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Kiana Khansmith

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Not today Justin
NASA

izzy's playlists!
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he wasn't even looking at me and he found me

blake kathryn
Sweet Seals For You, Always
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noise dept.

Discoholic đŞŠ

titsay
Claire Keane
hello vonnie
almost home
AnasAbdin

ellievsbear
2025 on Tumblr: Trends That Defined the Year

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@fukstar
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Oh, you wanna send me memes and/or plot with me so baaaad.
đđđđ§đ đĽđđ§đ§đđ, EDIT ONE. @strfckersinc
i'm so goddamn sick of myself. -- nicolette/cillian
EVERYONE'S A STAR, ACCEPTING ( ... ) FEATURING CILLIAN ROSEINGRAVE & NICOLETTE LANGFORD-MOREAU.
The truth was pressurized. Always leaking out, always mere seconds away from exploding. It wasn't something that could be contained. This was a hard pill to swallow, and it often got stuck on the back of your tongue, threatening to crawl back up your throat like a viscous vomit. It was something he could understand. When everything around him was falling apart, when everything he touched turned to shit, the only real common denominator was him. The push and pull between feeling entirely in control of your own self-destruction, and simultaneously grappling with the idea that maybe all of it was simply beyond you anyway.  No control, no authority, no restraints. God's least favorite child. When you're stuck in that tailspin, continuing to spiral down, down, down âŚÂ well, it was easy to get sick. Sick of yourself, sick of it all. He was sick of himself, nausea erupting in the pit of his stomach anytime he tried to formulate a conception of who he was. Maybe it was the fear-induced, anxiety-injected physiological reaction to not remembering who that person was anymore. He didn't know. Worst of all, he didn't care. Not anymore.
â So change it. It's all a performance anyway, none of us are really who we say we are. â Cillian speaks in a quiet, matter-of-fact tone with smoke curling out from between his lips and a cigarette perched between his fingers. His eyes are locked on the distant skyline, and the pitch black night polluted with the light of the city reminds him of a poem; one where the dusky blue hung like a curtain in an immense arched doorway, fastened together with silver tacks. Behind them, the rooftop party raged on, though it could hardly be called a rager. Rail-thin models oozing with androgyny, schmoozing bastards floating around with champagne flutes, all sneaking off to do bumps in darkened corners as though they were in competition for the world's worst kept secret. He fucking hated it here.
㠤㠤㠤㠤㠤㠤㠤㠤㠤㠤â You can do what you want. Fuck it all. â
EVERYONE'S A STAR (FULLY EVOLVED). writing prompts from the album everyone's a star (fully evolved) by 5 seconds of summer. contains references to drugs, alcohol, and suggestive dialogue. feel free to modify pronouns as needed.
that's the story we'll tell.
who made you the preacher?
baby, it's a dream.
you're something superior.
everything is better when i don't know what it means.
i feel invincible.
we can pause for now, i think i said enough.
hey, give me a sip of it.
it's one in the morning.
i said i love you, but i didn't really mean it.
i thought it, wrote about it.
good things come to those who wait.
okay, okay, okay, it's just not my day.
you're just uncomfortable being with somebody who's good for you.
she says it's just my nature, and she says it like i'll never change.
i've been thinking, do you miss me?
do you wanna kiss me?
this one's gonna leave a scar.
when i'm dead and gone, bury me in stardust.
now i only feel alive when you're looking at me.
please, just tell me it's alright.
tell me i'm your type.
everything i need's right here.
god, you make me feel alive.
i'm dying for a little bit of your affection.
i can't fall asleep, it's like i'm in a dream.
i know that new york makes you sick.
every bed is could without your body in it.
everywhere i go, my skin is crawling.
what if i can't close my eyes without you in my head?
i'm scared i'll never sleep again.
i was thinking this would never end.
i remember things only you would know.
i still feel the same.
your heart's beating different.
show me nothing's changed.
kiss me like you mean it.
you sound like me when you're drunk.
i picked you up off the street.
some lady screamed, 'jesus can save him'.
i don't want to go to sleep because i'm afraid of what i'll see.
i can't look you in the eyes because i'm afraid it looks like me.
wish i was somebody else.
nothing else helps.
i'm so goddamn sick of myself.
