xistentiaooc | Test Drive Meme #6 (tw violence)

Entry tags:

#tdm

Test Drive Meme #6 (tw violence)

Test Drive Meme #6

I want neither revenge nor relief.

CRASH LANDING

Exit one dimension, enter the next. It was chaos: pressure against your ears, light bending in an impossible, unimaginable way. The very molecules of your body vibrating against one another. If you have windows, the view outside makes no sense. Even if not, your hands, your face, your feet seem like an uncertain thing. It's the feel of reality itself tearing apart, reshaping, reconnecting, thread by thread.

And suddenly, there's a beach— or ocean, whichever you land in. Smoke. Fire. Salt water churning up, fizzing around.

Maybe you crash, in a ship wrecking into sand. Maybe you merely stumble out of a portal, a ragged wormhole in space. Or maybe you fall off the back of an incredible steed, some creature that carried you into this place. Either way, there's pandemonium around you. Incredibly, severe injuries are far and few between— nobody's screaming about the dead. But you might have to help pull someone free of wreckage, or move quickly to salvage burning belongings from the landing craft. Maybe it's the crafts themselves, that you're trying to salvage.

Likely, you don't know them, these other strangers who arrived here^[1]. Maybe you don't trust them— you just came out of a dying world, after all. But you all have one thing in common: you're here now.

When you get a second to breathe, maybe you'll see it. The brilliant green forest across the sand. Beyond that, the glint of a faraway city.

BATTLE WITH D.E.S.T.I.N.Y.

November has barely begun, when chaos strikes again ^[2]. Perhaps you've had weeks to settle in, finding yourself a new home and getting accustomed to the neighborhoods... or maybe you've had no time at all. Your daemon warns you of a massive invasion coming from the West, the ocean where you first arrived.

The enemy has come for you again. D.E.S.T.I.N.Y., the cosmic threat to not only your homeworld but the entire Multiverse.

When the violence makes land, it's shockingly similar to the exit from your original world, yet mashed in with the experiences and genres and world details of other refugees— soldiers in red armor wielding weapons of all kinds, both advanced and rudimentary; airships, bizarre monsters; firestorms and quakes that seem sentient in the way that they move, pursuing people through the beach and the forest. You see the injured and the dead, and people running in panic. Heat and gunfire break up the ordinary peace of wilderness, driving animals into stampedes and filling the sky with panicking birds.

There are children and doctors and engineers among the many refugees of Xistentia, and not everyone can fight back— but maybe you're one of those who can.

Think fast— that's a crimson spear launching at your head now.

The city's defenses are buckling too. While ordinarily, the civlization possesses unnatural physics that subvert violence, the onslaught starts to wear agains them. The only safe place is the Temple. Here, civilians and injured combatants are banding together to try and boost morale... which coincidentally also can boost the defenses of the land by with the energy collected from emotional connectivity. For better or worse, there is plenty of negative feeling to go around, the air thick with fear.

Whether you're recovering from injury or afraid to fight, you can still contribute here. Tell a story, sing a song, make a meal out of one of the cookfires started in the hallway, or even help with medicine. One thing is for certain: we're in this together.

NETWORK

Today, it's peace time. By now, the city of Xistentia has a population of over 500 people. Shops line the streets of downtown, and increasingly well-trodden paths will take you into the agricultural zones nearer to the forest or even down to the beach. There are still distinctive animal presences around— careful with that— but the most common critters you'll see are birds crapping on your stuff outside and tiny winged hairless people creeping your food.

One afternoon, you are taken from whatever you’re doing - taking a walk through the city, sunning yourself on the beach, running around in the forest shoring up defenses - by a message, appearing on your Daemon’s network screen. It’s a simple notification, that reads:

TEXT MESSAGE SENT

It would appear that your daemon accidentally sent a text message misfire.

CHOOSE YOUR OWN ADVENTURE

hells yeah

Footnotes

Some of these can be nameless, plot-device NPCs to facilitate interactions! But even in this case, please avoid gore in describing their current state of being. Anyone dead or catastrophically injured will have disappeared by the time your characters make it to Xistentia. There are no corpses or dying here.
This is connected to the war plot, coming up in November. Please read the announcement for more information! Features include good, old-fashioned violence, hurt/comfort, and "drift compatibility."

