{Fyodor Dostoevsky In A Letter To His Wife Anna Dostoevskaya 28 Augest 1879}

{—Fyodor Dostoevsky in a letter to his wife Anna Dostoevskaya 28 augest 1879}

　despite having checked the boy’s pulse no doubt a thousand times during the night, hovering a hand close to his open nose & mouth just to feel the reassurance of law’s breathing on his skin—there was panic when law didn’t rouse right away. 

nothing outward, and nothing he'd consider substantial; nothing like weight of the sky falling that came with realizing law might not have as much time as he thought. nothing like the urge to vomit upon seeing law riding on vergo’s shoulders, peaceful & unaware just how badly things were about to go for the two of them. but it was there. a half-rational, half-anxious spark in his brain telling him law has to be exhausted, give him a minute to wake up… but deciding, if he wasn’t awake in another thirty seconds,  then he would actually panic. only after thirty seconds, though. like a normal person.

thankfully, for both their sakes, rosinante watched him pry himself from the pillows and slowly survey the room. the expression on his face reminded the man of the moment he woke law up to deliver the op op fruit: little eyes drifting around, trying to piece together exactly why he was here all of the sudden and where exactly here was. with the memory fresh in his mind, rosinante did as he did before: he smiled.

he didn’t even want to think about how ugly his smile must look right now. one tooth was missingーsomewhere in the snowy landscape of minion island, never to be seen againーand several more were definitely chipped. sweat & blood had smudged what remained of his lipstick, and his lips themselves were cracked from exposure. it hurt to smile, in all honesty. prickly, unpleasant, and gross. but how could he not smile? the man willed himself to shake off his weariness, brightening his voice for a bit of added reassurance. 

　❝ uh-huh! those marine ships turned out to be a great thing for us, after all. when i went to get you breakfast, the innkeeper told me some pirates were chased out of the area last night. ❞ in his haste to escape, everything that wasn't the small medical bag law kept on his person & the clothes on their backs had been abandoned, including rosinante's transponder snail. meaning he had to rely on civilian gossip but, fuck, he'd take it. it was something. just knowing doflamingo was out of their vicinity was a huge weight off his shoulders. they did it. they won. ❝we’re safe. ❞

the cautious part of rosinante’s brain thought briefly about tacking ‘for now’ at the end, but he wasn’t going to ruin the moment with that. for once in his kid’s life, he deserved one day where he didn’t have to worry about some new nebulous impending doom threatening his peace for the thousandth time. 

　❝ i need you to answer some questions for me, okay? first: on a scale from one to ten, how are you feeling? one being 'no pain' and ten being 'the worst pain i've ever been in'. ❞

‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Despite the excitement on Cora-san's face the day they'd received the call from Doflamingo - the fated call that had set them on the frantic and arduous rush across the north through three weeks of lashing wind and torrential downpours, Law had never allowed himself to truly believe in the so-called miracle. It was true that something had shifted between the sickly boy and the man that had kidnapped him six months prior, but even with his newfound appreciation for the former executive - even knowing Corazon wouldn't risk his standings with both his brother and the Marines he claimed to hold no ties to were he not reasonably convinced they stood a chance at curing his disease, he'd been reluctant.

‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Just because the Devil Fruit existed didn't mean they'd be able to get their hands on it, after all. And even if did manage to steal it and get away, it didn't mean he'd be able to figure how to use it. Or that he'd even make it that long. Doubt had crept in alongside the fever that overtook him that afternoon. What if his calculations had been off? What if he'd lost count of days and hospitals along the way? Valid questions from a child who found himself quite suddenly feeling like he was at death's door - but with them came another line of thinking: one he'd never expected and didn't know what to make of.

‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎What would happen to Cora-san if he died before they got there? Or worse - if they escaped with the fruit only to find his faith in Law's abilities had been misplaced? Or that the incurable White Lead Disease that had hovered over his entire childhood was truly just that. Then the man would have made enemies of the Family, the navy, and the World Government all in one fell swoop. And it would all be for nothing. Not to mention, if the terror he heard in Corazon's distant voice was anything to go off, Law wasn't sure he'd recover psychologically from such a disappointment.

‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Why had he had to go and get attached to a boy who'd tried to stab him not that long ago? Law had accepted his eventual fate when he was the only one who stood to lose. Now that Cora-san had taken it upon himself to look after him, someone else would have to suffer, too.

‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎That afternoon, delirious with fever and clutched tight to his benefactor's chest as their small boat tossed upon the waves, Law had a thought he'd never allowed himself to dwell on before.

‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎It's not fair, he thought - or perhaps he murmured; so quickly he'd found himself unable to distinguish between the thoughts in his head and the turmoil of the world around them. None of it had been fair. Flevance. White Lead disease. The royal family that abandoned him. His sister falling sick before him. That she had died, that his parents had died, that his hometown had burned. That he might die and Cora-san might suffer for it.

‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎That the man was even here in the first place, risking his life and spending his time on an ungrateful brat who had realized too late what he was trying to do for him. To leave him behind like this - to give up now, when they were so close (or at least Cora-san believed them to be so close), would be the cruelest injustice of them all.

‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎And so he'd fought on, clinging to consciousness and Cora-san's feathered cloak. Trying his best to believe in a cure he'd been so afraid to put hope in, if only so Corazon could see he was trying. That he appreciated what he was doing for him. That he was grateful even if it didn't work out.

‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎But no matter how hard he tried… no matter how much he pretended for Cora-san's sake, Law had never truly believed it was going to work. Even as he'd forced himself to stay awake, to riddle out the working of the invaluale Devil Fruit, to focus on the man's insistence that he keep going, that he could do this, that he was going to be okay, Law had not believed. Theoretically, the lead was gone now. His liver was somehow back in his body, but he was so tired. Tired in a way he'd never been before, like one foot was already in the grave. Turning to look at Corazon in the moment before exhaustion claimed him had been the hardest and most terrifying moment of his life. Because what if this was the last time he'd ever do so? If this was the last face he'd see before Cora-san realized their efforts had been too little, too late. If he died without getting to say he was sorry, because gods, he was sure he was going to fall -

‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎And he must have. Fallen, that was, not died - because that was Cora asking him to sit up now, wasn't it? Cora's hand on his shoulder, tentatively shaking him awake. Cora's feathered cape he'd ended up pressing his face into in the night somehow. Cora's 'worried but pretending otherwise' face looming over his features as his eyes slowly cracked open and -

‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎And blinked. Not to clear his blurry vision as he'd done so often these past three weeks - but to make sure he wasn't imagining the clarity with which he saw the face before him. Cora-san was bruised and battered, his makeup smeared and his hair disheveled. But for the first time in almost a month, Law saw those familiar features exactly as they were. Not blurry from fever, not in duplicate, not fuzzy around the edges. But real - solid. And inching slowly closer to the realm of transparent concern with every second Law went without answering him.

‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎It took some effort to force himself onto his elbows, rolling toward the man as dark brows pulled together in reluctant acknowledgement of the fact that he was, at least for this moment, alive. And if nothing else, free of the fever that had been his constant companion of late.

‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎“…Cora-san?“ he murmured tiredly. ”Are we really…“ He glanced around slowly, past his savior's shoulder to the harsh ray of sun creeping through the tiniest crack in the small room's only curtained window. ”Did we really get away?“

ー the burning keeps me alive.

(ind. donquixote rosinante)

ray chase the man that you are

Hospital

Another attempt of mine to draw a mini-comic about the misadventures of Law and Cora in the hospital.

I myself really don’t like going to the clinic for medical help, and even more so I suffer every time when I have to take my reluctant children there. So I admire the determination and perseverance of Cora-san, who for six months without rest dragged Law to hospitals in search of a cure. Moreover, their experience of going to doctors was extremely negative.

Oh my hero... 💔

Well, as always, I liked it all better until the end result... :(

　　　❝ understood. i'll... try my best. ❞

　although rosinante didn't smoke anymore (not by choice, but because a collapsed lung in the past left him no other choice if he wanted to recover) and there theoretically shouldn't be any more risk of shaky hands accidentally setting his coat on fire, he never wanted to make promises when it came to hazards. he was just a hazardous personーinjuries seemed to find him no matter what he did. as evident by his ankle injury, at least.

the former spy brushed past the issue, hoping the man wouldn't ask what he meant by that, as was common in the past. 'what? what do you mean 'you'll try'? it's not that hard to avoid getting injured.' you would think so, huh? and yet...

　　❝ your devil fruit is so functional, i'm really impressed! i bet it's fantastic in all sorts of survival situations. you ever need a place to sleep one night you can just... make one. i did a lot of traveling back in the day, i would have loved someone like you around with me! ❞ and not just because he could theoretically create casts & splints for him every time he injured himself...

( @code01746 )

No matter how many times Mr 3 warned people about his lack of knowledge on anything related to medicine; they insisted on calling him first when accidents like that happen. Being reliable was both a compliment and a curse at this point…but it was always a nice opportunity to show off his powers. Which made him extremely thrilled.

“ Fu ha ha ha~ Marvelous, isn’t it? My wax is dense as iron but not as heavy! Although not porous, I left enough openings to let your skin breathe, ga ne. ” The sculptor's hand is raised at his side, palm turned down as wax sipped from, molding itself in one crutch adequate to the other man’s height.

“..........Not flammable, but if exposed in direct contact with fire..for a looong period of time, it will melt. It’s wax after all. ” Mr 3 then softly bonks the blonde head with the crutch, stern eyes gazed up in a scolding way. “ Stay away from circle of fires or anything related to that, ga ne. Shouldn’t be hard. ”