Cavendish: “Who the fuck keeps taking my roses…”

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@thatcannibalchild
Cavendish: “Who the fuck keeps taking my roses…”
LOOK AT HIM! What is he doing??!??! Does he want to die?!?! Why is no one laying a finger on him??
Ba-ba-ba Bartolomeo Sempai!! Ima fanboy knww >.<
Art: Pixiv Id 2179165
heavenly-demon:
Vergo had gone downstairs to bring this man to his presence. It might have been for a quick chat alone, or something else if the stars aligned. Doflamingo would admit that he did not have high expectations on this: the other being well known as he was for snapping at the worst of times and he himself, able to go from an amused sneer to make a Pollock on the back wall with his sudden victim’s brains. That side of the VIP section was formulated like a balcony, you could see but not be seen, giving you some necessary privacy. Doflamingo drank from his glass, a Macallan 18. the best drink they usually served in this kind of events, yet he found it quite a bit provincial for his taste. He can hear them come from the end of the corridor, Vergo’s steady steps and some messy. trotting like one beside him. Doflamingo smiled, watching them walk in. Vergo announced the other as if Doffy hadn’t sent him to bring him to him, as he stared amusedly at the poor excuse of a man. But, maybe, just maybe he could put him to good use.
❝ I’ve heard that things are not going all that smoothly down your lane..❞
He comments, almost casually, as if he wasn’t the sole responsible for the streak of bad luck the other was having, and would only spiral downward unless Bartolomeo decided to be a smart cookie this one time around. Doflamingo looks at the golden liquid, dancing in the glass as he speaks.
❝ that your boss is about to give up on you, your subordinates? Heh, about to stab you in the back next time you lower your guard…❞
A few failures and those scumbags gathered around him like vultures, waiting for the wounded animal to crash against the earth so they could feast on it, not caring if he had died or not. His superior? Ready to dispose of him and find somebody more suitable for the job, making an example. This is what would happen to the next one that displeases me. It was amusing, in his opinion, this petty little neighborhood pimps, with their seemingly complicated lives, for it all seemed a joke to him. Doffy always had a better plan. A bigger plan. And people that had nothing to lose was what he lived on.
❝ That’ll be an unfortunate, quick end when there is still so much potential in you, so before something that misfortunate occurs…❞
His smile twists darkly then.
❝ I am going to make you an offer you can’t refuse..❞
While the man wasn’t unpleasant to talk to, Bartolomeo couldn’t find it in himself to care. His natural instinct was to curl his teeth, hackles rising for a sneer, but the invitation had been a surprise. The fight all but left him once a name dropped and suddenly, a hole opened up beneath his feet. Something swallowed him whole, though there was no word for what that feeling was. Call it a looming sense of foreboding, one that lingered a far too familiar stain on his back.
His steps that followed after the man with the peculiar facial hair were ragged, of thudding reluctance despite the casual arch of his stride. Could it be the walk of a dead man? For a brief moment, he considered the meeting a thing of luck, until the curtain drew back and he saw a glimpse of the dark behind it, slick and scheming.
His head reared back to regard the familiar visage, as though he just took a blow to the face. Whatever uneasiness crawled up his spine, however, was smothered by a twitch of sharpened teeth, a tic.
“Thanks for the recap.” All of it was true and he shouldn’t have been surprised that a man like Doflamingo would learn of his endeavors, although why the interest in the first place was something he wasn’t prepared for. Hands slid into his pockets while he regarded the man from before, likely the right-hand man, before returning a watchful gaze to the blond.
“And, what sort of offer would that be, Mr. Donquixote... sir?” he didn’t quite drawl, but given the usual drag of his words, it was close enough.
Heya Barto \o
No one told me I’d have to learn to be polite. / To let myself be consumed for what I can not control.
Jane Wong, from “Lessons on Lessening,” published in underbelly (via lifeinpoetry)
so glad to see you back on my dash! Welcome back! <3
// Hahaha, dude, thanks !! I’m glad to be back. It’s been a helluva long time ~
Because Halloween is tomorrow, I thought I should put this out there for blogs who have trick-or-treating muses.
Yes! You are allowed to have your muse trick-or-treat at this blog!
