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[youcancallmepapi]

youcancallmepapi: an independent, single-muse, selective portrayal of oda eiichiro's character shanks from one piece. will mostly be canon-based, with headcanons added sparingly. 18+; i refuse to interact with minors or personal accounts. this is strictly a roleplay account. spoiled by vaan [they/them; 21+] mutuals only.

est. 02.13.25

caard ⇻ memes ⇻ blogroll: totalacehole

[skala-w]

[youcancallmepapi]

@drculeeyed Shamrock adjusted the lace at his cuff, the motion precise, almost delicate, as though the silk might bruise if handled too roughly. He did not look up when the doors opened; he didn’t need to. Only one man walked like the world owed him silence.

“...Sir Mihawk,” Shamrock said, letting the title linger enough to remind them both it was honorary at best. “Do come in. The floor is newly polished; try not to leave footprints.”

Shamrock finally raised his eyes. Cold carmine irises amusedly regarded Mihawk as he stepped forward regardless, then stopped exactly where Shamrock preferred him: three paces short of the dais, close enough to loom, far enough to have to look up.

“Lord Saint Jalmack requires a nuisance removed from the Red Line’s eastern trade ledger. A certain merchant in Goa Kingdom has forgotten whose sky he breathes under. Taxes unpaid, mouths too loud. You will remind him. Quietly, permanently, and,” teeth flashing as he half-smirked, “with that famous elegance of yours.”

Shamrock leaned forward, elbows on the carved arms of his chair, voice dropping to the silky register he saved for these moments. “I could send one of the full knights. Sir Shanks might even enjoy the excursion, provided there was decent sake afterward. But Shanks is…indulgent. You, Dracule Mihawk, are surgical. And I do abhor mess.”

He let the silence stretch, savoring it as he pointedly added, “But you already know all about that, yes?”

Yes. Mihawk would do nicely. He always did.

[luvccubus]

 ━━━━━━━━━━━━ ʚ𖦹ɞ━━━━━━━━━━━━

The more Shanks pressed, the tighter Perospero's grip on his caramel throne && the more it splintered, threatening to shatter. He would never be afraid of Shanks, nor his overwhelmingly strong Haki. Perospero had felt fear && each time it had involved his late mother. No matter how strong Red-Hair was, his reputation would never equate to shielding ones siblings, praying they didn't suffer the brunt of the abuse.

❝ So you're here for...entertainment? ❞ Or he was simply nosy, but that was unlike him. Instead, Perospero felt Red-Hair was waiting to see what phoenix would rise out of the ashes of Totto Land. No matter the reason, anger simmered throughout his body, the caramel finally shattering underneath his hand.

Swearing, Perospero pulled his hands away, now slightly bloodied with sharp candy digging into sensitive flesh. Tired gaze swept from his injured hands to the Emperor in front of him && said nothing, pulling his hands into his lap && looking back towards the sunlight filtering in through the broken windows. Before, he would have argued, insist upon his mother's dream of wanting united races, but now...he knew her for what she had been.

Mama had wanted a zoo, a collection, not a nation.

❝ I just want my family to be safe && happy, perorin. That's it, ❞ Of course, there were deeper desires within the candyman, ones discussed in private with his beloved. Expression softened, even with his home crumbling around him && an Emperor's Haki tightening its fingers around his throat, ❝ More than anything, I just want to live a happy life with my partner. He said he wanted to marry me, you know... ❞

 ━━━━━━━━━━━━ ʚ𖦹ɞ━━━━━━━━━━━━

[youcancallmepapi]

Shanks watched the caramel throne fracture under Perospero’s grip, the sound sharp as a snapped wishbone. He stayed crouched, elbow on his knees, Gryphon’s weight a steady anchor at his hip. The haki he’d let leak earlier settled back into his skin like a tide receding. No need to press harder. Perospero wasn’t going to bolt. The man was rooted here, bleeding into the ruins of his mother’s dream.

And then–he said he wanted to marry me.

Shanks’ brow arched, just a fraction. The candyman’s voice had gone soft, almost shy, the way a man speaks when he’s picturing something he’s not sure he deserves. It wasn’t the answer Shanks had come fishing for. He’d expected ambition, or grief, or some jagged shard of loyalty to a dead empire. Not this. Not love.

He rocked back on his heels, rising slowly. The movement was deliberate, giving Perospero space to breathe. The cathedral’s broken saints watched from their fractured panes, light splintering across the floor in red and gold.

