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alkhale · 8 months

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If it is not too much....can we have more decade swap please mommy alk? 🥺🥺🥺

Miss Memos so much 🙏🙏🙏

I HAVENT BEEN CALLED MOMMY YET BUT I HOPE THIS HELPS DURING THE WAIT

Shanks is somewhere in his twenties

Every now and then between the Blues and across the seemingly endless expanse of the Grand Line, an island appears.

It was never a designated island in particular. Whatever island could manage to make such a name of itself and manage to keep its reputation would eventually spread word, and sure enough, people would flock to its shores. Some islands that attempted to boast this specific purpose found themselves either failing to uphold true neutrality or ended scorched and sunk from a series of skirmishes with the marines.

A neutral island, people would call it. A meeting point. Pirates of all walks and Blues and statuses would gather here, and people who wished to do business with such pirates would navigate their waters.

A neutral island, on paper. A pirate playground, by word of mouth.

It was this very island get-away in particular that young, not quite young to most, but perhaps still young in the old eyes of the world—"Red Haired" Shanks found himself docked alongside his now notorious crew.

The bar thrummed with life. People and pirates flooded the inside like an overflowing mug of grog, beginning to spill out over the top. Music filled the air, leaving not a space for silence or stillness. Snarled curses flew across tables, slurred stories between bowed heads, and sweet words coaxed from wet lips against willing ears.

Shanks let all of it envelop him. He let it wrap thickly like a sheet. A wide, playful grin stayed perpetually stretched over his lips and he laughed with banter, jeered when jostled, and whispered huskily when spoken sweetly to.

His now infamous captain was always a man who enjoyed having fun above all else, so he'd seen it perfectly fit to dock their ship amidst the hub of pirates seeking their fill of freedom, fun or pure debauchery.

(Shanks was somewhere between the first two, but those who wanted to share his bed might speak differently.)

He sat now as proof up against the bar top. Two beautiful women hugged the seats on either side, a half-full bottle of wine—something more bitter in taste, harder and expensive—sat waiting to be grabbed by one of the beautiful hands to be poured into his mug. He'd meant to stay with the grog, since grog he could drink like water before he barely felt a buzz in his fingertips.

Wine came with the intention of something more, and he was still trying to decide whether or not to indulge in that sort of offer presented to him.

Shanks was older now. A roguishly handsome man with the kind of bounty on his head to turn multiple heads. Enough to make an ambitious marine drool and a seasoned vice admiral scowl. Amongst other crews, he was a powerful man, one of many on his ship, but one of the strongest, and that drew eyes.

Hateful eyes, envious eyes, admirable eyes—

Lustful eyes.

Women who'd spent the night, the evening, or morning with him would often describe him as such:

"His shoulders are big," they'd say. "Broad. You could rake your nails down them and feel endless."

"He's handsome," they'd swoon. "Dashing, a true criminal that one. That sculpted, clean jaw, those playful eyes..."

"His biceps are like corded ropes," they'd grin. "He could lift you with one, keep the other free to—"

"He's sinfully strong," they'd sigh. "Hold you like you were nothing, keep you seated right on his—"

"His words are sweet," some would murmur, looking a bit lost. "But he isn't truthful. He doesn't lie, that one. But his lips and his kisses... Hmm, I guess I'm a bit jealous, that's all."

There'd been a period once where Shanks had never been too particularly indulgent, to be truthful. It'd happened without him realizing it. Shanks could flirt and flirt and talk sweet, and then the moment lips would whisper in his ear and eyes would shift to a closed door—he'd laugh, something sweeter, and then he'd be off.

It was Buggy who'd called him out on it. Sore, when another beautiful woman had been left wanting and Shanks was looking like a dazed idiot, staring out across the sea.

"It's because you're still obsessed," Buggy had accused. Shanks had look at him, affronted. "You're all talk, Red Hair. Since you last saw them at the end of that crazy fight, you've become the worst you've ever been!"

"What fight?"

"The one that nearly tore the ocean apart! That was the last you saw of them in the past year and it's haunted you since!"

"Who?" Shanks said dumbly, still staring out across the ocean.

