#shrapnel preview

[waleedgamil]

MOVIE : Shrapnel

watch full movie for free : https://bit.ly/4aytBsZ

[hameesstuff]

"No Man's Land"

Pairing: militiarycaptain!johnny x doctor!reader

Preview: Johnny Suh is a cold, hardened military captain and Y/N is the new camp doctor. Restrained emotions, quiet tension, and building pressure simmer under the surface until it finally snaps.

Is love in war forbidden?

Genre: Military Romance | Enemies to Lovers | Slow Burn | Angst | Smut

Word Count: ~2.6k

___________________________________________

PART I: Cold Front

The war didn’t wait for introductions.

Y/N barely had time to drop her duffel before she was pulled into the chaos of the forward camp. Blood, shouts, stretcher wheels grinding across concrete. She’d trained for trauma, for triage, for this kind of battlefield. But no amount of schooling prepared her for the way soldiers bled differently when they knew no one was coming to save them.

She pulled on gloves as a nurse ran a checklist beside her. “We lost two this morning. One’s still hanging on. Shrapnel to the chest.”

“And where’s the commanding officer?”

The nurse’s face faltered. “Captain Suh? You’ll know when you hear him.”

Y/N didn’t have to wait long.

“Out of the damn way!” came a clipped, steely bark from the far end of the tent. Heavy boots stormed across the floor like gunfire. “If he’s still breathing, he doesn’t need morphine yet.”

The voice matched the man. Tall, black fatigues soaked in blood and dust, expression carved in granite. Captain Johnny Suh didn’t speak so much as command the air around him. His eyes swept over her like a threat.

“You’re the new doctor.”

It wasn’t a question.

“I am.”

He didn’t offer a hand. “Stay out of my way, do your job, and don’t make promises to the dying. This isn’t a hospital. It’s a graveyard with lighting.”

With that, he turned on his heel and walked away.

Y/N stood in place, jaw tight.

So that was Johnny Suh.

The first week was hell.

Johnny barely acknowledged her unless it was to bark an order or correct her decision—always in front of others. He criticized her timing, questioned her triage priorities, and once rewrote an entire patient chart in front of her without so much as a word of explanation.

She hated the way he made her feel small.

Worse, she hated the way she noticed him when he wasn’t talking.

The precision of his movements. The unshakable calm in chaos. The bruises that bloomed under his jaw and disappeared before she ever got a chance to ask about them.

She tried not to care. She failed.

It came to a head during a night op.

A soldier was brought in—young, barely conscious, chest blown open. Y/N was already stitching through muscle when Johnny stormed into the room.

“Why the hell are you wasting sutures?” he snapped.

“He still has a pulse,” she shot back.

“Which won’t last long. He’s circling the drain.”

“I don’t abandon people just because they’re inconvenient.”

His eyes darkened. “This isn’t about your morals. It’s about resources.”

She stood, hands bloody. “You don’t get to decide who dies.”

He stepped closer, voice low. “Out here, someone has to.”

They were inches apart. Breathing hard. His eyes dropped to her mouth for half a second before he looked away like it stung.

“I’ll take responsibility for the call,” she said.

“You already have,” he muttered, and walked out.

The soldier lived.

Neither of them talked about it.

Weeks passed.

The insults softened. The silences stretched longer.

One night, she found him outside the med tent, sitting alone on an ammo crate, lighting a cigarette with shaking hands.

“You shouldn’t smoke that,” she said.

Johnny looked up. “You planning to write me up?”

“I’m not your enemy, Captain.”

He took a slow drag, eyes unreadable. “Then don’t try to be my friend.”

But she sat beside him anyway.

Neither of them spoke for a long time.

___________________________________________

PART II: Flashpoint

Rain hammered the tent roof like gunfire. It was late. Everyone else was asleep or pretending to be.

Y/N was in the infirmary finishing paperwork when the flap opened—and Johnny stepped in, soaked and bleeding from the temple.

“I’m fine,” he said, already brushing past her.

“You’re bleeding.”

“It’s a scratch.”

“Sit down.”

He hesitated—then did.

She cleaned the cut in silence. Close enough to smell leather, smoke, and the rain still clinging to his collar. His breath hitched once when her fingers brushed his jaw. She pretended not to notice. He didn’t pull away.

“You’re always alone,” she said quietly. “Even when you’re not.”

His eyes flicked up to hers. “So are you.”

The room suddenly felt too small.

He reached for her wrist, stopping her hand mid-motion. His voice was a whisper now—something more dangerous than shouting.

“You keep touching me like you don’t know what it does to me.”

Y/N’s heart pounded.

“Then tell me to stop.”

He didn’t.

Instead, he leaned in, breath warm against her mouth. His hand slipped to the back of her neck, tentative, then firm. She kissed him first—gentle at first, but it shattered quickly. Months of tension, denial, and quiet longing collided all at once.

He pushed her up against the infirmary wall, tongue slipping past her lips, hands greedy now. Hers tugged at the waistband of his fatigues, fingers trembling—not with fear, but with hunger.

