#c: Morgan

[cecils-dragons]

Merm chart is done! They are all masc and use he/him, Lir and Morgan are trans <3 they get bigger as they age so this is also an age chart. Lynn and Morgan are very works in progresses, I mean they all are but those two more then the others.

[detectivegoldstein]

He had to dig in his closet, but eventually James found his badge. Given his goal for the day, it would probably be helpful to have on him, even if he was outside of his jurisdiction. It was a bit of an effort walking around the festival without his cane, but eventually James spotted someone that was openly carrying a badge on their hip. "Oy, yer a cop here right?" James pulled out his own from his pocket and flashed it. "I uh, need to talk to you about somethin' if ya got the time."

@ofescapisms

[malcontentswanns]

who: @intothewylde where: wylliam swann helps the new lord paramount of the stormlands settle into his new office within the red keep.

did wylliam swann wish he could have kept his same position, rather than have to wear this pin which felt more like a death sentence? entirely; considering the malcontent of the dragon court had essentially been strong armed into accepting the position of master of laws upon the council of queen daenaerys targaryen, the idea of taking a position of higher esteem was something that did not sit comfortably on his shoulders.

and yet, his successor to the position of lord paramount of the stormlands was the obvious choice: the eldest son of house wylde.

it were not floating boxes going down the busy, winding halls of the red keep; despite the way in which things seemed to pile high enough to block any visibility of who was carrying them. it were not until the courtiers saw them pass by did they realise it were the lords of rain house and stonehelm relocating a pile of ledgers. there had been a movement within the chambers, no doubt because wylliam had insisted on his chambers not moving - and so, the hand of the king's main office was in the original office of the lord paramount.

the door swung shut behind them, no doubt with a heavy thud. it was not until wylliam looked into the box of belongings, which seemed to be full with books, did he realise there was another glass compartment in there. containing some sort of bugs. he held it up, ensuring the light rays from the window were able to peer directly into it, watching the various shades of green light up.

"what are these again?" wylliam asked, his voice curious as he walked up behind the new lord paramount of the stormlands, continuing to raise the glass jar as though it were some precious artefact. "look at that, you've got an entire habitat in here. do you put it by the window for light and warmth? do you put water in there yourself?" he asked, suddenly captivated. the ledgers and official records he had transported remained abandoned on the desk.

[jaehaerysiitargaryen]

| @intothewylde | | setting:: meeting with one of his earliest supporters and oldest friends, the king informs morgan wylde of his future at court |

“I’m hoping Wyllam accepts his position as my hand. His presence in the Stormlands is vital as much as yours is being the new Lord Paramount.” Jaehaerys smiled, his arms crossed behind his back. They were close. As close as the King could be to a person who was quite different from him.

When it came time to pick the Lords who would know his secrets, along with Lord Morrigen, Garrick Cargyll, and Lord Morgan Wylde. One of the only men in this world he could comfortably and confidently call a friend of his. One of the only men to know where he was when it was time for him to leave as his father, uncles, and loyalists died and failed around them. And now, a day they talked about under stars and around the burnings of camp fires. Boys were now men. If they were ever boys.

The freest Jaehaerys Targaryen could remember feeling was in those days after Vermithor’s death, those weeks of secret traveling and moving from one place to the other and back again until he was at the Starry cause all believed he’d been crushed by his own great beast. His hair had been cut down to the peace fuzz, no beard, and he was dressed as a smallfolk. He was the safest in the Crownlands where the smallfolk would let him and his men sleep in their homes, bakers with bread and poachers coming to give them their kills. ‘No black dragon is m’king, m’prince.’ They would say and he would thank them.

“I would trust no one else with such a responsibility. Am an who is to pass down sentences with the King’s voice and the executioners blade swung with the King’s hand on his or your shoulder. And you leading the charge against any sort of Dornish incursion. I plan on making my cousin’s husband marshell of the marches, defender of the Storm Mountains. He would answer to you of course.”

