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

"I fear that, when you reached into the Force to ease this man's pain, you reached too far. And without proper shielding… it’s easy to see how a rudimentary connection might have been established," the force-ghost of his former master says contemplatively, as if he is not casually ruining Luke's entire life. Luke buries his face in his hands. “You’re saying I gave too much.” “In a sense, yes," Ben replies. “I’m a force-whore,” Luke moans. “Oh, kark. Leia is going to kill me.”

When Vice Admiral Garp requests to board the Thousand Sunny, he is unceremoniously told no. Robin is all too happy to tell him why. "Because Luffy does not want to see you. I don’t need another reason than that. But, if you’d like me to give you one… You will not be seeing Luffy because you are a coward that doesn’t deserve him."

It all comes down to this: the babies in his arms are just so little. “You should sit down, Sir. Let Waxer and I take the tubies for a minute,” Cody gentles. Despite the even, easy tone, despite knowing that it’s Cody and that, as the last twenty-four hours have successfully proved beyond a doubt, Cody would rather die than see any harm come to him, Obi-Wan can’t suppress his immediate reaction to the thought of putting the twins— his twins, his now, and he’ll die before he lets anything touch them—down. “Full disclosure, I don’t believe I am capable of letting go of them, at the moment.” He thinks for a beat and then adds, “Possibly ever.”

He’d known how some of the men are with younglings—known from Waxer and Boil how sharply those attachments can form with little ones. Hell, the men were raised to be protective, so much so that Obi-Wan has often wondered if their protective drive was not written into their very atoms, some intrinsic part of their DNA. It wasn’t something Obi-Wan had ever questioned. He’d thought he had understood the scope of it. In reality, he hadn’t understood a thing. Not until Kamino. Or: Not all that dive from cliffs make a running head start. Sometimes, the Fall is only a natural progression.

It becomes the Question—the one every vod is talking about from the bridge of the Negotiator to her dark bowels where the laundry rooms churn and chug along: who takes care of the General? -- In which Obi-Wan is touch starved and his men take notice.

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

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

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

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

Nami has practically lived with Zoro since their freshman year of undergrad. In all that time, she's never seen him bring anyone home.

“Luffy.” “Yeah?” “Please tell me I’m hallucinating.” Fear. The smell of it, the sound of it. Luffy’s never felt fear like this come from Sanji before. He hates it. “He’s real. And I think he’s you,” Luffy says. __ A reunion. A camping trip on an uninhabited island. A question. And a gift, or perhaps, an answer. Wherein a Sanji straight from the dungeons of Germa appears in their midst and no one, least of all Sanji, knows what to do about it.

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

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

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

“I would almost say you look attractive like this if it wouldn’t be unfathomably disgusting and also a betrayal of everything I stand for as a human being,” Perona had told Zoro one night as she showed him a variety of tricks for untangling stubborn, sweaty hair. Zoro kinda wishes he would have listened to her, for just a single fucking moment. Maybe if he had, he would have been able to prepare himself for the level of weirdness that’s happening right now. (In which Zoro has long hair and certain people develop feelings about it.)

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

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

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

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

Before the training camp attack—before the dorms and the close quarters and the security measures and the curfew and the living-in-his-classmates-back-pockets... Bakugou notices something. Todoroki Shouto is fucking weird. In which Bakugou plays at being an amateur detective and teams up with Izuku to completely fuck up Endeavor's whole damn day (and possibly his entire life, too.)

Sanji sees Zoro approach from a long-ways off. His shock of green hair is unmistakable, even in a crowd. Speaking of, the crowd parts around him naturally, like water around a boat. They give him suspicious looks as he passes, and it isn’t until Zoro is within eye-shot that Sanji realizes why. There is a bundle of feathers in his arms. “What the fuck are you holding?” Zoro winces and pulls a face. “Yeah, so, I can explain." The bundle of feathers moves and the dirt-streaked face of a child peers up at him. The jumble of feathers aren’t just feathers, Sanji realizes with a jolt. They’re wings.

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

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

As the Strawhat crew comes to find, their newest member, Sanji, flirts with anyone that breathes and walks on two legs... with the notable exception of Zoro, which the rest of the crew finds hilarious. The impossible thing, though; his flirting actually works. In which Sanji has game and really sluts up the place and Zoro is Not Amused.

“Luffy,” his mother says, passing on a name and a blessing all at once. “Oh, my Luffy… You are going to be so loved, I just know it.” She dies with a whisper and a smile on her face. Luffy, only a few minutes old, scrunches up his impossibly tiny little face and begins to cry. And then, like magic, seven other newborns scattered all throughout the seas did exactly the same. (A One Piece/Sense 8 fusion)

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