#multi-layered defense

[noob2networking]

Firewall Friday: Network Security - Protecting Your Network from Threats

Welcome to Firewall Friday, where we dive into the exciting world of network security with a touch of humor and relatable analogies. In this edition, we’ll explore the importance of network security and how firewalls act as the guardians of your network, protecting it from potential threats. Get ready to embark on a hilarious and informative journey as we use common analogies, playful emojis, and…

[psychelis-new]

pick a pile: "What a beautiful flower you are"

take a breath and choose the photo or number that calls you the most to read a few words reminding you of how strong, worthy and important you are through every step of your journey. remind yourself of how flower can stand up in the rain and how they may grow through concrete. no matter what is going on, remember that at the end of the day you are always the best, strongest and most valuable flower around at any given time. you can't compare with anyone else, cause you're unique.

don’t take the reading too seriously. only take what resonates with you and leave the rest. if you're not called by any pile, let this reading slid as it may not hold messages for you. if you're called by more than one pile, there may be messages in each of those piles. remember that is a general reading and some things may not resonate with you. energies can change and readings are based on present ones (as you read); you're always in charge of your life. readings do not substitute real life experience nor professionals/doctors advices.

(photos found on unsplash)

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1 2 3 - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ - ’ -

pile 1

You make beautiful things grow around whatever negative may happen. You find the positive side in anything that happens and know how to start all over again from anything, trying to make it better. You welcome and nurture what hurts, you transform it in seeds that one day will give life to beautiful flowers just like you. I think you help a lot especially people around you in this process of seeing and finding a positive side, a different side from which to look at what happens and what has happened. You give new povs and new life to scraps and past (it could also be something you like to do creatively/practically, btw). I think those coming in touch with you are deeply changed and inspired by you. You probably forget to use this beautiful habit of yours for yourself too. Please, include yourself into this. You're as deserving of beautiful things as others. Nurture your own pain too, and do anything you can to make it grow into something beautiful and bright as you. And don't close off from others, don't hide your pain from those who'd love to help you. Let them do it for you. You deserve as much as you give away.

song: obsessed | mariah carey (don't be overly obsessed in helping others to the point of codependency, help yourself as well)

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pile 2

You may have experienced some difficult relationships (eg. family, love, friends, colleagues...) and now you kind of buildt a multi-layered wall around your heart so that people won't be able to make you suffer/betray you again. And yes it's hard for people to get in and hurt you but also to love you. And yes it may make you feel strong and in control but I think you may be also struggling a lot because of this. Being so overprotective of yourself, despite ofc understandable (it's a defense mechanism), is making you feel lonely too because it's blocking your connections from growing. You've been through a lot and you're still here but it's not because of your walls that you made it through. It's because of the love that pulse inside of you. Have a talk with your emotions, with your wounded ego, and realize that not everyone is here to hurt you. You're very much hurting yourself first by not letting others in in fear of something that may never happen. You can survive anything, you can defend yourself, you can call people out or ask for clarifications. It's not you the naive/"wrong" person if you trust others and they let you down or betray you. You cannot control what others do with what you give them, nor you're responsible of/guilty for that. Come back to you, master your emotions.

song: pure shores | all saints

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pile 3

I think at times you're confident and well but other times you let your self doubt come in between and make you fear you're saying or doing something bad? Ruining something or the day of someone else? Like you end up falling easily and fast into this negative mental pattern of being useless and inherently "bad" (guilty? unworthy?). I think it's a matter of growing acquainted with your boundaries, setting some healthy ones and not fear being judged (it may have happened a lot in your life) for them or not being appreciated anymore or abandoned if you stopped pleasing others. We need to respect ourselves too, not just others (and pleasing them is not the same as respecting them anyway: you can disagree/say no and still be respectful). It's like you forget about your worth (it doesn't depend on how good you perform) all of a sudden in fear of being left out. You may feel unsafe in setting your boundaries especially when stressed out (or it just may stress you as said), like you may fear being perceived as rude and left alone. It may be that you got manipulated or gaslighted into feeling always wrong, guilty or bad if you didn't acted as "expected of you". I'm sorry about this: remember you are inherently good and worthy, and you have the right to stand up for yourself. You won't end up alone. Find your inner balance and peace, go slow. You're already perfect.

song: underdog | you me at six

[asidian]

Color symbolism in Dead Boy Detectives:

BLUE

In the context of Dead Boy Detectives, blue is emotional detachment.

It's also Edwin's color. Edwin wears blue throughout Dead Boy Detectives; it's part of his most common outfit, though in quite a few scenes his color scheme changes to reflect the narrative beat of the scene and his emotional state during it. (See brown, green, green (alt), and white.) I've talked at length here about the way Edwin distances himself from his emotions, likely learned as a defense mechanism during his time in hell.

Niko wears blue in the episode after Jenny's date goes horribly awry and she declares love to be a farce. She systematically rids her room of anything pink, symbolically purging herself of the emotions that led to the disaster in the previous episode, and attempts to address all of her problems with pure logic.

Monty wears blue in the episode when he puts his emotions for Edwin aside and plays along with Esther's scheme. Notably, the shirt that Monty hides with his blue jacket is a multi-colored striped shirt. It's a nod to all of the emotions he mentioned not having wanted, and he hides them all under the blue he layers on top.

The jocks in the Two Dead Dragons are in blue, not because they've chosen to distance themselves emotionally, but because they don't understand or care about how their actions affect the way other people feel.

Finally, Crystal's mental space is blue, because her neglectful parents have taught her not to trust people with her deeper emotions. Further inside her heart space, there are other colors (see pink and purple) but she's literally forgotten that they're there. This aspect of her personality, and the issues that stem from it, is what David the demon preys on, which is why he always appears in the blue space.

red | blue | pink | green | green (alt) | purple | orange | brown | black |white

[soon-palestine]

So it turns out that Elons trip to Israel wasn't just for kosher theater and an IDF propaganda tour.

A secret meeting took place while he was there that went virtually unreported by any news media outlets.

In attendance was Netanyahu, Musk's tour organizer, investor Omri Casspi, Brigadier General Danny Gold, Head of the Israeli Directorate of Defense Research & Development and one of the developers of Iron Dome, Aleph venture capital funds partner Michael Eisenberg, and Israeli cybersecurity company CHEQ CEO Guy Tytunovich who is ex-israeli intelligence unit 8200.

The six men talked about technology in the service of Israel's defense, dealing with fake content and anti-Semitic and anti-Israeli comments, and the use by non-democratic countries of bots as part of campaigns to change perceptions, including on the X platform.

The solution Musk was presented was the Israeli unicorn CHEQ, a company founded by ex-Israeli intelligence unit 8200 CEO Guy Tytunovich that combats bots and fake users.

Following the meeting, Elon signed an agreement with cheQ, and apparently, the reason for the quick closing of the deal was Elons "direct involvement" with the company.

Now. What they won't tell you.

Israel is primarily responsible for the creation of bots. There currently exists dozens of ex-Israeli intelligence firms whose sole purpose is perception management, social media influencing/manipulation, disinformation campaigns, psychological operations, opposition research, and honey traps.

They create state of art, multi layer, AI avatars that are virtually indistinguishable from a real human online. They infiltrate target audiences with these elaborately crafted social-media personas and spread misleading information through websites meant to mimic news portals. They secretly manipulate public opinion across app social media platforms.

The applications of this technology are endless, and it has been used for character assassination, disruption of activism/protest, creating social upheaval/civil unrest, swaying elections, and toppling governments.

These companies are all founded by ex-Israeli intelligence and members of unit 8200. When they leave their service with the Israeli government, they are backed by hundreds of billions of dollars through Israeli venture capital groups tied to the Israeli government.

These companies utilize the technology and skills learned during their time served with Israeli intelligence and are an extension of the Israeli government that operates in the private sector.

In doing so, they operate with impunity across all geographical borders and outside the bounds of the law. The Israeli government is forbidden by law to spy on US citizens, but "ex" Israeli intelligence has no such limitations, and no laws currently exist to stop them.

Now back to X and Elon Musk.

Elon met with these people in secret to discuss how to use X in service of Israel's defense.

Elon hired an ex-Israeli intelligence firm to combat the bots…. that were created by another ex-israeli intelligence firm.

Elon hired an ex-israeli intelligence firm to verify your identity and collect your facial biometric data.

Do you see the problem yet?

Israel now has end to end control over X. Israel can conduct psychological operations and create social disinfo/influence campaigns on X with impunity. They now have facial biometric data from millions of people that can be used to create and populate these AI generated avatars.

They can manipulate public opinion, influence congressmen and senators, disrupt online movements, manipulate the algorithm to silence dissenting voices against Israel, and they can sway the US elections.

When the company that was hired to combat the bots is also Israeli intelligence…

Who is going to stop them?

Cyberspace is the wild.west. There are currently no laws on the books to regulate foreign influence on social media. There is nothing to stop them from conducting psychological operations and disinformation campaigns on unsuspecting US citizens. These companies operate with impunity across all geographical boundaries and there is nobody to stop them. But don't take my word for it.

For anyone wondering what the end game is for this, it was recently verbalized by Vivek Ramaswamy here on X. To narrow and completely eliminate the gap between what we say (think) in private and in public. In practice, the thought police of the future. And X is actively working on it.

[kiruamon]

Don't wake me up - AU Introduction

Cooking up another au idea. So first take these sketches and my info dump will follow further below. Also this feels like one of my more darker aus when I look at the amount of angst involved.

Sun

Moon

Y/N

Soooo... I was thinking of an au with dreams as a theme. Sun and Moon being an entity or guardian of dreams. While Sun stands for the good dreams Moon is in care of nightmares.

