#johnny luther

[othernicknameisgaslighter]

WHO WILL PRAY FOR YOU?! WHEN YOUR BODIES GONE? 😫❤️

i dunno abt you but nerdy prudes must die has consumed my life once again and im thinking about adding a line into one of the things im writing

[afklancelot]

reading Johnny Truant’s sections in House of Leaves and shaking my head every time there’s a sex scene so that everyone knows i am against his promiscuity

[fuckyeahjohnnywinter]

Johnny Winter and Luther Allison, Ann Arbor Blues Festival, August 1970 [x]

[evilhorse]

Marvel Two-In-One #27

[jazzdailyblog]

John Coltrane: The Colossus of Jazz

Introduction: John Coltrane, often referred to simply as ‘Trane,’ stands as one of the most influential figures in the history of jazz. His innovative approach to improvisation, coupled with a tireless quest for musical exploration, reshaped the landscape of jazz and inspired countless musicians across genres. This blog post endeavors to illuminate the life, music, and legacy of the colossus of…

[cbjustmusic]

Mother Maybelle and the Carter Sisters performing “I'll Have A New Life”. In the second video they join Johnny Cash, Tennessee Ernie Ford and the Statler Brothers to perform the same song. _______________________ I’ll Have A New Life Songwriter: Luther G. Presley

On that resurrection morning When all the dead in Christ shall rise (I'll have a new body) Praise the Lord, I'll have a new life Slowed in weakness, raised in power Ready to live in Paradise (I'll have a new body) Praise the Lord, I'll have a new life, oh yes

I'll have a new home of life eternal Where the redeemed of God shall stand (There'll be no more sorrow) No more pain, there'll be no more strife Raised in the likeness of my Savior Ready to live in Glory Land (I'll have a new body) Praise the Lord, I'll have a new life, eternal

Free from every imperfection Happy and youthful I shall be (I'll have a new body) Praise the Lord I'll have a new life Glorfied with Him forever Death will be lost in victory (I'll have a new body) Praise the Lord I'll have a new life, oh yes

I'll have a new home of life eternal Where the redeemed of God shall stand (There'll be no more sorrow) No more pain, there'll be no more strife Raised in the likeness of my Savior Ready to live in Glory Land (I'll have a new body) Praise the Lord, I'll have a new life, eternal

Oh what a hallelujah morning When the last trump of God shall sound (I'll have a new body) Praise the Lord, I'll have a new life Graves all bursting, saints all shouting Heavenly beauty all around (I'll have a new body) Praise the Lord, I'll have a new life, oh yes

I'll have a new home of life eternal Where the redeemed of God shall stand (There'll be no more sorrow) No more pain, there'll be no more strife Raised in the likeness of my Savior Ready to live in Glory Land (I'll have a new body) Praise the Lord, I'll have a new life, eternal

[thecoffeelorian]

TFW time is a circle...🤔

God's Army (Myanmar)

God's Army (Texas)

[nebraskaenergy]

Letters from the Front

I’m going to try, to an extent, anyway, to back away from the nightmare that descended on Israel on 7 Oct. On Israel certainly but it has shed a brilliant light on segments of our populations in the West. We have heard much of a letter from a wretch who instead of being grateful that the West provided help to let him free Afghanistan from the Soviets, railed on about how his hate for us…

[1bravo9]

A fellow Mississippian who probably did more to influence and shape guitar driven music than anyone of his generation. Even now more than 60 years later his style is known simply as "Luther Licks". Ask any guitarist and they will tell you.

[lucky-strike-14]

Luther Perkins needs no honorary, official, accredited, or any other kind of degree whatsoever to walk through any door he chooses, until the end of hawking radiation. I do Mondale the rules in this case, & if you want to make a spell out of any of it, be respectful of Luther Perkins' bonedust; a little snuff'll open you up, & the little invisible-until-you-noticed-them bits'll make people want to kiss them off of you, with an ardent & gentle passion.

[afklancelot]

the main lesson you should learn from mark z danielewski’s books is not that obsession can alienate you from your friends or family (House of Leaves) or that identity can be a cage and restricting yourself/forcefully being restricted by how others see you can prevent you from greater opportunities (The Familiar), but rather that California fucking sucks

[berlynn-wohl]

All-Time Greatest Similes by Rob Harvilla on "60 Songs That Explain The 90s"

-"Celine Dion sings her songs like they owe her money."

