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7/5/2025, 6:34:52 PM
>The sun blazed mercilessly over the desolate island, its sweltering heat shimmering off the cracked earth. Shanks, his red hair plastered to his brow, stood at the edge of a jagged cliff, the sea below roaring with restless hunger. His loose shirt clung to his sweat-slicked chest, the summer air thick with salt and tension. Across from him, Blackbeard—Teach, as he was then—grinned, his massive frame a dark silhouette against the molten horizon. His eyes gleamed with a predatory edge, teeth bared in a smile that promised chaos.
>"Hot enough for ya, Red-Hair?" Teach's voice rumbled, low and teasing, his gaze raking over Shanks with an intensity that felt like a challenge in itself. He stepped closer, his bulk casting a shadow that seemed to swallow the light. The air between them crackled, heavy with unspoken intent, a dance of power and something more primal.
>Shanks tilted his head, his own grin sharp but playful, masking the wariness in his eyes. "Hotter than your temper, Teach. But I’m not here to sweat." His hand rested lightly on his sword’s hilt, fingers flexing with an ease that belied the fire in his veins. The heat wasn’t just from the sun—it was in the way Teach’s stare lingered, bold and unyielding, like he was sizing up more than just a fight.
>They circled slowly, boots scuffing the dry ground, the summer haze warping the space between them. Teach’s laughter boomed, a sound that vibrated through Shanks’s chest. "Always so cocky," Teach murmured, his voice dropping to a husky drawl. "Bet I could make you break a sweat in more ways than one." The words hung in the air, suggestive, a taunt wrapped in velvet.
>"Hot enough for ya, Red-Hair?" Teach's voice rumbled, low and teasing, his gaze raking over Shanks with an intensity that felt like a challenge in itself. He stepped closer, his bulk casting a shadow that seemed to swallow the light. The air between them crackled, heavy with unspoken intent, a dance of power and something more primal.
>Shanks tilted his head, his own grin sharp but playful, masking the wariness in his eyes. "Hotter than your temper, Teach. But I’m not here to sweat." His hand rested lightly on his sword’s hilt, fingers flexing with an ease that belied the fire in his veins. The heat wasn’t just from the sun—it was in the way Teach’s stare lingered, bold and unyielding, like he was sizing up more than just a fight.
>They circled slowly, boots scuffing the dry ground, the summer haze warping the space between them. Teach’s laughter boomed, a sound that vibrated through Shanks’s chest. "Always so cocky," Teach murmured, his voice dropping to a husky drawl. "Bet I could make you break a sweat in more ways than one." The words hung in the air, suggestive, a taunt wrapped in velvet.
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