#i need to learn harmonica

[me10n-10rde]

i was listening to piano man and ive always thought it would make like a good edit or long oneshot or something so i bothered to write up my idea and imagine all the ways it could be filled with angst

james is the piano man, he brings comfort to everyone even of it harms him (how people were like why tf are you at this bar you should be doing real performances)

There's an old man sittin' next to me

Makin' love to his tonic and gin

He says, "Son, can you play me a memory?

I'm not really sure how it goes

But it's sad and it's sweet and I knew it complete

When I wore a younger man's clothes

this is alphard thinking back on like a lover who passed, kinda like him and eli in CR

Now John at the bar is a friend of mine

He gets me my drinks for free

And he's quick with a joke or to light up your smoke

But there's some place that he'd rather be

He says, "Bill, I believe this is killing me"

As the smile ran away from his face

"Well, I'm sure that I could be a movie star

If I could get out of this place"

john is regulus, in this case ‘here’ is the house of black. he’s stick and he desperately wants out but can’t leave

Now Paul is a real estate novelist

Who never had time for a wife

And he's talkin' with Davy, who's still in the Navy

And probably will be for life

wolfstar. sirius is paul, remus is davy. this really needs no altering, paul and davy are together and so are sirius and remus

lily is the waitress who’s practicing politics, trying to work her way up even when things are against her

i love this song so much, i need tickets to see him and stevie

[haljordan-apologist]

whether I'm Elwood or Jake Blues for Halloween is all determined by how easily I can find a harmonica on short notice

[pijapaws]

just caught myself humming Snufkin's harmonica tune (Moomin's favourite one)

[chiropteracupola]

positively sherlock holmesing it on the harmonica this morning

[pagingdoctorbedlam]

hi :), your banner has musical notation on it. is there a meaning behind it? (i can't read musical notation, but i was curious)

That...is actually a good question, since I can't read it either! (My wife can though...maybe I can ask her to read it?) Much as I love music, I haven't yet learned to read it well...

Kroosluvr is the one who made the header; unsure if she had a particular meaning for those notes, or if it was part of a pattern/brush/etc.

[spirking-and-sparkling]

@vampire-rodeo hey are you free next month i think we need to go be cowboys together..p

you know I couldn’t be a cowboy because I’d be stuck with my partner in the dead cold prairie night and our horses would be tied up and we’d be huddlin around a crudely made fire because it was too far to go back to the ranch and he’d play the sweetest song on his harmonica, the kind that you felt in your bones and your heart and that the hymns had nothin on, and then he’d finish and we’d both lean in a little too close and my hand would be on his bandanna and his whiskey-breath would be hot on my lips and I’d realize that maybe it wasn’t the touch of a woman i’d been hankerin for

[iantojonesirl]

decided to relearn piano because of a bet and im actually eating this shit up

[userblaney]

my september playlist has gotten too long...im gonna have to do some purging but all the songs are so good

[svtskneecaps]

returned from the family reunion. the verdict: my cousins are all way cooler than me. i must become cooler.

[pastafossa]

I wear the Charlie/Matt favoritest whore gold star with pride. 😂 We can guard each other in horny jail, form a gang, rattle our bars when new Charlie horny content is not delivered ON FUCKING TIME. We all got our ball and chain to wear.

Gray sweatpants whore VS Black boxers DILF

[gatorbites-imagines]

Sinners Remmick x male reader (preferably poc) where is a singer at the juke joint and Remmick sees him and tries to seduce him lmao. But male reader is low-key insecure of his singing tallent + kind of shy and Remmick finds out and is like "????? what do you mean" because male reader is like so good at music, and Remmick has to uplift him lmao.

you can make thiss smutty if your up to it

Remmick x POC male reader 

Headcanons 

Hate to admit, I dont know much about POC culture in America. I'm European, and we barely even mention America in history class. This also means I don't know a lot about African American culture, especially during the 30s and in the south. 

