#i changed the name of the fic

[paintedcrows]

Some Fords! (and Martin K Blackwood is also there)

[ghostbsuter]

Robin¹ aka Nightwing had Batgirl... (the ginger one), then Robin³ had his own (The blond), and then the blond Batgirl (he's pretty sure she was a Robin too?) became spoiler–

The dark shadows, Danny swears, that was a Batgirl too, she goes by BlackBat now tho, had a major upgrade and everything!

But, Danny nods, the current Robin doesn't have a Bat partner.

And he did say he wouldn't be Phanton anymore. No hero (or at least solo) and...

Would Sam really be mad if he got himself the Bat title and kicked ass with Robin?

(It would be fair, Robin saved Cujo's life. That's the rule of ghosts, give back what was given. He saved Cujo's afterlife, so Danny as Cujo's behalf will make sure Robin does not die.)

[shininas-ideals]

Gloves off. Glasses off. The collar thingies stay.

[tripamania]

bedma'am

bonus:

[circusmilkk]

new system just dropped

[leftoverpages]

Beneath Weirwood's Shade

Pairing 𓅪 Benjicot "Davos" Blackwood × Bracken!reader

Tags 𓅪 forbidden love, romance, angst

Notes: inspired by romeo and juliet, thinking about posting multiple fanfics a day to reduce some of the stock i have :o

Wordcount 𓅪 1.2k

likes, comments, reblogs are much appreciated!

The ancient trees of the Riverlands whispered secrets to those who cared to listen. Their leaves, drenched in the gold of a setting sun, sighed with the weight of countless generations. In this land of ancient enmities and whispered feuds, House Blackwood and House Bracken stood opposed, their enmity as deep-rooted as the forests that surrounded them.

Beneath the sprawling branches of a towering weirwood, where the heart tree's face wept red sap, Benjicot Blackwood waited. His dark eyes, pools of sorrow and longing, flickered towards the distance. His heart, though hardened by the years of familial hatred, beat with an unyielding fervor for you, the light amidst his shadows.

You, a Bracken, the sworn enemy, the forbidden fruit. A love like yours was bound to secrecy, hidden beneath the shroud of night and the veil of danger. The thought of you filled his every waking moment, and his dreams were haunted by your touch, your smile, the gentle cadence of your voice.

From the shadows, you emerged, cloaked in the twilight, a figure of ethereal beauty and tragic grace. The world seemed to hold its breath as you approached, each step a defiance against the legacy of hate that threatened to tear you both apart.

"Ben," you whispered, your voice a soft symphony that danced through the air. He turned, and in his eyes, you saw a reflection of your own soul—tortured, yet unwavering in its love.

"My love," he murmured, closing the distance between you. His hand found yours, and in that touch, a silent promise was exchanged. "Every moment away from you is an eternity of pain."

Tears brimmed in your eyes as you pressed your forehead against his, the world around you dissolving into the backdrop of your shared sorrow and joy. "We cannot keep meeting like this, Benjicot. The risk grows with each passing day."

His grip tightened, desperation seeping into his voice. "I would rather die a thousand deaths than live a single day without you. We are bound by more than blood and duty; our souls are entwined, and no force on earth can sever that bond."

"Then let us run away," you pleaded, your voice breaking. "To a place where Blackwood and Bracken are just names, where we can be free to love without fear."

Benjicot's heart ached with the weight of your words, the tantalizing dream of a life together pulling at his every resolve. But reality was a cruel mistress. "I fear there is no such place, my love. Our names, our histories, they follow us like shadows."

A shuddering breath escaped you, and you clung to him, seeking solace in his warmth. "Then let us cherish the moments we have, however fleeting. Let us defy the stars that conspire against us and carve our own fate, even if only for a night."

The weirwood watched over you, a silent sentinel to your stolen time. Beneath its ancient boughs, you and Benjicot found a sanctuary, a fragile haven in a world determined to tear you apart. You spoke in hushed tones, of dreams unfulfilled and love everlasting, your words a tapestry of hope and despair.

In the heart of the forest, time seemed to stand still. You and Benjicot lay on a blanket of fallen leaves, your hands intertwined, your hearts beating as one. The night sky above was a canopy of stars, each one a silent witness to your forbidden love.

"You remember the first time we met?" Benjicot's voice was a mere whisper, his fingers tracing the delicate lines of your hand.