"You know who, you buffoon!" Buggy shouted. "I knew—I knew nothing good would ever come of this since you first made googly eyes at one of the most dangerous women you could ever even look at—"

"Dangerous," Shanks played with the word on his tongue. "She is, isn't she?"

Shanks knew exactly what memory Buggy was speaking of. It was seared, branded into the back of his mind.

(That beautiful woman. Her eyes. Her blood. Her blade.)

Many images of that day, in fact, remained with him still. Some more beautiful than others, and one lingering sharply, bitter—

(A moss haired swordsman cutting through the carnage, like cleaving waves, to stand at her side. His arm curling over her hip, pulling her to him when the dust settled, his lips hidden in her hair as he said something to her ear. Her eyes, finally relaxing, drooping with fatigue. A trust to be able to show such vulnerability. How he practically carried her, leaning her body against his—)

"See!" Buggy shrilled. "Listen, Shanks. You can dream all you want, I have plenty of fun fantasies myself. But you know why I'm never afraid for me?"

"Why?" Shanks sighed. Buggy jutted a finger against his chest and Shanks leaned back a bit in surprise, caught off guard by the truth in Buggy's next words.

"That's because you're a man who wants. And a man who wants never just settles for dreams."

"Buggy, have you eaten something bad?"

"You're the one who's eaten something rotten, idiot!" Buggy screeched, nearly throttling his crewmate. "Forget it, you're hopeless!"

To be fair, Shanks had tried what Buggy suggested. Buggy was convinced he just needed to get it out of his system. He'd even somewhat convinced himself the same. Maybe the wanting was just... carnal. Maybe he was creating a vision of something for himself, a dream to obtain, and it wasn't fair to do to her. No, never to a woman like that.

So Shanks had played the game, and he'd played it well. He had his fun. He went to bed with pleasure. His true heart belonged to the sea anywho, to his crew, to what laid in store for them at the end of it all.

(There was just nothing he could do, you know, about certain nights. About wisps of images in the corner of his eye. Of long, elusive strands of silver white and eyes like gold beneath the waves.)

The woman on his right was a local, one of the barmaids who was trying her luck. One beautifully manicured hand kept a possessive grip over the sculpted slope of his forearm, her thumb rubbing circles into the side of his arm the other woman couldn't see. The woman on his left ought to be some pirate for a crew he wasn't familiar with, but she drew his attention from time to time with stories of her exploits on the sea.

Stories.

"What kind of story will you tell, brat?"

Laughter filled the air. Someone shouted something behind him and the music resumed, flooding the space. Shanks laughed at something the woman on his right said. He spared a glance over the top of his mug to the back of the bar. Two wide double doors opened up to a sort of back patio, where the cool salty breeze filtered in. He could see pillars outside holding the establishment up, wound tightly with thickened vines heavy with some kind of flower.

"I'm sorry ladies," Shanks said smoothly, standing up from the bar. The women looked up, startled, but Shanks offered them a charming smile, easy and placating. "I just need to step outside for a moment... you won't miss me too much, will you?"

"Maybe a bit."

"Not at all."

They looked at each other with a scowl and Shanks grinned, smoothly slipping his way through the thundering crowd and finally slipping outside.

The breeze kissed his cheeks. Shanks let out a soft, easy groan as he stretched his arms over his head and let his feet carry him out of the shadow of the bar. Perhaps he'd stroll through town, get something to eat. Maybe find Buggy and bother him.

There was a whisper in the air, like a sigh.

Shanks felt something curl, like a finger ghosting up his spine. He stopped dead in his tracks.

"Brat," she murmured, almost amused. "Going for a little walk?"

Shanks turned sharply on his heel, so sharp he almost stumbled. The breeze billowed the open chested white shirt around his arms. It tousled his hair, pulling it free from his gaze so he could see with utter clarity.

The divine sight laid out before him.

Long stems of blooming white flowers wound up the pillars outside the bar, holding up the balcony alcove hidden amidst the second floor she must've stowed away for herself. They interlocked in heavy blooms, a shade too white to match her hair. She leaned up against the railing of the balcony, lounged on her side like a goddess, one finger lightly brushing against a flower as she gazed quietly down at him.