Threaded | Flat

Battle: I'm ready to take them down now
[Ann has seen a lot of monsters in the last year, both the ones that look like them on the outside and the kind who look human but are even more disgusting on the inside, so the sight of the red soldiers doesn't scare her. Some of them even look like Shadows, kind of.

What scares her is what they're doing. Even when her world was falling apart thanks to that dumbass giant cup, the Shadows hadn't been attacking people. They'd made them happy to be slaves or made them vanish, but they hadn't...hadn't…

She squashes down that fear as much as she can, the fear that belonged to the helpless puppet she tries not to be anymore, charging down the beach with a fierceness she doesn't quite feel. Not without the others here to give her strength. She hasn't tried to draw Carmen to her since she arrived, not knowing if her other self can come out in this place, but she has to try.

She stands right in front of a line of those red-armored creatures, taking a heavy breath before holding out her hands, hoping for the first time that in a moment her sweatshirt and leggings will be replaced with that ridiculous latex suit]

Come to me, Carmen.

[it's only breathed; she doesn't mean to scare the creatures off with just words. Because if this works, something much more terrifying should do the job.

She feels herself enveloped in that strange flame, feels the mask back on her face and the long whip in her hand. That's a relief, but not as much as the sensation of the large woman-shaped being rising up behind her, almost giggling as it whispers in Ann's mind]

We will avenge them

[Ann doesn't need to ask who Carmen means--the bodies both laying silent on the ground and running screaming around them. She's sure the sight of her with her whip and machine gun and the glowing being behind her won't help their fear, but they will understand when she's saved them]

Yes. [she says, simply, before running down the beach at the nearest red-armored being] Go, Carmen! [this is said much more joyfully, as she lets the Persona throw out a ball of flame, hoping it will do something. Sorry, any already scared people who haven't seen much like this yet, a teenager in a red latex catsuit with a big giant fire throwing lady can't be helping your nerves]

wildcard
[if you want the sweet-looking angry Phantom Theif somewhere else, hit me up at

keenquing]

ＢＡＴＴＬＥ

( that's the thing, about peter nureyev. you never seen him until it's too late, and by the time he makes his presence known, he's gone too fast for you to fully comprehend who -- or what -- he is. a flash of starlight black in the trees, plucking the crimson soldiers off one by one by one. it's not an effective war tactic, really, but he's not actively trying to fight them. he has no interest in war or fighting. the black shadow of the trees makes his way further to the city, instead, stealing lives for where their numbers are more sparse, and where peter can just

disappear, as it is.

at the edge of the forest, he finally settles on two feet, hands buried deep in the pockets of a well fitted jacket, a black bird on his shoulder cooing peacefully. he walks in opposition to all the people going off to war, equally contrary to all the wounded being shuffled off back into the city, people bleeding or screaming. peter just walks, sliding in between the clusters of people interrupting his flow. )

ＴＨＥＴＥＭＰＬＥ

( he's not suited for war, he fully accepts this. in place of battle armor or finely blacksmithed weapons, peter has a tailored dress following the soft points of his body, and a single knife he swings around his hand, graceful and thoughtless, while he thinks quietly and so himself. he's only just arrived to the temple, but the peaceful charm is quick to run dry on him. he pokes his fingers around eventually, bored with all the disabled tech, but pleased enough to find the chronological cartographer still lit up with energy.

it doesn't take long to find his name, peter nureyev, sitting towards the bottom of the list. ( it takes equally as long for him to see juno steel on there, somewhere. )

that'll be a problem. potentially.

feel free to find him tapping around the screen, somewhat obviously trying to find someway to edit and change the contents of this hard drive -- although for what purpose, it's difficult to say. )

ＡＬＳＯＴＨＥＴＥＭＰＬＥ／ＮＥＴＷＯＲＫ

( more leisurely in the temple now, peter is seated on some console, the magpie daemon JUNOD cuddled sweetly in the palm of his hand. elegant fingers stroke over the back of its head, lightly patting its soft feathers. unbeknownst to him, the daemon starts documenting his words. )

You know, I do think a single magpie is meant to represent sorrow. You know, the old rhyme? How does it go ... ( he chuckles. ) Two for joy. Three for girl and four for boy. Five for silver, six for gold, seven for a secret never to be told.

( unconsciously, he becomes aware of how much he has in common with magpies, although it takes number seven to really sell him on it. he sighs. )

Eight for a wish, nine for a kiss, and ten for a bird whom you must not miss.

