#mercy chandler

[captainpirateface]

Thank you to

[ninebite]

[supermarcey]

The King Zone Podcast Episode 29 - The Family Secrets of A Good Marriage (2014) and Mercy (2014)

The King Zone Podcast Episode 29 - The Family Secrets of A Good Marriage (2014) and Mercy (2014)

The King Zone Podcast Episode 29 The Family Secrets Of A Good Marriage (2014) and Mercy (2014) Download HERE https://supermarcey.files.wordpress.com/2024/03/the-king-zone-podcast-episode-29-the-family-secrets-of-a-good-marriage-2014-and-mercy-2014.mp3 Welcome to this Podcast series from The Super Network with The King Zone! This podcast series is all about the adaptations of Stephen King, from…

[dreamersetmefree]

[sigurism]

John Davis Chandler Mad Dog Coll Dir: Burt Balaban

[phantoms-world-and-more]

Danny and his english class go feral

So danny and all of his English class are going to gothem as a graduateing feild trip

By this point in time everyone knows danny is phantom, danny knowes everyone knows, all of amity knowes

But because of the way the government reacted to the ghosts, ignoring the problem and just sending in people who want to commit genocide.. they've made the decision they dont need the government

At this point, danny English class is very protective of eachother

Dash and the a-listers apologised

Once Wes was proven right, he was told of what would happen to danny should outsiders find out about him and apologised

Mikey and the neards have gotten more confident dew to the a-listers and in return thwy help dash and kwan with their grades

The point is, their ALL protective, and because danny is the most protective of all once he heard they were going to gothem he handed out fenton brand wepons like candy

They were all enjoying it so far, it was getting annoying whenever dash or kwan had to knock out a few petty criminals but its going fine...

Until the riddler and penguin decided to make a hostages situation out of them

.

.

.

When batman arrived to a hostage situation he was expecting crying and scared kids, especially after learning they were teenagers from out of town...

What he walked in on was this

Paulina and star making matching scratching posts out of a pair of goons

Wes was full body slamming people left, right and center, your in his way your getting knocked over

Sam was following wes and after he knocked them over she used the fenton-anti-asshole-tazer on them

Tucker was sitting on a chandler and making sure all the coms were disconnected...and recording everything

Mickey ran up to dash yelled "FOOTBALL ME" and dash picked him up like a foorball, threw him several feet in the air where he proceeded to tackel and claw penguin

Danny was fist fighting the riddler while distroying him with banter

Mr.Lancer had a fuckin fenton-lighsaber and was changing from obi-wan canoby and darth vader impressions

.

.

.

Batman went out side for a good 30 minutes trying to processes what he just saw, unfortunately leaving the goons the riddler and penguin to the mercy of feral, overprotective angry amity parkers

.

.

.

When batman walked in later Tucker yelled "THE CONTROLL ISSUE FURRIE IS HERE"

After he yelled that everyone froze

Danny was choking out the riddler

Mickey was holding the fenton-ecto gun at penguin

Dash was mid punch

Kwan was using fenton-sneakers to walk on the roof and was stringing up goons

Stat was using the fenton-lipsick gun to blast people

Paulina was using the fenton-glitter nunchucks with star as backup

Wes was putting a goon in a headlock

Sam was using fenton-thorn gloves to distroy all wepons the goons were using

And Mr.lancer was mid darth vader impersonation

And they all stopped their feralness to stare at him, it went from chaos to silence

Even the goon, riddler and penguin were silent waiting to see WTF was about to happen

And batman had a feeling life was about to get more complicated

[dragqueenstarscream]

As someone who grew up in a wealthy family that can pay for my collage, I personally think that in a non war au, Starscream would still have a little bit of his arrogant, egotistical side (especially since he's from a wealthy family), but he just wouldn't be *as* aggressive about it since he didn't experience the horrors. He'd kinda be like one of those rich private school kids/ mean girls. Although he'd definetly be more merciful and calm.

-Also, If his trine exists in the library au, Skywarp would 100% tease Starscream about his crush on Op.

-💌 anon

oh he absolutely would be that way. like i don't think he'd be as catty as, say, regina george or heather chandler. he's too focused on getting his degree. he DOES, however, have dirt on absolutely everyone and will use it when he wants to. the only one worse than him is soundwave.

but yeah, he wouldn't be as aggressive. he's a bit more optimistic, dreaming about making the next big scientific discovery. he only really uses his blackmail skills when the situation calls for it.

as for skywarp and thundercracker... thundercracker is more chill about things. he'll lightly rib starscream, but for the most part he's pretty chill. skywarp, however, is a MENACE. he will not stop teasing starscream about his infatuation with the cute country boy in the library. he realized starscream had a crush before starscream did lmfao

[amorchai]

➵ 𝐀𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐈 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓.

return to — navigation.

requests ; open for headcanons and blurbs!

₍ᐢ.ˬ.ᐢ₎ 𝐁𝐄𝐆𝐈𝐍𝐍𝐄𝐑𝐒. ⤸

all moodboards! all headcanons! all preferences! all blurbs!

⭑ ttpd collection!

₍ᐢ.ˬ.ᐢ₎ 𝐂𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐁𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐄𝐒. ⤸

andrew garfield ⁑ dylan minnette ⁑ harry styles ⁑ joe keery ⁑ joseph quinn ⁑ jung hoseok ⁑ louis tomlinson ⁑ niall horan ⁑ ross lynch ⁑ tom holland ⁑ zayn malik

₍ᐢ.ˬ.ᐢ₎ 𝐌𝐎𝐕𝐈𝐄𝐒.

𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐘 𝐏𝐎𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑. ⤸

blaise zabini ⁑ cedric diggory ⁑ cho chang ⁑ dean thomas ⁑ draco malfoy ⁑ fred weasley ⁑ george weasley ⁑ harry potter ⁑ hermione granger ⁑ luna lovegood ⁑ oliver wood ⁑ ron weasley

james potter ⁑ lily evans ⁑ regulus black ⁑ remus lupin ⁑ sirius black

𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐕𝐄𝐋. ⤸

andrew!peter parker ⁑ loki laufeyson ⁑ natasha romanoff ⁑ atsv!peter b parker ⁑ pietro maximoff ⁑ tom!peter parker

𝐏𝐈𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐁𝐁𝐄𝐀𝐍. ⤸

captain jack sparrow ⁑ will turner

𝐏𝐈𝐓𝐂𝐇 𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐅𝐄𝐂𝐓. ⤸

beca mitchell ⁑ chloe beale ⁑ jesse swanson

₍ᐢ.ˬ.ᐢ₎ 𝐓𝐕 𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐖𝐒.