[flynnxrider]

@mxmorganmorph

While Flynn loved to lean into how gifted he was in the looks department, he had to grudgingly acknowledge that while he might have been born with great hair, it was only going to stay great if he had someone who knew what they were doing take care of it. Just any old barber shop was not going to cut it. Yet, being as he had never settled down before, any good stylist he had visited tended to not get a repeat visit because Flynn had usually moved on by that time, whether by choice or by necessity if the cops were hot on his trail. But now, actually having been remaining in one place for what was an amazingly long time by his standards, Flynn figured he might as well have a go at seeing if the local salon would be worth making a repeat visit. Hoping they took walk-ins, he opened the door and peered in, his presence being announced by the ding of a bell. "Hey, uh, just wondering if you do walk-ins? 'Cause it's been a while and the old coif could use a little, you know, re-coifing."

[tccsweetfcrmc]

" i've often found that reading a good book can take away your worries about the rest of the world . don't you agree ?" sejanus' lips had curled into an expectant smile , perhaps one that would have reminded people of the boy that he had been before all of this had happened . perhaps one that would have reminded people of who he had been once . still , it was quickly sent away . what had happened had been as if someone had snuffled the very light out of him . a worried shake of his head was given . " i'm sorry . you probably are not all that interested in what babbling about . " / as requested by @daydrcamings for morgan stark!

[nasirofmanderlys]

who: @intothewylde when and where: lannisport, during lann's day; the hand of the king of the north and the lord paramount of the stormlands find themselves in conversation over a drink. various different lords are at an eatery, whilst celebrations continue outside.

there came the jovial sound of laughter, the roaring sort one felt in the pit of their stomach that were the natural assumption one would hear being sat at a table of northerners and stormlanders. at surface level, it were easy to claim they had some sense of similarity: a striking roughness and a sense of unpredictability, not fitting in the stereotype of what it was to be a chivalrous lord. though it seemed as though two men, both prominent in nature in both courts, worked to settle themselves against that title: whilst the rest of their folk dined, laughed, drunk and called across the room to various different tavern wenches and smallfolk alike.

in the corner of a quieter part of the room, one found the hand of king owen stark and the lord paramount of the stormlands.

"we have all heard of the situation within the marches." nasir spoke, already engulfed in conversation with the man who shared a similar temperament to him; truthfully, nasir did not understand how it was one could govern both regions - what actual power did the lord paramount hold in the chain of positions under the court of the green dragon? "do you not think it risky to remain within the same proximity, considering all that could happen?" he were referring to the dornish; for whilst the issue seemed to stem from the valyrians, something about a missing lady of godsgrace, it seemed as though the dornish would take the opportunity to wipe away two of their greatest threats - the stormlanders and the valyrians alike.

"is it not much for your people to bare?"

[tmrrwppl]

“   I forget but I do NOT forgive.. I'm just walking around hating bitches can't remember why ” (Morgan for Ale)

"As the kids say, this is the way. No but seriously, I remember I hate them and simply accept I don't know why. I just let the vibes decide."

[kenziewashington]

But it's more than being old, it's also kind of a sign of respect or that a person likes you.

Wouldn't it be easier to just say that I'm old, instead of givin' it a name or a term?

[magicaljameshook]

thread for @mxmorganmorph

"𝐎𝐡 𝐡𝐞𝐲, 𝐌𝐨𝐫𝐠𝐚𝐧!" James said as he welcomed his guest, they had told him they had something to discuss with him and like usual James was more than willing to make time for someone. He walked them to his office, and helped them with their seat. "𝐒𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐬 𝐦𝐞 𝐢𝐭 𝐢𝐬 𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐢𝐦𝐩𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝐦𝐞." He chuckled sweetly, ever since being engaged to Tina Bell James has been on roses, moonlight and fairy dust. Which meant James was in an extraordinary great mood.

Sure there was the issue with Peter. And he was certain that Oliver needed his time more than ever - he was working on all those things right now. After all he was Oliver's best friend. And friends didn't abandon each other.

If only Peter would realize that.

[grymghoul]

ARTHUR MORGAN has an impressive cock. You'd always figured a man who carries himself so surely would have one like that. Thick and heavy, crowned with hair a bit darker than what was on his head. The way it would always be half hard anytime he was around you was flattering. The way he'd take up all the space in that hotel room, striding around, parading naked, he'd steal the air from your lungs. The way it'd pat against his thighs as he took heavy steps through the room. You'd stare and he'd look away, flush in the face. There was an inherent sense of boyish charm about him, how he could be so rough and callous, but the second he was alone with you he was nearly shy. Intimacy with Arthur was earned, a privilege, not a thing to trifle with. He'd given it to you and you hadn't even realized how hard it was to earn this from him.