★
DAEMON: JUNOD

You know, I do think a single magpie is meant to represent sorrow. You know, the old rhyme? How does it go ... Two for joy. Three for girl and four for boy. Five for silver, six for gold, seven for a secret never to be told.

Eight for a wish, nine for a kiss, and ten for a bird whom you must not miss.

( The feeling of being ripped from one world and thrust into another is disorientating enough on a good day. To someone who comes from a place of candlelight and frozen wastelands, however, it's even worse. What little he's learnt about swimming involved another, calmer sojourn across universes, and it took him too long to remember he had to kick up. Thankfully his fingers had caught on something - debris from an explosion, maybe - aiding him in his efforts surface wise.

Feel free to ignore the soaked and leather clad prince upon the shore. He's busy at the moment, coughing sea water inelegantly onto the sand.

It takes him a long time to orientate himself, his thoughts a churning mass. The time he spent in Eudio doesn't slot neatly into his memories so much as it assaults across his thoughts, questions crowding at the forefront even as his eyes burn and his lungs ache. William struggles to his feet - weighed down by his attire of fur and metal armour - but his keen blue eyes don't waste time in searching for the person nearest. He has to do something. ) Are you alright? ( His hands reach for them, to help them perhaps, or to comfort. ) Are you hurt?

( The Ponyta finds him a little way away. William doesn't see the horse like creature at first, too lost in his thoughts where he sits with his back against a tree. Upon hearing the hooves though, he looks up.

And smiles. )

I remember you.

( But his daemon wastes no time in explaining everything. That is has taken this form for a reason, that it isn't the pokemon he had before. William would have figured that out himself, actually. It breathed fire, not electronics. With every bit of information though, the frown between his brows deepens. Eudio, gone. Hagan, gone. Everything he has been through, everything he has done, all for naught. And then he is told of an invasion. Warned of it. His gaze cuts to the horizon, fingertips resting at the sword strapped to his waist. This would have frightened him before, but when he stands there is very little of the timid boy he used to be in his frame. Instead there is stern dignity there. )

Then let me meet this destiny. I have a few things I would like to impart upon them.

( It does not take him long thereafter to reach the battle, the shape of his daemon helps - useful when you can ride it - and he launches himself into the fray within seconds knocking a spear from the sky with a flick of his own weapon. To the target, he is quick to pull them back upon their feet, voice cutting through the chaos. ) Stay behind me.

( He finds his way to the tavern before he attempts to find his home, bones aching but something like satisfaction uncoiling inside of his chest. It was a hard fight, but a good one, and William knows the best place to start gathering information is with the people. By now he at least looks less soaked through, his hair braided loosely to keep it out of his way and his armour strapped to the Ponyta's side. The only thing that suggests he isn't a stranger to a fight is the scar that runs with jagged edges from just below his ear to curve half way across his throat.

But when he leans against the bartop, there's something innocently friendly in his stance. His eyes are kind when they flicker around the small space, they invite conversation with anyone who passes. He wastes no time in initiating it either, deciphering a list of drinks all the while addressing who is nearest, indicating the menu. Help him out here. )

What would you suggest I choose?

daemon: dagrny
remind me how to work the rain box.

( Wildcard. Hit me up at athosing. )

crash landing.
[He woke up like he had so many times with the distinct, but familiar, feeling that his body had taken some kind of massive damage. His clothing and bits of debris around him only reinforced the distant echo of injuries. As usual, he was completely uninjured, not a scratch, not a bruise, nothing.

This place didn't smell at all familiar and that, more than anything else, had him immediately on edge. The people around him, other survivors it looked like, were people he'd never met before. He knew that with complete certainty.

Gracefully, he got to his feet and took a moment to brush sand off his somewhat tattered pants and shirt and then run a hand through his hair.

Time to figure out what the hell was going on.]

battle+temple.
[Daken was good in a fight. Very good. In fact, most days he wondered if it was the only thing he was good at. Killing was in his DNA and these creatures felt familiar. His memory was spotty, but he knew they were somewhat responsible for... everything. And now they'd shown up to finish the job. He was prepared to make that as difficult as he could for them.

Unfortunately, not everyone is quite so good and he can't help but sigh as he came across yet another injured fighter, or maybe just an unlucky civilian. They're unconscious, but he can hear a pulse and there's a lull in the fighting. It might also benefit him to endear himself to the locals, so he throws the man over his shoulder and heads to the temple, which seems to be the central place of refuge within the city.]

