting on them," Wind scoffs.

"We aren't," Wild says, "We're just worried."

"Then do something with the worry," Wind rolls his eyes. "Sitting here stewing on it won't help!"

"What do you suggest we even do?" Four asks mulishly.

Sky can already feel a headache coming on. He takes a slow breath.

You need them to believe in you and to not fall to blows while you fight through a dungeon.

Sky needs to help get the others in tow.

"I think I'm going to see if the townspeople know anything else," Sky says. "I'm going to put my things away."

"What else do you expect them to know?" Four demands.

"I don't know, but sometimes asking again is the best thing," Sky says as he focuses on putting his things away.

"Ya mind if I go too?" Twilight asks.

"I could use the company," Sky says.

What Sky actually needs is three days of rest and no screaming, but company is nice too.

Sometimes you take what you can get.

☆☆☆☆☆

Hyrule walks through the rooms with little idea what he's looking for. All he can be sure about is that he hears his honeybee calling for him.

"Link, please, I need you," his honeybee calls out.

The torches flicker and cause shadows to dance.

Hyrule likes dancing.

He likes dancing the most when he dances with his honeybee.

He has to find them.

Hyrule turns left and feels something in his hand tug back.

He frowns, glancing behind him and seeing his honeybee.

Weird.

"Link!" They call.

You don't speak, though.

Oh!

Hyrule has to find you.

He keeps walking towards the voice.

His honeybee's voice.

Your voice.

The air smells sweet.

(Too sweet. He needs to leave. He needs to run. He needs - he needs - what was he thinking about?)

Something pushes himself down as an ace swings over.

Oh, that should have taken his head off.

How silly!

His honeybee must be looking out for him.

They're so sweet. Like the air.

(Rotting. It smells like decomposition, sickeningly sweet.)

Hyrule keeps walking. It's all he has to do to see his honeybee! He just has to keep going.

He can do that.

There's the weight of a hand in his.

"Link!" His honeybee calls again, sharper and demanding.

He hates that tone. It only means they're hurt or in trouble.

Something slams again his leg and he hisses.

"Shit," someone hisses beside him.

He glances over to see you, checking your own leg.

Dungeons suck. At least this one smells nice.

"Link hurry!" His honeybee calls again, straining their voice.

"Hold on!" Hyrule calls as he starts running.

Hyrule runs, tugging along the hand in his. He has to find his honeybee.

They need him.

(There's tugging at his magic, as if a Promise is not yet fulfilled, and he needs to pay attention to the person who made it so they keep it.)

Something tackles Hyrule to the ground from behind as a spike filled log swing over head.

He grunts.

The weight over his back is familiar.

His honeybee must be close!

He's almost there!

The weight rolls off of him.

Hyrule can hear his honeybee humming.

They're humming their favorite song from home, a little folk song.

He misses their humming.

Hyrule misses his honeybee, but soon, he'll be with them again.

Forever.

Hyrule just knows it.

This time, it'll be permanent.

He should run!

(He should run.)

"LINK, COME ON!" His honeybee calls louder.

The weight in his hand fades in and out of his awareness.

His mind spins like the circles at a revel.

What was he doing?

Oh!

His honeybee!

He's going to find them!

Each step forward is just like the last. He's so close to his honeybee he just has to keep looking!

☆☆☆☆☆

You enter the room with the shimmering silver vine doorway and find it to be a large circular room reminiscent of the Zora architecture from the era of wilds.

In the middle of the room stands the figure from earlier.

They no longer glitter.

"You made it," They grin.

Hyrule's hand in yours is limp, but you still hold it.

"If you want to leave, I will let you. But if you stay, I will make the rest of your life bliss," They say easily.

They are danger.

The air feels like cruelty.

The whispers of pet names are finally clear and absolutely heart-wrenching.

Sweetheart

You set your shoulders. The whispers are clearer now but not real.

You still have a goal.

Hyrule stumbles towards them, and you stumble after him.

"We don't want to stay," you say firmly.

"Your friend does," They chuckle.

"You can't have him," you say firmly as you draw up every bit of determination you have.

Hyrule pulls away from you, "I'm staying here," he says with that same far away tone and look.

"You can't take him if he gives himself to me," the being says primly.

You aren't sure about any actual claim you have, but you can't just let them have Hyrule. "You can't have him. He's mine."

"Yours?" they ask you as if they might laugh.

"Yes."

"Then why does he want to stay?" They as with a smile of fangs.

"You admitted to controlling him."

"He is not yours, little one. He gives himself to me freely."

You swallow hard. You can't just give up. "He is mine, my soulmate, and I do not give him to you."

The being considers you, silent as they stare.

The air crackles.

Darling

They give a sharp grin after a few too many beats of silence and flickering magic in the air. They look as if they might be indulging a pet of some sort and it makes your stomach turn, "You are entertaining, little one... I suppose I shall offer you a deal."

"What is it?"

"If you can get him out of this room in an hour, you can both go free and I will not try to take you again."

"That's... it?"

"Yes."

You aren't entirely sure how you're getting him out. You're half sure you will only get him out if he's unconscious.

Well...

You can try.

You have to try.

Angel

"You won't make it any harder?"

"No harder than it is right now."

"If I get him out of this room, we're both free and you'll stop controlling him?"

"Yes. Now we have a deal?"

"We have a deal," you agree.

The magic settles and ripples into place. It's cold and sharp and unpleasant. It brands itself into your being and makes you grit your teeth to keep from saying anything to get in trouble.

Firefly

You walk until you are before Hyrule, and you take his wrist in your hand gently. "Hyrule?"

"Hm?"

"Hyrule, I need you to come with me."

"No. I want to stay."

"Hyrule, I need you to come with me. We'll go see Legend."

Hyrule stares at you with eyes that are too far gone to see you. "My honeybee's is here."

This would definitely be easier if he was unconscious, and you could just drag him.

Wait....

Can you do that?

