#punk whisky

[atomic-chronoscaph]

Joan Jett (1978)

[70sgroovy]

debbie harry photographed by donna santisi while performing at the whisky a go go, 1977

[unioncityblues]

Debbie Harry backstage at the Whisky a Go Go in Los Angeles, California. February 9, 1977.

Photographed by Ron Galella.

[theunderestimator-2]

A hot Iggy Pop performs with The Stooges onstage at the Whisky A Go-Go on Oct. 30, 1973 in LA, sporting a souvenir pair of ‘Soho’ briefs.

“I had this pair of underwear I bought at a little kiosk in Piccadilly Circus…they just said SOHO over the penis. I guess they were women’s, but I didn’t think about that, I just thought about how cool I would look in them…" said Iggy to John Savage for The Flesh Machine, Vice Magazine 2012.

Live recording from that gig released as CD1 of "Theatre Of Cruelty" 4xCD Box (2022).

(via)

[oldshowbiz]

Alley Cats: One of the resident punk bands at the Whiskey A Go Go in the late 1970s.

[thepastprotracted]

[destinedtobeloved]

Takeshi may or may not be a teeny tiny bit of an alcholic

[savage-kult-of-gorthaur]

SF HARDCORE HITS L.A. -- "PLASTIC SURGERY DISASTERS" ON TOUR.

PIC INFO: SpHITSguht on vocalist/lyricist Jello Biafra & guitarist East Bay Ray of San Francisco-based hardcore punk band DEAD KENNEDYS, performing live at the Whisky, Sunset Blvd., L.A., on July 4, 1982. TSOL and BUTTHOLE SURFERS opened.

"The Whisky was my favorite venue to shoot at. Plus it was close to my house. My dad would drop me off early enough to walk in and hang out. Being a 16 year old, nobody ever noticed me milling around upstairs. I’m still convinced that people thought I was someone’s kid."

-- ALISON BRAUN (L.A.-based '80s punk rock photographer)

Source: https://twitter.com/zzzkpdzzz/status/1149502962852478976.

[cityonahillphotos]

I’ve got a bad case of the whisky blues

[zanygardenherowobbler]

Watch "NASHVILLE PUSY - HATE & WHISKY | REACTION" on YouTube

[bitter69uk]

Born on this day: happy 77th birthday to streetwalkin’ cheetah with a heartful of napalm / world’s forgotten boy / chairman of the bored / possessor of the world's most sinewy torso, the artist formerly known as James Newell Osterberg Jr – feral godfather of punk, Iggy Pop! (Born 21 April 1947). Pictured: Pop at full cry at the Whisky a Go Go in Los Angeles in the early seventies.

[sergiomichelofficial]

Sergio Michel headlines The World Famous Whisky A Go Go - January 25th, 2023 Video Credit: @monkeyflop1 . #whisky #whiskyagogo #hollywood #hollywoodca #sunsetstrip #sergiomichel #metal #guitar #punk #motleycure #gunsnroses #vanhalen #rainbowbarandgrill #concerts #beverlyhills #westhollywood #heavymetalhalloffame #metalhall #metalhalloffame #guitarist #jacksonguitars #jacksonguitarsofficial #jackson #seymourduncaninvader #line6helix #line6helixfloor #seymourduncanpickups #jacksondinky (at Whisky A Go-Go) https://www.instagram.com/p/Cn4FFi5LyDr/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[avatarthelastairgender]

2005 fueled by ramen pop punk type music is so funny. every tracklist was like

we're an up and coming band

i hate women (they're sluts)

rap music is funny (PARODY)

I'm Gonna Dance And Take You Home Tonight But Only If You Can Stand To Be Near Me For A Few More Minutes And Only If I Can Stand This Whisky

jennifer

suck my dick

[unioncityblues]

Debbie Harry backstage at the Whisky a Go Go in Los Angeles, California. 1979.

Photographed by George Rose.

[gay-dorito-dust]

Could I please request cuddling with spider punk/hobie brown headcanons <33

As I have previously stated, Hobie is a bit of a cuddle bug, especially more so when he becomes exhausted from doing late night patrols as Spider-Man.

The type of cuddling he’s taken a liking to is either the sweetheart cradle/rom com; where either your face is pressed against his chest, all snug as a bug in a rug when you slot yourself comfortably into his side, whilst his arm careen over your shoulders to keep you close as his head nuzzles atop of yours.