My muse(s) will be giving out treats for other muses and you are more than welcome to take advantage of that.
heavenly-demon:
Like playing chess with a kid. That was what it felt like. He had always treated everyone like a pawn. Expendable, sacrificeable, but ultimately, with enough care and attention, able to become a key player on the game. Obviously, not all of them were that lucky. Sometimes they would watch other pawns walk and thrive, the menace of the other pieces far too tangible. That real that Doflamingo could even smell it, that fear, deep and rich as they thought it was their time. He had witnessed it in endless occassions, men being dispatched for fucking up close enough to stain his name, or his family’s. And that panic, that desperation he found thrilling. If spared, they would do anything he asked, but Doflamingo was rarely so merciful. Perhaps because potential, true potential, was extremely rare. Other times he would just leave the pawns there, drowning in stillness, left standing to rot while the world evolved around them. Revolving, yet never touching them. Doflamingo found this strangely satisfying, seeing their frustration, watching how all those relationships they had so carefully built to be their neighbourhood pimp came crashing down. Bridges burnt by him. They could wonder what was wrong, sometimes after a long period of overly coincidental happenings, lies told by people that had won their trust. Slowly wearing them down, slowly cracking them until they broke, driving them to the dead end of paranoia, not finding out why they had fallen in disgrace. He watched all this with the ghost of a smug smirk on his lips, enjoying seeing them, or hearing from them in the Galas, watching them trying to keep appearances, but oh, Doflamingo could see through masks, read them like an open book and drink, entertained, as he watched their own isolation consuming them. Alone, even though they were surrounded by people, with all of their plans gone, or going to hell, and everything they aimed for, everything they strived for, falling into pieces before their very eyes. And this was the fate he had chosen for Bartolomeo. Vergo brought him reports, every now and then, working his magic from the shadows while he just watched, delighted from the first row. It made an entertaining enough show.
Another night, another gala, and so forth until the calendar ran out of days. Doflamingo was ready for this one. The big one. Prime seats, ten grand Valentino suit and Violet by his hand, a pretty little pawn that had turned into a Queen, yet still he doubted she could be fully trusted. But that was just the little spice of life, wasn’t it?
From the balcony, above, he saw the little festering pawn, and a smirk curved his lips.
— ❝ Is the little puppet ready to be taught a bit of humility, or shall we give him until next year?❞
He wondered out loud, but Vergo nodded silently behind him. He would soon find out.
Time came and went, giving Bartolomeo opportunity after opportunity for a chance. Anything for a little give and take passed the time easier and a little less sour, but it wasn’t easy.
He was sure, by the night’s end and the weeks that followed, that Luka grew doubts about him. Tough shit. Bartolomeo was a made man, had proven himself to the Family before, and would do so again and again if necessary, even if the older man suspected him of something.
It made no sense.
Bartolomeo did nothing that would raise suspicion of where his loyalties were and yet here he was, walking under a microscope around the guy whenever the unit was out. It was a fucking walking miracle that he had an invite to the Winter Ball but by then, Bartolomeo couldn’t be sure if that was due to luck or pity.
By the night of the largest Gala of the year, he had his own second thoughts.
Others milled about in their glamour, for face and show, the latter of which he never cared for. He watched intently at the exclusive circles, all grins and calculating schemes, and felt that pang of envy. What he wouldn’t give to get to that, to meet shoulder for shoulder in those circles, listening but also offering ideas he had. Bartolomeo had potential. He knew he did.
Work had become grueling. It motivated him but also had him questioning just what the hell his capo was thinking, if it was paranoia or some personal issues that had him giving the strangest orders. He didn’t drink this time, despite the constant appearance of a glass in his hand. It was just for show and something he hated, but he learned that things like this were necessary.
Curiously he eyed the box seats of VIP along one of the balconies, looking for his own boss. He spotted Lofaso along with the concierge and two others, seemingly in deep conversation. For a moment, Bartolomeo wondered the view must look like from up there, how small everyone else looked down here. And for an even more brief moment, he thought of what it would take to get up there, to gain so many skeletons underneath that it didn’t take that much more to step up even higher. He wondered how much he was willing to risk, and currently found he was willing to risk plenty.
A server roaming the balconies went through each VIP suite to ask if everything was to their liking, if they needed anything else for the moment. It was the price of being VIP, of high standing and importance.
Down below, Bartolomeo had just downed his glass of champagne (so much for show) when someone tapped his shoulder to get his attention. He ignored the initial need to glare, remembering some of his manners, although there was no help in hiding the flash of sharpened teeth paired with a reflexive leer. He didn’t recognize them but he also remembered the face that was necessary for events like this, so being chosen for some tedious bullshit chit-chat had to executed very carefully.
Smacks dat ass.
!!!