He blushed bright red when you'd seen it the first time, that breathy "Oh, Arthur.." had sent a chill down his spine. Arthur was extra careful with you, fearing he'd split you right in half on his cock. There was no hiding it. The way his ranch pants would be fuller around you, the obvious bulge of denim stretching around it. He loved that you could try to swallow it all you wanted and you could still grip fingers worth of it as his tip touched the back of your throat. He loved being able to have you seated on top of him and see his dick fucking you from the outside. A firm hand pressed against you, making you tighter and he could feel the way he so lovingly damaged your sweet pussy.

He would torment your guts almost effortlessly. He'd have you gripping the sheets, choking back moans and sobs and all manners of pretty noises in a hitched tone without even trying. He wasn't an egotistical man, but he knew it couldn't be like this for every man or no job would ever get done in the world. It'd come to a stand still as everyone would be lined up to fuck the next man. No, no he had to have something special with you. He was easily enamored with you and how you'd feel wrapped all warm and tight around him. How snug you were.

Each time felt like the first with Arthur. The way he filled you and would have you swollen and sore the next day. Even after the bath you'd end up in together, he'd keep you there, wet and sudsy against him and his thick member until you had pruny fingers. He loved that you were a whiny mess just from being near his cock.

You were made for him by God, he wasn't religious but he was sure of it. You fit better than any glove or shirt or saddle he could have tailor made. You were just as addicted to him. The way his flared head could take up residency inside you made you know that there was some higher power and they were merciful in such a way for you to have a taste of heaven on earth with your Arthur.

[mamirhodessxox]

I can fix him chat

[megustasqualo]

damn dex

[malcontentswanns]

who: @intothewylde when and where: shortly before wylliam speaks to jaehaerys, he speaks to his follow stormlanders to get his facts straight.

the solar was warm in that way only stormlander homes seemed to manage, the fire snapping in its hearth as wylliam swann leaned back in his chair, one booted foot resting lazily on the other. a goblet of wine sat untouched on the table before him. it wasn’t the wine that had brought him here tonight. “morgan,” he began, his tone casual, though his eyes were sharp, “you’re not one to mince words, so i’ll not waste either of our time. how’s that tax hitting you? truth now, not some lordly gloss. i’ve been here long enough to know when the roof’s leaking.”

he leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees, the firelight playing off his weathered face. “your lands sit close to the marches, aye? you’ve always been stretched thinner than most, keeping one eye on the coffers and the other on the borders in the aftermath of the war. i can’t imagine this ‘valyrian generosity’ hasn’t made that a damn sight harder.”

his tone softened, though the edge of frustration remained. “i’ve heard whispers, mind. rationing for the smallfolk, fewer hands to patrol the roads. it’s not just you—every stormland lord’s feeling it—but you’re closer to the knife than most. so tell me, morgan, how bad is it really? what’s being cut? and don’t think i’ll judge you for it. any man in your place would be making the same choices.”

wylliam sat back, rubbing a hand across his jaw, his fingers briefly brushing the thin scar that marked his cheek. his voice dropped lower, quieter, as if admitting a secret. “truth be told, it’s worse than i thought it’d be when lord celtigar proposed the damn thing. i’ve seen numbers on parchment, aye, but numbers don’t bleed like men do, and they don’t tell you how many mouths go unfed or how many soldiers stand unpaid.”

[happy74827]

A New Moon

[Dexter Morgan x Female!Reader]

Synopsis: Despite his gut telling him he shouldn’t, Dexter can’t help but fall deeper into the trap of his own emotions. And the more time he spends with you, the more he starts to realize what exactly those emotions are. {GIF Creds: beautifulguycollector}

WC: 2889

Category: Slight Lime/Spice, Friends to Lovers + Forbidden Love (if you squint) Tropes

Gotta keep this fandom alive somehow 🥲 (also… why are titles so hard to write? That and the synopsis are harder to write than the actual fic)

『••✎••』

You were too good for him. Plain and simple. You were a smart, beautiful, hard-working woman who had goals and dreams. He was a cold-blooded killer. Not to say that he hadn't been there for you, though. The two of you had been friends since… well, a while. A long while.

