Donquixote Doflamingo: a character overanalysis(?) ft. Rosinante ♡
I've made two odd observations regarding Doflamingo of which one out of the two could just be me overanalysing, but:
Which parent he looks like
His hair (please hear me out)
Bonus observation from my little post earlier
This draft was made on May 14 while I was listening to Doflamingo geek rap. Do not ask why I added the date. I had a thought abt which parent he looks like. Random info gets shared just cuz. Anyway.
Mother :: 90% & Homing :: 10%, but also not.
I think it's rather obvious that Doflamingo, for a good portion, looks like his mother. However, I've noticed some things that are more reminiscent to Homing.
That specifically being his smile and his chin. Look at both Rosinante and Doflamingo, their chins differ in width, with Rosi's being smaller and Doffy's wider. It's barely noticeable, but it's there.
When we look at his parents, the difference is stark. As you can see, Doflamingo has his mother's compact face shape, but the width of his father's chin. You can also see the smile lines I was talking about. For Rosinante, it's the opposite. He has his father's elongated face but his mother's smaller chin. The final details are that they both have the sharpness of their mother's eyes and that they most of their hair complexion from her also (when compared to Homing anyway).
Final verdict is that they both, in some way, look like both parents, but lean more towards their father in different ways. This is semi-important.
Ps: I couldn't find a good enough picture of Doflamingo's nose, but there is one of 17-yo him and it's hooked (heavily). Homing's nose was also very hooked. Rosinante's nose is smaller compared to Doffy's.
What you've noticed is that Doflamingo looks more like his mother when we look at the hair, eyes, and face shape. It's opposite for Rosinante (excluding hair colour). However, in important features like the nose, the mouth, smile, it's quite the opposite (atleast imho). Rosinante looked like his mother. Doflamingo looks like his father, and he has to look in the mirror and look at the face he murdered when he was ten. There's some poetic irony when you realise that he murdered himself by having taken that gun. Even if not intentional, it was a slow rot and Rosinante—who had the stronger aspects of his mother—was the unfortunate final nail in the coffin. Which brings me to…
Doffy's hair.
First thing's first, he has the same haircut now he had as a child. That transition began at 31 after he conquered Dressrosa. Before that, his hair looked sharper, wilder, but with an air of control. That's why, despite it's spiky, windswept looks, it didn't look truly uncontrolled. It looked deliberate. Look at the picture of him at Roger's execution. Same hair, just wilder bcuz he was a teenager then. The key to note is that this was Doflamingo when everything was still perfect. From when he started building his reputation to when Rosinante reappeared in his life, everything was great. He was a man in total control of his life, who had the power to do nearly anything he wanted. But he wasn't quite there yet. He hadn't achieved the true plan. He hadn't achieved Dressrosa, he hadn't achieved the Eternal Youth operation. Things weren't quite finished.
And then Law happened. Then Rosinante's betrayal happened. Things spiralled out of control and the one man he had trusted most—his clumsy, adorable baby brother—turned out to be a Marine spy, a Marine dog, who was going to sell him out in the name of 'justice'. Of course he had to kill him. His journey to Dressrosa started, he became a Warlord, he became a very, very important kingpin in the underworld, and the to WG also. His strings were pulled taut. Far more than before. And yet, his hair didn't quite show that. That hairstyle specifically was smth he had in a period of his life when he was completely out of control and the most helpless he had ever felt. And to this day, he remains helpless in ways that no longer concern the physical world.
He was ten when he was given a gun and essentially told to 'murder' whomever he wished for without truly knowing what the weight of spilt blood felt like. He pulled the trigger on his own father in a extreme (and understandable), heat of the moment. That wasn't done without a goal in mind, but it was done with utter cluelessness of what it truly meant. He took his father's head back to Mary Geoise and he was rejected. He and Rosinante were still exactly where their father had put them and now he couldn't do a thing. Things got worse from there when he and Rosinante got separated—something that would drag on for 14 straight years and abruptly end two years later. He had only four people during that time.
Trébol, Diamante, Pica, and Vergo.
Those men told him one thing. He was a god chosen by the heavens and fate itself. He was an all powerful king who could do anything and everything he wanted. Eventually, Doflamingo believed it. He was handed the Ito Ito no Mi—the very strings he now uses to control people—with the belief that he was a god. And yet that very belief was instilled by a man who wanted nothing but to profit from a child with Conqueror's Haki. He fed him lies and nurtured a god complex that was beginning to fade. And the irony is that he gave him the String-String Fruit. A fruit Doffy regularly uses to string himself around places. Doflamingo himself is being controller by the men he calls family, and he doesn't even know it.
