Easter Falling On 4/20 Again This Year Means All Those Old 420 Praise It Vines From 2014 Are Once Again

POV I put you in the Lazarus Pit

Nathan MacKinnon’s two Tylenol commercials for those who were having a hard time seeing them on Vimeo.

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the walls were humming again.

old brownstone in brooklyn, refurbished under tony’s sardonic generosity, always kept a low electric thrum in its bones, like the ghosts of forgotten circuits whispering secrets only bucky could half understand. you stood in the kitchen, brewing chamomile tea, because caffeine might nudge him too close to that frayed edge. and tonight wasn’t about vigilance. tonight was about the slow reassembly of someone who’d come apart in the public square.

"you're up," you said without turning. you knew his footsteps by now, they were measured, controlled, like a dancer trained by violence. the tea kettle clicked off. you didn’t look yet, you didn’t have to.

"didn’t sleep," came the reply, low and rough, as if spoken through gauze. there was a lilt of apology buried in the words, though he would never say sorry for something he couldn't remember.

"nightmares?" you asked, pouring two mugs, yours black, his with a generous slosh of milk. bucky didn’t answer right away. you finally glanced at him.

his face bore the aftermath, not of a battle, but of the war within. a gash, hastily closed with someone else’s field kit, reopened across his temple. the left sleeve of his shirt was torn and soaked dark from shoulder to elbow. blood. his or someone else's, you didn’t ask yet.

he looked at you like you were a mirror he was afraid to believe in. "i—" he began, then faltered. the words, you imagined, must have choked like wires tangled in the gears of his mind.

“it wasn’t you,” you said, not kindly, not cruelly, just truthfully. that mattered more.

bucky lowered himself into the old leather armchair, tony’s, once, back in the MIT dorms when he'd had enough ego to furnish a living room like a billionaire. you smiled faintly at the memory. tony had been your friend first. before the fame, before the arc reactor. before everything.

"you heard what happened?" bucky asked.

you nodded. “i did.”

it had started three days ago, a hidden hydra outpost in the carpathians had released a dead protocol, something ancient and buried in binary. a psychic landmine, they called it. bucky, standing too close to the detonation, had turned before anyone could react. in twenty minutes, he nearly killed sam, cracked nat’s ribcage, and left steve unconscious in a crater the size of a van. the winter soldier had returned. perfect, brutal, remorseless.

he’d disappeared afterward. the avengers had looked, of course. you hadn’t.

you knew he’d come here.

“i thought i’d locked it away,” he whispered. “i thought it was done.”

“no one ever locks anything away,” you said, handing him his tea. “not really. we just learn to live beside it.”

bucky took the mug with his left hand. the vibranium fingers trembled just slightly.

you knelt in front of him, grabbing the first aid kit from beneath the table, white with a red cross that had faded to a tired pink. like most things in this house, it carried the wear of use and memory. your hands were steady as you pulled gauze and antiseptic. his eyes followed your movements, but he didn’t flinch. not at the alcohol, not at the sting. that was its own kind of progress.

“tony would’ve been pissed,” bucky said, voice flat.

you smiled softly, not looking up from where you were dabbing at the gash above his eye. “he would’ve had you in a magnetic net before you blinked. then he’d get drunk and make you apologize to his suit.”

bucky chuckled, barely, but it was a laugh, however hollow. “you miss him?”

“every day,” you said simply.

there was a silence then, not empty but full. the kind of silence that grows between people who don’t need to fill it to know it matters.

the fire crackled in the hearth. outside, snow began to fall in soft, unhurried spirals. in here, there was warmth. in here, he was just bucky. scared, wounded, healing. and you were here too, mending more than wounds.

he looked down at you, hair falling into his face, lips slightly parted as if to speak but afraid of the shape of the words.