What few patrons might have known of her presence must have thought it wiser not to comment on the fact that she'd been there, leaving the infamous woman to her devices.

Shanks felt his pulse begin to thrum at his fingertips. His feet carried him before he'd thought anything else. A slow, curling grin pulled wide over his mouth. He felt that familiar trill, a lulling pulse of energy in the air, a thought that perhaps—

(This world was amazing.)

His eyes shone brightly, pools of sunlight.

She narrowed her eyes in almost suspicious amusement at the sight.

"Dove," Shanks said, because he'd never promised to be one for subtly. "It's been an eternity."

"Eternity?" she tilted her head to the side, a swooping wave of silver white following over the bare curve of her shoulder. Shanks felt his pulse quicken. "It can't have been that long."

"I didn't even hear a whisper of you being here," Shanks said, stepping closer to the pillar so he could look directly up at her and she gazed down at him. "if I'd known, I would've never left your company."

"We arrived only just tonight," she said loosely. Shanks saw now she was nursing a pretty colored bottle and he licked his lips. "Had a bit of free time on my hands."

Shanks' hand laid itself along the pillar. He tugged on the vines, testing their strength. "A beautiful woman like you," he began, as though he were witnessing the worst crime committed in this world, "all by her lonesome?"

She huffed a sort of laugh. "Mmm, I'm never alone, boy."

He was far from being a boy, but Shanks continued to grin, slow and easy, eyes bright with mirth. "Is there room on that balcony for two?"

Hoku the Immortal shut her eyes for a moment in contemplation. She tilted her head, as though listening for something.

"I suppose it depends," she said finally. Those piercing eyes watched him languidly. "I don't want to invite something more than I can handle."

Her expression became one of startled amusement as Shanks' hands quickly dug into the vines, his body scaling up the pillar with frightening haste.

She laughed, the sound lighting like fireworks in his ears as he snapped with one hand long stems along the way, crushing them between his fingers until Shanks quickly hauled himself over the top of the balcony railing. He looked up, almost frazzled, once smoothened hair now askew as he caught his breath and grinned widely at her, eyes shining.

His breath staggered in his throat. From below had been but a taste—now he could see her clearly, vividly.

In a rare sight she'd discarded the large cloak she'd always kept with her. Perhaps because of the warmer temperatures of this summer island. Shanks could see the bare slope of her shoulders, the teasing dip of her collarbone hidden by her thin white top. The warm tan of her skin under the dappled moonlight, her curves, the long stretch of her legs over the bench—

She didn't wear her usual sturdy pants tonight. Loose billowy black shorts down to her knees took their place—perhaps a pleading change from one of her more fashion savy crewmates, maybe they were going for more of a vacation look, Shanks thought in the back of is head.

Hoku had one leg crossed over the other knee, foot swaying in the air. The knicked and scarred skin of her thighs appeared before him. He'd never known before she had a tattoo there on her left one—a design hidden still to his eyes, he couldn't quite make it out.

He thanked vehemently whoever's idea it was.

Shanks swallowed with a breathless grin.

Hoku raised a brow and Shanks leaned over the top of the railing, holding out the slightly bent flowers to her as an offering.

"Dove," Shanks said sweetly, "It's a dream to see you again."

Hoku snorted, shaking her head with a somewhat exasperated chuckle. Still the older woman gently took the flowers from his grip, her fingers brushing fleetingly against his and Shanks almost curved his own to try to hook them against his hand.

Hoku pulled away with ease, lightly stroking the bent petals and gently beginning to weave the stems together absently. "I hear you've been making quite the name for yourself these days."

"You listen for word of me?" Shanks said.

"Only if it manages to reach my ears," Hoku said lazily. Shanks pouted. She wove another two flowers together.

Shanks dared to take a seat on the space beside her legs. She shifted them only slightly, not quite accomodating him, but she didn't usher him away either. He didn't know if he ought to feel wounded, the way she seemed to consider him a lighthearted presence than a threat, as though he were just another cat who'd decided to take a seat here.

But if such thoughts allowed him to be here, this near—

Shanks would take what he could get.