𝟏𝟑 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐒 𝐖𝐇𝐘. ⤸

clay jensen ⁑ zach dempsey

𝐁𝐑𝐎𝐎𝐊𝐋𝐘𝐍 𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐄-𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐄. ⤸

amy santiago ⁑ jake peralta ⁑ rosa diaz

𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐌𝐔𝐍𝐈𝐓𝐘. ⤸

abed nadir ⁑ troy barnes

𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐑𝐘 𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋𝐒. ⤸

james maguire ⁑ orla mccool

𝐅𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐒. ⤸

chandler bing ⁑ joey tribbiani ⁑ monica geller ⁑ phoebe buffay ⁑ rachel green

𝐆𝐈𝐋𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋𝐒. ⤸

jess mariano ⁑ lane kim ⁑ paris geller

𝐍𝐄𝐖 𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋. ⤸

cece parekh ⁑ nick miller ⁑ winston bishop

𝐎𝐔𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐁𝐀𝐍𝐊𝐒. ⤸

jj maybank ⁑ pope heyward

𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒. ⤸

eddie munson ⁑ robin buckley ⁑ steve harrington ⁑ poly steddie

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐋𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐃. ⤸

glenn rhee ⁑ rosita espinosa ⁑ siddiq

₍ᐢ.ˬ.ᐢ₎ 𝐕𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐎 𝐆𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐒.

𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐖𝐀𝐓𝐂𝐇 𝟐. ⤸

dva ⁑ genji ⁑ illari ⁑ kiriko ⁑ mercy ⁑ symmetra

₍ᐢ.ˬ.ᐢ₎ 𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐂𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐄𝐎𝐔𝐒. ⤸

adonis creed ⁑ bobby mckenzie ⁑ finnick odair ⁑ hwang junho ⁑ james conrad ⁑ jim halpert ⁑ jonny goodman ⁑ luke skywalker ⁑ mark sloan ⁑ nathan drake ⁑ neil perry ⁑ reth ⁑ sabina wilson ⁑ sebastian sallow ⁑ stardew’s sebastian ⁑ tangerine ⁑ walter “keys” mckey

₍ᐢ.ˬ.ᐢ₎ 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐕𝐄. ⤸

here you can find works for characters no longer active on this blog!

amorchai © ─ all rights reserved. no reposting/translating/copying will be tolerated.

[onthewaytosomewhere]

okay so it's been a lil bit i think and y'all have been busy so thanks for all the tags sunday (and last wed) (eeeep!)

and thanks so much for the tags today @suseagull04 @tailsbeth-writes @eusuntgratie @judasofsuburbia @typicalopposite

@firenati0n @jmagnabo92 @firstprincehornyramblings @thighzp @zwiazdziarka

& @tinyarmedtrex 😘

so i posted today an alex/pez fic "Wanna get out of here?" so i'm gonna do words from another alex/pez fic i worked on last month and just need to edit to post

OPEN TAG FOR ANYONE ELSE WHO WANTS TO PLAY ALONG AND first philanthropy (let's call them that shall we) smut and more tags under the cut 💚

The look in Percy’s eyes is intense, filled with warmth and desire that makes Alex’s chest feel tight. There’s a spark in those depths, a fire that mirrors the heat pooling low in Alex’s belly. It’s almost too much to bear, the heady mixture of longing and affection swirling around them. Percy’s hand moves with purpose, the rhythm he establishes building in a way that scatters Alex’s thoughts, sending him spiraling into a haze of sensation. All Alex can do is let himself be swept away, completely at the mercy of Percy’s touch. The world outside fades into the background, and all that matters is this moment, this connection, and the way Percy’s hands explore him with both care and an unmistakable hunger. He trusts Percy to lead them both wherever they’re meant to go, the intoxicating thrill of surrendering to pleasure intertwining with the deep-seated yearning that has brought them to this point. Percy takes his time, the anticipation hanging heavy in the air as he kneels between Alex's legs, an air of confidence about him that sends shivers down Alex's spine. He slides a condom onto Alex's cock, the sound of the foil crinkling punctuating the charged silence. Alex watches, heart racing, as Percy lowers himself, his eyes locked onto Alex's with a playful glint that promises so much more. As Percy’s lips wrap around Alex, the initial sensation is slow and sensual, a tantalizing tease that sends waves of pleasure coursing through him. The warmth of Percy’s mouth envelops him, drawing him deeper into an abyss of sensation. Alex gasps, his body instinctively arching toward him, hips bucking as he seeks more of that sweet mouth around him. Each slow movement feels deliberate, a careful exploration that sends sparks radiating from his core.

okay tag ur it (in a no-pressure all that jazz way) @adreamareads @anincompletelist @bitbybitwrites @blueeyedgrlwrites @cactusdragon517

@catdadacd @caterpills @cha-melodius @cricketnationrise @dragonflylady77

@dreamtigress @duchessdepolignaca03 @emmalostinwonderland @england-would-fall @everwitch-magiks

@firstsprinces @forever-fixating @getmehighonmagic @girlwonder-writes @heysweetheart-writes

@hgejfmw-hgejhsf @iboatedhere @inell @inexplicablymine @itsmaybitheway

@kiwiana-writes @littlemisskittentoes @lizzie-bennetdarcy @mikibwrites @myheartalivewrites

@ninzied @nocoastposts @orchidscript @piratefalls @porcelainmortal

@priincebutt @royal-chandler @seths-rogens @softboynick @sophie1973

@sparklepocalypse @stellarmeadow @strwbrryagcd @taste-thewaste @thedramasummer

@theprinceandagcd @thinkof-england @thesleepyskipper

@stratocumulusperlucidus @basil-bird @bigassbowlingballhead

(i know it's no longer wed by some of y'all and getting late so the smallest amount of pressure possible here - really i'm just too lazy to edit this list any more than i already did lolz)

[antiquepearlss]

Dancing With The Stars AU

Varigo- but make them ~dancers~ (Also Ilona or Chandler should have won this season just sayin.)

