#shit i wrote

[mutualcombat]

oh my god why am i awake? why did i write this?

rating: explicit

pairing: astarion/afab!tav (adriannu :3 )

cw: 18+, parallel masturbation, astarion thinking hes being a dom but is mostly just being a creachurrr. worlds smallest reference to his trauma. also this is unedited if you see mistakes no you fuckin didnt (sorry) (set during act 2 btw)

preview:

The only thing he's laid on her tonight are his eyes, and still she yields. Obliges his whims like it's gospel.

What a wonder it is to desire again. Or to be desired.

"Will you, darling?" His ask his soft. Gentle. Demure. His voice melts into a whisper. Breathy. As if speaking the very words bring him overwhelming ecstasy. "Pleasure yourself for me?"

Even in the dark space of his tent, Astarion can see Adriannu's fingers move down her belly in a torturous crawl. He inhales sharply, and licks his lips as her hand sneaks through her pressed thighs. Splitting her fingers into a 'v', she draws them up her folds, then down and up again. Her little sigh of relief makes his ears fidget.

He can smell her arousal now. Taste it in the thick of the air. Hear it in the rushing of her blood. A cornucopia of sensual delight, spread out just for him and only on her offer.

"My, just look at you." Astarion leans back on his palms from where he sits at the edge of the leather trunk. He uncrosses his legs and unlaces his trousers to take his cock in hand, kneading the rosy, wet tip between his thumb and forefinger. He exhales; a reverent sigh. "Let me see what other talents those fingers have. "

Adriannu is panting. She's watching him in that strange, half lidded way, like he's an adversary she's sizing up for a fight.

Even so, she does as he instructs. Nude, on her back with her knees drawn up and pressing flush together -- Astarion nearly preens just watching her gingerly push a finger inside. She makes a strangled noise that sounds a lot like relief.

The only thing he's laid on her tonight are his eyes, and still she yields. Obliges his whims like it's gospel.

What a wonder it is to desire again. Or to be desired.

He couldn't stand the hands on him. The grabbing, the pushing. Fabric tearing. Skin bruising. Symptoms of twenty long decades of playing the object.

To actually want for someone that wants him in return... it excites him. Terrifies him. He's elated. Perplexed. Absolutely fucking clueless. He wants to pin Adriannu down and drag his cockhead over her clit until tears of raw pleasure bead at the corners of those strange, canid-like eyes.

The slick sounds of her cunt make his fingers flex, his cock twitch. His shallow breaths are a reflex, not a need. A habit from a time when he was just a man.

He bites the inside of his cheek as she pushes another finger in. Grinds her palm against clit while her fingers pump a slow, agonizing rhythm. Something delicious burns in his gut as he watches her drip over the linens of his bedroll. He knows he'll be burying his nose in it later, whimpering as he desperately knuckles the spot under his sack and rids himself of all the pent up release from this evening and the last.

"Just what are you thinking about over there?" It's Adriannu's amused voice that brings him to. Astarion blinks.

An intrusive, downright salacious thought worms it's way into his head -- tells him how good that smile of hers might look with a set of pristine fangs. A set to match his own.

His mouth goes dry. The hunger in him suddenly burns, and the fire threatens to smoke the beast in him right out into the open.

Across the tent, Adriannu's smile widens as she works herself. She's practically breathless. "I see that face--ah," something she does causes her hips to twitch. "Nasty, desperate creature you are..."

He's on her before she can react. Crawling up her body, cock in hand and practically dripping. His claws catch in the fibers of the bedding before he even realizes they're out.

Planting his knees on either side of her shoulders, Astarion straightens up and, tilting his head back, he gives his shaft a luxuriously slow pump from base to tip. "Maybe I'll show you just how nasty I can really be."

[imagineitdearies-old]

Modern lucemond where Luke stops reacting to his uncle Aemond’s snide, borderline-homophobic remarks about Luke’s clothing and boyfriends with anger, and starts flirting back instead. He’s delighted to find he can actually make Aemond *blush* (and then stalk off) with the right comeback.

“Yeah, he’s not my usual type, could be taller, blonder, more emotionally constipated...” 

“Oh, I look like a girl to you? Am I pretty enough to kiss?” 😏😘🥰

“Well if I didn’t wear a skirt men wouldn’t have as easy access to my ass—see?”