They say hair holds memories. Don't you find it ironic that he cut it back to when he was at rhe worst point in his life? A helpless child. And it went specifically after Rosinante died. He was a helpless child again, and this time, he was separated from his brother. Permanently. He spiralled deeper into the madness that made him believe he was a god, when it was really a 2+ decades long cry for his strings to work properly. Look at how he acts. He is a cunning beast, yes, but he has the power to do things on whims, which he does. Like a child taking a toy without paying for it and getting away with it. Look at who he surrounds himself with. Sugar. Her DF is the literal embodiment of a childhood. Sugar herself is not exactly as adult-like as one may think.
It's either that or he's seriously balding. However, his hair heavily emphasises one thing…
He is the Donquixote Family's first and biggest victim.
And the perpetrator is none other than Trébol himself. Trébol groomed him into becoming the monster he is today. He is the indirect and direct reason of each and every one of Doflamingo's crimes and the major events in One Piece. And he's the one profiting big time. When he found Doflamingo, Doffy was a lost and very scared child. He took advantage of that child, told him he was a god, and let the rest happen. To this day, he controls Doflamingo in one way or another even when it seems as if his strings are slipping. Maybe they are, but they never truly will untangle themselves from Doflamingo's limbs for the simple fact that Doflamingo believes in what he is. He has believed that for 31 years.
The worst part comes here. He associates love with control and loyalty. He wants to be in control bcuz his childhood was defined by pure chaos and pandemonium when he intially came from an environment that was anything but. His deep need for a family speaks of the 8–10 year-old who lacked the structure and security when he needed it most. That's why he fears Tsuru and respects her. Bcuz she's the only person to tell him 'no' and live to tell the tale. And that's what he needed. That's what he wanted. He wanted sm1 to tell him 'no'. He wanted sm1 to show him the edge so that he would know where not to step so he wouldn't fall. But he never got that. And because he never got that, he pushed further. He pushed boundaries that most never would cross in their lives to find an edge he would never properly get, bcuz he would be too busy killing the ones trying to show it to him.
He remains a lost and scared child to this day, and that is why Rosinante and him were doomed to fail anyway. Rosinante is a child who eventually knew structure and security, what 'no' meant, and most importantly, consequences of one's actions. He learned responsibility. Doflamingo only knew 'yes'. He never learnt to share, he never properly learnt empathy, and he never learnt 'no'. To child who grew up being taught that every1 and thing is his, what's more cruel than to take away the very toys he cherished most and kept him sane.
Rosinante grew up. Doflamingo simply grew larger.
That's why he failed. He was using the logic and understanding of responsibility of a 26-yo with an 8–10 year-old who was taught neither, and came to the conclusion that he was monster. Like every1 else in life, he, too, failed his brother, and it's far too late to save him now. Him shooting Rosinante was his biggest fear realised. He was being abandoned by his family and he couldn't do a single thing. He never could and he never will.
That's why he'd so good at manipulating. That's why he knew where and when to strike Law. Who would know the game of victim more than the first himself? Who would know the sheer terror of not having control than the one who never did? Doflamingo can have all the power he wants in the world of materials, but he will never have control of the life he tried to build, bcuz it was never his life to build to begin with. He was simply being puppeteered into placing the blocks of a house as sturdy as a house of cards.
Or I just misread him entirely, in which case you will never hear from me again. Thanks for reading this mess.
It terrifies me that there’s so much raging passion in the lgbt+ community that insist on marginalizing asexuals and implying that asexuals don’t deserve to have safe spaces. There’s still so much acephobia so I just wanna know which blogs are genuinely supportive and a safe space for asexuals
I’m not sure if this will be helpful to anyone, but you literally do not have to be a good writer to write and post fan fiction. Yes you will naturally get better at writing and finding your voice the more you do it but you do not have to be or become a professional level writer to enjoy writing and sharing fics. It’s common to hear people praise fic writers by saying their work is better than published books, and while I think this comes from a good place, that’s not the norm or expectation. There is also a sentiment that fic writing is “good practice” for becoming a better writer or doing something else later, but if fic is the only creative writing you ever do that is literally okay. Your technical skill does not mean you cannot have fun and build community with your writing, or that other people cannot love and find meaning in your work.
Fanfiction is a hobby. You are not obliged to improve at a hobby. You are not obliged to monetise a hobby. You - the hobbiest - are not obliged to be on par with professionals.