"What brings the King of Pirates and his crew to this fine little island?" Shanks asked easily, one finger tracing the wooden pattern etched into the bench.

"A meeting with some old friends," Hoku said absently, fingers still moving along the flower stems, but her eyes flickered back over to the view from their balcony. "I assume you've come to play?"

"To pray, actually," Shanks said. Hoku raised a brow, looking at him. Shanks grinned. "To whatever god I must for a chance to see you again."

Hoku set the woven flowers down in her lap. She shifted slightly, looking at Shanks with a narrowed hint of amusement.

"You're always talking sweet," Hoku sighed. "I suppose this is a trait men like you must bear the burden of carrying."

"Men like me?" Shanks said, sounding wounded. "Dear dove, you think I'm not earnest in my pursuit?"

"Pursuit?" Hoku echoed, raising a curious brow. "Of what?"

"Of one of the most beautiful women I've ever laid eyes on," Shanks said, eyes half lidded now, almost dreamy as he looked. "Of one of the greatest treasures the ocean's ever offered."

Hoku laughed. Shanks could grow drunk off the sound alone. "Brat... I still think you're biting off more than you can chew. One of these days you'll talk sweet to a woman like this and find out she might give you more than you can handle."

"I don't talk to other women like this," Shanks said lightly, softer. Hoku's gaze turned at his drop in tone and she watched him curiously, almost warily as he simply watched her in turn, never taking his gaze off of her. "I stumble in the shallows only for you, dove."

(Shanks treated any respectful woman in his company with grace.)

But he'd started to think as of late, perhaps without realizing it, that there was only one woman he'd like to worship.

"You've dug yourself a grave, Shanks," he thought he could hear Buggy curse in his ear. "A watery grave."

Hoku hummed, shaking her head at him. She leaned back, making herself comfortable amidst a few cushions as her fingers resumed their work.

Shanks could feel the heat from the skin of her ankle at his fingertips. They itched now to trace lightly up her leg, smooth his hand along her skin.

"Dove," Shanks said. "Will you tell me a story?"

Hoku raised a curious brow now. Shanks felt his grin widen over his lips, just shy of cheeky. Time had passed, after all, and Shanks would be a fool to not have learned.

(How do you entertain someone who's seen all this world has to offer?)

You don't.

"You want to hear one of my stories?" Hoku humored him. "Or one of my crew's?"

"Whichever makes you the happiest to tell."

Hoku's fingers paused briefly. She weighed Shanks' words and glanced again out toward the island's dark horizon. He sensed it since he scrambled up this balcony that something strange seemed to be weighing on this beautiful woman's mind, but he wasn't quite sure what.

Hoku reached out and grabbed the bottle sitting beside her. She offered it to Shanks who took it quickly and smoothly with grateful hands, a boyish sort of excitement curling in his gut now.

"I was never one for charity," Hoku said slowly. Her fingers tied off the stems together. "Tell me a good tale and I will share one of mine in return."

Shanks straightened to attention, bringing the top of the bottle to his lips. "One of mine?"

"Doesn't have to be one of yours," Hoku said, reclining back against the cushions. Shanks thought in his mind's eye she appeared like the very image of a goddess ready for worship, waiting to be amused. "Any good story."

Shanks took a long sip of her drink. He let out a small groan at the taste, unexpectedly sweet and smooth, almost crisp. Hoku huffed a laugh of amusement.

"It's delicious," Shanks said earnestly.

Pride flickered shamelessly across her face. She looked pleased at his words, leaning back and gazing again over the balcony. "A special blend from my hometown. One of my favorites, if I'm in the mood."

The sweet burn of it left a trail down his throat, all the way to the curling edge of his stomach. His fingertips.

"I have a love story then," Shanks said, low and husky. "The Sailor and the Gold Mermaid."

Hoku raised a brow, leaning her cheek against her palm. She closed her eyes, waiting. Shanks took a moment to admire her visage, the smooth shape of her eyes, shut to the world. The silver gray of her lashes. The slope of that deep red tattoo curved like a heart above her eye.