This means I won't be mentioning a whole lot about the times, cuz I don't know enough about it, and I wouldn't want to be disrespectful. I would love to read about it though, if yall know any good sources. 

Not as smutty as I had hoped, but hope it's good anyways 

You knew the Smokestack twins, as much as anyone around here did. Maybe you even knew them a little more than most, enough to know the truth about their father. 

Music had always saved you when times got tough. It started out as you simply singing to yourself, humming tunes that came from somewhere deep within. Then it became a harmonica that Stack had stolen as a gift. 

From there it advanced further, flutes, a banjo, a guitar, over the years you even learned the piano, and more devilish instruments, if Sammies father had to be believed. 

Music was all you had though, be it during the war you were drafted into it, and when you returned to the state to learn your mother had died, leaving you on your own. You didn't sing much anymore though, in public at least. 

You were still close with Annie after all this time, and you two would sing together at times. There were times she invited you over to sing for the very fact that you seemed to call only the good and wanted spirits. 

Part of you wanted to be mad when Smoke and Stack appeared, dressed as finely as they were and speaking of opening a juke joint of all things. For leaving, and all that. 

Stack had always been able to sweet talk you though, and when Sammie jumped into their truck, you followed, lugging your own guitar with you. It was old and patched in many places, but you loved that thing. 

The party was in full swing, and everything felt so alive. When you and Sammie sang together it felt spiritual, like something you couldn't put into words. It was an otherworldly experience. 

One that left you sweating and your legs shaky. It was easy to stumble over towards where Annie was serving up drinks, to let Sammie embrace all the attention for now. 

You were already known as the guy who could play most instruments, and could sing like his life depended on it, but that was all you could do. And even then, you never felt like it was good enough. 

You had been distracted with your drink and conversation to know what had happened at the door, of the white folk who claimed to hear your singing and had felt compelled to join. 

You hadn't caught how Remmick had craned his neck, trying to look above or around the group blocking his vision, trying to find “that other beautiful voice”, after he had paid attention to Sammie. 

Whatever Smoke saw on his face, he didn't like, and he had been itching to grab for his gun. It made an uncomfortable clammy feeling run down his spine, like it was something he wasn't meant to see. 

When the strangers left, the party returned to what it had been before, for the most part. You were still sweating and woozy, your shirt sticking to your back under the strap of your guitar. 

It was then that you decided that you needed some fresh air, all these people were making you itchy, and everything was starting to be too much. 

You waved at Stack and Mary as you passed them, giving them both a look up and down as if saying “just get on with it you two” as you trotted outside. Cornbread patted you on the back as you passed, as in his words, it had been too long since you let yourself go like that. 

Seeing the three white folks seated out by the front made you slow down though, there was something off about them. You were still far enough away so that you couldn't see Remmick's nostrils flare, or the way his pupils expanded at the sight of you. 

You were always weary when you knew you needed to be, you couldn't play white like Mary could. Somehow you still found yourself waved over, sitting down on the log beside the man you learned was named Remmick. 

“You must've been that other voice we heard all the way out here. You have a real gift” he said, voice almost reverent as he leaned in just a little closer, eyes boring into you in a way that made your hair stand on end. 

“Oh, nah. I'm not that good, it's all Sammie” you laugh, feeling flushed as you look down, hands messing with the strap of your guitar. Compliments always made your skin crawl, it didn't feel like you deserved them. 

“No, it was all you. Compared to him, you? You were like an angel” he exhaled, voice raw and raspy like a church goer who had been praying all day and night, Remmick's hand touching your upper back. 

Joan and Bert melted away into the night, not that you noticed, too busy staring at your feet as Remmick saddled closer, both his hands sliding over your body as he came so close. 

His breath was strangely metallic, it reminded you of the smell of old nails, or how it felt to chew on a fork for too long. “You bewitch me, how do you do it?” was murmured, his voice feeling... more. 

You should have gotten up, yelled, ran back inside the juke joint, anything. Not only were the both of you men, but he was white, it just made no sense. 