Medic! [At first, quick glance he doesn't look so great himself. Some of the blood is his own, most isn't, but a closer inspection will reveal no injuries. The man he's rescued, however, will need some attention, but doesn't look critical.]

network/daemon shenanigans.
List your available commands again. Can't I make you not speak unless spoken to? [Daken grumbled at his daemon, a wolverine named IRONYD. He hated it. Everything about it was basically there to mock him. He was sure of it.] Don't look at me like that either. If I want your opinion or your judgments I'll ask you for it.

DAEMON: IRONYD
I want your opinions.

[He glances down when the notification pops up.] ... What message? I didn't tell you to send any message. [He inhales deeply and sighs, muttering under his breath.] You're the worst.

crash landing;

[ You would think, that having done this before-- having seen world-ending events come and the world still not end-- Lana might be prepared for the apocalypse. But this time, she wasn't ready. She wasn't there to fight off the end of the world, she was in an ambulance, on the way to the emergency room, barely conscious. When it comes, there's a bright flash of light in the sky, and suddenly gravity ceases to exist. Lana hears screaming and the wrenching of metal, which stirs her awake, and suddenly she can feel the wind whipping her hair around as it seems the front half of the ambulance has been torn away.

Then, she's falling.

When the half-ambulance lands on the beach, Lana tumbles out of it, pulling herself out of the wreck onto the sand with her arms-- her legs are probably broken, and DAMN if that isn't just her fucking luck. She coughs, squinting up at the unfamiliar beach. This doesn't look like New York. This doesn't look like anywhere she's been, except-- ]

Where am I? Eudio? What's going on?

[ A bright pink spider, about the size of a golf ball, skitters across the sand towards her. Normally she would shy away from something so fucking gross and creepy, but after what she's just been through and the day she's had, she's all out of fucks to give. ]

What the fuck are you?

network;

[ Lana is healing. Slowly. There is no formal physical therapy, but she has to get back into walking somehow. So the best way she figures to do that is by just putting one foot in front of the other, clutching onto the wall as she takes step after shaky step.

...And then inevitably falls on her ass. ]

Motherfucking bitch-ass cunt FUCK!!

[ Her daemon, the spider, chirps and announces, TEXT MESSAGE SENT. ]

daemon: milesd
motherfucking bitch-ass cunt fuck.

☂ battle

[Cool, sure, it's fucking battle city in the forest, that's fine, he can totally work with that and isn't at all about the lose his godamn shit because he's a single wizard without any back up. That's not at all how this is supposed to go, but Taako luckily is adaptable, even if his internal monologue is just a whole lot of cussing and complaining.

All he has is a wand, but that's all he really needs to fuck some shit up. At one point, thick black tentacles rise from the ground amongst the trees, grabbing the soldiers that Taako lured down that way, battering them against each other until they stop moving. Other times there's lightning arcing across soldiers, or fireballs burning them up. He's still not entirely sure about this whole thing, but that doesn't mean he can't pick who the bad guy is, and fuck them up.

Downside: he's also dressed in red, though his is a simple robe over his regular clothes and the ensemble features a wizard hat rather than some kind of armored helm, but he's still a little way about someone mistaking him for an enemy.

(Not enough to take off the robe, of course. He doesn't want to lose it, not when it's a good way for the rest of the IPRE to immediately spot him.)]

☂ temple

Alright thugs, move outta the way, Taako's here to save the day from whatever the fuck you're burning over there.

[He's in the process of not so gently ushering someone away from one of the cooking fires, taking their spot instead as he surveys the supplies in front of him.

It's, well, it's not the greatest, but he's used to working around limits like this and all he has to do is draw out his wand and start casting. Whatever he can't find at hand is transmuted from pre-existing ingredients, usually nothing too dramatic, but he does turn a handful of leaves into a few cloves of garlic because there's some things he refuses to cook without. Whatever he's making smells amazing, whether it's something wrapped and set in the fires or cooked in a pan. At some point he even whips up a cobbler, baked in a pot, because nothing cheers people up like dessert.

His daemon, shaped like a mongoose, sits comfortably on his shoulder during the process, occasionally scampering off to fetch Taako something, though he doesn't need that much assistance.

Whenever someone approaches, he greets them with a simple:]

Grab a plate, sit your ass down, and let cha boy change your life.