“Marriage, eh?” Shanks said, voice low, almost fond. He scratched at the scar over his eye, the gesture idle. “That’s a hell of a thing to want when the world’s still reeling.”

Reaching down, the yonko opened the satchel that he had smuggled off his own ship when Benn wasn't looking. It contained some bandages, which he quickly shoved aside to draw out a pair of sake bottles. Using his teeth to pry one open, he offered it to the other pirate, his own already extended and ready to clang. “I would surmise a toast is in order, then. To new beginnings!”

“Big Mom’s gone,” Shanks continued, softer now once he had lowered his bottle as he spoke around the rim. “Her hunger’s not. It’s in the dirt now, in the homies, in the cracks of this cathedral. It’s in you. You feel it, don’t you? That itch under the skin. The need to build something. To protect what’s yours. To make it mean something.”

[youcancallmepapi]

Mihawk doesn't let Shanks within 5 feet if he hasn't bathed.

Shanks couldn’t help but laugh, utterly unbothered, as he took one deliberate step closer in the hopes of seeing Mihawk’s eyebrow twitch. Lowering his head, he allowed the fallen scarlet locks to shadow the slow, roguish smirk that threatened to surface.

“...That's a shame, Hawkeyes. And here I thought you liked me all filthy and sweaty.” He lifted his one arm as he dramatically sniffed at his armpits, straight-faced despite the rancid odor, the other sleeve flapping empty in the breeze. “Besides, I took a dip in the sea this morning.”

He did no such thing, willingly at least. Beck threw him overboard in exasperation of his captain’s refusal to bathe for two solid weeks.

[youcancallmepapi]

The young swordsman had been considered the best since he was sixteen. Now, here he stood, being faced down by a kid of a similar age with too much entitlement. "I'm not facing you. You are in no space to fight right now." ((Here having something for baby them ))

Fingers tightened around the rim of his straw hat. It was the sole object that still remained after his captain’s execution; long gone were the booming, unrestrained chortles that punctuated the pirate king as he swept down the hat to conceal his messy scarlet locks anytime he rested against the rigging of the Oro Jackson after a sweltering day of work as an apprentice.

If he closed his eyes, Shanks could faintly recall the wide crescent grin of Roger’s, fearless and confident; it was the smile of a man who had seen the end of the world and decided it was hilarious.

But the world government had made certain that Gol D. Roger would never again walk amongst the living souls, nor share the secrets he had uncovered in Laugh Tale concerning the One Piece.

No, Shanks was alone. The crew was now disbanded and Buggy didn’t stick around once he voiced his reluctance to pursue the One Piece immediately afterwards, not yet capable of following in Roger’s footsteps. The loss of Buggy coupled with Roger’s execution was what caused him to seek out a tavern in Loguetown, uncaring of how strong the rum he was pouring down his throat really was as he audaciously pointed the bottle towards the swordsman, crimson irises hazily flickered toward the label plastered across the front. Clément always was his former captain's favorite.

“...Sheesh, at least gimme a chance! What, is the great prodigy afraid of losing to some brat?” Using his ragged sleeve to hastily swipe at his mouth, the fifteen-year-old male roughly added, “My captain was ten times braver than you’ll ever be.”

[qwaqmeharder]

Twin of the evil twin

[milfhawks]

THAT BARELY THERE LITTLE KICK HE DOES he’s so posh yet bratty and condescendingly teasing… my girl knows exactly what he’s doing

[drculeeyed]

@youcancallmepapi

Oh, now he had activated Mihawk's trap.

Arms crossed over his chest, eyes closed, head tilted off to the side, lips pulled down. Was the swordsman pouting?

"A pity that I meant so little to you."

[youcancallmepapi]

Not gonna like the post until he gets a proper apology. Crimson hues widened just a fraction at the realization of Mihawk...pouting.

Wait, was he seriously–

A resigned sigh escaped past downturned lips as his palm pushed his scarlet locks back from the nape of his neck as Shanks sullenly muttered, “...You haven't got the faintest clue, Hawkeyes. If anything, I thought you knew me better than that. Foolish of me to make that mistake. Perhaps if I had a better title, my intentions would become more readily apparent.”

[youcancallmepapi]

"I want a divorce."

He's not smirking. You can't prove a thing.

“...As much as it absolutely pains me to say this, we were never together, Hawkeyes.”

(Except in his dreams.)

What. Who said that?

[youcancallmepapi]

"I need all your booze and like three sword lessons to justify drinking it."

He's not feeling spiteful. Why would he feel spiteful?

