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 A monster is TEN things REVAMPED introducing MOMENTS

Discussion in 'Male Requests' started by reverse, Feb 5, 2018.

  1. reverse

    reverse crusher rusher Member

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    WILL BE PICKY, BUT IF THESE WORDS MOVE YOU, MAYBE OUR MUSES WERE SEPARATED DURING CONCEPTION AND ARE TRYING TO HEAL INTO ONE AGAIN. I WON'T STAND IN THE WAY OF THAT.
    also I'm a textual whore, so... talk to me.

    I can now also offer MOMENTS which will be little writing ideas, meant to be contained to one scene/interaction/conversation. If you're up for it just scroll to the end of this post. Check back often for updates. You can also suggest MOMENTS in my pm box if you like the format.

    NEW writing sample in second post. Banner by the talented Euonia! ArgonPop!

    First off Fated. If you get anything in this section, we're probably meant to be best writing buds forever.

    your learned to kill in few words
    it became your brand
    you became a revolver
    and I became a paper man

    I don't want to change you
    It's nothing as simple as that
    I would like to tbecome, consume you
    Beasts are always part of their habitat

    into a nun story right now.

    Open to any corruption story. Possession? Bad padre? Coercion?

    Words among the candles and colored windows. Nun talks to a boy late night among the pew. the thread will start with ten or so posts back and forth that will contain no "actions" only dialogue. The descriptive writing will start when his impromptu confession is over. Is the monster he talks about real? Loss of innocence, corruption, blasphemy.

    at first she might be innocent

    [​IMG]

    And then something starts to happen, when she has contact with mc. Doubt

    [​IMG]

    [​IMG]

    Rebellious turmoil

    [​IMG]

    And then, who knows?

    [​IMG]
    [​IMG]

    Hello

    Call me Verse. Let me be your villain. I am a narcissistic sadist. But I'm kind of also a people pleaser. And a decent writer. See the next post for that. I am overly (see: needlessly) poetic. It's tiring. I love your inspiration, and I want it to love me back. I have no limits but I suppose that doesn't mean I'll go along with everything, since there are subjects that bore me to pieces.

    Have you ever scrambled home to type? Just do that to me with our writing. If you can fit worth-while emotion into one line, then go for it, stun me. Usually I want a little more, though, but if you're not for poetic effort and leave me with scrolls of text I don't want it. The best details are in confessions, so leave a bit of yourself in there, between lines of whatever font you chose.

    Seriously though, I'm a kook and I apologize for that. If we don't come up with a THREAD together but you let me entertain you with my lack of online social skills and good intentions, we had a good run. No PM rp's.

    As a writer you want all the emotions, and then you have to leave whoever looks at your request thread with enough of them that they don't misunderstand you. So, how do I make you feel infinitely loved, abused, bled, raped, adored like a sister and mother, hated like a rival, like an animal, like a spec and an early-universe star at the same time? How do I eat your organs while making you feel spoiled? I just want to steal you on your wedding night and put an illicit baby in you. I just want to destroy you while you sing my hymns. Surely you know what I mean. I only want to pull you apart to get to your heart. DON'T hope to tame my villains, just get caught up in them. Isn't real love between fictional characters always best when it's abusive?

    Had a fairly chaotic request thread before, so I am trying to be concise. Cycles of inspiration, all that. There will only be ten plots. Doesn't mean you can't come with your own ideas as long as they're somewhat related to what you find here.