“Ow what the FUCK Hugo!?” 

“Oops.”

Varian rubbed the sore spot on his head as he rose up. The two had been practicing a rather difficult move, with Hugo lifting Varian up into the air. Apparently being at the mercy of his dance partner was not the time to insult him, because after one snarky comment Hugo dropped him.

“That wasn’t an oops and you know it asshole!” The sweaty ravenette glared at the blonde as he fully stood up. Hugo didn’t seem to have a single care in the world, as he fixed Varian with a look. 

“You need to wrap your legs around my waist for stability.”

Varian’s face flushed as he squeaked out a “what?”

“It’s not weird. It’s a pretty typical dance move. Here let me-“ Hugo grabbed Varian’s waist and pulled him closer. He then guided his partner’s hands to his shoulders and placed them under his pits.

“Hugo can we just do a different move? I’m not very flexible or balanced, I’m going to ruin your choreography. We should just stick to something safer.” Varian refused to make eye contact with the man who was barely even a breath away from him, and was holding his waist very firmly. Varian could feel each finger press into him. He felt like he was going to melt from how hot his face was burning. 

“We can’t play it safe freckles. Our score was shit last week. We’re at the bottom of the leaderboard. We gotta wow the judges or we’re getting eliminated. And I don’t care how many times I have to drop you on your face- I’m getting that Mirrorball Trophy.”

Varian sighed as he grumbled out a “fine.”

Hugo swiftly lifted the young man into the air, and Varian quickly wrapped his legs around the man’s waist. 

Yeah, Varian’s face was going to melt. But going off Hugo’s slowly reddening face, he didn’t think his dance partner was faring much better.

Varian swallowed as the two made eye contact. Hugo seemed to regain his briefly lost confidence, smirked, and dipped Varian.

The man felt the breath leave his lungs as his hair brushed the polished flooring. It wasn’t the exertion from the move that made his body begin to tingle, it was the rare reassuring smile that Hugo had just given him. 

Varian’s face was now burning for another reason.

God, this competition was going to kill him.

[sageceleste]

MALE WINTER LOOKBOOK (with links!) | Sims 4 Custom Content (Maxis Match)

looking for cute maxis match male cc? today, i created five different outfits to share with you guys using my favorite mm custom content! watch the full video on my channel! 

LOOK 1

Okruee Ambrose Hair 

Greenllamas Gossip Girl Julien Jumper

Nucrests Assorted Collection EP12 Ripped Jeans

Aretha Winter Collection Military Boots

LOOK 2

Merci Chris Hair

Ceeproudctions Equinox Collection Crewneck 

Dyoreos Pung Jeans

Trillyke Incheon Sneakers

LOOK 3

Greenllamas Ravi Hair

Serenity Canela Set Alessi Top

AxA 2022 Marco Belted Jeans

Trillyke Incheon Sneakers

LOOK 4

Greenllamas Chandler Hair

Greenllamas Greenhouse Terracotta Tee

Adrienpastel Jan 2022 Graham Jeans

Aretha November Collection Alex Sneakers

LOOK 5

Greenllamas Mimosa Lima Hair 

Nucrests Insomnia Jacket

Nucrests Macchiato Sweatsuit Set

Trillyke Incheon Sneakers

*Bonus earrings if you were interested!

[how-very-salty]

masterpost of my jdonica fic <3

royally fucked up

J.D. gets another chance. It's Sherwood in September, and Veronica is smiling at him again. This time, he'll do anything not to fuck it up.

status: completed / translated: in progress

!!!new the forest (warnings!!! tags are reeeally spoilers, but the fic includes disturbing content)

Veronica ran down the stairs, hurried to the school bus - and suddenly woke up on the road in a completely silent forest. There doesn't seem to be a soul around... but someone's predatory gaze is fixed on her back. (references to The path)

status: in progress / translated: in progress

let's have some fun

Three years ago, J.D. went back to hell, but he comes back for the same reason: to make Veronica say his name three times. But something's changed.

status: in progress / translated: in progress

stay at the very edge and way he prays

Before she says no, Veronica sees Bud humiliate J.D. And it makes her change her mind and try one more time to change something for him. And that leads to a promise that will be broken.

(tw: bdsm)

status: completed / translated: completed

Veronica Sawyer decides to die

The bomb exploded. They both survived, but at a high price… Time has passed, and Veronica Sawyer finds comfort in imagining that she is gone. Her peace of mind is shattered by the doorbell.

status: completed / translated: completed

St. Calvin told me not to worry about you

They're broken up, but still need each other. She has the keys to his apartment, he wants her back. And there are rules between them that neither of them has ever learned to follow. (there is a new male character, but honestly, he's just one of the plot obstacles in this story).

status: in progress / translated: in progress

!!!new lavender

Just a scene from married life and problems that they have to deal with through conversation ( long-married JD and Ronnie)

SHORT STORIES (complited)

dearly beloved

jdonica one shots (If you want, you can give me prompts. i sometimes write them long, but i try to write all of them. except with agnst sometimes i skip them)

other way

Veronica Sawyer hurts herself to deal with her emotions, and a new guy notices. She's scared, but he just wants to talk to her ...and maybe help.

syndrome - the story of cotard syndrome

who is she - he meets her on a crowded subway and misses her… and meets her again

first of thousands - their paths cross because of a car accident

insomnia - he just can't sleep (partially refers to St. Calvin's au)

best gift ever - happy married life

we're locked in, right? - fate brings them together in a locked elevator

trace of a touch - J.D. is long gone from her life, but his every touch keeps to burn on her skin. No one else can, until one day…

let's get out of here - a wedding story in which J.D. steals a bride from his own wedding

turn on the radio and the braided bracelet - au!childhood friends, where J.D. is hopelessly in love with Veronica. or not so hopeless?

about a girl - Nick has been in love with Veronica since they were kids. but it seems he should have confessed earlier, because the new kid is about to steal her away from him

peek-a-boo - very hot zombie-boy and a pretty smart Ronnie? who just can't resist his charm (pure au with a twist)

white oleander - au!hanahaki where Ronnie has to choose between Chandler and J.D.

pick me up - a wasted Ronnie needs to be picked up from the bar, and even though they broke up, J.D. is the only one who can do it.

happy anniversary - nobody has visited J.D.'s grave for five years

what a night - J.D. climbed into her window that night, before the bombs and the petition.

a few more minutes and there is no cure - the bomb didn't explode, and it seems that J.D. completely failed // he returns to Veronica's life years later

an act of mercy - J.D. was dead in the explosion, but that night a familiar voice is heard on Veronica's phone

like burnt brownies and play with loaded dice - the story of Nick Sawyer and Jesse Dean

[maggiescollage]

Chandler Bing- Secrets in the Morning

Chapter 1 to Falling For A Friend Chandler Bing and the reader navigate their feelings, friendships, and the risk of their relationship being exposed. 