Honeybee

All you have to do is get him out of the room...

No. You can't just knock Hyrule unconscious. It's not okay to do that to people.

But... can you afford to leave him here?

The Promise weighs almost as heavy as your conscience. You can't leave him here. Promise or not you could never just leave him here.

If the situation were reversed, would you forgive him for knocking you out to save your life?

Sunshine

Probably. After you recovered...

That doesn’t even cover the Promise you bear now.

"Hyrule, please," you say as you tug his wrist.

"No... Gotta stay."

"Hyrule, I don't have time for this. Come on."

"He has no idea who you are," the stranger says.

You huff, weighing your options.

You can't leave him here.

Trinket

You have to get both of you out alive.

You might get mad if someone knocked you out, but if it was to save you from whatever this being has in store... you would like to think you'd forgive them even if it took time.

(You'd forgive Hyrule immediately. He wouldn't never hurt you, not really. He is always so good to you.)

"Hyrule, I'm sorry," you tell him.

Hyrule frowns a little, still lost to the haze.

You reach back into your mind for the safest way to knock someone out and pray that hylian anatomy is similar enough to humans to not hurt him too bad.

(Y/n)

Your best and safest bet is probably a good solid knee to his chin as hard as you can manage. Thankfully he's pretty out of it.

"Hyrule, can you hear me?" You ask as you set your hand at the back of his neck, lacing it through his hair.

"Hmm... honeybee?"

"You're okay," you soothe.

"Wanna stay," Hyrule says.

You sigh.

Setting your shoulders, you swallow your worries. You can heal Hyrule later. For now, you have to get him out.

You silently apologize again.

Taking a deep breath, you adjust your stance.

You shove Hyrule's head down as fast as you can by the hand in his hair while throwing your knee up as hard as you can.

There's a groan as Hyrule's chin connects with your knee, and he goes limp.

"What are you doing?"

"You said I had to get him out, not that he had to do it awake."

The laugh at you as if you are a funny prey, "you must still get him out."

You lower Hyrule to the floor, making sure all of his things are there before you grab both of his ankles and start pulling him towards the door.

Your shoulder aches and throbs.

Your joints protest.

Your bruises hurt.

You aren't sure how you do it. The room is large, and your body is not in great shape.

Time ticks by too fast and too slow.

You drag Hyrule while promising yourself it's only 'a little further'.

You don't look back to the fae. You focus on Hyrule's face.

He looks so peaceful.

Your knee still hurts.

You don't register that you are out of the room until the fae's voice echoes around you. "Well played, little one."

You keep dragging Hyrule backward.

You can't give up -

"Stop, you can't go in," Time's voice says from behind you.

You ignore it.

You keep dragging Hyrule back.

Step by shaking step.

"Let me go!" Legend snarls from behind you.

"No, if you go in, you'll get trapped," someone else says.

You are losing your ability to recognize sounds. The overwhelming magic is receding.

You back up and drag.

Step back, breathe in, step back, breathe out.

"Hyrule is hurt!" Someone calls.

"They both are!"

You stumble back when your heel hits dirt and the world darkens as you fall.

You feel arms catch you as people reach you.

You feel the Promise fulfill, slipping away to little more than a faint link between both parties.

You whine as your awareness slips away.

-------

Warriors is on watch trying to ignore the restlessness of the others when he sees what must be the temple shimmer into existence with a circular opening.

He can see you, slowly dragging something backward.

Wait-

You're dragging someone.

Warriors pushes to his feet, stage whispering, "I see them, get up!"

The entire camp starts moving as they register the words.

Time is up first.

Legend tries to run for you, but the old man grabs him.

"Stop, you can't go in," Time says firmly as he keeps a struggling Legend in his hold.

You keep dragging Hyrule back.

Step by shaking step that makes Warriors struggle to stay put.

"Let me go!" Legend snarls as he writhes and kicks in Time's grip.

"No, if you go in, you'll get trapped," Warriors says sharper, moving with Twilight to the edge of the temple so they can catch you if you fall coming out.

"Hyrule is hurt!" Wind calls as he rushes to get to the potions.

"They both are!" Wild says as he starts looking for the bandages.

You stumble back when your heel hits dirt, and Warriors is quick to catch you in his arms.

He grunts as he takes your weight, pulling your back against his front.

You whine as you fall limp.

Warriors glances to where Twilight is pulling Hyrule the rest of the way out by the traveler's feet.

As soon as Hyrule is out, the temple vanishes as if it never was.

Warriors hisses a curse.

He can't focus on anything but you and Hyrule right now.

"Are they breathing?" Sky asks from behind Warriors.

You and Hyrule both seem to be breathing, which is the only reason Warriors isn't screaming.

Your breaths are slow and hitch every so often, but it sounds more like you've fallen into a deep sleep while ill than anything.

Hyrule breathes even slower, but he breathes.

"Yeah, they're breathin''," Twilight assures.

Someone releases a fairy over Hyrule, the hands that hold the bottle are big and have plenty of scars.

Spooky comes over and stares at you, tail lashing.

A second set of hands - with rings - releases a fairy over you.

Both fairies circle around you and Hyrule before chiming and flying off.

Neither of you wake, but you both seem to be in better condition, and Warriors will take everything bit of victory he can get.

As soon as you are clear of fairies, Spooky sits down between you and Hyrule as if to keep watch.

"I told you they'd be okay," Wind says as he comes up to Hyrule's side opposite of Spooky.

"You were right," Warriors says faintly.

"What were they thinking?! They could have died!" Legend sounds like he's spiraling.

"You'll wake them up," Four hisses.

"They are out cold," Legend all but snarls.

"Ya ain't mad, Legend, yer worried n' makin' er'eythin' worse," Twilight says lowly.

"You don't know what I am!" Legend scoffs.

Spooky huffs, standing up.

"You're upsetting everyone," Wild says with a sigh.

"I'll show you upsetting -" Legend starts mulishly only to fall silent as Spooky tackles him to the ground.