You nodded, a soft smile playing on your lips. "How could I forget? It was at the harvest festival. I saw you across the field, and for a moment, it felt like the world stopped."

He chuckled softly, the sound like a balm to your soul. "I remember thinking that you were the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. But when I found out you were a Bracken, my heart sank."

"And yet, here we are," you said, your voice tinged with wonder and sadness. "Despite everything, we found each other."

Benjicot turned to face you, his eyes filled with a fierce, unspoken promise. "No matter what happens, I will always find you. In this life and the next, we are meant to be together."

The hours slipped away, and dawn's light began to creep over the horizon. With a heavy heart, you knew your time together was drawing to a close. You stood, reluctant to break the fragile spell that had bound you both.

"Until we meet again," Benjicot whispered, pulling you into a final, lingering embrace. "Remember, my love, that you are my heart, my soul, my everything."

You held him close, memorizing the feel of his arms around you, the scent of his hair, the warmth of his breath against your skin. "And you, Ben, are my hope, my dream, my forever."

With one last, lingering kiss, you parted, each step away from each other a dagger to the heart. But even in the face of inevitable sorrow, you carried a piece of each other, a love that transcended the bounds of feuding houses and cruel fate.

In the days that followed, you returned to your separate lives, each day a painful reminder of the love you could not openly share. You exchanged secret letters, hidden within the folds of cloaks and beneath the roots of ancient trees, your words a lifeline that sustained you through the darkest of times.

But as the tensions between your houses escalated, the danger grew ever closer. Whispers of war and betrayal filled the air, and you knew that the time would come when you would have to make a choice—between duty and love, between loyalty to your family and the call of your heart.

One fateful night, the shadows deepened and the air grew heavy with foreboding. A message reached you, written in Benjicot's hand, its words a stark warning: "Meet me at the weirwood. Our time is running out."

Fear and desperation clutched at your heart as you made your way to the ancient tree, your every step a prayer for his safety. When you arrived, you found him waiting, his face pale and drawn, his eyes filled with a sorrow that mirrored your own.

"My love," he said, his voice a broken whisper. "There is no time. Our families are on the brink of war. We must leave, now, before it is too late."

You nodded, your resolve hardening even as your heart ached. "Together, then. We will face whatever comes, as long as we are together."

With a final, desperate embrace, you turned and fled into the night, leaving behind the only world you had ever known. The forest closed in around you, its shadows a refuge and a promise.

As dawn broke over the Riverlands, the ancient weirwood stood silent, its branches swaying gently in the breeze. In its heartwood, the echoes of your love remained, a testament to the power of a love that dared to bloom amidst the thorns of hatred and the shadows of despair.

You and Benjicot, bound by love and fate, ventured into the unknown, your hearts beating as one. The road ahead was uncertain, fraught with danger and peril, but as long as you were together, you knew you could face anything.

In the annals of history, the names Blackwood and Bracken would be forever linked by strife. Yet, in the hidden corners of the Riverlands, beneath the ancient weirwood tree, the whispers of your love would linger, a testament to the power of a love that defied the stars and dared to reach for eternity.

[ohyousillything]

Boba is small and obnoxious, in a way only small tubies can be, squirming and thrashing around in his crib as he wails. He’s been told that Boba is denominated “a toddler”, by nat-born standards. CC-2224 is not impressed.

“What does the word ‘Boba’ mean,” he asks. The word has been bothering him for some time now.

Jango doesn’t raise his eyes from the datapad he’s frowning at, “It’s an old family name.”

CC-2224 considers this. Boba continues to wail at the injustices of the world. CC-2224 is sympathetic to that, at least.

And then the question pops in his head like an armed grenade.

“Can I have a name?” he asks.

Jango looks up at him, both eyebrows raised up to his hairline. There's a considering silencie, and then he says, like he's already regretting it, “You could.”

CC-2224 stares at him expectantly. Boba wails, mostly ignored.

Jango snorts and shakes his head, letting his attention fall back on his datapad, “You’ll have to come up with one on your own, kid. I’m shit at naming things,”

CC-2224 frowns, looking down at Boba, who’s finally beginning to realize no one paying much attention to his crying and he might need to adapt his strategies.He makes grabby fingers at CC-2224, who watches impassively.