    Divided and concealed - She loved him as much as her twin sister, and relied on him when she was killed by an unknown assailant. He has a trouble with his passion, and can't reconcile his love for her with the horrors of having killed her sister in the throes. She induces adoring and overwhelming love in him, as well as a morbid, swallowing sense of guilt. A strained relationship saga filled of panic attacks and back-and-fort love/hate.​

    Sympathy for everything - A hunter comes across a part of an old forest that isn't mapped out by the nearby town. In this day and age he still hunts by blade and bow and spear. He manages to impale a deer. When he comes to finish the job, he sees a naked woman with his spear still stuck in her side. The forest's animals are in fact of two bodies. DARK - may contain vore in different stages, but definitely gore and beautiful violence. Forest politics, perhaps? There will be wolves.​

    Colosseum Politics - the world has ended for some reason, and in the carcass of the old world a new economy has risen. Violence sells, and pit fighters are treasured superstars. Yc is in deep debt and she comes across mc, a vagabond who she sees is a prolific fighter (due to the way the world ended some people have acquired what would currently be considered superhuman strength) and tries to recruit him. She doesn't know he's heavilly reliant on a certain substance to do battle. Sex, violence, drugs, gore, corruption. Inspired by Fist of the Northstar.

    Petals for heartbeats - Vampire story where either of our characters don't know if the other is with them because of blood-affinity or actual love. Would like for this to be a gungy normalized downtown setting. I do like filthy neon spangled bars and shitty apartments.

    End of howls - girl uses her father's tech to sew a tormented boy's soul with that of a dying wolf. He becomes a divided being. She did it because she, like all of us, is inlove with the mythos of man with wolf. He has to suffer for it, and is torn by the new side of him. Themes: tragedy, desecration of beloved tropes, hunting man. Legacy plot-line from the first iteration, means I really wanna do this one, but that I'll likely be extra picky.

    Last name, last time - He is about to move away from the small town where he grew up with his mother and sister. They're trying to make him stay. Emotional, sexual drama with desperate undertones and a lot of angst and relief from angst through sexual means.

    Bonnie and Hyde - an odyssey in a gritty city, where they mix their crimes for survival with the beautiful concrete landscape. Guns, needles, descent into foulness. One takes to the life and the other comes along. Tyrant in a tanktop. What happens when an old friend tries to reach them as a cop? Triangle drama, childhood friends, betrayal, selfishness, ultra-violence in beautiful filter. Filth, glory, dark blood and bright candy.

    Maze Child- Played out in a poetic city with colored lights and hard asphalt and deep, otherworldly nights. A contemporary artist has rebuilt a section of the old underground system of tunnels, mixing suggestion and phsychological torture. He put an of age boy in there, and the boy comes out thinking he is a dragon in man's skin. The artist did this as a love letter to his lover, and in the boy's mind she is a princess. What will happen when the real world collides with the fairytale the artist has thrust upon them?


    Innocence and it's values - Basically the way magic works in this world is that it is hard to access but limitless if the mage is pure, and then becomes limited but easier to access once she is corrupted - more volatile and war-ready. Yc is a mage embarking on a task of vengeance with what used to be a childhood friend who is now darkened by hatred. Underlying plot: he intends to corrupt her along the way so her magic is more useful to him.

    Cough drops - three best friends, mmf. One of the guys get sick and the two others look after him in the ospital and his short stints at home. The healthy pair suppor each other in their sorrow and become an item. Sick male gets jealous and starts manipulating the two to their demise. Lots of dramatic blood coughs and deceit. Beautifully wilting pale porcelain boy. Convincing of self-harm. Distrust. .
    And here are some cravings!

    Ahegao
    Spit play/forced spit play
    Cock cleaning after
    Forced masturbation
    Fainting
    Chloroform
    Cock worship
    Ryona
    Using your character's long hair to strangle them
    Marking
    Branding
    Non con
    Yc hurting themselves for mc
    Butthole tattoos
    Chaste hand holding


    Her come MOMENTS - little rp's that open and close in one scene.

    barry night - yc had a bad night, normal stuff, finds an old bar yc used to go to, all run down now but still open. Mc had a worse night and is also there.

    stalker starter - that moment, that seems normal if a bit friendly, when mc becomes obsessed with yc.

    violent beginnings - our characters have been dating a while. Today is when they have the friction that'll bring mc to become abusive.

    guest - this is the moment yc realizes someone else is in their supposed empty apartment.

    goodbyes are for lovers - they broke up about a year ago, but yc still has her heart stuck in mc's hands. He's leaving on the train today, and this is goodbye.
     