He couldn't quite pinpoint the moment he started to notice the changes in your relationship. It was a slow, subtle buildup, and the first time you called him your friend, Dexter thought nothing of it. The second time, it made him pause, but not enough for him to consider what the implications of you saying that to him could mean.

But when you said it again and again and again, he realized the meaning behind your words, the affection they held. Dexter couldn't say that he was particularly close to many people. There were a select few he'd consider his friends, but he wasn’t emotionally invested in any of them. And he didn't think he was invested in you, either.

But maybe he was.

Debs was different, and it made him question how much he was supposed to care about someone. But that was his sister, the one person in the world who loved him unconditionally. That reason alone made his relationship with Deb unique. He was sure of that.

The same went with Brian—his brother, as it turned out. And Harrison, his son. Dexter felt things for those people, but they were different. Those were family, the people he was genetically tied to. Of course, he would care about them.

But you weren't family, and yet he still cared about you. It was a different kind of caring. And it was confusing. Dexter had convinced himself for years that he was a high-functioning sociopath, but lately…

Lately, he was beginning to question if that was true. Simple glances from you could bring an unwelcome smile to his lips. And when he heard the sound of your voice, he could feel his chest getting warm. It was a nice feeling, something he'd only experienced briefly with Rita, but then, that relationship was different too.

It was hard to put his finger on it, but being with you was just… easy. And it didn't feel like work. There was no pretending. Dexter didn't have to act when he was around you. He didn't need to try to be someone he wasn't. It was the real him.

It was terrifying.

Because now, as he sat on your couch, watching as you moved gracefully around your small apartment, the feeling was back, and he didn't know how to deal with it.

He should have been home with Harrison, but the little boy was staying over at Debra’s tonight, so he didn't have any responsibilities. The passenger within him didn’t see it as a problem either, considering he’d just recently “disposed" his latest target.

It was nice, Dexter decided, to relax every once in a while. Work and family didn't give him a lot of opportunities to do so, and now that the two were temporarily taken care of, he felt he deserved to be lazy for a bit.

You didn’t have a TV in your living room, so the two of you settled for movies. Dexter didn’t really have a preference for them. He could watch a comedy, action, drama, or horror and not feel strongly for or against any of them.

Apparently, you didn't mind what he watched either because he could see the spark of excitement in your eyes when you pulled out the case for one of the worst comedy films Dexter had ever seen.

He'd seen it before. Not with you, one of the movies Vince shoved down his throat when he planned a night out with him, Angel, and Quinn.

It wasn't his favorite, not by a long shot, but the grin on your face and the way you eagerly skipped to the DVD player, set the disk inside, and closed the hatch made him bite his tongue.

Dexter had learned a long time ago that you were a very expressive person. And even though most of the time your feelings weren't displayed on your face, your eyes told another story. Such opposites to his own, Dexter often found himself fascinated by the light they held.

You had a passion for life that was rare, and it drew him in. It was a quality he lacked, and he could see it in everything you did. Whether it was talking about the newest book you read or making coffee, you put all of yourself into your actions.

It was something that Dexter had never understood. How could you have such a strong sense of self? Didn't it get tiring, having to live up to a standard of being so… so good?

But then again, you'd always been better than him. He might’ve been smarter in some regards, but what was intelligence if it didn't come from a place of morality? You were better, purer than him. He knew it, and everyone else did, too, even if they weren’t aware of how pure he wasn’t

That's why this was so wrong. This thing that had been going on for the past couple of months between the two of you. The subtle touches, the longing stares, the late-night calls. It was all wrong.

You were similar to Rita in some ways. You were kind and compassionate, always looking for the good in others. You had a knack for taking care of people, whether they needed it or not.

Dexter could tell that was your nature, and it was one of the things that initially attracted him to you. All the things he lacked, you had. But that didn't mean that you could replace Rita. He didn’t want you to.

And that was the difference. While he may have found qualities in you that resembled the ones he'd found in Rita, you were not her. Rita was gone, and it was his fault. She didn’t deserve to die, and yet she did. She deserved to grow old, to see Harrison grow up.

She deserved better.

