#please don’t think I’m criticising

[waywardnewcomer]

I love this, as a 9-1-1 fan and a NICU nurse. It’s portrayed really well and parents often feel like they’re losing a limb when they leave their babies with us. But we encourage parents to be there as much as possible.

Just for notes because I know a lot of people are asking for more (but you can always message if you have questions) 25 weekers are often a lot smaller around 1.5-2lbs, and are often on the ventilator for a week or so, then extubated to a machine called CPAP/high flow (although some babies manage on CPAP from birth once treated with some surfactant to help with oxygenation and lung compliance), we encourage early feeding as much as possible through an NGT/OGT but some babies are slow to tolerate because of immature guts so they are fed through their veins with something called TPN. We usually get access through the umbilical cord for the first 7 days and then something called a long line to use while we build up feeds and help them gain weight. (we do use scalp cannulas as a last resort!) We always promote breast milk is best for any baby but particularly premature babies as their guts don’t tolerate digesting formula, so if mums are struggling we use donor breast milk until around 34 weeks when we transition to a preterm formula. We encourage expressing from birth and aim to give colostrum (usually less than 0.5mls) within 6 hours as it’s a personalised medicine for the babies gut! We don’t usually feed properly until we have a good supply but give all that we do have, it takes 3-4 days for milk to actually come in and with stress milk supply is less anyway. We always aim for due date as their going home date, but wouldn’t be allowed to go home before 34-35 weeks as that is when they can start to feed orally. We encourage as much skin to skin as possible - it helps both baby and parents so much, regulates breathing, heart rate, temperature, pain, hormones, milk supply in mums and helps bonding! We try as much as we can to allow delivery room cuddles depending on how stable the baby is, and once on the unit as long as baby is stable on the vent get them out for cuddles!! We use an incubator cover until 34 weeks because their eyes aren’t well adjusted to lights and it helps with reducing the sound in the incubator.

Extreme prems below 26 weeks often have a big setback when around 30-32 weeks, being needing more breathing support, getting an infection, getting NEC (a bowel infection which can be deadly) or having problems with a PDA (heart defect where a duct stayed open after birth because of a failure to switch to normal circulation - they usually close on their own with time but can cause problems with breathing, we usually treat with paracetamol).

Prems are little tiny fighters and it’s such a privilege to care for them and their families on a daily basis. I think a series like this would be so cute! I love your writing style a lot and I’m a long time stalker so please don’t think I’m criticising! Just want to give you some more info (or a lot sorry) for if you want to write more! But my inbox is always open if you do and need some help!

Tiny Little Fighter

As promised, this is my new Evan Buckley imagine. Please let me know what you think.

If anyone would want it, I'm debating about making this into a little series. Let me know.

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Evan Buckley Masterlist

Summary: After Evan and (Y/n) have their baby very early, Evan won't leave them alone in the NICU. He stays alongside his baby, making sure they're okay.

Enjoy.

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

"I don't wanna do this." The look in (Y/n)'s eyes absolutely broke Evan's heart. If people could die of heartbreak, he knew this is the pain that it began with. He knew he was on the verge of a heart attack with how distraught his wife was and the fact that there was nothing he could do to make this any better.

His lips smothered the top of her head and his hands shakily ran up and down her back as he tucked her closer to his chest. Each shaky breath he took against her hair made Evan's chest tighten and tighten until he was barely breathing at all, just gasping and panting against the top of her head.

"I know, baby. I know."

What else could he say? What else could Evan do other than stand here and hold her broken pieces together and try to keep himself in one piece? How could he do this when they were both pieces of a puzzle, starting to fall apart?

His back tensed and he leaned forward when (Y/n) bent her knees and pushed down like she was trying to make them both kneel on the floor. He felt her nose push against his sternum as she buried her face in his chest and groaned. She choked on a scream when another contration split through her pelvis and made her want to hunker down on the floor.

This was too early.

They weren't supposed to be in the maternity ward right now. (Y/n) wasn't supposed to be over halfway through labour right now. Not when she was barely twenty five weeks pregnant.

They had another eleven weeks left, bare minimum, until they should have to think about labour. They had another fifteen weeks until their actual due date. But here they were, waiting for this to be over with to see if their baby would be able to survive being born this early.

They didn't have any other choice.

Not when (Y/n) had developed pre-eclampsia which had gotten to the point that her blood was starting to shred and her liver was shutting down. If they didn't have the baby now and (Y/n)'s liver gave way, that would be it for her and for the baby. The only way for her body to be able to recover and get back to normal was for the baby to be born. This was her body's way of reacting to the baby.

It was affecting her liver which was on the verge of shutting down, her blood was starting to shred itself and (Y/n) had already been given a blood transfusion to try and keep her going. It was affecting her vision and now the baby was getting distressed.

Inducing labour was the only chance they had of (Y/n) recovering and of trying to take care of their baby.

"I think you're ready now. Let's sit you on the bed."

(Y/n) shook off the midwife's hands but when she tilted her head back and looked up at Evan through teary, spotty vision, she nodded. She didn't want anyone's hands on her but her husband. She only wanted his help. (Y/n) knew none of this was the midwife's fault or the hospital or the doctors. It wasn't her fault either, no matter how badly her brain was trying to tell her that she was doing this to herself.

But she didn't want their help. Their touch. Their comforting words that sounded cynical and condescending to (Y/n). All she wanted was Evan.

"Don't let me go," (Y/n) almost pleaded as she grabbed Evan's hand when he carefully eased her back down onto the bed rather than standing with her in his arms. She wanted him as close as she could get him and more so. He had to be right next to her, he had to be touching her somehow. (Y/n) wanted to feel his breaths mingling with hers and his touch on her skin.

Evan’s eyes softened and with the tears welling around his blue orbs, they looked like they were beginning to melt. He nodded and pulled the seat closer to the bed until his knees pushed uncomfortably into the edge of the bed. His hand stayed curled in hers and he moved his other hand to rub up and down her arm while the midwife got ready to assess her.

She said nothing as the midwife put a heartbeat monitoring clip on her finger and two more to her stomach to monitor the baby’s heartbeat. She tipped her head back into the pillow, wanting to smile when she felt Evan bring the back of her hand to his lips.

"I'd say you're dilated now. You can begin to push on the next contraction," The midwife's voice had an air of caution and sympathy in her tone because she could see her words made (Y/n) cry harder.

She didn't want to be doing this. Labour had barely been induced for four hours and already (Y/n) was ready to evict her baby.

Her baby wasn't going to be able to survive on their own. They wouldn't be able to breathe or regulate their temperature or feed properly at this stage. None of their organs would be developed enough to survive outside the womb. They would need to be in the ICU for weeks if they were going to survive this.

Silence fell over the three of them, save for the few sniffs and tears here and there, as they waited for the next contraction to hit. Evan tipped his head down and pressed his lips to (Y/n)'s arm as they waited, his hands holding hers tightly. When the next contraction came, (Y/n) pushed but stopped at the sound of one of the monitors. All their heads seemed to snap to check which monitor it was to know whose heart was now in distress. (Y/n) wondered for a moment if it was her own heart that was becoming frazzled due to how it seemed to flutter in her chest before beating harshly.

But it wasn’t her heart, it was the baby’s.

“What’s happening?” Evan questioned, absentmindedly tightening his hand around (Y/n)’s as he moved his free hand to press to her stomach. His eyes narrowed as he looked at the monitor that showed their baby's heartbeat which was suddenly slower than it was before the contraction.

“Baby is just a bit stressed, that's all. The heartbeat should stabilise in a minute.” The midwife responded as she watched the monitor showing the baby’s heartbeat and waited for it to pick back up. All of them sighed in utter relief when it started to mellow and go back to the rhythmic beat it had been a moment ago.

They knew the moment the baby was born, their heartbeat would fluctuate again and become uneven. Once they realised they were no longer in the womb and would have to breathe on their own, the baby would be in complete distress.

Evan turned his head back to look at the midwife when (Y/n)’s hands tightened around his own signalling she was having another contraction. He cringed when (Y/n) started pushing and her scream rebounded through his ears and made a shiver run down his spine. But he felt relieved that the monitor didn't scream out this time, the baby seemed stable. For now.

(Y/n) cried out when another contraction hit and pushed to sit forward with her chin tucked down into her chest.

She pulled Evan's hand up until she could press it against her chest and her eyes followed him as he got up from the chair and moved to stand as close as he could to the edge of the bed. He leaned over, curling his left arm around her shoulders while he pressed his lips to her temple.

She could feel Evan mumbling "It's gonna be okay," into her hair and the words were soothing, even if she didn't quite believe them.

Part of Evan wanted to let go of (Y/n)'s hand and move down to feather his fingers across her stomach instead. She didn't look like she was five and a half months along.

He had been so, so happy when (Y/n)'s bumps finally started to show and he could feel the baby kicking. Whenever they laid in bed, Evan had a hand constantly glued to her stomach and he was forever talking to the baby and kissing her tummy and waiting for movement. He thought he would have another three months of that.

Evan thought he would get to spend the next three months marvelling at how (Y/n)'s body changed and telling her how much he loved her expanding stomach. Not anymore. Something akin to a knife twinged in Evan's gut at the notion that (Y/n)'s stomach wasn't going to get any bigger than this.

Their baby would no longer be connected to (Y/n).

Whenever their baby kicked or wriggled or squirmed, Evan would actually see them doing it. He wouldn't feel those movements anymore; neither would (Y/n). They would watch a tiny, miniscule baby wriggling and fighting to stay alive; if they made t through this labour.

"Okay, the head's born now, well done. Take a breather, you're doing great."

Part of (Y/n) was desperate to smile when she watched Evan lean over her stomach as soon as the midwife spoke. He kept hold of her hand and his other hand stayed on her shoulder, but he leaned down to look at their baby.

Evan had delivered a few babies after years of being a fireman and nothing really shocked him anymore. But this was different. That was his own little baby, his own child that was coming into the world and there wasn't a sight that would ever match that. Seeing any other woman give birth was never going to make Evan's heart clench or send his stomach rocketing like this.

That was his baby. That was his tiny little fighter.

They shouldn't be that small. They shouldn't be that wrinkled. Labour shouldn't be going this fast or be this swift. Their baby shouldn't be born so small Evan feared they weren't going to fit in the palm of his hand.

He didn't realise he was crying again until he felt (Y/n)'s trembling hand reach up and her thumb swiped away the tear from his cheek. Tears of sorrow, more than joy, because this wasn't a joyous moment. It should have been. This should have been a day where Evan's ADHD had him bouncing off the walls with excitement. He should have been flying through the roof, anticipating the birth of his first child.

He couldn't find the will to be happy about this when this early meant his baby might not survive.

He hadn't even told anyone yet.

Evan thought that when (Y/n) went into labour, he would have everything sorted. He would have the maternity bag packed, the nursery sorted. He would call Maddie, then Bobby, then Eddie, right in that order to tell them all. Then he would call them as soon as the baby was born and ask them to come over.

The only person who knew (Y/n) was in labour was Maddie. She knew because she had been here just this morning to see (Y/n). And she had born witness to (Y/n)'s scream and Evan's breakdown when they were told they needed to induce labour now, for both their sakes. Maddie had gone home, anxiously cradling her phone to await any news and she hadn't told anyone. She couldn't. It felt like overstepping the mark.

But what would Evan say if this didn't go well? What was he going to do if he lost his baby? He couldn't tell that to anyone over the phone, but he wouldn't want them to witness him having a breakdown if he had to tell them face to face.

"That's it, push again (Y/n),"

"You're almost there, keep going sweetheart," Evan nudged his nose against (Y/n)'s and pecked her lips before he moved round a little. He perched down on the side of the bed just behind her and leaned across so (Y/n) could lean her back against his chest. His arms cocooned around her waist and his fingers stayed oddly still against her stomach.

(Y/n) had never known him be so still in such a moment of unease and unknowing like this. She thought his hands would constantly be jittering and his foot would be tapping on the floor and his knees would be jerking up and down. But the only movement she could feel was him kissing the top of her head.

Tears tracked down (Y/n)'s face and she felt like she was on fire when she heard the midwife say that the shoulders were born. Then the arms.

It felt like she was being electrocuted and like her legs had been burned off at the thighs when all the weight was suddenly pulled down from her stomach. And she knew. She just knew that was it. She'd had their baby; they were no longer connected. Their baby was no longer safe and protected with (Y/n), they were fending for themselves now.

Her body slumped back into Evan and she couldn't hear whatever he said, even though she could feel his lips moving against her neck and his voice vibrated against her skin. His arms tightened around her waist in a comforting, broken hug as he held her tightly to his chest and started to sway them side to side.

Her shaking hands moved up to hold onto Evan's forearms that grounded her and kept her calm when she felt like she was about to disappear. She let her head flop back on his shoulder and her wet lips smothered his neck as her nails punctured into his arms.

It took (Y/n) a moment to realise that another midwife had already bustled into the room and both of them were tending to the baby laid between her legs.

"A-are they okay? Are they breathing?" Each word came out through a bubbling sob and (Y/n) was surprised any of them could make out a word she was saying.

But she hadn't heard a cry.

Tears streamed freely down her face as she clutched Evan's arms to her chest, letting him sway them from side to side to try and calm them both down. He had his chin digging into her shoulder and his lips against her neck, but (Y/n) could feel him crying against her skin.

"It's a boy."

"Is he okay?" Evan persisted when they didn't exactly receive an answer. She could be trying to calm them down, trying to tell them as dearly as she could that they had a boy, but he wasn't alive anymore. They had to know.

"We've got a pulse."

That was enough. That was more than enough. He might not be breathing or wriggling or kicking and they might not be able to hold him yet, but he had a heartbeat. That was all he needed so far. As long as the midwives could get him intubated and get him into the ICU, a heartbeat was what they needed to start with. That would do for now, that was enough right now.

"Would dad like to cut the cord?" The second midwife was leaning over the end of the bed and she looked over at Evan with something tender in her eyes. It almost made him wonder if she had been in this position before, if she herself had experienced a premature baby. The look in her eyes made Evan feel like they could relate to her.

When Evan looked down at her, (Y/n) nodded and managed to unlock her viper grip on his arm to let him move. She would be okay if he let her go, just for a little while. She felt him lean her forward before he gently sat her back against the pillows so he could shakily move round to the end of the bed.

His fingers briefly skimmed across (Y/n)'s ankle and up the back of her leg before he took the medical scissors from the midwife and tried to stop himself from shaking. She held the cord up where she had clamped it off and Evan cut it just like he had done at least three times before when he was on shift. But this was so much more intense, this was his little boy.

As soon as the cord was cut, Evan was left shaking, barely breathing as he leant over the end of the bed. His eyes glued to their initial midwife as she stole the baby from the bed and moved over to the incubator in the corner of the room. Evan knew in a minute or two, once his boy was breathing, he would be taken from them.

They wouldn't get to hold him, cuddle him or even touch him before he would be shipped off to the neonatal unit and a doctor would be assessing him.

Shivers bolted up and down (Y/n)'s legs which had previously felt numb until she felt Evan's fingers curling around the back of her ankle. He gave a little tug before his wide eyes were staring at her with a mix of emotions she could decipher.

(Y/n) shook her head, silently asking him what was on his mind because although she could usually read her husband like a book, in this moment, she had no idea what was going through his head.

"He- he's got a birthmark too." Evan's voice was so calm and quiet that it almost didn't sound real.

(Y/n) watched the way Evan let go of her leg so he could pat his cheek, indicating where he had seen the little patch of discoloured skin on their baby's cheek. Before his head was turning back towards the midwife, watching her intently as he started to shake, fuelling back up with adrenaline.

Part of Evan had been worried in the beginning. He worried that their baby would get lost or mixed up and switched. That the midwife would forget which one was his little baby or they would put the wrong nametag around his ankle or his little wrist.

If they didn't get to see their baby first, Evan wondered how they would know which one was their little baby and worry that the midwives might forget too. But that mark was an indicator.

It meant that Evan didn't have to panic about following the midwife like a shadow or keep his baby within his sights at all times. He would know which tiny, fragile baby was his.

(Y/n) swallowed harshly as she watched the midwife scribble Baby Buckley onto a wrist tag, along with the date and time of his birth.

They didn't even have a name for him yet. They thought they had another three months to come up with their favourite, agreed upon names for a girl or a boy. Now he was here and they didn't know what to call him. He was just going to be Baby Buckley until they could think of something suitable.

His birth had come so early that none of them were prepared for him.

***

(Y/n) could feel tears welling up in her eyes when there was a soft knock on the door and she looked to see who was walking in. She nodded and motioned for them to step inside when she realised it was Bobby and Athena.

Her eyes traced them up and down before locking on the small black duffle bag in Bobby's hand that she vaguely recognised.

"How are you doing?"

She reached up and looked her arms around Bobby's neck when he leaned down to hug her. And she did her best to force away the tears before they soaked into his shirt, not that she thought he would mind at all if she began to cry again.

"I'm okay." She thought she was. She hoped she was. (Y/n) couldn't comprehend many thoughts, feelings or emotions other than feeling disconnected.

It felt like she had been disconnected from the world, from her baby and from every emotional part of herself. All she wanted to do was sit and cry or try to sleep and pretend none of this was happening. The selfish part of her mind wondered why this couldn't have happened to someone else. Why did it have to be her and Evan? What had they done to deserve this?

"We brought you both some clothes from home, we thought you might need a few things." Bobby set the bag down in the corner of the room before he sat down in the chair beside the bed.

His eyes watched his wife as she took (Y/n)'s hand and perched down beside her on the bed.

Since Evan joined the station, they had become surrogate parents to him, and when he married (Y/n), she became another child to them. They didn't want to see either of them going through something like this and if there was anything they could do to help, then they would.

"Where's Buck?" Athena took a quick glance in the corner of the room, but the adjoining bathroom was empty meaning Evan wasn't in there.

Something soft washed over (Y/n)'s face as she brushed away the tears welling up in the corners of her eyes. She sniffed and tried to smile, giving Athena's hand a light squeeze as she sat up a bit straighter.

"He followed the midwife down to the neonatal unit last night… they uh, they couldn't get him to leave, so they had to let him stay. I think he spent the night in there."

(Y/n) had been more than a little surprised when the midwife came back to check on her late into the night and realised Evan wasn't with her. (Y/n) wasn't worried. She knew exactly where her husband had gone and why he hadn't come back yet. He was under the impression that if someone wasn't watching over their boy, something bad would happen to him.

Nothing they said would get Evan to move last night so after they gave up, one of the nurses had draped a blanket around him when he fell asleep next to the incubator.

He had come back to see (Y/n) this morning and make sure she was okay before heading back down. He knew (Y/n) would be down soon and neither of them would be moving very far away from their boy.

The only reason (Y/n) wasn't there now was because of all the IVs she had been on and the nurses monitoring her. They were making sure her liver function was picking back up, taking constant blood samples to check and to make sure her blood was returning to a healthy state and taking enough oxygen. Being separated from her baby really had made (Y/n) feel better, despite how it had ruined her, mentally.

"And how is the little guy?"

Bobby had shed a few tears early this morning when he had been in the middle of cooking breakfast and suddenly got a phone call from Evan. He hadn't expected to have Evan crying down the phone, saying (Y/n) had given birth already and now he had a little boy.

As soon as he told them, Athena and Bobby were getting ready to come down here and make sure both of them were okay.

Bobby knew Eddie and Chris would be coming down this afternoon after Chris finished school. And Hen and Karen said they would give it a few days before they came to visit, while Chimney and Maddie would be here almost every day at some point.

"He's okay, they got him stable on a ventilator and a feeding tube… they said he's stable at the moment."

It had been lovely that the nurses kept coming in every hour or so to give (Y/n) an update until she could go and see her little boy. They told her how well he was doing, how he settled almost straight away when they got him all hooked up to the ventilator and monitors. He seemed to be very settled and stable at the moment and that was all that they could ask for.

And (Y/n) was desperate to go down and see him.

Tiredness ebbed away in the corners of Evan's eyes and at the back of his mind, but he tried to push it to one side and ignore it.

His head tilted to one side and the first hint of a smile began to form on his lips when he looked down. His left arm curved and bent over the top of the incubator while he bent his left leg forward and stretched his other leg out behind him to keep himself supported. His upper body leaned forward and he leaned his head down until his nose was almost touching the plastic separating him from his little boy.

For what had to be the tenth time this morning, Evan carefully slid his right hand through the small circular opening in the side of the incubator.

His fingers skimmed across his little boy's chest, just a small, delicate touch that was barely there. Evan couldn't find it in himself to be comforted by the feeling of his little boy breathing steadily like this. Not when he knew it was the machine that was making him breathe.

As soon as that tube was removed from his nose and he was breathing on his own, Evan knew he would feel a lot better.

He leaned his cheek on his left arm and trailed his fingers higher until they brushed the newborn's cheek that was so soft but wrinkled that it made Evan shiver.

He wasn't sure he'd ever seen a premature baby this small or this close up in person. Sure, he'd seen a few pictures from friends or people on calls who said they'd experienced something like this. But Evan had never touched a baby so small and early on like this.

It was strange.

It was unnerving to think that if he put both hands in the incubator, his son would barely fit in the palm of his hands. He only weighed three pounds. Evan had never seen a baby so small and lightweight. He was like a doll.

"It'll be better when you're out of here, you know. That nurse said in a few days, maybe a week, we can hold you. I'm starting to get desperate," Evan managed a smile as he trailed his hand back down towards the newborn's hand that was clenched into a tiny fist.

He brushed his thumb against the back of his hand and tried to be careful as he delicately unfolded his fingers. Evan's fingertip barely fit against his son's palm but he refused to let go or flinch or squirm away. This was his boy, his baby, and he wanted some sort of contact.

Evan wanted him to know that someone was with him and watching over him.

He knew realistically that it didn't make much difference. This incubator was here to make his boy feel like he was back in the womb and to get him to grow and develop. He wasn't going to know or care if someone was watching over him or if his dad was keeping an eye on him or not. But it comforted Evan to know that someone was with his son. It comforted him to be able to touch his newborn and show him that he wasn't on his own.

He stroked his thumb against the back of his hand, noting how his son's skin was like sandpaper. A bit gritty, somewhat coarse and extremely fragile. If Evan applied too much pressure he might break his skin.

"But you have to stay in here for a while."

Evan didn't like this. He had imagined the moment he and (Y/n) had their baby, so many times. And not once did Evan consider the thought of having to have their baby prematurely like this. He thought once their boy was born, they would hold him straight away, get some pictures and just spend the day with him in their arms.

He didn't think he would be separated by a plastic box and wires and tubes or see his baby wear the smallest version of a nappy that the hospital had, specifically provided for premature babies.

Evan never thought about having to wait possibly weeks until his baby would be healthy and strong enough to breathe on his own and feed without a tube going straight into his stomach. He didn't think he would have to bide his time and wait until he could hold him for the first time.

And Evan knew for definite that until his boy was in his arms, he wasn't moving from this spot. Evan wasn't leaving this hospital for more than an hour to get something to eat or get a change of clothes. He was staying right here, watching over his boy.

"I can start telling people now, about you. I told grandad Bobby, and auntie Maddie this morning. And uncle Eddie. It's strange, being a dad, now that you're already here."

It still wasn't sinking in properly that this was real.

He couldn't quite get his head round the fact that he could now call himself a dad. He could tell people he had a baby boy. This little life right here, that wouldn't fit in his hands, was already alive and here.

Evan was responsible for this precious life that he was afraid he was going to lose.

This was his boy. This was the little person he was going to be cradling at night and settling to sleep and feeding and washing and dressing him up and taking him down to the station to proudly show him off. When he was better, of course.

"I wish I could take you out of this. I just wanna take you home with me and mummy." As he spoke, Evan's fingers twitched and pressed a little harder into the small fist he was cradling.

He was desperate. He felt like a bank robber plotting some great heist. He wanted to snatch his son and take him home and make a remedy to rectify all of this. If he could change things, he would. Evan would keep (Y/n) and their baby safe and take them home and change this so they had him when it was safe to do so. He wanted his little boy in his arms. He wanted him cuddled up into his chest and snuggled against his bare skin and held as close as he could get him.

Evan wanted his boy to know what a cuddle felt like. He wanted to be able to give him a kiss and hold him and let him know how much he was loved already.

"God, I- I haven't even got your crib ready yet." Tilting his head up, Evan moved his free hand and dragged it across his face and down his jaw.

He hadn't got anything set up.

They had barely started to buy clothes and blankets and bottles. And the crib was still flat-packed in the corner of the nursery that wasn't even painted or decorated yet. They hadn't done any of that. They thought they had another ten to fifteen weeks left before their baby would of made an appearance.

Statistically speaking, Evan knew he still had quite a few weeks left until he could take his baby home. He had four, maybe five or more weeks of visiting his boy in here. And when he and (Y/n) weren't here at the hospital, they were going to be decorating because being home without their baby would drive them insane.

Evan could see it now. By this time next week, the nursery would be finished and they would have everything ready in anticipation of taking this little bundle back home with them.

"You weren't meant to arrive this early, you know. I thought I had three months to get everything ready for you. I guess I'd better sort out the nursery soon, hm? Ready for when me and mummy bring you home."

He finally released the newborn's miniscule fist so he could drag his fingertips up and down his side like he was trying to tickle him.

Evan found it fascinating to look at the tiny nappy they put on his son. It didn't look right, being so small and compact and seeing such tiny legs sprouting out which only looked the length of Evan's index finger. And when his eyes trailed up to look at his son's small head, he was relieved that his boy now had a little lime green cap on to help keep him warm.

Evan didn't want anyone removing that cap. Not when he knew that was where the IV line had gone.

Evan had almost thrown up when he watched the nurse try and fail to find a suitable vein in his son's arms and she couldn't find one in his legs either which were like sand paper. She only found a good vein in the side of his head and Evan hated it. He hated seeing that needle puncture through his delicate skin and see the thin tube be taped to the side of his head so it wouldn't accidentally be torn out.

He was glad the cap covered the IV line which could only be seen popping out the end of the cap behind his tiny ear that was smaller than Evan's thumb.

"I'm not gonna leave you here alone, mister. I'll stay with you."

Just as he spoke, Evan felt a pair of arms circling around his waist and a familiar face pressing into his back just beneath his shoulder blades. His lips curved into a grin and he slowly slid his hand from the incubator so he could reach down and hold onto (Y/n)'s wrist.

"Hi baby, you okay?" He twisted his body so his left hip was pressing against the incubator, allowing him to weave his right arm around (Y/n)'s waist and tug her closer.

She happily tucked herself into his chest with her cheek pressing against his sternum so her eyes could focus on the incubator in front of them. The feeling of Evan's hand feathering up and down her hip and the feel of his lips against her temple faded out when (Y/n) looked at her little boy.

She hadn't managed to get a good look at him last night when he was born. But as she stared down at him, she realised Evan had been right this morning.

He was beautiful. He had a circular birth mark on his right cheek like a splotch of paint had been dropped onto him. His nose was tiny and rounded at the end, obscured only by the breathing tube taped into his nostril.

"Hm. How is he?"

