longtimetofindmunro

[longtimetofindmunro]

The booth, with its stacks of complicated machinery and cramped quarters, stuffy air filled with heavy clouds of nicotine and sweat seemed the opposite of what Josh needed. He was a bird meant to spread his wings and fly freely around stadiums and arenas while honing his craft on beautiful guitars that sang melodies meant only for the ears of gods.

He looked pretty fucking awful, to be honest. It was the same haunted existence Mickey saw in himself when his pretty neighbor insisted on taking pictures and showing him 'how far he'd come' or 'how well he was doing'. It took the broken to truly see where the shattered pieces lay scattered, perhaps. Or maybe the one who did the breaking.

And he hadn't realized until that very moment, standing in the doorway of a radio station he should have been listening to all along, how much breaking he'd done, in his own failed journey to save himself.

"I-I uh, I'm sorry for breaking you too..." He was never the words one. Everyone knew that. That was Josh. The least popular song on their first album was Mickey's, and that was only because they all wanted to have writing credit at least once. So when more than a couple words made it past his lips, the tears he'd been holding back during his drive began spilling out.

Fucking emotions and their need to show up in public places. Yeah, he'd cried all over Josh in about fifty different situations, but never like this. Never with his tail between his legs and the pieces of his heart in his hands, on offer to his former best friend, bandmate, other™, basically begging him for even a morsel of kindness or at least acknowledgment of a shared past filled with memories not so easily forgotten and thrown away, even though Mickey had ruined everything as thoroughly as possible.

"I-I can leave. I'll go. It's okay."

Looking around the booth, Joshua Levin heaved a sigh. Won’t Get Fooled Again was playing, so he had a moment to collect his thoughts. The Who was quickly becoming a staple in the station, and while they serenaded the airwaves of Stillwater, Joshua lit up a cigarette. He was on fire on the mic, playing the role of someone who actually wanted to be at work. Right now, all he wanted was some fucking sleep.

It was almost funny… when he had been on tour, he craved nothing but acceleration. He never felt burnt out and felt better and better when he was on. Sure, he had never been the most extroverted kid in the world, but that’s not why he had been in a band in the first place. He was in it for the music! The glory of picking up that guitar and shredding a solo. Writing and writing til’ his fingers bleed, ‘cause his heart and soul were intertwined in the notes and the keys and the tunes. He loved the rush. Now that it was over, he wanted stillness. Stillness was better than faking it.

“Pick up my guitar and pray. Just like yesterday. And then I’ll get on my knees and pray. We don’t get fooled again.”

How real the song felt. He played it out, and soon, he was onto the next. It was always onto the next. Next was Smoke on the Water. Deep Purple held it down, and Joshua tried to make his commentary not sound so goddamn moody. He just wished he was getting paid to hold a fucking guitar, rather than introducing the town to some rock n’ roll. 

“Next up, we have a recent song that melds two iconic Brits! Wings frontman Paul McCartney, formally known for The Beatles, takes the lead on the new James Bond theme. And my god, is it good. Live and let live? I don’t think so. Sometimes the world throws the worst at you, and instead of holding on, you simply have to let it all go. Here we have Live and Let Die by the Wings!”

Another puff. Another song. Another moment of complacency. He wasn’t even able to appreciate how good he had it… because he had known something better. He leaned back in his chair, pulling his sunglasses down, groaning. He closed his eyes, and heard the voice.

It hadn’t even been a while, but he immediately felt haunted. That fucking tone. That fucking nickname. He felt the bags under his eyes sink, as he opened one eye, looking at Mickey Munro through colored lenses. This wasn’t how this was supposed to go. 

“You’re lucky that Stairway to Heaven is 8 minutes long. That’s how long you have. Talk.”

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Mickey's eyes lit up when the photographer entered the stairwell dressed more casually than he'd ever seen him dressed. The stripes of his PJs definitely brought out the colors in his eyes, but the dim streetlights revealed nothing of the sort as he sat close and pulled out his own beer.