    Last edited: Nov 10, 2018 at 10:34 AM
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  2. reverse

    reverse crusher rusher Member

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    -



    The ballroom was a universe by itself, inverted. Lit up by any source that coins could by, bright as a background, with blackened coals hovering here and there, shadow stars in open mouths and greedy eyes. The night sky turned inside out. Really, the hall was blasphemy, with glittering chains and brilliant brooches reminding them they could have fed their dark city instead of posing this soiree. But that wouldn’t be as indulgent to their egos, would it? Shrinking bellies were not their concern. They wanted to climb a mountain where every rock was made of the shame of others.


    He knew that. Maybe he reveled in the disgust he felt of himself and his part in it. Maybe the just are punished by themselves, and suffer in a circle until they become heroes. Or maybe he was just a villain, choosing which flower to pluck and delighting in her wilt. Treynor Louvell was lord of this manor and wore the peacoat and cravat to match. Ruby pin and lips of tandem depth, black hair brushed behind his ears and a polite superiority in his expression. Wicked eyebrows and svelte skin. He watched the dance, which was anarchistic by the contemporary standard, even though it was more formulaic than he’d liked. He’d acquired an addiction for freer expression of the body during his travels. Slowly, he was conditioning people that hoped to be on his tier toward the same inclinations. They loved him for it. And that kind of unspoken wildness nurtured a flame that was equally romantic and ravenously primordial behind the corsets here.


    But Treynor - orphaned by a lightning storm and then pneumonia, grown up to be cultured and taught in modern things like the scientific method and matters out of the country – was not the rambunctious prince of city life under gas lamps that people like to gossip. He was grateful for the ruse but in truth he was just a hunting creature, raising his prey. He’d had a childhood friend and she’d also gone to open her mind with her eclectic relatives, but she’d left in him this urge.


    And Willa Marble was going to pay for it. He knew of her struggle. Her family business, built over generations of trusted relationships with buyers, had recently found itself in a bit of a dry spell. They didn’t know yet that at the farthest ends of their business world, someone was distorting the economic landscape toward their demise. Someone under the Louvell banner, perhaps? And yet, Willa was dancing because that’s what she liked to do, innocent and very becoming.


    With a flick of his finger the band raised the rhythm and the people on the floor kept up. Willa twirled and laughed to herself. There was that blush on her cheek that he was looking for, to let him know her blood was engaged in the evening too. Treynor stepped lively, a few strides, until he could join the turmoil of the skirts and pluck Willa and fit her stomach to his while he spun her. He looked for her smile and surprise as he practiced a concoction of contact where she’d never been touched, and wove a thrill into her heart that it had not known before. Poor, chanceless Willa.


    “You know, you’re quite something else. I’ve never seen a tongue as pink as yours. How unfair of your to flash it. Don’t you have any mercy for my heart?” he said when their faces were close. He had some guesses on the color of what was between her legs based on that, but she’d not been taught to like that kind of talk, yet.


    She didn’t know that he had a contract in his pocket for her family business, granted to him by the bank, and with it, all the influence he wanted over her life. How wonderfully naïve she was. And how honest her gasps and tears would be for it.


    -


    Dale was a beautiful collection of sharp bones folding over Robert’s low punch. Dale reached for his breath but his lungs were too stiff after the abuse. He fell to the floor and the burlier simpleton started kicking him. Eventually the longer, elegant combatant got up on ever steadier legs, like some inflating alabaster nightmare on shadow stilts in this forgotten walkway. Robert swung again but this time Dale rolled his head around the meaty hammer of a limb. Robert was exposed, and Dale threw himself to the side, his own arm following swiftly, cutting Robert’s brow with deft knuckles. The two were ready for each other after that, but targeting Robert’s blind side became a bullying game for Dale’s reach. In the end Robert was so soft he couldn’t stand, and when he was on his knees in this cellar corridor with its pipes and barely-there, green lighting, Dale gave him a far cocked punch to the nose. The sound was dull from the outside, but Dale was sure it had been a thundering crack in Robert’s head. The behemoth followed the trauma all the way to the concrete, and stayed there, shaking.


