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i'm going to tentatively open my blog to new partners! if you're a mutual i already consider you a partner, whether we've written together or not, so you don't have to do anything if you don't want to. however this means its safe to reblog my promo until i close the blog down again!

i also intend to do a bit of writing on douma's views on food, as they are very canon divergent. also send me memes cowards.

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Douma | Upper Moon Two

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  ​​​​​​​ [   for  @fallesto   //   from  here.   ]

 ​​​​​​​ ​​​​​​​ 𝐔𝐏𝐏𝐄𝐑  𝐓𝐖𝐎  𝐈𝐒  𝐎𝐍  𝐓𝐇𝐄  𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐖𝐋.     he stalks to the edge of the lagoon with purposeful footfalls,  gazing into the pristine bottleblue water and preening at his own reflection ;   it is a perfect evening  —  the world is quiet and peaceful ;   there's hardly a whisper of wind through the lotus bloom ;   the moon shines full,  as full as  his belly.     the holy one is left to contemplate his own visage in the surface of the pond,  reaching down to dip one razor-sharp claw into the water and marveling at the ripples that spread out from his touch :   much like life in this most sacred of places,  he is at the center,  and his words create waves throughout his flock.

 ​​​​​​​ ​​​​​​​ and then his precious peace is  disturbed,  broken by the distinct sound of  PREY  fleeing through the forest nearby.     his sharp senses grabbed,  the oni lifts his ornamented head and watches  a woman  stumble through the undergrowth  —  she is being pursued by a noisy pair ;   she carries something close to her chest.     the moonlight glistens beautifully on her glossy night-stained locks :   the divine is  struck  by her beauty,  so much so that as she collapses to her knees and her attackers close in on her,  he moves on instinct to defend her,  unearthly speed blinding,  one gleaming golden fan snapping out to shelter her from her assailants.

 ​​​​​​​ ​​​​​​​ the man loses an arm in the process.     it's of little concern to douma.     the torn flesh doesn't even inflame his hunger :   he's  incensed,  infuriated at the destruction of his peace,  irate that  someone else would dare to shed blood on his holy land.

 ​​​​​​​ ​​​​​​​ what happens next is inevitable.

 ​​​​​​​ ​​​​​​​ the high priest leaves the dismembered and twitching corpses in the undergrowth,  content to deal with them once  she  is taken care of.     as he rounds on the woman,  who is clearly delusional with exhaustion and terror,  the quiet fussing of  a baby  catches his attention :   her  baby,  the bundle she had been so keen to protect.     has she come all this way for the safety of her child?     in all his long years,  douma has never encountered a human with such selfless intent.     he hadn't intended to make a meal out of her before,  but this definitely stays his hand ;   intrigued,  the holy one lifts her into his arms and makes his way back to the temple.

 ​​​​​​​ ​​​​​​​ he hands her over to  his favored ones,  and he lingers vigilantly as their many hands undress her and bathe her and tend to her wounds ;   even in her delirium,  she is reluctant to give up her now quite upset child,  but he is eventually coaxed from her grasp.     the divine gestures to the woman holding him,  and she dutifully places the squalling infant in his arms.

 ​​​​​​​ ​​​​​​​ 𝐃𝐎𝐔𝐌𝐀  𝐇𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐒  𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐈𝐄𝐒  —  they're  loud  and  smelly  and  hardly more than a mouthful.     this one is only different because  he is hers :   this dazzling beauty with blistered feet and sticks and leaves and dust in her gorgeous midnight hair.     how far had she run?     why had she fled in the first place?     the aging bruises beneath her fearful emerald eyes say more than words ever could.

    ❝           hush  now,   little  pachī :   there's  nothing  to  fear. ❞

 ​​​​​​​ ​​​​​​​ the high priest's honey-sweet voice cuts through the child's caterwauling like a knife through tofu ;   and amazingly,  the boy ceases his incessant cries,  choosing instead to reach for the  mala  draped around douma's neck with a curious gurgle.     YUCK.     and yet,  he's compelled to allow the infant to bat at the gold-inlaid beads while the women surrounding him fawn over the exchange.

 ​​​​​​​ ​​​​​​​ douma-sama is so miraculous.

 ​​​​​​​ ​​​​​​​ the divine is oddly content to cradle the infant in one arm while his favored ones tend to the boy's mother.     she is quite injured,  and weak from her journey :   but she still musters the strength to  profusely thank him,  even going so far as to clutch at his clawed hand and brush a trembling kiss against his knuckles.