It was desperate, messy, teeth and tongue and the kind of soft gasps you’d only make when you thought no one would ever hear them again.

His hands roamed beneath her shirt, slow but aching, reverent and needy at once.

“God, I hate how much I want this,” he whispered against her throat.

“Then don’t stop,” she breathed.

And he didn’t.

Not until they’d lost all reason and found something that, for once, didn’t feel like war...

___________________________________________

Feedback is welcome :)

[amybabyssims2]

I'm running out of men's hairstyles at the moment so I thought I'd throw a female hairstyle out here. In my colors except for the brown which is Shrapnel. Credits and preview in file.

DOWNLOAD I SFS

[galahadwilder]

Never Giving Up On You (Blisters and Bedrock)

Chapter 3: All the Ghosts I Carry

This is a preview. Read the full chapter on my AO3!

_

The other Powder looks wrong in so many ways.

She's skinny, unhealthy skinny, in a way that makes Powder thankful that Ekko and Claggor are always reminding her to eat while she's working. The girl seems to be practically starving herself, leading Powder to wonder if she's got anyone in her universe who cares about her, who takes care of her. She knows so little about this girl, this other her.

Some things, though, are readable on her skin. The network of scars across her arms and exposed midriff speak of shrapnel, of bullet wounds, of electrical burns and worse. The prosthetic middle finger on her left hand indicates a brutality that Powder has never known, never had to fear, not since the Peace began.  The tattoos on her arm are old, older than the scars, and Powder wonders who made them for her, and why that person hasn't been feeding her. Or clothing her—all of her clothes are torn, the wrong size, either made for a child or hanging off her like she stole them from someone much, much larger.

Worse, the girl looks sick in every way that someone can look sick. Her skin, instead of Powder's healthy peach, looks almost gray, like all the blood has clotted within her veins. Her excessive mascara does a poor job of hiding the exhaustion bruises under her eyes, the emptiness of her gaze.

Her eyes, though, are the worst part. Powder's eyes are blue. They've always been blue. While Vi inherited their mother's stormy grays, Vander always said that Powder had Connol's eyes. Her father's eyes. This other girl, this... off version of her, has eyes of an impossible sickly pink. They shouldn't look like that. No eyes should look like that.

"Are you real?" the Other Powder rasps, holding her gaze unblinking, with a stare that chills Powder's bones. She's hunched, tense, like she's about to explode into violence at any second.

"I'm real," Powder says. She knows full well how this must look to the Other Powder, knows exactly what she would assume in the same situation. She holds out one hand, palm up. "Here, touch me."

The Other Powder leans forward without moving her feet and sniffs, looking for all the world like a feral cat. Then, much to Powder's surprise, she takes her hand in both hands and licks, rough tongue running up her palm.

"Ugh!" Powder yelps, yanking her hand back. "What the hell?"

The Other Powder smirks. "Just saying hi," she says.

She's starting to understand why Ekko was so scared of her. Everything about the Other Powder screams unstable, like she's a tightly-coiled spring waiting to erupt and stab someone with the end of the curved wire. For the first time, Powder notices the bizarre gun strapped to the Other Powder's leg. How many times has she pulled that trigger? How many people has she used it on?

"I met your Ekko," Powder says. "He seems like a good guy."

The Other Powder rolls her eyes, turning and pacing, flickering between spaces of the Anomaly as her body seems to break down, then snap back into place. "The Boy Savior," she sneers. "Of course perfect, prissy me would like him."

Powder grinds her teeth. "Powder—" she begins—

Only for Other Powder's eyes to snap back to her, her head lolling backward to look. "Jinx," she snaps. "Powder's been dead for years. I’m Jinx.”

You're just a jinx, child Milo says in her ear.

The last thing he'd said to her before Vi—before Vi—

"Why would you willingly call yourself that?"

The Other Po—Jinx—spreads her arms like a circus ringmaster. "Because it's what we are!" she says. "Everyone's favorite bad luck charm, who won't even have the decency to die when she's supposed to!"

Powder gets a sinking feeling. This girl cannot be her. The amount of things that would have to go wrong in her life... the very thought is staggering.

“…Jinx,” Powder says, her voice quiet, “what happened to you?”

Jinx laughs, and there's an unsettling, mirthless hyena quality to her laugh—before, suddenly, she cuts off mid-cackle, her expression dead, her eyes boring into Powder's. "I killed Vander," she says, her voice flat.

Powder's eyes widen as her heart seizes in her chest. Vander? Kind, gentle, fatherly Vander, who'd held her when she had nightmares, who'd opened his home to her when she had nowhere else to go, who'd given her every birthday cake and every kiss goodnight, who always told her he was proud of her and he believed in her, and Jinx had just... killed him?

"And Mylo. And Claggor," the emaciated girl continues. There's no emotion in her voice. It's like she's not even there, not even present in her own body as she speaks.

