PARADISE

#CRYOPATHIIC an independent, 18+ roleplay blog for Dōma of the TWELVE KIZUKI. canon & headcanon based — leaning on the anime. up to date with the manga. not spoiler free.

as nourished by Billye (they/them)

HEAVY CONTENT WARNING minors do not interact.

important tags: nsfw tw || gore tw || ;ooc || ;psa

CARRD & PLAYLIST

❝ Awh... the age old tragedy of unrequited love. Ah~ ❞ A deep sigh orchestrates the cant of his head, knuckles pressed into a dewy cheek with the motion. ❝ It's always the things we can't have that we long for the most, isn't it? I believe there's an innate sense of yearning in the human condition. And if you think about it like that... well, that just means you'll find someone else to yearn for soon enough. Nothing is over! Besides... everything about this life is so very fleeting. So wasting your precious time on people that make you miserable is a bit pointless, don't you think? ❞

He paused, but before the visitor would have enough time to continue, he had leaned forward with a smile — the room's dim light bringing out a crystalline quality to those famed eyes.

Upper Two's personal rituals can be arduous at times. First thing in order; slouching back into the cushions as his consorts comb through his bountiful tresses. Then he enjoys being bathed and dressed by said women. Then, he turns to lavishing the hookah's mouthpiece for a jolt of fresh poison whilst his devout flock relays their various troubles to his wise and all-knowing ears. Later that night, he devours the aforementioned consorts and the day begins anew.

So, realistically speaking, if Dōma was to claim that he had been busy, it would be a blatant lie. And yet, certain calls in the blood bond had been left unanswered. When Kokushibo's voice had reached him like a distant wolf's cry under moonlight, Upper Two had turned his ear. And when the incorporeal aura of Kokushibo's omnipresence had sent shivers down Dōma's spine, the latter had merely pulled his kimono taut against his skin.

It comes as no surprise, then, that his superior has decided to visit. Fully, physically this time. Dōma had been in the middle of dancing around the ponds. It had been a while since he'd found some reason to engage in things like that. Things that did not bring pleasure, like eating or drugs or fucking. Things that were more... refined and impalpable; things that weren't physical, so they were always a little harder to grasp.

The fans lower to reveal a coy smile as he turns to fully face the other. Then, Dōma folds them over his lap and sways lightly left and right in a cutely fashion. It's very quiet out back and Kokushibo's presence stands out as an ominous shadow — something that would have any human witnessing it immediately lose their mind.

When one is first turned into a man-eating demon, their potential for development is vast. Endless almost. Those initial gains are so easy to acquire that the power difference from a demon who has eaten five to one who has eaten ten humans is almost insignificant. But that number is very, very important. Because the magnitude of their discrepancy quickly heightens once they move up to the dozens — even hundreds of lives added to their own.

Blood was a demon's currency; so when Dōma placed his offer, he knew that his 'comrade's' energy had to be replenished. Sooner or later, Akaza would grow hungry. The longer their impromptu spar would drag on, the more likely that would be. Even now, struggling against the frigid restraints, Upper Three was expending energy — even if he eventually managed to wiggle out of the vines' grasp... how drained would he come out of it?

❝ Oh, you didn't know this? I'm sorry, that's on me. Since you are older than me and have been an upper moon longer than I have, I kinda just assumed you would know. ❞ The polite smile plastered on Upper Two's features comes as a stark juxtaposition to his words. Then a finger is held up whilst Dōma explains. ❝ Us Upper Kizuki reserve the privilege of soliticing services from our subordinates. So, I'm well within my rights to ask Nakime-chan to bring you here! ❞ A light rock, left and right, as he sits cross-legged before the other.

And as mocking as Dōma's posture had come across then, it was nothing compared to the ominous aura that overtook the room when he got back on his feet with a hum. A step forth brings them dangerously close and a vine slithers to move beneath Akaza's chin, trying to tilt his defiant face into looking into Upper Two's guileless visage. And when he resists, it gives way and Akaza reserves the miniscule victory of looking wherever he wants.

For now.

❝ You don't have to be so mean about it. I'm just concerned for your diet is all ~ ❞ He muses, tucking a few bouncy strands of hair back into place. ❝ We don't get to see each other that often, so I guess I was expecting the change to be felt. ❞ He shrugs, innocently, words laced with a saccharine smile that almost makes it sound as if it isn't an insult. ❝ But I suppose I shouldn't be putting expectations on you, it's not really my place to do that, right? You just so happen to be my subordinate, so, please, don't feel offended. This is no different than soliciting services from Nakime-chan! ❞

Dōma lifts a hand and the restraints clench on cue; some slither around thick wrists and others form a cuff right under his anklets. Upper Two's proficiency in shibari comes in handy — in the way they loop under the third moon's arms and cross over his chest, a bind forms that locks him into place.

