#Rock Against Reagan

[mrbopst]

My favorite picture of Dave

[punkrockhistory]

41 years ago today

Punx at the Rock Against Reagan concert, Washington DC, July 3, 1983.

Free concert with Dead Kennedys, MDC, D.R.I. and many other bands

[sourcherryandsprinkles]

more gf ethan

This has been sitting in my drafts for a while. Enjoy!

Games like these are my favorite to read. If you have any fic recommendations, let me know

my taglists are here + you can send requests here at any time

—

After binging all the Stab movies, you found a new kink to add to your list. Some would say it’s a little dark and twisted, but you didn’t care. Ethan was willing to play and that’s all that mattered.

‘’What am I gonna do with you?’’ Ethan asked, his pretty face covered with a Ghostface mask as he sat over your hips with the blunt side of his knife right under your chin.  

You feigned fear and innocence with your eyes as you looked back at him. ‘’Are you going to kill me, Mr. Ghostface?’’ 

The knife pressed harder on your skin, forcing you to tilt your chin up as he shook his head slowly. ‘’You’re too pretty to end up gutted like a fish.’’ 

Ethan slid his other hand up the surface of your stomach, following the path to your breasts. You were visibly not wearing a bra, the peak of your nipples showing through the material and making Ethan grunt under his mask. Unable to resist, he rubbed his thumb over a nipple and pinched it. 

He pulled down the neckline, his palm closing around one bare breast. ‘’Mmh, that’s a nice pair of tits you have there.’’ You arched into his rough caress, a surprised yelp slipping when he slapped it. Ethan watched as it bounced, a red mark appearing on your skin. ‘’I bet they’ll look pretty when they bounce as I pound into your tight little pussy.’’ 

You whimpered at the words, your core aching at the anticipation of him stretching you, filling you all the way up. 

‘’You want that?’’ he asked, rocking his lower body against you, making you feel his erection in his pants. ‘’You want my big cock to destroy your little pussy?’’ 

A wicked grin curled on your lips with a matching gleam in your eyes. ‘’Yes.’’ You wanted his naked body rubbing against yours. You wanted him inside you…with the costume on. ‘’Please fuck me, Mr. Ghostface.’’ 

Ethan’s cock swelled at your request and he dropped his knife, snapping out of character. It was difficult for him to stay in his act when all he wanted to do was to drop his pants and let you use him, but he agreed to play. 

He took a deep breath and returned into character. ‘’Let’s play a game first.’’ Ethan picked his knife back and spinned with agility. ‘’I’m gonna ask a trivia question and if you answer right, I’ll give you what you want. If not…I’m gonna grab a fistful of your hair and force my cock down your throat like you're my little bitch and have you choke on it.’’

In all honesty, you didn’t mind any of those situations. You’ll take his cock whichever way he gave it to you. 

You moaned softly and nodded. 

Under his shy and dorky appearance, Ethan had a mouth for dirty talking. He didn’t look like he’d be this way, but it’s always the quiet ones, right? He could have you a needy whimpering mess and nearly coming from him just using his words on you. 

‘’First question. What does the demon that possesses the little girl in The Exorcist tells the priest when he tries to exorcise her?’’

They do quite a bit of talking in the movie, but if Ethan picked this question, you figured there must be one particular line he wanted you to say. You raked your brain, then it hit you. Ethan always quotes that part when you watch it together and it cracks the both of you up. 

‘’Your mother sucks cocks in hell!’’

 Ethan slowly lifted his hand to run the tip of his knife across your cheek. ‘’Now, now, that's not a way to talk about my dead mother…’’ 

You quickly corrected yourself. ‘’No! I’m not saying— Reagan! That's what she tells the priest!’’ 

Ethan brought a finger to your lips, shutting you up. ‘’I know.’’ He wanted to kiss you, but resisted and dragged his knife down your chest, running it down your cami and tearing it in half, exposing the rest of your upper half to him. ‘’Do I have to do it with these too?’’ He tapped his knife over your panties. 

Feeling the cool metal through the lace, your breathing started to speed up and you pressed your thighs together, turned on by the act.

—

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[mostlysignssomeportents]

Austin Grossman’s ‘Fight Me’

On July 14, I'm giving the closing keynote for the fifteenth HACKERS ON PLANET EARTH, in QUEENS, NY. Happy Bastille Day! On July 20, I'm appearing in CHICAGO at Exile in Bookville.

In Fight Me, the novelist and game developer Austin Grossman uses aging ex-teen superheroes to weigh the legacy of Generation X, in a work that enrobes its savage critique with sweet melancholia, all under a coating of delicious snark:

http://www.austingrossman.com/fight-me

It is, in other words, a very Gen X kinda novel. Prodigy (AKA Alex Beekman) is a washed-up superhero. As a nerdy high-schooler, he was given super powers by a mysterious wizard (posing as a mediocre teacher), who gave him an amulet and a duty. Whenever Alex touches the amulet and speaks the word of power, reaclun (which he insists is not "nuclear" backwards) he transforms into Prodigy, a nigh-invulnerable, outrageously handsome living god who is impervious to bullets, runs a one-minute mile, and fights like a champ. Prodigy, he is told, has a destiny: to fight the ultimate evil when it emerges and save the world.

Now, Alex is 40, and it's been a decade since he retired both Prodigy and his Alex identity, moving into a kind of witness protection program the federal government set up for him. He poses as a mediocre university professor, living a lonely and unexceptional life.

But then, Alex is summoned back to the superhero lair he shared with his old squad, "The Newcomers," a long-vacant building that is one quarter Eero Saarinen, three quarters Mussolini. There, he is reunited with his estranged fellow ex-Newcomers, and sent on a new quest: to solve the riddle of the murder of the mysterious wizard who gave him his powers, so long ago.

The Newcomers – an amped-up ninja warrior, a supergenius whose future self keeps sending him encouragement and technical schematics backwards through time, and an exiled magical princess turned preppie supermodel – have spent more than a decade scattered to the winds. While some have fared better than Alex/Prodigy, none of them have lived up to their potential or realized the dreams that seemed so inevitable when they were world famous supers with an entourage of fellow powered teens who worshipped them as the planet's greatest heroes.

As they set out to solve the mystery, they are reunited and must take stock of who they are and how they got there (cue Talking Heads' "Once In a Lifetime"). With flashbacks, flashforwards, and often hilarious asides, Prodigy brings us up to speed on how supers fail, and what it's like to live as a failed super.

The publisher's strapline for this book is "The Avengers Meets the Breakfast Club," which is clever, but extremely wrong. The real comp for this book isn't "The Breakfast Club," it's "The Big Chill."

When I realized this, I got briefly mad, because I've only had two good movie high concept pitches in my life and one of them was "Gen X Big Chill." Rather than veterans of the Summer of 68 confronting the Reagan years, you could have veterans of the Battle of Seattle living through the Trump years. One would be on PeEP, one would be an insufferable Andrew Tate-quoting bitcoiner, one would be a redpilled reactionary with a genderqueer teen, one would be a squishy lib, one a firebreathing leftist, etc. The soundtrack would just be top 40 tracks from artists who have songs on "Schoolhouse Rock Rocks":

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Schoolhouse_Rock!_Rocks

Every generation has some way in which they seek to overthrow the status quo and build a new, allegedly better one, after all. "Big Chill"'s impact comes from its postmortem on a generation where it was easy to feel like you were riding destiny's rails to greatness thanks to the sheer size of the Boomer cohort and the postwar prosperity they lived through. A Gen X Big Chill would be a stocktaking of a generation that defined itself as a lost generation reared in the Boomers' shadows, armored against the looming corpo-climate apocalypse with the sword of irony and the shield of sincerity.

Which is basically what Grossman is doing here. What's more, doing this as a superhero story is a genius move – what could be a better metaphor for a teen's unrealistic certainty of destined greatness than a superhero? Superhero fantasies are irreducibly grandiose and unrealistic, but all the more beautiful and brave and compelling for it.

You know, like teens.

At 52, I'm a middle-aged Gen Xer. I've got two artificial hips and I just scheduled a double cataract surgery. My hairline is receding. I'm an alta kaker. But I wasn't always: I was a bright and promising kid, usually the youngest person in the room where we were planning big protests, ambitious digital art projects, or the future of science fiction. I had amazing friends: creative and funny and sweet, loyal and talented and just fun.

We're mostly doing okay (the ones that lived; fuck cancer and fuck heroin and fuck fentanyl). Some of us are doing pretty good. On a good day, I think I'm doing pretty good. I had a night in 2018 where I got to hang out, as a peer, with my favorite musician and my favorite novelist, both in the same evening. These were artists I'd all but worshipped as a teen. I remember looking at the two selfies I took than night and thinking, Man, if 15 year old me could see these, he'd say that it all worked out.

But you don't get to be 52 without having a long list of regrets and failures that your stupid brain is only too eager to show you a highlight reel from. No one gets to middle age without a haunting loss that is always trying to push its way to the fore in order to incinerate every triumph great and small and leave ashes behind.

That's why there's a "Big Chill" for every generation. Each one has its own specific character and meaning situated in history, but each one has to grapple with the double-edged sword of nostalgia. Not for nothing, John Hodgman (a bona fide Gen X icon) calls nostalgia "a toxic impulse."

Grossman really makes Fight Me work as a Gen X Big Chill. He's a great Gen X writer; his first novel, Soon I Will Be Invincible, was a knockout debut about superheroes and supervillains that had a very "The Boys" vibe, you know, that neat little move where you contend with the banal parts of a super's life and show how super powers don't make you a good person, or even a competent one.

His followup to Invincible came six years later. YOU is a coming-of-age story about the games industry with a second-person narrator (think "Zork"). Grossman is an accomplished game dev (Tomb Raider Legend, Deus X, Dishonored, etc), and he uses YOU to really plumb the depths of what games mean, what fun is, and how working on games isn't just work, it's often really shitty work, the opposite of fun:

https://memex.craphound.com/2013/04/16/austin-grossmans-you-brilliant-novel-plumbs-the-heroic-and-mystical-depths-of-gaming-and-simulation/

Grossman's last novel was Crooked, a very daffy alternate history in which Richard Nixon is a Cthulhoid sorcerer locked in a Lovecraftian battle of good and evil. This is a purely hilarious romp, wildly imaginative and deliciously certain to offend reactionary jerks:

https://memex.craphound.com/2015/08/26/austin-grossmans-crooked-the-awful-cthulhoid-truth-about-richard-nixon/

All those chops are on display in Fight Me: a book that covers its brooding with wisecracks, that spits out ten great gags per page even as it drives a knife into your heart. It's a great novel.

Fight Me doesn't come out in the US and Canada until tomorrow (it's been out in the UK, Australia, NZ, etc for more than a month). Normally, I would hold off on reviewing this until the on-sale date, but this is my last day on the blog for two weeks – I'm leaving on a family vacation early tomorrow morning. I'll see you on July 14!

Support me this summer on the Clarion Write-A-Thon and help raise money for the Clarion Science Fiction and Fantasy Writers' Workshop!

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/07/01/the-big-genx-chill/#im-super-thanks-for-asking

[starshideurfics]

Thirsty Thursday - Giving Thanks

steddie, omegaverse, family dinner, treat for best behavior 😈, mdni 🔞

Eddie loves his boyfriend. He loves him. He loves Steve so much. But he has to keep reminding himself of that fact while he’s at the Harrington’s for Thanksgiving.

They’ve been dating since the fall of Steve’s junior year, and Eddie has met Steve’s mom a handful of times, she’s nice if a bit oblivious. But his dad has been out of town on business every time Eddie’s come over for dinner, so he’s successfully sweated through his first iron-gripped handshake from Richard Harrington today. Now he just needs to survive being in a room full of Reagan Republicans without jumping on a table and calling them fascists.

Steve can clearly see that Eddie is about to lose it as his Uncle Charles drones on about the stock market and returns on his investments at one end of the room, and his Aunt Maureen praises Nancy Reagan’s crusade against drugs and music with explicit lyrics at the other. He squeezes Eddie’s hand and whispers in his ear, “Babe, let’s go get some air,” before making their excuses to his Grandpa Otis and dragging Eddie to the ensuite for the first floor guest room, locking the door behind them.

“Thank you for telling your mom that Wayne picked up a shift today so he didn’t have to be here, too,” Eddie mumbles, hiding his face against Steve’s neck.

“You’re doing so fucking good, Eddie. I’m sorry they’re all like this.” Steve slides his fingers into Eddie’s hair and scratches at his scalp.

