...what i am about to do has not been approved by the Vatican.

• Cancel (Light)

name: kitagawa yuriya 喜多川 由莉夜
aka- yuri, Judge.
ethnicity: asian - japanese
birthdate: 17 december 19xx. 30 years old.
blood type: A-
occupation: heir to Kitagawa Co.
gender+pronouns: cis male, he/him.
sexuality: grey aro, achillean.Yuriya is small. Even if he wasn't physically, his presence is still quiet— respectable, dignified, but easily overlooked. If he was any taller than he was, he may have to curl into himself to avoid stares. He isn't a fan of those.
149cm (4'10'') and 39kg (85lbs), his lithe body is framed by long, graying hair, dyed a darker shade to mimick his natural hue, though the roots have grown out and the tips have faded of any color. It is kept healthy, though; soft and shiny, but he can't bring himself to mind appearances that he can't enjoy either way.
He has been blind since birth, after all. He does not bother to cover his eyes in any way— it is not often that he meets new people, and the ones who do know him know better than to comment on it. It is not an issue for him, and it shouldn't be for anyone else, either.
His clothes are usually in a classical, feminine style. Because of his size, it's hard for him to fit into traditional male clothing other than tailored, made-to-order suits. He favors cool, flowy fabrics, such as silks, organza, and cotton. He gets cold easily, though, so he tends to wear layers upon layers, long, heavy wool coats being a favorite of his.

Sagittarius ☼ Libra ☾ Virgo ✧
intj(t) • 5w6 • choleric-phlegmatic • chaotic neutral/evilDistant, polite, cold.
Upon first meeting, Yuriya keeps his behaviour neutral. Making a good first impression is important to him, but he doesn't care about making a lasting one. He's easily forgettable, an average heir to a wealthy conglomerate who has been raised well, but doesn't stand out in any way. Quite the opposite to his brother, really.
He lowers his usually higher pitched voice, keeps his temperament at bay, and makes the usual small talk that one would overhear at any dinner party where none of the guests know each other. It's boring, bland. It says nothing about him, which means no one can complain about his person.Behind closed doors, though, that gentle exterior is nowhere to be seen.
Yuriya's gloomy, a pessimist by nature who somehow still refuses to give up hope, clinging to anything he can get his hands on. He can't trust people, even those closest to him, leaving him with quite the evident abandonment fear— he doesn't try to hide it at all; he will whine and sob at the slightest threat of loneliness. Curiously, however, he will refuse any affection that he didn't start himself, much like a cat.
Because of this, he is very protective of those he loves, and keeps them as close as possible. Some may call this controlling—most would, really— but he simply thinks of it as his way of caring. He can't do much else for them, after all.
His sickly body has made it so that, even though he wishes to be relied on, he usually ends up being the one being cared for, no matter how much he will try to push people away at such times. Thus, those closest to him know to only show their love discreetly, in ways that can be easily denied may Yuriya wish to do so.
This isn't to say he's cruel or unsympathetic, not at all. His childishness may make it look that way; but it also makes him curious, easily amused, evan naïve, at times. He's soft, gentle. He puts great thought into every word, into every touch. Know that when his hand brushes yours, it was in purpose. Everything he does, he does with purpose.