And into this setting I decided to throw a Y/N who has only very recently gone blind. They had always loved to create art. So to suddenly being unable to see was shattering their whole world. What's making it worse is that they always had been very independent and pride of what they achieved soley on their own. The thought to be dependent of others was something they never had liked.

But now even in their own home they don't feel any longer in control or autonomous. It's a struggle to navigate around. Bumping into furniture. Memorizing the distance from the bed to the door. Not knocking anything from the desk by accident or crawling under it if it does happen and feeling around for their keys without being able to use their vision to find them. It's frustrating and makes them feel like a stranger in their own place that should usually feel safe and familiar. But now it's all: Where did I put my phone? Was the grater in the drawer under the silverware or left from it? Did I grabbed a spoon or a fork? Which of my sweaters am I holding right now? Hopefully not the ugly christmas sweater I got four years ago? Does the shirt even match the rest or are the colors clashing with each other? Everything feels slowed down and like a big pain since things are still so fresh. Even worse that they have to let a stranger into their life to help them out that is supposed to teach them how to slowly cope with their new situation. It doesn't matter much to Y/N that said caretaker isn't human. They want their vision back so badly. And if that's not possible just to be left alone. Feeling overly emotional over the smallest things and then quickly burnt out. Every little thing is just too much. Being so stressed out and all... their only safe place for them is their dreams. It's where they feel the most normality and comfort. To sleep and to dream means for them to be free. To enjoy the colors and shapes of their dream environmental without any restricts that hold them back.

And that's where they meet Sun during one of their dreams. Not thinking too much of the strange encounter at the start. After all, it's just a dream. There could be much weirder things as a tall animatronic that claims himself to be a dream guardian. It's just odd how often they start to met since their first encounter. But Sun's nice. A very friendly and jolly fellow with an optimistic personallity that's kind of delightful. And Y/N finds himself quickly warming up to their new dream friend. Strolling through the dream realm with Sun and having some silly fun adventures without Y/N needing to worry that they could run into something by accident like in reality. But with time passing by Sun is starting to ask questions about Y/N. Questions that feel like hitting to close to home to them. That they don't want to answer. That they do not want to think about. After all they are hiding into their dreams to escape reality. Not to face their problems. Sun means well, but when he starts prying with his questions Y/N gets defensive and at some point snaps at him. And with the negative emotions flowing over their dream starts to shift. Bringing up more of their hidden fears and tinting it to become more of a nightmare.

Y/N finding themself suddenly alone in an eery nightmarish place. Full of dulled and muddled colors. Their surroundings looking close to a multi layer paper cutout full of symbols that represent their fears and worries which they had tried to desperately deny. The place gives them the shivers. Their shouting out for Sun. But he doesn't seem to be anywhere anymore. So they start running. Searching for him just to fall into a pitch-black pit that feels like it grows deeper and deeper with every second they are into it. Heart rate is going through the roof and panic is spiking up. That's when someone pulls them out. But before they can have a look at them the person they wake up from their nightmare. Next time when Y/N is back to sleep Sun is immediately there and telling them how worried he had been about them. Taking them in their arms and apologizing over and over for upsetting them. At the question where he had disappeared to last time he tells Y/N that he had been looking for them as soon as the dream had been shifting. Aside from that he seems a bit reluctant to tell them more about it. But from that day on Y/N finds themself a bit more often faced with nightmares and feeling as if someone was watching them during those times. Which turns out to be true as he spots a hooded figure at the edge of his vision a few times before finally being able to confront them. Feeling already unsettled and in fight or flight mode Y/N settles for the first option when catching Moon sneaking around them once more. Unbeknownst to them that Moon and Sun are practically one and the same entity. Just that Moon is in charge of their body in the realm of nightmares and Sun in the realm of good dreams.

Moon is more annoyed with Y/N's defensive and stubborn attitude as Sun is. But it might also not help that Moon himself is very tight-lipped instead of trying to explain things. So the two aren't off with the best start. And Sun has some explaining to do when he and Y/N meet the next time. Despite this rough start with Moon Y/N will find out that the more grumpy dream guardian is staying close to them whenever they find themself back in a nightmare instead of hiding like before. Giving them a bit closure with their presence and words and helping them to guide them slowly out of their nightmares back into more peaceful dreams where Sun will take over again.

As things progress there comes a time where Y/N will hardly want to get out of bed anymore. Just wanting to sleep. To go back into this world of dreams where they feel free instead of struggling all day without knowing what for. They are at a rough place. And they find themself wishing to stay longer and longer in their dreams with Sun and Moon. The world where they feel whole.

Of course Sun and Moon notice what is going on. The dreams after all depict the things that are going subconsciously and consciously on in Y/N's mind. It's hard for them if the two bring up their blindness. Or that they have to wake up instead of keep dreamig on forever. To start to live their life again. It's a messy time for them all and a lot of ups and downs. But with those confrontations and growing closer to the two guardians Y/N finds themself also becoming more vulnerable and slowly opening up to them. Admitting that they are scared. That they feel useless and like having lost so many things. Not knowing what to do. It takes a lot of time, patience and comfort from Sun and Moon as well as some firm words to slowly convince Y/N to start working on their fears in the real world. Y/N's dreams during this time are very unstable and easily shifting often between good and nightmarish during the course of one night. But they are slowly trying to work things out.

It takes a lot of them to ask the animatronic that had been assigned to take care of them for help. Not only because Y/N feels pretty shitty for having lashed out verbally in the past for a bunch of minor little things that had got them riled up during this time, but also because it's still hard for them to rely on someone this much. But all their conversations with Sun and Moon have teached them that's okay to ask for help. And so they do. Slowly finding their way back into life. Learning how to cope with their blindness. What tools to use to navigate better through their daily life. Learning that's okay to be vulnerable. It's a little surprise to Y/N when they find out that the name of their caretaker is Eclipse. A very patience and kindhearted animatronic. The round head plate with the triangular rays feels all so familiar under their fingers when he allows them to run their hands over them. Eclipse is the one helping Y/N out in their daily life. Cooking together and giving them all kinds of tips and tricks. Guiding them with his directions and gentle voice. He even brings up things like tactile art, sculpting and other things Y/N hadn't thought of before since they had believed they would have to give up on art completely. But slowly there is new hope found. And with each little achievement Y/N will find themself more independent over time. Finding joy in creation again and even some new things. While they always had liked music they also find a new interest in audiobooks. Even though they enjoy it even more when Eclipse will read for them while they sit together on the couch with a cup of hot chocolate in their hands and leant against him. Since Y/N grows more and more fond towards Eclipse to a point where they even found their more cheerful side back. It comes as a shock when Eclipse is telling them someday that he will soon quit his job as their caretaker. Since he feels that Y/N has grown independent enough again for not needing a full-time caretaker anymore. It leaves a bitter taste for Y/N as they had started to grow so used to having the other around and now feeling as if losing Eclipse again. Questioning the fact if they even had been friends or if they had been just another job for him. But at the same moment they start having those insecure thoughts they feel guilty about them. After all Eclipse had done so, so much for them and they don't want to taint their last time with him with acting like an upset or ungrateful child. So Y/N decides to just tell Eclipse how thankful they feel for everything he has done for them and that they wish him the best. Just for Eclipse to chuckle softly and telling them that he doesn't intend to make this their last meeting. He swiftly explains to Y/N that he only wants to quit the job in order to be able to be their friend without it feeling like he is paid to be nice to them.

Aaaalso some side notes to Sun and Moon. While they are like a dream entity or like I call them the guardians of dream it's not like they can do whatever they want in the dream realm. Besides their transformation they can not just wave their hand and change what happens in a dream. Their influence on the dreams is more subtle and depending if they are able to calm down the dreamer. So it's more like their interactions and words with the dreamer will affect the dreamers thoughts and subconcious and that will influence the dream. So if Sun for an example senses Y/N getting upset he will most of the time swiftly change topics and trying to use distraction as a method to keep the dream nice and peaceful. Asking about things Y/N likes and that feel safe to adress. Since Moon is just there when the dreamer is already in a nightmare his method is more about showing support. Staying close to them as some form of protection. He will take Y/N's hand or later on take them in his arms. Brushing over his back and keep talking with them in a calm voice. Letting them vent about their fears while giving some guidance if needed.

So it's all more about their skills in interacting and subtle manipulation via words (in a more healthy way) as having some magical superpowers.

Ooookay, that was a lot. And I hope it's not too confusing to follow my line of thoughts. There will be a second post entry that focuses more on some sketches that I did for this au and that will show some of the things mentioned here.

[aesethewitch]

Personal Protection: Surviving the Holidays

I'm of the opinion that far too many people around this time of year are fucking around, and it's high time they get to the finding out part. With major holidays right around the corner, many of us will be facing relatives we'd rather not see, parties we'd rather not go to, and conversations we'd rather avoid or exit as soon as possible. Political spats, unwanted opinions, snide remarks -- I believe that what you give out, you ought to receive back.

So, obviously, let's do some magic about it.

There are three main components to my method:

The Bubble;

The Quills; and

The Shake

The Bubble

Exactly what it sounds like, "the bubble" is the outermost layer of protection around you. It's the barrier between you and the unpleasantness you're trying to keep out.

The bubble can be one item carried or worn (such as a hat, crystal, or charm), or it can be multiple. I usually spring for two items, one to absorb/recycle and one to bounce/return to sender.

Absorb:

I've got a relative who is, at their essence, a fucking downer. That would be fine if not for the fact that if they're having a bad time or are mildly uncomfortable, it's about to be everyone's problem. This kind of negativity is something to absorb, not bounce. Sending it back would only double their misery, and that's no good for anyone.