    “Nerve damage. I’m sure it’ll be visiting him, now and again.” Dale said to the girl curled by the door that wouldn’t open. She’d lured him here, and sent her brother on him. The floor behind Dale was speckled with three other bodies. Dale brushed sweaty, dark hair from his warm eyes. They looked yellow here, underground. “So that he’ll remember when he tried to be a hero for his baby sister, and was taught that he’s just an obstacle.”


    He hunched down to pulled her hair, and drag her face from where she’d hid it against her knees, so she’d see his cut up face and how he was smiling lovingly, but disappointed. His big mouth was supposed to be a sign of weakness, but now it looked like a monster’s maw. “I think you wanted this, Laura.” He said as she tried to shake free but only inspired him to pull her up standing, straining her scalp. Her sounds were lovely. “There are guns in the world, you know. And iron bars and kitchen knives.” He wiped his lip and let her go. His presence was oppressive enough to keep her against the door. “But you had to throw your brothers into my whirlwind and see them chipped up.” He fell forward and grabbed her arms so he could find her shoulder with his teeth, biting beyond the strap of her dirty top. She made the noise that girls make when they’re marked deep.


    “Tonight, in the old trailer by the old mine, stark naked after you’ve rolled in the dirt outside.” He ordered and licked her red from his lower lip as he tossed her to the side and reached for the latch of the metal door. She never saw it. Maybe it was because she’d been busy looking at her would-be protectors bounce against the walls and break against the pipes. “I suppose you could bring your brothers to that too.” His grin disappeared in the bleaching light of the opening door. It was fitting, because ghosts are supposed go away during the day. He chuckled as he left her. “But they’ll have to form a line behind me if they want at your peachy parts.”


    -


    He liked to kiss her when she was desperate to please. That was rather often, when they met. Innocent little thing at first, tending to her life like it was a garden, growing relationships because she liked things to be strong and beautiful. And then she thought she’d help herself be more worldly. He’d be in new clothes, made to look old, and the price tag to match. He was charming to her, because she’d not met with the murkier side before, and there is always gravitation in abysses.


    One drink, because she was being social. And then a little roll of something designer, lit on fire and place between her lips. He made sure she was having a good time and soon she could not have even an acceptable time without him. Her veins were blue but they were turning black for his chemical treasures. She’d laugh every night, in red lights and exposing her long neck.


    Now she’d take a dance, filling her belly up on his lap and moving her hips for his pleasure. Sometimes it didn’t matter how much she begged. And sometimes that’s all he wanted to hear.


    He was also tending to a garden, of sorts, and pampered her into a mesmerizing downfall, eyes starving for the next morsel he’d throw her. Beautiful little, dependent daffodil, with velvet petals and thin roots, waiting for the glittering rain to make her forget the lacking soil.

    -

    Mercenaries and their ilk are archetypes for the world as it dreams up its history. Returning reapers with everything both school-less, scrappy mechanics and long times scholars have concocted in their arsenal. For a little boy with nothing who grew up to be the absolute demon possessing a city inside oceans of yellow dunes, they become a means of toppling the forming government, putting a girl in a hugging alloy skeleton on the porch of the titanium reinforced skyscraper where the masters of democracy thought they were safe to conduct their blasphemous war on tyranny.

    She puts the charged shells in the hulking forearm, of course. The father of two and supporter of three orphanages looks into the three stacked rings floating on magnetic grace. When she touches her longest finger to her life line his neck keeps his head like his products keeps his hair. They'll identify him by DNA. The girl flies away clutching a chain from the mouth of an octo-drone with the little boy's logo on it's never-showing blades. Of course.

