Sometimes I feel so desperate to convey that We Rotten Few is like, first and foremost a story about finding yourself when you thought all hope was lost. Cause like people will open it expecting a hurt/recovery fic and go "oh this is horror."
Ignore the horrors for a minute- wait no don't, I put a lot of effort into the horrors. Actually lets focus on the horrors. Did you like my creatures and ghouls and suspense? That one part was gross, right? Let's discuss the eroticism of the flesh. What was the original topic? <- a constant cycle.
nami and chopper: crying their eyes out because a man who has known almost nothing but betrayal and pain and violation for so long and is near death and whose survival hinges on whether or not he decides to let them help him, made the decision to live, no matter the reason, which means there is hope for him and they dont have to sit back and watch him die, which was an eventuality they were preparing to have to face- and then he goes and comforts and worries about THEM because he still has no idea how much is means that he is alive, how loved he is
sanji: wtf i didnt even do anything are they ok???? i hope miss nami gets some rest it must be all the stress. poor chopper too hes too young to be dealing with all of this
zoro: god is testing me
Heartbreaking news: the guy you thought was just gonna be a new acquaintance fits in with your crew like a puzzle piece you didn't realize you were missing. He keeps extending his hand as if you're the ones who need compassion even though he is an open wound with salt rubbed in. 9 dead 72 injured.
I just know Zoro wants to crack him open and chew on his bones but he's too busy going "ah fuck. I can't believe this weird freak's tendency to choose kindness is really doing it for me. Should I be put down?"
The funniest thing to me about WRF isn't that I created an elaborate magical system to torment a blonde man. It's that some people can't cast spells at all, but this isn't a huge nerf if you really think about it.
Most people don't know a spell to block bullets, so... No magic prowess? No problem! Use a gun. Just start blasting. Pray you're not fighting Luffy.
hi!! hope you're doing well!! i wanted to let you know that i love we rotten few so much!!! i love it so much i wanted to ask you if you would be okay if i bind the fic into a physical book for my personal use once it's finished? it's alright if you'd rather not! thank you for every chapter i always have a great time reading sanji suffer yay
Of course you can! You like my fic so much you want to hold a physical copy in your hands??? :D YIPPEE!!!
ok so here's the thought here's the idea... i imagine zoro could see the sort of Magical Residue Trail left behind by sanji, may have had an idea of where he might've run off to, but kept it steadfastly to himself. maybe he's still pissed that he ran away while half dead, but he still wants to allow him his own choices, especially after all the autonomy he's been robbed of recently.
:) I waited until I posted chap 64 to answer this but you're completely spot on. Like Zoro knows that Sanji needed time alone. It wasn't a matter of if Sanji would run as much as it was a matter of when.
When you're seriously sick, there's a loss of autonomy that most people don't even consider. Sanji balks at the slightest hint of it, but he's also been forcing himself to accept the situation ever since the festival just to stay sane. It's easier to be okay with something if you think you have no control over it. He was a pressure cooker accident just waiting to happen. Really, he should've ran farther and for longer.
Not Nami judging Zoro for horndogging over Sanji when we all know she'd think Reiju (self-loathing, emotionally unavailable, questionable morals) is unbelievably HOT
The question isn't whether she'd find Reiju hot (is water wet), it's whether she'd admit that to Zoro when my beloved babygirl Vinsmoke Reiju looks EXACTLY like her brother. Momma Sora's genes run strong, and Nami wouldn't live it down for being like :| to Sanji when she sees Reiju and folds at the waist.
The alternate Zoro POV of the WRF!zosan first meeting!! aka Flint and Steel.
Minor spoilers maybe? Nothing I'll go into detail in the main fic, so just.. beware?
---
Zoro was not lost.
To be lost would mean he ended up somewhere he didn't belong, and there were enemies to defeat here in this huge ballroom. Therefore he belonged, because his job was to clear a path through the soldiers for his crew.
The fact that he was alone did not phase him, Zoro didn't need help for a few poorly trained men. He hoped for more of a challenge when he saw a number of them had swords instead of rifles, but was sorely disappointed.
Nothing to do but take care of the riffraff. Boring.
They didn't even use magic, though each carried a sigil hidden under their armor that activated as soon as the life drained from their eyes.
Necromancy was a foul practice, the residuals of the spells leaving shadows across his mana-sight. Like the aftermath of looking at the sun too long, the echo of it still imprinted on his eyelid.
That was all he expected to see, considering none of the soldiers acted like witches. Just a bunch of amateur fighters who thought Zoro would be at a disadvantage for using blades instead of guns.
Even the ones with their own swords were hesitant, their strikes weak against his own. He had no problem disarming them, or he would've, if not for the explosion of magic that came at the least opportune moment.
Zoro did not make mistakes. But as he was guiding a soldier into the prime position to wrest his sword away, all he saw in the empty nothingness of his left eye were embers. The kind that rained from metal as a blacksmith coaxed it into a blade, bright and inescapable and too fucking distracting.
