New York is a funny place, those who are native strive to fit in more than the tourists. I walk down from the theatre, and while a couple giggling fan girls come by for autographs, one of them in an IDAHO! sweatshirt, the new yorkers around are giving me sympathetic looks. Trying to act like they don’t want to do the same. With looks of plastic, painted disdain written on their faces. Like the oh so adoring fans are the problem, rather than their own proud and snobbish noses, high in the air.
The fans she had of many colours were useful for keeping her cool before and after the performance but it was the other type of fans she longed for, as once again, only one or two seats were filled for the show.
His office consisted of fans, a desk, and one small mini fridge shoved over in the corner. With papers stacked as high as the window, it was almost charming.
I don’t have fans, but I wish Idid. Someday, I might even get to be famous — from selling books, novels, short stories or something.
It’s hot, and I struggle to maintain my composure in the loft of this crappy studio apartment, where the fans blow on me. I write frantically, trying my hand at various writing prompts that don’t really intrigue me. But I know it strengthens my abilities, and again, someday I’ll have more fans.
Fans who know my name, who care about me.
He took a deep breath and listened to the cheers. This is what he worked so hard to achieve, the people out there screaming his name. It was all for the fans.
I am a fan. I spin around and around and around. I have two modes one is hi there. The other is i’ll slice your head off. But I won’t even if I really want to. Haha. I am a funny fan.
Do fans dictate what performers does? Or does the performer influence the fans? I suppose this question is much like art imitating life vs life imitating art, nature vs nurture, chicken or the egg?
whatever you think your fans think of you, don’t do it. the more you conform to what they see, the more you become someone that they know better than you know yourself. Never know yourself. Do things that you think you would not like, and tell yourself to kick it up a notch. Fuck it. You can be yourself as they see you, or you can be as nobody would guess — be a fucking hero.
The fans’ cheers were not missed by the group of singers walking through the airport. There were banners everywhere, cameras and flashes of light. It was almost like their own concert avenue, but it wasn’t; it was an airport. Everyone wanted a piece of the celebrities, which explained why there were lots of pulling and pushing everywhere. From a corner of her eye, Aurum could see a fan trying to touch a part of her body while shouting due to the crowded place. If it weren’t for the ropes and the guards, Aurum and her celebrity friends would have been injured and touched by the fans’ by now.
I am your fan. I breathe in your words and I make them float around me, light and free. You think of me as just one mechanical facet but I function on fuelling my desire for you to change my world. My world which rotates on 180 degrees and watches you sleeping
Matthias beamed as the fans raged. He sent them all a flirtatious wink before starting. “today, i will start of with my most popular song, in my opinion, love changes people!” At that the fans screamed. Matthias grinned and scanned the crowed. His eyes landed on Lukas and he smiled.
When I walked into the store I was hit by a blast of cold air. What was I doing in a fan store? I have, like, 10 fans at home, and it’s winter so I really have no need to be in here but whatever. I like fans, okay? It’s an addiction.
Drenched in sweat, he kept his head tucked, letting his wet hair shield his eyes as his bodyguards led him off stage. One quick shower later, a Sharpie was shoved into his hand along with dozens of posters, CD covers, and books. He froze mid-signature over an unflattering yearbook picture of his fourteen year old self with braces and thick glasses. He gasped and stared up into long forgotten blue eyes. “Still a fan,” said his first boyfriend with grin.
Danisnotonfire and Amazing Phil have lots of fans, so does Pewdiepie :)
New York is a funny place, those who are native strive to fit in more than the tourists. I walk down from the theatre, and while a couple giggling fan girls come by for autographs, one of them in an IDAHO! sweatshirt, the new yorkers around are giving me sympathetic looks. Trying to act like they don’t want to do the same. With looks of plastic, painted disdain written on their faces. Like the oh so adoring fans are the problem, rather than their own proud and snobbish noses, high in the air.
The fans she had of many colours were useful for keeping her cool before and after the performance but it was the other type of fans she longed for, as once again, only one or two seats were filled for the show.
His office consisted of fans, a desk, and one small mini fridge shoved over in the corner. With papers stacked as high as the window, it was almost charming.
I don’t have fans, but I wish Idid. Someday, I might even get to be famous — from selling books, novels, short stories or something.
It’s hot, and I struggle to maintain my composure in the loft of this crappy studio apartment, where the fans blow on me. I write frantically, trying my hand at various writing prompts that don’t really intrigue me. But I know it strengthens my abilities, and again, someday I’ll have more fans.
Fans who know my name, who care about me.
He took a deep breath and listened to the cheers. This is what he worked so hard to achieve, the people out there screaming his name. It was all for the fans.
I am a fan. I spin around and around and around. I have two modes one is hi there. The other is i’ll slice your head off. But I won’t even if I really want to. Haha. I am a funny fan.
Do fans dictate what performers does? Or does the performer influence the fans? I suppose this question is much like art imitating life vs life imitating art, nature vs nurture, chicken or the egg?
whatever you think your fans think of you, don’t do it. the more you conform to what they see, the more you become someone that they know better than you know yourself. Never know yourself. Do things that you think you would not like, and tell yourself to kick it up a notch. Fuck it. You can be yourself as they see you, or you can be as nobody would guess — be a fucking hero.
The fans’ cheers were not missed by the group of singers walking through the airport. There were banners everywhere, cameras and flashes of light. It was almost like their own concert avenue, but it wasn’t; it was an airport. Everyone wanted a piece of the celebrities, which explained why there were lots of pulling and pushing everywhere. From a corner of her eye, Aurum could see a fan trying to touch a part of her body while shouting due to the crowded place. If it weren’t for the ropes and the guards, Aurum and her celebrity friends would have been injured and touched by the fans’ by now.
It’s a person who loves someone a lot but not like “real love”.
AGAIN!? OK…let’s talk about fans. The breezy kind. But then, that’s my first mistake
I am your fan. I breathe in your words and I make them float around me, light and free. You think of me as just one mechanical facet but I function on fuelling my desire for you to change my world. My world which rotates on 180 degrees and watches you sleeping
Fans
the little air conditioner
Fans
The people screaming for the air
Fans
They love you
They love you
They are there
I was just thinking about fans! What a coincidence! Anyway, which fans are we talking here? Fans for air? Or fans of
there are several meanings for”fans” there are fans as in the machine, and there is fans as in the fans of Fall out boy loved there songs.
The fans went wild because the baseball player hit a home run.
ive already written about this yesterday but I guess I did it today also so here it is.
Matthias beamed as the fans raged. He sent them all a flirtatious wink before starting. “today, i will start of with my most popular song, in my opinion, love changes people!” At that the fans screamed. Matthias grinned and scanned the crowed. His eyes landed on Lukas and he smiled.
When I walked into the store I was hit by a blast of cold air. What was I doing in a fan store? I have, like, 10 fans at home, and it’s winter so I really have no need to be in here but whatever. I like fans, okay? It’s an addiction.
There are two types of fans. Fans that cool you down in the Summer and fans that like a certain superstar.
I feel the warm air blowing from the fan onto my face. It’s a Wednesday Night in summer. The air outside is hot and muggy.
Drenched in sweat, he kept his head tucked, letting his wet hair shield his eyes as his bodyguards led him off stage. One quick shower later, a Sharpie was shoved into his hand along with dozens of posters, CD covers, and books. He froze mid-signature over an unflattering yearbook picture of his fourteen year old self with braces and thick glasses. He gasped and stared up into long forgotten blue eyes. “Still a fan,” said his first boyfriend with grin.