Turn your back on the insidious whispers of the capitalism mindset and return to posting fics that make you happy and are tagged "srry if thsi is confusing its 3am n i'm high".
I am a normal person who understands thought crimes are not real, fiction is not reality, and people can read/write/enjoy whatever they want as long as it’s fiction and no one in real life is harmed. I don’t have to like it, because I know how to mute, block and scroll past what I don’t want to see. Overall I think labels are childish, but by definition I am proship and profic. I am also against censorship.
And if you (general you) shame or harass real people over fiction, you’re a bully and this blog is not a safe place for you.
I’m proud to identify as morosexual. I’m attracted to dumbasses and dumbasses exclusively. A guy asked me what the Spanish word for tortilla was once and now I dream of kissing him under the moonlight
The recent hot VS cold polls have made me realise that a lot of people have no idea how to cool down.
As someone from a hot country that's regularly on fire, here's some tips:
WATER IS YOUR FRIEND! WATER! IS! YOUR! FRIEND! You can transfer SO much heat into this bad boy! You cannot cool down without water!
Wrists under the cold tap. Splash your face and the back of your neck. Fan yourself.
In some countries you can buy a little handeld fan with a water sprayer.
Damp tea towel around the neck. Stick an ice pack in there on hotter days.
Half fill a water bottle with water, stick in freezer. If you use a bottle with a straw, make sure it's lying on its side with the straw side up and out of the water. When frozen top up the rest of the way with tap water and off you go.
Desperate to cool off? Wet T-shirt. Sit in front of a fan. This will nuke it, just don't get hypothermia and don't fall asleep like this.
Cold showers are also your friend in summer. Some people get psyched up by these. Personally, I sleep like a baby, so I'm good to have them before bed. Just keep in mind that it takes a bit of time for the cool to circulate, so your body will tell you that you're colder than you actually are. I find that when I have cold showers I need to step out of the spray when I think I'm cold... I'll just wait, and thirty seconds later the temperature has evened out and I actually need to step under again. Rinse and repeat until you maintain coolness even after stepping out for a bit.
If you can't do cold showers, turn the cold shower on anyway and just stick your arms under. When they're cold, lift your arms up above your head. The sensation of cool blood draining into your body is fucking weird and kinda unpleasant but less unpleasant than being hot.
Feet in a tub of water with ice. Blood naturally flows to your extremities when hot, so take advantage of this. If you don't have a tub of ice water, sticking a wet rag on your feet in front of the fan works too, it's the less powerful version of the wet T-shirt.
Drinks lots of water but make sure that water has electrolytes as well. Stay in the shade.
Keep air circulating. Fans don't actually cool rooms down, they just help transfer heat from your body to the moisture on your skin or the air via evaporative cooling.
Block north facing windows early in the morning so the sun doesn't get in. If you're in the northern hemisphere, this is opposite for you. Keep in mind that if your home is brick, the bricks will still heat up and slowly release heat into your home even after the sun goes down so this will only do so much.
If it's hotter inside than outside, close all your windows but two, making sure they're on opposite sides of the house/unit you're in. Point a fan out of one window, making sure that the doors between the rooms with the open windows are all open. This will help create a mini pressure system in your home, pulling cooler air in and pushing the hotter air out via the fan. Bonus points if you can get that fan high up where the hot air rises; even within a single room the top is much hotter than the air by the floor. Adjust the amount of open windows based on how many fans you have, but generally you want more windows with fans open than windows without fans to keep the pressure correct.
Obviously, use your common sense for these. Not everything WILL work for you, just use the stuff that does and adjust what needs to be adjusted. Some of these will be impossible to use in the workplace but others you can still use. Others are best used at home. If humidity impacts your ability to use any of these, get a dehumidifier if that's an option, or use more ice instead of evaporation.
Also keep in mind that the skinnier you are, the faster these will work. More fat means more insulation, means more heat, so you may need to be more patient with some of these or use them in combination.
the ability to touch others had been a fundamental thing you had been deprived of. yet things seemed to change when you stepped foot into eridia, moreso when you were able to take leander's hand. leander kindly brought you a temporary solution of flowers, but beyond the calm surface, maybe there was something more dangerous than your own curse lying in wait.
gender neutral reader
content warning(s): reader is mc, yandere, suggestive content
To touch was something holy.