For a moment, Powder can't breathe, can't find her voice. Losing Vi was hard enough—she doesn't know how she could've survived losing her brothers too. She can see it, Mylo's frantic joy and Claggor's gentle kindness, snuffed out in an instant, taken by flames of electric blue, and her body hollows out at the thought. And for it to be her own fault?

"...Why?" she whispers, through tears, desperately wrapping her arms around her stomach as if it'll stop her insides from escaping. "Why would you...?"

Jinx's eerie, inhuman eyes—previously blank and empty—lock on hers. "Because that's what we do, Pow-pow," she sings. "We kill everyone we love."

"No," Powder whispers.

"It's our fault," Jinx continues in her unnerving sing-song. "Always our fault."

"Your fault," Vi echoes, blood streaming down her face.

"No!" Powder screams, wildly flinging a fist through Vi's face. "It wasn't my—it wasn't my fault!"

Jinx grins savagely. "You hear 'em too?" she says. "Who'd you kill?"

"I didn't kill Vi!" Powder shrieks, and for a moment, she feels her face split into a thousand faces, all screaming at once. "It was an accident!"

Every one of the thousand colors around Jinx suddenly bleeds pink, the same pink as her eyes, and suddenly Jinx is standing in front of her, lifting Powder by a thousand necks forced down into one by her inhuman grip. "You... killed Vi?" Jinx says with a broken voice, naked anguish raw on her face.

Powder struggles in Jinx's grip, barely able to breathe—but part of her notes that Jinx's tears are the same glowing pink as her irises. What—what is she?

“Your Vi,” Powder gasps, scrabbling at the hand on her neck. “She’s… alive?”

There's an indescribable pain in Jinx's eyes, one Powder can't even begin to understand. “…yeah,” Jinx says, blinking away poison tears. “She’s… she’s happy.” She looks down, opening her hand, releasing Powder to drop to whatever surface they're standing on. “I hope she’s happy,” she mumbles.

Everything in Powder stops.

She'd been right. Ekko had known that Vi, that strong, brave woman he'd painted on the walls that Powder had never gotten to see. Vi, somewhere, somehow, had lived.

"Does it matter?" Vi says. "I'm still dead."

No. No, her sister—she cannot stay dead. Powder has spent a month working on this, she's barely slept, she's barely eaten, Vi has been in her ear more and more every day, and it has to have been for something.

"Please," Powder says, climbing to her knees, clasping her hands, begging. "Please, I have to—I have to see her."

Jinx stares down at her, horror in those monstrous, yet somehow innocent eyes.

"Please." Powder sobs. "Bring me back with you. Carry me to Zaun. I need—" Her voice breaks. "I need to see my sister."

"I'm not going back," Jinx says. "I'm not taking you with me. Weren't you listening?" She grabs Powder by the chin. "We kill everything we touch," she growls. "If you want her to stay alive, never ask me to go back again."

Powder feels her chance, maybe her only chance, slipping away. She has to get to Ekko's Zaun. She has to find her sister. She has to get past Jinx, she has to know. She has to know.

She has to see Vi.

"Have fun in your universe," Jinx says, turning, striding towards the edge of the anomaly. "Try not to fuck it up."

"Jinx!" Powder screams, trying to stop her alternate before she vanishes. "Jinx!"

Oh, hell. She's not stopping. Jinx is ignoring her, charging off—she's going to have to do something drastic—

"Felicia!" Powder screams.

The effect on both of them is immediate.

Powder finds herself standing on the bridge again, fire and gas and blood, so small and so scared, Vi's hands covering her eyes, and Powder's heart stops.

But, however bad she has it, Jinx feels it worse. The emaciated girl immediately collapses to her knees and shrieks, a sound of raw and bloody agony tearing itself from her chest. She starts scrabbling, desperately, at the spars of magic that pass by, but each rainbow spike passes through her fingers like ghosts.

Powder forces down the bile in her throat, the rock in her stomach, and drags herself to Jinx, wrapping her arms around the other girl. "Come on," she whispers. "Dear friend, across the river..."

Jinx's fist smashes into her cheek with astounding force, launching Powder a full three feet and filling her vision with stars. When she looks up, Jinx is standing over her, bizarre gun in her hand.

"You're not my fucking mother," Jinx says. "And nobody gets to use my real name. Not even you."

Powder grins weakly, even though the very act sends daggers through the cheek Jinx struck. "Got you to stop, didn't I?" she says.

Jinx glares at her. "You're just like Vi," she says.

Then she jams her gun into Powder's gut and pulls the trigger.

Electricity courses through Powder's body like copper-hot fire, her muscles all seizing at once, dropping her to the nonexistent ground as every limb locks up in agony. She barely sees Jinx sneer at her as she turns and leaps out of the Anomaly-space, as the whole space begins to collapse.

The last thing she thinks before she blacks out is, Her gun was nonlethal?