 ​​​​​​​ ​​​​​​​ douma watches this newest member of his flock with a strange light in his unearthly eyes.     despite her beauty,  her proximity,  and her potent desperation,  this woman neither inflames his lust nor incenses his appetite :   how can such a truth be?     it stymies him,  gives him pause  —  perhaps she will be  the one worth keeping.

    ❝           there  is  no  need  to  thank  me,   gaana  pakshee  —  i  simply  couldn't  abide  any  harm  coming  to  such  a  wondrous  beauty  as  yourself. ❞

 ​​​​​​​ ​​​​​​​ that clawed hand reaches up to gently cup her blackened and swollen cheek ;   the soft pad of his thumb brushes away an errant tear,  wicked lavender talon only millimeters from her eye.     what a stunning shade of green.

   ❝ tell  me :   what  may  i  call  you,   and  what  may  i  call  your  child? ❞

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that one babygirl redraw 🫢

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apologies for the lack of content. explanation under the cut ; negative warning.

i don't like being vulnerable and also usually don't like talking about personal stuff but i probably have to have surgery. i'm pretty scared about it even though i've also been looking forward to it. i'm having more tests done and meeting with a specialist this week but overall i'm feeling pretty depressed and frightened and isolated ; my irl support system isn't the best because i really struggle to make and keep friends and i'm a very independent person who is used to dealing with things on my own. i've been spending most of my time sleeping because it honestly feels pretty gross to be awake, and when i am awake i have crying spells. just overall feeling very alone and afraid. i'm sorry for being a bad writing partner : i'll try to write more, but honestly i can't make any promises because i'm very emotional right now.

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Photography by @nonalimmen

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  ​​​​​​​ @calamxty asked :   ❝I've not come to pray to you,❞ his voice is somewhat amused, ❝I've come to give you a kiss.❞ And so, Douma receives a kiss -- one that's full of biting teeth, but then sweetens at the end. As with all things, the soft is earned. //referencing your askbox title

 ​​​​​​​ ​​​​​​​ it's late :   the sheep are in bed,  or at least confined to their own quarters.     none dare to step out at night without his express permission  —  not after what became of  KOTOHA  in the wilds around the lagoon.     there are monsters out there.     he's alone in the temple's expansive kyōzō,  rummaging through his sumptuous collection of sutras,  scrolls,  books,  tomes,  and scriptures.     every year or two, the divine takes several days to pore over his assortment of religious and historical texts,  perusing the vast depths of human insanity and idiocracy,  tittilating himself with their rituals both intricate and inane.     such devotion to something they cannot prove :   how  PITIABLE.     yet their folly is his benefit,  and so he continues to entertain them and fill his empty belly in tandem.

 ​​​​​​​ ​​​​​​​ douma scrutinizes the  nirvana sutra   ( the original tibetan translation,  a prized piece of his collection )   as he sits in seiza in the luxuriant cushion meant only for him.     his cells  come alive  as he feels his progenitor approaching,  and the holy one raises his head to offer muzan a chipper greeting  —  but before he gets the chance,  the demon king interjects.

   𝐢'𝐯𝐞  𝐧𝐨𝐭  𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞  𝐭𝐨  𝐩𝐫𝐚��  𝐭𝐨  𝐲𝐨𝐮 :   𝐢'𝐯𝐞  𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞  𝐭𝐨  𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐞  𝐲𝐨𝐮  𝐚  𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬.

 ​​​​​​​ ​​​​​​​ and then his master's mouth is on his,  biting,  ripping,  tearing  —  BLOOD  pours down his throat,  and he swallows  with gratitude.     demons are wicked lascivious things with hearty appetites :   its only natural that one kind of feast becomes  another,  and douma is the last one to complain.     arms come around the demon king's neck, cruel claws twisting into his soft ebony locks as he holds their hungry mouths together ;   their fangs click against one another,  titanium meeting steel and shredding flesh in kind.     even when the kiss grows sweet,  as their touches have done as of late,  the holy one  craves more  —  but of course,  even though this is his temple,  the king  will always trump  the bishop,  and he will dutifully wait until he has  EARNED  more.

    ❝           and  what  have  i  done  to  earn  such  a  wonderful  gift? ❞  the divine purrs beatifically,  smoothing out the wrinkles he'd left behind in his master's clothing.