It became the pillar of human existence and human connection. Whether it be running a hand over a lover’s body or even the ability to huddle together with others during a meal, it was undeniable that the ability to touch and to feel and to connect defined an integral experience of what it meant to be a human.
It was something that you had been stripped of your entire life. It was only until just recently that the revelation that you might be able to be granted the privilege of touch. You could hardly believe it yourself, and on some days, you couldn’t help but think that maybe starving yourself of it entirely instead of entertaining a foolish hope might hurt you less in the long run.
“Do you like them?” You jerked to life, thoughts shattered as if they were freshly frozen frost. A foreign weight in your hands reminded you of where you were and the man standing in front of you, observing you for your reaction.
Leander’s voice remained quiet and warm, like the gentle light of a candle placed by the windowside on a cold evening. A bouquet of beautifully bloomed white lilies nestle themselves in your hands, and they weigh against your palms in a way that only a taken life would.
The lilies weren’t heavy, but the clear markings of where they’ve been plucked by the stems seemed to add some kind of presence to them. You can’t imagine something as vibrant as these cloud-white lilies growing to fruition in the wasteland that Lowtown and its surrounding areas were, yet… These were real flowers. They weren’t the magical lilies that Leander would conjure up at the request of his team.
You glanced up at the smiling man. “They’re real. Where did you get these?”
He waved his hand, simply dismissing your curiosity. “I have my ways. You should already know that I have my own connections around these parts. Besides…”
You watched with widened eyes as Leander reached over, and with one big hand, his fingertips pinched the end of one of the flowers. The subtle white and the graceful curve of the lily petal looked like freshly fallen snow against Leander’s calloused hands and dark clothes, the contrast striking and lovely enough to render you almost breathless.
“...It’s only fitting that a gentleman brings his beloved a gift of flowers, don’t you think?” He chuckled in the usual way he always did, and the mindful sound set you at ease somewhat. Gift or not, you’d be lying if you said that being gifted flowers wasn’t special.
“Thank you. They’re beautiful.” You brought the bouquet to your face, and you were welcomed with the sweet scent of the lilies. Leander remained one of the very few people you could touch with your bare hands without any drastic consequences, and yet, you knew deep down that as desperate as you were to fulfill the incessant craving for human touch, it would be horrendously unfair of you to hoard so much of his time just so you can let your hands wander all over the human body that you had been deprived of your entire life.
Leander grinned, his green eyes sparkling with delight. “Seeing you like it makes it worth my time. Although I hope you don’t take too much of a preference for them. It would make me a little sad if my magic lost its place in your heart now that you’ve seen the real deal.”
You balked, whirling your head towards Leander. “I’d never! Your flowers are something special. I don’t think an infinite supply of actual lilies could replace yours. I still remember my first night in Eridia and how I felt when you offered your flowers to me for the first time. I thought my heart stopped right there and then.”
“Now you’re just flattering me,” Leander laughed again. “Not that I mind. Praise from you is something I cherish moreso than anything else.”
There certainly were moments where you wished you could see what exactly went behind Leander’s mind. You liked him dearly, maybe even bordering on the cusp of infatuation at times, yet like any experienced resident of Lowtown, Leander kept his secrets close only to himself. Even with his friendly facade and his insistence that you give him your trust, you had a hard time following his true intentions every now and then.
It wasn’t enough to make you doubt his loyalty to you. But it was enough to pique your morbid curiosity at times, to make you want to peel back the gentlemanly act he puts on for you to see what kind of man actually laid in wait underneath.
“Prettiness aside, I found out something interesting that I thought you’d appreciate.” His words shake you from your thoughts, and you find yourself face to face with Leander again. You wondered what kind of experiences he must have to develop the natural charisma that he possesses, every sentence of his ensnaring you like a siren’s song. He gestured towards the flowers. “I’ve heard that flower petals feel similar to human skin.”
Your heart skips a beat. Your breath weighed heavy in the back of your throat and on your tongue.
“They do?”
“Mhm. Why don’t you see for yourself?” He hummed. You’ve never been too good at hiding your emotions, even less so with Leander, who could read your true intentions as if you explicitly told them to him. You leaned the flowers into the crook of your elbow before you tugged cautiously at your bandages.
The white strips bled away into the mangled flesh and golden cracks, and you held your breath. Carefully and cautiously, you brushed your knuckles against the underside of one of the lily flowers, and a sickening shiver ran down your spine.
The petals were soft. So, so, so insanely soft. Delicate, with minuscule veins crisscrossing the bottom, you swore your heart stopped in your chest.