Pairing: Chandler Bing x Reader

Word Count: 1.2k+

The early morning air was thick with the kind of tension that came from sneaking out of a place you shouldn’t be. Y/N held her breath as she eased Chandler’s apartment door open, cringing at the soft creak that might as well have been a foghorn in the near silence.

Behind her, Chandler stood in just a pair of sweats, tousled hair and a sleepy smirk making him look annoyingly good for someone who had barely gotten any sleep.

"Go, go, go—" he whispered, waving her forward like a mission commander.

Y/N shot him a glare. "I am going. Unless you want me to break my ankle on the way out, stop rushing me."

"Would be a shame to lose that ankle. I’m a big fan of it."

She rolled her eyes, shoving him lightly before tiptoeing into the living room.

Across the apartment, Joey snored loudly from his bedroom, a small mercy. The last thing either of them needed was an interrogation.

Y/N reached for the doorknob—

"Wait!" Chandler hissed, pulling her back by the wrist.

Her heart jumped. "What?!"

He pointed at Joey’s bedroom door. The handle was jiggling.

Oh, shit.

In one swift motion, Chandler grabbed Y/N and yanked her toward the bathroom. She barely had time to process before she was shoved inside, Chandler following and shutting the door just as Joey’s door creaked open.

Pressed chest-to-chest in the cramped space, Y/N could hear the pounding of her own heartbeat as Chandler’s hands landed on her waist to steady her.

"Well, this isn’t the worst place I’ve ever been trapped." Chandler murmured, his voice teasing.

"Shut up." she whispered, resisting the urge to laugh.

They stood still, breath shallow, listening as Joey shuffled into the kitchen. The sound of cabinets opening and closing filled the air.

"Maybe he’ll just get a snack and go back to bed." Y/N whispered.

"Or maybe he’ll suddenly decide to host a full breakfast buffet." Chandler muttered.

A long silence followed. Then—Joey yawned.

"Eh, too much work." His footsteps retreated, followed by the soft click of his bedroom door shutting.

Y/N let out a breath of relief.

"You know, this whole sneaking around thing is really putting me at risk for early-onset heart failure." she muttered, leaning against the sink.

Chandler smirked, hands still settled on her hips. "On the bright side, you won’t have to sneak out if we just tell them."

"Oh, yeah, sure. ‘Hey, Joey, I’ve been secretly sleeping with your best friend. Please don’t make it weird.’ That’ll go over great."

"Okay, first of all, he sleeps with way more people than I do, so we’re fine. Second, this whole secret thing is exhausting. And third…" He leaned in, voice dipping into something lower, teasing. "Are you sure you want to leave? Because I could think of at least three ways to make you stay."

A shiver ran down her spine as his lips brushed her jaw, his hands tightening on her waist.

"Chandler—"

"Mm?" he hummed, lips moving along her neck, finding that spot that always made her breath hitch.

"This is exactly why we keep getting caught almost getting caught." she managed to say, even as her fingers curled into his hair.

"Risk makes it more fun." he murmured against her skin.

And damn him, he wasn’t wrong.

Her head tilted back slightly, giving him more access, and she could feel his smug grin before he bit down lightly on her collarbone. A small gasp escaped her lips, and he chuckled.

"Five more minutes." he whispered.

"You said that last time."

"And weren’t those five minutes worth it?"

She groaned, reluctantly pulling away. "I need to go before Joey wakes up again."

Chandler sighed dramatically. "Fine, fine. But just so you know, I’m pouting."

"Duly noted."

With one last lingering glance, she slipped out of the bathroom, quietly making her way to the door. With a careful turn of the knob, she finally escaped into the hallway.

Only when she was safely inside her own apartment did she let out a deep breath, heart still pounding.

They had to be more careful.

But how could they, when the secret was half the thrill?

********

Months ago...

It started with one drink.

Well, several drinks.

The bar had been buzzing that night, a post-work outing turning into a full-on adventure fueled by too much whiskey and the kind of laughter that only came when surrounded by friends.

Y/N had been sitting across from Chandler, a drink in hand, when the conversation had veered toward relationships.

"I don’t get it," she had mused. "How do people just… date without making it weird?"

Chandler had scoffed. "They don’t. Dating is weird. You’re basically just signing up to slowly disappoint someone until one of you gives up."

"That’s the most depressing thing I’ve ever heard."

"I live to serve."

Somewhere between more drinks and playful arguments, the lines had blurred.

She had leaned in closer.

He had looked at her differently.

And then—

A kiss.

It had been sudden, unexpected, fueled by liquid courage and something unspoken that had been simmering beneath the surface for months.

Her lips had tasted like rum and something sweeter, and Chandler had barely had time to process it before she pulled away, eyes wide.

"Shit."

"Yeah. Shit."

They had stared at each other, the weight of what they’d just done settling between them.

Then, after a long silence—

"Okay, so we never tell anyone, right?" Y/N had blurted.

Chandler had blinked. "Wait, what? That’s your takeaway from this?"

"I mean… we don’t want to make things weird, right?"

He had paused, considering. "I do enjoy avoiding my emotions. This feels on-brand for me."

And so, with a slightly tipsy pinky promise, their secret had begun.

What had started as just one time quickly turned into stolen moments, hidden touches, whispered teasing between group hangouts, and the constant, reckless thrill of nearly getting caught.