Or the pretzel: where your legs and arms are interlocked and thrown over one another as you (or Hobie) tuck your head into the others neck and breath in deeply, reminding yourselves that you were alright, that you were safe from all harm that could ever dare to think of touching you.

But it wouldn’t be uncommon if over the course of the night that you both slowly slip from the others grasp to stretch into your own spaces whilst being hyperaware that you were within reaching distance for Hobie as he was for you in the instance where you’d need to feel the other out.

whether that be in the form of touching feet, linking legs, holding hands, loose spooning, facing one another with your foreheads touching briefly or even having your backs pressed against each other. Then and only then do you physically relax and return to sleep with full confidence that you’d be able to wake up to one another in the morning.

Cuddling with Hobie made you felt like you were being protected, loved, adored, treasured, safe, secure and all above all else: at home because Hobie is your home. He’s the one you come back to each and every time and the feelings you get easily doing so have never faded, as being within Hobie’s arms were probably your most favourite place to be as well as snuggled up against his chest where you could prep kisses along his jawline whisky wishing him a goodnight as he smiled softly.

Cuddling with you made Hobie feel as though he has a place to rest his weary head and tired limbs, knowing wholeheartedly that you’d cocoon him in your love and adoration for him. You made feel as though he could finally take a breather and allow himself to be present in the moment with you as you cuddled until one or both of you fell asleep; which is you, always because Hobie wants to make sure you go to sleep first despite your protests in wanting to stay up until he fell asleep. (He found this determination of yours adorable.)

Cuddling you had became a safe haven for Hobie and being in your arms is one of the many things he loves the most, where he knows you’re safe, where he knows your real as he feels the heat of your body warm him up and vice versa; you became Hobie’s safe haven and it’s one he never wants to leave because once he’s in your arms, he’s out like a light.

When you try to wake him up, it’s usually summed up like this;

You: Hobie babe, it’s time to get up.

Hobie: *groans, lifting his head away from his neck* five more minutes. *buried his head against your neck, falling fast asleep*

Yeah, you defiantly stayed trapped beneath him for a lot longer then just five minutes but you weren’t complaining.

[muzansfangs]

Blue jeans.

Starring: Muzan Kibutsuji x f!reader;

Format: one-shot;

Warnings: nsfw, modern au, age gap, reader is twenty-one, sugar daddy dynamics, car sex, semi-public sex, vaginal sex, oral sex (Muzan receiving), use of alcohol, cigarettes, vaginal fingering, size kink;

Plot: You were his addiction. Young, beautiful and full of life, you made him forget about his problems for hours, whenever you met. The day you two had crossed paths for the first time, he thought it was not going to be anything more than a simple one-night stand. “No feelings involved” he had told you. Then, why did he miss you whenever you left?

Track: Blue jeans — Lana del Rey "You were sorta punk rock, I grew up on hip hop, but you fit me better than my favorite sweater".

MASTERLIST FOR THE EVENT.

﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

He enjoyed your presence. As he now stared at your smooth, naked back facing him on his bed, he ran one hand through his curly, dark hair and sighed. He was not someone who grew attached to people. Feelings were foreign to him. Maybe he never learned how to love, or maybe love was never instilled into his heart. You, however, you had disrupted his whole life.

He blamed it on your laughter, or on the way your eyes glistened whenever you talked about something you liked. You were so innocent, at times. He loved the way your eyes widened and you hummed in delight, whenever he made you try some exotic dish you did not even know the existence of, until the menu was kindly handed to you by the gloved hand of a waiter.

He did not mind spoiling you.

You were young, your delicate features were a blessing to him. You were the sugar he needed in his sour life.

Glancing at your sleeping frame one last time, he reached his hand towards the nightstand, grasping his lighter and his cigarette pack. Another habit of his not even you could help him get rid of. He opened it absent-mindedly, only to realize it was the last one. Perhaps, it was truly time for a change then.

This cigarette was his last one. And you, you were the last woman he would have ever let step into his life. It was time to settle down, after all. He had spent too many nights in random downtown bars, hooking up with strangers he never remembered the name of, only to search for something he never found: warmth.

You were not supposed to be different. You were supposed to he as shallow as the others, but you were not.