So, instead, I have a special charm that I make for occasions when I know they're going to be around. It consists of a little piece of sponge that's sat in salt for a while atop a transformative sigil. The sponge, once fully charged and ready, will absorb the negative energy and recycle it into more positive feelings.

This means that their negativity won't impact me at all, and I actively improve the atmosphere. Their bad attitude can't do anything if everyone around us is only getting good vibes. The charm is powered by the exchange of negative to positive energy, so it requires no charging. However, it's smart to discard the sponge once it's done its job.

Bounce:

But sometimes, somebody's got to face real consequences. There are some things I don't want to deal with at all. Like gross political opinions from my conservative, religious family members. Or questions about having children.

The idea of the bounce is to reflect things before they reach me. It's a sort of glamor spell that projects an aura of "don't bother." It essentially lets me be passed over for conversations I want to leave or avoid entirely by bouncing attention away from me.

Negative energy, bad vibes, whatever you want to call it -- the goal is to return it to where it's coming from. Someone who's being an asshole will feel like an asshole. If it works right, they'll stop talking altogether because they're so irritated with what they're saying. I've had aggressive, vocal relatives go completely silent because they were receiving their own rancid energy back to themselves instead of the attention they were hoping for.

For me, this spell takes the form of a charm on my keys. It's a form of an evil eye charm -- not the blue-eyed stare you most likely think of, but another symbol meant to distract attention from me to it. It's a little pewter casting of the fig sign, an old and obscene gesture. It works on malevolent spirits best, but it does a great job of repelling unfortunate people, too. It bounces their nonsense back to themselves, often causing confusion, which forces them to reconsider what they're saying.

Again, this lives on my keys, which live in a key bowl when they're not clipped to my pocket or belt loop. The key bowl has a multi-purpose charging setup for the keys, my wallet, and other assorted charms I might wear when I go out.

The Quills

Sometimes, things get past our main line of defenses. That's fine, it happens. But under these circumstances, it happens because someone has deliberately crossed a line. So now, they get the quills.

When I say "the quills," you should be picturing something like a porcupine. Adorable, yes, but fuck with it at your own risk. Those quills aren't just for show, and neither should yours be. This is your second line of defense, and it's where we turn to offense.

Accordingly, the quills aren't passive spells like the bubble. These require conscious activation and direction to give you maximum control over their output. You can make your quills passive, but I often find that baneful workings work best when you're specifically choosing to use them.

Yes, baneful, and let me be perfectly clear: The goal is to harm whoever's crossed the line. You're not just returning to sender. You're catching what they've thrown at you, lighting it on fire, and pitching it back at full force.

To that end, there are two approaches I typically take (and are you sensing a pattern? I like to do things in twos). One spell to sharpen the tongue and give as good as I've gotten, and one to induce the smallest of lingering curses on the target.

Sharpen

The whole point of the quills is to make yourself an inconvenient, difficult target. Part of being difficult to swallow is not going down easily. Often, the answer is to avoid the conversation or problem altogether, but it isn't always possible. Or satisfying.

Sometimes, you gotta take a bitch down.

For me, this charm needs to do two things. It should boost my confidence in standing my ground and add some oomph to my argument. I have a pin with a particular design on it charmed for this purpose. The needle operates as the quill for stabbing (the oomph), and the design provides the confidence. Anointed with my Fuck Off Oil and laid in a dish of salt, garlic, and red chili flakes, the pin becomes extra spicy and effective.

This one has to be recharged each time it's used. It always lives on the same jacket, but I'll anoint it regularly to keep it fresh. If I use the charm on someone, I'll take the pin off at the end of the night and set it in the spicy salt mixture.

Linger

By far one of the most effective methods for reducing nonsense from unpleasant people I interact with regularly is lingering consequences. When someone associates bad luck with interacting with you, even on a subconscious level, they tend to avoid you.

Consider this the "slow poison" on the quills. The goal isn't to ruin their life by any means (although, I suppose you could...). It's just to make yourself unpalatable on an instinctive level. Think of how poisonous frogs are brightly colored to display that they're, you know, deadly. That's what we're doing here.

I prefer to use something kind of dangerous. Something you can hold onto and point with is best, in my experience. I've used a broken piece of glass, a rusty nail or screw, and various thorns. Right now, I'm using one half of a rusty pair of old cooking shears. The handle broke, but the blades are still sharp as hell. Waste not, and all that.

Anoint whatever the sharp, dangerous thing is in an oil infused with herbs and spices of your choice (again, the Fuck Off Oil is a good example). Or, if you prefer, coat it in something like hot sauce, urine, rust, or other corrosive and unpleasant things. Once prepared, stow it in your bag. Or your glove box, if you drive, since this makes a nice on-the-go curse to cast at shitty drivers.

You don't need to pull it out for it to work, but if you can get to a safe, secluded space (like a bathroom), it can help you focus. When you're creating it, you should set up an activation word, phrase, or motion. I prefer a motion -- something like tapping wherever the object is, a swirling movement with my hand, and then pointing at the target.

The curse you place is up to you. I tend to go for something like feeling nauseous or getting a headache. The spell should draw a connection between them being nasty to you and the unpleasant feeling, whether overt or subconscious. They'll be more cautious and reluctant to be a dick to you afterwards.

The Shake

Like a dog. Get that shit off of yourself.

No matter how thorough you are, there are always gaps and particularly stubborn people getting into them. Something they say just sticks to you like a burr, sharp and irritating. Or depressing, maybe.

The idea behind the shake is literal. You're forcibly removing the heavy weight or annoying itch someone else has placed on you. The shake isn't necessarily an item like with the bubble and quills. It can be, but it doesn't have to be.

Essentially, the steps to the shake are:

Identify what feels bad

Shake that shit

Resume normal activities

Maybe it's the neurodivergent in me, but physical movement is incredibly soothing. Self-regulation tactics are essential for survival. Transforming that into a little spell ritual at the same time is just two birds with one stone.

When things get overwhelming or I can feel my bubble failing to keep everything out at once (such as if a fight breaks out or someone decides to go in depth about one of my triggers), I remove myself from the situation. That's the first step. Retreat to a safe place, whether that's outside, in my car, in the bathroom, or elsewhere that's quiet. The second step is to figure out where in my body the anxiety or bad feeling is sitting. Often, it's in my shoulders and hands, but sometimes it's elsewhere.

Step three is to fucking shake. Shake those hands, roll my shoulders, jump up and down. Whatever it takes. As I do, I'm forcibly dislodging everything unpleasant out of myself and into the open air. And because I've got the negativity-absorbing bubble, it'll take the bad feeling and repurpose it into something more positive. Then, once I'm better, I can go back.

Again, you don't need an object for this, but you can certainly create one. Options would be comforting items, fidget toys, or even something like a joint. Sometimes, you just gotta blow smoke about it. You know?

Fun fact, though: You could also carry a vessel to contain the Bad Feelings for later use instead of letting your bubble absorb them. This comes in handy for people who are particularly abusive... as an example of what you want them to experience under the force of a more involved cursing.

If you like my work, consider throwing a tip my way! Supporters get early, exclusive, and extended access to my work for as low as $3.

[randomguy0ntumbir]

Reasons the Tears of the Kingdom Zora Quest is hands down the best of the four "Regional Phenomena" quests (moderate spoilers):

-Sidon

-the Zora's domain is gorgeous

-the sludge is genuinely annoying and makes you want to get rid of it

-the whole quest is an multi-layered, befuddling puzzle that takes time and head-scratching to figure out

-the childrens' game is very funny

-the "missing" tablet piece being like four feet away from the rest is very funny

-the Sludge Like that appears at one point being titled "The Ambusher of Mipha's Court" is very funny

-Sidon

-swimming up a waterfall and flying out the top wheeeeeee

-the sky fish literally being just a regular island shaped like a fish is very funny

-Dorephan's hideout being behind a waterfall, the most cliche videogame trope, somehow works because

-A. the Zora domain having like 20 waterfalls makes you either not register to check them or get bored after the 5th one

-B. the Zora armour makes you not realise that there might be something behind waterfalls because you now expect their gameplay purpose to be wheeeeeee

-it's already funny how short Link is but seeing him next to Sidon is just that much more funny

-I swear the quest has a lot more cutscenes and setpieces than the other ones

-Sidon

-the water temple being in the sky makes no fucking sense and yet it does

-the journey to and the water temple being isolated in the sky makes it feel more like a Prominent Location and less like just another point of interest

-the trek to the water temple is long and complex and obtuse and has many enemies and is dramatic as fuck

-low gravity wheeeeeee

-the water temple is gorgeous

-the water temple's puzzles feel more like puzzles and less like "find seven things" (looking at you, fire and wind temples)

-the water temple's two left puzzles fking rock

-SIDON LITERALLY PROPOSES TO LINK

-Sidon's ability in combat is somewhat more nuanced than "big rock man go boom" or "big lightning lady go boom"

-Sidon's regular weapon is a spear, giving him both speed, range, defense, and utility

-Sidon's wink face is peak character design

-everyone in the kingdom coming to see Sidon's coronation and it's like 20 people is very funny

-Sidon actually figured out that Zelda is in to the past and the current one is an identity thief, unlike most other sages

-Sidon

[autisticlancemcclain]

A shrill beep breaks his focus, and for it he nearly gets sliced in the eye.

