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I don't normally do this but I really need help. After a week of HELL of trying to save her life, My mother passed away Sunday and I have no way to bury her ;; if you can donate or just reblog I would be so very grateful.

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“Marty! Hold on; I’m coming over!” McFly heard a voice call out (seemingly) from behind himself. As he did, his eyes grew distant, attempting to wade through the sludge that was his memories.

What all did he drink that day? What all did he take? “Christ, I can’t even remember what I had for breakfast,” the shorter guy began aloud, before finishing in his head. … let alone what exactly was in that joint he smoked earlier.

The scientist took baby steps to approach his friend, and for the next few moments Marty continued to take his presence to be a figment of his imagination. Nothing more. The Angel on his shoulder telling him not to do it.

“Why,” he shakily voiced into the air, his emotions flipping on a dime to despair.. then hardening to anger as he downed a giant gulp of whiskey. “Whywhywhywhy— you’re the logical one here, Doc s’please, make.. make it sense.” (Sloshing your words there a bit, Martin).

“Why—” his question was cut off as he made to put his weight on his palm upon the hood, but missed, causing the shorter man to trip on the headlight.. thankfully only falling safely onto the grass to the right of the vehicular corpse.

Marty squeezed his eyes closed, willing, praying the vomit he felt bubbling up his esophagus didn’t venture any further than that. His throat felt like fire, raw from acid. He unconsciously squeezed his palms into the grass, steadying his spinning world.

Everything was so dark, he couldn’t understand. He swore he told his brain it was safe to open his eyes. He could feel the slight wind upon his eyeballs. Then why was he in a shadow…?

“Marty, it’s me. I’m here, I’m sorry I took so long.”

The younger man blinked as he tried to decipher the meaning behind the presence of the taller man that stood before him. The man that held his shoulders firm. Near painfully, but always just at the cusp of being so. The man with the wild (well, actually neatly brushed today) snow white hair he knew he could recognize a mile away.

“D-” was all Marty got out before he proceeded to rotate to his right, losing his previous battle by emptying the contents of his stomach onto a patch of grass.

For all intents and purposes, the weather couldn’t have been any more perfect than it was that Friday. Only a handful of cotton ball-like clouds dotted the azure sky, and the mild temperatures brought some people out to enjoy the sun while exploring the Californian sandy beaches. Marty knew, because on the drive over he saw the state of the few public beaches as the truck drove past.

While some miles away families were busy enjoying a relaxing summer picnic, Marty McFly chose to spend the day in seclusion. He needed to be able to access his most repressed thoughts and feelings without running risk of being interrupted by any external stimuli. Despite appearances, Marty took his decision to come here and do this very seriously. . .

Dr. Emmett Brown had entrusted the safekeeping of the most important and world changing invention since the discovery of fire into the hands of the teenaged Marty McFly. For six years the boy (now a grown man) kept the vehicle relatively safe… but, with another swig from the whiskey bottle that sat upon a flat portion of the wrecked hood… Marty was finally ready to let go of his past, if it made his future any more brighter.

He swore he heard the scientist’s voice over the sounds of the crashing waves below, and the shorter man couldn’t help but laugh. Laugh at the sheer audacity that his mind chose this moment to hallucinate his voice. Marty shoved the picture back into his wallet, then he wet his tongue with another swig of the amber whiskey. He stared straight ahead, looking at nothing in particular as he spoke aloud (in a slurred voice):

“The moment I’m in trouble you’re nowhere to be seen, but the millisecond your precious car is in trouble, you appear. Your priorities are insulting, Doc.”

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That time of the year again!

Happy Pride Month, from your favorite Pepsi addict in time! 🏳️‍🌈

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For all intents and purposes, the weather couldn’t have been any more perfect than it was that Friday. Only a handful of cotton ball-like clouds dotted the azure sky, and the mild temperatures brought some people out to enjoy the sun while exploring the Californian sandy beaches. Marty knew, because on the drive over he saw the state of the few public beaches as the truck drove past.

