cryopathiic-a

[cryopathiic-a]

(( PSSSSSTT follow me over at the new blog :D ))

#;ooc

[cryopathiic-a]

(( i think the blog/interface has become a bit too cluttered for me to keep up so I'm going to remake and clean up drafts to start fresh. I'll make a post about what that means for interactions later, after I've settled on a mc freaking carrd and psd >_> ))

#(( this is still happening btw im just impossble to choose color i awoijfr )) #(( DRAWS INSTEAD OF PICKING PSDS )) #;ooc #;tbd

[cryopathiic-a]

Are you guys helping Douma with his fabulous hair?

Sometimes.

#;fanart #(( SCREAMING SCREAMING CRYING ))

[cryopathiic-a]

(( i think the blog/interface has become a bit too cluttered for me to keep up so I'm going to remake and clean up drafts to start fresh. I'll make a post about what that means for interactions later, after I've settled on a mc freaking carrd and psd >_> ))

#(( yeah this one needs to be archived bc it's toooo cluttered for me to do anything )) #(( makes the executive dysfunction x100 times worse )) #;ooc #;tbd

[cryopathiic-a]

sad thing about sex is that there is nothing beyond the orgasm. like I want something for after. Kill me with a rock or something

#nsfw tw #(( DOUMA VC: ^^^^ )) #(( domacore )) #♛ ¦ ꜰʀᴏᴢᴇɴ ɪɴ ᴛɪᴍᴇ ༺ self.

[cryopathiic-a]

He hasn't seen the mikos in a while... hopefully they're not unionizing again...

#(( like the post for mikos in the inbox )) #(( lil imps. lil crystallic devils. frolicking around -- oops they're switching out salt for sugar in your shakers- )) #;dash commentary

[cryopathiic-a]

taking off a mask to reveal what lies beneath as a romantic gesture is overdone, and besides i want to see the romantic or even platonic potential of protecting someone's identity beneath the mask, without any expectation of ever being allowed to see what's under it. picking it up and holding it gently to their face when it's knocked off and they're in danger of being exposed, without trying to catch a glimpse of what they "really" look like under there. throwing yourself in front of them to hide them from view while they put themselves back together without taking advantage or looking back to see what you're protecting. learning to read them by body language, tone of voice, and behaviour so well that you never need to see their face to feel like you know and understand them.

#(( douma vc: me and who )) #♛ ¦ ꜰʀᴏᴢᴇɴ ɪɴ ᴛɪᴍᴇ ༺ self. #;wishlist

[cryopathiic-a]

I think the person I love does not love me back.

❝ 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.

❝ So... what are they like? Tell me more about them. ❞

#♛ ¦ ᴛᴇʟʟ ᴍᴇ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴛʀᴏᴜʙʟᴇꜱ༺ answered #(( AAAA YOOO THANK YOU FOR THIS !!! <3 <3 ))

[cryopathiic-a]

"Have you been busy?" Another way to say he missed his company. - Kokushibo

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.

❝ Ah, you know. Just the usual~ Taking care of my little flock, mostly. Tending to my duties, looking for The Flower, killing a few pillars left and right... stuff like that. ❞ A light-hearted shrug. There was an awkward pause during which Dōma kept chewing on his lip and kicking some dirt; as humans often do when they are nervous. His ability to mimic them was second nature, after all. ❝ Uhm. So... What's up with you? ❞

#(( koku vc: why didnt u call me douma : haha relationships arent my thing im more of a situationship kinda guy )) #♛ ¦ ᴛᴇʟʟ ᴍᴇ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴛʀᴏᴜʙʟᴇꜱ༺ answered #goresugars #(( humBLE him SMACK him!! ))

[cryopathiic-a]

He's all ears.

#(( send the asks . send them. )) #;dash commentary

[cryopathiic-a]

#(( same vibe )) #♛ ¦ ꜰʀᴏᴢᴇɴ ɪɴ ᴛɪᴍᴇ ༺ self. #(( domacore ))

[cryopathiic-a]

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?

❝ I apologize, really, for how abrupt that was — I wish I could have just extended an invitation but, Lord Akaza, you have a habit of ignoring my messages. And I really needed you to come this time because... ❞ Dōma pouts; almost comically, considering the circumstance. He crouches so they're on eye level for that next part; ❝ I have a little favor to ask of you. ❞

#(( steal my tags again and im gonna mail u a wet sock )) #fallesto

[cryopathiic-a]

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.

❝ He is very warm. ❞ He comments quietly in a factual tone. Something of his usual all-knowing facade has fallen, giving way to a much more candid tone; a childlike innocence can be found in the demon's earnest perplexion. He has never been around a baby before, even! ❝ What is that smell about him? Baby smell? ❞

#(( kotoha: nothing will happen to him i will protecc him <3 douma vc: girl i could literally one bite this baby right now )) #fallesto

[cryopathiic-a]

Hahaha, girl you are so funny! *mercy kills you*

#(( me waking up : my life is a joke the douma muse: )) #♛ ¦ ʙɪᴡᴀ ʟᴀᴅʏ! ꜱᴇɴᴅ ᴍᴇ ᴛᴏᴏ! ༺ dash commentary.