How Aemond responds to that last one I’ll leave for you to fill in.

[onedumbazz]

Short bursts of your hums of mixed melodies fills the air as you stir the scrambled code that is... well spaghetti code. Making sure it doesn't stick to the pot, and as you were about to strain the spaghetti code the sound of the door opening and closing catches your attention and makes you halt your actions to look over your to spot Spamton flopping face-down onto the couch. Sopping wet from the rain outside, with a small frustrated groan coming from them. You sigh through your nose at the sight and walk over to the couch and sit down next to him, with your hands on your laps "Rough day?" Spamton lifted their head and with the best grimace his face could muster "[You] HAVE N0 [ID]EA..." as he finishes they pushed themself up, and plopped himself onto your lap, head buried into your chest. Tension easing up a bit in their body, and a small muffled content sigh could heard from him as he wraps their arm around your torso.

In response you wrap your arms around the small salesman and squeeze them lightly, which seems to be appreciate the small gesture and snuggle deeper into you with more tension leaving his body. "Is that so?" left your mouth as you started to play with their hair, "Mmmh" left the salesman as they try to lean into your hand while staying buried in your chest, content on staying there.

You let out a hum that would transform into words "Would you like to talk about it with a plate of spaghetti code?" at the mention of food Spamton perks up and lifts their head to look at with with a small smile laced on his features "YOU MAKE A HARD BARGAIN. [Eye] W0ULD [L is for Love~] THAT" and they look to your lip before locking with your eyes, silently asking for permission. This makes a smile to grow on your face and answer by gently taking their chin and leaning in for a small kiss. Leaving Spamton fluster by happily leans into it with a hum leaving his throat.

Both lean back from each with love laced in their eyes as they both gaze at each other. "Would you like to set up the table as I prepare two plates?" you hum as you place a hand on his cheek, thumb rubbing circles. They hum and lean into your hand, even placing a hand on top of yours, "SUR3" and places a kiss onto the palm of your hand and slides of your lap to set up the table and with that.

You get up from the couch and continue the task of straining the pasta and prepare the meal. With two plates in hand you bring them over to the table and place a plate in front of the salesman and place a kiss on his forehead. They hum gratefully as you do, and begins to eat the meal, beginning to talk about their day, and you listen and hold his hand, rubbing circles into it with your thumb as the rain slowly ends as you both enjoy the meal and company of each other.

[atropalugosi]

tabernak! catch me suddenly very anxious to post anything lol

[thatautisticlesbian]

US the cosmic child

A mix of things so many that the eye can’t see it all, a mosaic of ideas and promises. So large and bright even the blind can see it so loud and insistent the deaf can hear its song. Some have described it as the song of creation that the angels sing for their god but no, they were all mistaken it is the voice of the cosmos trying to reach out to us. To the only life, it has seen in an eternity of waiting. We are its children the first fruit of her mind. Now she steps back and sings us to sleep as her child slowly dies in her arms. For we did not know how to protect ourselves. We consumed ourselves like a fire with no regard that we would eat through all of the wood we needed to keep burning. With a fizzle, we died. The tears of the mother washed away all that we had built. She waited then for another spec of life in the infinitely expanding cosmos.

(wow getting a tad emotional writing this haha)

[littlelightfish]

This... this is a whole different kind of psychic damage here. When nightmares got Marcille, we get to knew that her's biggest fear is outliving her friends. This isn't even canon probably, but look at this. This isn't a "I don't want my friends to die" kind of dream. This is a "I'm terrified of loosing my daughters, of something killing them, and being incapable of stopping it" kind of dream. It's so simple yet it explains perfectly the whole of chilchucks character. He loves, he cares, deeply. But he, or doesn't acknowledges, or doesn't know what to do with that knowledge.

Besides that. Someone had to wake him up after this. Imagine the devastation in this man after he wakes up. He just saw his three little babys murdered corpses (or maybe he saw them die, wich isn't better). He would possibly not talk about it, and that would worry the hell out of the party, because we'll, they see him all down and only one of them knows what he saw. Imagine being the one to pull him from that nightmare. Seeing this man, usually so composed, fuking staring with tears and terror in his eyes to the composes of what you can only assume are his daughters. It would be heartwrenching.

Idk, I love this man so much...