While some miles away families were busy enjoying a relaxing summer picnic, Marty McFly chose to spend the day in seclusion. He needed to be able to access his most repressed thoughts and feelings without running risk of being interrupted by any external stimuli. Despite appearances, Marty took his decision to come here and do this very seriously. . .

Dr. Emmett Brown had entrusted the safekeeping of the most important and world changing invention since the discovery of fire into the hands of the teenaged Marty McFly. For six years the boy (now a grown man) kept the vehicle relatively safe… but, with another swig from the whiskey bottle that sat upon a flat portion of the wrecked hood… Marty was finally ready to let go of his past, if it made his future any more brighter.

He swore he heard the scientist’s voice over the sounds of the crashing waves below, and the shorter man couldn’t help but laugh. Laugh at the sheer audacity that his mind chose this moment to hallucinate his voice. Marty shoved the picture back into his wallet, then he wet his tongue with another swig of the amber whiskey. He stared straight ahead, looking at nothing in particular as he spoke aloud (in a slurred voice):

“The moment I’m in trouble you’re nowhere to be seen, but the millisecond your precious car is in trouble, you appear. Your priorities are insulting, Doc.”

Birthday Reunions

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Ever since he spoke to his new psychologist, Marty had been toying with an idea in his mind.

He continued to debate it, while downing the whiskey bottle in his hand. . . staring at the broken heap of metal in front of him.

The corpse of the DeLorean was simply reminders of his past. . of his present.

And of the future.

What could’ve happened. . What could’ve been. . But what was also the reality he actually lived in.

He told Skylar - his psychologist - his idea about destroying the time machine. Explaining that, he felt like the act would free him somehow.

That, in getting rid of the remnants of the past, he could finally begin to move on for the future.

He had came to a decision.

A few days later, he had paid a tow-truck driver to drive the vehicular corpse to a specific spot on the California coast.

It was on a high cliff, with the thunderous sounds of the ocean below plowing against the rocky wall.

Marty told the truck driver he had a friend that was gonna meet him there within an hour - he didn’t - just to get the guy to drive off and leave him alone.

Finally alone, he sat, back against a broken hood. .

He pulled out a certain photo he kept - folded up, he knows, he apologizes for the disrespectful treatment - in his wallet. A photo from the 1880s.

A photo of him. . And a man he missed.. so goddamn much.

Surface thoughts told him he should hate the scientist with every fiber in his being.. but..

“. . . What’d I give.. to hug you, one last time. . D-dad.”

w. @doctorbrown

Birthday Reunions

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Birthday Reunions

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Hello, I’m alive and I’m officially a licensed nurse (LPN), and about 3 weeks away from finding out if I get into RN school.

Not sure if people still follow me or are interested in me here..

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god bless michael j fox that sombitch could clumsyrun like nobody's business

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What is Marty's favorite season?

Spring, leading into summer. I sometimes find myself standing outside in the pouring rain. . It can be oddly.. cleansing, y’know? Relaxing, I mean. Also helps build my anticipation for a hot summer.

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“Terribly sorry; didn’t realize you were into half day old musk,” sarcasm dripped from the older man’s lips, earning a roll of the eyes from the younger McFly.

Marty shook his head, before pushing a few stray strands of hair out from covering his eyes. “Shut up and let me finish you. We had a deal, and I don’t intend on sticking around any longer than agreed upon.”

With a forceful exhale Marty retook his previous stance, swallowing the gentleman whole before resuming his oral dance. Lips shielded teeth from sensitive - throbbing - skin as the brunette pushed and pulled his head back and forth from Karl’s length.

What Marty couldn’t do, was make eye contact. As he performed the motions to satisfy the wealthy gent, he did it with closed eyes. . . Perhaps, to put mental distance between himself and his action(s).

He felt a handful of hair being gripped from his scalp, and he whimpered as he realized even that action alone caused his headache to pound even further.

At least, it sounded like he was doing a good job for a first-timer.