Making an impulsive decision, he reaches into the crib and pulls the baby out, holding him at eye level like a hide up for inspection.

“I like the word kote,” CC-2224 says.

“Very modest,” Jango snorts, but he sounds approving. Newly christened Kote thinks he wasn’t looking for approval, but its nice getting it anyway.

Boba sneezes on his face, and the universe shifts.

Kote's never seen the sun, but someday he'll understand this moment feels like sunrise.

[yansurnummu]

TESfest day 2: golden

Your dreams are haunted by a figure with a golden mask.

Irinwe has been through a lot of iterations since 2015. I think she was originally supposed to be a companion to my then-nerevarine, Knives, but the two of them pretty quickly turned into this inseparable duo I started calling my "two nerevarines in a trenchcoat"

[ghost-proofbaby]

SO SCARLET (IT WAS MAROON)

two years ago, eddie munson got everything he’d ever wanted - except you. when fate brings the two of you back together, can he get the answers to all the questions you left him with?

☆ tropes: second chance romance, exes to lovers, modern au

☆ warnings: strong language, angst, alcohol/drug consumption, eventual smut, minors dni

☆ pairings: rockstar!eddie munson x fem!reader

spotify playlist

ao3

MASTERLIST:

PROLOGUE (the original 'one shot')*

CHAPTER ONE: CLOSURE

CHAPTER TWO: DON’T YOU

CHAPTER THREE: ALL TOO WELL

CHAPTER FOUR: CASTLES CRUMBLING

CHAPTER FIVE: HOLY GROUND

CHAPTER SIX: IS IT OVER NOW?

CHAPTER SEVEN: QUESTION...?

CHAPTER EIGHT: LOML*

CHAPTER NINE: BACK TO DECEMBER

CHAPTER TEN: RIGHT WHERE YOU LEFT ME

CHAPTER ELEVEN: LET'S GO (BATTLE)

CHAPTER TWELVE: OUT OF THE WOODS

more coming soon!

chapters with smut/sexual themes marked with *

[g1rlr0b1n]

Yet another commission by the amazingly talented @ookamihanta!!! Go check out their page to see more art!!! Their commissions are still open so go check that out as well!!! I highly recommend them!!! 👹

Gods and Demons (Preview)

Damian's preparations for departure were almost complete when Superman hailed him down. For a moment, Damian considered pretending he had not seen him, but ultimately rose to meet the two men who had now landed gracefully beside him and Goliath. He was familiar with the man known as Superman, but the second man was a stranger to him. He was tall with wavy dark locks framing a sharp jawline and piercing steely grey-blue eyes, he bore a resemblance to the other man. He had a pretty good idea now of who he might be. The man's attire was peculiar though, causing Damian to wrinkle his nose slightly in disapproval. He wore a black suit adorned with shimmering silver stars, his deep crimson colored cloak billowing behind him. The most unnerving part of his uniform however, was the obvious missing "S" shield in the center of his chest, leaving the skin underneath exposed for all to see. Damian quickly averted his gaze, focusing back on Superman. “What’s this?” Damian's features contorted in suspicion as Superman extended a piece of paper towards him.

“An olive branch” he replied calmly, then motioned to the tall figure standing next to him, Kal-El cleared his throat, “this is my son, Zod-El. He will be stationed in Tibet with you for the foreseeable future.” There was a moment of tense silence as if to allow for Damian to process the information. Then, Superman spoke again, breaking the stillness. "Consider him an ambassador of good faith," he said firmly.

Damian scoffed, crossing his arms, “Tt. More like a spy to make sure I behave," he retorted with a sharp edge to his voice. The Justice League's true intentions were clear, they had their own agenda, but he intended to manipulate it to his advantage. Despite their lack of trust in Damian's ability to change the League of Assassins, it gave them an excuse to keep him under observation and under their protection. They needed to keep Damian alive regardless of his intentions because the absolute worst case scenario for them would be for him to lose control. It was an obvious choice, he was the only option with ties to the Justice League and a genuine desire to make the world better, even if his methods had not been received well by them. He could only stand to benefit from such a relationship, nonetheless, he’d make them work for it.