"He's okay. The nurse will be back round soon to do some checks." Evan spoke against the top of (Y/n)'s head, breathing into her hair while he leaned back so she could slouch against his chest.

Tilting her head back, (Y/n) gently pressed her chin into Evan's chest so she could look up at him.

He had dark circles beneath his eyes and a hazy look in his pupils, showing off his desperate need for sleep. But the lazy smile on his lips was enough to make (Y/n)'s heart skip a beat and her stomach flood with adrenaline. She felt his hand move to run up and down her back while his left hand curled into a fist and propped his cheek up.

The way he slouched and grinned tiredly but endearingly made (Y/n) smile and attach her lips to his neck.

"You're gonna be living here for the next few weeks, aren't you?" Her words were soft and her tone was even softer, melting along the edges while she smiled against his skin and grazed her teeth dangerously close to his throat.

She could see it already. The nurses would all know Evan by next week. He would become part of the furniture, they would get used to him and weave around him to do their checks and daily tasks. They would have to stop Evan from intervening and trying to take over. They would be showing him how to change the tiny nappies and show him how they were feeding his boy and how they washed him while he was this small and tender.

Evan would become part of their routine, their staff team. Someone they couldn't avoid or get rid of, not until they discharged his son.

"Oh yes."

"Hm, good. Me too." (Y/n) nudged her nose against his jaw until Evan tilted his head down to meet her halfway in a kiss.

She kept her left arm looped around his torso but she stayed still and compliant as Evan held her right hand. He slowly moved her hand when their lips finally broke apart but stayed so close that (Y/n) could feel each breath he took like Evan was giving her his every ounce of oxygen.

Her eyes drifted to the side when Evan slid their joined hands through the small opening in the incubator and grazed her fingertips along their son's hand.

"Hear that? Me and mummy are staying here until we can take you home. We're not leaving without you."

[sanatomis]

⋆.ೃ࿔* ── 𝐃𝐈𝐘-𝐃𝐀𝐃!

it’s career day, and megumi has to bring his dad to school so he can tell the class about his job. the problem? he only has a 20-year-old sorcerer-guardian who has the brain capacity of a walnut.

content. canon divergence (suguru’s alive and studying to be a kindergarten teacher), possible ooc characters, female!reader.

notes. guys i’m a sucker for satoru who really, really tries and isn’t just a goofy man-child ໒��ྀིっ˕ -｡꒱ྀི১ also ! thank you all for your patience, it took me a while to finish this piece bc of uni, so i'm vv happy it's finally done <3

taglist. | masterlist.

“I don’t have a dad.” 

As cruel as it may be, a part of Megumi hopes that the sentence makes his teacher greatly uncomfortable. Demanding for a father to attend a Career Day at school simply isn’t fair to children without one—or, well, to the child without one. It’s not his fault his father hauled ass and left, so why is she making this so difficult for him? 

“Oh,” she mumbles. It seems his arrow hit the target, as her eyebrows pull together in a frown and she shifts her weight between her feet. “Well, you, uh, have a male guardian, don’t you?”

Megumi grimaces. Instantly, he thinks back to last week. Satoru Gojo, self-proclaimed strongest, had hit his head on a kitchen cabinet. With a dramatic pout and an overexaggerated wobble to his lips, he clung to you for hours. Some affection will make it all better!

Of course, when Megumi criticised his skills surrounding his infinity technique—because, really, how couldn’t it block a simple cabinet—the sorcerer opted to ignore him. He suspects there was some foul play at hand. 

“Barely,” he mutters, as the memory resurfaces. 

His teacher lets out a startled hum. “I’m sorry?”

“Nothing,” Megumi says quickly. He watches as she starts typing on her computer, and the realisation that she’s probably currently taking a look at his file isn’t a particularly welcome one. “What about my other guardian? Can I bring her, instead?”

“This event is geared towards fathers,” she explains. It’s obvious she forgot her reading glasses today, Megumi thinks, as she needs to narrow her eyes to read the screen in front of her. “I have one Satoru Gojo noted down as your male guardian. Surely, he will be able to attend.” 

Megumi pauses. He blinks up at her expressionlessly, and fights off the urge to push his teacher down a well. You often preach about being kind to others, and that wouldn’t be very kind. 

“Can’t I take my oth—”

“I’m afraid not,” she interrupts him before he even gets the sentence out. It irks him. Megumi isn’t fond of speaking to begin with, so when he does, he’d prefer not to be cut off halfway through. “An exception will not be made. Please, make sure to bring Gojo-san to school.” 

Megumi briefly, and for the very first time ever, mourns the fact that you and Satoru weren’t married. A small part of him calls the man a coward for not asking you to. If he’d simply taken the step, then Megumi would be able to pass you off as Gojo-san. Unfortunately, he can’t, and it’s becoming increasingly clear that there’s no way around this problem. 

“Fine,” he grumbles. It takes all of his remaining willpower to not stomp out of the classroom. Once again, he thinks of you. It’d be extremely bad manners. He can’t find it in himself to wish his teacher a nice day this time, though, and so she’ll have to make due with a slightly less polite Megumi for today. 

There’s nothing he can do about it. Satoru will have to come to the school. 

Megumi suddenly despises the idea of Career Day. 

“I need you to come to my school next week.” 

Immediately, all chatter around the dining table stops. For once, Megumi finds himself annoyed at the sudden appearance of silence. Before he said it, he knew his words would most likely have such an effect—he just didn’t expect it to be so instant. 

He tries his best to feign nonchalance, as if the topic that’s coming up didn’t make him feel stressed-out beyond belief. The confused, startled glances you and Satoru share don’t do much to help him, either. Perhaps it’s because Megumi is looking straight at him; him instead of you. Yeah, Satoru, he isn’t a fan of it, either. 

“Me?” The man asks then, and Megumi has to resist the urge to say, ‘no, I meant the snail in the backyard—yes, you,’ in the most sarcastic voice he can muster up. Satoru once again steals a look at you, ever so oblivious to Megumi's mental remarks. “Don’t you mean—” 

“I don’t,” Megumi cuts him off solemnly. His lips are pursed shut, and he pokes the slices of pork belly in his bowl with his chopsticks. One didn’t need to be of particularly high intelligence to notice the boy’s displeasure.  “I have to bring a male figure for Career Day.” 

It’s slow, the morphing of Satoru’s face, but it happens gradually and doesn’t stop until he’s positively beaming. Megumi doesn’t like it one bit. Nothing good happens when he looks like that, and he’s quite sure that all that will spew out of his mouth in a few seconds will be nothing except for pure nonsense. 

“Well, luckily, I will have the day off, then!” Satoru chimes, with a smile so wide it causes two dimples to appear on his cheeks. You copy his smile, and gently go to poke the little dent in his skin—Satoru lets you, as he always does. Megumi would think of it as cute if he weren’t so annoyed. “I will be there.” 

It seems he was right. Satoru’s words are pure nonsense.

“I didn’t tell you when,” he comments dryly. 

The sorcerer blinks. His smile is still on his face, but it’s fading, and the dimples do so with it. Your hand hovers halfway in the air, stuck with nothing to poke, and you slowly bring it back down to your side. It seems neither of you had taken time to think about that small fact—Megumi blames Satoru for dragging you down with him; him and those indentations in his cheek that you always seem to coo over. 

“Oh,” Satoru mumbles. A crease between his brows forms as his brain hurries to catch up with the newfound information. A few seconds pass, and then the previous bravado returns. “Well, it doesn’t matter! I can take the day off. When do you need me? Tell me, and I’ll be there.” 

Megumi very much doubts he can take days off all willy-nilly like that, especially after he pushed his workload onto someone else to attend his science fair last time, but then again, what does he know? If Satoru didn’t care about the consequences of his actions, then Megumi wasn’t about to break his own head doing so, either. 

“Next Friday,” he mumbles. From the tone of his voice, it’s quite clear that he’d rather be saying anything else. “We have to leave at eight a.m., please, be on time.”

“Sure thing!” Satoru chimes, and with that, Megumi thinks the dreaded conversation has finally come to an end. 

All in all—it could’ve gone worse. At least Satoru didn’t prolong it unnecessarily. Nor did he add a bunch of relentless teasing. He glances at the sorcerer. Satoru is happily munching on the dinner you’d prepared, both his cheeks stuffed full with entirely too much rice. It’s unbecoming, and a reflection of his poor manners, Megumi thinks, and he doesn’t understand how you look at the man with such hearts in your eyes. 

Though, your more than adequate cooking seems to have saved him from one of Satoru’s onslaughts. He’s grateful. Even if he doesn’t particularly enjoy the sight in front of him. 

“Hey, ‘toru?” You ask, breaking the silence with a slight hesitation to your voice. It nearly sounds nervous, and both Megumi and Tsumiki look up in alarm. Satoru hums, still chewing away. “What are you going to tell the class?”

Satoru stops eating. His chewing comes to a halt, and his chopsticks freeze in the air. A slice of pork drops from between them, and falls back into his bowl—It’s not hard to see the cogs turning in his head. “Uhm, I. . .” He swallows the food still in his mouth, and clears his throat. 

Right. It’s Career Day—but Satoru can’t tell a bunch of seven to eight-year-olds that he hunts and kills grimy, ugly, and freakishly scary curses for a living, now, can he? Megumi doesn’t think that would go over well with the other parents. The boy sighs. It’s just one thing after another. He grimly believes the world might just be out to get him. 

“I. . .Oh! I can tell them I’m a teacher,” his guardian scrambles for a solution, and Megumi can’t help but think it’s a little lack-lustre. Who would believe that guy is a teacher, anyway? Then again. . .Megumi doesn’t know a better fix for their current problem, either. He was so focused on the fact that it was Satoru that had to come to the school, he all but forgot about the fact that the dear thorn-in-his-side didn’t possess a normal job. “Suguru has told me a thing or two about his internship. I can take inspiration from there.”

Ah, yes. The famed Suguru Geto. Megumi has met him before. He hasn’t actually spoken to him, however. The man often visits, and has twin girls clinging to him when he does, and while Tsumiki seems to really like him—and them—Megumi doesn’t have an interest in seeking out some form of interaction, yet. Whenever he comes over, Megumi opts to hide in his room. Suguru never tries to disturb him, nor does he try to coax him into coming out. He’s very grateful for it. 

So, despite never speaking to him, Megumi knows about Suguru. Well, he knows enough. He knows Suguru went to school with the two of you, and he knows something really, very bad (nearly) happened that caused the man to take a step back from the world you all live in. What exactly happened (or what didn’t happen), Megumi doesn’t know for sure. You and Satoru almost never speak about it, and when you do, it’s in hushed voices—and you always stop immediately when he enters the room. 

But that’s okay. He doesn’t need to know. Suguru doesn’t force himself upon Megumi, and so he will extend him the same courtesy.  “I thought Geto-san wasn’t a teacher, yet?” Tsumiki speaks up from beside him, tilting her head to the side in confusion. “Mimi and Nana said he’s still learning. How can he be teaching, already?” 

“He’s not a teacher, yet, munchkin, well spotted,” Satoru answers with a proud grin. The nickname annoys Megumi—the feeling of irritation has been conditioned into his very being after Satoru chose it as the designated nickname for both of them. “An internship helps him build experience in the field. It means he is still learning, but he will do so while teaching.”

Tsumiki nods in understanding, her mouth opens and her lips curl into a small ‘ah’ as the information settles in. “So, you will pretend to be a teacher, then? At Megumi’s school?”

Satoru bites on his bottom lip, seemingly deep in thought. Seemingly—as Megumi is quite convinced he doesn’t ever think before he speaks. “I think so, yes,” he explains, and unknowingly retorates Megumi’s train of thoughts. How annoying. Satoru looks towards you for approval; it’s something he does very often. “It’s probably the safest route, no?”

“It’s our best option,” you say, and bring a thumb up to the corner of Satoru’s mouth. Gently, you wipe away a grain of rice stuck to his skin. It’s effortless, and nearly automated. Megumi wonders how many times you’ve had to do that. “Pretending to be a teacher shouldn’t be too difficult a task. Right, mochi?”

“Right,” Satoru echoes. His eyes track your every move, and the slight, pink colouring of his cheeks doesn’t seem to embarrass him even a little bit. Megumi thinks it should. Have some decorum. “I can do it, no problem.” 

“Alright then,” you say, and smile. First at Satoru, and then at Megumi. You look at the boy for a few seconds; you’re about to ask him if he’s okay with it. He knows you are, because you always do. “Is that okay for you, Megumi?” It’s like clockwork, almost. 

Megumi feels the need to answer with something snarky. Something akin to the sound of ‘What choice do I have?’ but he doesn’t—because you’re being kind, and you don’t deserve such a response. So, instead he turns towards Satoru.

“. . .Just don’t mess it up.” 

Satoru delivers a whole spiel about how ‘he’d never do that’ and that he’s ‘more than capable’ of telling a little white lie, but Megumi dilutes it to background noise rather quickly. He continues sputtering his nonsense when Megumi and Tsumiki stand up to clear the table, and still hasn’t stopped even when you and him start loading the dishwasher together—Megumi chooses to seek reprieve in his room while he’s distracted. 

It isn’t until many hours later, when Megumi leaves the sanctuary of his room to swipe a quick snack from the kitchen, that he first hears Satoru speak about something other than his great, and very much sufficient, ‘capabilities’. Your voices are muffled, and Megumi has to focus to make out your words. His soft, inaudible padding down the illuminated hallways comes to a halt. As if that would make his ears function better. 

“Are you sure you want to do this, Satoru?”

The boy frowns. With such gentleness in your voice, it’s hard to identify the worry lingering beneath the surface. Megumi moves a bit closer. He stops one step shy of bumping into the wooden surface, and peeks through the groove. The door is ajar—it’s something that allows him to watch how your eyes follow Satoru’s large frame as he paces around the room. It’s strange. Seeing him so. . .frazzled. 

Satoru nods. “I can do this, I know I can,” he says, and quits his pacing to look at you. Megumi can’t see his face, but he can see yours. He might as well not have, though, as he can’t make out the emotion that fills your eyes. It’s not one he himself has in his repertoire, that he knows for sure. “He never asks me for anything, princess. I have to do this right.” 

Ah, this isn’t a conversation Megumi is meant to hear. He should probably seize his eavesdropping, he thinks, and winces a little when he properly analyses Satoru’s words. They’re truthful. Megumi doesn’t go to him when he needs something. His first thought is to go to you—and his second, Tsumiki. And if he’s being honest anyway, his third thought very likely isn’t Satoru, either; He’d try to solve it on his own if it came down to it. Megumi frowns again. He doesn’t like how that realisation makes him feel. 

A careful shuffle of footsteps breaks him free from his thoughts. Megumi looks up, and catches how you place a hand on Satoru’s cheek. “I’m sure you’ll do great, baby,” you mumble. There’s a small, soft smile on your lips, one that quickly makes way for the peck Satoru places upon them. 

“Thank you,” Satoru whispers. One of his hands reaches for yours, and Megumi suddenly feels as if he’s intruding on something when the man brings them up to his lips to press a tender kiss to them. Okay, no, definitely intruding—ew. 

The boy scrunches his nose up in disgust, and hurriedly darts back towards his room. Suddenly, he has lost his appetite for a late-evening snack. Megumi lets out a deep sigh once he’s all tucked into his sheets again. Perhaps giving Satoru a shot wouldn’t be that big of a problem. Just one, though.

. . .Yeah, just one should be enough.

It’s the final, conclusive thought Megumi has before dozing off to sleep. Blissfully unaware of the conversation you and Satoru share—now behind a very closed door.

You stifle a giggle. The disappearance of Megumi’s presence outside your bedroom was quick and rampant as soon as Satoru started to kiss your hands. Something the sorcerer did very deliberately. It’s as if the boy suddenly forgot about the very special, very effective pair of eyes his guardian possesses. And with a cursed energy output such as Megumi’s, it would be hard not to recognise his presence.

“You did that on purpose,” you comment. “How cruel of you, mochi.”

Satoru hums, and kisses the inside of your wrist. “Maybe, the little brat shouldn’t eavesdrop, then,” he defends himself. There isn’t an inkling of guilt to be seen on his pretty face.

. . .Though, both of you still take some extra care to shut the door next time.

Megumi faithfully believes that, as of today, he has used-up all of his luck for the next five, no, ten years. It can only go downhill from here. For some inexplicable, mind-boggling reason—Satoru is actually pulling this off. That’s not all; he’s not merely winging it, he’s genuinely doing well. The boy can’t quite believe his eyes.

When he’d walked to the front with such an overexaggerated pep in his step, and an overabundance of bravado rolling off of him in waves—Megumi couldn’t help but watch on with a grim look, and a healthy dose of negative thoughts. It only amplified the nerves he’d collected so far during the walk to school. Somehow, watching Satoru give your flashcards a frantic do-over did very little to ease his bubbling anxiety.

There were many of them, flashcards that is. All possible questions his peers or his teacher could ever think of are written on those little pieces of cardboard. Courtesy of you, and your boyfriend. Megumi’s able to recall all those nights the two of you spend at the kitchen table—practising. He thought it was silly at the time.

But, as it turns out, it works.

Satoru is fun. To other people; Megumi doesn’t share the sentiment. Against all odds, he’s dynamic, and speaks with conviction. His flamboyant hand gestures have others think of them as amusing—captivating, even. Satoru is talking, and they’re all hanging onto his every word. No matter the fact that they’re all cleverly disguised lies.

Megumi can’t wrap his head around it. He doesn’t need to, however. If anything, he’s relieved that his peers think of his guardian as cool. While he certainly does not share the opinion, he isn’t too dense to admit that such a belief will save him a lot of embarrassment in the future. So, for this one, single day, he will let Satoru Gojo be cool. His snarky comments can resume tomorrow.

“Ah, it seems you have a deep love for your profession, Gojo-san,” his teacher says. She interrupts Satoru’s rant, and catches his attention as well as Megumi’s. Her voice is light and airy, and carries nothing that should cause him to fear the worst. Still, the boy feels on edge. “Though, I don’t remember the grade you are teaching. Could you tell us, again?”

Ah, and there it goes. The very first card in the elaborately built castle of lies.

Satoru pauses. A second passes, and then two, and three, and so on. He doesn’t speak for a good thirty, and Megumi can nearly see his mind leaf through his beloved flashcards—flashcards that are now neatly tucked into his pockets and entirely out of reach. That’s good. Because the absolute last thing Satoru should do now, is resort back to the flashcards.

Megumi shakes his head no as a signal.

“Ah,” Satoru says. “I teach kindergarten.”

Satoru didn’t catch the hint. Megumi wishes the ground would swallow him up. It would have been the correct answer—it is the answer that’s written on the flashcards—if Satoru hadn’t decided to go off route. Getting too caught up in the story he’d been free-writing, and allowing himself to get carried away by the looks of awe is resulting in his downfall, which, consecutively, will end with Megumi’s downfall, as well.

“Huh? But! What about the science experiment that exploded?” One of the children in his class whines. “I didn’t get to do that in kindergarten!”

“And the backflip you taught your students!”

“What about the first prize in the talent show? I thought your students were famous!”

The little bit of colour that normally resides in Satoru’s face steadily disappears, and he clenches his fist at his side. Ah, it’s great to know he’s at least aware of his mistake. That won’t help either of them at the moment, though. Megumi’s eyebrows furrow, and a feeling of distress overtakes him. It shows on his face. He doesn’t exactly go through the trouble of trying to hide it—there are bigger problems right now.

How utterly humiliating to be caught lying.

Satoru’s eyes find him. They’re just as troubled as his own. It worsens his anxiety.

“Oh, uhm, you see. . .” Satoru stammers, and Megumi’s stomach churns when the children around them continue to ask more and more questions. The wince his guardian lets out does little to soothe him. Megumi sighs, and looks at the ground. “Ah, I see. It seems you guys saw right through me.”

Megumi slides down in his seat. Maybe, if he tried hard enough, the ground would absorb him. It’s currently looking like a preferable fate.

“. . .I’m actually a detective.”

Oh, Jesus Christ.

“And. . .And for a detective, it’s very important to listen to what people say, because they could be lying!”

It’s a sad, pathetic excuse for a save. Megumi briefly ponders the distance between his seat and the door. Perhaps he could make a run for it. The subway station is very close by—getting on and travelling to an entirely new city to start a new life doesn’t seem like such a bad option. He sighs. No, that’s not possible. You and Tsumiki would be very worried. What else is there to do, though?

“You all picked up on my lie, which tells me every single one of you could make a great detective in the future.”

Megumi thinks Satoru might have some underlying mental problems. Though, they can’t possibly be as severe as the problems his classmates have—for they all believe the nonsense he’s giving them. Bright eyes, filled with hope and admiration, stare up at the man at the front of the class; impressed hums and entertained smiles get passed between the parents standing at the edge of the room. And Satoru, well, he seems entirely too proud of the fact that he made a bunch of children think they’re destined for a career in law enforcement. But, be that as it may, it works.

The children stir up unrest—the good kind this time, the kind that vocalises their excitement—and all rush to ask the detective a question. But, before they can even open their mouths, Satoru claps his hands together. It seems he has decided enough is enough, and it’s one of those very rare moments where Megumi agrees with him. The boy needs this to be over already.

“Alright, that’s it for today,” Satoru says, and feigns disappointment. He pretends to be affected by the sad groans of the children—keyword being pretend, as to the trained eye it’s quite clear that he wishes to leave. “I’m not allowed to tell you more.”

Ah, see, now that’s a good card.

“Wait, but, what about. . .”

“Ah, sorry, that’s confidential. Detective stuff, y’know?”

Confidential. Megumi thinks that might just be his new favourite word. The lingering feeling of anxiety slowly starts to subside with every step Satoru takes towards the back of the room—to the back, and away from the spotlight. His eyes follow the man’s large frame, but Satoru never chooses to look at him in return. His line of sight is firmly focused on the floor. It confuses Megumi, but he chalks it up to a mere whim.

All things considered (and minus the near cardiac arrest he went through), today went pretty well, after all. Much to his surprise.

Perhaps Megumi doesn’t hate Career Day. A strong dislike is more like it.

Megumi can’t count the times he wished for Satoru to be quiet. The exact number is much like the digits of Pi—huge, and absolutely never-ending. He can, however, count the times he didn’t wish for him to be quiet. As of today, that stands at a very solid one.

The birds around them chirp, and the bustle of other people is heard all around them—but they’re the only sounds gracing his ears. There is none of Satoru’s incessant chatter, nor is there even a glimmer of gloating about a job well-done. It’s eerily silent, and Megumi isn’t sure what to make of it. This isn’t quite how he imagined the walk home to go. Far from it, if he’s being honest.

“What’s up with you?”

It’s possibly the first time Megumi decides to break the silence, ever. The boy frowns, and fiddles with the straps of his backpack. There isn’t a middle-ground with Satoru, he has found out. Either he speaks entirely too much, or unnervingly little. There’s a tiny pebble in his path, and Megumi feels the need to kick it forward—so he does.

“I kind of messed up there, huh?”

The kick doesn’t have nearly enough force to it. Megumi watches as the little rock skips forward. Once, twice, and then it comes to a standstill again. “Yeah, kind of,” he agrees.

“I’m sorry,” Satoru rushes out. It’s said so fast, as if it physically pains him to say it. Perhaps it does. It’s sincere, however. There isn’t even a hint of a joke to be found. Something must be bothering him. “It didn’t go how I wanted it to go, and I don’t know why I went astray, and forgot about the cards. It—well, it was pretty stupid.”

Megumi doesn’t exactly feel the need to deny it.

“So, I get it, okay?” He continues, seeing the boy’s silence as an empty space for more conversation—more rambling. Since that’s what it is; rambles, plain and simple. Megumi doesn’t see the need for such a fuss. “I shouldn’t have strayed from the plan, and. . .”

“It’s fine.”

Satoru blinks at him. “What?”

“I said it’s fine,” Megumi repeats. Because it really is fine. Admittedly, it wasn’t smart of Satoru to all but discard your carefully planned presentation, but it ended well enough regardless. No harm, no foul. “Thank you for coming.”

That small, short sentence is enough to stop Satoru in his tracks. Megumi doesn’t, however. The man is very tall, he’s sure to catch up in a jiffy; he doesn’t need him to wait. There’s another small silence, though this one feels a lot more comfortable than the last. Satoru takes his time to process, and Megumi lets him.

“W—What?” The sorcerer stammers in shock. There is no need for Megumi to turn around and see—he can hear the smile curling onto his lips. “Did you just. . .”

“I won’t say it again,” Megumi grumbles definitively, and picks up his pace. The very tips of his ears heat up, and the apples of his cheeks turn red. The feeling of embarrassment. This wasn’t exactly how he’d envisioned it to appear when the day started.

Satoru attempts to run after him, to catch up. “Megumi!” He calls out, the very prominent, very familiar whiney lilt now back in his voice. Megumi didn’t miss it. “Wait for me, I didn’t hear you! Could you repeat that?”

“Yes, you did!” Megumi says, and throws him an annoyed glance from over his shoulder. He tightens his hold on the straps of his backpack. “Stop lying.”

“Nuh uh!”

“What are you? Six?”

Satoru’s toothy grin is infuriating. But—it’s familiar. And Megumi discovers he’s much more at ease when that grin is on display, than when the man in question is moping around. It’s a lot less alarming.

“And a half,” Satoru adds.

The scowl that’s on Megumi’s face appears almost instantly when he goes to ruffle his hair. For a man whose technique largely surrounds being untouchable, he has a surprising lack of awareness concerning this thing called personal space.

“Ugh,” Megumi groans, and pushes him off. It doesn’t work. Satoru gravitates towards him again—almost as if he’s a magnet. He doesn’t attempt to move a second time. In moments like these, it’s best to let Satoru get it all out of his system. “You’re so stupid.”

It’s true. He does think Satoru is stupid, but he can’t deny it—Satoru tried his very best today, and in the days prior. Which makes him one of the very small, barely existent group of people who have done so for him.

It seems one shot was enough, after all.

© MADE BY SANATOMIS — please, refrain from stealing, copying, or reposting any of my works.

taglist: @luv-gin @sad-darksoul @parttimep3t @nanuer @bubbletae7 @chilichopsticks @gabirii @nyxlai @rattywatty @chaoticevilbakugo @ploylulla @sugasbrownsuga @littleagxs @m3ow1 @booksarekindaneat @frankenstein852 @bananasquash @jasm-1ne @chicken-fifi @yanelis-world @satory @satoryaa @sasfransisco @faetoraa @softiehee

[annievrse]

It Only Feels This Raw Right Now / Act II

Trafalgar Law x Fem!Reader  Summary: When your captain, Luffy, tells you to run from Bartholomew Kuma on the Sabaody Archipelago instead of fighting, you end up on a submarine. Takes place during the time skip. W/C: 18.3k C/W: Fic structure: Sabaody Archipelago → Dressrosa spoilers, canon timeline but majority canon-divergent events, she/her pronouns, no use of y/n. Content: descriptions of injuries, blood, passing out, guns + getting shot.

Labyrinth Series Masterlist

— Scene 1 —

In the two months that followed, you learned to draw maps. It wasn’t that you were disappointed; working with Bepo was fun, but when Luffy said Law would be training you, you expected more. 