He just barely manages to dodge the Gladiator’s blade, ducking under its sword and rolling towards his jacket and boots, crumpled on the floor. He digs out his comm, as quickly as he can with the Gladiator hot on his tail, and glances at the new message. It’s from Lance.

sharpshooter:

keith where tf are u

sharpshooter:

please know if u miss yet another meeting i am going to kick ur ass

sharpshooter:

better yet i’m gonna have allura kick ur ass bc she actually can

sharpshooter:

know that it will be painful

Keith rolls his eyes, dropping his comm and feigning left just as the Gladiator stabs right through where his head was milliseconds prior. No longer worried that he’s missing something important, he throws himself back into the fight, matching his breathing to the clash of his sword against the Gladiator’s, the steady taps of their feet on the floor as they move, the rapid beat of his own heart. It’s easy to sink into the movement, the adrenaline; to stop thinking.

Thinking is dangerous. Thinking is painful. Thinking reminds him only of how much he’s lost, how much he’s falling short. None of that is helpful. The weight of his sword in his hand, the smell of sweat and metal, the harsh white lights of the training room — all that is helpful. All that is real.

“Kogane, you are the most irritating person in space. And that’s saying a lot, because I’m here, and I specialize in being irritating.”

The Gladiator freezes mid strike, then fades into pixels. The harsh lights dim.

Keith turns around with a scowl. Lance matches it, standing right beside the training room kill switch, arm crossed and jaw set defiantly.

“I’m trying to train, Lance.”

“No need. You’ve reached peak levels of infuriating. No more training necessary.”

Keith rolls his eyes so hard it hurts, jogging over to his water bottle and chugging half of it before dropping to the floor and doing push-ups. Whatever. Lance may have shut down the Gladiator, but Keith can train in other ways. He’ll just turn it back on when Lance leaves.

“Oh, you fucking —”

Before he can fully register what’s happening, a sharp wooshing noise gets louder, and he rolls out of the way seconds before a sword flies by his head and imbeds itself in the wall.

A very, very familiar sword, white with red accents.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Keith shouts, but Lance is already sprinting to grab his bayard, face impassive.

Keith scrambles to his feet, lunging for his own blade, barely managing to activate it and hold it in front of him to block Lance’s oncoming strike. The force of the blow is so powerful it sends a painful ripple down his arms.

Lance is just barely smirking.

“If it’s a fucking fight you want than you’ll get it,” Keith growls, spinning out of the way and putting some distance between them, adjusting his stance and tensing his shoulders.

“I don’t want a fight, douchebag. But obviously talking like grownups is too hard for your tiny little brain, so I’m going to explain this in a way you can understand.”

“You’re really shitty at one-liners,” Keith points out, aiming a thrust at Lance’s left hip, which he always leaves open.

To Keith’s delight, Lance’s smirk drops. “That’s because one-liners are stupid!” he says defensively, barely managing to swerve to the side in time to avoid serious damage. He retaliates by swinging his longsword like it’s a fucking bat, and Keith’s head is a baseball, because Lance is allergic to the real swordfighting techniques Keith has attempted to teach him. And also peanuts, but that’s not helpful right this second. “I only have one line to destroy you emotionally! Truly devastating burns are multi-layered, which is why you can never come up with them, you one-dimensional oreo thinnie!”

Keith grunts, sidestepping Lance’s attempt to stab his foot and clashing his sword at the base of Lance’s, right near the hilt, trying to disarm him. It works, but only because Lance anticipated the move, and as his sword is bent from his hand he does some sort of twisting manoeuvre with his wrist and manages to catch it, somehow. It’s infuriating.

“I stopped listening twelve percent into your sentence.”

“Well, you do that a lot, so colour me unsurprised.”

The unfiltered bitterness in Lance’s voice throws him for a loop, distracts him. He blinks, thrown-off, head out of the game.

“What?”

His distractedness costs him. Faster than he can fully track, Lance hooks his foot around Keith’s ankle, sweeping his legs out from under him, and then shoves him to the floor, pinning his wrists above his head, knee to Keith’s navel, sword to his throat. Keith tries to struggle, to either buck Lance off or angle his own sword, still clenched in his hand, back up to Lance, but he’s exhausted — he’s been training since he woke up this morning. Lance has him at a disadvantage.

“You are being a massive douchebag dumbass loser,” Lance says, panting. “I am fighting the urge to kill you for real.”

“Maybe don’t,” Keith suggests, suddenly very aware of the position they’re in and how easily Lance could drive his sword through Keith’s skull. He knows Lance won’t, or else he’d be struggling way more, but the way Lance is eyeing his own sword is certainly not helping.

Lance sighs. “We need to take a break, Keith.”

Keith frowns. “What?”

Lance sighs again, shifting off of Keith and standing, offering his hand. Keith takes it, pulling himself up, and then follows Lance over to the wall, sitting down next to him.

“What?” he repeats, when Lance doesn’t say anything for several minutes.

Lance shifts to face him, and for the first time Keith really notices the bags under his eyes, the sag of his shoulders. “We need to take a break,” he repeats. “All of us. The team. We need to do something that isn’t this —” he spreads his arm, gesturing to their swords and then between them — “all the time. We need a vacation.”

“No.” Keith barely lets him finish. He gets back to his feet, picking up his sword and heading back towards the system modulator, flipping through the different training modules. Lance follows him immediately.

“Keith —”

“No, Lance,” Keith repeats, fists clenching the edge of the computer. “This is a fucking war. There are no vacations. End of discussion.”

Lance mutters something in Spanish, too fast for Keith to pick up, but he clearly hears a few repeated instances of “cabrón”, and “comemierda”, and “tonto terco idiota que va a hacer que nos maten a todos”, none of which he can translate but he’s pretty sure he gets the general message.

“Keith.” Lance wraps an arm around Keith’s wrist, tugging him away from the training computer. “I cannot possibly understand the pain you are going through. Nothing I have ever gone through can possibly be the same as how it feels to lose a brother. For the second time, for fuck’s sake. I know that.”

Keith clenches his jaw, swallowing the lump in his throat at the mere mention of Shiro. He itches to yank his hand away, boot up the Gladiator again, and train and train and train until he can’t hear his thoughts anymore.

But he doesn’t.

“But you’re not alone in this, man,” Lance continues. Keith turns to glare at him — what a fucking crock of cliched bullshit — but Lance holds his gaze, steady and firm. “Pidge knows exactly what you’re going through. Allura, too. Hell, even Coran. That’s three separate people who understand every single thing you’re going through right now. Intimately.”

That brings Keith up short. “It’s not the same,” Keith insists anyway. “Plus it — it doesn’t matter. What good is talking out our feelings going to do? That’s not going to fuckin’ find him. I’m only going to find him if I keep working.”

“Really interesting that you say that,” Lance says flatly. “I had this exact conversation with Pidge last night, as I was attempting to force her to get some sleep.”

Keith feels something like guilt build up deep in his stomach.

“Oh.”

“Yeah. And it’s one thing for me to mother hen the fifteen year old, but it’s a whole other, weirdly Freudian thing for me to mother hen you, the grownup leader who is supposed to be guiding the team and not a giant headass who is doing intensely stupid shit like ignoring team meetings and training to the point where he passes out.”

“In my defense, the daily team meetings are dumb,” Keith mutters, because apparently he wants Lance to kick him out the airlock.

Luckily, Lance only smiles wryly. “You’re lucky I’m endlessly benevolent and I’m going to let that slide. Come sit down, asshole. You missed today’s meeting because you were busy being emo, but we’ll have a small meeting now. A co-leaders meeting.”

Keith relents, sitting next to Lance on the floor, back to the wall as Lance sits criss-cross-applesauce in front of him.

“Okay. Vacation. Necessary.”

“Counterpoint. We all manage our schedules better and have some free time, and don’t waste our time spending who knows how long doing nothing.”

“Counter counter point. We do both of those things or I mutiny.”

Lance does not appear to be joking even a little. When it’s clear that Keith isn’t going to speak any further, he sighs.

“Look,” he says, pinching the bridge of his nose, “I know that the idea of not doing something for a day is kind of stressful. But…saving the world is a massive bummer, dude. Being on this lonely ass castle in the middle of empty space is a bummer. Chasing a walking purple L’Oreal commercial who is also a homicidal maniac is a bummer. Eating in silence during team dinners is a bummer. Trying to force Pidge and Hunk to step away from their tech for a few hours to sleep and eat and shower is a bummer. Dragging Allura away from the briefing room is a bummer. Making sure you don’t work yourself to death is a bummer. Being the red paladin, if I’m being a thousand percent honest, right now, is a bummer. I’m bummed, dude.”

Despite himself, Keith smiles slightly. Lance grins back, tired and a tad condescending but also fond.

“I got it, Lance.”

“Excellent. I even dumbed it down so it would not escape you.”

“You’re an asshole.”

“You know what would make me less of an asshole?”

“A vacation?” Keith guesses.

“Ding ding ding! Vacation is the answer.” Lance reaches forward, grabbing Keith’s water bottle straight from his hands and taking a swig. “And since you decided to ditch the daily briefing, you get to make it up to me today by convincing the rest of the team to agree and also agreeing to whatever vacation spot I choose.”

“I will agree to one of those things.”

Lance laughs, bright and happy, and it sends such a startling zap of energy and relief through Keith’s entire body that he’s kicking himself for making it so rare, as of late.

“Oh, Mullet, you are so naive.”

Lance gets to his feet, offering his hand to Keith again. This time, when Keith takes it, he holds on for a moment — he smiles at Lance, tired but genuine. Lance smiles back, knocking their shoulders together.

It’s nice to be back on the same page.

———

Keith thinks he reserves the right to complain, honestly.

Well, maybe not. He did work everyone pretty hard. And he is glad that Lance finally convinced him (if threatening to mutiny can be called convincing) to go on vacation, even though you couldn’t waterboard that out of him.