And then that pale hand reaches out. Slender fingers rake through pink tufts and something sinister seeps into Dōma's tone. He doesn't say it, he just idly plays with his hair — but he knows Akaza can read it in his smile. You think you can turn your face away from me? I could grab a fistfull of those strands and force you to look, if I wanted. Pearly fangs grip Upper Two's bottom lip, then, as his fingers comb those thick spikes back. A demon's hair is an organ of its own, after all. Is Akaza enough in tune with his nature to use it, though?

There is a paradox about the mountain temple. Albeit decorated in gold and jade with every corner painted in bright colors, it is oddly devoid of life. Even the constant buzz of faithful as they traverse the endless hallways is lost in such a cavernous building. It is almost as if once you enter the temple gate, you enter into a whole different world; a whimsical one, at that. Although death is such a far concept in a place filled with dogmatical joy, the corridors still feel hollow. And the light dispersed in every backroom is white and cool like sunrays through icicles. It might have felt more comforting if it were dimly lit, instead.

Where Dōma goes, his artificial halo follows.

But not even that halo had sufficed to cover the shadows that pass by his features as he watches the mother tend to her son. So pink and small and wrinkly, bundled up in gifted fabrics; Dōma can't decide if the baby intrigues or disgusts him. He merely stares as little Inosuke's face wrinkles and his throat makes that telltale grunt of striving. What is he trying so hard for, the demon wonders? Does he really have to struggle that much to merely cling onto life?

It is then that he comments idly; and only realizes what he said after Kotoha's reaction. Ever since Miss Hashibira started spending some more time in his company, the Lord Founder has found himself slipping up — being more honest with his thoughts than usual. To bring such morbid topics up around a mother and her newborn... it was most inappropriate. If she hadn't reacted, he wouldn't have cared. But after she does, he is caught between offering a due apology or admitting to his own vanity.

Yet, the smile that accompanies said apology holds a peculiar mirth, one that she will understand as cynical or melancholic. She will note the sadness in his eyes, because she is such a perceptive woman. And her innocent little mind will make up a story about the Lord Founder must be such a jaded, isolated man who has sacrificed his personal life for his benevolent work. Isn't that what happens every time he gets close to one of these women?

In reality, Dōma had been amused by the human's naivety, to think she had any control over her fate. In a world where man-eating demons exist, in a world where his Master exists... what agency could humans hope to have over their own life? It was funny to watch them relay their hopeless delusions to him, because he knew the truth.

It was by his mercy that this baby was still breathing.

❝ You're right. Kotoha-chan, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have brought it up. The miracle of life is extant, after all. We should be celebrating! ❞ He cheers boyishly, before taking a seat beside her. Long legs fold under the hakama that sprawls over plush cushions. Kotoha shuffles closer and the first thing the demon notes is the subtle changes in her scent. There is a unique component to her scent that he can't quite put into words — but it's intoxicating. Prismatic eyes briefly land on a flash of skin over her clavicle, where the kimono he has gifted her to wear hangs a little loose. Her skin has grown more dewy since she arrived; the marks of her past life all lifted by Dōma's miraculous touch.

And he has some color in her cheeks, finally. But all of his attention remains on that mere flash of her clavicle - under which so many important veins flow. She moves — she leans in and his lips reflexively part a little. If he sunk his teeth into that creamy skin, would it feel like biting into a cloud? Would her clavicle pop? If he suckled until he drains her whole, would her gorgeous emeralds fade into a pale green like rust eating away at golden gildings?

❝ It always warms my heart to meet someone who has found their purpose in life. It might be fleeting, but people find all sorts of things to live for. And yet most of them choose to suffer, instead of appreciating their time. You made a very good choice staying here, Kotoha-chan. You will be able to tend to little Inosuke in peace, until your time comes. Isn't that what you want? ❞

He will let her ponder the question for a moment. Because he is genuinely curious for that answer. And then she shuffles closer and Dōma instinctively puts his hands out to take what he is being offered, albeit a tinge of confusion on his face.

❝ I— what... what are you doing? ❞ One arm loops around its tiny form and immediately his nostrils are assaulted by the various excrements coming out of that thing. Snot, spit... he'd like to imagine that's all there is to it. And then the little thing begins to moan and shuffle in its blankets, expressing its discomfort as its head rolls back like a puppet's over Dōma's bicep. He hurriedly seeks to cup it into the back of his palm and is momentarily stunted when he notes how easily this baby's entire head fits into it. It's so soft and malleable like wet clay; if he pressed on it, he wonders if Inosuke's head would simply take the shape of his grip.

❝ Mm, Kotoha-chan, much as I appreciate the honor— ❞ He begins with a polite smile, while the frail creature in his hold struggles against it. Inosuke begins to cry and the sound penetrates the demon's ears. ❝ I think he's more than just a little hungry! Haha! — oops, no no, don't eat those, little man. ❞ A lavender claw stands inches away from the child's eye when Dōma tries his best to gently take the prayer beads in Inosuke's grip. At least the variety of necklaces dangling from his neck seems to have distracted him from whining. But the Lord Founder remains just as clueless when it comes to handling this fragile baby and so his gaze looks up to Kotoha for answers.