Doflamingo would not love his child

At the very least, not love in the traditional sense

Not the kind of love that is quiet, that promises standing by someone’s side no matter what; nor is the loud kind of love that swears grand gestures, the kind of love that burns one’s heart.

It is a love that owns. A love that wraps its strings around your throat and only tightens with each wrong mistake.

To him, love is control. Love is having somebody near you. Love is loyalty. It is not how one feels, it is about standing behind him.

Something I find interesting in the One Piece manga I read, is that Doflamingo says treats all his subordinates like he’s their older brother. Or rather, Buffalo says Baby 5 is like Doflamingo’s little sister. Interesting enough, not like a father, not like a child, because I KNOW DOFLAMINGO IS OLD ENOUGH TO BE HER DAD. HE’S 41, HE’S OLD- /j

Not really. He’s not that old. I think.

But I found it interesting wording that Doflamingo sees everyone- or his crewmates see him- as a sibling. Does he not wish for the emotional attachment as a father? Perhaps the unconditional love a father gives? But as a brother, there’s less strings attached, love is conditional, love is give and take.

So with a child, how would his love be different? How would his child view him?

I have no fucking idea, and I hate this motherfucker, but I am obsessed with him, so.

But I’m gonna try and analyze him through his relationships with his mom, Corazón, and the rest of his crew including Law!!

I am aware I made a post like this before, but I feel like doing it again since I am rotting about him.

Of course, Doflamingo is teaching his child how to kill- how to defend themself, against threats. In this world, it’s kill or be killed, and from an early age, Doflamingo is drilling that into his kid’s head. He’s teaching them how to kill, how to not be at the bottom, the whole shebang-

Think of it like how when Law first came into the picture. He was sent to go on missions, taught to kill, and also his murderous tendencies were heightened to the max + he was made to rely on Doflamingo; in the sense that Doflamingo was the only one who could make Law’s dream come true, in the sense that through Doflamingo, Law can take his revenge and so much more.

But Law wasn’t taught to look beyond Doflamingo. Law wasn’t taught to be his own person; never taught that he can take his revenge beyond Doflamingo.

Same goes for Baby 5. She was given a purpose in The Family; told she doesn’t have to be abandoned, was accepted by Doflamingo with wide arms. But, also, her need to be needed was… horribly heightened, to the point she’s willing to kill herself if asked. Again, she doesn’t necessarily see a life outside The Family. And it could be argued that ‘oh, she wants to marry!!’ But 1) Baby 5 keeps throwing herself at the first man saying they need her, and 2) even if Doflamingo keeps ‘saving’ her by murdering her fiancé, it can be implied he never addressed this behavior since it is common. Again, Baby 5 is made to rely on The Family- specifically, to Doflamingo.

But how does this relate to Doflamingo having a child?

Considering Doflamingo took in people that sorta kinda had personalities and made them to be reliant on him, whether it be through a sense of debt (Monet and Sugar, probably), or other means like making them feel like they only have a purpose in The Family (Baby 5 and Law), he’s building this kid up from scratch.

I’m not too sure about the personality, and I’m not sure the child will be like Doflamingo At all. Oda did say if Doflamingo ever had a child, that they’d be

…yeah

But, for some reason, I can’t… believe that? But I do believe that he’d give his child a weekly allowance- only from him. Nobody else can give it. I REFUSE to believe his kid would be a FUCKING BRAT. Ok they probably would be in some way but not like how Oda depicted. Oda isn’t a reliable source /j.

Wait. What was I talking about again I forgot.

OH! Right! How would he love his child?

I mean, a child is completely different from a sibling. A child is completely different than a subordinate. And yes, Doflamingo cares for his subordinates a lot, perhaps even ‘loves’ them in his own way- protecting them no matter what, never getting angry at them for failing a mission, being so so niceys to them- but he doesn’t love them like he would a child. Not like Whitebeard does.

So with his hypothetical child, how would he love them? What would he think about them?

As we covered, to Doflamingo, love is loyalty, and with loyalty, comes with trust. With his child, he would not inherently trust them- not yet, not until they… at least, hav a consciousness; because you can’t exactly trust a baby with shit, nor really a child. Perhaps when the kid is a preteen, or a teenager, he’ll truly start to ‘love’ them, maybe open his heart up a bit.

Doflamingo would see his child as his child, but not as a child, but his. The child would be loved more like a possession, than anything. Something that was originally his, that he’s not letting go. Like a stuffed animal. Like his favorite teddy bear.

