#tocxmply

[toscrve]

CALLOUT FOR @tocxmply: i’ve been meaning to make this post for a while now and can’t hold it in any longer............ fil is a wonderful writer and person and deserves all of the good things

[onlylibertya]

at this rate we're gonna be married by the end of the day, based on video games and ships alone

HI FIL WILL U FRIEND MARRY ME PLS TY 

[chaoskept]

INCORRECT QUOTES / santa clarita diet

sarah: hey, everyone. don’t freak out. sharon: why would we --- maria: because an agent’s bringing your daughter home. i got a call from a colleague who pulled sarah over for running a stop sign, on a motorcycle without plates or a vin number, in a jacket that says “pussy magnet.” sharon: what? bucky: my god, that’s a lot for me to process.

[crimsonscorpii]

Into The Abyss ||

@tocxmply

      There was a moment, a brief, chilling, final moment before darkness took him and he hit the water that Steve felt oddly at peace. Peace at knowing he had done everything he could possibly do to show Bucky that he wasn’t the enemy, to show that he would not lay a hand on him and would not kill him no matter how south the fight went. Peace at knowing the fireballs above him were a sign of their success in destroying HYDRA’s great plan of mass murder. Peace, in part, in knowing that this was his end. The force of the impact with the water against his injuries was enough to shock him into darkness.

            It was finally over.

                       ...except, it wasn’t. Nothing is ever that easy.

      Through the haze of agony and dullness that cloaks each of his senses, Steve can feel the air in his lungs and a different chill on his skin. The crushing finality of water is a sensation he’s all too familiar with but this isn’t it. Maybe it’s a dream, a final hurrah before he leaves for good - and would that be such a bad thing? The oldest soldier, so tired of struggling, so tired of fighting while everything slips through his fingers. A glint of metal catches somewhere in his vision but Steve isn’t sure if his eyes are even open. He see’s nothing else, feels nothing else but the burn at the back of his throat as his lungs refuse to give in. Each breath is something he’s distantly aware of and yet... maybe it’s not real.

            Please don’t be real.

      He dreams of his mother. Chasing after her blurred smile and the scent of cooking on her frock. He chases her voice, to the stench of alcohol, yells and a fist. He takes the blows because he’d rather it be him than someone he cares about. He can’t make out his father’s face either but as the yelling becomes a roaring in his ears, the fists of his father becomes the fist of a bully, a soldier, a HYDRA agent, a Trickster, a friend-- metal, his skin splits and---

      Sensation. As consciousness slowly seeps into Steve’s battered form he can feel tingling in his left leg. Tingling that he sluggishly realises to be cold. He’s soaked through, with a chill running through his body with every ragged breath he takes. Blood and mucus coats his tongue and bubbles with every third breath or so and he knows he’s got damage to a lung. One of the bullets perhaps. Slowly Steve tries to shift as he starts to grow more aware that he’s alive but not in a hospital. Broken bones creak together muscles complain as the Captain tests to see which limb works before opening his eyes.

      He needs to get to a hospital.

      Steve opens his eyes to a ceiling he doesn’t recognise, walls that don’t scream SHIELD or safe house, and a stinging smell of medical equipment, metal and burnt flesh. So many blows to the head have left him with a shattered cheekbone and Steve feels the fragments shift as he swipes his tongue, gathers the blood in his mouth and spits it to the side with a round of wrechted coughs. Pain racks his torso and Steve pulls himself up to sitting position to bundle all the agony into one move, and stops.

      To his right is a chair Steve recognises immediately. It’s different to the pictures he had seen but the design is similar to drawings and schematics he saw in old HYDRA files, taken from the Russians. He knows what that chair is and what it does. Further glances around the room reveal bars near the front and what looks like security boxes along one wall. A bank vault? Ironic. Steve shifts again, searching to place his back agaisnt something solid and reduce the chances of something coming from behind when he’s this slow, this sluggish; doing so reveals the pools of blood and smears of mess on the floor. Not dead, of course you’re not fucking dead.

      Then he see’s him. Him. The only sight that could make Steve somewhat relieved he’s not rotting at the bottom of the Potomac river. He can’t make out the details, his vision is too blurred but the light shining on that arm is unmistakable and as Steve settles his broken form against a wall, he feels something akin to relief.

              “--Bucky.”

      Death will wait another day.

[metalsuitsa]

@tocxmply​    /    liked.

“   i don’t like people handing me things.    just put it down there.   ”

[orphicdawn]

𝙱𝚄𝙲𝙺𝚈 & 𝚂𝙰𝚁𝙰𝙷 𝙴𝙳𝙸𝚃𝚂 1/? just a silent gen & gen z fighting pissing off baby boomers .

for  @tocxmply​   /   by  @jekadoodles​   (   𝙥𝙡𝙨 𝙙𝙤𝙣'𝙩 𝙧𝙚𝙗𝙡𝙤𝙜   )

[ovalleycfplenty]

     biting back a sigh, Brock looks over at the younger man, one hand rubbing his jaw. ❛ okay... okay FINE. y’got that outta your system now, kid? or ya gonna sock me again? I mean, fuck... I didn’t even fuckin’ DO anything. ❜

@tocxmply​ liked this post for a starter from Brock Rumlow

[brycecousland]

@tocxmply​ plotted starter

    Having four dogs with extremely excentric personalities had gotten Bryce used to silent moments being disrupted. One moment everything was quiet and the next he had four dogs zooming through his house. USUALLY, that meant there was a moth all of them tried to defeat. One time a different mailman had delivered letters, that had been quite some commotion too.

     So really, Bryce had thought he was an expert with surprising moments. But none of the usual madness in his life had prepared him for this. A man that looked like a wet cat suddenly standing in his home. Entering through the open glass doors and now half in Bryce’s kitchen area and half in his living room. 

     Bryce had been frozen, comically, in the moment of him raising a spoon to his mouth. Now just staring at the stranger with the metal arm.

     All four of his dogs looked up from their dishes and looked up to the man, ears raising but for a moment none knew what to do. He was NOT a moth... and intruders were usually not as sneaky as this person... and neither did he wear a mailman uniform.

     Eclair, Bryce’s German Shepherd tilted his head, confused. He had been trained to disarm intruders... but he didn’t know if that’d work with the surprise guest. 

     The first to really move was Jack, the anxious Rottweiler that hurried away into his crate, curling into his blanket. followed by Cookie, the tiny Shihzu Lady that thought she was a police squirrel on Ecstacy. Meaning she started to run around the man in circles, barking with her rather high voice, while barely reaching the middle of the soldier’s thighs.

      Pumpkin started to look to his toys, to the soldier, to Bryce and back. He had figured that the man MUST be a guest. So he should show him his toys, right? RIGHT?

     Bryce finally lowered his spoon onto his plate.

       ❝ Uhm... hi... uh, can I bring you a towel? You kind of are dripping water everywhere... ❞

    Maybe he should move... first alien attacks in the area, followed by weapons of mass destruction dropping on the city he usually worked at... and now wet strangers in his apartment... maybe some slums with normal intruders were becoming saver...