#query chopper

[the-patchwork-girl-of-oz]

Chopper Siblings Au+headcannon generator

(I’m having way too much fun with this)

@just-some-guy-at-shiz

[bits-and-babs]

✦ 𝐎𝐃𝐃𝐒 𝐎𝐍 ✦

simon 'ghost' riley x f!reader (delta) | smut, 18+ | 4.1k

summary: you, soap and gaz make a silly bet at ghost's expense for an invaluable prize.

cw: mw3 spoiler free. 141 ridiculousness, humour, attempts to remove the mask resulting in life threatening (not really) injury, mild exhibitionism if you squint, very talkative ghost, 'interrogation' wink wink, unprotected p in v sex, reference to f receiving oral.

ghost mlist | main mlist | taglist

"Y'know, I'm sure as shit that L.t's got brown hair," Soap pipes up in the middle of the silence that had settled inside the safe house. 

The members of Task Force 141 glance up one by one, querying eyes cast Soap's way as the guesstimated observation hangs in the air. It's louder than chopper blades, thudding against your skull and roaring in your ears as you attempt to recall the information you have on Ghost, what little physical attributes you can attribute to him. Each time, you hit a brick wall. The only image conjured in your minds-eye is the black voids of the mask's eyes and the piercing amber of his irises. 

The wind howls outside, battering the windows with Wyoming snow and creeping in through the cracks in the panes. It makes a yowling sound as it slips through the crevices, carrying your memories of Ghost's appearance with it. He truly was like an apparition, there one moment, then gone altogether. 

Gaz's brows crease in the middle, little crevices in the skin showing his mind working over the sentence. 

"He doesn't," he eventually retorts, eyebrow cocked while shaking his head, "He's blonde." 

"What makes you say that?" Price scoffs at his colleague's certainty, "You ever seen his face?"

The silence that follows makes the Captain chuckle. A wordless 'that's what I thought'. 

"You willin' to bet on that?" Soap pushes Gaz with a lopsided smirk. There it is, that ridiculous playfulness that the Scotsman continuously let slip over coms. Simon had once reprimanded him for how it would get him killed– you were almost certain if he continued down this path in particular, he'd be in a box by daylight.

"I am," Gaz counters thoughtlessly, a smug lilt to his tone as he leans the crown of his head back against the rotting wooden wall, "He's got blonde eyelashes. He's gonna have blonde hair."

"What're ya gettin' so close tae him for?" Soap grins wide, loading the new ammunition and hitting a bullseye on the first shot, "You been snoggin' him or somethin'?"

"Lads," Price warns. It's only one word, but it says a lot; 'he'll have your head.' All of you know Simon 'Ghost' Riley well enough to know it's not a joke. Seen enough of the mangled bodies he left behind to know it wouldn't be clean, either. More like he'd hack your skull from your neck, picking out the dullest blade that'd struggle to slot between vertebrae.  

"Bets on, then," Soap continues, white teeth gleaming in the low light, "First to confirm gets the honour of shootin' Hassan between the eyes." 

It's like throwing a match at a body doused in diesel. 

                           ✰

The parameters of this wager are as follows... First: the competition is between you, Soap and Gaz. Price was ruled automatically exempt the moment he admitted he had, indeed, seen Ghost's face. It was a revelation that caused quite a storm- and a promise from Gaz of £100 if he'd tell.

The Captain, quite frankly, told him where to stick it. 

Second: None of you could just ask Ghost himself. That was boring; no fun in that. 

Thirdly, there are no other rules. Acquire the information by any means necessary to claim victory. Perhaps this rule should have been revised- because to say that 141's tactics for getting Ghost to reveal his face were a little unorthodox is an understatement of the highest order. 

Despite his hulking frame, Ghost is like a cunning fox, cognizant of even the slightest changes in energy and hypervigilant of those approaching. The midnight void of his grease paint that frames his eyesockets contrasts the whites of his eyes as they dart back and forth between you all. He appears to have noted the devious scheming, practically hearing the cogs turning in your heads the moment he returned from his watch. Something is amiss, and you know Ghost knows it. 

He says nothing. 

Day One; the grumpy, black-clad special ops soldier sits back in his seat as he crosses his arms over his vast chest, cautiously observing the minute movements the three of you made. He'd bristled when Gaz stood from the sofa simply to enter another room, poised and ready to pounce at whatever fuckery the younger soldier would attempt. 

"Hey, L.t.," Soap's drawl cuts through the humorously tense atmosphere in the room, and you brace yourself for his master plan. "When was the last time ye got a haircut?"

Ghost hesitates. Waits a beat. The silence stretches almost uncomfortably until he answers, thick, bassy voice almost booming in the box room. "What're you playin' at, Johnny?"

Soap shrugs his shoulders, exuding complete nonchalance as he settles into the seat across the table from the hulking mass of man. "Just wondered if the mask ever came off. How do you cut your hair?"

Amusement ripples through you in the sound of a chuckle, both men glancing your way. Ghost peers at you, suspicion pooling thick in his pupils. 

"Shave it," Ghost rumbles bluntly, with an air of finality that leaves no room for argument or for Soap to encourage him to try something stupid like curtain bangs or, God forbid, a mohawk. 

You can't help but grin from ear to ear as you watch the Scotsman's shoulders slump in defeat, already waving a white flag upon seeing how unwilling Ghost is to play whatever stupid game you're all partaking in. Even you can't deny the anxiety that prickles across your nerve endings when you see the way Ghost's biceps flex beneath the camo fabric of his uniform, primed for action. 

When Ghost's aqua irises slide to you, your shoulders shrug comically, putting on the performance of your life to appear as though you had no idea what Johnny was up to. You see the way Ghost's blacked-out eyelids squint in suspicion. He doesn't believe you, but doesn't say as much. 

Day Three and the polite, roundabout tactics had been discarded in favour of the nuclear option. Gaz had tried ambushing Ghost in the shower, opening the door without knocking as if pretending he didn't know the Lieutenant was in there. The door slammed so quickly into his head that an egg had been steadily growing on his forehead for the past hour and a half, blood seeping from his almost certainly broken nose. 

"You'll stay out next time, Bravo 2-6, if you know what's good for you," Ghost had growled through the crack in the door before shutting it with a click of the lock. 

Holding his face and slinking away, mortally wounded, Gaz uttered a humiliated 'Yes, lieutenant'. 

Soap, clearly not having learnt from poor Gaz, decided that the next best option was a trip, so to speak. Executing a ludicrously overexaggerated stumble, Johnny reached out to grab Ghost's mask to 'steady himself' and ultimately drag it from his superior's head. 

Ghost had leapt from his seat with a roar, threatening to send Sergeant MacTavish back to Scotland in a box with the Saltire draped across the lid. The standoff only settled upon Captain Price's barked orders to stand down or hang up the uniform. 

By Day Six, Ghost had bruised your opponent's egos enough that neither Soap nor Gaz dared attempt to peek beneath the mask again. They look at you like you're absolutely bonkers when you finally announce it's your turn to try and tame the beast. 

"Yer fuckin' mad, hen," Johnny grumbled, watching you observe Ghost from across the room. He'd settled on a chair in the corner of the room, ensuring no one could sneak up on him. "You can't seriously be plannin' on-"

"I want Hassan," you shrug, a smile playing on your lips. Though, at this rate, you couldn't care less about the terrorist and the honour of dispatching him. No, Ghost had made this ridiculous game far more competitive than needed, and you planned to win.

"Have fun," Gaz scoffed bitterly, still icing the blotchy green and purple bruise that had welted on his forehead as a medal of dis-honour. You hadn't exactly helped the healing process, poking it harshly with the pad of your thumb as you laughed at his mortifying misfortune. 

You wait patiently for Ghost to move, like a stake out on a mission. Lying in plain sight in a ghillie suit, a sniper rifle pointed right between his eyes and your finger on a hairpin trigger. You wait for him to break, for exhaustion to creep in. Thankfully, you don't have to wait long. The Lieutenant rises from his chair, announcing to 141 that he's headed to bed. 

A quiet mumble of 'goodnight' from each member grants him leave, and Ghost walks out of the room without further word. You waste no time in hurrying to your feet. 

"Are you gonna...-" Soap winces when you stand, trailing off when you start after Ghost, not allowing either of your colleagues to talk you out of this suicide mission. 

Though, the moment you turn the corner, you wish you had. Ghost's broad frame practically fills the narrow hallway like someone had plucked Everest from Nepal and shoved its hulking mass into a matchbox. He's ginormous, his usually silent footsteps causing the aged, rotting wood beneath the soles of his boots to creak with the weight he applies when he turns to face you. 

The dark hallway obscures Ghost's skull-face mask, but a glittering reflection of the golden light bleeding from the bulb in the living room area flickers across the wet surface of his eyes as he observes you. You can't allow the weighty pressure of his stare to phase you if you're to push ahead with your plan- so you step forward, swallowing down the nerves that Ghost's attention inevitably dredges up. 

"Lieutenant, sir," you address him smoothly, voice low as you gaze up at him through your lashes. Ghost's eyebrow arches in response, noting your somewhat suggestive behaviour. "Permission to spea-"

"I'm hopin' you'll tell me what you're all up to," his eyes spear your nerve as he interrupts you, "They're not lettin' up, but I'll get it outta you one way or another." 

"What... Did you have in mind?" You chance, heart slamming up against your chest when you realise just how obvious you're being. It's dangerous- you hadn't planned to be so forward. The idea that he'd be able to read your flirting so soon set off mortars in your veins. 

There's a pause. It dizzies you, throwing your previously sturdy confidence off kilter when Ghost tilts his masked head slightly. He's turning it over in his mind, considering the past few days' events. Then, he turns everything on its side. 

"I know what you're doing," he speaks suddenly, the rich baritone of his voice ricocheting off the walls and ringing in your ears like he's just discharged a round of ammo with each syllable. You jerk upright, standing to attention. 

"I don't know what you m-"

"You want the mask off," he interrupts you again, cutting your pathetic excuse short as he steps forward. It's ridiculous, the sheer size of him as he looms over you. "You lot made a bet."

Another beat. Ghost waits for a response, an admission of guilt. It feels like he's cornered you; every answer that springs to mind is incriminating. You know he can see your rueful expression, wide-eyed and panicked by the ease with which he puts you on the ropes. 

"Was this your plan?" He murmurs, reaching to grasp your chin. His palm settles on the hollow of your jaw, fingers fanning out across the bone. "Get me into bed and see if I'll take it off?"

Trembling in his hold, you whimper as Ghost's thumb stretches across to trace the curve of your lip. It follows the delicate arc, lining the shape of your mouth and trailing the dip of your cupid's bow. 

"'M sorry," you mumble weakly, cheeks hot beneath his touch. Again, you fold beneath the intensity of those honeyed irises. It's a miracle your knees don't buckle when he pushes the pad of his thumb just past your lips, so that it brushes the edges of your teeth. 

"That was your plan. Y'can still give it a try, love. But..." he hums, his voice throaty and quiet and settling in the pit of your stomach. It's embarrassing, the ease with which he figures you out, but his words drip over you, easy and warm, and all you can focus on is the slip of his thumb as he presses the pad against the flat of your tongue. 

"The mask stays on." 

Ghost’s insistence makes you giggle sheepishly and your stomach flip in dread, like a child caught with its hand down a bear trap. Despite the lewdness of him pushing his thumb past your lips, you know that he’s being serious, deathly so. You nod clumsily in recognition of his executive order, and Ghost gently taps the skin of your cheek with his free hand, the soft slap of his palm against your flesh standing your hair on end.

“Go.”

The word hangs in the air for a moment, weighing heavily in the claustrophobic space of the small hallway. It takes a moment for your mind, rendered utterly useless by Ghost’s imposing presence, to understand exactly what he’s implying. Only when he removes his thumb from your mouth to shove you forward towards a bedroom door does his intention become clear.

Oh. Oh!

Scrambling to force your feet forward, they practically float across the threshold of the bedroom door. You can feel Ghost looming just behind you, can practically feel the heat radiating from his chest warming the expanse of your back. Fingers clasp over your shoulder, practically swallow the curved flesh, and shove you back against the bedroom wall.

The force of impact winds you, the air expelled from your lungs swallowed down by Ghost’s lips bearing heavily down upon your own. He’d ripped the mask upwards, the hem of the ski-mask balanced across the bridge of his nose. Simon’s tongue licks into your mouth– intrudes upon the space like he’s kicking down a door, like he’s swallowing the breath he’d expelled from you with his heavy hand. 

Once the dazed dizziness dissipates, you moan in relief at finally getting what you wanted. Ghost’s gigantic paw takes hold of your jaw in a firm grip to fit his mouth perfectly against your own, his swirling fingerprints indenting in the soft flesh there in a mottled bruise. The soft pine he coaxes from you bleeds past your open mouth despite your attempt to suppress the frankly pathetic noise. 

Fuck it, this was worth it– all of it was worth it. The fear of getting it wrong, the anxiety of being caught, the panic that Simon could turn you away… All of it seeps into the darkness in the corners of the room when your superior drags his tongue across your lower lip. It’s though he’s relishing in the taste of the aftershocks of the arousal he sparks between your legs, the dopamine that rushes through you.

“Was this your plan?” Ghost grunts, grasping ahold of the scruff of your neck. Gasping weakly, you’re almost certain your eyes roll back in your head when he uses his harsh grip to steer you towards the bed. “Get me out of my fuckin’ mind so I don’t notice you takin’ off the mask?”

“That’s–” you huff, rendered breathless by Ghost’s intruding tongue, “That’s not it–”

Your pitiful attempt to excuse yourself is made useless when Ghost practically launches you onto the mattress of his bed, the rusted metal frame screaming under the sudden weight of your body. 

“No?” he queries, the usual boom of authority in his voice replaced by something that sounds far more like goading amusement as he places the hefty weight of his palm against your sternum, holding you down and thwarting any attempt to escape. 

He needn’t worry. The last thing you wanted was to leave. 

“Tell you what,” he muses in that smug tone you always hear over the comms, his free hand quick to grasp at the leather of his belt. The buckle clinks in the quiet as he works his fingers over it, “We’ll run through this mission, yeh? See if you can complete your objective, Delta?”

Your retort, or lack thereof, dies in your throat when Ghost pushes his crotch into your own. If it weren’t for the yelp of bliss that the Lieutenant had to smother with his palm, you’d hear the way he’d practically purred when he dragged his cock against you. 

“C’mon then. Try it,” he urged. 

It’s pointless, his mock-support. You just desperately reach for the waistband of his khaki uniform trousers, cockdrunk from the tease of its shape against you. Even in the low light, you can see Ghost’s scarred lips, the way they stretch into a smirk at your desperation. 

“Abandoning mission, Sergeant?” He asks you, unzipping his trousers. “Price’ll be disappointed to know this is all it takes for Delta to go AWOL.”