“Your grandpa’s pretty cool, kinda racist, but…”

“I know. But we just need to make it through another couple hours, and then you get to unwrap your present.” He guides Eddie’s lips to his, kissing him softly. “But I think you deserve a little peek now,” Steve adds with a wink as he lets go and steps back.

Reaching down, Steve grips the hem of his sweater and raises it to his collarbones, showing off the delicate bralette he put on that morning. His dusky nipples show through the lace, and Eddie stares. He’s seen Steve naked plenty, but this lingerie set is new to him, and the bralette frames his tits so well. “So beautiful, Baby,” Eddie murmurs, stepping in to grip Steve’s side, his thumbs rubbing over his nipples as he bends down to place a kiss in the shallow valley between Steve’s breasts.

Steve chuckles and pets Eddie’s hair. “Do you think that’s enough to get you through dinner?” he asks.

“No,” Eddie whines, pinching one of Steve’s nipples.

“Puppy…” Steve warns around a moan.

Eddie brings a hand down to hold Steve’s waist, grinding their hips together. “Want you, Stevie. Please,” he gasps against Steve’s ear.

“We cannot have sex in this bathroom, my mom would lose her shit.”

“I can’t believe she thinks we haven’t had sex yet.”

“That’s the only reason she’s let you into the house. My mom’s a big believer that omegas shouldn’t put out until they’ve got a rock on their finger.”

“Yet she pays for your birth control.”

“I’ve got an irregular cycle!” Steve hisses, swatting at Eddie’s shoulder.

Eddie grins, hips moving as he whispers, “We both know that’s not true, Baby. You just like the feeling of me coming inside you.”

“Eddie…” Steve whines, forcing his sweater back down. “Just a couple more hours, and we get to go have pie with Wayne. Then you get to see my matching panties.”

That’s finally enough to get Eddie to agree to return to the gathering. He’s good for the rest of the afternoon, except for when Uncle Gene goes off on a rant about unions and Eddie practically shouts, “MY UNCLE IS A UNION STEWARD!” It honestly makes it easier for Steve to say they’ll take dessert to go.

Wayne has the game on when the boys arrive with an entire pecan pie. They all put up their feet as they eat massive pieces of pie and Steve and Wayne talk about football; Eddie’s focus is entirely on sneaking his hands under Steve’s sweater to toy with his bra strap.

Just as the news starts, Wayne slaps his knees and says, “Well-p, I’ve got a card game to get to, you boys don’t get up to too much trouble while I’m gone.”

Steve smiles and wishes Wayne good luck. Eddie hides his face in Steve’s hair and mumbles, “Bye, Wayne!” He drags Steve to his bedroom as soon as the door is closed behind his Uncle.

Quirking an eyebrow, Steve pulls his sweater up over his head, once again revealing white lace. He doesn’t have time to do anything else as Eddie practically tackles him and fits his mouth over Steve’s nipple, mouthing wetly through the fabric. “Oh, fuck,” Steve moans, fingers tangling in Eddie’s curls, holding him in place.

Eddie bites once, pleased to see how much darker that nipple is now than its twin, pulling back and reaching for Steve’s belt. He undoes Steve’s fly, pushing his dress slacks down to pool at his ankles, fingers catching on the open-lacing at the back of his panties. “Oh, Stevie,” Eddie purrs, “Give us a twirl.”

Steve grins, completely aware of how much this is effecting his alpha, and slowly turns to show off his underthings from every angle.

After, Eddie tears off his own sweater and dark jeans, and pounces, pinning Steve to his bed. “Fuck, Baby,” he breathes, “I ever tell you you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me?”

“Only every damn day,” Steve answers, pulling Eddie down for a kiss. Eddie’s the best thing that’s ever happened to him, too.

[sparrowrye]

Demi Demon || Alastor x Reader, A2 part 14

Synopsis: It’s been over a year since we were brought under Alastor’s watchful eye. We’ve unlocked our Demonic powers, discovered our own talents, and began building the Safe Haven with Charlie and co. Alastor seems increasingly interested in the power we hold as one and intends to use it properly.

Previous part

Part 14: blood and fire

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I was sitting on a rock with a sketch pad in my lap. Reagan and her friends, mostly those a few years younger than her, were casually looking through the water for sea glass or pretty stones. The littles had really clung to her since she started helping Ms. Vivian with classes.

I spoke to Althea about the strain on my mind. She had instructed me to pick a mundane skill that didn't take much thought. She offered sketching and something inside me flipped a switch. Sometimes, when the floor was dirty enough in my cage, I would draw figures. When I ran out of room I would draw in the dust outside my cage.

I had asked Alastor for a simple sketch pad and pencil to which he complied without a sarcastic response. In fact, he didn't even ask why.

I made it a habit to spend time with Reagan in the early evening. I had my afternoon session with Lucifer or Alastor, depending on the day, followed by the still slightly uncomfortable afternoon snack with the latter, and then spent time on the shore with Reagan sketching.

I had fallen into the schedule with ease. I liked being busy and I liked being around different people. Husker was still my morning buddy and that gave me plenty of time to pepper him with questions about a certain pink and white Demon.

We stayed down on the shore until dinner. Like usual, I was quiet while Vivian and Althea did most of the talking. Since my incident, I found it quite difficult to socialize. I was always so tired. I never wanted to talk but I still craved other people's company.

After dinner, I said goodnight to Reagan and walked back up to the house. As soon as I stepped through the threshold, something felt off. I reached out my magic sense and knew there was something not right with Alastor. The house was dark and quiet, the brooding aura coming directly from his room.

I tried dulling my magic so he wouldn't sense me and crawled up the stairs. A red light emitted from underneath his door. The hallway felt heavy. I couldn't hear him moving around and I didn't dare try to reach out with my magic to feel for him. I kept myself small and quiet, carefully tiptoeing to my door and grabbing the cold handle.

Alastor's hand suddenly appeared next to mine. He towered over me from behind, leaving maybe an inch of space between us. The hair on the back of my neck rose and I wrapped myself in a protective shield of magic. His hand hadn't touched mine yet, surprisingly, but I could see it shaking against the metal.

"Alastor?" I called softly, my voice daring to shake.

"Your blood is like nothing I've tasted before," he breathed into my ear. It flicked in response and I tried to inch away unnoticeably. My heart was punching the inside of my chest. Surely he could hear it. "The cravings have returned, my dear. Painfully so." He drew a strained, shallow breath. It sounded painful. "Per our deal, will you let me satisfy this pain?"

He peeled his claws off the handle one by one, moving his hand to hover over mine and awaiting my response. He was shaking. Everything in me was screaming to run. He was dangerous. He was desperate. Even if I wanted to run, could I? I could only imagine what he currently looked like, all disproportionate and covered in green X's. His breath was hot on my ear and it was an effort to keep it from moving each time.

"S-sure."

He didn't hesitate. His hand clamped down on my own, pinning it to the handle, and sank his teeth in the spot between my neck and shoulder. I yelled and grabbed his hair with my other hand, slicing my skin on one of his antlers. He squeezed my wrist to force my fingers to let go and pulled it away. He withdrew his teeth slightly then sank them back in to get more blood. The pain flew down my arm and into the tips of my fingers.

This wasn't what I had expected. "That hurts," I gurgled.

I bent my knees and felt his teeth slip out of the injury. He audibly growled as his hand left the door handle to wrap around my torso, effectively trapping both my arms against my body. His other hand snaked up to my chain and held my head to the side for easier access.

He dragged his tongue across my skin, eliciting a whimper from me at the sensation. I squeezed my eyes shut, clenched my teeth, and tried pulling on his arm that was trapping me. He sank his teeth back in his bite mark, sending another wave of pain down my arm. I couldn't breathe.

I put my foot on the wall and pushed. It did nothing. I put up the other but his black tentacles came out to hold them down. My cries for him to stop landed on deaf ears, though I felt his magic abide the pain to a lesser degree. Tears were steadily streaming down my face at this point.

I started to feel extremely tired and lethargic. I tried digging my claws in his arms to stop him but even my fingers felt heavy. He was taking too much blood. It didn't feel like he was in any rush to stop, either. I tried to build up my energy and briefly saw an image of drawing a few shadowy souls through the gold and purple barrier. I sent a wave of shock or electricity from my body into his, making him go rigid from the pain. He slowly lifted his head.

"Stop," I panted, "please. Too much."

I heard him lick his lips. He moved his hand down my neck and healed the small wounds. I felt my energy, or maybe it was his energy, returning as he unwrapped everything from me. I spun fast to slap him with the back of my hand but he caught my wrist. His eyes narrowed.

"I see I lost myself," he admitted. "My apologies, dear."

I wrenched my hand from his grip and rubbed the sore spot. I quickly locked my bedroom door behind me and huddled in the bathroom corner. I pressed my claws into my head and kept it between my knees. My body was shaking but there was a deeper, strangely more pleasant, feeling buried deep in my mind, deep in my bones, that I refused to let into the light.

****

"Why did you want me to come, boss?" Husker asked. He and Alastor were standing in the shadows of a small alley.

"Two Overlords went missing," Alastor explained, "and my contact said Blackwater is behind it."

"Who's Blackwater?"

"We're going to find out." Alastor glanced at the bar as two people walked in. "Our favorite little Dragon mentioned the name to me some time ago."

"Speaking of which, what exactly happened between you two?" 

"What do you mean?" Alastor turned back to him.

"She said something happened with you that she doesn't want to talk about, and it upset her a lot. So, what was it?"

"That is for me to know," he answered, looking back at the bar entrance.

"It would help me help her to know what exactly you did."

"As she said, it's between me and her."

"She and I are very close."

"My answer is no, Husker." He casted a red glare over his shoulder.

"I'm not above risking my life for her if you forced yourself on h—"

His green chain appeared around his neck and cut off the end of his sentence. Alastor yanked the cord and held up the shorter man so their noses were inches apart. His eyes were dark with red dials, his antlers stretching above his head.

"How dare you accuse me of such a thing," he spat. "I'm disappointed you've let someone you've known for only three years sway your judgment of me." Husker had a claw on the clamp around his neck and the other at his side, desperately trying to keep his hands off his boss. "Accuse me of such a thing again and I will pry your soul out of your body and stretch it across my radio frequencies for all to hear."

Husker swallowed. "Got it."

The green light dimmed as Alastor straightened up and dissipated the chain. He fixed his coat flap and looked at the group entering the bar. He was about to move when he felt a presence on the edge of his mind. He knew it was me and willingly drew me past his shields, but still shallow enough that I couldn't see his memories. I watched the world from his eyes, thrilled at the discovery of a new skill.

That's my girl. He stiffened at his own thought. He was grateful I couldn't hear his thoughts at the level he was holding me at. He shook his head and mumbled a curse to himself. As he stepped out into the light, his Demon appearance melted away to reveal his Human one. Husker followed suite.

Alastor walked in first and Husker veered away from him a few tables in. They both ordered something from the bar but Husker found a small table in the corner to observe the room. Nothing revealed itself for half an hour. However, Alastor noticed a steady string of people entering the bar and immediately going into a side room. Two guards stood at the entrance checking a slip of paper each person or couple pulled out.

Alastor ordered a short drink and let his shadow loose. He stayed along the wall and melted with another person's shadow as they entered the room. A set of stairs stretched to his immediate right. At the base of the stairs was a small room crammed with round tables and dozens of chairs. A small, wooden stage with a red curtain stood at one end. Alastor's shadow found a perfect spot in the corner where his eyes wouldn't be noticed.

After another half hour or so, it began.

"Ladies and gentlemen, you have waited long enough." A man in a black suite and slick blond hair walked on stage with his arms outstretched. "Blackwater is proud to open his latest invention to his devote followers."

Well, I'm exactly where I need to be. Alastor thought to himself. 

Another man walked on stage carrying a small, metal backpack. He placed it on a round table and opened the latch, revealing a mix of wires and dark filled tubes.

"Not only is this more compact than the last version," the announcer went on, "but it provides the user another element to use." Murmurs erupted. "May I have a volunteer? Someone who wields only one element?"

No one raised a hand for moment. Then an older man, with white hair on his head and face, offered his hand. The announcer excitedly motioned him up to the stage and helped him take his coat off. He put the backpack on the old man and lifted an object to the back of his neck. The man made a pained noise as the thing hissed when it connected with his skin.

"As always, give your body a moment." The announcer helped the man into a chair the lackey pulled up. The man was visibly struggling, his body contorting inward. It lasted a minute, maybe two, before the old man was able to sit up straight. "Now, with powerful Demon's blood flowing through your veins, you can use any element you wish. Give it a try."

