Sky Cenat
 
 
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Turns out Legends maybe do die sometimes......... Rest in peace X..... fly high 999....... wait that was juice wrld........ sorry X.......... Turns the Mausoleum in Ravenholm into XXXTENTACION's Mausoleum. To visit the legend´s Mausoleum... just play the c
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Laget av - Sky Cenat og baby blue
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875 timer totalt
sist spilt den 28. jan.
2,7 timer totalt
sist spilt den 28. jan.
12,5 timer totalt
sist spilt den 23. jan.
Prestasjoner   1 av 15
baby blue 1. jan. kl. 5.22 
Happy new year
S🥹❤️
baby blue 28. des. 2024 kl. 12.50 
Online Status ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
👤⠀Online⠀⠀⠀   -⠀     You can chat with me.⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
🎮⠀In-Game            -  Wait for me to respond to you.⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀  
🔕⠀Busy     -  Do not chat with me.⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
🕑⠀Away      -  I will respond when I come back
🕑⠀Snooze    -  Most likely sleeping.⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
💤⠀Offline           -  This should be obvious.⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
delta 12. des. 2024 kl. 2.16 
likes talking during the match but its fine we all have flaws
baby blue 6. des. 2024 kl. 12.10 
                   ∧∧∩
                   ( ゚∀゚ )/
             ハ_ハ    ⊂   ノ     ハ_ハ
           ('(゚∀゚ ∩     (つ ノ     ∩ ゚∀゚)')
       ハ_ハ   ヽ  〈     (ノ    〉  /     ハ_ハ
     ('(゚∀゚∩   ヽヽ_)          (_ノ ノ    .∩ ゚∀゚)')
     O,_  〈                    〉  ,_O
       `ヽ_)                    (_/ ´
  ハ_ハ                       
⊂(゚∀゚⊂⌒`⊃                            ⊂´⌒⊃゚∀゚)⊃
Janusha 29. nov. 2024 kl. 15.54 
(‿ˠ‿)
baby blue 24. nov. 2024 kl. 3.45 
Beneath tHe Suffocating pAll oF mY Own eXistence, i Am entombed iN a Mausoleum oF Self-contempt, mY eVery bReath a Memento oF Inadequacy cArved iNto tHe Marrow oF mY bEing. mY Soul, a Tatterdemalion oF Shattered hOpes, lImps Through a Labyrinth oF Inexorable dEspair, tHe cOrridors oF mY Mind eChoing wIth tHe Cacophony oF Recriminations tOo Abstruse fOr Language tO Contain. eAch hEartbeat fEels lIke aN Unwarranted Usurpation, an Act oF Defilement Against tHe Natural oRder, a Symphony oF Dissonance wHere mY Pulse iS tHe Discordant Shriek. tHe wOrld iTself Becomes a Mirror oF Disdain, Reflecting nOt Merely mY Insufficiency bUt tHe Profound aNtipathy i Harbor tOwArd mY Own Existence—a Loathsome Admixture oF Futility. wHat Remains oF mE iS a Effigy oF Failur, aN Inchoate Ruin tHat Pleads fOr Obliteration, fOr tHe Dissolution oF tHis Sordid MasquErade.