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𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐓𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐌𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐌𝐄 𝐆𝐎 👀.

okay so i got like, three books delivered this week, and in anticipation i reread another book that i had, and lads, let me tell ye, it was like quicksand. so now i have a list, some from my head, many from my wonderful friends’ heads, of prompts that basically made us all very soft or very “pleasantly scandalized rich lady from the sixties who just found out a juicy bit of goss about the new neighbor”. i hope ye like them! (DO NOT ADD TO THE LIST. I WILL MAKE A PART TWO. AND THREE. AND FOUR. MANY MANY PARTS. EVENTUALLY. )

[ HAIR ]:          sender slowly reaches out to catch a loose strand of the receiver’s hair and tuck it gently and securely back behind their ear, letting their touch linger afterwards. (if the receiver has short hair, then the sender reaches out and gently runs their fingers through their hair to smooth it back.)

[ CLOSE ]:          while standing remarkably close to one another, the sender is unable to stop themselves from running their gaze across the receiver’s body, lingering for a moment on their lips, before returning to initiate prolonged, intense eye contact.

[ CHIN ]:          as they stand close to one another, the sender hooks a finger and tenderly lifts the receiver’s chin, tilting it up so that they can look at one another, and running a thumb across their skin lightly.

[ THUMB ]:          while cupping the receiver’s cheek in their hand, the sender slowly glides their thumb across their cheekbone in a tender, sweeping caress.

[ WOUND ]:          upon noticing a recent injury on the receiver’s person, the sender carefully moves closer, running a thumb (or hand) across the wound in a gentle, troubled manner.

[ INHALE ]:          while standing in very close quarters to the receiver, the sender shakily inhales with desire/anticipation as they realize how intimately close they are to one another.

[ DANCE ]:          when alone together (e.g. the bedroom, the kitchen, literally anywhere once they’re alone) the sender takes the receiver’s hand, and pulls them into a graceful yet intimate dance as a spontaneous act.

[ BARE ]:          as they get undressed, the sender gently places a soft, tender kiss against the receiver’s bare shoulder.

[ SCAR ]:          noticing a scar on the receiver’s skin, the sender tentatively stops them from covering it up, and rests a gentle, soft kiss over it.

[ FOREHEAD ]:          placing a hand on the back of the receiver’s neck, the sender guides them close and rests their foreheads together.

[ PALM ]:          taking the receiver’s hand, the sender brings it to their mouth, and places a tender kiss against the receiver’s palm.

[ LINGER ]:          taking the receiver’s hand, the sender lifts it to their lips, and gently kisses their knuckles, lingering for a moment before withdrawing.

[ BEHIND ]:         upon entering the same room as the receiver, the sender steps behind them, and winds their arms around the receiver’s waist, drawing them close against them.

[ WAIT ]:          realizing the receiver is about to leave the room, the sender hastily reaches out and catches their wrist, preventing them from continuing their departure.

[ ARM ]:          after holding their hand, the sender releases the receiver, but slowly glides their hand up the full length of their arm, lingering on the upper arm, then the shoulder, then resting their touch against the side of their neck.

[ HOLD ]:          while close to the receiver, the sender wordlessly takes a hold of their hand, for no other purpose than to be holding it.

[ PLAY ]:          while sitting together, the sender absently lifts the receiver’s hand, idly running their fingertips across the lines of their palms, mapping out every inch of their hand with slow, lazy touches.

[ GUIDE ]:          in the process of guiding the receiver through a crowded place, the sender’s hand protectively grazes against the small of their back

[ TOUCH ]:          while touching the receiver’s waist, the sender’s hand briefly dips beneath the hem of their shirt, skimming briefly across the bare skin of their waist.

[ CUP ]:           bringing both hands up to cup the receiver’s face, the sender draws them in closer to them in order to get a better look at their face.

[ TUG ]:          the sender tugs the receiver close against them by resting a hand against the small of their back, pulling them flush against their body.

[ HUSH ]:          while standing close to one another and hiding from pursuers, the sender reaches up and places a finger against the receiver’s lips to prevent them from speaking and revealing their location.

[ WRAP ]: when sitting astride a horse/motorcycle/etc. together, the sender reaches back, takes the receiver’s wrists, and gently pulls their arms around the sender’s waist in an embrace designed to keep the receiver safe, despite feeling remarkably intimate.

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DOUMA - Upper Rank Two.