The old man remained in the chair but slowly lifted his hand. He casted wind around the room then a small jet of flame from his palm. He looked surprised, thrilled even, at the ability to wield more than what he was used to doing.

"No longer are we restricted to our own limits," the announcer went on. "Blackwater has made it possible to put us on the same level as every Demon. Keep this around and filled, and you'll be able to keep yourself and your family safe from any threat. How about another volunteer?"

The crowd erupted in applause and several people shouted to try. Alastor's shadow snuck back up the stairs, careful to avoid the eyes of the guards standing at the base and entrance. It slid back to its owner and melded into his Human shadow. He stood up, leaving a tip for the bartender, and casually walked out of the bar with his hands in his pockets. He went back to the alley and waited for Husker to join him a minute later.

"What was it?" Husker asked, morphing back into his Demon form as Alastor had done.

"He made a device that allows Humans to wield more magic," he answered. "Which means he used the Overlords to make it."

"He's using..." Husker fell silent, unsure of what to say next.

"We're going to wait," Alastor dictated, "and we're going to find out where his factory is."

"Why not just try to find Blackwater himself?"

"I will. But I'm going to take down his assets first."

The two of them waited for an hour before everyone dispersed from the meeting. Alastor's shadow hid easily in the dark shadows to watch the announcer leave the bar from the back door. Husker climbed onto the roofs while Alastor went to meet the man in the back street.

The light flickered over the man's head. He noticed and looked around at the empty street, seemingly aware that someone was watching him. He stuffed his phone and gloves in his pocket, fingers extended. His walk was slow, eyes scanning, as he started the walk back to his apartment.

He made it to the next street before Alastor appeared under a dim alley light. The announcer stopped dead in his tracks, blood running cold. Alastor's shadow grew along the wall and opened his wide, sharp mouth in a hungry laugh.

"What do you want?" the announcer demanded. Alastor knew the tone of feigned confidence.

"I won't have to move from where I stand if you tell me where Blackwater's factories are."

"I'm more afraid of him than you. He'll kill me if I tell you anything."

Alastor clicked his tongue and shook his head. "Fortunately for me, I am about to prove you wrong."

Alastor's shadow yanked the man's foot out from under him. He dragged him down the street and pinned him against the wall. Alastor was taller now and his stitches were desperately trying to keep his limbs attached to his body. His mouth grew wider and teeth sharper, eyes turning into his usual black and red dials.

He place a huge claw over the man to further hold him in place. He curled his other claw near his face and proceeded to pull the man's living soul out of his body. The man screamed but it came from his soul, not his physical mouth. Alastor knew what the man was 'seeing'. He was watching all the other trapped souls scream and reach for him, a fresh soul with new energy. He would merge with them, melding into the hive mind and losing his individuality.

"I'll tell!" the man wailed. Alastor let go of his soul and it slingshotted back into his body. He grabbed at his chest, eyes wide, and tried to calm down. Alastor stood there and waited for the panic attack to subside. The man couldn't stop shaking and he pulled his arms and legs tight to him like a scared child.

"Go on, then. Tell me," Alastor beamed. In his usual form, he bent at the hips so his face was level with the man's. He loved this.

"He-he...he uh...the-the coordinates. Truckers give receipt..." He fumbled with his coat pockets until he drew out a crumpled piece of paper. Alsator's shadow took it from his unsteady hand and unraveled it before dropping it in his claw. Like the man said, the paper was a receipt and at the bottom was the factory name and coordinates.

"Thank you, my good man," Alastor's voice turned chipper as he looked back to the man, "Do give Blackwater my regards. I'd love to meet the big man in charge."

He slipped into the shadows to join Husker on the rooftop. He grabbed his coworker's shoulder and focused, mind fixed on the image of the world. He found the coordinates, surprisingly not far from where they stood, and teleported them. He climbed through the shadows to enter the small factory and watched from a dark corner.

Belts of machinery were stretched across the whole factory. Workers stood on the side inspecting or crafting the pieces. There were at least fifty currently being worked on and there was a stack of crates in the one corner where the trucks picked them up. He continued to look around, mostly in search for Blackwater himself or the Overlords he had captured. Yet neither was here. He would have to find his other factories.

It took nothing for Alastor to start a fire. The workers attempted to put it out but they were all Humans with Slight magic. The fire grew too much for them to handle, forcing them to leave the factory to save their own lives. He melted the foundation and watched the whole thing topple inward on itself.

He appeared next to Husker who was hiding in the safety of the forest's shadows. "Satisfied?" Husker quirked an eyebrow up at him.

"I will once this man is dead," Alastor said. "I need to speak with the other Overlords. I need to know who let him get to this point unnoticed and unchecked."

"I'm sure that'll go well."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Author's Note:

I noticed that I was a bit more sadistic in the very first chapters of this series and needed a small taste of it again. I sure hope you all enjoyed the taste of 2 chapters :P

[technofeudalism]

Hey, I'm just getting into the punk music genre, and I was wondering if you had any recommendations?

oh boy anon strap in because you activated my trap card on this one. for those who may not know, punk rock is one of my true loves. here are some of my favorite albums of all time

Misfits - Everything with Danzig, particularly Static Age, Walk Among Us and Earth AD/Wolfs Blood

NOFX - Everything before 2003, particularly Punk in Drublic, White Trash, Two Heebs & A Bean and Pump Up the Valuum

Propagandhi - Everything, particularly Today's Empires, Tomorrow's Ashes

The Clash - London Calling

Ramones - Rocket to Russia

Black Flag - Damaged

Rancid - Let's Go & ...And Out Come the Wolves

The Distillers - Coral Fang

Reagan Youth - Youth Anthems for the New Order

Angry Samoans - Back from Samoa

Anti-Flag - Die for the Government

Pennywise - Land of the Free?

AFI - Answer That & Stay Fashionable, Very Proud of Ya, All Hallows EP, Sing the Sorrow, pretty much everything before 2006.

Transplants - Self Titled

Suicidal Tendencies - Self Titled

Flogging Molly - Swagger, Drunken Lullabies

Dropkick Murphys - Sing Loud, Sing Proud

Catch22 / Streetlight Manifesto - Keasbey Nights (Ska Punk)

Less Than Jake - Hello Rockview, Anthem (Ska Punk)

Against Me! - Reinventing Axl Rose (Folk Punk)

this list is not comprehensive but covers the vast majority of my most frequently played albums. feel free to add any in the tags i may have missed

[duffyyy911]

𝙰 𝙻𝚒𝚗𝚎 𝚒𝚗 𝙱𝚕𝚊𝚌𝚔: 𝙲𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 3 - 𝙼𝚞𝚛𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝚋𝚢 𝙲𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚊𝚌𝚝

Summary: Instead of sleeping like a normal person, the detective decides to go to the Sump and then hang out with a homeless man. Content Warnings: Physical violence. Mentions of alcohol. Mentions of smoking. If he existed in League, I'd blame Ronald Reagan. Word Count: 7.6k Author's Notes: Finally at chapter 3. I know this is a reader x Lest fic, so sorry we had to do without for today and it almost killed me. Here's your plot contrivance chapter lmfao. Proofread by: @madschiavelique @6selkie

Masterlist: Here

Even if it weren’t the middle of the night on the surface, the lowest levels of the Sump would still be shrouded in pitch blackness. No amount of sunlight could reach this far down, past the levels of Zaun and its crumbling infrastructure all the way to the bottom levels that collected Zaun’s runoff. What was once another district, far gone and far forgotten, had been reduced to the shattered ruins of bygone prosperity. Just a chasm of collapsed buildings that toppled down the face of the fissure and interweaving between each other, arching over your head like predatory teeth. You could barely see more than ten feet in front of you, even with the bright mining lamp you had picked up in the boundary markets before you made the descent. Heaps of cans, bags of trash, glass dust, faded shells of tools and machinery crumpled under your boots as you scaled through the mass. 

You felt like you were wading through a river of lost time and ill begotten memories. Like the remnants of an entire century lay in dormant sleep under your feet. The dripping echoes of running water bounced around the walls of the fissure, trickling down and pooling between the masses of junk. Sometimes on the higher levels of the fissures, the rain pouring from the topside would find its way down and trickle through cracks in the roofs of homes or spill in and pool up in the markets. But down here, the rain never made it. The sound of running water was a collection of runoff and liquids trapped beneath the surface, never having the sunlight to evaporate. Nothing lived down here, not even the rats.

Along with your hand lamp, you had scored a shoddy filtration mask. It was bulky, its filtration ports were unnaturally heavy around your mouth and the strain in your neck from keeping your head upright was starting to wear on you. The thin visor that ran up from the mouthpiece and over your face fogged up in the hot condensation of the deep. You hated wearing the thing, but you weren’t about to get any number of the diseases or poisoning one could find by breathing in the Gray down here. You wiped away the droplets of condensation from the mask, your filthy fingers smearing wet grime against the flexible plastic. 

You scanned your lamp around to what was in front of you, but all you could see was more heaps of junk and shells of collapsed buildings. You inched forward, your light shining against the knob of a door still in its frame. From what you could see, it was an entire segment of a wall that had fallen down the chasm and tore itself from its structure, wedging itself between rock. You gripped the knob and gave it a twist, pushing against the doors mangled hinges until it gave way and opened up. You almost fell right through and tumbled into another pile of refuse, but you caught yourself by hanging onto the knob. You looked up, finding yourself before a wider opening in the depths where the faint light of the upper slums shone down into the dark and illuminated the area like an imitation of moonlight. 

You could see the outline of the factory Aquil had told you about. An industrial behemoth of a structure built tall against the rock, like it had always been there and had just been waiting for you. From what you could visualize in the dim light, it looked as if a rockslide broke free of the fissure and caved in on part of the tall squarish structure, crushing brick and stone and collapsing the back half of the building. You felt another crunch beneath your foot, and you looked down to see the shards of glass and filament of a lightbulb beneath the tread of your boot. This had to be the factory where the meeting was going to take place, there were no other options. It felt like the complex was the only thing left standing at the bottom, like it was trapped in time.

You trod past the crumple remnants of a chain link fence surrounding the building, taking careful steps not to skewer your foot on mangled wire. You approached the heavy doors of the entrance to the structure, taking a moment to look up at the partially standing smoke stacks towering above your head from over the roof. This was the place. It was almost midnight, five minutes if your watch was correct when you checked it. You wanted to light a cigarette while you waited, you were desperate for a smoke. But there was no way you were taking this mask off. Not for a million dollars.

“Psst.” You hear a faint muffled voice echo out from the dark around you, like the hiss of a piston. You spun about, flaring your lamp’s light wildly from the fright.

“Come out.” You commanded with a robotic voice, the filters of your mask crackling as your breath passed through. You flashed the lamp light at a pyramid of huge iron spools standing in a stack far to your right. The light illuminated strands of dirty blond hair and reflected off the glass of another mask. Someone was hiding behind the crates, and doing a very poor job at that. “Don’t make me walk to you.” You warned again.

The familiar thin frame and blue jumpsuited body of Aquil slowly rose up from his hiding spot. You couldn’t see his face from behind his banged up gas mask, but you took the notion that he looked just as much of a little rat man as he did when you interrogated him. He slowly raised his hands up, taking careful steps as he approached you. “Don’t shoot, man.” He asked in a hushed tone. “I got the machine, it’s inside. You’re early, man.”

“It’s none of your concern how early I am.” You aimed the light to the ground and away from his face. “And why’d you put it inside already? Are you setting me up?” You took a stride towards him, grabbing your dusty hands around the lip of his collar.

“No, no, man! It’s like heavy and shit, man. I couldn’t just keep holding it out here,” Aquil begged, cowering as he wormed in your grip. “No tricks, I swear man!”

“How is this going down then?” You let him go slowly, almost dropping him to the ground as you did. “Are they expecting just you? Or should I just follow you in.” You looked to the front set of doors to the factory, still and motionless in the ages it has spent down here.

“No, man, they’re expecting just me. They see you, and they won’t even show up.” Aquil rubbed his hands together a bit, very rodent-like as you had made note of before. “There’s old vents in this place, man. Like some kind of hvac that’s been gutted or something. It’s real wide in there, you could just crawl in.”

“Yeah, so I can trip the wire to a grenade trap, right?”

“Where the hell would I even get a grenade, man!” Aquil stammered. He was telling the truth from what you could tell. You must have really scared him enough to pull this off, because the little rat looked like he was about to piss himself. You let out a slow sigh, looking back to the rusted doors.

“Fine. Just do the trade. And remember, I’ll be watching you.”