It happened eight months ago. Chatting with your friends, drink in hand, you had caught his plum red eyes that infamous saturday night. Ignoring his presence was impossible. A man like him was too charismatic not to draw attention. The way you had tried to resist him, though, that had made him crave you. He stared at you from his stool, shooting captivating glances at you, trying to make you understand that he was demanding your attention. Defiantly, you barely locked eyes with him, almost making him lose his patience. In other circumstances, he would have probably picked someone else to give him the proper attention he demanded, but there was something about you that made his blood boil.

He wanted you that night.

When you suddenly stood up and slided onto the stool next to his one, still pretending not to see him, he chuckled. You were a delicacy, a rosebud in a nest of thorns ready to wound him, but he was old enough to know how to play his cards right.

“A double whisky, please” you asked the bartender, but Muzan interjected in your conversation.

“It’s on me” he smoothly said, half-lidded eyes staring at the liquid into his own glass.

It irked you. Did he just buy you a drink?

“Yeah, it’s on him” you replied sassily then, averting your eyes from the barman to look at him. He was handsome, elegant, older than you. His cologne pierced your nostrils as you leaned slightly closer to him to search for his eyes, the red eyes he had made sure you would have never been able to shake off of your mind ever again.

“Apparently, you’ve finally got the hint” Muzan lowly said, twirling the rum into the crystal glass before drinking it down in one gulp and gently settling it back onto the counter.

You grinned and propped your elbow onto the marble green surface in front of you, your chin rested on the palm of your hand as you watched the barman grasp a bottle to fill your glass. It was thrilling the way he felt so self-assured, his presence alone was enough to make your head spin.

“Don’t flatter yourself. I was just thirsty” you said, earning a chuckle from him.

“You could have asked the barmar to refill your glass from the table” he pointed out, shifting his position to turn his body around and face you properly.

Your cheeks flushed up and, when the glass of whisky was slided towards you, you were quick to grasp it to focus on something else that was not him. You failed so effortlessly though.

“What is it that you want?” you asked him eventually, raising your glass towards your mouth and biting down on the rim softly, before taking a sip of the liquor. It burned down your throat, just like his eyes burned on your skin.

Muzan did not miss his chance and let his eyes travel up and down your small frame. You were perfect, perfect for what he had in mind. Smaller than him, delicate and bold. Being a CEO took away his energy, he needed a distraction and you were a good one. Too precious not to ruin.

He leaned forward, his hot breath fanning your earlobe as he grinned and moistened his upper lip thoughtfully. It was clear that you were affected by his actions. He could see the way your breath hitched and the way your grip on the glass tightened significantly as he spoke “Frankly, just your mouth around my cock” he whispered only for you to hear.

Your eyes widened and you inhaled sharply, as his words sank in. He had no filters and you could not blame him for it. Why? It was probably the force of habit. A man like him could snap his fingers and obtain what he wanted right away. The thrill of doing such a dirty, lewd thing to a stranger, to a man like him, someone you would have probably never met again was tickling your most dark fantasies.

It took you several seconds to make up your mind. You sighed, gently setting your drink on the counter and glanced at your friends from above your shoulder. They were staring at you curiously, some of them probably wondering what you were about to do in excitement and some of them were honestly analyzing the scene with wary eyes. Indeed, the latter ones were the wisest.

“I have a dignity” you pointed out, darting your eyes back on Muzan.

“Growning up, you’ll find out there are things far way more valuable in life than what other people may think of you” he promptly replied, straightening his necktie casually. He seemed tired and not the kind of man who wanted to hurt you. He was not going to coax you into giving yourself away, he just hoped you would say him ‘yes’.

And you did.

As you two stumbled out of the bar fifteen minutes later, you knew you were probably going to either regret it for your whole life, or look back at it as an exciting adventure you had had with an older man on a boring night. He had told you his name was Muzan Kibutsuji. He had whispered it over your lips, right before pinning you against his car door.

His lips captured yours in a fervent kiss, holding your face with both of his huge hands, as his tongue entered your mouth with expertise and elicited a soft series of moans from your throat. It was not just his experience that blew your mind: it was him. It was clear as he unbuckled his belt, in the privacy of his car, and tangled his fingers through your hair.

He locked eyes with you, searching for the slightest sting of fear. He would have stopped immediately, if he had spotted it. Yet, there was just the hunger of anticipation in those glimmering eyes of yours and he firmly but carefully pushed your head down towards his crotch. With your eyes closed, you did your best to pleasure him. Your tongue twirled around the tip, right over the sensitive spot, making him groan softly in pleasure.