The same went for you. You didn’t deserve a monster like him. The more he thought about it, the more he came to the conclusion that he should stay away. It was for the best of both of you.

And yet he was here. On your couch, watching a shitty movie and drinking the beer you'd offered him. Because, despite his efforts, he couldn't keep his distance from you.

He should've known. When it came to you, Dexter didn't have a choice.

His gaze drifted over to your form as you sat down beside him. You were smiling, your eyes bright and focused on the television. A lock of hair fell across your face, and you pushed it back, the sleeve of your hoodie falling down slightly.

Dexter had never been so tempted to reach out and touch someone in his life.

It was a feeling that had been creeping up on him the last few weeks, and now, sitting with you, watching a bad movie, it was at an all-time high. He'd never craved intimacy. But there was something about you, a pull that he couldn't deny.

It gave him a sick feeling in his stomach. Reminded him of that need with Lila. God, Lila. What a mess that had turned out to be. Another thing to add to his growing list of mistakes.

And yet, the longer he stared, the more he found himself leaning forward. He didn’t register what he was doing until his lips were a hair width away from yours.

You froze but didn't move away. The only indication that you were startled was the widening of your eyes. They bored into his, unflinching. He could hear his heartbeat pounding in his ears.

He was scared. Scared? Yes. That was what he was feeling. Why? He didn't know. Fear was new. It was a feeling reserved for Deb and sometimes his son, but even then, it was different.

But as Dexter gazed at you, so close and so beautiful, the fear melted away. It was replaced by a warmth that he was quickly becoming familiar with. It made his body thrum and his blood rush. It made him feel alive.

You were the first one to make a move. Well, not really a move, just the smallest shift forward, and then you were breathing the same air as him. You weren't kissing. You were just… waiting. Waiting for him to make the final move.

It was like an unspoken rule between the two of you, the power dynamic. He was the dominant one, and you were the submissive. You had never fought against it. You were a people pleaser, and he knew that.

It was one of the reasons he knew this was wrong. Because he couldn't stop, and you would never ask him to. Even now, as he hesitated, you waited patiently. You trusted him.

Why did you have to trust him? Why couldn't you be more selfish, more like him?

But deep down, Dexter knew that it wasn't your nature. You couldn't change, not any more than he could.

So, after another agonizing second, he closed the distance between you.

It was gentle, the way his lips pressed against yours. A stark contrast to the usual forcefulness he applied when taking his victims. No, with you, he was careful. Almost timid.

Your lips were soft and smooth, and the kiss was sweet. Nothing more than a simple caress. Dexter didn’t expect the tingling sensation it would cause, but the slight brush of your mouth sent shivers down his spine.

The kiss was short and chaste, but it was enough to leave him feeling dizzy. The heat spread through him, from the tips of his toes all the way to his cheeks.

Dexter pulled back, and you stared at him. His breath hitched in his throat at the look in your eyes. There was something there, something that mirrored his own emotions.

Was it possible? Was he really capable of such intense emotion?

Maybe he was.

You didn’t move. It was like time had stopped, and the only sound that could be heard was his own uneven breathing. That, and the movie playing in the background, which was forgotten as soon as your lips touched.

The urge to reach out and grab you was there. He could feel the need deep in his bones, in his soul. But instead, Dexter sat, staring. Staring into the eyes of the woman who had somehow managed to break down all the walls he'd spent his life building.

You didn't speak. There was nothing to say. No words could describe the feelings that had surfaced between the two of you. So, instead, you smiled. A simple, beautiful smile that had him feeling weak.

He could have stayed there forever, just looking at you, taking in the beauty that was you. It was a new experience for him, and it was nice.

“Debra is going to be pissed," you finally said, breaking the silence. “I’ll be bullied into telling her every detail."

He blinked. Once. Twice. Then, his lips curled up in amusement. It was true. Eventually, she’ll figure it out. Maybe she already knew but was waiting for confirmation. Debra was good at figuring out things, even if it wasn’t the most obvious answer.

His sister was good at a lot of things, like being a detective. And, apparently, being an interfering matchmaking nuisance.

At least she wouldn’t call you the things she called Lila.

The thought made him chuckle, and you looked at him in confusion, but it would have to stay a mystery to you. For what was life without a few private jokes between siblings, right?