But still, Remmick's lips brushed against your neck, a shaky audible groan leaving him as he inhaled you. You couldn't have known that he was also feeling your racing pulse against his lips, and how it made him yearn and ache. 

“Sing for me?” he asked, voice thick like honey as he started kissing down your neck, Remmick's hands pulling your guitar into your own. It was sensual, the way he guided your fingers to the strings, intimate and heady. 

It was almost impossible to form words, this all felt like some kind of wild dream as Remmick's hands so expertly undid your belt and buttons, the Irishman sliding to his knees in front of you. 

Your eyes flicked from his burning look, towards the juke joint not that far away, but even as Remmick kissed at your growing hardness, nobody seemed any wiser. 

“Come on. Please? I'm on my knees beggin you and everything” he rasped, tongue flicking against your wet tip like one would a popsicle. 

All you could get out was a breathless yelp as he swallowed you down whole. Some sick part of your brain reminded you of a time where you saw a snake swallow a rat whole, that was the fervor he gulped you down with. 

Remmick held you there, throat flexing around you as he stared up at you, eyes so intense and unblinking, waiting for you to do as he asked. Sing, give him what he wants and needs so badly. 

Your fingers were shaking as you strummed the strings of your guitar. This was all wrong, this couldn't be real, but Remmick's mouth was so slick and hungry around you as the shaky words left your throat. 

If you had had any past experience, you might have noticed that his tongue was too flexible, or his mouth was too cold. It wasn't icy, but clammy, like waking up with a cold sweat.  

And it was wet, so incredibly sloppy and wet. Hearing and feeling him try to slurp up all his frothy drool around your length as you struggled to form verses and play your tongue was downright demonic. 

It seemed the more you sang, the hungrier he got. If you hadn't been shaking in your boots you might have worried about Remmick choking himself with how he gagged you down, his hands gripping the back of your thighs like a lifeline. 

There was no way the noises you were letting out sounded good, and the clumsy twitching of your fingers ruined any tune you tried, but it lit an unseen fire inside the man sucking the soul out of you, so you kept trying. 

Had you not been sitting down, you would surely have collapsed as you tumbled over the edge, your fingers scrambling at your guitar as your body locked up, a half-formed verse melting into an embarrassingly loud moan. 

But no matter how loud you got, nobody inside or outside the juke joint seemed to notice what you two had been up too, even as Remmick audibly gulped your release down, moaning like it was ambrosia and honey mixed into one. 

You hugged onto your guitar, like a blanket you would hug for comfort, as Remmick pulled back, moving slowly enough that you could feel the tight clenching of his throat a last time. 

“See? Gorgeous. Perfect” he gurgled against your thigh, looking at you the same way a cat looked at a mouse, licking your seed of his spit-soaked lips as he rose to his feet. 

“You just need to see it from my point of view, then you will see how great you are. Hold still for me” he whispered, moving closer until his lips hovered above your neck again. 

“W-whuh?” you get out, head still all steamy and thoughts all jumbled, your soft spit shiny length still hanging out of your slacks, trying to understand what had even just happened. 

You barely felt his lips kiss your neck before he struck, tearing into your sweaty salty neck like a vulture upon a carcass. Your scream as cut off with a gurgle as he pushed you back, pinning you against the ground as he feasted upon you. 

You should have trusted your gut, as much as you loved Smoke and Stack, they always brought trouble. It had never been like this though, being feasted on by a man who had just feasted on you in another way, just to hear you sing. 

A thought passed through your mind as everything was turning dark. Would you still be able to sing after the way Remmick ripped into your neck? But that was a dumb thought, you wouldn't need your voice anymore after you died. Right? 

[aaknopf]

Rufino Tamayo’s painting “El Hombre,” the inspiration for this poem, shows a man both grounded powerfully into the earth and reaching up to the heavens. Here the novelist and poet Sandra Cisneros gives a close account of several struggling hombres, situating them compassionately in the broader context of Mexico-U. S. relations.