At first he thought it came from the soldier, so he stepped aside to avoid a spell. Right into the path of the man's frenzied swing, as it turned out. Zoro ground his teeth into Wado when the skin of his hip split, blood splattering onto the already slick floor.
The man did not last long enough to see the result of his lucky shot.
He didn't often have trouble with depth, though Chopper worried he would considering his missing eye. But Zoro misread the intensity of the magic as closeness, and reacted incorrectly.
Idiot, Kitetsu hissed, enjoying the slide of fresh blood down his edge. You rely too much on your mana-sight.
Good thing he didn't ask for the opinion of a sword.
Zoro pulled his waistband up over the exposed flesh, a muscle ticking in his jaw at the sting of contact. His own fault. He knew the soldier wasn't a witch, he should've trusted his assessment.
This is boring, Enma declared once more, as though Zoro didn't hear him complaining the whole time. Give us a real fight.
Did he think Zoro enjoyed picking off these weak fools? There was nothing gained from a fight that didn't challenge him, and he found himself sighing when more soldiers came in with their weapons at the ready.
A real fight. He wouldn't mind finding the witch who cast that spell. The intensity of it was mouthwatering, surely they'd be dangerous enough to show him a good time.
Zoro walked calmly among the slain bodies, cutting through their necromantic sigils to keep them from walking again. It was the least he could do, considering they died like men.
Someone's watching.
He paused, allowing the sensation of prying eyes to wash over him. Sometimes Zoro enjoyed knowing he was in danger. But sneaky bastards irked him, especially when he was alone and they still chose to conceal themselves.
Dropping Wado into his palm, Zoro licked the blood from his teeth. The wall was blank, no sign of an entrance, but it hummed with magic. "Don't hide, coward. I can feel your eyes."
A moment later, the wall distorted and mana kicked up like dust in the wind. Out came a man, thin and tall and filthy head to toe. He was average to Zoro's right eye, but his magic…
It smoldered inside him. Central to his core, gathering tightly in the pit of his stomach and pulsing like a fresh wound. What a twitchy, wild thing. He did not often see such defensive magic.
"You're not a guard." Zoro said conversationally, looking the man up and down.
Maybe his shirt was once white, but now it was red and brown with drying blood. Smudges of black covered his forearms, his hair stringy with more blood that he tried and failed to get out.
The man himself was gaunt, his clothes baggy and his belt too big. Zoro had spent months seeing revolutionaries on the verge of starvation, so he was not phased by how fragile this little spy appeared. A hungry man was a dangerous one.
"Whose blood is that?"
"I don't know." He said, with a voice that was too hoarse to be called soft. So he spoke Common. That made things much easier. "Does it matter?"
Blunt. Zoro enjoyed that, though he was looking for a more substantial answer. How was he supposed to know if this guy was on his side now?
"Guess not. You shouldn't be here either way," Zoro explained as he watched the man fidget in place, fussing with the cuffs of his sleeves. Perhaps he worked as a servant. Dealing with aristocrats often left people's pride barren. "We were told all the staff would be elsewhere for the festival."
"This is a castle, not some-" The man paused, gesturing at Zoro like he was supposed to just understand. Was he Germish? He had a very subtle accent, if so. "Battlefield. People live here, you are the one who does not belong."
Definitely Germish. That choppy way of speaking sounded like a good portion of the people Zoro had met during his time in the snowy kingdom.
That, and his one visible brow was curled at the end. A rather defining Germish feature, if a rare one. "Easy, curly brow. I'm not the only one who's been making a mess."
Something about his words made the man's magic flare outward like wind blowing over hot coals. His fists tightened and his shoulders hunched inward, glaring through his greasy bangs. "I was defending myself."
So fiery, Kitetsu simpered. A little ember! How quaint.
Zoro ignored his mindless chatter, enjoying how easily the man riled up. If he was the witch from before, then it would not take much to goad him into a fight. If he wasn't, well, he should've said he was with the revolutionaries already.
"Sure," He said as he tasted the hints of blood on the back of his teeth. "So was I."
The magic pulsed, glowing brighter for a moment. Threatening to spill out of that starved vessel of a man, sparks flying. Funny how warm his magic was, when the man himself was so pale, his eye a stark ocean blue.
With a little meat on his bones, he'd be gorgeous. He certainly already had the face for it. Zoro didn't like pretty men, too often they placed their looks over skills, but this guy was already covered in viscera. He had no problem putting in the work.
"I am just passing through-" He started, hands raised as he glanced behind Zoro.
But Zoro wasn't done with him. He wanted to see that magic again, wanted to figure out why it was so reactive. A mystery to dissect, a pretty man to fight. Maybe, if he was lucky, a challenge.
From the way the man's gaze snapped to his hands, somehow catching his minute shift in stance, he figured luck was on his side. "You're not supposed to be here."
"Yes, and I will leave if you move." He kept his eye on Zoro's swords, though it flicked back up to his face a few times.
The tension in his body could be followed like a meteor's trail, that tangle of magic pulsing and twisting around his core. When it inevitably exploded, what would it do? What kind of pain would it inspire?