You walked through the empty and dark halls of the factory, its insides barren and gutted from decades of scavs passing through. You glide your fingers across the rough surface of the degraded walls, the stone and concrete slowly breaking down after decades of ruination. Nothing remained besides the machinery too heavy to lift and anything that was too useless to steal. Sopping wet sheets of paper sprawled across the teal tile flooring, the remnants of ransacked offices and disregarded ledgers. The first doorway you found in the long, dark hall was left open, its door taken off and away some time ago. You walked into a bare square room, shining your light around the darkened place carefully. 

The entire room was gutted like the rest of the factory, but an overturned desk hid itself away in the corner. On the wall above it, just a bit over halfway up, you saw a grate to what you could only assume was the ventilation system. You stood up on the old desk carefully, and shined your light down it. Aquil was telling the truth and that the shafts were wider than usual, not huge but spacious enough to just barely fit an adult body. You could definitely slip in, but where you’d go was another matter. You reckoned if you took two right turns and then a left, and so long as you were going up in elevation, you’d end up just above the factory floor. There was only the front half of the building left after the remnants of the rockslide you saw earlier, so if you took a wrong turn you’d eventually end up outside again anyway. 

You pulled off the vent cover, then wormed your way into the vents, dragging yourself up bit by bit until you had entered into the tunnel fully. If the outside of the factory was filthy, the inside of these vents were downright disgusting. You felt like you were crawling through an ocean of dust and ash, your mind begged for a shower that was nowhere in sight. You were pretty sure you just brushed past the corpse of some small animal, but you weren’t about to back up and check either. You had to see this through, it was your only lead, and if this fell out, then you were back to square one. You eventually crawled up a slope in the shafts, rising in elevation before the tunnel leveled out again. You came to a stop before another ventilation grate beneath you, and you made your camp there.

The factory floor was as dark as the rest of the place, but your time in the low light shifted your sight and you could make out the faint outlines of objects. Conveyor lines, the large fitting machines, soggy cardboard boxes of half-built light bulbs spilling off the lines and across the smooth stone floor. And there was the machine, the one Aquil had said he was building. You couldn’t make out its features, just its outline, rectangular with a wide heavy base and the shape of some kind of tubes or piping sticking out its top like the silhouette of a cathedra. You got glimpses of it as you watched Aquil nervously amble about the floor and shine his flashlight around. You waited for a moment in silence, your only company being the hiss of the filters. After a while that seemed like hours on end, the sounds of rusted doors opening echoed through the hollow factory one after another. Aquil spun about nervously, but eventually turned to face the back entrance of the floor. 

Two men, unidentifiable in feature in the dark, moseyed in through the open archway at the back of the floor, one that seemed like it went back out into the Sump. You couldn’t see their faces at all, just the shape of their frames and their heights. One was a very tall figure, lean but not skinny. He barely made noise as he walked about, pacing around the perimeter of the factory floor. Like he could sneak up on anybody at any time. The other was larger in frame, and you weren’t sure if he was well built or heavy, but you could hear that one walk from a mile away. He waddled with a weird tilt when he walked, like one of his legs was bummed. He rasped like an old accordion through his mask, like he was constantly out of breath and could never catch it. These two were the ones picking up the machine, and if you could find out where they came from then you could follow the paper trail.

“The machine’s here, man.” Aquil patted the outline of the device he had constructed with a nervous shake. “Followed the instructions to a T, man. It’s all accounted for, I even tested it.”

“Very good.” The heavier man coughed out. His voice was muffled and crackled in the filters, but he had a strange accent. The kind of thick accent you could find from the people living in the lower slums of the fissures. His voice was deep, not naturally but more as if his throat was scarred. “Where’s the sample, then?” He looked about.

“I.. Uh.” Aquil stammered. He didn’t have the sample because you had it. You held your breath, piercing daggers into the back of Aquils head as you watched him without blinking. He better not sell you out. “I don’t have it anymore, man.”

“What? You took it all?”

“Uh. Yeah, man. Sorry, shit was tempting.”

The heavier man said nothing in return besides the rasping of his mask, looking about at the darkness inside the factory floor. He looked at the taller man, who turned back to him and nodded. The taller man walked forward and picked up the device with relative ease, like it barely weighed anything at all. 

“Your help is appreciated. But you won’t be paid because of that.” The heavy man rasped out.

“But!” Aquil squeaked, then paused when it looked like the man had given him a glare. “No, that’s like fine and shit, man. Take it.” He backed off. Aquil watched the men take the machine in silence as they went back through the passage they entered through. It would have been as simple as that, you were planning to interrogate Aquil about who they were once they left. But he just had to open his big mouth. “Tell Lenare she’s like welcome and shit, man. It was hard to make.”

The men stopped in place, like they froze when they heard that name. They looked at each other for a brief moment, silently communicating. The taller man holding the machine stepped forward into the shadow, though you heard no footsteps of him walking away. The heavier set man turned about and approached Aquil once more. “Where’d you learn that name?” He wheezed. “How do you know Lenare?”

“The prints, man. The way I built it, it looked like it plugged into one of them golems and shit. I figured it was Lenare who wanted this built, man. It was no problem.” Aquil stammered out.

The heavy man looked at him in pure silence, like he was mulling something over. The man began to reach behind his back and to his beltline as Aquil kept stuttering on.

“I mean. Like it’s smart and stuff, man. Like it’s really ingenious, I would be willing to work on it-”

The shot rang out like the crack of a whip, bouncing off the thick walls of the factory and rumbling through the thin sheet metal of the ventilation system. You blinked, processing what had just transpired. The man had taken out a pistol and put a bullet right into Aquils head. The pittering sound of blood splat against the concrete before his body even dropped. You felt a bad taste in your mouth, a tangy metallic hue like you had swallowed a coin. Aquil’s body crumpled to the floor with a heavy thud like a ragdoll, his genius being reduced to nothing but a gaping hole and a fine red mist. You felt your stomach churn as your mind caught up with what you witnessed. You felt like you were going to puke in your mask, and you struggled to keep it down so you didn’t have to take it off and breathe in the Gray. 

“You should have shut up.” The man put his pistol back into his beltline, taking a moment to stare at Aquil’s still body laid out on the ground.

“Come on, we don’t have the time to do this shit!” The taller man called back through the door. He had a far fairer voice, like the accent of an upper city dweller that had faded after years away from home.

“Sorry, my finger must have slipped.” The heavier man called back and hurried to join his partner at the door. “We’re still meeting up at the same location?”

“Yeah, same place.”

“Let’s drop it off and head somewhere fun. I’ve had enough of dealing with this for today.” The heavier man began to leave, leaving your line of sight through the entrance. “I need a drink.”

“Man, they couldn’t pull you off black cat with a pry bar you sick fuck.” The taller man laughed deeply as they exited.

The still silence of the bottom of the slump returned. Nothing but quiet and the ring of the shot echoed in your ears as you watched from your hovel in the vent. You weren’t sure how to react. You’ve seen people die before, anybody growing up in the underground has. It was just a way of life. You could count the times you saw chem gang members shooting each other up on the district blocks with both hands. But you haven’t seen something like that. That was cold. Instantaneous. The man shot Aquil like he was screwing off a lid to a bottle just to get to the water. Like it was just a thing he did and he didn’t think anything about it. You hissed out a silent sob, just one. Your nose ran a bit and you could feel the faint emerging of tears from the corners of your eyes. You took a wounded, jagged breath in, pushing the feelings down until they went away completely. You steeled yourself, closing your heart off to it. You didn’t even know Aquil. Hell, you didn’t even like him. But to be shot like that? Left here? You wouldn’t wish it on your worst enemy. You couldn’t even take his body. You wondered if he had family. Yet, you could do nothing to reconcile any of this. You just had to go.

You had no lead anymore. This whole plan had been botched far worse than you were expecting. You almost wished Aquil had ratted you out, then you could have at least made a quick escape and he would have fled. But you didn’t. You just watched. You took a moment to wipe the condensation from your mask again. You weren’t even sure what to report back with. The man had mentioned getting a drink, and a black cat. You wracked your brain for any kind of answer to what he was talking about. A drink. A black cat. There was a bar up on the Entresol level called the Black Cat. It was a joint frequented by chem gangs. You had to salvage this. You had to find that lead. You weren’t going home until you did.

—-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It had taken you hours to climb out of the Sump. It was hard walking back to the upper levels, your legs felt so weak that you could have collapsed on any step. That ill feeling at the bottom of your stomach never left, like you had swallowed a bag of stones. Even now, while sitting on a damp bench in the Blacklanes, your hands couldn’t stop shaking. Your fingers trembled as you brought up your lit cigarette and inhaled deeply from it. You held the intake, feeling the smoke stirring in your lungs before you exhaled it all steadily through your nose. You looked around the dark lane running between the tall Commercia Hall buildings from your spot near some makeshift stalls in the market square. Your eyes felt stiff from minutes on end staring at the ground, lost in thought. You couldn’t peel your thoughts away from what happened. The sound. The taste. Watching a body fall like that. You’ve seen too much harshness in the underground, you’ve suffered through just as much. But not something like that.

You watched the ripples in your styrofoam cup of cheap coffee as you tried to keep a steady hand to take another sip. No matter how much you washed your mouth out with the bitter black drink you couldn’t remove that metallic taste. It just wouldn’t leave you, like it was atomically flashed onto your tongue. You dumped the cup out on the ground beside you, the splattering of the coffee only reminding you of what you saw. You looked back to the torch and filter mask laying on the table you sat upon. You decided it was best if you just left them there, somebody else would swipe them by dawn and take them to sell. You got up, dusting the vent grime off your faded jeans only to notice more had transferred onto your filth covered hands. You began walking down the empty lane of the Boundary market, passing by the doors to the steel shack commercial halls that were locked up tight for the night. The street was purely empty, not a soul in sight besides yourself, and you planned to keep it that way.

You noticed a small faucet sticking out of the wall by one of the doors to the halls, a water pipe for merchants to draw from. You took a moment to kneel down and twist the stiff faucet valve. Ice cold water came rushing out onto the stone pathway, splashing your bent knee. You quickly scrubbed your hands thoroughly, as if washing off the grime would somehow make you clean again. You couldn’t forget, though. You hadn’t given yourself time to even think about it, not by a long shot. You cupped your hands to collect some of the icy water before raising it to your face to wash it too. The chill on your skin mixing with half of the cup of coffee you had just poured out kept you wired in the early morning. 

As you were twisting off the valve, you heard the scuffle of many shoes scrape against the rough pathway stone. You looked about, then down the lane in the direction you were heading in. A small gang of hooded ruffians were making their way towards a display window for one of the many halls. One took a brick from the street and tossed it through the glass, shattering it. The rest were quick to hop in through the now open space and start looting what was out on display. It was a strange sight to you, like watching termites eat away wood at lighting speed. They came as quick as they left, fleeing away from your direction with armfuls of mechanical junk and novelty devices. Like rats scattering from a pantry with their latest hauls. You dried off your hands with a series of flicks, then stuffed them into your jean pockets to warm back up. You slowly approached the storefront curiously, minding the huge jagged sheets of shattered glass as you looked in through the store window. 

Not much was left from the shop, but the few things left behind gave you an impression it was a store for novelty gear-wound devices. A few wind up cymbal monkey toys lay in a row, toppled like dominoes. A cube like object held another shard of glass up, a common puzzle toy that you remembered from your childhood. In the center amongst the pulverised shards, a gun-like tool had been crushed by one of the delinquents when they hopped up. You picked it up, inspecting the thing. It was an entirely cylindrical device, save for the handle and trigger, made of what was most likely brass. You carefully looked down the wide circular barrel, spying the sheen of what looked to be a barbed hook. Was this some kind of grappling gun or something, you wondered? You took aim with it, pointing it at the unscathed display window directly adjacent from the looted one. You pulled the trigger slowly, but the gun refused to fire, only clicking dryly. You considered tossing it back in the wreckage, but a little idea that you should hang onto it wormed its way into your brain, and you did so by stuffing it under your beltline. You flared your shirt a bit, covering the handle up so nobody would notice you had it at first glance.

You continued your walk down the lane before the path split into a cross intersection. To your right, a large road opened up to a chain of equally packed storefronts. All the lights were off, retaining the stillness of the night. Save for one, whose foggy glow pushed through green stained glass and cast faint rays onto the street. A low hanging sign was perched above the door in the shape of a walking stylized cat painted black. This was the bar. You took a moment to cut your nerves, shaking your head rapidly to get back into a train of thought. You were out of leads, but you weren’t going to accept that. If those men said they were going to the black cat, then this was the only place they had to be. And if they went here, then one of the patrons surely would be able to identify them. Hell, you couldn’t even identify them with it being so dark in that factory. But you knew the way they talked, the way they walked. That was enough for you, you could bullshit the rest just like everything you did when you were in way over your head.