Although J was entirely too aware of Tala and the shenanigans they fell into, which wasn’t often but when they occurred it was always hellish and fun, it had been a while. In this case, ‘a while’ meant some months, maybe a year.
As such, he wasn’t sure what he should have expected as a greeting upon his return, but it wasn’t this. Not really. (Okay, kind of.) What would have been a subtle, stealthy return was kicked out the window, ass first, by surprising enthusiasm from various folks - most of whom he thought had perished into real life, like himself.
Alas.
It was okay because some things never changed.
So he did the only thing he could in this sort of situation.
He tapped dat ass.
tldr;;
"Let’s get it.” <4
/wraps around her wings and keeps him there because she missed him so
Partings, they said, were considered sweet sorrows.
Whoever they were needed a foot up their ass for being so romantic.
Bartolomeo didn’t consider romance a weakness, but he sure as hell wasn’t as big of a sap as some thought. He had always been that annoying contradiction even from childhood. And from childhood, from between those gangly teeth that gave him hell then and now, came a childish whistle, one that had been repeated many times to ground himself. It was fine.
Do I miss myself?
Still, that didn’t explain the minute twitches under his eye or occasional fidgeting of fingers while he waited around. It wasn’t nerves, he told himself, that kept him pacing in tight circles. Nothing about this was nerves. It was perfectly find. So it might have been months, maybe years, but that wasn’t what put him on edge. It had always been something else, something missing that kept them at arm’s length and more.
The soft fur of his mantle could not quell the uneasiness that lingered along the edges of his skin, not until he heard the familiar sound. It was brief, like a passing of breath, until he could see the arch of wings - full of brightness and cold warmth - envelope him. His own breath shuddered. Here.
What followed was a slow, soft feeling, sticky sweet that clung to his lungs. The embrace held on just as long, which allowed Bartolomeo to eventually reach out and gently caress the length of the long pinions.
Do I miss your face?
“Hey, Mone.” I missed you.
I don’t know.
terorre--sfregiato replied to your post: ( B O I <33 )
i’m like legit cackling because this is the literal tumblr apocalypse and it’s all Cyn’s work hnfhvgfnd buT HI OMG <3
// It’s 2014 all over again. Shit’s going in Dressrosa. Doffy’s there. Corazon shows up in flashbacks. Everyone’s crying. Same old, same old. What a time to be alive in the OP fandom.
( B O I <33 )
// My lady ~ it’s been too long !
heavenly-demon:
His sunglasses reflected the passing buildings, the lights of the nightlife as he was driven towards the club. Doflamingo had fancied a drink a little bit of socializing, even though, at best, he found people strange. Or he used to find them so. So easily angered by the most trivial things, yet blind to major matters, like being completely and utterly wasting their lives. He found them entertaining at best, tediously predictable with annoying frequency. So many that tried and tried and failed because they just did not try hard enough. Just did not want it hard enough. He saw all these men, now, as he walked into the pub, posing, going broke trying to look rich, trying to take some cute little girl with them. Then the slick Wall Streeters that made of it all a pissing contest, because all had a value and they talked money. It brought a smug smile to Doflamingo’s lips as he walked into the pub. He could imagine their conversations, could overhear them as he walked past, over and over again, the same shit everywhere. Like they were just following a fucking script. He looked at Vergo, nearby, and gave him a smirk. Were they ever that plain and boring? He could bet his right hand that they had never, and he would not certainly lose it. That was how it usually began, with people watching until he got himself a drink and had downed a good part of it, the sweet aftertaste after feeling the burning down his throat. His men were around, they always were, as if he needed any protection, but he really needed none. After all, what could happen to him in a pub on a random night? And just as he was thinking that some fucking insect poured beer on his designer’s shirt and his six grand worth Hermès shoes.
Doflamingo’s lips curled in anger, but he reacted a tenfold faster than his bodyguard, grabbing that fucker by the neck of his shirt and slamming him roughly against the wall behind.
— ❝ Watch where the fuck you are going. or next time you’ll be drinking beer out of a fucking straw—❞
He seethed, his eyes bright with anger. Vergo then grabbed the man, kicking it out of sight and making sure the bouncers threw him out. The waitressess came to help, with towels to dry him off. Doflamingo sighed, exasperated. When Vergo came back, he had some information about that guy. Information Doflamingo would be soon putting to a good use. That poor excuse of a human being was going to regret that night for a long, l o n g time.
It could have been something in the air, in the slightest intake of breath after Bartolomeo spoke because once he had, a tremor appeared along his fingers that typically followed a fight. It spoke to that little voice in the back of his head, the one that often got him into trouble.