Luffy had gone through with the plan he vaguely mentioned to you, and seeing him in the newspaper with 3D2Y on his arm made you queasy—he neglected to tell you the part where he went back to Marineford—but you were so insanely proud of him. Since then, you’d heard nothing about him or your crew mates. However, you kept the newspaper folded in your room like your own personal treasure, along with a wanted poster of Law you found in the streets of Sabaody.

After Amazon Lily, the Heart Pirates returned to Sabaody for a few days to prepare for a journey to another island. You refrained from visiting the Sunny—Law warned you that there’d be heavy Marine presence around it, so you kept away from your beloved ship. It wasn’t until you were walking back to the Polar Tang that you saw Law’s poster and thought the photo they used for it was hilarious. It brought back some of the humour you’d been missing from Usopp and Luffy. 

You giggle to yourself. 

“What’s funny?” Bepo asks, his paw paused over the map he is currently working on. “Please don’t tell me you’re laughing at this.” 

“No! No, Bepo,” You laugh. “No, I’m just thinking about something else.” 

“You better be,” He says, dropping the brush on the table. “I’m done.” 

You peer over at the map. A large pawprint smudges the edge of the page, and the handwriting is a little scribbly, but his measurements are accurate, and you nod. “Perfect.” 

Nami’s face flashes through your mind, and instead of feeling upset, like you have been, you smile. “Add the cardinal points to the top corner.”

“Oh!” Bepo blushes, picking up the paintbrush. “Thanks.”

“You done?” 

You turn, seeing Law in the doorway of the boiler room. He raises an eyebrow when neither of you answer. 

“Yep,” Bepo holds up the still-drying map. “Look, captain.” 

“It’s a blob,” Law criticises, squinting at it. 

“It’s Amazon Lily.” 

Law shrugs. “I guess that’s as good as it’ll get, yes?” 

Bepo nods, glancing at you nervously.

“Considering you’re not allowed on the island, I think it's decent,” You say, smiling at Law. 

He doesn’t give you the same reaction. “I need you in the infirmary.” 

You shoot Bepo a glance, and he nods in encouragement. “I’ll be fine.”

Wiping your hands on your pants, you follow him out and up the stairs. The submarine is on its way to a new island in Paradise, and the engine muffles any voices on other floors. 

“What’s wrong?” 

Law doesn’t turn to talk to you. “I want to try something.” 

His words make your stomach drop. Try something? 

You’re almost jogging to keep up with his long strides. “Okay, well, can I know now?”

He sighs, giving you a sidelong glance. You smile widely at him, trying to persuade him, and Law knows he’ll give in. He always does. 

“I want to try your sewing technique on someone.” 

“Like an injury?”

Law nods. “Shachi slipped and split his eyebrow open on the kitchen counter, and I figured it was about time you showed me how you do it. I have yet to see your powers used for that instead of strangling me.”

Your hand brushes your side where your wound was. It took a while, but the gash Kuma gave you has healed nicely. All that’s left is a level scar. 

Scoffing, you bump his bicep with your shoulder. “Dick.”

Law exhales sharply, a humourless laugh that makes you grin with satisfaction. 

“At least I didn’t take your heart. That was fucked up.” 

Law shrugs lazily, taking a sharp left into the infirmary. “I said I was sorry.” 

“You said what?” Shachi exclaims, his eyes wide. There’s a white bandage wrapped around his head, protruding above his left eye where a thicker gauze sits. “I’ve never heard you say sorry, Cap.” 

“First time for everything, Shachi.” Law mumbles, pulling on white latex gloves. He approaches his crew member and removes the bandage. 

You stand to the side, watching with interest as the injury is revealed. It’s a nasty cut, and you cringe when Shachi merely blinks. 

“Not as bad as it looks,” He says when he sees you scrunch your face up. “Doesn’t hurt.” 

You nod, not believing him. 

“She’s going to stitch you up,” Law comments, gesturing to you. “That okay?” 

Shachi tries to raise his other eyebrow, but to no avail. “That’s fine. Just don’t stab my eye out.” 

“I won’t,” You say, walking up to him. Law stands back, eyeing how you position your hands over Shachi’s face. “Ready?”

He nods, wiping his palms on his boiler suit. “Go for it.” 

“Sew.” 

Concentrating, you aim for the first stitch at the end of the cut, your power taking over the rest of the way. It’s easy like this when you have a set path to follow. You glance at Law, who watches you work attentively. His dark eyebrows are furrowed, and you wonder what he’s thinking. 

“I have done this on someone before,” You say. “When Zoro went up against Mihawk, I had to stitch his torso back together.”

“Zoro…” Shachi eyes widen. “As in Roronoa Zoro?”

“Yes, dumbass. How’d that go?”

You shrug. “Procedure was fine.”

Law hums, and you know he knows you’re keeping the aftermath quiet. 

It takes no time for you to finish the stitches, and with a flick of your finger, the open cut has been reduced to a single line, small sutures tied every four millimetres. It’s clean, and you smile at your handiwork.  

“Done,” You exhale, your hands trembling with energy. “Are you okay?”

Shachi beams up at you. “That didn’t hurt one bit. Are you a witch or something?”

You laugh, balling your hands into fists at your sides. Law’s attention has moved to your hands, and you move to hide them. 

“Shachi, get out of here,” Law demands, his gaze focused on you. 

“Yes, captain.” 

You stand idly, anxiety brewing in your stomach as the door clicks shut. 

“You okay?”

You consider him for a moment. His timbre is far more concerned than you expected, and you nod.

He squints at you with suspicion. “You’re not. Your hands are still clenched.” 

You release them immediately, dried blood smeared on your palms. “It’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing,” He says. “You need to release your power.” 

Shrugging, you sigh and bring your hands up. “I don’t know why it happens.”

Law swallows thickly, studying your palms. “Is that what happened with Zoro?”

You knew he was going to ask. “It was killing me.” 

He nods, mulling something over. “We’re docking at the next island.”

“What? Why?”

“You need to get rid of that energy. Otherwise, it’ll keep building up, and you’ll pass out like you did on Amazon Lily, or worse.” 

You think back—you did use your power to prevent the rocks from falling on both you and Luffy, and there was a copious amount of blood on your hands when you ran back. The blood. When you finished Zoro’s surgery, the blood on your hands was terrifying, yet you hadn’t touched Zoro at all. The blood. 

“You think the blood on my hands comes from me?”

“There’s a possibility,” Law nods. “We’d need to see your power in full force. But I think you’re power is so immense that when you use it in small doses, like stitching someone up, the built-up power that you don’t use has nowhere to go, so it pricks your skin so much that you bleed.”

The words come out of your mouth before you can stop them. “You’re brilliant.” 

Law clears his throat. “I just did more study on Paramica fruits. It’s nothing.” 

You feel your heart skip a beat. “But, you did more study because you noticed the blood on my hands. I would’ve never thought it’d be about the power I don’t use.” 

“It’s my job.”

“You’re stupidly smart, Law,” You laugh, stepping toward the door. “Just take the compliment.” 

Law sighs and turns his back to you. He busies himself with attempting to rearrange the shiny equipment trolley. There’s nothing on it. 

“See you at dinner?” You call from just outside the doorway, a smirk playing on your lips. It’s fun to embarrass him, though he’d never admit it as such. Trafalgar Law doesn’t get embarrassed. 

Law nods before he realises you can’t see him. God, you make him foolish. “Unfortunately.” 

— Scene 2 —

“We’re docking!” 

“Everybody off. This place reeks.” 

The first breath of fresh air after being in the submarine for five days is something you’ll never get used to. You took such a thing for granted on the Sunny, smelling the fresh salty air daily. Now, you treasure it. 

The Heart Pirates file off the sub, passing you as they do. 

“Where are we?” Penguin asks, coming up behind you to stand beside you. 

You shrug. “No idea. I’ve never been in this part of the Grand Line before.” 

As far as you can see, it's barren. There’s a cluster of trees in the distance, all tall and menacing, and you can’t help the sense of dread that creeps in. 

“I have to make a map.” You and Penguin turn to see Bepo holding a scroll of parchment and a pot of black paint. 

“Yeah, have fun with that,” Penguin mumbles, leaving the two of you. 

“You want to come with me?” Bepo asks. 

“She can’t.” 

Bepo visibly deflates. “Captain, you’re gonna make me go on my lonesome? With nobody? What if I fall down a ravine and break my leg?”

“You’ll be fine, Bepo. Now, go.”

“Yes, captain,” He says solemnly, trudging toward the plank. 

“I’m happy to go with him, you know.”

Law clicks his tongue. “You’re coming with me. We need to train.” 

“Train? Where?” You have a feeling you know the answer. 

“There.” He gestures with his chin to the forest. 

You sigh harshly and begin walking. “Come on, then. It’ll take a while to get there.”

Law quirks his eyebrow at you. 

“What?” You cross your arms over your chest.

“This’ll be tough, okay?” He says lowly. “I need to understand why your power makes your hands bleed. Then, we can work from there.”

“You don’t have to do this,” Law continues like he can sense your unease, “But—”

You grimace. “Okay.” 

“Okay?”

You nod and wave him over. “Yes, it’s fine. Now, let’s go, I’ve been waiting to kick your ass all week.” 

“I won’t go easy on you, sweetheart,” Law steps on the plank behind you. 

You hum, jumping onto the grass. “I don’t expect you to. Besides, my bounty isn’t high for no reason.”

Law pokes the inside of his cheek with his tongue. “Guess we’ll see, yeah?”

“Lead the way, Captain.”

—

“Is this necessary?” 

Law ignores you and continues using shambles to transport various logs and rocks into the clearing you found. The trees are taller than you thought, and you tilt your head to see the canopy. 

You understand why he’s doing it, moving obstacles into the area, but for your first time sparring with him, you figured it was a little overkill. 

It's silent, except for the leaves rustling in the breeze and insects humming. You've noticed that no birds inhabit the island, making the forest eerie and your hair stand on end. 

You turn, feeling like someone’s watching you, before Law reappears, making a beeline for you. 

He pulls the hat off his head and tosses it to the side. “Ready?” 

You blink, spinning to face him. “Now?” 

You ignored the layout of the obstacles. 

“Your opponent would’ve attacked you already,” Law deadpans, lifting his hand. “Room.” 

You squeak in surprise, leaping back when the blue dome approaches you. “Hey! I have fought before, you know. I know how it works.” 

Collecting your thoughts, you throw your hands up, almost tripping on a stray branch. You watch Law across the area; his gaze burns you, and you shiver. 

“Sew.” 

Threads materialise before you, and you aim for Law’s arms, deflating when he cuts them away easily with his katana. 

“You’re gonna need to do a lot better than that.”

You clench your jaw. Oh, so he’s cocky. “Sew.” 

“Shambles.”

And then he disappears, a branch hanging in the air and dropping to the ground where he once was. With your head on a swivel, you try to place him. Your threads vanish when they have nowhere to go, and you listen for him. 

“Too slow…”

You freeze at the feeling of cool metal across your throat. 

“That’s not fair,” You whisper, inhaling sharply and keeping your chest still. You didn’t even hear him.

“How would you get out of this?” He asks, breath hot on your ear. His forearm is firm around your stomach, and his chest is pressed against your back. 

You roll your eyes as you slowly weave threads around Law’s ankles. He doesn't make it easy for you, especially with his body flush on yours. Sighing, you lean your head back on his shoulder. You don’t realise just how close Law is until you feel his lips brush the shell of your ear. The sensation sends shivers down your spine. 

Law makes a sound of surprise. “What are you doing?”

You use his shock to your advantage, grabbing his right wrist with your left and pulling down. His katana falls forward, and you use needles to pierce his skin with minuscule pricks until he retracts the arm around your torso.

He lets out a grunt of discomfort as you lunge forward, pushing his stomach with your hand. You glance back to see Law fall backwards, the threads around his ankles doing their job. A large needle takes shape in your fist, and you lean over him, the tip against his jugular. Your legs are on either side of his hips, and your free hand is on his chest. 

Law smirks, his breathing ragged and eyes dark as he watches you. “Good.”

You lean back, the needle dissipating. “I—”

And then you’re on the ground, looking up at where you just sat, where Law sits on top of you. 

You feel your face heat up. 

“Never let your guard down,” He says, pinning your arms above your head. “Dead.” 

You wiggle your wrists to avert his attention from your bashful expression. “Get off.” 

His grip only tightens. “Fight.” 

You smirk, noticing his eyes widen when he feels a sharp point at his back. You hold a large needle, the tip scratching his spine. If this were a real-life situation, the needle as thick as a branch would be through his chest. So, you aim your threads at the trees behind Law, tying them to two thick trunks. 

“Well, sweetheart?” His voice is low. “What’re you gonna do besides threaten me with an oversized needle?” 

“Sew.” 

The threads fly toward him, wrap under his armpits and over his shoulders, and pull. Law flies back. Before he hits the tree, he appears next to it, a twig breaking to pieces against the trunk instead. 

“Shambles.” 

Trusting your instincts, you know he will swap you with the rock in front of him. Lifting your fist, your body is doused with tingles, and then you’re throwing your arm, your fist connecting with his jaw. His head snaps to the side. 

“Fuck,” Law spits blood onto the dirt. 

You bounce back on your toes. “Not so tough now, huh, big boy?” 

Law meets your glare with his own, and you feel the tendrils of your power purring against your skin. The sun pours through the canopy, the shadows dancing under your feet. You choose to use them to your advantage.

Threads snake along the forest floor, and you keep your eyes on Law to distract him. He pants, his hair sticking to his forehead with sweat, and you’re sure you look the same. You stand there, staring at each other, your threads slinking around him. Law’s tongue darts out to catch the blood on his lip before it drips onto his shirt, and he smiles, blood painting his teeth. The sight is unholy, and a shiver goes down your spine. 

“Well?” 

You continue to say nothing, your eyes trailing down his face to his lips and then further. Law stands there as you blatantly check him out. You never quite realised how tall he is; being in a cramped submarine makes everyone look tall, and maybe it's his terrible posture, too, because when you look at him now, he’s menacing. 

You want to climb him like a tree. 

You shake your head, remembering where you are. “Sew.” 

And then your threads wrap around his body, tightening. You approach him slowly, like a predator with its prey. 

“If you wanted to tie me up so bad, you should’ve just asked.” 

His comment has you gaping, and then he’s gone, swapping himself with another rock. You sigh and turn around, ducking before he can knock you over. 

Your palm shoots out, knocking him in the sternum. Law gasps and grabs your wrist, flipping your body so your chest is against a tree trunk. He stands flush against you. You pant with exhaustion, sweat dripping down the side of your face. 

“Go again,” Law growls, stepping back and letting you off the tree. “Room.” 

Your face hardens, and you run to put distance between you. “Needles.” 

Giant metal needles materialise before you, pointing directly at Law. You see his eyes widen slightly at their speed, but once your needles enter his room, he cuts them down like they’re cooked noodles. 

“Again.” 

“Fuck you.” 

Law’s eyebrow quirks up, a cocky smirk making your skin burn. “Again.” 

“Needles.” 

“Room.”

A familiar blue dome approaches, and you throw everything you can at him, but he’s quick. Law dodges and weaves through your attacks, slicing through all threads and slashing all needles you send him. 

You want to scream with frustration. Law retracts his room, opening his mouth to call out something. But blood slides down your forearms, and something snaps inside you. 

You know what’s happening, but you won’t stop it. You won’t use your full potential. Your grip on your ability slips, and your available power runs out, making the needles spin in the air and aim for Law. 

“No,” You whisper, trying to pull the needles away from him with the fumes of power you have left in your reserve, but it’s not enough. 

Law readies his katana, swiping at the needles as they race towards him like missiles. Usually, you’d see objects fly in different directions after being sliced by him. But, like he didn’t even brush them, the needles continue their path toward Law, and he pauses. “Shambles.” 

“Law!” You scream, watching him stumble to the forest floor in a different spot completely. 

Sprinting over to him, you put your hands on his chest. That’s when you notice the blood on your hands, and you run your hands over his torso to check for injuries. 

“Law?” You murmur, seeing his eyes squeezed shut. “Law.”

“You shouldn’t care for your opponent,” He groans and sits up, his hand rubbing his sternum. “But that was strong. Good.” 

Shaking your head, you ignore his stupid comment, your bloody palm over your mouth. “I hurt you.”

“I’m fine.”

“You fell.” 

“That was from shambles. Lost my balance.”

You stand on shaky legs. “What if I hit you?”

“You didn’t,” Law follows you up, noticing the blood on your hands. His breath catches in his throat, and he double-checks his body. He’s uninjured. 

Law is behind you when you turn, circling to stand before you. “Look at me.”

He speaks your name lowly. 

“Look at me,” He repeats, tone coaxing. 

You can’t, eyes focused on the blood dripping from your fingers. His hand brushes your cheek, and then his fingers are on your chin, tilting your face to his. 

“I’m fine, see,” Law pulls away from you, lifting his arms out to the sides. “You didn’t hurt me.” 

“But, the blood,” You say, bringing your hands closer to your face. “There’s so much of it.” 

Law closes his palms around your fingers, the blood smearing. “I’m okay, sweetheart, and so are you. We just need to work on using all of your available power, that’s all.”

You look into his eyes, the steel grey of them comforting. A shadow of a smile finds its way to his cheeks, and you exhale shakily. 

You won’t be using your full power in front of him. 

“You promise?” 

Law nods, squeezing your hands tighter. “Promise.” 

You breathe in and out, focusing on trying to stop the tears from collecting on your waterline.

Law lowers your hands, releasing them before he steps back and clears his throat, his usual hard exterior like a mask. “Do you want to go back to the sub?” 

You shake your head, trying to rub your palms on your pants. “I just want to stay here a bit longer. Don’t want anyone to see me like this.” 

“Like what?”

“Like I’m out of control.” 

Law sucks his bottom lip into his mouth. He’s thinking, you know that much. And the more you look at him, the more injuries you see. There’s a nasty bruise forming on the side of his jaw where you punched him, as well as dried blood on the corner of his lips, and there’s a little rope burn on the side of his neck. You don’t want to know what you look like. 

“C’mon,” Law says, turning and walking away from you. 

“Where’re we going?” 

“I think there’s a creek down here,” He nods in the direction he’s walking. “We’ll get the blood off you.”

You nod but don’t say anything. Law glances over his shoulder. 

“Is that okay?” 

“Oh,” You look up. “Yeah, that’s fine.” 

Law stops to wait for you to catch up. When you do, he leans his head down. “You were holding back.” 

Your shoulders tense. “Why do you say that?”

Law snorts. “Look at how much blood’s on your hands. It’s like a massacre.” 

“I didn’t want to hurt you,” You shrug. “Is that a problem?” 

“I can handle myself.”

You finally hear the creek he was talking about and ignore him. You haven’t heard the running water in a while despite being underwater. There’s something comforting about gurgling water flowing over rocks. 

“Next time we spar,” Law keeps his voice low. “I want to see why your bounty’s so high, okay? Because right now, you’re at 70 million berries.” 

You open your mouth to defend yourself, but he continues.

“There’s clearly more to your power than just throwing around needles and thread. I want to see it.” 

You let out a shaky breath. “My body will need to rest before I can do that.”

Law nods curtly. “And I respect that. Just don’t go easy on me next time.” 

You look at him to see a smirk playing on his lips. Scoffing, you bump him with your shoulder. 

The creek comes into view, and you rush to it, dipping your hands in the freezing water to clean your hands. As you scrub, Law sits beside you. 

The urge to tell him everything eats at you. You shouldn’t, you really shouldn’t tell him. He’s a rival pirate. But when you give him a sidelong glance and see the content glint in his eye, you break. You hope you don’t regret it. 

“I don’t use my true power,” You mumble, hoping he can’t hear you. 

Law blinks but leans toward you. You kick yourself when you realise he does. “Why?” 

“I’m scared of it.”

He doesn’t say anything, letting you continue. 

“My bounty’s so high and has been for years because of the few times I used it.”

“And you’d never use it again?” 

You ponder his question. “If the situation calls for it, then I would. But with Luffy, I never have to. We always find a way out of things.”

Law tilts his head, and you can tell there’s something he wants to ask. 

“Just say it,” You wave your hand. You’re sure you know what he’s going to ask anyway, so you may as well get it over with. 

“Can you use it on me?” 

You still. That was not what you were expecting.

“The Sew-Sew Fruit,” Law sits up straighter. “If what I’ve gathered from the abilities you’ve shown me and my research, I can guess that your true power is a mindscape where you can cut objects, people, from this world and sew them into your own. A sort of alternate reality.” 

You curse his brilliant mind. “Maybe you’re too smart for your own good.” 

“Am I right?” 

You keep washing your hands to busy yourself. “I don’t take entire people, only their souls. Why would you want me to use it on you?” 

“So I can help you.”

Something tugs on your subconscious, and you try your best to pinpoint it. “Are you crazy?” 

“Maybe.” Law puts his hands on your wrists, stopping your rough scrubbing—your hands are clean. 

His fingers are rough against yours, and you try your best to think of another topic because you sure as hell aren’t thinking about your power right now. 

“What do your tattoos mean?”

Law looks at you surprised. He’s silent momentarily, swallowing thickly before pulling his hands away from yours and running his fingers over his knuckles. You can tell he doesn’t talk about himself much because he mulls over the words he wants to say in his mouth before he does. 

“These remind me of what’s at stake when treating patients. Helps keep me calm.” 

You stare at the letters, reflecting on what Shakuyaku told you when you were on Sabaody. Trafalgar Law, the Surgeon of Death. 

When he doesn’t go on about the others, you don’t ask. 

“Cool,” You say, picking a loose thread on your pants. 

Law hums, watching your fingers fidget. 

You wipe your hands dry on your t-shirt. “Anyway, why do you want me to use Seam on you?” 

“Seam,” Law mutters. “Straw Hat said you need to become stronger. I told him I’d help, so I will with the only way I know how.” 

“Which is?”

“A hands-on approach.”

You scratch your hairline in an attempt to hide from him. It’s true what Luffy told him because he also told you and your crew. Get stronger.

You cough. “What do you get out of this?” 

“Now you’re thinking like a pirate,” Law teases before he shrugs. “Nothing but the satisfaction of helping a friend.” 

Friend. 

Your stomach churns with discomfort, and you’re unsure why the word burns you so much. It sounds foreign on Law’s tongue. But despite his joking manner, the words he spoke when you first met scolds you from the inside out. 

“But I’m just useful to you, right?” You poke your finger into his chest. “What did you call me? Leverage?” 

Law sighs, running his hand through his hair. “That was before. It’s different now.” 

“Before what?” You ask, standing from the bed of the creek. Law follows, and he towers over you. He swallows, and you can tell he’s deciding whether to tell you. His cheeks go ruddy, and you squint at him in confusion. 

“It’s not important.”

“Law.”

It’s hurting him to say it.

“Before—”

“Captain! Quick!” 

Law’s head snaps to the side, concern changing his features. You watch him, mind racing at what he could possibly mean about before. 

“Bepo?” Law yells. “What’s wrong?” 

“We gotta go!” The bear calls from the forest. “The island’s full of giant lizards, and they’re attacking us!” 

Law looks unamused but moves anyway, running in the direction of Bepo’s voice and leaving you next to the water. 

You stare at the place he just was, your chest tight. You wipe your nose and return to the sub, watching for the giant lizards Bepo warned you about.

—

It turns out that giant lizards were the codename for Ikkaku’s return. You haven’t bothered to ask why, but you're more anxious about meeting the woman responsible for the maintenance of the submarine. 

In the distance, Law stands beside the Polar Tang, his hand on his forehead to shade his eyes from the sun's harsh glare. Above him, a large seagull descends, and on the back of it, a woman. 

When you make it to the sub, the bird is gone, and all that remains is Ikkaku. Her dark curly hair is covered with a yellow and orange striped beanie, and she still dons the white Heart Pirates boiler suit. She speaks animately to Penguin as you look around for Law. He must’ve returned to the submarine when you put your head down to watch for sparse rocks. 

Penguin calls your name, and you smile. “Hi!” 

Ikkaku eyes you up and down, her expression sour. “A Straw Hat, huh? I don’t know what you’re still doing here, but Captain is more than capable of handling whatever it is alone.” 

You come up short, watching as she bumps Penguin’s shoulder and walks away. You purse your lips, emotion lodged in your throat. The moment is over before it even begins, and there’s a surge of awkward tension in the air. Penguin clears his throat.

“You didn’t do anything,” He reassures, his hat-shrouded eyes darkening. “Ikkaku doesn't trust you guys. A-And by you guys, I mean the Straw Hats. Her, Uni, and Clione have a thing... I’m sure they'll get over it.” 

You hum and pretend the words don’t hurt you the way they do. Shrugging, you fake a laugh. “It’s fine. I’m used to it. I wouldn't trust me either.” 

He calls your name as you leave, not sparing a glance in the direction of the group that whispers as you pass by.

Bepo stands idly on the deck, twisting the map in his paws. You raise an eyebrow when he gives you a pitiful look.

"I don't need sympathy, Bepo."

He squeaks and almost rips the paper. "No, no sympathy here."

You give him a tight-lipped smile and pat his arm.

"I'm sorry," He murmurs, hanging his head.

"Wanna go inside?"

Bepo nods and turns, shuffling his feet to the door. His movements make a laugh tumble from your lips, and when he hears, Bepo's eyes are full of hope.

You reluctantly smile and shove him, though it does nothing to sway the tall mink.

"At least you've got me," Bepo says. "I know I'm not much, but—"

"Quit the self-deprecating jokes, Bepo," Shachi coughs from behind you. Penguin stands beside him and laughs. You can tell they're trying to lighten your mood.

You won't admit it, but it works.

"Yeah, you're gonna make the Tang flood with your pathetic tears," Penguin quips, brushing past you and down the stairs to the common area.

Bepo's jaw goes slack, and he pauses mid-step. "I'm sorry."

Chatter from the rest of the crew fills the stairwell, and you grab Bepo's paw to drag him down.

"Don't listen to them," You say, side-eyeing Penguin and Shachi when you pass them on the way to the couch. "They're just jealous that I like you more than them."

"Woah! Rude!"

"That's too far and NOT true!"

Bepo sticks out his tongue, and his two best friends pout.

You shake your head at their antics and wonder how you got so lucky to end up with them as your friends—you'd never say it out loud, but they fill the Straw Hat crew-sized void inside you.

— Scene 3 —

He’s watching you. 

If it were anyone else, it’d be unsettling. But Law’s steely grey eyes, usually reserved and cold, turn different when they’re on you. At least, that’s what you tell yourself. 

It’s a night off that hasn’t happened while you’ve been aboard, but Penguin and Shachi tell you they're the best nights of the year, and who are you to be doubtful? 

So, you are sitting on a couch in the common area, half-focused on the poker game before you. You’re not playing; instead, you choose to observe Bepo struggling to keep the cards in his paws and Shachi sneaking peeks at the ones that slip. A glass of who knows what, courtesy of Penguin, sits between your fingers, but you don’t drink any more of it—he’s very heavy-handed. 