Zoro wanted to feel it for himself. "It's you, isn't it?"
His fear was palpable, yet so was his magic's instinct to react, threatening to burn its way out of him.
Stepping towards the man, fighting down a smirk when he immediately threw himself back, Zoro wondered if he'd be willing to share his time for a minor spar. Nothing too serious. He wouldn't even go for a killing strike.
"You're the witch who's bleeding everywhere." Zoro mused, watching the way the stranger's magic seemed to reach out to meet his challenge. A smear of light in the dark, sunlight shining through his eyelid and washing everything in the warmth of flesh.
"I'm not-"
"You are, I can practically taste it." He did, if he concentrated enough. Mana-sight was not actually sight, though he called it that to simplify it for others. It was an entirely new sense. And the man's magic was everywhere now. "Spilling out magic with every goddamn breath. Shit's giving me a headache."
Again, a simplification. Zoro likened it to a headache, when it was more of an aura. A presence in his mind. His blades hummed as they tasted it for themselves, their excitement leaching into his bones.
"That was you earlier, too. You got me stabbed." Zoro hooked his thumb in his waistband, jaw tight as the blood crusted fabric pulled away from the wound. Chopper was going to fillet him later.
"I didn't do anything, we just met!" Was he even aware of his own magic? Could he not feel it overflowing out of his body like a cup running over?
"You're not bleeding?"
"No!"
Or perhaps he was too aware, and the mana spilling out of him was intentional. "Then you're casting a spell."
The handle of Wado slid home between his teeth as he rolled his shoulders, a sense of comfort washing over him. He always felt amazing right before a fight, the adrenaline running a well traveled course through his veins.
He barely listened as the man tried once again to convince him he had the wrong guy, frantic as he backed away from Zoro's swords.
A witch who didn't want to claim his accomplishments. Well, there was a first for everything. "Liar."
Zoro flicked Kitetsu up, determined to get rid of the restless energy the sword gave off. So needy, always looking for the next battle. Here it is, he thought gleefully as the sword sang through the air, eat up.
The man, now scrambling on his ass for something to throw, whipped a soldier's helmet at him.
"Stand up and fight, witch."
"I don't want to fight!" He yelped as he dodged the blades artlessly. If he was trained, then he should kill his teacher. So twitchy, second guessing himself and flailing around like a newborn colt.
But his magic? Goddamn, it responded beautifully. Like a moth to a flame, Zoro was drawn in closer with each wave of sparks that flew off him. Close enough to see his eyes, feral and bluer than any waters Zoro crossed before they had the chance to meet.
There was a fire in those eyes that was not there a moment ago. A spark of life, a freshly lit lantern. Something that reached out and met each of Zoro's strikes with glee. Hungry men often longed for more than food, but this man was ravenous.
"Nothing you say is the truth. Why deny yourself this? Show me what you've got!"
Zoro, as he often did when fighting someone less skilled, allowed a single opening. Room for improvement, he figured, or leveling the playing field. A fair chance.
If the man refused to take it, then his will was weak. If he missed, he would never catch up to Zoro's level. Show me your worth.
He expected a punch. Anyone with experience would go for something guaranteed to hurt, and his liver was right there, open for a gut shot.
Instead the man twisted, leg coming in high and fast like a whip. It cracked against Zoro's side like one too, the force rattling all the way up his spine into his teeth.
Zoro's vision exploded into a shower of sparks. Summer festivals, the air sticky and warm as children raced past with little firecrackers in their fists. Streaking the night with popping colors.
He could taste the ash, heavy and coating his tongue as he breathed out smoke. His skin was hot, the sharp white ache of a burn sinking deep into the flesh. Sweat dripped down his face, stinging his eye.
And for the first time in a long time, he did not hear Kitetsu or Enma commenting. They were silent, humming in his grasp with barely contained excitement. Waiting for more blood instead of demanding it.
Again.
Zoro blinked as he stared down the man, who watched him take the hit with utter fascination. He was sure he-
Again, Wado ordered, quiet but insistent. She so rarely spoke up when he was fighting, content to let his skill speak for her. A shiver ran down Zoro's spine, glee pooling in his stomach.
"That's more like it." He said, teeth grinding against Wado's handle. The barest hint of Kuina's charm fluttered in his peripheral as he watched the man's interest finally, finally take root. "Are we gonna do this or what?"
---
Enjoy this perverted freak. Wish I could put him in my pocket fr. He's bewitched me body and soul.
Modern au Acesan where Sanji is obviously in Luffy's friend group so the time he mentions wanting to get a tattoo Luffy immediately takes him to his cool asf tattooer older brother (Ace) so now Sanji has to worry not only for the tattoo that will likely hurt, but also about his friend's brother who is hot as fuck and keeps looking at him in a way that makes Sanji's stomach flip. The feeling only intensifies once Ace starts actually tattooing him, because his chill and layed back flirtatious demeanor gives place to seriousness, after all, tattooing someone's body calls for a lot of attention and focus. Anytime they need to pause tho he returns to his flirting.
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