#goingthrough
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Post: The same thing happened to me when I was going through a major change in my life. 555 means HUGE... https://www.blaqsbi.com/5NKB
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Elastic appears to go through, “one finger after another!” 😲
https://www.facebook.com/ClintTheMagician/
https://www.youtube.com/@magicbyclintbarkhouse
https://www.instagram.com/magic_by_clint_barkhouse
https://www.tiktok.com/@magicbyclintbarkhouse
#magic#fingers#hand#magictrick#entertainment#magician#magical#trick#elasticmagic#elastic#magicbyclintbarkhouse#goingthrough#coolmagic
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Person 1:- A person becomes so desperate at times, he is unable to do anything that he wants to.
Person 2:- I can understand.
Person 1:- No, you cannot understand it. Nor can anyone in the World. It is only understood by the person who is undergoing that situation.
https://www.instagram.com/reel/CsTS-pXO1l5/?igshid=MTc4MmM1YmI2Ng==
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L’acqua è insegnata dalla sete- La terra dagli oceani attraversati- #drawing #painting #poetry #goingthrough #thewayisee https://www.instagram.com/p/CnE7znQNKI8/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=
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I know I'm going to get through it. It's just, sometimes I get tired of going through it.
Unknown
#gettingthrough#hardtimes#tired#tiredoffighting#happiness#insearchofhappiness#goingthrough#goingthroughhell
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YOURE AN ANGEL IM A DOG OR YOURE A DOG AND IM YOUR MAN YOU BELIEVED ME LIKE A GOD I DESTROY YOU LIKE I AM IM SORRY IM THE ONE YOU LOVE NO ONE WILL EVER LOVE ME LIKE YOU AGAIN SO WHEN YOU LEAVE ME I SHOULD DIE I DESERVE IT DONT I?????
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Dream should post thirst traps now to kill quackity for good
definitely for that reason and no other reasons
#idk why you sent this to me but thank you#any askers?#hurts to see people saying this im still kindof quackity pilled#sorry about my gf we're goingthrough a rough patch in our relationship
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Newton lbp would roll yhe saddest limpest joint of all time like he’s struggling all the way through on the verge of tears hands moistened with sweat but since he’s a lightbulb he can’t even smoke it but he doesn’t think this through until he attempts to try like it just taps against his glass head and then he just starts crying and he cries so loud his mom hears and comes to ask what’s wrong but he can’t tell her the reason why or else he’ll get grounded despite being a 20-30something probably year old man
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okay why am i on the verge of tears fromwriting kanolsen fic
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Post: Nigerians are going through a lot, the country is... https://www.blaqsbi.com/5u4h
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hey man are you okay youve listened to lapse by mushi p nonstop for an hour
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Mikey didn't know what the fuck he was supposed to do, how he was supposed to just use the phone and walk and take a nap when there was this giant ragged hole in everything. That he didn't understand why the Earth hadn't stopped turning, why the whole world wasn't in mourning, why Mikey was still alive, how he could possibly still be alive, how he could feel this big of a hurt and not be dead from it, not just die.
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La passione per gli specchi e l’esercizio quotidiano di attraversarli. #mirror #self #goingthrough #excercise #alice #fairytale #afternoon #studiolife https://www.instagram.com/p/Cl3t7fxMDaM/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=
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DON'T QUIT. You're already in PAIN. You're already in HURT. Get a REWARD from it.
Unknown
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Goingthrough the ps + pw tag and far down people kept mentioning Pete saying he would get hard from Patrick singing? Is this an inside joke or something? I need a source???? Desperate
Pretty sure he's said that onstage a couple times but I don't have a source offhand
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Hi, I've been goingthrough your blog and fics and tbh I am OBSESSED, you write so well aaaaa, I love to see it (Lost Boys fanclub hell yeah)
If you're taking requests, could you maybe do Eddie hearing you singing in a stairwell/somewhere you think you're alone and offering to let you jam with his band? This concept has been corroding my brain for the past 24 hrs sngsbs
Hope you're having a good day & thank you!
Haha yesss I’m glad you are enjoying my writing ♥ I actually have a Lost Boys fic WITH Eddie in the works! And YES I can totally write a lil’ drabble about singer reader! Ask and you shall receive.
Little Songbird (Eddie/Singer!Reader Drabble)
The sweat and sticky, sour smell of old beer clung to you like a second skin. The little hole-in-the-wall in the Hawkins basement was dingy, dark, and shitty. Not exactly a 5-star concert hall. But it got the job done: it was shadowy, most people looked the other way, and bored seniors and post-graduates flocked there for the cheap beer and mediocre entertainment.
There were several bands in the capital of Buttfuck Nowhere, Indiana. Very few of them were good. Your ears were still ringing from the last band’s screaming amps, cranked up so loud they were decibels away from blowout.
Whatever. The guitarist had been good, fingers moving like lightning, coaxing solos from the metal strings. He was also hot, in a bad-boy way, but you were too tired and mildly tispy to be really ruminating on it.