Across the room, Law sits on a stray dining chair, his legs spread. He also has a near-full glass, holding it between his open knees as he leans his forearms on his thighs. His hat is lopsided on his head, and his katana is propped against the wall beside him. Jean-Bart talks animately, but you know Law isn’t listening. He’s focused on you, after all. 

He asked if you could use Seam on him a week and a half ago, and since then, he’s kept to himself. It’s annoying you. 

Your eyes flicker to his, and he doesn’t react. You raise an eyebrow at him, to which he mirrors. Law’s expression remains cold, and you tilt your head in a silent question. You hope he understands you. 

Law looks away, and you deflate. 

“You want to take my place?” Shachi asks, throwing his cards on the table as his crewmates laugh. Uni, Clione, and Ikkaku remain silent, and you shake your head, disappointed. 

“I think I’ll go to bed.”

Penguin boos you from the other side of the table, and Bepo pouts. “You can’t!”

“Sorry, boys,” You force a laugh, setting your glass on the side table beside the couch. “Have fun.”

They all groan and make excuses why you can’t leave while you walk from the room. The stairwell is silent, and you take the stairs quickly. You risk a glance over your shoulder as you rush to your room.

The thought of finally having another woman on board used to make you excited; you were so keen to make another friend, but now it makes you bitter. It seems your reputation precedes you and not in the way you wish. From her comment last week, you guess Ikkaku thinks you’re using Law, but she could be further from the truth. You’ve grown fond of the man, and if you’re reading the signals right, he, you. 

An almost inaudible zip and boots clicking behind you make your heart skip; you’re certain Law used Shambles to follow you. 

“Yes?” 

Law doesn’t speak. Instead, there’s another zip right next to you and another, and then you stumble into his office. 

“Why,” You hunch over, panting, “would you do that?”

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“Don’t lie to me.” 

You sigh. “Give me a minute.” 

Law makes a sound of indignation. “You were fine when we were sparring.”

“I hadn’t been drinking then,” You say, stretching back up. 

He looks at you unimpressed. “Are you done?”

You level him with a glare, and when you don’t respond, Law circles his desk. 

“What’s wrong?”

“Ikkaku doesn’t like me.” 

Law hums and runs his tongue over his teeth. “Yeah, she’s made her dislike known.” 

You put your hands out. “What do I do? I’m not staying here if I drive a wedge between you and your crew…” 

“You’re staying. I want you here. They can deal with it.” 

The underlying desperation in his tone catches you off guard, and you open your mouth to respond when he cuts you off with a different topic entirely. 

“When will you be ready to use Seam?”

“Huh?” You blink. 

“Will you be ready tomorrow?” 

“Tomorrow?” You ask, still grasping the fact that he wants you here. “Where’re we going tomorrow?” 

“Bepo said there’s an island ahead,” He says. “I thought it’d be a good opportunity to start your training.” 

“We did start.”

“Not with Seam.” 

You regret telling him its name. “Fine, yeah, I’ll be ready tomorrow.” 

“Repeat it back to me.”

You furrow your brows. “What?”

Law sighs. “Repeat the plan, so I know we’re on the same page.”

“You’ve got issues.” 

“Flattery will get you nowhere.”

You gape at him and scoff. You can’t believe him right now, especially after the momentary display of vulnerability. 

Rolling your eyes, you groan. “Fine.”

Law tilts his head. 

“We’ll train at the next island,” You rehash. “And there I’ll use Seam. Okay?”

“Great,” He smiles. 

You narrow your eyes when you see it’s fake. That son of a— “Great.”

“Perfect.”

“Perfect!” 

And then you leave, wanting nothing more than to wipe that pretty, cocky smirk off his face. 

— Scene 4 —

The Polar Tang docked at the island not twelve hours later. 

Your stomach flips with anxiety, your throat thick with nerves. You barely speak, choosing to keep your jaw set to prevent yourself from throwing up. 

You know you can pull out at any time, but the thought of holding yourself back any longer makes you seethe. If Luffy wants you to get stronger, then you will.

“You good?”

You let out a shaky breath, looking to your right. The coast of the island is calm, and the sun barely rocks where you stand on the deck. “Should be. Just gotta get the nerves out.”

Law looks over the uninhabited island. “You can say no.”

“I know.” 

“You don’t have to do this.”

“Law,” You sigh, turning toward him. His eyes are wide with apprehension, but he relaxes when you rest your fingers on his bicep. “I want to. This needs to happen if I’m to survive in the New World.”

Law raises an eyebrow, still unsure, but nods. “Okay.” 

And then he’s gone, appearing 30 feet away on the grass. “Room.”

You jump down from the deck onto the ground, walking into his Room. You’d discussed the entire plan earlier today, hunched over his desk with a pen and paper. You were to summon Seam inside Law’s Room in case the island decides to surprise you with giant lizards (you laughed when Law brought it up) or if something goes wrong. You’re not sure how it would work considering his consciousness inside your mindscape, but if it makes him feel safer, you’re happy to comply. 

Law stands there, waiting for you to approach. “Ready, sweetheart?”

You nod, resting your hand on his arm. You inhale sharply and deeply, closing your eyes and calming the nerves, reaping havoc within your stomach. 

Law watches you, and somehow, that slows your racing heart. You’re sure it’s something he can do inside Room, but you put that thought aside, focusing on honing your power. 

“Seam.”

Law makes a startled sound, and you know he sees the scene before you. Your eyes flicker open, and for the first time in years, you see fragments of the world mending together with your own—the one created by the Sew-Sew Fruit. You’re still in the real world, but you’ve taken Law’s soul in your hands. 

You feel him stiffen as his heart slows and his breathing weakens. You hate having someone’s life in your hands like this—maybe you should get Law’s death tattoos inked on your fingers, too. 

You transport yourself into Seam, seeing Law walking around aimlessly. His eyes widen as he curses silently, watching the ocean hang from the sky, the Polar Tang floating mid-air. 

Seam is a mixture of the current place and all the others you’ve seen. And since becoming a pirate, Seam has grown exponentially. To the right, you see the Going Merry docked in Skypeia, the clouds from the sky island hanging around it. Behind you, there’s a combination of the snowy mountains of Drum Island and the dunes of Alabasta, and to your left sits the Baratie. On the horizon before you, bats fly around, and the mansion on Thriller Bark sits ominously in the distance. 

With the ocean above you, it’s easy to see where things are. And beneath your feet is grass. It’s always been grass. 

It’s a collection of your memories, you realise. And you tear up at the sight of everything around you. It’s been a long time since you’ve been here. 

He whispers your name in disbelief. “This is incredible.”

You shrug one shoulder, not used to Law using such words. 

Law spins around and walks toward you. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, are you?” 

“I feel weightless,” Law huffs a laugh. “What’s going on outside?”

“You’re dead.”

Law’s look of incredulity drops. “What?”

“Not really, but it seems like you are. When someone’s inside Seam, their soul transfers over, and their body doesn’t. So we’re still on the island, but your body is frozen in a dreamlike state.” 

“Can you use this to fight? Can you simply touch someone, and their soul comes here? How many souls can transfer?” 

“You’re full of questions today,” You joke, the feeling of being in Seam alleviating the heaviness on your chest. It surprises you. “But to put it simply, yes, yes, and as many as I want, but the more there are, the more it drains me.” 

“Wow,” Law breathes, his face to the sky as he studies his submarine. “You seal souls in here.” 

The initial relief of being here and nothing bad happening dissipates, and you nod solemnly. 

“Yes.”

“You’re incredible.”

You whip your head toward him, the movement quick. “What?”

Law laughs unguarded. It’s a sound you’ve never heard, and you want to bottle it up and keep it forever. “This—you are extraordinary. ”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” Your cheeks are hot. 

Who is this man, and what has he done with Law? 

“And you don’t use it? Why?” 

It’s a loaded question, but Law doesn’t seem to notice your wary expression. 

“I—uh, there was an incident.”

Law gives you a quizzical look. “You don’t have to tell me.”

“No,” You nod. “I want to.”

He remains silent, giving you time to collect your thoughts.

“A girl from my island was killed when she was in Seam.” 

Law listens intently, pulling you to the floor. You sit across from him, your legs crossed and your knees touching his. The grass underneath you is plush and never itchy. Your fingertips play with the blades of green, but they never rip. 

“It was years ago, so don’t pity me, okay?” 

He says nothing.

“Pirates attacked my island while I was using Seam on my friend, and because I know what’s going on on the outside, I ran, thinking my friend was following me. I didn’t know that a person’s physical body was unresponsive while they were in there. But because she was basically dead on her feet, and her soul was still in Seam, when the pirate killed her, her soul had nowhere to return to.”

Law’s thinking, you can tell. His eyebrows triangulate, and then realisation overcomes his expression.

“She’s still here.”

You nod and turn, pointing to a small house in the distance. It looks ragged now, but it still fills your heart with grief. It is your old home. “She lives in there. It’s protected against the other souls I bring here, but she remains the age she died.” 

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart.”

You shrug. “It is what it is. No use dwelling on the past.”

“Can I use my powers in here?”

“Your Devil Fruit soul is in here, isn’t it?” 

He nods. “So, if I use Room…”

“Its power and effectiveness will be depleted, but it will work.” 

“So you can fight people with Devil Fruits here. Their power is just weak.”

“Yeah…” You trail off. “But I can also move between worlds and kill them outside when their soul’s in here, trapping them forever. It’s the same here. If I kill the soul, the body dies. Either way, it’s like cutting down someone already dead.” 

Law exhales. You know the look in his eye, and your chest tightens.

“You want to use me.”

He sighs. “It’s not like that. I would never force you—I’d need your permission beforehand, of course.”

“What is it?”

Law scratches his forehead. “I’ve had this plan to become a Warlord.”

You freeze with your heart in your throat. A Warlord? “Why?”

“It’s complicated.”

You can tell he’s never told anyone this piece of information before by how he stutters it out—you’ve never seen Law stutter in the few months you’ve lived with his crew.

“If you’re going to use me to get there, I need to know why.”

Law takes your hand. “I’d only bring you with me if you wanted to, okay? There’s no ulterior motive. You’re powerful enough to kill me. This place is proof of that.” 

“Prove it to me,” You chew on your lip. “And then tell me your plan.”

He levels you with a wary look that cracks his face open. You’ve known Law to be emotionally constipated; it's a fact, but the face he wears now is one that makes him look younger, one that he’s never shown anyone in a long time. 

Law carefully brings his hands to his chest. He whispers something, scalpel. The technique is weak here, but you watch as his chest opens and his heart slides from a square slot. You stare at it in awe. 

“I’ve never done this before, given this willingly to someone else, okay?” His voice is wobbly. “Be careful with it.” 

And when he places the blue cube in your hands, your eyes fill with tears. His heart sits in your palms; it throbs softly and is warm. So warm. 

Then you realise your position: A pirate of a rival crew, holding the heart of a captain who’s powerful enough to become a Warlord. You could easily crush it between your hands, and being inside Seam, you could do it without him interfering. You could save yourself the trouble in the future when you’re back with the Straw Hats. It’s so easy. 

You peer up at Law, who remains still, his eyes on yours. You have control of his heart, and he’s staring at you. It’s then you know what this means. What he means to you. You’ve known him for two and a half months, but you would trust him with your life, and it’s obvious he would you, too. 

The throbbing of his heart increases, and you giggle in shock at the phenomenon. 

It's a monumental moment, you know this, though you feel nothing but anticipation in your chest. Anticipation for the sole reason that Law knows you're powerful enough to help him, and that makes him excited, which in turn, makes you excited. 

You love him. 

The realisation hits you all at once, and silent tears slide down your cheeks, and when your eyes focus back on him, everything you’ve ever wanted is sitting right before you. 

The moment is etching itself into your brain as you sit there, arms shaking with anxiety. 

You swallow and exhale deeply. “I trust you.” 

“I want to kill the four emperors.” 

—

So much for training, you think as you get back inside the Polar Tang. 

After you returned Law’s soul to his body, he asked endless questions. And who are you to turn down someone as eager to learn as he is? 

You’ve never seen Law so animated, and judging by the looks on Bepo’s face, neither has he. Law leads you down to his office, the door opposite your bedroom, and clicks it shut behind him. 

You sit on a chair facing his desk, fingernails picking the worn leather. “So, what's the plan?” 

Law pokes around the bookshelf on the room's far wall, picking out different books. He puts the stack on his desk and sits in his chair. Law grabs the first book on the pile. There’s an air about him that makes your heart swell tenfold—he has a child-like wonder etched into his expression and a giddy dance in his fingers as he flips to a predetermined page. 

“I’m going to give the World Government one hundred hearts.” 

You're taken aback, leaning forward in the armchair. The way he says it with such an innocent flicker to his tone makes you question if he really just said what he did. “Whose?” 

“Pirates,” He pours over the page, using his finger to find the line he’s looking for. 

“Isn’t that unethical?” 

Law snorts, glancing up at you. “I’m not killing them.”

You purse your lips with slight amusement. “Okay…” Like that makes it better. 

“The Marines can decide what to do with the hearts.”

“And how are you doing this?”

Law observes you for a second. “Ever heard of Poneglyphs?” 

“Robin told me.” 

“Nico Robin?”

You hum. “What about them?”

“I’ve got intel that there's one on an island called Hachinosu in the New World, and we’re going to infiltrate it.” 

“Okay, I get that, but why steal the hearts?”

“To get the government’s attention.” 

“There’s more to this you’re not telling me,” You say. 

Law nods. “Of course there is. But this is a stepping stone in the grand scheme.” 

“And what’s the grand scheme?”

“I need to kill someone,” Law mutters. That was easy. 

“You don’t mean…”

“Say it.”

“Another Warlord?”

You get your response when he doesn’t answer, and decide to take a different approach. 

“What’s this got to do with the Four Emperors of the Sea?” 

Law exhales deeply. “Kaido wants to monopolise on SMILE to create a pirate crew solely of Devil Fruit users. Donquioxte Doflamingo runs the factory that produces them on Dressrosa, another island in the New World.” 

“Wait,” You close your eyes, mind puzzled. “You’re gonna need to explain the whole thing to me.”

Law turns the book in front of him to show you the page. There’s an illustration of a giant building, in front of it stands a group of people in white coats. 

“Twenty years ago, there were scientists on this island, Punk Hazard, who artificially created ancient giants,” He points to an island on the map on the opposite page. “Kaido purchased these giants for his crew at the time.”

Law looks at you expectantly to make sure you’re following. When you nod, exhaling, he continues. 

“Two years ago, when the island was being used by Vegapunk, the island exploded when one of his scientists threw a fit with his Devil Fruit, rendering it uninhabitable.

“This year, the poison gas that was on the island as a result of that scientist’s rage dispersed. After Marineford, it was the site of Aokiji and Akainu’s battle. But, if I’ve heard correctly, there are plans to restore Vegapunk’s laboratory and start producing a substance called SAD, which can be used to make SMILE or man-made Devil Fruits. Kaido is the mastermind behind this since he took the original giants from the scientists before Vegapunk. Therefore, I need to become a Warlord to have unrestricted access to and destroy the site.” 

He’s got this all figured out. 

“So, who's the Warlord you want to kill?” 

“Donquixote Doflamingo.”

You ponder it. “Why?”

“Revenge.” 

“And what do I get out of this?”  

Law runs his eyes over you. “Think of it as helping a friend. We help each other reach our goals. Me, killing Doflamingo, and you, stronger than you’ve ever been.”

You consider his proposition, pursing your lips when he rehashes what he said on Lizard Island. 

Helping a friend. You wonder if it’s something he says to every pirate he makes an alliance with, but you doubt it. You’ve been on his submarine long enough to know that that word isn’t in this man’s vocabulary—you wonder what it means to him. 

It’s a huge plan, one that could fail at any time, and sure, there are things he’s not telling you—like how the Poneglyphs and Doflamingo are correlated, perhaps they’re not—but you know your answer. You’ve always been a sucker for revenge plans. 

Before you tell him, you ponder how your crew is going, if they’d be scared that you’re even considering helping someone become a Warlord. You think about the ones you’ve defeated or fought before: Crocodile, Blackbeard, Moria, Bartholomew Kuma. But there’s a few that helped you. Boa Hancock is the main woman on your mind, and you smile. You hope Luffy’s okay. 

So, your decision is an easy one. You smile. “When do we start?”  

— Scene 5 —

Bepo knows something’s going on. He sees the silent conversations between you and his captain and the meetings in Law’s office. At first, he thinks nothing of it since Law’s training you, But when he watches you and Law whisper in a crowded room, his poor little heart can’t take it any longer. 

“So, you and Law…”

You don’t look up from the map Bepo has you outlining. “What about me and Law?”

“Are you… you know…”

When you glance at him, the fur on his cheeks is tinted red. “What are you talking about?”

Bepo squeaks. “Is there something going on?” 

Your hand pauses on the page. “Like what?”

“Something… you know,” Bepo whines. “Don’t make me say it.”

“Bepo, I couldn’t make you say anything. I don’t even know what you’re referring to.” 

“Are you kissing?” He slaps his paw over his mouth. 

You gape at him, your face heating up. “What? No!”

“I’m sorry!” Bepo cries.

You sit awkwardly with your face in your hands, having dropped the pencil at his question. 

“Talk to Law if you’re so concerned about it,” You say, dropping your hands to your lap. “But never ask that again.”

Bepo stands from the table, his chair scraping. “I’m sorry!” 

And then he runs from the room. You stare at where he just sat, contemplating if you and Law looked like that from an outsider’s perspective. Surely, you have countless meetings about the mission and training at almost every possible island the submarine encounters, but that’s all business. Your body warms like it's trying to rid itself of a virus. 

You rest your forehead on the table. If the Heart Pirates think something like that is happening, the alliance between you and Law will never work. He can’t have his crew distrusting him. 

There’s a crackling through the speakers. 

“Meeting in the common area in 5. I won’t tell you again.”

When you get there, the crew is packed inside. You spot Bepo near the front of the room and push through pirates to get there; all of them are happy to let you through. You wonder if they think you’re only here for one reason. The thought disgusts you. 

“We have a new objective,” Law announces. “To kill Domflamingo, a Warlord status must be achieved.”

The Heart Pirates gasp and start murmuring. A few pirates, namely Uni, Ikkaku, and Clione, who you’ve yet to have a proper conversation with, eye you with disdain. They clearly have a problem with you, a Straw Hat, being here, but you give them a tight-lipped smile and look back to Law. 

He looks at you and says your name. “We’re forming an alliance. She has Devil Fruit powers that could make the process quicker. Therefore, we’ll be working together for the foreseeable future. We leave for the New World now.”

Your smile is still a thin line, but you know why he had to tell him—they’re his crew, after all. 

“So get your shit together,” He glares at the three pirates who regard you with contempt. “Back to work.” 

A collective yes, captain rumbles through the room before they go back to their tasks. 

“And Bepo,” Law says, his voice low. “Get your head out of the gutter.” 

Bepo whines and then sulks as he leaves, his head down. Penguin and Shachi bump his shoulders, snickering. You shadow them down to the boiler room, your steps light and calculated. 

It was a technique Law taught you, how to keep your steps silent. Your training has been more beneficial than you imagined—Zoro will be so proud of your stealth skills—and you still have much to learn. 

Seam has been easier each time you summon it, and the thought of doing so now brings little to no negative emotions. You’ve learnt to embrace the technique instead of fearing it—as you said, there’s no use dwelling on the past. 

Two weeks isn’t a lot of time, but you reiterate the plan in your mind every available moment Bepo has you watching him work instead of making you outline islands. It’s all you think about before you sleep and when you wake up. That and Law. 

You shake your head. There’s no time to think about him when the most important year of your life is about to begin. 

Your mother always told you that if you risk nothing, you’re risking everything. And if you and Law are to stop Doflamingo and whatever he has over Law’s head, it’s only a matter of time before you must decide what is worth risking for the sake of humanity. 

— Scene 6 —

“Docking!” 

The submarine surfaces at a random island in the New World. You’re the first to emerge from the entrance, and people stare at the submarine with suspicious glares. You pay no mind.

It’s been three months since Law told you his plan and three months since your hands last bled. The Heart Pirates are on their way to Hachinosu Pirate Island, where the Poneglyph is, and Law recommended a trial for the heart-stealing scheme. The victim is some lowly pirate named Seamus Wells. 

Since you’ve entered the New World, you’ve used Seam far more than you ever thought you would, no longer holding back your true power. The mere thought of showing your crew what you’ve become fills you with such anticipation that you can barely contain it nowadays. 

Bepo runs past you, the plank of wood in his paws. He slams it down on the concrete, causing a few civilians to flee in terror. “Oops.”

“Seamus Wells should be staying on the island's east side,” Law announces as his crew files onto the deck. “Keep away from there, understand?” 

Yes, captain. 

“We’ve got five hours to kill before we need to be there,” He says, adjusting the katana on his shoulder. “Do whatever you want.” 

You raise your eyebrows. “You’re not coming?”

“I’d rather stay here than be recognised and jeopardise our plan. Here,” He fishes a baby transponder snail from his coat. “Take this. I’ll let you know if the plan changes.” 

You take it from him, noticing the patterned hat on its head, which is similar to the one that sits on Law’s. “That’s so cute.”

“Shut it,” Law snaps, his cold exterior never wavering. “Bepo, accompany her.”

“Doubt she needs an escort, but okay,” Bepo jokes, pulling you with him off the sub. 

Law turns, pausing to scan the rear of the submarine with his sharp eyes before he goes inside.

Guess he’s all business today. 

“Come on, are you hungry?” 

You smile at the polar bear, dragging your gaze away from Law’s retreating figure. “I could eat.”

Penguin cuts in, his steps aligning with yours. “I’m starving.”

“Me, too,” Shachi groans. 

Bepo shakes his head. “Why’re you two here?”

“Captain told you to accompany her, and we’re accompanying you.” 

Bepo opens to mouth to reply, most likely a complaint, but you point to a restaurant in the distance and a line of people outside. “Let's go there.”

Penguin and Shachi’s steps increase, and then they are running toward the building. There are a few stray screams, but most people disappear when you join the end of the line. 

“What’s their problem?” Bepo stills beside you, and you look up at him. “What?”

“Look.”

Your face and Law’s hang on the wall of the restaurant entrance, and an obscene number of berries are listed below your names. Wanted posters. 

“They know you’re working together.”

“I got that,” You snap, the mere presence of the posters souring your mood. Cursing under your breath, you feel your chest tighten. “But the Straw Hats are meant to be dead.” 

“We should go back to the sub,” Penguin mumbles, his eyes darting in every direction. When you turn to see where he’s looking, you glare at the civilians approaching slowly with firearms. There aren’t many; you count fifteen minimum, but the fact that you’ve been here less than twenty minutes has irritation morphing your features. 

“They’re not meant to know I’m alive.” 

Bepo whines beside you. “We gotta go.”

“Okay, in a second.” You take a second to inspect yours. 400 million berries. 

You pout in confusion. When did that increase? 

And then you slide your eyes to Law’s. 450 million berries. 

You smirk before you notice the whispering occurring around you. Perhaps if you saw them in your own time and not in front of a large group of civilians, you’d taken them down and show Law. There is only a 50 million berry difference. 

The others are already down the road when you decide to leave the line, your nerves simmering. 

If the world knows a Straw Hat is alive, you may as well embrace it. 

“Hurry up!”

You twist your lips, stopping in the middle of the street to observe the civilians. 

“Get outta here, pirate!” “Yeah! Unless you want your head on a stick.” 

You feel a pang of regret in your chest at the fear on their faces but continue toward the Polar Tang. 

There are quick, heavy footfalls behind you. In the distance, you see Law standing on the deck, watching you. His face remains emotionless, but you see a familiar glint in his eye. 

When the person swings their weapon, you dodge swiftly, moving your head slightly to the left. You have yet to face them, but you can imagine the gobsmacked look on their face. 

You refuse to fight a civilian, instead choosing to break out into a sprint toward the submarine. 

“Took you a while,” Law teases. “I was starting to get worried.”

You stick your tongue out, crossing the wood plank to jump onto the deck. “Awww, you care about me?”

“Tsk,” Law turns around, cheeks warming. “We’re going to dock elsewhere.”

You hop down the stairs, preparing yourself for the jolt of the entrance closing. The sub immediately submerges, and Law touches your shoulder to keep you steady. 

“Guess what I saw,” You bite back your smile. 

“Enlighten me.” 

“My bounty’s gone up.”

Law smirks, glancing at the barely contained smile on your face. “Oh, yeah?”

“400 million.”

He whistles lowly. “Soon, you’ll be in the big league, sweetheart.”

You knock his bicep with your shoulder. “Okay, Mr 450 million.” 

“Captain! The east side of the island is approaching.” 

“Surface there,” Law replies without taking his eyes off you. 

His voice lowers. “We’re moving the mission forward. The island’s already aware of our presence. May as well get it over with now.” 

“Docking!”

“Let’s go.”

—

Seamus Wells works in a fish factory. The sun sets behind you as you step through discarded fish guts and bones, the floor slathered with sticky blood. You hold your hand over your nose and mouth, the smell enough to make you gag. 

Law strides ahead of you, the scabbard that holds his katana reflecting the deep gold of the sun. How he’s walking through here fine is unknown to you, but you try to catch up with him, the soles of your boots slipping slightly. 

“You’d think they’d have a better way of managing this,” You murmur. “Poor fish.” 

“Quiet.” 

You frown, mocking him. A crack from the floor above makes your face drop. 

Law stops ahead of you, his hand out, his index finger pointed. You know the gesture. Shut the fuck up, and don’t move. 

His head turns slowly until you see his sidelong glance on you. There are no further sounds, and you hold your breath. 

You realise the sun goes down fairly quickly on San Faldo, and the night air wafts over your skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake. It’s suddenly dark, and the waves against the wharf outside have settled. 

Unease stews in your stomach, and you resist the urge to run. You don’t dare look behind you in fear of what you may see, focusing your eyes on the staircase in the corner. Across from you, Law senses your discomfort, and his steps are light and calculated as he makes his way over to you. 

You grasp his hand, chills going down your spine as the wind whistles through a crack in the broken window on the far wall. The scene reminds you of Thriller Bark, and you set your jaw in an attempt to stop shivering. 

Law’s hand is big and warm in yours, his skin calloused. His head is on a swivel, monitoring for any danger. You grip harder, moving your other hand to the crook of his elbow. 

And despite the terror coursing through your veins, you can’t help but take note of the hard muscle. It’s a good distraction but not important right now, and you almost laugh at your ridiculousness. Law looks down at you, a quizzical twinkle in his eye, but he doesn’t move an inch. 

You shake against him, the breeze finding its way under your clothes, and notice that you can see it when you breathe. When did the temperature drop so drastically? 

Law points upstairs, to which you do nothing. If he was expecting a response, he didn’t get one. Then, he raises his hand. 

“Shambles,” He whispers, and you almost lose your balance as you land at the foot of the stairs. 

“Don’t make any unnecessary noise,” Law leans to whisper in your ear, and you shiver. 