[He's a bit smug.]

☂ wildcard

[¯\_(ツ)_/¯]

[[ ooc; these are mostly all just post Age of Ultron (because that's what I'd be apping from), but the last one is post Thor: Ragnarok for the sake of testing it (and because I'd be canon updating to it after like a month if accepted hurr hurr) ]]

CRASH LANDING;

[ the plane thor had been dragged into by a crew of other superheroes assuring him 'there's nothing left we can do' crashes into the peacefully lapping waves of Xistentia's picturesque beach, and out from its supposedly anything-proof windshield flies thor himself, all 600+ asgardian pounds of him, and the metal wrapped around him, and the hammer still gripped in his hand, slamming face first into the sand, and leaving an aesir sized trench about half the length of a football field in said beach as he skids to a sandy, damp stop.

give it a second. give it maybe a couple seconds. maybe thirty of them, and, ah, there his fuzzy, frazzled head shoots up, and a mouthful of sand and shells is sputtered out indignantly. ]

Stark! [ the god of thunder roars, eyes still squeezed closed with muddy sand caked across his face, forehead to chin. he was told to put his seatbelt on. he'd been too preoccupied with some argument about rainbow bridges and idris elba and superior asgardian travel means at the time. this is not a thing he's reflecting on right now. ] Had you but waited, I wouldn't have learned what salted dirt tastes like. I think I swallowed a snail.

[ just gonna hack and cough and scrub at his face for a moment, while waiting for what's sure to be a jumble of words he only half understands from Tony, back in the plane. and yet, nothing. after clearing his eyes, and making some embarrassing blek sounding noise as he tries to cough up the imaginary snail in his throat, thor looks back up to the plane, nose slowly sinking into the tide. ] Stark? Captain?

Are you ignoring me?

BATTLE!!!;

[ this is thor's element. perhaps not something to be proud of, war and battle and all that, but as much as thor wishes to garner peace amongst the realms, sometimes it just calls for an ass-kicking, and ass-kicking is what he does best. thus, the crimson spear that's now flying at him is dodged by a scant few inches, only to have a hand reach up and snatch the end of it, just before it completely passes him.

spears aren't really his thing, definitely more a hammer man, but when a gift is given, what more can you do but flash a cheeky grin, and say - ] Why, thank you. Just what I've always wanted. [ - to the red man that tossed it to you so kindly, and

flip it around to shish-kabob the gift giver into the nearest tree. such courtesy. ]

NETWORK/TEXT MISFIRE [ THOR: RAGNAROK SPOILERS HERE ];

DAEMON: mjölnird
Must've taken a wrong turn at the devil's anus.

[ beep beep, text message sent.

um, mjölnir, not gonna lie, he's thrilled to have you back, but who told you it was okay for you to start sharing these private talks he likes to have with you? worst. best friend hammer. ever. thor can be seen standing around in the middle of the city, staring at one flat side of his hammer quizically, reading over the light blue email looking nonsense displayed on the dying-star-metal side of it. fucking rude, hammer. ]

Delete.

Cancel.

Stop it, Hammer.

[ computers are hard?? ]

𝗰𝗿𝗮𝘀𝗵 𝗹𝗮𝗻𝗱𝗶𝗻𝗴 ➨

[ this is crazy. sheer and utter madness. not like the madness of the house party that was thrown, on his birthday, at archie's house. not like the madness that is cheryl blossom. not even the madness that took over riverdale after the murder of jason blossom. no, this is a whole other kind of crazy because jughead jones has no idea how he got here, to this beach, in the middle of a fiery wreck. because the last time he checked, he was with his girlfriend betty, trying on a coat given to him by his father's southside serpents. that had been wild enough for him for one night. but now it's day and he's stumbling out of the wreckage, glancing around wildly as he tries to straighten his beanie on his head. his jean jacket is smoldering and the flannel shirt tied around his waist is torn into rags, but everything else seems to be intact.

so he's having a dream of some sort, dealing with some kind of bizarre nightmare and just needs to wake up. but pinching himself only hurts, making him curse under his breath before looking up and glancing around again. ]

I don't suppose some answers would be too much to ask for. [ spoken to the world at large, tone dry as a desert because he doesn't expect an answer. ]

𝗺𝗶𝘀𝗳𝗶𝗿𝗲 ➨

daemon: crowned
hey, sorry about the serpents showing up
but don't worry
i'm not joining them

𝗻𝗲𝘁𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗸 ➨

daemon: crowned
12:11am
All stories come to an end. Some, sooner than others. The story of Riverdale can be considered one of the many cut short before its proper ending. It started with a beautiful girl and ended with a lonely boy, but it's everything in between that really matters...