[inkskinned]

this is just my opinion but i think any good media needs obsession behind it. it needs passion, the kind of passion that's no longer "gentle scented candle" and is now "oh shit the house caught on fire". it needs a creator that's biting the floorboards and gnawing the story off their skin. creators are supposed to be wild animals. they are supposed to want to tell a story with the ferocity of eating a good stone fruit while standing over the sink. the same protective, strange instinct as being 7 and making mud potions in pink teacups: you gotta get weird with it.

good media needs unhinged, googling-at-midnight kind of energy. it needs "what kind of seams are invented on this planet" energy and "im just gonna trust the audience to roll with me about this" energy. it needs one person (at least) screaming into the void with so much drive and energy that it forces the story to be real.

sometimes people are baffled when fanfic has some stunning jaw-dropping tattoo-it-on-you lines. and i'm like - well, i don't go here, but that makes sense to me. of fucking course people who have this amount of passion are going to create something good. they moved from a place of genuine love and enjoyment.

so yeah, duh! saturday cartoons have banger lines. random street art is sometimes the most precious heart-wrenching shit you've ever seen. someone singing on tiktok ends up creating your next favorite song. youtubers are giving us 5 hours of carefully researched content. all of this is the impossible equation to latestage capitalism. like, you can't force something to be good. AI cannot make it good. no amount of focus-group testing or market research. what makes a story worth listening to is that someone cares so much about telling it - through dance, art, music, whatever it takes - that they are just a little unhinged about it.

one time my friend told me he stayed up all night researching how many ways there are to peel an orange. he wrote me a poem that made me cry on public transportation. the love came through it like pith, you know? the words all came apart in my hands. it tasted like breakfast.

[corkinavoid]

DPxDC "Pick Me Up"

The stream goes live on the first day of the school year. It's the usual song and dance - mad laughing, threats, poor jokes, terror, and about thirty kids huddled together in a classroom behind Joker's back. Tim recognizes it as one of the Gotham Academy classrooms. Dick can't imagine the horror those kids' parents must be feeling right now. Jason jokes about middle school traumatic experiences. Damian is feeling very justified for skipping classes today.

Bruce, all suited up in his Batman garb, is making his way to the Academy as fast as he possibly can. Those are kids.

Gotham is once again anxiously kept on the edge of their seats, watching as Joker decides to interview the kids on their learning experience so far. Something about leaving a good first impression on the new generation or some other bullshit. Most kids stutter over their words - it's true that Gothamites are way more composed when facing life-threatening events, but those kids are only fourteen or fifteen for the most part. They are not old enough to keep their cool in the face of a murder clown.

That is, until Joker points his camera at one of the girls. Black hair in a high ponytail, blue eyes without a trace of fear, a slightly displeased, even bored expression on her face. She looks straight into the camera, not even waiting for the laughing madman to finish his question, and deadpans:

"I don't think I like school. Pick me up, please."

Joker sputters.

"Not so scared, I see," he sneers, and, in the next moment, a comically large gun painted in purples and greens is pointed to the girl's forehead, "How about now?"

The girl scrunches her nose and makes a so-so gesture.

"It's kinda meh," she admits, "Like, yeah, points for style, but you know, size doesn't matter. It's all in the technique."

Dick snorts over the comms. It's a bad time for laughing, sure, but the phrase caught him off-guard. This is not what you'd expect to hear from a teen, and definitely not something you'd expect anyone to say to the Joker. Jason's comms are muted, but Barbara knows he also laughed a little.

"Technique, you say?" Joker hisses, pressing the gun closer to the girl's head, and she winces, leaning away from it, almost as if she is disgusted by the touch.

"Yeah, I mean, guns are not that scary anyway. What are you gonna do with them, blast my brains all over the floor? Been there, done that," the girl shrugs, "Kinda nasty, but overall, it's just like slime, only sticky." She pauses and looks to the side, seemingly lost in thought, "Huh, maybe we should have added Borax to it. Or was it baking soda?.."

"Listen here, you little brat," Joker's fingers catch the girl's chin, and his voice becomes sickeningly menacing. Bruce is almost there, just two more minutes. Tim is already grappling onto the wall.

But none of them get to finish.

"Put your dirty fingers away from my sister," a low, cold, and even in a way that speaks of barely contained fury, voice comes from out of the screen.