CW - neglect, abuse

Being the heir of the Kitagawa family meant having high expectations placed on you. But how could he meet them, when he was defective from birth?His parents— a young woman born from wealth whose only saving grace were her looks and her ability to do as told, and a man who charmed her with empty words and marketing scams— had already failed before him. Two miscarriages in a row, and now the one that their child was finally born, it was sick.
They didn't know where they went wrong.Of course, they raised him the best they could. They sent him to a fancy boarding school for the visually impaired during elementary, dressed him in fine clothes, and had the cook make his favorite dishes whenever his grade card came.
It was, superficially, a good family to be born in.But it was hard.
It wasn't just his eyes that were bad, they quickly found out. A hormone disorder soon stunted his growth, even with the medications his body was still frail. It was hard for him to gain weight, and so he caught colds easily, which could turn into harsher illnesses at the blink of an eye if not addressed properly.
At times, his fevers got so high he couldn't even be driven to the hospital, and he would hear his mother's sobs next to his bed while begging a God to "please relieve them from this suffering."
Whether she meant to relieve Yuriya or herself, he doesn't know.Still, he grew to hate her. Her once kind demeanor had turned ugly with the years, sending him scornful looks and muttering sharp words under her breath when they crossed paths.
His father simply didn't care. He hadn't been spending much time at home since his kid enrolled in a local school.He came home when Yuriya was 14, though. Not because of him, of course. His parents had adopted a child.
Born in a foreign country, Yasir was clumsy at best. Only two years younger than him, but save for his social skills, he was far too behind in Yuriya's eyes.
His English wasn't good, let alone his Japanese. It took a long time for them to be able to communicate.
But when they did, he found himself liking the boy a lot more than he thought he would.Yasir was favored by their parents, and for good reason. He was loud, outspoken, funny. He wasn't the model kid Yuriya had been raised to be, quiet and understated and gentle— he was so much better. Maybe this is where they went wrong. Maybe they were wishing for the wrong thing.
Yuriya liked him, too, and Yasir admired him back. They were joined at the hip, running down the hallways in their home while their parents were away, the maids chasing after them to get them to take a bath before bed.
They never caught up to them. Yasir was a natural at hide-and-seek, and taught Yuriya all the best spots in the house. Underneath the stairs, in the kitchen cabinets, between the two big bookshelves in the study. They'd make them into their little secrets, nurturing the attic nook into a cozy pillow fort, where they would lay and talk for hours on end about whatever was on their minds. Yuriya would bring his favorite books, the ones he knew from beginning to end, and would teach Yasir to read the words with the patience of a saint. Yasir would read slowly, with intent, crafting a new voice for every character in the scene.
His teenage years were fond, now that he had a younger brother.This happiness lasted up until his 20s, until Yasir turned 18 and had to leave for college, something that Yuriya didn't plan on doing.
Not because he didn't want to, but because it would be a waste. It was clear by now that he wouldn't inherit his family's business, so what good would a degree be?
His family's neglect got worse now that he was on his own, though. There were times he wished he could have left this house and follow his brother— he couldn't, though. He hadn't been outside for ages, much less on his own. It would undoubtedly end up in disaster.
He would spend his time cooped up in the attic, practicing the few artistic skills Yasir had taught him throughout the years. Sculpture came easiest to him, the cold ceramic molding in his fingers into familiar shapes and sinking into his fingernails as he carved out the details.
After accidentally being locked inside, he moved to his room, and didn't leave until his brother came back for the holidays.Yasir noticed things, but not quite enough. Yuriya was at fault for it, too. He would push him away at any chance he got; out of pride, fear, or resentment, he wasn't so sure.
Yuriya left his family's house once again for his graduation, and never came back to it again.He moved away with Yasir, to a small apartment nearing the coastline. The fresh sea air would hit his face in the mornings, opening the carefully sealed windows to taste the salt in the breeze. It was refreshing, a new start. A chance to have what he couldn't in his youth.His depression didn't go away, though, not in the slightest. Even now, in the company of his safest presence, he couldn't bring himself to leave the building. He knew that when he did he would feel the sting of people's looks, the hushed whispers, the pain of being the odd one.This pain of his would grow to become hatred for those who shunned him, who raised him to believe his existence was a mistake.
Thus, he created Seraphim. A small organization, black market services sold to those he deemed worthy. The Jury would bring in the evidence, the Judge would give the sentence, and his Executioner would carry it out. It was a tool for what he would call a purge, a means to an end.

• Yuriya is written as 由 'yu' for reason, 莉 'ri' for white jasmine, 夜 'ya' for night.
• His favorite book is Dostoyevsky's 'Crime and Punishment'.
• He prefers audio to braille, and he's glad that he barely needs anything other than his voice nowadays to navigate through his phone.
• Parisa is a recent addition to his family, a Doberman Pinscher service dog.
• Unless the news are on, he listens to podcasts while at home. Economy, history, and philosophy ones are his favorites.
• Tea over coffee any day, white over any other. He prefers salty foods, so he accompanies them with sweet drinks.
• His hands are usually cold, so he wears gloves often. It's rare to see him in shorter sleeves.
• His wardrobe is all in grayscale so his clothes can always match.
• He has a hard time walking on tall shoes.
• The one to suggest Yasir's wings tattoo was him.
• Though his ears aren't pierced, he will sometimes wear clip-on earrings. Rings are his preferred type of jewellery, necklaces being a close second. Bangles and bracelets feel too cold on his wrists.
• He adores web weaving. He keeps links and images and audio files in a neat mess in his phone's notes.

if there is a light then i am going to swallow it.
if there is a god then i'm going to make him cry.

A soft smile brightened his features as he listened to the idle conversation between the two men in the room, Yasir sharing his day over a chess board while Hikaru added in comments of acknowledgement.
They were quite different from one another, but it was easy to grow fond of the younger, who measured his words with care and put even greater thought into his silences. He had quickly become a part of their routines, his quiet steps following behind wherever they went. Much like a puppy.Absentmindedly, Yuriya pet Parisa who sat next to him, her head on his lap. It was a lazy afternoon, his tea gone cold after being ignored for who knows how long."Should I refill that, sir?" Came Hikaru's soft inquiry from the other side of the room, likely because of Yuriya's fingernails tapping against the porcelain.
"Would you, dear?" He pushed the teacup closer to the edge of the desk with his index, chuckling at Yasir's exasperated sigh. He always so hated being interrupted. He wouldn't say anthing about it, though, quietly accepting his fate as the middle child in this scene.The sun's rays filtered through the window's curtains and reached his hands, the warmth dancing lightly across the muscles until firm steps walked over behind him and shut the curtains tight with a sound of finality. He must be tired. The office still felt comfortably warm, even without the Sun's presence.

"no amount of anxiety can change the future."
to be added.