It's not like a certain master swordsman called him a deadbeat or anything, yeah? So there's no need for him to act so petty.

Except this is Shanks, and he's got the maturity of a five-year-old when it concerns getting back at Mihawk.

“...That depends, what kind of booze are we talking about, my green-haired gremlin? Chose wisely; unlike Hawkeyes, I don't hold back when it comes to both indulgence and swordplay.”

[themckaytriarchy]

starter for @youcancallmepapi! Everything's been done with permission and talked over.

Fifteen years, at least: that’s how long it’s been since Woolf D. Esther and Figerland Shanks crossed paths. Even longer since their crews traded blows and shared drinks, since Lucky Roux and Mutton Jon nearly killed each other in an argument over braising technique gone wrong. Longer since Ruthie and Hongo got caught naked in a cargo hold, leaving Tess staggering off howling about how they ought to 'use a fucking lock! FUCK!'

Twenty-two years since Rouge died with the baby in her arms. Twenty-four years since Gold Roger ushered a new age of piracy into the world.

'Shanks! It feels like it's been forever!' is the understatement of the Pirate Age.

From her perch atop a mountain of Underworld beasts, hat and crude fur cape crusted in snow, she raises an arm to shield her eyes and squints.That familiar Jolly Roger beats against the wind, and for a moment, she feels a knot of pain in her chest at the memories it stirs.

The past is a real bitch.

There’s Lucky Roux over there and Benn Beckman, stern as ever. Shanks himself is heading down the gangplank. He still reminds her of a big happy sun in a child’s drawing, one that swallowed a storm cloud it never quite managed to digest.

“Yeah, you just keep beaming, sunshine,” Tess murmurs, but the wind snatches up the words before he can hear them. "That cold's gonna hit you any minute now." She considers him, brushing the pad of her thumb over her mouth to rub away a flake of dry blood. After a long silence, she climbs to her feet, balancing on the head of a dragon-like thing that gleams like glass in sunlight. Queen of the Mountain, that's her. Tess cups her bloody hands around her mouth and bellows,

“OY! SHANKS! WANT TO GO GET DRUNK?”

[youcancallmepapi]

Shanks stepped off the gangplank and the cold slapped him like a lass would the morning after. Twelve years in the New World and he still wasn’t ready for the kind of winter that crawled inside your bones. His breath fogged, his nose went numb, and the grin he’d been wearing since the lookout faltered for half a heartbeat.

Then the bellow rolled down the mountain, raw and bright as a cannon shot.

He knew that voice. Gods, did he ever. It hadn’t softened a single degree in all the years since she’d screamed it across the deck of the Red Force while their crews had laughed themselves sick, usually at Shanks’ expense.

Shanks tilted his head back. There she was, Woolf D. Esther (Tess to anyone who wanted to keep their teeth intact), standing like some frost-bitten war goddess on the skull of the sizable dragon statue. Snow in her hair, blood on her hands, fur cape looking like she’d skinned a yeti giant and thrown it on while it was still angry.

Lucky Roux whistled low as canines sank into his usual drumstick. “Boss, ain’t that the same woman who threatened to feed me my own tongue over a pot roast?”

“...Positive,” Shanks said, already walking. His sandals crunched through snow up to his shins. “She just upgraded the threats.”

Beckman lit a cigarette, the flame flaring orange against the white snowcaps. “We’re really doing this, Captain? In the underworld that devours yonkos for breakfast?”

“Old friends, Beck,” Shanks called back, not turning around. “You don’t keep them waiting in the cold. Compared to Loki, she's harmless.” Barely.

He felt the crew watching him (some amused, some wary, many of them remembering stories from Mutton Jon as well as the infamous scandal that Ruthie and Hongo found themselves entangled in). The woman who’d vanished from the New World the same week Ace was born and never sent so much as a postcard after the raid that led to the Fiddleback Pirates disbanding.

Shanks kept climbing. The wind bit harder the higher he got, tugging at his cloak like it wanted to rip the past off his back and fling it into the sea. Up close, the years showed in small, treacherous ways: her curly tresses no longer the nearly artificial red she'd once dyed it, the natural brown a much richer color that suited her complexion far better, the faintest hollows under those heavy-lidded eyes that spoke of horrors experienced the rest of the world wasn’t ready to hear about. But that reckless, world-breaking grin was exactly the same.

“Still as ear-deafening as ever,” he lowly uttered by way of greeting, amused grin making the scar over his left eye crinkle slightly. “Some things never change.”