You silently salute, choosing to lighten the mood with a silly gesture that he blinks at. Law makes to go up the stairs, ignoring your gesture. Panic takes hold of your chest, and you tug him back into you. 

“What’re you doing?”

Law scrunches his face. “Me? What’re you doing?” 

You squeak when there’s a scuffle. Clearly, over it, Law sighs and takes the stairs two at a time. And since he knows you won’t stay downstairs alone, he isn’t surprised when you chase after him, your hand returning to his forearm. 

What you see is nothing short of disgusting. 

“What the fuck.”

The man, who you know is Seamus, sits on a wooden chair, fish blood soaking his clothes. 

“Keep away from me!” 

“Seriously?” Law utters, unimpressed. 

“Stay back!”

You scowl. “And to think I was scared shitless.” 

Law steps away from you. “Room.” 

A familiar blue dome covers you. Law draws his katana from its scabbard, its sleek design glinting in the moonlight. He slices the air, and Seamus is dismembered, his head floating a few feet above his body. 

Seamus screams, noticing his body sitting in the chair headless. “Don’t kill me!”

Law makes quick work of the fish blood, using his power to remove it from Seamus’ clothes. You watch in awe as the white of the t-shirt turns pristine.

You’ve told Law of your admiration for his Devil Fruit powers. He usually waves it off with pink-tinted cheeks and an unamused expression. But watching something like this in action, you want to know just how deep his power goes. 

“Please! I’ll do anything,” Seamus sobs, tears and snot coating his face. “Please don’t kill me.” 

“As you’ve said, asshole,” Law steps back and retracts room. “Your turn.”

You feel your icy cheeks defrost at the realisation of his actions. You give him a smile of appreciation and approach Seamus. 

But when he looks at you, his crying ceases. “What’re you gonna do, huh? Slap me with those little hands? You should let your boyfriend do the work.” 

Law grunts behind you, but you cock your head, pointedly ignoring the boyfriend call. 

Seamus chokes out a laugh between his hiccups. “You don’t scare me.” 

You shrug and place your hand on his greasy hair. “Seam.” 

He goes limp in the chair, his eyes rolling to the back of his head. 

“Can I have fun with him while you’re in there?”

“Go ahead,” You joke before transporting into Seam. 

Seamus’ wails echo through your mindscape when you get there. It’s changed, and you give the scene a look of disgust. Thanks to Seamus, the walls of Seam are painted red, fish blood dripping from the Sunny, coagulating on the sands of Alabasta, and staining the seas of the East Blue. You curse him for tainting your memories. 

He’s running toward the house, and you claw your hand. “Sew.”

He’s yanked back, a thick thread wrapped around his neck. He struggles against it as you pull him toward you, and when he gets a glimpse of you, he screams. 

Needles materialise in your hands, and you slam one of them down just in front of his crotch, to which his eyes bulge out of his head.

“You were talking such a tough game out there, Seamus. What happened?” You'd surely crack a few teeth if you clenched your jaw any harder. “You even said I wasn’t scary, yet you screamed when you saw me.”

He says nothing, but his throat is starting to become raw. 

“You’ve ruined Seam with your stupid, fishy blood tactic,” You complain, sinking the second needle into the grass beside his foot, just knicking the edge of his shoe. “Now, it's all I’m gonna see for the next few weeks.” 

Sighing, you consider him again, groaning when you see that the front of his pants is darker than the rest. 

“Ergh,” You scrunch your nose. “I’m gonna leave now. My job’s done.”

“Don’t kill me!”

When you transport out of Seam, you see Law position his hand for scalpel, and you immediately remove your fingers from the strands of hair.

“Oh,” You roll your lips between your teeth when you circle the chair. You told Law to make a masterpiece, and he did, albeit a little psychotically. 

Law has a callous smile playing on his lips, and the sight is utterly intoxicating. The first time you saw the expression and vacant silver gaze, you understood why they call him the Surgeon of Death—the man is simply brutal. When you first met him, you thought his blood ran cold, but you hadn’t met the man Shakky spoke of until he took the first heart of one hundred. Initially, he scared you, but now, you’re terribly and irrevocably fascinated by him. If only those people knew the side of him that you did. 

“Have fun in there?”

“Looks like your fun puts mine to shame.”

Seamus’s chest is raw, his skin in strips. That’s all you see before you look away. 

“Do it,” You say. “And make it painful.”

Law coughs a laugh. “Feeling a little sadistic, are we?”

You arch an eyebrow. “People like him deserve it.” 

He hums and turns his attention back to Seamus, and you watch as a cube emerges from his chest. It floats into Law’s palm, and he gives it a little squeeze. He observes the body before him writhe in pain, but no noise escapes—Seamus’ soul is still in Seam after all. 

Law hums. “Not as satisfying.”

Clicking your tongue, you remove Seamus from your mindscape, and the room fills with shrieks. You wince, your shoulders raising to your ears. 

“Okay, we’re done,” You say, spinning and making a beeline for the stairs. “C’mon, Hachinosu is waiting for us.” 

Law shoves the heart into his coat and pries his eyes from his victim. 

— Scene 7 —

Your eye twitches as you watch a pirate sock Bepo in the face. You’ve been put on rest before the mission in Hachinosu. Law told you to save energy for it, so you follow his professional instructions. 

On the way to the drop-off point, a ship started bombing the submarine, hence why you’re cringing as Bepo takes another hit.

You stand on the deck of the Polar Tang while the Heart Pirates fight. They looked to be rookies when they attacked the Polar Tang, but you know not to underestimate rookies, especially since you’re a Straw Hat, so when Penguin joked that it was going to be an easy battle, you arched an eyebrow and shook your head. Oh, how wrong he was. 

Now, Penguin lays on the ground holding his arm. You’re sure it's broken. 

“Get up, Penguin!” You yell. “Thought this was gonna be easy! We’re in the New World!”

He whines, rolling on the dirt. “Shut up!”

An explosion rocks the submarine, and you teeter, making a sound of surprise. Your feet slide on the salty deck, waves from the impact crashing over the left side. Another cannonball lands not 20 feet away, and you start to panic. “Guys!” 

Law gave you strict orders to not use your power—ever the responsible doctor. But with how things are going, you’ll be breaking his rules. 

“Fire!” The voice is muffled by the waves, but you hear it. 

“Sew.”

Threads weave together before you until they form a giant sheet, into which the airborne cannonball falls. Using one of Luffy’s offensive techniques, you fling the bomb back toward the ship it came from. Cries and screams echo before it turns the deck to splinters. 

“Hey!” Law calls, his voice gruff. “I thought I told you not to use that.”

You turn to see him on the ground beneath the sub. “Sorry, my life was in danger.” 

“You’re never in danger,” Law quips. “Not with me around. Now, go inside.”

“Inside?” Your heart skips a beat. Not with me around.  

“You’re less likely to use your power,” He dodges an attack, his katana in his hands as he swipes at them. “Please, go.” 

Sighing, you follow his orders—but only because he said please. 

It’s not long before the rest of the crew piles inside. But you see Law holding something white and mangled instead of his proud smirk. You tug your eyebrows together and draw closer to him. 

“What’s that?” You ask warily, having a feeling you know. Considering his head is bare, his black tendrils standing on end, your heart drops. “Oh, Law.”

He sniffs. “Nothing to worry about. Just a hat.” 

You know he’s lying, but nod anyway and leave him. 

Bepo’s solemn face haunts you. He follows you around, not knowing what to do when his captain is heartbroken. 

“How’s your jaw?” You ask, remembering the punch. 

“Oh, I'm fine. Nothing I can’t handle.” 

You look over at Ikkaku, who still holds a grudge against you, but her gaze is softer than usual this time. 

You give her a smile—an olive branch, despite not doing anything to offend her other than being on the submarine, and bearing the values of your crew. She gives you one back, and you take it as an appreciation for using your power to save the Polar Tang from the cannonballs. Uni and Clione sit beside her with the same reluctant gratitude. You take it as a win. 

The more you think about it, the more the whole ship seems on edge. The crew’s footsteps are light, and the common area is not nearly as rowdy as usual. One wrong move and Law will crack. 

So, you take it upon yourself to be the first one to disturb him in his office. He’s been locked in there for hours, and since your bedroom is directly opposite, it only makes sense—at least that’s what you're telling yourself. 

You rap your knuckles on the door three times, slowly opening it after. “Law.”

The room is dark, and you hold your tongue when a joke surfaces in your mind. 

“I don’t want to talk right now.”

You step further in. “Are you okay?”

Law makes no sound. 

“If this is about your hat—”

“Leave me alone.” His voice is so broken that it hurts your chest. 

“I could fix it.”

He says your name softly. “Please, leave.” 

You swallow and nod once. “Of course… sorry for bothering you.” 

On your way out, you spot the cause of his distress sitting on the table. You clench your fists to resist the urge to take it, but the voice in your mind wins, and you snatch it. 

You rush from the room, and if Law sees you, he says nothing. 

When you get to your room, you lock the door behind you. The fur hat in your hands is covered in dirt and specks of blood, and it's utterly ruined. You curse at the state of it. 

You lay the pieces on your bed, figuring out how to piece them back together. It takes a few tries, but once you’ve got a design that works, you put your hand over the material. 

Immediately, the sections come together, forming a brim at the front instead of around the bottom like the original hat. It’s different, but you work with what you’ve got. 

You hold it in your hands once it’s formed and smile. Deep in your stomach, there’s an inkling of doubt that Law won’t accept it, but you hope he can appreciate the effort. 

—

You keep the hat to yourself for the night, not wanting to impose Law anymore. When the first sounds of the crew rising from their slumber wakes you, you’re quick to dash to the infirmary. Law’s in here every morning, and when you open the door, you’re not shocked to see him. What is jarring is the lack of his signature hat in the room—the one you’ve got under your arm. 

“Morning,” You greet, hiding the garment from his view. Law grunts, not bothering to look up from the paper he scribbles on. “I’ve got something for you.”

“If it’s one of Shachi’s new breakfast foods, I don’t want it.” 

You roll your eyes. “I’d never subject you to that.”

Law exhales a laugh. 

“This is far more important than that, anyway,” You walk up behind him. “Turn around.” 

He shakes his head. “I’ve got a lot of work to do, sweetheart. Can it wait?”

“Nope,” Smiling, you put your hand on his shoulder. Law sighs and glances at you. 

The look on his face is one you’ll never forget. 

“Wha–”

You suppress a giggle and shove the hat in his face. “I fixed it for you.” 

Law turns, his eyes wide. He takes the hat from your hands, the soft material delicate in his grip. He’s speechless. 

“I took it from your office last night, and I know I shouldn’t have, but you were so upset.” 

He shakes his head in disbelief. 

This lack of speech makes you nervous. “I know it’s not the same as it was before. There was no way I could salvage enough of it to do that, so now you have a brim. I think it looks cute, but—”

“Shut up.” 

You come up short, immediately closing your mouth. The infirmary falls silent, with you no longer rambling and Law standing there in shock, hearts in his eyes. 

“Law—”

“Thank you.”

His words have an underlying connotation; you just know it, and how he looks at you confirms it. 

You make a sound of surprise, your body freezing. You swear he can hear your heartbeat from how loud it is in your ears. “What?”

His gaze of adoration quickly fades when he sees your shock. He drops the hat on the trolley and turns back to his desk. “Are you hungry? I’m sure breakfast is ready.” 

You don’t know what he’s saying. You’re not listening. I love you, I love you. 

The tension between you is suffocating, weighing heavily on your chest. “Law.”

He lets out an awkward laugh, unsure what to say. 

“Look at me, Law.”

“I can’t,” He whispers. 

You tilt your head. “Why?”

“Because you don’t need to see me like this.”

“Like what?” Your tone grows hard. “Like you have feelings?”

He glares you. 

“You have a heart, Law. I see it every day,” You say. “So don’t pretend like you’re some cold, heartless man because you’re not.” 

When he doesn’t answer, you go on. “Do you need proof? I used to think you only picked me up in Sabaody because I was useful to you—”

“—you were—”

“—you wanted to help me, and you did. Because you’re kind, Law. You want to help people; otherwise, you wouldn’t try to kill the four emperors.” 

“And if I said it was purely selfish?” 

“I’d say you’re lying. Because despite this revenge plan you have for Doflamingo, you don’t want him hurting anyone else. You care for people.”

“Of course, I care for people,” Law snaps. “I wouldn’t be a doctor if I didn’t want to help others.” 

You shrug. “Need I say anymore?” 

“I’ve work to do.” Law murmurs, his eyes downcast and tongue in his cheek. 

You know when you’re being dismissed, so you hum and turn to leave, but not without noticing the tight grip he has on the fur hat. 

— Scene 8 —

Hijacking a ship is out of your expertise, especially a smuggling vessel. 

When you and Bepo spot the ship in the distance from the deck of the Polar Tang, its lights bright in the darkness, you immediately notify Law. 

“Are you sure it's the one?”

“Yes,” You groan. “Who else is out this far? Besides, there are no other ships around.”

Then, Hakugan directs the submarine toward the ship. 

Law shambles you and Bepo onto the vessel, where the pair of you are to distract someone and take control. It takes a while for you to remember what Law said as you and Bepo wander the ship. Somehow, you find yourself in the same place you started. The deck is empty, though there are lights on inside. 

“Where and to whom are we meant to do this again?”

Bepo shrugs. “I was too scared to listen.”

“Oh my g—”

“This way, Sir.”

You jump behind a pillar, pulling Bepo with you, though you doubt he's hidden. 

Behind you, several more footsteps approach, but this time, it's Shachi and Penguin with Uni, Clione, and Hakugan. 

“Captain and Hakugan have seized the control room,” Penguin says. “No thanks to you two.”

You gape. “Not my fault his instructions were shit.”

“This way, we have to protect Captain.” 

This way. You look back in the direction of the man who passed you before. Why would you call someone Sir on a smuggling vessel?

You keep your mouth shut for the moment, following Penguin to the control room. When you get there, there’s an unconscious man on the floor, and when you look at Law, he’s pressing buttons, ignoring the looks from Hakugan, who steers the ship. 

“Are we on course?”

Law side-eyes you as Hakugan answers. “Yes.” 

“I, uh,” You start, averting your eyes. “Had a question.”

“Out with it,” Law mumbles. 

The pirates around you listen in, curious. 

“Are there meant to be this many people on a smuggling vessel? Especially noble-like people?” 

Law’s head spins around, his eyes dark. “What?”

“This guy was leading another guy somewhere, and he called him Sir,” You bite your lip. “I was just wondering if that’s normal for a —”

“Fuck,” Law curses loudly. “You imbeciles, this is a passenger ship.” 

Bepo gasps, looking faint. “Oh, we really messed up.” 

Your jaw falls open, and Bepo grabs you, wrapping his arms around you. “Take me to your dreamland. I can’t be here.” 

“Where did you see these people?” 

“Umm, back down on the main deck.”

Law grits his teeth. “You said this was the ship.”

“To be fair, it’s dark, and this ship was far—”

He pushes past you and out the door. The control room is quiet, save for Bepo’s whimpers. The familiar zip of shambles sounds outside before Law reenters. 

“We’re heading for Hachinosu already.” 

“That’s good, right?” 

“Yes, Bepo,” Law mumbles, leaning over the control panel. “We’ll be there much earlier than expected.” 

“Why don’t you sound happy about that?” You are hesitant to ask. 

“Because,” He turns to look at you directly. “The king and nobles of Hachinosu are on this ship.” 

Bepo almost drops to the ground, Penguin shoving himself under the mink’s arm. “You’re kidding me.” 

“We’ll have to lay low,” Law addresses his crew. “Draw no attention to yourself, and don’t tell anyone who you are. Understood?” 

Yes, captain. 

Law rubs his forehead, mumbling curse words to himself. 

He says your name. “I know this is a big favour to ask, but is there any way you could create casual clothes for the crew? I wouldn’t ask if it weren’t absolutely necessary, but knowing this crew…”

“How long until we reach the island?” 

“One day.” 

You purse your lips. “Give me two hours.”

—

Two hours is enough time for you but too much for the rest of the crew. As you finish the last garment, Penguin’s pants, there’s a sudden scream from below the main deck. 

Law inhales sharply, his jaw set. “If that’s—”

“Shachi, this is your fault,” You hear Penguin through the door of the control room. You glance at Law, whose eyes narrow. “Fuck, run.”  

Hakugan, Uni, and Clione burst through the door, Penguin, Jean-Bart, and Shachi close behind them. Law holds his tongue, anger simmering in his gaze. 

The door slams shut, and the rumbling of voices outside increases. 

“Don’t tell me you did what I told you not to do.”

Shachi grimaces. “We didn’t do it on purpose, Captain…”

“Morons, the lot of you,” Law snaps. “If the King of Hachinosu knows we’re here, he knows why we’re here, and he won’t stop until all of us are dead, got it?” 

Penguin gulps. “What do we do?” 

“Pirates!” 

Law groans with frustration. “Room and Shambles.” 

You hit the deck, literally. You’re outside, and the chaos of the passengers is on the other side of the ship. Bepo moans in pain beside you, and Law stands in the middle of his crew. 

“Stay here, and don’t make a sound.” He flicks his fingers again, and then he’s gone. 

Penguin sighs, rubbing his head. “He made that hurt on purpose.” 

Shachi hums in agreement, and you roll your eyes. 

“Maybe if you two weren’t so loud, we wouldn’t be in this mess,” Bepo mumbles, glaring at his best friends.

“Says you! We can’t go a day without hearing you whine,” Shachi quips.

Bepo makes a sound of indignation. “That really hurts me, you know that?” 

“Yeah, well—”

“Stop,” You whisper, noticing a presence nearby. The crew freezes, and Bepo turns to you, terror morphing his features. 

“Sew.” 

“Argh!”

You push yourself up, walking directly to where your threads caught someone. A man in his late 30s resists Sew's hold on him. 

“You dirty pirate! Get this off me!”

You stare at him. He’s dressed fairly well, with a white suit and gold accents. A noble. 

“Hey! I see you! Get away from me!” 

Pursing your lips, you decide what to do. In his hand, obscured by the long train of his jacket tail, is a handgun. 

“Hey—” You throw your hand up, wrapping threads around his mouth in case he draws attention. 

He screams against the cotton, his finger squeezing the trigger of his gun. You duck, and the bullet flies off the metal railing. Still, you remain silent. 

You hear Bepo call your name and wince. Now, this guy knows who you are. 

The man’s eyes widen, and he starts tugging his arms, his gun tumbling to the deck in his struggle. He cries out when he sees it close to your feet. 

You tilt your head, considering him and your plan of action. He did just try to shoot you. 

He knows your name, who you are, and what you’re doing on the ship (if he knows about the Poneglyph on Hachinosu). 

You toss up your options. On one hand, he is a civilian. On the other, he knows that it were you on the ship tonight, subduing him. Who knows what the newspaper will write about you if that gets out. You hurt innocent civilians? 

Nothing about this man is innocent, that’s a fact, but standing here, staring at him, you don’t know what to do. 

It isn’t until you hear Law ask where you are back with the crew that you release a breath. Law comes over, his eyebrows tugged together. 

“What’s up with this guy?” 

“I don’t know what to do with him.” 

The man cries, tears running down his cheeks and over the threads covering his mouth. Law frowns. 

“Why don’t I just take his heart and be done with it? He’s a pirate himself.” 

You give the man a once over, still processing what just happened. “He shot at me.” 

Law eyes go cold as he cocks his head, regarding the noble with indifference. “This will only hurt a little.” 

You watch as he uses Scalpel, the man’s heart sliding from his chest. He passes out. 

Law turns back to you, shoving the heart into his coat. “You okay?” 

“I’m fine,” You nod. “Just didn’t know what to do.” 

“That’s okay. You did good nonetheless.” And then he wraps his fingers around your hand to whisk you away. 

“Wait,” You exhale, looking back at the man’s unconscious body. “There.” 

A piece of paper sticks out of his pants pocket. It’s small, only half the size of a normal map, but you rush over to it. Unfolding it, you recognise the style. 

“Law.”

As he approaches, his boots click on the deck, peering over your shoulder. “What is that?”

“A map,” You whisper, turning it around to get a better angle of the island it represents. “If this is Hachinosu…” 

“It could be where the Poneglyph is,” Law mumbles, pointing to the skull in the middle of the paper. “But why would a noble have access to this?” 

You shrug. “Maybe it’s a part of their plan. I mean, he did come out here alone…” 

Law hums with consideration, his gaze flickering to yours. There’s a glimmer of something behind his usual icy front, and you’re lucky you’re close enough to see it.

“You’re right. We’ll take it anyway, but be careful tomorrow. Who knows what they’ve got planned for when we arrive.” 

— Scene 9 —

The crick in your back flares, as you hurry off the ship—sleeping upright in the control room is taking its toll on you. After Law took the noble’s heart, you and the crew were sent to the control room to sleep. Law said he took care of the remainder of the passengers… whatever that meant. 

Law isn’t far behind you, but the rest of the crew is already on the island, fighting off pirates. 

Now, you’re to find the site of the rumoured Poneglyph in the middle of the island. You take a different route to everyone else in case anyone is seized. With the map from the noble clutched in your fist, you run. 

“Go left! I’ll take the right.”

Nodding, you veer toward the large building on the port, hand out to summon threads to restrain the men running at you. Their swords slash at the strings, but you’re gone before they free themselves. 

An explosion makes you stumble as you enter a warehouse, men with guns pointed at you the moment you step inside. “Seam.”

The eyes of the gunmen immediately go dazed, and they lower their guns involuntarily—you can feel the addition of them to your mindscape. Fifteen. You gasp at the fact that it actually works. 

Seam has evolved. You’ve only used it once, summoned the ability without physically touching someone, and it was shoddy at best. What you did now was a shot in the dark. There’s no way you knew it would work. 

But you don’t dwell on it when you run through the building and out the other side into an alleyway. Someone screams at the sight of you before gunshots ring through the street. 

You duck, taking a sharp right into another warehouse, this one empty. The outside sounds: bombs ticking and exploding, cannonballs, yells and cries, and swords on swords are muffled inside here. You tiptoe through, checking behind doors and peering around corners before advancing. 

There’s no missing the giant pirate skull in the island's centre, your target when you emerge. The map in your hand becomes useless when you notice the behemoth landmark. Who needs a map when you can see the thing everywhere in the city? 

Stepping out of the warehouse, the area before you is full of Heart Pirates on resident pirates, fighting mercilessly with swords, fists, and guns. Swallowing your nervous pants, you aim a thread around a pirate sneaking up behind Clione, who’s already engaged in a fight. The man gags as you pull him backward, your face becoming a scowl when you look at him. 

“Going for a man’s back is cowardly,” You say, ignoring how the man spits at you. 

“You stupid bitch, get off me.” 

Clenching your jaw, you throw him against the wall and string him up. His knife clatters to the cobblestones, and you leave him there—Law’s crew is important to him, like hell you’re going to let someone hurt them. 

You turn, dodging a fist flying at your face. Making a sound of surprise, you sweep your leg out, catching the man off guard. He goes down, groaning in pain. 

“Marines!”

You feel your heart drop into your stomach. Whipping around, you don’t see the familiar white and blue uniform, and you’re not going to. You run away from the port, many resident pirates scattering into the side streets and yelling the same warning. 

Why are the Marines here? And how’d they get here so quickly?

You hear your name being called, the sound echoing. Bepo stands there, his arms full of beige woven bags—the stolen hearts. Your eyes widen at the number he carries already. 

“Go right! There’s a road that leads straight there.”

Smiling, you thank Bepo and follow his directions. Your eyebrows tug together when you recall the hearts. There had to be at least thirty, and who knows how many trips Bepo has already made to the passenger vessel. 

Shaking your head, you direct your brain to your target—the Poneglyph. You can’t read them; only one person can, and you miss her like crazy. She’d be able to understand it and relay the knowledge to you because there’s no way she’d tell Law about it at this point in time. 

You wish Robin could hear you now, wherever she is. 

Your path to the middle is easy after transporting twenty-eight more pirate souls into Seam. You manage to dodge all but one nasty punch to the cheek but get shot in the shoulder after purposefully instigating a pirate (not your best idea, but he was insulting the very existence of Luffy, something you’d never stand for). 

You know Law will give you an earful when he sees you next. 

The lead bullet is lodged in your muscle, and the bleeding is staunched thanks to the ripped hem of your t-shirt. You could have made a bandage using Sew, but your Devil Fruit powers dwindle with every passing second—if a pirate were to attack you now, you couldn’t fight them off.

The dizziness and ringing in your ears are almost unbearable, though you’re unsure if the ringing is from the punch or the way you hit your head when you fell from the impact of the bullet—you’re positive Law won’t care where it came from, just the fact that both of those things happened to you. 

You blink away the stars in your vision and cough. The wound is itchy, and you resist the urge to dig your fingers into the hole and rip the bullet out yourself. The injury, paired with the pirate souls in Seam, is taking a toll on you. 

“Fuck,” You pant, pausing to lean against a palm tree. Peering down at your shoulder, you almost faint at the amount of blood that has soaked through your makeshift bandage. When you inhale, your head gets lighter, so you choose to keep your breaths short. 

You can feel your head drooping, but push off the tree to continue. Gone are the cobblestones, and in their place is dirt. Pressing your palm on your wound, you wince and think against doing it again. You remember Law telling you to put pressure on injuries like this, but you don’t think you can—you’re going to pass out from the pain. 

Blood drips onto the sandy dirt beneath your feet, and the scorching sun strengthens the metallic scent. Your skin burns under the same heat, and you fear you won’t make it to the Poneglyph at this rate. 

Up ahead, you hear the clang of swords. You whine, knowing that you won’t be able to fight someone with a weapon in this condition. So, you hurry down a barren alleyway, the cool air of the shadows allowing you some relief. You stumble but catch yourself on the wall. 

Sure, you’ve had bullet wounds in the past, namely in Alabasta, but it felt nothing like this. With a few deep breaths, you feel no different. If only Chopper were here, with his panicked assessments and swift procedures, you would be scolded but fixed up quickly. Usopp’s chaotic, anxiety-ridden laughter echoes in your ears, and you shake your head to rid your mind of memories. 

Another person’s presence, one not far away, weighs heavily on you. 

“Law…” There’s no use calling for him. He’s on the other side of the island. You know this, yet do it again. You wish you had the baby transponder snail he gave you on that island, the one with the fur hat like Law’s. An involuntary giggle escapes your lips. 

You can die without telling him— The souls in Seam wage war inside your mind, and all the yelling and screaming causes a sharp pain to throb behind your eye. “Shut up.” 

Going into your mindscape now would be foolish. You’d waste your available energy and pass out right here without fulfilling Law’s request—check the giant skull for the Poneglyph. It would kill you to disappoint him. 

You stagger out of the street; the sound of metal clanging and scraping is gone. Panting, you walk up the main road, the denser trees making it difficult to locate the entrance of the skull. 

With bloody hands, you push back stray hairs that stick to your forehead with sweat. The world around you gets fuzzy, but Law’s averted eyes and fake smile force you to go on. You knew the plan going into this, and if you were to disappoint him—you’ve already thought about this. 