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  ​​​​​​​ the waters of the expansive lagoon lap at the edges of the walkway ;   it creaks under the hefty weight of  A  PREDATOR  —  the holy  upper two  prowls the lotus pond for  wandering sheep,  ushering them one by one back into the temple as the final rays of sunlight leech out of the horizon.     the lanterns have been lit :   it's nearly time for the evening meal,  but the divine will not return without his  favorite  member of the flock.     lured in by her singing,  just as potent as his own  passive ability  to reel in desperate humans in need of belonging,  the polychrome priest pounces,  swooping down not to disembowel,  but to  KISS  —  petal-soft lips brush against the crown of her night-stained hair,  arms coming around both kotoha and her sleeping infant.

 ​​​​​​​ ​​​​​​​ though he tells himself he's merely  tightening the noose,  douma knows by the ache in  his reasonable facsimile of a heart  that leading this lamb to slaughter will be his greatest challenge yet :   moreso than abandoning his humanity and becoming a demon ;   moreso than ascending the ladder of the chosen to  UPPER  TWO.

 ​​​​​​​ ​​​​​​​ perhaps i haven't the need to kill her,  he muses as one wickedly-clawed hand comes up to cradle the base of inosuke's head with practiced gentleness.     perhaps she can simply  REMAIN.

    ❝           come,   little  lotus, ❞   he rumbles softly against her sweet-smelling locks,  ignoring the way his fangs  itch  in his jaw.     ❝ it's  time  for  the  evening  meal,   and  you  need  to  regain  your  strength. ❞

@chirirenge. → from here.

1 from douma to kotoha because im a menace ♥

the sun is setting , & kotoha's singing a soft lullaby to the child in her arms , hoping to be able to put him to sleep soon. babies need to get plenty of sleep to be able to grow , after all. she rocks inosuke slowly , looking up when she hears familiar footsteps behind her. kotoha's eyes land on douma , espression utterly besotted , & how could she not be ??

douma was so kind to her , kotoha might even say she loved him .

❛ douma-sama ... ❜

her cheeks turn pink as his lips brush the top of her head , heart skipping a beat in her chest as she shifts her hold on inosuke. yes , kotoha thinks , she was more than happy here , she was safe here.

soft eyes blink slowly , gaze softening as she smiles up from where she's sat , a kind of reverent adoration in her eyes.

she wishes things could always be like this , that she might always be this happy.

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spots to kiss.   since y’all like kissing prompts—and who wouldn’t, honestly–so have a collection of places to press your lips to. many of these work perfectly fine for platonic or familiar affection while some are a bit steamier, though what counts as what is of course naturally dependent on the muses and the context. send ‘ SPOTS TO KISS + [number] ’ to kiss my muse there, or with # for dealer’s choice. context and description allowed and encouraged. feel free to use the last option  ( 57 )  to give the kiss on any fantasy or scifi body parts not listed here.

a kiss on the top of the head.

a kiss to hair.

a kiss on the forehead.

a kiss on the space between eyebrows.

a kiss on the temple.

a kiss on the cheek.

a kiss on the eyelid or the undereye.

a kiss on the nose

a kiss on the ear.

a kiss on that space where jaw connects.

a kiss on the corner of the mouth.

a kiss on the cupid’s bow.

a kiss on the lips.

a kiss on the chin.

a kiss on the jawline.

a kiss on the back of the neck.

a kiss on the underside of the jaw.

a kiss on the throat.

a kiss on the side of the neck.

a kiss on where the back of the neck turns to shoulder.

a kiss above the collarbone.

a kiss along the collarbone.

a kiss on the space between collarbones.

a kiss on the shoulder.

a kiss on the bicep.

a kiss on the forearm.

a kiss on the elbow.

a kiss on the outside of the wrist.

a kiss on the inside of the wrist.

a kiss on the back of the hand.

a kiss on the palm.

a kiss on a finger.  ( which one? )

a kiss on the side of the ribs.

a kiss on the shoulder blade.

a kiss on the space between shoulder blades.

a kiss along the curve of the spine.

a kiss on the upper back.

a kiss on the lower back.

a kiss on the sternum.

a kiss on a pec / breast.

a kiss under the breast.

a kiss on where the sternum ends.

a kiss on the stomach.

a kiss on the navel.

a kiss on the hipbone.

a kiss on the ‘v’.

a kiss on the front of the thigh.

a kiss on the back of the thigh.

a kiss on the inner thigh.

a kiss on the knee.

a kiss on the calf.

a kiss on the ankle.

a kiss on the heel.

a kiss on the foot.

a kiss on a toe.

a kiss on an nsfw body part not listed here.  ( where? )

a kiss on a sfw body part not listed here.  ( where? )

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these have prob been done but im posting them anyways

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—𝐃𝐎𝐔𝐌𝐀 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍 𝐃𝐔𝐌𝐏 #𝟏.

          these range from simple clarifications of canon details to disparate overarching traits for my own version of douma.     my douma is  quite canon-divergent,  so these are very important to my portrayal!