“Shut up,” you moan into the cold air of the cabin. You can see your breath. “Shut up and fuck me.”

When Simon removed himself from his trousers, making some glib comment about you being demanding, you marvel at the size of him. Girthy, swollen, the ruddy tip leaks precum down the arch of his cock and traces the pulsing veins. He’s rock hard and throbbing, framed by a thatch of pubic hair. 

Fumbling with your own trousers, you awkwardly try to remove them given Simon’s weighty palm still pins you down by your sternum. He watches, a glint in his eye in the low light that would almost embarrass you if you weren’t so focused on the task at hand. 

“What was the prize?” 

“H-Huh?” you stall, mind fried by Ghost’s unexpected line of enquiry. He picks up where you left off, violently yanking your trousers down your thighs and pushing your panties aside to expose your glistening cunt to his prying eyes. 

“What. Was. The. Prize?”

You hesitate for a moment, feeling Ghost’s fingers press against the inside of your thighs as he probes this unexplored territory of you. His touch skirts the areas you want him most, teasing and goading you for more information. “H-Hassa-ahh!”

You barely manage the first syllable of your answer before Simon rests the arch of his cock against your slick pussy lips. His body jerks slightly at the heat of your swollen cunt, the ease with which he can slide himself through your drenched sex. 

“You got to kill Hassan?” he asked for confirmation, his voice unwavering. You wonder how he manages to stay so steady– you’re coming apart at the seams, trembling as the head of his cock bumps your clit clumsily. 

“Yes,” you breathe, eyes rolling back as he continues his laboured, steady torture. His free hand settles on your hip, arching your pelvis up slightly to meet his own. You grind your hips upward against his cock, and Simon expels a soft scoff from lungs, those piercing eyes settled on your contorting expression. 

“Mhmm,” he hums, rolling his hips again. This time it’s even slower, teasing. “A temptin’ reward–” 

Simon is interrupted by the moan that splits your lips when he drags the length of his cock heavily against your clit. It sparks arousal deep in your abdomen, clings to the inside of your thighs wetly. 

Perhaps the disturbance is one transgression too many tonight, because Simon grasps your hips so hard that you are forced to stop gliding over the length of his cock. You pine in protest, but you choke on the pitiful sound when Ghost suddenly plunges his cock inside of you. It spears you open, breaks you apart, and you find your back arching desperately against the mattress. 

The palm that had rooted itself to your sternum flies up to clasp against your mouth, smothering the shriek of bliss that threatened to expose your extracurricular activities to the rest of your squad. You sob through your teeth beneath his life line, tears welling in your eyes as you feel him stretch your walls open to make room for his intrusion. 

You can’t help yourself. You need something to grasp onto, and opt for his wrist above your face. Digging your nails into the inked flesh there, you watch as the pain sparks something dark and twisted in Simon’s pupils, his azure irises swallowed by the expanding blackness.

He likes it. You can tell. His cock arches up inside of you, pushing deep and rocking against something earth shattering inside of you. Damp with sweat already, the skin of his wrist ripples as he tightens his grip on your face, refusing to withdraw from your pussy walls and instead opting for sharp, shallow thrusts that push you up the mattress with each connection of your hips. 

“Fuck,” he spits, using his tight grasp to pull you back towards him. It’s obliterating you, ripping you apart and pushing all your pieces back together in a mangled, jumbled mess. You whimper as you suffer through his brutal pace, marvelling at how good it feels when he consistently spears your g-spot. 

“When would you have done it?” Simon asks you, a little breathless now as he chases the high that begins to build at the edges of your body, tingling and pulsing. 

“Shut up–” you beg him, the low rasp of his voice launching you towards that pleasure that threatens to consume you. Jerking your hips up to meet his, your body mindlessly reacts to the sound of his timbre. 

“Oh, no,” he chuckles, shaking his half masked face. There’s a silver laden scar that stretches across the base of his chin. It matches the one that splits his upper lip to the base of his nose, the ski mask hovering tantalisingly over the bridge. “When?” 

The seriousness of his tone makes your thighs quiver when paired with the sharp thrust he punctuates his question with. Years of training in maintaining a cover-story while a hostage are blown to bits as though Ghost has launched a mortar at your resolve, because suddenly all your state secrets are spilling out of you quicker than you can shove the incriminating words back into your traitor mouth. 

“I’d– Hagh… I’d do it j-just as you’re cummin–hhah!”

“And spoil my fun?” Ghost hums, that heavy timbre licking up your spine and sparking viscous embers at the base of your spine, “Anyone ever told you that you’re very fuckin’ selfish, Delta?” 

You’d offer a witty comment, but Ghost’s angled his hips just right, and your jaw is falling loose to let out a panicked whimper. 

“There it is, shit. Look at you, Sargeant. Fuckin’, you’re so tight–” 

You’re like a slip knot, tightening around him further with each knock of your g-spot with Simon’s ridiculously large cock-head. Prickling tears of bliss threaten to spill over the edge of your waterline, continuing to sting even when you shut your eyes. You’re shaking, trembling beneath his rocking hips as you mewl his name. 

“S-Simon! Fuck–”

Wild, wet squelches of Simon sinking into your soaked cunt echo in your skull as he ramps up his violent thrusts, the springs of his mattress screaming an unmistakable rhythm to anyone walking by. He doesn’t seem to care now though, his eyes zeroed in on your expression like he’s stalking a victim with his sniper scope. Aiming for complete obliteration. 

“C’mon Can feel you squeezin’ round me,” he murmurs, the steady tone he’d offered earlier shuddering slightly as you squeeze impossibly tight around him, coil threatening to snap, “You’re so close, Delta. C’mon, paint my cock an’ I’ll eat you out with my cum in you–” 

                           ✰

“He’s blonde.” 

Gawping jaws drop to the floor at your very simple observation, Soap’s eyes nearly rolling across the uneven, rotten floorboards after falling out of his skull. You can’t help the smug smile that threatens to tug at the edge of your lips, especially given the sensation of Ghost’s eyes boring holes into the back of your skull. 

The awe only worsens when Price gives a subtle nod of confirmation from the corner of the darkened room, crowning you the winner of this utterly ridiculous joust. 

“How do you know?” Gary is as shaken as Soap by the confidence with which you’d offered your final answer, in disbelief as to how you could have possibly obtained it without being maimed, given the egg on his forehead was still throbbing despite days of icing it with the snow from outside the safehouse.

“His pubes are. I assume the curtains match the drapes,” you shrug dismissively. 

The sheer incredulity that flashes across Johnny’s face is utterly hilarious. The smirk that had been threatening to break finally cracks across your lips at the confirmation of your victory. Ghost’s eyes appear to have lazered through your skull, singing brain matter with the ferocity of his scowl. Frankly, you couldn’t care less– you can see it in your mind's eye; the gorgeous contrast of a blood-red crosshair settling across Hassan’s forehead, the weight of the trigger beneath your finger as you pull it back.

cod mwii/kinktober taglist:

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[gofishygo]

just thinking abt ghoap x necromancer! reader.... gang ive got an idea let me cook LET ME COOOkkkkkKKKK!!!!!!!!!!!!

content: dark concept beware !! angsty at the start, 141 is a little mean to you, obsession, manipulation, (allusions to) kidnapping. (blurb, wc527)

there's a new guy who comes in to fill in after soap dies. it's awkward for him- not knowing why the team glares at him like the parasites on a sunfish, the cracks in their manor. ghost seems to hate you especially; you'd been told by some of the newer recruits that he was usually cold, unfeeling- but this wasn't unfeeling. this was him glancing at you at the shooting range than firing multiple shots at the target, him digging his knife into wooden target just that bit harder when he saw you spar.

and then you meet johnny.

it's not too long until you're having full conversations with the freshly dead ghost, gravelly scottish accent and slightly crooked smile leaving your heart warm and full and almost mushy. he tells you stories, ones that the team had always held back from you; what had happened when he'd took prices hat, why gaz hates choppers, and ghost.

it doesn't take more than a few wistful smiles to know who they were to each other, why he'd never looked at you the same.

but unlike the other ghosts of the base, glaring at living enemies with glassy eyes and rabid, foaming mouths holding curses in foreign tongue, he's ... still warm. almost living.

and when ghost finds out you're a necromancer, it starts out subtle . gruff 'have you seen a lad wif' a mohawk' and such being the only queries he'd bare to talk to you for. and you tell him everything- johnny mactavish and the star wound in his head, johnny mactavish and the shiny eyes and the white grin, johnny mactavish and the boyfriend he fawns over. queries turn into questions, and questions turn into long conversations where you're the translator of two worlds. and while ghost swears he'd only ever see you as a bridge between him and the love of his life (or death?), soap can't say the same.

being a ghost has it's perks. you're no longer confined to the bounds of mortality- solid form can switch to material nothingness, being noting in plain sight. and even as a necromancer, you can't feel how he cradles your face when you sleep, how he kisses those tears away when you retire to your barracks. he doesn't let you feel those because he doesn't want you to, not yet.

hasn't forgotten about ghost, either.

and it's okay- he'll get his love on board with you too. leaves images of you in his dreams; the way your nose crinkles when you banter, the quirk of your smile. darkening the corners of his dreams with sigils and spells, rituals of reanimation. it'll be slow, but still in it's worth. he'll find you eventually.

so when ghost's eyes turn as hungry and wanting as the dead you've met, and when you can now feel johnny's pulse, you know something's gone wrong. very wrong.

too bad that there's already a pair of skeleton-gloved hands pinning as another pair wraps chloroform-stained rap around your face before you can pry any further.

and too bad that you can hear the voices of the men you'd trusted trying to soothe your through it.

[illuminatedquill]

Story Summary: Ursa is met with fierce opposition from Sabine over her plan. The Rite of Hearts challenge is revealed to the suitors. Ezra realizes how much danger he is in and begins to doubt himself.

Part 2 of 4

(Part 1 here)

Ursa Wren: She's a child. Kanan Jarrus: I believe you're underestimating the woman she's become. - Star Wars Rebels, Legacy of Mandalore

If you are a lover, you have to be a fighter. - Keanu Reeves

~ the call, part two ~

Hera Syndulla let out a huff of annoyance as she finished re-wiring a section of the Ghost's main control console. She had been noticing a certain amount of lag in the freighter's responsiveness to her steering in their last hit-and-run on an Imperial convoy. To a less capable pilot the delay would seem negligible, but Hera was no rookie - even a microscopic nanosecond's worth of lag could mean the difference between certain escape or being turned into floating scrap metal.

Rolling out from under the console, she paused to remove her safety googles and wipe the sweat from her brow. "Alright, Chop," she said. "Try the sequence again."

The astromech droid let out a surly beep of acknowledgment but did as he was told, his servo-arm slotting into one of the console's open ports to run a diagnostic. She couldn't blame him - they had been at it for hours now, performing maintenance all over the venerable freighter. It wasn't strictly necessary, but there were enough unknown variables that could spring up during combat against the Empire.

Ensuring that the Ghost stayed fully maintained at all times was a variable she could control, which is why she insisted upon performing it during any down time they could get.

"Chop?" asked Hera, wearily clambering onto the pilot seat to rest for a moment. "Can I get a diagnostic now?"

The astromech droid buzzed out some information. Hera frowned.

"I meant for the Ghost. I know you're tired. You've been complaining non-stop for the past several hours."

Chopper gave an annoyed squeal and then rattled off the correct information. She clicked on the main console's computer screen, confirming with her own eyes but as usual, Chopper's information was accurate. The lag had been fixed, and the Ghost was ready for action.

The veteran pilot slumped into her seat, wincing at tired muscles and aching joints that were making their presence known after hours stuck in the cramped workspace. At least, she could get some -

The main console chimed softly. A call was coming through on a private channel.

Hera stared at the beeping communicator and groaned. "Perfect timing," she muttered. "Sure, I'm already up."

Chopper queried a question at her in a series of beeps.

She growled at him. "Yes, you can leave to recharge now. Thanks for all the help."

The astromech droid wheeled himself out of the cockpit with an annoyingly cheerful buzz, leaving her to answer the message. Hera rubbed at her temples, trying to head off an impending headache.

Finally, she reached out with an exasperated sigh and let the call through.

"Hera," came a familiar voice. "I hope I'm not interrupting."

She straightened in her seat, surprise jolting through her. Flicking a few more switches, the holo-communicator flared to life revealing the hazy, blue tinged image of Ursa Wren, the matriarch of Clan Wren. The formidable woman was sitting upright in a chair, dressed in what appeared to be casual sleepwear.

Her headache instantly vanished. "Ursa," greeted Hera cautiously. The matriarch kept her affairs private, only reaching out to give updates on the Mandalorian war effort or exchanging intel with the Rebellion. But those conversations were always scheduled well-ahead of time since Ursa liked to keep to a strict schedule. Hera suspected the woman disliked surprises.

"What brings you at this late hour? I don't think we had any scheduled conferences for today."

Ursa shook her head. "We did not. I bring news regarding my daughter."

Hera's eyebrows shot up in concern. "Sabine? What's going on?"

There was the noise of rapidly approaching footsteps towards the cockpit -

Ezra burst inside, almost falling flat on his face, still dressed in his pajamas, hair slightly ruffled from sleep. "Sabine? Hera, did I hear that right?"

She snorted. Like a moth to a flame, Hera thought. The kid couldn't help himself when it came to the Mandalorian girl.

Then again, who was she to throw stones? Kanan was the exact same way with her. He just hid it better.

Ursa seemed unruffled by the young man's sudden appearance. In fact, Hera suspiciously noted via the subtle smile flitting across her face, the Wren matriarch seemed pleased at Ezra's intrusion.

It was as if Ursa wanted Ezra to be there.

Hera felt a sudden sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach.

"That is correct, Jedi Bridger," Ursa continued calmly.

Hera watched Ezra's brows furrow together in worry. "Is she in trouble?" he asked Ursa.

"Of sorts."

"I'll go," he said immediately. Hera felt her mouth go slack at the speed in which Ezra made this decision. No hesitation, whatsoever.

He glanced at Hera, as if noticing her presence for the first time. "Hera, is the Phantom fueled up?"

"Yes," she said. "Hang on, Ezra - let's talk about this."

"No," he said firmly. "I'm going. Have the Countess patch into the Phantom's private channel and she can fill me in on the way to Krownest."

Hera raised an eyebrow at him. "You're giving me orders?"

That gave him pause, finally. "Hera . . . look, I'm sorry, but it's Sabine."

She just looked at him, dread and anxiety mixing into a heady concoction inside her chest. The boy had grown up on her.

When did that happen, she wondered. How much longer can I protect him from this galaxy?

Had that time already passed?

She reached out and gently gripped his wrist. "Ezra. You don't know what you're walking into."

The young Jedi gave her a small smile. "True. But I know who's in the middle of whatever mess this is. And she'll be needing me."

