#inaccurate tags sorry

[baconmancr]

It was also heavy and underpowered. I heard that part of the joke of using that car was that a real DeLorean can't actually get to 88 miles an hour.

one thing that is often lost on modern audiences watching the Back to the Future series is that, in 1985, the DeLorean was well known for being a shitty car. The only reason the DMC DeLorean is remembered fondly today is because of BTTF; had the movie never happened, it would’ve been one of those fancy cars lost to time and remembered only by car nerds (trust me, there’s examples of this). Potentially the primary reason for choosing the DeLorean to be the time machine is because of how notoriously bad it was. We even see Marty question Doc’s choice to use a DeLorean, and at the climax of the first movie we see the car fail to start when Marty is lined up to drive towards the wire. The DeLorean was known for being overly heavy, clunky, prone to breaking down, and annoying to maintain.

Basically, what I’m saying is, if Back to the Future was made today, they’d use a Cybertruck.

[nevvn]

saw a wizard meme and thought hm. what if it was solomon.

[cradle-of-darkness]

hes so fun to draw in different outfits. bro did NOT go to medical school

[baconmancr]

*puts my mares downwind of my studs so they can be fertilized on the wind as nature intended*

On a critical failure for a knowledge check, you know only whatever Pliny the Elder has said about the subject, and believe it to be true.

[sleepsucks]

[heartscrypt]

argument overruled just took your second bishop. noob

[stellar-jay]

keeping tryst

[erosire]

elaborate on the tongue piercing i beg of you

bringing back some of my ideas from dms with misa for this,,

he got the piercing without your knowledge. knew that it would be well worth the wide-eyed, gaping mouth reaction he could already foresee as he slipped into your shared apartment. if he was lucky—and with you hanging off his arm, he felt quite lucky indeed—you might even go weak in the knees at the first flash of it when his tongue curled in that sinful manner to all but purr your name.

but hobie had greatly underestimated the toll of his absence that day, and no sooner did he cross the threshold than you were flinging yourself at him, pawing at his shoulders as your mouth clashed furiously with his, parting only to mumble a litany of complaints that he'd left the bed cold, and you couldn't give me five more minutes, hobes? his hands had shot out to grip your hips, less out of instinct and more because of the pain erupting from his mouth. despite this, he made no move to evade your affection as your tongue found the seam of his spit-slicked lips and slipped past to brush against his own.

in the end, you had made hobie's knees weak; the pleasure/pain of your teeth catching his new piercing causing a choked whimper to erupt from his throat. you pulled away with a start, hushing the pained noises forced past his gritting teeth as he chased your lips, even still. concern gave way to shock, then embarrassment, and hobie could only chuckle weakly as you cradled his cheeks, gently forcing his jaw wide enough to see the glint of metal you'd unknowingly assaulted. "easy on the goods, love, it's still sensitive~. fuckin' brutal you are..."

there was no real heat behind his words, besides the kind that often leads to a desperate make-out session and, further down the line, a blissful moment dedicated to counting the hickies he's left (you're astounded by how often you think you've found them all, only to spot an unfamiliar bruise days later).

as for when the piercing heals? well, you both did as well as you could not to kiss too fiercely before then, but now you're all over each other. hobie loves to kiss your neck from behind, nipping softly and laving his tongue over the bites in apology. it hardly makes up for the cool metal piercing against your skin, especially when hobie exudes such smug delight for eliciting a full-body shiver from you.

he can feel you flushing under his affection, all the way down to your neck, and he gasps softly in mock concern as his free hand curls around your front, rubbing circles into your hip as he blows on your ear and trails his lips along your most sensitive spots at an agonizingly slow pace. "poor thing, you're shaking... i can take care of that," he teases, but you know well enough by now that his care will only fluster you into an early grave.

[amartianonmars]

Watched Macrocosms recently, seeing Janeway with that giant phaser gun did something to me.