@embershroud108 @mellkellyismyhero @echo-has-queries @citizensun @unhingedaccuracy @something-broken-failing-rotting @chaoticpinetree @jaijeijayjei @robylovi @darlingitsagathaharkness

[simstationdance]

Anto Patricia converted for male sims - 16 natural colors + volatile recolor base

(shown above in Shrapnel)

I guess now you could call it Anto... Patrick...? sorry-

AGES: CM-EM POLYCOUNT: ~11k INFO: - Two families, grey linked to black. - All files are tooltipped and compressed. - Mesh included. - Animated. - Turnaround (shown in Volatile)

The volatile recolor file is located in the custom bin.

SIMFILESHARE | SIMBLR.CC

CREDITS: Microscotch, PlatinumAspiration, Rudhira, Io, Pooklet, DigitalAngels, Celestialspritz (thank you for helping me out 🥺) and uh me too I guess-

Extra info and long winded backstory under the cut.

Okay so, you might remember that a while back I asked on Garden of Shadows if anyone would be willing to convert this hair for male sims. I usually try to do hyper-specific stuff like this by myself, but in this case I felt like I needed outside help because a. I didn't know how to use Milkshape at all because it had been a solid year since I last tried to use it, and b. I was afraid of Milkshape because I once attempted 4t2 conversions and it went so catastrophically wrong that the bones/joints mesh explosion monsters haunt my nightmares to this day.

But despite that, I decided to start learning how to use Milkshape again, mostly to make clothes - minor things like shoe swaps and small edits. But also I guess for this too. Not that I'm complaining, I liked the learning process, and I like to make things gender neutral. It turns out that, as a beginner, editing pre-existing meshes is significantly easier than trying to create a new one. Who would've guessed.

The hair gave me a bit of trouble, especially around the ears, but with some finagling as well as advice and assistance from some kind souls, it now looks tucked behind them, like the original. The child mesh is unchanged, because CM and CF might as well always be CU.

I didn't retexture the female version of Anto Patricia, and I also only did it in a handful of natural colors (the ones I use in my own game), because at the end of the day this was for my own use for the one (1) sim pictured above in the preview. There would've been binned unnaturals too but the conversion really was just for This One Guy and he's not really a hair dye kind of person.

But I included a base texture, and a bodyshop recolor package for the male mesh, if anyone wants to add more colors or retexture it or whatever. The mapping is the same for both so you can use the texture/colors on the female mesh as well.

If I get more energy in the future, I'll attempt to do the 33 colors in my Io/Pooklet swatch and possibly a Remi V2 textured version for both. For now though, this exists.

[sapphicscholar]

A/N: happy holidays! For the first time in over 2 years I’m back in the supercat tag thanks to the @supersantafemslash gift exchange! Be sure to check out all the works and leave the authors and artists some love in the comments!

Fic Preview:

Standing amidst the rubble of Airforce One and stepping over metal shrapnel with Cat Grant clutched in her arms, all Kara can think is: Thank Rao.

The possibility that the president is dead will hit her later.

For now, what matters is that Cat is safe. Shaken—not that she’d ever admit it, even under the threat of torture—but alive.

Kara blinks down at Cat. Her fingers flex, pushing ever so slightly into the soft flesh of Cat’s oh-so-human body as if to convince herself that the woman is real and safe and alive. Still standing at the end of the world. Again.

“Cat,” Kara whispers. A piece of metal crunches under Kara’s boot as she slowly lowers Cat back to solid ground, and it’s only then that the realization of exactly what has happened washes over her with a sickening wave of guilt. Guilt, yes. Not regret—never regret; not when the alternative would have been stumbling through the wreckage looking for any sign of Cat’s small, lifeless body. Still… “The president,” Kara gasps, her eyes scanning the area.

A piece of the plane bearing the seal of the American presidency rises off the ground and out of the smoldering ashes, and Kara feels her eyes widen at the sight of some alien in President Marsdin’s clothing dusting herself off as her face transforms back into the one Kara thought she had known.

“I suppose I owe you an explanation.”

[mxtwister]

Same Old Story - Part 1 of Discordant Days

Chapter 3: The Stranger Pt. 3 - Discordia Concors

Rating: Teen and Up

Characters: Player Character, Kayleigh, Morgante, Eugene

Warnings: Mild Gore and Body Horror Elements

Summary: Backed into a corner by a horrifically powerful Archangel, Kayleigh and The Stranger make a last-ditch attempt to save their lives, and do it together.

Read on Ao3

Preview under the cut

Oh no, you won’t dare stop and stare again.

There was a bang and a whistle. Air like the edge of a blade dashed across white static flesh–if it could even be called that–while soda-pop acid spray liquefied stone and metal until it sagged into open wounds in the earth. The station was dying. It’s master, too.

But not quickly enough.

Your fingers and toes have turned ice cold.

“Over here!” Kayleigh’s cry pierced the nearly unbearable pitch surrounding them, a sound that could not be heard but felt in the brain like a tight, twinning wire. She swung around the Archangel’s head, taunting it, splitting through its barely-parted fingers when it swung its hands at her and curving delicately around the shrapnel still hovering in the air like little fighter jets awaiting their commands. Her wounded wing faltered. Little spits of blood dappled her still-booming stereos.