He will NAWT go through an arc of ‘omg I have a kid I’m fixed now’ HELL no. In fact, having a kid will probably make him WORSE!! That motherfucker is gonna be overbearing as SHIT to the child!!!! Probably worse than he is to his subordinates!!

Because again, to him, being overbearing is love. Molding somebody to be incredibly loyal to you is making them love you, and controlling them is love to him.

Like I said in a previous post, Doflamingo’s child would be all that’s left of his bloodline- considering this is after Corazón gets killed; and for some reason, I can’t help but think that to Doflamingo, blood is more important than anything. I mean- hell!! Nobody knows why Corazón has the heart seat except for the fact that he’s strong as fuck; and also, the fucking- Blood Law?! Sure, he’ll kill anybody who hurts his Family since he cares about them a lot, but killing The Family- people he ‘loves’- because they hurt Corazón is… something. It’s something.

So for his child, Doflamingo will show the most care. But that care is a Venus flytrap. A scent that makes you drunk, and before you can register it, the maw has closed on you.

I don’t think Doflamingo would shelter hisbchild- it’s not in his nature to do that; that is too cruel, in a world that wants to take from him. To become sheltered is to become compliant, and to become compliant is to allow to be taken from.

His child are taught to not look beyond Doflamingo, that all their needs will be met only here. With him. Who else is as great as him, as godly? Would they really want to turn away from him, when the world is already so cruel? Who else would give them all this?

(Considering his entire circle consisting of practically devotees, his child is not getting much support if they wish to oppose him. And that’s the whole point. Any doubt, even if it makes sense, is quickly squashed down)

Yet, Doflamingo would not hesitate to use his child as a means to an end.

Just like how, even before it was revealed Corazón is a marine, Doflamingo fully expected his brother to give himself up for the Ope Ope no Mi for the immortality surgery; Doflamingo’s child is also expected to give themself up for him.

Yes, it will be sad. Yes, there will be mourning, and sadness,

A silence that lingers in the now empty room.

Old fabric, dust collecting on it, lies on his hands. Fingers brush through it, as if trying to memorize the texture.

Time seems to hold its breath, in this very moment; nothing else seems to move. Nothing else seems to exist.

Just him, and these old clothes.

but it is expected.

Just how Monet died for Doflamingo, just how Law was ready to die for Doflamingo, you must also be ready to die for him.

That is the only way to express your love, if you have any. Complete, and utter devotion.

And he will repay it. By spoiling you, keeping you close, deciding how your day will look like, controlling each and every aspect of your life, how you act, how you look, and how you view him.

Because to him, that’s love.

That’s the only way he can love.

“The Great Battle of Marineford.”

A mug of beer held in the air, scarred fingers loosely wrapping around the handle.

“Has a lovely ring to it, don’t you think?”

The person holding the cup sighs, “Just imagine,” eyes closing as grand dreams and high hopes weave themselves behind eyelids. “Us, in the spotlight, our bounties skyrocketing by the minute…” Letting that fantasy unravel, Yánzǐ opens his eyes back up, irises traveling to you. “Doesn’t that sound grand, Captain?”

Prompted to answer, you divert your view from the sea to your first-mate.

Being in the spotlight…

Out on stage, onlookers’ attention focused on nothing but the actions of your crew, waiting with bated breath for the next line they shall deliver…

The thought makes a bitter taste pool in your mouth.

Usually, it’s an idea you can get on board with, but this time is different. This time, the stage lights must shine on another ensemble.

“Not really,” is your answer. “All that sounds grand to me is supporting Newgate for this war.”

The ‘support’ is mainly to pay back a… personal debt you owe to the Warlord, even if he’s insisted too many times he’s needed no reimbursement.

Yánzǐ chuckles, “Aw, really? Wouldn’t you like to see your bounty rise, though?”

“I would, but that’s not my main goal for where we’re gonna be,” you clarify, turning back to the seas. 

No sight of land.

Even when squinting, all you can see is the unknown blue. 

We’ve been sailing for three weeks, though. Khia said it should take three weeks to get to Marineford. Did we get off course?

A seed of worry is planted, immediately starting to sprout- roots digging into your brain as the stem wraps around flesh, so tight it could burst.

In order to spray a weed killer onto that anxiety, you call to your helmsman: “Khia, how much longer until we get there?”

The mentioned person pulls their head up from a book, foot moving from atop the helm to see you better.

“Six hours.” Barely louder than the crashing waves, you have to strain your ears to hear them.  “Unless you want me to go faster?”

Six hours…

The feel of vines wrapping around an organ lessene, but still lingers.

“Yes, please. That would be nice.”