El Hombre

          After Tamayo

On the eve of International Women’s Day In a field on the road to Celaya They find her body. The deaf-mute girl who Walked her dog in Parque Juárez.

No one tried, blamed, named. The town knows:

It’s her father’s debts. This is how they pay Un hombre who can’t pay.

Mándanos luz. Send us all light.

In small print, in the back Pages of today’s paper, I read this small news:

Un Hombre Purépecha Lifted from His Purépecha Village.

Daily the Purépechas demand his return. Daily el hombre does not return.

He is only one of the many “lifted.”

When you are native in your native land To whom do you demand? Who listens?

Mándanos luz. Send us all light.

The bird merchant at the Tuesday mercado, Six cages of cenzontles strapped on his back, Shoves a mesh shopping bag so close To my face, I have to step back to see. A flutter of frightened canaries. In the eyes of el hombre, The same urgency, the same fear.

Mándanos luz. Send us all light.

The gringo Alan tells me the story Of the pig who thought he was a dog. Solovino he was called, Because he came alone.

How each day Alan drove Along the road to Dolores, The dogs would run from The squatter’s shack and give chase, The pig who thought he was a dog Trotting behind them.

Until one day the pig isn’t there. The dogs disappear too. One by one by one.

Alan shrugs. When un hombre is hungry, There is no one to blame.

Mándanos luz. Send us all light.

The “Religion” section of Our Guanajuato newspaper Features an article on St. Francis, Un hombre of austerity, as A model for all to live in poverty.

This in a country where almost every Hombre, mujer y niño is already On the path to sainthood.

Mándanos luz. Send us all light.

How it happened was like this. One night Rosana catches un hombre Breaking into her grocery store, The son of a neighbor.

Her shouts wake the barrio. They’re able to hold the thief Until the police arrive.

Rosana is there to bear witness At the court proceedings. And to Witness the court set him free.

She gathers her pain in a handkerchief, Goes home and calls the boy’s mother.

Rosana and the mother of the thief. Each Woman lets loose a sea of grief.

When she tells me this story, The sea is still there in Rosana’s eyes.

Mándanos luz. Send us all light.

Carlos and Raúl, the silver-tongued Poets of Chicano, Illinois, have never Been to the country of their ancestry, Though they’re silver-haired hombres.

When I invite them south, they refuse. They’re afraid of bad hombres.

No one has told them The ones who buy drugs and Sell arms to los bad hombres Are U.S. citizens.

Mándanos luz. Send us all light.

The blind harmonica player, Un hombre who plays “Camino de Guanajuato” In front of Banco Santander, Clutches his baseball cap of small coins Whenever he hears someone running too close.

No vale nada la vida, la vida no vale nada. Life’s worth nothing, nothing is what life’s worth.

Mándanos luz. Send us all light.

Un hombre tells me: You don’t even have to learn Spanish to live here. Amado the San Miguel realtor. You can train your staff to do what you need, And you don’t have to pay them much either.

Mándanos luz. Send us all light.

Dallas, 1953. A seer named Stanley Marcus Purchases a mural by Rufino Tamayo To reinforce friendship between Texas and Mexico.

This in a time in history When Texas still posts Signs on restaurants: “No dogs or Mexicans.”

The painting is of un hombre Anchored to the earth Reaching for the heavens, A balance of earth and sky, North and south, yours and mine. Because the universe is About interconnection.

Tamayo calls this painting, Man Excelling Himself.

Mándanos luz. Send us all light.

Message from Mexico to The United States of America: When we are safe, you are safe. When you are safe, we are safe. Tell this to your politicians.

Mándanos luz. Send us all light.

There is a Mexican saying, Hablando se entiende la gente. Talking to one another We understand one another.

I would add: And listening We understand even better.

Mándanos luz. Send us all light. Mándanos luz. Send us all light. Mándanos luz. Send us all light.

More on this book and author:

Learn more about Woman Without Shame by Sandra Cisneros.