Warriors bites back a laugh that would be too hard for the situation.

He watches as Spooky pounces, knocking to veteran on his rear and then shoving him flat onto his back.

"Ack- Bad Spooky!" Legend huffs.

Warriors disagrees with that, he thinks Spooky is being very good right now.

Spooky just lays down atop the vetran and starts purring.

Warriors snickers, but he doesn’t stay to watch.

The captain moves until he is confident he can get a good grip and scoop you up into his arms.

With the help of Wind, Sky, and Wild, you and Hyrule are put into your own bedrolls to rest.

"How long do you think they'll sleep?" Wind asks.

"I don't know," Warriors sighs.

"As long as they can," Four says.

"Look at 'em, even now all healed up, they're all tuckered out," Twilight sighs heavily.

"They worked hard to get back here. We can watch over them," Time says evenly.

"Go bother someone else," Legend hisses from where he is still under Spooky.

Warriors just lets out a slow breath. Everyone is here.

Everyone is in better condition after the fairies.

You and Hyrule's are safe now.

Whatever curse there is hasn't gotten you yet, and if Warriors has any say, it won't ever get you again. He isn't sure how he'll beat the curse, but he's going to try, and he's sure Legend and Wind will help.

-------

Next - wip

Taglist:@danyzta @vrsin @silver-the-pendejo @tulip-does-stuff @justanotherweeb666 @yourlocaltreesimp @blueberrysungie @victoryssong23 @shu-leepy @sleepifonlyigoti @sour-patch-delight @phlying-squirrel @pumpkincitrus @krys0210 @theregoeskittykat @fuckingfaraway @doodle-with-rhy @luxreader @chaos-inperson @justacommonwriter @time-shardz @ships-lover @theforgottenheros @clementine0068 @sinbehavior

[the-meme-monarch]

Do you ever think darkners fear about being taken from their homes and separated from their families/friends/connections? Like how queen was supposedly separated from her family? All this to say would that be something scc worried about? I can imagine k_k lowk being a little grateful to be in castletown where, at least to my understanding, they couldn't be taken out of since it's pure darkness in that closet. sorry if this sounds incomprehensible I've just been thinking about that concept a bit

i don’t think i know of a line about queen being separated from her family :’0c !

but yeah no it’s horrifying to me. at the very least when it’s lightners interacting with light world objects there seems to be like. a correlation to what happened to the darkner that isn’t presented as ‘a lightner did this’. queen met spades king bc I Like To Think she used to be the teacher’s laptop in the pre-abandoned classroom. spamton and queen met tenna bc kris borrowed the laptop from the library to bring home, and that laptop had a spam email in its inbox. spamton ‘abandoning’ tenna could be from kris just having to return the laptop back to the library. spamton got kicked out of the mansion and ended up in the trash zone bc someone printed off that spam email and threw it away, but for the most part these things haven’t been presented as being a lightner’s fault (tenna does say ‘I wish they never brought that laptop home’, and the pippins/ramb acknowledge that kris stole them, but) it seems to me at least they just see it as How Their Life Went. they certainly Acknowledge lightners and their impacts of their lives, like queen and spades king about their searches/their abandoning of them. idk I don’t think we know how darkners Perceive lightners/their actions when there’s no fountain open(to look at them face to face like we see in-game, with the fountains open) other than ‘like gods’ as seam described. but at the very least spamton doesn’t seem to acknowledge what happened to him as being lightners faults, it’s just presented as his life story. i imagine it’s usually something they don’t even realize was Because a lightner did something. this is why i’m atheist bc if i started believing in a god or that my life was dictated by someone else in any capacity I’d turn into a secret boss in real life. and this is just normal for darkners. that is Unquestionably and Unwaveringly their reality. it’s fucked !

anyway I’ve been thinking lately that sweet and cap’n didn’t used to live with kk :]c that was a recent development. I’ve been thinking maybe they used to live in the library dark world and it sucked bc well. they didn’t really fit in. and one day in the light world they got moved to the computer lab, where you’re allowed to play music as loud as you want :] and their cool older brother had already moved there(got moved there)

but yeah i think. most darkners are afraid for their own mortality. especially things like electronics that can break down and just stop working. things that outlive their usefulness. I think they’re aware that lightners have an impact on their lives but I’m not sure they know the minutiae of it

[dailykyun]

250615 #MINHYUK #민혁 버블 bubble 🫧

🐶 I’m not sure if I can fully convey how I feel, but after much thought, I’ve decided to write this. I wasn’t sure whether to post this on Berriz or Bubble, but I wanted to speak more directly, so I’m sending it through Bubble.

First of all, to Monbebe who waited for our 10th anniversary. I’m truly sorry for causing this kind of situation,and I want to sincerely apologize. I wanted to apologize earlier, but I couldn’t, and I’m even more sorry for apologizing so late. I never wanted to ignore your words,and I don’t believe that would be the right thing to do. To the Monbebe who were hurt because of my complacency, I want to say I’m truly sorry once again. I believe I deserve the criticism and blame from Monbebe for the things I did wrong. I’m really sorry for making your hearts ache.

From the moment I chose this career up to now, I’ve always thought this job comes with the responsibility of receiving criticism and judgment from the public and from Monbebe whenever I make a mistake.So I believe it’s only right that I face those consequences when I do wrong. I wasn’t sure whether I should add this part, but I’ve decided it’s only right to share my full, honest feelings.

It’s been so frustrating to see dozens of things posted every day things I didn’t do, absurd falsehoods and to be in a position where I can’t respond to each one. What’s even harder is seeing that the criticism and verbal abuse stemming from those rumors are reaching my family too. I tried to tell myself this is just another part of the job, but I don’t think I can endure this anymore. I don’t think I’m able to bear even this. Over the past 10 years, there have been many times when I was caught up in controversies and criticized for things I didn’t do, but I kept reminding myself that being an idol means accepting that too. I thought I could keep going like that but now that so many things are crashing down all at once, I feel scared and heartbroken.

