Pyotr Bagin. Illustration For Yuri Koval's "The Birch Pie" (1989).

Pyotr Bagin. Illustration for Yuri Koval's "The Birch Pie" (1989).

　　❝ can you undo my arm restraints so i can feed myself for once? ❞

　rosinante tried his best to pretend he didn't hear the bitterness in older brother's voice, like he always did. out of annoyance for being talked down to, a guilt for daring to make his psychopathic brother upset, or a sick mixture of bothーhe couldn't be sure exactly why it bothered him. the tone left him feeling scrutinized & small, no different from when they were children and doflamingo would make him feel guilty for daring to 'lash out' and defend himself when the elder donquixote played too rough.

he turned his back to his brother, something he was always apprehensive to do but he needed to allow doflamingo access to the locking mechanism on today's restraints: a pair of binders attached at his forearms, keeping them flush with his back. a leather strap functioning as a collar was attached via a clip, a shorter strap than usual lessening the amount of slack and ensuring that rosinante was at peak posture at all times. his back & shoulders had been aching for hours, but he knew better by now than to complain about it aloud.

rosinante paused, fearing his tone would be perceived as annoyedーhow dare he, when the king has been so gracious by allowing him to live & serve himーor worse, like he was ordering the king to do somethingーa sure sign he didn't know his place, which can & had led to beatings at the hands of the other executives. he softened his voice, shrinking his already deflated, defeated presence. food was enough of a motivator now. enough be quiet. enough to behave. ❝ ...please. ❞

DOFLAMINGO SURVEYED HIS KINGDOM'S PRINCE, HIS ONCE-BELOVED BROTHER  ㅤㅤㅤ⸻   ㅤHis regal figure leaned back in an intricately carved throne,   a piercing gaze upon his younger brother,  Rosinante. Behind the polished lenses of his glasses, his eyes,  brilliant shades of blues & gold , harbored a potent mixture of resentment and disappointment. His grip tightened around the neck of his wine bottle, its contents dripped messily from the corner of his lips. 

Rosinante, once a trusted member of the royal family, now stood before the king with the weight of his betrayal heavy upon his shoulders. His punishment had been dealt, but for Doflamingo, it was insufficient. the traitorous brother, had already faced punishment, yet the monarch felt an unquenchable thirst for a more severe retribution. The sins committed by his brother had yet to be fully atoned for, lingering like a shadow. Sins lingered, unforgiven, and the price to be paid had not been fulfilled in the king's eyes. Reconciliation lingered in the air, for blood ties ran deep, but the betrayal had etched an indelible mark, Reconciliation was just a concept that danced just out of reach for the blond. Despite the familial bond that tethered them, the memory of Rosinante's treachery ignited a fire within him, leaving behind a bitter taste that refused to fade. The desire for retribution pulsed through his veins, urging him to demand more, to extract a price equal to the magnitude of his brother's transgressions.

As Doflamingo's gaze bore into him, Rosinante could practically feel the weight of his brother's judgment, a heavy burden that threatened to crush him beneath its oppressive force. Yet, even in the face of such condemnation, the benevolent king  couldn't deny the twisted sense of satisfaction that stirred within him. For every drop of blood that stained his hands, he found a perverse comfort in knowing that he had served his purpose, that he had proven his loyalty to the crown, even if it came at the cost of his own morality. The golden figure of Doflamingo, resplendent in his flamboyant attire, offered a not so friendly smile. His words, dripping with saccharine malice, cut through the silence like a knife, each syllable laced with a venomous intent that left no room for doubt.

     ❝      It seems you have done as told, Rosi,    *      he murmured, his voice carrying the weight of unspoken threats.  ❝      Good job indeed. I know it must've been hard for you to withstand such deprivation. But fear not, brother, for you have earned your reward.    *     

With those words hanging in the air like a death sentence, Rosi's fate was his to unfold, keeping him trapped in a web of his making from which there was no escape. 