Drew these based on those 80s movie posters with the female lead holding on to the male lead who always happens to be holding a massive piece of weaponry ( to represent... you know ;3)

[tickfleato]

wait i'm allowed to do whatever i want. Shame isn't real. i can post about the rutile/oc trainwreck ship ive been formulating. no one can stop me. you can't stop me. you cant leave theres no block or unfollow button

[baconmancr]

@vriskakinnieaynrand?

[amphibifish]

oh yeah i literally had nothing to do in art today 👍

[hopelessromantic5]

I thought it would be fitting to post a sick-fic snippet, considering the upper-respiratory infection I’ve had for the past week has been kicking my ass.

So this is a little Bucky taking care of sick Buck fic.

Thank you for reading.

Gale went to sleep at Thorpe Abbots.

When his eyes shot open, he was in complete darkness. The only sounds in the room were the soft even breaths of his fellow officers.

Something was balled up in Gale’s stomach. This must’ve been what woke him.

God he hadn’t felt real nausea like this since he was a kid.

It’s alright. He tells himself. Just lie still and it will go away. Just calm down. Breathe, in and out. Calm yourself. It’s fine. It’ll go away.

Another roll of pain and discomfort had him up on his feet and bolting out the door before he could think twice.

He just made it outside behind the building before the contents of his stomach emptied into the grass.

Gale leaned against the bricks, heaving, tears streaming down his face.

God, how he hated it. The lack of control, the inability to stop it. Forced to endure until it’s over.

He felt himself drop to the ground, curling into his own body, trying to slow his breathing. Trying to get rid of that awful scratchy feeling in the back of his throat.

He blindly wiped at his face with the bottom of his tshirt, hoping he hadn’t been loud or interrupted anyone’s sleep.

It reminded him too much of the terrible nights of his childhood, fresh bruises already blackening around his cheek, under his ribs, the pain swirling behind his eyelids causing the sickness before little Gale could get it under control.

“Buck?” A voice called out, whispering, but still too loud for the dead of night.

Gale didn’t have the energy to respond.

Footsteps grew near.

“Buck! Hey,” a body crouched near him, gentle hands settling on his shoulders, like a blanket.

When Gale didn’t lift his head immediately, Bucky, softly, barely touching him, placed his rough hand on Gale’s cheek, calling the other man to meet his eyes.

When John felt the wetness of tears under his palm, his brows furrowed further in concern, if that were possible.

“Hey, doll, what’s the matter?” He whispered.

Gale must’ve been really really tired. The term of endearment didn’t seem out of place, it didn’t jolt his system the way it would in any other instance, it just seemed right.

As if he were expecting John to call him that.

A second hand moved, so Buck’s face was effectively caged in by John’s grasp. It was only then he realized the heat Gale’s skin was radiating.

“You’re burning up, Gale. We need to get you back into bed.”

Gale finally lifted himself from his hiding place, meeting John’s eyes. He’d never seen that kind of worry there before.

“You called me Gale.” He mumbled before he could think about it.

John huffed a laugh, shaking his head.

“Because I knew it would get you to pay attention.” He stands, and gently places one of Buck’s arms around his own broad shoulders.

“I can walk.” He mumbled, yet disproving his own point when he practically slumped into John with all his body weight, tucking his face into his neck. Gale huffed, wanting to be embarrassed, but finding he was rather annoyed at relying on John for yet another thing. Relying on anyone for anything is bad enough, but John doesn’t need a burden like him. He should be free, like a bird.

Gale is beginning to think, in the only rational part of his mind left, that there may be something wrong with him.

Maybe he’d been poisoned.

A snort followed his poor attempt at being right,

“Sure, doll. If you say so.”

Bucky practically carried him all the way back inside, he smelled like fresh air and lucky strikes with just a hint of something simply titled ‘John’, it could never be recreated, Buck knows.

Once settled under his blankets, warm and content, John smiles softly at him.

“Get some rest, Gale.”

“Thank you, John.” He whispered, watching the silhouette of the other man freeze and the continue his journey back to his bunk, without looking back.