With a tip of his own bottle in cheers, Mickey held in a grimace at the nickname and chose to groan at the question instead, "Judging by the colorful language I heard when Johnny Carson came on, I think everyone's out." As a former guest on the show, he couldn't stand the fucker. or the intro, or the forced audience laughter, or any of it. So good riddance.

And hello beer number two. Opened with the ring he always kept on his middle finger. Basically a party trick if no one noticed the ring's true purpose beforehand. Did that make him a problem...with alcohol? Ugh, whatever.

"So, late night? Or dreaming up more of those pretty pictures of yours?"

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

Jasper had been up reading one of the books that he took for himself after his mother left them behind, tonight’s pick being The Sun Also Rises by Ernest Hemingway, when the power randomly blew. Letting out a few curses at the sudden lack of sight, Jas left the book open on the couch to pick back up in the morning as he tried finding his way to the door to check if it was the whole building or just his. Noting the darkness in the hallway when the lights there were usually always on, he navigated his way back inside to his kitchen and grabbed a flashlight and the beer he kept on hand for times like this. He didn’t bother with getting shoes, just knowing he’d just end up tripping while putting them on in the dark, he left his door unlocked and made his way back out to hang out in the stairwell in his pajamas, knowing that’s where everyone who lived there and didn’t want to wait out the outage in their home ended up. Spotting one of the very few neighbors he actually spoke to from time to time, he took a seat next to him on the stairs and set his case next to the other already there. “Hey there, rockstar. So we’ve all gone out then?” he questioned, opening a bottle for himself.

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Closed Starter for @mr-angeleyes

Location: Apartment building in Oakbury

It was somewhere around eleven at night when the power went out. Not like he had the lights on or anything, or the radio. But the fridge made an awful clunking sound as it gave up cooling its meager contents, and he could hear one of his neighbors wail as he missed the opening to whatever late night television show he'd just sat down to. 

The lack of moving air made the small apartment start heating up, with beads of sweat appearing across his skin immediately. It was disgusting. And when he finally sat up to pull on his shoes, he felt like he was swimming through the thick humidity hanging in the room. The least he could do was relieve the fridge of half of its burden: a six pack of beer. 

There was one place in the building that he knew still felt cool when their predictably shitty power system crapped out, and as he entered the stairwell, he wasn't surprised to see a few other residents had already camped on various landings above and below his floor. And as he sat against the wall and cracked open a bottle, he glanced around, sad to discover his favorite neighbor was nowhere to be seen. Perhaps working late, or already asleep. Damn, his pretty face certainly wouldn't have been unwelcome on an evening such as this.

[longtimetofindmunro]

Closed Starter for @joshylevin

Location: KROQ 98.9

Mickey had had the car for less than a week before he chanced turning on the radio. Okay, radios were everywhere but so was his fucking band. He couldn't get away from his own failures, all right? And yeah, it was really awkward when he was in a car or at a diner and someone did that thing where they pointed to the speaker then to him and said, "Wait, isn't this you?!" 

"Yeah. Yes. Groovy, huh? That's me. Yep. Also that guy from those magazines. Yeah, you are right. Your mom told you she saw something on the news? Great. Your church prayed for us? Oh. Lovely. Okay. Okay. I've gotta go. Yeah. I'm not….We're not a band anymore anyway. You don't have to threaten not to buy…..okay! Have a nice day! I'm sorry!"

He mostly avoided places that would play that shit anyway. But he loved music so goddamn much. It was his heart and soul. And driving was terrible without it, especially in California, with the windows rolled down, sunglasses on, the wind warm on his face. He needed the DJ to guide him through the mood of the afternoon. And so he finally gave in to temptation and flipped it on.