“thank you,” he said, finally. two syllables, but they carried centuries.

you finished with the bandage and sat back, legs folded beneath you on the rug. “don’t thank me yet,” you said. “we’re not done. i’ve got soup and a lecture on post traumatic mythologies lined up. you don’t get to brood until we finish both.”

he looked at you like you were light seen through fog. dim, far, but steady.

a/n: literally wrote this at 3:00 AM so cut me slack 🙏 hope u enjoy regardless tho

FIVE NIGHTS AT FREDDY'S

𓂃 ࣪˖༉‧₊˚.

MICHAEL AFTON

delicate frames — fluff, one shot.

unpacking silence. — angst, one shot.

𓂃 ࣪˖༉‧₊˚.

WILLIAM AFTON

₊˚ʚ thunderbolts!bucky moodboard ɞ˚₊

uhh so incase you guys couldnt tell im inlove with smoker!josh, so enjoy this little small fic !!

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⋆˚࿔ ɴᴏᴡ ᴘʟᴀʏɪɴɢ ...  ╰┈➤ 𝐤𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐢𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 ₊˚✧

♫ ᴘʟᴀʏɪɴɢ: nicotine stains by second thoughts (3:45)

✰ pairing: smoker!josh washington x fem!reader

✰ cw: smoking kissing, smoke shotgunning, kinda horny but doesnt lead to smut (unless you guys want me to write that.....)

✰ word count: 0.3+

✰ summary: josh smokes regularly then realises that his girlfriend hasn't even remotely touched one, he teaches her how to do it.

✰ a/n: i tried so hard to method act with my joint but i lost my lighter SOOOOOO!!!

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༺colour chart༻ reader ❀ josh !!

You were in your boyfriend's room, sitting on his bed on your phone. Texting Emily, Jess and Ashley to tide yourself over from the boredom you found yourself in as you waited for Josh to come back to his room after helping his parents with something. He eventually came back into his room, you looked up at him - he had a cigarette in his lips, a hand covering it as he lit it with his lighter that he carried everywhere. You always found it enamouring when he smoked, except you yourself never touched one which was kind of ironic. Josh looked over at you, noticing how you looked at the cigarette in his mouth. He took a drag, taking the cigarette in-between his fingers - blowing out a stream of smoke from the corner of his mouth. Walking over to you,

"What, baby?" "Nothing-- it's nothing.." "You never smoked one of these before?" "No.." "Prude." He let out a snort, "Am not-- I just.. don't find the point of it." "Do you want to try it?" "Oh-- no, Josh I-- I shouldn't." "One hit shouldn't hurt, angel.." "I.. I don't know how-" He'd grab ahold of your chin, tilting it up to look at him. "I'll help you baby, yeah?" "..Okay-- fine." "Just open that pretty mouth for me, okay?"

You sighed, questioning if he actually wanted to help you or if he had other intentions - you opened your mouth as he placed the cigarette in your mouth. "Breathe in." You breathed in slowly, coughing almost immediately - pushing his hand away. He laughed at that. "Damn-- you really weren't kidding.." "Shut up--" After you recovered from coughing, he grabbed the side of his face. "I wanna try something--" "What?" "Just lemme show you.." He placed the cigarette to his lips, taking a small drag before moving closer to you - inches from your open lips. Blowing the smoke into your mouth, you watched him with wide eyes. As the smoke disappeared above the two of you, you leaned foward - placing a kiss to his lips. He reciprocated almost immediately, grabbing your hips pulling you into his lap. Kissing you with more passion - more depth. Maybe you'll try smoking again if it ended up like this.

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its kind of a drabble pooks im SO SORRRYY hope you enjoyed nonetheless...

DUNE

𓂃 ࣪˖༉‧₊˚.

PAUL ATREIDES/FEYD-RAUTHA

we dream of knives – one shot. angst.

𓂃 ࣪˖༉‧₊˚.

CHANI KYNES/IRULAN CORRINO

NEVERMIND!! DO NOT SHOOT ME!!

Bill Skarsgård - Barbarian (2022) Dir. Zach Cregger

The implications that if Oscar had got pole he would have been in his drivers room practicing the griddy