You opened the door of the bar, heading in with a steady head. The cold night air in the underground began to mix with a stuffy warmness flowing out of the quiet room. You could hear the hum off a small heater as you squinted your eyes to adjust to the orange brightness of the interior. The hum was accompanied by faint music, a sappy slow dance song played quietly from the speakers hooked to the corners of the room. You shut the door behind you carefully and took a silent look around the room. It was as usual as most dive bars you’ve frequented. Unfinished wood board floors, open space with a high ceiling. An overly decorated bar with an absolutely bored tender behind it flipping through a magazine as he leaned against the sill. Booths chaining along the walls with vagrants face first into the tables, fast asleep. Two men played pool at the table to the far side of the room, you standing between the bar and them as they gave you shifty looks before going back to their game. The one thing you noticed between everyone you could see is that they all wore the same type of leather jacket sporting a blue armband. These were chem gang members, that was no doubt. You stepped carefully across the bar floor and approached the sill, walking past an older looking man sitting on one of the stools. He didn’t wear any of the insignia the others were wearing, just a raggedy parka jacket. He had to be over six and a half feet tall from the way he hunched over as he sipped from a low glass. Yet he gave you no glance or look as you passed him by to the sill.

“What do you want?” The scruffy bartender asked your order in a monotone voice as he flipped another page in his magazine lazily, not even glancing up at you. 

“Uh.” You blinked as your thoughts trailed back into numbness. “Just whiskey, I guess.” You pulled yourself back from distraction, then leaned up against the sill of the bar. 

The tender straightened up, then pulled a dusty bottle of brown whiskey from the shelf behind him. He was obviously giving you the cheap stuff without asking, which means he’ll probably charge you the price of something better. You didn’t care, though. The last thing you needed to worry about right now was money. That was a first.

You watched him slowly pour your drink into a short glass. As he passed it over, you leaned in close to ask him something. “Hey.” You cleared your throat, then gave a glance back to the men playing pool behind you. “I heard that someone here knows where to score some Jitter.”

The bartender blinked passively at you without even a flex in his expression. He passed the glass slowly over to you as its bottom dragged against the dry wood of the bar. “I think you’re mistaken.” A sadistic smirk crossed his lips, complementing the tenders' deep sleep deprived eyes. If he was charging you extra just for a drink, then he most definitely wasn’t about to tell you anything useful. “Just drink your drink, buddy.”

“No, seriously.” You leaned in further. You took the glass in your hand and quickly downed the whiskey, ignoring the burn without any problem because of your wracked nerves. “Look, I’m not a mark or anything. Just help a guy out, y’know?”

“Go back across the river, Piltie.” One of the men playing pool called to you as he eavesdropped in on your conversation. He was tall, but lanky. A Chirean punk with shortish black hair. His buddy was just as shifty looking as he was, who was snickering away as he putted the cue ball.

You look at him from over your shoulder, giving him a disgusted sneer like the fact he even spoke to you was a crime. It was becoming apparent that all three believed you were an enforcer or at least a small-time beat cop. “Look, man. Just help me out? It’s kind of urgent.” You fibbed as you turned back to the bartender. You didn’t pull off the desperate junkie look, but your next plan was to flash some actual cash that could change his tune.

“Just go home.” The bartender rolled his eyes, turning back to put the bottle back on the shelf.

“I just-” You paused your sentence when you felt the tight grip of a hand on your shoulder pull you back and spin you around. The man heckling you from before had gotten straight in your face, grabbing you by the lapel of your jacket as he pressed your back into the smooth lip of the bar sill. You could smell the cheap beer on his breath, and the faint stain of too many cigarillos wafting from his dirty jacket.

“Daz. No.” The tender pointed at him without much effort to break the confrontation up. “Not in my bar, take it outside.”

“You fucking enforcers come in here thinking you can just walk in and say ‘one drug please’ and just get handed it? Fuck off back across the river, pony boy.” He looked at you, then to the tender as he kept a hold of you. “Are you just going to let trash like this walk in here?”

You could handle being called any name in the book. But being mistaken for someone from Piltover? That would not fly, no, not for a second. “I’m not a goddamn Piltie, get out of my face before you regret it.” Your hands wrapped around the wrist of Daz, slowly but surely forcing him to let you go as you struggled against his strength. 

“Fuck you.” He practically spat in your face, reaffirming his grip on your collar. You glanced at his buddy, who was sitting back on the edge of the pool table and snickering as he did before. You look between them, then at the bartender, then back to the guy grabbing at you. You really weren’t in the mood for any of this shit and if you knew anything it was to not let some smartmouth think he owns the place. You reel your head back and smash your forehead straight into Daz’s battish nose. You could hear the crunch of what little bone there was breaking as you connected. Daz stumbled back in a daze, letting you go and bringing a hand up to his now bleeding crumpled nose in disbelief.

“I said take it outside!” The bartender barked at both of you, throwing a finger to the door. It was too late for any of that, though. You knew the minute you did what you just did, it’ll be all over in a flash. One move was all you got, maybe two, but it had to be quick.

Daz closed his bloody fingers into a fist and reeled back for a swing at you. You ducked under the right hook in one smooth motion as his fist just barely grazed your hair. As you straightened back up, you moved forward to grab him and to throw him to the floor. He brought down his elbow to plant it into your back, so you quickly changed your intention mid-motion and opted for a swift punch into his gut while his guard was up. Daz let out a low heaving wheeze, as the punch had knocked the wind far out of him. He stumbled back, knocking into the large greying man who was sitting quietly on his stool, not even looking at the fight unfold next to him. Daz caught himself on the bar before he fell completely over, and in the process he elbowed the strangers drink and spilled the whole glass. 

“You’re dead!” Daz’s buddy called out to you as he strode towards you from the pool table, wielding a cue like a baseball bat in preparation to wrap it around your head. You looked to Daz, who had just pulled himself back up onto his feet, then to the other guy approaching you. One you could handle, but two? On good days you could hold your own, but you hadn’t the energy to keep up with it tonight. 

Just as Daz surged forward to grapple with you, the large man he had bumped into finally stood up after staying perfectly still. Before Daz could even cross the gap between the both of you, the taller man brought his fist down. In one swing, Daz was suckerpunched straight into the back of his head as he surged forward, knocked clean out. As he collapsed at your feet, his buddy wielding the pool cue stopped in his tracks at the sight. 

Before any of the recent events came a truly ravenous crescendo, the singular ring of gunfire cracked and billowed through the room. You flinched hard, your eyes twitching in reaction but not peeling away from the man in front of you. The larger man whose beer you had spilled before now stood over Daz, who was still reeling on the harsh floorboards. You glanced away from the man wielding the pool cue, who took a few slow steps back as he nervously returned the cue to the table without turning away. Your eyes flicked back to the tender behind the bar, who had took stance and fired a scrappy but intimidating pipe revolver at the ceiling only a moment ago. He glanced at you with a stern furrow in his bushy brow, the tip of his tongue gracing his lips as he decided what to say. From behind you, you could hear the patrons asleep at the booths begin to shift and wake up after the still ringing shot, all giving the bartender the half-present attention that was demanded.

“First off.” He spoke up, raising his voice so even the still half-asleep could hear him. “You.” he pointed to you with the end of his revolver as if it were his finger. “Get the fuck out of my bar, you’re banned. And you.” The barrel flicked to the tall older man who had knocked Daz clean out on the floor. “You’re on thin ice, go home. The rest of you, pay tab. We’re closed.” 

The man didn’t say a word in response, he only took his coat and headed towards the door. You watched your unlikely ally leave, then looked to the friend who was about to jump in. He gave you an equally mean glare back, but you cut the exchange short as you too went for the exit. The tender had just walked around the bar by the time you had reached the door you had walked in through. 

“That’s enough shit flinging from you two. Take him home.” You heard the tender mutter to Daz’s friend as they pulled him to his feet. “The backdoor.”

As you returned to the cool crispness of night in the fissures, you stopped to think for a moment before taking another foot beyond the sidewalk. You shut the loose wood of the old door behind you and you hear the fair click of its latch as your eyes drift down the street, looking for somewhere to nest as you thought. The factory was your only lead. Besides that, it was this jitter stuff that Lest had told you about. With those two options now completely gone, you were beginning to think that this whole adventure had fallen through before the interesting part had even begun. And what were you going to report back with? ‘Oh hey, I know I only had one lead but I saw its brain being blown out the back of its head so I went to a bar but not to drink or anything!’ yeah, that’d really be a great excuse. 

Jitter. If the Jitter was being produced, then the machine Aquil had been working on couldn’t have been the only one. If it was, then it wouldn’t have been distributed this quickly. Aquil mentioned that the machine looked like it connected to something, something he described as ‘golems.’ Then he also mentioned a Lenare, who he may have thought was the one to order something like this. But you have no idea who this Lenare person was either. Yet given all the other information, a workable theory is that whoever this person actually is, had to be a machinist of some kind. You were hoping to find a source to the jitter here, or at least any identification on the man who shot Aquil. Yet fist fighting and then being banned ruled out interrogating any of the men in the booths.

“You’re not even going to offer me a light?” You heard a coarse but hollow-ish voice speak to you from over your shoulder. 

You turned about, snapping from your deep trance in thought and pulling yourself back to the land of the living. Behind you was that man from before, the one whose beer you had spilled by shoving that chem ganger. Your first observation was entirely right, because the guy was definitely over six and a half feet tall. He wore a grey-tan truckers cap, whose logo had cracked and fractured off from what looked like years of wear. It fitted to a scruffy head of dry gray hair that he tied into a shoddy bun at the base of his nape. He wore a frayed wool red-black mackinaw under his jacket and his cigarette hole burned denim jeans were kept up by two thin leather overall straps. Because of how fast the recent events had occurred, you really never stopped to get a proper look at the fellow. He held a long cigarette between his lips as he sparked a cheap lighter that just refused to light.

“What?” You blinked, then looked at his cigarette. “For you? Sorry.” You shake your head with a sheepish smirk as you slinked your hands into your jacket pockets to warm up.

“You know, you make a horrible plainclothes.” The man coughed before putting his bad light back and rooting around in his back pocket for what would assumedly be a second one. “You don’t look like shit enough to pass as a jitter addict, but props for effort.”

“I’m not a-” You paused yourself before explaining something you shouldn’t even have had to explain. “Look, if you want me to pay for your drink it’s a bit too late.” 

“I mean, if you’re offering.” The older man harrumphed, then finally retrieved a second lighter from his pocket before taking a not-so-steady moment to light his cigarette. “I was wondering if you were still looking.”

You paused with confusion, looking up the street then back down it. You wondered if this was just another joke and if it would be best if you just went home instead. “Looking for what?” You feigned ignorance.

“For drugs, idiot!” The man laughed with a wheeze like a muddy whistle. “You really are a shitty enforcer.”

“Why does everyone think I’m a cop!”

“Because your eyes are too shifty! You look around like you’re a little kid trying not to get into trouble. Plus you don’t walk right, and you talk like you have somewhere to be. Chem addicts have nowhere to be, besides taking chems I suppose.”

“Says you.” You scoffed. The stranger didn’t look all too impressive either, to be fair. Though the answer to the question of how to properly define and identify a Zaunite is a difficult one to find in all truthfulness. “You- You..” You stammered, trying to come up with any kind of comeback that went beyond the scope of playground taunting. 

“Me?”

“Yes, you.” You paused again. Who? “Who even are you?”

“Ronk.” The man stated, squinting one eye as he let his cigarette roll to the corner of his wide lippy smile. You could mistake this man for anybody else in the underground, not even identify him in a crowd. This might be exactly who you were looking for. Not somebody with any power or know-how, but somebody on the street long enough to have learned a thing or two. Or even seen a thing or two. “What about you?” He nodded.

“Ronk?” You asked with amusement. Who names their child Ronk? Was this ancient dinosaur even a child once? He looked like he sprouted from the ground that way and started drinking the remnants of the bottoms of beer cans and eating old cigarette butts for sustenance. “That can’t be your real name, can it?” You stifled a laugh.

The man thought about it for a moment, taking a short bit to mull it over and shift the way he stood. He returned his lighter to his pocket, gave his cigarette a puff, then nodded slowly as his half-lucid stare returned to you. “Dave. That’s my real name.”

“Keep Ronk, I’d say.” You chuckled. You began to pace a bit as you stood in front of the closed bar past midnight in the Entresol. You ought to be heading home to try and catch the sleep that would never come, but standing out in the cold with some random bar fish who helped you out in a bar fight might as well be just as good a use of your time. “If you thought I was a cop, why do you want to sell me drugs so badly?”