-"The key change in Whitney Houston's I Will Always Love You is like being shot out of a cannon into another cannon."

-"Janet Jackson sings like she's hitting on you in a daycare during naptime and she's trying not to wake up the kids."

-"Listening to an 80's Metallica album is like falling down the stairs for an hour."

-"Goodbye Earl is like they built the whole plane out of the black box that was Johnny Cash's line 'I shot a man in Reno just to watch him die.'"

-"Paging through somebody’s Case Logic CD book in the mid-'90s was the single most intimate activity you could engage in with another human being. It was like drinking beer out of someone else’s mouth."

HONORABLE MENTION: "Direct quote from Salt [of Salt-N-Pepa]: 'An aquarium once told us that when they played Push It, the sharks started mating.' Yo, where...what...who...how...HOW was this discovered? Did someone just happen to walk into this aquarium with a giant boombox blasting Push It, or were the aquarium people sitting around like 'We gotta figure out how to get all these sharks horny' and Push It was some marine biologist's genius idea? Is this what marine biology is? You know how everyone in high school wants to be a marine biologist for like, ten minutes? I'd totally have gone through with it if I'd known this is what marine biologists did. If I'd known about this, I'd already have a Nobel Prize for playing Luther Vandross for some manatees. You want some variations on that joke? Sure you do. I got a list. I'd already have won a Nobel Prize for playing D'Angelo for some penguins. I'd already have won a Nobel Prize for playing Sade for some cuttlefish. That's the best one. I'd already have won a Nobel Prize for playing Jodeci for some polar bears."

[jazzdailyblog]

Billy Eckstine: The Voice of Elegance and Influence in Jazz

Introduction: There are some people in the world of jazz who leave a lasting impression, influencing future generations of artists and guiding the genre’s development. Billy Eckstine, a towering figure in jazz history whose silky voice and magnetic stage presence enthralled audiences all over the world, is one such legend. Eckstine has made immense contributions to jazz and had a profound effect…

[mangoshorthand]

Love your fics so much good lord 🫶🏻 especially your latest smut one. Which made me remember how S3 had some kinda unnecessary sex jokes.. like when Klaus told Five about Lila and Diego doing it one the stairs and Five said yeah I get it everybody was banging everybody last night 😭 kinda had to imagine Five and his wife drinking and spending the night together as well and getting the love he deserves. Not sure if its a smut request you’re interested in but i loved the wedding episode.

Awh- thanks. You're a sweetie! ❤️ I stuck a little twist on this one- I hope that's ok! I have a quirk as an author in that I don't like to explicitly contradict canon plus I would like Five to be physically 18+ canonically when I write about him. We have fluff and mild, romantic smut. Schmaltzier than I'd usually produce, but we all need a little schmaltz now and again.

If Tonight Was Our Last | Five Hargreeves/ F Reader 2.4k words, Rated M

Thank you to the Anon who pointed out how well this song fits with this fic! All in all, Diego and Lila’s wedding had been like them: informal, loud and chaotic. The ceremony part was executed in the courthouse as quick as humanly possible in order to get to the important part: dancing and partying in the punk nightclub they’d hired for the evening. 

Five hovered awkwardly by the bar. He was wearing what, on reflection, was an entirely inappropriate tuxedo and was becoming uncomfortably sweaty. He watched the crowd dancing to The Sex Pistols, Lila jumping and headbanging with a crazed look in her eye and Diego drinking shot after shot with Luther. He himself ordered a martini and was stirring it with his olive awkwardly, wondering when he could justify leaving. 

There was a joy in being part of this family that Five didn’t always appreciate: it presented him countless opportunities to exercise his brain with a conundrum. He knew that spending over forty years in the apocalypse was preferable to both, but whether Lila and Diego's wedding was worse than Luther and Sloane’s, he couldn’t yet decide. 

But when his eyes found you, screaming along with Johnny Rotten about how the queen of England wasn’t a human being, he knew that this sweaty, musty club was the only place in the world he’d choose to be right now. You caught his eye, face lighting up and worked your way across the dancefloor towards him. On the way, you stole a tequila slammer off the tray beside Luther and presented it to Five. 