Because the truth was—neither of them wanted to stop.

****

Present Day.

By the time Y/N made it to work, her thoughts were still tangled in the morning’s escape.

"You’re smiling. Weirdly. I don’t like it."

Y/N snapped out of her daze to find Monica staring at her suspiciously.

"What? I’m just in a good mood."

Monica narrowed her eyes. "Uh-huh. Spill."

"There’s nothing to spill!" Y/N laughed nervously.

"You only smile like that when something very good—or very bad—happened."

Crap.

"I just had a good night, that’s all."

Monica’s eyes widened. "Oh my god. Did you finally hook up with someone?"

Y/N choked on her coffee.

"I—what? No! Why would you think that?"

"Because you’re all flustered! And you have that glow."

"I do not have a glow."

Monica squinted at her. "So who is he?"

Y/N laughed, shaking her head. "No one. Just a good night, that’s all."

[forasecondtherewedwon]

seven degrees east - chapter one

Fandom: Masters of the Air Pairings: Gale x Bucky; Nash x Helen; more tbd Rating: T (may change) Chapter: 1 / ? Word Count: 3798

Summary: It's 1996. Soundgarden's on the radio, Charles and Diana are headed for divorce, and seven American PhD candidates are studying literature at the University of Thorpe Abbotts in Norfolk, England. Between taking Prof. Harding's summer class and obsessing over their favourite authors, the boys will kick asses when they must, and fall in love if they can.

Spring was about to fall headlong into summer and Bubbles had decided Princess Di was the woman for him. They were all in love with her. Tabloid magazine photos of Diana in black and lavender—torn with care along the crease—decorated the walls of their dorms, overlapping posters for Superunknown and Crimson Tide, pieces they’d had published in the literary journal, and mundane scraps of paper elevated by their status as vessels for the phone numbers of girls they’d met at parties. Naturally, their Princess took supremacy, especially as they expected imminent, official news of her divorce from Charles. Lucky Bubbles.

It was mid-June 1996. They spent their days horny and sunburnt from laying out on the school’s big English lawn. These long stretches of apparent leisure were punctuated by the summer course in which they were all enrolled: “Thoreau’s Walden,” taught by Professor Harding. He was transparently attempting to instill in them a sense of self-reliance alongside an understanding of transcendentalist thought. The class wasn’t mandatory—the rest of their cohort would rejoin them in September—but their small group comprised a brotherhood of dedicated scholars. (Dedicated to having fewer courses to take come fall semester.)

Bubbles was their Great American Novel man, obsessed with Faulkner’s long sentences and Steinbeck’s long books. Crosby envied and lionized his best friend’s focus, but had come to accept that he was irresistibly drawn to the lower-brow, femme-fatale charm of Chandler and Hammett’s hard-boiled novels. Robert “Rosie” Rosenthal was their resident 19th-centuryist, plotting the spread of both his dissertation and his mustache on the fertile—if possibly cursed—intellectual ground of Edgar Allan Poe. Herbert Nash was Rosie’s chronological compatriot. Though he’d begun the doctoral program with a proposed focus on the works of Mark Twain, he had a literary wandering eye for anything that struck him as romantic. In the face of Nash’s flakiness, Curt fought (sometimes physically) for the pure pleasure of reading, but then he was often under the hedonistic, lunar-like sway of Oscar Wilde—a deviation (guided, he claimed, by his Irish heritage) from the later, hedonistic influence of his preferred poison: the Beat Generation.

If their ragtag band of chronic dogear-ers had a leader, it should’ve been Jack Kidd. Kidd was an upper year student, nearly finished with his PhD (unless his PhD finished with him first). He was secretive, perpetually put-upon, and capable of delivering heart-shattering criticism in a tone that made it sound like mercy. In short, he was everything they longed to be. When asked about the subject of his dissertation, he would drop his face into his hands with all the enthusiasm and surrender to gravity of a bridge suicide. In lieu of possessing the middle-aged-divorcé jadedness that seemed to come naturally to Kidd despite his being only 29, the seven younger candidates had taken up smoking the preceding November.

Because they did need a leader to make sure they did things like readings and laundry and correcting their posture after hours spent curled over, under, and around the library’s long oak tables, they had Bucky. And they had Buck, because it was smart to have a backup. “Bucky” was really John, and “Buck” was Gale, and when any of the other five called them out on being pretentious fucks, they would both grin and offer no correction. While John directed his furrowed brow at Lost Generation titans like Hemingway, Stein, and Fitzgerald, Gale was dreamily engrossed in a fin-de-siècle love affair with Henry James. At any given time, at least three of them (including John) were waiting for the pair to realize that who they were actually head over heels for was each other.

They were all students at Thorpe Abbotts—the Norfolk satellite campus of the Connecticut university. They knew people studying Goethe and Voltaire, Tolstoy and Shakespeare and García Márquez, seriously, they did. They just happened to be a collection of Americans reading Americans. In England. For one reason and another, they’d decided to study overseas, intrigued by the allure of matched tuition fees, rainy reading weather, and the proximity to older and fancier universities, which were fun to visit if they were looking to instigate a winnable fight against other easily-provoked academics.

That particular evening, they descended upon a bar favoured by students from the University of East Anglia. John and Rosie had both offered to drive. To decide who’d had to go with John (concealed as who’d wanted to go with John), Crosby had flipped a coin—well, a double-sided Batman pog he’d produced with minor embarrassment after fishing around in his pocket for a coin. As a result, Gale and Curt tumbled from John’s Wrangler (Gale from the passenger’s seat, Curt from the bench in the rear) looking half-drunk already from John’s weaving, lead-footed panache behind the wheel. Rosie pulled up smoothly, with no complaints from Bubbles, who might not have complained even if they’d slid into the parking lot on their roof, Crosby, whose motion sickness had not been triggered, or Nash, who’d ironed a shirt for this outing in hopes of meeting a nice girl. The rest had openly teased him, then tried not to feel self-conscious about their own attire.

“You look like Hugh Grant,” John leveled at Nash when he saw him sweeping his hair back as they made for the bar.

“Thanks.”

“Wasn’t a compliment.”