—𝚊𝚙𝚙𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚎  &  𝚐𝚎𝚗𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚕  𝚊𝚋𝚒𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚎𝚜.

📿     douma's hair is  BIRCH  colored ;   this is a very light silver-and-gold blond,  hex code  #eeddcc.     this ghostly pale hair color,  in tandem with his beautiful rainbow-colored irises,  caused his parents,  and his village at large,  to consider him a liaison to the gods.     i use the  anime portrayal  of douma in my visualizations.

📿     among all the upper moons,  douma’s fangs are among the longest.     akaza’s may be the largest overall  ( at least until kaigaku shows up ),  but douma’s are long enough to be seen with the slightest parting of his lips.     he has the power to retract them but never does,  as they lend to his overall unearthly presence ;   the most loyal members of his flock aren’t afraid of them,  seeing them as another reason he is connected to the realm of the gods.     he shows great restraint with them,  and is excellent at using them to his advantage when giving oral,  although there is a razor’s edge between eating that and  eating that.     ( douma’s a total whore :   see below. )

📿     douma is very proud of his claws ;   they’re his second favorite thing he ever got from muzan  ( second to his fangs ).     they’re also the aspect of himself he most frequently alters with his generic demon shapeshifting ability :   while they’re almost always about an inch long and sharp enough to skin a peach without damaging the flesh,  they come in a wide variety of colors,  ranging from his usual periwinkle lavender to black, gold, red, and violet.     he can also retract them but hates doing so, for the same reason he hates hiding his fangs.

—𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚌𝚝  &  𝚖𝚊𝚗𝚗𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚜𝚖𝚜.

📿     douma is a  POLYGLOT,  meaning he is fluent in many different languages.     he primarily speaks  japanese  and  english,  but you may find him using words or phrases in  hindi,  lhasa tibetan,  punjabi,  urdu,  dogri,  kashmiri,  and  dzongkha.     you may have noticed that these languages are all associated with heavily buddhist countries ;   this is no coincidence,  as douma has traveled to quite a few temples both in and out of japan in an effort to expand his own knowledge of the divine.     maybe he’s truly seeking answers ;   maybe he’s trying to find better ways to brainwash his followers ;   and maybe he’s just trying to convert a few hopeless humans to his own cult.     one way or the other,  he has a vast lexicon at his disposal,  and can communicate with just about anyone who enters into his temple.

—𝚜𝚎𝚡𝚞𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚢  &  𝚛𝚘𝚖𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚎.

📿     upper two’s sexual preference is  often.     being  OMNISEXUAL,  with the heady belief that pleasure is a gateway to nirvana,  its rare that douma goes a day without some sort of sexual contact.     he instructs his cult in this on a regular basis,  giving them a set of very simple rules to follow but letting them bed whomever they wish  —  including himself.     indeed,  much like strength is currency among demons,  sex is a form of currency in the paradise faith cult ;   the most virile ascend the ranks and end up among douma’s most favored,  while the chaste or underperforming are among the first to be eaten.     their guidelines are easy to follow and protect his best interests :   safe,  sane,  and consensual ;   no stirring the pot ;   absolutely no outsiders ;   and only the hardest workers,  and the most penitent,  have the privilege of asking him for sexual favors.     of course,  he doesn’t have to obey his own rules :   oral sex frequently turns into a  midnight snack  if his hunger overwhelms his horny.

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Before and After

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   [   for  @fallesto   //   from  here.   ]

   he'd only just finished  his supper  when he hears someone on the other side of the shogi.     a soft footfall,  no louder than a sigh of wind  —  but just enough to betray the presence of  a disobedient little mouse.     the holy one wipes his mouth on the back of his hand,  leaving streaks of precious blood behind,  blood which he eagerly swipes clean with his tongue :   and by the time he has approached and pressed a keen ear to the aging paper,  there is only silence on the other side.    but a  scent  lingers there,  the scent of old bruises and japanese primrose and mother's milk  —  𝐊𝐎𝐓𝐎𝐇𝐀.

