#for a buck to fame

[bucking-and-struming-along]

Yo, Buck. Do you have any fucking clue where we going? -@stealing-melodies

We're headed where Dante said, the apostles and everythin'.

[leo-leon-leonar-leonardo]

Just realized that—

The newspaper made him pose for the photo... and he accepted it.

[bcolfanfic]

young veterans au - POV you’re on gale’s phone, dad!gale version

liked by brady00, willquinn, meatballonig and 45 others

buckyegan_ Last time feeding the ducks as a 4 year old. Read a quote the other day about your kids being your heart beating outside of your body. I knew exactly what they meant.

crozbee Yep. ❤️❤️

cbiddick They gotta figure out how to keep kids little forever. One of Gale’s academia buddies working on that?

galecleven17 I sure hope so.

liked by jean_crosby, cbiddick, alexjeff_art and 30 others

galecleven17 with buckyegan_ Just in time for her birthday, an old babysitter recently contacted us to share a baby picture she realized she had of our girl.

I wish so bad that we knew you then. But we found our way to each other, and I thank God every day that he chose us to be your parents. Daddy loves you the stars, Josie Belle. I think 5 is going to be the best year yet.

alexjeff_art Those little baby cheeks- how cool you guys got that photo. Happy bday Josie!!!

rosenthal_ She has the best parents in you two. Can’t wait to see you guys!

[noirdenwa]

SPLATFEST ART (SPLATOON X TTCC)

im team love but my autism was going to kill me if I didn't draw this

[krispyweiss]

Steely Dan, R.E.M. to Enter Songwriters Hall of Fame

- Hillary Lindsey, Timbaland and Dean Pitchford also slated for induction

Steely Dan and R.E.M. are heading to the Songwriters Hall of Fame

The Dan’s Donald Fagen and Walter Becker and Bill Berry, Peter Buck, Mike Mills and Michael Stipe of R.E.M. will be inducted June 13 alongside Hillary Lindsey (“Jesus Take the Wheel”), Timbaland (“SexyBack”) and Dean Pitchford (“Footloose”) in New York.

“I’ve said it before, but the music industry does not exist without songwriters delivering great songs first,” SHOF Chairman Nile Rodgers said in a statement.

“Without them, there is no recorded music, no concert business, no merch - nothing, it all starts with the song and the songwriter. We are therefore very proud that we are continually recognizing …songwriters who have enriched our lives and literally enriched music and the lives of billions of listeners all over the world.”

1/17/24

[faggotcitosis]

people who think rpf is wrong are so funny... like what are u gonna do about it lol

[wavesoutbeingtossed]

*

[nerdcorp]

DramaMania - Wrestling Underground Podcast

(more…) “”

[bucking-and-struming-along]

Well damn. Look at that. -@stealing-melodies

Mel! Nice to see ya on here.

[alygator77]

another wip from me. hehe. supermodel satoru.

warnings: mdni, smut, fluff, masturbation, obsession. (honestly, satoru feels kinda yandere af. he's fucking down bad for you.)

supermodel! satoru whose life is a whirlwind—flashing cameras, designer clothes, and breathless whispers of adoration. on the surface, he has it all: the perfect career, the perfect face, the perfect life. but perfection… has its price.

supermodel! satoru who, after a ten-hour photoshoot that left him feeling more mannequin than man, slumps into the cold embrace of his sleek penthouse. the city glimmers outside his floor-to-ceiling windows, vibrant and alive, but it feels distant, like a movie playing on mute. he’s surrounded by luxury but drowning in solitude.

supermodel! satoru who, running on three hours of sleep and bad coffee, barely notices when his fingers fumble over his phone, sending a text message to you—meant for his manager. tossing the phone aside with a sigh, he stretches out on the couch, exhaustion pulling at his limbs—unaware that this accidental message is about to flip his world upside down.

supermodel! satoru who, when your response comes through, doesn’t realize at first that he’s texted a stranger. his initial confusion shifts to mild annoyance, but that changes the moment he reads your sharp, unfiltered reply. intrigue replaces irritation, and before he knows it, he’s texting back, unable to resist the pull of you on the other end.

supermodel! satoru who keeps his identity a secret, finding it strange at first, but soon, it becomes refreshing. for once, he’s not the face on billboards or the name in glossy magazines. no—for the first time in forever, someone is talking to him—not his fame, not his face, just him.

supermodel! satoru who finds himself grinning like an idiot whenever his phone buzzes with your name. you tell him about your life—mundane, you call it, but to him, it’s captivating. days turn into weeks—texts in the middle of the night when he’s jet-lagged and bored in some foreign country. voice notes where you laugh at his terrible jokes.

supermodel! satoru who one day, finally reveals who he is, and with a mix of arrogance and curiosity, boldly asks for your photo—eager to see the face behind the name he’s grown so fond talking to.

c’mon now... I show my face to the world every day. least you could do is show me yours ;)

your reply pings through, accompanied by an attachment, and for a moment, his breath catches.

supermodel! satoru who has seen countless beautiful people, surrounded by them every day, but there’s something about you that has him hooked. perhaps it’s not just the way you look—it’s the way you’ve made him feel. for the first time in forever, he’s not just admired; he’s seen.

supermodel! satoru who ends up sprawled out on his couch later that night, your picture propped up on the coffee table in front of him as he grips his shaft. his shirt is discarded somewhere on the floor, his sweatpants pushed down to his thighs as his cock strains in his hand—red, leaking and desperate for attention. all he can focus on is you.

supermodel! satoru whose glossy lips part as he pants, pumping his dick, his head tipping back while the phone’s glow casts shadows across his flushed skin. his penthouse is filled with the slick sound of his hand sliding over his length, mixing with his shuddering breaths.