I thought about what I could do right now for Monbebe. I thought the best I could do would be to keep communicating actively, go to the practice room, share photos of the members, prepare well for our performances, and contribute ideas for the album to focus on my main job. But then I realized even those actions were being misunderstood, that it seemed like I was trying to be confrontational or avoid things. Once I realized that, I honestly didn’t know what to do anymore. So instead of staying in my own head, I want to know what Monbebe really want. Would it help ease your hearts even a little if I took a break from communicating and stepped away for a while? Or even if it leads to new misunderstandings,would it be better for me to continue staying by your side? Honestly, even asking this question scares me. I’m afraid it might come across as playing games or avoiding responsibility. But I really don’t know, so I’m asking with courage.

Monbebes are truly precious and dear to me. What you say means the most. What makes me saddest right now is that it feels like all the love and affection I’ve shown to Monbebes over the years is being seen as fake. Thank you for reading this, even though it came so late. And I’m sorry.

♡ Translation: dailykyun. Please take out with full credit.

[destinygoldenstar]

TADC Episode 5 Trailer

JUNE 20TH?!?!??!

Goddamn, EVERYTHING is going on with me next week...

I guess I have to do my rewatches soon, huh?

(For those who don't know, it's been a tradition that I rewatch the previous episodes the days before the new one comes out.)

So, yeah, you're gonna see me on a Digital Circus hype train.

And watching this episode for speculation...

I GENUINELY DO NOT KNOW.

Like, I'm just flat out LOST.

But some point outs:

Caine says "And my flight to Copper 9 leaves in five minutes."

Murder Drones reference.

We have seen this Caine model before, from last episode.

This originated in the series trailer where they were calling out bootleg merch. And this was the model. An uncanny model.

You'd think that's just for a trailer joke, BUT NO,

THEY PUT SOME CONTEXT BEHIND THIS MODEL AND USED IT FOR THEIR SHOW.

This show is amazing, guys, you have no idea...

Now what the hell is happening here?

This is Pomni and Jax getting vaccumed.

I mean I can only make out these two. The trailer is piss poor quality. (ON PURPOSE)

My guess, and I'm gonna be wrong: IS THIS A CLIFFHANGER AT THE END OF THE EPISODE?

Pomni and Jax just end up in HELL together.

We all know Pomni does real well in hell.

I'm really excited for the experimental animation styles.

THIS FRAME really intrigues me.

This looks like 90s computer animation, does it not?

I mean most of the animation in this show takes inspiration from that, but still. This looks like the quality of an ACTUAL 90s game.

And Caine is holding all of them like they're puppets. HIS TOYS TO PLAY WITH.

Caine cares about their pleasure, to a crippling degree, he's just really bad at maintaining it. So to have this visual of him holding them up like lifeless toys is SUPER INTERESTING.

Caine's losing his mind, that's obvious, I think, as I said before, this episode might end with them being fed up with all this shit, cry that they hate Caine (and/or his adventures), and Caine just SNAPS.

Cause once he realizes he will never be able to please them and that they well always hate him... then he hates them too.

MASSIVE TONE SHIFT. "Silly before the storm". THIS EPISODE WILL END ON A CLIFFHANGER.

Caine and Zooble are in the void. Why?

THE VOID IS COMING BACK. WE HAVEN'T SEEN THE VOID SINCE THE PILOT.

President Pomni is trying to defuse a bomb.

I could make so many irl references and every single one of them will get me cancelled so I'm gonna just shut my mouth.

Hello new Pomni face frame to add to my collection in my photo album hehe...

(Can you tell she is one of my stans yet?)

But serious question: WHAT IS THIS LOCATION?

Again, piss quality so I can't make it out.

I don't think it's under the map cause it's more grid-like, but I also wouldn't be surprised if it is considering the episode is a meltdown.

I'm curious, Pomni has seen under the map, have the other EVER actually gotten stuck under the map before?

Don't see why they wouldn't know it exists, just saying.

I would think it's outside the tent since we've seen it, BUT we've also seen the outside of the tent is when it's day and night at the same time, and the night stars are drawn like five year old scribbles.

This looks too realistic to be outside the tent.

Oh so that's what Gooseworx meant. Bring on the angst.

I say as there is a frame of Zooble on crack, a bad miscoloring of Ragatha, whatever the hell Jax is, and Kinger as a military general.

And Orbsman?

NO GANGLE TOO. HUH...

Also rival Pomni is cursed. Her design is already perfect as is, so naturally ANY alternation is just gonna look wrong to me.

Another one for the folder hehe-

...yeah, yeah me too.

She just like me fr

"YOU STAY RIGHT HERE, WHERE I CAN KEEP MY HUNDREDS OF ALL SEEING EYES ON YOU" - CAINE, PILOT

So Caine just flat out has an office, that wasn't just for last episode. HUH...

OFFICE????

Okay so something involves seaweed.

And Gangle's mask breaks again.

I HOPE TO GOD GANGLE'S DEVELOPMENT LAST EPISODE WAS NOT FORGOTTEN ABOUT. BECAUSE THAT WOULD SUCK.

Also, note that ONLY KINGER AND GANGLE COME OUT.

We see Ragatha Pomni and Jax in that blue void, so...

WHAT HAPPENED TO THESE THREE????

HOW WERE GANGLE AND KINGER THE ONLY ONES THAT GOT HOME SAFE??

If Bubble turns out to be the mastermind, nobody will shut up about that twist.

...honestly it would be a good twist.

Okay... well, time to get my hyperfixation back.

See y'all on the 16th when I start rewatching to prep.

[xnackery027]

It really sucks that we haven’t gotten an episode where Solstice (Dark Sun) gets to take a bunch of Suns on a tour of his refuge! Like, imagine a crossover episode with Sun, the Peas (EAPS Sun and Moon), Sunny, Novafrost, Sundroid, being ‘invited’ (I.E. Kidnapped) by Killer Sun and Dark Sun to go on a tour of their facility.

