Dr Who but each incarnation is swapped with one of their companions.
omg?? I love it??
The First Doctor:
She’s not completely unfriendly, exactly, she just doesn’t have time for humans being idiots. In the right circumstances, she can actually be very warm. She loves history, which is lucky because her granddaughter Susan does too (they tell people Susan is her daughter, but even then it’s a bit of a stretch, human ages are weird). Of course, then two of Susan’s teachers follow her home one night, and next thing the Doctor knows she has a crotchety old history teacher and a handsome young science teacher on her spaceship with no way to get rid of them that isn’t morally questionable.
The humans help her lose some of her haughtiness. She leaves Susan in the 22nd century to become her own woman.
Along the way and against her better judgement, she falls hopelessly for Ian Chesterton. He wants to stay with her forever, but she knows it would never work, and encourages him to go with John Foreman in the Dalek Time Machine to get back to his own time.
Later, in other lives, she checks in on him occasionally.
The Second Doctor:
The baby face is a problem. It takes a good twenty minutes on a lot of occasions to get anyone to take her seriously. On the bright side, a lot of Polly’s clothes fit her now.
She finds a best friend in Scotsman Jamie McCrimmon, whose rather naive approach to futuristic technology is extremely refreshing, as is his unique insightfulness.
After Ben and Polly leave them, they rescue Victoria, who Jamie is utterly taken with. Victoria is unsure about living a life so unsupervised by someone older and won’t listen to the Doctor’s insistence that she is in fact perfectly qualified to look after them all.
She and Victoria spend a good many nights aboard the TARDIS talking about women’s history and the things to come for women in the future and how women act on other planets. Victoria is fascinated, occasionally horrified, and often quietly thrilled at the things she learns.
It’s a shame to see her go, but all she ever wanted was a family and security, and the Doctor can’t provide that.
They meet an eccentric man on a space station, with funny trousers and an obsession with the recorder. The Doctor and Jamie like him instantly, and invite him on board only to learn that the man had been considering stowing away if not invited.
The Time Lords take her friends away from her. She is forced to regenerate and exiled to Earth, as punishment for her interference.
The Third Doctor:
Shrewd, passionately devoted to science, and not one to take kindly to interruptions or anyone trying to talk down to or even disagree with her, it’s a wonder the Doctor even gets hired by UNIT at all. But then again, beggars can’t be choosers.
On the bright side, this fellow John Smith from Cambridge seems to be the one person around with an actual brain and not just a penchant for attacking first and thinking later.
They’re friends instantly. Or, they are once she makes it perfectly clear that she is the cleverer of the two. The look on his face when he realises is a memory she’ll treasure forever.
He eventually leaves to go back to his own research, upon realising she doesn’t need him.
It’s a shame and she misses him, but then Jo Grant comes into her life. Despite an awful first impression, the two women are soon fiercely devoted to each other. Jo keeps going on about women having to stick together amongst all the army boys, and while the Doctor could usually not care less about gender politics, if it means Jo hangs around her more, then so be it.
The Master turns up. It’s exhausting and exasperating and oh so much fun.
Meanwhile, the Doctor’s told herself to not let herself fall for humans, after how much Ian hurt. But with Jo, it’s impossible not to. (Not that she hasn’t noticed the Brigadier’s lingering stares, or failed to appreciate him in his uniform. But he’s far too professional to ever do anything, and too trigger happy besides.)
Jo is like sunshine and she’s always there and smiling and pressing herself against the Doctor out of fear or shock, until one day they’re in the supply closet of a spaceship and they’re kissing furiously instead of listening out for their pursuers.
It’s wonderful, being with Jo. Until Clive Jones comes along, and the Doctor has to tell her to forget about her and marry the nice young man who can grow old with her and give her the life she wants.
She drinks more champagne than she is proud of that night.
Luckily, along comes Sarah Jane Smith, who is exactly the kind of human that the Doctor automatically adores. Inquisitive, sharp, and a vocal feminist. What a woman.
Of course, then giant alien spiders happen, and it’s time for a change.
The Fourth Doctor:
Or… not. Apparently, she’s doomed to be young, attractive, humanoid, and pale skinned throughout all her lives. There are worse fates, but she wouldn’t mind a little variety, frankly. And being so small is getting infuriating.
Harry takes a long while to take her seriously, but once he does, he is steadfastly loyal. Sarah Jane takes the regeneration in stride for the most part.