“fuuuck… so fucking pretty…” he rasps, his hips bucking into his fist. his strokes grow faster, more desperate, as his body thrums with heat.

supermodel! satoru who murmurs your name like a prayer, thick with need, chasing his inevitable release. “nnngh… gonna—ahhh—gonna cum f’you,” he moans, breathy and broken. His voice cracks as his back arches off the couch.

supermodel! satoru whose strokes grow frantic, erratic, his abs flexing tight as thick, hot ropes of cum spill over his stomach, painting his skin in sticky streaks of white. the release leaves him trembling, every drop wrung from his body as a low groan escapes his parted lips.

supermodel! satoru who exhales a quiet laugh, his chest heaving as a lazy smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth. he trails his fingers through the mess, smearing it across his toned abs as his smirk deepens—amused and awed by how much you’ve made him cum.

supermodel! satoru who can’t focus during his photoshoot the next day, every click of the camera drowned out by thoughts of you. his mind lingers to the filthy fantasy of your body beneath his—your lips whispering his name, your legs wrapped around his waist.

the ache in his pants becomes unbearable, and he excuses himself, slipping away to the bathroom under the pretense of ‘fixing his hair.’

supermodel! satoru who locks the bathroom door behind him with trembling fingers, his breath hitching as he pulls up your photo again. his hands fumble with the buttons of his designer pants, desperate to release his aching erection.

supermodel! satoru who stares at your picture with half-lidded eyes, his thumb swiping over the swollen tip of his dick, spreading a slick bead of precum across the sensitive head. "fuck… you’ve got me so worked up," he whispers with a cocky smirk, and his free hand grips the edge of the sink, his cock twitching eagerly in his fist.

“pretty girl… god, I’d ruin you,” he shudders as he fucks his hand. with a sharp inhale, he reaches out to twist the handles of the porcelain sink. but honestly, the cascading water is a feeble attempt to drown his debauched sounds—sounds he knows he can’t hold back.

supermodel! satoru whose mind spirals into pure filth, his fantasies running wild as he pictures your body beneath his—writhing, trembling, utterly at his mercy. your hands would cling to his shoulders, your nails digging into his skin as he holds your legs apart, spreading you wide as he fucks your tight little hole.

"bet you'd look so fucking good under me," he hisses through gritted teeth. “all spread out, legs shaking… pretty little mouth begging f’me.” his hand tightens around his cock as his hips jerk forward, “fuuuuck, you’d take me so well, wouldn’t ya? haaa—every fucking inch.”

supermodel! satoru who is teetering on the edge when a sharp knock cuts through the haze, echoing against the bathroom door.

“satoru? you’re needed back on set!” his manager calls, muffled but clear.

but his strokes turn frenzied, the interruption fueling the thrill—the sheer audacity of jerking off in the middle of a shoot. his moans mix with the rush of running water and the persistent pounding on the door.

“shit—fuck—fuck—” his voice cracks, his body seizes, and in that instant his cock erupts. he whimpers, milking his dick as his forehead falls forward against the mirror. as his thick hot seed spills on his hand, it streaks across the counter in messy, sticky arcs.

“satoru!” the knocking continues, louder this time, his manager’s voice growing sharper.

“i’m coming!” he yells back, and the irony of his words pulls a breathless laugh from his lips.

supermodel! satoru who stands there for a moment, panting, his reflection staring back at him in the mirror. he’s a fucking hot mess—cheeks flushed, his hair a disarray, and his lips are swollen from biting down so damn hard, trying to keep quiet.

supermodel! satoru who tucks himself into his pants, buckling his belt with practiced ease as his smirk slides back into place. he splashes cold water on his face, tidies his hair, and by the time he steps out of the bathroom, he’s the typical picture of confidence—swaggering back to set with a cocky grin as though nothing happened.

but deep down, he knows he’s utterly, completely fucked.

why? because you’ve become his favorite addiction, his sweetest downfall. and it’s only a matter of time before he finally makes you his.

a full fic for this will be coming out! lmk if you wanna be tagged. edit: taglist closed

[confused-alot]

so caught up in kinsey scale mention that i didn’t realize abby reveal was about to happen

[knights-unwelcommentary]

I mean, Dave had access to Bro's computer and god knows the guy doesn't close his tabs nearly often enough, his bank details would be there. If he says bro makes a pretty penny out of those puppets I'm giving him the benefit of the doubt for now, though it could be for a different reason than what he assumes. Maybe it's a money laundering scheme or something

i loooove unreliable narration i love when a character says something in confidence and we find out later that they were just like. fucking wrong. case in point dave understanding “my bro is rich” and “my bro makes weird puppet porn” and extrapolating “my bro got rich off weird puppet porn” leading to him calling smuppetry a “multi billion dollar enterprise” because he is thirteen even though WE know that bro was set up with a trust fund by jade’s grandpa and was implied to have worked for skaianet like the puppets are just his freakazoid hobby but it’s funny to have dave be FIRMLY convinced his brother is a billionaire due to puppet porn

[baddawg94]

All-Star SG Ray Allen of the Milwaukee Bucks shoots the ball over MVP Allen Iverson of the Sixers in the 2001 nba playoffs

[rockergirl]