Hera huffed out a laugh. And, against her better judgment, she released her grip.

"Go save our girl," she said.

He nodded at her and walked out.

"Come back, safe" she said quietly to the empty cockpit.

"You have my word," came Ursa's voice, "that he will be returned to you, safe and sound. The boy will be under my protection."

Hera turned around to stare at the holo-image of the Wren matriarch. "I'll hold you to that, Countess," she replied softly. "Because that's two of my children that are now under your watch."

Ursa bristled at her words but said nothing. The woman owed the Ghost crew a debt for returning Sabine to her and she knew it. Sabine was back with her blood family, it was true, but both women knew where her heart truly belonged.

"If anything were to happen to either of them . . . " Hera did not finish the sentence.

The Countess cocked her head at the veteran pilot, her eyes intense. Hera held the intimidating gaze with her own.

After a few tense moments, Ursa let loose a grim smile. "From one mother to another," she replied. "You have my solemn vow. Both of them will be safe."

Hera held her stare for another second and then acknowledged with a nod. "Good. I'm assuming you have a plan to get Sabine and Ezra out of whatever mess is brewing for them."

"I do."

She leaned forward. "Tell me."

~ happy to see you ~

Three days later

Ezra had experienced plenty of bad days during his time travelling onboard the Ghost but being choked out by your best friend surely had to break into the top three or five if he could be bothered to make a list.

Thankfully, it wasn't the last day he would ever experience courtesy of the Krownest guards sent to wrangle Sabine off him. The latter now stood well outside of arm's reach of him, her hands placed in durasteel binders, flanked closely on either side by the same armed guards. The glare she was throwing his direction made Ezra feel unsteady and, not for the first time since he had arrived, he wondered if him being here was the correct move.

He risked a glance in her direction, silently pleading through his look: Please tell me that I'm doing the right thing here, Sabine. Please.

Alas, the only thing he could read off Sabine's glare was a silent promise intending to do more bodily harm to him. He sighed, running a nervous hand through his short-cropped hair.

Great job, Ezra, he thought miserably. Your only friend here is pissed at you.

"Forgive my daughter's unseemly outburst," said Ursa, her tone indicating no sign of surprise at Sabine's actions. "Our newest candidate is someone she is intimately familiar with."

Sabine's eyes popped open at Ursa's words, her head snapping towards her mother. Ezra felt his cheeks about to burst into flame, and he immediately raised his hand out of an instinctive need to correct the matriarch's statement.

He felt the stares of the other candidates fall upon him, along with Ursa's. Raising an imperious eyebrow, she said in an amused tone, "There is no need to raise your hand here to say something, Jedi Bridger. This is not an Academy classroom."

There was a ripple of muted laughter from the clan heads. The suitors, notably, did not join in that laughter. Ezra didn't know if that was a good or bad sign that they were not laughing at him.

He shoved that observation aside for the moment. "Uh, yes. Sorry. Thank you. I just want to clarify that our relationship was - is - very much platonic."

Ursa leaned forward on her chair, resting her chin on clasped hands. "You did not live together for a number of years before she returned home to us?" she asked.

Ezra blinked. "Uh. Yes, that's - that's true. We did."

"Dine together? Fight alongside together?"

His cheeks were warming up again. Sabine's lips tightened into a thin white line, her own cheeks turning rosy. "Well, yes, but - "

"You did not sleep together?"

"In separate rooms!" Ezra blurted out. "We slept in separate rooms, on the same ship. Not the same thing. Plenty of space on the Ghost, no need to share bunks. Although there were a couple times when we got space mite infestations and I did have to share a room with Sabine - "

He let out a hysterical giggle, realizing what he was suddenly saying after those last words clicked. Thankfully, Sabine stepped in.

"Mother!" hissed Sabine. "Stop this, now."

Ursa acquiesced, leaning back into her throne, eyes shining with mirth and amusement. "I jest, of course. Something to break the tension," she said apologetically.

She waved at the other candidates. "If the other suitors are ready, you all may present yourselves now to my daughter."

Ezra braced himself. Right - the reason he was here. The other suitors, fellow challengers for Sabine's hand in marriage.

He didn't know how this would go. Or what he would do to protect Sabine. But he was also a Jedi - and Jedi only acted to defend, not to attack.

Mandalorians were very different from Jedi, as he knew. The preferred to shoot first, ask questions later.

I might not have a choice, he thought. There was too much riding on his actions in the next few days. Ursa was depending on him.

More importantly, Sabine was depending on him. Even if she didn't appreciate it at the moment.

And he refused to let her down.

But he was still a Jedi. He would avoid all harm to the other challengers, within the best of his ability to do so.

He was protecting someone he cared about. But he would also do whatever he could to protect these others, even if they meant him harm.

Do or do not. There is no try.

Ezra pursed his lips, fighting down a sense of unease boiling up within him. He felt out of depth once again, amongst all these Mandalorians and their complicated politics.

There was only one glowing mote of clarity for him throughout this mess. He turned to Sabine, his eyes finding hers.

"Sabine," he called out.

She just looked at him, the anger still glowing hotly like fresh embers in her brown eyes.

Ezra just gave her a small smile. "Happy to see you again," he said.

Sabine's eyes softened. And, for a brief moment, the ghost of a familiar smile appeared on her face.

(Pictured above: Despite the tense situation, Sabine cannot help but give a gentle, affectionate smile to her friend, Ezra, as thanks for showing up when she needed him.)

"Me too, goober," she replied affectionately.

Feeling emboldened by that smile, Ezra turned to face the other suitors with a cheerful expression - aware that most, if not all of them, were plotting how to kill him within the next few days.

~ the debut ~

Sabine tore her eyes away from Ezra's earnest smile and focused on the first clan to present themselves. Stepping forward, the clan head and their chosen candidate shed their fine shimmer-silk cloaks with heads held high.

Clan Eagan, she remembered. The current head was Markus Eagan, a towering, gaunt faced man with storm gray hair that matched the color of his eyes. His beskar armor was dyed in the traditional colors of his clan, an intimidating mix of slate gray and white. It was unnervingly close to Imperial coloring, Sabine observed, but she had heard that it was unwise to point that out near any Eagan present - they detested the Empire with a passion matched only by Clan Wren, often volunteering for missions deemed suicidal that presented any opportunity to hurt the Imperials.

Their daughter, the heiress to Clan Eagan, was a depressingly familiar face from her early days in Mandalorian training: Anessa, the heiress to her clan.

(Pictured above: Anessa Eagan, a rival to Sabine during her early years of Mandalorian training. She was the first suitor to declare herself a challenger for Sabine's hand in marriage.)

The young woman had grown even more beautiful since Sabine's younger days: the sharp edges of her features inherited from her father's genes being smoothed over with youth. But the most striking feature were Anessa's eyes; Sabine was still unnerved by the sight of them after all these years - they were like dark pools of water with only the occasional predatory gleam surfacing to let you know the direction of her thoughts.

Anessa caught Sabine's look and gave a mischievous wink. "You look good in binders, Wren," she called out.

Sabine smirked at her. "Come closer and say that, Anessa."

Despite her bravado, Sabine felt a pit of cold dread well up inside her stomach. Anessa was vicious and brutal, raised in the style of her clan's tradition. She would not hesitate to find a weakness to exploit in an enemy's defense and use it to ensure complete victory - which, by Eagan standards of victory, would result in their utter annihilation. Clan Eagan was competent, ruthless, and dedicated to the art of warfare in a way that gave even the mighty Ursa Wren pause.

Anessa was a step beyond her clan, which made this situation all the worse: she enjoyed her conquests, relishing her victories with a zeal bordering on bloodlust. Sabine had seen it in the little competitions she held during the early Mandalorian trials. Even then, she was always pushing to see how far she could go before someone stopped her.

She stared hard at the Eagan heiress. I was always the one who stood against you, Anessa.

And now, it wasn't her standing against Anessa.

It was Ezra. Her best friend was the only one standing between Sabine and a potential marriage to the cruel Anessa Eagan.

Sabine's hands tightened inside her binders. Ezra . . .

The Eagan heiress just laughed at Sabine's remark, a melodic sound that seemed incapable of being issued from someone with Anessa's personality. Her father, standing behind, frowned and nudged the young woman.

Anessa shot her father an annoyed look, but she let the laughter die as acknowledgment. She bowed deferentially towards Ursa, waiting on her throne.

"Countess, I hereby declare my challenge for the right to marry your daughter."

Ursa nodded in return. "I accept your challenge, Anessa of Clan Eagan."

Anessa went to resume her spot standing in front of her father, Markus. But as she did so, she gave Ezra a flat stare, her gray eyes flashing with a hungry gleam.

Ezra seemed unperturbed by Anessa's look, only giving a cheerful wave in response. The hungry gleam only increased in Anessa's eyes.

Fenn Rau squeezed Sabine's arm as a warning. "Easy now," he murmured into her ear. "This is not the time."

Sabine blinked, suddenly aware that she had taken a step forward as if about to launch herself at the Eagan heiress. She took a deep breath, relaxing herself and pushing the feeling of protectiveness towards Ezra down into a deep hole . . . for now.

Ursa sat back into her throne, utterly relaxed. "The next clan will present themselves, if they please: Clan Reghabi."

(Pictured above: Jorge Reghabi, the heir to Clan Reghabi and second candidate to challenge for Sabine. He shares a deep-seated admiration and love towards Sabine for an incident during their early childhood when she stood up for him against a crowd of bullies.)

Instilling herself a sense of calm, she focused on the next candidate. A stocky, broad-shouldered figure, only dwarfed by the even more mountainous one standing behind them. The former took a decisive step forward, shrugging off their fine cloak, revealing a handsome, chiseled face that could have been featured on holo-dramas during the Old Republic days. His dark skin glowed with vitality, and he flashed a vibrant smile at Sabine.

Sabine let loose a gasp, her eyes widening in shocked recognition. "Jorge?" she blurted out, forgetting all sense of decorum. The image of a scrawny child, frail as a leaf, barely fitting into their first set of armor did not compute with this new updated image of the Jorge Reghabi she remembered.

The smile grew wider and with a whoop of excitement Jorge rushed forward to grapple Sabine into a huge bear hug. "Starbird!" he yelled. "It is so good to see you again, my friend!"

From the corner of her eye, Sabine caught her mother attempting to hide a bemused smile. "Stand down," she said softly to the guards who were alarmed at the sudden movement. They relaxed their stances to a more neutral position in response to the command.

Wheezing from the strength of Jorge's hug, Sabine gasped, "It's good to see you, too. Can you - ack - let me go before my ribs break?"

He let go immediately, his cheeks coloring with embarrassment. "Of course, of course," he said. "My apologies."

"No worries," she replied, wincing at her aching sides. She studied Jorge, taking in the sizeable growth in his frame. "You've grown."

"Yes," he said proudly. "Turns out I was a late bloomer. Now I am big and strong - and, more importantly, I can return the favor from when we were young."

Sabine frowned at him. "What favor?"

He leaned in close. "Now I can protect you, Starbird."

A memory returned her at Jorge's words: a crowd of young Mandalorians, jeering at a bruised youngling, Jorge, sprawled on the ground. In her mind's eye, she saw the younger version of her push her way through the mob, standing against them with nothing more than a sparring stick as a means of defense.

Smiling faintly, she merely said, "It wasn't a business transaction, Jorge. You needed help."

He winked at her. "And now you need help. I must save your clan."

From her throne, Ursa coughed loudly. "The challenger from Clan Reghabi. Please make your declaration, so we may move on?"

"Jorge!" barked the Clan Reghabi head. The matriarch of Jorge's clan, Asan Reghabi, slipped the cloak off her shoulders, her dark eyes sparkling with anger at her son. She was the spitting image of her child - or, rather, it was vice versa. Her hair was cut short in a military style, peppered through with gray throughout the long years of battle for dominance. The beskar armor she wore was in the colors of her clan, matching the vivid evergreen of a thriving forest.

"Jorge, by the founders, will you get your ass in line? Stop being affectionate with the girl, there will be time for that later when you win, you love-sick moron!"

The young man wilted from his mother's shouting but still managed to give Sabine a cheeky smile. He skipped back to his position and gave Ursa an extra deep, reverential bow by way of apology. "Countess, the candidate for Clan Reghabi hereby declares his challenge for the right to your daughter's hand in marriage."

The Wren matriarch looked down from her throne, a small smile forming from the Reghabi heir's antics. "I accept your challenge, Jorge Reghabi."

The Reghabi heir straightened himself and went back to his mother's side. The matriarch prodded her son sharply in the forehead, letting loose an exasperated hiss at his behavior. Sabine grinned for a moment but then sobered as she thought about the increasingly dire reality for Ezra who was watching the situation with a calm expression of polite interest.

Clan Reghabi was another clan of notable ambition but where Eagan could be seen more as a laser scalpel like approach to their enemies, Reghabi tended to be more like a battering ram. They were not known for their subtlety and the tactics they chose in battle were aimed to overwhelm and bludgeon their opponents into submission. For better or worse, Reghabi never surrendered and always ensured their enemies paid for any victory with no small amount of blood.

The pit of dread inside her grew even more but Sabine was determined to not let it show on her face. Ezra was smart, capable, adaptable to any situation and, more importantly, he was acting in accordance with a plan devised from Ursa.

It would have to be enough. It had to be enough.

"Final candidate, please present yourself," said Ursa briskly.

(Pictured above: Tal Cobel, the heir to Clan Cobel and final challenger for Sabine's hand in marriage. They grew attached to Sabine during their early years in Mandalorian training and fell in love with her when she encouraged them to embrace their true identity.)

The last candidate stepped forward, a tiny figure that was enveloped by the fine cloak bestowed upon them. With a subtle shift of their shoulders, the cloak fell to the ground revealing the heir to Clan Cobel, Tal Cobel. Their auburn hair was tied up in a loose bun with a face that could be mistaken for cute were it not for the determined, calculating expression that shined from their hazel eyes.

Tal caught Sabine's eyes and gave an awkward bow. Sabine acknowledged it with one of her own, saying, "Hello, Tal. It's been a while."

"Hello, Sabine," replied Tal softly. "I've missed you."

The Cobel heir paused before saying, even more softly: "You never wrote back to me."

Sabine froze, the guilt spreading through her. She caught Ezra's eyes, who watched the conversation with a frown.

"I know," replied Sabine. "I'm sorry, for what it's worth. I never forgot about you. My life just got . . . busy. I didn't want to involve you in that."

Tal nodded, their expression not giving anything away. "It's alright. We will have plenty of time to catch up when we're married."

"Tal," chided their mother, standing close behind. Mariza Cobel, barely taller than her child, wore the traditional colors of her clan: glacial blues and silvers. The Cobel matriarch's face was creased from the years of wear and tear and could be described as gentle, but the reputation of her clan preceded her: Clan Cobel preferred to have their victories be assured before the battle was waged, focusing on gathering enough crucial information to subdue their enemies without firing a single shot.