Nodding, Khia straightens themself up, readying themself to make the ship take speed.

Well, at least that’s done…

The plant is set alight, dissolving into ashes, no longer taking much priority in your thoughts- although a little bit still lingers and god you can’t get it out of your mind-

Gah!

What matters is that it’s mostly gone, this absence allows you to pick up on footsteps approaching, discolored arm wrapping around your shoulders.

“Ah, Captain!” Comes the bellow of the crew’s doctor. “What’re you so worried for? We’ll be fine!” A laugh echoes from her throat, haughty and egotistic; uncontainable joy spreading across the deck, allowing it to worm its way into the hearts of many others.

Well, except for you.

Somehow, her infectious glee never manages to even touch you; even now, as all you can do is frown to her aching smile.

Anxious.

You’re anxious, and like the douche she is, Sasi always notices.

“Is it your dad?”

Leave it to her to be straightforward, allowing for no hesitation or hiding on your end.

Allowing a few seconds to pass, you order your thoughts, soon sighing, “Not… necessarily.” Out of the corner of your eye, you see Yánzǐ perk up. “Well, it is. I’m… worried about the power he holds. we all know he’s going to be there for the execution of Portugas, as well as some admirals.”

Something gross starts to swish around in your gut.

“I know Newgate will be able to handle himself, but I’m sure that Sengoku’s-” His name is practically spit out. “-gonna call out the big shots, especially for a battle such as this.”

Yánzǐ’s creeping closer, you note.

“And I’m worried. About my crew, about all of you.” A short huff from you, as you shake your head. “I… powerful forces are going to be there. Admirals I haven’t heard of, probably with abilities far surpassing our crew. Hell, knowing them, they might do something underhanded.” A dull pain in your bottom lip, teeth digging into it. “…look. If anything happens, I want you all to prioritize your lives. Run away if need be. Your honor does not matter, but your-”

Yánzǐ’s voice, purposefully set at an annoyingly high pitch, rings from behind you.

“AWH, CAPTAIN!”

He wraps an arm around your shoulders, practically yanking you to his side.

“You don’t have to be so worried,” he shouts, “There’s a reason we’re called The Forsaken Pirates!”

Sasi’s fingers snap, a grin on her face. “Oh- you’re right!” The doctor moves to your other side, also wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “Why would we prioritize our lives when we have a name to spread?!” The woman becomes loud, voice spreading out across the ship.

All of a sudden, Khia balks. “Oh, hush!” They slam a fist onto the hull, making their presence known. “Must you always be so loud?! I can’t focus on driving the ship with your incessant screaming!” Despite their words, though, it’s obvious they’re hiding a smile of her own, just squished down with all they have.

To her insult, the doctor gasps, a hand dramatically brought to her chest. “Why, I-!”

Thus, dramatics ensue.

Khia and Yánzǐ, the doctor and the first mate; both people starting to argue with one another, throwing insults and punches of all kinds at either side. From an outside perspective, it looks like they’re fighting to the death.

On the inside, though, it’s different.

The two of them have suppressed grins on their faces, uplifting ends to their sentences, and fists that’re lighter than usual.

They’ve gotten along better than when they first met.

To the spectacle, people start to perk up, some crowding around the two, egging them on, a few even placing bets on who will win.

At the end of the day, though, it’s all in fun and jokes.

At the end of every day, it’s all in pure fun and jokes.

It’s something you appreciate about your crew.

No matter the situation, no matter the threat, they’ll always manage to make the scene lighter than it really is.

Whether a fight, a near death experience, or a war.

Broken terrains, and beaten corpses.

Chipped swords, and damaged bodies.

In this arena, multiple people stand; one side against another, shades of grey fighting against a collective shade of white.

Within that grey, is the beams of every single one of your crewmates, unaffected by whatever happens around them. Like shooting down a fish, they take down whatever is in their way, uncaring of the injuries on their bodies, or the fear they may feel.

Another one.

Needle pricking into an arm, sword stabbing into the neck of a man.

Right before it explodes, you jump back. Hands come up to cover your face, debris and smoke decorating your arms.

Cogs and oil; metal and fire.

What the hell is that thing?

It doesn’t have any flesh, and yet, it looks like an identical copy of the warlord Bartholomew Kuma.

Former Revolutionary, too.

Furthermore, there’s clones of that man, all around the field, engaging in combat with your allies.

How? A Devil Fruit ability? But doesn’t he already have one-?

Deciding it’s too much for your thoughts, you discard the train of thinking. Even if the concept is curious (and possibly sickening), you don’t have time to ponder what fucked up thing the Marines did this time.