Fortunately for Nash, he was impervious to most insults. John knew this and took it as licence to tease him all the more.

“Ladies love Hugh Grant,” Nash reasoned.

“Don’t say ladies,” Curt whined. “Fuck’s wrong with you?”

“The thing Hugh Grant has going for him is he’s British,” John explained.

“And he’s a movie star,” Gale offered, nonpartisan.

“Stellar addition, Buck: and he’s a movie star.” He turned back to Nash. “You’re non-movie-star, American Hugh Grant. Capisce?”

“Don’t say capisce.” Curt took out his frustration on the loose chunk of asphalt he booted across the parking lot.

“Ah, don’t listen to him, Nash,” Rosie instructed, slinging an arm around Nash’s neck and hauling him close so his steps stuttered and skipped.

“You look good, Nash,” Gale said.

“Like a real gentleman.”

“Too bad he’s just Nash disguised as a gentleman,” John lamented with a grin.

Nash cracked a telling smile.

“Whaddaya think, Croz?” John demanded. He looked around and found Crosby and Bubbles trailing them, laughing about something that was part of their own conversation. “Croz! Nash in disguise! This some kinda hard-boiled, sleazy villain shit?”

Crosby shrugged.

“Nash is Nash.”

“Nash is Nash,” Bubbles agreed, and then they were all saying it, speaking over one another, until their voices dropped into sync and it turned into a chant as they shoved into the warmth of the bar.

They fell into a booth together, then forced Crosby and Bubbles back out to get the first round since neither of them had driven and even if you tried to send one without the other, they’d both go anyway, as though attached by a tether. They returned with pitchers.

“Croz got carded,” Bubbles gleefully announced, handing out glasses from the stack in his hand.

Everyone awwwed. Crosby erupted in a flaming blush.

“Don’t worry about it, Croz,” Gale told him. Crosby nodded gratefully, but then Gale tacked on, “When I was your age—”

Crosby’s protestation that they were the same age had Rosie laughing until he had tears in his eyes. He tilted sideways into Nash, who did his best to scoot away.

“I love you Rosie, but I will slash your fucking tires if you wrinkle my shirt.”

This just made Rosie laugh harder.

“You alright to drive back?” John checked with Gale, leaning in to speak quietly below the hilarity.

“I gotcha, man.”

John nudged Crosby out of the booth a second time and came back with a pitcher of water for Gale, who’d smoke weed and cigarettes with the rest of them but drew the line at carbonation. Crosby’s hand hesitated between the pitchers of beer and water.

“I’ll drive,” Rosie assured him, brushing away Crosby’s wordless offer with a wave of his hand.

Crosby looked relieved to be let off the hook. He poured himself a beer.

John pointed at Rosie.

“You’re too damn self-sacrificing.”

“Maybe you’re too sac-selfrificing,” Curt countered, making John twist to face him with an expression of extreme indignation.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“You wanna take this outside?” John squared his shoulders. Even though it was all in play, Gale held out his hand, palm down, suggesting they chill out a little. They’d been bounced from this bar before.

“Might as well stay put,” Curt said. “If I knock you on your ass while you’re already sittin’ down, you got less far to fall.”

John smacked the brim of Curt’s ballcap down over his eyes and they broke into a scuffle in the booth, legs scrabbling beneath the table, Curt giggling wildly as he jerked away from John’s hands while protesting that he couldn’t see. Crosby, sitting on Curt’s other side, attempted to right his hat, but ended up having to dodge Curt’s elbow instead.

“Bets?” Rosie asked.

“What’s on the table?” Bubbles wondered. Somebody’s knee slammed the actual table from underneath and Bubbles’ hand shot out to steady his glass. “Figuratively.”

“Losers have to format the winners’ essay citations.”

“That’s not ba—”

Crosby saw Gale whack the back of his hand into Bubbles’ chest to shut him up, but it was too late. Rosie was grinning.

“And type up their essay.”

They groaned. Bubbles, Nash, and Crosby shook their heads, bowing out, but Gale stuck out his hand for Rosie to shake.

“You’re on,” he said.

“Who’s your money on?” Rosie asked.

“Who d’you think?” Nash cut in.

It really was silly to ask; Gale took John’s side in everything, always. Crosby was going to point that out, begin recalling supporting evidence, but John started fighting really dirty—his hands dove to Curt’s sides, tickling hard, and Curt hopped back. Crosby bailed out of the booth and stood.

“Maybe they should take it outside,” Bubbles observed, reading Crosby’s concern on his face before he could voice it.

Just then, there was a scoff: “Typical.”

John ceased his attack on Curt as they turned to look with the others. Curt fixed his hat. There were three guys standing there, just past Crosby, who took a step towards the table to show his allegiance. Like most people they encountered off the Thorpe Abbotts campus, the trio were British. They looked about their age, maybe a little younger, and enough sheets to the wind not to mind that there were fewer of them than members of the group they’d accosted.

The pause after that single word seemed to go on and on. None of the seven had a doubt in their mind that it was a criticism of their behaviour—their Americanness. The Brits would expect them to get angry, to fly from their booth and jab their impolite American fingers in their faces, wet American spittle spraying from their mouths as they shouted rude American words. They didn’t know that this was what these particular Americans did for fun. That even now, in the pause, they were just deciding how they wanted this one to go.

“Can we help you?” Gale asked calmly, while his compatriots wordlessly downed their drinks.

“We’re just fine,” one of them replied. “Try helping yourselves.”

Gale glanced around at his friends as though confused.

“Did one of you need help with something?” he asked.

Curt had just poured himself a second beer. He held up a finger, signally for everyone to wait as he took a long swallow. He sighed in satisfaction.

“I actually do need help,” he said, looking not at Gale but at the Brits.

“Want us to teach you to tie your shoes?” a different one taunted.

“Nah,” Curt said, tone dangerously placid to the ears of his friends. “Nah, got that one figured out. I actually got a question for you: loserssaywhat?”

The first one frowned, head cocking slightly.

“What?”

Rosie guffawed, prompting the change in the trio’s expressions: superior to insulted. Angry. But Curt was beaming. He took another swallow of beer before slowly enunciating, “Losers. Say. What.”

And then he burped so loudly that Crosby, recounting the story to Kidd later that night, would swear it shook the walls.