They were the spearhead of a new train of thought in Mandalorian warfare: spying, misinformation, and subterfuge. No less dangerous than the other two clans being represented; what they lacked in pure offensive capability, they more than made up for in superior tactical thinking and planning.

Tal blinked, cheeks turning rosy, and then turned towards Ursa. "My apologies, Countess. I hereby declare my challenge for the right to Sabine's hand in matrimony."

"Granted," replied Ursa. Tal nodded at Sabine again before returning to their spot next to Mariza.

With a clap of her hands, Ursa rose from her throne to survey the four candidates: Anessa Eagan, Jorge Reghabi, Tal Cobel, and last but certainly not least, Ezra Bridger.

"Challengers, I thank you for your warm greetings to this sacred event." she announced, sounding sincere. "Your journeys have been long. I invite you to partake of our hospitality and rest tonight under our protection here in Krownest. Fenn Rau will show you all to your rooms and supply you with supper later in the evening."

Ursa's eyes flashed in warning, voice rising to make her next point clear. "I expect a quiet evening tonight. The Rite of Hearts will prove arduous in the day to come, and I will have you all compete on an even playing field. Fenn Rau will be watching closely to ensure no foul play occurs."

Markus Eagan stepped forward, his gaunt face twisting in annoyance. "What is the question will you be posing for the challenge, Ursa?"

Ursa favored the man with a look of grim amusement. "You don't wish to wait, Markus? The anticipation makes things so exciting."

The Eagan patriarch's expression turned sour. "No. You know I despise waiting, Ursa."

She smiled at him, in a way that showed off her sharp canines. "I know. That's why I'm doing it."

The man's face suffused darkly with anger but he somehow managed to keep from retorting. Sabine sensed there was an ugly history between her mother and Markus, one that was better kept under wraps for now.

Ezra raised his hand.

"Yes, Jedi Bridger?" asked Ursa exasperatedly. "I will remind you, once again, that this is not an Academy classroom. You need not raise your hand."

"Um, I would like to know. If that's alright. Something to think about over dinner later, at least," he said quietly.

Ursa regarded him for a few moments. Then, sighing, she asked, "Very well. The question I pose is this: What does Sabine need?"

Ezra raised his eyebrows in a questioning matter, his expression mirrored by the other candidates and their parents.

"I require clarification," Mariza Cobel said. Beside her, Tal studied Sabine as if searching for an answer. Sabine shrugged, unsure of what her mother meant by the question.

Ursa gestured at her daughter. "It's simple enough. The galaxy spins itself further into chaos with each passing day. If any of you are worthy enough to stand by Sabine's side as a partner, you must show me that you know her heart. What does she need to live in this galaxy? What will you provide her that the others cannot?"

"Well . . ." Ezra ventured. "I mean, she needs food."

Sabine stared at him.

Tal frowned at him; Jorge's face erupted into a broad smile; and Anessa glowered at the young Jedi. Their parents shared similar disapproving looks at Ezra's candor.

Ursa rolled her eyes. "Does she now?" she asked, her tone practically begging him to discontinue this train of thought.

Unfortunately, Ezra did not catch on.

"Well, yeah," Ezra continued, not reading the room's atmosphere. "She eats like a baby rancor. I've seen it."

Sabine wanted to melt into the ground and disappear forever. "Ezra!" she hissed. "Stop. Talking."

He looked at her and immediately deflated. "Uh, forget what I said. Sabine eats delicately. Totally healthy and normal for someone of her size."

Ignoring Ezra entirely, Markus Eagan asked, "And how are the candidates expected to present this answer? I assume that's where the challenge will come in. Or are we starting the galaxy's first Mandalorian poetry contest?"

There was a ripple of laughter from the assorted guests. Sabine shrugged and muttered, "That doesn't sound too bad to me."

"No, Markus," replied Ursa in a clipped tone. "The suitors will venture into the Krownest mines at early dawn tomorrow. There they will make their way through the caverns, find the rich vein of beskar that lies there, and mine what they need to create their answer to my question. It will be a journey that will last most of the day, from my estimates."

There was a shocked silence that settled among the guests in light of Ursa's statement.

"Krownest . . . you mean to tell me," Asan Reghabi said slowly, "has its own mines of beskar?"

"Why were we not told this?" demanded Markus.

Ursa stared coldly at the Eagan patriarch. "Because it is a Krownest secret. Mine to keep. And it will stay that way, or I will have you all shot on sight."

No one said a word. Sabine surveyed the group: the Eagans were stony faced, the Cobels looked thoughtful, and the Reghabis seemed impatient to move on.

Only Ezra seemed to be focused on something else other than Ursa: her. She caught his look and gave a casual shrug, pretending that the information was not shocking news to her also.

The Wren matriarch clapped her hands once. "Now, it is time for food and then rest. You all have much to think about."

As Fenn Rau began to shepherd them all out, Ezra made to move closer towards Sabine. She shook her head vigorously. "I'll talk to you later, Ezra," she said, inwardly regretful at how curt her statement sounded.

He stopped in his tracks, giving her a sad look before allowing Fenn Rau to lead him away with the group of people who intended to kill him tomorrow.

And then she was alone in the throne room with her mother.

~ the duel ~

Fenn Rau returned to the throne room after seeing the guests off to their rooms and ensuring their security. Sabine stood across from her mother, newly unshackled, arms crossed against her chest. The younger Wren's expression was alarmingly placid given the stressful events she had just experienced. In Rau's time here, it was an indicator that a bigger storm was brewing inside Sabine, and he braced himself for the eventual break in her facade.

Ursa still sat on her throne, chin resting on clasped hands. For the first time that day, the Wren matriarch looked exhausted. He wondered if it was because of gathering of hostile clans under her roof . . .

" - were you going to tell me about Ezra's involvement, mother? I deserved to know in advance that you blackmailed my best friend into this mess!"

. . . or if this was just a normal reaction to arguing with Sabine.

He edged closer to the conversation with a high degree of caution, keeping track of the guards standing watch around the room. They didn't seem perturbed by the escalating situation - yet.

"The Jedi volunteered, Sabine," answered Ursa. Rau knew she was being honest here, having listened in on that conversation. The Countess had barely said two words before Bridger's agreement to help. "There was no blackmail involved."

"I don't believe you," retorted Sabine. "He would never involve himself in something as asinine as this."

Ursa's eyes flashed sharply, cutting through her exhaustion. "Watch your words, daughter. Your freedom is not an asinine matter to me - and to him, as well. On that matter, we are in agreement."

Sabine gritted her teeth, her eyes darkening with fury that was now freely boiling over. "You've put him into a deliberately precarious position! I won't have it."

"Or what?" challenged Ursa. "You're afraid he's going to get himself hurt?"

Sabine stomped her foot. "Yes! And I'm also afraid he's going to hurt the others! On my behalf! Which goes against everything he believes in as a Jedi!"

Ursa cocked her head at Sabine, curious. "Jedi - especially in this day and age - are no strangers to violence, child."

"They're not trained as weapons like we are, mother," Sabine pointed out. "The Jedi are meant to be a shield. A means of defense. They never act, unless it is to defend."

"He is defending something," Ursa replied quietly. "The boy is defending you."

Rau watched Sabine freeze at that statement, her face twisting at some unknown emotion. Ursa observed this and remarked, "That's what vexes you, isn't it? That Bridger is putting more than just his life on the line - his code, the mantle of being a Jedi, is also what's at stake."

She leaned forward, eyes flashing with interest. "He's willing to compromise himself for you. And you cannot stand it - the feeling of be so helpless while a loved one risks it all to defend something as intangible as your heart and your freedom."

Sabine just looked at her - and Fau heard an alarm bell start tolling away. It looked like something vital, some deeply held personal belief, had broken inside the younger Wren at her mother's words.

(Pictured above: A defiant Sabine confronts Ursa regarding Ezra's involvement in the Rite of Hearts.)

There was an angry snap-hiss that crackled like lightning into the silence filling the room.

All the guards inside the room snapped their heads towards Sabine as she held the newly ignited Darksaber aloft over her head.

Ursa stared at her, rising slowly from her throne into a standing position. Rau shivered at the sight of such raw, naked fury emanating from the matriarch's face. It was only matched by the same emotion coming from her daughter, facing her mother with weapon drawn.

"That weapon," Ursa said, her voice eerily calm, "gives you authority over all of Mandalore."

"That's right," challenged Sabine. "So, mother - you will yield."

Ursa stepped down from her throne, walking slowly towards her daughter. The younger Wren tracked her mother's movement, shifting her footing cautiously.

"You forget where you stand, Sabine. This is not Mandalore," said Ursa.

She snapped her fingers. The guard nearest to her, standing against the wall, turned and threw his spear towards the Countess. She caught it deftly, slamming the end onto the stone floor.

It rang with the tone of a clear bell, indicating the strength of its beskar. Pure beskar, thought Fenn Rau. Strong enough to withstand a lightsaber.

"Your other Jedi friend, Kanan Jarrus, told me that I had underestimated you. That you are no longer a child," said Ursa.

Sabine didn't answer, except to just narrow her eyes. The Darksaber hummed angrily in her grasp.

"But he does not know you as I do, daughter. You still have much to learn."

"I won't let you use Ezra in this game of yours," replied Sabine through gritted strength. "It ends here, mother."

Ursa studied her daughter. "You're afraid. Afraid that he'll break himself to save you. And - then what? You won't be able to love him anymore? He'll be too damaged to be loved - like you?"

They were circling each other enough, close enough for a strike from either one of them but the battle was already being waged. Not through action but through words. And Ursa was winning, judging from the storm of emotions crossing through her daughter's face.

"Stop talking," whispered Sabine. "You don't know what you're talking about."

"You do know. You're scared of the truth. And that fear blinds you. Makes you question him. And perhaps I should, too. If you have that little faith that your precious Jedi cannot overcome the challenge ahead then, when I'm finished with you here, I will go to his quarters and plunge this spear into his chest to spare him - "

Fenn Rau closed his eyes, feeling sympathy for Sabine. Ursa knew where her daughter's weakness was . . . and exploited it ruthlessly to her advantage.

Sabine let loose a primal, furious scream.

Ursa snapped the spear into a guard just in time as the black-white blade collided against the pure beskar in an explosion of sparks.

And the duel between mother and daughter began.

~ kanan ~

The rest of the day did not fare much better for Ezra.

Despite his best efforts, the other challengers - Anessa, Jorge, and Tal - kept mostly to themselves, along with their parents. Ezra had been met with either polite conversation that amounted to nothing or outright hostility (mainly from Clan Eagan). After several hours trying to get more information from anyone he could, Ezra felt frustrated with all the dead ends.

And he couldn't locate Fenn Rau, Sabine, or Ursa, either.

I'm way out of my depth on this one, he thought miserably. What have I gotten myself into?

With nothing else to go on and the hour growing later, Ezra decided to retire into his quarters for a while.

They were reasonably good accommodations - sparse on decoration but still comfortable with all the touches necessary for a good night's rest. It was certainly much nicer than the room he shared with Zeb back on the Ghost, not that he would ever complain to Hera about that.

He laid back on the bed, letting his body sink into the comfy plush, and closed his eyes. All he could think about was Sabine - namely, how upset she was that he had showed up. Yes, he had managed to get a smile out of her later on, but only just.

Ezra grimaced. As a Jedi, he was supposed to have the clarity of thought to see through any situation. But, as usual, when things came to Sabine and Mandalorians in general, that clarity was rarely present.

Sabine.

He had missed her greatly these past few months. And, admittedly, he was hoping that her reaction to his presence would have been . . . less angry at the very least.

Had he been wrong to come here? But if things weren't so dire, why did Ursa request his help? And what was he supposed to do, anyway? She hadn't been entirely forthcoming in their conversation as he made the trip to Krownest.

"I just need you to be yourself," Ursa had assured him. "I will handle the rest."

"Whatever that means," Ezra muttered. He rolled onto his side - and saw the holo-communicator built into the small desk that came with the room.

Sitting up, he reached over and keyed in a communications code. A call went out - and someone answered a few seconds later.

"Hey, kid," came the voice of Kanan Jarrus, his master. "I was wondering when I would get this call."

"Kanan," said Ezra, feeling relief pour through him. "Thanks for picking up."

"Of course. Everything going well over there? You and Sabine get hitched yet?"

Ezra felt his cheeks heat up. "That's not why I came here!"

"Really?" asked Kanan, his tone droll. "Because the way Hera explained it to me is that your plan is to marry Sabine . . . so that she won't have to get married at all. Or something like that."

"Well. When you put it like that - look, Ursa says Sabine doesn't want to be married. But she doesn't have a choice in this because of clan politics. So, if I marry her, Sabine won't have to marry anyone else."

"Uh-huh," replied Kanan. "And then - what? You two just pretend to be married until things settle down and get the marriage annulled?"

"Right," said Ezra. "We just . . . you know, put on an act, and when the time is right, Sabine can find a suitable partner for herself. On her own terms."

"And you're okay with that?"

Ezra ignored the pang of . . . he couldn't find the word to describe it. Loss? But that would imply that he thought Sabine was his to begin with. And the marriage wouldn't be real . . .

"This isn't about me," he answered back. "This is all for Sabine."

"If you say so, kid," said Kanan. "But I'm sensing there's more to talk about here."

"Yeah," said Ezra, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. "I, uh, am not so sure I thought all - well, any of this, through."

Laughter came through the call. Ezra grimaced. "Oh, you think?" asked his master. "Do tell."

"Pretty sure the other challengers are planning to kill me in tomorrow's contest," growled Ezra. "Really could use some advice here."

"Did you try talking to them?"

"First thing I did after we all introduced ourselves."

"Well," said Kanan, "that might be why they want to kill you. So don't do that anymore."

Ezra rolled his eyes. "Sound advice, master. Thanks."

"You're worried about losing," prompted Kanan suddenly.

He paused. After a few moments, he whispered back, "Yeah. I am."

"There's so much riding on this, Kanan. I'm still not sure what I'm doing here - you should have seen Sabine's expression; she was not happy. I think she hates me now."

Kanan chuckled. "No, she doesn't. I know her, and I know you. Don't listen to your doubts. They'll eat away at you. Listen to what your heart is saying."

Sabine.

"Are you listening to it?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I am," said Ezra quietly.

"Focus on that and why you're there. Make it simple. Don't stray from it, and you'll find your way through this mess. Reach out to the Force for guidance."

He closed his eyes, letting his master's words sink into him. "Okay. Thank you, Kanan."

"Still worried about losing?"

"A little," Ezra admitted.

Another chuckle from Kanan. "If I were a betting man, I'd wager all my credits on you, kid."

Ezra frowned. "Why?"