Superman let out a weary sigh, his broad shoulders slumping in exhaustion, “you agreed to observation after the attempts on your life," he reminded Damian sternly. The mention of those close calls made Damian flinch slightly, the memories still fresh and painful. Ever since his grandfather’s passing things had not gone as smoothly as anticipated, with everyone with even the slightest of claims coming out of the woodworks, but he survived and he’d continue to do so. Of course, some extra protection would be prudent, even though he had managed to reunite his family giving him the most claim, the attacks still occurred. His mother had even begun to express concern, certain that there was a rat among his inner circle. Damian didn’t want to consider that, the notion that the people he cared for most wanted him dead. Although it was a reality that he hated to admit, he could probably benefit from an impartial set of eyes and ears. Yet, Damian was proud if nothing else and he refused to allow anyone to think him weak.

"That may be," Damian huffed, "but I never agreed to an indefinite placement and certainly not from one of your B-list cast offs." His lip curled teasingly as he surveyed the man clad in black in front of him. He was curious to see how he would react.

The man grit his teeth and extended a hand with a forced smile. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you, Dam-”

Damian interrupted firmly, his piercing gaze fixed on the man's face. “You may call me The Demon’s Head.”

The man chuckled nervously as he pushed back some unruly curls from his forehead. “No offense but...” he hesitated before continuing, “I’d rather call you anything else.”

Damian's lips curled into a menacing smile, his pearly whites barred behind a mask of feigned politeness. "Then, may I have the pleasure of calling you Jonathan?" The man remained silent, his expression guarded. Damian pressed on. "surprised that I know your other name?"

He cleared his throat, his voice betraying forced calmness as he responded, "Not really...and it's just Jon."

The smile fell from Damian's face, replaced by a look of disdain, "I'd rather call you anything else." The lack of push back from his opponent was slightly off-putting, it was simply no fun if they just stood there and took it. But then again, what did he really expect from the son of the Big Blue Boy Scout, always so righteous and obedient.

The tension between them hung heavy in the air, like a thick fog that refused to dissipate. Goliath finally broke the awkward silence with a restless shift, his large frame causing the ground to tremble beneath him. "I see there's no point in arguing with you," he grumbled, casting a patronizing look at Jon. "If Super Slut is ready to depart, then we shall." With the grace of a seasoned rider, Damian pulled himself up and swung himself onto his fiery red companion, feeling the heat emanating from its powerful body. Beside him, Jon effortlessly lifted himself off the ground and into the air. The bat dragon spread its massive wings and with a few strong flaps they ascended into the sky.

[puhpandas]

GGY Week Day 7: Free Space AU

and here’s tarbell! he’s apart of an au of mine where tony gets glitchtrapped instead of killed at the end of ggy. there’s plenty of notes about his design on the drawing, but i’m not gonna talk much about the au itself since it’s an aspiring fic that i wouldn’t want to spoil. tarbell and rab are very close though :) they are 100% completely different entities and people from gregory and tony tho. very sentient, they just… may not have very humanlike morals and values lol

i’ve made tons of art for these 2 recently (most in my sketchbook) so i’ll probably share more later!

[tasteofthedivine93]

The Beauty of the Beast - Messmer x F!Reader - Elden Ring Fic - Part 2

TasteOfTheDivine // Masterlist

Ao3 Link: Coming soon? Fic Rating: Explicit🌶️🌶️ (Chapter: Teen) Category: F/M Fandom: Elden Ring // Elden Ring: Shadow of the Erd Tree Relationships: Messmer x F!Reader // Messmer the Impaler x F!Reader Warnings: None Words: 1841 

MASTERLIST // <- Part 1 // Part 3 ->

Your eyes scan his face, long and sharp but a hint of softness. However before you can snap yourself back to reality, the man snatches his hand away from yours as if it was on fire or ice cold.

He turns away, putting on a stoic and high-class demeanour. Placing his hands behind his back and standing tall. As if another person has taken over his body.

"I am Messmer, lord of this castle." he mutters. "And nay, thou art not free to leaveth just yet. I wilt maketh sure thou art not here for malicious reasons. Thee didst trespass aft'r all. " he scoffs. "Thou art mine own prisoner anon." 

You fall to your knees, pleading for mercy. You hear him chuckle. "Ariseth, I shalt has't non of this." You look up at him. "I shalt showeth thee thy bed chambers"

"My chambers?" You whisper.

"Doth thee wisheth to reside in the dungeon instead?"

"No."