The end of Smoke On The Water played and it led into another song he'd never heard. Something new perhaps, released during his desperate avoidance over the past few weeks. However, right as he was getting into the mood of the song and letting his heart open itself to the new melodies, he heard a voice that made him swerve his car violently into oncoming traffic for a moment, enough to gain angry honks from passing drivers.

"Fuck. Fuck, wait, what?" He pulled into a random parking lot and with a shaky hand, turned up the radio dial to properly hear the DJ speak. It was like hearing an angel and a ghost all at once, and learning they were locally accessible. He wasn't ready, he looked like shit, he felt worse than he looked, and yet absolutely nothing was going to stop him as he turned his car around and headed straight for the radio station. 

His car ended up parked between two spots and slightly into another, and he'd tried and failed to remove the keys from the ignition three times before successfully yanking them free. As his breath entered and exited his body with difficulty, he almost wondered if it would have been easier if he wasn't sober for this. It's not like he'd been anywhere close the last time they'd spoken. Or a hundred time before that.

Rushing through the front door of the building and making a beeline for the recording booth, Mickey threw the door open despite the bright red light that warned everyone of recording in progress. It didn't matter. If this didn't happen now, he'd run again. He just knew it. "Joshie, play a long song or something. Please."

[longtimetofindmunro]

send me a # to learn an unusual hc about my muse!

bonus points if you ask me to randomize it !

what’s your muse’s favorite album of all time / favorite artist?

how do they listen to their music? ipod, mp3, computer, cd, records, etc?

do they take baths or showers? do they prefer one over the other?

do they wear their hair down when they sleep, or tied up / braided?

how many blankets / pillows do they like to have on their bed?

what do they normally dream about? nightmares or nonsense?

do they wake up groggy or alert? do they like mornings?

what do they sleep in? pj’s, normal clothes, nothing?

what do they smell like? do they use perfume or cologne?

what shampoo scent do they like the best and why?

bar soap or liquid? do they like loofahs?

do they prefer sleeping alone or with someone else?

do they like the room cold or hot when they sleep?

do they stay up too late? do they like staying up?

do they know how to drive? do they like to drive?

do they prefer taxis / buses / subways, etc? or none of the above?

do they have pets? what kind? dogs, cats, etc?

do they prefer cats or dogs? or neither?

what are their phobias? do they have any at all?

what do they hate being teased about? are they teased often?

did they have any fears growing up that they’ve since conquered?

do they have a fear they want to conquer, but haven’t yet?

how do they show fear? sweating, shaking, blankness, anger, etc?

do they have a short temper? what’s most likely to set it off?

do they get scared easily? does loud noises, shouting, etc, scare them?

what are they most passionate about? what could they debate about for hours?

what do they never, ever want to speak of, ever?

do they have kids? do they want kids? if so, how many?

is there something they’d like to change about themselves physically?

is there something about their personality they want to change?

do they have good fashion sense? or do they just wear whatever?

do they critique others easily? do they judge from afar?

are they too hard on themselves over the little things?

are they the jealous type? what are they most likely to be jealous of?

are they possessive over their things? or over other people? both?

would they rather be alone or in a relationship?

what do they think about polyamorous relationships? would they do it?

do they have parents / parental figures? do they have a good relationship with them?

do they have siblings? if so, how many? do they like them?

do they have a big family or a small family? no family?

where would they want to live if they could live anywhere? why?

are they happy in their current living situation? why or why not?

do they like living alone or with another person / other people?

did they go to college, or are they attending? did / do they like it?

what’s their dream job / profession? do they have one?

if they could control one thing in the world, what would it be?

do they like tv shows or movies? or neither?

do they have social media? do they like it or hate it? obsess over it?

do they have a creative outlet? if so, what is it?

where do they see themselves in 2 / 5 / 10 years?