"Because Sabine will be watching, I assume. You won't fail in front of her."

The young Jedi smiled faintly. "You're right," he said, feeling confidence bloom inside his chest. "I won't."

"May the Force be with you, Ezra. And keep our girl safe from the scary suitors," said Kanan.

Ezra laughed. "Same to you, master. Tell the others 'hi' for me."

"Will do."

He cut the call. Standing up, Ezra stretched tired muscles - and heard his stomach growl.

Well, might as well see if dinner's ready, he thought. Maybe the other suitors will feel more talkative with food in their bellies.

Ezra made for the door -

It hissed open before he reached it. Sensing a new presence, he reached for the lightsaber hanging off his belt -

And then recognized it a second later.

It was Sabine. One of her arms was, alarmingly, clearly broken encased in a thick cast held across her chest in a makeshift sling to prevent movement.

"Sabine?" asked Ezra, concern overriding all other thought. "What the hell happened - "

With her remaining good arm, she shoved him further inside the room before he could finish his sentence.

"I need you to do me a favor, Ezra," she said softly. Her eyes were scary wide, like a desperate animal cornered.

Regaining his balance, Ezra looked at her. "What is it?" he asked, bracing himself.

Sabine just continued to stare at him, breathing heavily. He couldn't make out the hurricane of emotions fighting for control of her face, but he could feel it through the Force: anger, despair, regret - and, impossibly, some small seed of what felt like hope.

"Kill them," Sabine whispered. "I want you to kill them all."

TO BE CONTINUED

[iocity]

ASL ‘Merica AU where Ace is the only one who can make coffee. Sabo can cook (mediocrely, Ace is much better) and usually does due to Ace being so “free-spirited” (a whore). But Ace is usually back in the morning to make the coffee because if anyone else makes it, it tastes like hot dooky water. One time Luffy tried to make it and they all feared for their credit scores (he almost burned their rented home down). Luffy, despite being very knowledgeable in food, cannot cook for shit. Sure he knows what is healthy and what plants grow where, but applying them in the kitchen?? Danger and destruction to everyone involved. Usually Luffy just ends up backseat cooking (standing next to them, wrapped up in a blanket and telling them how he wants it cooked). Sabo doesn’t mind it much, since he is quite particular with his food too. But Ace?? Oh he is pissed. If there is one thing that will start an argument in the ASL household, it’s questioning his culinary prowess. Sure he’s no Sanji, but he’ll be damned if the only person in the house who can’t cook tells him how to. Usually when Ace is cooking, Luffy is a) keeping his peace and deciding to yap about his day or b) in the time out chair while Ace curses with every movement he makes.

Despite that, cooking and eating together is very important for all of the brothers. When Ace moves away for school, both of the brothers feel that the empty space on the couch is overwhelming. No more arguments, no more specially Ace-made meals on birthdays and holidays, and no more brotherly bonding time (till summer of course). Sure when they can they’ll call during mealtimes, but it isn’t like him being there. It wasn’t the same rushing home to eat because Ace insisted their food be hot. Luffy is affected the most by his absence. Sabo had gotten used to eating alone as a child, so it was a familiar concept that he could (unfortunately) go back to handling; Luffy on the other hand had always had someone to eat with. When it wasn’t Garp or Garp’s “old people” friends, it was Dadan and the boys. He felt childish and immature for feeling so sad when Ace left, especially since he knows Ace would never have left if he could help it.

It’s on one particularly bad day that Luffy feels the gap in their house the most. After a long exhausting day of running from the cops (for vandalism) all he wants to do is be around the people he loves most. So he calls up his friends, wanting to just hang around them, maybe play a video game or go outside and wander. He is instead met with a chorus of no’s to which he complains about GREATLY. Nami has to go out and handle “some business” (whatever that means), Sanji has to cut Zoro’s and Ussop’s hair (Sanji is very particular about noise since he isn’t professionally trained), Chopper and Franky are working on a big project (something about mechanical blah blah blah) and can’t be distracted, Brook has a gig in another state, Robin has classes to teach, and Jimbei is babysittting for a friend. Law didn’t answer which usually meant he was at the hospital, and Luffy hated that place. They wouldn’t be free till later, and Luffy was bored now. So, he came home hoping to see Sabo but was met with a note on the counter about how he had to finish a project and wouldn’t be home till later. Luffy felt exceedingly lonely, and he HATES feeling lonely more than anything else. When he is alone, his boredom makes way for thought, and thought makes way for headaches. So, he calls Ace. It rings once, then twice before…

“What’s up ya lil’ crybaby?” Ace’s voice rings out flatly despite his happiness that his little brother called.

“I’m borrreed. And hungry. I’m hungry and bored and no one is around.” Luffy whines miserably, head on the kitchen table as he kicks his feet.

“WOMP WOMP wah wah wah get over it loser.”

“Asshole.”

“Shitface.”

“Doodoohead”

“That’s basically the exact same thing I just said dumbass. Why don’t you just go hang out with one of your delinquent friends?” Ace queries with a chuckle before a crashing sound clangs out loudly and a slew of colorful curses leave his mouth.

“They are all busy…” Luffy mumbles through a pout, his hands drumming a soft beat into the table to distract him from the fact that one of his brothers is halfway across the country, one is a workaholic (he actually has a very average work schedule; Luffy is just dramatic), and none of his friends can hang. Ace is silent for a while, before a video call notification is popping up on Luffy’s phone, a wide smile replacing his pout as he picks up.

“So we meet again foul fiend,” Ace grins, his teeth and nose only visible as he shuffles with his phone, “I’m super fucking busy by the way, you should be glad I’m taking this precious and majestic time to call my dumbass brother.”

Luffy laughs gleefully, ignoring the insult in favor of grabbing his phone and tossing it on the couch, yelling out a quick, “I’ll be back!”

“Don’t throw your dearest brother!” Ace yells from the mic as Luffy cackles his way down the hallway and back, game in hand. He sets the phone up to where he won’t have to touch it but him and Ace are still visible when he returns; he laughs again with a stupid grin as he settles into the couch. Ace has adjusted the phone in his absence, now his face and torso are showing, his hands and eyes focusing on something out of frame as his hat hangs loosely on the back of his neck.

“So you’re just gonna sit here while I’m workin’ and taunt me with freedom?? Didn’t you say you were hungry?? Why aren’t you eating?? You should eat go eat. Matter fact, go learn to cook for once,” Ace blabbers worriedly, his concern thinly veiled by his teasing.

“Keep distracting me and I will. Besides, I want your cooking right now, so I don’t wanna eat anything else.”

Ace’s face contorts in horror at his threat, before softening slightly and sighing, his lips pursing into an almost motherly glare.

“Look Luffy, you know I would be home all the time, but I have to do this. We’ll have enough money to move out and pay for college. It’s somethin’ I gotta do for all of us to live freely. Even if I’m not there, ya gotta eat and take care of yourself,” Ace lectures, his hands still working on something out of frame, his eyes focusing on the task despite the frown he adorned on his face, “And-“

“Don’t lecture me, I know already. I don’t care about any of that. I miss y’all,” Luffy is obstinate about it, crossing his arms and regarding the screen of his phone with deep displeasure, “I don’t wanna miss anyone, ever.”

“We know you don’t care, that’s why we do it instead, ya crybaby,” Ace says simply, cursing again as he leans into whatever he is working on, his head leaving the frame, “Life ain’t perfect.”

Luffy is silent for a moment, his frown deepening as he puts his game to the side. Groaning in displeasure, he gets up, grabs his phone, and walks to the kitchen to eat. He snags a random frozen meal, albeit begrudgingly, and waits for it to cook while looking at the phone boredly, “Let’s all just be pirates.”

“Fix your face; pirates don’t even exist anymore. Besides, who knows who could appear within the next week.” Ace’s mischievous tone soars over Luffy’s head as he lets out a loud, “Huh?”

“Semester is over next week asshat.”

“Yeah. I got finals, so what…” Luffy pauses, racking his brain for insults but coming up short, “welder…”

“That sucked assss bro. I did not raise you like this,” Ace laughs, a thumbs down entering the frame before continuing with its work.

Luffy grins feeling happier and more energetic after some yapping, and he dances as he grabs his meal quickly before sitting down and starting to devour it, pausing only to say, “Oh yeah, that necklace you left?? I stole it, it’s mine now.”

“HE-“

“I’m gonna go steal plants from the big ass garden down the street again! Bye!”

Ace is about to yell as the line clicks, his precious necklace that he accidentally left last visit and dumbass brother only fueling his annoyance. He shakes his head, his hair falling over his face as his eyes refocus on the orange, red, and blue stones he is trying to link into a pendant with gold wire; his hands are tired from the work.

“He better run me my shit back when I give him this, fucking criminal.”

Tags >:D: @porschethemermaid

ASL AU Masterlist!

[just-some-guy-at-shiz]

Fanart for @the-patchwork-girl-of-oz’s chopper siblings AU

Nick: I refuse to let my brothers fight each other over a girl. Talk it out, you two.

I’m considering nicknames for the twins. They’ll both respond to Boq, but for clarification, or mostly just when they’re talking to each other:

B -> Bee | Q -> Que -> Query

I think these work well personality-wise too. Opinions?

Plus, if Oz has a Halloween equivalent, then this definitely happened when they were kids:

[kingpinchoppers]

What is the Big Deal about Customised Choppers?

Most of the dealers selling customised choppers are dealing in second hand motorcycles. They are customising it to give it a brand-new look. Hence, these choppers are not as costly as the first-hand ones. You will find a wide range of refurbished motorcycles. From Harley Davidson to other brands, the dealers have an extensive collection. Find out who are the dealers offering custom choppers for sale. Check out the location of the store. If possible, visit the store and go through the existing collection first hand. You will get an idea about which motorcycles are available and what type of customisation work has been done. If you want you can enquire whether they will customise your existing motorcycle or not.

Since customising the chopper can make the warranty null and void, you need to find out which customisations are safe and which ones are best avoided. This way, the warranty and insurance remain intact. Even if you face any issues after purchasing the customised chopper, you know that you can get it fixed without much difficulty. What are you waiting for? Get in touch with the experts and get the needful done at the earliest. A customised chopper is sure to catch everyone’s fancy - whether you are riding it or whether it is parked in the yard.

Whatever questions you have regarding the customisation of the chopper, feel free to discuss it with the experts. Get all your confusions clarified by the experts. Most of them are quite helpful and are willing to answer multiple queries.

[shotgunxturk]

“Hey, would you be able to hook me up with a chopper? I’m sure you are. That stuff seemed part of your speciality. Just making things appear out of thin air. And… well, we’d fare better with another chopper. I gotta fetch something from a few islands.”

A chopper?

The message made Freya blink dumbly for a long time and it was something she didn't like. She wasn't dumb, and almost always had an answer to any scenario ... except impossible ones.

And the query Veld's newfound psuedo-ally posed was impossible.

"I can get you a chocobo, a small boat for short crossings, a buggy or a truck ... but no, not a chopper." There was a lot she could make appear out of so-called thin air but a fucking helicopter was pushing the line a fair bit. "- I'd fare better with about a million gil, but unfortunately my magic tricks are fresh out, Lodbrok."

@soldier-lodbrok

[the-patchwork-girl-of-oz]

Chopper siblings au as random things my family has said:

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Query (book Boq): you’re autistic.

Bee (musical Boq): Nick, am I autistic?

Nick: you’re probably all autistic including me.

————————————

Query: *drops fork*

Bee: you always drop things.

Query: bee, my headphones are dead and the next person who tries to argue with me goes with them.

Hickory: dang. That’s some dark sh!t

______________________

Hickory: where’d you get all that curly hair?

Ozzy (Movie Boq): your mom’s chest.

______________________

Bee: ehhhhh… *nibbles carrot* what the sigma, doc?

Query: YOU DID NOT.

Hickory: *transatlantic accent* darling, what the sigma?

————————————-

Query: *steals Bee’s hat*

Bee: GIVE IT BACK!!!! GIVE IT BACK!!!!

Query: you look like your name is Andy.

Bee: *looks at his reflection* I… I do look like my name is Andy. 😔

————————————-

Bee: I came to ask what’s it like to have boobs?

Hickory: what it’s like to have boobs???

Bee: yeah.

Hickory: …well I suppose I’d know wouldn’t I 💅

———————————-

Query: can you say f*ck?

Nick: fudge?

Query: I know you know!

Nick: what do I know???

Query: the f word!!

Nick, startled: farmer’s market?

(Query’s the only one in his family who’s not from a peice of children’s media lol TvT)

_______________________

Query: a guy called Bee a cvnt and said I was better so I yelled at him

Query (about bee and ozzy): if anyone breaks these sweet little boy’s hearts, I’ll break their heart!

Bee: I want pizza.

Ozzy: you’re literally eating pizza.

@just-some-guy-at-shiz

[macwantspeace]

I don't see it mentioned here: they had one guy in the tower manning two stations. One for pop-up traffic like the helicopter, one for commercial flights on the fixed lanes. I heard that the commercial flight was asked to scoot over for another runway. They give you a road, you take the road. Tower queried chopper on view of airplane, no response. Dafuq are they doing up here in the road? This is not a Pete Buttigieg error becuz "he's gay".

Trump is a scumbag

@russalex @angreav @iamthebadwolf85  @catedevalois @maneth985   @ogtumble @amatasera @fuckdumblr  @ladyoftheteaandblood @sirrah22 @iris-collects @larouau12 @ughseriously @usearki @ladytuarach @glendathegoodone @cricketcat9 @aregrettablehullabaloo @micaleann @toasty-hancock @hellcatblues  @middleagedandoutoftouch @sabbykatt3 @cursethedarkness @gretchenk0720  @aliceliddellsmirror @inkededucatednnerdy @notpedeka @photoboybg69  @contemplatingoutlander @nildespirandum @izhunny @ladytigrane @wolfsmom1 @phoenix-maat @writernotwaiting  @glitterypeanutmugnickel  @captain-krazy @bitchycatwizard @paulfe  @mishlady @dorcascristyforever @beerboy100 @ultimatenutshackfangirl  @lokilickedme @bakufuhakutaku  @a-sundry-bag @prettyhatemachine01 @texmexdarling @oshea52   @evieplease @queen-of-cats  @jimbr549  @ladygreytea76 @posttexasstressdisorder @azusalover

[illuminatedquill]

Story Summary: After Kanan's death, Ezra enlists Chopper’s help in recording a special message for Sabine.

[RECORDING START]

[QUERY: ANNOYED: ARE YOU READY?]

. . . Yeah, I think so. Wait. How do I look? Do I have any marks on me? I should use the refresher, I think -

[RESPONSE: SARCASTIC: MY BATTERY WILL RUN OUT OF CHARGE BEFORE WE START, IDIOT.]