"Once there was a sailor who fell in love with a mermaid," Shanks began, bringing forth his best voice—the kind his captain loved when they were weaving tales by the fire. The kind that brought his crew to his side, listening with grins. "She was a beautiful mermaid, with the most beautiful voice he had ever heard with scales made of gold. Hair that shimmered beneath the waves."

Shanks took another swig of Hoku's drink, savoring the sweet taste. He leaned lightly against her leg, keeping his hands locked politely around the bottle should they betray him.

"Every day the sailor thought of how he could woe the mermaid. Each sunset she would come, sitting by the rocks to watch him and he would attempt something new. Flowers. Gifts. Songs. Each day she would see what he brought and disappear back into the water," Shanks pouted. "The sailor was heartbroken."

Hoku's lips curved into a faint grin at his exaggerated tone. Shanks leaned forward, as though sharing a secret. "Until one day the sailor had an idea. All of his friends had warned him against it, saying it wouldn't end well—but still he persisted."

The breeze tousled their hair. Shanks watched it carry hers lightly, teasingly.

"The sailor got on his knees with a bucket of water and he began to mold the sand. The mermaid was curious, wondering what he was up to this time, so she stayed upon her rock, watching him work," Shanks mimicked the motion with his hands even though Hoku kept her eyes closed, listening in silence. "It became clear to her with a gasp that he was forming a mold of her! Out of the sand he worked tirelessly, and curious, she watched, waiting to see his finished product."

Shanks noticed Hoku's foot stop swinging atop her knee. She adjusted her legs instead, pressing her knees toward the balcony railing. Like this, however, her leg pressed into his side. Shanks could feel it with every breath.

"Finally the sailor stood, turning to where he heard the mermaid gasp and he said, 'My love, this I offer to you, a testament to your beauty!'"

Shanks threw his arms out wide. His elbow settled over the top of Hoku's knee. She waited, listening intently to his story.

"The mermaid let out a louder gasp," Shanks began, raising his voice several pitches to mimic the mermaid's—"How can that be me? I look hideous!"

Hoku's eyes blinked open, flickering over to him in curiosity. Shanks' grin became breathless. He changed his tone, resuming the role of the sailor:

"This is the best that I could do to be true to your beauty!" the sailor said sadly. "Is this not in your likeness?"

"Look at it!" the mermaid cried. She dragged herself closer to him, pointing in a fury. "These lumps, that shape, this doesn't look anything like me!"

"Forgive me, my love," the sailor almost wept. "For I am blind!"

Hoku coughed in surprise, turning to Shanks with something like a laugh on her lips. Shanks laughed, heartily and full of mirth. He clasped Hoku's knee, shoulders shaking with laughter.

"The mermaid was stunned," Shanks swept on. "She asked the sailor how he possibly could have fallen in love with her when he had no idea how she looked. The sailor looked sheepish now and told her it had been her voice which won his heart."

Hoku hummed in amusement, seemingly pleased with the turn of events. She shut her eyes again, as though she were imagining the story in her head. Shanks set Hoku's drink down, carefully leaning forward.

"The mermaid brought herself closer to the man, reaching for his hand." Hoku paused as Shanks lightly wrapped his fingers around her wrist, loose, polite, and she did not draw away as he brought her hand then to his chest. "She brought his hand to her and said, 'Feel then, the shape of me.'"

Hoku kept her eyes closed, face relaxed, almost lazy. Shanks brought her palm against his bare chest, letting it rest there. He moved the other hand which had been resting on her knee, moving his fingers along the length of her leg, down to her ankles, lightly tracing his fingertips over her toes.

"Feel my scales," she said.

Shanks lifted Hoku's leg with both his hands now, light, caressing. Her brows furrowed slightly. Her skin twitched underneath his touch.

"Trace the shape of my body," she murmured.

Shanks' lips brushed almost slightly against the inside of her calf, his breath ghosting warm against her. Hoku's eyes opened now, sharp with wariness as she made to draw away.

Beneath her fingertips she could feel then—the fluttering of his heart like a bird. The nervous, loud staccato beneath her fingers. Hoku looked at her hand and then to Shanks, freezing briefly.

(Under the heat of that gaze.)

"'Now,'" Shanks whispered against the inside of her leg, "'try again.'"

