#extradirty
Cosmic Funnies
Janaina Medeiros
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Stranger Things
I'd rather be in outer space đ¸
â
Alisa U Zemlji Chuda
One Nice Bug Per Day
Not today Justin
styofa doing anything
if i look back, i am lost
ojovivo
$LAYYYTER
izzy's playlists!
will byers stan first human second
Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her
NASA
romaâ
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@ry0kugyu
@RY0KUGYU writing blog for aramaki of eichiro oda's one piece, locked in the og source material/not open to crossovers, extremely hcs-based and wholly detached from fanon interpretations. sideblog to jormungr, refer to main blog for rules and whatnot. additional portrayal-specific info under the cut. affiliated with ...
#INSP #HCS #STORYBOARD
㠤㠤㠤distantly, varo registers that the piercing thorns should hurt â and they do, but that cipher pol training is nearly impeccable. the doctor barely flinches as aramaki's vine threatens to bleed him dry. he barely blinks. what he does do is stumble only slightly as he's brought closer still. an absent hand raises to catch himself, and it falls on the admiral's thigh, clawed fingertips braced against ripped pants while he bleeds. he's interested â of course â in aramaki's response. it's hard to catalogue everything as his own mind rebels against the intrusion, but he forces himself to focus at least initially. there is vitriol and frustration on aramaki at first. it seems to be his own. and then somewhere between the first few drops of blood â he goes lax, almost lustful, as if the mori's encompassing behaviors instead take over and drive. the forest is greedy, aramaki right alongside it. varo has to admit, the admiral is the perfect host for such a pernicious fruit.
㠤㠤㠤 â mm. â varo's voice is far away, his fingers tightening on fabric as the vine continues to drain him. but he does not like frightened, nor like he is in pain, instead he shakes his head. â definitely special. â he licks his lips, those fangs glinting again â especially as the admiral throws his head back in pleasure, and bares the tanned line of his delicious throat.
㠤㠤㠤the mori bites into him harder as if in punishment.
㠤㠤㠤he flinches just slightly but doesn't struggle. instead the hand braced on aramaki raises, and delicately strokes the thorny vine as if in comfort. he only gets about three touches in before he staggers a bit once more, and his hand catches him against the surgical table this time. he's close to aramaki â staring into his gaze with a haze over his crimson eyes, as if he's just a bit tired. â i do. â he swallows thickly, â i do like it. your devil fruit is remarkable â plants are the lifeblood of the world, and forests alongside them. â his words are shaky, less neat than before. varo looks paler â if possible, as those vines detach from his body. he catches the scent of something strange â satisfaction, fullness, the floral delight that is aramaki's skin. gods, he wants to bite him so badly.
㠤㠤㠤 â you're remarkable for even being able to control it at all. â his hand squeezes the surgical table. varo has to lean against it, and close his eyes. his lips part, the glint of too sharp teeth poke from beneath his soft upper lip. the wound on his arm had yet to stop bleeding. he'd need to break into some food to get it to do so. â i want to study you some more, i want- â his eyes are fixated on the throb of aramaki's carotid, on the way he can hear his pulse. his pupils dilate, his lips part again, and he sounds breathless, â to eat. â he should leave, probably.
㠤㠤㠤varo does not tell him to go.
it doesn't take much to stroke aramaki's ego. certainly, calling him the lifeblood of the world helps. h ee mea nt usssâ the voice inside him weakly protests, like a rustle of pine leaves in the deepest part of his core, but the admiral can't help the grin that spreads across his lips from looking a bit too flattered. dark green lashes flutter languidly as he studies varo with a little more interest now, as if he's truly seeing him for the first time. something in the air shifts. aramaki feels it clearly, like a gust of wind rattling his core. his chest heaves rhythmically, miles of tattooed skin and powerful muscles on display, his blood warm with strengthâhis thighs spread like a suggestion. the doctor compliments his control, but there is little of it in the way a vine stretches again, tortuously coiling at the base of varo's ankle and slowly climbing its way up the length of his legs. it strokes his calf, then up to the back of his knees, and though it moves with graceful ease something in aramaki goes taut like a string in anticipation.
maybe it's that magic word, how it sounds.
you're remarkable.
âhehâsay that again.â it's phrased as a light-hearted joke, but aramaki's leaf-green eyes glint with a keen focus and his eyebrows knit, something in his voice ringing impossibly serious. the praise echoes in every corner of his skull, filling his senses, making him bloom... and not just figuratively, because more flowers sprout at their feet, more grass covering the surgical table. it connects their hands in a way that the admiral is not immediately aware of, and even if he was, the control that varo so sweetly commends fails him. he tells himself to get a grip, but bliss drips thickly inside himâthat fullness soothing his riotous fruit. aramaki's eyes lid as he glances at the blood trickling down varo's pale forearm, his expression lustful as he considers to take just a little more. he can't help biting his lips at the thought.