    On the oceans, giant boats are hunting giant beasts. In the current economy, grown protein is a delicacy, and the gilded cages have raptors with watering beaks. Whales have cults protecting them, and the pockets in their robes are deep too. It is a means of a war of honor, of mental dominance. The animals live, and there is prophecy, the animals die, and the is profit. The ship in question doesn't mind the waves or the swells. It has found the behemoth in the waves by its sounds. Its hull splits and its bombs lures the painicking giants to the surface.

    There is rhodium in the rain, and a handful of celestial frames fall on deck with unholy ringing waking the giant turrets nailed with fat bolts. The bullets have a diameter on par with the bolts and they fly to make tunnels in the downpour as big lights swerve to burn the intruders bright. Larger skeletons than the one who fought democracy built around the bought soldiers that fire back at the guns with their stoic bases. Fat bullets can dent but not undo the suits. The metal field is flooded with flesh solders, and just as it should be, they are melted by the gunfire from the visiting knights. The whales breach in frustration, and slither toward the wet skies, and the explosions that save them light up their lacquered skin. Human ears that don't belong to a concluded nervous system can hear the lamp pipes shatter, the hull bend, the

    [​IMG]
    and when the whales break the ocean on their way back, no one waits to slaughter and package them. It is a victory for the green hearts that pooled real gold to save them. Seventy-three men dies under Titan-fire, but the pod can sift the plastic-infused, sick oceans one more night, at least.

    Lonell never really cared for the fate of the world, its silicone glistening seas or the bullied, voting populous. He figured he'd be part of its demise in a much more active way than most. It seemed out of place getting attached to a victim that he was successively getting paid to off. And, despite selling violence and full-metal labor, he was best at displacing moral quandaries. But the universities weren't hiring for their philosophy halls. He was doing it right now, relocating wrongs, punishing the solid metal beam hanging from a chain.

    It wasn't really a gym, the robotic graveyard. And he wasn't really helping with scrapping, either, not with his selective targets. Officially he was here rummaging, and fully intended to pay for anything he brought with him after the session. He'd already made a pile of alloys he liked. Two cobalt blades would look ace for the outers of his collarbones, holding up pumps that in turn held up a real human head. He'd fucking warred to keep his original face. Trio of scars under one hunt-glass, yellow eye, but the left one was real, even if he put hunting lenses in it. Honestly, the human perspective gave a pretty mean overview when bends compensated for depth. It had saved his ass when the other side had soft-scramblers.

    More skin than most, Lonell stood tall, even hunched over his guard, making chips out of the metal. The gorilla visor already hosted shrapnel from the work his cage hands were doing on the dangling pillar. Dull ringing every time he threw his crosses right, like this dead place was his church tower. The knuckle skin had gone many years ago. He liked the rubber covers better anyway, and always kept nerve bunches in the middle of his wire palms. Sentimental, the transparent cover displayed white bone along with the copper wires and traveling electric signals. Those nerve tendrils expanded when he lowered his fists, connecting to silicone tissue swelling from inside the brushed bars that made up his digits. Hands were part of fucking, and fucking was his favorite. On the subject, he was a fucking saint for keeping up with physical activity while the competition upgraded instead of doing pushups. Something with sweat and lubricants made him feel like a good boy.

    He ran through the vastness of the rusting carcasses, a golden eyed athlete build from human and chrome god-parts. A slender design, shooting over the greasy landscape easily, making his way back toward the city with its scraper prongs reaching for a sky where the stars were blotted out with the lights of commercial and stray drones. It was better, they said, a night ceiling of blue and green and red speckles instead of that tasteless white and yellow. He didn't care for the debate unless his company did, not that he'd messed with anyone who cared for world-poetry more than his gold in a while. He slid to a stop on the long since useless soil, just by the entrance. The basket caught up with him soon, despite its small legs, and he threw parts on a rickety conveyor belt.

    The night came with other trials, less convenient but equally fruitful. He'd dressed in tactical scales, kept in place with his worse-for-ware silicone suit. A magnetic rifle clung to his back, folding with the lateral hydraulics at the side of his torso, and a helmet that showed off his human jaw provided enough protection to complement his speed. The Crull Company would likely not be so impressed to have so many of their better, unmarked parts revisiting them like this, by way of their machine trashshute. Incidentally, this was all going back to the garbage fields he'd trained at, earlier.