“Quick, while it’s distracted!” She didn’t need to say it aloud for The Stranger to understand. They knew it just as they knew it wouldn’t be distracted for long.

This thing wasn’t fighting for its life. No, despite its broken, half-scattered form and the air of death that lingered out from between the cracks in its skull, they knew that survival was far from its mind. It wasn’t fighting because it had to. It was fighting because it wanted to.

Oh no, there’s nothing up your sleeve this time. With all of my might I’ll shut your eyes.

When it twisted around, grabbing at the air where Kayleigh nearly was, The Stranger seized the chance and ran in close enough to score a hot streak across the side of its face. The Archangel reared back, a fracture blossoming where the blow had been struck spewing black ooze–inchor?–that dripped down in a long, swelling tear that The Stranger knew instinctively would burn if they touched it, feeling the way it sizzled the air. Its lips curled, a black-bordered snarl of anger. Its hand tore away from Kayleigh and came down towards them. They lunged out of the way, but just as they felt the wall of rushing air close in behind them a scalding, electric agony seared up their spine and they realized with a stab of horror that it had caught them by the tail like some kind of sickly humorous mousetrap.

You can’t climb these stairs, they’re far too steep for you

The Stranger scrambled desperately against the slippery, fluid-stained ground, failing to find purchase, their claws scratching uselessly until they were cracked and raw and their own blood mingled with that surrounding them. A well of iron taste rose in their mouth, their lungs. All they saw was black. Black blood, black shadow, black shards pulling off and away from the Archangel’s skin, terrifically sharp and all angled right at them.

CODA MORGANA

Pack your bags  and say

A final surge of adrenaline ripped through them; they wrenched themself free of its grasp and leapt towards what they hoped–prayed–was safety.

goodnight.

[eponymous-rose]

So I've been rewatching Star Trek: TNG as comfort TV during/post-move and just got to Yesterday's Enterprise, which I remember liking well enough, but man, it's really unusual in the context of the rest of these early episodes. For one thing, the violence shown is a lot more stark than we've seen in the show thus far - Riker with his throat cut, Captain Garrett with the metal shrapnel in her head, lingering close-ups on dead faces. It's dark and moody and the "happy ending" resolution (as far as we know at this point, anyway) is saving the few survivors of a brutal battle, patching them up, and then shipping them straight back into that battle to be killed.

Given the show's not-so-great track record with its female characters, it's weirdly refreshing that we get a re-do for Tasha Yar. And yeah, she falls in love with a dude and goes off with him on his ship, but she was ready to say goodbye to him and that would've been that - what finally prompts her to step willingly into the meat-grinder is the realization that she had an "empty death" (Guinan had some really raw lines in this one) in the other timeline, and that now her death can have some meaning. It's nicely done, if a bit of a self-flagellating "mea culpa" on the writers' parts.

The alternate timeline isn't the gleeful, campy evil of the Mirrorverse, it's just an exhausted grind through the final days of a losing war. Lots of little touches show how desperate things have become - Wesley's been fast-tracked to a full ensign, Picard is a tactician first and foremost (he takes officers' opinions under advisement, yes, but he's also keeping from them the inevitable, imminent surrender), the bridge is laid out so the captain is front and center with everyone else in the background. As a contrast with the actual Enterprise's chill 90s living room lounge vibe, it's pretty striking. It's like a sneak preview into the bleak and war-heavy sci-fi that would start saturating pop culture a decade or so later, and then it's a firm rejection of that premise - "This isn't a ship of war. It's a ship of peace."

I have a long, long history with TNG - DS9 is my favorite Trek on balance, but TNG is encoded in my DNA. From around ages 3 and 5, my brother and I were watching and rewatching TNG constantly. (My parents would laugh over the fact that my brother didn't know how to read yet but had memorized the episode titles of the first couple seasons.) We had pajamas. We scoured every garage sale and had a giant metal can full of action figures and phasers and tricorders and ships and even, shockingly, that transporter toy that made things disappear using mirrors.

The tactile experience of those toys is burned in my brain - the loose nacelles on the Enterprise model, the click of the left phaser button, the little hole at the bottom of the Borg cube that we once stuck a pencil in and had the tip of the graphite snap off and rattle around forevermore. My brother and I played incessantly with our action figures, to the point where most of them had the paint at least partially rubbed off - we created hundreds and hundreds and hundreds of new episodes over the years. The first time I ever used a touchscreen was at some sort of Star Trek exhibition in Canada in the early 90s that we stumbled across on our way to visit my grandparents.

I'm always fascinated by how kids interact with fictional media - my brother and I were so young, but we obviously knew Star Trek wasn't real. Except... I just always assumed that important people watched it, realized "well, that seems nice", and were actively working to make that future happen. I was (perhaps a little embarrassingly) older when I realized that no, we weren't gonna be out there on science missions to the stars during my lifetime. At least, not in an Enterprise kind of way.