âhey, don't waste that.â
he snorts. the vine coiling around varo's leg stretches further, climbing all the way to his arm until the tip dips shamelessly into the open wound. the chemicals go straight to brain, and aramaki feels like he's being stroked from the inside out like a good fucking dogâif he had a tail, he would be wagging it anyway. he wants more, the cruel will inside wants more, twisting around the fantasy of varo's hollowed shell when all that matters has been drained out of him. he's not completely wrong, though, because with remarkable willpower aramaki loosens his grip and instead brings the bloody tip to his mouth. it hangs above him like a sweet delicacy as he throws his head back and his greedy tongue rolls past his lips. it morphs, it stretches until that, too, becomes a vineâdark, slick with a mysterious sap that vaguely resembles saliva. blood drips onto it, and the admiral nearly moans.
nearly. he's not a fucking whore.
the leafy tendrils retreat, his tongue morphs back. aramaki grins, a little too pleased with his performance. it's not like he hasn't notice the doctor's hungry stare, the way his res eyes seem entirely too focused on every visible vein in his body. for a split second, he wonders what it would feel likeâto have those fangs breach his flesh, that hungry mouth lapping away his blood. he doesn't doubt his devil fruit would rebel against it, try to heal him, push that intrusion out. but fuck, he's so curious. maybe it's the high of his sated hunger speaking. maybe he's just bored enough that he wants to see what turn this peculiar medical exam will take. and maybe the thought alone makes his pants feel slightly too tight.
âif y'know enough about my devil fruit, you should also know that it wants to be studied.â aramaki's head tilts to the side. âwe like the attention.â
Fanal Forest, Portugal by Gregoire Pansu
This was a process lol
Iâm still in the Wano arc-
imo aramaki has this kind of feral beauty to him like he really does look like he was just picked up from the woodsâhe has permanently ruffled bed hair, his manners are terrible and his fashion style is non existent, as testified by the tears in his jeans and the fact that he doesn't even bother putting on a shirt or a belt to attach a scabbard for his sword. but at the same time he has these sort of delicate, almost feminine physical traits like he has very plump lips and extremely long, thick and curved eyelashes, that add to his exasperated manliness and give him this messy, wild charm
obsessed with the fact that aramaki inadvertently healed the land of wano and erased EVERY trace that kaido leftâit is especially poetic when the arc about toppling the villain who used pollution as a tool of subjugation ends with nature reclaiming the land, even more so because it's not framed as a good vs evil dichotomy since aramaki is possibly worse than kaido in terms of morality, and like it really highlights the moral ambiguity of it all. like aramaki, who is very much evil and bearer of a fruit that IS intrinsically malevolent, does more good than most of the other characters combined
new header
" and just what purpose do you have here, little human? " aqua gaze narrows at the sight of @ry0kugyu approaching, fingers near-dancing as they shift their grip around the staff she carried. " you should perhaps choose your answer wisely. "
âah? who the fuck do you think you're calling little?â
well, to be fair, they aren't entirely wrongâaramaki can see that much. if nothing else, because he has to tilt his chin and strain his neck to be able to meet the giant's eyes. well, diplomacy can get fucked. he is certainly not used to the feeling of not being the tallest guy in the room, and he definitely can't say that he likes it. annoyance, though, does not linger. there is a call in the rustling leaves, and the roots speak a language that something deep within him, the innermost core of his being, understands effortlessly. green lashes flutter as aramaki's eyes narrow and his grin spreads. the forest within him begins to stir, wild grass sprouting at his feet. ânice tree you got here.â
the mori mori no mi is somewhat ambiguous in nature, there are ambivalent opinions among the government scientists that have studied it because while the most widely accepted theory is that it is a logia, with distinct logia characteristics, some argued that it presents features that align more with zoan or mythical zoan devil fruits. his devil fruit IS one of the reasons, if not the main reason why aramaki was promoted to admiral so quickly when he had not even enlisted in the navy before
aramaki's observation haki genuinely sucks
㠤㠤㠤varo is not unfamiliar with unwilling patients. apart from many of the agents â most of those that came under his knife had no say as to whether or not they wanted to be there. it wasn't quite the same with aramaki â he was sure the admiral couldn't be made to do anything he doesn't want to. so it's become something of a privilege that the other grace him with his presence. perhaps it was because aramaki didn't really unsettle him. perhaps not. there was surely something to be studied there, with the way some quiet part of varo settled in the shades of the trees, found itself comfortable resting from a large branch. the forest was no safe haven... but for a bat, it could be a sanctuary.