    He ran again, because he loved it, and his skin could appreciate the speed in the oppressive yet chilled air down here. Out of habit, a long knife rested in the cage of his hand, relaying some information through the sensory nodes. He'd excavated the schematics for this place from an ancient bots head before he kicked it, and could find his way blind. The golden eye made glowing streaks as he furiously dodged sharp, tall debris. He could hear some headlights explode as the pressure of his velocity oppressed back, and he violated his way through this supposed impenetrable forest of unloved, disavowed mechanical parts. In truth, he was being a bit sentimental about it as he climbed up the giant pipe where new trash was raining from. The knife had a good use, now, as did the helmet.
     
    Last edited: Nov 6, 2018
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  3. reverse

    reverse crusher rusher Member

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    added some cravings. Will probably be selective since I got some good stuff going, but would love to brainstorm.
     
  4. reverse

    reverse crusher rusher Member

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    Bumping since I added three possible ideas I'd stretch myself to do.
     
  5. reverse

    reverse crusher rusher Member

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    Back and in the mood to be mean. As always.
     
  6. reverse

    reverse crusher rusher Member

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    892
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    6:45 AM
    Added meta-plots.
     
  7. Bellapuella

    Bellapuella Well-Known Member Member

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    Love your style. If you’re still looking for any partners I’d be happy to discuss plots
     
    • Like Like x 1
  8. Mandarin

    Mandarin Wild Member Member

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    Hey!

    I'm a sucker for angst and dark plots myself. I'd love to maybe kick some ideas around if you are still interested in taking up partners. And if not, that is perfectly fine!

    Have a nice day.
     
    • Like Like x 1
  9. reverse

    reverse crusher rusher Member

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    I am still busy but right this second there's nothing to post in so my short-term greedy mind thinks itsi time for more plots.

    Lesgo.
     
  10. reverse

    reverse crusher rusher Member

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    Cleaned it up and added highlights.

    Be advised I will be away may 30 to June 15 ish, but will slow down activity before that.
     
  11. reverse

    reverse crusher rusher Member

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    BUmp. Just came hone from vacation, so busting with ideas. Keep checking back for high lights.
     
  12. reverse

    reverse crusher rusher Member

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    Baumph. New highlights, but also just bump.
     
  13. reverse

    reverse crusher rusher Member

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    Ba-bump. Copenhagen syndrome.
     
  14. reverse

    reverse crusher rusher Member

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    Bump for grotesque mermaid love
     
  15. reverse

    reverse crusher rusher Member

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    892
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    6:45 AM
    ballet, ballerina, ballerino, bump
     
  16. Eon

    Eon He who is not nice. Member

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    I don't know if you're looking for partners still, but I'm looking to play a more submissive role for once. Some of your kinks are a bit past my limit, but there are several handfuls of stuff here that I'd love to do with a partner! I'm specifically looking to do some superhero stuff. I could do original or pre-existing characters. I never watched She-Ra, but I'm mildly familiar with Thundercats from the really good 2011 reboot. I think I'd rather play Wonder Woman or an OC Superhero though, if that's okay with you.
     
    • Like Like x 1
  17. reverse

    reverse crusher rusher Member

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    Bump.

    Beefed up feudal japan plot, added a picture and such. It's all in HIGHLIGHTS.
     
  18. reverse

    reverse crusher rusher Member

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    bump

    Poetic Cybernetic is up, but please talk to me about my feudal idea, too. and really anything in HIGHLIGHTS.
     
    • Like Like x 1
  19. reverse

    reverse crusher rusher Member

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    villainy and malady's last week before revamp! hype! bump!
     
  20. reverse

    reverse crusher rusher Member

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    please be excited to the TEN project. Bump! reveal on Sunday!
     

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