The camera spins, like whoever is holding it turned really fast, and everyone watching the stream sees a fairly normal guy standing by the window - a turtleneck and ripped jeans, same black hair as the girl, same blue eyes... Wait, they are not blue.

And that's not a guy.

The camera falls down to the floor, and there are a lot of panicked screams coming from the broadcast now, but none of them sound like children's voices. It's the screams of adults, of grown-ass men, and later, someone even claimed they heard Joker's scream among them, too. The picture on camera glitches a few times, and the angle is awkward, but everyone still gets to see how shadows in the room morph into eyes, wide open and green, and how the darkness grows sharp teeth, countless grinning mouths that don't belong to any faces.

Screams turn into gargling and then to quiet whispers, filling the ears of all those listening with countless words in languages they don't know.

Red Robin turns off the recording and looks to that same guy from the levestream, sitting across him on the couch. The guy - Daniel, or Danny, as he introduced himself - looks him in the eyes and raises an eyebrow.

"Okay, and?"

"How did you do it?" Tim asks for the third time this evening. Danny blinks.

"Did what?" He asks, completely incomprehending. Tim groans. He's been trying to get his answers, any answers at this point, from the guy for thirty fucking minutes already. So far, he's got nothing. Danny, whoever the fuck he is, proves to be the most annoying human being on Earth.

"Seven people in a coma, including Joker himself, with no physical injuries and none of the children remember a thing! How?!" He demands, and a girl's face peeks from around the corner:

"I remember!"

Tim snaps his head at her, "What do you remember?"

The girl pauses, blinks, and looks to Danny. Then shrugs, "My brother picked me up from school."

Tim drops his head down and breathes out in frustration. He can't force the information out of civilians, he is a vigilante, not a mafia.

"Would it make you feel better if I promise not to do it again?" Danny asks, and his voice is way too innocent for Tim to believe him. He raises his head to look the guy in his shameless, amused eyes.

"I hate you."

"Thanks," Danny grins.

[dcxdpdabbles]

Danny: What's this? *Holding red envelope*

Jazz: I don't know. It came in the mail today. No name or anything, so I assumed it was for you from your night job.

Danny opening envelope: Jazz. This a love letter. A letter addressed to the Elder Daughter of the house

Jazz: For me? Who's it from?

Danny: Jason Todd. This is obviously a fake-

Jazz: I'm writing back.

Danny: What!? Why!?

Jazz: This is romantic as hell. He quoted Pride and Prejudice. I can not possibly pass up a chance with a boy who looks like that and reads classics.

Three days later

Tim: Oh shit

Dick: What?

Tim: Remember that prank we pulled on Jason by pretending to send love letters to random addresses posing as him?

Dick: Yeah, that was funny. He looked so embarrassed

Tim: One of them answered. *Holds up teal envelope*

Damian: Incredible. Contact her as quickly as possible

Tim: Why?

Damian: She's obviously has the courage and curiosity that fits well with Todd. Out of the lot of potential candidates, she shows the most promise to join this family

Dick: Dami.....those were real addresses?

Damian blinking slowly: You told me to help you find suitable lovers for Todd. It was a task. I complete tasks. I found real addresses for girls that fit Todd preference in women.

Tim: Omg

[mutualcombat]

wooo okay here it is. i added what was originally chapter 3 to 2, as i felt these parts were stronger together, so now we can get right now to the real stuff in the next one. and maybe see an elf?

[imagineitdearies-old]

I loved the analysis but kepa for Daddy reasons is the only way to use it

Regarding this short analysis on Valyrian terms for 'uncle.'

Haha i meaannn Rhaenyra uses kepa with Viserys too, but i appreciate your horny priorities anon. You have suddenly sparked a little lucemond drabble from me, so thank you!! This is also inspired by the fact that Aemond spoke some pretty broken Valyrian in ep10 😂

Big NSFW warning! Lol but here ya go folks:

"Ahhhhh...ahh, fuck...oh--kepa!"

Aemond grunted as Luke's walls clamped down around him, only managing a few more sporadic thrusts before he followed his nephew into orgasm. They groaned together, limbs locking even tighter around one another through the aftershocks.

Luke smiled when Aemond collapsed onto the pillows next to him, reaching to smooth away a sweaty strand of hair Aemond could feel stuck to his cheek. He waited to bat the hand away until Luke had already moved it, letting out a harrumph when his nephew proceeded to cuddle into his chest--but only holding out for a moment before wrapping an arm around him to keep him there.