Before you could express your gratitude and introduce yourself, the tall man walks out of his charred bedchamber. You trot along behind him to the other side of the castle, all the while, the two snakes that never seem to leave the man stare at you with their hypnotic green eyes.

They look you up and down, nodding and flicking out their forked tongues at each other, communicating.

You look away from their piercing gaze and look around the hallway once more, each wall decorated with stone carvings of snakes and serpent creatures, eyes glistening with red and green jewels. The lack of daylight enhances the shadows and makes you scared. You notice the candles once lit on your arrival are unlit, leaving the pair of you only illuminated by the candelabra the man, Lord Messmer, you correct yourself, carries and the mild glow of the moon from the stain-glass windows. Each depicting one of the many demi-gods you've been taught about. You tilt your head in curiosity about the Lord's connection to them.

"I desire thee liketh here," Messmer comments. "The castle is thy home anon, access anywhere thee liketh," he stops in his tracks and faces you. "Except the basement."

You look up sheepishly at him, "What's in the base-?"

"TIS FORBIDDEN!" He howls, the snakes around him hiss and lunge at you as if to strike, his skin glows orange and red under his skin for a moment, veins illuminated from beneath. You step back in fear. He looks at your shivering form, pressing his lips together. He turns and continues walking.

You feel a tear fall down your cheek, you tug your cloak around you tighter. You look up and down at the man in front of you. You notice his hunched shoulders, slanting at odd angles. His left shoulder higher than his right. His torso twisted. The fabric around his back bulges out and somewhat hides the outline of the snakes that hover around him.

You wonder if the snakes protrude out of him. The very idea sounding painful in your mind. Despite his posture, he tries to hold himself tall. His shoulders are broad but the rest of him thin and lanky.

You reach a room the complete opposite of his, opening the chamber door, he steps aside and gestures for you to enter. Inside the room is pristine, as if never touched. The bed was made to perfection, the walls a soft moss green, the curtains wrinkle free. The room is still bathed in darkness.

"If 't be true thee require assistances, the s'rvants shall attendeth thee" He shuffles on his feet, looking nervous. "Thee wilt abideth by the house rules and joineth me for dinn'r" (behind him, the two snakes nod at each other and blink slowly)

You turn to thank the man, but before you can open your mouth, he bellows; "TIS NAY A REQUEST" and slams the door shut, leaving you in darkness. The blast from the closing door sends a shiver down your spine.

You turn to the bed and collapse onto the sheets and sob.

***

Messmer sits slouching in his large wood carved chair at the head of a long table filled with a feast for 100 people. He taps the arm rest impatiently, nails rhythmically echoing around the empty chamber.

He feels his breathing get heavier and heavier with each intake.

Frustrated, he leaps out of the chair, pushing it back, the legs scrape on the stone floor. He lets out a frustrated growl.

He turns to one of his snakes who's head perks up at the growl.

"Wherefore isn't the lady h're yet? What is taking so longeth?!"

The snake frowns at him, flicking out his tongue. Inside his mind, the snake speaks to him; "You must be patient, Mess. They must be frightened." Messmer runs his hands through his vibrant red hair.

The other Snake slithers around his shoulder, resting his head on the shoulder of his robe. "Mess, have you thought they could be the one to... break this curse?" The forked tongue licks at his cheek and he jerks away.

"Of course I has't!" He swats away the creature. "I possess no ignorance"

He flops back down into the chair, fingers resting against his temples. He lets out a sigh and apologies to his pets. They nod at him.

"So, you both must fall in love with each other?" He hears in his mind, one snake faces him while tilting its head.

"Tis what mother said," the other snake confirms. Messmer glares at the snake at the mention of his, their, mother.

"But also, these things take time and..." the snake hesitates to finish the sentence.

"The flame is dwindling. I knoweth" Messmer sighs. He drops his head into his hands. The pair of snakes look at each other and drop their heads. "Oh it's no use, they're so beautiful and normal and I'm..." he eyes the snakes, a flood of guilt bubbles in his chest. He frowns and silently apologies. The snakes look at each other and shake their heads.

"You must help them to see the real you, Mess." One snake slithers in the air around him, nuzzling against his shoulder.

He brushes the snake away again. The snake hisses. "Well first, start acting like a gentleman!" The snake frowns and turns away. The other snake interjects; "Show them how compassionate you can be"

"Be gentle."