“I said that you were a bad cop, not that you were a cop.”

“You’re going in circles now.”

“What I mean.” Ronk cleared his throat, then spat coarsely on the ground next to his dirt crusted work boots. “Is that if you were really an enforcer? This whole block would be shut down for just that little stunt.”

“So?” You shrugged.

“So. We’re still here. And that asshole in there currently isn’t getting a perp walk and a one way ticket to Stillwater. So you’re not a cop.”

“Wow. You’ve got such a sharp eye we could switch jobs.” You remarked sarcastically as you absentmindedly redid the buttons on your faded jacket. “I can spend twelve hours a day drinking, and you can go crawl around in shit and mud and do whatever the hells that was in there.” You articulated as you paced.

“Detective, then?”

“What?” You spun about on your heel again to face him. You had been in such a nervous spin about what you were going to do, you hadn’t noticed that you were beginning to pace circles around the scruffy man as you two conversed beneath a stark street lamp.

“You’re a detective, then. Not a cop, but still the same kind of bullshit.”

“If you say so.” You gave him another respective glance. “So?”

“So.”

“So, are you going to sell me Jitter or what?” You spoke up. Conversing with Ronk felt like you were being sucked down into a grain silo but instead of suffocating, your brain cells were being eaten one by one.

“Right, right. You still owe me a drink, though.”

“I told you. I don’t have any money, old man. No lighter, no coins, nothing.” You fibbed turning out your coat pockets. You had money, plenty wadded up in the wallet in your pants pocket, but you weren’t about to set your budget and have him meet it. For all you knew, you were being sized up and that tomorrow afternoon you were going to end up being mugged in some out of the way alley.

Ronk stopped to think for a moment in his increasingly usual old man way. He ashed his cigarette into the open breeze, then looked back and forth up the street with a whiny pensive hum. 

“I reckon you could owe it. I know a better place that’s still open. You follow me, pay for my drink, I give you that information. Everybody is happy.” He breezed past your mention of no money, it was an obvious lie.

“This better not be a trick. Or a mistake.” You huffed.

“What? Are you scared of having a good time?” Ronk motioned up the street to where you came from, then began to slowly hobble down the street and away from you. He gave you an encouraging motion for you to follow, then continued walking. You were out of leads, and it was this or go home and feel worse about it.

“Not this early.”

𝙽𝚎𝚡𝚝 𝙲𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛

𝙿𝚛𝚎𝚟𝚒𝚘𝚞𝚜 𝙲𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛

Taglist: @6selkie @madschiavelique @roku907

[jonquilyst]

Day 6 - Challenge Day

It's time for challenge no. 3! Today, the teams will go up against one another in a climbing wall contest. One contestant from each team will climb at a time. Whoever stays on the wall the longest will earn a point for their team. At the end, the team with the most points wins invincibility!

First up: Poppy (SL) vs. Anika (KC)

Neither are athletically inclined, but these two held on for a long time! In the end, it was Anika who took the point after Poppy tired out.

Camden (SL) vs. Alexis (KC)

Alexis was tough contest to begin with; being a daredevil and always doing dangerous stunts; and in the end she took the cake when Camden slipped and fell off!

Aster (SL) vs. Dahlia (KC)

Things were going quite well for Aster at first; Dahlia was having trouble maintaining her balance, but in the end she took the point after Aster too slipped and fell off.

Reagan (SL) vs. Logan (KC)

I don't think rock climbing is Logan's forte, because he fell off nearly right away, leaving Reagan the point-winner.

Terrance (SL) vs. Cassie (KC)

The boys really didn't have a good time on the climbing wall today. Terrance became the loser after he too fell off!

Last but not least: Lilium (SL) vs. Kenzie (KC)

Kenzie took the point after Lilium couldn't hold on any longer!

With a score of 5 to 1, the Killer Cowplants have devastated the Screaming Llamas and earn well-deserved invincibility!

THE KILLER COWPLANTS WIN!

Screaming Llamas... Ouch. Today has not been a good day for you, and it still won't be when I see you all at the campfire tonight...

Today's Confessional: Terrance Vellard

"Sure we might have lost, but almost everybody didn't get the point. Not even that outdoorsy frog-loving chick or whoever won! Dunno how... She looks light as air. Maybe I will vote for her after all? Hehe!"

"My point though? This vote is gonna be prettyyy interesting. And I'm all for it."

@thebramblewood @comfyinn @mayzie-grobe @comfyinn @simsinfinitylt @softle0 @ashubii @wastelandwhisperer @seyvia @akitasimblr @micrathene-w @prismaticpotentia @aniraklova

[queenshelby]

THE FUTURE (PART ONE)

See Introduction and Character Index HERE

Pairing: Emmett (A Quiet Place) x Original Female Character

Warning: Age Gap, Forced Procreation, Past Sexual Abuse, Angst

Words: 3,655

It was early Sunday morning and the air was still crisp, but not really cold. The weather had just turned after a rather cold winter and Caitlyn sat in her favourite spot overlooking the island. There was a large rock surrounded by grass from which she looked down at a few cottages below. Though early Spring, the tree under which she sat was still fully leaved, providing welcomed shade against the heat of the bright sun.  

It would be 90ᵒ or more again that day, she thought.  The long, hot summers continued to start earlier every year, even after the industrialisation had come to a natural end following the invasion.

The invasion, of course, changed everything. It forced humanity to turn back to basics, using only the essentials for what was required in order to survive. Agriculture had been simplified to meet the needs of the remaining population and, at least for now, it was only safe to live on the islands where guards took turns, ensuring the safety of each community.

Thus, it had been years since the greenhouse gas pollution had slowed and almost stopped.  But the CO² molecules could last up to 90 years in the atmosphere, meaning that the global warming would not be stopping any time soon and this was obvious to Caitlyn now that, every day, she watched the crops dying off slowly.

Caitlyn worked on the island, lending a hand with washing, growing food and assisting at the medical centre. She played an active part in the community but, even so, according some, her participation was not good enough.

Unlike many others, Caitlyn was not with anyone, and took no interest in having children of her own. Yet, she was raising to young boys, one of whom was deaf just like her.

“Is that not good enough?” she always wondered when she was approached by members of the council, enquiring as to whether she had chosen a partner yet so that she could finally partake in this so-called procreation programme which had been implemented by the new government of the islands communities.

“Why procreate if there aren’t enough resources for all of us to survive? Crops are drying and animals aren’t breeding quickly enough for us to consume. It will only become worse” she wrote down in the little book she carried before, once again, on this same Sunday morning, gazing fondly at the beachside huts nearby.

As usual, on a Sunday, the island was quiet. It was a rest day. The only day in the week where no one was doing anything and it was pretty much the only time one could observe the raw nature of the dozens of cabins, the bunkhouse, the dining hall and the workshop without the island’s inhabitants keeping busy.  Some houses were there already when the first people arrived on the island. These had been holiday homes of wealthy men and women who, by now, were probably dead. And then there were some newer and much simpler buildings too, some of which were made of roughhewn planks taken from the island’s fir and pine.

Caitlyn herself lived in one of those newly constructed and rather basic cabins, sleeping on a bed she had built herself in the corner of the living room. The two boys had their own room, separate to the living area, and there was no bathroom inside the cabin.

To shower and wash, she would either use the outdoor hose she had installed or walk to the community hall, which was being utilised by most inhabitants of the island the days. There were only a very few men and women who were given these proper houses and, those who lived in them, had to share them with several others.

Evelyn Abbott for example lived in one of those mansions. She lived there with her new partner Joe as well as her children and their respective partners. Evelyn’s daughter Reagan had become your best friend on the island and, albeit the fact that she was a fair bit younger than her, Caitlyn had much in common. She, too, was deaf and unlike with many others on the island, Caitlyn was able to communicate with her. Reagan had a partner who had learned sign language as well. His name was George and George was now teaching his and Reagan’s daughter to learn this silent kind of communication as well. Reagan and George also opened a school, wanting all children to learn how to communicate this was and this was something that had been well received by parents.

Then, of course, there was Evelyn herself and her son Marcus who Caitlyn was able to communicate with and there was also Emmett, who learned sign language from Reagan and Evelyn over the years.

Emmett was different to anyone else on the island. He was twenty years older than Caitlyn and the first person she had met from the island. It was him and some others who, when Caitlyn was captured by rebels on the mainland, saved her simply out of kindness. Yet, if one was to meet him, one would certainly not think of him as a kind man. To the contrary. One may in fact be fearful and afraid of him due to his stern demure.

Emmett often kept to himself, inhabiting a cabin near the beach which he shared with his dog Scooter. Scooter looked as rough as Emmett did at times and, during most weeks, Caitlyn would only see him once or twice when he ran out of food.

He utilised his own crops and shot rabbits or caught fish to eat. His life was simple and he certainly liked it that way.

Emmett featured a large scar on his right leg which was the result of an attack by one of the creatures. He had that looked at by the medical staff once in a while, but only after his friend Evelyn would force him to. Usually, it would be Caitlyn who was dressing the wound when required and this is pretty much the only time he would “talk” to her, at last until today which is when, again, he interfered in something she would rather not have experienced.

***

It was that very same Sunday morning which Caitlyn took for herself, relaxing and breathing in the beautiful scent of the sea. She watched some birds and then, eventually, she spotted Scooter running across the soft sand on the beach nearby.

There was no sight of Emmett though. He was probably fishing or hunting again which reminded her to be careful. Caitlyn was, of course, unable to hear the shots or any verbalised warnings when the hunters were around and figured that, so long as she kept a close eye on her surroundings, she would probably be fine.

Just recently, a group of three young men had joined the inhabitants on the island and they did have a habit of startling Caitlyn and Reagan. They too were hunters and it became a running joke for them to fire off their guns in the presence of these two women. Thus, much to Caitlyn’s dislike and anger, one of them did exactly the same thing again today while she was trying to relax and embrace her surroundings.

A shot was fired to her side and, in a moment of absolute, saturated terror, Caitlyn eventually turned around and saw one of the three men standing behind her, starring into the void.

“What are you doing, shooting this gun right next to me?” she indicated angrily but, of course, he did not understand.

“I thought it would be funny to see your reaction” the man then said and, luckily for her, Caitlyn was able to read his lips, at least to some extent.

In the end, however, she did not respond further to his comment and, instead, rolled her eyes at him. The way he utilised the words she read from his lips was insulting and Caitlyn attempted to ignore his presence the best she could.

Unfortunatly for her, however, the man approached her and sat down by Caitlyn’s side.

“You heard about this law, didn’t you? The procreation bullshit the council is trying to implement. Yeah?” the young man then said after making Caitlyn look at him, knowing that she could read his lips if he spoke slowly and, after comprehending what the man was saying, Caitlyn nodded.

“Good. Now, listen Sweetheart…Jordyn and Kai both want you because, clearly, you can’t talk back. You are mute and it will be easy living with you. So, I kind of want you too but I need you to tell me who you want. Kai, Jordyn or me? Who shall it be, hmm?” he then wanted to know, causing Caitlyn to shake her head effortlessly.

“Neither of you” she indicated angrily, both with her lips and hands, which was something the stranger was able to understand without a problem. Caitlyn felt insulated by the stranger’s remark and the stranger was not pleased with Caitlyn’s answer and smiled, sarcastically, before reaching for her tightly.

“Luckily, you won’t get a say. Council will decide for you. We all offered ourselves as potential suitors” he then said but Caitlyn was unable to hear it as he was holding on to her from behind, muffling her mouth with his hand.

But of course, it is not that she could have screamed anyway. She tried, but no sound came out past her lips as the man used his other arm to wrap it around Caitlyn’s body.

Caitlyn then tried biting the flesh of his fingers, kicking, lifting her arms to hit and claw and fight back, earning her Scooter’s attention. Being a dog, he had a good intuition and was barking loudly now.  

"Shit!" the man exclaimed a Caitlyn’s teeth were finally meeting his skin. He pulled his hand away for a brief moment and Caitlyn struggled to get loose. There was no chance that she could out-muscle him, but she threw him off balance nonetheless and they both fell to the floor.

After she fell to the floor, Caitlyn was on her hands and knees, trying to move away from the man when he grabbed her foot. She turned around and kicked at him and he shouts again.

“Fucking whore. You will learn to like this” he spat as he was climbing on top of her, pinning her legs down with his body while he fought to control her arms, to hold her still like that.