His first instinct was to grab hold of the hand that grabbed onto him, features darkening into an outright grimace meant to goad. The situation escalated quickly but a brawl was singing in his veins. Win or lose, there was something about getting pushed around that really intrigued Bartolomeo into motion. It involved the pull-pull of patience, or lack thereof, and clearly this guy didn’t have it either.
The edge that tipped towards fight all but compelled Bartolomeo forward in the man’s grip, but the sudden appearance of another man followed by the bouncers all but dragging him out sobered him. It was absolute bullshit.
“What the fuck-!”
There was no way to get another word in and the bartender was less than impressed. Staring down the bouncers at the door, the sting of betrayal slouched his shoulders when he began to drag his feet in the direction of his temporary apartment. His sneer was all but permanent while he shoved thoughts of that annoyingly tall blond from his mind.
“Who the fuck does he think he is? Asshole.”
The night was spectacularly awful, just about ruined, but he hoped that would have been the end of it.
Word got out eventually that Bartolomeo’s route that night was slow so they had to choose different blocks to sell, figuring it was the authorities who had caught onto their latest schemes. That seemed fine; Bartolomeo wasn’t one to linger and he was easygoing enough when people weren’t assholes.
The next few weeks seemingly passed without incident, although he noticed Luka, capo of his unit, signing him up for more clean up jobs. Licking his wounds while he wasn’t running was nothing new. Bartolomeo sometimes preferred that role as opposed to Runner, but one didn’t move up ranks that way and everyone knew that. If anything, it seemed like Luka was demoting him without having to directly say it.
On any other occasion, he would have brought it up - casually - about what was going on, but what with the Autumnal Gala coming up around the corner which had one of the most exclusive lists of Families attending, Bartolomeo held his tongue. It might have just been in his head, looking where he didn’t need to look.
“Don’t be fuckin’ paranoid,” Luka had sniffed and waved off the rest of the conversation. “Listen, I like ya, kid, but you’re helping t’cover for Otto while he’s recovering from his broken arm, alright? I already talked to Don about it.”
And that had been the end of that.
At least, it should have been the end of that, except when the Gala finally came around and, after having to convince Luka that he was suited to attend (why wasn’t he suited in the first place? What was this bullshit he kept smelling?), Bartolomeo learned that Otto was not only attending as well but was also not nursing a broken arm at all and, in fact, seemed to have all of his limbs intact and unbroken.
He kept his temper in check. It would not look good for Don Lofaso while they were out in public, even if it looked obvious to Bartolomeo that Luka was outright screwing him over.
Galas were mean for networking and gossip, at least for the bosses, underbosses, and occasional captain, but Bartolomeo wasn’t one to let an opportunity by when one presented itself. So when a server passed by with a tray of drinks, he didn’t hesitate to snatch one up and fall into idle chit chat with others in his unit. It wasn’t often he could attend this kind of event and so he planned to keep both ears and eyes open for anything gossipy, the biggest news so far revolving around the rumors of a newly improved SMILE along with emerging Families seeking alliance.
@heavenly-demon
Full moons were never good omen and that wasn’t simply due to superstition. Everyone had their own shit to deal with. Bartolomeo happened to be someone who preferred to deal with his in the dark, no incidents in the moonlight. There was nothing romantic about it and he’d sooner spit on anyone who thought otherwise. Dumbasses.
That, in itself, didn’t harbor any sense of foreboding, although Bartolomeo felt something linger at the nape of his neck. It wasn’t that he always had to keep eyes on the back of his head; he didn’t know all, but he knew better.
Tonight had been a shitty run. What he had set up was supposed to be routine. He was a runner, plain and simple, and meeting up with buyers on a weekend was guaranteed to high profit. Instead, there was a dry spell and if that hadn’t been bad enough, some awful fuckers - prior customers - came around saying the product wasn’t as good as before, spewing some bullshit about demanding a refund.
Bartolomeo had laughed, felt that irritation down to his bones, and the scuffle that followed had all but keyed him up by the time he got to the bar. It bordered on another Family’s territory, but he paid it no mind. Business was always left at the door and he preferred it that way.
He ordered a beer, needed a beer, not that he actually liked beer, but the bubbly taste that lingered on his tongue afterwards was a nice, contrasting sensation to the sour rage that simmered in his gut.
And it was fine.
It was fine up until he got up to order his third round to take back, which never made it to the table.