You didn’t press for answers, though. You did what you’ve always done and waited for him—waited for him as if it was his turn in Chess.

And he did the only thing he could think to do. He kissed you again. And again. And again. And again. Until he had you pinned beneath him, your arms around his neck, and your breath coming out in heavy gasps.

The kisses were still innocent, just as you were. But he could feel the passion behind them, the hunger. He couldn’t remember the last time he had felt that. It had been a long, long time.

But the longer he kissed you, the more the heat grew, and soon, he was lost in the sensation. Your hands found their way into his hair, and you tugged at the strands. His heart was racing, and the sound of his own ragged breathing filled his ears.

It was exhilarating.

Your lips parted, allowing his tongue to slip inside, and the innocence was gone. Replaced by a desire that left him trembling. The feeling of your tongue against his, the taste of you on his lips, the smell of your shampoo mixed with your unique scent—it was all intoxicating.

The movie continued to play in the background, forgotten as you pulled him closer. The warmth in his chest intensified, and Dexter didn't fight it. Instead, he embraced it. He gave in to his emotions and let himself feel.

He didn’t go too far; he knew you weren't ready for that yet. The craving was there, and it was strong, but the moment wasn’t right. Instead, he satisfied himself by touching your skin, mapping out every inch of it, memorizing the way it felt under his fingertips.

And, when you finally pulled away, breathless and flushed, he held onto you, refusing to let go. His eyes searched yours, searching for something. Anything. He didn’t know what he was looking for, but whatever it was, he didn’t find it.

He mostly saw fear, anger, and some regret when he had them pinned down beneath him. Of course, that was usually the case with his victims. Fear, anger, and regret were normal emotions—a reaction to being trapped by their own demise.

Having someone look up at him with emotions on the other side of the spectrum was different. Not a bad different, just... different.

Rita had been the first to look at him like that. Lumen did, too, once upon a time. And Lila, well, her emotions were never consistent.

But you? You looked up at him with an expression that was all too familiar and yet not quite the same. Your eyes were full of affection and desire, yes. But they were also filled with something else. Something he couldn't place.

Something he couldn’t understand.

"Dex,” your voice was so soft, a whisper. He almost didn’t hear it, and yet, he felt it. He felt the way his name rolled off your tongue, and it was like music to his ears.

"Yeah?" he whispered back. He didn’t know why he did that; it wasn't like the two of you were speaking in a library or something. Maybe it was the way the light danced in your eyes, the way the colors reflected off the white walls, casting an ethereal glow.

"I didn’t expect you to be… like this," you murmured. You ran a finger over his cheek, down to his jawline. He swallowed thickly. He could feel his pulse quicken.

"Like what?" he asked, his voice rough.

"Not bad," you replied. Your lips curved up, and his eyes were drawn to them. They were red and swollen from kissing, and it was such a contrast to the pale skin of your face.

"You think I'm not bad?" he said, raising his brows. "I'm flattered."

You shook your head. "You know what I mean," you said. "I just meant that you're different than how you come off. I didn’t think you'd be so... bold.”

He snorted.

Bold.

If you only knew.

"I guess I'm full of surprises," he said, smirking. You rolled your eyes and punched him lightly in the shoulder, only for him to catch it and press a kiss to the back of your hand. It was something he picked up from a movie once, and it seemed to be a pretty romantic gesture. And by the look on your face, it seemed to be appreciated.

You didn't say anything else. You didn't have to. There was nothing else to say. The two of you simply enjoyed each other's company, content to just be together. The movie might've been a failure, but the night wasn’t.

And when Dexter finally left, he couldn’t help but feel a sense of relief. Not the type of relief he felt after a successful kill, but the type of relief one feels after a burden is lifted off their shoulders. The type of relief one gets when they are finally honest with themselves.

Rita was gone. Lumen was gone. And although his guilt and shame were still there, his self-loathing and fear were slowly starting to fade away. It wasn't gone, it was never going to be, but it was a start.

A fresh start.

A new beginning.

A new moon.

Yes, tonight was the night that changed everything. Tonight, Dexter Morgan learned that maybe he was more than the monster he thought he was.

[louisbxne]

Dexter 1.12 | Born Free