Before you pulled him onto the dancefloor with you, he knocked back the shot and chased it with his remaining half martini. Perhaps it was the booze or maybe your hyperactive vibes were infectious, because Five let loose and spent the rest of the night dancing along with The Clash.  He got bashed and buffeted by the crowd and his siblings. Since then, Five had drunk heavily. Even if he had a slow start, he more than caught up with the rest of you. 

He kissed you several times throughout the evening, when his adrenaline was high and the music pumped with it through his veins. The kisses were hard, boisterous and joy-filled. Once, he lifted you off your feet with the force of it, earning him a small shove from Diego for ‘lowering the tone of the evening’. 

Viktor, the only one of you who stayed sober enough to be responsible, had shepherded first Lila and Diego to their hotel room, and then everyone else back to the Academy. He left you and Five still drinking in one of the lesser-used sitting rooms that was occupied by Reginald in years gone by.

A large order of fries and the journey home had sobered you up, but Five’s hand swayed as he tried to pour a glass of his father’s cognac, spilling it all over the side table.

“Ah shit. That was Hennesy,” he murmured, regretfully, wiping it up with a bar towel. He’d already discarded his jacket and now his hand fumbled at his bow tie, removing it and tucking into his pants pocket.

“You shouldn’t have any more,” you said, from the armchair. Your voice was slightly hoarse from having to shout to be heard all night, “you’ve been drinking like it’s your last night on earth.”

Five returned to the handsome chaise lounge with the little drink he’d managed to successfully pour, laughing softly.

“No I haven’t. That was the last wedding I went to.”

“Luther and Sloane’s?” you asked, tentatively. 

Five nodded. 

He didn’t like to talk about it often. The period following his return to 2019 was a chaotic tumble through timelines and apocalypses. You knew Luther and Sloane got married under the impression that they would all die the next day, but you hadn’t ever asked Five for details. Tonight, however, he seemed open to it. 

“When you got twenty-four to forty-eight hours left to live,” he said, laughing reminiscently,  “there’s no point in holding back.

I sorta remember making this…punch out of vodka, gin, coconut rum and god knows what else. I drank the whole bowl," he laughed, "Well, wouldn’t you? ” he asked, catching your disapproving eye.

You rocked your head from side to side, weighing it up.

“Probably,” you admitted, “I just don’t like to think about it. As it turned out, you all survived anyway. But that would have been no good if you died from alcohol poisoning.”

He took your hand in the gap between the two pieces of furniture. 

“Well, I’m glad I didn’t, but right then it seemed like a good option.”

You caught his eyes, deep tonight, and saw that he wasn’t as drunk as you thought. His lips twitched into a sad smile as he continued.

“I guess I had nothing else to do. They were all pairing off: Luther and Sloane, Lila and Diego, Klaus and alternate Ben-” he caught your expression and amended himself, “-I don’t mean boning, necessarily…” and then he looked nauseated, “oh god, I really hope not, anyway.”

“You’re a weird family,” you said, matter-of-factly.

“That we are.” he agreed, “At least four of them were going at it, anyway, and there I was trapped in the body of an extra from Bugsy Malone: hormonal, horny as hell and living the last few hours of my life. What is a self-respecting guy supposed to do?”

“Drink and jerk off?”

“Drink and jerk off, correct. You know me so well.”

You smiled, leaned over and poured yourself a small cognac.

“Sounds lonely for your last night on earth.”

He shrugged, reciprocating your raised glass to him before you took a sip. The honey-smelling warmth of the cognac went down nice and easy, even after the tequila and fries.

Five looked into his drink.

“What would you do?” he said, almost too quietly to hear, “on your last night on earth, I mean.”

You don’t hesitate, “I’d spend it with you.”

He smiled down into his glass. It’s one of his arrogant smiles masking the real emotion beneath.

“Of course you would.”

You could always tell when he was hiding emotion by the spots of  delicate color he developed high in his cheeks.

“And what about you?” you asked, gently.

He considered, the smile still playing around his lips.

“I’d probably drink and jerk off.”