“That wasn’t part of the question,” Curt clarified.

The strangers surged towards the booth and Crosby got in their way, Bubbles and Gale jumping up too to put a wall between them and Curt.

Gale said one word to them, and he said it like an order: “Outside.”

“Fucking right, outside,” was thrown back at him.

The three on their feet watched the Brits out the door, then turned back to the group.

“Who’s holding down the fort?” John asked.

“Not me,” Curt said. He clambered from the booth and started shadow boxing. As he ducked and wove, eyes fixed on an invisible opponent, John spun his hat around, brim at the back.

“Let’s all go,” Nash said from his spot against the wall. “Nobody’s gonna…”

He trailed off as his gaze landed on something beyond their prizefighting trickster, beyond the inseparable Bubbles and Crosby, beyond the deep-running still waters of Gale. There was a girl. A beautiful girl. Thick, dark hair, talking with another girl Nash barely noticed. As he watched, she laughed. She was even more beautiful when she laughed.

“Actually, I’ll stay,” he amended distractedly. He tilted his head to see around Curt as Curt decided to add footwork to his routine. “The rest of you can fuck off.”

Rosie looked where Nash was looking and smirked.

“Ah, no way, buddy. Wouldn’t leave you here all alone!”

“No more than three of us can go,” John declared. “It’s not…”

“Sportsmanlike,” Gale supplied.

John snapped his fingers and agreed, “Sportsmanlike.”

“I guess it’s you three then,” Bubbles deduced glumly, glancing between John, Gale, and Curt.

“Sure is,” John said, considerably more gleeful. He rose and clapped Bubbles on the shoulder. “Hang tight.”

“But—”

“If you go, Croz’ll come too, and we can’t go five-against-three; they’ll think we’re chickenshits.”

“Who cares about their opinion?” Crosby wanted to know.

“Me,” Curt said. He stuck out his lower lip in a pout. “They hurt my feelings.”

Crosby rolled his eyes.

“Get the fuck outta here.”

“Yeah, and do us proud!” Rosie shouted at their backs as Gale, Curt, and John trekked towards the exit. John pumped his fist into the air.

When they’d gone, Rosie smiled slyly at Nash.

“So. Are we calling her over here?”

“What?”

“YO!” Rosie yelped at the top of his lungs.

The girl, her friend, and a dozen other people in the crowded bar turned their heads, searching for the source of the sound.

“What the hell?!” Nash blurted.

Rosie frowned at him.

“You think she’s pretty, right?”

“Duh. Look at her—”

“MY FRIEND THINKS YOU’RE PRETTY! YEAH, YOU! BLUE SHIRT!”

“If I wanted her to think I was a total jackass—” Nash began.

“You’ll get your chance. I just got you started. Wave her over.”

“You ever think there’s a reason you don’t have a girlfriend?”

Nash slid along the seat until he was free of them all, though Crosby did offer an encouraging thumbs-up.

“Watch and learn,” he called over his shoulder. He locked eyes with the girl—the beautiful girl, who was miraculously staring back at him with an expression of amusement rather than scorn—as he headed her way.

—

Outside, the tension was thickening. The Brits should’ve gotten some kind of points for holding their ground, John thought, because they looked nervous now that he, Gale, and Curt were all on their feet, not folded up in that booth. He lifted his chin and squared his shoulders to make himself as big as possible. And he smiled, not as massive as Curt though. That seemed to be pissing them off, maybe making them stay: that Curt was full-on grinning.

“Thorpe Abbott?” the mouthiest of the three asked, like an accusation.

“Abbotts, numb nuts,” Curt corrected.

“What do they grade you with there? Scratch-and-sniff stickers?”

“I wish!” John said. There was a threatening gleam in his eyes.

“You know it doesn’t mean anything when they give you all hundreds right? Your degrees don’t mean shit.”

“It actually does mean something,” Curt said. He suddenly sounded so serious that his friends looked at him from the corner of their eyes. “We go in this special room, ’k? Maybe not so fancy as the rooms at wherever you boys go—”

“East Anglia,” was offered.

Curt nodded.

“Yep, Easy Anglia, whatever. But we go in this room and then—true story—this woman shows up. Like, our dean calls her up to let her know another one of us special boys—”

“Us special American boys,” Gale emphasized.

“—got himself another fuckin’ hundred. Takes her maybe half an hour to show up. And then, guess what, you guys?” Curt looked at the befuddled Brits eagerly. “She blows us.”

Their reaction was a blend of highly skeptical and stunned by the turn Curt’s story had taken. Shit’s sake, Curt, John was thinking. This is gonna be a hell of a fight.

“And, you know, she did mention she had a son,” Curt said measuredly, homing in on the mouthy guy now, “but, damn, you’re her spittin’ fuckin’ image.”

The Brits lunged at them.

—

Nash wanted to ask her to dance, to hold her by the hips and sway along to whatever rhythm she chose. He didn’t care if it didn’t match the beat of the music. He didn’t care that no one else was dancing, or that this wasn’t really a place where people did that. “Helen,” she’d said her name was.

“You read much?” he asked stupidly, but he wanted her to like him more than he’d ever wanted anything in his life. More than anyone in the history of humankind had ever even dreamed their descendants could want. The only thing he could think to talk about was books. Talking about books, he could start to sound smart again, reassemble his brain in the background while most of him got lost in Helen’s eyes.

“Yes.”

Nash loved how she said yes. His heart, thumping happily in his chest loved it. The rush of blood to his groin loved it. The sound of “yes” in her mouth. She was American. He tried not to think how easy it would be, the two of them moving back home after school. Or staying here, a pair of expats. Whatever she’d prefer.

“I’m actually studying creative writing.”

“Where?” he asked, starry-eyed.

Her eyes darted to her friend before returning to his face. The reaction said he was being sort of stupid now, but then her expression shifted to something like guilt. She’d felt bad for thinking it. for writing him off so quickly.

“At the University of East Anglia.”

“Oh. So, like, right nearby.”

“Right nearby,” she confirmed. “Hence…” She glanced around. Hence this bar. Hence. Totally. Nash gave her a smile, weak with adoration.

“Why there?” he asked.