Browse our special Everyman's Library edition of The House on Mango Street and other books by Sandra Cisneros; you can follow her @officialsandracisneros on Instagram and @sandracisnerosauthor on Facebook.

On April 12, Sandra Cisneros will appear on two panels at the San Antonio Books Festival.

Visit our Tumblr to peruse poems, audio recordings, and broadsides in the Knopf poem-a-day series.

To share the poem-a-day experience with friends, pass along this link.

[angelsknifeprty]

What would Sadie Adler be like being the fem!eader's girlfriend? I love she🩵

sadie as your girlfriend hcs ✿⋆.˚⊹

ways to help palestine | operation olive branch | keep eyes on sudan | haiti’s history | learn about congo

‧₊˚౨ৎ before the two of you started dating she was unexplainably protective over you. she was already very protective of the gang, leaping into action whenever there was danger. but she always seemed to have her eyes trained on you, watching like a hawk for if you were in any sort of trouble

‧₊˚౨ৎ this only intensifies when she finally gets to call you hers. you were always the first person she’d check on both in and after any danger. she’d rush to your side to protect you and make sure you weren’t too shaken up afterwards. her arm would constantly be wrapped protectively (and possessively) around your waist. when sadie was around you didn’t have to worry about taking shit from anybody, they’d have to go through her first

‧₊˚౨ৎ “you redirect that attitude to me, ‘cause if i hear another word leave that filthy mouth o’ yours, i’ll kill ya.”

‧₊˚౨ৎ she’s very generous with her death threats but to anyone who knows her or has any common sense, they know she’s not joking

‧₊˚౨ৎ despite her harsh exterior and brutal nature, she’s actually a big softie. she’s a fan of mushy pet names, calling you “sweetheart”, “angel”, “pretty girl”, you name it. and she’s not worried about calling you these in front of people. most think she’d shy away from it as she has a reputation for being a bit hot-headed and intimidating. but she holds her own well enough for there to be no doubt about whether she’s truly a threat or not, just for her to then turn around and dote on you like nothing happened

‧₊˚౨ৎ she is very possessive and loves calling you hers. what’s hers is hers and that will be known, every affectionate name having “my” in front of it

‧₊˚౨ৎ loves doing things for you, always talking about how she isn’t a fan of sitting around and not doing much. if she sees miss grimshaw is wearing you rather thin she won’t hesitate to come and take some tasks off of your hands, even though she prefers the more hands on dirty work the gang gets up to. but if it was for you, she’d do just about anything

‧₊˚౨ৎ if you aren’t already able to she’d teach you how to defend yourself, always worrying over what might happen if she’s not around to protect you. the idea of that makes her feel helpless, which she hates, so it brings her some comfort to make sure you’re capable of taking care of yourself if needed

‧₊˚౨ৎ she loves to fluster you. she is absolutely not shy when teaching you how to shoot, pressing herself up against you as she readjusts your posture and gives you directions in that raspy voice of hers. you swear she wants you to start messing up when she whispers a proud, “atta girl,” after a particularly good shot. “my pretty girl’s doin’ so good.”

‧₊˚౨ৎ you are the only person she’ll play the harmonica for. she was very reserved about it at first, nobody but her late husband getting to hear her play. but when she feels herself becoming more at ease with you she’ll occasionally let you stick around while she plays. you of course respect her and her privacy but on days where she can’t bring herself to dismiss your company, she lets you stay

“alright, you can stay, darlin’. but ya can’t laugh if i mess up, okay?” 

‧₊˚౨ৎ she is actually very upfront about her feelings. she’s quite openly vulnerable, though she wishes she wasn’t. she’s a tough cookie to break but sees the importance of being honest with you (she’s so applejack coded aaaa) and doesn’t like leaving tension in the air if you’re upset with each other or one of you is going through a hard time

‧₊˚౨ৎ will absolutely spoil you with her bounty hunting money. what better way to spend her time after chasing down crooks than giving you whatever you wanted? it also wouldn’t hurt to give you any shiny trinkets she took from the pockets of her newest catches, they wouldn’t be needing them anyway once they were behind bars

‧₊˚౨ৎ literally the best girlfriend ever, i firmly believe she devotes her every breath to doing right by you <3

a/n: i love sadie sm i wanna write for her more !! i hope you enjoyed :D xoxo

[the-nami07]

hiii!! i love ur bf!percy hcs so much,, i was wondering if u could do one for leo ?? take ur time and its totally up 2 u😋 have a good day/night‼️🙂‍↕️

Ofc I can! Thank you for requesting!!