All that you need to focus on, all that your attention needs, is one objective.

Assist Newgate any means possible in this war.

So, despite how much you want to figure out this fucked-up mystery, you simply, don’t have the time for it.

Something pulls at your brain.

A small prick, a tug, but it has so much force to it, tugging the thing to a far corner of your skull

Ah.

Recognizing the sensation, you turn to the source of the tugging, eyes catching onto a Marine- Lieutenant Commander, the back of your mind echoes- their gun raised, ready to bash it against your head.

Hm. 

The firearm’s way above their head, with nothing to guard them from incoming blows.

Poor tactic.

Your face scrunches up.

Do they even train their Marines, nowadays?

Crouching down, you prepare yourself to strike a palm against their neck, but before you could,  a sudden warmth overtakes you.

Fire lapping at exposed skin, always touching but never burning; a campfire in front of cold hands, meant only for preserving life. That is what the sensation is like, and it’s one you’re familiar with.

“Watch your head, yoi!”

That voice.

That infuriating voice, paired with that annoying blue talon.

Marco the Phoenix.

Long nails pinning your pathetic excuse of an attacker to the ground, compressing so hard on their chest they pass out.

Your ‘savior’ turns to you, that stupid smirk stretched out across his face. He tilts his head, calling out your name- “Didn’t expect you to be joining us, yoi!”

Atop a scalding hot stove, water starts to furiously boil. The liquid bubbles rise up, and up, the container no longer holding it as the water seeps through the lid, leaking down to touch the surface heating it.

“Piss off, Marco the Phoenix!” You bark, ignoring his offended remark as you push past him to find where you’re needed.

Where do I need to go, where do I need to go…

Left and right, your head swivels, looking this way and that for any of your comrades who may be struggling in this battle.

What’s happening, what’s happening…

In one place, there’s Newgate (Overhyped big man) exacting orders; in another, there’s Strawhat Luffy (seems like a bright kid. Knows how to make a flashy entrance) engaging with Mihawk; far up above, there’s the execution platform of Ace, with Garp and…

…Sengoku.

The lid starts to rattle.

Fleet Admiral and Vice Admiral sitting together, on the perch like birds on a branch. High up above, in a place only they can reach so effortlessly. In their position, they can be impartial to the carnage going on beneath them, the broken screams of the grieving, of the afraid, of the dying.

They are the Celestial Dragons, the self-proclaimed Gods, to the lowly humans suffering at the hands of the heaven's actions.

Like a kettle, a high-pitched whistling sound starts to come from the pot.

Nobody seems to be engaging with them, or even anywhere nearby, too busy with all the other forces attacking them.

Looks like you’re needed there.

So you go.

Your feet skidding against uneven rock, you carry yourself there, barely acknowledging the enemies who try to get to you- just so you’re able to reach your goal.

To reach Sengoku.

That good-for-nothing, scumbag of a father who’s better off dead because how dare he.

How dare he sit upon his false throne, looking at but not seeing the wails of your allies.

How dare he call for this war, but does not do anything to aid the burden of his soldiers.

How dare he be in a position of power, only to use it to destroy.

How dare he.

His eyes, apathetically crossing the scene, meet yours.

And his face turns into one of pure fury.

In an instant, his body transforms.

Pale skin starts to form a sheen, changing shades until it’s a blinding gold; body contorting to a bigger size, his shirt unable to handle this change, as it tears off; an aura of sorts forming around him, almost like a halo of the angels.

A false halo.

With such an ugly expression on him, any awe directed towards that presence of his is immediately discarded.

An ugly face, for an ugly man.

Echoing across this ring, the man bellows your name, “After twenty years, you show your face to me-” The harsh cold biting at your skin, his voice nothing short of cruel. “-and you foolishly fight on the side of pirates!”

Pirates.

Disgusting, less than human, beings; monsters, who do nothing except for prey on the week; slobs, who could be doing so much better with their lives.

Pirates.

People, who just want to see the world; people, who had no other choice than to become a pirate; people, who refuse to be a cog within a rusty machine.

Pirates.

You shout, “Yes, I do!” grabbing a sword embedded in a body, you point it at your father.. “On this battlefield, I align myself with what is true! And here-”

There’s a thrumming underneath your veins.

Within its cage, blood rushes against it, the molecules almost pushing against one another in a race to your head. The top of your body almost feels full with it, as if it’s going to burst with the amount in there.

It’s so much.

But at the same time, there’s a fire within your heart. Burning brightly, passionately, adding fuel for you to take grasp of your long-held dream.