Hilarious, Chop. I know for a fact that Hera installed you with those new ZXL-90 batteries. The ones that store a charge through kinetic movement, right? I bet you can keep complaining for the rest of our lives without needing a recharge since you love running that motor mouth of yours.

[RESPONSE: SERIOUS: YOU ARE STALLING.]

[OBSERVATION: SUBJECT-6, ANXIETY RIDDEN. EYES DOWNCAST, FINGERS FIDGETING THROUGH HAIR]

Okay, yeah. I am. I don't really know what to say here. So much has happened - and there's so much more to come.

(pause)

Kanan would know what to say. What to do. He wouldn't be scared - well, no, he would be. But he wouldn't let it get the better of him.

[NOTE: SUBJECT-6 MIMICS SUBJECT-1'S (DECEASED) MODE OF SPEECH HERE]

'It's not being above the fear, kid. It's about not letting it be in the pilot's seat.'

. . . I miss him so much, Chopper. It hasn't been long since . . . well. Do you miss him, too?

[RESPONSE: GENTLE: HE IS NOT GONE FOR ME. I HAVE A RECORD OF EVERY CONVERSATION AND INTERACTION WE HAD STORED IN MY MEMORY BANK.]

That must be nice. I can't even remember the last conversation we had.

[STATEMENT: SINCERE: IF YOU EVER WISH TO, I CAN REPLAY SOME OF MY MEMORIES OF HIM FOR YOU.]

Oh, that's . . . that's really sweet of you, Chopper. I'll have to take you up on that offer some day. But I think Hera needs you more than I do. Especially in the days to come.

[QUERY: WHAT DO YOU MEAN?]

[OBSERVATION: CONCERNED: SUBJECT-6 IS SMILING, BUT THERE IS A NOTE OF UNKNOWN EMOTION - MELANCHOLY(?) - PRESENT]

It's not important at the moment. Are you recording?

[RESPONSE: YES.]

Okay. Here goes -

(deep breath)

Hey, Sabine. If you're seeing this, then my plan worked and . . . well, I'm probably not there anymore. I might be dead, in fact.

(winces)

Edit that out. Actually, stop recording for a moment.

[COMPLAINT: WE JUST STARTED.]

Just stop, please. I need to gather my notes.

[RESPONSE: SURLY: AS YOU WISH.] [NOTATION: RECORDING CONTINUING UN-PAUSED; SUBJECT-6 IN CLEAR EMOTIONAL DISTRESS. WILL KEEP ON FILE FOR LATER FOR REVIEW WITH SUBJECT-5.]

(indistinct muttering)

How do I say this . . . how.

'Hey, Sabine. Sorry for disappearing on you and, by the way, I have a small favor to ask: can you protect Lothal while I'm gone? And maybe can you come find me, even though I don't know where I'm going?' Sure, yeah. She'll be super fine about all of that, Ezra. No big deal.

(more unintelligible muttering)

I can't say that. No way. It's too much. This was a mistake; I don't want to do any of this!

[QUERY: CONCERNED: WHAT ARE YOU TRYING TO SAY?]

Everyone's looking to me now, Chopper. Everyone. Because Kanan's gone. I still had so much to learn from him - look at me, I'm not ready for this! I've been living in this safe little bubble with everyone from the Ghost and now that bubble is gone! Governor Pryce killed Kanan and now I'm all that's left.

(heavy breathing)

He changed things with his - his passing. Kanan did. I don't know how, but the Force is telling me, whispering to me that the time is coming soon. Lothal's fate rests with me now, I can feel it and I - and I don't feel worthy of it. I cannot bear it. It's too heavy.

(bitter laughter)

The boy savior. Do you know how long I have dreamed of freeing my home from the Empire? And now that moment has come and I'm too scared. I've never felt more like some just dumb street-rat than at this precise moment. Kanan picked the wrong kid to train - OW!

[NOTATION: PHYSICAL VIOLENCE (ELECTRIC PROBE) WAS USED TO CORRECT SUBJECT-6'S MISTAKEN STATEMENTS. PROVED SUCCESSFUL.]

Ow - what are you - ouch, that hurts!

Stop that! Chopper!

[STATEMENT: TERSE: I WILL STOP WHEN YOU CEASE YOUR STUPIDITY.]

Alright, alright! I'll stop.

[RESPONSE: GRUMPY: GOOD.]

I think you enjoyed that a little.

[STATEMENT: CHEERFUL: OF COURSE NOT. I ENJOYED THAT A LOT.]

(snorts) I figured.

. . . I'm a mess, aren't I.

[STATEMENT: POINTED: MORE SO THAN USUAL, YES.]

Yeah. Oh, if Kanan could see me now.

(pause)

Okay. Okay. I need to do this. Let me read my notes again, so I can get this right -

[STATEMENT: INTERJECTION: IGNORE THE NOTES. SAY WHAT YOU WANT TO SAY.]

I'll get it wrong, Chopper, I have so much to say to Sabine. I have to get it right. For her.

[STATEMENT: REASSURING: SHE WILL UNDERSTAND. DO NOT LET YOUR HEAD CONFUSE YOUR HEART. THAT IS WHAT SHE WILL HEAR IN WHATEVER YOU HAVE TO SAY.]

No. Absolutely not. I have the notes for a reason, Chop. How am I supposed to convey to her - my best friend, my partner, my - my -

(pause)

Look, she's - she's everything to me. Like how Hera was to Kanan, do you understand? I can't imagine my life without her. These past five years have passed so quickly, but every day spent by Sabine's side it was - it was magical. Five years is - what? - around 1800 days, if you're counting it in regular standard time. Most of those days were spent with her and everyone else on the Ghost. Best days of my life.

I'm not even a full adult yet in terms of physical years but . . . I guess you could call that period of time my 'good old days'. Heh.

The Force is this cosmic phenomenon that I can tap into, mysterious and unknowable, but her? As a Jedi I shouldn't be saying this, but I believe in her more than I do the Force. She's the only one I can trust with . . . everything.

[QUERY: CURIOUS: WHY ARE YOU MAKING THIS MESSAGE?]

. . . To say good-bye, I guess. And hello. If that makes sense.

Sabine, given her personal history, will be hurt the most from my absence. I know that for sure. I want her to know that - that I tried. I really did, to find any other way. But this is how it has to be.

A message like this is real. She can see me. Hear me. I'd write a letter too, but I don't think there's enough paper on hand to fully encapsulate how I feel about her.

So, I have to do this instead. Make a message, just for her. I do not want her wondering . . . about us. Where she stands with me.

(sighs)

Open secret that I had a huge crush on her when I first came aboard. She ignored that, thankfully.

[QUERY: SURPRISE: YOU HAD A CRUSH ON SABINE?]

You didn't know? I thought everyone -

[RESPONSE: MOCKING: THAT WAS A JOKE. EVEN A DROID LIKE ME FIGURED THAT OUT.]

Oh, ha, very funny. You pretend to be heartless, but I know you care. Hera wouldn't let you hang around after so long if you didn't.

Anyway, I thought I had it successfully buried after so long. There were bigger problems than some teenage crush, right? The Empire breathing down our necks, trying to outrun the Inquisitors, then Malachor, Mandalore, and then back to Lothal . . . I thought I had outgrown it.

(bitter-sweet smile)

But it turns out that it was still growing inside me. Went from a crush to something more. I love her. Nothing could shake it, not even what was revealed on Mandalore. I just wanted to be with her, through whatever the galaxy threw at us.

I love her, Chopper. I love Sabine Wren. She's in my veins, pumping through my arteries, giving me life. Giving me strength.

. . . You stopped recording, right? I don't want any of this in the message.

[STATEMENT: LIE: YES.]

(snorts)

Yeah, right.

Kanan and I talked a little about Jedi attachments a while back. I know how he and Hera handled it. I had hoped - no, I still hope that someday, me and Sabine will be able to give it a try.

(laughs)

If she'd have me, that is. Sometimes I catch her looking at me, smiling, and I think I get a sense of something . . . I don't know how to describe it, something deeper - and then she makes some glib remark or insult and it's gone again. I might just be delusional, though. Too many hits on my head through the years of combat against the Imps.

[STATEMENT: OBSERVATION: I CATCH YOU LOOKING AT HER, TOO.]

Oh, really? And how do I look? What's my expression like, I wonder.

[STATEMENT: THOUGHTFUL: STAR-STRUCK.]

. . . Yeah, that sounds about right. Looking at her - with these feelings I'm so desperate to hide, it's so hard sometimes. If I had to describe it - it's like trying to count a flock of birds against the sun.

Can't do it, right? It's too bright.

(quietly) Too bright. She's too bright to look at for so long. But I want to try anyway, like the sap I am. I guess I'm hoping that the image of her will be burned into my eyes. If my plan works, the chances of survivability are extremely low, you know.

I'd like her to be the last thing I see when I close my eyes for the last time, if the worst happens. Some people want stars, or forests, or a blue sky for a last image. Not me.

I just want her.

[QUERY: SOFT: IS THERE ANYTHING ELSE YOU WANT TO SAY?]

I love everything about her. Equally. Good, bad, ugly - or whatever she thinks is ugly about her. I certainly don't think there is. It's all Sabine, after all. And I love Sabine. So how could it any of it be bad?

The war won't stop because Thrawn is out of the picture. And it will be harder without me. And it guts me to think that I can't be by her side after this is all said and finished.

She has to do it. I have faith in Sabine that she will get it done. I'm counting on her, and I know she will not let me down.

I . . . all I can say is that I'm sorry. And I love you.

The only way out from all the grief and misery to come is to just get through it. She's the strongest person I know.

The only way out is through.

. . . And I know you've been recording all this time despite me saying to stop. So, we'll end this here. I'll just have Hera delete this memory file later after I do the real message.

[QUERY: SURPRISED: WHY DO YOU NOT WISH FOR SABINE TO HEAR THIS?]

Maybe I want to tell her myself when I see her again.

Or maybe I don't want her to be burdened with any of this. She has enough on her plate because of me.

(sighs)

I'll have to lie. Sorry, Sabine. If it really is the end . . . I don't want her to be hung up on me. There needs to be a chance to live her life. Even without me. Especially without me.

[STATEMENT: HONEST: TRUTH OR LIE, IT DOES NOT MATTER; SHE WILL COME AFTER YOU. WHEREVER YOU GO.]

(smiles sadly)

But the lie will hurt less, I think. Just this one time. To protect her.

Anyway, thanks for the help Chopper. Sorry for the sudden shut-down, I'll make it up to you later -

[RECORDING HALTED]

[NOTATION: BACKUP MEMORY FILE CREATED.]

_ _ _ _ _

The comm-tower's interior was deathly silent.

Sabine sat in her chair, staring at Chopper in shock. Her hands were shaking, badly.

"Why - why did you show me this?" she asked, feeling sick.

The astromech replayed a part of the conversation - Ezra, from long ago, struggling to leave her a good-bye message.

"The only way out is through."

The shaking stopped. Her hands, cold and clammy, balled into fists.

"I tried that. For three years," she hissed. "And he still won't leave me. He's still in my veins, making everything hurt."

The astromech just played Ezra's voice again.

"The only way out is through."

She stood up abruptly. "Get out," she snarled. "I don't want to hear this anymore."

Chopper let out a sigh, swiveling around to head for the comm-tower's turbolift to exit. But then he paused at the doorway and started playing another voice - only this time, it was Hera's.

"Hey, Sabine. I know I'm the last person you want to hear after everything that happened - but I found this voice file on Chop's back-up memory banks. Thought you might want to hear it."

Sabine bowed her head, feeling the guilt, anger, and shame weigh down on her shoulders like an invisible weight.

"I know you feel alone right now. I know that you feel like you've lost faith with everything you cared about - and it's because of me, partially. And Ahsoka. And the New Republic."

There was a strange sound emitting from her now. A sob, a scream, she wasn't sure - it was half-strangled in her throat, close to becoming a deathly wail.

"Just know this," Hera continued. "Someone still believes in you. If you lose faith in everything else, don't lose faith in him."

There was a pause. Then -

"And don't lose faith in yourself. Ezra never would. And . . . and happy birthday, Sabine."

Chopper left. The moment the turbo-lift doors closed, she crumpled to the ground, arms folding across her stomach; it felt like everything vital within her was threatening to spill out.

"It didn't hurt less, idiot," she said through gritted teeth. "You lied. You lied!"

After so long, incredibly, Sabine found her fire. Her will to go on.

And it was because she was pissed at Ezra Bridger.

"I'll find you," she whispered, shaking, rising in the gloom of the comm-tower's dark interior. Outside, the Lothal sun was rising on a new day.

Sabine stumbled outside to the railing, feeling the rays of sunlight hit her face. She felt energized, alive, in a way that had long been absent from her life for a long, long while.

Somewhere, a flock of birds were flying against the sun, making for their nesting grounds. Were there birds, wherever he was? Was he still trying to count them?

It didn't matter, she thought. When Sabine found him again - and she would - she would make sure that he saw her for real.

[kingpinchoppers]

Which Motorcycle is Ideal for Purchase? How to Take the Call?

Motorcycle of any reputable brand does not come cheap. It will always be an expensive expenditure. Hence, you need to be careful and do thorough research work before you go ahead and make the purchase. Are you interested in custom motorcycles Brisbane? If yes then you need to have a detailed discussion with the dealer regarding how you would like the motorcycle to be customised. Have you decided how you would like to customise it? Don’t meet the dealer unless you are sure about what you want. Otherwise, how do you plan to explain the same to the experts? Both of you need to be on the same page. In case, what you want is not possible to carry out or doing so will go beyond your budget, then the experts will let you know. It is up to you as to what you would like to do.

You can also check out the chopper motorcycles for sale. Most of the dealers have an extensive collection on display. It may happen that you like one such motorcycle and there is no need to customise it. Unless you check the options available, how can you be sure what you want? Check all possible solutions, compare all the pros and cons and then decide what to do. Whatever queries you have, you should always get your doubts cleared so that when you are making the purchase there are no confusions of any kind. What do you think? Let us know in the comments section.

[proxnotxaxfool]

nodding his head at glenn's question about him piloting the chopper, reno justified it as the easiest option; he was trusted beyond reapproach. he was one of the company's best pilots too - if he said the chopper went down, there'd be no queries regarding the truth.

and what choice had the turk when the chopper went down and the recruits perished? it wasn't feasible to bury them - it'd take too long, and couple that with a large area of disturbed dirt, people might get curious and take it upon themselves to dig.

fire destroyed evidence and it would erase any traces of the recruits - he'd explain that he'd chosen the quickest and most thorough option considering he'd had a dozen dead kids and the risk their deaths had posed to the company. throw in one of those kids being his own younger brother and no one in the company would query his choices and motives.

' if i say it went down and they died - they'll believe me.'

this still stank to high hell and he didn't like having to find a common ground with lodbrok, but loqi had forced his hand. he didn't like lying to tseng or going behind his comrades backs, but if it meant he got loqi out of hojo's clutches, well then it was just a bitter pill he'd have to swallow.