i can't look myself in the eyes.
where are you sleeping tonight?
i need you, i need you tonight.
please, stay.
you keep on saying that i gotta get my soul right.
i wanna get high, i wanna get drunk.
when you gonna grow up?
i wanna get fucked.
don't get me wrong, i know it's hard to love me.
chill, baby, chill.
i'm just late to the party.
i face regrets and plan revenge.
i'm on one hell of a dive.
don't you get sick of it, living in isolation?
i can tell you're lost.
this is everything i didn't know i wanted.
i know every light on your street. i could find my way over with my eyes closed.
i know every sound when you sleep.
watching you is the only thing that i know.
don't leave, i don't wanna start over.
are we telling the truth?
you don't ever have to worry.
hey, i'll find you.
i'm sorry that i took so long to get there.
°â§*:¡ă  đđđđđđ đđđ đđđđđ ¡¡¡ a collection of 1970s rock & roll romance, band drama, groupie culture & backstage heartbreak roleplay sentence starters. genre: 70s music scene, sex, drugs, and rock n roll, touring angst.Â
⢠The label wants the album done in six weeks. We can barely be in the same room for six minutes. ⢠You're high again. We go on in twenty minutes. ⢠I heard the demo. You changed the lyrics we wrote together. ⢠This band is falling apart and you're too stoned to notice. ⢠You slept with [insert name]. After the forum show. Everyone knows. ⢠I can't write with you anymore. Every song turns into a fight. ⢠The tour manager found the coke in your guitar case. ⢠You dedicated that song to someone else. On stage. In front of ten thousand people. ⢠Your girlfriend showed up at soundcheck. The one you said you broke up with. ⢠I'm leaving the band. After the European leg, I'm done. ⢠We can't keep doing thisâfighting all day and falling into bed together all night. ⢠I saw you leave with [insert name] after the party. Don't insult me by lying about it. ⢠Remember when we started this band in your garage? When did it get so complicated? ⢠You're drinking straight whiskey at noon. We have a radio interview in an hour. ⢠The new song is about me leaving, isn't it? ⢠I can't tell if you hate me or if you're in love with me, and I think you can't either. ⢠They offered me a solo contract. A real one. With Mercury Records. ⢠You missed the bus. Again. The rest of us waited for three hours. ⢠Stop looking at me like that when we're on stage. People are starting to talk. ⢠I heard you in the hotel room next door. With someone who definitely wasn't me. ⢠The vinyl's pressed. The album's done. And we barely spoke during the entire recording. ⢠You want writing credit on a song you didn't even show up to record. ⢠I'm not your muse anymore. Find someone else to bleed into your lyrics. ⢠We sold out Madison Square Garden and you look absolutely miserable about it. ⢠I rewrote the bridge. Without you. It's better now. ⢠The groupies wait for you after every show. Like you're some kind of god. ⢠I can't tell what's real between us and what's just good for the image anymore. ⢠They want us to fake date for the publicity. For the album release. ⢠You OD'd in Phoenix. They had to cancel three shows. Do you even care? ⢠I'm sick of being the stable one while you get to be the tortured artist. ⢠The documentary crew asked why we don't write together anymore. What did you tell them? ⢠We have to duet on this track. For the single. Can you manage that? ⢠You haven't looked at me since that night in Laurel Canyon. ⢠The Grammys are next month. We'll have to walk the carpet together. Smile for the cameras. ⢠I heard you through the walls last night. Crying. Playing the same chord progression over and over. ⢠You're twenty minutes late to your own album listening party. ⢠I kept the polaroid from Woodstock. The one where we actually looked happy. ⢠They're calling us the next Fleetwood Mac. Guess they know a beautiful disaster when they see one. ⢠You can have the master tapes. I just want out.
I'm putting it out there now, if anyone is interested in writing any of the (unclaimed) NPCs on this blog, feel free. Let's have fun with it. You can change the face, the name, go buckwild with it, breathe life into them. You could even say, hey, I think this pre-existing original character of mine would fit in well here, and I'll be like, hell yeah, let's do it.
#FUKSTAR, BY JACKKNIFE. EXPLORING THE PITFALLS OF FAME, THE HORRORS OF THE ROCK & ROLL LIFESTYLE THAT GETS PLASTERED ON THE COVER OF EVERY MAGAZINE, THE LOSS OF IDENTITY & SENSE OF SELF, AND WHAT THE REAL PRICE OF SUCCESS IS. THIS IS YOUR BACKSTAGE PASS.
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Idk sometimes shit just be happening and I just gotta shrug and say "c'est la vie" like I know what the fuck that means.