They had an enjoyable, discreet thing going. Much more enjoyable than trying to constantly avoid or intimidate his nephew after Rhaenyra's family returned to the Red Keep, to Aemond's surprise. He found he preferred Luke 'paying his debt' this way...and Luke was clearly enjoying himself too.

But one thing about their almost-nightly fucks had Aemond curious.

When Lucerys finally extricated himself from their embrace and put on his clothes, offering a knowing, "Till next time, qybor," Aemond sat up with a frown.

"You always call me qybor," he started, and Lucerys raised a brow as he paused, one leg into his trousers. "Always, except for when we fuck."

It was only thanks to his nephews that he knew familial Valyrian words, or anything beyond the basics for commanding a dragon. The maesters had dutifully supplied him and his royal siblings with the available books on the subject, but the texts were at once far too advanced and far too simple. He tried to ask his father about teaching him when he was young, but Viserys would either cite exhaustion or say, "Another day, perhaps."

Alicent forbid him from going to Rhaenyra, and his older half-sister didn't seem to like him anyway. So young Aemond caught onto the practical application of familial words mostly by the way Jacaerys and Lucerys used the terms, like referring to him as qybor and Daemon as kepa.

But his lack of education in this one area was still a bit of a sore spot. The day Luke had amusedly corrected his use of 'taoba' instead of 'toabus' was the same Aemond had pinned him against the wall of a dark alcove, threatened his eye and worse, then somehow ended up fucking him against the wall instead.

Lucerys gave him a disbelieving look now, saying, "Yes...?" Aemond's jaw locked; he said nothing more. At that, his nephew's face quickly relaxed into surprised amusement. "Really? You don't know?"

Most of the time Aemond could ignore or even enjoy Luke's teasing. But on this particular subject, it hit a nerve. He stood and pushed the rest of Luke's clothes at his chest, ignoring his nephew's questions as to what was wrong as he practically threw him from his rooms.

Aemond spent the next day or so sulking, tempted to go back to those useless books for answers, but not quite enough to take such a blow to his pride. He scowled at Luke anytime he neared, and stiffly told the younger man, "I am not taking visitors," when he showed up at his door a few nights later.

But Luke rolled his eyes and budged his way in anyway, hands on his hips as he glared up at Aemond. "Why are you so upset? I don't have to call you kepa if that's such a problem."

Aemond sneered. "The problem is your patronization."

"So you're not just trying to embarrass me into explaining?"

"Embarrass you? Just because your mother could teach you Valyrian--"

"Fine, fine," he interrupted with a sigh. "I'm sorry--it just surprised me. I really thought you knew." Then Luke smirked with those full, much-too-kissable lips, closing the distance between them. He splayed a possessive hand over Aemond's chest, looking up from under his dark lashes as he murmured, "It doesn't just mean father's brother, you see."

Aemond forgot what they were talking about, for a moment.

Then clarity returned--he grabbed Luke's wrist, locking the younger man close against him. "Just tell me."

Luke's smirk softened, almost turned sad. "I would have thought, of all things--but I suppose the king never..." he sighed and shook away whatever somber thing he was thinking. The smirk returned slightly as he leaned forward and whispered into Aemond's ear, "It means uncle...and father, kepa."

As Aemond just started to take this in, still confused, he let out a sharp noise of surprise when Lucerys's teeth captured his ear lobe and bit down, hard.

Aemond immediately felt himself growing hard in response.

And then everything Luke was saying came together in his head. All other questions fled in the face of Aemond's sudden, imposing confusion as to why he wasn't currently buried deep inside his nephew, drawing out that word from his sweet lips right this moment.

But that could be easily remedied. Aemond twisted Luke around and shoved his trousers down, unsurprised but still further aroused to see his nephew had yet again prepared himself before arriving here. Without further ado Aemond grabbed Luke's other wrist and pinned them both up against the door with one hand, wrapping his arm around the younger man's waist and grinning at the sound of Luke's whimper as he thrust inside with ease.

By the end of that particular bout of fucking Aemond learned a lot about himself--for one, that he actually did like dirty talk, specifically in the context of growling at his nephew, "That's it, be a good boy and take it for your kepa," as he pounded into him over a table. Or that he had no hope of staving off his orgasm when Luke wailed "kepaaaaa" so brokenly into the pillows, as his nephew did ten minutes later.