A bunch of interesting bits could happen here!

Cats are roaming throughout the entire refuge. Inexplicably, Solstice knows the name of every cat they cross.

Solstice and KS being the tour guides, sort of acting as “These are the hard set rules. Do not break them.” And “So this is the combination to get free energy drinks out of the vending machines!”

Solstice showing off the rooms where they split Suns and Moons. He pointedly asks if the peas are interested in a procedure like that. Our Sun asks what happens to the Moons once they are separated. Solstice dodges the question.

There’s no cooks or maid staff on the refuge, because Suns will clean up after themselves.

Solstice asks the group what their occupations are. Almost all of them say that they’re daycare attendants, but Sundroid mentions that he’s a photographer. Interested, Solstice asks what he photographs. Long bleeping noise as he describes all the wolf ass he tends to take pictures of. Sunny hugs Sundroid to shut him up. Cue the struggling and yelling for her to let go. Solstice gets very serious for a moment to tell her to not do that again. (He’s had bad experiences with his Moon touching without asking.)

There’s a little deer girl being taken care of by a nearly identical Sun. He introduces her as “Emma”, and seems to be a very close match to Sun’s dimension. Our Sun asks if this one is happy at the refuge. He says he’s never been happier.

Solstice mentions something about games, and EAPS Sun is like “oh, I know my Moon knows lots about video games!” and lets him out. Instant change in tone. Poor Moon is being stared at from every direction. He immediately backpedals and is like “Sorry sorry sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt, sorry, please don’t kill me-“ And switches back. Solstice is quick to reprimand the peas, saying that if they aren’t going to separate, don’t let Moon out in the first place.

Sundroid is terrified of KS. He does everything in his power to avoid interacting with him. KS thinks he’s cute, and keeps trying to pet him and play with him like a doll.

Solstice shows off the extensive daycare they have at the facility. Lots of Sun models will spend their day taking care of kids. It’s mostly animatronic, but there are a few biological kids walking around.

Our Sun sees Emma and her father again, teaching her math on a whiteboard. He’s reminded about how hard it is for Dazzle to get an education where she is now.

There could be so much more! I think it would be a great episode and an opportunity for some Lore and Mixed Emotions. Both on TSAMS, where our Sun feels guilty for not doing his best for Dazzle, and in TEAPS, where we see Sunpea struggle to maintain his “sharing is caring” mentality in the face of an easy out.

[mollymoon-er]

Random thoughts and feelings now that I've finished A Life's Worth.

For anyone interested. This is long and there are obvious spoilers ahead.

First, loved the intro and song choice. The cinematography was simply stunning throughout the series and really put you in that time period. Kudos on that!

Throughout the 6 episodes, I loved the brotherhood feeling you get with the 4 mains. Even when they're in the worst situation they could find themselves, you see how they stick together and even find laughter together. It was so raw and authentic how they portrayed that. I feel like most hollywood tv / films would focus on the torture and the neglect when they get captured, and even though you see that in ALW, you also see them just being stupid and silly and having dumb conversations that boys WOULD have even given the circumstances.

Strand and Babic's relationship in particular I thoroughly enjoyed. It felt very older brother / younger brother bond. Also Toni Prince is an exceptional actor. The scene in ep. 2 where he's playing Russian roulette with himself, you can just feel the tension and energy and anger about not being able to do anything. And many of his other scenes, he pulled it all off so well.

Also this just made me giggle so bad lol, the thumb stoke of the boob. Loved Babic.

Speaking of relationships, even though this storyline was mostly in the background, I loved how they weaved them throughout the story and especially through Kilpo's story arc. Again, just being able to see different story's from the civilian's sides made it feel so real and make you see how senseless wars are.

Speaking of Kilpo, this scene made me say, "no you idiot, this is what gets you captured" out loud.

But his heart is in the right place, and he just wants to feel needed and like he's actually doing something good. Him finding Lana at the end was so uplifting and made me feel so happy for him. I think that's what got me the most – this show made you feel so hopeless the whole series, so when one tiny victory happens for one of the characters it just feels SO rewarding.

I felt for Andreasson in the position that he's in. He's literally playing the trolly game the entire series. Pull the lever to save one person, or don't pull the lever and maybe save 20 people. What to do for the greater good while leaving all personal feelings aside. Also screw off Erland. The scene where they talk about people having debates about the war infront of their TV hits super hard. Especially given what's going on currently in the world. You can sit in front of your news outlet and have an opinion all you want, but you aren't on the front lines, you aren't witnessing shit, you aren't living in fear as a civilian, and you aren't making literal life and death decisions on the spot.

Which brings us to Forss. YES to standing up to your dad here! And for not running. He is SO brave the things he did, when it could have been so easy for him to leave. And he never left! what a loyal comrade.

I don't really know what to say here, but this just made me feel so sad. Also, I almost thought the car was going to be not the right car. But thank god it wasn't.

Okay, and now we get to dumb idiot Strand and sweet Alma. The first few episodes Strand comes off as such a try-hard alpha male who is just ignorant and naive and like someone who joined the war to prove his manhood. But as the episodes go on, and you see that shell get stripped away, you realize he is just a dumb 19 year old virgin boy trying to find his place in the world. This scene right here, really hit me. The force of the hug and him just breaking down. Ugh just hit me in the feels. It felt cathartic to ME and I wasn't the one held captive for a week.

"I want to go home" :( <– this right here, he's too young to have seen and done the things that he has. He is able to be so open and vulnerable around Alma and that is SO beautiful.

AND ALMA IS COMING WITH HIM (I had so much hope here)

This felt SO SO real. The awkwardness, the pulling away because it tickles (this has actually happened to me and it's so awkward but ya, everything about doing it for the first time is awkward and this scene nailed that).

So much happiness. And I know, I know, I felt something was coming. It was too happy. But LOOK how HAPPY they were.