“Kazuo Ishiguro studied there. I admire his work.”

“I loved The Remains of the Day.”

Helen smiled at him. The clouds parted. Probably.

“Me too,” she said. “Are you in the arts as well?”

“English,” he told her. “Thorpe Abbotts. Working on my PhD.”

She was sufficiently engaged now that her friend moved off, giving them space.

“What’s your field?”

“American,” he admitted, and she got it, and she laughed. An American studying Americans in England. He shrugged, embracing her reaction.

“Who do you like?”

You. But she’d meant which authors.

“Twain,” Nash said, “and Hawthorne.”

Helen’s eyes lit up.

“Yes! My greatest influences are second-wave. You know, Betty Friedan, Gloria Steinem’s exposé on the Playboy Club, obviously…”

“Well, sure,” Nash said, just keeping up as she spoke in an impassioned rush.

“But I love the early feminists too. Hawthorne and Charlotte Perkins Gilman and Alcott.”

“Little Women!”

“It’s probably still my favourite novel of all time.”

For the first time, Nash took a careful, calculated pause, and he gave her a look. A Nash look. It was a look that usually communicated let’s get out of here, but this time, he wanted more. He’d worn the shirt.

“I’ve never met anybody who was as much of a Jo as you are,” he said, meaning it.

It was noisy, but he heard Helen’s pleased gasp. That she was actually an Amy was something Helen had not yet admitted to herself, and so Nash’s compliment hit its target with full effect. He watched as her lips parted—to thank him? to kiss him? to say some other unforeseen thing that would change his life even further? make him feel the earth move under his feet? did she like Carole King?—but there was a hard tug on his elbow.

Nash turned to find Bubbles standing there. He was the one person Nash wouldn’t snap at for interrupting, and the others knew that. He’d been sent.

“I am so sorry,” Bubbles said, addressing Helen. He was beginning to slur his S’s. “I gotta steal him back for a minute.”

“I swear my friends don’t speak for me,” Nash said as Bubbles physically dragged him away from the conversation. “I know it’s happened twice now, but they don’t!”

Was it worth it, to be removed from Helen’s side and brought back to the booth? Nash was surprised to feel that it almost was—almost—when his eyes landed on their smiling trio of champions. Gale had a cut on his cheek where a fist must’ve connected, or at least glanced off; John had the dark promise of a bruise below one eye; and Curt didn’t have a scratch on him. Nash laughed, shaking his head.

“What was he tryin’ to say though?” John was asking.

“Mumbling some shit about our hundreds,” Gale replied. “Our ‘bloody hundreds.’”

“Yeah,” Curt said. “But it was after I’d clocked him square in the mouth. That’s why he was lispin’. ‘Bloody hundredth,’ it sounded like.” He chuckled. “Bloody hundredth.”

“To the Bloody Hundredth,” Crosby proposed, raising his beer.

Rosie passed Nash his refilled glass, then lifted his own for the toast.

“Bloody Hundredth,” the rest of them intoned.

“And to Princess Diana,” Bubbles’ voice rang out when the rest of them had a glass to their lips. “Wherever she may be tonight.”

Crosby adopted an expression of deep solemnity, but Rosie ruined it by snorting into his water.

“Alright, men,” John addressed them. “Back into the booth. We got some fuckin’ drinking to do.”

“Spoken like a true Hemingway scholar,” Gale observed.

John gave him an affectionate smile.

“I try.”

[brokehorrorfan]

Death Machine will be released on Blu-ray on May 21 via Kino Lorber. Celebrating its 30th anniversary, the 1994 cyberpunk horror film features new cover art by Jean-Baptiste Chuat & Ronan-Wolf Chuat with the original poster on the reverse side.

Stephen Norrington (Blade, The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen) makes his feature directorial debut from his own script. Brad Dourif, Ely Pouget, William Hootkins, John Sharian, Martin McDougall, Andreas Wisniewski, and Richard Brake star. A young Rachel Weisz appears in a small role.

The two-disc set includes three cuts of the film: the 100-minute U.S. version, the 122-minute international version, and a newly created 106-minute director's cut. Special features are listed below.

Disc 1:

US cut (100 minutes) newly mastered in 2K from an interpositive

Audio commentary by Horror-Fix.com's James G. Chandler and Ash Hamilton (new)

US theatrical trailer

Newly created director's cut (106 minutes)

Audio commentary by writer/director Stephen Norrington and film historian Michael Felsher (new)

Technical audio commentary by writer/director Stephen Norrington (new)

Audio conversation with writer/director Stephen Norrington and creature creator Alec Gillis (new)

Isolated score

7.1 Surround and Lossless 2.0 Audio

Disc 2:

International cut (122 minutes)

Interview with composer Crispin Merrell

Interview with editor Paul Endacott

Interview with costume designer Stephanie Collier

Interview with producer Ray Burdis

Interview with co-producer Stuart St Paul

Artwork & design gallery

Behind-the-scenes still gallery

German theatrical trailer

Japanese theatrical trailer

Japanese behind-the-scenes promo

The year is 2003. Chaank Industries, ruthless world leaders in future weapons technology, hires a new Chief Executive, Hayden Cale. Cale soon uncovers a secret and unethical weapons project the company is involved in. Her first order of business is to shut it down. Her troubles just begin as she also tries to fire the company technological mastermind, Jack Dante—a childlike psychotic with a dark genius for exotic weapons design. Dante retaliates by unleashing into the corporate headquarters the Death Machine—the ultimate killing unit. A weapon that tracks its target by sensing fear and has the power to rip through walls with its hard steel strength and razor teeth. Cale must wage a desperate bloody battle with the terrifying force that has no mercy, no pity and no fear.

Pre-order Death Machine.

[trampled-and-melting]

so i'm working on. something.

this is about 2 days of work, color coded by district mostly for my own convenience. red dot next to a name means they don't exist in canon.

this is part-worldbuilding for my current wip, because i don't just want to stick with quell victors, and partly for fun.

it's. as canon-compliant as i could make it. some numbers are almost pure guesswork.

may use this for other fics in the future. i'm going district-by-district trying to nail down their personalities, and i'm already getting a little obsessed with my 30th victor, mercy chandler.