You rub your eyes with your knuckles, squeezing your cheeks after to feel something in your face. When did your face start getting numb?

Faces pop into your head: Luffy, Zoro, Usopp, Sanji, Nami, Chopper, Robin, Franky, Brook… and you cry at the thought that you could leave them wondering what happened to you. Your stomach churns at the mere inkling that, at a time like this, a time when death rears his ugly head inside you, you have failed your family. You failed to stay alive. 

“I’m sorry,” You slur, your face sticky with tears and blood. “I love you.”

An explosion rattles the ground, and your mind is back on the situation. Your tongue moves around your mouth hopelessly, trying to form the one name you need, the one that will help you without a second thought, the one you—

Slurring Law’s name, you no longer feel your feet beneath you, but instead the ground on your cheek. You didn’t feel the impact. Dirt clumps with sticky blood, and you feel your body relax. It’s nice to finally lie down. 

You’ll wait here for Law. He’ll come and find you. He has to. 

Your eyes roll to the back of your head, but you wear a smile. Law, Law, Law. 

— Scene 10 —

You wake, though you don’t open your eyes. 

Law knows you’re awake, and you know he knows this, yet neither of you says a word. 

There’s no pain in your shoulder when you shift, finding yourself on your back, and you could cry at the mere thought that he found you. 

It isn’t until a tear drips from the corner of your eye into your ear that Law speaks up. 

“What the fuck were you thinking?” His voice is soft, but you sense the malice in this timbre. 

One drips into your other ear. It’s a steady stream of salty water that soon turns into sobs, ones that rack your shoulders and burn your chest. A sensation you haven’t felt since you found Luffy in the forest on Amazon Lily. 

“I’m sorry,” You whisper, your voice breaking. Law makes no sound. “I’m sorry.”

“You have no sense of self-preservation.” 

He’s mad. 

“Do you have any idea what would’ve happened if I hadn’t found you? If I hadn’t returned to the ship and realised you were taking much longer than planned? Fuck, you were minutes away from death.”

You sniffle, hiccuping. “I’m sorry.”

Law sighs hashly. “I know you are. Stop saying it.” 

Opening your eyes, you’re met with the ceiling. The same ceiling you woke up to on your first time here, and the one that keeps seeing you fall apart. 

“Law…” You peer over at him, your tears increasing when you see him sitting so close to the bed. You’re so happy to see him. “I was so scared.” 

You can hear him swallow from where you lay, his jaw set and gaze averted. You smile when you see his expression—you called it. 

“I knew you’d look like this.” The laugh you let out is rough, your throat raw. “You were the last thing I thought of.”

Law shakes his head and stands, giving you his back. “Don’t say shit like that.”

“I kept thinking about how disappointed you’d be that I didn’t get to the skull, that I didn’t find the Poneglyph—”

“I don’t care about the Poneglyph!” He spins around so quickly you barely see it. “I care about you!” 

Your bottom lip quivers and more tears roll down your cheeks. You wait for him to continue, too shocked to speak. 

“Do you know how close I was to losing it when I had to take that bullet out of you?” He yells. “When I found out it was poisoned? When I had to extract the poison from your body?” 

“I didn’t know it was poisoned.”

“Of course you didn't,” He laughs bitterly. “You were too busy dying to know.” 

You bite the inside of your cheek. “I’m sorry.” 

“You’ve been in that bed, unconscious for eight days,” Law says your name with such pain that when your eyes focus on his face again, you see his glassy eyes. “You had ninety-four souls in Seam. How did you do that?”

Ninety-four… 

“What?” You ask before realising what he’s saying, not even comprehending the fact you were unconscious for eight days. “How can you see inside Seam?”

“That’s not important—”

“It is! Tell me.”

Law sighs. “I can move incorporeal things, like souls; it’s how I switch people between bodies,” He explains. You store that little morsel of information for later, but now, you’re more fascinated with the fact that he can see your mindscape. “You had a lot of souls inside you. I can’t see into Seam, just the presence of these souls. But are you crazy? Ninety-four? That wouldn’t have helped with your injury. I’m surprised you didn’t pass out before you got shot.”

Law’s rambling and you fear he may start to spiral if he hasn’t already. 

You let out a weak sound. “Law…”

“Fuck,” He curses. “I’ve never prayed to a god until I saw you on the ground, bleeding out. You terrified me.” 

You’re going to be sick. You forget about Seam and try to push yourself up but quickly collapse when you lean on the wrong arm because what does he mean by that?

He’s at war with himself as runs his hands through his hair. “Why would you not come back to the ship when you got shot?” 

“Because I had to get to the Poneglyph for you.” 

Law scoffs, though the sound is not nearly as daunting as it normally is; instead, it’s sad. “Don’t you dare put your life in danger for me.” 

It’s your turn to scoff, and you finally get the strength to sit up. “Don’t tell me what to do.” 

“When it’s for my sake, then yes, I can. I’m not worth your pain or your death.” 

You swing your legs out of the bed, standing on shaky knees. 

Law’s eyes widen slightly. “Lay back down; you’re going to fall.”

“No,” You say, pointing your finger into his chest. “Don’t tell me what to do. Listen to me.” 

Law purses his lips, his eyes flickering down to where you jab him with your index finger. 

“You’re my crew, okay?” You know it sounds pathetic, but Law makes no move to ridicule you. “And I’d do anything for the people I love, even if that requires me to put my life in danger. So don’t stand there and tell me you’re not worth it when you mean more to me than you can imagine.” 

“That’s foolish,” Law whispers. Your thumping heart stops, and when you look up at him, a single tear runs down his cheek. You reach up to wipe it away, your thumb soft on his skin. You keep your hand on his cheek. 

“I’d do it a hundred times if it would help you reach your goal.”

Law swallows thickly. “I don’t know what I would’ve done if I hadn’t found you one time, let alone a hundred times.” 

“You would’ve gone on with your crew and defeated all four Emperors and Doflamingo. I’m just someone you picked up on a whim.”

You know it’s a lie. 

Law chokes on a laugh, though there’s no humour. 

“You know that’s not true,” He spits. “I can’t do this without you knowing I know what it feels like with you. I hope you know that.” 

“Law…”

“I care for you,” Law mumbles, his tone harsh while he presses your palm to his cheek. “I can’t lose you, too, which is why you can’t keep putting yourself in these positions.”

There’s far more to this than you know, and it breaks your heart to find out he’s been through this before. 

“You’ve made this hell worth it. Everything I’ve done until now has brought me to you, and I’ll be damned if I let you hurt yourself to keep me happy, okay?”

You curse yourself when you start crying again. You can’t pinpoint when the ringing in your ears started, but it makes the world tilt. Laughter spills out of you unwillingly.

Law scowls, his vulnerable expression turning cold. He’s about to push you away. “I’m not talking to you if you’re going to mock me. I know I’m a heartless bastard, but I’m not joking.” 

You pull him back to you with your good arm. “Why would I mock you? Come here, you idiot.”

He stares at you a little longer, his hand resting on your cheek. Law’s gorgeous; you’ve known this since you first laid eyes on him. But seeing him so vulnerable flips a switch inside you. It’s gentle, the kiss you press to his cheek, and it’s pink, the blush high on his cheekbones. 

“I’m not going anywhere,” You say. “I’ll remain with you until you want me gone.”

“I’ll never want you gone,” He whispers, and your heart breaks. You smile, tears rolling into your mouth.

“Kiss me,” You say, reaching for him. Law meets you halfway, his other hand on your cheek as he brings his lips to yours. 

The first peck is cautious, and Law runs his tongue along his bottom lip while you wrap your hands around his neck, pulling his chest flush against yours. Your shoulder is numb, and it’s probably for the best that Law forgets about your injury when, with red cheeks and a hell of a lot more confidence, he kisses you again. 

“You know what this means?” Law whispers against your mouth, your salty tears mixing together. 

You exhale through your nose, your fingers playing with the hair on the nape of his neck before they slide higher, your hands gripping larger chunks. “What?”

He leans in for another kiss, this one lasting longer than the previous, and when you pull away, he chases after you. Law looks at you, his eyes smiling and half-lidded with desire. 

He brings you closer to him, his fingers brushing stray hairs away from your face. You giggle, pressing your lips to his cheeks and chin as he admires you. 

“It means,” Another peck. “That you’re my crew, too.”

“Shut up.” You exhale a laugh and shake your head.

Your lips glide over his, and both of your lips slightly chapped. You smile with giddiness, your teeth lightly knocking Law’s. 

“Quit smiling so much,” He mumbles, kissing the corner of your mouth. 

You don’t apologise. “I’m so happy.” 

Law drops his head to lean his forehead against yours. “Yeah, me too.” 

“I’m sorry about what I did,” You say, pushing the hair on his forehead back. He shakes his head. “I’m sorry for making you worry.” 

“I’ll always worry about you,” Law presses his mouth to your forehead before moving his hands down to the sides of your neck. “No use telling me not to.” 

“I’m sorry.”

“Stop saying sorry.”

You catch yourself before you do it again. 

Law wraps his arms around you, pulling you into his chest. You close your eyes, tightening your hold. His heart pounds underneath your ear, and he trembles softly. 

“What’s wrong?” 

“You’re going to be the death of me.”

Taglist:

@fandomhoe101 / @valen-yamyam16 / @chibinasuu / @xsuvs / @curiositycoven64 / @chillerkiller / @loserbee14 / @theloserqueen / @meritxellao / @mirtiell / @dreamistsblog

I think this is everyone! If I missed you, and/or you want to be notified when Act III is posted, please comment below or send me an ask!!

[avalonelf]

Okay I never post but seeing all the misinterpretations of Ragatha and Gangle in the new The Amazing Digital Circus ep made me feel the need to at least put my opinion out there, for whatever it’s worth. Everyone asks for morally grey characters but when given them, they are heavily misjudged and mischaracterised.

So this scene:

Also! Please take into consideration that Ragatha is literally drugged up here. She’s in an altered mental state and would never normally say these things. She probably doesn’t even realise the things she’s saying.

So, notice how Ragatha says ‘Happy mask’ and not ‘Comedy Mask’?.

She is referring to the new mask that Gangle has never had on around them before (which I may also argue altered her mental state too but that’s another can of worms), and also the fact that it’s a MASK. She didn’t say “you’re annoying when you’re happy.” And people interpreting it that way are the same ones saying that Ragatha is too much of a people pleaser and needs to be more honest, which yeah she does! She’s more saying “Not to offend, but right now, you are being quite overbearing and demanding” and considering Ragatha is all loopy and out of it, I’m sure it was just how she was feeling in that moment.

Ragatha is not this secretly evil or nasty person who hates everyone, and Gangle saying to Pomni:

Was not saying that Ragatha is ‘hiding and true feelings and actually doesn’t like me’, it’s more once again Gangle worrying that’s what Ragatha may actually think due to how much of a people pleaser she is and how with this mindset, makes her dishonest. Which yeah! Being a people pleaser is not always a good thing, it can cause this exact situation! This doesn’t mean Ragatha is ‘hiding her true evil feelings’, more so she just not honest when she should be. You can be a critic to someone without being mean, and hopefully Ragatha can learn that.

Once again, what Ragatha said to Gangle is not a nice thing to say to anyone at all, but she is not thinking straight at all and Gangle is literally her boss essentially, or at least supervisor (in this ‘adventure’ setting). Anyone who has worked in retail/fast food or any minimum wage job understands that no matter how much you get along (or don’t) with your supervisor, there’s going to be points where they get on your nerves. Gangle herself is not happy in this episode, she has another mask on and is working a job she doesn’t even want to do! Here is a plain example of this:

Gangle doesn’t even want to do this job, she wants to be a comic artist but she’s been made to believe that it’s just an impossible dream.

I also feel this episode is heavily a direct metaphor on how the capitalist society and how a minimum wage job can just destroy a persons soul and motivation. Coming from someone who has worked this sort of job, your own personal relationships can be negatively affected and even ruined due to work pressure. Whether it’s managers getting in your business or whatnot, work can make people grouchy and harsh in fear of losing their jobs or being criticised or people just being eager to please and get a raise or just words of affirmation from higher ups. Like Jax for example, we don’t know what Gangle did to make him so afraid and make him a shell of his usual self, but once again is showing how jobs such as this can change and affect people deeply.

And also! All you people saying Jax is finally getting a taste of his own medicine and what he deserved, we don’t know what that employee training video was and why Jax reacted the way he did. So be careful with that!

Gangle was not happy this episode, and the ending solidified that for me. She wasn’t taking her mask off and finally feeling free and happy, to me it felt like she was in a manic sort of state and was being so careless that she unintentionally fell into oncoming traffic. As soon as she got out of work and took that work based mask off. I don’t think it was a reflection of her finally taking off her mask and being free, it had very unsettling undertones. Not to mention Cain straight up grading her ‘performance’ including what she did AFTER she clocked out which was quite literally being hit by a truck. Do you see what I’m getting at here? It’s the exact similar situation I have seen where my own supervisors were particularly demanding or grouchy on a day where I wasn’t feeling it, and then they themself regret it or end up getting in some sort of trouble with a higher up when they were just trying to essentially do their job! Also Ragatha was straight up drugged, without consent, due to the materials she was forced to work with!

But yes, I think people are empathising too heavily towards Gangle in thinking how they often have masks up and how much it would hurt if their friends acted this way or if they HAVE in fact acted this way towards you, but I don’t think this is the case here.

I ramble a lot but I hope this got some of my thoughts and interpretations across??

I loved this episode and it’s left me asking so many questions that I’m so curious about and I’m so excited for what future episodes bring!

[disneyprincemuke]

for the girls * fem!driver

she isn't worrying about being on track for the first time - she worries about the media.

pairings: sebastian vettel x fem!driver, f1 grid x reader

warnings: literally a piece of garbage, SO inaccurate, no idea what i’m doing…

notes: this is sOOO BAD PLS I DIDN'T KNOW HOW TO WRITE THIs man

also, please feel free to send it some scenarios for this series! you can send them in here freeflow~ none of these will be posted in chronological order so don’t worry about it

(series masterlist) | (📂 the rookie season)

"here is sebastian vettel's personal addition to the grid, (y/n)," the interviewer grins, turning to face the girl. "welcome to the 2023 formula 1 season. thank you for coming in."

"thank you for having me," she smiles, hands clasped together in front of her. she's been following sebastian around all day - she doesn't want to be left alone in such a tough crowd.

"how does it feel to be the first woman in formula 1 in almost 2 decades?"

"i'm very thankful for the opportunity given to me to achieve this spot on the grid. i hope i'll be good enough to create a difference and be the stepping stone towards more women in the sport," she answers cordially, moving her arms slightly.

interviews, unfortunately, were also a very big part of the job. she didn't really mind it, but she knew the controversy of her being in the sport, and it's been driving her insane since the pre-season testing.

"and of course congratulations on your move from formula 2 to the main league. how do you feel about the doubters or naysayers who are saying you don't belong here?"

"i think it's unfair to assume my placement in the season before it has even started. i have worked as hard as everybody else to get where i am today, so i'm just really hoping that the fact that i am a woman does not overshadow all my achievements."

she's seen all that's said about her. the news articles, the videos criticising sebastian's choice to vouch for her, and the comments under her posts and announcements - it's very disheartening.

sebastian has tried his best to tell her otherwise, telling her time and time again that he wouldn't have vouched for her if he didn't think she had the potential to be here.

"and how are you getting along with everybody else on the grid?"

"very good. i mean, we've already been acquainted for years and that really helped me out a lot," she laughs, locking eyes with sebastian doing an interview right next to her. "but it is still a competitive sport. it's going to be a climb out there from my starting position at 18th. hopefully it will be a good race."

"of course, good luck out there."

"thank you so much."

"just like we talked about. you'll be fine," sebastian folds his arms over his chest, leaning back into the wall.

she's pulling the sleeves of her race suit over her shoulders. "why don't i believe you," she mutters, looking down at her shoes to avoid his eyes. "think about what the media would say if i don't finish in the points today."

"who cares about what the media has to say? just do your best out there today," sebastian repeats, patting her shoulder lightly to get her attention.

he flashes her a grin when she looks up, only to have her roll her eyes as she zips up. "me. i have to face the interviewers later, remember? not you."

"just race like you always have. you're doing this for yourself. not the media, not the insecure guys hiding behind a screen, and definitely not the interviewers." he grabs her shoulders, shaking her just slightly to lighten up the mood. "i'll be in your ears to help you out, okay?"

she sighs, leaning slightly to the side to grab her balaclava off the table. "promise to tell me when i'm being reckless?"

"i'm your race engineer. i've got you."

he turns her around, towards the track where the cars have lined up. "get out there and shut them all up. you're doing this for the girls, remember that."

"right. for the girls," she huffs, wiping her hands on her race suit. she takes the helmet that sebastian is holding out to her and gives him a smile. "okay. i'll talk to you through the radio."

and she does everything she has to do. she’s in the race car, anticipating the formation lap that’s about to start.

days leading up to this moment, she didn’t think she would be so nervous to be behind a wheel. she doesn’t typically let the feeling get to her so much.

but it’s different now that it’s being broadcasted to the entire world. she’s now watched by ten times her normal viewership.

“radio check,” sebastian’s voice comes into her ears. his voice has become a significant point to calming her down behind the wheel. you would be surprised how well he can calm her down just by his voice.

“copy.” she breathes into the mic unknowingly as she exhales, looking up and taking in her view.

her car was surrounded by the engineers, making the final touches on the car and triple checking all the components.

within a few seconds, she can see the sky as they disperse — the sun is shining bright and there are barely any clouds. to her right is yuki, also looking around the grid and the grandstand.

she locks eyes with him as he looks around, her eyes crinkling at the corners to acknowledge him. he returns the gesture with a smile through his eyes then a thumbs up to wish her luck.

she lifts her hand above the halo and returns the thumbs up.

“okay, the first car has taken off for the lap. i’ll check in on you again in a while.”

her grip on the steering wheel is tight despite the engine being turned off. she’s proud of herself for making it through her first race in the league, even parking the car neatly in parc ferme.

“you did amazing.”

“you’re only saying that. i didn’t even finish in the points,” she answers dejectedly, rolling her eyes to herself.

sebastian tries to make light of every situation, even if the normal person would not be able to find that in a frustrating position. but he was also a rookie once. the least he could do is empathise and try to make this experience less daunting for her.

he’s investing in her — her talent is impeccable, but he has to make sure that he fosters and encourages her into the best version of herself. the racer that he knows she is, she just needed someone to actively believe in her.

“the climb from p18 to p11 is good progress. the season just started, kid. the only way is up.”

“sure,” she chuckles. “i’m getting out of the car. see you in a bit, seb.”

taglist: @wcnorris @treehouse-mouse (comment to be added)

[writersblockedx]

Sparks

Pairing - Jeremiah Fisher x Fem!Reader Summary - Jeremiah goes to you for everything, and when you give him a vital piece of love advice, it dawns on him that he is, in fact, in love with you. Warnings - None? Slight mention of underage drinking. Words - 2K

Masterlist

As was common, Jeremiah was at a loss for his several hookups. And, as was even more common, he went to you to debrief and to ask for advice. While he had hookups and situation-ships way more than you did (or anyone in Cousins for that matter), he struggled with how to manage them. At least he did until he started asking you for advice.

He threw himself onto your bed, forcing you to shut the book you had been deep inside. There, staring up at the ceiling, he let out a huff. "What, or should I say who, is it this time?" You raised your brow at him, watching as Jere's wide pupils stared up to the ceiling as if he were replaying some memory over and over.

"Luke." He let the name out in a sigh. "And, And!" He suddenly added as if he had almost forgotten in his daydreaming gaze, "Abi."

He finally sat up, staring at you with them puppy eyes you could never resist. "Two?" You questioned.

"Yes." He said, barely embarrassed by such fact; at this point, it was to be expected. "Reframe from any criticism please."

"I'm not gonna criticise you, Jere." You told him, a sweet smile gracing your lips. "If anything, I don't see what the problem is here."

He took a second before shrugging, "I just- I feel wrong, you know? Guilty." He explained. "Like I'm going behind their backs."

"Okay then, well you either need to tell them both the truth or pick one."

Jeremiah thought about the options for a moment and ran both scenarios through his head until making his decision. "I have to pick one." He said before looking at you, uncertain, "Right?"

"If that's what you want." You comforted him.

At that, he let himself fall once more. This time, right into your lap as he made a dramatic sigh as if this decision was a life-changing one. "What if I don't know what I want?" He questioned, gazing up at you, his sea-blue eyes catching you into his trap.

You let a sniffle of a laugh as you looked down at him, "Oh, trust me Jere, you've no idea what you want. But, that's okay too, sometimes you have to experiment with different people until you know what you want." You went on.

That seemed to spark another question for him, one of which wouldn't leave his head for the next few weeks: "How do I know? Like, how do I know that this is someone who I want a relationship with? A proper relationship, not just a hookup."

For that, you needed to think. As much as you gave Jereimah advice after advice, that was a question he had never asked. "I suppose it has to be someone you feel that spark with. But not just a sexual spark." As you were certain Jere sometimes mistook it for. "A spark that reaches to a deeper, emotional level. Where you feel safe but excited at the same time. A balance, I guess." That was what you assumed anyway. You hadn't had many successful relationships yourself.

But your words had seemed to prompt something for Jere. His eyes washed away, his mind sucking him into his thoughts. Until, after a long moment, he sat back up and with furrowed brows, asked, "How do you know all this? It's not as if you're happily married."

"No need to remind me." You giggled, slapping the side of his forearm.

Of which he chuckled at and defended himself, "I'm serious! You talk all this wise shit and can't even get yourself a date."

You could have scoffed, "I can get myself a date, thank you."

"Really? When was the last time you went on one?"

Then you did scoff, grasping the pillow from behind you and chucking it at Jeremiah's head, only erupting more laughter from the both of you. "You are so rude!"

Only once your mini pillow fight died down and Jeremiah returned home, did that question take over his whole mind. He strolled into the kitchen, pouring himself a glass of milk as he thought over it: how did he know? The only time he felt a spark that wasn't sexual- well, he couldn't quite remember. Everything you had described, the safety but excitement, the emotional connection (and the sexual), well the only person he could ever even suggest he had felt that for was you.

"What's up with you?" His brother's voice broke him from the glare he had been giving the countertop.

His eyes widened, "Huh?"

Conrad and Belly, who had been trailing behind him, both giggled. "You're just a bit...out of it, you know?"

"Thinking."

"That's a first." Conrad laughed.

Jeremiah snapped, "Hey!"

"Go on then," Belly pushed, "What is it you're thinking about?"

The boy sighed, replaying your words once more. "A spark."

"Why's a hookup causing you an existential crisis?" Questioned Conrad, watching his brother in such a focused state that it was becoming a concern.

"It's not a hookup." Jere admitted. "It's Y/n."

Suddenly, that name peaked Belly's interest. She leaned closing, placing her elbows on the kitchen island as she watched the boy carefully, "What about her?" She prompted.

"I went to her for advice, as I always do, and now I can't get it out of my head. She was explaining how for love, you need a spark, an emotional connection, safety..." He stopped there, ever so stunned by his recent realisation.

"And?" Belly pushed on, one brow raised.

Jeremiah sucked in a breath, not making eye contact with either of them as he said, "She basically just described everything I feel for her."

He looked at his brother and his best friend. It was silent. At least for a moment as he took in their unreadable expressions; were they stunned? Embarrassed? Futile? Then, breaking the silence came Conrad's laugh. "You have a crush on Y/n, great." He shook his head. "It took you long enough."

Jere's brows instantly furrowed as he straightened his back, "What? How did you-" He couldn't get his words out.

Conrad looked to Belly, "Come on, back me up. It was obvious."

Jeremiah looked to his friend and Belly could only shrug. "It sort of was." She agreed. "But, now you know, you can ask her out!" Excitement was painted on her words. Belly had been waiting for this for almost longer than yourself.

"I can't do that. She's- She's Y/n. She's my best friend. It'd be weird." The idea was so foreign that it was unbelievable.

"She's your best friend who you're in love with!" Belly argued. "Think about it, please."

With that, she and Conrad left Jeremiah to his thoughts. Once more, you never left his mind. He had been trapped.

For weeks, it was all he could think about. He'd gaze across the other side of the pool at you. Shades covering your eyes as you bathed in the sunlight. There he was daydreaming of everything you would do as a couple. Granted, it was pretty much the same as how things were now, only littered with kisses and hugs and greater smiles than either of you had ever made before.

It came to the point where he was just bursting to tell you. But he waited. He had to wait until the right moment. He couldn't do it by the pool, with Steven and Belly watching. He would wait for the perfect moment. And when the group of you arrived at a local party, he knew maybe tonight would be the night.

A few drinks down, he caught you by yourself. You had wandered to the backyard, sitting on the stairs that led to the porch. He lingered by the patio door, watching you as you sat alone for a moment. Your curious expression was emphasised by the fairy lights which tangled over the wooden fencing, flashing pinks and purples across your cheeks.

You didn't even know Jeremiah was there until he came and sat next to you, your shoulders nudged up against the others. "Enjoying the party?" A smooth smile hung from his lips as he grasped the red solo cup in his hand.

You nodded and glanced over at him, "Yeah, yeah, just needed a break." You excused.

Jere smiled, looking back through the patio doors and the booming party he could still overhear. "That's understandable." He gazed back at you and fell, once more, into your eyes.

"What about you?" You nudged his shoulder playfully. "You're never one to miss a moment from a party. Shouldn't you be looking for Luke? Or, or Abi!" You spat out their names as they flooded back into your memory. You had lost count of all the people Jere had hooked up with.

His smile faulted at the mention of their names, "Erm, no, no. I actually ended things with both of them." He admitted.

"Oh, why?" You raised a brow. "Ended up telling them the truth?"

"No, no." He answered before he looked to the ground, licked his lips and questioned if this was the moment. Something in his mind said fuck it, and he did. "But it was actually because of something you said." Jeremiah couldn't tear his eyes away from you as that curiosity built on your expression once again. "When you were explaining it to me, everything that love made you feel, all the sparks and the connections. That you should feel safe with them but it should be exciting all the same. Well," He took a breath and ran with it. "You're the only person that makes me feel that way."

The air soon became thick with Jeremiah's words as they floated around your mind. This was Jere, your friend, your best friend. The one who had talked non-stop about her and him all while you were nothing but a bystander. Yet, here you were, sitting away from the party the boy was usually the centre of as he professed his love. And you could never deny your feelings in that it wasn't reciprocated.

This time, it was your turn to look to the ground, lick your lips and say: Fuck it. "Jere, I can't deny that you aren't utterly brilliant. I mean, you're incredibly beautiful, and you know it. You're charming and comedic, you bring a room to life. And I love being at your side for all of that, I want to be there in the future too." You took a breath, wondering if your next words were about to ruin that smile that was glued to his lips. "But, it's because I want that, that I want to be your friend. Just your friend." Like that, the smile dissipated. "I can't be some other hookup that you start complaining about because they get too attached, or too clingy. I won't let that be me."