Dating Leo headcanons pt 1/?

I feel like y’all would be friends to lovers

You met him when you went to the forge to get a new sword

His eyes seemed to light up when he saw you

In a “This is my new bestie” kinda way

Denial faze

He realizes her loves you but he doesn't want to ruin the friendship

So he just denies the feelings

When he finally comes to his senses he confesses at Bunker 9

You came in to hang, but he spilled his guts

After a good convo, y’all are finally together!

[took long enough]

Anyways

He makes you metal flowers

Says he will stop loving you when the flowers wilt 

which they're metal, they never will

He’s an amazing cook

Like AMAZING

Makes your fav foods all the time

If you have traditional foods from your culture he learns how to make them for you.

I have a feeling he has an “I ❤️my gf/bf/partner” shirt

He probs have a few

Def has a bulletin board of pics

Most are of you, but some are of him + the 7

He has it right in front of his work table so he can always look at them

Loves hugs

I mean he LOVES them

Will definitely melt if you hug him from behind while he’s cooking

Poor baby is touch-starved pls give him hugs

He hugs you all the time

Just to feel you and know you’re here

He also loves kissing you

His fav place to put his hands is your face

Just holding your face while he kisses you

Pet names in Spanish <3

“Amor”, “querido/a”, “cariño”

Brags about you

As he should you’re amazing!

He could be in a convo about playing the harmonica and he’d be like

“Yeah, my bf/gf/partner could learn this in an hour, they’re that awesome. Did I tell you that they *insert great feat here*? Yeah, they’re the best.”

You’re his biggest priority

Anything you need he will drop what he’s doing and help

Even if it’s smth silly like finding a rock to paint like a pizza

[idfk it’s late lol]

100% plays with your fingers

Cuddling during the winter is amazing

I mean he’s basically a human heater

But summer

I can just picture this

Him on his knees begging to cuddle you

And you’re just like “No you’re a heater. Find a way to turn the heat off then sure.”

You cave though and y’all cuddle

Just with no blankets

He teaches you Morse code

Y’all have secret convos in Morse code

He’s always saying “I love you.” in Morse code

And the first time you tap it back he almost cries

He is just overwhelmed that someone loves him

I mean he lost his mom, his dad is a god and we all know how that goes

Also i refuse to ship Caleo, so she’s out of the picture

He just loves you so much

That’s all for now, lmk if you want a pt 2! Also thanks again for the request! - Nami <3

[lifeisabiscuit]

What instruments do we think the high lords could play? Here's what I'm thinking based on vibes:

Tamlin: Fiddle obvs or guitar (Those skillful fingers were made for strings)

Rhysand: Piano but only plays when he knows someone (Feyre) is around to hear his sad notes and feel sorry for him.

Thesan: Harp

Tarquin: Bongos (sitting on the beach, Barefoot, chest exposed? Yes.)

Helion: Saxophone (I think he'd like that you can shorten it to sax which sounds like sex and he can use his mouth)

Kallias either doesn't play an instrument or plays the flute. Viviane plays the drums.

Eris also plays piano but privately and well. People actually want to hear it but he can sense when they are trying to listen and stops.

Beron can't play an instrument for the life of him (he's tried much to LOAs dismay. She needs some of that headache powder) but forces his children to learn so he can live vicariously through them.

Lucien plays the harmonica.

Thoughts?

