#we're really getting into the zolu with this one 🤌 no (implied) tag here babbeeyyy

[swordsmans]

woagh! rare wip wednesday. i finally found some words and im making... progress? on the other half of mithridatism, aka monster trio poison immunity angst pt. 2, aka zoro's perspective (the parts sanji isnt there for), aka [[a really good title i prommy]].

anyway, thank u @asexualzoro for the funniest thing to happen to me all week, although it is only (as previously mentioned) wednesday. theres still time for comedy. i’m keeping my options open.

text under the cut! as always, keep in mind this is really just a draft…

Then, without another word, he lifts his left hand—fingers splayed—and Zoro feels the fucked up, unnatural buzz of Law’s power blanketing the room like a thousand tiny pinpricks to his senses. He opens his mouth, already halfway to cursing when Law snaps D and A—and suddenly there, in the center of the cold stainless steel operating table, is a jar. 

It’s an unassuming thing—thick purple-red visible through clear surgical-grade glass etched and labeled with a clinical sterility, such a contrast from the repurposed, hand-sealed rows in the Cook’s pantry that Zoro laughs—a half-formed chuckle of disbelief huffed out into the beat of stillness that falls between them. The viscous liquid sits in heavy contrast to the bright, terrible gleam of the room itself; Zoro can’t take his eye off it. Can’t stop staring, like his left lid has been peeled open and taped back, his neck trapped in a vice, his feet nailed to the floor. 

“You’re insane,” Zoro sneers, and in his peripheral vision, he sees Law shrug. 

“This is the New World. I’m not stupid enough to waste valuable resources,” Law replies, unaware or simply uncaring. “The opportunity to study something so potent only rarely—if ever—surfaces. The opportunity to study something resistant to it—well.” Law shrugs again, and Zoro hears the metal edge of the surgical table creak under his own grip. Something in the room snarls, but Law’s expression doesn’t change. “Really, Zoro-ya, you’re being dramatic.”

“You kept his blood,” Zoro spits, and it’s not a question. There’s a sick kind of shine through the glass, an illness to the color that’s not just oxidation but something worse, maybe—because Zoro knows blood. Knows it intimately, deeply, religiously—knows it better than sweat and sake and seawater, and that—

“Oh, I kept more than that,” Law replies. “But two years is a long time, and storage space on a submarine is inherently limited.”

“You’re fucked in the head.”

Law raises an eyebrow, unmoved. “Like I said,” he hums, “pragmatist.” 

“We fought for you,” Zoro seethes, “and the whole time Luffy was trying to keep you from killing yourself on Doflamingo’s doorstep, you had this in your cabinets like some kind of fucked-up vampire.” 

“Do you think he would care?” Law asks, and Zoro grits his teeth, silenced, because no, actually. He knows full-well Luffy wouldn’t give a shit if he were even aware of the theft—both because he trusts Law (probably picked him, Zoro knows, the moment the Polar Tang surfaced next to Marineford’s battlefield) and because Luffy would genuinely, honestly, wholeheartedly believe in punching his way through whatever risk a rival Captain’s unrestrained study of his physiology might bring. And Zoro doesn’t doubt he could. 

(Law seems to feel the same—he still hasn’t denied Luffy’s own ability to kill him with a little time and effort, after all.)

#we're really getting into the zolu with this one 🤌 no (implied) tag here babbeeyyy #which may not be a good thing--considering the subject matter. #whats that spotify? play mitskis 'im your man' one more time? why yes. dont mind if i do #lolll sorry lew this was just way too fucking funny #gyro.odt