Curly-Brow hisses, “What, exactly, am I supposed to have them do?” The guy looks at Zoro and adds, “Amputation via sword?” “Clerical, scribing, changing bedpans? The world’s your fuckin’ oyster and they,” Dr. Old Man thrusts a wrinkled thumb at them, “are your fuckin’ problem now.” Luffy takes this moment to wave and bound right up to the nurse with a chirp of, “Hi! I’m Monkey D. Luffy and I’m gonna’ be the Pirate King. Sorry about your roof.” The nurse stares at Luffy for a solid five seconds, unblinking. Nami whispers despairingly, “Oh my fucking gods.” The nurse turns back to Dr. Old Man and asks, “Am I allowed to submit this one for a psych eval?” -- In which Sanji is the crew's doctor and not their cook. This changes remarkably little.

It’s said that soulmate marks are gifts from the gods. Certainly, more than this has been said but, well. Luffy’s never really been one for gods or any of that stuff. Those stories are always so boring and long-winded.

Sanji doesn’t know how he didn’t notice it before, is the thing. Of all the times he has seen Zoro shirtless (in battle, mostly) he just… never noticed. The problem is, once he has noticed, Sanji can’t seem to stop noticing. And neither can anyone else. In which Zoro has a nipple piercing and Sanji has a Problem.

Around ten in the morning, Nami signals that they’re approaching an island. At noon, the Thousand Sunny docks in a bay full of white sand and sunflowers with rusty yellow petals. At one, it’s safe to say all the Strawhats have scattered around the island on various errands or explorations. By two in the afternoon, everything changes. "Luffy?" He speaks without speaking. "Sanji?" Luffy answers without answering. "What the fuck—", Zoro curses without cursing, and suddenly all three of them—all /one/ of them—is knocked flat on their ass on the ground.

They’d arrived at the island of Mae to catch the end of a brutal, bloody conflict between the island natives and a band of thugs from further inland. After helpfully settling the conflict, the townspeople of Mae offer to throw the Strawhats an island-wide party complete with food, dancing, music and free credit at the best brothel their town has to offer. Wherein Sanji smokes a questionable substance prepared by a local devil-fruit user and gets a little bit hornier (and a little bit looser with his inhibitions) than he ever intended to be around a certain swordsman.

“I am not a pretty thing,” Zoro tells him, scratching at her freshly shaved neck. Uneven strands of green hair, just long enough to barely brush the tips of her eyebrows, flop wet and graceless into her face as she turns to scowl at him. “And even if I were a pretty thing,” she adds, “I wouldn’t be yours. I wouldn’t be anyone’s, Cook.” Roronoa Zoro swore an oath that she would become nothing less than the greatest. The fact that she is a woman changes nothing.

“Two boys can have sex, too?” Luffy grins as he says it, like this is a normal conversation. “No,” Sanji hisses vehemently at the same time that Zoro says “Yup,” grinning at Sanji with way too much teeth and seriously--who smiles like that? Luffy laughs and slaps a hand down on one of Zoro’s shoulders, leaning in. “Hey! Let’s have sex, then!”

The fight is brief and unsatisfying. The whole thing takes no more than five minutes and no more than two swords. They still hum for blood as Zoro sheathes them and faces the gang's growling, pissed off boss. “Fine,” the man shouts. “We’ll take you then, huh? Plenty of folks will pay to bring a big man down low,” he says nonsensically. “What—” A sharp pain in his ankle cuts him off. A downed man pulls a needle out of Zoro's skin.

“So, we’re gonna play it like that, huh, Cook?” “Oh yeah. We’re gonna play it like that,” Sanji returns, despite having absolutely no fucking clue what Zoro could possibly mean by that. --- Or: The Great Game of Gay Chicken Aboard the Thousand Sunny

Most days, Sanji considers himself a bundle of neuroses at best. He smokes a reasonable amount to distract himself from the anxious urge to play with his hair or bite at his nails or chew his lips, he wears layers and suits to avoid direct skin-to-skin contact he isn’t prepared for, and most importantly, he never ever looks at his back in the mirror. Usually these things work to keep him intact, to keep him here and sane and passably whole. But some days, they don’t. And that’s when Sanji needs it. Namely—the sex.

Two months after the Guard officially moves to Coruscant, the lawyer shows up. _ In which Obi-Wan Kenobi never returns to the Jedi order after the war on Melidaa/Dann and instead finds another way to follow the Force's will. Namely, by fighting sentient-rights abuses all over the galaxy and emancipating the Grand Army of the Republic, one clone trooper at a time.

It’s like a high when the both of them resonate on that same frequency—two radios spitting static at each other ninety-percent of the time until they find overlap for one, just one, perfectly-played song. The music is brilliant and vibrant when it’s playing. It’s always over faster than Sanji ever wants it to be.

Believe it or not, Obi-Wan Kenobi had a rebellious phase. It just so happened that, once acquired, he never really grew out of it. -- In which Obi-Wan is a hobbyist exotic dancer. (And is really rather good at it, too.)

“You have a choice,” Cody begins. “I don’t want any of you to think that you don’t. If you want no part of this, all you have to do is say so. But if I know any of you half as well as I think I do, this choice won’t be particularly hard to make.” He takes a deep breath and counts his heartbeats against the reverent silence of the mess hall. “We may belong to the Republic, but we were made for the Jetti.” And thus, the 212th Attack Battalion abducts their General. (It's for his own health, really.)

The first time Luffy walks into the Baratie with Usopp and Zoro during lunch rush, Sanji has to go stand in the walk-in freezer to scream into his hands. He wants to tell Zoro to get the fuck out. He cannot tell Zoro to get the fuck out, because that’s unreasonable and rude. Just because Zoro is—unfortunately—Sanji’s type in men doesn’t mean Sanji can act like a child around him. See, Sanji wasn't gay until he met Gin. Gin wasn't gay, either. What they did together was everything from "practice" to "just some fun" to "giving a friend a hand" (or mouth, or hole). But they certainly, absolutely were not boyfriends because Gin was straight and Sanji was straight. It was perfect, until Sanji had to go and ruin it by liking it too much. He flew too close to the gay-sun and his not-gay wings of wax melted, go fucking figure.