He jumped to take your hands in his. What used to be a simple gesture between the two of you, had suddenly become complicated and you questioned if you should let go. "That's not what you are to me. I would have already tried that on you if that was what I wanted, trust me." He admitted. "This isn't me asking you to kiss me, or to have sex with me or whatever I do nowadays. I'm sat here asking you to be my girlfriend."

The word had been said. It was in the air and it was up to you what you did with it.

And so, you tightened your grip on his fingers and said, "I want you Jere and I trust that you want me to." From there, you leaned in before he could respond, securing a yes with a kiss.

[familyabolisher]

I don’t want to sound like I’m asking this in bad-faith but could you please explain why criticising certain kinks like cnc, ageplay and incest-play is specifically transmisogynistic? I keep seeing posts defending ‘taboo’ kinks like that with the claim that thinking it’s gross is such and I don’t really get it?

Many people I’ve been mutuals with who’ve criticised it in the past both as IRL kink-practice and as fanfic are trans (both TMA and TME) or queer in some other way but I’ve seen this argument quite a lot recently. It’s just the implication that trans women are more likely to be into those things that bothers me if you get me when most of the criticism surrounding them usually point to white daddy dom types instead. Apologies as I’m bad at phrasing things.

it's because trans women are disproportionately targeted in "callouts," which in turn can be linked back to the fact that trans women/TMA people are already culturally perceived as sexual predators/sexual degenerates/etc even by other queer + trans people. certain articulations of a kink are able to fly under the radar when articulated by demographics for whom a socially unacceptable sexual degeneration is not already presumed -- as many others have noted, the only difference between a cishet woman calling her boyfriend "daddy" and trans girls calling one another "sisters" sexually (or similar, ygwim) is that the latter are operating within a discourse that already casts them as sexually predatory, and all sexual expression thereafter merely functions as confirmation bias. the "callouts" which circulate on this website and the scale of vitriol that they attract (doxxing, sexual harassment, social murder) are almost always for trans women (i'm not going to name names but think back on some of the biggest ones!) and almost always rely on significant actual violation of consent and boundaries -- digging out and circulating screenshots of people's private nsfw sideblogs, for example, is unambiguously sexual harassment, but never gets regarded as such, and the people who make + spread the callouts are never called to account for their participation in said sexual harassment.

"criticising [x] kink" is a bit of a rhetorical sleight of hand here, because that's not really what's happening -- there's no "critique" of a kink actually taking place, only calls to action predicated on a presumed shared assumption that xyz kink is a) morally wrong and b) indicative of harm being committed. if you said "incest kinks are wrong because x, y, and z," irrespective of whether i agreed or disagreed with you, you would be making a fundamentally different statement to that of "x person has an incest kink, and i am sharing this information on the assumption that we all agree what should be done with it." i think this distinction is necessary because it's easy to let online sexual harassment fly under the radar under the guise of "criticising," being "critical," having "critical thinking," etc etc.

[ceaselesswatchersspecialboy]

i need to hear those thoughts, pretty please,

Okay this is a very late reply, but I finally feel as though I can word the thoughts I have regarding them. I want to preface this by saying that all my talks of Jayvik being queer coded stem from my own personal aroacespec perspective. I don’t perceive all forms of close affection and devotion as romantic, but the visual coding regarding Jayvik, and Meljayvik leads me down the path of ‘this is something I personally interpret as romantic’.

MelJayVik is such a deeply fascinating relationship to me because I think a lot is gained from their relationships in the series by looking at them through a polyamorous lens. It may be my own bias, I’m willing to admit that, but the dynamic feels as though it was written to be Poly.

It begins with the obvious queercoding between Jayce and Viktor, and the visual and thematic parallels between them:

Both are written as representative of Jayce’s choices, which can be simplified down to politics and science, and as characters, they inform the choices Jayce makes, and the consequences of those choices, while simultaneously being their own well-developed characters and having their own agendas. I would argue the way it’s written and depicted in the animation, taking into account a lot of the animator’s personal romantic agenda regarding Jayvik, feels akin to the setup of a typical romantic love triangle.

Two people harbour feelings for Jayce, and Jayce is given the decision between the two of them, but that to me is where the similarities between them a love triangle ends… because Jayce never actually chooses. I know some may argue he does because of the final scene with Viktor, but I don’t perceive that as the case at all.

Jayce clearly has a deep love for the both of them, seen so clearly in his actions.

With Mel and Viktor, he truly feels like he can take on the world.

Jayce struggles to balance his life between politics and science because he wants both. He wants Mel and Viktor to be important in his life, but he isn’t capable of managing that, and his own biases and privilege do begin to damage his view of the system and his relationship with Viktor, and Mel does unintentionally worsen that divide. It’s why I love the polycule so much honestly — to me it isn’t just slapping three people together to stop any ship wars, no, it’s a genuinely complex and nuanced dynamic that has initial struggles and hardships.

And to claim that Mel doesn’t care for Viktor is said in complete ignorance of the source material. Mel does come to perceive Viktor as important. Initially, she does ignore him, and treat his presence as secondary to Jayce, but that changes once she recognises the flaw in her actions and how close she was to becoming like her mother. In the final scene of season one, she smiles at Jayce and Viktor. In the beginning of season two, she says that Viktor will come back to ‘us’. Not just to Jayce.

It feels tragic almost. They could have had such an interesting relationship with Mel now wanting to connect to Viktor, but she shattered the chance of that happening. The same way Viktor’s magic repels and rejects her, he does the same.

And god don’t get me started on their magic parallels. For as much as I criticise season two, this is a compilation of my thoughts on MelJayVik in canon, and so I am willing to analyse the way they’re portrayed in season two, and the fight scene in the council room In particular makes me violently ill.

It feels intimate on both ends.

I know people focus especially on Jayce and Viktor’s scenes, and I get it, the scenes between them are particularly intimate

However, both Mel and Viktor and Mel and Jayce also show intimacy in that scene. The way Jayce holds Mel after the fight, despite their previous ‘break up’ scene, and how even though there’s conflict between them, they still can’t help but handle each other with such care and affection. It’s just how they are.

And to me there’s something equally horrifying yet beautiful in the way Viktor bypasses Mel’s own magic, no longer rejecting her, but being intrigued and fascinated by her.

“The arcane stirs within you.”

They are connected by something more than just flesh, more than just physical, and that’s kind of insane to consider.

The tragedy of Mel regarding this is she loses both of these people: the man she knew, and understood, and allowed herself to be vulnerable with, and the man she wanted to know, and to understand.

So here’s how the Noxus spin-off can fix that and canonise MelJayVik! <- lying to myself.

[ts1m1kas]

Original Ask: Hi could you do a fic where Jamal and reader get pregnant and have a child, but after giving birth your scared because ur body has changed and that Jamal won’t like ur body anymore but he’s actually more obsessed with you because you gave birth to his child x (anonymous)

Word Count: 574 words

(author's note: sorry it's being posted later on, i've been so busy !! love you all loads xo)

There was no doubt in Jamal’s mind that Y/N was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Nothing she changed about herself could affect his view of her or make him think she was any less attractive. Just when he thought his wife couldn’t get any more attractive, she gave birth to their daughter.

Y/N however, didn’t share the same sentiment. She loved her daughter more than anything in the world, but she hated the way her body had changed after her pregnancy. All the changes were completely natural, but she couldn’t help but stare at her reflection until tears welled in her eyes as she criticised every part of herself.

This was something she would never admit to Jamal. Although she knew he would be supportive of her worries, part of her was embarrassed. Y/N knew Jamal would love her no matter what she looked like, but part of her wanted to look like the perfect models that all his teammates were married to.

But she didn’t need to tell Jamal, because he found out all on his own.

Y/N was standing in the pair's bedroom in front of the mirror with her shirt lifted up. Her eyes scanned the expanses of flesh, wincing at every stretch mark and wrinkle she saw littered around her stomach and waist.

She turned to the side, analysing how much her stomach protruded and she couldn't help the tears that began to form in her eyes.

Jamal had left his jumper upstairs and headed up to grab it. However, instead of seeing his girlfriend asleep in bed, he saw her crying in front of the mirror.

“Y/N? Baby what's wrong?”

Y/N dropped the hem of her shirt and let it cover her body once again.

“Jamal, hi! Did you forget something?”

“My jumper. Are you going to tell me what's going on? Why are you crying?”

“It's nothing, don't worry about it.”

“Well when I come upstairs to see my wife crying in front of the mirror, I do start to worry a little. What's the matter my love?”

“I just- I don’t-”

“Take your time sweetheart, there’s no rush.”

“I just feel ugly. Ever since I gave birth I’ve hated how I look. And I know I should be happy no matter what but I can’t help but wish that I could have my old body back.”

“Why didn’t you tell me this sooner? I’m sorry you feel that way.”

“It’s not your fault Jamal. I’m just scared you’ll leave me for someone prettier.”

“Are you crazy? Y/N, ever since I was a little boy I wanted nothing more than to have a happy family. With the perfect wife, and perfect children, and you’ve given me that. Everything I wanted and more has happened. Because of you. So please don’t think that you’re anything less than the most beautiful girl in the world.”

The tears that had previously threatened to spill were now pouring down her face as Jamal walked over to her and held her carefully in his arms. He slipped his finger under her chin and tilted her head up to look at him.

“I love you Y/N. To me, you’re the most stunning girl in the world.”

The pair’s lips met in a kiss. Their love for each other was poured into the kiss as Jamal reminded Y/N how beautiful she truly was.

[bobbyseyesmile]

Come again?

Morgan’s dark eyes followed you around the room as you stopped to pour yourself some more coffee to properly start the day. You ignored him when you sat down at your desk but you couldn’t ignore your best friends huge smile so you looked up from your laptop.

“Okay, what is it?” you asked, directed at Morgan and Emily. Both shared a quick look before their eyes shifted back, right at you.

“New hair, huh?”

You rolled your eyes but got excited; of course your very attentive colleagues would notice but would the very weird nerd across the room notice it as well?

Just when you opened your mouth to give Morgan a sarcastic reply Garcia walked into the room, her eyes cold and concentrated. Uh-oh, this would be a bad case. But as soon as her eyes met you a smile curled around her lips.

“Meow, mama! What’s with the sexy hair? And is that a new top as well- jeez, you look hot!” You felt your cheeks redden but couldn’t hide your amusement. “Thanks… you think it’s too much?”

“Oh sugar, it’s never too much pizazz. In fact, the world lacks it-“ she sighed which made Morgan shook his head while laughing “But! I know you didn’t dress that sexy for me, which makes me, to be honest, a bit sad but I get it.”

“Get what?” you turned your head towards Emily who had her eyebrows raised. “You got dressed up for someone in the office?!”

“Of course she did…” Morgan smirked “Should have known. So, tell us, who’s the lucky fella?”

Garcia giggled. “World best profilers in this room and you don’t know??” You turned red again and jumped from your seat. “Shouldn’t we discuss the new case? I bet Hotch is already waiting for us.” You gathered some papers and walked away, ignoring their snickering in the background.

“That woman is mysterious.” Morgan whispered but turned his head when Garcia put a hand on his shoulder. “Oh not at all, my love. That woman is just madly in love.” The quirky blonde turned her head and the friends followed her glance to the curly-haired man across the room.

“Seriously?” a small snort escaped the black man “It’s Reid?”

Spencer walked into the circled office when he noticed all eyes on him. Well, not all eyes because yours were fixed on the file in front of you. You didn’t even look up for a second and it gave him a bitter taste in his mouth. You hated him, he was sure… or maybe it wasn’t hate but surely a strong dislike of some sort.

You always turned red when he made a joke or the one time he complimented your hair- you must have been so angry with him, why else turn red?

“Hey wonder boy, we’ve waited.” Morgan turned in his chair and gave him a cheeky smile which Spencer tried to dismiss. “Sorry, I got lost. I’m currently reading Finnegans Wake again; my bookclub decided to study the consciousness writing style as well as the abandonment of narrative conventions to determine-“

“I’m sorry-“ Morgan raised his hands “I’ll never criticise you again but please for the love of all good, stop talking.”

Spencer noticed the way your fingers trembled against the papers. Great, he did it again. He bored you.

“Why study a book that’s literally so complicated that the general public didn’t even read it?” Emily asked and Spencer opened his mouth but was interrupted by Hotch.

“LA needs us-“ he clicked on the small remote control and a series of gruesome pictures filled the screen “They got an Unsub who hunts young women for their hearts. He cuts them out while they’re still alive.”

“Cuts them out? Dear god….” JJ mumbled but that wasn’t even the worst part.

“The coroner determined that he uses a dull knife. These women lived through the whole ordeal.”

Two days later and the team already presented a profile but couldn’t find a viable suspect so the mission continued into nowhere until Hotch came up with a plan.

“Y/N?” he asked and you looked up “Please come see me.” You walked in the small office and closed the doors as your boss presented you with his idea on how to catch this Unsub. The small hairs on your back stood up but you did exactly what Hotch thought you would: You accepted.

“So, did I get this right? We use Y/N as bait for this guy?” Morgan asked once again and you nodded.

“I’m his type. This will work.” Your voice was a bit shaky but you were still determined to stop this utter psychopath.

“Excuse me but we’re dealing here with a deranged psychopath who’s most likely a cannibal and you want Y/N near him?!” It was the first time that Spencer Reid lost his cool in front of Hotch and questioned his very decisions.

“He’s not going to hurt her, Reid-“

“Yeah, he better not.” the younger huffed “This is bullshit.”

“Spencer-“ you said softly and touched his arm “We need to catch this guy, you said it yourself how dangerous he is.”

“Catching him is not worth to put you in immediate danger.” he shook your hand away and angrily ran his fingers through his hair.

“We leave in ten minutes.” Hotch mumbled before getting up and signalling the others to leave you two alone.

“Spence-“ you tried again but he shook his head. “There has to be another way.”

“Of course there could be another way but this is the fastest. No other young woman should die.”

“You don’t understand” His voice was shaky and he let out a small laugh “I can’t lose you.” Spencer noticed your reddened cheeks and sighed. “Doesn’t matter how angry you get and how much you hate me but-“

“Woah, Spencer, hold up. What do you mean?”

“I know you’re always angry at me and usually I try to ignore it or, or I don’t know, blame it on my weird nature but this? I can’t let you do this.”

“I’m never angry with you, what are you talking about?” You raised your eyebrows in confusion and it made him stop in his tracks.

“You know, the reddened cheeks, your flared nostrils and always looking at the ground when I’m talking. Those are clear signs of hate or disgust.”

“For someone that smart you are pretty dense, Dr. Reid.” you gave him a soft smile and he looked at you in confusion. “Spencer, I like you. A lot. What you’re describing is me being shy and embarrassed.”

“Come again?” he asked and you took a step in his direction.

“I like you, dumbass.”

Spencer was frozen when he felt your lips on his own. You liked him? The moment he felt you withdraw, his hands were on your hips, stopping you. He felt you smiling against his lips and he smiled back. „Guess I need some profiling tipps, huh?“

„I can help with that.“

You’ll only find my work posted here and and on my AO3 blog. I don’t give consent for my work to be re-posted (in any language) onto any other platform, even if it is with credit. Thank you.

[supernaturalgirl20]

Hey! Your writing is stellar!

Could you possibly write about Joel and reader hating each others guts, but something like Joel almost dying brings the feelings out reader never realized. (Like angsty almost dying lol). she takes care of him and he sees how he does actually love her. It’s ends with them together. Vague i know haha.

Thank you!! xoxo

Thank you so much and I adored this request 🥰changed it up a little Hope you enjoy 😉

The Reason

Pairings: Joel Miller x f!reader

Warnings: Smut 18+, explicit, unprotected sex, soft love making, near fatal accident, mentions of death, hidden feelings, enemies to lovers (sorta), angst, cursing, fluff.

A/N: slowly getting back to writing this week so please bear with me on the requests. Didn't edit this so sorry for any mistakes.

Comments and reblogs really appreciated 🥰

Anger bubbled under the surface of your skin as you stood with your back against the door of the stables. The sound of his voice echoed through the air as he berated Tommy for asking you to join them. 

Who does he think he is? You think to yourself as you listen to him criticise you to his brother. Joel Miller was a force to be reckoned with and he had zero tolerance for anyone in the Jackson community except for you. Or at least you’d thought so, now you weren’t so sure. 

There was one night after a rough patrol where he’d shared a few drinks with you, and he’d opened up about his past. You had thought for a moment that maybe he liked you. Maybe you both could become friends or more, but now, you’re sure he hates you. 

“Now why the hell did you go and ask her to come with us? You know darn well that I ain’t gonna be able to concentrate with her there. Damn it, Tommy, I ain’t gonna be able to keep them both safe.”

With clenched fists you turned the corner and stormed towards him, his eyes widening when he spots you. “Who the hell do you think you are, Miller? Huh? Telling Tommy you don’t want me to come. It doesn't matter what you want, I’m the most experienced shot this place has so I’m more than capable of taking care of myself. Now I’m coming on this run whether you like it or not.” You huffed out a breath as you poked his chest with your finger, looking up at him with an angry expression on your face. 

“So, saddle up, cowboy.” You push him back slightly before grabbing your horse and marching out of the stables, leaving both Miller brothers confused as they stared after you. 

“About time you grew a pair Joel and told her the truth about how you feel. Save all this bickering. I mean it’s obvious as shit that you have feelings for her, so just man the fuck up.” Tommy says as he pats him on the back. 

Ellie scoffs behind them drawing both of their attention to her. She looks up and shrugs her shoulders at them. “Gotta say I agree with Tommy on this one. Life would be a lot easier if you just told her. Hell, it’s so fucking obvious she feels the same and I swear you two are just like horny fucking teenagers.”

“Alright enough! First of all, language,” he snaps as he points a finger in Ellie’s direction. “Secondly, what is this anyhow? Gang up on Joel day?” His gaze drifts between the pair and they smile at each other before they shrug, and Tommy says his goodbyes. 

“Alright, let’s get this shit show on the road,” Ellie teases as she winks at Joel and follows you outside. 

Joel watches her leave, his hands resting on his hips as he closes his eyes briefly and takes in a deep breath. This was gonna be a long trip. 

***

Things had gone to shit when you came across a group of raiders in a nearby abandoned town. They had wanted all of your supplies as well as you and Ellie but Joel was having none of it. 

He’d become a different man in the blink of an eye. A violent one and you can’t say it didn’t turn you on. He’d killed them all or at least so you’d thought until one of them had snuck up behind him and tackled him to the ground. 

They tussled for a moment before Joel straddled him and beat him to the ground. When he stood, he turned around to face you, his breathing ragged as he flexed his hands, his knuckles were bruised and bloody. His gaze drifted away from you towards Ellie who was busy collecting weapons. 

You let your gaze drift down his torso, and you gasped at the sight of a knife protruding from his abdomen. 

“Joel!” The sound of your worried voice catches his attention and his gaze flickers towards you. He follows your line of sight and groans when he sees the knife. His hand wraps around the hilt and pulls, blood spurting out from the wound, and he stumbles slightly as he throws the knife into the ground. 

“Let’s go.” His voice is commanding, leaving no room for argument. “Ellie,” you shout, “we gotta go.” You tilt your head towards her horse and rush over to help Joel up onto your own, placing him at the front. 

“Joel’s been hurt. We gotta find somewhere to lay low for a while.” You jump up behind Joel wrapping your arms around his waist as you grab the reins. 

You travel at a slow pace. Trying hard not to jostle him around too much but he’s losing a lot of blood, and fast. His head droops to the side, then his whole-body leans to the right and you try to catch him but you can’t hold his weight so he falls off the horse. 

“Ellie, stop!” you shout as you hop off the horse and check on him. He’s passed out. It almost appears as if he’s dead, but you run your fingers along his neck and check for a pulse. 

It’s there. 

Faint, but there and you let out a sigh of relief. Turning your gaze to Ellie you see the unshed tears in her eyes as she stares down at Joel. “He’s gonna be ok. I need you to help me lift him back onto the horse. Those houses over there,” you say with a tilt of your head. 

“We’ll stop there for now. Try to close over his wound.” She nods at you before helping you lift him. It’s a struggle but you manage all the same and you take a hold of the reins as you guide the horse along the trail. A silent prayer recited in your head that he’d be ok, that he’d make it through this. 

***

Joel is laying on the mattress you’d found as Ellie rips off a piece of cloth to hold over his wound. He groans loudly and you drop to your knees beside him pushing Ellie out of the way and putting pressure on his abdomen. He writhes in pain for a moment before he grabs your hand. 

“Leave.” He rasps, his breathing becoming more laboured with each breath. You shake your head as you continue to put pressure on the wound. 

“Leave. Go north…. Tommy,” his grip on your hand tightens and you finally meet his gaze. “No. I’m not leaving you. Don’t - don’t ask that of me…. I can’t.”

His skin is clammy and pale, and your heart feels like it’s being ripped apart. You can’t lose him. Not now. 

“Ellie.” Your gaze drifts towards the teenager and she’s standing still, face full of worry as she stares down at Joel. “Ellie,” you shout, grabbing her attention. 

“You need to go and look for medical supplies. Bandages, gauze, needle and thread, anything. Now, Ellie.”

She looks down at Joel one last time before she rushes up the stairs. He groans again, his eyes full of pain as he stares up at you shivering. 

You pull his jacket up over him before cupping his cheek in your hand. “You’re gonna make it through this. I promise.”

You stand up and quickly move across the room to grab your bag, rifling through it until you find what you're looking for. Pills in hand you pull out a bottle of water and drop to your knees again.

Gently, you lift his head and place the tablets in his mouth before bringing the bottle of water to his lips. “Drink. These will help with the pain.”

He obeys with a groan, swallowing the pills before you rest his head back on the mattress. “I gotta clean this, Joel. I’m gonna…. I gotta clean the wound, ok?”

He nods his head, his body trembling as he shivers uncontrollably. You pop open the bottle of alcohol and take a deep breath before you remove the jacket and lift his shirt. 

Your hand shakes slightly as you stare at his stomach for a moment - the wound bloody and bruised and jagged looking - before you snap out of it and pour the alcohol over it, causing him to hiss in pain. 

“I know, I know…. I’m sorry.” You turn your head at the sound of Ellie’s footsteps coming down the stairs. “I found this,” she says as she hands you a needle and thread. Her eyes widen at the sight of his stomach, and you cradle her cheek in your hand. 

“He’s gonna be ok. I promise you. Now I need you to hold him down because this is gonna hurt like hell.” She nods her head and rushes around to kneel beside Joel, placing her hands on his shoulders. 

His eyes stare up at her and he gives her a faint smile before his gaze drifts to you again. You pull the thread through the needle and tie it off before sterilising it with the alcohol. You meet his gaze and nod before taking a deep breath and pushing the needle through his skin. 

He groans loudly, reaching his hand up to grab at your arm. He turns his head away from you, shutting his eyes tightly as he tries to hold in his cries, Ellie pushing down on him to stop him from moving. 

The needle falls to the floor once you’ve finished sewing him up and you sit back on the ground staring at your shaking hands. They were covered in blood. His blood and the fact that you could’ve lost him today stirs something inside you. 

Feelings that you didn’t think you had. Not for him. Sure, you thought he was handsome, that he was a good father to Ellie, but he hated you. So, you hated him. At least, that’s what you tried to convince yourself. 

It was all too much. These feelings, and the way he was looking up at you made your chest hurt. Standing, you rush up the stairs and out of the house, trying to take deep breaths. 

“He is asking for you.” Ellie’s voice startles you and you whip your head around taking her in. 

“I’m just gonna check the other houses for medicine. I’ll be back.” She takes a step forward but you shake your head. “I just need a minute, ok? Tell him I’ll be back.”

***

You’d taken your time, routing through the other abandoned houses trying to stall time as best as you could until you sort through your feelings. 

It became clear around the fifth house that you had maybe always loved Joel Miller, you were just too stubborn to notice. It was also in that house you’d found some penicillin. 

The creak of the stairs alerted Ellie to your presence, and she turned quickly, gun pointed in your direction. With a sigh of relief, she lowered it and stood, taking a glance at Joel before meeting you. 

“He was worried about you. Tried to go after you but I wouldn’t let him. He’s asleep now but he keeps shaking and I think he has a slight fever.” 

With a nod of your head, you brush a strand of her hair behind her ear. “There’s some canned food in the kitchen, you should head on up and get something to eat. We’re gonna be here for a while.”

“Ok, I’m starving. Want me to get you some?” 

“I’m ok for now. Just don’t make too much noise. We don’t know if there are others in the area.” You let her go and turn your attention to Joel, who is laying in the same spot, shivering despite the heavy coat and blanket covering him. 

You run your fingers through his hair, and he groans at the feeling of your touch. Pulling away you reach for the bottled water and grab one of the antibiotics before gently stirring him awake. 

“Hmm,” he groans as his eyes slowly open, glossed over in pain as you smile softly down at him. “Hey, I’ve got some antibiotics. They should kill any infection even if they are out of date.”

Joel lifts his head enough for you to place the pill in his mouth and help him take a sip of water. Swallowing the pill, he drops back onto the mattress and looks up at you longingly. 

“Was worried…thought somethin’…couldn’t live without you….” His hand reaches out towards you as he traces the soft curve of your face. The feel of his rough calloused fingers on your skin sets your heart racing. 

“I’m ok. Ain’t nothing gonna happen to me. I learned from the best,” you say with a laugh as you nervously meet his gaze. 

“I’m gonna get us some food, I'll be right….” You start to say but he shakes his head. 

“No. Stay. Please.” His eyes are wide as he begs you to stay, shuffling around on the mattress as he tries to make room for you. 

“What are you doing, Joel?” You ask, raising your eyebrows in question. He pats the space beside him indicating that he wants you to lay with him. 

“What if I hurt you?” You ask as your eyes drift to his blood-stained shirt. “Won’t,” he breathes out as his eyes begin to droop closed. He’s still shivering slightly, and his skin still looks pale and clammy and you don’t have the heart to say no. 

With a reluctant sigh, you remove your jacket and slip in beside him, making sure you’re both covered by the blankets. His arm is wrapped around you as you rest your head on his chest and the soft beating rhythm of his heart lulls you to sleep.

***

“No….no please not her….can’t lose her….no, no…” Joel muttered in his sleep as his head tossed around, his grip on your waist tightening. 

He was having a nightmare. 

Sitting up a little, you gently place your hand on his cheek, your thumb rubbing soothing circles into the rough surface of his face. “Joel,” you whisper, trying to wake him without startling him. 

“Hey, Joel, it's ok. Wake up.” His eyes snap open and he panics until his gaze lands on you and his breathing slowly calms. 

You gaze down at him with a soft smile on your face as you continue to rub his cheek. “You were having a nightmare. Are you ok?”

His eyes take in the features of your face as the moonlight shines through the small window of the basement. “M’fine. Thought I - thought I lost you ....” He trails off as he slowly realises what he’s saying. 

His face has a little more colour to it and you swear you see the hint of a blush on his cheeks. 

“I’m here. I’m fine. It was just a bad dream, probably induced by the fever,” you giggle as you place the back of your hand on his forehead. “Seems to have broken, finally.”

“I know you heard what I said to Tommy.” He says matter of factly. “I know you think that I hate you….”