It was exactly what he needed. As you began to suck him off, you were slowly making his problems fade away and stress flow right into your warmth mouth. You almost gagged as he bucked his hips up in pleasure and he lolled his head back into the leather headrest, exhaling through his nostrils. When you were sure he was just going to let you finish him off like that, he surprised you.

“Stop” he breathed out, shifting on his seat to grasp the wallet from his pocket.

As he pulled out a condom from it and ripped it open with his teeth, you stared at him in both excitement and fear. Was he going to simply take you without a proper foreplay? You were about to point it out, when he grasped your jaw and planted a tender, passionate kiss on your lips to silence you.

“I am nothing like those dogs you are used to. I know how to properly stretch out a woman” he whispered, almost offended that you had thought so low of him.

“I didn’t—” you tried to apologize, but he simply scoffed and made the words die on your tongue as he pushed the thin fabric of your panties to the side and began to draw smooth figures eight on your bundle of nerves.

You moaned, blushing faintly in the dark car as you finally met a man who knew how to touch you properly. What did you expect? He was twice your years, a man of class, of power. He had told you himself he was not like the guys you were used to.

“You are beautiful, by the way” he whispered lowly, watching the way you arched your back as he thought you were wet enough to take another step. You hummed, squeezing your eyed shut as you adjusted yourself to his thick fingers. It was too much, it was overwhelming, and you could not believe what was truly happening.

He was so skilled that you had almost forgotten you were in a car, in a desert parking lot. You wanted him, you wanted him more than that, therefore you opened your eyes and gripped his wrist gently as a sign for him to stop his ministrations. You were ready for him. For all of him.

And as you straddled his lap, allowing him to guide your hips down to perfectly sink onto him, you knew things would have never been the same again. The thing was that, despite the rather brute way he had told you what he wanted from you, he did not just fuck you that night. The way his mouth hovered over yours, the way he held you so close to him, as if he was afraid you were going to slip away from him grasp, made feel something more.

There was loneliness in that passion, a void that needed to be filled.

Bouncing on his lap, you tugged at his hair, your thighs trembling as his shaft kissed your cervix and his mouth kissed the exposed skin of your neck. He had finally found it: the warmth of a young heart.

Now, putting his cigarette out on the silver ashtray he keeps on his nightstand, he grinned and rolled on his side. Resting his cheek on the pillow, he watched you. He never grew tired in doing it. You were a piece of art from a private collection, a gem. His fingertips glided down your naked back, trailing up towards the spine and grazing over the shoulderblades. You were his. You were his and no one else’s.

You hummed at the feeling, gently lifting your head to glance up at him. Your sleepy eyes always got him and, although he forced himself not to smile, you could swear his upper lip twitched.

“Hey…” you whispered softly, half-lidded eyes staring at him in adoration.

He did not say a word, he simply stroked your hair as if he wanted to lull you back to sleep. Yet, you had learned to read him and his poker face. There was something on the tip of his tongue.

“What is it?” you inquired, not moving an inch but keeping your eyes locked with his red ones.

“Nothing”.

“Liar. I know that look on your face. You want to ask me something. — you replied, sitting up and letting the silky blankets pool down over your waist — Speak up, Kibutsuji” you invited him to talk, poking his biceps with your index.

He loathed your childish ways to make him give up and talk, but he was almost defenseless in front of them. You were his greatest weakness.

“Actually, I got no questions for you. It’s just that… Well, I’m falling for you, I guess” he confessed.

Never in his life he had pulled down his mask like that. However, a love confession from him was overdued. He spoke his mind no matter what. He was not scared of his feelings for you. It was just that, for the first time ever, he did not want to ruin you, as he thought he wanted the night you two met.

You stared at him with your lips slightly parted, your cheeks heating up, as you scooted closer to him and snuggled into his chest. His chest, where you could hear his steady heartbeat, was your favore place to sleep. It comforted you.

“I love you too, Muzan” you mumbled, closing your eyes as you felt his arm flex and wrap you up into a tight embrace. There was no escape.

Maybe it was a trap, maybe it was the highway to paradise. You did not know for how long it would have lasted. All you knew was what you felt and, in that very moment, you wanted him as much as he wanted you.

Until you filled the void in his heart. Until it broke your bones. Until it hurt.

Tags: @mrskokushibo @doumadono @yazzzmints @tired-writer04 I dedicate this piece to you!❤️