' he ain't gonna comply, ' reno stated flatly, back teeth grinding together as he recalled his last conversation with loqi - little shit had really fucked up his plans.

' i tried to talk sense into him already - even shared some truths ... turns out the little fucker's as stubborn as me. do whatever you need to get him out, simple as that - if he stays there, he's dead man walkin'. '

Glenn nodded.

Training mission. A night out as a treat. He could make something up that would fly under the radar for now. And he had someone who would sign that off just as easily. Even if they knew what kind of purpose it served... to cause chaos. That would be no issue... more so, it would be what this person preferred probably.

"I have all their names already.", he claimed then, producing a piece of paper from his coat. Keeping tabs on the newest recruits was something that had grown onto him. he needed to know. he needed to see whom he could save. Especially since he had some of them becoming so close and dear to him. Like Kunsel.

Holding the paper out to Reno, Glenn mustered the Turk. This was a fickle peace. He knew that. Turks were loyal to Shinra forever. Glenn had no delusions about saving one of them, like eh did with the SOLDIERs.

"Will you be operating the chopper? Or do you want to not be involved at all or stay back at HQ?"

There were more important questions, too. Pressing ones.

"And what do you want me to do with your brother specifically, if he doesn't comply?"

[eirist]

Little Bits and Pieces of Heaven

TRICK OR TREAT?

One-shot #: 22

Disclaimer: One Piece (and its characters) belongs to Eiichiro Oda-sensei.

Reminder: I have no beta-reader. Any grammatical and spelling errors are solely mine.

Warning: OOC possible. One shot.

Rating: T (Playful, sexy, suggestive)

Note: Happy Halloween! What is this day if we don’t have a ZoNa one-shot centered on this theme right? This is Prompt #9 – Trick or Treat from the Autumn/Fall (and Halloween!) Prompt List.

Summary: Because when are treats just sweets?

“AHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!”

Laughter filled the air, its tone howling and mocking—obviously at the expense of one poor soul unluckily enough to be the cause of it.

“Shut. Up.”

That comment prompted another round of laughter. Louder, more jeering.

“What in the—hahaha!—world… ha-happened to y-you?” Usopp stammered the question, gasping for air as he tried to get some words out while still laughing.

“I said. Shut. Up!” Zoro snarled towards his direction.

Sanji’s grin was pure evil as he peered down from the galley deck, laughing as well. “Say what now?” He teased. “Kindly… uh… growl that again for us?”

“HAHAHAHAHAHAH!” Usopp did not hold back this time. He had actually fallen down to his knees on the grassy deck, laughing still and clutching his middle at the same time.

“Guys…” Nami was trying hard—very hard—to hold back her own laughter at the sight before her. Her lower lip trembled at the effort and she bit at it, hoping to gain some control.

“But Nami-san…!” Sanji wasn’t able to continue what he was saying. He exploded into laughter again while pointing at the three figures standing in the middle of the Sunny’s deck.

Their three crewmates had just returned to the ship after frolicking in the island where they are docked. It would’ve been a normal occurrence… if not for the fact that the three are wearing costumes.

Animal costumes.

Animal jumpsuit costumes.

Nami covered her mouth with her hand to prevent the snort of  laughter that threatened to come out of her as she stared at Luffy, Chopper and…

… dear Kami, Zoro.

Her eyes met his and her shoulders shook from hindering her laugh. His glare was scathing, venomous even.

And she wisely kept her mouth shut lest she incur his wrath.

She actually doesn’t want to get into his bad side tonight.

Not when he is in that tiger costume looking like he was gonna maul everyone to death any minute now.

Nami managed to take a deep breath and compose herself. Yet, she cannot prevent a grin from appearing on her face as she asked. “Are you gonna tell us what’s up? And what’s with the outfits?”

Usopp and Sanji were laughing again, slapping their hands against the lawn deck and the banister respectively.

Franky walked past them on his way to the dock system. And he did a double take. A minute passed before he said, "Aw! Nice costume Zoro!" He gave him a thumbs up before disappearing down the hatch.

If looks could only kill, the cyborg will be dead on the spot… right after that comment.

Zoro’s lone eye narrowed at the two. “You two done now?” He looked unamused; arms folded over his chest as he waited for his idiot crew mates to calm down.

Which honestly looks like it’s gonna take some time.

“No, not yet!” Usopp was still cackling. “This is gold.” He was now sitting down the lawn deck, trying to catch his breath. “Haaah! I’m laughing so hard I think my stomach muscles are cramping.”

“What in the world made you wear that marimo?” Sanji was now heading down the stairs, shaking his head, the snide grin never leaving his face.

Zoro didn’t answer, instead he pinned the blond with the deadliest glare he could muster.

Which is definitely not working since what he was currently wearing undermines the intensity of the look he was giving the chef.

“I asked him to…” Chopper suddenly said in shy, little voice that had most of the Mugiwaras halting. Usopp choked in the middle of his laughter, ending in a coughing fit as he tried to get some air into his lungs.

The others exchanged glances. Everyone has a weak spot for the reindeer after all.

“Actually, me and Luffy kinda forced him.” Chopper admitted, looking up at Zoro who was still glaring at the cook.

Ah. Everyone had the same thought instantly. The reindeer and the captain, huh? The two persons on the ship that the swordsman can hardly ever say no to.

“Well,” Sanji squared his shoulder. “Good job choosing the costume then.”

An expletive escaped Zoro’s mouth.

The cook’s face lit up at that as he reached the deck, standing beside the still crouching Usopp. “Louder will ya?” He smirked. “Aren’t tigers supposed to be capable of growling loudly?”

“I will bite you in half shitty cook!”

“Whoa! I see we are really getting into character now. Whatever happened to using your katanas?”

“Temee…”

“Sanji-kun!” Nami suddenly stepped in front of Zoro with one hand pushing at the taller man’s face. “Stop riling the tiger up!”

“Grrr… you’re next witch!” Zoro scowled underneath her palm, before slapping it away with his own hand… or paw to be exact.

“I think we look awesome!” Luffy shouted excitedly. “Chopper and I really got lots of candies and goodies!” He showed them the pumpkin pails he was holding, overflowing with different treats.

“Yes!” Chopper’s eyes are brimming with delight. “And Zoro gave us his share as well!!!” He also showed them his goodies.

“Don’t need ‘em,” Zoro muttered curtly, still trying to swat Nami’s hand away.

“Oh?” Sanji leaned down to inspect their pails. “Looks like the tiger’s kind of a softie.”

Now that had Zoro roaring and lunging at the blond. “Come here shit cook!”

Nami thwarted his effort with a hand on his chest and the other scratching one fluffy ear of the costume’s hoodie.

“There, there tiger,” she cooed. “Calm down.”

“Stop it witch!” He glowered at her. But it turned to a smirk when Sanji whined a ‘Nami-san, pet me too!’.

“Aho…” he drawled and it was Sanji’s turn to get riled up.

“GET AWAY FROM NAMI-SAN YOU DUMBASS!!!”

Robin came out of the aquarium bar and approached the group. She had heard the commotion but refrained from leaving her location. She was engrossed with the book that she was reading and had used her hana hana no mi to find out what’s going on.

“Ara…” she said gaining everyone’s attention. “Did you three have fun?”

“Robin-chwaan!” Sanji was immediately distracted by his other female crewmate. “I hope we didn’t disturb you my lady.” He was instantly suave and gentlemanly and was kneeling down on knee, holding the older woman’s hand in his.

“Not at all,” she smiled. “How was your trip in the town?” She directed the question to the three costumed Mugiwaras. Not once did her calm, composed demeanor break… even at the sight of their intimidating swordsman donning on an animal jumpsuit.

“It was so much fun!” Chopper gushed showing her the pumpkin pails. “Look at all the candy I got Robin!”

“Me too! Me too!” Luffy flaunted his as well.

“Looks like it was an amazing trip then,” Robin smiled.

Luffy nodded. “Yep it was awesome! They have something going on there where. You knock on doors and say trick or treat!”

“Then they will give you candies! Lots and lots of candies!” Chopper explained giddily.

“But you have to be in a costume first! And Zoro said we can’t go knocking on houses dressed in the usual!” The rubberman added.

Behind them Zoro was rolling his eyes in exasperation.

“Pretty good call,” Brook suddenly appeared and sauntered towards them with a tea cup in hand, nodding at Zoro. “We are in a civilian territory and some might recognize your faces from the posters Luffy-san.”

“I’m surprised you don’t find this funny.” Usopp pointed at the three, raising an eyebrow at the skeleton.

“Ah I did… I already laughed my eyes out before I went here, yohohohoh! Even if I—”

“—don’t have eyes to see.” Usopp deadpanned with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Yeah, yeah.”

“That is not very nice Usopp-san!” Brook retorted when his skull joke was foiled.

“Hmmm…” Nami suddenly hummed. “I see… since Zoro is the delegated baby-sitter of you two for the night…hence the costume.” She smiled cheekily at him before scratching his tiger ear again and he gave her a sharp look.

Luffy nodded. “You said he should come with us! And I’m not gonna go back here empty-handed. Everyone is giving away treats and candies in town!” Then he frowned. “But there’s no meat though…”

Robin laughed softly. “Well, the island’s tradition is to give out sweets to those who are trick or treating. That’s why there are no meats or other foods.”

“Or beer.” Zoro complained as Nami flicked Zoro’s nose playfully.

He glared angrily at her.

“So who picked the animal costumes?” The navigator asked, curious why Zoro ended up looking like this.

“Us!!!” Luffy and Chopper raised their hands.

“I wanted to be the monkey!” Luffy pumped his hands into the air. “Because…”

“Monkey D. Luffy?” Sanji cut in, blowing a stream of smoke nonchalantly.

“Right!”

“Figures.”

“And Chopper-san’s supposed to be a…?” Brook queried.

“Tanuki,” Zoro answered, his lone grey eye still looking daggers on Nami.

“Isn’t that a bit redundant?” Usopp raised an eyebrow at Chopper.

“It’s not a raccoon-dog! It’s a raccoon Zoro!” The doctor corrected him.

“Right. Sorry.”

“So you’re a….” the sniper prompted. He still cannot make up his mind between raccoon, raccoon-dog or a reindeer in a reindeer costume.

“Raccoon! This costume is a raccoon!”

“Honestly, I’m confused,” the sharpshooter admitted, blinking at the others doubtfully.

“Usopp you asshole!” Chopper screamed in indignation.

“Hahaha! Just kidding,” Usopp backtracked. “Of course the great god Usopp knows what you are already!”

“Which is?” Nami queried, looking at him unconvincingly.

Usopp coughed and ignored her. “And how did Zoro ended up as a tiger?”

“It was the only available one,” the swordsman grunted.

“Why didn’t you just covered him with anything green and let him come as his marimo self?” Sanji inquired, that shit-eating grin he has on his face never waning.

“I will kill you aho cook.”

“Oh!” Sanji trembled mockingly. “Whatcha gonna do hit me with your paw?”

They were about to lunge at each other when Nami raised both of her hands to stop them.

“That is enough!” Nami then stood on tiptoes and reached out to pinched ears of the tiger costume. ��Let’s all just agree that as much as it is funny, they look absolutely cute.

Sanji looked shocked and whimpered, “Nami-san!”

“I am not cute woman! Get off!” Zoro groused as he tried to pull Nami’s hands away. It required some effort to be honest as the jumpsuit he was wearing ended up with paws for the hands.

Robin let out a soft giggle. “For what it’s worth… I honestly think it is cute Zoro.” She offered her two cent’s worth, her smile ever polite. “And sweet,” she added as well as her gaze hovered over Chopper and Luffy affectionately, knowing that the swordsman did it for the two.

“It is,” Nami agreed, breaking into a grin. “Especially that drawn nose and whiskers.” She tapped Zoro’s nose and it had him growling at her. This time she laughed… out loud. He’s kinda getting into that tiger persona quite effortlessly.

Though she maybe laughing at green-haired man’s expense yet that doesn’t mean she didn’t find his current look… enticing. And yes, cute.

Absolutely cute.

She could just eat him right here. Right now.

Zoro snorted even as his face turned red at their comments. Chopper then explained that the store owner where they got the costumes from had offered to draw on Luffy and Zoro’s faces.

“It is cute, ne Robin?” Luffy aimed the question at the older woman, smiling brightly.

Robin’s eyes crinkled as she smiled. “It is senchou.”  

“Hey! Why don’t we all go and trick or treat some more?” Luffy suggested. “I’m pretty sure there are houses we still haven’t visited…”

“Yes!” Chopper pumped his hooves up in the air. “More candies!”

“Sanji you should go with us as well! We’ll find you a costume like what we have!” Luffy grabbed the cook’s hands much to his chagrin.

“What? NO!”

“Good maybe there’s an ero-kappa costume where we got this. That’ll suit him.” Zoro suggested, smirking at the thought that the stupid chef will end up in a stupid costume just like him.

If it wasn’t for Luffy and Chopper… this would not have taken place. Damn it!

“You asshole!” Sanji shouted as the same notion dawned into him.

“I’m done.” Zoro then announced with a huff. “It’s your turn to babysit them now. I’m gonna go nap. Chopper, you can drag Usopp as well this time for another round of trick or treating.”

“Alright.” The reindeer beamed at him. “Zoro thank you for tonight!”

That pulled the corner of the grumpy tiger’s lips up before he headed towards the sleeping quarters.

“Not another word witch.” He muttered as he passed by a still grinning Nami.

“I didn’t say anything,” Nami retorted as she watched him head towards the men’s room.

“So,” Robin caught everyone’s attention at that. “Shall we head back to town, get some costumes and enjoy some trick or treating ourselves?”

A chorus of yes answered her.

-------------------------

A soft knock on the door woke Zoro up.

He opened his eye at the sound. The men’s quarter was dark and the ship silent. 

The others are still probably trick or treating in the island.

Sitting up he realized that must’ve fallen asleep on the sofa in the middle of the room instead of his bunk bed.

Another knock sounded. And he sleepily stood up, groaning when he realized he still hadn’t gotten out of the stupid tiger costume he was wearing.

Running a paw over his head (in an attempt to run his fingers through his hair) he approached the door and opened it.

He was met with a Cheshire cat-like smile on a cat burglar’s face—who was wearing a sexy, black cat costume.

A far cry from the conservative jumpsuit he and the others had on.

She was clad in a one piece black suit so tight it was hugging her curves. The front was zip only halfway up, displaying her ample cleavage. Black stockings and heels made up the lower part of her attire and cute cat ears headband completed her feline ensemble.

Trust Nami to find some way to don a costume that’ll flaunt all her generous assets.

"Trick or treat?"

She inquired as she smirked at him.

"Tch!"