Instead, Bartolomeo had the best luck of falling perfectly at the instep of someone who had been lingering, far enough to avoid direct contact, but not far enough to dodge the mug of beer in his grasp that spilled forlornly onto an expensive looking shirt and expensive looking shoes. Oh, and his own leather jacket would now reek for days. He could have cried, except the curl of his teeth let loose a snarl on reflex.
“Oh my fucking god.” It wasn’t the last straw but the lick of a fight from earlier that night tingled under his skin, made him spit words that sounded falsely cheerful despite the ugly leer his sharpened teeth widened into.
“Really, dude? Y’couldn’t make some fucking room?”
// ALRIGHTY FOLKS, WHO’S AWAKE AND READY TO RUMBLE——- okay, close enough, hehaha.
So, I’ve been meaning to make an announcement on this blog for a while now. Like an actual legit announcement as to where the hell I’ve been because real life and shenanigans and shit and for the longest time, I couldn’t bring it myself to actually inform people. Call it a privacy issue, man. I like my privacy and shit.
In any case, there was no way I could stay away for long from the OP fandom after all, so after the first couple of times I went into hiatus on Barto, I made my OC as most folks know, but I made another blog in secret. Only a handful of people knew it was mine because I told them it was me. It wasn’t anything personal to everyone else as to why I didn’t say shit about it. Again– privacy issue. It was that and I was really feeling excessive pressure every time I logged into Barto and caught wind of all of I don’t even know how many drafts. My hysterical reaction was to basically dip the hell out because I took on more than I could write again. Needless to say, while any and all au’s are retained, most of the threads are probably dropped unless any rp partners wish to continue them with me. Please to write with me.
Anyway! Onto the point of this whole post. The reason I’m letting this out now is because I figured, I might as well if I’m going to be hanging around the fandom. It’s also coming up onto the new year, so it’s a near start, so to speak.
“So what’s this fucking news, J, that’s so outrageous it needs its own post and lead up to whatever the fuck this is?”
Answer: I’ve been rping among y’all for the past year under the name Chili at @mxgician.
Yeah. I’m that Hawkins blog. SURPRISE.
I could include a shit ton of reasons as to why I didn’t want anyone knowing, but y’know, who needs to hear an old fart talkin’ any more than he needs to?
Now that that’s in the open – and holy shit does it feel better – y’all can find me over there stirring up trouble with the spooky magician. I’ll return to my cannibal child one of these days maybe, but to those that have been wondering, that’s where I’ve been and where I’ll be from now on. So give the scarecrow a holler, yeah? I don’t know about booty parades but that’d be hella funny, hehaha !
// ALRIGHTY FOLKS, WHO’S AWAKE AND READY TO RUMBLE------- okay, close enough, hehaha.
So, I’ve been meaning to make an announcement on this blog for a while now. Like an actual legit announcement as to where the hell I’ve been because real life and shenanigans and shit and for the longest time, I couldn’t bring it myself to actually inform people. Call it a privacy issue, man. I like my privacy and shit.
In any case, there was no way I could stay away for long from the OP fandom after all, so after the first couple of times I went into hiatus on Barto, I made my OC as most folks know, but I made another blog in secret. Only a handful of people knew it was mine because I told them it was me. It wasn’t anything personal to everyone else as to why I didn’t say shit about it. Again-- privacy issue. It was that and I was really feeling excessive pressure every time I logged into Barto and caught wind of all of I don’t even know how many drafts. My hysterical reaction was to basically dip the hell out because I took on more than I could write again. Needless to say, while any and all au’s are retained, most of the threads are probably dropped unless any rp partners wish to continue them with me. Please to write with me.
Anyway! Onto the point of this whole post. The reason I’m letting this out now is because I figured, I might as well if I’m going to be hanging around the fandom. It’s also coming up onto the new year, so it’s a near start, so to speak.
“So what’s this fucking news, J, that’s so outrageous it needs its own post and lead up to whatever the fuck this is?”
Answer: I’ve been rping among y’all for the past year under the name Chili at @mxgician.
Yeah. I’m that Hawkins blog. SURPRISE.
I could include a shit ton of reasons as to why I didn’t want anyone knowing, but y’know, who needs to hear an old fart talkin’ any more than he needs to?
Now that that’s in the open -- and holy shit does it feel better -- y’all can find me over there stirring up trouble with the spooky magician. I’ll return to my cannibal child one of these days maybe, but to those that have been wondering, that’s where I’ve been and where I’ll be from now on. So give the scarecrow a holler, yeah? I don’t know about booty parades but that’d be hella funny, hehaha !