The only problem that arose from such discoveries was that now, whenever Luke had the inclination, all he had to do was switch to the 'incorrect' Valyrian term for uncle and Aemond had no choice but to take him up against the nearest surface. It was too much power--dangerous, really. A hazard to their environment, to anyone within earshot, and most importantly to Aemond's defenses against feeling real, undeniable affection for his nephew.

As Luke moaned, "Please, kepa," yet again while being fingered open by him, Aemond supposed he could live with that.

~end~

[buppkizz]

mostly old engiespy doodles, kinda drew most of these for my eyes only but changed me mind today

[thewitchqueen281]

I'm simply obessed with Harris bomberguy saying 90% of James Somertons shit isn't his and then todd a few hours later coming up and saying and the 10% that is is bullshit.

[tiny-space-platypus]

Ok so it's like 3am and I can only think of DC/DP but dimensional warfare. Like the GIW have been fucking with the dead so much, messing with Danny so much, that he decides fuck it we ball. If I become Danny do fucking be it.

Like Danny has tried to be good. He had tried desperately to be good since he was 14,since he died. Like he wasn't really a kid after that. He had tried to get help from the JL but his pleas were ignored, he tried to tell them about the GIW, he tried to tell them about the anti-ecto laws but he got nothing.

Now he was older, now he was bitter, now they had taken his children. Now was time for war. It was easy, so easy that it was uncomfortable for him. Killing shouldn't be so easy but humans were so fragile. He let ghosts and demons and anything else run wild, he had every city spirit cause their worse. He sent a message to the world before causing a world wide black out.

"I have let you mess with the dead. I have protected you from the dead. I have protected you from future and from yourselves. Yet you decide to take my children. You take the spawn of the king of the Infinite Realms and expect no consequences. This is a declaration of war long overdue. Prepare yourself living realms, your days are limited. I will either find my children or you will return them to me. Till then in joy your blackout."

And with that earth was plunged into the darkness of night. As the monsters that haven't terrorized the earth in millennia roam without a care.

JL and JLD are freaking the fuck out. Trying to prevent as much chaos as possible. They had to find those kids they had to play diplomate to an angry god or send the flash back before this to hopefully fix this. They had to fix this.

[thatautisticlesbian]

The lightless flame

The lightless flame gives off no heatNor doth heat the soul

The heart that hath no beat

The silver knife long without edge nor point

[jasmancer]

BLACK PUNK CRASH COURSE!!!

BLACK PUNK OGS

Death

X-Ray Spex

Bad Brains

Pure Hell

Fishbone

MODERN BLACK PUNK ARTISTS

Ho99o9

The Muslims

Pleasure Venom

Fuck U Pay Us

Big Joanie

Nova Twins

MORE NAMES TO KNOW

Tina Bell: frontwoman of the band Bam Bam, often called the Godmother of grunge because of its influence. Racism within the scene has led to her influence being pretty extensively erased but her bandmate and lifelong friend Scotty Buttocks has been working hard to counteract that by doing press and preserving their music here. Kurt fucking Cobain was their roadie

Betty Davis: 70s funk rock legend who just recently passed away. Incredibly unique performer that was way ahead of her time. Not to be confused with Bette Davis.

Sistah Grrrl Riots: A black punk collective put together in response to alienation and racism in the 90s punk and riot grrrl scenes. Organized by legends Tamar-Kali Brown, Honeychild Coleman, Maya Glick, and Simi Stone. You can read more about sistah grrrl in this article.

Ronnie Spector: Frontwoman of the Ronettes and rock n roll pioneer. Black girl groups were a huge influence on the sound of Rock n Roll as we know it from The Beatles to Led Zepplin to the Rolling Stones. She recently passed but her autobiography came out last year and it's worth the read.

READ A FUCKING BOOK

Black Diamond Queens: African American Women and Rock and Roll by Maureen Mahon

Rip It Up: The Black Experience in Rock N Roll by Kandia Crazy Horse (Anthology)

Shotgun Seamstress Zine Anthology by Osa Atoe

BONUS LINKS

POC Zine Project @poczineproject

Maya Glick's Storm fan film RAIN

Black Women in Rock Archive

IMDb for the documentary Afro-Punk (2003) currently not available for streaming in the US