And after them, Leela, who is so strange and savage but so utterly charming in her honesty. They share a few kisses, but nothing more.
Then comes Romana. A young Time Lord who looks older than her, is far taller than is sensible, and has an even more absurd grin. She can’t stand him, with his bragging about his grades and thinking he knows everything.
She soon teaches him that experience wins every time.
Of course, then he spots some pretty princess on Tara, and next thing she knows, the moment the whole Key To Time mess is sorted, Romana is now a less taller, less ridiculous, utterly beautiful Time Lady in her first regeneration.
She tries to argue against what she can only consider body theft, or at least copying, but it is a relief to not have to crane her neck up to speak to her companion.
Romana becomes a most dear friend. She’s missed being around someone like her, someone who understands. It makes it all the worse when she leaves, leaving the Doctor with only Adric and his incessant questions.
The Fifth Doctor:
There’s something about this body, a regality, that commands a little more respect than the ones before it, despite it following the pattern of her others.
Adric’s questions exasperate her, while Tegan’s demands to be taken home are met with gentle requests for patience and promises of Heathrow airport, and this Traken prince she’s picked up is thankfully one of the most polite people she’s ever had in the TARDIS. Decent brain on him, too.
Tegan’s smile sometimes makes her stomach do backflips. The Doctor ignores it. She’s learned her lesson. It’s almost a relief to see Tegan reach her breaking point and leave, except it isn’t, because for a long while it feels like a part of her is missing.
Turlough is a curiosity, but a nice one who makes for surprisingly good company in the absence of the others.
Perpugilliam Brown is a surprise. The Doctor remembers why she has tried to avoid America where possible in her travels. Americans are loud. But in the case of Peri, it involves shouting at the Master, and as such, the Doctor decides that Perpugilliam Brown can stay as long as she likes.
Between the two of them and soon Erimem, uncrowned Pharaoh of Egypt, they make quite the team.
The Sixth Doctor:
It’s about time! Finally, a more weathered model. Peri is surprised to say the least, and seems a little disappointed to lose out on her best friend who had until now looked a very similar age to her, but soon realises very little has changed.
And now she lets the Doctor take care of her a bit better. Thank goodness for that! The maternal instincts in this body are absurdly strong, she has no idea what she would do if she couldn’t express them.
Now, the borderline narcissistic but quietly lovable history professor she accidentally picks up some time after losing Peri is a trickier matter. Still, at least he shares her love for chocolate cake.
The Seventh Doctor:
Bright, bubbly, and able to get most people to like her within ten seconds. Now this is a regeneration she likes. Plus, her most impressive set of lungs yet. Handy, for calling companions who like to wander off.
She tries to not encourage Ace’s use of explosives, but it’s difficult when she sees how genuinely happy they make the girl. She’s getting soft in her old age, she knows.
Still, at least her brain makes up for it. She can out-think a computer, easily. The universe is her chessboard and she’ll do whatever the hell she pleases with it.
The Eighth Doctor:
She’s a jolly thing. Always keen for adventure, ready to shout at anyone who deserves it, and just wants to have a good time, really.
After a rather rocky start involving amnesia and kissing the cardiologist who had caused her regeneration in the first place, the Doctor is just minding her own business when she accidentally messes with history.
It seems that saving this stowaway on the R101 might not have been the best idea after all. But he’s so charming and sweet and genuine, sharing her utter passion for life, that by the time she realises her mistake, she’s not willing to part with him.
That goes… about as well as one might expect.
The Ninth Doctor:
It’s funny, being a weathered old war veteran with a guilty conscience, and simultaneously looking like someone who could be on the front of a magazine.
Life is hard, after the time war, but she meets a man with big ears and blue eyes and things get better. A lot better. It feels good to smile again.
The addition of Captain Jack Harkness is an interesting one, but she’s always said the more the merrier. Their other companion is not quite as happy about this development, but before long they’re the best of friends.
The Tenth Doctor:
She’s gentler now, somehow. Oh, she has her anger and her snark, and boy does this body have a set of lungs on her. But she’s so much softer, underneath.
Losing her friends from her last body takes its toll. She at least manages to avoid comparing Martha to them that came before her. Martha is wonderful, always completing even the most impossible tasks that the Doctor puts to her. They part on good terms, after the Master’s ravaging of the Earth. (The Master had not been so impressed with this version of her. He had trouble seeing the strength within, seeing that she was more than the duality of compassion and shouting.) Martha needs to look after her family, and that’s probably for the best.