Crash Landing

It had all gone down hill so fast and all because of the New Kid. He farted them into the future and then he failed to take them back. Whatever the New Kid did, it tore the entire world apart. The ground shook and split open, tornadoes raged across Colorado, and fires raged throughout the entire town of South Park. Mysterion was sure it wasn't just the small quiet town that was suffering. It was the entire world. The fabric of space and time was tearing itself apart in front of his eyes. He ran through the burning streets, watching scenes rewind in front of him, people die only to rewind and come back to life to die the same way again seconds later. It was hell. The world had gone to hell.

Mysterion had to get home. He had to get to Karen. He couldn't think of protecting anyone else or fixing this if he couldn't get to her. He ran through the park and across the tracks. He could see his house now. He felt the ground shake and nearly stumbled. He jumped over a fissure as it ripped the ground open. He could feel every fiber of his being pulled and torn as he reached for the door. He threw it open only to fall forward into a swirling abyss. He tried to reach for the door but it was already disappearing from his view.

He fell and he fell, his body twisting and turning as he did. He closed his eyes tight, trying to ignore the pain and torment running through his body. Mysterion could hear something roaring all around him. It was blaring in his head, as if the noise was coming from inside his skull. He cried out but suddenly something cold and salty filled his mouth.

The kid hero's eyes snapped opened and he was underwater. He spun as another wave hit him. Everything spun and he didn't know up from down. Why was he underwater? When did he fall in? He kicked, trying desperately to break through the surface. He needed air. Water was in his mouth and he couldn't spit it out. He kept kicking even as yet another wave hit him and sent him spiraling again. His lunges burned until finally he felt his head break through to the surface. He spit out the water and looked around. He swam toward the sand, using the waves to propel him forward.

He touched sand and crawled onto the beach. He sucked in oxygen as he attempted to catch his breath. He didn't know what was happening but he could figure that out after he filled his body with oxygen and waited for the world to stop spinning.

"Fuck...everything," he groaned to himself.

Network

[After he arrived and made his way off the beach and into the city, he found his daemon. A rat he renamed Bastard after he realized there had to be a d at the end. He played with the rat until he figured out how to send a text.]

daemon: bastard

Testing. Testing. Is this thing working? I need information and a laundry mat. Who wants to help with what?

crash landing:
[he's glad he skipped breakfast this morning, there's enough of a mess on the beach already. but that doesn't stop his body from trying, dry heaves bringing him to his hands and knees in the sand.

haneul pulls the collar of his shirt up over his nose and mouth once the retching stops. normally he likes the smell of the ocean, but the burning wreckage sort of ruins it. he's amazed that the air isn't polluted with the smell of burning bodies on top of it. he lets his shirt fall and stares at the chaos for a few seconds longer.]

How is no one dead?

temple:
Would you like to see a magic trick?

[because haneul is not a fighter and wasted no time in getting himself injured. fortunately it isn't serious - guiding his own soul could've been awkward. but as promised, prepare to be amazed as he holds up his hands and proceeds to remove his own thumb. he totally doesn't just have one thumb bent. definitely not the oldest trick in the book. but maybe it was enough to get someone's mind off of the violence for...three seconds.]

See? Magic.

misfire:
daemon: moond

I'd never seen one that size before.

NETWORK.
DAEMON: STUPID

i have some questions
1. why is this stupid robot talking to me. i hate it. can i send it back
2. how do i turn off the voice on this stupid robot phone thing. i hate it so much
3. i hate this stupid robot phone very much. it is my enemy and i hate it
4. where is the nearest ice cream shop
5. i hate this robot. is it a curse

thank you

Threaded | Flat

Ann Takamaki | Persona 5 | OTA

PETER NUREYEV. ▎the penumbra podcast

william hainsworth ( original | eudio crau. )

Daken | Marvel Comics 616

Lana Baumgartner | Marvel Comics (Ult/616) Eudio CRAU | ota (cw: arachnophobia)

taako ☂ the adventure zone

Thor Odinson | MCU