Shanks' lips made to kiss the inside of her knee, eyes half-lidded, almost drunk of the presence of her, of the thrill of this moment, of the whirling, pulsing nerves and the rushing waves in his head—

Hoku's hand was replaced with her foot, her leg jerked swiftly free of Shanks' longing grip. He paused, halted now with her foot pressed solidly against his chest. Hoku kept him at bay, watching him with a cool gaze, leaving him unable to dive into their depths.

Shanks pursued no further, instead offering her his most charming grin.

"Brats like you," Hoku said slowly, "are dangerous."

Shanks' gaze lowered playfully at her.

"But brats like me," Shanks said sweetly, "are nothing Hoku the Immortal should fear, no?"

Hoku's eyes narrowed at him, lacking malice but in warning. The way a stray cat would look if you ventured too close for its comfort. Shanks still heard his pulse thundering in his ears.

"That story reminded me of one I'm very fond of," Hoku began airily, "so I won't throw you off this balcony, whelp."

Shanks continued to smile at her, his most charming yet, and Hoku simply regarded him for a moment.

Hoku looked a little fond then, somewhat exasperated as she looked at him.

"You aren't a bad story teller at all, Apple Haired Shanks."

Before Shanks could utter another word in response, Hoku disappeared with a simple flicker before him. Shanks blinked, once, twice, stunned into silence as a large boulder promptly took her place, slamming down into the bench and nearly crushing his outstretched hand.

Shanks jumped to his feet, whirling around and rushing up to the balcony railing.

Hoku appeared in the distance at the beginning of the town's pathway. She hovered in the air for a moment and Shanks noticed now the entire film of translucent blue that seemed to surround all of them. A firm hand reached out, taking hers and that film of blue disappeared as her feet touched the ground, lowered by that hand.

Shanks' jaw went slack in disbelief, slumping somewhat against the balcony as Hoku's figure in the distance simply raised a hand to him, waving once before she disappeared in the hulking shadow of her companion.

"Damn," Shanks murmured, leaning his cheek against his palm. "What a woman."

His gaze strayed to the side and he paused, reaching out with his hand. Shanks brought the flower crown up to his gaze, inspecting the careful way it'd been woven before he set it on the top of his head, sighing once more.

"Next time, Shanks, you'll get 'em next time."

. . . . . . . . .

"You could've just called me," Hoku said, looking a bit amused as she looked up at her companion.

"Seemed like I was interrupting something," Law said slowly, eyes half lidded as he regarded her coolly. "That's a dangerous brat to be entertaining."

"He's a hard urchin to shake off," Hoku sighed in exasperation, but she grinned a bit then. "Not a bad story teller though, I'll give him that."

Law scoffed, pulling his hand from hers. He stood tall beside her, shoulders broad and expression dark as always as his black feathered cloak fell about the both of them.

"Besides, you know me," Hoku grinned, nudging Law's side. Her eyes brightened when she noticed her sandals loose between his fingers against his side. She reached for them. “I prefer my paramours to be older. People aged a bit beyond their years, fine like—"

Law's hand hooked around the side of her waist, pulling her flush to him as he stooped low enough to say into her ear, low like a warning—

"You're forgetting who's the older one between the two of us."

Law waited for a moment, eyes watching Hoku, lowered and dark. His longer fingers curled fully over her hip.

Hoku promptly turned to Law with a sigh, looking up at him in clearly fond exasperation.

"Oh, Traffy, how will I ever explain it to you..."

"Your captain's finally ready to listen to the plan," Law said flatly. He dropped her sandals for her and Hoku grinned, sliding up close to his side to slip them on despite his scowl. "There won't be time to entertain rookies after this."

Hoku hooked her arm through his with a hum. Law continued to scowl but he didn't push her away.

"Time for the tide to change, huh?" Hoku murmured, leaning her head against Law's side.

Law's cloak enshrouded the both of them as they disappeared along a pathway, heading to the shore where the people she would sail to the end of her days awaited her.

#memos #memos au #memos age!swap au #shanks #hoku #trafalgar law #i think ive been having too much fun writing shanks lately #its helping me get back into the swing of memos tho #ty all for these asks and tidbits #and thank you for reading!

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