And then there’s the skinny idiot in the suit. He actually talks faster than she does, which is absurd, but she wonders if that’s simply because of his questionable family. Perhaps not letting them get a word in is how he survives.
Either way, they get along like a house on fire. Losing him, wiping his memory and seeing him stare right through her and smile that stupid smile, is almost enough to break her.
No more companions, she swears.
The Eleventh Doctor:
It’s all about fun, now. Impressing the little boy whose garden she crashes in and then impressing him when he’s grown up and has waited 14 years for her. (To hell with her rule about no more companions. Her old self was full of dumb ideas anyway.)
Oh yes, she likes Rory Williams a lot. And his best friend John isn’t bad either. Mind you, that nose…
She has her spaceship, and her boys, and life is good. Well, there’s River Song to worry about, but she can never be sure if the archaeologist is more interested in her or John. Just one more mystery, it seems.
Losing Rory, and then John, is hard. But she knows that they’re happy, and that’s enough.
The Twelfth Doctor:
Short, bossy, a control freak, and a slight obsession with tartan. Also, her English teacher companion is secretly a rock star wannabe, disguised as a reclusive Scottish nerd.
What’s a girl to do?
(Apparently, find out that her best enemy is alive, and now also female. And Scottish like her companion. The first kiss had been… shocking to say the least. The ones after, against her better judgement, decidedly less so.)
She cares about her companion more than she will ever say, and when faced with losing him, takes things too far. Further than anyone should ever take anything. And when it is all said and done… she can’t remember his face, or his voice, or how he sounded when he mocked how large her eyes were.
River is there to comfort her, though, in those 24 years on Darillium.
And then Bill. Brilliant Bill. Oh yes, they make quite the team. And Nardole helps sometimes too.
Q: Can we talk baby goats and how that completely blew up? How everyone loves you holding baby goats in the show?
Travis Fimmel: Oh, did they really? Oh, that’s funny. I don’t know if I’ve held a goat. I held a lamb one time, it was a lamb. I dunno, I just walked past and I grabbed one. I needed something to hold because the two girls sitting next to me weren’t very happy with me. It got comforting that way.
Hiro jolted, nearly jumping out of his own skin as hands covered his eyes from behind.
“Haha, very funny,” He mumbled, ignoring his aunt’s laugh in the back of his ears. His mind was already running a mile a minute, going over possible deductions of who could be holding him hostage.
Hand texture, usual smell, height advantage, time of the day, others are at the lab-
In only ten seconds he had a pretty good idea.
“Get off Y/N,” he wiggled in your hold. You squawked in indignation at how quickly he had figured it out. What in the world?
“Who’s that?” You lowered your voice exponentially, trying to keep him still.
He jabbed an elbow lightly in your side, distracting you enough to loosen your hold. His palms came up to skillfully push yours from his face, slinking out like a snake.
“Nice try,” He turned to peer up at you through a thick mess of tussled brown locks, wide almond eyes perusing your form.
You huffed. “Not fair, you mini prodigy.”
Hiro’s lips curved upwards into a smirk as he raised an eyebrow, but it was instantly wiped off when you took the opportunity to roughly ruffle his tussles of hair.
“Quit it!” He whined and you laughed.
“Yeah, yeah,” you let him go for now, glancing up the stairs. He caught your fast look and crossed his arms over his chest, giving you a knowing stare.
“What?” You broke his eye contact, unnerved. How a kid managed to do that to you was a mystery in of itself.
“He’s up there,” Hiro mused, starting to walk away. “How about you stop gawking and actually go say hi?”
Your mouth dropped open. “You little!”
You went to give him a lesson but he was already running away, snickers trailing through the air with him. You playfully shook your fist at his back, ignoring the slight pink tint to your cheeks.
“Brat,” you muttered with no bite in your tone, starting to head up the stairs.
He was indeed up there, you thought as you heard the familiar mumblings of his voice.
You paused, taking in a deep breath before continuing, lightly tiptoeing so that you could surprise him as well.
Your head peeked around the corner when you reached the top of the stairs-
And you nearly choked.
(In your defense, it was totally their fault their room didn’t have a freaking door.)