“If you complain even one more time I am going to draw a massive dick with the sunscreen where you can’t reach,” Lance says pleasantly, squirting what Keith would call a massive excess of Altean SPF 900 onto his hands (alien suns are a little more deadly. Who knew). He slaps it on Keith’s back, slathering it with absolutely zero care and an abundance of glee.

It doesn’t make Keith smile. It doesn’t.

“I’ll just wear a shirt until the sunburn fades. Complaining is worth it.”

Lance only hums, working in the cream. It starts to feel good, his cold fingers digging into the knots on Keith’s back. It feels so good, in fact, that Keith lets his guard down.

Rookie mistake if he’s ever made one.

One second he’s sat on the warm sand, tension melting from his shoulders, and the next he’s fucking airborne; Lance picking him up by the waist and throwing him over broad swimmers shoulders.

“Lance!” he screeches, pounding on the red paladin’s back, “fucking let me down! Dickhead!”

Lance is cackling loudly, picking up speed and jogging for the — icy cold! Keith knows! — waves. The rest of the team looks in their direction, but Keith loses any hope of their aid when they all burst out laughing.

“All of you are the worst!” Keith cries, but he can’t deny that it’s nice to hear their laughter again.

It’s been a while.

Still, though, Keith is not going down without a fight. As he and his captor get closer and closer to a watery doom (Keith has never been dramatic even a day in his life), Keith really starts to struggle. He throws his whole body weight to one side, making Lance stumble. He aims an elbow to the Cuban’s ear, but before his hit can land, he hears a voice shout: “Oh, no you don’t!”

Three things happen in quick succession.

One. Lance whoops in triumph.

Two. A curtain of white hair flashes towards him, and yet another arm grabs him around the waist.

Three. He drops, and water colder than the fucking glacial arctic seas envelops him entirely.

He comes back up sputtering, glaring a thousand daggers at Allura.

“You’ll pay for that,” he informs her.

“Ha!” She looks down at him smugly, hands on her hips and one eyebrow raised to her hairline. “Good luck with that.”

Keith doesn’t hesitate before tackling her into the waves.

It doesn’t take long after that for things to devolve into chaos. Hunk happily follows Allura and Lance’s examples, scooping up Pidge — to her rage — and Coran — to his delight — under one arm each, tossing them in the water like neither weighs particular more to him than perhaps a bunch of grapes.

(Dear Lord. If Keith were not so gone on Lance’s ass…)

As much as he tries to deny it, Keith has fun. Very quickly Lance organizes a game of chicken, climbing up Keith’s body like a particularly aggravating monkey (something Keith is happy to tell him) and settling on his shoulders, thighs bracketing his head and ankles crossed at his abdomen.

Keith goes so violently red that he’s genuinely kind of shocked that he can turn that colour.

“Squeeze any tighter, Lance, and Keefers over there is going to evaporate the entire ocean,” Pidge says drily.

Keith does not wait for her to get situated on Coran’s shoulders. He charges.

Despite his brain relaying a constant stream of Oh God Lance’s thighs are wrapped around your head holy shit he’s sitting on your shoulders and he’s barely dressed his fucking legs are so long why are they so long does he have to be this attractive is that even possible what the fuck is the deal with that, he manages to put his full attention into going absolutely ham. He charges, dodges, leaps and bounds, intent on being the winning team of this ridiculous but admittedly fun game.

Allura and Hunk dominate. Easily. It’s barely even a competition. They dunk everyone else so many times that they have to plead for mercy.

Still, Keith has a huge smile on his face by the time everyone peels off and cools down.

“There it is,” Lance says, poking him on the cheek.

Keith bats his hands away. “No idea what you’re talking about.”

But Lance is undeterred by his gruffness. He smiles, fondly, rolling his eyes, then bounds away with a random bucket to the shoreline, likely to look for cool seashells.

Keith is so endeared that it’s honestly a little sickening. Never in his life has he been so attached to the whims to another person.

He doesn’t hate it, somehow.

“If you keep building the habit of watching your red paladin so lovingly, you may be accused of favouritism in the near future,” Coran teases, taking a seat next to him on the sand.

Keith flushes. Your red paladin rings in his ears.

“I don’t watch him like that,” he denies loudly.

“You do so,” pipes up the peanut gallery, also known as Pidge Holt, without so much as glancing up from her, Hunk’s, and Allura’s massive sandcastle. Honestly, sandcastle might not be the right word for it. The magnificent undertaking is significantly larger and significantly prettier than his dingy shack from back home.

“You’re fired,” Keith shoots back. Pidge only rolls her eyes, reaching over and smashing one of the sand figures standing on the castle.

“I just killed sand Keith for your insolence. Beg for my forgiveness or I won’t rebuild you.”

The two of them continue to bicker until Allura throws clumps of sand at them to get them to shut up.

“Aw, the sand got stuck in my sunscreen,” Keith pouts. He tries to rub it off, but it only scrapes his skin off with it, so he gives up. “You’re the worst!”

“I’m going to put more sand in your hair,” Allura says mildly. She scoops up a handful. Keith holds a bucket of water up in front of him in defense.

Before an all out war can be restarted, Hunk stills, looking up from his intricate castle-building with a furrowed brow.

“Hey, speaking of sunscreen, where’s Lance? He can usually be relied upon to snootily inform anyone who will listen about UV rays and skin cancer every hour.”

“He went to go find seashells.”

Hunk’s brow furrows. “And he’s not back yet? It’s been a bit. Do you think he got lost?”

“Let’s go look for him,” Keith says, scrambling to his feet immediately. His heartbeat picks up slightly, ‘Lance’ and ‘lost’ ringing through his head like disjointed echoes. He’s already halfway down the sand by the time he registers the voices around him, hears the calling of his name, feels a steady hand on his shoulder.

“He’s not lost,” Coran says kindly. His green eyes are wrought with pain and empathy and understanding alike, reminding Keith of Lance’s earlier words. Reminding him that his family truly does understand his pain, truly does know him, get him. Coran’s hand squeezes once, and Keith takes a deep breath, smiling slightly back at him, covering his hand briefly with his own.

“Okay.”

Still, the six of them walk down the shoreline faster than they would normally, figuring safe is better than sorry.

“Hey, look.” Pidge points at a small purple critter scuttling across the sand. “Does that thing look like it’s in a hurry to you?”

“I think all crabs kind of look like they’re in a hurry,” Hunk reasons.

Allura smiles slightly, snapping his hands. “It’s the snappiness to their movements.”

Just as they speak, however, another crab scurries along, and then another. Soon dozens of them are visible, digging themselves out of the sand or hopping out of the water, then hurrying down the shoreline like whatever their chasing is about to run out. Eventually the crowd of crabs get so thick that it’s almost impossible to walk without gently sweeping several of them aside to make room for their feet.

“Oh, hey, guys!”

A few yards in front of them, sat cross cross applesauce on the sand, surrounded by hundreds of little crabs, is Lance. In front of him is the bucket he had left with and a sponge-like chunk of seaweed. He grins sunnily at them, so widely that the brown of his eyes is hidden, they crinkle so much, and returns his attention to the bucket. He holds his hand out to one of the many crabs chittering around them, waiting for it to crawl on, then gently lowers it into the bucket, using the spongey seaweed to scrub its shell.

“I’m giving the crabs baths!” The little crab in the bucket seems to wiggle, almost, in some kind of glee, waiting for Lance to finish, pat it on the head, and set it down on the sand before scuttling away.

“You’re bathing,” says Pidge incredulously, “aquatic sand bugs.”

“Some of them have a lot of barnacle buildup,” Lance says primly.

“We thought you went missing,” Keith blurts. He can’t quite keep the fear out of his voice, that built up as soon as he’d realized that Lance was gone, fear that comes out as anger. He regrets it as soon as it comes out, bracing himself for the set to Lance’s jaw and and the defensiveness in his jaw. But to his surprise Lance only softens, holding a crab out to Keith. He takes it on reflex, blinking at it in confusion. The crab blinks back.

“I did not,” Lance promises. “But I was looking for shells, and then I saw Jorge flipped upside down, so I helped him, and then we were chilling, and then I noticed he was walking funny because of a barnacle buildup on his leg, so I asked him if he wanted me to get it off, and he didn’t answer but he was cool to hop in the bucket so I cleaned him off. And then Carmen showed up so I polished her up, and then Amelia, then Hunk Two —”

“You named a crab after me?” Hunk interrupts, visibly touched.”

Lance nods matter-of-factly. “Strong and sunset coloured. All of you have crab buddies. Look.” He scoops up six crabs from his lap, showing the Hunk-crab first, then showing three other crabs in order: a teeny-tiny dark green one with black marks around its eyes, a bright pink one that sparkles when it moves, and an orange one with markings around its mouth. “Pidge-crab, Allura-crab, Coran-crab.” Finally he holds out his hand to the crab that has been sitting protectively on his head, burrowed in his curls. It takes a moment, but eventually the little thing begrudgingly steps from the safety of Lance’s hair and into his cupped hand. He brings it carefully down, giving it an exaggerated smooch on the head.

“This one is Keith-crab,” he says. “Because it is all emo coloured and likes me best.” Lance looks up at him and grins. “I am your absolute favourite all the time, right, Mullet?”

Keith knows Lance is teasing. Obviously. Evident in the way the rest of the team is snickering to themselves, no doubt remembering the years of arguing they’ve witnessed.

But still. Keith feels lightheaded.

“Yeah,” he chokes out, bright red. There’s a beat of silence that stretches out for twelve years, then Pidge guffaws, Hunk bites his lip, and Allura straight up loses it. Even Coran hides a smile in his hand.