Caitlyn’s wrists had now been pinned down by one of the man’s arms while his other hand was searching along her body, groping her. Her shirt was bunched up around her ribs during the struggle and he easily pulled it above her breasts, leaving her exposed as he moved down her stomach, tugging at the drawstring of her shorts and shoving his hand into them and between her legs.

Caitlyn used all of the strength she had left in one single burst as he tried to thrust his fingers into her, pushing him off, turning around to pull herself across the muddy floor again. She was crawling towards the forest until, all so suddenly, there was another gun shot.

Caitlyn, of course, did not hear the shot but she felt the earth vibrating beneath her body and, when she turned around, she saw that her attacker was bleeding heavily. He was screaming in agony. Caitlyn could see it on his face. The terror and pain.

She sighed with relief and looked into the opposite direction only to see Emmett and Scooter now standing in front of her. Emmett was holding out his hand after he tugged away his rifle.

“Can you stand up?” he reciprocated and Caitlyn nodded in response before crawling onto her knees.

Emmett then helped her into a standing position and she hugged him tightly, making him feel rather uncomfortable.

Then, immediately after realising that Emmett was out of his comfort zone, Caitlyn withdrew as she already felt Emmett’s chest heaving. He sighed and clearly did not enjoy the physical contact.

“Are you okay?” Emmett then indicated with his hands. “Do you need to see the nurse?” he wanted to know.

“I am fine. Thank you” you indicated to him in turn.

“I will take you to your house” Emmett then said and Caitlyn turned around again to glance at her attacker.

“What about him?” she wanted to know.

“He can crawl down the hill and face council or he can take his chances at sea. It is up to him” Emmett said, knowing that council would just log him up or expel him from the island anyway for what he tried to do to Caitlyn.

A few days later…

A few days had passed and your attacker had, indeed, made a run for the sea, worrying about the fact that council would execute him as this had become common practice on other islands.

Emmett and Caitlyn, of course, had reported the incident to the authorities and it was Evelyn who counselled Caitlyn over the past few days, requiring her to open up about what happened.

Evelyn cared for Caitlyn simply due to the fact that she wasn’t so indifferent to her daughter, Regan. Not only was Caitlyn unable to hear or speak, but she was also stubborn, kind and strong headed.

Just like Emmett, Caitlyn liked to mind her own business and, with that being the case, Evelyn had a hard time to address the elephant in the room. Time was running out for her and, since Council had been very demanding when it came to following the new laws and rules, it became rather difficult for Evelyn to now, following the incident, convince Caitlyn to take on a potential suitor.

“Why do men get a choice in this, but women don’t?” Caitlyn asked Evelyn as Evelyn had told her again that both, Kai and Jordyn, have offered themselves to her.

“I did not make this law, Caitlyn. But I can see how it is beneficial” Evelyn explained but Caitlyn simply shook her head and requested to be left alone.

“Caitlyn, you need to find someone or we must choose for you” Evelyn told her sternly and with great concern, knowing very well how vulnerable Caitlyn was.

“I was abused on the mainland. For days, I was beaten and…” Caitlyn began to say before tears started to tumble down her face. She was unable to say the words but Evelyn already knew. She knew what happened to Caitlyn and took her into her arms. “I do not want to be alive if I must live with a man who does something like this to me” Caitlyn then explained and this saddened Evelyn. She was worried about Caitlyn doing the unspeakable but, yet, she had to follow the laws. As a member of council, she had to enforce them and there was no way around it.

“You do not know Kai and Jordyn. They are not nice men. Despite, I cannot even communicate with them” Caitlyn then pointed out while Evelyn continued to embrace her.

“Someone else then, perhaps?” she whispered, seeing whether Caitlyn was prepared to be with someone other than Kai or Jordyn, but Caitlyn shook her head.

“Caitlyn! Please! I do not have a choice. I must pair you with someone” Evelyn begged but Caitlyn shook her head again.

“No. You don’t. Take care of the boys for me and I will leave the island. It is simple. I will just leave” Caitlyn said, seeking an out from this horrible arrangement but Evelyn knew that she did not stand a chance. She knew that she would die on the mainland.

***

Later that day, at the council meeting, the first topic on the agenda was the procreation law and non-compliance thereof.  Evelyn was required to report on the progress of finding you and another single woman a potential suitor and when she made suggestions to the other council members, they were a little confused.

“For Laura, I propose Kai as a potential suitor. They have already been intimate so this shouldn’t be an issue” Evelyn pointed out and everyone voted in favour.

“So Jordyn shall be assigned to Caitlyn then you think?” one of the other members asked but, to this question, Evelyn shook her head.

“No, I propose Emmett as a potential partner for Caitlyn” she then said, causing Regan’s chin to drop. Regan too was on the council and so was a woman by the name of Lorraine who appeared to be opposed to this idea.

“Emmett?” Lorraine asked before breaking out in a chuckle. “Evelyn, are you okay? Are you running a fever or something?” she then joked, seeing that Emmett did not even engage in community issues or the like. He was an outsider and opposed this law.

“Emmett is at least twenty years older than Caitlyn. It is improper. Despite, did he even agree to this?” Lorraine thus asked and Evelyn shook her head.

“No, not yet, but provided that he will, I consider him to be more suitable than Jordyn” Evelyn explained but Lorraine simply shook her head.

“How so?” she asked, seeking an explanation for Evelyn’s reasoning.

“Well, for starters, he knowns sign language and Caitlyn if deaf. He also had children before. He was a father of two sons. He can look after Caitlyn and the boys and he can communicate with Karl, the eldest” Evelyn explained and, just after she did, the majority of council voted in favour of the proposed pairing. Except for Lorraine. Lorraine was still against the union.

“But the purpose of this exercise is not to find the boys a father. The purpose is to get Caitlyn to have children and, like I said, Emmett is much older than her” Lorraine thus pointed out.

“He is only 45 and probably still capable of fathering a child though, Lorraine” another council member said, not knowing that Evelyn chose Emmett for totally different reasons. Evelyn knew that Emmett would not hurt her and simply assumed that intimacy would never ensue.

“Yes, but the new law only applies to men and women under the age of 35” Lorraine argued nonetheless, causing Evelyn and the other council member to intervene.

“That is true, but if Emmett agrees, then this point becomes a non-issue” the other council member said, following which it was agreed that Evelyn would talk Emmett about and this is exactly what she did later that night when, under false pretences, she invited him to her house for dinner.

***

“So let me get this straight Evelyn…” Emmett began to say sternly while looking into Evelyn’s eyes after she had brought up the proposal. He felt betrayed and somewhat angered by her request. “You want me to move in to Caitlyn’s house and pretend to be a father to those kids who are living with her and then you want me to sleep with her so that she can fulfill her womanly duty to this new regime? Is that it?” he then asked sarcastically before finishing the rest of his moonshine and standing up abruptly. His arms were crossed and he appeared rather upset by what Evelyn had suggested to him and, by this point, Evelyn too was lost for words.

“So to tell me, am I going to force myself on her? Or do I simply assume that she has consented to this madness?” he then asked while Evelyn tried to think of something else to say while Emmett rambled on, cursing in anger.

“Fuck! This kind of nonsense is exactly why I do not socialise with anyone on this fucking island…this fucking bullshit…” Emmett spat before Evelyn tried to calm him down.

“This is not what I meant Emmett, and you know that…” she eventually stammered but Emmett interrupted her again.  

“What I know is that, six fucking years ago, women had a choice about what they wanted to do with their bodies and I remember you and Nora standing up about these choices when the state brought in the abortion bill. Do you remember that?” Emmett asked her abruptly, seeing that this so called “Law of Procreation” was troublesome and offensive.

“Well Emmett, I hate to break it to you, but a lot has changed since then. Most of us are now dead and, in order for the human race to survive, we will all need to make sacrifices. This includes Caitlyn. She will need to make a sacrifice as well” Evelyn exclaimed but Emmett was getting rather angry.

“You know what she has been through, right?” he asked. “You know what the rebels did to her and now you expect me to do the same?” he asked but Evelyn shook her head.

“No, I do not expect you to do the same Emmett. I know what Caitlyn has been through and I know why she has distanced herself from most men on the island and this is why I spoke to her. I gave her a choice. She wants to leave the island but I think that, if she is paired with a man who she can trust, she may be willing to stay. You can pretend to be with her. I know you would never force yourself on her, but other men might. So please Emmett. I am begging you. Despite, you can communicate with her and Karl. No one else can” Evelyn pleaded but Emmett continued to shake his head in anger.

“I will think about it” was all he said next but Evelyn urged him to make a choice. She needed to know before the next council meeting.

Please comment and engage. I love getting comments and predictions pretty please!

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[borderepisteme]

“But failure was big and alluring like nothing else then, failure was boundless and unexplored and vacant-seeming like oceans and space and pages on which we all tried not to write. There was something so evocative in all the emptiness of knowing you would be as erudite as Fugazi but never even that impure, the secret genius of yourself so utter and utterly drowned in the soft weedy hours off in dirty apartments in the middle of nowhere in which everyone agreed that we would rather die than try, and some of us did. Every diet coke can was stuffed with the butts of cigarettes. Failure was also the sounds of the amps turned too loud at the house parties, all that pleasant muffled ear-ringing afterward of knowing you'd fucked yourself up for life. Our lives were supposed to be made of permanent squander: that was the only redeemable way to be a no-thank-you child of post-Reagan empire. If we had to be a cliche, let it be dissolute. And sometimes I've asked myself in poems "Must we rock til we die?" and the answer has always been an unfailed failing yes. Once you have gone all in on all that beautiful loser there is never not rocking, even if you promise yourself that every song of your youth was a lie.

And most writers who have any success are actually just winners no matter how they self-present, winners with winning habits in winning places born from winning people educated as winners looking like winners with their winning new yorker profiles about winningly winning, too, even as they win at presenting as losing, but not me, I have lived the shit bottom of the barrel life for more years than I have ever lived any other kind, most of it my own fault, crying in parking lots outside the call centers crying in break rooms crying in cubicles and restaurant kitchens crying without jobs and also crying with them, crying for love and also against it and also because of it and without it, tears always falling down my bloated unhappy face as I insisted that I was prouder than my circumstances but never figured out how.”

Anne Boyer

[savage-kult-of-gorthaur]

VOTE REPUBLICAN IN 2024? -- 40,000+ PALESTINIANS WERE STILL ALIVE DURING TRUMP'S REIGN.

NOTE: ^Add over half a million Ukrainian soldiers to the death toll as well, another war that the Democrats have been absolutely itching for since 2014, and which they finally "delivered on."

PIC INFO: Spotlight on humorous yet socio-politically charged punk art from the Reagan/hardcore era -- Welcome to 1984.

Anyway, it isn't even a debate anymore that the two political parties in the U.S. have completely @#!*$& flipped beyond all recognition, meaning the current Democratic Party has become the party of neverending bloodshed and endless war. Two wars are currently ongoing under Biden and his neverending death-cult-blood-sacrifice party.

Do the math, follow the money, and wake your ass up to the reality of what's really going on, chumps.

That is all.

More for RaR 1984

[dizzybee03]

Making Love on a Monday

Beau Simpson x OC Ryan Reagan story

Warnings- Smut

Otis Redding sang softly through the speaker and the soft glow of string lights lit the backyard as Beau Simpson and his best friend Solomon Bates carried the last of the dirty dishes into the kitchen and sat them on the counter. “I’m sorry we have to rush off but we told the sitter we wouldn’t be late since it’s a Monday night and there is school tomorrow” Solomon’s wife Muriel stated leaning in to give Beau a hug. “No, it’s alright I completely understand. I'm just glad we could finally find a time to get together. I know my schedule isn’t the easiest to work around" said Beau’s girlfriend Ryan.

Ryan Reagan had been a police officer for long enough that she was used to the craziness of having alternating days off but it made it hard to socialize with people that worked normal 9-5 jobs who had regular weekends off. She and Beau had been trying for several weeks to find a day that would work with Solomon and Muriel’s busy lives to have dinner.

“Ryan thank you for a delicious meal and for taking such good care of this one” Solomon said, gesturing to Beau. “It’s nice to see him so happy” he continued as he and Muriel were walking out the front door towards their car.

“You’re welcome for both” Ryan said, wrapping an arm around Beau’s waist. “He’s an easy one to take care of” she said, laying her head against his chest.

“See you tomorrow Sol” Beau said watching as the couple closed their car doors and drove away. “That was fun, I’m glad we could do that. I like spending time with some of my favorite people.” He said as he closed the front door. “Now why don’t you pour yourself some more wine and go sit out back while I clean up the kitchen.”

“Beau you don’t have to do that, I’ll get it later.”