For a couple seconds your mind couldn’t process what it was seeing as you watched Tadashi Hamada lightly stretch, pulling his shirt up and over his head. Heat exploded across your face and you ogled helplessly, eyes fixed on the firm muscles of his back rolling underneath the skin, his pants dangerously low on his hips.
It was only when you saw his hands stray to his waist, probably to dispose of his lower article of clothing as well, that the choked noise escaped the back of your throat.
He stiffened, twisting around, confusion making his eyebrows furrow. When he saw your tense form he brightened for a second, just a second, before he went even more rigid, a shadow falling over his face.
As he was now faced towards you, you saw something you didn’t before, something that made any sense of a blush leave your cheeks.
Light patches of skin, lighter than the rest of his body crossed over his chest and splotched parts of his arms.
It was only a glimpse because Tadashi was shoving his shirt back on in no time, eyes darkened. However, it took only that glimpse to fill you with worry, especially now that he wouldn’t meet your gaze.
“Tada-” you began, only to be cut off when he turned away.
“Not right now,” he mumbled, shoulders trembling a bit. You stepped closer, concerned he may have taken your worry at his scars for disgust.
“I said not right now, Y/N,” He repeated, firmer, a bitter tone to his words. They struck right through you and you pursed your lips together to keep them from wobbling.
Then your embarrassment, worry and shame all changed to anger.
“Fine then!” You narrowed your eyes. He met your gaze to see you walking towards him with purpose in your steps, eyes ablaze.
Tadashi backed up but stopped when you pushed a finger into his chest, teeth gritted.
“Try to push me away as much as you can,” you growled. “But don’t ever get the wrong idea about yourself mister.”
You slammed a fist onto the dresser beside you. “My house. Three hours. Come. Or else.”
Then you were swishing away, storming out the room and down the staircase again.
Tadashi stared after you blankly, your frustrated expression at the forefront of his mind. He didn’t know how long he was in space when he heard the footfalls of feet coming back up the stairs.
His mouth opened, ready to apologize but closed when he saw his brother round the corner.
“Oh,” he muttered.
Hiro blinked but gave it no mind, yawning as he walked past him to sit by his computer.
“Y/N told me to tell you to wear clothes you wouldn’t mind getting messy,” he drawled, starting up the monitor. Tadashi frowned and Hiro shrugged.
“No idea what that means, but I’m guessing you do,” he said.
Tadashi sighed, looking up at the ceiling. You would be the death of him one day.
He was knocked out of his thoughts when a fist connected with his gut, knocking the wind out of him.
He gawked at his brother, face an unmistakable expression of what the hell?
Hiro just smiled innocently. “She also told me to do that.”
Tadashi stood outside your door, nervously running his hand through his hair before pulling on his cap. When nothing happened after that fifth set of knocks, he contemplated just heading back.
Why had you asked him to come if you weren’t even home?
Before he could even consider leaving any further, frantic footfalls echoed beyond the door. You opened it with such vigour the hinge slammed against the door. You panted, staring up at your friend.
“Sorry!” You all but squeaked, trying to appear casual as you leant against the door, and failing. “Some of the paint spilt on me and I had to wash it off.”
You didn’t do much of a good job, Tadashi wanted to say but held his tongue, looking at the bright yellow stain of paint in your hair and streaking your chin.
“Come in,” you made a beckoning motion. He shuffled in, barely keeping up with you as you dragged him to your living room.
There were pillows placed strategically on the floor, a large, old white cloth lying on the tile. Bottles of paint and brushes speckled in between the pillows and around the blanket.
You plopped down with as much grace as a bear, rearranging your legs Indian style and patting the floor next to you. Tadashi hesitantly followed your suggestion and sat beside you, maintaining a little distance.
You interrupted him by slowly reaching over to one of his hands. When he didn’t object, you swallowed and gathered your courage, holding the other and squeezing his weathered palms with your own, warmth traveling into your own.
You returned your gaze to Tadashi’s, who was staring back at you with something unrecognizable in those fragmented eyes.
Intense distress settled at the bottom of your stomach. What had happened to him?
That was a stupid question, you chastised yourself. Of course you knew what had happened to him.
A memory of the same man before you flickered before your eyes, but this time he was in a bed, in a stark white room, gaunt, unconscious and barely breathing on life support. His locks spread around his face like a halo, a few gray hairs where there weren’t before, the equally white sheets about his form making him appear as an angel.