Gut punch to my stomach. Edvin, kudos to you sir. Also, while on the topic of Edvin's acting, the way he can go from soft baby boy in love, to angry, impulsive little shithead was crazy. Strand did so many crazy stupid things, but than was also just so in love with this girl and was so soft with her. Always a pleasure watching him do his thing, and I hope he continues to get projects to show it off.

Alma, you were so loved. Also again, cinematography was just chefs kiss.

[gh0stvi0lets]

𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘭 𝘔𝘦𝘯 𝘋𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘔𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘊𝘳𝘺,

────────────୨ৎ──────────────

𝘴𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘺. Why cry over boys... when a real man is ready to love you right?

𝘱𝘢𝘪𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨. older!Sam Winchester x reader

𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴. age gap relationships, power imbalance themes, mild swearing.

𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘵. 678

𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘦𝘴. I do not condone inappropriate relationships. This is not pedophilia, reader is legally of legal age and consenting.

The motel room was quiet except for the muffled hum of a nearby vending machine and the occasional creak of the ceiling fan that never worked quite right. You sat on the scratchy, faded bedspread, curled up into yourself, trying not to cry too loud.

But Sam heard you anyway.

He always did.

You sniffled, trying to play it off, but the wet streaks down your cheeks gave you away the moment he stepped out of the bathroom.

“Hey,” he said softly, towel draped around his neck, hair still damp from the shower. “What’s wrong?”

You shook your head, pulling your knees closer to your chest. “Nothing. Just stupid.”

Sam’s brows furrowed. He walked over slowly, crouching in front of you so you couldn’t avoid his eyes.

“Don’t do that,” he murmured. “Don’t downplay what you’re feeling.”

You looked at him, and something about his voice, the way it was all low concern and velvet warmth, made your chest cave in.

“I—I just…” your voice cracked. “He ghosted me. Again. Said he liked me and then just—vanished. Like I’m nothing. Like I don’t matter.”

Sam’s jaw clenched. Not at you—never at you—but at the thought of him. Some college-age boy who didn’t know how to handle someone like you. Someone who actually gave a damn.

He exhaled, then shifted up to sit beside you on the bed, placing a large, warm hand gently on your shoulder.

“Then he’s an idiot,” Sam said firmly. “And an asshole.”

You let out a soft, bitter laugh. “You think that’s the first one? Guys my age—they’re all the same. They play games. They don’t know what they want. They say sweet things and then just…” You trailed off, shaking your head.

Sam’s hand moved from your shoulder to your back, rubbing slow, calming circles.

“You shouldn’t have to deal with boys like that,” he said, voice rougher now. “You deserve someone who actually sees you. Someone who knows what he wants.”

Your breath hitched at the tone shift. You glanced up at him, his jaw set, his eyes darker than before—not angry, but protective. Focused. Intense.

“They don’t appreciate you,” he continued. “And you keep chasing these boys who barely know how to treat a woman.”

You blinked. “I’m not a woman to them. I’m just… a game. A phase.”

Sam turned to fully face you now. “You’re not a phase. You’re smart, and kind, and fucking beautiful. You think I don’t see how you light up a room? How you carry yourself even when you’re breaking?”

Your heart stammered in your chest.

“But maybe,” he added, voice quieter now, “you’re wasting your time looking for something in boys… when what you need is a man.”

The air went still.

You looked at him, really looked. At the way his shirt clung to his broad chest, the damp strands of hair brushing his cheek, the softness in his eyes that only you ever really got to see.

“Sam…” you whispered, unsure if it was a question or a warning.

“I’m not saying it to pressure you,” he said gently, brushing a tear from your cheek with the back of his hand. “But I’ve seen you cry too many times over guys who don’t deserve you. And it kills me. Because if you were mine, I wouldn’t waste a second making you question how wanted you are.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

“You don’t need boys who run when things get real. You need someone who stays. Who takes care of you. Who knows how to be there.”

He leaned in just slightly, enough for you to feel the warmth of his breath on your skin.

“I would never let you feel like this,” he murmured. “Not with me.”

You didn’t speak. You couldn’t. All you could do was stare at the man beside you—the one who had been your safe place all along—and realize, maybe he wasn’t just comforting you.

Maybe he was waiting.

And maybe, just maybe… you were done with boys.

୨ৎ tags: @bowbowrry @mostlymarvelgirl @littleladydemon

[6feathered6siren6]

Can I request for a fic where MC fakes their death? Like fully commits to it, skipping town, ignoring the server, ect ect. Maybe Ronin and V get fed up because there hasn't been any news stories about it, so maybe they track reader down and confront them? I just thought the idea would be cool !

Killer chat of course :)

Thank you !!!

Pulled into Life(V x Ronin x Reader)

Authors note: Blame the call I was in when I wrote this, it became Ronin x V x Reader(more at the end), I wanted to write this differently but I still like the turn out. Add some tidbits at the end btw :3(got this done in a few hours) Anyway, enjoy, make sure you are taking care of your needs! o7

Trigger warnings:

Anxiety

Light Angst

Light mentions of both V's and Ronin's routes

--

You left everything behind. You only got the clothes on your back and your vehicle. You couldn’t handle it, you literally were breaking from the tension. Killers that will hunt you down if they know, and you couldn’t pretend anymore. You had to leave. And that what leaves you into this small run down apartment, you go by another name, you change your appearance, you know they can track you down. You took any job, just something to gain money, to keep yourself afloat.

It was hard work but you left everything behind, and you would never look back. 

—

You sigh as you leave your job, groaning in pain as your feet hurt for standing so long. As much you don’t like it, it pays the bills. You got into your vehicle and drive to your place, and as you leave your car, you see someone standing in front of your building. Someone familiar… 

You couldn’t breath, it turned stale and started to hurt your chest as they turned to look at you. The dark black braid whip around, their dark eyes capture your figure. You knew him, you escaped from him, you escaped from him and the server he was from. 