And she chortled as his reaction, plus at the fact that he still hadn’t taken his tiger costume off. She took a step inside, her black high heels made a clicking sound against the wooden floor, the tail of her one piece suit swaying at her movement in time with her orange curls.

"So trick or treat?" She repeated when Zoro didn’t make another sound and instead was scrutinizing her up and down.

Zoro snorted as he followed her. Her hand reached out and grabbed the front of his jumpsuit, pulling him closer to her. Licking her thumb, she reached out to try to erase the drawn tiger’s nose on his own, as well as the whiskers on his face.

“None,” he finally answered as she rubbed her finger on his face.

Nami laughed. What a grouch. She stood on tiptoes and kissed his cheek. His arms automatically encircled her waist.

“Wrong answer,” she whispered cattily.

“I don’t have any treats here. Luffy and Chopper has them.”

“Wrong again,” she kissed him on the jaw, tugging back the hood of his costume so she can ran her fingers through his hair.

His lips quirked up as she placed light, nipping kisses on his lips… her teasing smile never leaving her face.

She tugged at the front zipper of his costume down and watched fascinated as the toned muscles underneath it were slowly exposed. 

"See Zoro…” she said, savoring the sight before as her eyes and hands trailed down his body. She pushed the garment off his shoulders. “Here’s my treat." She declared licking her lips naughtily.

[mugiwara-rosewolf]

Hiiii💚hope ur have a good day/night if it not to much to ask can i have Zoro with a female reader who to shy to confess her feeling for him. You could end it anyway u want 💚

Hello Anon! I loved the concept you sent me, but it turned out a *little* different than I anticipated. If this isn’t what you were hoping for, feel free to Bop me in the DM’s and I’ll try again. Hope you enjoy!

Timid Confession

Zoro x Shy!Reader

6 Romantic Do’s and Don’ts--Swordsman Edition

(Warning: mild cursing. Stupid pirates.)

There comes a time, when every soul on Earth must be open and unbearably honest with another. A time when you must expose yourself. A time where you must open the ribcage of your chest to reveal the butterflies in your stomach, the fluttering of your heartbeat, and the way your breath hitches when a certain silhouette walks by. There comes a time when you have no choice but to lay your life--mind, body and soul--on the line and take a risk. In theory, this is something you know quite well. As a warrior of the Straw hat crew, this willingness to put everything at risk for your dreams is an everyday reality. But what about when that risk is a person? Surely the basic gist is still the same...right?

Wrong. Johnny and Yosaku used to laugh about this a lot--to your face--about how you are an absolute disaster outside of battle. The stoic, competent warrior shown on your bounty poster would vaporize as soon as you sheath your sword. Otherwise, you were a bashful, stumbling mess. And once a certain moss-haired hunter joined the crew...you were finished. With the flash of his sword, he caught your attention. With his wicked-sharp slit of a smile, he punctured the deepest parts of you. Your fate was sealed. Roronoa Zoro would be the death of you. 

Everyone seemed to know what this strange phenomenon was, but to you, it was a goddamned mystery. It was a miracle that you were ever able to speak more than a dozen words to him on any given day. When your paths diverged for the first time, it was almost a relief. But from then on, there was always a gap in your plans. An empty bunk on your ship that used to be filled with snores at the most random hours. Your chest always ached at the memory. 

It was in that space of absence that you realized--you loved him. The thought alone was enough to turn your whole world turned topsy-turvy. Then the Baratie happened. Then Mihawk, then Arlong and then--this peculiar straw-hat pirate, this boy that Zoro had sworn his fealty to--invites you along on his grand adventure. After all the things you’d seen and done, seeing the anticipation glistening in Roronoa’s eyes...how could you say no?

Life since then has been the wildest ride you could ever dream of. Marines, mercenaries, Giant whales and dinosaurs--it’s like something out of a fairy tale. And during all that time, one thing hasn’t changed. Zoro. Your heart pounds in your chest when you hear his footfalls approaching. Butterflies swim up to your throat every time you hear his voice. butterflies in your stomach. Your breath hitches, just from the way he looks at you. There were so many nights, hunkered down with Johnny and Yosaku in some tavern somewhere, where you wondered what you would say to him. To Zoro, if your paths ever crossed again. 

Now here you are, reunited, chasing your dreams together. And yet you still can’t speak, let alone freaking breath in his presence. It was a nightmare. Stuttering every line, palms sweating, knees trembling, face catching fire--every possible symptom under the sun now seemed to increase ten-fold. How the heck were you supposed to genuinely bond with the man you loved when you could barely talk?

Nami was the first to catch on. Of course, she was. Her suggestion was to trick him into confessing his feelings for you. The moment she said the words you just stared at her. You swore right then and there this lady was crazy. Like, ‘dingo ate my baby’ crazy. There was no way in any of the Blues that Zoro had feelings for you. How could he? Every interaction was stilted and awkward. The only reason you two fought well together was that you’d done it before. God, how you’d missed it, in the time he’d been away. You quickly shook yourself free of the thought.

 “Z-Zoro doesn’t work like that,” you’d told her. “Anything underhanded is either--is either gonna fly over his head or piss him off. I-I can’t, I can’t do that…” 

The second time was Chopper’s idea. He hadn’t meant to overhear, but his curious little ears were very sensitive and… “well, I want to help you and Zoro”. 

Which--okay. Zoro and Chopper adore each other. The swordsman is always co concerned and gentle with the young doctor. But he never belittles your resident reindeer for his age or size. That was something you already admired about the elder swordsman. He maintained gratifying respect for everyone in the crew--even Sanji. Nevertheless. You found it very endearing that Copper wanted to help you confess your feelings. As you soon discovered, however...that sweet, innocent winter reindeer had no clue about human romance whatsoever. 

“Well, that was a waste-a--” 

“Wonderful lesson in reindeer culture!” You interjected. Cutting off the cat burglar before she could finish her sentence. “But, uh, m-maybe there are other ways I can go about...er, ya know.”

And so, Nami called in reinforcements. Usopp the Liar. The long-nosed sniper was dragged into the room by his ear. Nami recounted the situation as I hid my face in my hands. His eyes practically sparkled with excitement.

 “Ooh! Okay! I have a great idea! How about I go up to Zoro and start bragging about you, ya know, all the awesome adventures you went on before you saw each other again. Then he’d know just how awesome you are and he’d have to ask you out. I mean, he’s already in lo--” 

“L-loudly snoring in the galley, I’m sure,” you excused quickly, shaking your head. “But if you interrupt his nap, all he’s gonna do is skin you alive.” Ussop visibly paled at the matter-of-fact statement. “I don’t--I don’t want anyone else getting hurt on my behalf so let’s just--I’ll figure something else out.”

Leaving the little pow-wow below decks, you bump into none other than your beloved’s worst enemy--Sanji, the ‘Ero-Cook’. “Ah, Y/N!” He cried in jubilation.

“Sanji!” You squeaked out. Your sudden alarm gave him pause.

“You look distressed, mademoiselle,” The observation alone was enough to turn his expression into a stormcloud incarnate. “If that damned Marimo broke your heart, I swear--”

“N-n-n-n-no!” You hurried to reassure him, waving your hand before Sanji could start kicking anything. “That’s not it at all! I mean, we were talking about--but he didn’t--I mean, he wasn’t even--” after so many fumbles you eventually just gave up, heaving a heavy sigh. “It’s nothing. I’m just bad at being brave.”

“I don’t believe it,” The cook’s immediate reply has you looking up at him in surprise. You saw him pull a cigarette from the pocket of his suit. “Not in a million years. You are one of the bravest angels sailing the seas, Y/N--whatever it is that scares you, they should be ten times more afraid.”

“You still talking about Zoro?”

“Damn right I am,” Sanji growled, his vitriol for Zoro overpowering his typical decorum. His lighter flickered to life as his eyes met yours. “It’s a gentleman’s job to court a lady, make her feel precious and desired. That brute can’t tell romance from a brick wall.”

“Whatchu talkin’ bout bricks for?” Another voice queried. Both you and Sanji turn. There, at the other end of the hall, is your captain. “Bricks got nothin’ to do with Zoro.”

“L-Luffy,” You stammered. “I thought you were at the figurehead, with Zoro?”

“I was, but then he decided to nap somewhere else. So I came here.” Luffy stated clearly, hands perched proudly on his hips. He looked between you and Sanji again, still curious. “So, why you guys talking about Zoro and bricks?”

“Because that’s how dense he is,” Sanji retorted. “Moss-head can’t tell that our darling Y/N is head-over-heels for his dumbass.” a trail of smoke slithered from between his gritted teeth. 

At the mention of your name, Luffy turned and cocked his head. “But your head is below your heels. Isn’t that how people work?”

“M-most of the time, yes,” Sanji let out a sigh and a low curse. You bit your lip a moment before electing to explain. “But that’s not--what he means is, er, that I....uh, oh how do I explain this? Um. I want to tell Zoro something. But I’m not sure how.”

Your captain stared blankly at you. As if you’d smacked yourself in the face with a plank of wood and he couldn’t sure why. “Why are you so scared?” He asked, point-blank. “Whatever’s the most you thing to do, do it that way. Don’t worry about anything else, Y/N.” 

Both you and Sanji shared a glance. The cook’s narrowed eyes told you he was a little bit sceptical. But he shrugged. He knew better than to question your captain’s logic. You, on the other hand, felt as if the sky had suddenly opened up. The next time you looked back at Luffy, your smile was as bright as the midday sun. “I think...I think you got the right idea, Luffy. I’ll give it a shot!”

Walking past both young men, you found your way to one of Zoro’s favourite napping places. Nami’s orchard. When you find him there, time seems to pause for a moment. The wash of the waves against the ship, the scent of the sun and the salt of the sea. That tang of citrus and those bright spots of colour in the trees--all those things seem hushed now. All you see is that head of mossy green hair and the entrancing rise-and-fall of his breath. You found a rake near Usopp’s garden boxes. It was like you had told the sniper earlier. If you prod a sleeping swordsman, you’ll get skinned alive. That is if you stand within swords-length. 

Blades of grass softly crunch under your shoes as you tip-toe your way to the tree where Zoro is resting. When you’re close enough to reach, you turn the rake over in your hand; electing to poke him with the wooden tip instead of the metal points. If he felt the metal he might mistake it for a weapon and a genuine threat. Goodness knows you and your old bounty-hunting crew had plenty of threats to your sleep over the years. 

One poke. No response. Two pokes. A groan and a slight shift. Then the snoring returns. You poke him three times; poke-poke-poke. He groans and shifts, his brow furrowing at the disturbance. But he still doesn’t open his eyes. You huffed to yourself. You really thought the three-pokes would work. Three was Zoro’s favourite number, after all. Patience fizzling along with your nerve, you finally jab him in the side. 

“Zoro!”

The swordsman jolts awake. He looks up, seeing the broomstick near his shoulder, and traces it to you. “Why are you poking me with a rake?” 

The moment his eyes land on you, all your fizzling patience and brazen nerve seem to vanish into the air. Butterflies surge from your stomach in a tidal wave, suddenly clogging up your throat. Your heartbeat jolts in speed at the sudden onslaught. The rake clatters from your hands as you flounder in embarrassment. “T-to, to avoid being fileted by a grumpy swordsman.”

Zoro huffed. “Put that thing away,” You hurry to do so. It is a vain hope that you might beagle to drain the warm flush from your face by the time you return. All the while, your fellow swordsman scrubs the sleep from his face with one hand. “Why’d you wake me up?” 

“I-I, I wanna talk to you.” You abruptly drop yourself into the grass beside him. Standing above him in this orange grove somehow made you feel weird. If you were gonna have this conversation, you felt you needed to be on the same level.

“Okay, then talk.” 

“Er, okay. So…Zoro, I-I mean I’ve been meaning to tell you that I--” you hesitate. But this time you swallow the lump in your throat, summon your courage--and expose your beating heart. “--I love you.”

Zoro is silent for a long moment. His eyes never waver from where you now sit beside him. Swords propped on his other side, he has his arms wrapped around his knees. Ever since he woke up, his expression hasn’t changed. He just looks at you, plain and straightforward as can be when he says; “Okay.” 

You splutter. The single word response is nearly enough to throw you into conniptions. “Wha-what do you mean just, ‘okay’? I’ve been agonizing over how to tell you how I feel for-for ages! And all you have to say is ‘okay’?!” 

The swordsman snorted. “Like words are the only thing that matters. Your actions speak for you, Y/N. I thought my actions made it clear that I--” 

“...You what?” You blink, watching the spark of a blush rush vividly across the swordsman's’ cheeks. 

“I-I love you, dammit! There. You happy now?” 

The instant those words reached your ears, your smile bloomed like a sunflower. After all the ideas and voices and fears you’d heard today, you could hardly believe it--they were right! After all the years preparing for this moment, you could finally look someone in the eye and speak your truth. “I couldn’t be happier.”

[the-patchwork-girl-of-oz]

Short explanation of my chopper siblings au:

In the original novel, the tin woodman is the only one of Dorothy’s companions who was once as live man of flesh and bone. His name was Nick Chopper.

However, there are several other adaptations with their own human versions of the tin man, the most famous ones I can think of off the top of my head (that I’ve seen/read) are Nick, Hickory from the 1939 movie, and Boq from wicked. In my au, they’re all siblings.

Also, since wicked is a book, a musical, and being turned into a movie, and book and musical Boq so far have different personalities entirely, I made them all triplets. I originally intended for book and musical Boq to be twins, but then we started getting more movie news so I thought I’d add him in, tough I unfortunately won’t be able to work with him very much yet until we get to see his personality. I think for now I’ll just assume he’s the shy one.

@just-some-guy-at-shiz has also contributed some of their amazing ideas, for example she came up with Nicknames for book and musical Boq, Bee for musical Boq and Query for book Boq, which makes sense because B is the first letter in Boq and Q is the last one, so naturally we’d have to give movie Boq an O nickname, I think Ozzy is an obvious choice but could sound too pretentious. It’s a work in progress, but we’ll go with whatever sticks. They would all still answer to Boq, but this helps. They also came up with the idea to add book Boq in the first place (my initial idea was just Nick being Boq’s big brother, no other siblings), they also thought of Hickory being taller than the other siblings because of Gilikan grandparents, which also explain why book Boq was blonde. I think the unusually tall munchkin trope is a bit overdone, but this one makes sense since Jack Haley was about 5’10. I could do this with Ozzy too, but I probably won’t lol (Plus I never thought the trope really fit Boq).

My idea for the triplets is that it’s a common practice in munchkinland to give triplets matching names.

Nick mainly represents book Nick, but he really represents all versions who go by Nick because there are a lot.

Nick is the oldest, Hickory is the middle child, and the triplets are the youngest (in order of oldest to youngest: Query, Bee, Ozzy). They go by the last name Chopper because Nick Chopper is the only one with a canon surname.