You laughed and stretched out in the chair, closing your eyes and enjoying the feeling of being there with him. After a quiet minute, his voice sounded again.

smut below cut

“I’d make love to you.”

You turned your head to look at him, still starting into his drink. It’s not a term you’d ever heard him use before. In day-to-day conversation, he referred to sex as ‘boning’, ‘banging’ or occasionally used a trite metaphor like ‘making the beast with two backs.’ Even in the throes of passion, you’d only ever heard him say that he wanted to ‘fuck’ you.

He looked at you, eyes speaking a depth of feeling you hoped you would never be able to fully share. The look in his eyes brought home the weight of what he was saying: Five knew what it was to face the end of everything. He was saying this with that experience behind him. 

“If tonight was our last, I’d want you to know what you mean to me…except words can be blunt instruments, so I’d want to show you…”

He trailed off.

You put down your drink and, drawn like a magnet to his bared vulnerability, joined him on the couch. Eyes not leaving this, you raised your hand to cup his face. As he closed his eyes, you kissed him on the corner of his mouth, hoping that the touch of your lips against him conveyed what you were feeling. 

With his eyes still closed, he leaned into your touch almost wearily, rubbing his cheek against your hand and letting out a long breath through his nose.

“Show me now,” you whispered, “as if tonight was our last night.”

Slowly, his eyes fluttered open, and he fixed you with his unwavering gaze. Though the room was dimly lit, what little light there was reflected in his eyes. Without another word, he leaned in and pressed his mouth to yours in a soft, tender kiss. His warm lips brushed yours, feather-light. You responded to him eagerly, meeting his affection with your own and wrapping your arms tightly around his neck. 

He deepened the kiss, hands beginning to roam. He caressed you, palms exploring the contours of your body; the landscape of hills and valleys. Though he’d done this countless times before, his touch felt somehow new: sending trembling, fluttering energy across your body. His breath was sweet, tasting of the cognac: you felt and savored the warmth of his mouth on yours 

As the kiss reached its peak, you felt a rush of emotion you hadn’t expected: though he was gentle, cherishing and loving, you could nevertheless feel a flavor of desperation behind this kiss. It was as if this really was it; as if tonight really was the last night. He was right: words weren’t enough, and this was the most important thing you and he would ever say to each other. 

His fingers became more urgent, slipping beneath your shirt to feel the warmth of your skin beneath. You raised your arms and he lifted it carefully over your head, unable to resist leaning in and peppering your newly exposed skin with kisses before he fully removed it.

Meanwhile, one of your hands popped open the buttons of his shirt while the other traced the lines of his chest and pectorals. When his stomach was revealed, you pulled the fabric apart and snaked both hands in, reveling in his warmth and the soft smattering of hair disappearing into his pants.

Your hands moved in unison, undressing each other with sensual eagerness: not too fast, not too slow, only keen to feel each new inch of flesh as it was exposed. As he reached around to unhook your bra, you worked on freeing him from his pants. You could already feel the arousal beneath. 

Before you could remove the fabric around him, he leaned in and captured your newly bared nipple, gently licking and sucking on it. You couldn’t help but moan, even despite the necessity of keeping your voice low. His hand came to rub and softly press your other breast, feeling your shape in the palm of his hand. 

At last, you pulled him from his pants, stroking his shaft gently and feeling him grow even harder at your touch. His breath stuttered around your breast. 

At last, you sat beside each other naked. His kisses felt like moths’ wings across your breasts, your collarbone, your neck. He leaned towards you, urging you gently backwards until your back hit the velvet of the chaise. You pulled him to you and kissed him again, caressing his lips with your own. When he pulled back, you were surprised to see tears pricking the corner of his eyes. 

When he spoke, looking at you with those earnest, sad eyes, it was in a whisper. You had the sense that he didn’t trust his voice any louder.

“If tonight were our last night, I’d want to kiss you like that.”

You stroked his face again and he briefly closed his eyes, one of the tears forming into a drop and running slowly down his cheek. When he opened them, he shifted his kneeling position and you spread your thighs to accommodate him. 

“What else would you do?” you asked, your own voice not much more than a whisper. 

He lowered himself so that your bodies were pressed together, skin on skin and warmth on warmth. 