At any given time, there's just this Star Trek filter over how I experience the world - when I got to go to college thanks to scholarships, I had that weighty feeling of responsibility and awe that came with daydreaming about Starfleet Academy. I saw my career shift from the gold of engineering to the blue of science to the red of command. And the older I get, the more I appreciate a show that, for all its flaws, managed to make a utopia interesting and complex.

Because TNG was such a phenomenon when I was a little kid in the early 90s, a lot of my family relationships also have TNG tied up in them. I remember going to my grandparents' apartment and my uncle showing us a fan magazine about the show. I remember another uncle who didn't really "get it" but gifted me and my brother astronaut ice cream because he knew we liked that space stuff. I remember watching most episodes curled up on the couch or my parents' bed with my brother and my mom and dad. When Mom got sick and we talked about death, I remember the way she wistfully brought up the Nexus from Generations or how she hoped she could see the next season of Picard (she didn't, sadly, but she really enjoyed that first season). Hell, one of the first real bonding moments I had with my otherwise hyper-professional and businesslike PhD advisor was when she made a TNG joke, I laughed at it, and she said, "I just love that show, everyone's so nice to each other."

It's just been a lot of fun coming back to this show, is all. I think I periodically forget how much it's affected me and the extent to which it was a fundamental, formative influence. While a lot of it either hasn't aged well or fails to hold up to modern media analysis, so much of it is still lovely, and occasionally there are these moments of shockingly good storytelling.

Star Trek good.

[adriwatchestoku]

Gavv ep32

Monday Gavv with the menace friend!

also here, the Kamen Rider Buddy tax

"the pudding jerk" Hanto

"Sachika just wordlessly pulling out the chainsaw again"

where did we leave off? ah yes, trauma

the fucking foliage in hanto's hair

OH SHIT, that looks gnarly

"yeah that was some uh. shrapnel"

I'm a little surprised Jeebh and Lizel don't have their own part in the op

Nyelv what are you up to

huh. you were looking for dente. i repeat, what are you up to?

Okay, well… Lizel, you are fucking weird. You're pretty awesome

Oh Lango has to be in the field now huh

Oh Lizel definitely knows who Shouma is

"it's an umbrella not a gunlance but i wouldn't be surprised if it was also a gunlance"

"the love that crushes like a mace. I see"

Lakia do you… not know about Sae?

Getting so pissed about Comel

Fuck, Kohei is attractive

"just the pat on the shoulder"

Yeah, he doesn't know about Sae until Hanto told him here. Damn.

When Hanto isn't dealing with Suga he really is the sweetest

It could be the grantee that killed comel, or just someone who uses a similar weapon, or just a reason to traumatize you more

HANTO. YOU'RE GETTING UNDRESSED??? IN FRONT OF LAKIA???

Dente. please

oh no. hi nyelv

"come work for us again" "FUCK. NO. … oh shit I just put a target on my back"

Oh that's a cool shot

Okay so the Gavv is also "eating" the gochizo, I didn't notice that detail before

OH DEAR

"the face on this guys reminds me of one of the blade suits"

Lakia always playing with his hair/tentacles

God, the side by side henshin. Important part in any relationship

"Again, more narrow/unusual locations for a fight, which I continue to appreciate"

"Hanto's expertise in whatever is lying around"

I love what these tight locations have done for fight choreo

"every time lakia gets angry I get jumpscared because he's usually so low effort"

I really hope this isn't the guy that killed Comel, if only for more Lakia arc

"the enemy out of mp!"

"christ, Lakia. Again, 0 to 100"

Hi Shouma you missed these two actually getting along

"yeah it's a normal agent, he's not having to do much"

"shouma's priorities where they always are"

THAT'S A SMILE

There is someone on the cast or crew that REAAAAAAAAAAAAALLY likes pudding.

"Hanto knows full well it's bait but will fall for it every time."

"why does the boss lady get such a sincere apology?" "because she doesn't get on my nerves and out of the ones I want to make out with here, she's nice." "Wait, repeat that last part"

Again, a Stomach in such bright areas is weird

interesting preview…

[picturesofthegoneworlds]

Preview for Intertwined, chapter 14

Laudna holds the freshly de-scaled fish under the surface of the running river, its underside slit open from gill to tail, dyeing the water around it in crimson tendrils that are shaped by its current, decorated by errant shining scales, motion fast and twisting so it creates shapes more akin to bolts than clouds, magic-

Blood strikes away from her pallid skin; carries down the river back towards their camp nestled in the alcove of giant tree roots.

Laudna had insisted that Imogen stay on her bedroll that morning, to try and get the rest adequate to fully heal-over the puncture under her ribs. She woke with no nightmares to report, but all of the tossing and turning Laudna watched her conduct in her sleep had her grimacing when her own slumber had abandoned her, fumbling for what to do and ending up paralysed within arm’s length of Imogen in her own bedroll.

Last night was-

well.

Laudna had made a choice. Exposed herself, past how much she already did so by travelling with a telepath

That still felt remarkable in and of itself (Imogen is remarkable).

The freshly removed fish guts on the bank of the river

Laudna drops half of them into the stream organ by organ, leaves the other a platter on the floor for whom or whatever finds them.