“I shall be the one to take your head!”

Papers spread on an ivory desk.

Pads of fingers digging into the reports.

A body hunched over those fingers.

“A child.”

The words are muttered right as your office door opens.

“You placed a bounty on a child.”

The newcomer’s eyes narrow. “It’s for the protection of the common good.” It’s Sengoku.

“You placed a bounty on a child.” Your teeth clench. “I can understand annihilating an island-” can you, now? “-but placing a 900 million berry bounty on a child’s head?”

“She holds secrets that could disrupt the balance of the world-”

A firework exploding.

A rope snapping.

A fire generating.

“She is a child,” you start to yell, “You placed a bounty on a child! Nine million berries-” You grab onto the poster, holding the picture of Nico Robin up.

 “Dead or alive! You want a child to die!”

“It’s for the protection of the world!”

“YOU PLACED A DEAD OR ALIVE BOUNTY ON A CHILD!”

You awake in chains.

Heavy on your body, they weigh you down; where they encase your limbs, they offer nothing but a dull ache for comfort.

Where…

It’s hard to think, you realize, almost as if your brain is a swamp. Wading, trudging; to navigate these muddy waters, all of your energy is needed.

Knowing you won’t be able to traverse with your body, you decide to traverse with your eyes instead, focusing on discerning your surroundings.

As you do so, simple shades of grey start to become multiple tints of that color, bricks and crevices soon identifiable by your barely working eyes. After some more mapping out, your organs of sight notice multiple, thin bars in front of you.

A… cell…?

Past those bars is a discernible shade of white, soon separating into yellows, blues, reds, and blacks. Not long after, you recognize them as clothes. A rectangular sash, round coat lying on top of it, and two circles- glasses, actually- lying atop a man’s face.

“You’re awake.”

Rough and scratchy; sandpaper rubbing against a hand.

You know the voice all too well.

Leftover rage rising up your limbs, you pull against the chains. “You-!” Only for it to be a fruitless attempt. “Sanctimonious fool!” Your tone, however, makes up for that anger. “Where am I? Where did you take me?!”

Suddenly, a stab of worry embeds itself into your heart.

“Where are my crewmates?!”

All the past events are a blur, lost in the mist of your mind. All you can remember is the events before and at the declaration that you’ll take Sengoku’s head, but after that, you don’t know.

You don’t know the outcome of the war.

You don’t know if Ace’s head was taken or not.

You don’t know if your crewmates are safe or not.

Your crewmates, who have been built over long and arduous years, who were all different kinds of people, some who didn’t get along at first, all of them gone from their hometowns for one reason or another, becoming attached to you and your crew and joining with or without your permission, everybody eventually becoming a member beloved by you and if anything happened to them you don’t know what you’ll do because you love them so much-

“If any of them are hurt, I’ll-!”

“I don’t know where your teammates are,” Sengoku interrupts. “I was too occupied with our little fight to check where they are.” He’s maddeningly calm. It’s as if all the tribulations of the world are water off the duck’s back. As if they are all meaningless. “However, I do know that you are in the sixth level of Impel Down.”

Huh?

“Why-”

“I’ve deemed you too much of a threat, so you shall remain here.”

Huh?!

Your teeth grit. “Threat ‘how’? By freeing certain countries from-”

“You won’t be kept here for the rest of your life, though.”

…huh?

A few seconds of silence pass; silence filled with the cogs in your head turning, trying to make sense of his words; silence filled with Sengoku’s icy stare, gazing down upon you like he would an insect.

Eventually, he speaks again. “I’m giving you a second chance.” Your father takes a seat on the floor. “During your stay, you will reflect on your misdemeanors as a pirate, and only when you have admitted your wrongdoings, I will let you out to serve on the sides of the Marines once more, with your crimes cleared.”

Another small silence, as once again, you process what you were told.

Reflect?

Misdemeanors?

On the side of the Marines?

It’s as if you were a child caught stealing cookies past their bedtime, and as punishment, you were sent to timeout. Unable to interact with anybody, and nobody able to interact with you. To the ‘class’, you are nothing.

He’s treating you like a baby.

Nothing but a misbehaving kid, who needs to reflect on the mistake they made.

A little thing, who betrayed the Marines because they didn’t think too much about it; who committed their so-called crimes because they have poor impulse control.

How humiliating.

Festering and seething, mold from a fruit spreads to the others; starting at your heart, scattering to the rest of your limbs. It rots your bones, your muscles, barely peeking through the skin- climbing up your throat, threatening to tear apart your vocal cords as you open your mouth, the decay spilling from your lips.