“Reader..” V spoke. His voice was careful, cautious. He stayed put as you took a step back. Your eyes felt like they were burning, sight goes blurry. 

You couldn’t, the fear fills you, the anxiety picks your brain. You need to run. You need to get away. Your back hits your vehicle, you couldn’t back away.  

He took a step forward, he continued to speak. “Can we speak?” 

“No, leave.” Your voice shakes, “I am not dealing with you. Not now. Not ever.” You could feel your throat close up, but you push the words through. You have to, you have to stand your ground. 

“Reader, please can we talk?” V spoke again, stepping forward towards you. 

“No.”

“Just.. please.. Everyone is worried. You just disappeared. Did you get caught? Someone on your trail?” Yeah, him, everyone on that server. 

“Just go.” You said again, but you were more stern. 

“Please, one conversation, then I’ll go.” He pleaded, continue to get closer until he was about a few feet away from you.

“Five(5) minutes.” You said, crossing your arms, creating pressure, allowing yourself to ground a bit.

He sighs, nodding. “Why did you disappear? Everyone thought you died.” 

“I made it that way.”

“Why?” 

“I…” Tell him?

“If you don’t feel comfortable with that, then answer me, was it the server? Or someone who was haunting you?”

“Everything.”

He paused, his eyes softened. He seems like he felt guilty with what he did. Realizing he was also putting pressure on you. “Oh.”

“Look, I… I couldn’t.. I had to leave, V.” 

He was quiet again. “Ronin is worried, Angel is concerned, Misaki wants you back into the server, Feli and Luca want to play games with you again.”

You bit your cheek, you are scared. “I’m…”

V sighs. “I apologize for my actions, I think I might also be the cause of this.” You look up, seeing his dark eyes look guiltily. 

You paused, taking a break. “V…” You look back at your arms. “It’s so much more than that-”

He interrupts you with a hand on your arm. “You were telling the truth. That you weren’t a killer.” 

Your eyes widen, before sighing. “So… you finally understand.”

“Ronin told me, he noticed that we got close. And he was very worried about you. So he told me.” Your arm was squeezed. 

Thinning your lips, you didn’t want to talk about this but, who knows who else is here. “So what now, are you going to kill me V? It’s why I ran. I didn’t want to be killed for something I’m not. I don’t want to soil my hands for something I can’t handle, V!”

V stayed there. He allowed you to break slightly, after all this happened. “I don’t want to kill you, or hurt you. You have my word.”

You stare at him, he is an honest guy. And you know this. 

—

V left, he talked a bit more, and handed you his and Ronin’s number, for some reason? But whatever, you stare at the small piece of paper in your hand. Two numbers and names lie on it. The moon light shines through the foggy, unclean glass window, illuminating the room with the soft glow. You hold your knees closer with your other hand. Ronin found you. Of course, he would, gave you away to V. But… You aren’t an article headline, bleeding out on the pavement. You… are alive. Breathing. A bit fast, but a reminder you aren’t gone yet. 

Would you test fate? 

No…

Yes, you will. 

You started to text Ronin. Why did he track you down? Did he want to kill you?

‘Hey’ you sent. 

You didn’t expect much. But for him to respond was not one of them.

‘well well’ He typed. ‘Look at what the Cat dragged In’

‘V found me. Why look for me? To kill me?’

You wanted answers. 

‘Because darling’ He sent another. ‘we Never finished our Game’ ‘plus, we Got plans’

Plans?

You took a breath, feeling like your patience was already thin, ready to snap.

‘Are you going to kill me?’

‘you said i Can take your Aorta, darling’

‘so you are after my heart??’

‘Something like that’

You bite your cheek again, tasting iron. What next? He was the one who was adamant to hunt you down, killing you if you weren’t a killer like them. Now he’s not going to? Mix messages much?

You sigh, clicking your phone off and throwing it to the side, stretching out before bed. It’s a problem for you in the future you.

But you have been found. You don’t know what will happen…

It’s a start, dragging you back to the city, talking to the server, showing that V and Ronin weren't insane for thinking you were alive. The Ronin and V wanted to bring you back, after all you didn’t die, and they didn’t believe both of them. Everyone thought you went underground, hiding, which you were. But, they were happy to see you. The pressure was still there, V had stepped back, he knew. Ronin knew as well, but his teasing was higher while his threats became more empty. 

V said he would protect you and you put his word into a solid promise. Ronin was someone to watch someone in pressure, but he helped lessen it. 

A silver snake charm necklace dangles around your neck symbolizing one of the relationships. While a ring wrapped around your middle finger, with a red line in the middle to represent the other. 

—

Headcanons/snip bits 

Anxiety gets high often from the pressure, scared of the killers killing you after finding out. V would be there, holding a weighted blanket or stuffed animal for you. Allowing you to cuddle to his side, as he reads books for you. Ronin would tease you but it’s light teasing to ground you, love riling you up, distracting you from your worries.

V would disregard anything from the server, holding his ground, while Ronin would change the conversation away from you.

V would call you each night to let you rant, and vent, Ronin would join in as well, teasing V and riling him for you to laugh.