"Show them your wit and humour!"

"Don't frighten them again."

"Shower them with kindness and gifts"

"But don't spoil them."

"But above all..." the pair turn to him, "YOU MUST CONTROL YOUR TEMPER!"

Messmer scowls at his comrades, folding his arms like a teenager and huffs. He opens his mouth to counteract their comments but the sound of the doorknob to the dinning hall rattles. He turns sharply and stands, back straight and smooths down his robe. He expects to see you, instead, a black-shadowy servant pops into the room.

Messmer looks behind him, opening his arms and gesturing.

"Well, wh're is the lady?" he says through gritted teeth.

The translucent man shivers in fear, "Who? Oh the girl well, she um, she, said..."

Messmer feels the flames lick the insides of his skin, he starts to glow from irritation. The branches of his veins glow from under his greyish skin.

"She's not coming..."

Bursting into flames, Messmer howls; "PARDON?!" The poor ghostly servant drops to his knees and covers his head in his hands as Messmer storms pass him, leaving behind a trail of flames and ash from each step. He storms down the corridor to your room. Red hot fire glows around him, illuminating the corridor so bright as if the sun rose early.

***

You hear him bellowing through the halls, till you know he's at your door. A hot orange glow shines from under the door, the room feels as if it rose a few degrees in temperature.

A loud banging startles you, you gasp at his exasperation.

"I bethought, I toldeth thee to joineth me for dinner as parteth of the house rules?!"

You stand from the bed and tiptoe to the door, hoping if you stay quiet he will go away.

"I knoweth thou art in th're, speaketh!" Messmer growls at you.

You sigh, knowing you must reply or he would burn you with his flames.

"I'm not hungry" you stammer, biting your lip.

The silence is deafening between the two of you, your only blockade the beautifully carved wooden door.

"Thee'll cometh down or I'll burneth down the door!" The glow from under the door turns from orange to red as he grows in frustration at your reply. "Thou art mine own guest!"

You scoff at him, "I am not, you said yourself I am your prisoner as you distrust me so."

On the other side of the door, Messmer's snakes grimace at his actions.

"Master, Mess, maybe you should speak to her more... genteel?"

"Yes, this might not be the best way to show first impressions" One snake slithers down towards the floor to look under the door, unfortunately he cannot see inside.

"The lady is being sore!" He hisses back at his pets. He takes in a few deep breaths, calming and smothering the flames till they dye out and he is left as himself again.

"Gently."

"Shall thee cometh down to dinner?" He waits for your reply.

"We say please"

"Prithee?", he finished.

"No thank you" you squawk at him.

"Fine, then thee shall starve!" He turns sharply on his heels and storms down the corridor. Snakes dragging begrudgingly behind him as they stare at your door.

Behind the frame, you drop to your knees and sob once more.

***

Messmer returns to his charred bedchambers, slamming the doors open with a crack.

"I asketh nicely and the lady refuses, what doest the lady wanteth me to doth? Beg?!"

He storms over to the flame on the table, resting heavily on his palms. He looks down to see the small golden hand mirror gifted to him by his mother before she left. She promised she would use the mirror to speak to him everyday, she vowed on the Greater Will she would. Messmer lost track not of the days or months, but the years since he has last spoken to his mother. Instead he picks up the cool metal, he feels his eye radiate heat as it glows in the reflection. Revealing you, in your chambers, sat on the bed wiping away tears.

He gazes upon you talking to the air, out of frame he sees a blue glow but cannot see who or what you are speaking to you.

"I don't want to get to know him, I don't want anything to do with him" you confess to the mysterious spirit.

He feels his blood run cold, his stomach drops as yet another person in his life doesn't want him. Beside him, the flame flickers and dims again, dropping more ash onto the table.

"I'm just fooling myself, the lady shall nev'r seeth me as aught..." a small golden tear falls down his cheek. "But a monster."

[fyoht]

season 2 + nods to 'crowley was raphael' truthers

[chiropteracupola]

an assortment of my temeraireverse fic-dragons!

[cygnet and honoré are from fifteenth-century britain and france, aquilillus, flavia magna, and bán are from second-century britain, and cipachcoatzin is from sixteenth-century mesoamerica]

[hrokkall]

Recharging

[ponury-grajek]

seriously, L? two useless murderers?