“I’d want you like this,” he said, “I’d want to be inside you.”

You wrapped your legs around him, pulling him gently to you and entwining your body with his. He entered you slowly and you let out identical exhales. It was a feeling like coming home after a long day. Five gave a pleasurable wince as the clenching of your walls had its effect on him: perfect intensity.

As he moved in you, as you moved together, every caress was a whispered affirmation of love; every twinge of pleasure a promise kept. Each of his slow, sensual thrusts was a pledge of undying devotion. The slow build of your orgasm was a life of love and loyalty spent together.

He buried his head in your neck, simultaneously breathing you in and hiding his tears. Your arms wrapped themselves over his back, your hand finding the back of his head and holding him safely to you as, inside you, the twin heats of love and of pleasure bloomed.

“I’ve got you, baby.” you whispered, inhaling the clean smell of his hair. 

With your arms and legs wrapped around him this way, you met his hips with your own, giving him the same promises he gave to you. You kissed his temple, wrapping yourself around him more snugly. Wrapped in the warmth of your shared love, your bodies writhed together. From his stuttering breath and increasing tension, you could tell he was nearing his peak. You could feel his heart beating against your chest like that of a small animal. 

He gave an ecstatic cry and exploded inside you, body shuddering in the current of his release. As he came, he kissed and licked at your neck, unrefined and uncontrolled but desperate to taste some part of you. Finally, he collapsed onto the couch, his full weight upon you, trying to catch his breath in short gasps. 

“If tonight was our last night,” he mumbled, after a few moments to compose himself, “I’d want to savor it. I'd hope not to come after two minutes like that.”

You smiled into his hair.

“Lucky tonight isn’t our last night,” you said. 

Responding to the pang of shame in his voice, however, you continued more seriously.

“If tonight was our last night, I’d die happy after that. No, really,” you said, responding to his disbelieving snort, “that was…”

You didn’t need to finish. The awe and love in your tone was enough of a balm.

You could lie here forever with his warm weight on top of you, your bodies still connected with him still inside you. You could be happy here, with his breath in your ear and your hand in his hair. If tonight was your last night, you would have lived a whole lifetime in it.

Megalist

Request info + rules

NOTE:

I take Five requests, I'm fairly versatile in what I write (fluff, smut, angst, psychological character study- I'll try it all) but I will consider them on a case by case basis. See request info + rules for request status and more.

[workingclasshistory]

On this day, 24 June 1973, an arsonist ignited a fire that engulfed the LGBT+ bar called the Up Stairs Lounge in New Orleans, killing 32 people and injuring 15. The fire was the deadliest attack on a gay bar in American history prior to the 2016 Pulse Nightclub Massacre. In a city where LGBT+ culture was largely hidden, the Up Stairs Lounge was one of the few establishments catering to the gay community and one of the only gay bars that welcomed Black men and lesbians. On the fourth anniversary of the Stonewall Uprising, patrons assembled at the bar for the weekly beer bust. Sixty-five people remained when Bartender Buddy Rasmussen heard the doorbell ring and asked friend Luther Boggs to answer it. As Luther opened the door, flames rushed into the lounge. Buddy led 20 survivors onto the roof of a nearby building while others unsuccessfully attempted to escape through barred windows. The fire department arrived at 7:58 and extinguished the fire quickly, but the powerful flames had already overpowered many patrons. Among the victims were 12 members of Metropolitan Community Church, the first church serving LGBT+ individuals. They included Rev. William "Bill" Larson, associate pastor Duane "Mitch" Mitchell, and Mitch's boyfriend Horace Broussard. Unlike other tragedies, the Up Stairs fire did not amass community support. Although newspapers reported the fire, journalists enflamed anti-gay sentiment by perpetuating vulgar rhetoric and harmful stereotypes. Articles painted the victims as "thieves, burglars, and queers," while other reports named the tragedy a "fruit fry." Eyewitnesses told author Johnny Townsend that they overheard either police or firefighters saying: "Let the f*****s burn". No formal memorials were planned, and churches refused to provide services. This reaction galvanised the New Orleans' LGBT+ community to organise for gay rights as they mourned those who died in the tragic fire. https://www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=649971757176043&set=a.602588028581083&type=3