Out of innards

Torn and bare, bared, raw. Imogen had seen the molars through the ripped flesh in Laudna’s mother’s cheeks, had last night seen her attempt to just peel her whole face off, remove the ability to be a doppelganger for an elf with tan and pink skin.  

Mourning. Veiling. What she had or what she had lost. She was never sure if that was for one or the other or both.

Either way, it was inspiring. She kind of enjoys it, actually, now (especially now. Excited, even, at how she perhaps has an audience to appreciate her fine outfitting)

Laudna will make them both breakfast. Fish fried in butter with chickweed - she had seen a fair amount tangled in the vines.

Moss, she should collect and dry out more moss. A lot more.

Silt is disturbed on the calmer slight-bend at the bank of the river.

A larger fish with rough and warted skin like a toad crawls out on hind legs from under flat rocks that are surely slick with algae and moss.

Rivers of red

It has whiskers like a cat fish, though much longer, must have noticed the disturbance in the water with such, using them as rods to lasso swimming organs into its gullet.  

Laudna had scooped the offal out of the clean line of dissection she had made, scraped against fleshy ribs with the tips of her talons.

She could have plunged a finger into the tear in Imogen’s side, the gap was accommodating enough. Could have pulled out her intestines in one long string and gathered them like rope under her arm-

Not that she would

Someone else, maybe

Maybe under their rule

(she can’t have her. she can’t give her the chance.)

It feels like heartburn

It’s not warming

Imogen's breath came out as mist when she stood in Laudna’s vicinity. Veil covering, buffeting the touch between Imogen's hand and her shrapneled jaw. Warm flesh on bone. Delightful. Laudna does not think on how bone should be able to receive the feel of the touch without the nerve endings.  

Perhaps she muses on it for a moment. Magic.

(you can read the previous chapters here)

[yes-i-am-happyaspie]

Sicktember Fic Preview Time!

This fic uses prompts:

24 Tales From the Waiting Room

26 Heart Condition/Cardiac Arrest 

Alt 1 Hospital Bed

With a glint in his eye, Peter grabbed a hold of a nearby support pillar and ascended towards the lofty ceiling. He planted one hand, then a foot, followed by his other two limbs. Then he gradually crawled his way over to Mr. Stark’s desk. He could barely contain his delight as he suddenly disengaged his sticky prowess and dropped to the floor directly in front of Mr. Stark.

A loud gasp escaped Mr. Stark’s mouth as he reached up to clutch his chest.“Christ. Pete!” he shouted, sending Peter into a fit of laughter.  He sucked in a harsh breath and rubbed his knuckles over his sternum. “Are you trying to kill me? I have a heart condition!”

The dramatic reaction was exactly what Peter was hoping for. Something amusing to break away from the monotony classes and school work. He reigned in his cackling just enough to speak. “Don’t worry Mr. Stark.” He raised his hands in a placating manner. “Fear-induced stress cardiomyopathy is like- super-duper rare.”

Mr. Stark released an extended breath and leaned back his chair. He closed his eyes for a few seconds, then asked, “How would you know?”

Peter grinned. “I looked it up.” 

“Why?” Mr. Stark demanded, his face twisted into a look of combined horror and distrust. “Why would you look that up, Pete? Are you plotting more jump scares in my future?”

“No.” Peter smiled. As much as Mr. Stark liked to joke about having a heart condition, the truth was, he did have one. It was a result of the shrapnel that had pierced his body, the arc reactor he’d embedded in his chest, and the eventual removal of both. Although, he’d never admit those were the reasons he’d started researching cardiac health. He shrugged his shoulders and rocked back on his heels. “I just like to know things.”

[amybabyssims2]

In my standard colors except for the brown which is Shrapnel. Made by @spell-bloom. credits and preview in file. DOWNLOAD I SFS

[fandomworld9728]

The Life of the Morningstars: Chapter 20 Preview!

"No! No, no, nonono! Fuck!" Even in his full demon form and using all his strength, Lucifer couldn't break a door, a wall, nothing. They were trapped. "I can't believe they warded the Embassy!"

"Lulu, it's okay. We'll find a way out of here." Beelzebub tried to reassure her baby brother. "Would it make you feel any better to see how they're doing in the battle? I know our precious little niece and her friends are probably kicking ass right now."

It honestly would help calm his nerves to see that his daughter and her ragtag group he had come to love and care for were faring well against Adam and his army. But he couldn't extend his reach past the wards on the building. Unless... "Someone pull up a live fed of the Exterminations on your phone and use your magic to project! Someone is always covering it!" 

Walking over to one of the tables, Lucifer sat down with the other three sins as Asmodeus had done as he requested. Carefully watching, he pulled out his own phone to make a call. He hated asking them to come out in the middle of the Extermination, especially now that the treaty was broken, but they needed out of this building.

So far so good. Seems like Alastor had put up a barrier, keeping any more of the angels to get near them so they could take down the ones already caught inside of it. That creepy bastard was coming through better than the king could have hoped. Wait. Were those...?