You sat down hard on the grimey concrete steps in the alleyway outside the makeshift club, the distant parking lot light faint as you slowly unlaced your boots, starting to exchange them for more comfortable walking shoes for the trek home. In the distance you heard people ferrying equipment out from the front, closing down fo the night under the midnight-blue, star-studded sky.
It was nice, the cool one AM air on your face. You hummed under your breath as you picked at a shoelace knot, hearing they keyboard in your head. Hearing the humming electric guitar plucking alongside it, drums kicking in.
“I wanted to be with you along,” You warbled out softly, “and talk about the weather. But traditions I can trace against the child in your face, won’t escape my attention.”
One boot off, one to go. The sweat made everything stick. A distant, far off owl hooted, alone in the night, just like you. You continued to sing. When you got our other boot off, setting the to the side and starting to shove on your tennis shoes, you threw your head back for the chorus.
“Something happens and I’m head over heels, I never find out until I’m head over heels!”
Songbird, your friends and family used to call you teasingly. Singing for the church’s choir when you were younger, and quitting when the young-adult self awareness started to kick in, now only letting the words drift out when you were alone, dancing to records in your room with a hairbrush as a microphone.
Your grandmother had always told you not to waste your talent. But this was Hawkins, Indiana. There wasn’t exactly anything to do with it here, was there?
“Ah, don’t take my heart don’t break my heart, don’t, don’t throw it away!”
The sharp clapping sent you shooting up off your concrete seat, heart hammering in your ears. You looked around wildly, mouth slamming shut tighter that a steel trap, wide-eyed.
Your stomach turned to ice when you finally differentiated the dark, shadowed silhouette of a man from the shadows of brick alleyway wall. He pushed off of it, hands held up as he stepped into the light.
It was him. The guitarist. Distant fluorescent light cast his wild, rock-and-roll hair in a halo of gold, reflecting off the chains on his jacket. His eyes were dark. His smile was big, warm and real.
“Whoa.” he said through a grin. “Easy. Didn’t mean to scare you.”
You put a hand to your chest, catching your breath. “You did anyway. Jesus. Nearly gave me a heart attack.”
He cocked his head, observing you. Tucking his hands into his tight jean pockets and scuffing the dirty ground with a shoe, clearly mulling. “You know...” he said eventually, drawing a bit closer. You tensed. “You, uh. You've got a pretty good set of pipes. Do you do sets here?” He jerked a thumb back to the door behind you.
You shook your head vehemently, tucking boots into your bag. “Oh, no. No, I don’t, um. I don’t perform in front of people. At all.” You chuckled weakly, embarrassment starting to creep over the initial shock. “You weren’t supposed to hear any of that, actually.”
He snapped into action, dramatically gasping and bringing his ring-covered fingers to his mouth. “You’re kidding. Seriously. Seriously, you sound like that and you’re not signing up for gigs? Did you get dropped on your head as a kid or some shit?”
You laughed despite yourself. “I’m not that good.”
His dramatics went up another notch. He waved his hands. “Blasphemy. My ears are burning. This is heresy, what you’ve just said. Pure, unadulterated heresy.”
“Hey, dickbag!” A man called from the far distant parking lot. “Get back here and help us fucking pack!”
The guitarist winced, gesturing vaguely behind me. “I should, uh, probably get going. The old ball and chain is calling me.” He hesitated for a second, looking like he was working up the courage for something, the tip of his pink tongue trapped between his lips. In a jerky movement he closed the distance between you two, sticking a hand out a little awkwardly. “Eddie. Munson. Guitarist for Corroded Coffin.”
You blinked, taking his hand. Soft. Warm and calloused. A little clammy. “I figured.” When he raised his brows, you clarified. “That you were the guitarist. You know, considering you were up on stage like, twenty minutes ago, with a guitar.”
Not it was his turn to smile. It was brilliant, megawatt, lighting up his eyes. “Yeah.” He said, still grinning. “Yeah, that, uh. That does track. Listen...” he scratched the back of his neck, shifting his weight around. “We’re gonna be warming up this Friday at around five. Like an hour before opening? If you’re free, you should totally show up. I’d- we’d- love to jam with you. No pressure, but, uh. Yeah. It would be cool.”
It would be so easy to say no. You’d been saying it, when it came to singing, for years now. But there was something about that soft, oval face, the way his fingers fidgeted with themselves. The shyness, incongruous with his heavy metal visage: it made you want to say yes.
“...Yeah.” Is what you settled on. “Yeah, um. If I have time. Sure.”
That million-dollar smile was back.
“Munson!” A new male voice was shouting. “We’re gonna leave without you!”
Eddie was already backing up, shoes scraping on the uneven ground, making him nearly trip. “I’ll see you,” he said, pointing at you, “around. Soon. Okay? Good?”
You chuckled again. “Good.”
He was grinning and scrambling for the mouth of the alley, bursting into the light. That damnable smile never faded.
Wind whistled through the narrow street, cold and refreshing. You looked to the stars. “Corroded Coffin, huh?” You muttered to yourself.
Life felt like it was about to get a lot more interesting.
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