㠤㠤㠤or that's what he told himself anyway.
㠤㠤㠤alarm bells don't ring in his head so much as prickle the back of his neck. his blood red gaze narrows slightly, glancing down at the pushy vine â before his eyes find aramaki's again. â given the proper support and nutrients â plant life will overtake anything. i'm not surprised. â he raises his arm, watching as the prickly thing digs lightly into his flesh. the sleeve of his lab coat and shirt ride up, presenting the smallest sample of pale â milky skin. a little scrape is all it takes, and a trickle of blood meets the greenery. he does not seem to particularly care.
㠤㠤㠤varo steps forward once, twice. he moves with the tug of the vine, until he's stopped just short of where aramaki sits on the exam table. those bright, bright eyes stare up at him through the fall of long blond lashes, and there's something uncanny about the way the little doctor smiles. he flashes too sharp fangs, and his nostrils flare as if he scents the air. miles of the other's bare skin lay before him â smooth and ready to be feasted upon. of course he resists his baser instincts, for varo is no animal, and instead peels his eyes away to look at the vine still embracing his arm.
㠤㠤㠤 â your devil fruit won't kill me. â he says ponderously, as a clawed fingertip raises. â it is smart enough to not eliminate a potential repeat food source, and... â that fingertip presses so lightly to the vine, stroking almost lovingly up the fibrous tendril. he presses it deeper into his flesh â allowing a few more droplets of his own blood to run onto the plant. â bats are pollinators. vital to any ecosystem. you don't have to kill. â their gazes lock, as his blood continues to drip along the vine, â sometimes, you can be hungry, â he licks his lips, â and just eat. â
doctors and scientists are just like that. they think they know everything. they think can control everything.
âyou don't know shit.â aramaki blurts, plain frustration streaking his voice. long, dark green lashes flutter as he blinks, once, twiceâhe tries to focus on dr. roux's words, what bullshit wisdom he thinks he's delivering, but it gets progressively more difficult the tighter his vine curls around his forearm. lifeblood drums, all those nutrients spilling on the thorny end that prods at the skin until it breaks, and dips when it does, the leafy appendage almost timidly absorbing the first drop, then the next. the admiral's eyes widen, fingers convulsively fisting the clean paper sheets of the surgical table he's seated on. fuck, it's good. there's a sweetness to varo's blood that is faintly reminiscent of aged wine, and he knows fuck-all wines but he sure knows a lot about blood, about nourishment, about growth.
MORE...
the vine pierces deeper, twirling inescapably around the other's arm. there is a pull in the way the greenery moves that aramaki does not care to resist: the tugs varo closer, as the thorns wedge like needles into the protruding veins of the doctor's arm, absorbing the blood without letting any of it spill. it coils around the fingers that varo presses into the vine as well, smaller thorns piercing them. a muffled chuckles shakes the taut line of aramaki's shoulders as he hunches slightly, the ruffled mess of his dark green hair curtaining his vision. âoh you like this,â  his voice hangs delicately, a thinly-voiced realization not really meant for varo to hear. âwhat, is that some kinky shit you do with all your patients, or am i special?â there is a fleeting instant in which their gazes lock, speckles of red and green, blood and leavesâthen aramaki throws his head back, grass and flowers beginning to sprout on the floor beneath their feet.
âahhââ he sighs. there it is again, that fullness. his eyes flutter shut, his throat bobs thickly as the vines absorb and absorb, pumping generous amounts of blood and lymph out of varo's veins directly into his system. it's not enough, but it's a start. he could drink him dry. he could take and take until there's nothing left of him but the moss that would cover his paper-thin corpse. the forest wants that. but... the doctor isn't wrong, is he? it's one thing to feel sated every once in a while, when the leash of his duty goes loose and he gets to feast on some poor unfortunate fucker that no one will miss. he runs on that high for a few days, but the hunger always come back. more gaping, more haunting. but to be able to eat more regularlyâit's tempting enough that the greedy will inside him slows down, and so do the vines.
it takes a great restraint to call them back into his body. now varo bleeds, freely, and the admiral almost laughs. well, that was better than sex.
âyou're a sick fuck, you know?âÂ
i was abandoned as a baby & raised by a wild pack of cigarettes
this website lets you listen to the sounds of all different forests around the worldÂ
on second thought aramaki might be gayer than i first anticipated
it is very unfortunate that the mori mori no mi has a self-healing ability and that aramaki likely never experienced the intimacy of being bedridden while someone tends to his wounds because he would go insane i think
(wanting to get beat up voice) i bet i could beat you up
â Myoung Ho Lee, Trees / Herman Hesse, Bäume: Betrachtungen und Gedichte