Six months. Six months he had been in a coma after the fire. He had barely survived, sustaining horrible injuries and leaving him unresponsive in a hospital bed for half a year.
At the time even the doctors where saying that they might have to pull the plug, it really didn’t seem that Tadashi was going to make it. Hiro had been devastated.
You didn’t like to think back to those dark days, the ones where the kid had become lost in his anger, hellbent on getting revenge. The debacle with Professor Robert Callaghan, where he had nearly destroyed half of the town when the portal gates had collapsed. Thankfully due to Hiro, Baymax and the rest of his friends from the robotics department, they had practically saved the day.
(You were the only one to know of their “secret identities” as Hiro could never ever lie successfully in front of you to save his life.)
But then soon after a miracle took place, the doctors detected brain activity that shouldn’t have been there.
Tadashi woke up.
It was only for five minutes, and afterwards he slipped back into his coma, but it was hope. Over the course of the next months he went in and out of full consciousness. Eventually your prayers were answered and he made a full recovery.
If you thought your heart had burst from joy, you couldn’t imagine to replace the emotion that passed onto Hiro’s face when he heard the news.
You smiled fondly down at your interlocked hands with said person, before it melted away.
Tadashi was different. Gone was the dork that annoyed you with his constant rambling of scientific discoveries, the kind soul who would drop anything to help a kid crying on the street, the cheeky grin that dimpled his handsome face when he stole your art supplies from under your nose.
He had come back broken.
Burn marks blemished places all over his body, the discolouration causing him to wear extra coverage at all times, the life sucked right of those honey brown eyes. The fire had not only caused trauma to his mental state, but it had also left its permanent stamp physically.
“I want to show you that you’re still beautiful,” you mumbled as an answer to his inquisitive scrutiny on you. Your thumb brushed lightly over a scar that peeked above the gloves on his hands that he now wore, a flush rising up your neck at your blatant words.
When you gathered enough courage to bring your eyes back to his you were blown away by the utter emotion that had rekindled on his face, slowly cracking away the mask he had built to block away the rest of the world.
He smiled, just barely, but a smile nonetheless. His hand squeezed yours back as he raised a brush at his side.
“Thank you,” you breathed, inspecting his body in a way only an artist could, any lewd thoughts completely wiped from your mind. Then you scratched the back of your neck as you realized you didn’t have much to work with. “You’ll have to…”
Tadashi blinked before realizing what you were asking him to do. He grimaced, looking as if he had been stung, before taking in a deep breath and pushing away his fears. He rolled up his pants till they were at his knees, ignoring your protests as he shrugged off his jacket and unbuttoned his long sleeved shirt, putting that to the side as well. His gloves were thrown behind him to land somewhere on the couch.
The rest of the hour was filled with the whirring of the fan above your heads and a comfortable silence, interrupted only by your asks of what designs he would prefer you use. With every stroke of the paintbrush along his disfigurements and burns, it was as if you were healing a part of his very soul.
You created skies on his limbs, stars dotting the horizons of his chest, worlds in oceans on his wounds and heaven in a wildflower on his gashes. Entire universes were at the subject of your dexterous fingers as you dipped the brush in paint once more.
Eventually you took to flowers when you reached his shoulders, swirling the tip of your brush in water to remove the turquoise hue, dipping it in pink afterwards.
“Careful,” you mused as you returned the brush to the curve of his neck. “Pink might make you look girly.”
He chuckled, and you both gave wry smiles as you caught each others eyes. You knew he could care less, and that that was also a ridiculous stereotype.
Petals unfolded along his jaw, bending and curling up around his ears, expanding its beauty as you traced a blossom underneath a rather horrible burn splattering his left eye.
When you finally finished you exhaled a cool breath, observing your work and nodding in satisfaction.
“Stay right here!” You said, getting up in a hurry and rushing to your room, limping a bit from a dead leg, the blood rushing to it in pins and needles. When you returned, sitting back down, you held a handheld mirror.
“Here,” You offered him. He took it tentatively from you, and you watched his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed.
He inhaled deeply once more, a motion you recognized as something he did to give himself courage, before lifting it up and from him so that he could see his reflection.
The clock ticked.
Both of you were reflected in the smooth of the silver, and you could see yourself peering curiously over his shoulder at his own expression. You grew anxious when he only stared, not reacting.