[strike-another-match]

Thank you for the tag @birdmenmanga I love these games!!! Tagging @just-some-random-blogger @disinherited-dornishman @deadonyouraccount and anyone else who wants to do it!!

answers under cut bc i know i'll ramble lmao. edit from the future: this was so much fun to writeeee

coffee shop or florist

hmm i tend not to like either for it's own sake like there has to be something else going on to catch my interest, but if i were to write one of these i'd pick florist because the vibes are more relaxed and it ties in very nicely with the kind of poirot-style murder mystery plots i tend to enjoy

au or fix-it

i'm "my country right or wrong" when it comes to canon, if it came from the same writers' pen i just cannot unsee it once i have seen it, if i really hate the direction something takes i would rather drop it, and if i'm too attached or too involved in the fandom to drop it i'll just find a way to work with it in fic

enemies to lovers or childhood friends

i really never understood childhood friends, maybe because i feel like i was barely sentinent as a child lmao like i just don't associate any childhood memory with anything remotely related to romance or even friendship? idk i was literally playing with mud and catching frogs i was just not thinking about feelings... i do get enemies to lovers though because i tend to grow a soft spot for the people i butt heads with suuuuper quickly like hey that's blorbo from my rants <3 blorbo from my headache

angst or fluff

for me one needs the other... fluff doesn't really hit without angst but angst doesn't really hit without fluff either... they exist in balance

love at first sight or pining

i dont have the systems to understand love at first sight like i cannot comprehend that kind of thought... after a brief meeting perhaps but not at first sight??? i don't like it when it draws out forever either though unless there's like a very good reason

modern au or historical au

hmmm no strong preference, though its fun to talk about putting the characters in different settings i normally see characters as belonging to their setting for a reason so i normally operate within the setting. that being said modern aus for period or scifantasy settings come a lot more easily to me than historical aus for modern settings so modern au wins

break up & make up or proposal & wedding

break up and make up is a repeat offender in shows i've watched, you know when writers don't know what to do with an established couple so it's just break up and make up over and over again? i do love proposals (when they're used to like, really drive home the point of how much a character has grown maybe) but i like them even better if they're not in the context of marriage... something that might bind the characters together more than marriage ever could... let's do a heist together, let's kill someone together, etc.

get together or established relationship

i am a huge fan of get together but that being my favourite tv romance i've ever witnessed with my eyes is tomshiv so i guess i prefer writing get together but i prefer watching established relationship if 👆 it's falling apart. my absolute favourite though is the combination of both, a marriage that's falling apart right as they meet a new third person that's either going to finally implode it or be the one thing that can fix it like i will slurp that up and be praying at the altar iykyk (i just realised actually this is also tomshiv + greg... but obviously i was thinking of jim jade and tabitha)

soulmates or unrequited

i am unfortunately battle trained in the ways of haterism for the soulmate aus, i cannot stand the idea of it being decided for you who you will like or who you are supposed to get with, it sounds like my worst nightmare in every possible way, but i can understand why other people with different life experiences might like it. unrequited makes me sad though im a weak bitchhhh but i will write it for sideplots because i am also evil

fake dating or secret dating

once again kinda neither omfg how picky can i be? maybe i don't see the appeal of fake dating because my comphet relationships kinda felt like fake dating so secret dating wins? then again i pretty much avoid fake dating so maybe if i read some i would see the angle/appeal, i might just be hating it for the idea i made up in my head of what i thought it'd be

obvious pining or domestic fluff

both can work for me but it has to be in specific contexts for example i love the idea of characters who don't feel at home in their own homes making a home of their own in some unconventional situation (specially if they both know it can't last yk but the moment they're hit with the feeling of oh so this is what having a home feels like while also knowing they're about to lose it is like a drug to me) but if its just like ikea catalogue middle class stable life then idc like i need my characters to be suffering at a significant level at all times or i disengage

hurt/comfort or crack

i am literally the hurt/comfort bitch like literally everything i write and read is hurt/comfort if nothing is happening im like someone should drop a door on these ppl make them bleed a little idk like this is pretty much synonymous with fic for me i just exist within the bounds of hurt/comfort i cannot deny my nature like if no one is getting physically hurt and/or emotionally devastated i am just not clicking that link. all my characters will be half conscious and delirious in their lover's arms at least once

meet the parents or meet cute

meet the parents but like predictably only if they're abusive, it has to go horribly wrong like shit has to go down or at least give the partner/future partner character an "oh shit" moment to explain why the other character is the way they are. like it can't be "i want you to meet my parents <3" it has to be more like "oh shit my dad's here". i love subverted meet cutes where there's a terrible first impression too though... i love meet uglies

tagged by @starlightweave thank you ^___^

bold for what I love!

coffee shop or florist (hit me up with flowers language) | au or fix-it (I mean. Both can be true. And by "fix-it-" it also mean "i do not want to see this happening in canon but in fanon it's interesting) | enemies to lovers or childhood friends (I'M A BITCH FOR THIS) | angst or fluff (WHY NOT BOTH) | love at first sight or pining | modern au or historical au (look. I already do alternate-world thing in my original stories and it's taking enough researches like this, the rest I'm making things up) | break up & make up or proposal & wedding (hayyyy what do you mean this is a logic suite of events) | get together or established relationship (gestures wildly at Jahan x Scarlett IN YOUR OPINION) | soulmates or unrequited (unrequited that turn requited) | fake dating or secret dating (i'll admit that, i wrote fake dating for work, and I absolutely do not get it) | obvious pining or domestic fluff (shit the idea of your OTP just taking a coffee together and both standing by the railroad and looking at the sun rise...idzahioja) | hurt/comfort or crack (BOTH. AND SOMETIMES ONE CAN TURN INTO THE OTHER.) | meet the parents or meet cute (no i'm sorry have you seen the look of most parents in fiction, i prefer meet cute)

tagging : @tynithia @desfraisespartout @heyhopperart (I CHALLENGE YOU TO MULAN/SY) @revoleotion @gemmababbler

[cryingjayb1rd]

fucked up dickjay where they have a 24/7 roleplay that dick had molested jason when he was robin. they slip into it without thinking. they've been doing it for long enough that they have a whole series of intricate lore associated with it. events that never happened that they reference while fucking. that they reference even while just sitting on the couch next to each other. "remember how much fun we had that time bruce went out of town for two weeks and dropped you off with me? when i told you that you had no where else to go?" "remember how you tried to drown me in the tub? how you held me down until i gave in?"

[averagefungus]

UHHUHHUHHUHHUHHUHHUHHUHHUHHUHHUH

[minimoll7]

Man, really hoping I can get some good sleep these upcoming nights

I've been struggling a lot with sleep lately and its killing me Dx