Leander was right.
“They do,” you breathed, stunned. You turned to him with eyes bewitched and shock scribbled all over your face.
Leander’s face melted into a fond smile, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “I told you, didn’t I? Ever since you told me about your curse and touched me, I realized how little you must have touched others. How much trust it took for you to take that step with me. I know I’ve offered you the chance to touch me whenever you need it, but I get that that’s not an easy thing to ask for. So I figured that I would try to find the next best thing—something that won’t hurt anyone.”
“I-,” your voice caught in the back of your throat. Emotion bubbled up inside of your chest. You were no more than a stranger to Leander, an outsider who dragged their feet into Eridia with nothing but a single strand of hope towards solving your affliction, yet here he was, going out of his way to make sure that you could savor the same, trivial happiness that others took for granted. “You don’t need to do so much for me. I don’t know what to say… I mean, thank you, really.”
“The pleasure is all mine.” His voice dropped down to a low cadence. His gaze was fixed on you as you continued to stroke and pinch the petals the same way he did.
Your fingers kept curling around and savoring the sensation of something so soft and welcoming against your own skin. It wasn’t anything compared to the actual feeling of flesh and bone underneath you, the same warmth and tension that came with brushing your fingers over Leander’s hands, but if this was the closest you could get without hurting others, you’d be a fool not to take the rare opportunity.
“They feel like you, kind of,” you said. It’s your turn to offer Leander a small grin, and your face lit up like that of a kid in a candy shop. Innocent and pure, a breath of fresh air in comparison to the muck and grime that Leander is used to being stifled by.
“Do they?”
“Not as good, of course!” You blurted awkwardly, shaking your hands. “Nothing could feel better than actually touching you-”
-Leander raised a teasing eyebrow, and a tiny chuckle escaped the man. Heat flooded your cheeks, and you groaned, shaking your head and immediately backtracking.
“...Don’t take it the wrong way,” you grumbled. “Otherwise you’ll be just as bad as Vere.”
“I won’t push my luck then,” the man easily laughed, “But it’s good to hear that you have such a particular fondness for me. I really wish I could spend more time with you throughout the day. If only I could, I’d let you put your hands over me whenever and wherever you want—all in good faith, of course.”
“Just… forget I said anything,” you mumbled, wanting to bury your face into the bouquet of lilies. Leander laughed heartily again, and he turned on his heel, giving you a small wave in farewell before disappearing back to whatever he had been up to before he had come to you. Being the leader of the Bloodhounds must be no easy task. It was awfully kind of him to take time out of his busy day to accommodate you.
Not that Leander ever minded. Even as he walked away from you, his perfect facade working wonders at getting you to drop your guard around him, the man can’t help but let his mind run wild.
Your fingers wandered across the pretty lily petals. They’re his flowers, an extension of who he was. A perfect extension of him. His devotion, his sympathy, and his faith: all ephemeral suggestions of his love. Dignified and lethal. Your cluelessness was enough to drive him insane. You have no clue the influence you have over him, and yet, you kept stroking the flowers with the same tentativeness and visceral need that you did with him.
Leander could see the scene clearly in his head. Your fingertips followed the end of the petal towards the inside of the blossoms, from the broad curves of his chest and lower towards the hardened muscles of his abdomen. Would you touch him with the very admiration you showed the petals? Or would it be something more carnal, demanding that he reveal more of himself to sate you?
Or maybe it’d be something more romantic. His sultry eyes lowered into a more darkened look. You might raise the flowers to your face, and you’d take in the scent of the flowers, his presence embedded into the core of every single lily. The curved petals would brush against the tip of your nose and the graceful curve of your cheeks.
Maybe, just maybe, you might even press your lips against the flesh-like petals.
The thought made Leander want to go crazy with desire. Something deep and dark inside of him stirred dangerously. This world was determined to snuff you out without any fanfare, to the point that even the smallest sparks of joy were enough to tempt you out from the light and towards a fate far murkier than the one fate had in store for you. After having been deprived for what must be your entire life, the little things must taste that much sweeter to you.
But it was entirely alright.
Denial only makes the desire harder to stave off, and absence only makes the heart fonder. The flowers were nothing more than a temporary fix. Perhaps enough to get you hooked on the feeling of human touch, the same thing you’ve learned to live without out of sheer necessity. Now that you’ve had a sampling, it would only be natural that you’d follow the fleeting rapture like a starved madman.
And Leander would gladly be waiting at the end of the descent, arms wide open, for you to accept.
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