A sad, pathetic sigh escaped him before he drifted off into an awful, fitful sleep.

When he woke again, he was sweating, and it was bright enough in the room to blind him when his eyes creaked opened.

Then he caught onto the silence of his surroundings. No quiet murmurs of morning. No shuffling feet.

Daylight.

Silence.

Oh God, the meeting, the mission.

“Oh, fuck.” He says before he can remember he isn’t supposed to.

He’s up and getting dressed before he can even breathe.

He’s late. He’s so incredibly late, the captain is going to have his ass.

Oh, no.

“Whoa, whoa.” A hand on his chest settles his rushed movements. “Slow your roll there, cowboy.” Bucky just walked through the door, holding, what looks like, soup in a cup?

“Bucky, I’m late. What are you doing here? Aren’t you supposed to be helping Curt with flight check?” Gale is confused as to why either one of them are still here talking, and why no one woke him up.

A small smile appeared on John’s face, stilling Gale once again.

“What’s with the face?”

Bucky shook his head,

“Leave it to you to be deathly ill and still be worried about flight check.”

Gale looks at him like he’s crazy, which makes it even funnier.

“I’m not sick, John.”

“Tell that to your hundred and four degree fever.”

“What-how do you-“ Buck stopped, huffing in a breath. He probably looks ridiculous, one pant leg on and no shirt, with a sock halfway rolled up his foot. “Why are you here, then? If I’m sick, you could catch it. I shouldn’t even be in here, I should stay in the med tent.” He’s babbling.

Bucky has been watching him with wide eyes. He’s never seen Gale so ruffled, and stuttering.

He’s never seen him so not put-together.

He loves it. He’s drinking up the sight like water, though he does feel a pinch of guilt and hurt that Gale had to be sick in order for him to see this side of him.

“It’s a cold, Buck. Your body just needs some rest and it’s forcing you to get it, the only way it knows how.” Bucky turned back to something that he had discarded on his bed.

“You are not late, so you can stop having a panic attack and lay back down. I already told the Captain that you were sick. It’s not contagious. And I’m not leaving you here, sick and alone.”

For once, Gale went without a fuss.

He was exhausted.

“I brought you some pills. Doc said they should help.” John said, offhand.

The words send Gale spinning into a future he’d never imagined before. One where he and Bucky are living in a nice humble house with a few acres out back. John brings home the paper from town and they gossip about the neighbors while they drink coffee in the morning, huddled together on the porch swing. Maybe a good hound at their feet.

“Buck?” That warm hand returned to his face, this time feeling his forehead.

“Jesus, Buck, I’ve never felt skin this hot.”

“Careful,” Gale huffed a laugh. “You’re gonna give a fella an ego too big for his boots.”

John seemed to think this was funny too. Fond amusement colored his eyes, clear skies on a moonlit night.

“Maybe you could use a little ego, Saint Cleven. You’re too humble.” The hand that had previously taken his temperature by touch, carded its fingers through Gale’s hair. Sweaty blond locks that had fallen over his forehead were pushed back, cool air on his face more prevalent. It felt good while at the same time, sent shivers down his spine.

[theneptuneflytrap]

B* said I was ugly, I said, "B* where???"

"Back in the 80's,"

I said, "B* WHERE???"

[The top two are from Transformers Legends and Transformers More Than Meets the Eye (IDW) respectively. Clockwise from the top left are Transformers: The Headmasters (Toei Animation/Takara), The Transformers (Sunbow), The Transformers (Marvel US), and Transformers: The Headmasters (TV Magazine/Takara).]

[baconmancr]

I'm sorry I'm not living up to the high tagging standards my mutuals expect of me

when i was really little and had just learned how to write my full name . i noticed my twin brother had really messy handwriting. while mine was like … as nice as it could be for a little kid. so i wrote my name in his handwriting on a wall and i waited to see who our parents would get mad at . and they blamed him. and that was when my life of crime began