   cleaning up is a simple ordeal,  a ritual no more strenuous than washing his claws in the  temizuya  or reciting the lotus sutra :   douma is a quick and efficient predator who knows how to do things quietly and calmly.     when things go well,  it's effortless,  almost second nature to him  —  and when they don't,  it's  A  BLOODBATH.     fortunately tonight's meal was particularly well executed,  and the remaining bones and offal are swiftly hidden away for later consumption before he exits his chambers in search of his newest sheep.

   kotoha is barely strong enough to nurse her child,  let alone wander the vast halls of his temple unaccompanied  —  and  at night,  no less.     she had been inches away from  ruining everything.     this thought is not lost on him,  and so he resolutely chides her when he finds her attempting to feign sleep in her own quarters.     her thoroughly disheartened expression and fervent apology cause his ire to simmer :   she had meant well,  in her human naïveté,  and such a fearful response to his anger will guarantee that she won't make such a mistake again.     the divine heaves a sigh,  allowing his shoulders to sag as his anger ebbs away like a receding tide  —  what a strange power she has ;   no human has ever stirred such a sensation in me.

    ❝ i  appreciate  your  concern,   little  lotus, ❞  douma croons in a soft,  almost apologetic tone as he sits in seiza beside her,  one clawed hand reaching out and stroking through her silky ebony locks.     ❝ but  you  needn't  worry  about  me.     stay  here  with  your  child  when  it's  dark  outside :   the  temple  is  very  easy  to  get  lost  in  at  night,   and  that  is  very  dangerous  for  someone  as  injured  as  you  are.     rest  assured  that  if  i  need  you,   i  will  come  to  you. ❞

   his wickedly-sharp talons just barely brush the swell of her bandaged cheek,  a feather-light touch from cold murderous steel.     kotoha doesn't flinch away,  a testament to how much she already trusts him.     she is healing well,  and the holy one won't be able to use her convalescence as an excuse to keep her shut up at night much longer.     on the futon behind him,  inosuke stirs and gurgles :   without a second thought, upper two reaches out to tickle the infant's chubby belly with those same daggerlike claws that had slit the throats of three women only an hour ago.     the boy  giggles  almost melodiously,  and  something  kindles to life in the divine's empty chest.

   it feels like a heartbeat.

    ❝ is  there  anything  i  can  do  for  you  now  that  i'm  here  with  you?     are  you  hungry?     you  didn't  eat  much  at  the  evening  meal  tonight ;   are  you  feeling  all  right? ❞

[chirirenge]

[chirirenge]

          i need to take a moment to be  incendiary.

          since the release of the new season and douma’s first true appearance,  ive noticed a lot of troubling things in the fandom.     my thoughts on just how bad this season was aside,  i’m particularly incensed by the fandom’s treatment of douma,  and the way douma is portrayed by a lot of people who play him.     no i will not name names,  this isn’t a call-out post or anything of the sort :   they’re allowed to play him how they want,  but i’m also allowed to be irritated by it in my own private space.     it’s one thing to lean hard into the  douma is bbygirl  meme   ( believe me,  in jest i do too ),  but i’ve seen a lot of people take it way too far and use it to overlook just how twisted and disgusting he is behind that dumb gleeful visage.     douma is a monster.     douma would rather toy with you and use you for all you’re worth until you’re an empty husk and then  eat your lifeless remains  than entertain you woobifying him.

          i’ve spent a good chunk of my life,  which is considerably longer than most people in the rpc since i’m 31 and a real-life victorian relic,  researching and studying serial killers,  cults and cult mentality,  psychology,  and theology.     douma is quite literally the buddhist anthropophagous version of roch thériault and shoko asahara,  with a bit of jim jones and charles manson mixed in.     i don’t feel that makes me  better  than anyone else interested in douma or writing douma,  but i do think it gives me insight into his behavior and mindset that a lot of people may not consider when they look at him.     given my fascination with the above topics,  it’s super irritating to see douma dumbed down into something fetishy just because he’s pretty and this is the internet.     i’m not surprised :   just annoyed and disappointed.     he’s upper two for a reason :   he isn’t to be taken lightly just because he appears friendly   ( emphasis on  APPEARS ). 

          i remind you that  i do not consider myself part of the fandom  for reasons exactly like this,  and this is also part of the reason i’ve been staying away from tumblr recently.     i don’t appreciate when the muses ive put so much love and attention and research into are given surface-level or lewd-only treatment.     let douma be sexy without being sexualized  and  while still being a gross violent selfish deluding cannibal.