[longtimetofindmunro]

“Oh, I’m sorry,” his eyes tracked her across the garage as she cleaned herself up, Mickey mirroring her seemingly condescending chuckle as she added it to what wasn’t even a threat, just the truth. Monsters definitely lived in this town, and they thrived on stragglers in the dark. Another reason for a car, or lack of, if he was feeling in such a mood. “I’m Mickey. Michael if you’re feeling really formal.”

Picking at his fingernails and pretending not to notice the way the woman’s tattoos danced across the muscles of her shoulders and arms, Mickey finally met her eyes when she came close. He struggled to remember why he was there in the first place until the glint of silver behind her brought him back to upstairs brain reality and he cleared his throat, “The car you’re working on…is it for sale? Or do you have any hookups for one similar? I’m sort of…without, at the moment.”

Celeste immediately turned to see who was speaking to her. She didn't recognize the man standing before her and with a face like that, she definitely would if he was a local. It was immediately obvious he was way out of his element. He looked incredibly out of place inside the dirty garage. "I don't think you know who you're talking to." She walked over to the shop sink, scrubbing away the grease and oil from her hands. She was open about comfortably turning her back to him, making it known she didn't find him threatening.

"You look a bit lost. Pretty boy like you shouldn't be in this part of town so late. The sun will be down soon and the night brings out all sorts of monsters." She laughed under her breath feeling a bit overly dramatic, but she loved trying to fuck with people, especially when they didn't know that she was the monster.

Drying off her hands on the sleeve of her jumpsuit, she walked over to where he stood. Looking him up and down she didn't see any signs of a weapon, not that she expected him to have one but it was always best to check. She finally looked him in the eye, realizing they were the same height. "You best tell me what you're actually here for so you can head home before it's too dark."

[longtimetofindmunro]

Don’t ask him how he’d made it to Willowdale. He liked to walk, okay? At least, that’s the answer he’d give to anyone who recognized the former lead of a band with such a squeaky clean image that he used to play the kinds of shows you could take both your grandma and toddlers to. Of course, that was if they didn’t recognize him for the rest of the stuff he’d done, and the question wasn’t to wonder how he’d gotten so far without ending up in the gutter again.

Luckily no one really seemed to care on this side of town. Lots of gutters with open stay policies, it seemed. But ever since he’d ended up unfortunately still alive in a hospital bed, staring up into the face of a nurse that welcomed him to Stillwater, wherever the fuck that was, he’d had a to-do list for himself. An apartment had been easy, but now he needed a car so he could avoid the inane questions in the future . And what better idea than to walk through a seedy part of town, with a pocket full of cash, late at night, in search of one?  Okay, so he kinda had a death wish, but there was also conveniently a gorgeous woman working in the auto shop, sprawled under the hood of a car that was almost her match, looks-wise. Fuck.

“For this beauty, I’ll do anything you ask. But I don't want to wait until Monday”

open: @swstarters location: Donny's Auto when: Friday evening in August, 1973

Grease was streaked across Celeste's cheek as she dug her arm deep into the engine of the old 1957 Ford Thunderbird. Despite being nearly 16 years old the car was in pristine condition, other than the fact that the damn thing wouldn't start. She'd checked everything from the battery to the ignition to the carburetor and still couldn't get the thing running. "Piece of fucking junk," she mumbled as she pulled the fuel line off of the filter outlet and attached a tube in its place. She ran the tube through her hand as she pulled it out of the hood and into a gas can. As she straightened up, she caught sight of someone walking into the garage in her peripheral. She glanced at the clock and then gestured towards the door without looking as she ducked back under the hood of the car. "We close at five on Fridays, you'll have to come back on Monday. Unless you need something from the convenience store, then you can come back tomorrow at ten."

[longtimetofindmunro]

We’re so young But we’re probably gonna die It’s so fun We’re so good at telling lies Look so good And we never even try Get your money from a trust fund Do it all the time

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I loved this guy on High Fidelity

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[longtimetofindmunro]

films without faces → Inside Llewyn Davis (2013) dir. Joel and Ethan Coen