“Nope, not gonna argue about it. Go” he said pointing towards the backyard.

“Yes sir Admiral” she said, giving Beau a mock salute while she topped off her wine glass.

“I’ll join you when I’m done” he says as he begins to fill the dishwasher.  Once the last of the dirty dishes have been taken care of and the dishwasher started, Beau heads outside and finds Ryan sitting on the porch swing."Penny for your thoughts" he says sitting down next to her. Ryan turns to look at him smiling as she says "I'm just thinking about how happy I am and how there is really only one thing that would make me happier right now.  Beau reaches to move a piece of hair from Ryan’s forehead as he says "oh really, what would that be?"  She shifts in her seat and gazes into his eyes before leaning over kissing him on the lips saying "stay with me tonight."

Beau responds by kissing her passionately and pulling her onto his lap.  Ryan's hands are running through Beau's hair and she rocks her hips forward, she can feel how hard he is. Wrapping his arms tighter around Ryans waist, Beau stands and carries Ryan inside the house. He puts her down just inside the doorway of her bedroom and backs up slightly. Beau is silently giving her the opportunity to change her mind. As if confirming Beau’s question Ryan slowly lifts the hem of her t-shirt over her head and throws it on the floor. She reaches a hand out to Beau and he takes it as he crosses the threshold of her bedroom pulling Ryan close. Beau starts kissing down Ryan's neck, taking the opportunity to nibble lightly on her collarbone.

Ryan pulls Beau’s shirt tail out of the waistband of his dark washed jeans pushing it up his broad torso and over his head. She NEEDS to get it off him and feel his bare chest against hers. They kiss again, Beau nips at Ryans bottom lip and then licks at it before entering her mouth- their tongues dancing. When they finally break apart for air Ryan backs towards her bed, never breaking eye contact with Beau- slowly she goes to unhook her bra and tosses it at Beau before sliding her shorts and panties down her legs.

He catches the bra easily and his eyes darken as he takes in Ryan standing before him completely naked. “I’ve always known you were the most beautiful woman in the world but this confirms it. The way my body reacts to you should be illegal darlin '. I wanna take my time with you, taste every inch of you but if I don’t get inside of you soon I think I just might die.” Beau says as he unhooks his belt and jeans while moving towards Ryan.

“Well we wouldn’t want that to happen now would we” she says, slipping her hand into his boxer, grabbing his hardened length and pumping once, then twice before sliding his pants down his legs. Both completely bare, Beau picks Ryan up and places her on her bed and climbs on top of her. He’s kissing down her neck, slowly inching his way towards her breasts where his hands have been kneading the soft globes. Ryan moans as his mouth finds one of her nipples letting his tongue roll around the bud.

Ryan's hips rock up and Beau’s hard dick twitches against her stomach at the movement. “Beau I need you. PLEASE”

“Alright, let me get a condom.”

“Top drawer of my night stand, I’m like the Boy Scouts- always prepared”

“Well I’m about to show you how much I appreciate you being prepared.” He says while opening the foil packet and rolling the condom down his throbbing dick. Once covered he rubs the tip at her entrance before sliding in. “Honey I think I may have actually died and gone to heaven. You feel so good, so tight.” He said thrusting his hips harder and harder after giving Ryan time to adjust to him being inside of her. Ryan’s nails scratch his back as he continues to fuck her. 

In a surprising move Ryan rolls Beau over onto his back so that she is on top riding him. Beau’s hands grip her hips tighter the faster she rocks, their moans getting louder. “Honey I’m getting close, I need you to come first.” He said moving his hands from her hips to her tits, squeezing them as he bucks his hips to meet Ryan’s movement. Ryan’s pace gets frenzied as she nears her release, placing her hands over Beau’s and moaning loudly. Ryan can feel the wave of pleasure washing over her as she leans over to kiss Beau.  He flips Ryan over so he is once again on top and thrusts again and again and again until he reaches his own high.

“That was definitely worth the wait” Beau said, kissing Ryan's shoulder as he rolls to his side. She doesn't respond, but instead turns her head away from Beau's gaze.  "You're not having second thoughts are you?" Beau asks with a worried expression on his face.

“No of course not, I just….I…I’ve…ugh” she groans in frustration and rubbing her hand over her face. 

“Hey hey hey…..honey you’re making me nervous. I’m gonna need you to tell me what’s wrong.”

Ryan sits up against the headboard pulling the sheet up over her naked body and says “I’ve just never had someone love me so completely for who I am, flaws and all. The few relationships I’ve had I’ve never felt good enough- like I wasn’t skinny enough or pretty enough and you just have this way of making me feel like no one else matters.”

“That’s because you’re it for me Ryan. I’m sorry those other guys made you feel that way because you're so gorgeous and the fact that you don’t realize how gorgeous you are only adds to it. I am so crazy in love with you and if I’m lucky I’ll get to spend the rest of my life showing you just how special you are.”

"I'm not sure what I did to deserve you Beau, I really don't.  You're it for me too, I can't see myself with anyone else. You just make loving you so easy" Ryan said, scooting closer to Beau and snuggling into his chest.  "It took me too long to find you and I'm afraid I'll wake up one morning and find out this has all been a dream."

"Darlin, go to sleep-I promise I'm not going anywhere...there is literally no place I'd rather be than with you." 

__________________________________________________

Thank you @bullet-prooflove for ALL of your help!!

[savage-kult-of-gorthaur]

THE FACES & STYLES OF PEAK U.S. HARDCORE -- THE POST-HARDCORE WAVE WAS INCOMING.

PIC(S) INFO: Spotlight on a punk girl complete with pearl necklace, badges, and a hand-drawn MDC tee, plus shots of early circle-pitting during the CRUCIFIX set at Rock Against Reagan, live at U. Mass, Boston, MA, in May 1983. 📸: Lisa Putignano.

Source: www.picuki.com/media/3400663887462756841.

[tompoose]

tompoose if you had to fight any politician, past or present, in a cagefight who would you fight.

(you can't say john tyler. but it's not cuz i'm scared. i'm not scared. who's scared? it's just that i would win. i always win, so i don't even bother. that's why.)

Don't worry President Tyler, I love you, I would never fight you.

In an instant, I would take the chance to rock Ronald Reagan's shit. I'm young and healthy, I get decent exercise cycling, but I am not an athlete.

I don't know how much of it one keeps into their sixties or seventies, but I understand that Reagan was always quite active and had about twenty pounds over me. I think his hatred for queer people would superpower him against me as well, he would draw from it like fuel.

Regardless of these factors, I would gladly take the chance to fight a presidential-age Reagan. God knows he would try to kill me, as I would him, we would fight tooth and claw like animals until one of our grisly deaths would air on live television for the nation to see.

[randomvarious]

1980s Punk Rock Playlist

It's been way too long since I last made any kind of update to this 80s punk playlist, folks, and in order to right that wrong, I added a whole lot of songs to it this week, all of which were once included on a terrific budget double-disc comp from the late 90s called 100% Hardcore Punk that exclusively showcased the raw, snarling, and hellraising UK brands of oi!, anarcho-, street, and UK82 that rose to prominence in the early 80s. Taken together, these oft-overlapping hardcore strains broadly reflected the political angst of a disaffected UK male youth that was being made to deal with prime minister Margaret Thatcher's ascendant Tory government, much like how US punks' chief villain throughout that same decade was Ronald Reagan 👺.

So if you're dreading the return of Trump to power next year like I am, but you also find most anti-Trump content to be its own industrial-grade mix of drain-circling grift and cringe that's ill-equipped to seriously confront and withstand an ever-growing threat of fascism, I think one of the best places to go back to in order to cathartically channel some of that rage is this early 80s stuff right here, because, above all else, it feels palpably genuine, and second, a lot of the topics that these British songs broach are also broadly relevant to the American predicament that we currently find ourselves in today too.

BUT, also understand that early 80s UK hardcore is certainly not for everyone; it is definitely an acquired taste. If you don't like the formula of blisteringly dark, loud, and simple chord progressions, mashing drums, and throaty, scratchy, gravelly, passionately yelling, chest-voiced male vocals, then this stuff ain't for you.

Now, since a lot of these songs follow a similar sonic blueprint, it's not very easy to pick an absolute favorite among them, because they all go pretty equally hard; but one tune in particular that I think you really all should know about is "They've Got It All Wrong" by Anthrax, who are obviously not to be confused with the world-famous thrash metal band by the same name. Anthrax's biggest song ended up being 1983's "Capitalism Is Cannibalism," but a few months before that, they had made their debut with this anarcho-gem that zealously diagnosed a lot of UK punk rock itself as having fallen prey to the machinations of vulturous capitalism, as show promoters were managing to fill their own pockets thanks to this music that was ostensibly supposed to be rebelling against the type of system that bred that kind of exploitation in the first place. "They've Got It All Wrong" was one of Anthrax's most popular songs, but its Spotify play count (which is ironically maximally exploitative, I know) pales in comparison to that of "Capitalism Is Cannibalism," and is only currently sitting at around 29.4K plays.

Abrasive Wheels - "The Army Song" The Partisans - "No U Turns" The Exploited - "Dead Cities" The Partisans - "Police Story" Chaos UK - "Four Minute Warning" Blitz - "Never Surrender" GBH - "Sick Boy" Mayhem - "Psycho" Abrasive Wheels - "Shout It Out" Resistance 77 - "Nuclear Attack" Chaos UK - "No Security" The Fits - "Too Many Rules" One Way System - "Give Us a Future" Special Duties - "Violent Youth" Threats - "Politicians and Ministers" Uproar - "Rebel Youth" One Way System - "No Return" Anthrax - "They've Got It All Wrong" Riot Squad - "Lost Cause" The Varukers - "Die for Your Government" The Exploited - "Rival Leaders" Broken Bones - "Decapitated" Riot Squad - "Society's Fodder" Ultra Violent - "Crime for Revenge" The Varukers - "Led to the Slaughter"

And while Spotify's early 80s UK hardcore library seems to be pretty ample, there are still a few bangers from this 100% Hardcore Punk comp that aren't on there, with one particularly glaring omission being "Psycho Killer" by English Dogs, which I've now just added to the longer YouTube version of this playlist, along with a couple others that can't be found on Spotify too. "Psycho Killer" is neither a Talking Heads cover nor is it political, but it's a timelessly head-rattling and raucously bouncy horror-thrasher that's about a seemingly unstoppable fella who derives immense pleasure from fatally stabbing people at random 🔪😱. Its main riff kinda sounds like something that a band like Rancid could've successfully replicated a decade or so later, and it's currently sitting at 350K plays across a whole bunch of different YouTube uploads, which vastly outnumbers the play count of every song of this band's that is on Spotify right now.

English Dogs - "Psycho Killer" Mau Maus - "Just Another Day" Oi Polloi - "Thugs in Uniform"

And this playlist is also on YouTube Music.

So this pretty big update now brings us up to 47 songs that clock in at 101 minutes on Spotify, but over on YouTube, we're now at 58 songs that clock in at 129 minutes. So if you want another near-half-hour of 80s punk, including that English Dogs jam that's inexplicably missing from Spotify, consider giving the YouTube one a listen 🙏.

And here's a list of all the compilations that I've used to put this playlist together so far:

Burns From the Valley of the Sun (1991, Frontier Records) Motor City's Burnin', Volume 2 (1998, Total Energy) What? Stuff (1990, Iloki Records) 100% Hardcore Punk (1998, Captain Oi!) American Youth Report (1982, Enigma / Invasion Records) Buried Alive: The Best of Smoke 7 Records, Volume 2 (2000, BOMP Records) Buried Alive: The Best From Smoke 7 Records, 1981-1983 (1995, BOMP Records) Battle of the Garages: Part 1 (1994, Voxx Records) VIctory Style III (1998, Victory Records) Take the Subway to Your Suburb (1994, Subway Organisation) Destination Bomp! (1995, BOMP Records) Whole Wide World, Volume 2 (1994, Subway Organisation) Punk-O-Rama, Volume 1 (1995, Epitaph)

And if you want some 80s punk playlists that are shorter, I've got a few that are broken down into specific years too:

1981 Punk Rock: Spotify / YouTube / YouTube Music 1982 Punk Rock: Spotify / YouTube / YouTube Music 1983 Punk Rock: YouTube / YouTube Music

Gonna be routing a bunch of these adds into an update for an 80s hardcore punk playlist too next week as I distill favorites from this 100% Hardcore Punk comp into more specific playlists all throughout December.

Enjoy!

More to come, eventually. Stay tuned!

Like what you hear? Follow me on Spotify and YouTube for more cool playlists and uploads!