[cryopathiic-a]

he would do numbers on wikipedia

#♛ ¦ ꜰʀᴏᴢᴇɴ ɪɴ ᴛɪᴍᴇ ༺ self. #(( domacore ))

[cryopathiic-a]

can’t stop smiling in inappropriate situations

#♛ ¦ ꜰʀᴏᴢᴇɴ ɪɴ ᴛɪᴍᴇ ༺ self. #(( domacore )) #(( y yeah .. ))

[cryopathiic-a]

headcanon. douma's blood art origin.

Hello uwu In the past I've made some headcanons on the way Douma's blood art works and his ice sculpting abilities. So, today I'd like to talk a bit about my take on the way Douma's blood art manifested. My personal take is a 50/50 on canon compliance, meaning I have built it around canonical information and added but not altered anything. Douma's backstory offers a lot of room for creativity, after all!

Before I go on my little rant, here's some stuff about demonic blood art that I base these headcanons around:

Each demon is capable of developing a unique 'blood art', the techniques of which can be utilized solely by them ( but can be known and identified by Muzan Kibutsuji )

The way each demon will develop their individual blood art seems to rely on both their psyche ( who they were before they were turned ) and their own physical and mental capabilities or skills! For example, Akaza got to keep his Soryu Style and develop it with his blood art.

Blood art seems to be a reflection of the demon's emotional world and attachments from their human life as well. For example, some demons' techniques were shaped by their artistic talents, such as Gyokko's pots, Kyogai's tsuzumi, Nakime's biwa etc

The strength of one's blood art depends on several factors, such as their anciency, the number of humans they have consumed but also ... just practice! As shown in Akaza's case, where he prefers to physically hone his martial art rather than eat to grow stronger, as well as Kokushibo's case, who, despite being a picky eater as well is still leagues above any other demon created after him.

The use of blood art requires the user to actively focus in order to perform the attacks. The better the focus, the more accurate the results. If a demon loses their focus, their blood art will lose its potency as well — as shown when Douma's ice clones begin to crack and shatter because he is melting alive from Shinobu's poison.

Other information this headcanon is based on:

The practice of cold exposure in Shinto; 'cold water purification'

The concept of the 'float tank', invented in 1954 by John C. Lilly

Misogi ( ablution ) aka washing oneself in cold water for cleansing purposes

Buddhist cold exposure practices meant to cultivate mental fortitude

tw; mentions of child abuse, traumatic events

When Douma was born, his parents believed that he had otherworldly powers because of his striking features. Specifically, he was seen as a messenger from the Gods. That implies an expectation for a message to be delivered. So, from the moment he had learned to talk, every noise that came out of the prodigal child's mouth was taken, analyzed, assigned several possible meanings and then used to spew confusion and chaos among the faithful — so they would flock to their Lord Founder even more in an attempt to alleviate their existential anxieties. But Douma was just a child back then. And that sometimes became apparent; he could not always conjure a story that would convince the adults, after all. He didn't have the answers. So, in frustration of being given this impossible task, he often cried in the hearings.

Concerned, his parents believed it to be a result of spiritual turmoil, because he was a being that belonged to the Heavens but had been sent as a herald on Earth. There was a discrepancy between body and soul. So, they sought to help him isolate mentally from his physical body in order to become more in tune with his dualistic nature. Douma was taught how to meditate from a young age, but because it often involved long fasts and sleep deprivation, he couldn't always follow through. They looked for a way to 'force' a state of deep meditation on him, a sort of 'numbing slumber' that would detach his immortal soul from his physical shell.

On of the more questionable techniques they tried were the ice baths. The child would be slowly submerged in a tub filled with dry ice and river water and held there until his skin reached the condition where pressing on it left a mark. Then, he would be brought back out and towel dried. It was thought that, while in this state, Douma would communicate with the Other World and carry the truths he learned back into the physical one. Initially the room was supposed to be dark and empty to allow him to concentrate better, but eventually it became sort of a cult ritual. To be held down in ice water until your skin grows numb is one thing, but being pulled out of the torture into a room full of people commenting on it was so traumatic it caused a violent dissociation in Douma.

And that's where he gets his blood art 'focus' from, primarily. That's Douma's equivalent to, say, Akaza's mental fortitude or Kokushibo's relentlessness. When utilizing cryokinesis Douma's mental state mimics that dissociation — it is his lack of emotion that makes the attacks accurate and calculated.

Of course that's not all there is to it; many metaphors could be assigned to why ice in specific is Douma's true element. Water, fresh and living, is an element that has flow and the ability to move; whereas ice is rigid and stiff, just like Douma was incapable of moving past his traumatic beginnings in life. Ice is also uninviting and makes for hostile environments where life cannot flourish and grow; just like Douma himself is a toxic individual that leeches off of people's lives and, eventually, adds them to his own. Unlike heat, ice has a passive/deathly element to it as it is essentially when particles become sluggish. Just as fire is often paralleled to desire, ice symbolizes hatred and indifference.

tl/dr; If we go by the theory that a demon can choose their blood art subconsciously, then Douma's was created as a blend of the things that shaped his human life, aka the cult's practices, but also his personal traits that tie into the element's intrinsic themes.

#(( Ive referenced this in threads at times but I wanted a more comprehensive post bc it is a big part of my portrayal )) #♛ ¦ ʜᴜᴍᴀɴꜱ ᴀʀᴇ ꜱᴏ ɪᴍᴀɢɪɴᴀᴛɪᴠᴇ ༺ headcanon. #child abuse tw #long post tw