#domo kun kin

[citizenoftmrrwlnd]

stimboard for : domo-kun (domo) without specifications

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[quizkiller]

[FIXED POST]

- Azhu/Mike - 19 years (birthday: 19/07) - I am from Argentina, my native language is Spanish! ESP/ENG.. - I use only he/him pronouns. - Autistic + celiac + transmasc + pansexual demiaroace (Taken with: @kotshi) - Fandoms: Jackbox (Trivia Murder Party 1/2), TBOI, Mother/Earthbound, Pokespe/Pokemon, Hotline Miami 1/2, Underhero, Domo-kun, etc.. - Music: Korn, Andy Poland, Sanity Falls, Ruby My Dear, Nero's Day at Disneyland, Perturbator, etc.. - Kins: [REDACTED] from TMP (fictionkin), Isaac of TBOI..

Accounts that I run:

@aesthetic-mother : Account dedicated to the Mother/Earthbound fandom, with cute things to decorate (it is somewhat abandoned)

@redactedkin : Account dedicated to my kin/IRL(? [REDACTED]..and sometimes to the whole Trivia Murder Party!

@the-binding-of-quizzkiler : Account dedicated of TBOI !! (inactive??)

My carrd

My Pronouns.page

Like and add you as mutual! u can also talk to me in DM, I do not bite!!

[pasavaria-blog]

Tragedy of the Oblivious

A short story by Pasavaria

After many months of cruel contemplation, she has finally made the decision to act upon her horrendous thoughts; She glanced upon her dark room for the final time in her ordinary life. On a nearby work table, she disregards a collection of last minute school work, dying to be forgotten the very day it is due. She sees her goldfish confined in their cage of solitude, dead from days of neglect. Laid upon her room is a heap of fetid panties and bras resting on the ground, sticky from late-night carnal pleasures. She glances on her photogenic window casting the beautiful sun rise every morning, which in her eyes, gave her nothing but sadness. She would never experience the light of her life greet her in the dew of the morning. She also noticed the only friend she thinks she has in the world: the glass shard she merely utilized to penetrate her long evolved dermis. She also realized that she had a family that she believes put little effort to her actual feelings. On the night-stand which she picked out her-self when she was a pure innocent child, was a picture frame of her beloved family of 3, overlooking the deep, gaping, and empty, yet captivating hole of the snowy and cold Grand Canyon. On her bed, laid the Dora the Explorer bed sheet her aunt gifted her during one of her very first birthdays. On that vibrant bed sheet, laid a plush Domo-Kun whom she would cry, weep, and rejoice alongside throughout her hardships with heartbreaks and anger fits, not resolving anything productive. Observing her laptop, shattered from her father’s abuse, she began to realize that her kin, who were destined to teach her the right way to live, truly did not care for her sacred emotions. So, she looked upon her savior: the noose rung around her neck, secured to the white ceiling fan, prepared to carry her to death. From all of her reflection upon her sad and meaningless life, she was doleful from all the hate she received and regretful of the pain she has and potentially can cause. Through all of this, though, she is yet optimistic to finally meet her demise to escape her biased perspective of pain. She kicks down the plastic stool which her mother uses to reach life-sustaining supplies for the family, and the true agony begins.

Her only focus is on the horrific throbbing pain overwhelming her throat; her esophagus was swelling up with thick phlegm and blood. Her arms were flexing harder than ever, attempting to escape the grasp of the black duct-tape she trapped her-self in. The pain was overwhelming her and could take very little more it. Soon enough, however, her body saves her from the trouble of experiencing torture. Hypoxia and adrenaline save the day, giving her time to drift in her thoughts for one last time.

She begins to recollect the heart warming memories of her greatest friends, her mother and father accompanying her along many local expeditions, and accomplishments that started all the way from the bottom to the top. With those amazing thoughts, comes memories of bullies and tragedies which only occurred in her thoughts as of right now, of all times. She begins to realize that it was all worth the time and effort. Her sad, regretful thoughts tell her to cry, but it was far too late. Her nude body, ironically scarred head to toe with the words, “I am saved”, painted the desolate room. Her blood-shot and dead eyes, seeking salvation, soon dullen and glance upon the dark room once more.