Do you still post Douma content? Saw some and love them
this is probably gonna be the last thing i post here before i abandon this account, just so people know my plans. i'm not planning to come back here - i've been harassed, stalked and fakeclaimed over multiple blogs (and my partner was targeted additionally on a separate occasion) over the course of years and while there's been a dry period of said harassment, i'm just generally tired of being here for the associations of it all.
over time i got less and less positive engagement with my art and posts, so there wasn't much to enjoy about being here. it was very hard even on good days, and being dragged into shit i absolutely did not deserve and had to step away from was just a lot for me. it was cruel and disgustingly ableist behaviour, whether i deserved it or i did not.
i do have another art blog but since i'm still unsure if this is gonna spark up Stalking and Harassment 2.0 The Much Anticipated Sequel i'm just gonna skedaddle and say if you find it then great! if you don't, have a great life!
Being kept within the walls of his temple — it was often that Dōma had come to hear of the local news. It began as one victim falling to the demon lord; a single soul wandering too deep into that haunting night — but as people began to disappear, words thus were shared. Rumours spread, unforgivingly. And it was one night that someone had confessed something curious to doma, pure moments before they left without another word.
“I’m going to become a demon,” was Dōma’s initial exposure to the presence of Muzan. He sat amidst his cushion, and it was the first words that night that made him lift his head in piqued curiosity. There was nothing that stirred in his heart for this man; no concern for his safety, no fear for this creature unleashing unwanted company to his temple.
Truth be told, Dōma had been alerted to the disappearing numbers amidst his temple’s town – but it was only tonight that this confession arose. As the man disappears into the night, Dōma merely watches, knowing in his heart he may never see him again.
***
And he never did.
It was only days before the man’s wife had come to him similarly, with quivering lip and shaking hands — she placed her head to the floor and cried out.
“You have to tell me, Lord Dōma–” her voice was desperate, yet, he felt no pain for her, “You have to tell me what my husband said to you before his disappearance!”
It was pathetic. He knows her tears were an unnecessary mess on the floor. Despite this, he looks to her with a compassionate gaze. How she will never know how little he felt for her situation.
A smile from Dōma was a blessing for so many, and as she finally gazes up to meet that smile — she immediately seems to breathe a little slower. She was calming down.
“Your husband did confess something to me,” he admits, “But… as someone who visits this temple, it’s my duty to keep you safe, you know? I don’t want anything bad happening to you, or for you to make any reckless decisions…”
And almost as if something sinister squirmed beneath the skin; a silent impulse to see what would happen to her, Dōma gives in, “But I will tell you.”
That same night, mirroring the one a few nights back — She rushed out the door with a sense of urgency, as if she alone could face the monster that plagued this town. Dōma watched her leave with empty eyes, knowing in his heart he may never see her again.
***
And he never did.
It was almost comical to the temple leader, to see one human follow another in desperation to bring the dead back. They were mindless – did they not see that they were effortlessly feeding themselves to a never-ending maw, swallowing them down one-by-one? Less and less visitors came to the temple.
This was becoming more of an issue by the day, and it was during a lonely afternoon spent in his garden, he was finally approached. As per protocol, he gives her a gentle smile as he did for everyone else — He recognised her; the daughter of the first couple to meet their end.
She gives a bow, “Lord Dōma.”
Dōma nods back to her, “Great to see you! you haven’t been here in a long time, I know,” a pause, “How have you been? I know things have been difficult for you, lately.”
He couldn’t help but notice her stiffen at the last thing he’d said. Ah – a mistake on his part. He should have been more gentle. Regardless, he keeps his stubborn smile as she responds, “I’ve been…”
Her eyes avert to the side, avoiding his own.
Then, she gives her head a shake. Dōma noticed her hair was usually much more well kept than this — her eyes also seemed so lifeless and hollow. The reckless decision of her mother left the child alone, did it not? That had to be it.
“I wanted to ask you something,” even her voice was weak — how unfortunate, “I’ve been told you can perform miracles. May I ask for one?”
Dōma mimicked momentary surprise, only to correct himself and fall back to the calm, gentle expression he usually carried, “Ah, of course! What would you like me to do for you?”
Despite his question, he had an idea of what she may ask for.
It was only then, that she finally met his gaze – a fire – crackling, burning, growing, behind dark hues. She requests one thing, and then like all the others, she left, “I want you to ask that — that thing — to cough up my parents.”
She maintains that ever-scorching gaze.
“Whether they’re dead or alive doesn’t matter to me,” she continues, “I just want to see them, one last time.”
***
Dōma sighed, as he sits boredly in his cushion. Barely anyone had come in today (were they all dead?) — and he still had that miracle to perform, too. The quiet never agreed with him, it always felt weighted and sat weirdly in his gut. He had nothing else to do – so he might as well go seeking out the demon.
***
It was funny, how Dōma didn’t really consider whether he’d come back or not. Death was merely a concept to him — if anything, an itch that he’d wanted to scratch, but alas, could never really toy with. He smoked and drank regularly — all to feel something, all to feel something.
It didn’t matter whether he’d come back or not, he knew in his mind — numbers of visitors waned more as the days went by, and soon, there would be no one here at all. It didn’t matter if he followed into that dark fate that befell so many – it would be insignificant, just as every other death to have ensnared this town.