“It’s fine, Joel. You don’t have to explain anything. That’s just life. You like some people, you hate others. It is what it is.” His eyes furrow as he looks up at you, a confused look taking over the features of his face. 

“I don’t hate you. Never have. Don’t think I ever could. It's a bit hard to hate someone you’re in love with.” 

“What?!” You stutter nervously, your eyes blinking rapidly as you swallow the lump in your throat. 

“I love you darlin’. It’s the reason I didn’t want you to come on this run. I’m distracted when you’re out on patrol with me, I knew I’d be the same with this, it’s why I begged Tommy to reconsider letting you tag along. M’sorry if I ever made you feel like I hated you, 'cause I don't.”

You don’t know what to say. The words won’t form in your mind as you stare down at him in shock. He loves you. Your heart thrums loudly in your ears and you think for a moment that you’re gonna pass out. 

“You alright, darlin?” The sound of his Texan drawl, soft and low, breaks you from your trance. 

“Hmm? M’fine. I-I think I love you too.” His eyebrow quirks as a smile edges its way onto his face. “You think?” He teases. 

You nudge him in the chest, and he groans, holding his side and you panic you’ve hurt his stitches. “Oh my god! I’m so sorry Joel. I completely forgot,” you rush out, voice panicked as you lift his shirt to check. 

The sound of his laughter pulls your gaze up towards him. “Oh, for god's sake,” you huff as you turn and begin to push yourself off the mattress. His hand reaches out to grab your wrist, pulling you back into him. 

“M’sorry, darlin’. Couldn’t resist.” His hand slips up along your curves and settles on your face, his gaze meeting yours. His eyes flicker briefly to your lips, and you unconsciously lick along your bottom lip, pulling it between your teeth. 

“Will you two just kiss already? Jesus.” Ellie’s voice sounds from the top of the stairs. You both burst into laughter before he leans forward and captures your lips in a searing kiss.

His lips are a little rough, the feel of them against your own causing a shiver to work its way down your spine. He still tastes of whiskey he had earlier, and you want nothing more than push him down and fuck him into the mattress but you don’t. Instead, you pull away and rest your head against his, calming your racing heart. 

“We should get some rest,” you breathe raggedly as you blink down at him. 

Nodding his head, he kisses you softly once more before laying back on the mattress and pulling you with him, wrapping you up in his arms. “G’night, darlin’.” 

***

The gates open and Tommy comes rushing out with a worried expression on his face. “What the hell happened?” He asks, his gaze drifting from Joel to you as he waits for someone to tell him. 

“Long story,” Joel answers as he looks over at Ellie, a silent communication happening between them. Tommy huffs in frustration. “You’ve been gone for days. We thought - we thought you’d been killed or worse. Fuck!”

Joel slowly hops off the horse and makes his way towards his brother, clapping his hand on his back. “We’re alright, Tommy. Ain’t nothin’ to worry about. We’re just tired. Gonna need some more sleep and a decent meal.” 

Tommy nods his head, his eyes drifting to both you and Ellie. “Sure. How about you all head home and I’ll have Jason drop the food over.”

“That sounds amazin’ little brother. You’re just gonna have to have Jason drop Y/N’s food over to my place.”

Tommy's face freezes in shock before a sly smirk plays across his face. “Oh yeah. Somethin’ happen while you were out there?” He asks Joel, his voice almost a whisper so only he could hear. 

“Gentlemen never kiss and tell, Tommy. You should know that.” He smacks him on the back hard, winking at him before he turns and grabs his horse. Tommy knew something had happened from the slight blush on your cheeks. He’d get it out of Joel eventually. 

***

The room had been filled with silence as you all ate the dinner that Jason had brought over. The only sound to be heard was that of your forks and knives scraping off the plate. 

God, you hadn’t realised how hungry you were until the smell of the food hit your nose. The loud growl of your stomach made Joel smile as he finished setting the table. 

“Fuck that was good,” Ellie says as she sits back in the chair, hands resting on her now full stomach. 

“Manners,” Joel chastises as he pushes his plate away from him. 

“She’s not wrong though,” you say with a smile as you place your knife and fork on the plate and release a contented sigh. Joel hums in response as he lets his gaze wander over you both. 

He never thought he’d have this again. A normal life. A steady home. A family. Now that he does have it, he’s not too keen on letting it go. With the clearing of his throat, he throws Ellie a look, his eyes shifting towards the front door, and it only takes her a second to realise what he’s saying. 

“I’m gonna go meet up with Dina. Don’t wait up ya old fart.” She says with a laugh as she grabs her coat and slams the door behind her. 

“So…I guess I’ll help clear up and then I’ll let you get some rest.” You stand, the chair scraping across the floor as you grab your plate and make your way into the kitchen. 

You turn the tap on and begin to wash up when a set of arms wrap around you from behind. You startle. A soft gasp slips past your lips as Joel turns you slowly in his arms. 

You gulp nervously as you stare up at those golden-brown orbs. Your heart beats frantically at the feel of his touch. “Was thinkin’ maybe you could stay the night. I’ll make you pancakes and coffee in the morning.” 

His eyes are hopeful as he waits for you to say something. “Are you trying to seduce me, Miller?” You tease as your arms come to rest on his chest. Your fingers playing with the buttons on his shirt. 

“Is it workin’?” He says with a smile, his arms pulling you closer. 

“Maybe. Might need you to kiss me though, to make sure.” A smile plays across his face as he leans in and kisses you softly. You tease his bottom lip with your tongue, and he groans into your mouth, his fingers digging into your hips as he grinds into you. 

His cock hardens against you, and he groans when you run your hand down along his stomach and under the waistband of his jeans, cupping him with your hand.

“Fuck,” he breathes as he pulls away, forehead resting on yours. You run your fingers along the back of his neck and through his hair. “Need you,” you whisper into the shell of his ear, and he shivers. 

“Jesus, darlin’. You’re gonna be the death of me.” He grabs your hand from his trousers and leads you out of the kitchen and up the stairs towards his bedroom, where he kicks the door closed behind him as he walks you back towards his bed. 

He’s hungry for you. His eyes were blown wide with lust and you’re sure he’d have ravaged you by now if it weren’t for the fact that he’s healing. 

You pull him in for another kiss and let your hands glide over him as you begin to unbutton his shirt. Throwing it onto the floor before starting on his trousers. 

His rough calloused fingertips glide along your skin as he helps you remove your clothes, your breath hitching as they slip between your slick folds. 

You gasp. His mouth swallows the moan that follows as he kisses you softly. Pulling back his eyes trail over your naked form and when your gazes meet, you see nothing but adoration in those brown eyes you love so much. 

“How do you - how do you want to do this?” You ask as his hands grab onto the soft flesh of your ass. “Better take it slow for now. Don’t wanna burst a stitch,” he says with a smile in his voice. “Lay on your side, darlin’.” 

Doing as he says, you lay on your side, his warmth filling all your senses as he slips in behind you. You let out a breathy moan as his fingers delve into your heat once more, his hardened cock nestled snugly between your ass cheeks.  

“Oh fuck,” you whimper as he works his thick digits in and out of you, curling them ever so slightly as he hits that spot that sends you spiralling. 

Your skin is flushed. Sweat beads down along your breasts as he pinches your nipple between his forefinger and thumb. A shiver skitters down your spine as he whispers into the shell of your ear. 

“Ready for me darlin’?” 

You nod, “yeah- yes, fuck I’m ready please,” you whine as he runs the tip of his cock teasingly along your slick. “Joel…”

“Tell me what you want, baby.” 

“Need you inside - need you to fuck me, please.” With the head of his cock notched at your entrance he thrusts inside with a roll of his hips and you both let out a soft groan as he fills you. 

“Jesus, darlin’. So damn tight…fuckin’ squeezing the life outa me.” He takes a moment, closing his eyes and taking in a deep breath as he tries to control himself. His lips meet the skin of your neck as he peppers kisses along it, his hips moving slowly in tandem with his lips. 

It’s soft and slow. His hands glide over your skin, pinching and pulling as you moan softly into the room. Your body shudders as you come, your clit already sensitive from earlier. 

A soft cry slips past your lips as you reach behind to run your fingers into his hair. His hips stutter as he nears his release, the soft grunting in your ear becoming louder the closer he gets. 

“Ngh…fuck,” he groans as he quickly frees himself from your walls, spilling himself over the soft pillowy flesh of your ass. 

“Don’t move, darlin’.” He says as he slowly slips from the bed and grabs a piece of cloth to clean you with. He works it gently over your skin before throwing it into the basket at the end of his bed. 

The cool air makes you shiver involuntarily but Joel is quick to hop back into bed, slipping beneath the covers and pulling you close. 

 “I love you, darlin’,” he whispers into the crook of your neck and you can’t help the smile that works its way onto your face. 

“Hmm, I love you too.” He squeezes you gently before his breathing evens out and he falls asleep.  It’s safe to say that Joel Miller definitely doesn’t hate you. 

Everything: @maievdenoir @amneris21 @hnt-escape @elegantduckturtle @harriedandharassed @jediknight122 @ayrusss @hayley-the-comet @sherala007 @alexxavicry @scorpio-marionette @donnaa @practicalghost @tanzthompson @beskarprincessjenny @littlemisspascal @icanbeyourjedi @thatpinkshirt @maryfanson @sunnshineeexoxo @misspearly1 @misspearlssideblog @athalien @its--fandom--darling @sara-alonso @doommommy @browneyes-issac @trickstersp8 @nembees @kaitieskidmore1 @mswarriorbabe80 @allthe-ships @tintinn16 @hungrhay @rosie-posie08 @manuymesut @all-the-way-down-here @iccedays @tusk89 @graciexmarvel @pedrostories @musings-of-a-rose @untitledarea @your-voice-is-mellifluous @majestyjade @avengersfan25 @hummelmia @angstismydrug

[thatsonemorbidcorvid]

why is headless women art bad? i can see why it's seen as objectifying but why is it such a big deal to make art out of the female form? (sorry if i sound agressive this is a genuine question)

Hi anon! You certainly don’t sound aggressive - I’m actually very grateful for the opportunity to collate my current thoughts in one place, so thank you for the prompt. I’m going to try my hardest to keep this short.

For any women who haven’t seen posts on this topic previously, some examples of the ‘headless women art’ trend I’ve been talking about for a while now are below. They’re often missing their limbs, at various points of amputation, as well as all or part of their heads (if she has her eyes, I generally don’t count it). Sometimes their heads have been ‘replaced’ with other objects, typically plants or mushrooms, though I wouldn’t count a woman with an animal or bird’s head. They’re often naked.

So, per Anon’s question, why is it a ‘big deal’?

I mean, really, it’s not. It’s an absolutely minuscule deal - it’s as dwarfed by the issues of the sex industry, femicide, and systemic sex inequality, as we are by the Sun. And yet, much as our bodies are made of particles formed in dying stars, I see elements of the large within the small… ok, I’m not getting poetic.

It’s not a big deal, and I don’t necessarily think it’s wholly terrible either, which is why in my analysis posts on the topic I try to ask questions more than criticise, and criticise gently when I do so. What it comes down to is that I spotted a pattern, and wanted to acknowledge that pattern, think about it, and ask other women for their thoughts on it.

With that said, there are certain things that I question particularly, and have seen other women question, which I’ll list:

Remove her legs and she can’t run, remove her arms and she can’t fight, remove her mouth and she can’t shout, and remove her eyes and she can’t look back at you. You totally disempower her when you remove almost every body part capable of action.

By removing her head you also remove her brain (her personality and internal identity), and her face (her visible external identity). By anonymising her you strip her of her individuality, and depict all female people as a result - so what message are you sending about all female people with your depiction of us, naked and dismembered?

A (living) woman’s neutral existence requires her to have her head. By removing it, you are making an active choice to step away from the neutral (and it’s on you to defend that choice), and you are also by necessity depicting a dead woman. You ask about ‘art out of the female form’ - the living female form has a head. Why remove it?

The simplest test of whether something might be sexist, is to see whether it applies to men and women equally. Are (straight) men decorating their homes with ‘bits’ of male bodies? Do men in general feel conscious enough of, yet alienated enough from, the appearance of their bodies that they seek out their representation, sans heads, to reflect back at them? Why not, if women are? Would it be strange if they did?

As a follow up, since many of these pieces are made by women (often straight women), are (straight) men often focusing their artistic output on depicting ‘bits’ of male bodies? Do men regularly choose to create art intended to depict the ‘beauty’ of the male form? If not, why not?

You mention objectification - what links are there between objectification and violence? Could self-objectification be used to normalise violence against the self, or even excuse it? What about violence against others who are like the self (ie violence against other women)?

As I say, I’m not necessarily saying this artistic trend is exclusively a bad one, or that people/women in particular shouldn’t be decorating their homes however they please. It’s just something I’ve noted and found interesting, and like many apparently free choices, I think feminist women have a responsibility to interrogate their own and others’ motivations.

This is a hasty overview, and I’ve probably missed things - I’ll reblog with additions if I think of any, but you can also see my previous posts on this topic, and other women’s contributions, under my “Headless Women Art” tag. Thanks again for the question!

[crashandlivewrites]

ber i'm sad and insecure :( i'm begging you for fluff about simon holding reader and reminding her that he thinks she's so pretty :(( calls her "lovie" and praises her a whole lot. that would heal me <3

Of course my darling <33 anything for my cherry 🍒

CW: talks of insecurity and negative self talk, tender fluff and love

Lying in bed, you were curled into a ball, exhaustion taking hold of your body despite feeling that you hadn’t really done all the much today to warrant feeling so drained. The mental list of chores you had been planning to do went unchecked, leaving even more to do tomorrow, yet you couldn’t stomach the thought of dragging yourself out of bed.

Your ears perked as you heard the front door click and you shot upwards, realising your boyfriend had been due home today and you hadn’t done anything to prepare for it.

“No no no no…” You cursed at yourself for being lazy, for not being aware of the day, for not paying attention, for every tiny little detail you felt you could criticise yourself on as you ran around the room, picking up dirty, discarded clothing that hadn’t yet made it to the laundry. Stepping into the bathroom, you shoved as much of the washing you could into the hamper as the door was pushed open and Simon walked into the bedroom.

“Lovie, you home?” He called softly, his heavy footfalls stepping closer.

“Just in here,” you called, stepping quickly out of the bathroom, almost running head first into his solid chest.

“Hey, there’s my pretty lady.” Tapping his finger on the underside of your chin, he encouraged your head to tilt up, making your eyes meet. You immediately saw the drop in his expression and couldn’t help the shame that filled you.

“I’m sorry.” You whispered. “I didn’t realise what day it was. I haven’t done what I was supposed to but I plan on doing it tomorrow, I promise. I just…” You trailed off as his hand tipped your head up once again.

“What’s wrong, lovie?” He asked softly. Your expression was tight, pinched in confusion as you shrugged helplessly. “You don’t know? Just haven’t been feeling good?”

You shook your head, eyes still glancing away from his, worried you were going to find disappointment and disapproval in them.

“Look at me.” His voice was barely above a whisper as he tapped your cheek. Swallowing, you finally gained the courage to look into his eyes, seeing nothing but worry and care for you. “Whats going on in that pretty head of yours, sweetheart? You sounded alright on the phone a few days ago.”

“I don’t know.” You answered, just as quietly. “It just all crept up on me.” Simon hummed, wrapping his strong arms around you and pulling your body into his chest. A hand carded through your hair, brushing gently through the strands as he stood there, breathing slowly and deeply.

“You know I’m always here. Whatever you need, right?” He said as he pressed a kiss to the top of your head.

“I know. But you’ve got so much on your plate that I don’t—”

“No. Please, lovie.” He tugged you over to the bed where he sat down, looking up at you standing between his legs. His hands ran down your arms, fingers trailing soothingly along your skin until he reached your hands, lacing his fingers through yours.

“I know what you’re like when you get into your head. Don’t shut me out. Let me help you, please.”

“You already do enough for me.” You shake your head, but the furrow of his brows stops you from making any further complaints.

“I always want to do more for you.” He whispered, sliding a hand up the back of your neck to rest your forehead against his. “It doesn’t matter to me what you have or haven’t done round the place. You’re here. That’s what matters to me. You sit here and you wait for me to come home. That means more to me than anything.”

You swallowed, struggling to look into his eyes as the emotion of the last few days threatened to rear its ugly head and spill over your cheeks. He cooed softly, caressing your face as he pulls you onto the bed, lying down so you were facing each other.

“I haven’t washed the sheets, Si.” You murmured. His brows furrowed and he shrugged.

“So, they smell like you, why would I want them washed? Coming back home to a place that looks, feels, and smells like you, my pretty little thing, is a dream. Especially because I know when I’m gone, you sleep on my side.”

Your face flushes as he guesses correctly and you make a whining noise of protest, pushing against him playfully. Simon sighed, one arm hooked under the pillow his head was resting on, and the other was gliding tentatively over your shoulder.

“You mean the world to me, lovie. You don’t need to face everything by yourself. It hurts me when I see you like this. Next time, you promise to let me know, let me in so I can help?” His voice was sincere as he stared deep into your eyes.

“Yes Simon. I promise.” You whispered. His lips spread into a tired smile.

“Then come here. I’ve had a long few days and don’t plan on leaving this bed at all tomorrow. Just wanna cuddle with my pretty girl all day.”

“What about all the—”

“Nothing else matters but me and you, got it?”

“I got it, Simon.”

Remember: you’re loved and appreciated no matter what. Take care of yourself and also don���t beat yourself up if you didn’t achieve everything you wanted to

[evanorphia]

okay, so if you follow me on tiktok you’re probably already aware of where this rant is going because i’ve spoken a bit about this on there, but i really need people to understand that fandom operates on a ‘don’t like; don’t read’ basis.

you can dislike/hate headcanons/ships/characters/fics/etc in this fandom (i have ships and hcs i dislike, and that’s okay, everyone is allowed to have different opinions and preferences) but the issue comes in when you take that dislike towards something and post about it publicly; when instead of ranting to your close friends, you put it on social media and/or hate on other people for liking/engaging with that thing. by posting about your hatred of something, that could a) be someone’s first impression of the thing and that can lead to them not forming their own opinion on it (i know this happened to me, my first interaction with one of the popular fics was negative and so i automatically disliked it rather than forming my own opinion on it), and/or b) upset them or make them feel bad about liking that very thing. this is detrimental to fandom as fandom spaces are supposed to be about creativity, sharing ideas, and a safe place.

the issue gets worse when, instead of just posting about the hatred on your own page, you go into the comments sections of other people’s posts. whether it be an edit/skit/etc that the person has made, they made it for free and out of passion for whatever the contents is. i’m going to use jegulus for this example because it’s a popular ship but this issue can apply to all ships (and more so applies to rarepairs), by commenting things such as “jegulus is a monstrosity of a ship” or “in canon this would never work” or “jegulus ruined this fandom” (which btw, it didn’t, no ship can “ruin a fandom” whatever that means) you’re actively making people NOT want to create content for this fandom and actively making people feel bad for things that they shouldn’t have to feel bad about.

moreover, this fandom seems to really care about characterisations of characters and i have three things to say on this. 1) we do not know enough about the majority of these characters to be able to mischaracterise them and the characters we do know about, we meet when they’re in their thirties and have been through copious amounts of trauma and a whole war to get to this point, they are bound to be different in their teenage years than they are in thirties. 2) the majority of this fandom is fanon and that’s the joy of it, everyone can have different opinions and headcanons and people can take inspiration from each other. if everyone characterised the characters exactly the same the fandom would be so boring and everything would just be a copy and paste of each other. 3) arguing over headcanons, especially stuff like “fem vs masc sirius” can have real life consequences. by saying that someone making sirius feminine makes him “less of a man” or “straightens wolfstar” you’re actively opening the floor for transphobia and homophobia and, as a transmasc who presents femininely and is in a relationship with a man, are you saying that our relationship is now “straight” or that i’m a woman purely because of how i present? please, let that sit with you before you argue over these headcanons again. if you don’t think the marauders boys would wear skirts, scroll or click off of the fic. (also btw, not everything has to be time accurate, that’s the joy of AUs).

furthermore, fanfiction is created for FREE. you do not get to criticise and hate on a fanfic like you do with published literature. fanfic writers have written fanfics for you out of passion with nothing in return other than kudos or comments, they are not making profit off of fanfiction (which would be illegal if they somehow were) and it is NOT their job like how it is with published authors. by hating on fanfics (no matter how popular or untouchable you believe them to be), you are actively discouraging people from writing their own and who knows — that could’ve been your new favourite fanfic. furthermore, a lot of ships lack fanfics because people are scared to interact with anything other than wolfstar and jegulus because of the hate that rarepairs get. there’s plenty of amazing ships out there that have so much potential but people are too scared to create for because of the hate/backlash they may get for creating for that ship.

all in all, like what you want and don’t like what you want, but don’t make it everyone else’s problem and if you don’t like something, scroll. thank you.

[ode2cheol]

here for you

hurt/comfort, mention of minor family arguments

this being my first joshua fic… fakest joshushushu ever 😞 based off very REAL events that took place if my group members are reading this I HATE YALL 🗣️‼️💯

“baby, will you please talk to me?” your boyfriend joshua sighed, asking the same thing for the twelfth- not that you were counting- time, “if you don’t talk to me then i won’t know what i did to make you so upset-”

“shua,” you said bringing a finger to his lip to shush him for a second, “i promise the reason i’m upset has nothing to do with you, babe”

“so you admit you are upset” joshua said, hand coming to wrap around your own, “yn please, tell me what’s up”

you looked at him for a few seconds, no idea where exactly to start. it had been the worst week you’ve ever had and it’d just started.

the others in your group project made absolutely zero efforts. meaning you had to spend an all nighter and two whole days working on the project yourself from scratch just so you’d meet the deadline date. on top of that, as much as you would’ve wanted to get their credit taken off, there was no way your professor would care enough to take what you were saying into consideration.

your family had also been getting on your last nerve lately, making a problem out of every little act and criticising your every move. it’d usually not be much of a problem, but when you were thrown into arguments against your will over it, you realised just how tedious the whole thing was.

and you were pretty sure you were coming down with a flu just as the cherry on top.

you let out a deep breath you didn’t know you were even letting in, “shua, there’s just been a lot on my plate lately but trust me, there’s nothing you need to worry about. whatever it is that’s bothering me is nothing worth bothering you over”

“yn, look at me” he placed both his hands on either of your cheeks, gently moving your head in place so you couldn’t avoid his gaze, “i don’t know what made you think that you not bottling things up was bothering me, but i promise baby it’s not. i enjoy being there for you just like how you like being there for me”

“i know it’s just it’s stupid, i just don’t want to accidentally annoy you or something, after the week i’ve had the last thing i need is for the love of my life to hate me too” you sighed, letting your head bury itself in the crook of joshua’s neck, words becoming slightly muffled.

“its literally tuesday the week just started..? but regardless, baby like i said i could never hate you, so please don’t ever think you’re a burden on me, okay?” he rubbed your back, placing a kiss on the crown of your head

“okay”

“okay. now go sit baby. i’ll make you some tea and we can talk”

[argentimybeloved]

I hate seeing people STILL defend hoyo/Genshin even after Natlans trailer. I’ve seen so many excuses but none of them really work.

((if I said anything incorrect or accidentally offensive please correct me!!))

Rant(?) UTC

— “It’s a CN (Chinese) company, what did you expect?”

Just because China has a racism/colourism problem does NOT mean anything. You’re going to excuse it just cuz of that?? On top of that, CN players have ALSO disliked the lack of PoC characters. Also, blaming it on the fact that they’re Chinese is racist in itself I believe. You’re generalising a whole country as well.

With the talk that they only care about the CN fanbase is also wrong, cuz again. Even CN player base are mad about it.

On top of all that. Reverse 1999 and Dislyte, 2 games by a Chinese company have AMAZING rep from what I’ve seen and heard. They have a diverse cast and not only do they have a large variety of skin tones for their characters but their designs aren’t sexualised (*cough* Raiden and Yae Miko *cough*)

— “Oh you have (Insert character like, Kaeya, Xinyan, Candace ect) though”

And most of those characters are getting whitewashed by the company still!! Sure we have some character that DO have darker skin. But the art that the company posts of them, you’ll usually find them whitewashed.

I’ve seen people say they should be happy with Iansan.

Why?? That’s one character with darker skin in a nation based off of countries with people with darker skin.

Their skin colour is more ashy as well (as stated from other people I’ve seen, so correct me if I’m wrong there)

If you’re going to take inspiration from various countries for your game. AND make characters based on said countries, represent them better. Don’t just make them white when the people from those countries aren’t.

— “It’s HYV what did you expect??”

Oh I’m sorry, so I shouldn’t have expected for a nation to be accurately represented?

Also, many people who say this, usually have said “oh wait for Sumeru, wait for Natlan”

And now that both of those nations are released it’s:

“What did you expect”

Make up your mind please and thank you :3

And it’s not uncommon for people to wait to see if there’s at least SOME change to a game they enjoy

I’ve actually seen people say “Wait for more characters to be released”

HOW LONG DO PPL HAVE TO WAIT TO GET GOOD REP 😭😭

— “People complain yet still play the game”

People can complain and still play the game.

There’s good aspects to Genshin. The music and landscapes. Animation too. People can enjoy the game for that reason and still criticise the game.

Of course some people can quit the game due to how Genshin deals with PoC characters but others may stay for their own reasons. As long as they don’t IGNORE the problem then fine, they can keep playing. It’s their own choice.

— “They’re not white though!!”

What…

Have you seen the cast from the Natlan trailer??

I have actually seen this as an excuse and it honestly confuses me so much. Do people genuinely think that the Natlan cast isn’t mostly white people?? I hope not…

— “There’s white people in those countries too”

Okay and? Chinese people can also have tanner skin and we don’t have characters with said skin tone in Liyue.

Same with Japan.

What’s your point?

Natlan AND Sumeru are both nations based of countries that have people with darker skin. Yes you may find a white person in those countries too but that shouldn’t be your excuse of why there’s such a lack of diversity in those nations. If there’s a diversity in the countries their based off of, so should the in game nation.

— “Their designs are pretty though!”

(Not rlly an excuse but felt like I should add it)

I’ve seen people saying they like the characters design and think there pretty and that’s fine!! Can’t fault you for liking a characters design. I also do find some of the designs pretty. I will admit. It’s when you defend their designs when it becomes a problem. Just cuz you like a characters design doesn’t mean you can ignore the lack of diversity for PoC.

Especially when they’re the ones being represented

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That’s all the excuses I’ve seen going around. The more common ones, I’m unsure if there’s more (hopefully not…) but if there is feel free to comment about it

Apparently the ZZZ team have talked about their dislike about this whole mess. Which hopefully means they’ll do better but it is also the same company.

I’ve seen a good few concept art of characters who DO have darker skin tones but apparently genshins higher ups made them lighter. Can’t fully confirm that but I have seen concept art with characters with darker skin tone.

Once again, if I said anything incorrect or accidentally offensive please correct me as well!! Thank you :)

(Silently hoping I won’t get death threats for this to the point I have to delete it 👍 - Will likely private my DMs if I can)