“What the fuck, Keith,” Lance says, strangled. His face glows worse than Keith’s does. “You’re not supposed to admit it.”

“Would it be so bad?“ Keith erupts, voice cracking. “So what you’re my favourite? There’s no way you didn’t know! I let you get away with everything! You threatened to shove a sword through my skull yesterday and I didn’t even put you in a chokehold about it!”

Lance makes a long, anguished noise, setting the crab down with great care before burying his face in his hands. “You’re so embarrassing,” he moans. “You don’t have an ounce of rizz in your body. None.”

Keith sputters. “What does that even mean!”

“It means he liiiiiiikes yooooouuuu,” Pidge crows. Allura makes kissy faces.

And, well. Pidge cannot be trusted. She has openly and gleefully informed him that lying for fun is one of her favourite hobbies, especially when Keith is at the other end of her clowning.

But Lance is still trying to shrink back into himself, embarrassed. And he always finds an excuse to have his hands on Keith, somehow. And Keith hangs out with him more than anyone else, honestly.

Keith turns to Lance, hopeful. “You do?”

Lance points at him, glaring. “This does not count. You hear me?”

Keith grins, rocking back on his heels. “I’m not sure.” Lance scowls. Keith genuinely feels like he might be floating, so long as he ignores his asshole friends. “You might have to spell it out for me.”

“You talk to me properly,” Lance lists. “When we are alone. Play it up and wax poetic and — I dunno, flowers or something. You figure it out. I refuse to have this be how I find out you have feelings for me.”

“I mean, I was never really hiding it.”

“I’ll divorce you, Keith, I swear to God.”

Humming, Keith leans close, careful of the crabs, and presses a kiss to Lance’s cheek. At the last second Lance turns his head, catching his lips and kissing him properly. His smile is wide and shy.

“Sure, Sharpshooter.”

[paperback-rascal]

Hi 👉👈

I love your "Kix the cf99 medic" and it made me think about writing a fic about Wrecker going to a casual medical checkup and the medic/doctor/Kix almost has an aneurysm because of how many untreated injuries he has that healed on their own, BUT

I don't have a lot of medical knowledge, so do you have any suggestions of what stuff could be wrong with him besides crudely healed bone breaks, almost ripped tendons or badly scarred/burned stiff skin?

First of all - I hope you're going to tag me once that fanfiction it's done! You have no idea how I crave The Bad Batch and Kix artworks/stories! It is a void!

Second of all - I'm not a medical professional nor I'm in any shape or form related by no means with medicine/medical science. My whole "medical knowledge" is bunch of Wikipedia articles, one book about plagues (that I still didn't finish) and one civil defense course book from my high school days... and maybe couple of youtube videos.

With that in mind... (rest of the answer is under the cut/read more)

I don't mind all of the "crudely healed bone breaks", "almost ripped tendons" and "badly burned flesh" stories. I know they seem like obvious, tried-and-true formulas but I can't say 'no' to a well written, entertaining story - it's almost the same feeling like drinking a good cup of coffee - it never gets old! So if you (or anyone, really) feel the premise is not good enough... well, it is good as any other starting point!

However if you ask me what would I consider an interesting approach to a scenario in which "a routine check-up goes wrong", I think that the most 'oomph!' would be a domino effect - starting with a minor complain that later turns out to be a symptom of a multi-layered issue of one neglected thing after the other that wasn't done properly the first time/was overlooked - because let's face it - that how most medical emergencies starts and it is now getting fixed because someone (either a patient or a health professional) just pressed further to find the root cause. With The Bad Batch it could be especially interesting since they most likely have to fend for themselves during/right after missions so a lot of shortcuts and misinterpretation of data could be part of the issue.

Positioning Kix as "outsider looking in" could also be interesting starting point - Is he a stubborn medic going against the grain despite Clone Force 99/other medics telling him "that's how it always has been" or because he is an "outsider' (and most likely took the SW!equivalent of Hippocratic Oath?) so The Bad Batch feel more comfortable to confide to him their issues?

Also we all assume the issues have to be... grand in nature but a LOT of them that later wreak havoc starts small - an untreated ear infection, bad/rotten tooth, crooked/uneven nasal septum, allergies, etc. in the Batch's case they can be overlooked simply because "oh look! A shrapnel! Let's put Bacta on it" or by a simple assumption e.g. "Wrecker is huge so his muscles have to hurt due to his accelerated growth" or "of course his blood tests are off the charts - he is a defective clone after all" or even the other way "of course he doesn't have XYZ, it's all in his head/he is faking it, he is a CLONE after all and none of the clone troopers have such issues".

There are countless possibilities! So all in all it all boils down to - how comfortable are you in writing medical situations?

---

The ask is in relation to this tag -> [LINK] <-

===

STAR WARS: The Clone Wars © George Lucas/ Dave Filoni/ LucasFilm/ Disney

[fans4wga]

'The Hollywood strike can and must win – for all of us, not just writers and actors'

Excerpt:

"The thousands of workers engaged in this enormous, multi-union Hollywood strike – something America hasn’t seen since 1960 – represent the frontline of two battles that matter to every single American. You might not naturally pick “writers and actors” to be the backbone of your national defense force, but hey, we go to war with the army we have. In this case, they are well suited to the fight at hand.

The first battle is between humanity and artificial intelligence. Just a year ago, it seemed like a remote issue, a vague and futuristic possibility, still tinged with a touch of sci-fi. Now, AI has advanced so fast that everyone has grasped that it has the potential to be to white-collar and creative work what industrial automation was to factory work. It is the sort of technology that you either put in a box, or it puts you in a box. And who is going to build the guardrails that prevent the worst abuses of AI?

Look around. Do you believe that the divided US government is going to rouse itself to concerted action in time to regulate this technology, which grows more potent by the month? They will not. Do you know, then, the only institutions with the power to enact binding rules about AI that protect working people from being destroyed by a bunch of impenetrable algorithms that can produce stilted, error-filled simulacrums of their work at a fraction of the cost?

Unions. When it comes to regulating AI now, before it gets so widely entrenched that it’s impossible to roll back, union contracts are the only game in town. And the WGA and Sag-Aftra contracts, which cover entire industries, will go down in history as some of the first major efforts to write reasonable rules governing this technology that is so new that even knowing what to ask for involves a lot of speculation.

What we know for sure is this: if we leave AI wholly in the hands of tech companies and their investors, it is absolutely certain that AI will be used in a way that takes the maximum amount of money out of the pockets of labor and deposits it in the accounts of executives and investment firms. These strikes are happening, in large part, to set the precedent that AI must benefit everyone rather than being a terrifying inequality accelerator that throws millions out of work to enrich a lucky few. Even if you have never been to Hollywood, you have a stake in this fight. AI will come for your own industry soon enough.

And that brings us to the second underlying battle here: the class war itself. When you scrape away the relatively small surface layer of glitz and glamor and wealthy stars, entertainment is just another industry, full of regular people doing regular work. The vast majority of those who write scripts or act in shows (or do carpentry, or catering, or chauffeuring, or the zillion other jobs that Hollywood produces) are not rich and famous. The CEOs that the entertainment unions are negotiating with make hundreds of millions of dollars, while most Sag-Aftra members don’t make the $26,000 a year necessary to qualify for the union’s health insurance plan."

Read more

[aretis]

📍Corfu Greece 🇬🇷

Corfu Town sits on a small peninsula about halfway down the east coast of the island, a site chosen for its natural port and the two peaks that lent themselves to fortress-building. The small mediaeval town that grew up during Angevin rule (1267-1368) was enclosed by thick defensive walls and guarded by two imposing castles that looked out to sea and the Greek mainland. But it was under the Venetians, who stayed for some 400 years (from 1386-1797) that Corfu Town really prospered.

Corfu's significant role in Mediterranean history was pre- destined thanks to its strategic position at the mouth of the Adriatic Sea. Whoever controlled Corfu had a good chance of controlling the most important trade and military routes between east and west and north and south. The Greeks knew this, as did the Romans, the Goths, the Byzantines, the Normans, the Neapolitan Angevins, the Venetians, the French and the British. All came and went, leaving behind them a multi- layered historical and cultural heritage that is still very much in evidence today.

The Venetians brought not only their great commercial know- how but also their architectural prowess and soon Corfu Town became a thriving economic centre with northern-Adriatic flair and impregnable defences (they significantly updated the Old Fortress and built the New Fortress).

Corfu Town was badly bombed by German forces during the Second World War, with almost a quarter of the town being reduced to rubble. Fortunately, much of the mediaeval quarter, known as the Campiello, survived and in 2007 UNESCO awarded Corfu Town the status World Heritage Site.

Καλημέρα Ελλάδα μου!!🇬🇷

[theheirofthesharingan]

In defense of my pov and maybe I wasn't very clear in the ask... I do think the point of Itachi in the earlier arcs is that he is meant to come across as one dimensional (of course to writers and those who read a lot this actually should equal something potentially being incredibly fishy), so when we get the conspiracy reveal after his death I mean that I wasn't surprised there was more to it and I love how it threw every interpretation of his actions from beginning to end into a new light. (And I realize I forgot to fix a sentence and I love Itachi now, but when I first encountered naruto in my early teens, he honestly didn't scare me that much 😅, he comes into town, doesn't kill any of the main characters because that point in the story wouldn't have made sense for such a thing, and then he leaves, seemingly on a tactically considered whim which fits his characterization at that time)

I also think it's actually incredibly important that Orochimaru and Itachi are both meddling in Sasuke's lives at the same time, which is why I brought them up as a "comparison" even though their motives are never even remotely the same! Orochimaru is horrific as an individual and a villain, but from a narrative standpoint serves as an incredibly effective smokescreen. Orochimaru is an immediate threat from the moment he is introduced, he's a constant and threatening presence and Sasuke goes and exposes himself to that for years which leaves him very little time to introspect on the circumstances around his family's death.