"Uh... Luci? Why are there tentacles coming out of that barrier?"

"Yeah. That's something I'd expect to see from Ozzie, mate."

"That's really cool though. They're wielding weapons. I bet that guy is fun to party with."

Well, it was effective at the very least. And very on brand for the radio demon. "I doubt a guy from the 1930's is gonna wanna party the same way you do, Bee." 

"Come and get some!"

"Eat shrapnel fuckers!"

"....Those two on the other hand might be more up your alley."

"Is that Angel Dust?!"

"Of course, all three of you know who he is!" Who knew Angel Dust was so popular in the other rings? Maybe he could get the spider demon a new job with Ozzie after the battle.

[celestialorcas]

Im gonna go insane Currently in the process of writing a new d&d campaign, and trying to browse pinterest for the right architectural vibes im looking for

*trying* is the key word cause half of the times i find the right vibe, i click to enhance the image to look at it from more than the little preview and see the dreaded "AI MODIFIED" tag

Like love that theyre pointed out now at least but i stg if theyre flagged then wheres the system to just filter them out, i NEVER wanna see them, ever ever.

Am i missing a setting thatll fix everything, or do I just need to painstakingly train my pinterest feed so that it understands if I see "AI" then I want to explode into shrapnel A firefox extension would also be nice but alas

[swldx]

BBC 0408 19 Oct 2024

12095Khz 0359 19 OCT 2024 - BBC (UNITED KINGDOM) in ENGLISH from TALATA VOLONONDRY. SINPO = 55445. English, dead carrier s/on @0359z then ID, pips, and newsroom preview. @0401z World News anchored by Chris Berrow. § An Israeli air strike has killed at least 33 people including 21 women at a refugee camp in northern Gaza, the strip's Hamas-run authorities say. There was no immediate comment on the reported attack at Jabalia from Israel, whose forces have been besieging the densely-populated camp for weeks. The killing of Hamas leader Yahya Sinwar this week raised hopes in some quarters of an end to the war but the group's deputy leader said Hamas would only be strengthened. The pathologist in Israel who conducted his autopsy told US media he had been shot in the head. Dr Chen Kugel also found injuries to his right forearm from "missile fire", a damaged left leg from "fallen masonry" and shrapnel injuries. § Kamala Harris and Donald Trump have exchanged personal insults while campaigning in Michigan for the upcoming US election. The Democratic candidate mocked her Republican rival for avoiding debates and cancelling interviews. § Cuba is experiencing a nationwide blackout after its main energy plant failed, knocking out power to its 10 million people. Its power grid collapsed at around 11:00 (15:00 GMT) on Friday, the energy ministry announced on social media. Grid officials said they did not know how long it would take to restore power. § The UN Security Council has voted unanimously to expand its arms embargo in Haiti because of grave concerns over extremely high levels of gang violence. The embargo will extend to all types of arms and ammunition in the Caribbean country, which faces multiple challenges. § Colombian land dedicated to the cultivation of coca leaves, a raw ingredient for cocaine, jumped 10% last year to reach the largest area in over two decades, a report by the United Nations Office on Drugs and Crime (UNODC) found on Friday. § Sydney beaches that were closed earlier this week when thousands of black balls washed ashore are set to reopen this weekend, with NSW Maritime deeming it safe to do so. On Tuesday, hundreds of tar balls, which occur when oil combines debris, water and other pollutants, washed along Sydney's coastline, first appearing at Coogee Beach. These tar balls have since been confirmed as a mixture of chemicals consistent with those found in cleaning and cosmetic products as well as fuel oil. § Liam Payne's father arrived in Buenos Aires on Friday, just two days after the former One Direction star plunged to his death from a hotel balcony. Geoff Payne identified his son's body at the morgue, as well as visited the prosecutor's office to arrange plans to return the pop star's remains to England, authorities said. @0406z "The Newsroom" begins. Backyard gutter antenna w/MFJ-1020C active antenna (used as a preamplifier/preselector), JRC NRD-535D, 250kW, beamAz 315°, bearing 63°. Received at Plymouth, United States, 15359KM from transmitter at Talata Volonondry. Local time: 2259.

[theivorybilledwoodpecker]

Had to google this. Never have I seen a less sympathy-inducing headline.

For anyone curious, it's called "Shrapnel and Sturgeon: Making Caviar Under the Rockets in Israel."

I stopped subscribing to the NYT after they fired a writer for supporting Palestine, but from what little the preview lets me read, it seems like it's about the woes of a lsraeli caviar farmer near the Israel-Lebanon border who needs to deal with Hezbollah rockets. And like, I can't read far enough to tell what type of person the article is about. Obviously, not all Israelis are progenocide, and of course I don't feel like all of them deserve to have to be in danger.

But the fact is that Israel is the main aggressor in the war with Hezbollah and the Palestinian genocide. The rockets are being sent in retaliation for Israel's attacks on Lebanon.

The israeli socialist caviar farmer is experiencing troubles according to the new York Times