Future Cures

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As far as Marty could tell, the skies were relatively clear - save for that one commercial jet. No other traffic nearby, and it was a clear, beautiful day. He checked the compass installed upon the dash; they were heading in the right direction.

With the cruise control set, Marty adjusted his right leg into a more comfortable position. . .

. . . And shot his attention back towards the man slouched in the passenger seat. Did he hear him correctly?

“Y-you want to hear my music?” It was clear as day by the expression on his face that Marty’s heart was touched. A now excited hand reached over to the volume knob, twisting it until it was a few notches below medium. His finger then quickly shot to the rewind button, clicking until the CD began at track one.

His own voice was heard over the speakers, voicing out a muffled “one, two, three, four,” before an electric guitar was heard, shortly followed by a steady drumbeat.

In the driver seat, the smile never left the musician’s features. He excitedly gave commentary. “I didn’t write this particular song, but this is me on the electric guitar, and singing. A few buddies of mine did the drums bass.”

I'm outta luck, outta love, Marty’s singing voice was heard over the radio.

Gotta photograph, picture of

Passion killer, you're too much

You're the only one I wanna touch. . .

The physical Marty lip-synced along to his recorded self, bobbing his head to the beat, glancing between outside the windshield and to his passenger. “Do you like? I don’t.. I don’t have my guitar with me, but if I find one, I could play you something else!”

Aw, the musician was happy to finally have found an audience. . .

Song credit.

Continued w. @ashortdropandasuddenstop

Marty gave a nervous laugh at the scraggly-looking man’s denial of his alcoholic excuse. He even winced when he spoke the word “chariot.” Way too close of a correct guess of a car, Marty needed to try harder.

“You’re a pirate?” Marty nearly opened his mouth to question, before halting his words. You can’t give him an opening to question who you are, what the DeLorean is.. you can’t.. back away.. run.. hurry…

“What IS That contraption anyway?”

… It was long past time for them to rename Murphy’s Law to Marty’s Law.

It was both obvious that Marty was sweating nothing but bullets… but also trying his very hardest to employee a completely uninterested look as he backed closer and closer to the vehicle, palm searching behind him for the door handle.

“It’s nothing really, now please accept my thank you for saving my life, and please forget I was here. I have to go.”

Palm making contact with the door handle, he began to raise the gull-wing door, no doubt taking the drunkard by surprise with all of the artificial lights and devices inside…

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Alex dresses up for Jennifer's 1950s themed birthday party.

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Resting his left palm briefly upon the British man’s hip, Marty slowly lowered himself until he was on bended knees, rolling his eyes in a slightly exasperated manner upon hearing his sarcastic comment. “I could do without your assumptions of my capabilities, Karl,” Marty retorted.

His right palm steadily massaged the man’s growing length as the younger wetted his lips, moistening his mouth to be as slick as possible. After putting off the moment until he could put it off no longer, Marty pulled his head down… closer, closer. . .

. . . hand moving towards his base as his lips made contact. First, by taking in just the tip, massaging his end with his tongue and lips. As the smaller man took more and more of his length in his mouth, he had to suppress gags, eventually withdrawing after about only six seconds. . . but not for the reason you may think.

“Jes- Jesus Christ dude, it’s like you bathe yourself in Old Spice.” Another gag. “Its all I smell and taste now.”

After taking a few much-needed breaths of clean air from behind his shoulder (as if a club’s bathroom air could be considered clean), Marty picked up the (probably devilishly amused) man’s engorged cock again, and went back to work, swallowing him whole before nearly withdrawing, swallowing, withdrawing, tongue dancing all along his length.

This deal better be worth it, Marty hoped.

Future Cures

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I hate that I have to repeat myself, but I will say this again: if you are a supporter and shipper of Mammett, stay away from my accounts. That is beyond disgusting and pedophilic. Stop it. Get help.

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Happy Back To The Future Day!

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Doctober Day 2 -> Friendship

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NOO MARTY

MARTY THATS COUNTERPRODUCTIVE

YOU DUMBASS NO