Life went on. He didn’t even know how to fight — he went into this knowing he had no chance of surviving, and yet, he stepped ever-dully into the night. It didn’t even feel like a conclusion to Dōma – just something that was to happen, and then people would forget about it. It was the cycle that death held; as much as people would inevitably cling to his memory,
People forget, and they move on. He would exist as nothing but a hurdle.
(And he couldn’t even guarantee that people would mourn him.
Isn’t that a silly thing to think about?).
***
“Are you Dōma?”
The voice cuts through the shadows, and soon, Dōma was facing someone. Strange, how he’d expected the monster to have such large teeth and claws — maybe scales or fur, and one-thousand eyes and horns. That was just his imagination, he supposed.
Instinctively, he wears a smile towards him. Laughing in such a welcoming tone, he waves towards Muzan, “Hiya!”
Muzan’s expression was blank – how strange, as if he were looking in a reflection. However, there emanated a strange energy from him, Dōma could sense the tension riding the air, even as he pathetically tried to dissipate it.
“I think I’ve been… looking for you? Mayb–”
Dōma begins to speak, before Muzan ruthlessly severs any words from the air. Muzan interrupts him, “Stop that.”
Dōma’s eyes flutter, “Huh?”
“That pathetic display.”
Dōma stayed completely baffled — he’d never really paid notice to it before, and yet, he knew something was unable to be ignored within. Had the air grown colder, or was that a chill running from his fingertips up to his spine?
A little awkwardly, his expression comes to shift — he desperately looks for words to say, but without a mask, where was their significance? It almost felt like if he wasn’t smiling, or frowning – crying or laughing – was there any point to saying… anything?
But before he thinks too hard about it, a question comes from Dōma, “It’s… not nice to point out someone’s faults like that.” What was he saying? Why bother saying such a stupid thing?
“Do you want to talk about kindness?” A scoff, from the demon king, “Where is your kindness, Dōma?”
Muzan lifts his hand to point at him.
“Your followers have come to me – one by one,” plum eyes pierce, “They have all said the same thing, how wonderful of a leader you are. How you have brought them closer to the gods, and how you have endlessly helped them…”
And then, Muzan says, “...But then, if you are so perfect, Dōma, why did they come to me? Why did they let me take them from you?”
Dōma was speechless. Why did Muzan bother pointing this out at all? Was it just to ruthlessly tear into him for the sake of it? He didn’t understand. Would it not be more effective to cut down on time and just swallow him whole? Perhaps it would be less confronting — The temple leader shifts uncomfortably from one foot to the other.
“I don’t know,” he finally responds after a lengthy pause of silence, “One seemed – um – intent on being turned into a demon. He confessed it to me before seeking you out.”
“Did you feel anything for him?” Muzan immediately lashes back at Dōma, only for another pause to befall the two of them. The demon king continues to say, “I know you didn’t, I can see it in your eyes.”
Muzan continues on, “I don’t know why you bothered carrying a mask to begin with; there’s little point to coddling humans when you’re only leading them to their deaths. You failed to keep that man from seeking me out — because the reality of the situation was, there was no emotional consequence for you.
“You express discomfort. You’ve even taken the effort in pretending to show me shock as I say these things,” despite Dōma looking to the side and beginning to recoil, Muzan’s gaze refuses to waver from his ever-shrinking form, “Who forced you to be anything other than what you really are?”
Dōma didn’t know how to react. In all his years of being taught by his parents, he’d never been confronted in such a way. He remained silent.
“I have a proposition for you, Dōma,” Muzan says, and it’s only then that Dōma looks to him, “You will work for me, and you will never have to pretend again. You have potential, like this — I will extend my hand to you and rescue you from a life of pretending.”
And as if the devil himself was striking a deal, who was Dōma to question him? He walked into this unforgiving night with nothing short of expectation to die — and here he was, being given a deal…
…And a promise, to be different.
Dōma’s lips press to a thin line. He still remains recoiled, small hands cradling his arms — Dare he take a step forward?
No, instead he will crash to his knees; patheticly.
And what a joke it was, living all his life expecting to feel something someday, and yet that someday never came. Expressing himself in nothing but porcelain masks, mere mockeries of what it was to be human, nobody cared to crack them — to chip away the empty shell hiding behind them.
Tonight, he expected to die — but the devil came to him; the first to see him as he really was.
And he felt shame.
He just wanted to be normal.
But he was not.
Dōma doesn’t even look up at him. And yet, in all his vulnerabilities — he thought Muzan to be the one opportunity he would ever have, to be human again. Even if it would turn him into an unfathomable, cannibalistic monster — he would be okay with that.
He just wanted to be normal.
He didn’t feel remorse for the life he was to leave behind, whether he died here or transformed. Neither regret nor anger nor sadness, only emptiness – and yet, he knew what remained in his heart; a sensation of suffocation. He needed to breathe. At long last, he needed to be free of the confines of eternal paradise.
And perhaps it was foolish to believe that he could run from his family’s legacy by becoming a demon. It was childish, as he’d always been, to think that he could break away from the unfathomable responsibility.
“Save me,” were his last words as a demon, “Save me from this.”
***
Dōma’s eyes gently flutter, as he comes to wake. Had he passed out–?
As he brings himself up, there was only him. No Muzan, no company. As he clears his throat, and scratches his newly bloodied head — he brings himself slowly to his feet, hobbling gradually back to his temple,
i just!! want to write something! i'm better at writing than i am at making art + it uses less energy so it's additionally easier. if any of y'all have a canon moment you'd like me to write a mini fic for, please let me know! ✨🌈