Expression still light, Shanks inclined his head to the side before holding out his remaining arm out for her to take. He inwardly snorted at the idea of her slapping his palm away to lower herself. “I know just the place to get you out of that soggy mess you call clothing and warm you up with some good mead.” Ida’s bar, naturally.

[lots-o-doodles]

I'm not sure what to say except for Melonteee incepted into my brain that Shanks is a stinky man and he fumbled his clown

Then a friend of mine came up with this scene and I had to bring it into existence

[drculeeyed]

@youcancallmepapi sent: Also, he's still waiting for that cheek kiss. Do try to make sure it's on both cheeks; would hate for one to get lonely, no? [ This is for the Shamrock diss forever ago, lmao. ]

-----------

Shanks had one of those grins on his face. An expectant look in his eye and an all-too-smug smile, expectantly waiting for something he feels himself 'owed' by the swordsman. Mihawk eyed Shanks through the corner of his gaze, giving him a glance up and down before an amused, almost mischievous twinkle hit his circular pupils.

Long fingers coaxed their way upwards to trail along the edges of Shanks' cape, smoothing it out until he can grip the lapels. With a sudden movement, his fist gripped tight into the fabric and he yanked Shanks forward until the redhead was face to face with him, both cast in shadows underneath the edge of Mihawk's hat. His gaze locked tight onto Shanks' face, staring him down for a moment, before he initiated his kiss.

But, it wasn't a peck on the cheek. Oh, no. It was a full on kiss right on the lips. A firm, long press together, hands gripping tight so the Yonko couldn't escape. A soft, amused hum rumbled in his throat before he was satisfied and he pulled away, once more locking his gaze to Shanks' face.

"No one will ever believe you." He tutted as he reached up to pat his palm against Shanks' cheek and let the Yonko go.

[youcancallmepapi]

One tug. That’s all it took.

Shanks’ grin froze the instant Mihawk’s fingers curled into his cape. The tug came fast–no warning, no mercy–while the world narrowed to the shadow under that wide-brimmed black hat with the ridiculous plume and the molten golden eyes boring into him. His heart gave one hard, traitorous lurch, half surprise, half something he refused to name as he gazed upon the intricate rings that encircled the amber pupils.

Then the kiss hit.

Not the playful cheek-smooch he’d been angling for. No, Mihawk went straight for the mouth, firm and deliberate, like he was proving a point with lips alone. Shanks’ brain short-circuited as his lips parted almost instinctively; audaciously claiming whatever it was that Mihawk was offering as his tongue darted out, cheeks flushed not from his customary sake but from the hint of that luxurious Spaniard wine that deliciously contrasted with Mihawk’s own musk from his usual hobby of cutting down Marines as the swordsman’s frame pressed against his for the briefest of moments.

The low hum Mihawk let out vibrated straight through him. Shanks felt it insidiously curling down his shoulder blades before dangerously pooling in the pit of his abdomen.

When Mihawk finally released him, the pat on the cheek was almost gentle, condescendingly so. Shanks rocked back on his heels as he willed his expression to remain unfazed by this exchange. His tongue felt beyond parched, crimson hues intently regarded the man as if he were the water he had been craving to quench this insatiable thirst of his.

“No one will ever believe you,” Mihawk murmured, silky rumble as lethal as the black blade he kept sheathed on his back almost as an extension.

Shanks’ laugh came out ragged as he pulled away almost regrettably; scarlet locks failed to conceal the faint smirk as he lowered his lashes before clicking his tongue rather cheekily.

“...Was that your idea of subtle, Hawkeyes?”

Thumb traced the faint indentation where Mihawk's lips had been. “As unexpected as this was, I do have to say that your technique still needs some work.” Lies, all lies.

But even as he turned away, swagger half-faked, he could still feel the phantom pressure of that kiss; a brand he wasn’t sure he wanted to scrub off.

[youcancallmepapi]

i always wondered what kind of a learner i am, so i took a quiz yesterday and was rather surprised by the results.

-auditory: 5%

-tactile: 85%

-visual: 10%

i sorta thought i was more of a visual learner, but now that i think about it, i've actually been good with figuring shit out by doing it myself and using my hands. also, it explains why i've been enjoying lab more. we're on 3-way switches now and i was actually one of the first to figure out how to wire it to a fixture, then another 3-way.

[youcancallmepapi]

also, why the fuck does nobody talk about this guy?

he’s literally the coolest guy in roger’s crew.

[youcancallmepapi]

finally all caught up to the manga. read like 60 chapters yesterday in my free time.