Itachi on the other hand is more of a goal than a threat. He's dangerous, we see enough of him vs other cast members like Jiraiya and Kakashi for that, and he very badly wants Sasuke to pursue him (seen as early as the hotsprings town attack and later made abundantly clear to be because he wants Sasuke to spend his vengeance on him, although even that reasoning is multi layered). He's one of Sasuke's primary enemies, but he functions so differently from Orochimaru that the audience just sees him as a different kind of big bad is all.

(Sorry for the long explanation, I just don't want you to think I'm stupid 😅 but I also might be coming at my interpretations from a different place than you and that's fine too! I appreciate your first answer regardless and thank you for those panels! The manga is so long that I definitely forget things.)

For the purposes of my own work, I often think of how information is compartmentalized in the village... because other members of the konoha 11 also come to the conclusion Sasuke should be killed, but the tactical ones have different justifications than Sakura if I'm remembering correctly? I think they're mostly meant to parrot the village policies, esp since they're secondary characters at best, just cementing the way that villages sacrifice individual members for the sake of less war (which is different than real peace!), but it still makes for some interesting considerations of how much/what other characters know and where they get their information from.

Anyways, sorry again for the long ask but thank you for so much uchiha content!

Oh, of course. Initially, he is meant to be a one dimensional villain, and there are hints dropped to give him more nuance, which make sense after the truth reveal. When we move towards the chapters/episodes leading to his death, the story starts to explore his fragility while he's still a villain.

His reveal didn't surprise me. It devastated me. I've been one of those who had some gist of him not being evil, but the tragedy was entirely unexpected.

If you love Itachi too, then welcome to our hell because we suffer forever here, loving both the brothers.

Don't worry, I loved reading your interpretation of both Itachi and Orochimaru and their influence on Sasuke. Itachi is a big deal because even though Sasuke faces an actual threat from Orochimaru, he isn't scared of him. But whenever he sees Itachi, his reactions are always intense. And even after their battle, he was completely shaking, even if he knew Itachi would have exhausted his chakra too. The only person Sasuke was really scared of was probably Itachi. Other than Itachi being invincible, there were a lot of feelings. Itachi had been cruel to him. Not only physically or psychologically but also emotionally. The only one who could dismantle him was Itachi. And Sasuke had all the unanswered questions in his mind because from his POV, his beloved brother one day stopped loving him when he'd always been so supportive of him.

I think other Konoha Shinobi wanting to kill Sasuke is different from her wanting to kill Sasuke. They didn't love him, they didn't care about him, and that also includes Kakashi. She claimed to love him, and concluded that he needed to die for his own sake. I have no expectations from Konoha 11 and I don't care about their opinions on Sasuke either. But she married Sasuke and never bothered to know why he changed so suddenly and why he would want his brother back. Does she even know anything about the Uchiha clan and its history? And what happened with Itachi and all? Probably not.

Don't worry about the long ask. It's totally fine. Thank you. :)

[alittlepudge-neverhurtnobody]

kinktober #23

Bonfire Bash 🔥 / Rotten Core 🪱

“Oh, you’re gonna do it like that?” says Hardison, widening his eyes at Parker. “That’s just nasty, woman. That’s, like, a four-thousand-percent sugar to anything else ratio. S’mores are about the balance.”

Parker licks around the edges of her s’more, which is a carefully assembled tower of six marshmallows, three Hershey bars broken in half so that three halves bracket each side of the marshmallows, and then the usual amount of graham crackers because this is the only way she can stand them. Otherwise they get all weird and gummy in her mouth and it unlocks some weird memory she thinks might be from when she was a baby, and she definitely doesn’t want that. 

“Excuse me,” she says, poking Hardison’s pudgy side with one finger. “My methods are superior. Tested by time!”

Hardison looks to Eliot for help, but Eliot shrugs. “Can’t be that different from that orange soda you’re always drinking, man.”

“HaHA!” cackles Parker, chomping a bite out of her s’more. “See? This was a great idea, you guys. Why don’t we have more s’mores nights?”

“Fire,” Hardison and Eliot say in unison.

“Oh, right.” In her defense, Parker has been really good about the fire. This is a nice way to enjoy it: sandwiched between her favorite boys, eating what’s objectively one of the best foods ever invented, all with a giant roaring flame to keep her warm and stimulated. Earlier in the evening, Hardison presented her with a whole set of fireplace tools, including an extendable blow poke and a long metal grabber to move wood around with, and told her that they were the condition on which she was allowed to play with the fire.

“Did you steal the tools?” she’d whispered, and he’d nodded.

“You know I did. Only the best for my baby.”

They’re burning, like literally burning, a bunch of old identities from the last city. Hardison’s got backups under layers and layers of encryption and firewalls and all his other digital safety measures that sound like word salad to Parker, but she wanted to have a ceremonial bonfire to commemorate starting over again, so Hardison humored her and printed out some copies. 

She likes the new house so far. It’s colder here than Portland, but it doesn’t rain as much, and there are enough trees on the multi-acre property that she’s already starting to bug Hardison about a zip line. So far he’s much more open to the idea of putting one out in the trees here than he was to putting one inside the New Orleans house, even though the high ceilings would have been perfect. 

She takes another bite of s’more and adjusts a few logs with the grabber. The fire sends up a shower of embers and ash, and she flicks them off where they land on her clothes. She’ll have to shower right away when they get inside, because as much as she loves the smell of wood smoke when it is outside, in the fresh air where it belongs, she hates smells that linger, and wood smoke is definitely a lingerer. She’ll pull the boys in too. Eliot’ll hate it because he just washed his hair this morning and he doesn’t like to do it twice in one day, says it’s bad for the hair or something, but oh well. That’s why she bought him the shower cap. It’s not her fault he refuses to wear it. 

She’d kind of thought that Eliot would have had some fancy high-end way to make a s’more, like dark chocolate and brown sugar marshmallows or something, but he’s chowing down on a normal one next to her, hair pulled back into a loose bun and shoved under a beanie to keep it out of the goop. That’s the other thing Parker likes about s’mores, the one Hardison really can’t abide: the goop. Parker can endure any number of boring activities, lectures, and/or social situations if she has something sticky on her fingers to keep her entertained. Lately she’s been really into those sticky little hands, but the s’more is a nice change of pace. 

(The new house also came with pine trees, which she’s very excited for. Eliot said they won’t start dripping a lot of sap for a while still, but she can wait. She’s got time. And a bulk order of sticky hands to get through.)

Next to her, Hardison wipes some marshmallow from his hands with an antibacterial wipe. His face is a bit fuller than it used to be, and while he’s retained some muscle tone in his arms, he’s also got enough extra arm for Parker to jiggle a little when they cuddle. His belly bows out in a soft curve beneath his t-shirt, and 

“Hi,” she says, tipping her head onto Hardison’s shoulder. Now that he’s back from his stint of globetrotting and saving the world, he hasn’t been working out as much, and his orange soda consumption is back up to normal levels. He’s softening up; they all are, thanks to Eliot’s determination to get them to eat three meals a day and their enthusiasm at being his taste testers for the new menus he’s been working on. Parker likes her new, softer shape a lot, even if she’s had to work to figure out a new center of gravity, a new sense of balance. It’s a good challenge. Without even realizing it, she’d gotten kind of bored of knowing how to do everything she does without having to work for it.

“Hey, mama,” says Hardison, bumping his head gently against hers. “Want me to start another marshmallow for you?”

Parker nods, mouth full. Hardison is the best at roasting marshmallows. He’s proven himself over campfires, barbecue grills, fireplaces, gas burners, blowtorches, and the tiny tabletop electric grill Eliot gave in and bought after he realized the one Parker had her eye on could double as a fondue pot. The man’s got it down to a science. Probably he has an algorithm for exactly how much heat and exposure time each square inch of the marshmallow needs to be perfectly golden.

Hardison plucks another couple of marshmallows out of the bag and threads them onto his stick. On her other side, Eliot takes a slug of the new porter he’s trying out for the new restaurant space he’s been cooking up. Eliot’s softer than both of them, but they’re doing their best to catch up. A little bonus padding has made him stronger, more powerful, harder to hurt, and Parker loves that that softness makes her feel both comforted and reassured in his arms. He’s still the most dangerous person in any given situation, but she likes knowing that there’s some extra fat between him and whatever he’s up against.

Eliot built the fire pit out here with his own two hands and a bunch of rocks he dug up from the chunk of the yard he’s taken over for his garden. If Parker looks hard enough, she can see them in its construction: Eliot the protective perimeter of stones, Hardison the gravel inside it, laying the groundwork and keeping everyone even, and herself, reaching up for the sky in bright fingers of flame. 

“Who do you think could eat the most s’mores?” she muses, watching Hardison twirl his marshmallow stick amid the flames.

“You,” Eliot and Hardison in unison.

“Come on!” she groans. “That’s not fun!”

“But it’s true,” says Hardison, shrugging. “You could eat us under the table as far as sugar’s concerned.”

“Okay, fine,” she says, skimming the gooey marshmallow innards off the tip of her own stick, where the outer shell of the marshmallow went up in flames shortly after she plunged it into the fire. “What do you think you could eat the most of?”

Hardison purses his lips, gaze lost somewhere above the fire. “Probably like — we talking, like, one specific food, or a whole genre of food?”

Parker shrugs. “I’ll allow a genre, since mine is sugar.”