“Do you not like it?” You bit your lip anxiously. “I’m sorry, we can wash it off-”
“Y/N,” He interrupted you, facing you with his eyes glazed with something that looked suspiciously like moisture. “I love it.”
“Y-You do?” Your eyebrows went up before you laughed nervously, pushing his shoulder. “Ah I mean of course you do! I did it of course!”
He raised an eyebrow and you bit your lip again to restrain your utter joy.
“Thank you,” He said, and something must have really been wrong with you because simple words should not be able to have your heart doing flips. “I mean it.”
“You’re welcome,” You puffed out your chest ridiculously, and was gifted with the sound of his contagious chuckle again. Your pride switched to perplexity when he picked up a brush himself, plunging it in the red.
“What? Did I miss a spot?” You narrowed your eyes at him, trying to see any blank space you may have overlooked. He shook his head, and your heart jumped again when he scooted closer, lifting your arm.
“I just wanted to return the favour,” He mumbled.
“Oh? You don’t have-” You grew even more confused when all he did was swipe a small stripe of paint onto your forearm before putting the brush back down. “-to?”
When he was sure you were going to burst with questions, his lips tilted.
“I don’t need to add anything else. You’re already beautiful.”
You were one hundred percent sure you had died and gone to heaven.
Your face burned horribly and you pursed your lips when he lifted his hand to cover a smile.
Oh, funny was it?
“Wait,” You mock grimaced, peering at his face and pausing his laughter. “I think I painted this wrong. Verbena flowers have four petals right?”
“Actually,” he piped up. “They have five. And they’re not always pink. Some are shades of blue, white, or purple.” He licked his dry lips. “The genus was split somewhere along the European lineage-”
You just put your chin in your palm, watching fondly as he trailed off into scientific terms and ideologies you had no ability keeping up with.
As he did, the fire and passion returned to his eyes just as they had before his tragedy, and his voice became animated in the way only his could. His hands couldn’t keep still as he gestured and his body language told the story. It would have been better if you had baited him to talk about some kind of engineering or robotics, but this was just as good - he was a nerd in everything it seemed.
As he talked you saw a man without the pain in his eyes, without the burns, a genius of his own right making his mark on the world. Then you stopped seeing the past and saw the same man, now only hardened by life, the same generosity and cold cut intelligence in his voice, this time covered in scars and flowers.
And you realized you loved both.
“- had longstanding use in herbalism and folk medicine, usually as - ”
Tadashi paused, coming back down to earth when he noticed the look on your face. His lips pursed in a pout. “You’re not listening at all are you?”
“Nope,” you didn’t even try to argue, smirking. When he registered that you had tricked him, his eyebrows came together in frustration before a smirk curled his lips.
“I was wrong,” Tadashi said. “Actually, you do need a bit more paint.”
Before you could weave through the intentions of that statement he had dipped his entire hand in the paint and smacked you right in the face.
It didn’t hurt of course, but you were left stunned, his snickers in the background as you no doubt had a great red handprint on your visage.
You leaped forward in retaliation slamming both your hands in the paint and having every goal of giving him a new makeover.
He laughed loudly as you attacked him like a rabid animal, trying to escape. In your movements, you knocked off his cap and it went tumbling to the floor.
“Ha!” You said, straddling him as you reached to push your fingers in his face. You froze when his melted chocolate eyes crinkled in happiness, entirely more noticeable now that the hat was gone, his disheveled strands of hair accentuating them even more.
Tadashi stopped only a little after you did, and you realized too late your position.
You blushed and went to remove yourself. “Ah, sorry, so sorry-”
Your voice trailed off when he placed a hand on your hip, preventing you from moving.
Your breath hitched.
“I u-uh-” you stuttered, uselessly struggling further as he leant forward, nose touching yours and when had he reached so close? “What a-are you-?”
“You talk too much,” He murmured, ending your prattle successfully by closing the distance between your mouths.
Your raised hands dropped, going limp.
They regained life later only to clutch at his shoulders when your back hit the floor, paint spilling all around the two of you.
i was thinking about how many times jinbe has saved luffy’s life and then i was thinking about how ace made a point to thank shanks for saving luffy’s life and that train of thought led me to think about what a laundry list of things there are that sabo has to thank jinbe for loll
jinbe has literally befriended and helped like all of the people sabo cares about most (he’s bros with hack too!!) i’m sure sabo’d really love to meet him and express his gratitude