Law & Corazon🫶

　❝ mhm. i get you. ❞

　unfortunately. ace's words hit right at rosinante's heart, dredging up complicated feelings from his boyhood with a kind of precision that he wasn't even sure law could have managed. he never harbored the same resentment for his father like ace seemed toーnever could quite bring himself to feel justified in being angry, despite it allーbut he grew up watching his older brother echo much of the same thoughts. suffer the same frustrations. or, was he imagining things? was he doomed to see pieces of his older brother in every person he would ever meet for the rest of his life?

he disregarded the thought for now, one elbow firm on the tavern table dividing them as he leaned closer. it tended to be a struggle a man of rosinante's height to meet someone's eyes (not so much for him, but he felt guilt that most people who gave him prolonged eye-contact would have to crane their necks or lean comically far back every time) but rosinante wasn't the best with his words. eye contact was an important step in filling in the gaps. or, at least trying to.

　❝ i'm not trying to take away from how you feel. but it's important to recognize sometimes people don't always take every possibility into account. it doesn't mean you can't be angry when you're reaping the consequences of that, but it also doesn't always mean they're evil. people are flawed, ace. i know i am. ❞

@code01746 , corazon asked : “Even the best-intentioned parents end up damaging their kids.”

❝  intentions  ain't  actions,  cora.  ❞  his  lips  roll  into  a  line.  speaking  of  intentions  was  like  throwing  brief  words  for  the  wind  to  carry.  even  if  roger  had  the  best  intentions  before  death,  it  left  a  weight  on  the  pirate  prince's  shoulders  that  was  hard  to  carry.  maybe  the  words  of  this  man  sparked  a  brief  frustration  within  the  flaming  heart.  thick  eyebrows  quickly  formed  a  frown  upon  the  fire  fist's  visage,  as  he  leans  back  in  his  seat.  ❝  i  could  have  the  best  intentions  in  burnin'  down  a  village.  but  i'd  leave  people  homeless  and  only  with  ashes  of  their  previous  home.  ain't  it  fucked  up  ?  to  have  best  intentions  and  takin'  away  everythin'  ?  ❞

appreciate the enthusiam but please do not mass rb my posts. this is an account for writing, not a general fandom blog.

　　❝ rosinante. ❞

　he let his guard slip a little further; if the younger man was offering a name, he may as well be polite and introduce himself properly. it was only fair.

rosinante took the card with an etiquette that was polite & practiced: eye contact, a nod of acknowledgement, and gripping the corners with both hands. he was careful to slide in into a small pocket sewn into the inside of his shabby coat rather than allowing it to get crushed or wrinkled in his jean pocket.

it was a quite the contrast: a man looking so ratty & disheveled showing such respect for piece of paper. but he supposed, even after all this time, those few short years he spent as a noble as a childーclasses on etiquette, manners & allーhad somehow altered his brain chemistry. a piece of paper deserved more care than himself, it seemed. what an interesting priority system his brain had.

　❝ thank you. though, i'll say i'm not suited for any kind of active combat. i don't really do that. not anymore. ❞ he could have sworn his old chest wounds started to itch as the words left him and the memory filtered in. he resisted the urge to start pawing at himself, afraid that any bizarre movements would put his companion on edge again. ❝ infiltration & espionage i have more luck with but... not by much. ❞ hey, doflamingo hasn't found him yet. that has to count for something.

CURIOUS to say the least, having a protective detail with the marines. Even for a short period. Provided a bit more convincing to the revolutionary that he truly has long been defected from their relative's life of crime ( but still taken with a grain of salt ) .

The Revolutionary Army is spread out to ensure their army wouldn't be so easily wiped out if Marines catch wind of their whereabouts. Only moving when danger is lurking right around the corner. He remembers the base of their operations seldom moving around. Sometimes movement causes more RIPPLES in the water that others can NOTICE. Their locations are kept heavily behind counter-surveillance techniques && disruptors to encrypt their communications. The only contact to them made by outsiders were through special cards with numbers to assist anyone in need. && hopes that it was in good faith rather than capture.

Brows furrow once the topic momentarily shifts to information his group had suspicions about. What can't be told to him was the knowledge of missions being made to send members there, but a strange lapse in memory of exactly WHO was sent that way ( if any, Sabo still feels like the names are just out of his reach ). It's enough to garner a troubled, almost FRUSTRATED look on Sabo, giving away that he might know more than he lets on in the moment.

" I suppose," Sabo concedes. From the inner lining of his pocket, he pulls out a card with a number. He hands it out to the other. " If you're tired of running though, I'm sure there's something we can work out. It's not going to be for free, " given who the other is, he might need to INTERVENE as well in that, if the other decides to make contact, " but you can say I was the one who gave you this card. My name is Sabo. " About time he gave a name, didn't he ?