“Maybe chips,” says Hardison. “Or, like, the extended family of chips and chip-adjacent snacks. If we include, like Cheetos, Takis, all them, I think I could do it. Give me something to hack and I can clear out bags without even realizing.”

“That’s true,” says Parker, considering. “I’ve seen you go through chips like that. It’s impressive.”

“Thank you,” says Hardison, bowing as much as he can while sitting on a log, roasting marshmallows. “It’s a carefully honed talent.”

They both glance at Eliot, who’s squinting into the flames. 

“Potatoes,” says Eliot finally. “Variation in texture’s key to being able to eat a lot of something. More important than taste, even, but that ain’t even really an issue with potatoes. You can dress ’em up all sorts of ways and they’ll feel like different foods.”

Hardison nods solemnly. “Okay, okay. I think Parker and I will have to verify, though. Like the Guiness Book of World Records. Let’s put that on the calendar.”

“As long as I get to cook the potatoes,” says Eliot, and Parker and Hardison nod vehemently.

“All you, man,” says Hardison. “We ain’t touching that.”

He pulls his marshmallows out of the fire and examines it. “Almost done,” he tells Parker, and she begins preparing her chocolate bars and graham crackers.

“Okay, but Eliot,” she says, tapping his knee with the corner of a wrapped chocolate bar. “If you had to make your own version of s’mores, what would you do?”

“Like how would I make ’em better, or how would I make ’em high-end?”

“Either,” says Parker, sliding the marshmallows Hardison passes her off the stick and squashing them between the graham crackers and chocolate so that they ooze out the sides.

Eliot thinks, turning his beer in his hands. “Pound cake,” he says after a long moment. “With crushed graham crackers in the batter. Grill it beforehand to warm it up, get it a little crispy, there you go.”

“I want that,” Parker agrees. “I want that a lot.”

“And elevated,” he goes on, rubbing his chin, “I think Earl Grey shortbreads and lavender dark chocolate. Marshmallow’s got to be the sweetest thing there or it won’t work.”

Parker wrinkles her nose. Hardison doesn’t mind lavender, even goes in for some floral beers or ice creams sometimes, but she’s not a fan. “Okay, you guys can have those. Will you make me the pound cake ones sometime?”

“Yeah,” says Eliot, reaching over for a bite of her s’more. “Maybe next weekend. We got this fire pit now, we might as well use it.”

“Now hold up,” says Hardison from Parker’s other side. “I could get in on some pound cake. Throw some strawberries in there, I’m in.”

“Strawberries’d be good,” Eliot agrees through a mouthful. “I’ll pick some up this week. Can’t have you two starving.”

Parker lays a hand on her belly over the blanket where it’s starting to round out a bit. “Aw, we know you’d never let us starve.”

“Never,” says Eliot, passing her s’more back to her. “Not on my watch.”

[emotionalsupportrodent]

guess the build but it's the game where people draw shapes/words into ur back and you have to guess what they drew. we all know that skizz is hilariously bad, but in his defense, joel, gem, and grian are each attempting to make elaborate, multi-layer back art while jimmy has continually gotten lost spelling "solidarity"

[why-raven]

smash or pass? — yiuno.

— quick facts.

HEIGHT. 6' 1" / 186.5 cm

AGE. Unknown (immortal, appears 20+)

GENDER. Male / "Female" (as Yiune)

SEXUALITY. Demiromantic Asexual

— the pros.

ASTUTE. Yiuno is highly intelligent and perceptive; coupled with his resourcefulness, he is an asset you'd definitely want as a partner, whether it's on the battlefield... or even for the long trip ahead across the realm. A protector who's got your back, always. ENIGMATIC. Yiuno is a (wo)man of mystery; his broad knowledge of the world, particularly in ancient history and arcane arts, is extremely valuable. His secretive nature will also keep you on your toes... and yearning for more. There's never a dull day for as long as you're with him. REFINED. While Yiuno is a practical person at heart, he also understands the importance to be presentable for various situations. Perhaps it's due to his educational background, or his rich life experience—regardless of reasons, Yiuno certainly makes a great first impression, and continues to uphold that in the long run.

— the cons.

CHAOTIC NEUTRAL. Yiuno operates only by his personal code, his own rules—he doesn't bend his will to others. He can save lives as much as he takes them away; he has no qualms to lie or hurt people. A morally gray person through and through, he simply does whatever it takes to complete his own objectives, to fulfill his personal agendas. It's either his way, or no way. MANIPULATIVE. While Yiuno's secretive nature would excite those who seek the thrill of suspense and mystery trying to crack into his inner world, he's not going to let you in so easily. Sending you on a wild goose chase is what he does best (and enjoys most), and you're in for hell of a ride trying to navigate through his multi-layered masks and labyrinthine mind. SOLITARY. Yiuno often comes and goes like the wind—any attempt to seek a co-dependent relationship with him will only earn you a cold shoulder at best. He doesn't reject human interactions per se: he recognizes the necessity to blend into the society for a life of normalcy. A loner at heart, he needs lots of space for himself and his personal pursuits. He has little to no interest to indulge in the whims of others, unless it aligns with his own goals.

— more info.

WIT. While Yiuno doesn't demand his potential partner to possess the same level of intelligence as him, it'd certainly be easier to build rapport and gain his favor if you're able to communicate with him on equal footing. Otherwise, don't be dismayed at his superficial reactions, a facade maintained out of politeness. Or he'd simply ignore you and walk away once his attention span for you has dried up. SLOW BURN. Yiuno is no stranger to one-night stands or sexual interactions; however, these are often associated with the darker side of his job, hence he's not particularly keen to go there if you're looking to develop a more genuine connection with him. Coupled with his mysterious and callous nature, gaining his trust will be an uphill battle. If you don't have the patience to peel off his tough defenses one layer at a time, then you don't deserve to know him, to be with him, period. BEST OF BOTH WORLDS? Yiuno becomes a shifter due to an incident that involves the aetherial sea (it's a long story); he eventually comes to terms with his duality. Prior to this, "Yiune" was merely a feminine disguise that he used for jobs dealing with the underworld of Eorzea. Once seen as separate identities, now he accepts both egos as two halves that make him whole. Gender and sexuality be damned—man, woman or other, Yiuno frankly doesn't care. Satisfying the sensual needs of both ends of the spectrum isn't a problem for him, but the inverse is a different story altogether.

[thehydromancer]

J03 Hunter Class destroyer & F16A Marathon class Heavy Cruiser, scaled for playing Mobile Frame Zero: Intercept Orbit. Inspired by the MCRN Donnager battleship from The Expanse.

---

The J03 Hunter Class destroyer, designed and built by the First Great Expansion megacorp Northern Sky, was a dedicated seek and destroy platform designed to overrun targets with a single minded ferocity. The class often performed picket duties or acted as forward deployed scouts, but it truly shined when it was able to engage in one sided fights, chasing wounded and/or isolated prey, and was known for pack hunting, multi-dimensional pincer attacks that drove a target into a vector for one of the destroyers to ram for a killing blow.

Its primary weapons were two side mounted dual railgun chase armaments, a capable enough system to damage enemy light to mid armor while being relatively easy to maintain. In lieu of thick hull plating which would have slowed the class, a multi-layered defense of PDGs and defensive missile turrets (capable of firing anti-missile missiles as well as chaff/dazzlers) allowed the destroyer to capitalize on its speed for both aggressive as well as defensive maneuvering. The forward section of the class was also heavily reinforced for ramming, and was painted to evoke the grinning maw of an apex predator like aircraft nose art of old.

The F16A Marathon class heavy cruiser on the other hand was a dramatic scaling up of the venerable Hunter class, albeit with a much different mission in mind. This heavy cruiser was intended for extended solo operations such as deep space exploration, strategically hidden emergency reinforcements, or advanced system scouting; as such it needed the legs to operate on its own, carrying enough bullets, beans, fuel, and propellant to maintain happy and fully operational battle stations. Its massive armored bulk was supported by no less than eight engines, the primary four of which were over engineered for safety's safe; a catastrophic failure when the ship was millions or billions of miles from the nearest safe harbor or ally was a serious concern. Its primary weapons were two 3-barrel cannon launch missile turrets with exceptional firing arcs, that offered an impressive range of initial firing arcs. By forgoing traditional VLS cells or launch tubes, the Hunter class sacrificed volley mass and refire rate for exceptional accuracy and engagement ranges. The Marathon also mounted the same model PDGs and defensive missile turrets the Hunter class did, though with double the number of both included (later 'B' and 'C' variants instead tripled the number of missile turrets as instability throughout human and Ijad space began leading to large scale space fleet combat).

A Marathon could also easily have served as a flagship for a military or megacorp fleet, although the newer 'B' (improved C&C facilities and outsized comms arrays) and 'C' (mobile frame hangar and catapult) hulls were better suited for modern mobile frame centric combat. Despite its age, the original Marathons were still powerful forces to be reckon with, should an organization have had the resources and manning to support one. Unfortunately, as space combat transitioned from one-sided curb stomp beatdowns between well funded militaries and upstart colonists with more bravado than brains (not to mention the occasional megacorp skirmish over resources) to full on interspecies warfare between the human goverments and the Ijad forces with Free Colony Cells not only popping up more frequently every day, but also increasingly better trained and better geared, the heavy cruiser saw the end of its heyday. While the purpose built combat ship was ton for ton superior to most converted civilian vessels used by free colonists, as well as the oddly alien designs the Ijad introduced, the increase of space based mobile frame companies closed the gap enough that many militaries decided that the class just wasn't worth the manning and logistics to field any longer, in favor of smaller, more modern light cruisers, battle cruisers, and carriers that came to dominate The Second Great Expansion.