[mrsjellymunson]

🥁Drummer!Eddie headcanons thanks entirely to THIS by @littlexdeaths and THIS by @somnambulic-thing 🥁

Because of course I have to give him a backstory…

- He was always hyper as a kid and hitting things with pencils and rulers and branches - himself, furniture, bushes, other children…

- He’d frustrate his mother (affectionately) by stealing her wooden mixing spoons and smashing them against cupboard doors, his toys, empty food boxes, and any pans he could steal from the kitchen

- She eventually started collecting things for him, like plastic tubs, paint cans, wooden boxes, and encouraged him to play them outside

- Al, unsurprisingly, wasn’t a fan, so she tried to get Eddie interested in other instruments too. It kind of worked. He’d spend hours wandering the woods near his home with a secondhand harmonica one of his mom’s friend’s husbands gave him, and a thrifted tin whistle, but he always drifted back to the feral, manic energy of bashing objects with sticks

- His middle school teachers never let him have free reign in music class, sometimes excluding him from it entirely. They wanted him to be ‘good at school stuff’ first, and saw music time as a reward. But, if they’d just let him engage in the way he needed to, they would’ve seen that he was ‘good at’ that to a level far beyond his peers. Plus, it would’ve had the added benefits of helping him manage his energy levels, and concentrate better in his other classes

- Eventually he moves in with Wayne, who finds an old acoustic guitar at a yard sale that Eddie absolutely loves. But his passion for rhythm remains, and he collects old containers, cans and pots and arranges them outside the trailer, tinkering away with them of an evening as a way of unwinding before bed

- The neighbours initially hate it, but when they notice that this kid actually has a decent sense of rhythm they start bringing him stuff to add to his set, like plastic barrels and metal oil drums

- He inadvertently becomes the locus of entertainment for the ‘park parties’ that start to happen. People join in with guitars, banjos, at least two residents have violins and someone’s friend even brings a clarinet one time. When some of the old geezers discover he plays harmonica, just like they do, they have ‘hoedown showdowns’ where they duel, and there’s much cheering from the other residents. Eddie even learns to play the spoons (he’s an annoying natural) from the old codger four trailers down, who’d barely been seen outside of his home for months at this point

- One night he and some other disaffected friends break into the High School music room, intending to do some damage, maybe even steal a few things. But when Eddie steps in, after strumming his fingers over the strings of a few instruments and plonking away on the piano as he walks past it, he spots an old, tattered drum kit at the far end. It’s red, with peeling decals, the supports are corroding and at least two of the skins have been mended with duct tape, but to Eddie’s eyes it’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. It seems to emit its own light, and levitates above the ground, calling to him. He sits behind it, picking up the first decent pair of sticks he’s ever held, and starts to experimentally tap out a rhythm. He finds the foot pedal, and adds it in. Tentatively, he makes contact with the cymbals, revelling in the variety of sounds he can make. After only a matter of moments he’s practically playing a tune, and his cohorts stop their fiddling and pause to listen. One walks over, aghast, and nods his head to the beat for while before remarking, “You’re a fucking drummer, dude!”

Final quote shamelessly stolen from the documentary ‘Count Me In’ where Taylor Hawkins describes how he discovered his future vocation (if you're a drumming fan I highly recommend it).

Visual references: HERE from @eddiemunsons-missingnipple and THIS by @jqmunson

Adding my usuals, my series are coming along, I promise 😁🤭 @joejoequinnquinn @jamdoughnutmagician @guiltyasquinn @madaboutmunson @airen256 @sunshinepeachx @the-unforgivenn @skrzydlak @comeonatmebruh @jamiecb66 @80s-addict @abellmunsonmovie @definitionwanderlust @sheneedsrocknroll92 @munson-blurbs @wonderlanddreamer @daisy-munson @maedesculpaeusoubi @kurdtbean @mediocredreams @in2tswft @micheledawn1975 @littlebebebunny @12thatsanumber @alastorssimp @the-baby-angel @eddie-is-a-god @wolfqueenxxx @losingmygrasponreality @richter-raccoon @1deverland